Dolores preened her hair in front of the mirror in her office for the sixth time. Everything simply had to be perfect, and for the first time since she was a little girl, Dolores found imperfection in herself as easily as she did in others. In this state, even the gentle mewling of a dozen kittens couldn't calm her. She glanced at the clock and immediately stepped back when she saw the time – ten minutes until lessons were over, and excuse became... well, quite unbelievable. Someone so particular about dates and times would surely notice something like that. She took a deep breath and picked up her glittering purse from the desk. It was time.
With students still just about in their classes, all Dolores could hear as she walked down the halls of Hogwarts was the clicking of her heels on the stone, and her own heartbeat throbbing in her ears.
He won't recognise me... will he? Should I introduce myself straight away and spare the embarrassment? She realised she was biting her lip and quickly stopped before she could ruin her lipstick.
She arrived at the door of Classroom 4F. 4... undoubtedly, the most romantic of all numbers. And F! What a wonderful letter! F for first loves, fiery passions and f... for all sorts of other things that came to mind. Even just stood outside, the cold, draughty hallway – made all the more so by the Ministry's recent educational austerity – seemed warmer for the sound of his baritone drawl that seeped through the wooden door like a sweet perfume or a long-unemptied bin... ah... bins. For some reason, they always reminded her of Binns.
Dolores rapped on the door with porcelain knuckles before immediately allowing herself in.
Don't look at him straight away! Don't make it obvious! She kept her eyes on the students, who returned her gaze... their hideous freckled mugs were a damp cloth over the ever-growing flame inside Dolores, which actually made things easier.
"Ahem." She forced the dainty, ladylike cough that had won over so many a man back in the day. A becoming cough was a must-have for any enterprising woman. Her first marriage had ended after Dolores had eaten a particularly viscous peanut butter sandwich and, in front of her husband of a mere two days, had let loose a mighty hack. The next morning, she'd awoken to an empty bed, and never heard from him again. It was definitely, definitely the cough that had done it and nothing else. Since, she had perfected the art of the woman's rasp, and owed her job at the Ministry to it.
Every student's eyes filled with the delightful, moist look of dread as they heard the fruits of Dolores' labours. At last, she turned her eager eyes turned to Professor Binns. He was not looking.
Ooh... he's soo attentive to his class, she swooned. Taking her clipboard and quill from her purse, Dolores kept a stern brow in place to disguise her writings as strictly professional notes, as opposed to yet more additions to a page's worth of 'Mrs Dolores Binns'.
As she had planned, class ended after only two minutes of her presence. Two minutes too long to be kept waiting... but what was two more after the twenty-six million, two hundred and ninety-seven thousand, four hundred and fifty-one that had already stood between them?
The students hurriedly poured out of the room, and Dolores held her breath as they walked past her – the damp cloth was no longer needed, this flame would soon be free to burn! She closed the door behind the last of the children. Professor Binns was already halfway through the blackboard.
"Wait!" She exclaimed, her solemn disguise ripped from her body, leaving it exposed and nude. Metaphorically. "A word, Professor?" How familiar that sentence. So many excuses to stay behind and ask him questions on, oh, everything and nothing! Sir, why do the stars move in the heavens like lonely souls through life? Sir, can true love ever prevail in such a world as this? Sir, where are you going?
Binns slowly turned to face her. After all these years, that handsome face of precisely the right shade of grey looked exactly as she remembered it, obviously because he was a ghost. His eyes, with the modesty of a true gentleman, hid his huge, manly wisdom behind a veil of mystery and mostly wrinkles. Those familiar jowls hung either side of his crooked mouth like the buns of an old hot dog: saucily.
"Mhmm! You're speechless." She cooed. "Could it be you remember me?" She flicked her hair over her shoulder – not an easy feat through twelve layers of hairspray – and perched on the edge of his desk in a way she hoped was at least somewhat arousing. Professor Binns did not reply, no doubt drowning in the silent dignity of long-treasured memories.
"Yes, yes! It's me, Dolly, your greatest success and..." she winced, clutching her chest, "your greatest regret." He blinked very slowly. Caught in a whirl of passion, Dolores leapt forward, thrusting her arms onto his chest, which they promptly went straight through. "Ah, yes. I forgot about that. But I'm sure you didn't, did you, Cuthbert? You're right, as always... We can't touch, not here... It wouldn't be proper." Placing a hand to her flushing cheek, she could feel the lingering cold of his 'touch'. That was more than she'd ever have dared to dream before.
"Can I help you, madam?" Binns drawled, his voice dripping with the knowledge of a thousand years, or so she liked to think.
"Considerate as ever, Berty!" Dolores giggled. "You've been helping me for years now. I never forgot all those wondrous, inspiring conversations we shared during my detentions – don't worry, Cuthbert, I always knew they were nothing to do with my non-existent homework. You wanted to see me and I... I felt the same."
He said nothing.
"Do you remember the time I was caught in a daydream and sang our song aloud as the other students laughed and laughed? But not you, Berty. You never laughed at me like they did."
He said nothing.
"Do you remember the time Lorraine Woodweasel fell asleep and I drew on her with that compass? Any other teacher would have scolded me for that, Berty, but not you. You always admired my spirit."
He said nothing.
"Do you remember the time I handed in my book after class and between it was that pin-up of Elvis you so loved, but with his face replaced with mine? I was so worried you would tell, Berty, but you never mentioned it to a single soul. I still have the other halves of the pictures!"
He said even more nothing. Dolores sighed a whimsical sigh. Like any wise man, Binns always knew when to speak and when to not. A man of few words, to be sure, but each word spoken was all the more meaningful for it. There was no need for formalities or trivial small-talk between such kindred souls, after all.
Which meant there was a very, very long pause.
"Excuse me, madam. I must go. I am late." He spoke at last, in the sweet, dusty molasses voice.
"Of course! Today is that deathday party, isn't it? What a good idea, to go together. You're so thoughtful." Dolores held out an arm for him to kiss, or hold, or something. He left through the blackboard without doing any of it. Oh, we can't touch, I forgot again. He's so smart. She stepped through the door like some pathetic corporeal creature, and met him in the hallway. Wordlessly, he began to float down the hallway. For a shameful moment, Dolores found herself worried someone would spot them together... but the time for that was over. Beside him, Dolly found herself no longer afraid of judgement! She'd survived it in school, she'd survived it in the Ministry, and she'd survive it now! This relationship was the boisterous, honest cough of a proud woman in love and with lungs!
The path to the deathday party – which Dolores knew well from all her attempts to ban such sensual displays from the chambers of a school – took them deep through the winding dungeons. A familiar stench, ripe with decay and desiccation, clung to her nostrils like peanut butter to the oesophagus of an unsuspecting innocent. It was... oddly nostalgic. She could not recall ever going to deathday party in her youth, not whilst awake at least, but figured it must just be the charming aroma of the undead.
Together, they went through the door. Well, Binns went through the door as Dolores struggled with the lock and walked in after, but their love was so visible and undeniable that anyone looking would have known they were together. So it was a pity when no one looked. But I don't notice that, Dolores thought, distracting herself by eyeing the table of food that Binns was lazily drifting through, like trousers come loose from a washing line. The food was all as rotten as the students were, but if it was good enough for the extraordinary Cuthbert Binns, how could Dolores refuse? She picked up a handful of small, shrivelled, unidentifiable coal-like things and put them in her mouth.
"Mmmm..." She began to coo before she realised her error. Through the rot and mould and mange that assaulted her mouth, she recognised a familiar flavour. Peanuts. These things were peanuts. Tears filling her eyes, she opened wide her jaw to remove them, but it was too late; they stuck between every tooth, every gum, every tongue... although admittedly there was only one of the latter. From her maw lurched forth a monstrous, cacophonous cough.
The spluttering continued for hours, and then the world fell silent. All eyes were on her. Even Binns', though it was hard to tell underneath that sheet of wrinkles. Then came a voice she knew.
"My, my, Dolly." It sneered. "I see some things never change." From the shadowed corner of the deathday party, her first husband stepped forth. It all made sense now... that rotten smell that grew more overwhelming now was not the food: it was him.
"Severus!" Dolores wheezed. "W-what are you doing here?"
He looked confused. "I'm a teacher. Also, this is my birthday party."
Of course. He had never liked emptying the fridge; the milk was always still drinkable to him.
"You fiend! You knew I'd be here with my beloved, and you put these peanuts here to trap me!" Her vision clouded with outrage, she threw her purse wildly in Snape's direction. It struck him with a thud, knocking him to the ground as its silken sides ripped open. The innards of the purse spewed across the floor much like the peanuts had from Dolores' face. "You devil! I'll get you fired for this! I can do that, you know!" She continued to scream until she felt the distinguished, soothing figure of Professor Binns drift through her towards the bag. Quietly, Binns examined its exposed and vulnerable contents for some time before bending forward to pick something up. Unfortunately, his hands passed straight through it.
"Oh, Berty, you forgot..." Dolores whimpered, but Binns turned to face her.
"No, Dolores," he said. "I remembered." He pointed to the paper on the floor. It was a picture of Dolly but with Elvis' face; the soulmate of that the poster still hung in Binns' office (probably).
A tearful smile crept onto her face. "Then... do you also remember... our song?"
Binns floated to the grammar phone and removed the disc, replacing it with another. The mellifluous, haunting tune of Dancing Queen radiated from the dungeons like the sun radiated from a grammar phone or something.
"Kiss me, Berty!" Dolores squealed with delight, throwing her arms around him. They passed straight through.
~ Folly