Christmas Gifts III - for nineveh_uk
Jan. 11th, 2007 12:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tree_and_leafNot so much a fic, as an exerpt from a very embryonic WIP. But I hope you like it nonetheless!
Fandom: Harry Potter, gen, post-canon.
Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and her publishers. The University of Oxford belongs only to itself. Oriel College has not had its boats vandlised - though Hertford did - and Theo Nott is not among its students.
Oxford was a strange place, even if you hadn’t spent your adolescence in the Wizarding world and the first years of your adulthood either fighting a war or mopping up the mess it had left behind, Hermione thought, but you got used to it eventually. Her work on mediaeval alchemy – a D.Phil. on the History of Science, for Muggle purposes – was progressing well, and the social side of college was surprisingly good fun when she had time for it. Running into Theo Nott, who for reasons best known to himself had buried himself in the study of Classical Philosophy, had been something of a shock, but though the mystery of his complete disengagement with the Wizarding world occasionally bothered her, he had been greatly improved by the years, and proved pleasant company.
There were less good sides to Oxford, though. The weather was usually horrible – yes, Ron, she assured her husband, even compared to the Highlands – and the traffic had been a real shock, after the Wizarding world. The noise, the smell, the bus drivers who made the Knight Bus look like a safe and comfortable mode of travel all appalled and wearied her. The Muggles all moaned about it too, so it couldn’t have been solely the result of a prolonged absence among the wizards, but nevertheless it was this, more than anything, which made her conscious that this world was no longer where she belonged. Then there were the herds of tourists – another perennial source of common room moaning, particularly the language school students, who seemed considerably more interested in sneaking fags and blocking the pavement than in improving their English. Hermione had taken to doing small, surreptitious wandless charms to move them out of the road – she had felt guilty about it at first, but really, what was one to do? Anyway, she was a firm believer in the theory that it was necessary for one’s health to use a bit of one’s magic now and again. She did sometimes wonder how Nott managed, but it wasn’t something she felt comfortable asking.
The worst, though, were undoubtedly the animal rights protesters, who were vehemently and violently opposed to the building of a new laboratory which would conduct experiments on apes. Hermione had been inclined to sympathize with them at first, although she also sympathized with the Muggle doctors, valiantly battling away without any magic to assist them in understanding so many diseases, but they had soon so annoyed her that the issue of whether or not brain surgery on monkeys was ethical had soon retreated to the back of her consciousness. The protesters were such an appalling nuisance. She didn’t mind the ones collecting signatures on Cornmarket – the memory of SPEW would have made it hypocrisy, anyway – and she could even just about stand the loudhailers, though it was unpleasant of them to heckle people going to their graduation. But the protests near the science campus, which meant that several labs which had nothing at all to do with animal testing had to be locked down, made things extremely difficult for the staff and students, unable to even get near their work for days at a time. And always, hanging over it, the threat of worse. Contractors arriving in unmarked vans. Vandalism. College property destroyed – the Hertford boathouse burnt down. The abusive letters, threatening grievous bodily harm and even death. Nobody quite believed that, but it was quite likely that sooner or later, someone would be badly hurt by the vandalism, if nothing else. And most unsettling of all, the grave-robbing incident. Who on earth thought of holding people’s dead children to ransom? (And, at the back of her mind, simple disgust mingled with all sorts of bad memories from the war of necromancy. But that was an irrelevance.)
One afternoon late in January, Hermione ran into Theo on the Turl. He was even paler than usual, and seemed to be nervous. No, she realised with a start, he was almost trembling with rage.
“Have you seen what those bastards have done?” he demanded, furiously.
“No – what – who?”
“Those animal rights swine! They got into our boathouse last night, and smashed up all the shells! And with Torpids coming up, too!”
Nott, unexpectedly, had taken up rowing, though only as cox, where his light build and Slytherin sense of tactics had proven invaluable, and he approached the upcoming inter-collegiate races with almost religious fervour. Hermione, not so privately, thought bumping races an even more inane and boring sport than Quidditch, but she couldn’t have been married to Ron, or friends with Harry and Ginny, without knowing the passion such things could arouse. And anyway, such vandalism was intolerable. She let him rant himself out, making noises of shock and disgust when he paused for breath, before saying cautiously “Are they sure it is them?”
“Oh, of course it is, who else would it be?” said Theo, irritably. “Besides, they smeared the walls all over with their foul slogans. Something about murderers, and not being able to dissociate ourselves from the actions of our friends. I don’t know why the police doesn’t bloody well do something. They could start by arresting those damned protestors.”
“You can’t go around arresting people for peaceful protest. There’s nothing to say it was the same people.”
“I bet they know them. They certainly admire them.”
“Can’t disassociate yourself from your friends, eh?” Hermione murmured drily. Nott had the grace to look slightly sheepish.
On the Sunday following, she dined in his college, Oriel, with him. It was a decent meal, although as always tending towards the ‘roast meat and two veg’ school of cuisine, and Theo’s friends, though quite mad, were pleasant and interesting company. “There’s cheese, fruit and cake in the MCR afterwards” Theo said at the end of the meal, “and would you care for some port, or whisky, or something?”
“Sure.”
“Good. I just need to stop off in the Lodge and check my post – see if that last student ever did get her work in, lazy little beast.” Hermione grinned to herself. Students were the same the world over – one of the reassuring continuities of her existence, despite all the changes.
Theo did have an envelope in his pidge, and pulled it out distastefully. “Not nearly thick enough – oh well, I might as well see how bad it is.” He tore into the envlope, and then stopped dead.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” But his voice shook, and his face was bloodless. “Oh, Hell.”
Hermione took the envelope and its contents from trembling fingers. It was a photo of what she assumed was the Oriel boathouse, the boats in ruins on its floor, walls disfigured with red paint. But that did not make her draw in her breath in shock and sudden fear.
What made her do that was the figures in the middle of the picture: hooded, masked and moving.
It was a wizard photo. And scrawled over it in jagged capitals: “Blood traitor scum – thought you could hide forever? Think again.”
“I need a drink” said Nott tonelessly.
“Theo, you need –” she lowered her voice “– an Auror.”
“Out of the question” he said bluntly, grabbed the photograph back, and crumpled it into his pocket. “I mean it, Granger. Absolutely out of the question.”
Fandom: Harry Potter, gen, post-canon.
Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and her publishers. The University of Oxford belongs only to itself. Oriel College has not had its boats vandlised - though Hertford did - and Theo Nott is not among its students.
Oxford was a strange place, even if you hadn’t spent your adolescence in the Wizarding world and the first years of your adulthood either fighting a war or mopping up the mess it had left behind, Hermione thought, but you got used to it eventually. Her work on mediaeval alchemy – a D.Phil. on the History of Science, for Muggle purposes – was progressing well, and the social side of college was surprisingly good fun when she had time for it. Running into Theo Nott, who for reasons best known to himself had buried himself in the study of Classical Philosophy, had been something of a shock, but though the mystery of his complete disengagement with the Wizarding world occasionally bothered her, he had been greatly improved by the years, and proved pleasant company.
There were less good sides to Oxford, though. The weather was usually horrible – yes, Ron, she assured her husband, even compared to the Highlands – and the traffic had been a real shock, after the Wizarding world. The noise, the smell, the bus drivers who made the Knight Bus look like a safe and comfortable mode of travel all appalled and wearied her. The Muggles all moaned about it too, so it couldn’t have been solely the result of a prolonged absence among the wizards, but nevertheless it was this, more than anything, which made her conscious that this world was no longer where she belonged. Then there were the herds of tourists – another perennial source of common room moaning, particularly the language school students, who seemed considerably more interested in sneaking fags and blocking the pavement than in improving their English. Hermione had taken to doing small, surreptitious wandless charms to move them out of the road – she had felt guilty about it at first, but really, what was one to do? Anyway, she was a firm believer in the theory that it was necessary for one’s health to use a bit of one’s magic now and again. She did sometimes wonder how Nott managed, but it wasn’t something she felt comfortable asking.
The worst, though, were undoubtedly the animal rights protesters, who were vehemently and violently opposed to the building of a new laboratory which would conduct experiments on apes. Hermione had been inclined to sympathize with them at first, although she also sympathized with the Muggle doctors, valiantly battling away without any magic to assist them in understanding so many diseases, but they had soon so annoyed her that the issue of whether or not brain surgery on monkeys was ethical had soon retreated to the back of her consciousness. The protesters were such an appalling nuisance. She didn’t mind the ones collecting signatures on Cornmarket – the memory of SPEW would have made it hypocrisy, anyway – and she could even just about stand the loudhailers, though it was unpleasant of them to heckle people going to their graduation. But the protests near the science campus, which meant that several labs which had nothing at all to do with animal testing had to be locked down, made things extremely difficult for the staff and students, unable to even get near their work for days at a time. And always, hanging over it, the threat of worse. Contractors arriving in unmarked vans. Vandalism. College property destroyed – the Hertford boathouse burnt down. The abusive letters, threatening grievous bodily harm and even death. Nobody quite believed that, but it was quite likely that sooner or later, someone would be badly hurt by the vandalism, if nothing else. And most unsettling of all, the grave-robbing incident. Who on earth thought of holding people’s dead children to ransom? (And, at the back of her mind, simple disgust mingled with all sorts of bad memories from the war of necromancy. But that was an irrelevance.)
One afternoon late in January, Hermione ran into Theo on the Turl. He was even paler than usual, and seemed to be nervous. No, she realised with a start, he was almost trembling with rage.
“Have you seen what those bastards have done?” he demanded, furiously.
“No – what – who?”
“Those animal rights swine! They got into our boathouse last night, and smashed up all the shells! And with Torpids coming up, too!”
Nott, unexpectedly, had taken up rowing, though only as cox, where his light build and Slytherin sense of tactics had proven invaluable, and he approached the upcoming inter-collegiate races with almost religious fervour. Hermione, not so privately, thought bumping races an even more inane and boring sport than Quidditch, but she couldn’t have been married to Ron, or friends with Harry and Ginny, without knowing the passion such things could arouse. And anyway, such vandalism was intolerable. She let him rant himself out, making noises of shock and disgust when he paused for breath, before saying cautiously “Are they sure it is them?”
“Oh, of course it is, who else would it be?” said Theo, irritably. “Besides, they smeared the walls all over with their foul slogans. Something about murderers, and not being able to dissociate ourselves from the actions of our friends. I don’t know why the police doesn’t bloody well do something. They could start by arresting those damned protestors.”
“You can’t go around arresting people for peaceful protest. There’s nothing to say it was the same people.”
“I bet they know them. They certainly admire them.”
“Can’t disassociate yourself from your friends, eh?” Hermione murmured drily. Nott had the grace to look slightly sheepish.
On the Sunday following, she dined in his college, Oriel, with him. It was a decent meal, although as always tending towards the ‘roast meat and two veg’ school of cuisine, and Theo’s friends, though quite mad, were pleasant and interesting company. “There’s cheese, fruit and cake in the MCR afterwards” Theo said at the end of the meal, “and would you care for some port, or whisky, or something?”
“Sure.”
“Good. I just need to stop off in the Lodge and check my post – see if that last student ever did get her work in, lazy little beast.” Hermione grinned to herself. Students were the same the world over – one of the reassuring continuities of her existence, despite all the changes.
Theo did have an envelope in his pidge, and pulled it out distastefully. “Not nearly thick enough – oh well, I might as well see how bad it is.” He tore into the envlope, and then stopped dead.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” But his voice shook, and his face was bloodless. “Oh, Hell.”
Hermione took the envelope and its contents from trembling fingers. It was a photo of what she assumed was the Oriel boathouse, the boats in ruins on its floor, walls disfigured with red paint. But that did not make her draw in her breath in shock and sudden fear.
What made her do that was the figures in the middle of the picture: hooded, masked and moving.
It was a wizard photo. And scrawled over it in jagged capitals: “Blood traitor scum – thought you could hide forever? Think again.”
“I need a drink” said Nott tonelessly.
“Theo, you need –” she lowered her voice “– an Auror.”
“Out of the question” he said bluntly, grabbed the photograph back, and crumpled it into his pocket. “I mean it, Granger. Absolutely out of the question.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-11 02:17 pm (UTC)But you're right when you say it reads like something much longer. You cruelly cut us off just when the story is starting!
Can I hope to see some more of this at some point?
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-11 03:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-11 02:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-11 03:41 pm (UTC)*Three descending chords*
Date: 2007-01-11 03:21 pm (UTC)I have my scruples, but I can't honestly say that the use of magic on language schools students troubles them.
(I have teeny Ashes Sayers fic on my LJ...)
Re: *Three descending chords*
Date: 2007-01-11 03:43 pm (UTC)Thanks for pointing out the lost-Ashes-legend! Wimsey fic - I'd completely missed it in my somewhat haphazard LJ checking over the festive period.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-11 07:01 pm (UTC)Were the Hertford boats actually vandalised by the animal rights' protesters in RL? That would be taking things more than a step too far...
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-11 09:00 pm (UTC)The reference to the child's body being dug up was inspired by the animal rights activists who disinterred the mother (or possibly grandmother) of a guinea pig breeder who was supplying animal labs, and blackmailed him into giving up the trade. Not connected to Oxford, but it wasn't entirely a product of my warped imagination... I feel ambiguous about animal testing at best, but there are some really unpleasant-going-on-psychotic people on the fringes of the antis.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-12 08:08 pm (UTC)What?!? Now, this shocks me even far more than the arson at Hertford's boathouse. Honestly, I thought that you had made up this part of the story to bring in a foreshadowing for some Necromancy and Dark Arts stuff to appear later in the fanfic. That's is actually rooted in fact just boggles the mind.
I feel ambiguous about animal testing at best, but there are some really unpleasant-going-on-psychotic people on the fringes of the antis.
Oh, word.
I mean -- whatever happened to peaceful sit-ins in front labs?
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-12 08:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-12 01:22 pm (UTC)I really want to know Theo's background story and I'm fascinated to see where you take this.
I, too, am deeply ambiguous about the animal rights protests. Sitting in trees to stop people cutting them down is one thing, kidnapping people's dead relatives is quite another.
Look forward to reading more.
MM
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-31 06:14 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-07 06:45 pm (UTC)(Mind if I friend? I'm quite enjoying your fics.)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-08 12:22 am (UTC)