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Thread: Topic 1 ~ War, what is it good for?

  1. #11
    Name: Kathyhermy123

    House: Hufflepuff!

    Did We Win?

    Warnings: Violence and Character Death

    Word Count: 491 – just under. *phew*

    Notes: Dedicated to Gandhi, who I quote within the drabble. And to the Huguenot soldiers from the Crossing of the Deleware, who were rather like the Death Eaters in this drabble.

    Hermione knelt over Ron.

    "Hermione!" He struggled for breath. "Did we win?"


    At first glance, they had won. The Aurors had crept up on the Death Eaters in the night, and attacked. The Death Eaters, stumbling blindly in the darkness, hadn’t had a chance.

    Hermione had watched it all. It made her nauseous to remember.

    Death had been everywhere; it hadn’t been a fair fight. 500 Death Eaters were killed. And only three on her side had died.

    Her side.

    When had she chosen sides, she wondered. But she knew that it had never been her choice to make. Her birth had decided her side, just as Harry’s birth had decided his. They had both had chances to swap sides, but they had been prejudiced.

    Were the Death Eaters really that bad? Would they have snuck up and murdered hundreds as they slept? Yes, they would. And that was why she hated them.

    But were they any better? If the problem was killing, than they weren’t. She had seen with her own eyes the Death Eaters’ children dying with their parents. She had seen an Auror creep up on and murder babies as they slept. Innocents had died tonight along with the guilty.

    All’s fair in love and war. The phrase had a grim meaning now. But did the Death Eaters really deserve this?

    They killed Harry’s parents. And Harry had killed Draco’s parents.

    When she thought about it, she realized that they were just as bad as the Death Eaters. The Death Eaters had killed, and the Order had responded by killing. The Death Eaters had tortured, and the Aurors had responded by torturing. The Death Eaters had wanted power, and the Ministry had taken power.

    An Eye for an Eye makes the whole world blind.Nothing could be more true.
    By stopping murder with murder, they had created more suffering. The ‘eye for eye’ theory had founded the mess that the world now found itself in - if Tom Riddle hadn’t responded to the bullying that he received as a child by bullying others himself then the world may not have been in this mess, where the only way out of bloodshed was with bloodshed.

    The only way? There had to be another way – there always was. If the Wizarding World had united and created a ‘safety zone’ where Death Eaters who were forced into serving the Dark Lord could go, a place where no magic could be used, where people were safe, then this would have been avoided. If the world had united in hopes of peace, than peace could have been reached.

    But it was too late - Death Eaters and their families had been slayed as they slept. Blood had been shed, and there was no going back now.


    “Please, Hermione,” Ron gasped. “Did we win?”

    Had their side, proclaiming peace and an end to bloodshed, won today? Hermione shook her head sadly.

    “No, Ronald. We lost.”

    Wow, very powerful. Ten points to the Puffs

  2. #12
    Title: Price
    Warnings: Mentions of Character Death and Mental Disorder
    Word count: 362

    He survived. He always survived. And he vowed to himself he would remember them, like he remembered the ones that came before them. For it was the same thing. Over and over. Different agitators; Voldemort, Grindelwald or some other witch or wizard bent on controlling the world. Different ‘heroes’; Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter or some other person determined to try and save all of existence.

    He would remember. Remember the children and adults who were forever lost. Remember how the streets of Diagon Alley were before all the deaths. Remember the shadowed, haunted look of those that remained. He would remember that, unlike last one, these heroes had died before they could give the wizarding world another child to place all their hopes on.

    He thought it was sad, the way they had piled all their hope on the poor boy. It was a surprise the boy didn’t crack. But then…he thinks to himself and remembers the mutterings of some the survivors as they shook their heads over their drinks. He did crack. Being the reason so many people have been killed, wounded or tortured has got to be stressful. After losing so many and then having to live when everyone close was dead or gone…No wonder he cracked.

    He shakes his head as he thinks of the price the boy paid to be the hero everyone wanted him to be. He closes his eyes and rests his head in his hands as he thinks of the price everyone paid so this agitator could be defeated. And it was all in vain. Because just like before, soon there will be another, an endless cycle that he must remember, at least as long as he is able to.

    Rising, he walks from the back room to the bar, a smile ready in his toothless face to greet the customer.

    “’Lo Tom,” the customer says as he sits at the bar. “How are you?”

    “Oh good, good,” Tom replies. “The usual?” He says as the customer nods to the expected question. Tom reaches for a glass and pours the drink, wondering just how many more wars he’ll see, and what good they really did.

    3 points to Gryffindor house

  3. #13
    Madame Marauder
    Name: Madame Marauder
    Title: The Children's War
    Warnings: Mentions of Death and Despair
    Word count: 331

    It was an adult world years ago. It was a time when we fought equal adversaries. Rivals we’d known since childhood; enemies we’d made in the real world. The children were protected. Mothers and fathers would lay down their lives to protect them—their lives and innocence remained intact. When all was done, when the Dark Lord was vanquished, orphans wept and survivors mourned, but life went on. We carried ourselves as though there had not been a war. We moved with more caution than before, but we were safe. Falsely safe for thirteen years.

    Then he returned.

    He came back and now, it is the children’s world. It is a time when powerful dark wizards are fighting the children of their former rivals and enemies. The children are not protected. They have no mothers and fathers to lay down their lives for their sakes. Their lives and innocence are shattered. When all is done, if the Dark Lord is vanquished, the orphans will weep and survivors will mourn, but life will continue. The will carry themselves differently than we had. They will forever be cautious; forever scarred. They will not be safe from the demons within. They will be haunted, hollow men and women, but they will be safe from outside threat. If the Dark Lord is vanquished.

    But what if…?

    If he is not, the children he fights will be massacred. They will lay down their lives without mothers and fathers to lay down their lives in their stead. They will not stand a chance against darkness. What hope will they have? When all is done, if the Dark Lord succeeds, there will be no orphans to weep and no survivors to mourn. And life will not go on for us. He and his followers will revel in darkness and the echoes of the children’s battle cries will be their music. They will be better off dead; the world will be desolate and harsh if the Dark Lord succeeds.

    Three points to Gryffindor

  4. #14
    ...because I am slow, deeply silly, and forgot that I never posted this.

    Name: crazy_purple_hp_freak
    House: Slytherin
    Title: The Vision of Future's Fall
    Warnings: imagery of death
    Word count: 344

    a/n : this is written in the POV of an (unnamed) young auror, questioning his choices, his tasks and the true meanings and reasons behind the war.


    Death, death, dying –
    but do I know how to die?
    Have I the strength, that lasting
    Stamina, endless flash in eyes?

    Pupils wide, trembling as the
    unknown (what was expected –
    yet unperceived, unwelcome)

    What love or laughter lingers on the battlefield?
    What running – leaping – jump –
    the child whose cries were never heard;
    the songbird left unsung at dawn;
    the moon that never shone at night?


    stand -
    There are others, braver than us.
    Fear is but a mere emotion,
    wiped away at will like
    dust on a polished table.

    stand – turn –
    and we salute them in the
    dying embers of day.

    This is the one who warned us;
    This one had a plan
    This is the one who
    Saved us all.

    Old faces dominate the creases of
    old photographs – stained –
    as we thumb them through in our
    afternoon tea.

    stand – turn – kneel –
    The child is stumbling, whose footfalls and
    cries we heard.
    Silent wishes, un-remembered yet
    not-lost, not-believed.
    This one shall be my hero;
    And this one was great,
    When I grow up I shall be the one to
    save the world.

    stand – turn – kneel –


    In the dying moments, the blackbird
    sings to frozen figurines,
    twisting and turning, far ahead and far
    behind. This was our dream;
    This is our nightmare.

    How can we decide (run, to life or to death; )
    when indecision is time wasted?
    Is it possible to take cowardice
    from realism, the rational – insane;

    Or are the brave merely the foolish
    who refuse to run?


    We were never taught the right way to die.
    The stance, the expression –
    priceless; not-lost and
    The final chord fades like a
    beam of light stretched
    to eternity.
    Particles echo until they can
    dance no more –
    the piano remains unplayed;
    an interrupted cadence.

    and we fall,
    still wondering if
    this is the right way.
    and still, there is more to learn,
    more to understand and
    others to take our place.

    Death, death, dying;
    and in the final moment the sun
    turns away to face the moon;
    It cannot bear to look.

    Another awesome poem. Ten points to Slytherin

  5. #15


    Name: Stubbornly_appeared
    House: Gryffindor
    Title: The Power of War
    Warnings: 6th-7th years, Violence, Character Death
    Word count: ? (No word counter)

    Bellatrix casts her curse. "Crucio!" she shrieks, without caring. The man on the ground before her writhes in pain, and she laughs. Her laugh is malicious and maniacal, the laugh that was taught to her by her master, her commander.

    She is his general. Bellatrix Lestrange is the general of the Dark forces. Everything she was raised to be, she is now. She is his most trusted servant. And he, the Dark Lord, gives her power in return for her devoted service.

    She feels the power of it. Bellatrix feels the power of war. The power of war lies in large things, like pain and death. She feels it when she hurls curse after curse and sees her enemies scream and fall, unmoving.

    The power of war is in crushing the opponet, to fight for a side until death. She trudges her way through the corpses. One man is not dead. He clings to her black robes with his remaining arm; the other is a bloody stump. He clings and begs for mercy, not for him, but for the others.

    "I will show them mercy. They will be tortured," she whispers, looking coldly upon his torn body, "and they they will die begging for mercy. And I will give it to them."

    "Why?" he wails, dragging over the bodies of his comrades. His scream echos eerily over the battlefield, even though the clearing is far from silent.

    "Because you dared to resist the power." She looks over his pitiful form, but feels no pity. He is scum.

    "Avada Kedavra," Bellatrix breathes, feeling the power of those two words. Power that the enemy was too weak to use. The power rushes through her body, moving from her heart to her hand to wretch of a man hanging onto her in a jet of silent green light. He tumbles to the ground, and she kicks him to the side. He leaves more blood on her robes.
    He. He. More like an excerpt. I ended up writing tons, and this is just the first few paragraphs.

    I decided to do it from a different viewpoint. It is from what we would view as the "wrong" side. The side that fights for evil purposes. I decided I would try to show what justifies war for them.


    Poor guy! Five points to Gryffindor!

  6. #16
    Angel of Dreams
    Name: Angel of Dreams
    House: Ravenclaw
    Title: The Pain of War
    Warnings: 6th-7th Years, Character Death, Violence
    Word Count: 499

    "Well," spat Ted Tonks, "get it over with, Lestrange. I'll never sign to your Muggle-born Registration -"

    "You think that is what it is all about, Mudblood?" Bellatrix Lestrange laughed. "You think that is important here? You defied the Dark Lord's will! Crucio." She watched impassionately as the curse tore through Ted, but, for some strange reason, he did not scream. His lips were white as he struggled not to let a sound pass his lips, even as his body twisted into spasms.

    A full ten seconds later, Bellatrix lifted the curse, curiosity entering her eyes. "It must not have hurt enough. No screams, Mudblood."

    "I won’t," Ted said, and a grim smile appeared on his bloody face. "You can hurt me with physical pain all you want, but we won't give, Bellatrix. You hear me? We won't give. Your type of pain can’t hurt enough."

    "Perhaps then I should use it on your friend then," Bellatrix hissed, her wand pointing at the thin figure who looked up at Bellatrix's wand with grim determination.

    "Go ahead," Dean Thomas spat. "Give it your best shot. I may not be part of the Order, but I'm part of Dumbledore's Army, and you won't be able to hurt me."

    "Crucio!" Bellatrix screamed, pointing her wand at Dean. Even as he convulsed in the dirt, Ted winced as he saw the horrendous pain that Dean was suffering. But a few seconds later, Bellatrix turned her wand back to Ted, a wide smile growing on her face as Dean gasped in the dirt.

    "I think I know how to hurt you, Mudblood. I'll make you an offer: tell us the other members of Dumbledore's Army and I'll let you go; if you do not," Bellatrix's hand tightened on her wand, "this Mudblood dies."

    Dean's knuckles whitened as his eyes grew wide. He looked at Ted, who had been his closest companion for the past few months. They had become closer than brothers, and Ted had become closer to Dean than the father he never had. "You wouldn't dare -" he began.

    Bellatrix gave a loud, raucous laugh. "I wouldn't dare? I've killed more people than you'll ever know; one more won't hurt my conscience."

    "Dean, don't -" Ted shouted, but he was Silenced with a quick jab of Bellatrix's wand. "Well," she asked softly, "what's it going to be?"

    Dean hesitated, but a second later Bellatrix shrugged and pointed her wand at Ted.

    "Too slow," she said with a smile. "Avada Kedavra!"

    Dean screamed as the green light hit Ted Tonks, who toppled over in the dirt, his eyes wide and fearful in death. A hand grabbed the teenager, and threw him in a caged wagon, where he could only sit, shivering and sobbing silently in the dark.

    Bellatrix looked inside the wagon, her eyes glittering with malice.

    "I guess I have found a way to cause you pain. It doesn't always have to be physical, you know."

    And then the door slammed shut.
    I hope this thread is still active: all the other entries have earned House points, and this is my crack at it, and so far, there has been no comments. *confusion*

    MQ says: I tend to do it in spurts, that's why it's been ages! Ten points to Ravenclaw.

  7. #17
    Fifth Year Gryffindor
    I See Dead People... In Mirrors

    Join Date
    Aug 2006
    Note to Mithril: It's strange how I was randomly going through my old scribbles and found the original version of this drabble, today of all days. I had read your story Scribbles earlier today and it didn't click anything. But as I looked through my old fic, I found a strange similarity of themes. Anyway, if all of my sentences are gramatically correct and make sense, I hope you enjoy this one.

    Name: kehribar
    House: Gryffindor
    Title: Afraid
    Warnings: Just a bit sadness, maybe.
    Word count: 493

    November 12, 1942

    Dear Iris,

    I want to write to you at once, without taking a break, without getting up from my desk. I want to write about what’s crossing from my mind and my heart. I know very well that pictures or letters won’t be enough to tell all that is lived through, but nevertheless, I will try.

    First of all, let me soothe your worries: I am allright, and safe. The flight was neither pleasant nor easy; we lost quite a few people on the way, especially older ones. Watching people die is hard, Iris, but it’s harder to leave them to death without even holding their hand till death claims reign. I feel sick and dirty. I flee for my life, Iris, but I can’t help but wonder if there was anything I could do for the lost lives. Is my life more worthy than theirs? Each and every one of us flees from the war to save our lives and we don’t help others because we don’t want to risk ourselves… I don’t want to accept that human kind is so selfish. I feel sick sometimes, Iris, for being human.

    And magic – what is it good for if not to stop this? How can we fight for it when it’s the only reason why this war started? I don’t know why I’m running, I don’t know who’s good or who’s bad. To tell you the truth, Iris, I sometimes wish I never knew about magic.

    I would still be a poor artist living in an old attic. I would be the same Rupert; same Rupert without magic.

    But there’s no kidding. I would never be the same person without magic to touch my pictures. I would never be the same person if I never met you.

    The sun is setting on the moor; thin rays of scarlet paint the parchment. Can you see it? This scarlet is not like the one we used to share. The sun is sad here, sad and lonely. The colours are faded – I’ve never been able to catch our scarlet here. England is grey, Iris; every yellow, every green, every blue is touched by grey. I hate grey, despite all your efforts to make me love it. I hate grey, because it spoils my palette; and grey hates me Iris, and it hurts. Grey’s invading my life, my canvas, my brush, my eyes. This war, Iris, this war is killing my colours off, and painting the world grey.

    I miss you, my friend. With all my heart, I miss you. If only you were here, with me, if only I could see you once more, I know that you’d save me from this mud of grey. But until then, take care of yourself. Save our colours for us, Iris, for I am afraid of losing them to the war. But to be honest, I’m afraid of everything.

    With love and with hope,


    MQ says: Awesomeness! I don't see too much resemblance to be honest, your drabble's way better than my fic, you can tell an actual artist wrote this one and not just silly MQ who's obsessed with writing about artists but doesn't really know the last thing about art herself! 10 points to Gryffindor!
    The Run of the Mill

    The phenomenal banner is by MissBean

  8. #18
    Third Year Gryffindor
    Searching for Neville's Toad
    wendelin the wierd's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2006
    Slowly decomposing
    This poem is about war and internal conflict, more metaphorical than literal.

    I say east and you say west,
    After all you do know best,
    But there is black, white and in-between
    Because things aren’t always what they seem.

    I see the lines of fear and blame,
    And I see our friendship go up in flames,
    But we just smile and walk our way,
    Look at each other and look away.

    What happened to our summer skies?
    They turned grey with all the lies.

    You say dark and I say light,
    Doesn’t matter which one is right,
    All I know is that your warm green eyes,
    Turned to steel and became ice.

    I say love and you say hate,
    And perhaps it’s all a bit too late,
    Because a shattered heart though pieced back,
    Will never quite be the same again.

    What happened to our winter days?
    They were bright but they turned grey.

    This is not a battle, this is a war,
    And when the world has dealt it’s cards,
    It is our turn to fall.


    WOW! 10 points to the House of the Lions!

  9. #19
    Title: Shooting Stars
    House: Hufflpuff
    Rating: 1st-2nd year
    Warnings: Character Death...but just mentioned.
    Words: 426

    I am the kind of girl that rereads books, over and over, until I almost completely memorize them. I have this quote that I love, from a book I read for the first time when I was about twelve, and have read every year since then at least twice.

    “You become eternally responsible for that which you care for.”
    But I have a question. What happens when that which you care for isn’t there to be cared for anymore? What’s happened to eternity? Has it fled from the war like so many others?

    Eternity is a figure of speech, they tell me. Nothing is eternal, really. And I know it, I truly do! It is probably one of the only things that we can be sure of in this life. We shall say goodbye to the world once, never to say hello again. We all die. It’s the sad truth. We are like shooting stars, our existences brief and bright, yet forgettable within the multitude of stars just like us. Ending is an unavoidable thing. It should be faced with grace, without the thunderstorm at the end of a sunny day.

    But what about the endings that went wrong? How do you face your five year old brother’s funeral with grace, without fear? How do you stopper the feeling of revulsion and injustice? His little mangled body lies in an equally little coffin, and there are words carved into his headstone.

    ‘John Montgomery,
    A little Angel without Wings’

    I hope he’s got them now.

    Well, that’s war, I guess. A useless death…and there’s one more heartbroken widow. A needless loss and mine is just another desperate father. It’ll go on. So many others will feel this same way. I wish we could fill the craters in our hearts with all of the tears that we are sure to shed. It might make us feel as if they aren’t as empty.

    We watch as a throne is built over their tombs, the resting places to the shells of souls we love, and a king will sit there. He traded his heart for a crown. As their headstones crumble, their names are left behind, and they will be honoured by no monument. After all, who will be left to remember them, once we are gone? They gave their lives for no one, to no cause. War claimed them, and it’s as simple as that. My brother was not a hero. He was not a soldier. He was just a boy, a star, whose light was stolen.

    That quote is from the book The Little Prince, which I read in Portuguese. My school here in Brazil is named after it. It is a beautiful book.

    And also, I just wanted to explain that the characters really are canon, they are one of the Montgomery sisters and her little brother, killed by Fenrir Greyback. They were mentioned in the sixth book.

    MQ: *cries* 10 points to the Badger House!

  10. #20
    Name: untitlednine on here, jackie in real life
    House: Gryffindor
    Title: When all seems lost
    Warnings: Character death, and DH spoilers.
    Word count: 408

    War. It had this certain opaque wall about it. You could never see inside, see how it would end. And when the war was actually needed, not knowing the consequences just made the war even harder to begin.

    That wall also hid whether or not war was a good thing.

    As Harry sat on his bed in his dormitory, finally home at last as he reached the Gryffindor tower, he wondered if the tower really was home anymore.

    He hadn't been here for a year. And he missed it more than anything before he had arrived at Hogwarts, but now he was here, he didn't want to be there so much. Ron had returned to his family. Hermione was with Ron. Everyone was mourning for those they had lost, whilst celebrating the death of Voldermort.

    While they saw Harry as a hero, he saw himself as nothing. So many people had lost their lives, just because of him.

    His parents.



    Dumbledore, Moody, Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Snape, just to name a few.

    And yet, everyone of them seemed to die for a reason. Not that they needed to die, it was just that they seemed to at least play some part in Voldermort’s defeat.

    Harry thought, maybe he could retrieve the Resurrection Stone. Talk to his parents, and all the others. Tell them all how sorry he was, and that they had won. That they hadn’t died in complete and utter vain.

    But he knew it was useless. Did the dead really need comfort? Or did he only want to apologize, to make his burden lesser.

    As much as Harry didn’t want to admit just how selfish he was being, he knew he only wanted to hear them say it was okay.

    But he knew it wasn’t okay.

    With this, Harry leapt off his bed, and headed for the Great Hall, to do what he should have already done. He found Ron, who was being held tightly by Hermione. He said the words he needed to say.

    “I’m sorry Ron.” Harry said, with a certain amount of bravery in his voice. Ron nodded bluntly in response.

    He sensed someone behind him before they tapped him on the shoulder.

    This made him smile a little bit. The war may have taken countless lives, and destroyed many others, but at least it was finally over.

    At least they could finally move on, and live their lives without fear.
    kehribar: 5 points to Gryffindor!

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