Stubby Boardman Will Sing No More

Stubby Boardman Will Sing No More

Stubby Boardman had said he'd be there at seven o'clock.

Doris had everything ready at half past five, but she kept checking the dining room over and over again, pointing her wand at the floating candles and changing their position. She also must have entered the kitchen a hundred times to ensure that the food was properly magically heated. The number of times she looked at her reflection in the mirror and asked it if she looked pretty enough was far too great for counting; the mirror itself was rather tired of it and finally it told her, in an unusually sharp voice, to please stop asking.

At five minutes to seven Doris nervously sprinkled some perfume into her hair. Parsnips and celery are all very fine as a side dish, but the smell does tend to linger in one's hair. It would all have been different if she'd had house-elves. She could have let them do the cooking and spent the whole afternoon getting herself ready.

She had removed the posters of the Hobgoblins and of Boardman himself from the walls. She was a bit ashamed of him seeing them. As she was folding the posters carefully to put them away into a cupboard, the image of Stubby Boardman tossed his head, and she could have sworn that he had winked at her before his long hair fell over his face as usual. Boardman's face was never in plain sight on photographs, and even though his image would often move (and flash a quick, sly smile whenever Doris kissed the pictures) it seemed that he took care that his face should always be in the shadows or partially covered by his hair.

At seven o'clock she was standing at the window overlooking the front door and waiting, still not quite believing that Stubby Boardman was actually coming to dinner. She half expected that he would not show up at all and it would turn out to have been a dream.

***

She was at the Hobgoblins' concert at Little Norton Church Hall the day before, singing along and occasionally screaming, and felt angry and ashamed as never before in her life when that group of wizards started jeering at the musicians and throwing things at them. No hexes, thankfully. The organisers had seen to it - all visitors had to leave their wands in the cloak room. But those wizards had sneaked in a bag of overripe vegetables, no doubt by using a temporary Shrinking Charm or something like that. In Doris's opinion, the organisers should have predicted something like that happening as well. People's emotions do tend to overheat at times of war, and it was well-known that there was a certain tendency towards darkness in the Hobgoblins' lyrics. There were people who thought it amounted to treason in a time when all witches and wizards should be united against You-Know-Who.

Doris knew about these opinions and disagreed. There was no sympathy for the Dark Lord in her heart, but it was not as if Hobgoblins' songs never actually mentioned him. They spoke about the allure of darkness, of Dark Magic and dark thoughts, but that was different. These lyrics were Art. And Stubby Boardman performed these songs in such a heartbreakingly emotional and strangely seductive way. And he was handsome. So very handsome.

So when the concert was interrupted by that group of people who should have known better, Doris felt a strong urge to speak to Boardman, a few words at least. She had to assure him that the majority of people in Little Norton loved and understood his music. And - well - she really, really wanted to talk to him.

She pushed her way through the crowd using her elbows, which was not at all like her - she had always been a very gentle person. Stubby Boardman was sitting down on the floor next to his guitar, wiping a squashed tomato off his handsome, pale face. Worried, Doris asked him if he was all right. Then she just kept on talking, not waiting for his answer, because she was afraid someone would push her away at any moment and she wouldn't have the chance anymore. She told him how much she loved his songs and felt that they really spoke to her, and what a pity it was that some people were narrow-minded, and much more that she later couldn't remember. She stopped talking only when she felt out of breath, and she saw that Boardman was grinning and his dark eyes were watching her in a very unsettling manner.

"What's your name?" he asked her.

She was so taken aback by the fact that he had spoken to her that for a few moments she said nothing, staring back at him. Then she said "Doris Bennett," and he stood up and shook her hand - well, what he really did was took her hand and held it, and told her that he'd stay in Little Norton for a few more days and asked her if she'd like to see him again. And Doris did her very best not to scream: "Oh yes I would!" but to answer in a dignified manner, and suggested Halloween dinner at her house, and he agreed.

She invited Stubby Boardman to dinner and he agreed. Could this really have happened, or was she going to wake up out of an enchanted sleep any moment now?

***

That is how Doris Bennett came to be looking through the window on that Halloween evening, glancing nervously at her watch and waiting for Stubby Boardman to walk up to her front door. She was worried about so many things she could hardly keep track of them. What if he'd changed his mind? What if he hates the dinner she'd prepared? Did he understand that the invitation was meant for him only, not for the whole band? (Doris hadn't prepared enough food for the six of them, and besides, two of the musicians actually were hobgoblins, not that she was prejudiced or anything. But naturally, she wanted to be alone with Boardman, and she hoped that was what he wanted too.)

He arrived fifteen minutes late, which Doris supposed was fashionable. She felt her heart beating uncontrollably when she saw the tall figure walking through the front garden and heard the sound of the doorbell. She walked to the door believing she would be much too frightened to say a single word and Boardman would think she was stupid and go away.

It didn't turn out like that at all. Boardman said "Hello, Doris" and kissed her on the cheek, walked into the house and left his cloak on the hanger as if he'd been visiting her every day, and they were soon drinking sherry at the table, surrounded by the perfectly positioned candles floating in the air. Soon she found that conversation with him was unbelievably easy. He didn't have the manners of a selfish celebrity at all - he made Doris talk about herself a lot, and somehow managed to make her feel that her own life was very exciting. When she told him she worked for the local herbologist's shop in Little Norton, he asked her what the most dangerous herb she'd ever encountered was.

"And all the lights went off, and there I was, alone in the room with the Devil's Snare sprouts, and mind you, it would all have been very easy if I had my wand in my pocket at the moment, because all one has to do is ...."

Stubby Boardman was listening to her with an encouraging and slightly amused smile. He was leaning back in his chair, occasionally lifting the glass of sherry to his lips, and the soft candlelight shining on the glass created amber-coloured reflections that flickered over his pale face. An aristocratic face, Doris thought.

Doris had been worried that her house would look too shabby to a celebrity probably used to greater luxury, but Boardman made no such comment. She brought the dinner from the kitchen - she knew that a perfect hostess would use her wand and Summon the dinner, but she didn't want to risk the food ending up on the floor due to a possible lack of concentration. Boardman had nothing but compliments for the dinner, and their conversation flowed so easily that Doris had enough courage to ask him a personal question.

Now, she knew that he never answered questions about his background. She had cut out and kept all the articles about him from "Bewitching Music" and she knew that he never spoke about the life he lived before the Hobgoblins' rise to fame half a year ago. He seemed to encourage the rumours that he was either an immigrant from an exotic country - but that wasn't very probable, Doris thought, because his accent was so impeccable - or that he had blood other than human in his veins. That Doris found hard to believe as well, especially now that she was able to watch him closely from across the table. A human, definitely. And a very good-looking one too.

She wouldn't ask him about his past, then, but she could ask him about his songs.

"Um, do you write all the Hobgoblins' songs yourself? I mean, both the words and the music?"

"But of course," Boardman answered carelessly, as if it was only natural. "The others help a little bit with the music, but I write all the words. No offence to those chaps, but - you've seen them. Do you think they are capable of writing poetry?"

He grinned after he said that, and Doris blushed. She couldn't believe what had just happened. He had put down the members of his band, and at the same time spoke to her with certainty that she understood his Poetry. She didn't ask him any more personal questions in the course of dinner - she felt as if they had a spiritual rapport and she didn't want to ruin it.

***

The first of the many unusual events of that evening happened as they were kissing on the sofa, but Doris didn't realise its significance at the moment. Her mind was in a haze, after all, and all that took place after they'd left the dining table seemed too dream-like to be happening. Boardman had sat down on the sofa, she'd hesitated for a moment, wondering whether it would be too pushy if she sat down next to him, or too prudish if she sat in an armchair instead, and then Boardman took her hands and very gently pulled her towards himself, and she leaned into the kiss eagerly, and he was even a better kisser than she'd ever imagined, and it took her some time to realize that she was still squeezing his hands tightly, as if he would fade away and turn out to be a daydream if she'd let him go. She released his hands and slid her hands along his arms to his shoulders, but Boardman suddenly froze for a moment, then grabbed his left arm with his right hand. Doris supposed that there was a wound or something like that on his arm, and she had unintentionally touched it.

"I'm sorry. Is anything the matter?" she asked him.

For a moment she saw a strangely vulnerable expression on his face and he seemed to be trying to hide his left arm. But the next moment he smiled and ran his fingers through her hair and told her it was nothing, she should forget about it, and she did so, gladly.

The next strange event happened very soon after that. She thought she'd heard a cracking sound from outside, something like fireworks, and it was too early for fireworks, but she didn't pay much attention to that. And then there was the sound from upstairs.

It was not a very loud sound, but it sounded as if someone had bumped into something, and there was no one else in the house.

"What was that?" Boardman whispered into her ear, or rather somewhere between her ear and her neck.

"I don't know. Maybe I should go and have a look," she said reluctantly. As it turned out, there was no need for that. An owl that must have flown in through an open upstairs window flew down over the staircase and landed on an armchair. There was a letter attached to its foot.

"Maybe it's important," she said apologetically and moved away from Boardman, reaching for the letter. She unfolded it and read it.

Then she read it again, finding it hard to believe it said what it said.

She considered the possibility of it being a joke, but what kind of joke would that be?

Very confused, Doris looked at Boardman.

"It's my friend Rosie," she said. "She says she's just heard on the wireless that You-Know-Who is defeated. That he's gone!"

Boardman shook his head and laughed. There was something grim in that laugh.

"Impossible. That will never happen," he said.

There was that cracking sound from outside once again, and they both turned their heads towards the window. They saw the fireworks - big, sparkling stars and roses swirling in the sky.

"These are not Muggle fireworks," Boardman said quietly. There was tension in his face.

"I'd better turn on the wireless," Doris said and stood up. She pointed her wand to the large wooden box on the other side of the room, and an excited female voice was heard saying:

"... many letters, from all over Britain, from all these people telling us they have heard that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is indeed defeated. We are hearing about celebrations all over the country, but are still not able to verify anything ...."

"Can it be true?" asked Doris, wiping a small tear of happiness from the corner of her eye.

Boardman was shaking his head in disbelief. "I never thought it could happen... never!"

She returned to the sofa, and Boardman put his arm around her and they listened to the wireless together. More confused reports about how the whole country is talking about the defeat, reports about big parties being held in various towns. And more fireworks outside. More owls, from Doris's friends and her mother, asking her if she'd heard the news.

Hopeful and optimistic songs were played on the wireless in between the news. Doris began humming along to the tune of A Phoenix Flies Over The White Cliffs Of Dover, but stopped when Boardman said he thought it was a silly song. She didn't want him to think badly of her taste, but she still liked it. Well, perhaps it didn't have the depth of the Hobgoblins' The Day I Sold My Soul, but it gave one a nice and cheerful feeling inside.

Finally, the speaker's voice had something new to say.

"We have just confirmed the rumours that an emergency meeting is being held at the Ministry, there is indeed a meeting there, the Minister himself is there, emissaries from the Irish, French and Dutch ministries are with him, and Albus Dumbledore is there ...."

They listened to the news in silence, Doris occasionally turning to look at Boardman's face and wondering at the anxious, calculating expression he had.

"...and now the Minister is coming here and is going to make an announcement, and we can see that he is smiling, let us hear what he has to say ...."

Doris stopped breathing. She didn't want to miss a word of this.

The Minister's voice was heard, tired but joyful.

"It is true. My dear witches and wizards, it has happened. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated and there is no more danger of him."

Doris listened, in tears, about the strange way You-Know-Who was defeated - apparently, he had tried to kill an infant wizard whose parents he had already killed, but wasn't able to do so and was struck by his own curse instead.

Wiping away her tears, Doris turned to Boardman and hugged him. He hugged her back, but she felt a tension in him she could not understand - this was the happiest day for all wizards, why wasn't he rejoicing?

"What's wrong?" she asked him.

"Nothing," he said but she could tell he was lying. He stood up and looked out of the window. Even more beautiful fireworks than before filled the sky, shaped like colourful birds and dragons, and bright reflections shone on Boardman's face, but he still didn't seem relaxed. His dark eyes looked into the distance as if he was furiously trying to solve a problem.

He turned from the window and walked across the room, then back. He was shaking his head, and Doris thought he looked paler than ever.

"I can see that something is troubling you," she said.

"It's nothing you would want to hear," Boardman said grimly.

"But I do want to hear," she insisted. She was not intrusive by nature, but she couldn't stand the fact that he was worried about something at this wonderful moment. And somehow she instinctively felt that he, in fact, wanted to talk.

***

He looked at her intent face and wide eyes and was very much tempted. She was so eager to listen, and he'd been so tortured by the desire to tell someone over these last months. That had been the point of the whole Hobgoblins thing, after all. To be able to shout it all into the world's face - well, almost all - without actually telling. And now, with the Dark Lord gone, matters were becoming even more complicated. His brains were working furiously, trying to decide what to do next, and he felt as if his head was going to explode.

"I can't tell you," he said in a sharper tone than he wanted to and looked away from Doris. Then he glanced back at her and saw the disappointment in her face. You think I'm not being nice? he thought to himself. Well, if I answer your question I might have to kill you, and that certainly wouldn't be nice, now would it?

The best thing for all would have been if he'd left her house immediately, and for a moment he wanted to do so. But he wasn't used to denying himself what he wanted, so this urge to do the right thing didn't last long. He walked up to her - she was sitting on the sofa with a hurt look on her face - and asked in a softer voice:

"Do you really want to know what's troubling me?"

"Yes, I do," she said, looking up at him, that eager expression still on her face.

"You will be shocked by what you hear."

"I guessed that much," she said, and he smiled.

"I will have to Obliviate you afterwards," he said, and noticed that this worried her a little. She considered it for a while, but then she nodded her head and said: "All right."

"And I must ask you to give me your wand," he said and waited for her reaction. This was feeling more and more like a dangerous, but highly enjoyable game.

Doris slowly took her wand out of her pocket and gave it to him, and he could see the tension growing in her face. He put her wand into his own pocket, walked a few steps away and leaned onto the wall across her. For a few moments they were watching each other in silence.

It was much easier for him to say it abruptly than to prepare her gradually for what he wanted to tell her. He took a deep breath and said:

"I'm a Death Eater, and my name is Regulus Black."

He watched her reaction - disbelief, shock, terror, all emotions that he'd wanted to see on someone's face all this time because they made sense, and because hiding the truth was driving him mad.

Doris was clearly not going to say anything, so he continued talking.

"It was only natural for me to join the Dark Lord. He was the champion of ideals I'd been brought up to believe in, and I was proud to be one of his chosen few."

To his surprise, Doris spoke - in a quivering voice, though.

"Have you ever killed anyone?"

"Yes, of course I have," he said casually as if it was not an important matter, but then he paused and said in a more serious voice:

"I've killed six people personally. And there are seven or eight more whose death I caused in one way or another. It didn't bother me. I never really liked the killing, though. Some of the others enjoyed it."

He watched her carefully, hoping she wouldn't do anything foolish, such as trying to take her wand back. There was no sign of her trying anything like that, so he continued.

"I thought I would do anything in the world for the Dark Lord, but I was wrong. Eventually he gave me an order I didn't want to obey. He told me to kill my brother."

He paused for a moment, watching Doris's face, and she whispered: "So what did you do?"

"I didn't do it, simple as that. There was no love lost between Sirius and me - we were always very different, and I despised the kind of people he kept company with. But I wouldn't kill him. That was too much to ask, and I told the Dark Lord so."

He tried to say the last few words in a light-hearted way, as if he was talking about a casual conversation with a neighbour. But he shivered as he said it. He remembered well the anger in those non-human red eyes and the cruel voice that told him what a disappointment he was and calmly ordered his execution.

"So then, how... how come you are still alive?" Doris asked him. Her arms were folded, each hand grasping the other arm tightly as if she was trying to protect herself from his story, but she seemed curious to hear more at the same time.

Black looked away from her. "That I cannot tell anyone - not even someone I'm going to Obliviate."

It was a strange gift of Fortune, that the very Death Eater who was given the task of executing him was the only disloyal one except for himself. He never would have expected that Snape was anything but an ardent follower. Snape had spared his life, but made him promise never to speak about it - a soul-binding magical contract, not just an ordinary promise.

"Maybe I could try and find my brother now," Black said, more to himself than to Doris, but still enjoying the fact that he was saying all that aloud, to another person. "Yes, I think I'll do that - speak to him before I move to some other country. It seems he was not completely wrong about things after all."

"You are going to move to another country then?"

"Well, I'm certainly not going to Azkaban," Black said and took his wand out of his pocket. Doris's face, already pale, filled with horror when he pointed the wand at her, but before she could scream he said:

"Obliviate!"

The very next moment there was no trace of fear on the face of Doris Bennett - only confusion, as she looked at him standing in front of her, wand in his hand. Regulus Black put the wand back into his pocket and asked her as nonchalantly as he could:

"What was I saying again? I can't seem to recall."

Doris frowned slightly and said in a puzzled voice:

"Funny, but I can't seem to recall it either."

"Doesn't matter. Probably wasn't important anyway."

He took one step closer to her. "I guess we are both still overwhelmed by what we've heard on the news." He watched her face carefully. The Memory Charm had been successful, no doubt about it. All Doris's expression was saying was that she was hoping he would kiss her, so he did. Then he said quietly, his face still almost touching hers: "I must go now."

"Must you really?" she asked him, disappointed.

"Afraid so," he said. His voice was still quiet, but there was a decisiveness in his voice that stopped her from asking why. He managed to leave her wand on the dining table on his way out without her noticing. Only after he'd put on his cloak and opened the door did Doris venture to ask him:

"I suppose you have to travel to another town now? With your band, I mean."

"Ah, my band," Regulus said, slightly taken aback. The band hadn't entered his thoughts for a single moment since he'd heard about the Dark Lord's defeat. "No, I'm afraid I won't be singing with the Hobgoblins anymore."

Noticing the shocked expression on Doris's face, he went on to offer an explanation quickly.

"It was yesterday's incident at our concert. I got seriously hurt. My ear was hit. With a turnip."

He couldn't stay for a moment longer after saying that, because he was afraid Doris was going to start crying, and he was having trouble stopping himself from laughing at what he'd just said. Hastily, he wished her a good night and walked away.

***

Doris Bennett did cry upon hearing the news that Stubby Boardman would sing no more, but she got over it eventually. That particular evening was, after all, a happy memory she would always cherish - listening to the news about the defeat of Him-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in the arms of the singer she adored was much more than she would have dared to hope for. At first she did have some ideas about Boardman being her One True Love whom the Fates would bring back to her path someday, but she got over such thoughts eventually.

When her friends asked her how far exactly did she and Boardman go that evening, she would reply truthfully that she couldn't remember all that happened. Her friends giggled, thinking that they knew exactly what that meant. Doris didn't mind them thinking that.

When she later married Gawain Purkiss it was out of sincere love, and their marriage is still as happy as it was in the beginning. Still, she was never again able to feel that strange mixture of emotions she felt for Stubby Boardman that evening - that romantic bliss combined with a strange, underlying sense of danger she could not quite explain.

The memory felt more and more like a dream as time passed by, and maybe Doris Purkiss would have eventually started to believe it was a dream, had she not seen that photograph in the Daily Prophet.

It was the photograph of an escaped criminal called Sirius Black, the article claimed. But the face looked so much like Boardman's that it could hardly be a coincidence. It was a tired, tortured face and the long, dark hair was tangled and untidy, but Doris was sure she recognised Boardman's features - and the eyes looked exactly like Boardman's.

Doris read the article to find out what crime he was accused of, and was shocked to find out that it was mass murder. But then she read on about the details of the crime, and learned that the murders took place on the very Halloween evening fifteen years earlier when Boardman was having dinner with her. She was absolutely positive that, at the exact time of the murders too he was still sitting with her on the sofa, listening to the wireless. So she sent a letter to the Ministry, informing them that the man in the picture was actually Stubby Boardman and that he had an alibi for the crime.

She received no reply from the Ministry, and in the next day's Daily Prophet she saw that the so-called Sirius Black was still wanted for the crime. She sent the Ministry another letter, then another one. Then she sent several letters to the Daily Prophet. There was no change in the charges against the man they believed to be Sirius Black.

Finally Doris Purkiss came to the conclusion that the Ministry didn't really care about the truth in this case, and that the Daily Prophet was too much under the influence of the Ministry. She decided to send her story to an obscure magazine called the Quibbler, a bit on the eccentric side perhaps, but known for writing freely about matters the Ministry was trying to hide. She felt much better when she saw her story in print. Hopefully, someone with influence with the Ministry would read the article and steps would be taken. Maybe it was her mission to do that, she thought - maybe that was the reason the Fates had brought Stubby Boardman to her house that Halloween night long ago.