A/N Yo. Ansgt. Remus. Etc etc.

Disclaimer: Don'townit.

Time can bring you down, time can bend your knees.
Time can break your heart, have you begging ... please ...

Beyond the door, there's peace I'm sure.
And I know there'll be no more tears in Heaven ...

- Tears in Heaven, Eric Clapton

Remus shrugged his cloak tighter around him. It was a cold winter day, just like that day twenty years ago. The wind wasn't so much howling around him as brushing past his ears in a cold nip that was chilly enough to make his face go numb. For a moment Remus just wanted to stand there, staring at the creaking sign with The Three Broomsticks written on it in peeling black letters. That sign had never been changed, whether magically or manually, in all the years Remus had been to the pub. It was always the same wooden sign, slightly eroded by the wind and snow and rain, but practically perfect, sheltered by the little nook it swung in. The letters were peeling slightly in age, and the emblem of the three crossed broomsticks was still there, slightly dulled with time yet still as eye catching as ever.

He looked at the sign again. This pub held so many memories, so many memories of the old days when they were all so innocent.

Would the memories repeat themselves tonight?

"I reckon we should meet up here in twenty years time."

So many laughs, so many good times. Remus put a hand on the wooden door. It was flat, hard and slightly rough, everything a wooden door should be. It wasn't painted over, either. Remus had always particularly liked that door. He pushed it open with a small creak and stepped inside.

The pub hadn't changed at all. The seating arrangement was exactly the same, the same spotless looking bar was at one end of the large, welcoming looking room, the same chairs and tables greeted Remus and the same bar tender waved at him from behind polishing a glass that looked just like the glasses there used to be. Remus smiled for a moment at the thought of Rosmerta being able to keep the pub they had so loved exactly the same and walked over to her.

"Dead cool, that'd be. We'd all look different, I bet. We should do it, Prongs!"

Rosemerta looked at Remus as if testing how he looked for her own personal test and then laughed. It was the same laugh he remembered whenever someone, usually James or Sirius, would say something in a wild attempt to be 'dashing' with the woman.

"Why, if it isn't Remus Lupin," she said, and she didn't sound reluctant in the least. In fact, she looked rather happy. The people in the room around them didn't hear Rosmerta, even with her loud voice, and went on talking as if nothing had happened. Just like it used to be. "I suspect you're not here to woo me like you used to, then?" She smiled rather kindly and Remus replied with a wry smile.

"No, I'm afraid not," he said, taking out a galleon. "Just waiting for some old friends."

"What if we still are in touch with each other? We're bound to be, anyway. It's not as if we're doing anything new. It'll just be another day out, won't it?"

Rosmerta nodded, not allowing the thought of confusion to pass her face. Last she heard little Peter was dead, James Potter too along with young Lily Evans and Sirius Black was on the run, a murderer and a traitor. She could hardly remember ever seeing Remus with anyone else; him and his little Marauders were always out and about in her pub.

"Well, you'll have some trouble spotting them in this, Remus," she said finally, bending down to where the drinks were kept. "Will that be a butterbeer or a Firewhiskey, Mr Lupin? Last I saw you, you didn't drink more than water and the odd butterbeer."

"Of course we'll still be mates! We'll all get a butterbeer and we'll sit around this table again and talk about the 'old days' like geezers that age do."

"A butterbeer, please, Rosmerta," Remus said, smiling in spite of himself.

They wouldn't turn up. Of course they wouldn't. Sirius was dead, James was dead and Peter was working for Voldemort. If they showed up Remus would be immensely surprised. He had never heard of anyone rising from the dead before, besides Voldemort, but he hadn't been properly dead first, had he? But he had to come. Some part of him told him it wouldn't be loyal if he didn't. Besides, if Sirius or James were still alive they would certainly come.

"Anyway, Moony, if it's just another day out, so what? It'll be fun."

"We nearly don't have any left, Remus, you're lucky," Rosmerta said, laughing as she took a bottle out of the cupboard and handed it to him. Remus took it and frowned.

"Oh?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "Why not?" Rosmerta sighed.

"Terrible problem with rats lately. They've been taking nearly everything; food, rubbish… Lately they've taken into getting bottle corks. All the liquid's been leaking out and no more butterbeer. It's certainly a nightmare when the Hogwarts students come in.

"Twenty years to the date… what if we forget?"

He went over to the table that they had always sat up. It was empty, thank god. When Remus got there and sat down he looked absently at the wood and nearly burst out laughing. When they were fifteen and had come accustomed to their Animaguis and made their nicknames they had scratched the nicknames into this table. And it was still there, a little worn, but still there. 'Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs'.

Remus took a sip of the butterbeer, sliding over on the bench until he got to his spot.

"Stop being a spoilsport, Wormtail. It'll be fun. Wazzo. We may even be able to get Firewhiskey."

He looked vaguely out of the window, not exactly at anything. A stray was wandering by a pile of dustbins outside the pub, pawing at one of the sealed bags. Every now and again it would bark in frustration, but the barks were deaf on Remus's ears. The window was probably soundproof and all sound from outside didn't get in. The dog turned a jet black head and snuffled in the plastic bag again. It bared its teeth finally and ripped at it and a few pieces of rubbish fell out.

Remus looked at the dog, recognizing its presence and looking at it rather than through it. It lifted a scruffy head and its tail wagged weakly as a passerby walked around it. It drooped as the man ignored it and went back to savaging at the bins. Remus looked away.

"I've always wanted to try Firewhiskey."

He looked at the crowd again. It was thick and cheerful, everything that The Three Broomsticks represented, from their drinks to their people. And this seemed true today. People were banging into each other all over the place, having to apologize over and over again. Salts and peppers were going missing like anything and people had to constantly get up to get some more.

Remus looked out the window again, but the dog was gone. His eyes went almost automatically to the bag, but it wasn't ripped anymore.

"Not today, though, Sirius. And don't call me a spoilsport. You're still underage."

Remus stood up, almost knocking over his butterbeer. He could have sworn that the dog had ripped that bag… Rummaging in his pocket Remus pulled out a few Knuts for a tip and lay them on the table, moving out and leaving his butterbeer there.

"Oh, god, sorry." Remus looked up from where he was nearly half draped across the table.

"Fine. No Firewhiskey for Padfoot, Mum. Don't worry, Mum."

A man stood there, dark black hair, bright hazel eyes and a long nose. Remus stared.

"Argh, sorry. Hang on. You taught up at the school, didn't you?" A grin was on the man's face now and Remus nodded dumbly. "Thought I recognized you. You'll know my son, then?" Remus nearly died. But then he named a boy who's name rang a faint bell in the back of Remus's mind and he nodded again.

"Yo, pass the salt, Moony?"

"Sorry, yes. Yes I do."

"Wazzo." Remus blinked vaguely. "Can we borrow your salt? Didn't mean to startle you." Remus gestured vaguely towards the salt and turned around as if to make sure that it was still there.

"Of course. Here you go." He turned around again but the man wasn't there. Blinking again Remus set the salt down. Now this was really odd. He shook his head numbly and looked through the crowds for the man. "Must've gone and borrowed someone else's," he murmured to himself.

"Yeah, it'll be wicked. We'll all be there. No matter what. Right, guys?"

He looked at the table again, fingers running over the rough engraving of their nicknames.

'Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs.'

"'Course we will. We'll all be there."

A/N ) Yo, I actually quite like this.

(For future reference wazzosomething I got out of Lord of the Flies which they said in around 1950 I'm guessing. So what if it's twenty years later? James still said it. Mm'k? Mm'k.)