SILENT [1] || HARRY POTTER ⚡️

one ; the marauders map

a/n: this entire chapter sets the setting of who my main characters are. Ophelia Black and Darcy Black. I will attempt to tell of two love stories. :) Slight Marauder's backstory at the end. [AND I CHANGED THE PLOT A LITTLE!]

A woman with long cascading darkhair apparates onto Hogsmead, her cloak now covered in the blizzard of snow around them. She was tall, elegant, and her grey eyes can be seen from where Harry was. She looks elegant, and rigid, like she could break but make a stand. The paleness of her skin could match the snow, and it looks unhealthy for a woman of such.

Harry was underneath the invisibility cloak, so when the woman seemed to stare at the three—Hermione, Ron and Harry—he thought that she was staring right at him. Instead, she briskly walked into the pub, where soon after the trio would go in as well.

"Tell you what," said Ron, his teeth chattering, "shall we go for a butterbeer at the three broomsticks?"

Harry was more than willing; the wind was fierce and his hands were freezing, so they crossed the same road the woman did and in a few minutes were entering the tiny inn.

It was extremely crowded, noisy, warm, and smoky. But the woman he saw earlier was easiest to spot, nearest to the bar with a curvy sort of woman with a pretty face was grimly staring at the tall, thin one. She seemed displeased at the sight of the dark woman.

"That's Madame Rosmerta," said Ron. "I'll get the drinks, shall i?" he added, going slightly red.

Harry and Hermione made their wat to the back of the room, where there was a small table between the window and a handsome Christmas tree, which stood next to a fireplace. Ron came back five minutes later, carrying three foaming tankards of butterbeer.

"Merry Christmas!" he said happily, raising his tankard.

Harry drank deeply, still eyeing the tall and pale woman with Madame Rosmerta.

"Do you reckon who she is?" he asked Hermione and Ron, pointing at the bar.

"Which?" Ron answered, swerving around in his chair to where Harry pointed. "Oh, that's Madame—"

"I already to him that," interrupts Hermione. "Do you mean the palest one? I haven't got an idea, Harry, why do you ask?"

Harry was stumped, as he once again looks at the woman with utmost interest.

A sudden breeze ruffled his hair. The door of the pub had opened again. Harry looked over the rim of his tankard and choked.

Professors McGongall and Flitwick had just entered the pub with a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was in deep conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and pinstriped cloak—Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.

In an instant, Ron and Hermione had both placed their hands on the top of Harry's head and forced him off his stool and under the table. Dripping with butterbeer and crouching out of sight, Harry clutched his tankard and watched the teacher's and Fudges feet move towards the bar, pause—but this time they is an additional pair of feet and they walked towards him.

Somewehre above him, Hermione whispers, "Mobiliarbus!"

The Christmas tree beside their table rose a few inches off the ground, and drifted sideways, and landed with a soft thump right in front of their table, hiding them from view. Staring through the dense lower branches, Harry saw five sets of chair legs move back from the table and right besides there, then heard the grunts and sighs of teachers as they sat down.