Hello! I know I have like, fifty kajillion (2) stories I need to finish, but I couldn't get rid of this idea.
This is probably the most ambitious fic I've attempted so far. Got no idea where it's going to go, but I have some ideas. Besides, I have an extra long summer. I'll update this. (Famous last words, though I have a feeling that I'll be forced to carry on, if not by you then by my friend.)
Right, I was looking for a good muggle studies fic, where the emphasis is on the actual teaching, because I'm strange like that. As I said to my friend, if I see one more fic where they go to a normal school in AMERICA, I'll shoot myself.
So. A warning: There will be OCs. But since the main characters are controlling everything from behind the curtains, they don't need to be in it much anyway. If you're wondering where the name 'Skippy' came from, it was my friend's suggestion. She's a little crazy.
Another warning: I can't write depressed people (aka, George and maybe Harry a little bit) for shit. And there's swearing. And the format's a little weird. It's all a little weird. Bear with me, here: I'm not a miracle worker. No, wait, I am. Sorry, my bad. (Inside joke with someone long gone T-T)
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't care.
The (Quite Literally) Magical Adventures of Skippy, AKA, I'm Not Qualified for This!
Hey, Skippy,
Remember me? Your favourite red-haired prankster?
It's been a while. Sorry for not contacting you, but if you're in Switzerland of all places, you're kind of asking for it.
Do you also remember that favour you owe me? I'm calling it in.
Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron at 6 on the 23rd.
George W.
Of course I remember you, my memory isn't that bad.
Though, three years and all you have to say is "Remember that bet you lost? Drop everything and cater to my whims."? You should be ashamed. Whatever happened to respecting your elders?
Besides, I was drunk at the time. As far as I'm concerned, the bet never happened. And at least give me some details.
So, what have you been up to? Apart from expanding your business, that is - whenever the boss' kid is in the building, we all get 'treated' to a re-run of your seventh year. Is it true that you slipped laxatives into her tea? Christophe was not amused either way.
- Skippy
You're only four years older than me, unless you'd like me to treat you like an old lady. That can be easily arranged, if you don't mind waiting for the new range of Wheezes to arrive on the continent.
I don't remember using laxatives, but that boy (I'm assuming it's a boy by the way) is a genius, if I do say so myself.
"Apart from expanding your business" you say? If you wanted to know about my private life you could have just asked. Anyway, I've been busy with the shop so there's not much gossip for you there.
It's too complicated to explain through letters. 23rd July, 6 o'clock in the Leaky Cauldron. Be there.
George
Gossip? I am offended young Weasely. You actually have a product that ages people? When Franc gets a hold of it (yes, the little hellion is a boy), the place is going to look more like a retirement home than a research institute.
Because I am doing an important job here. Which is why I cannot just up and leave on command. You might not know this, being your own boss and all, but you can't request time off in the middle of a discovery to catch up with a friend.
Though, I haven't seen the gang (shut up, I will call them what I want) in a while...
Anyway, back to your accusations of gossip-mongering. What happened to that Angelina girl that was hanging off you last time I saw you?
Hey - I'm a girl; I'm allowed to be interested in your private life.
- Skippy
No demanding to know what the favour is? You must be going soft.
It's the 18th today. You don't have long to persuade your boss to let you have time off. It's really important, so if you don't turn up, you may end up as my new Guinea pig. I'm working on charmed parchment at the moment, so I'd be careful how you handle your letters.
Me and Angelina broke up last year, since you were wondering. Between her Quidditch and my product development we didn't have a lot of time for each other. It's okay - I hardly noticed the difference.
But seriously, Leaky Cauldron, Friday at 6 o'clock.
George
Okay, okay, it's an urgent meeting. I understand. No need for blackmail.
Luckily for you (or is that for me?) the boss let me have the weekend off. And he'll be in Germany from Monday until Friday, so I can come back late and he'll never know. Chris would cover for me, but as I said in a previous letter, he is not amused by anything with the words 'Weasely', 'Wizarding' or 'Wheezes'. Well, he might be okay with 'Wizarding', but definitely not the other two. He thinks that my friendship with you is treachery.
Was that a joke about splitting up with your girl? You didn't pull it off.
Wait, why am I sending this: by the time you see this I'll be in the damn pub anyway.
See you soon,
- Skippy
As always on a Friday evening, the Leaky Cauldron was packed.
That is to say, there was a group of drunk witches in a corner wolf-whistling at passing wizards regardless of age (or gender, for that matter, if the uncomfortable blushes on the waitresses faces were any indication), an even larger group of wizards and goblins taking up the large table in the centre of the room with their poker tournament and the flasher dancing by the magical jukebox, tan trench coat sliding easily over his unclothed form.
And not forgetting the red-haired man sitting near the fireplace, nursing a beer whilst checking his watch.
5:59
Sip.
Sip.
Grimace at the taste of the manky beer. How could his friend actually enjoy the beverage?
Sip.
6:00
As the hand ticked into place, the unnatural green flames swelled and a tall brunette woman stepped out of the fireplace, disorientated. Green eyes opened and crinkled in joy at the man.
"See, I told you I'd make it."
"Yeah." the man smiled back, standing up and encasing the woman in a hug.
"Hey - I grew!" she exclaimed into his fiery hair. The head shook from side to side in exasperation.
"You haven't changed a bit."
She stood back, hands on his shoulders; scrutinising him.
"You have. Not in the height department, but you seem... Happier." It's true, there was a sparkle in the man's eye that was absent three years ago. The red-head shrugged.
"Time goes on."
"Mmm," she agreed, not meeting his eyes. "Now, what was it you wanted to see me about?"
Saturday evening in Muggle Liverpool was much more lively, the bar mostly filled with barely legal uni students trying to get drunk off a glass of beer.
The brunette glowered over her gin and tonic. Generic dance music pounded through her head; made her glass jump in her hand. This did nothing for her bad mood.
"Stupid no good self-righteous bi-"
"Skippy!" a blonde woman chastised, sipping her lemonade nonchalantly. "Come on, it's not that bad."
"It is 'that bad'. It's beyond 'that bad'. It's drowning itself in the stupid lake because it's 'that bad'." Skippy grumbled bitterly then downed the last of the alcohol, slamming the glass on the counter, the sound going unnoticed by their neighbours: a testament to the skull shatteringly loud music.
"You lost track of where that metaphor went, didn't you?" another woman sighed, one-handedly smoothing the frizz out of her dark hair.
"Maybe. A little." The brunette admitted. "But the point is, who are they to order me around? Little miss 'I'm better than you' think's I'd be better off-"
"SKIPPY!" the dark haired - and dark skinned - woman shouted. The woman in question shrunk in her seat, hunching her shoulders. "You can just say no. Tell 'em you already have a job, thank-you-very-much, and just let it go."
She began to mumble, avoiding eye contact with her best friends.
"If you just said 'let it roll right off your shoulder, don't you know', I'll slap you." mock-threatened the dark skinned lady.
"Jessa, you're a scary drunk." the blonde said, brown eyes closed in weariness.
"Hey- I'm not drunk. She is," A thumb pointed in Skippy's direction. The woman had started to sway off-beat to the music, twirling her fingers. "But I'm not."
"You're a little tipsy." she pointed out.
"You aren't."
"Well, someone has to be able to make sure we get the right bus home this time."
Jessa shrugged. "Touché, Nat. You win this one." Satisfied, Nat took a swig of her drink, before remembering what they were talking about.
"Oh, oh. Skippy?"
"Yeeeah?" she tilted her head. Sometime in Nat and Jessa's argument, she had ordered another drink and was already half empty.
"Why don't you tell them to cram their offer where the sun don't shine?" Jessa repeated her question bluntly.
"...George."
"That dude from that bar in that place when the whole Voldy-dude thing ended?"
"Hogsh- Hogsmeade, yeash."
"What about him?" Nat glared at Jessa for confusing their intoxicated friend.
"I lost a, a drinkin' game. I owe 'im."
Jessa let out a bark of laughter. "That's the funniest thing I've heard all night."
"I think I agree." Nat smirked.
Skippy woke with boobs in her face, but her head hurt too much to care.
Her hand reached around for her wand despite groans from her pillow. Sitting up, though tricky, made it easier to summon help.
"Accio hangover potion." In a display of skill far beyond the reach of most hungover people, she caught the flask with her face. "Owwww..."
"Pass that here when you're done." Jessa croaked, not bothering to move.
"Get your own." she scowled before downing the foul concoction. Jessa's hand flew out towards the flask but Skippy was too slow to save it.
"You know full well I can't." She shook the container, frowning. "Is a couple of mouthfuls enough?"
"Probably. Want some water?" she offered.
"Please. Blech, that tastes awful. What's wrong with putting flavourings in, woman?
"For that crack at my cooking, You're not getting any water. Accio glass." This time she caught it in her free hand. "Aguamenti."
"You are a cruel, cruel person." she sighed, flopping her hands back onto the bed. "What happened to Nat?"
"Dunno. Work, probably."
They sat in silence, for the silence soothed their migraines. When the pounding was reduced to an acceptable level, Skippy frowned.
"So-"
"Hey- No, you go first." Jessa flopped her hand, gesturing at her friend.
"Eh, we're probably talking about the same thing."
"If you mean what happened Friday night, then yes."
"Mmm." she hummed. "They want me to be the muggle studies 'professor' at Hogwarts."
Jessa grinned weakly. "I can imagine that."
"No you can't." Skippy shook her head.
"I can too." she protested. "You'd go in the first day either drunk or with a hangover and terrify the little shits."
"One - hangover potions and two - I'd be teaching third years and up."
"Third years? Like year nines?"
"Yeah."
"Hmm. Remember the year nines when we were in year eleven? If you have to teach them, I'd piss myself laughing."
Skippy grimaced. "Not while I'm on the bed, please." Jessa only laughed.
"So what's the problem?"
"I like my job. Sure, Franc makes me want to rip my hair out and I'm only an assistant researcher, but I'd miss Chris and Nabila."
"Yeah, but you'd see us more often."
"Don't tell me you're on their side too." She pulled a face. "I've never actually been to the school either, and I'd get lost and the kids would never respect me and oh God, the kids. I'm no good with kids." Skippy shook her head. "I'm not qualified for this."
"There, there." Jessa comforted her, sitting up. "So. Who's 'little miss I'm better than you'? Every other sentence last night was you ranting about her."
"Little miss- oh, her." Her face darkened. "Hermione Granger. Know-it-all bitch extraordinaire."
"Ohhh dear. Ding ding, we have a new entry on the shit list."
She shot her a scathing look. "Not just a 'new entry'. She's right at the top."
"Damn, what did she do to piss you off more than-" She caught herself before worsening the brunette's mood even further. "Ahem."
"It doesn't matter." She sighed. "I'll be in the rose garden if you need me."
Jessa bit her lip. "Think about it, kay? See you later."
"Yeah. See you." Skippy smiled sadly before apparating out of the flat, leaving Jessa to smooth her hair down nervously.
As she entered the reception of Phoenix Enterprises headquarters, the words 'Don't let her be here, don't let me bite her,' ran through Skippy's head like a demented mantra.
Well, it was a demented mantra, she supposed, but she was supposed to be teacher material. She snorted under her breath at the thought as she walked over to the reception desk.
"I'm Stephanie Hall," God, she hated that name. "Is it possible to see Mr Potter?"
The secretary rooted around on her desk before finding a single post-it note. "Ah, yes, go on up. His office is on the third floor, you can't miss it." She smiled, eliciting a slight twitch of the lips from the pre-occupied woman.
She walked over to the lifts. No sightings of her yet. As she scanned the control panel for the button, the lift arrived with a ding and the doors scuffed open to reveal the devil. Or rather, Hermione Granger.
"Oh, hello, Stephanie." she smiled at the older woman, who didn't bother to correct her. Or smile back for that matter. Instead, she gave a slight nod in her direction to acknowledge her greeting. "Have you decided to take up the post?"
"Maybe." Skippy replied frostily.
"I'm sure you'll love it at Hogwarts."
"If you love Hogwarts so much," 'Why don't you marry it?' "Why didn't you take it up?"
"I would have, but I'm needed elsewhere." She smiled apologetically. "Researching has always been my passion."
"I am a researcher."
"Really? What discoveries have you made?"
"I would tell you, but I'd have to kill you."
She gave Skippy an odd look, then shook her head. "Well, it mustn't have been very important if I've never heard of you before. Where did you say you worked?"
The older woman's fists clenched, but she forced herself to relax.
"Shouldn't you be doing something?"
"Actually, I have a date tonight. I'm off to get ready."
"Oh. How nice for you." she said robotically, lying through her gritted teeth. Hermione's smile wavered.
"Goodbye, then. I hope we see each other soon."
"Yes. Soon. Hahaha." She replied, falling into the lift. As the doors closed, she resisted the urge to scream.
Harry Potter was not supposed to be this nice.
"I said, would you like a drink? I know it's early, but you look like you could use one." he offered, pouring himself a whiskey.
Skippy was on the verge of melting. He was like the little brother she never had.
"No, it's okay. Last time I got drunk with an English wizard, I ended up owing him a favour."
"Just English wizards?" he grinned.
"Yeah. Amazingly, you can trust the French when you're too liquored up to move, but you celebrate the fall of a dark wizard once - thank you for that, by the way - and you end up here, three years later with the 'saviour of wizarding Britain' wanting you to give up your job so you can teach a bunch of brats how to wipe their own arses." She paused for effect. "You're shorter than the legends imply."
Ah, there it was. The greatest spit-take in history. If only Skippy had a penseive...
"I take it-" Cough. "You're not too pleased-" Cough. "At the idea of teaching?" he said as the coughs died down.
"I'm happy with my job." she stated simply. "Why is it so important that I take it anyway?"
Harry's lips twisted into a bittersweet smile. "Phoenix Enterprises exists to draw the magical and muggle worlds together. We're using muggle science to prove and explain magic. We're marketing magical items for muggle consumers - and vice versa. But as long as the magical community knows nothing about muggles, there will be more Voldemorts." He ran his fingers over his scar sub-consciously. "The first step is to educate young witches and wizards. We have already made muggle studies a compulsory subject, but it is still available as an OWL option."
"Like full course and short course GCSE?"
"Yeah, I think that's how Hermione described it. Either way, we need a teacher for OWL and NEWT Muggle Studies. That's where you come in." he finished, looking Skippy in the eye. She nodded, but still had questions of her own.
"You do realise that I'm not qualified for this? Hell, I've never actually been to Hogwarts. I have more muggle than wizarding qualifications."
"Exactly, you know how the system works." She tried not to giggle at his words. "You also have no prejudice from the house system."
"True," she conceded. "But I'd get lost."
The man shrugged. "I happen to have a map of the school in my possession. It's an interesting thing, but I suppose you could borrow it until you get settled in."
She squinted at him, but he didn't flinch.
"Are you trying to blackmail me?"
Harry poured another glass of whiskey. "Is it working?" He tilted the bottle in her direction. "Are you sure you don't want any?"
"Oh go on then." He wordlessly passed her a glass of the amber liquid. "So, you're convinced I'm the right person for the job?"
"Especially considering how you spent my seventh year."
"That was... That's not the point." He smiled knowingly at her and her anger flared once more. "You also forget that I already have a job." She took a sip."It's a good job." Another. "I like my co-workers." The last drops. "I like the country. More please." She slid the glass over the mahogany desk. "Where was I? Oh yes, I like science." She picked up the re-filled glass. "I like it more than any of the magical subjects." Sip. "Except maybe transfiguration. It's always amusing to change things into animals when your friends are drunk."
"You're drunk." he noted.
"I'm not drunk. Maybe by the end of the glass, but not at the moment."
"So if you had access to a lab, or were able to work with the research department in the summer, you'd take the job?"
"Probably-" Her eyes widened in horror. "SHIT! I didn't mean to say that."
Harry laughed, earning a glare. He didn't care and carried on.
"You bastard." she groaned and set her glass down. "Fine, I'll take the job. But only if I have that access to a lab," He nodded; this was reasonable. "And only if I have complete control over the syllabus. If I'm going to do this, I'm going to do this properly." Harry did not like the smile on Skippy's face as the cogs in her half-drunken mind started turning. "You want muggle studies? Consider the studies muggled."
So. Continue or kill it dead?
Is my lack of description annoying or is it bearable? I was trying not to give everything away in the first chapter.
What do you think of Skippy? She's like a baby. A big, drunken baby. I like her, but do you? In case you couldn't be bothered working it out from the information given, she's 26. (4 years older than George, who is 2 years older than Harry. Plus 3 years from the end of canon equals 26.)
I have no idea why everything revolves around alcohol. Hell, I've never had a drop in my life.
And I'm proud of the length too. 3.5k without ANs. Yes, now I'm trying to bump it up to 4k . Have an extra.
Cher Christophe,
La semaine dernière, j'ai travaillé comme scientifique.
Maintenant, je suis prof des études sur les muggles à Hogwarts.
Ce n'est pas ma faute - j'étais ivre.
Baisers,
Skippy
Okaaaay . I'm pretty sure that the French is correct, as I only used Google translate to check (and copy accents) and to see what 'drunk' was.
Roughly translated it means; last week I was a scientist, now I'm a teacher. It's not my fault - I was drunk. Kisses, Skippy.