Every Little Thing, James Potter.

05. Running On Empty

November of 1976 had approached much too slowly at first, but then seemed to come out of nowhere, bringing with it short, busting flurries and biting cold breeze as Gwen made her way down to the first Hogsmeade trip of the year.

     The layering she'd made an effort to include in her outfit that morning had proved almost entirely useless against the chill of the day; it had never normally been so bitter, so early in November. But the sky was almost entirely white, and Gwen was just hopeful it wouldn't begin snowing on her before she made it to Hogsmeade.

     "Bloody freezing," muttered Walker, glaring around at the scenery. He tugged his jacket tighter around himself. "Can't we just turn around?"

     "No," said Gwen. Her cheeks and nose were flushed pink, and she was also shivering inside her coat, but she'd had her sights set on savoring a butterbeer from the Three Broomsticks for days by then. "We're almost there. Keep up."

     "Anyone ever told you you're bossy?" Walker scowled. "B'cause you are."

     "You'll appreciate that when I'm captain," she said over her shoulder. "And besides, I'm not all that bossy. You're just always whinging around because you're used to everyone doing everything for you."

Walker's lips twitched down. "Exactly."

Predictably, the moment they arrived in town, Walker spotted Pandora Rosier and left Gwen without a word. She didn't blame him; he'd fancied her for years now, and this was perhaps the only time Pandora was in Hogsmeade without Xenophelius. It was the perfect time for Walker to 'swoop', in his own words.

So Gwen was off to the Three Broomsticks on her own, which had really been her idea of a good day all along.

"Morning, Gwen," said Madam Rosmerta when the bells above the door signaled her entrance. "Good to see you. How's your dad?"

"Still married," Gwen said passively, sliding into a seat at the bar top. It was fairly empty and she had her choice of tables, but sitting across the counter from Rosmerta had ended Gwen up with some of the best conversations she could remember. "Sorry, Rosie."

"Oh, pish." She threw a rag over her shoulder. "I've given up on love, then. I was sorry to hear about his job, though—knew he quite liked his time in the Department of Mysteries, didn't he? Ah, well. Happens to the best of us."

"Yeah, sure." Gwen lifted a noncommittal shoulder, resting her forearms on the bar and staring down at her hands. "How have you been, Rosmerta? With the attacks? I heard one was close by here, over the summer. And with there being a full moon last night..."

The landlady pursed her lips, scratching her head and sighing. "Oh, it's all rumors, at this point. Didn't hear so much as a bark. People forget the whole point of the Prophet is to get everyone scared so they'll buy more copies of the Prophet. None of what they write is true, especially anything about werewolves."

"Oh." Remus was in the doorway. The bells jingled limply just above his head. Peter peeked over his shoulder. "Bad time?"

"Nothing of the sort," Rosmerta said, gesturing for him to come in. "Please, come on over. I was just about to get started on a butterbeer for Gwen here. Take a seat, you two."

Remus nodded to Gwen in acknowledgment, and took the seat to her left, while Peter gave her a tight smile and took the furthest stool from her.

"Where's the rest of you?" she asked, glancing to the door, afraid that her asking would summon them.

"Stocking up," said Remus. He avoided looking at Gwen. "Between the pranks and the parties, they've run us out of business completely. Sirius is dropping his whole inheritance on Zonko's at the moment."