Har skrivit en humoristisk fanfiction om Godric Gryffindor och Sorteringshatten. Den finns att läsa här och på min profil på Fanfiction.net! Berätta gärna vad ni tycker! ^^
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or anything in J. universe.
Chin up, Godric Gryffindor
Godric was in a sour mood, and it didn’t get any better with Helga mollycoddling him and Rowena telling him to ”chin up”. As if his chin could do anything else than throb and bleed sluggishly at the moment, he could swear the blue clad lady was laughing at him behind his back. He was currently sitting, or slouching would be a better word, in the Founder’s personal common room, where they could plan for classes or just relax in each other’s presence.
His eyes irritably went from one corner of the room to the other, wondering how on earth they’d managed to keep the room tastefully decorated using all their personal colors in the room. The cold stonewalls were decorated in tapestries in blue and green, while the floors had a soft, yellow mat, large enough to fill the entire room and the textile furniture like chaises and the loveseat in front of the fire were a dark, rusty red. It probably wasn’t the prettiest room in the Britain, but it didn’t ignite any arguments about favoritism at least. Personally Godric would have liked more red and gold, but he was partial, he could admit that.
He held the white, satin handkerchief to the small, circular wound in the middle of his chin. Helga had been so kind as to lend it to him while waiting for Salazar to bring a blood clotting potion from his stores.
”Are you sure you’re well, dear Godric?” Helga whimpered, wringing her petite-looking hands and gazing at him with tear-filled big brown eyes.
Before he could even answer her, a very unladylike snort could be heard from the desk at the other side of the room, where a dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty sat with a quill in one hand and the other placed on a large and dusty tome. Rowena looked at them with derisive, yet amused eyes;
”The injury was his own fault Helga, let him suffer through it.” She smirked. ”Perhaps he will learn to use his brains instead of his muscles for once, though I hardly doubt it will be achieved in this life.”
Godric just sighed while Helga started to berate her female friend for being so heartless, couldn’t she see Godric was in pain, and so forth. Godric himself zoned them out, staring into the fire, it’s gentle sparks and the dull, almost hypnotic throbbing in his chin lulled him into a sleeplike trance. He seriously couldn’t see what the fuss was all about, he had sustained greater injuries in battles, and this was just a small pinprick, in his opinion. But as a gentleman he would not object to the caring the lady Helga insisted on. And watching Slytherin act like an errand boy for the kind little blonde next to him was hilarious.
He barely noticed when he left the real world and nodded off, until he started to see some bizarre things. He was no longer in the general room with Rowena and Helga, but in a smaller room with a pedestal made of dark wood, oak he thought it be.
”How strange.” He thought, as he saw an old, dirty hat that looked like it was seemed together by a clumsy 5 year old.
Suddenly one of the large seams opened up, almost like a mouth. Godric stared at it and backed up a step when suddenly, the hat did something very strange. It laughed.
”Well, well. So you’ve finally come to visit.” The Hat chuckled. ”Took you long enough, do you know how boring it is, only having your own mind for company and making up songs about you and your comrades as only amusement?” The hat shook its tip at him, almost like a mother would shake a finger at her children.
Godric stared; this had to be the most bizarre dream he’d ever had. But he figured, since he was Godric Gryffindor, the bravest wizard in Britannia, he would not show the hat he was bothered by it. For Merlin’s sake, it was a bloody hat! A talking, seemingly all-knowing hat, but a hat nonetheless.
”Why don’t just stand there, you big oaf, come and put me on!” the talking Hat urged him, making Godric give it a weird glance, but the he shrugged and complied, what could it hurt?
He stepped forward a gently pulled the Hat from its pedestal, (”easy, I’m ticklish!”) and put it on his head. Suddenly he heard a familiar chuckle inside his head.
”Why Godric, I knew you were brave to the point of foolishness, but haven’t you learned yet not to accept bets from dear Salazar?” The hat could obviously read his mind, Godric felt the hairs rise on his hairy arms, but he shrugged it off and tried to reply in a neutral voice;
”It seemed like a good idea at the time, think if I had succeeded! The ladies would have flocked around me!” He puffed out his chest at the thought. He was a gentleman yes, but what gentleman did not appreciate the adoring gazes of noble maidens?
”When you have as bad eyesight as your future ancestor, it’s a very bad idea. ”The Hat retorted drily, making Godric yet again feel weirded out by the bizarre hat. ”My future ancestor? What are you babbling about, you ruddy hat? I don’t even have an heir, much less a grandchild.”
The chuckled again (it was making Godric more irritated than his throbbing chin).
”Never you mind, brave Godric, the time will come and the answers will unfold themselves to you and be at your mercy.” It replied dramatically. ”But now, I think it would be time for you to WAKE UP!” The Hat’s voice suddenly changed with the last two words and the seam it spoke with suddenly turned into a human mouth. He felt a rough hand shake his shoulder and suddenly it was Salazar, not the hat that was before him.
Salazar Slytherin was clad in a green robe with silver embroidery and his black hair fell down to his shoulders in waves, manly waves of course; Salazar would hex you senseless if you ever called him feminine in any way. He smirked at his companion in red and said; ”What were you dreaming about, Gryffindor, you made poor Helga worried when she couldn’t wake you.”
”Never you mind,” Godric replied irritated. ”Do you have the Clotting Potion?”
”Indeed I have, but,” Salazar smirked again, widely this time and held up a small bottle as well as a sharp, gleaming razor. ”You’re aware of that we’ll have to shave off your beard before we can apply the potion to your little wound?”
”What? No!” Gryffindor protested while holding on to his beard like a child would his favorite toy, with the two ladies constantly giggling in the background. ”This is all your fault Slytherin.”
Said Lord Slytherin laughed together with the ladies, ”My fault? I just wondered if you could swallow that big shiny sword of yours while juggling our drinking goblets, not my fault you can’t aim. You were the one foolish enough to accept my question as a challenge.” Salazar said, his eyes gleaming mischievously, telling a whole other story.
Godric just groaned while snatching the razor from a now grinning Salazar Slytherin. This was the last time he ever did something the sneaky bastard told him to do he thought while sorrowfully hacking away at his beloved beard. Just because his eyesight was bad and he’d missed and split his chin open this time, didn’t mean he couldn’t do it. He’d show that bastard Slytherin, just wait until his chin was healed, he grumbled. He was Godric Gryffindor, the bravest wizard in the land, and he would show them he could be the best sword swallower in Britannia as well!
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