Breakfast at Hogwarts
So I might write this RPG fic thing, based on a number of different Hogwarts-centered games. Maybe. Or else I'll leave it at this single two pages--a solitary breakfast scene comprised of familiar characters and The Mormon's cameo. (For those of you who don't know, he has this character he invented named Simon Runaway, who is basically him, with a handlebar moustache.) Enjoy.
When the Prophet arrived, Carrington spread it out between herself and Candace as usual, slipping the owl its payment and a bit of toast. Aloysius straightened himself up, ruffling his feathers as though to show this intruder that blue owls were far superior to plain old field mouse-brown ones. The stranger flew off without noticing, and Aloysius leaned back over to commence nibbling Carrington’s pumpkin tart.
“Any good headlines today?” O’Neill said. He and Raegan, having apparently been unable to salvage Raegan’s Exploding Snap game from yesterday’s incident with the giant squid, were now in the early stages of Wizard’s Chess.
“Nothing really-which, I suppose, is good news,” Candace said, still bent over the paper.
“Mm…he’s good-looking,” Carrington said, pointing at a moving photograph in the paper and grinning at Candace. Both girls giggled.
“Let me see!” Raegan looked up from the game, where her pawn was currently jumping gleefully up and down on the head of O’Neill’s remaining bishop, and leaned over Candace. There was a brief pause. “That one?”
“Yes, that one,” Carrington said.
“What the bloody hell does he have on his mouth? What is that, face fungus?”
“It’s called a moustache,” Candace said. The man in the picture did, in fact, have a large, black handlebar moustache.
“Whatever. Face fungus, that’s what it looks like to me.”
O’Neill rolled his eyes. “Do you girls even read the news, or do you just peruse the headshots like it’s Teen Witch or something? Carrington, how does James expect you to make it the next three years without him? If you’re not attempting to come on to your Astronomy teacher, you’re making eyes at everything else male.”
“I’m just deprived.”
“James knows he doesn’t have to worry. Carrie’s as loyal as you get without being a ‘Puff,” Candace said.
“Thanks, Candy. Besides, James told me he’d help me win Sly over so Darnley won’t get him. He thinks it’s all a laugh.”
“James is one secure bloke-not that Sly will ever catch on to your maneuvers, anyway,” O’Neill said. Then, as the long form that was Tristan sat elegantly down next to him, “Morning, DuLac. Poor food over at the Snake table? Or poor company?”
“Both equally dismal, but paling in comparison to your poor chess-playing skills.” Tristan smiled. “Good morning, ladies. Anything interesting in the Prophet?” His own he set momentarily aside as he reached for the scones.
“Besides Face Fungus? Not really,” Raegan said.
“Besides what?” Tristan stared at Raegan as though she were diseased. It was his common reaction to Raegan, and Carrie and Candy giggled again.
“Some moustache that Carrie’s fancying replacing James with,” Raegan said. Her bishop pulverized O’Neill’s queen.
Tristan looked amused. “And what did this ‘Face Fungus’ do to get himself in the paper, then?”
Candace, who had been watching the game, leaned back over the paper. “I didn’t even look; did you, Carrie?”
Carrington, who had been wolfing down a cranberry-orange scone, turned back to the Face Fungus page. She swallowed. “More like, what did he do to get himself in Azkaban? Because that’s why he’s in the paper.” She slid it over to the center of the group.
“Two years for selling illegal potions in Knockturn Alley,” Candace said. “Wow.”
“I wouldn’t mind meeting him in a dark alley,” Carrington said, and they both started giggling again.
“I know this fellow,” Tristan said, staring at the paper. “Simon something-or-other.”
Carrington nodded. “That’s him; how do you know him?”
“Well, I don’t technically know him, but he was a Slytherin, about five or six years ahead of us. I remember the moustache.”
“Good God, he’s always had that thing?” Raegan said. Her knight ate O’Neill’s last pawn.
“I’m always telling you Slytherins are a bunch of lunatics,” O’Neill said. He grabbed Raegan’s knight and ate it, thus ending the game.
Raegan snatched the paper and drew handlebar moustaches on all the moving photographs.