The Game - Round Two: Logic and Physical Dexterity, Mission and Submissions Options

[Department_of_My...]

Welcome to round two of the Game,
Logic and Physical Dexterity!

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 the chocolate chess set and potions bottles. First Place winner gets first choice.

Riddle Solving and Writing are open from June 18th to 28th, voting is open from the 29th until July 1st.



Five people visit Hogsmeade.
They all have a different drink.
Each drink is served by different member of the bar staff.



Someone was served pumpkin juice by Carmen.
Fudge was not served his rum by Marcella.
Hagrid was served by Tom.
The person who drinks pumpkin juice wasn't served second.
The fire whiskey drinker was served last.
Marcella served the fourth person in line but they didn't order a gillywater.
Neither Carmen nor Hans served McGonagall who was third in line at the bar.
Hermione wasn't first in line.


Servers; Tom, Carmen, Hans, Marcella, Andy
Drinks; Pumpkin juice, Rum, Butterbeer, Gillywater, Fire whiskey
Drinkers; Hagrid, Harry, McGonagall, Fudge, Hermione


So....




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

Since not everybody is a Hermione, regular general hints will be posted in the discussion topic. But remember, the fastest Stoat wins the prize, and the faster Ferret has more time to write ...

Good Luck!
(And keep out of that corridor on the fourth floor!)

[muggle5]

Point Taken

Neville Longbottom had lost many items this year. From his toad to his remembral, he was slowly learning of his need to keep a better eye on things and that he often had a responsibility that one shouldn’t neglect. Recently, however, there was another loss he was concerned about. As Neville passed from class to class, he couldn’t help but wonder what the reason was for the tremendous absence of house points.

He brought up the subject with Seamus one morning at breakfast, who showed an extreme amount of lassitude at the situation. As he promptly said,

“It’s just house points. You should be more concerned about our finals comin’ up.” Neville was quite worried about those as well, but he considered them nothing compared to the larger view of a house that hadn’t won the house cup in what seemed like an eternity. He planned to delve into this matter of missing points, and not let it happen again.

That night, he lay awake in his bed trying to figure out what would cause a change in house standings as extreme as this. Working backwards, he tried to figure out any abnormalities he had seen as of late that might explain for an absence of 150 points. The troll in the fall seemed like a possible connection, and Neville could remember his genuine fear of the beast. Nonetheless, he had never heard of a student who had control of a troll, or who recieved points after such a lapse of time.

Still, he wondered. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been involved, hadn’t they? Actually, it was only a couple nights ago that Neville had awoke in the middle of the night to find two empty beds where Ron and Harry should’ve been. When it had happened, he was tired and thought nothing of it, but wide awake and thinking hard now, he never had found out where they had gone. He'd heard rumors, but no facts.

The next day, he entered the Great Hall for lunch. He sat down in the center of the Gryffindor table before reaching for a spoon and his warm, tomato soup. Before eating, he took another look at Gryffindor’s current standings in house points. They were in last place. He stirred his soup slowly, watching the swirling liquid move with the likeness of a red mud puddle. As students slowly arrived, Neville found himself sitting in between Dean and Seamus.

“You’re not still upset about the whole house points thing, are you?” Seamus asked. Neville continued to stir his soup. “I’d let it go if I were you. There’s a lot more going on than that.”

“Yeah,” agreed Dean. “Some of us are being attacked.” Neville looked up.

“What?” he asked.

“Some people had to serve detention with Hagrid,” continued Dean. “Apparently they had to do some assignment in the forest. The details are sketchy.”

“Why?” Neville asked.

“I dunno,” said Dean, “But something attacked one of them in the woods. Or at least that’s what Parvati said.”

“No,” Neville persisted, "Why were they in detention?"

“Oh,” Dean said. “I dunno.”

“I heard it had somethin' to do with curfew,” Seamus said.

“Really?” Dean asked. "I heard there's nothing to do after hours." And with that, all three of them continued with their lunch.

Neville had never thought of Harry, Ron, and Hermione as bad people, and he hated thinking about what he might have to do to stop them next time they attempted such a thing. Slowly sipping his soup, Neville was still, nonetheless, quite satisfied at how he had put the facts together. He took even more satisfaction knowing that none of this would ever happen again.

[chad13]

Hufflepuff Here I Come


With an awkward smile and genuine gusto Ernie Macmillan climbed towards the sorting hat, yet, things were going quite differently in his head.

“What do I do?” he asked himself. “I’m not ready for this. Wait, stand up straight.”

Ernie puffed out his chest and pulled his shoulders back, he could at least look brave no matter how he felt walking towards the wooden stool. Students far less talented than he had already conquered the hat, this wouldn’t be a problem, he hoped. All Ernie could do at the moment was hope.

“You may sit down Mr. Macmillan.”

“What was her name again?” Ernie asked himself, staring up at the rather formidable Professor above him. “Focus Ernie, focus,” he shook his head and looked forward. “Think,” he told himself. “You've got this. All I have to do is .... put the hat on. I’m not a cipher, I’m Ernie Macmillan, future prefect, I can figure this out!”

With great resolve Ernie straightened up on the stool and took a deep breath. All he could do then was let the hat fall over his eyes, the shining plates, spoons, and cutlery disappearing from view.

“All right, now what?” he asked himself in the darkness.

“Now what?” repeated a voice.

“Who’s there?” Ernie asked aloud. That was odd, it didn’t sound like the Professor standing beside him, but it was not a students voice either.

“No need to ask who you are,” said the voice. “Ernie Macmillan.”

“What’s going on?” Ernie thought to himself. Was he famous already? How was it someone knew who he was when he’d only been in the castle less than an hour?

“No yelling? No frustration?” asked the voice.

Ernie’s mind felt empty, he was working very hard to keep his knees from shaking.

“Nervous are you?” the voice asked.

“Who’s talking?” Ernie swallowed. "Okay, I've got this. It's not the Professor's voice, and it's definitely not a student ... right. Who else is there?" he paused. "Students, teachers, ghosts?”

The voice did not answer.

Shifting in his seat Ernie screwed up his face in concentration before suddenly coming to the only other magically logical conclusion. “The hat!” he exclaimed aloud.

The voice laughed. “Took you long enough.” Now it was the voice who was speaking aloud, "Hufflepuff!" Ernie again found himself blinking in the glow of the Great Hall's silver.

“Hufflepuff Mr. Macmillan,” the Professor said, holding the hat in her hand. “Just over there.”

Smiling again, chest puffed out, Ernie hopped jauntily down towards the cheering table.

“Hufflepuff, that’s perfect! Yellow and black, definitely the best looking colors in this place. I can hardly imagine having to wear anything silver and green.” One problem down, only seven years of school to go. At least now Ernie had a house, a group to lead to success, and to honor, and to eternal glory at Hogwart’s.

[zymurgy]

The Only Dull Flying Class Ever

It was a miserable day, rainy and cold, thunder rumbling ominously. Normally the weather didn’t matter much at Hogwarts because the classrooms were Charmed to be at a pleasant and constant temperature. However, the rain was responsible for their first indoor flying class.

Instead of canceling, as most of them had expected her too, Madam Hooch had them crowded into a classroom and was giving a lecture on Quidditch theory.

Normally, she had no trouble holding the attention of the students, but normally there was the threat of falling several dozen feet to ensure that everybody listened quite carefully.

Now, however, the class was restless and irritated – most had counted on a free hour and were disgruntled that the class had not been cancelled. Hooch was nowhere near as imposing on the ground as she was in the air and her lecture lacked the vigor of her usual classes.

A Quaffle was hovering half-heartedly in the corner and most of the students were slouched in their chairs determined not to pay the slightest attention. Their attitude was so negative, that Hooch had already been forced to confiscate several items they had been fidgeting with – a hairbrush, several feathers and a remembral lay on her desk, and were the focus of longing gazes by their several owners.

“And so that is why,” Madam Hooch was saying, “a Bludger’s under its own magical power creates the greatest the impact directly after a change in direction, whereas if they’ve been propelled by outside forces, that is, by the Beater’s bat, they lose their own power for a moment and behave as an unspelled ball would, that is, they decelerate as they move along.

“Therefore, it’s obvious that it makes more sense to use the Beater’s solely for defense of your own team, rather than for offensive action,” she broke off to glance at a student with his hand up. “Did you have something to add, Mr. Weasley?”

“Isn’t it true, though,” said Ron, tentatively , “that the path of a Bludger is not completely random, but that it prefers to change direction in order to hit the nearest player? So, wouldn’t it be logical that a Beater shoot a Bludger towards, but not directly at, an opposing team member, so that it could change direction on its own, and hit the opposing team member with the greatest impact?”

“Five points to Gryffindor,” said Madam Hooch cheerily. “That was precisely what I was about to say. It is a common misconception that Beaters ought to shoot the Bludger directly at those they wish to hit. The best strategy for a Beater would actually be to shoot wide on purpose to allow for the most injuriousshot.”

“So you’re saying that the whole game isn’t logical,” said Hermione, out of turn. “In order to make the best hit, you’re saying they ought to miss.”

“It is a bit of a paradox,” admitted Madam Hooch. “Of course, a Beater can also get very far actually hitting his target since any hit with a Bludger is usually enough to put your opponent in the hospital wing. We’re talking about a theoretical perfect strategy, here. Yes, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Theory doesn’t have much bearing on the actual game,” Draco said with a sneer. “In the air, there isn’t time to analyze shots to ensure maximum damage.”

Hooch’s eyes glittered. “Theory, Mr. Malfoy, is what keeps the game in the air. Without the theory involved in the invention of the Snitch, for example, Quidditch would have died out centuries ago due to the near extinction of the golden Snidget. Had nobody studied theory, Bludgers would amble about at the speed of a Firefly21 because nobody would have bothered to create the spells that ensure for maximum efficiency of flight path. Without – ”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t necessary to develop theory for the game,” interrupted Draco. “Thought it isn’t, now, as it’s already been developed into a game stable enough to have lasted several centuries. All I said was that theory was unnecessary for the players. It’s all very nice to analyze a game after the fact and say that, for instance, Vladimir Malkov could have scored that last Quaffle if Brutus Glatch had deflected the Bludger properly instead of towards the hoop Malkov was heading for, causing it to double back and – ”

“Mr. Malfoy,” snapped Hooch. “I am sure the rest of the class is quite capable of reading Quiditch Weekly on their own. When I want an essay on current games I’ll ask for it – and his name isn’t Malkov it’s Malcovitch.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?”

“It’s true that you probably couldn’t calculate during an actual game,” said Ron, his _expression clearly showing how much it galled him to agree in any measure with anything Malfoy had said. “But doesn’t every team’s captain have a particular strategy and method to ensure his team performs the best?”

“Ask Potter,” interrupted Malfoy nastily. “He’s the only one here on an actual team. The rest of us don’t get the rules bent for us, you know.”

“Strategy and theory are to be studied during a player’s training,” said Hooch, ignoring Malfoy’s last jibe. “If a player trains to take these things into account, it becomes second nature to put it in practice during an actual game. They develop an ability to strategize, if you’ll pardon the pun, on the fly.”

“I’d rather fly than just sit here nattering on about theory,” muttered Seamus under his breath.

“You will fly, Mr. Finnegan, at some point when there isn’t the threat of lightning,” snapped Hooch. “You should realize that my flying class has a greater amount of practical lessons than any other in Britain. In some schools, you would be required to pass written exams on the things I am telling you now, and if you lot don’t settle down and pay attention I might decide to do that.”

Hermione perked up slightly at the prospect of a written exam, though the rest of the class gave a collective groan.

Hooch gathered her temper with a visible effort. “Quidditch is capable of being far more than a mere physical game. The greatest teams today are those in Bulgaria and Uzbekistan, both of which have spent considerable time and research in the area of Aeromagic. In the hands of a proper captain, as every one of you has the potential to be if you put your mind to it instead of Magazines under the desk, Ms. Patil, it becomes a game of logic as well. The best Quidditch is played not only with brawn, but with brains.

“The problem the English team has today is an unwillingness to delve into the realm of theory in order to straighten out their abysmal game plan. Such lassitude and willful ignorance on the subject will not be tolerated in my class,” she went on. “By next week’s lesson, I want everybody to write our a game-plan for a theoretical game in which each player’s moves are designed and planned to their greatest potential. Dismissed.”

The students stumbled out in a whirl of activity, grumbling to each other about having written homework for flying class. They were too interested in the prospect of lunch, however, to argue with Madam Hooch, especially considering how out-of-sorts she seemed to be.

“Somebody ought to put something horrid in her broom shed,” Dean was saying at lunch. “Has anybody got an idea?”

Seamus nodded, pulling a dungbomb just far enough from his pocket to show his friends. “Will this do?”

“It’s not nearly horrid enough,” said Dean. “You need something she can’t get read of easy. All they do is cast Air Cleaning Charms when we set those off. How about your spider? Don’t you know that kid that has a really hairy one?”

“I do not,” denied Seamus hotly, although Harry was sure he saw a leg of Justin’s tarantula peaking out of the top of Seamus’ bag. “And you’re not going to use that spider for any stupid prank – honestly, Justin had enough trouble to get the school to let him keep it at all – I can’t go sticking it in some professor’s desk.”

“Doesn’t matter, then,” said Dean carelessly, serving himself a large helping of fried pumpkin. “But somebody ought to do something. Honestly, whoever heard of a flying professor assigning homework?”

“She said other schools did it,” Harry put in. “And it almost makes sense…”

“She made that up,” insisted Dean. “We ought to all write our essays in a cipher, out of protest.”

“You boys will lose every last House Point we have,” snapped Hermione, pushing passed them to get to her seat. “And even if you don’t care about Gryffindor, you ought to realize you’d get a detention for that sort of thing and it’d stay on your record forever!”

“A nightmare, honestly,” said Ron under his breath, shooting her a dirty look. “But there’s got to be a logical way to deal with this,” he said louder. “After all – ”

“Logic is what caused the problem in the first place,” Harry pointed out. “Besides, she didn’t even give a minimum length – we can get away with writing very little.”

“Chances are,” said Dean, “she’ll forget she even asks us to do it. Let’s not worry about it.” He stabbed at his food in such irritation his elbow knocked several silver serving spoons to the floor.

“I hope she forgets,” said Neville, leaning over to pick up the flatware, “I’ll never remember to bring it to class even if I do write it.”

“You can’t remember anything,” chided Seamus. “You even forgot to ask Hooch to give your remembral back.”

“She won’t forget,” insisted Hermione. “Sshe was really annoyed with your attitude and if you don’t do it she’ll probably take more points than we can gain back in a month.”

“Well, for once she wasn’t annoyed with your terrible flying,” Dean shot back. “And you can probably win anything we lose back in a heartbeat, anyway.” He mockingly rolled back his top lip to show his upper teeth and waved a hand in the air as high as he could reach. “I know the answer,” he sang out, imitating Hermione’s voice nearly perfectly, “Pick me, Professor! Pick meeeeeeee!”

Hermione slammed her silver goblet to the table and left at a run, upset enough to forget her bag.

“You made her cry,” Neville accused, before gathering up his own bag and hers and hurrying after her.

“Very dangerous, making girls cry,” said Dean sarcastically. “Honestly, she’ll actually do it and then make us all look bad. She’s such a… ” he trailed off, a far away look coming over his face.

“Oh no,” said Seamus. “The last time he got that look he decided it was a great idea to enchant a mud puddle to sing …”

“Well it worked didn’t it?” demanded Dean, still not looking completely back to earth.

“It worked all right,” moaned Seamus. “But it also tried to eat McGonnagal’s shoes, splattered the Entrance Hall, and nearly drowned Neville…”

“I have an idea,” said Dean. “We all know miss Frizz Head will probably write sixteen feet and hand it in in triplicate, right?”

“Right,” agreed Ron. “but what are you –”

“Hooch wants a theoretical perfect game, right?” Dean went on. “And none of wants to write a whole one, right?”

“Yes it is,” said Dean. “She’s a genius, that means her work is public property. Somebody has to steal her essay long enough to make a copy. Then, each one of us will paraphrase a different couple of paragraphs and we’ll all have something to turn in.”

“This is … a very bad idea,” said Ron. “She’ll know right away, and she’d tell and we’d all get worse detention for copying that we would’ve for not turning in anything…”

“I’m not finished yet!” said Dean. “The really genius part of the plan is that then, once we all have a bit of it and make it look like we did it, we go to her, apologize for being mean, and ask if she can … look it over and give us a hand before we turn it in… ”

“He’s going to get us all killed,” said Seamus, putting his head in his hands. “She’ll stab us with those crazy silver hairpins, or beat us to death with a retainer…”

“Seamus, you’re being a prat,” said Dean. “You’re looking at a genuine, perfect, foolproof, logical plan!”

“It’s not logical,” said Harry. “It’s ridiculous.”

“Bet you a sickle it works,” challenged Dean, tossing one of the silver coins on the table.

“You’re on,” said Harry gamely. “But you’ll have to find somebody else to divide her work with, because I’m doing my own.”

“No matter what we’ll do we’ll do better than Malfoy,” said Ron, solely to draw attention away from the fact that he wouldn’t be able to join in the betting. “He won’t write anything, the lazy wart, just to be difficult.”

“Speaking of Malfoy,” said Dean, “he’s using a silver toothpick at the table, stupid prat.”

“Speaking of silver things,” said Harry, “here comes Nearly-Headless Nick.”

“I would prefer,” said Nick, hovering over the table so that his ghostly silver spurs trailed through the mashed potatoes, “that you call me Sir. Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington, but never mind that now, I’ve come to say that I’ve resolved your difficulty.”

“Resolved it?” repeated Harry. “How?”

“Well, there seemed to be a niggling little difficulty in stealing homework, it’s quite unethical, you see,” said Nick. “So, I did the logical thing and convinced the Bloody Baron to convince Hooch to cancel the assignment.”

“How’d you convince the Bloody Baron?” asked Ron, eagerly.

“Logic,” said Nick simply. “He knew his House would never complete such work and he always does what’s best for his House.”

“But – but how did the Baron convince Madam Hooch?” demanded Ron. “How does he have any influence at all?”

“I never asked,” said Nick delicately, “but I suppose it might have something to do with the fact that he’s rather … dashing.”

Dean grinned. “Brawns over brains!” he shouted. “Works every time!”

[biochemkris]

An Old Man's Logic

Albus Dumbledore was sitting in the large chair behind his desk, a look of intense preoccupancy upon his face. He had his fingers steepled, his chin rested upon them as his elbows rested upon the desk. His pointed wizard’s hat sat on the desk beside him as he stared at the silver instruments in front of him. They whirred in seemingly meaningless motion but, whatever Dumbledore saw in the motions seemed to disturb him.

Several months ago he had received intelligence that Tom was on the move. Dumbledore guessed what Tom would be after and had instructed Hagrid to retrieve the stone from Gringott’s. The stone arrived safely, just before the failed attempt at stealing it from Gringott’s. But, this wasn’t what was causing Dumbledore distress. No, it was that he had not yet decided on what sort of protection he would add to those his professors and Hagrid had already contributed to the stone’s security and Tom was getting ever closer to his goal.

Unable to decide on a course of action, he stood and walked over to a cabinet and opened it to reveal a stone basin. Dumbledore put his wand to his temple and extracted a memory, allowing the silver strand to dangle above the basin before it slipped, swirling, inside. After giving the contents of the basin a stir, Dumbledore leaned into them and was sucked inside his own memory. He often delved into this memory, reliving the moment Sybil Trelawney gave the prophesy. It was then, as he listened to the words, yet again, that he smiled. “Ah,” he sighed, nodding to himself and extracting himself from the memory.

The answer to his quandary had been in the castle all along. Dumbledore walked over to another cabinet and extracted a very fine, very thin, cloak. It slipped through his fingers like fine silk as he placed it on his desk. A flick of his wand and James’ invisibility cloak was wrapped. He penned a quick note with long, thin, strokes, and attached it to the package before summoning a house elf to deliver the package to Harry Potter and move the Mirror of Erised to a room near the library.

The plan had worked better than Dumbledore could have hoped. He had spent his time lurking in the shadows, waiting for Harry to use his cloak and stumble upon the mirror. When Dumbledore heard what it was that Harry saw in the mirror, he knew his brilliant idea would work. He may be starting to lack in vigor but, the trappings of old age had not yet started to degrade his mind. After speaking to Harry and explaining what the mirror does, Dumbledore had the house elves move the mirror once more. Once it was moved, he took the stone and placed it against the mirror before performing a very complicated spell in order to link the stone to the mirror. This way, only a person who wanted to find the stone, but not use it, would be able to find the stone after getting through the securities the professors had placed in the chambers leading to this one.

The days, weeks, and months that passed weren’t very eventful for Albus Dumbledore, though he did keep abreast of all that had been going on with Harry Potter. Just as he predicted, Harry and his friends were intent on finding the stone so they could thwart Tom’s efforts to regain bodily form. He went over the events of the past term in his mind as he picked up his hairbrush and began to run it through his hair, much to the delight of his mirror which had taken a fancy to him. He had planned to take a luxurious bath before supper but, those plans were interrupted in the form of yet another owl from Cornelius. With a sigh, Dumbledore set down his hairbrush and left and inform Minerva of his leaving the school for a few hours.

Once he had taken care of that matter, he began to walk out of the castle, through the grounds, and into Hogsmeade. He planned to have a quick drink at the Three Broomsticks before apparating to the Ministry. But, as he left the school, he was left with a nagging feeling that something fortuitous was going to occur in his absence. But, Dumbledore was resolved to give Harry his chance. Besides, it wasn’t as if he would be gone that long, even if the owl had been legitimate.

When Dumbledore finally got to the Ministry of Magic, it was to find a harried Cornelius, surprised yet relieved to see him. After dealing with a few minor emergencies involving broomsticks and dragons, Dumbledore extracted himself from the Minister’s company and hurried back to Hogwarts. He was just in time to find Harry locked together in mortal combat with Professor Quirrel. “Not too late, I hope…” he said to himself as he knelt beside the unconscious boy. He hurried Harry up to the Hospital Wing and left him in the tender and capable care of Madame Pomfrey.

A few days later, Dumbledore returned to the Hospital Wing and Harry woke. He was very relieved, though reluctant to answer Harry’s questions. Luckily, he was able to dissuade Harry from delving too far into what had happened and even managed to share in some of his treats. Thinking that it was high time he tried a Berty Bott bean again, he picked up a delicious-looking, toffee colored, bean and popped it in his mouth. “Alas, ear wax,” he sighed aloud. He mentally added, “And that is most definitely the last time I try one of those beans. I should have learned my lesson the first time.”

[cassirin]

Research, Rinse, Repeat

Hermione had all her books memorized the day after school let out for the summer. She’d become a bit of a nuisance, following her parents around their office and insisting they quiz her. They’d finally had to ban the vigorous child after they found her harassing a patient for garbling the question too severely for her to understand the words.

It was a surprise, then, when Hermione barreled into the office one wet morning only a few days later. She was out of breath and dripping with murky water, obviously having trekked through more than a few mud puddles in her haste.

“Dad!” Hermione began, but the man simply pointed some sort of hooked implement at her, and she fell silent. Not to be deterred by his dismissal, Hermione hurried to where her mother hunched over a girl with a mouth full of silver. “Mum! There’s an owl in the house!”

The girl in the chair gave a grunt of pain as Mrs. Granger involuntarily over-tightened the braces and turned to look at her daughter. “That’s nice, dear. Don’t interrupt Mummy while she’s working, remember?” She turned back to the girl, clucking her tongue as she realized she’d lost her train of thought. “Go home, and I’ll come and visit you on my lunch break.”

Hermione sighed and headed for the door, resolved to deal with the feathery invasion on her own. How’d the blasted thing find an open window anyway? And what was it doing out during the day? It simply wasn’t logical, and Hermione abhorred all things illogical.

Back at the house, Hermione slid through the back door and pressed herself against the wall in an attempt to make herself as small as possible. No owl in sight, but perhaps it was hiding somewhere. Did owls do that? Hermione was sure there was an abridged guide to European fowl on the bookcase in the den, and she slid along the wall.

The book was right where she’d pictured, and Hermione absentmindedly sat in the high desk chair, flipping through the pages to find the owl she’d spotted earlier. Interesting… it was obviously a barn owl based on the apricot coloring and distinctive heart-shaped face. Even more interesting was the fact that this barn owl was entirely out of its habitat.

A clicking noise drew Hermione from her intense study of the owl sketched in the book, and she tilted her head back to find an almost identical owl perched on her chair back. It snapped it’s beak at her before preening the feathers along its mottled chest.

“Stupid owl,” Hermione muttered, wondering how long it would take her to run for the door. Screaming wouldn’t help, that would be quite a silly way to deal with this situation. Wait… was it possible for an owl to look offended? If it was, this owl most certainly seemed affronted by her words. “What are you doing out of your habitat? And in a house, when the book clearly states that you avoid people? And it says you’re so… clever…” Hermione forgot about the owl as her eyes sought the page before her once again.

Her mouth forming a perfect o-shape, she pushed the book aside and rose to face the owl in front of her. There was absolutely no data to indicate why an owl would fly into her house and then dare to look offended, but the lack of data was what was so interesting. Clearly something more was going on here than her initial analysis that a deranged bird had somehow pried open a window and then shut it again.

A flash of white drew Hermione’s attention as the owl offered its leg. Yes, definitely… Hermione had puzzled it out. There was something very odd going on here, but the owl wasn’t a danger. With a tentative hand, she withdrew the letter that was secured tightly to the owl’s leg. Owls didn’t have thumbs to tie, so obviously someone had attached the envelope, which implied that it had been intended for someone in her house.

The owl looked on, completely unperturbed as she carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the folded sheets of paper. It couldn’t ignore the excited whoop that escaped the bushy-haired girl’s lips as she hopped up and down in excitement. “I knew it! I knew you were a magnificent, splendid, brilliant sort of owl!” Her face fell, and she flipped through the pages in her hand. “This won’t do at all! I don’t know these books by heart, and school starts in just over a month.


Author Note: Credit goes to “The Barn Owl Centre” for all information concerning owls in this fic.

[McGonagall's Cat]

Comments on the story Hufflepuff Here I Come

cassirin commented:
I love your characterization of Ernie - how he went from frightened and unsure to the slightly pompous Ernie we all know and love . Very creative way to approach the challenge.

McGonagall's Cat commented:
It is delightful to see a Hufflepuff explored! You got into the feelings and uncertanties wonderfully!

[McGonagall's Cat]

Comments on the story Point Taken

cassirin commented:
Don't know why, but I love the mental image of the tomato soup as a murky red mud puddle. I don't know why... . I think Neville doesn't get enough credit or attention, so I'm really glad you chose to focus on him. Great use of the requirements. I would have liked it to have been based on the book events, rather than movie, but that's just choosy ol' me.

McGonagall's Cat commented:
Neville's POV is an interesting avenue to explore. There were a couple places where paragraphing was off, and you obviously wrote from the movie as reference, since Neville was in the detention in the forest in the book.

Springdruidess commented:
The story itself was good - my main comment is that in PS/SS, Neville is a part of the group who serves the detention with Hagrid - Ron's stuck in the Hospital Wing at the time. Unfortunately that's all that was running through my head as I read this story.

[McGonagall's Cat]

Comments on the story The Only Dull Flying Class Ever

gonaners16 commented:
lol how dare they think about stealing homework

cassirin commented:
Wow... very amibitious and impressive use of so many of the requirements. I enjoyed Ron's logic... it actually made a lot of sense to me. As someone who struggled a bit to be logical, I especially appreciate that. The formatting went kaput for some reason, but I saw it before.

McGonagall's Cat commented:
Wildebeast! <br /> <br />"You're a little bit scarey at times." <br /> <br />

[McGonagall's Cat]

Comments on the story An Old Man's Logic

gonaners16 commented:
yay, dumbledore is one one my favorites:)

cassirin commented:
I love how you added that dash of humor at the end. Dumbledore is hard to write, and his motives and colloquisms are often quite obscure, but I think you did a good job with him. Interesting to be able to follow his thought process in letting Harry go after the Stone on his own.

McGonagall's Cat commented:
I wish every couple paragraphs of this was a whole story - it covered so much ground so quickly that I found myself wanting more info in each area.

[McGonagall's Cat]

Comments on the story Research, Rinse, Repeat

CrazyMoonyFan commented:
I love this one. So original and I love the fact that we get to hear a bit from her parents! I could definitely see this being the way Hermione discovers what she truly is. I love your use of vocabulary and how you've structured your work. Well done!

McGonagall's Cat commented:
Nifty setting and concept! Quite original! [And really nice that you credited your research source!]

Springdruidess commented:
Interesting idea - I love Hermione and this look at how she might have reacted to a random owl appearing in her house was definitely entertaining.

[McGonagall's Cat]

Comments on the story 2- Point Taken

[McGonagall's Cat]

Comments on the story 2- Hufflepuff Here I Come

lupinsmyman commented:
Nice,it was good to hear from Ernie's point of view.

[McGonagall's Cat]

Comments on the story 2- The Only Dull Flying Class Ever

lupinsmyman commented:
*hands some chocolate around* Good, very good

[McGonagall's Cat]

Comments on the story 2- An Old Man's Logic