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No Ordinary Nutter by Hedwig_Pie
Chapter 18 : Of Nutters and French House Elves
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 7

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Chapter 18: Of Nutters and French House Elves

‘You did what?’ screeched Dom, whacking me on the head and making my hair fly haphazardly. ‘Why are you such an idiot?!’

Silly me. I thought my friends would be supportive and wise throughout the blunder which is my life. Just goes to show, you can only trust inanimate objects like fluffy animals and pillows.

Alright, normal people trust fluffy animals, I phased out of those creatures when I turned five. It’s not that I hate them or anything, they’re just so fluffy.

It sickens me.

The only inanimate objects which I trust are the abnormally large pile of muggle contraptions which I have at home. Muggles are geniuses, I tell you. True, I have no idea what half of my contraptions actually do. And most of them have an apple on the back, Merlin knows why, but I tell you, one day, I will figure them out!

It’s a shame they circuit out and fizz electrically whenever I try to bring them onto the Hogwarts campus. I wish electronics would work here. I mean think about it. Electricity and magic, working together. Light bulbs instead of candles. Heaters instead of fireplaces. Communal microwaves.

Life would be heaven.

‘Will you stop looking in the air and concentrate?! Halle this is a serious problem!’ Dom yelled, shaking my shoulder brusquely and bopping her head crazily.

‘It’s not that bad,’ I huffed, looking to Elle for support. 

She just leaned against the wall, smile splayed across her lips; ‘You so fancy him.’

‘Who?’ I asked redundantly, already knowing the answer.


I sighed in defeat, not having the bravado in me to dismiss it anymore, ‘I really don’t, Elle.’

Dom wailed again, ‘How can you two be so calm about this?! Halle, you just made up a date to the Yule Ball. WHO ARE YOU GOING TO TAKE?’

Elle laughed, ‘I’m calm because this situation is bloody hilarious.’

I threw a fork at her, ‘I hate you.’

We were currently congregated in the kitchens, and judging by the falling darkness outside I’d guess it was around midnight. After I had made that stupid date up to win against James (so worth it) I had a mini-breakdown and ran hysterically to Elle.

She then laughed at my situation, told Jordin, who laughed some more and told me to meet her and Dom in the kitchens after school while she tried to brainstorm ideas for the situation.

Forever the Ravenclaw, that one.

We had been talking for who knows how long, me progressively growing less hysterical whilst Dom grew in the hysteria-factor. I’m pretty sure that soon I’ll be the one supporting her.

I exhaled deeply, ‘We can do this,’ I replied, grabbing Dom’s hand to stop it from shaking, ‘For Merlin’s sake, Dom, calm down.’

She sniffed, ‘I’m an overemotional Gryffindor and it’s my time of the month! Excuse me for being dramatic,’ she huffed.

Understanding flitted across our faces as we both patted her head, ‘That explains so much.’

Dom smiled, ‘I love being around girls! Every time I mention my monthlies to the guys, they run away, screaming.’

‘Jordin has a similar reaction,’ I noted.

‘Back on topic!’ Elle declared, ‘We have two problems. Number One: Halle making up a date to impress the boy she fancies.’

‘I don’t fancy him.’

‘SHUSH!’ came Elle’s reply, ‘And let me finish. Number Two: Connor is still dating that whore of a bag and Dom is currently dateless to the Yule Ball.’

Dom huffed, ‘Just remind me of it, why don’t you?’

‘And we have two solutions,’ Elle continued, ignoring all grumbles of protest from the two of us. ‘Get Halle a date from Beauxbatons, and get Connor to break up with Jessie and date you instead,’ she explained, pointing a finger between me and Dom.

I snorted, ‘Yes, because it’s that easy.’

Elle brightened, ‘Now that’s the spirit!’

Dom made vicious biting gestures, ‘We can’t all be in a fairy-tale relationship with Freddie fucking Weasley, Elle. I want to kill you for being so happy.’

At the mention of Freddie’s name, Elle put on a goofy grin, ‘Then kill me. At least I’ll die a martyr.’

‘Excuse me, missus,’ came a squeaky voice from down below, ‘But is there anything that Curtin can get you to make you slightly less miserable, missus?’

A smile immediately came to my face; it was none other than my favourite French house-elf, Curtin. I jumped off my stool and enveloped him in a hug, ‘Curtin! How goes it, elfie?’

Curtin stuttered and retracted from the hug, before hiding behind a stool, ‘Mistress Thomas is always so nice to Curtin. Curtin wonders whether Mistress Thomas is an angel in disguise,’ he said, his little elfin face completely red.

How can anyone not love house-elves? They’re adorable and their compliments make my day. ‘I don’t think I’m an angel in disguise, Curtin. But you never know,’ I said, winking.

‘Stop sexually harassing the house-elf Halle, and return to our brainstorming extravaganza!’ ordered Dom.

‘Hey Curtin?’ I asked, approaching the tiny elf once more, ‘Wanna join us?’

‘Curtin would be most pleased, Mistress Thomas!’ he squeaked, practically beaming from excitement, tentatively sitting on the stool next to Dom.

There were a few whispers from the other house-elves who were still cleaning various pots and pans. ‘Anyone else want to join us? We could always do with an extra brain!’ I offered.

The house-elves immediately scattered and started running into each other and various kitchen utensils, mainly squeaking out the words, ‘Not that’s fine!’ or ‘Mistress is too kind, too kind.’

I shrugged, ‘If you’re sure.’

 ‘I love your hat!’ Dom said, playing the shiny silver balls dangling off the yellow fedora which sat on Curtin’s head, ‘Are you the famous Curtin which Halle keeps on raving about?’

‘Compared to a Hogwarts Champion, a Weasley and the girlfriend of Freddie Weasley, Curtin doesn’t think he is famous at all.’

Elle giggled, ‘Girlfriend of Freddie Weasley. I like it. Hullo, Curtin, we have quite the situation.’

We then proceeded to launch into a frantic girl talk with a house-elf.

An elf that constantly brought us a steady flow of creamy, steamy, delicious pasta.

Merlin, I love that elf.

‘I see the dilemma, mistresses,’ said Curtin, scooping more pasta into my plastic box. 

‘Any thoughts as to who I could take, Curtin?’ I asked, wearily stabbing a mushroom.

‘Um, the thing is mistress,’ Curtin began muttering. ‘Ah. Let’s see. Curtin was thinking, no Curtin was knowing, that, er, mistress more pasta?’ he squeaked, shovelling more pasta into my box.

‘Woah! Calm down Curtin. I never thought I’d say this, but enough with the pasta!’ 

Dom snorted, ‘Never thought I’d see the day where Halle rejects food.’

I motioned to the pile of pasta which sat atop my container; its height easily came up to mid-stomach. ‘It’s like freaking Mt Everest here!’ I said, cowering in the shadow of the pasta-pile-of-doom.

‘Isn’t Mt Everest in Australia?’ asked Dom, ‘I’m pretty sure I climbed it on our holiday trip there a couple of years ago.’

Elle scoffed, ‘No you dolt. It’s in America.’

I banged my head on the table, ‘I’m surrounded by idiots. Everyone knows it’s in South America.’

‘Actually, missus,’ Curtin called, ‘I do believe that Mt Everest is in Nepal.’

Then there was an awkward moment when we realised a house-elf knew more about Muggle geography than us.

Curtin looked stricken at our sudden silence, ‘Mistresses I’m so sorry for pointing out your mistake! Bad Curtin, bad Curtin!’ he said, grabbing a (metal) fork and plunging it into his hand.

‘Stop that, Curtin!’ I ordered, before he attempted his violent fork stabbing routine for a second time. Merlin, house elves are overdramatic.

Once the fork had been safely removed, I levelled my gaze to the stuttering house elf, ‘You have got to stop doing that.’ 

He then bit his lip and started playing with the little silver balls hanging off his hat, ‘Can I tell you something, Mistresses?’ he asked, fidgeting slightly.

Dom’s expression softened, ‘Of course, Curtin. You can tell us anything.’

She was probably hoping for some juicy exposé about House-Elf rights.

He coughed uncomfortably, ‘Well, mistress you see. Curtin was cleaning the other day, in the Beauxbatons carriage, and he heard them saying that everyone in the whole school had already got a date,’ he mumbled.


That, ladies and gentlemen, was the sound of three, over-hormonal teenagers hitting the roof.

‘Don’t kill me!’ the poor little house-elf stuttered, cowering under the desk.

I began taking intense, relaxation breaths. In. Out. In. Out. Oh screw it, I’m doomed!

‘What am I going to do?’ I despaired, dropping my head back on the table, ‘Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck. Why did my guy have to be French? WHY WAS HE FRENCH?!’

Elle was patting my head, whilst Dom remained motionless. She had a cunning twinkle in her eye. It was enough for me to stop my teenage angst rant and stare at her, ‘Dominique Weasley.’

‘Yes?’ she replied.

‘Do you have a plan?’

This time she smiled, before turning her gaze on Curtin. ‘Halle, weren’t you telling me the other day that Curtin’s French?’


I blew at a dangling piece of air which had escaped my ponytail, frustratingly attempting to blow it back into place. Needless to say, I wasn’t successful.

‘Stop doing that to your hair,’ whispered Dom during History of Magic.

Fuck, I hate this class. For the past half an hour, I have been debating with myself on whether or not throwing a book through Professor Binns head would be a wise idea. I mean, he is a ghost; he wouldn’t be able to feel it anyway.

I wonder if ghosts get offended about these sorts of things.

I had already made elaborate notes on the Goblin War, as it has been Binn’s main topic for the past two freaking years. He knows we’ve already covered this topic. And yet he still makes us suffer.

Sadistic transparent bastard.

I stifled a snort as Dom collapsed onto her desk in boredom. She groaned as Connor and Jessie Kurt began playing tonsil tennis for all to see. I resisted the urge to vomit.

‘Get a room,’ James squawked from behind us, earning sniggers from around the classroom.

In a sudden burst of energy, Binns’ incorporeal form stood up a little straighter and glared at James, ‘Detention tonight, Mr Potter, for disrupting my class,’ he declared.

I stifled a snort. James’s jaw dropped to his desk, before he indignantly started rattling off excuses, ‘But I didn’t even do anything, sir. That’s totally unfair.’

Binns pointed an accusatory finger in his direction, ‘Do you call this doing nothing? I have no way of proving it was you, but goddamn Potter, I know it was you,’ he said, gesturing to the blackboard at the front of the class, which had been covered with a piece of white cloth.

With a wave of his hand the cloth came flying off, and the whole class erupted into laughter at what was scrawled crudely on its surface. In large, angry red letters, the words, THIS CLASS IS AS BORING AS FUCK, were written, in what looked like to be spray paint.

James chuckled slightly, ‘Oh yeah. I forgot about that. See you at five then,’ he said, giving a mock salute to Binns, as cool as a cucumber.  

Binns looked unimpressed by his cucumber levels of cool, ‘Report to Filch’s office at exactly five, Potter, or else there will be consequences.’

Binns returned the cloth to its original place and began droning on about goblin-knows-what, and I turned around to face James. ‘Good prank. I would give it… a seven out of ten.’

Freddie, who was sitting next to him, shook his head, ‘Nah. Only a six, I reckon. I mean, no one can actually see it unless you take the cloth off,’ he pointed out, in complete seriousness, as if this matter were life-and-death.

‘I’m sorry, Thomas, but do you know the name of the goblin who claimed that Godric Gryffindor stole his sword?’ Professor Binns asked obnoxiously, turning his transparent nose upward.

‘Ragnuk the First,’ I answered easily, turning around to face the front again. ‘The act is one of the conspiracies which were believed to begin various Goblin rebellions.’

Binns looked impressed, ‘Well, done, Mr Thomas. Five points to Ravenclaw!’

The class erupted into laughter and I let my jaw drop onto the table. Did he just? 






(Actually don’t do that, I’ll just end up calling rape.)

I narrowed my eyes angrily, opening my mouth to respond, but James beat me to it. ‘Actually, sir, she is a girl, although it is a common misconception,’ he explained through his laughter.

I turned around to face him, before thwacking him right in the forehead, ‘IT IS NOT A COMMON MISCONCEPTION! I’ll have you know never once before have I been mistaken for a man! NOT ONCE!’

Binns seemed unaffected by the entire classes’ fidgeting, ‘I apologize, Mr Thomas. Five points to Ravenclaw,’ he repeated in a monotonous voice.


Dom sighed melodramatically, but was grinning all the same, ‘Calm down you twat. Everyone knows you’re not a dude.’

I waved my arms in the direction of Binns, ‘Evidently he does not!’

James continued laughing, ‘Take the hint, Halle.’

I scowled as Binns just stood up there, as boring as usual, continuing to read off the piece of parchment that hovered in front of him. Without thinking, I picked up by book and let my half-hour contemplation flood to my brain. Aiming for his head, I threw the text book straight at his face and watched in glee as it passed straight through his mono-brow.


The class erupted into laughter again, Dom and James patting me victoriously on the back (well Dom was patting me. James kind of clapped me once so hard I felt like I would be shaking forever), when he raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

Really? Even the ghost can raise his eyebrow? Yeah, because that’s totally fair.

‘Detention, Mr Thomas. Five o’clock, Filch’s office.’



At five on the dot, I begrudgingly arrived at Filch’s office, where James was already waiting, a scowl plastered onto his face.

He nodded his head towards me in acknowledgment, ‘Nice throw.’

I grinned, ‘Got him right between the eyebrows.’

Behind the closed door of Filch’s office there was a loud clang, followed by a stream of curse words which would have made Salazar Slytherin blush.

Seconds later a red-faced Filch emerged, clutching Mrs Norris III in his grasp, not looking like he was going to let go anytime soon.

‘Silly cat, always trying to escape,’ he muttered, stroking Mrs Norris in a way that probably counts as animal-rape. 

‘Potter, Thomas,’ he spat, eyeing the pair of us suspiciously. ‘Why are you dating?’

I sputtered. What did he just say? 

‘Did you just ask why we were dating?’ I shrieked; scowling as James simply titled his head in amusement.

Filch narrowed his eyes at me, ‘No,’ he said, ‘I asked why are you waiting?’

James collapsed into a fit of silent laughter while I tried very hard to keep the colour of my cheeks to a neutral coffee-beige.

With my luck they were probably bright red by now.

Quickly trying to salvage what was left of my dignity, I nodded quickly, ‘Yes! Yes we are waiting, for our punishments,’ I said hastily, disregarding the fact that Potter was still laughing.

Filch grunted, ‘You both play Quidditch, correct?’

We both nodded. I’d been on the team for the last couple of years but I hadn’t played the game in ages because of the Tournament. 

‘Good,’ he snarled, ‘Ickle firsties need some training. Madame Bench is off on leave this fortnight, visiting her aunt Hooch in hospital, got a nasty case of the flu, she does. So, you get to coach ‘em,’ he ordered, waving his arms in the general direction of the Quidditch Pitch.

My features twisted into disdain, ‘BUT I DON’T WANT TO COACH SOME LITTLE BRATS FOR THE REST OF THE EVENING!’ I wanted to yell out. Instead, being the studious Ravenclaw I was, I just replied, ‘Yes, sir.’

James rolled his eyes, ‘Is that it, sir?’ he asked, with so much attitude I would’ve smacked him if I were his momma.

Which, you know, I’m not.

Filch scowled, ‘Yes, Potter, that’s it. And don’t think I’ll be letting you off this easy if you ever pull off another one of your pathetic shenanigans again,’ he warned, pointing a threatening finger in his direction. Mrs Norris then tried (and failed) to escape his vice-like grip, to no avail.

‘No, my baby,’ he cooed in her ear. ‘You’re not going anywhere.’

 James and I shared a very concerned glance, before Filch snarled and barked at us, ‘What are you still doing here? Those brats need coaching!’

Slightly alarmed, James and I skedaddled on out of there, heading towards the Quidditch Pitch.

Coaching First Years? Easy as pie.

Or so I thought.



omg im that douchey person that never updates arent i. ARENT I. ack. well i have quite a few more chapters written so i'll try to keep updates steady! plz review if you want i'll understand if you no longer feel obligated BECAUSE IM A TERRIBLE PERSON

fly free butterflies

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise belongs to me. unless i marry bill gates. you know his net worth is like 70 BILLION DOLLARS. I WANT 70 BILLIO DOLLARS. i also want a hyperbola to touch the x or y axis. JUST BECAUSE. 

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