A Love of Quills

This is a General Fanfiction (meaning that there is no romance, no sexy-times, and no extreme acts of violence....generally). It would be rated E if it were a videogame, G if it were a movie, and K+ if it were on fanfiction.net. 

A Love of Quills

A Harry Potter Fanfiction

Disclaimer: I made no gain (and in fact lost about an hour of sleep) writing this. All (except Chester and the distressed mailroom attendant) belongs to JK Rowling. It’s just a bit of fun. 

Mr. Chester E. Tweedson worked on the twenty-seventh floor of a paper clip manufacturing company: H.R. Wittenclips. Mr. Tweedson worked as a clerk, filing all sorts of important documents ranging from receipts of large shipments to the recent patents of the newly developed “star-shaped” paperclip that was making great headway in marketing their products to pre-teen, adolescent female consumers.

Chester had no interest in that, of course. While he went about is rather meaningless job day in and day out, there was one thing of which Mr. Tweedson was sure. 

Mr. Chester E. Tweedson was a Death Eater. 

Or, rather, he wasn’t a Death Eater yet. Soon, however, there would be no doubt. Chester was loyal, and devoted to the entire idea of what this Lord Voldemort was all about.

He said this to his fellow colleagues daily, when they could spare the time from talking about their girlfriends and dogs to lend ear to his thoughts (of which he personally thought were of a higher, more sophisticated nature than these frivolous relationships). 

If Chester were totally honest, however, he did not actually know much about the Death Eaters at all. All he knew about the Death Eaters was that they were apparently making great headway in marketing a pencil called a “Quill.”

One of Tweedson’s greatest hobbies was collecting old fashioned writing implements and papers (he had a papyrus scroll framed above his toilet at home). The idea of a company bringing back the “Quill” into modern times was a genius step in the right direction.

There were other qualities of this strangely named company that pleased him. Their mission statement was to “Officially wipe out and control all Muggles and Mudbloods for the rest of eternity.”

Well, that seemed quite alright to Chester. He didn’t quite know what a “Muggle” was, but he assumed it was new-fashioned lingo regarding those awful ink blots that pens now-a-days seemed to leave behind. 

Chester didn’t need to have much of an imagination (thank goodness) to understand what a Mudblood was, as he was sure he’d had to go back and fix many a “Mudblood” on his own documents with H.R. Wittenclips.

The Death Eaters had the strings of Chester E. Tweedson’s heart, and he made it his absolute mission to become a part of this group. Paperclips were fine and good, but Chester’s ambitions were bigger than that. 

Approximately three or four inches bigger.

Chester wrote a magnificent cover letter to the Death Eaters, stating his love for not only the mission of the group, but the pro-active methods they were using to eradicate the muggles and mudbloods from the country—if not the world—with obliteration and purification.

He signed  his name neatly with an, “Anticipating acceptance into your Death Eater ranks,” and mailed it off approximately one week and a half ago.

Chester did not twiddle his thumbs while he waited, however. Every day, he worked in the office and told his co-workers about his new prospective job, and watched as they worked to conceal their jealousy by generally ignoring him. He pitied them their sorry lot in life, for the life of a Death Eater is far grander than that of a simple paper-clip clerk.

He was imaginably surprised when a man with a frightening looking cane, long blonde hair, and questionable dress sense apparantly just “appeared” in the lobby, requesting the audience of one Mr. Chester E. Tweedson.

“Hello,” Chester said as he settled down at his desk once the man, apparently named Lucius Malfoy , was brought to his cubicle. He brushed the papers from the visitor’s chair made of orange plastic and offered the seat to the blonde man, pretending not to notice the look of disgust on Mr. Malfoy’s face in favor of asking him what he wanted and how he could help.

“I am here on business….Mister Tweedson,” Lucius Malfoy said, in tones closer to that of royalty than a business man. 

Chester must have looked confused because the man pulled open what had all the appearances to be a grand cloak and pulled out an opened envelope. “Did you, or did you not, send this letter one week from this past Tuesday?”

Chester nearly gasped. It was his letter to the Death Eaters!

“Oh, yes sir!” Chester quickly answered, nodding his head.

“I see,” Mr. Malfoy said, putting the letter down and folding his hands. “So…you wish to become a Death Eater?”

Chester could only nod.

“You wish to vanquish muggles?”

Again, Chester nodded. He added. “Damn muggles.”

Mr. Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Encouraged, Chester said, “They ruin everything. You work and you work and everything is perfect and then one small speck of ink on the page and suddenly all the beautiful work you’ve done has been utterly ruined.” 

Lucius Malfoy looked a bit stunned. Chester asked if he’d like a cup of tea. 

“How did you find out about us?” he asked, instead.

“Your website,” Chester responded, a bit shyly. “Although your name seems a bit terrifying, I do think you all have your heads screwed on right.” 

“Our website?” Mr. Malfoy asked as if Chester had five heads. 

Lucius Malfoy’s tone worried Chester. Obviously, he had to prove to the oddly dressed fellow that he was just as dedicated to the cause as he was.

“Please, sir, I know that it seems like I haven’t done my research, but I have! Really I have. If you just give me a chance, I could be a great asset to your cause.” Chester really hadn’t done much research about the Death Eaters, but their website had seemed so perfect that he could not help but apply. 

Lucius Malfoy remained quiet for a moment. Chester’s palms were getting particularly sweaty. 

“I will speak with my superior,” the blonde man said, standing up. “And I will see what I can do for your particular…situation.” 

Chester bowed his head, thanked the man profusely, and did not let the man leave until he took some of the biscuits his mum had provided him from her (and secretly his) favorite tea shop. The blonde man seemed reluctant, but admitted in his regal way that they were quite delicious. 

Lucius Malfoy left Chester Tweedson’s office with three biscuits and a promise to the man to speak to Lord Voldemort for him. 

Two days later, a short missive was sent to Chester. According to a rather traumatized mailroom attendant, it had been sent by an owl. 

“Strange,” Chester agreed, and waited until he was in his cubicle to rip open the letter.

“Mr. Tweedson,
You are invited to our next meeting this upcoming Friday. I will escort you to the location. Please, for sake of secrecy, do not tell anyone of this.

Welcome to the Elite,
L. Malfoy.”

Chester could not wait.  

The Pond

The Pond

Image Prompt

"Well, crap."

Sheldon, the turtle,  wiggled his legs. He lazy kicked them back and forth, increasing speed as embarrassment at being in this particular situation was outweighed by the need to flip back over. Not wanting to cry for help, Sheldon helplessly whirled in circles as he tried to flip himself upright again.

"Are you okay?" he heard a tiny, concerned voice ask. His movements stopped.

"No, it's okay Georgiana. I'm just, you know, chilling," he responded, trying to sound cool. It was a bit difficult to do so since the pressure on his throat was making his voice a bit squeaky.

"But isn't it uncomfortable?" Georgiana asked, lowering her head so Sheldon could relish in his humiliation face to face.

"Oh, no!" Sheldon said, causing a coughing fit since he actually couldn't breathe very well. When he calmed down, he wheezed, "I don't feel pain."

"You don't feel pain?" Georgiana asked, doubtfully.

"Don't worry about me," Sheldon said, "Just, um, go ahead and walk without me. I'm fine here."

"But Sheldon," Georgiana insisted, "you said you had something important to ask me."

She was right, of course. Sheldon did have something to ask her. He'd been waiting up until this particular outing to ask Georgiana Caretta, the most beautiful turtle Sheldon had ever seen, if she would like to go on a date with him.

He'd planned it all out one hundred different ways. He'd woo her with a cattail bouquet and they could dine on a beetle fillet with a fly crumble pie for dessert. Or he would take her out on the pond log so they could get a good view of the great night sky and the lights that glimmered in the dark. If he'd gotten really lucky, he planned to take her back to a hiding place he found and share the delicious yellow sponge material with a white, jelly-like inside that smelled like nectar.

None of those plans incorporated him on his back, steadily losing all oxygen.

"Please let me help you," Georgiana insisted. Sheldon was about to relent when he heard hooting and hollering in the distance. "Oh no, that sounds like the Clemmy Brothers!"

No one ever wanted to mess with the Clemmy Brothers. Bob, Ron and Lila (no one really knows how she adds into the whole "brothers" business, and it's best not to ask) were the meanest turtles this side of the pond. Their hobbies were ruining Mr. Chelderson's garden, tormenting the neighboring frogs, or generally making Sheldon's life a living hell.

"Hurry, Georgiana! Get out of here!" Sheldon said. At least if she wasn't there she wouldn't be in the crossfire between them. Or at least she wouldn't see how awfully they picked on Sheldon. After all, it was their fault he was like this. Before the turtle of his dreams showed up for their planned meeting time, he'd had the misfortune of running into them and they, as they were ones to do so, flipped him over.

"No!" Georgiana said. "They don't scare me. Come on Shelly!" With that, she ignored Sheldon's protests and flipped the poor turtle over. Immediately oxygen began rushing to his head and he could feel his feet again. At the look of relaxation and relief, Georgiana smiled. "Better?'

"Much," Sheldon admitted with a small grin, and before the nasty Clemmy brothers could slither their way over, Sheldon and Georgiana made their getaway to hide amongst the cattails.

"Now," Georgiana said. "What did you want to ask me?"

"Um," Sheldon began, suddenly realizing how frightening this actually was. Granted, it had taken him an entire five moon cycles to even fathom asking Georgiana out, but now that it was looming so near...Sheldon gulped.

Georgiana looked at him expectantly.

Sheldon held his breath, suddenly getting a bit panicky.

The expectant look became one of concern."Sheldon?"

"What?" Sheldon suddenly exclaimed. "Oh, right! Um...well you see...er..." he drifted back to quietness.

He tried calming down.

Georgiana was getting impatient. "Sheldon, just tell me what you need to! I promise I won't get mad." Suddenly she began looking worried. "Unless you're mad at me for something?"

"No!" Sheldon responded, wishing he could just slink back into his shell. "You don't do anything wrong, Georgiana. You're perfect."

He swore he could see the green skin flush. "Really?"

"Of course," Sheldon confirmed. "No other turtle could ever match up to how..." he trailed off.

"How?" Georgiana encouraged. Sheldon realized she had gotten rather close all of the sudden. That probably wasn't the best idea, suddenly worried that he was a bit smelly. And he hadn't taken a dip in the pond for a while and his feet were muddy.

"Well," he said, and took the dive. "How much I like you, Georgiana."

Sheldon wondered if something were going wrong. Even in his dreams, he'd always had to do a little bit of convincing for Georgiana to believe him. In this strange world he was in, she just laughed and moved even closer.

"I was wondering when you'd say that."

Sheldon took a step back in utter surprise. Unfortunately, that made him step in a rather thick, wet pile of mud. He slid down and with a yelp and a flip, he was on his back again.

"Well, crap."

Through the Trees

Through the Trees

 

It’s time. 

Face stuffed with the last batch of seeds and debris that I can pick up, I plummet down my tunnel. Spitting out my goods, I place them in a cozy nook of my winter domicile. It looks pretty good, and plenty for me to spend the winter.

My mother always said one of my worst qualities was my curiosity. What can I say? I love looking twice.

So, with that said, it was imperative that I rise up from the ground one more time. When I last burrowed, the light was still in the sky although the leaves were steadily beginning their fall. I begin upwards.

Will the sun still be up? Will the trees still be standing? Who will be waiting for me outside of my hole? A fox? A hawk? Is this the last breath I will breathe, my little hole of goods left to decay in my absence?

I don’t know.

That’s why I must find out.

My head breaks the surface and I peek outside of my tunnel; look left, look right. Nothing other than dead leaves, dying trees, and brown pine needles.

I press out further. No harm has come. Nothing has moved but the sun.

Orange and red, it trickles through the trees. Almost walking like a human being through them, dancing in between the long shadows.

Its warmth tickles my nose. I sniff the air: but I cannot smell it. All I can smell is wet death and pine.

Something moves. I burrow.

It’s time.

Brand

This story has been temporarily removed.

Transplanted Blog!

So I used to post in another blog site, but I realized it wasn't quite appropriate for what I want to do, which is to post really long rambles/stories for people (mostly my mom and I) to peruse.

So, now (for your viewing pleasure) I'm going to upload all of the story prompts I've done so far. The other rambles about things like starbucks, sneezes, and mac n cheeses will remain on my old blog. Hooray!