Author's Note: A "What-if" piece that was just crying out to be written.
Basically what I did was took the Lord of the Rings characters and placed
them in a contemporary Harry Potter set-up. Needless to say it's not a
serious piece. They are new students about to start a school year at
Hogwarts. I haven't decided yet what year this will be in, and I have a
real sense of the ludicrous so please bear with me.
Enjoy!
# # # # # # # #
Chapter One: The Players and the Player Haters
"Give me back that broomstick," Eowyn Shieldmaiden ordered her older brother, Eomer.
"No." Eomer smirked.
"Why not?" Eowyn demanded.
"Because girls can't play Quidditch, that's why," Eomer gave a lazy smile and hoisted the broom above his head. "Come get it off me, if you want."
"Get bent," Eowyn snapped and marched back towards the front door of their lofty hilltop country estate. At the last second she spun around and kicked her brother in the shin.
"OWWW!" Eomer howled. "Come back here, you little-"
"Try and catch me, if you want," the much smaller and quicker Eowyn retorted, then turned on her heel and raced off.
* * * * *
Meanwhile Boromir Son of Gondor was having the opposite problem with his sibling. "Faramir, come down from that tree," he called. "I need someone to play Quidditch with me."
"Boromir," his younger brother Faramir began, with the air of one whose patience was being unfairly taxed, "I have already explained this to you. I am reading Shakespeare and Rosalind is disguised as a boy and is talking to her lover Orlando. It's all very exciting."
"It's kinky, that's what," Boromir grimaced.
"I wouldn't expect you to understand," Faramir said loftily. "Now run along, I'm trying to read."
"But I'm bored," Boromir whined.
"Oh, I've just about had it with you!" Faramir finally lost his cool. "'I'm bored,' 'I'm hungry,' 'I'm tired,' 'I'm a klepto.' It's always about you!"
Boromir stamped his foot on the ground and strode off. "I'm telling Daddy," he called.
* * * * *
"But Daddy," Arwen Undomiel pouted sulkily, "I want a Firebolt!"
"Dearest," Elrond began pleadingly, "I've already bought you a Remembrall, cashmere robes for Hogwarts, a car when you can't even drive, a new pony, a diamond-studded wand and your very own House Elf. And you don't even play Quidditch."
"So?" Arwen shrugged.
"My point, dearest, is that I'm not made of money." Elrond sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. Even on an immortal parent, Arwen was making her father go grey. "Besides, can't you borrow-" here his mouth twisted as if tasting something unpleasant "-Aragorn's broomstick if you so get the urge?"
"Oh, but Daddy, everyone has a broomstick," Arwen snapped impatiently. "Legolas Greenleaf has one with a handle made out of emeralds, and I just can't compete. Well, I guess I'll just have to persuade you to come around in a reasonable, logical manner." She threw herself on the ground and starting kicking her legs in the air. "IWANNAFIREBOLTIWANNAFIREBOLT-"
* * * * *
"Messr Aragorn, yousa mussa givesa Gollum your clothesa," the house elf insisted impatiently, tugging on one end of the funky Che Guevara t-shirt.
"No!" Aragorn Son of Arathorn said and tugged back.
"But Messr Aragorn, you haventsa wasshahd your clothesa sinca yousa been here," Gollum pleaded, digging into the thin fabric with his scrawny fingers. "Pleasa, givesa to mesa."
"What's it to you?" Aragorn huffed as he pulled on the t-shirt. "Tomorrow I'll be starting my seventh year at Hogwarts and there'll be house elves there to wash all our clothes. They'll insist on it. But Aragorn Son of Arathorn will not wash his hair or his clothes or any body cavity of any form until he is king!"
"Jeez, refering to himself in third person," Gollum muttered under his breath. "What an ego."
Aragorn paused. "What did you say? And anyway, I thought you had some kind of accent."
"Oh yessa, good sirra," Gollum cried, bowing and bobbling frantically. "Messa nisa house elfsa with nosa desire for any nisa shiny ringsa."
"What ring?" Aragorn frowned down at him. "What are you talking about?"
"Noshing, noshing at all, good sirra," Gollum cried. "Nowsa messa is a- thinking that Missus Arwensa is a-lying on the grassa kicksing her legsa in the airsa."
"Alright!" Aragorn cried and sprinted outside.
"Phew, that was a close one," Gollum said.
# # # # # # # # #
Well, there you have it. And please don't ask me how Gollum knew Arwen was outside throwing a tantrum or how they all got to the United Kingdom in the first place. I'm allowed to not make sense :-)
Enjoy!
# # # # # # # #
Chapter One: The Players and the Player Haters
"Give me back that broomstick," Eowyn Shieldmaiden ordered her older brother, Eomer.
"No." Eomer smirked.
"Why not?" Eowyn demanded.
"Because girls can't play Quidditch, that's why," Eomer gave a lazy smile and hoisted the broom above his head. "Come get it off me, if you want."
"Get bent," Eowyn snapped and marched back towards the front door of their lofty hilltop country estate. At the last second she spun around and kicked her brother in the shin.
"OWWW!" Eomer howled. "Come back here, you little-"
"Try and catch me, if you want," the much smaller and quicker Eowyn retorted, then turned on her heel and raced off.
* * * * *
Meanwhile Boromir Son of Gondor was having the opposite problem with his sibling. "Faramir, come down from that tree," he called. "I need someone to play Quidditch with me."
"Boromir," his younger brother Faramir began, with the air of one whose patience was being unfairly taxed, "I have already explained this to you. I am reading Shakespeare and Rosalind is disguised as a boy and is talking to her lover Orlando. It's all very exciting."
"It's kinky, that's what," Boromir grimaced.
"I wouldn't expect you to understand," Faramir said loftily. "Now run along, I'm trying to read."
"But I'm bored," Boromir whined.
"Oh, I've just about had it with you!" Faramir finally lost his cool. "'I'm bored,' 'I'm hungry,' 'I'm tired,' 'I'm a klepto.' It's always about you!"
Boromir stamped his foot on the ground and strode off. "I'm telling Daddy," he called.
* * * * *
"But Daddy," Arwen Undomiel pouted sulkily, "I want a Firebolt!"
"Dearest," Elrond began pleadingly, "I've already bought you a Remembrall, cashmere robes for Hogwarts, a car when you can't even drive, a new pony, a diamond-studded wand and your very own House Elf. And you don't even play Quidditch."
"So?" Arwen shrugged.
"My point, dearest, is that I'm not made of money." Elrond sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. Even on an immortal parent, Arwen was making her father go grey. "Besides, can't you borrow-" here his mouth twisted as if tasting something unpleasant "-Aragorn's broomstick if you so get the urge?"
"Oh, but Daddy, everyone has a broomstick," Arwen snapped impatiently. "Legolas Greenleaf has one with a handle made out of emeralds, and I just can't compete. Well, I guess I'll just have to persuade you to come around in a reasonable, logical manner." She threw herself on the ground and starting kicking her legs in the air. "IWANNAFIREBOLTIWANNAFIREBOLT-"
* * * * *
"Messr Aragorn, yousa mussa givesa Gollum your clothesa," the house elf insisted impatiently, tugging on one end of the funky Che Guevara t-shirt.
"No!" Aragorn Son of Arathorn said and tugged back.
"But Messr Aragorn, you haventsa wasshahd your clothesa sinca yousa been here," Gollum pleaded, digging into the thin fabric with his scrawny fingers. "Pleasa, givesa to mesa."
"What's it to you?" Aragorn huffed as he pulled on the t-shirt. "Tomorrow I'll be starting my seventh year at Hogwarts and there'll be house elves there to wash all our clothes. They'll insist on it. But Aragorn Son of Arathorn will not wash his hair or his clothes or any body cavity of any form until he is king!"
"Jeez, refering to himself in third person," Gollum muttered under his breath. "What an ego."
Aragorn paused. "What did you say? And anyway, I thought you had some kind of accent."
"Oh yessa, good sirra," Gollum cried, bowing and bobbling frantically. "Messa nisa house elfsa with nosa desire for any nisa shiny ringsa."
"What ring?" Aragorn frowned down at him. "What are you talking about?"
"Noshing, noshing at all, good sirra," Gollum cried. "Nowsa messa is a- thinking that Missus Arwensa is a-lying on the grassa kicksing her legsa in the airsa."
"Alright!" Aragorn cried and sprinted outside.
"Phew, that was a close one," Gollum said.
# # # # # # # # #
Well, there you have it. And please don't ask me how Gollum knew Arwen was outside throwing a tantrum or how they all got to the United Kingdom in the first place. I'm allowed to not make sense :-)