Because “Maybe the Kingsman boys can dress you properly” made me want to write Eggsy helping Tequila out with his suit.
“Always thought I was too stocky to look good in one of these suits.”
Eggsy scoffs and throws the tape measure to lie over his shoulder, “you seen who you’re talking to, mate?”
Tequila laughs.
“These thighs?” He says, standing up, “may be shorter than most of the Kingsman agents and slightly stocky but they’re my best weapons.”
“Are they now?” Tequila looks Eggsy up and down.
“Oh yeah, once got knocked over the head and stuck in a room with all my weapons taken off me and I still managed to take out the guy’s five guards with just my legs, complete the mission and get home with just a bust lip.”
“That true?”
“Hundred percent. Ask Merlin if you don’t believe me, he’s got the video proof somewhere on the system. He likes to use it to scare new recruits. Not only that, honestly, good tailoring does wonders for showing off your assets,” Eggsy grins and shakes his head, “fuck, if Eggsy of two years ago heard me say that he’d probably have knocked me out.”
Tequila gives him a full belly laugh.
“You seen Harry right?” Tequila nods. “His suits are made to
accentuate his small waist and his legs look ridiculously long. Merlin’s, when he wears them, make his shoulders look wider and make him just generally more intimidating. It’s why he wears jumpers more often.”
“I see. What about Lancelot? I’ve seen her in a suit a few times now.”
“She has hers made to make her silhouette all smooth, clean lines, and to make her look a bit bigger than she is since she’s like 5′3′‘ and hangs around blokes who are all either nearly six foot or over.”
“I have to say, ya’ll look pretty damn sharp in them. Our suits are more practical, I’d say, the demin is easier to move in when you’re in the action.”
Eggsy grins and puts on his Kingsman accent,
“a juit, if you will.”
Tequila snorts, “fuck off. I like denim. I’m only letting you measure me because Champ said so.”
“Just wait ‘til I get you in your suit, you’re gonna love it. Much easier to move in that you’d think and bulletproof.”
“You’re welcome to get me out of it too,” Tequila mumbles under his breath.
“Maybe later,” Eggsy smirks. Tequila jumps slightly, thinking he’d said it quietly enough not to be heard. Eggsy continues as he crouches to finish taking measurements, “and not here. Merlin’s had enough eyefuls to last him a lifetime, poor bloke. My flat is ten minutes on foot.”
Tequila smiles to his reflection, maybe staying in England for a little bit longer would be fine after all.
He’s tangibly shaking in your arms and very tense. It’s taking him every shred of strength, but he’s keeping himself from erupting. The tears are gentle when they touch your shoulder, and he isn’t making a sound. Each gasp for air is quick, sharp, deep. He is keeping it together. He is. He is.
Can you imagine how differently their lives would’ve gone if Ron, in trying to transfigure Scabbers, had actually transfigured him back into a human? Just take a moment to imagine McGonagall’s reaction if Peter Pettigrew had abruptly appeared in her classroom from Ronald Weasley’s rat. Take a moment.
Or if Ron had fucked it up a little worse and couldn’t get ‘Scabbers’ back and McGonagall had take him to disenchant him and next thing we know there’s a naked Peter Pettigrew sitting on McGonagall’s desk and the kids in that class learn six new swear words, a hex they will never dare to use, and a fear of Minerva McGonagall’s wrath that will be with them until the day they die.
Ten and twenty years later first years are being pulled aside and warned never mess around in Transfiguration seriously the last time a kid mucked something up in that class Professor McGonagall used two semi-legal hexes, took down a Death Eater and sabotaged the rise of the Dark Lord before Potter had time to get his wand out.
What most of Hogwarts learned first on that otherwise-unexceptionable day was that Professor McGonagall could sure scream loud.
Professor Flitwick’s Charms 5th-year Charms class was close enough to catch the full effect, and the door had been left open besides; en masse the students recoiled with shock and a miscast Hiccuping Charm broke one of the windows (out which the entire flock of ravens they were practicing on escaped to the Forbidden Forest where they only had to worry about centaurs, rather than annoying young humans with wands).
Up in the Divination Tower, Sibyl Trelawny preened over her foresight to have warned her students of an unprecedented catastrophe likely to occur before the hour was out.
Out in Greenhouse Five, a NEWT-level Herbology class looked up in puzzlement, and most of them were subsequently bitten by the Venomous Tentaculae they were attempting to propagate. It does not do to ignore a Venomous Tentacula when you’re prodding at its intimate parts with a cotton ball held in tweezers, so the class was cancelled while two-thirds of the students headed for the infirmary and the rest of them headed into the castle because if they stayed with the Venomous Tentaculae they’d be outnumbered, and nobody wants that.
And down in the dungeons, Professor Snape turned away from comparing Lee Jordan’s Pepper-Up Potion to spoiled cream at what sounded like a woman screaming from the entrance hall. At the second scream, he ordered the class to remain where they were and behave, sweeping out of the room just in time to miss Theodore Nott suddenly jumping up and yelping as if someone had put a crocodile heart down the back of his robes.
Fred Weasley stepped back from the unfortunate Slytherin, shared a smirk with his twin, and stuck his head out the door to make sure Snape had rounded the corner before leading the way out of the classroom.
–
Back in the Transfiguration classroom, about four minutes ago, it had started innocently enough. Ron Weasley, possessed of a broken wand and a lurking suspicion that most of the family’s magical talent had been soaked up by his siblings before he was around to get any, had attempted to turn his pet rat, Scabbers, into a teacup.
Scabbers had not become a teacup.
Scabbers, blast his useless furry little backside, had become a furry, vaguely teacup-shaped monstrosity out of which absolutely no one would have been tempted to drink, and to make matters worse, he still had a tail.
It was moving.
Harry was hiding a smile behind his hand. Dean and Seamus weren’t even trying to hide, elbowing each other and laughing. Parvati and Lavender were looking with disgust and horror at either Scabbers or him, and Hermione was opening her mouth, no doubt ready to tell him exactly what he’d done wrong.
Which only made it worse that he really thought he’d done everything right this time.
He snatched Scabbers off the desk (eww, the base of the cup had the same texture as rat feet) and turned away from Hermione. He made the wand movement again, picturing in his mind the way McGonagall had demonstrated it. “Erreverto.”
“Erreverto. Erreverto. Erreverto.”
It didn’t work. It didn’t work when Professor McGonagall stopped by and gave Hermione two points for Gryffindor for getting the spell perfect in both directions. It didn’t work when Harry made his successful transfiguration (Ron looked; the pattern was a little bit furry but it was definitely a teacup). Ron’s lips formed the shape of a word that would’ve made his mother box his ears had she heard it and attempted the reverse transfiguration, which didn’t work either.
Finally, faced not only with the indignity of failure but the threat of Scabbers being stuck like that, he’d gone up to Professor McGonagall’s desk.
“Um, Professor?”
Professor McGonagall looked up from the paper she was grading and looked from him to the squirming teacup. “Problems, Mr. Weasley?”
“Um, yeah, Professor. I can’t get it to work in either direction and it’s not fair to Scabbers to make him stay as a teacup just because I can’t do a spell right and can you maybe … ?”
“I suppose so, Mr. Weasley,” she said, and waved her wand in the exact manner Ron had been doing all along.
Nothing happened.
Professor McGonagall looked very, very puzzled.
“Now that’s odd,” she said softly.
As one, the other students rose from their seats and quietly moved closer.
She did not attempt the transfiguration in the other direction. Instead, she made a complex motion with her wand and murmured an incantation that possibly only Hermione recognized. The teacup squeaked. Professor McGonagall looked more puzzled than ever, and made a sweeping wand movement that ended with a sharp jab and uttered, “Arcanum finite!”
And there was a loud bang, and there was a pale, pudgy, and very naked man sprawled out on her desk, and she jumped back hard enough to knock her chair into the wall and screamed.
–
Having taught a particularly rigorous course of magical study to children and teens for quite some time now, Minerva McGonagall had become accustomed to certain things. Students who didn’t listen. Students who did rude things to the mice when they thought she wasn’t looking. Students who accidentally turned a frog or a raven into a flock of starlings or a school of strange slimy South American fish (and tried to solve the immediate problem by filling the classroom with two feet of water, neglecting to consider the gap under the door). Students who tried to transfigure their noses into a more appealing shape and wound up in the hospital wing regrowing their nostrils.
Naked men on her desk was something Minerva McGonagall had never had an occasion to get used to. What made it worse was that she recognized this one, and he’d been dead for more than a decade.
Inferius! was her first thought, followed shortly thereafter by Animagus, which collided with Peter Pettigrew! and produced the utterly horrifying thought of what if all four of them were Animagi? which didn’t bear thinking about at all, so her brain jumped to if he wasn’t killed by a Dark Wizard then why didn’t he say so? and realized there was only one possible explanation why, and about that time her eyes registered that parts of Peter Pettigrew she really doesn’t want to know about were flopping about in front of her face, and she was screaming as she jumped back.
The flow of invective which followed somehow failed to surprise her one bit. Some part of her registered, peripherally, the shocked faces of her students, but most of her attention was directed at Peter Pettigrew, who at very least faked his own death and at worst framed Sirius Black and if Black didn’t betray the Potters then who … did. And the words poured out of her, filthy English and filthier Latin while Pettigrew squirmed on the table, his face rage and guilt and fear and something shifty and contemptible, and he turned to look at the stunned students and lunged for Ron Weasley’s wand.
–
Severus Snape had reached the Entrance Hall by the time the scream died away and the invective replaced it. He almost smirked, amid the alarm; of all the things he’d never expected to hear from Minerva McGonagall … he took the stairs two at a time, still not noticing the students who followed.
He did notice the Herbology class, which had stopped on the way to the Infirmary and were staring transfixed in the direction of the Transfiguration classroom, but pushed his way through them, getting Venomous Tentacula pollen all over his robes in the process.
From the other end of the corridor came Professor Flitwick’s Charms class, with Professor Flitwick bringing up the rear and pushing his way between students.
–
Ron looked stunned as the man who’d been his pet rat snatched the wand from his hand; Professor McGonagal’s expression shifted to one beyond fury and when the entire class recoiled, it wasn’t from the naked man with the wand.
“Laedo!“ Minerva McGonagall roared.
–
Ron Weasley’s wand cast a Splintering Curse many years beyond its rightful owner’s abilities, and it did Peter Pettigrew the poor favor of eliminating the door, which might have slowed him down a bit.
–
Severus Snape flailed and skidded to a halt as the Transfiguration classroom’s door shattered. He stepped back just in time, and stared, jaw dropped in shock, as a naked man he recognized from his school days flew past him and bellyflopped against the wall, bounced, and collapsed to the ground just in time to avoid the “Exitium!” which followed and vaporized an impresive chunk of the castle’s stone wall.
Fred and George and Lee Jordan, determined to stay at the front of the crowd, had been pushed almost against Professor Snape by their fellow Potions classmates and some pollen-coated Hufflepuffs. Fred squirmed aside hastily as Professor McGonagall appeared in the doorway, the look on her face so utterly livid that Professors Snape and Flitwick both reflexively stepped back.
Snape tripped over George’s foot and fell against a knot of Hufflepuffs, releasing another cloud of pollen and knocking them backwards. Pettigrew saw his opportunity and took it, scrambling to his feet, stumbling sideways, and launching himself towards the gap.
And Minerva McGonagall made a thrust with her wand and said, “Perdo.”
In the very loud silence which followed, Filius Flitwick squeaked, “The Splinching Charm, Minerva?”
She might’ve looked embarrassed for a moment, and then she smiled as she looked down at Pettigrew, who lay on his belly, his arms and legs lying akimbo some distance away.
“Unorthodox,” she said, “but useful in a pinch. If someone would inform the Headmaster, and send an owl to the Ministry—-not Fudge, not Crouch, someone competent—-Shacklebolt, perhaps. Students, return to your classrooms, please. Mr. Weasley, I’m very sorry, but I do believe it’s impossible to return you your rat. However, the zero I was going to have to give you for the day’s work is entirely undeserved, as you were not transfiguring a normal rat. You may make the lesson up any time this week.”
–
The story was, of course, much embellished by the time it reached all the students. Versions of it had the intruder peppering Snape with a Glitter Hex or transfiguring Ron’s rat into a pair of boxers, and people had to be disabused of the notion that it had been Voldemort who’d been hiding as a rat all this time.
Snape gave both Weasley twins detention for tripping him, and took forty-seven points total from Gryffindor over the next few weeks for various pretend-subtle pollen references.
Kingsley Shacklebolt showed up with a team of Aurors in time to meet Professor Dumbledore; the Wizengamot launched an investigation into the events surrounding the Potters’ murder; the results turned into a scandal which saw the release of Sirius Black and the forced resignation of both Director Bartemious Crouch and Minister Cornelius Fudge. Director of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Bones was confirmed as Minister of Magic shortly thereafte, and the Daily Prophet reported that Sirius Black (“Godfather to the Boy-Who-Lived!” “Framed, Abandoned, Condemned to Living Hell!” “Heart-Wrenching: His Release In Pictures, Page 17!”) was considering applying for a teaching position at Hogwarts, “but just for a year, I’ve been cursed enough for one lifetime.” (“The Prophet reminds its readers that the so-called “curse” on a certain Hogwarts teaching position is almost certainly a mere string of coincidences.”)
And, Minerva thought with relish some months later, it was almost three weeks before anyone attempted messing around in her class.
A personal record.
I’ve probably reblogged this before but I’m going to do it again right now
1. Humans say ‘ow’, even if they haven’t actually been hurt. It’s just a thing they say when they think they might have been hurt, but aren’t sure yet.
2. Humans collect shiny things and decorate their bodies and nests with them. The shinier the better, although each individual has a unique taste for style and colouring
3. Humans are not an aquatic or even amphibious species, but they flock to bodies of water simply to play in it. They can’t even hold their breath all that long; they just love to splash!
4. When night falls and the sky goes dark, humans become drowsy and begin to cocoon themselves in soft, fluffy bedding.
5. Some humans spend time in each other’s nests! Just for fun! It’s not their nest; they’re just visiting each other.
6. Some humans use pigments and dyes to make their bodies flashy and colourful! They even attach shiny dangly bits to their cartalidgous membranes!
7. Humans are very clever, and sometimes adopt creatures from other species into their family units. They don’t seem to notice the obvious differences, and often raise them alongside their own young!
8. If a human sees another creature in distress, they can commonly be observed trying to help! Even at their own risk, most humans are deeply compassionate creatures!
9. If a human hears a particularity catchy sound or tune, it will often mimic it, even to the point of annoying themselves!
10. Sneezes are entirely involuntary, and completely adorable. Especially when the human in question becomes frustrated
11. Humans love treats!!! Some more than others. Many humans will save these treats specifically for a later date when they are in need of comfort or reassurance. IE, pickles, pop tarts, Popsicles, etc
12. They’re learning to travel in space!!! They can’t get very far, but they’re trying!!! So far, they’ve made it to the end of their yard, and have found rocks
this sounds like it was written by a really enthusiastic alien humanologist
So I’ve just realised that I never told you about the time my parents conned me into being the perfect daughter by pretending that a group of fairies lived behind my bookcase for an entire year, and they kept up this devious ploy by dedicating themselves to a world-building scheme so intricate that it would rival Tolkien, and writing letters purporting to be from the ‘rose fairies’ and leaving them behind the bookcase
and loads of the notes were basically just fairy-speak for ‘tidy your damn room’
(Text says: Dear Anwen, thank you for your lovely note. We couldn’t write back earlier because Bimbo has been in your room all day and we’re scared of him. We are rose fairies so we love living in such a beautiful pink bedroom – even if it is a little untidy sometimes! Love the fairies xx)
(Text says: Dear Anwen, thank you for the beautiful gold tinsel. We have used it to decorate our dresses. You will be able to see them when we all go to the Daisy Fairies tomorrow night. We will come and pick you up at midnight. Lots of love, the Rose Fairies. PS your room is very untidy at the moment. We will have trouble coming to get you if you don’t tidy it!)
And sometimes they basically said ‘eat your damn greens’, or ‘why did you like lasagna last week and now would rather eat soil?’:
(Text says: Dear Anwen, I love sweet things too. I also like cucumber and lettuce do you? Be good and write soon. Love Isaria)
(Text says: ‘Dear Anwen, I do like spag bog. I also like lasagna and chicken pie do you? I always try to eat my dinner all up. Love Tiffy)
And they constructed this entire world in which there were hundreds of different kinds of fairies, all named after flowers, including the Daisy fairies and the Foxglove fairies, and presumably the Japanese Knotweed fairies. The Rose fairies would come at midnight, when I was asleep, and whisk me away to Fairyland with all of my favourite toys, who would come to life, like some kind of diet Toy Story. Fairyland was ruled by a queen named Aromia, who honestly should lend her name to a brand of air freshener, and all the fairies behind my bookshelf had names, including my ‘personal fairy’, who was a bit like a fairy godmother except totally useless.
Some examples of my parents’ incredible world building dedication:
(Text says: Dear Anwen, we’ve left you the key to the Fairyland palace. Keep it very safe and don’t lose it! Use it when you come to see us next time in Fairyland. You left us two little baby fairies. Be a good girl and tidy your room! Lots of love, the Rose Fairies)
(Text says: Dear Anwen, what nice new furniture you’ve got now. Your bedroom looks very smart. You are a very lucky girl to have such a beautiful room. Our names are: Isaria, your fairy; Maura, Tallia, Aria, Staria, Dixie, Millie, Razia, Maris, Jay, Essa, Meera, Tima, Pico, Saron, Vetie, Tiffy, Miron, Lattie, Lutim. See you soon, love the Rose Fairies)
(Text says: Dear Anwen, we’re about 6-7 of your years old. Fairy years are different. We’re about 160-170 fairy years old. Love the Rose fairies)
But also, they would give me advice on problems that I was having at school, being an 8 year old with such terrible issues as ‘I have two best friends’:
(Text says: Dear Anwen, why can’t you have two best friends? It’s not fair to expect you to choose between them. Perhaps if you tell them that they’ll understand. You should tell them that they’re both your best friends. Love the Rose Fairies)
And this went on until I realised that it was MY MUM’S HANDWRITING, which coincidentally was also the same as Father Christmas’ handwriting and the Tooth Fairy’s handwriting, but that was honestly a step too far for my 8 year old mind, because I couldn’t lose that damn much. Not the Tooth Fairy too. God, the Rose fairies were enough of a sacrifice. I couldn’t bleed myself dry.
My room was never tidier than it was that year and I have never been more embarrassed than when I found all these letters last month and realised what a fucking gullible nerd I was when I was 8. Aromia would be so disappointed.
I love how in Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve and Bucky are having their dramatic highway battle and the cars in the other lane just keep driving. Like, the regular people in the Marvel Cinematic Universe must be so jaded at this point. Like, “Ho hum. Another Monday. Aw dangit. Looks like they’re at it again. The five o’clock rush is gonna be hell.”
Various twitter accounts just like:
So-called superheroes making me late to work again. Are they gonna employ me when I get fired for their incompetence? 🖕
THINK I SAW CAP AMERICA ON HWY 95 BRIDGE 🇺🇸❤️
No one at work believes I was late because I missed my turn due to “enormous bird man.” #cantmakethisshitup
Captain America vs SHIELD secret police have shootout on freeway in DC. What are they not telling us?
Dropped my snack in floorboard bc some metal arm dude flew off this car & into the gd road. Skittles everywhere.
Saw some guy get tossed into oncoming traffic and hit by a penske truck this afternoon. #gross #wasgettinglunch #nevermind 🤢
FUCKING SUPERHEROES BETTER HAVE SOME SUPER FUCKING INSURANCE. CAME OUT OF MEETING. MY CAR IS TOTALED. WTF?!?!
Saw Black Widow on bridge this afternoon. #daymade
Which Avenger has a metal arm? #newfave 💋
Think I saw Cap A out of costume & still fighting shit. Either that or some kids have taken LARPing too far.
Is there an Avengers with wings? Seriously. This is important.
Pray for those caught in #Hwy95 incident. Bus overturned. Potential Avengers situation. 🙏
Ridding the world of evil? What about the evil of making a girl late to her lunch date? Smh
Got bullet holes in my car today, but it also shielded black widow so like thank you ma’am. It’s been an honor.
Okay I already reblogged the original, but this ‘twitter’ post has me crying, so I have to reblog it too. Lmfao!
My favorite thing ever is how Ron just sent Charlie a random letter like “hey yo there’s an illegal dragon at hogwarts, could you come and smuggle it out of here, please?” and Charlie was just like “yeah sure, I’ll trespass into the castle and steal a dangerous magical creature, of course, lemme just hit up my friends”
It’s better if you imagine Charlie and co as a group of Grad Students trying to avoid their other responsibilities.
Charlie is drunkenly revising the third draft of his thesis on proper care and feeding of greenhorns when his family owl slams into the window.
Three of his friends jump and look around. Glinda doesn’t raise her head from her folded arms; only groans, “Is that Baines coming to do me in?”
Charlie totters to the window and fetches Errol from the window pane. “No such luck,” he says. “You’re still going to have to take the exam.” After some consideration, Charlie lays him on a clear patch of floor to recover. “Do owls take firewhiskey?” he asks the room at large.
“It’s not fair,” Glinda wails into the tabletop. “I swear he didn’t say anything about Bridgewort’s handling practices when we did the review in class.”
“Oh, Merlin,” says Ali, freezing over their notes like a Medusa wyvern had bitten them. “Oh, Merlin’s sweet saggy socks. Is he covering Bridgewort?”
“That’s what he said when I went to his office hours.” Glinda sits up. “You know his lapdragon singed my new sweater?!”
Charlie decides not to give Errol a nip of whiskey. Flying under the influence is really not done. He unties the letter from Errol’s leg. Ron’s childish spiky handwriting spells out Charlie’s name on the front. Inside is a hastily scrawled message.
“Yes, we know it ruined your sweater,” snaps Ysabelle. “You told us twenty times. Why didn’t you tell us Baines told you we’re going to be tested on Bridgewort?”
“I meant to,” says Glinda. “Sorry.” She flicks her pile of notes. “I was lost in the miasma of gloom and desperation.”
Ali puts their head back and groans. “I’m gonna die. I’m gonna say ‘fuck it’ and just fucking walk into a dragon’s mouth so I don’t have to do this.”
“Hey,” says Charlie. They don’t hear him.
“How much is this worth again?” Glinda asks her bottle of butterbeer.
“Twenty-five percent,” Ali and Ysabelle chorus. Ysabelle adds, “and the thesis is fifty percent of our total grade.”
“Hey!” Charlie repeats. They look at him. He waves Ron’s letter. “My littlest brother at Hogwarts has an illegal dragon he needs to get off campus. Anybody up for a midnight flight?”
Ali slams their hands down on the table and stands up. “Fuck yes,” they say decisively. “Maybe I’ll fly into the Whomping Willow and die a quick death.”
concept: willy wonka and harry potter take place in the same universe the ministry of magic haaaates Willy Wonka
“Mr. Wonka,” Dumbledore smiled warmly, looking down into the Pit from his podium. The members of the Wizengamot muttered disapprovingly, shifting in their seats. Willy Wonka, clad today in a bright magenta suit and tophat, beamed cheekily up at them from his chair, his silver-gloved hands cradling his chin.
“Mr. Dumbledore,” He replied brightly, with the barest hint of a lisp.
“I trust you know why you are here?” Dumbledores question was crisp and businesslike, but the twinkle in his eye gave away his amusement at the situation.
“Not at all! I’ve nary a clue,” Wonka wiggled his eyebrows. Dumbledore audibly stifled a laugh.
“You are accused of improper use of magic, improper use of muggle artifacts, and several counts of using magic in front of a muggle,” Dumbledore reminded him. He conjured a projection with his wand. Displayed in grainy sepia was Willy Wonka, arm around a boy of around 10. Behind his back, he twitched an ash wand, and machines in the background around them whirred to life, producing all manner of sweets.
The projection ran its course and collapsed, and Dumbledore stowed his wand back inside his robes.
Wonka smiled and fiddled with his hat.
“How do you plead?” Dumbledore asked, leaning forward eagerly for what would surely be an amusing trial.
“Not guilty on all counts,” Wonka said, perhaps a tad smugly.
The members of the Wizengamot muttered amongst themselves. Not Guilty? Impossible!
Dumbledore hushed them quickly. “Explain, if you would. We have, after all, quite a mountain of evidence.”
Wonka stood and brushed a bit of dust off his suit. He tipped his hat mischievously. “Of course,” he grinned.
“Firstly, use of magic shall only be considered improper whereby it is applied to cause harm or applied recklessly. All magic used in my sweets is rigorously tested for both safety and taste. It is not used to cause harm, but to bring joy.” Wonka paused to adjust his jacket.
“But surely,” Dumbledore said, leafing through his notes, “you cannot deny that you illegally charmed several thousand muggle artifacts?”
“Ah, but I can,” Wonka said, now twirling his cap in his hands. “Muggle artifact refers, of course, to any muggle made object. But, you see, I built those machines, each and every one. They are not muggle machines at all, but wizarding machines, built by a wizard. The factory itself, as well. You could argue that, as machines are a muggle invention, I still broke the rules, but then I could argue that every wizard dwelling with any charms applied to its walls is in violation of the law, as muggles were the first to make bricks.”
The Wizengamot glared silently. He was right, of course. Violating the spirit of the law was not illegal if one followed the letter.
“And the last charge? These are definitely Muggle children, are they not? No magical talent, raised in muggle society?” Dumbledore straightened his glasses and peered down at Wonka, his eyes still bright with intrigue.
“Not at all,” Wonka grinned, placing his hat back on his head. “You see, the ticket system was not nearly so random as I pretended. The tickets were charmed, they would only becomes visible to children with magical heritage. All the children chosen were second generation Squibs.” Wonka bowed low, as if he were finishing a particularly well executed play.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, it seems no laws were violated after all.” Dumbledore stifled a grin at the groans of angry disapproval from the Wizengamot.
“But he very clearly violated the intent of the rules!” Spluttered a large, rather red faced wizard in the second row. “He’s just…cheating! He’s cheating!”
“Ah, this is true, but he did not, technically speaking, break any of the rules. He did not expose muggles to magic, nor enchant muggle made objects, nor improperly apply magic anymore so than any magical confectioner. I’m afraid we have to let him go.” Dumbledore smiled gently and put away the rather thick file with Wonka’s name embossed on the cover. For the brief second it was open, a list of hundreds of charges with “Not Guilty” inked beside them was visible. It was carried off by a house elf, and the Wizengamot began to file out until only Dumbledore was left.
“You’re a very clever man,” He called down to Wonka. “We could use you at Hogwarts, you know.”
“No thank you,” Wonka called back, grinning. “Skirting the law is far more fun!”
Willy Wonka is a fucking Slytherin.
I’d prevviously said ‘Yes! Gene Wilder! Wonk!’. Now there’s pics.
BUT…
OMG.
MS. FRIZZLE! (and the MAGIC School Bus).
She must be before the Wizengamot ALL the TIME.
(Is her excuse; ‘Well, it’s educational’???? And it WORKS?!!)
Cornelius Fudge sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Behind him, the members of the Wizengamot muttered amongst themselves, wondering what his next move would be. When he finally looked up from his podium, all he could do was glare at the chipper redheaded woman perched on the arm of the interrogation seat in the Pit. A bright green lizard poked its head out of the collar of her planet patterned dress and skittered around her shoulders to stare back at him.
“Mrs. Valerie…” He checked the file again. “Frizzle?”
“Good morning, Minister!” She replied happily, a hint of a laugh in her voice.
“It’s 3:30 in the afternoon, Madam,” He replied. He was tired.
“Here yes, but in America, its 10:30 in the morning! Aren’t time zones incredible?” She smiled and he could see all her teeth.
Fudge’s eye twitched irritably and he took a deep, steadying breath.
“Do you know why you’ve been called before the Wizengamot today, Mrs. Frizzle?” He asked, shuffling the papers from her file.
“I’m probably in trouble,” she smiled serenely, absentmindedly petting the lizard. “That is, after all, what the Wizengamot deals in!”
Fudge stifled a groan as he began leafing through her file. He didn’t even know where to begin. “Mrs. Frizzle, you are charged with no less than two hundred and thirty two counts of violating the Statute of Secrecy. Note that this is one count for each muggle known to be exposed to magic through your actions, and not a reflection of how many actions you have taken.” He drew out a page from the file. “Actions that include unlawful use of a sentience charm upon a muggle bus, unlawful use on that same bus of indestructibility charms and some sort of curse or hex that made the damn thing not only unresponsive and utterly unusable to anyone but yourself and your students, but also made us unable to decharm, move or even hide it, several unlawful uses of shrinking charms, bubble head charms, transfiguration, and at least one unregistered charm of your own making that allowed you to leave the planet entirely!” He slammed his hand down on the podium. “Do you have anything at all to say for yourself?!”
Mrs. Frizzle smiled politely. “Prime Minister,” she said calmly, “With all due respect, I have a question for you. Have you ever captured lightning in a bottle?”
“Have I- What?” Fudge spluttered, taken aback by her odd question.
“Have you ever captured lightening in a bottle?” She repeated, eyes flashing.
“Of course I haven’t, what sort of nonsense-” He began, but she threw up her hand and interrupted him.
“Muggles have. They’ve known how to use the same energy that comprises lightening to light their homes for over 100 years now. They can generate what amounts to lightening in a bottle with water, or the light and heat from the sun, or the wind. They can carry music in their pockets. They have been able, for nearly 30 years now, to leave the Earth and stand on the Moon.” Mrs. Frizzle straightened her dress. “I have, yes, been using my magic to help teach my students, but what I’ve been teaching them is science! It’s a shame that we don’t learn science as children the way muggles do. They know how the planets move! They know why the Earth turns! Muggles have a wealth of knowledge that rivals that of the centaurs, and we just,” She gestures around incredulously. “We just ignore it! Did you know they are able to not only capture movement, but also sound on film? It’s incredible!”
Fudge waved a hand to silence the incensed grumbling of the Wizengamot. “Mrs. Frizzle,” he hissed angrily. “It does not matter how many trinkets and non-magical work-arounds the muggles have made, regardless of how incredible you find them. Their ‘science’ is not on trial here, you are, for exposing muggles to magic!”
“Minister, you do know my students are all muggle borns,” Mrs. Frizzle said, perhaps a touch angrily, her usual enthusiasm for science replaced by an anger at tech marvels being referred to as ‘trinkets’.
“They’re not the only ones who have seen your…Magic Bus!” Fudge roared, slamming his fist on the podium and eliciting a dull rumble of approval from the Wizengamot. “Mrs. Frizzle, since you have failed to mount a defense, we will now take a vote. All in favor of conviction?”
A sea of hands shot into the air.
“All opposed?”
2 or 3 hands were placed waveringly in the air, then quickly fell.
“Mrs. Frizzle, you are found guilty of 232 counts of breaking the Statute of Secrecy. The wand you surrendered upon entering the Ministry will be kept, and you are fined in the amount of 1,160 galleons. If you cannot pay this fine, you will be given a job on low level staff or doing community service until such time as the debt is paid. Good day.” Fudge closed her file and handed it the the Junior Undersecretary, who ferried it back to the Hall of Records.
Mrs. Frizzle stomped out, angry but not ready to give up. Luckily for her, they hadn’t taken her backup wand. She had classes tomorrow, after all, and they couldn’t very well explore the world of pollen without a proper shrinking charm. She made a mental note to stop by her cousin Xenophillius’ house to pick up her backup to her backup. She loved his house. Shaped like a chess peice, can you imagine?
This is why the Wizarding World of Harry Potter is just so…..dumb.
I think you’re all forgetting the obvious… Mary Poppins.
“Back again, Mary?” Dumbledore twinkled at the woman in the
felt hat standing ramrod straight in front of the chair in the pit. She’d
always been one of his favourite students.
FantasyBoudicca 