All Good Stars Lead to Libations

[miss_montrose]

Title: All Good Stars Lead to Libations
Characters: James, Sirius, Rosmerta
Words: 2,810
Author's Note: Written as the sequel to Shooting Stars.  For the archers.

All Good Stars Lead to Libations

 
The dog’s fur glinted in the moonlight.

 

Finally, they reached a small fallow field behind an inn and trotted to a stop. There, the dog and the stag shifted shape wordlessly.  

 

A pause hung in the air as they cast a wistful look at The Three Broomsticks' rear facade of weathered boards and peeling paint.  Inside lay warmth and libations…

 

Sirius shrugged up his collar to baffle out the night air.  The fringe of his hair hung damply.  “Old Mackie would blow a nightcap if she knew we were here,” he commented coolly.

 

A smirk twitched at the corner of James’s mouth.  “So what now?” he asked. “Just head in and take our chances?”

“Seems like the only thing for it.”

“Ready to turn on the charm?” James asked laughingly.

“We’ll need it.” Sirius nodded as they entered the alley, whisking past crates of bottles.

“At least she finds us amusing…” 

Sirius dropped his voice as they rounded the corner.  “D’you think that’s all she finds us?”  He reached out to pull the tavern door.

**

Rosmerta’s hands flew to her hips upon sight of them.  “What in Merlin’s name are you two doing in here on a weeknight?”

James and Sirius simultaneously bit back grins. 

“Special permission?” Sirius quipped.

“Special permission my Fwooper!” A smile crept onto her face as they slid onto barstools.

James’s eyes swept the pub as he took his seat. There was only one customer left, a ragged sort of warlock hunched over his drink at a table by the fireplace, and Rosmerta stole their attention back well before either of them could care whether such a random bloke spotted them in Hogsmeade. 

Her hair wasn’t pinned up, as he’d often seen it on busy Hogsmeade weekends, in a bun speared by her wand.  Tonight, its thick chestnut waves cascaded onto the shoulders of her burgundy dress, most of which was covered by an apron, though neither succeeded in hiding her neckline. 

“Well, you two are in luck,” she mused.  “The staff was all in here last night.  And Hagrid’s off to Edinburgh tonight.”

“Edinburgh?” James inquired.

“Supplies or the like,” Rosmerta waved a hand airily.

“Does that mean you’ll serve us real drinks?” Sirius plied with a rakish grin.

“Oho, pushing your luck.”  Again both hands braced her hips.  The gamely smile blossoming on her lips, however, said they hadn’t pushed too far, and, after a pause, she asked, “What would you like, then?”

James shot a gleeful look at Sirius. 

“There are far greater evils than a little mead,” she tutted in response to their surprise. 

“Two Firewhiskies?” asked Sirius.

“You’ve eaten dinner, I hope?”

James and Sirius traded a glance: They’d eaten so long ago, their stomachs had forgotten it.  And their caper through the forest had worked up a raging appetite.  Rosmerta took their silence for an answer and with a click of heels walked to the stove where she ladled out two bowls of stew.  Returning, she set the dishes in front of the boys.

“Stew is on the house,” she announced.  “It’s down to the dregs anyway.”

James stared into his bowl of thickly-cut beef, carrots, and potatoes, the most appetizing dregs he’d ever seen, as the rising aroma of meat and herbs filled his nose.  He picked up his spoon to tuck in.  After they’d cooled their first spoonful and tasted it, Sirius asked, “Is there—mead in this?”

“Of course.  Wouldn’t try making a decent stew without it.”

“This is way better than the Hogwarts elves make,” James pronounced enthusiastically.

“I’m sure they do a fine job,” Rosmerta said, wiping down the counter with a linen cloth, but wearing a smile in her voice.

At that moment, the grubby patron shuffled to the bar to pay up.  His long, grizzled grey hair flanked his cheeks. 

“Calling it a night, Eleazar?” Rosmerta asked cheerfully, setting aside the linen.

“Aye, time to hit the hay. What do I owe?” he asked, fishing in his pocket for coins with a knobby hand.  He cast an insignificant glance at the boys. 

“Just a couple sickles for your last drink.  You paid the rest of your tab a minute ago, remember, dear?”

“Oh…darn it, guess I don’t.  Well, ‘night, Rosmerta,” he said, laying the coins on the bar. 

“Bundle up.  It’s cold out,” Rosmerta called after him.

A flurry of cool air braced them as the old wizard pulled open the oak door and disappeared into the night, leaving James and Sirius alone in the bar with Rosmerta.

“Poor dear,” Rosmerta murmured. “Wife died a year ago.  Hasn’t known what to do with himself since.”  Then her tone brightened.  “Tell you what…I’ve just the thing to go with those stews.”

Her stretch to the shelf over the bar for tankards was followed by two sets of eyes.  Not for the first time, James wondered how old Rosmerta was.  She hadn’t lost any allure, whatever her head start on them.  

In the next second Rosmerta clinked the tankards on the bar and their eyes rebounded to her face.  “Think you’ll enjoy this,” she said, directing the tap to pour out two servings.  “It’s my best oatmeal stout.  Only make it in the autumn, you know.  You can chase it down with a Firewhiskey later, if you’re still hot for it.”  She slid the foaming tankards in front of them, expertly slipping a coaster under each before stepping back and folding her arms to watch them.

“And if any of the staff comes in, I expect you’ll take full responsibility for your actions, starting with showing up in my pub on a week night.”  The twinkle in her eye belied any true admonishment.  “I assume you’ve prepared some cock and bull story for the occasion?” 

“We always do,” Sirius nodded mock-sincerely.

“How did you get into town without being seen, anyway?  The High Road?”

James shook his head.  “The Forest.”

“At this time of night?  And you didn’t get lost?”

“No.  We followed Sagittarius in.  It’s dead south of the castle at this time of year.  Same as the village,” Sirius explained.

“Well, I’m glad you put your education to good use, at any rate.” Rosmerta tilted her head.  “Hmm, Minerva’s house…” she mused.  “Well, I do adore the woman, but I don’t suppose she’d go easy on you.”

“If we got caught,” James asserted.

Rosmerta’s chuckle filled the tavern with a sense of ease.

“James is hoping he’ll get reported straight to Evans for discipline,” Sirius quipped in an undertone as he pulled his tankard forward.

James backhanded his mate in the stomach before the vessel touched his lips, thwarting Sirius’s intentions of burying his goading smile in the foam.

“Oi!”  Sirius steadied the tankard as the foam ran over the pewter rim then sipped it away.  “What? She is a prefect,” he muttered, grinning.

Rosmerta surveyed the two of them in amusement, her gaze shifting to and fro as though watching Wimbledon.  “Pretty redhead?” she inquired in a bell-like tone, glancing at James then up into her hairline to jog her memory.  “I know the one.”

James nodded, blushing slightly. 

“Gave him a bit of a twisting last year,” informed Sirius, his low tone suggesting sympathy. 

Rosmerta studied James carefully as he took a sip of mead.  “She’ll come around,” she said with unwavering confidence.

James eyes bounced up, along with his brows, meeting Rosmerta’s hazel ones.  What? She’d seen enough to form an opinion?  Well, he supposed he didn’t hide it; surely he’d flirted with Lily on at least one Hogsmeade weekend.  In this very bar.

Rosmerta nodded deliberately.  “It’s natural at your age, that sort of contention.”  Her tone was as assuring as her lips were full.  “I enjoyed it myself.”

Rosmerta let the sentiment hang before turning a playful eye on Sirius.  “And you, Sirius Black?  Any witches up at the school you’re currently chasing around now that you’ve ratted on poor James here?”  The twinkle seemed to take on a little extra wattage.  James grin grew at the chance to watch Sirius volley wit with a venerable adversary for a change.

Sirius swiped the locks out of his eyes to reveal a straight face.  “Can’t say I find any of the Hogwarts girls very exciting.”

“Oh come.  Not a one?  I don’t think you give those girls enough credit.  I’ve seen some very pretty witches in here, I tell you.”

“Pretty, maybe, but dead boring,” Sirius scoffed then followed it with a quick bark-like laugh. 

“Well, maybe if you settled down a bit…” she challenged with a wicked grin.

“Not planning on it.”

“Stopped racing into town every night…”  The cross of Rosmerta’s arms held firm.

“Hasn’t spoiled my fun this evening,” he said pointedly.

Rosmerta tilted her head as if to ask, “Oh?” and smiled in spite of herself.

James watched avidly. 

“Your brother doesn’t seem quite so high-spirited as you,” she remarked, her expression turning thoughtful again.

“Regulus?” Sirius asked in an incredulous tone.

“Aye.”

“Don’t ask me what Regulus gets up to,” Sirius muttered darkly.  “If it were as simple as witches, I’d be relieved.”

Rosmerta bit her bottom lip, her eyes tracing thoughts around her head.  She looked like she had something to say, but hesitated.  “But it sounds to me like he follows more in the footsteps of the rest of your family, doesn’t he?”  Her gentle tone invited conversation, especially on a subject which generally averted Sirius.  Nonetheless, Sirius’s head whipped up.

“Well, I’m the only person in my family to ever get sorted Gryffindor, if that’s what you mean.”  He frowned. “The rest of them hold to foul ideas about blood purity which I don’t share.”  He glanced at James.

“I admire you for it,” Rosmerta gave a nod.  “Can’t be easy, going against the grain of your whole family.”

Sirius made a feeble attempt to smile.

Just then a draft of wind buffeted the door, pushing it open like a ghost.

“Mind if I lock that?” she asked, rummaging in her apron pocket and producing a ring of keys.  “I’m not taking any more customers tonight.  They can hit the Hogshead at this hour.”

As she crossed the bar with the little iron ring, James checked his wrist: quarter to eleven.  Sirius, for his part, was watching Rosmerta turn the key in the lock. Apron strings hid little.

James leaned toward his mate.  “Any witches in Hogsmeade who interest you?” he whispered.

Sirius’s head turned and he slowly grinned.

They tried to dissemble their conversation as Rosmerta clicked her way back past.

Back behind the bar, she stretched her neck this way and that, braced a hand to it, and then reached up to unclasp the locket hanging round her neck, setting it on the bar with a weary sigh.  James caught a waft of something floral and musky all at once as she shook out her hair.  

“Well, guess I should set about cleaning up the place.  Almost time to turn in.  I thought you two would be quicker with those stouts.”  She gestured to their tankards before stepping towards the sink.

“Sorry,” James and Sirius blurted in tandem and proceeded to take a long draft.

“Oh, I’m not saying I mind by any means, I just thought you were keen on chasing it down with a little Firewhiskey.”  If she meant to tease, James couldn’t decide.  She ran the faucet into the sink and watched a storm of bubbles brew in the basin.  “I always appreciate decent manners, really.  Some of my customers downright inhale the stuff, if you ask me.”

James’s eyes were trained on the shiny oval locket she’d left behind, illuminated by the lantern on the bar.  A highlight danced along its seam where James caught sight of a hinge and guessed there must be a portrait inside.  He gingerly picked it up and, with a query of his brows, asked permission to open it.

“Oh, sure.”  Rosmerta waved her hand, still standing at the tap.  As the water neared the top of the sink, she flicked her wand to stop the flow.

James clicked open the locket just as Sirius leaned towards him to peer inside.

In the left of two portraits, a very Celtic looking young woman with auburn hair, more brown than red, appeared in profile.  Young.  Her forehead swept high to an attractive widow’s peak. She had a long straight nose and lithe neck.  And her eyes were recessed just enough to be alluring. 

On the right was a slight grey-haired man.

“Who’s this?” James asked.

“My father.”

“No, the other one.”

Rosmerta smiled knowingly.  “My sister.  Whole lotta trouble, that one.”

“We like trouble,” Sirius replied.

“She looks…”  James began.

“…our age.” Sirius finished the thought.

“Right around,” Rosmerta admitted with a dash of her head.  “She’s twenty.  You’re—?“

“Seventeen,” Sirius provided, still peering into the frame. 

James knocked Sirius’s knee under the bar. 

Sirius knocked it back before sitting up straight again. 

“Well, close enough,” Rosmerta replied, directing pilsner glasses into the suds.

“And you’re…?” Sirius seized the opportunity.

“Twenty-nine,” she answered matter-of-factly.

James did a double-take before pressing on.  “So she doesn’t live at home any more, then?” he ventured.

“No… And home hasn’t been home for a while,” admitted Rosmerta.  “My dad died ten years ago.  My mum… well…” Rosmerta shook her head ruefully.  “I was old enough to be on my own, but my sister lived with my Uncle on the Isle of Mann for a few years.  She’s in London now, working at a record store.”

“She’s not a witch, then?” James asked.

“No, but neither was my dad.  I’m the only one who inherited my mum’s gift,” she said softly.  “Ran off with a band of gypsies, before you ask.”

Sirius and James shot a startled glance up at Rosmerta. “Your mum?”

“Don’t ask me what went through her head.  Was harder on my sister than me.” She nodded back toward the locket.

“What’s her name?” Sirius asked.

“Cybele.” 

Rosmerta saw through their attempted angelic faces.  “She’s very pretty, I know.” 

“Runs in the family?” James offered with a lift of one brow.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Potter.” She smiled.

“Are you close?” Sirius asked.

“My sister and me?  In our own complicated way, yes.” Rosmerta sighed.  “Loved my Da, too.  He’s the reason I own this pub, really.  Left me a smokeshop in London I had no desire for, so I sold it and bought this place instead.  Share the money with my sister when she needs it.  She keeps promising to come help me out in the summers, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

James’s face budded into a less-than-innocent smile.

“Oh, don’t think I’d trust her around either of you two for a split second,” Rosmerta laughed.  “You could charm a girl straight out of her knickers, I’m sure of it.”

“We could?” they asked in concert, grinning.

Rosmerta laughed.  “I imagine you know it already.  Without my telling you.”  She reached for their empty bowls.  They murmured their appreciation for the stew once again.

As she walked to the sink with the bowls, they drained the last of their tankards and floated them over to the suds.

“Why, thank you,” she said, pivoting and catching sight of the vessels as they took the plunge.  “I’ll have to start paying you wages if you do any more,” she teased.

“We’d stick around.  Even scrubbing dishes has to be more exciting than anything going on in the castle at this hour,” replied Sirius. 

“Especially if you paid us in stout,” rallied James.  Sirius agreed by means of a bark-like laugh.

“So you liked it?” Rosmerta smiled fetchingly.

“Liked it?”

“I’m glad someone got to try it before Hagrid drinks it all. Six pints at a time, it doesn’t last long,” she shook her head gently.

“Six pints?” Their eyes glimmered.

“Don’t get any ideas.  You’d never find your way back to the castle.”

“There are worse things than not finding our way back to the castle because of a little mead,” Sirius said. 

“Well, unfortunately, you can’t spend the night here,” Rosmerta replied.  “Floor’s filthy.  And I have rules against it.”  James nudged Sirius with his foot under the bar.  “Tell me, would you like that shot of Firewhiskey to keep you warm on the walk home?”

“Only if you’ll have one with us,” Sirius plied.

Rosmerta tapped her lips in thought, fighting a smile at his audacity.  “It’s a deal, Mr. Black.  It’s a deal… and just about the best way to convince myself to leave these dishes until morning.”  She reached for the bottle to pour.

**

Stepping into the fallow field again, Firewhiskey warming their throats, Sirius called over his shoulder to James, “Forget about the Firewhiskey, Prongs.  Rosmerta’s one smokin’ hot witch!”


A/N: "Mackie" is, as always, Hazel's invention. Random references to Fwoopers must be credited to Hazel as well. And any quips about paying the boys wages for their help around the pub my brain might likely owe to duck_or_rabbit 's drabble I'll Drink To That.  Cross-posted to LiveJournal.

Comments

[ieune]

Oh, I like this very much! Such a lovely backstory you've created for Rosmerta that has the sense that it could just be canon--I'm guessing there'd be a lot more 'half-bloods' than purebloods, whatever the rest of Sirius's family hold to. I like the boys interest in Rosmerta's sister--of course a pretty girl would catch their eye, and if she was mischief into the bargain... ;)

Special permission my Fwooper! *spluttersnortsnigger* Like it!

The way you depict these two teenage boys is very well done--lots of 'show', and yet not overplayed; they feel real.

This line Rosmerta bit her bottom lip, her eyes tracing thoughts around her head. deserves special mention--how many times have I tried to think of a way to describe someone thinking--this is so spot on!

A real treat of a read! Thank you very much! :D

[miss_montrose]

My story making you happy makes me happy--especially in light of it being your day of the year!

I think this one's been in my brain long enough that it oozed out as soon as my fingers touched the keys. Of course, there was plenty of editing, as usual, but I had a lot of fun writing it. And my once-a-teenage-rogue husband was all too happy to alpha this one. : D

I'm especially glad to hear you liked Rosmerta. I enjoyed giving her a little more dimension.

Many happy returns of the day, Hazel! <3