Author's note:
Anonymouse: I'm sorry if you feel that way; I'm afraid I disagree. But I'm not here to argue. This is just a story, and I feel I can depict the characters as I wish. There are plenty of Snapes out there: gay Snapes, sexy Snapes, greasy Snapes... This Snape just happens to be educated. Why do you have a problem with that? (If you want to debate this, please e-mail me. I don't want my reviews to become the forum for a slanging match.)
LOST PERSPECTIVE III : REPERCUSSIONS
By Bellegeste
CHAPTER 12: FIRST CONTACT
Luna had gone to a lot of trouble. The telescopes had been moved to one side of the Tower and a round table, large enough to seat at least eight, stood in the centre of the room. Harry didn't think fifth years were sufficiently advanced in Transfiguration or Shrinking Spells for her to have managed to get the table there by herself - he wondered what pretext she had given and what poor sap had been bamboozled into helping her. Around the table were seven kitchen chairs.
At first glance the black cloth covering the table seemed to bear an abstract, circular geometric pattern, embroidered in silvery thread. On closer inspection, Harry saw that it was actually a delicate spider's web design, the glistening spokes spreading across the table like a gossamer wheel, over a maze of fairy stitching, the winding strands ending in serpents' heads which snaked round the hem in a continuous coil.
Candles were positioned on the stone window ledges, grouped in colours: yellow, white, lavender and green. The scented, smudgy wisps meandered up to the ceiling to mingle with the incense smoke. A heady aromatic cocktail - myrrh, mint, cloves, sage and sweet vanilla - filled the air.
Luna was there when Harry arrived.
"Oh heck - were we meant to dress up?" he asked, daunted already.
She was wearing an extraordinary outfit. Over the ghastly, scarlet, Lapp tunic, she had on a long, dark blue cloak and numerous dangling necklaces - strings of assorted beads, polished stones, threaded teeth, and carved shapes in wood or horn or bone, which sparkled in the flashes of the pumpkin ear-rings. These were just visible under the furry flaps of a peculiar turban-style head-dress, made of plaited black lambs' tails and white cat-skins, with pointed lynx-like ears and a racoon-coloured tail hanging down, Davy Crocket fashion, at the back.
"You cannot be serious..." Harry faltered.
"Like it?" she smiled. "It's really my costume for the ball, but I thought it would be fun to wear it now. Can you guess who I am? No? I'm Freya, the Norse goddess. This is the ritual costume of a Scandinavian seidhonka - that's like a kind of medicine woman. I have to sit on a cushion stuffed with chicken feathers - look!"
She held up a fat, lumpy, round cushion.
"Crikey, Luna - did you pluck all of Hagrid's hens?"
Ignoring him, she gave a twirl, swooshing the cloak about her dramatically. Then she began to pace slowly round the table, murmuring to herself and sprinkling everything in sight with a white, granular powder which looked to Harry like salt.
"I've consecrated everything several times already," she said, "but I want to make sure... The others'll be along in a minute. They've been at Hogsmeade all day, and they're just getting changed for the party."
Harry had been forbidden to go to Hogsmeade as part of his punishment. He could have sneaked out through the secret passageway to Honeydukes, but he hadn't felt like it - it wouldn't have been much fun there with no one to talk to. He'd actually spent most of the day finishing off his Potions assignment - somehow it made him feel closer to his father.
There was a clatter on the stairs, and the others piled in, en masse. Ginny and Terry, lively and in a party mood, immediately pushed two of the chairs closer together and sat down holding hands already. Neville also sat down, looking around him nervously, perplexed that he had agreed to be there at all. Ron headed straight for the window and leaned out, taking some extra deep breaths. He looked very pasty.
"He's been sulking in The Three Broomsticks all day, swilling Butterbeers," whispered Luna to Harry. "He misses you. You're going to have to talk to him."
Hermione was wearing a long, silky green dress and had her hair pinned up in an elegant French twist. Hermione in a dress! She looked almost sophisticated and rather intimidating. Harry felt a little shy as she approached him. She hadn't spoken to him at all since the previous morning.
"Harry," she said stiffly, "I feel I should say that we are here in order to help you. Luna has explained to us that going through the process of enacting a séance may be therapeutic for you. She claims that this kind of ritual procedure can be beneficial in cases where someone has suffered a sudden bereavement. It may, apparently, bring some form of 'closure'. If attempting to contact Sirius is going to help you, then we are all willing to go through with it, because we are still your friends - even if you have treated us abominably and your behaviour has been, in many ways, unforgivable."
After this speech Hermione sat down abruptly, refusing to meet Harry's eye.
Oh marvellous! I'm a Charity case now! he thought.
"Well, shall we start? Are we all ready?" Luna calmly took control as though she were handing out jam sandwiches at a toddlers' picnic. "The important thing to remember is that, once the séance begins, you must not break the circle."
"But what if I need to... you know?" Ron whined, with a pained expression.
"Shouldn't have drunk all that Butterbeer," retorted Hermione, primly.
"The way I feel right now, I may throw up all over the table," groaned Ron, looking green.
"All right - " Luna interceded. "Ron, we need someone to write down everything that happens - any words that are spelled out. You can be in charge of that, and then you won't need to be in the circle as such. OK, everybody?"
They sat round the table: Luna, higher than the rest, perched on her feather cushion; then Harry, Hermione, Neville, Ginny and Terry. Ron's chair was pushed slightly back, his notepad placed in readiness between Neville and Ginny. The table gave a sudden lurch. Neville squeaked; Terry and Ginny collapsed around each others' necks, giggling. Hermione eyed them severely.
"If you two aren't going to take this seriously, you may as well go. Stop playing footsie."
"Now," Luna continued, unperturbed, "my role is that of the medium. That means I act as a channel for spirits to communicate with the living. Spirits operate at a higher vibrational level than we do, you see... I can also channel energy into kinetic activities - that means moving things, like the cup that spells out the words. Some spirits chuck stuff about all over the place."
"Can we get on with it?" asked Hermione, pointedly looking at her watch. She hadn't scoffed out loud, but Harry could tell that she wasn't impressed and had better things to do. Who's she got a date with? he wondered. He remembered he hadn't told her about Snape's arrest. That's another row to look forward to, he thought with resignation.
In the centre of the table was a large, square board with a sheet of paper attached to it, with the letters of the alphabet drawn in heavy, black capitals, spaced at regular intervals around the outside. Luna fetched a rounded wine glass and placed it upside-down in the middle of the paper.
"What we're going to do is place the first two fingers of both hands on the bowl of the glass," she told them.
Ginny was disappointed.
"Aaw. I thought we'd be holding hands..."
"You've done quite enough of that already!" snapped Hermione.
She was quite tense about this, Harry realised, also noticing that his own heart seemed to be beating faster than normal.
"Shhh!"
"We're going to do some deep breathing, in and out, in...and... out... to calm us all down. That's it. Try to keep that rhythm going, slow and calm, in... and... out...
"Now, don't anyone push the glass. Rest your fingers on it; focus on the glass, but let it travel. Let it 'find' the board; let it settle on the letter it wants..."
Obediently, soothed by Luna's dreamy tones, they all, except Ron, put their fingers on the round bowl of the wine glass. At a sign from Luna, one by one the candles on the window sills flickered out until only three were left.
"Now," said Luna, and her voice sounded deep and smooth and strangely viscous, like a rich coffee liqueur, "I will address the spirits. Don't interrupt; don't scream or be silly; don't bang the table; don't push the glass and don't break the circle..."
Lots of don'ts involved in this séance lark, thought Harry. Wonder if anything positive ever happens? Still, you've got to give it to Luna, she puts on a good performance. The atmosphere's really spooky. I could almost believe it's real. Deep inside himself he wanted it to be real.
"Is there a spirit present?" Luna asked.
A tingle of excitement went through the group, transferring itself to the glass as their fingers tensed.
"Is there a spirit present?"
The glass began to move. Tentatively at first, then in little, uncoordinated jerks, it nudged itself towards the 'Y'.
"Write it down, Ron!" Hermione hissed.
"I think we can remember that by ourselves," he complained.
"Shhh."
"Everybody, think of the name of the person we want to contact. It'll help the spirit to get through. Focus on the name. Think about Stubby."
"Sirius!"
"Whatever. Think about Sirius. Spirit. Tell us your name."
The glass became agitated and skated round the board, stopping at no particular letter, until after several false alarms, it jabbed over and over again towards the 'N'.
"No names; no police," muttered Ron.
"Shhh. Shut up!"
Then the last three remaining candles blew out and they were left in darkness. It's just the wind, thought Harry, but his hands were clammy and he suddenly felt weak and flu-ey with anticipation. The glass began to shine with a pale phosphorescence, illuminating the letters on the board. Harry could hear a faint, tinkling noise, very far away. Perhaps it was music from the party down in the main Hall; it sounded like a tiny, tiny bell...
"OK, everybody..." Luna's voice, smooth and soothing, " breathe in unison; deep breaths; I want you to hold hands and then keep the circle unbroken; concentrate on Sirius; welcome the spirit; allow the presence to form...
"Spirit, we make this a place of welcome for you. Make your presence felt. Show us your presence by moving the glass. Do you have a message for us?"
Touched by no human hand, the glass began to travel across the paper...
"Initiate First Contact protocols," muttered Ron.
"Oh for Merlin's sake! Not now, Ron!" Harry caught the suppressed wail from Hermione as the pink bubblegum ballooned around Ron's head and his body went into a violent spasm of hiccoughs.
The glass was still moving.
"Write it down, Ron! We can't break the circle," shrieked Hermione. "There's been an 'I' and then a 'T' and a 'U', I think..."
Inside the bubble, through the rosy membrane, Ron's face had gone an even more alarming shade of green. He grabbed the pencil and desperately scribbled down the letters, trying to keep up, in between hiccoughs, as the glass sped round the board, diving at letters then circling the paper once more.
"That's definitely an 'S' and an 'A', a 'T' or maybe a 'V'... Ron! Write them down!"
Suddenly the glass stopped dead in the centre of the board. They all stared at it, transfixed. Then the knocking began. Two sharp, distinct knocks, not on the table but from somewhere in mid-air above the table, like explosions of other-worldly energy popping a bubble of time. Two, then a single knock, then four, one after the other. Then silence. Then for a second time, two, one, four...
Then the glass began to rock, backwards and forwards; backwards and forwards, rocking faster and faster until it tipped itself off the table and fell to the stone floor with a crash, shattering into a million shards of light, which twinkled in the blackness then winked out.
Ron flung himself away from the table and made a lunge for the window.
"I knew he'd be sick," said Ginny, with sisterly unconcern.
Harry sat absolutely still. He felt very cold. Just before the glass had smashed he'd caught a drift of flowers: Magnolia, possibly, or Jasmine or Lily of the Valley. Perhaps it was the incense.
"Lumos!" The candles relit, casting a wavering glow across their white, shocked faces.
In the dim light Hermione examined Ron's notes.
"These are rubbish, Ron. I can hardly read them. What's that supposed to be? A 'T' or an 'R' ? and that one - is it an 'O' an 'A' a 'U' or a 'V'?"
Ron was leaning against the wall clutching his stomach.
"I'd like to see you do any better - when you've got hiccoughs and a damn, great, pink, sticky bag over your head. Thanks a lot," he groaned.
"If you'd just kept your stupid moth shut, instead of blabbing on about 'First Contact'..." Hermione didn't want to admit to being in the wrong. "Anyway, let's work out what it says."
She took the pencil and began to copy out the letters in sequence:
S I R/T U S A T/V A/U/V I/U S
They pored over the paper.
"I thought the third letter was a 'T'," said Hermione in confusion, but I think it's got to be an 'R', and perhaps we missed one - that first word must be 'Sirius', wouldn't you say?"
They all nodded, enthralled.
"But the rest doesn't make sense at all. It doesn't even look like English."
"It might be Swedish," suggested Luna.
For a moment, Harry thought Hermione might be going to slap her. She shrivelled her with a look of utter contempt.
"For heaven's sake, Luna! Why on earth would Sirius be speaking Swedish? He's never even been there as far as I know."
"Yes, but I might have been channelling his energy and subconsciously translating it at the same time."
"Do you speak Swedish?" Hermione sounded dangerous.
"Not exactly."
"Then shut up." She studied the writing intently. "It might be Latin. Was he good at Latin?" she asked.
"Snape quotes stuff in Latin all the time. Perhaps they all do - did," Harry volunteered.
"It's still not obvious though. Ron must have got some of these letters wrong. If, just for argument's sake, the first word isn't 'Sirius' it could be 'Situ' – meaning 'place'. So what could the rest be? I know 'Atavus' means 'ancestor' - but he isn't our ancestor, or even related. Oh, bother, this isn't my speciality at all. I can't remember the vocab. I suppose it might say 'Avius', but I think that means 'lonely'. I don't want to think that Sirius is somewhere out there all by himself and alone..."
She sighed, blowing out her cheeks. It was not like Hermione to be stumped.
"Well," she said finally, "the best I can do is 'Situ satius' which means 'in a better place'. Funny sort of message, but it's quite a nice thought to end on. Come on, Ron, I'm going to find you some strong coffee."
Ginny and Terry wandered off too, in search of slow dancing; Neville had simply disappeared without a word. Luna and Harry were left alone in the Tower.
"Why did Neville bother to come at all?" Harry asked her, trying to avoid the notion that had seized him the minute he caught sight of Ron's jerky scribbles.
"Well, his grandmother's getting pretty old. He didn't say so, but I think he's afraid that when she, you know, 'goes', he'll be all on his own - and he was checking out his options..."
Luna moved round the room methodically collecting the candles and incense bowls, and packing them into a box.
"That wasn't Stubby Boardman, was it?" she asked, folding the tablecloth.
Harry shook his head.
"And you know what the letters spelled," she said. It was not a question.
He nodded, feeling drained, as though every emotion had been scoured from his body.
"It's French. It says, 'Si tu savais'. That was my mother."
END OF CHAPTER. Next Chapter: LUNA AND THE SWEDISH SHAMAN. Luna has another suggestion. Will Harry buy it?
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