TBAY/OoP: Ashes to Ashes and a lucrative marketing opportunity

[Sara_ELL]

No: HPFGUIDX 66002

There is a *pop!* in the air and a faint trace of Pinefresh bathroom 
deodorant wafts through the otherwise salty air of Theory Bay. A 
bushy-haired woman wearing a somewhat dazed expression lies face up 
on sand near the breaking waves. She looks like she  hasn't fared 
too well recently; her arms are bruised and scratched, her somewhat 
greasy hair, long on the right, diagonally cut on the left gives one 
the impression that it has been attacked by a sleepwalking 
hairdresser. A pair of shiny scissors lie near her left hand whilst 
her right, holds a tangled mess of sticky-tape. 

The woman slowly sits up, and adjusts her miraculously undamaged 
rose-coloured glasses which now sit askew on her nose. Her black 
robes are tattered and frayed, the price tag hanging off one sleeve 
("$29.95 June 21 only) bearing the only testament to their recent 
acquisition by the wearer.  A tattered "P" for "Probation" sticker 
is attached to her forehead. As a wave breaks over her, the sticker 
peels off and is soon lost beneath the flotsam. She takes a deep 
breath and surveys the vista in front of her - a high castle on a 
mountain, what looks like a tavern and
 ah, yes, the can(n)on 
museum, with a big new wing . 

Shuddering, the events of the last few days come to mind; the 
shouting, the cutting, the pasting, the shoving on the main list and 
finally that huge tidal wave of posts that swamped her mailbox and 
landed her here. Her eyes are attracted by a huge neon sign, 
flashing "Kristini's Souvenir Shack" -  with a determined step, she 
squelches up the beach, her pointy black boots kicking away the 
bottles and debris in her way. 

 A small crowd is milling near the entrance to the shack; some are 
wearing rosettes, a few are clutching bits of what once must have 
been a resplendent Florence cloak.  A soppy group of people pass her 
by; all are carrying SAD DENIAL mugs and heading off in the 
direction of "The Royal George". 

"Hmph!" The woman sniffs to herself. "Anyone could have seen that 
Sirius was doomed from the minute he that he was introduced -  
nothing is worse than a major character being made utterly impotent 
by being stuck in one location for the whole story. A tragic and 
wasted life is a shoe-in for a tragic and wasted death."  A lone 
tear almost forms in her eyes and she reflects that she too might 
have been amongst that unhappy mob, had Sirius met his demise 
through the melodramatic intervention of a trial or a maverick 
dementor, (though the misplaced mirror *did* raise the sceptre of 
cheerful old Victor Hugo and his happy ending to "The Hunchback of 
Notre-Dame"). 

Approaching the somewhat seedy building, the woman sees who she 
takes to be none other than the proprietor, Kristini approaching. A 
curly-haired person with a most peculiar Australian accent, Kristini 
loudly greets her with. "Any HUMBLE PIE for ya' guv'? `Aven't 
managed to shift any to them crowd wot just left" She indicates to 
the departing mass, one of whom, the woman sees, is wearing an 
Admiralty hat and brandishing a particularly nasty-looking oar.

"Well, can I sample a piece for free ? And you don't mind if I try 
the filling first -I hate crusts." the stranger asked, not entirely 
expecting a theory like this to be divisible (or free). 

Kristini generously handed a small wedge to the 
stranger. "Shore `fing - dear, enjoy."

The woman sniffed the theory - one could never be too sure whether 
it would explode it her face like well
 best not to dwell too much 
on that. The filling seemed alright, a bit sugary and well
 pink for 
her taste but, yes Dolores Umbrage is Ever So Evil and very 
different in her packaging, undoubtedly, resulting in a generation 
on wee kiddies being terrified of fine porcelain commemorative 
plates and maiden aunties partial to pink fluffy cardigans. That was 
easy to swallow and very clever in order to reinforce the importance 
of looking beyond the surface.  Thus far satisfied, the woman took a 
bite out of the crust - 
"Aaah!!"  An unpleasant bitter taste filled her mouth as she spat 
out the PIE crust.

"No, No! This tastes all wrong. Percy is a Weasley after all and is 
simply misguided. He's in Gryffindor, not Slytherin - he's just a 
lost, very naïve and misguided young man. He's obviously conscious 
about his family's deprivation - that whole "no house elf" business 
must have been particularly humiliating for a Head Boy to deal with. 
Who can blame him for wanting to be rewarded for all of the hard 
work that he put in at the MoM?  Besides which, surely his career is 
over following this second misjudgement about his superior. 
Incompetence and naivety do not equate with being ESE DE. I'm 
confident that he will mend his ways and return to the Weasley fold, 
lest he becomes an easy target for Voldemort's Imperius Curse."

"Besides, what you really need is....THIS! The peculiar woman 
triumphantly brandished an oily FISHFINGER from the depth of her 
robe. "Surely you should be able to make a HUMBLE FISHFINGER without 
needing a nasty old  PIE crust between them." 

"Actually," the woman said, conspiratorially leaning in closer
 "I'm 
not really after any PINE implements or PIEs for that matter. What's 
really caught my eye are those *very* stylish SILK SHIRTS - one 
please, in black."

"Waaait a sec - wotch you got there `angin' off yer `ead?" , 
Kristini interjected,  glancing at the woman's head.

Warily, the  woman reached around to the back of  her head and 
retrieved a rather mouldy pair of "Rookwood Thongs TM " that had 
become entangled with a clump of sea-weed clinging to her hair. 

"Right. I'll `ave those instead fanks. Fair trade", Kristini 
snatched the pair out of the woman's hands, shoving the canonically 
reinforced theory in their place.

 "Yo' name den gov, didn' catchit oim afrayed."  

The woman turned around, her straggly hair narrowly missing a 
commemorative photo of four heavy-lidded individuals in what 
appeared to be  a hovercraft.

"Me, oh, I'm Sara-ELL.  Oh by the way, those thongs," Sara-ELL 
gestured to the newly renamed Kingsley Shacklebolt thongs - "Don't 
come in 
 grey now do they?"