A rude interruption and something new.
After about half an hour of commotion, Umbridge eventually swallowed her pride and approached the protestors to hear their demands.
“We’re staying right here,” Sophie proclaimed, the blonde Slytherin boy at her side. “This isn’t a brief demonstration, it’s a sit-in. We’re staying here until the decree is shoved right where it deserves: up your-”
“In the bin.” The Slytherin interjected hastily.
“We won’t starve,” Sophie continued. “The house elves stand with us. The only person starving is you.”
There was a moment of silence as the two women glared at each other, then Umbridge took a step forwards.
“This is preposterous,” She said, her voice dangerously quiet. “Poor, misguided children. I’m trying to help you. It’s for your own good, don’t you see? Your parents thanked me, the Ministry thanked me; I am taking bold steps for the future of the wizarding community that those who came before me didn’t have the guts to take. But you’re just children, you don’t understand. You should let the adults entrusted in taking care of you do their job.” She took a step closer until Sophie could feel her breath on her cheeks. “I can’t expel the whole school, but I can make you wish I had.”
Sophie blinked, her expression unsure, but she held her ground. “Our demands?” She questioned.
“I’m suspending the decree temporarily for a re-write, due to some elements being unclear.” Umbridge said shortly. She span on her heel and marched out of the Great Hall.
“Well?” Came a shout from the back of the room, all eyes on the two students. “Did we do it?”
“Well, I’m not really sure…”
“Is the decree gone? Can I kiss boys now?”
“You’re not even gay, you moron.”
“That doesn’t matter, I should be able to kiss whoever I want, whenever I want.”
“What like that house elf that you-”
“Oi!”
“Shhh! Let her talk! Well? Are we allowed ‘same-sex relations’ now?”
Sophie bit her lip. “I mean, yeah-”
Her ‘but’ was drowned out in the cheer that went up across the Great Hall, and she climbed helplessly down from her stool with a shrug.
“Let them celebrate,” the Slytherin muttered. “They’ve earned it.”
Students danced, hugged, cheered and kissed, and at the back of the hall there were two couples in particular that you’d have had to take a chainsaw to to break their lips apart.
~
“So, we may have won the battle, but the war’s not over yet.” PJ mused.
Sophie was recounting her encounter with Umbridge in the Ravenclaw common room over steaming mugs of hot chocolate, graciously provided by the house elves to celebrate their victory. Dan and Phil were sitting practically on top of each other, trying in vain to hold both hands while still drinking their hot chocolate. Chris sat at the foot of PJ’s armchair with PJ’s gangly legs draped over his shoulders like a scarf. He wasn’t saying much and still looked very tired, but blissfully happy. Carrie, Sophie, Charlie and Ben were sharing a sofa cuddled up under a blanket, and the cosy room was full to bursting with various other students wanting to celebrate, all inter-house animosity temporarily forgotten (with the first quidditch match of the season – Hufflepuff vs Ravenclaw - the next day however, Dan was sure it would return with vigour after a night’s rest). The fire crackled in the hearth, and Dan lay his head on Phil’s shoulder, closing his eyes with a smile.
“What about the Slytherin dude though, whatshisname. I though you said he was a nob, Dan?”
“Huh?” Dan’s eyes snapped open. “Oh right, yeah. Well, he is. But he’s also really passionate about this. I don’t really know him, I can’t judge. He’s got a really rich and powerful dad and he never shuts up about it, and he’s not very nice to most people. But he might just be misunderstood. He’s madly in love with some guy from Gryffindor, and I think he really struggled with coming out at first. Maybe that’s why it’s so close to his heart. I think he’ll do a good job.” Dan wasn’t sure how much of that the others had been able to understand; too sleepy to lift his head from Phil’s shoulder, his jaw wasn’t able to move very much and it had all come out disjointed and muffled.
“That’s the crux, the job isn’t not over yet.” Carrie sighed. “We need to keep going.”
At that point they were interrupted by a rowdy group of Gryffindors on the next table, as a tall boy with red hair leaned his chair dangerously far back and twisted round. “We’re thinking a new line of attack is needed,” he said, swinging a little on his chair. “You guys have done a cracking job so far, but the fact remains that she’s a twisted and evil individual, and no amount of protesting is going to change someone who is genuinely sick to the core. I mean, her very name sounds like a vomit. You’re not going to change her world views. We need to just get rid of her, whatever it takes.”
Carrie turned to her friends with a shrug. “I don’t think anyone would object to that. Do you have a plan?”
The Gryffindor grinned a wide, toothy grin that seemed to stretch from one ear right to the other. “Yes, a plan. Code name: mayhem. It’s not a very complex construction, I’ll warrant, but I promise it’ll be effective. Just you wait, Ms Fletcher. Beautiful things are coming.”
“If you need any help just like, send me an owl.” Chris murmured from the floor, his voice croaky and his eyes shut fast. “I’m an avid fan of generalized mayhem.”
“I thought he was asleep.”
“He is.” PJ said, trailing his fingers lazily through Chris’s hair.
“But he just spoke?”
“Well he woke up, but now he’s asleep again.”
Sure enough, soft snores were floating up from the pile of robes on the floor, and PJ slipped down beside it to cocoon them both in a pink woollen blanket.
~
Everyone had been excited at the prospect of seeing how Umbridge was coping at breakfast, but her disgruntled figure was quickly overshadowed by the arrival of what seemed to Dan to be a literal swarm of owls.
“What’s going on?” He yelled to Phil, as thousands of small pieces of parchment fell from the sky.
“Flyer owls. Get it? Like, fly, because owls- you get it. Advertising. They’re not supposed to be able to get past Hogwarts’ defences, though.” Phil was doubled over covering his head with his hands and Dan quickly followed suit after a nasty clip on the ear from a low flying tawny.
“What, like spam?” He asked.
“What?”
“Never mind. What are they advertising?”
“We’ll find out soon enough.”
Almost immediately as he had spoken, the owls were gone, and a thick fog of fluttering parchment was all that remained, descending slowly on the tables. Chris reached up and plucked a leaflet out of the sky.
“Oh no,” he said, a gleeful grin spreading slowly across his face.
“What is it?” PJ asked.
‘Talons’ Tattoos’ Chris read. ‘Grand Hogsmede opening. All tattoos half price. Book now.’
“Oh, no.” Phil agreed.
“Why ‘oh no’?” Dan asked. “It sounds really cool.”
“It’s a recipe for disaster, a tattoo parlour so close to a school,” Chris explained. “Because you have to be of age to get one, but only 7th years are old enough. But, Hogwarts provides like, half the custom for the shops in Hogsmede. I don’t know how they got permission for it.”
“The thing is,” PJ carried on. “It’s going to become a status thing now. A competition. Who’s going to be the first to get a tattoo? And who’s going to be the first underage student to fool the tattooists? I’ll bet you anything, half the people that get them had no real desire for a tattoo before this shop opened.”
“I take your point,” Dan said, fishing a soggy flyer out of his cereal. “The teachers are probably going to say something. Do you think they’re against school uniform?”
“Definitely,” Phil nodded. “I mean, they can’t do anything about it if you get one on your bum but…”
A shock of red hair appeared over the buzzing students as Ben hurried over, leaning over Phil’s shoulder to grab the last croissant. “Who’s getting one then?” He asked with his mouth full.
“Well I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you.” Chris said with a grin.
“I’ve already booked. Grabbed one of their owls and sent a reply. Didn’t have a quill though so I had to use eyeliner, hope they don’t mind.” Ben said, shaking pastry crumbs off his jacket. “Always wanted a tattoo.”
“Yeah, I can believe that,” Chris said, gesturing to Ben’s piercings. “Can’t say the same for most of the people making bookings though.”
Sure enough, the hall was full of students hurriedly scribbling on parchment, each one surrounded by a sea of friends egging them on and grilling them on what design they wanted.
“Do you know what you’ll get?” PJ joined suit.
“Haven’t figured that one out quite yet, but I’ve got some ideas. Come on then, one of you losers will get inked with me, right?” Ben ruffled the hair of the two closest heads, Dan and Phil’s, and grinned to the table at large.
Chris and PJ exchanged a glance.
“Maybe…” PJ said tentatively.
“Maybe isn’t good enough pal, if you want to make use of that half price deal then you need to sign up sharpish before any of these squirts do.” Ben fished a blank roll of parchment out of his bag and tossed it into the middle of the table. “I’ll even lend you my eyeliner. Give it back once you’ve stopped being wimps.”
Ben disappeared back over to the Gryffindor table and the four boys judged each other’s reactions.
“Well?” Chris said after a moment. “Anyone want a tattoo? Ben’s right, if you want one, half price is quite an incentive.”
“The whole day is just going to be them turning away underage students, probably sending half of them straight to the hospital wing to fix whatever haphazard attempts at aging they used.” PJ said with a shake of his head. “If we try and get caught, they’ll know us and know we’re underage so we won’t be able to try again. Better off waiting to see what other people try and if anything works, you know, if we want to get something.”
“I don’t know how much they’re going to care, though. I mean, they obviously don’t think much of the law. Flyering like that is semi-illegal, and any type of advertising is banned at Hogwarts, at least in the mail. It’s not supposed to come into the grounds unless it’s educational.” Chris was examining one of the flyers, reading the small print on the back.
“I don’t know why you care, you’re 17. You can get one without breaking the law.” Phil complained.
“Yeah, but I don’t want to go on my own.”
“You can go with Ben?” PJ suggested.
“True…” Chris said, but he didn’t sound convinced.
“Or are you too much of a wuss?” PJ teased.
“Shut up,” Chris rolled his eyes. “I’m just waiting till December so I can get a matching Basilisk tattoo with my boyfriend.”
“Oh right?” PJ raised an eyebrow. “Where are we getting it?”
“Trouser snake.”
“Gee. I love you and all, but what’s wrong with just a heart with my name in it?” PJ laughed.
“Tacky. Lacks originality. Now, a Basilisk in my pants, that’s a conversation starter.” Chris finished the last of his toast and was about to get up to leave when Professor Dumbledore stood up to address the school. It was impressive how no call to order was needed; with just the action of getting to his feet he had silenced the busy hall.
“Firstly,” Dumbledore said, his tone amiable but sincere. “I would like to apologise for the flyering incident that so rudely interrupted our breakfast. I assure you, our restrictions will be tightened and there will not be a repeat.” He surveyed the sea of faces over his half-moon spectacles. “As I’m sure you are now aware, a tattoo parlour has recently moved to Hogsmede, and it opens next weekend. I would like to take this opportunity to remind you that it is not only ill-advised but also illegal for underage students to attempt to purchase a tattoo by any means of magic or non-magic deception. Visible tattoos, noisy tattoos, and tattoos that are likely to cause disruption to classes in any way are also prohibited here at Hogwarts. While I would not make any attempt to crush your creative expression, I would however advise you to wait until after Hogwarts to get your Flobberworm tattoo.” He sat down promptly, and most of the hall took that as their cue to leave.
“What did he mean, ‘noisy’ tattoos?” Dan asked Phil as they gathered up their bags.
“Huh?”
“Muggle tattoos aren’t noisy. Ever. Enlighten me.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot muggle pictures stayed still all the time.”
“They move?!”
The Hufflepuff vs Ravenclaw match was in the afternoon and as such both PJ and Phil had worn their house scarves to breakfast (mostly in an attempt to rile the other), and now they pulled them tight around their necks as the four stepped out into the frosty air.
“They move, sure, and most of them will have some kind of charm on them. You have to be really skilled to be a tattooist, although it’s a pretty cool job.” Phil explained.
They were making their way down to the greenhouses, Phil having persuaded them to join him in his pruning expedition. Dan had parchment and ink stowed secretively away under his jumper, and he planned to subtly slip the questions from his Herbology homework into conversation in the hope that Phil would be too engrossed by his plants to catch on.
“What kind of charms?” Dan asked.
“Anything, really.” Phil said, distracted. He was searching through his bag for his dragon hide gloves, and clearly his mind was already inside the greenhouse.
“Depends what the tattoo is,” PJ took over. “For example, you could get a map that always showed wherever you were at that time.”
“Or a clock that yelled the time at you at random intervals in a Glaswegian accent.” Chris contributed.
“Or that.” PJ agreed.
“But like, the possibilities are endless,” Dan said, incredulous. “How could you possibly pick something?”
PJ shrugged. “You have to remember that this is the wizarding world, if you really get sick of it you can probably curse it off. But more importantly, magic doesn’t last forever. It’s energy. It disperses over time, and in the case of a tattoo it fades and the charm wears off unless you get it redone. Obviously they’re designed to last a long time, but not quite forever.”
They were inside the greenhouse now and Dan was lost in thought, absent-mindedly fending off some sort of sinister hanging vines that were trying to wind their way around his neck.
“What are the most popular tattoos?” He asked, interrupting whatever conversation Chris and PJ were having. Phil’s head was buried far too deep in compost to be paying any attention.
“For guys it’s dragons. Very macho. Big scary thing that prances around being tough and breathing fire. If someone’s getting aggy at you and you’re crapping your pants barely holding it together, the huge ass dragon on your shoulder will help out by roaring and stuff.” It was clear from Chris’s tone that he wouldn’t be getting a dragon tattoo any time soon.
“I suppose for girls it’s plants,” PJ said thoughtfully. “Trees and vines and roses and stuff constantly winding round down your back, ever blooming and wilting and moving with the sun and glowing in the moonlight and stuff. They’re really pretty, actually. I’d rather have that than a dragon any day.”
“And that’s why you’re my favourite.” Chris said affectionately, slipping an arm around PJ’s waist.
“Could you get something that only shows up in moonlight?” Dan asked suddenly.
“Sure. That’s a classic, but a bit wimpy if you ask me,” Chris winked. “Way to get out of the main thing about getting a tattoo.”
Dan smiled, watching the back of Phil’s head. He could get a tree, perhaps, to symbolize the one he and Phil had carved their names on with moon spells pretty much a year ago now. Or perhaps he could recreate their carving. He could picture it now, on their anniversary, taking Phil out to see the stars and revealing it to him somewhere romantic…
“Ultimate faux pas though,” PJ said warily, and Dan could see his eyes following Dan’s gaze to Phil. “Don’t get anything to do with a relationship, friendship or otherwise. Same as with a celebrity or a band. What if they go rogue and murder someone? You’re stuck with it forever. Not smart.”
“Yeah, of course.” Dan said guiltily.
“I’d love to be a tattooist,” PJ drifted the subject away. “I’d love designing them for people and doing the art. But you have to be so skilled at everything. You never know what they’re going to ask you to do because obviously everyone’s always trying to be original and fancier than everyone else. You can’t afford to mess up, either.”
“It’s funny really,” Chris said, poking a large succulent with a stick and giggling as it sprayed pink pollen everywhere that exploded sporadically into showers of sparks. “Tattoo artists have to have the highest form of education and be really intellectual. They study for way longer than like, a healer. And yet people think they’re no-good low life scum. Frankly, society needs to – Ahh!” Chris jumped backwards, frantically batting at his elbow with his gloves to put out the pink flames that had sprouted from a stray speck of pollen. He cursed under his breath as he surveyed the singed hole in his sleeve that was smoking still at the edges, pulling out his wand to fix it.
“I wouldn’t,” Phil warned, looking up at the commotion. “If you’re at all attached to your arm, you should wait till it cools.”
Chris tutted, rubbing the exposed pink skin gingerly. “How are your pansies?” He asked.
“Not so good,” Phil frowned. “I’m trying to breed them to be resistant to the cold so that we can grow them in this country, but I think I might just be killing them.”
“Oh dear,” Chris tried valiantly to sound concerned, but Phil wasn’t fooled.
“If you’re bored, go try touch the centre of that bush thing over there.” He smirked.
Chris took in the sea of vicious, purple thorns and raised an eyebrow. “I think I’ll just go tickle a sleeping dragon instead.” He muttered.
“Have you ever grown a venomous tentacula yourself?” Dan asked conversationally. “I want one of those in my garden. You’re supposed to use some really weird fertilizers, right?”
Phil straightened up from the flowerbed and eyed Dan shrewdly. “Nice try. I’m not doing your Herbology homework for you.”
Dan sighed dramatically, picking up a bag of compost and dragging it next to Phil so that he could sit down and be helpful at the same time.
“Did you know, McGonagall’s husband died from a tentacula bite.” PJ said absentmindedly, stroking the velvety petals of a particularly beautiful lunar rose.
“Really?” Phil asked, eyes wide.
“Uh huh.”
“How much more McGonagall trivia do you have?” Dan asked with an incredulous laugh.
“Well, I can tell you she was in love with a muggle for many years, but she couldn’t be with him because she knew it would be the end of her career. She worked at the ministry after graduating, that’s where she met her husband. He proposed to her loads of times and eventually she gave in and they lived in Hogsmede together.” PJ said triumphantly.
“Again, how do you know this?” Chris said, frustrated.
“Flitwick told me.”
“Nah, I reckon you’re just madly in love with her. You’ve been stalking her, I bet you have framed pictures next to your signed Minerva McGonagall autobiography.” Dan teased.
“Well, maybe a little,” PJ said, amused. “I mean, she’s one hell of a woman.”
~
The afternoon’s quidditch match was action packed and hair-raisingly close, but it left Dan feeling more nervous than anything. His first ever match was in two weeks’ time, and it was Gryffindor verses Slytherin. Chris had been ‘pretending’ to try and injure Dan all week, and Dan was starting to get the impression that, if the opportunity arose, Chris probably wouldn’t hesitate to actually accidentally push him into the lake.
“The biggest addition to our tactics this year is with our beaters,” Chris was saying. “We’re aiming bludgers exclusively at the seekers. We want the other team to be without a functioning seeker for as much of the match as possible really. The points difference for getting the snitch is so wild that it’s a risk that’s worth taking, I mean, nine times out of ten whoever gets the snitch wins.”
Dan rolled his eyes, and Phil swatted Chris over the head with a rolled up Daily Prophet. “You’re such a walnut, Chris. You’re just in a panic because you know you’re going to cry like a baby when Dan beats you.”
“Oi, since when were you on Slytherin’s side?!” Chris protested.
“I’m on Hufflepuff’s side, actually. But primarily I’m on Dan’s side, because I’m a soppy boyfriend.”
Before tensions could rise, PJ span round, plopping himself conveniently in between Chris and the other two. “Hey, anyone want another McGonagall fact?” He said brightly. “She broke a bunch of ribs playing Slytherin in her last ever match, and it was the cup decider. That’s why she’s so passionate about seeing Slytherin get slaughtered. ‘Cos it was a Slytherin foul.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Chris muttered darkly, slipping his arm into PJ’s and wheeling him back onto the path. “I swear, you know more about that woman than you do about me.”