Challenges #001, #089, #027
Title: First Date
Rating/Warnings: Maybe PG? idk
Characters/Pairing: Ron/Hermione.
Summary: Hermione knows that Ron can handle Muggle etiquette, right? She takes him for a meal, and reflects on her future.
Word Count: 1591. Somehow.
Author's Notes: For challenge #1 First Lines, derived from a line in Half Blood Prince (after Ron became Keeper for the Quidditch team). Obviously, this is taken entirely out of that context. I had a little too much fun with this. I must have overrun the time-limit a bit. Sorry!
Registered purchases?: Both
"I was better than that McLaggen anyway," said Ron in a highly satisfied voice.
Hermione had gone red at this point, and decided she didn't really want to be in the room any more, not while Ron was regaling their night out.
It had been after the war, after everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong, the world had been torn asunder, loved ones buried and life finally allowed to continue onward. Then and then only did Hermione deem it right to go on a proper date with Ron.
The truth of the matter, she admitted to herself, was that her heart really wasn't in it any more. Something had changed at the end of their quest. It was as though she had been more keen on the chase itself than the final destination. The destination, she regretted she hadn't realised sooner, had ended when Harry killed Voldemort. When it did, it was as though the whole of her life was subject to a review, and that was what worried her the most.
Looking at her life. Looking at her choices.
She had decided to take Ron to a Muggle restaurant for their first date. She felt it important for any wizarding boyfriend of hers to understand the importance of her Muggle heritage, and simply sitting in an area full of them was going to be an excellent start. It was true that none of the Weasleys had any issue with Muggles (if anything, the only issue they may have ever had was a restraining order put against Arthur for pestering a house of local Muggles how they used electricity in a kettle to heat the water up, when water and electricity shouldn't be kept together. It had taken the Ministry of Magic much time and energy to bewitch the memories of all affected, not to mention provide Arthur with a satisfactory answer so he wouldn't do it again).
Therein, however, lay the problem. She knew Ron had no problem with being around Muggles, but his experiences of doing so had been severely inhibited by his being raised in an all-wizarding household. She remembered every time they had been together at the Burrow while underage, how he would grumble about being unable to use magic, how he would relish the day he came of age. That wasn't something she wanted to see in a boyfriend. He needed to understand that a life without magic was just as valid, that the magic really comes from within, that he wasn't completely dependent on his wand to be happy.
At least he had made an effort to dress for the occasion. Sadly, he was wearing an old Muggle dinner jacket and bow tie which, had they been in better condition, may have looked particularly stylish on him. As it transpired, they looked halfway between his old dress robes and the moth-eaten tweed worn by the beggar they had passed on the way in. She had pursed her lips and forced them into a smile.
"You look lovely this evening, Ronald."
"Thanks," he smiled awkwardly. "You do too."
She blushed a little; she had made some effort to look good too: she had found a dress of similar ilk to the one she wore at the Yule Ball, but a lot less formal and fancy. She had sleeked her hair and put on some make-up. She blushed as the maitre d' came to speak to them.
"Table for two?"
"Yes," she smiled.
"Very well, come with m-"
"No, it's okay," Ron said, walking off. "We can find one ourselves. Right, Hermione?"
She stood awkwardly as Ron clomped off to find a table by himself, making uncomfortable eye contact with the man who had come to seat them. She closed her eyes, realising what was probably going to come next:
"Hermione!" Ron yelled. "OI! HERMIONE! HERMIONE? HEY, HERMIONE! HERE'S ONE! OR WE CAN GO CLOSER TO THE BATHROOM IN CASE YOU WANT THE TOILET LATER?"
Wishing she had mastered wandless magic sufficiently to put a Silencing charm on him, she trotted over briskly and sat down.
"Thanks," she whispered, aware she was turning bright red now. "Can we see the wine menu?"
The man did so, and scampered away. Ron smiled.
"This is a nice place."
"Thanks," she smiled.
A pause.
"You look nice," he said.
She didn't smile. "You already said that."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did," she whispered, not wanting to make a fuss. "But thanks. Do you think we'll be able to get a bottle of wine here?"
"Sure we will," Ron said. "Why not?"
"We're eighteen. They might ask us for ID."
"Oh..." Ron's face fell. "That's a bit silly. We've been drinking Butterbeer since we were thirteen. Maybe they'll let us have that?"
"They won't serve Butterbeer here," Hermione said with a stop talking look on her face. "If not, we'll just stick to tonic water or something."
"No, it's fine," Ron said. "I've got Butterbeer here, hold on..."
And before Hermione could say anything, Ron had pulled out two flagons from his inside pocket, and a large flask which sloshed as he unscrewed the top.
"Please tell me you didn't bring your own drink in here," she moaned.
"What's wrong with that?"
"You can't bring your own drinks here!" Hermione stressed. "They might ask us to leave! And how are you going to explain that you smuggled all that in inside your jacket pocket?"
Ron grinned. "You should see what else I've got stored in here."
He shook his jacket and Hermione heard an echoing jangle. It reminded her of her old handbag.
Changing the subject quickly, she pressed forward. "I don't know if Harry told you, but I'm planning on returning to Hogwarts to complete my final year in September..."
And finally, it became something resembling a normal date. However, unlike what Hermione had wanted, the topic of conversation was the wizarding world. Magic school. All of the things she had hoped to escape from for just one evening. Ron ploughed on with the subject, one after another, clearly oblivious to Hermione's wish to keep magic seperate for just one evening. She became all the more awkward, especially when Ron got to his main course, spaghetti carbonara, and, forgetting himself entirely, scarfed the whole thing down loudly with his elbows on the table. Hermione could feel the elderly couple behind her gazing through her back, as if she wasn't there.
"You know," Ron said loudly through bites, "it's a shame they can't give us free refills. Doesn't even have to be elves. Just free food somehow. Takes them so long to get it out, you would have thought there'd be more back there."
Wondering if she would ever take Ron out again, Hermione promised herself that if it did ever happen, she would take him to an all-you-can-eat buffet.
"You look really lovely today," Ron repeated- at least, she thought he repeated, it was hard to make out with his mouth full. Instead of correcting him, she decided to let it go and plan her escape route.
"I'm just going to the ladies," she smiled. "Excuse me."
"Should have taken that other table," Ron said, pointing with his knife. "I'll be here."
She cantered off and sat in a cubicle to think. She didn't know if it was really worth it, whether or not she could make this last, and then guilt ran through her mind. She wished she were more like Ron: emotional range of a teaspoon. In her inside pocket, she felt her wand. She had brought it with her just in case of an attack, or some freak event. She hoped not to use it, but she was currently considering Obliviating herself.
By the time she returned to the table, she realised the situation had gotten worse.
"Hermione! Hello!"
Ron's dad was sat in her chair.
"Um. Mr Weasley, what are you..."
"Ah, yes, I'm sorry, Ron did say he was going to be out all evening, but.... It think this is important. Is that man using a corkscrew?"
Hermione followed Arthur's gaze to a waiter on a nearby table. "Yes."
"Amazing," Arthur said. "I should really go and watch. Want to come with me?"
"Mr Weasley, what are you doing here?"
"Oh, right, of course," he said urgently, rubbing his eyes. "I have some good news. It's about your parents."
Hermione's eyes snapped open. "What?"
Arthur started laughing. "It's amazing! An owl arrived an hour ago carrying a message from somebody from the Ministry. It's top secret of course, but I trust her now we've sorted out the whole mind control thing. It turns out your parents left the country with false passports to Australia, and they've been found by a local Aboriginal wizard! Of course I had to jump in the fireplace and speak to you the minute I heard this news, but I wasn't sure where to find you, and Ron? Your mother asks if you'll want anything when you come home later, unless you're stopping at Miss Granger's?"
He finished this declaration, and Hermione's blood ran cold. Looking round, everybody in the restaurant was staring at them now. It was only now Hermione realised Arthur was wearing his own attempt at Muggle attire.
"Mr Weasley, you're wearing a muu-muu and a leather jacket."
"I know."
Hermione Granger suddenly realised she truly belonged in the Wizarding world, because there was no way in hell any Muggle would ever forget this. But at least, she reflected, it was better than spending an evening with Cormac McLaggen.
Title: When You Were A Boy
Rating/Warnings: Maybe PG? idk
Characters/Pairing: Snape-centric, though the speech is pretty much Sorting Hat only.
Summary: Snape puts on the Sorting Hat on becoming headmaster.
Word Count: 847
Author's Notes: For prompt #89 Snakes and Lions: the best Slytherins are in Gryffindor.
Registered purchases?: Both
Snape detested being in Dumbledore's old office as much as the portraits on the walls detested him being there. They were yet to hang one of Albus' portraits on the walls, and for now Snape wanted it to be left that way. The portraits would mutter about him in not-too-subtle tones; he would pretend he couldn't hear them, or that their thoughts were not any of his concern. He simply wanted to get on with the job left for him.
Besides, it was important to keep everyone believing him to be loyal to the Dark Lord. That much was crucial. He was disciplined enough to shake off people talking about him behind his back, and if the portraits wanted to gossip on his behaviour, so be it. He did not follow their commands for anybody.
He had changed the password on the stone gargoyle the second he became Headmaster. He replaced the benign 'caramel fudge' with a longer, harder, Latin-based incantation, one so that no other member of staff would be able to bother him for some time. It was perfect. He got the quiet zone he so badly needed.
He knew it was a little reckless, but there was something he wanted to do. As the Headmaster, he had certain priviledges, and he knew without question that the Carrows would soon be deployed to help maintain order at the school. But before that, he needed to check something. It was a passing comment Dumbledore made a long time ago:
"Sometimes I think we Sort too soon."
The Sorting Hat sat in the corner of the room, perhaps knowing the time to be deployed for its annual use was fast approaching. Recklessly, Snape grabbed the hat and placed it on his own head.
Ah, this is unexpected. Severus. You want me to look at you again?
Snape nodded slightly; though he knew the Hat wouldn't need a physical response from him, he didn't want to hold back here.
No, it's more than that, the Hat crooned in his ear. You want to understand why you went into Slytherin after all. You want to know if I would consider you different after all these years.
"Correct," Snape muttered under his breath automatically.
Make no mistake, Severus: you were always going to be a Slytherin. However... yes. I remember this. I remember the courage you had within you. It was there when you were eleven, too, Severus.
No response. Snape hadn't expected to hear that.
Oh, it's true. The little boy who feared his father, but chose not to run from him. The boy who watched a girl from afar and plucked up his strength to talk to her. I remember these scenes very well, Severus. Perhaps as clearly as you do now.
Again, no reply.
But you did belong in Slytherin, Severus. You wanted to aspire to bigger and better things. You wanted to prove yourself. Your stubborn side cared less for the path taken, only for the destination. These were things Salazar Slytherin considered invaluable.
Snape sighed a little. He made to lift the hat from his head, but it continued talking to him again before he could do so.
I've heard some people say the best Slytherins are in Gryffindor, however. Some people wonder if the opposite is true. The best Gryffindors are in Slytherin. What do you think of that?
Snape thought.
I'm not surprised, Severus. I don't agree either: the best Slytherins are in Slytherin; the best Gryffindors are in Gryffindor. But that's not always mutually exclusive. I see a lot of shared interests in everyone's head. This is my job, and this is what I do.
Snape waited.
However, I also recall seeing you consider Gryffindor as a boy. But I refused it, didn't I? Not because you didn't have the properties, but because you wanted to be a friend. I reminded you you could be friends regardless of house. But that didn't mean I didn't see some Gryffindor in you, Severus. It's just that the Slytherin was more suitable.
Snape removed the hat. It told him nothing he didn't expect, but there was certainly reassurance to hear it come from the Hat directly. Relaxing, he put the Hat down.
The portraits were looking down at him. They all were surely wondering what he had just done. Suddenly, a thought crossed Snape's mind, and he put the hat on again.
Yes?
Knowing the Sorting Hat to be particularly proficient at Legilimency, he carefully carved his words carefully; he was shutting doors he didn't want the Hat to see, in case it somehow relayed information it shouldn't. But it needed to know something.
I see. Yes, I saw that too, Severus, but you want me to edit my Song a little to not endanger the school?
"That's right," Snape muttered.
Very well. I do serve the Headmaster of the school. I shall do so at once. I also shall not breathe a word to anybody, Severus. It is against my personal code, and what is in your head is your own. It always was.
Title: Investment
Rating/Warnings: Maybe PG? idk
Characters/Pairing: Rita Skeeter, some OCs.
Summary: Rita learns to become an Animagus.
Word Count: 666
Author's Notes: For challenge #27, Animagi
Registered purchases?: Both
Rita Skeeter hadn't actually planned to become an Animagus. It was one of the things she chanced upon in her early days as a journalist. There was some feature coming up about the lack of proper regulation of magical procedures (some now-obsolete Ministry sub-division were failing to pull their weight), and Rita had volunteered to be a whistle blower on the matter.
She had decided to attempt to become an Animagus through illegal methods, and wanted to see how far along the training process she would be able to go before anybody stopped her. It never happened. The Ministry branch she was testing had been dissolved by Fudge's reshuffle, and replaced with something equally bureaucratic, but less inclined to pander to the whims of the Prophet feature pages. She was furious; her editor had just shrugged and told her: "You may as well stop now, Skeeter. We're not going to come back to the story. We'll try to get you something good soon."
And it never came. Rita knew it wouldn't come, because it never did. She knew her editor and his euphemistic quirks. She knew when he was brushing her off, and this was one of those times. Pissed off and stressed, she stormed back to the wizard who was giving her contraband training sessions. He asked for her gold, she decided she would complete the procedure, regardless of what the Prophet deemed important. The investment should be honoured. She was efficient like that.
Finally the day came. She knew her animal would likely be small, but the exact nature of it was not yet known. They never did reveal themselves, the wizard said, until the process was fully mastered. It reflected the soul of the witch, and Rita reflected with pride that she would be well suited for whatever came her way.
The test location was an isolated stretch of beach on the Welsh coast. No humans had come here in a long time, which added to its natural charm. The wizard had told her they needed to do it here because it had everything she could need: land, water, sand, trees, rocks, shade, soil. Standing in the right place, she looked at the waves and relaxed her mind.
She could feel the animal inside her pacing back and forth, waiting to get out. She had been feeding it these past months, getting it ready to pounce, to take on the wall. She knew it would be small. But that was all she knew. The hardest part was going to be keeping her mind. Not becoming the animal she was mimicking. She heard that if people remained in their animal form for too long, they started to resemble it. No matter what, she didn't think developing beastly traits would be becoming for an up-and-coming journalist.
Clearing her mind, she made the change.
Snap.
She felt her bones pop and reshape smoothly, painlessly, undetectably. Her sight shifted as her eyes transformed. Everything was a rush of shape and noise, sound faded out as she became temporaily deaf, like rushing through a pool of water and-
Rita Skeeter felt herself land in the sand with a faint thud. She couldn't make out what she was, but she was SMALL. The grains of sand in front of her looked like Quaffles, the froth of the sea rushing forth like a tidal wave.
She found she had wings. She flapped them and rose skyward.
Legs. Her front legs were insect-like. Her heart would have probably sunk with disappointment, but she wasn't quite sure if she had a heart right now. She didn't know much about insect anatomy.
Regardless, Rita Skeeter was going to make sure this form suited her just right. She was going to get scoops nobody else had access too, and sort out the Ministry single-handedly if she had to. She would make that bastard editor work for her.
Rita Skeeter clicked her pincers in pleasure as she flew into a crevice and out of sight.
1591+847+666 =3104
3104/30 = 103.47
Rob//Gryffindor//103 points + 30 bonus GET!!
Rating/Warnings: Maybe PG? idk
Characters/Pairing: Ron/Hermione.
Summary: Hermione knows that Ron can handle Muggle etiquette, right? She takes him for a meal, and reflects on her future.
Word Count: 1591. Somehow.
Author's Notes: For challenge #1 First Lines, derived from a line in Half Blood Prince (after Ron became Keeper for the Quidditch team). Obviously, this is taken entirely out of that context. I had a little too much fun with this. I must have overrun the time-limit a bit. Sorry!
Registered purchases?: Both
"I was better than that McLaggen anyway," said Ron in a highly satisfied voice.
Hermione had gone red at this point, and decided she didn't really want to be in the room any more, not while Ron was regaling their night out.
It had been after the war, after everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong, the world had been torn asunder, loved ones buried and life finally allowed to continue onward. Then and then only did Hermione deem it right to go on a proper date with Ron.
The truth of the matter, she admitted to herself, was that her heart really wasn't in it any more. Something had changed at the end of their quest. It was as though she had been more keen on the chase itself than the final destination. The destination, she regretted she hadn't realised sooner, had ended when Harry killed Voldemort. When it did, it was as though the whole of her life was subject to a review, and that was what worried her the most.
Looking at her life. Looking at her choices.
She had decided to take Ron to a Muggle restaurant for their first date. She felt it important for any wizarding boyfriend of hers to understand the importance of her Muggle heritage, and simply sitting in an area full of them was going to be an excellent start. It was true that none of the Weasleys had any issue with Muggles (if anything, the only issue they may have ever had was a restraining order put against Arthur for pestering a house of local Muggles how they used electricity in a kettle to heat the water up, when water and electricity shouldn't be kept together. It had taken the Ministry of Magic much time and energy to bewitch the memories of all affected, not to mention provide Arthur with a satisfactory answer so he wouldn't do it again).
Therein, however, lay the problem. She knew Ron had no problem with being around Muggles, but his experiences of doing so had been severely inhibited by his being raised in an all-wizarding household. She remembered every time they had been together at the Burrow while underage, how he would grumble about being unable to use magic, how he would relish the day he came of age. That wasn't something she wanted to see in a boyfriend. He needed to understand that a life without magic was just as valid, that the magic really comes from within, that he wasn't completely dependent on his wand to be happy.
At least he had made an effort to dress for the occasion. Sadly, he was wearing an old Muggle dinner jacket and bow tie which, had they been in better condition, may have looked particularly stylish on him. As it transpired, they looked halfway between his old dress robes and the moth-eaten tweed worn by the beggar they had passed on the way in. She had pursed her lips and forced them into a smile.
"You look lovely this evening, Ronald."
"Thanks," he smiled awkwardly. "You do too."
She blushed a little; she had made some effort to look good too: she had found a dress of similar ilk to the one she wore at the Yule Ball, but a lot less formal and fancy. She had sleeked her hair and put on some make-up. She blushed as the maitre d' came to speak to them.
"Table for two?"
"Yes," she smiled.
"Very well, come with m-"
"No, it's okay," Ron said, walking off. "We can find one ourselves. Right, Hermione?"
She stood awkwardly as Ron clomped off to find a table by himself, making uncomfortable eye contact with the man who had come to seat them. She closed her eyes, realising what was probably going to come next:
"Hermione!" Ron yelled. "OI! HERMIONE! HERMIONE? HEY, HERMIONE! HERE'S ONE! OR WE CAN GO CLOSER TO THE BATHROOM IN CASE YOU WANT THE TOILET LATER?"
Wishing she had mastered wandless magic sufficiently to put a Silencing charm on him, she trotted over briskly and sat down.
"Thanks," she whispered, aware she was turning bright red now. "Can we see the wine menu?"
The man did so, and scampered away. Ron smiled.
"This is a nice place."
"Thanks," she smiled.
A pause.
"You look nice," he said.
She didn't smile. "You already said that."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did," she whispered, not wanting to make a fuss. "But thanks. Do you think we'll be able to get a bottle of wine here?"
"Sure we will," Ron said. "Why not?"
"We're eighteen. They might ask us for ID."
"Oh..." Ron's face fell. "That's a bit silly. We've been drinking Butterbeer since we were thirteen. Maybe they'll let us have that?"
"They won't serve Butterbeer here," Hermione said with a stop talking look on her face. "If not, we'll just stick to tonic water or something."
"No, it's fine," Ron said. "I've got Butterbeer here, hold on..."
And before Hermione could say anything, Ron had pulled out two flagons from his inside pocket, and a large flask which sloshed as he unscrewed the top.
"Please tell me you didn't bring your own drink in here," she moaned.
"What's wrong with that?"
"You can't bring your own drinks here!" Hermione stressed. "They might ask us to leave! And how are you going to explain that you smuggled all that in inside your jacket pocket?"
Ron grinned. "You should see what else I've got stored in here."
He shook his jacket and Hermione heard an echoing jangle. It reminded her of her old handbag.
Changing the subject quickly, she pressed forward. "I don't know if Harry told you, but I'm planning on returning to Hogwarts to complete my final year in September..."
And finally, it became something resembling a normal date. However, unlike what Hermione had wanted, the topic of conversation was the wizarding world. Magic school. All of the things she had hoped to escape from for just one evening. Ron ploughed on with the subject, one after another, clearly oblivious to Hermione's wish to keep magic seperate for just one evening. She became all the more awkward, especially when Ron got to his main course, spaghetti carbonara, and, forgetting himself entirely, scarfed the whole thing down loudly with his elbows on the table. Hermione could feel the elderly couple behind her gazing through her back, as if she wasn't there.
"You know," Ron said loudly through bites, "it's a shame they can't give us free refills. Doesn't even have to be elves. Just free food somehow. Takes them so long to get it out, you would have thought there'd be more back there."
Wondering if she would ever take Ron out again, Hermione promised herself that if it did ever happen, she would take him to an all-you-can-eat buffet.
"You look really lovely today," Ron repeated- at least, she thought he repeated, it was hard to make out with his mouth full. Instead of correcting him, she decided to let it go and plan her escape route.
"I'm just going to the ladies," she smiled. "Excuse me."
"Should have taken that other table," Ron said, pointing with his knife. "I'll be here."
She cantered off and sat in a cubicle to think. She didn't know if it was really worth it, whether or not she could make this last, and then guilt ran through her mind. She wished she were more like Ron: emotional range of a teaspoon. In her inside pocket, she felt her wand. She had brought it with her just in case of an attack, or some freak event. She hoped not to use it, but she was currently considering Obliviating herself.
By the time she returned to the table, she realised the situation had gotten worse.
"Hermione! Hello!"
Ron's dad was sat in her chair.
"Um. Mr Weasley, what are you..."
"Ah, yes, I'm sorry, Ron did say he was going to be out all evening, but.... It think this is important. Is that man using a corkscrew?"
Hermione followed Arthur's gaze to a waiter on a nearby table. "Yes."
"Amazing," Arthur said. "I should really go and watch. Want to come with me?"
"Mr Weasley, what are you doing here?"
"Oh, right, of course," he said urgently, rubbing his eyes. "I have some good news. It's about your parents."
Hermione's eyes snapped open. "What?"
Arthur started laughing. "It's amazing! An owl arrived an hour ago carrying a message from somebody from the Ministry. It's top secret of course, but I trust her now we've sorted out the whole mind control thing. It turns out your parents left the country with false passports to Australia, and they've been found by a local Aboriginal wizard! Of course I had to jump in the fireplace and speak to you the minute I heard this news, but I wasn't sure where to find you, and Ron? Your mother asks if you'll want anything when you come home later, unless you're stopping at Miss Granger's?"
He finished this declaration, and Hermione's blood ran cold. Looking round, everybody in the restaurant was staring at them now. It was only now Hermione realised Arthur was wearing his own attempt at Muggle attire.
"Mr Weasley, you're wearing a muu-muu and a leather jacket."
"I know."
Hermione Granger suddenly realised she truly belonged in the Wizarding world, because there was no way in hell any Muggle would ever forget this. But at least, she reflected, it was better than spending an evening with Cormac McLaggen.
Title: When You Were A Boy
Rating/Warnings: Maybe PG? idk
Characters/Pairing: Snape-centric, though the speech is pretty much Sorting Hat only.
Summary: Snape puts on the Sorting Hat on becoming headmaster.
Word Count: 847
Author's Notes: For prompt #89 Snakes and Lions: the best Slytherins are in Gryffindor.
Registered purchases?: Both
Snape detested being in Dumbledore's old office as much as the portraits on the walls detested him being there. They were yet to hang one of Albus' portraits on the walls, and for now Snape wanted it to be left that way. The portraits would mutter about him in not-too-subtle tones; he would pretend he couldn't hear them, or that their thoughts were not any of his concern. He simply wanted to get on with the job left for him.
Besides, it was important to keep everyone believing him to be loyal to the Dark Lord. That much was crucial. He was disciplined enough to shake off people talking about him behind his back, and if the portraits wanted to gossip on his behaviour, so be it. He did not follow their commands for anybody.
He had changed the password on the stone gargoyle the second he became Headmaster. He replaced the benign 'caramel fudge' with a longer, harder, Latin-based incantation, one so that no other member of staff would be able to bother him for some time. It was perfect. He got the quiet zone he so badly needed.
He knew it was a little reckless, but there was something he wanted to do. As the Headmaster, he had certain priviledges, and he knew without question that the Carrows would soon be deployed to help maintain order at the school. But before that, he needed to check something. It was a passing comment Dumbledore made a long time ago:
"Sometimes I think we Sort too soon."
The Sorting Hat sat in the corner of the room, perhaps knowing the time to be deployed for its annual use was fast approaching. Recklessly, Snape grabbed the hat and placed it on his own head.
Ah, this is unexpected. Severus. You want me to look at you again?
Snape nodded slightly; though he knew the Hat wouldn't need a physical response from him, he didn't want to hold back here.
No, it's more than that, the Hat crooned in his ear. You want to understand why you went into Slytherin after all. You want to know if I would consider you different after all these years.
"Correct," Snape muttered under his breath automatically.
Make no mistake, Severus: you were always going to be a Slytherin. However... yes. I remember this. I remember the courage you had within you. It was there when you were eleven, too, Severus.
No response. Snape hadn't expected to hear that.
Oh, it's true. The little boy who feared his father, but chose not to run from him. The boy who watched a girl from afar and plucked up his strength to talk to her. I remember these scenes very well, Severus. Perhaps as clearly as you do now.
Again, no reply.
But you did belong in Slytherin, Severus. You wanted to aspire to bigger and better things. You wanted to prove yourself. Your stubborn side cared less for the path taken, only for the destination. These were things Salazar Slytherin considered invaluable.
Snape sighed a little. He made to lift the hat from his head, but it continued talking to him again before he could do so.
I've heard some people say the best Slytherins are in Gryffindor, however. Some people wonder if the opposite is true. The best Gryffindors are in Slytherin. What do you think of that?
Snape thought.
I'm not surprised, Severus. I don't agree either: the best Slytherins are in Slytherin; the best Gryffindors are in Gryffindor. But that's not always mutually exclusive. I see a lot of shared interests in everyone's head. This is my job, and this is what I do.
Snape waited.
However, I also recall seeing you consider Gryffindor as a boy. But I refused it, didn't I? Not because you didn't have the properties, but because you wanted to be a friend. I reminded you you could be friends regardless of house. But that didn't mean I didn't see some Gryffindor in you, Severus. It's just that the Slytherin was more suitable.
Snape removed the hat. It told him nothing he didn't expect, but there was certainly reassurance to hear it come from the Hat directly. Relaxing, he put the Hat down.
The portraits were looking down at him. They all were surely wondering what he had just done. Suddenly, a thought crossed Snape's mind, and he put the hat on again.
Yes?
Knowing the Sorting Hat to be particularly proficient at Legilimency, he carefully carved his words carefully; he was shutting doors he didn't want the Hat to see, in case it somehow relayed information it shouldn't. But it needed to know something.
I see. Yes, I saw that too, Severus, but you want me to edit my Song a little to not endanger the school?
"That's right," Snape muttered.
Very well. I do serve the Headmaster of the school. I shall do so at once. I also shall not breathe a word to anybody, Severus. It is against my personal code, and what is in your head is your own. It always was.
Title: Investment
Rating/Warnings: Maybe PG? idk
Characters/Pairing: Rita Skeeter, some OCs.
Summary: Rita learns to become an Animagus.
Word Count: 666
Author's Notes: For challenge #27, Animagi
Registered purchases?: Both
Rita Skeeter hadn't actually planned to become an Animagus. It was one of the things she chanced upon in her early days as a journalist. There was some feature coming up about the lack of proper regulation of magical procedures (some now-obsolete Ministry sub-division were failing to pull their weight), and Rita had volunteered to be a whistle blower on the matter.
She had decided to attempt to become an Animagus through illegal methods, and wanted to see how far along the training process she would be able to go before anybody stopped her. It never happened. The Ministry branch she was testing had been dissolved by Fudge's reshuffle, and replaced with something equally bureaucratic, but less inclined to pander to the whims of the Prophet feature pages. She was furious; her editor had just shrugged and told her: "You may as well stop now, Skeeter. We're not going to come back to the story. We'll try to get you something good soon."
And it never came. Rita knew it wouldn't come, because it never did. She knew her editor and his euphemistic quirks. She knew when he was brushing her off, and this was one of those times. Pissed off and stressed, she stormed back to the wizard who was giving her contraband training sessions. He asked for her gold, she decided she would complete the procedure, regardless of what the Prophet deemed important. The investment should be honoured. She was efficient like that.
Finally the day came. She knew her animal would likely be small, but the exact nature of it was not yet known. They never did reveal themselves, the wizard said, until the process was fully mastered. It reflected the soul of the witch, and Rita reflected with pride that she would be well suited for whatever came her way.
The test location was an isolated stretch of beach on the Welsh coast. No humans had come here in a long time, which added to its natural charm. The wizard had told her they needed to do it here because it had everything she could need: land, water, sand, trees, rocks, shade, soil. Standing in the right place, she looked at the waves and relaxed her mind.
She could feel the animal inside her pacing back and forth, waiting to get out. She had been feeding it these past months, getting it ready to pounce, to take on the wall. She knew it would be small. But that was all she knew. The hardest part was going to be keeping her mind. Not becoming the animal she was mimicking. She heard that if people remained in their animal form for too long, they started to resemble it. No matter what, she didn't think developing beastly traits would be becoming for an up-and-coming journalist.
Clearing her mind, she made the change.
Snap.
She felt her bones pop and reshape smoothly, painlessly, undetectably. Her sight shifted as her eyes transformed. Everything was a rush of shape and noise, sound faded out as she became temporaily deaf, like rushing through a pool of water and-
Rita Skeeter felt herself land in the sand with a faint thud. She couldn't make out what she was, but she was SMALL. The grains of sand in front of her looked like Quaffles, the froth of the sea rushing forth like a tidal wave.
She found she had wings. She flapped them and rose skyward.
Legs. Her front legs were insect-like. Her heart would have probably sunk with disappointment, but she wasn't quite sure if she had a heart right now. She didn't know much about insect anatomy.
Regardless, Rita Skeeter was going to make sure this form suited her just right. She was going to get scoops nobody else had access too, and sort out the Ministry single-handedly if she had to. She would make that bastard editor work for her.
Rita Skeeter clicked her pincers in pleasure as she flew into a crevice and out of sight.
1591+847+666 =3104
3104/30 = 103.47
Rob//Gryffindor//103 points + 30 bonus GET!!