SHIP: E.L.G.I.N.M.A.R.B.L.E.S.

[charisjulia]

No: HPFGUIDX 35683


Doom. Doom, doom, doom.


DOOOOOOM.


I think you get the point.


For a week I've been scanning posts hoping against hope that my 
thoughtless slip would go unnoticed, that nobody would be intrigued 
enough to ask for further information, that I could forget and ignore 
along with a charitably incurious world. You see, no sooner did I 
send that dratted post out than I realized, dread settling in my 
stomach, what exactly I had done: set myself up for exhibiting to the 
rest of the world the foolish lovey—dovey, ooey—gooey workings of my 
mind. And this I certainly did not want to do; I mean, it would be 
humiliating, see? But I was beginning to think I might actually be 
getting away with it. I allowed relief to sweep over me, to lift me 
up lightly on it's breezy wings an d let me drift carelessly on a 
warm and cozy comfort--cloud watching as my worries swept by into the 
distance. . . 


And then, whoosh! , a jet sky zooms past at top speed drenching me 
from head to toe and reducing my fluffy cloud to a very wet shower 
that, gushing down around me, sweeps me down into the cold, dark sea 
of disillusion. As I splutter for breath a small speck quickly 
disappearing into the horizon turns to yell out at me: "Do tell us 
about E.L.G.I.N.M.A.R.B.L.E.S., Charis!"


DOOOOOOOM!


Right, I will, I promise. I said I would and I will. I am a woman of 
my word. But you will allow me to procrastinate just a teeny—weeny 
bit longer, won't you? Denial is a hard place to get out of.


Elkins wrote: 

>Are they 
>anything to do with my *own* marbles? Because I think that I've 
>misplaced those somewhere...
                     


Oh, I'm really sorry, but I just had to laugh! No, it's not your 
fault, this is high—reference knowledge. I seem to have a hazy 
recollection of your mentioning somewhere that you are American, 
right? Well, you're definitely not a Greek, I can tell that! I said 
El* g*in! With a *g *! And, no, I'm not accusing you of missing any 
parts necessary for the effective functioning of your mental 
capacities.


George Elgin was a Scottish lord. The marbles named after him were 
indeed lost, not however so much by him as because of him. At the 
beginning of the 19th century they were stolen --errr * saved* I mean 
of course . . . -- by Lord Elgin from the Parthenon, mainly because 
he figured his very own ancient temple in his back garden would 
really be something to make the neighbors go green. The Elgin Marbles 
are currently on exhibition in the British Museum in London though 
negotiations have occurred between the Greek and British governments 
to return them to their rightful home.


However E.L.G.I.N.M.A.R.B.L.E.S. the theory has nothing to do with 
any marbles whatsoever, whether sculptured by Phidias or lost by 
members of this list. That's just the way the words worked out for 
me, really.


So, that would bring us to. . . 


Charis shifts uncomfortably in her chair and starts nervously 
twiddling her thumbs. . . She hums complacently to herself and –-
trying her best to avoid looking at the computer --turns to the 
window. "Oh, look", she cries apparently thrilled to bits at the 
information she has to disclose, "there's two birds nibbling from our 
bird feeder outside! How cute!" Pause. "You know it's no wonder 
they're hungry. We've had some awful weather indeed over here lately 
let me tell you! A regular storm last night! Rain pouring, lightning 
flashing, thunder bawling! I don't mind telling you I was quite 
alarmed. . ." Her voice falters and trails off into silence. Fool, 
she mutters to herself, you love thunderstorms.


Right. I will. I will stop putting off the inevitable and especially 
stop putting on a whole show and dance of the DOOOOM I've been flung 
into and maybe write something that will interest somebody other than 
myself. The truth is after all that I kinda do want to send out this 
theory, if only to see how it will be received or if indeed it will 
get any response at all. So, here goes. . .


Let's assume for a moment, just for the sake of argument, that Lily 
had two girlfriends. I think she ought to have had two girlfriends. 
IMO she's the kind of girl that would have two girlfriends. Why? 
Well, for starters, she's * nice*. And nice girls aren't loners. Nice 
girls have girlfriends. They have girlfriends because then they can 
have midnight feasts on chocolate with those girlfriends in their 
dormitories gigglingly trying to decide who the cutest boy in class 
is. And so that they can exchange dress robes and hair clips with 
them. And so that they can sit on the bank of the lake with them 
lounging in the sun and dreaming all the thrilling things that might 
just happen if they do everything right in their lives. And (mainly) 
so that they can walk in packs with them when young wizards with 
black, tousled hair of whatever generation want to ask them out. Oh, 
I'm not saying Lily is a good little girl. Oh,no! I think Lily does 
have some wicked streak in her somewhere. But Canon clearly states 
that Lily is nice and I'm prepared to take Canon at it's word, even 
if it is voiced through emotional Hagrid. Now purely to indulge in my 
rather warped sense of humor and in order to avoid other awkward 
names (such as, oh, I don't know, Florence?) and obviously not in 
earnest, I think that I'll name these two girlfriends Dimorphotheca 
and Campanula. (Explanation of this not—too—funny joke available at 
request in the unlikely <sniger!> event of somebody not understanding 
it)


Let's also assume solely and purely for argument's sake again that 
James isn't the only one of the Marauders to have a serious interest 
in a girl. Say that both Sirius and Remus do also. And say that the 
objects of their affections happen to be Dimorphotheca and Campanula 
(if anyone's feeling slightly nauseated right now they're welcome to 
escape from this post immediately, no hard feelings). This is a bit 
sappy, I know. And perhaps I ought to accept, as most members of this 
list seem to have done, that Remus and Sirius haven't in fact met 
anyone yet and maybe never will. But I'm still an optimistic 19 and 
refuse to believe that I will not find True Love (excuse all the 
slushy words starting with capitals please) by the time I'm 36 even 
if I am unlucky enough to be bitten by a werewolf or thrown into a 
prison guarded by soul—sucking fiends. (Incidently, Peter doesn't get 
a girlfriend just out of spite and because, well, let's face it, 
who'd have him?)


So after making all those assumptions where are we led to? Well, I at 
least am led firstly to C.U.P.I.D.'S.B.L.U.D.G.E.R., but I won't get 
into that right now. Instead I'm going to make one more assumption 
and ask where does C.U.P.I.D.'S.B.L.U.D.G.E.R. lead us to after 
they've all finished Hogwarts and after Voldemort's fall? Well, I'd 
say to a very miserable Dimorphotheca for starters. Think about it. 
All in one night she looses two of her best friends allegedly because 
the man she loves (Ahhh!) ratted on them, only to be informed a few 
hours later that he's being hauled off to prison laughing his head 
off in true lunatic fashion for murdering another good friend plus 12 
innocent bystanders. DOOOM! (I think I'm addicted). So what does she 
do? Ah—ha! You see the thing is Dimorphotheca is Muggle—born. And the 
wizarding world has given her nothing but grief: First terror of a 
deranged, AK—happy Dark Maniac and now * this*. So, she goes home.


Oh no! A great gulp of salty water distastefully forces Charis to 
realize she's been digressing. Drifting in fact. Insidious 
undercurrents of the imagination are drawing her nearer and nearer to 
the treacherous sees of fanfic. "No, no!" she wails balefully. "This 
is fanspec. Really! I promise!" However no help appears and the 
overwhelming waves only grow larger as she goes over her dubious 
theory in her head on more time. "Must—save – 
E.L.G.I.N.M.A.R.B.L.E.S." she gasps struggling desperately. And then –
it's a miracle! (Well, actually more of a pathetic attempt at 
deception then a miracle)—salvation appears! A raft! A rickety, old, 
almost collapsing but clearly still floating raft: We need a new take 
on Muggles.


You see, all we've really got until now is Harry's view of the 
Dursleys and they're rather unsatisfactory representatives to say the 
least. Normally this wouldn't bother me however. I'd just consider 
the Petunia and Vernon farces of the cruel step—parents and Dudley a 
farce of the spoiled brat, have a good laugh at them and leave it at 
that. But a lot of emphasis has been put, especially in GoF, on the 
importance of not discriminating against Muggle--borns, so the way I 
see it the pending question is, what about Muggles themselves? If all 
Muggles are nasty, rude and incompetent like the Dursleys and if all 
wizards consider themselves congenitally superior, as even the 
Weasleys seem to do, then there seems to be in fact some basis for 
the elitist views of Draco and his inspirers. And what more wonderful 
way to fix this than the introduction of a witch who actually *chose 
* to return to Muggledom?


But enough about Sirius and his sweet Dimorphotheca. What about 
Campanula? Oh, it's a tragic story. . . A true heart renter. You see 
she's desperately in love with Remus and he's desperately in love 
with her (hey, this is my post after all!) but like with all true 
love stories the ending is not happy. (sniff!) You see, he's a 
werewolf and well, werewolves do not have love affairs in the 
wizarding world. It's just not * done*. How can they? Werewolfs don't 
have feelings do they? No, unfortunately the magical society and all 
it's traditions and prejudices are against these star—crossed lovers. 
Their love is in fact clandestine, something that Sirius's attraction 
for any girl could never be IMO because well, Sirius is Sirius. He 
wouldn't let a small thing like social acceptance come in the way of 
anything he wants. It's the characterization thing Tabouli pointed 
out. But poor Remus, you see, is Remus. And that's against him from 
the start. He's Remus—can't—stay—at—the—school—any—longer—because—
parents—will—get—upset—and—I—see—their—point. He's Remus the 
Ceaselessly Guilty About What He Is. He's Remus. Oh, sure he gives in 
initially. He's Remus (you did catch that didn't you?) after all. He 
can't resist nocturnal rampagings with his friends and he can't 
resist the charms of a pretty girl either. He asks her out. They have 
a good time. Maybe they even visit the greenhouse once in a while. 
Wherever they go however Guilt is inevitably at their heals. And, as 
a result, he loathes himself. He's dragged this poor, unsuspecting 
girl down into the murky swamps of social rejection against which he 
is destined to struggle. How can he live with himself? At first of 
course he's too ecstatic with joy to pay attention, but after a while 
that nagging feeling that claws round his heart whenever he sees her, 
that understanding she can never truly be his begins to disturb him 
with more and more intensity till at last –-say about a month before 
the Potter's death?-- he has to listen to it. And he tells her they 
must break up.


She of course objects. What does it matter that he's a werewolf? She 
doesn't care. She'd half guessed anyway. She loves him regardless. 
But, no, he remains adamant. He will hear no pleas. He turns almost * 
cold* in his manner. Cool. Lazy? As he leaves the room he glances 
over his shoulder and smiles twistedly at her.


Poor Remus. He's done the right thing, but he can't be happy about 
it. To the contrary, he's miserable. Lonely. Regretful. And we all 
know what Remus does when he's miserable, lonely or regretful, don't 
we? Oh, yes. He goes all Edgy. In this case in fact he goes Edgier 
than he's ever been before or since. He's teetering. Barely 
balancing. And to cut a long story short Sirius notices and thinks 
his friend has actually gone off the Edge, suspects him of 
deatheating and begins paving his own way to Azkaban.


After summing up this scenario for the purpose of posting it I 
realized that C.U.P.I.D.'S.B.L.U.D.GE.R. was not an adequate 
description. What I have in hand here is in fact not one measly 
Bludger, but a full—blown and slightly chaotic Quidditch match: James 
and Lily soar through the air gracefully tossing and catching the 
Quaffle in perfect harmony with each other, poor old Snape takes 
several love—Bludgers in the face resulting in crooked nose and a 
cranky attitude and Sirius zooms around as Beater until he gets 
rather beaten up himself. Dimorphotheca transfigures into a very 
elusive Snitch and disappears completely and Lupin, constant to his 
chivalrous character, decides that wizards should indeed introduce a 
punishment for fouling to their sports, presents himself with a red 
card and walks off the pitch. A chubby baby sporting wings and a bow 
and arrows overlooks the whole scene bent double with laughter and 
clearly not doing its job of refereeing the game.


That's E.L.G.I.N.M.A.R.B.L.E.S.: Excitable Love God's Irresponsible 
Negligence over Marauder's Affairs Results in Break—ups and Love—
starved Educators Sorrowing.


Right. So there you have it. The reason I was so reluctant to send it 
is that I have long realized that really my tastes are far too sweet 
and calm for this e—group. I like my good guys good and my bad guys 
bad and Snape just the way he is. Therefore I would like to make it 
clear that E.L.G.I.N.M.A.R.B.L.E.S. is offered with an open 
invitation for an anarchistic carnage at it's expense. Wreak havoc 
guys!


And now the time has come. I must send this. Ahhh, deep breath! 
Charis directs the mouse onto the send button, screws up her face, 
turns the other way ( can't watch!) and press. . . 


Oh, DOOOOOOM!