Hallowe'en 1976
It has been what must be considered a perfectly lovely weekend. And even the prospect of having to return to classes in the morning can't dim anyone's good mood this evening.
It's time for the annual Hallowe'en feast.
The Great Hall is, of course, decorated fantastically, with great swooping clouds of fluttering bats, flaming orange streamers that twist and wind their way around the ceiling in ever-changing patterns, and jack-o-lanterns. Dozens and dozens of jack-o-lanterns, bobbing above the four House tables, candles flickering atmospherically.
The first years sitting just down the table from them stare around, wide-eyed and gaping, nudging each other to point out this detail or that. Lily smiles, remembering when the Great Hall was not only impressive but new, and things like Hallowe'en were times to be wonderstruck.
She turns to Mary, sitting next to her, the only other Muggleborn Gryffindor girl in their year. "That used to be us, you know," she says, nodding towards the younger students.
Mary doesn't answer. She's busy staring, wide-eyed and gaping, at the carved pumpkin bobbing in front of them.
"Mary?" Lily says. "Everything all right?"
"Look," Mary says. "Look at the pumpkin."
Lily looks up, briefly, and turns back to Mary, "Yes, I know, it's ... "
And then her brain catches up with her eyes, and she looks back up at the glowing, candle-illuminated face that is unmistakeably Professor McGonagall, carved into an orange squash.
"Oh ... my ... "
Lily turns quickly to look at the other pumpkins. From where she's sitting, she can make out Flitwick (slowly revolving, a few yards away and just above Cliona and Fenton), and Slughorn (slightly off-kilter, floating above the Hufflepuff behind her), and even Grindstaff (scowling down on the first years, looking not at all amused about having been rendered in squash).
"It's the professors," Lily says. "They're all ... they're all the professors."
"I know," Mary says.
A pumpkin carved to look like Dumbledore goes careening cheerfully down the length of the table, and the other pumpkins move respectfully out of the headmaster's way.
Mary and Lily look at each other for a moment, and then they start to laugh.
Maybe Hallowe'en still has a little wonder to strike after all.
It's time for the annual Hallowe'en feast.
The Great Hall is, of course, decorated fantastically, with great swooping clouds of fluttering bats, flaming orange streamers that twist and wind their way around the ceiling in ever-changing patterns, and jack-o-lanterns. Dozens and dozens of jack-o-lanterns, bobbing above the four House tables, candles flickering atmospherically.
The first years sitting just down the table from them stare around, wide-eyed and gaping, nudging each other to point out this detail or that. Lily smiles, remembering when the Great Hall was not only impressive but new, and things like Hallowe'en were times to be wonderstruck.
She turns to Mary, sitting next to her, the only other Muggleborn Gryffindor girl in their year. "That used to be us, you know," she says, nodding towards the younger students.
Mary doesn't answer. She's busy staring, wide-eyed and gaping, at the carved pumpkin bobbing in front of them.
"Mary?" Lily says. "Everything all right?"
"Look," Mary says. "Look at the pumpkin."
Lily looks up, briefly, and turns back to Mary, "Yes, I know, it's ... "
And then her brain catches up with her eyes, and she looks back up at the glowing, candle-illuminated face that is unmistakeably Professor McGonagall, carved into an orange squash.
"Oh ... my ... "
Lily turns quickly to look at the other pumpkins. From where she's sitting, she can make out Flitwick (slowly revolving, a few yards away and just above Cliona and Fenton), and Slughorn (slightly off-kilter, floating above the Hufflepuff behind her), and even Grindstaff (scowling down on the first years, looking not at all amused about having been rendered in squash).
"It's the professors," Lily says. "They're all ... they're all the professors."
"I know," Mary says.
A pumpkin carved to look like Dumbledore goes careening cheerfully down the length of the table, and the other pumpkins move respectfully out of the headmaster's way.
Mary and Lily look at each other for a moment, and then they start to laugh.
Maybe Hallowe'en still has a little wonder to strike after all.