Dimitri Aleksandrov spent more time dusting off the old pub than he planned. Yet, looking now and seeing final product, he didn't regret the time he spent returning the pub in its old shape. He could only thank Merlin for the explosion that blew this place int he middle of the night, and for its previous owner who decided he'd rather sell then renovate the place after he seen the outcome of explosion. When he seen The Three Broomsticks for the first time, he almost gave up, reading about the explosion in the letters the old owner sent him was easier than seeing the place with his own eyes. It looked incorrigible, but instead of leaving he found himself buying the local. And he didn't regret it. Choosing to keep its old look showed like good decision, even since he never seen that place before the explosion.
Misha placed dishtowel above the sink as he finished with wiping the bar, for the third time. The wood was clean after the first wiping, but he just needed more time before crossing the room and turning the sign from closed to open, and wiping the bar again seemed like pretty good excuse, after all he swept the floor five times already, and it wasn't like he could do it for the sixth time and not pay a visit to psychiatric ward at St.Mungo's.
At the moment, this seemed like really bad idea. He never worked in a pub, let alone owned one. He had no real experience, he had no staff, the only thing he had was his addiction to alcohol he tried hard to fight, but being near alcohol made that job harder. Yes, this was definitely a bad idea. Now when everything in the pub had been properly fixed and returned to its previous state, he wasn't sure he want can run this place. Misha redecorated it because it required a plenty of work and he did that without using his wand, because work helped him keep his mind clear, helped him not to think. If he used his wand he would be done with everything long time ago, even before the school year at Hogwarts started - just as he originally planned.
Two minutes. One minutes. Thirty seconds. Twenty seconds. Ten. Nine. Five. Three. Two. One.
Misha exhaled when the clock showed it's 11AM. Usually he wouldn't care, but today, today he decided to open The Three Broomsticks, the proof was in front of him, giant poster plastered on the wall, increased copy of leaflets he was distributing during the whole past week. And there it was, 11AM written in deep red, just below today's date. It's time.
He crossed the room, unlocked the door, and turned the sign to Open.