A totally romantic trip to Hogsmeade
New Year passed in a swirling explosion of fireworks and celebrations. The lake was glittering with the reflections of a thousand sparkling colours as Dan’s lips crashed into Phil’s and Chris’s pressed against PJ’s. At least, that’s how they told it the next day. In reality, Dan and Phil had both been so caught up in the beauty of the fireworks that they completely forgot about a New Year’s Kiss until the last flecks of gold and scarlet had faded into the smoky sky. Dan had yelped suddenly and, in such a hurry to kiss Phil, had missed his lips completely and nearly gouged Phil’s eye out.
Chris and PJ had been a little way down the jetty, oblivious to everyone else, hand in hand as they stared out across the black water. When the gong struck twelve, Chris had launched himself at PJ. He had however been expecting far more resistance, and ended up toppling them both over into the lake – crashing straight through the thin layer of ice and into the freezing water. Maybe their lips touched in the frantic thrashing of limbs and tangled fabric that followed, but it certainly hadn’t been as romantic as Chris had planned. Dripping wet, shivering violently and both slightly blue under the stars, Chris had taken PJ’s hand once more.
“Yeah, um, sorry about that. I didn’t realise you were tying your shoelace. Anyway. Will you go out with me?”
“I hate you so much.”
“Is that a yes?”
“There’s a crab in your hair.”
“Great. Excellent. Love you Peej.”
“Love you crabhead.”
~
The foursome saw in the New Year in the hospital wing, pleasantly cheerful if a little disgruntled at having missed the party. Dan hid not so inconspicuously under Phil’s blankets as madam Pomfrey made her rounds. She seemed not to have noticed, but handed the three patients four mugs of hot chocolate without a word.
“Aw, do we have to stay here? We’re fine I swear.” Chris whined.
“You two boys will have to stay at least twelve hours under observation. If you’d come to me straight away you might have been okay with a strong warming draft, but running around in wet robes in this weather! Think of your exams boys, you cannot afford to catch a chill at this crucial stage. Phil can go if he wants, but I’m happy to keep him here in case of infection.”
Of course Phil stayed, with Dan nestled comfortably pressed up against the warmth of his stomach. At some point in the night, PJ’s bed was mysteriously vacated, and when Madam Pomfrey bustled in the next day with breakfast she tsked loudly.
“For goodness sake. You could at least have put a pillow under your blankets to make it look like you tried. Boys.” With a shake of the head, she dumped four plates of steaming sausages on a tray.
“He gets nightmares, Miss.” Chris said innocently.
“Oh really?” Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow. “I have just the thing for that. Don’t worry, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’ll go get some Sleep Soother now. I’ve heard it tastes like faecal matter, and clearly you have a severe case so you’ll need at least half a flask.”
PJ paled visibly. “Has it been twelve hours yet?”
~
They had been seeing each other for several months, but for some reason Valentine’s Day descended on Dan and Phil in a cloud of awkwardness. They met in the Entrance Hall, joining the crowd of slowly shuffling crowd of students being signed out by Filch, and Phil realised only too late that he probably should have taken Dan’s hand. They’d agreed to buy presents for each other in Hogsmeade and spend the day just the two of them.
“This feels weird,” Dan muttered.
“I know,” Phil agreed. “I think it’s because we’ve never been on a date before, like, we have, but we’ve never said it was a date. It’s Valentine’s Day though, there’s no avoiding it. To be honest, I haven’t got a clue what we’re supposed to do.”
“Me neither. I reckon we should follow them – they look like they know what they’re doing.” Dan gestured at Cedric Diggory and his pretty girlfriend, a little way ahead of them.
“Good idea,” Phil nodded. “Let’s just copy whatever they do.”
Cedric and Cho made for a small, pokey looking coffee shop as they entered Hogsmeade, and Dan relaxed slightly.
“Coffee, I can do that.” Dan said, relieved.
Phil grinned. The February air was chill and he slipped his cold hands into Dan’s woollen mittens. “These are cute. Did you get addicted to that knitting spell?”
Dan flinched against Phil’s icy touch, curling his own fingers around Phil’s in the warm cocoon. “You’re like an icicle. Why didn’t you wear gloves?”
“You haven’t knitted me any yet.”
Dan rolled his eyes. “You say I’m addicted. Alright, but I’m not sure how well I can do fingers, they look fiddly. You might get six by accident.”
The little teashop was cramped and steamy, and everything seemed to have been decorated with frills and bows.
“Um, cute.” Dan said with a wince.
“Yeah…”
Dan and Phil squeezed themselves into a cosy window table, brushing pink confetti off the chairs so that they could sit down. The candle in the centre of the table was violent pink, with a single red flame that twisted into a smoky heart. It smelled strongly of strawberry jam, and Dan wrinkled up his nose.
“Well. I guess it’s, er, romantic.”
Phil picked up a menu with a giggle. “I think I’m going to get the Lover’s Hot Chocolate with extra marshmallows.”
“Interesting,” Dan raised an eyebrow. “What do you reckon makes it a ‘Lover’s’ hot chocolate, as opposed to a normal one?”
The difference, it transpired, was in colour. The tall mug was filled with a sickly lavender liquid that looked nothing remotely like chocolate, and Phil prodded somewhat doubtfully at the fluffy pink marshmallows. Dan had gone for a straight coffee, but it had been served in a heart shaped mug which probably not the most convenient shape to drink out of.
Phil sniggered as Dan spilled hot coffee down himself for the second time.
“Shut up,” Dan complained. “How’s your purple gloop?”
“Surprisingly tasty. How are the pink sugar cubes?”
“Strawberry flavoured.”
“Ah.”
Dan and Phil only had eyes for each other, mostly because the rest of the shop was filled exclusively with couples glued together in sloppy kisses or crooning embraces.
“They’re letting their lovely drinks get cold.” Dan said in a stage whisper.
Phil snorted into his hot chocolate. “Oh god. I’m not sure how much longer I can take this. Don’t suppose you fancy ditching the singing cherubs and finding Chris and Peej?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
~
The Hog’s Head couldn’t have been more different. A battered, wooden sign hung from a rusty bracket over the door, with a picture on it of the severed head of a wild boar, leaking blood onto the white cloth around it. The sign creaked in the wind as they approached. The pub consisted of one, dingy and very dirty room that smelled strongly of something that may have been goats. The bay windows were so encrusted in grime that very little daylight could permeate the room, which was lit instead by the stubs of candles sitting on rough wooden tables. Clearly, the landlord had made no attempt to decorate for Valentine’s Day.
The floor seemed at first glance to be earth, but as Phil stepped onto it he realised that there was stone beneath what seemed to be the accumulated filth of centuries. There was a man at the bar whose whole head was wrapped in dirty grey bandages, though he was still managing to gulp endless glasses of some smoky, fiery substance through a slit over his mouth. Two figures, shrouded in hoods, sat at one of the window tables. Phil might have thought them dementors if it hadn’t been for their strong Yorkshire accents.
The pub was a lot quieter than The Three Broomsticks, and Phil felt the urge to whisper.
“Do you see Chris and Peej?”
“No… wait, yes – there they are. The corner by the fireplace.”
Chris and PJ were deep in conversation, their chairs pushed close together, and Dan was starting to regret their decision to join them unannounced. Phil seemed to be thinking along the same lines, as when he approached the table it was with false surprise in his tone.
“Hey, fancy seeing you two in here! We’re exploring. It’s er, alternative, huh?”
The couple seemed not to mind the intrusion however, and quickly shuffled up to allow Dan and Phil to sit down at the rickety table.
“It has a certain charm to it.” Chris acknowledged with a grin.
The barman sidled towards them out of a back room. He was a grumpy-looking old man, with a great deal of grey hair.
“What?” He grunted.
“Two butterbeers, please.” Said Phil.
The man reached beneath the counter and pulled up two dusty, very dirty looking bottles, which he slammed on the bar.
“Four sickles.”
Phil passed over the silver, and the old man retreated once more into a dark passageway.
“You know,” Chris murmured, peering over the bar at the rows of suspicious looking glass bottles. “I bet that bloke would sell us firewhisky.”
PJ raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think that’s a good idea, Christos?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You missed out on Katie Bell’s birthday party,” PJ said to Dan with a grin. “She’s in our year, on the Gryffindor team with Chris so he got a plus one. Oh god. Phil, did you see the thing with the canary creams?”
“No? What happened?!” Phil leaned forwards eagerly as Chris groaned and covered his face in his hands.
“Chris ate four. At once. We were caring for a drunk canary for half an hour. You know how birds regurgitate their food, right?”
“Oh, god.”
PJ was clearly enjoying himself, ignoring Chris’s groans. “Even after he’d lost all his feathers he was still a mess. He threw up on the birthday cake and tried to make out with Angelina.”
“I thought it was you!” Chris protested.
“Yeah, right. She was wearing a blue dress. She’s also black.”
“It was dark.”
“Just face it crab boy, you’re the worst boyfriend ever.”
“That’s not fair. I said sorry loads.”
“And then you threw up on me.”
“Well, yeah, that might have ruined the effect somewhat. It was an accident! You got me back though, you made out with both the twins at once.” Chris folded his arms grumpily.
“Well since we were all canaries at the time I don’t think it really counts. You can’t do much kissing with a beak. Anyway, you’re just jealous. You’ve always loved redheads.” PJ winked.
“I like your stupid fat head. Even though you’re really annoying like, 100% of the time.”
“I must love you too, because I wasted half my night and all of the next day looking after you.”
Chris reddened a bit. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes I did, you were hanging off my arm begging me to make you better.”
“Oh god, you’re making it sound so awful. Don’t listen to him, Dan. He was drunk too. So was everyone. I was by no means the worst. It’s Katie’s fault for inviting all the sixth and seventh years.”
Dan laughed as PJ wrapped his arms around Chris’s skinny shoulders, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head to show he wasn’t serious.
“What about you, Phil? You haven’t told me any of this – is that because you embarrassed yourself too?” Dan raised an eyebrow.
“Haven’t you heard?!” Chris said gleefully. “Phil put on a dress and proposed to McGonagall.”
~
They left Chris and PJ at Zonkos and headed further into the residential part of the village, exploring the quaint little houses and winding roads. February had washed away the snow with rain and as they walked it started to drizzle.
“Wanna go back?” Phil asked. “We don’t want to be caught miles away from shelter if it starts to tip it down.”
Dan shrugged. “There’s trees over there, and the sky’s only a little bit grey. I reckon we’ll be alright. Let’s keep going.”
They walked hand in hand down the cobbled path, making their way towards the hill at the edge of the village where the Shrieking Shack stood, balanced precariously on the steep slope. It didn’t look haunted. It seemed to Dan to be rather sad and old, drooping at the edges with vacant windows and an empty heart.
“Who do you think lived there?” He asked.
“No idea,” Phil said. “Someone with weird taste in architecture. I know who built it, but it’s been habituated again a couple of times I think before it was properly abandoned.”
“Can you go inside?”
“No, I don’t think so anyway. It’s supposed to be really dangerous.”
Dan nodded thoughtfully. “Apparently it’s been silent for years though, maybe the ghosts have moved on.”
Phil turned to Dan, slightly alarmed. “We’re not going in there. Haven’t you heard the stories?”
“Not many, muggleborn, remember? Wanna tell me a ghost story?” Dan gave Phil’s hand a teasing squeeze, but Phil grinned.
“Alright. There’s one my mum used to tell me when we’d come up to visit my brother and sister at Hogwarts." Phil wheeled round, climbing atop frosty tree stump and positioning Dan's shoulders so he could see the top of the shack through the gap in the trees. "So there’s this guy, Hengist of Woodcroft," Phil began. "He founded Hogsmeade in like, medieval times after being driven out of his muggle home for being magic and stuff. He was a Hufflepuff, actually. Anyway." Phil jumped down and they started walking again. "He lived in the three broomsticks and he had a brother named Horsa who moved to Hogsmeade later once it was more established and built the Shrieking Shack. Hengist wasn’t impressed though because all the houses in the village are small and friendly and it was meant to be a cute little village, but Horsa built this massive house right at the edge overlooking everyone. Hengist was like some fat redhead German guy – you know, the type you don’t piss off - and one day he decided to try get his brother to open up his house as an inn or something so he wasn’t so cut off from everyone. Horsa refused of course, and Hengist stopped talking to him for ages because he never came down from the hill.”
They were close to the building now, Dan could see the detail of the mangled shutters on the windows. He shivered with anticipation.
“Anyway, Horsa became a recluse and everyone just sort of left him alone. Hengist tried to visit a few times, but Horsa wouldn’t open the doors so eventually he gave up. No one had seen Horsa in years. That’s when the first villager went missing. He was young, only about twenty, and he’d just moved in when he vanished without a trace. Of course, there was a massive search and investigation and stuff, but nothing was ever found of him. He didn’t have any family or anything so eventually they gave up searching and decided he’d just moved away without telling anyone. Another year passed, and all was peaceful. But then it happened again.” Phil was getting into the story now, his hands deep in his pockets.
“This time it was a barmaid from The Three Broomsticks, and she had a lot of friends and family and stuff so the search was a lot more thorough. The found nothing. She didn’t leave a note, and she didn’t even take her wand with her so she couldn’t have gone far. Like, she couldn’t have apparated or anything but they never found her. That winter, a third villager went missing – only this time there was snow, and for the first time in twenty years there were tracks leading up to the Shrieking Shack. Of course, the villagers had never liked Horsa because he had this massive house and stuff so they jumped to conclusions and, led by Hengist, stormed up the hill to pay a visit to old Horsa. They broke down the door and when they found him they were horrified, because he should have been eighty but he looked no older than thirty and everyone flipped. Hengist accused him of using dark magic to steal the life forces of villagers… and this bit’s weird. Horsa didn’t say anything. He just stood there in his dressing gown staring at his brother. The villagers were all hyped up for a fight, and his lack of reaction made them all the angrier and they jumped on him, killing him within seconds. With their bare hands. Hengist was grief stricken and tried to persuade anyone who’d listen that Horsa didn’t do it, but no one believed him. There wasn’t any evidence, but there wasn’t any other explanation either. The guilt and search for answers drove Hengist crazy, and he eventually returned to the Shack and killed himself. That was the end of it, the peaceful villagers decided never to speak of it again and Hengist kept his status as the loved and worshipped founder of Hogsmeade. No one else went missing, and the Shack was silent for years and years. And then the screaming started.”
There was silence for a moment, as Dan stared at Phil. “Well? Did he do it?”
Phil shrugged. “No one knows. Maybe he did, and maybe he didn’t. It was dark. I don’t think they could really have seen his face clearly. It was mob mentality. I like to think he was innocent. My mum used to say the screams weren’t the German brothers, they were the ghosts of all the villagers that caused their death; finally returning to the shack out of curiosity and discovering the truth.”
“I know the name though. He’s on the chocolate frog cards isn’t he?”
“Hengist? Yeah. You don’t hear much about Horsa though. That’s why it’s such a good story. There are more though, loads more. The building’s basically where everything creepy that ever happened in Hogsmeade’s history took place. There’s supposed to be loads of super violent ghosts now from all different periods of history, hanging out and yelling a lot.” Phil grinned. They were leaning against the fence that blocked the path that lead right up to the building now, staring out through the thin mist.
“That’s pretty cool,” Dan mused. “You’ll have to tell me more of them. I love ghost stories. Much better than confetti hearts.”
Phil laughed. “Oh god, this is so romantic isn’t it?”
“It’s much more us,” Dan grinned. “I’d rather be here than Puddifoot’s any day. It’s more original, right?”
Phil sniggered. “Yup. I certainly don’t see any other adoring couples.”
“Are we a couple now then? Like, a proper one? I know we’d said we’d just see how it goes and stuff but like, you know.”
Phil smiled gently. “Dan Howell. Will you be my proper, actual boyfriend?”
“Yes please.”
The mist clung to Dan’s hair in fine, cold droplets that tickled Phil’s fingers as he threaded them gently through the brown tendrils. Dan’s lips were chapped and red, rough against Phil’s, but the kiss was soft and gentle.
It was cut off abruptly however by an interruption from down the hill.
“Well,” Chris said. “And there I was thinking we were original and hipster with our romantic Valentine’s Day destination of choice.”