Helping Hands The founders of the School had liked to refer to it as a castle, but as no royalty had ever lived there, and no ruler ever tried to rule from there, it was more accurately described as a fortress or possibly a children's prison. It was winter now and the snow had fallen so heavily that the ground floor was completed buried and students and teachers alike had to use the windows on the first floor to leave the building. Only those students who had mastered the levitation spell were technically allowed outside the School building, the technicality being that no-one was going to dig a student who hadn't out of nearly ten feet of snow. The School considered the minor loss of life around this time of year to be part of the winnowing process. Arithmancy was held in the Calculus Tower and the lesson had just finished. Hermione glided across the snow like a professional ice skater, towing Harry Potter behind her by his scarf. His face, slightly blue as she'd knotted the scarf tightly to ensure it wouldn't come loose, bore his usual mildly-concussed look. Even though Hermione had managed to avoid obliviating him for nearly three months he was struggling to regain cognitive function. Next to him, floating in a rather stop-start fashion like a learner driver doing bunny-hops, was Ronnie Weasel. "I've been talking to my brothers, Harry," he whispered. "We're going to try and get you out of here and to a real doctor at Christmas." Harry's lips bubbled with spittle, and Ronnie's heart sank. Then Hermione reached the main building and hauled them both up three floors to the Culinary Arts and Home Invasion classroom. "House-elves!" said Madame Pomme-frites. She peered over the top of her pince-nez spectacles and adjusted the collar of her dress so that it was lower and revealed slightly more of her outsize bust. "What do you know about House-elves?" "They're an invasive pest," said Hermione, not bothering to raise her hand. "They're like brownies," said Lavender Patty from the back of the room. "Very good," said Madame Pomme-frites. "Like brownies! Why is that?" "They offer helping hands," said Lavender, sounding a little less certain. "I think you leave a saucer of milk out for them and they clean the house and lick the dishes overnight." "Gross," muttered Ronnie. "No, I'm sorry," said Madame Pomme-frites. "That's the kind of answer a muggle gives." She waved her wand and Lavender's legs disappeared, to be replaced a moment later with beige-green frog's legs. "Five minutes with the frog's legs, dear. Anyone else got an answer?" "They're chocolately and taste good with milk when cooked," said Harry. The entire class stared at him, as this was the first intelligent thing he'd said in months. "That's right," said Madame Pomme-frites, who was also looking at him like he'd grown an extra head. "And today we will be cooking a few dozen of them so you all have a taste." She bustled to the front of the class, and behind her back Ronnie nudged Hermione. "Did you just ventriloquate on Harry?" he whispered. "Yes," hissed Hermione. "But I ventriloquated on Lavender first."
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Helping Hands
The founders of the School had liked to refer to it as a castle, but as no royalty had ever lived there, and no ruler ever tried to rule from there, it was more accurately described as a fortress or possibly a children's prison. It was winter now and the snow had fallen so heavily that the ground floor was completed buried and students and teachers alike had to use the windows on the first floor to leave the building. Only those students who had mastered the levitation spell were technically allowed outside the School building, the technicality being that no-one was going to dig a student who hadn't out of nearly ten feet of snow. The School considered the minor loss of life around this time of year to be part of the winnowing process.
Arithmancy was held in the Calculus Tower and the lesson had just finished. Hermione glided across the snow like a professional ice skater, towing Harry Potter behind her by his scarf. His face, slightly blue as she'd knotted the scarf tightly to ensure it wouldn't come loose, bore his usual mildly-concussed look. Even though Hermione had managed to avoid obliviating him for nearly three months he was struggling to regain cognitive function. Next to him, floating in a rather stop-start fashion like a learner driver doing bunny-hops, was Ronnie Weasel.
"I've been talking to my brothers, Harry," he whispered. "We're going to try and get you out of here and to a real doctor at Christmas."
Harry's lips bubbled with spittle, and Ronnie's heart sank. Then Hermione reached the main building and hauled them both up three floors to the Culinary Arts and Home Invasion classroom.
"House-elves!" said Madame Pomme-frites. She peered over the top of her pince-nez spectacles and adjusted the collar of her dress so that it was lower and revealed slightly more of her outsize bust. "What do you know about House-elves?"
"They're an invasive pest," said Hermione, not bothering to raise her hand.
"They're like brownies," said Lavender Patty from the back of the room.
"Very good," said Madame Pomme-frites. "Like brownies! Why is that?"
"They offer helping hands," said Lavender, sounding a little less certain. "I think you leave a saucer of milk out for them and they clean the house and lick the dishes overnight."
"Gross," muttered Ronnie.
"No, I'm sorry," said Madame Pomme-frites. "That's the kind of answer a muggle gives." She waved her wand and Lavender's legs disappeared, to be replaced a moment later with beige-green frog's legs. "Five minutes with the frog's legs, dear. Anyone else got an answer?"
"They're chocolately and taste good with milk when cooked," said Harry.
The entire class stared at him, as this was the first intelligent thing he'd said in months.
"That's right," said Madame Pomme-frites, who was also looking at him like he'd grown an extra head. "And today we will be cooking a few dozen of them so you all have a taste."
She bustled to the front of the class, and behind her back Ronnie nudged Hermione. "Did you just ventriloquate on Harry?" he whispered.
"Yes," hissed Hermione. "But I ventriloquated on Lavender first."
Greg - 'Five minutes with the frog's legs, dear' might be one of my favorite things you've ever written.
There's plenty more to be said about this fun bit of writing, but I'm just going to leave it at that :D
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