Chapter 27

                                    

                                          
A/N: just a disclaimer that if you noticed that when a character speaks I've switched to " (double quotation marks) instead of the ' (single one), I have used in previous chapters. It's a new thing I'm trying out as other fanfics I've read recently use them this way, and on the mobile Wattpad I find it's easier to read. So I'll be going back over all of my previous chapters to change it before I've written too much to change it. 
It's quite a long one, so buckle up!
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On the twenty-second day, of the twelfth month, 1980 marked the day that Alethea's childhood was stolen from her. It was on this day exactly thirteen years ago that Alethea's father, Robert Grindle was killed. At the mere age of five, she had to deal with the grief of both herself and her mother, who lost a husband that day. Despite her young age, she had a brilliant mind. A brilliant mind that allowed her to understand the concept of death and the pain that came with it. It was because of her mind and the insight it fed her, that she never allowed herself to properly grieve and instead forced herself to comfort her mother. 
So, as the years went on without her father present, the pain of losing him dulled. But it always resurfaced on the same day each year. It wasn't until her later teenage years that Alethea's mother no longer needed full comfort from her only daughter, allowing Alethea this one day a year to grieve before going back to being perfect. Although, with this grief came the horrid memories she had of her father's final moments alive. 
Since she was alone and of age this year, Alethea found herself sneaking out of Hogwarts with the intention to buy a drink and wallow in her own sadness. With the hope of having a glass of something strong in her hand at midday. Hence, why she was currently roaming the streets of Hogsmeade in her warmest turtleneck, her favourite brownish coloured trench coat, black trousers and matching boots. She smiled dully to the carolers who wished her a Happy Christmas and continued on the path towards the Three Broomsticks. 
Stopping at the first window that was almost frosted over, she peered inside and noticed how packed it was this close to Christmas. If she wanted time to herself she definitely wasn't getting it amongst all those people in there. With a sigh she started following the path once again, this time a different destination in mind. After trudging through the thick snow and having to constantly dust the snowflakes out of her hair, Alethea took a final turn down a dark, narrow and sketchy alley. An alley that could nearly compete with Knockturn Alley, in regards to creepiness.  
Feeling a sudden chill creep up her spine, she quickly turned to look over her shoulder, to make sure she wasn't being watched or followed. When she was sure that the only thing she was met with was silence and the occasional howl of the wind, she quickened her pace down the small cobble road. The strong scent of smoke invaded her senses, raising her head from previously watching her feet, she was met with her destination: The Hog's Head. 
The building itself looked as if it were on its last leg, it was made of stone but had so much filth and grime on the bricks that it came across as grubby. Its chimney was producing irregular puffs of dark grey smoke. The wooden sign above the single wooden door was missing a chain, causing it to slant slightly. There were two evident stories to the shack like building, with the windows on both floors being so encrusted with filth that you couldn't see in nor out of them. 
Without a second thought or glance, Alethea pushed open the door and stepped into the very small and dingy room. Looking around she saw maybe only six small round tables that were unoccupied and a bar that was up against a wall to her left, next to the rickety old stairs leading upstairs. Brushing off the snow from her coat, she headed towards the bar where she saw a tall and skinny older wizard who must be the barman, wiping down glasses with a crusty rag.