The Game - Round 1 - Creatures and Plants Options

[Department_of_My...]

Welcome to the first round of The Game -

Creatures and Plants

Stoats – The first one of you to solve the riddle below wins a $20 gift card from Whimsic Alley!

Ferrets – Solve the riddle below to receive your writing mission for this round.

Ferret Prizes for this round are Norbert and the Lightwedge. First Place winner gets first choice.


Riddle Solving and Writing are open from June 4th – 13th, voting will be from the 13th until the 17th.




Think you know the answer?
Then send a PM to Department_of_Mysteries
If you answer wrong, you may try again.
Good Luck!

(Please keep out of that corridor on the fourth floor!)

[chad13]

When Alohamora's Not Enough

It had been a right wonderful idea, (one of the few right wonderful ideas the pair had ever received from their mother), and it felt quite satisfactory for a welcome back prank.

“Blow up a toilet!” Fred laughed.

“It’s genius!” George replied.

“Once it’s done we really should send mum that ‘we got here safely’ owl and thank her.”

“She really knows what she’s doing.”

“Mum’s just an untapped talent, that’s all,” Fred grinned at his brother. “Now, where to start ...” Pulling a shabby (though that’s really putting it mildly) looking piece of parchment from his robes, he unfolded it quickly and mumbled, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

The Marauder’s Map revealed itself as the twins grinned at one another. It never ceased to amaze them, the pure genius that was the map; one day perhaps they too would become legendary within the Hogwarts underground for such brilliance.

“The kitchen’s clear,” George grinned over Fred’s shoulder.

“Always thinking with your stomach.”

“Oh course!” George laughed. “Besides, those ickle house elves are so very winsome , they’ll be glad to see us! We’re their best customers.”

“Winsome?” Fred asked, as the duo trooped off down the hall.

George shrugged. “I heard mum telling dad how charming Percy was, and dad said he was a wonderful boy, but he’d never go as far as to call him winsome.”

“So it’s the best compliment we could pay anyone!” Fred said, catching on. “Winsome, or Un-Percy-like.”

The pear giggled as Fred and George approached, and the portrait swung forward without even having to be asked. The kitchen looked rather empty for mere hours after an opening feast. A lone elf, who the boys knew only as Hobbes, came skidding forward.

“Hobbes!” Fred smiled at the elf. “Have a nice summer?”

“Quite pleasant,” the elf replied quickly.

“Have a lot of work did you?” George asked.

The elf's eyes brightened. “Yes sirs, very busy indeed.”

“Well that’s great, you wouldn’t happen to have any left overs from this evening by chance would you?”

Within minutes the duo were sitting comfortably helping themselves to extra tarts and butterbeer.

“It seems a bit quiet down ‘ere Hobbes,” Fred said, his mouth full.

“Where is everybody?” asked George.

“Is very busy young sirs,” Hobbes replied. “Much to be done, cooking, as well as cleaning, tis a large castle you's know.”

Fred and George exchanged looks. There were too many house elves at Hogwarts, the absence of a few for cleaning purposes usually went unnoticed. Fred and George knew for a fact there were no huge messes yet to be set right, they hadn’t caused any. Fred again withdrew the map from his pocket and began to scan the paper with an apt eye.

“What ...”

“The third floor,” said Fred. He watched his brother’s eyes gleaming across the table at him.

“Is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death!”

“Brilliant!” Fred cried, breaking a plate accidentally with his fist.

A large concentration of elves, (really dots to the twins’ eyes), were all milling about on the stairs near the off limits corridor.

“This year’s turning out to be the most exciting so far!” said Fred.

“Toilet seats, Harry Potter, painful death ...”

“And it’s only the first day!” finished Fred.

The two quickly thanked Hobbes for the snack and apologized for the plate before sprinting back out into the hall and up the stairs.

It was very late, but that was not unusual for the pair of Weasley and Weasley, and they reached the stair case undetected. Staring upwards to the flight above, the duo could just make out the squeaks of some rather strained house elves.

“What do you reckon they’re up to?” whispered Fred.

“What do you reckon is in there?” George asked, motioning to the enormous box with which they were struggling.

Fred simply shrugged. There had never been anything particularly dangerous about the third floor corridor before. It hadn’t been particularly interesting, but it had never been dangerous either. It was old and dark, always lit by no more than a torch or two. There was never anything down there, just an old trap door no one had ever been able to open, or so the stories said.

Fred and George had spent many a night in their first year attempting to break in, but had not had any luck in the slightest. It was that corridor that had really turned them onto the Weird Sister’s band back in the day. After one of their midnight escapades with the sealed door they’d returned to the dorm to hear Lee’s bedside table singing a soft rendition of the Weird Sisters' When Alohamora’s Not Enough. It had been too perfect, and it had been a match made in music heaven ever since.

Now however it seemed there was, or was going to be, much more than a trap door down the nothing corridor, and Fred and George wanted in. Turning to face one another the brother’s cast disillusionment charms, (which they had taught themselves most conveniently in their second year), and headed silently up the rest of the way for a better look.

The box was moving slightly as the elves passed through the door, (which Fred, unnoticed, graciously held open for them), and into the torch light. It took them ages, but eventually the group reached the hall's end with the trapdoor and released the box.

Fred could just make out the shimmer that was George standing next to him. The two waited with bated breath for the house elves to open the box, or more importantly, the trap door itself. The box remained closed however, as did the door, and the house elves trooped off without another word, looking relieved.

Fred waited a few extra moments before removing the disillusionment charm, George did the same.

“They did all that to lug this thing up here and they don’t even look inside?” George asked.

“I give those little buggers a lot of credit, they do follow orders.”

“So, we’re obviously not barred from being here by a box,” George began.

“Obviously.” Fred finished.

“Then, dear brother, I suggest we look inside! We should know what we’re up against!”

Fred smiled at his brother. “What ghastly thing holds our painful death in its hands.”

The twins headed cautiously towards the box before them, wands drawn and at the ready. It looked harmless enough, and Fred and George were known to be reckless, but stupid they were not. Fred reached out his hand and attempted to pry up the corner. It would not budge. With a glance at eachother the two began bombarding the box with every incantation they knew to blow it open. It wasn’t until George, sitting out of breath on the floor some minutes later, began singing, “When Alohamora’s Not Enough,” that the lid slid open.

“Dumbledore,” Fred smiled.

Though they scarcely admitted to respecting anyone, Dumbledore was one person the twins did respect whole heartedly. Not simply for his power, or genius, but for his sense of humor.

Approaching slowly the pair exchanged final glances before George lumosed his wand, and they caught sight of the contents. “What ...”

“It’s a plant,” said Fred.

“No explosion? No dragon? No three headed dog?” George asked the box, disappointed.

Fred crouched down and prodded the thick green stem, the plant moved. “Look!” Fred's face lit up.

George crouched next to him. “Wait a second ...” his mouth dropped.

“Devil’s Snare!” they exclaimed simultaneously.

It was difficult to be sure in the dark, but if Fred and George knew any herbology, this was it. Devil’s snare, a strangle hold killer plant, the one thing they’d have liked in the Burrow’s garden. They had never seen any up close; it was unpredictable stuff, and often deadly. They did know it by picture though, they'd scanned it nearly a hundred times in their text books.

“So Dumbledore’s been doing some interesting gardening over the summer ...” began Fred.

“And he can’t just keep this stuff in the green house, can he?” continued George.

“I think it’s illegal to have in this sort of quantity,” remarked Fred.

“We don’t have to tell anyone,” George grinned.

“After all, Dumbledore’s swell enough ...”

“For a teacher,” finished George.

“I do believe he’s bought our silence,” said Fred. He grinned broadly at his brother, a flash of malevolent glee passing between them at their own rash plan. “Diffindo,” whispered Fred.

Cautiously, never touching the plant with his bare skin, Fred pocketed the tiny severed leafy stem. Looking at his brother he knew this was the beginning of something special. This was better than any toilet they could have blown up, (though they would get to that later), better than any adventure thus far- this was the beginning.

That tiny bit of plant was the beginning of their genius, and Fred and George knew it. You could only do so much with a wand, but with magical creatures like doxies, or dragons, and plants like Devil’s Snare, the possibilities were endless. They would be legends yet, Fred and George, and they knew it. Destiny was realized that first night of their third year as the two boys tiptoed quietly back to Gryffindor Tower.

[biochemkris]

Scabbers the Rat


Scabbers the rat was being carried down to breakfast in the holey pocket of the boring boy he’d attached himself to several years ago, Percy Weasley. He fell back asleep halfway down the stairs as the boy droned on about something or other. Scabbers wasn’t sure what it was as he’d learned to tune the boy out a long time ago. But, the boy’s voice was just perfect for lulling a rat (or anyone, really) to sleep. He didn’t wake up again until he was snatched out of the pocket and plunked down on the table, the smell of a delicious breakfast wafting to his nostrils and rousing him from dreams of cheese. He sniffed about, hungrily. The Weasleys may seem like an impecunious family to most, but they certainly didn’t lack for good, hearty, food.

But, before he could so much as step over Percy’s knife to sneak a morsel off his plate, the Weasleys’ decrepit old owl, Errol, came swooping in the window carrying what looked like letters from Hogwarts. The normally sedentary rat jumped from the table before he could be eaten or, more likely, squashed by the owl. Scabbers was almost asleep again under one of the chairs when a loud whooping startled him. Two of the brothers started talking at once but, Scabbers was able to make out two things: Percy had been made a prefect and the youngest boy, Ron, had gotten his first Hogwarts letter.

Scabbers thought he’d better hurry out of the kitchen before he got stomped on in the scuffle that would surely ensue following this news. There would be a lot of hugging and screeching by Mrs. Weasley, he was certain. And sure enough, no sooner had he thought it, then there was a crash as the dumpy witch jumped up from her seat, her plate crashing to the ground, as she hurried around to the other side of the table in a rush of pride and joy. Scabbers scuttled around the broken plate and out of the kitchen as quick as he could.

The family left for Diagon Alley that day and Scabbers took the opportunity to snooze. He mentally groaned when they came back bearing an owl cage. A young owl was certain to spell trouble for the rodent. However, luckily for Scabbers, he was to be given to Ron. A muggle rat probably wouldn’t notice much of a change. Even a wizarding rat might not care much at all about being passed down from one Weasley to another. But, Scabbers was no ordinary rat at all and he paled at the news. Ronald Weasley, the youngest of the six Weasley sons, was the same age as the legendary Harry Potter and Scabbers was certain that he would be at Hogwarts, as well. Not only that, the chances that the two boys would both be in Gryffindor were very good, based on family histories. Scabbers was petrified that somehow Potter would know who he really was, even though he knew that was impossible. Scabbers settled down for an uneasy nap on the lap of his new owner, shaking slightly with nervousness.

[Springdruidess]

Another Firewhisky Please

"Evenin'," boomed Hagrid as he stomped through the doorway of the Hogs Head pub, shaking the rain from his cloak. "I'll have a firewhisky, please."

Hagrid glanced around the small room, hoping to see a familiar face. When none of the wizards in the rather ramshackle old pub appeared familiar, he lowered himself into a loudly protesting chair at an empty table. Hagrid accepted the glass thrust at him by the surly bartender and stared moodily at the table. Just then, the door creaked open again, causing the torch near it to sputter and go out. A rather sinister looking wizard stepped into the pub, shaking his dark cloak. The stranger glanced around the room before heading towards the bar.

"Firewhisky." Hagrid heard the stranger's hoarse voice demand of the bartender. The old man grunted and put down the grimy rag with which he had been wiping the bartop. As the bartender plunked down a glass of Old Ogden's legendary brew, Hagrid could hear a low rumble from the stranger. The bartender grunted again, this time nodding with his chin in Hagrid's direction. The stranger nodded briefly and tossed a few coins on the bar before rising to head in Hagrid's direction.

"Mind if I join you?" asked the stranger as he neared Hagrid's table.

"O course not! Bin hopin' for a bit o' company," Hagrid replied as he pulled out a chair. "Rubeus Hagrid's my name."

"Well, good evening Rubeus," rasped the stranger. "What is it that you do?"

"Me? I'm the Keeper of Key and Grounds up at 'Ogwarts. Yeh'll know what 'Ogwarts is, now?" replied Hagrid.

"Hogwarts. Of course," the stranger nodded. "I imagine you have all sorts of interesting stories from your work…" his voice trailed off.

"Do I ever," laughed Hagrid, "the students are always up to somethin'." He paused a moment to drain the firewhisky he was holding. "What do yer do?" he asked the stranger.

The stranger motioned for another round of drinks and shrugged, "A bit of this, a bit of that." He swirled the amber fluid in his glass slowly and added, "I suppose you could call me a collector of sorts."

"Collector? What do yer collect then?" asked Hagrid curiously, a look of great interest on his face.

The stranger leaned away from the table and pulled a scrap of parchment from his pocket, twisting it between his fingers. He eyed Hagrid speculatively for a moment before grabbing his glass and saying, "Drink up!"

As the two drained their glasses, the stranger again motioned for the bartender to freshen their drinks. He resumed twisting the parchment between his fingers before answering, "I am a collector of rare things. Artefacts…plants…creatures… anything not readily available to the average witch or wizard."

Hagrid's eyes lit up at the mention of rare creatures and he drained his glass as he leaned forward, eager to hear more. "What kind of creatures?" he asked, nodding at the bartender as he once again filled his glass.

The stranger laid the parchment flat on the table and slowly steepled his hands in front of his face. "Well now. I'm not sure you're ready for the type of creatures I'm talking about."

"Oh no, creatures are my job. I've got all sorts of critters in the forest!" Hagrid replied earnestly. When the stranger didn't immediately respond, Hagrid began reciting stories about the work he'd done with the various creatures in the Dark Forest. He regaled the stranger with stories of dealings with centaurs, unicorns and other mythical creatures, downing multiple firewhiskys with each story.

The stranger finally raised a hand, stopping Hagrid mid-sentence. "You've convinced me you can handle all sorts of creatures but I'm still not sure."

Hagrid's face fell and he slowly drained his current glass of firewhisky. "But…. But… I live fer little creatures," he grumbled.

"I'm sure you do, Mr. Hagrid," replied the stranger. "But I'm talking about very rare creatures. Creatures whose presence in this country needs to remain unnoticed by certain official type wizards…"

"Secret-like?" Hagrid looked down in confusion at the yet-again full firewhisky in his hand.

"Exactly, Hagrid. Like a secret," the stranger coached. "Can you keep a secret?"

"O course!" boomed Hagrid.

The stranger held his finger to his lips and Hagrid nodded sheepishly.

"Dumbledore – a great wizard is Dumbledore - he trusts me wit secrets," hiccoughed Hagrid. "I mean, I know what Fluffy's guardin', don't I?" Suddenly a stricken look crossed his face. "I shouldn' a told you that. I should not 'ave told yer about Fluffy."

"It's okay Hagrid. I won't say anything to Dumbledore," soothed the stranger. He began to twist the parchment in his fingers again. "What is Fluffy?" he asked quickly.

"Fluffy's what I call the three-headed dog up at the castle. I raised 'im from a pup, I did," replied Hagrid.

"A three-headed dog? Really?" exclaimed the stranger. "How unusual. And you say you raised it from a pup?"

"I did," replied Hagrid. "Quite a chore it was too. Each head wanted sommat different to eat. One wanted only vegetables, one wanted gruel and the third would only eat crushed peppermint imps." Hagrid chuckled softly as his eyes misted over in memory.

"He must have been quite vicious…" the stranger's voice trailed off expectantly.

"Aye, he was. But I found the secret!" Hagrid boasted.

For the first time that night, the stranger seemed excited. He motioned to the bartender for another round and said, " You found the secret to taming a three-headed dog? What is it?"

Hagrid gulped his firewhisky and shook his head. "Nah. Can't tell yer that."

"Ah well. It was worth a try," said the stranger as he shrugged. The two men drank in silence for a few minutes before the stranger pulled a deck of cards from his pocket. He watched Hagrid for a moment, appearing to be weighing something in his mind, before asking, "Fancy a game?"

"What are the stakes?" asked Hagrid interestedly. "I don't have much."

"Well Rubeus, I might just have something that would interest you. I think you might just be able to handle my type of creatures." The stranger leaned in and lowered his voice conspiratorially.

Hagrid grabbed his drink and leaned forward, swaying slightly. Slowly, the stranger reached into his cloak and pulled out an oddly shaped bundle wrapped warmly in fur. The stranger quickly glanced around the pub before slipping the bundle into Hagrid's massive hand. He slowly unwrapped the package, revealing a darkly glistening egg.

Hagrid's eyes lit up and he whispered, "Is that a… Is it real?"

The stranger nodded slowly as he carefully re-wrapped the egg and tucked it back into his cloak. "I like you Hagrid," he said, "Play me one hand of cards and if you win, it's yours."

"What happens if I lose?" Hagrid asked quietly, eyes still fixed to the slight bulge in the stranger's cloak.

The stranger motioned for yet another firewhisky and said quietly, "Don't worry. You won't."

Hagrid finally looked up as the stranger dealt the cards. He picked them up and studied them intently, noting absently that the cards seemed a little blurry. Hagrid shook his head, trying to clear his vision and, when that didn't seem to help, grabbed his glass and downed another firewhisky.

"What do you have, Rubeus?" asked the stranger quietly.

Hagrid, not feeling terribly sure of what game they were playing, laid his cards on the table. The stranger frowned slightly before folding his cards in his hand and saying, "You win."

Hagrid's eyes lit up as the stranger deftly handed him the fur-wrapped bundle as well as the small piece of parchment he'd been playing with all night.

"Here you are then," said the stranger quietly. "One dragon's egg and general guidelines for caring for him."

Giant tears rolled down Hagrid's face as he swaddled the egg in his cloak. "Don' yer worry, mister. I'll take good care of little Norbert. And yer can keep yer instructions – I'll be fine just as soon as I find out what soothes the little thing." Hagrid gulped down yet another firewhisky and looked up at the hooded stranger. "It can't be that hard to figure out. Even wit' Fluffy all it takes is playing a bit o' music – he falls dead asleep. Little Norbert will be just the same."

Hagrid rose unsteadily from his chair, cradling his cloak in his arms. "I'd better be headin' back now," he said. "Don' want the little one ter get cold."

As he headed towards the bar to settle his account, the stranger placed a hand on his arm. "It's on me tonight. Thank you Hagrid."

Hagrid nodded slowly, not quite sure what the stranger was thanking him for and then headed towards the door. He stepped out into the night, his large frame blocking the door while behind him, the dark cloaked stranger broke into a spine chilling smile and called out, "One more firewhisky please."

[cassirin]

Hand-Me-Downs

The owls arrived just as they had every year since Bill was 11. Molly Weasley accepted the letters and waved the birds off with a distracted air. Startled and slightly offended, the owls flapped around the kitchen table for a moment, fighting over some odd bits of toast before a loud explosion from further in the house set them all scrambling for the window over the sink.

“Fred! George!” Molly tossed the envelopes onto the kitchen table and turned to eye the clock on the wall. They weren’t in mortal peril, and the explosion hadn’t killed anyone. “What have I told you about blowing things up in the house?” Her voice rose, remarkably shrill and carrying in the large house.

“That if the house is no longer structurally sound, we’re going without supper,” Fred answered as the twins entered the kitchen, grabbing up an apple from the gleaming countertop.

“Or maybe it was just that you shouldn’t do it at all,” Molly shook her head almost fondly as she headed out of the room to finish the laundry. She stepped over the cat chasing Scabbers and nodded at the envelopes on the table. “Hogwarts letters have come.”

The clattering of feet was heard on the stairs, and Ron tumbled into the kitchen. His face was bright and eager as he scattered the letters, finally extracting his own. “My Hogwarts letter.” His voice held reverence, and he carefully opened the envelope and unfolded the parchment letter.

“Ah, look, Fred,” George crossed the kitchen, a predatory gleam in his eye. “They grow up so fast.” He wiped a fake tear from his eye and grabbed the letter from Ron.

Fred took the letter and turned it over and over. “You’re a lucky chap, Ronnikins. Most boys starting at Hogwarts would give anything to be in your shoes.”

“They would?” Ron stared down at his untied shoelaces before looking up at his brothers again. “They aren’t even new shoes.”

The twins gave an exaggerated sigh in unison and pushed Ron into a chair at the table. “Listen, Ronnie… try to focus. Bill was Head Boy. Charlie was Quidditch captain and the greatest Seeker in ages. Percy is a git, but he’s clever. Plus we’ve already stolen his new Prefect badge from his envelope. And as for us…” Fred looked at George, and they both shrugged as if out of modesty. “We’re going to be the greatest pranksters Hogwarts has ever seen. The Weasleys are legendary, and you’re a Weasley.”

They watched Ron’s eyes grow big before George burst his bubble. “I don’t know, dear brother. I don’t think ickle Ron has what it takes to be a true Weasley. He might not live up to the family name.”

“You’re right, George. You’re always so right. It’s uncanny how right you are,” Fred gestured for Ron to lean in. “You’ll have to be Quidditch captain, Head Boy, AND get 27 OWLs, or…” He gave a one-armed shrug.

“You can’t even get 27 OWLs,” Percy rolled his eyes at their idiocy as he tripped over a broomstick laying across the doorway and nearly squashed Scabbers as he fell into the room. “What’s wrong with Ronald?” They all turned to look at Ron, whose face had gone oddly green.

“I’m going to be the worst Weasley ever,” Ron sat down hard, missing the chair entirely.

“Oh, I don’t know. Mum has that cousin who’s an accountant, and the twins are pretty bad,” Percy glanced at them for a clue, but they had miraculously disappeared.

“I’m stupid and I won’t have any friends,” Ron put his head in his hands and started to moan, his voice rising with each word. “Everything I have is rubbish, and Fred and George said…”

“Why would you start listening to them today? Have they ever told you the truth about anything?” Percy had opened his envelope while Ron whined and was shaking it out over the table. He continued to talk while he peered under the table and chairs, clearly in search of something. Picking Scabbers up by the tail, he pushed him in Ron’s direction. “You’ll have to work very hard and spend more time concentrating on your studies than playing with your school chums, but I’ve always thought that having a lot of mates is overrated by those who have no skills to speak of.” He sat back in confusion.

“Must be nice to think so,” Ron blinked at Percy under the table from his spot on the floor. He stroked Scabbers absently as he spoke. “Everything I have is rubbish anyway. Old robes, old books, old cauldron… even Charlie’s old wand. And Mum said I can’t even have a proper owl.” He stuck out his lip.

Percy pushed himself up into a chair and sighed. The badge was really and truly not there. “You can have Scabbers, if that will make you feel better.”

Ron’s face lit up, and his grip tightened on the rat. “Really? I mean…” He leaned casually against the chair, which promptly fell over. “That’s kind of a weak gift, right? It’s an old rat who can’t even do anything.”

“Then don’t take him,” Percy pulled off his glasses and started to furiously polish them, a sure sign he was frustrated. Shoving the glasses up onto his nose, he held out his hand, as if to demand the rat back.

“No! It would be rude to turn down a gift, even if it IS a rubbish sort of gift. But I think it could be okay. Maybe I can teach him some tricks,” he had visions of himself surrounded by all sorts of fellow students, oohing and aahing over Scabbers, the Amazing Flying Rat… or something similar. Ron clutched the rat to his chest.

“Scabbers doesn’t do tricks. Sometimes I put him on my newspaper, and he scutters back and forth and looks like he’s reading…” Percy shook his head. “So, you can have Scabbers. Now, where’s my Prefect badge?”

[pinkpanther]

A Feline Fiasco

The late summer afternoon was waning, though the hour passed without Severus Snape’s notice. Deep in the torch-lit dungeons of Hogwarts castle, the potions-master methodically sorted through the contents of a large, slightly dilapidated set of cupboards. The start of yet another term was at hand, and the student stores were in dire need of tidying and replenishing. Absently, he dropped a clump of rotten roots into the cauldron at his feet.

“Dried ginger root,” he muttered, and obediently, a quill fluttered to note this on a piece of parchment on the nearest desk. Snape desperately tried to keep his mind on the task at hand, but as he stacked bundles of dried flaxweed in the back of the cupboard, his thoughts began to drift. He knew that, in a matter of short weeks, he would be accosted by hordes of annoyingly innocent and naïve first years who would chatter and giggle and cause general mayhem in his classroom.

He always hated the influx of new students, but this year, there was something else, something worse. This year, the legendary Harry Potter would begin his education in the wizarding world. The school was abuzz with anticipation. Just that morning, as Snape was draining the last of his tea, he overheard Professor Dumbledore describing with a chuckle the droves of owls he had sent to descend on Harry Potter’s house.

Apparently, the relations with whom he lived—muggles, of course—were not exactly keen on their nephew’s magical potential. Personally, Snape agreed. Let the boy-celebrity stay as he was—the last thing the respectable young witches and wizards of Hogwarts needed was that kind of influence. As children, Harry’s father, James, had been Snape’s own worst enemy. He had taunted and mocked Snape within an inch of his sanity and Snape hated him, hated his memory, hated his son. This was an intense loathing, one which not even James’ death could curb.

No, he was not looking forward to the arrival of “the boy who lived,” as the Daily Prophet had always called him, and he highly resented this child whom he had never met—not only for his parentage, but also for forcing Snape to dwell on memories he thought he had mastered long ago. Originally, he had determined to forget the past, to put Harry out of his mind until absolutely necessary, but his plan was failing and he did not take kindly to failure.

His thoughts ran rampant along these lines, overpowering his self-control until, startled by the sound of a glass vial smashing on the stone floor by his feet, Snape noticed his hands shaking with the intensity of his internal musings. Immediately, a sharp smell wafted up from the shards of glass, prickling his nose. Disgusted with himself, he flicked his wand at the mess, which disappeared, then he barked, “Peppermint oil!” at the parchment. Once more, the quill took up its scribbling, just as the door creaked open, admitting Argus Filch, the caretaker, with his watch-cat, Mrs. Norris at his heels.

“Good afternoon, professor,” the old man wheezed, leaning on a desk to catch his breath. He inhaled deeply, then continued, “Professor Dumbledore asked me to fetch your supplies list, soon as you’ve finished. Wants to get everything ready as soon as possible, he does, what with . . . other matters to tend to.”

“Fine, Argus,” Snape snapped. He had finished with the last cupboard and just ran his hand along the topmost shelf to rid it of straggling rubbish. “I’m finished. The list is on that desk.” He indicated the parchment with a curt jab of his head. With a grimace, Filch retrieved the paper and hobbled back toward the endless stone steps, slamming the door as he exited. The top shelf was cleared except for a small, round stone, gleaming slightly in the torch-light.

Snape turned it over in his hand, wondering how a bezoar had found its way into his cupboards. Without warning, his mind flashed back to a classroom lecture during which James Potter and his conceited cronies had repeatedly pelted the back of Snape’s head with stones identical to this one. His countenance clouded and he threw the bezoar violently into the cupboard, slamming the doors and making the rows of glass bottles clink together.

Thoroughly frustrated with the world around him, Snape stomped back to his office. This Potter business on top of the regular start-of-term preparation was taking its toll; the potions-master was exhausted and a dull throb was beginning to pound in his skull. All he wanted was to sit by himself with today’s crossword puzzle and avoid humanity in general. He reached for the paper, which had been lying neglected beside his chair, and flipped it open. He had just settled into the cushions with a sigh when there was a frantic knock at his office door. “Come in!” he snapped irritably.

Eyes wide with panic, Argus Filch burst into the office. “Mrs. Norris!” he yelped, “My cat’s gone!”

Snape’s eyes narrowed in to a glower, “I have far better things to do with my time than to search for stray cats, Argus.” Filch, however, was not deterred.

“I’ve searched everywhere! She’s disappeared and the last time I saw her was when we came to get your list.”

Snape continued to scowl, but rose from his chair. He knew he’d have no peace until Filch’s wretched rodent returned. Personally, he had no clue where the cat had wandered, nor did he care whether she was found, but he disliked Filch’s presence in his office, so he led the distraught caretaker from the room. Retracing their steps, they returned to the cold room which housed the cupboards. The torches had gone out, but Snape restored them with a wave of his wand.

As soon as the flickering light permeated the room, Filch began stooping to peer under the desk. “Mrs. Norris!” He called shrilly, “Come on, my sweet!”

Snape watched in disgust for a moment, his lip curling slightly. Finally, he could stand it no longer. He raised his wand and, making a sweeping gesture around the room, growled, “revealeum cattum!” In an instant, the cupboard doors flew open and a low moan echoed from within. Filch rushed forward and, pulling Mrs. Norris from the cupboard, scooped her into his arms. The cat draped limply over his hands, her tongue lolling out of her mouth as she continued to moan.

“Poisoned!” Filch sobbed, “My cat’s been poisoned!” He sank in to a dithering heap on the floor and buried his face in Mrs. Norris’ fur. Curious, Snape reached into the cupboard and extracted an empty bottle which the cat had obviously spilled in her exploration of the cupboard. Taking a whiff of the bottle, Snape couldn’t suppress a slight smile.

“Control yourself, Argus,” He commanded impatiently, “It’s only dandelion juice. Well, it was dandelion juice. Apparently I’ve left it rather past its sell-by date and it’s fermented.”

Filch looked at Mrs. Norris, then at the empty bottle in Snape’s hand, then back at the inebriated feline. “I-I . . .” he faltered, but Snape was already sweeping out of the room. “Yes, quite,” was the reply.

As he settled back into his chair a few moments later, Snape thought of the glazed look in Mrs. Norris’ eyes and indulged in a rare smile. With as much trouble as the next seven years were promising to be, he was glad he could always count on the misfortune of others to brighten his day.

[AnimeEyeshime]

Puppy Love

The thing most people don’t realize about Fluffy is that he is only a pup.

The second thing they don’t realize is that Fluffy prefers not to be addressed as Fluffy, and in fact would like everyone to address each of its heads in turn respectively as Cherry, Berry, and Russ. In fact, Cherry, Berry, and Russ would really prefer not to be a single dog at all, but such things are inevitable when living in the house of a famous transfiguration guru obsessed with classical Greek mythology. But this story isn’t about the transfiguration guru and his many illegal animal breeding experiments, and in fact that background info is only mildly useful to the rest of the story.

In spite of themself, Cherry, Berry, and Russ found themselves attached to the giant man who tagged them with such a horrible (not to mention ill-fitting) nickname. But as they had never learned to speak Man, they were quite at a loss as to how to convey their naming preferences. But it never seemed to matter, because the giant man fed them the best steaks, took them out for long walks in the forest, and generally let Cherry, Berry, and Russ romp around—so long as it was out of the sight of other Men, which didn’t bother “Fluffy” at all. There were sticks to toss, Cherry, Berry, and Russ all fighting over which head got to actually pick up the stick. Eventually, the giant man began to throw three at a time, and “Fluffy” learned to coordinate its movements so that each head could catch a stick without causing their shared body to fall. There were acromantula to chase and bark at, though the giant man tried to dissuade them from actually hurting the giant spiders. Most of all, there were holes to dig, with no one yelling at them. Life was good, and Cherry, Berry, and Russ knew it.

But then the day came when the white-bearded man came down from the Men’s castle, and everything changed.

The giant man was babbling in his strange tongue, and water was gleaming in his eyes as he led the white-bearded man into the pen in the forest the giant man had constructed especially for them. “Fluffy” was uneasy at this stranger, who seemed to be upsetting the giant man, their protector. So they barked and growled and drooled and generally attempted to look as menacing as possible. But the giant man pulled out the roughly carved flute he used to try to calm them down when they had first been with him, and began to play a high-pitched whistling song. Cherry, the artistic one, began to growl softly along, and before they knew it, the three heads of “Fluffy” awoke in a dark chamber with barely enough room to run about.

At first, Berry assured the other two that it was probably just a mistake. After all, the giant man wouldn’t just leave them here in this small, cramped place, right? Russ always replied that it had been the giant man who had lulled them to sleep and let them be taken to…where ever this was. But it was Cherry who noticed that the door in the floor, having knocked his jaw against the ring of it one day when waking up.

The three heads stood up to better observe this strange object. Having only been in the giant man’s wooden den when they had first come to this place, they were familiar with the concept of doors. It was just that they couldn’t understand why one was in the floor. Cherry thought that it led to another part of reality where doors were always in the floor, and the walls of a room were really the new ceiling and floor. Russ told Cherry to keep his ideas to himself as neither Berry nor Russ cared to hear about alternate dimensions of reality.

It was Berry who concluded finally that this was some sort of test. There was a strange object in their dark little corridor, and thus it was to be guarded. If they did well, then the giant man would probably bring them more steak. Or let them out, Cherry added. Russ thought they were both crazy, and he was going to take a nap.

It wasn’t too long after they discovered the door that the first intruders came. There were no windows in their corridor and Russ had long ago altered their sleeping schedule, so none of the heads was quite sure what time of day it was. But regardless of that, despite the fact that no one had ever come into the room before, in tottered four very small versions of the species Man. The torch by the door they had entered flickered at the draft, and Cherry, Berry, and Russ stared at the intruders. They had never seen Men quite so tiny before. Though, Cherry commented, the white-bearded man was rather small compared to our giant man. Thinking of the white-bearded man made all three heads growl, and the tiny Men backed up, towards the door they had come from. Cherry caught a whiff of the giant man from them, and eagerly leaned forward with the other heads to get a closer sniff, drooling at the anticipation of those steaks for a task well done. But as quickly as they had appeared, the little Men disappeared, and the three heads sighed.

Are the little Men a threat, do you think? Berry asked.

Did they look as if they wanted to get into the sideways door? Russ rejoined.

They smelled of the giant man, some of them anyway, Cherry added. They can’t have been all that bad.

It was the white-bearded man who knew the giant man that probably put us here, Russ thought sourly.

You’re just angry the giant man hasn’t come to see us yet, Cherry said, with a snort.


Many naps passed before anything of interest happened. Berry had just suggested attempting to knock down the door the little Men had come through and search for the giant man by scent, and so the three heads were eyeing the door with an unblinking predatory gaze, imaging the steaks in store once they busted out and rejoined the giant man.

Then, quite suddenly, the door opened for them. Inside stepped a Man with a hooked nose and a vaguely sinister air, holding a pointy stick aimed right at them. I don’t like him muttered Cherry.

But he has a stick! Berry said. Maybe the giant man sent him to play with us, since he couldn’t come himself?

He’s not throwing it though, whined Cherry.

Take it from him, then, dunderhead, Russ said. Or you could just make me do everything like I always have to do for you nitwits…

Cherry chose to ignore Russ and went for the man’s stick. He ducked and spun over to the side, waving the stick and muttering things in Man. I don’t think we’re supposed to play with his stick, Cherry said.

Maybe HE’S the one we’re supposed to keep from getting in the sideways door! Berry said excitedly.

He’s certainly bigger than the little Men from before, Russ said. Let’s scare him off then.

Barking and growling was only mildly effective. The hook-nosed man seemed frustrated and waved his stick even harder. Do you think maybe he’s like our Father? Cherry asked.

One of those kinds of sticks? Berry shuddered, getting a bit of drool on both Cherry and Russ. We can’t let him get away. He might make more dogs like us.

Russ shuddered himself. We can’t let anyone else be subjected to being stuck with two twits like you. Let’s get him!

Cherry snapped first, to drive the man back towards the middle of their shared body, where Berry attacked to the front and Russ snapping where ever he thought would cause the most pain. But it was Berry who finally bit the man—giving the man’s leg a good chew. Russ had gotten close, but merely tore the bottom of out the man’s pocket. The man grimaced in pain and backed away, much as the little Men had, and disappeared.

Did we do good? Cherry wondered. We guarded the door, right?

The giant man will come, Berry said confidently. Since we protected the door and all.

Not to mention keeping them from using that awful stick to make more of our kind of dog, Russ sighed. Think of how many hours of mental pain and anguish were spared.

You know you love us but just won’t admit it, Cherry said, ending the matter.

All three heads were asleep when the door creaked open, but Russ was the first to awaken groggily from dreams of running through fields all by himself, no two extra heads to ruin things, when he smelled a familiar scent. It was the giant man!

At his bark of greeting, the other two heads stirred, and then as one body they surged forward to drool quite happily all over the giant man. He spoke some Man at them that they didn’t understand, but then he gave them steak, just as they’d dreamed about. He seemed proud of them, so that had to mean that protecting the sideways door was what they were supposed to do.

Are you happy now Russ? Cherry asked. The giant man is here.

We still have to guard the sideways door, Russ said grumpily.

Shh, both of you, Berry said. The giant man is singing that song again for us, the one about “dancing like a Hippogriff”…whatever a Hippogriff is. Or dancing. Or like. Or…

Weird Sisters, Cherry supplied helpfully. I don’t know what that means in Man, but it’s about that too.

But the three heads were soon drooped in sleep, and it would be a long time yet before they were to end their guardianship of the corridor. But for now, Cherry, Berry, and Russ were--the giant man’s “Fluffy” was—perfectly content to sleep dreaming of large dancing sticks called Hippogriffs in Man.

[McGonagall's Cat]

Comments on the story When Alohamora's Not Enough

charmed1 commented:
1. I think the story line was ok. But I don't understand why some words are in bold type. Am I missing something?

zymurgy commented:
I am totally wow'ed by this - to begin with, you used the TWINS. You made everything work, you used the word and item requirments wonderfully. I really love what you did with this!

Springdruidess commented:
I liked this story and I definitely want to know just what those two tricksters are up to with the cutting they 'borrowed'. The characterization of the twins is great and the plot is definitely believable.

cassirin commented:
The twins are some of my favorite characters, and I love that you included them! I wish the Devil's Snare had come into play sooner, but I know how hard that particular task is.

McGonagall's Cat commented:
Lurve the Twins!!! Wonderful use of required elements.

AnimeEyeshime commented:
Love the Fred and George...who doesn't? This could totally be (real) canon, and I wouldn't have noticed the difference much. F&G were in character, Hobbes was a nice addition. My only complaint is that it felt too short (but, then again, I am a novel writer by nature, so don't worry too much about that one). I think I saw maybe one technical error in the submission, but that was all. Nice job!

[McGonagall's Cat]

Comments on the story Scabbers the Rat

zymurgy commented:
Short and sweet - honestly don't know how you managed to cram all the requirements into roughly five-hundred words - and using Scabbers as both your creaturer and your main character was a nice idea!

cassirin commented:
Well written and technically perfect (as always). I would have loved some fleshing out of the scene.

McGonagall's Cat commented:
Good use of requirments! Wish you'd made it a bit longer (yeah, I know the requirement wasn't very long), you had some really interesting ideas.

AnimeEyeshime commented:
The story seems unfinished--at least, that's my impression. I like the Scabbers POV though.

[McGonagall's Cat]

Comments on the story Another Firewhisky Please

zymurgy commented:
This is a really brilliant "missing scene"! (Your sinister stranger isn't much of a Greek Chappie, really, but you could explain that away as Hagrid simply trying to pretend he knows more than he does.)I love the feel of the story, here, particularly the irony of all of us knowing what's going and Hagrid just being out for a good time.

cassirin commented:
Excellent characterizations and writing. I like the setting... especially choosing a scene we've heard about but haven't seen.

McGonagall's Cat commented:
*still looking for my socks* <br />Great use of required elements (woven in so deftly that I'm glad they had to be bolded or I'd have missed a few). <br />Nifty storyline.

AnimeEyeshime commented:
Just two main comments: I thought it was weird how the stranger starts out by calling Hagrid "Rubeus" and then switching to "Hagrid" and "Mr. Hagrid" before finally going back to calling Hagrid by his first name. I can understand doing the "familiarity" thing to gain trust, but this was a little all over the map... Also, in the book I don't think Hagrid ever named Norbert until he hatched. Just a note! Otherwise, very well written and nicely done.

[McGonagall's Cat]

Comments on the story Hand-Me-Downs

zymurgy commented:
Love the family dynamic in this! Very well played.

Springdruidess commented:
Overall I liked this story although I didn't really feel like the creature (Scabbers) was particularly central to the story. To me, the central aspect was the Weasley's poverty - which is what makes it a good story. I think you captured Ron's feelings about 'second-handedness' really well.

McGonagall's Cat commented:
Great insights into the Wesley clan. Loved the part where you had Molly stepping over the cat. Nice touch! <br />Good use of required words! <br />And poor Ron...everyone else has already claimed their fame, what's left except to be best friends with The Boy Who Lived?

AnimeEyeshime commented:
Cute! I like how Percy cheers up Ron--that's a side of him we don't always get to see. It feels short to me (--> says the girl who tripled the minimum word count for her submission...yeah, don't mind me...)

[McGonagall's Cat]

Comments on the story A Feline Fiasco

zymurgy commented:
A simply spiffing Snape story! My only complaint on this one is that cats aren't rodents, though they may be wretched.

Springdruidess commented:
This was cute. I didn't see the ending coming, which after reading tons of hp fics is unusual, and using Mrs. Norris as the 'creature' was a great touch. Nicely done.

cassirin commented:
I love Snape, and your writing of him is VERY good! Yay! Not sure which plant was the one that was central, but the writing was great, and I smiled throughout.

McGonagall's Cat commented:
As "fowl" as you've made (captured?) Snape, I was thinking he was the animal. *snorf* Good use of the required words. I'm glad you had to "bold" them or some of them would have really tough to find!

AnimeEyeshime commented:
Awww...poor sadistic little Snape. "Schadenfraude", eh?

[McGonagall's Cat]

Comments on the story Puppy Love

zymurgy commented:
Cute Fluffy, but the complete lack of quotation marks made it a trifle confusing. But now I have you to thank for the mental image of Snape playing fetch with a three-headed dog.

cassirin commented:
I love the tongue-in-cheek approach to the three heads... it's a really creative idea. The writing is strong and technically great.

McGonagall's Cat commented:
I really liked how you used an actual Weird Sisters song in this. Somehow I had thought everyone would use generic Weird Sisters song. Cool! Do the heads ever get into fights with eachother? You have them as distinct individuals, which I'd never thought of.

[McGonagall's Cat]

Comments on the story 1- When Alohamora's Not Enough

lupinsmyman commented:
Good job! Full of the Fred and George charm.

[McGonagall's Cat]

Comments on the story 1- Scabbers the Rat