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Apr. 11th, 2009 12:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hug_machineAaaaand here's my Hogsmeade fic-dump! Sorry for all the spams! -__-
If you see any mistakes or just wanna say anything at all, plz do! Mosta these were written with toooo much sugar and toooo little sleep. >>;
Title: Nine Things Lord Voldemort Hates: Death Eater Edition
Characters: Voldie & the usual gang
Word Count: 100 on the nose
Rating: PG for ...mild baby eating. >>;
Note: sdjkhfkj written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hogsmeade_elite. Got 2nd in Prophet writers. I WUZ IMPERIUS'D, I SWEARRRR...
Malfoy's curious trait of always smelling like baby powder and butter.
Crabbe's lazy eye (Gotta remember to glare at the left one.)
Regelus's refusal to shave his stupid little adolescent peach fuzz mustache.
Goyle's breath. (Don't get too close. All he eats is pickled eggs and liverwurst.)
Snape's annoying habit of doodling weird bleeding roses in the margins of his scrolls.
Alecto's constant barrage of 'good' ideas. (Legions of darkness don't do quilting bees. No evil bake sales, either.)
Fenrir's constant interruptions to brag about how many babies he's eaten that week.
Jugson's ill-fitting mask (Like a walrus wearing an eye patch.)
Bellatrix cooties.
Title: Try Blowing Out The Cartridge Again, It Worked Last Time!
Characters: UH...MARIO. AS IN SUPER MARIO, OF THE MARIO BROHERS. >>;
Word Count: 541
Rating: Gee!
Note: Written forhogsmeade_elite for contest to write a cover letter for a non-HP person to get a Hogwarts job! Influence of sugar, insomnia and 2nd place, somehow! 0_o
To his Honorable Headmastership Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore-
Enclosed, find my curriculum vitae for the position of Professor of Defense against the Dark Arts. I believe you will find my prior experience to meet and exceed your expectations. It is long known that the DADA Professor must posses not only a keen knowledge of the Dark Arts and the Defenses that may be employed against them, but also an extensive knowledge of the other magical arts, from dueling to transfiguration and herbology.
I have long been considered a master dueler. Not only am I adept in martial arts, (I am able to destroy most bricks with a single punch and am very accomplished in the art of leaping over ones' opponent and incessantly hopping upon their head until they are subdued or simply drawn into their shell and ready to be kicked at other enemies) but I am also an accomplished marksman, particularly with fireballs and sledgehammers.
My experience with transfiguration is just as extensive. Over my years of adventuring over seven worlds, (and as many airships) I have variously transformed myself into a common green pond frog, a hammer-tossing turtle, a grotesque half boot/half man hybrid and, with the help of my herbology knowledge, a flying raccoon.
Indeed, my herbology research has been been nothing short of groundbreaking, particularly in the area of mycology. I've discovered mushrooms that allow one to double in size (at least as long as none of your enemies touch you) and, perhaps in my crowning achievement, a mushroom that will extend your life indefinitely (but is sometimes invisible).
Also, I can tell you where to find a really wicked star that kills everything you touch.
Finally, although it is not customary for a Professor of Defense against the Dark Arts to instruct their pupils in either plumbing or pasta making, I must offer my skills in both.
For 25 years, my brother and I have offered top-notch plumbing services with a second-to-none customer service record. Our business is so successful that we've expanded our Brooklyn-based business to over seven lands, including Desert Land, Water Land, Giant Land and even Friggin' Annoying AAAH THIS LEVEL TAKES FOREVER Pipe Maze Land.
The value of strong pasta making skills, particularly in area of Defense against the Dark Arts, is self-evident. It has long been known by Italian witches and wizards that the most effective means of taking down an enemy includes plenty of al dente spaghetti, ample roasted garlic, vine ripened tomatoes and enough sprigs of fresh oregano to take down an army of Death Eaters. A good Italian Chianti doesn't hurt either. Fill your enemies with enough Italian food and they'll soon forget all about their Unforgivables.
As you can see from both this and my enclosed CV, I am a premiere candidate for the post and would be an invaluable addition to the Hogwarts staff. I look forward to discussing this with you in person --simply owl me the locations of the five nearest open, man-sized sewer pipes and I'll be there before you can say "It's-ah me-ah, Mario!"
Remember, your princess is not in another castle. Your princess is right here. And by princess, I mean DADA Professor.
With Utmost Sincerity,
S. Mario III
Title: Squibbity McSquibbers
Characters: Harry & Hermione & Ron & Hagrid &H_E inside drama joke jkhjkd Hokay, you might need to read Fandom Wank to get this one. >>;
Word Count:704
Rating: PG for ...Mild Thestral-related gore
Note: Tied for 3rd in ahogsmeade_elite contest.
"What's a... sackurmim?"
"Soccer mom," corrected Hermione, "Soccer's a Muggle sport --well, that's the American word for it, British Muggles call it football."
"It's like Quidditch without any flying," Harry added.
Ron made a sour face. "Why bother?"
"So righ'," Hagrid continued, "this nutty American squib found Hogwarts somehow, an' even managed to get 'emselves sorted into Ravenclaw. Nobody knows 'ow. Maybe the Sortin' Hat was toyin' with us all, but it he got in, righ' under everybody's nose. Nobody really noticed anythin' odd, until Professor Snape noticed when half a jug of Polyjuice Potion went missin'. And what would yeh know, the feller came back around to three more sortin' feasts, three more years. Sorted in every single house, if yeh can imagine."
Ron scratched at his chin with his badly-mended wand. "How did he..?"
"Polyjuice potion," Hermione offered immediately.
"And nobody noticed, nobody at all?" Harry asked.
"Not a one. Not with all the Polyjuice he nicked off Snape --even sorted into Gryffindor as a girl. Why, we didn' even know he was from America, until..." At this, Hagrid shook his great bushy head and wrung his hands.
"Until..?" Hermione prompted him.
"It was downrigh' terrible, tha' night. Right after Yule Ball, the feller hops up onto the Ravenclaw table in the great hall. Turned over a huge bowl o' puddin' in the process, awful mess all over the table. He's got puddin' up to his ankles an' everybody's turned around to watch him an' he starts shoutin' things about all the houses. Beastly things...secret things."
"What sort of secret things?" Harry asked, quietly.
Hagrid drew in a lofty breath and continued. "Well, things like the color of the rugs in all the differen' common rooms and that Gryffindors are boring and Hufflepuffs are soccer moms--"
At this, Hermione lifted her sweater sleeve to her mouth and stifled a suspiciously guffaw-like cough.
"Gryffindors? Boring?!" Ron snorted.
"Those secrets don't sound very...beastly, Hagrid." Harry said, straight-faced.
"Righ' well. Yeh had to be there. They were real mean about it, yeh know. I guess it jus' made it seem all the more terrible."
Hermione cleared her throat and composed herself. "So...what happened to him? Did he get in trouble?"
"A squib in the middle o' a bunch o' angry wizards? Aye, he did. Though Dumbledore stepped in an' put a stop to it righ' after the feller'd been transfigured into a platypus. Awful shame, tha'. He woulda made a great cockroach."
"Did they send him back to America after that?" Harry asked.
"Nah. Even squibs have a place in Dumbledore's Hogwarts. Made him assistant gardener fer as long as he wanted to stay. Planted tha' very same pumpkin patch," He gestured through the south-facing window of his little hut "Funny thing, though. Got killed 'imself a couple weeks after tha'."
"Sounds like a real tragedy," Ron deadpanned.
"Got sent ou' to help bait some thestrals that ran off into the forest. Had to go with the old Care of Magic Creatures professor, real mad old bloke, tha' man was. Wanted to have dragon riding taught to the firs' years. Downrigh' reckless."
Harry briefly paled at notion of a man Rubeus Hagrid could call reckless.
"Feller never made it back. Apparently he took a nasty fall an' cut his leg righ' open. Thestrals are gentle beasts, but when they're hungry an' they catch wind o' fresh meat..."
Ron looked vaguely ill, and Hermione seemed to have forgotten to close her mouth.
"He was eaten by thestrals?" Harry said, incredulous.
"Tha's the official word. And o' course, there are those who say they've seen his ghost around, but apparently the poor dead feller's afraid to go back to tha' castle."
Hermione furrowed her brow. "What would a ghost have to be afraid of?"
At that, Hagrid leaned back in his chair, which protested mightily against the flagstone floor. The light caught his eye and he grinned through his beard. "Yeh migh' wanna ask Peeves abou' tha' one."
Title: The Squib and His Cat
Characters: Mrs. Norris & Filch (ZOMG THERE WERE LIKE 384743 ENTRIES FOR THESE TWO, YAY MIND-MELD)
Word Count:150
Rating: W for wibbly.
Note: Written for drabble-and-a-half-sentence-only-contest inhogsmeade_elite Got 2nd in Prophet writers!
Hello:
It's the worst for the ones who don't get the letter; Argus dreamed that he'd wake in a Muggle bed with a Muggle family, forget everything about bloody magic and a world where nobody greets him but that pesky stray yowling outside his window.
Hunger:
There was always a hunger --a dread pang for something like magic or belonging or...he didn't really know what until that little bag of bones bumped her purring, flea-bitten head into his shin.
Tears:
Her first night inside she tore his curtains and caterwauled pleadingly; when Argus finally flung open the door, she merely stared into the darkness, and for reasons Argus never understood, stayed.
Summer:
That summer they moved to Hogwarts; Argus resisted initially, Hogwarts had forever deemed him a second-class citizen --but then, she deserved somewhere warmer than his drafty shack, she deserved endless confiscated gobstones to bat about --she deserved a better life than Argus had ever known.
If you see any mistakes or just wanna say anything at all, plz do! Mosta these were written with toooo much sugar and toooo little sleep. >>;
Title: Nine Things Lord Voldemort Hates: Death Eater Edition
Characters: Voldie & the usual gang
Word Count: 100 on the nose
Rating: PG for ...mild baby eating. >>;
Note: sdjkhfkj written for
hogsmeade_elite. Got 2nd in Prophet writers. Malfoy's curious trait of always smelling like baby powder and butter.
Crabbe's lazy eye (Gotta remember to glare at the left one.)
Regelus's refusal to shave his stupid little adolescent peach fuzz mustache.
Goyle's breath. (Don't get too close. All he eats is pickled eggs and liverwurst.)
Snape's annoying habit of doodling weird bleeding roses in the margins of his scrolls.
Alecto's constant barrage of 'good' ideas. (Legions of darkness don't do quilting bees. No evil bake sales, either.)
Fenrir's constant interruptions to brag about how many babies he's eaten that week.
Jugson's ill-fitting mask (Like a walrus wearing an eye patch.)
Bellatrix cooties.
Title: Try Blowing Out The Cartridge Again, It Worked Last Time!
Characters: UH...MARIO. AS IN SUPER MARIO, OF THE MARIO BROHERS. >>;
Word Count: 541
Rating: Gee!
Note: Written for
hogsmeade_elite for contest to write a cover letter for a non-HP person to get a Hogwarts job! Influence of sugar, insomnia and 2nd place, somehow! 0_oTo his Honorable Headmastership Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore-
Enclosed, find my curriculum vitae for the position of Professor of Defense against the Dark Arts. I believe you will find my prior experience to meet and exceed your expectations. It is long known that the DADA Professor must posses not only a keen knowledge of the Dark Arts and the Defenses that may be employed against them, but also an extensive knowledge of the other magical arts, from dueling to transfiguration and herbology.
I have long been considered a master dueler. Not only am I adept in martial arts, (I am able to destroy most bricks with a single punch and am very accomplished in the art of leaping over ones' opponent and incessantly hopping upon their head until they are subdued or simply drawn into their shell and ready to be kicked at other enemies) but I am also an accomplished marksman, particularly with fireballs and sledgehammers.
My experience with transfiguration is just as extensive. Over my years of adventuring over seven worlds, (and as many airships) I have variously transformed myself into a common green pond frog, a hammer-tossing turtle, a grotesque half boot/half man hybrid and, with the help of my herbology knowledge, a flying raccoon.
Indeed, my herbology research has been been nothing short of groundbreaking, particularly in the area of mycology. I've discovered mushrooms that allow one to double in size (at least as long as none of your enemies touch you) and, perhaps in my crowning achievement, a mushroom that will extend your life indefinitely (but is sometimes invisible).
Also, I can tell you where to find a really wicked star that kills everything you touch.
Finally, although it is not customary for a Professor of Defense against the Dark Arts to instruct their pupils in either plumbing or pasta making, I must offer my skills in both.
For 25 years, my brother and I have offered top-notch plumbing services with a second-to-none customer service record. Our business is so successful that we've expanded our Brooklyn-based business to over seven lands, including Desert Land, Water Land, Giant Land and even Friggin' Annoying AAAH THIS LEVEL TAKES FOREVER Pipe Maze Land.
The value of strong pasta making skills, particularly in area of Defense against the Dark Arts, is self-evident. It has long been known by Italian witches and wizards that the most effective means of taking down an enemy includes plenty of al dente spaghetti, ample roasted garlic, vine ripened tomatoes and enough sprigs of fresh oregano to take down an army of Death Eaters. A good Italian Chianti doesn't hurt either. Fill your enemies with enough Italian food and they'll soon forget all about their Unforgivables.
As you can see from both this and my enclosed CV, I am a premiere candidate for the post and would be an invaluable addition to the Hogwarts staff. I look forward to discussing this with you in person --simply owl me the locations of the five nearest open, man-sized sewer pipes and I'll be there before you can say "It's-ah me-ah, Mario!"
Remember, your princess is not in another castle. Your princess is right here. And by princess, I mean DADA Professor.
With Utmost Sincerity,
S. Mario III
Title: Squibbity McSquibbers
Characters: Harry & Hermione & Ron & Hagrid &
Word Count:704
Rating: PG for ...Mild Thestral-related gore
Note: Tied for 3rd in a
hogsmeade_elite contest."What's a... sackurmim?"
"Soccer mom," corrected Hermione, "Soccer's a Muggle sport --well, that's the American word for it, British Muggles call it football."
"It's like Quidditch without any flying," Harry added.
Ron made a sour face. "Why bother?"
"So righ'," Hagrid continued, "this nutty American squib found Hogwarts somehow, an' even managed to get 'emselves sorted into Ravenclaw. Nobody knows 'ow. Maybe the Sortin' Hat was toyin' with us all, but it he got in, righ' under everybody's nose. Nobody really noticed anythin' odd, until Professor Snape noticed when half a jug of Polyjuice Potion went missin'. And what would yeh know, the feller came back around to three more sortin' feasts, three more years. Sorted in every single house, if yeh can imagine."
Ron scratched at his chin with his badly-mended wand. "How did he..?"
"Polyjuice potion," Hermione offered immediately.
"And nobody noticed, nobody at all?" Harry asked.
"Not a one. Not with all the Polyjuice he nicked off Snape --even sorted into Gryffindor as a girl. Why, we didn' even know he was from America, until..." At this, Hagrid shook his great bushy head and wrung his hands.
"Until..?" Hermione prompted him.
"It was downrigh' terrible, tha' night. Right after Yule Ball, the feller hops up onto the Ravenclaw table in the great hall. Turned over a huge bowl o' puddin' in the process, awful mess all over the table. He's got puddin' up to his ankles an' everybody's turned around to watch him an' he starts shoutin' things about all the houses. Beastly things...secret things."
"What sort of secret things?" Harry asked, quietly.
Hagrid drew in a lofty breath and continued. "Well, things like the color of the rugs in all the differen' common rooms and that Gryffindors are boring and Hufflepuffs are soccer moms--"
At this, Hermione lifted her sweater sleeve to her mouth and stifled a suspiciously guffaw-like cough.
"Gryffindors? Boring?!" Ron snorted.
"Those secrets don't sound very...beastly, Hagrid." Harry said, straight-faced.
"Righ' well. Yeh had to be there. They were real mean about it, yeh know. I guess it jus' made it seem all the more terrible."
Hermione cleared her throat and composed herself. "So...what happened to him? Did he get in trouble?"
"A squib in the middle o' a bunch o' angry wizards? Aye, he did. Though Dumbledore stepped in an' put a stop to it righ' after the feller'd been transfigured into a platypus. Awful shame, tha'. He woulda made a great cockroach."
"Did they send him back to America after that?" Harry asked.
"Nah. Even squibs have a place in Dumbledore's Hogwarts. Made him assistant gardener fer as long as he wanted to stay. Planted tha' very same pumpkin patch," He gestured through the south-facing window of his little hut "Funny thing, though. Got killed 'imself a couple weeks after tha'."
"Sounds like a real tragedy," Ron deadpanned.
"Got sent ou' to help bait some thestrals that ran off into the forest. Had to go with the old Care of Magic Creatures professor, real mad old bloke, tha' man was. Wanted to have dragon riding taught to the firs' years. Downrigh' reckless."
Harry briefly paled at notion of a man Rubeus Hagrid could call reckless.
"Feller never made it back. Apparently he took a nasty fall an' cut his leg righ' open. Thestrals are gentle beasts, but when they're hungry an' they catch wind o' fresh meat..."
Ron looked vaguely ill, and Hermione seemed to have forgotten to close her mouth.
"He was eaten by thestrals?" Harry said, incredulous.
"Tha's the official word. And o' course, there are those who say they've seen his ghost around, but apparently the poor dead feller's afraid to go back to tha' castle."
Hermione furrowed her brow. "What would a ghost have to be afraid of?"
At that, Hagrid leaned back in his chair, which protested mightily against the flagstone floor. The light caught his eye and he grinned through his beard. "Yeh migh' wanna ask Peeves abou' tha' one."
Title: The Squib and His Cat
Characters: Mrs. Norris & Filch (ZOMG THERE WERE LIKE 384743 ENTRIES FOR THESE TWO, YAY MIND-MELD)
Word Count:150
Rating: W for wibbly.
Note: Written for drabble-and-a-half-sentence-only-contest in
hogsmeade_elite Got 2nd in Prophet writers!Hello:
It's the worst for the ones who don't get the letter; Argus dreamed that he'd wake in a Muggle bed with a Muggle family, forget everything about bloody magic and a world where nobody greets him but that pesky stray yowling outside his window.
Hunger:
There was always a hunger --a dread pang for something like magic or belonging or...he didn't really know what until that little bag of bones bumped her purring, flea-bitten head into his shin.
Tears:
Her first night inside she tore his curtains and caterwauled pleadingly; when Argus finally flung open the door, she merely stared into the darkness, and for reasons Argus never understood, stayed.
Summer:
That summer they moved to Hogwarts; Argus resisted initially, Hogwarts had forever deemed him a second-class citizen --but then, she deserved somewhere warmer than his drafty shack, she deserved endless confiscated gobstones to bat about --she deserved a better life than Argus had ever known.
