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ineedmyfics2010-09-12 10:56 pm
ineedmymods) wrote in ineedmyfics2010-09-12 10:56 pm
Entry tags:
Wit Beyond Measure
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author_by_night
Fromin_the_blue
Title: Wit Beyond Measure
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: G
Author's Notes: "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," said Luna in a singsong voice.
I. Hermione Granger
She'd lost it somewhere. It would be absolutely mortifying if anyone else got their hands on it first. Especially Ron, not that he was resourceful enough to put two and two together. Oh, why did he have to be so thick?
Hermione raced (with as much dignity as she could muster, considering the circumstance) to the library and fell on the kindness of Madam Pince, who had yet to set that copy of Flesh-Eating Trees of the World back on the shelf.
"You're fortunate, Miss Granger, in that I had an unforeseen distraction." The librarian's glance in the direction of the Weasley twins told Hermione everything she needed to know; she laughed weakly and waited as the book drifted over to her, thanks to a well-placed Wingardium Leviosa spell. "Now, will you be checking the book out again?"
"Yes, I think that would be best, Madam Pince." It was only a question of quick calculation; she could retrieve the item here in the library and really, she had no intention of rereading the book. It bogged down horribly in Chapter Twelve, especially the bit about the Bulbous Hornwood tree's sap properties, but if she was lucky she could steal back to the privacy of her dormitory and do what she needed there.
"All set then. One week."
Thanks properly given, Hermione tucked the book into her bag and hurried back to the Gryffindor Common Room ("frog spawn") and once the portrait opened obligingly, stole inside. Her plan was nearly complete. Now all she had to do was…
Oh no. Of course Ron and Harry would be here, heads together, giggling like girls over something completely ridiculous -- Quidditch, or the spots on someone's face, or something she didn't have time for -- and she needed to make it past them without question. Shaking back her hair, nose in the air, she let out a pointed hmmmph! Some people! and strode past with great purpose.
"What's got into her?" Ron's voice trailed after her as she climbed the stairs, but she didn't look back. If she had, they might have seen the furious flush on her face.
Finally, back in the privacy of her room with the curtains drawn shut round her bed, she opened the book. Page six hundred fourteen, that's where she found it: the paper-thin piece of parchment. She'd read it so many times that its edges had become decrepit but here, in the safety of her very own space, she took the time to read it one more time. It was so silly, really, just a note that had fallen from Harry's desk at the end of Potions class; she'd scooped it up unthinkingly before Professor Snape could see it and she was glad she had. Otherwise he'd have read it aloud and all three of them -- herself, Ron, Harry -- would have been entirely mortified.
This time, she wouldn't lose it again. If Harry and Ron knew she had it… well, they'd be merciless but they wouldn't know she had it and they wouldn't know she'd kept it. One more time. She'd read it one more time before tucking it away in the very bottom of her trunk, protected with so many locking charms that no one would ever get to see it.
Who's the prettiest witch in Gryffindor? That was in Ron's messy scrawl. In response, Harry had written out several names: Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, Parvati Patil. The name Lavender Brown had caused her to raise an eyebrow in consternation, but it didn't matter because someone had crossed out all the names and, to the side, written HERMIONE GRANGER in block letters, circled it three times. Whether it was Ron or Harry, she didn't know. She would never know, but it didn't matter. To one of them, she was the prettiest witch in all Gryffindor and that was the most unexpected gift she'd ever received.
II. Neville Longbottom
At least he had Trevor the toad to keep him company, thanks to his Great-Uncle Algie. At least he had that much, because he really didn't think he was ever going to have anything else. No, it would all be left behind.
The thought of getting on the Hogwarts Express terrified him. The thought of going to Hogwarts terrified him. The thought of getting Sorted terrified him; the thought of having to make friends terrified him. The thought of having to explain anything to anybody terrified him to the point where Gran almost threw up her hands in disgust and didn't send him at all but in the end he'd made it onto the train, just barely. The last thing Gran had said was remember: don't lose Trevor.
The first thing that happened after he found himself a compartment on the train was… he'd lost Trevor. He didn't realize it at first; he'd sat like a stone statue, fingers gripping the edge of his seat, toad in a box on his lap, refusing to look anywhere but out the window. He was, for all intents and purposes petrified and when the compartment opened and shut he didn't even turn round to see who it was. All he knew was that when he was that frightened the only thing to do was to pretend he wasn't there, and he'd spent the bulk of his train ride in that half-aware state of consciousness, somewhere between dreams and wakefulness, and too late he realized Trevor was no longer in his box.
"Trevor?" He looked in the box, under the seat, stood and looked on the shelf above. He looked in his robes, in his traveling companions' robes, in his shoes, behind his collar, but there was no sign of Trevor. This was terrible! How could it have happened? And so began the mad dash down the endless corridor. Why did the Hogwarts Express have to be so big? Why did the school have to have so many students? Why were there so many places for a toad to hide?
"Have you seen Trevor?" The question is one he asked again and again, always met with who's Trevor? Weren't these people wizards and witches? Weren't they supposed to know?
By the time the train arrived at Hogsmeade Station, he was thoroughly put out and dreaded Hogwarts more than ever. The giant of a bushy-haired man who met them -- Hagrid, his name was -- did nothing to quell his fears and here he had done the one thing Gran admonished him not to do… and he'd done it before he even arrived at school. He sat stone-faced for the duration of the boat ride, dreading the entirety of the rest of his life until, miraculously, Hagrid's voice rang out asking if anyone had lost a toad.
For the first time all day, the future looked… well, not bright, exactly, but just a little bit better.
III. Luna Lovegood
It was funny, really, the way people treated Harry Potter. The scar on his forehead wasn't exactly as exciting as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. It was just a little red lightning-shaped mark, and she wondered if he knew that, turned on its side, it looked exactly like the footprint of a Pogrebin. Maybe he'd been stomped on by one as an infant.
That didn't matter, really. He was her friend, and marked by a Pogrebin or not, there were things people didn't say to friends, at least not in the presence of their enemies. Enemies had too many ears, like the Grublings that hid in the floorboards beneath her bed at home and laughed at night when the moon was full. They could hear dreams, they had so many ears, and they took things. Borrowed them, and never gave them back until the very last minute.
Things were always going missing. Things, and people. She had no illusions that this was the story of her life; it was just the way things were. After the Department of Mysteries, she was convinced of it.
But it was the last night of school and she really needed her things back, and so… notices went up.
Harry wasn't at the feast either and she couldn't blame him. Not after what happened. She knew the Death Eaters had killed his godfather; she knew a little bit about people being killed. Not a lot. She didn't know what the moment of death was like, but she did know that nothing ever ended. It only changed, and those whispers had proved it.
He knew that, right? That the dead were all around them? It's just that they weren't ready to be seen, and after Harry offered to help her find her things ("Oh no, they'll come back, they always do in the end") and she went for pudding, she decided to take a walk outside. They weren't supposed to, but all the supposed-tos had been turned upside down this year. She wandered, making note of the bowtruckles and doxies no one else seemed to see just to the sides of the path, and found herself once again near the thestrals.
"Hello." They were so beautiful; she felt for the people who couldn't see them. One of the females -- the one she'd ridden -- came over to lick her hand. Their dragon-like heads didn't scare her at all. A lot of things didn't scare her at all, and as the thestral nudged closer, she took her time with it: patting its huge leathery wings, brushing back its mane with her fingers. "I don't have any raw meat for you, but maybe I can find some. I'll be back."
It wasn't easy to come up with chunks of raw meat, but it was feast night and everybody was preoccupied. When she returned, the promised offering in her hand, the thestral took it from her delicately. You see, thought Luna, there's nothing to fear. Nothing to fear at all. Once the meat was devoured and her hand licked clean, she leaned over and kissed the thestral on the nose. It was time to go find her things. Much to her delight, the moonlight (or maybe it was the fairies) illuminated her path, pointing out knots in trees and spots under leaves and crevices in walls. In each one, she found one of her missing items.
By the time she got back to her dormitory, an entire string of possessions had been enchanted to follow her, with the rest of her things waiting patiently -- as they always did -- just outside the door.
"Thanks for coming back." The odd smile never left her face as she packed her belongings, listening for those vague hints of whispers the whole time.
author_by_nightFrom
in_the_blueTitle: Wit Beyond Measure
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: G
Author's Notes: "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," said Luna in a singsong voice.
I. Hermione Granger
She'd lost it somewhere. It would be absolutely mortifying if anyone else got their hands on it first. Especially Ron, not that he was resourceful enough to put two and two together. Oh, why did he have to be so thick?
Hermione raced (with as much dignity as she could muster, considering the circumstance) to the library and fell on the kindness of Madam Pince, who had yet to set that copy of Flesh-Eating Trees of the World back on the shelf.
"You're fortunate, Miss Granger, in that I had an unforeseen distraction." The librarian's glance in the direction of the Weasley twins told Hermione everything she needed to know; she laughed weakly and waited as the book drifted over to her, thanks to a well-placed Wingardium Leviosa spell. "Now, will you be checking the book out again?"
"Yes, I think that would be best, Madam Pince." It was only a question of quick calculation; she could retrieve the item here in the library and really, she had no intention of rereading the book. It bogged down horribly in Chapter Twelve, especially the bit about the Bulbous Hornwood tree's sap properties, but if she was lucky she could steal back to the privacy of her dormitory and do what she needed there.
"All set then. One week."
Thanks properly given, Hermione tucked the book into her bag and hurried back to the Gryffindor Common Room ("frog spawn") and once the portrait opened obligingly, stole inside. Her plan was nearly complete. Now all she had to do was…
Oh no. Of course Ron and Harry would be here, heads together, giggling like girls over something completely ridiculous -- Quidditch, or the spots on someone's face, or something she didn't have time for -- and she needed to make it past them without question. Shaking back her hair, nose in the air, she let out a pointed hmmmph! Some people! and strode past with great purpose.
"What's got into her?" Ron's voice trailed after her as she climbed the stairs, but she didn't look back. If she had, they might have seen the furious flush on her face.
Finally, back in the privacy of her room with the curtains drawn shut round her bed, she opened the book. Page six hundred fourteen, that's where she found it: the paper-thin piece of parchment. She'd read it so many times that its edges had become decrepit but here, in the safety of her very own space, she took the time to read it one more time. It was so silly, really, just a note that had fallen from Harry's desk at the end of Potions class; she'd scooped it up unthinkingly before Professor Snape could see it and she was glad she had. Otherwise he'd have read it aloud and all three of them -- herself, Ron, Harry -- would have been entirely mortified.
This time, she wouldn't lose it again. If Harry and Ron knew she had it… well, they'd be merciless but they wouldn't know she had it and they wouldn't know she'd kept it. One more time. She'd read it one more time before tucking it away in the very bottom of her trunk, protected with so many locking charms that no one would ever get to see it.
Who's the prettiest witch in Gryffindor? That was in Ron's messy scrawl. In response, Harry had written out several names: Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, Parvati Patil. The name Lavender Brown had caused her to raise an eyebrow in consternation, but it didn't matter because someone had crossed out all the names and, to the side, written HERMIONE GRANGER in block letters, circled it three times. Whether it was Ron or Harry, she didn't know. She would never know, but it didn't matter. To one of them, she was the prettiest witch in all Gryffindor and that was the most unexpected gift she'd ever received.
II. Neville Longbottom
At least he had Trevor the toad to keep him company, thanks to his Great-Uncle Algie. At least he had that much, because he really didn't think he was ever going to have anything else. No, it would all be left behind.
The thought of getting on the Hogwarts Express terrified him. The thought of going to Hogwarts terrified him. The thought of getting Sorted terrified him; the thought of having to make friends terrified him. The thought of having to explain anything to anybody terrified him to the point where Gran almost threw up her hands in disgust and didn't send him at all but in the end he'd made it onto the train, just barely. The last thing Gran had said was remember: don't lose Trevor.
The first thing that happened after he found himself a compartment on the train was… he'd lost Trevor. He didn't realize it at first; he'd sat like a stone statue, fingers gripping the edge of his seat, toad in a box on his lap, refusing to look anywhere but out the window. He was, for all intents and purposes petrified and when the compartment opened and shut he didn't even turn round to see who it was. All he knew was that when he was that frightened the only thing to do was to pretend he wasn't there, and he'd spent the bulk of his train ride in that half-aware state of consciousness, somewhere between dreams and wakefulness, and too late he realized Trevor was no longer in his box.
"Trevor?" He looked in the box, under the seat, stood and looked on the shelf above. He looked in his robes, in his traveling companions' robes, in his shoes, behind his collar, but there was no sign of Trevor. This was terrible! How could it have happened? And so began the mad dash down the endless corridor. Why did the Hogwarts Express have to be so big? Why did the school have to have so many students? Why were there so many places for a toad to hide?
"Have you seen Trevor?" The question is one he asked again and again, always met with who's Trevor? Weren't these people wizards and witches? Weren't they supposed to know?
By the time the train arrived at Hogsmeade Station, he was thoroughly put out and dreaded Hogwarts more than ever. The giant of a bushy-haired man who met them -- Hagrid, his name was -- did nothing to quell his fears and here he had done the one thing Gran admonished him not to do… and he'd done it before he even arrived at school. He sat stone-faced for the duration of the boat ride, dreading the entirety of the rest of his life until, miraculously, Hagrid's voice rang out asking if anyone had lost a toad.
For the first time all day, the future looked… well, not bright, exactly, but just a little bit better.
III. Luna Lovegood
It was funny, really, the way people treated Harry Potter. The scar on his forehead wasn't exactly as exciting as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. It was just a little red lightning-shaped mark, and she wondered if he knew that, turned on its side, it looked exactly like the footprint of a Pogrebin. Maybe he'd been stomped on by one as an infant.
That didn't matter, really. He was her friend, and marked by a Pogrebin or not, there were things people didn't say to friends, at least not in the presence of their enemies. Enemies had too many ears, like the Grublings that hid in the floorboards beneath her bed at home and laughed at night when the moon was full. They could hear dreams, they had so many ears, and they took things. Borrowed them, and never gave them back until the very last minute.
Things were always going missing. Things, and people. She had no illusions that this was the story of her life; it was just the way things were. After the Department of Mysteries, she was convinced of it.
But it was the last night of school and she really needed her things back, and so… notices went up.
Harry wasn't at the feast either and she couldn't blame him. Not after what happened. She knew the Death Eaters had killed his godfather; she knew a little bit about people being killed. Not a lot. She didn't know what the moment of death was like, but she did know that nothing ever ended. It only changed, and those whispers had proved it.
He knew that, right? That the dead were all around them? It's just that they weren't ready to be seen, and after Harry offered to help her find her things ("Oh no, they'll come back, they always do in the end") and she went for pudding, she decided to take a walk outside. They weren't supposed to, but all the supposed-tos had been turned upside down this year. She wandered, making note of the bowtruckles and doxies no one else seemed to see just to the sides of the path, and found herself once again near the thestrals.
"Hello." They were so beautiful; she felt for the people who couldn't see them. One of the females -- the one she'd ridden -- came over to lick her hand. Their dragon-like heads didn't scare her at all. A lot of things didn't scare her at all, and as the thestral nudged closer, she took her time with it: patting its huge leathery wings, brushing back its mane with her fingers. "I don't have any raw meat for you, but maybe I can find some. I'll be back."
It wasn't easy to come up with chunks of raw meat, but it was feast night and everybody was preoccupied. When she returned, the promised offering in her hand, the thestral took it from her delicately. You see, thought Luna, there's nothing to fear. Nothing to fear at all. Once the meat was devoured and her hand licked clean, she leaned over and kissed the thestral on the nose. It was time to go find her things. Much to her delight, the moonlight (or maybe it was the fairies) illuminated her path, pointing out knots in trees and spots under leaves and crevices in walls. In each one, she found one of her missing items.
By the time she got back to her dormitory, an entire string of possessions had been enchanted to follow her, with the rest of her things waiting patiently -- as they always did -- just outside the door.
"Thanks for coming back." The odd smile never left her face as she packed her belongings, listening for those vague hints of whispers the whole time.