Thursday March 11th, 2021

The exercise:

Write about: the river.

2 comments:

Greg said...

For some reason this prompt immediately put me in mind of Ben, Red and Jimmy while they were at Elizabethtown -- but they're definitely not there now, so I'm not going to revisit that place just yet. Maybe find out what the boys are up to with the second City of Gold, but... later :)

The river
Weekends at Pigpimples did not have lessons, and Hermione had quickly realised that she was alone amongst the students in realising that this was because the professors had lives outside of the school. The majority of the students didn't however, but they saw the weekends as an opportunity to play games, especially on the river that ran through the grounds of Pigpimples, and enjoy the time off from lessons. A not-insignificant portion of that time was still supposed to be taken up with homework but the lure of the river, boats, and the nixies that lived there tended to be stronger in summer and autumn. So after breakfast, which was served Russian-style by an enslaved hobbit race that everyone agreed deserved nothing better than eternal household-servitude, Hermione dabbed her lips delicately with a heavy silk napkin, sighed at how full and contemplative she felt, and then stood up to go to the library and start working out how she was going to get into Moorhouse. As she stood up something fell out of her napkin and bounced on the floor. She eyed it cautiously: the senior students might feel happy being warded by four shields but Hermione habitually wore eight, and that was probably not enough, she felt, if she had to go up against herself. It was a sherbet lemon.
"Demented," she murmured, remembering that she'd found a way into the Postgrad library nearly a year ago when she was hunting for ways to try and unmush Harry's brain after a round of overenthusiastic obliviations. "I haven't been back to that library since, have I?"
No-one answered, which was probably the best for them, and so she picked the sweet up, set it on the table next to her napkin, and strode off.
The Demented, while dangerous, were still geriatric and the Expectorate spell caused them to stop pursuing her and start choking, spitting, and then gossiping amongst themselves about the colour and consistency of their sputum, and she gained entrance to the Postgrad library with little real effort. The Librarian, a tall woman with flame-orange hair and pince-nez spectacles perched on top of a roman nose glared at her momentarily but didn't recognise her. Hermione, whose reflexes were cat like if the cat were trying to maintain position on a sloping, red-hot tin roof, obliviated her effortlessly; just enough that she forgot seeing Hermione enter and so assumed that she'd been there for a while, and therefore had permission to be there.
Hermione's first thought had been the catalogue to find out which books referenced Moorhouse, but as she approached it the letter A caught her eye and she decided, on a whim, to see if Architectural Plans of Pigpimples were stored here now. And, curiously enough, they were.

Marc said...

Greg - bah, you tease.

Ah, the casual memory wiping is still close at hand as a resource. I appreciate her consistency :D

Looking forward to seeing what she discovers here!