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Hogsmeade Weekend

Snow began falling over the grounds of Hogwarts in early November like a whisper. Students were out on the lawns having snowball fights - the Gryffindor Second Years among them. Sirius had applauded rather loudly when James aimed a large snowball perfectly between the shoulders of Severus Snape as the Slytherins and Ravenclaws had crossed the grounds, headed to their Herbology lesson. The snowball had knocked Severus over into the banking and given him snow burn on his hands as he fell. He stood up, soaked, and dusted off the white powder, anger burning within him.

“Bloody prats will get what they deserve when the Dark Lord rises up,” muttered Evan Rosier, seeing Severus’s anger. “Remember what Malfoy said about checking yer anger.”

It took every ounce of his restraint not to pull out his wand and hex the lot of them - even Remus, who looked more ashamed than amused. Severus scowled at them, then continued on his way, following after Rosier toward the green houses.

“What’s a’matter, Snivelly?” called James, “Did the snow wash some of that grease from your head?”

“Good one James,” Sirius laughed so hard there were tears in his eyes.

Peter had mimicked James and tried throwing a snowball at one of the other Slytherins but the ball didn’t make it anywhere near far enough to actually hit anybody, and also the others had already bored with the Slytherins progression across the lawns, and turned to work on building a snow fort instead. Peter scrambled to catch up.




Each year, the students in Third Year and higher were allowed to visit the wizarding village of Hogsmeade, not far from the grounds of Hogwarts. Derek Bell, Bilius Weasley, and Alex Tinnamin were among the students leaving the castle that day, though they were a more subdued group than some of the other clusters of students, who shouted and laughed loudly or ran through the snow along the road to Hogsmeade.

Derek was in a mood. It was the two month anniversary of the day that Alice had been killed by the death eaters and he hadn’t really wanted to go to Hogsmeade, but Bilius and Alex had insisted that he get out and about. Derek, they claimed, had been spending too much time indoors and moping about the castle, only leaving the Gryffindor common room for Quidditch practice.

“Alice wouldn’t want that, mate,” Bilius had said, throwing Derek his scarf and warm clothes for the trek to the village, “We don’t have to stay all day if you don’t want to, but at least let’s give it a go.”

So Derek had agreed, reluctantly, and now there they were, nearly upon the village and he wasn’t feeling any better about it than he had when the damned poster had appeared on the bulletin board announcing the Hogsmeade trip in the first place. Alice hadn’t ever gotten to go on a Hogsmeade weekend. It was one of the things she’d most been looking forward to over the summer and she’d asked him endless questions and saved all her sickles and knuts all year to spend in the village. She’d wanted to skip over Florean Fortescue’s ice cream sodas when they’d gone to Diagon Alley for their school supplies, not wanting to spend ten sickles on them. Derek thanked all his stars that he’d offered to pay for hers that day - sitting at the table in front of that little ice cream shoppe with his sister was one of the last good memories that he had left.

But that memory didn’t keep Derek’s heart from agonizing as they walked through the streets of Hogsmeade and he saw all the places that Alice had so desperately wanted to go. He had brought along her little coin purse, planning to spend it on all of the things she’d wanted to buy - butterbeer from the Three Broomsticks, a box of chocolates and a sugar quill from Honeydukes, and something fun from Zonko’s - but now it just felt heavy like lead in his pocket. She’d also wanted to send a letter from the owl post to their parents, Derek realized as they passed the post’s window, with all the different owls fluttering about the rafters of it. Now, she wasn’t here to send the letter to their parents who were not there to receive it.

It was easier for Derek to recall that Alice was gone - he saw her everyday while at school and her absence was like a gaping hole everyday. But his parents… that one struck him fresh everytime he thought of it. He hated that he would have to live with his cousins when he went home that summer, at least until he could get his own place. He hated visiting the cousins’ house - he’d never gotten along particularly well with the youngest of their boys - Roger Bell, who had left Hogwarts two years before. The only good bit was that Roger wouldn’t be there when Derek was, as he’d gotten married back in January.

“C’mon mate,” Alex said, breaking through Derek’s thoughts, “You’ve got to at least try to have fun.”

“A right ol’ time,” Derek muttered.

Bilius grabbed Derek’s arm suddenly, startling him. Bilius pointed, “There’s the ticket!” he shouted, “Zonkos! Where fun is made! Let’s go!” He pulled Derek along hurriedly, and Alex ran long with them to the colorful storefront across the street from where they’d been.

Zonkos was a tightly packed little shop, the walls seething with joke supplies, most of which were strictly forbidden from entering the castle by Mr. Filch, but that didn’t seem to be hurting Mr. Zonko’s sales at all as the students clustered into the shop and practically threw their little coin purses to the saleswizard without reservation. Derek followed Bilius and Alex about the shop as they collected items for mischief and fun from the shelves. Bilius filled his arms with an assortment of goods, including a pocket-sized box of Filibusters Fireworks, a Fanged Frisbee, and a pair of Zippy Whizwheels, a sort of roller skate that was powered by dragon fire and guaranteed to send you zooming off faster than any other brand of whizwheels could. Alex grabbed a pair as well and as they tried them on Bilius tried to talk Derek into buying a pair, too, but Derek wasn’t interested in the whizwheels at all… he was busy staring at something else.

Professor Blythe was in the shop. She was standing by the door, laughing at some of the new merchandise, bundled up in a pretty fur stole that wrapped about her shoulders, her hair piled up in a bun atop her head. Derek hung back behind the shelf of frisbees that blocked him from her view and peered ‘round it, watching as she asked one of the fourth year students near by her what one of the products did.

Bilius stood up, the whizwheels on his feet, and looked ‘round Derek at Professor Blythe. He smirked and looked at Derek. “Still on about that, are you?” he asked, grinning.

Derek didn’t answer.

“C’mon, you’ve got plenty of time to be watching Chriselda Blythe in Defense class, you haven’t got but a day with me and Alex here in Hogsmeade! And will you look at these whizwheels? I think I’ve rather got the hang of them. What do you think?” Bilius modeled the whizwheels for Derek as though he were some sort of lovely witch in a magazine. “Aren’t I more alluring than some teacher?” he asked.

Derek cleared his throat, “Actually, Bilius,” he said, looking his mate over as Alex laughed at the various poses Bilius was doing, “I don’t think you’re my type.”

“Well bloody hell,” Bilius complained, “What’s a guy got to do about here to get some love---- AAH!” He had moved wrong, lost his footing, and the Zippy Whizwheels had activated and the dragon fire belched from the back of the whizwheels, throwing Bilius forward through the shop, arms flailing.

“NO, NO, NO!” shouted Mr. Zonko, rounding the counter in a panic, “There is absolutely no using the Zippy Whizwheels in the shop! Young man!” He drew his wand, “Immobulus” he shouted. But the spell didn’t hit Bilius quite in time to stop him knocking over several displays and quite a good lot of students like they were bowling pins. He was stopped only just before going through the wide glass windows at the front of the shop. Everyone was laughing and pointing - even Professor Blythe - as Mr. Zonko ran forward and yanked the Zippy Whizwheels off Bilius’s feet before returning his mobility. “Absolutely no trying on Zippy Whizwheels in this shop!” Zonko commanded.

Alex TInnamin quickly tugged his pair off and put them back in their box.

“That was bloody brilliant,” announced Bilius, returning, wobbly legged, to where Derek and Alex stood in the back of the shop. “I’m buying these. I’ll have no trouble getting to class on time with them! Maybe use them when we fight ol’ You-Know-Who one day. He wouldn’t see me coming.”

“Might hear you screaming if you go off like that again,” Derek said, laughing for the first time all day.

Bilius grinned, feeling a bit of a triumph that Derek was humored at least. Professor Blythe appeared behind Derek suddenly, smiling over his shoulder at Bilius and the grin fell from Bilius’s face. “Miss. Blythe, hullo,” he said.

Derek turned around and faced her, his throat closed up and he stared at her quite wide-eyed. “Hullo,” he muttered.

Chriselda Blythe smiled, “Hullo,” she echoed him and Bilius. “I just wanted to say that those whizwheels looked quite fun.”

“Yeah,” Bilius said, “They’re pretty great. You should get a pair and give it a go.”

Professor Blythe laughed, “Well I doubt that would be appropriate now, unfortunately, being a teacher and such, but you lot know I would’ve gotten a pair back when I was in school if they’d been here.” She ran a hand over the display model. “Would’ve bewitched them lime green, like everything else in my dorm.” She laughed.

Derek chortled shortly.

“Anyway, you lot have a good time in Hogsmeade,” she said, smiling. She looked at Derek, “I’m rather glad to see you’re out of the castle… See you around Hogwarts, then.” She turned and left them.

Derek was practically holding his breath after she’d walked away. He turned to look at Alex and Bilius. “You lot are alright without me, yeah?”

Bilius raised an eyebrow, “Alright without you?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’ve, er, got something I’ve got to do.”

“If it’s chase after that Blythe woman, you’re not going anywhere. She’s a teacher, Derek.” Alex said, “Don’t be a git.”

“I’m not,” Derek said, staring after her, “I just… fancy a drink is all.”

“Alright then,” Bilius said, “Then let us pay for our things and we’ll go to the Three Broomsticks.”

Derek was antsy as Bilius and Alex both paid their galleons for the Zippy Whizwheels and assorted joke items. Bilius shoved his things into a pocket deep inside his winter robes, which he’d put an extendable charm on to hide his purchases from Filch upon returning to the castle. Alex had him store his things in there as well. Once they were finished, they went back out into the cold outside the shop and Derek practically pulled them along to the Three Broomsticks.

The Three Broomsticks was warm and smelled of butterbeer and mead inside. It was a welcoming atmosphere, and most of the occupants there were students, clutching warm mugs and talking as they settled into cozy little booths. Derek looked about from the doorway. Bilius pointed, “There’s a table over there,” and started to head over, but Derek caught him and stopped him.

“Hang on,” Derek said, looking about. “Wait, let’s go to the other place.”

“The other place?” Bilius asked, eyebrows raised.

“The Hog’s Head?” asked Alex with disdain, “What on earth do you want to go there for?”

Derek bit his lip.

“That place is rather sketchy, mate,” said Bilius, “Remember the smell the last year when we went by it to see that old haunted shack? Don’t be ridiculous. We’d have to go see Madam Pomfrey to get scourged after catching Merlin-knows-what from there.”

Derek shook his head, “C’mon.”

Bilius and Alex exchanged wary glances but they didn’t argue further, instead they followed Derek, trudging along through the snow to the Hogs Head Inn and Bar, several streets away from the warmth and good smells of the Three Broomsticks. The other bar was a dismal place, with a crickety old sign that needed repairing and dark windows so thick with dust that they seemed as though they hadn’t been cleaned in decades. They stepped inside and found it nearly deserted, only a few shady looking wizards sat about at the tables that were scattered about the room. The bar keeper, a middle aged man with fading red hair and a wrinkled, angry looking face peered at them from behind the long wood bar with suspicious eyes.

Derek looked around again. “She isn’t here.”

“Who isn’t here?” Bilius asked, confused.

“Whoever it is, I don’t blame them for not being here,” Alex said, picking his feet up off the sticky, sawdust strewn floor. “Wonder when this was last mopped.”

“My galleons are on never,” Bilius muttered.

Derek looked disappointed.

“You, boy,” the bar keeper called, his voice as crickety as his sign out front, “C’mere.”

Derek pointed to his chest, asking if the bar keeper meant him. The keeper nodded and Derek looked at Bilius and Alex, then walked forward, flanked by the other two sixth years. When he reached the bar, he stared into the vaguely familiar face of the bar keeper, wondering where he’d seen the man before.

“You’re the Bell boy, aren’t you?” the bar keeper croaked.

“Yes sir,” Derek replied. “And you are…?”

“Your sister’s the one who’s dead.” The sentence was said as boldly and flatly as any statement may have been. Derek felt a lump rise up in his throat at the coldness of it. He nodded, all the emotions he’d been battling rising up in him and threatening to burn his eyes. “My sister’s dead, too,” said the bar keeper.

“I’m sorry,” said Derek. “How did she --”

“Killed by evil wizards, just like yours,” grunted the bar keeper. He turned and grabbed two grimey old glasses from under the counter, putting them onto the wood with a thunk. He reached below and pulled out a large bottle of Firewhiskey, pouring the red liquid into the cups, his eyes never leaving Derek’s.

Derek felt his throat go raw and he stared down at the red, steaming ale in the glass as the bar keeper pushed it toward him. “I’m underage, sir,” he said thickly.

The bar keeper shook his head, “Age isn’t but a number. It’s the things you’ve gone through that make you a man.” He put the bottle of Firewhiskey down on the counter and lifted the glass closest to him, holding it up toward Derek. Cautiously, Derek lifted his own glass. “In memory of our sisters,” muttered the bar keeper.

“Our sisters,” Derek mumbled.

The bar keeper downed the Firewhiskey in one go and so did Derek.