I disclaim. It's all J.K's.


Cigarettes & Strangers




Smoke filled the dark corner booths in the bar and it took nearly all myself control not to start coughing up a lung. Cigarette smoke is something that I never really got used to, growing up mainly in the Wizarding World. Strange isn't it? I can cope with Dung's horrendous pipe, but I can't cope with muggle smokers.


It's a shame this seedy bar doesn't have a non-smoking area.


I sigh and look down at the bottle of beer sitting on the sticky wooden top in front of me. Muggle beer will never be as good as Butterbeer, so why am I even here?


Because I felt like drowning my sorrows and didn't have guts enough to do it in a wizarding pub. I don't want the disappointed, sympathetic looks I'd get in the Leaky Cauldron, or the Three Broomsticks – or even Grimmauld Place.


I don't even want to think about Grimmauld place


For God's sake, Lupin, you're pathetic.


"You alrigh', sweetheart?" a voice asks me. I turn my head; standing there is a girl who could hardly be any older than Tonks looking at me with heavily made up eyes. She brought a cigarette to her rouged lips and took a drag, before letting her manicured hand fall to her scantily clad side and blowing smoke all over me. I resisted the urge to gag. "It's just you've been starin' into the bottle for a full half hour. Been watchin' you. From over there," she indicated to a small table with a jerk of her head, her stylishly cut hair swinging as she did so. "Don't usually get ones like you in here,"


"Oh," I said, " . . . I'm fine, thanks,"


Instead of leaving me alone, like I would've preferred, she slid on the stool beside me. "Don't mind if I keep you company, do you?" she asked. She glanced sideways at me, and I caught a flicker of hope in her eyes.


"Sure," I said weakly, as I didn't have the heart to say no. She looked around the dank bar.


"Everyone in here just wanna be left alone. They got their own problems. They don't wanna talk with no strangers," she said morosely. She looked me over appraisingly. "So what's a nice guy like you doin' in here anyway?"


I shrugged; "How would you know if I'm a nice guy or not?"


She gave a little laugh, "Well, out it this way, hun. I've seen enough bad guys to be able to pick out the good ones like this," she clicked her fingers. "For instance, bad guys are usually all over me by now,"


"Oh," I said, raised the bottle to my lips and taking a sip of the bitter liquid. "Sorry to tell you, but you're not my type,"


She raised an eyebrow; "I'm not?" she asked. I shook my head. "So what is your type, then?"


I gave her a wry smile, but no answer.


"You're not ridin' the other bus, are ya?" she asked suddenly, and I almost spat out my mouthful of beer all over her. There isn't a person alive that knows that about me – well, not anymore. I gave her a shocked yet curious look, and she shrugged. "I'm just good at reading people, is all,"

We sat in silence for a moment; she fiddled with a silver ring on her middle finger while I tried to work out how she could work something like that out when the people I've been spending twelve hours a day with think I'm as straight as the wand they cast spells with.


"So when did you know?" she asks finally. I furrow my brow in confusion.


"Know what?"


"That you were gay," she replied casually. I freeze for a second and she, noticing my discomfort, fills the silence; "I mean, I've always been kinda curious about it? But I could never get a straight answer out of anyone?" her voice went up at the end like she was asking a question, "I mean, I know this guy Josh, who's as queer as a nine-bob note, by the way, and when I asked him, he was all 'well, I can't really put a date on it, you know, and what about these shoes, do you think they go with these trousers?' and everything - "


"When I was seventeen," I interrupted her, ceasing her prattle. "And it wasn't guys, exactly, it was more like . . . one," for a minute I loose myself in the past and have to remind myself that she's watching me closely. I shook my head, trying to get rid of the memories that so easily floated to mind. "He's gone now anyway,"


"Sorry to hear that," she said softly. " . . . Recently?"


I could've laughed; a cold, humourless laugh. "Two weeks ago," I admitted. It all seems like a dream that's not real. Every time I walk into Grimmauld Place I expect him to be there, a glass of firewhiskey in his head, scowling at the walls as though it's their fault they're standing and Molly casting him disapproving looks ever now and then.


But he never is.


"Must be rough," she said. "To know someone that long and then to lose them like that,"


You've no idea . . . "We only met up again recently," which was perfectly true. What was it, only just over a year ago that I woke up in my depressingly grey flat to find a big black dog sleeping at the end of my bed?


My heart leaped like it hadn't done for years. I should've known not to get my hopes up, maybe then I wouldn't be reduced to muggle beer and talking to a strange girl young enough to be my . . . much younger sister.


"I'm sure this guy wouldn't have wanted you to waste you life away," she said reasonably.


"I suppose not," I sighed, "I just . . . can't believe I'm never going to see him again,"


The girl gave me a long, searching look. "You know what I reckon?" she asked. " . . . Nah . . . you don't wanna hear what I reckon,"


Intrigued, I said; "Go on,"


She picked at her chipped nail polish and said, "I reckon that this . . . life . . ." she waved her hand, taking in the bar, "it's just some kinda stage . . . or something . . . like, life's a computer game and we're all stuck on one level, or something like that?. . . and if you really love someone – I mean really – then you'll meet up with them in the next stage . . . and they'll be watching over you 'til you do . . . do you get what I mean?"


"Yeah," I said, "Yeah, I think I do,"


She smiled sadly, which made me wonder who she's ever lost to make her speak like that. "Oh well," she sighed, "I should get goin'. It was nice meeting you . . . good luck with everything . . ."


"Yeah, you too," I said sincerely, "and hey – thanks. For sitting with me,"


She smiled again. "Just another day at the office," and then disappeared down the length of the bar. I sat for a moment, thinking about what she'd said.


Kind of peculiar, isn't it?


How a conversation with a complete stranger can make you feel so much better when the people who call themselves your friends can only make you feel worse.


As I walked out of the bar, it struck me that I never even knew her name.


The stars were out bright on the July night, with a thin slither of a crescent moon high in the sky. I could have laughed again, as shining beautifully against the inky black heavens was the Dogstar.


Watching over me, as I always knew he would.