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Written by Kiit Marlowe.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. If they did d'you think
I'd be writing fanfiction? Nah, I'd be doing a Mimi and shopping..... (Yup,
this is my standard disclaimer now. I really can't be bothered to think of
another one, even though it doesn't work for HP fiction. Or HP sauce.
Sorry, sidetracking.)
Don't bother sueing me; for one thing you have no idea who I am even, so it would be bloody pointless.
And yeah for all those of you who asked (That'd be all three of you) The name: Kiit Marlowe. C'mon guys, read a little! Christopher 'Kit' Marlowe was one of Shakespeare's contempories, and a common conspiracy theory was that Kit faked his death by being stabbed in the eye in a tavern brawl so that he could escape from being a spy for the crown and focus on writing, under the name "William Shakespeare". And for all the cretins who are going "Oh, yeah! He was played by Rupert Everett in 'Shakespeare in Love'." I have two things to say to you: a) Elizabethian England was NEVER like that. b) Any film with Gywneth Paltrow in it where she doesn't die is not worth the cinema ticket price. Se7en proves that she is a far better corpse than actress. Headinabox Headinabox Headinabox, Yeah! (Except 'The Talented Mr Ripley', but there's always an exception to the rule, and don't tell me you weren't screaming "Go on Matt, kill her!!!" at the screen - I know I was. It may have got me chucked out of the theatre, but... *Shrugs* Nevermind, eh?)
Well, the rant over, I don't really have any idea how this one'll turn out. It's my first ever Harry Potter fic, (awww, virgin) even though I write excessive Tatio crap/fluff. It will be a yaoi, or slash, most likely so don't read if ya get squeemish or anything like that. Though I haven't actually had any feedback on any of my stories, let alone a flame, and I do feel like I've failed somewhat. C'MON, GIVE ME SOMETHING TO WORK WITH HERE!!!! I'm in a weird happy mood, so there should be very little angst, and hopefully pure fluff. Yeah, I'm such a serious writer.... *grins like cheshire cat*
Whoa, that was long..... * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Potions. What a start to the day. Well, no, actually, the day started with Ron smacking me over the head with his alarm clock. Hermione had given him it for his birthday a couple of weeks before and, what with the complex 'muggle technology', Ron hadn't mastered the whole 'flick-the-switch-to- shut-off-the-noise' aspect. Consequently, when it blasted out the Wallace and Gromit theme tune at half six in the morning and wouldn't stop for love nor money, not to mention prodding with a wand, Ron did the most rational thing he could think of: Lobbed it at my head.
Funnily enough, I had a killer headache by breakfast, which wasn't helped by the twins' angrily demanding to know why Quiddich practice had been cancelled for the week. Nothing to do with me, and to be totally honest, I couldn't have cared less at that precise moment. They let off some squibs to vent their anger, and were pounced on by a strangely less pernickety Percy than we're used to. Oliver Wood watched on in amusement as Percy confiscated the fireworks. It's sooooo weird having those two as teachers. Not that Olli even remotely resembled one, having taken on Madam Hooch's job when she was stick down with a particularly nasty flu strain. Good thing it was during Quiddich off season. Hermione and Ron just sat there making gooey eyes at each other and not speaking. I think I prefered it when they were continually sniping at each other: at least then I didn't feel like I was imposing constantly. Three's a crowd and all that jazz. It wasn't like I minded them being together; hell, I actually tried to set them up for a year before they caved and they are really happy. It's just that now they're coupled off they insist on finding me a girlfriend. It goes someting along the lines of: "How about Cho?" No, been there, done that, hated the stuck up cow. "Lavender? Parveti?" Squeeling girlie girls who cannot hold a conversation that doesn't revolve around fashion tips. And yes, I know that contacts would bring out the emerald of my eyes, and yes, I know my glasses are soooooooo last season and yes, I know that I haven't had a hair cut in the last three years. "Ginny?" Is waaaaaaay over me, thanks awfully. Sweet kid, joined at the hip to Colin. A cutie, but she's like my little sister. "Pansy?" No. No. NO. Voldie will wear pink tights and a tutu while dancing like the kids in Fame before I date a Slytherin. And all I outwardly say is "Hmmm, not really my type." To all of them. Everytime. I'm such a wuss.
So yeah, happy start to the day made worse by being paired with Malfoy for the making of God alone knows what hideous potion it is today. All I could tell you is that it's a gorgeous mud and bogey colour combination, with delicate flecks of cheese-like dead skin scrapings to compliment and the delicous aroma of moth dust and rotting snail meat. I don't know what it does, but if Snape makes me drink it, I have a sneaking suspicion that it'll work as a poison.
I'll give it to Malfoy. I'm not going near the damn stuff. And if he happens to die, hey, added bonus. Christmas come early.
That decided, I settled back to watch him cutting up the Gacth roots into perfectly even strips. He was completely focused on the task at hand, absentmindedly pushing soft silver hair out of the intense gray eyes that shone with concentration. Dead to the outside world.
"Are you just going to stare at me all day Potter or are you actually going to, God forbid, lower yourself to the level of us mere mortals and help?" Malfoy drawled, not even remotely looking away from his roots.
Okay, so maybe he was slightly more aware of his surroundings than I'd first suspected. I was saved having to come up with a suitably intelligent comeback, which probably would have metamorphosed into the usual "Shut up, Malfoy", by the arrival of Ron's Dad. Snape did not look amused; nor did Ron, who hastily shoved Hermione off his lap and started on the potion. Mr Weasley meanwhile looked delighted to be there.
"Hallo everyone!" he started, beaming around at the class. I could see everyone desperately fighting the urge to sing song back "Hallo Mr Weasley." "For those of you who don't know me I'm-"
"Ron's Dad!" Lavender called.
Mr Weasley smiled. "I am that, unfortunately." Sniggers from the Slytherin's who were so dim that they didn't get that he was joking and actually thought Mr Weasley hated his son. "But I'm also-"
"'An interfering muggle lover who should have his wand snapped in half for being a disgrace to the wizarding world'. Sir." Malfoy's clear voice cut through the room, droning in a bored monotone the phrase that had obviously been drilled into him. There was a shocked silence.
Then I punched him, and all hell let loose.
Don't bother sueing me; for one thing you have no idea who I am even, so it would be bloody pointless.
And yeah for all those of you who asked (That'd be all three of you) The name: Kiit Marlowe. C'mon guys, read a little! Christopher 'Kit' Marlowe was one of Shakespeare's contempories, and a common conspiracy theory was that Kit faked his death by being stabbed in the eye in a tavern brawl so that he could escape from being a spy for the crown and focus on writing, under the name "William Shakespeare". And for all the cretins who are going "Oh, yeah! He was played by Rupert Everett in 'Shakespeare in Love'." I have two things to say to you: a) Elizabethian England was NEVER like that. b) Any film with Gywneth Paltrow in it where she doesn't die is not worth the cinema ticket price. Se7en proves that she is a far better corpse than actress. Headinabox Headinabox Headinabox, Yeah! (Except 'The Talented Mr Ripley', but there's always an exception to the rule, and don't tell me you weren't screaming "Go on Matt, kill her!!!" at the screen - I know I was. It may have got me chucked out of the theatre, but... *Shrugs* Nevermind, eh?)
Well, the rant over, I don't really have any idea how this one'll turn out. It's my first ever Harry Potter fic, (awww, virgin) even though I write excessive Tatio crap/fluff. It will be a yaoi, or slash, most likely so don't read if ya get squeemish or anything like that. Though I haven't actually had any feedback on any of my stories, let alone a flame, and I do feel like I've failed somewhat. C'MON, GIVE ME SOMETHING TO WORK WITH HERE!!!! I'm in a weird happy mood, so there should be very little angst, and hopefully pure fluff. Yeah, I'm such a serious writer.... *grins like cheshire cat*
Whoa, that was long..... * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Potions. What a start to the day. Well, no, actually, the day started with Ron smacking me over the head with his alarm clock. Hermione had given him it for his birthday a couple of weeks before and, what with the complex 'muggle technology', Ron hadn't mastered the whole 'flick-the-switch-to- shut-off-the-noise' aspect. Consequently, when it blasted out the Wallace and Gromit theme tune at half six in the morning and wouldn't stop for love nor money, not to mention prodding with a wand, Ron did the most rational thing he could think of: Lobbed it at my head.
Funnily enough, I had a killer headache by breakfast, which wasn't helped by the twins' angrily demanding to know why Quiddich practice had been cancelled for the week. Nothing to do with me, and to be totally honest, I couldn't have cared less at that precise moment. They let off some squibs to vent their anger, and were pounced on by a strangely less pernickety Percy than we're used to. Oliver Wood watched on in amusement as Percy confiscated the fireworks. It's sooooo weird having those two as teachers. Not that Olli even remotely resembled one, having taken on Madam Hooch's job when she was stick down with a particularly nasty flu strain. Good thing it was during Quiddich off season. Hermione and Ron just sat there making gooey eyes at each other and not speaking. I think I prefered it when they were continually sniping at each other: at least then I didn't feel like I was imposing constantly. Three's a crowd and all that jazz. It wasn't like I minded them being together; hell, I actually tried to set them up for a year before they caved and they are really happy. It's just that now they're coupled off they insist on finding me a girlfriend. It goes someting along the lines of: "How about Cho?" No, been there, done that, hated the stuck up cow. "Lavender? Parveti?" Squeeling girlie girls who cannot hold a conversation that doesn't revolve around fashion tips. And yes, I know that contacts would bring out the emerald of my eyes, and yes, I know my glasses are soooooooo last season and yes, I know that I haven't had a hair cut in the last three years. "Ginny?" Is waaaaaaay over me, thanks awfully. Sweet kid, joined at the hip to Colin. A cutie, but she's like my little sister. "Pansy?" No. No. NO. Voldie will wear pink tights and a tutu while dancing like the kids in Fame before I date a Slytherin. And all I outwardly say is "Hmmm, not really my type." To all of them. Everytime. I'm such a wuss.
So yeah, happy start to the day made worse by being paired with Malfoy for the making of God alone knows what hideous potion it is today. All I could tell you is that it's a gorgeous mud and bogey colour combination, with delicate flecks of cheese-like dead skin scrapings to compliment and the delicous aroma of moth dust and rotting snail meat. I don't know what it does, but if Snape makes me drink it, I have a sneaking suspicion that it'll work as a poison.
I'll give it to Malfoy. I'm not going near the damn stuff. And if he happens to die, hey, added bonus. Christmas come early.
That decided, I settled back to watch him cutting up the Gacth roots into perfectly even strips. He was completely focused on the task at hand, absentmindedly pushing soft silver hair out of the intense gray eyes that shone with concentration. Dead to the outside world.
"Are you just going to stare at me all day Potter or are you actually going to, God forbid, lower yourself to the level of us mere mortals and help?" Malfoy drawled, not even remotely looking away from his roots.
Okay, so maybe he was slightly more aware of his surroundings than I'd first suspected. I was saved having to come up with a suitably intelligent comeback, which probably would have metamorphosed into the usual "Shut up, Malfoy", by the arrival of Ron's Dad. Snape did not look amused; nor did Ron, who hastily shoved Hermione off his lap and started on the potion. Mr Weasley meanwhile looked delighted to be there.
"Hallo everyone!" he started, beaming around at the class. I could see everyone desperately fighting the urge to sing song back "Hallo Mr Weasley." "For those of you who don't know me I'm-"
"Ron's Dad!" Lavender called.
Mr Weasley smiled. "I am that, unfortunately." Sniggers from the Slytherin's who were so dim that they didn't get that he was joking and actually thought Mr Weasley hated his son. "But I'm also-"
"'An interfering muggle lover who should have his wand snapped in half for being a disgrace to the wizarding world'. Sir." Malfoy's clear voice cut through the room, droning in a bored monotone the phrase that had obviously been drilled into him. There was a shocked silence.
Then I punched him, and all hell let loose.