Change
Title: Change
Rating: PG 13
Word Count: 758
Summary: The Bloody Baron finds that change doesn't have to be all bad.
Author's notes: Super quick ficlet written for hd_writers' WBTH Challenge. A completion piece for Assignment 7 with the remaining prompts: New DADA teacher, Dumbledore’s speech, Books, first night back, house ghosts.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
The Bloody Baron scowled with disapproval as a couple of rambunctious second years skidded down the corridor, apparently playing a game of tag. One of them laughed and pushed his friend, sending him hurtling right through the Slytherin House Ghost.
“Sorry, Mister Baron!” the little blond chirped, before running back to his companion and disappearing down a hallway.
“Insolent brat,” The Baron muttered as he floated off.
“Oh lighten up, will you?” The Fat Friar responded cheerfully as he slipped out of an eighteenth century tapestry and drifted alongside him. “It’s the first night back, after all. They’ll calm down soon enough.”
“Things have changed and not for the better,” the Baron grumbled. “Children these days! They don’t get enough homework, that’s what the problem is. No respect, no propriety. Why, when I was a lad…”
“Did you catch the Headmistress’ speech, by any chance?” the Friar asked, eager to change the subject. The Baron could be quite a trying companion when he was in one of his moods.
“A fair effort, although it left a little something to be desired,” the Baron sniffed. “Now, Dumbledore’s speech…there was a fine orator. Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Genius, pure genius.”
“Indeed,” the Friar nodded sombrely. “It will certainly never be the same without him. But things are better than they used to be. Surely you can find something that meets with your approval?”
“I suppose the new DADA teacher is fairly normal,” The Baron conceded. “Certainly not a werewolf or a banshee as far as I can tell.”
“That’s the spirit!” The Friar chuckled.
“Now if someone would be so kind as to get these little monsters to read their books instead of running amok like hooligans we would be getting somewhere.”
The Friar groaned. “But you were doing so well!” he protested.
“Oh, stop it,” The Baron scoffed. “Nothing is going to make me feel good about change, Friar. Absolutely nothing. You can’t deny that it’s simply not the same. And if it’s not the same, it’s not good as far as I’m concerned. So you can just…”
A screech of rage suddenly tore through the silence. The Baron halted his righteous tirade and turned around, as did the Friar. The bane of the castle shot through a wall, tumbling to a halt before them.
“Nasty little second years!” Peeves declared, batting anxiously at his singed jester’s hat and scowling at the flummoxed ghosts. “They attacked poor little Peevsie, they did! Cruel, mean little second years!”
“A second year got the best of you?” The Friar blurted. Why, that hadn’t happened since those Marauder children!
“Two!” Peeves screeched, his face scrunching up in furious petulance at the very thought. “Two evil little second years! Peeves didn’t do nothing!”
“Is that so?” The Baron asked dryly. “Nothing at all?”
Peeves huffed petulantly. “Peeves always throws dungbombs at the second years! It’s tradition. They’s not to fight back! That’s the rules!”
The Friar fought a smile. “Yes well, as The Baron has pointed out several times, things have changed.”
There was a sudden scuffling and Peeves emitted a high pitched squeal. “They’re coming back! They’re coming after Peeves! Oh, the little monsters! Don’t tell them! Don’t tell them!” And with that he zoomed off through a wall, still screeching in panic.
The next minute, the two second years came running back. The Baron recognized the blond who had run through him a minute ago.
“Which way did he go, Al?” he demanded, holding up a dungbomb.
“I don’t know Scorp, but we’re going to find him and make him pay!” the messy haired boy replied, wielding a shock wand with alarming proficiency. “Come on out, Peevsie. The ickle second years want to play!”
The Baron had seen enough. “Gentlemen,” he drawled. The boys turned to him at once, looking alarmed and slightly guilty. The Baron smirked. “I believe your quarry has barricaded himself in Moaning Myrtles bathroom.”
The boys exchanged delighted grins. “Thanks, Bloody Baron!” the blond grinned.
“That’s Lord Baron to you, young man.”
They gave him a parting grin each and departed, still holding their weapons aloft. The Fat Friar stared after them, shaking his head bemusedly.
“Peeves running scared from a couple of little second years,” he sighed. “I stand corrected, Baron. Things have certainly changed.”
“Indeed,” The Baron smirked. “However, perhaps change isn’t all that bad. At times, it can be quite…gratifying.” And then he turned and drifted off, chuckling as the sounds of Peeves’ indignant howls echoed through the castle walls.