The Game - Round Three - Pure Nerve and Outstanding Courage, Mission and Submissions Options

[Department_of_My...]

Welcome to round three of The Game!
Pure Nerve and Outstanding Courage!



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.




Think you know the answer?
Then send a PM to Department_of_Mysteries
If you answer wrong, you may try again.
Good Luck!
(And keep out of that corridor on the fourth floor!)

[chad13]

Rats, Frogs, and Fingers

He’d said gargantuan , whatever that meant. Malfoy’d said because he, Crabbe, was gargantuan, they had nothing to worry about. All the same Crabbe cracked his knuckles a few extra times for effect as Malfoy slid open the compartment door to face the famous Harry Potter.

He was small, skinny, Crabbe could have broken him in half right then and there. This spit of a boy was famous? This little nothing was better than the greatest aurors of the age?

Had Crabbe known words like auror and boy, those may have been a few thoughts that passed through his mind at the sight of Harry and Ron on the Hogwarts Express.

Malfoy continued his niceties, extending a hand to Harry and explaining to Ron that introductions were not really necessary since they sort of already knew one another. Crabbe busied himself by staring around at the set of trunks in the luggage rack, the more tattered of the two already had a corner of cloak sticking out.

It was then that Malfoy backed up a step, always a sign for Crabbe and Goyle to flex a few extra muscles.

Blinking, Crabbe realized Harry and Ron (the red haired boy and the black haired boy to Crabbe) had stood up. Crabbe recognized the words, “fight,” and, “us,” escape Malfoy’s lips, that was always a good sign. The best sign of all however was the word, “food.”

Crabbe smiled to himself, drooling a bit at the sight of the chocolate frogs before him. Goyle however was more a man of action and reached for the treats almost immediately, then he stumbled backwards.

Malfoy began to panic , he stepped backwards and Crabbe followed.

A rat, a very old and ugly rat, with no consideration for its own safety and well being had attached itself to Goyle’s finger by the teeth. Now Goyle was howling, screaming, and swinging the gray lump around in the air.

That rat had nerve. It was big, it was ugly, it was strong; but it was not that big, and not that strong, all it really was, was ugly.

The hair on the back of Crabbe’s neck prickled as the rat slammed into the window with a sickening crash before sliding to the floor. Crabbe laughed to himself, it was all he could think of.

Malfoy however thought to run, and after the few moments it took Crabbe to notice Malfoy was missing, he too took off into the corridor.

Safely back in their own compartment Crabbe watched as Goyle grimaced under Malfoy’s prodding at his bleeding finger. Crabbe felt quite fortunate (though that is not the word he would have come up with himself) that it had been Goyle who’d been bitten. Had he, Crabbe, had better reflexes it would have been his finger bleeding and so swollen he would not have been able to fit his wrist watch back on.

By the look on Malfoy’s face, a look Crabbe could not name, he knew his little blond friend was not pleased with the outcome of their first Hogwarts escapade. Malfoy’d surely pictured the cracking of skulls and the consumption of chocolate, a finger the size of four or five sausages was not what any of them had had in mind.

[muggle5]

Birth of a Seeker

It was a perfectly pleasant fall day with the sun out and blue skies. There were many students chatting in the open air, enjoying the scene and weather among the castle grounds. Even an owl could be seen here or there, enjoying the beautiful day among the calm skies. Neville, on the other hand, was inside the common room, resting after his broom accident from earlier that afternoon. Although some outdoor air might have done him some good, Madame Pomfrey had advised him to get some rest, and after the day’s dealings, Neville had heartily agreed. With his newly healed wrist, he lay upon the couch nearest the hearth, and let the worry of any previous matters whither away.

The portrait hole soon swung open and in came Dean and Seamus, broad grins upon each of their faces. They appeared to be impressed at some sort of affair, and, spotting Neville, quickly trotted over to speak with him.

“What is it?” Neville asked, sitting up.

“You should’ve seen him!” said Seamus.

“He was brilliant!” Dean agreed. They both sat down in the nearest armchairs.

“What?” Neville persisted.

“Harry!” said Seamus.

“I’ve never seen flying like that,” stated Dean.

“I think it was his first time too,” Seamus added.

“What’s gonna happen to him?” Dean questioned.

“I dunno. McGonagol didn’t seem too pleased,” Seamus pointed out.

“At least Malfoy got what was coming to him,” Dean said.

“It took long enough,” Seamus concurred.

“What are you talking about?” Neville asked, a bit aggravated at how long it was taking for them to make their point.

“Harry!” Seamus said again.

“He did some amazing flying after you’d left,” Dean said.

“What do you mean?” Neville inquired.

“After your little spill, we were all left standin’ around,” Seamus said.

“But not for too long. Draco was quick to take your remembral from the grass,” Dean added. Neville clutched at his sides, apparently realizing that it was missing for the first time.

“Oh,” Seamus said. “I almost forgot. Here you go.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew the remembral, passing it to Neville. Neville gratefully took the ball from him, and no sooner had he clutched it, than the smoke began to alter to a deep red. He would be sure to stow the ball away in his trunk later today to avoid this problem again. “You might need two remembrals in the future,” Seamus declared. There was a pause as everyone lost their train of thought, and Neville was the first to come to his senses again.

“What were you saying?” he inquired.

“Oh. Right,” said Seamus, continuing on. “Anyways, he started bein’ all cocky and stuff, mountin’ his broom and all, as if this was some amazing deal.”

“Cocky’s definitely the word for it,” Dean added.

“Right,” Seamus said. “Anyway, Harry mounts his broom too, and flies on up to get your remembral back.”

“Why would he do that?” Neville asked.

“Malfoy was being a bit of a git. Anyone would’ve done it,” Dean said.

“You didn’t do it,” said Seamus.

“You know what I mean,” Dean said.

“Anyways,” Seamus continued. “You’re just fortunate that Harry actually stood up to him. Everyone else was still waitin’ around. Doin’ nothin’.”

“There was something else going on inside him too,” Dean added, turning to Seamus. “Some sort of adrenaline rush kicking in, combined with his anger for Malfoy. What IS it between them, anyway?” Seamus shrugged his shoulders.

“So what happened next?” Neville eagerly asked.

“Well,” Dean said, “By now we were all in some sort of panic.”

“I wasn’t,” Seamus contradicted.

“Well, a couple people were. Harry had reached a really high height, and he kept looking like he could slip off at any moment.” He looked at Seamus for some sort of approval at what he’d said, and after receiving a nod, he continued. “They spoke for a little bit while they were up there. I couldn’t make out any of it.”

“It didn’t take that long,” Seamus argued.

Shaking off Seamus’s comments, Dean continued. “Well, before we all knew it, Malfoy had thrown your remembral at top speed, and Harry raced after it.”

“What do you mean by ‘thrown’’?” Neville asked.

“He just.... chucked it,” said Dean, shrugging.

“Malfoy has a pretty good arm, as a matter of fact,” Seamus noted.

“I guess,” Dean said, with a hint in his voice at his loss of interest about the subject. “Anyways, Harry did some fancy flying-”

“-Wicked fast-” Seamus interrupted.

“-And caught your remembral before it shattered.”

“How fast was he goin’ do you suppose?” Seamus questioned, turning to Dean.

“I dunno,” he said. Seamus turned to Neville.

“It was wicked fast though,” he said again.

“So, in the end,” Dean continued, “Harry caught it, flew on down with the thing, but... “

“But what?” Neville asked, slightly impatient.

“...McGonagol came out to get him pretty soon afterward,” Dean said.

“What happened to him?” Neville inquired.

“I’m not sure,” Seamus said. “What do you reckon?” Dean answered with a shrug.

“This feels like my fault,” Neville said, looking down.

"Er- how?" Dean asked, a bit confused. Neville wasn't even sure of this answer and kept looking at the rug beneath his feet.

“Calm down. I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Seamus said. "What's the worst that could happen?" Neville shook off this feeling of guilt and faced upward again.

“But did Harry really do all that? For my remembral?” Neville asked.

“Yeah,” said Seamus, “Although I wouldn’t get too hung up about it. It seemed more about Malfoy than the ball.” Neville’s look showed no sign of heavy-heartedness.

“I don’t care,” he said. “I wish I’d been there. Do you think he’ll ever do something like it again?”

“Probably,” Seamus said, eyes raised. “But next time you should lose something more valuable.”

[.Vendetta]

A Flight To Remember

Ron ambled casually down in the direction of their first flying lesson with his cloak trailing behind him, Harry at his side. Despite the dissatisfaction of having to attend the initial lesson with the Slytherins, he was actually looking forward to it. If you ruled out the nerves of having to attempt to perform in front of Malfoy- it had been rumoured he had had plenty of practice previous. Fortunately for Ron’s confidence, he had played a few games of Quidditch with his elder brothers. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Better than nothing.

As the lesson commenced, Ron felt his heart beat faster. He could feel the panic rise from the pits of his stomach, making him feel queasy. He prayed not to mess up before the eyes of Malfoy- or Crabbe and Goyle for that matter.

His uneasiness was disregarded as he watched in horror as Neville let his nerves get the better of him. Losing control of his broom, he ascended rapidly, gaining height by the second. Madam Hooch blew feverishly on her whistle to try gain control of the situation, but it was a wasted effort. Neville crashed to the ground with a sickening thud. Concern flashed through Ron as he surveyed the situation helplessly. Madam Hooch hurriedly glanced him over, announcing a broken wrist and turning to usher him to the hospital wing. She departed on a lingering threat: anyone else caught flying would be expelled faster than they could say ‘Quidditch’.

Checking his watch, Ron realised the lesson had only been going on for 10 minutes- and already an accident. Well, it was Hogwarts.

His attention focused back onto Malfoy as the boy swaggered, retrieving something glistening, hidden in the grass. It was Neville’s rememberall which had accompanied his owl at breakfast earlier that day. ‘Give it here Malfoy!’, Harry demanded. Ron briefly glanced at his friend- taken aback by the random outburst- then back to Malfoy to survey his reaction. He seemed to be smirking, enjoying himself. Usual, the git, he thought, irritated.

Malfoy swung his leg over his broom and kicked off smoothly considering they were mere first years. Maybe he hadn’t just been boasting. Climbing higher, he sneered, ‘How about I leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find it, eh Potter? Like in this tree.’ Ron faced his friend hesitating by his side, and to his surprise he was also mounting his broom. He’s never flown before!

A girl known as Hermione protested, but it went unheard of to his friend’s ears. Harry seemed a natural, Ron observed in awe. Both were fighting in the air, too high to be heard, but their faces could still be seen. He tried reading their expressions, trying to figure out what was being said. He couldn’t help but grin at his friend: anything to see Malfoy be defeated. Or shown up.

Something in the air seemed to change; it was an intangible change, but he could see something in Malfoy’s expression. He wished he could pick up what was being said, but it wasn’t long to witness what occurred next. Malfoy twisted and threw the tiny ball ahead of him with a sudden, fluent movement. It took the crowd by surprise as they watched, entranced by the scene above them: Slytherin taking the side of Malfoy, Gryffindor rooting for Harry. Malfoy was descending but no-one took notice. They were engrossed in watching Harry.

He was gathering a vast amount of speed for a first-time-flier. The adrenaline was evident to see on Harry’s face though. Heart in mouth, Ron gazed on willing Harry to catch it. His hand was outstretched, broom dangerously nearing the ground.

In the next second the miniscule ball was clasped in Harry’s hands.

Hitting the ground with a thud, the Gryffindor’s cheered, advancing to Harry to congratulate him. The ball in his grip was held high in the air, catching the light from the sun, making it shimmer. A grin danced across Ron’s face, laughing as he went to join his friend, gleeful. It felt good to have watched Harry better Malfoy. That same smile was washed off in mere seconds however as the shrill voice of Professor McGonagall was heard from behind them. His heart sank. He hadn’t seen this coming.

Ron watched Harry’s retreating back dejected as the celebration was cut short. Observing Malfoy’s sly smirk in his direction, Ron’s gaze fell to the ground to the scene of two beetles scurrying across the grass. All joyful feelings had been rapidly replaced with a sinister dread. The consequences of that selfless act however were unlike anyone could have hoped for.

[lupinsmyman]

It Is Not A Good Idea To Be Locked In A Girl’s Bathroom On Halloween

A wise wizard once said, “If a school is a potion, its teachers are the mortar and pestle that prepare the ingredients. But it is the brightest students that are the cauldron that hold it all together."

Being the school’s smartest student for your age is not only an honor but also a responsibility. Hermione Granger could not afford to have a bad grade if she was to uphold her “reputation”. Even if that meant sacrificing free time to study and complete homework that wasn’t due for a week. But what made her upset wasn’t the fact that she was the smartest because she did do these things, it was that she had no one to spend free time with anyway. No one wants to be friends with the know-it-all.


That Weasley boy didn’t even thank her when she corrected his pronunciation of the Wingardium Leviosa charm today. Nor did Harry Potter listen to her when she told him to stay on the ground instead of going after Malfoy. For Goodness sakes he hadn’t even seen a bewitched broomstick before, let alone flown one! At least he hadn’t been expelled. And of course no one paid any attention to her when she said no to go gallivanting off in the middle of the night. It was bad enough that they were nearly caught by Filch, without the prospect of having their heads torn off by that three-headed dog! What good does being brilliant do when not a soul will listen to you?

Even worse than having no friends is being ridiculed for it. Blast that Ronald Weasley! Why did he have to make fun of her? Wiping tears from her eyes Hermione stormed off from Thursday’s Charms class. And she was hoping today would be a good day, being a holiday and all.

“I think she heard you,” someone said from behind her. He sounded almost sincere but Hermione was too distraught to care. She ran and ran with her books held tight against her chest and her bushy brown hair falling into her face. Next thing she knew she was leaning against the wall in a girl’s lavatory on the first floor. She was still sobbing quietly. She wiped her face on her cloak.

Why did I think it was going to be different here? Children are the same, wizards or not. I should’ve stayed home and forgotten all about this magic stuff. At least I have books. Oh, Hermione you’re so pitiful. Books for friends?

“Are you alright, Hermione?” Parvarti Patil was leaning out towards her, holding a wad of tissues in her hand.

Hermione nodded, took the tissue gratefully, blew her nose, and nodded.

“I’d like to be left alone though, thanks,” she answered. Parvarti rose and walked out of the bathroom looking sullen.

How suddenly warm it was and how soft her bag was beneath her head, not to mention how heavy her eyelids….

Lamplight shone dimly inside the damp room. Hermione’s stomach rumbled. How long had she been asleep in the dirty old bathroom? There was a soft click and a deep growl that wasn’t her stomach. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and glanced upward.

In front of her stood a gargantuan and very ugly mountain troll. Its gray skin was lumpy and disfigured and in places looked as if lichen were growing on it. Plus, it reeked. In one of its hands was an equally large wooden club, which looked more like a trunk of a small tree.

It raised its arm bringing the club down beside Hermione’s head, smashing several sinks in the process. Just managing to jump out of the way, she let out an ear-piercing shriek and backed further out of the way. Every spell she had ever learned was erased from her memory and she was frozen with fear.

Please let someone find me before this thing turns me into Half-Blood Stew! She thought.

Suddenly, the door flew open and two figures streamed in; one with red hair the other with black. Potter and Weasley. Of all the people who could have come to her rescue it had to be the two Gryffindors who seemed to hate her most.

“Oy, pea-brain!” Ron yelled. He had just hit the troll on the head with a piece of pipe he’s thrown. It wheeled around and grunted at Ron.

Hermione vaguely remembered Harry trying to pull her up and out the door but he barely managed to move her three feet. When that didn’t work he did the stupidest thing she had ever seen. He leapt onto the troll’s thick back, his wand somehow going up its nose.

Ron gulped and took a step backward, raising his own wand and said, “Wingardium Leviosa.” The troll’s club flew out of its hand and landed with a sickening thud on its own head. It fell crashing down onto the bathroom floor.

“It isn’t- dead is it? Imagine how hard it would be to remove a dead troll.” Hermione was the first one to talk.

“Easier than moving a live one,” Harry replied, “No, I think Ron just knocked him out.”

Proof that someone had heard the troll fall came in the form of footsteps as Harry was wiping snot from his wand. A few seconds later Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrel came running in looking flustered and out of breath.

“What the--? What happened here? Explain yourselves! You’re lucky you’re not dead! Why did you two not follow Mr. Weasley (the prefect, that is) back up to your dormitory?” McGonagall snapped at them. Her lips tightened and her nostrils flared. Hermione had come to recognize this behavior but she usually only saw it when a student talked back.

Her adrenaline was pumping through her blood and pounding her ears. She couldn’t let Ron and Harry get in trouble for this! They had saved her life! So, slowly she stepped out of her hiding place and spoke.

“Please, Professor its all my fault. I know I shouldn’t have come but, you see, I thought I could handle it. I’d read plenty about them in books. But obviously that wasn’t enough. It was going to finish me off when Harry and Ron- er- stopped it. They saved me.”


The teachers looked taken aback. Quirrel seemed so shocked that he actually sat down on one of the rickety toilets.

“I am ashamed, Miss Granger. I thought you of all people would show the level-headedness of a Gryffindor. Five points will be taken from the house. As for you boys,” McGonagall paused glaring at Ron and Harry, “I am awarding you each five points. Only because you were extremely lucky not to have your necks broken! Now off to bed with all of you!”

Hermione, glad for an excuse to get rid of the troll (and its smell), ran as fast as she could back up to the Gryffindor common room where, on a strange impulse, she waited for Harry and Ron to arrive. Maybe she should hide out in forgotten bathrooms more often.


“Thank you,” she whispered to them and they whispered back. Hermione could tell that this was going to be the start of a good friendship. And she smiled.

[zymurgy]

A Few Rather Useless Bits of Derringdo

Filch glowered at the lichen growing between the flagstones, feeling a prickle of anger creep down his neck. It didn’t matter how often he had dowsed the stuff with Madam Scower’s Magical Plant Remover, it always grew back, stubborn, harder, and dirty. He had even once resorted to using a pin to pick it out of the stones by hand to no avail.


Professor Quirrell stepped timidly onto the scene, picking his way carefully, looking for all the world as though he were certain something were about to eat his ankles. Because he was paying so careful attention to the ground, he missed Filch altogether and ran into him, knocking him over. Mrs. Norris hissed angrily at the professor’s robes.


“Oh!” Quirrell stammered in panic, jumping a step backwards. “I – I – I didn’t see you there! P-p-p-please forgive. I was j-j-just on my way down to see Professor Snape, you know a-a-about –”


Filch picked himself off the floor, and glowered at the other man. “If you’re going to see him anyway,” he growled, “then you can tell him from me that I’ve a need for some of his death fizz.”


“D-d-death?” asked Quirrell, skirting about Filch and beginning to back away, darting nervous glances towards the cat. “B-b-but my dear Filch, there surely isn’t a n-n-n-eed for that is there?”

Filch shot the skittish Professor a dirty look. “None of your nevermind,” he said, as Quirrell finally turned his back and scurried off.


“Someday he’ll shiver so hard he loses his teeth,” Filch muttered under his breath. “Stupid cowardly wizard.”


Mrs. Norris purred in agreement. Gathering her in his arms and stomping a little louder than strictly necessary, Filch went on to the next corridor, shooting a last glare at the lichen. He stopped at the gargantuan statue of Gordon the Grief-stricken Goblin, which portrayed a Goblin much larger than life, sitting with his head in his hands. As usual, Filch noted with a grimace, the lap of the statue was brimming with scraps of parchment and discarded sweet wrappers.


“Hooligans,” he muttered to Mrs. Norris. “I’ll string them up by their thumbs some day.”


He placed his cat on the floor and continued to mutter curses and threats under his breath as he gathered the items up and fed them to dustbin, which gave a metallic sounding sigh as though the meal were rather good.


Suddenly, he was knocked to the floor for the second time of the day, this time by a large group of stampeding students, apparently quite frightened and high on adrenaline. He picked himself up just in time to see the last billowing cloak flutter around the corner.


“Detention!” he shrieked after them, knowing even as he did so that it was useless. “I’ll find out who you were! You’ll be in detention for the rest of the term – I’ll make you scrub cauldrons or – ”


“Calm yourself, Filch,” snapped an imperious voice, behind him suddenly. “They are, for once, doing as they’ve been told. There’s been a troll sighted.”


“Stars above,” Filch swore, “have a heart, Snape. Come up behind a man and tell him to calm down – and then tell him there’s a great hulking Troll lumbering about?”


Snape silenced him with an urgent gesture, breaking into a run towards the stairs. “No time, man. Quick, come along! Quirrel came by here, didn’t he? Did you see him?”


“He said he was looking for you,” said Filch. “Come to think of it, though, he went towards staircase six and –”


“It doesn’t go to my floor,” Snape finished for him. “Come along, I might need to send somebody back for help if I don’t catch him in time.”


Not explaining further, Snape ran at breakneck pace for the stairs and drawing his wand. “Quator!” he commanded, tapping the railing and jumping on.


Filch joined him just before the stairs changed rapidly on Snape’s command, and narrowly missed dropping Mrs. Norris into the disappearing step.


The stairs carried them swiftly to the fourth floor and slid into place with a clang.


“If I’m not back with him in fifteen minutes, send for Dumbledore and Pomfrey,” commanded Snape, grabbing hold of the handle of the forbidden door.


“You can’t go in there!” protested Filch, pulling him back. “There’s a great slobbering monster! He’ll tear you to pieces!”


“I know that,” snarled Snape, pushing him aside, “but I’m not here on a capricious whim! Remember, fifteen minutes before you send for help.”


With that, the Professor pushed the door open and flung himself into the room, wand drawn. Filch drew his watch and then froze as a horrible growling and barking arose from the room, accompanied by several shouted spells he did not recognize.


Mrs. Norris looked from the door to her master and gave him a significant look. “Now, my sweet, he said fifteen minutes,” he chided, although he had his own doubts whether the professor would last that long. “We’re not to jump in.”


A sudden agonized shriek changed Filch’s mind and he wrenched the door open. The first thing he saw was the monster – an enormous dog with three heads. The second was that the middle head had a firm and bloody grip on Snape’s leg.


Mrs. Norris gave an enraged hiss and launched herself at the leftmost head of the beast, while Filch landed a swift blow to the middle head, which gave a yelp and released Snape’s leg.


The cat then leapt onto the middle head, and set her claws into its fur. All three heads growled and barked as the dog tried to dislodge her with furious swipes of its paws, but it couldn’t reach.


Snape scrabbled away from the dog, his jaw set in determination. “Get back!” he shouted, “it’ll pull you to pieces!”


Filch grabbed the other mans arm and pulled him upright. “It’s a wee bit preoccupied,” he shouted back. “Can you stand?”


Snape gritted his teeth and shook his head, no, but pointed towards the far corner of the room. Filch saw immediately was he wanted – the wizard had dropped his wand.
Filch threw a glance at his cat, who rode the third head with seeming contentment as the others growled at her and the paws kept up their futile grabbing. In a split second he made his decision. “Watch my cat,” he whispered fiercly, before making a dive for the other side of the room.


Distracted, for the moment, from the cat on its head, the dog turned towards Filch and growled menacingly. Filch grabbed the wand and tossed it over the dog’s head towards Snape, who caught it.


The second head, followed the path of the stick with eager eyes and made as though to go after it, but the third head was intent on attacking Filch and the middle head was shaking madly to and fro, still trying to dislodge the cat.


Snape opened the door, and signaled Filch to make a dash for it. Filch ran across the room again, reaching out to grab his cat on his way out.


Both men fell to the corridor floor in a tumble of limbs, and scrambled to slam the door shut before the dog could escape. Once it was secure, Snape cast a quick locking charm, followed by one to disinfect his wound and stop the bleeding.


Mrs. Norris jumped from her master’s arms and stalked down the corridor, tail waiving jauntily in the air. Filch leaned against the door, breathing hard, looking after his cat with a bemused air. “Always wins, Mrs. Norris,” he said proudly, a slow grin forming on his face. “Dogs don’t stand a chance with her.”


Snape leaned back and banged his head against the door sharply. “He’d already gone,” he said, scrambling to his feet. “I was too late – listen, Filch, not a word to a soul. I’ve no proof to accuse him with now and …”


Filch nodded once. “Right you are, Professor,” he agreed. “Knew there was something off about him, never trust a twitchy fellow… We’ll get you to the hospital wing…”


But Snape was already limping back the way they had come. “No,” said Snape, “it’s better nobody knows.”


“It’ll open up again if you keep running about,” protested Filch.


“Then I’ll just have to bandage it,” returned Snape. “The troll may still be loose and –”


Filch watched Snape hobble down the stairs, wand out, face fierce and determined. “Snape!” he called out.


The Professor glanced back over his shoulder. “Yes?”


“You owe me a pint of death fizz.”


A day later, while Filch was picking a few stray beetles from a portrait of Roderick the Rebellious when Snape limped up behind him.


“I’ve got your fizz ready,” he said, offering the bottle. He hesitated slightly before adding, “There’s a bit of cleaning to be done in my store cupboard.”


Filch took the fizz, which was making a low, angry bubbling noise, and pocketed it. “Somebody spill ingredients every which way again?” he asked, leading the way to the store cupboard. “Ought to be strung up by their toes, every one of them.”


Once in the cupboard, Snape sank onto the nearest trunk and allowed his pain to show on his face, pulling up his robe to show that the wounds on his leg had reopened. “I could use a third hand,” he said, handing Filch a roll of bandages, while he rolled his sock away from the gashes.


“Told you not to walk right after healing it,” said Filch. “Oh it did chew you up nasty, didn’t it?”


Snape sighed exasperatedly, using his wand in one hand to fix the bandages in place while using the other to help Filch wrap them properly.


“I don’t know which one of you was the bigger idiot,” Filch went on. “You, or my cat. You going in there with your bloomin’ ‘get help in fifteen minutes,’ or her jumping on the things head like she did. You’ve both more spunk than brains.”


Snape looked up to give a twisted smile. “Your cat did seem to enjoy herself.”


“Aye, she did,” agreed Filch. “And you should see her carry on. Acts as though she hung the ceiling in the Great Hall, and enchanted it too. Expect her to require me to bow, every minute.”


“Your fortunate you’re not bowing to her already,” said Snape wryly. “I’ve known people to get rather stupid about their pets.”



“Stupid as in keeping a three-headed dog in a school?” Filch shot back.


“Blasted thing,” said Snape, “How’re you supposed to keep track of all its head’s at once?”


Filch shrugged. “Grow a few extra yourself, perhaps.”


Snape hissed in pain as Filch tugged a bandage into place with rather more force than necessary. “ ‘Extremely painful death,’ Dumbledore says,” muttered Snape. “‘Extremely’ is a bit of a euphemism.”


“Bit of a falsehood,” said a portrait of Calder the Cauldron-Headed, looking up from feeding its owl a strangley viscous potion. “Fluffy wouldn’t hurt a fly.”


“Fluffy?” repeated Filch incredulously. “Why does that man always name them the most ridiculous things?”


The portrait gave an offended sort of sniff and left its frame, as the owl began to flutter about, hooting pink bubbles.


Bandaging finished, Snape reached behind a mortar and pestle pulled out a bundle of herbs and handed them to Filch. “Set some of that out for Mrs. Norris,” he said. “She deserves it.”


Filch gave the sludge a distrustful sniff. “What is it?”


Snape smiled. “Catnip.”

[biochemkris]

Mars is Bright

A centaur stood in the midst of the Forbidden Forest, though that was a name given to the forest by wizards and the centaurs did not use it. He looked skyward through the gaps of the trees. “Hmmm,” he muttered to himself, thinking deeply upon what he read in the stars. “Mars is unusually bright.”

The centaur turned away from the stars, disturbed. As he looked around the small clearing, he saw his fellows still staring up at the sky. He was one of the youngest of the herd and he had always been considered abnormal by the others in his group. At first they chalked it up to his being so young but, after many years with no change, it had become apparent to everyone, even to him, that Firenze was somewhat different from other centaurs. While they spent most of their time staring up at the sky and pondering the things the stars and planets showed them, young Firenze spent much of his night galloping through the forest. Even ‘normal’ centaurs didn’t spend all their time with their faces turned skyward but, while they tended to focus their energies thinking only about the future and those things which concerned the centaurs directly, Firenze found himself thinking about the present, other creatures… and wizards.

There had been strange happenings in the forest lately; things in the forest that ought not to have been there. The centaurs knew of this but, kept their noses to the sky, unconcerned with anything that wasn’t bothering them. Firenze, on the other hand, was disturbed and took one last look to the heavens before galloping out of the clearing and into the forest. He had a foreboding feeling that something inauspicious was happening in the forest right now. As if to confirm his premonition, an owl began an eerie lament as it flew, ghostlike, above Firenze until it found its prey and dove off in the opposite direction. The centaur galloped on, flowing like liquid through the trees which seemed to move out of his way so that his steps never faltered. His intuition was proved correct as he jumped over a fallen, lichen covered, tree trunk and observed the scene in the clearing ahead.

The vision that met his eyes as he entered the clearing sent the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Two young boys and a great boarhound were entering just ahead of him but, that wasn’t the only anomaly and nor was it the most disturbing. In the midst of the clearing was a unicorn, covered in its own blood, shimmering in the moonlight. A figure in a dark cloak was bent over the unicorn. Firenze could not believe his eyes. Another rush of adrenaline pulsed through him and he jumped over the remaining boy in front of him, the cowardly boarhound and other boy having fled at the sight of the cloaked figure. He charged, without any thought for his own safety, only that of the unicorn. The figure fled but, Firenze was too late. The unicorn was dead.

With a heavy heart, Firenze turned to chastise the remaining boy for being so foolish as to be in the forbidden forest this late at night and to see whether or not he might have been an accomplice to such a crime but, the boy was on his knees, seemingly in pain. In the light of the moon, the centaur saw the scar upon the boy’s head and hurried to his side, standing over Harry Potter as he roused. He offered the boy a ride, thinking it was for the best. It was against all a centaur’s dignity to act as transport but, Mars was extremely bright and if anything was to be done about making sure the killing of this unicorn was where this particular evil ended, Harry Potter needed to get out of the forest and away from the being inside it as quickly as possible.

It became quickly apparent that his fellow centaurs were not of the same mind when Ronan and Bane entered the clearing after Harry Potter finished clamoring onto Firenze’s back. Firenze should have known that his actions would not meet with his peers’ approval but, he had been so sure that they would care this time. Surely even they could see, focused on the future as they were, that though what was happening in the wizarding world wasn’t affecting the centaurs now, did not mean that it would not affect them at some point in the future unless they changed things now, in the present. After another argument with Bane, resulting in a swift departure before either centaur did something they would both regret, Firenze knew that he would always be an outcast as far as the herd was concerned.

Firenze left the clearing in a bit of a huff but, at least the Potter boy would be safe. He found Hagrid soon afterward, though enough time passed that he was able to speak with Harry Potter about what he had witnessed in clearing with the unicorn. He left the boy with Hagrid, ensuring his safety, before heading back into the deep parts of the forest, his head raised toward the heavens, deep in thought. The boy had been very fortunate. Who knew what would have happened in that clearing if Firenze had not been there to chase away the cloaked figure? The other centaurs may not care what happened in the wizarding world, feeling safe in their delusion that whatever happened with wizards would never have any effect upon centaurs, but Firenze knew better and vowed that at least he would do everything in his power to ensure another reign of terror did not descend upon the world.

[cassirin]

All the Gryffindor

Neville Longbottom clenched the arm of his chair tightly and stared across the Gryffindor Common Room. It had been emptying steadily for the past hour or so, but he sat still as a Muggle portrait he’d once seen at his Great Aunt Enid’s. The only movement was one hand clenching and unclenching around a very uncomfortable Trevor the toad.

There were only five Gryffindors left in the Common Room, and Neville watched Ron as he stared openly at Lee Jordan. The boy showed no concern as he pushed beetles into his tarantula’s box and jotted notes on a bit of parchment. At last, Lee yawned hugely before heading up the stairs, and Neville’s heart rate picked up considerably.

Now there were four of them, and Neville’s skin prickled in anticipation. Maybe they’d all go up to bed as they’d done every night this week. He’d been waiting in this very chair night after night, and he’d been fortunate thus far. No confrontations necessary, no loss of points, no more Gryffindor embarrassments. Maybe he’d get lucky once again.

He sighed in relief as Harry stood and darted up the stairs. They were going to bed. He could rest easy once again. The term was nearly over. He wouldn’t stand watch on them next year, that much was for sure. Odd… Ron and Hermione hadn’t gone up with Harry. Neville felt a sinking sensation, and he pulled Trevor against his chest. Go up, go up, go up go up go up, he chanted in his head.

Much to Neville’s dismay, Harry reappeared at the bottom of the stairs, an oddly hued cloak clutched in his hands. He held a very brief exchange with his two friends, and they all took a few steps for the door. Trevor gave a squeaky croak of protest, and it brought Neville back to himself. He loosened his grip on the toad and stumbled to his feet.

Neville steeled all of his nerves and stepped forward. “Where are you going?” Remarkably, his voice was steady and didn’t shake THAT much. Harry shoved the odd cloak behind his back as if Neville were an idiot as well as a coward. The site of it billowing in silvery folds against Harry’s ankles angered Neville more than he could say. “You’re going out again!” he demanded, and it wasn't a question.

It took all the courage Neville had, all the Gryffindor he’d inherited from his very brave mother and father, to raise his wand against these three people Neville had hoped were his friends. After all, he was taking the unadventurous and perhaps overly cautious side on this debate, and to add insult to injury, he had his wand out on the Boy-Who-Lived. He felt a thrill of joy. He was brave! He really was, and maybe that meant he was wrong in thinking he’d been put into the wrong house.

He’d been prepared to argue with them. Ron seemed like he might be a hand-to-hand combat sort, and he knew he couldn’t out logic Hermione. Even still, Neville was prepared to go to any lengths to keep them from leaving the common room. What he hadn’t been prepared for was Hermione’s superior knowledge of spells. They all stepped easily over his stiffened body and disappeared beneath the silver cloak, sneaking out into the torch-lit halls to be up to whatever mischief it was they had planned.

[lupinsmyman]

Malfoy Has A Plan

Draco Malfoy was, rich, snobbish, cocky, and just an overall rude child. And he was proud of that fact. He didn't really know why the Slytherins had taken to him so quickly. Perhaps it he was just fortunate, perhaps it was because he was pureblood. Anyway, it didn't matter to him. He was in control and that was all that was important.

He was feared and respected. Draco made sure of that. He threatened anyone who even pretended to get in the way of what he wanted. But only for Potter would he dare to fulfill those threats, Potter and his stupid friend Weasley.

But how to get them? Something brilliant, something Potter will certainly fall for. It was only a capricious (Potter probably doesn't even know what that means) thought that inspired me to risk my own neck by stealing that oaf, Longbottom's remembral. What came of that? Potter wasn't even expelled.
Malfoy had been glowering at his breakfast for the past fifteen minutes.

It was the sight of an eagle owl dropping a letter on his plate that pulled him out of his daze. He grabbed the letter, upon recognizing his family seal (three snakes wrapped around a mortar and pestle), opened it.

My Dearest Draco,

I hope the all has been going well for you during your term at Hogwarts. Your Father is away on business and I am missing you both greatly. Try to stay out of too many duels while you are away.

Make me proud,
Your Mother

P.S. The Eagle Owl is a gift for you. Take care of her.

"Crabbe, Goyle, I've got an idea. One that just might work," he said smirking.

That night at dinner, after he was through, he rose from the Slytherin table and walked smoothly to where the Gryffindors were dining. Crabbe and Goyle struggled after him, heaving their great masses from the wooden benches.

"Enjoying this, fine last meal, Potter? I suspect it's better than anything your parents could feed you. Seeing that they're dead and all." Draco said calmly. He plan was perfect. He only faltered when the Granger girl shot him a dirty look.

"Speaking of muggles," he continued, returning her glance, "when does your train leave?"

"Seems like you've got a spine now that your feet are back on the ground, Malfoy. Or is that only because you've got two gorillas to bash our skulls in if we try to do anything to you?" Potter said, finally acknowledging him.

"I could take you anywhere anytime, Potty. Even tonight. Midnight, in the trophy room. No 'bashing skulls'. A wizard's duel. That's with wands only. Of course you already knew that I suppose" Draco replied.

"Of course!" It was Weasley, his ears as red as his hair. "I'll be his second man. And yours?"

Malfoy paused for a minute. It was working. They had fallen for his scheme hook, line, and sinker. Now, who should be his second? It didn't really matter.

"Crabbe will. Midnight, Potter, Weasley. Midnight in the trophy room." He smirked and turned to walk out of the Great Hall.

"Oh, and Potty," he added, "if you don't show I'll be sure to tell everyone what a coward you are. And that you really have no 'outstanding courage' after all"

Outside of the Great Hall, Draco found who he was looking for. Filch was helping his cat, Mrs. Norris out of a disappearing step.

"Oy, Filch!" he called. The old man, startled, glanced up with a look of panic on his face.

"To what do I owe this not-so-pleasant surprise, Mr. Malfoy," Filch said, finally freeing his cat.

Malfoy moved closer to the old man and whispered, "I've had a tip off that a group of students in meeting in the trophy room at midnight for a little vandalizing."


"Vandalizing! I must see to this at once..." Filch muttered and he hobbled down a corridor to his office.

After a few seconds Crabbe spoke. "You mean, we was never gonna duel wit' 'em?"

Draco gave him a very dirty look. "Of course not. My mother's strictly forbidden it."

Whether or not he dueled,Malfoy was sure that his mother would agree that it took his amazing pure nerve to trick Potter.

[McGonagall's Cat]

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