"Good evening Students and Faculty!" Dumbledore's traditional address
resonated throughout the Great Hall, compelling all other superfluous
sounds to cease straightaway, minus the irritating prattleing rippling from
the Slytherin Section.
"I am deeply honored to relish the benefit of welcoming each and every one of you to another year at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Before we satiate our tummies, our caretaker, Argus Filch, has requested that I caution all of you about the Forbidden Forest policy. The forest is off limits to every student, and consequences for anyone determined to behave rebelliously will be catastrophic, potentially deadly. And, if anyone disturbs Hogwart's newest acquisition, the Whomping Willow, should your limbs and other appendages be severed, they may not be reattached." Following an epidemic of hysterical outbreaks from the First Years, Dumbledore's clamorous throat clearing retained our undivided deliberation.
"Few of you are aware that the magical realm is governed by a coalition of Elders, which is a body made up of representatives of every known species within with our world. Even fewer of you are acquainted with the origins and deeds of a Dark Lord known as Voldemort. The Elders have unanimously chosen to abolish all admission of Voldemort's throngs of supporters, which have become extensive during the past several months. If I genuinely subscribed to the widespread theory that Voldemort could be destroyed with minimal casualties, I would not be delaying the Start of Term Feast in such an alarming fashion." Petrified wheezing gushed from Dumbledore's audience, instigating a momentary lapse in his dissertation, before he resolutely pressed onward.
"Unfortunately for us all, we are in the midst of what will one day be considered the epitome of bloody, brutal, deplorably hellish massacres ever carried out. Sanctuary for ourselves, as well as our Muggle counterparts, is no longer a foreseeable outcome. Many will perish; entire cities will be reduced to rubble, courtesy of one man's fetish with unadulterated control, procuring his ideals of paradise."
"I have been elected by the Elders to the position of 'Educating the Youth' and simultaneously deceiving you into tranquility. BUT I WILL NOT SPHEREHEAD A RUDDY CAPAIGN OF DECEPTION! When owls begin pouring in, bearing scrolls paying homage to the deceased, Hogwart's students shall appreciate the heroics that result from battle, bonding together in pride over our cause: peace among the wizard factions and harmony between ourselves and the Muggles we are sworn to protect."
Signaling imperiously, a bounteous banquet materialized before our incessantly watering, searingly puffy, torturously bloodshot eyes. Wordlessly, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and Slytherins partook of the house elves' labor, mechanically shoveling forkfuls of the delicacies into our excusably unhinged jaws. Sirius sniggered raggedly, more to engulf the mute gathering with ANYTHING audible than in mirth over his musings, buggering off promptly, as Lily elbowed her way, with impressive tenacity, between us.
Pawing frantically at my garments, she nestled against my now-heaving chest, inexplicably coaxing my heart into a seemingly eternal series of rambunctious palpitations. "Utter one syllable, Potter, and both of our worlds will be miraculously blessed by your mysterious inability to procreate." Sirius chortled derisively, slyly depriving the distraught Evans, still adhering perilously to every millimeter of my robes she could reach, less she fulfill THAT oath, of her wand, cowering briskly as she whirled about, to assault him no doubt, sulkily settling for retrieving the stolen trinket instead.
"Hold me, Potter," she whimpered petulantly, her pleas urgently dissolving all instinctive functions but the voracity to shelter her. "I NEED some form, albeit the most loathsome variety conceivable, of normalcy, and being near you, touching you, sensing your detestable aura, regrettably must suffice." Gripping her thighs commandingly, I twined her shapely legs snuggly about the trim circumference of my waist, giddily noting the tint of rose blooming in her cheeks, nostrils flaring savagely, as I situated her pulsating form flush against mine, tempestuous desires churning within every fiber of my being.
"As humbled as I am that you have designated me, lowly wretch that I am, your official "Comfort Zone," might I remind you that You. Are. Not. The. Only. One. Conscious. Of. The. Abnormality. That. Has. Befallen. Us. Muggles are not alone in this war, Evans. Your kind will not solely be affected by the battles, the inexpressible aftermath," I reprimanded her callousness as tactfully as was permissible, considering our current position. She had admitted that she needed me, and my lustily throbbing loins were basking in the euphoria of needing her here, now, immediately, as well.
Infuriated, she malevolently siphoned herself from my vice-like grip, caterwauling blood-curdlingly, "I comprehend the intricacies of vanquishing Voldemort exquisitely, you IMBECILE! Wizards, witches, and all other citizens of the magical plane are in a most regrettable quandary, being the sole candidates for neutralizing the Dark Lord. But, MR. POTTER, muggles possess no bloody wands, incantations, or magical expertise of any sort to aid them. They are, unbeknownst to them, confronting a foe they have never heard of from a world they have absolutely no idea exists! At least you and your magical allies have hope."
Blatantly defying her incensed protestations, I allowed my arms to encircle her once more, solemnly swearing, "You shall never be devoid of hope, Evans. I'll be here for all eternity, ceaselessly providing you with guaranteed preservation from Voldemort and company." Loosing herself triumphantly via a diabolical blow to my shin, she grated snidely, "I'd rather Voldemort offer preservation from you any day, Potter. Spare your revolting definition of foreplay for someone who is exceedingly grateful for the repugnant fact that you live." Linking arms with Remus, who had been admirably fixated upon an opportunity to 'catch up' with her for years, Evans flitted aristocratically from the Great Hall.
A gnarled hand grazed my shoulder, deterring me from my most recent and praise-worthy vendetta, decimating Remus Lupin. Thoroughly discomfited, I staunchly beheld the penetrating scrutiny of the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, tutting an insinuating, yet doting, "Mr. Potter." "Professor," I retorted brusquely. His lips quivered animatedly for an instant before he observed primly, "You are a man who could use a therapeutic round of Quidditch, and I am a man in search of a worthy opponent. Won't you join me on the pitch, Mr. Potter?"
Fantastically thunderstruck, I conceded to his gracious invitation, consenting to follow him hypnotically to the only place I have ever felt truly alive, my arena of inner peace and heady fulfillment, other than in the arms of Lily Evans.
Dumbledore mounted his broom, muscles taunt in preparation for the inevitable. Stoically, I released the Golden Snitch, ducking the aerial blitz of multiple Bludgers. "Mr. Potter," Dumbledore's sonorous voice reverberated through the otherwise hushed stillness, which had enshrouded the grounds. "I promise to severely trounce you as presently and painlessly as I can, in order to afford you the fighting chance of a swift nap prior to your clandestine Quidditch-related appointment with Mr. Black after curfew."
His impeccably-aimed Quaffle soared smartly through the hoop I had sought to guard, until the bloodthirsty Bludgers took it upon themselves to besiege my immediate concentration. Panting rigorously, as Dumbledore floated past me lethargically, I maneuvered the troublesome Quaffle toward the opposite goal.
Five minutes in, and a familiar whirring voiced itself from within the Headmaster's outstretched hand. Smirking impishly, he produced the Golden Snitch, loftily descending to the dew-laden grass beneath us, chiding airily, "Potter, promise me you'll focus more on the events on the field than what may, or may not, be occurring between Mr. Lupin and Ms. Evans during the upcoming match against Slytherin."
Feigning naiveté, I returned the brooms and other Quidditch materials to their proper resting places. Tugging his beard meditatively, as we embarked upon the lengthy trek back to the castle, he concluded, "In regard to Ms. Evans, Remus merely wishes to shield her. Mr. Potter, I trust, in the future, you will bestow more leniency upon those who simply wish to defend that which you cherish most."
"Headmaster," I disputed belligerently, "Remus is, and will be forever more, one of my dearest mates, but Lily Evans is not his to protect." He examined me quizzically, interjecting dryly that 'Ms. Evans did not belong to me yet.' I professed assuredly, "Until she does Professor, Lupin's aspirations of servitude toward her are inconsequential. Hogwart's is an impervious fortress that Voldemort can only fantasize about breaching."
He rumpled my hair mournfully. "Ms. Evans was never incorrect in her analysis of your character. Your arrogance will prove to be your most injurious vice. Hogwart's is vulnerable, Mr. Potter. Voldemort will penetrate our defenses, thereby gaining admittance to the subtleties and complexities of these very hallowed halls."
Frenziedly, he withdrew a crumpled scrap of parchment from the innermost folds of his robes, presenting it to me reverently, "This is the culmination of centuries of research vigilantly compiled by our magnanimous forefathers, and our sole strategic tact Voldemort has yet to anticipate. If only they were here to direct our footsteps now."
Impulsively, I clasped his hand, "I have no doubt that you will make them proud, Professor." Authoritatively, he halted me before the Fat Lady's portrait, "As you will eventually do for Ms. Evans. To bed, Mr. Potter." Winking devilishly, I whooped, "By the way, Professor, I let you severely trounce me at Quidditch."
Author's Note: Classes begin next chapter because we can't let our favorite wizards and witch remain ignorant for too long. I liked the idea of Dumbledore playing Quidditch with James, since he impresses me as the kind of person who knows you better than you know yourself (Please note: With Harry, Dumbledore always appeared when he was depressed about his parents, on the verge of being expelled, or in the process of tangling with Voldemort, while, with James, he mentions Lily, the Marauders, and Quidditch, all of which molded "Mr. Potter" into the arrogant, bullying, toerag we can't get enough of). And what did Dumbledore give James? I wonder. Read on to find out that and more conflicts with the thus far one- sided engagement. Plus, I'm hoping to incorporate different points of view in future chapters. Delving into Sirius's mind will be wicked awesome!
"I am deeply honored to relish the benefit of welcoming each and every one of you to another year at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Before we satiate our tummies, our caretaker, Argus Filch, has requested that I caution all of you about the Forbidden Forest policy. The forest is off limits to every student, and consequences for anyone determined to behave rebelliously will be catastrophic, potentially deadly. And, if anyone disturbs Hogwart's newest acquisition, the Whomping Willow, should your limbs and other appendages be severed, they may not be reattached." Following an epidemic of hysterical outbreaks from the First Years, Dumbledore's clamorous throat clearing retained our undivided deliberation.
"Few of you are aware that the magical realm is governed by a coalition of Elders, which is a body made up of representatives of every known species within with our world. Even fewer of you are acquainted with the origins and deeds of a Dark Lord known as Voldemort. The Elders have unanimously chosen to abolish all admission of Voldemort's throngs of supporters, which have become extensive during the past several months. If I genuinely subscribed to the widespread theory that Voldemort could be destroyed with minimal casualties, I would not be delaying the Start of Term Feast in such an alarming fashion." Petrified wheezing gushed from Dumbledore's audience, instigating a momentary lapse in his dissertation, before he resolutely pressed onward.
"Unfortunately for us all, we are in the midst of what will one day be considered the epitome of bloody, brutal, deplorably hellish massacres ever carried out. Sanctuary for ourselves, as well as our Muggle counterparts, is no longer a foreseeable outcome. Many will perish; entire cities will be reduced to rubble, courtesy of one man's fetish with unadulterated control, procuring his ideals of paradise."
"I have been elected by the Elders to the position of 'Educating the Youth' and simultaneously deceiving you into tranquility. BUT I WILL NOT SPHEREHEAD A RUDDY CAPAIGN OF DECEPTION! When owls begin pouring in, bearing scrolls paying homage to the deceased, Hogwart's students shall appreciate the heroics that result from battle, bonding together in pride over our cause: peace among the wizard factions and harmony between ourselves and the Muggles we are sworn to protect."
Signaling imperiously, a bounteous banquet materialized before our incessantly watering, searingly puffy, torturously bloodshot eyes. Wordlessly, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and Slytherins partook of the house elves' labor, mechanically shoveling forkfuls of the delicacies into our excusably unhinged jaws. Sirius sniggered raggedly, more to engulf the mute gathering with ANYTHING audible than in mirth over his musings, buggering off promptly, as Lily elbowed her way, with impressive tenacity, between us.
Pawing frantically at my garments, she nestled against my now-heaving chest, inexplicably coaxing my heart into a seemingly eternal series of rambunctious palpitations. "Utter one syllable, Potter, and both of our worlds will be miraculously blessed by your mysterious inability to procreate." Sirius chortled derisively, slyly depriving the distraught Evans, still adhering perilously to every millimeter of my robes she could reach, less she fulfill THAT oath, of her wand, cowering briskly as she whirled about, to assault him no doubt, sulkily settling for retrieving the stolen trinket instead.
"Hold me, Potter," she whimpered petulantly, her pleas urgently dissolving all instinctive functions but the voracity to shelter her. "I NEED some form, albeit the most loathsome variety conceivable, of normalcy, and being near you, touching you, sensing your detestable aura, regrettably must suffice." Gripping her thighs commandingly, I twined her shapely legs snuggly about the trim circumference of my waist, giddily noting the tint of rose blooming in her cheeks, nostrils flaring savagely, as I situated her pulsating form flush against mine, tempestuous desires churning within every fiber of my being.
"As humbled as I am that you have designated me, lowly wretch that I am, your official "Comfort Zone," might I remind you that You. Are. Not. The. Only. One. Conscious. Of. The. Abnormality. That. Has. Befallen. Us. Muggles are not alone in this war, Evans. Your kind will not solely be affected by the battles, the inexpressible aftermath," I reprimanded her callousness as tactfully as was permissible, considering our current position. She had admitted that she needed me, and my lustily throbbing loins were basking in the euphoria of needing her here, now, immediately, as well.
Infuriated, she malevolently siphoned herself from my vice-like grip, caterwauling blood-curdlingly, "I comprehend the intricacies of vanquishing Voldemort exquisitely, you IMBECILE! Wizards, witches, and all other citizens of the magical plane are in a most regrettable quandary, being the sole candidates for neutralizing the Dark Lord. But, MR. POTTER, muggles possess no bloody wands, incantations, or magical expertise of any sort to aid them. They are, unbeknownst to them, confronting a foe they have never heard of from a world they have absolutely no idea exists! At least you and your magical allies have hope."
Blatantly defying her incensed protestations, I allowed my arms to encircle her once more, solemnly swearing, "You shall never be devoid of hope, Evans. I'll be here for all eternity, ceaselessly providing you with guaranteed preservation from Voldemort and company." Loosing herself triumphantly via a diabolical blow to my shin, she grated snidely, "I'd rather Voldemort offer preservation from you any day, Potter. Spare your revolting definition of foreplay for someone who is exceedingly grateful for the repugnant fact that you live." Linking arms with Remus, who had been admirably fixated upon an opportunity to 'catch up' with her for years, Evans flitted aristocratically from the Great Hall.
A gnarled hand grazed my shoulder, deterring me from my most recent and praise-worthy vendetta, decimating Remus Lupin. Thoroughly discomfited, I staunchly beheld the penetrating scrutiny of the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, tutting an insinuating, yet doting, "Mr. Potter." "Professor," I retorted brusquely. His lips quivered animatedly for an instant before he observed primly, "You are a man who could use a therapeutic round of Quidditch, and I am a man in search of a worthy opponent. Won't you join me on the pitch, Mr. Potter?"
Fantastically thunderstruck, I conceded to his gracious invitation, consenting to follow him hypnotically to the only place I have ever felt truly alive, my arena of inner peace and heady fulfillment, other than in the arms of Lily Evans.
Dumbledore mounted his broom, muscles taunt in preparation for the inevitable. Stoically, I released the Golden Snitch, ducking the aerial blitz of multiple Bludgers. "Mr. Potter," Dumbledore's sonorous voice reverberated through the otherwise hushed stillness, which had enshrouded the grounds. "I promise to severely trounce you as presently and painlessly as I can, in order to afford you the fighting chance of a swift nap prior to your clandestine Quidditch-related appointment with Mr. Black after curfew."
His impeccably-aimed Quaffle soared smartly through the hoop I had sought to guard, until the bloodthirsty Bludgers took it upon themselves to besiege my immediate concentration. Panting rigorously, as Dumbledore floated past me lethargically, I maneuvered the troublesome Quaffle toward the opposite goal.
Five minutes in, and a familiar whirring voiced itself from within the Headmaster's outstretched hand. Smirking impishly, he produced the Golden Snitch, loftily descending to the dew-laden grass beneath us, chiding airily, "Potter, promise me you'll focus more on the events on the field than what may, or may not, be occurring between Mr. Lupin and Ms. Evans during the upcoming match against Slytherin."
Feigning naiveté, I returned the brooms and other Quidditch materials to their proper resting places. Tugging his beard meditatively, as we embarked upon the lengthy trek back to the castle, he concluded, "In regard to Ms. Evans, Remus merely wishes to shield her. Mr. Potter, I trust, in the future, you will bestow more leniency upon those who simply wish to defend that which you cherish most."
"Headmaster," I disputed belligerently, "Remus is, and will be forever more, one of my dearest mates, but Lily Evans is not his to protect." He examined me quizzically, interjecting dryly that 'Ms. Evans did not belong to me yet.' I professed assuredly, "Until she does Professor, Lupin's aspirations of servitude toward her are inconsequential. Hogwart's is an impervious fortress that Voldemort can only fantasize about breaching."
He rumpled my hair mournfully. "Ms. Evans was never incorrect in her analysis of your character. Your arrogance will prove to be your most injurious vice. Hogwart's is vulnerable, Mr. Potter. Voldemort will penetrate our defenses, thereby gaining admittance to the subtleties and complexities of these very hallowed halls."
Frenziedly, he withdrew a crumpled scrap of parchment from the innermost folds of his robes, presenting it to me reverently, "This is the culmination of centuries of research vigilantly compiled by our magnanimous forefathers, and our sole strategic tact Voldemort has yet to anticipate. If only they were here to direct our footsteps now."
Impulsively, I clasped his hand, "I have no doubt that you will make them proud, Professor." Authoritatively, he halted me before the Fat Lady's portrait, "As you will eventually do for Ms. Evans. To bed, Mr. Potter." Winking devilishly, I whooped, "By the way, Professor, I let you severely trounce me at Quidditch."
Author's Note: Classes begin next chapter because we can't let our favorite wizards and witch remain ignorant for too long. I liked the idea of Dumbledore playing Quidditch with James, since he impresses me as the kind of person who knows you better than you know yourself (Please note: With Harry, Dumbledore always appeared when he was depressed about his parents, on the verge of being expelled, or in the process of tangling with Voldemort, while, with James, he mentions Lily, the Marauders, and Quidditch, all of which molded "Mr. Potter" into the arrogant, bullying, toerag we can't get enough of). And what did Dumbledore give James? I wonder. Read on to find out that and more conflicts with the thus far one- sided engagement. Plus, I'm hoping to incorporate different points of view in future chapters. Delving into Sirius's mind will be wicked awesome!