Meddling

~ @}~>~~

It had been two weeks since it started. Only two weeks, two whole weeks… It felt like forever. The previous weekend he’d had to go to Diagon Alley for some… specialisgredgredients he had run out of which they didn’t stock in Hogsmede and were of a nature that you could not merely owl the order in. Old Terry liked to know who his customers were.

Unfortunately it turned out that not only had Isobella NOT ordered a retraction printed, she had increased the ‘reward’, as he had started calling it, by another hundred thousand Galleons AND opened it u men men. And printed his picture so people would know what they were getting themselves into. He had never been more humiliated in his life then that day, when he had been forced to hide in Knockturn Alley for more then three hours to escape the money-hungry mob that had formed when someone recognised him in Flourish and Blotts. It had taken them that long to stop scouring the streets for him and he could make his way unnoticed to a scheduled apparition point.

Every morning he had had letters and flowers arrive for him during breakfast from all sorts. The first few he had opened, not knowing what they were. Perfume-drenched notes on flowered stationary claiming to be daughters of his mothers friends or that they were ‘interested in his work’. Now they were immediately thrown into the fire unless he recognised the seal. One had exploded when he touched the envelope, sending up fireworks over the breakfast tables in the great hall and showering him red and pink heart-shaped glitter, which he spent the rest of the day shedding at every step. He had even changed robes at lunchtime in an effort to escape the giggle of staff and students alike to no avail. He had no interest either in the flowers and chocolates, which Albus had forwarded straight to the Infirmary. Poppy swore she’d never seen the place so heavily vegetated, not even when Harry Potter had been there after the Triwizard Tournament. Snape was paranoid about being drugged again and made Albus promise to check the contents of the food sent just in case before he would agree not to destroy everything.

Some of them were slightly more creative. One had sent a box containing strawberries, body chocolate and a set of padded restraints, the sight of which he nearly let out an unmanly shriek before recovering and quickly scribbling a very cruel note for Trela on on the tag and shoving it into the arms of Professor Armard Sinstra, whom he knew had always had a secret liking for the batty old cow, but lacked the wits to think of an even remotely plausible excuse to ever talk to her.

Some few were cunning and yet stupid enough to send him rare and expensive potion ingredients and books which he kept without a qualm. After checking them thoroughly for any signs of tampering. He didn’t get his nasty reputation for nothing after all. He had stopped going to the public meals after a trio of dwarfs and a man dressed up as Aphrodite serenaded him at the high table during lunch.

[Damn Albus, he KNEW they were going to do that, why the hell did he let them in the castle?! Sweet Circe, merciful Zeus, what did I do to deserve this?]

He kicked one of the supporting pillars in the classroom and slumped against it. A flash of movement caught his eye. A pristine white envelope settled to the ground, appearing to have come from nowhere. He picked it up. It was unsealed, no name on the front or back and he felt a strange compulsion to open it. And so he did. A single sheet of ruled parchment was inside, covered in the penmanship of someone untrained in the arts of calligraphy attempting their very best handwriting.

My dark prince, whose gaze burns my very soul
My dark desire, without you I can never be whole
My dark prince, whose presence makes me ache with need
My dark desire, whom makes my heart beat with impossible speed


My secret love, hidden in the darkness of his own making
Midnight hair, ebony eyes, soul of fire burning for all to see
Nothing can quench that eternal flame, even the darkness he’s faking
And no other fire, no matter how bright, could possibly ever warm me


They say if you love something, set it free
But I never had you, so was it never meant to be?
And now I give you my heart, hidden in this letter
And you’ll never know I’m yours, but perhaps for the better.

There was no date, no name signed, nothing to hint at the identity of the writer. There was dust down the front of his robes and e blinked, confused. Then he realised and chuckled.

[Manna from heaven indeed] he thought wryly. He transfigured a student chair into a ladder and leant it against the support pillar. Sure enough, at the join at the top where it intersected with one of the rafters was a clean rectangle in the thick layer of dust covering the wood. To all appearances it had been up here a long time, mere chance had brought it to his attention now.

[Chance, or fate?] said a niggling little voice in the back of his skull.

[Or pure luck] he replied. [It could have come down with any wayward breeze or if one of those dunderhead students ran into the column again like the other week. It was luck it happened now and not when there were student here who might have seen it.]

He looked at the letter again and slid it back into the envelope. He loved a good mystery.

~ @}~>~~