Chapter One: Floo Trunks

Disclaimer: I do not – although, trust me, I wish I do – own the ideas or characters of Harry Potter. This fanfiction is non-profit and is written purely as a means of entertainment. I only own the individual plot-line, descriptions and dialogue of this fanfiction, along with a few minor original characters. J.K. Rowling owns the good stuff.

I strongly recommend you read the story in 3/4 width, sans-serif (that's the A on the far right) font and with the font size increased by 2. It just looks a lot nicer, really.

Title: Hogwarts' Trip to Hagglebrook
Chapter #: 1
Rating: T (Ages 13+)
Story Summary: A group of students from Hogwarts embark on a school History trip, resulting in chaos, fun, and bizarre – but hilarious – situations.
Warnings: May contain infrequent use of minor coarse language and minor suggestive themes.
A/N: Thank you for clicking on my humble little fiction! I hope that you enjoy it, and if not, well, thanks for at least giving it a try. If you like it and are feeling courteous, please take a minute to leave a comment or review. It really boosts a writer's morale, and seeing visitor hits go up whilst still having zero reviews can send the story into abandonment. Anyway, I'll let you get to reading – thank you, and enjoy!

Buzzes of excitement charged the air, along with sole, unsavoury-smelling socks and cans of deodorant that promised instant female attraction to whichever young man sprayed it. The atmosphere was fused with animation and unrest as boys flung items of clothing, magazines, and packets of sweets across the room, each object ultimately ending up in an open trunk.

Harry Potter stood in his pyjama bottoms at the foot of his four-poster, blindly shoving a creased t-shirt over his head and pushing his arms through the sleeves. He was yanking at the hem of the polo top, trying to adjust how it sat on his body, when from the corner of his eye he noticed a muddy boot sailing through the air, its trajectory aiming straight for his head. With the nimbleness required for the star Quidditch Seeker he had proved himself to be, Harry ducked to the floor as if the clunky boot was a rogue Bludger. From behind him he heard the soft clap of Dean Thomas, one of his roommates, catching the missile; and so, wary of any other objects being launched past him, he slowly raised back to an upright position, patting his unkempt dark hair.

"Sorry, Harry!" the timid voice of Neville Longbottom called from across the dormitory. A clumsy, dim boy with a lanky frame and no hand-eye co-ordination, Neville himself was not packing; he had not been chosen to embark on the trip.

It's a no-brainer as to why, Harry thought, before regretting the harsh notion immediately. It wasn't Neville's own fault, he supposed. The poor kid was just plain-and-simple unlucky; that was his problem.

Returning his thoughts to the open case lying on his own bed, Harry lifted a jumbled mix of garments up from the floor around the bedstead and chucked them into the trunk, not knowing – or caring, frankly – if all he'd packed were pairs of jeans without any upper apparel, or if the clothes that now filled the suitcase were even washed and in a state to be worn. Truthfully, his mind was on other things. Different fantasies. All he wanted from the short excursion he and his peers were about to go on was two things: fun, and a diversion. If he had to work a little to earn them, fine. If they came easily, then even better. But no matter how he obtained them, or whatever form they came in, Harry knew that they were the only two things most students attending the trip wanted from it. Sure, the event on the proforma they had signed up for proposed a week of history and knowledge – and the workshops stated on the itinerary for the trip did look blow-your-brains-out boring – but that letter didn't include anything about plans for the evenings ... and the evenings, as well as the teenage rituals to hopefully accompany them, had been the sole fixation of every boy in their dormitory for over a week. Even Neville had gotten involved. And he wasn't even going.

"Off for food, mate."
A rough pat on the back interrupted Harry from his musings. It was Ron, his best friend and closest companion, also attending the trip. "You want anything?"

"No thanks, I'll be down in a minute," Harry replied with a smile that he could not repress, despite having the mountainous task of packing his whole trunk in less than ten minutes ahead of him. He caught his reflection in the mirror and grinned.
This week is going to be brilliant.

"I will say this once, and once only, so if I were you I would listen - Mr. Boot, I am certain that whatever fascination you have with poking Mr. Macmillan in the ribs can hold for a minute, unless you wish to stay in school for the duration of this week."

Professor Severus Snape stood at the central podium of the Great Hall, carrying a single raised-eyebrow of censure along with his trademarked expression of terminal boredom. Every head in the room swivelled round in unison to stare at a now crimson Terry Boot, who had shrunk so low with embarrassment that he almost mirrored the submissive hunch of a house elf.

"Sorry, Sir," he mumbled faintly.

"Good. Now, as I was saying," Snape resumed, casting his icy glare over the company of students standing before him, "these instructions will not be repeated and are to be followed precisely. First –" he struck out a finger, pointed to the ceiling, with such dramatic vigour that many students had to smother a smirk, "– when I have finished you will assemble into your groups, according to who is in which room, and form an orderly queue beside one of six fireplaces. Second –" his middle finger erected itself to join the first one, "– you shall each take a small handful of Floo powder when it is your turn and toss it into the flames. Stand amongst them, and finally, call out the location that we have repeated for the best part of five minutes now. Clear?" He did not pause to obtain an answer. "Good. Now hurry up, we're late enough as it is."

Snape issued the last sentence of his order in a low mutter teamed with a hostile, pointed glance over at Bathsheda Babbling, the Professor of Ancient Studies and Runes that had airily given the instruction to rehearse stating the three words of the group's destination. He knew first-hand how mindless some of the students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry could be – even despite the establishment's noble status – but even he grasped that they could articulate a few words. They weren't trying to teach dogs to speak, after all.

With intentional sluggishness, the group of fifty-eight students staggered as if they were stuck in slow-motion towards their predetermined fireplaces. Anything to irk Snape. Some met their groups with pleasure upon eventually reaching the hearths, having found themselves assigned to a room with their friends; however others, conversely, were not pretending to walk slowly, due to their knowledge of being sorted with those that they were not too amiable with. Hermione Granger was one of the latter, and so moodily and with her eyes downcast, she frowned her way to the fourth ornate fireplace, taking up a spot behind Lavender Brown and the Patil twins, Padma and Parvati.

In all fairness, the girls weren't unkind to her – their detached state was purely down to the fact that some people don't mesh, that their daily personalities were a little too different for friendship. Still, Hermione understood that Lavender and the sisters were pleasant to handle if you did it in small portions, and tuned out the grating girlish squeals they were fond of spouting every other minute.

She stood quietly, contemplating this, when all of a sudden she felt a sharp pinch at the flesh by her hips.

"Ouch!"

Startled, she threw an angry glance in the direction of the person responsible, only to find it was Ginny Weasley. The red-headed, pretty girl was Ron's younger sister, though only by a year. This made Hermione a small degree older, but the pair's age difference in character was unnoticeable; Ginny's maturity was part of what made her Hermione's closest female friend.

Her incensed expression flicked to one of joy upon recognising her friend, and as the two girls whooped and hugged tightly, accompanying the squeeze with laughter, Hermione noticed another person standing behind Ginny, one that she had heard all about but had never properly spoken to. The girl was Luna Lovegood, a Ravenclaw in Ginny's year. She had tumbling curls of blonde hair down to her hips, and bright blue eyes that were as wide as the moon, but everyone overlooked her beauty. This was mostly due to her reputation for being odd and eccentric as well as her father, who published ridiculously far-fetched stories of bizarre creatures in his magazine. Luna was paying attention to neither Ginny nor Hermione; her dreamy stare was vacant.

"Hello, Luna?" Hermione spoke tentatively, unsure of whether Luna would pay her any attention. "I'm — "

"—Hermione Granger, yes, I know who you are. Pleased to meet you, I suppose ..." Luna's interjected sentence trailed off and she resumed her subjectless gaze, leaving Hermione looking foolish with her mouth still hanging open from the mid-sentence interruption. Her forehead creased and her lips puckered into a glower as Ginny chuckled, shaking her head in bewilderment at Luna's sheer peculiarity.

"Miss Granger, you are delaying the queue. If you wish to attend the trip, then get a move on."
The doubled humiliation of being sneered at by a disparaging Snape caused Hermione to flush further beetroot as she hastily scrambled into the fireplace.

"See you in a minute," said Ginny softly, with a reassuring smile.

"Hmph." Hermione was still pouting as she shouted her destination in order to make the magic work:

"Hagglebrook History Institute!"

(A/N: Okay, I know that was a weak start but it gets better as it goes on, trust me. I've already got the plot mapped out and so shall start writing the next instalment right away :] )