A&A&A Boarding School
Authoresses' Note: The Mendiant sisters would like to thank their three reviewers, I AM EOWYN, Celias23 and Fan of Fanfic for their encouraging and supportive reviews, all of which produced the desired warm fuzzy feeling. Lydia in particular expresses her gratitude to her old reviewer I AM EOWYN for taking interest in this new fanfiction and assures her that Éowyn will enter in this very chapter. Although Rukuelle is currently away watching television serials, Lydia thinks she will agree that they own nothing besides the School and the Story, and that they hope everyone will be quite happy with this new chapter and have fun guessing characters by their descriptions.
2. Stew and Social Matters
The students surged into the dining hall as the bell's peals grew silent. Already the long wooden tables (one per level) were beginning to fill up. A lady at the front was ladling stew out of a huge steaming urn into bowls.
The hobbits waited in line for their stew. It certainly smelled good. Frodo eyed it with glee as the lady poured a stream of it into his bowl. She was very tall, dressed in white with long golden hair and an eerie smile. Gimli hurriedly thanked her and they went to look for a place at the first-year table.
Soon after they had sat down, they were joined by the midget who had waved to them that morning, who plonked his bowl down next to Gimli's and climbed onto the bench after it. "Hey, folks."
"Hey," chorused Merry and Pippin. "We're Meriadoc and Peregrin, but you can call use Merry and Pippin. This here's our cousin's Frodo," Frodo winced as Merry slapped him on the back, "and that's Sam." Sam ducked Pippin's hand. "Oh yeah, and that's Gimli."
"The name's Diggums," answered their new acquaintance. "Mulch Diggums." He shook Gimli's hand solemnly. The hobbits had already started stuffing themselves. Mulch and Gimli also joined in, while discovering their love for a common subject – namely rocks – and started discussing it fervently.
Aragorn indifferently poked his spoon into the stew and lifted it. Brown liquid rained down on either side. The noise of a bowl hitting the table and the slop of stew told him that Achilles had found him. "So," Achilles began, "found your dream girl yet?"
"No," replied Aragorn expressionlessly.
Achilles shrugged and pointed his spoon over Aragorn's shoulder. "Now, that chick is hot. Got great eyes, she has."
Aragorn glanced in the direction of Achilles' spoon. Not as pretty as the one in the hall, he thought. No competition. "If you like her so much, then go after her."
"Good idea," exclaimed Achilles, and left.
Aragorn turned back to his stew just as someone sat down opposite him. "Hi."
He looked up into the sea-grey eyes of Arwen Undómiel. "Oh. Hello."
As Hermione carried her stew over to Harry and Ron's place, she passed Holly Short. Holly seemed to have found a new companion, a tall girl with shoulder length golden hair and a loud, almost boyish laugh. "...and I really think Gondor swords are the best, although nothing beats a Rohan spear. Don't you think?"
"Personally," said Holly, "I prefer a good old blaster. Straightforward, no nonsense, no fancy sword moves. You ever had a gun, Éowyn?"
The girl shrugged. "I've never seen a gun. Perhaps I might change my mind when I do."
Hermione hurried on and sat down next to Ron. Ahead, Malfoy paused to make a snide comment. "Oh, I see your table's taken. No idea how people are going to bear to sit down here, with a Mudblood like you."
Ron rose in his seat, but was squashed down by Hermione. Malfoy smirked and went off to look for somewhere else to sit. There was an empty space beside a group of six French boys, which he took.
"Bonsoir!" cried the leader of the French boys, a tall kid with an untidy mop of hair. "Welcome to our table, brother! Join the French Revolution and be a martyr of France!"
Malfoy hurriedly removed himself. He sat down next to two extremely small people.
"I don't like stew, Trubs."
"Shut up before I dunk your fat head in it."
Malfoy turned to them. "My, you're short, aren't you?"
What looked like the elder of the two turned to him, a murderous expression on his face. "Say that again."
Malfoy muttered some apology and left with his stew. People here were touchy, weren't they? If Father knew...
He passed Legolas on the way down the aisle.
Legolas, fashionably late as always, decided he had better put the embarassing incident of the front hall behind him and pick up some pals. Preferably female ones.
There was a girl standing in front of him in the food queue: a pretty, blonde girl in an old-fashioned dress, hair done up very elegantly. Legolas stuck his head round her shoulder. "Hello! Do I know you?"
"I know you," replied the girl. "You're the one who got beaten up in the front hall just now, aren't you?"
Legolas turned an unhealthy shade of red and excused himself, suitably embarassed. He collected his stew and hurriedly looked around for somewhere to sit.
There. Next to that drop-dead gorgeous girl. Legolas hastily sat down on her right, just as someone else sat down on her left. "Hi!" he and the other someone said to her simultaneously.
Legolas squinted. The other fellow was a guy almost as handsome as himself – almost, he repeated in his head. He was wearing some sort of weird Greek costume. Legolas glared at his rival, but they were both distracted by the musical, husky voice of the girl sitting between them.
"Hi," she murmured. "I'm Helen. Might I know your names?"
"Legolas."
"Paris."
Glare.
"How nice to meet you." Helen seemed rather lost in her own train of thought, without paying any real attention to either of them. Still, she was beautiful.
Someone else sat down opposite the three of them. "Hi," said this young man brightly. "I'm Will Turner."
Legolas and Paris both shot him glares that said: She's taken. Get lost. A message which Will Turner did not seem to take seriously, since he merely went on eating, looking up at them expectantly at intervals. Legolas was about to snub him further, if only to impress Helen, when yet a fourth individual appeared. This person had green skin, green wings, and had fairly alarming looks. He concentrated his attention and charm on Helen. "He-llo, babe."
Helen's reaction was not the desired one. "Oh, Lord," she exclaimed, hand on mouth, "is that your skin? It looks disgusting!"
"Yeah," adjoined Paris, "we don't want you here. So scram."
Chix Verbil considered whether to press the case, but eventually decided to find another girl who was not so – occupied.
There was a girl sitting alone at one of the tables further down the row, slouched over her bowl of stew. Chix flew over to her. "Hey!"
The girl raised her head. Short black curls framed a face that was, though somewhat pretty, decidedly grimy. "Taisez-vous!" she snapped. "Get away from me, you crapaud!"
Chix took the warning and got away accordingly.
As dinner drew to a close, the woman that had been at the reception checking lists stood up. She raised her drinking glass, picked up a spoon and tapped the glass with it to get the students' attention. Only those near the teachers' table seemed to have heard the faint chinking noise, however; and these mostly looked up, decided it was nothing much and went back to eating. The woman tapped it again commandingly, with no great response.
"If you'd let me, Professor," muttered Commander Root. He reached over, grabbed the glass, stood it on the table and then whacked with his own spoon so hard it shattered. All the students looked towards the source of noise as one, startled.
"Now that I have your attention!" bellowed Root. "Please be so kind as to give it to Professor McGonagall."
"Your methods certainly work," muttered the golden-haired lady who had been ladling stew, "but I wish you'd spare the glassware. It was hard to come by."
Root ignored her. Professor McGonagall, mouth drawn in a thinly disapproving line, rose majestically to her feet. "Welcome, all of you, to Academics, Arts and Arms Boarding School. I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Head of the Department of Magic and Administrative Mistress of the school."
"I knew she wasn't a good one to cross," whispered Ron in Harry's ear.
"There are some things," continued Professor McGonagall, "namely rules, that the new first-years – and some of their more forgetful seniors – need to be informed of. Firstly, we do not condone physical injury anywhere outside Firearms or Martial Arts class, so all weapons, whether they be swords, guns or even knives, will be kept in the dormitory and are not to be used on anyone at all times."
There was much tittering from the first-years. Several people seemed quite shocked at this rule. Aragorn looked indignant. Holly looked scandalized. Éowyn looked outraged. Achilles looked fairly murderous.
"Secondly," went on Professor McGonagall, overriding the protests, "no fighting is allowed in this school. News of a certain incident this afternoon have reached my ears, and believe me, although the culprits were let off that time, in future the punishment will be severe."
Root's eyes flicked automatically to Holly Short, who stared innocently at her stew bowl.
"Thirdly, you may not leave the school's premises without permission of the teachers, and then only on the weekends and school holidays. The breaking of any of the above rules will lead to detention. All teachers have the power to give detention and to choose the sort of detention it will be. I hope that is clear to all of you."
No one really answered that question, but there was no doubt that it was crystal clear in their minds. "Good," finished Professor McGonagall. "You may now leave to go to your dormitories and prepare for bed. Lights out at eleven p.m. sharp." She took her seat once more as people got up and began leaving the dining hall.
The boys and girls parted at the division of the first-year dormitories. "G'night," called Ron as he and Harry left Hermione. Behind them, Aragorn bid Arwen (whom he had got to know fairly well during dinner) a fond farewell. The French Revolution marched past, singing. Lili Frond hurried the other way, chattering into her mobile phone.
At exactly eleven p.m. sharp, the golden-haired lady emerged from the girls' dormitories and met the old man in the grey cloak, who had just come from the boys', in the main hall. "All checked, Gandalf?" she whispered.
"Yes," nodded the old wizard. "Mára lóme, Galadriel."
"Mára lóme," replied Galadriel softly, switching off the lights and disappearing into the darkness, a mere pale shade in her white gown. And there was silence in the corridor.
End of ChapterNext chapter coming...Chemistry and Catastrophe