Week 9: Laughter
What makes me laugh?
***
"...and I, for one, am sick of it."
"Walden, you're drunk." The corner of Narcissa's lip curled upward with disgust.
"No 'm not." Macnair staggered across the room to the bar and picked up the bottle of firewhiskey. "And so what if I am?" he said, spilling another measure of the whiskey into his glass. Narcissa tsked as the glass overfilled and the excess slopped over onto the dark wood. "I've got good reason to be."
"What reasons are those?" I asked, amused, as a house-elf rushed forward to mop up the mess. Macnair never failed to put on a good show in his cups. "Ireland won the match, didn't they? I should think you'd be thrilled."
"Look around you, Lucius," Macnair said, swaying on his feet. "We're in hiding. All of us. 'No magic where the muggles might see it.'" This last was delivered in a high, slurred falsetto, a credible imitation of the Ministry witch who'd given us the instruction. "Bloody anti-muggle security." He tipped the glass to his lips and took a long draught. His moustache was dripping when he lowered it.
"I should think you would find it rather difficult to feel deprived under the circumstances, Macnair," Severus said quietly, with a pointed look around the room. He was the only person among us without a glass in his hand. "Lucius has very nearly recreated Malfoy Manor, and I don't see Ministry officials swooping in to chide him for it."
"Lucius has the Ministry in his hip pocket," Macnair retorted, and I smiled into my snifter. "There are very few others who could get away with a set-up like this. Avery, Goyle, am I right?"
"Hear, hear!" Avery said, raising his glass to me, and I nodded my silent thanks for the toast. Goyle merely grunted, his pudgy cheeks flushed a deep red. Macnair's beady eyes narrowed in on the empty tumbler in Goyle's mitt-sized hands, and he grabbed the bottle from the bar.
"'S an insult, I tell you." As he approached with the bottle, Goyle lifted his glass unsteadily; it took Macnair three tries before the whiskey sloshed against the bottom. The rest formed an amber puddle on the floor at his feet. "Mmm. Sorry 'bout that, Narcissa." I did not need to see my wife's face to know the expression that had crossed it. With a disdainful sniff, she set her brandy down on the table and, stiff-backed, left the room without another word.
Macnair leaned an elbow on the back of Goyle's armchair and tucked the bottle under his arm. "'M sick of it, I tell you. There's no reason we should have to live like this. To think we were this close --" he lifted his free hand to his face and squinted between his thumb and forefinger, which were a few centimetres apart "-- to seizing power. The Dark Lord would have seen to it that we would never have to hide ourselves away like this again." He belched and his voice grew deadly quiet, his eyes unfocussed as though trying to catch a glimpse of a distant memory. "I miss the days when we were able to put fear into the muggles and mudbloods whenever the mood struck us to do it."
"To the old days," Crabbe said, hauling himself to his feet, and a chorus of voices gabbled in response. The room was silent for a moment as we all drained our glasses, and then everyone was talking at once.
"Remember when --"
"I'll never forget the time --"
"The best thing was --"
"Gentlemen," I said, raising my voice just enough to be heard over the babble. The crowd quieted as I rose, leaning on my cane. The torchlight suddenly seemed over bright to my eyes. "I believe," I said, once every head had turned in my direction, "that there is a family of muggles here, on this very campsite."
***
It was a simple matter to transfigure the robes and masks we required, and simpler yet to break into the muggles' home. The woman screamed and the children cried, but it was the man's frustrated shouts that made me laugh hardest. I almost regretted having to take their voices, so fulfilling was it to hear his squeaky demands that we release them at once.
Even better were the shrieks of panic as we marched across the campground with the muggles high above us, illuminated in a flood of greenish light. Nott shot hex after hex up into the air, and the muggles twitched and jerked, their bodies contorting as the spells hit. To my surprise and delight, even Severus got in on the fun, flipping the muggle woman upside down so her nightdress ballooned around her head. I nearly doubled over with laughter as she struggled in vain to regain her modesty.
The crowd around us swelled as we crossed the campsite. The odor of alcohol was strong in the air, mixed with the scent of victory and the nearly-forgotten thrill of inciting mayhem. It was a heady combination and I forgot all semblance of dignity, laughing until my face was wet with tears and the inside of my mask heavy with perspiration.
Macnair, I realized, had been right. I had missed this more than I would have thought possible. Once again we were showing muggles the superiority of wizards, and my heart swelled with the joy of it.
As we approached the edge of the woods, a group of Ministry wizards appeared around us, and I was dimly aware that the sounds of our merrymaking was being replaced by the noise of a scuffle at the edges of the crowd. But I didn't care. My standing within the Ministry was secure, and I blasted another tent out of the way to make room for us to pass.
Suddenly Severus, who had been walking in front of me, stopped short without warning, and I stumbled and fell headlong against his back.
"Good gods, man, what are you --" I shouted, but a flash of green light up ahead made me bite my tongue. A glittering shape was rising above the treetops like a spectre, another long-forgotten memory that turned my blood to ice.
And then the laughter died.
***
"...and I, for one, am sick of it."
"Walden, you're drunk." The corner of Narcissa's lip curled upward with disgust.
"No 'm not." Macnair staggered across the room to the bar and picked up the bottle of firewhiskey. "And so what if I am?" he said, spilling another measure of the whiskey into his glass. Narcissa tsked as the glass overfilled and the excess slopped over onto the dark wood. "I've got good reason to be."
"What reasons are those?" I asked, amused, as a house-elf rushed forward to mop up the mess. Macnair never failed to put on a good show in his cups. "Ireland won the match, didn't they? I should think you'd be thrilled."
"Look around you, Lucius," Macnair said, swaying on his feet. "We're in hiding. All of us. 'No magic where the muggles might see it.'" This last was delivered in a high, slurred falsetto, a credible imitation of the Ministry witch who'd given us the instruction. "Bloody anti-muggle security." He tipped the glass to his lips and took a long draught. His moustache was dripping when he lowered it.
"I should think you would find it rather difficult to feel deprived under the circumstances, Macnair," Severus said quietly, with a pointed look around the room. He was the only person among us without a glass in his hand. "Lucius has very nearly recreated Malfoy Manor, and I don't see Ministry officials swooping in to chide him for it."
"Lucius has the Ministry in his hip pocket," Macnair retorted, and I smiled into my snifter. "There are very few others who could get away with a set-up like this. Avery, Goyle, am I right?"
"Hear, hear!" Avery said, raising his glass to me, and I nodded my silent thanks for the toast. Goyle merely grunted, his pudgy cheeks flushed a deep red. Macnair's beady eyes narrowed in on the empty tumbler in Goyle's mitt-sized hands, and he grabbed the bottle from the bar.
"'S an insult, I tell you." As he approached with the bottle, Goyle lifted his glass unsteadily; it took Macnair three tries before the whiskey sloshed against the bottom. The rest formed an amber puddle on the floor at his feet. "Mmm. Sorry 'bout that, Narcissa." I did not need to see my wife's face to know the expression that had crossed it. With a disdainful sniff, she set her brandy down on the table and, stiff-backed, left the room without another word.
Macnair leaned an elbow on the back of Goyle's armchair and tucked the bottle under his arm. "'M sick of it, I tell you. There's no reason we should have to live like this. To think we were this close --" he lifted his free hand to his face and squinted between his thumb and forefinger, which were a few centimetres apart "-- to seizing power. The Dark Lord would have seen to it that we would never have to hide ourselves away like this again." He belched and his voice grew deadly quiet, his eyes unfocussed as though trying to catch a glimpse of a distant memory. "I miss the days when we were able to put fear into the muggles and mudbloods whenever the mood struck us to do it."
"To the old days," Crabbe said, hauling himself to his feet, and a chorus of voices gabbled in response. The room was silent for a moment as we all drained our glasses, and then everyone was talking at once.
"Remember when --"
"I'll never forget the time --"
"The best thing was --"
"Gentlemen," I said, raising my voice just enough to be heard over the babble. The crowd quieted as I rose, leaning on my cane. The torchlight suddenly seemed over bright to my eyes. "I believe," I said, once every head had turned in my direction, "that there is a family of muggles here, on this very campsite."
***
It was a simple matter to transfigure the robes and masks we required, and simpler yet to break into the muggles' home. The woman screamed and the children cried, but it was the man's frustrated shouts that made me laugh hardest. I almost regretted having to take their voices, so fulfilling was it to hear his squeaky demands that we release them at once.
Even better were the shrieks of panic as we marched across the campground with the muggles high above us, illuminated in a flood of greenish light. Nott shot hex after hex up into the air, and the muggles twitched and jerked, their bodies contorting as the spells hit. To my surprise and delight, even Severus got in on the fun, flipping the muggle woman upside down so her nightdress ballooned around her head. I nearly doubled over with laughter as she struggled in vain to regain her modesty.
The crowd around us swelled as we crossed the campsite. The odor of alcohol was strong in the air, mixed with the scent of victory and the nearly-forgotten thrill of inciting mayhem. It was a heady combination and I forgot all semblance of dignity, laughing until my face was wet with tears and the inside of my mask heavy with perspiration.
Macnair, I realized, had been right. I had missed this more than I would have thought possible. Once again we were showing muggles the superiority of wizards, and my heart swelled with the joy of it.
As we approached the edge of the woods, a group of Ministry wizards appeared around us, and I was dimly aware that the sounds of our merrymaking was being replaced by the noise of a scuffle at the edges of the crowd. But I didn't care. My standing within the Ministry was secure, and I blasted another tent out of the way to make room for us to pass.
Suddenly Severus, who had been walking in front of me, stopped short without warning, and I stumbled and fell headlong against his back.
"Good gods, man, what are you --" I shouted, but a flash of green light up ahead made me bite my tongue. A glittering shape was rising above the treetops like a spectre, another long-forgotten memory that turned my blood to ice.
And then the laughter died.