Author: Lucinda
Rated t for teen/y-14 for teenagers being teens.
Set at the beginning of a not-quite canon 4th year for Harry Potter. Contains no significant romantic relationships for Harry.
If you recognize them from the books or movies, then I hold no legal rights to them, some combination of JK Rowling, Scholastic books, and Warner Brothers films have said rights.
..PS..SMIB..PS..SMIB
Harry Potter made his way onto the Hogwarts Express, his trunk towed behind him. He was quite pleased he'd remembered to ask Mrs. Weasley to cast a feather-weight charm on it when they'd managed to get through the barrier, running almost but not quite late as appeared to be usual for the Weasley family. He'd enjoyed staying with them for the last few weeks, and the Quidditch World Cup had been brilliant. Well, the fascinating crowds, the pre-game shows and the actual game had been brilliant, the Death Eaters causing trouble afterwards much less so. Mr. Weasley had even suggested they get an early start on things, so Mrs. Weasley had started trying to wake them up at seven this morning.
After Ron had insisted on listening to a Chudley Cannons game until just past midnight on a small and rather staticky wizarding wireless the night before. Loud enough Harry couldn't get to sleep, especially with the announcer sounding so outraged at the various missed passes, quaffles sliding past the Keepers – twice the Chudley Keeper hadn't even been in front of the correct hoop! – and both Seekers missing the snitch despite people in the audience trying to point it out to them. Granted, that apparently hadn't started until the seventh hour of the game, but still…. He could almost picture the announcer, looking a bit like an older Tom Baker, hair mussed as he ran his hands through muttering curses about blind Seekers and debating choking himself with a long, multi-colored scarf. Harry had always liked it when the one teacher in Primary had played Dr. Who during quiet time, more so Mr. Gibson wouldn't miss his episodes than for the children's benefits. Pity he'd suddenly vanished after winter break, that teacher had been pretty good.
Despite knowing when they would return to Hogwarts, few of the Weasleys had packed more than their books until the last few days. Most of Ron's things had still been scattered across his room the night before, with the exception of his books, wrapped neatly in brown paper and dropped in the corner of the trunk before Harry had even arrived. Fred And George had the boring things in their trunks, and a lot more scattered about their room.
The twins had been shoving things in after breakfast, trying to convince their Mum it was potions supplies, though Harry suspected it was more prank and joke experiments and notes. He had no idea what Ginny was up to, having turned pink, squeaked something almost wholly incomprehensible – Harry had only caught 'need' and 'bottle' and 'Pomphrey' before Ginny had darted up the stairs. Harry'd dragged his now-packed trunk down when they had been summoned for breakfast. He'd settled on it for a few moments, and apparently nodded off. He'd been awakened by something making a high squealing noise and then a loud pop upstairs. Then he'd been dragged up to help Ron shove his robes into the trunk, along with a few extra pairs of socks and a comb Harry had never seen the other boy use.
They'd made it out the door at half past eight. Just at the corner, the Burrow still visible in the rear view mirror, they'd had to turn around because Ron had forgotten his cauldron and half his summer essays. They'd made it back out the door at just past nine, and made it a little further before Fred had yelped about their quidditch helmets, unless Mum was willing to let them play without. As she wasn't willing to let them risk their skulls chasing bludgers, back they'd gone. Then Ginny had yelped something about witches and friends and turned red and they'd had to go back again.
They didn't get to King's Cross until a quarter past ten, and Harry was sure the borrowed car had skipped entire sections of countryside on the drive to London.
He'd noticed some people were humming as they scrambled across the platform, the twins trying to balance a towering stack of trunks and boxes, two owl cages and a cat basket on the trolley while moving as close to a run as a trolley with a wobbly wheel would allow. Others had been talking about the Quidditch World Cup, and some were obviously fans of Ireland, that clump fans of Bulgaria, those fellows just fans of the veela, and a few just talking about all the brilliant plays and not caring too much which team had won. Others had been muttering about politics, messy floo grates, and gnomes in the gardens. Some of the upper year girls and some of the younger but no longer Hogwarts age relatives were talking about someone named Eric, who was described as 'dreamy', 'the perfect picture of cultured elegance' and 'someone to swoon into the arms of' by various people. Others were talking about someone called Score or possibly Scorpius, who apparently was 'everything Mum warned you about and don't you want a better idea why?'
It was great to hear people focusing on celebrities other than himself or Lockhart, even if he had no idea at all who either of those guys were, or why anybody cared what they did.
Harry made a winding way through the crowds, trying to move quickly, afraid he would miss the train, or the barrier wouldn't let him through again. The whistle had just blown the ten minute warning when he boarded the train, settling in an almost empty compartment. There were no other people, just a scuffed brown leather trunk with a basket settled in the corner of the compartment. Harry pulled out his book-bag, currently only holding one Gryffindor tie and his school robe. After closing his trunk and locking it, he put it onto the overhead rack, muttering a blessing on whatever likely-gone soul had invented the feather-weight charm. Bag beside him on the bench, he settled to a seat and relaxed. He was asleep before the train left King's Cross.
Harry woke to the sound of Ron and Hermione arguing. Something about study schedules and the importance of owls… or was that the importance of the Ordinary Wizarding Levels, called OWLS for their initials? Probably the tests, considering the talk of study schedules and interconnectivity between subjects. Harry had no idea what that even meant, but Hermione seemed to think it was very important. Ron was insisting the OWLS were almost two years away, so why in the world was she even thinking about them? And her study schedules left no time to relax, no time for fun, and no time for quidditch!
Harry had no intention of getting caught in this mess. Besides that, he felt a rather pressing need to find the loo, so he slung his bag over his shoulder and edged out of the compartment while they screamed at each other. He was fairly certain Seamus would be taking bets on when they'd just kiss and wind up in a broom closet after all the arguing, but Harry didn't think winding each other up and fighting was a good foundation for a relationship. Not that he was any sort of expert on relationships.
As he was making his way towards the nearest loo, he heard voices from one of the compartments. They sounded familiar, a now-seventh year Gryffindor girl named Vicky and her Hufflepuff boyfriend. Harry couldn't make out what they were saying at first, but then the boy – Jules, or Julian or maybe Julius? – started to sing, with a pleasant tenor voice. "A little cottage by the sea, just you and me, so mote it be."
Jules was on one knee, staring up at Vicky, her left hand held in both of his. The pair of them had been dating for over a year, obviously he'd decided to propose. Singing on his knee on a train was a bit odd, but Harry had heard of stranger things, and in the muggle world at that. Best leave them to things. He continued down the corridor.
"brighter future we shall see, better lives we shall build. Troubles behind us and no more guilt…" a group of younger girls, maybe second and third years, were singing together in the next compartment. The creepy part was the way they were all making gestures, the same gesture at the same words. With a small shiver, Harry kept going.
The next compartment had Cedric Diggory and some of the other Hufflepuff quidditch players. From the gestures, Harry guessed they were discussing quidditch moves. His company would likely not be welcome, even if that compartment didn't seem to be filled with crazy people.
In fact, the more Harry wandered, looking for somewhere reasonably quiet so he could avoid Ron and Hermione's fighting, the more and more weirdness he witnessed. People were just bursting into song, and rhyming at each other. He also kept hearing 'so mote it be', which just sounded archaic and odd, more than normal for the magical world. Many people were also doing a lot of dramatic gestures, which looked a bit creepy. He kept walking, for a moment wishing he'd grabbed the invisibility cloak.
The possibility of a safe, sane haven from the singing and the gestures and the mote it be's was unexpected. In a large part because quiet and sanity were not the words he usually associated with Lavender Brown. She was sitting in a compartment, frowning at her Charms book, with only a boy who looked a bit older, wearing a Ravenclaw tie. The boy looked enough like Lavender that Harry guessed he was a relative, and tried to remember if she'd ever mentioned a brother, or maybe other relatives. Harry tapped on the door, not wanting to just crash their compartment.
Lavender looked up, and smiled, motioning for him to come inside. "Not sitting with Hermione and Ron?"
"Avoiding their argument about study schedules," Harry admitted.
"Not that I'm complaining, but how does that result in you seeking out my company?" she gave a little smile, and gestured at the boy "This is my cousin"
He interrupted her before she could introduce him, "Rian Brown. I don't like my full name, so please call me Rian."
"Rian it is. Nice to meet you," Harry offered. "and the other people… the other compartments… I guess everyone's gone mad."
"Symptoms?" Rian asked, his small smile fading.
"Excessive gestures, rhyming dialog, people bursting into song, and mote it be's everywhere." Harry shivered again, "it's creepy."
Lavender started to laugh, with Rian snickering. After a few moments, Rian asked, "how much do you know about popular entertainment in the magical community?"
"Quidditch is magical Britain's biggest sport, there's also quadpot, the dueling circuit, and flying horse races. Um, there's the wireless, which does broadcasts of quidditch, probably other sports too. And I know Mrs. Weasley – Ron's mum, not some other Mrs. Weasley – listens to a singing witch called Celestina Warbeck. There's apparently a whole awful series of fiction adventure books using some kid named Harry Potter doing all sorts of things I've never done." Harry shrugged, "I live with muggles, who don't much like or want to know about the magical world, so there's a lot I don't know."
"There are a fair number of Mrs. Weasleys," Lavender agreed. "But didn't they bring you to the station? Wouldn't you have had the chance to listen to…"
"Mrs. Weasley was listening to Celestina Warbeck last night, and Ron had the other wireless. The Chudley Cannons lost horribly, not that most people would expect anything different," Harry rubbed his eyes, "The wireless wasn't quite in tune, so there was a lot of static, and even over the wireless, the Cannons game was painful. A painful game that lasted until just past midnight."
"There was a broadcast of 'My Fair Marie' on the wireless last night. It's a musical play written at the turn of the century, and quite popular," Lavender began.
"Does the muggle world have musical plays?" Rian asked, leaning forward. "The muggle studies book doesn't mention entertainment at all, and from what my dorm-mates have said it's really useless for the real world, and the only thing it would help me with would be the Ministry tests. Though I didn't take that class, I took Runes and Arithmancy and Divination."
"It has them, not everybody likes them, and the only ones I've ever seen were the very badly done ones our primary school did. You can't expect too much quality when your cast ranges from five to ten in age, and nobody's a professional stage, scenery, lights, or costume person." Harry titled his head, considering what he'd heard at the station. "Are there people named Eric and Scorpius in this play?"
"The two biggest male roles are currently played by Eric Meadows and Scorpius Rosier. The role of fair Marie is currently a witch named Helena Dippet. They… a lot of people speculate, and broadcasts will generally make a lot more people talk about them and what they may or may not be up to," Rian explained.
"There's a lot of speculation about Helena Dippet maybe being involved with one or maybe both of her co-stars," Lavender added.
"So the whole rhymes and motes are because people are still excited over a musical? They haven't all gone mad?" Harry felt a stirring of hope.
Lavender just giggled, and Rian nodded, "Just the most popular musical in magical Britain."
"What about the mote it be's? That's just… what does that even… why do they keep saying that anyhow?" Harry shook his head, feeling better about so many people singing.
"It started out as a legal term, oh, about five or six hundred years ago. It would be used after a new proclamation or law was read, and at the end of a judicial sentencing. You know, I find the defendant guilty of the charges brought, and he is sentenced to repay the plaintiff one hundred and twenty three silver sickles or the equivalent value in tradable goods. So mote it be. Bang goes the judge's gavel. Or the heralds announcing that there is a new tax of one copper knut per ten yards of woolen fabric, so mote it be. Apparently a lot of secret and restricted societies and guilds used it in their meetings. Then it just sort of became a way for people to add emphasis, sort of like someone saying I solemnly swear or so help me God." Rian took a drink from a bottle of butterbeer. "It almost disappeared, and then it got dragged back into prominence just over a hundred and fifty years ago because of some legal debates in the Wizengamot, and then about a century ago it was very popular in plays, musicals and books."
"It might have disappeared again if 'My Fair Marie' wasn't so popular, and the music wasn't so catchy," Lavender added.
"Huh. Probably would have been a lot more enjoyable than listening to the Cannons lose very slowly," Harry mused. "Is there some way I can hear some of the musicals, or find some of the magical world's literature? Nobody's ever pointed me towards any, though I really should have figured there would be some."
"I'll have to show you the fiction section of the library once we're back at school. Wait, tomorrow might be better? How about I show you tomorrow?" Lavender smiled.
"I'd like that. Also, if there's anything else you think I should be exposed to for the basic idea of knowing what to expect about the magical world? I was raised by muggles and never had anyone give me any sort of introductory information beyond 'You're a wizard Harry!' and I'm pretty sure there's a lot that I don't know." He sighed, "Hermione's great for looking up information having to do with school work, but social interactions and traditions are not her strong point."
"That explains a lot about you, Potter. Lavender and I will have to help you get a decent grounding in everything you should know," Rian insisted. "Then, once we're all graduated and trying to make our lives as adults, you'll be able to do us a good turn in repayment."
Harry grinned, "Sounds fair enough to me."
Lavender giggled before whispering, "so mote it be."
End Pottery Shard: So Mote it Be.