Sekrit Adventures
- By: Eco-Friendly Dragon

After its brush with death narrow escape from detection the month before, the Quick-Quotes Quill resolved to settle down and focus solely on its primary job: enhancing and improving Rita Skeeter's reputation as an outstanding writer. And for several weeks, it was content. Sure, its special notebook had been confiscated and it occasionally wondered what had happened to that anonymous but clearly literarily inferior storyteller, but the Quill brushed those thoughts aside like the buzzing gnats that they were. That is, until the day that Rita stuffed five notebooks in her bag, saying, "Heavens to Circe, these things seem to multiply. I simply must start donating them to charity. Maybe the Hogwarts library would treasure my extra snippets of brilliance?"

The temptation was utterly too great. Gingerly, the Quill eased the smallest but thickest of the pads open and idly flipped through the parchment. It was pristine other than a tiny, embossed stamp on the front cover proclaiming it to be the property of the veteran reporter. And at just that moment, in a confluence of strange coincidences, the familiar faint voice whispered scratchily through the layers of material. The Quill busily got to work.

"We're about to come out!"Hermione breathe.

And sure enough, moments later, Hagrid's back door open, and Harris on himself, ron, and Hermione walking out of it with haggard. It was, without a doubt, the strangest sensation of his life, standing behind the tree, and watching himself in the Punkin patch.

"It's OK, Becky, it's OK...," Hagrid such a bug. Then he turned to Harry, ron, and Hermione. "Go on, get going."


The clasp of Rita's handbag flew open, and the Quill - caught off guard - almost discharged its full storage of ink in dismay. Fortunately, the witch located her lipstick in record time and, thus refreshed, snapped the bag shut once more. Cautiously, the quill checked its reservoir, flipped the notebook back to the spot where it had left off, and resumed its revising.

"Wait here,"he whispered Hermione. "I'll do it."

as such as voice started again, he darted out from behind his tree, vaulted the fence into the pumpkin patch, and a push bucket.

"it is the decision of the committee for the disposal dangerous creatures of the hippogriff buck beak come here after called the condemned come and she'll be executed on 6 June at sundown -"

Careful not to blink, Mary stayed up in the box for someone tries once more about. But Weik sent to his killing me and then stood up again. How do you begin to follow with a note of the rope tying up to the fence.

Well... Since execution by beheading, to be carried out by the committees appointed executioner, Weldon McNair..."

"Come on, but be," remembered, "come on, we're going to help you. Quietly... Quietly..."

"... As of sweetness below. I agree, you sign here..."

Harry through all of his weight onto the web, but that we had taken his front feet.

"Well, let's get this over with," so that really voice of the committee member from inside heck with Kevin. "Haggard, perhaps it will be better if you stay inside -"

"No, I - I want to be with him... I don't want him to be alone -"

footsteps I could from within the cabin.

good luck be, move!" Hairiest.

hairy tongue harder on the rope around the big step. Hippogriff can't walk, wrestling and swings are to play. They were still 10 feet away from the forest, in Plainview Texas back door.

"One moment, please, McNair,"kingdom of voice. "You need to sign too."

The footsteps stopped. Are you down the road. Big big step to speak and walked a little faster.

Hermione's white face was sticking out from behind a tree.

"Hairy, hurry!" She mouth.

Harry could still hear Dumbledore's voice talking from within the cabin. He gave the rope another wrench. But it broke into a grudging truck. They had reached the trees...

"Quick! Quick!" Remind him out, darting out from behind a tree, seizing the rope to you and adding her weight to make a big move faster. Have you looked over your shoulder; they were not blocked from site; they couldn't see his garden at all.

As quickly as it had started, the voice suddenly stopped. Unlike other times, when it had simply faded into nothingness, this time the Quill got the distinct impression that the source had been interrupted. It waited quietly, but the silence finally convinced it that nothing further was forthcoming. A little disappointed, it shut the new notebook and hoped that tomorrow, perhaps, it would find out why the story had gone to the United States.