Attached are the (unconfirmed) minutes for the committee meeting held on 7 May 2019, to be approved at the next meeting.
No fanfic this week, folks, but a collaborative effort from members attending the event last night, which was watching "The Philosopher's Stone". It all began, of course, with a debate over whether it should be "The Sorcerer's Stone" or "The Philosopher's Stone". The theme expanded beyond the debate, however, with some beautiful whiteboard art from one of the members. Anyway, enjoy the delightful mish-mash that was last evening's whiteboard, and hopefully we'll see you at another event soon!
As a reward for all your hard work in Collections, here's another Fanfic, this time by Stephen. This short story is of a slightly sensitive nature, though it involves no swearing or graphic scenes, so I'd recommend you only read on if you are aged 15 or over. It also goes without saying that all views expressed in the fanfic below are the author's, not the society or committee's.
The Cat’s out of the Bag - by Stephen
‘Son,’ Lucius Malfoy had said, laying a hand on Draco’s shoulder, ‘If you want to get revenge on your worst enemy, have sex with their mother.’
It was on this advice that Draco found himself standing in dress robes in the deserted Great Hall at midnight, clutching a Time Turner he’d stolen from Granger and a furious Mrs Norris.
‘Quiet, you,’ he hissed. Mrs Norris hissed back. It hadn’t been easy luring her away from Filch- Draco’s arms already resembled a matched set of scratching posts- but he needed the cat to identify Lily Potter. It would be crowded at the school dance of 1976 and he reckoned Mrs Norris would be able to track Harry’s mother down by scent. After all, she’d been at Hogwarts as long as Filch; she was bound to recognise Lily.
Speaking of scents…Malfoy transferred the writhing cat to one hand so he could check his breath. He’d been chewing Peppermint Toads all evening, if he was going to woo Lily Potter, he needed to exert every ounce of charm at his disposal
Draco frowned. Something was off. Then he realised- Mrs Norris had stopped hissing.
‘Draco,’ she said softly. ‘You don’t have to do this.’
Draco dropped the cat. ‘You-‘ he spluttered- ‘you can talk!’
From where she’d fallen on the floor, Mrs Norris turned her face up to him. It was wet with tears.
‘Of course,’ she said gently. ‘My real name isn’t Mrs Norris. It’s Amanda Snodgrass. I’m an Animagus.’
The name rang a faint bell. ‘Snodgrass…’ said Draco. ‘You were at Hogwarts with my father.’ Draco’s face settled into its characteristic sneer. ‘He hated you!’
‘Yes!’ Mrs Norris’/ Amanda Snodgrass’ voice was choked with grief. ‘I was his worst enemy.’
Draco’s grey eyes widened. ‘You mean…’
Mrs Norris nodded, which was an achievement. Regret was etched in every whisker. ‘I…I decided to get revenge on him…’
‘By having sex with his mother?’ Draco gasped.
‘No. By disguising myself as a cat and having sex with his girlfriend. Narcissa was a really big furry at the time.’
Mrs Norris put a paw on Draco’s shoe. ‘Draco, I didn’t use protection. Draco, I am your mother-‘ she paused. ‘Your other mother.’
Draco reeled. The Time Turner, forgotten, dropped from his numb fingers. ‘But-but- how is that possible?!’
Mrs Norris blinked. ‘Magic.’
As Week 0 (and collections) approaches, I thought it was high time I make my first post. Like the previous Quibbler editor, I'm going to aim to post up a fanfic from an HPSoc member every Friday, mainly because the alliteration of "Fanfic Fridays" can't really be improved upon. Therefore without further ado, let me introduce this week's fanfic, by an anonymous HPSoc member: Mistransfiguration.
Mr and Mrs Dursley sat in front of the television watching the Six O’Clock News, as Peter Sissons’
voice boomed out of the television. “And now the latest on notorious mass murderer Sirius Black,
who escaped from a top-security prison last night. We hand over to Nick Ross, Crimewatch
presenter. Nick, what can you tell us?”
“Well, the authorities are reporting that Sirius Black killed thirteen people in 1981, in a
spree killing on a busy shopping street. To be honest, though, Peter, we’re finding this difficult to
understand, because we’ve looked in the BBC Archive, and we don’t have any records of a spree
killing having taken place in 1981, much less by anyone by that name. We’ve found a record of a
gas explosion that killed that number of people at the time that Black supposedly carried out the
murder, but that’s it, and Black wasn’t named in connection with it, either as a culprit or as a
victim. Obviously we’ll continue to look into this—”
At that moment, a harassed looking woman in long flowing robes ran onto the screen. She
pointed a piece of wood at the presenter, and shouted “Confundo!”, before pointing at the camera
and shouting “Obliviate!”. Then she ran off.
Watching at home, Mr and Mrs Dursley were slightly confused, having forgotten what
point Nick Ross was making. Nick, who looked slightly blank, just said, “So, yes, we’re very
confused by this case, Peter, and I don’t have anything to report. Apologies, and back to you in the
“Right,” said the newsreader, looking nonplussed. “Well, anyway, the police have asked us
to inform viewers that if they spot Sirius Black anywhere, they should not approach him, and
should inform the police immediately by telephoning…”
“Nasty business,” said Vernon, turning to his wife. “They should bring back hanging,
shouldn’t they? Then we wouldn’t have any of this scum walking the streets.”
“Yes, well, I blame his parents,” said Petunia. “Something must have gone wrong with his
upbringing. People don’t raise their kids right these days. Potter, the washing machine’s done;
empty it, you lazy boy!” she added as an aside.
Harry trudged down to the washing machine, tossing Neville’s Remembrall idly. Neville
had left it in the dormitory at the end of term, and Harry had decided to keep it for safe-keeping.
It had turned red, which meant he’d forgotten something; he wondered for a while if the “thing”
was that he’d forgotten to throw the Remembrall at Aunt Petunia’s head, perhaps causing a mild
concussion, or maybe even death if he threw it at the right point; and he could use Alohomora to get
out of prison, so he’d escape, and could go on the run… But no, he thought, he didn’t want to
become a murderer; he liked his soul intact, he thought, presciently.
“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” he said, remembering what the Remembrall was telling him to
remember, and simultaneously wondering what the advantage of one of these was over a notepad.
He’d had his permission form for Hogsmeade all summer, and he needed to ask one of the
Dursleys to sign it.
“And make us some tea while you’re in there!”
“Yes, Aunt Petunia.” He got out the teapot, wondering whether she’d notice if he poured
some washing powder into the tea pot with the tea leaves, but he realised the lethal dose would be
detectable by taste. A shame. He boiled the kettle, put some tea leaves into the pot, and placed the
tea cosy over the top. It was slightly too large for the pot, and slightly worn, and it split along two
of its seams. He had a sudden vision of Dobby wearing the tea cosy as a hat, for no reason other
than that it really needed to be clear that a House-Elf might wear it.
Harry put the teapot down in the living room while Petunia was still talking about Sirius
Black. “No, it’s like your sister Marge says, it’s all about the breeding. We should ask her about
that when she comes.”
“Oh, bloody hell, Petunia, don’t get her on about dogs, I don’t think I could stand to listen
to another ruddy anecdote about Colonel ruddy Fubster.”
“We should get them together sometime,” muttered Petunia.
“I’m afraid last I heard he was spending a lot of time with Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart,”
he said, a faint look of disgust on his face.
“Ah, well,” said Petunia. “Potter, this tea is cold.”
Harry had reached the end of his tether. Not thinking, he drew his wand, and sparks flew
out of it, pointing it, unfortunately, at the teapot.
With a small pop, the teapot disappeared, being replaced by the living embodiment of a
joke. Well, that’s what Harry thought it was—he had to admit he’d never seen a joke in the flesh
before, but he was pretty sure that this was one looked like. And “in the flesh” was the phrase for
it, because the joke was undeniably naked. Thankfully for anyone attempting to write about this
moment, the scene was utterly indescribable.
“What in blazes?! Is this some sort of a joke?” bellowed Uncle Vernon.
“Yes, I think it is,” said Harry, attempting to suppress a smile.
The joke, still wearing the tea cosy as a hat, was now standing on the table. It raised one
arm (was that an arm?), then another, in rhythm, before turning both arms over, then placing them
in turn on its—upper arms, maybe, or shoulders?—and then on its head.
At this point, Dudley walked into the room. “That’s the Macarena,” he said, dully.
Everyone stared at him. “It’s a dance you can do to a Spanish song. It’ll be big in three years or so,
I bet.” The other three continued to stare. “Everyone’s doing it at Smeltings.”
“Since when have you paid attention to what happens in school?” asked Harry.
“Enough!” shouted Petunia. “Up to your room!”
“Not yet, he’s not,” replied Vernon. “He needs to get rid of this bloody—whatever it is!”
Harry sighed. “This is such a joke.”
“Yes, it is. Now get rid of it!”
“But I don’t know how! I don’t know how I even created it!” The joke, meanwhile, had
now completed four quarter turns and seemed to have decided the inaudible music had stopped.
It had progressed, instead, to making horse like movements with its legs, in time to words it was
singing in Korean.
At this point, an official-looking owl flew in through the window. It dropped a letter on top
of the joke, which Harry had to wrestle off it (he wasn’t sure how something without identifiable
hands could have such a good grip). He opened the letter as the owl flew away, and read it.
Dear Mr Potter,
We have received intelligence that you carried out a Transfiguration at eight minutes past six this evening in a Muggle-inhabited house and in the presence of a Muggle, turning a teapot into the corporeal representation of a joke.
Ordinarily, the severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery would result in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. However, to be quite frank, we’re not sure what you did to make that happen, and the Department of Mysteries has got quite enough on at the moment to be trying to explain how you transfigured an object into a sentient version of an abstract concept, and so we’re going to let this one slide on this occasion. A Ministry Obliviator will be on their way to your address shortly to wipe your memories of this incident for canon-protecting purposes.
Enjoy the rest of this evening while you still remember it!
Improper Use of Magic Office, Ministry for Magic
Harry sighed, but thought that, since none of them would remember this, he might as well ask
Uncle Vernon to sign his Hogsmeade letter.
“Um, I realise this might not be the best moment,” said Harry, “but third-years are allowed
to go to the village near the school, but only with their guardians’ permission, and I wondered if
“Are you having a laugh?” replied Vernon, as the doorbell rang to signal the arrival of the
“Well, in the presence of a joke, I thought I might as well,” replied Harry.
The joke seemed to have sensed its imminent destruction. It started flailing around,
repeating itself over and over again, before the Obliviator made it vanish with a wave of his wand.
“Well, you killed that joke,” said Harry.
“It died about five paragraphs ago,” said the Obliviator.
“Fair enough,” said Harry, and waited to forget this had ever happened.
The second Triwizard Task for 2018-2019 was a combination cake decorating and cocktail mixing event. Cakes were judged for aestheticism and creativity, while cocktails were judged on taste and presentation. But alas, there could only be one winner. Tied in second place were Team Harry and Fleur, with 31 points each. First place went to Team Cedric with 39 points.
Team Harry, 31 points
Team Harry's cake was envisioned as the birthday cake Hagrid would give Harry for his 31st birthday--coming up this July. Their cocktail and mocktail were very pretty and sparkly, and the mocktail had a creative twist-- goblet-of-fire inspired scrolls with the names of the judges. However, points were lost for a less-than-pleasant tasting mocktail.
Team Fleur, 31 points
Team Fleur made some very controversial decisions. Their cake was decorated as the cake to be presented at Fleur's 100th deathday party, which of course poor Fleur and all her guests would be unable to taste; they would have to content themselves with passing through it. Accompanying the cake were four cupcakes, each containing a clue as to how Fleur was killed. The President was rather turned off by the morbid and gruesome presentation, while the editor appreciated the dark humour and just how realistic the berry-blood looked, and points were given accordingly. Their cocktail was deemed acceptable by the President, but their mocktail was nearly disqualified, as it was uncertain if literal icing in a cup really counted as a liquid. However, the editor greatly appreciated the pure joy of eating literal sugar and so the mocktail was judged quite highly indeed.
Team Cedric, 39 points
The winner of the night was Team Cedric, coming in at 39 points. Team Cedric had a very ambitious cake--a model of the Hogwarts Lake, complete with a very detailed cake sculpture of the giant squid. The cocktail and mocktail were both nicely presented, and both were deemed delicious. The editor downed the mocktail because it was really really good.
The case of the black icing
While most of the night was spent joyously, there was a moment where HPSoc member turned against HPSoc member. It was discovered by a member of Team Harry that Team Cedric had black icing--which Team Harry had been desperate for for quite some time. The matter was later cleared up as a misunderstanding, but not before some excellent reaction shots were captured:
For more pictures of the event, including some group photos, see below! We hope everyone had fun at the event!
Every Friday*, The Quibbler posts a new fanfic contributed by an HPSoc member. This week's fanfic was contributed by an HPSoc member in Trinity 2018.
*or, more accurately, on the following weekend, when the editor remembers this is her job--which has happened pretty much every time
The Cat- Xavier
Dolores Umbridge had always, always, ALWAYS loved cats. Often, cats liked her as well. Though she did not have her own, she often saw one particular cat around Hogwarts. Of this cat, she was particularly fond as her first kitten as a child would have grown up to look precisely the same.
She remembered every single time she saw this cat, a grey Tabby with the greenest eyes.
The first time was from far off, out the window. She had spotted him, for she had decided the Tabby was a male, as had been her childhood kitten, from out of the window, slinking around the corner. She had thought about him all day…
The second time, he was down the corridor from her, staring at her, judging her, somehow, if a cat could judge. She took only a step closer, but the cat must have startled, for he ran off despite her best efforts.
For that, Dolores was saddened. It really ruined her day, actually, even more than the presence of children at Hogwarts.
Each time after this, she only got a couple of steps closer, as if the cat were counting, no matter how slowly she walked or how sweetly she spoke to him.
Twelve steps away last Tuesday.
She just wanted to pet him.
For him to like her, yet he always ran off…
Humans didn’t like her, but cats were supposed to. He must just be shy, she rationalised. Next time, she decided, she would allow him to approach her instead. That must be the problem.
Yes, a cat simply couldn’t dislike her. That would be absolutely preposterous. She would mourn the pain of a cat long before the death of a student, which obviously entitled her to their love.
Yet, the year went on and she never got any closer to the cat than that. Then, one day, just before the OWLs were scheduled to begin, she saw the cat again, just down the corridor…
‘Please, don’t go…’ She drew in a breath sharply as the cat turned away slowly. In frustration, she sighed, ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were taunting me…’
And the cat was gone again- wait! No, the cat had come over to her this time! It was a miracle! ‘There we are, see? Nothing to scare you here…’ She bent down, reaching her hand out. The tabby came closer, sniffing her hand.
When she went to pet him, the cat suddenly bit her. Umbridge shouted and drew back, terribly shocked, ‘Ow! Oh you naughty cat….!’ And the cat ran off.
Dolores regretted her anger forever, as the cat never returned. McGonagall, however, was in a particularly good mood for the rest of the week.
-The author forgot to include the Rememberall
Every Friday*, The Quibbler posts a new fanfic contributed by an HPSoc member. This week's fanfic was contributed by Adam Morris. It was written for the Hilary 2019 Fanfic Night.
*or, more accurately, on the following weekend--except this week, when the editor actually remembered to post!
Note: Given the rather...unconventional title for the fanfiction, it must be re-iterated that all views expressed below are those of the writer. However, all jokes regarding Freddie are fully endorsed by the editor.
Harry Potter and the Choose-Your-Own-Genocide
This fanfic is a work of interactive fiction. At various points, you have a choice between two labelled options. You should then read the matching branch, and then go to “Continue the story”.
“Freddie no!” Bane shouted as Ron was impaled on the sword of a first-year, Freddie. Freddie was possessed by Lord Voldemort. Ron fell onto the floor, unmoving and clearly fatally injured. Bane was distraught: he had been best friends with Ron for three years, ever since he got lost in the Forbidden Forest in first year detention and was adopted by Bane.
Bane felt his blood boiling. He stared at Freddie and…
(a) … ran straight at him. (b) … then quickly ran back into the forest.
If you chose (a):
In blind fury, Bane barrelled into Freddie and trampled him to death. He walked over to Ron’s body, but he was clearly dead. He pulled the bloodied sword out of Ron and took it with him back into the forest, unable to believe what had happened.
If you chose (b):
Bane kept running blindly, as if he could run away from his emotions. He stopped after about five minutes to process what had happened and plan his next move. Meanwhile, Freddie approached Ron’s corpse and pulled the sword out. “Wow, cool!” he said. “What happens if I do this?” he asked before stabbing himself and falling back dead. Back in the forest, Bane had come up with a plan.
Continue the story:
“I will get my revenge,” Bane thought, “by killing all humans.”
The next day, Bane left the forest and approached the first human he saw, a fourth-year Gryffindor student named Hermione. “You there!” he yelled. “Come with me or I will unleash my secret weapon: (1) happiness.” (2) Alexander Hamilton.”
If you chose (1):
“Ooh, I love happiness,” Hermione said. She followed Bane happily into the forest until they reached the elixir of happiness.
“I know you won’t like this, but you cannot leave or else I will—"
“I don’t want to leave! I’m happy to stay here as long as I can drink this elixir.”
“Okay, well sure, go ahead. Now for the plan…”
If you chose (2):
“Yes, I loved that musical,” Hermione said, anachronistically. “Alexander Hamilton is one of my favourite wizards!” She followed Bane happily into the forest until they reached Hamilton’s decaying corpse. Bane turned to Hermione. “I know you won’t like this, but you cannot leave or else I will—”
“I don’t want to leave! I’m happy to stay here as long as I can take selfies with Alexander Hamilton!”
“Okay, well… sure, go ahead. I mean, you know that he’s dead, right—in fact, I don’t care. Onto the plan…”
Continue the story:
Six weeks later, Hermione had made a Time-Turner, a perfect replica of the one she had been given the previous year. “Alright, time to go back to 1757 to stop Alexander Hamilton from being born and creating the elixir of happiness,” Hermione announced.
“Yep,” Bane said, “that’s a real thing that we’re going to do.”
And so they went back in time and approached Rachel Faucette Buck, Hamilton’s mother. They decided to…
(i) … kill her. (ii) … talk to her.
If you chose (i):
Bane ran at Rachel, about to use his signature move—trampling people to death. Instead, she held him back with a single hand, using superhuman strength. “How did you do that?” Hermione asked. “I’ve only ever seen that effect with the elixir of manibus.”
Rachel looked up, shocked. “I’ll show you.”
If you chose (ii):
“Hi, so umm… this is going to sound a bit weird but… we need to kill your baby.”
“Your baby. See, he’s going to go on to create the elixir of happiness, and we—”
“The elixir of happiness? I think you’d better follow me.”
Continue the story:
Rachel took Hermione and Bane to her basement. There were potions bubbling all over the room. “What’s happening? Alexander Hamilton hasn’t even been born yet,” Hermione asked.
“What do you mean? These are my inventions,” Rachel said.
“Oh my god! In the future, your son takes credit for these elixirs,” Hermione said, shocked that one of her heroes was not who he had seemed.
Hermione looked around the room, taking closer note of all the different types of potions. She recognised several of them, including one which was the elixir of happiness, and another which was called the elixir of manibus, but there were many others that she had never seen before—big ones and small ones, round ones and tall ones, and even a…
(I) … bright purple one. (II) … an invisible one.
If you chose (I):
“What’s that bright purple one?” Hermione asked.
“That’s the elixir of deus ex machina!” Rachel replied.
Hermione opened the potion excitedly. “What does the potion do?” Bane asked.
“It destroys the universe,” Rachel said, and the world faded to black.
If you chose (II) and previously chose (a):
“Let me show you one of them,” Rachel said, and she reached over and grabbed what looked like thin air. As she opened the stopper to the invisible potion bottle, it became visible.
“It’s an elixir of invisibility,” Rachel said as Hermione stabbed her with the sword, grabbing the elixir and drinking it. Then Bane and Hermione travelled back to the present day, killing all the humans one by one by sneaking up on them invisibly and stabbing them.
If you chose (II) and previously chose (b):
“Let me show you one of them,” Rachel said, and she reached over and grabbed what looked like thin air. As she opened the stopper to the invisible potion bottle, it became visible.
“It’s an elixir of invisibility,” Rachel said.
“Ooh, Hermione, we could use this potion to kill humans if we sneak—” Bane was interrupted by Rachel.
“Okay, I’m not quite sure what’s happening here but I’m not going to be part of any murder, least of all my own son’s. I don’t like to do this, but…” Rachel pulled the stopper out of a green potion bottle and threw the contents at Bane and Hermione. The glass shattered at their feet and a brown mist rose from it. The mist covered Bane and Hermione and then disintegrated them.
“Glad to see that the elixir of death still works,” Rachel said. She felt a contraction coming on. She was about to give birth.
Every Friday*, The Quibbler posts a new fanfic contributed by an HPSoc member. This week's fanfic was was written for the Michaelmas 2018 Fanfic Night. It was contributed by a member going by the pseudonym reginacattus.
Dahria Kuyser is the current editor of The Quibbler. While she is unfortunately a Muggle, she takes great pride in the fact that she has no idea quite how many times she’s read the Harry Potter series, and in the fact that her trivia on the Wizarding World is far more extensive than that of the Muggle one. When she isn’t too busy practicing wand movements, she can be contacted through the Webmaster.
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