The year always started off this way. People, complete strangers, flooded into these pubs, and they always searched for a good time. Drink warmed the body and it numbed the pain. The idiots, the loud ones and the strange ones, forgot regulars shuffled through the place; he ended up here to hide from this day. A few days after New Year's, spinning off a lonely holiday, the man showed up at the Hog's Head and read his paper. When he stepped inside, he made a beeline for the table in the corner and waved to the barman, signalling to him to start a tab. He placed the grey satchel on the back on his chair, thinking he'd need things from it later. Some years were worse than others, but this anniversary hit him particularly hard because he was the only one to show up; the other two were gone.

Was there any point in keeping up a tradition that no longer existed? Witches and hags occupied the bar, and a couple goblins sat over to the side, but they faked whatever engaging conversation they pretended to be locked in to. He could tell the moment their cackling reached his ears. No, all happiness had been sucked from the air, and nothing would ever be the same. He took the seat facing the wall and fished cigarettes and a matchbook from his pocket. Aberforth Dumbledore wandered over and slammed a bottle of rum and his favourite mixture on the table before heading off towards a loud group. The man took out a wand, flicked it casually, and caught a shot glass. He ripped a note off of the rum bottle, thinking he needed a dose of humour.

"'On the house, since I'm wasting my breath telling you to drink responsibly'," he read the scrawled hand and waved to Aberforth, who nodded before he turned back to his other patrons.

Thatcher rubbed his eyes and ran his hands though his snow white hair. Everything changed from last time because they played by different rules. Crouch didn't rule the Ministry with his iron fist, but those who opened their eyes understood no government existed. The shit rag offered nothing but printed nonsense, and the ill-informed - which was most of the magical community - soaked it up like information sponges. He didn't even bother picking up the i Daily Prophet /i. Why had he not resigned in protest or gone into early retirement? Under you-Know-Who's reign, Aurors filled pointless positions, so they were all let go or fled without a second thought. Really, there was nothing else for him to do, and he needed a sense of purpose. He lurked in the background.

"Wotcher."

"I'll be damned," said Thatcher reaching up and squeezing a hand on his shoulder. "You showed up."

He got to his feet and offered his chair to Tonks. She looked nice, though he had never seen her dressed so simply in a pair of silk dress pants and a loose blouse. Her blonde hair was held back by a clip, which was also new to him, but he supposed he would experiment with his looks, too, if he had such a rare ability. He smiled at Remus Lupin, shook his hand, and gestured to the empty chair. So, once he took his seat, three guests sat at the table. Not the three he expected, but there were three nonetheless. Thatcher took the satchel off his shoulder and reached inside it before he set it on the dusty floor between his feet.

"So, I'm five months late on this," he said, sliding a black box over to the young woman, "but as I just got back from taking care of Jacqueline, I figure you can forgive me."

"And what makes you say that?" Tonks said, smiling at him. "Just so you know, you were one of the few guests invited to my wedding, and I was counting on both you and Mad-Eye being there, and you can't do me this one favour."

"Open the damn box."

"Oh, Merlin." Tonks opened the jewellery box and fingered a fine emerald set: a pendant, five rings, a Christian cross, and two pairs of earrings. "I ... I can't take this. A wedding gift, Thatch, this is worth more than ... well, anything that I'd ever have."

"It's yours." Thatcher crossed his arms, waiting for the realisation to set in. "I can't give it to Joshua, as he'd probably pass it onto you anyway, so I decided to take this upon myself. This belonged to my wife."

"You were married?" She hardly disguised the laughter.

"Yeah." Thatcher showed her the golden wedding band. "Anyway, Meghan got this from her mother, who got it from hers, and they each add a little trinket. The two sapphire rings go to Joss, since they were Meghan's bands, but as we never had a daughter, I picked you. Jacqueline said she hopes you enjoy it, for it's a Marquis hope chest."

"Jacqueline Marquis?" Remus tore his eyes away from his wife.

"The Jacqueline Marquis, the renowned alchemist, yeah," said Thatch in a bored voice. He smiled at him, not snuffing him out of the conversation. "Sorry, people are always surprised I was with her daughter. I met Jacqueline through Dumbledore at a dinner party years ago, and that was an odd conversation, too, seeing as Meghan had got covered me in sick, and all I could say was this: 'So, I got your daughter pregnant ... again ...'. That made Dumbledore's night, let me tell you."

Tonks covered her mouth, muffling her giggles.

"Not the best first impression with the mother-in-law," said Thatcher as Remus accepted a glass of wine from the barman and Tonks took a frozen fruit thing. "Did he ever share that one, Aberforth?"

"The wife embarrassing you in front of Lady Marquis?" asked Aberforth, hearing the story from a few tables off. "No, no, I only heard about it about a thousand times. Bet you're glad they're dead now. Story's put to rest now, eh?"

"Meghan is Joss's mum?" asked Tonks as Thatcher nodded. "You never talk about her."

"I think this was a reserved tale for me, Dora," said Remus, slightly uncomfortable, looking the man in the eye for the first time. "Kingsley and had a disagreement back in October."

"About her?" Thatcher jerked his head towards Tonks and stirred a shot of rum and Coke. "Yeah, Kingsley knows it well. He came running to me when Joshua panicked over an investigation."

"Which one?" asked Tonks. She had not witnessed Joshua fall to pieces.

"Your aunt," said Thatcher as he drained his glass; the drink burned in the back of his throat. "Bellatrix Lestrange."

Remus set down his glass and sat up a bit straighter, wary. Thatcher could tell he was doing some quick math. "Wait. I remember Meghan vaguely, and the boy was small. Joshua is in his early twenties."

"Oh, she wasn't going after him," Thatcher said, pouring another glass and waving away the thought. He rolled up his sleeve and revealed his secret: the Dark Mark. "It's amazing what we go through for the love of a woman."