Lily Evans (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lilium_evansiae) wrote2011-07-08 09:47 pm
lilium_evansiae) wrote2011-07-08 09:47 pm
Hallowe'en 1976
It has been what must be considered a perfectly lovely weekend. And even the prospect of having to return to classes in the morning can't dim anyone's good mood this evening.
It's time for the annual Hallowe'en feast.
The Great Hall is, of course, decorated fantastically, with great swooping clouds of fluttering bats, flaming orange streamers that twist and wind their way around the ceiling in ever-changing patterns, and jack-o-lanterns. Dozens and dozens of jack-o-lanterns, bobbing above the four House tables, candles flickering atmospherically.
The first years sitting just down the table from them stare around, wide-eyed and gaping, nudging each other to point out this detail or that. Lily smiles, remembering when the Great Hall was not only impressive but new, and things like Hallowe'en were times to be wonderstruck.
She turns to Mary, sitting next to her, the only other Muggleborn Gryffindor girl in their year. "That used to be us, you know," she says, nodding towards the younger students.
Mary doesn't answer. She's busy staring, wide-eyed and gaping, at the carved pumpkin bobbing in front of them.
"Mary?" Lily says. "Everything all right?"
"Look," Mary says. "Look at the pumpkin."
Lily looks up, briefly, and turns back to Mary, "Yes, I know, it's ... "
And then her brain catches up with her eyes, and she looks back up at the glowing, candle-illuminated face that is unmistakeably Professor McGonagall, carved into an orange squash.
"Oh ... my ... "
Lily turns quickly to look at the other pumpkins. From where she's sitting, she can make out Flitwick (slowly revolving, a few yards away and just above Cliona and Fenton), and Slughorn (slightly off-kilter, floating above the Hufflepuff behind her), and even Grindstaff (scowling down on the first years, looking not at all amused about having been rendered in squash).
"It's the professors," Lily says. "They're all ... they're all the professors."
"I know," Mary says.
A pumpkin carved to look like Dumbledore goes careening cheerfully down the length of the table, and the other pumpkins move respectfully out of the headmaster's way.
Mary and Lily look at each other for a moment, and then they start to laugh.
Maybe Hallowe'en still has a little wonder to strike after all.
It's time for the annual Hallowe'en feast.
The Great Hall is, of course, decorated fantastically, with great swooping clouds of fluttering bats, flaming orange streamers that twist and wind their way around the ceiling in ever-changing patterns, and jack-o-lanterns. Dozens and dozens of jack-o-lanterns, bobbing above the four House tables, candles flickering atmospherically.
The first years sitting just down the table from them stare around, wide-eyed and gaping, nudging each other to point out this detail or that. Lily smiles, remembering when the Great Hall was not only impressive but new, and things like Hallowe'en were times to be wonderstruck.
She turns to Mary, sitting next to her, the only other Muggleborn Gryffindor girl in their year. "That used to be us, you know," she says, nodding towards the younger students.
Mary doesn't answer. She's busy staring, wide-eyed and gaping, at the carved pumpkin bobbing in front of them.
"Mary?" Lily says. "Everything all right?"
"Look," Mary says. "Look at the pumpkin."
Lily looks up, briefly, and turns back to Mary, "Yes, I know, it's ... "
And then her brain catches up with her eyes, and she looks back up at the glowing, candle-illuminated face that is unmistakeably Professor McGonagall, carved into an orange squash.
"Oh ... my ... "
Lily turns quickly to look at the other pumpkins. From where she's sitting, she can make out Flitwick (slowly revolving, a few yards away and just above Cliona and Fenton), and Slughorn (slightly off-kilter, floating above the Hufflepuff behind her), and even Grindstaff (scowling down on the first years, looking not at all amused about having been rendered in squash).
"It's the professors," Lily says. "They're all ... they're all the professors."
"I know," Mary says.
A pumpkin carved to look like Dumbledore goes careening cheerfully down the length of the table, and the other pumpkins move respectfully out of the headmaster's way.
Mary and Lily look at each other for a moment, and then they start to laugh.
Maybe Hallowe'en still has a little wonder to strike after all.
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Not quite on par with having your own chocolate frog card, but gratifying all the same.
(Gratifying also, due to the fact that the Marauders' seasonal prank has taken an amusing and benign bent this year. Because this could be the handiwork of none other but the Marauders.)
Students and teachers are still filing into the Great Hall, so Dumbledore has time to admire the handiwork.
"Delightful," he pronounces it, tapping his orange likeness on the nose. "Quite well done. I do believe those boys have some untapped artistic depth."
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She's studying a pumpkin version of herself, which was waiting at her usual place at the teachers' table.
(And she has to say that she thinks it's gleaming just a teeny bit more than some of the other professors' pumpkins.)
"Aren't they wonderful, Lerwick?"
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He has his hands folded behind his back.
"Well, they are something," he allows.
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For prank they may be, but the work put in would not have been easy.
Dumbledore looks out over the assembling student body.
"Anything that adds to the general air of festivity."
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The four Marauders had arrived with one of the larger crowds of students to take their proper seats (and, yeah, bask in the fruits of their labour).
"Well, it is pretty fantastic," James says, watching the floating pumpkins glowing in their spots, and the professors observing them. "Happy Hallowe'en, mates."
"Happy Hallowe'en," Remus echoes, smiling.
"I can't wait to see McGonagall's face," Sirius says.
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"The pumpkins," she says, from just behind James' shoulder. "Are they your doing?"
The tone is somewhere between prefect and playful (and a lot closer to the latter than the former).
Lily Evans is, probably for the first time in her life, utterly amused by a prank the Marauders have pulled.
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"It may be," he says innocently.
"We're actually not getting detention," Peter is muttering beside him.
James reaches out to pat his friend's shoulder.
"Hello, Lily. All right?"
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"They're brilliant, you know.
"You're mad, the lot of you, putting McGonagall and Grindstaff on pumpkins.
"But they're brilliant."
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"Thank you," he says. "It was really Remus' idea."
"Well, James wanted to do something with the professors this year," Remus interjects.
"Right, right," says Sirius. "It's not bad, but we had to make it prefect-approved."
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"Everyone thinks so, as far as I can tell."
Well, maybe not Grindstaff.
"Happy Hallowe'en."
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Which is probably a good thing.
Defense Against the Dark Arts this year has been brutal with him heading the class. It wouldn't do to get on his bad side.
"Happy Hallowe'en," James returns, beaming.
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Which had, unfortunately, been followed by having to take the ever hapless Elinor Perks to the hospital wing after she'd broken out in spots that she was convinced were dragon pox and which turned out to be an allergic reaction to the bubotuber pus she was using on her pimples.
So Lily had missed most of the resulting celebrations in Gryffindor Tower.
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"I didn't see you at the celebrations after. They were —"
He shakes his head, laughing.
"Absolutely mad," Remus fills in. He rubs his face. "I'm sure half the House broke about fifty rules. Each."
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There's a lot of prefectial blind-eying going on at times like that.
"Elinor thought she had dragon pox, so I was at the hospital wing with her."
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James continues to laugh — then quickly sobers.
"Oh. She's all right?" he asks.
He wouldn't have noticed whether she was at the celebrations too, or not.
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"She's fine."
Just, as usual, a bit of a walking crisis.
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That girl's got terrible timing.
"Well, that's a relief," James says. "If it's particularly contagious, imagine how many people she would've infected."
And how early the after-Quidditch party would have ended as a result.
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"Fortunately, that particular tragedy has been averted."
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All right, it sounds a little ridiculous.
But imagine what the rest of the school would say about that.
Gryffindor would be a laughing stock!
And they can't have that.
"Well, you missed quite a party, anyway."
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"Well, if Elinor has a crisis after your next thrilling victory ... Remus can deal with it.
"Can't you, Remus?"
It would be his turn.
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He nods. Quietly.
James shakes his head.
"Oh, no. We'll just ... hand her off to Blane. He's Head Boy. It's the sort of thing he should take care of in the event of Important Gryffindor Functions."
"So says the Captain?" Remus puts in.
"Exactly."
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"But you get to be the one to tell Cliona.
"Captain."
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"You two are horrible."
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"I should probably get back to my seat before the feast gets started. But brilliant work with the pumpkins, all of you," she says, looking over at Black and Pettigrew, who have been almost unnaturally quiet.
Her smile shifts a little, gets softer, when she looks back to James. "And I guess we'll talk soon about plans for next weekend, yeah?"
They have a date to go on, after all.
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Merlin's beard, they do.
James nods, his heart suddenly beating just a little faster in his chest.
"Right, yeah," he says, offering her a smile that more or less reflects hers.
(Be cool, Potter.)
"We'll absolutely talk soon."
The rest of the boys smile or nod (or in Sirius' case, waves a hand airily).
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She smiles one last time (mostly at James), and makes it back to her seat just as Professor Dumbledore stands to welcome them all to the feast.
(Perfecting timing -- it makes it impossible for her roommates to ask what she's been talking about with James ... at least for a few minutes.)
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"Greetings, greetings. And a Happy Halloween to one and all. I'd first like to thank everyone who has helped to make the Great Hall look so festive...."
Credit where it is due, after all.