The Rose of King's Cross - continuation story

[Bara]

Oh dear. What do you feed them?

I'd suggest you cut back on the 'windwort'; perhaps feed an infusion of eggblossoms once a day?

LOTS of exercise, Hippofants, of course, as you know, professor, love to mud- wallow in a mixture of baby bath solution (mixed with Perrier) and organic soil.

Perhaps confer with Lynne, who is doing her post-grad on 'Fart-blossoms'.

[Bara]

In the interview in the study of the Master for Defence Against The Dark Arts, it would have been difficult to know which was pupil and which was teacher.

Neville was uncomfortable.

Certainly, he WAS Master of Dark Arts at Hogwarts Academy. And who better? Though he was perhaps not an academic in the ‘Snape’ sense, Neville had fought his own demons – and won. No-one questioned Neville’s credentials – except Neville.

He had achieved his appointment precisely because he had earned it by his experience, he was qualified, he was trustworthy, he had integrity. Which could not be said of all of his predecessors.

But at bottom (“..or Longbottom,” as he joked in his own mind) – he had never felt worthy to step into those illustrious shoes – good or evil.

And now, here was this Muggle sitting before him, old enough to be his mother (“Maybe even GRANDmother,” thought Neville with a pang.)

“I – err – tea?” asked Longbottom.

“No, thank you,” said the elderly Muggle.

“I – err – I expect you’re wondering why I asked you here, today?” said Neville. (In his mind he groaned, slapping a hand to his mental forehead.)

Bara smiled.

“Neville,” she paused. “I beg your pardon, Professor Longbottom,” she said.

Neville sat down. “Neville, please,” he said.

“Neville, “ she smiled. “Clarifico is not working for you with the Marekins, is it?”

He shook his head.

“And you don’t know why?”

He shook his head.

“And you want me to translate? Before Minerv – I mean – Professor McGonagall finds out?”

He nodded wildly.

“Well, of course I shall. But it’s easy, Neville. Again , you are overlooking the simple in favour of the complex. You have a group of Marekins with a range of regional accents.”

Longbottom nodded.

“And .. err …” Bara coughed. “Well, Neville, you have a strong Yorkshire accent.”

He looked surprised. There was another pause.

“EH!” said Neville, in a strong Yorkshire accent. “Tha’rt reet!”

Bara looked down, apologetically. “Well, perhaps you are asking a bit too much? Perhaps you need to refine your ‘Clarifico’ spell to make sure you are translating the right ‘from’ to the right ‘to’?”

Neville beamed, pouring Bara a cup of stewed tea. Politely, she swallowed a mouthful, and grimaced.

“Of course I shall translate, if you wish. But it must be both ways….. ”

Longbottom paused, teapot in mid-pour.

[johnnysauntie]

stewed tea? wozzat? we don't got that term in Marekin.

PS
If you're in the South, it's Murhkuhn.

[brian]

The owl fluttered drunkenly towards professor Law's cozy little cottage , barely able to stay aloft while bearing the bulky package . He dropped it at professor Law's feet and - relieved of his burden - soared out of sight on silent wings.

Professor Law picked up the large poofy manila envelope and sighed with resignation when he saw the address. It was from his long lost distant relative in the North of England . This could be worse than one of the howlers he'd received from Brooks ; which made him jump like he'd been zapped with an electric cattle prod , her voice cutting through his quiet peaceful day like a buzz saw making purchase with a rusty nail in a board.

With a sense of impending doom he ripped open the envelope . He immediately recognized the family tartan of the clan Maclaren from which he was descended.

What on earth?

Frantically ripping the envelope apart , he finally extracted the entire garment.

OH NO !!! It was a kilt . No self - respecting grimy little American :cowboyy: could allow himself to be caught dead wearing a plaid skirt .

He must hide it . Burn it. Something . Before any of the Tarts saw it made made him wear it.

What was worn under a Scotsman's kilt?

[brian]

Perhaps he could feed it to the hippofart..........

[Bara]

The Prof is playing! I thought Sarah, Lynne and I were all alone in the wilderness!

Brian - nothing is worn under the kilt - it's all in perfect working order. Boom boom!

Stewed tea is a hazard of Northern England and Scotland. It's tea that has sat in the pot so long you could tar a road with it.

[Bara]

(It's Sarah's turn - but irrestistible

At breakfast the following morning, a ripple of politely suppressed mirth rocked the House tables, as the new Professor sidled self-consciously around the walls to reach his place at the staff table.

A spattering of applause arose from around the room, as Mungo MacDonald, Fidelia Buchanan and a handful of other Scottish students recognised the MacLaran tartan he was wearing.

"But what IS that garment?" whispered Flora McDougall to her sister, Fauna. Fauna was convulsed with laughter. "It's a KILT!"

"A floor-length kilt??" gasped Flora.

All the Scottish students had realised that poor Professor Law, being 'only' a Marekin, and not over-tall, had no idea HOW to wear it.

And being compassionate and kindly children, each of them surreptitiously waved a wand towards the bearded figure in the tartan ballgown.

As the barrage of McSartoriensis spells converged on the poor foreigner, he was caught in the spotlight of the crossfire, frozen to the spot in the centre of the hall. Spud skittered across the floor, blue fur on end, leapt into Brooks' lap and sat shivering, eyes fixed on his master.

The kilt raced up to mini-length, shot down to his ankles, formed a flowing train behind him, then rapidly shrank upwards to waist-level again. The mortified teacher 'barely' had time to cover his modesty before the whole school might have seen what was - or was not - worn under the kilt.

Eventually, the kilt settled to regulation length, 1" below the knee. Brian looked down and saw that he was wearing long socks, with a dagger in the left one. (His eyes widened.) Laced up black dancing pumps (he groaned inwardly.) A velvet, frogged jacket, a frilly shirt and a sporran - which looked to Brian's California eyes like a skunk hanging from his belt at groin-level.

At the Gryffindor table, Brooks lost the battle against laughter and stifled her giggles in Spud's settling fur.

McGonagall, herself a Scot, had been hard-pressed not to laugh.
"Reparo" she murmured sotto voce.

Brian was relieved to find himself in his Exracers T-shirt, overalls, workboots and cowboy hat again.

He continued his journey to the top table, looking straight ahead and determinedly ignoring any hint of irregularity.

"Good morning, Professor Law," said Minerva. "And how are you settling in?"

[brooks]

;D Brian in a kilt ROFLMAO !! ;D ;D

I love your addition Honey, keep them coming and you'll receive no howlers from me

[Bara]

HE started it! ;D

[brian]

James turned to Rose and whispered in her ear ;" I think this professor Law is barking mad."

[Bara]

Head Girl, Fidelia Buchanan, was presiding over a 6th Form Common Room meeting. All the sub-pre’s and House prefects were there.

Fidelia was 17, the eldest daughter of ‘Buchanan The Bruce’ and Marjorie of Strathclyde.

This great Scottish wizarding clan stretched back even before the revolt of 1156, when Fidelia’s greatgreatgreatgreat-howevermany-greats Aunt Tartania had seen off the English invaders with the now famous ‘Assassanachia’ spell.

But Fidelia had been elected Head Girl by the vote of her peers as ‘the lassie most likely to..’ And to her fellow-students, she was ‘Fee’.

She rapped on the table.

“Miss Goyle? Do you have the 5th Form report?” she asked.

A small, round girl stood up, adjusting her glasses and rustling a ream of paper. She coughed, took off her specs, huffed on them, polished …

“Aubretia? Dear?” said Fidelia, with a smile.

Aubretia rattled through her report, which seemed to consist mainly of complaints about tuck rations for the fifth years.

The fourth year and third year reports went easily – almost too easily, thought Fee. Aurelius Crabbe, Head Prefect for the fourths, was a surprisingly good-looking and plausible chap. Fee didn’t altogether trust him.

Head Prefect in 3rd year was her fellow countryman, Mungo McDonald. (Fee sighed.) A stolid, trustworthy, Scottish, sort of person, she thought guiltily.

Second and first years had little to report. They were all too new to rock the boat. Fidelia smiled to herself, she remembered the feeling.

She consulted her agenda.

“Hufflepuff?” she asked. She switched off, as Hufflepuff Head Boy, Imperato Chang, ran through the plans for his house for the coming year, from Quidditch team changes to ‘Inter-Wizard Contests’ with other schools. She switched back on, when she heard him say :

“… and we are lucky to have Terrie Newkirk in our first year, this term. We’re looking forward to some interesting interaction with Muggle Affairs..”

He paused. Fee beamed widely around the meeting table. Impo carried on :

“Terrie has already set up some interesting activities. We have a debating society with the Centaur Foal Club –“

He looked up and grinned, as a smattering of applause broke out. “ALL houses are welcome,” he said. “You will have seen and heard the ‘owlers in your common rooms.”

At the moment, he went on to explain, the society was restricted to 1st and 2nd years (on the Hogwarts side) and yearlings from the Centaur community.

“But we hope to expand this during the school year,” he concluded.

Fidelia nodded her thanks and turned to the Ravenclaw Head Girl, Illustria Penhaligon.

Illustria was bursting with information and goodwill. She was a tall, slim brunette, her pretty face slightly marred by a pronounced overbite and a lazy eye. From a long line of beautiful witches, Illustria just missed the mark.

But Illustria was unconcerned. Trailed from medi-wiz to plasma-surgeon as a child, Illustria had absolutely no interest in looks – hers or anyone else’s. Illustria was ‘pony-mad’. She was bursting with news ..

“We’ve got Dorothea Burnett,” she announced triumphantly. Blank looks all round the common room table.

“THEA!” She explained. “She has set up a weekly ‘pony-day’ at the Unicorn sanctuary, where we are co-operating over such issues as ‘saddle-fit’, ‘lameness’ and the like. Participating unicorns are by invitation – and we are already over-subscribed! They’re queueing up – or ‘standing in line’ as Thea phrases it!”

She sat down, beaming around the room.

Fidelia smiled to herself. “Anything else, Illustria?” she asked.

Illustria looked perplexed. Then. “Oh, yes. We’re doing some stuff with our Quidditch team .. a new Seeker, or something … ” she scanned the paper in front of her. “Oh. And they’ve asked me to mention that our guardian portrait needs some time off. For some reason.”

Fee hid a smile, shaking her head. “Thank you, Illustria. Slytherin ..?”

[johnnysauntie]

Lucinda Malfoy stepped forward, and opened a green folder.

"Slytherin has some big news this year. As you know, each house celebrates Founders' Day. However, since Harry Potter's victory at the Battle of Hogwarts, Slytherin has focused Founder's Day celebrations on learning from, and in some ways righting, the past wrongs committed by past Slytherins."

"Well, as you know, this year we have two new, non-traditional students, Bara and Lynne. We were looking for a new Founders Day activity, and they came up with a spectacular idea."

"One of Slytherin's challenges has been to gain a better understanding of our brother Muggles. Lynne and Bara suggested that we become involved with something called The Make-A-Wish Foundation, which grants special wishes to children who have a terminal illness. We have acquired the list of this month's Make-A-Wish recipients. Each member of the house will spend time observing the family and will magically grant their wishes." She looked up and smiled, and the group broke into thunderous applause.

"Very good, Lucinda, thank you. Slytherin's plans for Founders Day sound wonderful. Will you provide us with an update later on in the term?" Fee asked. Seeing Lucinda's enthusiastic nod, Fee rapped the tiny silver gavel on the table. "Pan-House Council is dismissed, then. It looks like the whole of the school is outside, and we should join them!"

[johnnysauntie]

The Pan-House Council members ran outside, joining their housemates. Everyone was abuzz, because each Quidditch team was holding tryouts in just two days. Hopeful first years clambered aboard school brooms and hovered nervously, before making tentative laps of the practice field. Those who didn't wish to play watched eagerly, looking for their Houses's next Quidditch star.

A couple youngsters showed promise, and several more were already experienced broomsmen (and women.) Any child with the surname of Potter or Weasley had essentially been born on a broom, and they could be seen high up in the air, pushing their mini-Nanos to the limits.

One Muggle-born was also showing promise – Dougal Dursley. He hopped aboard a schoolbroom and never looked back. However, no one was surprised. A cousin of the Potters’, Dursely’s great aunt Lily was better known in wizarding circles as the heroic mother of Harry Potter.

“With his size, he’ll end up a Beater for sure,” said Slytherin captain Princeton Purstrang to his fellow seventh years. The group nodded in agreement, but their eyes weren’t on Dursely. They were riveted to small rider who was diving and twirling like a hawk as he pursued a practice Snitch, while dodging quaffles lobbed by his brothers and cousins. “Bad luck to be a first year this year,” Quincy Crouch said to his team mates. “Looks like there’s another legendary Gryffindor Seeker from the Potter family in the making.” The crowd gasped as Septimus snatched the Snitch while dangling from one leg slung over his broom.

In a corner of the yard, the Tarts eyed a pair of school brooms suspiciously. “What the heck, can’t be worse than an OTTB, can it girls?” Terrie said, hopping aboard. She kicked off the ground as she’d seen the others do, and promptly found herself hurtling skyward, upside down. Taking a deep breath, she eased back on the broom, dropped her legs into position and was instantly righted.

No motorcycle, no Thoroughbred had ever felt like this. The broom was tiny and weightless - wholly insubstantial – and she soared through the air with the odd feeling of not being connected to anything. Turning her head slightly, as one does when you start to turn a horse, Terrie instinctively gave the broom an imperceptible bit of leg. It veered in a clean, stylish arc. “Why, this is easy,” she thought. Leaning forward and tucking her heels and knees in, she crouched low over the handle and felt the broom accelerate. She tightened her right leg gently against the handle, and turned neatly to the left.

“Now there’s a rider with natural broomfeel,” Lucinda Malfoy said to Fee admiringly, watching Terrie from the ground. “If she doesn’t try out for Quidditch, she should consider Handle Ecole.” Above her, Terrie executed a perfectly symmetrical loop. The group below her murmured in appreciation and the Hufflepuff captain kicked off the ground to go have a chat about tryouts.

Bara climbed onto one of the waiting brooms. “Dunno about this,” said, “I think I prefer horses generally and Forry in particular.” She started to slowly circle her friends, and then gained speed. She started to giggle and as she tore in a mad circle around them, and then leaned back and pointed her broom’s nose to the sky. As she hurtled upwards, Lucinda came over to the group and greeted Lynne.

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet my housemate, Lucinda Malfoy,” Lynne said, smiiling while silently imploring her friends not to react visibly upon hearing the girl’s name. She needn’t have feared, Brooks and Thea were unfailingly polite.

“Your broom is very handsome,” Thea said. “It’s a bit bigger than the racing brooms, isn’t it? “

“You ladies really have an eye for brooms!” the girl exclaimed. “Yes, my broom is a Warmbroom. It’s a bit easier to control than racing brooms – not as twitchy and sensitive - and is a solid performer all around. It’s really good at high school moves of Handle Ecole. ” She patted her broom’s neatly banged twigs and straightened the cute green plaid wrap that covered the lower portion. “I don’t play much Quidditch but I love mastering the art of intricate flying. I think your friends are naturals. Do you ride brooms regularly?”

“No, this is our first day riding, and both Terrie and Bara are on their initial flights,” Brooks said, looking up at her friends, who were now executing slow, controlled barrel rolls hundreds of feet above the ground.

“You’re kidding.” Lucinda exclaimed, eyes skyward. “They’re really, really good!”

“It may have something to do with horseback riding,” Thea said.

“Horseback? I’m not sure I follow you.” Lucinda answered haltingly.

“Thea, care to show her a little equitation?” said Brooks, grinning.

“It would be my pleasure!” Lynne answered. In the next second, Rad appeared, and Lynne grabbed a handful of mane and swung up onto the Arab’s back.

Rad rested her nose in Lucinda’s hands. “She’s beautiful,” girl breathed, feeling the horse’s warm breath and stroking her satiny neck. “So much prettier than a Thestral!” Rad snorted, arched her neck, and breaking away from the girl, dropped into a spanking trot. Sparks flew from her feet as her shoes hit the cobbles and the sounds of her hooves against the stone reverberated throughout the yard. Lynne, for her part, was amazed – she had never heard of a rocking chair trot! Switching gears, Rad moved into a rippling canter. Feeling Lynne secure on her back, Rad picked up the pace, and got a nudge on the ribs from Lynne in reply. Turning her head, Rad spotted a balustrade and accelerated.

Lynne hunkered down and grabbed an extra handful of mane just as Rad took flight. She stretched low over the horse’s neck, and though the landing was smooth, she wasn’t prepared for the burst of speed Rad applied on landing. Broom riders, seeing the horse and rider galloping flat out on the wide expanse of ground between the castle and the Forbidden Forest, swooped down and rode next to the madly galloping Rad and her passenger, whooping and shouting excitedly.

[Goalie]

Yippie, I can fly.

[brooks]

I can run ;D ;D