A Short (for that read 'pointless') Harry Potter fic
No idea where this came from. I started off writing a Matrix fic about Smith's transition from ordinary agent to psycho-multiplying-force-of-chaos agent, and somehow ended up with a humour fic about Hogwarts. saying that, the idea has been at the back of my mind for a while, having listened to my mum talk about her work as a teacher, and comparing that non-glamourous view to that in the HP books / films. This is maybe a little sarcastic about some of the types of fan fic that turn up in the HP verse (far as I've read) but it's just me being silly and having fun. It's on FF.Net somewhere, but shall post it here too.
Behind Closed Doors
Or What Happens At Hogwarts During Summer Holidays
Professor McGonagall curled up on a cushion on a wicker chair, hoping to catch a few hours sleep in feline form. That way, hopefully, she might go unnoticed for a while, if anyone were to poke their head around her office door. Warm summer sunshine beamed in through the windows and Hogwarts lay in a restful silence now that the students had gone home, but the Professor knew that the hardest part of the year had only just begun.
Never mind oversized lizards coming at you out of a lavatory, or homicidal chesspieces in the school’s hidden chambers, or Dementors or escaped convicts or proposals for inter-school tournaments in the next term. McGonagall faced a gargantuan workload before the would-be wizards and witches returned, something that no one ever bothered about or appreciated. Yet it had to be done.
For one thing, there was the question of the incoming first years. Some were specially selected, those Dumbledore had watched and picked out as potentially great, but filling the other places was a more difficult task. On her desk sat a stack of letters, applications from eager parents. Even as a cat, McGonagall managed to sneer as she thought of some of the best ones;
‘Please accept little Gorgonza Windbreaker into your school. She has been studying at the Loma Linda Magical Academy (LLAMA) but is very keen to transfer, as she is not getting on at all well here in the States. She is very interested in studying in England, to be in the old buildings and with the best teachers and students. She is a very confident and well-spoken girl, who is not afraid to speak her mind, and she will not take no BS from nobody…’ (At that point the letter became a ball of scrunched paper and landed neatly in the wastepaper basket.)
‘It would be in the school’s best interests to accept Lyricalia Tallsprigget into your school, as she has already learned all the spells and potions to OWL level, without really trying of course, as she has to have time for her social life and keen interest in modern music - she particularly likes Evanescence and Avril Lavigne - and I believe with the current climate and with You-Know-Who on the loose, then she may well be the very thing Hogwarts needs. Her superb and extra-special powers may be all that stand between the school and devastation, and her singing voice can charm snakes. Yours truly.’
‘Dear Professor Dumbledoor (at this, McGonagall had sighed heavily) I am writing to apply for a place in the next academic year for Miss Violet Lovebeagle. She is very tall, with flowing raven black hair, eyes that are violet like her name, and skin that is as lustrous as alabaster. She would be a very good edition (this time a sigh and a shake of the head) to your school. She is a very shy girl and has no friends, but I think she would make pals pretty easily at Hogwarts, once she gets to know all your famous students. I’m sure they will love her instantly, just as we do. Please give her a chance to show her hidden talents in a progressive learning environment dedicated to magical study. Yours, Dennis Lovebeagle (Mrs). PS, please pay no attention to the reports from her primary school teacher. That woman was a cow and had a grudge against Violet because she was beautiful. And anyway, Violet is not ‘immensely dense’. She has grade 2 guitar.’
And those were the best ones. Streams of children applied, most of them girls (although the occasional boy who thought himself the most powerful being in existence, with a magical bass guitar instead of a broomstick). And most of them claiming to either be related to one of the teachers, one of the ex-students, or occasionally to You-Know-Who himself. Though admittedly McGonagall was starting to wonder if that might not be the truth in some cases, though what the Dark Lord had mated with to produce such creatures was beyond her imagining.
And, as she politely wrote back to tell them that the school already had a saviour, and that quality alone would not gain them a place in what was the most sought after wizarding academy in Europe, the Professor could not help but think it was all Potter’s fault. His fame had brought them from every corner of the globe; all dribbling girls panting to catch a glimpse of him, all hoping that they would be the one to finally catch his attention, so that they could stand by his side and face the darkness. Apart from the occasional weird one who had somehow heard of Draco Malfoy…but that was just plain odd. The boy was, after all, an unattractive git with the personality of a foot fungus.
And then when the hoards of potentials had been sorted through and some sane ones picked out, the letters ready for the owls to deliver when the time was right, McGonagall’s desk would fill up with even more paperwork. No one ever bothered about the paperwork. No one ever said, ‘Minerva, the new form you made up for ordering potion supplies makes bulk purchasing so much easier.’ None of the students would even know there was such a form. The potions simply appear, like magic, she thought with a dry laugh. And none of those gloating parents writing in ever wanted their offspring to come to Hogwarts because its pass rate for OWLs had risen by 5% since the introduction of the league tables. No, they wanted to come because Harry Potter was at Hogwarts.
Then there were the seventeen letters from Lucius Malfoy, demanding to know why Draco’s report card was not entirely glowing, or making ‘just a few suggestions’ as to the curriculum, since Draco didn’t feel he was learning much of practical use. She had tried throwing them in the bin too, only three of them had managed to crawl back out and onto the desk once she left the room. She had meant to have the charm lifted from them, but since they were now pinned beneath a pile of provisional timetables that required checking, she imagined they could wait for a while.
Someone knocked at the door, but McGonagall stayed curled on the seat, one eye open to watch the intruder as he came into the room. Severus Snape glanced about, saw the cat, and gave a little look that was halfway between sneering and wary, before he laid another large wad of paper on top of the pile.
‘Letter from the EIS,’ he said curtly. ‘There’s going to be a meeting in Edinburgh on the 6th.’ With that he stalked off, though McGonagall knew he was secretly thinking something about the union and how they would take to his being ‘passed over for promotion again’. She wondered if he’d claim racial or sexual discrimination.
All around her, meanwhile, the paperwork lay, awaiting attention and approval before it could be moved, and could then sit on Dumbledore’s desk for another couple of weeks. McGonagall stretched and sat up, yawning, her gaze fixed on the blue sky beyond the window.
‘Enjoy the holidays,’ she thought dryly, before deciding it was time to get back to work. If nothing else, she really had to sort out the memory charms before the Offsted inspection next month.
Apparently having oversized lizards in the lavatories would cost them several points on safety, to name but one…
Comments appreciated :)
Behind Closed Doors
Or What Happens At Hogwarts During Summer Holidays
Professor McGonagall curled up on a cushion on a wicker chair, hoping to catch a few hours sleep in feline form. That way, hopefully, she might go unnoticed for a while, if anyone were to poke their head around her office door. Warm summer sunshine beamed in through the windows and Hogwarts lay in a restful silence now that the students had gone home, but the Professor knew that the hardest part of the year had only just begun.
Never mind oversized lizards coming at you out of a lavatory, or homicidal chesspieces in the school’s hidden chambers, or Dementors or escaped convicts or proposals for inter-school tournaments in the next term. McGonagall faced a gargantuan workload before the would-be wizards and witches returned, something that no one ever bothered about or appreciated. Yet it had to be done.
For one thing, there was the question of the incoming first years. Some were specially selected, those Dumbledore had watched and picked out as potentially great, but filling the other places was a more difficult task. On her desk sat a stack of letters, applications from eager parents. Even as a cat, McGonagall managed to sneer as she thought of some of the best ones;
‘Please accept little Gorgonza Windbreaker into your school. She has been studying at the Loma Linda Magical Academy (LLAMA) but is very keen to transfer, as she is not getting on at all well here in the States. She is very interested in studying in England, to be in the old buildings and with the best teachers and students. She is a very confident and well-spoken girl, who is not afraid to speak her mind, and she will not take no BS from nobody…’ (At that point the letter became a ball of scrunched paper and landed neatly in the wastepaper basket.)
‘It would be in the school’s best interests to accept Lyricalia Tallsprigget into your school, as she has already learned all the spells and potions to OWL level, without really trying of course, as she has to have time for her social life and keen interest in modern music - she particularly likes Evanescence and Avril Lavigne - and I believe with the current climate and with You-Know-Who on the loose, then she may well be the very thing Hogwarts needs. Her superb and extra-special powers may be all that stand between the school and devastation, and her singing voice can charm snakes. Yours truly.’
‘Dear Professor Dumbledoor (at this, McGonagall had sighed heavily) I am writing to apply for a place in the next academic year for Miss Violet Lovebeagle. She is very tall, with flowing raven black hair, eyes that are violet like her name, and skin that is as lustrous as alabaster. She would be a very good edition (this time a sigh and a shake of the head) to your school. She is a very shy girl and has no friends, but I think she would make pals pretty easily at Hogwarts, once she gets to know all your famous students. I’m sure they will love her instantly, just as we do. Please give her a chance to show her hidden talents in a progressive learning environment dedicated to magical study. Yours, Dennis Lovebeagle (Mrs). PS, please pay no attention to the reports from her primary school teacher. That woman was a cow and had a grudge against Violet because she was beautiful. And anyway, Violet is not ‘immensely dense’. She has grade 2 guitar.’
And those were the best ones. Streams of children applied, most of them girls (although the occasional boy who thought himself the most powerful being in existence, with a magical bass guitar instead of a broomstick). And most of them claiming to either be related to one of the teachers, one of the ex-students, or occasionally to You-Know-Who himself. Though admittedly McGonagall was starting to wonder if that might not be the truth in some cases, though what the Dark Lord had mated with to produce such creatures was beyond her imagining.
And, as she politely wrote back to tell them that the school already had a saviour, and that quality alone would not gain them a place in what was the most sought after wizarding academy in Europe, the Professor could not help but think it was all Potter’s fault. His fame had brought them from every corner of the globe; all dribbling girls panting to catch a glimpse of him, all hoping that they would be the one to finally catch his attention, so that they could stand by his side and face the darkness. Apart from the occasional weird one who had somehow heard of Draco Malfoy…but that was just plain odd. The boy was, after all, an unattractive git with the personality of a foot fungus.
And then when the hoards of potentials had been sorted through and some sane ones picked out, the letters ready for the owls to deliver when the time was right, McGonagall’s desk would fill up with even more paperwork. No one ever bothered about the paperwork. No one ever said, ‘Minerva, the new form you made up for ordering potion supplies makes bulk purchasing so much easier.’ None of the students would even know there was such a form. The potions simply appear, like magic, she thought with a dry laugh. And none of those gloating parents writing in ever wanted their offspring to come to Hogwarts because its pass rate for OWLs had risen by 5% since the introduction of the league tables. No, they wanted to come because Harry Potter was at Hogwarts.
Then there were the seventeen letters from Lucius Malfoy, demanding to know why Draco’s report card was not entirely glowing, or making ‘just a few suggestions’ as to the curriculum, since Draco didn’t feel he was learning much of practical use. She had tried throwing them in the bin too, only three of them had managed to crawl back out and onto the desk once she left the room. She had meant to have the charm lifted from them, but since they were now pinned beneath a pile of provisional timetables that required checking, she imagined they could wait for a while.
Someone knocked at the door, but McGonagall stayed curled on the seat, one eye open to watch the intruder as he came into the room. Severus Snape glanced about, saw the cat, and gave a little look that was halfway between sneering and wary, before he laid another large wad of paper on top of the pile.
‘Letter from the EIS,’ he said curtly. ‘There’s going to be a meeting in Edinburgh on the 6th.’ With that he stalked off, though McGonagall knew he was secretly thinking something about the union and how they would take to his being ‘passed over for promotion again’. She wondered if he’d claim racial or sexual discrimination.
All around her, meanwhile, the paperwork lay, awaiting attention and approval before it could be moved, and could then sit on Dumbledore’s desk for another couple of weeks. McGonagall stretched and sat up, yawning, her gaze fixed on the blue sky beyond the window.
‘Enjoy the holidays,’ she thought dryly, before deciding it was time to get back to work. If nothing else, she really had to sort out the memory charms before the Offsted inspection next month.
Apparently having oversized lizards in the lavatories would cost them several points on safety, to name but one…
Comments appreciated :)