The Rose of King's Cross - continuation story

[Bara]

Professor Longbottom, sighed and wiggled his toes in his comfortable, well-worn carpet slippers, toasting his feet at his own fireside.

Neville was now 41 – and quite happy to be so.

In the matching wing-backed armchair, Luna nee Lovegrove glanced up at him, still counting stitches ..

“104.” She announced. She saw the fire beginning to burn low. She pointed a knitting needle at the grate.

“Conflagraminimus” she said. The fire re-kindled, burning low and warm.

Neville sighed again, contentedly.

“Go on, dear? Prompted Luna.

“Well, that’s it, really, Dear,” said Neville. “What are you knitting?” he added belatedly, conscious that modern thinking urged participating in your spouse’s interests.

“Oh,” said Luna, vaguely, “another Dream-Catcher.”

Neville wondered uneasily who would be the happy recipient of this latest cat’s-cradle of wool.

He’d had a painful interview with Nev Junior, just before his oldest son had jetted off to the Liechtenstein Institute of Aurology. He was proud of Nev. There hadn’t been many Longbottoms with a natural gift for numerology. But young Neville was almost a savant in his ability to calculate values.

Still, Neville had felt obliged to call him to task, the night before his broomflight to Europe.

“She’ll take it to heart,” he’d ventured in his still too Northern accent. “Just take them with you?” He’d asked.

Nev had stared at him.

“Dad,” he’d said. “Just think about it. If I arrive hung around with Native American charms, wearing a Kaftan and a Sun Symbol, what chance do you think I’ll have? I’m a mathematician - amongst mathematicians!”

Neville had sighed, acknowledging the truth of his son’s fears, but aware of how earnestly his wife had knitted and woven to surround her first-born with impregnable magic.

So Neville’s darkest secret was the night before Nev’s departure, when father and son dug a deep unholy grave for Luna’s goodluck charms.

Professor Longbottom couldn’t resist glancing out of the cosy living room window, where sunflowers blossomed in all seasons.

“Go on, Dear,” repeated Luna, purling and plaining.

“It’s the Marekins…” began Neville ….

[johnnysauntie]

"The Marekins," he sighed again. "Luna. You remember. Years ago, when It all happened. Things were clicking along normally one day, and then the next, everything changed. I feel like that's happening again."

"Neville." Luna said firmly. She loved her husband, whose sweet, gentle, sometimes-bumbling exterior belied a core of steel. However, that brave core, that confidence that had stolen her breath (and her heart) years ago, didn't evidence itself often. In fact, it was only under extreme duress did Neville make the Clark Kent-esque transformation into the brave soul who conjured the Sword of Gryffindor and slew Voldemort's snake.

"Neville, he's dead. Voldemort is dead and gone, and you know that Harry's scar has been silent and painless all these years. It's over, it's done with." Luna had set aside her knitting and gazed intently at her husband.

"I know, I know that Voldemort is dead. And I'm satisfied that he is truly gone. But he's not the only source of evil in history. Think about all the dark magic that was done before Dumbledore changed the curriculum at Hogwarts, Luna. That wasn't that long ago. And you know that Durmstrang's reputation isn't exactly pristine." He thought of his friend Vicktor Krum - the wildly gifted ex-Quidditch star who was how head of the Global Aurors Group. Krum had turned his back on Durmstrang, embarrassed by his former school's tacit support of the Death Eater movement.

"I just feel like there's something else out there." He was frustrated. He stared into the fire, letting the flames blur in his field of vision.

***

Upstairs, their house elf Ebbie was folding the laundry when an eerie breeze chilled her skin. Looking around wildly for the open window, she saw none.

A movement in the corner of the room caught her eye. The DreamCatcher her mistress had knitted and hung from the neweled bedpost was spinning wildly and emitting a yellow glow.

"M - m -mistress!" she shrieked, between muttered elfin charms that had no effect on the magical incursion. "MISTRESS LUNA! MASTER NEVILLE! PLEASE COME UPSTAIRS!"

Down stairs, Neville and Luna looked at each other, aghast, and bolted from their chairs, wands drawn. They raced to their bedroom where Ebbie stood, frozen, in front of a shadowy form that was cast from the light of the spinning DreamCatcher.

The three stood, transfixed, as the form, which appeared to be a human but was dressed in fringed leggings and was bedecked in feathers, danced in the corner. A deep voice issued from the image.

In Tse'gihi
In the house made of the dawn,
In the house made of the evening twilight,
In the house made of the dark cloud,
In the house made of the he-rain,
In the house made of the dark mist,
In the house made of the she-rain,
In the house made of pollen,
In the house made of grasshoppers,
Where the dark mist curtains the doorway,
The path to which is on the rainbow,
Where the zigzag lightning stands high on top,
Where the he-rain stands high on top,
Oh, male divinity![/i]

As suddenly as the image appeared, it was gone. The yellow glow shrank into a small comet and soared from the room, passing seamlessly through the closed window.

Three sets of eyes followed the arc of the glowing orb and its tail across the yard. Suddenly it dove, and plummteted earthward, into a corner of the garden.

A very certain corner, Neville was distressed to see, exactly where certain other objects had been buried.

"The Night Chant," Luna breathed. "That was part of the Navajo Night Chant."

"Well, what's that all about then?!" cried Neville. He had never taken much interest in Luna's pursuit of Native Marekin culture adn mythology.

"It's complicated," she said. For once in her life, she was cowed. Utterly cowed. "It's part of the Nightway ceremony. The chant ends well, but if it's a guide, well, I have to tell you ..." she trailed off, and turned to him. "A lot happens between the beginning and the end."

[johnnysauntie]

reference for other writers ;D

www.hanksville.org/voyage/navajo/ceremonials.php3

[Bara]

In her 'Spinster' quarters, in the north turret of Hogwarts, Professor Trelawney was presiding over 'detention' in her velvet-swathed study.

Four of her first years had been so naughty in Divination class that it had penetrated even Trelawney's precarious hold on reality.

The three boys; Areez Prakadia, Hugo Weasley and little Pomfret Parlier had been hurling mini 'owlers at each others' desks, confident that their teacher wouldn't even notice. In fact, Weasley's 'owler had hit Parlier's desk by mistake, but Pomfret was so flattered to be included that he had hurled an 'owler back.

The only girl involved was Lola Persia. She had watched the horseplay between the boys and seen her chance to engage Areez' attention. So she'd 'owled a sugar-pink 'lovebird' onto his desk.

He had flushed scarlet, looking hunted and peering frantically around to see if the other lads had noticed. He'd stuffed the bird under his desk, but it still sang loudly ...

Lola was further enraptured to be given detention alongside the boys so that she could sit next to Areez for a further hour after school. The House demerits were worth it.

Detention was just as unruly as class had been. Although slightly deterred from actually 'owling, the boys were giggling and scuffling.

Lola was doodling 'Lola Prakadia', LOLA PRAKADIA [glow=red,2,300][/glow][glow=red,2,300]Mrs L Prakadia'[/glow][glow=red,2,300][/glow] on her schoolbook.

The sudden dimming of the lights silenced them all, Lola stopping, open-mouthed and wide-eyed mid-way through writing : "[glow=red,2,300]AREEZ AND LOLA PRAKA......" [/glow]The boys were frozen mid-punch.

Something odd was happening to their teacher.

The Professor was bathed in a strange glow. For once, her eyes were focussed, looking straight at Areez and seeming to pin him to his seat. A golden globe was dancing around her.

"You may go," she announced. "Areez - please stay behind."

There was a moment's confusion, then the detention class began collecting up their books hurriedly.

Areez looked uneasy.

The dreamcatcher behind the professor seemed to billow for a moment as the golden globe settled into it as though in a hammock.

The other boys fled, Lola pausing for a moment to look back. Between Trelawney and Prakadia there was an almost visible mental link.

[brooks]

Like fireworks


;D We love it

[Bara]

In the first form Hufflepuff dorm, Areez was hissing furiously to Pomfret Parlier in the next bed.

PP was dozing off, hardly able to listen.

"Hmmm?" he breathed.

"LISTEN"" hissed Areez. "I'm the wrong sort of Indian, DAMMIT! She's got it wrong.. She's focusing it all on ME. DAMMIT, I'm from Pakistan, how can I relate to a Navajo warchant. DAMMIT."

"Don't swear," murmured Parlier.

"BY THE PROPHET, I'M NOT WRETCHED SWEARING! DAMMIT!" Swore Areez.

"How do I tell her? There's nothing I can wretched do with a Navajo warchant! But to her - Indian is Indian. I can't let her down ... dammit, " he ended lamely.

"Best study Navajo warchants, then.." suggested Pomfret, falling into sleep.

Areez lay awake fuming for a while.

[brian]

Professor Law strode purposefully to the front of the class assembled on the grounds of Hogwarts. With a sharp yank , he pulled the canvas cover off the large cage. Inside was a furry beast , about three feet long , with a large bulbous nose and a demeanor of bewilderment .

"Ladies and Gentlemen ........" He said indicating the creature with a pointer " This is a wombat . It has nothing whatsoever to do with Navajo rituals or mysticism . It is a slow , lumbering nocturnal burrowing marsupial in indigenous to Australia , where there are no Navajos , only Aborigines ....."

[brian]

"The Aborigines believe that the spirits of of certain animals become human beings . They celebrate their existence with totems and ground sculptures - much like Navajo sand paintings . The essence of the animal becomes the person. It defines who and what they are . It determines what they do ."

Suddenly Professor Law's face is inches away from Hugo Weasley's " A Wombat is a nocturnal burrowing animal . What does that mean young Mister Weasley?"

"They ........dig? All night ?" Stammered Hugo .

Professor Law crossed his arms , leaned back and slowly repeated the phrase emphasizing every word ." They ...Dig...All night........."

[brian]

[ftp]http://aboriginalart.com.au/culture/religion.html[/ftp]

[Bara]

Hee hee - Sarah's in the air!!

[Bara]

Ebbie was still shaking when she retired to the Elf quarters that day. It had all been too much. Somehow, the fact that she was a Free Elf, married to a Free Elf, had never really become a reality in Ebbie’s mind.

Oh, she wore the Sock Of Freedom as a scarf around her neck, and Axiom said that was a GOOD THING, but she always felt uncomfortable when Missus Luna gave her money at the end of every week.

In fact, the weekly ritual had become something of a nightmare for Luna. It was the same every week. Luna would seek Ebbie out and remind her that she should go home, now, Axiom would be waiting. Ebbie would insist on finishing the task she was engaged in – and then a couple more. So Luna sought her out earlier and earlier each week.

And then came the ‘Paying Of The Wages’, as Luna thought of it in her own mind.

She dreaded it – every week. Luna would say: “Thank you very much, Ebbie, you’ve done very well this week.” And she’d hold out the brown envelope with Ebbie’s wages in.

And then … Luna sighed…, Ebbie would jump back, wailing, as though Luna were handing her a poisonous snake. She had to be quick, then, to rugby-tackle Ebbie before the Elf managed to hurl herself at the nearest hard surface and start beating her head against it.

And usually, Neville would wander through, vaguely glancing down at the two prone, panting bodies on the kitchen/laundry-room/bathroom floor, and say :

“Good heavens, Dear. What ARE you doing to Ebbie?”

At first, Luna had attempted to answer, panting with exertion : “Paying her wages.” Or : “Sending her home.”

But now she just glared at Neville and would say something like –

“Oh, we’ve taken up Sumo Wrestling.”

Or – “It’s a Navajo ritual.”

Or – “Feng Shui. You’re disturbing it.”

Or – “It’s a girl thang…”

“Well, do be careful, dear,” Neville would say and wander away.

When eventually Luna felt it was safe to let Ebbie go, she would sit on the kitchen floor, panting. Ebbie would pick herself up, tucking the brown envelope into a specially constructed pocket in her scarf.

“Goodnight, Miss Luna,” she would carol, and trot out of the door.

“Goodnight, Ebbie.” Luna would sigh, pull herself upright onto the nearest comfy surface and sighing, she would promise herself a nice cup of tea.

Tonight, when Ebbie got home, Axiom had come home, too, from his ‘jaunting abroad’, as Ebbie thought of it.

Still shaking, she threw herself into his arms. Together, they rammed their foreheads into the fireplace, both sobbing.

“Oh, Axie ..
“Oh, Ebbie…” they said together.

Ebbie was the first to recover. “Well, there was this golden globe thing – and it danced and sang.”

Axiom mulled this over for a moment. “And there’s this Sharp Yank and we went to Ronnie Scott’s… and then there was a wombat. They dig all night,” he added helpfully.

Ebbie paused, diverted from her own experiences for a moment. “Sharp Yank?” She asked.

“Professor Law,” confided Axiom, darkly.

[brian]

Lucinda heard it while making her night time rounds. A scraping scrabbling noise outside . She crept outside , gripped by a nameless but palpable sense of dread. She pointed her torch all about , but saw nothing.

Just as she was about to go back in ( relieved ) she saw it. A form creeping slowly through the darkness. She trained the beam of her torch on it.

Professor Law's wombat . It clumsily fought it's way trough a hedge .

Lucinda followed.

****

Ebbie and Axiom made their way into the large open yard .

" Come." said Axiom. "We must follow ."

" No. " Said Ebbie. It's wrong . Wrong , wrong , wrong " She wailed , banging her head on the stone wall as punctuation .

"Someone's coming " He hissed , grabbing her by the wrist . " Come on"

****

Professor Longbottom made his way across the lawn , nervously glancing about . It was the Marekins . He knew it . As soon as they showed up all Hell broke loose. He noticed a rustling in the hedge and followed it.
****

Hugo and Areez carefully walked , following the footsteps in the damp grass.

" How about Aborigine rituals? That's foreign . Do you know anything about them?"

Areez just shook his head.

****

Mrs Norris followed many scents . She glared malevolently into the darkness.

[Bara]

Terrie and Impo, Thea and Illustria, Lynne, Bara and Porry were hurrying home through the twilight. Centaur Foal Debating Club had over-run... Porry, on a lead rope, was hanging back from Bara's hand.

There had been a thorny question regarding free-will Vs dressage, which had become a tad heated... Porry had seemed to listen approvingly.

Lilliput, a small, smart Connemara/WelshX with an angelic face and a head of blond curls, had put forward a convincing, but inflammatory argument against dressage and in favour of 'partnership'.

The Tarts, against their better judgement, had engaged.

Consequently, the Debating Society had finished late and Lynne and Bara were worried about missing curfew and lights-out. Lucinda was lovely - but a disciplinarian.

And Bara still had to groom, feed and bed Porry, who was sweeping where the sweeping was good. Lynne had promised to help, but still, Bara knew, they would be VERY late.

As the others carried on the conversation, Lynne and Bara were trying to drag them home.

Thea stopped dead in her tracks. "Come ON, Thea," fretted Lynne.

"Look." said Thea.

"Come ON, Thea!" fretted Bara. Everyone else stayed stock-still.

Impo shone his torch on the confused tracks in the mud. He raised the beam - the hedge was tangled and broken.

"Not hoof-marks," announced Illustria. The others glared at her.

Imperator muttered to himself. "Several tracks," he thought out loud. "Human, elven ... A cat! he announced. "And something else.... something else .... Marsupial?" he guessed.

Bara clung to Lynne's arm.

It was Porry who led off in the direction of the tracks.

[Lynne]

Lynne, who'd always been a tad bit creeped out by the marsupial mode of mothering, immediately stopped and began to inspect her bellybutton for any signs of life.

[Bara]

It was Lynne who felt the hot breath on her neck as the others paused at the break in the bushes, Bara's broom pulling against his lead-rope to push forward.

"Stand, Porry..." she whispered.

Lynne turned. There was Lilliput, erstwhile debating antagonist. He smiled down at her.

"It's tonight," he said.

Lynne stared at him.

The young Centaur gently pushed the others aside and shouldered his way through the brush. Porry, old broom though he was, broke free of Bara's grip and proudly followed the Centaur through the gap in the hedge.

Impo and Illustria turned to the Muggles : "Go home," said Imperator, kindly ...