Chapter 13: That Freezing, Stressful, Traumatic, Ridiculously Distressing, Happy Time Of Year
The snow is falling softly like the kind of Christmas card my mum circulates to every single person we know around this time of year. If I was a normal person, I would be out there frolicking like everybody else, but I’m so completely not normal that I am in here scribbling away at a ridiculously pointless essay for Defence Against the Dark Arts, outlining when it is and isn’t necessary to use curses rather than counter-curses “ and all the grey in between.
I have fifteen minutes to write another foot.
Why am I “ Lily Evans, homework extraordinaire “ doing this at the last possible minute? Blame Iola. And James. And Sirius. And Remus. And maybe Peter.
It’s all based around the annual “First Snow” House party Gryffindor throws around this time each year. It goes like this:
No matter what time it is, or what lesson we are in, everyone in Gryffindor becomes on the look out for the First Snow of the winter. It drives the teachers mad, because everyone is too busy studying the outdoors than studying which way their wand happens to be pointing. And then there are the sudden screeches of “It’s snowing!!” that happen every so often, although these are often false proclamations, to keep us on our toes.
And the minute that real, proper snow begins to fall, all hell breaks loose. Because that is the signal that there is going to be a party that night. And so everyone loses whatever interest they may have feigned in their studies, and begins planning all the details “ food, music, clothes, drinkies (the unconvincing codename for alcohol), and anything else that needs to be planned. And there is never anything any of the professors can do about it. McGonagall tries, and almost succeeds, but everyone still manages to do it anyway, just more discreetly.
Before my enlightenment, L.O.V.E (me included) always looked down our nose at this practise. Probably because, unsurprisingly, the Marauders are the key people behind the whole charade. We always purposefully ignored it, boycotting any talk of anything party or snow related. “The Perfects” were doing the same this year, it seems, but I had no choice but to join in. And I realised “ it is so much fun. The anticipation, the excitement, the constantly high vibe buzzing around, the way (almost) everyone becomes one in our quest for First Snow. People put bets on when we think it will happen, and people are always excited, always smiling. Unless you go for the boycott route that L.O.V.E always did, you are helpless against the First Snow bug.
And yesterday, it happened. The biggest, whitest flakes you’ve ever seen, which were very quickly building up on the ground. Luckily, we were in Charms at the time, giving us the ability to talk freely about our plans. Iola and I were put on decoration duty, Sirius and Peter were going to be in charge of the drinkies, James and Remus were given the job of sweet talking the House Elves into supplying food, and we were discussing who it would be best to employ to do the music “ eventually it was decided we could ask a couple of boys in the year below who had pulled that task off successfully last year.
The thing is, excited as I was, I had also been planning on writing my Defence essay last night. Now, there wasn’t a hope in the world. The rest of the day would be taken up planning, decorating, and partying. To drop out of any of these things for homework would be like signing my own death warrant. So I put it to the back of my mind, and joined my friends “ my real, wonderful friends “ in the First Snow fever.
It was all worth it, too. Everybody had an amazing time, we all ate, danced and laughed to much avail. Iola and I avoided most of the stronger drinkies, preferring to stick to pumpkin juice and butterbeer, but the Marauders all had their respectable amount “ even Remus, who I never had down for much of a drinker. But James laughed when I pointed this out, and said that “Moony-Moony Two Shoes” gives himself one night off a year from being righteous.
All four each woke up with “the worst hangover I’ve ever had, ever”, although Iola tells me that this is the case for every hangover they get. All the same, I felt too guilty to ignore them in the morning in favour of my Defence essay, so instead I supported them through their time of trouble (Madam Pomfrey refusing to help them) and put the essay to the back of my mind once again.
It was only when lunchtime rolled around that my conscience finally convinced me to depart for the Library “ very nastily, of course.
And so, here I am. Iola came and joined me, for some peace and quiet, and to finish her own essay (she started it a few nights ago while James and I were on patrol “ how James is going to get out of it, I have no idea).
Time is running thin. I will have to do my own pet hate, and enlarge my writing so that I can make the conclusion fit. I write the final sentence with a conveniently large flourish, and begin rolling up the parchment.
“Wow, Lily, that’s low,” Iola says, grabbing the essay before I can stuff it into my bag. She laughs as I make a grab to retrieve it. “Making your writing obviously big “ I didn’t think you had it in you.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever, carry it for me if you really want to. We’re going to be late, we’ll have to run, so if you’re offering one less thing for me to carry, then “”
“All right, all right, have your ridiculous essay,” she laughs, thrusting it back at me. I smile triumphantly, but we are then thrown out by Madam Pince for being too loud, and I have no time to argue my case of defence. We run to Defence Against the Dark Arts, giggling like twelve year olds all the way.
As you can undoubtedly see, since the two months that have passed since the deaths of the Mr Potters, things have restored themselves to normality. Although I occasionally catch Iola sobbing on her own, and there’s been an increase in depressing poetry being written and stuck on her bedposts lately. And sometimes James will have a sudden fit of anger that will last all of about five minutes, or he’ll brood on his own for an evening. But mostly everyone is getting on with their lives as they did before “ there’s no time to grieve any more, and it seems pointless when half of the school is in the same boat.
Anyway, James just so happens not to attend this particular Defence lesson. The rest of the Marauders insist to Professor Von Fry that he was called away on family duties because his hamster got sick. He’s a new teacher this year, but I doubt poor Professor Von Fry will make it for a second year of teaching. His nervous disposition has gotten worse ever since he met the Marauders in September, so by July I predict he will have to be carted out in a straight jacket, sobbing that no one will “hush” for him any more (he yells “Hush, children!” at us at least five times a lesson, you see, but not to much effect).
The last few lessons of the day go by smoothly enough, considering it is the last day of term. Did I not mention that? Well, it is. That’s probably why the First Snow party was so enthusiastically carried out last night. As well as being our last ever, it almost didn’t happen “ we were worried everyone would go home before a flake descended, so that made it all the more enjoyable.
We do a survey of the Common Room in the evening, finding out how many people are staying for the holidays. Sirius and Iola stay every year anyway, and Remus and Peter decided they wanted to this year as well. It was unsure whether or not James would go home to his poor grieving mother, but she owled to say that she was spending the holiday at her sister’s, so he could stay here if he wanted to, as she appreciated that it may not be his idea of fun away from his friends. Not wanting to miss anything exciting, I decided to stay as well. After all, I would only have to endure Petunia and Dursley if I went home, and it’s a little more than I could handle.
Around five others from various years turn out to be staying as well. L.O.V.E don’t bother even answering our survey, but we knew they weren’t staying anyway “ we are only asking to see whether they’d bother acknowledging our presence. Iola and I have had to put up with all their plans for the holiday away from “this dump” every single night this week.
Apparently, Eve is going to a different party every night (somehow I doubt this is true, as I happen to know she lives in the sleepiest town in the world, and she will undoubtedly spend her time wishing she was somewhere else). Valerie is going to Christmas Eve and New Year’s parties with her brothers, and practising Quidditch the rest of the time. She also plans on going on three mile runs across countryside every day. I am less sure of Ophelia’s plans, but as far as I can tell, she will be hearing all about her sister’s perfect life, and feeling sorry for herself.
I’d rather be at Hogwarts with the Marauders and Iola any day “ none of these plans sound riveting to me, although L.O.V.E have been making out that it will be Fortnight Of The Century.
“So what are our plans, now we know how many people there’ll be?” asks Peter, as we settle down in our usual armchairs by the roaring fire. No one moves.
Remus thoughtfully says, “Perhaps we could do something about House unity. That second year was the only one staying in his year, and the same for that fourth year girl. No one deserves to be alone on Christmas, right? We’re all Gryffindors together, right? We should do something nice for them. Right?”
“I’m up for that,” I say, nodding enthusiastically. Who wants to be lonely at Christmas? I imagine spending my time with Petunia parading up and down wearing salmon coloured dresses, and listening to Mum fuss, Dursley drone (as he would be invited along most days, I’m sure) and Petunia twitter. I shudder.
“Sure,” James agrees, and I come back to sweet, sweet reality. “A bit of team spirit never hurt anybody. What should we do?”
“Party!” Sirius cries, in a high girly voice, clapping his hands together.
“Well, obviously,” says Iola, “but what else?”
“Else?” asks Peter, grinning, and we laugh.
“Well, we should organise a big inter-house snowball fight. And an inter-gender snowball fight. And an inter-age snowball fight. And a free for all snowball fight,” James suggests, and we all nod.
“Hang on,” says Remus. “Isn’t inter-age a little unfair?”
“No,” James reasons. “Not if it’s the seventh years against the rest of the ENTIRE school. Those midgets are small, but they’re vicious.”
“Oh, all right. What else do you think?” asks Remus.
“Party!” Sirius squeals again, jumping up and down on his seat.
“Well, obviously there’ll be a party every chance we get,” Iola says, to stop Sirius’s high pitched shrieking with joy. “But we’ll have to do more than just party and attack each other with snowballs.”
“Why?” asks Peter. “What else is there to do?”
I consider the question along with everybody else. “Have a snowman competition?” I suggest. “Making them as creative as possible?”
“I like your style,” James says, pensively. “Yes, indeed.”
“And then can we have a party?” Sirius asks, and James throws one of the cushions from the armchairs at him.
And so, that really is how we spend our time over the holidays “ for the first few days, at least. I don’t remember ever having this much fun before “ we manage to win the inter-house snowball fights with our surprising wit and agility (as Sirius calls it). And the inter-house snowman competition. And the inter-house sledge race. And the inter-house snow angel competition. And the inter-house igloo competition. And every other inter-house event that we take it upon ourselves to plan. And even if we didn’t win everything (although we do) we’re still perfectly capable of having fun ourselves.
By the time Christmas rolls around, there is so much Gryffindor House unity that I find myself sneaking out to Hogsmeade with Iola a couple of days before the big day to buy small gifts for all the other Gryffindors we’ve got to know so well. We make the Marauders chip in as well, and write “With love from the Gryffindor Seventh Years (the good ones, that is)” on the tags. My heart is swelling at my own generosity.
We wake up on Christmas morning in the Common Room rather than our beds, after an impromptu Christmas Eve sleepover. It is first year Jimmy Higgins who wakes us up, by singing an enthusiastic rendition of Winter Wonderland, in a loud, piercing voice, that reminds me much of Petunia’s, which is strange seeing as how he is an eleven year old boy.
We all do the usual present opening bit, and I am reasonably pleased with my haul this year “ although my darling sister’s plastic yellow ring looks like she got it free from a girl’s magazine. However, I notice a certain lack of a gift from Iola, which makes me uneasy. Especially since I spent hours searching for something for her (I eventually settled on a book of illustrated poetry by witches through the centuries, since creating her own is a favourite pastime). I mean, I even get something from Peter, from Remus “ the two Marauders who, though I like them, I know least. Stop complaining, Lily, you could be with L.O.V.E right now! Think of what you escaped, and be thankful for that! Good point.
Us Gryffindor brood head downstairs to Breakfast, where I receive a Merry Christmas card from my parents, which only makes me feel mildly guilty. We have the usual Christmas morning merriment, and Dumbledore makes a very empowering speech for so early in the morning. Not even McGonagall can bring herself to frown at the sight she beholds “ her own House having fun together, despite the wide spread of ages, perfectly at ease, and perfectly united. Not even Hufflepuff look this happy. It’s nice to be able to forget the world outside for a while, and we vow not to read a newspaper all day, for fear it will dampen the mood.
When breakfast is over, Iola drags me away from our comrades, saying, “Come on, Lils, we’ve more important things to do.”
“Like what?” I ask, utterly confused. What could be more important that spending Christmas with our friends? Certainly nothing I can think of right now.
“It’s time for your present,” she says. Oh. Well, obviously that’s just as important too.
Although, as we begin to leave the castle, I begin to get a little unsure. “Hey, Iola, where exactly are we going?”
“That would be telling,” she says, smirking in an annoyingly smug manner.
“Well, yes, it would, but that’s no reason not to,” I reply, but know it will get me nowhere. I hate having to wait for things when I don’t know what they are. For all I know, we could be headed to an “I Love Spam” convention, and I will be expected to be thrilled. I just can’t take this kind of suspense in my life! But then we reach the forest, and Iola shows no inclination that she is planning on stopping any time soon.
When I demand to know where we are headed, she says nothing. Of course.
“Look, it’s not that I’m not thrilled we are heading to the forest, but “ well. Okay, it is that I’m not thrilled we are heading into the forest. Do you not remember my track record with this place? Do you not remember how when I ventured in here last year, I met my worst fear and nearly died?” I cry, desperately, grabbing her arm and forcing her to halt for a moment.
Her eyes sparkle. “Exactly,” she says. And then pauses, and adds, “Except for the part about you nearly dying, that’s not true. That’s you being melodramatic.”
“I’m not melodramatic!” I protest. She raises an eyebrow at my outburst, and then turns round and continues walking. I have no choice but to follow “ there’s no way I’m heading back on my own.
Eventually, we reach a clearing.
I let out a vulgar word of Anglo-Saxon origins, and turn to leave.
Iola grabs my arm to stop me, much as I did to her, earlier. “Don’t be so pathetic, Lily, just hear me out, will you?”
“No.”
“Oh, come on! This is your chance to get over your biggest fear! You could be horse riding again on your childhood friend Trix by tomorrow! You wouldn’t have to be so afraid any more!”
I turn, and snap, “We gave Trix away to another family, and she died three years after! I don’t want to go horse riding again! The thought makes me want to kill myself! The thought of you suggesting it makes me want to kill you! Haven’t you ever heard of the phrase “Don’t meddle in things you don’t understand”? Don’t you realise that it will take more than some quality time with a wussy centaur called Hallead to fix this? Don’t you understand any of that?”
Said wussy centaur called Hallead steps in, and says, “Excuse me, Miss, but may I remind you that horses and centaurs are completely different “”
“Shut up, you said you owed me a favour and part of the deal was that you would help me help my friend get over her fears, no matter what it took. Well, it won’t take unnecessary comments like that, all right?” Iola hisses at him, and he shrugs. She turns desperately to me. “Lily, please. You didn’t want me leaving things unsaid with my Dad, and so you went behind my back and sent that letter. Well maybe I don’t want you spending your life afraid of something that you don’t need to be afraid of, so I’ve gone behind your back, and arranged for Hallead here to try and help you. Will you give him a chance, already?”
I am shocked. How dare she? “You can’t put what I did in the same boat as what you’re doing! If I hadn’t done that, you would never have known that your father still loved you before he died! All you’re doing is stirring up really bad stuff that is better left alone! It’s completely different!”
We are both yelling at this point. “No it’s not! No, Lily, it’s not. Because what you did, in a roundabout way, helped me. And what I’m doing, in a roundabout way, is helping you. So yes “ they’re different situations, but they are in ‘the same boat’, as you called it. Now would you stop being so pedantic, and just do this for me?”
I give in, if only on the grounds that “pedantic” is a pretty swish word, if you know what I mean. The sort of word you pronounce with pride. Instead of saying this, which would have made me look more than a little weird, I say, “Fine.” And then cross my arms defensively.
“Good. And I’ll be right here, okay?” she says, calming down considerably.
“All right, fine!” I say snappily. Hallead gulps.
“Are you sure you want to do this now?” he asks, eyeing us feisty teenage girls a little warily “ he’s the Flitwick of the Centaur world, it seems, and I doubt he relishes the idea of helping an overly emotional teenager get over her fears. But Iola gives him a very commanding look, and he holds up his palms reluctantly. “Okay, fine. Where do you want to start?”
“How about with the fact that she finds the very thought of horses terrifying? That is, after all, why we’re here,” Iola points out.
“All right, so what is it about “ um, creatures of an equine nature that makes you so uneasy?” he asks, and I note that he avoids the word “horses” at all costs.
“Everything,” I say. Can I just note, that him being here is making my heart beat faster, my breath quicken, and my forehead prickle with sweat, even though I am perfectly aware that he is harmless? Iola’s right. It’s not healthy. “Mostly ... mostly the noise they make,” I say, sighing.
“Oh. Neighing? I’m afraid that I’m not very good at that sort of thing ... I’m only equine on the bottom half, you know,” he says, thoughtfully.
I shake my head. “No. Not neighing. The hooves ... on the ground ... they take me straight back to Trix running away after I fell, leaving me there. I can’t stand it.”
No one says anything for a moment. “Well, you know how to defeat Boggarts don’t you?” Iola asks, eventually.
“Sure,” I say, frowning, “Laughter.”
“Well,” says Iola excitedly, the way you do when you get a great idea, “Well Boggarts are basically just fear. If the same concept is applied ... you need to be able to laugh at it.”
“Laugh at trotting noises? How am I supposed to do that?” I ask, forgetting my fear for a moment as I think. It’s then that I realise how much I want to get over this ... and if Iola’s plan works ... Merlin. It would make my year “ and it’s been a pretty eventful year, too.
She leans up towards Hallead and whispers something I do not hear. He cringes, begins to protest, but then she mentions that he promised to help, and he sighs reluctantly.
And begins to sing and tap dance.
At first the hoof noises almost make me hyperventilate, but then I realise how ridiculous he looks singing a fast, energetic song about goblins, and tap dancing badly along with it, his legs flying everywhere and making him look completely ludicrous.
Iola laughs, and he begins to as well, a nervous chuckle. And then, despite my instincts telling me to turn and flee, or possibly faint outright, I also begin to chuckle. I’ve never seen anything quite so ridiculous looking in my whole life. And it’s as if a weight is lifted straight off my shoulders.
We leave the forest an hour later, our sides aching, and our minds full of memories of Hallead making a fool of himself with various tap dance routines “ quite a sight, I can assure you. And then his parting words, which really got through to me. “Thank you for a lovely time, Miss Lily,” he told me, smiling. “I hope I’ve helped you, because, surprisingly, you’ve helped me, too. I know I can be a cowardly centaur, but today you made me forget that. Do come and visit me sometime “ I’ve never really felt like I am truly part of the herd, it would be nice to make contacts outside the forest “ yes, you must come and visit me sometime.” He said all this with a wistful, far away expression on his face. And then, much to my alarm, he reached down and hugged me.
I need to thank Iola. The Christmas presents from L.O.V.E were always perfumes, make up, or jewellery, and I never wore any of it. But what Iola did for me ... well. The thought of “equines” doesn’t make me want to faint or be sick any more, because when I think of them, I think of my new friend, and how much fun we had just now. I need to thank her, really, but things like that are so hard to say ... especially when I wasn’t exactly in support of her decision earlier. Just say it, Lily, before we reach the castle, before we get caught up in other things! She deserves to know that you truly appreciate it, just say it now before you get distracted, and then “
A snowball hits me on the back of the head, and I hear the Ravenclaw war cry. James tears past asking where we’ve been, but we don’t have time to reply, we just duck down and begin scooping snow into a sphere. As Iola jumps up, hits the Ravenclaw culprit with alarming accuracy, and lets out the Gryffindor war cry, I realise that I’ll have to thank her later, in the Dorm, before we go to sleep. But it can wait. Because right now there’s a ferret-like first year Slytherin hiding behind a tree, just waiting for me to turn round so he can get the back of my head, and I need to find a way to outsmart him “ I’m not losing a snow-duel with a first year Slytherin, not unless I want to spend the rest of the day being mercilessly ridiculed by the bunch of oddballs I call my friends.
But you know what? It’s becoming increasingly clear that these oddballs are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, as cheesy as it sounds, and I wouldn’t swap any of them for all the gold in Gringotts.
No time for sentiments, Lily “ just pelt the little weasel!
AN: Hooray! As you may (or may not) have noticed, the end is within sight. All this happiness is a dead giveaway, is it not? But don’t worry “ there are a couple of bumps to keep you entertained before we finish up. And also as you may (or may not) have noticed, the Centaur Hallead is the same one from chapter two! The one who was being bullied by that nasty one, I mean. Please review, I’ll love you for it! Also, I have a new fic-related Live Journal, the link is in my author’s bio ... check it out, if you have a spare five minutes! =D