Disclaimer: Do not own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does.

AN: This is, as mentioned, a series of drabbles with possibly no connection one to another. Accepting drabble requests * grin *

Title: The same thing we do every night!

Summary: Cartoons have ... errr ... subliminal effects.

The Same Thing We Do Every Night

There should not have been a single person stirring in Great Britain at that time of night. But, of course, the Death Eaters were lurking about under the cover of darkness, since that was the traditional way to do it. And Death Eaters were nothing if not traditional. So they lurked sleepily, listening to their Lord fidgeting on the throne. They didn't know it, just as they didn't know why they were called there every night and simply made to wait around, but the Dark Lord himself was waiting for somebody to ask one single damned question, as he always was. Except people were too afraid to say anything and thus he couldn't show his brilliance in choosing the perfect line with which to motivate his army.

He would have loved it if Wormtail had asked him "What are we going to do tonight, my lord?"

Then, he would have answered, "The same thing we do every night. Try to take over the world!"

Except nobody asked the question. So he couldn't answer.

Voldemort sulked. And kept everybody awake at ungodly hours.



In Hogwarts.

The North Tower, to be precise.

Hermione and Ron had sneaked up the stairs very carefully, making no sound and hiding under Harry's invisibility cloak. Now, they were proceeding to undress. The night was beautiful. The stars shone, the moon was bright and close enough to full, the wind was warm, everything was pretty much perfect. They threw off the cloak in a single, fluid, double gesture and proceeded to snog madly, deeply.... Until they heard somebody clearing their throat and they looked up.

"Mr. Weasley. Miss Granger. What are you doing here tonight?"

"The same thing we do every night, professor," Hermione answered. "Try to date over the world."


And she had only had the nerve to say that one because Snape was also doing the same thing he did every night: Pry and take over their points. She needed him to keep coming, though. Next time, they would wear Harry's Cloak all the way through. And make little noise while Snape expected them to come, staring in the distance and not being able to tell that they were there and doing it right in front of his oversized nose. Oh, yes, they'd win that battle. Because she was smart. And they were quiet. And sincerely, even if many students could boast of having sex in public places, how many could boast of having sex three feet away from Snape?


Somewhere far, far away, in an unidentified corner of the world, Remus commemorated Sirius's death. He had everything he needed for it. He was doing it in the honour of his dead best friend. He was happy to know that Sirius would have appreciated the gesture, that he would have liked it, that it was a tribute that would have made him proud.

The wind was billowing around him, the sea was calm beneath him and some sort of night bird was crying out, hunting on the close shore. He was doing the same thing he did on every anniversary night of Sirius's death: fly high over the world. On Buckbeak. The best symbol of freedom he had been able to find.


In a corner of the dungeon, Harry was sneaking around without his Invisibility Cloak, which he had left with Ron and Hermione. He wasn't afraid to run into Snape, who would run into them for sure. Hermione had the Potions Master wrapped around her little finger. He was slightly afraid of Filch and his cat, though, but then again, he was Disillusioned. He could deal with them. This was something he had been doing every night for a long night, in perfect secrecy, while not even his closest friends knew about it. He rushed to Snape's office, managed to break in, then went for his private potions ingredients. He needed some Felix Felicis. He needed it now. And he needed some very special mould for it, a mould that the House Elves had not seen in fifty years, but Snape's stores had never lacked.

Wand in hand, trying to break wards without sounding alarms, Harry Potter did what he did every night: try to take over the mould.


Dumbledore was up, discussing with Minerva McGonagall, who knew him well enough to know what the old man needed of her. She was very tender with him that way, allowing for his sweet tooth and for his eccentricities. And this was one of them. As he declared their midnight meeting begun, she sat down on the guest chair in his office and asked:

"So, what are we going to do tonight, Headmaster?"

And he smiled that warm, grandfatherly smile at her, the one that said she had done it just right and that all his life, all his struggles, had been worth it, just to be asked the right thing at the right time as he neared the end of his life.

"Why, the same thing we do every night, Minerva. Try to stop Tom from taking over the world!"

And all felt right in the world.

AN: There. Done with the first drabble. Well, drabbles. Don't forget to write a review * wink * Keep a poor student during exam time very happy, please! * puppy eyes * (Yes, I'm the student in question)