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Author: Imogen Story: A Pensieve Affair Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-OotP Status: WIP Reviews: 6 Words: 91,002
A/N: Apologies for the shorter chapter than normal. This fic wasn’t written in chapters initially, and this is just a short snippet from Hope’s memory. All the other chapters are a lot longer, but I don’t like padding just for the sake of it. Next chapter will be along before the end of the week, and is considerably longer! Thanks for all the reviews and hope you’re still enjoying. Love to Allie and Alphie for their hard work. ~*~*~*~ As the mist from the pensieve faded, Hope glanced around her, quickly getting her bearings. The scene had been fairly hazy in her own mind, but it was much clearer in this memory. It was a blustery autumn day, and leaves rustled along the ground, blowing around their ankles yet not actually touching them. Hogsmeade had barely changed in all the time Hope could remember, and this memory was no exception. Everyday life went on as it always had in the village, and this could have almost been any period in history at all They had arrived in the memory towards the lower end of the village, not far from the war memorial and the village school. Hope strolled slightly down the path, looking at the granite reminder of those who had lost their lives in the war. The golden letters glinted warmly in the soft sunshine of early autumn, and Hope found her eyes drawn, as always, to the words William Weasley; the uncle she had never known. The crunching of feet behind her, made her turn and grin at her friend. “So what’s this?” Matthew asked curiously. “A pre-Hogwarts smooch? Did you pin down some poor, unsuspecting male behind the junior school broom sheds, or something?” “Not quite,” Hope laughed, and tugged at his sleeve. “Come on, or you’ll miss it.” She took off and fled down the street, running fast, then turning round and laughing at him, daring him to catch her. He was quick off the mark, but she was faster as she dodged and darted out of his way, her red hair dancing around her face. She laughed breathlessly, and he was laughing, too, as he chased her round the memorial and finally launched himself up the bank to catch her with such force that he sent them both toppling over and rolling down the other side, collapsing helplessly in a heap of crunchy leaves at the bottom. Hope lay back in the leaves giggling madly, and wriggled away from Matthew, fearing he would tickle her. But he didn’t. He propped himself up on one elbow and watched her. “What is it?” she gasped, rubbing the back of her hand across her nose, wondering if she’d got something stuck on it. “Nothing,” he said, his laughter bubbling up again. He twisted a lock of her hair lightly round his fingers. “Your hair is the same colour as the leaves. I’d never really noticed that before. It’s gorgeous.” She felt herself begin to flush, and inwardly kicked herself. Surely she could take a compliment from one of her friends? It wasn’t like Matthew meant anything by it. “Clashes with everything else,” she remarked, sitting up again, and threading her hands through her hair to shake off the leaves that had undoubtedly stuck to it like Velcro, before she remembered she was in a memory. “I always used to think that I’d like dark hair like Dad’s and to be all sleekly elegant like Parkinson. Trust my luck to get the sticking out bits and the red. I can never do anything with it.” He leaned over, and brushed back an errant wisp of hair back from her eyes. “I like it,” he said. “Always did. It makes you very difficult to lose.” Her breath caught in her throat, and she shivered. “There is that,” Hope admitted. The awkwardness was overwhelming. She sprang quickly to her feet, and offered a hand to lever him to his. “Although when you’re up to no good, it’s a definite drawback.” They strolled on, back over the bank and towards the iron gates that marked the entrance to the little playground right beside the primary school. She vaulted the fence, and he followed, looking around to find the scene they’d come for. “Now that’s cheating!” he exclaimed. Two tiny toddlers ran around the playground giggling incessantly. Stumpy little legs clumped up onto the wooden climbing frame shaped like a dragon, and reappeared a few seconds later, shooting down the slide. Their mothers sat nearby, chattering away, knowing perfectly well that a cushioning charm at the bottom of the slide would prevent them from serious harm. The girl’s short red hair was just visible beneath her blue woollen hat, and the fair-haired boy had evidently refused to wear his at all, because it was dangling from his mother’s hands. “You snogged Robert?” Matthew sounded completely incredulous. “Robert?” “I was two!” Hope protested. “All toddlers kiss random people. I remember Holly kissing the milkman once and she’s definitely didn’t have any deep-seated feelings about him. He’s about ninety, with a moustache that makes him look like a walrus. It’s not like you kissing Cora when you were fifteen. Now that was a real shocker.” The two children scampered across the playground hand in hand, towards the swings, and began to chase each other round. “I didn’t kiss her,” Matthew objected. “She kissed me.” Hope just looked at him and raised a sceptical eyebrow. He chuckled. “I wonder what it says about us that both people we kissed ended up going out with each other.” “They obviously haven’t thought about what they’re missing,” Hope said airily. Ginny Potter was calling for her daughter, and the two toddlers, after ignoring her for a few minutes, bumbled their way across the playground. Hope tripped over Robert’s heel and tumbled headlong onto the ground. A sudden wail rent the air, and Hope’s mother ran across the playground to rescue her daughter. She scooped Hope up in her arms, and hurried back to the park bench where she sat down and inspected the damage. Little Hope’s face had turned beetroot red as she cried, her lower lip trembling. She held out her palms for her mother to inspect. Her mum gently brushed the gravel away and waved her wand, healing the tiniest of grazes quickly and easily. She bent forwards and kissed the injured spot. “All better!” she sang, and Hope sniffled to a series of small sobs. Robert was by Ginny’s knee, looking at the pair of them with interest. His mother bent down to him. “Say sorry to Hope,” she instructed. Ginny lowered her calmed daughter to the ground. “Sorry, Hope!” he echoed as he bumped into her and kissed her on the lips. “Play brooms now?” She snuffled a final time and giggled. The children ran off across the grass again. “Trollop,” the watching Matthew laughed. “Any man, any time, any excuse. That’s you.” She swatted at him with her hand. “Like you’re an angel,” she scoffed. “Never said I was!” “And what do you mean ‘any man’? I have my standards. I’ve never kissed a Malfoy.” “Just a Flint,” he snorted. “Who was your real first kiss with, anyway? Not him, surely?” “Nah, it was ages before Julius,” Hope grinned, watching her childhood self playing with her best friend. “Darius Longleaf, behind the Slytherin broom sheds after the game against Ravenclaw in our fourth year. Bit of a let down. I’d not even bother with that memory if I were you. All teeth and noses.” “Bit difficult not to be with his overbite,” Matthew scoffed. “Jealous, Belford?” “In your dreams.” They left sounds of the playground behind as they drifted through the shadowy world between Hope’s memory and the reality of their evening, easily slipping back into their fireside world. The fire had died back to flickering embers, and Hope threw a few more logs on, watching the long yellow tongues lick up the sides, charring the blanched bones of the wood and sparking to life again. The logs hissed and spat, loud cracks ringing through the silence of the cottage. “Who was your first kiss?” Hope asked curiously, sipping from her wine glass. “I don’t think I know.” “Moira McPiggott,” Matthew answered. “She fell on my lips after one Astronomy lesson. Those stairs are treacherously steep.” “Then Cora?” Hope asked. He nodded. “And you ended up with Delilah Ramsbottom, the lovely Ravenclaw?” “Who still hates my guts,” Matthew said ruefully. “You’d think she’d have forgiven me after three years, but no…” “Well, that’s the Sheep’s-Arse for you,” Hope commented, rolling her eyes. “What were you thinking?” “Teenage boys don’t think. Don’t tell me you never worked that out?” “I did wonder, but then I put it down to them being unable to hold more than one thought in their tiny brains at the same time. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex.” “That pretty much covers it,” he chuckled, “although there’s the occasional bit of Quidditch as well, but only briefly.” Hope curled her legs beneath herself like a contented cat, and considered Matthew carefully. He started to flush under her gaze, and dropped his head to study the chocolate cake intently. “So, for your next memory I’d like to see…” He groaned aloud. “Don’t tell me. You want to see the time I got drunk and proposed to that house elf in the North Tower?” Hope giggled, remembering the incident well. “That was hilarious, but not as funny as Snape sobering you up afterwards. I’ll never forget the expression on your face when he made you take that potion.” Matthew grimaced. “He had great pleasure in telling me the ingredients afterwards. I was nearly sick on the spot. I’ve never been able to look at a dragon in the same way since.” “Or say any tongue twisters with a ‘sliver of quivering liver’ in them either,” Hope said, struggling to retain her serious composure. “No, that’s not what I want to see. Not this time, anyway. What I’d really love to know is what you did in our last year at school to earn you three weeks worth of detentions with Snape.” Matthew’s dark eyes widened, the firelight reflecting in them seeing to make them ripple with lurking horrors beneath the surface. “Let’s get this straight: you want to see me getting into trouble with Snape? Haven’t you been in enough trouble of your own with the man to know what it’s like?” “I never want to scrub another cauldron without magic again,” Hope replied fervently. “But you’ve got to admit, the most I ever had to do was ten days in my first year, and I was trying to get expelled at that point. What the hell did you do to get three weeks?” Matthew chuckled wryly, but at her request, he lifted his wand to his hairline, drawing out a glimmering strain of memory. “I’m not sure I’d recommend this one for general consumption,” he warned, a faint flush beginning to creep across his face. “You’ll get enough teasing material from this to keep you going for the next decade at least.” “Marvellous,” Hope breathed and winked at him. He smiled back; she took his hand, and they dived back into the past once more.
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