[The 'Ysgubell'] - There's Firewhisky in the Jar-O [Open]

The iron vines on the dining-room side of the old oak door curled back on themselves to allow the door to open, and Ceinwen emerged with a beatific smile for the diners and renters sipping their first late-morning brandy or .  The regulars all tipped their hats or gave a friendly wave as she meandered through the tables, asking how everyone was doing this morning.  All frequenters of the Ysgubell & Ystafell knew that, no matter how dotty she might get from time to time, Ceinwen Conway was the one really in charge here.  But she never had any major disagreements with her nephew Trahaern and his wife Enid, who handled almost all the day-to-day running of the public house.  As she took a seat at an empty table closer to the front door of the inn, Trahaern grabbed a bundle from under the counter and stepped over. "Thank you, Trey," she told her nephew as he handed her today's mail, a copy of the Daily Prophet, and a glass of redcurrant rum, before smiling at her and returning to his position at the front desk / mini-bar.

Old age is a good time to enjoy the pleasant routines of our country inn, she mused while looking over the latest news.  The inn was full of old faces and new ones, the smells of Ceinwen's niece Catrin cooking in the kitchen, the hustle and bustle of Enid delivering platters and cleaning up dishes, the common noise of multiple quiet conversations, the frequent but random *pops!* of witches and wizards Apparating onto the front lawn where the anti-Muggle enchantments would protect them from being seen... other than the Day That Magic Died, what a rough day that had been!  Most of the Muggle neighbors had been horribly confused by the sudden appearance of a large pub where there had been a condemned dump the night before,  but they knew the Conways (despite not being certain where precisely Ceinwen lived) and she was able to keep them calm for the interim.  Then when everything went back to normal? Memory Charms, Memory Charms, Memory Charms!

On to less stressful, more current things.  The Prophet had nothing particular new or exciting - the advice column was good but nothing applied to her at her age, and the Caerphilly Catapults were performing poorly this season so she glossed over that article.  The Pink Arts section was disastrously maudlin, and she already knew all the gossip from the Blablabla.  Finally she set aside the paper, promising herself that she would mull over the Fiendishly Difficult Crossword sometime later that afternoon, and picked up her various letters.  She was pleased to see a letter from Mme. Boudet, the granddaughter of an old friend of hers from Chateoil, though whatever owl had delivered it appeared to have flown through a squall and she had to wring out the envelope before she could open it and begin perusing the letter.  She was only half a paragraph in when she registered how warm it was.

"Trey, darling? Why don't we leave the front door open today, it's so nice out," she called over her shoulder.

"Yes, Auntie," Trey replied, presumably drawing his wand since she heard the creaky hinges swinging a second later.

"We'll need to fix that later, too.  I'll handle it, I feel like I haven't done much around the old place lately and I'm still kicking," Ceinwen called back, returning to her letter.

Rylee needed to go grocery shopping. Bad.

It had been two weeks since the last trip and she had literally no food in her house. It was for this reason that, with a loud pop! Rylee appeared in front of the Ysgubell & Ystafell. Of course, she could have just walked there, it was only three blocks away from her flat after all, but seeing as it just looked like an old, decrepit building to the muggles, it would probably raise suspicion if Rylee walked onto the lot and disappeared for a few hours.

This was actually her first time at the Ysgubell, despite living so close, and it smelled heavenly. It wasn't quite time for lunch yet, but that was okay, Rylee could just bask in the glorious smells and maybe actually talk to people - that weren't her own family members.

Well, it was . . . more empty than than she'd expected. Perhaps it was the fact that it was still fairly early in the day, but there were fewer than twenty people in the dining room, and not a child to be seen. Not that it mattered. Rylee just needed to find a table to sit at, and not one that was empty. There was a man with a scraggly beard at one table, a woman who looked like she desperately needed sleep in a corner, a couple who were gazing lovingly into each other's eyes, and an old(er) white haired woman, among others.

Out of everybody, the white haired woman seemed the least intimidating, and Rylee decided to take her chances. Walking over to where the woman sat, the Gryffindor alumna cleared her throat, "Hello, er yes, excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?"

Hearing from Mme. Boudet was a treat, though she wrote like a Southern débutante instead of a French bourgeoisie.  She gushed on and on about her newest beau -- those French people and their penchant for whirlwind romances, Ceinwen smiled wryly to herself -- and told "dear old Mrs. Conway" that she "simply must come visit, for it has been too long since we had the pleasure of your company."  She wrote in passing about some of the other younger set that Ceinwen was acquainted with, either through Mme. Boudet or because they too were descendants of her old friends.  And of course, she ended with a flourish and a big announcement about her engagement (this was either the fifth or sixth, Ceinwen was too old to be bothered counting).

Smiling fondly again, she set the letter back down and picked up the newspaper.  She was about to attack the Crossword, yet didn't get very far at all. At the clearing of a throat Ceinwen turned around, about to say, "Can I help you," but the owner of the voice asked her own question first.  The voice sounded rather familiar, like someone she saw often enough for the memory to force its way through her dotage.  She looked up at the face for a moment with an expression of close study, but it quickly changed to delight.  Cassidy Riley, the owner of a charming shop called Witches, Spells, and Wood Trolls which had caught Ceinwen's eye some months ago for obvious reasons.  However, it turned out that the shop was a Muggle one!  It sold the sorts of trinkets and sleight-of-hand tricks that Muggles thought were magickal.  Still Cassidy had been quite charming, and Ceinwen had taken to going in and purchasing some tchotchke or another just to have good friendly conversation with another local Muggle.

"Cassidy, dear! How lovely to see you!" Ceinwen beamed. "Absolutely you may sit here!" She patted the chair next to her.  "My stars, what a delightful surprise to see you in my place of business instead of the other way around.  Would you like a drink? Of course you'd like a drink.  Trey, dear, could you get this young woman a refreshment?" "Yes Aunt Ceinwen." "Now, tell me about the news in the Muggle world, Cassidy.  What's new and exciting?" While the recollection of the young woman's name had come to Ceinwen, it was clear that she hadn't quite registered that a Muggle was in the Ysgubell, which was supposed to be warded against Muggles again.