Mafalda's Love
AN: The prompts I have used are:
Poem: A Brief Love Letter by Nizar Qabbani
Quote: "A well-composed book is a magic carpet on which we are wafted to a world that we cannot enter in any other way." Caroline Gordon
Word: Range
Also, the song at the end of the story is sung to the tune of "Sixteen going on Seventeen" from the Sound of Music.
July 31st, 1992
Mafalda Hopkirk, who worked for the Ministry of Magic as the Commander-In-Chief of the Improper Use Of Magic Department, had turned her gaze away from the Improper Use Of Magic board, to look at a photograph of her husband, Phillip.
As always in the Wizarding World, the picture was moving, and Phillip was waving to her. She lifted up the picture to kiss the frame as she always did, when the .M board went off. Sighing, she turned her attention to see where the under-aged witch or wizard lived, so that she could send them a warning.
The little blue dot which showed the right location, was hovering over Little Whinging in Surrey, the home of one Harry James Potter.
She knew all about the Boy-Who-Lived; in fact, there wasn't a witch or wizard in Britain who didn't know about him. But despite him being a celebrity, rules were rules, and even Harry Potter wasn't an exception.
She was slightly surprised that he knew how to do a hover charm; something that wasn't taught until third year, but she knew she had to write the letter.
Dear Mr. Potter, We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine.
As you know, under age wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spell work on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Under age Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).
We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offence under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.
Enjoy your Holidays!
Yours sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk
She whistled for her large barn owl, Goldenfeather, and tied the note to his leg.
"Take this to Mr. Potter." She said, and Goldenfeather flew away without another word.
Just then, her husband Philip walked in, smiling.
"Good evening, Darling." He said, grinning at her, and then added, "Shall we go on a date together, tonight?" He looked at her, and her face lit up.
She and Philip hadn't been on a date for a while, but whenever they did, they were always special. One time on a date, Philip had taken her Sky Diving, which she enjoyed throughly.
"Where are we going tonight, my dear Philip?" She asked, and he replied, "Well, Ma chere, I think we should Floo to Venice for the evening. You see, I have a reservation, and, as you know, Venice is a few hours behind us."
Mafalda smiled. A romantic dinner in the city of Romance was just what she needed after a long busy day in the office.
She lifted her wand up from her desk, and after using a range of spells, had made herself absolutely beautiful. She wore a long silver dress, that reached her knees with black heels. Her brown hair was done up in an elegant bun, and around her neck was a simple emerald necklace.
Philip gaped at her, and said, "You look absolutely stunning!"
Mafalda smiled at him, and said, "You don't look too bad yourself." Philip was wearing a tux, and he had a piece of parchment in his hand.
She asked him what it was, and he replied, "It's a poem; a sort of love poem, in a way."
"Please read it to me," she said, and Philip obliged.
"My darling, I have much to say
Where o precious one shall I begin?
All that is in you is princely
O you who makes of my words through their meaning
Cocoons of silk
These are my songs and this is me
This short book contains us
Tomorrow when I return its pages
A lamp will lament
A bed will sing
Its letters from longing will turn green
Its commas be on the verge of flight
Do not say: why did this youth
Speak of me to the winding road and the stream
The almond tree and the tulip
So that the world escorts me wherever I go?
Why did he sing these songs?
Now there is no star
That is not perfumed with my fragrance
Tomorrow people will see me in his verse
A mouth the taste of wine, close-cropped hair
Ignore what people say
You will be great only through my great love
What would the world have been if we had not been
If your eyes had not been, what would the world have been?"
He finished, smiling.
Mafalda's eyes were filling with tears. Even if the poem hadn't been about her, it was still beautiful.
"That's so sweet, Philip." She said, her eyes glistening.
He smiled at her, and said, "I read a quote about a good book the other day, that "a well-composed book is a magic carpet on which we are wafted to a world that we cannot enter in any other way. It's by a Muggle called Caroline Gordon."
Mafalda smiled, and replied, "She's right; and you're romantic."
Philip grinned, and, with an arm gesture towards his wife, the two of them apparated to Venice with a loud CRACK!
Mafalda, not used to apparition, staggered slightly, and retched. Philip handed her an Anti-Nausea potion, and lead her towards the canals of Venice.
"How about an evening gondola trip?" He asked her, grinning, and she gasped.
"Oh, my prince, I'd be delighted." She breathed, and started as he withdrew a miniature picnic basket from his fancy jacket pocket.
"I thought a picnic on the canals of Venice would be a very romantic evening, my princess." He said, and led her over to a little gondola.
They climbed in, and the gondola man began to padle, as Philip re-sized the picnic basket, withdrawing a fine bottle of wine and a box of deluxe chocolates.
If Mafalda had thought that the night's surprises were over, she was mistaken, as Philip started to sing a song that the two of them had made up in their last year at school, but altering the words slightly.
You wait, darling wife
In a tiny boat
In a city of romance
Your life, darling wife
Is a lovely one
I think we'd do well in the romantic city of Paris
Of Paris
You are twenty-two, going on twenty-three
And I'm happy that you are mine
And even if we were married forever
Baby, that would just be fine
You are twenty-two, going on twenty-three
I've loved since we were at school
You are so kind, and ever so lovely
And I think you're really cool
Both of us were in Ravenclaw
We really liked to read
You are the sweetest girl I know
And it's your love that I need
I so happy, that we're married
And so happy too
I am twenty-four, going on twenty-five
And I'll always love you.
Mafalda gasped, feeling tears welling up in her eyes, and sang
I am twenty-two, going on twenty-three
I'm so happy you love me
Two years we've been married
And I'm so happy
That you married me
And here we are, on a gondola
Singing a love song
In the city of Romance
A long way from Paris
What could go wrong?
We both met each other
Eleven years ago
And in all that time we never fought
A happy marriage if I say so
And I think this is a nice way
To end a busy day
Darling Philip, almost twenty-five
That's how I want it to stay.
The man who had been listening to the two of them serenading one another, sniffed as tears rolled down his cheeks.
And as Mafalda had asked for, that's how it stayed, with Philip feeding her the most luscious chocolates in the world.