AN: Hi guys! First of all, big thanks to sakurapetals0192 and FangedMe (I'm sooooo sorry for Amanda, I know she didn't deserve it!) for their reviews, I love you guys. Also, my other readers should probably be thankful to you as well, or otherwise they wouldn't have been able to read chapter 52, part 2 yet, either. Now, I'm quite sad to announce that this story is almost over. As you may notice, this is the first part of the epilogue; the next (and final) part will be up next week. It's really been a blast and I am so thankful to everyone who followed, favourited and reviewed this story; I couldn't have done it without you. Now, on with the story!
Epilogue - part one (January 1999)
How do you continue when there's nothing left to live for? How do you hold on when you're all alone in the world? How do you move past the pain and the loss, past the misery and the emptiness, and find yourself in what remains?
It was almost a year since the Battle of Hogwarts and she still did not know the answer to any of those questions. Even now, in a big city, surrounded by strangers and living under a fake identity, Daisy was haunted by the ghosts of her past. Some merely reminded her of the world she had left behind on May the second, 1998, others woke her up in the middle of the night to the sound of her own screaming. Even with the passing of several months, the emptiness had not lessened.
'Can you finish up today, Katrina?'
She nodded absent-mindedly, not looking up from the glass she was wiping. It had been a quiet night at the pub and she had nothing but an empty apartment and a microwave meal waiting for her. Besides, she enjoyed watching the customers, liked to imagine their lives in absence of one of her own.
The next half an hour passed relatively uneventful, with her alternating between wiping glasses and serving drinks to the few lingering customers. The hour was nearing midnight and she knew that soon even the last regulars would stumble back to whatever life they had come here to forget. Then, she could clean the tables, swipe the floor and close up. A five minute walk would bring her to her broomcloset-sized apartment – which was really only the attic of a wealthy old lady – and she would tuck in for another night of nightmares. Tomorrow, all would go on repeat.
'Trina, love, could you fill me up? That's the last one before I'm heading home to the wife,' Patrick Carnville, a regular, grimaced as he held up his empty whiskey glass to her.
She poured him another without a word, knowing that she would probably have to kick him out by closing time – as usual. From what she'd gathered of their mostly one-sided conversations, Patrick was a London banker with more money than he knew what to do with, children that he hardly knew the name of and a wife he could not stand. He usually worked long hours at the office, after which he came to the pub for late dinner and after that, whiskeys until he could no longer tell his left hand from his right. Then, she would have to order him a taxi home. Mrs. Carnville must see very little of her husband, indeed..
She was in the middle of her musings about the helter-skelter life of this particular London banker, not really making any haste in getting him his drink, that the door opened and therefore she did not even notice at first. It was only when the cold January wind hit her bare arms that she looked up, ready to scold whatever dog had come crawling in for a late night drink. And that's when she paused.
Even if she would not have nightmares of him some nights, even if he would not be one of the ghosts – albeit a living one – that haunted her, she would never forget that face. As he stepped further into the pub, visibly shivering from whatever British weather he had just braved, she took in his features in what little light the dim lamps provided.
He had not changed at all. The same platina blonde hair, aristocratic nose, mercury eyes and sharp features. And yet, she thought as she watched as he looked around uncomfortably, he was completely different.
The young man soon spotted the bar she was standing at and she quickly busied herself with wiping an already clean glass. She listened as he dropped himself down on the bar stool, but did not look up. Her mind was in conflict; one part of her wanted to see him. He made her feel, for what might have been the first time in almost a year, anything else than emptiness. For the first time in so long she felt alive. Another part, however, feared confronting such a big part of who she had been. And so, the cowardly part finally winning out, she kept her head down, letting her dyed hair fall as a curtain between them.
'I don't suppose you can offer me anything stronger than a Coke?' He guessed, his voice tired. Her heart jumped at the familiar sound, but she forced herself to sound cool when she responded.
'That would depend on your age, Sir.'
'I know..' He sighed 'Just a Coke, please.'
Daisy put down the glass she had been wiping for the past five minutes and busied her shaking hands with getting him his drink. When she put the bottle and an empty glass on the counter, still avoiding eye contact, she could not help but admire him from up close for a moment. With her mind still half in shock with what was going on, she couldn't help the question that left her mouth. 'Tough day?'
'You couldn't imagine. Apparently my boss thinks I live to serve him, I spilled coffee on my shirt that I have no idea of how to get it out again and then my taxi drove right passed me.'
It surprised her how normal it sounded. Almost too normal.
'I'm sorry,' he said, taking her silence as annoyance. 'I'm sure you have to listen to guys like me complaining about their life all day, Miss..'
'Trina? How about that whiskey I ordered?'
Her head shot up at the sound of her name and she remembered the whiskey she had poured almost fifteen minutes ago. Instead of looking back at Patrick Carnville however, her eyes were drawn by the perplexed look of recognition on Draco Malfoy's face. They held each other's gaze for a moment, then she tore away and looked down awkwardly. Quickly grabbing the glass of whiskey, she hurried past him.
'I'm sorry, Patrick, I completely forgot.'
'It's all right, love,' he smiled, hefting his glass in salute before downing the contents in one swig. Then, he stood and pulled on his dress coat 'Just put it on the bill, will you?'
'Do you want me to order you a cab?'
He shook her helpful attempts off, shaking his head. 'I think I can manage tonight. I'll just leave you two to it.'
Daisy looked around confusedly, only now noticing the pub had emptied over the last quarter of an hour. 'Until tomorrow then.'
'Goodnight, Trina.'
It remained quiet for a moment until the door fell into its lock. 'Trina?'
'I go by Katrina now,' she said simply, as she started collecting the empty glasses.
'Why?'
'It was my Aunt's full name.'
'I meant; why are you here, under a false name, in Muggle London?'
'I could ask you the same question.'
A silence fell over them and she carried her tray with glasses to the bar. Not wanting to stay close to him for long, she took the dish cloth to clean the tables. She was already busy with wiping clean the third table, not expecting any answer of him anymore, when he spoke at last. When he did, she had never expected the words that came out of his mouth.
'The Wizengamot sentenced me to living like a Muggle for a year.'
