nocturnus33 | The intermitences of death, chapter V (Reply)

Thanks Saint scatteredlogic for your beta miracles

Prelude
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III

Gathering

That evening they celebrated friendship. They met again at Grimmauld Place, after so many years. The Potters invited them all, send the kids to Mrs. Weasley’s home and committed themselves to fun. Harry had contacted the former Dumbledore’s Army members so they could discuss Alicia Spinet’s idea to write a book about it. They were trying to put the facts together when Ron said he couldn’t concentrate without music and put some jazz; Longbottom suggested it was freezing and vodka was in order; someone said vodka was as disgusting as Wolfbane Potion when drank alone, so they went out to buy oranges.

They drank and chattered and drank yet a little more. Someone suggested there should be sandwiches; Old Kreacher, looking as if death had forgotten to take him, produced all kind of delicious varieties. Hannah noted that Ron was eating like a gentleman, which caused everyone laugh at the reminder of his former manners. Dean sat slouched against a sofa, one arm around Hermione and his legs stretched out in Seamus’ lap. Ron looked murderous at that but Dean just stuck his tongue out to him. Terry thought that maybe it was a little too sensual to be a pal’s joke. Angelina and Alicia were arguing about something, anything, while Kreacher passed carrying a tray of sandwiches. Luna asked Neville about his grandmother. He told the story of how she was kept alive, a peculiar expression as Terry pointed out, but Neville commented he could only hope for her to die soon. They all gasped at his apparent lack of compassion. He had seen how his gran has deteriorated, he said, at some point he was sure she will pass away; he even owled his uncle Algie so he could say good bye. At the crucial moment, Augusta Longbottom stopped dying. I can’t explain it any other way he apologized, it’s just she is not better but yet, she isn’t dead. Lavender Brown coyly commented that she had overheard her boss saying the same about one of her in-laws, just last week.

Hermione, who now acknowledges Lavender wasn’t the vain, silly thing she shared a dorm with, started lecturing her about how death is a private thing for wizarding society, but it was not a sin to talk about it, less alone accidentally overhear a conversation of it. Wizarding attitude towards death isn’t healthy, she preached. Portraits are, in a way, a denial of death. Weren’t they? Terry Boot couldn’t stifle a gag. Please god make her stop.

Death, always death, it scares him sometimes. Couldn’t she talk about something else? – Terry Boot just can’t understand it- Wasn’t Riddle obsessed by death itself? Maybe it was one of those cultural Muggle/Wizzards things he will never get. Purebloods, traitors or not, just don’t talk about death, at least not the old ones; Muggles are always picking the topic, for good or better or worse. He thinks that everyone goes to the bathroom daily, yet no one talks about it in public, so why can’t people do the same about death?

He hasn’t heard the rest of Hermione’s speech; he could only notice that the others said to Hermione “Oh, do you sing?”. Were they trying to change topic, or was he the only one disgusted by the turn of the discussion?. Any way, Terry will not dare risk going back to that conversation.

More Vodka was served, the chairs were pushed back and a small stage was improvised.

Hermione, always bossy, decided she wouldn’t sing alone.

Ginny, what about a Celtic ballad? Seamus, an Irish lullaby? And you, she pointed the Patil twins, Do you know that song? Ah! What’s it name? she made a gesture with her hands, something to make her remember. Uuuajharaa?

Both sisters translate the question to normal Hindi; she was talking about the Gujarat nupital song, and of course they knew some of it. So everyone did his part, having another round of vodka to celebrate each song.

Terry Boot realized that mostly everyone has sung except Hermione, so he decided to ask for her turn. Her – My – Oh – neee!; Her – My – Oh – neee! he cried, parodying Krum. He didn’t know why he did it; he really didn’t give a damn if she sang or not, it was just the fact that he would not let her skip her turn.

Hermione stood up in the center; something in her attitude struke him as different. She pushed her hair aside, cleared her throat and introduced a song as part of the “little angel funeral[1]”, a Chilean folk tradition for dead toddlers.

It was a song of crying mothers, loss and hope; a song of new worlds of justice. Everyone quietened down, somehow the mood had changed. Hermione had transfigured herself; she wasn't singing: she was the song.

A respectful silence was all what was left for a few minutes.

Then Lee Jordan and George Weasley, being back to what they used to be, magically filled everyone’s glasses and started singing a dirty song in the round.

At the end, half the Army was drunk with no hint about how the hell the rest of the chapters could be written. As things went, there were too many people and few beds; and none of them with a steady hand to transfigured one. Terry Boot ended up sharing a small bed with Hermione, to be honest he would have preferred either of the Patil twins… or both, but he was never the lucky one: he was bested by that Weasley bastard.

TBC….

Author Notes:

Part of this chapter is based on a camaradery scene in Wicked.

[1] Velorio de Angelito

I would be glad to receive concrit.