![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
whitechapel276 words. Hermione and Ron disagree on the subtext.
“They are too.”
Ron—who had been adamantly studying his porridge for the better part of five minutes—glanced up from the mess of goop to give his friend a Look. “Hermione, for hell’s sake.”
“Well?” Hermione huffed, swelling like a bullfrog slightly and feeling her voice slip up an octave. “They are, I know they are. It’s so obvious. You’re just not being observant, Ron.”
Ron contemplated a spoonful of mash delicately before turning the spoon sideways and letting it splash into his bowl. “I think if it were obvious I wouldn’t have to be observant. That’s sort of the point of things being obvious, you know.”
“Oh, honestly, Sirius could throw him down on the table and shag him senseless right in front of you—”
“—Thanks for that image, I really needed that—”
“—And you’d still insist they were just really close friends!” Hermione finished shrilly, whacking her napkin on the table for emphasis. “Look closely. They exchange these looks sometimes, and that was certainly not a platonic hug the other day. It couldn’t possibly be more obvious.”
Ron glared exasperatedly at his porridge. “Give it a rest, will you? Why does it matter to you one way or the other if they’re doing—things? Frankly I’d rather not know, they’re old and probably wrinkly and I really don’t want to imagine them in the sack.” He gave a visible shudder and a glob of porridge fell from the bottom of his spoon onto his lap.
“It’s important,” Hermione said loftily, “because I care about their emotional well-being, that’s why.” She looked a bit sheepish. “And besides, it’d be cute.”
292 words. Another reason Snape hated Occlumency lessons.
One of the worst parts about teaching Potter Occlumency, Severus decided, was the fact that he occasionally accessed parts of Potter’s psyche accidentally. It didn’t happen often, of course—the boy was so blindingly shallow that anything below the blur of Quidditch and loathing his relatives came as a bit of a shock—but when some of the scraps of subconscious did drift to the surface, it was honestly a bit nauseating.
It would have been easier if he could have made snide comments about what he discovered, but it was quite clear that Potter was unaware that the thoughts even existed, much less that Severus had had to subject himself to them. He tried a few times to refresh Potter’s memory, but Potter apparently thought that dream had been about beating Malfoy at Quidditch and seemed so frankly bewildered at the question that Severus decided it just wasn’t worth the effort. He continued to sift through subconscious musings on Malfoy and a truly horrifying schoolboy crush on Lupin, searching for something he actually could use to torment Potter with.
Toward the end of one session, something vaguely interesting drifted to the top of Potter’s mind—the Chamber of Secrets, apparently, judging from the fact that the youngest Weasley girl was lying in a heap on the floor and Potter seemed to be preoccupied with something lurking in the shadows.
The something turned out to be a boy with dark hair—a young Lord Voldemort, Severus knew, though the Potter in the memory hadn’t seemed to have cottoned on to this yet.
He’s really rather nice-looking, said a dreamy little voice in Potter’s subconscious.
Severus cut the lesson short, dismissed Potter, and mentally composed a letter to Dumbledore demanding a pay raise.
240 words. Regulus Black and the Bothersome Grindylow.
The irritating thing about being in Slytherin was that half the perks came with drawbacks attached.
Regulus had, for instance, initially been quite fond of the common room, which was shadowed, elegant, and creepy (in other words, pleasantly reminiscent of home). His fondness dimmed slightly, though, when winter set in and half the House would spend Saturday afternoons huddled around the common room fire, doing homework and quietly backstabbing one another for spots closer to the hearth.
The dormitory had presented a similar situation. The ceiling was vaulted, slanting downward on the far side of the room and notched with latticed windows; the windows looked out into the murky shallows of the lake, and the first-years were initially enraptured by the frequent glimpses of fish and distant merpeople. Come April, however, the grindylows started spawning and one of the windows ended up partially covered by a badly-placed field of eggs. It gave them all a fascinating Care of Magical Creatures lesson, to be sure, but Regulus did not especially appreciate the sight of a dozen half-grown grindylows leering in at him when he woke up in the morning.
The worst part was trying to get dressed with one of them squelching at him through the glass. After a few mornings (and he had an inkling it was the same grindylow each morning), he took to hauling his trunk onto his bed and getting dressed in the dark behind his drapes.
“They are too.”
Ron—who had been adamantly studying his porridge for the better part of five minutes—glanced up from the mess of goop to give his friend a Look. “Hermione, for hell’s sake.”
“Well?” Hermione huffed, swelling like a bullfrog slightly and feeling her voice slip up an octave. “They are, I know they are. It’s so obvious. You’re just not being observant, Ron.”
Ron contemplated a spoonful of mash delicately before turning the spoon sideways and letting it splash into his bowl. “I think if it were obvious I wouldn’t have to be observant. That’s sort of the point of things being obvious, you know.”
“Oh, honestly, Sirius could throw him down on the table and shag him senseless right in front of you—”
“—Thanks for that image, I really needed that—”
“—And you’d still insist they were just really close friends!” Hermione finished shrilly, whacking her napkin on the table for emphasis. “Look closely. They exchange these looks sometimes, and that was certainly not a platonic hug the other day. It couldn’t possibly be more obvious.”
Ron glared exasperatedly at his porridge. “Give it a rest, will you? Why does it matter to you one way or the other if they’re doing—things? Frankly I’d rather not know, they’re old and probably wrinkly and I really don’t want to imagine them in the sack.” He gave a visible shudder and a glob of porridge fell from the bottom of his spoon onto his lap.
“It’s important,” Hermione said loftily, “because I care about their emotional well-being, that’s why.” She looked a bit sheepish. “And besides, it’d be cute.”
292 words. Another reason Snape hated Occlumency lessons.
One of the worst parts about teaching Potter Occlumency, Severus decided, was the fact that he occasionally accessed parts of Potter’s psyche accidentally. It didn’t happen often, of course—the boy was so blindingly shallow that anything below the blur of Quidditch and loathing his relatives came as a bit of a shock—but when some of the scraps of subconscious did drift to the surface, it was honestly a bit nauseating.
It would have been easier if he could have made snide comments about what he discovered, but it was quite clear that Potter was unaware that the thoughts even existed, much less that Severus had had to subject himself to them. He tried a few times to refresh Potter’s memory, but Potter apparently thought that dream had been about beating Malfoy at Quidditch and seemed so frankly bewildered at the question that Severus decided it just wasn’t worth the effort. He continued to sift through subconscious musings on Malfoy and a truly horrifying schoolboy crush on Lupin, searching for something he actually could use to torment Potter with.
Toward the end of one session, something vaguely interesting drifted to the top of Potter’s mind—the Chamber of Secrets, apparently, judging from the fact that the youngest Weasley girl was lying in a heap on the floor and Potter seemed to be preoccupied with something lurking in the shadows.
The something turned out to be a boy with dark hair—a young Lord Voldemort, Severus knew, though the Potter in the memory hadn’t seemed to have cottoned on to this yet.
He’s really rather nice-looking, said a dreamy little voice in Potter’s subconscious.
Severus cut the lesson short, dismissed Potter, and mentally composed a letter to Dumbledore demanding a pay raise.
240 words. Regulus Black and the Bothersome Grindylow.
The irritating thing about being in Slytherin was that half the perks came with drawbacks attached.
Regulus had, for instance, initially been quite fond of the common room, which was shadowed, elegant, and creepy (in other words, pleasantly reminiscent of home). His fondness dimmed slightly, though, when winter set in and half the House would spend Saturday afternoons huddled around the common room fire, doing homework and quietly backstabbing one another for spots closer to the hearth.
The dormitory had presented a similar situation. The ceiling was vaulted, slanting downward on the far side of the room and notched with latticed windows; the windows looked out into the murky shallows of the lake, and the first-years were initially enraptured by the frequent glimpses of fish and distant merpeople. Come April, however, the grindylows started spawning and one of the windows ended up partially covered by a badly-placed field of eggs. It gave them all a fascinating Care of Magical Creatures lesson, to be sure, but Regulus did not especially appreciate the sight of a dozen half-grown grindylows leering in at him when he woke up in the morning.
The worst part was trying to get dressed with one of them squelching at him through the glass. After a few mornings (and he had an inkling it was the same grindylow each morning), he took to hauling his trunk onto his bed and getting dressed in the dark behind his drapes.