A Midsummer Nights' Scream
Chapter One: Our Fete is in your hands
There is rather more than often appears to the life of a Vicar. Many and various are those waiting to pounce and seize any available spare moment of ones' time. The Reverend Doctor Sandra Granger-Whitston, Vicar of St Judes' Church of the Parish of Alfstoneleigh in one of the more pleasant corners of South-East England, was a woman of sufficient energy and intelligence to be able to adroitly balance all of these. But some things caused more headaches than others, and chief among these were the annual Events.
The calendar had not varied in many years, and had indeed been in force before Sandra came to the Parish. It began with May Day, which since 1978 had been celebrated on the Early May Bank Holiday and which, being a civic event, took place in the towns' Park. The Whitsun Garden Party was held in the Vicarages' extensive gardens on the Saturday before Whitsun and was Sandras' way of saying thank-you to the various members of her congregation who voluntarily helped out with the Mother's Union, the Scouts and Guides, Sunday School and cleaning and decorating the church. Then there was the Summer Fete in July, the Bonfire Bash in November and the Christmas Fayre in December. All held in the Parish Hall and its' grounds.
This being July, it was the Summer Fete that occupied her. Carefully dated so as not to compete with those of the Catholic, Methodist and United Reformed churches the town also boasted. Most of the entertainments would be the same as they were every year (and indeed at every Fete at every church). The Mothers' Union would do the jumble sale; the Scouts would handle the Tombola while the Guides did the Raffle; the Womens' Institute would provide light refreshments and sell home-made cakes, jam, pickles and so forth; local members of the Campaign for Real Ale would set up a Beer Tent; the CofE school would do Soak the Teacher. The Alfstoneleigh Morris Men would turn out, as would the Alfstoneleigh Philharmonic and Choral Society. Christian Aid, Cancer Research and the British Heart Foundation had promised stalls. Various local people would supply a coconut shy, an archery range, a Punch and Judy Show, a Bouncy Castle and a Soft Play Area. Also, though this was not intended as entertainment, Sandra could rely on Ms Aurora Bumstead, High Priestess of the towns' small but slightly hyperactive Wiccan coven, and her acolytes, to turn up with home-made leaflets and flyers and try to point out to people how these Johnny-come-lately, new-fangled Christians had poached their traditional celebrations. Most people found this mildly comical, but the fact that Sandras' cousin Hermione was a genuine, wand-and-all, witch added a certain private piquancy to her own amusement.
However, Sandras' main problem was that, as every year, she had to arrange the Special Guest. Unfortunately, she had gone through most of the local celebrities – one superannuated TV actor, two veteran stand-up comics, a DJ from the local radio station and a cheesecloth-and-sandal-clad folk duo who toured local pubs and clubs. Sandra pondered: a talk on 'The Unexplained' by the local conspiracy nut, Lieutenant-Colonel Crosbie-Featherstonehaugh, might be entertaining, except that the Colonel had a penchant for producing chillingly-convincing pieces of evidence for his apparently batty notions. Also, he would insist on addressing Sandra as 'Padre', which mildly irritated her. Then there was the Squire, Sir Gerald Fothering, Bart., a local history expert with a wide and varied collection of antiques, artefacts and even fossils, all connected to the area, which he would enjoy showing and talking about. Then there were rumours that some local Sixth Formers had formed a band that was enjoying a moderate level of success; however, it was deemed to have Heavy Metal, or perhaps even Goth, tendencies, so maybe not.
Then there was The Last Resort, Hermiones' husband, Ron, posing as a stage magician. Ron was funny, a genius with children and, oddly for a genuine wizard, something of an expert in non-magical conjuring tricks. Apparently, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes – the company two of his brothers had founded and which was now known as Weasley Enterprises Inc, had had some success in selling non-magical, or muggle, magicians' sets to wizards. In the process Ron had learned much about stage magic.
Then Sousas' Liberty Bell march began to play. Sandra picked up her smartphone to see that the call originated from Derek Barclay, the local 'mobile horticulturalist' (jobbing gardener) who took care of the Church and Parish Hall grounds.
"Hi, Derek, what's up?" She asked.
"Hard to explain, Vicar." Dereks' voice sounded strained. "Could you come over to the Parish Hall? You need to see this!"
"Be right over." Sandra told him and hung up. With a certain sense of relief, she got up from her desk and went off to find something to put on her feet. Passing the dining room door, she popped her head in to see Peter sitting at the table in front of his laptop. A recent promotion meant that he now worked from home three days a week, which on one level was no end handy, but on another could be a pain in the bum!
"Derek wants to see me over at the Hall, darling." She told him. "Some kind of problem. Shouldn't be long!"
He looked up. "Mind if I come along?" He asked. "The inbox is as empty as a Scousers' wallet at closing time, and I can only play so many games of Solitaire!"
"Penalty of being too good at your job, sweetie!" She told him. "But you look as if you could do with a breath of air!"
The Parish Hall was just across the road from the Church and Vicarage. Derek was easily locatable by the plumes of bubblegum-smelling steam from his vape. The Green, however, was not so easy to find. The smooth lawn, which by the day after tomorrow should be full of attractions and visitors, had been taken over by weeds. Not just any weeds, either. Numerous clumps of dark-green, thick, tough-looking vines were clustered around woody trunks, each about six feet high, and topped with fleshy, pinkish flowers that looked disturbingly like faces, including large black dots where eyes would be. Worse, it seemed that every 'face' was turned towards them as they joined Derek.
"What the f-f-flip is this?" Peter wanted to know.
"No idea." Derek allowed. "Look, I brought the mower over to give the Green a trim to be nice for Saturday. I was going to do it today because some of the people will want to be setting up tomorrow afternoon – the bouncy castle and all that. But when I got here, I saw this lot! It wasn't here last night because I had a look on my way home.
"Somebody must have brought this lot and planted them in the night, but I can't see how they could've without waking the whole street up! Nothing grows this fast, not even Russian Vine!
"Look, Vicar, I'm going to need heavy equipment to sort this out! I've got a mate who's got the kit, but it's going to cost and it'll take nearly a week to get the Green back as it should be. You're going to have to cancel or postpone the Fete, I'm afraid!"
Before Sandra could reply, a young male voice cut across them:
"Ollie, you fat bastard! Those are my fucking sarnies!"
The turned to see a rotund shape making best speed for the Green, and recognised Oliver Stenbridge. Oliver was the local equivalent to Billy Bunter, being easily as spherical and gluttonous as the fictional schoolboy. Oliver also shared another trait with the Fat Owl of the Remove – a tendency toward petty larceny in the matter of food. He would pick up, make off with and devour unattended comestibles whenever he found them. Opinion was divided among adults as to whether he had psychological issues or was merely spoiled and entitled. Olivers' contemporaries were united in the opinion that he was a fat, greedy, thieving git!
On this occasion, with three or four classmates on his heels, Oliver made for the apparent safety of the tall plants, no doubt intending to hide among them. But no sooner had he come within four feet of the nearest, when it raised a vine, from the bulbous end of which it ejected about half a litre of thick, white fluid directly into his face!
Oliver stopped in his tracks, spluttering and trying to wipe his face with one hand. Another vine snaked out at ground level, wrapped around his ankles and yanked. Oliver sat down sharply on the grass with a yelp.
Sandra was already moving toward him when several things happened. Somewhere behind her was a deafening "AHOOOGAH!" like an air-klaxon. No sooner had that faded when she heard Peter coughing and spluttering. Then a vine was in her face. Its end opened, there was a rasping sound and a gush of warm air hit her face, a gush powerfully redolent of intestinal gases. Gagging, her eyes streaming, Sandra tried to reach Oliver, who was getting to his feet. Then she felt a powerful pinch on her bottom! She yelped and spun round, to see a vine retreating, the stubby hand on the end of it giving her a two-fingered salute as it went!
Sandra muttered several decidedly un-Vicar-like words, then turned, grabbed Oliver by the scruff of the neck and made for the edge of the Green, Peter joined her, soaked to the skin and covered with grass-stains. They got clear of the Green, then turned round. They saw that the plants were all 'looking' at them and shaking vigorously.
If I didn't know better, Sandra thought, I'd say they were laughing at us!
The group of youngsters nearby were definitely laughing, and did not look like stopping any time soon. Peter was checking Oliver, wiping some of the white stuff off his face, rubbing it between his fingers and sniffing at it.
"Shaving cream." He stated. "Old Spice by the smell of it! A bit nasty, but nowhere near lethal! As for the fall, you've got a lot to sit down on, so no harm done!"
"More's the pity!" Said the tallest of the kids, who had apparently recovered. He stepped forward and relieved Oliver of the packet of sandwiches he had held onto throughout everything. "I'll take this, you benighted Bandersnatch! Now bugger off home before I decide to kick your arse as well!"
"Beast!" Oliver squeaked, and made off, complaining. "Oh, crikey! Oh lor'!"
The boy turned to Sandra, his name was Martin and his parents were Church regulars, keen to be involved in everything and often dragging Martin along.
"You alright, Vicar?" He asked, and when Sandra indicated she was, he grinned and held up his smartphone. "Got the whole thing!" He announced. "This'd go viral if I put it on FaceBook or YouTube! Reckon that's worth a free pass in Confirmation Class, don't you?"
"OK." Sandra said. "Your immortal soul against my personal dignity? No contest! We have a deal, Martin!"
They exchanged grins. Martin was only being confirmed because his parents wanted it, and of course he'd never have posted the video, if he'd actually taken one! Sandra was aware of all this, and was herself sceptical about infant baptism and teenage confirmation. People came to God in their own way, at their own time, and ceremonies and customs didn't change that! But Martins' parents had different notions, so this 'deal' saved both their faces!
"Ok, Don Martino," she told him, " you got my respect! Now clear off and listen to loud music or do something else teenagery!"
The kids left, still chuckling.
Sandra turned decisively to Derek. "Derek, are you OK?"
"Yeah." Derek allowed. "Damn thing let out a Hell of a squawk right in my ear, but it's fine now. Excuse language!"
"That's OK." She replied. "I blasphemed a bit myself, back there! Look, Derek, I'm going to have to ask you to keep this under your hat, for now. No sense worrying people. I'm going to get it sorted, I'll text you when you when it's all done, OK?"
Derek blinked slowly at her. "Are you going to exorcise the place?"
"Something like that," she told him, "but a bit more technical and probably involving a flamethrower!"
Derek wandered off. Sandra knew he wouldn't tell anybody – they'd think he'd gone batty.
Sandra and Peter started back to the Vicarage. As they went, they sang together:
"There's something strange,
In the neighbourhood!
Who you gonna call?"
XXXXX
"So," Hermione Weasley said to her cousin, "your Green is full of sentient plants that specialise in slapstick? Have I got that right? Ron, will you stop laughing? You'll do yourself an injury!"
"That seems to be the case." Sandra said. "They didn't do anything actually harmful. Though one of them does pinch rather hard!"
"And you think they might be magical?"
"We know they're not normal." Peter said. "So they're either alien or magical. Either way, you two are the only people we know either qualified to deal with them or who know other people who can."
Rosie Weasley – who had apparently been absorbed in play with her brother Hugo and cousin David – looked up and said. "Maybe they came from space on a Meaty All Right?"
"What, darling," Hermione asked, "is a Meaty All Right – apart from todays' special at Subway?"
"I think," Ron Weasley told her, "Rosie means 'meteorite', pet. And no, love, they probably didn't, a meteorite usually comes down with a bang and people notice!"
Rosie nodded and turned back to the Lego, murmuring "me-te-OR -ite" to herself.
Hermione sighed. "She listens too well, she doesn't worry or get embarrassed about getting things wrong, she's as strong as an ox and has an appetite like a Great Dane! She's definitely her fathers' daughter!"
"She's not but six, pet!" Ron protested. "Don't write her off just yet!"
"Oh, far from it!" Hermione told him. "If she grows to be half the person you are, she'll still be bigger than me!
"OK, Sandi, if you or Peter can take us to look at these plants, we'll see what we can see!"
Peter led them over to the Green. "They look like they're watching us." He remarked.
"Ahuh." Hermione said. "They probably are. Herbology was never my strong point, but they remind me of those plants Luna has – Listening Flowers, they call them. They have flowers like tiny faces that they turn toward you when you talk to them."
"I know those!" Ron agreed. "Always find 'em a bit creepy. But they have leaves, not vines, and they only grow to six inches or so."
He stepped forward onto the Green. The nearest plant extended a vine and blew a raspberry at him, as if warning him off. Ron took another step, and this time several vines stirred. Ron stepped back and the plant relaxed.
"Territorial." He noted. "But not aggressive."
Hermione glanced up and down the street, then pulled out her wand and cast a Revealing Charm. The plants glowed for a moment.
"Magical, then!" She said. "But there's something on the ground round the edge of the Green."
Ron knelt and examined the ground. "White powder or crystals here." He said. Then he picked up some on the tip of his finger and licked it. "Salt!" He said. "Common or garden sodium chloride!"
"If that had been weed-killer…" Peter said.
"It wouldn't have reacted to the Charm." Hermione told him. "Unless you've taken to using magical weed-killer. But the salt barrier explains why the plants are confined to the Green."
"Let's go." Ron said. "We've got a call to make. Good job it's the school holidays."
"Pardon?" Hermione said.
"Oh, don't, Mione!" Ron told her. "We both know there's only one man we know of who can sort this out! Let's go and call him!"
"Do you mind if we get a friend in?" Hermione asked Peter.
He shrugged. "Our Fete is in your hands!" He declared.
"What a Bazaar development!" Ron noted.
"It's a Fair deal!" Hermione added.
XXXXX
Hermione remained, after all these years, confounded by the contradiction and enigma that was Neville Longbottom. The shy introvert who had become the charismatic and admired leader of the Hogwarts Resistance. The 'Gryffindor who should have been a Hufflepuff' who had wielded Gryffindors' Sword to deadly effect in the Battle of Hogwarts. The 'near-Squib' who had eventually surpassed Hermione herself in Charms and Herbology, and whose skill in Defence Against the Dark Arts was almost equal to Harrys'. The friendless loner who had become Hogwarts most beloved teacher. The unassertive, apparently nervous man who was as tough a citizen as ever insulted a Trolls' mother for the fun of it.
Greetings done, they explained the situation to him. He frowned and nodded. "I think I know what we're dealing with." He said. "Somebody is playing pranks, I think! Let me just check I've got all my gubbins with me, then we'll go and have a look, shall we?"
He had arrived with a small backpack, which he began to sort through. Magical camera, copy of Longbottoms' Field Guide to Magical Plants, protective goggles, protective gloves, ear defenders, silver trowel, specimen jars, various potions and a thick, rather battered and stained, leather jerkin.
"Were you ever a Scout?" Peter asked. "Because you look prepared for just about anything!"
Neville shrugged. "You never know with magical plants." He pointed out. "One poor chap I trained with was decapitated by a cursed Mother-in-Laws' Tongue!"
"Know the feeling." Peter acknowledged, getting a jab in the ribs from Sandra.
"Why," Hermione asked, "do you carry a copy of your own book, Neville? Don't you already know what's in it?"
"Not all of us have eidetic memories, love!" Neville reminded her.
"You need to build a Memory Palace!" She told him.
"I did." He informed her. "Then I forgot where I put it. Come on, we're burning daylight!"
Evening was drawing in. It had taken some time for Neville to arrive since, at Ron's insistence, he had come by car. "A Volvo?" Ron had asked. Neville had shrugged. "Hannah insisted, typical Hufflepuff car, it was that or a Volkswagen!"
Fortunately, the lateness of the hour meant that Church Lane was quiet. Neville looked carefully at the plants, who looked carefully back at him. He took a photograph, during which all the plants gave two-finger signs.
"Hmm." Neville said. "Pseudomandragora Scurra, the Clown Bush. Largest, least dangerous, but most annoying of the False Mandrakes. Favoured by practical jokers, who surreptitiously plant them in peoples' gardens to cause mayhem."
"So who put them here?" Ron asked.
"You're the detective." Neville told him. "And it's 'it', not 'them'. There'll be one big taproot in the centre, and all the rest sprout from it. A skilled magical gardener can limit the number of sprouts, but this one has been let run riot! I can see roughly where the root will be, that space in the middle. I just need to get to it."
"Good luck with that!" Sandra remarked.
"It's not a problem." Neville said. "Like all good clowns, it knows not to interrupt a singer! You ready, Ron? Track Number Seven?"
"Oh, lord!" Hermine said. "The Karaoke Kings strike again!"
"One, two, three!" Ron counted. Then Nevilles' melodious tenor and Rons mellow baritone rose on the summer air:
In Napoli where love is king
When boy meets girl
Here's what they say
When the moon hits your eye
Like a big pizza pie, that's amore
When the world seems to shine
Like you've had too much wine, that's amore
"They're not too bad, actually." Sandra opined.
"They aren't." Hermione allowed. "Dracos' voice is a bit stronger than Nevilles -he's our other tenor – but we don't have a bass."
"You sing together?" Sandra asked.
"Oh, yes! At parties and things." Hermione said. "I'm the soprano, Ginny's a mezzo and Luna does alto. Works really well for the right songs. Also it stops Rons' mum from playing Celestina Warbeck all the time!"
"Doesn't Harry join in?"
Hermione laughed. "No! Poor Harry! Tone deaf, and he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket! Look, they're there."
The two men had indeed passed through the plants, and although the flowers turned to watch them, none of them had moved a vine. Now Neville stopped singing, but Ron, without a break, went into the Largo al Factotum from Rossinis' The Barber of Seville.
Sandra raised an eyebrow. "He's very good!" She exclaimed.
"Man of many talents, my Ron!" Hermione said proudly. "Does the washing-up and everything!"
Neville flicked his wand at the ground. "Excavatio!" He commanded. A large cylinder of turf and Earth rose upwards, then settled beside the hole it had just created. Neville pointed his wand into the hole and gave the required swish and flick. A tremor ran through the plants, then they all seemed to be sucked down into the ground. Meanwhile a large, gnarled root was rising out of the hole. From the bottom of it, numerous thick tendrils had grown, and as the main root floated higher, the plants that had been on the surface – rather bedraggled-looking now- appeared on the ends of them. Neville cast another spell, which seemed to have the effect of reversing the growth process. The plants shrank into shoots, then buds, the tendrils retracted into the main root, which then shrank into a single podlike seed perhaps six inches long. Ron held out an open jar, into which Neville guided the seed. Ron screwed the lid down while Neville replaced the earth he'd removed and smoothed the turf over.
"I love it when a plan comes together!" He announced.
"Right! Well that was easier than I expected!" Sandra stated. "Thanks, guys!"
"So, what's next?" Peter wanted to know.
"Next is that KFC I saw up the road!" Ron said as he and Neville came up. "Shan't be long, peeps!"
He strode off to where his car was parked, followed by an admonition from Hermione not to bring the entire shop back!
"Could he do that?" Peter asked.
"Wouldn't be the first time!" Hermione replied. "Mothra once brought him a whole sports shop because he needed a warm coat!"
"Nice to have a friend like that." Neville noted.
"That isn't what Kingsley said." Hermione told him. "In fact, most of what Kingsley said couldn't be repeated in company!"
XXXXX
Ron didn't bring back quite the whole shop, but he did bring back, according to Hermione, enough food to supply a battalion in the field! That disposed of, and the children dispatched to bed, the adults sat round with coffee to discuss the situation.
"Thing is," Ron said, "it looks as if someone badly wants to sabotage your Fete!"
"Why," Sandra queried, "would a witch or wizard want to sabotage a Church Fete?"
"Part of a Cunning Plan by Dark Wizards to get two of their arch enemies here?" Peter wondered. "Do people in your world know you know us? Is this a fiendish trap?"
"Doubt it." Ron said. "For one thing, only family and a few friends in our world know about or have met you. For another, though your Vicarage doesn't have the magical defences our home has, Sandra is in the Psyker Network. If there was that kind of trouble, somebody would have been in touch by now. Occlumency is no defence against Psykers, and violent intentions toward anyone here would have been picked up and reported.
"Anyway, Dark Wizards aren't noted for patience or subtlety. If we were going to be attacked, they'd have done it while we were at the Green."
"Also," Hermione said, "it's rather more than likely that whoever did this wasn't a witch or wizard!"
"How do you make that out?" Sandra said.
"The salt barrier." Hermione told her. "That kind of thing is part of Ritual Magic, not standard wizard magic."
"Duh?" Sandra said.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Sandi, you've been doing that since we were kids!" She complained.
"Hermi, you've been assuming everyone understands everything you say since we were kids!" Sandra replied. "Haven't you got her out of that, Ronnie?"
"Not completely." Ron allowed. "Also, I can't stop her talking as if she's swallowed a dictionary!"
"Used to do it all the time at school." Neville added. "Getting her to actually explain anything was like trying to push water uphill!"
"Infamy, infamy!" Hermione wailed. "They've all got it in for me!" Then after a long, overly-emphatic sigh, she said. "All right, then, for the thaumaturgically-challenged, it goes like this.
"There are, broadly speaking, four kinds of magic. Now, all magic come from the higher planes, also known as the Fade or the Nevernever, and the kind of magic a person can do depends on how they access those planes.
"Wizards and witches have an innate ability to draw magic directly from the Fade, and we learn to direct and control it via the Will, the Wand and the Word. Most competent wizards can do everyday spells and charms non-verbally. If you're very skilled and strong-willed, you can cast without a wand, but that's dangerous.
"Warlocks are people who aren't bound to a specific plane, They exist partially in all the planes, all the time and can access the magic in all kinds of ways – we call that 'wild magic'. It's unpredictable at best, and can be very powerful or very weak.
"Sorcery, or shamanism, is the ability to communicate with beings, spirits if you like, from the higher planes, and either summon them or use some of their powers. How powerful it is depends on which spirits the sorceror is in touch with.
"Then there is Ritual Magic. That's a set of rules and techniques for opening portals or channels to the higher planes, or for activating magical or enchanted items. The thing is, that anyone who knows those rules and techniques, and who has the right equipment, can do ritual magic. You don't have to have any magical ability at all. You can be a complete muggle and still use Ritual Magic!"
"On the other hand," Ron said, "a lot of the kit you need has to be magical. Made by wizards. That's where the main problem lies, Because it means that somebody in our world has been selling items, like that seed, to muggles. Which is illegal."
"How does that happen?" Sandra wanted to know. "I mean, I know you have your own shopping places, but you told me muggles couldn't get in?"
"They can't." Ron allowed. "Not unless they're muggle parents with a wizard kid and a Hogwarts letter. But there's nothing to stop a wizard setting up a shop in a muggle street. There used to be a lot of them. Junk shops, pawnbrokers, curio and antique dealers, even gift shops. But they caused a lot of trouble and the Ministry had to close most of 'em down in the end.
"But now, of course, some wizards have found their way onto the internet and the Dark Web. The ones on the legitimate internet tend to sell diluted potions or weakly charmed objects. By and large, we just keep an eye on those – as long as the magic's minor, there's no harm in it. But the ones on the Dark Web are a bit more blatant, and can sell some really nasty stuff. The bugger is that they're much harder to find!"
It had been getting dark, but suddenly the room was filled with a silver glow.
"That's not the moon!" Sandra said. "It's not full until the weekend!"
Quite suddenly, Neville was at the window. He'd moved, to Sandras' surprise, as quickly and quietly as Ron did.
"It's coming from the Green." He said.
Then the glow vanished, like a light being switched off.
"I think," Neville said slowly, "that somebody just legged it off the Green. But I couldn't make anything out other than a dark tracksuit."
"Oh, bugger!" Ron said. "We'd better go and have a look, hadn't we?"
They trooped across to the Green again.
"No weird plants this time!" Sandra said, relieved.
"Something isn't right, though!" Hermione said, her voice more than usually husky. "Ever since I stepped onto the grass, I've been feeling more than the usual urge to rip Rons' trousers off!"
"Beg pardon?" Ron said.
"I know, I know!" Hermione said. "I tend to feel mildly that way all the time, darling. But this is worse than usual, and it's getting more and more urgent!"
"Must be, you're normally not as open about it in company." Ron noted, then burped loudly. "Pardon me! That's weird! I just ate enough chicken to sink an aircraft carrier, but now I'm absolutely bloody starving!"
"That's not normal, even for you and your hollow legs!" Hermione told him. "Anyone else?"
"Well, I'm suddenly feeling the desire for any number of large, stiff drinks!" Peter admitted.
"I have an urge to start yelling, swearing and generally acting up!" Neville commented.
"Nothing out of the ordinary." Sandra confessed. "Is this one of those magic things that doesn't work on Psykers? Because I can tell you're all feeling pressured!"
"Mildly understating the case." Hermione said. "It's reaching the bed or a cold shower stage at the moment!"
"Let's just fucking keep looking!" Neville growled.
In the centre of the Green was a small area of disturbed ground. Ron flicked his wand and something rose out of the earth, glowing silver, a small, square tablet. Hermione pointed her wand and snapped "Desine!". The glow stopped and Neville grabbed the tablet, sighing with relief as he did so.
"That's better!" He said.
"So it is." Hermione agreed. "Damn! How about you, Ron?"
"No more than usually peckish." Ron allowed. "Hello, there!"
A tall, gaunt, translucent figure in Medieval dress was approaching them. On being seen, he raised both arms and said: "Booooo!"
"Boo to you, too!" Neville replied. "What's your name?"
The ghost dropped his arms. Putting one hand on a hip, he glared at them. "Well, for heavens' sake!" He pouted. "You could have at least tried to look scared! My name's Fulke de Poncey, and none of your clever remarks, please!"
Biting back giggles, Sandra said. "Hello Fulke, I'm Sandra. I didn't know the Green was haunted!"
"Well, it wasn't, dear." Fulke admitted. "Not until a little while ago! I mean, I've been here ages! Since the summer of 1415, actually! I was here with a lot of other people, putting together a levy to send to the King in France. Was bending over to straighten a shoe, some silly fool let a crossbow off by accident and….well, I don't have to draw you a picture, do I? Gave me quite the turn when I realised nobody could see me! I've been stuck here ever since."
"Um, your English is very…modern." Neville pointed out.
"I'm dead, dearie, not blind or deaf!" Fulke told him. "People come and go all the time. If you pay attention, you pick things up. There were a couple of very nice boys who used to hang about here in the 1940s or so. They were like me, you know, omipalomi, and I liked the way they talked."
"But why can we see you now?" Hermione wanted to know.
"Goodness only knows, sweetie!" Fulke said. "But I think that woman who's been messing about here the last couple of nights had something to do with it. I've felt more visible since she started doing all that stuff. Then I realised that this big hunk - is he yours? Thought so, lucky you! Anyway, I realised he could see me, so I thought I'd try a bit of haunting. I don't seem to have it, though, do I?"
"Think you picked the wrong people!" Ron told him. "We're sort of a select group. But tell us about this woman?"
"Just a sec!" Sandra said. "Fulke, can you come back to the Vicarage with us? Because I need a coffee and I can tell by the way Hermi's fidgeting that she's getting desperate for the loo!"
"Sandi!" Hermione went scarlet.
"Don't be daft, Hermione!" Neville told her. "We all know you never fidget unless you need to go! Sandra, a ghost is just another kind of Undead. They can go anywhere if they're invited."
"In that case, come on, Fulke!" Sandra said.
They went back to the Vicarage, moving at a trot to keep up with Hermione.