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  1. #1

    The Character Gymnasium

    Welcome to the first week of:

    The Character Gymnasium!

    Every Original Character, young and old, gets a little lazy and unfit at times. Sometimes they need a little kick up the backside to make sure they're working to their full potential. Therefore, I will be posting a series of weekly challenges that should encourage you to consider your character in various different ways and think about how they'd behave in various different circumstances.

    You can use any Original Character, lifted from the dusty shelves of your author page or brand new out of the box so long as he/she is of your own creation. The challenges will get harder every week, to stretch both your writing ability and the character's potential. You don't have to participate every week and you don't have to keep to the same OC, but I encourage you to do so

    At the end of the course, special awards will be handed out to the OCs that haven't snapped under the gruelling pressure.

    Challenge One: First Impressions

    It's often easier to consider how our Original Characterd perceive themselves. But what do others think of them?

    For the first week your challenge is quite simple. Write a drabble of no more than 700 words where your Original Character meets for the first time any character from the Potterverse. The drabble must be written from the canon character's Point of View (either first or third person limited) and include their first impression when seeing your OC. There must also be an interaction between them, to see how the canon character reacts to them in conversation.

    You're allowed to use a scenario from one of your stories, so long as it is written from a different POV, or create an entirely new scenario for the challenge.

    Remember, some characters have very strong reactions to someone when they meet them for the first time and others don't. Consider how your character comes across and what virtues or aspects the canon character would like or dislike in someone.

    Please PM me with any questions (I'm not creating a separate thread because I'm *hoping* this is self-explanatory)

    All challenge entries must be posted here by the 4th August!

    Ten points will be awarded for the highest achieving character!

    Five points will be awarded to the runner-up!

  2. #2
    Honigkuchenpferd Hufflepuff
    Dobby's Sock Addiction Begins
    luinrina's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2008
    currently in the Botosphere
    Name: luinrina
    House: Hufflepuff
    OC: Savaric Orwell
    from my WIP Shining Through Blackness

    Drabble #1
    POV: Isla Black
    Words: 657

    I started sorting through my possessions, and guess what I found: A painting of me and Savaric when we were only four years old. I didn’t even know I still had it.


    ‘Isla, I want you to meet Mr Orwell and his son Savaric.’

    The little girl stood at the foot of the stairs, kindly curtseying. ‘Welcome, sir.’ She threw the boy a look; he was her age and appeared very noble… and charming. ‘Sirs,’ she therefore corrected herself as an afterthought and quickly curtseyed again.

    The boy had dark hair and dark brown eyes which were observing her silently and with an intensity that made Isla grew warm all over. She was mesmerised by the strength the boy emitted solely through his eyes that gleamed as if they were black.

    No one spoke for some moments, but then Savaric bowed, a bit awkwardly, and said, ‘Nice to meet you, princess.’

    Isla blinked several times, and then her cheeks coloured a pretty rosé. With an unsure look towards her father who still stood next to her she made sure that the boy was allowed to name her that. Mr Black nodded shortly, and asked, ‘Why don’t you two go into your study where you can show him around?’

    ‘Yes, father,’ Isla replied dutifully. She looked back at Savaric, smiled and grabbed his hand, tugging him along eagerly.

    Both climbed the stairs until they reached the children’s study. It was empty, and Isla used the opportunity to show him her picture books, her drawings and everything else without getting disturbed by her older siblings. Savaric was a patient listener. When Isla showed him her pictures, he said he liked the style of her castles she had drawn; she beamed at him, then quickly embraced him and pressed a wet kiss onto his left cheek. He was baffled for a moment, before he lifted an arm and cleaned the spot where his lips had touched his skin. He glowered at her, but when she started to look uncomfortable being under his stare, he apologised and offered to play a round of tea party with her. Isla accepted, and peace was back between the children.

    While Isla symbolically set the water to boil, Savaric asked why they didn’t have tea for real.

    ‘This is a good idea,’ she exclaimed enthusiastically. ‘We can go down into the kitchen and get some.’

    He shook his head. ‘Don’t you have house-elves to call if you need them?’

    Isla crossed her arms in front of her chest, looking offended that her idea had been thrown away. ‘Yes, we have Poros and Themis. They’re both great,’ she said.

    ‘Then call them and get them to bring us tea.’

    ‘Why should I do so? We can go ourselves to get some.’

    ‘That’s what house-elves are for. They exist to do our bidding.’

    She looked at him with her huge misty grey eyes. ‘But I like Poros and Themis. They’re my friends.’

    ‘They’re not human, and all not human can’t be your friend,’ Savaric replied passionately. ‘Call them.’

    Isla didn’t like being ordered by a boy; she was used to get nearly everything she wanted and she only obeyed to her family. ‘I won’t,’ she contradicted.


    ‘I said I won’t. You can’t order me around.’

    ‘I –’ Savaric started, but shut his mouth again without having said anything else. He changed his mind though and added, ‘You’re stupid.’

    She stuck her tongue out at him. But before Savaric could say anything to her, the study’s door opened and Mr Black entered. ‘There you are. Savaric, your father wants to leave for home. He wishes you to accompany him.’

    ‘Yes, sir, I’m down in a moment.’

    ‘Good.’ And Mr Black was gone again.

    ‘So, it’s goodbye for now, I guess. See you.’

    ‘Hmm, see you.’


    While remembering the day I first met him, I could only wonder how the last fourteen years could have passed this quick.

    Drabble #2
    POV: Bob Hitchens (in my WIP his name is Robert, Bob is his nickname)
    Words: 616

    I’m open-minded and make friends easily. But I think I wouldn’t be able to befriend him. He’s… different, and never before have I encountered someone more… arrogant. It’s difficult to find the perfect description of him, but ‘arrogant’ fits quite well, in my opinion.

    He had entered the compartment on the Hogwarts’ Express without a greeting, simply walking in with the words ‘I assume there’s room for two more?’ Sure, there still were free seats, but wouldn’t a ‘Would you mind if we sat in here with you?’ be a lot better?

    Now he stares at me, looking me up and down. His dark eyes are unsettling, and I start to feel uncomfortable. Who does he think he is?

    Helen, the girl next to me, starts talking, trying to make conversation. The only result she gets are long shared looks between the boy and the other two occupants of the compartment: a girl of noble looks, and another boy, green-eyed, with an aura similar to the boy that is now staring back at me. The arrogance both boys are emitting is overwhelming, and I feel sick in their presence.

    Suddenly, the green-eyed boy says to the noble-looking girl, ‘You’re a Black. I’ve seen you before.’

    I curiously glance at the girl sitting next to the window to see what her reaction would be. But in this moment the staring boy replies, ‘Let her be, Searle. She has nothing to do with you and the other way round.’

    Another round of meaningful looks is exchanged with Black rolling her eyes, and the boy with the green eyes says, ‘If you say so, Orwell.’

    ‘I do, Searle.’

    Tense silence spread and I changed a look with Helen. Both Searle and Orwell glared at each other that it was a miracle that none of them had yet dropped dead from being stared at. I felt just lucky that I wasn’t on the other end of one of those glares.

    Helen started talking again after some time, suggesting a round of Exploding Snap.

    ‘No,’ Searle sneered and leaned back against the headrest, ‘that’s only for Mudbloods.’ The last word he spat into her direction.

    Helen was offended, I could feel it, but she hid it quite well. But instead of being sulky, she turned to me and asked, ‘Are you up to a match, then?’

    I didn’t know anything of the game, let alone how I should answer her question without putting myself into too much of a bad light. But the only thing to do was answering honestly. Therefore I said, ‘Sure, when you can explain it to me, I’ve never played it before.’

    Both Orwell and Searle got up at the same time, their faces showing signs of deepest disgust and pure loathing. I was afraid what they would do now with them standing over us in this looming position. But all they did was Orwell ordering Black to grab her things and go because they wouldn’t sit with filth and scum that could infest them any moment.

    ‘But they look absolutely healthy to me,’ she responded. Helen had got up after the boys’ words, and both she and Searle were red with anger, although each out of different reasons. Orwell had paled, and Black – she was slapped on the mouth by Searle.

    My first impression of both boys proved true when they had left and Helen told me about blood status and that several pure-blood families saw themselves as aristocrats. I could easily believe her having experienced Orwell’s behaviour first-hand. He was prejudiced against Muggle-borns like me, and would never try to get to know us before condemning us.

    In my opinion he wasn’t worth my friendship.
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  3. #3
    Name: Enneirda/AJ
    House Hufflepuff
    POV: Ron Weasley's (third person limited)
    OC: Artemis Nyxlin, basically brand new :]
    Word Count: 698

    The Devil's Drinking Hole was a rather dingy, unclean, and downright filthy place for a meeting. Unfortunately, Ron Weasley had agreed to meet her here, in this out of the way bar to discuss his latest Auror case. He had been slipping at work more and more - and help happened out of the blue in the form of a forgotten case.

    Ron checked the dirty clock on the wall and confirmed it was midnight. Sliding into a booth, he gazed around: A hooded figure sat with his back toward Ron at the bar, only a hand visibly latched onto a goblet; a scantily clad woman sat at a table, eying Ron in return suggestively. He turned away, embarrassed and disgusted at the same time and laid his eyes on a hooded figure now sitting across from him in the booth.

    "Good evening, Mr. Weasley," the woman said, putting back her hood. Ron internally jumped when she revealed an eye patch and a sickly pink iris. A scar ran up her pale cheek from the corner of her mouth, probably from a jagged knife as it was not a smooth line.

    "G-good evening," he struggled to say after the initial shock of her appearance. Her gaze was too cold, too stoic.

    "Well, what do you want? A killing? A thievery?" she said, lacing her fingers together.

    "Er, I need you to find someone," Ron said, put off by her blunt offers. "I need you to find a man named Draco Malfoy."

    "Draco Malfoy?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow. He shifted uncomfortably, as her eye studied him. She smirked. "Nervous?"

    "This is illegal," he whispered.

    "Of course it is, Mr. Weasley," she said, with a high pitched laugh. "What did you expect? Meeting the Killing Queen is quite illegal. In fact, I'm wondering something - why are you not arresting me?"

    Ron rubbed his neck and felt his ears go red. He couldn't tell her that his job depended on her. "I'm considering it if you don't help me." She loudly laughed in his face.

    "Excuse me? Mr. Weasley, you're not blackmailing me, are you?" she said, still smiling. It was odd; he preferred her smirk rather than the strangely stretched smile.

    "That is precisely what I'm doing," he said, matching her action and lacing his fingers on the table. She angrily glared at him, staring him down. An uneasy feeling surfaced in his stomach, as he realized she could do serious harm to him without even a wand.

    She lit a cigarette, a silver lighter producing the small flame. "That's not a very good idea," she said, blowing smoke into the air. "I mean, a lot of things can go wrong with your little plan - I could not go to Azkaban, find out where you live and slaughter your whole family… I could slaughter your entire family now, because of you blunt offer of blackmailing me… I could even kill your unborn baby boy."

    Ron's eyes involuntarily widened and panic flew into his gut. She knew more than he thought. She knew about Hermione's pregnancy; the playing field was immediately uneven now. They stared at each other for a long while as she inhaled her cigarette, letting the acrid smoke into the air as she exhaled. "You really are evil," he said quietly.

    She shrugged. "At least I'm not a goody-goody who lives in the shadow of his Auror partner," she countered nastily. His eyes narrowed, anger boiling even more now. She put out her cigarette on the table, leaving a tiny burnt ring on the wood. She leaned forward to emphasize her next words: "Listen, I'll make you a deal. Bring me all the information on me from the Ministry, I'll leave your family alone, and by next week you'll have Mr. Malfoy in one of your interrogation rooms."

    She stuck out a pale hand for a cemented deal. He considered everything that he needed to do; was it even worth it?

    He grasped her cold hand and instantly regretted it as she eerily laughed and threw her hood on once more. She exited the tavern, leaving the door open so a freezing wind could enter.

  4. #4
    Name: leahsm2
    House: Slytherin
    POV: Sirius Black
    OC: Addison Pidge
    Word Count: 699

    "But, Isla," Addison protested loudly, three tables over. "I simply don't understand!"

    Sirius looked at the girl for a moment as she sat in the library, books stacked up so high that you could barely see her nose. The couple sitting at the table between him and Addison looked startled and dropped hands, before returning to staring soulfully into each other's eyes.

    She sat and scowled, not unbecomingly, he had to admit, as he wondered who she was and what she was incapable of learning. Generally, he excused himself from James' s Lily-patrols of the library, but this time he had been unable to think of a viable excuse, and so had grudgingly come along.

    "Sirius," James whispered. "There's Lily, alone by the back book shelf. Wish me luck!"

    James grinned hopefully at his best mate and he was off, while Sirius rolled his eyes, feeling the futility of his friend's mission deeply within each corpuscle of his being. Watching James go down in flames had lost its appeal long ago, but Sirius couldn't find a subtle way of dissuading him from continuing his pursuit of the disinterested young witch.

    "Miss Pidge!" Miss Pince, who was notoriously harsh on any student offenses that might in any way compromise the sanctity of her domain, the chief of which was loud talking, was standing in front of the young girl, her face just inches away from Addison's.

    Addison bit her lip, obviously unglued by the unwanted attention, but Sirius was impressed by the level way she looked directly into the librarian's consternated scowl. That took a bit of nerve, he thought approvingly.

    "Yes, ma'am," she answered in a delicate whisper.

    Sirius stifled a laugh. What a cheeky move, worthy of himself or James! Complete disavowal of any wrongdoing. That gamut seldom worked, but as an avid student of the ins and outs of dealing with an infuriated member of the faculty, he found himself enthralled.

    "We do not comport ourselves like . . ." The older woman stopped, carefully choosing her words.

    "Like students trying to decipher incomprehensible texts?" Addison asked helpfully, a slight sarcastic lilt to her voice.

    Sirius winced. Amateurs, he thought. Always a bad move. No one with any authority wanted to be shown the obviousness of the reasons behind an infraction, and sarcasm was absolutely deadly. He began to feel pity for the strange little Slytherin, in spite of himself. She, like his poor James, was destined for a fiery end.

    "Miss Pidge, loud talking and disruptions which keep your fellow students from their academic pursuits . . . "

    Sirius caught the look that Isla threw at the boy sitting across from her. It was painfully obvious to all that the only "pursuits" being thwarted at that moment had little to do with anything contained in a book.

    ". . . will simply not be tolerated. Furthermore, taking that tone of voice with a member of the Hogwarts' staff . . ."

    A crestfallen James returned to the table. He began to speak, but Sirius waved him off, curious to see what was to become of the poor little urchin.

    ". . . is punishable by the taking of ten house points!" Miss Pince took a well needed breath before continuing. "Now go! You can be certain that Professor Slughorn will be informed of the ill manners being displayed by the members of his house!"

    Sirius collected his dejected friend and overtook the Slytherins as they retreated from the library.

    "Your first instinct was spot on," he whispered, sliding in beside Addison. "If you'd maintained the 'who me?' attitude, I think you'd have won the day."

    Addison looked up at him, a small grateful smile playing on her unhappy lips.

    "Shove off, Black!" Isla hissed lowly, slowly raising her wand, as Jonathan and James stared at each other in pure hatred.

    "I meant to, but I was so angry," Addison whispered back, ignoring her friends' reactions to being in the Gryffindors' presence.

    Isla tugged at Addison's arm, a look of pure disgust on her face, as she looked at Sirius and James.

    Addison and Sirius exchanged smiles and allowed their friends to lead them off in opposite directions.

  5. #5
    Fifth Year Hufflepuff
    I See Dead People... In Mirrors
    fg_weasley's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2007
    Fargo Rock City.
    Just a warning, some questions are left un-answered, like why she is at the house in the first place. I had it in, but because of the word-count, I took it out.

    Drabble One

    Name: fg_weasley
    House: Hufflepuff
    POV: Regulus Black
    OC: Honor Turcotte
    Word Count: 698

    The table was long and set for two, to his surprise. Grimmauld Place was, at present, empty, or so he’d thought. Yet there she was, a stranger to him in this house.

    Curiously, Regulus watched her as he made his way to his own seat. She wasn’t looking at him; in fact, she didn’t seem to even notice his entrance into the room. Instead, she appeared to be examining the fine tablecloth as she waited for the house-elf to bring her food. Regulus decided to use this moment to his advantage.

    Her hair was a blonde, though not entirely. He could see bits and pieces of little brown streaks littered throughout her long locks. She looked a bit windblown, as if she’d just come from outside and hadn’t cared enough to comb it back into place. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he found himself wishing she’d look up if only to settle the question of their color.

    As if she’d read his thoughts, she suddenly did just that and Regulus found blazing brown eyes locked with his and in that instant he recognized her.

    For a moment, neither of them spoke until she finally tilted her head and asked, “Is there a particular reason you’re staring?”

    Regulus regarded her with that same lustful curiosity, but he ignored her question and posed his own instead. “You used to be in Slytherin, yeah? Back at Hogwarts. I remember you.” In fact he did. He’d seen her around the common room numerous times. However, other than the glimpses in the common room Regulus knew nothing of her except that she was a year his senior. From what he saw of her he’d been drawn; from what he heard she had quite a mouth, but any more than that was an alluring mystery to him. He didn’t even know her name.

    She regarded him silently as well, and after another long moment she said, “You do look familiar. You… you’re Sirius’ kid brother, aren’t you?”

    Regulus’ grin dropped quickly into a sneering frown. Everyone, even the Slytherins, knew him only by his brother. He watched as her lips turned up a bit in amusement and she said, “Problem? I knew him; he was in my year.”

    Of course Regulus already knew this, and her happy tone was not helping. If she liked his brother, it was far less likely that she’d like Regulus. He was always second best. “Aren’t you lucky?” he grumbled.

    Apparently he’d been louder than he intended because she laughed. “I shagged him once, you know.”

    Regulus narrowed his eyes at her. She was apparently very blunt, but he couldn’t decide if he liked that or not. Either way, this was not information he’d like to have in a first conversation. “Isn’t that just fan-bloody-tastic?” he mumbled under his breath.

    “Actually, it wasn’t,” she answered, and Regulus looked up again. “Does that make you feel better?”

    He looked into her brown eyes a moment before answering. “A bit, yeah.” He laughed and so did she. “Can you tell me the name of my brother’s vixen, then? Friendly curiosity, of course.”

    A moment passed and neither broke their heated gaze. She tilted her head slightly to the left and Regulus could tell she was fighting a smile. “Honor.”

    Honor. Bit of an ironic name for a girl who seemed anything but honorable. Still, as he watched her smile he felt his own grin widening. Regulus liked Irony.

    “I didn’t, you know.” He hadn’t been expecting her to speak again just yet, and he gave her a questioning look. “I didn’t shag him. I was joking. You looked so cross when I said I knew him I just had to see your reaction to that.” She smiled again in that alluring way of hers and then winked.

    He couldn’t help but chuckle at that and feel a strange sense of relief. “Great sense of humor you’ve got.”

    Picking up her fork, she replied, “I usually tend to think so.”

    Regulus shook his head in amusement. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of her yet, but he did know one thing: she’d caught his attention, and he didn’t dislike it.
    Drabble Two

    Name: fg_weasley
    House: Hufflepuff
    POV: Cedrella Black
    OC: Camille (I will edit this later because I cannot for the life of me remember her last name a the moment.)
    Word Count: 654

    Through narrowed eyes Cedrella watched Camille across the entrance hall. She watched Camille holding tightly to Septimus’ hand as if letting go would mark the end of her life. Cedrella scoffed inwardly to herself. Though she’d never really held a conversation with the girl, she knew she wouldn’t like her. The few times Septimus had talked about her during their Head duties had been enough to solidify Cedrella’s assurance of this.

    Septimus looked up then, and his hazel eyes caught her blue ones, and his lips turned up just a bit. Cedrella moved her mouth to the side, letting the right corner of her lips curl up into an expression she knew only Septimus and Pollux would recognize. Then Camille looked up and the smile she’d held faltered as Cedrella’s own slipped back into a scowl when their eyes met.

    Not really sure what she was going to say, Cedrella walked across the hall to where they were standing. Upon her arrival she saw Camille’s hand, if possible, squeeze Septimus’ a little tighter and she pulled it closer to her body possessively. Cedrella felt herself smile at the sight and she flicked her eyes up to meet Camille’s wary ones. She could tell Camille was calculating her as she spoke.

    “Septimus,” Cedrella greeted him as she turned her smile on him. He raised an eyebrow and she knew he recognized her wicked grin. She was enjoying watching Camille squirm.

    She turned back to Camille. “You must be Camille, then. Septimus has told me… little about you.” Cedrella offered another smile as Camille’s faltered even more and the light in her eyes dulled. She turned a questioning look on her boyfriend and Cedrella took the moment to do some of her own calculation.

    Camille had stringy, strawberry blond hair that almost clashed with Septimus Weasley’s vivid red. Her blue eyes were softer and did not hold the spark that Cedrella knew her own did. Camille was also shorter than she, another fact that widened Cedrella’s smile. Just as she’d expected, she wasn’t fazed by her. Camille obviously felt threatened by Cedrella, though, which of course, did not surprise her. Cedrella could easily push Camille out, if she so chose.

    There was a slight hissing sound and Cedrella knew Camille was whispering something to Septimus. Before he got the chance to answer, Cedrella spoke up instead.

    “Well, I am sorry to bother the both of you, but there is a reason I came to talk to you.” She paused and let her eyes fall back onto Camille’s. “I need to borrow Septimus from you for a bit. Head duties we need to attend to, you understand.” There were no Head duties, of course, but Cedrella was enjoying the look on Camille’s face at the mention of her taking Septimus. Head duties were something Cedrella and he would always share. Camille would be left out and she could do nothing for it. The notion was eating at her, Cedrella could tell, and the obvious effect it had on her expression made Cedrella want to laugh. She didn’t, though.

    Looking warily up at Septimus, Camille extracted her hand slowly. “Of course. I understand Septimus has things he needs to do.”

    Cedrella grinned her wicked grin again and said, “Wonderful. We’ll see you later, then.” She turned on her heel, still smiling widely. When they were far enough away and she heard Septimus fall into step beside her she addressed him. “What a quaint girlfriend you’ve got yourself, Sept. A bit jumpy, though, and she doesn’t talk much, does she?”

    Septimus stopped walking and regarded the delighted expression on Cedrella’s face. “There are no Head duties, are there?”

    Cedrella began to walk backwards as she spoke to him in a happy tone. “Of course not.”

    Laughing and running a hand through his hair, Septimus said, “Oh, you are wicked.”

    Cedrella grinned and turned back around. “I know,” she agreed.

    "Through literacy you can begin to see the universe.
    Through music you can reach anybody.
    Between the two there is you, unstoppable."

    --grace slick
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  6. #6
    Name: Mistletoe
    House: Slytherin
    POV: Draco Malfoy
    OC: Lucy Bliss, who I have been meaning to use for a long, long time.
    Word Count: 700
    Warnings: AU
    I couldn’t believe Father had chosen such a young bride, and she wasn’t even of much status. He had always had our best interests as a pureblood family close to his heart, or whatever resided in his chest. This was off the charts, however. I had heard she was beautiful, but she was young enough to be my bride, not my father’s.

    As I neared the door to our dining room, my stomach leaped into my throat. It was slightly unbelievable I was meeting a girl young enough to be my sister about to marry my father. Father wasn’t even doing me any good either. Ever since Mother had been killed, he had been grasping at whatever opportunity he could to make us as powerful as we once had been. I highly doubted that this marriage to a girl no one knew would do us any good. Who had even heard of the Bliss family before?

    I paused when I reached the door at the end of the hall. I felt like I was the parent and my father was the child, seeking approval of his new girlfriend.

    I grasped the knob and slowly pushed the door open. She was sitting at the end of the table, her shoulders erect and her fingers fidgeting on the table in front of her. She was perfect, something I had not expected. Her dark, cat-like eyes held the expression that mine always had: determination to prove oneself. Despite my predisposed low opinion of her, I instantly felt a twinge of respect.

    The door clicked shut and her eyes flashed to me, their depth almost frightening me. Her shoulder-length, light brown curls bounced around her face, making her rather long, far too slender nose seem to fit against her high cheekbones.

    “You must be Draco.”

    Her voice was too deep for her petite, porcelain-colored face. I had expected a child-like chime to escape her lips; instead, I received a matured and hardened rasp.

    “You must be Lucy,” I countered. She stood, her movements that of a dancer—another part of her that was contradictory. It seemed none of her fit together; her movements were graceful, her face was petite and soft, but her eyes and voice held something different.

    “Pleasure to meet you,” she said, her lips remaining soft, but straight. “You remind me very much of your father.”

    “I’ve heard. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” I replied, my careful tone betraying none of my emotions. I walked to the table and pulled out a chair for myself. Gesturing for her to sit, she did so, and I followed suit.

    After a moment of silence, I treaded into the only territory I found safe. “So, you went to Durmstrang?”

    “Yes, I did. I graduated last year,” she hedged.

    “My father warned me. I graduated last year as well.”

    I studied her reaction. A brief emotion flickered across her face—I couldn’t tell if it was fear or haughtiness. I also couldn’t tell which I preferred.

    “You went to Hogwarts,” she stated. “And were in Slytherin. I’m not sure how that system works, but I’ve heard that house is held in high esteem.”

    A smirk slid onto my lips. I felt she was trying to talk to me as if I were younger. Fancy that.

    “All those who are worth anything end up in Slytherin; the other houses are for the weak and filthy. I preferred Durmstrang to Hogwarts, but Mother wouldn’t allow me to go there.”

    A twitch of a smile jumped to her lips; her strong demeanor had begun to break. I was now the one that had the higher hand in this meeting. It had been my goal, and now that I had established it, I had to keep it.

    Thinking of a quick excuse, I announced, “It was a pleasure, Miss Bliss, but I must be going now.” I bent my head in a brief bow, never breaking eye contact with her.

    Her wall was back in place, and her eyes as deep as ever. It was hard for me to tell if I was going to be able to resist this girl who would soon be my stepmother.

  7. #7
    Name: ArcherCheer14
    House: Hufflepuff
    POV: Xenophilius Lovegood
    OC: Asta Harrison-Lovegood
    Word Count: 625

    I blew my light hair out of my eyes, not bearing to taking my eyes and hands from the book. My latest assignment for Care of Magical Creatures: eighteen inches on the nundu, an African creature. I was almost done. Two more inches and I could get outside and relax, gaze into the distance, watch the first-years timidly dip their feet in the lake to see if the Giant Squid would nip their toes. It was time to get away from the books. To unwind in peace.

    Yes. Done. I scrolled up the parchment, stuffed it in my bag, and reached for all my books. There were six of them; I briefly contemplated making two trips, but I really needed to get outside. I couldn’t see before me, but it would only take me a second to get a few back onto the shelf and have efficient vision again.

    But before I could put even one back, I found myself flat on my back, a beautiful brunette on top of me. Normally, I wouldn’t mind this, but I recognized this petite fifth-year from the rumors and speculations around the school.

    Asta Harrison.

    She was a little spoiled brat, or so I heard, one of those girls who thought that she was superior to us lowly mortals. She was supposed to be one of those girls who thought that being purely blooded, being purely magical, meant being purely elite. She grew up surrounded by money, everyone knew. Apparently, she popped out with a silver spoon in her mouth. From the womb to the mink coat. From her mother to her mother’s pearls.

    I had heard all this from stories that spread like wildfire, and I automatically believed them. But of course, I had never met her before then. My perceptions about her changed the moment after we collided, when a curse fell out of her perfectly rounded mouth.

    She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, looked down at me with her clear gray eyes, and I felt like I was being slowly suffocated by smoke, but then I realized it was because her left arm was on my windpipe, not her gorgeous eyes.

    But she was probably inbred to look that pretty anyway, I thought. Out loud: “Are you okay?”

    “I’m fine,” she said in her clipped accent, sounding vaguely like London, brushing off my concern. “Are you?”

    “I’d be better if you weren’t cutting off my air supply.”

    Immediately, she sat up, and realized, blushing slightly, that she was astride me. She stood up quickly and brushed off her skirt. “Here,” she said, still blushing, “let me help you up.”

    I grasped her extended hand and pulled myself up, nearly pulling her down again in the process. She bent down to retrieve my books, scattered in the collision, as I looked down at her chestnut hair, curling around her shoulders.

    “Here,” she said briskly, handing me the pile of books. I reached for them, and our hands met.

    Her touch was electric. Our eyes met: her gray and my green, and I couldn’t pull my gaze away. It was as if her eyes were magnetic. My whole body was numb. I could barely breathe, but this time it wasn’t because she was crushing my windpipe. I smiled down at her and lifted her up.

    But suddenly another rumor flashed in my mind. It wasn’t so much a rumor as a fact; I had seen it myself: little Asta Harrison went through boyfriends like candies, leaving a trail of broken hearts wherever she went in her expensive jewels.

    But at that moment, I didn’t care that she might break my heart. I wanted Asta Harrison to be mine, and at that moment, the chase began.

  8. #8
    Savannah Hen Slytherin
    Sirius Black Entered Gryffindor Tower
    coolh5000's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2007
    Wonderful England!
    I hope this is not too late but it is still the 4th in my timezone.

    Name: Coolh5000
    House: Slytherin
    POV: Minerva McGonagall
    OC:Charlotte Pearson
    Word Count: 695

    As usual, Minerva McGonagall used her first lesson with the new first-years to absorb as much as she could about them. Of course, this year there were fewer new students, due to the lack of Muggle-borns.

    As the first-years trooped into the room, she cast an appraising eye over them. She felt a twinge of sadness knowing that they were entering the school at such a turbulent time and would no doubt suffer during their first year at the school but she was determined that their lessons with her would, at least, be no different to usual.

    There was one student in particular that she paid special attention to: Charlotte Pearson was a Half-blood but her mother had left the Wizarding world many years ago to please her Muggle husband and therefore Charlotte entered the school almost as ignorant as a Muggle-born. This worried Minerva greatly. Currently, the people in charge of the school were not aware of the girl’s situation. She had been on the list and consequently been sent a letter. When she was then asked to provide proof of her blood status she was able to show her mother’s family tree. However if she were to give away anything of her upbringing she would be subjected to terrible punishments. McGonagall shuddered as she thought of some of the things she had already witnessed in the two days since term began. It would have been easier all round if Charlotte had simply stayed away but the new laws on compulsory education made it impossible for her to hide.

    Minerva watched the girl closely throughout the lesson. She clearly had as much ability as any of her classmates but occasionally lacked confidence or struggled to master the wand strokes which were so new and so strange to her.

    As the first-years were leaving for lunch, Minerva called Charlotte over to her.

    “Miss Pearson, could I have a word?”

    The first-year looked at her, her nerves showing clearly in her eyes.

    “Yes, Professor?”

    “Why don’t you sit down,” Minerva said trying to sound as gentle as possible.

    Charlotte sat at the seat opposite the desk and Minerva saw her eyes drop to the table. She cleared her throat and began talking.

    “Miss Pearson, I wanted to talk to you because things at Hogwarts are a little different to how they have been in previous years and as your Head of House, I feel it is my duty to protect you.”

    The girl looked up. “Are you sending me home?”

    “No, of course not! Why ever would think that?”

    “At the feast on the first night, the man was saying that people from non-magical families don’t deserve a magical education. Well, I’m not from a magical family. I thought that would mean I’d be sent away.”

    Minerva sighed. She had no idea how she could explain this in a way that an eleven-year-old would understand. At last she decided the best way would be to tell as much of the truth as possible but simplified.

    “You’re mother is a Witch, even if she doesn’t use magic anymore and that means that you’re considered to be from a magical family. You must understand, however, that the opinions you may have heard about people from different magical backgrounds are only held by a very few people, and you shouldn’t believe everything they say. Unfortunately though, it is those people who are currently in charge of Hogwarts and therefore it is important that you don’t talk about the fact that your mother no longer uses magic or else you may find yourself in trouble.”

    The girl looked positively terrified at this point and Minerva found herself wishing once again that Dumbledore had not died and left them in this mess – not that he could help being murdered.

    After dismissing the girl, Minerva sat, thinking about the conversation they had just shared. The girl was clearly very nervous to be here, though she had tried incredibly hard in the day’s lesson and seemed determined to do well. She would just have to hope that she was able to avoid the scrutiny of the Death Eaters until the war was over.

    Adrian won a QSQ! Thanks to Minnabird for the beautiful banner. Click on it to read Stolen Magic - the story of the second wizarding war through a very different character's eyes.

  9. #9
    Still the 4th, right?

    Name: Lily Luna Potter
    House: Hufflepuff
    PoV: Lily Evans
    OC: Mimi Stewart
    Words: 675

    “Hey, mind if I sit here?”

    “Huh?” I looked up from the book I was reading to see a blue-eyed brunette about my age standing in the doorway of the compartment where I sat alone.

    “Mind if I sit here?” she repeated.

    “Sure,” I said quietly.

    “Thanks,” said the girl. She dragged her trunk into the compartment and gave the luggage rack an appraising look. “How did you get your trunk up there?” She reached toward the rack and barely touched it. “You can’t be much taller than I am.”

    “One of the Prefects helped me,” I said.

    “Huh.” Without further ado, the girl clambered onto the bench across from me, hoisted her trunk above her with effort, and almost dropped it. I jumped up quickly and caught the other end. Between us we managed to maneuver the trunk into the luggage rack.

    “Whew. Now that that’s taken care of, hi! I’m Mimi Stewart.” Mimi grinned at me confidently.

    “Hi.” I smiled shyly. “I’m Lily Evans.”

    Mimi sat down across from me and said, “So, what’re you reading?”

    “Um, it’s ‘Hogwarts, A History,’” I said, not really wanting to talk, but glad that we were at least saved from the awkward silence that comes of two shy strangers on a long train ride. No, shy this girl was not. I tried to find my spot again.

    “Uh-oh, we weren’t supposed to read that, were we?” Mimi asked, suddenly anxious. “I didn’t see a reading list…or I don’t remember seeing one…”

    “No, I just…decided to read it,” I answered reluctantly. Here it came. Day one of my Hogwarts career, and I was already labeling myself as a hopeless bookworm.

    “Oh, phew,” said Mimi, relieved. “I thought I’d forgotten something.” She laughed self-deprecatingly. “Here I am, day one of my Hogwarts career, already labeling myself as a hopeless protagonater.” She sighed dramatically.

    Wait, what? “Don’t you mean procrastinator?” I asked.

    “Yeah, that’s the one.” I jumped as a loud yowling sound issued from a wicker basked left unnoticed on the floor. “Case in point,” said Mimi, jumping up. “Sorry, James! I’ll let you out.”

    I got up and quickly shut the compartment door. A small black-and-white cat shot out of the basket and, finding no escape route, settled primly into a corner, licking his paws.

    “Oh, he’s so cute!” I squealed. Mimi grinned at me approvingly.

    “That’s the most volume I’ve heard from you this whole trip. You can pet him if you want.”

    I extended my hand cautiously towards James. He sniffed it curiously and allowed me to stroke his head. “He likes you,” said Mimi as a matter of fact. “So, what’s this ‘History of Hogwarts’ about?”

    “’Hogwarts, A History,’” I corrected her. “It’s basically just that, a history of Hogwarts. It’s full of interesting facts and things about the school.”

    “Okay, so what’s the latest interesting fact?” asked Mimi, sitting down next to me and peeking at the book.

    “Um, well…” I searched the page and found one I guessed would interest her. “’In 1880 Hogwarts appointed the youngest player ever to play on a House Quidditch team. Abram Bashar played Seeker for Hufflepuff in his first year.’”

    “What’s Quidditch?” asked Mimi blankly.

    “Uh…it’s a Wizarding sport played on broomsticks. I think the Seeker has to catch the golden Snitch. Seekers have to be small and fast.”

    “Broomsticks? Wicked! I’ve got to try that. I don’t think Seeker would work too well for me, though.”

    “Why not?” I asked, looking her up and down. She wasn’t too tall, only a little taller than me. She wasn’t slender, I supposed, but she wasn’t fat either. “You might do okay.”

    “Nah, I’m too slow,” she said. “Look at you, though. You’re small enough—no offense.”

    “None taken,” I said, shaking my head. “But I’d never be any good at Quidditch, or flying, period. I hate heights,” I explained.

    Mimi shrugged and started another topic of conversation. We continued in this matter for the rest of the train ride.

    I never did get back to my book.

  10. #10
    Fourth Year Hufflepuff
    McGonagall Likes My Quidditch Skills
    lullaby BANG's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2007
    left my <3 in Vegas
    Name: lullaby BANG
    House: Hufflepuff
    POV: Remus Lupin (first person)
    OC: Dante
    From: Of Blood, Gore, and Alibis
    Words: 686

    I sit at the bar trying to forget all that has happened. In the past week, it has become my safe haven ever since... I can't even stomach to say it. However, like every other night I stay in this dismal setting, I find myself not consuming alcohol. I always buy it, yet I never do partake in it.

    I look around the bar to find the same scenery: the usual drunken laughter, the raunchy lovers, and the beginning banter of a fight.

    I sigh. It is all the same except for this one particular chap. It is disconcerting to see him. He is like me– utterly sober. He is tucked away in a shadowy corner. It is as though he doesn't want to be spotted, yet he ironically stands out.

    He is eyeing the bar with caution. Is he expecting someone? He picks up his bottle, looks at it, and then puts it down on the table.

    A blonde woman stumbles her way to him. She is giggling and evidently hit the bottle quite hard. He scoots down the booth and lets her clamber in with him. He immediately nuzzles his head into her neck, and she laughs in drunken splendour.

    I eye him in disgust. One should never take a girl who is so vulnerable. It is outrageous to watch him indulge.

    I turn away from him and look at all of the bottles that are lined behind the bar. I am always impressed at how the bartender knows each one.

    I look back at him, wondering if he has come to his senses. No. He is still engorging himself. He pulls back, though, and immediately looks at me in disgust as though I had ruined such an intimate moment. The bar was no place to be intimate.

    The girl whispers something in his ear, and he pushes her away. How could he disrespectful to this girl? Could she mean so little to him?

    He continues to push his way so he can get out of the booth. His eyes are set for me, and I already feel the beginnings of a fight pulse through him. For what, though? Because I watched him?

    He walks over to the bar, and although I am ready for a punch, he instead sits himself across from me and asks for another beer. He turns his head away from me so all I could see is a mass of black hair.

    “What would a married man be doing in a bar?” he asks, anger rising in his voice.

    “And why should you care?” I retort, anger also rising in my voice.

    “Then why were you bothering to look at me?” He drinks from the bottle. Alcohol in his system could be a sticky predicament.

    “How could you take a girl that is vulnerable?”

    He laughs bitterly. “Are you going to condemn me and rant about moral values? I would not advise it good sir. You sit at the bar, abandoning a wife and most likely kids, for leisure. So why would it matter if I take a girl tonight?”

    “How dare you…” I growl.

    “Or is it because the full moon approaches? You fear for their safety?”

    I falter towards him. “How could you guess?” I ask weakly. My face grows faintly pale.

    “You all smell the same,” he replies bitterly. “So instead of taking it out on your family, you will take it out on the bar? What high moral values!” He spreads his arms out and displays the entire bar to me. “These are your victims. How beautiful,” he silently mocks, his mouth barely moving. He then swiftly moves to look at his victim.

    “Marsha!” he barks, and she quickly comes to his side. He drags her by the arm, leading her out of the bar. He laughs full heartily, bitterly. He looks directly at me as he laughed. “What poor unfortunate soul!” he proclaims.

    I try not to gap, but I fail. I see those white fangs glint in the dim light, and as I look at Marsha, I see two neat puncture wounds and blood seeping down her neck.

    currently chasin' paper

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