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A UaDM Ch 5 Fragment. - Wemyss's Appalling Hobby:
From the Party Guilty of Committing 'Gate of Ivory, Gate of Horn'
wemyss
wemyss
A UaDM Ch 5 Fragment.
Ties that bind.

Trevize – and its traffic – exemplified a Hobbesian state of nature.  It tended rather to do, the whole of the year ’round; yet Trinity Term was by far the worst.  To the usual pandemonic crush was added, in Trinity Term, the tourists, in Thestral-drawn charabancs, or waddling, striding, titupping, and dawdling in great sheep-flocks, gawping and gawking and bollixing everything: clogging Trevize, corking St Machar’s, blocking King Street, and plugging the High.  Yet even without the tourists, Trevize was ever a scene of confusion and congestion, where brooms – by immemorial custom and almost as immemorial law, restricted to fly no higher than Trevize Tower, and by ancient usage as essential to Hogwarts Sixth Years and Domdaniel undergraduates as the equivalent bicycles of Oxford, numberless as leaves in Vallombrosa – filled the air; ancient and dustily decrepit dons tottered, blocking the progress of harried and tardy undergraduates; shoppers from Sharkington and Shotunder and Shiloh jostled; and the three ways that gave Trevize its name, St Machar’s, King Street, and the High, carelessly disgorged unwary pedestrians into the paths of beer-waggons drawn by Aethonans; under the hooves of the more gorgeous junior members of Merlin, Blaise, and Godric, pink-coated, booted, and spurred; or into the stampeding hordes of Hogwarts’s lower years racing to Honeydukes for tuck.  It was so crowded, in all conscience, that it could not be made otherwise: Apparition into or indeed through the congested space would have been suicidal.  Against this riotous background of risk to life, limb, and sanity, the Trinity Term tourists and trippers stood out discordantly, and against both background and middle ground the Trinity Term undergraduates of Domdaniel preened in Springtide plumage, sauntering negligently to river and lake, strolling carelessly to meadow or pitch, dawdling, crisp in flannels, to boathouses, preparatory to punting casually to picnic or to inn; the male of the species rejoicing in the white-warp ties of the season, Summer ties and Summer amalgamated ties signalling like flags the loyalties and accomplishments of their wearers.  Female undergraduates, who with an eye to practicality and warmth would swathe themselves, in Hilary or late in Michaelmas Term, as readily in college or club colours as in any other pattern, possessed no such vernal livery, but, in their superior fashion, unmoved by the atavistic and puerile impulses of the male that made the Domdaniel college rivalries a sort of Hogwarts house system writ large, they didn’t care to do, either, such that the lack moved them not.  They simply dressed as coolly as the lurking menace of proctor, regulation, and the fickleness of Scots weather allowed, and moved on their diurnal rounds of scholarship indifferent to the masculine distractions of games and foolery.

 

With the end of the War and of the long secrecy regime, and the re-opening after three centuries of the University of Domdaniel, that large part of Hogsmeade that had long been hidden and in stasis had been reawakened to teeming life, Town in service to Gown, from North Hogsmeade to Trevize to Shotunder, from Rewley to Shiloh to Carpington to Blicester.  Once more, Hogsmeade knew the tread of scholars – and its inns, notably the Hog’s Head, the intrusions of bowler-hatted bulldogs standing minatory in the doorway behind the officiously entering Proggins, and the challenge, ‘Your name and college, sir’ – and was rocked to its foundations by hourly brazen peals, bell upon bell challenging and failing to equal the bawling metal of Grand Gryff when, nightly at 9.5, it proclaimed with one hundred strokes and one the masterful and ordained primacy of the Dean and Chapter of the Cathedral Church of SS Columba and Giles in Hogsmeade of the Founding of Godric, Called the Gryphon d’Or.  Once more the Merkat and the Stylegait felt the tread and traffic of donnish commerce, and the bonded warehouse of all knowledge that was Whitstead’s the booksellers rang changes upon its till; once more the rout and riot of the Cuddesdon Club smashed through pubs and the proprieties, scattering Galleons in its wake as condescending payment; once more, the Backhousian Museum preserved and presented in the most offhand and amateurish of ways the curiosities of the Wizarding world.

 

As the most humane and approachable of Domdaniel worthies, Professor Flitwick, was wont to remark – looking whimsically upon Felton Camera’s wild façade, or surveying with a gently proprietary air the grave and measured passage of Cobham’s Librarian through his demesne from the Cotton End and Duke Thomas’s to the Tower of the Four Elements, or, perhaps, smiling at the architectural incongruities of the Juxonian Theatre or Falkland Buildings – as that most humane and approachable of Domdaniel worthies, Professor Flitwick, was wont to remark, Domdaniel, and Hogsmeade with it, comprised the Platonic ideals of which Oxford, university and town together, were but the wan, sublunary approximations.

 

This also, in all its madcap variety and eccentricity, had been what they had fought for, the Order, the Victors, in the late War.

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Comments
nineveh_uk From: nineveh_uk Date: March 21st, 2007 12:08 pm (UTC) (Link)
It's all feeling pleasingly familiar!
wemyss From: wemyss Date: March 21st, 2007 01:32 pm (UTC) (Link)

As I say, Snap!

Mind, your own contemporaneous offering is much better. As is the latest Peter-and-Harriet.
tree_and_leaf From: tree_and_leaf Date: April 10th, 2007 08:12 pm (UTC) (Link)
once more the rout and riot of the Cuddesdon Club smashed through pubs and the proprieties, scattering Galleons in its wake as condescending payment;

My mother always warned me against Spikes!

Good stuff, as ever.
wemyss From: wemyss Date: April 11th, 2007 02:02 pm (UTC) (Link)

Thank'ee, laaa-aass.

I'm obliged.
4 comments or Leave a comment