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greenstickered2012-02-16 12:04 am
camalyng) wrote in greenstickered2012-02-16 12:04 am
Entry tags:
Harry Potter: Through the Looking Glass
Title: Through the Looking Glass
What: Harry Potter fanfiction - one-shot
Rating: G
Words: 906
Summary: Originally written for a![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hogwarts_elite Hogsmeade Weekend challenge in April 2006: Write a fiction piece (500 words minimum) that describes the experiences of a Hogwarts student when they received their letter of acceptance to Hogwarts. Your piece should include the method of delivery of the letter (i.e. where they were, how they received it, etc.) as well as the chosen character's reaction and any reaction from family or friends. You may use any character except for Harry. Hermione waits for the mail and steps through the looking glass, and I manage to spout off about Wellington College.
Sample: This is wrong, horribly wrong: This is the twentieth century...
There are approximately thirty acres of land at Wellington College, New Zealand, and I will probably never see a single leaf of it. Some of its land, the playing fields, was turned into a small farm in World War II, with the produce going to Wellington College, Berkshire. I imagine the boys were not overly pleased to lose their rugby field.
There are four hundred acres of land at Wellington College, Berkshire, and I am going to walk them all. Wellington College, Berkshire, is converting to co-education, so I am going to be one of the first girls to walk those one hundred and sixty-two hectares in College uniform.
I have sat the exams (maths was easy, general was easier, English was easier again) and passed in the top five percent of girls and boys sitting them. I have had an interview with the headmaster (he was very nice and said he liked me a lot).
I have been sitting by the letterbox all summer, waiting for the letter from Wellington College confirming whether or not I have been awarded one of the eight academic scholarships. Mummy and Daddy cannot afford the fees, not even the seventy-something percent subsidized by the scholarship, and they say they will have to push for at least fifty percent of the fees to be paid by the school.
If I get the academic scholarship.
If that letter comes.
If not, I will probably continue with my scholarship at Haberdashers’ Monmouth School for Girls, where tuition for a year costs about a term’s tuition and boarding at Wellington College. The fees are still a stretch, though, especially considering Daddy is setting up his own dentistry, and he has to pay for the lease on St. James Street.
Monmouth is a good school, really it is. Never mind that the boarding girls laugh at my second-hand uniform, the day girls despise me simply on account of my parents being dentists (just because they are going to need braces...), and my grades, higher than anyone else’s, have gotten me the label of teacher’s pet. I learn a lot, and the work is interesting, and that is all that matters.
I hope I get into Wellington College. It would be a fresh start - new teachers, new classmates, new grounds. It would be a nice change from Trefynwy too, we do not go abroad much, and holidays, if anything, are to Abertawe. With boys constantly present and outnumbering the girls by far, hopefully I would not get like the silly fifth and sixth formers, giggling hysterically and tossing their hair every time a boy walks by. Being boy-crazy would be so distracting from my A-levels.
This anticipation is distracting me from my book. This is the third time I am reading Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There, and this is the third time I have read this page. ‘But the black kitten had been finished with earlier in the afternoon...’
“Hello, Miss Hermione, what are we reading today?”
I look up, and smile at our postman. “Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There. I finished Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland yesterday.”
He rifles through his postbag, and comes up with three letters. “Before you ask: Two for your parents, love, and one for a Miss H. Granger.”
I have to stare, uncomprehending, at him for a second before he gently pushes the letter in my hand. Looking down, I make out the address in swirling, emerald ink: Miss H. Granger, 22 Tilson Road, Monmouth, Gwent. Something about the very ink it is written in strikes me as horribly wrong.
“Yea, love, I don’t think it’s your Wellington letter,” he says, almost apologetic. “Crest has got an H on it though, did you apply to Highgate, p’raps?”
I shake my head. “I only applied to Wellington College.”
“Can’t think of any other schools starting with H going co-ed, meself.” He shrugs. “Good luck, either way. I’d best be going, love, tell me how it goes.”
“Thanks, Mr. McDavitt,” I remember to say, glancing up from the (unusually heavy for a school letter) envelope.
“James, love, call me James.” With that, he is away, off to 24 Tilson Road.
I flip over the envelope, and take note of the coat of arms on the seal (a badger, a lion, a serpent, and an eagle surrounding an H) before picking at it. The letter is written in the same emerald ink on the same parchment. This is wrong, horribly wrong: This is the twentieth century, any school would be using paper for their letters, not parchment, and the ink is obviously handicraft, not typewritten. This is not right.
I am Alice, and I have just stepped through the looking-glass. This Looking-glass world is just as warm as the old world, but full of uncertainty and questions. I suppose it is not to be a world of maths and English, but one of magic and mystery.
What: Harry Potter fanfiction - one-shot
Rating: G
Words: 906
Summary: Originally written for a
hogwarts_elite Hogsmeade Weekend challenge in April 2006: Write a fiction piece (500 words minimum) that describes the experiences of a Hogwarts student when they received their letter of acceptance to Hogwarts. Your piece should include the method of delivery of the letter (i.e. where they were, how they received it, etc.) as well as the chosen character's reaction and any reaction from family or friends. You may use any character except for Harry. Hermione waits for the mail and steps through the looking glass, and I manage to spout off about Wellington College.Sample: This is wrong, horribly wrong: This is the twentieth century...
There are approximately thirty acres of land at Wellington College, New Zealand, and I will probably never see a single leaf of it. Some of its land, the playing fields, was turned into a small farm in World War II, with the produce going to Wellington College, Berkshire. I imagine the boys were not overly pleased to lose their rugby field.
There are four hundred acres of land at Wellington College, Berkshire, and I am going to walk them all. Wellington College, Berkshire, is converting to co-education, so I am going to be one of the first girls to walk those one hundred and sixty-two hectares in College uniform.
I have sat the exams (maths was easy, general was easier, English was easier again) and passed in the top five percent of girls and boys sitting them. I have had an interview with the headmaster (he was very nice and said he liked me a lot).
I have been sitting by the letterbox all summer, waiting for the letter from Wellington College confirming whether or not I have been awarded one of the eight academic scholarships. Mummy and Daddy cannot afford the fees, not even the seventy-something percent subsidized by the scholarship, and they say they will have to push for at least fifty percent of the fees to be paid by the school.
If I get the academic scholarship.
If that letter comes.
If not, I will probably continue with my scholarship at Haberdashers’ Monmouth School for Girls, where tuition for a year costs about a term’s tuition and boarding at Wellington College. The fees are still a stretch, though, especially considering Daddy is setting up his own dentistry, and he has to pay for the lease on St. James Street.
Monmouth is a good school, really it is. Never mind that the boarding girls laugh at my second-hand uniform, the day girls despise me simply on account of my parents being dentists (just because they are going to need braces...), and my grades, higher than anyone else’s, have gotten me the label of teacher’s pet. I learn a lot, and the work is interesting, and that is all that matters.
I hope I get into Wellington College. It would be a fresh start - new teachers, new classmates, new grounds. It would be a nice change from Trefynwy too, we do not go abroad much, and holidays, if anything, are to Abertawe. With boys constantly present and outnumbering the girls by far, hopefully I would not get like the silly fifth and sixth formers, giggling hysterically and tossing their hair every time a boy walks by. Being boy-crazy would be so distracting from my A-levels.
This anticipation is distracting me from my book. This is the third time I am reading Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There, and this is the third time I have read this page. ‘But the black kitten had been finished with earlier in the afternoon...’
“Hello, Miss Hermione, what are we reading today?”
I look up, and smile at our postman. “Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There. I finished Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland yesterday.”
He rifles through his postbag, and comes up with three letters. “Before you ask: Two for your parents, love, and one for a Miss H. Granger.”
I have to stare, uncomprehending, at him for a second before he gently pushes the letter in my hand. Looking down, I make out the address in swirling, emerald ink: Miss H. Granger, 22 Tilson Road, Monmouth, Gwent. Something about the very ink it is written in strikes me as horribly wrong.
“Yea, love, I don’t think it’s your Wellington letter,” he says, almost apologetic. “Crest has got an H on it though, did you apply to Highgate, p’raps?”
I shake my head. “I only applied to Wellington College.”
“Can’t think of any other schools starting with H going co-ed, meself.” He shrugs. “Good luck, either way. I’d best be going, love, tell me how it goes.”
“Thanks, Mr. McDavitt,” I remember to say, glancing up from the (unusually heavy for a school letter) envelope.
“James, love, call me James.” With that, he is away, off to 24 Tilson Road.
I flip over the envelope, and take note of the coat of arms on the seal (a badger, a lion, a serpent, and an eagle surrounding an H) before picking at it. The letter is written in the same emerald ink on the same parchment. This is wrong, horribly wrong: This is the twentieth century, any school would be using paper for their letters, not parchment, and the ink is obviously handicraft, not typewritten. This is not right.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
~
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Miss Granger,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress
I am Alice, and I have just stepped through the looking-glass. This Looking-glass world is just as warm as the old world, but full of uncertainty and questions. I suppose it is not to be a world of maths and English, but one of magic and mystery.