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Written for Hogwarts Assignment 10. Religious Education, Task 10: Write about a post-war celebration.
Word Count - 706
Beta'd by Sophie
Welcome Words
Rosmerta served as quickly as she could, pouring drink after drink after drink but she was struggling to keep up with the demand. It wouldn't be too long before she ran out of drinks to sell.
The pub was filled to bursting. There were many of those who had fought in the last battle at the school, and even more of their family members who'd come to make sure that they had survived. So many parents had shown up in Hogsmeade, panicking over their children, only to migrate to the Three Broomsticks when they were reunited.
Even as the celebration gained ground, there was an undercurrent of grief and anger. Rosmerta could feel the potential for violence as much as she could tell that nobody would actually fight.
They were all so tired of fighting.
For only the second time since she'd first opened the pub, Rosmerta paid no mind to the time. The last time she'd kept the pub open passed closing time had been when You-Know-Who had been defeated the first time. She hoped this would be the last time for this particular tradition.
When the supplies were running low, she sent a patronus to Tom at the Leaky Cauldron, asking if he was as busy as she was, and if he could perhaps spare a few barrels. He arrived in minutes with two of his staff, each of them carrying full barrels and a few bottles of wine and spirits a piece.
"I could kiss you," she murmured, as he helped her to attach them.
He grinned his familiar toothless grin. "Would you like me to stay and help man the bar for a while? You look tired, m'dear."
"You're a real life angel." She kissed his cheek. "Thank you."
With Tom on the bar, Rosmerta took a moment to do a round of the pub, collecting glasses and empty bottles from the tables. She spoke to the many people she knew, dreading them giving her the names of those who hadn't made it through the fight.
Each one was like a stab to her gut.
She may not have known many of these people well, but they were her customers. Each and every one of them had passed through the doors of the Three Broomsticks before, and that made them important.
Sometime after three in the morning, Rosmerta felt arms wrap around her from behind. She leant back against a broad chest and tilted her head to smile at the newcomer.
"Hey you," she murmured, sagging slightly. She trusted him to hold her up.
"Hey yourself," Kingsley replied quietly. "How are you doing?"
"Tired," she admitted. "Numb. So many people are—"
"—I know," he said, kissing her head. "I know. There's… so much to do."
"Plenty to celebrate too, of course," she added. "He's gone, we're alive. That's something to be happy about."
Kingsley nodded. "It'll be easier to appreciate that once everything has sunk in, I suppose. For now, all I want is a hot bath, a comfortable bed, and a cuddle with the woman I love."
Rosmerta smiled. "That sounds like heaven. It's been far too long since you've been in my bed, Shacklebolt."
His head dropped to nuzzle against her neck. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry you were left to deal with this alone."
"Hey. Hey, none of that," she reprimanded lightly. "I managed perfectly well, and you're here, Kingsley. You kept yourself alive for me. That's all I wanted, you know?"
Tom approached them, and Rosmerta held a hand out for his, squeezing it gratefully. "Thanks for all your help, Tom."
"Anytime, Miss Rosie. I'm going to go home now, I imagine my place will receive quite the same as you did this eve, once the news spreads properly."
"You let me know if I can return the favour," she said, squeezing his hand once more before she dropped it. She looked over the bar at the few stragglers.
"Go and run the bath," she told Kingsley, pulling away from him. "I'll be there soon. The clean up can wait until morning."
Leaning forward, Kingsley pressed his lips to hers in a light kiss. "I'll be waiting."
Rosmerta didn't think she'd ever heard more welcome words.
