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Thread: Weekly Drabble Challenge - Historical Splinches: Christmas - Results

  1. #1
    Ebil Gato Loco Ravenclaw
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    Weekly Drabble Challenge - Historical Splinches: Christmas - Results

    T'is the season to be jolly....Fa la la la la la la la lah!

    In celebration of the season, your challenge this week is to write a Christmas drabble set within the first three years after the Battle of Hogwarts.

    The following form must be used when submitting your drabble responses to this post -
    Word Count:
    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 (December 27th).

    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~

    I've left moddom/fandom...though don't be surprised if I get caught lurking once in a blue moon.
    All questions pertinent to Ravenclaw need to be sent to ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor
    If you wish to keep in touch, feel free to friend me on LJ - I don't friend anyone under the age of 18. Sorry!

    Otherwise, so long, and thanks for all the fish!

  2. #2
    Title: Remembrances
    Word Count: 415
    Warnings: DH spoilers (Is this still necessary?)
    __________________________________________________ _____________________

    The snow had fallen thick this year around Hogwarts, covering over what had been a battleground merely seven months ago. Had it truly been that long? Tears welled up in his eyes once more at the memories from those fateful events and everyone that had been lost, as they had so many times in the previous months.

    It seemed like just yesterday to Harry that he had laughed at one of Fred's misplaced jokes, smiled at Lupin's giddiness over the birth of his son, or sidestepped Colin Creevey to avoid yet another picture. He would give anything to be able to do any of those things just one more time. Especially during this time of year, Christmas, when everything was supposed to be festive and cheery.

    As he looked up at the castle, he remembered how he had felt his first Christmas there. The untainted memory made him smile. What he wouldn't give to be able to think of Hogwarts the way he had back then, without the distaste of battle ringing through it.

    Harry, shaking himself out of his reverie, walked up the steps and entered through the grand entrance way once more. He had not been here since that fateful night, and had returned now only to surprise Ginny, at least that's what he kept telling himself. The truth was he was drawn to Hogwarts just as much now as he had always been, just like he was drawn to Ginny.

    "What took you so long? The train is due to leave within the hour! Don't look so surprised, you know Ron can't keep a secret," Ginny explained as she came into view, handing him her trunk.

    "Bloody hell! I swear I'm never telling Ron anything else," he replied playfully.

    "Harry, what's wrong? What are you thinking about?"

    "Nothing really - the past, I suppose. I never thought that I wouldn't be able to think of this place as home, it's lost some of it's mystique I guess."

    Ginny looked at Harry kindly, stroking his cheek with the backs of her fingers. "Give it time, Harry. No one expects us to forget everything that has happened. We need to remember it so that those who gave their lives can live on through us. But it will get easier, with time. I promise."

    With a weak smile he placed his arm around her shoulders and kissed her gently on the cheek. "I know, Ginny. I know," he whispered as they began walking towards Hogsmeade.

  3. #3
    Name: Emma/LilykinsLove
    House: Hufflepuff!!
    Title: A Sad Season
    Word Count: 459
    Warnings: None.
    Notes: It is the year 2000.

    “I can’t find the-whoops!”

    A loud bang and a series of clunks echoed through the busy household, which in turn stood silent for a short second.

    “Teddy, what have you done now?” A voice yelled from the back of the house.


    A two-year old Teddy swept by Andromeda as she walked into the kitchen to see what had caused the terrible noise.

    Gabrielle stood on a chair, a half-smile on her face as she held up a small can.

    “I ‘ouldn’t ‘ind ze nootmeg,” she hopped down to the floor, “but I’z got it now.”

    Andromeda looked around as Teddy re-entered the kitchen. Victorie was lying on the floor, covered in flour, and Teddy was pouring a cup of water on her belly.

    “Teddy, stop!”

    Andromeda picked Victorie up off the floor, set her down in the empty sink, and turned to look at Teddy.

    “Can you go sit in the sitting room for Andy?”

    Teddy smiled a toothless smile and waddled off, throwing the half-empty cup of water on the floor.

    Gabrielle blushed as she looked around at the messy kitchen, “I iz ‘erribly zorry. I’ll clean it up.”

    Andromeda scowled, “Yes, well, I’ve got to clean Teddy and Victorie up- your parents will be here within the hour.” She turned away, scooped up the crying baby from the sink, and hurried to the bathroom, muttering something about promises.


    “Thank Merlin,” Andromeda whispered as the sensory charm went off, identifying one Bill Weasley as he opened the front door.

    “Uncle Bill!” Gabrielle cried from the couch where she was holding a sleeping Victorie, “We made you cookies!”

    Bill chuckled as Teddy crashed into his legs.

    “Up, Bill, Up!”

    Bill swung the two year old onto his shoulders and made his way over to Andromeda, who was standing in the hallway entrance.

    “We can’t thank you enough, Andy.” Bill said, taking her hand, “Fleur was just in a panic when she heard of her father’s health and you were the first person I thought of.”

    Andromeda shook her head, “It’s quite all right. How is Mr. Delacour?”

    Bill sighed, “They doubt he’ll make it through Boxing Day.”

    “What a shame, during the holidays and everything!”

    “Yeah.” Bill slipped Teddy back down to the floor, “Well, Gabs, we better get going.”

    The thirteen-year old got off the couch as fluidly as she could, still holding her niece in her arms.

    “Goodbye, Andy! Thank you again!”

    The three made a sad sight, Andromeda realized, as they walked down the front steps and into the muggle car Bill had just bought, but she was brought out of her reverie by Teddy, who was now clinging to her pants leg.

    “Love, Andy?”

    Andromeda giggled and scooped up the toddler.

    “Love, Teddy.”

  4. #4
    Name: XhayleeXblackX
    House: Slytherin
    Title: A Christmas Stocking
    Word Count: 321
    Warnings: Mention of a character’s death
    A young man with fiery red hair stood hanging stockings on the mantle of an old brick fireplace. A lively spirit radiated from him as he hummed a Christmas tune. He had already placed six of the family’s stockings up when he came across one he hadn’t thought he would see. It was moth eaten from lack of use and had a few scorch marks on it. Its blue color had faded to an almost gray, and the name had started to peel off.

    George sighed deeply, sat down on the small coffee table, and stared at his twin’s Christmas stocking. Fred had loved Christmas: the decorations, the food, and the laughter that the season brought. They had always hung up the stockings together; it was their special tradition.

    He hadn’t been able to continue the custom after Fred had died, at least not for that first Christmas. He could barely stand the holiday at all then, let alone be forced to reopen the deep wound that he had so recently began to heal. Now, two years after his brother's death, he felt able to take part.

    “Oh, Fred,” George whispered, “It’s just not the same without you, you know.”

    As he stared down at the stocking, memories of years past flooded George’s mind:

    Fred standing on a chair to hang up Charlie’s stocking and then falling backwards on top of George.

    The names on the their stockings alternating between ‘Fred’ and ‘George’ and ‘Gred’ and ‘Feorge’.

    Fred bewitching Percy’s stocking to say ‘Prat’.

    But George quickly shut those memories away. He stood up, walked over to the mantle, and placed Fred’s stocking safely back into the decorations box. He knew his twin would understand why he couldn’t hang it up; it would be too hard for the family. George wiped away the tear falling from his eye, and continued hanging up the decorations.

    “Happy Christmas, Fred. Wherever you may be.”

  5. #5
    Name: Indigoenigma
    House: Hufflepuff
    Title: Gifts For Dobby
    Word Count: 500
    Warnings: reference to character death

    It was certainly going to be a White Christmas. Overnight, four inches of snow had fallen, creating a lovely, soft layer of white fluff on the ground. It was not windy, but the air had a distinct chill and the trees were coated with fresh powder. There were three people walking through this winter tableau, one of whom was carrying a large and lumpy package.

    “It’s bloody freezing.” Ron muttered this into warm confines of the thick scarf tucked around his neck.

    Hermione replied in a bubbly voice, “You’ll have to speak up, Ron, I can’t hear you when you mumble.”

    Her remark earned a snort of laughter from Harry and an indignant grunt from Ron.

    “Surely we could have come on his birthday, Hermione.” Ron pleaded, “He wouldn’t have minded.”

    “Ron,” Hermione said with asperity, “It’s our first Christmas without him. It’s the proper thing to pay our respects. People are doing it all over the Wizarding World!” She angrily pulled her knit hat down lower on her forehead.

    Silence followed her slight outburst and, for several minutes, the only sound was the slight crunches that their shoes made in the fresh snow.

    “Ah…I think we’re here.” Harry nodded his head in the direction of a small cottage.

    “Oh…good.” Ron’s voice was falsely cheery.

    Hermione said nothing, but shook her head and motioned for Ron and Harry to follow her. They stopped about thirty feet from the cottage and Hermione peered about indecisively.

    Harry pointed to a spot in the yard, about ten feet away. “I think it’s right about there.”

    Hermione nodded, handed Ron the package that she had been carrying, and walked towards where Harry had indicated. Bending over, she dug her gloved hand into the snow and pushed some of the new fallen snow away.

    In the area that she had cleared, there was a small, stone marker. Harry cleared his throat noisily as Hermione turned to Ron for her package.

    Silently, he handed her the contents of the bag – a wooly, knit hat, a bottle of butterbeer, and three pairs of socks.. Hermione cradled the objects in her arms and bent back down. Carefully, she put the fuzzy hat next to the marker. She sighed and then stood up again.

    With a small cough, Harry took the socks from Hermione and gently laid them next to the hat. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, Dobby,” he said thickly.

    The three stood there for several long minutes, staring and the gifts that they had deposited. Hermione wiped several stray tears from her eyes and Ron let out a long, deep sigh.

    With a small huff of realization, Ron realized that Hermione was still holding the bottle of butterbeer. Taking it from her hand, he laid it atop the rest of the gifts.

    “I thought you might like it, ” Ron murmured. “I figured that a stiff drink might hit the spot.”

    His remark earned small smiles from Harry and Hermione.

    Quietly, he continued, “Merry Christmas, Dobby.”

  6. #6
    Name: Weasleyboyfreak
    House: Hufflepuff
    Title: The End
    Word Count: 482
    Warnings: DH Spoilers, discussion of a character death

    Sorry about my other post...I didn't read the instructions well *blushes* Sorry its a little sad...

    It was cold. The frigid air blew around flurries of lost snowflakes, the full moon shining brightly in the background. Soft church bells chimed in a distant town as he approached the Burrow.

    He seemed to have wandered the countryside for months, unable to find his destination. The last thing that he could vividly remember was the final battle that had taken place four months earlier. He felt empty, but nothing could explain this new feeling. It was as if a piece of his soul had vanished. He was a vagabond traveling from town to town in search of a place to belong.

    He couldn’t feel anything, the frozen snowflakes were nothing more than an image. How he wished he could feel their soft touch as they melted on his cheeks. However, he would never again feel the touch of the snow, the frigid air that once blew his hair, or even the gentle touch of a human hand on his face.

    Slowly entering the kitchen, he found his mother hanging Christmas socks on the mantelpiece. Mrs. Weasley looked extremely tired and depressed. Her eyes no longer contained the warm glow that he had always known.

    Molly stopped suddenly, one stocking left in her hand. It was his. She studied it for a moment, tears welling up in her eyes.

    “My baby!” she suddenly burst, sobs shaking her body. “H-he’s gone! H-h-he’s gone!”

    “I’m not gone, I’m right here, Mum!” Fred said, stepping forward. She didn’t seem to hear him.

    “Fred! Oh, F-Fred! This is all my fault! What did I get our family into?” she cried.

    “No…I’m here! Cant you see me, Mum?” Fred slowly stepped towards her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

    Mrs. Weasley felt nothing, the transparent hand had never touched her shoulder.

    “Mum, are you OK?” George asked, entering the lonely kitchen.

    “Oh, George!” she sobbed, pulling her son into a hug. “Why did h-he have to d-die?”

    “I don’t know, Mum…” George answered softly. His eyes closed as his mother held him, the pain evident in his face. He missed his twin more than anyone. A piece of his soul disappeared the night Fred died.

    “George…” Fred said, watching the scene in front of him. “I’m not dead…I’m right here!”

    “Fred wouldn’t have wanted to see you like this, Mum. He would have wanted a brilliant Christmas party that ended with a bang!” George said with a light smile. He had heard nothing, seen nothing.

    “Cant you hear me? Cant you see me? I’m not dead! I-I cant be…I’M NOT DEAD!” Fred screamed.

    His family heard nothing more than the gentle blow of the wind outside the Burrow.

    The truth and realization were sinking into Fred; he was dead.

    The spirit watched the tearful scene in front of him, unable to help, unable to comfort, and unable to the love the ones he cherished the most…

  7. #7
    Name: Mistletoe
    House: Slytherin
    Title: Enchantments
    Word Count: 499
    Warnings: DH Spoilers

    The atmosphere of the room was somber, filled with forgotten wishes and lost love. The bright paintings that covered the walls had faded, and many of the collectible items that her father had found throughout his expeditions had been destroyed in last year’s explosion. She sat at the kitchen table, watching as her father rather unsuccessfully attempted to cook.

    It had been exactly one year today that she had been tricked and kidnapped off the Hogwarts Express. One year since she had been beaten, tortured, and neglected by the Death Eaters, but she was still strong. Setting up Christmas decorations with her father had been difficult for him, she could tell. It had always been a bit hard ever since her mother had died. But this year’s holiday carried extra baggage: the memory of her disappearance.

    Standing up, she walked over to her father. “Dad, I think that vegetables are generally kept even in length when you cut them. Here, like this.”

    She took the dull knife from his hand and began cutting the vegetables into equal sections. The sound of faint Christmas music wafting through the doorway caught her attention, and she set the knife back in her father’s hand.

    “Are the decorations all up?” she asked as he began to mirror her cutting. She slowly drifted toward the entry to their living room.

    “I think we still need to add a few ornaments,” he muttered before letting out a hiss of pain. “Just cut my finger a bit, no need to fret.”

    She smiled in his direction before turning to face the heavily decorated room. Tinsel and greenery swirled over the mantel, candlesticks poking out every so often. The tree was magnificent: large, full, and potent in smell. She breathed in deep, and the lovely smell of pine engulfed her. That was one of her favorite parts of the holiday: the smells that accompanied it.

    Pulling out her wand, she went to work.

    Many enchantments later, she tucked her wand comfortably behind her ear and returned to the kitchen. She watched as her father pulled something out of the oven, and breathed in the smell of apple pie.

    Without turning around, her father said, “I heard you casting quite a few spells in there.” He set down the pie among other plates filled with food. “Finished!”

    Grasping her father’s hand, she pulled him into the living room. “Before we eat, I want you to see it.”

    “All right, but we’d better hurry. The food will get cold,” he answered, throwing the oven mitts down and following his daughter into the opposite room.

    When they reached it, she heard a small gasp leave his mouth. She looked happily around the room that she had enhanced so perfectly. Gifts lay wrapped under the tree, a fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, and to top it off, she had strung garlic around the tree to ward off vampires.

    He engulfed her in a tight hug before whispering, “Luna, it’s wonderful.”

  8. #8
    Name: dragonwings
    House: Gryffindor
    Title: Really Really
    Word Count: 250
    Warnings: None

    Delicate fingers drew patterns on the windowpane.

    Tap. Tap. Tap.

    Straight blonde hair swished from side to side as a beautiful young woman giggled at the sensation of the cold on her fingers.

    Tap. Tap. Tap.

    “FLEUR!” A voice finally bellowed. “LET ME BACK INTO THE HOUSE NOW!”

    She squealed in laughter and ran downstairs to the drawing room where she looked out the window. From her spot, she could see her husband kicking the door with his foot, looking very frustrated. She wondered why he didn’t just levitate the load he was carrying in his arms but then she saw that he had left his wand by his favorite armchair.

    Fleur cracked the window open and leaned out far enough so he could hear her voice.

    “I tink dat you are going to haf to persuade me, Bill,” she said seductively. He nearly dropped the armload of wood in surprise.

    “Really…” he said slowly, sauntering up to the window. “And how do you recommend that I do that?”

    “Victoire is asleep…” she said softly.

    “Really…” he said again.

    “Really, really,” she said again. He put down the wood and forced the window open further and leaned in to kiss her deeply.

    After a while, she ended the kiss gently and traced a finger down one of the many scars that twisted his features.

    “You know, Bill Weezly, that I love you, no?”

    “Did you know, Fleur Weasley, that I love you more?”

    “Impossible,” she said and kissed him again.

  9. #9
    Name: Pondering
    Title: The Letter G
    Word Count: 303
    Warnings: None

    George rubs the wool of his Christmas jumper numbly between two fingers. Every year his mother knits him a jumper. They are warm, they are comfortable and amazingly enough, they don’t itch. They are everything anyone would ever want in a jumper.

    There is something wrong with this jumper though, and George traces the patterns with a finger, trying to figure out why this jumper unnerves him so much. Why can’t he wear it straight away, just like all the other jumpers he has ever received?

    He folds it quickly and leaves it on the edge of the bed. Has it only been seven months since the battle at Hogwarts? It seems like only yesterday, the way whenever George closes his eyes, he can see the lights of spells dancing across the backs of his eyelids, screams echoing in the walls of his ears, and the feel of a wall crumbling around him…

    He shudders, and opens his eyes again to make the images go away. He paces nervously for a few moments, trying to remind himself of all the good times that he and Fred used to have together, the days when they used to wear each other’s Christmas jumpers, and call themselves Gred and Forge.

    Frowning, George unfolds his jumper again, and this time he sees the obvious flaw straight away. He draws his finger around the shape of the letter ‘G’, wondering why the letter feels wrong.

    It’s the wrong one because his name is Forge.

    But he can’t be Forge because there is no Gred: this Christmas there is only one jumper. Slowly, he slips it over his head and he looks at himself in the mirror.

    The letter ‘G’ stares back at him.

    For this Christmas, and all the Christmases to come, he will just have to be George.

  10. #10
    Name: leahsm2
    House: Slytherin
    Title: Burying the Hatchet
    Word Count: 388
    Warnings: None

    Draco stood beside the old shack, looking at the Quidditch fields. It was funny how important they had seemed. It seemed like yesterday. He trundled his way through the snow, amazed that they had so much here when there was no snow at all back home. He reached the simple wooden door and knocked quietly. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortably waiting to see if he would be allowed entry. He had decided to atone as best he could to those he had wronged, beginning at the Burrow. He had been welcomed, maybe not with open arms, but welcomed.

    He had finally worked his way through to Hogwarts. McGonagall had been gracious, as had the other remnants of faculty, including Longbottom, now in his first year of teaching. He had stopped and paid his respects to Headmasters Dumbledore and Snape, shedding tears which he didn’t know he owned.

    Finally, he came to the last name on his list. He had saved Hagrid for last, knowing that his transgressions against him were the worst because he had done them, not from spite, but from prejudice. He had thought the large man stupid and inferior, but he found out, not too late he hoped, that Hagrid possessed a spirit as large as his exterior. The door opened slowly and Draco held out the parcel to the burly older man. He was surprised how much the last few years had aged him.

    Hagrid silently opened the door and Draco stepped into the dilapidated shack. He made a mental note to try to get the Board to fix up this place. Hagrid offered him a drink, which Draco accepted. He tried to hide his reticence as he drank the strong spirits. Hagrid motioned to the nearest chair, and Draco sat down slowly, unsure the spindly chair would hold his weight. He cleared his throat to make the speech he had practised, but Hagrid waved him off.

    “No need for that, young feller,” Hagrid began, his voice husky with emotion. “The fact that you are here is enough fer me.”

    As Draco made his way back to town to take the Hogwarts Express for the last time, he paused and looked one last time at the school. He wished he could have a few of those years back

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