Love Is a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, Chapter One
I'm enjoying my new icon, based on Michael Chabon's Gentlemen of the Road. I just finished reading it, that's why I had to monkey around in Photoshop to make that. That, and Photoshop is the most effective procrastination tool known to man.
So, before I get to the first chapter of my fanfic, just wanted to say yay for the university providing us a big black hole to put our files in, from which we can retrieve them if we ever remember they're there. I just unearthed 25k of a story I thought was lost. Holy sparkplugs!
Now on to the fanfic.
LOVEGOOD AND SCAMANDER - A PERFECT MATCH
by Rita Skeeter
Last Saturday, two families well-known for producing weirdoes gathered together to witness the marriage of two of their current most famous members: Rolf Scamander, grandson of the late Newt Scamander, and Luna Lovegood, daughter of Xenophilius Lovegood, editor of The Quibbler. The groom was dressed suitably in dark green dress robes, but the bride wore bright yellow, insisting that the hideous colour warded off such demonstrably non-existent creatures as wrackspurts. At any rate, hardly a thing for an eminent magizoologist to be sporting at her own wedding.
And this reporter has also turned up evidence that not all of the new Mrs Scamander’s alleged discoveries may be legitimate. She has always had a reputation for gullibility when it comes to her profession; even at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, from which she graduated nearly a decade ago, she was notorious for insisting on all kinds of far-out theories, which earned her the nickname “Loony.” Said one former classmate, when asked whether she remembered the now-famous naturalist, “Oh, everybody remembers Loony Lovegood. How could you not? I mean, for starters, normal people don’t go round wearing necklaces made of rubbish and root vegetable earrings. And then there were all her crackpot ideas, though to be fair she probably got a lot of them from that father of hers, he’s just as nutty as she is if you ask me...”
All this naturally brings to mind questions about her discovery of two new varieties of garden gnomes, her work with the Abraxas flying horses of Norway, and her classification of the Chinthe, the previously undiscovered feline creature which she found in the heart of the Burmese mountains. These might well be perfectly legitimate finds, but with a record like hers, one must have serious reservations at the very least. We can only hope that this marriage to her more respectable colleague does not spell the end for the reality-based magizoology we have come to expect.
“Here,” Rolf said gently, prying the newspaper from his wife’s hands. “You don’t need to read this.”
For the past few minutes, she had been staring at the Prophet without really seeing it. Now she looked towards her husband of three days with a slightly bemused expression. “I suppose I’m supposed to be upset by this. Well, I’m not, dear. Rita Skeeter’s got no more truth in her than some of the stuff I used to think.”
“You’ve changed so much?” he asked, smirking as he toyed with one of the bright orange dirigible plums that she still wore on occasion. She shrugged him off with an impatient shove of the hand.
“Please don’t, Rolf. I’m not in the mood.”
She had been affected by the article more than she was letting on, he could tell. But he could also tell that it would do no good to pursue the subject. If she wanted to discuss it, she would, but on her own terms. Instead, he picked up an envelope his owl Gulliver had brought soon after the Prophet had arrived.
“See, here’s something a bit more cheerful,” he told Luna, who was still refusing to look at him. “A letter. Want to guess who it’s from?”
“Why don’t you just say?”
Rolf pulled back in surprise. She must really be upset- she never acted like this. However, the letter he now held was one thing guaranteed to improve her spirits. “It’s from Harry and Ginny,” he announced with some satisfaction. Her face brightened immediately, and she turned towards him.
“Oh? What have they got to say?”
“You can read for yourself,” he said, holding out the envelope like a peace offering, but she shook her head.
“No, read it aloud. It’s got both our names on,” she added with a hint of pride that made Rolf smile as he obeyed. The scroll was tightly curled and it took some struggle to get it to lie flat, but at last he had it pinned beneath an inkwell at one end and the pogrebin skull he’d brought back from his last trip to Siberia. Clearing his throat, he began to read:
“Dear Luna and Rolf,
Congratulations on your marriage! We’re so sorry we couldn’t make it to the wedding, but I simply couldn’t get away due to the crisis about Dolohov, maybe you’ve heard something about it? Anyway, thanks all the same for the invitation, it was quite unique. Young James liked it more than the two of us put together, I think. By the way, he’s growing a bit every day, or it seems like it; he’s crawling now, and any day he’s going to start talking. Ginny insists his first word is going to be “no” but I said it couldn’t be, though apparently it was Dudley’s first- maybe these things run in families? I hope not.
He’s already so much trouble, and this before he can even walk. Yesterday, for example, he got into our potions cabinet and managed to make himself come out in boils. We had quite a time getting rid of them, too. He’s going to grow up to be better at potions than either of us, mark my words. Or so I keep telling Ginny. It might just be wishful thinking though, it’d be nice if he could have an easier time at the subject than I did.
I hope you enjoy the Honeydukes chocolates and the book on thestrals- with any luck you won’t have already read it. I couldn’t think what else to get you, it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other. You should come down to London sometime for a visit, I know Ginny would be thrilled to have you over for dinner. Don’t tell her I wrote this, but she’s getting more like her mother every day. Anyway, congratulations again on your marriage. Hope to see you soon,
Harry.
P.S.- Just got today’s Prophet. Don’t let Skeeter get you down, but maybe now would be a good time to take a holiday.”
As he straightened up, Rolf said, “I’ve been thinking the same thing. What would you say to a trip to the continent?”
“Well,” she answered slowly, “where do you have in mind?”
“I’ve always fancied doing a study of griffins, but the Greek chaps have studied them to death, there’s nothing left to discover about them...”
“Isn’t there a colony somewhere in Bulgaria?”
“Why, yes, I recall hearing something about it. That’s an idea. How does that sound to you?”
“Quite all right, except could we go to Croatia at some point? Dad’s always said Croatia has the most beautiful lakes in the world.”
“Of course. We might as well make it into a honeymoon proper, I mean, while we’re at it. This doesn’t have to be nothing but work.”
“Is there a Quidditch game on?”
“Why, do you want to- oh.” Rolf gave a weak chuckle, smiling sheepishly. “You know me too well, dear. I have no idea if there’s a game, but if there is... well, I hope you’ll tolerate it for my sake.”
Luna just smiled and said, “We ought to be packing... I can’t wait to get started.”
He couldn’t help smiling back. “Me neither. It ought to be quite the adventure.”
So, before I get to the first chapter of my fanfic, just wanted to say yay for the university providing us a big black hole to put our files in, from which we can retrieve them if we ever remember they're there. I just unearthed 25k of a story I thought was lost. Holy sparkplugs!
Now on to the fanfic.
LOVEGOOD AND SCAMANDER - A PERFECT MATCH
by Rita Skeeter
Last Saturday, two families well-known for producing weirdoes gathered together to witness the marriage of two of their current most famous members: Rolf Scamander, grandson of the late Newt Scamander, and Luna Lovegood, daughter of Xenophilius Lovegood, editor of The Quibbler. The groom was dressed suitably in dark green dress robes, but the bride wore bright yellow, insisting that the hideous colour warded off such demonstrably non-existent creatures as wrackspurts. At any rate, hardly a thing for an eminent magizoologist to be sporting at her own wedding.
And this reporter has also turned up evidence that not all of the new Mrs Scamander’s alleged discoveries may be legitimate. She has always had a reputation for gullibility when it comes to her profession; even at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, from which she graduated nearly a decade ago, she was notorious for insisting on all kinds of far-out theories, which earned her the nickname “Loony.” Said one former classmate, when asked whether she remembered the now-famous naturalist, “Oh, everybody remembers Loony Lovegood. How could you not? I mean, for starters, normal people don’t go round wearing necklaces made of rubbish and root vegetable earrings. And then there were all her crackpot ideas, though to be fair she probably got a lot of them from that father of hers, he’s just as nutty as she is if you ask me...”
All this naturally brings to mind questions about her discovery of two new varieties of garden gnomes, her work with the Abraxas flying horses of Norway, and her classification of the Chinthe, the previously undiscovered feline creature which she found in the heart of the Burmese mountains. These might well be perfectly legitimate finds, but with a record like hers, one must have serious reservations at the very least. We can only hope that this marriage to her more respectable colleague does not spell the end for the reality-based magizoology we have come to expect.
“Here,” Rolf said gently, prying the newspaper from his wife’s hands. “You don’t need to read this.”
For the past few minutes, she had been staring at the Prophet without really seeing it. Now she looked towards her husband of three days with a slightly bemused expression. “I suppose I’m supposed to be upset by this. Well, I’m not, dear. Rita Skeeter’s got no more truth in her than some of the stuff I used to think.”
“You’ve changed so much?” he asked, smirking as he toyed with one of the bright orange dirigible plums that she still wore on occasion. She shrugged him off with an impatient shove of the hand.
“Please don’t, Rolf. I’m not in the mood.”
She had been affected by the article more than she was letting on, he could tell. But he could also tell that it would do no good to pursue the subject. If she wanted to discuss it, she would, but on her own terms. Instead, he picked up an envelope his owl Gulliver had brought soon after the Prophet had arrived.
“See, here’s something a bit more cheerful,” he told Luna, who was still refusing to look at him. “A letter. Want to guess who it’s from?”
“Why don’t you just say?”
Rolf pulled back in surprise. She must really be upset- she never acted like this. However, the letter he now held was one thing guaranteed to improve her spirits. “It’s from Harry and Ginny,” he announced with some satisfaction. Her face brightened immediately, and she turned towards him.
“Oh? What have they got to say?”
“You can read for yourself,” he said, holding out the envelope like a peace offering, but she shook her head.
“No, read it aloud. It’s got both our names on,” she added with a hint of pride that made Rolf smile as he obeyed. The scroll was tightly curled and it took some struggle to get it to lie flat, but at last he had it pinned beneath an inkwell at one end and the pogrebin skull he’d brought back from his last trip to Siberia. Clearing his throat, he began to read:
“Dear Luna and Rolf,
Congratulations on your marriage! We’re so sorry we couldn’t make it to the wedding, but I simply couldn’t get away due to the crisis about Dolohov, maybe you’ve heard something about it? Anyway, thanks all the same for the invitation, it was quite unique. Young James liked it more than the two of us put together, I think. By the way, he’s growing a bit every day, or it seems like it; he’s crawling now, and any day he’s going to start talking. Ginny insists his first word is going to be “no” but I said it couldn’t be, though apparently it was Dudley’s first- maybe these things run in families? I hope not.
He’s already so much trouble, and this before he can even walk. Yesterday, for example, he got into our potions cabinet and managed to make himself come out in boils. We had quite a time getting rid of them, too. He’s going to grow up to be better at potions than either of us, mark my words. Or so I keep telling Ginny. It might just be wishful thinking though, it’d be nice if he could have an easier time at the subject than I did.
I hope you enjoy the Honeydukes chocolates and the book on thestrals- with any luck you won’t have already read it. I couldn’t think what else to get you, it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other. You should come down to London sometime for a visit, I know Ginny would be thrilled to have you over for dinner. Don’t tell her I wrote this, but she’s getting more like her mother every day. Anyway, congratulations again on your marriage. Hope to see you soon,
Harry.
P.S.- Just got today’s Prophet. Don’t let Skeeter get you down, but maybe now would be a good time to take a holiday.”
As he straightened up, Rolf said, “I’ve been thinking the same thing. What would you say to a trip to the continent?”
“Well,” she answered slowly, “where do you have in mind?”
“I’ve always fancied doing a study of griffins, but the Greek chaps have studied them to death, there’s nothing left to discover about them...”
“Isn’t there a colony somewhere in Bulgaria?”
“Why, yes, I recall hearing something about it. That’s an idea. How does that sound to you?”
“Quite all right, except could we go to Croatia at some point? Dad’s always said Croatia has the most beautiful lakes in the world.”
“Of course. We might as well make it into a honeymoon proper, I mean, while we’re at it. This doesn’t have to be nothing but work.”
“Is there a Quidditch game on?”
“Why, do you want to- oh.” Rolf gave a weak chuckle, smiling sheepishly. “You know me too well, dear. I have no idea if there’s a game, but if there is... well, I hope you’ll tolerate it for my sake.”
Luna just smiled and said, “We ought to be packing... I can’t wait to get started.”
He couldn’t help smiling back. “Me neither. It ought to be quite the adventure.”