Chapter 32 of TSIK
Apr. 28th, 2006 07:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
darsyniaThis entry is for the folks who have been waiting for a chapter on Fanfiction.net. Unfortunately, the site is experiencing serious difficulties and the latest chapter of Then Shall I Know cannot be posted, because I can't log in, and haven't been able to for over 24 hours. Hopefully I won't have to appear as though I've abandoned the story--all I really want to do is log in and provide a link to a different archive, in the very least--because I haven't!
So, here's the latest chapter, and a big HI and HELLO! to the folks I've emailed from fanfiction.net. Edit: Speaking of which, FF.net are pieholes because I was going to email everyone that left a review but you can't do it without accessing whatever part of their site that doesn't work. /frets
Chapter Thirty-two: Party Like It’s 1977
Will we burn in heaven
Like we do down here
Will the change come while we’re waiting
Everyone is waiting
-Witness, Sarah McLachlan
Not long after they’d separated from the group embrace and begun the task of passing out pieces of cake, there came a tentative knock at the door.
“Come in, Peter!” James called out, his voice slightly muffled from his having stuffed it with a gigantic bite of cake not a minute before.
“That was attractive,” snorted Lily. James just scowled and looked around for his wand.
“I wouldn’t try it,” Hermione said with great amusement. “There’s a big chance it wouldn’t work properly—remember what Professor Flitwick says about pronunciation!” Potter just kept chewing, gesturing at Sirius with his wand as though trying to persuade him to hex Lily in his stead.
“Did I miss anything?” Peter looked slightly out of breath, as though he’d raced up all seven floors to make up for being late to the party.
“Cake’s all gone,” Sirius lied, remembering after he spoke that the room they were in had a propensity for wish fulfillment. Luckily the remainder of Lily’s ‘seventh’ birthday cake did not disappear from the table behind him.
“Happy birthday, Lily,” Pettigrew said with an honest smile.
“He’s lying, there’s still cake.” James had finally finished his overlarge mouthful of birthday cake, stopping to refute Sirius’ claim before filling his fork with another impossibly big bite.
“I care more about Lily than the cake!” Peter protested, setting down a small delicately wrapped present on the small table by the fireplace.
“Good thing somebody does,” Remus dropped slyly. James mumbled something that sounded similar to ‘quiet, you,’ and continued chewing.
“So, why are you so late?” Sirius asked Peter bluntly. Peter looked disconcerted for a moment before answering.
“Ran into Malfoy in the library,” he finally said, causing Hermione to look up sharply. She wondered what the exchange had been like—Peter didn’t look as though he’d been in an altercation, and Lucius came across as someone who enjoyed a more subtle revenge than a fistfight.
“What did he want?” Lily wondered.
“It’s not important,” the sandy-haired boy said dismissively. “This is, though—” he held up an impressively large bottle of Firewhiskey.
“Excellent.” Sirius looked positively delighted. Hermione had to laugh—she’d caught Lily’s eye and both women had been clearly on the verge of commenting on the fact that Sirius wasn’t old enough to legally drink it, but they chose not to say anything.
“This is good cake,” Peter said suddenly, after taking his first bite. He looked slightly confused as everyone in the room turned to look at James, who’d coincidentally just finished his.
“What?” Potter said, a trifle defensively. “It is.”
“Presents!” Sirius declared, sounding for all the world like a child on Christmas morning. Hermione found it hard to resist hugging him right there on the spot, it was so adorable. They moved to sit in the cushiony seats by the fire, Lily choosing the one closest to the low table on which sat the presents. Hermione couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty, as she had nothing to give her friend on her birthday. She made eye contact with Lily, and some of what she was thinking must have shown in her eyes, because the redhead tipped her head to the side and sent back an encouraging look, mouthing the words ‘it’s okay.’
Hermione pantomimed a relieved sigh, just as Sirius sat next to her, unselfconsciously putting an arm around her as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
And it was.
oOoOoOoOo
Sirius couldn’t remember ever being this happy. He had his arm around a girl who he was finally admitting privately he was falling in love with, he was with the people he cared most about in the world, watching as Lily unwrapped the presents he and the other boys had snuck illegally into Hogsmeade to get—and he had a glass of Firewhiskey in his hand. He offered a sip to Hermia, but she wrinkled her nose.
“Too strong,” she explained.
“Ah!” Remus’ eyes had lit up, but sat silently for a long second, causing his companions to wonder what he could possibly be up to—until a full tea set appeared on the table in front of the fire. “It’s great in tea,” Lupin said, pouring himself and Hermia a glass. “Trust me.”
“He’s definitely trustworthy,” Lily said, wrapping her arms around the sweater the werewolf had given her. The silver material was woven through with a thread made from crushed Streeler shells, and thus the true color of the fabric was constantly variable, in a soft glow of greens, blues, and purples. “You’re very welcome,” Remus said, almost blushing.
“Oh my!” Hermia said when she took a sip of the tea laced with Firewhiskey.
“Good?” James asked, winking at Sirius when she wasn’t looking.
“Very.”
“Oh, Peter—thank you!” Lily exclaimed. She’d opened his small package to find a silver filigree hair clasp, similar to the one she was wearing—Sirius knew that Lily collected them, and thought it was clever of Peter to remember that.
“If…if you touch it with your wand and say ‘fire,’ it will breathe fake iridescent fire—at least that’s what the merchant told me,” Pettigrew said modestly. Sirius made a mental note to ask Peter where he’d gotten the clasp—his girlfriend was eyeing it with obvious admiration.
He watched as Hermia sat forward in anticipation when Lily beamed at Peter and did as he suggested. After a minute, the delicate mouth of the dragon opened slightly and let out a puff of colorful sparkles that landed on Lily and glowed for a short while before winking out. Everyone gasped their appreciation, causing Peter to look down in embarrassed pleasure.
“That is so lovely!” Hermia said, settling back against his arm and sending a delightful shock of awareness along his side where their bodies touched. He took another sip of Firewhiskey, liking the mixture of intoxicating sensations. “It’s a shame that something so dainty would never survive my hair,” she went on, touching her hand to the bushy mass self-consciously. Sirius leaned over to speak to her and was rewarded with a tantalizing whiff of wisteria as he did so.
“I like it when you wear it down, anyway,” he told her. Her warm brown eyes favored him with a loving look, though for a split second a shadow passed over her as she looked into his eyes. Sirius reminded himself that he had intended to speak to her again of the near terror she’d shown him the day she’d sent him that awful letter. Now wasn’t the time, however.
He kissed her briefly, surprised that even such a small contact sent his senses reeling. Must be the Firewhiskey, he thought.
oOoOoOoOo
Two hours later, he was sure it was the Firewhiskey. Lily and Hermia had moved the table from in front of the fire and were sitting cross-legged on the hearth giggling like First Years. Remus was reclining on one of the armchairs, content to nurse a glass of the potent alcohol and observe the rest of them. James and Peter were playing Wizard’s Chess, which Sirius usually enjoyed watching when he wasn’t playing, but the girls were far more amusing.
Both were clearly drunk, and their discussion ranged from latest fashions (which Hermia clearly knew nothing about, something he found very endearing considering her propensity to study everything about everything) to Quidditch predictions (which had James quite distracted from his game, shouting out slurred pronouncements on how dire a chance Hufflepuff had this season).
“My tea is gone.” Lily announced petulantly.
“Forget the tea,” James called from across the room. “Drink some more Firewhiskey!” Lily giggled.
“It’s a shame that I hate Divination,” Hermia remarked as she took the empty teacup from her friend’s hand and stood up, unsteadily. Sirius wondered privately if she could even manage to reach the bottle, much less pour anything.
“Oh, you mean to read the leaves?” Lily snatched her cup back and looked into it with unfocused eyes.
Sirius put his feet up on the couch and stretched his arms behind his head lazily. He was suddenly very glad that he’d chosen not to play chess—this was definitely going to be a lot more fun.
oOoOoOoOo
Hermione admitted she was drunk. The sensation was far more interesting than she would have expected; everything she did had a heightened quality to it, as though she were observing herself through a Pensieve rather than experiencing it firsthand. She was glad that Lily had taken her teacup back; the second she stood up Hermione knew in complete certainty that she was far too intoxicated to walk anywhere. She settled back down and looked at her friend—Lily glowed from happiness and alcohol, her presents arrayed nearby, and again, Hermione felt a tang of guilt. She cast her mind around—as best she could—and had to admit that all she could offer the other girl was information, and even that was impossible.
“You could pretend,” Lily said, handing her the teacup. Hermione took it and stared blankly at her friend. “To read it, whatever it’s called,” Lily waved her hand airily as she dismissed the fact that she couldn’t remember the correct term. “The tea leaves.”
Hermione stared at the cup dumbly for a long moment, before a tiny spark of an idea started to push through the haze of her consciousness. The only gift she had was information…The more she thought about it, the more fun the idea appeared to her. She adopted a very dreamy, superior attitude, trying to channel the personality of Professor Trelawney—has she even made her prophecy yet? Hermione tried to think back (forward, you dolt!) to what year the prediction had been made, but all that came to her mind were her former professor’s wild hair and thick eyeglasses.
“Let me seeeee here!” Hermione said in a high-pitched voice that caused the chess players to take notice. “Ahh yes, dear,” she reached out and patted the floor beside Lily’s hand, blinking hard as the texture seemed different than she had expected. Hermione shook her head and continued her impression. “Your aura is pulsing! This cup tells me about a child!”
“Pssst!” Remus whispered, a deep laugh in his voice. “You’re not even looking at the cup.” Hermione tossed her head rebelliously.
“Her aura is that strong.” Her look defied him to object.
“I have an aura?” Lily sounded deeply impressed.
“Maybe you left your dragon on,” Sirius remarked, referring to the sparkling fire breath feature of Peter’s gift.
“You clearly have no gift,” Hermione scoffed, gazing deeply into the muddle of tea dregs in Lily’s cup. Privately, she thought that being drunk helped her in pretending to be Sybil Trelawney immensely. “Yes, yes—it’s right here,” Hermione pointed to the interior of the cup. “You have a very gifted son, you should be very proud!”
Hermione’s words and the true meaning of them began to work as a sobering influence, taking the giddy edge from her buzz and replacing it with a tinge of melancholy. She didn’t let it show, however, wanting desperately to say these forbidden things to her friends, and knowing the façade of drunkenness was the perfect camouflage.
“A son, eh?” Harry’s godfather said, shooting a sly look over his shoulder at James.
“Good job!” Peter reached out as if to clap his friend’s back, but James held up his hands quickly.
“Let’s not rush things,” he said, pointing at the chessboard to refocus Pettigrew’s attention.
“Don’t mind them, my dear—they don’t appreciate the Art of Divination,” Hermione said with irony that no one in the room could possibly appreciate. “Your son—he has your eyes, my dear,” Hermione said, hoping the choke in her voice could be construed as all part of the act. “He can fly exceedingly well—Quidditch Captain!”
“See,” Peter said.
“You’re in trouble, James—competition!” Sirius teased at the same time as Peter. Hermione turned to glare at the boys, and caught the broad grin that James was sending toward Lily. His girlfriend was blushing furiously, catching James’ expression and the meaning behind it. Hermione could see with perfect clarity that both of them were thinking that the future she was predicting wasn’t too bad, however crazy a manner in which the information was being presented.
“So,” Remus said in the dry tone that Hermione recognized as the one he used when he was about to drop an outrageous statement with no fanfare, “does that cup have a clue as to who the father is?”
Lily giggled as James roared with outrage, and Peter put his head down to shake with laughter. Lupin looked rather pleased with himself, even as Hermione looked around for her wand, desperately wanting to hex his shoes too tight or the arms of his chair into ferrets just to wipe the self-satisfied grin off of his face.
When she found it, however, all thoughts of hexing flew from her mind, and she didn’t even notice Lily rising to her feet and winding her way to where James and Peter were still playing chess, smacking Lupin sharply on the shoulder before he stood up to join her in watching the game. Her wand was sitting next to Sirius on the couch, and he was watching her intently, no trace of amusement left, just a steady warm regard. She felt drawn in by his gaze; the feeling of unreality began to fade as she moved across the floor to kneel beside the couch. Sirius leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and holding his hands out for hers.
Placing her hands in his felt like the most natural action in the world, as well as a sort of acknowledgement of something between them. She nodded, barely knowing why, and in response, Sirius drew her between his knees to embrace her.
With her head resting on his chest listening to the swift, strong beating of his heart, and his arms cradling her to him, it was the most difficult thing Hermione ever faced not to tell him she loved him.
oOoOoOoOo
Dear Hermione,
It was Lily’s birthday, today. Is it horrible for me to want to talk about Sirius when I should be relating the events of her party for posterity? Though, to be fair, I don’t believe I will ever forget that party, and someday I will probably want to bury my head in the sand and not face the emotions I’ve felt today…
I can’t help but wonder if the tragedy that happened in the past hasn’t somehow warped my appreciation of happiness. Harry felt it, too—looking at that scrapbook of his, and thinking about madness and despair and death and betrayal instead of looking at a picture of a wedding. Ohhh now I’m so angry I can barely write, and I don’t even know –what- I’m angry at. Situations? Voldemort? Fate? I don’t know.
I’ve broken the most solemn promise I’ve ever made to myself—but in my defense, I never understood the potency of love! I want to make another promise, and this one is even MORE important, but I can’t even be sure I can keep it…
I can’t tell him I love him.
I have to leave. He deserves so much, so much that I know he’ll never get, unless he fell in love in between graduation and Azkaban
—and the very thought boils my blood! How horrid is this, I’m half jealous (all right, more than half), but half of me is sitting here going ‘oh, how interesting, so THAT is what insane liver-gnawing jealousy feels like!’ I have got to be the most mental person in any time period.
What I’m trying to say is, some people deserve love. ALL people deserve love. People like Sirius especially—but he doesn’t deserve to have his heart broken, to spend the few free years he is going to get wondering where I’ve gone—
Oh, this is ridiculous, because now I’m all ‘he doesn’t love me, he can’t possibly’ but I KNOW him and I’ve seen it in his eyes and I don’t think I’ve ever been more frightened in my life or more happy and I’m afraid if I stop writing I’ll wake up and it will all have been a dream but I’m running out of ink.
Thank Merlin that this thing is going to be locked up and hidden away. They’ll cart me off to St. Mungo’s if they read this rubbish.
oOoOoOoOo
A few hours after lunch, Albus Dumbledore walked idly along the hallway on the seventh floor, having just come from the Gryffindor common room. He’d intended to wish the Head Girl a happy birthday, but she was not to be found in the library, the Quidditch Pitch, or the Gryffindor tower. He didn’t mind the exercise, he liked Miss Evans very much, and had been delighted to see that the rest of the faculty had agreed with himself and Minerva on her appointment as Head Girl.
The journey to the Gryffindor tower had been one he hadn’t experienced in quite a while, and as he turned to head back to his office, Dumbledore passed the odd tapestry chronicling the attempts of Barnabas the Barmy to teach trolls ballet. He thought he heard laughter, but dismissed it as coming from one of the paintings or echoes from the students in a nearby hallway. He almost changed his mind, almost turned to find out where it was originating from, and he stopped in his tracks, finding the impulse to be slightly out of character.
Albus decided that what he really needed was to have some good fun, the kind that engendered the sort of laughter that he could still faintly discern. He shrugged, wondering if it was time to take a trip down to the Three Broomsticks, just to see what Madam Rosmerta would say upon seeing him walk through the door. Dumbledore started along the all again, whistling merrily as he contemplated the possibility of a warm Butterbeer in the company of the denizens of Hogsmeade.
Behind the cheerfully walking figure of the Headmaster of Hogwarts, an ornate wooden door shimmered into existence across from the tapestry he was just standing in front of.
A/n: Streelers are a type of snail whose shells change color by the hour.
So, here's the latest chapter, and a big HI and HELLO! to the folks I've emailed from fanfiction.net. Edit: Speaking of which, FF.net are pieholes because I was going to email everyone that left a review but you can't do it without accessing whatever part of their site that doesn't work. /frets
Chapter Thirty-two: Party Like It’s 1977
Will we burn in heaven
Like we do down here
Will the change come while we’re waiting
Everyone is waiting
-Witness, Sarah McLachlan
Not long after they’d separated from the group embrace and begun the task of passing out pieces of cake, there came a tentative knock at the door.
“Come in, Peter!” James called out, his voice slightly muffled from his having stuffed it with a gigantic bite of cake not a minute before.
“That was attractive,” snorted Lily. James just scowled and looked around for his wand.
“I wouldn’t try it,” Hermione said with great amusement. “There’s a big chance it wouldn’t work properly—remember what Professor Flitwick says about pronunciation!” Potter just kept chewing, gesturing at Sirius with his wand as though trying to persuade him to hex Lily in his stead.
“Did I miss anything?” Peter looked slightly out of breath, as though he’d raced up all seven floors to make up for being late to the party.
“Cake’s all gone,” Sirius lied, remembering after he spoke that the room they were in had a propensity for wish fulfillment. Luckily the remainder of Lily’s ‘seventh’ birthday cake did not disappear from the table behind him.
“Happy birthday, Lily,” Pettigrew said with an honest smile.
“He’s lying, there’s still cake.” James had finally finished his overlarge mouthful of birthday cake, stopping to refute Sirius’ claim before filling his fork with another impossibly big bite.
“I care more about Lily than the cake!” Peter protested, setting down a small delicately wrapped present on the small table by the fireplace.
“Good thing somebody does,” Remus dropped slyly. James mumbled something that sounded similar to ‘quiet, you,’ and continued chewing.
“So, why are you so late?” Sirius asked Peter bluntly. Peter looked disconcerted for a moment before answering.
“Ran into Malfoy in the library,” he finally said, causing Hermione to look up sharply. She wondered what the exchange had been like—Peter didn’t look as though he’d been in an altercation, and Lucius came across as someone who enjoyed a more subtle revenge than a fistfight.
“What did he want?” Lily wondered.
“It’s not important,” the sandy-haired boy said dismissively. “This is, though—” he held up an impressively large bottle of Firewhiskey.
“Excellent.” Sirius looked positively delighted. Hermione had to laugh—she’d caught Lily’s eye and both women had been clearly on the verge of commenting on the fact that Sirius wasn’t old enough to legally drink it, but they chose not to say anything.
“This is good cake,” Peter said suddenly, after taking his first bite. He looked slightly confused as everyone in the room turned to look at James, who’d coincidentally just finished his.
“What?” Potter said, a trifle defensively. “It is.”
“Presents!” Sirius declared, sounding for all the world like a child on Christmas morning. Hermione found it hard to resist hugging him right there on the spot, it was so adorable. They moved to sit in the cushiony seats by the fire, Lily choosing the one closest to the low table on which sat the presents. Hermione couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty, as she had nothing to give her friend on her birthday. She made eye contact with Lily, and some of what she was thinking must have shown in her eyes, because the redhead tipped her head to the side and sent back an encouraging look, mouthing the words ‘it’s okay.’
Hermione pantomimed a relieved sigh, just as Sirius sat next to her, unselfconsciously putting an arm around her as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
And it was.
oOoOoOoOo
Sirius couldn’t remember ever being this happy. He had his arm around a girl who he was finally admitting privately he was falling in love with, he was with the people he cared most about in the world, watching as Lily unwrapped the presents he and the other boys had snuck illegally into Hogsmeade to get—and he had a glass of Firewhiskey in his hand. He offered a sip to Hermia, but she wrinkled her nose.
“Too strong,” she explained.
“Ah!” Remus’ eyes had lit up, but sat silently for a long second, causing his companions to wonder what he could possibly be up to—until a full tea set appeared on the table in front of the fire. “It’s great in tea,” Lupin said, pouring himself and Hermia a glass. “Trust me.”
“He’s definitely trustworthy,” Lily said, wrapping her arms around the sweater the werewolf had given her. The silver material was woven through with a thread made from crushed Streeler shells, and thus the true color of the fabric was constantly variable, in a soft glow of greens, blues, and purples. “You’re very welcome,” Remus said, almost blushing.
“Oh my!” Hermia said when she took a sip of the tea laced with Firewhiskey.
“Good?” James asked, winking at Sirius when she wasn’t looking.
“Very.”
“Oh, Peter—thank you!” Lily exclaimed. She’d opened his small package to find a silver filigree hair clasp, similar to the one she was wearing—Sirius knew that Lily collected them, and thought it was clever of Peter to remember that.
“If…if you touch it with your wand and say ‘fire,’ it will breathe fake iridescent fire—at least that’s what the merchant told me,” Pettigrew said modestly. Sirius made a mental note to ask Peter where he’d gotten the clasp—his girlfriend was eyeing it with obvious admiration.
He watched as Hermia sat forward in anticipation when Lily beamed at Peter and did as he suggested. After a minute, the delicate mouth of the dragon opened slightly and let out a puff of colorful sparkles that landed on Lily and glowed for a short while before winking out. Everyone gasped their appreciation, causing Peter to look down in embarrassed pleasure.
“That is so lovely!” Hermia said, settling back against his arm and sending a delightful shock of awareness along his side where their bodies touched. He took another sip of Firewhiskey, liking the mixture of intoxicating sensations. “It’s a shame that something so dainty would never survive my hair,” she went on, touching her hand to the bushy mass self-consciously. Sirius leaned over to speak to her and was rewarded with a tantalizing whiff of wisteria as he did so.
“I like it when you wear it down, anyway,” he told her. Her warm brown eyes favored him with a loving look, though for a split second a shadow passed over her as she looked into his eyes. Sirius reminded himself that he had intended to speak to her again of the near terror she’d shown him the day she’d sent him that awful letter. Now wasn’t the time, however.
He kissed her briefly, surprised that even such a small contact sent his senses reeling. Must be the Firewhiskey, he thought.
oOoOoOoOo
Two hours later, he was sure it was the Firewhiskey. Lily and Hermia had moved the table from in front of the fire and were sitting cross-legged on the hearth giggling like First Years. Remus was reclining on one of the armchairs, content to nurse a glass of the potent alcohol and observe the rest of them. James and Peter were playing Wizard’s Chess, which Sirius usually enjoyed watching when he wasn’t playing, but the girls were far more amusing.
Both were clearly drunk, and their discussion ranged from latest fashions (which Hermia clearly knew nothing about, something he found very endearing considering her propensity to study everything about everything) to Quidditch predictions (which had James quite distracted from his game, shouting out slurred pronouncements on how dire a chance Hufflepuff had this season).
“My tea is gone.” Lily announced petulantly.
“Forget the tea,” James called from across the room. “Drink some more Firewhiskey!” Lily giggled.
“It’s a shame that I hate Divination,” Hermia remarked as she took the empty teacup from her friend’s hand and stood up, unsteadily. Sirius wondered privately if she could even manage to reach the bottle, much less pour anything.
“Oh, you mean to read the leaves?” Lily snatched her cup back and looked into it with unfocused eyes.
Sirius put his feet up on the couch and stretched his arms behind his head lazily. He was suddenly very glad that he’d chosen not to play chess—this was definitely going to be a lot more fun.
oOoOoOoOo
Hermione admitted she was drunk. The sensation was far more interesting than she would have expected; everything she did had a heightened quality to it, as though she were observing herself through a Pensieve rather than experiencing it firsthand. She was glad that Lily had taken her teacup back; the second she stood up Hermione knew in complete certainty that she was far too intoxicated to walk anywhere. She settled back down and looked at her friend—Lily glowed from happiness and alcohol, her presents arrayed nearby, and again, Hermione felt a tang of guilt. She cast her mind around—as best she could—and had to admit that all she could offer the other girl was information, and even that was impossible.
“You could pretend,” Lily said, handing her the teacup. Hermione took it and stared blankly at her friend. “To read it, whatever it’s called,” Lily waved her hand airily as she dismissed the fact that she couldn’t remember the correct term. “The tea leaves.”
Hermione stared at the cup dumbly for a long moment, before a tiny spark of an idea started to push through the haze of her consciousness. The only gift she had was information…The more she thought about it, the more fun the idea appeared to her. She adopted a very dreamy, superior attitude, trying to channel the personality of Professor Trelawney—has she even made her prophecy yet? Hermione tried to think back (forward, you dolt!) to what year the prediction had been made, but all that came to her mind were her former professor’s wild hair and thick eyeglasses.
“Let me seeeee here!” Hermione said in a high-pitched voice that caused the chess players to take notice. “Ahh yes, dear,” she reached out and patted the floor beside Lily’s hand, blinking hard as the texture seemed different than she had expected. Hermione shook her head and continued her impression. “Your aura is pulsing! This cup tells me about a child!”
“Pssst!” Remus whispered, a deep laugh in his voice. “You’re not even looking at the cup.” Hermione tossed her head rebelliously.
“Her aura is that strong.” Her look defied him to object.
“I have an aura?” Lily sounded deeply impressed.
“Maybe you left your dragon on,” Sirius remarked, referring to the sparkling fire breath feature of Peter’s gift.
“You clearly have no gift,” Hermione scoffed, gazing deeply into the muddle of tea dregs in Lily’s cup. Privately, she thought that being drunk helped her in pretending to be Sybil Trelawney immensely. “Yes, yes—it’s right here,” Hermione pointed to the interior of the cup. “You have a very gifted son, you should be very proud!”
Hermione’s words and the true meaning of them began to work as a sobering influence, taking the giddy edge from her buzz and replacing it with a tinge of melancholy. She didn’t let it show, however, wanting desperately to say these forbidden things to her friends, and knowing the façade of drunkenness was the perfect camouflage.
“A son, eh?” Harry’s godfather said, shooting a sly look over his shoulder at James.
“Good job!” Peter reached out as if to clap his friend’s back, but James held up his hands quickly.
“Let’s not rush things,” he said, pointing at the chessboard to refocus Pettigrew’s attention.
“Don’t mind them, my dear—they don’t appreciate the Art of Divination,” Hermione said with irony that no one in the room could possibly appreciate. “Your son—he has your eyes, my dear,” Hermione said, hoping the choke in her voice could be construed as all part of the act. “He can fly exceedingly well—Quidditch Captain!”
“See,” Peter said.
“You’re in trouble, James—competition!” Sirius teased at the same time as Peter. Hermione turned to glare at the boys, and caught the broad grin that James was sending toward Lily. His girlfriend was blushing furiously, catching James’ expression and the meaning behind it. Hermione could see with perfect clarity that both of them were thinking that the future she was predicting wasn’t too bad, however crazy a manner in which the information was being presented.
“So,” Remus said in the dry tone that Hermione recognized as the one he used when he was about to drop an outrageous statement with no fanfare, “does that cup have a clue as to who the father is?”
Lily giggled as James roared with outrage, and Peter put his head down to shake with laughter. Lupin looked rather pleased with himself, even as Hermione looked around for her wand, desperately wanting to hex his shoes too tight or the arms of his chair into ferrets just to wipe the self-satisfied grin off of his face.
When she found it, however, all thoughts of hexing flew from her mind, and she didn’t even notice Lily rising to her feet and winding her way to where James and Peter were still playing chess, smacking Lupin sharply on the shoulder before he stood up to join her in watching the game. Her wand was sitting next to Sirius on the couch, and he was watching her intently, no trace of amusement left, just a steady warm regard. She felt drawn in by his gaze; the feeling of unreality began to fade as she moved across the floor to kneel beside the couch. Sirius leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and holding his hands out for hers.
Placing her hands in his felt like the most natural action in the world, as well as a sort of acknowledgement of something between them. She nodded, barely knowing why, and in response, Sirius drew her between his knees to embrace her.
With her head resting on his chest listening to the swift, strong beating of his heart, and his arms cradling her to him, it was the most difficult thing Hermione ever faced not to tell him she loved him.
oOoOoOoOo
Dear Hermione,
It was Lily’s birthday, today. Is it horrible for me to want to talk about Sirius when I should be relating the events of her party for posterity? Though, to be fair, I don’t believe I will ever forget that party, and someday I will probably want to bury my head in the sand and not face the emotions I’ve felt today…
I can’t help but wonder if the tragedy that happened in the past hasn’t somehow warped my appreciation of happiness. Harry felt it, too—looking at that scrapbook of his, and thinking about madness and despair and death and betrayal instead of looking at a picture of a wedding. Ohhh now I’m so angry I can barely write, and I don’t even know –what- I’m angry at. Situations? Voldemort? Fate? I don’t know.
I’ve broken the most solemn promise I’ve ever made to myself—but in my defense, I never understood the potency of love! I want to make another promise, and this one is even MORE important, but I can’t even be sure I can keep it…
I can’t tell him I love him.
I have to leave. He deserves so much, so much that I know he’ll never get, unless he fell in love in between graduation and Azkaban
—and the very thought boils my blood! How horrid is this, I’m half jealous (all right, more than half), but half of me is sitting here going ‘oh, how interesting, so THAT is what insane liver-gnawing jealousy feels like!’ I have got to be the most mental person in any time period.
What I’m trying to say is, some people deserve love. ALL people deserve love. People like Sirius especially—but he doesn’t deserve to have his heart broken, to spend the few free years he is going to get wondering where I’ve gone—
Oh, this is ridiculous, because now I’m all ‘he doesn’t love me, he can’t possibly’ but I KNOW him and I’ve seen it in his eyes and I don’t think I’ve ever been more frightened in my life or more happy and I’m afraid if I stop writing I’ll wake up and it will all have been a dream but I’m running out of ink.
Thank Merlin that this thing is going to be locked up and hidden away. They’ll cart me off to St. Mungo’s if they read this rubbish.
oOoOoOoOo
A few hours after lunch, Albus Dumbledore walked idly along the hallway on the seventh floor, having just come from the Gryffindor common room. He’d intended to wish the Head Girl a happy birthday, but she was not to be found in the library, the Quidditch Pitch, or the Gryffindor tower. He didn’t mind the exercise, he liked Miss Evans very much, and had been delighted to see that the rest of the faculty had agreed with himself and Minerva on her appointment as Head Girl.
The journey to the Gryffindor tower had been one he hadn’t experienced in quite a while, and as he turned to head back to his office, Dumbledore passed the odd tapestry chronicling the attempts of Barnabas the Barmy to teach trolls ballet. He thought he heard laughter, but dismissed it as coming from one of the paintings or echoes from the students in a nearby hallway. He almost changed his mind, almost turned to find out where it was originating from, and he stopped in his tracks, finding the impulse to be slightly out of character.
Albus decided that what he really needed was to have some good fun, the kind that engendered the sort of laughter that he could still faintly discern. He shrugged, wondering if it was time to take a trip down to the Three Broomsticks, just to see what Madam Rosmerta would say upon seeing him walk through the door. Dumbledore started along the all again, whistling merrily as he contemplated the possibility of a warm Butterbeer in the company of the denizens of Hogsmeade.
Behind the cheerfully walking figure of the Headmaster of Hogwarts, an ornate wooden door shimmered into existence across from the tapestry he was just standing in front of.
A/n: Streelers are a type of snail whose shells change color by the hour.
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Date: 2006-04-29 02:44 am (UTC)I loved how you worked in Hermione mentioning Harry. That is a woderful gift even if Lily might not realize it till much later. (I have full confidence that Lily will eventually figure everything out.)
Loved how wonderful Sirius is.
And Hermione writing in her diary... :bawls: So sweet, sad, and sort of hopeful.
I am starting to feel so sorry for Hermione. This is going to be so hard on her. I can't wait. :grins: I know that I'll love it no matter how you decide to take the story.
You are so awesome for putting this up. ffnet is really being evil!
*major squeeing*
I really loved this. :so happy:
from Serendipity-England
Date: 2006-04-29 02:13 pm (UTC)Re: from Serendipity-England
Date: 2006-04-29 03:23 pm (UTC)Tell me if this sounds good: The Pensieve: Archive your thoughts.
TSIK