Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

Remus Lupin walked into The Three Broomsticks apprehensively, as if being around people had become uncomfortable all of a sudden. It was during the week, so it was much quieter than he was used to seeing it, and there was an air of desperation he could identify with. Remus watched as the patrons tried to keep up the appearances that the war, which the Ministry had finally acknowledged, was not actually happening. That people they knew and loved were not dying. The effort was both exhausting and futile.

Without meaning to, he walked over to their table. The one they had occupied all those years ago. He sat down, and rubbed his hands over the wood, polished smooth over time. Smooth except for one carving that the four of them had put there. The initials MWPP with a circle around them showing solidarity, that they would never be alone. As he sat, he idly traced the carving, thinking about the irony of being alone there.

"Hallo, Remus!" Madam Rosmerta said, a bit too cheerfully, coming over to the table. "Would you like your usual firewhiskey with a butterbeer chaser?"

He looked up towards her with guarded eyes, unable to fully look into her eyes. "Forget the butterbeer, bring the bottle of whiskey with you and leave it here."

Rosmerta looked at him. "Are you sure?" she asked carefully.

"Just do it!" he barked, causing her to scurry away and bring it quickly. She gave him a final look as he poured himself a shot, and walked away with a little shake of her head.

He swirled the amber liquid around in the glass, remembering better times. James and Sirius had done this many times when they were back in school, rules be damned. They never would get more than a few shots in before Rosmerta would confiscate the bottle Sirius had nicked from behind the bar, using James' cloak. Another thing Remus turned a blind eye to after becoming a prefect. Not that they had tried and succeeded it before the end of their fifth year. He felt the tears welling up in his eyes, and blinked, holding them back from falling. He lifted his glass to silently salute James, before knocking the shot back.

There's a grief that can't be spoken.

There's a pain goes on and on.

Empty chairs at empty tables

Now my friends are dead and gone.

James was the first of them to fall. Remus had seen the wreckage of the house the day after they were killed, when he was called in by Dumbledore. He hadn't wanted to come, but Dumbledore had insisted. Perhaps he had known that Remus would never believe that it had happened unless he saw it for himself. Despite not wanting to see them like that, Remus had been there, and seen the destruction, smelling the combination of burnt flesh and death. He had knelt down and looked at James, his body charred, but not beyond recognition. His eyes had been open, and Remus had seen the determination to save his wife and young son, but behind it, there had been the fear that all living things must feel when dying. He had died so his family could live, but it hadn't been enough to save his love. Lily had been upstairs, as gone as he. Only his son was alive, but would never know who they were. Stories would have to suffice, and they never truly would. After all that they had done for the world and their family and friends, their tomorrows were gone.

Here they talked of revolution.

Here it was they lit the flame.

Here they sang about 'tomorrow'

And tomorrow never came.

As he poured himself another shot and kicked it back as well, he remembered what this table had represented to him, to them. This had been their staked out territory from their third year on, no one daring intrude on the four of them, even at that young an age. James had declared that he was going to in a blaze of glory, and Sirius, not to be outdone, said that if and when he was killed, the least he could do was take out one of his bloodline, preferably Bellatrix or Narcissa. Peter never said much, but listened to the yarns those two had spun with rapt attention. They had talked boldly in those days, saying that they were going to protect the world from everyone and everything that was wrong. Voldemort was not yet a name that children were taught to fear, and they laughed at what they thought they could do.

From the table in the corner

They could see a world reborn

And they rose with voices ringing

I can hear them now!

The very words that they had sung

Became their last communion

On the lonely barricade at dawn.

Their ideas began to change as they grew older, and Voldemort began making more of an impact. James' parents were among the first wizards to stand up to him and fall, and Peter's grandmother not far behind. {Was that when he went to Him?} Remus wondered, lifting the glass to drink once more. As he became more intoxicated, he found himself drawn to the maudlin, thinking about things he rarely thought about when sober. Why had Peter not trusted his friends enough to want to fight for them to the death? How had he gotten them to believe that he was innocent? Why couldn't Remus see through the lie, and have protected Sirius before he had ever had to go to that horrible place to begin with? For that fact, why had they let the web of deceit be built between themselves, and not see through the disguise he was so skillfully keeping up?

Oh my friends, my friends forgive me

That I live and you are gone.

There's a grief that can't be spoken.

There's a pain goes on and on.

{Oh, Sirius,} Remus lamented to himself, raising his glass and taking what he needed to be the final shot. {Sirius, how could you leave me? How could you leave him, when he needs you so?} His body, so gracefully arched as he fell, reminded Remus of watching him dance with those girls at the clubs, sometimes two at a time. His grace often made him wonder where he had learned how to move, but was painfully reminded that the likes of Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape, as malicious they may be, had that same sort of feline grace, and had probably been trained since birth to move as such. In his intoxication, he thought he could almost hear Sirius calling him to dance.

{Remus, come on. There are plenty to share! Don't leave them all to me! They want to share, don't you see? Remus...Remus...}

"Remus?" a voice said, bringing back from his memories. He looked up to see...James.

Phantom faces at the window.

Phantom shadows on the floor.

Empty chairs at empty tables

Where my friends will meet no more.

No, it wasn't James. Remus knew it wasn't, as he looked in those shocking green eyes.

"Harry," he croaked. "They loved you."

Harry nodded solemnly. "I know. They loved you, too." He moved to his former professor's side. "We should head to the castle. Sirius's memorial service is tomorrow, and you need to go."

Remus allowed himself to be half-carried from the pub, but stopped just before they left. "That was our table," he said to Harry.

"I know." Harry said. He silently fingered the carving, tracing the circle around the initials of the men he'd never really known. He pulled on Remus's side. "Come on, they're not here, you know."

Oh my friends, my friends, don't ask me

What your sacrifice was for

Remus took one look back at the table as they left. "I know," he said quietly, tears streaming down as he looked at the lonely table with nothing but a half empty bottle of firewhiskey, an empty shot glass, and a single shaft of sunlight shining on the table that had once held so much laughter and joy. They weren't there any more.

Empty chairs at empty tables

Where my friends will sing no more.