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Origins 8 sneak peak
Mar. 18th, 2002 04:15 amOkay. This is the first bit of Origins 8, as it I have it configured at the moment. I spent some time trying to work out what Madam Hooch's first name is. I couldn't find one. If someone knows what it is, I would be thrilled to hear it.
Give JKR's fondness for meaningful latin names, I called her Aquila.
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She watched from the sidelines, for the most part. Aquila Hooch was keeping an eye on the combatants, and Minerva McGonagall was able to watch the proceedings relatively undisturbed from her inelegant perch on the bench seats along the wall of the boys gymnasium, which was conveniently placed directly opposite the Hogwarts damp and rather moldy-smelling dungeons. She shivered a little. Ever since the Tri-Wizard tournament had begun a couple of years before, they had been holding small, informal fencing matches for groups of interested students at intervals durning the year. The current series of matches had generated quite a following, and a rough set of heats had been sketched out. Aquila Hooch had a wonderful mind for scores and tallies and heats and determining who played who played who. The list was posted against the far wall in bright red ink, and results were added in blue as soon as each match ended.
The competition this year had been surprisingly fierce; the Hufflepuffs and beaten the Ravenclaws already, but had met their match with the Slytherins. What was nice about fencing, Minerva noted, as that it was almost impossible to cheat. The foils, sharp as they were, were not able to cause actual damage; if even a student attempted to ram one through the chest of another, they spells on them would simply shorten the blade on impact. Of course, that trick was wildly popular, and she had given more than a few stern looks to students happily stabbing each other silly instead of fencing.
The idea of school fencing had been her suggestion, in fact. When the Hogwarts champion turned out to be the unlikely team of a Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff a couple of years ago at the Tri-Wizard tournament, the Slytherins in particular had rapidly lost interest. Most of them weren't particularly enthusiastic about routing for either of the foreigners, nor for Harry or Cedric (that poor, poor dear, rest his soul), and when a couple of sixth years were caught trying to dig up the Whomping Willow (apparently planning to replant it in the middle of the herbology garden, or in the courtyard, or, God forbid, in the Gryffindor common room), she knew something had to be done to keep them occupied. It was then that she remembered the old fencing equipment.
Fencing went in and out of style at Hogwarts over the years. In her own fourth year, Minerva McGonagall remembered it being wildly popular; not quite as popular as Quidditch, of course, but at the time there was a host of madly competitive fifth years who had used fencing as the grounds for their personal grudge match. Ravenclaw vs. Gryffindor, from her fourth to her sixth year, was where the non-Quidditch action was. She remembered William Hathaway and Avery Peterson clashing foils madly in the last battle in her sixth year, scores equal, blue sparks indicating hits, while the students, sitting in newly-conjured stands in the boys' gymnasium, held their breaths. The two boys had just turned eighteen, within a week of each other. They battled for the top grades in all of their classes, and were always within a point or two of each other. She remembered the look of fierce determination on Avery's freckled face as William bit his lips and narrowed his eyes. Avery had won. Back in the Gryffindor common room, it had felt as though they had won the House Cup.
She was a more Quidditch player, really; the only girl on the Gryffindor team. It was unusual at the time for a girl to be selected first string. There were still no women at all on the professional teams, and many parents frowned on girls flying around like that, fast, competitively, at all hours of the day or night. There was an old witches' tale that too much fast flying stretched out the womb and made women give birth to deformed babies.
Her own grandmother had turned white when she learned that Minerva had been chosen for the Gryffindor team. Her mother had been proud, though, taking her to the shops, thoroughly appalled when they discovered that they carried no Quidditch clothes for girls.
"Well then." Her mother had announced haughtily. "Show me what you have for the boys." Her mother had stared pointedly at the salesgirl, whose mouth was hanging open. She repeated herself, loudly.
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Give JKR's fondness for meaningful latin names, I called her Aquila.
***********************************
She watched from the sidelines, for the most part. Aquila Hooch was keeping an eye on the combatants, and Minerva McGonagall was able to watch the proceedings relatively undisturbed from her inelegant perch on the bench seats along the wall of the boys gymnasium, which was conveniently placed directly opposite the Hogwarts damp and rather moldy-smelling dungeons. She shivered a little. Ever since the Tri-Wizard tournament had begun a couple of years before, they had been holding small, informal fencing matches for groups of interested students at intervals durning the year. The current series of matches had generated quite a following, and a rough set of heats had been sketched out. Aquila Hooch had a wonderful mind for scores and tallies and heats and determining who played who played who. The list was posted against the far wall in bright red ink, and results were added in blue as soon as each match ended.
The competition this year had been surprisingly fierce; the Hufflepuffs and beaten the Ravenclaws already, but had met their match with the Slytherins. What was nice about fencing, Minerva noted, as that it was almost impossible to cheat. The foils, sharp as they were, were not able to cause actual damage; if even a student attempted to ram one through the chest of another, they spells on them would simply shorten the blade on impact. Of course, that trick was wildly popular, and she had given more than a few stern looks to students happily stabbing each other silly instead of fencing.
The idea of school fencing had been her suggestion, in fact. When the Hogwarts champion turned out to be the unlikely team of a Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff a couple of years ago at the Tri-Wizard tournament, the Slytherins in particular had rapidly lost interest. Most of them weren't particularly enthusiastic about routing for either of the foreigners, nor for Harry or Cedric (that poor, poor dear, rest his soul), and when a couple of sixth years were caught trying to dig up the Whomping Willow (apparently planning to replant it in the middle of the herbology garden, or in the courtyard, or, God forbid, in the Gryffindor common room), she knew something had to be done to keep them occupied. It was then that she remembered the old fencing equipment.
Fencing went in and out of style at Hogwarts over the years. In her own fourth year, Minerva McGonagall remembered it being wildly popular; not quite as popular as Quidditch, of course, but at the time there was a host of madly competitive fifth years who had used fencing as the grounds for their personal grudge match. Ravenclaw vs. Gryffindor, from her fourth to her sixth year, was where the non-Quidditch action was. She remembered William Hathaway and Avery Peterson clashing foils madly in the last battle in her sixth year, scores equal, blue sparks indicating hits, while the students, sitting in newly-conjured stands in the boys' gymnasium, held their breaths. The two boys had just turned eighteen, within a week of each other. They battled for the top grades in all of their classes, and were always within a point or two of each other. She remembered the look of fierce determination on Avery's freckled face as William bit his lips and narrowed his eyes. Avery had won. Back in the Gryffindor common room, it had felt as though they had won the House Cup.
She was a more Quidditch player, really; the only girl on the Gryffindor team. It was unusual at the time for a girl to be selected first string. There were still no women at all on the professional teams, and many parents frowned on girls flying around like that, fast, competitively, at all hours of the day or night. There was an old witches' tale that too much fast flying stretched out the womb and made women give birth to deformed babies.
Her own grandmother had turned white when she learned that Minerva had been chosen for the Gryffindor team. Her mother had been proud, though, taking her to the shops, thoroughly appalled when they discovered that they carried no Quidditch clothes for girls.
"Well then." Her mother had announced haughtily. "Show me what you have for the boys." Her mother had stared pointedly at the salesgirl, whose mouth was hanging open. She repeated herself, loudly.
***********************************
