Purple-Pink #7

Disclaimer: Not mine; no money.

Thanks go to my beta, Southern Witch 69.

Purple-Pink #7

April 15th, 5:14 pm

The after-work crowd is a dense mass of pastel confusion, as per usual. It's one of the reasons that the Two-Minute Handshake is held at this time of day – it actually fits into people's schedules fairly easily, preventing them from feeling overly inconvenienced.

There's about a minute left, and I haven't spotted Marion yet.

Where is she?

She's wanted this for months – or probably even longer since I'm sure it took her some time to work up the courage to approach me about it.

She'll be here. Nothing has happened to her. She'll be here.

The vial of Strigo Conceptus Potion seems to burn my hand as I play with it in my pocket. Amazing to think that such a tiny thing is grounds for immediate arrest for Mis-Behavior. I could be Pinked within the hour. Such thoughts speed my already racing heart, and my stomach clenches uncomfortably. I probably would feel a bit less anxious if my nerves weren't already stretched due to a week of sleepless nights.

But the plan! It's worth everything I can do if it works.

Finally, with only seconds to spare, a breathless "Hello" sounds from behind my right shoulder. I keep walking, assuming she'll follow.

The Announcement Witch's voice rings out over the crowd. As she admonishes us to feel an unreasonable fervor for Proper Handshakes in her overly sweet voice, I turn to face Marion.

She actually doesn't look as anxious as I feel. Although, of course, I hope I don't appear nervous either.

It's a shame it was too risky to give her the vial at the library, but even more books have been banned in the last week, and the shelves offer no protection whatsoever from the Watch Witch poster.

Leaving us with this.

As the Two-Minute Handshake officially begins, I remove my hand from my pocket while palming the vial. Keeping our hands low, Marion grasps my hand strongly and holds on.

This is the tricky bit, but the crowd around us helps to conceal our hands from view.

On the surface, we continue to flash each other Proper Smiles while doing a Proper Handshake. In actuality, we're maneuvering so that it is her palm and fingers that will cup and hide the vial as we separate.

Goddess, is that man watching us? Oh, no – wait. He's looking at the woman on my right – he's just gone up to her – oh, thank Circe!

Letting out one relieved breath, I then feel my heart skip a beat when I realize that everyone around us has already changed partners. We've held the Handshake longer than is officially Proper. I give Marion's hand one last squeeze and begin to disengage, moving my body in front of hers so no one will see her slip the vial into her pocket. I meet her eyes one last time and turn quickly to my right as she turns to hers.

It goes completely smoothly – my careful preparation paying off.

Perhaps that means my master plan is also a good one?

Reaching for the hand of a pale-blue-clad young man in front of me, I make sure to grip with appropriate enthusiasm. I repeat the scenario for three more people: an elderly woman with Pale Pink #1 hair, which is a recent trend, a middle-aged man in beige who's Proper Smile is too lopsided, and a young woman who's covered in Pink #3 lace from the tip of her pointed hat to the tip of her dangerously pointed boot.

It's when I'm finishing my Proper Handshake with an elderly man in bone-colored robes that the Announcement Witch simpers, "And now citizens – the Two-Minute Handshake may be over, but move from the middle of the way and remain where you are."

The hot pink squeal of the Seriously Serious Siren sounds briefly before cutting out to be replaced by the marching sound of Umbridge's Think Pink Brigade.

Goddess! We've been reported!

The press of bodies around me grows denser, and I'm pushed along with the crowd to one side of the lane. I'm unable to move more than a few inches in any direction, and my breath comes in quick, shallow pants. My heart speeds to synchronize with the sound of rapid footfalls.

The stomping grows louder and is joined by a second noise. Overall, it's a strange combination of the quick thud of boots one can't take long strides in coupled with the squeak of stiff leather that never seems to break-in because doing so would sacrifice shape.

As they stomp/squeak into view, I'm torn between the desire to flee in terror or laugh hysterically. It leaves me feeling a bit light-headed.

At some point in time, someone, perhaps Umbridge herself, had the idea that a police force would look more commanding in leather. But to disguise the fact that it was a militaristic unit, they decided the leather should be Pink – Pink #5 to be exact. When that still didn't pass muster, the leather was changed to patent leather.

Every footfall is synchronized, every arm swing in harmony. From far enough away, they look like the inevitable flood of an alien river – a river on a technicolor world that most likely exists in an alternate dimension where the laws of physics as we know them are regularly violated.

Circe, I watched too much strange telly as a child!

Suppressing my desire to giggle hysterically, I affix a Proper Smile firmly to my face. I can feel the thud of my heartbeat in my chest – it keeps time with the marching.

The first ranks reach where I am. I hold my breath, waiting for them to stop and turn in my direction. My stomach twists and plunges as if I'm falling.

Keep going, effing keep going!

I'm fairly sure my Proper Smile resembles a skull's grimace by now and that I'm baring too much enamel. But I can't seem to relax the muscles of my face.

As the pink tide keeps flowing past, I breathe a little easier, and my heart slows to where I can no longer feel it banging against my ribs.

The squeaking is louder up close. It's now a combination of the boots and the creak of bizarre leather robes that look an awfully lot like Muggle trench coats – complete with belts drawn tight to emphasize waists. In addition, the marching itself grows ever more irreal the longer it's observed – the stiletto heels make their steps short and mincing, yet the most thunderous noise arises with every footfall. A charm obviously, but one with an effect that disconnects perception from known reality.

Ruffles emerge from the patent leather at every point possible – like stuffing erupting from an overly squeezed plush toy. Pink #5 patent leather, pointed hats drip lace in such abundance that another charm has been used to keep the masses of it from hindering the sight of the following rows of Think Pinkers.

But perhaps the most disturbing thing about the Think Pink Brigade is the expression on their eerily similar faces. Proper Smiles have never looked so Proper – or so plastic. A crack team of Muggle scientists would be hard pressed to find even a millimeter's variance amongst their Smiles in any dimension. Similarly, their eyes share an empty expression even though surrounded by the crinkles of forced joviality – it's not meanness or hatred or any emotion – it's an empathy-less void.

Is there anyone in there? Anyone at all?

I shiver as the last of the ranks stomp/squeak past.

It's no matter – the Pink Party can be fooled; my plan will work – that's all I need know.

~~~

I Apparate into my Mandatory Visiting Area and jump a bit when Watcher Marple's voice emerges from my left.

"There you are, deary. I was just beginning to wonder about you. 'Where's she got herself off to this time,' I was just saying not two seconds before you arrived."

I shouldn't be so surprised. Decree 37 gave the Pink Party complete access to everyone's home when it dictated Apparition admittance.

She's in Pale Pink #3 and appears to have taken the lace and appliqué route to hideousness as an alternative to her normal ruffled look. The large Pink #5 blooms added to her blouse resemble some strange flesh-eating plant, and I'm almost certain that the stamens in the middle of them are capable of performing some sort of surveillance all on their own.

"Watcher Marple, what a pleasant surprise. Why, I stopped for the Two-Minute Handshake, as I like to do."

"Oh, was it that time?"

I don't believe your innocent routine, you interfering cow, so out with it already!

I can feel my Proper Smile start to harden, so I quickly ask, "Was there something specific I can do for you, Watcher Marple?"

"Actually, deary, it's something I can do for you." Her Proper Smile shades into slyness, and I wonder if she's hoping I'll grovel.

Not bloody likely!

After I don't reply, she continues, "I've never seen the like, but your Community Service transfer went through in a trice. You join the Elegant Embroidery Committee tonight."

Snape! He did it.

And I'll get to see Ginny regularly. That speeds things along nicely.

"That's wonderful news, Watcher Marple! I can't wait to make my clothes more decorative and pretty – just like yours."

I wonder if a Proper Smile plus sarcasm equals a smirk.

AN: Pink #5 used to be referred to as hot pink before the highly improved and much more accurate Pink Scale was created and implemented by a team of top researchers.

Please review – it'll save me from Thinking Pink!