Sinister Songs
Ron watched as the little creature hopped from shelf to shelf, filling its bag. For all its cherub-like appearance, he couldn't shake the impression of something sinister lurking under the limpid surface of its baby-blue eyes.
At the very least, its constant humming and chanting made it impossible to concentrate on his ledgers. While the Quick-Quotes Quill tallied up a whopping bill, Ron listened to the hoppie's chanting, trying to understand what slipped out between its litany of "Master says no singing. No. Singing."
His fingers itched for an Extendable Ear. But in the small shop, even a Muggle would have noticed that.
The hoppie reached for a Skiving Snackbox. Giggling, it broke into song:
"Fudge wants much,
without a catch,
but as he'll see
nothing's for free.
Tee hee hee!"
If only, Ron thought. Nothing would please him more than seeing Fudge's un-campaign grind to a gritty halt. Now the creature moved on to the Wheezes' selection of magical party hats (Shield Hats, Headless Hats, Umbrella Hats, Music Hats …).
"When Fudge's in a pickle,
he's not looking for a Sickle.
And Malfoy's short
Grindelwald's hoard."
The hoppie cackled like mad and jigged over to the next stack of merchandise, this time Patented Daydream Charms and the brand new Romance Rounders. Ron was sorely tempted to try and tackle the beastie. Fudge? Malfoy? Grindelwald? Clearly, whatever this creature was—it was up to no good.
"Have you been naughty
or have you been nice?
Oh, never you mind!
The bogeyman kills you in a trice."
"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"Ron asked before he could stop himself.
The little golden-haired hoppy halted, gazed up at him with those seemingly innocent eyes, and muttered frantically: "No singing, the master said. No. Singing." Then it ordered briskly: "The bill, if you will, good sir, without err."
Ron rolled his eyes and reached for the scroll with the bill.
"A signature," he requested. "Here."
He glanced at the sum, to see if everything added up properly—Luna's spell that kept the exaggerations of the Quick-Quotes Quill in check wasn't completely reliable yet.
123 Galleons, 56 Sickles, 78 Knuts and 89 Muggle Pence. Ron had no idea why the quill had included Muggle coinage in the sum. And he knew he ought to check that. But the hoppie was giving him a headache with all that humming, making him feel decidedly unprofessional.
Unfortunately, the angelic little creature simply paid up, including exactly eighty-nine shiny Muggle Pence in newly minted condition.
Checking carefully the contents of its bag, the hoppie chanted under its breath:
"The bogeyman, he comes at night,
what a horrible and awful fright!
Listen how the mothers wail:
'Will Great Death always prevail?'
But the answer to this riddle
is not just any kind of fiddle!
Light without shadow must shine,
life from the darkness must spring.
When mutes can sing,
and blinds can see,
and magic needs no wizardry,
death conquers death,
and those madness possessed."
Hissing the last syllables, it was gone. Without so much as a by-your-leave, offering a business card or at least announcing its impending Apparition, as any polite wizard, witch or well-trained House-elf would do.
Ron gaped at the spot where the hoppie had disappeared. For a moment he thought he could still hear an echo of its strange sing-song voice floating on the air:
"The bogeyman, he comes at night,
devouring children as they sleep –
just like you, he has to eat!"
oooOooo
The rest of the day Ron couldn't concentrate on the simplest task in the shop. After adding two plus two and coming up with five no less than three times in a row, he gave up on his book-keeping and just sat at his desk, staring off into space.
The first few verses he'd overheard, seemed like a warped kind of political commentary.
That Fudge wanted much was plain to see. And if there is a sticky end waiting for the git, all the better, Ron thought uncharitably. Also, hadn't he seen a headline about Grindelwald's gold in the Quibbler a while ago?
And the first rhyme about the bogeyman sounded very much like something from "Babbity Rabbity's Nursery Rhymes".
But the long bit, that worried him. It sounded almost like a prophecy.
Though, could magical creatures even make prophecies? He couldn't remember; his memories of Divination were rather fuzzy apart from the fun he'd had with Harry making up prophecies of doom. And in retrospect that didn't seem all that funny anymore, given how a prophecy controlled their lives for so long and nearly killed them all.
Anyway, the fact remained that he had no idea if that song could be a prophecy at all. If he alerted the Order and that was impossible, he'd only make a fool of himself. Ron didn't like feeling like an idiot. Or incapable.
But still, what if it is a prophecy or a warning or something?
He couldn't just sit back and do nothing!
In the end he stopped by at Madam Malkin's on his way home, pretending that he wanted to buy a scarf for Lois so he could chat with Lavender about his hoppie-experience. But Lavender couldn't help him either.
"I've never heard of magical creatures making detailed, rhymed prophecies. But I guess if Banshees are able to announce impending deaths with their screams, it's not completely implausible that hoppies can come up with proper prophecies.," Lavender told him. "However, I'm just a seamstress, Ron. I'm not an expert for that kind of thing. You'd have to ask Professor Trelawney. Oh, and Luna or her fiancé—Rolf really knows everything about magical creatures."
"Thanks, Lav." Ron sighed. Not exactly the answer he'd hoped for, but he knew it was sound advice. And he'd meet Luna and Rolf at the Burrow on Sunday. His mother had invited everyone she considered family and friends for Lois' birthday luncheon. He could ask them about this creature and its rhymes then …
oooOooo
A/N: Sorry this took a few days—offline life and my non-existent skills as a poet interfered with the completion of this chapter.