For Camp Potter (Archery: Write about a celebration), Acrostic Challenge (R: Rosmerta), and the Friends Competition (TO at the Beach: Write about a minor character)

Word Count: 2066

Rosmerta knows that under ordinary circumstances, the pub wouldn't be so busy this early in the day. Today, however, is not ordinary by any stretch of the imagination. The war is finally over. Years of fear have finally been laid to rest. The Three Broomsticks is crowded with those celebrating the victory, those mourning the fallen, and those who seem unsure where else to go.

Normally, Rosmerta would be able to tend to everyone with a smile and quick chat. Today, however, she stands to the side, renewing enchantments here and there to collect money and refill drinks as needed. Truthfully, she wishes she could be upstairs in her bedroom over the pub. While she didn't fight in the war, Aberforth had summoned her out of bed late the previous night and trusted her to watch over his pub and the flood of witches and wizards who had fled the castle before the final battle began.

"Butterbeer, Kingsley?" she asks.

Kingsley looks downright miserable. It's an expression that so many have worn today, but she thinks it must be particularly tough for him. One of the first things she had heard, second only to "Harry Potter did it!", was that Kingsley had been made Minister for the time being. She can't imagine the tremendous pressure he has been under in the past few hours.

He offers her an almost smile. The corners of his lips barely twitch upward. "Between you and me, I wouldn't mind something a bit stronger," he admits with a faint laugh. "But, I'm afraid duty calls. I wanted to stop in and check on you. I figured you would be overwhelmed."

Rosmerta nods her confirmation. She raises her wand, sending another trolley of drinks into the crowd for the newcomers. "That would be an understatement," she chuckles. "If you're busy now, I wouldn't mind holding the doors for you tonight. At the very least, we ought to celebrate your promotion."

He laughs, a fuller, more genuine sound this time. She can see the subtle hints of the man she has known and cared about for years returning, if only for a flicker of a moment. "I'm sure that my promotion is the least exciting thing to celebrate today," he says.

"We can celebrate his downfall as well," she tells him, summoning a butterbeer for him. "Something to tide you over in the meantime. Free of charge."

He accepts it, lifting it toward her for a second in a mimic of a toast. "Thank you, Rosmerta. I'll see you tonight. I think a little company would be nice."

"I think so too."

It seems strange to say. After all, she's been surrounded by people all night and day. At this rate, she doesn't think she'll have a moment without a new face entering her pub. But it isn't the same as having someone with her for comfort and company. To most of the patrons, she is just a barmaid, just the woman who supplies their means to celebrate and to cope. She is just another face.

Kingsley drains the last of his glass and returns it with a grateful smile.

…

"Rosmerta!" Horace calls as he enters the pub. "Drink with me, dear girl!"

She sighs. It isn't the first offer she's had today. She supposes the offer of company is nice enough, but it feels strange as he joins him at the bar. Most days, she would call it unprofessional. Today, however, she doesn't care about that. Maybe professionalism has no place in the immediate aftermath of a war.

"Let it be known that Slytherin played its part in the war," he says proudly, and she is surprised that he isn't boasting as he so often does. It is simply a statement, a fact as true as saying that the sky is blue. "I stayed and fought."

Rosmerta grins, summoning herself a glass of wine. "And to think, before last year, I heard that you had faked your own death to avoid being drawn into the fight."

Horace laughs softly. "It's amazing what a year can change, my dear. It's time that my House be remembered fondly, not with disgust."

"Well, with you leading the charge, I'm sure no one will ever forget what Slytherin has done tonight," she assures him.

…

The first thing Rosmerta notices about Parvati Patil is that Lavender is not at her side. Instead, her twin sits beside her, taking charge and ordering their drinks.

"Lavender was attacked," Padma explains before Rosmerta can ask. "Greyback."

Parvati lets a whine at the monster's name. Rosmerta wants to place a hand on the girl's shoulder, but she knows that it isn't her place to offer her comfort. She is still just a barmaid, after all.

Instead, she summons their drinks. "Is she okay?"

"Finally had to get Parvati out of the hospital wing," Padma answers.

"So much blood," Parvati whispers, her voice hollow and breaking.

"They say she'll live, but it will take some time before she's back to normal."

At that, Parvati clings to her sister, resting her head on Padma's shoulder and sobbing openly. Rosmerta leaves them an extra drink each. Alcohol is not the answer, but maybe it can help to take away the pain, if only for a little while.

…

Rosmerta groans when she sees the sudden flash of light. Dozens of gold and purple stars explode, sending brilliant streaks of color through the pub.

"Diggle!" she shouts.

Dedalus laughs gleefully. "Sorry, Rosmerta. There's a celebration going on!" he calls, and others around him cheer their agreement.

Rosmerta pinches the bridge of her nose. She understands the excitement, but that doesn't make it any less annoying. If everyone decided to display elaborate shows of magic, the place will be nothing short of chaos.

For a moment, she considers pouring herself another glass of wine. Merlin knows that she could use it now. But she still has a few more hours to keep things going. If anyone else decides to be like Dedalus, she will need her wits about her.

"Why the long face, Rosmerta?" Dedalus laughs as he staggers over to the bar, placing the coins on the counter. "It's a day to rejoice!"

Before she can answer, he turns, disappearing in the crowd.

Another shower of stars erupt. Rosmerta sighs and shakes her head. She decides to let them have their fun. After so many years of terror, it's only fair.

…

"Can I… Can I have a drink?" the Creevey boy asks nervously.

Rosmerta sighs. She knows that she shouldn't. He's still just a child. But she's heard about his loss, another brother who didn't return from the war. Besides, she's sure the Ministry has more important things to worry about than a grief-stricken teenager trying to come to terms with the fact that his brother isn't coming back.

"On the house," she says gently. "As long as you can keep a secret."

She observes him as he sips the firewhiskey, his nose wrinkling. She remembers his brother well enough. Runt of a boy, always talking about Harry Potter. Another boy who will never sit at her tables and order a butterbeer.

Her heart breaks for the boy. He is a painful reminder that the day isn't just about celebration. He isn't the first mourner to find his way into the pub, and she knows he won't be the last. Once the shock wears off, she's sure that she will see fewer smiling faces come through her doors.

She hasn't heard a full list of the dead, but she's heard whispers all day. Fred Weasley. Nymphadora Tonks, gone to meet her father in the next life. So many people that she's waited on for years have fallen. So many friends and family members are left behind to pick up the pieces and learn to carry on.

With a sigh, she pours herself a shot and downs it. The burn of the alcohol is a surprisingly welcome relief. It makes her think that maybe she can carry on a little while longer.

…

"They haven't bought you out?" Aberforth muses, coming to a stop at the bar. "I'm actually quite surprised we're both still in business tonight."

Rosmerta watches him, folding her arms over his chest. She and Aberforth rarely visit one another. Then again, this day has been unusual all around. One more strange occurrence won't hurt.

"Surprised to see you mingling with the competition, Abe," she teases with a soft chuckle, filling him a glass.

"There's no competition today, Rosmerta. Just celebration."

"I heard you fought."

He goes quiet, gripping his glass a little too tightly. With a deep exhale, he nods, quickly draining his glass.

"Albus would have been proud," she says quietly.

"Albus would have been glad to see it over," he laughs. "The fool would probably be in his office, knitting and eating those lemons sweets he was so fond of."

He refills his glass, setting a Galleon on the bar with a wink. He touches his glass to hers. "To those who fought bravely."

"To those who died with honor," she agrees.

"May we never live to see another war like this," he adds, pressing the glass to his lips and drinking deeply.

…

Kingsley returns an hour after she closes the pub for the night. Rosmerta has never felt more grateful to see the man. While she loves her job and enjoys her customers, it has been a trying day. Seeing his familiar reassuring smile when he walks through the door is a relief.

"Long day?" he guesses.

Rosmerta sighs, breaking out a bottle of wine. "Don't worry about me, Minister," she says.

He rolls his eyes at the title, but he doesn't protest. It's just another thing for them to adjust to. "How many people bought you drinks today to celebrate?"

She frowns as she fills their glasses. She'd had many offers, of course. People tend to be more generous when they're in a good mood. Mostly, she declined. "I drank more today for the losses," she admits quietly. "It's so much to take in. They were my customers. I heard about Remus. Known him since he was a boy."

The ground suddenly feels shaky. It's strange to finally be able to talk about these things. Now, she is more than just a barmaid. She is a business owner who has spent years learning faces and orders, sitting to chat with regulars. She may not have the same right to mourn as her patrons, but her heart is still heavy.

Rosmerta sniffles and wipes her eyes. "Enough about me. My stress undoubtedly pales in comparison of yours," she says quickly.

Kingsley groans. He swirls his wine around in his glass before taking a sip. Judging by the tension in his features, Rosmerta is sure that he wouldn't mind downing it and the rest of the bottle. "I thought we were supposed to be celebrating," he says dryly. "Talking about my day doesn't exactly sound like a party."

Rosmerta smiles apologetically. "Misery loves company," she reminds him.

"I still can't wrap my head around it. I was an Auror. Then I was on the run. Now, I'm Minister," he says. "Been a bit of a whirlwind. No easing into it. The wizarding community needs someone to look up to now, not after enough time to hold an election."

With a frown, she moves closer to him. It wasn't her place to comfort some of the others today. But Kingsley is different. Kingsley has found himself in the pub long after closing time often enough. He is more than just a familiar face.

She places a hand on his shoulder. "We're supposed to be celebrating," she laughs, her voice shaky. "Remember?"

He smiles softly and places a hand on hers. "We're not very good at celebrating, are we?" he chuckles.

"Apparently not. I don't think I have the energy left to celebrate," she admits.

"Me neither," he agrees. "It has been a long day for both of us."

Rosmerta takes a drink, her lips twisting into a smile around the rim of her glass. She sets it down, heat rushing to her face. "If you'd like, we could always trade it for a cozy evening in my room. I can make cocoa."

Kingsley sets his empty glass aside. "I think that might be a better way to end the night."