Title: Ways of Seeing
Link to picture: click
Couple used: Moody/Tonks
Ratings/Warnings: 1st/2nd Yrs - Mild Profanity
A/N: These are very bad and unbeta'd, but I figured I'd get them in for the participation points.
Tonks checked her appearance in the mirror of the Muggle car before making her way into Grimmauld Place. Her usual spiky bubblegum-pink hair was set off perfectly by a new pair of sunglasses – electric blue, heart-shaped ones. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Mad-Eye’s face when he saw them – he disapproved of most of her wardrobe, but these sunglasses were especially bright and peppy, so he was sure to be especially irritated by them.
She entered the house and quietly made her way to the narrow stone staircase. Muffled voices could be heard from below. She entered the kitchen, where most of the members of the Order of the Phoenix were already assembled, and moved to the end of the table where Mad-Eye and Kingsley were poring over a piece of parchment.
“Wotcher, Kingsley,” she said with a grin. He looked up, his eyes flickering to her sunglasses before replying in his slow, deep voice.
“Hello, Tonks,” he said before looking back down at the parchment. Mad-Eye’s response was not so calm. For a split second, both of his eyes were trained on the glasses.
“What are those things?” he growled with a vehemence that even caught Tonks off guard.
“They’re sunglasses,” she replied, recovering herself. “We young people wear them to protect our eyes from the sun. And also to look cool.”
“Well, there’s no sun in here,” Mad-Eye said crossly. “Take the damned things off.”
“What do you care?” Tonks exclaimed. He usually wasn’t this nasty about her wardrobe. Generally he kept it to snide complaints about nonsensical fashions among teenagers.
“I care because they make you look ridiculous,” Moody growled.
“Well, it’s none of your business what I wear, old man,” Tonks replied, feeling chagrined rather than amused by Mad-Eye’s disapproval.
“I’m the one who has to look at you all day.”
Tonks was about to reply when Kingsley cleared his throat. She stepped back and mentally shook herself. What was that all about? Why did it matter if she wore sunglasses or not? It was at that moment that she realised that her glasses were exactly the same shade of blue as Moody’s magical eye. She had never known Mad-Eye to be affected by trivial things like this. Perhaps she should lay off... perhaps there was something going on with Moody that she didn’t know about.
Tonks grabbed the glasses of her head and shoved them in her pocket. She could always wear them later, when she actually had need of them.
After the meeting, Tonks was standing outside once again in the bright sunlight. She wrapped her hand around the sunglasses in her pocket and pulled them out, placing them carefully on her head.
“Hello, Tonks,” a voice said behind her. She turned and grinned brightly as Remus descended the steps towards her.
“Nice glasses,” he said with a raised eyebrow.
“Thanks,” she replied.
Mad-Eye swivelled his magical eye up to the ground floor while keeping his normal eye on the parchment Kingsley was showing him.
“That girl is finally here,” he growled.
“Tonks?” Kingsley replied, “Good. We can start the meeting soon.”
Mad-Eye kept his eye trained on Tonks as she made her way down the stairs. She was displaying some sort of newfangled fashion in the form of sunglasses perched on the top of her hair. Moody immediately grew stony.
“What is it, Mad-Eye?” Kingsley asked in a concerned voice. But Moody didn’t hear him. His mind was far away.
“You’ll have to wear these sunglasses for a month. Too much light will damage the retina of your new eye.”
The Healer smiled brightly as he handed Moody the dark, nondescript black sunglasses. His mind was still dazed and fuzzy from the drugs they had given him and from the whirlwind of events that had led to his eye transplant. He looked at the Healer’s face blankly.
“And how long... how long until I can -- ?”
“Sight should return to your eye in about the same time period. The... extra sight--” Here the Healer paused, looking excited. “Should develop soon after that.”
A voice cut through Moody’s memory, and he shook himself back into reality.
“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he growled when he saw Kingsley looking at him. Moody tried to focus back on the parchment, but at that moment Tonks entered the kitchens, and his magical eye seemed to be glued to her gaudy sunglasses. He could feel himself slipping back into the folds of his memories.
He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. His dark-tinted sunglasses would hide his eyes from anyone else, but he could see the bulbous blue eye fixed onto its own reflection. He could see everything. He was pleased with his enhanced sight – not for the reasons his idiotic Healer was, but because it gave him the crucial advantage that was necessary in his line of work.
He reached his hand up to his face. He had never been a vain man, but for some reason he hesitated when the moment came to finally take the glasses off. Would his comrades flinch at the sight of him now? Would his enemies? He didn’t know. He took the sunglasses off and turned away.
He was certain he would see them if they did flinch
Title: The Next Spike in the Cycle / Immersion Therapy
Link to picture:http://i1106.photobucket.com/albums/...girl/crowd.jpg
Couple used: Hermione Granger/ Pansy Parkinson
Ratings/Warnings:3rd -5th: Drug Use, some mild profanity
The Next Spike in the Cycle
Mum said I needed to be reminded that the world is vast, with lots of different sorts occupying lots of different places. Then she informed me that Elizabeth would be picking me up Saturday, at 10:00 a. m., sharp. “This is for your own good, Hermione,” she said. “Don’t even think of begging off.”
So, I stand on the corner, waiting and looking back to where No. 12 has vanished from sight. At 10:02, Elizabeth pulls up, moving her bag from the passenger seat, and waving me into the car. There’s a lot of benign chat about our family, and it’s not until she’s pulling onto the M3 that I realise our original plan has changed.
“Where are we going?” I ask, watching the approaching traffic grow larger through the back windscreen.
“Forward,” she says around her cigarette while shoving a cassette into the player. “Let’s have a bit of traveling music, shall we?” She ashes her cigarette out the window, the drag from the wind plastering a few strands of her honey- coloured hair against the upholstered, grey ceiling.
And so it happens that, two hours later, I’m one of fifty-thousand, all of us milling about these fields while a group of shaggy-haired boys bend earnestly over their instruments upon a stage a half-mile away.
Elizabeth, thankfully, is content to linger along the outer fringe. “You can see better from here, anyway,” she says, exhaling a fierce, white cloud and nodding at the flow of people swirling around us.
I watch as they walk by, a thousand different faces in a span of a few minutes, eyes all squinting in the sun. Their mouths open to laugh, and shout, and curse. Girls pull their hair up and shed extra clothing. Boys’ heads turn, following the shine of new skin, and it all seems so…normal.
I see her through the passing crowd, turning to her fellow, looking up and smiling. From behind, she’s any other girl, any other woman, but then she moves and I see the bump and the breasts. She takes her fellow’s hand and they stand listening to the mournful voice soaring from the stage.
And I’m sick in my heart and shaking, suddenly wondering what will become of that baby if the future holds what I’ve been told it may.
I look around, helplessly. Even if I tried, I couldn’t warn this crowd of the coming spike in the cycle. Even if I rushed onto the stage and took the microphone, no one here would believe my nonsense about dark wizards and looming wars. Not even Elizabeth.
I try to quell my trembling and, like her, lean back on my elbows. I mimic her easy, satisfied expression and focus on the feeling of the sun. I try to stop memorizing all these faces, try to stop picturing them still in black and white, labelled with the word ‘Victim’, underneath.
The adults in this family have never been properly suspicious of Charlotte. Because she stands very straight and only speaks when she’s spoken to, they assume she can only be a good influence. They don’t know about her vices, which I enjoy, or her politics, which I don’t, so, when we wander off beyond sight, no one thinks twice.
In the cluster of trees beyond the garden, I ask her if she’s heard the news. There is a crackle of burning paper, then the pop and flying ash of an exploding seed.
Her eyes narrow as she offers me the thin, white cylinder. “Rumours,” she rasps, and then exhales.
“Facts,” I say, and then suck in a long lungful.
“You lot, with that pure-blood garbage,” she says, stubbing the lit end out against the sole of her shoe. She tucks the remainder away and eyes me in the dim light. “What you need, darling, is some immersion therapy.”
And before I can even open my mouth, she’s grabbed my wrist, and we are gone.
The boy I collide with apologizes. I knock him down and he says he’s sorry.
I only have time to shoot him a filthy look before I have to dart into the crowd. Charlotte angles into the mass of bodies, deeper and deeper, until there’s nowhere left to go, save up on the stage before us. I catch up and stand behind her, jabbing my fingers into her kidney.
“Take me back!” I hiss into her ear. “I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but my father is going to be right pissed when he finds out you’ve kidnapped me.”
Charlotte rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Shut up, Pans,” she says, “You’re harshing my buzz.”
Above us, four men walk onto the stage. The crowd yells and surges forward.
I turn to stare down the boy pressing behind me, only, this one, he doesn’t flinch. He just stares back with his jungle green eyes, then grins, wickedly, when I don’t turn away.
A cheer bursts from the crowd and he looks up, so I turn. A tiny woman speaks into a metal contraption and her voice booms out of the huge black boxes mounted on either side of the stage. The music begins and the woman sings and roars, prowling back and forth, as we all stand in thrall to her.
This is Sex and Power, and I want to be her when I grow up.
Forget Potions, and Charms, and Divination.
This is the skill-set I want to learn: How to own a crowd. How to force it to it's knees.
Something strange is happening in my head. The Muggle boy behind me has wrapped his hand over my hip and I don’t curse him childless. Instead, I sway into his touch and lean back for more.
In the coming revolution, I think, maybe I’ll keep him.
For a pet.
Thank you for entering.
Results soon (ish)
All points will be added to the new term - YAY!
I realise this was a harder comp than normal, so thank you for making the effort and participating. It was a hard decision but having taken into account Characterisation, SPaG, and general loveliness, this is the decision.
First Place - hestiajones - Hufflepuff - 15 points
Second Place - ron lover - Gryffindor - 10 points
Third place - lttlebird - Gryffindor - 5 points
Gryffindor - 45 points (30 participation, 15 for places)
Hufflepuff - 30 points - 15 participation, 15 for winner)
Ravenclaw - 0.o
Slytherin - 5 points
Any queries or questions then PM me. I don't bite (well, not often)