Misunderstood Maledictions | Tomione

Walk Like An Egyptian

Monday, September 29, 1944

5:44 P.M.

"Have I already mentioned that I don't like Dippet?" Harry asked a little more than three hours later, leisurely lounging back across the length of an entire Gryffindor bench in a completely deserted Great Hall. Every place at all four massively long tables was set, already prepared for the students arriving on the Hogwarts Express later that evening.

"Keep it down, and Dumbledore - modern Dumbledore, I mean - did mention that he was something of a weasel," Ginny mused in a low voice, lying farther down the same bench that Harry was on.

"He was indecisive. Couldn't make up his mind long enough to get a job done," Ron said, stretched out along a Ravenclaw table bench. He shifted his hands behind his head as he stared up at the swirling, setting sun and purple and pink clouds on the ceiling. "I mean, a guy's got to stick to his guns. And he's not just any guy, he is the guy."

"Great observation, Ron." Hermione turned her head to the right and rolled her eyes over at Ginny from her bench on the opposite side of the Gryffindor table. The curly brown top of her head was just touching the silky blond top of Draco's, who was mirroring her position along the other half of the bench. She raised her hand into the air and, with her fingertip, began to gently trace the outline of a reddish-orange cloud near the disappearing sun.

"You know, Hermione," Lavender suddenly said, sitting up and gazing thoughtfully at the reclining brunette, "If you're going to walk like an Egyptian, talk like an Egyptian... I've been thinking up some ways to make you look more Egyptian."

Oh sweet Merlin. Not this.

"Yeah, that's right," Ron exclaimed, flipping over in his side and squinting over Harry and under the table in order to get a good look at Hermione. "I don't know... your eyes are sort of uniquely almondy-shaped, I think that's a good thing... Maybe you could, I don't know, outline them with that eye stuff you use or something? When we went to Egypt, we saw some mummies, and their eyes were like that—"

"Since I haven't been dead for over 6,000 years, Ron, thanks, but no," Hermione interrupted stubbornly, her finger moving on to another cloud.

"Aw, Hermione, you at least have to be tan. All real Egyptians are tan." Lavender sighed reluctantly and grudgingly added, "That's it, I promise. I know a great tanning spell. And maybe I'll darken your hair up just a touch..." She surveyed Hermione's body critically. "You know, that might be all it takes to do the trick..." she mused.

Hermione echoed Lavender's deep sigh, this one in defeat. As much as she hated to admit it, Lavender did have a point: They would have to be both audibly and visibly convincing. "All right, Lav, I'll let you tan me before the Hogwarts Express gets here, good? But let's talk strategy now, you lot. We've got to get our stories as straight as a razor if we're ever going to pull this off."

"We can't speak Egyptian," Harry pointed out instantly.

"No, I don't think that'll be much of a problem," she said, shaking her head and furrowing her brow as she studied the ceiling. "I highly doubt any student or teacher here can speak Egyptian, either – or, if they did, not nearly enough to call our bluff. Gibberish should work well enough if that ever becomes a problem."

Lavender laughed, and Ron raised a volunteering hand from his spot on the bench. "All right, I'm guessing the plan is to follow mini-You-Know-Who around until we get him alone, then blast the bastard back to the last millennium where he belongs," he finished in a low, icy voice, all the anger from two years of war and Merlin knew how long of fear channelled in his final eleven words.