19 Years (HP - Drarry)

Chapter 40: Historically Accurate

        

Friday, November 24, 2017

"What are we doing, again?" Sasha asked wearily, eying the stack of books Madam Pince had just dropped onto their desk. She waved ineffectually at the dust that puffed out, coughing. "I'm not even trying out!"

"Neither am I," Ivan grumbled.

Sasha started. "Ivan? Where are you?"

The piles of books shifted, exposing Ivan's sandy curls. He grimaced, snapping the book he'd been studying shut. "This one's got nothing." Scorpius slapped another on top of it without looking up, and Ivan heaved a frustrated sigh, obediently opening the cover.

Al frowned up at Sasha, eyes bright behind his lenses, lit with the thrill of the chase. "What are you doing, then, if not acting?"

"Special effects," Sasha said promptly, "and music."

"Really?" Al shoved his glasses up his nose, studying her. "I didn't know you played an instrument."

Her cheeks pinked. "I wasn't going to bring it with me, but once Flitwick found out..." She sighed. "Mum's bringing it to school this afternoon for me."

"What do you play?"

"Oboe. It's - I like it." She looked down, picking nervously at her cuticles.

"That's really cool!" Ivan enthused, and the others quickly joined in.

Sasha looked up, eyes sparkling. "Really?"

"Yeah! Will you play for us sometime?" Al asked. "Maybe while we're painting?"

She hesitated. "Maybe. After I've practiced. I'll be embarrassingly rusty, I'm sure. What are you doing, Ivan, if not acting?"

He looked up at her, a pained expression flitting across his mousy features. "Can you see me on stage? I have terrible stage fright. I..." He looked down, lowering his voice to a barely-legible mutter. "Costumes."

They all looked at him in surprise. He colored and shrugged. "Mum makes her own clothes. She taught me to sew when I was little." He scowled, a little defensively. "Anyway, I like it. Fabric makes sense."

Tilly snorted. "It's good it does to someone - I've never been able to wrap my head around it. Like, how do you go from a pile of bits and bobs to a stunning - or even not-heinously-ugly outfit? I'm sure anything I made would fall apart within minutes, and people would be torn between being offended that it fell apart and grateful that they no longer had to look at it."

Ivan shot her a grateful smile, and she winked at him. Scorpius peered up at them, blinking owlishly, marking his place with his finger. "What are you going to do, Tilly?"

She grinned. "Why, acting of course. I think I'll try for the part of Mercutio." She struck a dramatic pose. "Really, can you see me doing anything else but hogging the limelight?"

They had to admit that they couldn't.

"Here, look at this!" Ivan said suddenly. They all crowded around the dusty tome he was studying - a history of muggle theatre Pince had unearthed, after some prodding, and a judicious application of flattery - from a back room that looked as if it hadn't been opened in at least a century.

"That looks like it hasn't been read in a very long time," said Sasha.

Ivan snorted. "Tell me about it. It's not even printed - look."

The crabbed, spidery script limped across the pages, brown ink faded and nearly invisible in several places, and dotted with smudges and stains that made it almost illegible.