Things that the HP characters would never say

[Shelly]

Grawp: Hello, it's nice to finally converse with someone. Which topic of interest would you like to discuss?

[Sora]

The sun is down. Soft light from yonder window breaks. Sirius is Mercutio. Remus knows this as emphatically as he has never known anything so well before, the duality of Sirius' face and Mercutio's name. His own name is distant, somewhere beneath his fingernails, which he watches to protect the lovers' privacy. Mercutio is watching over the high wall, his eyes warm with longing.

"Look at the distance that lies between those two," he says. "Do you see? High above him she rests, and keeps he to himself, with hesitance all and silence forever."

Remus says nothing. It's not his place to watch. He feels as if he is a spy in enemy territory, the subtle indications that he is unwelcome gnawing at his skin. He crosses one leg over the other and switches every other minute, the rustle of his hose muted from the hum of angry energy Mercutio emits.

"Do you see, Benvolio?" Mercutio repeats. "There lie our lovers."

"Are you wearing a codpiece?" Remus asks, without thinking.

"It is the very height of fashion," Mercutio says, looking hurt, "not that you would know; for thy concerns have run ever to the dry and dusty, that thou should wear a codpiece on thy brain to display thy most important organ. Wilt not look even once?"

"What passes between lovers should not concern me," Remus says, "or you for that matter, so stop it."

"But nothing passes between them!" Mercutio flashes an urgent glance at him, and then stares back over the wall. "He gazes at her, and she gazes away, and neither can speak but to himself. Look but once, and understand."

"I think I need to have a word with you about leaving people space," Remus says, regarding his cuticles intently.

"And but one word with me?" A dark grin flickers over the mercurial face. "Couple it with something, Benvolio; make it a word and a blow."

Remus blinks. "Which first, then? The blow or the word?"

"Ah," Mercutio says, "for there cannot be both at once." He pulls back from the wall, a last, lingering look cast over it, but circles Remus to his other side, and stands with his arms folded and his shoulders back against the cold stone. "Be it then that you are better at blows, by all means, may the blow be last; but if your words are sweeter than your blows, then the word should follow the blow."

"Mercutio," Remus attempts, "I'm not quite sure you're making any--"

"But let your head lead not your heart, when words and blows are better suited lower."

"This is innuendo," Remus manages to get out. "Isn't it? Look, about the kiss; I really haven't thought about it. I read in a book that things like that happen sometimes. Misplaced affections, comes of living in a dormitory with boys all year round, hormones interacting with hormones, and the pack mentality can't help either, though that isn't it any book anywhere, unfortunately, and I suppose that's for the best."

Mercutio looks bewildered. "'Tis more than but a word you share with me; yet for all their volume I wish't had been one blow!"

"I could still hit you," Remus offers.

"Aye, but for so many words? Why, needs must you'd assault me within an inch of my life." Mercutio's eyes are distant now, back over the wall. Remus' head itches to look. "Nor would such attack be unwelcome, for all the blows in the world might be called a touch; where all the words at your command hardly graze the skin. I have come accustomed to it. Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. So goes it with you, does it not?"

"Peace, peace," Remus digs the heel of a hand into his eyes. "Thou talk'st of nothing."

"True. I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy."

"No," Remus says, suddenly quite bewildered by himself, "I mean you're talking nonsense."

"'Tis not my</i> dream, nor then the nonsense mine," Mercutio points out. "Look."

Remus, without thinking, does. Juliet rests her cheek upon her bare hand, red hair pale in the moonlight. The moonlight, Remus tries to tell himself, something important about the moonlight. He can't for the life of him remember what. All the world is unfamiliar around him, as in a dream.

"You kissed me first," Remus protests.

Romeo steps out into view and lifts a hand to the vision of his love upon the balcony. It reminds Remus of people, or friends, who don't wear hose or codpieces or speak in the occasional iambs. He turns to watch Mercutio, whose anguish is stamped plainly across his features.

"Mercutio," Remus says. He rests a hand upon his shoulder. "What jealousy is this?"

"Jealousy it is not," Mercutio insists, shrugging Remus from him. "See the play carry on apace! See the lovers act their parts, pretty, petty, in the moonlight! What ho, Romeo! What ho, Juliet! What ho, </i>Benvolio!" He wheels upon Remus, determination unfriendly in his eyes. "Tell me, Benvolio: what is't you dream about? The capers of madmen beneath th'orb, her friendly winking counterparts alive in the heavens, and your heart fast yearning for blows?"

"I don't," Remus begins.

"But soft," Mercutio says. "What light from yonder window breaks?"

"That's not your line," Remus protests.

But he left the curtains open; and it might as well be Sirius' line, as any.

"It's Romeo's!" Remus sits up. He's got it, now. Romeo is James; Juliet, Lily. Or is that the other way around? He isn't sure.

"That's nice, dear," his mother says. She stands at the foot of his bed, sorting laundry. "You're up early. What would you like for breakfast, mm?"


Alas, we could only wish it to be true.

[Spymaster E]

Harry: I sure wish I had asked for help instead of being a total bigheaded all-about-me idiot becuase now I'm screwed.

[truthson]

Dumbledore: You must destroy the ring Frodo

[Shelly]

Dumbledore: Don't kill Tom, Harry! He's my friend!

[Spymaster E]

^continuing

Dumbledore: And besides, he's hot.
Harry: I was talking about Tom RIddle/VOldemort, not about the actor who plays Malfoy.
Dumbledore: Oh...kill him whenever you want, he's butt ugly.

[Jacques the Environmentalist]

*rolls eyes*
Dumbledore: Dark and difficult times? What are you talking about? IT'S PARTY TIME! *instantly conjures noisemakers, butterbeer, food, loud speaker system, and disco ball*

[Charles Vane]

vfdmaster2003 said:

The sun is down. Soft light from yonder window breaks. Sirius is Mercutio. Remus knows this as emphatically as he has never known anything so well before, the duality of Sirius' face and Mercutio's name. His own name is distant, somewhere beneath his fingernails, which he watches to protect the lovers' privacy. Mercutio is watching over the high wall, his eyes warm with longing.

"Look at the distance that lies between those two," he says. "Do you see? High above him she rests, and keeps he to himself, with hesitance all and silence forever."

Remus says nothing. It's not his place to watch. He feels as if he is a spy in enemy territory, the subtle indications that he is unwelcome gnawing at his skin. He crosses one leg over the other and switches every other minute, the rustle of his hose muted from the hum of angry energy Mercutio emits.

"Do you see, Benvolio?" Mercutio repeats. "There lie our lovers."

"Are you wearing a codpiece?" Remus asks, without thinking.

"It is the very height of fashion," Mercutio says, looking hurt, "not that you would know; for thy concerns have run ever to the dry and dusty, that thou should wear a codpiece on thy brain to display thy most important organ. Wilt not look even once?"

"What passes between lovers should not concern me," Remus says, "or you for that matter, so stop it."

"But nothing passes between them!" Mercutio flashes an urgent glance at him, and then stares back over the wall. "He gazes at her, and she gazes away, and neither can speak but to himself. Look but once, and understand."

"I think I need to have a word with you about leaving people space," Remus says, regarding his cuticles intently.

"And but one word with me?" A dark grin flickers over the mercurial face. "Couple it with something, Benvolio; make it a word and a blow."

Remus blinks. "Which first, then? The blow or the word?"

"Ah," Mercutio says, "for there cannot be both at once." He pulls back from the wall, a last, lingering look cast over it, but circles Remus to his other side, and stands with his arms folded and his shoulders back against the cold stone. "Be it then that you are better at blows, by all means, may the blow be last; but if your words are sweeter than your blows, then the word should follow the blow."

"Mercutio," Remus attempts, "I'm not quite sure you're making any--"

"But let your head lead not your heart, when words and blows are better suited lower."

"This is innuendo," Remus manages to get out. "Isn't it? Look, about the kiss; I really haven't thought about it. I read in a book that things like that happen sometimes. Misplaced affections, comes of living in a dormitory with boys all year round, hormones interacting with hormones, and the pack mentality can't help either, though that isn't it any book anywhere, unfortunately, and I suppose that's for the best."

Mercutio looks bewildered. "'Tis more than but a word you share with me; yet for all their volume I wish't had been one blow!"

"I could still hit you," Remus offers.

"Aye, but for so many words? Why, needs must you'd assault me within an inch of my life." Mercutio's eyes are distant now, back over the wall. Remus' head itches to look. "Nor would such attack be unwelcome, for all the blows in the world might be called a touch; where all the words at your command hardly graze the skin. I have come accustomed to it. Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. So goes it with you, does it not?"

"Peace, peace," Remus digs the heel of a hand into his eyes. "Thou talk'st of nothing."

"True. I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy."

"No," Remus says, suddenly quite bewildered by himself, "I mean you're talking nonsense."

"'Tis not my</i> dream, nor then the nonsense mine," Mercutio points out. "Look."

Remus, without thinking, does. Juliet rests her cheek upon her bare hand, red hair pale in the moonlight. The moonlight, Remus tries to tell himself, something important about the moonlight. He can't for the life of him remember what. All the world is unfamiliar around him, as in a dream.

"You kissed me first," Remus protests.

Romeo steps out into view and lifts a hand to the vision of his love upon the balcony. It reminds Remus of people, or friends, who don't wear hose or codpieces or speak in the occasional iambs. He turns to watch Mercutio, whose anguish is stamped plainly across his features.

"Mercutio," Remus says. He rests a hand upon his shoulder. "What jealousy is this?"

"Jealousy it is not," Mercutio insists, shrugging Remus from him. "See the play carry on apace! See the lovers act their parts, pretty, petty, in the moonlight! What ho, Romeo! What ho, Juliet! What ho, </i>Benvolio!" He wheels upon Remus, determination unfriendly in his eyes. "Tell me, Benvolio: what is't you dream about? The capers of madmen beneath th'orb, her friendly winking counterparts alive in the heavens, and your heart fast yearning for blows?"

"I don't," Remus begins.

"But soft," Mercutio says. "What light from yonder window breaks?"

"That's not your line," Remus protests.

But he left the curtains open; and it might as well be Sirius' line, as any.

"It's Romeo's!" Remus sits up. He's got it, now. Romeo is James; Juliet, Lily. Or is that the other way around? He isn't sure.

"That's nice, dear," his mother says. She stands at the foot of his bed, sorting laundry. "You're up early. What would you like for breakfast, mm?"


Alas, we could only wish it to be true.

Shoebox, right? I didn't know you read it.

[sunshinestar]

Harry: Darn, I forgot the spell to kill someone.
Harmeoine: You are so lame and stupid, how did you ever become my friend?

[Spymaster E]

Hermionie: *sports a "Party Naked" T-shirt*

[Jacques the Environmentalist]

Isn't wearing a "Party naked" t-shirt an oxy-moron?

[Spymaster E]

Er...maybe?

[sunnygal]

Ron: Filthy, rotten, stupid, worthless mudbloods!

[Spymaster E]

Hermionie: I wage a war against all mudbloods. Their vileness plagues our perfect wrold!
Harry: Er...isn't that a tad bit hypocritical of you?
Hermionie: HOW DARE YOU!!!!!!!!! *whacks Harry*

[descartes]

Harry: And now to destroy the last Horcrux! Oh woop! (drops it)
Voldemort: Now when you drop something Harry, you know what to do!
Harry: Well, Bend and Snap, of Course!!