Chapter 8 - Which One Are You?
Gandalf is heading down the hall to DADA class (how late is he today? No one really cares anymore, do they?). Today he is accompanied by two real elves, who happen to be mirror images of each other, and one cloaked and hooded man looking tired, hungry, and not really that happy to be tagging along in this weird place.
They all together enter the classroom, where there is a crowd of students all huddled around Gandalf's desk. Suddenly a firework shoots up from the center of the crowd.
Fred: Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-bangs!
George: Available at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Number 93, Diagon Alley!
Gandalf, in a sudden fit of jealousy, shoots off about six fireworks, scaring everybody half to death.
Fred and George retort with a few more of their own. Thus began the infamous War of the Firework Producing Wizards.
Before long, the whole room is nothing but fireworks and students hiding under their desks. Neither Gandalf nor Fred and George were willing to back down until...
Enter Professor Lupin.
Lupin: Fred! George! Get rid of these fireworks before someone gets hurt... namely me!
Fred and George sulkily whisk away their creations, Gandalf's remain however.
Lupin: Excuse me, Professor Gandalf... is there a way you could see fit to removing your pyrotechnic displays?
Gandalf manages twice the sulkiness of Fred and George combined.
Slowly, very slowly, do people start coming out from their cover.
Ron: Harry! What is Moony doing here?
Harry: After that rant last week i thought i needed to send for backup. Not a moment too soon, fortunately.
Gandalf: Ahem!
Class shudders as one, harkening back to the Umbridge days.
Gandalf: To get on with this, without any further interruptions. After having met with the elves who are imprisoned within this castle (i am asked to mention something about good stonework, word must get around) i thought it best if i bring in my dear friend Elrond's sons, Elladan and Elrohir. Don't ask me which is which. Don't ask them either, they will never give you a straight answer.
Ron: (mutters) Sounds like Fred and George.
Gandalf: These, my dear young Hobbits, are Elves. They are here to help you defend yourselves against Saruman and his Uruks. They are also going to help make sure that those... things you so callously refer to as elves (little Smeagols they are!) never see the light of day again.
Elrohir: (aside to Gandalf) They're a bunch of Noldorian kinslayers, aren't they Gand-dude?
Elladan: (to Elrohir) He said grandma was there, right? What other excuse do we need? I mean, she's pyscho. Ever see her do the Dark Queen thing?
Elrohir: (to Elladan) She did that to me once when i broke her magic birdbath.
This banter continues for some time. Meanwhile...
Hermione gasps in horror and stands up indignantly.
Hermione: Mr. Gandalf! I thought you were going to help get freedom for the elves?
Gandalf: Not after what i saw there. Morgoth can have them.
Hermione storms out.
Ron cheers Gandalf. He's not quite sure who this Morgoth fellow is, but he sounds like someone who could get rid of house elves and S.P.E.W. all at once.
Gandalf: You see, young Hobbits, elves are not really in any peril. Now, in the interest of toning down our lessons a bit, i dont want to over-shock you little Shire-lings too much, i have also brought along a mortal man, one who is a Hobbit-friend. I was going to try to persuade Strider-gorn (said sarcastically) to come along, but he hasnt exactly spoken to me since Denethor died and made him King. (Starts muttering off in a ramble) King! Always did think he was better than everybody. Damn rangery loser-gorn.... And he thought Gollum stank, like the one about the pot and the kettle!
Faramir removes his hood and clears his throat.
Faramir: Mithrandir, these are obviously not Hobbits. Most of them are the height of mortal children for one, and for another, they are wearing shoes.
Gandalf: Well, of course they are Hobbits, boy! Didnt you see that one who just left, her curly hair. She is one of the Gardners. And that one with the messy dark hair who looks like Frodo Baggins, he is a potter. That fat one there is a Longbottom, though he had yet to acquire me any of the family leaf (said in an almost menacing tone with a meaningful stare at poor Neville who is looking a little upset.) Those two over there with that annoying, dreary little blonde Hobbit who claims his father is Haldir of Lorien, i think they might be of orc breeding. Or at least Sackville-Bagginses.
Faramir sits down next to Lupin and shrugs.
By this time, Elladan and Elrohir have started a conversation with Fred and George.
Elladan: How did you get dragged into all this?
Fred: Our baby brother said he needed someone to entertain their Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Is this Gandalf guy really always late for everything?
Elrohir: (Assumes loveable, gruff old wizard voice) A wizard is never late, Frederic Weasley. Nor is he early. He arrives precisely three days after everyone else has already cleared up whatever mess he got them into.
George: Hey, your dad doesnt collect plugs, does he?
Elladan: (quizzical look passing over him) No... worse. He collects aging Hobbits and candelabras.