Chapter 33: Epilogue.
Halloween. 1981.
Amelia Bones pulled her coat closer to her. She heard a crack behind her but she did not speed up. Her wand was tucked up her sleeve and she felt its weight like a familiar friend. If that noise in the darkness turned out to be anything, she would be ready for it.
The witch passed several figures in masks and her senses heightened. She observed height, weight, any possible weak points. Up close, she saw they were simply drunk Muggles in fancy dress, laughing and whooping as they made their way to the next haunt on their holiday journey. Amelia tried not to resent their frivolity, but she had spent much of today putting out fires from older and less Muggle-saavy members of the community who had mistaken teenage gatherings in their areas for Death Eater activity. Mostly metaphorical fires, though a few actual blazes had been investigated. Halloween had always been a busy time for the Auror office, though the last few years had definitely seen an increase. And, of course, prior to the advent of the Death Eater movement, much of the business around Halloween had been in fun. Now, there was a climate of fear, one that had lasted for a long time.
Amelia trudged along the London street, glad to be finally out of the office. If there was one thing she missed about being a working Auror, it was the constant movement, the never knowing where the day would take you. As the Head, she could now be fairly confident that the day would take her to the inside of her office and, if she was lucky, to the inside of someone else's office too. Luckily, there was so much to be done during daylight hours that she didn't have time to dwell. It was only when the sun went down and she found herself staying later and later that she would stop and wonder why. It was at those moments that she would pull open the bottom draw of her desk and stare at the crumpled carton of cigarettes lying in the corner. She hadn't smoked since Rowan had died, a time that seemed so long ago now. Somehow, despite her addiction, everything else had swept her along so fast and she'd just forgotten to start again. There were times when she was close to picking them up again, but every time she got close she would hear Fabian's voice in her head, laced with disgust, telling her to put them down again. And so, finally, she had quit smoking. Alice assured her that it was a good thing, despite the fact that Amelia was sure she was becoming a more irritable person because of it.
Amelia did not see so much of Alice anymore. She had stayed on at work for as long as her body had allowed her to, but there came a point when she could no longer put herself on the line and keep her child safe. She had tried desk work only for a time and had hated it, so it came as a relief when it was finally time for the baby to be born. Alice had assured Amelia that she would be back to work after a few months, but the months stretched on and Alice had still not returned. They were busy with other things too, both Frank and Alice, Amelia knew; Albus Dumbledore's Order seemed to be doing more for the fight these days than the Auror Office, based on the small scraps of information Amelia could gather. She didn't resent that, certainly she wasn't as mistrustful of the group as many at the Ministry. Still, she noticed that they hadn't asked her to join.
Amelia also did not see much of Dolores Umbridge anymore. Whether that was for better or worse, the witch could not say. When her friend had finally resurfaced in a different department, Amelia had thought good for her, but she soon came to see that something was very different. The smile was still there, as Dolores walked through the corridor still dressed all in pink, clipboard clutched to her chest. But that smile didn't quite reach her eyes anymore; Amelia began to wonder if it ever had.
"Jane," Amelia called out in the hallway.
The small witch, dressed again in pink, turned to face her.
"Amelia," she said, that smile on her lips.
Amelia faltered. After all this time, she still wasn't quite sure what to say.
"I..." she began, "I just..."
"I can't wait," Dolores said, indicating a room up ahead with a stream of people, all very official looking, filing inside.
"I know," Amelia replied, "I'm sorry. It's just... how are you?"
A shadow briefly passed across Dolores' face. She made no attempt to hide it in front of her old friend, but was quick to push it away.
"Well, the world keeps turning," she answered philosophically, "And we have a choice, don't we? To make our own order or let ourselves descend into chaos."
"I suppose we do," Amelia said feebly, unsure if the chaos remark was meant to be a jab at her.
"Well I have chosen the former," Dolores continued, a sort of resolution clear in her voice, "I'll be fine, Amelia."
"Yes," was all the other witch could manage.
There was a small silence. Dolores looked down at her watch and gave a high pitched, girlish laugh.
"Well this has been fun," she said, "but I really must be getting on. Do come and visit, if you're ever near the office."
"Yes," Amelia said again, watching as Dolores walked away, aware, with a growing sadness, that she probably wouldn't visit.
Amelia was really starting to feel the chill when she finally made it to her destination. The sign for The Leaky Cauldron swung gently in the breeze, the creaking of the old chain, there for as long as many could remember, not disturbing the few who passed and didn't look up. Businesses like this one had suffered over the last few years, as patrons became more and more afraid to leave their house. The Ministry discouraged gatherings in public spaces as much as was possible, but Amelia tried to make an effort to go to some of her old haunts whenever she could. Stupid it may have been, but so many people had lost their livelihoods because of the war. Amelia would hate for an institution like this one to be the next to go.
She pushed open the door and walked into the lowly lit pub. A pleasant warmth and the small of burning wood came from a large fireplace at one end of the room. The battered tables and benches that filled the middle of the space were not entirely empty either, Amelia was pleased to see. She smiled at a few familiar faces as she made her way over to the bar. The barman gave her a nod as she approached. His face was painted a ghostly white and his hair was slicked back, clearly trying to get into the Muggle spirit of dressing up.
"Vampire?" Amelia asked.
"I still had the cape from last year," Tom shrugged.
Amelia smirked.
"Hey," Tom grinned, "At least I have a costume!"
"What!" Amelia feigned indignation," Do I not make a convincing zombie of bureaucracy?"
"Oh yeah, I see that now," Tom nodded, "Truly terrifying."
He paused and then said more seriously, "I figured people could do with a laugh."
Amelia nodded and smiled sincerely.
"I'm definitely laughing."
Tom took a pint glass from below the counter and filled it up a with soft brown coloured liquid from one of the taps. It foamed neatly at the top and Amelia noticed that the little bubbles were floating upwards out of the glass.
"Give that a try," the barman slid it across to her, "It's my new home brew: a bit sweeter, just a hint of dirigible plum."
"I didn't know you were a craft beer man," Amelia teased.
"Well we've all got to find someway of passing the time these days."
Amelia took a sip. It was earthy but with a sharp sweetness that lingered as an aftertaste.
"I like it," she said, taking another sip, "My compliments to the chef."
They sat and talked; about making beer, about the ministry, old stories about people they once knew in better times. It was a release, Amelia felt, finally talking to someone who wasn't looking for an order or a decision. As they chatted, the doors swung open and a witch stepped through. She wore spectacles, a pointed hat, and had greying hair that was pulled tightly back into a bun. Amelia Bones usually saw her with an expression of knowing disapproval on her face, but tonight she seemed breathless and almost lost.
"Minerva," Amelia called the woman over, "Can I get you a drink?"
Minerva McGonagall walked over as if in a daze and sunk down onto a stool. She turned her face to look at Amelia, who could tell that something was clearly wrong.
"It's over," she said quietly.
"What is?" Amelia frowned.
"He's gone," Minerva said, a semblance of a smile coming to her face, as though she wasn't quite able to believe what she was saying, but wanted to.
"Who is?" Amelia felt like shaking the other witch.
Minerva's dark eyes finally met her stare. By now the entire bar was listening.
"He's dead," Minerva breathed, sounding as though a weight had been lifted from her, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead."
There was a moment of silence. More than silence. It was if time itself had stopped, sucking the air from the room and freezing its inhabitants in a pocket of pure stillness. Amelia would only experience a few moments like this in her life, but none would be as powerful as this one.
The room exploded into noise. The other patrons of the bar rushed to Minerva, surrounding her and firing questions from all sides. Amelia only caught a few words, as she allowed herself to be jostled from her seat to the back of the group: "Albus Dumbledore", "Godric's Hollow", "The Potter's". It was her turn to stand at a loss, understanding now the way in which Minerva staggered in the bar. It wasn't that she was unhappy with the news, far from it. It was just that she couldn't quite believe it was true. It was not that she doubted Minerva's word, far from it. It was just that she had lived so many lies of late that she didn't believe what she couldn't see for herself. After so long, after all the lives they had lost, how could it end so suddenly? Amelia was snapped back to reality when the doors to the bar pushed open and a bunch of people burst in.
"Have you heard the news?" the wizard at the front cried with a large grin on his face.
The room responded with a resounding cheer and in seconds everyone was running about, hugging each other, laughing, crying, kissing. Tom was filling glass after glass with beer and handing them out to whoever.
Amelia heard a loud bang come from outside. She ran out to the alley way, wand in hand, expecting to come across some kind of trouble. Instead she found something quite different. Above the jagged roofs of Diagon Alley, which snaked ahead of her into the distance, Amelia saw clouds of brightly coloured stars, gold, red, blue, silver, all colours of the rainbow, shooting upward into the night sky. Then to the left she saw swirls of glitter spiraling into the blackness, then to the right a burst of colour, as if in response. Fireworks and spells lit up the darkness and, as a bang when off behind her, muffled by distance, Amelia realised that they were not limited to within the magical walls but were sounding all across London. She shoved her wand back into her pocket, hastily scrambling on top of the large bins that Tom kept pushed against the brick walls that made up the alcove divide between the bar and the Alley. Finding hand holds in whatever she could, Amelia pulled herself up on top of the wall, balancing carefully until she could raise herself to her full height. She was now inline with many of the shop roofs and could see more clearly the pockets of colour lighting up broken windows and damaged walls, as if life was slowly returning to a barren desert land. The line where the magical district ended and Muggle London began was also visible from where she stood and it too seemed to come alive for the first time in years, fireworks exploding in a chain reaction along the streets, as if spreading the good news from place to place. Somewhere amongst the colour, voices were raised in song, Amelia recognising snatches of old chants and tunes more commonly heard at Quidditch matches, though not heard for sometime. Amelia closed her eyes and let it all wash over her. It must be true. It was over.
"How does it look up there?"
Amelia opened her eyes and looked down to see a face she hadn't seen in a long time. Hestia Jones, her black hair still tied back, looked older than when they had last met. She walked up the street toward The Leaky Cauldron, her hands tucked into her pockets, her gait suggesting a freeness that Amelia suspected hadn't been there for awhile. The older witch smiled and the younger witch smiled back and repeated her question.
"How does it look up there, Amelia Bones?"
Amelia turned her head back to stare out at the city.
"Beautiful," she said.
Author's Note: It's been nearly 8 years, but we've finally finished, with only a few mistakes and dropped subplots along the way. Whenever you started this story, I want to thank you for making it to the end. I've grown a lot as a writer over the course of this story and it means a lot that someone would stick it out this far with me. All the best and hopefully I'll see you again soon!