Inevitably, it's the author's note: Hello again LotR Fanfictioners.
Thank you to those who cared to review my story Babysitting, I was
extremely flattered; and look what I've concocted this time! Yet again the
very much used LotR meets Harry Potter, but I was hoping I had made mine
origninal. This contains no slash, but a few mentionings of what could be
slash, I wouldn't know because I didn't care to write about it, if that
makes sense. Anyway, if you care to read this: have fun and don't hesitate
to leave a review on your way out! Thank you!
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Mr. and Mrs. Gardener of 14 Gardenial Drive were perfectly normally perfect, thank you very much. They had a baby son, Tolman, who was, of course, normally perfect, and lived in a burrow, which was, of course, perfectly normal.
And if this story was going to continue being perfectly normal or normally perfect, then it would be an incredibly boring story. And a boring story is far from perfectly normal or normally perfect ... this is getting boring, isn't it?
Anyway, it was another perfectly normal day for the Gardeners. Mr. Gardener whistled cheerfully as he pulled tight his most extravangant tie, which was perfectly boring, in a normal sort of way.
Mrs. Gardener gabbled on about how she caught the Burrowses doing unatural things in their backyard, which was natural and perfectly normal for them. Having an unaturally keen sense for perfect spying, Mrs. Gardener had her own P.I HQ in the normal oak in the perfect backyard. That and she had an unaturally long neck which was far from normal.
Normally perfect Tolman was throwing a perfectly normal tantrum, and saying unatural things in his naturally normal gruff baby tones.
Mr. Gardener perfectly parted his unaturally blond hair, patted his naturally large belly, kissed his normally perfect son and unaturally horse- faced wife good-bye, and strode out of the door into a perfect day.
On his mind as he drove to work in his perfect car was the normal shipment of unaturally high quality garden spades which he was naturally expecting to arrive at noon ... This is boring, isn't it? You think I'm boring, don't you? Oh well, that's what I get for trying to be thorough ... let's fast forward, this isn't going anywhere fast.
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The moon shone down from a star spangled sky, its silver light illuminating a solitary figure who was making his way up the street. Pausing, he gazed cautiously about, and took from his pocket a silver something that resembled a lighter.
Which, in fact, it was, as he discovered when several of his grey beard hairs were singed. Grumbling about misleading labelling, Muggles attempting to copy magical technology which is far beyond their incapable minds, and at least three minutes of unmentionably foul language, he fished another silver lighter-resembling object from his pocket.
Lifting it into the air, he clicked it once, and the nearest lamp exploded in a shower of sparks. 'Heh heh, whoops,' he muttered, realising he had the extinguish setting on 'Flood Light' (and I don't really think anyone needs to know why he had it on that setting).
Switching it down to 'Street Lamp' the remaining lights were vanquished without further incident. Of course, it might have been wiser to have reached his destination before he used his Put-Outer. Due to poor maintenance funds from the council - most of which were used on their weekly Happy Hours - the street had somewhat succumbed to the elements.
Which our mysterious stranger discovered as his foot was unsuspectingly snared in a gaping crack in the sidewalk, and the concrete came rushing up to meet him. In an attempt to maintain what little dignity had not been dashed from him by such an ungraceful manouver, he got hurriedly to his feet, cleared his throat, brushed down his robes and continued on.
Two large golden orbs were watching his approach, unblinking and glassy. 'Ah, Professor, I thought it might be you,' said our mysterious stranger, as the cat swished her tail. After contorting into grotesque shapes in some sort of physical struggle, a tall, beautiful and young-looking woman stood before him with her arms crossed in a sulk.
'Aw, how did you know it was me?' she asked with her bottom lip protruding.
'Simple,' he said. 'What kind of cat has pointy ears?'
'All cats, I do believe,' she said drily.
'Oh ... er, yes. Of course. Lucky guess, I suppose. Well, you have pointy ears in any case.'
Professor Arwen glared venomously at her superior. Gandalf uneasily cleared his throat. 'Shouldn't be too long now,' he said cheerfully.
Arwen continued to glare.
Gandalf fingered his collar and turned away. 'Sherbet lemon?' he offered after an awkward moment, holding out a bag containing sweets that looked suspiciously like radioactive balls of plutonium dipped in neon-yellow paint.
'No thanks. I'd rather not,' Arwen replied at length. Gandalf shrugged, and began wrestling with two that had fused themselves together.
I'd prefer not to glow in the dark, Arwen thought. Gandalf's uncharacteristic condecensions were beginning to worry her.
(A/N: I worry about the varying chemical compounds used. That or sherbet lemons have become intelligent from the chemical compounds used and have learnt the art of binary fission . which also worries me).
Pulling up the left sleeve of her robe, she checked her interplanetary monitoring device, and huffed impatiently. 'So, remind me. What are we doing here?' she asked. 'Waiting for the bus,' said Gandalf, chewing on a sherbet lemon with relish. 'What?! You mean I've been sitting on that wall, getting all nice and stiff, all day for nothing except a bus?!' shrieked Arwen in a rage. 'If I hadn't filed my nails yesterday I'd kill you!'
'Yes, good thing that, isn't it?' said Gandalf with a broad grin. 'And you needn't have sat on the wall all day. I know I said to be here early, but I didn't exactly have the break of dawn in mind.'
Arwen tried desperately to ignore the temptation to fasten her fingers around his neck. At that moment there was a muffled roar, and a monstrous shape came hurtling down the street and braked with a screech in front of them.
'Sorry about that,' Aragorn apologised from behind the wheel of the rather outdated double-decker bus, scratching his head beneath his pointy star-spangled wizard hat. 'Had a small problem with a flying motorbike over Buckland.' Gandalf waved the matter aside. 'Thunk nuhsing os it,' he mumbled. Sherbet lemons could have peculiar side effects, including temporary cases of lockjaw and stiff upper lips.
Arwen stepped gracefully aboard with all the airs of elvish royalty, of which she was, and then not so gracefully tripped on the hem of her robes and smacked into the nearest window.
'Ye've got tae watch that firs' step, it's a real tripper,' sniggered a familiar voice from the back. 'Oh no,' sighed Arwen. 'Say hello tae yer noo co-workers,' Pippin continued, tipping his own pointy hat. Merry was sitting on the stair well that led up to the next floor, resting his head in his hands. Motion sickness, it seemed, had gotten the better of him.
There appeared to be slight heat haze shimmering beside the back right window. A slight heat haze which looked directly at the new passengers and waved a translucent arm as Aragorn kicked the bus into action. Arwen squinted at it. 'Boromir?' she asked. 'Aye,' the spectral form of the son of Denethor replied sullenly.
'Why aren't you at the Halls of Mandos?'
'Apparently you have to call for a reservation. Not knowing you were going to die isn't a good enough excuse for them, so I'm stuck here until they get a vacancy. The summer solstice does a roaring trade up there. Why aren't you at home?'
'Job opportunity,' said Arwen, seating herself in front of him.
'You too?'
'Yes, unfortunately.'
'It's times like these I am thankful that I'm deceased.'
'What are you teaching?'
'History of Magic. Yourself?'
Arwen smirked. 'Transfiguration,' she said.
'Oh, you aren't still thinking of turning Aragorn into the incarnate of your all-time favourite crush, are you?'
'Oh ... no, of course not. Why would I do something like that? Brad Pitt's not all that good looking.'
A loud thump from the top deck put an abrupt end to their meaningless conversation, and something came rocketing down the stairs, falling over Merry and landing face down on the floor. Frodo slowly pulled himself out of the cast he had created in the wooden boarding, and dazedly got to his feet.
'Oh no, Frodo, no' again,' said Pippin. 'Tha's the saircon' time.'
Frodo, staggering around with a hand at his head, fell into an armchair. Someone else came thumping down the stairs and pulled him upright. Sam waved his hand in Frodo's face.
'Mr. Frodo? Are you okay?' he asked. 'How many fingers am I holding up?'
'Da ... da ... urgh,' mumbled Frodo, blinking distractedly.
Another robed figure came lightly down the stairs. 'Sorry about that,' Celeborn apologized. 'What happened?' Arwen asked, resting her chin on the backs of her hands. Celeborn, turning his back on Frodo, gestured towards the ring on his right index finger. 'Little bit of a misunderstanding,' he said. 'Genuine 24 carat gold it is - upset him a little, it's happened before.'
'Grandaddy!' Arwen exclaimed in exasperation. Celeborn grinned sheepishly, until something else came thudding down the stairs and smacked him on the back of the head.
'Oh dear, we are awfully sorry!' cried an apologetic voice, and Galadriel descended in all her graces, looking awkwardly at the rigid form of her husband lying unconscious on the floor and the cause lying adjacent to him. 'Our croquet mallets were waxed this morning, and consequentially are a little hard to keep hold of. Merry, be a dear and fetch me that one there please.'
Merry - having been trodden on, tripped over, ignored and, in general, completely overlooked - grumbled something about Elves having no coordination (there was also something implied about who would be stupid enough to wax the handle of a croquet mallet, at which point he threw a withering glance at Galadriel), grudgingly fetched the offending "Ball hammer", as he called them, which made Pippin laugh and wince similtaneously.
'Thank you darling,' said Galadriel, and swinging her mallet in a highly dangerous manner she ran back up to the second deck shouting, 'Prepare to meet your defeat at the hands of a lady!'
Celeborn's ears twitched at her challenge, and in moments he was up and off as if nothing had happened. Arwen, eyes wide, turned to Boromir and asked, 'Who else is up there?'
'Legolas, Gimli and Elrond; Frodo and Sam were until now. Isn't it obvious?'
'Oh gods ...'
'You know, those were my exact words until I remembered that flying croquet equipment couldn't hurt me.'
'Yes, well, there are others here who are flesh and bone.'
Boromir burst into tears.
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Everyone staggered off the bus groaning and clutching heaving stomachs. Aragorn, his fingers moulded into the steering wheel, was attempting to prise them free. Elrond came to his aid with the crowbar Galadriel kept in her purse, should the 'need to use it every arise.'
'It wasn't my fault that the barns didn't jump out of the way,' he muttered. 'Oh yes, we know,' said Legolas, who made a strangled gurgling noise, and fell flat on his face in the grass.
Gimli chuckled, said something about, 'What a poncy elf', and walked into a tree. Of course, everyone's coordination on terra firma was somewhat affected by Aragorn's small detour through several barns in succession. Celeborn was removing feathers (chickens and all) from the grill, while Pippin had gotten to wondering why on Middle-Earth there was the tufted tail of a cow poking from the exhaust.
Eventually they managed to find their way by using each other for support, and as a result they ended up holding hands and looking like something from the Wizard of Oz, even if the road wasn't quite of yellow brick and even if they were too sick to make so much more than faint mumblings, let alone sing. I suppose the mental image of Dorothy, the Lion, the Scarecrow and the Tin Man emerging from a pub completely intoxicated and with pints in hand is sufficient enough to explain it.
Having made it successfully over the draw bridge - if Elrond, Legolas, Galadriel, Frodo, Sam, Aragorn and Celeborn ending up in the moat below is what you can count as successful - the kitchens were the first point of call, with the pantry being upended by Merry and Pippin.
On finding only a note reading 'Vermin on vacation. Cancel Pest Exterminator examination until further notice; rodent infestation should be back Monday', they promptly disappeared into the cellar, and shortly afterwards the slurred notes of songs embelished with their own delightful obscenity came floating up, along with the clack of tankards being smacked violently together as toasts were made.
Pippin then decided to toast various parts of elvish anatomy, and the familiar names of several elves were distinctly heard amongst the praise. Elrond quickly shut the door when Merry began a tale, albeit a jumble of words halted with abrupt hiccups, that seemed to have something to do with Rivendell, a cask of wine, elvish panties and an array of masquerade gear. Of course, all of this must remain indisclosed as this is a strictly PG-13 rated story, and I myself am limited due to the fact that I am among my intended audience.
However, there was much blushing, mumbling and mortification amongst the elvish participants, and much staring, gaping, giggling, mocking and jeering from those lacking pointy ears; until Merry's little story suddenly ended up in the dungeons of Minas Tirith, and involved those lacking pointy ears.
A heavy silence fell, everyone was sitting bolt upright in their chairs and staring wide-eyed at the nearest object. Legolas was the first to utter a sound, but this was due to the fact that many people's eyes had decided he was the nearest object and this was making him a little uneasy.
Gandalf, still recovering from a near cardiac arrest due to the prior unique driving experience, said, 'Well ... Welcome to Hogwarts.'
Legolas, seated at the table, was in peals of laughter, until he went cross-eyed and fell backwards from his chair in a faint.
Arwen set to fanning him with a tea-towel, and when that did nothing to revive him she soaked in the sink and reverted to slapping him with it.
Aragorn gazed out the window, looking up at the heavens and the twinkling stars. 'Surely being a wizard can't be all that bad?' he said hopefully. Insane laughter issued from the bush beneath the window, which was quickly stifled but began again as the owner moved away into the distance. Aragorn scowled, wishing there was a pot plant or something else that could cause much pain if thrown on the window-sill.
Galadriel, having served herbal tea to everyone and commented on the lovely rosy hue Legolas' cheeks had taken on, rested her hands on her waist and said, 'Hellooo Hogwarts! Could use a bit of a woman's touch, couldn't it?'
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Skulking in the dungeons, two particular people who are of minor import and matter little were busy concoting some terrible potion. Or rather, experimenting with assorted bits and pieces to see what would happen.
'Ooh look! It went red! Do it again, do it again!'
'Tee hee hee!'
Saruman snatched another handful of Gorgas root and threw it in, as Grima stood fascinated beside the cauldron, giggling delightedly as the potion performed an array of amusing tricks.
'What happens if you throw in Orc Essence?'
'Shall we try?'
'Yeah, go on!'
Saruman, beaming like a child who has opened a greatly wanted present on Christmas Day (that or seen his mother in the shower), siezed a conical flask and upended it, pouring in every last drop.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~ The occupants of the kitchen paid little heed to the rumbling that erupted below them and shook the entire castle, and the shower of stone fragments from the cieling.
Aragorn, stirring a much-needed mug of java, said, 'You hired Saruman as the Potions Master?'
'Well, I thought that if he blows himself up in the process it would be worth it, don't you?' said Gandalf, and took a swig from his flask.
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Saruman and Grima, charred and with hair slowly falling in ash from their scalps, blinked distractedly and laughed, clapping their hands.
'That was a good one!' exclaimed Grima.
'Let's do it again!' suggested Saruman.
'Erm ... one small problem.'
'What's that?'
'There isn't anything left of the cauldron except that twisted lump of lead there.'
Saruman considered this, and a huge grin spread itself across his blackened face. 'Let's go find Galadriel's Mirror!'
'Yay!'
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'I have a strange feeling we've forgotten summat,' said Pippin slowly, and hiccuped. Merry cheered and drank his tankard dry.
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'Once again, I'm left holdin' the baby,' grumbled Gimli, glancing down at the cooing bundle smothered in swaddling clothes. 'Ah well, this looks like a nice enough home fer you, I'll jus' drop you here.'
Stepping up to the front door of 14 Gardenial Drive, he dropped the baby on the doorstep, shoved a note in the blankets, and was about to leave when a piercing wail shattered the still night air.
'Shhh! Do ya want ta wake the whole town?' Gimli hissed, pressing a finger to his lips.
The baby giggled and kicked little feet.
Gimli turned to leave.
More caterwauling.
Having done much aerobic exercise stepping between his flying bike and the baby, Gimli gave in, jumped on the bike and motored away.
'Stupid bairn,' he muttered, and then sniffed. 'I'm goin' ta miss the li'l fella.'
Below him several car alarms had gone off, the dogs were barking behind their fences, people were shouting, glass was breaking, and the baby yawned and settled itself down to sleep amid the chaos.
Little Andwise Roper, the Baby Who Caused An Entire Suburb To Go Into An Uproar ... Oh, and the Boy who Lived.
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So, am I writer material or aren't I? Praise me, flame me, I do not care! The fact that you even bothered to take the time to review is greatly appreciated - though of course if it's praise it's even more appreciated (. Next chapter we see if our new teachers can handle the pressure of running a school (just do not expect it too soon, I am still suffering that Bane of Author's: WRITER'S BLOCK! Dun dun dun *thunder and lightning*. If you even liked this you will have to wait, that is.
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Mr. and Mrs. Gardener of 14 Gardenial Drive were perfectly normally perfect, thank you very much. They had a baby son, Tolman, who was, of course, normally perfect, and lived in a burrow, which was, of course, perfectly normal.
And if this story was going to continue being perfectly normal or normally perfect, then it would be an incredibly boring story. And a boring story is far from perfectly normal or normally perfect ... this is getting boring, isn't it?
Anyway, it was another perfectly normal day for the Gardeners. Mr. Gardener whistled cheerfully as he pulled tight his most extravangant tie, which was perfectly boring, in a normal sort of way.
Mrs. Gardener gabbled on about how she caught the Burrowses doing unatural things in their backyard, which was natural and perfectly normal for them. Having an unaturally keen sense for perfect spying, Mrs. Gardener had her own P.I HQ in the normal oak in the perfect backyard. That and she had an unaturally long neck which was far from normal.
Normally perfect Tolman was throwing a perfectly normal tantrum, and saying unatural things in his naturally normal gruff baby tones.
Mr. Gardener perfectly parted his unaturally blond hair, patted his naturally large belly, kissed his normally perfect son and unaturally horse- faced wife good-bye, and strode out of the door into a perfect day.
On his mind as he drove to work in his perfect car was the normal shipment of unaturally high quality garden spades which he was naturally expecting to arrive at noon ... This is boring, isn't it? You think I'm boring, don't you? Oh well, that's what I get for trying to be thorough ... let's fast forward, this isn't going anywhere fast.
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The moon shone down from a star spangled sky, its silver light illuminating a solitary figure who was making his way up the street. Pausing, he gazed cautiously about, and took from his pocket a silver something that resembled a lighter.
Which, in fact, it was, as he discovered when several of his grey beard hairs were singed. Grumbling about misleading labelling, Muggles attempting to copy magical technology which is far beyond their incapable minds, and at least three minutes of unmentionably foul language, he fished another silver lighter-resembling object from his pocket.
Lifting it into the air, he clicked it once, and the nearest lamp exploded in a shower of sparks. 'Heh heh, whoops,' he muttered, realising he had the extinguish setting on 'Flood Light' (and I don't really think anyone needs to know why he had it on that setting).
Switching it down to 'Street Lamp' the remaining lights were vanquished without further incident. Of course, it might have been wiser to have reached his destination before he used his Put-Outer. Due to poor maintenance funds from the council - most of which were used on their weekly Happy Hours - the street had somewhat succumbed to the elements.
Which our mysterious stranger discovered as his foot was unsuspectingly snared in a gaping crack in the sidewalk, and the concrete came rushing up to meet him. In an attempt to maintain what little dignity had not been dashed from him by such an ungraceful manouver, he got hurriedly to his feet, cleared his throat, brushed down his robes and continued on.
Two large golden orbs were watching his approach, unblinking and glassy. 'Ah, Professor, I thought it might be you,' said our mysterious stranger, as the cat swished her tail. After contorting into grotesque shapes in some sort of physical struggle, a tall, beautiful and young-looking woman stood before him with her arms crossed in a sulk.
'Aw, how did you know it was me?' she asked with her bottom lip protruding.
'Simple,' he said. 'What kind of cat has pointy ears?'
'All cats, I do believe,' she said drily.
'Oh ... er, yes. Of course. Lucky guess, I suppose. Well, you have pointy ears in any case.'
Professor Arwen glared venomously at her superior. Gandalf uneasily cleared his throat. 'Shouldn't be too long now,' he said cheerfully.
Arwen continued to glare.
Gandalf fingered his collar and turned away. 'Sherbet lemon?' he offered after an awkward moment, holding out a bag containing sweets that looked suspiciously like radioactive balls of plutonium dipped in neon-yellow paint.
'No thanks. I'd rather not,' Arwen replied at length. Gandalf shrugged, and began wrestling with two that had fused themselves together.
I'd prefer not to glow in the dark, Arwen thought. Gandalf's uncharacteristic condecensions were beginning to worry her.
(A/N: I worry about the varying chemical compounds used. That or sherbet lemons have become intelligent from the chemical compounds used and have learnt the art of binary fission . which also worries me).
Pulling up the left sleeve of her robe, she checked her interplanetary monitoring device, and huffed impatiently. 'So, remind me. What are we doing here?' she asked. 'Waiting for the bus,' said Gandalf, chewing on a sherbet lemon with relish. 'What?! You mean I've been sitting on that wall, getting all nice and stiff, all day for nothing except a bus?!' shrieked Arwen in a rage. 'If I hadn't filed my nails yesterday I'd kill you!'
'Yes, good thing that, isn't it?' said Gandalf with a broad grin. 'And you needn't have sat on the wall all day. I know I said to be here early, but I didn't exactly have the break of dawn in mind.'
Arwen tried desperately to ignore the temptation to fasten her fingers around his neck. At that moment there was a muffled roar, and a monstrous shape came hurtling down the street and braked with a screech in front of them.
'Sorry about that,' Aragorn apologised from behind the wheel of the rather outdated double-decker bus, scratching his head beneath his pointy star-spangled wizard hat. 'Had a small problem with a flying motorbike over Buckland.' Gandalf waved the matter aside. 'Thunk nuhsing os it,' he mumbled. Sherbet lemons could have peculiar side effects, including temporary cases of lockjaw and stiff upper lips.
Arwen stepped gracefully aboard with all the airs of elvish royalty, of which she was, and then not so gracefully tripped on the hem of her robes and smacked into the nearest window.
'Ye've got tae watch that firs' step, it's a real tripper,' sniggered a familiar voice from the back. 'Oh no,' sighed Arwen. 'Say hello tae yer noo co-workers,' Pippin continued, tipping his own pointy hat. Merry was sitting on the stair well that led up to the next floor, resting his head in his hands. Motion sickness, it seemed, had gotten the better of him.
There appeared to be slight heat haze shimmering beside the back right window. A slight heat haze which looked directly at the new passengers and waved a translucent arm as Aragorn kicked the bus into action. Arwen squinted at it. 'Boromir?' she asked. 'Aye,' the spectral form of the son of Denethor replied sullenly.
'Why aren't you at the Halls of Mandos?'
'Apparently you have to call for a reservation. Not knowing you were going to die isn't a good enough excuse for them, so I'm stuck here until they get a vacancy. The summer solstice does a roaring trade up there. Why aren't you at home?'
'Job opportunity,' said Arwen, seating herself in front of him.
'You too?'
'Yes, unfortunately.'
'It's times like these I am thankful that I'm deceased.'
'What are you teaching?'
'History of Magic. Yourself?'
Arwen smirked. 'Transfiguration,' she said.
'Oh, you aren't still thinking of turning Aragorn into the incarnate of your all-time favourite crush, are you?'
'Oh ... no, of course not. Why would I do something like that? Brad Pitt's not all that good looking.'
A loud thump from the top deck put an abrupt end to their meaningless conversation, and something came rocketing down the stairs, falling over Merry and landing face down on the floor. Frodo slowly pulled himself out of the cast he had created in the wooden boarding, and dazedly got to his feet.
'Oh no, Frodo, no' again,' said Pippin. 'Tha's the saircon' time.'
Frodo, staggering around with a hand at his head, fell into an armchair. Someone else came thumping down the stairs and pulled him upright. Sam waved his hand in Frodo's face.
'Mr. Frodo? Are you okay?' he asked. 'How many fingers am I holding up?'
'Da ... da ... urgh,' mumbled Frodo, blinking distractedly.
Another robed figure came lightly down the stairs. 'Sorry about that,' Celeborn apologized. 'What happened?' Arwen asked, resting her chin on the backs of her hands. Celeborn, turning his back on Frodo, gestured towards the ring on his right index finger. 'Little bit of a misunderstanding,' he said. 'Genuine 24 carat gold it is - upset him a little, it's happened before.'
'Grandaddy!' Arwen exclaimed in exasperation. Celeborn grinned sheepishly, until something else came thudding down the stairs and smacked him on the back of the head.
'Oh dear, we are awfully sorry!' cried an apologetic voice, and Galadriel descended in all her graces, looking awkwardly at the rigid form of her husband lying unconscious on the floor and the cause lying adjacent to him. 'Our croquet mallets were waxed this morning, and consequentially are a little hard to keep hold of. Merry, be a dear and fetch me that one there please.'
Merry - having been trodden on, tripped over, ignored and, in general, completely overlooked - grumbled something about Elves having no coordination (there was also something implied about who would be stupid enough to wax the handle of a croquet mallet, at which point he threw a withering glance at Galadriel), grudgingly fetched the offending "Ball hammer", as he called them, which made Pippin laugh and wince similtaneously.
'Thank you darling,' said Galadriel, and swinging her mallet in a highly dangerous manner she ran back up to the second deck shouting, 'Prepare to meet your defeat at the hands of a lady!'
Celeborn's ears twitched at her challenge, and in moments he was up and off as if nothing had happened. Arwen, eyes wide, turned to Boromir and asked, 'Who else is up there?'
'Legolas, Gimli and Elrond; Frodo and Sam were until now. Isn't it obvious?'
'Oh gods ...'
'You know, those were my exact words until I remembered that flying croquet equipment couldn't hurt me.'
'Yes, well, there are others here who are flesh and bone.'
Boromir burst into tears.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Everyone staggered off the bus groaning and clutching heaving stomachs. Aragorn, his fingers moulded into the steering wheel, was attempting to prise them free. Elrond came to his aid with the crowbar Galadriel kept in her purse, should the 'need to use it every arise.'
'It wasn't my fault that the barns didn't jump out of the way,' he muttered. 'Oh yes, we know,' said Legolas, who made a strangled gurgling noise, and fell flat on his face in the grass.
Gimli chuckled, said something about, 'What a poncy elf', and walked into a tree. Of course, everyone's coordination on terra firma was somewhat affected by Aragorn's small detour through several barns in succession. Celeborn was removing feathers (chickens and all) from the grill, while Pippin had gotten to wondering why on Middle-Earth there was the tufted tail of a cow poking from the exhaust.
Eventually they managed to find their way by using each other for support, and as a result they ended up holding hands and looking like something from the Wizard of Oz, even if the road wasn't quite of yellow brick and even if they were too sick to make so much more than faint mumblings, let alone sing. I suppose the mental image of Dorothy, the Lion, the Scarecrow and the Tin Man emerging from a pub completely intoxicated and with pints in hand is sufficient enough to explain it.
Having made it successfully over the draw bridge - if Elrond, Legolas, Galadriel, Frodo, Sam, Aragorn and Celeborn ending up in the moat below is what you can count as successful - the kitchens were the first point of call, with the pantry being upended by Merry and Pippin.
On finding only a note reading 'Vermin on vacation. Cancel Pest Exterminator examination until further notice; rodent infestation should be back Monday', they promptly disappeared into the cellar, and shortly afterwards the slurred notes of songs embelished with their own delightful obscenity came floating up, along with the clack of tankards being smacked violently together as toasts were made.
Pippin then decided to toast various parts of elvish anatomy, and the familiar names of several elves were distinctly heard amongst the praise. Elrond quickly shut the door when Merry began a tale, albeit a jumble of words halted with abrupt hiccups, that seemed to have something to do with Rivendell, a cask of wine, elvish panties and an array of masquerade gear. Of course, all of this must remain indisclosed as this is a strictly PG-13 rated story, and I myself am limited due to the fact that I am among my intended audience.
However, there was much blushing, mumbling and mortification amongst the elvish participants, and much staring, gaping, giggling, mocking and jeering from those lacking pointy ears; until Merry's little story suddenly ended up in the dungeons of Minas Tirith, and involved those lacking pointy ears.
A heavy silence fell, everyone was sitting bolt upright in their chairs and staring wide-eyed at the nearest object. Legolas was the first to utter a sound, but this was due to the fact that many people's eyes had decided he was the nearest object and this was making him a little uneasy.
Gandalf, still recovering from a near cardiac arrest due to the prior unique driving experience, said, 'Well ... Welcome to Hogwarts.'
Legolas, seated at the table, was in peals of laughter, until he went cross-eyed and fell backwards from his chair in a faint.
Arwen set to fanning him with a tea-towel, and when that did nothing to revive him she soaked in the sink and reverted to slapping him with it.
Aragorn gazed out the window, looking up at the heavens and the twinkling stars. 'Surely being a wizard can't be all that bad?' he said hopefully. Insane laughter issued from the bush beneath the window, which was quickly stifled but began again as the owner moved away into the distance. Aragorn scowled, wishing there was a pot plant or something else that could cause much pain if thrown on the window-sill.
Galadriel, having served herbal tea to everyone and commented on the lovely rosy hue Legolas' cheeks had taken on, rested her hands on her waist and said, 'Hellooo Hogwarts! Could use a bit of a woman's touch, couldn't it?'
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Skulking in the dungeons, two particular people who are of minor import and matter little were busy concoting some terrible potion. Or rather, experimenting with assorted bits and pieces to see what would happen.
'Ooh look! It went red! Do it again, do it again!'
'Tee hee hee!'
Saruman snatched another handful of Gorgas root and threw it in, as Grima stood fascinated beside the cauldron, giggling delightedly as the potion performed an array of amusing tricks.
'What happens if you throw in Orc Essence?'
'Shall we try?'
'Yeah, go on!'
Saruman, beaming like a child who has opened a greatly wanted present on Christmas Day (that or seen his mother in the shower), siezed a conical flask and upended it, pouring in every last drop.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~ The occupants of the kitchen paid little heed to the rumbling that erupted below them and shook the entire castle, and the shower of stone fragments from the cieling.
Aragorn, stirring a much-needed mug of java, said, 'You hired Saruman as the Potions Master?'
'Well, I thought that if he blows himself up in the process it would be worth it, don't you?' said Gandalf, and took a swig from his flask.
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Saruman and Grima, charred and with hair slowly falling in ash from their scalps, blinked distractedly and laughed, clapping their hands.
'That was a good one!' exclaimed Grima.
'Let's do it again!' suggested Saruman.
'Erm ... one small problem.'
'What's that?'
'There isn't anything left of the cauldron except that twisted lump of lead there.'
Saruman considered this, and a huge grin spread itself across his blackened face. 'Let's go find Galadriel's Mirror!'
'Yay!'
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'I have a strange feeling we've forgotten summat,' said Pippin slowly, and hiccuped. Merry cheered and drank his tankard dry.
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'Once again, I'm left holdin' the baby,' grumbled Gimli, glancing down at the cooing bundle smothered in swaddling clothes. 'Ah well, this looks like a nice enough home fer you, I'll jus' drop you here.'
Stepping up to the front door of 14 Gardenial Drive, he dropped the baby on the doorstep, shoved a note in the blankets, and was about to leave when a piercing wail shattered the still night air.
'Shhh! Do ya want ta wake the whole town?' Gimli hissed, pressing a finger to his lips.
The baby giggled and kicked little feet.
Gimli turned to leave.
More caterwauling.
Having done much aerobic exercise stepping between his flying bike and the baby, Gimli gave in, jumped on the bike and motored away.
'Stupid bairn,' he muttered, and then sniffed. 'I'm goin' ta miss the li'l fella.'
Below him several car alarms had gone off, the dogs were barking behind their fences, people were shouting, glass was breaking, and the baby yawned and settled itself down to sleep amid the chaos.
Little Andwise Roper, the Baby Who Caused An Entire Suburb To Go Into An Uproar ... Oh, and the Boy who Lived.
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So, am I writer material or aren't I? Praise me, flame me, I do not care! The fact that you even bothered to take the time to review is greatly appreciated - though of course if it's praise it's even more appreciated (. Next chapter we see if our new teachers can handle the pressure of running a school (just do not expect it too soon, I am still suffering that Bane of Author's: WRITER'S BLOCK! Dun dun dun *thunder and lightning*. If you even liked this you will have to wait, that is.