fandomhigh | DADA for Muggles [Wednesday, September 9, 5th period]

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom today resembled a farmers' market. Under the enchanted sky (today a clear blue), there were bins of various objects: cabbages, sticks, potatoes, and logs.

"Good afternoon, class," Remus said as they entered, the desks shoved to the sides of the classroom. "Today we tackle the problem of camouflaged enemies. Since this is only the second week of class, we're starting you out small. Each of these bins contains both perfectly innocuous objects, and creatures that resemble them. None of them is particularly dangerous -- however, you are all welcome to a pair of gloves, should you feel the need."

He paused, and continued, "While these animals are all from our world, specifically, it is hardly uncommon for creatures, both dark and light, to conceal themselves by masquerading as something else. For instance, most jungle-dwelling large cats have patterns that resemble shadows from their natural environment, so as to blend in all the better and stalk their prey."

"Some modifications can serve defensive purposes," Sirius added. "And some--like a Whomping Willow--" his eyes twinkled at Remus, "--are just ornery." Sirius nodded and gestured at the bins. "In today's exercise, you're looking to differentiate dugbogs from logs, bowtruckles from sticks, gnomes from potatoes and Chinese Chomping Cabbages from, erm, cabbages." He began passing around sheets of parchment breaking down the differences between the various objects.

"And as a final note, next week we will be covering boggarts, which take the form of your greatest fear," Remus added. "If you'd like to be excused from class in advance, do please see Professor Black or myself during our office hours."

[OOC: Preplayed with

lycanthromoony, the excessive OCD is up! Have at it!]

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"Didn't think that applied to the gloves, though," she remarked, smirking and going back to her search.

"Do think I see something moving." Unless that was just him poking at things.

Right, Priestly was a genius, he was. . . .

"Ooo, where? I'll grab it."

Effy pointed, through a gap in the pile. "In there."

She probably could've reached to try and grab it herself, but he seemed to want to be the one getting his fingers scratched, and she was hardly going to stop him.

It was more that he was the one wearing gloves, and some small notion of chivalry, really. Priestly reached for the twitching twiggy thing, grabbed at it, and made sure to hold it well away from his eyes.

Twitchy twiggy thing did not seem all that impressed by being manhandled, from what Effy could tell.

"Don't think I'd want one as a pet," she remarked.

"I think my flying squirrel would try to gnaw on it," Priestly agreed. ". . . What do we do now that we caught it?"

"Not a fucking clue," Effy admitted, wrinkling her nose.

"... You own a flying squirrel?" Weird pet.

Priestly nodded. "His name is Ramone. I was gonna get a cat, but Ramone kinda picked me."

Effy looked him over once more, a little more appraisingly, and quirked an amused smile. "Music fan?" she guessed.

Priestly grinned. "Hell yeah."

"Dunno how I could tell." Couldn't be the naming of his squirrel after a punk rock band, could it?

"Not enough of that here," she said, shaking her head. "Zombies do not count."

"There used to be a music club, but the guy who ran it graduated."

The bowtruckle swung its claws in the general direction of Priestly's face.

"Okay, seriously, I'm gonna put this sucker down, now."

Effy wasn't really the 'go to an after school music club' sort, wrinkled her nose, and leaned back away from the thing automatically. "Might be wise."

"Think all we had to do was ID anyway."

Priestly went to put the thing down, only to discover it was clinging to his oven mitt.

Which lead to some minor flailing as he tried to get it off.

"Let go let go let go let go!"

Effy winced and poked at it with her own gloves, because that wouldn't irritate the thing even more than it already was, or anything...

Maybe it'd help make it fall off, though.

The flailing just made the thing hold on tighter. Which meant claws making their way through the oven mitt. "Owowowowow let go let go --"

The further poking from Effy convinced the thing that perhaps it would be better off elsewhere. It swiped at Priestly one last time, then fell off his mitt back into the bin.

"Ow," said Priestly, pulling his mitted, scratched hand towards his chest. "Little fucker."

"... You alright?" Effy dropped her gloves by the bin. So not touching those scratchy little things again.

"Assuming I don't get cat scratch fever. . . ." Priestly tugged off the mitt and looked at the small, raised red marks across his skin. "I think I'll be fine."

"I don't think there's much chance of that." Given, you know, magical stick creatures, not cats. "Just stick a plaster on, or something."

Priestly frowned. "Why would I want to put plaster on it?"

It took a second, and Effy shook her head. "A band-aid?" Oh, the trials of being British.

"See, now that makes more sense. Not like my hand is broken or anything."

Ah, the joys of being a clueless California boy.

"I didn't think it was," Effy assured him with a slight roll of her eyes. "You'd have to be really weirdly delicate." Because, come on, it was a twig. With eyes, but still essentially a twig.

"Hey, for all I know, where you come from guys are weirdly delicate."

"Not quite." Well, some of them might be, just not the ones Effy tended to associate with.

"But we do call Band-Aid's plasters." Educating him for future British encounters! Wasn't she helpful?

Re: Bin #2: Bowtruckles and Sticks

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pastmewrong.livejournal.com - 2009-09-09 22:23 (UTC) - Expand

lovemykilt - 2009-09-09 23:43 (UTC) - Expand

pastmewrong.livejournal.com - 2009-09-10 01:07 (UTC) - Expand

lovemykilt - 2009-09-10 01:13 (UTC) - Expand