For QLFC: Chaser 3: Write a theme you've never written before. Optional prompts: thunderstorm, homemade, Adventure is is not outside man; it is within. - George Eliot
It all started, quite appropriately, with a thunderstorm.
September 16, 1988 (The First Moment)
Thunder rolled overhead. Astoria ducked her head under the blankets. She didn't like the way her room rattled at each booming sound.
She peeked out underneath her spot under the duvet. Lightning flashed and crackled right outside her window, and she let out a small cry. "Tiney! Tiney!"
A small pop signalled Tiney's arrival. "Yes, Miss?" Tiney said.
Astoria scrambled from her place on the bed and lept into Tiney's embrace. "Tiney, I think there's a monster about to come in through the window!"
"Ach, none of that, Miss Astoria," Tiney said, smoothing down Astoria's unruly brown hair. "'Tis only a thunderstorm, Miss, nothing to worry about while Tiney is here."
Tiney led Astoria to the chair beside the bookcase in the corner of the room. "Why don't Miss Astoria chooses a book for Tiney to read to her?"
"Could you please tell me the story of The Fountain of Fair Fortune, Tiney? I love how all the girls go on an adventure. I want to go on an adventure, too, one day." Astoria said.
Tiney waggled a finger at her. "Ah, you is trying to get me in trouble, young Miss. You is knows that Mistress does not like that story what with the witch marrying of the Muggle man and all."
"Oh, but please, Tiney?" Astoria pleaded, scrambling up the big chair as she spoke.
Tiney visibly relented. "As you likes then, Miss. But Miss should listen to Tiney very quietly and then go straight off to bed after, okay, Miss? You is only four years old, after all, and need you's sleep."
"Yes, Tiney," Astoria nodded. "Tiney, could you please sit here on this chair with me? I want to sit on your lap."
Tiney looked at the door nervously and shook her head. "No, Miss, you is know that Tiney is not allowed to sit on the chair with you. Chairs are only for wizards and witches, not good house-elves like Tiney."
Astoria frowned. "Yes, I know that,Tiney. But why?"
Tiney hesitated and said in a very low voice, "I doesn't really know either, Miss."
Then, Tiney straightened up and spoke in a louder squeak. "Okay, time for you's story, Miss. Once upon a time…"
As Tiney told the story, Astoria's eyes began to shutter close. It was late, after all, and the thunder seemed so far away now that Tiney was standing right in front of her.
When the story ended, Tiney tucked Astoria back in bed. Astoria murmured sleepily, "Tiney, I really like stories."
Tiney smiled as she placed a favorite stuffed peacock in Astoria's grasp. "Oh? Well, perhaps Miss will write stories herself one day."
Astoria nodded drowsily, "Stories about Apollo, about Daphne, about me, and about you, especially, Tiney!"
…
This is where the story begins. Still, it would be hard to believe that an event that took place when Atsoria was four years old was to blame for the situation that tumbled forth decades later. Thus, other incidents could be said to have helped things along.
...
April 28, 1998 (The Second Moment)
1998 was a terrible year. Her fifth year at Hogwarts had been the craziest year of all - complete with Death Eaters for professors and with a thorough lack of Muggle-born witches and wizards outside of Azkaban or the grave.
As a pureblood and as a Slytherin, however, Astoria would have had a more pleasant time than most - that is, if she hadn't decided to play spy for Neville Longbottom and Dumbledore's Army. Astoria had become a snake in a den of snakes.
Astoria could barely pay attention to what Professor Flitwick was telling her. She casually glanced at her schoolbag, in which a secret compartment currently held several potions Terry Boot urgently needed. She tried not to tap her shoe impatiently. She had a delivery to make, and she was running out of time.
"This is good work, Ms. Greengrass," Professor Flitwick said, tapping the piece of parchment. "Yes, your penmanship could use a bit of work, but the content is not only thorough but is written with artistic touches."
Astoria, who had spent the whole year trying to survive by playing up her shy and quiet demeanor, did her best to blush. "Thank you, sir. I – I do enjoy writing."
"As you should," Flitwick smiled. "You're a writer, my dear."
Astoria felt a small thrill in her heart at those words. Flitwick continued, "I'd like to help you develop your writing skills. I may not have published as many books as the former Professor Lockhart – oh, I don't suppose he had ever been your professor, good for you, really – but I do have a few books to my name. If you're interested, why don't you come see me, say, every Saturday morning for advanced lessons on writing?"
Astoria had looked forward to her first lesson all week. But when Saturday, May 2, 1998, arrived, so did Harry Potter and his friends.
And then Astoria, Flitwick, and the rest of Hogwarts had far more important things to deal with than any kind of writing lessons.
So perhaps all this was Flitwick's fault – for putting the idea that she could be a writer in Astoria's mind. Still, it was far easier to blame the game of "Never Have I Ever" that took place almost four years later.
...
January 17, 2002 (The Third Moment)
Astoria was at the pub with the other members of the WWWL (Working Women Who Lunch). Parvati Patil-Thomas (Witch Weekly junior editor), a lightweight on the best of days, was already very slightly soused, having already lost ten times in the 15 rounds they had already done. Lavender Brown (Associate Wandmaker at Ollivander's) was still perfectly coiffed, in spite of the dozen shots she had already taken.
Hermione Granger (Deputy Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures), after taking her fifth precise sip, turned to Astoria expectantly. "Your turn. Then, I better run off ahead. There's that new law we're trying to pass, you know, to help improve the treatment of house-elves in British society. You know, Argentina has already – "
"Yes, we know," Lavender said hastily, "Go ahead, Astoria."
Astoria looked around at the women with her. "Never have I ever written a book before."
There were groans from the group. After all, there was Padma Patil (author of the critically-acclaimed biography on Healer Gunhilda de Gorsemoor), Penelope Clearwater (author of best-selling children's series Ignatius and the Kelpie), Hermione Granger (author of the revised The Tales of Beedle the Bard), and half a dozen other authors in the bunch.
As Lavender (author of "Me? A Werewolf? Preposterous. (Except It's True.)") tossed back her drink, she looked at Astoria and asked, "Well, why don't you?"
…
January 18, 2002
Why don't you, indeed.
Astoria turned Lavender's question over and over in her mind as she sat on the sofa in her mother's drawing room at Greengrass Manor the following day. It was a legitimate question, as most of the women of her acquaintance - strong, brilliant women who had survived a war and had led their way to victory- were already authors in their own right. As a bored part-time worker at the Wizengamot Administrative Services, Astoria had plenty of time on her hands. Still, unlike her friends who had their own passions, Astoria had no specific interest that would serve as good material for a book.
"Astoria, you seem to be a million miles away today," Serena Greengrass placed her teacup back on her saucer with a soft clink. "What's on your mind?"
"Huh?" Astoria said, snapping back into reality, only to realize that all three of her companions were staring right at her. Her mother was hosting one of her small tea parties, one of the many inane activities that Astoria had to suffer through as "an eligible witch of the ton," as her mother liked to put it.
"Honestly, Astoria. Are we not scintillating enough to hold your attention?" Pansy Zabini née Parkinson gave a high-pitched tinkling laugh, throwing her head back in a casual gesture that showed off her gleaming diamond necklace. Pansy and Daphne sat together on the opposite couch. Much to Astoria's annoyance, Pansy was Daphne's childhood best friend. They had played together as children, had gone to Hogwarts together, and had gotten married in two consecutive years. This meant that Pansy spent a horrible amount of time at Greengrass Manor.
The ton was truly insufferable, Astoria reflected, and Pansy Zabini was proof of that.
"Apologies, Mother," Astoria said, forcing a smile. "I was just wool-gathering."
"Perhaps Astoria was just thinking about whether her paperwork had been filed correctly. Are you really still wasting away at a job at the Ministry, Astoria dear?" Pansy smirked, saying the word "job" like it was the most disgusting thing she could imagine.
Astoria gritted her teeth and retorted,"Yes, I am, Pansy. The Wizarding Administration Services is the only department that offers part-time jobs. I'd much prefer to be working full-time elsewhere you know, so it is a waste to be there only a few times a week. There's a lot of good work to be done at the Ministry."
She suppressed her eye-roll at her mother's quelling look. Serena Greengrass gave a tinkling laugh. "What a good joke, my dear. You know that you would hardly enjoy working all day long. And at what kind of place would you even work? The Department of Mysteries, with all those silly men in their goggles and lab coats?" she dismissed with a wave of her hand.
"Or perhaps at the House-Elf division, like what Granger is doing now." Pansy said snidely. Serena, Daphne, and Pansy all laughed at the very idea.
"Speaking of house-elves, where have ours gone?" Serena said. "Honestly, there is no more tea. Celly! Tilly! Rissy!"
Two soft pops and one loud crack echoed through the room. Serena scowled. "Celly!" she scolded. "How many times must I tell you not to Apparate so loudly when I summon you? Honestly, you give me such a headache."
"Celly is sorry, Mistress," the tiniest of the three house-elves whispered, ducking her head. "Celly forgets."
Astoria tried to catch Celly's eye to give her a kind smile. Celly was one of her mother's youngest house-elves, received from the Notts as part of Daphne's bridal price only a year ago, after the birth of Daphne's son. Celly was also Tiney's niece.
Serena scowled. "You ought to practice then. Go and punish yourself and then come straight back here with another tray for tea. As for you two, this room is a mess! Do you not see the crumb beside Mrs. Zabini?"
Astoria rolled her eyes as the house-elves rushed to apologize and to clear up the so-called "mess" before popping away.
"Honestly," Serena scoffed, learning back on the sofa. "Good help is so hard to find nowadays, my dear," she told Pansy.
Pansy nodded. "We have the same problem at my mother's house. All house-elves are so lazy nowadays. No one wants to work anymore! I had to order our house-elves to iron their fingers the other day because I found a spot on my new dress. And one of them had the temerity to talk back at me and say that I was the one who caused it the last time I wore it out. Honestly, house-elves are getting so uppity lately, no thanks to that Muggle Granger."
Serena and Daphne tssked sympathetically. Daphne bemoaned the lack of "quality house-elves" who could help take care of her children. "Tiney is getting quite beyond it, Mother," Daphne said. "I know you gave her to me so that she could serve as a nursery-elf, but she is so old and slow that I'm quite afraid that she'll hurt the children."
"Tiney would never hurt anyone!" Astoria protested. "How can you say that, Daphne? She's so kind and good. She took such good care of us as children."
Serena ignored Astoria's statement. "Oh, is she, my dear? Well, she's getting on in years now, so perhaps it's time to send her away. Honestly, society might frown on it now, but the Blacks really did have a good system for their house-elves."
Astoria's jaw dropped open. "Mother! But the Blacks beheaded their house-elves!"
"Yes, I know," Serena continued blithely. "When they were too old and frail to carry the tea trays anymore. Such a genius system, don't you think?"
…
"Honestly!" Astoria raved, throwing her hands up. "She pretty much told Daphne that it was time to get Tiney beheaded! Tiney! The one who pretty much raised me and my brother and sister while my mother was off attending her 285th ball of the week. She - Hermione, have you even heard anything that I've said?"
Astoria was having lunch with Hermione in her office to discuss the new House-Elf Welfare Law that Hermione was trying to pass through Wizengamot.
"Hmm?" Hermione said in response. She looked up from the thick textbook she was perusing. "Yes, sorry, I'm listening. And it's really awful. We really do need to do something to help change people's mindset about house-elves. The public just isn't well-informed enough or is already numb to the house-elves' situation, so there just isn't enough outrage and pressure from them about it. That's why I'm afraid the law might not pass." She sighed.
Astoria nodded "It's terrible really, especially with how much the house-elves do for us. You know, in my house, homemade pretty much means house-elf made. All my good childhood memories about coming home to a batch of freshly baked cookies or having my favorite stuffed toy sewed back together - they're all centered around Tiney and the other house-elves."
Hermione smiled. "It's nice that you have so many memories about the house-elves. I wish we could let people know about everything that they do."
"Yeah," Astoria agreed, sighing and slumping back in her chair.
"Oh!" Hermione said suddenly, looking straight up at Astoria. "Now there's an idea!"
…
Hermione's idea was completely bonkers, and Astoria made sure to tell her that.
"No, no, this makes sense," Hermione insisted. "Jo March - from Little Women, you should read it, Astoria - was told that you should write what you know. You know house-elves! You grew up a a member of the ton - the elite! This is what you should write about. And if the book wins the sympathy of the public, you might just help this bill pass."
It took some work, but Hermione wore Astoria down. Astoria was about to become an author - albeit an anonymous one.
…
Getting interviews was the hardest part of the process. Hermione acknowledged that Astoria's own experiences with house-elves weren't enough to support a book. It took much convincing, a little bribery, and much wheedling for Astoria to secretly get interviews from Celly, the other Greengress house-elves, and even Pansy's elves. She sat down and interviewed Harry Potter about his memories of Dobby, Kreacher, Winky, and the Hogwarts elves.
Finally, the book was ready to be published. Astoria had decided on a pseudonym: Constantine Pride. The book was receiving quite a pre-release buzz, and the search for who Constantine was became a parlor game.
Two weeks before the book was scheduled to be released, Pansy Zabini appeared on her doorstep, saying that she had figured out that Astoria was the author threatening to out Constantine's identity to the public if she did not stop the book from being released.
"It will destroy you," Pansy promised, eyes fierce. "You'll be disowned and no one would want to marry you."
Astoria took a day to decide on what to do, before going to her parents and confronting them with the truth. She promised that the identities of everyone in the book were secret and would remain protected. Serena railed against it, but Astoria stood firm. Surprisingly, her father was on her side.
"Enough, Serena," her father said. "She's right."
He looked at her and said, "I'm proud that a daughter of mine can recognize injustice for what it is and stand up to change the world."
Before she left, her father gave her the Star of David that had belonged to his mother.
The next day, Astoria outed herself - and a thunderstorm of events ensued.
...
An Excerpt from "Exclusive Interview with Astoria Greengrass, the author of Homemade Is House-Elf Made, a Witch Weekly article written by Parvati Patil:
PP: The book has been received so well. What feedback have you personally received?
AG: A mix, really. There was a lot of outrage from my her own peers, a lot of displeasure from family friends. On the other hand, my own friends have supported me greatly and have applauded me every step of the way. In the end, though the best response was from the public - whose reaction pressured our politicians to change our laws and allow the House-Elf Welfare Law to pass. That's what's important.
PP: What have you learned from this experience?
AG: Well...I've been on an adventure these past few months. Not anywhere faraway. In fact, I'm still in the same country, the same town, and the same house. But I've been on a trip nevertheless - one that has taken me deeper inside myself. I'm glad to have taken this trip. It's a long story but...well, it began with a thunderstorm. It was a thunderstorm that caused another one - one of social uprising, complete with tears like rain and thunderous voices calling for change. It's a thunderstorm - the very best of its kind.