Have you ever experienced a time in your life when the simplest of things can cause flashbacks to a previous event? I sure have. Sometimes they are pleasant, but others? Not so much. I have found that fireworks tend to send me back a few years in time. Three years ago, in fact. Let me regale you with the tale of a quite memorable New Year's Eve party hosted by the then-captains of the Slytherin House Quidditch team, Greenlea and Ada.
Picture this. Twickenham Stadium, a Muggle stadium that hosts part of some Muggle sports series something or other. Ruddy? Rubies? Wait. Rugby. That's it. The weather is quite treacherous -torrential rain and gusts of wind that would make any Quidditch player cringe. The Ministry of Magic (thanks to some favors called in by a few Pureblooded players) had acquiesced to creating a slew of portkeys for the attendees so they wouldn't be caught in the horrid weather. They had also sent over some professionals to place charms both to repel any wandering Muggles as well as to place a dome over the field, allowing wix of all sorts to enjoy the party.
Greenlea had put in painstaking hour upon hour to ensure that everything was simply perfect. The food was exquisite -if I do say so myself. Very international and varied, not just standard English fare. Glittering columns towered over everyone at every turn, tables draped in soft, white and silver cloths, candles everywhere. I mean everywhere. The lighting definitely left something to be desired. It was so harsh, but I digress.
The intricate details in the decor, down to the quaint cityscapes painted on teal walls, was phenomenal. Delicate ice sculptures lined the main table that held the questionnaires and crystal goblets that were meant to be used by guests as gifts. Each guest was to transfigure a goblet into a gift for an assigned partner, Secret Santa style. A ton of effort and thought was put into everything. So, of course, disaster was bound to come calling, right? And who gets the blame for all of it -despite being the one to correct the problem and save everyone? Yours truly. It really makes me wonder why it is that I adore Lugh so much. He has caused a fair bit of grief in my life yet he also has this sneaky way of burrowing his way into your heart. Cheeky, little sod.
To make an already long story a bit shorter let me cut to the quick. Lugh, while heavily immersed in his experimental charms phase, decided that it would be hilarious to drop off a box of dragon figurines that would wreak a bit of havoc. He had enchanted each one to change something for each attendee anytime they touched the figurine. Or so he thought. Many of them began to smoke and shake while in the box, charm after charm failing. By the grace of some deity out there I had taken notice of the smoke wafting out from underneath that table.
I had to make haste and prevent a disaster of epic proportions from going down. Lugh was nowhere to be seen -in fact he had never shown up at all. To this day I am still unsure of how he got that box there without being seen and then disappeared. Anywho. My trusty wand and I got to work, quickly, using a form of Protego that created a sort of snowglobe shield around the table. I then had to do a rapid cast of Bombarda followed by the Glass to Sand spell thus creating some odd sort of sand fireworks. The goblets and ice sculptures were poor sacrifices to the devious dragon figurines.
For some inexplicable reason, both regular fireworks and ice sculptures send my brain strolling down memory lane at breakneck speeds. I'm ever so grateful that Charms and Transfiguration are my two best subjects. I haven't been to a Quidditch party since that one, I'm not so sure I'd be all that welcome considering many in attendance that night still believe it was all my doing. It's also why I've spent a considerable amount of time honing my reflexes and reaction times.
I wonder if that's why they moved me over to Keeper soon after? Ugh. Now that is going to send my brain into hyperdrive if I don't get the answer. I've gotta go see two old friends about a horse party disaster. You can see yourself out, right?