a_t_rain | Correspondence Course, Part Eight

Previous installments are here. Special thanks to

yma2 for Sirius' joke and

thunderemerald for Peter's. (I think that is right -- if I have mis-credited either, let me know.)

Dear Mr Prince-Snape,
I tried out the interior decorating spell you recommended as your favourite, but it seems to have turned the entire church BLACK!!! And there are dead roses and houseflies everywhere! The bazaar is tomorrow morning, and the place looks AWFUL!!! I must have misunderstood the instructions. Please tell me what I can do to fix it, and I will be forever in your debt.
Sincerely,
Temperance Flowerdew Yeardley

* * *

Miss Yeardley:
You have not misunderstood the instructions. That is the kind of interior decoration I like, and if you dislike it, that is not my problem. Stop bothering me.
Sincerely,
Severus Prince-Snape

* * *

Hi, Moony!
Guess what? I’ve been named Head Boy. (I don’t know what McGonagall was smoking, but we need to find out how we can get some.) Lily’s Head Girl, and my mum wants to have a party for the two of us next Friday. Hope you can make it. (Maybe I’ll invite Hagrid so you two can declare your love for each other in person, ha ha.)
Cheers,
James
P.S. I think Lily will be hanging out with us a lot next year, and I really think it’s time that you told her what we talked about telling her the last time. You know what I mean.

* * *

Dear James,
Congratulations, and tell your mum I’ll be there. (I was going to elope to Sweden with Hagrid, as you have probably guessed, but we can put it off until next week.)
Remus
P.S. Later.

***

It had been a much better party than the last one. Sirius and Peter and I had patched up our various quarrels, and James had persuaded his mother to keep the guest list down to a bare minimum, so nobody had to be fawned over by Professor Slughorn or dodge Sybill Trelawney. It was just the five of us and James’ parents, although Mrs. Potter kept asking Lily whether she was sure her sister wouldn’t want to come.

Sensibly, the elder Potters left us to our own devices after dinner and turned a blind eye to the extra bottle of wine that Sirius had sneaked out of the pantry. We were all feeling quite cozy and happy when, inevitably, the jokes began.

“What howls at the moon and never has to be ironed?” James asked.

“I don’t know,” said Lily, batting her eyelashes at him. “What?”

“A wash-and-wearwolf,” said James.

I began to have an awful sinking feeling about where this joke-telling session was going, which was confirmed when Sirius began, “A wolf walks into a bar and says ‘Shit! Bollocks! Arse!’”

Peter looked faintly scandalized at the idea of using this sort of language in front of Lily, and even James made a gesture that was intended to signal Sirius to tone it down. I was frantically signaling him to stop as well, for an entirely different reason.

Sirius sailed forth, nothing daunted. “So the barman says, ‘Excuse me, but we don’t allow foul language in here.’ And the wolf says, ‘I can’t bloody well help it – don’t you see this tuft on the end of my tail?’ ‘Yeah, what’s that got to do with anything?’ says the barman. And the wolf says, ‘It means I’m a swearwolf.’”

James groaned, and Lily giggled. I tried to catch Peter’s eye before he could attempt a joke of his own, but he refused to be intimidated. “Why did the werewolf cross the road?” he propounded.

I tried to think of a suitably Wormtail-ish mangled punch line. “To peruse the Chinese newspaper, although I, personally, prefer the Daily Prophet?”

“It was trying to get to the other side,” James suggested, “but halfway across the road it remembered it was Yom Kippur, so it went to the synagogue instead.”

Peter started laughing so hard that he had to be pounded on the back before he could deliver the punch line. “N-no. Because he w-was trying to get away from the fangirls who wanted to make him gay.”

We looked at each other, mystified, and then Lily burst out laughing, just before Peter clarified, “Oh yeah. What I meant to say was, to get away from his father who wanted to make him gay.”

I had to admit that was a pretty good one, given recent events, but I didn’t expect Lily to get it. But she kept laughing and laughing, until she was choking for breath and the tears were running down her face.

“Lils, are you all right?” James ventured to ask after a minute or two. “Would you like a glass of water or something?”

“I’m fine,” she said, making an effort to pull herself together. “It’s j-just ... who ever heard of a w-werewolf ... with fangirls ... It’s so r-ridiculous.” She collapsed into helpless giggles once again.

I glared at James, feeling that he was clearly the ringleader in all this, and he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, “If you don’t like this way, do it your own way, mate.”

“What?” said Lily when she could speak again.

“Nothing,” said James.

“Would you like to go outside and get some fresh air?” I asked her.

“All right,” she said, still giggling a little.

I followed her out on the patio. I felt shaky at the knees, and my knuckles were wrapped tightly around one of the Potters’ wineglasses. Sirius touched me on the arm as I passed.

Godric’s Hollow spread out before us, a cluster of dark little houses huddled sleepily against the great rolling hills and a river that shone faintly in the starlight. I drew a few deep breaths and felt better.

“It’s a pretty night, isn’t it?” said Lily. “I think I like it better when the moon isn’t out, don’t you?”

I stopped breathing again. “Lily,” I said, clutching desperately at the wineglass, “I think it’s time that you and I had a conversation ... before my friends have it for us.”

As I cast about for what to say next, I saw that her eyes were bright with mischief. “Don’t tell me. You’re a were-stegosaurus and you club people with your tail every full moon, and you have a brain the size of a pea. Is that it?”

I had to laugh in spite of myself. “Well, no. Not exactly.”

“Well, just remember that you could be. Things can always get worse.”

“How long have you known?”

“I’d been wondering for a while, but I wasn’t positive until tonight. You should have seen the look on your face when I said that about the moon.”

“You’re – you’re not afraid to be out here with me?”

“Why? Do you turn into half a wolf at the half-moon or something, and they just forgot to mention it in the textbooks?”

“No, of course not. It’s just, well, there’s a lot of ignorance about, and –”

“You don’t need to talk to me about ignorance,” said Lily. “I’m Muggle-born. We’re so supremely ignorant we don’t even know how to be ignorant, and that’s why we rush in where angels fear to tread.”

There was a definite note of bitterness in this speech, and I wasn’t sure for a moment how to respond to it. “I – Lily, none of us feels that way, I assure you –”

“You’re sweet, but you needn’t bother denying it. It’s true. We don’t know any of the things witches and wizards are supposed to know. It’s been six years and I’m still putting my foot in it on a regular basis.”

“Lily, you aren’t. Not with me, anyway.”

“Well, maybe sometimes ignorance is bliss. Hmm? My sister’s boyfriend seems to think so, anyway.”

“I don’t think so,” I said positively. “Or at least, I’m glad you know everything now.”

“I’m glad you told me. With a little help from your friends, anyway.” She giggled again, softly. “Wash-and-wearwolf.”

I looked at her eyes shining in the light from the house and thought she was one of the nicest girls I knew.

“Oy, Moony,” called a voice from the doorway. “What are you doing out there? Trying to steal my girlfriend?”

“I AM NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND, JAMES ETHELRED POTTER!”

James burst out of the house. “Ethelred? ETHELRED?! That is a low blow, madam!”

Lily squealed as he tackled her, and the two of them streaked down the hillside, shrieking and pummeling each other, and ran out into the vast summer night.

***

Dear Sister Mary Perpetua,
Please excuse my tardiness in writing to you. I have been unsure how to approach your case, because all of my other students are dunderheads and you, I think, are one of the most gifted natural magicians I have encountered. May I ask how old you are, by the way, and where your nunnery is located? I suppose you know that there is a long and venerable tradition of magical convent education which began with the great Morgan le Fay, and I am exceedingly pleased to meet one of her modern-day antecedents.

I suppressed a chortle. Snape’s reply may have been long in coming, but it promised already to be worth the wait.

It is evident from the samples you have sent me that you have the potential to be a great artist as well as a great witch. Are you familiar at all with the work of Master Julio Romano, the great magical painter and sculptor? I recommend that you study his work; you will find that it bears a certain resemblance to your own, though your spellwork is naturally, as yet, raw and untutored. I may, I hope, be able to provide you with some technical pointers, although I cannot presume to teach an understanding of the true essence and spirit of magic, which you already have in abundance.

Several pages of technical advice followed, which I have not reproduced due to their length and dryness. Snape was not sparing in his critiques of the two pieces Sirius and I had so hastily conjured up – indeed, he seemed to have noticed every minor flaw – but his tone was entirely different from that of his previous letters. In fact, it verged on friendly, and I began to feel faintly disquieted about the whole business. This was uncanny.

As a final note, I should add that the statuette of St. Mungo, in particular, seems to have sprung from the soul of a witch rather than that of a nun, but that (in my opinion) is no bad thing...

I couldn’t wait to tell Sirius he had the soul of a witch, until I realized that Snape had made no such comment about my angel and therefore, by implication, I probably had the soul of a nun. Perhaps I wouldn’t mention it after all.

... Are you certain the religious vocation is right for you, because there are many ways your talents might be put to use in the magical world? But no: I apologise for being both intrusive and crass. From your letters, it is plain that you are a good person and very spiritual.

You asked whether I was in any sort of trouble. I must tell you frankly that I am not a happy man. I do not get along with my father and I have consequentially been forced to take this position with the Kwikspell Correspondence Course, which is far beneath the sort of life I should have been born to. There are many people in the world who wish me ill and some who have even tried to kill me; I am, besides, embroiled in an entanglement that may prove extremely dangerous, although I cannot speak about its exact nature. Seldom has it been my good fortune to meet a truly understanding soul and, indeed, I doubted whether there were any such in the world. But in looking at your angel, I find my faith renewed...

I let the letter fall from my hand. It was all too obvious that Snape had fallen into the same trap with Sister Mary Perpetua as I had with Sue Hurdabirg, and although the thought of Snivellus pining over a nun who was really a couple of not-at-all-saintly teenage boys was ridiculous, I couldn’t find it altogether funny. James and Sirius would have found it funny, but that was the whole problem. The thought of a couple of Slytherins sniggering over my own earnestly-penned letters to Sue made me shudder. No, I would have to keep this letter from my friends.

Keeping up the pretense, I thought, would also be cruel, but I wasn’t sure how best to end it. I could write back in the person of Sister Mary Perpetua and claim to be ninety years old and part dwarf, but what if he decided that was all to the good? Anybody who turned up his nose at Rosalind Antigone Bungs and decided to pursue a nun had got to have very unusual tastes. I could take offense at some of the things he’d written (and honestly, I thought a real nun would be more than justified in doing so), but that seemed scarcely less cruel than leading him on. Or I could write back as myself and confess everything, but that would be incredibly humiliating for both of us.

In the end, I chose the simple and curt option:

Dear Mr Prince-Snape,
Due to a variety of circumstances, I have revoked my decision to allow Sister Mary Perpetua to study magic. You will not be hearing from her again.
Sister Winnifrede
Mother Superior, Convent of St. Kilda