More Hogwarts, and minor whining
Nov. 19th, 2007 11:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
unforthMy feet are cold. This is certainly because its 65 degrees in my apartment. I was colder earlier, so I guess I should be happy. In other news, I'm continuing looking at apartments, I got a lot of work done, and generally I've had a productive day. Then, my internet went down, so I wrote a whole bunch more, cause I felt like it. So here's a whole lot more Hogwarts. ;)
The next day, after breakfast, saw me arriving at the Quidditch pitch. The day was clear and cold, the sort of perfect fall day that one sees only a few times in the year, and the rarer for how late in the season it was. I had bundled up, in my thick woolen winter robes, my blue and gray scarf, and gloves, and I carried my broom casually, enjoying the chill of the wind in comparison to the warmth of my breath against the scarf, enjoying the small delay that walking gave to what I had to do. Marcus had arrived before me – not surprising, since I had seen him leave breakfast before I did – and he greeted me with a smile that dispelled the chill even better than my robes. Despite myself, I smiled back demurely. My heart was racing. Bleakly, I had convinced myself that this was the end. After today, he’d never smile at me like that again.
We exchanged pleasantries, and for a few moments there was a somewhat awkward silence. I knew I should start speaking, but before I could work up the nerve, we took off and began our flight with hardly a word said aloud, though I think our facial expression probably spoke volumes. My eyes were definitely betraying my heart, and my heart was definitely quite convinced that I had betrayed myself by supposing Marcus to be the only one “enamored.” The forest was quite as lovely as he had suggested, and he pointed out a few landmarks, and exclaimed when a thestral came in to view, though I couldn’t see it. This lead to the topic of the contents of our letters – since the death of his mother in his youth was how he was able to see the ill-aspected stead. I asked him questions that had occurred to me since the writing, learning more about his sisters – the youngest was already in finishing school, and would be coming to Hogwarts in two years – and a bit about his aunts and uncles and cousins and such and how he’d come to have such a large family. I asked about the Blacks’ and his relations with them, and was surprised to learn that that family, normally so austere and downright rude to those whose blood was less than perfection, had yet to disown Marcus’ family, who had seemed to me everything that was normally referred to by that filthy and absurd expression of “blood traitor.” Marcus, for his part, answered my queries eagerly, and though he kept trying to turn things back to me, apologizing all the while for talking too much of himself, I made every effort to always turn those enquiries back and keep him as the topic. I couldn’t bear to speak of myself. I felt only like I was enhancing my own punishment, adding these last minutes of happiness to what was surely to come, but that I was doing still worse because I had the bad taste to include Marcus in my delay by deluding him that much longer.
About an hour after we took off, a colder wind than before began to blow, or perhaps it was simply felt more after so long so high up, and we therefore alit in the Quidditch pitch. Locking up our brooms, we decided that we would proceed by walking along the forest instead. It was, of course, forbidden for us to go inside, but there was a nice trail that students had beaten over the years that walked the periphery of the woods and the lake, making a circuit of the grounds, and we started on this. Marcus was holding my hand.
“I will not answer one more question,” he cried passionately, half laughing, “without being satisfied in one of my own! I know why you are doing this.”
“Oh?” I tried to smile, but I know it was more of smirk. “I find that very difficult to credit.”
“It is because of that absurdity that you perpetrated in your last letter, your suggestion that you are not very interesting. You are determined to not draw attention to yourself, and so you are diverting my innocent questions so that I cannot learn more of you than you have already shared. I refuse to believe your self-report,” he smiled, and I blushed, “though I apologize for the insult that that lays at the feet of your honesty, for I find you to be anything but boring.”
Now was the moment. I knew it. Sighing sadly, I withdrew my hand from his, tucking my hands into the sleeves of my robes to keep the wind off. He stopped walking, and looked at me in confusion. “There is something that you don’t know about me,” I said. I kept my eyes; I couldn’t bear to look at him. “Two things, and they’re both terribly unflattering, much more so than that I’m dull – though I believe I am that as well.”
He looked truly concerned now. He should, I thought with another mental stab to myself. He opened his mouth to speak; though I told myself it was to reproach there was no actual doubt in my mind that in fact it was to provide reassurance. I didn’t give him the chance. I had started, and if I didn’t continue now I’d never be able to do so, I’d surrender to this lie happily, and resent myself forever. “The first regards yourself,” I hurried ahead of him, and he closed his mouth again, still clearly not understanding, but realizing that it would only be polite to hear me out. “I know for certain that I rather surprised you when I asked you to attend the ball with me. You’ve indicated to me that you had no concept that I liked you, since we had barely met. The truth is,” I paused, feeling all the agony, feeling stabbed by the entirely kind, sympathetic, concerned expression on his face, “the truth is that I didn’t whatsoever.” His expression didn’t waver. I hadn’t made it clear enough. I pressed on, feeling like a woman reading her own death sentence. “A woman such as myself, you understand, is in a bad position. My parents expect me to make a good match, and if I show no inclination they will do so themselves. As I’ve expressed, I don’t share my parents feelings on the primacy of pure blood. However, I have no desire to see them unhappy with me, and so I was left with a pretty puzzle. I could either allow them to find me a potential spouse from amongst the student body, who would surely be everything that I find detestable about those in the Slytherin mold, or I could go about it on my own, beat them to the punch, as they say. If I could find a pure-blood male of sufficient age and standing who wasn’t utterly detestable to me, I could avoid being forced in to an even more unpleasant match.” His expression had changed now. It had clouded over, he was frowning, and as I spoke, he mouthed the words ‘detestable’ and ‘even more unpleasant.’ “It was a simple, cold-blooded puzzle. I assessed the students currently at Hogwarts, eliminated those too young, eliminated all those who were obsessed with blood – so all of those in Slytherin, and a few of the others as well, and was left with a very short list. It had one name. Marcus Relious. The fact that he…” No, I couldn’t distance it that way. “The fact that you were in Hufflepuff would surely count against you more than Ravenclaw would have, but at least you weren’t a Gryffindor, and Relious was good blood, and I hoped the fact that you were handsome, a member of WAP, and Head Boy would be able to counteract the negative effect of house. However, I knew that those very things that would make you the only candidate that fit my needs would also make it that others would want you, as well, and so I conspired to ask you to the ball as soon as possible. And, I believe, from there you know the rest.” I paused, waiting for an acknowledgement to that, but he didn’t give one. He was no longer frowning, either. He was simply looking at me, his eyes intense. God, did I love him! I had not thought that once since the previous weekend, when the words had flown through my brain in a flight of fancy. Now, though, they rested there as a simply matter of fact. The word ‘enamored’ floated through my head, and I almost broke in to a slightly hysterical laugh. “That is the first thing that you need to know. I had no good inclinations, I had no positive motives, I didn’t even have simple attraction. I selected you in the same way that I would have chosen the correct ingredient for a potion, as the only possible choice that satisfied the need that I had. I didn’t know you whatsoever but that you fit my needs.” I clamped my mouth shut. I was repeating myself now. As if the first time wasn’t bad enough, surely I had been clear, there was no need to say it again and again!
I waited, now, for him to speak. I had more to say, but it seemed absurd to embark on the second piece of information I had to share if he told me to be gone from his sight after the first. Another edge of hysterical laughter threatened my barely-held composure, as the absurd thought that, by waiting, I could at least retain my families honor. My families honor had caused this entire mess! At the moment, I felt nothing more than like my families honor wasn’t worth a groat, and that I would destroy it myself for the pain it was now causing me, for the difficulties it had caused me my entire life. While these thoughts and more like them roiled through my head – the worst of which involved me wrecking vengeance upon my parents for having the bad taste of ruining themselves financially – Marcus never ceased regarding me, his expression even, his eyes growing steadily more thoughtful. Finally, he spoke, and I hung on every word, all thought banished. “Very well,” he started, “very well. You’ve said how you felt then. How do you feel now?”
My eyes filled with tears. How was I to answer that? I should have given the second piece of news immediately! I had been so certain he would send me away at once that it had never occurred to me the consequences of his not doing so; now, after the first hint of at least being a chance could spring hope in my heart, I had to face the chance of losing him again. “I feel terrible,” I admitted. “I feel like the lowest creature on the earth. I feel like I’m worse than Katrina, cruel and selfish. I feel that I must be the worst, for you are surely the best, and to have abused you as I have, to have used you as I have, is a crime for which no punishment is too severe.” He just watched me, still, not frowning, not smiling, just watching. I would have given everything I had – though, I suppose, that was little enough – to know what he was thinking. But he didn’t speak, and I plowed on. “There is, as I said, a second thing…” I began, and he nodded slowly. In a rush, I continued. “My family, the Princes, are known of course as one of the great old families. However, there is something that isn’t known, a very great secret, that I haven’t told you, but you deserve to know. We are penniless.” He looked utterly astonished, far more shocked then when I had told him that I was a cruel and heartless vixen. “My family has barely a farthing. That’s the reason that I sell potions, you understand, in order to pay for my own school things, for otherwise I’d be forced to use my brothers used things, and I couldn’t bear the shame. Even the shame of going in to business was less, as inconceivable as that is. My parents are desperate that I should find a man who will have me for but my name and save the family fortunes, and I am desperate not to be used in their schemes. So you see, now, how it relates to the first thing I spoke of. I have no inheritance, I have no dowry, I have only a name that, if the truth were known, would be valueless, and an interest in business, shameful as it is, as the only way to fix our fortunes.” I took a deep breath. I knew I should stop, but I couldn’t. “And so now you know it all. I am heartless, selfish, conceited, and penniless, and I should never have sullied you by even proposing this absurdity.” I was crying; the wind threatened to freeze my tears to ice on my face. I didn’t feel like that was nearly enough punishment. “I’m sorry.” I couldn’t bear to hear what he might say then, and so I turned to leave.
“Delia,” he spoke gently, and I stopped. “Thank you.” I turned back towards him, unable to hide my astonishment at those words, tears still falling. “I fear I must correct you. You are none of the cruel words that you have just directed against yourself. You are far better than you seem capable of believing! How can you say those terrible things, when you have just brought yourself to such a state simply to acquaint me with the truth? If you were really so heartless, you’d not have cared what I felt. If you were really selfish, you’d have continued in your…” he searched for a word “…what you were doing without a qualm. If you were really conceited, you would never try to convince me of your worthlessness. And as for your being penniless, this I cannot refute, but to say that I don’t care in the least what the state of your fortunes; it’s you that I care for. I don’t think one whit of your family, my apologies for saying so, truly, the less so because they seem to abuse you so.” I was all amazement. The tears still fell, but a smile started to come to my face. He was smiling at me. He wasn’t sending me away.
Yet, I wasn’t perfect. “No, no,” I protested, “I must have you understand! How can you not think me those things, after the things that I did?”
“How do you feel now?” he repeated the question which he had voiced before, which I had dodged answering.
I wanted to continue to tell him how terrible I was, but he was smiling at me, and I couldn’t make myself try to drive him away any more. “I,” I licked my lips. I suddenly felt terribly hoarse. “I care about you a great deal.” I confessed. How could it be harder to say those simple words.
He took my hands out from under my sleeves, clasping them in his own. “And I care about you a great deal as well. You have told me the truth, and I can never thank you enough for doing me that kindness. Please, always do so in the future! And I will do the same.” Releasing one of my hands, he withdrew a kerchief from under his robes, passing it to me. It had his initials embroidered on it, and I decided on the spot to never return it, however rude that might be. I wiped my eyes and my tear-streaked face. Suddenly, the whole situation seemed slightly comical.
“You…you truly can forgive me?” I stammered.
“I think I might forgive you anything,” he replied seriously, “but when presented with crimes such as these? One in the past and one in no way your fault? I hardly think there is anything to forgive at all!”
I started to laugh. “You think me silly?”
“I do,” his seriousness fell away, and he broke into a wide, slightly laughing smile of his. “I think you are very silly to have upset yourself so! But did you really believe that I would drive you away?”
“I did,” I admitted, starting to think of myself as silly, too. In the relief, no, the joy of still being in his heart, it suddenly seemed obvious that surely it would have always been thus. Who would drive away one who came to say that you were so charming that you had won them over despite their inclinations otherwise? For that was what I had just told him, I realized: that despite myself, despite my coldness and distance and calculation, I had come to care enough about him to feel that I had done wrong. “I believed it – I feared it – with my whole being. I’ve been petrified.”
Marcus laughed whole heartedly, and I – far from being affronted by what could have seemed a cold hearted approach to my feelings – joined him.
The next day, after breakfast, saw me arriving at the Quidditch pitch. The day was clear and cold, the sort of perfect fall day that one sees only a few times in the year, and the rarer for how late in the season it was. I had bundled up, in my thick woolen winter robes, my blue and gray scarf, and gloves, and I carried my broom casually, enjoying the chill of the wind in comparison to the warmth of my breath against the scarf, enjoying the small delay that walking gave to what I had to do. Marcus had arrived before me – not surprising, since I had seen him leave breakfast before I did – and he greeted me with a smile that dispelled the chill even better than my robes. Despite myself, I smiled back demurely. My heart was racing. Bleakly, I had convinced myself that this was the end. After today, he’d never smile at me like that again.
We exchanged pleasantries, and for a few moments there was a somewhat awkward silence. I knew I should start speaking, but before I could work up the nerve, we took off and began our flight with hardly a word said aloud, though I think our facial expression probably spoke volumes. My eyes were definitely betraying my heart, and my heart was definitely quite convinced that I had betrayed myself by supposing Marcus to be the only one “enamored.” The forest was quite as lovely as he had suggested, and he pointed out a few landmarks, and exclaimed when a thestral came in to view, though I couldn’t see it. This lead to the topic of the contents of our letters – since the death of his mother in his youth was how he was able to see the ill-aspected stead. I asked him questions that had occurred to me since the writing, learning more about his sisters – the youngest was already in finishing school, and would be coming to Hogwarts in two years – and a bit about his aunts and uncles and cousins and such and how he’d come to have such a large family. I asked about the Blacks’ and his relations with them, and was surprised to learn that that family, normally so austere and downright rude to those whose blood was less than perfection, had yet to disown Marcus’ family, who had seemed to me everything that was normally referred to by that filthy and absurd expression of “blood traitor.” Marcus, for his part, answered my queries eagerly, and though he kept trying to turn things back to me, apologizing all the while for talking too much of himself, I made every effort to always turn those enquiries back and keep him as the topic. I couldn’t bear to speak of myself. I felt only like I was enhancing my own punishment, adding these last minutes of happiness to what was surely to come, but that I was doing still worse because I had the bad taste to include Marcus in my delay by deluding him that much longer.
About an hour after we took off, a colder wind than before began to blow, or perhaps it was simply felt more after so long so high up, and we therefore alit in the Quidditch pitch. Locking up our brooms, we decided that we would proceed by walking along the forest instead. It was, of course, forbidden for us to go inside, but there was a nice trail that students had beaten over the years that walked the periphery of the woods and the lake, making a circuit of the grounds, and we started on this. Marcus was holding my hand.
“I will not answer one more question,” he cried passionately, half laughing, “without being satisfied in one of my own! I know why you are doing this.”
“Oh?” I tried to smile, but I know it was more of smirk. “I find that very difficult to credit.”
“It is because of that absurdity that you perpetrated in your last letter, your suggestion that you are not very interesting. You are determined to not draw attention to yourself, and so you are diverting my innocent questions so that I cannot learn more of you than you have already shared. I refuse to believe your self-report,” he smiled, and I blushed, “though I apologize for the insult that that lays at the feet of your honesty, for I find you to be anything but boring.”
Now was the moment. I knew it. Sighing sadly, I withdrew my hand from his, tucking my hands into the sleeves of my robes to keep the wind off. He stopped walking, and looked at me in confusion. “There is something that you don’t know about me,” I said. I kept my eyes; I couldn’t bear to look at him. “Two things, and they’re both terribly unflattering, much more so than that I’m dull – though I believe I am that as well.”
He looked truly concerned now. He should, I thought with another mental stab to myself. He opened his mouth to speak; though I told myself it was to reproach there was no actual doubt in my mind that in fact it was to provide reassurance. I didn’t give him the chance. I had started, and if I didn’t continue now I’d never be able to do so, I’d surrender to this lie happily, and resent myself forever. “The first regards yourself,” I hurried ahead of him, and he closed his mouth again, still clearly not understanding, but realizing that it would only be polite to hear me out. “I know for certain that I rather surprised you when I asked you to attend the ball with me. You’ve indicated to me that you had no concept that I liked you, since we had barely met. The truth is,” I paused, feeling all the agony, feeling stabbed by the entirely kind, sympathetic, concerned expression on his face, “the truth is that I didn’t whatsoever.” His expression didn’t waver. I hadn’t made it clear enough. I pressed on, feeling like a woman reading her own death sentence. “A woman such as myself, you understand, is in a bad position. My parents expect me to make a good match, and if I show no inclination they will do so themselves. As I’ve expressed, I don’t share my parents feelings on the primacy of pure blood. However, I have no desire to see them unhappy with me, and so I was left with a pretty puzzle. I could either allow them to find me a potential spouse from amongst the student body, who would surely be everything that I find detestable about those in the Slytherin mold, or I could go about it on my own, beat them to the punch, as they say. If I could find a pure-blood male of sufficient age and standing who wasn’t utterly detestable to me, I could avoid being forced in to an even more unpleasant match.” His expression had changed now. It had clouded over, he was frowning, and as I spoke, he mouthed the words ‘detestable’ and ‘even more unpleasant.’ “It was a simple, cold-blooded puzzle. I assessed the students currently at Hogwarts, eliminated those too young, eliminated all those who were obsessed with blood – so all of those in Slytherin, and a few of the others as well, and was left with a very short list. It had one name. Marcus Relious. The fact that he…” No, I couldn’t distance it that way. “The fact that you were in Hufflepuff would surely count against you more than Ravenclaw would have, but at least you weren’t a Gryffindor, and Relious was good blood, and I hoped the fact that you were handsome, a member of WAP, and Head Boy would be able to counteract the negative effect of house. However, I knew that those very things that would make you the only candidate that fit my needs would also make it that others would want you, as well, and so I conspired to ask you to the ball as soon as possible. And, I believe, from there you know the rest.” I paused, waiting for an acknowledgement to that, but he didn’t give one. He was no longer frowning, either. He was simply looking at me, his eyes intense. God, did I love him! I had not thought that once since the previous weekend, when the words had flown through my brain in a flight of fancy. Now, though, they rested there as a simply matter of fact. The word ‘enamored’ floated through my head, and I almost broke in to a slightly hysterical laugh. “That is the first thing that you need to know. I had no good inclinations, I had no positive motives, I didn’t even have simple attraction. I selected you in the same way that I would have chosen the correct ingredient for a potion, as the only possible choice that satisfied the need that I had. I didn’t know you whatsoever but that you fit my needs.” I clamped my mouth shut. I was repeating myself now. As if the first time wasn’t bad enough, surely I had been clear, there was no need to say it again and again!
I waited, now, for him to speak. I had more to say, but it seemed absurd to embark on the second piece of information I had to share if he told me to be gone from his sight after the first. Another edge of hysterical laughter threatened my barely-held composure, as the absurd thought that, by waiting, I could at least retain my families honor. My families honor had caused this entire mess! At the moment, I felt nothing more than like my families honor wasn’t worth a groat, and that I would destroy it myself for the pain it was now causing me, for the difficulties it had caused me my entire life. While these thoughts and more like them roiled through my head – the worst of which involved me wrecking vengeance upon my parents for having the bad taste of ruining themselves financially – Marcus never ceased regarding me, his expression even, his eyes growing steadily more thoughtful. Finally, he spoke, and I hung on every word, all thought banished. “Very well,” he started, “very well. You’ve said how you felt then. How do you feel now?”
My eyes filled with tears. How was I to answer that? I should have given the second piece of news immediately! I had been so certain he would send me away at once that it had never occurred to me the consequences of his not doing so; now, after the first hint of at least being a chance could spring hope in my heart, I had to face the chance of losing him again. “I feel terrible,” I admitted. “I feel like the lowest creature on the earth. I feel like I’m worse than Katrina, cruel and selfish. I feel that I must be the worst, for you are surely the best, and to have abused you as I have, to have used you as I have, is a crime for which no punishment is too severe.” He just watched me, still, not frowning, not smiling, just watching. I would have given everything I had – though, I suppose, that was little enough – to know what he was thinking. But he didn’t speak, and I plowed on. “There is, as I said, a second thing…” I began, and he nodded slowly. In a rush, I continued. “My family, the Princes, are known of course as one of the great old families. However, there is something that isn’t known, a very great secret, that I haven’t told you, but you deserve to know. We are penniless.” He looked utterly astonished, far more shocked then when I had told him that I was a cruel and heartless vixen. “My family has barely a farthing. That’s the reason that I sell potions, you understand, in order to pay for my own school things, for otherwise I’d be forced to use my brothers used things, and I couldn’t bear the shame. Even the shame of going in to business was less, as inconceivable as that is. My parents are desperate that I should find a man who will have me for but my name and save the family fortunes, and I am desperate not to be used in their schemes. So you see, now, how it relates to the first thing I spoke of. I have no inheritance, I have no dowry, I have only a name that, if the truth were known, would be valueless, and an interest in business, shameful as it is, as the only way to fix our fortunes.” I took a deep breath. I knew I should stop, but I couldn’t. “And so now you know it all. I am heartless, selfish, conceited, and penniless, and I should never have sullied you by even proposing this absurdity.” I was crying; the wind threatened to freeze my tears to ice on my face. I didn’t feel like that was nearly enough punishment. “I’m sorry.” I couldn’t bear to hear what he might say then, and so I turned to leave.
“Delia,” he spoke gently, and I stopped. “Thank you.” I turned back towards him, unable to hide my astonishment at those words, tears still falling. “I fear I must correct you. You are none of the cruel words that you have just directed against yourself. You are far better than you seem capable of believing! How can you say those terrible things, when you have just brought yourself to such a state simply to acquaint me with the truth? If you were really so heartless, you’d not have cared what I felt. If you were really selfish, you’d have continued in your…” he searched for a word “…what you were doing without a qualm. If you were really conceited, you would never try to convince me of your worthlessness. And as for your being penniless, this I cannot refute, but to say that I don’t care in the least what the state of your fortunes; it’s you that I care for. I don’t think one whit of your family, my apologies for saying so, truly, the less so because they seem to abuse you so.” I was all amazement. The tears still fell, but a smile started to come to my face. He was smiling at me. He wasn’t sending me away.
Yet, I wasn’t perfect. “No, no,” I protested, “I must have you understand! How can you not think me those things, after the things that I did?”
“How do you feel now?” he repeated the question which he had voiced before, which I had dodged answering.
I wanted to continue to tell him how terrible I was, but he was smiling at me, and I couldn’t make myself try to drive him away any more. “I,” I licked my lips. I suddenly felt terribly hoarse. “I care about you a great deal.” I confessed. How could it be harder to say those simple words.
He took my hands out from under my sleeves, clasping them in his own. “And I care about you a great deal as well. You have told me the truth, and I can never thank you enough for doing me that kindness. Please, always do so in the future! And I will do the same.” Releasing one of my hands, he withdrew a kerchief from under his robes, passing it to me. It had his initials embroidered on it, and I decided on the spot to never return it, however rude that might be. I wiped my eyes and my tear-streaked face. Suddenly, the whole situation seemed slightly comical.
“You…you truly can forgive me?” I stammered.
“I think I might forgive you anything,” he replied seriously, “but when presented with crimes such as these? One in the past and one in no way your fault? I hardly think there is anything to forgive at all!”
I started to laugh. “You think me silly?”
“I do,” his seriousness fell away, and he broke into a wide, slightly laughing smile of his. “I think you are very silly to have upset yourself so! But did you really believe that I would drive you away?”
“I did,” I admitted, starting to think of myself as silly, too. In the relief, no, the joy of still being in his heart, it suddenly seemed obvious that surely it would have always been thus. Who would drive away one who came to say that you were so charming that you had won them over despite their inclinations otherwise? For that was what I had just told him, I realized: that despite myself, despite my coldness and distance and calculation, I had come to care enough about him to feel that I had done wrong. “I believed it – I feared it – with my whole being. I’ve been petrified.”
Marcus laughed whole heartedly, and I – far from being affronted by what could have seemed a cold hearted approach to my feelings – joined him.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-11-19 07:29 pm (UTC)Some sortt-of-funny post-game thoughts
Date: 2007-11-19 07:49 pm (UTC)You know, I was looking back at some of the things relating to the canon of the books and the game and noticed some things we overlooked in the initial running...
When Marcus and Delia later go and spend part of Christmass with the Blacks (they had dinner there over the holiday)....they would have in fact been going to Number 12, Grimmauld Place (which is kind of funny in and of itself). Further, while we always called him Fineious (SP?) Nigelous....his last name was in fact *Black*. And that means, of course, Marcus and Delia actually had dinner *with the headmaster*. And that, naturaly, Marcus is related to the headmaster, which might have accounted for some of the degree of approval Nigelous carried for the relationship (not that any of us, including Ben and Kendra, actually made this link at the time)!
Now whenever I read about Grimmauld place I sort of picture there being a little MR + DP carving in the side of one of the stairs.
^.^
Re: Some sortt-of-funny post-game thoughts
Date: 2007-11-20 02:10 am (UTC)And there will be a carving. ;)
Re: Some sortt-of-funny post-game thoughts
Date: 2007-11-25 08:25 am (UTC)Re: Some sortt-of-funny post-game thoughts
Date: 2007-11-25 02:13 pm (UTC)