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Episky · 08-21-2014, 08:43 PM

More!

Also, I would love to hear what people think, if they are enjoying it, ect. Thanks!

“I just don’t get it, Neville! Put you in a war, and you’ll practically fight the Dark Arts off yourself…but put you in front of a lady…” Dean practically choked out before bursting into hysterics as Neville’s cheeks burned bright red from the awkward encounter he had just had with the bar maiden.

They had passed the day’s test in two hours, Neville having discovered several peculiar looking cats in the downstairs cellar of the house about forty minutes in. In a careful effort to remain detached to the presence of the cats, he sent a patronus to the upper levels of the house, requesting the assistance of his fellow Aurors. Only Terry had gotten down in time to help before the half-a-dozen cats turned back into their human forms to take Neville out. One hour and twenty minutes, seven injuries, and six disarmed and bound ‘Death Eaters’ later…the five boys returned back to the hall they had been briefed in and escorted to the Auror clinic for remedies. Immediately following was their review, presented by Williamson, and a five hour training session in what the boys endearingly referred to as the “Bludger Ring”. The training takes place in a circular dome in which the Auror-in-training is faced with obstacles similar to that of the maze in the most recent Triwizard Tournament. The exercise is aimed at challenging both physical and mental strength, leaving one feeling as if they have just endured the repetitive blow of a bludger for the entirety of the exercise…hence it’s charming nickname.
Finally, they were released to finish the day at their leisure, which for them meant drinks at Devil’s Snare, the local pub.

Ron tried his best to laugh and joke along with the others, to cast away his disappointment in himself, to forget the image that had scarred itself into his memory.
Why had he been so quick to believe that a Ministry-approved test would allow the deliberate danger of another? It was careless of him, completely witless. It was her. It would always be her, and if he couldn’t cast her out of his mind he would have to turn to more extreme measures. The kind that he could barely even consider.
“Whoa, mate. It’s not a race,” Harry slapped him on the back. Ron realized he had drank the entirety of his pint and about half of Terry’s. They were all staring at him now, mostly amused save for Harry, who looked concerned and Terry, who seemed slightly annoyed.
“Sorry, mate. Got a bit- er- distracted. I’ll grab you another.”

He managed, with great effort, to carry on the rest of the night more presently in the frivolities of the evening. He even went so far as to buy a round of firewhiskey. This proved to be just enough liquid courage for Neville, who returned twenty minutes later from a long exchange at the bar, beaming and red-faced, with a bit of parchment pertaining to how he might contact the bar maiden for a date. The moment was short-lived, however, as he almost immediately lost it on their trek back to their dorms. It put everyone nearly in stitches over it, and even Neville had a good laugh as he remarked on how “useful” his remembrall was in such cases. The night had become easier, and whether it was the company he had finally decided to embrace or the alcohol, he was grateful.

When the hysterics had died down and the realization that they’d all be called back to round two of their final tests in less than six hours had surfaced, they all sauntered off to their dorms to get much needed rest. Ron heard a mumble of sorts from a highly inebriated Harry as he hit the pillows, and that was the last he remembered of the night before he welcomed the heaviest sleep he had had in months.
“Ron! RON!”
He snapped awake as his stomach dropped, the all-too familiar feeling he had a few dozen times in school. He was late. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that Harry was the source of the wake up call, and seemed equally as flustered. They scrambled frantically around the room, collecting articles of clothing and rather ungracefully attempting to put them on without pause, Ron muttering obscenities under his breath. If he missed breakfast before training, he was half certain he wouldn’t make it through the day. It made him think of his time spent as a refugee with Harry and Hermione, on the brink of starvation (by his standards) for weeks at a time. He shuddered at the idea, and picked up his speed. By now he was halfway across the campus, Harry following just behind. The sunrise was just about over, which had to mean it was what, 6:45? That gave them fifteen minutes before their meeting with Robards. Plenty of time to eat a full breakfast, in Ron’s opinion. He could smell the bacon by now and his mouth began to water. He hoped there’d be poached eggs and biscuits and—
“—OH!”
He had turned the corner to their dining hall and slammed right into someone. A very small someone. A very small, hairy someone. He grabbed his victim’s shoulders to keep him (or her) upright and regained his own balance. “Sorry! I’m just running a bit—“
“Late? I’m absolutely shocked.”
He froze. There was no way Hermione Granger was standing in front of him at Scrimgeour Academy, and yet no matter how many times he blinked she was still there, grinning in amusement.

08-21-2014, 08:43 PM	#3 (permalink)
Episky Flobberworm Join Date: Aug 2014 Location: Edinburgh, Scotland Posts: 13	More! Also, I would love to hear what people think, if they are enjoying it, ect. Thanks! “I just don’t get it, Neville! Put you in a war, and you’ll practically fight the Dark Arts off yourself…but put you in front of a lady…” Dean practically choked out before bursting into hysterics as Neville’s cheeks burned bright red from the awkward encounter he had just had with the bar maiden. They had passed the day’s test in two hours, Neville having discovered several peculiar looking cats in the downstairs cellar of the house about forty minutes in. In a careful effort to remain detached to the presence of the cats, he sent a patronus to the upper levels of the house, requesting the assistance of his fellow Aurors. Only Terry had gotten down in time to help before the half-a-dozen cats turned back into their human forms to take Neville out. One hour and twenty minutes, seven injuries, and six disarmed and bound ‘Death Eaters’ later…the five boys returned back to the hall they had been briefed in and escorted to the Auror clinic for remedies. Immediately following was their review, presented by Williamson, and a five hour training session in what the boys endearingly referred to as the “Bludger Ring”. The training takes place in a circular dome in which the Auror-in-training is faced with obstacles similar to that of the maze in the most recent Triwizard Tournament. The exercise is aimed at challenging both physical and mental strength, leaving one feeling as if they have just endured the repetitive blow of a bludger for the entirety of the exercise…hence it’s charming nickname. Finally, they were released to finish the day at their leisure, which for them meant drinks at Devil’s Snare, the local pub. Ron tried his best to laugh and joke along with the others, to cast away his disappointment in himself, to forget the image that had scarred itself into his memory. Why had he been so quick to believe that a Ministry-approved test would allow the deliberate danger of another? It was careless of him, completely witless. It was her. It would always be her, and if he couldn’t cast her out of his mind he would have to turn to more extreme measures. The kind that he could barely even consider. “Whoa, mate. It’s not a race,” Harry slapped him on the back. Ron realized he had drank the entirety of his pint and about half of Terry’s. They were all staring at him now, mostly amused save for Harry, who looked concerned and Terry, who seemed slightly annoyed. “Sorry, mate. Got a bit- er- distracted. I’ll grab you another.” He managed, with great effort, to carry on the rest of the night more presently in the frivolities of the evening. He even went so far as to buy a round of firewhiskey. This proved to be just enough liquid courage for Neville, who returned twenty minutes later from a long exchange at the bar, beaming and red-faced, with a bit of parchment pertaining to how he might contact the bar maiden for a date. The moment was short-lived, however, as he almost immediately lost it on their trek back to their dorms. It put everyone nearly in stitches over it, and even Neville had a good laugh as he remarked on how “useful” his remembrall was in such cases. The night had become easier, and whether it was the company he had finally decided to embrace or the alcohol, he was grateful. When the hysterics had died down and the realization that they’d all be called back to round two of their final tests in less than six hours had surfaced, they all sauntered off to their dorms to get much needed rest. Ron heard a mumble of sorts from a highly inebriated Harry as he hit the pillows, and that was the last he remembered of the night before he welcomed the heaviest sleep he had had in months. “Ron! RON!” He snapped awake as his stomach dropped, the all-too familiar feeling he had a few dozen times in school. He was late. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that Harry was the source of the wake up call, and seemed equally as flustered. They scrambled frantically around the room, collecting articles of clothing and rather ungracefully attempting to put them on without pause, Ron muttering obscenities under his breath. If he missed breakfast before training, he was half certain he wouldn’t make it through the day. It made him think of his time spent as a refugee with Harry and Hermione, on the brink of starvation (by his standards) for weeks at a time. He shuddered at the idea, and picked up his speed. By now he was halfway across the campus, Harry following just behind. The sunrise was just about over, which had to mean it was what, 6:45? That gave them fifteen minutes before their meeting with Robards. Plenty of time to eat a full breakfast, in Ron’s opinion. He could smell the bacon by now and his mouth began to water. He hoped there’d be poached eggs and biscuits and— “—OH!” He had turned the corner to their dining hall and slammed right into someone. A very small someone. A very small, hairy someone. He grabbed his victim’s shoulders to keep him (or her) upright and regained his own balance. “Sorry! I’m just running a bit—“ “Late? I’m absolutely shocked.” He froze. There was no way Hermione Granger was standing in front of him at Scrimgeour Academy, and yet no matter how many times he blinked she was still there, grinning in amusement.