Chapter Four: "J’éprouve tant de chagrin à raconter ces souvenirs."
July 22, 1993
As quickly as it had lightened, his mood turned grave again. "Even if she does, it doesn’t matter. Everything is very small where I live."
I am Responsible for My Rose by lilian_cho
Chapter four of twenty-seven
Spoilers: Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince chapter four, all Harry Potter books
Betas: rea_saint, nazgul_lady
Britpickers: all the wonderful people who posted helpful comments at hp_britglish
Archive: please ask permission first
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Harcourt, Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
4
J’éprouve tant de chagrin à raconter ces souvenirs.
July 23, 1999
Six years after I met the little prince, I sat down to piece together the story of his life and our encounter. Even though my memories of him were siphoned into a Pensieve, I could still remember clearly his carefree laughter, his random remarks, the changing light in his green eyes.
From time to time I would persuade myself that he was merely a tea-induced mirage. But why would I invent a boy who has the enemy’s face?
His emphatic assertions that everything is very small where I live led me to deduce that his planet is nowhere as big as Mars, bringer of battle. In fact, I suspect it is so small that even the centaurs can hardly track its movements across the heavens.
Several phenomena had convinced me that the little prince came from an asteroid that Muggles label B-612. A Muggle Turkish astronomer saw the asteroid through telescope in 1909. It has never been sighted by Muggles ever since.
In 1996, the Metamorphmagus Auror gave a formal presentation to the Department of Mysteries. She implemented Divination, astrology and Muggle astronomy to demonstrate the potential significance of Asteroid B-612.
In her stupid thoughtlessness, she sported hair as pink as a piece of blowing gum. Everyone politely clapped, but no one took her presentation seriously. The girl had no proper respect for color symbolism. If she must wear her hair in an unnatural color, she could have chosen Ravenclaw blue. Even Gryffindor red or any other Hogwarts color would be a vast improvement from the juvenile pink.
Just three days ago, she gave a repeat presentation on Asteroid B-612. She had apparently learned her lesson from three years back. Her hair was wavy blond this time, and she wore an elegant formal robe in a style favored by her blond aunt. In consequence, her audience sat up and took notice.
It was not reassuring in the slightest that wizards holding such important position in the Ministry could not look past the obvious. During her first presentation, the girl held a very junior position with the Aurors. She dropped her diagrams twice during the presentation and profusely apologized each time. Her enthusiasm over the Muggle telescope only reminded her audience that her father was a Muggle-born.
It both amused and irritated me that her audience could not hear the sincerity and deep conviction in her voice, as she explained the significance of her findings. I kept my silence as the wizards, overlooking her top marks in Divination at Hogwarts, dismissed her findings without a second thought. It all started with her pink Metamorphmagus hair, which reinforced their preexisting prejudices against her unimpressive background.
Sometimes I despair over the state of wizarding Britain. At least Muggles do not have a sanctioned system that lump people into four categories. I do not deny that I am guilty of the same crime. Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin.
Not for the first time, I wondered whether Mother would have been sorted into Slytherin if her father was not a wizard, albeit a Muggle-born one. It never ceased to amuse me that a Muggle-born Hufflepuff and a Muggle could have produced an ambitious Slytherin like her. I wondered what made the Sorting Hat decide that she belongs in Slytherin instead of Ravenclaw.
Perhaps her ambition stemmed from her Hufflepuffian ability to believe. Even after spending seven years in the Slytherin dungeons, she did not let go of her belief, her ambition. She would have understood, even if I did not tell her about Asteroid B-612, that the little prince existed. She would have weaved my encounter into a fairy tale. Once upon a time there was a little prince who lived on a planet that was scarcely any bigger than himself, and who had need of an owl. . .
But I am not like her. I needed to affirm my encounter with the boy. That’s why it was imperative for me to know which planet he came from. I did not have faith in my own memories.
But then I remembered my drawing of Karma. Surely, the boy who appreciated her beauty is real? And his laughter. I had never heard such carefree laughter even in my most detailed dreams.
I no longer hear the enemy’s mocking laughter whenever I remember the boy. On the occasions that the little prince laughed at me, he never laughed unkindly.
With the memory of his bright laughter, I picked up my quill and began to draw. I had not sketched a single drawing ever since I parted ways with him six years ago. This was my first attempt at a portrait. I spent more than an hour on his eyes, his mother’s eyes.
Fetching the box of Muggle paints I had purchased earlier, I began to fill in the colors. Gryffindor red for his scarf-I smiled in fond exasperation.
My right hand hovering above his eyes, I paused. I had deliberately chosen Muggle paints for their immutability. I could not handle the whimsicalities of wizarding paints. Not for this subject.
But I could not bear to look at unchanging green eyes. It would be like admitting that he is dead, that he was never real. I exhaled a shuddering breath.
I placed my unfinished portrait of him in my top drawer, along with the box of Muggle paints. I walked out of my study. It was time for my afternoon tea.
*****
Vocabulary:
pensieve
Metamorphmagus Auror
Department of Mysteries
Author’s notes: The next update will be two days late (June 1), since it is Memorial Day weekend in the U.S.
I'm done tinkering with this chapter. For now. If you're curious why I tinkered with this chapter so much, go here.
Please leave comments. Concrits are most welcome (e.g., “I think Snape and/or Tonks is OoC because…”)
If you like this fanfic, please “friend” or “watch” this journal so I have an idea of the number of readers. Thank you!
Special Mention:
Thank you darthfox and chasethecat (“blond” vs. “blonde”) and everyone else who posted helpful comments at hp_britglish. Thanks unicorn13 for nitpicking the first paragraph (past tense v. present tense).
Fanarts:
rea_saint will draw Tonks in pink hair and Tonks in wavy blond hair for me.
Another illustration I would like for this chapter is Snape’s portrait of Harry. If you’re interested, please drop me a line here, at lilian_cho, or e-mail me: lilian_cho [AT] yahoo [DOT] com with the subject line “IMR4MR 4 fanart.” I will return the favor with HP drabbles or beta-ing/editing services.
Back-story Giveaways:
The first three commentors who answer correctly to any of the following questions can request a back-story to any character/relationship/situation in this fanfic.
1) In 1996, the Metamorphmagus Auror gave a formal presentation to the Department of Mysteries regarding the potential significance of Asteroid B-612. Why was the time of presentation 1996? Think canon!Harry Potter.
why_me_why_not won a back-story on Harry's scar for answering question #1 correctly.
2) Early in this chapter, Snape quoted a phrase from another HP character in this chapter. Which character was it? From which HP book?
For answering question #2 correctly, opsat won a MWPP story, in Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things are style.
3) What is the significance of wearing something red around one's neck for French aristocrats after the French Revolution?
This custom is similar to the custom of British people wearing crimson Flanders poppy after WWI.
thallos wrote: a black or red ribbon around the neck means that a member of your family was killed by the Revolutionary (specifically was guillotined) and that you were a survivor. I think though i'm not 100% sure that a red scarf is the same thing.
thallos won a Weasley twins angst drabble for her answer.
Okay, so she's French, and I guess this question is too obscure for non-French people to answer *sweatdrop* Actually, this question was a bit too obscure for French people too, since a French friend on LJ (and her husband) do not know the answer either. So...yeah.
I read about this historical tidbit in a design book about the significance of colors in different countries. I'll try to make future questions less obscure--no promises though; sometimes I just run out of things to ask. *shrug*