A/N - Hello you lovely people. I am back. Finally I have a break from work and so as promised I am continuing this fic. PoA is my favourite book and I have always wanted to create a fic that plays in that specific time. I'm going to post a few chapters tonight as I know a lot of you are following this story (thank you from the bottom of my heart), I won't make you wait... you've done enough of that, I will just post them as they are ready! I'd love to hear what you think of each chapter so please don't forget to leave me a review. :)
Edited A/N - the poem The Witching Hour is a poem I wrote for this fic. Hope you like it!
Chapter 15 - The Witching Hour
The winding corridors or Hogwarts Castle had once again become like home to Tonks. Since the dementor attack, she had been trying to keep an ever-closer eye on Harry without impinging on his freedom. He was a teenage boy after all! Some of her greatest adventures at Hogwarts had been ones she definitely would not have wanted anyone to witness. Still she had to keep him safe. That was the priority. Tonks had taken to wandering the corridors whenever Harry was in lessons, checking the secret passageways and occasionally scaring kids who were cutting class by morphing into Filch.
As she wandered past the defence against the dark arts classroom for the third time in the fifteen minutes, she tried to convince her conscience that is was only because Harry was in there, however her conscience unhelpfully reminder her that she'd been drawn to Professor Lupin's classroom a lot lately, since the nightmare of a quidditch game. Luckily for Tonks, so had Harry. Harry seemed to really like Lupin, now she knew his history with Harry's parents, she could understand why. Whether Harry knew it or not, Lupin cared for Harry in a way no one truly ever had. Like a father would. She decided to give in and sit opposite the classroom behind one of the many Hogwarts gargoyles. She could hear Lupin's voice as it travelled through the open classroom door…
"The Witching Hour
Still as a crisp autumn morn, before the birds stir or the sun wakes,
Silence hangs in the air and a mist hovers over the lakes.
Hidden away since long ago, thy whole self now fake.
Too weary to hold up the veil, to wait for schemes,
Whilst muggles conjure unfathomable dreams,
We evermore muffle our screams as we hide on the seams.
Flashes of red, orange, yellow and sparks of heat,
Remind us rising thus will save us from a terrible feat.
Swish and swash the wood traces shapes in the air,
Incantations are sung, the melody shaped with care,
Precious are these moments outside our lair
Until the first bird tweeps and twerps with a morning tune,
The Witching hour is once again over too soon."
A silence filled the classroom; Tonks could not hear anything. Until Remus spoke again, "Who can tell me who wrote this poem? Yes Hermione."
Tonks recognised the student's voice, one of McGonagall's favourites; she was constantly praising Hermione's theoretical knowledge and practical skills, whenever Hermione could not hear her of course.
"No one knows the name of the woman who wrote it. The poem was found in the home of a young mysterious woman who disappeared in the 1800s."
Tonks heard Remus clap loudly. "Well done Miss Granger! If you can tell me what she is referring to in the poem I will be doubly impressed…"
Without hesitation, Hermione continued, "She is writing about the witch trials which began in Salem, Massachusetts and in small pockets began to happen here in England too. The majority of witches and wizards stopped using magic in public and many were so scared they would wake early to use magic whilst muggles were still sleeping."
Tonks could not help but smile as she heard how enthusiastic Remus sounded, "Exactly Miss Granger hence, The Witching Hour. 10 points to Gryffindor. The flashes of red and orange the unknown author refers to were the fires used to burn those suspected of witchcraft. Now, I can hear those brains you all try to hide away clinking and churning and wondering why, during a Defence Against the Dark Arts class, we would be reading a poem. Well, I thought it time we had a break from our usual practical lessons and had a more lateral one. You see I believe there are many ways we can defend ourselves against the dark forces of this world and creativity, in my humble opinion as your professor, is just as important as being able to stun or repel your enemy. For that reason, you will all write me a poem about magic or…"
Remus had to raise his voice to speak over the disappointed murmurs, "Or, if you are so incredibly apposed to putting pen to paper in what you consider such an old fashioned and uncool way, write me a review of The Witching Hour poem. I trust you will all put in as much effort into this assignment as you would into learning any incantation or spell. Creativity is one of humankinds, whether muggle or magical, greatest gifts. I look forward to reading your poems next week! Now go, go complain to each other about how terribly cruel I am!"
Tonks could hear the scraping of chairs that signalled the end of the lesson. The students filed out and Tonks saw Harry leave with Ron and Hermione who said she'd meet them in the common room after she'd been to the library. The boys begged her to hurry; Tonks suspected they both hoped Hermione might write their poems for them. Knowing Harry was heading to the common room for the night, she waited until the last student had left Lupin's classroom then knocked on the door as she peered round it.
"Wotcher Professor! Poems and creativity – I rather think I'd have enjoyed your classes."
Remus treated Tonks to the largest grin she had ever seen from him. He really did seem in great spirits. "Tonks! I'm so glad you're here. I was about to look for you to see if I could tempt you to share a pot of tea with me."
Tonks returned his smile, "That sounds lovely."
Remus grabbed his bag and jacket from his desk and motioned for her to leave the room first, "After you. Isn't The Witching Hour a beautiful poem?"
Tonks was pensive for a second, "It is. Sad though."
Remus sighed, "Yes, very sad. To think of those poor souls burned for being nothing but who they were born to be. You know they believe the woman who wrote the poem may have been descended from a witch burned a few decades before it was written."
Tonks smiled, occasionally Remus would speak about a subject he was so passionate about, he would light up as if from the inside out. He would become more animated than usual, more exuberant; it was a joy to see. "Did you know that Bathilda Bagshot believes she may have found the family to which the girl belonged? The Lovegood family had three sisters who were known to live in the area around that time, though they have not been able to pin down which sister. Bathilda also believes the poor girl who wrote it could not live in secret and so she killed herself, the poem was found when they found her body. I have visited the site where she believes the sisters lived. It is this tiny cottage that seems to have been untouched by the years. It is beautiful, serene and sad all at the same time."
Remus was staring at Tonks. Silently, just staring and smiling.
"What? Do I have something on my face?" Tonks used her sleeve to wipe her mouth, before looking back at Remus.
"No, your face is perfect."
The air around Tonks and Remus seemed to thin, Tonks breath hitched.
"I seem to forget sometimes, for a second, just how extraordinary you really are."
More, longer chapters to come very soon...