Title: Tralus' Trans-Atlantic Temporal Teleportation Trick (A Canadian
Shack Story)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: Abi Z.
Rating: R
Warning: Nothing terribly explicit, but non-fans of same-gender-booty are hereby encouraged to flee.
Archive: You want it, it's yours.
Contact: Praise and constructive criticism to crescentia@yahoo.com. Flames to jesse_helms@helms.senate.gov.
Disclaimer: Ms. J.K. Rowling is too cool and too rich to want or need to sue a broke grad student such as myself.
Summary: Even a shack in the Arctic Circle is better than dealing with your entire family at graduation.
Author's notes: Inspired by 101 Ways to End Up in a Canadian Shack (http://www.trickster.org/speranza/ShackedUp.html#101), which is 388k of 500-word ministories written by 30 authors in 62 fandoms. (This page is especially good for those of us with short attention spans.) While not every fandom on it was my cup of tea (hell, with 62 fandoms, there were some I hadn't even heard of), there wasn't a bad story on the page. This snippet is my little homage to it, although there may be more.
They should have been graduating, or at least attending the banquets and listening to the speeches that filled the several days prior to graduation, but instead they were here, and it was really, really cold. But the cold was a welcome relief from the presence of every single member of Ron's entire family, which included both sets of grandparents, his mother's numerous brothers and sisters, his father's numerous brothers and sisters, these numerous brothers' and sisters' numerous respective spouses and children, Ron's own numerous brothers and sister, and his numerous brothers' respective wives and their respective numerous children. Harry had never seen his own lack of family as any kind of advantage, but he was beginning to see how an overabundance of family could be a decided disadvantage. Particularly when said family appeared not to have learned the delicate grace of knocking on a closed door, or of respecting the barrier spell placed thereon.
And so they were here. It was possible for one of Ron's infinite number of family members to make their way here, but that would necessitate said family member finding them, and frankly there wasn't much in this near- Arctic wasteland to find. The canned tuna and vegetables in the cupboards did not count.
There was enough wood to last a few days, and they'd banked the fire to make it last. The Muggle-food would do, and if they wished to expend the effort they could probably use another teleportation spell to bring some better rations from Regina or even Toronto if Harry was feeling particularly powerful. But for now all this was sufficient: the low fire, the scratchy wool blankets, the bed that looked like someone's great-great- grandfather had nailed it together with timbers he'd hewn himself. Harry's white skin golden in the dim flickering light; Ron's hair even more like flame than usual. The moans--and the laughter--that would have woken up untold numbers of Gryffindorians had they been back at school. Sleep that was deep, uninterrupted, and warm.
That was, in fact, what they were doing (after a judicious period of the aforementioned laughing and moaning) when they heard a loud POP.
"Bugger all," Hermione said. "What the hell are you two doing here?"
Ron sat bolt upright, throwing off Harry's right arm and the lower part of his right leg, then belatedly remembered the teethmarks on his shoulders and grabbed for his shirt. Unfortunately his shirt was on the other side of the room, as were the rest of his clothes. He pulled the covers up to his neck and glared at Hermione--and was that Lavender? "What the hell are you--both of you--doing here?"
Harry rolled over, put on his glasses--they, at least, had made it as far as the side of the bed--and looked at Hermione and Lavender. "Oh. Good morning." His belly itched from the blankets. He scratched at it absently.
"It's four o'clock in the afternoon," Hermione informed him. "At least according to Greenwich Mean Time."
"How did you find us?" Ron demanded.
"Well, I wasn't looking for you, Ron Weasley; that's for certain."
"You can't possibly be under the impression that you're the only Hogwarts graduate-to-be who knows about Tralus' Trans-Atlantic Temporal Teleportation Trick?" the other girl added.
"I didn't think you of all people knew about it!" Ron retorted to both of them.
"Of course we know about it," Hermione said. "It's in the secret handbook for the Gay Gryffindor Girls Group."
"But you have to have the secret decoder ring to make it out," Lavender added.
"And the blacklight for the invisible ink," Hermione said, and snickered.
"Now I know you're lying," Harry said. There were finger-shaped bruises on his arms and a few on his sides. Some were still red going to purple, and some were the yellow of a few-days-old bruise. Hermione seemed to notice them for the first time, and make the connection that Harry was a biter and Ron a grabber. Her eyebrows went up and Harry blushed fiercely, but he did not pull up the blankets. She, after all, was the one who had burst in here uninvited.
"You've found us," Ron said. "Now go home. Report to Dumbledore if you must."
"Ron, you've had the shack for four hours Hogwarts time, which equals four days Temporal Teleportation time," Hermione said. "I have no interest in reporting you to Dumbledore. Lavender and I do have interest in usage of said shack. If you and Harry do not relinquish it, I will teleport you both naked into Dumbledore's office."
"Alright," Harry said. "But you have to re-relinquish it to us in another four hours Hogwarts time, or I'll teleport you in flagrante to Snape's office."
Hermione put out her hand. Harry shook it. "Now close your eyes," he said.
"You don't make that bright a flash when you teleport," Hermione scoffed.
"That's true. However, Ron and I, as you noted, are naked, and our clothes are behind you. Common courtesy."
Hermione closed her eyes. So did Lavender. But they both peeked.
"Well," Ron said when they were back at school, lying on his bed with the curtains drawn around them, "at least she let us have her Insta-Clone spell."
"It certainly looked like you," Harry said. "Down to the teethmarks."
"Let's hope my family doesn't notice that part."
"So," Harry said, "what shall we do for the next four hours?"
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Feedback makes me so happy I could teleport. Lack of it makes me want to go live alone in a shack north of the Arctic Circle. crescentia@yahoo.com
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: Abi Z.
Rating: R
Warning: Nothing terribly explicit, but non-fans of same-gender-booty are hereby encouraged to flee.
Archive: You want it, it's yours.
Contact: Praise and constructive criticism to crescentia@yahoo.com. Flames to jesse_helms@helms.senate.gov.
Disclaimer: Ms. J.K. Rowling is too cool and too rich to want or need to sue a broke grad student such as myself.
Summary: Even a shack in the Arctic Circle is better than dealing with your entire family at graduation.
Author's notes: Inspired by 101 Ways to End Up in a Canadian Shack (http://www.trickster.org/speranza/ShackedUp.html#101), which is 388k of 500-word ministories written by 30 authors in 62 fandoms. (This page is especially good for those of us with short attention spans.) While not every fandom on it was my cup of tea (hell, with 62 fandoms, there were some I hadn't even heard of), there wasn't a bad story on the page. This snippet is my little homage to it, although there may be more.
They should have been graduating, or at least attending the banquets and listening to the speeches that filled the several days prior to graduation, but instead they were here, and it was really, really cold. But the cold was a welcome relief from the presence of every single member of Ron's entire family, which included both sets of grandparents, his mother's numerous brothers and sisters, his father's numerous brothers and sisters, these numerous brothers' and sisters' numerous respective spouses and children, Ron's own numerous brothers and sister, and his numerous brothers' respective wives and their respective numerous children. Harry had never seen his own lack of family as any kind of advantage, but he was beginning to see how an overabundance of family could be a decided disadvantage. Particularly when said family appeared not to have learned the delicate grace of knocking on a closed door, or of respecting the barrier spell placed thereon.
And so they were here. It was possible for one of Ron's infinite number of family members to make their way here, but that would necessitate said family member finding them, and frankly there wasn't much in this near- Arctic wasteland to find. The canned tuna and vegetables in the cupboards did not count.
There was enough wood to last a few days, and they'd banked the fire to make it last. The Muggle-food would do, and if they wished to expend the effort they could probably use another teleportation spell to bring some better rations from Regina or even Toronto if Harry was feeling particularly powerful. But for now all this was sufficient: the low fire, the scratchy wool blankets, the bed that looked like someone's great-great- grandfather had nailed it together with timbers he'd hewn himself. Harry's white skin golden in the dim flickering light; Ron's hair even more like flame than usual. The moans--and the laughter--that would have woken up untold numbers of Gryffindorians had they been back at school. Sleep that was deep, uninterrupted, and warm.
That was, in fact, what they were doing (after a judicious period of the aforementioned laughing and moaning) when they heard a loud POP.
"Bugger all," Hermione said. "What the hell are you two doing here?"
Ron sat bolt upright, throwing off Harry's right arm and the lower part of his right leg, then belatedly remembered the teethmarks on his shoulders and grabbed for his shirt. Unfortunately his shirt was on the other side of the room, as were the rest of his clothes. He pulled the covers up to his neck and glared at Hermione--and was that Lavender? "What the hell are you--both of you--doing here?"
Harry rolled over, put on his glasses--they, at least, had made it as far as the side of the bed--and looked at Hermione and Lavender. "Oh. Good morning." His belly itched from the blankets. He scratched at it absently.
"It's four o'clock in the afternoon," Hermione informed him. "At least according to Greenwich Mean Time."
"How did you find us?" Ron demanded.
"Well, I wasn't looking for you, Ron Weasley; that's for certain."
"You can't possibly be under the impression that you're the only Hogwarts graduate-to-be who knows about Tralus' Trans-Atlantic Temporal Teleportation Trick?" the other girl added.
"I didn't think you of all people knew about it!" Ron retorted to both of them.
"Of course we know about it," Hermione said. "It's in the secret handbook for the Gay Gryffindor Girls Group."
"But you have to have the secret decoder ring to make it out," Lavender added.
"And the blacklight for the invisible ink," Hermione said, and snickered.
"Now I know you're lying," Harry said. There were finger-shaped bruises on his arms and a few on his sides. Some were still red going to purple, and some were the yellow of a few-days-old bruise. Hermione seemed to notice them for the first time, and make the connection that Harry was a biter and Ron a grabber. Her eyebrows went up and Harry blushed fiercely, but he did not pull up the blankets. She, after all, was the one who had burst in here uninvited.
"You've found us," Ron said. "Now go home. Report to Dumbledore if you must."
"Ron, you've had the shack for four hours Hogwarts time, which equals four days Temporal Teleportation time," Hermione said. "I have no interest in reporting you to Dumbledore. Lavender and I do have interest in usage of said shack. If you and Harry do not relinquish it, I will teleport you both naked into Dumbledore's office."
"Alright," Harry said. "But you have to re-relinquish it to us in another four hours Hogwarts time, or I'll teleport you in flagrante to Snape's office."
Hermione put out her hand. Harry shook it. "Now close your eyes," he said.
"You don't make that bright a flash when you teleport," Hermione scoffed.
"That's true. However, Ron and I, as you noted, are naked, and our clothes are behind you. Common courtesy."
Hermione closed her eyes. So did Lavender. But they both peeked.
"Well," Ron said when they were back at school, lying on his bed with the curtains drawn around them, "at least she let us have her Insta-Clone spell."
"It certainly looked like you," Harry said. "Down to the teethmarks."
"Let's hope my family doesn't notice that part."
"So," Harry said, "what shall we do for the next four hours?"
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Feedback makes me so happy I could teleport. Lack of it makes me want to go live alone in a shack north of the Arctic Circle. crescentia@yahoo.com