9th September, Friday
Peeves' Chandelier, Third Floor
Current Activity: Fuming in Indignation
Word of the Day: Kleptomania (uncontrollable desire to steal)
In which Puck reflects upon the weird habits of witches.
Humph.
I
suppose you want to know what I'm sulking in Peeves' extremely
uncomfortable, dirty, cobweb-ridden hideout, when I could be listening
peacefully to McGonagall's dire warnings about the upcoming NEWTs in
Lily's warm and cozy pocket?
Its all due to Lily's fatal sense of conscience. I mean, what was I supposed to do? Let Sturgis insult my mistress like that? No way, buddy, not in a million days. Besides, didn't Hestia say she was desirous of discarding Podmore, too? Didn't Hestia say she was tired of Podmore's snores and wanted to start a fresh relation? Didn't Hestia slap him, too?
But no.
Lily
Evans has to take it in her head that it was all her fault, that Hestia
and Sturgis broke up because of her, and that it was a mean, dastardly
trick on my part to throw a fork and a platter of pudding at him.
So
she abandoned me at the dining table in the Great Hall with a
reproachful glare, and now I'm chasing flies, up here on the third
floor.
I hope that Podmore carries that scar on his nose for a really long time.
A cold, putrid breeze tickled my ears suddenly, and I turned around to snarl at the culprit.
"Peeves!" I cried out, quivering with rage. " Exactly how many times have I told you not to disrupt my reveries? The last count was Three Million Thirty Three Thousand Five Hundred and Forty First time! Will you never learn? And what's with that SMELL? Have you been smoking Dungbombs again? Egad! You know, if you continue to thwart my solitude in this way, I'll never come up here again -"
That old reprobate had the nerve to laugh. Honestly!
Peeves' laughter is not a pretty sound. It's more like a cackle and a snort and a grunt combined. Perhaps a few barks as well.
"Now, now, you old Blue Blood!" he said to me, in what he probably considered an indulgent fatherly tone. "Just because Lily's angry with you, doesn't mean that you can take it out on ME! (cackle cackle) What did you do this time? Put your dirty feet in her soup bowl again? (cackle cackle)"
"No!" I shouted indignantly at him.
"Alright, alright!" said Peeves in between his gales of laughter. "Chillax, mate! Here, have some peanuts, they're delightful (cackle cackle)."
I looked down to see a handful of fungus-covered fingernails in Peeves' outstretched hand, and shuddered. Is this the kind of hospitality that Peeves' family had taught him? But then, perhaps Peeves had never been BORN, if you know what I mean? Perhaps he's the result of a failed science experiment. Perhaps he was born in a bottle full of decaying Befuddlement Solution. Perhaps he was the result of a Red Taped law in the Ministry; he's so much like the bureaucracy -- always around, always slimy, always sadistic.
Cackle. Cackle.
Peeves was now in a full rant about my aversion to sinful foodies, so I stuck out my tongue at him. "Shut up, you cachinnating cockatoo!"
"Oh, go on, then", Peeves said, still grinning madly like a Cheshire Cat. "Tell me what's troubling your pretty little head. I'm very good at finding solutions to problems; I'll definitely find one for yours."
Oh, Heaven forbid.
Anyway, I told him. He made sympathetic chuckles at the most inappropriate places, and I doubt that he heard, because he was apparently more interested in plastering ink all over the ceiling.
"So, Lily lost
her Artfolio, you say?" said Peeves suddenly, only to interrupt my
effusions about the sculpture she had made of me.
Peeves clucked loudly, and shook his head pseudo-ruefully at my scowl.
"It's not your fault, mate", he said, trying to hide the dimples in his cheek. "Don't go blaming yourself for your 'momentary lapse of judgment'…Hell! I would have probably struck a fork up his arse, and pinched him, HARD, on his you-know-what-and-where. Then I'd have dumped pomegranate juice on him (I heard from a very reliable source that Podmore is allergic to it), and poured phlegm on him-"
Its suggestions like these that make humble creatures like me look up to Peeves in respect and admiration. Where the hell does he get those ideas from? He's a genius, really. Can I ask him if he gives private tuitions? Peeves has always said that Pixies are meant to be wild and untrammeled, and that my time with Lily has mellowed me. As if! I'm sure that streak of rebellion still resides in me.
"Girls are really strange, sometimes," I said dolefully, when I remembered Lily's dire warnings of staying away from Peeves.
"Oh, I'll say", agreed Peeves. "They spend hours giggling and gossiping and doing make-up, and hunting up new ideas to snag boys, and cry floods over a lost piece of jewelley ---"
"Now, wait a minute!" I cut in angrily. " Don't you even DARE talk about Lily that way! She is never-"
Peeves waved aside my protests with a wave of his wispy hand. "I was talking in general terms. I know your beloved Evans is very exceptional. I'm merely drawing my conclusions from my most recent observations."
"And what might they be?" I asked him testily.
"Well, take that Emmeline Vance, for example", said peeves, and I at once leaned in closer to listen up. "She was fretting over her emerald earrings the last time I saw her in the corridors. Moaning and groaning so loudly that I thought she was the Bloody Baron. Apparently, some miscreant had stolen her earrings from her Ornaments Box --"
BILLIONS OF BLUE BUBBLING BLUNDERING BABBLING BLISTERING BARNACLES!
"What!" I spluttered at him. "Vance lost her earrings? Her emerald earrings? The Emerald earrings? The ones that have been passed down in her family like an age-old heirloom? The Emerald Earrings have been stolen?"
Peeves grinned at me. "Now, we've established that fact, yes."
"Oh, dear oh dear!" I said, taking my head in my hands, and shaking it in frustration.
Peeves narrowed his eyes at me. "Now what does that reaction mean? You're not going to change into a girl now, are you? Because then I'll have to cut off all ties with you -- "
I clasped his collar hastily and shook him.
"You have no idea how beautiful those earrings were!" I growled at him. "They're the same colour as Lily's eyes, and, and…One of them had a tiny hairline fracture at the base, in which I often used to see my reflection. It made me appear like a wood-nymph with a halo around my head! It served as such a delightful hand mirror! Merlin's Beard! To say that those earrings have been stolen is nothing short of a sacrilege. "
"Well," said Peeves, scratching his wobbly chin, "if you're going to put it in that way………Its quite understandable that someone stole those earrings. Who wouldn't want to own such a delightful hand mirror?"
I knew from his tone that he was in earnest. He must be desirous of taking a look at those earrings too, though I don't think HIS reflection would have ever shown a halo…
I continue to look morose. "I'll never forgive the person who has stolen them", I said vengefully. "So what if those earrings belonged to Emmeline the Vain? They were BEAUTIFUL! And now some greedy gibbering nincompoop has stolen them. I'll rip out his eyebrow if I ever get to know his identity. "
"I see you're assuming it's a 'he'? " asked Peeves, waggling his nose.
"I was talking in general terms", I reminded him airily. "But you're right. Its probably a girl, who wanted those earrings for herself."
Peeves sighed dramatically, and I had to shutter my nostrils because his breath was far too odious.
"Stealing", he said philosophically, "is a terrible, terrible crime. "
I snorted. Yeah, right. This, coming from the guy who is called the "School Pincho", and is probably the worst, most irremediable pickpocket known to mankind.
I glared at him, and did a very good imitation of Lily rolling her eyes.
"If those are your true views about stealing", I said sarcastically, " why do YOU steal then?"
"Me?" said Peeves airily. " I am a kleptomaniac."
"Kleptomania?" I repeated in some confusion. "What is that?"
It was Peeves' turn to roll his eyes at my ignorance.
" Kleptomania is an uncontrollable desire to steal, even when you know you shouldn't, and when you don't even NEED to steal. I know plenty of rich, intelligent people who indulge in this sort of thing, not because they want to spite others, not even because they want to make a collection.
"Kleptomania is a clinical disease that you cannot control. I don't do it on purpose; it is like an addiction that you cannot overcome. It is an obsession that grips you like a fever. It is a matter of compulsion, not of choice. It is impossible to resist."
So. Peeves is a KLEPTOMANIAC!
Poor fellow. People are just prejudiced against him.
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9th September, Friday, Nightfall
Gryffindor Common Room
Current Activity: Sitting snug in Lily's coat pocket
In which Puck comes to a dreadful conclusion.
Yes. You guessed right.
Lily has forgiven me.
Her
anger doesn't last long, bless her. Though of course it didn't hurt
that Jane added in a good word for me, and a bloke from sixth year
asked Hestia out, someone named Desmond Doyle. How that clumsy clod of
a girl manages to snag boyfriends so quickly is beyond me. Considering
Lily is still single, and hasn't received a single invitation for a
date ever since she broke up with Elphias.
Lily is currently painting a landscape, and her face is covered with streaks of blue and gold paint all over. Some first years had taken into their head to make her look like Hiawatha, and Lily hadn't the heart to refuse them. So they had each taken a brush and pretended they were applying war paints, till a drop of paint had entered my eye, and Lily had to splash me severely with water.
I was just about to tell Lily that the girl in her picture would look better in a pink dress, when --
"Er, Lily?"
It was John Stebbins, a blonde-haired boy that I greatly dislike, even though he is Jane's twin brother, simply because he leers at Lily in a way that makes me feel nauseous.
This aforementioned nerd-of-a-boy held out a card, and Lily took it with a most pained expression on her face.
It was a card which I never hope to see again in my life.
A girl with red hair was kissing a boy that looked suspiciously like John Stebbins, and his hands were in places that I don't even like to mention. And at the top of the card was an inscription in bold letters that said "KISS ME, RED!"
Really, this boy beats even Potter, sometimes. The only thing that's keeping me from throttling his throat is the fact that Lily will not take kindly to the murder of her best friend's brother, fiendish though he may be.
"Jane told me that
you lost your Artfolio?" said Stebbins, and Lily gave him a tensed nod.
"Well, that's a pity! Because you see, the other day, I saw an
advertisement in the Evening Prophet saying that the Artists' Annals
are holding the Decennial Art Contest. And I thought you might have
wanted to participate. Look, I even brought the newspaper clipping."
THE ARTISTS' ANNALS PRESENT TO YOU THEIR DICENNIAL ART CONTEST!
Are
you an artist? Do you have creations that your friends gush over? Do
you plan to become the next Picasso? If so, send your best paintings to
us, and you might be the lucky winner in this nation-wide contest!
Ages must be between ten and twenty, and you must send Ministry-approved documents for proof.
Sponsored by blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah….
I'm sure Stebbins must seem to you a thorough gentleman, who always has Lily's best interests at heart.
But. But. But--
#1) Thorough gentlemen should know when their Lady Love is feeling dejected.
#2)
Thorough gentlemen should know that girls who have lost their Artfolio
cannot hope to submit their creations in an Art Contest.
#3) Thorough gentlemen should know better than to rub someone's losses in their face.
#4) Thorough gentlemen don't pass around lecherous cards.
And therefore, I conclude that John Stebbins is not a Thorough Gentleman. Thank you very much.
"Oh! And I completely forgot!" said Stebbins. "This package just arrived for you. Someone had left it there at the Portrait Hole Entrance. "
He had taken out a gift-wrapped packet from his coat, and handed it to Lily, making sure that his fingers brushed against hers in the process.
Lily looked at Stebbins in a disparaging sort of way.
Heck.
Anyone
would have understood that Go-Away-Now-&-Let-Me-Be sort of look.
But what do you expect from a guy who wears yellow bunny-slippers, and
plaits his hair with green ribbons and blows gum at every instant of
his humdrum life.
Somebody tell that Miserable Iconoclast that Lily means him to go away! As do I.
Perhaps Stebbins had taken this to be some sort of Staring Contest, because he didn't relinquish his gaze for a full five minutes. (I'm standing right next to the clock, and I know how to read it, you dolts!).
Finally,
"I'd really appreciate if you go and finish your pending homework, John", said Lily in a tired voice.
Phew.
He
left, flushing to the roots of his hair and scowling slightly. He'll
probably go and complain to his sister that Lily was absolutely rude to
him, and then Jane will not talk to Lily for a week.
But what the devil.
He left.
And he left before I lost my temper again.
Amazing intutions he has, that one.
Lily's loud gasp cut across my thoughts, and I whipped around to see that she was holding a crystal slab in her hands.
A crystal slab that had been awarded to her by the Artists' Annals for being "The Most Promising Artist of the Decade".
TWENTY TWO TATTERING TUTUS!
Is this a dream? Has my Lily been awarded? What? How? When?
Hush now, and let me read the letter in her hands.
"Dear Miss Evans
We are proud to inform you that you have been adjudged "The Most Promising Artist of the Decade" for your painting (replica enclosed) titled "Sleeping Spring". You receive an award for the same, and a cash prize for a thousand galleons, which has been delivered to your Gringotts Account (as you had requested).
It is an honour for the Artists' Annals to host your artwork in our annual magazine, and we hope you continue your association with our organization.
Yours truly,
Monsieur Pierre Cardin
President, Artists' Annals
Sleeping Spring
Yes, I remember that painting.
It
showed the pinnacle of an iceberg piercing a polar winter sky, and
draped in sunlight. In the background was the faint figure of a lovely
woman with her silvery-white tresses let loose, and a crescent upon her
brow. Spring, ready to melt the frosted heart of the iceberg.
Beautiful.
But the mystery is, if Lily didn't enter the painting for the Art Contest, who DID? Was it the one who stole her Artfolio? What made him/her do it?
"Puck!" said Lily, her green eyes stretched so wide that I thought they'd pop out. " I won a prize. At an art contest where so many esteemed and experienced wizards and witches submit entries. I won the prize! How on Earth---"
And then she stopped her raptures, for there pinned to the replica of her painting was a letter.
A letter with an extremely familiar handwriting, and a tiny packet folded within it.
Oh, go on Lily. This suspense is killing me. Open that dratted letter. Should I do it for you instead?
My Darling Lily (I can call you that, can't I? At least on paper…)
I have a few confessions to make.
I know that I took an awful liberty by sneaking into your room (please don't ask how) and borrowing your Artfolio, but please don't misunderstand my intentions.
You see, I had often seen you sketching, and I couldn't resist taking a peep. When I realized how gifted you were at it, I wanted the whole world to know about it. And I got that chance in the form of the Art Contest hosted by Artists' Annals…. I knew you would never submit your artwork, because you think you are not good enough, so I decided to take matters in my own hands.
My friends and I thought that "Sleeping Spring" was the best amongst them all, and I promptly posted it. In the meantime, I had to see you sulk for your missing Artfolio, but it was worth it, wasn't it?
Angelique, you have no idea how proud I am of you. You have no idea how much I desire to see your smile when you hold that award in your hands.
Do I love you? You know that already.
You are my addiction, my dear. You're an obsession that I've tried so hard to resist, but it overwhelms me, and has gripped me like a fever. You compel me to love you, in all your adorable ways. It is not a matter of choice for me, but a matter of necessity, for I need to go on living.
And living, and loving you, are one and the same thing.
Your Not-so-Secret Admirer
There was a soft 'plop' as the packet enfolded in that beautiful, beautiful letter fell from Lily's lap and unto the carpet.
Lily picked it up with trembling hands, and unwrapped it most precariously.
They were emerald earrings, the exact shade of Lily's eyes and shaped like tear drops.
They looked so innocent, sitting there in the palm of her hand.
But I had seen them before, and as Lily raised them to her earlobes, they didn't seem so innocent anymore.
NINETY NINE NEIGHING NANNYGOATS!
:o
:o
:o
:o
:o
Lily's Secret Admirer is a KLEPTOMANIAC!
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10th September, Saturday, Early Morning
Gryffindor Common Room
Current Activity: Panting and Perspiring Profusely
Word of the Day: Epithalamium (marriage song, like the one I'll sing at Lily's wedding)
In which Puck realizes the Mission of his Life.
Lily and I have just returned from our morning walk ritual.
Gah!
Can't
that girl ever give me a break? I mean, didn't she get her award, what,
yesterday? Shouldn't she lay off work for a while, and celebrate?
Not.
She's absolutely relentless.
She's looking true to her name, fresh and blooming. And this is the first true smile on her face I've seen in months. In contrast to me. I am puffing and panting and heaving and huffing, and my sweat has probably collected like a reservoir in my shoes.
You know, that's the fourteenth time she's
touched her ears; I suppose she wants to cop a feel of those
exquisitely carved earrings. It's getting really irritating.
I wonder if there's some way I can persuade her to shed them off?
In
any case, I hope she doesn't wear them in front of Emmeline, or Vance
the Vain will probably pounce on them and claim that they're hers.
Which they probably are.
Gosh.
What a turn to my expectations.
Here
I was, thinking that Lily had finally found, or was on the verge of
finding, her ideal lover…. and he turns out to be a kleptomaniac.
It's
a completely different story that he has many admirable features and
writes lovely gushy-mushy-poo letters. What matters here is the fact
that he suffers from a serious disease, and I don't want Lily to fall
for a guy who suffers from a serious disease. (Look what happened to
Peeves.)
Otherwise,
I'd have probably told Lily to get engaged to Remus Lupin (he's such a
sensible, well-mannered boy!), even if he suffers from lycanthropy.
A disease is a disease is a disease, as Remus himself says.
"Hiya Lily!" cried a small girl from the far corner of the room.
It was Dorcas Meadows, a fifth-year Hufflepuff whom I recognized by virtue of her violet eyes and green-dyed hair.
"Oh, hi Dorcas!" said Lily and smiled warmly at the girl, for Lily tutored Dorcas in Charms and was very fond of her.
Dorcas brandished a thick leather-bound volume in the air. "It's a photo album of my sister's wedding, just got it by owl. You had said you'd love to see it?"
Yay!
I chirped with joy. It was one of my lifetime ambitions to see the
bunch of colourful weirdoes whom Dorcas calls her family. I had heard
such grand tales of them!
For instance, there was her Uncle Tobias
who collected balloons and cobwebs. Her father owned a firm that
launched hair-care products and odour-free socks. Then there was her
cousin Andrew Leipus who liked to count the leafblades in a tree. Not
to forget, Dorcas' Aunt Hilda, who bred dragons in Romania.
"Here", said Dorcas, as she opened her album to the first page, Lily snuggled close to her side.
The
first snap was of Dorcas' sister Maybel -- the bride -- standing
arm-in-arm with her father and looking lovely in her white wedding
dress.
Reader, Maybel's face is no oil painting, and few would call
her pretty. But it is amazing how a simple wedding dress can transform
you into the most beautiful vision conceivable. There was such an
delightful fusion of emotions gracing her countenance -- joy and
nervousness, diffidence and excitement, sighs and smiles, but most
important of all - hope.
Maybel Meadows might not have been a Veela
or a Fairy, or even a Nymph. But I'm sure nobody could look as comely
as she did on her wedding day.
However, I could stand only these many gooey-eyed simpers and breathy moans, so I flicked over the page with my thumb impatiently.
This time, the bride was kissing her husband (their noses constantly bruising, and the Best Man nearby rolling his eyes) and they both looked so happy and sappy in love, that it made me feel like an intruder barging upon the sweetest moment of their life.
"They look so much in love", said Lily wistfully, while I nodded by her side. "See, even Puck thinks so."
"Garret's parents didn't want Garret to marry Maybel, you know", said Dorcas, turning to the next page. "The Carters are one of the few pureblood families in England, and Garret's dad wanted him to marry Bellatrix Black - another pureblood. We Meadows were not pure or rich or famous enough for them. Mr. Carter threatened to cut off Garret's inheritance, but Garret said he'd rather die than marry any other girl."
I snarled in anger.
What Mumbo Jumbo! Those pureblood Perverts!
"So, um, has Garret been disowned?" asked Lily hesitantly, and Dorcas nodded.
"But
Garret doesn't give a damn", said Dorcas proudly. "He loves Maybel so
much…. Lily, you should see the two of them together…. You'll feel as
if you've been struck by a thunderbolt. They just seem to melt in each
other's presence…. They refuse to be parted even for a minute"
Suddenly Dorcas wrinkled her nose in disgust.
"Though
it does get tiring sometimes. The two of them can't keep their hands
off each other. Always smooching, like they've been hexed with a
Permanent Sticking Charm…. Too many PDAs really, makes some of us
nauseate."
Lily had a strange look on her face, and she had never paid such rapt attention to anything before, not even in Potions Classes.
"It would be something to be loved like that", said Lily, and she and Dorcas traded silly grins.
Yes. Don't we all want to be loved like that? Don't we all want a partner who would love us each day like it was the one final act before Doomsday?
I too had once tried my hand at love.
We had met in a
teashop in Rome. She was beautiful, and yellow, black and green, and
she had the most scrumptious-looking knees possible. We professed
undying love to each other under shady Eucalyptus trees, and made vows
of Death-Before-Separation. But unfortunately, it was too good to be
true, and hence, too good to last. The silly hag had run off with the
bartender, and I had moped around for two weeks after.
I
had then decided that I would never again fall in love and die a crusty
old spinster, but deep down, there has always existed a dream of
finding my true soulmate.
Er, very deep down.
Reader, it struck me then and there.
The IDEA OF THE DECADE.
The BRAINWAVE OF THE CENTURY.
It struck me right then and there, like a ton of iron bricks cascading upon my tiny little head, like a blitzkrieg across the sky, like millions of comets in space aiming at me…It was so simple and so crystal clear that I was astounded why I hadn't thought of it before.
How would it be if I, Puck-the-Great, installed myself as Lily's Official Matchmaker?
How would it be if I went groom-hunting for my dear Lily?
How would it be if I actually succeeded in this mission? Eh?
Well, I really don't care what YOU think anyway, so don't bother replying.
It would be the greatest accomplishment of my life if I could find the Ideal Husband for Lily, to show her the wonder of True Love (& good snog sessions) and to provide Lily her own Prince Charming with whom she could ride away into the sunset.
What better way to wipe off that smirk from that nitwit Petunia's horse-face than to show her that Lily is capable of snagging all the good things in life? All thanks to me, of course.
And then one day, I'll be playing Gobstones with Lily's green-eyed grandkids, and fly kites with them, and squirt ink at them, and play Matchmaker for them as well…
The very thought sends chills down my spine.
My SweetiePie, My CupCake, My MuffinMaid Lily
I solemnly swear that I'll find THE best looking, THE most brilliant (after you), and THE most ideal other-half for you.
I will make sure that I find someone who will love you and cherish you for all of eternity, and never waver, and do all the romantic tosh that you deserve. (And if he doesn't, I'll pester him till the end of his days, heh heh).
That is, only if you swear to never go on morning walks again.
And Now.
I
must return to that gorgeous photograph of that tantalizing and
toothsome cake, which seems about fifteen-feet high, and is embellished
with plums, blueberries and grapes.
Ah. Ecstasy.
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A/N: I hope the story is not going too slow, and I promise that the
story will speed up from now onwards. I know its not too well-written,
but just hang on, and I promise it will improve.
I
am a very great fan of Remus Lupin, and I'm sorry that Puck thinks he's
not husband material, don't flame me for it, but that's the way of the
world.
There are some missing jigsaw pieces in this chapter; can you
spot them?
I know I've not made LE & JP interact much, but that's coming up in the next chapter.
Please. Please. Do review. ) Dr. Fawkes