Who says two inanimate objects cannot find love together? Mrs. Black searches for love between the flutter of golden wings. -Oddfic Warning-
Sentence from "The Rogue.Net": Mrs. Black sent some Chocolate Frogs to The Golden Snitch
Rating: PG-13 - just to be safe, since, I use the wizarding slurs, and there are mentions of slashy-ness.
Disclaimer: I do not own any canon part of the Harry Potter world. I just play with them.
Warnings: Strange-ness, some slashy-ness at the end, and sudden changes in point of view.
Summary: Who says that two inanimate objects cannot find love together?
Genre: Humor, Romance, and Plain ole silliness
Contact: dmitchell1985 @ livejournal. com
Author's Notes: This was finished quite late and could not be entered in the original contest I got the sentence from, but I wanted to keep it anyway. I started writing the first sentence, but stopped to look up name meanings in my goal to give Mrs. Black a first name. I was certainly not going to write from her perspective, and not even give the woman a name. Yes, the created name for Mrs. Black is weird because I loved both names. I did not put much thought into Mr. Black's name though. Might have to sometime. . .
No one ever considered that Mrs. Odelia Ophelia Black's portrait might possess even the smallest trickle of emotion; no one ever stopped to consider her feelings. Mudbloods, half-breeds, and blood traitors were paraded through her forsaken home on a daily basis. She had been true to the family name, and honored the purity of her blood: but even in death, she received no appreciation for her tremendous efforts. After all, someone had to maintain the dignity and nobility of her House.
Odelia had managed to stay Kreacher upon the valiant course of selectivity, but her teachings had fallen mute before they even reached her remaining son, Sirius', ears. Whispers, muttering, and calm conversations were duly ignored by Sirius and the filth he had the nerve to claim as friends. Only with rabid outbursts punctuated with curses in every language Odelia held dear would earn any reaction at all from the doomed lot of supposed Light Defenders. Though Odelia was proud to have caused a fraction of the ruckus she craved, she was quite disappointed to have never gained the absolute effect that she desired.
After years of unquestioned loyalty and adoration from Kreacher, the irritating presence of new people and their unworthy blood caused Odelia to realize how lonely she had become since her Harold's portrait had been taken away. Entertainment bred of loathing and an accompanying hoarse throat highlighted the itch of sorrow that slowly grew into utter despair with each loss of yet another wasted year.
But this year seemed to hold promise. This year brought the Potter boy and the spare Golden Snitch he always kept hidden in his trunk. Odelia, who listened eagerly to the whirl of the Snitch's delicate wings when the boy allowed it fly to about the manor when he believed no one else to be awake, began her new ritual of straining her ears, instead of her throat with harsh words whenever the Snitch was around. Pretenses of disgust and hatred for the boy were firmly held into place with snarls and shrieks, but Odelia rather looked forward to the Winter Break. She hoped with every stroke of her oiled heart that the boy would return from the Muggle lover's school with his secreted companion.
Winter's break came and left the Black home, and Sirius created obscene amounts of sickening holiday racket with the filth he permitted into her house. Forced exposure to the quiet Order gatherings was nearly more than Odelia could stand, but these louder intrusions raked at Odelia's remaining sanity. Only the flutter of Snitch wings could calm her when the fuss and panic of the trespassers pressed the vile exclamations from her mouth.
Odelia had strained her ears the hardest that Christmas night, and the constant longing for the Snitch's company grew. She missed the nights when it would speed along the corridors to bob before her frame long enough to display that which she so desperately wished to possess.
January drizzled along, as had the rest of the year, with pathetic notions and endeavors made by the Order. Odelia tuned out most of the offensive prattling, but made certain to hear every detail pertaining to Arthur's beautiful attack, and any mention of Snitches. She listened particularly for mentions of the Potter Snitch, which had so casually flown into the hollowed space left by her Harold.
As February approached, Odelia became more anxious. The Potter boy could not return to the manor simply to celebrate Valentine's Day, so the Golden Snitch would not be able to soothe her with its presence. She decided to take matters into her own painted hands.
Odelia smiled softly to herself and gathered her painting materials. She would render a most spectacular gift to deliver to her beloved Snitch, and she knew just the house-elf to deliver it.
Harry stomped along the hallway that led to the Gryffindor Common Room. Valentine's Day had started off nearly as well as he had imagined that it would be, and then quickly soured with the mounting sighs and recollections made by Cho. Although the day had not presented Harry with the romantic liason he had hoped to enjoy, it had gone well enough. Once people read his article in The Quibbler/, the wizarding world would /have to believe that Voldemort had returned.
Harry listlessly gave the password and skulked across the common room. He ignored the acknowledgements offered to him, and made for the winding stairwell.
Upon opening his dormitory door, Harry noticed a foreign piece of parchment resting face down atop his comforter he did not remember placing there when he had left that morning Harry glanced at the swirly note on the back for a moment, before he turned the parchment over and stared down at the drawing of hopping Chocolate Frogs. Harry turned the painting over once more, and gaped at the note.
To My Love, the Golden Snitch
I do hope that you shall accept my gift to you, My Valentine. You are never parted from my thoughts, waking or dreamt. I care only for you, as I have for my departed husband, Harold. Golden, if you would have me, I would be honored to call myself your portrait.
Your Beloved, Odelia
Harry blinked in dismay. Who on earth was "Odelia," and how had she gotten a painting of Chocolate Frogs addressed to the Golden Snitch to him? No one had come into the room all day, to his knowledge. Harry thought over the possible answers which would explain who the artist was, and why she would send a declaration of love to an enchanted piece of metal. Furthermore, Harry wondered who would know that he kept a stolen Snitch with him at all times now, in memory of his father.
It was not long before Harry heard the echo of feet upon the stairs outside of his shared room. Ron pushed into the room first, followed by Dean, Seamus, and Neville. Harry brushed off the questions and greetings of the excited boys, and strode immediately to Ron.
"Ron, do you know anyone named, "Odelia" or "Harold"? I found this painting, and there was a note on the back." Harry handed his friend the parchment for inspection.
Ron examined the painting and the note quietly as the other boys closed in to have a look at what had managed to capture both Harry's and Ron's attention.
Ron looked up from the painting and gazed into Harry's face in search of signs that this painting, and its complementary note, might be just another prank. Once it became clear that Harry had not simply painted the picture himself and signed it, Ron answered Harry's question.
"I do know one "Odelia," and one "Harold." They've be dead for years."
"Odelia can't be, because I found this on my bed just now."
"There is one other version of her that we both know, but I don't know how she could get this here. She's in London."
"Other version?" Harry frowned at Ron, and then at the painting in his hands.
"Yes," Ron said evenly, "/other/ version. The person who could have sent this is dead, but her portrait hangs in Remus' home. She is quite vocal about the quality of wizarding blood." Ron nodded his head as he spoke, hoping to help Harry capture his meaning quicker.
"Remus' home?" Realization caused the clues to connect, and Harry's mouth dropped open. "That can't be!"
"What can't be?" Seamus asked, disregarding the lack of an invitation into the conversation between Ron and Harry.
"Mrs. Black sent some Chocolate Frogs to the Golden Snitch. Well, at least a painting of Chocolate Frogs." Ron read the scrawled message once more, silently.
"Who is "Mrs. Black," and why would a married woman send Chocolate Frogs to a Quidditch ball? Who is this Harold?" Neville pondered aloud, as he chewed his lip in uncertainty.
"Mrs. Black was Sirius Black's mother, Harold was her husband. The question we should be asking is why a painting of a married, dead woman would send a painting of Chocolate Frogs, and how?" Harry muttered to the group.
Ron shook his head and spoke for his fellow roommates, "I have no idea."
Kreacher settled himself into his pile of rags in his corner of the Black home. He had done well that day. His Mistress had created a masterpiece for Golden, and he had stolen the half-breed wolf's wand to extract it from his Mistress' painting. He had asked his Mistress if she wished to be set free as well, but she had told him 'No'. She explained to him that her freedom would cause more trouble than good, and that she wanted to stay where she was. Someone had to look after her home's front hall.
Kreacher repeated the strange words his Mistress told him under his breath, so as not to be heard by the half-breed and the blood traitorous murderer. A faint pop and a shower of dancing sparks pulled the painting of hopping, chocolatey frogs from his Mistress' domain, and into his tiny hand.
Kreacher hid the painting in the troll's hollowed leg before he returned the borrowed wand. There was no need to get caught with two items he was not allowed to have.
Then, he had scuffled back down the creaking stairs to the hidden painting, retrieved it, and waited for instructions on what he was to do with it. He listened closely as his Mistress taught him how to use the Floo System, and which name he was to call into the green fire.
Kreacher remembered the puzzling heat of the flame, and the odd Hogwarts house-elf he summoned through the fireplace located in the kitchen that swallowed its share of the school's dungeons. He had given Dobby the painting, and passed along the exact directions his Mistress bid him to deliver. He also made sure to warn the elf against any mistakes he might make in his journey to the Potter boy.
Kreacher snuggled into the smelly cloth; he had done a fine job that day.
Odelia eagerly awaited the reply from the Golden Snitch upon receiving her painting. She had employed every skill in artwork she possessed to craft the Valentine's Day gift for her love. She clutched the remaining painting supplies to her breast, and hoped that her efforts were appreciated. She mostly hoped that the Potter boy would not simply throw her painting away. The Golden Snitch had to receive the art she had placed so much of herself into. The months of flirtation and infatuation would be all for nothing otherwise. Golden had to know her true feelings.
Remus and Sirius' voices rose in anger, as they often did with each passing day. Odelia knew the lame excuse that was, unfortunately, her son loved Remus as a friend, and did not share the werewolf's attraction. Each day they were together, arguments flared up over nonsense as a means to exercise the thoughts of the sinful relationship the half-breed sought.
Odelia resolved not to let nausea overwhelm her at the thought of Sirius on his back with his legs spread for the wolf, or any other combination of positions they might try. Instead, she thought of Golden, and her love for the wings which now drove her through the endless days in the manor.
The Golden Snitch zoomed across the Quidditch crowd and attempted to avoid being caught. The warm Potter boy had put him back in his box with the other balls that morning with one last pet. There had been some talk of a painting being sent for him by the chipped portrait of Mrs. Black. Golden did not care to see the painting of the frogs she sent him. What would he have to do with an old, permanently fixed painting anyway?
The Snitch needed to fly/, and only the Firebolt could match his speed. Only there at the Firebolt's side could his instinct for flight truly be appreciated. Who needed some /old painting anyway?