Weekly Drabble Challenge - A Thousand Words: Lost Love - Results Posted

'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. ~ Alfred Lord Tennyson

Your prompt this week is to write a drabble using three of the five pictures linked below. You must integrate the pictures into your drabble. I know the challenge is called a thousand words, but remember drabbles are no more than 500 words. So keep it within the limit. Please try to not go over the limit....even if it's one word.

Here are your picture choices:

Old Man
Peacock
Dead Rose
Love Letters
Empty Bench

The following form must be used when submitting your drabble responses to this post -

Quote:

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Name:
House:
Title:
Warnings:
Words:

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Winners will be awarded 15, 10, and 5 points respectively.

All drabbles must be less than 500 words; All standard grammar rules, and MNFF submissions guidelines apply.

The challenge will be up for a week, and be closed exactly a week later (February 15thth.)

MithrilQuill and I will be judging them and posting results a couple of days later.

All questions should be referred to the Question Corner - Do not post questions here. Only drabbles!

Other than that...have fun!

~Gato Loco & Mith~

Name: x_GinnyPotter_x or Kayla
House: Gryffindor
Title: His Favorite
Warnings: DH Spoilers, Mentioned Character Death, and AU?
Words: exactly 499 :)

Quote:

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Twenty years… could it have been twenty years already? Yes, the evidence was overwhelming; his hair was no longer pure blonde but white, his grandson was in his second year at Hogwarts, and most of his proud and spectacular peacocks surrounding the manor had long since died. There was one left, however, that Lucius came to see everyday.

They were so very much alike, that peacock and himself. The bird had lost his favorite mate but a week ago, and seemed to spend his days sitting perched on the wall, looking for her. There were other peahens, of course, but it was clear the one which had died had always been his favorite.

Twenty years.

Today was the day the world rejoiced the anniversary of the Dark Lord’s demise. Today was the day Lucius mourned the loss of his peahen; his Bella.

He held in his hands the letters they had exchanged in the days of their youth, and the rose she had refused to accept. It was dead now, just as she was; just as he had been for so many years.

---

“Bella, why won’t you accept me? You know you could convince them!”

Her cold eyes narrowed, and she hissed in return, “You know as well as I that I am arranged to wed Rudolphus. Nothing you or I can say will change that.”

“Your father likes me, you could convince him to switch!” he answered, an uncharacteristic pleading in his voice.

Bellatrix shook her head. “He knows Narcissa fancies you, he won’t do that to her. I won’t do that to her. It’s bad enough we’ve kept this up for so long. I knew I should never have answered those bloody letters of yours. Just leave me alone, Lucius. Give your little rose to Narcissa.” And she threw it in his face.

Lucius stood there, angry and hurt, wondering where he had gone wrong, and why the only woman proud and strong enough to deserve him would not succumb to his charm. He looked down at the rose he had tried to give her, and swore it would never go to any other.

---

And so he held it still.

The bundle of letters he held along with the rose was small, filled with sweet words and teasing mentions of their nights alone, content that neither of them would have been caught dead uttering aloud. His loving words were saved for parchment only, never spoken. Nor he had ever written them for anyone but Bella. Narcissa was beautiful, yes, but she did not have the same strength and unyielding passion for power he had so loved in her sister. Their marriage was, for him, contenting; Narcissa was a mate, but never his favorite.

Lucius’ empty grey eyes found his peacock. The bird had not spread its tail feathers since his peahen’s death. He still held his head up high, his stride never faltered… but there had been only one to which he would show his true colors.

---

Name: Nikki/fg_weasley
House: Hufflepuff!! :]
Title: To Have Loved
Warnings: Mentioned Character Death
Words: 467

Quote:

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To any other human being, it would have been far too early that morning. Ron Weasley sat completely alone on the cold, slightly wet bench, staring off into the ocean, unaware of the time or chill. The waves crashed on the beach, loud as they hit the sand and then softer as the water retreated back into the safety of itself.

He fingered the letters in his lap unconsciously as he thought, twirling the twine that held them together around his finger until it began to hurt. At the twinge of pain, Ron was brought out of his thoughts and looked down. The tip of his finger bulged, the circulation cut off. For a moment, he did nothing, letting his finger throb and pulse, thirsty for blood. Finally, he released the thread; his finger seemed to throb harder for a moment before it settled again, the life rushing back to it.

The letters sat unopened on his lap. He’d read every one of them, save for the one on top. She’d written them, one for every year they’d been together, but he still couldn’t bring himself to read the last one she’d written for their anniversary only last week.

Ron picked up the rose that lay on the bench beside him, wet with the early morning dew. It was the first rose he had ever given Hermione, plucked randomly as they had walked along one summer night many years ago. It was dead now, of course, but still oddly beautiful. He’d had no idea she had kept it so long. The thought brought tears to his eyes, but he fought to hold them in. Remembering her was very painful, but at the same time, nothing could bring him more joy than the memories he had of them together.

“I guess I’m not the only early riser around here, am I?” The sudden voice startled him out of his thoughts. Ron looked up into the face of an old woman, probably a few years his junior, but frail nonetheless in her age. She made her way slowly to the bench he was perched on and sat down beside him, letting out a loud sigh as she settled.

“So, what’s your excuse?” She asked, not looking at him, but staring out at the come and go of the ocean instead. When he said nothing for a moment, she finally turned toward him. Her eyes rested on the letters and the rose he clutched in his fingers. When she looked back up into his face, realization registered on hers. Her expression turned empathetic as she held up in one hand a box, no doubt filled with little mementoes, and placed her other hand atop both of his, squeezing only slightly.

“Me too,” was all she said, and it was enough.

---

~nikki

Title: Goodbye, My Rose
Word Count: 451
Warnings: Mentioned Character Death

Quote:

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It had been almost twenty years since the day she died. As I looked over the pulsating water, I remembered a day just like this in my past life. It was a day as ordinary as the last, and my wife and I sat on this same bench. It had been one of our favorite places to spend the day, whenever I happened to have the time off. We would cast wards and charms around us to shield from the solitary passer-by or the mutt that would beg us of food.

Today, though, I sat here thinking of the past. I hadn’t been back here since that day twenty years ago, but today felt right.

In my hands, I clasped a stack of worn letters. They were unremarkable to sight, but to touch, they were everything I could imagine. I could feel the soft edges from years of handling, and it comforted me. Breathing in deep the smell of salt, I closed my eyes, allowing myself to drift back in time.

--

“No!” She screeched in laughter as I held her close, tickling the soft flesh of her sides. She writhed from my embrace and ran across to our bench. Plopping down, she motioned with her index finger for me to join her.

I moved towards her, as if I was at her slender finger’s beck and call. I probably was, in reality, and I didn’t mind it one bit. As I sat down beside her, she slung her arm around my shoulders and handed me a small parchment with a drawing of a rose on the outside.

“What’s this?” I asked her, glancing up to see delight dancing in her eyes.

She patted my arm with her hand and let it rest. “Something you will keep for the rest of our lives.”

--

It was her signature and always had been. I rubbed my wrinkled thumbs over the faded drawing, savoring the soft feel of worn parchment against my thumb pads. Her smile was still imprinting in my mind as she dragged me across this place so long ago.

I stood slowly, using the back of the bench for support, and turned to face it. This had always been her favorite spot, and now I was here to say goodbye. I bent down and dug a small hole with my cupped hand. Once the damp dirt was in a neat pile beside the hole, I placed the letters carefully in the bottom, making sure they were lying flat. I covered the letters with dirt, watching as the last pieces fell and bounced over the parchment that I would never feel lying in my palms again.

Goodbye, my Rose.

---

--Kat

Name: NikkiSue (Nicole)
House: Slytherin
Title: Bitter Taste
Warnings: n/a
Words: 500 on the nose.

Quote:

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He was a quiet young man.


He found he preferred to watch the passers-by as they walked through the park and even had a favourite bench to sit on as they carried about in their daily lives.


It was on such a day when he began to take an interest in a pretty young woman. Her timing seemed to bring her to the bench each afternoon as he was leaving. She was unusually pretty.


“No one could love someone this heinous looking,” he often told his fanged reflection, as it stared back through the mirror.


In a leap of faith, he took a chance and told her how he felt in a note, starting out simple to see how it might progress.


Grabbing a sheet of parchment, he began writing. He asked about her interests without prying. Once completed, he addressed the envelope.


For the blonde girl who always smells of peppermint.


(He conceded it must be a special lotion but enjoyed the smell all the same, dreaming about it every night.)


He left the note on the bench as he left the next day. An old man sat and noticed it. After seeing the girl approach the bench, the old man stood and left her to read it. Seeing her sit down, the young man became embarrassed and quickly hid himself behind a large tree.

She picked the envelope up.


Looking around with an expression of shock, the girl blushed and quickly read the note. He watched her sit thoughtfully for a while and frowned as she picked up her things and left for the day.


‘Did I say something wrong?’ he wondered.


It was with a heavy heart that he made it through the next day. The people he had been watching for so long held little to no interest to him. All he could think about was HER.


He gathered his things, once again, as he saw her approaching and walked to the water fountain for a quick drink before heading home.


Bending down over the fountain, he glanced in her direction and almost choked.


‘She’s placing an envelope down on the bench!’ he exclaimed to himself and allowed his mind to wander even farther, ‘Could it be for me?’


It was and they continued to write each other until meeting face to face a week or so later.


She smiled at him and extended her hand in a greeting but pulled away quickly when he smiled back. Her face fell and she made up an excuse about having to be “somewhere important.”


He let her go reluctantly and was not surprised but hurt when she did not return ever again.


I have nowhere to go.


In the distance he heard a faint growling sound. Turning around he came face to face with what he deducted to be a werewolf. Seeing the perfect solution to his problem he gave a brief nod and allowed the inevitable to happen.


Young Fenir was never the same after that day.

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I used the letters, the old man and the bench.

Name: Phia Phoenix
House: Ravenclaw, home of the Turnips!
Title: The Real Magic.
Word Count: 500 exactly! I had to cut down heaps...
Warnings: None.

Striving as ever to be different, I wrote this featuring a different sort of lost love. I hope you enjoy!

Quote:

---

How can I explain it to him? I wonder, as I hurry along the road. How can I explain that I'm a... a big girl now? A witch, already in my first year at Hogwarts? He's only nine. He'll never understand that I'm far too old for make-believe love. Whatever games we played as a child, now I have to learn to be an adult. But how can I explain that to him?

At the gate to his house, Plocky the peacock regards me as mistrustfully as ever. Instead of stopping as I usually do, I glide past him and knock on the door of Maxy’s house. The door swings open almost instantly, and he is there, gazing at me with his shining blue eyes.

"Lavender!" he squeals, and throws his arms around me. I stiffen and draw back, looking around his yard furtively. Please Godric, don't let any of my schoolmates have seen that! Not that they would have, of course. There are no other witches in this little village. All the same...

He catches the involuntary movement and frowns. "Lav, what's the matter?"

I draw a breath, and attempt to adopt my loftiest air. "Maximilius, I've come to inform you that I wasn't sent away to stay with my uncle, like I told you before. I now attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm a real witch, learning real magic - and I'm afraid I don't have time for the pretend sort. Neither do I want to imagine that we will ever, er, get married. Here," I hand him all the letters he sent me over the school term. "Please, don't write to me. As I said, I don't want to play with you again. I have real magic, and grown-up friends."

I leave his house with purposeful strides, only wishing my cloak was there to billow around me. Plocky squawks as I go.

"Lav!" Maxy cries out, heartbreak in his voice. "Lav! Wait!" And despite myself, I slow and turn around. There are tears flowing down my childhood friend's rosy cheeks. "Lav, you say you have real magic. But the real magic is love, and friendship. Lav, don't you want that magic?"

To my shock, I feel salty droplets on my own cheeks. I stumble away, down the street, and collapse on a bench in front of the nearby beach.

Shaking my head to clear the tears from my eyes, I freeze. Beside me on the bench there sits an old man, who I am positive wasn't there before. He turns his face towards mine, and see that his eyes are a brilliant blue. Maxy's eyes!

"Lav," he whispers huskily, "I never lost my love, and I wouldn't have, not for all the magic spells in the world."

I jump up off the bench and run backwards from this strange old man with Maxy's eyes. For a moment he is framed there, against the backdrop of the churning sea.

Then he flickers, fades, and is gone.

---

Grr. You know, I actually thought mine was good, until I started reading everyone else's.

How come so many of them are so heartbreaking??? Ritta, can you pleeeease make a happy prompt for the next one? "Loss" is just so... gah. Depressing. Please, can the next one be more upbeat?

Love Phia

Name: Elmindreda
House: Gryffindor
Title: Spinner's End
Warnings: none
Word count: 500 (still bleeding from the editing)

A feeble attempt at originality... Yes, another one. *sigh*

Quote:

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A few months since I bought this house, and it would not cease to surprise me. Just last week I discovered a box of quills and an inkwell. Could they have been in that desk drawer for over a century? And the little bottle I tossed into the garbage bin carelessly yesterday, only to have its contents spill over the stems of long-dead roses I had deposited there earlier? The flowers were back on my desk now, more fragrant than ever and showing no signs of wilting again.

It may be arrogant of me to think of the desk as mine, though. I owned the house, yet… I was not feeling accepted. As if the ghost of the previous owner, whoever he was, was observing me to decide whether I was worthy. Almost to placate him, I changed nothing yet. The living-room, however, would always remain, with its desk, and the high-backed chair, and the bookshelves, for the first time ever offering more space than I could immediately fill.

The not-quite-mine desk presented me with another surprise today, as a hidden drawer was discovered in the tabletop. I prodded the unknown contents with a pencil, the caution justified given the slightly strange nature of my discoveries so far. There was no sound but a rustling, so I braved the darkness, only to pull out an assorted jumble of papers.

I turned one around in my hands. It was a piece of a faded newspaper page, dated some forty years ago. Wondering why in the world it would be kept in an apparently secret place, I studied it closer and noticed two words scribbled in the margin, in an uneven spiky handwriting.

Dear Lily,

There was no continuation, and I reached for the next paper.

Dear Lily, was written on a notebook page, otherwise blank. The handwriting less childish, but undoubtedly the same.

Dear Lily, said another page of a strange quality, the script much more flowing.

Torn between my curiosity and the wish to put the papers back and forget about the hidden compartment, I compromised by scooping up my findings and leaving the house.

Sitting on a bench in the deserted playground across the town, I sorted through the papers, watching the handwriting change until it was barely recognizable as the hand that scrawled in the newspaper margin. As if the older writer had nothing in common with that boy anymore. Nothing but the two words repeated again and again.

Dear Lily. Nothing more. All papers had a crumpled look about them, as if each was once rolled into a ball and thrown away, only to be recovered, smoothed out… and stashed away. Never finished. Never sent.

Strangely enough, even though I was outside the house, I felt someone peering over my shoulder. Another paper floated out of the stack in my hands, one I had miraculously missed before. Again, barely any words. But a different handwriting.

Lots of love, Lily.

I couldn’t help but smile and mutter,

“Finally…”

---

Name: Stubbornly_appeared/Stubby
House: Gryffindor!
Title: Taken
Warnings: AU, mentioned Character Death
Words: 449

Quote:

---

Everyday, she sat on the same bench. Everyday, she watched the people rush by. The Muggles danced across her vision, flitting in and out like unseen butterflies. She watched the Muggles because they made it easier to forget, and they would never know of her shame.

Beside her on the worn wooden planks lay a packet of worn parchment letters; they were tied by a string and held by love and guilt. She never read them. She simply couldn't. But they were there, and they reminded her.

'Excuse me, miss?' a man would say, gesturing towards the seat. 'Is it... taken?' And she would shake her head and murmur her answer and scoot over, placing the letters delicately on her lap. Determinedly, she wouldn't look down, not even to see the 'Dear Harry' written at the top of the parchment and feel the tears drip down her nose.

The days wore on. It had been a year, now it was nearly two. She didn't come all day now: only part of her time, dusk or dawn, did she spend there.

The man was there, too. Apparently he commuted on the bus that took from the spot she had chosen. Dawn and dusk, he arrived, departed, leaving only a little-too-long glance. Ginny tried not to notice.

Two years. Dawn.

'Excuse me, miss?' the man said, proffering her bundle of letters. 'These were blowing off. I thought you might want them.'

She mumbled her thank you and gazed out at the rushing street.

Silence. Car whooshing silence, the silence of awkward, uncaring moments that practically bleed emotion and noise. But still, silence.

Until the man broke it.

'I found this.' He stuck out his hand, and in it was a dead rose. 'Beauty for beauty.'

She didn't know whether to be stricken or not that he compared her to a withered, dry flower that elegantly hung to the last vestiges of beauty. In any case, she did not take it, and stared, blinking rapidly, at a streetlamp.

'Are you taken?' he asked, curiously and in a soft voice. For the first real time, she looked at him, seeing the strong yet smooth lines of his face, the kind intensity of his eyes, and the ruffled hair. She took in too much.

Too much.

She stood up rapidly, clutching her letters to her chest tightly. 'Yes,' she whispered. Her voice rasped and carried on the wind. 'Yes.'

With that, she crossed the street. Busses came and went while she stood, back turned, on the opposite side walk. And when she looked back, there was nothing but an empty bench and a full rose.

---

-Stubby

Name: thegirllikeme/Chanté
House: RAVENCLAW
Title: Just Forget the World
Warnings: Character Death, Mental Disorders
Words: 500

Quote:

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Ginny Weasley lingered behind and watched as her father walked, bent with age, towards the bench, the one that sat in the backyard, the one that he loved so much. It wasn't seeing her once so vibrant father moving so slowly, and it wasn't the way his once red hair was now completely gone that made Ginny cross her arms and frown deeply. It was the fact that he was talking to himself. No, not to himself...to Molly.

“It's a beautiful day, isn't it, darlin'?” he mumbled endearingly, his hand held beside him as though he cupped someone else's hands. Her father lowered himself onto the bench, the bench her mum and dad had so often sat at. Arthur stared at the empty place beside him, absently brushing aside the now-dead rose that he had laid there upon his wife's death. “You look beautiful today, Mollywobbles.” He paused, then chuckled. “Now, now, Molly, you are beautiful. Don't go thinking any different.”

Ginny felt hot tears burn her eyes, and she continued to stare at him, the old man sitting alone on a bench. It hadn't been easy for her father since her mother had passed away three months ago. At first, he'd been heartbroken, but had held together for his family. He'd occasionally mumble something like: “Better to have loved and lost...” He had always ended in tears. Yet, her father had been strong...at first.

Then he'd begun talking to Molly, as though her mother was still there. Ginny's brothers had been unsure what to do, but had seemed to decide that it was best to ignore it. It would go away, but it didn't. Still, they didn't act upon it, and Ginny did the same, while keeping close eye on him. Yet, day after day, she grew more angry, more hurt, because she feared that the day she'd lost her mother, she'd lost her father too.

“Oh, Molly,” Arthur whispered. “I love you.”

No longer content to stay silent, Ginny hurried over and fell to her knees in front of him. “Dad, Mum's dead,” she said abruptly. “She's gone. She isn't here.”

Arthur turned to look at her, and for the time in so long, it seemed like he actually saw her. “I know she's dead, love.” He caressed Ginny's cheek. “But she's not gone. She's here.” Taking her hand, he spread Ginny's fingers over his chest so she could feel his heart beating. “As long as she is, she'll never be gone.”

He turned his gaze back to the empty seat beside him where, no matter how much Ginny wished otherwise, her mother was not sitting.

“Isn't that right, Molly? 'Better to have loved and lost...' But you're not lost. You'll be with me...always.”

Feeling her heart rip in two, Ginny let her head fall into her father's lap and sobbed.

Arthur stroked her hair lovingly, smiling down upon her. “Look at her, Molly. Isn't our little girl so beautiful...”

---

I used the picture the Old Man (Arthur), the Dead Rose (that he brushes off the bench), and the Empty Bench (because it's empty where of where Molly should be sitting). You have to look closely, but three of them.

Penname: Ironic Inspiration
House: Ravenclaw
Title: No Seal, No Scratch
Warnings: Character Death
Words: 500

Quote:

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A small box of notes sat under her bed, dust collecting on it from being untouched for months. She couldn't bare to look in it, to see his elegant handwriting, to read his effortless words that had once made her stomach do flips.

He always owled her, everyday since the first day they had started dating. They were always rushed, little notes, for he was always busy practising spells or reading in the library. He was a nervous wreck that year, but he had always found time to write her.

Along with the scrawled notes sat a once bright red rose he had given to her before the Yule Ball. She could still picture his sweet, nervous smile before they went to dance. She could still feel his whispers on her cheek. No one else was in the room as they danced, her dark eyes focused on his grey ones. It was perfect, more than what she would have ever asked for.

Why did it have to end before it barely started?

She had debated coming back for her sixth year at all. There was no point. Not when he was gone, leaving only a box of notes and a dead rose.

But she did come back, though she had to admit that not all of her was there. She hadn't been a whole since that day in June.

When everyone had went to Hogsmeade for the weekend, she stayed at the castle, sitting under a tree they used to meet at. It was cold, the air blowing in her face like sharp ice, but she couldn't make her self leave. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the empty seat beside her on the wooden bench.

She slid her hands in her robe pockets, looking out at the lake. She stared into the water, tears rolling down her cold cheeks as she remembered the way he looked at her when they came to the surface.

Her hand hit a piece of parchment, deep in her robe pocket, and her eyebrows knitted together.

She pulled out the unopened note, looking at the outside of it thoroughly before unfolding it.

No seal. No scratch from the owl.

As she opened it, she remembered that day. He was so sick, she could barely look at him. Nerves poured out of him as they met for the last time. He didn't have much time. He had to be out there with the rest of them in a few minutes, and the crowd was growing thick.

She never read the note he stuffed in her hand before running out to the maze. People were around, and she figured she would read it when they retreated back to the Great Hall.

A sob broke from her lips.

I talked to my parents when they arrived. I told them, and my mum was thrilled. Dad said you could come visit for the holiday at our summer house. Think about it. I'll see you tonight.

Love,
Cedric

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