Captain Fangirlhumper… err, J.K. Rowling owns the world the Harry Potter
series takes place in. Wish the characters were mine so I could do utterly retarded things to them and watch my bank account get steadily larger, but sadly not mine. "Friday" belongs to Rebecca Black, although the Glee
cast did a pretty damn good cover of it recently. Not mine, don't sue, and so forth and so on.Summary:
It's Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday!Joe's Note:
Where do I come up with this shit? Usually, I have some vague inkling of a clue but in this case… I've got nothing. Enjoy it anyways?
"Seven AM, waking up in the morning, gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs. Gotta have my wand, gotta have my bag, seeing everything, the time is going, ticking on and on, everybody's rushing. Gotta get down to the Great Hall, Gryffindor table, I see my friends…"
Coming to a halt in the doorway to the Great Hall, Ráichéal Murray scowled and rubbed at her eyes as she looked around slowly, trying to locate the source of the ridiculously offensive noise assaulting her ears. The voice was most definitely familiar for some reason but half-asleep and her blood sugar low, Ráichéal just couldn't manage to put her finger on why or who it might be. "Kicking on the left side, sitting on the right side, gotta make my mind up: which seat can I take?"
Suddenly, Ráichéal realized that the singing wasn't coming from somewhere in front of her but rather from behind, echoing through the Entrance Hall as. Turning, she found Romilda Vane bouncing along energetically as she sang, curly black hair swishing back and forth behind her. And then she grunted, Romilda's wildly swinging bag slamming into her pelvis hard and sending her stumbling backwards until stone bit into her back, the Gryffindor not even bothering to apologize as she continued on into the Great Hall. "It's Friday, Friday! Gotta get down on Friday! Everybody's looking forward to the weekend, weekend! Friday! Friday! Getting down on Friday! Everybody's looking forward to the weekend…"
Ráichéal snarled, pushing off the wall and drawing her wand. Luna had asked her not to extract revenge for the little scene on the train and she'd agreed. But when it came to personal insults… well, she didn't need Luna's input before reacting to those. "Stupefy
!" A brilliant bolt of scarlet magic leapt from the end of her wand, slamming into Romilda's back and sending her sprawling onto her stomach on the floor, unconscious and blissfully silent. It was in this sudden silence that someone behind her cleared their throat, and Ráichéal slowly turned to find not only the headmaster standing there, but Professors McGonagall and Snape as well. Well bugger. "Headmaster. Professor. Professor."
"Five points…" Snape paused for a moment, making Ráichéal cringe as she anticipated the inevitable, before completely blowing her mind. "…to Hufflepuff for ending that truly wretched assault on my ears." And with that, he stepped out and around her before striding off towards the staff table.
Holding her breath, Ráichéal waited as Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged looks but the headmaster ultimately had a surprise for her as well. "While I generally consider music a magic beyond all we do here, Minerva… that was not music. Miss Murray, given what Madam Pomfrey tells me about your blood disease, I would recommend you make time to see her as soon as possible."
Ráichéal nodded; the throbbing coming from her back made her all too aware of the large and probably nasty-looking bruise she now had. She peeked back over her shoulder at the long tables full of food for a moment before returning her attention to Dumbledore. "…can I at least wrap up some breakfast first? I'll eat it on my way to the hospital wing." The headmaster nodded before giving her a dismissive wave, and Ráichéal got while the getting was good, rushing over to the Ravenclaw table and plopping her bag down next to her best friend. It earned her a few odd looks, but after her display with Romilda, nobody dared challenge her.
Pulling a wrapped tortilla out of her bag - and making a mental note to send an owl home to her mother, because the little icebox compartment in her trunk was almost out - Ráichéal peeled away the two pieces of paper protecting it before slapping it down on the plate in front of her. Now well into the fifth year of this particular routine, she found it child's play to look over at Luna even as she went about her morning ritual of loading eggs, bacon, and anything else that held still into a whole wheat tortilla. Not only did it help increase her chance of something good for her body making it to her stomach, but she greatly preferred the flavor of her own 'vile creations' - to quote one of her housemates - to the cloying, metallic aftertaste the potion she took each morning as part of her treatment left in her mouth. Luna stared back at her for a moment before nodding and turning back to her breakfast, grabbing two pieces of toast so she could make a sandwich out of what remained on her plate. "You're standing instead of sitting with me. We're going to the hospital wing, then?"
"Vane whacked me with her bag and sent me into the wall. Not sure which hurts more."
"Ah. Was wondering why you cursed her. Her singing wasn't that… even I can't finish that one with a straight face."