This is just a little plotbunny that was running nuts in my mind. I beg the pardon of my loyal TADSTE; TC readers on bended knee but…blame the stupid fuzzy blue and purple plotbunnies!
But, I wrote this because I felt that Peeves is a character who is shunned in most of the fanfics, not given credit. He’s not even one of the characters you can make as one of your characters in your stories (as far as I know). And also, I was mulling over the conundrum of why Peeves is so tolerated, aka, not kicked out, by most the staff (excluding dear Filch), and how he got to be Hogwarts’ poltergeist in the first place. This is what I thought happened, or what would be a pretty good explanation to it.
A Bit Peevish
“PERCIVAL ONSLOW WILBERFORTH EBERHARD RAVENCLAW! GET DOWN HERE!”
God, I hate my name. Who would honestly name their child Percival Onslow Wilberforth (yadda, yadda, you know what I mean), I ask you? Well, my mum and dad would, obviously, but besides them? No one; at least no one in their right minds; and that right there excludes my mum and dad. At least it’s a good acronym, right? Just goes to show what’s expected of me, I guess. Yes, I know, look at it for a minute, the first letters…got it? Good, let’s move on, shall we? Now, where was I?
“PERCIVAL, YOU HEARD YOU’RE MOTHER!”
Ah, yes, of course. Being summoned.
Yes, oh dear father-of-mine, I did hear sweet mother-of-mine, but I already know why I’m being summoned; the same reason why I am all the time. My lifelong goal is to be what I want to be, and what I want to be is a jokester, a jester as they are known as more frequently in our times. Can’t help it. Pranks are my thing. I don’t want to live up to my parent’s ideals of being the youngest Minister or the shrewdest of all Legilimens, even though they both have instructed me in both subjects of politics and Occulmency. I just want to have fun.
Who can blame me?
A little explaination...
Ever since I was little my mother told me the story of how her grandmother helped to open what is now known as the most prestigious school in Britain, and she and my father wanted to prepare me for it. As a six year old boy, one who should be wrestling and having fun with the other boys in my parents’ fiefdom, I was drilled in the arts and natures of magic and potions. I had my own private tutors and everything.
Not that I cared at all. You see, usually when something’s held away from me, I try my damndest to get it, no matter what I have to do. This was the way that I managed to escape my teachers, however shrewd they thought that they were, I was always shrewder than they. They would scold me for using my apparent “genius” to my own ends, and my ends usually involved exploding something or devising and executing the funniest prank that I could possibly implement.
The only tutor that I actually cared for was Professor. He was the youngest of all the tutors that I had been forced through, and my favorite without a doubt; even though he had never graced me with his name. He was brought to the fiefdom to teach me in the ways of potions and physics, as well as various other sciences. I was almost nine at the time, and it was in the middle of summer, during a rainstorm that had raged all day. As soon as one of the guards opened the door to his persistent knocking, he slid in, stuffing a rolled up parchment into the guard’s breastplate as he sputtered at this stranger’s intrusion. I found this highly amusing.
I had been sliding down the banister at the time, screeching war cries as I waved a makeshift wooden sword my scullery friend, Timothy, had carved for me, around my head. And my mother was screaming for my nanny, Portia, to go and get me.
You see, I wasn’t sliding down on my bum like I usually did, which everyone was accustomed to by now; it was second-nature to me to go down those stairs like that, and I usually evoked a few giggles from the housemaids and scornful looks from visiting dignitaries, something I thoroughly took pleasure in. However, this time, I was sliding on my feet, just to vex my mother, who had been trying to make me stand still for a gown fitter so that I could have another set of robes for my birthday party that was in nine days. So I had rushed into her room, smearing liberal amounts of that gaudy face-paint she used daily, and made myself look as terrifyingly grotesque as possible, but only achieved to look like her. But it sufficed. Anyways, she had asked for it.
And so had I, apparently.
While I was sliding down, screaming like a banshee, drowning out even my mother’s cries of distress as she searched her voluminous robes for her wand. Her searches were made in vain, as I currently was waving it around in my right rand, for my left held the sword out in front of me. I had known better than to keep her armed. Blue and green sparks flew out the end, fizzling out before they could do any damage, much to my disappointment; but that disappointment was momentary, as I hurtled along down the banister, looking half-demented, half-demonic, and wholly jubilant.
As I reached the end of the banister, I squinted around me, calculating my trajectory, looking for something to fall on that would break my fall. Sadly, the only thing I saw was a strange looking man facing me as I rounded the bend. I positioned myself so that I could jump at the last moment and land on him. I could see myself, leaping into the air, all time slowing down as I did so, raising my wooden sword above my head, bellowing an impressive war cry as I landed on the man who had brandished a wand at me, running him through with the sword that had become a gleaming crystal blade in my waking dream.
But one part of my dream did come true, and sadly, none of it that I had wanted. This stranger in his dark purple robes, and the hood of his cloak pulled so low that I couldn’t see his face, ruined it all for me. Without saying a thing, a ball of light burst from his wand and I felt my eyes widen as much as they could as it rushed to meet me. There was hardly a second of space between it hitting my body and my avoiding it.
Somehow I managed to jump away at the very last moment that I had. Spinning through the air, I miraculously managed to tuck myself into a ball, arms protecting my head and legs up to meet my chest. I waited for the impact with cobbles that was as impending as a storm cloud. Who was this stranger? Who did he think he was to impede on my good time?
It took me a few moments before I realized that my head should have made contact at least three seconds ago, and yet, I had felt nothing. I wondered if my nanny’s warning of killing myself one of these days finally came true.
Well, I thought bitterly. At least she must be happy
But in all my imaginings, I had never seen in my minds eye death to be as it was now. I imagined it far into the future, when I was much older. Or not at all, that’d be great, really.
I had no idea that this tutor would be the one to give me my wish.