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Perry Hotter And The Reclusive Raventoe
Posted: by Speider Schneider in Labels: harry potter and the deathly hallows
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The draft for book eight in the magical series...
Chapter three
No one noticed him. He sat in the back row of classes. He sat, as he did now, at an empty table in the dining hall, his back to all others, picking at his toad gruel with raven infused sausages, contemplating how much he hated pumpkin juice and craved a cold mudgle, chocolate Yoo-Hoo.
What perhaps helped him stay out of the sight and minds of others was merely being part of the Raventoe house. No Raventoe had ever made anything out of themselves. They were the C-D+ students at Hogguts. Head Wizard's Room attendant was about as high a position any Raventoe could dream of. They were the "short boat" kids of the school. His uncle at least had his own wizard rock band but with songs limited to such hits as "Troll, troll, troll, ya gotta rock and roll, roll, roll," "Sometimes I know why the hypogriff cries," "He's a wanker little elf who plays with himself" and the always snappy, "He who can not be named, all the hot witches want your love to be tamed," he could never hope to break the magical barrier and play in the mudgle world. Between his job of loading luggage at the wizarding airport and playing for tips at the Leaky Cauldron every second Saturday, the huge and successful gig at the Malfoy barmitzvah and the Tri-Wizard Ball, he managed to squeak by and still pay for Dish TV so he wouldn't go insane with the boring shows on Wizard Cable.
"Dragonfire McKillya!" rang out across the hall. His head snapped around to see who was calling him. As he had feared, the familiar bellow was Dumbledork. He collected his books and crumbled what was left of his snozzelberry bat liver chocolate bar, kicking it under the table for a kitchen goblin to deal with. Slowly, with his head hung and eyes on the ground, he made his way to the front of the room.
He passed the first years getting sorted. "HUFFLEPOOF!" announced the sorting cap and low giggles were heard from the students because if you were placed in Hufflepoof, you were most likely a bed-wetter, a "sissy-wand flicker," or a "weighty girl."
The trauma of the memory of his own sorting gave him a low feeling in the pit of his stomach. The sorting cap had been grunting for four minutes, as if it had been thinking. The hot mass that then appeared assured Dragonfire a place in history as the only student the sorting cap ever shat upon. A "Steamer that should not be named."
He overheard some Griffinsnores whispering about him but he couldn't make out what was said. He figured it was the old stand-by twisting of his name; "Fartfire Willkillya" was a favorite this year. "Well," he thought to himself as he walked, "it's better than last years "Draggin' balls Grossanussmell-yuckhateyou."
He glanced sideways to see the object of all his hatred, jealousy and some odd feelings he didn't understand but private talks in Dumbledork's office was helping him clear that all up. There he was -- Perry Hotter. As usual, Hotter was laughing and surrounded by friends. He was popular, Dragonfire was not. Perry was a star Quizno player and Dragonfire could barely stay seated on the loo. Perry had many female admirers who cooed when he passed and allowed him to use the petrifico totalis spell on his tallywacker when it was time to play, "hide the wand" or "curse hole."
"YOUR PARENTS WERE MURDERED, MATE!" screamed Dragonfire in the general direction of Perry, who was apparently startled but not upset as he had learned that no one ever really dies in the wizarding world. He had seen his parents several times and was actually dreading further visits as they tended to baby him and he thought it got in the way of his snogging time. It sounded more sympathetic than a daft insult.
As he passed the Slytherworm tables, he turned his face slightly away so not to garner any attention. The Slytherworm students were masters at sarcasm and passive/aggressive statements. You felt demoralized and wanted to hit them. But for each fist fight, Raventoe would lose 50 points.
The Slytherworms knew this and used it to their advantage. Had Dragonfire the brain power of the simplest moron, he would have punched a Slytherworm or two as Raventoe was at a permanent point deficit since the week after being founded by Rowanda "Crazy Mumbling Cat Lady" Raventoe and it was at an all time high of minus 14,650 points. What could another negative fifty or one hundred matter?
What he feared the most out of the Slytherworms was that every student in that house was a chronic masturbator. Even Moaning Marion, who died while still a virgin and many years later had the urges of a ghost woman was frightened away by the post-breakfast rush to the Slytherworm bathrooms for a quick "wand polishing" before potions class.
He rushed past even faster, looking up only to see Professor Rape blowing a kiss his way. He shuddered at the memory of catching Rape in a compromising position with an owl, six Barney Butts beans, three copies of The Daily Sorcerer, two chocolate frogs dressed in submissive leathers and an open bowl of seven pounds of pumpkin butter.
Finally, he made it up to Dumbledork, who also lightly blew a kiss to Dragonfire. Of course, he admitted long ago that he craved the attention from the staff. Yet another public slip that doomed Dragonfire to constant teases and magical curses.
"I have some bad, bad news for you my girl," said Dumbledork.
"Boy, sir," replied Dragonfire.
"Whatever!" Dumbledork yelled and mumbled under his breath, "Hufflepoofs!" as he shook his head.
"Raventoe, sir,"replied Dragonfire softly.
"I have a...special assignment for you," Dumbledork said with a widening grin and a tightening grip on Dragonfire's shoulder which he jerked violently for Dragonfire's impudence a moment before.
"Removo barfus!" was the last thing Dragonfire remembered hearing from Dumbledork after he got terribly sick on the headmaster's robes and slippers and passed out.
Unpublished
Chapter three
No one noticed him. He sat in the back row of classes. He sat, as he did now, at an empty table in the dining hall, his back to all others, picking at his toad gruel with raven infused sausages, contemplating how much he hated pumpkin juice and craved a cold mudgle, chocolate Yoo-Hoo.
What perhaps helped him stay out of the sight and minds of others was merely being part of the Raventoe house. No Raventoe had ever made anything out of themselves. They were the C-D+ students at Hogguts. Head Wizard's Room attendant was about as high a position any Raventoe could dream of. They were the "short boat" kids of the school. His uncle at least had his own wizard rock band but with songs limited to such hits as "Troll, troll, troll, ya gotta rock and roll, roll, roll," "Sometimes I know why the hypogriff cries," "He's a wanker little elf who plays with himself" and the always snappy, "He who can not be named, all the hot witches want your love to be tamed," he could never hope to break the magical barrier and play in the mudgle world. Between his job of loading luggage at the wizarding airport and playing for tips at the Leaky Cauldron every second Saturday, the huge and successful gig at the Malfoy barmitzvah and the Tri-Wizard Ball, he managed to squeak by and still pay for Dish TV so he wouldn't go insane with the boring shows on Wizard Cable.
"Dragonfire McKillya!" rang out across the hall. His head snapped around to see who was calling him. As he had feared, the familiar bellow was Dumbledork. He collected his books and crumbled what was left of his snozzelberry bat liver chocolate bar, kicking it under the table for a kitchen goblin to deal with. Slowly, with his head hung and eyes on the ground, he made his way to the front of the room.
He passed the first years getting sorted. "HUFFLEPOOF!" announced the sorting cap and low giggles were heard from the students because if you were placed in Hufflepoof, you were most likely a bed-wetter, a "sissy-wand flicker," or a "weighty girl."
The trauma of the memory of his own sorting gave him a low feeling in the pit of his stomach. The sorting cap had been grunting for four minutes, as if it had been thinking. The hot mass that then appeared assured Dragonfire a place in history as the only student the sorting cap ever shat upon. A "Steamer that should not be named."
He overheard some Griffinsnores whispering about him but he couldn't make out what was said. He figured it was the old stand-by twisting of his name; "Fartfire Willkillya" was a favorite this year. "Well," he thought to himself as he walked, "it's better than last years "Draggin' balls Grossanussmell-yuckhateyou."
He glanced sideways to see the object of all his hatred, jealousy and some odd feelings he didn't understand but private talks in Dumbledork's office was helping him clear that all up. There he was -- Perry Hotter. As usual, Hotter was laughing and surrounded by friends. He was popular, Dragonfire was not. Perry was a star Quizno player and Dragonfire could barely stay seated on the loo. Perry had many female admirers who cooed when he passed and allowed him to use the petrifico totalis spell on his tallywacker when it was time to play, "hide the wand" or "curse hole."
"YOUR PARENTS WERE MURDERED, MATE!" screamed Dragonfire in the general direction of Perry, who was apparently startled but not upset as he had learned that no one ever really dies in the wizarding world. He had seen his parents several times and was actually dreading further visits as they tended to baby him and he thought it got in the way of his snogging time. It sounded more sympathetic than a daft insult.
As he passed the Slytherworm tables, he turned his face slightly away so not to garner any attention. The Slytherworm students were masters at sarcasm and passive/aggressive statements. You felt demoralized and wanted to hit them. But for each fist fight, Raventoe would lose 50 points.
The Slytherworms knew this and used it to their advantage. Had Dragonfire the brain power of the simplest moron, he would have punched a Slytherworm or two as Raventoe was at a permanent point deficit since the week after being founded by Rowanda "Crazy Mumbling Cat Lady" Raventoe and it was at an all time high of minus 14,650 points. What could another negative fifty or one hundred matter?
What he feared the most out of the Slytherworms was that every student in that house was a chronic masturbator. Even Moaning Marion, who died while still a virgin and many years later had the urges of a ghost woman was frightened away by the post-breakfast rush to the Slytherworm bathrooms for a quick "wand polishing" before potions class.
He rushed past even faster, looking up only to see Professor Rape blowing a kiss his way. He shuddered at the memory of catching Rape in a compromising position with an owl, six Barney Butts beans, three copies of The Daily Sorcerer, two chocolate frogs dressed in submissive leathers and an open bowl of seven pounds of pumpkin butter.
Finally, he made it up to Dumbledork, who also lightly blew a kiss to Dragonfire. Of course, he admitted long ago that he craved the attention from the staff. Yet another public slip that doomed Dragonfire to constant teases and magical curses.
"I have some bad, bad news for you my girl," said Dumbledork.
"Boy, sir," replied Dragonfire.
"Whatever!" Dumbledork yelled and mumbled under his breath, "Hufflepoofs!" as he shook his head.
"Raventoe, sir,"replied Dragonfire softly.
"I have a...special assignment for you," Dumbledork said with a widening grin and a tightening grip on Dragonfire's shoulder which he jerked violently for Dragonfire's impudence a moment before.
"Removo barfus!" was the last thing Dragonfire remembered hearing from Dumbledork after he got terribly sick on the headmaster's robes and slippers and passed out.
Unpublished
