Title: Black and Deep Desires
By: Dr. Kim-chan
(Theater is trashed. Everyone's drunk and dead asleep except for Lucius, who's making some sort of drink that'll make us sober. It involves raw eggs, pepper, club soda, more club soda, ice, and a blender.)
Lucius: Whether you like it or not, I'm the only one who was smart enough not to get dangerously close to having alcohol poisoning.
Me: (gurgles and groans)
Lucius: The B&DD team would like to extend their holiday greetings. Dr. Kim-chan was thoughtful enough to churn out this chapter as a New Year's present. Hopefully this drink will make them sober by Chapter 29. Dr. Kim-chan also wanted me to make some things clear. One is that what Harry said to Ron at the end of last chapter was in fact the first sign of the Malefecium Elixir taking hold. Second is that so as not to arouse confusion, anything that happens in the Pensieve will be written in italics. With that said, as Dr. Kim-chan says, rolling. (finds remote under a pile of empty bottles and clicks it)
(Begin Chap. 28)
…Another week and a half passed slowly over Hogwarts. The sun began to appear less and less through the dominating clouds. Sometimes they brought nothing; sometimes they brought a sprinkling rain. The temperature was dropping gradually. More and more, as students looked towards the tree line of the Forbidden Forest, green changed to all the hues of the sunset.
October had finally arrived.
Finally, on the first Tuesday of the month, the sixth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins were pouring over their lesson in Defense Against the Dark Arts class when Professor Mills made the announcement. The days Ron spent in here during the past weeks (actually, all of his classes) had been horrifying. Although no one dared to make a move when the teacher was in the room, whenever they stepped outside the door the Slytherins (and some of the Gryffindors) were beastly. At one point in Transfiguration class the teasing got so bad Harry had to scream at the top of his voice to put everyone into submission. Not even Draco uttered a further peep.
Today, Professor Mills walked to the center of the maze and called for everyone to put away their books. Then she held up a finger—by this time everyone learned that it meant she wasn't going to dismiss everyone right away.
"All right, class. October is upon us. You know what that means. The fifth-years and above should be well-enough prepared to take the Pensieve test."
Everyone groaned, and Professor Mills smiled with cynical intention.
"Glad you're all looking forward to it. Actually, if you've noticed, the fifth-years are in the midst of taking theirs. I wonder if you've seen the scared faces of the fifth-year Hufflepuffs."
The students looked around as if she was a maniac. They did so often. She loved—and declared that in the most grueling of circumstances, was necessary—to joke upon the most macabre of subjects.
"We've gone over the proper technique of taking your wand and dispensing thoughts inside the Pensieve. We know how to safely drop inside it—and how to get back out," she added, winking at a blushing Neville. At one of their lessons Neville had finally succeeded at diving inside the Pensieve after five failed tries. However, once inside he was so elated he forgot the technique Professor Mills taught them to get back out, and she had to dive inside in order to get him back out.
"Since the fifth-years are nearly finished, I'll be starting with the sixth-years tomorrow. The classes over this period will not be conducted in the usual manner. Fears, of course, are a personal matter. I will be calling students alphabetically three at a time a day. I'll be finished drawing up the schedule tonight, and I'll be posting it upon my door tomorrow morning. Students who aren't reported to come to class will report to study hall," she instructed. "I suggest you all get a good night's sleep. Class dismissed."
Yet again everyone scrambled to pack up their belongings and leave. This time some people were acting as if they had forgotten their last name. Then they exchanged them with everyone else to see if they were going to be paired up.
"Apparently none of us are going to be able to do it together if it's alphabetical," mumbled Hermione, "and when all of us need support the most."
"At least none of us will do it with Malfoy," Ron sighed pleasantly. "And I'm one of the last to do it."
Harry said nothing. Ron glanced back at him worriedly.
"Still thinking about what your worst fear could be?" he asked quietly.
"Not only mine. Professor Mills was worried about you, me, and Malfoy. What makes this even scarier is that we don't know, but she does, and she doesn't want to tell us. I'm surprised she didn't group us all together and make us do the Pensieve test last…"
"I didn't want to single you out."
All three jumped at her voice. Professor Mills was standing behind them. They were the last ones in the classroom.
"And also, I don't have the strength to handle all three of you at the same time. Like I've said before, you all have terrifying anxieties."
"You won't even give us a clue?" Ron pleaded.
Mills giggled girlishly and folded her arms. "Don't expect help to simply come to you all the time. Whatever time calls for everyone in this wizarding world to swallow their pride and combat the Dark Lord's forces, there'll be one point in your life when some vicious Death Eater is trying to cast some godforsaken hex upon you. When that day comes, no one'll be whispering the right countercurse to cast in your ear. In some cases it could even be a simple charm. Just say 'Avis' before he moves and he'll be blinded by pigeons. Of course, as I've said, most adult wizards are advanced enough to perform non-verbal spells. But to get to the point, among other things my class should be teaching you self-reliance. What I will say, however, is that yours is pretty much obvious, Mr. Potter doesn't even know, and Mr. Malfoy DOES know, but he won't admit it to himself. Now off with you."
…Over the next couple of days, Hogwarts was settled in a haze of uneasiness and tension. To briefly return to a point which should have been made in the beginning of our story, Harry had been appointed Quidditch Captain after Angelina Johnson's leave. Amid the turmoil of Ron's kidnapping, though, there wasn't much chance to celebrate. Even now that he could concentrate on his Quidditch duties, Harry was scarcely able to fit in one practice the first week of October. Everyone was too shaken up.
On the early afternoon of October eighth, Professor Mills' class ventured to the fourth floor once again to see the postings. It was so crowded; Hermione pushed her way through the crowd and towards the door. Harry and Ron hung back; they already knew they were going to be one of the last ones to perform the test.
Hermione came back to them. This time, her lower lip was jutting out slightly.
"You're up, aren't you?" Harry asked. She nodded slowly, and he put her hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "It won't be that bad, won't it? Who're you paired up with?"
"Umm…Seamus and Goyle."
"Fill us in on Goyle, will you?" Ron joked.
Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation and walked away when the crowd had cleared out. Seamus had already opened the door and went in. Goyle looked at Draco with a confused look. Then Malfoy rolled his eyes and practically shoved him inside.
"Good luck," Harry called out. Hermione smiled weakly, then walked inside, the door closing behind her.
…The desks weren't in their usual spots. All the desks except one were pushed back against the two available walls. The one lone desk carried the dark-colored bowl. In it were the many thoughts of the woman standing beside the desk, as well as the fears of a handful of fifth-years. Goyle was standing off to the right. Without Malfoy and Crabbe, he looked so out-of-place. Seamus stood right in front of the bowl as if he wanted nothing more than to get this over and done with.
Professor Mills clapped her hands together and smiled brighter than she ever had. "Well, students, I don't have to tell you why we're gathered here. Now what I'll let you in on is that we're not following a strict schedule. By all means, if there's someone here who is brave enough to go first, step up."
Seamus at once obliged.
"Aren't you the valiant one, Mr. Finnegan? All right then. First, close your eyes and concentrate. You might not see or think of anything, but the fear will be extracted. Deposit it in the Pensieve and we'll be ready to go."
Seamus took out his wand and put the end to his temple. He squinted his eyes, trying his hardest to make the thought come out. After about a minute a glowing blue light was excreted from his head and latched on to his wand. Slowly he separated the wand from his temple and tapped it over the Pensieve. Like a feather, the strand of light wafted down until it merged with the mass of silvery light.
"Points for depositing technique and bravery, Mr. Finnegan," she commended. "You're doing well so far. Now on to the real challenge."
She grabbed on to his hand and nodded to him. Seamus looked back at Hermione.
"Wish me luck," he said. His fingers touched the surface, and in a flash, he and Professor Mills disappeared.
…Even for someone as experienced as Professor Mills, the experience of 'diving', as she so called it, was a head rush. Taking that into account, Seamus felt twice as worse. It was almost like swimming inside a mirror. Like virtually everyone else at Hogwarts, he didn't know what his biggest fear was, either. His heart beat fast just to think of the prospect, and he hung on to his professor's hand.
All in an instant, they landed hard on their feet. Seamus stumbled, then regained his stance after a moment. Professor Mills landed gracefully next to him. The smile was still on her face, but it was a smaller one. It took a while for the sandy-haired boy to recognize where he was. They had landed in a field…and it wasn't just any field. The sun had a weak shine; the sky was a pale blue, with big grayish-white cumulus clouds rolling over and making shadows in the grass. Far in the distance was a developed town with houses and buildings; nothing close to London but nowhere near as ramshackle as Hogsmeade. The wind was as nippy as it ever was.
Then he noticed the graves.
There were a lot of them, placed haphazardly in many different rows. They were standing in one of grassy aisles. Crosses, obelisks, grave markers, a few of them covered in a jumble of leaves and vines. The area was closed off by a stern, black-painted iron fence. Running straight through the middle of the graveyard was a beaten path. Walking upon it was a procession of black-clad people. A funeral was taking place. Seamus's heart dropped. His worst fear was death?
The smile was entirely gone now. Professor Mills nudged him and they began walking towards the procession. Before long they were able to hear catches of talk, although it was a bit muddled by all the sniffling. It was a well-defined group: not gigantic, but enough attendants to know the deceased was loved in life. But…these weren't his relatives. Seamus was confused. He glanced behind him to see where the line of mourners ended—and gasped. He ran to the back of the line to see if his vision wasn't playing a trick on him.
His eyes didn't lie. He was staring at himself.
This other Seamus was dressed in black and green, his lips quivering. His eyes were puffy and red, and his cheeks were soaked with tears. He didn't like the looks of this. Up ahead, the procession began to crowd around a fresh grave. The deep hole was sitting at the end of its assigned row, awaiting its coffin. At the head of it was a square marble gravestone adorned with an angel lying on its side. The remaining people filed around the grave and stood. Professor Mills sighed and moved right through the crowd—literally—in order to reach the hole.
"You came a long way and went through a lot of trouble to come here. Don't you at least want to know whose funeral you're attending?" Professor Mills asked. "Remember the lessons. We can't interfere in the Pensieve; we're nothing but ghosts to these people."
Seamus shuddered. He wasn't sure if it had been appropriate for her to use the word 'ghosts' at a funeral. He was extremely scared at this point, but curiosity overtook him. He glided through bodies until he was standing near the coffin itself. It was made of a varnished light-colored wood.
"Who—?"
Suddenly, he choked on his breath. Professor Mills shot him a concerned look, then looked in the direction he was. He had figured it out.
Upon the grave marker was inscribed this message: "Dean Thomas. Beloved Son and Friend."
"This—this isn't…" Seamus blubbered.
"It's your worst fear: losing Dean. Not just as a good friend, but as your true love," Professor Mills explained. "There's a few Muggles here, so the preacher delivering the sermon cannot tell them the truth of how he died. The truth is that his non-magical parentage brought him sorrow when the Death Eaters made their way over to Leeds. He was nothing to the Death Eaters. His parents died a few weeks before him."
She pointed to two graves beside the new hole with identical gravestones. The names of his parents were written upon them.
Seamus felt sick. He sat down on the grass, his mind riddled with guilt and sorrow.
"So, did I confront my fear?" he asked.
"I'm afraid it's not that simple," she answered. "As I said, the only way one's thoughts can change inside the Pensieve is if the person who dives inside the thought is the sole owner of it. Concentrate again; you want all of this to disappear except for the coffin."
If it was all he had to do to keep from staring at that piece of stone with his boyfriend's name on it, Seamus was all too willing to close his eyes again. Gradually, the people faded out of sight. The fields and the sky disintegrated until everything faded to an ominous gray. All that was left was the coffin a few feet away from him.
"This is always a risky thing to do, since we're at the mercy of your imagination now. This is unstable, so it's a timed test now. I'll give you a task to do in order for you to come to terms with your inner fear. If you choose to quit or fail to comply with the task given in a minute's time, we will be put back out of the Pensieve right away. Also, I want to make this very clear…if you do quit, I will not think any less of you. Fear and grief is natural, and especially since you're so young, you may not yet be prepared to face it. The point is to try. Whatever choice you make, I'll understand. But also be aware that if you do, we'll have no choice but to try this again at the end of the year. At least then you'll be better prepared."
He nodded.
"In this altered reality, you were not able to see Dean before he died. This left you very distraught. Now only you can put yourself—and him—to rest. The task is to open the coffin and send him off with a kiss."
Seamus goggled at Professor Mills had sprouted three additional heads and sang a song in French.
"What?"
"I thought you could handle this," she replied, more sass than playful sarcasm at this point. "Didn't you volunteer to go first?"
He bit his lip and said nothing else. That was true. He had put his foot in his mouth. There was nowhere else to go but forward.
With tentative steps he walked to the coffin and paced around it until he found the latch which opened it up. Whoever said that imagination was a powerful tool didn't mince his words. He could actually touch the silver plating, feel its chill. Moist spots were forming on the latch; Seamus had frozen there, his sweating hand on the latch. Shutting his eyes and counting to three, his fingers practically worked by themselves unfastening the clutch.
An intake of breath, and he swung it open.
Seamus nearly went weak at the knees from the sight. In a bed of satin laid the boy's body, his arms folded in front of him. They had dressed him up in a handsome dark blue suit. With much difficulty he brought himself to look at his face. His eyes were closed; his lips had the slightest part in them. He looked so peaceful there. Here, he was free from worldly pain.
Out of nowhere, one last terrible thought struck him. Even if he was out of pain, if he had died that way, so quickly, the last thing Dean would have seen was a blinding green light. He had been alone at the time of his death…he hadn't been there to protect him. Did he even care if he had left Seamus alone?
His blue eyes spilled over with tears, and he crumbled to the ground.
"I can't…I can't do it, Professor—"
The rest of the sentence was lost in a wave of uncontrollable sobbing. Seamus collapsed and laid still on the floor next to the open casket, shaking with every cry. Professor Mills nodded, staring up into space. Suddenly, the coffin disappeared along with everything else, and all became a spinning blur.
…A few minutes later at the Gryffindor Tower, Harry, Ron, and Dean were gathered in the common room. Study hall was pretty much optional, and they had no classes to go to at this hour. Dean in particular was looking over his Herbology notes, concerned about Seamus and his test.
The portrait door swung open. Seamus entered the common room, his eyes deathly bloodshot. It was nothing new for anybody to look over to see who entered the room, but everyone went crazy when they saw Seamus's puffy red face. Ron and Harry shut their books and flung them away, ready to do whatever it was that they could do to help, but he walked by without even noticing him. He didn't notice anyone who was gaping and/or whispering at his eyes or his messy hair. Dean put down his notes to see what the commotion was about, saw his boyfriend in such a terrible state, and stood up right away.
"Seamus! What'd Professor Mills do—?"
Dean was cut short by Seamus abruptly wrapping him in his arms and holding him close, silently sobbing. Dean blushed hotly; they hadn't yet reached the part of the relationship where they had told everybody else. Whatever his worst fear was must have been devastating. Excusing himself from the crowd, Dean escorted Seamus up to the dormitory.
(End Chap. 28)
(Everyone's now more or less sober, but now they're sobbing their butts off.)
Harry: That was terrible! Poor Seamus!
Lucius: That was cruel even for my tastes. Can the next chapter get any worse?
Me: (blows nose into a Kleenex) Curse my ingenious angst skills (as one of my reviewers was quoted as saying before)! And believe it or not, we've barely begun. We still have the three worst fears to g-g-go! (starts sobbing again) Like Lucius asked, CAN Chapter 29 get any worse? You'll just have to find out. Bring the tissues!