Thinking About Broomsticks...At Three Broomsticks (OPEN)

[Bodi Lovegood]

There was nothing melancholy about the Whomping Willow Pale Ale that sat in a dewy footed Pilsener before Bodi Lovegood's strained face. Quite on the contrary - the sunshine-hued malt had the character of a summer day: blue skies, citrus notes, and the kind of love that was reserved for dreamers watching clouds from a grassy hill. Actually, come to think of it, the magnitude of happiness this beer was offering was somewhat nauseating.

Bodi shot the bartender an apologetic look and took a sip of the chilled brew before returning his chin to carefully folded hands. Even Dogwood, his trusted wand, seemed depressed. The handsome 12" hovered to Bodi's right, periodically releasing a sigh that sounded like a strangled cat. What a pair they made. The sadness was not without reason. For a solid month, the crestfallen broom racer had gone everywhere and met everyone in an attempt to reignite his career. He tried to explain his actions in the last Annual Broom Race, seeking some form of mutual ground, but instead he found the occasional pat on the back and more often the door. Some companies wouldn't let him past reception.

"We'll rise above this, old friend," Bodi soothed, without breaking his concentrated gaze. "Yes, we've crossed off Nimbus and Firebolt. Moontrimmer. Comet. Silver Arrow. Not to mention Cleansweep, but let's be honest - that orange tunic attracts flitterbies like warts to a hag. There's still Tinderblast and Twigger. And we can always look overseas. Maybe to Canada." Bodi imbibed further in his ale, this time finding more of the optimism and joy it offered. And then, suddenly, he paused, as if his divine crystal ball clocked him a good one and turned on the lights. Lovegood looked in to his glass, then to the bartender, then to dear Dogwood...it made sense.

"You know, perhaps we've focused too much on the big names. Those tried, tested and true stalwarts that we've all come to love and cherish. Maybe there's a little fellow who started with a twig that grew in to a stick and now they want to test the mettle of their magic. Maybe I need to go...independent..." Bodi's right eyebrow arched and his face fell in to deep concentration. Independent. Bodi tried to think of a name but couldn't. That was the beautiful thing about artisans: they were often so deep in to their craft that they struggled with marketing.

[Maestro]

When the small makeshift stage in the corner opposite the bar at the Three Broomsticks wasn't lit, it could be quite dark. So dark, in fact, that Maestro could recline on his piano bench with his trusty pipe and three fingers of Pixie Normous's Fun-Time Absinthe On The Rocks With A Twist for a couple hours. So dark, that he could listen to an unlucky bloke's woeful monologue and go unnoticed. That is, until he chose not to be.

Maestro sat up and set his drink on top of the piano in one swift motion, nearly silent save for the soft clink of the ice in his glass. His fingers found the place he wanted on the piano instantly and he began to play. A smooth song. A good one for meditating, for forming that next step. 

"Y'know what I think?" It was still dark in the corner, but Maestro's wide smile betrayed where he sat behind the piano, looking at the wizard at the bar from over his rose-tinted spectacles. "Independent. Always better, you know? Be your own man, bring something new to the table. Undiscovered." His fingers moved effortlessly across the piano, Maestro swaying with the swing of the music. "When you're make something new, nobody gets to tell you what you're doing is wrong." He bit his tongue between his teeth playfully as he improvised over the melody, his eyes darting momentarily down to the keys.

He looked back up, instantly finding the eyes of his new friend. "I don't know nothing about brooms, but it's good advice anyway." He smiled as his piano faded from the chord progression into silence again.

[Bodi Lovegood]

Bodi's hyper-concentration faltered at the tickling of the ivories suddenly emanating from the dark recesses of the bar. The piano's dulcet notes ebbed and swirled, wooed and lulled; they loved, comforted and inspired. And then there was the voice. Bodi slowly turned in his stool - trance-like - and was held captive under the gaze of rose-coloured glasses that somehow managed to look straight through him in the dusky and incense-filled establishment.

"Y'know what I think? Independent. Always better, you know?"

The racer nodded without thought, the musician's words creating a natural cadence in the now very intimate space. Even Dogwood had turned towards the mysterious source of encouragement and left the bar to hover like a loyal Llapso Apso at the piano man's feet. Bodi soon followed suit, everyone else in the bar sliding from sight and mind, and he slowly inched towards the light.

"Be your own man, bring something new to the table. Undiscovered."

"Undiscovered..." Bodi repeated absently.

"When you make something new, nobody gets to tell you what you're doing is wrong."

"I punched a man for kicking a dragon and crashed my broom..."

"I don't know nothing about brooms, but it's good advice anyway."

"Yes it is." Bodi stopped just short of the piano and startled awake. Startled in awe. "Yes it is! BARTENDER, I AM BUYING THIS MAN A VERY LARGE DRINK!"

[Maestro]

 "Yes it is! BARTENDER, I AM BUYING THIS MAN A VERY LARGE DRINK!"

With a wide grin Maestro held up his empty glass, winking at Surly Sid the bartender. Thus far in his Three Broomsticks career the afternoon staff was far less endeared to him than the evening staff. He knew he’d get them eventually, but in the meantime it was equally as fun to push the afternoon bartender’s buttons. Surly Sid was the vinegar to Maestro’s honey, and they both knew who caught more flies.

Maestro presented a ring-encrusted hand to shake, leaning intently over the piano to greet him. “You can call me Maestro. What do I call you then, friend?” Maestro’s handshake was always warm and welcoming, lingering just a half-second longer than whomever’s hand he was shaking. He spoke around his pipe, where tendrils of sweet-smelling smoke poured from Merlin’s ivory mouth.

Maestro was interrupted by Sid’s loud cough, holding Maestro’s drink over his head briefly before putting it down hard on the counter. He smirked, stepping around the piano to approach the bar and retrieve his drink. He took a place at the bar, twisting on the stool to face his new friend. “Tell me your story. What’s your trouble?”

[Bodi Lovegood]

Bodi's smile flattened when he caught the slightest hint of awkwardness between the bartender and his newfound guru-pianist. The pianist offered up his glass, the bartender hesitated, and something quickly felt off. Bodi looked to his new acquaintance with a questioning gaze but was immediately distracted by an outstretched hand (which bore the most fabulous of rings). He took it warmly before the contact started a series of nonsensical mental images. Random people, dark skies, and for some bizarre reason, the Eiffel Tower.

“You can call me Maestro. What do I call you then, friend?”

Bodi quickly feigned a smile and kept his hand firm in the man's warm grasp.

"Bodi. Bodi Lovegood. It's good to meet you, Maestro. Please - will you join me at the counter?" Bodi held out his arm in the direction of his seat and fell in behind his new friend. Dogwood, too, seemed to take a particular liking to the man and chose to lay as close as he could to him without being weird. The broom racer used the opportunity to sneak a quick glance at Surly Sid, who was now approaching with two drinks in hand. Sid coughed before delivering the beverages firmly to the counter top.

“Tell me your story. What’s your trouble?”

"Just a moment, please," Bodi placed a firm hand on Maestro's forearm before he could take a sip of his drink... "Don't." ...and his usually pleasant expression darkened. Furrowing his brows, Bodi shot daggers at the afternoon barkeep and released the very special hell he kept for bullies and dragon-kickers. "Sid. SID. You are going to take this man's drink from the counter and you're going to poor it down the basin. Then, you are going to bring me the bottle that I can see above your till and one of the newly-cleaned glasses that I can see on the rack behind you. Now."

Bodi broke neither gaze nor grasp until Surly Sid did precisely as he was told. The bartender fluffed his feathers and grumbled inaudibly beneath his breath but ultimately complied. Before long, a new stemmed-glass and a bottle of absinthe were before them. Lovegood nodded in acknowledgement.

"Good. Thank you. The next time you decide to serve my friend dishwater, my visions of you slipping a fetid rat in to a butterbeer keg will become very, very public." The racer uncorked the new bottle and slipped it to the pianist with a wide grin. "Chasing the green fairy? Very artistic of you. I'm afraid I'm rather more boring." Bodi tipped his Pilsener in a toast. "Tell me about your music."

[Maestro]

"Bodi. Bodi Lovegood. It's good to meet you, Maestro. Please - will you join me at the counter?" 

“Lovegood? Of the Quibbler fame? It’s a pleasure.” Maestro lifted his spectacles to rest in his curly hair, their weight making an impression on the sculpturesque shape just above his hairline. It was now easier to catch the playful glint in his amber eyes as he watched Sid skulk by them on his way into the backroom. The storm cloud over his esteemed colleague’s head seemed to be heavier than usual today, for some reason. Perhaps Maestro was pushing him too far. He would back off for now. He had much more interesting company to focus his attention on at the moment, anyhow. “Tell me your story. What’s your trouble?”

"Just a moment, please," Maestro froze under Bodi’s firm grip, his eyes darting between his new friend and Sid with a cocked brow. "Don't. Sid. SID. You are going to take this man's drink from the counter and you're going to poor it down the basin. Then, you are going to bring me the bottle that I can see above your till and one of the newly-cleaned glasses that I can see on the rack behind you. Now."

For a rare moment, Maestro was utterly silent. A wry smile grew across his face as he watched Sid and Bodi’s exchange. It was all he could do to keep himself from snickering as Sid turned from them to switch out the drink, a sour look on his face. “Good looking out, mate.”

"Good. Thank you. The next time you decide to serve my friend dishwater, my visions of you slipping a fetid rat in to a butterbeer keg will become very, very public." 

“See, Sid? You wonder why afternoons are so quiet! The lengths a man has to go to to get a decent drink!” He winked at Bodi before taking a sip of his replenished absinthe.

"Chasing the green fairy? Very artistic of you. I'm afraid I'm rather more boring." 

“You know,” Maestro swished the absinthe around in his class, looking up at the ceiling, “I’ve drank it for years and I’m still never sure why. My previous residency in Paris had only the finest wines and liqueurs for their patrons, and only Madam Normous’s absinthe for their artists.” He took another sip. “You could say I didn’t choose her so much as she chose me. Now I’m hooked.”

Bodi tipped his Pilsener in a toast. "Tell me about your music."

Maestro smiled his toothy grin at the mention of his music. Besides technical conversations with other musicians, Maestro rarely spoke about his music. He preferred to let the keys speak for themselves. “I am very blessed. Through music I get to express my soul nightly, and keep the sounds of my ancestors alive.” He smiled fondly, pausing to take a sip of his drink and revel in the memory of both his artistic ancestry, and his pride in his own family. May they rest in peace.

“Now,” Maestro sat back on his stool, drinking his new friend in slowly with his eyes. His hand rested over his lips as he stared analytically. “Bodi Lovegood. Strong, perceptive. In possession of a particularly charismatic wand. Knows about brooms. An athlete, but you’re missing the Bludgeon-broken hands of a quidditch player.” He squinted as he strained a guess, resting his glass-bearing hand on the bar, “Broom… Racer? Is that an official sport?”

He winced, gesturing to himself up-and-down. “I know this would surprise you by my appearance, but I’m not particularly well-verse in the world of Wizard Sports. I apologize if my guess is incorrect or offensive.”

[Bodi Lovegood]

“Lovegood? Of the Quibbler fame? It’s a pleasure.”

"That's the one, and the pleasure is all mine." For the first time, Bodi caught sight of the true face of Mr. Maestro the Pianist. If he was to be honest, the intoxicating vision of rose spectacles cast in lantern light had nothing on the man's eyes, which caused a brief, undetectable pause in the broom racer. If it weren't entirely impossible, he'd think the man a Veela. Bodi's mind slipped to his vision of the Eiffel Tower and the smiled at the thought. Now that would be something. He watched as Maestro carefully swirled his drink in its sniffer.

“You know, I’ve drank it for years and I’m still never sure why. My previous residency in Paris-

AH! There we go...

-had only the finest wines and liqueurs for their patrons, and only Madam Normous’s absinthe for their artists. You could say I didn’t choose her so much as she chose me. Now I’m hooked.”

"There's no judgement, please, I promise. To be honest, I tried it before and while it's not my first drink of choice, I can certainly see its merits. Now, tell me about your music." Bodi really wanted to ask how it was that Maestro managed to tweak a few chords in to a magical, motivational opus - with seemingly little effort - but he also didn't want to come across as too strong or fanboy-ish. He had a habit of getting overly excited with others' remarkable gifts and it sometimes amplified his perceived craziness in uncomfortable ways. When Maestro smiled, Bodi fell at ease.

“I am very blessed. Through music I get to express my soul nightly, and keep the sounds of my ancestors alive.”

"Your ancestors were also musicians?" Bodi had a fleeting thought of a man much older than Maestro sitting with a young boy upon his lap. There was a warmth there he could not explain and he shelved it in the back of his heart for later. Maestro was an enigmatic man. He had an economy of speech and only seemed to share the words worth sharing at any given moment. He noted how the pianist quickly changed subject.

“Now, Bodi Lovegood. Strong, perceptive. In possession of a particularly charismatic wand. Knows about brooms. An athlete, but you’re missing the Bludgeon-broken hands of a quidditch player. Broom… Racer? Is that an official sport? I know this would surprise you by my appearance, but I’m not particularly well-verse in the world of Wizard Sports. I apologize if my guess is incorrect or offensive.”

Bodi smiled widely, drowning the end of his Pale Ale and gesturing towards Sid for another (giving him the stern eye to indicate that he was watching).

"No offense, friend, none at all! Broom Racing is a professional sport. We have uniforms and everything. And I used to be quite decent at it until this past August when I put my heart before my head and got kicked out. To be frank, I am terrible at Quidditch and I can safely say that I hate it. Immensely. And thank you for your compliments towards Dogwood-" Bodi went to gesture towards his wand, expecting it to be at his side, but found it missing. Perplexed, he peered around the counter and under his rucksack, only to spot his wayward 'pet' back at Maestro's piano, hovering happily in the shadows. It was kind of awkward. "Yep, you have another fan there. He's really quite harmless but undoubtedly a little emotional. Please pardon his attachment. He has a thing for music and you are indeed the truest talent we've heard in a long time." Lovegood released a minor-chord whistle that brought Dogwood back to their immediate space. There was a brief lull in the conversation as he settled the wand on a bed of paper napkins.

"Now I beg your forgiveness for this question but are you featured regularly here? In fairness, I haven't been to Hogsmeade in a few weeks but you're a class act above the house band. When did you arrive back from Paris and why aren't we seeing you in London? What's drawn you here?" Bodi hoped the next question wasn't to personal but he felt a strong need to ask it. "Or away from there?"

[Maestro]

"No offense, friend, none at all! Broom Racing is a professional sport. We have uniforms and everything. And I used to be quite decent at it until this past August when I put my heart before my head and got kicked out. To be frank, I am terrible at Quidditch and I can safely say that I hate it." Maestro listened intently as Bodi passionately expanded on his passions for him. Bodi was Maestro’s favorite kind of person: just, himself. He had his heart on his sleeve, he was eager to share who he was with anyone willing to take the time to listen. There was very little guard for Maestro to break through before he got to the heart of Bodi Lovegood. 

“And thank you for your compliments towards Dogwood-" Maestro’s eyes moved with Bodi and he grinned when they found the man’s rambunctious wand waiting eagerly next to the piano. ”Yep, you have another fan there. He's really quite harmless but undoubtedly a little emotional. Please pardon his attachment. He has a thing for music and you are indeed the truest talent we've heard in a long time."

Bodi called his wand back to them like a lost pet. Maestro laughed; he had never seen a wand with such personality before. Honestly, Maestro was lucky when his wand did what he wanted half the time he tried to cast a spell with it. The musician looked over his shoulder to the back room, where Sid was. He leaned a little further and grabbed the bottle of absinthe that was sitting out, pouring himself another finger. Bodi’s more-intimidating presence notwithstanding, better safe than sorry. Who else drank this stuff anyway?

"Now I beg your forgiveness for this question but are you featured regularly here? In fairness, I haven't been to Hogsmeade in a few weeks but you're a class act above the house band.”

“It is both my deep regret and great fortune to tell you that the Three Broomsticks’ previous house band is no more. Something about a fight between the bassist and the drummer. Both struggled to stay on-beat and wanted to blame the other.” Maestro shrugged, smiling devilishly. “I was lucky enough to be passing through at just the right time. I am the the new house band.”

“When did you arrive back from Paris and why aren't we seeing you in London? What's drawn you here?" Bodi hoped the next question wasn't to personal but he felt a strong need to ask it. "Or away from there?"

Maestro leaned back from the bar with a loud raspy laugh. “Are you telling me you don’t think Hogsmeade is on equal footing with Paris nightlife? Clearly you’ve never danced with Eleanor Puddifoot when she lets her hair down.” He chuckled. “No, you caught me. I’ve been back in the UK for a year now, but spent the first few months collaborating in London with my muggle peers. I only came to Hogsmeade after starting to long for my old magic tricks.”

“Speaking of,” Maestro pulled his glasses back down low on his nose as he pushed up his sleeve, revealing a engraved gold watch. “I’ll be performing for a dance night tonight in a few hours. You and Dogwood haven’t actually seen what I can do yet.” He stood and cracked his knuckles, pausing only to take the bottle of absinthe with him as he turned for his piano. Maestro pulled out his wand and tapped it on top of the piano, and the lights came up and lit the orchestra of instruments surrounding him: a drum kit, bass, trombone, two saxophones, and a trumpet. He stood hovering over the piano, cocking his head playfully at Bodi. “Fancy a warm-up?”

[Bodi Lovegood]

“It is both my deep regret and great fortune to tell you that the Three Broomsticks’ previous house band is no more. Something about a fight between the bassist and the drummer. Both struggled to stay on-beat and wanted to blame the other. I was lucky enough to be passing through at just the right time. I am the the new house band."

"No!" Bodi wasn't normally the gossip type but being born in to an extended family of journalists, he had to allow himself the slightest indulgence in the news. He remembered the bassist and the drummer. All too well. Even the Quibbler had reported on their epic competitiveness and desire for whatever limelight Hogsmeade offered, often to disastrous results. All that aside, he was genuinely happy for his new friend, Maestro, and once again offered his hand. "Congratulations! We are all the better for it." The handshake was warm and firm. But why not London? Maestro leaned back from the bar and emitted the most wonderful laugh. Bodi couldn't help but smile.

“Are you telling me you don’t think Hogsmeade is on equal footing with Paris nightlife? Clearly you’ve never danced with Eleanor Puddifoot when she lets her hair down.”

"I can't dance."

“No, you caught me. I’ve been back in the UK for a year now, but spent the first few months collaborating in London with my muggle peers. I only came to Hogsmeade after starting to long for my old magic tricks. Speaking of, I’ll be performing for a dance night tonight in a few hours. You and Dogwood haven’t actually seen what I can do yet.”

Lovegood watched after Maestro like a lost puppy. The pianist's energy was so immediate and so enticing that the racer felt himself missing it the moment the man left his seat. He was actually having Maestro-withdrawals. And he was feeling awkward about Dogwood's clinginess. Hypocrite. He was consumed with speculation about the source of Maestro's magnetism when the man with rosy specs suddenly showed him what he meant by "old magic tricks." Bodi's eyes lit up at the site.

A drum kit, a bass, a trombone, one - no - two saxophones, and a trumpet. A trumpet! Bodi was no musician but he loved music and the infinite emotions that came with it. He listened to it regularly, especially when he was training, and still sang many of the arrangements he learned during his stint in the school choir. But this...this was a gift. And he was grateful to Maestro for letting him witness it.

“Fancy a warm-up?”

Lovegood could hardly contain himself.

"You ARE great!"

[Maestro]

Maestro laid his fingers to the keys. "What you heard before was Brubeck. He's my cousin. What I'll play now - " Maestro suddenly his one loud, short chord, and every instrument surrounding him stood up at attention in unison " - Is Monk. He's my brother."

He flashed his bright grin as he began. As soon as he started the initial run, the drums came in; that was easy for Maestro, he'd been playing percussion most of his life. Where he always struggled, especially in this era of jazz, was the saxophone. As soon as the solo came in it was easy to see the struggle on Maestro's face as he maintained the spell, the piano backing out so he could hold better control over his other instruments. It was a good workout. He needed to play the saxophone more, but without a proper audience it was loud enough to make Sid throw bar glasses at him from across the room. Bodi was, in Maestro's opinion, the perfect audience for one of Maestro's favorite songs.

In his piano solo Maestro got to take a slight breather. His eyes darted up at Bodi and his smile grew wider at the man's joy. It was so refreshing, getting to see the light in someone's eyes that way. Bodi wore it so proudly. It was something Maestro loved to see in his listeners more than anything else. As the song came to a close, he put his orchestra back to sleep with an ending chord. This was why they called him Maestro.

"You ARE great!"

"No, you're great!" Maestro swerved around the piano back to the edge of the stage with a swish of his robes, practically giddy with a good reception to his beloved favorite. "A musician is nothing without his audience! Thank you, Bodi. Playing for you is a pleasure."

[Bodi Lovegood]

"I'm, I'm...OH MY GOD." Bodi closed the distance between them as he heartily applauded, wide eyes darting from Maestro to his instruments and back again. It was the second time that the pianist had managed to lift him from his seat in less than 30 minutes, although on this occasion, Bodi was less in a hypnotic trance and more in atrial fibrillation. His heart hadn't beat this rapidly since he suddenly lost altitude over Svannäs. It was an adrenaline rush fueled by a mastery for the ages: The Grand Mastery of Maestro.

There really wasn't anything adequate that Bodi could say in response to what he just witnessed.

"Did you just do that? I mean, I know you did but how?"

The broom racer took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair and smiled. There were many things he wanted to do at this precise moment but didn't. Instead, he met Maestro's gaze, held it, and offered his sincerest gratitude.

"I am grateful to know you. Thank you for sharing your gift with me today. For the pep talk, for the company, for...well, for everything. My heart hasn't felt this full in a long time." A small yip came from near Bodi's hip, where Dogwood hummed and hovered before circling around Maestro and slipping in to the front pouch of his owner's hoodie. Bodi knew that his time at the Three Broomsticks was nearing its end but he held out just a while longer to be in the pianist's presence. "I don't, well, I don't have many friends," Lovegood stated softly, "and certainly not the kind to show me the time you did or to accept my weirdness. I'm not - I'm not saying that to be a downer it's just that I'm not always comfortable around people. What I mean to say is that you somehow managed to stow that all away. You woke me up, Maestro. Thank Merlin you came home. Look, I  know you have a show tonight and I should probably get going myself, but please - keep in touch. I'm going to give you my coordinates..." Bodi determinedly grabbed a scrap of parchment from his pants pocket and snagged a quill from the bar, meticulously writing his address in small all caps:

BODI LOVEGOOD
#351 - LEAKY CAULDRON
LONDON

He did not realize it at the moment, but on the reverse of the torn parchment were the remnants of an ad for a Comet 480 racing broom. The word "IGNITE" filled the space in a glistening serif typeface.

"I don't know a lick about music but if there's ever anything you need, reach me. I can connect you with the Quibbler or, or, well, I can beat the crap out of Sid for you. Speaking of which, he won't be a problem for you moving forward." Bodi extended his hand. "Thank you."