Miriam Daniels did not go back to the hospital. She did not go back to help other witches and wizards who may have suffered attacks at the hands of Death Eaters. She did not report to the Order, who would surely have specific instructions for her to follow. She did not begin the process of notifying loved ones about the death of Lily and James Potter.
Instead, Miriam Daniels had gotten herself remarkably, and spectacularly, piss-faced drunk.
Miriam couldn’t recall a conscious thought compelling her to wander into the Three Broomsticks. In fact, she was almost positive her intended destination had been the hospital, as Sirius had instructed. However, upon arrival in the warm, familiar atmosphere she never once considered leaving. Any shame she might have felt for choosing such a substandard method of coping was quickly buried beneath reason and liquor.
After all, she had never claimed to be noble. She had never professed extraordinary courage or valor, beauty or grace, and she certainly did not think herself the cleverest witch in the coven. Healing aside, she had never really considered herself significantly above average in any aspect, and quite unremarkable in most.
And so, Miriam did what she imagined to be the unremarkable reaction to disabling, gut-wrenching grief, and drank herself into a numb stupor.
Upon noticing Miriam’s arrival at the bar, pale-faced, misery etched in every line, Madam Rosmerta had rushed over and taken the young woman’s face her in strong, gentle hands.
“What’s troubling you, Miriam? You can tell ol’ Rosmerta. You and Sirius have a go at each other?”
Miriam found that she could not bring herself to tell the rosy-cheeked barmaid about James and Lily. And so she said nothing, and simply allowed a lonely tear to trail gloomily down her cheek.
Madam Rosmerta, thinking the worst for the unlikely couple, had led Miriam up to her flat above the pub and sat her down on a lumpy sofa with a vibrant red and gold clover pattern. After giving Miriam a motherly pat on the head, she left the flat to arrive a few moments later with an abnormally large mug, overflowing with what appeared to be firewhiskey.
“I added a bit of potion in there, just something to protect the babe. You shouldn’t be able to taste a thing.”
This had been enough to shock Miriam out of her stupor. When she spoke, her voice sounded rough and unfamiliar, like someone who had not spoken for days on end.
“Wha…? But….how did you know? I haven’t told anybody, only Li…” But she choked on her friend’s name and hid her grief in the foamy drink.
“Witches intuition,” Madam Rosmerta said, smiling kindly as Miriam gulped. Then she left Miriam in the flat to give her some time to herself, only returning on instinct to refill Miriam’s mug when it had been drained.
Miriam didn’t know how long she had sat on the sofa, gulping down the burning liquid. It could have been hours or days even, for all she presently cared. She had also lost count of how many times Rosmerta had quietly entered the flat to refill her mug, but was almost positive that the number was somewhere between four and thirteen.
The thought made Miriam grin, a stupid, lazy affectation, and she released a rancid smelling hiccup.
Life, if someone were to ask her presently, was just dandy as far as Miriam was concerned. The liquor had spread a think, frothy layer of cheery indifference over her grief. Her body felt light, as though she would at any second float right out of her chair, and her vision had been reduced to a blurry wash of colors. Miriam gazed dumbly around the room, thinking it all rather pretty, and continued to grin foolishly.
She took another large swig from her mug and spilled half down her front. Intending to wipe her chin with her sleeve, she missed, and instead clobbered herself on the chin, knocking her limp form right off the sofa.
“Whoopsy!” she giggled.
Miriam used the assistance of the coffee table to hoist herself back to her knees (not without some difficulty) when there was a flash of blinding light that made her drop once more to the floor. Raising herself eye level to the table, Miriam could make out a pair of eyes surrounded by bright red staring curiously back at her.
There was a painful lurch in Miriam’s stomach.
“Lily?” she whispered, and flung out an arm to touch her friend, missing by about two feet. And just as suddenly as they had appeared, the eyes disappeared in another flash Miriam now recognized as fire, the heat of it forcing her to squint her eyes in defense.
“Oh yes,” Miriam said thickly to no one in particular. “Almost forgot.” She picked up her drink and glugged down the rest.
Lily is gone, Miriam reminded herself. She sighed, a glum sound, which translated fluently to those familiar of drink as, “Life is, quite frankly, rubbish. But, ah well. Cheers!”
Just then Miriam recalled an old Muggle film she and her father had been very fond of, a musical. It was highly inaccurate, as she later found out, but the sound of squeaky, cheerful voices rang in her head and she sang along gaily and off key:
“Ding-dong, the (hic) witch is dead…”
The door leading to the flat creaked open. Miriam swung her head around nearly losing her balance once again, and found herself staring at a rather flushed, frightened looking Madam Rosmerta and two Remus Lupins.
“Rosie!” Miriam cried happily, flinging her arms into the air in greeting. “An’ Remus, you’ve brough’ (hic) a friend!” Her speech was very slurred, and her tongue felt a few sizes to big for her mouth. “Rather looks a bi’ like you, Remus,” Miriam added as an afterthought. “A bi’ homlier, per’aps? Aah, Rosie, ‘ow about (hic) another round, ay?”
Lupin glanced at the spot next to him where Miriam had been gazing, and where nothing stood but thin air.
“How many drinks has she had, Rosmerta?” he asked soberly, taking long strides to stand at the coffee table across from Miriam. He gingerly picked up the feather that Fawkes had left behind after locating Miriam, and tucked it away inside of his coat.
“Quite a bit,” said Madam Rosmerta, her eyes very bright. “I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know! I only thought that she and Sirius had had a “ ” But she broke off and began to sob into her hands.
“Aw, now! Looka whatchoo did! Whatchoo do that for?!” slurred Miriam angrily, still directing her speech to the air beside Lupin.
“Miriam, I need you to listen to me,” said Lupin, placing his palms on the table and leaning close. Miriam squinted, causing the two Lupins to blend together, and she realized for the first time the ragged state in which Remus appeared. His skin was pale and sallow, with a sickly green tint to it. His hands shook as he gripped the table and his eyes rimmed with red as though he, too, had been crying.
“You look a righ’ mess, Lupin. S’not the full moon yet, izzit?”
“No, Miriam, it is not yet the full moon. Miriam. I have to tell you something “”
“Shh, shh! Listen, listen,” Miriam interrupted. She grabbed Lupin by the lapels and yanked him forward so that their faces were very close. “Wha’ever you do, don’ mention anything abou’ You-Know-Who and the you-know-wha…I mean you-know-what an’ the You-Know-Who…I mean…well, wha’ever you do, don’ mention it! I ‘aven’t told Rosie yet, I think it might upset ‘er…”
Madam Rosmerta began to sob even louder. Lupin, who had been able to smell Miriam from across the room, now caught the full blast of her poisonous breath. He hastily whipped out a hankercheif and, gagging, covered his nose and mouth. Miriam either didn’t seem to notice, or couldn’t have cared less.
“I’ve already informed Madam Rosmerta about…” his voice caught briefly in his throat. “About James and Lily. But Miriam, you’ve got to listen to me, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Oh no,” Miriam said. She shook her head from side to side and stuck both index fingers determinedly into her ears. “No, no, no, no, no! I don’t wanna hear it. No more bad news. Come on Lupin, ‘ave a drink with me!”
“Miriam, please- ”
“I said NO MORE!” Miriam shouted, surprising them both, and slammed her fists down onto the table. She was upset now, she was almost sure of it, her happy buzz had been ruined. Still drunk though, to be sure, she thrust out her lower lip and pouted like a child.
A look of pity washed over Lupin’s face, and he placed a gentle hand over her fist.
“Wanna hear something hilarious, Lupin? You’re gonna laugh, it’s hilarious! I’m preggers!” she announced loudly, the stupid grin reappearing on her face. “Pregnant. In’ that hilarious?”
But Lupin did not laugh. Instead his face screwed up with misery, and he lowered his forehead to her hand.
“Dear God, Miriam…” he mumbled, his voice thick with tears.
“Hey,” said Miriam, completely baffled by this reaction. She patted Lupin clumsily on the back. “Hey. It’s funny! Don’cha think it’s funny? You’re supposed to laugh!”
Lupin took a deep, shuddering breath and lifted his head very slowly.
“Miriam. It’s about Sirius.”
“Yeah?” said Miriam, completely ignoring the grave sincerity in Lupin’s voice. She sat back against the sofa in a huff, arms folded across her chest. “Well, I’ll just bet it is. Hope ‘e got blasted to bits by a couple a’ death eaters, that’ll teach him not to boss me.”
There was a loud wail, and Madam Rosmerta fled from the room. Miriam looked to Lupin, her expression one of complete and utter bafflement.
“Was it something I said?”
Fool Me Once... by Crickette
Chapter Notes: NEW CHAPTER UP! I really hope you enjoy it.