"Don't Let Him Out: A Farce"
A rant by; Adelphia Savanya Moore`
~inspired by John Cleese in "Fawlty Towers" (episode 10: The Anniversary)~
Rating: PG-13 (reference to substance abuse, language)
Written: Aug 16th, 2003
Summary: "The Farce" thickens for poor Mr. Ronald Weasley.
Disclaimer: I do not own them in a box, I do not own them with a fox, I do not own them while I'm bowling, they all belong to (that evil) J.K. Rowling. I also don't own Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover, or Harry's Closet, but I DO OWN the Convivial Hunting Horde AND Fred's strainer. (I promise, you'll understand all that in due time)
Tuck In .
The Hunt Is On
Harry was no longer spluttering from his closet. Ron was getting
nervous.
"Oy, git!" Ron hollered in the closet's direction.
There was no response.
"Rich prat in the closet!"
Nothing.
"What" You got Cho Chang in there with ya?"
Still . nothing.
Ron stood up and walked to Harry's cell. He stretched out a hand to
the doorknob, and the door swung, ominously, open. No harry-empty
closet-no Harry-No Harry!
Ron fell to the floor, clutching at his chest and making odd,
resonating, guttural noises. Hermione looked up form her newspaper.
"Ron-I'm trying to read-are you alright?"
Ron rolled over, his eyes bloodshot and popping. He gasped loudly and
dramatically.
"No, I'm dying . but don't get up, or anythin'!"
"Ron," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Stop being so melodramatic!" She
went back to the paper.
"Herm . HARRY'S GONE!!!"
"Batten down the hatches!" shouted George.
"Search the Dorms-question the Fat Lady!" Fred yelled over his twin.
"I'm not 'fat,' I'm big boned!" The Fat Lady said rather indignantly
as someone opened the portrait hole.
"Well, geese! The plaque on her frame says "The Fat Lady," what the
bloody hell does she expect?" George muttered to Neville, who giggled
appreciatively.
No one could find Harry. Boys and girls came streaming out of their
respective dormitories, wands out, on the alert. Fred, George, and
Lee were running out the portrait hole.
"We're off for gear and provisions!" Lee shouted over his shoulder as
he sprinted out of sight.
"Let the Hunt BEGIN!" Fred and George screamed.
~ * ~ * ~
"Oh, no you don't!" George snarled.
"He's MY stupid git of a friend-I'm coming with," Ron snarled right back.
"Fine! Let's just get moving, already!" George shouted as he jumped out of the portrait hole once more.
"He can't come!" Fred said with a jovial, sarcastic indigence. "He's not properly attired!" For, indeed, George wore a green tupperware bowl on his head, Fred a dented and rusty metal strainer, and Lee a helmet he pilfered from a local suit of armor. The only thing with which to identify him were his dreadlocks protruding oddly from the air-holes, which didn't seem to bother him at all.
THHWAAAAANNG!
Fred cracked a saucepan over Ron's head with all his seventeen- year-old-beater might.
"Welcome to 'The Convivial Hunting Horde!'" the twins chimed.
A/N: Chapter 4, "Unlikely Alliances" will be up sometime soon (next 28 hours!). have fun!
A rant by; Adelphia Savanya Moore`
~inspired by John Cleese in "Fawlty Towers" (episode 10: The Anniversary)~
Rating: PG-13 (reference to substance abuse, language)
Written: Aug 16th, 2003
Summary: "The Farce" thickens for poor Mr. Ronald Weasley.
Disclaimer: I do not own them in a box, I do not own them with a fox, I do not own them while I'm bowling, they all belong to (that evil) J.K. Rowling. I also don't own Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover, or Harry's Closet, but I DO OWN the Convivial Hunting Horde AND Fred's strainer. (I promise, you'll understand all that in due time)
Tuck In .
The Hunt Is On
Harry was no longer spluttering from his closet. Ron was getting
nervous.
"Oy, git!" Ron hollered in the closet's direction.
There was no response.
"Rich prat in the closet!"
Nothing.
"What" You got Cho Chang in there with ya?"
Still . nothing.
Ron stood up and walked to Harry's cell. He stretched out a hand to
the doorknob, and the door swung, ominously, open. No harry-empty
closet-no Harry-No Harry!
Ron fell to the floor, clutching at his chest and making odd,
resonating, guttural noises. Hermione looked up form her newspaper.
"Ron-I'm trying to read-are you alright?"
Ron rolled over, his eyes bloodshot and popping. He gasped loudly and
dramatically.
"No, I'm dying . but don't get up, or anythin'!"
"Ron," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Stop being so melodramatic!" She
went back to the paper.
"Herm . HARRY'S GONE!!!"
"Batten down the hatches!" shouted George.
"Search the Dorms-question the Fat Lady!" Fred yelled over his twin.
"I'm not 'fat,' I'm big boned!" The Fat Lady said rather indignantly
as someone opened the portrait hole.
"Well, geese! The plaque on her frame says "The Fat Lady," what the
bloody hell does she expect?" George muttered to Neville, who giggled
appreciatively.
No one could find Harry. Boys and girls came streaming out of their
respective dormitories, wands out, on the alert. Fred, George, and
Lee were running out the portrait hole.
"We're off for gear and provisions!" Lee shouted over his shoulder as
he sprinted out of sight.
"Let the Hunt BEGIN!" Fred and George screamed.
~ * ~ * ~
"Oh, no you don't!" George snarled.
"He's MY stupid git of a friend-I'm coming with," Ron snarled right back.
"Fine! Let's just get moving, already!" George shouted as he jumped out of the portrait hole once more.
"He can't come!" Fred said with a jovial, sarcastic indigence. "He's not properly attired!" For, indeed, George wore a green tupperware bowl on his head, Fred a dented and rusty metal strainer, and Lee a helmet he pilfered from a local suit of armor. The only thing with which to identify him were his dreadlocks protruding oddly from the air-holes, which didn't seem to bother him at all.
THHWAAAAANNG!
Fred cracked a saucepan over Ron's head with all his seventeen- year-old-beater might.
"Welcome to 'The Convivial Hunting Horde!'" the twins chimed.
A/N: Chapter 4, "Unlikely Alliances" will be up sometime soon (next 28 hours!). have fun!
