Results 1 to 9 of 9

Thread: The ARE YOU STILL HERE?!??!?!?! Challenge

  1. #1
    Apple Wood Hufflepuff
    Unspeakable
    McGonagall Doesn't Expel Brilliant Seekers
    Padfoot11333's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2011
    Posts
    505

    The ARE YOU STILL HERE?!??!?!?! Challenge

    Hi everyone...

    After a good long stay in a mental hospital, I'm finally back to a dwindling community (like, have you SEEN those active numbers?!?!? eek) and ready to pose another challenge.

    (yes, I promise my first challenge will be judged soon...)

    I'm not sure how many people are going to see this, so I'm setting a simple challenge. One that shouldn't be hard to come by.

    WRITE A DRABBLE.

    That's it.

    My only requirement is that it be between 300 and 800 words and that it include at least one canon character. I don't want HP fanfic that's basically not HP fanfic because it's about all these unknown characters.

    If you've pondered over and would like a prompt, I'm going to give you some but I'm going to put them in white so you don't ACCIDENTALLY see them and ruin your own creativity.

    1. MARRIAGE TROPE gone HORRIBLY RIGHT. (preferably not involving Hermione).

    2. Someone goes under water to visit the mermaids.

    3. Everyone who died converses about...something...in the afterlife.

    4. (this is a dark one). Someone has a terminal illness that can't be cured by magic.


    This thread will be open until APRIL 15th. Hopefully that's enough time to write something fantabulous.

    Questions? Ask me.

    PHP code? Here:

    PHP Code:
    [b]Name;[/b]
    [
    b]House:[/b]
    [
    b]Title:[/b]
    [
    b]Ratings/Warnings:[/b
    Let's get some ACTION on!??!?!?!?

    Lily
    ♥♥♥ Lily Writes ♥♥♥



    Banner by the opaleye. Avi by TM_Wandstick.

  2. #2
    Seventh Year Slytherin
    "Greetings From Egypt..."
    Oregonian's Avatar
    Join Date
    Apr 2012
    Location
    The green and rainy Pacific Northwest
    Posts
    828
    Yes, I'm still here, and so glad to see you back. I know what you mean about those numbers (!) because I check them every day. Check out the Member Profile of a new member named "Trashleigh" and read the note in her Biography. I sent a PM to NikkiSue, my Slytherin Head of House, about this, since i don't know what other moderators are still in business.

    Lily edit: THANK YOU! I have NO idea how that happened, lol. It's all been fixed

    It won't be hard to write some good drabbles. I'll just reference all those plot bunnies in my notebook. See you soon!
    Last edited by Padfoot11333; 03-05-2015 at 01:42 PM.
    Writer, Poet, Drabbler, Occasional Beta, Slytherin Cheerleader
    [center]
    This lovely banner is a gift from my good friend Nagini Riddle.

  3. #3
    Seventh Year Slytherin
    "Greetings From Egypt..."
    Oregonian's Avatar
    Join Date
    Apr 2012
    Location
    The green and rainy Pacific Northwest
    Posts
    828
    Name: Oregonian
    House: Slytherin
    Title: Students of the Stars
    Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd Years, None

    Who will my N.E.W.T. students be, this year? Professor Sinistra wondered as she spread out the class lists of students on her office desk on the morning of September second. The first-year students had been Sorted the previous evening, and now she had all their names on parchment according to House. The second-through-fifth-year students she already knew, but the names of those who had chosen to go on in astronomy and try for a N.E.W.T. were always a surprise. Who would be back this year? Who loved Astronomy enough to continue in its study?

    She gazed around her office as if assessing all that she had to offer to the young witches and wizards who would voluntarily come back, after they had completed the required five-year curriculum. Compared to many offices in the castle, Professors Sinistra’s office was stark, the bare wood floor unrelieved by any carpet, the shelves and cabinets with clean, undecorated lines, the celestial instruments lined up precisely on the shelves, and her own large brass telescope on its thin but powerful tripod legs dominating one side of the office like a gleaming sculpture. The telescope didn’t really need to be set up inside the office—there was nothing in there that called for telescopic viewing—but she loved to look at it. It symbolized who she was. Books lined up precisely on the bookshelves, and charts and posters hanging in plain wood frames on the stone walls, completed the decor, which was faintly Scandinavian in style, a style she had learned to love while living in northern Finland many years ago, studying the aurora borealis.

    Professor Sinistra already knew the O.W.L. results. They had been available to the professors in early July. She had checked all the fifth-year students’ Astronomy marks, and had made a list of all students who had achieved an “O”, who had achieved an “E”, and even who had achieved an “A”. She knew that not many of them would continue to study Astronomy for their N.E.W.T.s, even the students who had worked diligently in class and had won an “O”. Astronomy was simply not a practical class in most students’ minds, and by their sixth year they were thinking exclusively about the courses that would be useful for their future careers. For most careers, that list didn’t include Astronomy.

    The healing arts attracted a large number of students; there were many sub-specialties and varying levels of practice under the general heading of “Healers”, and healing services needed to be manned twenty-four hours a day. Students aiming for this career studied Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, and Herbology. Prospective enforcers of the law studied Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against The Dark Arts, Potions, Muggle Studies. Even History of Magic appealed to students aiming for business or government.

    But Astronomy wasn’t considered “useful” by many practical-minded students, or their parents either. Taking a course just for fun, because it was interesting, was a luxury that the N.E.W.T. students believed they could not afford because they needed to focus all their efforts on their core courses.

    Of course there were a few students who studied Divination and Astronomy as a linked pair, viewing the Astronomy as an adjunct to their main interest, Divination. But the reputation of Divination as an exact science had fallen in recent decades. Even in the world of magic, people were less gullible, more skeptical than they had been in past centuries, and as faith in the predictive powers of tea leaves, palm lines, and crystal balls had lessened, it had dragged down the interest in the predictive powers of the positions of the planets.

    But there was plenty left in Astronomy to captivate the minds of capable students, Professor Sinistra reflected. The vastness and glory of the cosmos, scarcely compassable by the human mind, was reason enough to study the heavens. She could not explain exactly how, but she was sure that it expanded the human spirit, opened it up to new and limitless possibilities. One was intellectually and spiritually richer for having studied Astronomy.

    “We keep our eyes fixed on the ground,” she murmured to herself, “and our minds focused on the necessities of the next hour. And what’s worse, we teach our children to do the same.” A vision arose in her mind’s eye of thousands of people scurrying over the surface of the earth like ants from an anthill, intent on locating the next dead beetle and dragging its defunct body back to their nest to eat later. She sighed deeply and shook her head a little as she stared at the parchment lists of students’ names.

    Professor Sinistra had spoken with all the Heads of Houses, in whose hands the students’ N.E.W.T. schedules would be, reminding them that they could suggest or encourage N.E.W.T. Astronomy to any sixth-year student who appeared even remotely receptive to the idea. Some might have thought that this reminder constituted begging, but Professor Sinistra didn’t mean it that way. She was not asking for herself, as if she would otherwise not have enough to do, but for the students—they would be the ones who benefited.

    The beauty of the universe, like the beauty of earthly nature, the beauty of art and music, these are some of the things that make a life, as opposed to just making a living, she thought.

    But now she had done all she could, and the outcome was in the hands of Merlin. Soon the Heads of Houses would be bringing her a list of the students in each House who had chosen to move on with her to the next level.

    Let it be a long list this year, she silently prayed. She piled the parchment lists of the first-through-fifth years in a stack and pushed the stack to the side of her desk. Then she sat back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap, and waited.
    Writer, Poet, Drabbler, Occasional Beta, Slytherin Cheerleader
    [center]
    This lovely banner is a gift from my good friend Nagini Riddle.

  4. #4
    Ebil Minion Ravenclaw
    Receiving Toilet Seats
    BrokenPromise's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2012
    Location
    On the internet more often than off it
    Posts
    427
    Name: BrokenPromise
    House: Ravenclaw
    Title: The Best Listeners
    Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd Years, Violence
    A/N: I hope this is 'canon' enough!
    Broderick Bode was an Unspeakable, and after being Imperiused to retrieve the prophecy was placed in the Spell Damage ward at St. Mungo's. He was murdered by Death Eaters, strangled by a Devil's Snare which had been delivered as a Christmas present.


    “Hush, little baby, don’t you cry,
    You know your mama was born to die.
    All my trials, Lord, soon be over.”

    He sighed as he finished the phrase. The little greenhouse was silent but for the sound of the water trickling from his can.

    Bode continued to hum the spiritual softly as he tended his plants. He stroked the energetic young bouncing bulbs to a state of sedation; he carefully levitated clipped puffapods into a box so as not to disturb the delicate beans inside.

    Bode left the greenhouse, sliding the door shut with a practised silence. Outside the birds called to one another. He paused his humming to ponder what it would be like to have someone else to parent his plants with. But he did not dwell on the thought: he knew that it could never be, since he had hardly a friend in the world, let alone anyone close enough to pass the time in his greenhouse.

    He left the birds to their chirruping and crossed the small, neatly-kept lawn to a second, smaller greenhouse and slipped inside, locking the door behind him. Here were his real children – offspring of his imagination and his skill. Here, he was grafting wormwood and asphodel and watering it with Sopophorus bean juice to see if he could grow a plant of Living Death. He was also trying to grow a sweetened wolfsbane plant for use in the potion. So far, he hadn’t seen much luck on these fronts, but the wormwood-asphodel cross was producing bitter-tasting flowers.

    Bode started up another spiritual as he spread the new fertiliser
    over the grafted plant.

    “Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home,
    Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home…”

    The spirituals were older than his magic. He’d learnt them as a child from the old woman who lived next door, before he’d started showing signs of magical ability. She’d fascinated him: her weather-beaten face always seemed to crease gently and smile easily at everything; her warm, dark skin had been so different to his pasty childhood pallor; and she could spin such stories from the far corners of the oceans. Sometimes she told him about her childhood on a sunny island, or about her family, but he liked it most when she sang him songs she knew.

    Bode didn’t miss his childhood home though. He’d hated their poky terrace on the edge of the town. He still retched at the stench of cigarette smoke after all these years – his stomach would turn and he would be back outside the public toilets with his former classmates jeering and taunting as he walked past. He had come close to throwing the nastiest hex he could think of on several occasions. He’d resorted to a punch once, but picked the wrong target: the stronger boy caught his arm, laughed and twisted it behind his back painfully. He could still feel the scars on his collar bones, felt branded like a farm animal.

    When his father died the previous year, Bode cleared their old house of all traces of magic before handing the house and its contents over to his Muggle cousins to do with as they wished. Since then he’d never been back.

    His little house out in the middle of nowhere was perfect. No neighbours save his own plants, his own children, in his south-facing greenhouses. As he walked back to the house, he listened to the afternoon birdsong and whistled a short reply.

    ~*~*~*~

    Healer Strout paced the Spell Damage ward, glancing longingly at the door for relief. She could hear a muffled sound of carollers outside the silent walls of the ward. Thankfully there were no straggling visitors today. Most of them probably had family gatherings to be at. The only problem was, so did she.

    The ward was finally quiet when Healer Derwent arrived at precisely 4:00pm.

    Strout scowled in exasperation. “Oh, you’re finally here.”

    “I am technically on time for the next shift, Miriam,” said Derwent, glancing at the clock. “I guess you’ll be going straight away then.”

    “Yes, I’ve still got to buy presents for my sister’s family – we’re going to hers this year and I forgot to buy them last week.”

    “Ah, well, good luck then. Merry Christmas Miriam.”

    “Merry Christmas.”

    Strout closed the door gently behind her, her mind making a mental plan of the quickest route around the necessary stops in Diagon Alley. But as she took her coat from its hook next to the door, she heard a softer song through the wall and paused. It was a song she didn’t recognise, but in a voice she had heard singing quietly many times:

    “All my trials, Lord, soon be over.”
    Last edited by BrokenPromise; 04-11-2015 at 10:59 PM.
    [@Bannermaking] [@Poetry] [@Writing] [@Drabbling] [@Duelling]

    Incredible Avvie and Beautiful banner for my Cotillion fic by Nadia/majestic_ginny!



  5. #5
    Seventh Year Slytherin
    "Greetings From Egypt..."
    Oregonian's Avatar
    Join Date
    Apr 2012
    Location
    The green and rainy Pacific Northwest
    Posts
    828
    Name: Oregonian
    House: Slytherin
    Title: Patronus Land
    Rating/Warnings: 1st-2nd Years, None

    Lily Lu’s little face lit up with delight as the silvery creature suddenly appeared in the sitting room and capered around for a brief time, speaking a message in her grandfather’s voice. She didn’t understand the words, but that didn’t matter—the shining animal made of light enchanted her until it faded away.

    “What was that, Daddy?” she asked, turning to her father on the sofa.

    “That was your Grandpa’s Patronus, Sweetie. He came to tell us about Grandma’s birthday party,” Harry said , giving his little daughter a quick hug around her shoulders. “It’s in the shape of a weasel. Did you see that?”

    “But why, Daddy?” She cocked her head a little and stared earnestly into his face, clutching her brown stuffed dog Cleveland tightly to her chest. Cleveland was her favorite toy.

    “Why did Grandpa send it to us? Because the party’s a secret. He doesn’t want Grandma to know.”

    “Where is it now?” Lily persisted. “Did it go back to Grandpa?”

    “You saw. It evaporated into sparkling dust that disappeared.”

    “You mean it’s dead?” Concern showed on Lily’s little face in her widened eyes and downturned mouth.

    “No, no,” Harry laughed. “It’s not dead. That’s just what they do. You’ll probably see it again someday.”

    He picked his little girl up as she stood at his knee, dressed in her white nightgown gathered with pink smocking around the neck, and settled her into his lap. She was so small and sweet, petite and slight for her age. His arms wrapped all the way around her so easily. He held her tightly, not wanting to let her go.

    “Where does it go when it’s not here, Daddy?”

    “Where does it go?” Harry repeated.

    “Yes, Daddy. Where does it live?”

    “Well, let me see,” Harry said. “I think it lives in Patronus Land.”

    “Where’s that, Daddy?”

    “I don’t know exactly. I’ve never been there myself.”

    “Are there other Patronuses there too?” Lily swiveled her head around to look her father in the face.

    “Oh yes. All the Patronuses live there. They’re all animals, all sorts of animals. There’s deer, and foxes, and rabbits, and bears, and lynxes--”

    “And lions and tigers too, Daddy?”

    Harry chuckled. “I’ve never seen a lion or tiger Patronus, but I’m sure they’re there too.”

    “What do they do there?” She settled back into his arms, leaning against him and staring out across the room.

    “I suppose they play together, and lie down in the grass under the trees, and smell the flowers.”

    Lily suddenly turned her head and shoulders, still clutching Cleveland, and asked sharply, “Do they eat each other?”

    “No, they’re very friendly,” her father answered. “And they don’t need to eat. As you have seen, they don’t have bodies the same as us. They’re made of light.”

    Lily relaxed back into Harry’s arms and said, “I wish I could be a Patronus.”

    “You do? Why is that, Lily Lu?”

    “Because then I could play all day, and I wouldn’t have to eat things I don’t like. And I could stay up as late as I want.”

    “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. I don’t think people can be Patronuses. But what kind of animal would you like to be?”

    Lily gave the question serious thought. “I don’t know yet.”

    Harry stood up, holding her. “Time for bed, Sweetie.”

    He carried her into her bedroom and tucked her into bed, pulling the white duvet up to her chin. He knew that when he came back to check on her later, the duvet would be all scrambled and her little sleeping body would be sideways in the bed, little bare feet sticking out all uncovered.

    Harry went out, dimming the light. “Good night, Sweetie.”

    “Good night, Daddy.”

    As he left, he heard her voice one more time. “I’ve decided what I’m going to be, Daddy. I’m going to be a dog, like Cleveland.”
    Writer, Poet, Drabbler, Occasional Beta, Slytherin Cheerleader
    [center]
    This lovely banner is a gift from my good friend Nagini Riddle.

  6. #6
    Nagini Riddle
    Guest
    Name: Nagini Riddle.... YES! I still exist!!!!!! (crawling out of her rock after six months of being away)
    House: Vicki, can I be adopted into Slytherin? *Gryffindor*
    Title: The Usual Pre-Midnight Wipe Down
    Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd yrs; Beware the Bleach!!!!! and also tendrils of frustrating thoughts

    A tendril of a thought wormed its way into her blank canvass of a mind, but she refused to entertain it. Cleaning was not a time to think, was not a time to ponder, not a time to reflect. There was too much at stake, too much dirt and oil and laundry and dishes and unfolded items. Who had time to think?

    The bleach had long since lost its power to overwhelm her senses, though it was just as powerful as ever to rid the counters and carpets of stains. Her aversion to sponges had dissipated as well, though she could not recall the precise time of that intriguing revelation. The sponge had no longer made her hands feel leathery, though she noted that this quirk had disappeared after her marriage to Vernon. Before then, the sponge had meant dishes with the sister. The freak had loved throwing soapy sponges at her back. She—

    No! No thoughts. Cleaning the house was not for thoughts.

    She picked up some window cleaner and a fresh rag, disgusted by the fact that her windows had not been washed in two days. And although the moonlight shone perfectly through the clear glass, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, the light was tainted because the windows were not as clear as they could be. She sprayed them down three times and vigorously wiped off the smallest of dust particles. What would the neighbors think to see her dingy windows?

    The rag was dripping wet after her efforts, and some of the bleach ran down the rag onto her yellow gloves, slipping until it touched her skin. She threw an angry look at these drops of cleaner, and wiped them off with paper towels, though in a manner of someone trying to swat a bug. It did no good, and hurriedly, she put her arm under the faucet and began to soap her skin up. For an eternity, she scrubbed her arms, the ghostly tendrils of thoughts still trying to fight their way in.

    Perfect Lily. Dead perfect Lily, with her smithereened house, slaughtered husband, and odd baby. Who was perfect now? Who, with her clean kitchen and manicured lawns, a fine husband with a job at the firm, and a bouncing healthy boy? Who? Who indeed?

    In frustration, she flicked the faucet off, attempting to shake out those thoughts. Suddenly, the grout on the kitchen floor looked a shade darker than white. Lily would have just laughed and whipped out her little wand to clean the floor. Mum and Dad would have beamed at her, the daughter with it all. But that was all past. They were all worm fodder. And she still lived on, in her perfect house, with the perfect family, and the perfect life.

    The only problem with perfect was that one single blemish threw it all off balance.

    She turned back to the windows, rags and window cleaner in hand, and set to polishing the already gleaming glass.

  7. #7
    Fourth Year Hufflepuff
    McGonagall Likes My Quidditch Skills
    Cinderella Angelina's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2006
    Location
    hung up on a dang pine tree
    Posts
    133
    Name; Cinderella Angelina
    House: Hufflepuff
    Title: Attic
    Ratings/Warnings: 1-2 yrs/mention of character death
    A/N: I'm very out of practice so this isn't quite how I wanted it, but, well, it is the deadline

    They weren't, strictly speaking, supposed to be in Aunt Muriel's attic. Mum hadn't said specifically that they needed to stay out (which was definitely an oversight on her part), but the expectation was clear that when Aunt Muriel took a nap, everyone else in the house took a nap too.

    Fred and George didn't take naps.

    While the house was quiet, they had crept up the stairs to the only part of the house that seemed at all interesting: the attic.

    "Wow," Fred whispered, taking in the overstuffed room with awe. "You think - ?"

    "Look," George answered, dragging his finger through the dust. Aunt Muriel never came up here.

    "Look at this!" Fred responded, bounding over to a wardrobe that hung open, revealing a bunch of old clothing. He tried on a hat covered with feathers and laughed. George joined him in digging through the robes, shawls, hats and wigs. They giggled to each other at their appearance.

    Clad in ratty wigs and shawls that dragged on the ground, they turned their attention to the rest of the attic. Old, broken cauldrons were stacked high in one corner, and there was a snapped broomstick by the window. The twins were not all that interested in the bookshelves filled to the brim with decaying spellbooks, so they traversed further into the attic.

    In one corner, a group of trunks had been arranged and a blanket draped over them to create a sort of cave. Fred and George spotted it and immediately crawled into the space.

    Fred giggled. George glanced at him, so he said "Muriel," then went on laughing. George joined him, the image of their mum's aunt squeezing into this place, let alone making it, a hilarious one.

    "Someone made it," George said.

    "Ours now," Fred replied. They looked around their special alcove in delight. It was just the right size for kids their age, even a little spacious.

    "Look!"

    Wedged in the corner between two of the trunks was a notebook.

    George carefully removed the book, and they both leaned over it curiously. Neither of them could read, but they recognized the big letters on the cover: "F & G"

    "Like us," Fred whispered, tracing the 'F'.

    "What's inside?" George asked, lifting the cover.

    "We can't read!" Fred reminded him, but they looked through the book. There was writing there, incomprehensible to the boys, but also funny drawings of people they didn't know.

    "You think, Mum?" George asked. If anyone recognized this book, it would be her.

    Fred nodded. "She'll know. Could be trouble, though."

    As if the word "trouble" were a spell, they immediately heard the sounds of their mother's shouts.

    "George! Fred! Where have you boys got to?"

    The twins scrambled out of the cave and were nearly at the stairs to the attic when Mum found them.

    "Look at you, you're filthy! What are you wearing? Where did you find those wigs? Why couldn't you just stay in your room like the rest of the boys? Aunt Muriel won't be pleased to find you've been up here. I should march you right down to apologize to her."

    "Mum, what's this?" Fred said hurriedly, to forestall further haranguing and the threat of punishment. He held up the book and to his surprise it actually worked to halt his mother's speech.

    She picked it up and leafed through it, a sad smile on her face. "This was your uncles' book," she said. "See, the F and G are for Fabian and Gideon. I caught them scribbling in it one time we visited Aunt Muriel. Look, here's a picture of me yelling at them."

    "Really, Mum?" George sidled close to her and leaned close to see. "Why did they leave it here?"

    "Oh, they probably forgot it once they started school."

    "Can we keep it?" Fred asked. "F and G, Fred and George?"

    Mum held tightly to the book for a moment, then let it go. "I suppose they don't need it anymore. And I know they wouldn't mind; they really loved you. I know you don't remember, but they loved to hold you and play tricks with you before they died."

    "They did?" the boys asked, delighted. Mum didn't usually talk about her brothers, because it made her sad. But she looked happy right now.

    With a sigh, she plucked off the wigs from her sons' heads. "I came to find you because it's time for tea. Hurry and get washed up and I won't tell Aunt Muriel where you've been."

    They didn't need telling twice. They threw off the shawls and rocketed down the stairs. Mum glanced around the attic once, ignoring the dust and seeing only memories, then she closed the door firmly and followed the twins.

  8. #8
    Apple Wood Hufflepuff
    Unspeakable
    McGonagall Doesn't Expel Brilliant Seekers
    Padfoot11333's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2011
    Posts
    505
    RESULTTSSSSSSSSSSSSS

    FIRST PLACE


    ATTIC

    by Cinderella Angelina

    AND

    STUDENTS OF THE STARS

    by Oregonian

    Congrats to everyone who entered and sorry for the wait!!

    Points:
    Slytherin: 15
    Ravenclaw: 5
    Hufflepuff: 10
    Gryffindor: 5
    ♥♥♥ Lily Writes ♥♥♥



    Banner by the opaleye. Avi by TM_Wandstick.

  9. #9
    First Year Hufflepuff
    In the Rubble at Godric's Hollow
    LilDevilWriter's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2016
    Location
    in my imagination
    Posts
    12
    Awesome job to everyone!

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •