*stretch*
Ooo, first fic-post of 2005. (one-and-a-half-chapters-left-it-will-be-finished-soon-thank-fuck!)
He could not have said - and nor, for that matter, could any of the others, not with any real certainty - when he first felt that something was not quite right. The momentary silence in what was usually a bustling, noisy street went unnoticed in the rowdy pub filled with excited students. The loud crack was dismissed as being one of the many incidents which were a fact of life in Hogsmeade; some idiot letting off a firecracker several months too early, some unfaithful husband getting hexed straight into St. Mungo’s, perhaps. It was, however, blindingly obvious to even the most intoxicated student when things went terribly, appallingly wrong. Because that was when the screaming started.
It was Amber Vetinari who heard it first. Sitting in the window seat, deep in quiet conversation with Felix DuPré, she was closest to the source of the awful noise, and she was the first to look through the pub windows to see what was taking place on the street. She’d moved quickly over to Quintus, touching his sleeve lightly, to break the news whilst Felix had headed straight for Elspeth. There’s something happening outside, sir. Something bad. There’s screaming -
Even as his stomach turned over, he was grateful for the warning. It gave him ten seconds to decide what to do before the screaming became louder; loud enough to silence the most raucous of his students, loud enough to make Gilly Grey behind the bar blanch and cross herself. And then panic had erupted within the pub.
“oh god oh god oh god it’s him isn’t it oh god” wailed someone whose name he never could remember, as two petrified looking boys made an incredibly stupid dash for the door. What they thought they were doing, Quintus had absolutely no idea, but he’d be buggered sideways with a spoon if he let them go.
“he’s coming for us oh god no…”
“Silence!” he’d heard himself bellow, his voice cutting through everything. “And sit down, all of you,” he continued, in a tone of voice he’d not even realized he possessed. “All of you,” he added, looking at the two boys by the door.
He’d felt Elspeth Haven behind him, then. “Gilly,” the Divination teacher said, amazingly calm. “Is there a way out through the cellar?”
Gilly Grey looked at them, terrified, and Quintus sighed inwardly. She was going to be no use whatsoever. “No-o,” the landlady whispered, white with fear. “A trapdoor, yes. But it doesn’t go anywhere. There’s just a little room.” She was twisting her hands, over and over again. “Just a little room.”
“How big?” Elspeth asked patiently. “Will the children fit in there, Gilly?”
Gilly’s eyes flickered over them nervously. “They - they might,” she began.
“They will,” Quintus interrupted firmly.
“Hey!”
He’d turned, not in the mood to be questioned, and certainly not by an old, red nosed idiot with a paunch the size of Europe. “What is it?”
“It’s all very well them having the secret room,” the middle aged man said, “but what about the rest of us?”
“Us?” Elspeth said scathingly. “You’re a little old to be a Hogwarts pupil, aren’t you?”
The man’s face, if possible, had become even redder at that, and his decidedly unattractive wife had stood up furiously.
“That is not fair!” he’d said. “You can’t seriously expect us to wait here with - with God knows what outside!”
“We’ll just kick the children out into the fucking street then, shall we?” Quintus had snapped, patience running out completely. “Shut up and sit down, and if you’re about to piss your fucking pants, get under the table!”
There was a thin, somewhat hysterical laugh from behind him at that, instantly stifled.
“How dare you speak to me like that? I shall notify -”
Whoever it was that the irritating nitwit would have notified, however, was not to be revealed, as a muttered Stupefy from behind Quintus sent him sprawling over the table. There was a second’s pause, then, staring in badly concealed terror at Marcus Malfoy’s wand, the nitwit’s wife sat down and was silent, her eyes bulging.
“Thank you, Marcus,” Elspeth Haven murmured, then turned to address the rest of the students. “If you could please follow Gilly Grey into the cellar? Without rushing, screeching, or bawling. Professor Snape has a foul headache.”
He could not have said - and nor, for that matter, could any of the others, not with any real certainty - when he first felt that something was not quite right. The momentary silence in what was usually a bustling, noisy street went unnoticed in the rowdy pub filled with excited students. The loud crack was dismissed as being one of the many incidents which were a fact of life in Hogsmeade; some idiot letting off a firecracker several months too early, some unfaithful husband getting hexed straight into St. Mungo’s, perhaps. It was, however, blindingly obvious to even the most intoxicated student when things went terribly, appallingly wrong. Because that was when the screaming started.
It was Amber Vetinari who heard it first. Sitting in the window seat, deep in quiet conversation with Felix DuPré, she was closest to the source of the awful noise, and she was the first to look through the pub windows to see what was taking place on the street. She’d moved quickly over to Quintus, touching his sleeve lightly, to break the news whilst Felix had headed straight for Elspeth. There’s something happening outside, sir. Something bad. There’s screaming -
Even as his stomach turned over, he was grateful for the warning. It gave him ten seconds to decide what to do before the screaming became louder; loud enough to silence the most raucous of his students, loud enough to make Gilly Grey behind the bar blanch and cross herself. And then panic had erupted within the pub.
“oh god oh god oh god it’s him isn’t it oh god” wailed someone whose name he never could remember, as two petrified looking boys made an incredibly stupid dash for the door. What they thought they were doing, Quintus had absolutely no idea, but he’d be buggered sideways with a spoon if he let them go.
“he’s coming for us oh god no…”
“Silence!” he’d heard himself bellow, his voice cutting through everything. “And sit down, all of you,” he continued, in a tone of voice he’d not even realized he possessed. “All of you,” he added, looking at the two boys by the door.
He’d felt Elspeth Haven behind him, then. “Gilly,” the Divination teacher said, amazingly calm. “Is there a way out through the cellar?”
Gilly Grey looked at them, terrified, and Quintus sighed inwardly. She was going to be no use whatsoever. “No-o,” the landlady whispered, white with fear. “A trapdoor, yes. But it doesn’t go anywhere. There’s just a little room.” She was twisting her hands, over and over again. “Just a little room.”
“How big?” Elspeth asked patiently. “Will the children fit in there, Gilly?”
Gilly’s eyes flickered over them nervously. “They - they might,” she began.
“They will,” Quintus interrupted firmly.
“Hey!”
He’d turned, not in the mood to be questioned, and certainly not by an old, red nosed idiot with a paunch the size of Europe. “What is it?”
“It’s all very well them having the secret room,” the middle aged man said, “but what about the rest of us?”
“Us?” Elspeth said scathingly. “You’re a little old to be a Hogwarts pupil, aren’t you?”
The man’s face, if possible, had become even redder at that, and his decidedly unattractive wife had stood up furiously.
“That is not fair!” he’d said. “You can’t seriously expect us to wait here with - with God knows what outside!”
“We’ll just kick the children out into the fucking street then, shall we?” Quintus had snapped, patience running out completely. “Shut up and sit down, and if you’re about to piss your fucking pants, get under the table!”
There was a thin, somewhat hysterical laugh from behind him at that, instantly stifled.
“How dare you speak to me like that? I shall notify -”
Whoever it was that the irritating nitwit would have notified, however, was not to be revealed, as a muttered Stupefy from behind Quintus sent him sprawling over the table. There was a second’s pause, then, staring in badly concealed terror at Marcus Malfoy’s wand, the nitwit’s wife sat down and was silent, her eyes bulging.
“Thank you, Marcus,” Elspeth Haven murmured, then turned to address the rest of the students. “If you could please follow Gilly Grey into the cellar? Without rushing, screeching, or bawling. Professor Snape has a foul headache.”