I trust this means that you're spending your first night in your new home? :)
Home "Harry's godfather is dead," said Hermione. The students in the Jigglypuff common room looked around, looking first at each other as though seeking help and then, reluctantly, at Hermione. "Harry's not here," said Deanette, the daughter of a florist and a Witchfinder. She had blonde hair, blue eyes and a slight stammer when she was trying to cast spells, which led to odd effects in her lessons. "He's not even a Jigglypuff, Hermione." "Yes, but I've tried all the house common rooms," said Hermione. She tossed her long brunette hair over one shoulder with a practiced flick of her head. "I thought it was unlikely you lot would be hiding him, but I gave you the benefit of the doubt." She turned on one heel that squeaked like a trapped mouse and drilled a small hole in the wooden floor, and stalked out of the common room. For several minutes after she left the common room was silent and tense while they waited to see if she was coming back. When it finally became apparent that she wasn't, there was a general sigh of relief. "Did she just call us all stupid?" asked Deanette, thinking about Hermione's parting words. "Twice," said Katie Rogers, sat next to her and struggling with Necromantic Equations. "In the same sentence." Hermione tracked Harry down to outside the Trophy Room and glared at him. Her eyes, always bright, seemed almost lethally so, and her delicate fingers that would have looked superb on a pianist, flexed as though reaching for her wand. Unlike most students who needed to remember where they'd put their wand, and often empty their school-bag out in order to find it, Hermione's was holstered at her hip like a Western gunslinger, and she was rumoured to carry a spare, even though that was strictly against school rules. Harry was shivering; the trophy room was at the top of Angel Tower, named after the first student to jump from it, and was unheated. His pale skin was shading gently into blue, and his head, scarred everywhere from Hermione's attempts to repair the damage she'd caused by Obliviating him into a near-vegetative state, lolled on his chest. As Hermione stalked up to him, her heels ringing each staccato step on the blue-and-gold tiles of the tower floor, she heard a chant. She halted, listening carefully, and then shook her head. The chant was the litany of Ronnie Weasel's ancestors telling him about how much better they were than him. "It's the first of the month already?" asked Hermione, not really talking to Harry as his intelligence was regrowing only slowly. "Yes," said Harry, surprising her. "Ronnie is here to be tortured again." "Your godfather's dead," said Hermione, slightly startled that Harry was managing full sentences again. Perhaps leaving him in Ronnie's are now and then was a good thing. The litany behind her stopped and Ronnie's head poked through the doorway. "Were you the last one to see him alive?" he asked, his voice wobbly and high as though he'd been crying. Hermione expected that he had. "No," she said. "Third-from-last actually. Are you going to let them finish berating you?" "They finished ten minutes ago, they just wanted to show me some extra stuff they've not told me about before," said Ronnie. He came out of the room and put an arm protectively around Harry. "Why are you telling him anyway?" "Because there's an inheritance for him," said Hermione. "A home."
Greg - nah, just getting the keys for it. Good to be here now, though.
Hmm. It's nice? To see Harry coming around a little bit. I feel like the longer he stays away from Hermione - your version, at least - the better it is for him.
Though I don't suppose he'll be allowed to stay in his new house all by himself...
2 comments:
I trust this means that you're spending your first night in your new home? :)
Home
"Harry's godfather is dead," said Hermione. The students in the Jigglypuff common room looked around, looking first at each other as though seeking help and then, reluctantly, at Hermione.
"Harry's not here," said Deanette, the daughter of a florist and a Witchfinder. She had blonde hair, blue eyes and a slight stammer when she was trying to cast spells, which led to odd effects in her lessons. "He's not even a Jigglypuff, Hermione."
"Yes, but I've tried all the house common rooms," said Hermione. She tossed her long brunette hair over one shoulder with a practiced flick of her head. "I thought it was unlikely you lot would be hiding him, but I gave you the benefit of the doubt." She turned on one heel that squeaked like a trapped mouse and drilled a small hole in the wooden floor, and stalked out of the common room. For several minutes after she left the common room was silent and tense while they waited to see if she was coming back. When it finally became apparent that she wasn't, there was a general sigh of relief.
"Did she just call us all stupid?" asked Deanette, thinking about Hermione's parting words.
"Twice," said Katie Rogers, sat next to her and struggling with Necromantic Equations. "In the same sentence."
Hermione tracked Harry down to outside the Trophy Room and glared at him. Her eyes, always bright, seemed almost lethally so, and her delicate fingers that would have looked superb on a pianist, flexed as though reaching for her wand. Unlike most students who needed to remember where they'd put their wand, and often empty their school-bag out in order to find it, Hermione's was holstered at her hip like a Western gunslinger, and she was rumoured to carry a spare, even though that was strictly against school rules.
Harry was shivering; the trophy room was at the top of Angel Tower, named after the first student to jump from it, and was unheated. His pale skin was shading gently into blue, and his head, scarred everywhere from Hermione's attempts to repair the damage she'd caused by Obliviating him into a near-vegetative state, lolled on his chest. As Hermione stalked up to him, her heels ringing each staccato step on the blue-and-gold tiles of the tower floor, she heard a chant. She halted, listening carefully, and then shook her head. The chant was the litany of Ronnie Weasel's ancestors telling him about how much better they were than him.
"It's the first of the month already?" asked Hermione, not really talking to Harry as his intelligence was regrowing only slowly.
"Yes," said Harry, surprising her. "Ronnie is here to be tortured again."
"Your godfather's dead," said Hermione, slightly startled that Harry was managing full sentences again. Perhaps leaving him in Ronnie's are now and then was a good thing.
The litany behind her stopped and Ronnie's head poked through the doorway. "Were you the last one to see him alive?" he asked, his voice wobbly and high as though he'd been crying. Hermione expected that he had.
"No," she said. "Third-from-last actually. Are you going to let them finish berating you?"
"They finished ten minutes ago, they just wanted to show me some extra stuff they've not told me about before," said Ronnie. He came out of the room and put an arm protectively around Harry. "Why are you telling him anyway?"
"Because there's an inheritance for him," said Hermione. "A home."
Greg - nah, just getting the keys for it. Good to be here now, though.
Hmm. It's nice? To see Harry coming around a little bit. I feel like the longer he stays away from Hermione - your version, at least - the better it is for him.
Though I don't suppose he'll be allowed to stay in his new house all by himself...
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