It's been longer than Sturgis Podmore would like to admit since he last set foot inside The Three Broomsticks.
The exact details of that final trip are a little foggy, but The Dearborn twins were by his side.
Because of course they were.
Beatrice, so daring and clever, a fellow Hufflepuff.
Caradoc, always the centre of attention, holding court.
While the interior of the pub hasn't altered since that last day, things between him and The Dearborn twins certainly have.
Beatrice has gone off to be a Curse-Breaker in Egypt.
She regularly sends him photographs of re-animated Mummy hands, and her sun burnt nose.
He'd be lying if he didn't admit that he was more than a little crushed when her fiancé began to appear in the pictures as well.
Caradoc is still with him, though.
But something has changed.
The circles beneath his eyes have grown darker, his skin is paler, and he has a melancholy air.
Caradoc sits with his back to the fire, wrapped in his old Ravenclaw scarf, and tweed jacket.
And yet he still looks cold.
Things have not been right since he accepted the position of The Defence Against the Dark Arts post.
Sturgis had done everything he could to talk him out of it.
He'd even gone so far to corner Dumbledore after an Order meeting, and try to explain how vitally important Caradoc was - to the cause.
To him.
It's not just an urban legend that the post of DADA teacher at Hogwarts is cursed, it's the truth, he can see it with his own eyes.
Dumbledore had rewarded him with a cryptic smile and Caradoc had taken up the post the very next day.
Also they're thirty-five.
How have seventeen years sped past so fast that he's barely noticed.
Caradoc looks as if he was born to be thirty-five, he's settled into perfectly with his thick, rust coloured beard and the pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth.
"That's another win for me, I believe, Hagrid." Caradoc says knowing full well, as he turns over the last card.
It's pointless to play any sort of game with Caradoc, but cards is particularly ill-advised.
Hagrid throws back his head and roars with mirthful laughter.
The table vibrates.
The whole bloody pub vibrates.
His hand that is as large as a shovel slams into Caradoc's back, and Sturgis winces for both of them.
Caradoc fixes him with a gaze, his brown eyes flashing with their old mischievous light.
But the light quickly fades, replaced with something more desperate.
A desperate plea.
"Best of four?" Caradoc asks hopefully.
Hagrid shakes his head.
"I've got nothing left to lose, you've cleared me out, lad." Hagrid booms.
To him they will always be lads.
The table wobbles and the floor vibrates as Hagrid stands.
He looms over them, his thick black beard concealing what is clearly a wide smile.
Sturgis wonders if he should grow a beard.
"Same time tomorrow, Rubeus." Caradoc asks.
"We'll see." Hagrid pats his pockets, before leaving the pub.
It's just the two of them.
Caradoc begins to shuffle the cards with his wand.
"I think I better be off." Sturgis says, feeling tired all of a sudden.
It's been four long weeks of Order missions.
He'd barely escaped with his skin.
"Don't go, please."
The cards drop to the table.
The plea is back.
Sturgis can't refuse him at the best of times, but when he is looking at him like that it's absolutely impossible.
"Alright. But let's go back to the castle, I think Madam Rosmerta wants to close up for the night." Sturgis says.
The expression that crosses Caradoc's face screams reluctance, and causes Sturgis to wonder why with Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall under the same roof, why his friend seems so afraid.
"If we go back, do you promise to stay the night?"
Being back in the castle after so many years is an odd feeling, as if he expects to see the younger version of himself coming around ever corner.
The corridors are empty.
Almost all of the portraits are sleeping peacefully, but there is the odd one or two that wave at him in remebereance of the boy he had been.
He's never thought of the professors as living in the castle and yet some of them must do.
He follows Caradoc up the stairs.
He's always hated these bloody staircases.
Caradoc pulls out his wand and taps one of the frames of the sleeping portraits that swings back with a dramatic snore.
"This is me." Caradoc says, pointing into the dark space beyond.
They step inside.
The room contained within is surprisingly spacious with a large stone fireplace and two high-backed chairs.
The fire is roaring away lighting up the space with a shadowy glow.
There's a desk in one corner and Sturgis shudders at how cluttered the thing is.
The whole room smells of stale pipe smoke and old books, much like Caradoc himself.
"Fancy a firewhisky?"
He'd rather have a glass of water at this point, but he nods.
Sturgis takes a seat in one of the chairs, warming his hands in front of the fire, until they're filled with a glass of amber liquid.
He spins the whisky around the glass and watches as it sparks.
"Well, I must say this is all very you, Cad." Sturgis chuckles, as he nods to the decor of the room.
His comment is met with a non-committal little hum.
For the first time in the twenty-four years that they have been best friends, Sturgis feels at a loss for what to say.
He stares into the glow of the fire.
It takes him longer than it should to realise that his best friend is crying.
There's the sound of soft sniffing that grows more intense as the seconds tick past.
Sturgis turns and peers around the side of his chair to see Caradoc leaning against a table and openly sobbing.
He's never seen him cry like that, not even during all the times that Hufflepuff had beaten Ravenclaw in the Quidditch final.
Nothing has ever made Caradoc Dearborn cry.
Sturgis fumbles for something to do with his glass and remembers his wand, which is jabbing him in the hip.
He waves the glass away with his wand, and stands up.
It takes a moment to cross the floor, and then he's standing before Caradoc.
"I can't do this." Caradoc gasps between sobs.
Sturgis doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he rests them on Caradoc's forearms.
"I keephavingthesamedreamoverandoveragain. I wakeupeverynightandI'mstillhere. Ican'tstandthis room." Caradoc cries.
Caradoc's leaves his body in a rush, so that Sturgis only picks up one or two clearly.
"I'm not lost am I?" He says out of nowhere, taking Sturgis by surprise.
Sturgis starts to think of something to say when Caradoc leans forward and kisses him.
His lips taste like sweet ale and sharp tobacco.
Sturgis pulls back his eyes wide in surprise.
They don't do this.
They have done this, a handful of times, but he knows how Caradoc feels with any sort of romantic interaction.
It's confusing.
It feels as if whatever Sturgis does fate denies him the Dearborn twins.
Beatrice who doesn't want him.
Caradoc who isn't capable of wanting him.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't, I'm not. I just didn't think that you..." Want me like that, he finishes the sentence in his head.
Sturgis takes charge of situation.
"You don't have to kiss me to get me to stay. You're my friend, I'll stay with you." He tells him.
Caradoc shakes his head and leans forward pressing his forehead into Sturgis' chest.
Sturgis rests his hand on the back of Caradoc's neck and pats his skin gently.
"You're not lost. You're here with me." He whispers softly.
"Let's go to bed. We're both tired. Everything will look brighter in the morning." That's what his Mum always says.
He takes Caradoc's hand and leads him towards the bed.
They fall asleep in moments with their clothes still on.
Caradoc wraps his arms around his waist and buries his face into his chest, while Sturgis holds him back just as tightly.
Sturgis wakes up with his usual jolt.
He stares at the ceiling above him and for a moment he feels as if he's back in the Hufflepuff dormitory.
And then he remembers where he really is.
He sits up and finds the rumpled sheets next to him empty and Caradoc gone.
He runs a hand across his face and here's a familiar chuckle.
"Ten points from Hufflepuff for oversleeping."
Caradoc is casually leaning against the casement window a cup of steaming tea in his hand.
Sturgis searches for any hint of the desperate panic that had been in his friend's face the night before and there's nothing.
Caradoc Dearborn is restored.
The room is filled with a soft winter light, which makes everything seem so much less than it had the night before.
"You can't retroactively deduct points, I don't go here anymore, and it doesn't work like that." Sturgis says.
"You don't know how it works." Caradoc grins back.
"How long have you been standing there anyway?" Sturgis asks.
"Long enough. Now," Caradoc glances at his wristwatch.
", if we're lucky, I think they'll still be serving breakfast in the Great Hall."
Sturgis let's his legs hang over the edge of the bed as he searches for his shoes.
In the end he gives up looking and simply Accios them into his hand with a yawn.
With his shoes on Sturgis feels hopelessly scruffy as he follows Caradoc out of the room.