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I have no excuse
Jan. 8th, 2010 02:40 pm“Balloons.”
Hogwarts bobbled slightly in the afternoon breeze, as it hung from a gigantic pack of balloons; Remus unconsciously straightened his prefect’s badge, as he looked out the window of the castle at the terrain that was sailing by, far below. A bird flew past; he shuddered, as dire calculations involving House points and his probable academic future ran through his mind.
“Millions of them,” said Sirius; even the icepack he was holding to his head did nothing to dampen his spirits. “Millions and... oh, sod the arithmancy; lots of them. Brilliant spellcasting, if I do say so myself- would you expect anything less, for our Quidditch victory celebrations?”
“Well, at least you made them all red and gold,” sighed Remus, as he mentally began composing a plea for abject forgiveness to his parents, the entire Board of Governors, and perhaps the ghost of Godric Gryffindor himself. “Although that *may* make blaming this all on Slytherin a bit dicey...”
“Slytherin? Pah- they haven’t the imagination,” sneered Sirius. “Besides, Dumbledore’s busy teaching the first years how to ride on clouds; McGoogles is helping him, in between casting hangover charms on herself.”
“Oh, good,” murmured Remus. “Just so the invisibility spells on the castle hold up...”
“Yup- even Snivellus got in on it, although he pretends he just wants to be alone. Drifting off somewhere as we speak.”
Remus nodded. “Those look like the Alps below us- at least he should get a nice crosswind,” he said. “Err- have you seen James? Last I saw, he was going on about being Thor, God of Thunder...”
“More like God of Chunder,” grinned Sirius. “Seems stags don’t do well with mixing pumpkin juice and tequila.”
Remus’s face contorted as though he were attempting to swallow a roll of carpet. “Tequila...?”
“Yup,” grinned Sirius. “At this rate, we may not see him until the train, next September.”
Hogwarts bobbled slightly in the afternoon breeze, as it hung from a gigantic pack of balloons; Remus unconsciously straightened his prefect’s badge, as he looked out the window of the castle at the terrain that was sailing by, far below. A bird flew past; he shuddered, as dire calculations involving House points and his probable academic future ran through his mind.
“Millions of them,” said Sirius; even the icepack he was holding to his head did nothing to dampen his spirits. “Millions and... oh, sod the arithmancy; lots of them. Brilliant spellcasting, if I do say so myself- would you expect anything less, for our Quidditch victory celebrations?”
“Well, at least you made them all red and gold,” sighed Remus, as he mentally began composing a plea for abject forgiveness to his parents, the entire Board of Governors, and perhaps the ghost of Godric Gryffindor himself. “Although that *may* make blaming this all on Slytherin a bit dicey...”
“Slytherin? Pah- they haven’t the imagination,” sneered Sirius. “Besides, Dumbledore’s busy teaching the first years how to ride on clouds; McGoogles is helping him, in between casting hangover charms on herself.”
“Oh, good,” murmured Remus. “Just so the invisibility spells on the castle hold up...”
“Yup- even Snivellus got in on it, although he pretends he just wants to be alone. Drifting off somewhere as we speak.”
Remus nodded. “Those look like the Alps below us- at least he should get a nice crosswind,” he said. “Err- have you seen James? Last I saw, he was going on about being Thor, God of Thunder...”
“More like God of Chunder,” grinned Sirius. “Seems stags don’t do well with mixing pumpkin juice and tequila.”
Remus’s face contorted as though he were attempting to swallow a roll of carpet. “Tequila...?”
“Yup,” grinned Sirius. “At this rate, we may not see him until the train, next September.”
