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All right. So... no one's hurt. We're all back in common rooms, and Himself's off with a bunch of the teachers, having a firewhiskey or playing Snap or whatever evil gits do after a feast and a fighting demo.

It was... not what I expected. At all. I mean, who knew He's ever in a decent mood?

I mean, for a bloke who doesn't look physically capable of smiling, He looked next thing to cheerful tonight.

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From:

So it was just a bunch of showy, faux-duelling? No legitimate Frost Faire-style face offs?

From:

Draco,

No, it wasn't in earnest at all. Odd, that.

Almost as if he didn't really care to see a demonstration, what, more like...he wanted us to play at it. It was bally well nearly insulting, that sort of farce.

I say, does anyone else think perhaps destroying all but one of the horcruxes has left him a little dotty?

-Justin

From:

Maybe we've destroyed the most evil bits of his soul?

And the one that's left is the one that likes pudding and American Witches.

Nope, too much to hope for.

From:

I don't think He ate any of the sweets.

So probably you're right. Again.

From:

Ron,

L S-P certainly was not on form. All day, if truth be told.

It must be the talk of the Tower, what.

But I'm rather more pleased with Corner. He came off much the better in his bout, even if it was playacting.

-Justin

From:

I heard her screeching at Healer Patil earlier. Utter delight, that one.

From:

Pansy,

Indeed, much as one has little good to say about Padma, her brother does seem an all right chap. One hopes he was returning the sentiments with as much fervour, if more politeness.

-Justin

From:

Yeah, she's been a real joy to be around recently. Never pleased.

I mean, I don't think Voldemort's capable of smiling, but S-P? She could do it, but she's totally forgotten how.

From:

Dueling her was very boring.

Though maybe that's because we were stopped after two minutes.

From:

Dux,

Worst night ever to try to sleep alone, what, and dashed impossible to risk any sort of sneaking about.

Send Jack? Preferably with something to remind me of you. I'll send him back again if you like.

Sweet dreams,

-J

From:

What reminds you of me?

Or, if that's a challenge to be inventive, I'll see what I can do.

I suppose it is getting late, isn't it? Well, we'll see what tomorrow brings.

From:

I've told Ron I have a ridiculously boring book, what, but I'd rather go to sleep thinking of the things that remind me of you....

The colour of your hair. Your scent. The crinkle in your nose. The stairs by the Slytherin dungeon. Fifth-year textbooks. Jack. The muff you used at the Yule Ball. Pink. The nightgown you brought to Gretna Green. The quill you favoured all last month, the one with the stripe of grey through it. The blue-grey of your eyes. The way you stand when you're watching carefully.

The

feel

of

silk

From:

I'd be disappointed, too, if I'd got cheated of a chance to knock S-P off her feet. For starters. With no punishment. That'd be too rich.

Wish you'd got the chance to put her in her place in front of all of us.

From:

Do you think I would have bested her, though? She might've just been warming up.

From:

Of course, you would have.

She was wrong-footed almost from the start. And slower than you.

And, yes, she might've been warming up, but you could've dispatched her before she got her rhythm. Easily.

(My opinion.)

From:

I agree with Ron. She was in the wrong frame of mind as well as being off-balance.

From:

Oh, I don't know.

Can't we simply enjoy, for once, that the disaster we were prepared for didn't come to pass?

I, for one, found Vince quite the droll dueling partner.

From:

Daphne,

The horns were quite a nice touch on him, indeed. Well done.

-Justin

From:

And the spots!

From:

Yeah, I don't know what the rest of these people are on about. I'm strongly in favor of show-dueling, especially when the people going at it are both people I'd like to still be alive at the end of the night.

From:

What? Now you're challenging Malfoy for the title of He Wot's Always Right?

From:

I don't know, are we going to have to duel over it?

Can there be lots of colourful explosions, if we are?

From:

As long as you're both alive at the end of the night, you can have naked, dancing pixies and the New London symphony playing some heroic thing with those big drums that sound like thunder. Can't remember what they're called. Daphne'd know. (Guess that's why I'm not the bloke she's going to marry!)

From:

(Well that and the fact it's not her I'm asking.)

From:

That's a relief. I've been following on the galleon all evening.

From:

Evelyn,

He's not gone yet, what. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Who knows what we're to endure tomorrow.

-Justin

From:

I'll be blown. I've just come back from the bathroom and there's a bottle of Lagavulin on my bed. Sixteen-year-old Scotch.

-J

From:

Huh.

Well, that's you, then, mate! (Nothing here on mine.)

Not sure whether to congratulate you or not, really. I mean, in the world where it'd be a good thing to win, you totally deserve it. Only, yeah. Ours isn't that world.

From:

No, it isn't.

Well, I say, we knew of all the people still here, you and I have been front-runners for the Mark for a while. Actively trying to attract this sort of attention, what.

I suppose I ought to tell Hydra, though that seems premature. As I just said, we've no idea what's in store tomorrow.

He might change his mind. Or he might select you by the end of the day, as well.

I suppose she and Draco must have felt something similar to this, when all signs pointed to them being selected.

-Justin

From:

I expect that means we should get some sleep.

But that seems bloody unlikely, doesn't it?

No surprise there, though.

From:

Sleep is one of those rare commodities, what. Like mercy or justice.

Still, you're right.

Dash it.

-J

From:

My advice? Open the scotch.

From:

I've tried that before, or don't you remember? No, I don't bally well fancy taking refuge in drink. Not entirely sure I'd stop, despite the dreadful headache next morning. And I've a feeling we'll need our wits tomorrow, what.

I'll settle eventually. Somewhere I've a jolly boring book on a wizard who spent an entire year watching switchgrass grow. Even Linus Moon would be nodding off after two pages!

Oh, and Antonin said: His favour is difficult to quantify, impossible to predict, and unfathomable to analyse -- that being part of the reason I have avoided calling you to His further attention; as I mentioned a week or two ago, I have come to believe you lot deserve a few years to explore adulthood without the weight of His gaze upon you. But He did seem quite pleased with you and Mr Weasley both, and that is something of which you ought to be proud. Our Lord is many things, among them a quite capable judge of talent.

Which is rather no help at all, is it.

-J

From:

Oh, thanks, mate. Just the news to help with sleeping.

You know what? Send the scotch up to us if you're not going to drink it yourself. We're all awake up here. Finnigan, Harry and I. A right party.

Or, yeah. Nevermind about that.

We'll figure it out on our own.

From:

alt_sally_anne

Did he say anything to you? Voldemort, I mean, when you were talking after the duel.

From:

Asked if there was a prize I wanted to claim.

Again. Not what I expected. At all!

I mean, how would you answer that?

From:

alt_sally_anne

I'd probably say I wanted permission to apprentice at St Mungo's. Couldn't hurt, right?

What was it you said you wanted?

From:

Not that I wanted to be sure to get into Auror training!

I asked for galleons. For my poor widowed Mum who's been trying and trying to get a business off the ground, don't you know?

I mean, it was one of those times it's a dead lucky thing I managed the transformation, because me first thought was 'What can I ask for that the Order needs?' Not the thing you want Him picking out of your brain, exactly.

So, I don't know. Think I must not have asked for the right sort of thing, though. Justin's already got his bottle of scotch. And there're no galleons jingling around on on my bed.

I expect you're right about what sort of thing He meant us to ask. Guess I'm lucky He didn't get hacked off when I asked for money.

From:

alt_sally_anne

Yeah, you don't need his help getting into Auror training, and 'what I'd really like is not to EVER be a Councilwizard' probably wouldn't have gone over well. Though it probably would've been better than, 'could you hand me that pin you're wearing and then cut your throat with that knife you were using on your lamb chops.'

Anyway, if you asked for the galleons for your mum, maybe they were delivered to your mum. Or, she has a vault at Gringott's, right? Maybe they went to her vault.

From:

alt_sally_anne

Or, wait, I guess it would be, 'could you hand me that pin you're wearing, give me a few minutes to find a good spot to destroy it with Fiendfyre, and THEN cut your throat with your dinner knife.'

Or I suppose you could say, 'I'd like that pin you're wearing AND another dead basilisk because we're fresh out of venom. Then if you could please drop yourself off a high building, that would be lovely, thanks.'

From:

Hahahaha.

You're the best, y'know?

From:

alt_sally_anne

Thanks, you're not so bad yourself.

What did Justin ask for? Did Finnigan tell you what he asked for?

From:

F-F asked for sixteen-year-old Scotch.

That's what I meant when I said he'd got it already. That was the prize he asked the LP for, and it was there on his bed when he got back from showering.

I don't know about Finnicky. Guess I could ask him. Hang on.

From:

alt_sally_anne

Oh, right, you said. Scotch. That's like super posh firewhiskey, isn't it? Made in Scotland? I guess?

From:

No, made in New Zealand.

Kidding.

From:

alt_sally_anne

I knew you had to be kidding because if it were made outside the Protectorate, they'd have had to ask us to let them have it! (Okay I'm sure they have loads of stuff they stocked up, I mean this is Voldemort we're talking about here.)

From:

An identity card so he can be out after the curfew in New London.

Hasn't got that yet, either.

So, I dunno. I mean, he's already on the Council.

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