Author's
Notes: The lead-in is set in the wizarding world this time. A few keys:
Dyedushka is the Russian for grandfather, dyeti means children, privyet and
zdrasvituiye mean hello, and poka means cheers or bye.
Usual
Disclaimer: It is all J. K. Rowling's. She created this world. I just feed off
her dreams.
Additional
Disclaimer: The cameo appearances/mentions of Hans Solo, Princess Leia, Luke
Skywalker, Darth Vader and Chewbacca are all George Lucas'. I do not own them.
Please give all credit to him and his Star Wars trilogy. And the James Bond
cameo of course, is courtesy of Ian Fleming.
Kyudtsky Prospekt (St. Petersburg's answer to London's Diagon Alley) was bustling with activity. With it being the first Saturday of the summer holidays, it just added all the more to the crowds. Kids were dragging their parents into Dyedushka's Dyeti-land, famous for its toys, enchanted rides and games and its children-orientated service. Teen witches were in in-depth discussion over Madame Parisienne's cosmetic counter. Teen wizards were boisterously setting off Inexhaustible Exploding Cauldrons at The Court Jester's joke shop. Grown-ups were gathered round booths at The Seven Plateaus swigging from cool casks of frothy beer or daintily sipping at iced marguerites out of stemmed glasses. Across the road, their kids were digging into their over-flowing ice-cream sundaes and drinking butterbeer at Count Corelini's Confectionary Corner.
Anastasia and Dmitry threaded their way through the crowds, squeezing past a group of kids gathered around the puppet stall, enthralled by the weekly Saturday afternoon show, and dodged a misdirected Quaffle coming from a group of teen wizards trying out The Complete Quidditch Do-It-Yourself Home Set-Up which had recently arrived at the Russian branch of Quality Quidditch Supplies.
Dmitry paused to look at the front window display at The Court Jester's before Anastasia whisked him away and propelled him down the street.
"Hey! I was busy there!"
"Yeah right."
"Yes, I was. I was calculating how many of those Dung Bombs I could afford."
Anastasia rolled her eyes. "Honestly Dima, you could just think about spending your money on something more useful?"
Dima snorted. "So what's so useful about what you are thinking of buying with your birthday money?"
Anastasia came to a stop at a small, ancient-looking shop, tucked away in the midst of its more colourful and vibrant counterparts that lined the main street. Across the front door, written in fancy old calligraphy lettering, were the words "Mystical Curiosity – The World of Spiritual Magic". She turned and gave Dmitry a defiant look.
"At least it can be a keepsake. Instead of lasting for, oh, all of one second. Plus stinking the whole place up."
"But that's the fun in the whole thing, Nastya!"
Nastya rolled her eyes before pushing open the door to the small shop.
"Wish you'd just loosen up a little," grumbled Dima under his breath as he followed her into the shop.
The bell tinkled as they entered. It was rather dark inside and, in Dima's opinion, rather musty. He went off on his own and glanced idly at the various trinkets while Nastya browsed through the shop with interest.
It was a very intriguing shop, if one was into trinkets, baubles and bits 'n' bobs. Hanging from the ceiling were chimes of all shapes and sizes which twinkled in the faint sunlight shining through from the shop window. Brightly coloured paper birds dangling from a carousel – We sing any tune you wish to hear. Just call the name and we will oblige! - Nastya was tempted to test it by asking them to sing "Kalinka" but decided against it, in case she didn't know how to stop them. Although the ceiling was crowded with dangling apparatus, some of which hung so low one had to duck to avoid hitting them, the shelves were even more crammed. Rows of baskets lined the shelves on the walls, filled with charms of all imaginable shapes and sizes and origin: werewolf fangs, dragon teeth, peacock feathers, stones (choice of cut or uncut) in all sorts of colours, some which shimmered, some which glowed, some which twinkled, some which changed colours every so often. Necklaces and bracelets, earrings and rings made from such stones were also on display. Alphabet pearls and beads lay in one of the baskets – Choose your true love's name and spell it out with a necklace or bracelet! Letters invisible to all but the owner!
The centre of the shop had tables piled high with ancient spell books, tales of mystical creatures, Do-It-Yourself guides to palmistry, crystal ball gazing, tea-leaf reading, astronomy charts and star gazing maps to foresee the future.
Dima picked up a dusty copy of "Stars and
How to Foresee Your Future" and snorted. "Load of crappy bullshit," he thought to himself. "As if we
don't hear enough of this from Fairovskaya."
He wished Nastya would hurry up and pick what she wanted. A small cluttered shop like this always made him nervous about knocking anything over. And he badly wanted to check out the latest broom that arrived just that morning at Boris's Broomsticks.
Nastya tore herself away from the display of stones and beads and made her way up to the other end of the shop. They always had bargain offers at the counter.
"Privyet, Nastya," said a quiet, fragile sounding voice. An old wizard with a silvery mane of hair and an equally silvery long beard appeared from behind the bead curtain dividing the back of the shop from the counter. "What can I do for you today?"
"Zdrasvituiye, Mr.
Kutyanienko. Just looking. I got some birthday money and was hoping to maybe
pick up something here."
"Ah,
so it's sweet sixteen now, nyet?" He nodded, and then with eyes twinkling and
jerking his head in Dima's direction, he lowered his voice, "how about a true
love necklace or bracelet? Though I doubt if you would really need the young
man's name to be invisible."
Nastya
grinned. She didn't mind the teasing, and it was true everyone knew she and
Dima were an item. Laughing, she said, "Nah, half the fun in those is having it
a secret only for yourself."
She
rooted through the bargain baskets at the counter. As usual, it contained
statuettes of magical creatures such as phoenixes, unicorns, dragons,
hippogriffs, mermaids, fairies, pixies. Some cruder, cheaper-looking and more
gimmicky than others, rather like those from tacky souvenir stands in the
Muggle world. Some were more detailed, but she had plenty of those already.
"I'm
afraid there isn't anything too interesting in the bargain basket this time,"
said Mr. Kutyanienko, as he observed Nastya going through the baskets, "or I
would have kept it aside for you."
Nastya
nodded. This was true. Mr. Kutyanienko had always kept trinkets and ornaments
which he thought might interest her aside, and over the years, her collection had
built up so much that her mother was forever threatening to chuck them all out
of the house when she was away during the school term. She never carried out
the threat though. Nastya suspected that her mother secretly liked the "junk"
herself.
She
was about to leave it at that and return in a couple of weeks when something
might have come in when she spotted a dull looking shard of stone at the bottom
of one of the baskets. In itself, the shard was far from interesting, but it
just looked different amongst the clutter of gaudy unicorns and phoenixes. She
picked it up and fingered it.
"That,"
said Mr. Kutyanienko. "Someone threw that in with the lot," he gestured to the
recently acquired pile of books displayed on the table in the centre of the
shop which Nastya noted was on power and soul searching. "Said there was
nothing in it, piece of dirty grub." He shrugged, then added more ominously,
"but you never know."
Dima
had just come up to hurry Nastya and caught the last words. He rolled his eyes
in an exaggerated manner.
"As
if!"
Mr.
Kutyanienko chuckled, not in the least insulted. "Young men nowadays! No
respect for ancient forms of magic." He shook his head in mock sorrow.
Dima
flashed a grin. " 'Course not. Ancient powers, palm reading, orb gazing and all
that junk. Get enough, more than enough, of that in our Divination class." He
made a face. "Most of them seem to predict fate and how you are going to die a
horrible death in the next twenty-four hours anyway. I prefer to enjoy my life
and just worry about being dead when I er…. get there."
Nastya
focused upwards at the ceiling during the outburst while Mr. Kutyanienko eyed
Dima with amusement. He was used to Dima's careless attitude towards what
people classified as the abstract and intangible. He turned back to Nastya, who
was still fingering the stone.
"You
like that?"
Nastya
shrugged. It was in no way enchanting, or even pretty, especially when compared
to the rest of the shop's assortment, but there was something oddly comforting
which she sensed when fondling it. Mr. Kutyanienko seemed to read her thoughts.
"I'll
give you that for five knuts, and throw in a peacock's feather at it," he said,
grinning.
"Oh
thanks! I'll take it then."
Dima
sighed with relief as Nastya paid up and made her way to the exit. He had had
enough of the queer musty and cluttered shop. He wanted to get out into the sun
and have a triple chocolate ice-cream sundae.
"Poka,
Nastya, Dima, and have a nice day!"
"Poka,
Mr. Kutyanienko!"
The
two made their way back up the street and past the puppet stall, where the kids
were dispersing now the show was over.
"I
can't believe you spent your birthday money on a stone! A grubby shard!"
"It
was only a fraction of the money. Five knuts. Besides, who knows? Maybe the shard
does have something."
Dima
groaned loudly. "Oh please. Spare me." He took the shard from Nastya and held
it up in his palm, pretending to squint at it in the sunlight. Putting on a
distant, spooky voice, he said, "look, look at the….er…." he paused, searching
to find a word to replace orb. "Look at the prism. It tells of…… great tragedy.
I see a dark shadow….. oh, Mr. Dmitry Viktorivich Kotarovsky is going to break
a leg when practising Quidditch tomorrow afternoon."
Nastya
clucked, "Dima…." she said warningly.
"Oh,
and look. Goodness, I saw a …….grim!" Dima said in exaggerated mock
horror. "For Miss Anastasia Vyasheslavovna Krutskya. Such a horrific fate! And
wait," Dima continued, fending off Nastya who was clamouring to grab back the
shard, "I see, I see, I see Russia versus Bulgaria at the Quidditch World Cup!
Oh, Bulgaria is leading. Bulgarian Seeker Titov gets the Snitch! Bulgaria
wins!"
Dima
glanced at a glaring Nastya, who was tapping her foot on the sidewalk, hands on
her hips.
"No,
that is bad." He gazed at the stone's prism once more. "Ah! Russia is
leading. Russian Seeker Yukarov gets the Snitch! Wonderful dive! The crowd is
on its feet. Russia wins the World Cup!"
He
turned to Nastya. "That's better."
Nastya
rolled her eyes and gave him a mock annoyed glare before snatching the stone
away from him. "Do you mind? We are in the middle of the town centre
here."
Dima
looked round and saw a few people staring at the two, chuckling. "Sorry," he
said, not looking sorry at all. In fact, looking rather pleased with himself.
Almost cocky. Nastya sighed. At least most people knew Dima to be a joker.
"I
still can't believe you bought a shard! A shard! Geez! If it were me,
I'd be getting that Flasher 100. Or at least saving up for it." Dima threw his
arms up in the air in despair (at Nastya's money spending decision obviously).
"And you tell me off for thinking of buying Dung Bombs?!"
Nastya
shook her head and hid a smile. "This ribbing is going to going on for a
l-o-n-g
time," she thought to herself, as they made their way
to Boris's Broomsticks to join the crowd of Flasher100 admirers.
* * *
1995
A.D. (Hogwarts)
In
the days after the match, Ron walked around the castle in a daze.
"I
can't believe we won!" he would marvel. "I actually was part of the team in
beating the Ravenclaws!"
Harry, on the other hand, had other things on his mind. The trials were over. The Hogsmeade trip was over. The first Quidditch match of the season was over. The next thing on the agenda was the Halloween ball. And he was yet to find someone to go with.
Well, technically that wasn't completely true. He had an idea about who he would like, but he just hadn't gotten round to asking her yet. It was… difficult. He was starting to understand Ron's volatile outbursts whenever the subject of Hermione came up.
He sighed. The image of a slender, red-haired girl floated before his eyes. Ginny Weasley. It had never even occurred to him before. He had always seen her as Ron's little sister, and someone who was rather over-whelmed in his presence. It was no secret that Ginny had rather a huge crush on Harry. There had been that Get-Well card. Not to mention the Valentine in his second year. Harry smiled slightly. It had been mortifying at the time, for both of them. Draco Malfoy had been present when the delivery elf had insisted on publicly reciting out that infamous verse, and he had snided about it in his usual spiteful manner. But now, Harry was slightly alarmed to find himself thinking it endearing. Still embarrassing maybe, but sweet. She had tried so hard. He had been rather taken by how Ginny had developed, from the awkward ten-year old she had been when he had first met her, too young to even start at Hogwarts, to the, yes, quite attractive, red-haired young lady he saw before him now. Even her freckles had a curious appeal to them….. and that red hair…..
He shook himself. "Ginny?" he wondered to himself, almost shocked to find himself harbouring such a feeling towards her. It had never manifested itself before. Not this strongly. There had always been Cho instead. Harry's thoughts drifted back to Ginny, the tongue-tied girl who had peeked at him in shy curiosity at Platform 9 ¾'s over four years ago. Ginny, who had clumsily dropped her knife and accidentally planted her elbow in the butter dish at the Weasley breakfast table because she had been gazing at him in awe. Ginny, pale and close to death, lying in the Chamber of Secrets, as she faced Tom Riddle. He wondered for exactly how long had this feeling been residing inside him, lying dormant, until now. It wasn't too unsettling, not really. Just…. different.
For the first time since discovering Sirius was his godfather, Harry wished he could have a mother to hint at about his feelings. Sirius was fabulous, very easy to talk to, very approachable, very eager to fulfil his duties as a godfather. Harry knew his godfather would do his utmost to assist and to give advice for any problems Harry might have. But somehow Harry could not see himself writing,
Dear Sirius,
I have a bit of a problem. It's not a
problem really, but I was wondering… have you ever had a girlfriend?
No. No way. Harry could just see Sirius' cheeky smirk plastered across his face reading that. And probably Professor Lupin would be beside him, shaking his head gently saying, "Padfoot, give the boy a break." But even so, there would be that devilish twinkle in Lupin's eyes.
Sirius, just wondering if you ever had
to ask a girl out? Someone you never realised you really liked until now. How…
No. No no no no no. He thought about the times when Mrs. Weasley had been in childish giggles with Ginny and Hermione over what had to be "girly talk". He was envious. It was alright for Hermione and Ginny. Mrs. Weasley had always been like a mother to Harry. The whole Weasley family had more or less adopted him as their own. But he couldn't very well write to Mrs. Weasley and say:
Dear Mrs. Weasley,
Ron did a wonderful job as Keeper in
our last match. I am sure you have gotten his five foot-long letter giving you
a blow-by-blow account of the match against Ravenclaw.
By the way, I think I really fancy
your daughter. Could you give me any advice on how to ask her out for the
Halloween ball?
Thanks,
Harry
Harry laughed out loud in spite of himself. No. Not unless he wanted to show his face in front of the Weasleys again.
Sigh. The ball was in five days.
For the following couple of days, Harry debated constantly about whether to ask Ron about Ginny. But each and every time he gathered himself up to ask, he had stopped short. He had also been trying to avoid Ginny, as if he was afraid she would sense his feelings just by looking at him. Yet at the same time, he couldn't help observing her, in what he had hoped to be a surreptitious manner, out of the corner of his eye during their times together at the dinner table or common room. If Ginny had noticed Harry's strange behaviour, she said nothing. But Harry could see her looking sometimes confused, sometimes hurt, when he avoided her. He kicked himself hard.
"You'd think anyone having faced Voldemort five times and come away alive would have no problems popping a simple question," he thought angrily to himself. Of course, that would be if he could call asking Ginny out simple.
With just two more days to Halloween, the push to do the actual asking came unexpectedly from Hermione. Harry and Ron had been lounging in the common room, lazing about after finishing a boring History of Magic essay detailing the treaties signed during the 1679 Rebellion of the Ghouls. It was a bright sunny afternoon, and the rest of the Gryffindors were either in class, or talking a walk in the grounds. There was a bang as Hermione pushed open the portrait hole, and stalked right up to the two of them, her face set, meaning business.
"Okay. Out with it you two," she said, standing in between the two boys, hands on her hips, alternating her glare from one to the other.
"Out
with what?" Ron sprawled out even more in his chair, popping a Chocolate Frog
in his mouth and idly turning the page of an old copy of "Quidditch Monthly".
Hermione's
irritation increased at Ron's non-chalance. "What have you been doing to
Ginny?"
Harry
sat up straight at the mention of Ginny's name. Hermione turned round to face
him.
"What?"
said Harry, suddenly busying himself with his fingertips, inwardly kicking
himself for reacting so abruptly.
Hermione
didn't reply, but her look was enough to indicate what she was thinking. Harry
couldn't help but think she looked awfully like Mrs Weasley thwarting one of
the twins' numerous pranks. He tried to make his face as innocent and as
clueless as possible.
Hermione
only hardened her look. "You are worse than Sirius. Quit looking innocent
because it isn't going to work."
Ron
chuckled. Then, turning more serious, asked, "what about Ginny though?"
Harry
busied himself with fiddling with the Matroushka doll set Katya had placed in
the common room for display. He didn't want to get into this mess.
"Oh,
as if you don't know," Hermione replied, though she shot a deliberate look at
Harry. "I asked her about who she was going with for the Halloween ball and she
said no one, and that she doesn't care anymore."
"Right
so too. Silly things," Ron muttered. "I mean," he back-tracked, seeing the look
on his friend's face, "it is fine going with you, I mean, we are…. I
mean, I …. I mean….." Ron broke off, stammering, the tips of his ears turning
the colour of his hair. Hermione stood there, waiting.
"Uh-huh."
Harry
surreptitiously knocked a pen to the ground so he would have the excuse to duck
under the table to hide a grin while retrieving it.
"I
mean, I like you…..kinda….." Ron faltered and then gathered up speed and
blurted out in one breath, "I asked you to it you said yes and so we are going
and so it's not silly so there."
Despite
not being a Prince Charming (or even a Fred and George Weasley for that
matter), Harry had to wonder if there was any less romantic way to phrase a
date. Not that he was expecting Ron to go round with puppy-dog eyes, carting
red roses and reciting love poems (at least not in public) but he could have
come up with something less technical than what he had just rambled off. Okay,
so Harry himself hadn't even figured out a way to ask a girl, but still. He was
working on it……
Hermione
apparently, was used enough to this to bother taking any offence. "I just
thought that Harry would've maybe asked her, that's all," she said, tossing a
casual look towards Harry.
Before
Harry even had the chance to flush, Ron leapt out of his chair and glared, "He.
Is NOT. Going out with my baby sister!!"
"For
heaven's sake Ron! She is not a baby sister! She is one year younger
than you are. One year! That is nothing!"
"That
is so!"
"So
what? You are going to admit to being Fred and George's baby brother?"
"Never!"
Ron yelled.
"So?
What makes you think that Ginny can be referred to as "baby" when she is one
year younger, while you can't be when you are two years behind the twins?"
"Because."
"Because
what?"
"Because….because…..I
mean, she is a girl…." Ron faltered, knowing full well this was not a
convincing answer.
Hermione
gave him a withering look. "And girls aren't as grown-up as boys I see," she
said in a dangerous voice.
"I
didn't mean that. I just meant….. Look, she is the only girl in the family."
"So
you wish for her to remain a spinster?"
"No!"
exclaimed Ron exasperated.
"Well?"
"She
is my sister. He," nodding towards Harry, who was eyeing the heated
conversation from his chair, "is my best friend."
"And?"
"It's
darned weird. That's what!" Ron exclaimed. "Best friend being a
brother-in-law," he muttered under his breath.
Hermione
rolled her eyes. "Good grief!"
But
Harry had had enough. Ron's reaction had actually surprised him, and he wasn't
sure if he liked it. He stood up and glared at the two of them.
"Excuse
me. I don't think I need two of my best friends to argue about my
love life for me here."
"I
was only telling Ron….."
"And
I am saying….."
"And
I say I can handle my love life well enough myself thank you very much.
I can't believe two people would argue about who I can or cannot pair up with, while
I am in the room!"
However,
idiotic as it was, Harry couldn't help but be amused at how heated the two got
over it. It was a welcome change to the concerned motherly looks they have been
giving him for the past two years, as if he was going to be abducted or
stricken by a bolt of green lightning and the words Avada Kedavra any
second. And in a rather twisted sense of humour, if they were arguing about
love lives and marriages for him, it would mean they did think he would stay
alive for several years yet. Chiding himself for even joking about a life/death
situation, he admitted to himself that it was better this than to have
their worried concerns reminiscent of Professor Trelawney's sorrowful
predictions.
And
anyway, Ginny is a nice girl…… and she has grown very attractive
over the past year……. And there is something about her which appealed to
Harry……. There is that feeling again.
"Hermione's
right you know. Ginny is only a year below us."
"Whaddya
mean?" Ron narrowed his eyes at Harry.
"I
mean, she is where we were last year."
"Stating
the obvious aren't we now?"
"Ron,
what did we do last year? What did we have to face? I don't think much of what
happened last year would be under the category of child's play."
"But
she is still my baby sister," growled Ron through clenched teeth.
"And
you are still George and Fred's baby brother," retorted Hermione. "Let it go
already."
"Am
not!"
As
if on queue, the Weasley twins entered jovially into the common room.
"How's
our wee little baby brother Ronnikins?" greeted Fred as George bounced right up
and ruffled Ron's mop of hair.
Harry
chortled and managed to muffle a snort by burying his face into the collar of
his robes. The look of horror registering on Ron's face was priceless. Settling
down back into his chair, he grabbed the book closest to him, which happened to
be Hermione's prized possession "Hogwart's: A History". The book served the
double function of both hiding his surging laughter from the twins (and Ron),
and shielding him from the cheeky grins of the irrepressible duo.
Hermione,
on the other hand, was too smug in having scored a point over Ron to succumb to
the giggles. She gave Ron a triumphant look, which irked him even more as he
tried to escape the twins' smotherings.
"Let
go of me, for goodness sake!" The twins left him, undeterred, as he tried to
soothe his hair back down. They turned their attention to Harry, who suddenly
got very interested in the history of the Hufflepuff house.
"Harry,
Harry, Harry," said George as he sauntered over to where Harry sat, head ducked
behind the book with the familiar cover. "So in addition to your excellent
Quidditch skills, and gift in Parseltongue, you also possess to ability to read
text in inverse I see."
George's
red hair and Cheshire grin appeared over the rim of "Hogwart's: A History".
Taking the book from Harry, he turned it back the right way up before replacing
it in exactly the same position as before. Harry blushed as his pushed up his
glasses.
"So
what are the two of you up to now?" asked Ron.
"Nothing."
"Yeah.
Right."
"So.
Are you all ready for Halloween then?" asked Hermione, sensing that they
wouldn't be able to extract any prankster clues out of the two.
"Oh
yes." Fred flashed a grin. "I've asked Angelina, and George here is paired with
Katie."
"You
two going together I gather?" asked George, looking from Ron to Hermione and
back.
"Yes,
and Harry's going with Ginny. Aren't you Harry?" Ron called.
Harry
dropped Hermione's book with a thud. Why just a minute ago……
The
twins looked at each other, eyes glinting wickedly. Wrapping their arms around
each others' shoulder, side by side, they hip-hopped over to where Harry was
seated. Oh dear, thought Harry. Here goes…..
"His
eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,
His
hair is as dark as a blackboard.
I
wish he was mine, he's totally divine,
The
hero who conquered the Dark Lord."
The
verse ended with the twins right on top of Harry, whose face has turned redder than
the three Weasley boys' hair put together. No, make that the full nine members
of the Weasley family put together. Still, the twins were so idiotic in their
mannerisms he couldn't help chuckling at their efforts. Lee poked his head
round the door at that moment. The twins caught sight of him and hurried over
to the door.
"Gotta
leave guys. Places to go, people to see. You know."
Ron
scowled. George faked a sorrowful parting look as the trio left in the common
room.
"Good
night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow
That
I shall say good night till it be tomorrow."
Hermione
had to press her lips into a hard thin line to resist the bubbling urge to
guffaw as Lee gave them a wink before leaving them alone.
There
was a momentary silence after the pranksters departed. Harry was still a bit
red-faced, curled up in his chair. Hermione cleared her throat, and took a deep
breath. Blocking out the infectious grins of the twins from her mind, she
turned to Ron and said brightly,
"So,
Ginny is granted your permission to enjoy Halloween?"
"Yeah,
I guess so. But," he continued fiercely, looking at Harry, "you'd better take
care of her or else I'll feed you to Hagrid's Porcupine-Quilled Mantises."
Harry
winced at Ron's threat but flashed a grin of thanks. "With a threat like that,
you can be sure Joan of Arc herself wouldn't get better treatment."
"He
sure is over-protective and cares about Ginny a lot, doesn't he?" commented
Harry to Hermione when Ron left the common room to borrow the following issue
of "Quidditch Monthly" from Ernie MacMillan. "No matter what he grumbles or
teases her about."
"Remember
Scabbers?" reminded Hermione. "Before we found out his true identity? He never
stopped complaining about the rat, but he darn near strangled Crookshanks when
he thought he'd eaten Scabbers."
*
"Meaning no," stated Ron.
"I'll
come up with something," replied Harry shortly. "What's the worst I can do?
Jeans and a t-shirt. A regular Muggle. Perfect."
Ron
rolled his eyes. "Maybe you should have taken on the Chewy offer," he teased.
"In
your dreams," Harry retorted.
Hermione
had suggested that she and Ron could go as Hans Solo and Princess Leia.
"You
know, from Star Wars," she had said.
"What's
that?" Ron had asked.
Hermione
had seemed a little surprised that Ron hadn't heard of it before. Harry himself
had silently confessed he didn't know much about it either. The Dursleys never
allowed him near the TV, unless it was to dust it. Going to the cinema, of
course, had been out of the question. His only vague idea of the series came
from Dudley, who had received a computer game based on the trilogy one
Christmas. His cousin had boasted about his mastery of the game constantly
until he tired of it, and tossed it into his pile of discarded toys, one month
later.
"Star
Wars is a fantasy science fiction series about the battle between the good and
the evil in space," she had explained, trying to put it as simply as she could.
"So
this Hans guy and this Princess Leia are the heros?"
"Two
of them, yes," Hermione had replied. She then turned to Harry, who had been
listening in. "Maybe you should be Ron's wookie, Chewbacca," she had said with
a wink.
Harry,
having learnt enough from Dudley's trumpeting, had staunchly refused. "I am not
going to don a big furry outfit and go screeching and lumbering round the Great
Hall," he had declared, firmly.
"Chewy
does not screech," Hermione had said. "Besides, he is loveable."
"Howling
and whining then," Harry had answered back, ignoring Ron's laughter. "I have no
desire to be your loveable pet monster, though I thank you kindly for the
offer."
And
that was that. Harry had the feeling that he had still wound up with the
shorter end of the stick though, despite his decline of the offer standing. Ron
and Hermione had spent most of that evening smirking, no doubt, envisioning him
in a gigantic furry monkey-suit.
"Well,"
Ron said, as the bell went for their Herbology class, "you have exactly ten
hours before the Feast starts to decide."
It
was difficult for the students to concentrate on lessons that day. The teachers
eventually gave up and turned a blind eye and deaf ear as their classes
inevitably degenerated into (clearly audible) whispered discussions about fancy
outfits and party gossip. All except Transfiguration and Potions. Both
McGonagall and Snape had the gift of quenching any riff-raff or "funny
business" among the students by the merest command.
The
Halloween Feast was to be at seven o' clock, so at half five, six o' clock, the
students started to make their way up to their dormitories to get ready.
"At
least," remarked Ron, "Hermione didn't allot three hours in her timetable to
get ready this time. Three hours! Can you believe it? Three hours!"
Harry
chuckled. "You are not offended she is taking less than half the time dolling
up for you as she did for Krum are you?" he teased.
"Of
course not!"
They
reached the dorms. Harry opened his trunk, sighed, and pulled out several
pieces of clothes, hoping fervently that they were not so creased as to be
unfixable by a simple ironing charm. Beside him, Ron was laying out the outfit
he had put together with Hermione's help.
"Do
you remember where this went?" he asked Harry, holding up the replica of a
laser gun.
"I
think it is meant to go into that holder thing on the belt."
"Oh,
right."
Neville
and Seamus finished changing and left. Dean dashed into soon after, slapped on
his West Ham football kit which he always took with him to Hogwarts, and dashed
back out again.
"Wow,"
commented Ron, as the dorm door slammed shut, "that was a record time of what,
three minutes?"
"And
about one-thirtieth of what Parvati spends for him, I bet," added Harry,
grinning.
As
they were just about finished, a knock sounded on the door. Without waiting for
a reply, Hermione opened the door and walked right in.
"Hey!"
cried Ron indignantly, "this is the boy's dormitory, you know."
"Thanks
for the warm welcome," replied Hermione, unabashed. "I just came to see how you
were getting on. Everyone's downstairs already," she added.
She
was wearing a white, flowy type of dress, and had braided her bushy hair and
twisted it round her head. Harry wondered how many bottles of Sleekeazy's Hair
Potion she used this time to get it that manageable.
"So,
what have you decided to be?" she asked, noting him rather formally dressed in
a navy jacket and trouser outfit. Harry had dug up the suit from the bottom of
the trunk and used several Severing and Tailoring charms to make it look more
official.
"A
pilot," he answered, shrugging. "Better than a monkey-suit," he added
defensively, seeing the look on Hermione's face.
"Harry,
you are much too modest," she said. "You need some decoration."
"I am
not some Christmas tree," Harry started, but Hermione waved his protests aside
and took out her wand. "Medallio," she muttered.
Two
rows of medallions pinned themselves onto the breast of Harry's jacket.
Hermione waved her wand again and Harry found himself having gold strips lining
his collar and cuffs, and felt a couple of cufflinks attaching themselves to
his shirt. Not too bad, he thought to himself, as he thanked Hermione
with a grin.
As
the three made their way down to the common room, Ron bombarded Hermione with
questions about "this Star Wars business".
"So,
do I kill the Dark Lord, or Emperor, or whoever it is?"
"Dark
Emperor," replied Hermione. "And no, you don't get to kill him. Darth Vader
does that."
"Who's
he?"
"He
is Luke Skywalker's father. He used to be a baddie, but he turned good at the
very end."
"Why?
And who is Luke Skywalker?"
"Luke
is the main character who does the battling against the Dark Force. He is a Jedi
knight. Remember I told you about the light sabres? He has one of those. As for
why Darth Vader changed, it is a long story. Maybe you can come round to my
house one day and I will show you the films."
"Hey
Harry, you could have been Luke!"
"No
thanks, Ron. I have enough with Voldemort without having to fight off Dark
Forces of Evil at a party as well," replied Harry, making a face.
"Hey,
does Hans not have one of those sabres thingies then?" asked Ron suspiciously.
"No,"
replied Hermione patiently. "Because he isn't a Jedi."
"So
what is he?"
"He
is Luke's friend. He saved Luke's life. Twice."
"So I
am just some trusty sidekick?" exclaimed Ron.
"You
manage to save the hero twice, Ron. And you get the girl," said
Hermione, rolling her eyes.
"I do?"
"Yes."
"That's
you, right?"
"Yes.
What do you think I am here for? As an ornament?"
"No.
So Luke doesn't get the girl?"
"No,"
sighed Hermione.
"Why?"
"Because
they are brother and sister."
"What?
But how? Why?"
The
three reached the bottom of the stairs then. Hermione groaned as she turned to
Ron, "I'll just show you the movies one of these days, okay?"
As
they entered the common room, Harry's jaw dropped. There, waiting nervously by
the fireplace, stood Ginny. She was in a sleeveless, fitting, knee-length dress
of dark velvet green, which perfectly complimented her copper-red locks. Her
hair was loose, though styled slightly to keep it from falling round her face,
and she had the slightest bit of make-up on. Harry swallowed hard several times
and stared, even though he knew he was being very rude in doing so. He suddenly
had the tremendous urge to turn and bolt back up to the dormitory where he had
just come from. Ginny was…. beautiful. He stupidly felt like a five-year
old kid getting to meet his fairy godmother for the first time.
Ginny
made her way to where the three friends were standing. "Hi Harry, are you
ready?"
Harry
could only nod. Beside him, Ron was gaping as well. Harry figured that Ron
probably was just as taken by his sister's appearance as he himself was. Ginny
turned to Hermione and grinned, "I guess you found them okay then? And you guys
tease us girls for taking a long time!" she teased.
Ron
found his voice. "You probably just disappeared to get ready long before we
did!" He paused, and then asked, "so, what are you supposed to be?"
"Just
a Muggle," replied his sister. "I wanted the opportunity to try out this dress
Hermione got me for my birthday."
"You
got her that dress?" asked Ron incredulously, turning to the Princess Leia
beside him. Hermione merely shrugged and smiled.
"Does
mum know about this?" he went on, giving Ginny a big-brother look.
"Of
course she does," she answered. "She was the one who encouraged me to try it
out."
Ron
stood there gaping as Ginny and Hermione swapped cheeky looks.
"So,
what are you?" she asked Harry.
"A
pilot," answered Hermione and Ron in unison. "I think he needs to go to AA –
Aeroholics Anonymous," added Hermione, winking, "only ever thinks of flying."
"Er,
let's just head on to the Feast, shall we?" said Harry, recovering from his
momentary shock and wanting to escape from the nudge nudge wink wink carry on
between the two girls. He reached out uncertainly to take Ginny's hand. She
might as well have hit me full-blast with the Stunning Curse, he thought,
nervously sneaking several glances at her as they made their way to the Great
Hall. If he had thought asking her to the ball was difficult enough, getting up
the nerve to talk to and dance with her this evening with her looking so glamorous
would be impossible. Harry didn't know what to think. He hadn't felt this,
well, terrified in a way, before. Not even with Cho, whom he never got
this far with anyway. And as last year at the Yule Ball with Parvati, well,
that was different. He asked her simply because there was no one left to ask.
There had been nothing, no chemistry at all. He might as well have asked Ron.
The
Great Hall was buzzing with excitement when they arrived and took their seats
with the rest of the Gryffindors just as the food appeared on the table. A
quick glance around told Harry that there were several Elvis Priestlys, a
couple of Presidents, numerous pop stars, some bandits, and scores who decided
to just dress normally the way Ginny did. It was a bit strange to see the
teachers robes-free, but they managed to look respectable enough. Enough to
pass as regular teachers for his old Muggle school even. On the other hand,
there were some students who obviously tried hard, but still ended up in some
ridiculous concoction not unlike the attempts at Muggle dress-up he saw at the
Quidditch World Cup last year. Harry couldn't resist a laugh when he saw a
Hufflepuff third-year pass by with a feather plume on his head and what looked
like Aunt Petunia's old night-gown wrapped over a neon green sarong. Glancing
down to inspect the footwear, Harry saw a pair of clunky platform boots peeking
out from underneath the hem of the night gown.
He
leant across to Neville and whispered in his ear, "that is even funnier than
your Snape Boggart." Neville chortled into his pumpkin soup.
After
a jovial dinner that finished off with a rich banoffe pie, Dumbledore magicked
the tables and chairs to the sides of the Great Hall, leaving a big open space
in the middle.
"Well,
what are we waiting for? Let the fun begin!"
Everyone
cheered as music of the Weird Sisters blasted out into the air. A table with
huge bowls of pink punch popped up on one side of the hall, while another laden
with quills and parchment erected itself on the other side. A sign above that
table read "Requests Taken. Please Queue and Put Down Your Name, Dedication and
Song Desired".
Harry
glanced round and saw that Ron and Hermione had taken off already. He turned to
Ginny, and flushed again. She really is looking stunning. She was
looking at his a bit shyly, though expectantly. Harry didn't know what to do.
His mind went blank. Say something. Don't just stand there! Goodness, you
asked her to the ball, so quit being such a chicken.
"Erm,
would you like a drink?" he asked Ginny lamely. Damn! She has just finished
dinner, and you ask if she wants a drink? Really clever, that.
Ginny
gave him a strange look. Harry could tell she sensed his nervousness. Drat!
"Yeah, sure," she replied.
"I,
er, I'll go and get it then," he said, and escaped to the punch table. He was
thankful to have something to do, and drinking the punch might take some time.
So maybe his jelly-like legs would have strengthened, and his mind cleared by
then, to actually ask her to dance.
He
helped himself to the punch. He noticed Ernie MacMillan beside him, dressed in
a strait white jacket and black trousers, holding up his glass and pretending
it to be a margarita.
"Shaken,
not stirred," he said, turning to Terry Boot, who rolled his eyes.
"Yeah,
yeah. And I know you are Bond. James Bond."
As
Harry made his way back to where Ginny was, he saw her with Ron and Hermione.
She was laughing, and seemed more relaxed and open than anytime Harry had seen
her. She didn't seem to be Ginny, the Harry Potter admirer anymore. She ceased
to be Ginny, Ron's little sister. She was just, well, Ginny, herself. Harry was
brought back to his senses as the punch sloshed all over his cuffs. Flushing,
he concentrated on heading back to the group without further spillage.
"Thanks,"
said Ginny, accepting the glass Harry was offering her. He noticed her eyes
resting on his damp cuffs, but to his relief, she refrained from commenting.
Harry politely sipped his punch and was racking his brains for a starting line
when Malfoy appeared, as usual, sandwiched between Crabbe and Goyle.
"Weasley,
such a shame we are not granted with seeing you in your girls
dress robes today."
Ron's
hand flew to his wand, which was tucked in his belt along with his "gun".
Hermione reached out to stop him from drawing it out. "Get lost, Malfoy," she
said evenly.
Draco
eyed the four of them with distaste. "Call it fun? Dressing up as Muggles and
Mudbloods?"
Ron
started under Hermione's grip. "Just because you are lacking imagination is
trying to come up with an outfit for tonight, doesn't mean we lack it too. You
look like a prissy, prim vicar in those dress robes of yours, Malfoy."
It
was true. Harry had noticed during dinner that Draco, as well as many of the
Slytherins, had refused to dress up as Muggles, and had resorted to wearing
their dress robes instead. Spoilsports, he had thought to himself.
Looking
round the Great Hall now, Harry wondered what Snape had come up with. He didn't
recall seeing him that evening. Neville's Snape Boggart came floating to his
mind and he chortled into his punch. That would be fun to see, he
thought, though Snape of course, would not be caught dead ridiculing himself
that in that manner. He wondered if the professor would remain in his usual
robes. But he found no answer, as he could not spot Snape anywhere in the hall.
Just
then, Pansy Parkinson came by, and after throwing a condescending look at the
four Gryffindors, turned to Malfoy and said, "C'mon Draco, I like this song,"
and dragged him off to the dance floor, with Crabbe and Goyle lumbering after
them, clumsily knocking those already jiving in the centre of the hall.
"Maybe
we should join in the fun too," suggested Hermione, as she pulled Ron up from
his chair. The four headed to the dance floor, in the opposite direction of
where the Slytherins went. Harry's legs still felt slightly funny, but the beat
was perky, and he quickly found himself relaxing and enjoying it. Ron and
Hermione soon whirled off elsewhere. Harry couldn't help gazing at Ginny, who
flushed under his stare and looked hesitant. Say something. Don't
just stare! He didn't know what to say though, what to say that wouldn't
sound trite or corny.
His
eyes travelling over the boisterous crowd, he caught the sight of a Ravenclaw
right in the centre of the dance floor, gyrating rather wildly. His eyes bulged
as his hand flew to his mouth to try and stem a flow of laughter. "Look! Look
at those, those… missiles!" he gasped.
Ginny
followed his gaze, and then grinned. "That's Madonna," she informed him.
"What?"
"She's
a Muggle pop star."
"How
did you know?"
"Hermione
told me." She paused, taking in the shiny leotard with the pointed breast caps.
"They aren't like that, really, "she assured Harry. "It's just the outfit."
Harry
snorted, "I should hope so! About the outfit, I mean."
"And
Malfoy thinks Muggles aren't that cool or interesting, er?" laughed Ginny.
"He
hasn't half seen them yet," answered Harry, his mind still boggling.
The
upbeat song ended, and a slower one came on. Harry felt both himself and Ginny
instinctively draw closer. His heart pounded nervously, though he made no
attempt to jerk away. He really didn't know what to do. He never took dance
classes (as if the Dursleys would even think of spending a penny on him), but
somehow it seemed okay, natural even, to just sway to the music. He saw some
other couples around them doing the same anyway.
He
felt Ginny's head move to look at him. "Sorry I can't really ballroom dance,"
she apologised.
Harry
shrugged, "I can't either."
"What
about last year? You danced pretty well with Parvati."
Harry
laughed. "She led me. I felt like a show dog most of the time."
Ginny
returned his laugh. "That's okay then."
They
continued to drift to the music. Harry caught sight of the twins grinning at
him, and Seamus and Dean nudging and winking, but he ignored them. He had
relaxed by now, and was actually very much enjoying Ginny's company. He also
noticed with relief, that she wasn't tongue-tied or seized up when she was
around him anymore. Rather she was being herself, and he found himself liking
this Ginny that was emerging from her shell. In fact, he chided himself,
it is you who has been all tense and nervous tonight. Not her.
Harry
sensed Ginny chuckling to herself and glanced down. "What?" he asked, hoping
fervently she hadn't been read his thoughts and was laughing at them.
Shaking
her head and wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, she replied, "sorry, I
just keep thinking about those.. er, missiles. The look on your face!" She
dissolved into giggles once more, "it was priceless!" she gasped.
Harry
laughed too. "Really, I have to tell Hermione to stop corrupting you with
dangerous Muggle creatures," he teased. "If your mother ever heard…"
"Oh,"
said Ginny airily, "she knows. I think she was rendered more speechless than
you were. She told Hermione to stick to Celine Dion in the future."
*
It was Halloween night. And down in the dungeons, away from the Elvis replicas and James Bond clones, paced the outline of a tall, thin wizard, with dangling, greasy locks partially obscuring a pale, hard-set face.
Severus Snape had suspected to be summoned by the Dark Lord for the past few days. It had been a while since Voldemort had called upon his Death-Eaters, and with Halloween not only being a traditional wizardry day, but also one of celebrations and fanfare, it was a perfect opportunity to stage a summit. Catching people unawares. That had always been a favourite of the Dark Lord's.
The Potions master was brewing the last of an engorgement potion in preparation for a double practical class for the third years the following day. Halloween balls were a nuisance, in his mind. He couldn't understand how Dumbledore seemed to amuse himself highly with such trivial matters. Give him the fine art of potion brewing any day over the sloppy sloshing of punch-making, the quiet sanctuary created by a bubbling cauldron each time over the brash screeches and pounds of the Weird Sisters. Well, Halloween or not, Snape was going to make sure the students worked just as hard the next day, excuses not taken. He was just putting away the final drops of the potion when the familiar sensation of intense burning shot right up through his left arm.
The Dark Mark. The Dark Lord was summoning him.
He dropped the stirrer with a clang, the pain was so acute. He needed no quick glance to tell him that the red tattoo on his arm - a tattoo of a skull, with a snake protruding from its mouth – had now turned to the jet black colour of charcoal. Gritting his teeth, and digging his fingernails into his palm to endure the throbbing, he wasted no time in grabbing his face mask and sweeping out of his dungeon. The Dark Lord possessed no patience. He could not bide tardiness, nor idleness. And in the precarious position Snape found himself in regarding regaining the Dark Lord's trust, he had better not provide him reason for further annoyance.
He hurried out through the front entrance of Hogwarts Castle, and across the school grounds, until he was outside of Hogwarts property. Shutting his eyes, Snape drew a deep breath. The throbbing of the Dark Mark was thunderous, as if it is were that, and not his heart, that was pumping the blood which was tumultuously coursing through his veins. With his right hand, he touched the tip of his wand to the coal-black tattoo of his left arm, and muttered the word of the Dark Mark, which would serve to guide him to Apparate to the whereabouts of the Dark Lord.
"Morsmordre!"
A searing pain shot up through his arm from the Mark, and rapidly fired through every nerve in his body, telling him that he was away. Away, travelling through the thin air, to wherever the Dark Lord had summoned him to.
Popping back into existence, Snape found himself in what seemed like a deep forest. Gigantic trees loomed overhead, ominous and sinister, masking from the ground what weak light the pale, shimmering moon cast overhead. Several masked figures were already mulling around outside a deserted shack, so tumbled down it looked as if the slightest gust of wind would reduce it to rubble.
The Death Eaters turned as Snape moved towards them. Joining them in a misshapen circle, Snape was reminded of exactly why he made that decision, long ago, to turn his back on this lifestyle. Why he had made the difficult, but conscious, choice to step away and start anew. Why he had buried the memories at the very back of his mind, irretrievable, for all these years. The tension in the air among the Death Eaters was so palpable, it could be sliced with a knife. The sense of unease among them so thick, it was suffocating. Nothing ever escaped the vicious scrutiny of fellow supporters. No action amiss, no word unheard. You were dissected and judged in your every nuance. It was a web of greed, egoism, forced formality and cold-blooded cruelty, where trust, compassion and understanding were foreign entities.
"I see you have finally graced us with your presence," a leering tone come from behind the face mask of a tall, rather well-built man standing opposite Snape.
Unabashed, Snape returned in a cool manner, "still the same sarcastic character I have always known, McNair."
"Sharp as always," a cold voice cut in, so chilling it almost left a trace of frost lingering in the night air. "I understand you have yet to regain the full of the Lord's trust."
"And I trust that the Dark Lord has restored his complete faith in you, Malfoy," answered Snape, his smooth oily voice dripping with sarcasm.
A
fierce growl came from the depths of one of the hoods. The burly figure of
Goyle made a lunge at Snape, but fell flat on his face tripping over the root
of a tree with protruded from the damp earth.
Snape sniggered. "I do enjoy the old familiarities."
Crabbe let out a snarl as Goyle picked himself clumsily from the ground. Silence ensued, and the degree of unease reached such asphyxiating levels it was the most Snape could do to exude an air of cool calm collection.
After what seemed to be an eternity of discomfort, two people emerged from the shack. The Death Eaters immediately formed a defined circle, creating a gap in which they walked through. The shorter of the couple then bowed low, and backed into an allotted slot within the circle.
"Master," he whispered, as he settled into his space.
The ghostly white face of Voldemort was in full view to all in the circle, his ruby coloured eyes focusing on each of the Death Eaters with a gaze so sharp it seemed to pierce right through to the soul. The night was mild, but one could sense a shiver rippling through the circle. The fear and apprehension was so tangible that it could almost be captured in a vial. Pacing round inside the circle for several long moments, Voldemort eventually came to a stop in front of the wizard who had come out of the shack with him.
"My Death Eaters. We meet again." He paused to let what seem like a rustle filter round the circle in the still of the night. "I told all of you previously," continued Voldemort, turning round to survey his circle of supporters once more, "the existence of a stone created nearly a thousand years ago, which would aid me greatly in my quest for the ultimate power, of finally establishing a supreme race consisting solely of pure-bloods, the true purveyors of the world of wizardry."
"The vision I initially had, has continuously grown stronger. I have been telling Wormtail here," Wormtail drew himself to his full (though unfortunately none too impressive) height, his chest swelling with importance.
"Master," he said, bristling with pride and smugness, at being singled out.
Voldemort
cast him a sharp look which quickly reduced him back to a whimpering, humble
heap.
"As I
was saying before we were so unceremoniously interrupted," Voldemort's smooth
hard voice went on as Wormtail quailed, "my vision of the stone has only been
strengthened over the past weeks. A verification by Malfoy has confirmed the
authenticity of my vision. It is a comfort to know that
my powers of vision have not dwindled during the fourteen years of hiatus."
Another
dramatic pause followed. Snape fought back the urge to shuffle uneasily. He
detested these moments of silence, where one always had the feeling of being
tested. Voldemort had the gift of instilling fear and wariness without obvious
effort. He always had.
"You
had always provided a fine source of historical information and facts, Malfoy,"
said Voldemort softly. "It was a highly commendable piece of work."
"Thank
you, my Lord. You are most kind, and I am eager to be of service."
Malfoy's
swift acknowledgement had none of Wormtail's quivering praises, nor his
bumbling worship. Instead, it was cool and confidant, though revering, evidence
of a seasoned accomplice.
"The
stone," said Voldemort, drawing a sharp breath, "was created long ago by
Sebastien and Militsia DaFracci. They made sure it was unique, non-replicable.
Shame, it was destroyed, through a valiant but failed attempt of robbery. A
robbery by the servant of the great Salazar Slytherin."
A
gasp rippled through the Death Eaters.
"Yes,
Salazar Slytherin. My most illustrious ancestor," whispered Voldemort, with an
air of reverence. "But," he whirled round at the circle, snapping the Death
Eaters back from shock, "there is one remaining shard of the stone. One single
piece that exists that has not been crushed nor disintegrated."
"Snape!"
ordered Voldemort.
"Yes,
Master," Snape bowed, sweeping low to the ground.
"You
have much to redeem yourself with," drawled Voldemort, as the rest of the Death
Eaters sniggered. "I trust you to not let down the Dark Lord yet again."
"I
shall seek my best efforts to redeem myself in your eyes, my Lord, and be of my
Master's most humbled service," answered Snape smoothly, thankful for the face
mask as his eyes smouldered, and his lips curled up in distaste behind the
black cloth. The humiliation of this was beyond bearable.
Voldemort
enjoyed the sight of Snape's bent back for a long, satisfied moment. When he
eventually spoke, his voice was cold and mirthless. "You have yet to prove to
me your fully pledged loyalty. I do not kindly take to supporters who renounce
their ways to save their skins. But I give you this chance, this chance to
prove your worth. Find me this shard, and do not fail."
Hidden
within the long folds of his cloak, Snape clenched his fists. Hard. Digging his
nails into the palms until the pain drained away the surge of anger and
contempt from his mind. Gritting his teeth, he managed a calm, civil reply.
"No,
my Lord. You have my word. I will not fail."
Voldemort merely gave a nod. Sweeping a final piercing look round at his supporters, he cried, "dismiss!"
The
Death Eaters hurriedly Disapparated with a succession of faint "pop's". The
sole remaining figure was that of Lucius Malfoy, awaiting, hovering in the
shadows, anticipating. Voldemort fixed on the spot where Snape had just
Disapparated. Then, without even turning to face Malfoy, he ordered, "follow
him."
*
The Halloween ball was carrying on in full swing. Laughter and singing filled the Great Hall. The Non-Put-Outable pumpkin lanterns flickered all around the dance floor. The latest hit from the Weird Sisters was blasting out from the Yodelling Flower Statuettes.
Dumbledore decided to take a break from his jig with Professor Flitwick, and was helping himself to a glass of the pumpkin punch when McGonagall came up to him rather briskly.
"Albus, it's Severus. He's in your office," she said in a low voice.
Dumbledore's expression became grave in an instant. Giving McGonagall a curt nod, he glanced at the festivities taking place in the Great Hall before slipping out through a side door, leaving the rest to carry on with their celebrations, blissfully unaware of the exchange.
When Dumbledore reached his office, he found Snape sitting in a chair at the headmaster's table - dressed in hooded robes, carrying a black cloth in his hands. It was clear. He had just been back from a summoning of the Death Eaters. Quickly seating himself down across the table, Dumbledore turned to Snape. "What is it?"
A sense of urgency was conveyed through the tunnels of Snape's usually cold, dark eyes. He took a deep breath, and spoke.
*
Author's
Notes I: I know I have made references to the growing relationship between
Harry and Ginny, as well as Ron and Hermione, here. But please do not expect me
to being giving it the full-blown works, with day-to-day accounts of what goes
on with the two couples. The main storyline of this fic is not one of romance,
though I would divulge in short, fluffy mentions on the matter if the
occasion arose. I am useless when it comes unadulterated, romantic writing, it
just plain comes out corny. :-P For a good dose of Harry/Ginny relationships, I
highly recommend Arabella's "Sine Qua Non".
Author's
notes II: This following verse is from William Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet"
of course.
"Good
night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow
That
I shall say good night till it be tomorrow."