Beginning AN- I consider this story to be a deviation from the way I normally write. If you like it, let me know. And if you don't like it, let me know. Rated R for language.

Last Call

"Give me another, barkeep."

"I think you've had enough, young lady."

"Listen asshole, I will tell you when I've had enough. Now give me another drink!" She shouted, slamming her fist onto the bar. It was a small, run-down place. The building itself was old and falling into disrepair. The air stank of stale cigarettes, booze, and the broken dreams of old men. The old barkeeper grudgingly complied with the young woman's request, and supplied her with another shot of whiskey. He knew that by law, he had no obligation to serve a drunk customer. Maybe it was the father, or the friend in him, that recognized a person in utter need of getting smashed. He just hoped that this strange young thing didn't start any trouble in his bar. She was dressed the part of trouble; wearing some kind of purple cloak, her hair stood out in odd-looking spikes. He watched her as her eyes blurred out of focus, and she stared darkly at the drink in her hands before she threw it back. She swayed slightly on her barstool, glitter shaking off her when she nodded her head. He couldn't help feeling sorry for her, this young freak.

The door to his bar opened, and in walked someone who slightly better fitted his average clientele. An older man, a few silver stands dignifying his brown hair, yet he too wore a cloak. It was similar in fashion to the young lady's, but not so flamboyant, it was grey, and shabby, as if he had been wearing it for many a year. He himself looked weary, and his eyes set upon the young girl.

Instantly, the barkeep felt defensive. This young woman was obviously suffering enough, without any unwelcome solicitations from older men. He watched suspiciously as this new player took a stool by the young punk.

"What are you drinking?"

"What does it matter?" She said, not looking at him.

"Barkeep? Some whiskey, please." He resentfully responded.

There was a slight pause. "How did you know?"

"An educated guess."

"What are you doing here?" She asked dully, her tone grating.

"Looking for you."

"Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Hmm. You'd gone missing, you know. Seemed rather top priority to me, with what's been going on."

His grey eyes turned to her. They were evaluating her. The barkeep tended to other customers, but couldn't stop himself from keeping an eye on this obviously troubled girl.

"I don't need you to come and find me, you know. I'm doing just fine on my own."

So he knows her, at least, the old barkeep thought.

"Dora, darling..." The man extended his arm to touch hers. At this contact, the barkeep felt a renewed need for his attention.

"What." She asked flatly. "What do you want?" Clearly, it was not going to be easy for him to reach her. The barkeep though he might offer for her to sleep it off upstairs for the night, if she needed it.

The man stared at her empathetically. Maybe he was alright...it did seem like he cared for her.

"You should come back home."

Home? Did these two live together? Was this her boyfriend, her husband? No... he saw no wedding rings. Her boyfriend, the barkeep assumed. This is her lover. Maybe they've had a quarrel. The mans hand stroked her arm, trying to soothe her, trying to persuade her. Good luck, he thought. This one's pretty pissed off.

"Dora, I know what you're feeling," he stated, looking like he was pushing some boundaries, but he pressed on regardless. "It's not your fault."

"It's my bloody aunt's fault!" Came her surely reply. A family quarrel, it would be then. Being provoked out of a drunken stupor and back into the reality of whatever was tearing her apart had her unsettled. She let out a tiny sob, and covered her leaking eyes with one hand, the other clenched the edge of the bar.

He choose that moment to down his drink. She followed suit, and they ordered another.

The barkeep refilled their glasses and slyly waited for this melodrama to unfold.

Letting the drink lend him courage, he turned in his seat to face her.

"Listen to me. You might think that this is where you want to be right now, but it isn't. You want to be with your family."

"My family is a bunch of murdering fuck-heads." She hiccuped softly. The bartender's ears pricked.

"Not that family, Tonks."

"What, then? The muggles? They don't know anything about this."

"No, love," his voice stooped to a whisper so the bartender could barely hear. "Your family back home. At the Order. They're all waiting for you."

"I don't want to go."

"Why, Tonks, why not?"

Her anger pitched through her deep melancholy. "It doesn't make a bloody difference, where I am tonight! And what right to you have, to come here, and bother me!"

"I have a right, because I care about you," he explained calmly. But his mildness only seemed to upset her more.

She turned to him drunkenly, her face screwed up in turmoil, "You listen to me, Remus. If you think I...it doesn't matter a bit if you...there is nothing I can do to..."

"Tonks..."

"WHAT!" she roared, "What are you going to say to me? What are you going to say to me, that's going to change the fact that Sirius is dead?"

The bar went still. She stared at him intensely, and her small shoulders started to shake, her breathing coming in rapid throws.

The bartender didn't need to be told this time, he replenished their drinks straight away. He watched as the mans jaw clenched for a moment as he stared down at the floor. When he looked up, he grasped her arms and said, "Nothing, Dora. You're right, there is nothing I can say that will bring Sirius back. He's gone through that veil, and out of our lives. What I can do," he continued patiently, stroking a mislaid lock of pink hair out of her eyes, "is help you deal with it."

Conversation in the shanty tavern began to return to normal as the young woman sank into his arms. She let her head fall onto his shoulder; he gripped her tightly, his own eyes squeezed shut. The barkeep had to turn his head at last, unable to intrude of this private moment.

"How did you know?" She asked, her quiet words those of a vulnerable child.

"How to find you?"

"No...about the drink." She motioned to the pair of waiting shot glasses.

"Ah," he said. "That. Who could forget. When Sirius first came back to London, and we met up with him, it was his first drink as a free man. As I recall, it was the first you'd seen him in twelve years. He was so happy that night."

"Do you want to...?"

"I think it would be a most fitting gesture," he voiced reminiscently.

In union, they raised their glasses high and pledged; "To Sirius."

"The greatest friend a man could ask for."

"The dearest cousin and my inspiration."

They downed the shot. The young woman wiped tears out of her eyes with the back of her hand.

The man took a moment, then turned to his accomplice.

"Are you ready to go?"

"I think so. Wait, how did you know where to find me?"

He flashed a ghost of a smile and said, "Senses, love."

And with that they rose from their barstools, the man catching her as she stumbled clumsily across the floorboards. He put his arm around her, and they walked out the door.

The barkeep extended his arms on the bar, breathing in deep. He then did something he had rarely done before. He took the bottle from the shelf, and poured himself a shot. He raised the well-aged whiskey and said to himself, "To Sirius; whoever the hell you are."

Ending note of explanation from me- I wrote this while taking a break from writing another story in which Tonk's is mainly helping Remus deal with Sirius death, I and it made me curious to see what it might look like the other way 'round. Hope you enjoyed my little experiment.