Lupin's right hand paused in midair, holding his glass.
The whisky reflected his face, weary yet radiant once more.
"He was never absent."
Lupin spoke each word distinctly.
The two gazed at each other in silence, decades of partings in life and death flowing between them.
"To Potter."
Sirius raised his glass again.
"To Harry."
Lupin corrected him.
Sirius nodded and drained his glass.
Beneath the starry sky, the amber gleam of the last few drops in his glass refracted into eyes that had been dim for years.
In the distant shadows, Scrimgeour stood utterly apart from the revelry.
Scrimgeour wore a dark gray leather coat with lapels, hardly appropriate attire for a banquet.
Arms folded, he stood motionless at the edge of the security perimeter.
The portable detector on his chest glowed faintly blue.
Footsteps crunched through dead leaves, and Douglas stopped five paces from him.
"Your men are all eating and drinking, enjoying the tomahawk steaks we specially approved, while you're out here in the wind?"
Douglas opened his insulated flask.
"They have a right to eat their fill. I'm doing my duty."
Scrimgeour did not even turn his head.
"I don't think anyone would be foolish enough to launch a surprise attack today."
"If they came while I was cutting up a steak too, that would be the end of the Ministry of Magic."
Scrimgeour turned his head.
"I don't take part in this charade of harmony."
Douglas raised his flask.
"Suit yourself. As long as you're happy."
Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes.
Without saying goodbye, Douglas strolled back to the heart of his own gathering and sat three seats away from Fudge.
Once the sound of boots striking the ground had faded, Scrimgeour pulled a yellowed leather notebook from his pocket and opened it to a dog-eared