Sitting in the corner of the Leaky Cauldron, the nearest light coming from his faltering cigarette. A cloak draped over the adjacent, empty chair; he had been here for a while and was not in a hurry to leave. Black hair shaded his unnaturally bright eyes. There was a glass in front of him, but it was half empty. (Never half full.)
He kept an eye on the door, merely out of habit. No one he knew would come here tonight, he was confident. The aforementioned House of Black would never grace such an unkempt, COMMON establishment.
Sitting down the cigarette, he sighed. He didn't remember where he had picked up the habit, but he did know that he was not the first wizard to do so, and certainly not the last. If he could be bothered to, there were easy solutions for quitting. Unimportant, though.
It was a Saturday night. Why didn't he just Apparate back to his flat, sharpen up a little, head out into Muggle London? Always something to do there. A smirk crossed his face at the thought.
But he didn't stand up; if anything, he sank deeper into the uncomfortable wooden chair, listening to the dull murmur of conversation. There was only one real topic worth saying anything about these days. The Dark Lord, his faithful servants, the Death Eaters, the havoc they were wreaking on both worlds. Surely the Ministry was having a time trying to sort things out. Hopeless.
His thoughts wandered. Where were his friends tonight, he wondered. He could guess.
Wormtail - most likely sitting at home with his mother, putting his feet up after a dull day's work in Hogsmeade. To be fair, he at least had graduated from Hogwarts. No one had seen that coming.
Moony - it was hard to say. He and his furry little problem... shame.
Prongs - this was easy. They had gotten together just last week. Much to absolutely no one's surprise, he and Evans were engaged. He had put off Auror training, though for what reasons, he would not say. Instead, he was back on the Quidditch pitch, temporarily, he had been assured.
Evans. Lily. Lily Evans. Soon to be Lily Potter, Mrs. James Potter. He turned the name over a few more times in his head. Prongs hadn't said what she was doing these days (besides living with him) but no doubt she was either the head of Saint Mungo's or Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts or the Minister's personal assistant or something along those lines. He missed her just as much as he did the rest of them, as much as he didn't like to admit it.
Picking up his glass, he took another swig, his knuckles clenching as he did.
