Epilogue: Pub Scene

We were at Prudencia's Pub again—it seemed fitting somehow, to end up here.

Of all the people, it had been Podmore who gathered everybody and suggested that we take the celebration somewhere else, with more room for noise, less solemnity weighing us down, and definitely more booze. Podmore, Sturgis Podmore, Stuggy, who hadn't ever said more than five words in a string together without eating his tongue! Apparently, the bloke was quite chatty with a couple of lagers down his knobby throat, who would've known?

Most of us came, a select few making themselves scarce, like dodgy old Mundungus Fletcher, but we probably didn't want to be caught in public with him anyway.

None of us had forgotten anybody, of course—it wasn't possible to forget these faces, etched with some of the worst memories (nay, definitely the worst; no denial, remember, denial bad for recovering). Just sometimes, it was hard to remember a person with that face, with the name. Most of us were the same, actually, all nerves and jitters, and the paranoia and suspicious behavior started to make all of us appear awfully similar. But really, all soldiers looked the same, with uniforms and a grim set about their mouths. Saw them sometimes on the telly—could always tell when it was a war documentary instead of one of them movie things, the fake ones, because of the soldiers.

So it took everybody a little time to get adjusted—not that there was much time before we all started to get properly hammered. Elphias Doge—insisted on Doc now—was a gossipy old tosser—in the fondest way that word could mean, of course—and nobody could say they had known that before this night. And bloody hell, everybody grew a new respect for Malfoy after the way he gulped down those shots like they were sweets water. Not such a berk after all, eh? Malfoy was making his way back into the good graces of society—his dad was still in Azkaban, 'course, but his future sister-in-law went a bit barmy and that always helped gain some leeway sympathy. Oh don't know yet? Well that was the freshest piece of Doc gossip: Malfoy was secretly engaged to the younger Greengrass daughter. Apparently he'd been courting her for the whole year! She was just like her mum, carefully politically neutral—oh, of course I knew her mum from Hogwarts! Out of my league though, let me tell you, the perkiest arse—

Ahem. Right.

Anyway, even Ron Weasley had clapped him on his back, although he would later claim to remember nothing of the sort. Ron Weasley, one of the Golden Trio, the youngest boy of the family. He's got to have a lot of problems, that one. Tragic family: heard one of them brothers couldn't look at dragons the same way, and another one had to be sent away for professional attention because he kept insisting that he was his dead twin. Course, I heard all this from Doc so it might be a bit dubious. The chap was a good sport though, considering that most of his family was there, including his parents, and I wouldn't have been able to throw a good time with my folks around. Well, you know, when they were still—

So some of the important people were missing, of course, but that was not going to let us stop drinking. Usually, the ones missing—the ones who wouldn't ever be seen again—those were the ones that we drank for; but tonight, all the booze was for us who had survived.

Even Sirius Black had popped in with us to say hullo, and he hadn't been the most sociable person in the Headquarters before he went off and bloody died.

It was okay to talk about his death, because he came back. Fought like the bloody madman he was, like only a madman would fight, on that day. Boy, oh, boy, wasn't that a sight? It was a bloody wonder that he didn't die again—although we were not the only ones thinking that it was as if damned Merlin himself was with him that day. Every spell hit its target, and nobody had ever even seen the sort of magic that burst from him. Didn't even speak properly, for most of the time, just making great big noises like a cannon and waving his wand about like he was raving off his rockets, but those spell, they swept away other magic like a magnet and ate them up. The battleground air swirled with this coppery smell that we all couldn't identify but found oddly familiar—but by now everyone knew the cloying scent of death that had shrouded him. The very earth trembled whenever he lifted his hands, and we could swear that there was singing from the lake—singing! What was up with that? I went to Hogwarts, you know, and I'd never heard that. The Giant Squid was probably in the middle of a mating ritual or something. But it was a fearsome sight indeed, wasn't it?

We don't know anybody who could say that they saw Sirius pick up his wand since then. It was as if he had expended all his magic on that day.

In any case, enough of this nutter talk—the ale's too good for that. He brought his bird, Larka—ha! See the joke there? Larka, lark, bird? Oh bugger it, never mind. She had a hand in bringing him back, so we heard. Black—Sirius, he shouldn't be called by his last name anymore, especially not after he mentioned changing to her name, imagine the uproar we had! And the jokes on his expense! He took it with a big, goofy grin though, so we knew he was going to be a bit of all right.

Good to see that: that he was a bit of all right in the end.

Right, so we gathered around him to hear his story. A couple of us knew him from the school days, and there was nothing more natural than gathering around him for a good bit of tale. He had a way with words, that one, a way to weave those words that poured our drinks down our throats. He could have gone on rabbiting all night, and we would have just sat there.

His little birdy stood behind him, all drawn in, not competing with Sirius for attention at all, no more than a tiny hand on his shoulder that rubbed his neck fondly. We all wondered, how a woman like that, so curled up into herself that we almost didn't see her at first in the crowd, so shyly and carefully there without a commotion, so patient and standing like a monument—we all wondered how she came to capture and tame the wild Sirius Black. For tame he was, as he lavished her with little kisses and touches whenever possible during the night. We all thought—and not just the ladies, though they were by far the most taken—but why her?

Then we heard his story, and it all made sense. What a woman. You wouldn't believe she did all that, by just looking at her right there. Guess some people just saved it all up for special occasions, and when overspent, withdrew in again just like that.

There was that smile too, the one that they gave each other, one of those slow, secret smiles that was the tell-tale sign of love. Never any doubt of that: cor, the way she rescued him, like a hooting damsel in distress, ha!

She even took a couple of shots and nursed a beer with us, so we liked her. Most of us. Most of us liked most of us anyway though, so guess that wasn't much of a thing.

Anyhow, that was the highlight of the night.

We had packed the room so full with howling laughter and barely hidden sobs that we were the only patrons in the pub. The jukebox didn't have anything good, so we sang over it and Granger reprimanded us a little, just for old time's sake, but we all saw her smile, even if her eyes were shaky like a crack addict. The windows to the small pub quickly fogged up with so much energy and blood rushing, and the pub was overheated to begin with, so it blocked out the outside world. If we pretended we didn't see the barman (and pretend we did, only acknowledging him when we wanted seconds, or thirds, or just another top and bugger the number, because tonight was ours and ours only)—if we pretended he wasn't there, it was just us in the world again.

Just us.

We would leave, at some point, we all thought, but dragged it on for longer because none of us wanted to. The point when the lights were dimmed and the barman started turning over all the empty barstools, though, we knew we had outstayed our welcome.

We would go out, into the cold, and sing a song—something catchy from the old days, far too old for the young ones to be able to sing along, but they would try anyway, caught in the moment and not wanting to be left out. We would be loud and obnoxious and we wouldn't care—it was not as if we would ever be back here again, we all knew.

But before that.

Before that happens, before everybody trickles out, before the lads scarper, we stay. And for a moment we enjoy the warm intimacy of being the last two, seeing the end of something, even though it is something terrible and ugly, but that just gives the ending all the more beauty.

We sit there, the two of us, and I tell you this story that you already know, before heading out together.

Just you and me.

And hadn't it been nice?

-.-.-.-

… again and again the two of us walk out together
under the ancient trees, lie down again and again
among the flowers, face to face with the sky.

-.-.-.-

The End.

Author's Note: Alright, this is officially the end! It had always been me telling you this story, the two of us, sitting in the remains of what happened.

Hope you enjoyed it, and if you did, head over to The Faultless Man for the companion piece of Remus's story!