The ninth installment of
A Sackful of Holiday Horsefeathers
is grudgingly presented by:
The Malfoy Family
We now interrupt this programming with a visit to Malfoy Manor. Why? Because we can. We are the ubiquitous, omniscient forces at work behind this story. And since we are about to enter the home of a very important villain, the editors apologize ahead of time for any sadistic, capitalistic, or otherwise derogatory situation which may offend the reader.
Narcissa Malfoy was in the study attending to her correspondence. Her husband Lucius entered the room and lightly kissed the top of her head.
"Hello, darling," crooned Narcissa.
"Hello, my dear," said Lucius. "What are you writing?"
"A letter to Draco. I want him to come home," said Narcissa. "He must be so lonely over there, with none of his Slytherin friends. I think I'll tempt him with a batch of anise flavored biscuits, with glazing on the top."
"That sounds delicious. I want some," said Lucius. His wife was an excellent baker. She had a sweet tooth and enjoyed baking rich, sugary desserts--leaving all the regular cooking to the house-elves.
"Perhaps," murmured Narcissa, signing her name with a flourish.
"We're having a Death Eater meeting in the drawing room this evening," said Lucius. "It would've pleased me to have Draco with us."
"He always listens in. What difference does one meeting make?"
"We're currently planning our next recruitment strategy," said Lucius, trying to stress the importance of this measure.
Narcissa waved a hand. "You silly men, with your silly secret clubs. The problem with recruitment is that you keep everything male-dominated. I know lots of girls who would love to become Death Eaters, but you won't allow them to."
"Like who?"
"Like me," said Narcissa.
Lucius told her for the umpteenth time, "Narcissa, I know you're very ambitious. But I don't think women should be allowed to become Death Eaters anymore. Just look at what happened to your poor sister Bellatrix. Do you want to end up like her, locked up in prison for the rest of your life? You help out in your own way, and you're much safer because of it."
Narcissa sighed. "I know. But what about unmarried women? You would have a larger pool of people to choose from if you allowed them to apply; you'd get the cream of the crop."
"Some women can't be trusted. You know how they like to gossip," said Lucius.
"You silly men," repeated Narcissa. "I bet you all just sit around and drink beer and complain about nonsense, and watch Quidditch matches on the Spell-Binder."
Lucius gave a start. Was she spying on them?
Narcissa continued, "I'm going to start a club, too. It's going to be an all-female club."
"Is that so?" said her husband.
Narcissa smiled. She said perkily, "Yes. I'll think of an original name for it. None of this 'eating dead stuff' business. We could be the Singing Sirens. Or the Association of Secular Sisters."
"Um, darling? Don't yell at me, but that spells 'ass,'" Lucius informed her.
"Oh," Narcissa tossed her head, thinking up a new name. "Just add another 'S' to the beginning and make it SASS. The Secret Association of Secular Sisters. It has a nice ring to it," she said proudly.
"It has a lot of alliteration; I'll say that for it," said Lucius.
"I'm glad you like it." She grinned. "When I finally have my SASS club, we're going to do some major evil, you mark my words. Evil with a capital E."
Narcissa stood up and pushed her chair in. Her letter to Draco was finished, and she was about to mail it. Entwining her fingers with her husband's, Narcissa locked eyes with Lucius and played the part of the innocent lamb. She was quite good at this role by now, and Lucius had no objections. She then stood on the tips of her toes and gave him a soft kiss on the lips.
***
Snape had trouble falling asleep that night. He punched his pillow to fluff it up. He'd tried reading one of his well-worn mystery novels, but it had failed to make him sleepy. The dogeared copy of What Mrs. McGillicuddy Saw was now lying on the dusty floor, and there was a blank space in his bookcase where the Agatha Christies were kept. The remaining novels seemed to be pining away for the missing volume that Snape had tossed so carelessly onto the ground. But that must be in his imagination, for books didn't see or feel. They simply existed for his literary pleasure.
Hmmm. He knew that he should get some sleep when crazy thoughts such as these kept entertaining him.
'Damn it,' he thought. He began talking to himself. "Stupid werewolf has to come back here and take away my woman. Okay, so she was never my woman. But she was single! Damn that Lupin!"
***
Remus Lupin awoke with a start. Minerva's arm was draped across his chest, and they were lying in bed. It was warm in her chambers, but not too warm. What had caused his sleep to be so rudely interrupted? Was it a dream? Remus tried to remember. No, he had no idea what he'd been dreaming just moments before, but he was sure it hadn't been anything nightmarish.
Minerva's low, gentle snoring was reassuring to him, and he let his body relax once more.
He was glad Minerva didn't think of him as an outsider. She seemed to forget that he was a werewolf. Most people in the wizarding world avoided him once they learned the truth. They were unsympathetic, afraid, and ignorant. He didn't fully understand this as a young boy; he only knew that he was being singled out. And he couldn't imagine much else that was more wretched for a child to endure.
Remus finally gave up trying to find a life in the magical world after he resigned from Hogwarts. It was too hard to blend in--especially after the anti-werewolf legislation that came about within the last couple years. He soon discovered that Muggles didn't care if he missed a couple days of work a month. Oh, sure, they were none too pleased about it, but at least they didn't suspect him of being a monster with sharp teeth and an insatiable appetite for human flesh.
But, perhaps he could work here at Hogwarts again... Remus' heart leapt at the prospect. If only--if only... He was content with his current job, but he longed to be back among his own kind and free to use his natural born talents. And he wanted to be with Minerva. Not just on the weekends or holidays, but every day. She was one of the few people he'd ever shared an instant rapport with. He didn't know if he would ever find that again.
And yet a part of him remained insecure around her, and perhaps always would. Minerva's first husband had been a cultured Frenchman, and compared to him Remus was merely a foolish boy, lacking in all sophistication. What could Minerva possibly see in him?
He chastised himself for this self-deprecating line of thought. It was just like him to spoil a good thing with overthinking. He took a pause to look upon Minerva as she lay beside him deep in slumber, and it calmed him. Such a lovely woman--a handsome woman even. And with a sharp wit to boot.
'I wonder what will happen,' he thought. Remus had developed a certain kind of optimism over the years. He bore whatever life gave him. He toughed it out because he knew from experience that good things always follow the bad, and he didn't want to miss any of those good things.
***
Minerva had a dream that night, a secret dream that she told no one about. It was of her husband Jules, now long gone from this world and hopefully at peace.
She was aware that Remus was with her, and they were in a room somewhere in a large house. It was an unfamiliar place, as in most of her dreams, yet filled with just a few vestiges of the waking world. At one point her husband Jules appeared upon the dreamscape. She tried to run away and hide, out of guilt, but Jules followed her. He reached out a hand and pulled her up from where she was cowering in a corner. He kissed her and told her not to be ashamed--not to hide from him because she was with another man. And so he held her while Remus looked on. Yet no one was jealous, and Jules faded away, as things do in dreams.
If Minerva were a religious or sentimental sort, she'd see the dream as a message from her late husband telling her to go on with life and follow her heart's desire. But Minerva had never been very religious. She did not know if there was such a thing as an afterlife, and she reasoned that it was impossible to know such things. Still, it was comforting, this idea of a message from beyond--even if it was only a creation of her own mind.
INTERMISSON
While the reader takes a break to get a bite to eat and use the bathroom, or the toilet if you are British, an orchestra begins playing and we are transported to a radiant, tropical land surrounded by a sea of blue. A mysterious voice begins singing the lyrics from an old musical (which we cannot recite here for fear of breaking copyright laws) and we sit in rapt attention as visions of mystical islands appear before our mind’s eye.
The music fades away, and the setting sun slips beneath the waves far out on the horizon. As the clouds take on a warm reddish hue, we slowly return to our senses and realize that nobody randomly bursts out into song in real life, but it sure is fun in musicals. The reader finds his or her place in the manuscript and continues to read.
***
The next morning was quite beautiful. It was sunny, and the clouds were gone, and there was a freshness in the air that no one had felt in a long time.
Hermione was pondering her strange relationship with Draco Malfoy as she stood at the sink in the girls' bathroom.
'Are we really oil and water, as Professor McGonagall said?' Hermione thought to herself as she wiped away the layer of steam that covered the mirror.
'But maybe it could work--just maybe... Oh, no, it wouldn't work at all. But what if it could?' Hermione stared at her reflection, trying to arrange her fluffy hair into an elegant frame for her face.
If only love were like Arithmancy, with a definite set of formulas and a definite answer. And a foolproof process for arriving at that answer. Yes. If only love could be more structured, and one could derive the correct set of actions from the square root of A and the logarithm of B!
'But that would take all the fun out of it,' thought the girl. 'If only I could be less structured, and more like Ron and Harry! They don't seem to think about things too much. Just go with the flow of things--like a speck of foam upon the ocean. Maybe it could work...'
She quickly brushed her teeth and then began daydreaming about a future encounter with Draco, acting it out with subtle body language in front of the mirror.
"Hello, Draco," she said in her sultriest voice, with an instinctive lift of her eyebrow. 'Oh, wow! That looks good!' she thought.
"So, did you sleep well last night?" she asked her Imaginary Draco.
"How could I, with you keeping me up all night long, my little fireball?" she said in a deeper voice, glaring provocatively at her reflection.
Just then, the door to the bathroom opened, and someone else walked in.
"Oh, hi--Ginny!" exclaimed a startled Hermione. Ginny must think she's crazy now, smiling and talking to herself in front of a mirror!
"Good morning, Mionny," said Ginny, who had noticed absolutely nothing.
"It's such a beautiful day," said Hermione brightly, trying to sound as perky as could be. "I was just brushing my teeth."
Ginny said, "Oh," and headed straight for a stall. Hermione gathered her belongings and quickly made her exit.
She was now standing in the middle of the girls' dormitory. She tossed her grooming supplies onto the bed, rushed over to her wardrobe, and threw the doors open. Her critical eyes darted back and forth, examining the selection of clothes before her. What to wear, what to wear? It mattered more today than ever, since she now wanted to impress Draco. She must look fetching, but not as if she were trying to look fetching. She must be natural. But not as if she were trying to be natural. She must simply be.
After much consideration, Hermione finally picked out an outfit and got dressed.
She had a brief panic attack just then and wondered, 'Why in the world am I lusting after Draco Malfoy? His family alone is reason enough to stay away from him! His father is a bastard--no, that's not a bad enough word for him. He is a cruel, cold hearted monster. And his mother is just as bad, if not worse! And Draco is the direct result of their unchecked breeding!'
Then she remembered. Draco had apologized for everything he'd ever said or done to her. It had been a heartfelt apology, and Hermione had forgiven him. The simple act of forgiveness was not beyond Hermione. She did not carry grudges as some people did--like badges of war. She was above all that. And she could not truly bring herself to judge anyone based upon the sins of their family. Draco was his own person, and as such he was able to make his own decisions independent of his mother and father, she told herself.
And the fact that she was lusting after Draco now--why, she deserved to let loose once in a while! She had focused all her energies on academia, helping the less fortunate, and resolving arguments between Ron and Harry. Why, it was time for her desires to be gratified for a change!
And Hermione could think of nothing that could gratify them better than another encounter with Draco Malfoy. There was something deep inside of her that was awakened when he kissed her for the first time. She longed to experience that feeling again--that blessed peace of mind in which everything seemed all right. She must feel that again! She had never felt it with anybody else except for Draco, which was strange truth be told. Nevertheless, it had to mean something! Feelings did not arise in one's soul unless they had a purpose!
Hermione was hoping to make it all the way to the dining hall without running into Harry and Ron, but alas, she encountered the duo in the Gryffindor common room. It was almost as if they were waiting for her. Didn't they have anything else to do with their time?
Harry and Ron saluted her with an enthusiastic "Good morning."
"Hi, Ron. Hi, Harry," Hermione replied with a touch of annoyance.
"Are you still fraternizing with the enemy?" inquired Ron.
"What? What do you mean? Oh, you're talking about Draco," said Hermione.
"How did you guess?"
"Who else would you be talking about? And no, I'm not in love with him."
Harry said, "Well, that's good."
Ron asked, "Are you in like with him?"
Hermione said, "As silly as that question is, I fear I will have to answer it for you. No, I am not in like with Draco Malfoy. He's a silly little boy. I've seen the error of my ways. No longer will I go for moonlit walks at night with him."
Ron started. "What? I can't believe you did that! You could've been killed!"
Hermione lifted her eyes heavenward. Her face took on a more angelic hue as she spoke, "But I wasn't killed. I was spared from that dreadful, dreadful fate. And now I shall spend the rest of my days warning other girls to stay away from dastardly men."
Harry said, "You don't have to be sarcastic."
"Oh, no. I'm not. I've just been reading too many novels. I pick up on the speech patterns after a while."
Ron and Harry nodded. It was true; after reading a new book, Hermione was known to use many new and multi-syllabic words. Oftentimes the boys would simply nod and smile instead of asking her what a word meant. It was easier that way.
***
Once everyone had gathered for the morning meal, Dumbledore announced that today they would have a special treat: lunch in the village of Hogsmeade at the Three Broomsticks Inn. First and second year students would be included in the fun as well. "This excursion will also afford you the chance to pick out that last minute Secret Santa gift," he advised. "You will be chaperoned by Deputy Headmistress McGonagall and Master Lupin."
McGonagall and Lupin looked up in surprise as their names were called out. 'There goes my peaceful afternoon,' McGonagall thought dismally.
As was the custom on Sunday mornings, breakfast was served buffet style in the Hogwarts dining hall. The foodstuffs were laid out on a long narrow table, and everybody lined up to fill their plates. There were buttery croissants and blueberry muffins, milk, pumpkin juice, tea and coffee, French toast, bacon, ham, and muffins with marmalade jam. There were also danishes, smoked salmon, cream cheese and bagels, and a box of Lucky Charms cereal.
One by one, the diners left the buffet table, their plates holding more than their stomachs could possibly contain, except perhaps for Hagrid. Hermione was still in line, and she was looking forward to one of those delicious cream cheese pastries--they were her favorite food on Sundays. She looked over Draco's shoulder to see how many were left.
Remaining on the platter were two lonely danishes, surrounded by the crumbs of those who had gone before them.
Hagrid snatched one up, and not a second later, Draco had the other in his palm.
"Oh, dear," murmured Hermione to Ginny. "All the cheese danishes are gone."
Ginny patted her on the back and said, "Oh, you poor thing."
"Here, Hermione. You can have mine," said Draco as he laid the pastry on her dish.
Hermione glanced up at him and blushed in surprise. "Thank you."
"No problem," said Draco with a shrug.
After the boy had left the buffet table, Ginny whispered to Hermione, "He likes you. I can tell, he really likes you."
Hermione smiled shyly.
Ginny said, "For a Malfoy to give up the last cheese danish--that's more than friendship, Hermione. You should ask him out."
Hermione exclaimed in a hushed whisper, "I couldn't possibly!"
Nodding her head, Ginny said matter-of-factly, "You're right. It's better just to play hard-to-get right now."
"Did you hear that, Ron?" whispered Harry, who had only caught a fraction of the girls' conversation. "Hermione's playing hard-to-get. That's what Ginny said."
"Is that why she's been so distant lately?" Ron wondered aloud.
"Could be," whispered Harry.
"It must be," replied Ron. "That's why she's been acting so strangely--she's ignoring me on purpose because she wants me to ask her out!"
***
Now completely stuffed, all eleven students were seated cross legged on the floor with their eyes closed and hands resting upon their knees. Remus Lupin told them this was Mook Sahang, or meditation. "It can also help you with your wizarding courses," he said. The fourth degree black belt and former Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher was sitting before the students in a mirror image of their monk-like pose.
McGonagall refused to be part of this 'Mook Sahang.' She stood quietly off to the side and tried not to laugh at the sight of a meditating Draco Malfoy.
Lupin instructed them, "Take long, deep breaths, and remember to keep your spine straight. Don't puff out your chest; breathe in from your abdomen. You should feel your diaphragm expanding with air. Focus on your breathing and clear your mind-"
Hermione raised her hand and said, "Um, Professor Lupin? How can we fill our diaphragm with air when it's below our lungs?"
Lupin sighed. "I don't know, but it works. Just trust me on this. Now close your eyes again and meditate. Your breathing should be deep and rhythmic."
The students did so, and the strange breathing made them feel lightheaded, yet calm at the same time. Even Hermione was more relaxed. Draco, on the other hand, didn't notice much of a difference, probably because of the larghe vedute serum he took that morning.
Afterwards came the stretching. Luckily, wizard's clothing is loose and flowing, and the students were able to move freely. That is to say, they would have been able to move freely if they had been more flexible. As it turned out, Ginny was the only one who could touch her fingers to her toes.
Lupin leapt to his feet and said, "Okay, everyone up!"
"Are we doing self-defence?" asked Marvin.
"We'll get to that," said Lupin. "But first, I'm going to cover all the basics, including the things that we don't tell our own students. For example, when they pay for their trial lessons and get their free uniforms, and after we've convinced them that they have such marvelous potential, we get them to sign a one-year contract and completely forget to tell them about the extra fees--like belt testing and sparring gear.
"But you don't have to worry about that. You go to Hogwarts. A fine academy. Although, I'm not too sure about your present Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. She could be replaced. Just my own opinion, you know." He gave a smirk, and then got back on course. "But before we start our lesson, we need to get our blood pumping and wake you people up. You all look like you just rolled out of bed."
And with that, Lupin made them do forty jumping jacks, twenty front rising kicks--ten on each side, twenty crescent kicks, and ten push-ups.
The students were exhausted after this warm up, so Lupin gave them permission to take a five-minute water break.
"Only five minutes?" Jessup lamented.
"Five minutes is very generous for a water break," Lupin said firmly, and Jessup hurried off to reserve his place in line at the water fountain.
And once again that day, the students found themselves waiting in a queue. They passed the time by gossiping.
Hermione said to Harry and Ron, "You know what? McGonagall looks happier lately."
"Yeah," said Harry. "I think it's because of Lupin."
"Yeah. Definitely Lupin," said Ron, his voice filled with meaning.
After a moment's confusion, it finally dawned on her what he meant. "Oh!" she exclaimed, suddenly coming to a realization about the teachers' relationship. "Hey... wouldn't it be nice if there was a way for him to teach here again?"
"And have a decent Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor?" said Harry. "Not a bad idea…"
"And it would make McGonagall so happy," said Hermione.
"Not to mention Lupin," said Ron. "Poor bloke. He needs a woman."
"That's what I'm talking about. We've got to find a way for Lupin to come back next year--and teach!" said Hermione quietly so the professors wouldn't hear them. She was loud enough, however, to be overheard by Draco Malfoy. He continued listening with interest.
...to be continued