My imagination is still in Middle Earth, but this _does_ need writing, if
only to keep me away from my homework. :)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Carrying the potion in a flask, Dumbledore carefully tickled the pear leading to the kitchens.
"Dobby?"
Several house-elves came running, but none of them were Dobby. They crowded anxiously around him, impairing the headmaster's ability to move without risking stepping on one of them.
"Dobby is..." A wince and a cower, "On vacation, sir."
"Oh, oh! Dobby is on vacation, sir!" A second house-elf bumped his head weakly on the floor. His bloated stomach made him look like a small green beach ball.
"Oh!" That was less a sound of dismay than a cry of pain. Another groaning house-elf staggered by. This one resembled a papaya more than a beach ball.
*Perhaps something about the head.*
Dumbledore was not one to retreat in confusion. But in that situation, _I'd_ go OOC.
~*~
In the Potions classroom, Professor Snape was taking points away from a combined class of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. Poor Nelville looked gratified to be not the only one in his situation. A boy sitting at a table near him sobbed quietly as his pet, which had presumably once been a toad, mooed weakly. Weakly and _pinkly._ If that's possible.
Snape was no more enjoying the class than his students, albeit for different reasons.
*Albus will not let Draco die.*
Nelville sighed plaintively as his now-tadpole (_A_gain) flopped on the desk. Not knowing what else to do, he spat on it, trying to keep it alive until Hermione could produce a fishbowl.
Ah. Now _here_ was a way to get rid of his frustrations.
"Mr. LONGBOTTOM! You do not spit on your desk. Twenty points from Gryffindor for disrespect to school property!"
Once the irate teacher was out of hearing distance, a coughing Ron whispered to Harry, "Character counts!"
Harry stifled a laugh.
~*~
*Would he?*
~*~
Dumbledore gave up and waved his wand. "Accio Prozac." He wished dearly that the author would get to the angsty point that she is not in any hurry to get to.
~*~
Snape stared around at the chaos in the kitchens. Things were boiling over, others burning, others doing less identifiable things, but none of it looked good. He had never been comfortable in a kitchen.
~*~
dobby was having a _wonderful_ time. Dobby was sock-shopping. But then Dobby felt a very strange sensation. Magic! Someone was putting magic on Dobby!
~*~
Professor Snape had come up with an unorthodox solution. Dobby was missing. The kitchen was a mess. When Dobby was not missing, the kitchen was (Snape hoped) less of a mess.
He was fairly sure that Albus would not have approved; but if he got the kitchens back to some semblance of sanity before (fast-approaching) dinnertime, Snape figured that the Headmaster wouldn't be too fussy about the method used.
"Accio Dobby!"
~*~
House elves don't fly that much. Snape found that out. He also found out that sometimes house elves get airsick.
*Oy.* Being thrown up on was _not_ a habit for the professor. At least not since his college days. *Sometimes I wonder whether beer, pretzels, and peanuts, mixed in quantity, makes a regurgitation potion.* Not that he was planning to brew any. But sometimes he wonders.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Snape. In college. Getting drunk.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Carrying the potion in a flask, Dumbledore carefully tickled the pear leading to the kitchens.
"Dobby?"
Several house-elves came running, but none of them were Dobby. They crowded anxiously around him, impairing the headmaster's ability to move without risking stepping on one of them.
"Dobby is..." A wince and a cower, "On vacation, sir."
"Oh, oh! Dobby is on vacation, sir!" A second house-elf bumped his head weakly on the floor. His bloated stomach made him look like a small green beach ball.
"Oh!" That was less a sound of dismay than a cry of pain. Another groaning house-elf staggered by. This one resembled a papaya more than a beach ball.
*Perhaps something about the head.*
Dumbledore was not one to retreat in confusion. But in that situation, _I'd_ go OOC.
~*~
In the Potions classroom, Professor Snape was taking points away from a combined class of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. Poor Nelville looked gratified to be not the only one in his situation. A boy sitting at a table near him sobbed quietly as his pet, which had presumably once been a toad, mooed weakly. Weakly and _pinkly._ If that's possible.
Snape was no more enjoying the class than his students, albeit for different reasons.
*Albus will not let Draco die.*
Nelville sighed plaintively as his now-tadpole (_A_gain) flopped on the desk. Not knowing what else to do, he spat on it, trying to keep it alive until Hermione could produce a fishbowl.
Ah. Now _here_ was a way to get rid of his frustrations.
"Mr. LONGBOTTOM! You do not spit on your desk. Twenty points from Gryffindor for disrespect to school property!"
Once the irate teacher was out of hearing distance, a coughing Ron whispered to Harry, "Character counts!"
Harry stifled a laugh.
~*~
*Would he?*
~*~
Dumbledore gave up and waved his wand. "Accio Prozac." He wished dearly that the author would get to the angsty point that she is not in any hurry to get to.
~*~
Snape stared around at the chaos in the kitchens. Things were boiling over, others burning, others doing less identifiable things, but none of it looked good. He had never been comfortable in a kitchen.
~*~
dobby was having a _wonderful_ time. Dobby was sock-shopping. But then Dobby felt a very strange sensation. Magic! Someone was putting magic on Dobby!
~*~
Professor Snape had come up with an unorthodox solution. Dobby was missing. The kitchen was a mess. When Dobby was not missing, the kitchen was (Snape hoped) less of a mess.
He was fairly sure that Albus would not have approved; but if he got the kitchens back to some semblance of sanity before (fast-approaching) dinnertime, Snape figured that the Headmaster wouldn't be too fussy about the method used.
"Accio Dobby!"
~*~
House elves don't fly that much. Snape found that out. He also found out that sometimes house elves get airsick.
*Oy.* Being thrown up on was _not_ a habit for the professor. At least not since his college days. *Sometimes I wonder whether beer, pretzels, and peanuts, mixed in quantity, makes a regurgitation potion.* Not that he was planning to brew any. But sometimes he wonders.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Snape. In college. Getting drunk.