IMPORTANT AN: Next new Ripples Chapter – 'TWELVE' is actually going to be inserted BEFORE Christmas – a NEW Chapter 4 out of 12 (very silly, but something I've wanted to do for a while to better characterize the boys. Many apologies)
It was with extreme difficulty I managed to weave together an account of the infamous ball of 1944. This was partly due to the emotionally charged nature of the memories which were further damaged by hindsight. I have striven to include all the moments of significance I could uncover, for that day was not merely the day of a dance, but a day in which the first signs of the future became clear to those who could see.
Step forward, unbottle the vial and relive the waking dream.
Alex Prewett smiled as he surveyed the Ravenclaw common room. The movement of muscles felt strange, and he rubbed his freshly shaven jaw as he ran his eyes around the disparate group. He slid past the first years, who were hunched over miniature cauldrons and spared a smile for the seventh years, who were either stretched out in ostentatious inactivity or frantically scribbling practice NEWT papers. The former group would be individually sneaking down in the middle of the night to feverishly crack open their textbooks while no one was looking, while the latter were headed towards lifetime addictions to Soothing Draughts. It was by the fireplace; no man's territory, that he found the man he was looking for.
"Roger," he drew out the word. Roger Longbottom put down Hogwarts, A History with a long suffering sigh to survey his best mate sardonically.
"Oh good, you've bathed!" he said brightly. "Does this mean you've stopped moping, or is this the final preparation before your ritual suicide?"
Alex ignored him; Roger was alone in the conviction that he was funny.
"I need a favour," Alex admitted. "I wouldn't ask you, but I can't bring myself to burden Minerva further."
Roger closed his book. "This is sounding like work. I'm morally opposed to work, you know that."
"I want you to tutor Augusta Bones," Alex said abruptly. Indira Patil sent him a charming smile from the other side of the fireplace and he nodded absently, his attention fixed on Roger, whose cheery face had become carefully blank behind his thick black glasses.
"Alright then," he shrugged.
"You're not going to argue?" Alex asked, hardly able to believe his luck. Roger opened his mouth to quip back but Alex was suddenly distracted by an impatient vibration in his schoolbag. He rummaged through it quickly, tossing a handful of parchment, assortment of quills and several thick books on the influence of Egyptian Runes on Roman onto a nearby table until he found what had been causing the tremors. It proved to be a flat square object the size of his hand, made of wood and intricately carved. Inserting his nails into the crevice at the edge, he slid it open to reveal a mirror within to receive a chortle from Roger.
"Since when do you carry a mirror around?" Roger demanded.
Alex lifted the mirror to his eyelevel. Instead of his own reflection he saw Minerva, who was looking harassed with windswept hair and still in her Quidditch robes.
"What is it?" Alex asked urgently. The mirrors gifted to the heads were meant to be used for emergencies, and Minerva had been calm, if very quiet and red eyed just a few hours ago in Arithmancy. Minerva took a deep breath.
"Meet me in Dippet's study immediately," she said quickly. "A muggleborn student has been attacked; I've just come from the hospital wing now."
Alex had closed the mirror and dashed out the door before Roger could blink twice.
There were a number of things Caradoc Dearborn had perfected to art form over the years. One such skill was gauging the minimum amount of work necessary to perform adequately in class, another was irritating Minerva McGonagall. Yet another talent of his was the ability to sulk magnificently. It was with this in mind that he stalked down to the dungeons and ignored the sudden hush as he entered the common room. The dull green glow of the ceiling instantly brought to mind a pair of eyes, and with the eyes came the face, and with the face came the voice demanding What is wrong with you?
She had not physically said the words, but she had not needed to. He had watched her close up in the two weeks since he had asked her to the ball; the slight hardening of her eyes, the disappearance of her small smiles and most of all the furious flash of expression when he hurried past her spoke volumes. She had every right to fume, he had avoided her assiduously and in defiance of Riddle's order.. but he had not been able to make himself break the date. He had almost hoped she would confront him, that she would be able to do what he could not.. but why hadn't she? Did she simply not care?
He found himself glaring at his door, and at Orion Black, who was leaning next to it casually, a stupid smile on his face and hair unusually mussed.
"I don't want to talk to you," Caradoc barked. Orion politely looked away as Caradoc tapped his door with his wand in a complex sequence but followed him in as the door swung open.
"Yes, well I'm going to graciously ignore the foul mood you have been in for the last week," announced Orion. "I have good news. Excellent even. I come bearing news that requires celebratory drinks. Got anything good stashed away?"
Caradoc threw his books on his bed and grunted compliance. Orion still had a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Why was he so damn happy? What business did he have looking as if he had been crowned king of the castle when he, Caradoc Dearborn was stuck in a cage? He turned to tell Black off and found the burly figure of Henry Avery, who was wearing a distinctly disgruntled expression, filling his doorframe.
"Where the bloody hell have you been?" Avery demanded.
"Around," Orion said vaguely, rummaging around Caradoc's liquor cabinet. Caradoc sprawled his long limbs in his favourite chair and merely glared in response to the further intrusion of his room.
"There was a Brethren meeting held. Without you," Avery blurted, stepping further in the room. At this Orion dropped the tumbler he had been filling with whisky and Caradoc sat bolt upright as pieces of glass went skidding across his floor.
"That isn't possible," Orion said flatly, ignoring the mess at his feet.
"I know the rules as well as you do Black, so don't look at me like that," snarled Avery. "I told them a formal sitting required all three of us but he quoted some subsection or another and all the chaps went along with it."
"And of course you can't actually tell us what subsection of the code it was," complained Caradoc. "What good are you, Avery?"
Avery flushed an ugly red but before he could reply Orion flung up his hand.
"Appendix Two, Section Five, subsection three," he said rapidly.
Caradoc blinked at him. "You memorized the subsections of the appendix?" he asked incredulously.
"There was an appendix?" said Avery.
Orion rolled his eyes. "The point, gentlemen, is that there is only one clause which allows a sitting to be called without all three triumvirs present."
"Which is?"
"Treachery within the Brethren itself," Orion said heavily. He noticed at last the glass littering the floor at his feet and fumbled for his wand. "Reparo," he muttered, and the pieces flew together to reform the tumbler, although the carpet remained dark with spilled drink.
Avery huffed. "I was going to tell you all about it, but since I'm apparently useless, I'll just let you ask Lord Riddle himself!" He made to stalk out of the room but the door slammed shut before he could even reach for the handle. He turned to find two wands pointed at him.
"What happened at that meeting, Avery?" Caradoc asked pleasantly. He was still reclined in his armchair, but his free hand gripped the chair arm tightly. Avery's eyes moved from Caradoc to Orion, who was openly scowling, before he surrendered.
"You'll hear about it the moment you step into the common room. Some of it," he amended, leaning against the door. "You know my Keeper, Charles Campbell?"
Caradoc grimaced involuntarily. Campbell filled the position on the Slytherin Quidditch team that should have been his. And he was a bad egg. He'd had the audacity to ask Minerva to Hogsmeade in fifth year. Caradoc still regretted not giving him the thrashing he deserved.
"He's been found unconscious on the edge of the Forbidden Forest by that overgrown Gryffindor oaf Hagridden, or whatever his name is."
"Is he alright?" Orion asked, mildly disturbed at the relish on Avery's face.
"He's alive, but our informant in the hospital says they haven't been able to revive him or figure out what is wrong with him. But that's not all," Avery said significantly.
"Get on with it," Caradoc snapped. Avery merely smirked at him.
"Campbell was wearing his brethren robes at the time."
"Are you having a laugh?" Caradoc demanded, standing up. Avery lifted his hands defensively. "It's Merlin's own truth!" he protested.
Orion met Caradoc's eyes under his furrowed brow. "The Brethren manage to stay a secret for centuries and then get exposed on our watch," he cursed, kicking Caradoc's bedpost.
Avery scratched his head.
"Didn't I say? The ensignia – all of it, not just the crest or motto, was ripped out. The meeting wasn't held because Lord Riddle fears thinks the school is onto us."
"Then why was it held?' asked Orion blankly. "Vengeance for Campbell?"
Avery let out a hoarse bark.
"Far from it. Turns out that Campbell's been hiding a few things, and Riddle wanted to make sure no one else was," Avery said cryptically.
"Avery, if you don't stop dancing around the topic I am going to hex you to 1945," Caradoc warned. Avery shrugged.
"Campbell's always passed himself off as a pureblood, innit?"
Orion nodded. "Campbell isn't as old a name as some, but they've still been around since the Founding."
"Yes, well turns out our Campbell's mummy.." Avery paused for effect "was a muggle."
There was a quick intake of breath from Orion and a soft 'oooh' of understanding from Caradoc.
"Can't blame the lad for keeping that quiet," Caradoc said soberly.
"He lied to us!" Avery said indignantly.
Orion looked at him in disbelief. "We're Slytherins, you fool."
"Yes, but you don't lie to your brothers!"
"Liar."
Caradoc ignored their squabbling, his mind working furiously. He had never liked Campbell, but the boy did not deserve to be attacked. The Brethren were supposed to be comprised of the purest of the pure; was Campbell's demise a simply cleansing of the Brethren, or something on a larger scale? Surely it could not extend beyond their house – could it?
"Out!" he ordered abruptly. Orion and Avery stopped arguing to stare at him. "Both of you!" he clarified, baring his teeth. "We have a ball to attend, chaps. Tonight, we dance. The mutiny will still be there tomorrow".
Minerva blinked as she walked into a common room aglow with brilliant colour instead of the sea of dull black she was accustomed to. She hurried past the giggling girls bedecked in silks and velvets and the catcalling boys in similar, if more sober, finery. As she flew up the staircase three steps at a time, she shuddered to imagine what a mob she would have had on her hands if she had been here to announce the cancellation of the ball as Headmaster Dippet had desired. Luckily, Professor Merryweather had intervened.
"It will only gratify the attacker and panic the students," Merryweather had said gravely, and not even Dippet could deny the Auror-turned-Professor's expertise on dark wizards. Professor Dumbledore and even young Professor Slughorn had agreed, so the ball would go ahead, although the prefects had been notified to be on the alert for suspicious behaviour.
Judging from the general disarray of her dorm; stockings flung about, one silver slipper tossed beside a red one on the window seat and the air thick with perfume, the other girls had already dressed and departed. Minerva hoped Alex had sent Juliet a message informing her of their delay; if the pity date she had thrown together on finding both of them single went awry, Minerva knew she would feel responsible, however illogical such a feeling was. She decided to take her time in her bath now that she had the dorm to herself. It would do Caradoc no harm to wait a little. Particularly as the only reason she knew their 'date' was still on was because he had a sent an owl informing her he would meet her there. An owl! Not that she cared.
Minerva felt no particular inclination to doll herself up for such a half hearted date, especially considering the events of the day, but her role as Head Girl demanded she look at least presentable. Yet as she pinned her last curl into place and slipped on a pair of emerald ear bobs, she couldn't help the slight thrill that ran through her as she examined her reflection. Her normally severe face was softened by the artful rearrangement of her thick waves of hair and the powders lent her pale a rosy glow. Much as she hated it, much as it conjured up memories that stuck in her throat, the green robes Amelia had picked out for her did look stunning. She would never be beautiful, but tonight she was striking.
Minerva strolled down to the almost empty common room to find Caradoc sprawled in an armchair. He rose fluidly to his feet as she approached, running his eyes down her long form appreciatively.
"You're not supposed to be in here!" she snapped.
"You look lovely," he said.
"How did you get into our common room?" she asked, refusing to be mollified or notice that his long hair had been cut and brushed into a semblance of order. Or that his eyes were slightly shadowed and hectically bright in his pale face. The pallor suited him, lent a dignity to his features she has never seen before. In his dove grey robes, silvery waistcoat and snowy white cravat he looked every inch the pureblood gentleman, and she felt suddenly shy. The he grinned and was again the incorrigible rogue.
"Sweet talked the Fat – sorry, 'voluptuous'- Lady," he quipped, offering her his arm.
Minerva took it without thinking, and then could not let go politely as they walked through the torch lit corridors. She had not been in such close contact with him since that Christmas night, and was keenly aware of the fact, and of the alien, but comforting masculine scent of him. What was wrong with her? She had never noticed how he smelt before! Her thoughts were so scrambled it was not until she reached the Great Hall that she remembered why she had been dreading this evening. Dinner preceded the dance, and as Caradoc helped her into her seat she forced a smile at the other two couples seated at their appointed table, none of whom appeared to be talking.
Amelia at least had made an effort; her mass of curls had been tamed and twisted intricately to flow down one shoulder, bared by her exquisitely tailored robes. A heavy diamond necklace even Minerva recognized as part of the Black set gleamed around her slender neck. She and Orion, dashing in black, looked as if they belonged on a fashion plate. Like Minerva, Juliet did not appear overly enthused by the evening, merely pinning her hair in a simple knot, but she managed to look lovely and ethereal in her silvery robes, particularly next to Alex, whose handsome face was darkened by a pained expression.
As the boys shook hands with varying levels of enthusiasm, the lack of greeting, or indeed eye contact between the girls was pointed. Minerva wondered masochistically which of the boys would be the first to notice, and how long it would take. Orion was sensitive to slights against Amelia, but Alex was easily the most intelligent, if currently preoccupied with pining. Surprisingly it was Caradoc who picked up on it first, his eyes flickering from Amelia to Juliet then back to Minerva with a clear question in his eyes. She shrugged, the barest movement of shoulders and turned back to her menu with intense concentration.
Even after the food had materialized on their plates, the silence was so loud it was deafening. The first person to snap, naturally, was Caradoc.
"Orion, old chap, what was your big news?" he asked after ten minutes of increasingly awkward silence. "We never quite got back on topic."
Orion beamed, a slow burgeoning smile transforming his normally brooding face and causing at least three girls in the room to swoon. "I was going to ask you to be my best man," he said slyly, unable to stop smiling. Caradoc dropped his fork with a clatter.
"You're engaged?" he asked, kicking himself for not taking up the odds Avery had offered. Orion reached out to take Amelia's hand and nodded. Prewett for some reason had started glowering, beside him Juliet started babbling quietly and Minerva did not say a word.
"Congratulations," Caradoc said sincerely. Amelia would be good for Orion; all of Slytherin House had noticed the change in the Black heir since he had started going steady with the Bones princess. It was as if she anchored him, her presence enough to steer all the fire and volatility his family was known for into safer channels. Amelia made Orion significantly easier to live with - at least, when they were on good terms she did.
Caradoc turned to Minerva, who was very interested in the pattern of the tablecloth. "I'll certainly accept the best man position if I get a dance with one of the bridesmaids," he smirked. At this, Minerva looked up, the most peculiar expression in her eyes. Juliet made a sudden hand movement that knocked over her flagon and sent pumpkin juice seeping across the white and gold table cloth. Alex Vanished it quickly, but Juliet flushed to the roots of her hair and excused herself. Minerva followed her silently and Caradoc was left to wonder what exactly was going on. Clearly the charged silence had not, as he had suspected, been the Gryffindor disapproval of their golden girl mingling with a Slytherin of his savoury reputation. He could have saved himself the hassle of small talk. Salazar, he hated small talk!
The silence returned and Caradoc noticed Prewett at least looked as uncomfortable as he felt. A thought occurred to him and he assumed the conversation could not get any worse.
"I'm honoured to accept, but I thought you would have asked Alphard," he commented wryly. The Black brothers were close despite their frequent arguments, whereas the Brotherhood was the chief tie linking Orion to himself.
Orion's smile slipped.
"He –ah- declined," he said quickly, not looking at his fiancee.
"You didn't mention that," Amelia said sharply.
"Well, he's just -"
"Minerva, have I told you how stunning you look tonight?" Caradoc asked desperately as his date returned to the table with a more composed Juliet in tow.
"At least twice," she said drily.
"Well that colour brings out your eyes marvelously," he said loftily, and then wondered why she glared at him and Juliet suppressed a giggle. Women!
He decided to give small talk one last attempt. From the looks of things, this could be the last time Minerva agreed to go anywhere with him.
"How is your cat?" he asked finally, smiling despite himself. Lady Grey was a fine old animal he had teased when he was four, talked to when he was seven and kidnapped when he was twelve. A strangled noise came from Amelia, when he turned his head he saw Juliet opening and closing her mouth and it was with trepidation that he risked looking at Minerva, whose face was carefully blank.
"She died a year ago," she said faintly.
Caradoc put his face in his hands and groaned. He would be quite happy to never have to emerge from the safety of his private refuge ever again, but Minerva McGonagall laughed. It was half a snort, half a gurgle of impish amusement, but it was such a rare sound that his hands fell from his face and he looked up to see even Prewett smiling.
"You're an idiot," she told him, but she reached out and placed her hand on his comfortingly. Caradoc did not see Orion's knowing grin or Juliet's secretive smile; he never noticed Amelia's eyebrows climb or Prewett's amused-but-threatening look. He had held girls in his arms at dances before; he had visited the talking pictures without once seeing more than five minutes of a film. His working knowledge of the shadowy corners of Hogwarts, like his affair with Druella Rosier were scarlet pages of his life story that should never have been written if he had a hope of the woman sitting beside him. Her simple touch; hand to hand, natural and effortless, sparked more emotion Druella's lips ever had.
"At your service," he said huskily, twining his fingers in hers as she made to move her hand away. With a start, he realized the music playing was not in his head but the sound of a swing band, and there were already couples littering the dance floor. Before Minerva could remember she was furious with him, Caradoc sprang to his feet and led her away, still firmly gripping her hand.
"You don't get to do this," she said he wrapped one arm around her waist.
"Do what?" he asked casually, as if her hand on his shoulder did not send tingles through his spine, as if the slight frown on her face was not as distracting as the ridiculously long lashes that kissed unusually flushed cheeks.
"You don't get – to ignore me for days – then turn on the charm – and expect me to swoon," she snapped between jives.
"You think I'm charming?" he twinkled, deeply gratified.
"Caradoc Cornelius Dearborn!"
"Yes?" he replied, taking both hands in his to execute a perfect Lindy Hop.
"You're a bastard," she breathed as she spun back to him. He dipped her low and pulled her back upright, unable to look away from the turbulent depths of her eyes.
"I've been a terrible friend," he admitted. The fast moving swing dances that had started the ball were replaced by a softer, slower music. Minerva hesitated, her eyes darting around the room. Alex and Juliet were chatting amiably by the punch table with Roger Longbotttom and his date Indira Patil. Amy and Orion were dancing very close together, staring into each others eyes as if they were the only people in the room.
Minerva reluctantly stepped closer and wound her arms around Caradoc's neck. He marveled inwardly at how perfectly she fitted against him as he drew her closer and began to glide to a more traditional waltz. For a time they didn't speak, but simply moved together, each knowing what the other would do as they did it. And as the music changed again, slowly, very slowly Minerva rested her head against his shoulder and they both knew this would be one of the moments neither of then ever forgot.
He could grow used to holding her like this, and the single most terrifying aspect of that was not that they were too young, or he too wild or even that it was dangerous. What terrified him was that the idea of weeks, months and years tied to one woman– something he had refused to contemplate his entire life, something no one would ever expect him to – did not scare him as it should, but warmed him. At this moment, when they were wrapped around each other closer than they ever had been before, it even seemed possible.
"We used to be best friends," she said almost to herself. "What are we doing now Cad? What game are you playing this time?"
He breathed in the scent of her hair, imprinting it to his memory. "I don't know what I'm doing," he said honestly.
"I don't know why I put up with you," she said half seriously, lifting her face so she was inches away from him. He had no idea what his face betrayed, but her smile froze on her face and her eyes widened. He had closed the gap before he knew it, rested his forehead against hers. They stayed like that, hovering on the brink, neither able to go back or move forward. He was not entirely sure of her – she was not entirely sure of herself – but he knew if he held her in his arms any longer he would do something that would fracture their new truce.
"It's not always wise to wear your heart on your sleeve these days," he said softly. "It isn't always safe."
She pulled back and he mentally kicked himself. He had a hundred polished lines and charming nothings he was used to deploying, why did they turn to ash in his mouth around this girl?
"What are you talking about, Caradoc?" she asked intently.
"Nothing," he lied.
"I don't believe you," she said simply. In that instant of challenge, that moment in which the two of them stood in a crowded ballroom, inches apart after years of distance, something changed irrevocably. All the half formed thoughts and buried worries that had been chasing themselves in circles around his head for weeks stopped and meekly fell into place. There had been no reason to hide from the world, to retrace his thoughts fruitlessly. His life was a simple problem, his difficulties had stemmed from his dislike of the solution.
Caradoc let his eyes run across her, drink her in. He had not lied, the emerald suited her, and she had blazed out magnificently in anger. He could pretend that they were normal teenagers and could dance the night away. He could hold her tight and let every boy in the room know that she was his. He could run her fingers down her smooth white arm, he could coax a smile he didn't deserve, or even another laugh if the gods were kind.
They could take together the first steps towards a relationship uncharged by unresolved grievances. It would start with a soft, gentle kiss before midnight, a whisper of skin against skin. It would deepen over the days and weeks spent hand in hand, in which a future rich with promise would begin to unfurl. Moments stolen whenever possible would conjure smiles Mona Lisa would envy. There would be Sunday afternoons of Quidditch that would end in them sinking in a breathless tangle of limbs and lips to the ground, there would be secrets shared, promises pledged, and there would be time. There would be time for graduation, and then there would be a time in which they had the freedom to go wherever they desired and do whatever they dreamed.
But he could not protect her from his housemates. He could not even offer her his hand; protect her as Orion was safeguarding Amelia. If in another world he had dared and she had run mad, still it would only draw her deeper into this poisonous web. And he could not tell her any of this.
So Caradoc brushed a slipping strand of hair behind one ear and allowed his fingers to delicately trace Minerva's cheekbones down to her jaw, and then he walked away, leaving her alone on the dance floor.
Two days after the ball, Minerva returned to her dorm to find a wicker basket perched on her bed. She opened it carefully to discover a small black kitten asleep on a tartan blanket. There was no note. There was no need.
A.N Please please please please review!
Thoughts, rants, rambles and tissues all greatly appreciated! Every line from you lovely readers makes me smile.