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Jul. 15th, 2003 09:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
essayelHigh time to post some more in the continuing story of almost in the country folk. Somehow last week every time I found myself in LJ land I got sidetracked by silly quizzes and found out some very peculiar things about myself.
For instance, I am apparently ‘Morally Deficient’ and thus a medium threat to the security of the US. This doesn’t frighten me much since it is something I had always suspected and since I have no plans to enter the country – I tried once and got ‘deported’ by a very po-faced customs officer who didn’t appreciate my sense of humour. I probably have a file at the FBI or something.
Another surprising thing is that apparently my ideal HP love match is Tom Riddle. Hmmm, the actor was very pretty but somehow I can’t suspend my disbelief that far!
Anyhow, enough of that.
Rarely for us, this weekend we partied. It’s almost 25 years since we bit the matrimonial bullet and we decided that we ought to mark it in some way. Now, the traditional way is to hire a hall and get caterers and a cake and make cheesy speeches in a parody of a wedding breakfast. Since that’s the proper way to do it we had a picnic in a field instead and nobody made any speeches other than ‘pass the mustard’ or ‘where’s the corkscrew’. The kids took over the music making so we had some fairly extreme industrial and nu-metal to listen to but Paul took his guitar and played folk and Jeff borrowed it and played the blues and Barley gave us a harp recital so the ‘even more oldies’ were pleased as well. The weather was glorious so a water pistol fight was in order...I think I won on points and it was so hot that even my underwear dried out eventually. We lolled in the sun, ate, talked, drank, ate a bit more (just for the day I told the diet to go and stuff itself) and some of the people with energy played badminton or volleyball. Then at sunset a nice big hot air balloon came down in the field next door – high excitement for the kiddies and for most of the blokes as well but we ladies, like leopards full of impala, just opened an eye, dismissed the balloonists as insufficiently hunky to arouse our interest and went back to sleep. It was a nice day.
Fiddling with HP fics to little purpose at present. WIPs stuck fast because my default seems to be set to humour. Not much point in fighting it so I will carry on with The Mattress 4 – Debugged and with Roseblade Aurelius’ Christmas song challenge. Just for the heck of it I’ll post the first part of the Challenge here. I wrote this a week before OotP came out and feel a bit sour about it now:
(begins towards end of GoF as Dumbledore sends people on their errands)
Mercifully it was still dark and the flickering light of the torches left huge patches of shadow. Toenails clicking on the flagstones as he raced through the corridors and down the stairs, Padfoot kept to the dark as much as he could. Few people were roaming the hallways – most of the students, shocked and worried, had long since been herded back to their dormitories – but some of the staff and prefects were on patrol and should be avoided.
Outside lay the real danger. Fudge and his minions had left the infirmary in high dudgeon but would they have left Hogwarts? While the press and the public were still awaiting news, would the Minister have returned to his office or would he be there still, basking in the warmth of public interest? And then, the greatest danger of all, there was the Dementor that Fudge had unleashed upon the Crouch boy. The dog’s hackles raised. The little bastard had deserved to die but not that – never that!
No, getting out of the grounds could be the most difficult part of the journey and he needed some means of concealment. What was simpler than to trot at the heels of a man who was making his way purposefully towards the nearest Apparation point carrying a message from the Headmaster?
At the top of the last flight of stairs Padfoot peered through the banister rails. Bill Weasley, hair blazing in the torchlight was just crossing the hall. Padfoot followed and had just leaped from the last step when he was transfixed by an eldritch shriek.
“Grim! Grim!” a woman’s voice howled.
Bill spun around, wand in hand then relaxed. Sibyl Trelawney, presumably on patrol with a couple of embarrassed looking Ravenclaw prefects at her heels, was pointing dramatically at the huge black dog that had sat so quietly at poor young Harry’s bedside.
“Miss Trelawney! Professor!” Bill called as he made his way back towards the foot of the stairs. “That’s not a Grim, Professor.”
Trelawney started and peered at him over her spectacles.
“Oh, why I do believe…Yes, William Weasley!” She looked him up and down with interest and Bill returned her smile with resignation. He was well aware of the effect the right sort of smile could have on ladies of, shall we say, a certain age and so gave it his best shot. In response, Sibyl coloured and put her wand away, then cautiously approached.
“Why of course it’s not a Grim,” she said indulgently, extending a hand to pat the thickly furred back. Padfoot flinched then stood and took it. “Is he your dog?” she asked.
“Um…ye-es,” Bill said slowly, unwilling to betray a confidence then he grinned at the dog’s expression and threw caution to the winds. “His name’s Snuffles. Not the best name for a dog of this type but – what can I say, I was young.”
“Ahh,” Sibyl Trelawney gave one of her best misty smiles. “A boy and his dog, what could be sweeter?” She patted the dog again and sighed deeply. “Make the most of him, my dear,” she said warningly and Bill stifled a groan. “He’s a lovely old thing but..” she shook her head sadly, “this is his last summer. I’m sad to say that my inner eye informs me that he will not make it through the Christmas holidays. I’m so sorry, William, but your dog will definitely die around teatime on Christmas Day, probably by choking, perhaps on a turkey bone.” She gave the dog a valedictory pat and turned away beckoning the prefects. As they followed, the boy gave Bill a sympathetic grimace and the girl gave him a sultry glare, deliberately wetting her lips. Bill raised an eyebrow and palmed the Floo address she slipped to him then grinned down at the dog.
“Come on,…Snuffles,” he said. “Heel.”
*
The grounds were less full than he had feared but he kept close to the Weasley boy’s heels, trotting to keep up with the long legged stride. They were challenged at one point by a cold eyed man in civilian robes who had ‘hit wizard’ written all over him but Bill gave all the right answers and the dog sat demurely beside him, Bill’s hand idly gentling his ears.
“All right,” the man said, finally. “On your way. Oh… nice dog.”
Bill moved off with a softly spoken ‘goodnight’. Although close to three in the morning the sky was surprisingly light, a rich star-scattered ultramarine above shading to a warm turquoise at the fringes of the world, and they could see their way quite clearly. Soon they crossed the boundary of the grounds and plunged into the broken light and shadow of the surrounding Forest. Apart from the soft sound of their feet, silence fell and Bill looked carefully around.
“Right,” he said. “We’re alone. You can come out now.”
Sirius straightened up, meeting the quizzical hazel gaze with a scowl.
“How did you know?” he demanded.
Bill grinned. “Ron told me,” he said, studying the rangy longhaired figure in its shabby robes with interest. “Don’t be angry with the lad. He was so upset by what happened last year that he had to tell someone and – well – big brothers are useful for that sort of thing.”
“And you believe him? About …about Pettigrew?”
“Of course,” Bill frowned. “Ron always tells me the truth. Are you still without a wand? Because we’re getting close to the Apparation point and I can give you a lift if you like.”
Sirius sensed no duplicity in the young man, saw no uneasiness in his eyes but it was too soon for him to begin trusting people. He shook his head slowly.
“No,” he said, brusquely, then remembered that that was not how it was done. “No, thank you, I need to go north first.”
“OK,” Bill shrugged and turned, anxious to go on his way but Sirius caught his sleeve. “What is it?” Bill asked.
Sirius bit his lip, looking down at his hand. Slowly he released Bill’s sleeve, tugging it straight as he did so.
“That woman,” he said. “Who was she?”
Bill frowned, his mind already far away, planning exactly how he would break the terrible news to his father, so perhaps he was not as perceptive as normal.
“Her? The noisy one?” he replied. “Sibyl Trelawney…she’s professor of Divination. After your time I suppose. She started during my second year I think.” He paused and grinned. “Goodbye then and good luck.”
Sirius stood under the darkness of the trees and watched the young wizard stride away. Bill wasn’t to know how those carelessly spoken words had struck home. He wasn’t to know that the Professor of Divinity in Sirius time, Emilia Dee, had been a red-hot diviner who didn’t loss prophecies around lightly. Sirius raised a shaking hand to cover his eyes.
“Christmas,” he whispered. “Oh God… Harry. What am I to do?”
(Part two being fiddled with as you read).
*
For instance, I am apparently ‘Morally Deficient’ and thus a medium threat to the security of the US. This doesn’t frighten me much since it is something I had always suspected and since I have no plans to enter the country – I tried once and got ‘deported’ by a very po-faced customs officer who didn’t appreciate my sense of humour. I probably have a file at the FBI or something.
Another surprising thing is that apparently my ideal HP love match is Tom Riddle. Hmmm, the actor was very pretty but somehow I can’t suspend my disbelief that far!
Anyhow, enough of that.
Rarely for us, this weekend we partied. It’s almost 25 years since we bit the matrimonial bullet and we decided that we ought to mark it in some way. Now, the traditional way is to hire a hall and get caterers and a cake and make cheesy speeches in a parody of a wedding breakfast. Since that’s the proper way to do it we had a picnic in a field instead and nobody made any speeches other than ‘pass the mustard’ or ‘where’s the corkscrew’. The kids took over the music making so we had some fairly extreme industrial and nu-metal to listen to but Paul took his guitar and played folk and Jeff borrowed it and played the blues and Barley gave us a harp recital so the ‘even more oldies’ were pleased as well. The weather was glorious so a water pistol fight was in order...I think I won on points and it was so hot that even my underwear dried out eventually. We lolled in the sun, ate, talked, drank, ate a bit more (just for the day I told the diet to go and stuff itself) and some of the people with energy played badminton or volleyball. Then at sunset a nice big hot air balloon came down in the field next door – high excitement for the kiddies and for most of the blokes as well but we ladies, like leopards full of impala, just opened an eye, dismissed the balloonists as insufficiently hunky to arouse our interest and went back to sleep. It was a nice day.
Fiddling with HP fics to little purpose at present. WIPs stuck fast because my default seems to be set to humour. Not much point in fighting it so I will carry on with The Mattress 4 – Debugged and with Roseblade Aurelius’ Christmas song challenge. Just for the heck of it I’ll post the first part of the Challenge here. I wrote this a week before OotP came out and feel a bit sour about it now:
(begins towards end of GoF as Dumbledore sends people on their errands)
Mercifully it was still dark and the flickering light of the torches left huge patches of shadow. Toenails clicking on the flagstones as he raced through the corridors and down the stairs, Padfoot kept to the dark as much as he could. Few people were roaming the hallways – most of the students, shocked and worried, had long since been herded back to their dormitories – but some of the staff and prefects were on patrol and should be avoided.
Outside lay the real danger. Fudge and his minions had left the infirmary in high dudgeon but would they have left Hogwarts? While the press and the public were still awaiting news, would the Minister have returned to his office or would he be there still, basking in the warmth of public interest? And then, the greatest danger of all, there was the Dementor that Fudge had unleashed upon the Crouch boy. The dog’s hackles raised. The little bastard had deserved to die but not that – never that!
No, getting out of the grounds could be the most difficult part of the journey and he needed some means of concealment. What was simpler than to trot at the heels of a man who was making his way purposefully towards the nearest Apparation point carrying a message from the Headmaster?
At the top of the last flight of stairs Padfoot peered through the banister rails. Bill Weasley, hair blazing in the torchlight was just crossing the hall. Padfoot followed and had just leaped from the last step when he was transfixed by an eldritch shriek.
“Grim! Grim!” a woman’s voice howled.
Bill spun around, wand in hand then relaxed. Sibyl Trelawney, presumably on patrol with a couple of embarrassed looking Ravenclaw prefects at her heels, was pointing dramatically at the huge black dog that had sat so quietly at poor young Harry’s bedside.
“Miss Trelawney! Professor!” Bill called as he made his way back towards the foot of the stairs. “That’s not a Grim, Professor.”
Trelawney started and peered at him over her spectacles.
“Oh, why I do believe…Yes, William Weasley!” She looked him up and down with interest and Bill returned her smile with resignation. He was well aware of the effect the right sort of smile could have on ladies of, shall we say, a certain age and so gave it his best shot. In response, Sibyl coloured and put her wand away, then cautiously approached.
“Why of course it’s not a Grim,” she said indulgently, extending a hand to pat the thickly furred back. Padfoot flinched then stood and took it. “Is he your dog?” she asked.
“Um…ye-es,” Bill said slowly, unwilling to betray a confidence then he grinned at the dog’s expression and threw caution to the winds. “His name’s Snuffles. Not the best name for a dog of this type but – what can I say, I was young.”
“Ahh,” Sibyl Trelawney gave one of her best misty smiles. “A boy and his dog, what could be sweeter?” She patted the dog again and sighed deeply. “Make the most of him, my dear,” she said warningly and Bill stifled a groan. “He’s a lovely old thing but..” she shook her head sadly, “this is his last summer. I’m sad to say that my inner eye informs me that he will not make it through the Christmas holidays. I’m so sorry, William, but your dog will definitely die around teatime on Christmas Day, probably by choking, perhaps on a turkey bone.” She gave the dog a valedictory pat and turned away beckoning the prefects. As they followed, the boy gave Bill a sympathetic grimace and the girl gave him a sultry glare, deliberately wetting her lips. Bill raised an eyebrow and palmed the Floo address she slipped to him then grinned down at the dog.
“Come on,…Snuffles,” he said. “Heel.”
*
The grounds were less full than he had feared but he kept close to the Weasley boy’s heels, trotting to keep up with the long legged stride. They were challenged at one point by a cold eyed man in civilian robes who had ‘hit wizard’ written all over him but Bill gave all the right answers and the dog sat demurely beside him, Bill’s hand idly gentling his ears.
“All right,” the man said, finally. “On your way. Oh… nice dog.”
Bill moved off with a softly spoken ‘goodnight’. Although close to three in the morning the sky was surprisingly light, a rich star-scattered ultramarine above shading to a warm turquoise at the fringes of the world, and they could see their way quite clearly. Soon they crossed the boundary of the grounds and plunged into the broken light and shadow of the surrounding Forest. Apart from the soft sound of their feet, silence fell and Bill looked carefully around.
“Right,” he said. “We’re alone. You can come out now.”
Sirius straightened up, meeting the quizzical hazel gaze with a scowl.
“How did you know?” he demanded.
Bill grinned. “Ron told me,” he said, studying the rangy longhaired figure in its shabby robes with interest. “Don’t be angry with the lad. He was so upset by what happened last year that he had to tell someone and – well – big brothers are useful for that sort of thing.”
“And you believe him? About …about Pettigrew?”
“Of course,” Bill frowned. “Ron always tells me the truth. Are you still without a wand? Because we’re getting close to the Apparation point and I can give you a lift if you like.”
Sirius sensed no duplicity in the young man, saw no uneasiness in his eyes but it was too soon for him to begin trusting people. He shook his head slowly.
“No,” he said, brusquely, then remembered that that was not how it was done. “No, thank you, I need to go north first.”
“OK,” Bill shrugged and turned, anxious to go on his way but Sirius caught his sleeve. “What is it?” Bill asked.
Sirius bit his lip, looking down at his hand. Slowly he released Bill’s sleeve, tugging it straight as he did so.
“That woman,” he said. “Who was she?”
Bill frowned, his mind already far away, planning exactly how he would break the terrible news to his father, so perhaps he was not as perceptive as normal.
“Her? The noisy one?” he replied. “Sibyl Trelawney…she’s professor of Divination. After your time I suppose. She started during my second year I think.” He paused and grinned. “Goodbye then and good luck.”
Sirius stood under the darkness of the trees and watched the young wizard stride away. Bill wasn’t to know how those carelessly spoken words had struck home. He wasn’t to know that the Professor of Divinity in Sirius time, Emilia Dee, had been a red-hot diviner who didn’t loss prophecies around lightly. Sirius raised a shaking hand to cover his eyes.
“Christmas,” he whispered. “Oh God… Harry. What am I to do?”
(Part two being fiddled with as you read).
*