Chapter 1 : The Insightful, Logically Organized and Slightly Insane Thoughts of a Creative Ravenclaw
| ||Rating: Mature||Chapter Reviews: 10|
Background: Font color:
This story is a work of fiction intended purely for the sake of humor. Any comments I have made are not meant to be offensive in any way, shape or form. The opinions or ideas presented in this story are also not always shared by myself, so please don't fly off the handle and start attacking me because you didn't like something I said. Also, the Mature warning has been assigned to the fic for a reason.
This story is part of a series of similar stories that can be read in any desired order. The other stories in the series are:
The Whimsical, Random and More Than Slightly Disturbing Musings of a Wandering Gryffindor
The Dark, Sinister and Deviously Cunning Plottings of a Scheming Slytherin
The Cheerful, Unique and Notably Hunger Induced Ponderings of a Starving Hufflepuff
The Insightful, Logically Organized and Slightly Insane Thoughts of a Creative Ravenclaw
I yawn, stretching out my hand, and dropping my peacock feathered quill to the parchment. You know, there’s something to be said for having a peacock feathered quill. I mean, sure it’s excessively large, and some might call it gaudy, but, and trust me when I say this, it is almost physically impossible to lose a peacock feathered quill. That ‘excessive largeness’ combined with its brightly flamboyant colors, serve to create a highly visible, hard to misplace quill, that almost nobody will ever take it upon themselves to walk off with. Thus, peacock quills are a highly safe, albeit mildly impractical, implement of writing to keep on hand.
Sadly, none of my teachers appear to share my sentiments, and insist that my wonderful peacock shall be confined in my dormitory, owing to the ‘possibility’ of it causing an accident in class. Really! That’s the reason they gave me. Personally, I think it was simply a pathetic excuse contrived by Professors’ Snape and McGonagall, in an attempt to keep my fun, entertaining quill from causing an excess of joy in their otherwise sombre and depressing classrooms. I mean, what possible harm could be caused by a peacock feather quill?
Well, I suppose there was that one time. But that wasn’t my fault. Honestly. How could I possibly have foreseen that a strong gust of wind would filter through the window, catch the full broadside of my pen, tear it from my hand, and send it soaring throughout the dormitory, causing havoc, mayhem and chaos in the normally calm, tranquil dormitory belonging to the studious girls of the Third Year Ravenclaws? Oh, and I certainly never would have thought that a peacock feathered quill would ever decide to take on a mind of its own and thus chose to spend an hour tearing through the common room, spreading ink over all of the walls.
But it’s not like I was responsible for teaching it those vile, and sometimes humorous, obscenities that it saw fit to spread. Well, it might have heard me gripe about Snape being a ‘slimy grease ball, with a disgustingly overlarge nose,’ but I certainly never told it that ‘Professor McGonagall likes to dress in drag and dance the hula while flirting outrageously with Fillius Flitwick, who she likes to refer to as “her sunshine.” No, it most certainly did not hear that from me. Thus, my dear, beloved and sometimes temperamental quill must have been introduced to outside influences.
Damn. I had hoped that it would be above such childish, immature actions, but apparently not. I fear that I have not been playing a strong enough role in its upbringing. But, now that I’ve seen the extent of its rebelliousness, I’m determined to crack down on it. After today, my poor, rascally, devilish peacock feathered quill will remain locked in my truck, hidden between a hideously old, foul, mouldy knitted sweater, and a particularly complacent pair of worn and exhausted socks. Both items of clothing posses very mild, tame natures, and shall hopefully act as good influences on the young peacock quill.
With the matter of the unruly quill put behind me, and the offending quill tucked in its new home between the sweater and the socks...for the briefest of moments I feel sorry for the poor thing, but then I remember the phrase, ‘Albus Dumbledore finds woman’s underwear to provide exceptional support, while acting as a holster for the banana,’ and I find that my level of sympathy dropping by the millisecond...I am now able to turn my mind to other more insightful thoughts. Namely, Professor McGonagall’s obvious position as a Native American Goddess of Strength and Formality.
Seriously, I bet she is. During the summer break, I expect that she travels over the sea to North America and spends the summer dancing around the circle of Tepees, engaging in all forms of Native American swooping, animal like routines. Hell, she’s even an Animagus. It totally fits the profile. I guess her title would have to be the Native American Goddess of Strength, Formality and All Things Catlike. I bet you she even has a Native American sounding name, something like She Who Wears Her Hair Up In A Tight Bun, or She Who Coughs Up Hairballs.
I wonder if she has ever coughed up a hairball. She must have, considering all those hours she spends as a cat. I wonder what it feels like, if it’s scratchy, or just...furry? And I wonder if once it pops out, she gets a really relieved feeling, something like the feeling one gets after finally going number two following a day of brutal constipation. Perhaps I should ask her, one of these days...
...then again, do I really have the express desire to spend a month in detention, scouring toilet bowls, disembowelling flobberworms or cleaning up the vile remains that linger in the potions classroom following a set of first year potions lessons? I can’t say I really feel that need, so perhaps I’ll keep my mouth shut. It would be beneficial to my sanity. I mean, who wouldn’t get a little loopy after spending four hours, shut up the dungeons with Professor Snape, surrounded by all manner of vile, creepy crawlies suspended in eerily radiant liquids?
Maybe Snape washes his hair with the eerily radiant liquids. It would certainly explain the grease...and the foul odour surrounding him. I mean, something that looks that nasty most certainly can’t have a pleasant odour. Wouldn’t that be a shock, to open a liquid of something that looks remarkably like cat vomit...likely from McGonagall, as she succumbed to the shock of engaging in such a deeming act as coughing up a hairball is like to be...and to be struck by the pleasantly flowery aroma of daffodils and roses?
And while we are on the topic, what could possibly be the purpose of those vile, creepy crawlies suspended in the liquids? I’m sure some of them are used with reason as potion ingredients, but really, how often does Professor Snape start brewing a potion and randomly, halfway through the potion realize that, ‘shit, pickled tailfin of rockfish is an ingredient in this potion. Fortunately, I happen to have some stored in a jar of a vile compound that was made from a combination of leek juice and Professor McGonagall’s cat sick, collected while she was distracted by toying with the hairball that she oh so recently coughed it up. By the way, I hope that’s a sight I get to see, because it was highly amusing.’ No folks, I’m sorry, but that just doesn’t happen.
Thus, Professor Snape has no logical reason for amassing large quantities of pickled such and such.
The illogical reasons on the other hand...well, I would prefer not to consider them. Especially since last time I was in his office, a rather dark, dingy, uncomfortable place - not one where I would suggest you bring the in-laws to for a visit – I do believe I found myself staring at something that looked remarkable like the eyeball of a cow, and let me tell you, that’s not an attractive site, especially not when its suspended in an eerie, shimmering liquid. Thus, I would rather not know what sick and twisted use Professor Snape has his ‘ingredients’ for.
I should compose a list for Which Witches Top 10. Not a boring one, like Which Witches Top 10 Charm Worthy Wizards, which, by the way, I completely do not agree with. For example, no way should Stubby Boardman have made that list. Galleons can’t buy looks; I think he proves that point exceptionally well. But, getting back to the matter at hand – focus Lisa, I remind myself – I certainly must compose a list and title it ‘Lisa Turpin’s Top 10 Hilariously False Facts About Current Hogwarts Staff Members.’ Yes, I think it would be an exceptional list.
Perhaps I should get started on it right now. But that would involve freeing my traitorous peacock quill long before its punishment time has passed. I could use a normal quill, but where would lie the fun in that?
With a disgruntled sigh, I retrieve the peacock quill, and after giving it a very strict lecture on the acceptable behaviour and required manners necessary for a quill’s success in this world that is oh so very harsh to cruel and unusual quills, especially ones that stand out, as mine so blatantly does, I sit back down at my table and begin to compose my list.
(written in reverse order for increased build up and suspense)
A fact concerning the headmaster that is extremely false, as I have unfortunately witnessed.
Also wrong, as Professor Dumbledore has been heard professing that he prefers neither. And thus, his preferred style of undergarments must be Thongs, Woman’s Panties, or going commando. Personally, I would rather he preferred briefs...or boxers...either one really.
False. Professor Sprout washes her hands three times a day, once before each meal, although she has been known to ruin the effect before reaching the Staff Table by pausing on her way out the door to prune a Venomous Tentacula, replant a mandrake, and harvest the leaves of the Tai Pai shrub. A woman, who is far too dedicated to her job, but still, you must give her points for at least trying for a sense of personally hygiene. Coughs, Professor Snape.
He’s half giant, not half troll. As anyone over 7 feet tall will be quick to inform you, trolls and giants are not alike, thus they do not speak the same language...and if you continue to insist that they are the same, it is widely known that giants quite enjoy the taste of human flesh, smoked with hickory chips and slowly roasted over a large bonfire...or they will eat you raw. Apparently giants aren’t fussy.
Most certainly not true. Professor Flitwick’s lack of height comes from him being part goblin. And as goblins are quick to inform you, humans and goblins are not the same, so I would not advise you to go around suggesting that there is any resemblance between a small human and a normal sized goblin. I’ve heard that goblins prefer their meat seared over an open grill...
Contrary to popular belief, the well known Astronomy Professor does not engage in this vampire like behaviour. Following her midnight lessons, she promptly returns to her bed, sleeps until morning and then engages in normal, human behaviour throughout the course of the day. She does not spend the day in bed or, as a few widely mistrusted pranksters would have us believe, asleep in a coffin until nightfall. And she does, and I must repeat the does, have a reflection, so let’s just dispel any vampire myths for once and for all.
I don’t think anything could help Trelawney have visions, seeing as she doesn’t possess any talent towards the arts of Divination...well, except for the dreamy, mystical voice, but that can be achieved by anyone, assuming they have sniffed enough incense prior to engaging in conversation. Her necklaces were bought from a pawnshop in muggle London and serve only to increase her image of a miserable fraud who likes to pretend that she is ‘in touch with her inner eye.’
This is a disgusting act that occurs only when she is in cat form. And then, the hairballs tend to be accompanied by vomit. I think this topic has already been covered to the point where it is definitely not need to know, passing by nice to know and entering the realms of disgustingly disturbing and definitely not want to know.
Fortunately, there are laws against that...
I can assure you that that would never, ever happen, ever, not in this lifetime! Pigs could fly and Snape still wouldn’t have participated in a commercial like that. I shudder to even think about it. So no, definitely, not true!
And there you have it, my creative, extensive and perhaps slightly disturbing list. Perhaps I will submit it to Which Witch, but I think I will most certainly have to make certain it is entirely anonymous. I shudder to think what Snape would do, were he to ever discover the creator of this list. They might end up discovering the reason for the large quantities of creepy crawlies suspended in vile liquids after all. Personally, I pray to god I never do.
Merlin, my quill appears to be showing further signs of temperamental behaviour. Already it has attempted to scrawl ‘Minerva and Fillius sitting in a tree, doing more than K-I-S-S,’ and I think that shall be enough from you, young quill. Snatching it up before it can write anything else morbid or obscene, I slam it into a trunk. Then I sit back with a satisfied smile. My nights work is complete.
Any comments about Dumbledore did not originate because he was gay. I would have written the same thing before I knew he was gay.
Other Similar Stories
In The Clouds...