broom Breaking News
| Our cool correspondent from icy Iceland reports the following fascinating fact:
On top of one of the various volcanoes a Hungarian hiker spotted sinister Sirius Black. Apparently Black was planning a plot to overthrow the Ministry of Magic with the aid of his faithful friend and follower L. M. (the editors apologize for not using the full name - we only want to avoid a lawsuit.) | As soon as these news reached Auror Headquarters, Head Hunter Shacklebolt was sent to Iceland - but there was no Black being there. Our candid correspondent strongly suspects the vain villain disapparated dutifully after the awaited arrival of Shacklebolt.
BBN will provide you with the latest news on Sirius Sightings! |
| (The World) Devastating news reaches us. As our correspondents Paul and Chris report house elves have gone on holiday nationwide. It seems that only seven elves still hold the position.
Over night the house elves have left the magical world. They set off for a long deserved holiday. Witches, wizards and our colleagues in the Daily Prophet were taken by surprise. The first to notice the absence of the dearly hold workers was professor Dumbledore, currently headmaster of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But let the man talk for himself. AD: I was waiting for my glass of warm milk when I noticed that none of the house elves showed up. So I went down to the kitchen myself and there I found… broom: Obviously that the house elves had left. AD: Actually no. I found that someone had left the light turned on in the corridor on the second floor. I switched it off for we all should conserve energy. Even if it is only a torch fire crackling softly away. broom: And let me assure you that we here at broom do believe in the conservation of energy. Especially if it helps us to prevent wasting our own which we – naturally – hold most dearly. But let us return to the topic. AD: As I was saying, I went down to the kitchen. |
broom: And what did you notice there?
AD: Nothing, I mean, everybody was gone. broom: And what did you do next, sir? AD: I searched the kitchen for a glass of warm milk. broom: Yes, and then? AD: I drank it. broom: And then? AD: ??? broom: What did you do about the house elves? AD: I called them of course. You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Wixxen, Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen…and Rudolph, of course. broom: Yes, we get the picture. AD: Picture? Who has taken a picture? broom: Never mind that now, what happened next? AD: They didn’t come. broom: So what did you do? AD: I called again. broom: And then? AD: They didn’t come. broom: Yes, yes, yes, we get the picture. But what was the cunning plan you came up with when you had realized that the house elves were gone for good. AD: I…(sob)…I cried…(sob) broom: There, there, professor, it’s not that bad. AD: (blowing his nose) I know. It’s | alright. When this fit was over I realized that the students would have to die of hunger or prepare their meals on their own. I engaged the teachers in the…
broom: …housework. AD: No in the creating of a plan. broom: And together you came up with your plan to make the teachers take the role of the house elves, assisted by the caretaker and the keeper of keys. AD: Yes, we came up with this after only five hours of conference… broom: Unbelievable! AD: Yes, isn’t it. We’ve never come up with a decision that fast. broom: What have been the biggest problems? AD: Actually, to wake up some of the teachers… broom: No, what we mean is in realizing the plan. AD: Yes, as I said, to wake up some of the teachers. broom: This was certainly just a problem of the first night… AD: No. broom: But how did you manage to do so well? AD: We managed to do well? Actually, it seemed more like a perfect chaos… broom: Yes, thank you for taking the time. As always broom would like to thank professor Dumbledore for his cooperation. (BC) |
| Shadows were crossing the black shiny surface of the lake. Only occasionally a star made its way through the thick clouds, that were chased by the wind. On the border of the lake a single solitary figure stood, her long blue dress rippling in the breeze. “Have you been waiting long, my heart?” The newcomer wore a dark cloak and a velvet mask over his eyes. “A few hours,” the woman answered, turning and looking at the man with her incredibly green eyes that sparkled with the shadows. “That is a long time indeed,” the man answered. His voice was warm and a little hoarse. “Come, we will have to find something more … secluded.” The couple went towards a little grove. The man took off his mask and his dark eyes smiled at his companion, luring her towards him with a magic force that could not be resisted. With a sigh she fell into his arms. He bent down, slowly, much too slowly for her wishes, then she felt his lips upon hers, sweeter than anything she had ever tasted before. “Oh, Patricia, how I missed you!” he groaned. “Sean, I could not live without you!” she replied, and they kissed again. Very carefully, Sean placed Patricia down onto the moss-blanketed ground. He knelt down beside her, untying the ribbons that held his white blouse. Patricia held her breath as the suntanned skin of her lover’s chest appeared under the white cloth. She had loved him ever since they had met, some two years ago, on that fatal sea voyage – fatal for Patricia’s father, at least. The sea had been wild, full of foaming waves and crying gulls, and the world had seemed to go down that day. Patricia’s father, a rich merchant, had |
asked his daughter to accompany him on this particular voyage as he had arranged a meeting with another merchant whose son needed a wife. So Patricia was shipped off with the other goods, to be sold for the best price available. She loathed it, but she dearly loved her father. He was all she had after her mother and her infant brother had died of consumption some years earlier. So she went with him – but she had never thought seafaring that dangerous. The ship was rocking up and down, riding the waves as best as she could. Patricia could not help wondering if this was an allegory on her own life. Wasn’t she, too, riding with the waves that were carrying her from one place to another? Suddenly a cry from outside startled her. A sailor was shouting: “Pirates! There are pirates!” Patricia had jumped up and rushed to the small round hole that was called a window on this ship. Yes, there was another ship close by – a ship with black sails! Frantically, Patricia tried to bolt her door, then looked for something like a weapon. She found a bottle and smashed it so that she had the shards to defend herself. Her barricade proved little effective – soon a tall man entered her cabin. On seeing her, a smile flashed on his tanned face. Even though she was frightened, Patricia could not help seeing how handsome he was: a shock of untidy black hair crowned a face that would not have been rejected by the finest sculptor of the ancient Greeks. “What a treasure the old man was hiding here!” he laughed. His voice was deep and made shivers run down Patricia’s neck. She nevertheless brandished her glass. “Ho, Miss, don’t cut yourself,” the |
man said. “If you don’t make a fuss, I won’t hurt you – come, Miss.” He beckoned her outside. “No!” someone suddenly screamed. There was her father, his face bloodstained and contorted in helpless panic. “Leave my daughter!” he said. Patricia saw her chance. The pirate was looking with poorly hidden amusement at her father. She struck with the shard, but in a flash the pirate caught her wrist. His strength was amazing. “Careful, as I said, Miss,” he said and he sounded as if he did not care in the least that someone had just tried to kill him – well, hurt him, as Patricia had to admit. “You are barbarians,” the merchant said. Now tears were streaming down his face. Patricia wanted to fling herself into his arms and cry with him, but she had to defend them both. The pirate sighed. “You cannot win against Sean MacFee, master merchant. Give up!” Patricia caught her breath. So that was Sean MacFee, the famous pirate, known and feared in all seven oceans! “Miss, you will come with me. Kill that one,” MacFee ordered, dragging Patricia with him by her wrist. “PATRICIA!!!” she heard her father yell, then a swish and a horrible thud as the sword hit flesh and bones and the head the wet planks. “You murderer!” Patricia yelled, hammering with her free hand at MacFee’s muscular arm. “Stop that, little Miss,” MacFee ordered her sternly. “You will be safe with me, but if I leave, you know you’ll be nothing but fresh meat for my men. So come with me, Miss.” Patricia went silent and stopped fighting against her captor. He led her to his own ship, tossing her over the water like some light package. |
| Recently I heard two middle-aged witches talking to each other about Azkaban. Now, you and I know that this is not a topic the average witch or wizard would joke about. So you will understand why I dropped my spoon into my hot Latte Macchiato and splashed the coffee all over the table and myself when I heard the following: "Rumours say the Dismembers are out of bounds."
Yes. Dismembers. My little clumsy accident drew the ladies' eyes to my table. So I asked them why they called the Azkaban guards 'Dismembers' instead of 'Dementors'? Well, they told me they had heard a Muggle, obviously married to a wizard, |
mentioning them.
How can we react to this? Should we create an Institution for the Protection of Magical Vocabulary after the fashion of the Académie Française? I don't think so. Personally, I am of the opinion that all new words will be old words one day. Without the invention of the word 'Quidditch' we might be restrained to playing Football-on-brooms! And after all, Dismembers is a good description of the effects Dementors have on us. Tell us your opinion!
Yours sincerely, Mike Flatley |