"The Quiet and the Dark" (Remus Lupin, Madam Rosmerta)
Author: miss_morland
Prompt/Prompt Author: Remus came to the Three Broomsticks for the Firewhiskey (or what have you) but stayed for the companionship of the barmaid. -- tjs_whatnot
Title: The Quiet and the Dark
Characters: Remus Lupin, Madam Rosmerta
Rating: Teen
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: ~ 5000
Summary: "People are rarely what they seem," said Rosmerta. "I've learned as much in this job. Which brings us back to what I said earlier: it's very difficult to really know another human being."
Author's Notes: Based on PoA, I'm assuming that Rosmerta was the proprietor of the Three Broomsticks when the Marauders were at school, although canon isn't specific about her age. Thanks so much to my brilliant beta for her help and suggestions.
Rain poured down outside, barely visible in the darkness. The few remaining patrons huddled together around the tables, seemingly subdued by the weather. The end of the month was drawing near.
Rosmerta didn't much care for October.
She sighed, busying herself rearranging the bottles behind the bar. The week had been quiet, even more than what was usual at this time of year and with this sort of weather. She wondered if people were saving up for the Anniversary next week. The celebrations of He Who Must Not Be Named's downfall last year had seen her able to renovate the cellar, hire a new house-elf, and finally pay back the last of the loans to her parents. She ought to be grateful for that, at least.
The door opened, and Rosmerta shook off her gloominess the best she could. She smiled upon seeing the newcomer.
"Hello," she said to Remus Lupin, who smiled in return. He looked pale and drawn - the way he always had, even as a boy - but untouched by the foul weather. A dab hand at shielding charms, he must be.
Now he sat down by the bar, shaking off his patched old coat. "Quiet tonight, Madam Rosmerta?"
She gave a rueful shrug. "Must be the weather. What can I do for you, love?"
He ordered her cheapest Firewhisky, which didn't surprise her. He'd been here two or three times over the last few weeks, after years of absence, and he never went for the expensive stuff. But Rosmerta liked him - had always liked him and his group of friends. Taken as a whole, the lot of them had left no small number of Galleons in her pub over the years.
She poured his drink; then, seeing as he was too skinny and she was hungry, she popped open a bag of peanuts. "How are things at Madam Merrythought's?" she asked.
"Fine, thanks," he said, looking content. "I'm learning a lot."
Rosmerta put the bowl of peanuts between them and took some for herself. "I had no idea she was even looking for apprentices in her age."
"It's pure luck that I heard about it." He helped himself to some peanuts. "Professor Dumbledore told me, and I'm grateful. Especially as he agreed to serve as referee. I don't think I would have got the post if it hadn't been for him."
"That man has connections," said Rosmerta appreciatively. "You like it, then, working with Dark Creatures?" She shuddered a bit. "There were some rumours going around this winter that old Galatea keeps vampires and werewolves at her cottage. I'm not sure I believe it, but I'm not sure I would have volunteered to live out there either."
Remus smiled again, glancing down at his hands where they were wrapped around his glass. "It would have been a learning experience, certainly... But the worst I've had to deal with yet is a Mackled Malaclaw. The good stuff is yet to come, I'm sure."
They were quiet for a few moments as he sipped his drink. Rosmerta wondered if he wanted conversation. That was part of her job - noticing which of the patrons wanted to talk and which ones just wanted to be left alone. She wasn't sure yet which category he belonged to. Until a few weeks ago, she hadn't known him as anything other than a quiet but mischievous boy who had come to her pub with his friends while he was at school. She still didn't know him, but it occurred to her now that it would be proper to say something - that, in fact, she probably ought to have done so already. Acknowledge his sorrow, the way no one would acknowledge hers.
"Remus," she said quietly, the given name easily slipping over her lips. He looked up. "My apologies if you don't want to talk about it, but I just wanted to say how sorry I am about your friends. With the Anniversary approaching... It must be a difficult time for you."
His mouth lifted in the tiniest of smiles. "Thank you." A pause. "I can't believe it's been a year."
"Neither can I," said Rosmerta, thinking back. How many months now? She still hadn't been to the graveyard - hadn't been able to bring herself to it.
She didn't want to think about that. She said, instead, "Sometimes I wake up and I think the war is still going on. Those moments when I'm not sure what's dream and what's reality, what's happened and what hasn't... Those are perhaps the worst of all."
He took another sip of Firewhisky. "I know what you mean."
She studied his face. So young, only a boy, but there were lines around his eyes and mouth, and strands of grey in his hair. She tried imagining being in his place - three of his closest friends dead. The last one a murderer. She wondered what it must be like.
Rosmerta looked at the rain pouring down outside. She remembered Dorcas telling her, some time early on, about the newly founded Order that needed a meeting place. She remembered lending them a room, pretending not to notice them as they sidled into the back of the pub, one by one: Dorcas Meadowes, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black. James and Lily Potter.
"Do you know what happened to baby Harry?" she asked at last. "I heard he's to grow up with some Muggle relatives of his mother's."
Remus nodded. "Professor Dumbledore seemed to think it was the best idea."
"I suppose it's for the best," said Rosmerta thoughtfully. "Give him a chance to be a normal boy, for a while. He'll get to know this world soon enough."
He nodded again, though he looked a bit doubtful. "Perhaps." Studying his drink for a moment, he added, "I wish I could do something. But it's too late."
"Hey," she said gently. "You did everything you could. I know about the Order, Remus."
"Of course." He gave her the bleakest of smiles. "I remember that we met here, a few times."
"So long ago now, isn't it? Time is a funny thing." She smiled back. He was easy to talk to. "I remember you from your schooldays, you know. I also remember that girlfriend of yours... Elaine, wasn't it? Are you still in touch?"
"Helen? No, we're not. She broke up with me during seventh year." He gazed down into his drink. "Sirius was happy when she did; he couldn't stand her."
Rosmerta gave a start at the mention of Black's name. Remus looked surprised as well. A flush crept over his cheeks as if he'd said something inappropriate. Maybe he was trying to forget he'd ever been the mass murderer's friend. Rosmerta couldn't blame him. She decided not to pursue the subject.
"I had a young couple here earlier today," she said. "They're getting married next weekend and they're having the reception here." She shook her head a bit. "Fresh out of Hogwarts, they are, both of them. When young people kept marrying during the war, I thought it was a bit of a defence mechanism. But it seems to be a trend, still, these days."
"Perhaps." His voice held a slight touch of bitterness, which disappeared in an instant. "I should get home - Professor Merrythought says we're going on a field trip tomorrow." He quickly emptied his drink. "It was nice talking with you, Madam Rosmerta."
"Likewise," she replied, looking after him as he disappeared out the door. The rain fell as heavily as ever.
~
The thought of weddings came back to her as she was getting ready for bed that night. During the war, there had been plenty of weddings, plenty of receptions at the Three Broomsticks. Rosmerta had done her best to give the young couples the day of their lives, a brief respite from the horrors going on. And they always looked happy - glowing young boys and girls staring into each other's eyes as if nothing and no one else mattered in the world.
Her own parents had often asked her when it would be her turn. A tedious question. Admittedly, after she'd turned thirty, they seemed to have given up.
She sighed, staring into the mirror as she applied skin-care potion to her face. There were so many things she ought to have done. There were so many things she ought not to have done.
The sorrow simmered under her skin, covered but still alive. She'd have to live with it now, going to bed alone, putting out the light alone, and not feeling warm hands on her hips or the soft brush of lips over her shoulder.
~
Business continued to be slow for the next few days, the rain beating down against the windows, the wind howling around the corners, the Hogsmeade streets almost empty. People dropped by for a drink or a meal, but they didn't stay for long, and few ordered more than one round. The quiet got on Rosmerta's nerves, making her restless. She was genuinely pleased when Remus Lupin dropped by again, three or four nights after his last visit.
"Firewhisky, love?" she asked, pouring him a glass when he smiled his thanks. "Was your field trip nice?"
"It was very interesting." He accepted his drink, then glanced at her almost shyly. "Listen, Madam Rosmerta... I'm sorry for leaving so abruptly the other night. It wasn't my intention to be rude."
"That's quite all right." She smiled reassuringly. "Talking about the war does make one tired, doesn't it?"
"Right." Remus took a sip of Firewhisky, then looked at her as if pondering something. "I suppose I haven't done a lot of that this year."
"Would you like to?" she asked softly. Curiosity tugged at her; she wouldn't mind hearing more about the war. His war, at least. Hers wasn't over yet, perhaps never would be.
"I think so." He twirled the glass between his hands, a frown between his eyes. "Perhaps not everything. But there are some things..."
Rosmerta had heard many horrible stories over the last year, told in whispers or sobs over the bar by patrons who'd almost managed to drink themselves into oblivion. She'd heard about threats, about violence, about finding your loved ones dead or maimed. Listening to people's sorrows and woes was part of her job, just like serving them drinks, just like tossing them a wink or a flirty smile.
Dorcas had called it her barmaid's mask, but Rosmerta didn't think of it as a mask at all. It was just another side of her, the part of herself that belonged to her work. No more of a mask than the private Rosmerta, the one who cried or slept or made love. She hadn't said as much to Dorcas; she'd let her believe that Madam Rosmerta, the seductive yet sympathetic barmaid, was just a mask. That the other Rosmerta was the only real one, and that Dorcas was the only one who knew her.
Now she put on her listener's smile, watching Remus swirl the contents of his drink. "Go on," she said mildly.
He looked up, meeting her gaze. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of naked sorrow in his eyes. "Do you think it's possible to really know someone?" he asked. "To the point where you can be certain they won't hurt you?"
Rosmerta was startled by the question. "No," she said. "I don't think we can ever be sure of that."
He sighed. "It's something I've asked myself many times. What happened if I'd been able to see, if I'd known..."
His voice trailed off. He looked down.
"Is it..." She hesitated, almost afraid to ask. "Are you thinking of Black?"
Remus nodded, not looking up. "He was my - we were friends. I thought I knew him, but I... I should have been able to see. I should have done something."
"Remus," she said softly. He raised his eyes to her face; again there was that glimpse of sorrow and something that might have been guilt. Rosmerta felt sad to see it.
"He was your friend," she repeated. "It wasn't your fault. I still remember him the way he was... Never in a thousand years would I have thought he would become what he became. It wasn't your fault." She shrugged. "There were always rumours going on about the Black family and Dark magic. Maybe blood is more powerful than we thought."
"Maybe." He looked unhappy at the idea.
"You say he didn't like your girlfriend," she said tentatively. "I didn't know her very well, but was she... Muggleborn? Did he hurt her?"
Remus shook his head. "No. No, it was nothing like that. He didn't do anything to her at all, really, except being cold and snotty and avoiding spending time with me if she was going to be there as well. He wouldn't tell me what the problem was, just kept on being a git. And I couldn't figure out why."
"Then what?" Rosmerta asked.
Remus looked at her, his eyes large and naked. "Then I found out why," he said quietly.
A spark of recognition lit inside her. "Do you mean -"
They were interrupted by a group of four wizards who approached the bar, calling to Rosmerta for mead. "Wait a second," she said, leaving to attend to them. When she returned, she took out the bottle of whisky. "One more?"
"Well..."
"It's on the house," she said reassuringly, topping up his drink. "Now..." She looked at him. "Do you want to tell me about Sirius?"
He gave her a considering, searching look. "I know you're good at keeping secrets," he said at last. "I remember that from the Order."
Rosmerta chuckled lightly. She had kept plenty of things secret in her life, that was for certain. "We barmaids are like priests in a way: we're used to hearing almost anything. There's probably nothing you can tell me that will come as a shock."
"No, I suppose not." He sighed. "When I was seventeen, I found out that Sirius... That he wanted me. And that it was reciprocal. As it turned out, I - go both ways, as one might say."
She nodded reassuringly, glancing around. Nobody was paying attention. "Nothing wrong with that, love."
He shrugged and took a sip of Firewhisky. "It was a bit scary. And confusing. And the most confusing part was, I couldn't understand why he... You know what he was like back then." His voice became softer; his eyes grew wistful. "He could have had anyone."
Rosmerta didn't say anything at first. So he and Black had been more than friends. A lover lost - and not to the clean sorrow of a death in innocence. Everything she knew about this boy's life suddenly seemed more tragic, more desolate.
"Madam Rosmerta?" He was looking at her now. "Won't you have a drink, too?"
She shouldn't imbibe; it would make her less equipped to deal with any unpleasantness that might arise. Granted, apart from the two of them there was only the group of wizards, who'd retreated to a window table in the far corner. "I'm at work," she said apologetically.
"I just came out to you. I just let you know that I used to be in love with a mass murderer. I'd like some solidarity." There was a sudden spark of wry humour in his eyes. "Surely one drink can't hurt."
Rosmerta smiled. She poured herself a drink and topped up his again. "Tell me more, if you like," she said.
"Not much to tell, I suppose. I was so in love with him, even though I knew what an idiot he could be. But I wouldn't have dreamed..." Remus paused and drew a long breath. "I thought things were going to be all right. I thought we'd win, in the end. And then it would all be better."
Was there some law that dictated that all youth, no matter how hopeful, must be broken? Rosmerta had no idea, but the thought made her angry and sad. "Things rarely get all right in one go," she said, keeping her voice low and gentle. "You-Know-Who's fall couldn't save us from ourselves. Even if Sirius hadn't - gone to prison, there would still be difficulties."
"I know that now," he said grimly. "Though I suppose most people are happy the way things are. That's the impression they give, anyway."
"People are rarely what they seem," said Rosmerta. "I've learned as much in this job. Which brings us back to what I said earlier: it's very difficult to really know another human being." She touched his hand. "It's easy to be blinded by love. Don't blame yourself."
Remus smiled bleakly. "Thanks," he said. "I'm not sure why I'm telling you all this, though it feels nice. I must be drunk."
"Not yet drunk enough for me to throw you out," she reassured him.
"Very few people know," he said.
She recognised the comment for what it was. "I won't tell anyone."
He drained his glass and said, his voice more heated than she'd ever heard it before, "You'd think it would be easier being queer, these days. It seems that for Muggles, it is. But apart from Sirius I never knew anyone, not from our world. It's as if we don't exist. I don't think they want us to exist, even if we're not all mon - even if we're not all like him."
His voice had grown angry, passionate, losing the calm self-control from before. He suddenly seemed to notice it himself, for he flushed, putting his glass down on the bar.
"Sorry," he mumbled, wincing. "I am probably drunker than I thought."
"Not at all," Rosmerta whispered. She glanced around the pub again, but it was empty; the other patrons had left a while ago. Rosmerta hadn't even noticed.
"I should be going," said Remus now, getting to his feet and reaching for his coat. He smiled at her - a small, grateful gesture. "Thanks for the drinks, and for... well, listening."
"Not at all," she said again, softly. Her eyes followed him as he left.
Then she started cleaning up for the night. She summoned empty glasses and mugs and took them to the kitchen, closed the blinds, and sent the house-elves to bed. Tomorrow she'd have to close early - it was the day before the wedding reception, and she'd have to get the premises ready.
As she went about her tasks, the thoughts kept coming: about Remus Lupin, about Dorcas, about the Anniversary, about weddings. She felt unbearably sad, and yet - strangely enough - less lonely than she had for months. I wonder if I've made a new friend, she thought.
~
The weather was brilliant the next day, bright sunshine cutting through the cold, crisp October air. What seemed like hundreds of people were mingling about in the streets of Hogsmeade, and what seemed like hundreds of these again were crowding into the Three Broomsticks. Business was fantastic, and it remained fantastic throughout the day - a bit frustratingly to Rosmerta, who had to close four hours earlier than usual to get things ready for the wedding reception.
The couple had hired decorators and kitchen staff who would come the following day, but Rosmerta had to rearrange the furniture, go over the premises with cleaning charms, and check the whole inn for any residual or wayward spells. The hard work suited her, however, making it difficult to think too much about other things. She wondered if next year and the year after would be easier, each Anniversary marking the distance to the past.
At half past eleven, she was almost done. She stretched, flexed her fingers, and looked around to see if there was anything she'd missed.
Then there was a bang somewhere in the back of the pub, followed by a loud clatter. Rosmerta closed her eyes.
If this was what she thought it was, it was not something she wanted to deal with now. Not after such a week. Not when she was so tired, and sad, and barely able to keep the thoughts at bay.
But there was no way around it. A little while later, she had located the Boggart in a cupboard in one of the back rooms. She kept her eyes fixed on the cupboard door, which rattled menacingly, and concentrated hard to think of something funny. The last time she'd dealt with a Boggart was many years ago; it had assumed the shape of a skeleton - an old childhood fear of hers. Whatever showed up now, she'd dress it in one of those Muggle shell suits. That would have to do.
Right, then. She flung the door open. "Riddikulus!"
Except there was no skeleton. Rosmerta froze.
What she saw was herself.
No, not herself, not the way she was now. This was an older Rosmerta, worn, drawn, her eyes empty and dull. There was no life to her, no sauciness, no feeling of friendliness or warmth.
The figure looked like the loneliest, most haunted person in the world.
Rosmerta's fingers curled around her wand. "No," she whispered. Then, more strongly, but too shakily, "Riddikulus."
The figure took no heed. It started walking slowly towards her, shoulders hunched, bitter furrows on its features.
"No," Rosmerta whispered again. Her wand fell to the floor, clattered, rolled away. "No, that's not me, no..."
The Boggart grew before her eyes: impossibly, horribly. Rosmerta fell to her knees, gasping for breath.
All she could think was, I'm so sorry, Dorcas.
Then a voice, slightly hoarse, said, "Riddikulus!"
The Rosmerta-shaped shadow vanished; in its stead was a silvery orb. It hung for a moment, then dispersed. Remus Lupin put his wand away and looked at her.
"What..." Her voice sounded raspy, half-strangled. "What are you doing here?"
"The door," he said. "Passing by, I saw it was ajar, though the pub seemed closed... I thought I'd check that everything was all right."
Rosmerta drew a shuddering breath. The shock was still in her body, making her feel numb. "Thank you," she said at length."I hadn't walked the last round yet, so I'd missed the door... Though I really should have been able to deal with a Boggart on my own."
"They take us by surprise. It could happen to anyone." He looked around. "This is the room where we used to have Order meetings, isn't it?"
"I believe it was, yes." She followed his gaze around the room, concentrating on breathing. Slowly. In. Out.
Remus turned his eyes back to her; in the dim room, they were large and dark. "Are you all right, Madam Rosmerta?"
She closed her eyes. "Not really."
He hunched down beside her, muttering a spell. A moment later, a blanket was put around her shoulders.
"Thanks," she murmured, drawing the blanket closer.
"Is there anything I can do?" He sounded worried.
She said, eyes still closed, "Sit with me a little while. If that's all right."
"Yes, of course." He sat down next to her, and she heard him casting a quiet Lumos. For a while, they were silent.
"Thanks for checking in on me," she said at last.
"Not at all." He sounded hesitant. "And I wanted to thank you as well, for listening to me last night... I haven't talked to anyone like that for, well, ages."
"I'm glad." She breathed. In. Out. "Aren't you going to ask me about the Boggart?"
A couple of moments went by, before he replied, somewhat hesitantly, "Only if you feel like talking about it."
"I think I have to." She reached out in the darkness and touched his hand. "I haven't talked to anyone for ages either."
~
They ended up in Rosmerta's office, where there was a sofa. Because she was still feeling a bit shaky, Remus summoned two glasses and - on her instructions - a bottle of Ogden's finest while Rosmerta huddled under the blanket. He poured them each a drink and sat down next to her. They were silent for a bit.
"Dorcas Meadowes," she said at last, into the silence of the room. "Do you remember her?"
From the corner of her eye, she could see him nod. "Of course."
"She died a year ago, almost to the date. She was on an Order mission... There was an ambush of some sort."
"I remember," said Remus quietly. "I wasn't there, but I heard."
Rosmerta closed her eyes. She could still see Dorcas the way she'd been - five years Rosmerta's junior, with sparkling eyes, a rowdy laugh, and a heart that held both anger and love and didn't shy away from either.
"It was my fault."
In a way, it felt good to say it out loud.
When Remus spoke, his voice was even, gentle. "What happened?"
"You came out to me, so I should do the same for you." She took a deep breath. "We were lovers."
"I'm sorry." He sounded only sad, not surprised.
"I never told anyone," Rosmerta said. "You know what it's like. Our world wants more magical children, and respectable marriages to produce them. You don't have to be a pureblood fanatic to want that. My family did too. They always wanted me to find some nice wizard. I could have done that, you know. I could have had children. But I didn't want to lie." She paused for a second. "I didn't realise that I ended up lying anyway."
Remus said nothing, only waited for her to go on.
"I wanted to be on my own," said Rosmerta. "I borrowed money from my parents when I took over this place. They were always hoping I'd marry eventually, and they were always a bit wary of my work. I depended on them financially. I didn't dare tell them about Dorcas, I was so afraid they'd punish me somehow. And then people would talk... I was afraid everyone would think my pub was some sort of queer place, that I would lose customers. I was afraid of being talked about, of rumours, and hatred, and thugs..."
She laughed harshly. "What you said about queer people being invisible in our world... You are absolutely right. I'm afraid it must be because so many of us, like me, are cowards."
His hand pressed against her shoulder lightly. "Being cautious is not the same as being a coward."
She smiled at him. "You really are a sweetheart, aren't you? Too bad I don't swing your way at all." Then she sighed. "You are wrong, though. I am a coward. And because I'm a coward, she died."
"What happened?" he asked again. It was a gentle question, no trace of accusation, and she wanted to answer it - to tell it like it was, for the first time.
"I first got to know her when she moved to Hogsmeade ten years ago," Rosmerta said. "I knew I was different, and I knew I wanted her, but I didn't do anything about it - that is, not until she started coming to the pub more and more often, and not only for the Firewhisky." Despite herself, she smiled at the thought.
"This was before the war, but things were already getting ugly. Dorcas was one of the first people to join the Order. She agreed that we should keep things secret, because she thought I might be safer that way. Which was true. It was only later that she realised I would have kept things secret in peacetime, too. We fought over that quite a lot.
"Then came my brother's wedding." Rosmerta downed her glass and refilled it. "Dorcas wanted to come with me. She was willing to pretend to be just my friend. But I said no. I didn't want to risk it. So she said... She said that if I were going to keep being such a coward, I'd end up being alone for the rest of my days."
Rosmerta took another swig of Firewhisky, feeling the comforting burn down her throat. "So while I was at the wedding, Dorcas agreed to go on a mission for the Order. They always asked the single and unattached ones to do the most dangerous tasks. You'll know that."
"I do." He topped up his own drink. "Sirius and I were often chosen for that sort of thing. We were only bachelors, after all."
"Exactly." Rosmerta took a deep breath. "And she died that day, because she wasn't with me at the wedding, because I couldn't tell my family about her or even let them suspect... And when I found out..."
She swallowed. Her voice was thickening, her nose and eyes stinging.
"And when I found out what had happened, I owled her parents, asking about the funeral, and... And they said the funeral was for family only..."
His arm wrapped about her shoulders. She leaned into him, struggling to breathe evenly.
"I'd silenced not only myself but her too, and now I couldn't even come to say goodbye. And I still haven't been to her grave, but I miss her so much..."
Her voice finally broke. The last twelve months, with their guilt and sorrow and regret, had been clogged up inside her; now they finally burst out, streaming wet down her face. "God," she sobbed into his shoulder. "I miss her so much."
He took her drink from her trembling hands and put it on the table together with his own. Then he folded both arms around her. "I know," he whispered into her hair. "I know."
"I miss her all the time." She pressed her face into his shoulder like a little girl, still shaking with sobs. "I wish it wasn't too late."
"I know," he repeated, sounding as if he, too, were on the verge of tears. "I wish that too. All the time."
"God," she sniffled again. "What a mess we're in."
His arms tightened about her. From somewhere beyond her sobs, she could feel him tremble. She still didn't know him at all; and yet, as grief swelled and flowed between them, it seemed to her that right here, right now, the two of them knew each other as well as any two human beings could.
Prompt/Prompt Author: Remus came to the Three Broomsticks for the Firewhiskey (or what have you) but stayed for the companionship of the barmaid. -- tjs_whatnot
Title: The Quiet and the Dark
Characters: Remus Lupin, Madam Rosmerta
Rating: Teen
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: ~ 5000
Summary: "People are rarely what they seem," said Rosmerta. "I've learned as much in this job. Which brings us back to what I said earlier: it's very difficult to really know another human being."
Author's Notes: Based on PoA, I'm assuming that Rosmerta was the proprietor of the Three Broomsticks when the Marauders were at school, although canon isn't specific about her age. Thanks so much to my brilliant beta for her help and suggestions.
Rain poured down outside, barely visible in the darkness. The few remaining patrons huddled together around the tables, seemingly subdued by the weather. The end of the month was drawing near.
Rosmerta didn't much care for October.
She sighed, busying herself rearranging the bottles behind the bar. The week had been quiet, even more than what was usual at this time of year and with this sort of weather. She wondered if people were saving up for the Anniversary next week. The celebrations of He Who Must Not Be Named's downfall last year had seen her able to renovate the cellar, hire a new house-elf, and finally pay back the last of the loans to her parents. She ought to be grateful for that, at least.
The door opened, and Rosmerta shook off her gloominess the best she could. She smiled upon seeing the newcomer.
"Hello," she said to Remus Lupin, who smiled in return. He looked pale and drawn - the way he always had, even as a boy - but untouched by the foul weather. A dab hand at shielding charms, he must be.
Now he sat down by the bar, shaking off his patched old coat. "Quiet tonight, Madam Rosmerta?"
She gave a rueful shrug. "Must be the weather. What can I do for you, love?"
He ordered her cheapest Firewhisky, which didn't surprise her. He'd been here two or three times over the last few weeks, after years of absence, and he never went for the expensive stuff. But Rosmerta liked him - had always liked him and his group of friends. Taken as a whole, the lot of them had left no small number of Galleons in her pub over the years.
She poured his drink; then, seeing as he was too skinny and she was hungry, she popped open a bag of peanuts. "How are things at Madam Merrythought's?" she asked.
"Fine, thanks," he said, looking content. "I'm learning a lot."
Rosmerta put the bowl of peanuts between them and took some for herself. "I had no idea she was even looking for apprentices in her age."
"It's pure luck that I heard about it." He helped himself to some peanuts. "Professor Dumbledore told me, and I'm grateful. Especially as he agreed to serve as referee. I don't think I would have got the post if it hadn't been for him."
"That man has connections," said Rosmerta appreciatively. "You like it, then, working with Dark Creatures?" She shuddered a bit. "There were some rumours going around this winter that old Galatea keeps vampires and werewolves at her cottage. I'm not sure I believe it, but I'm not sure I would have volunteered to live out there either."
Remus smiled again, glancing down at his hands where they were wrapped around his glass. "It would have been a learning experience, certainly... But the worst I've had to deal with yet is a Mackled Malaclaw. The good stuff is yet to come, I'm sure."
They were quiet for a few moments as he sipped his drink. Rosmerta wondered if he wanted conversation. That was part of her job - noticing which of the patrons wanted to talk and which ones just wanted to be left alone. She wasn't sure yet which category he belonged to. Until a few weeks ago, she hadn't known him as anything other than a quiet but mischievous boy who had come to her pub with his friends while he was at school. She still didn't know him, but it occurred to her now that it would be proper to say something - that, in fact, she probably ought to have done so already. Acknowledge his sorrow, the way no one would acknowledge hers.
"Remus," she said quietly, the given name easily slipping over her lips. He looked up. "My apologies if you don't want to talk about it, but I just wanted to say how sorry I am about your friends. With the Anniversary approaching... It must be a difficult time for you."
His mouth lifted in the tiniest of smiles. "Thank you." A pause. "I can't believe it's been a year."
"Neither can I," said Rosmerta, thinking back. How many months now? She still hadn't been to the graveyard - hadn't been able to bring herself to it.
She didn't want to think about that. She said, instead, "Sometimes I wake up and I think the war is still going on. Those moments when I'm not sure what's dream and what's reality, what's happened and what hasn't... Those are perhaps the worst of all."
He took another sip of Firewhisky. "I know what you mean."
She studied his face. So young, only a boy, but there were lines around his eyes and mouth, and strands of grey in his hair. She tried imagining being in his place - three of his closest friends dead. The last one a murderer. She wondered what it must be like.
Rosmerta looked at the rain pouring down outside. She remembered Dorcas telling her, some time early on, about the newly founded Order that needed a meeting place. She remembered lending them a room, pretending not to notice them as they sidled into the back of the pub, one by one: Dorcas Meadowes, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black. James and Lily Potter.
"Do you know what happened to baby Harry?" she asked at last. "I heard he's to grow up with some Muggle relatives of his mother's."
Remus nodded. "Professor Dumbledore seemed to think it was the best idea."
"I suppose it's for the best," said Rosmerta thoughtfully. "Give him a chance to be a normal boy, for a while. He'll get to know this world soon enough."
He nodded again, though he looked a bit doubtful. "Perhaps." Studying his drink for a moment, he added, "I wish I could do something. But it's too late."
"Hey," she said gently. "You did everything you could. I know about the Order, Remus."
"Of course." He gave her the bleakest of smiles. "I remember that we met here, a few times."
"So long ago now, isn't it? Time is a funny thing." She smiled back. He was easy to talk to. "I remember you from your schooldays, you know. I also remember that girlfriend of yours... Elaine, wasn't it? Are you still in touch?"
"Helen? No, we're not. She broke up with me during seventh year." He gazed down into his drink. "Sirius was happy when she did; he couldn't stand her."
Rosmerta gave a start at the mention of Black's name. Remus looked surprised as well. A flush crept over his cheeks as if he'd said something inappropriate. Maybe he was trying to forget he'd ever been the mass murderer's friend. Rosmerta couldn't blame him. She decided not to pursue the subject.
"I had a young couple here earlier today," she said. "They're getting married next weekend and they're having the reception here." She shook her head a bit. "Fresh out of Hogwarts, they are, both of them. When young people kept marrying during the war, I thought it was a bit of a defence mechanism. But it seems to be a trend, still, these days."
"Perhaps." His voice held a slight touch of bitterness, which disappeared in an instant. "I should get home - Professor Merrythought says we're going on a field trip tomorrow." He quickly emptied his drink. "It was nice talking with you, Madam Rosmerta."
"Likewise," she replied, looking after him as he disappeared out the door. The rain fell as heavily as ever.
~
The thought of weddings came back to her as she was getting ready for bed that night. During the war, there had been plenty of weddings, plenty of receptions at the Three Broomsticks. Rosmerta had done her best to give the young couples the day of their lives, a brief respite from the horrors going on. And they always looked happy - glowing young boys and girls staring into each other's eyes as if nothing and no one else mattered in the world.
Her own parents had often asked her when it would be her turn. A tedious question. Admittedly, after she'd turned thirty, they seemed to have given up.
She sighed, staring into the mirror as she applied skin-care potion to her face. There were so many things she ought to have done. There were so many things she ought not to have done.
The sorrow simmered under her skin, covered but still alive. She'd have to live with it now, going to bed alone, putting out the light alone, and not feeling warm hands on her hips or the soft brush of lips over her shoulder.
~
Business continued to be slow for the next few days, the rain beating down against the windows, the wind howling around the corners, the Hogsmeade streets almost empty. People dropped by for a drink or a meal, but they didn't stay for long, and few ordered more than one round. The quiet got on Rosmerta's nerves, making her restless. She was genuinely pleased when Remus Lupin dropped by again, three or four nights after his last visit.
"Firewhisky, love?" she asked, pouring him a glass when he smiled his thanks. "Was your field trip nice?"
"It was very interesting." He accepted his drink, then glanced at her almost shyly. "Listen, Madam Rosmerta... I'm sorry for leaving so abruptly the other night. It wasn't my intention to be rude."
"That's quite all right." She smiled reassuringly. "Talking about the war does make one tired, doesn't it?"
"Right." Remus took a sip of Firewhisky, then looked at her as if pondering something. "I suppose I haven't done a lot of that this year."
"Would you like to?" she asked softly. Curiosity tugged at her; she wouldn't mind hearing more about the war. His war, at least. Hers wasn't over yet, perhaps never would be.
"I think so." He twirled the glass between his hands, a frown between his eyes. "Perhaps not everything. But there are some things..."
Rosmerta had heard many horrible stories over the last year, told in whispers or sobs over the bar by patrons who'd almost managed to drink themselves into oblivion. She'd heard about threats, about violence, about finding your loved ones dead or maimed. Listening to people's sorrows and woes was part of her job, just like serving them drinks, just like tossing them a wink or a flirty smile.
Dorcas had called it her barmaid's mask, but Rosmerta didn't think of it as a mask at all. It was just another side of her, the part of herself that belonged to her work. No more of a mask than the private Rosmerta, the one who cried or slept or made love. She hadn't said as much to Dorcas; she'd let her believe that Madam Rosmerta, the seductive yet sympathetic barmaid, was just a mask. That the other Rosmerta was the only real one, and that Dorcas was the only one who knew her.
Now she put on her listener's smile, watching Remus swirl the contents of his drink. "Go on," she said mildly.
He looked up, meeting her gaze. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of naked sorrow in his eyes. "Do you think it's possible to really know someone?" he asked. "To the point where you can be certain they won't hurt you?"
Rosmerta was startled by the question. "No," she said. "I don't think we can ever be sure of that."
He sighed. "It's something I've asked myself many times. What happened if I'd been able to see, if I'd known..."
His voice trailed off. He looked down.
"Is it..." She hesitated, almost afraid to ask. "Are you thinking of Black?"
Remus nodded, not looking up. "He was my - we were friends. I thought I knew him, but I... I should have been able to see. I should have done something."
"Remus," she said softly. He raised his eyes to her face; again there was that glimpse of sorrow and something that might have been guilt. Rosmerta felt sad to see it.
"He was your friend," she repeated. "It wasn't your fault. I still remember him the way he was... Never in a thousand years would I have thought he would become what he became. It wasn't your fault." She shrugged. "There were always rumours going on about the Black family and Dark magic. Maybe blood is more powerful than we thought."
"Maybe." He looked unhappy at the idea.
"You say he didn't like your girlfriend," she said tentatively. "I didn't know her very well, but was she... Muggleborn? Did he hurt her?"
Remus shook his head. "No. No, it was nothing like that. He didn't do anything to her at all, really, except being cold and snotty and avoiding spending time with me if she was going to be there as well. He wouldn't tell me what the problem was, just kept on being a git. And I couldn't figure out why."
"Then what?" Rosmerta asked.
Remus looked at her, his eyes large and naked. "Then I found out why," he said quietly.
A spark of recognition lit inside her. "Do you mean -"
They were interrupted by a group of four wizards who approached the bar, calling to Rosmerta for mead. "Wait a second," she said, leaving to attend to them. When she returned, she took out the bottle of whisky. "One more?"
"Well..."
"It's on the house," she said reassuringly, topping up his drink. "Now..." She looked at him. "Do you want to tell me about Sirius?"
He gave her a considering, searching look. "I know you're good at keeping secrets," he said at last. "I remember that from the Order."
Rosmerta chuckled lightly. She had kept plenty of things secret in her life, that was for certain. "We barmaids are like priests in a way: we're used to hearing almost anything. There's probably nothing you can tell me that will come as a shock."
"No, I suppose not." He sighed. "When I was seventeen, I found out that Sirius... That he wanted me. And that it was reciprocal. As it turned out, I - go both ways, as one might say."
She nodded reassuringly, glancing around. Nobody was paying attention. "Nothing wrong with that, love."
He shrugged and took a sip of Firewhisky. "It was a bit scary. And confusing. And the most confusing part was, I couldn't understand why he... You know what he was like back then." His voice became softer; his eyes grew wistful. "He could have had anyone."
Rosmerta didn't say anything at first. So he and Black had been more than friends. A lover lost - and not to the clean sorrow of a death in innocence. Everything she knew about this boy's life suddenly seemed more tragic, more desolate.
"Madam Rosmerta?" He was looking at her now. "Won't you have a drink, too?"
She shouldn't imbibe; it would make her less equipped to deal with any unpleasantness that might arise. Granted, apart from the two of them there was only the group of wizards, who'd retreated to a window table in the far corner. "I'm at work," she said apologetically.
"I just came out to you. I just let you know that I used to be in love with a mass murderer. I'd like some solidarity." There was a sudden spark of wry humour in his eyes. "Surely one drink can't hurt."
Rosmerta smiled. She poured herself a drink and topped up his again. "Tell me more, if you like," she said.
"Not much to tell, I suppose. I was so in love with him, even though I knew what an idiot he could be. But I wouldn't have dreamed..." Remus paused and drew a long breath. "I thought things were going to be all right. I thought we'd win, in the end. And then it would all be better."
Was there some law that dictated that all youth, no matter how hopeful, must be broken? Rosmerta had no idea, but the thought made her angry and sad. "Things rarely get all right in one go," she said, keeping her voice low and gentle. "You-Know-Who's fall couldn't save us from ourselves. Even if Sirius hadn't - gone to prison, there would still be difficulties."
"I know that now," he said grimly. "Though I suppose most people are happy the way things are. That's the impression they give, anyway."
"People are rarely what they seem," said Rosmerta. "I've learned as much in this job. Which brings us back to what I said earlier: it's very difficult to really know another human being." She touched his hand. "It's easy to be blinded by love. Don't blame yourself."
Remus smiled bleakly. "Thanks," he said. "I'm not sure why I'm telling you all this, though it feels nice. I must be drunk."
"Not yet drunk enough for me to throw you out," she reassured him.
"Very few people know," he said.
She recognised the comment for what it was. "I won't tell anyone."
He drained his glass and said, his voice more heated than she'd ever heard it before, "You'd think it would be easier being queer, these days. It seems that for Muggles, it is. But apart from Sirius I never knew anyone, not from our world. It's as if we don't exist. I don't think they want us to exist, even if we're not all mon - even if we're not all like him."
His voice had grown angry, passionate, losing the calm self-control from before. He suddenly seemed to notice it himself, for he flushed, putting his glass down on the bar.
"Sorry," he mumbled, wincing. "I am probably drunker than I thought."
"Not at all," Rosmerta whispered. She glanced around the pub again, but it was empty; the other patrons had left a while ago. Rosmerta hadn't even noticed.
"I should be going," said Remus now, getting to his feet and reaching for his coat. He smiled at her - a small, grateful gesture. "Thanks for the drinks, and for... well, listening."
"Not at all," she said again, softly. Her eyes followed him as he left.
Then she started cleaning up for the night. She summoned empty glasses and mugs and took them to the kitchen, closed the blinds, and sent the house-elves to bed. Tomorrow she'd have to close early - it was the day before the wedding reception, and she'd have to get the premises ready.
As she went about her tasks, the thoughts kept coming: about Remus Lupin, about Dorcas, about the Anniversary, about weddings. She felt unbearably sad, and yet - strangely enough - less lonely than she had for months. I wonder if I've made a new friend, she thought.
~
The weather was brilliant the next day, bright sunshine cutting through the cold, crisp October air. What seemed like hundreds of people were mingling about in the streets of Hogsmeade, and what seemed like hundreds of these again were crowding into the Three Broomsticks. Business was fantastic, and it remained fantastic throughout the day - a bit frustratingly to Rosmerta, who had to close four hours earlier than usual to get things ready for the wedding reception.
The couple had hired decorators and kitchen staff who would come the following day, but Rosmerta had to rearrange the furniture, go over the premises with cleaning charms, and check the whole inn for any residual or wayward spells. The hard work suited her, however, making it difficult to think too much about other things. She wondered if next year and the year after would be easier, each Anniversary marking the distance to the past.
At half past eleven, she was almost done. She stretched, flexed her fingers, and looked around to see if there was anything she'd missed.
Then there was a bang somewhere in the back of the pub, followed by a loud clatter. Rosmerta closed her eyes.
If this was what she thought it was, it was not something she wanted to deal with now. Not after such a week. Not when she was so tired, and sad, and barely able to keep the thoughts at bay.
But there was no way around it. A little while later, she had located the Boggart in a cupboard in one of the back rooms. She kept her eyes fixed on the cupboard door, which rattled menacingly, and concentrated hard to think of something funny. The last time she'd dealt with a Boggart was many years ago; it had assumed the shape of a skeleton - an old childhood fear of hers. Whatever showed up now, she'd dress it in one of those Muggle shell suits. That would have to do.
Right, then. She flung the door open. "Riddikulus!"
Except there was no skeleton. Rosmerta froze.
What she saw was herself.
No, not herself, not the way she was now. This was an older Rosmerta, worn, drawn, her eyes empty and dull. There was no life to her, no sauciness, no feeling of friendliness or warmth.
The figure looked like the loneliest, most haunted person in the world.
Rosmerta's fingers curled around her wand. "No," she whispered. Then, more strongly, but too shakily, "Riddikulus."
The figure took no heed. It started walking slowly towards her, shoulders hunched, bitter furrows on its features.
"No," Rosmerta whispered again. Her wand fell to the floor, clattered, rolled away. "No, that's not me, no..."
The Boggart grew before her eyes: impossibly, horribly. Rosmerta fell to her knees, gasping for breath.
All she could think was, I'm so sorry, Dorcas.
Then a voice, slightly hoarse, said, "Riddikulus!"
The Rosmerta-shaped shadow vanished; in its stead was a silvery orb. It hung for a moment, then dispersed. Remus Lupin put his wand away and looked at her.
"What..." Her voice sounded raspy, half-strangled. "What are you doing here?"
"The door," he said. "Passing by, I saw it was ajar, though the pub seemed closed... I thought I'd check that everything was all right."
Rosmerta drew a shuddering breath. The shock was still in her body, making her feel numb. "Thank you," she said at length."I hadn't walked the last round yet, so I'd missed the door... Though I really should have been able to deal with a Boggart on my own."
"They take us by surprise. It could happen to anyone." He looked around. "This is the room where we used to have Order meetings, isn't it?"
"I believe it was, yes." She followed his gaze around the room, concentrating on breathing. Slowly. In. Out.
Remus turned his eyes back to her; in the dim room, they were large and dark. "Are you all right, Madam Rosmerta?"
She closed her eyes. "Not really."
He hunched down beside her, muttering a spell. A moment later, a blanket was put around her shoulders.
"Thanks," she murmured, drawing the blanket closer.
"Is there anything I can do?" He sounded worried.
She said, eyes still closed, "Sit with me a little while. If that's all right."
"Yes, of course." He sat down next to her, and she heard him casting a quiet Lumos. For a while, they were silent.
"Thanks for checking in on me," she said at last.
"Not at all." He sounded hesitant. "And I wanted to thank you as well, for listening to me last night... I haven't talked to anyone like that for, well, ages."
"I'm glad." She breathed. In. Out. "Aren't you going to ask me about the Boggart?"
A couple of moments went by, before he replied, somewhat hesitantly, "Only if you feel like talking about it."
"I think I have to." She reached out in the darkness and touched his hand. "I haven't talked to anyone for ages either."
~
They ended up in Rosmerta's office, where there was a sofa. Because she was still feeling a bit shaky, Remus summoned two glasses and - on her instructions - a bottle of Ogden's finest while Rosmerta huddled under the blanket. He poured them each a drink and sat down next to her. They were silent for a bit.
"Dorcas Meadowes," she said at last, into the silence of the room. "Do you remember her?"
From the corner of her eye, she could see him nod. "Of course."
"She died a year ago, almost to the date. She was on an Order mission... There was an ambush of some sort."
"I remember," said Remus quietly. "I wasn't there, but I heard."
Rosmerta closed her eyes. She could still see Dorcas the way she'd been - five years Rosmerta's junior, with sparkling eyes, a rowdy laugh, and a heart that held both anger and love and didn't shy away from either.
"It was my fault."
In a way, it felt good to say it out loud.
When Remus spoke, his voice was even, gentle. "What happened?"
"You came out to me, so I should do the same for you." She took a deep breath. "We were lovers."
"I'm sorry." He sounded only sad, not surprised.
"I never told anyone," Rosmerta said. "You know what it's like. Our world wants more magical children, and respectable marriages to produce them. You don't have to be a pureblood fanatic to want that. My family did too. They always wanted me to find some nice wizard. I could have done that, you know. I could have had children. But I didn't want to lie." She paused for a second. "I didn't realise that I ended up lying anyway."
Remus said nothing, only waited for her to go on.
"I wanted to be on my own," said Rosmerta. "I borrowed money from my parents when I took over this place. They were always hoping I'd marry eventually, and they were always a bit wary of my work. I depended on them financially. I didn't dare tell them about Dorcas, I was so afraid they'd punish me somehow. And then people would talk... I was afraid everyone would think my pub was some sort of queer place, that I would lose customers. I was afraid of being talked about, of rumours, and hatred, and thugs..."
She laughed harshly. "What you said about queer people being invisible in our world... You are absolutely right. I'm afraid it must be because so many of us, like me, are cowards."
His hand pressed against her shoulder lightly. "Being cautious is not the same as being a coward."
She smiled at him. "You really are a sweetheart, aren't you? Too bad I don't swing your way at all." Then she sighed. "You are wrong, though. I am a coward. And because I'm a coward, she died."
"What happened?" he asked again. It was a gentle question, no trace of accusation, and she wanted to answer it - to tell it like it was, for the first time.
"I first got to know her when she moved to Hogsmeade ten years ago," Rosmerta said. "I knew I was different, and I knew I wanted her, but I didn't do anything about it - that is, not until she started coming to the pub more and more often, and not only for the Firewhisky." Despite herself, she smiled at the thought.
"This was before the war, but things were already getting ugly. Dorcas was one of the first people to join the Order. She agreed that we should keep things secret, because she thought I might be safer that way. Which was true. It was only later that she realised I would have kept things secret in peacetime, too. We fought over that quite a lot.
"Then came my brother's wedding." Rosmerta downed her glass and refilled it. "Dorcas wanted to come with me. She was willing to pretend to be just my friend. But I said no. I didn't want to risk it. So she said... She said that if I were going to keep being such a coward, I'd end up being alone for the rest of my days."
Rosmerta took another swig of Firewhisky, feeling the comforting burn down her throat. "So while I was at the wedding, Dorcas agreed to go on a mission for the Order. They always asked the single and unattached ones to do the most dangerous tasks. You'll know that."
"I do." He topped up his own drink. "Sirius and I were often chosen for that sort of thing. We were only bachelors, after all."
"Exactly." Rosmerta took a deep breath. "And she died that day, because she wasn't with me at the wedding, because I couldn't tell my family about her or even let them suspect... And when I found out..."
She swallowed. Her voice was thickening, her nose and eyes stinging.
"And when I found out what had happened, I owled her parents, asking about the funeral, and... And they said the funeral was for family only..."
His arm wrapped about her shoulders. She leaned into him, struggling to breathe evenly.
"I'd silenced not only myself but her too, and now I couldn't even come to say goodbye. And I still haven't been to her grave, but I miss her so much..."
Her voice finally broke. The last twelve months, with their guilt and sorrow and regret, had been clogged up inside her; now they finally burst out, streaming wet down her face. "God," she sobbed into his shoulder. "I miss her so much."
He took her drink from her trembling hands and put it on the table together with his own. Then he folded both arms around her. "I know," he whispered into her hair. "I know."
"I miss her all the time." She pressed her face into his shoulder like a little girl, still shaking with sobs. "I wish it wasn't too late."
"I know," he repeated, sounding as if he, too, were on the verge of tears. "I wish that too. All the time."
"God," she sniffled again. "What a mess we're in."
His arms tightened about her. From somewhere beyond her sobs, she could feel him tremble. She still didn't know him at all; and yet, as grief swelled and flowed between them, it seemed to her that right here, right now, the two of them knew each other as well as any two human beings could.