"Do you know what day it is?" She slurred, running a free hand through her long brown hair, pushing it back from her forehead once more as she lifted the glass of firewhiskey again.

"No, what day is it?" The bartender asked in a monotone, sighing slightly.

She paused to chug the rest of her glass. Her face scrunched up in distaste as she slammed the glass down, taking several breaths. Finally, she poked her finger at the table to emphasize her point. "Today, this day, April 1st, 2003, is Fred Weasley's birthday." She crossed her arms on the table and rested her head on them. "That," she began. "Is what today is."

"Well, why aren't you celebrating with Fred Weasley then?" the bartended questioned thoughtlessly.

She barely moved. "He's dead," she moaned quietly. "He died five years ago, that's why I'm not celebrating," She peered up at the bartender, her eyes narrowed. "With Fred Weasley."

The bartender put down the glass he had been steadily rubbing at. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"That's alright, no one knows." She shrugged. "When they covered the deaths of the war, it was such a washout. So many names…. The brain can't process that much, you know? What was it, 107 names? Why would you have remembered Fred Weasley?" She shook her head, sliding her glass back to the bartender. "More, please…"

The bartender obliged, bringing out the bottle of firewhiskey. "So, he died at Hogwarts? Was he a student?"

She shook her head. "He was in the Order, with Harry Potter."

"Oh, Weasley!" The bartender exclaimed. "Like, Ron Weasley, from the trio."

She made a disgusted face. "Yeah, the Golden fucking Trio. Notice all of them are alive."

"Well, Harry Potter, he did die, and then he came back and killed Voldemort."

"Fuck that," she grumbled. "If Harry Potter died, he'd be fucking dead. That prat was in my goddamned office the other day, applying to be an Auror."

"Harry Potter's going to be an Auror?" The bartender looked pleased. "Well, it suits him, to say the least."

"Do you want to know what he said to me? Do you want to know what the Boy Who Lived said to me?" She spat. " 'Harry,' I say, 'you didn't finish school, and when you made up the credits, you didn't do too well.' And Harry, Harry says, 'Well, as I'm sure you know, I've had a lot of experience in combatting the Dark Arts.' And I say, 'But Harry, these grades don't say that.' And he fucking says 'Well, you see, I fought off Voldemort and a group of Death Eaters, if that doesn't get me the job, what will?'" She took the glass of firewhiskey again and finished it in one long gulp. "Can you believe that?" She asked, breathless. "As if I'd hand Harry Potter a job, when his Dark Arts skills left Fred fucking Weasley rotting in a grave." She held out her glass, which the bartender filled again without hesitation. "I loved Fred Weasley, man. I was going to ask that guy to the Yule fucking Ball, man. But, that Angelina girl go to him first, and would you believe that now she's dating his fucking brother? Like, double dip the fun out of my life, you bitch, right?"

The bartender was shaking his head. "Do you have a safe way home tonight?"

"Listen to me, Draco Malfoy, the big enemy painted across the papers by the Golden Trio, he's going to be a Healer in a month. He's worked very, very hard taking the classes and training to save people's lives. He and I, we meet up every now and again. He's a good fucking kid. Harry Potter? Not so fucking much." She put down the glass again. "Again, please."

"No, I think I'm going to cut you off." The bartender shook his head. "Who can I call for you? I want you to get home safely."

She shrugged. "I'm not worried."

"I am. There is no way I'm going to let you fly or Apparate in this condition, in this weather." He gestured to the windows. She was surprised to notice that the rain she had ducked in from earlier had increased considerably. "Do you want me to book you a room at the Leaky Cauldron?"

She shook her head, reaching into her pockets. "I'll walk over just fine, don't you worry." She put a few sickles on the bar, then began to pull her coat on, tripping slightly as she stood.

"Listen, lady, I'm real worried about you."

She shook her head and stumbled towards the door. "Don't you worry! I've got friends in low places." She opened the door, calling over her shoulder as she stepped into the rain. "I've got friends in Diagon Alley!"

In fact, she did have friends in Diagon Alley, but as she stumbled down the sidewalk she found her feet drawing her towards the big red-headed beacon that still stood tall over the streets. Though it was obviously long past midnight, she found herself peering in the windows.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was pushing the door open, the bell sounding as she entered. In her drunken state, she seemed unphased by the fact that the door was open in the middle of the night. She began to wander amongst the aisles, running her hands over the products. She knew that George had reopened the store with the help of his younger brother, in some attempt to recapture the magic it had once held. But even now, five years after the war, it seemed that the wizarding world didn't have as much time for laughs the way they did back then.

But then again, maybe she just had a different view of the world.