A&A&A Boarding School

Authoresses' Note: This fanfiction was co-written by the sisters Lydia and Rukuelle Mendiant and painstakingly typed out by Lydia. It is to be said that the credit is to be divided equally between both sisters. Neither owns any of the characters, and their only original creation is the School and the Story. Neither of them likes lawyers much, either.

Lydia would like to mention that this is a very large crossover, and hence people with bad memories or short impatience should beware (e.g. the sisters' parents, as in relevance to the latter point). Rukuelle would like to add that how the characters got enrolled in this boarding school is a mystery, and the puzzle as to how some of them know each other and some of them don't is deeper than either of the sisters care to explain. Lastly, both wish all readers a hopefully fun experience.

WARNING: This is the last warning that this will be a massive crossover. Hence, people who dislike crossovers of this size and confusion, should leave immediately. The sisters are not responsible for any loss of understanding, temper or sanity in the further chapters.

First day of school

The gates of Academics & Arts & Arms Boarding School were thrown open, and a living mass of students streamed in, across the front court, through the double doors, up the winding stair to the reception area.

One of the new students, Frodo Baggins, was caught up in the surging mass and hustled along, with his three hobbit friends Samwise Gamgee, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took. It was all he could do to drag his oversized luggage after him. Beside him, Pippin panted, sweat streaming down his face, as he lugged his own suitcase up the winding stair.

Just as they reached the top, Pippin tripped over the last step. He attempted to regain his balance, but his luggage was thrown into the air. Pippin let go in haste. The luggage landed on the steps. Pippin was not so lucky. He fell over the banisters.

"Pippin!" yelled Merry, and managed to grab his friend's hand just as Pippin went over. Unfortunately, he was jostled by a large crowd of French-spouting boys and tumbled over as well. Frodo snatched at Merry and joined his two friends at the bottom of the line dangling over the long drop down the middle of the winding stair.

Sam sighed. It was up to him to save them. He anchored himself and grabbed Pippin. With much huffing and puffing, he managed to get Pippin's arms around the banister, but his own strength was not enough to pull all three up.

"Frodo," panted Merry. "Climb over me."

"What? Climb? Okay." Praying that he wouldn't lose his hold, Frodo swung an arm up and grabbed at a handhold. Merry let out a yelp. "Ow! My ear!"

"Sorry." Frodo moved his hold to Merry's shoulder. Bit by bit, he managed to clamber over Merry and Pippin and hoist himself over the banisters. "You next, Merry."

Merry struggled to the top, interrupted constantly by Pippin's little shrieks of discomfort as he was jabbed in the face. At last, he too crossed to the safer side of the stairs and all three pulled Pippin up. Carefully, and away from the banisters, the four hobbits inched up the steps. They encountered Gimli, puffing away with the same problem of too heavy luggage.

"Need help?" asked Frodo tentatively.

Gimli shook his head vigorously. "Help yourself," he grunted.

Sam looked over the heads of the crowd (no mean feat, for one of his height) and saw another undersized individual. This short person, however, had apparently no trouble with his luggage. As he sauntered along, he saw Sam staring and waved. Sam and Gimli released their luggage for a moment to wave back. Then their distant acquaintance was swept along with the flow and disappeared.

Further on down the hall to the reception area, Legolas the elf flicked his long blonde hair over his shoulder. It was a pity, he reflected, that he had been unable to do up his hair in a French braid that morning, but he had woken up late. He had had to settle for a ponytail for his first day at this school, but he could always do his hair tomorrow, or the day after. He had his entire collection of hair gel packed neatly into his suitcase.

While he was thinking, Legolas failed to watch where he was going, and tripped over a valise before him. Legolas and his suitcases went flying. Infuriated, Legolas picked himself up. A quick check told him that one of the hair gel bottles was leaking. He turned upon the owner of the valise, a small personage who had dragged her own valise upright and was glaring at him. "How -- how dare you!" he spluttered. "How dare you get in my way!"

Petite fingers brushed a strand of auburn fringe out of hazel eyes. "As you can see," replied the diminutive cause of his anger smoothly, "it was purely an accident. You should have watched where you yourself were going."

Legolas curled his fingers into a fist. The girl caught that action and made a fist out of her own hand. "Bet you don't really dare fight me," snickered the elf.

"Just give me a reason," retorted the girl. A crowd had begun to gather, people abandoning their luggage in favour of this new interest.

"Like what? I'm taller than you, you..." Legolas paused to give the word full emphasis, "midget."

The girl's chin went up. Something about it made his confidence waver slightly. His opponent drew her fist back. "That was a good reason."

And before Legolas knew what was happening, she had landed a hard punch in his stomach.

Legolas stumbled backwards, but the girl wasn't finished yet. With a spinning kick, her foot connected with his ribs, slamming him against the wall. She punched him in the nose, and another kick laid him out on the ground. She placed one booted foot on his chest and drew back a fist for another blow.

"Break it up, break it up!" The crowd parted to let a tall bearded old man with a blue hat and a gnarled staff through. By his side strode a short little man, whose face was a full-bloodied red. "You!" barked the short man, pointing at the girl. "Get off him!"

The girl removed her foot, an innocent look upon her face. "He started it."

The man ignored her statement. "Get up," he barked at Legolas. At the girl he snarled, "Name, cadet?"

"Holly Short, sir."

"What is the reason for this -- violence?"

"He called me a midget, sir."

A noise which might have been an outcry came from Legolas. A glare from the man silenced him.

"I'll have you know that -- " began the little man, but he was interrupted by the bearded man. "Commander Root. As it is the beginning of term, perhaps we should just let it go."

Commander Root seemed to be struggling with emotions. Eventually he barked at Holly, "Very well. I'll let you off this once. But," he warned as Holly bent to pick up her luggage, "I've got my eye on you, cadet." And he turned on his heel and strode off, followed by the old man.

Holly shot the prostrated Legolas a withering glare and made for the reception area. The crowd parted to let her through, edging away. Holly could not resist a slight grin as she was the first to queue up at the reception desk. First day of school and you've got a reputation. Great going, girl.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were still in awe about the incident in the hall. "That's one I wouldn't want to cross," muttered Ron to Harry and Hermione as they joined the queue at the reception desk.

"Name?" asked the woman at the desk. She was elderly, with a stern face and thin lips. She looked down her long nose at Hermione. That was one you wouldn't want to cross either.

"Hermione Granger."

The woman ran her finger down a list and checked against a name on it. She handed Hermione a set of keys. "Girls' dormitories on the right. Those are your locker keys. You have Bed 5."

Hermione nodded, a slight expression of apprehension on her face as she took the keys. With a farewell glance at Harry and Ron, she pulled her trunk off down the right corridor.

The first person she saw in the dormitory was Holly Short. Holly had taken Bed 1 and was lying on it staring at the ceiling, boots kicked off. Hermione paused by her bed. "Hi," she said uncertainly.

"Hi," replied Holly, not taking her eyes off the ceiling.

"I'm Hermione Granger. You're Holly Short, aren't you?"

"I am."

"Erm, yeah. See you later." Hermione scuttled off to Bed 5, where she settled her trunk and began unpacking. At the same time, she observed her dormitory-mates.

On her right was a blonde girl of around the same height as Holly. She was chattering away on a mobile phone clutched to her pointy ear. "And you know, this place is, like, so crowded, and all these, like, weird people, and just now in the hall, that girl, you know, Holly Short, from my kindergarten? She, like, beat up a boy in the hall just now! I mean, that's like, so un-feminine!"

"I heard that, Lili," growled Holly from Bed 1.

The blonde replied with an indignant glare and lowered her voice. Hermione turned her attention to Bed 6 on her left and caught her breath inadvertently. This girl was gorgeous. Hair like shadowed silk, skin pure as fresh white cream, eyes a stunning silver-grey, clear twin lakes you could fall into, now dreamy and lost somewhere in longing thought. Hermione was swamped with a mixture of admiration and envy.

Her beautiful dorm-mate turned to her, tucking a stray wisp of dark hair behind one pointy ear with a delicate finger. "Greetings," she spoke. Her voice was a husky melody.

"Hi," said Hermione, unsure of what else to say to this unearthly angel. "Um. I'm Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you."

"I am Arwen Undómiel." Perfect lips curved into an enchanting smile. Then Arwen sighed. "Do you know him? The one with the grey eyes in the hall just now?"


"Him. He had dark hair, shoulder-length dark hair, and such charming eyes. And a wonderful smile." She sighed romantically. "Do you know his name?"

"No," said Hermione. "Sorry about that."

Arwen sighed dreamily again and turned away. Hermione sat back on her bed and appraised her situation. Stuck between a talkative bimbo and a pensive romantic. Oh, well.

"Name?" asked the woman at the desk.

"Harry Potter."

"You get Bed 11. Your keys. Name?"

"Ronald Weasley."

Check. "Bed 12. Boys' dormitories on the left."

Harry and Ron headed down the left corridor and entered their dormitory. It was already occupied by some other early birds. The one who had been beaten up in the hall -- Legolas, apparently -- was at Bed 2, attempting to keep his remaining shreds of dignity together. Harry pushed his trunk beside Bed 11 and bent down to try out his locker keys.

Ron wasn't. Harry looked up and saw him staring at the owner of Bed 13, who had just arrived.

"Malfoy," breathed Ron, nostrils flaring.

Draco Malfoy gave a derisive sneer. "Hello there, Weasley. I see you're enjoying the comfort of your bed. A lot better than what you get at home, eh?"

Ron looked explosive. Harry leapt up in case he did explode. "You shut up, Malfoy," he rejoined angrily.

Malfoy smirked back. "This place is so unrefined," he complained. "If my father knew...excuse me. You're blocking my trunk."

There was no answer. Malfoy grew impatient. "Are you deaf? I told you, you're blocking my trunk!"

Harry craned over Ron's shoulder to see what was happening. True enough, a pair of high black boots were in the way of Malfoy's trunk. Their owner, the occupant of Bed 14, wore no expression. Actually, his black wide-brimmed hat covered more than half his face, rendering his facial expression unseen. Harry squinted to read the name on this stranger's trunk. Gabriel Van Helsing.

Gabriel Van Helsing raised his hat slightly, so that his eyes were visible. "Move your trunk to the other side," he replied curtly, and released his hat so that it obscured his face once more.

Malfoy considered this new development. His dignity was the price here; this person, however, did not look safe to offend. In the end, he gave in and shifted his trunk to the other side of Bed 13. Gabriel Van Helsing gave no sign of noticing.

Harry looked around. On his right, at Bed 10, a pale raven-haired boy appeared to be meditating cross-legged on the bed. Harry leaned forward slightly, curious to see if he was really meditating.

Blue eyes shot open. "It's rude to stare," said the boy coolly.

"Sorry." Harry sat back on his own bed. "I'm Harry Potter. Who're you?"

"I am Artemis Fowl the Second." The boy sounded bored. "Now if you please, I should like to be left alone." He shut his eyes and ignored Harry absolutely.

"Stuck-up," muttered Harry under his breath. "Artemis? I thought that was a girl's name. How weird."

Across the aisle, a newcomer plonked himself down on Bed 25. Flicking a mane of tangled yellow hair over his muscled shoulder, he removed a sword from his luggage and placed it under his pillow.

At Bed 24, another newcomer was also in the act of placing a sword under his pillow. The owner of Bed 25 looked up with interest. "Hey," he said. "You got a sword too?"

"I should think it was obvious." The other did not seem very interested; his mind appeared to be somewhere far away. Suddenly he said, "Achilles. Do you know that girl in the hall just now? The dark-haired girl that was really, really beautiful?"

"Got your eye on her, eh?" laughed Achilles. "No, I don't know a damn thing about her. Good luck with your search, though, Ar."

"My name is Aragorn son of Arathorn. And I do not appreciate nicknames."

Achilles held up his hands. "Chill, man. No need to get so worked up."

They were interrupted by a snore from Bed 23. Someone who looked a little too old for a first-year (although that could have been due to his braided moustache) was spread-eagled on the bed, fast asleep and snoring loudly. A triangular piratical hat was jammed on his head. He hadn't even got around to taking his boots off.

At the end of the dormitory, a group of French boys burst into loud and raucous song. "Red! The blood of angry men!"

The sleeper opened one eye, shoved his hat over his ears and went back to sleep.

Aragorn turned back to Achilles, but the dinner bell cut through all other noises. "Ding -- dong -- ding -- dong , ding -- dong -- ding..."

"We get the message!" yelled Achilles at the ceiling.

"Dong!" finished the bell in a self-satisfied manner.

The sleeper at Bed 23 leapt up and looked around, slightly dazed. "Dinner? Oh, savvy." He adjusted his hat, smashed into Aragorn's bedpost, bounced off and reeled drunkenly out of the door.

Harry looked at Ron and shrugged. This was a weird dormitory.

End of Chapter

Next chapter coming ... Stew and Social Matters