(no subject)
Title: Pieces of Eight
Author: molly_coddles
Format & Word Count: fic, 1000
Rating: PG
Warning: No disrespect intended to JKR or Tyco
Author's Note: This was supposed to be finished for the pre-DH rt_challenge that involved prompts: kitchen of Grimmauld Place, no cardigan Remus and pillow fight.
Dedicated to nfwbls because when I started this back in July, it was four months until her anniversary and four is half of eight. And I wanted to finish it for her birthday yesterday, which is rather 8-centric. Of course, I missed it by a few hours, but…it’s the thought that counts. At least to a Magic 8 Ball…
Pieces of Eight
Frown lines creased Arthur Weasley’s brow. “Reply hazy, try again,” he read. He obediently shook the object in his hands and tipped it up again. “Concentrate and ask again.” He carefully set the black ball on the table as he closed his eyes and placed index fingers against his temples.
“Dad?” Ron paused to give his father a critical look as he sloped into the kitchen. “You didn’t offer to test the twins’ U-No-Poo, or, erm, anything else, did you?”
Arthur opened one eye to glare at his son before turning back to the ball.
Ron scooped it off the table and looked it over. “’Signs point to yes.’ So you did test their stuff? Dad, I thought you knew better than that!”
“Don’t disrupt my connection!” Arthur snagged the ball from Ron’s hand. “No, I did not test their products. As far as I know...”
“What is that thing, anyway?” Ron asked as he turned to rummage through the coolant cabinet.
“Muggle magic!” Arthur enthused. “It says ‘Magic 8 Ball’ on the box. Muggles ask it a question and the ball answers! Simply amazing. I wonder what kind of potion is inside.”
“Does it give the right answers?” Ron asked, suddenly seeming more interested.
“I was just testing it,” Arthur said. “It told me I had to concentrate harder.”
“Maybe it didn’t like your question,” Ron suggested.
They both glanced up as the door swung open.
“…so I wrapped my wand in a pillow before putting it to his head, to muffle the sound, you see….” Tonks paused and blinked. “Wotcher Weasleys.”
Remus stepped in, letting the door swing shut behind him.
“Hello Tonks, Remus,” Arthur said, shaking the ball once again.
Tonks gave him a curious look, but Remus simply retrieved two mugs from the cupboard.
“You look different today,” Ron said, frowning at Remus as though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was out of place.
Remus shrugged. “Tonks spilled tea on my cardigan, and when she tried to clean up the mess, she somehow transfigured it into this.” He waved his hand over the tie-dyed, snug-fitting tee.
Tonks’ expression, as she peered at Remus between her violet fringe and her teacup, suggested it may have been a less-than-entirely-innocent mistake.
“’Cannot predict now,’” Arthur read in the little window. He held the ball so close it bumped the tip of his nose. “Why not, I wonder? Tiny bloke in there taking a break? Here, you try.” He handed the ball over to Remus.
Remus hid a smile as his eyes flickered over Tonks. He looked down at the ball. “’Signs point to yes,’” he reported.
“My turn,” Tonks said, reaching for the ball. She shook it and flipped it over. “Without a doubt.’ Well, that sounds promising.” She met Remus’ gaze and lifted a brow as she handed the ball back to Arthur, who immediately shook it vigorously.
“’Better not tell you now,’” he read, frowning. He shook again. “’Ask again later.’” His nostrils flared in a huff of irritation.
Ron took the ball from him, frowning as he shook and flipped it. He grinned broadly and tossed it back to his father before ducking out the door, mumbling about helping clean in the drawing room.
Tonks finished her tea and stood. “Remus, the ball of fate here informed me that you would help me clear the doxies out of my flat. One of the twins ‘accidentally’ stashed half a nest’s worth of eggs in my pocket last week, and they’ve hatched and set up housekeeping in my kitchen.”
“As luck would have it, the ball seemed to indicate that Sirius would be having a lie-in this morning, so I am free to assist.” Remus set their mugs in the sink. “You can tell me more about that book, ‘Witches' Wily Ways With Wands.’”
Arthur set the ball on the table and rose to freshen his tea. Kreacher sidled in, pausing at the table with a baleful glare at the plastic object. “Kreacher does not recognise this artefact. Kreacher must inspect things dirty blood traitors drag into Mistress Black’s home.” He gingerly picked up the ball, rolling it experimentally between long fingers. “Does this filth belong to Muggles?” He stared at the answer. “’Reply is no,’” he read. “Smells of Mudbloods and blood traitors and unnatural filth,” he muttered, sniffing. “Abominations and scum.” He set the ball back on the table and paced in front of it. “Abomination…abomination….” He snatched the ball again and an ugly gap-toothed smile crept over his features as he read the answer: “’Yes.’ Hmm. Kreacher must find his pirate hat and pegleg…Abomination likes that.” He scurried off, leaving a bewildered Arthur holding his cup, tea cold and untouched.
Arthur left his cup in the sink and picked up the ball, carrying it up the stairs. Halfway up, he heard Fred’s voice. “Hey, George! Have you seen that ball we were experimenting with?”
Arthur hastily set the ball down on a stair and stepped away from it.
“Which ball might you be referring to, brother mine?”
“You know, the one we’d spelled to only give affirmative answers if the questioner was thinking about sex?”
George mumbled an offhand reply that didn't carry to the eavesdropper on the stairwell.
Arthur reached for the ball again, a sly smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Well, now…how would you like to be Molly’s birthday present?”
‘Yes--Definitely.'
Author: molly_coddles
Format & Word Count: fic, 1000
Rating: PG
Warning: No disrespect intended to JKR or Tyco
Author's Note: This was supposed to be finished for the pre-DH rt_challenge that involved prompts: kitchen of Grimmauld Place, no cardigan Remus and pillow fight.
Dedicated to nfwbls because when I started this back in July, it was four months until her anniversary and four is half of eight. And I wanted to finish it for her birthday yesterday, which is rather 8-centric. Of course, I missed it by a few hours, but…it’s the thought that counts. At least to a Magic 8 Ball…
Pieces of Eight
Frown lines creased Arthur Weasley’s brow. “Reply hazy, try again,” he read. He obediently shook the object in his hands and tipped it up again. “Concentrate and ask again.” He carefully set the black ball on the table as he closed his eyes and placed index fingers against his temples.
“Dad?” Ron paused to give his father a critical look as he sloped into the kitchen. “You didn’t offer to test the twins’ U-No-Poo, or, erm, anything else, did you?”
Arthur opened one eye to glare at his son before turning back to the ball.
Ron scooped it off the table and looked it over. “’Signs point to yes.’ So you did test their stuff? Dad, I thought you knew better than that!”
“Don’t disrupt my connection!” Arthur snagged the ball from Ron’s hand. “No, I did not test their products. As far as I know...”
“What is that thing, anyway?” Ron asked as he turned to rummage through the coolant cabinet.
“Muggle magic!” Arthur enthused. “It says ‘Magic 8 Ball’ on the box. Muggles ask it a question and the ball answers! Simply amazing. I wonder what kind of potion is inside.”
“Does it give the right answers?” Ron asked, suddenly seeming more interested.
“I was just testing it,” Arthur said. “It told me I had to concentrate harder.”
“Maybe it didn’t like your question,” Ron suggested.
They both glanced up as the door swung open.
“…so I wrapped my wand in a pillow before putting it to his head, to muffle the sound, you see….” Tonks paused and blinked. “Wotcher Weasleys.”
Remus stepped in, letting the door swing shut behind him.
“Hello Tonks, Remus,” Arthur said, shaking the ball once again.
Tonks gave him a curious look, but Remus simply retrieved two mugs from the cupboard.
“You look different today,” Ron said, frowning at Remus as though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was out of place.
Remus shrugged. “Tonks spilled tea on my cardigan, and when she tried to clean up the mess, she somehow transfigured it into this.” He waved his hand over the tie-dyed, snug-fitting tee.
Tonks’ expression, as she peered at Remus between her violet fringe and her teacup, suggested it may have been a less-than-entirely-innocent mistake.
“’Cannot predict now,’” Arthur read in the little window. He held the ball so close it bumped the tip of his nose. “Why not, I wonder? Tiny bloke in there taking a break? Here, you try.” He handed the ball over to Remus.
Remus hid a smile as his eyes flickered over Tonks. He looked down at the ball. “’Signs point to yes,’” he reported.
“My turn,” Tonks said, reaching for the ball. She shook it and flipped it over. “Without a doubt.’ Well, that sounds promising.” She met Remus’ gaze and lifted a brow as she handed the ball back to Arthur, who immediately shook it vigorously.
“’Better not tell you now,’” he read, frowning. He shook again. “’Ask again later.’” His nostrils flared in a huff of irritation.
Ron took the ball from him, frowning as he shook and flipped it. He grinned broadly and tossed it back to his father before ducking out the door, mumbling about helping clean in the drawing room.
Tonks finished her tea and stood. “Remus, the ball of fate here informed me that you would help me clear the doxies out of my flat. One of the twins ‘accidentally’ stashed half a nest’s worth of eggs in my pocket last week, and they’ve hatched and set up housekeeping in my kitchen.”
“As luck would have it, the ball seemed to indicate that Sirius would be having a lie-in this morning, so I am free to assist.” Remus set their mugs in the sink. “You can tell me more about that book, ‘Witches' Wily Ways With Wands.’”
Arthur set the ball on the table and rose to freshen his tea. Kreacher sidled in, pausing at the table with a baleful glare at the plastic object. “Kreacher does not recognise this artefact. Kreacher must inspect things dirty blood traitors drag into Mistress Black’s home.” He gingerly picked up the ball, rolling it experimentally between long fingers. “Does this filth belong to Muggles?” He stared at the answer. “’Reply is no,’” he read. “Smells of Mudbloods and blood traitors and unnatural filth,” he muttered, sniffing. “Abominations and scum.” He set the ball back on the table and paced in front of it. “Abomination…abomination….” He snatched the ball again and an ugly gap-toothed smile crept over his features as he read the answer: “’Yes.’ Hmm. Kreacher must find his pirate hat and pegleg…Abomination likes that.” He scurried off, leaving a bewildered Arthur holding his cup, tea cold and untouched.
Arthur left his cup in the sink and picked up the ball, carrying it up the stairs. Halfway up, he heard Fred’s voice. “Hey, George! Have you seen that ball we were experimenting with?”
Arthur hastily set the ball down on a stair and stepped away from it.
“Which ball might you be referring to, brother mine?”
“You know, the one we’d spelled to only give affirmative answers if the questioner was thinking about sex?”
George mumbled an offhand reply that didn't carry to the eavesdropper on the stairwell.
Arthur reached for the ball again, a sly smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Well, now…how would you like to be Molly’s birthday present?”
‘Yes--Definitely.'