A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. Prompts are listed below :)
Note: This takes place during Harry's third year at school. I hc Kingsley seven years older than the Marauders, so he'd be about 40-41 here, if you want the context :)
Mythology Task 5: Write about having to deliver bad news.
Word Count: 1108
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling.
Enjoy!
The Three Broomsticks was noisy, just like always. Rosmerta didn't usually mind it, but her head was killing her that afternoon. Still, she loved the days when the students came down to the village, so she soldiered through and threw a smile on her face. Merlin knew they needed to see one after all that awful Petrifying last year.
She turned her attention to the next customer, and her face lit up when she saw who it was.
"Neville, love!" she exclaimed upon seeing the round-faced boy. "I was wondering if you'd stop by. Your usual butterbeer, I presume?"
The third-year nodded a bit shyly. "Yes, please."
Rosmerta smiled welcomingly at him, trying to put him more at ease. She looked forward to his summer visits with his grandmother. He reminded her so much of his father when he was the same age—extremely sweet, but also a bit overly anxious. Alice had been able to round Frank out well, and Rosmerta swore to herself that she'd honor those two by watching out for their son.
Of course, thinking of Alice and Frank made her think of their classmates—nearly all of whom had been killed in the war. She'd watched each and every one of them grow up; when she got news of all the deaths, a part of her had died with them. To think that it was at the hands of Sirius Black—
She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the painful memories that didn't quite match up with what she knew now to be true. She grabbed Neville his butterbeer and handed it over, her green eyes soft.
"There you are, love. Drink up—there should be an empty table in the back, if you want it."
He nodded and thanked her with a small grin. She watched him disappear into the crowd, her heart aching for the many, many people who should have known him.
Rosmerta was ripped from her musings of the past by the sound of an engine rumbling outside. She went over to the nearest window to see a tall, broad-shouldered man climb off of a Muggle vehicle—a motorbike, Rosmerta remembered. They were growing ever more popular in the wizarding community, most likely due to the influence of the increasing Muggleborn population. She rather liked the look of them, but she was much more interested in the man walking into her pub.
She hurried over to the counter, raising a red brow as he made his way over to the counter. He was missing the gold earring he usually wore, and the navy robes he had on were a far cry from the Ministry ones he wore every day. He looked different, of course, but Rosmerta wasn't fooled.
"Shacklebolt," she greeted when he reached her. "Who are you today?"
Kingsley laughed the low, slow laugh that never failed to get Rosmerta's heart racing. "William Jones, an ordinary citizen visiting a well-known pub. Do you think I pass?"
Rosmerta rolled her eyes. "Not even close. Anyone who knows you would recognize you, even with all the new jewelry." She reached out and hooked her finger around one of the numerous gold chains on his neck.
He shrugged. "I didn't pick the costume. Scrimgeour doesn't think Black would recognize me as I was… and sometimes minimal disguises are the best ones."
The smile was wiped from Rosmerta's face. "You're here because of Black?"
Kingsley sighed and nodded. "It always has to do with Black, these days."
Rosmerta set down the glass she was holding slowly. "What do you mean? He's in Azkaban."
Kingsley looked around to make sure there weren't any eavesdroppers and leaned closer to her. "He escaped."
If she'd been holding a glass, it would have slipped through her fingers. But her hands were empty, so the only person who could tell how numb she'd become was the man in front of her, watching her closely.
Her breathing was shallow. "How could he—that's impossible—"
Kingsley ran a dark hand down his face with a weary sigh. "It was impossible."
Rosmerta bit her lip. She reached out a shaking hand and pulled a bar stool over, unable to continue standing. "Why are you telling me this?" she whispered, voice barely audible over the din in the pub. "You've hardly been given permission by the Ministry. And Kingsley, I know that we're good friends, but… why aren't I finding this out with everyone else?"
Kingsley rubbed the back of his neck. "Black… we think he'll be going after Harry Potter. That means he could be near the castle. The Minister is considering posting the Dementors here to watch out for him—"
Rosmerta slammed her palm against the wood of the counter, eyes blazing. "Like hell he will! He can't have those things near—"
"Rosmerta," Kingsley hissed in warning.
She fell silent, glaring at those whose attention had been drawn at her outburst. She snapped at the nearest ogling patron, "Why are you staring? Is there something on my face?"
The man turned red and returned sheepishly to his drink. Rosmerta turned back to the Auror.
"He shouldn't have those things anywhere near students."
Kingsley held his hands up. "I agree, but I can't stop him. Just don't tell anyone about this—it's top secret. I only wanted to warn you. News will most likely be out by the end of the summer, but keep it between us for now. Don't even tell Miranda."
Rosmerta blinked. "And why would I tell her that?"
Kingsley frowned. "Aren't you two—"
Rosmerta snorted. "I broke up with her months ago. Is that why you've been ignoring my advances?"
Kingsley wasn't one to lose his composure, but Rosmerta liked to think that she made that difficult for him. He cleared his throat. "Anything good to drink?"
Rosmerta reached under the bar and pulled out a bottle of wine. "We need it," she told him when he shot her a look. As she poured his glass, she let her hand brush over his for a moment. He didn't pull away, which she took as a good sign.
Rosmerta raised her glass, hands steady despite the news she'd been given. Her eyes strayed back to Neville Longbottom in the corner—so many people dead, gone—but then her eyes slid back to Kingsley's dark ones.
Alice and Frank Longbottom were the past. Neville and Kingsley—they were the future. She drained the glass quickly, leaving lipstick imprints behind. There would be time to think of Sirius Black later. If things were going to head south once more, then she wouldn't waste the time she'd been given.
She only hoped Kingsley would agree with her.
AN:
Writing Club:
Amber's Attic: Writing 1. (object) motorbike
Love in Motion: Het — KingsleyRosmerta
Sophie's Shelf: 8. "Is there something on my face?"
Liza's Lodes: 2. Write about a character over 40
Angel's Arcade: 1. Ceodore Harvey — (era) trio, (character) Neville Longbottom, (action) biting lip
Lo's Lowdown: Characters 3. Rosa Diaz — (sexuality) bisexual
Film Festival: 6. (plot point) pretending to be someone else
Fan Club:
9. Kingsley Shacklebolt, 16. Bottle of wine