Springfic: "As Clever Does" for swissmarg
Title: As Clever Does
Author/Artist: igrockspock
Recipient: swissmarg
Character(s): Horace Slughorn, Seamus Finnigan, Pansy Parkinson, Luna Lovegood
Rating: PG
Warnings (highlight to view): None
Wordcount 2700
Summary: By negotiating a contract, pulling a prank, starting a small business, and discussing justice and death, four characters demonstrate what being clever means to them.
Horace Slughorn: Knowing Your Own Worth
On the first morning of the new term, Horace unfurled his new contract, surreptitiously testing the thickness of the parchment with his fingers. He skimmed the terms and conditions, though of course he pretended to give them careful consideration. In reality, he knew he would ask for more. The question was how much more. He took stock of the delicate instruments and carved furniture that filled Dumbledore's office, the gold ring on Albus' finger. That was new. Hogwarts had resources, clearly. Of course, his primary goal was the education of today's youth, but one couldn't allow oneself to be taken advantage of...
“I want a twenty percent raise. Not a knut less.”
He would settle for fifteen percent. Education of today's youth, after all...
“Of course, Horace,” Albus said mildly. “You always have known your worth.”
He was still pondering the remark hours later, when he ought to have finished the list of preliminary invitations to the Slug Club. Clever bastard, Albus was, always convinced you he had the upper hand, even when he'd trailed you halfway across England just to ask you to work for him. Always known your own worth. Horace huffed. Just who did Albus think he was? Some callow youth hanging onto his master's words, determined to extract every syllable of meaning? Certainly not. Horace Slughorn served no master but himself.
He addressed invitations to Blaise Zabini and Ginny Weasley with a flourish of the quill given to him by Gwenogg Jones on his eighty-fourth birthday. There. The first Slug Club in the last fifteen years was complete. He surveyed the list, satisfied. Certainly no one on either side could claim that he had favored one group over another. No, he had only chosen the best and brightest of this generation, just as he always had. And who could fault him for that? And Tom, Tom would remember what he owed him. In the highly unlikely event that he prevailed, of course. Without an organization like the Slug Club, a poor orphaned boy like him might never have made the right connections...
Horace winced. Naturally, it wasn't an argument that he would ever have to use. No, he did not support the Dark Lord. Only, it was wise to have a strategy, to know what to say if the need arose.
He was the sort of person who could get along with everyone. Really, everyone.
No one could blame him for that. Surely.
When curfew came and he set out to patrol the corridors, he was still thinking of the mild, unassuming look Albus had given him today. Always known his own worth. As if it were a bad thing. He pondered it until he heard something that sounded suspiciously like an explosion one floor below. Then he forgot about Albus and wished he had demanded a twenty-five percent raise.
Seamus Finnigan: Our Choices Define Us
Seamus Finnigan darted into the third floor boys toilet, thinking of his sorting. The door creaked, and Seamus jumped, but he did not drop the small package concealed in his right hand. There was still no sign of teachers or Mrs. Norris, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The plan was safe; tonight, he would show Hogwarts that Fred and George Weasley weren't the only ones who could pull a prank. And to think, he'd almost been a Ravenclaw...
Clever, this one is, the Sorting Hat had muttered in his head.
Gryffindor, he had thought back with all his might. Where dwell the brave...
The hat had made no response. The silence stretched. He pictured knights slaying dragons, roaring lions, dive bombing Quidditch players, death-defying duels with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and young girls with improbably large breasts waiting for him after each daring feat (though he tried to suppress that last part, he really did).
Very well, the hat sighed at length. It is our choices that define us...
“Gryffindor!” it shouted out loud. Beneath the brim of the hat, Seamus had watched a table full of red and gold burst into applause.
That night, he had vowed he would spend the rest of his Hogwarts career proving he really did belong with them. That was why he was here, sneaking through the corridors at three in the morning to the boys loo. He'd get a howler from his mam for sure, not just for the abysmal marks he'd get on McGonagall's quiz tomorrow, but for the prank he was about to pull. The truth was, the thought of flunking the quiz bothered him; he had a secret stash of his best papers at the bottom of his trunk, though naturally he told his roommates they were pornography enchanted to look like old exams. Pornography so magical it would reveal itself only to the eyes of its true owner, he said, which was why the others could only see a long list of test questions. Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom believed him. Dean Thomas did not. Harry Potter claimed not to be interested in pornography but nevertheless stared whenever Seamus reached into the bottom of his trunk.
But all of that was beside the point. After tonight, pornography or no pornography, his name would live in fame or infamy - he wasn't sure what the difference was - for all Hogwarts history. Or at least the next month, when everyone would forget and he'd need a new prank to pull. But he could do that. Seamus Finnigan was dead clever. He just didn't show it often.
He dropped a small pellet into the nearest toilet. The water bubbled, which it wasn't technically supposed to do. He ignored it and began muttering the time delay incantation. Whoever used this toilet in the morning was in for a big surprise...
Now the water wasn't just bubbling; it was hissing and giving off steam. That really wasn't supposed to happen. Seamus adjusted his robes and knelt before the toilet, lowering his face close to the bowl. Just a little adjustment, he thought, an inventor like him certainly could manage that...
The explosion knocked him to the floor.
Pansy Parkinson: A Profit from Every Situation
Pansy Parkinson knew two things for certain: Professor Slughorn would be too lazy to patrol the astronomy tower, and Professor Sinistra's notes were worth a lot of money. Pansy didn't need to cheat on her exams of course; she was clever enough to pass them on her own. Daddy's shop had fallen on hard times though, and it couldn't hurt to have a private cash flow. She stood under the trap door that led to the astronomy tower and the golden ladder fell obligingly down, just as it did for everyone else who stood underneath it. She wondered if there was any money to be made telling Dumbledore how many people lost their virginity up here but dismissed the idea almost immediately. Now that Umbridge was gone, there weren't many opportunities for paid informants. On the other hand, if she set up some kind of surveillance system, she might be able to charge a small protection fee to the people who used the tower most frequently. A galleon or two to keep the information from teachers and jealous girlfriends, perhaps...
Calculating her potential profits, she scampered up the ladder and seized a thick sheaf of parchment that Sinistra had left behind at the end of class that night. She could have taken it then, but that would have been an amateur's mistake. Of course, she could have sold them, but Sinistra would have noticed they were missing and altered the examinations accordingly. Then everyone would have failed the test and wanted their money back - not that Pansy would have returned it - and no one would have bought notes from her again.
No, even with the small risk of being caught by patrolling teachers, this was the far better business decision. Pansy settled into a window seat and began copying Sinistra's notes.
At 2:45 a.m., a small flock of cheeping bluebirds flew across the face of Pansy's watch, alerting her that it was time to return to the dorms. She hadn't copied everything, but she thought she had the most important bits, and she calculated that now was the ideal moment for her departure - Slughorn, who had complained ostentatiously about his patrol duties in class today, would surely have returned to bed by now, but it was still too early for even the earliest risers to be awake.
She was halfway to the dungeons when she saw Seamus Finnigan duck into a boys toilet on the third floor. She doubted he was up to anything interesting - he wasn't clever enough for that - but she hid behind a suit of armor anyway and waited for him to emerge. If she had learned anything from her time on the Inquisitorial Squad, it was the value of information.
A small explosion shook the wall behind her, and water gushed from lavatory's half-open door. She counted to ten, listening for more explosions, and when there were none, she peered inside. Strange, watery creatures poured from a shattered toilet bowl. They swirled and undulated in waves, changing from winged horses to narwhals to unicorns. She watched, mesmerized, as they charged toward her, wondering if Finnigan wasn't such an idiot after all. Maybe he'd be willing to go into business with her...
But she could hear footsteps coming down the corridor and she flung herself in front of the creatures, who knocked her down and filled her nose and mouth with water. Slughorn knelt on the ground beside her, and she sat up slowly, coughing dramatically into her hand.
“Professor,” she gasped, “I'm so sorry. I just went up to the astronomy tower to study. I know it's against the rules but...” She coughed some more and made sure the silver necklace with the elaborate P on the front slipped out the top of her robes.
“Pansy Parkinson, I presume? Of Parkinson's Antiquaries in Diagon Alley?”
Slughorn's eyes gleamed greedily in the light. Pansy nodded, still coughing into her hand.
“Heard a noise, did you? And came to investigate?”
She nodded.
“I was worried that someone would be hurt.”
“Of course, of course. Twenty points to Slytherin for your altruism.” He eyed Seamus with distaste. “And fifty from Gryffindor for his idiocy.”
In the morning, Pansy stood proudly before the hourglass. Twenty-four hours into the term, and Slytherin was already winning. Of course, she wasted no time telling everyone it was because of her.
Then, when Loony Lovegood appeared around the corridor with her face buried in a magazine, Pansy stuck out her foot and tripped her. It wasn't very original, but it served its desired purpose. Loony lay on the floor and did nothing, as usual, but Harry Potter flung a curse down the corridor just as Professor Snape appeared.
“Twenty points from Gryffindor,” he snapped, barely bothering to look in Harry's direction. “Potter, in my office, five o'clock this evening.”
Draco Malfoy gave her a high five that Snape pretended not to notice. Harry Potter sneered. Pansy smiled. She might not be rich, but she was in with the right people. Social standing was currency too, her mother always said.
Luna Lovegood: What You Don't Know
Luna raised herself carefully from the floor and picked up her magazine. It was a Muggle one called Popular Science, and her mother always said she got her best ideas from there. Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes, but she said, “Pansy, I'm sorry you don't know you're so lost.” Pansy didn't hear her of course, and everyone else pretended not to, but it made her feel better. She wished Harry would have helped her up instead of cursing Pansy, but it was nice of him to look so angry on her behalf. Feeling happier already, she resumed walked toward the doors of the great hall and stepped outside into the autumn sunshine.
She shouldn't have been surprised when Harry caught up with her a few minutes later. He would want to check on her; he was very chivalrous at times, though Cho had said he wasn't.
“Luna, you know people wouldn't treat you the way they do if you stood up for yourself once in awhile?” he said.
Luna looked up from the magazine. Harry looked very earnest.
“That's not true,” she said. She read a few more lines and looked up from the article again; her mother would want her to thank him. “Thank you for thinking of me though.”
“You're welcome. I guess. But you shouldn't thank me for caring about you. You're my friend.”
“Sort of,” she said, and he looked discomfited. Poor Harry. Some people were very uncomfortable with the truth. But he didn't leave the way a lot of people would have, and she thought that was very nice.
“Why do you think people won't treat you better if you stand up for yourself?”
“Well, you stood up for yourself last year, and people still treated you badly. People always want targets, you know.”
“All right, well, I suppose that's true. But don't you want...I dunno...some kind of justice or something? To get even with people like Pansy?”
“No,” she said, and went back to her magazine. Harry fell into step beside her, which meant he thought the conversation was interesting and he probably wanted her to explain her answer. Sometimes she had to remind herself what people wanted from her.
“My mother always said ugly people are their own punishment. I think she was right. And I don't like to hurt people.”
“Oh.” Harry paused for a moment, looking oddly indecisive. Finally he asked, “Do you remember her very well? Your mum, I mean.”
“Oh yes. She died when I was nine. I was lucky I got to know her for so long.”
“Lucky?” Harry looked incredulous. “She died when you were a child. She'll never get to see you graduate, or be at your wedding, or hold your children...”
“I know that.” Luna shrugged her shoulders. Other people might have thought it was rude for Harry to point out these things, but she didn't really mind. They were true, after all. Only, she thought Harry was talking about his regrets, not hers. It wouldn't have been nice to say it though.
“She taught me a lot of things before she died. I'm still learning from her now, you know.”
She had all of her mother's journals and spell books, complete with annotations written in rainbow-colored ink. She wasn't really talking about the kind of things you could learn from books though; it was more like she could think back on her mother's life and realize things from it even though her mother wasn't there. She could explain that to Harry, if he asked, but she rather hoped he wouldn't. Sometimes explaining things to other people was awfully tedious.
But she shouldn't have worried; Harry understood having things about your parents you'd rather keep private. They sat together in silence for awhile, until finally he said, “I don't get it. How you're so wise all the time, I mean. I wish I understood.”
He sounded so lost that Luna wished she could explain. It wasn't so hard, really. She watched. She listened. She admitted what she didn't know, and she was happy, even with what she didn't have. But those were things people had to figure out for themselves.
Instead, she offered Harry a pair of bright pink glasses from her bag. They were supposed to be for detecting nargles and wrackspurts, but she hadn't tested them fully yet. They did make the most lovely rainbows when you put them on though.
“Here,” she said. “These might help.”
Author/Artist: igrockspock
Recipient: swissmarg
Character(s): Horace Slughorn, Seamus Finnigan, Pansy Parkinson, Luna Lovegood
Rating: PG
Warnings (highlight to view): None
Wordcount 2700
Summary: By negotiating a contract, pulling a prank, starting a small business, and discussing justice and death, four characters demonstrate what being clever means to them.
Horace Slughorn: Knowing Your Own Worth
On the first morning of the new term, Horace unfurled his new contract, surreptitiously testing the thickness of the parchment with his fingers. He skimmed the terms and conditions, though of course he pretended to give them careful consideration. In reality, he knew he would ask for more. The question was how much more. He took stock of the delicate instruments and carved furniture that filled Dumbledore's office, the gold ring on Albus' finger. That was new. Hogwarts had resources, clearly. Of course, his primary goal was the education of today's youth, but one couldn't allow oneself to be taken advantage of...
“I want a twenty percent raise. Not a knut less.”
He would settle for fifteen percent. Education of today's youth, after all...
“Of course, Horace,” Albus said mildly. “You always have known your worth.”
He was still pondering the remark hours later, when he ought to have finished the list of preliminary invitations to the Slug Club. Clever bastard, Albus was, always convinced you he had the upper hand, even when he'd trailed you halfway across England just to ask you to work for him. Always known your own worth. Horace huffed. Just who did Albus think he was? Some callow youth hanging onto his master's words, determined to extract every syllable of meaning? Certainly not. Horace Slughorn served no master but himself.
He addressed invitations to Blaise Zabini and Ginny Weasley with a flourish of the quill given to him by Gwenogg Jones on his eighty-fourth birthday. There. The first Slug Club in the last fifteen years was complete. He surveyed the list, satisfied. Certainly no one on either side could claim that he had favored one group over another. No, he had only chosen the best and brightest of this generation, just as he always had. And who could fault him for that? And Tom, Tom would remember what he owed him. In the highly unlikely event that he prevailed, of course. Without an organization like the Slug Club, a poor orphaned boy like him might never have made the right connections...
Horace winced. Naturally, it wasn't an argument that he would ever have to use. No, he did not support the Dark Lord. Only, it was wise to have a strategy, to know what to say if the need arose.
He was the sort of person who could get along with everyone. Really, everyone.
No one could blame him for that. Surely.
When curfew came and he set out to patrol the corridors, he was still thinking of the mild, unassuming look Albus had given him today. Always known his own worth. As if it were a bad thing. He pondered it until he heard something that sounded suspiciously like an explosion one floor below. Then he forgot about Albus and wished he had demanded a twenty-five percent raise.
Seamus Finnigan: Our Choices Define Us
Seamus Finnigan darted into the third floor boys toilet, thinking of his sorting. The door creaked, and Seamus jumped, but he did not drop the small package concealed in his right hand. There was still no sign of teachers or Mrs. Norris, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The plan was safe; tonight, he would show Hogwarts that Fred and George Weasley weren't the only ones who could pull a prank. And to think, he'd almost been a Ravenclaw...
Clever, this one is, the Sorting Hat had muttered in his head.
Gryffindor, he had thought back with all his might. Where dwell the brave...
The hat had made no response. The silence stretched. He pictured knights slaying dragons, roaring lions, dive bombing Quidditch players, death-defying duels with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and young girls with improbably large breasts waiting for him after each daring feat (though he tried to suppress that last part, he really did).
Very well, the hat sighed at length. It is our choices that define us...
“Gryffindor!” it shouted out loud. Beneath the brim of the hat, Seamus had watched a table full of red and gold burst into applause.
That night, he had vowed he would spend the rest of his Hogwarts career proving he really did belong with them. That was why he was here, sneaking through the corridors at three in the morning to the boys loo. He'd get a howler from his mam for sure, not just for the abysmal marks he'd get on McGonagall's quiz tomorrow, but for the prank he was about to pull. The truth was, the thought of flunking the quiz bothered him; he had a secret stash of his best papers at the bottom of his trunk, though naturally he told his roommates they were pornography enchanted to look like old exams. Pornography so magical it would reveal itself only to the eyes of its true owner, he said, which was why the others could only see a long list of test questions. Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom believed him. Dean Thomas did not. Harry Potter claimed not to be interested in pornography but nevertheless stared whenever Seamus reached into the bottom of his trunk.
But all of that was beside the point. After tonight, pornography or no pornography, his name would live in fame or infamy - he wasn't sure what the difference was - for all Hogwarts history. Or at least the next month, when everyone would forget and he'd need a new prank to pull. But he could do that. Seamus Finnigan was dead clever. He just didn't show it often.
He dropped a small pellet into the nearest toilet. The water bubbled, which it wasn't technically supposed to do. He ignored it and began muttering the time delay incantation. Whoever used this toilet in the morning was in for a big surprise...
Now the water wasn't just bubbling; it was hissing and giving off steam. That really wasn't supposed to happen. Seamus adjusted his robes and knelt before the toilet, lowering his face close to the bowl. Just a little adjustment, he thought, an inventor like him certainly could manage that...
The explosion knocked him to the floor.
Pansy Parkinson: A Profit from Every Situation
Pansy Parkinson knew two things for certain: Professor Slughorn would be too lazy to patrol the astronomy tower, and Professor Sinistra's notes were worth a lot of money. Pansy didn't need to cheat on her exams of course; she was clever enough to pass them on her own. Daddy's shop had fallen on hard times though, and it couldn't hurt to have a private cash flow. She stood under the trap door that led to the astronomy tower and the golden ladder fell obligingly down, just as it did for everyone else who stood underneath it. She wondered if there was any money to be made telling Dumbledore how many people lost their virginity up here but dismissed the idea almost immediately. Now that Umbridge was gone, there weren't many opportunities for paid informants. On the other hand, if she set up some kind of surveillance system, she might be able to charge a small protection fee to the people who used the tower most frequently. A galleon or two to keep the information from teachers and jealous girlfriends, perhaps...
Calculating her potential profits, she scampered up the ladder and seized a thick sheaf of parchment that Sinistra had left behind at the end of class that night. She could have taken it then, but that would have been an amateur's mistake. Of course, she could have sold them, but Sinistra would have noticed they were missing and altered the examinations accordingly. Then everyone would have failed the test and wanted their money back - not that Pansy would have returned it - and no one would have bought notes from her again.
No, even with the small risk of being caught by patrolling teachers, this was the far better business decision. Pansy settled into a window seat and began copying Sinistra's notes.
At 2:45 a.m., a small flock of cheeping bluebirds flew across the face of Pansy's watch, alerting her that it was time to return to the dorms. She hadn't copied everything, but she thought she had the most important bits, and she calculated that now was the ideal moment for her departure - Slughorn, who had complained ostentatiously about his patrol duties in class today, would surely have returned to bed by now, but it was still too early for even the earliest risers to be awake.
She was halfway to the dungeons when she saw Seamus Finnigan duck into a boys toilet on the third floor. She doubted he was up to anything interesting - he wasn't clever enough for that - but she hid behind a suit of armor anyway and waited for him to emerge. If she had learned anything from her time on the Inquisitorial Squad, it was the value of information.
A small explosion shook the wall behind her, and water gushed from lavatory's half-open door. She counted to ten, listening for more explosions, and when there were none, she peered inside. Strange, watery creatures poured from a shattered toilet bowl. They swirled and undulated in waves, changing from winged horses to narwhals to unicorns. She watched, mesmerized, as they charged toward her, wondering if Finnigan wasn't such an idiot after all. Maybe he'd be willing to go into business with her...
But she could hear footsteps coming down the corridor and she flung herself in front of the creatures, who knocked her down and filled her nose and mouth with water. Slughorn knelt on the ground beside her, and she sat up slowly, coughing dramatically into her hand.
“Professor,” she gasped, “I'm so sorry. I just went up to the astronomy tower to study. I know it's against the rules but...” She coughed some more and made sure the silver necklace with the elaborate P on the front slipped out the top of her robes.
“Pansy Parkinson, I presume? Of Parkinson's Antiquaries in Diagon Alley?”
Slughorn's eyes gleamed greedily in the light. Pansy nodded, still coughing into her hand.
“Heard a noise, did you? And came to investigate?”
She nodded.
“I was worried that someone would be hurt.”
“Of course, of course. Twenty points to Slytherin for your altruism.” He eyed Seamus with distaste. “And fifty from Gryffindor for his idiocy.”
In the morning, Pansy stood proudly before the hourglass. Twenty-four hours into the term, and Slytherin was already winning. Of course, she wasted no time telling everyone it was because of her.
Then, when Loony Lovegood appeared around the corridor with her face buried in a magazine, Pansy stuck out her foot and tripped her. It wasn't very original, but it served its desired purpose. Loony lay on the floor and did nothing, as usual, but Harry Potter flung a curse down the corridor just as Professor Snape appeared.
“Twenty points from Gryffindor,” he snapped, barely bothering to look in Harry's direction. “Potter, in my office, five o'clock this evening.”
Draco Malfoy gave her a high five that Snape pretended not to notice. Harry Potter sneered. Pansy smiled. She might not be rich, but she was in with the right people. Social standing was currency too, her mother always said.
Luna Lovegood: What You Don't Know
Luna raised herself carefully from the floor and picked up her magazine. It was a Muggle one called Popular Science, and her mother always said she got her best ideas from there. Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes, but she said, “Pansy, I'm sorry you don't know you're so lost.” Pansy didn't hear her of course, and everyone else pretended not to, but it made her feel better. She wished Harry would have helped her up instead of cursing Pansy, but it was nice of him to look so angry on her behalf. Feeling happier already, she resumed walked toward the doors of the great hall and stepped outside into the autumn sunshine.
She shouldn't have been surprised when Harry caught up with her a few minutes later. He would want to check on her; he was very chivalrous at times, though Cho had said he wasn't.
“Luna, you know people wouldn't treat you the way they do if you stood up for yourself once in awhile?” he said.
Luna looked up from the magazine. Harry looked very earnest.
“That's not true,” she said. She read a few more lines and looked up from the article again; her mother would want her to thank him. “Thank you for thinking of me though.”
“You're welcome. I guess. But you shouldn't thank me for caring about you. You're my friend.”
“Sort of,” she said, and he looked discomfited. Poor Harry. Some people were very uncomfortable with the truth. But he didn't leave the way a lot of people would have, and she thought that was very nice.
“Why do you think people won't treat you better if you stand up for yourself?”
“Well, you stood up for yourself last year, and people still treated you badly. People always want targets, you know.”
“All right, well, I suppose that's true. But don't you want...I dunno...some kind of justice or something? To get even with people like Pansy?”
“No,” she said, and went back to her magazine. Harry fell into step beside her, which meant he thought the conversation was interesting and he probably wanted her to explain her answer. Sometimes she had to remind herself what people wanted from her.
“My mother always said ugly people are their own punishment. I think she was right. And I don't like to hurt people.”
“Oh.” Harry paused for a moment, looking oddly indecisive. Finally he asked, “Do you remember her very well? Your mum, I mean.”
“Oh yes. She died when I was nine. I was lucky I got to know her for so long.”
“Lucky?” Harry looked incredulous. “She died when you were a child. She'll never get to see you graduate, or be at your wedding, or hold your children...”
“I know that.” Luna shrugged her shoulders. Other people might have thought it was rude for Harry to point out these things, but she didn't really mind. They were true, after all. Only, she thought Harry was talking about his regrets, not hers. It wouldn't have been nice to say it though.
“She taught me a lot of things before she died. I'm still learning from her now, you know.”
She had all of her mother's journals and spell books, complete with annotations written in rainbow-colored ink. She wasn't really talking about the kind of things you could learn from books though; it was more like she could think back on her mother's life and realize things from it even though her mother wasn't there. She could explain that to Harry, if he asked, but she rather hoped he wouldn't. Sometimes explaining things to other people was awfully tedious.
But she shouldn't have worried; Harry understood having things about your parents you'd rather keep private. They sat together in silence for awhile, until finally he said, “I don't get it. How you're so wise all the time, I mean. I wish I understood.”
He sounded so lost that Luna wished she could explain. It wasn't so hard, really. She watched. She listened. She admitted what she didn't know, and she was happy, even with what she didn't have. But those were things people had to figure out for themselves.
Instead, she offered Harry a pair of bright pink glasses from her bag. They were supposed to be for detecting nargles and wrackspurts, but she hadn't tested them fully yet. They did make the most lovely rainbows when you put them on though.
“Here,” she said. “These might help.”