Knobbles' delivery
F I N N E G A Nx⳧xC O N N E R
☙ Knobbles' delivery, 21st of September 2023 ❧After his classes had finished for the day, Finnegan wandered the corridors absent-mindedly. Being neither hungry nor sleepy nor in the mood to see anyone, he relished in exploring the castle by himself and letting his mind unwind. Even after a year the old school still managed to suprise him on ocassion. An unexpected turn up a creaky, winding stairway led up to a floor that he'd never seen before. Rugs and carpets embroidered with stars and geometric patterns covered the uneven floorboards. The walls had been painted a deep shade of blue, dotted with golden stars and pale, silvery moons. Halfway through the corridor, underneath an archway, a stained-glass window depicted two old wizards taking turns looking through a brass telescope and arguing about their findings.
Not having anywhere else to be, Finnegan came to a halt and leaned against the nearest pillar. From a distance he looked on in silence and occasionally had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheeks not to giggle at their antics. Soon, neither of the stained-glass wizards was looking through the instrument anymore, one had thrown down his pointy hat in anger while the other paced up and down their patch of grass waving his arms around in distress. So when Finnegan heard quiet, bitter sobbing, he thought there was a third astronomer somewhere who had broken down into tears.
Although... He squinted. There didn't seem to be a third figure. Just the two old wizards, now foaming at the mouth, both gesturing wildly, like arguing Italians. They seemed closer to screaming than crying. So who then...
There it was again, a feeble little noise, barely audible above the sound of ragged breaths and a pitter-patter of approaching footsteps. "No, no, musn't be, musn't be!" a tiny voice sounded. Finnegan tore his eyes from the stained-glass window (the wizards were rolling in the dirt now) and looked around to locate the culprit.
"Musn't be scared, must be brave!" The tiny voice echoed down the deserted hallway. "Must be brave, yes, must be-"
Finnegan didn't know who shrieked first, but when the house-elf stepped into view from behind him, both boy and house-elf jumped back in alarm. The house-elf before him was an unusual sight and had an even worse fashion sense than @George Henry. Two woolen socks with holes in them served as fingerless gloves while a roughly cut shirt and dirty apron covered up the rest of him. He wore no shoes, but had a frayed scarf wrapped around his thin, spindly neck.
Apparently he looked just as strange to the elf as the elf did to him. The tiny creature let out a horrified noise, dropped whatever he'd been holding and covered both his large, floppy ears with even bigger, knobbly fingers. Something large and heavy thudded to the ground.
"Oh no," the poor elf's watery eyes grew even larger, "oh no, oh no!" He was positively wailing now, hopping from foot to foot now tearing at his ears instead of covering them. "Dropped it I have! Musn't drop it! Never drop it! Knobbles was trusted with simple book, now Knobbles has ruined it!"
Scarcely recovered, Finnegan looked down at what the elf had dropped. It was a large and thick book, almost a third the elf's size and probably half its weight. Two silver chains and an elegant lock held the tome together, guarding its secrets from prying eyes.
The elf wailed so loudly and pulled so hard at his ears that Finnegan rushed forward, scooped up the volume and pressed it against the tiny elf's chest. "Here's your book, here, see? Don't worry!"
The elf looked at him with wide, fearful eyes. "No, no, no! Knobbles dropped the book, fell it down, the Professor will know, she'll know I dropsed it!" The bow-legged elf seemed even more distressed now. "Now she'll pluck at Knobbles mind like taking out stitch-"
"Who?" Finnegan interjected, before the elf could choke on his pitiful sobs. "Who's going to- who's this belong to?"
"Bonnet!" the little elf cried out. He dropped to his bony knees, clutching the book like it was his only possession in the world. "The witch Bonnet will nibble at Knobbles, turn mind into goo, turn rest into stew!"
"You mean," Finnegan squinted, "you mean Professor Bonnet?" He'd heard of the new Divination Professor. Who hadn't? She had managed to make an immediate impression by holing up in her tower, rarely coming out. Rumor had it she killed and ate the birds that flew by her window because no one had ever seen her come down into the great hall to eat. At least, those were the rumors. Now that he thought about it, Finnegan was quite certain he'd seen Professor Bonnet eat strawberry pudding once, he remembered her scowling the entire time though. Or perhaps that was just the way she looked normally.
"This book," Finnegan resumed. So long as he kept talking, the small elf had no chance to sink further into despair. "Belongs to Professor Bonnet?"
"Y-yes," Knobbles stammered.
"And you were tasked to return it to her?"
"N-no, to deliver!"
"And you're scared she'll fault you for dropping it?" He could understand why a small house-elf might fear someone like the frigid Professor Bonnet, but what was she going to do? At worst he'd get a scolding, but Knobbles seemed convinved otherwise.
"I'm Finnegan," he said, shaking the elf's limp, bony hands. "Would you like me to take the book and bring it to her?"
Knobbles looked up at Finnegan, his large eyes swimming with tears and mistrust. "Kind boy Finnegan wants to help Knobbles?" He clutched the heavy tome closer to his chest, hesitating. "But book is very important. Knobbles told not to let book out of sight. Told to be careful, very careful. The book is worth many shiny coins."
Finnegan crouched to be on level with the elf, a soft and earnest expression on his face. "Look, Knobbles, Professor Bonnet sounds dangerous, but I'm a Gryffindor, I can't help but be chivalrous." Shit, George has really rubbed off on me, he added in the privacy of his mind. "Look, I promise I'll keep the book safe and get it to Professor Bonnet without a hitch. Besides," he added with a twinkle in his eye, "aren't house-elves known for their impeccable judgment of character?"
Knobbles' large ears twitched, and he appeared to ponder Finnegan's words, turning the tome over in his hands. The weight of responsibility for the book was evident on his tiny shoulders, and the looming dread of facing Professor Bonnet was palpable. Finally, with a quiver in his voice, he whispered, "Knobbles trusts Finnegan. But book must reach Professor before midday or Knobbles..." the house-elf's voice trailed off into nothingness.
"Don't worry, Knobbles. I'll make sure it reaches her. And hey," he said with a reassuring grin, "If Professor Bonnet ever gives you trouble, you let me know."
Knobbles stared at the book, his fingers rubbing the cover's intricate design. There was a noticeable tremble in his hand before he met Finnegan's gaze and with a heavy sigh, handed the book over. "Professor Bonnet... She sees everything. If Finnegan promises to handle with care, then Knobbles trusts."
"I promise I'll take it to her right away, Knobbles." He felt the urge to pat the house-elf reassuringly on the head, but thought better of it. It was probably rather demeaning to do so.
After a final reassuring nod, Finnegan turned and began his ascent to the Divination Tower. The castle's endless staircases seemed even more winding and confounding with the weight of the book and its secrets now in his hands. With every step his curiosity grew. "Whispers of the Future," the spine read. It sounded tantalizing.
By the time he reached the Divination Tower's door, dusk had painted the horizon in hues of orange and faint mauve. Holding the book under one arm, he knocked, and waited for Professor Bonnet to answer him. But silence was his only reply. Was she sleeping? Maybe she had choked on a dove and died. He knocked again, harder this time. Still, nothing. A chill ran down his spine and he felt as though he was being watched.
With no response coming from the other side, he slid down the wall and propped the large book up against his knees. After having turned it over seven times, he could no longer resist the temptation. He checked to his left, checked to his right, drew his wand and-
"Alohomora," he incanted.
The chains fell away with a soft clink, releasing the secrets within. Taking in a deep breath, he turned the first page.
"Whispers of the Future: A Collection of Divinations."
He turned the next page. "Chapter 1. The subtle art of divination," he read. "The past in stone is set, the future in shifting sands is writ..."
The world around him melted away, his eyes danced across the thick, heavy pages, captivated by a hunger to read on that he had rarely experienced before.Stamina 10 ✶ Evasion 10 ✶ Strength 2 ✶ Wisdom 3 ✶ Arcane Power 5 ✶ Accuracy 10
Last edited by Bessie Barnes on 4 Jan 2025, 18:51, edited 3 times in total.
Reason: Finn: old coding & image removed, contents unaffected
"He's a dweeby chocolate bar lip smacking nerd" - Evelynn Decipio
Knobbles' delivery
_______________________ _______________________ Needless to say, Winifred Bonnet's adjustment to Hogwarts had been a particularly trying time for the witch. She'd been amenable enough to come into the teaching position, of course. Merlin only knows; it takes a damn good Seer to give a Divination class justice, and you can call the woman whatever else you want, but she is a Damn Good Seer-- for better or for worse.
So alright, come to the castle and teach these kids a solid foundation. It doesn't take anything special to trace a palm or look at tea-sludge, after all. A few in this generation even showed a spot of promise for something more, who looked around with eyes that could actually see. So despite how she might snap and hiss or scowl at her students (and other wayward quivering little gremlins), her discomfort was not actually caused by the children now constantly under her feet.
Winifred missed her hovel. Yes, fine, the stone tower where she now dwelled was suitably isolated and foreboding-- but it was a far cry from the middle-of-no-where godforsaken home she was used to. After nearly thirty years of self enforced isolationism, it came as no surprise that the first month or so would be a jarring change as she mourned the loss of her vegetable garden. Blythe Davies had sworn an oath to water and weed it regularly, and she'd made it perfectly clear that if she returned and found it dead that his life would also be forfeit.
An old adage comes to mind: "You can take the witch out of the hedge, but you can't take the hedge out of the witch!"
This day in particular had been a test of her short patience. A vision had struck as she was pouring herself a coffee-- boiling liquid on one's lap does not a good morning make. The prediction itself had been an unpleasant thing; some disaster or other fated to disrupt the next school dance and endanger the students... Well, the appropriate staff had been warned (and most seemed unsurprised by the news). It was around the same time that Winifred had noticed that one of her books had been misplaced, followed quickly by the bothersome realization she'd forgotten to bring it over from Wales. Obviously it wasn't as if she could pop back home and grab it, but a little Anti-Disapparation Jinx hadn't stopped any house-elf before.
Actually finding a house-elf had proved an annoying chore, most of the little things had a bizarre habit of scurrying away before she could grab one of 'em. It was like they thought she'd eat them or something, which was patently ridiculous. Nobody in her family had eaten house-elves for generations, obviously.
But that had been hours ago and at this point she'd frankly forgotten about it. After a terrible morning one thing had only led to another, and by the time evening rolled around all she really wanted was to settle down with a goblet of firewhisky and nap. So when a tentative knock came at her door, Winifred staunchly ignored it. Class was over! Office hours are in the morning! Piss off thankyouverymuch! Unfortunately the noise-maker was undeterred and knocked again.
For a good minute she considered whether or not to answer. On one hand, it could be something serious. On the other: tough shit. Eventually (and with a few muttered grumblings) Winifred stowed the bottle, pulled a silvery shawl over her robes, and gathered herself to her feet before stalking over to the old oak door.
With a firm shove she flung it open with a BANG! The bangles on her wrists clicked ominously as she put her hands over her hips and looked down at the ickle boy who'd made the mistake of darkening her doorstep past 7pm.
"What is it?" She barked, before her eyes zeroed in on the familiar old book he was clutching. She squinted and gave the child a closer look just to be sure of something. No, he definitely wasn't a house-elf. She made note of the loose chains by his feet and the guilty tilt to his posture.
"And what happened to the house-elf I asked to deliver that?" She snapped, gesturing towards the book in question. "Bubbles, or whatever his name was."@Finnegan Conner
slept miserably because i was tormented by terrible visions all night,
hope none of it was prophetic
hope none of it was prophetic Knobbles' delivery
F I N N E G A Nx⳧xC O N N E R
☙ Knobbles' delivery, 21st of September 2023 ❧The door rattled in its hinges and something far worse than a battering ram emerged from the depths of the divination tower. Finnegan almost jolted a second time when eyes lined with heavy eyeshadow landed on him with such force that he feared she was about to burn a hole through him. The rumors had made her out to be bog-dwelling cackling sort of witch, with warts on her face and slimy toads on her shoulders, but to his dissapointment, she lacked both. While she stared at him like an insect through a magnifying glass, it was her question, not her prying eyes that confused him the most.
What is it?
Wasn't it obvious?
Maybe she'd lost her glasses and couldn't see too well - funny that, given her profession.
"It's uh," he looked down at the tome just to be sure, "it's a book?" He'd meant to say it quite matter-of-factly but the intensity with which she'd asked the question made his voice pitch up toward the end. The sheepish look and slow blink that followed made it quite clear that he wasn't trying to be smart with her. If anything, the dumbfounded look he gave her undoubtedly convinced her that he couldn't be smart with her even if he tried. A wink later he cocked his head sideways, trying to guess if his answer satisfied her, but she hit him with another question before he had a chance to be sure. Thicker than the smell of cloves (tea? her perfume? a potion perhaps?) - was the Professor's accent.
Thinking it best to get up, Finnegan slipped into his native tongue while he shut the book. "Noswaith dda good evening" he said before he caught himself. "Sorry, I mean, good evening Professor Bonnet-" he'd got out his wand in the meantime and gave the book a little tap with it. "Colloportus" Like seaweed, the silvery chains floated up and waved about before snapping shut around the book.
"I think you mean Knobbles, Professor? He's-" Why hadn't he thought of this? Of course she was going to ask about the elf! Telling the truth would be the easiest thing to do, probably the smartest too, but would undoubtedly end in more tears for poor Knobbles. Straightening up, Finnegan resumed "-he didn't seem too ciff* this evening, might've thrown up all over the book if I hadn't helped..." Half-truths were often the best lies, though he wasn't feeling too certain about his delivery. He held the heavy book out to the Professor whose bangles and shawl made him think she was more gypsy than an evil witch. "Also I think he was scared of you," he rushed to add, hoping that another dash of truth might save him from being skewered by another hard stare. She wasn't exactly scary like a werewolf or vampire might be, but there was something about her, something about the way she presented herself that made him feel that she could be very dangerous if she but chose to be.
Still, his curiosity got the better of him. "Professor, d'you reckon Nostradamus was a real Seer? There's nothing on him in here," he nodded toward the book, "but he's quite famous, I figured he might be a wizard at least, but I think the world's supposed to have ended a couple of times already..." he mused out loud. Even though he had had only a moment to read, the subject of divination seemed rich with possibility. What if he knew if he'd get hit by a bludger in the upcoming Quidditch game before it happened? What if he knew the winning lottery numbers?
*ciff, pronounced kiff, roughly meaning 'not very well'.Stamina 10 ✶ Evasion 10 ✶ Strength 2 ✶ Wisdom 3 ✶ Arcane Power 5 ✶ Accuracy 10
Last edited by Bessie Barnes on 4 Jan 2025, 18:51, edited 1 time in total.
Reason: Finn: old coding & image removed, contents unaffected
"He's a dweeby chocolate bar lip smacking nerd" - Evelynn Decipio
Knobbles' delivery
_______________________ _______________________
Winifred waved her hand dismissively as the boy spoke. "Those dimwit elves are far too skittish-like," she sniffed. "It's really no wonder they've decided to hide away in other people's houses, one night spent toughing it in the wild would be enough to send half of 'em into an early grave." She briefly amused herself with the thought of one of those raggedy-muffin little butlers trying to bake a Shepherd's pie over a campfire.
Luckily for the kid, he was quick to hand back what didn't belong to him. She nudged the door open a bit wider with her hip and stalked back into her classroom, chained book in firmly in hand. The Divination room was decorated in a way that suited Winifred's taste— which is to say messy, clashy, and dimly lit. Woven tapestries and colorful curtains were hung crookedly over the stone walls, dust motes floated and danced in hazy beams of dying sunlight. A dozen round tables were set with kitschy teacups abandoned in various states of mess; the sad leftovers from the afternoon's lesson on Tessomancy. Winifred stuffed the book rather unceremoniously on an already over-crowded bookshelf and let out a satisfied hum. One less damn thing to deal with.
A grating little voice pierced through her small bubble of contentment as the boy, (who evidently was determined to linger) piped up with one of the most criminally inane questions she'd ever heard in her life.
"Utter drivel!" The witch snapped. "That daft fraud fancied himself a kind of bard, I'd bet the fool didn't have a drop of Seer blood. Never believe any nonsense you read in an expensive book."
If the kid was disappointed by the information, Winifred didn't care. She gave him a proper look-over; coolly appraising his crumpled uniform and fidgety stance. Damn fool Gryffindors. He certainly wasn't one of her students, it was long enough into the year she knew most of their faces now, even if she pretended not to remember their names. Unfortunately he didn't seem the type to be easily driven out by a harsh look like most of the other mice scurrying around the corridors in this school. Like a burr in her skirts, Winifred had a sense she'd find him lingering around her feet for weeks unless she picked him off now.
"What's your name-- speak clearly!" Her brusque tone sounded less like a proper question and more like a sergeant's command.
She crossed her arms and brought herself up as high as her full height of 154 centimeters would allow... only a bit taller than the little weed in front of her. "Alright then, boyo. If you're sticking around you better make yourself useful," The witch gestured towards the used cups scattered on the tables around the room. "You've learned Scourgify by now, yes? Get cleaning or scram!" She raised a significant eyebrow. "And maybe I'll answer some of the other questions you have."
If there was going to be a sticky child in her space, might as well squeeze him for free labour.
@Finnegan Conner
slept miserably because i was tormented by terrible visions all night, hope none of it was prophetic
hope none of it was prophetic Knobbles' delivery
F I N N E G A Nx⳧xC O N N E R
☙ Knobbles' delivery, 21st of September 2023 ❧It became clear why Knobbles had been so reluctant to deliver the book to Professor Bonnet. House-elves were skittish, Finnegan agreed, but he wasn't quite sure if they were dim-witted. He had not met very many house-elves and never spent much time thinking about them, but Knobbles had been quite smart to avoid the witch in the Divination Tower.
Best not to argue though, he decided. Bonnet was already coming up to steam and he didn't much care to see her boil over.
He had barely set foot in the tower when she snapped at him, causing him to jolt and back into the nearest bit of solid wall. For a second he was convinced his soul had fled his body as every fibre of his being turned to ice. Just when some warmth returned to his senses, she demanded to know his name. "Conner, Finnegan Conner but most people just call me-"
-speak clearly!
"FINNEGAN. CONNER!" he bellowed back. If she insisted on being a drill sergeant then he would play at private and he only just about stopped himself from giving her a mock salute. Did she always treat people like this? Demanding answers and barking commands at them? Every Professor had their quirks yet he got along fine with most of them; he'd certainly failed to drive any of them up the wall enough for them to snap and bark at him.
He pushed his back off the wall and took two very bold steps into the depths of the Divination Tower. It was the most extraordinary mess of clashing furniture, tapestry, crooked stools and tables decked with a mismatched array of teacups that he had ever seen. He was just about to touch one of the curtains with his grubby fingers when she whirled around, loomed over him and gave her next command.
"Of course I know Scourgify," he said, sounding more than a little insulted, "I'm not a twp*." When it came to his charms work, his already touchy pride was like fresh ink, quick to bleed at the slightest touch. To prove his point, he took out his wand, marched over to the nearest table and pointed it at the dirty teacup.
"Scourgify."
The delicate china rattled as the cup became spotless. Finnegan looked up to give Professor Bonnet a pointed look. See? I am not completely useless. She had to think he was, surely, why else would he be running around the castle like an errand boy doing a house elf's job? His lips set into a slight frown as he looked over the remaining tables. It wasn't just teacups that needed cleaning. Now that he looked closer, the scene before him looked like the students in her class had rushed out of the classroom as fast as their legs could carry them, without any regard for the mess they left in their wake.
He moved to the next table, set with two half-filled teacups and some cookie crumbs. "Scourgify," he muttered before moving on to the next one. As much as he wanted to ask her about the outcome of the upcoming Quidditch games, something told him that wasn't a good idea. At best, she'd kick him out, at worst she'd personally strangle him with one of her curtains for asking such a self-absorbed question.
More questions bubbled up but he didn't deem it particulary wise to ask her if she was hard of hearing, or to ask her to give him a palm reading, or to ask if it mattered what kind of tea one should use for reading tea leaves. Maybe the best thing to do was to just get on with the job and keep quiet. By the time he had circled back around to the first table, he stowed his wand back into the depths of his robes and took the liberty of admiring her bookshelf for a moment.
Leather-bound books beckoned him with titles such as The Nebolous Nexus of Nightly Visions, Palmistry: Lines of Fate and Fortune and Lunar Lores - Moons, Moods and Mysteries. Still, Bonnet's barking had had the most marvelous effect on him and for once in his life, he kept his hands folded neatly behind his back. Interspersed among the books were many intriguing objects: crystal balls, some clouded and some clear, vials containing swirling mists, stacks of old sealed and weathered scrolls and a collection of books marked with a symbol of the moon in different phases of the lunar cycle.
Then, out of nowhere, he froze and spoke up. Something on the shelf stirred his memory.
"I had a dream last night," he started timidly, never taking his eyes off the shelf. "I was in the most beautiful forest, every tree was bearing fruit. I was in the center of it, admiring it, but then I couldn't move and I became a tree too." He blushed a little when he glanced at Professor Bonnet, all too aware how silly he sounded. "Except... except I didn't have any leaves or bark and my roots were rotting." He offered a slight shrug and watery smile. "Then I woke up. I dreamt it before though," he muttered, as though the recurrant nature of his dream was a mere afterthought.
Gingerly, so as not to damage it, he ventured to pull a tiny, forgotten book from her shelf. The cover depicted a forest bathed in a low fog and the title read: The Dreamer's Compass. "Could I borrow this? To prepare for next year, I mean," he added in a rather thinly-veiled attempt to persuade her.
Reducio
*twp: Wenglish for a person who is slow on the uptake.
Stamina 10 ✶ Evasion 10 ✶ Strength 2 ✶ Wisdom 3 ✶ Arcane Power 5 ✶ Accuracy 10
Last edited by Bessie Barnes on 4 Jan 2025, 18:51, edited 1 time in total.
Reason: Finn: old coding & image removed, contents unaffected
"He's a dweeby chocolate bar lip smacking nerd" - Evelynn Decipio