The Sad Demise of Mike Laughlin

And all the ladies go moist, and the judge has no choice

A singer must die for the lie in his voice

A singer must die, L. Cohen

The owl came an hour before midnight.

For hours on end Dung and Geoff had been sitting in the living room -neither of them spoke to the other, consumed as they were by their own thoughts. Queenie still hadn't come home, and the flat felt eerily empty without her presence. Dung fought with the urge to leave, to go out on the cold street, down to the Cauldron and out into Muggle London -and then just continue walking, running. But he had nowhere to run, instead he sat on the bed with the guitar in his hands, sometimes letting his fingers glide along the strings but lacking the will to play. Then there was a crash outside the window that made them both jerk awake from their thoughts.

On the windowsill a tawny owl was perched, staring in the window like an ill omen. They looked at each other for a second before Geoff turned his head away, not wanting to know, not wanting to open the letter the bird brought. Slowly Dung got up from the bed where he had been lying, approaching the window carefully, not wanting to scare the bird away. The bird gave him an impatient glare and pecked at the window with its beak to hurry him up while Dung fumbled with the window. It was completely stuck. Growling, he took out his wand. "Apertum fenestra." An icy wind entered the room as the window swung open.

The tawny flew around the room once; the sound of its wings in the quiet room gave Dung goosebumps. Or was it merely the cold from the window? Settling down on the back of one of the chairs, with an air of importance it stretched out its leg, bidding Dung to take the letter off. With numb fingers he did, and laid the letter on the table between him and Geoff. The younger boy looked at him with an expression of doom on his face, and crawled up in the sofa, pulling the blanket over his feet.

"Aren't ya gonna open it?" Dung asked, his voice hoarse. The owl behind him made an inquiring sound, wanting its reward. He shooed it off, and with an offended 'hoot' it flew out of the window and was gone. Dung hurried to close it before all the warmth in the room was lost.

Geoff got up from the sofa and neared the table with the automatic movements of a sleepwalker. Sitting down on the chair the owl had abandoned just a few seconds earlier, he stared at the letter on the table like it was a poisonous cobra, the rings on its neck changed for the official St. Mungo's emblem. Dung sat down opposite him, heavily leaning his arms on the tabletop.

"Let's try to be logical 'ere," he muttered. "If the 'ealers 'ad found some'at really wrong, they'd 'ave alerted the 'it-wizards by now. They'd be crawling all over the place, like giant spiders."

"Yeah." Geoff didn't take his eyes off the envelope.

"But no one's 'ere, right? So if there's anything, they 'aven't found it yet. If that letter says they're keeping the body, that means we gotta do a runner. We could...go to America, I s'pose, or some island in the Caribbean... Thailand, per'aps, Thailand's nice, I've seen pictures of it. Pattaya beach, eh?" He snickered, but his laugh sounded hollow in the gloomy atmosphere. Geoff did not look up at him, just kept staring at the letter with an expression as if he was going to be sick.

Dung felt the anger rise in him again. "You just gonna sit there? They might be on their way already. Open the fucking letter!" He realised he was shouting and calmed down, glaring at the young wizard by the table who now got up from the chair and walked back to the sofa.

"I can't do it, Dung, I just...can't. They're gonna come for me and put me away, but it doesn't matter anymore." He pulled the blanket over his feet again, closing his eyes. "I'm so bloody tired-"

"Doesn't matter...?" Dung stared incredulously at him, furious from the boy's incapacity to deal with the problems he had caused. "You're simply gonna give up, lie down and die? I'm involved in this as well, and so is your sister! No fucking way am I going to Azkaban, Geoff, not while I'm alive." He grabbed the envelope and tore it open, almost tearing the letter in half in the process. Without speaking he read the words in the letter, then curled it up in a ball and threw it in Geoff's face.

"They want us to come down tomorrow to get the body," he said in a flat voice. He stared out the window for a minute before picking up his Muggle leather jacket. "I'm going for a pint." He stalked out, needing to get away from the walls that threatened to cave in on him, and left Geoff sitting like a pillar of salt in the sofa.

The cold winds outside had subdued, and the white veil covering the ground was melting, leaving the pavement glistening with moisture and slippery underfoot. The cold felt fresh against his warm face and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but a second later, his eyes found the entrance down into the Alley. He turned the other way and walked down to the Cauldron.

"We're closing soon," Tom muttered to him when he ordered a pint.

"Just one and I'll be on my way," Dung replied, and after a while he managed to talk Tom into giving him one. Leaning against the counter, he looked into the room behind him. It was almost empty but by the table in the far corner he saw a familiar face, sitting alone. Queenie. She didn't look up at him; he doubted she'd even heard him.

Quietly he walked over and sat down opposite from her. "'Ow long you've been 'ere?" he asked. "I was worried."

"A while," she replied. Her voice was tired and small, as if she had been crying for so long that all the tears had run out, leaving nothing but emptiness.

"You finished your work at the office?" He was uncertain of what to say, so he decided to talk about something neutral for a start. He'd never been good at dealing with situations like these.

"Yes."

"'Ey, sweetie, look at me, all right?" He reached out to her and tilted her chin up with his hand. Her eyes were dry, but there was a sadness there he'd never seen before. He wanted to move over, sit beside her and embrace her, make her forget all that was sad and difficult -but he was not sure she would welcome him. No matter how much he wanted it he could not wipe it all out, so instead he stroked her chin with his finger. "I'm sorry, sweetie," he heard himself say. "This shouldn't be 'appening, not to you."

"What's going to happen to him, Dung?" she whispered.

"Nothing. Tomorrow, we go to St. Mungo's and get the bastard's body; then we'll put 'im in the ground and it'll all be over. Geoff can stay wiv us, can't 'e?"

She gave him a careful little smile. "Yeah." She took hold of his hand with her own, rested it against her chin. A wisp of her blonde hair tickled his arm as she resumed staring into the empty pint glass in front of her. "What happened down there yesterday?"

For a second he froze. Should he tell her what had been on his mind the last twenty-four hours, the thoughts he couldn't escape no matter how hard he tried? Should he tell her what sort of man he was?

"Dung...?"

"Nothing 'appened. 'E was lying there, that's all." His voice was casual and honest, but he could not meet her eyes. Silence ruled for a minute, then he felt how she took her hand away from his. He looked up, and saw her staring at him with big dark eyes.

"Why do you lie to me, Dung...?" she whispered. "I know you, have you forgotten that-?" She sat back in her chair, pulling away from him while shaking her head slowly, not wanting to believe what she finally realised. With a feeble motion she lifted her hands, covering her face from him, curling up on her seat. "No-" With dread he heard her crying, quiet little sobs -almost inaudible.

He opened his mouth to speak but the words didn't want to come, they got stuck in his throat and threatened to choke him if he dared to say them out loud. He hadn't heard her cry since she was nine years old, and the little sounds from the other side of the table filled him with self-loathing. This is what you do to people, Dung Fletcher, he told himself.

There was a cough from behind him. "I'm about to lock the doors now," Tom said, with a worried look at Queenie. "Is she all right?"

"Yeah," Dung replied hoarsely. "Yeah, we're leaving." He got up from his chair, and took Queenie's hand. "Come now, Tom's closing..." She didn't pull away from him and he found that he was grateful for it, he didn't know how he would react if she'd refused his touch right now.

Slowly they walked up the Diagon. All the snow had melted, leaving the ground bare and dark in the night. "I had hoped the snow would stay," Queenie mumbled. She had her arms crossed over her chest and kept her eyes on the ground before her. "Stay and cover up all the filth..."

"It's too early," Dung replied. He couldn't stand seeing her like this anymore, and stopped outside the stationery shop. "Queenie? Please, stop...talk t'me." But she kept on walking, shaking her head and did not turn to look at him. "Queenie?"

"It's cold, Dung. Let's get inside." There was a distance in her voice, a distance that was new to him. But he'd heard it before, when she spoke to Geoff the previous night. With his mouth open he watched as she turned the corner by Madam Malkin's and was gone.

"Bloody 'ell," he mumbled, and found a pack of cigarettes in his pocket. With shaking hands, he lit one of them with his wand and stood for a while outside the shop, just taking in the sight of the empty street in front of him. After a while he heard singing coming out from the entrance to the Alley. From the entrance two figures showed up, two well-known faces; Marcus Bole and old Toby -two of the most notorious drunkards in Knockturn Alley. Friends of old, but right now he had no desire to speak with anyone and pressed in against the dark wall until they'd passed. Then he started the way home.

The flat was dark when he arrived. Only the oil lamp on the living room table was lit and illuminated the exhausted face of the young man sleeping on the sofa. Because of his big frame and rough exterior Dung sometimes forgot how young he was, but when the boy was sleeping he looked exactly his age. My little-brother-in-law, Dung thought to himself with a wry smile and stood for a while, just looking at him.

He continued over to the four-poster bed, slipping his shoes off by the heels. "I know you're not sleeping," he said firmly. "Drop the act, we need to talk."

"Not much to talk about, is there?" Queenie's voice came from behind the closed drapes.

Angry he pulled the drapes open. "Stop it! Believe it or not, I'm trying to do the best I can out of an impossible situation 'ere. I need your 'elp, Queenie, just a little bit of support would be nice."

"You said you were going to St. Mungo's tomorrow. Don't bother, I'll do it," she replied. "After I've been in the bank to get a loan. I can't afford to bury anyone right now, but if I must I must. Tim and Mark will pay their share, I'm sure. If you want to help me you can start by cleaning out his flat."

"What do you want to bury him for? It'll only cost you good money," Dung sneered. "Burn 'im, like the Muggles do -it's cheaper. Burn 'im and throw the ashes in the Thames along wiv the rest of the rubbish."

"It's the principle; he took care of us for many years, the least I can do-"

"Are you listening to me at all?" he burst out. "You've got a kid brother over there that's so shit scared now 'e can 'ardly manage to walk outside the door! All I ask of you is that you talk to 'im, make 'im feel that 'e's worth more than the soles of your shoes. Talk to 'im, Queenie, 'e needs you." He sat down on the side of the bed. "Talk to me. Throw things at me, scream at me, claw my eyes out. Just...talk. Think this is easy for me, do ya?"

"I have one question that I must have the answer to," she whispered into the pillow, clinging to it as if her life depended on it.

"What?" He rubbed his eyes, tired and irritable.

"Did you two plan this?"

He stared at her. "I can't b'lieve you just asked me that," he said and got off the bed. It was like getting a bucket of icy water in the face. "You really don't know me better'n that? You think I'd put a kid to rot away in Azkaban for the rest of 'is life? 'Ow long 'ave we known each other, Queenie? Our whole lives...and you don't know me better? I can't fucking believe you asked me that!" He was shouting again, and was rewarded by a thumping on the wall from the flat next door. "And you can go to 'ell!" he screamed at the wall, but the thumping only grew louder.

"Shouting isn't going to make things any better," Queenie cut him off with a cold voice. "And shouting at me is just stupid. I haven't killed anybody-"

"No, 'cos you've never done anything wrong, you've always been the perfect little 'ufflepuff, 'aven't you?" He spoke with a low voice now, careful not to spill more words to the ears behind the wall. "Well, sorry, but this is the real world, wiv real people and sometimes real people cock up, all right?"

"You're talking as if this was just another accident." She turned towards the wall. "I'm not listening to this."

"No, you're right," he muttered, staring at her back. Turning towards the kitchen he saw Geoff's eyes measuring him with a blank expression, and the sight startled him. "I thought you were sleeping," he blurted out. "Wanna cuppa tea?" The boy didn't respond, and simply turned over in the sofa. Dung sighed, cancelling the thought of a warm cup in his hands and instead he took his clothes off to go to bed. The best one can do with a bad day is to end it.

As usual, Queenie's breathing gave away the fact that she was awake, though her body language screamed at him to stay away, even more clearly than if she'd said it to his face. Not heeding the warning signals he curled up against her, slipping an arm around her waist, needing the feeling of someone close. Feeling how she tensed under his touch, he rested his chin against her neck and lay still. After a while she relaxed, the tense body beside him became alive once more as her breathing steadied. Carefully, he planted a soft kiss on her shoulder.

"No," she said firmly.

The chill in her voice surprised him. "No," he echoed quietly and curled up against her once again, drawing in the scent from her hair. Some time during the night he fell asleep.