A remix of [personal profile] lilian_cho's comment-fic The birth of Canadian cuisine, written in [personal profile] bessemerprocess's comment-fic remix post.

I had recently had an argument with a poutine-hating friend in which I attempted to defend the deliciousness of the dish, and this comment-fic contains the gist of my rebuttal.

***

'I never should have left you with that perfidious rosbif,' France moaned, shielding his eyes with one hand as he struck a pose of dramatic sorrow. 'He has ruined your palate beyond all hope of repair!'

America, far less histrionic for once, settled for wrinkling his nose. 'Dude, that's just gross.'

Canada scowled at both of them. 'Look, we've been over this about a thousand times.' He turned to France, and jabbed at the air with his greasy fork. 'You eat pommes de terre au gratin. That's potatoes and cheese, and you'll even melt extra cheese on top of it. Not to mention soupe à l'oignon, which has cheese melted over beef broth that's exactly the same kind I use when I make homemade gravy.' Without a pause, he rounded on America. 'And as for you, brother dear, exactly how many helpings of mashed potatoes and gravy do you have every Thanksgiving, eh? And I know I've seen you put cream cheese in mashed potatoes, too.'

'Well, duh, 'cause it makes them extra creamy and awesome.'

'So why exactly is it so disgusting that I'd put cheese curds and gravy on my potatoes?' France started to open his mouth, but Canada cut in before he could get a word out. 'And don't give me that crap about them being frites. I don't see you moaning all over Belgium when she dips hers in mayonnaise.'

America gave him a pitying look. 'When Belgium does it, it's cute. When you do it, it's weird.'

Canada grumbled something vaguely blasphemous in French and defiantly shovelled another forkful of poutine into his mouth.


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Originally written on 22 April 2007 for [livejournal.com profile] polkadotsquared in [livejournal.com profile] mctabby's Cat's Birthday HP Drabblethon IV, based on the prompt A giant mandrake takes over the trio's 7th year herbology lesson.

***

Harry had never seen Professor Sprout move so fast. The bottle of Porphyria Pennyroyal's Premiere Plant-Gro Potion barely had time to shatter before she had her wand out, casting a Silencing Charm so strong that Harry's ears popped with the force of it.

'Out!' He couldn't hear Sprout's voice, not with the charm in place, but there was no doubt as to what she was saying as she pointed to the greenhouse door. 'Out NOW!'

Hermione was already grabbing his jumper and pulling him towards the door. There was real fear in her eyes. Harry tried to resist, to turn round to help Professor Sprout, but the moment he looked over his shoulder and caught sight of what Hermione was looking at, all thoughts of staying behind and being a hero vanished from his mind.

If a baby mandrake's cry could knock someone out, and a grown mandrake's cry was instantly fatal, Harry didn't want to sit around and contemplate what would happen if anyone heard the noise made by a half-grown mandrake that had swelled to three times its normal size and seemed to be getting bigger by the second.

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An untitled crossover drabbble, written on 16 July 2005. Something of a response to both May 2005 General Election and the opening chapters of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, in which the Muggle Prime Minister makes a brief appearance. (You can't tell me that as Cabinet Secretary, Sir Humphrey wouldn't know all about the wizarding world....)

***

'Humphrey, what's the meaning of this?'

A long-suffering sigh, quickly suppressed. 'The meaning of what, Prime Minister?'

'Look.' Hacker all but flung a thick folder across the Cabinet table, forcing Bernard to dive after it to keep the papers within from flying every which way. 'I've had the figures checked and rechecked, grilled anyone remotely responsible for resource allocation, and somehow no-one in this entire Government can account for this budget discrepancy of nearly ten million pounds!'

'Not pounds, Prime Minister.'

Hacker blinked. '...what?'

'Not pounds, Prime Minister.' The Cabinet Secretary's smile could have been painted by da Vinci. 'Galleons.'

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