Colin dragged himself out of the lake – his camera was thankfully waterproof, and the rest of him was used to being shoved into things (he was Colin Creevy after all). Mel stood next to the lake, poised, and ready to spring into action and follow after the now weeping Harry Potter. Gil looked at his reflection in the lake, now that Colin had stopped thrashing – he needed a touch more mascara, Gil reflected.
"Can I take a picture?" Colin asked of the two, brandishing his iconic camera in their general direction. "Golly, I can't believe that I'm actually standing next to a half-ghost and an American, at the same time!"
"I suppose, but just one," said Mel. "I find that having too many representations of my likeness floating around just tends to cause trouble."
Millions upon millions of miles away, a few minutes prior, a ray of sunlight left our celestial star's surface – the product of immense nuclear fission – leaving it's home, a glorious fireball which, if one were to visit it, it would consume one's entire being into itself until nothing was left, and yet, without such an all-devouring orb, life would be impossible on earth – and pierced through the heavy cloud cover surrounding Hogwarts for but a moment, illuminating Mel in a golden halo, and leaving Gil deep in Mel's shadow, heightening his somberness as much as Mel's beauty was, for one evanescent moment, heightened.
Later, when Colin Creevy developed the picture, he found himself in tears. As it was, he dropped to his knees and cried, "I would spend my days worshiping you as a goddess!"
"You have taken your picture; I will allow you to keep it as a cherished keepsake – but be warned, should you take another without my permission," she whipped out her wand and mumbled something in her clear voice," it and the original shall fade out of existence – I have altered your relationship to all cameras using your own personal camera as a conduit for my charm; I am especially good at charms, you will find it unbreakable by all normal means."
"The picture I took shall remain forever a treasure to me," said Collin, breathlessly, "Golly." He ran away quickly to have it immediately printed off.
Gil looked with a leary eye at Mel. "Does this happen often?"
"As I said, having too many photograms of myself simply tends to cause problems. I am," she confessed with a down-turned and modest head, "one-third Veela."
"This would explain the almost irresistible charms you seem to have over the hearts of men, aside from myself because half of my heart is already dead," Gil said. A thoughtful look crossed his face, "I think I have stumbled across an idea for a song – one which properly explains my disassociation with the rest of the world and my inability to truly experience the emotion which is often called 'love.'
"Oh Gil, you are ever thoughtful about things that relate to you, and yet, at this moment, I find myself thinking about Harry – I wonder what he is doing, and how I may comfort him in this, his hour of need. I fly to him now! Carry on with your musicianship, Gil, and perhaps you shall figure out a method of determining when Harry might know when or even if Sirius shall return!"
Gil placed the bud back into his ear from his iPod – he would take inspiration from the many songs which it could produce – and in fact, a song by Fall Out Boy, his second-most favorite band, had just begun. He sang in a mournful voice along with the lyrics, outdoing the lead singer, whose life of popularity and adoration had striped him of the true melancholy which he was once in possession of, leaving him only with his eye shadow and waif-like appearance to carry his music career. Gil, being half-ghost, would never have to worry about that happening to him – the area around his eyes needed no additional, artificial darkening.
Mel ran into the castle, looking for Harry. She feared that her search would be fruitless, until she heard the telltale sounds of Harry's crying coming down a corridor. She paused for a moment before opening the door, because it seemed as if Harry was not alone in the room – and Mel would rather die that to intrude. The other voice she heard emanating from the chamber belonged to that of Ron Weasley – Harry's bosom friend and compatriot. She knocked on the door and let herself in to the classroom where Ron and Harry had lodged themselves. "I hope I'm not intruding," Mel said softly, "but my heart yearns to comfort you in this, your hour of need."
"Oh Mel," said Harry, "come in, I don't mind you seeing me in such a state." Harry had a handkerchief held up to his face, and from its waterstained condition, it was clear that Harry was in much need of consoling.
"Buck up, Harry," said Ron. "Listen, you know what makes me feel better?"
"What?" he asked through his tears.
"Making out."
"Oh, Ron," Harry bemoaned, "you may have discovered the secret of making out with girls, but I, I have not yet discovered this earthy pleasure! I must console myself with other means less fleshly than yours."
"I made out in this room last week," said Ron cheerfully.
"Oh, Ron," said Mel, "all of this discussion is not considerate of Harry's feelings – your speeches of passionate lipwrangling do nothing to alleviate Harry's foul mood – this is a pleasure known only to yourself, not to Harry! You cannot expect him to be able to come across any Hogwarts hoyden and simply ask her if she desired to kiss in an intimate fashion!"
"I'm only trying to help," said Ron, miffed at Mel.
"I have a feeling that you do this merely to annoy the person you actually love," said Mel. "A girl can tell these things, you know."
"I take offense at this uncalled for comment, madam!" Ron said, jumping up briskly. "You are wrong, I make out because I enjoy the act of kissing, not to make certain bookish women jealous!"
Mel began to cry herself, "Oh, now I have upset you and I have also probably upset Harry as well! I am useless! Useless!"
"Mel," said Harry, crossing the room to comfort her, "do not cry on my behalf! My sorrows are my own; do not worry yourself with my misery! I beg of you, feel better!"
"Oh Harry, the comforter has become the comforted," she said breathlessly.
"So, Mel," said Ron crossly from across the room, "where are you from? I don't think I've really met you before."
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, wiping a tear from her eye, "for not properly introducing myself. I'm Melanie Rayne Farmer, oft called Mel by my friends. I am from the faraway land of America."
"America," said Ron with wonder in his voice, "across the Atlantic Ocean?"
"Yes," she said, nodding and brushing a lock of her hair, which in the dim light of the classroom, looked either like a soft brown, or perhaps bright red, "across the Atlantic, I was born in the state of New York, and was born into a witching family there – we hail originally from Salem, which as you know, was a hotbed of witchery and wizardry in early America. Both of my parents are adept magic users, and I attended school in America until this current year, when I was placed into a foreign exchange student program for witches and wizards."
"Wow," said Ron, "America. That's so amazing."
"Yes," she said simply, "I agree. Though, I must say, that Britain has its quaint charms, I do ever so miss being able to be a cheerleader for my school's magic football team."
"Football?" asked Ron, "you'd don't mean Quidditch?"
"Oh Ron," she said, giggling, "I mean football. Nobody in America plays Quidditch – it's so frightfully boring, and really, pointless. Think about it, you get one hundred and fifty points for getting the game-ending snoot?"
"Snitch," said Harry gruffly.
"That means that to win the game but not catch the snitch is almost unheard of – excepting that odd incident I vaguely remember from the last year or so in the final game. In America, we play good, old-fashioned magic football – Quidditch is laughed at as being absurd by most."
Harry stood up angrily, "I happen to adore Quidditch – it is one of the few joys left to me in my life since my godfather's untimely demise! To hear it ridiculed by you is unbearable – I cannot tolerate it!"
"Oh, Harry!" she cried, "please, do not take offense! I did not mean to hurt your feelings!"
"It is too late for that," he said. "You can go back to loving your game filled with goalies and nets…"
"American football, not that soccer game," she said without thinking. "Magic American football."
"I AM UNDONE BY YOUR SLANDER !" Harry cried, running out of the room, "LEAVE ME TO MY WOE AND TAKE YOUR QUIDDITCH-HATING SENTIMENTS WITH YOU!"
Ron glared at Mel. "I can't believe you," he said angrily. "I used to think you were so cool, but now, now I can't even believe that I used to think that you were cool, because now I couldn't think you were cool even if I tried, which I am and it just isn't happening."
As Ron left the room to follow Harry, Mel fell into a heap on the floor, weeping to herself, bemoaning the fact that she had infuriated Harry and alienated him all because she couldn't see that she was maligning Harry's One True Love. "I have failed in my task to comfort him – he shall forever abjure me! There is no hope left! Ruin!"
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