Author's Note: Well, here we are again. Just in case you're interested, I
have not abandoned my "Natalia Adani and the Boys of Hogwarts" fic. She
just requires a little more time than this one; she is a very high
maintenance woman. But thank you for reading this one and thank you to all
the reviewers. I write for myself and I'm not one of those people who
majorly stress out over reviews (or lack of them) but it's nice to have
them all the same.
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Chapter Four: The Continuing Journey to Hogwarts
"Mister Frodo, can I get you a chocolate frog?" the chubby, waist-high midget with furry feet, otherwise known as a Hobbit, asked his companion in the carriage.
"No, I'm fine, thank you, Sam," Frodo said, flicking through his copy of "The Idiot's Guide to Sindarin Elvish." "I have five meals before I got on the train, so I shouldn't need anything until we reach Hogwarts. Can you believe that Big Folk wizarding schools have only "three" meals a day? No wonder Aragorn looks as though we could use his shoulder blades as can openers."
"Hmm, wish I'd thought of that while we were starving on top of Weathertop that year we all decided to go on a camping trip for Spring Break," Sam said. "Daft idea that. Our folk definitely do not travel well. Bertie Botts Many-Flavoured Beans sound better, Mister Frodo?"
"No thank you, Sam," Frodo replied. "Yes, that trip was a blast, wasn't it? And what Merry and Pippin got up to with Farmer Maggot's crops? I will never look at a carrot the same way again, much less eat one."
"But surely, Mister Frodo, a Tossflossing Stringmint might suffice-" Sam persisted.
"Look, Sam, I'm not hungry!" Frodo finally lost it. "Your function in life is not just to serve me, you know." Sam looked shocked. "Oh, forget it," Frodo shrugged angrily. "And remember," his voice dropped, "I asked you to "never" call me Mister unless we were in a certain, um, predicament. If Bilbo were to find out, I'd lose my inheritance. Now I'm going to check on Merry and Pippin and see that they're not making too much of a nuisance of themselves." He rose to his feet and pushed through the door.
Left alone in the cabin, Sam sighed softly and sadly, "Now you've gone and hurt my feelings, Mister Frodo."
* * * * *
A few cabins down, Faramir looked up from "As You Like It" and asked his brother, "Which house do you want to be in?"
"The house that has all the hot chicks, man," Boromir responded. "Like that Prefect chick back at the station. She's a little lembas-chested, but I most definitely would."
"She also seems terribly intellectual," Faramir said stiffly, giving his brother that was younger in everything but age a stern look. "She would be a fascinating person to have a conversation with."
"A fascinating person to have a conversation with?" Boromir repeated in disbelief. "Have you seen her legs? Her arse? Dude, you have no appreciation of the finer things in life." He burped and returned to his copy of Playboy. "Jeez, I didn't know these Muggle women had jugs like that or could do "that"! No wonder pureblood families are dying out."
*Is this the only earth I can live on* Faramir thought miserably and returned to his well-thumbed Shakespearean comedy.
* * * * *
"Hermione and Male Nerd, sitting in a tree-"
"You can just shut it, Ronald Weasley!"
"K-I-S-S-I-N-G-"
"I've about had it with you-"
"And they look so happy to be around-"
"RON! SHUT UP!"
"Until the Whomping Willow knocks them to the ground."
"AHHHH! WHY DO MY TWO BEST FRIENDS HAVE TO BE MALE?"
"Well, it's either me and Harry or Club Divination," Ron told her, grinning broadly. "Club Divination" referred to the cerebral wastelands that were Lavender and Parvati; two girls he knew Hermione despised. He also knew to say "Harry and I" and not "me and Harry," but additionally knew [yes, I need a thesaurus, but I don't think Ron's vocabulary is very developed anyway - A/N] how much improper grammar pissed Hermione off. Correctly guessing his word choice to be deliberate, Hermione glared at him but refused to rise to the bait. "You like him," Ron goaded.
"I do not," Hermione said with the sort of calmness that is so calm that it can only come from someone trying to maintain her temper, and therefore not really calm at all [???? - A/N].
"Then why do you keep on denying it, huh?" Ron beamed.
"Probably because you keep on asking me and out of politeness I'm required to give you an answer, Sherlock," Hermione told him, rolling her eyes.
"Who's Sherlock?" Ron asked.
"He's a very famous Muggle detective known for the mysteries he solved in the nineteenth century," Hermione happily slipped back into her bookworm role. "I'll get my younger brother to send over some of his books if you like."
"Oh, "that" Sherlock," Ron breathed, clapping a hand to his forehead. "But he was never a Muggle, you know. He was one of ours."
"Oh, sure," Hermione said bitterly. "Like Abraham Lincoln, and Gandhi, and Pele, and Robin Hood. Keep all the good ones to yourself, why don't you? Well, "my" brother is top of his year at Eton, and he has yet to display any non-Muggle inclinations."
The cabin door burst open and two figures the size of small children tumbled into the room. "Quick, quick," panted one, "take my wand." Perplexed, Ron took the instrument from him, then shrieked and dropped it as it turned into a rubber but very life mouse. The two midgets high-fived each other then sprinted out of the room. Crookshanks sprung into life and leapt out of his wicker travel basket.
"One of Fred's and George's fake wands," Ron muttered as the mouse darted out of the room, Crookshanks in hot pursuit. "Their spirit lives on."
Hermione stifled a giggle.
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little-lost-one: Great idea. Where's the fic?
Tori: Can I use your term "Divination Groupies" in future fics?
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Chapter Four: The Continuing Journey to Hogwarts
"Mister Frodo, can I get you a chocolate frog?" the chubby, waist-high midget with furry feet, otherwise known as a Hobbit, asked his companion in the carriage.
"No, I'm fine, thank you, Sam," Frodo said, flicking through his copy of "The Idiot's Guide to Sindarin Elvish." "I have five meals before I got on the train, so I shouldn't need anything until we reach Hogwarts. Can you believe that Big Folk wizarding schools have only "three" meals a day? No wonder Aragorn looks as though we could use his shoulder blades as can openers."
"Hmm, wish I'd thought of that while we were starving on top of Weathertop that year we all decided to go on a camping trip for Spring Break," Sam said. "Daft idea that. Our folk definitely do not travel well. Bertie Botts Many-Flavoured Beans sound better, Mister Frodo?"
"No thank you, Sam," Frodo replied. "Yes, that trip was a blast, wasn't it? And what Merry and Pippin got up to with Farmer Maggot's crops? I will never look at a carrot the same way again, much less eat one."
"But surely, Mister Frodo, a Tossflossing Stringmint might suffice-" Sam persisted.
"Look, Sam, I'm not hungry!" Frodo finally lost it. "Your function in life is not just to serve me, you know." Sam looked shocked. "Oh, forget it," Frodo shrugged angrily. "And remember," his voice dropped, "I asked you to "never" call me Mister unless we were in a certain, um, predicament. If Bilbo were to find out, I'd lose my inheritance. Now I'm going to check on Merry and Pippin and see that they're not making too much of a nuisance of themselves." He rose to his feet and pushed through the door.
Left alone in the cabin, Sam sighed softly and sadly, "Now you've gone and hurt my feelings, Mister Frodo."
* * * * *
A few cabins down, Faramir looked up from "As You Like It" and asked his brother, "Which house do you want to be in?"
"The house that has all the hot chicks, man," Boromir responded. "Like that Prefect chick back at the station. She's a little lembas-chested, but I most definitely would."
"She also seems terribly intellectual," Faramir said stiffly, giving his brother that was younger in everything but age a stern look. "She would be a fascinating person to have a conversation with."
"A fascinating person to have a conversation with?" Boromir repeated in disbelief. "Have you seen her legs? Her arse? Dude, you have no appreciation of the finer things in life." He burped and returned to his copy of Playboy. "Jeez, I didn't know these Muggle women had jugs like that or could do "that"! No wonder pureblood families are dying out."
*Is this the only earth I can live on* Faramir thought miserably and returned to his well-thumbed Shakespearean comedy.
* * * * *
"Hermione and Male Nerd, sitting in a tree-"
"You can just shut it, Ronald Weasley!"
"K-I-S-S-I-N-G-"
"I've about had it with you-"
"And they look so happy to be around-"
"RON! SHUT UP!"
"Until the Whomping Willow knocks them to the ground."
"AHHHH! WHY DO MY TWO BEST FRIENDS HAVE TO BE MALE?"
"Well, it's either me and Harry or Club Divination," Ron told her, grinning broadly. "Club Divination" referred to the cerebral wastelands that were Lavender and Parvati; two girls he knew Hermione despised. He also knew to say "Harry and I" and not "me and Harry," but additionally knew [yes, I need a thesaurus, but I don't think Ron's vocabulary is very developed anyway - A/N] how much improper grammar pissed Hermione off. Correctly guessing his word choice to be deliberate, Hermione glared at him but refused to rise to the bait. "You like him," Ron goaded.
"I do not," Hermione said with the sort of calmness that is so calm that it can only come from someone trying to maintain her temper, and therefore not really calm at all [???? - A/N].
"Then why do you keep on denying it, huh?" Ron beamed.
"Probably because you keep on asking me and out of politeness I'm required to give you an answer, Sherlock," Hermione told him, rolling her eyes.
"Who's Sherlock?" Ron asked.
"He's a very famous Muggle detective known for the mysteries he solved in the nineteenth century," Hermione happily slipped back into her bookworm role. "I'll get my younger brother to send over some of his books if you like."
"Oh, "that" Sherlock," Ron breathed, clapping a hand to his forehead. "But he was never a Muggle, you know. He was one of ours."
"Oh, sure," Hermione said bitterly. "Like Abraham Lincoln, and Gandhi, and Pele, and Robin Hood. Keep all the good ones to yourself, why don't you? Well, "my" brother is top of his year at Eton, and he has yet to display any non-Muggle inclinations."
The cabin door burst open and two figures the size of small children tumbled into the room. "Quick, quick," panted one, "take my wand." Perplexed, Ron took the instrument from him, then shrieked and dropped it as it turned into a rubber but very life mouse. The two midgets high-fived each other then sprinted out of the room. Crookshanks sprung into life and leapt out of his wicker travel basket.
"One of Fred's and George's fake wands," Ron muttered as the mouse darted out of the room, Crookshanks in hot pursuit. "Their spirit lives on."
Hermione stifled a giggle.
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little-lost-one: Great idea. Where's the fic?
Tori: Can I use your term "Divination Groupies" in future fics?