Apocalyptic

January 1st, 2000.

The Leaky Cauldron was busy that night. I knew why, sitting at the bar, staring into the depths of my shot glass. Oh, I knew why. The liquor inside the beveled, crystal-clear glass was a fascinating amber color, swirled with a dash of whatever was in Tom's knockout potion. He boasted that anyone'd be drunk with one shot, and with two you'd be passed out on the floor.

I was on my fifth. No feeling yet.

"Crabbe," a voice interrupted my reverie. I jerked, still on edge - it was only Malfoy. I grunted.

"Jesus, man, you scared me." Tom was too busy pouring drinks for a clump of haggard sorceresses to notice my tipped-over glass, so I clumsily reached over the bar and got a rag to sop up the spill.

Malfoy sat down on the empty bar stool beside me. It creaked, the cracked leather complaining about his weight. The Leaky Cauldron could use some repairs. "I can't believe it," he said heavily, resting his elbows on the bar and his head in his hands. "I can't God damn believe it. I hated the guy, but I never thought..." He shivered. "I never thought it'd come to this, you know?" I knew. Tom came over and gave me another drink. Malfoy got the same thing as I had, knocking it back quickly and with gusto. If I guessed right, he was trying to get drunk as soon as humanly possible.

"Have you heard the latest?" I asked him. News gets around in a bar, especially in the Leaky Cauldron. He shook his head, downing another one. "They've transported the... bodies... to Diagon Alley. They're going to try to give them a decent burial before the alley's toast." Malfoy stood up, pushing his drink away from him.

"Come on, Crabbe. We've got to go and see them." As he stood in the lanternlight, I could see a tear trickling down his face. I never thought he'd cry when this day came - and we knew it would come.

"No. I'm staying right here and drinking it out of my head. You can go. I don't want to see Ron Weasley - they say that he's gone out of his mind. It's a bitch to be the survivor," I took a sip of liquor, "and I don't want to remember that I'm a survivor. Maybe you should just stay here too." I planted my hands on my knees. Damn you, Draco Malfoy. Damn you for making this harder than it already is. Malfoy turned and walked to the back door, fighting his way through the crowd, then looked back at me. I almost felt sorry for him - his face looked old, far older than the twenty years behind him. He was crying again, silently, but I looked away, staring down at the fascinating grain of the wood below my fingers, at the liquor in my shot glass.

Tom cocked his head in the midst of opening another bottle of rum. In a minute, I heard what he heard. The bar quieted as people realized what was going on - another update on the state of the crisis.

The mournful tenor saxophone of the background music had stopped. It was replaced by a crying noise. "These are the sounds of Diagon Alley," the self-important deejay said in her cultured voice, "as mourners gather to commemerate the passing of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. The latest news is that Ginny Weasley - previously thought to have been uninjured - dropped dead in the Mercy Wizarding Hospital from internal injuries. So far these are the only casualties of Voldemort's attack on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where ex-students were gathered to celebrate the turn of the century and millennium. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore is listed in critical condition at Mercy." She paused, catching her breath. A murmur swept through the bar, and a few witches started crying. I recognized Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, and took another swig of Tom's potion.

"The latest news on Voldemort's invasion of the wizarding world is that though the Ministry of Magic is attempting to stop further attacks, wizards and witches are disheartened. Muggles are well aware of the crisis and there are riots on the streets of L.A., New York, London, Paris, Sydney, Berlin, Tokyo and Rio De Janeiro. The general consensus is that there is no more that anyone can do. Voldemort's force of trolls, hags, Dark witches and wizards, and other evil beings is simply too strong. We urge you not to panic," her voice quivered a little, "and ask that all wizards stay off Muggle areas. The village of Hogsmeade, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the Leaky Cauldron, as well as Diagon Alley are designated safe zones for those who have lost their homes." The saxophone music switched back on, and conversation began again.

Happy fuckin' millennium, I thought. I guess all that apocolyptic crap was right. It really was the end of the world as we know it. TEOTWAWKI. I'm not thinking about Y2K, the Muggle virus, or all the Christian prophecies. I'm thinking about Voldemort. I'm thinking about evil.

Someone once asked me if, in a battle between good and evil, I thought good would win. Then I said yes. I did. I was sure that good would win.

Now I know I was wrong.

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