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Summary: What better reason to drink is there than loosing your hometown, several of your friends, and having to learn live somewhere that isn't the mouth of hell?

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Multiple Crossings > General > Ficlet Collections - OthertootsFR1564,11131211,3313 Aug 0822 Oct 08Yes

Making Merry at the Leaky

Disclaimer: I can only Wish I was J.K. Rowling or Joss Whedon. I'd kill for that kind of creativity.

As far as apocalypses went, the one they’d just survived had been relatively safe. Barely a five on the one to thirteen scale. Still, it had been a year since Sunnydale had fallen. A year since Anya died, since Willow regained her confidence with magic, since they’d moved to London and fought for and won the support of the remaining Council. They’d gained allies, slain enemies and forged a sort of peace for themselves. Mostly, though, they’d survived. And that was what they were really celebrating.

It had taken them a year to work through the grief and the guilt and finally be able to truly celebrate surviving.

Of course, there was no party like a Wizarding party. Magic flowed through the Leaky Cauldron almost as freely as the booze. And to think: if Gregory Goyle hadn’t summoned a demon to rain down vengeance on Harry Potter for the loss of his best friend, the Scoobies wouldn’t have ever come to know the Wizarding world, they wouldn’t have been invited to the kick ass party that was thrown annually on the day of the defeat of Voldemort, coincidentally the day Sunnydale fell, and they’d have nowhere to celebrate their fallen in style. Sometimes, fate wasn’t as much of a bitch as everybody thought.

Xander snickered into his butterbeer. He was mostly sober, having switched earlier in the evening from one shot of firewhiskey to the more soothing butterbeer. Dawn was dancing on a table with a smashed Neville Longbottom, much to Tom the barkeep’s chagrin. Buffy was huddled in a corner with Charlie Weasley, seriously talking about the dangers and joys of their jobs. Faith, who’d for some unknown reason become very fond of harassing Draco Malfoy, was parked in the chair next to him making him splutter and blush. Giles was red cheeked from his scotch and smiling blearily at Professor McGonagal, who kept randomly giggling.

Xander stood, gave a shrill whistle, then raised his glass. “To the glory of women. May it never go untold.”

Hooting and hollering commenced as glasses around the tavern were lifted and booze was swilled. The five Sunnydale survivors paused, glancing amongst themselves before returning to the celebration. The celebration of their lives. And the lives of the women that meant something to them. Jenny, Kendra, Joyce, Tara, Cassie, Anya, Amanda,…

The End

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