Interview with a boy-who-lived
More Snape-baiting to follow. Again, I cannot stress enough how dangerous this sport is; only highly trained professionals (such as Lee) should attempt stunts like the ones recorded below! What revelations will our reporter discover, and what in turn will she reveal to these strange new people, in this strange (and yet hauntingly familiar) world? (I sound like the voice-over to a fifties sitcom…oy…)
Note: I do not condemn or bless any ships in the Harry Potter universe. I'll read anything. So, I ask that you respect what ships I do/do not write. (This is all in jest as it is, smirks). Thank you.
Chapter three: Cross-examination
"Miss…" Snape whispered my name to Dumbledore, "Lucis," he repeated softly. "Miss Lucis?" he then addressed me; I could see the great snowy expanse of his beard in the field of my vision. "I'd like to ask you a few questions, if I may?" The shadowy figures of the other wizards in the room (lit only by a few candles far off) were tense, and each held a wand. This was completely at odds with the headmaster's voice and gentle request; he seemed genuinely concerned and intrigued. Risking it, I turned to face the gathered assembly of magical folk.
The man with the snowy beard and half-moon spectacles could be none other than the great Albus Dumbledore. His expression was kindly, though tired, and, somewhere in the back of my awe-struck mind, I realised that he looked nothing like I'd imagined him. I'd always pictured him as a rather more rotund fellow, softer and rounder than this stately figure before me. I decided that, though he wasn't what I'd expected, at the same time, he was. His power was palpable, leadership wrapped up in kindness, goodness and all things wonderful.
Realising that his question needed an answer, I licked my lips, mouth suddenly dry as a desert. "Uh… Yes… I mean, of course you may…sir," I added, feeling that his station warranted some sign of respect on my part. His beard twitched as he smiled, perhaps amused by my stammering.
"Thank you," he inclined his head to me in a semblance of a bow, and I returned the nod with one of my own. "I think more light would be good," there were murmurs of assent from the witches and wizards flanking him. He lifted up his wand hand (which I noticed was blackened and shrivelled), and the dormant candles sprang to life, flames dancing dizzily across the walls and the ceiling. Immediately, the gaggle of magical people sprung into relief. I examined them briefly and covertly, making sure that they didn't see me doing so.
Snape was still closest to the bed, though his wand was now safely hidden again. His black hair shimmered in the flickering light, and his eyes were shadowed and sunken, glittering from beneath frowning brows. Next to him, Dumbledore looked like an angel or saint of some kind, regarding the rest of us with benevolent, twinkling eyes. Then, there were the rest of them – six in total.
Two men were standing close together, hands brushing delicately, tenderly, for just a brief moment. The one in front had well-kept black hair, which reached to his shoulders in a waving waterfall. He held himself with the ease of someone who knows their own strength. Dark eyes smiled in a curious face, and I looked away before those eyes could seek mine out. The other man was slightly shorter and a good deal thinner than the other, with a pale, lined face. His hair was light brown, greying at the temples and with streaks of silver throughout. The robes he wore were patched, and the cuffs of his sleeves frayed. It was immediately obvious who these two must be, and I thought, Well, looks like there are some 'shippers' out there who are going to be very pleased when they find this out!
That's if I ever get back, of course…Behind the two men stood a woman with a heart-shaped face and bubble-gum pink hair. She was looking at the prematurely grey Lupin with fondness, though quickly snapped her eyes away from him and returned her attention to what was going on around her. Tonks, I realised, as she scrunched up her face and made her hair a few shades darker, so that it was now a brilliant fuschia. It seemed to be a nervous habit, because she shuffled slightly afterwards, looking flushed and uncomfortable with the situation.
Next to Tonks was a stern-looking older woman with her black hair drawn back in a loose bun. She was clad in a tartan dressing gown, and was at the moment polishing her glasses with the cord at the waist. McGonagall. It was odd to put names to people I'd never met before in my life… Though, I suppose, in a way, you could say I had met them; the books had introduced me, and millions like me, to these people…
The last two characters in the room were unmistakeable; the man nearest the door was gigantic! His bushy black hair and beard served to make him look strange and wild in the candlelight, with beetle-like eyes peering genially out at the world. Next to him, looking for all the world like an animated gargoyle, was a man with strange eyes. One was looking steadily to Dumbledore, warm and brown; the other, bright blue, was spinning crazily, taking in everything at once. I had the horrible feeling that the magical eye had come to rest on me, and quickly looked away, shuddering.
These observations had only taken a few short seconds, though it now felt like hours since anyone had last spoken. I looked to Dumbledore, wondering what was going to come next. I was surprised to see that he was still smiling; surely, in times such as these, he would be a little more worried! I'd managed to get into the castle without being detected – shouldn't that have sent them all crazy with worry?
Then again, perhaps he already knows how you arrived… It didn't seem as far-fetched as all that, as I looked into that wise face. He was painted as very nearly omnipotent after all… And that idea had to be planted in some truth, surely? Curiously, I made eye contact with the headmaster, and saw that his blue eyes did indeed twinkle. "Now, first of all, let me introduce myself," he said – quickly, I said,
"Oh, there's no need, I already know who you-"
"Hush girl!" Snape hissed, frowning at me, and then nodding at the headmaster to continue. The older man just surveyed me, those blue eyes still twinkling.
"Did you perhaps see me on a chocolate frog card, or something similar?" he inquired softly.
"Uh…" I shrugged, unsure of quite how to tell him I'd read about him in a series of books I'd suspected to be purely fictional.
"Ah, no matter – I still think a proper introduction would be good." He held out his left hand, which still looked alive, and I felt glad that I could at least use my strongest hand to shake his. "I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of this school."
"Leonie Lucis, urm, and not quite sure how I got here," I emphasised the last part as heavily as I dared, casting a nervous glance at Moody, who had taken a clattering step forwards onto his wooden leg. The grizzled ex-auror didn't say anything, but both standard and magical eye were trained on me with unnerving intensity.
"Pleased to meet you," the headmaster relinquished my hand, and then took a step back, his smile falling a little. "You have no idea at all as to how you came to be here?" there was a hint of amused disbelief in his voice; I didn't smile. The other magical folk in the room were staring at the two of us at the centre, and I felt my skin prickle, face flushing hotly in the cool ward. I shook my head, eyes averted, deciding that he probably wouldn't believe the thing about the penseive anyway…
"Miss Lucis, I would suggest telling the truth," the potions master interjected, those cool eyes gazing unseeingly at me. I gritted my teeth and pushed away whatever of him had managed to creep into my mind. I looked back to the headmaster, and saw that all traces of the smile were gone – apart from in the eyes…they still retained some sort of friendly light. Moody took another few clunking steps forwards, and I saw that he had his wand in his hand.
"Alastor," Albus murmured pleasantly, casting the gruesome man a warning look. "Calm yourself."
"She could be a spy Albus," Moody growled, jabbing the wand towards me to emphasize the point. "I say we just give her veritaserum and be done!"
"I concur," the dark-haired potions master next to me nodded, using his left hand (the right still loosely clutching his wand) to sweep his hair behind his ear. I watched the action with interest, taking note the delicacy with which he moved. Probably comes from being such a great potions master… If only he weren't such a git.
"Now, there's no need t' go t' extremes!" Hagrid suddenly boomed, hurrying forwards. I had the bizarre image that part of the shadowy wall had come to life, and was moving towards me. I shook myself mentally, and tried to remain as innocent looking as possible, as I watched the wizards argue over my fate. McGonagall caught hold of Hagrid's tree-trunk-like lower arm, and held him back from the centre of affairs. She shook her head sternly, and he paused next to her, beetle black eyes peering at me.
Sadly, their attention returned to me soon enough. "I'll ask again – how did you get here?" Dumbledore queried, the eyes now cold. I shivered slightly, looked around at the gathered assembly, and wished to be back home in my own bed.
"You wouldn't believe me," I said hopelessly.
"How do you know that?" the twinkle was back. I felt a little better…though not much.
"Because how I got here is ridiculous."
"Albus, she's stalling!" Moody said loudly, glowering at me suspiciously. I stared him out (God only knows how I had the bottle), and finally both eyes dropped from mine.
"If you think me a spy for Voldermort-" There were loud intakes of breath from the majority of the room – only the headmaster seemed to be unaffected by the mention of the dark lord's name. "Sorry," I amended quickly. Damn it! Shouldn't have done that! "I mean, if you think I'm spying for you-know-who, why don't you just say so, so I can tell you that you're all mad? Why'd he send along someone who has no idea about magic?" Snape immediately fell upon my words,
"'No idea about magic'?" he sneered. Then, he walked over to the singed remains of the curtains around my bed, and indicated them so that the others looked. "Then how do you explain this?"
"I…" I shook my head. "I can't," I ended softly, shoulders slumping. I looked down at my lap, twisting my hands together nervously. Feeling that I wasn't being taken seriously, I said, "Really, I don't know! All I know is that I woke up in your entrance hall thing, I have no idea how I got there, and then he," I pointed at the potions master with venom, "cursed me or something, so I fell over and cut my head open. Other than that, I can't tell you anything, because I don't know!" Somewhere along the way, I'd raised my voice, so that by the end, it rang around the vaulted ceiling for a good three seconds after I'd finished speaking.
When the echo finally died away, footsteps sounded from the other end of the infirmary from the door to the stairs. Everyone but Snape and Moody turned to look; Madame Pomfrey was hurrying towards us, looking harassed. "Really, headmaster, I must protest!" she huffed as she drew to a stop before us. "This girl isn't fully recovered!"
"This girl is dangerous," Mad-eye rumbled.
"I am not!" I said indignantly, before I could stop myself. I could see Black grinning to Lupin at this, and flushed. "Well, I'm not," I added lamely, bringing up a hand to massage my temple – I encountered the mass of bandages again, and groaned as I accidentally brushed the tender wound.
"What is it?" the medi-witch suddenly swooped down on me, pushing the other teachers out of the way. I jerked backwards instinctively, and whacked my head hard on the wall. "Oh dear!" she exclaimed, reaching out and grabbing my shoulders. "Are you all right?"
"Poppy," Snape began warningly. She rounded on him and the other teachers voraciously.
"I know you think you have work to do, but so do I! And my first concern is to make sure people are in good health!" the last part was directed partly to the headmaster, and partly to the hook-nosed git, who had smirked when I hit my head. "Dear?" she turned back to me. "Didn't hurt yourself too much there, did you?"
"Nah," I answered, managing a shaky smile. "I'm all right – this hurts a bit though – you know, where I fell on my head because someone cursed me." There was a definite chortle from Black at this.
"I have already explained-"
"No need to worry about it now, Severus," the headmaster assured him. Snape looked as though he wanted to say more, but kept his thoughts to himself. "Poppy, I apologise, but its necessary to do this."
"But, headmaster-"
"Poppy, please."
"…all right… Just…keep certain wand-happy people out of my hospital wing in future," she glanced obviously to Moody and Snape, which made me grin properly. "I'll go back to bed."
"Good night," the headmaster smiled.
"Good night," she answered, retreating back towards the other end of the ward. I felt afraid as her comforting, bustling form left.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind the nurse, Dumbledore had rounded on me again. He fixed me with that penetrating azure stare, and said, quite simply, "I don't believe you to be a spy, no. But I do find it strange that you don't know how you came to be here… Are you sure you recall nothing?" The question sounded so innocent and harmless… But my answer will sound so contrived and stupid.
"I…uh-" I looked around at the gathering of witches and wizards, feeling crowded and threatened. "I do have an idea of how I got here, but… I – I don't know – could I tell you…privately?" As I'd suspected, there was immediate uproar. Moody and Snape immediately jumped in to advise the headmaster against this dangerous course of action. McGonagall said that she would stay with Dumbledore as a guard. Tonks joined Hagrid in advocating my innocence (I took an immediate shine to the both of them), and Lupin and Black remained calmly out of the argument.
Looking over to the two men, I locked eyes with the dark-haired animagus. He gave me a sympathetic smile, and nodded to the arguing gaggle of magical folk. The corners of my mouth twitched in answer, to which he winked. Squee, was the only thought that managed to run through my head at that point. Then, I noticed that Lupin was using his shoulder as a convenient leaning post…and taking advantage of his position by blowing into the ex-convict's ear. Damnit! Why are all the good ones gay? For some reason, the magnitude of the situation seemed to have lessened now that I realised I wasn't about to be killed. Curiosity (and teenage hormones) had overtaken fear once more.
When the arguing stopped abruptly, I was shocked, and blinked up at the headmaster as he bent down a little so as to look me in the eye. "Professor McGonagall," he indicated the stern witch, "and myself will remain here as you explain how you got here. The others will wait outside." I nodded, gulping as I noticed the mutinous looks on both Snape's and Moody's faces. The others left without protest, murmuring amongst themselves and casting me curious glances as they bustled out of the infirmary. As soon as the door closed behind them, I looked at the remaining two professors, and attempted a smile. I aborted it halfway through, as I felt a wave of nausea wash over me.
Bile filled my mouth and I grimaced, clamping both hands over my face and squeezing my eyes tight shut as I fought off the sickness. I swallowed, the foul liquid burning my throat as it went back down; something cool nudged against my hand. Opening my eyes, I saw that the Gryffindor head of house was proffering a glass of water. I accepted it with a grateful nod, and gulped it down. Utter bliss. The cool liquid soothed my raw throat, and took my attention away from my aching head for a delightful moment.
"In your own time," the headmaster prompted, drawing up a chair, and conjuring another one from the air for the witch to sit on. I took one last swig from the glass, and swirled the water around in my mouth before swallowing. Then, inhaling deeply, I sat up straight, and after a moment to try and figure out my explanation, I began.
"Well, you see, I'm from…well…I think I must be from the future, I suppose." McGonagall's eyebrows crept up her forehead. "And, well…from…uh…'my time' I suppose you'd call it… Well, there's a series of books, all about a boy called Harry Potter," both professors exchanged meaningful glances. "They were really popular…I read most of them…well, apart from the last one, I got too busy and never finished the series…" I have the feeling I'm going to regret not reading that book pretty soon! "They were written by a woman called Joanna Rowling, and everyone believed them to be fiction – magic and witches and wizards aren't…well…people don't believe in it."
"Most muggles don't," McGonagall pointed out. I just nodded meekly.
"Yes, well… I didn't either. I thought the whole thing had been made up. Of course, I did make weird things happen from time to time," I indicated the singed curtain rail with a wry smile. "But, well, they were just weird things – funny coincidences – that sort of thing," I shrugged. Dumbledore was nodding, a smile playing about his lips and making his beard twitch. "Then, I started working at the local paper," the witch seemed about to interrupt, but the headmaster quelled her questions with a wave of his hand. "I started work there, and got an interview with a Mr. Harry Potter, regarding the series…people always thought he was Rowling's inspiration… They never knew how right they were…" I trailed off, and sighed heavily.
"Go on," the headmaster whispered kindly.
"Well, as I said, I had an interview with him. He immediately started to try and convince me that Hogwarts was real, that witches and wizards were strolling around without my notice, and that the books were based on truth. Of course, I thought he was mad…he's quite old now," I said, which made the Gryffindor witch's mouth drop open into a small 'o' of surprise. "But, then, he showed me his wand, and a penseive, and then… I don't know…it pulled me in I suppose… And then I was here… That's it."
McGonagall looked at Dumbledore hopelessly, brow furrowed. "How?" she asked, that one word more eloquent than a thousand more in its place would have been. "Surely not – a time-turner perhaps, but not…"
"Minerva, you're forgetting the major component that makes a penseive work," the headmaster informed her softly. "They are able to store memories, yes, but they also work on the same precedent as a time turner when it comes to rifling through the backlog of memories. I'm not saying that this is what happened, but it's possible that it malfunctioned, and acted as an actual time turner on this occasion."
"But how would that have happened?" I asked, leaning forwards, eager for an answer. I'd been puzzling over my entrance to this place ever since I'd been questioned about it, and I was desperate for some sort of answer. I was disappointed when the supposedly omnipotent wizard just shook his head, half-moon spectacles flashing in the candlelight.
"I'm afraid I don't know, my dear."
"…Do you have any idea as to how I can get back?" Neither of them would meet my eye. "Surely, there must be some sort of reversal spell, or something…right…?" I pushed desperately, now actually sliding off the bed and moving towards them. At that moment, the door exploded inwards, and in came Moody and Snape, both sending curses flying towards me. I panicked, yelled, and did the first thing I could think of – namely dropping to the floor and rolling under the bed. "Fucking hell, cut that out!" I screeched as the spells crashed into the walls and made the stone crumble. I winced. If those had hit me…
"Severus, Alastor, for goodness sake, what do you think you're doing?" McGonagall bristled – I could only see her slippered feet from where I lay. She had stood up, and stamped one of her feet indignantly.
"Put your wands away," the headmaster ordered calmly. "There'll be no need for any more of that; Miss Lucis poses no threat."
"No threat?" Moody spluttered, "She was about to attack the two of you!"
"Alastor, just because you think everyone's out to get you, doesn't necessarily make it true!" McGonagall hissed scathingly, plonking back down onto her seat. Cautiously, I shuffled across the floor so that my head was sticking out from under the bed, on the side that faced away from the door. The stern witch caught sight of me, and gave me a tight-lipped smile. "It's all right young lady – I think the fools have the message." I took the cue and scrambled to my feet, keeping my eyes on the two men who'd just attacked me warily. They'd put their wands away, but both looked as though they'd be only too happy to strangle me with their bare hands.
The other door (through which Madame Pomfrey had retreated only fifteen or so minutes ago, burst open as well. The nurse stormed in with a murderous look. She took in the damaged wall, me standing there shivering, and the four professors with a frown. Then, her eyes came back to me, and I saw horror spreading over her face. (The door through which Moody and Snape had come had also admitted the other magical folk who'd been there before.) Looking around, I saw that all of them now bore the same looks of horror and shock. "What?" I asked, reaching up a hand, intending to scratch the back of my neck, as I often did when I was nervous.
My hands encountered something wet and sticky and warm. I gingerly bought my hand away from my neck, and stared at it. My fingers were coated with a thick, burgundy liquid, which slowly oozed down from the fingertips and towards my palm, staining the skin red along the way. I used both hands now, to try and find the source of the blood. "Oh God, oh god, oh god," I muttered, suddenly feeling woozy. I swayed, and reached out to catch the edge of the bed; someone was already there, steadying me. "Blood…oh god," I said again, staring at the crumpled bedcovers and trying to focus.
"Shh, it's all right dear, we'll have you patched up in a bit-"
"She must have done it when she fell."
"If it was one of your curses, I'll murder you myself!"
"It wasn't – she's just a clumsy little-"
"Severus!"
The voices were disjointed and didn't seem to make all that much sense. I closed my eyes as the colours of the infirmary became too intense. The inside of my eyelids were red – just like…oh god, no, the blood, no! I snapped my eyes open again, and was presented with the rim of a glass bottle, in which a vile smelling purple liquid rested. "Drink this dear – Albus, please, would you just leave?"
"Of course Poppy." Many footsteps left the hospital wing, and a door was closed softly. A firm, gentle hand found my upper arm, and helped me back into the bed. The purple liquid was tipped against my lips until I had to give in and drink the damn stuff. I closed my eyes again and lay back obediently as a hand pressed down on my shoulder. Then, the nurse gently and carefully started to tend to my head wound, sensitive to the small whimpers of pain I let out when the painkiller wore off, and giving me more of the potion to calm me down again.
Eventually, it was done; evidently, Rowling's stories about magical potions and spells to immediately heal people were entirely fictional. It had taken the better part of half an hour for the woman to unwrap my head, clean the wound, cover in it gauze, and then wrap it up again. By the time she was done, I felt exhausted again, ill, and homesick. Despairing, and hoping that I'd wake up back in my own bed, I drifted off to sleep.
A shaft of sunlight was slowly creeping its way up the bed. The infirmary was quiet in the early morning light, and I seemed to be the only patient – indeed, the only person – in the room. I'd been awake for over an hour, just watching that beam of light spring into life, and crawl steadily towards me. Whatever Madame Pomfrey had given me the night before made me feel drowsy still, and I couldn't keep hold of any of the fleeting thoughts in my head. So far, all I'd managed to think about was the fact that I really fancied a good, hot shower right about now. My hair was beginning to look worse for wear…the rest of me probably was as well… And what was I going to do about clothes? I'd been wearing the same set for over two days now…
So far, I hadn't started panicking. My throbbing head and drowsy body kept my mind more than occupied…as did a rather pressing need… I shuffled uncomfortably, feeling bloated and as though I might be sick. I wonder whether I'm allowed to just get up? Seeing as there was no one around…maybe I can risk it…?
Gingerly, wary of the dizziness bought on by sudden movements, I clambered out of the bed. The cold stone floor bit into my feet – when I stepped into the band of light, I sound the cobbles pleasantly warmed. I lingered for a moment, half in shadow, the lower part of my body warmed by the sun. Which door? There were two (one at either end). Perhaps I should go and ask Pomfrey? The clock on the wall began to chime the hour, in a tinny, high-pitched whine – six. Or maybe not… It was far too early!
So, I went for the other door, going from light to dark, warm to cold, as I waked past the windows through which the dawn shone. It didn't take long to reach the door – somewhere in my head, alarm bells were ringing, telling me this was too easy – surely they'd still be guarding me, wouldn't they?
A veteran of adventure, horror and spy films, I checked the door before I touched it. Looking around, I found a bedpan (clean, thankfully) close to hand. I picked it up and hefted it over to the door. Then, eyes screwed up and legs ready to flee danger, I touched the metal to the wood, fully expecting a load of sparks and noise.
Nothing. I was somewhat disappointed.
The fact that I was unharmed did cheer me up though. I put the bedpan back, and then went to the door and yanked it open. "OH!" a girl shrieked, nearly walking into me as she reached out for a door that was no longer there. "Sorry about that!" she then said, reeling backwards and standing aside so I could go through.
I stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded. I had no doubt in my mind as to who this was, and yet…she looked dishevelled. Her bushy brown hair was the epitome of bed-head sheek, she had last night's makeup smeared across her face, and was wearing an impossibly short and tight lace nightdress. Then, I shook my disbelief off, and hastily put on a French accent. "Oh, no 'arm done. May I ask where the nearest bathroom is?"
She blinked, smiled, and then pointed to the spiral staircase behind her. "Just go down there, and it'll be the first door you come to on the right." She hiccupped suddenly, and then giggled – I could smell alcohol and cigarettes on her breath.
"Merci," I smiled, and then stepped out past her onto the stairs.
"Miss Granger! What have I told you?" Madame Pomfrey exclaimed. I froze and looked over my shoulder – the nurse was glaring at the Gryffindor witch with disapproval. Her eyes shifted to me for a moment, and I answered her unasked question,
"Just going to the toilet."
"Hey, you're not French anymore!" Hermione pointed out in disbelief, before dissolving into giggles once more. The nurse nodded at me to go, and then rounded on the other girl.
"Who was it this time?" she asked resignedly.
"Victor, visiting, and…" the younger witch dropped her voice, and I heard no more until Pomfrey loudly diagnosed,
"So, the morning-after potion…again!" My eyebrows launched to the top of my forehead in disbelief. Hermione the goody-two shoes? What the hell is going on!
Thankfully, I found the bathroom quickly and was able to rid myself of my discomfort. As I was pulling my tights back on, I managed to severely ladder the left leg, and cursed loudly. When I stepped out of the cubicle, the mirror chided me reproachfully, "No need to be rude." I stuck my tongue out at it childishly, and the reflective surface immediately turned opaque, so I could see nothing in it. I shook my head, wondering at the oddness of an over-sensitive mirror, when the mirror next to it reassured me in a pleasantly gruff voice,
"Ah, don't mind him, he's just such a drama queen. You come here duckie and take a peek if you need to." I blinked, and walked over to the other mirror, finding the whole thing a little too surreal for my liking. However, remembering my manners, I smiled,
"Thanks."
"No problems love, it's me job after all!" This made me smile properly. I turned on one of the taps in the sink below the still reflective mirror, and splashed my face with the cold water. When I flipped my head up to check my appearance, I nearly screamed in shock. Somehow, I seemed to have acquired an extra few years of life in the last two days. "What is it dea- OH! Ferdinand, you old queen, stop it!" The two mirrors shuddered slightly, the blackened one clattering against the wall, and my reflection returned to the one that I knew from early mornings.
I stared at myself blearily, wondering if the wounds on my head would leave scars… My head was still swathed in bandages – I looked a bit like a Sheikh or some other turban-wearing leader… I tugged on the bandages, winced, and decided to leave them alone for now. Then, I stuck out my tongue, feeling that weird furry feeling you only get when you haven't brushed your teeth for a while. To try and get rid of it, I leant down and drank from the tap (the first mirror made some comment about 'manners', and was hushed by the second). It helped, but only a little.
I looked into the mirror again, feeling glum. "What's wrong petal?" the mirror asked. I decided the accent sounded as though it belonged to Yorkshire…or maybe somewhere further north.
"Nothing," I answered, lifting my face a little to try and convince it.
"Ah, nonsense, you look gloomy dear – you can tell me. It's not like anyone uses this bathroom that much anymore…"
"Apart from that Slytherin and his Gryffindor wh-"
"Madame!" Both mirrors bellowed at once – reflected within both of them was a painting, which had just been of an empty armchair when I came in. Now, there was a shrewd looking young woman sitting there, stroking a painted cat that nudged her hand and purred loudly. She was tall and slender, with vibrant red curls framing a pale face that could only be described as beautiful. Her eyes were dark brown and cool, and she was wearing robes of deepest, darkest black. The chair in which she sat was royal blue, and the drapes behind her were richly embroidered white silk.
"Really, you're worse than the students sometimes!" the first mirror huffed, sounding scandalised.
"Well, I am privy to their day-to-day foibles, so no wonder," she answered airily. "However, I have simply no idea who you are. Apparently you turned up a couple of days ago…though Cadagon said that, and we all know how unreliable he is." All three made sounds of assent. I had started off towards the door, and stopped abruptly when the woman called, "Well, have you a name, or haven't you?"
"Leonie," I answered. "And I need to get back up to the…" I pointed upwards, which seemed to explain exactly what I meant. The woman nodded, watching my every move intently. "Urm…right, well…bye!" I fled the bathroom, severely creeped out. From the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a flash of movement in a portrait of a wintry heath landscape – when I turned to look, there was nothing other than the wind moving through the heather. I shivered, and started back up the staircase to the hospital wing.
"Hey, Hermioninny!" a man called, and an arm was flung around my neck in an altogether too familiar manner. I flinched, and looked over to the dark-haired young man with the hooked nose who was standing closely next to me. He blinked at me, and then sprang away from me as though I had something contagious. "Oh! I am so sorry, I thought you were…" he broke off, and looked at the stairs up to the hospital. "She must be up there," he murmured to himself, before literally throwing himself at the stairs and disappearing up them at high speed.
I just shook my head, rolled my shoulders, and then followed him up the stairs at a more sedate pace. By the time I was halfway up the stairs, I could hear shouts ringing from the stone walls. Then, there was the sound of a loud crash – as I rounded the corner, I spied shards of the bedpan I'd used earlier lying on the floor. "Hermioninny, please, stop this!" the young man implored, ducking out of the way of another bedpan. I stayed where I was, wary of the sharp shards littering the floor around me.
"Ask me to go back to Bulgaria with you, will you?" the young witch fumed, threateningly waving around a third bedpan. The nurse was hovering out of range, watching the two fight with round eyes. "Don't you realise how (hic) important this school year is? I can't just up and leave, you bloody-" Whilst she'd been distracted, Victor had managed to get close enough to prise the projectile from her hands. She stared at her empty hand in wonder, and then looked up at him with shining eyes. "Oh, Victor," she said lamely, falling into his open arms and burying her face into his wide chest.
O…K… So she's with Victor…then why did Pomfrey ask who it… I shook my head, not even wanting to go there in my mind. Eww. The two youths embraced one another tightly, and Madame Pomfrey hurried over to me – I was overjoyed to see that she was clutching my boots in her hands. "I just got an owl from Professor Dumbledore – he wants to see you in his office immediately." She shoved my boots as me. I took them, and asked,
"What does he want to see me about?"
"I'm not sure dear, but we'll need to hurry along – the owl came just after you went down."
"You're coming with me?" I was surprised. She just smiled at me as though I were a bit simple in the head,
"Well, unless you happen to already know the way…?"
"Ah…good point," I nodded, plonking down on the top step and quickly pulling my boots on. After I'd zipped them up, I got to my feet, and started clopping down the stairs after the medi-witch.
Bah, that'll do, right? Again, I'm not being serious. The idea of goody-two-shoes Hermione being a bit of a hussy just happened to amuse me no end, so I thought I'd get that in. And, well, bitchy!Snape. What more can I say? Sighs in fangirlish bliss. Oh, how I do 3 that man. Squee!
Yeah, well, not much happened that chapter, did it? Though I do love the camp mirrors, don't you? No? Ah well, just me then!Don't worry, there'll be more hilarity coming along soon – perhaps even some man-kissing. Grins. Because no story of mine is ever quite complete without some man-kissing.
I'm such a dirty-minded author, aren't I? Ah well, it makes it all that much more fun.
Soda x