Disclaimer: Don't own it, duh.
A/N: Right, I'm awfully bored, and I was re-reading my story, so I'm going to rewrite it—or better yet, proof-read it. HA! Imagine that. Several years too late, but oh well. Same plot, just, you know, written better.
Summary: Same thing.
Chapter One: The Invitation—
Blah. That's all he said. Blah, blah, blah, blah. One would think a ghost would be much more interesting, but no, he wasn't. Maybe if you considered the way he said 'blah', in the different tones and different lifts of his transparent lips, like Harry was currently doing, but normally one didn't reach that stage of boredom.
Instead the reached the stage of boredom where they dreamed with their eyes open, they drooled without realizing it or humiliation, and they gazed unseeingly at the back of the heads of their peers. Dandruff even offered more interest then 'blah' at the moment.
Eyes drooping shut, Harry attempted to keep his attention locked on the back of his friend's head, the fiery red hair so loud and rude it was bound to blind anyone to stay awake, yet, alas, it failed him in that one dull moment. Chin dragging along the slick crease of his palm, he started to fall forward…
The classroom door banged open to Professor Binns room, starting everyone out of their bored stupor, either violently, rudely, or unwelcomingly—if not all three. Blinking, everyone blinking in the suddenly bright light, they looked up to see Professor Snape stalking the isle of the room, glowering and sneering his lip at everyone.
Well that was one hell of a rude awakening. Make a mental note: Never get Snape to wake you up in the morning, especially if his entrances in the afternoon were that cracking.
"Why hello Professor…Shark," Binns breathed, blinking large, un-daunting eyes at the sneering man, who scowled darkly at those who dared to chuckle of the mistaken name.
"Professor," his lip curled, obviously not buying into that obvious fact. "The Headmaster requests Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, and Miss Granger in his office," several students swivel in their seats, to stare at them, wonderingly.
"Well," Harry growled in annoyance at Dean Thomas. "You want me to do a trick or somethin'?"
"Actually," Dean grinned ruthlessly while Professor Binns huffed out a bit.
"Very well, very well," he said dismissively. "Mr. Weasel, Mr. Dot…Dotter and Mr. Ginger please accompany Professor Lark here to the Headmaster's office." He was looking at a group of very affronted looking Slytherins.
The Potions Master turns without a word, his robes wiping out behind him dramatically while the trio pushed back their seats, dutifully piling up their books into their packs. The man spared them naught a glance as he stalked by, obviously expecting them to follow like trained dogs—which all were loathed to admit, but they did.
The walk through the corridor was silent, the loathing of Harry and Ron vibrating off of them in the direction of Snape, while Hermione looked genuinely puzzled to the reason they were being dragged to the Headmaster's Office in the middle of class. Though her two friends were glad for the interruption.
The portraits muttered as they passed, several convinced they had finally upped and gotten them expelled, while the others worried what trouble surrounded the trio once again. Always in trouble they were, either caused by them or caused by someone else.
"Why are they always in trouble, especially that Potter child?" a quiet Monk whispered as they walked by, looking pointedly at Harry, who pretended to have not heard the suggestive question.
"Karma," responds the other Monk with the shiny bald head. "Has to be Karma, honestly." Hermione caught Harry's eye and rolled it. Smirking at her, the boy tipped his head back to study the corridor's ceiling, which was just as boring as Professor Binns.
Not many would find boredom in a life where the Dark Lord was after his very blood, but then again not many knew Harry Potter and not many knew Professor Binns either. And if they had—had being the keyword—they would've died of resolute boredom.
Finally, the silence still thick and cracking between them, they reached the statue of the gargoyle.
"Cotton Butterflies," Snape uttered, inwardly wincing. Gods, that old man and his sweets. The gargoyle instantly jumped aside, allowing them passage up to the Headmaster's office, and they troop up the steps, Snape in the lead, his usual face of pure impassiveness set in place.
Harry discreetly looked around as they entered, seeing a slightly bare emptiness to it since his little 'outburst' last year, and instantly felt a burn beneath his cheeks.
They weren't alone when they entered—well, of course Dumbledore would be there—but to their surprise Ginny was too, along with Neville, and Luna.
All those involved in the Department of Mysteries fiasco. Well that was quaint.
Dumbledore was perched behind his desk, stroking his red phoenix, and a short, stocky man with a hell of comb-over stood before the desk, clasping and unclasping his hands. He was sweating slightly, which was understandable seeing how he was wearing a thick winter cloak in the midst of Dumbledore's cozy, warm office, and he smiled at them weakly.
"'Ello," he instantly said as soon as they were all gathered, Snape moving to the side to stand next to McGonagall, who had her lips pressed flat in utter annoyance at the man. "I'm Stewart Stuffy," he grasped Neville Longbottom's hand, who happened to be the closest.
"Rather unfortunate name, isn't it?" Ron muttered quietly to Harry, who snorted quietly in agreement.
"Yeah, just a bit," he whispered in response while Hermione discreetly stepped on her foot.
"Anyhow," Stewart ran his hands over his baldy head, ruffling up his comb-over. "I've come here to distribute an invitation to you six in hopes of reconciling what happened at the Department of Mysteries."
"What?" Hermione and Harry started in surprise.
"Reconcile?" Harry voice came off a bit harsh, with the raw memory of Sirius hanging over his head. Steward involuntarily flinched at the voice.
"Well, I'm a representative of the Department," he murmured weakly and Harry raised an eyebrow. Now that wasn't the kind of stock he expected from the Department of Mysteries. "And with the unfortunate accident of Sirius Black," Harry inwardly winced. "We want to extend you an invitation to a Halloween Ball…"
His voice was lost.
Blink. Blink. How…blink…How the hell did that work out? Harry was deaf to the man's blubbering mouth, seeing it moving up and down in grotesque slants and slits, his mind pulling nothing but uncomprehending confusion at the statement.
Sirius is dead, through the Department's Archway, and this, this badly named man thought they could reconcile with inviting them to a Halloween Ball. Well wasn't that just dandy.
What next? Voldemort was going to admit a chronicle of defeat at Harry's hand by having a slumber party? Harry felt his eye twitch and clenched his hand, angrily.
"Now," Stewart breathed. "Dumbledore has agreed to the invitation, but as formal to invitation, I had to tell you of it directly." He seemed immensely relieved to be finished.
"Well…" McGonagall griped in annoyance, staring at the man accusingly. "Aren't you done?"
"Yes, yes I am Minerva…"
"Then get out!" she snapped causing great surprise to the children of the office, but not the adults. Flushing a bright red, he ran his jittery hands over his head again and hurriedly grasped hands with Ron—who was closest this time—and bustled off, waddling and murmuring quietly, insanely, to himself.
Once he was gone, they teenagers turned to the old, wrinkling man wide-eyed.
"Reconcile?" Harry snapped darkly as the old man's eyes fell instinctively upon him. "How the hell does a Halloween Ball…"
"Potter," Snape barked out. "Watch how to speak to the Headmaster. And if you were wise enough to use your brain, which rarely happens, then you would realize that the Department of Mysteries would've hounded you six until the end of your days until you gave in to go to some ball or another."
Harry's eye twitched again. Damn eye.
"The Department of Mysteries," Dumbledore said gravely. "Isn't exactly known for its…understanding, you could say, of how to deal with people's emotions." McGonagall snorted. "Now, however, I do find this Ball to be a rather good chance to let you briefly escape hectic and worrisome lives at the moment."
His eyes twinkled sadly, wishing deeply that they didn't have to have those lives.
"That's…nice," Ginny said awkwardly. Dumbledore inclined his head somewhat.
"Please forgive me," the man said heavily. "But this meeting really was just for Mr. Stuffy's invitation. I do believe you have classes to get back to and I most finish my conversation with Professors Snape and McGonagall."
"Of course," Hermione said, smiling. "Thanks for letting us go to the Ball."
"You deserve it," Dumbledore returned the smile. With that, they were dismissed once again. Turning they left the office quickly and silently, until they reached the base of the stairs.
"Being invited to a Ball by the Department of Mysteries is a big honor," Hermione said approving.
"But their reasons sucks," Harry muttered and everyone nodded in agreement.
"Well, I'm sure it shall prove to be interesting," Luna concludes before drifting off like some physical form of a ghost. Harry watched her walk off, incredulous.
Leave it to Luna.
A/N: I know it doesn't stand to good measure of any type of writing, but I just need to get it out before I go mad, really. I'm going straight to the next chapter, to revise it. Leave a Review, please!
Already there are subtle changes. Hehe.