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Thread: The Character Gymnasium

  1. #141


    Name: anthonyjfuchs
    House: Ravenclaw
    Original Character: Fidelma Thackery
    Title: "Unspoken"
    Ratings and Warnings: mild vulgarity (according to Wiktionary) and mild gore
    Word Count: 700

    The window looked out onto asphalt.

    Shards of glass sparkled across blacktop. Fidelma felt metal against her face; her head throbbed, her left side ached. Her back screamed as she pushed against what had not long ago been the side of the bus. Her palms skidded. She nearly lost her balance, but got her knees under herself. She lifted her hands like lead. They trembled, and she blanched at the sight of all that streaky blood.

    She saw the seats from an absurd aerial angle that made her nauseous. Grey smoke churned through the cabin. Somehow, the engine kept running. She heard tires spinning uselessly against air.

    She didn't know where she'd been going. Thinking made her light-headed; someone coughed. It was weak, and it brought a sudden clarity back to Fidelma's senses. She blinked away bitter fumes, shook her head to stop that piercing thrum. People shouted and cried. A horn brayed its long, lone tone.

    Fidelma squinted through the shifting darkness and crawled along the metal toward the seats and the body crumpled among the glass. He gave another wheezing cough, and her stomach ran with ice when she saw him slumped into the blown-out window frame, his head against the macadam, his blonde hair matted with thick scarlet.

    He blinked so slowly she thought he was going.

    She scrambled to him, oblivious to the splinters of glass biting into her knees. The blood ran out of his hair, crisscrossed his face, spilled down his neck. Fidelma grabbed his hand, wrapped her fingers around his in a fierce grip; she felt him try to respond in kind but with none of her strength. His breath whistled in thin streams.

    He opened his eyes again with too much effort. His glassy gaze wandered a moment before finding her face. When he locked on, his lips twitched in the trace of a grin.

    "I can't feel my body," he told her in a rasping whisper. He looked like he wanted to laugh, but couldn't muster the force. Fidelma could see the worst of his injuries, a slash across the right side of his neck oozing blood like a crack in an erupting volcano.

    "Shut up," she ordered. He cocked an eyebrow at her, and that grin flickered again.

    She reached her free hand into her jacket, dug into a concealed pocket, and froze. Her wand was gone. Her grip tightened on his hand as pinpricks of giddy panic burst through her brain. She had tucked the wand into that pocket before stepping on the bus. She remembered doing it, because she remembered him asking why she carried it at all.

    He watched her now, but his eyelids sagged. She saw his consciousness waning, and leaned over him. "Look at me, you ugly bloody Squib!"

    "Hey," he coughed as he forced his eyes open again. "I'm not ugly."

    "I know you're not," Fidelma agreed, reaching for his neck without thinking. "You're blooming gorgeous." She clamped her palm over that seeping cut, squeezing as hard as she could with the slick grip she had despite the grimace of fresh pain that shot across her brother's face. She turned as much as possible, ignoring the jagged lances that shot through her own neck, searching the scattered wreckage for her wand. She considered for one brief, horrible moment that it might have snapped, but she didn't see it anywhere.

    "Lost it, huh…" she heard him say. The words faded, and Fidelma spun back to see his eyes sliding closed.

    "Eadulf," she yelled in his face; "You open your soddin' eyes!" But he didn't, and she felt herself crying. Fidelma Thackery did not cry, and the tears rushing now terrified her more than anything. Something exploded inside of her at that, something blinding and ancient, and she shrieked constocruentus from the bottom to the top of her mind.

    Intense heat surged through her hands. A brilliant whiteness flashed, and Eadulf's eyes flew open. He sucked in a vicious breath, stronger than he had since the world had gone sideways, and he looked at Fidelma with clear eyes.

    She slumped back against the seat, still gripping his hand.

    His bleeding had stopped.

    It would be enough.

  2. #142

    My Submission

    Hi! Here's my submission:

    Name: Roonil_Wazlib125 aka Annmarie
    House: Ravenclaw
    Original Character: Beatrice Thorn
    Title: Blood and Thorns
    Ratings and Warnings: 3rd-5th years for lots of gore.
    Word Count: 628

    The train rumbled along the tracks, shaking the bleary-eyed passengers awake. I watched as men and women in suits rubbed their eyes and sipped coffee, while others listened to iPods and mumbled into cell phones.

    A young man sitting next to me leaned over, smelling of coffee and after-shave. "Ever seen such a group of dull idiots?" he whispered.

    I shook my head. "Nope. And I ride this train everyday."

    I know, I know, I shouldn't be talking to strangers. But there was something about this man that was inviting. It was as though I knew him...

    The man chuckled. "And where do you ride to, lass?"

    "A pub," I answered.

    "Which one?" The man had a funny smile, like he already knew the answer to his question.

    "You wouldn't know." This was true, as the pub I was talking about was the Leaky Cauldron, which was invisible to Muggles such as this man.

    "Is it perhaps the Leaky Cauldron, lass?" The man smiled knowingly, and I gasped.

    "You're-" I began, but a loud BOOM interrupted me. And everything afterwards happened in slow-motion.

    The train lurched, and we were all thrown forward. Then, it twitched backwards, and we all slid underneath the seats, banging our heads as we went. And then, the train fell forward with an almighty CRASH and we all tumbled into the windows.

    People screamed and yelled as they smashed into the window. The window cracked and broke, sending shards of glass everywhere. Bodies slid onto the tracks with blood-curdling cracks. Blood trickled through the train.

    I shook my head, feeling dizzy. What had just happened? Had we just....crashed?

    I tried to stand, but my legs bucked underneath me. I felt my knees, my eyes closed, my breath shallow. My hands became sticky with blood. My knees were slashed open, my legs broken.

    I trembled, tears welling up in my eyes. My legs ached, my chest throbbed, and I had splinters of glass everywhere. Blood stained my clothes and hair. Just like it had stained Mom and Dad...

    The man. My eyes flew open. I suddenly realized why I had felt so comfortable with that man; I had seen him before! He was my cousin, James Thorn.

    "James!" I screamed, crawling through the broken glass and bodies. "James, where are you?! James!"

    My eyes darted around the scene. Wreckage and debris filled the tracks. Glass was everywhere. Puddles of blood lay at my feet. Tears dripped from the faces of those still alive. Screams escaped from the mouths of little children.

    "James!" I bellowed. "James! Where are you?"

    I caught sight of a wave of dark chocolate hair, just like mine. I moved towards it, bleeding even more as I waded through the glass. Please...if I could make it to him, then I'd have a family member to live with...Please...

    "James!" The word caught in my throat as I reached his still body. His once ironed navy shirt was now stained with blood. His vibrant blue eyes were staring into oblivion. I thought he was dead, but his chest moved up and down just barely.

    "Oh, James," I whispered, touching his ice-cold cheek. "Do you know me?"

    "Beatrice..." he croaked, stretching out a shaking hand. "Beatrice...Thorn...cousin..."

    I held back a sob. "Yes. It's me."

    He struggled to open his eyes a bit more. "You father...So beautiful...Beatrice..."

    His breath was ragged. I closed my eyes. "No, please don't die. You're the only family I have left!"

    "It's time...I'll tell your parents...what a great are." His eyes were closing. I shook him, trying to keep him awake if only for a little bit longer.

    "James, don't go," I pleaded. "Please don't."

    "Goodbye, Beatrice..." He took his last breath, and died right then and there.
    The girl, Beatrice, is an OC from a plot bunny in my head, 'Beatrice Thorn and the Secrets of Hogwarts'. I know she didn't do much to save her cousin, but...I don't know. Make of it what you will. Bye!

    Roonil_Wazlib125 aka Annmarie

  3. #143

    The Witch in the Tube

    Name: Ellynia
    House: Gryffindor
    Original Character: Keedie Dante
    Title: The Witch in the Tube
    Ratings and Warnings: Mild profanity
    Word Count: 699

    So which ingenious Muggle thought this up?

    Keedie smiled apologetically at the people whose toes she continued to step on. Accidentally, of course. Until she was old enough to Apparate, the London Underground proved to be the only sensible option. Her father hated her taking it, because of the dangerous position it held in the grand scheme of the Muggle war, but Keedie didn’t really mind it.

    She did mind, however, when the speeding underground train pulled to a sudden stop and a thundering crash could be heard resounding throughout the area.

    Keedie lurched forward, along with nearly every other Muggle in the carriage. The lights went out and screams soon filled the frightening darkness. Keedie felt a terrifying tremor of fear flood through her, before she heard a muffled whimper coming from behind her.

    It was a boy. A boy of about eleven. Keedie could tell, even in the desolate obscurity, that he was injured. She could see a faint trickle of blood protruding from his hairline and his breathing was ragged.

    ‘Help…me…’ he all but choked.

    Keedie did not listen to the panic-stricken screams of all the fully-grown Muggles around her. She did not listen to the people yelling that, any minute, a bomb would hit them and they would all die. She listened only to the little boy, whose breath was unrestrained and beginning to take control of him.

    ‘What’s your name?’ she asked, brusquely, pushing two men out of her way to sit by him.

    He didn’t answer her. He stared despairingly at her, as if trying to convey without words what sheer pain and fright he was feeling.

    ‘It’s not a bomb,’ said Keedie, sharply. ‘You’re not in danger any more.’

    She pulled him, gently, into a proper sitting position and carefully placed one hand on his back. She tried her best to keep his breathing as rhythmic and deep as she could. It was not working as much as she would have liked.

    ‘Listen to my breaths,’ she commanded, sternly. ‘And match them.’

    The boy’s eyes widened and he tried. However, the attack he was experiencing got much more serious and he seemed to be on the verge of choking or even running out of breath altogether.

    I can’t use magic outside of school…

    Keedie cursed the mantra that pounded in her mind as she tried desperately to get the boy breathing properly


    Stuff the Ministry of Magic, he’s bloody hyperventilating!

    The boy had passed out, his breathing switching from panicked and hurried to almost non-existent. Keedie was not grateful for the change.

    ‘Don’t you dare, boy,’ she muttered.

    She knew she had to do it. Grateful, suddenly, for the darkness, she took out her wand and drew in her own breath.

    Some rules are made to be broken, she told herself. It’s a life or death situation, Keedie Dante!


    The boy lay motionless for a few horrible seconds, which seemed longer than hours to Keedie. Then his eyes opened and he drew breath like a drowning man, panting and sitting up straight.

    ‘Don’t think, just breathe!’ ordered Keedie, placing one hand on his shoulder and staring into his eyes.

    His expression went from afraid to relieved. Then he saw her wand. His eyes grew even wider, if possible. Keedie noticed this and shoved it away again. The boy did not miss this, and he looked more curious than Keedie would have liked. At least he was all right.

    ‘You’re bleeding,’ murmured the boy.

    ‘Well, you’re welcome,’ said Keedie, waspishly as she treated her own wound. ‘I don’t make a habbit of saving people, you know.’

    ‘How did you save me, then?’


    Oh, this boy was too curious.

    ‘That was a wand, wasn’t it?’ breathed the boy, looking like most children do on Christmas morning.

    Keedie arched an eyebrow and said, irritably, ‘Aren’t you supposed to be in the country? I thought annoying sprogs like you have all been evacuated.’

    ‘You’re a witch, aren’t you?’ he probed, putting a hand to his obviously pained chest. ‘I won’t tell if you are. But you are…aren’t you?’

    Keedie turned to him and smiled.

    ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  4. #144
    Seventh Year Ravenclaw
    Setting Off Fireworks in Potions Class
    Tim the Enchanter's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2008
    ¡El planeta de los simios!
    Name: Tim the Enchanter
    House: Ravenclaw
    Original Character: Dieter Heydrich
    Title: Der Schwarze Tod
    Ratings and Warnings: VIOLENCE.
    Word Count: 700

    Der Schwarze Tod
    “…Not one step back. No retreat! If we all do our sacred duty as Germans, than we shall defeat the hordes of Judeo-Bolshevism!”

    The officer was at the front of the freight car, orating over the din of the train coming in through the open side doors. The men were packed in the wood panel box like sardines.

    Like most of the soldiers conscripted into the Volkssturm, Private Dieter Heydrich was either very young or very old – seventeen, in his case. The Reich needed everyone available to stem the Bolshevist tide, and Dieter was not one to shirk from duty.

    His mood was grim, yet he knew he could make a difference – his wand was in his pocket. With magic, he just might have a better chance of saving Germany than with the Maschinenpistole-40 alone.

    “…For every metre of German soil, the Bolshevist will pay in blood!”

    “And so will we,” Corporal Jan Müller muttered darkly.

    The hair under Jan’s helmet was white. He was a veteran of the last war, and he had taken the young boys of his squad under his wing. “Stay close; stay alive,” he had said. Jan never spoke about victory – only survival. Dieter suspected that he was a defeatist, but he did not want to report the veteran who had sworn to keep the boys under his command alive.

    “...A united Volk with all hearts set afire can never be defeated! We will–”

    The officer abruptly stopped preaching, and stared out the opening. Dieter wondered what stopped the bombast, but then he heard it – a rumbling buzzing sound, like a swarm of angry bees.

    “SHTURMOVIKS!” the officer screamed. “EVERYONE, OUT!”

    The train had to be moving at least eighty kilometres per hour, but Jan pushed Dieter, yelling, “MOVE!” But Dieter couldn’t move, not with the panicked crowd blocking his path.

    The freight car became a slaughterhouse, shredded by a hail of bullets. Screams of pain and the wet thumps of lead plunging into flesh filled the air. Dieter’s eyes barely comprehended the red mist and crumpling figures all around him.

    He did not think. He scrambled over slippery, writhing bodies, running for the onrushing scenery beyond the open door.

    The world capsized itself. He was thrown out the door. He heard something snap as he hit the ground and eventually tumbled to a stop. His eardrums were ringing. His head felt heavy. His vision was blurry.

    Dieter was covered in blood, and he couldn’t feel any pain. Is it my blood? My blood? his mind questioned.

    He looked at the twisted, burning train that rested in a mangled heap. Automatically, he ran towards the shattered freight car number seven, ignoring both the Bolshevik aeroplanes strafing overhead and the way his leg was bent at an odd angle.

    He found Jan lying amongst a heap of broken bodies. Scarlet blossomed from a wound in his chest and from his mouth and nostrils. He gasped for air and gurgled, “Sttpppspthay. A-appslivbes…”

    Then he was gone.

    Nobody from his small squad was alive. Dieter felt numb, but then the pain caught up to him – icy fire raced up his leg and to his head. Eyes tearing from the agony, he extracted his wand with a shaking hand and magically fixed a splint and bandages to his injuries.

    The ringing in his ears subsided, and Dieter was suddenly aware of the moaning of the wounded. One boy who looked no older than fifteen reached for him with a bloody hand.

    Dieter gave whatever assistance he could to anyone he thought could be saved. “Ferula… Rennervate... Constitisanguis…”

    “Don’t talk,” he breathed to the conscious boys and old men who stared at his wand. “Don’t talk…”


    The freight car’s bullet-ridden panelling was blasted away. Before Dieter could react, a voice yelled “Expelliarmus!” and his wand flew from his hand. A flurry of green flashes followed, and Dieter’s patients went limp and would move no more.

    He found himself surrounded by a group of men in black robes, each sporting a familiar triangular symbol. Dieter had finally been caught – caught helping the Muggle enemy Grindelwald had sworn to destroy.

    “Checkmate,” an agent said.
    A/N: The title Der Schwarze Tod ("The Black Death") has a double meaning, referring to Grindelwald's black-clad agents, and the German nickname for the feared Soviet Il-2 Shturmovik ground-attack aircraft.

    Tim the Enchanter

  5. #145
    Fourth Year Hufflepuff
    Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea
    mzap's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2009
    in the Hogwarts library
    Name: mzap
    House: Hufflepuff!
    Original Character: Bernadette Ashton nee Mattermorth and Rolf Ashton
    Title: Tragic Love Story
    Ratings and Warnings: 1st-2nd years; Very Mild Violence
    Word Count: 700

    “Hello, Juliet,” said a male voice as he sat next to Bernadette. She smiled as she looked at her husband of only a couple hours. Rolf gave her a brief kiss on the lips.

    “Hello, Romeo,” she stated back, smiling brighter. It was a common greeting between the two, as it reminded them of when they first met, during auditions for the leads in Romeo and Juliet.

    Rolf held her hand as she rested her head on his shoulder. The train gave another uncomfortable jerk and Bernadette squeezed Rolf’s hand, in fear. She buried her head in his chest and he gave a small smile, wrapping his arm around her. “What’s wrong, love? You’re not scared, are you? Didn’t you say that you used to ride the train all the time to Hogwarts?” he asked, kissing the top of her head.

    “I still hate it. I’m always afraid something is going to happen,” she said, face still holding its place. There was another rough bump and she gripped onto his shirt.

    “Relax, Bernie,” Rolf soothed. “Just think: in a few more hours, we’ll be at the coast and off to our honeymoon.”

    Bernadette relaxed a bit and then came an ear piercing screech. The train skidded into the brakes, but failed to stop. Collisions in front and in back caused everything to be thrown around, like leaves on a windy day. The sound of metal and glass shattering mixed with wails and squeals of people everywhere. There were loud crashes from people to objects to the train itself. Blackness encompassed the room and the only thing Bernadette was aware of was the unfaltering grip she held on her husband’s shirt.

    In an instant, she felt the arms around her, the chest next to her, the shirt she was gripping fall from her reach. It just disappeared as Bernadette felt a heavy weight to her head bring further darkness to the already black room.

    When she awoke, she found herself on the floor, barely able to move. The train had stopped and the screams subsided, but moans echoed and sparks from the beaten lights flashed. Bernadette managed to pick herself up to a crawl and looked around. She felt the floor for her wand, her heart falling when she realized that it had broken.

    It was almost impossible to see and she became frantic as she called out to Rolf, wondering where he was. She heard a moan nearby and with help from several sparks falling from above, she saw her husband lying on the floor. She rushed to his side and saw fear reflected in both their eyes. Rolf’s shirt was covered in blood and the stain was ever growing larger. He was attempting to keep his eyes open, in attempt to fight Death’s battle.

    “My… phone…” he murmured, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

    Bernadette’s heart starting pounding faster. “Rolf… Rolf… are you all right?” she asked, her throat closing in with terror.

    “My… phone… is in… my… pocket…. Call… emergency….” he continued, a small gurgle to his voice. Bernadette immediately searched his pockets for his cell phone, finding it in the front. She flipped it open, briefly being blinding by the bright light. Her hands shook as she realized that she had never used a phone before in her life. She cursed herself for not learning, especially when her own father was a Muggle-born. Rolf, knowing her, said, “Press… 9… 9… 9….”

    In an instant, her hands still shaking, Bernadette pressed the number three times, only to be answered by a busy tone. “It’s busy,” she said, mostly to herself. Her voice was shaking and water was beginning to form in her eyes. “It’s busy.” She suddenly burst into tears.

    Rolf grabbed her hand and held it tightly. “They… must… be… on… their way…. Don’t… leave me… Bernie….”

    “I—I—I w-w-won’t,” she cried. “D-d-d-don’t die, Rolf. P-p-please don’t die. I don’t want you to leave m-m-me.”

    “I’ll… try… But… Juliet… didn’t… Romeo… die… first…?” Even in the dark light, Bernadette could see the brightness of Rolf’s smile. Tears fell hard as she held her husband’s hand and prayed for the paramedics to come.
    A/N: I cannot stay away from this couple! They are almost as addicting as Demetri/Genevieve. Rolf and Bernadette are from Seeking a Reason, though Rolf hasn't appeared yet.

    - Mercy

    ~*~Duelling~*~Writing~*~Drabble-ing?~*~Felix Lupin~*~
    Positively amazing A Mix of Alliances and Sentiments trailer by lunaselenia.

    Beautiful banner by the talented the opaleye. Indefinite hiatus due to university.

  6. #146
    Name: herm_own_ninny13/ Maggie
    House: Gryffindor
    Original Character: Abbie Nolan
    Title: Too Far Gone
    Ratings and Warnings: 3rd-5th years, violence, mild language, mental instability (does that count as disorder?)
    Word Count: 486

    It is November 5th. Ordinarily you would not care, but this year it has some significance. You woke up this morning still believing that you would have tea with Sirius, head to Godric’s Hollow, and do a bit of shopping before babysitting Harry for the afternoon, but then it all came crashing back and you were hit by yet another wave of pain.

    You aren’t grieving, and it’s strange to you. You decide you’re in shock. The house feels too small to contain everything you aren’t feeling, so you leave. There is no one to hear you slam the door.

    You sit for a few minutes in the car. Lily had pressured you into buying one; she said that going undercover would be easier with a Muggle means of transportation waiting in the driveway. You’ve driven one before; it wasn’t too hard to learn.

    You shift and pull out into the street. This house is on the outskirts of a Muggle village, so the road is windy and tree-lined, just like the ones back in Godric’s Hollow. You don’t want to think about that place anymore. You drive faster, knowing that you’re losing control but not really feeling anything. A Muggle jogger is pacing himself at the corner, so you swerve gently to the side to pass him. Your front tire grabs something on the shoulder and suddenly you are spinning around and glass shatters and after an eternity a tree slams itself into the rear of the car and you are on the road.

    You slowly sit up. No harm done. The same can’t be said for the man lying next to you. You can see his chest shuddering, hear him moaning and gasping for air, but strangely, you can’t feel any emotion.

    The tiny part of you that didn’t die along with Maisie and James and Lily and Peter and Gideon and Fabian and Marlene and Regulus screams at you to stand up, to help him, to put everything back and fix him and use your wand, dammit!
    The tiny part of you that’s left after you watched the closest thing you had to a brother get carted off to Azkaban with a manic smile on his face screams at you to run, find a house, call the police, help him, dammit!
    The tiny part of you that’s left after you cradled your best friend’s head in your arms as she lay broken and unresponsive, the tiny part that’s left after you saw her husband cleared of all charges and her tiny spawn left to grow up with him and her still lying in a bed at St. Mungo’s, it screams at you to do something, dammit!

    Instead, you do nothing, and wonder if a simple Reparo would fix it all. But you know that it’s not that easy. You know nothing can help either of you now. You are both too far gone.

  7. #147
    Wizengamot Hufflepuff
    Kill the Spare
    Equinox Chick's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2008
    using rare and complicated words
    Name: Equinox Chick
    House: Hufflepuff
    Original Character: Martha Macdonald
    Title: Plane Crazy
    Ratings and Warnings: 1st-2nd. None
    Word Count: 651
    Authors Note: This is set round about 2001 ish. Martha's now 40.

    “I cannot believe I’m doing this,” said Ginny Weasley, to her companion, the head coach of the Holyhead Harpies. “My dad would be so jealous. He’s always longed to fly in an aeroplane.”

    “Well if he was a Quidditch player like his daughter, then perhaps he’d get the chance,” replied Martha. She gripped the armrest by her side with one hand, and with the other, she felt for her wand, tucked safely up her sleeve. She wasn’t sure about this at all. It had seemed like a fun idea, when, as a team bonding exercise, the manager had suggested the players and training staff pair up and get to their next match without using any magical means. Blodwyn Davis and Tasha Morgan had immediately said they’d drive; Jennifer Selwyn and Honoria Avery had decided to take a train, and one by one all the pairings had picked the coach, the bus and even in one case a hot air balloon. That had left Martha and Ginny (the newest player on the team) with the aeroplane.

    “Is that your wand?” asked Ginny, eyeing Martha beadily. “I thought we weren’t supposed to use magic to get there.”

    Martha grimaced. “I’m not about to use it, but I refuse to be without it. I’m ... err ... a nervous flyer,” she admitted.

    Ginny laughed. “You’re a Quidditch coach, the best Seeker the Cygnes ever had, and you’ve taught me more about flying than Madame Hooch and Harry combined – how can you be scared of flying?”

    “Easily,” replied Martha. “I’m the one flying the broom, but, in this thing --” She rapped her hand on the plane’s side causing a stewardess to frown “—I’m not in control.”

    “Cabin Crew, please take your seats for take-off,” announced the Captain. Ginny grinned at Martha who was still gripping her armrest with a grim look on her face, her knuckles white.

    The plane began to move along the runway; Martha closed her eyes as she felt them pick up speed. She couldn’t bear this. In a moment, the plane would rise and her stomach would lurch. She could feel beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Her heart was palpitating. Calm breaths, Martha, she thought.

    Suddenly the plane swerved violently and the expected lift into the air didn’t happen. Martha opened her eyes just as her side of the plane dipped to the ground. Her head hit the window, and then everything went black.

    She woke a few minutes later to the sound of screaming. Groggily she raised her head; a man sitting across the aisle was holding his arm and moaning. She could see blood soaking through his shirt. She tore her eyes away from him and tried to focus on the person slumped onto her lap. Ginny Weasley was unconscious. There was a huge gash on her head, and her face was deathly pale.

    "Merlin! Merlin! Merlin!” muttered Martha. She placed her fingers around Ginny’s wrist. There was a pulse, but very faint.

    “My friend needs help,” she yelled, but no one heeded her cries. She shifted her legs slightly and bent her head down to Ginny. She was still breathing but the breaths were rasping in her chest.

    Then Ginny’s chest stopped moving. Martha felt again for a pulse; it was even fainter. Blood was trickling down Ginny’s face, soaking Martha’s jeans.

    “I need HELP!” Martha yelled again, but her voice was one of many and she doubted she could be heard. “Hold on, Ginny,” she urged into the younger girl’s ear. “I will not let this happen.”

    Carefully she lifted Ginny into her arms; she stood up and despite it being incredibly cramped, Martha managed a sharp turn. Just before she Apparated, she thought a small boy was watching her, but she did not care. To hell with the Secrecy Act, I’m sure your Dad will agree I’m acting for the best.

    Banner by the fabulous Julia - theoplaeye

  8. #148
    Sixth Year Hufflepuff
    Voldemort's on the Back of Your Head, Professor
    Ginny Weasley Potter's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2006
    Name: Ginny Weasley Potter/ Pooja
    House: Hufflepuff
    Original Character: Chris Stevens
    Title: A Journey in Bloodbath
    Ratings and Warnings: 3rd-5th years, none
    Word Count: 694

    Trains had always been a novelty to Chris, as he had mostly seen the world from the window of a car. The Hogwarts Express had taken him through the only train journeys of his life. And as he sat with Daisy in the train, today, he could feel his excitement double. He put an arm around her, resting his chin on her hair. She smiled. “Excited?”

    “Very,” he replied.

    Just as she opened her mouth to say something else, the train lurched violently. “What the—?” she began, bewildered, but she was interrupted.


    Chris’s arm instinctively pulled Daisy closer to him, as he felt a shattering reverberation. Something fell hard on his head, bringing dull pain and blackness with it.


    Chris felt his consciousness return with the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. His head throbbed nauseatingly and he could feel sharp pain on his forearm. His whole body felt as though someone had beaten him up. Daisy’s light body over his became apparent in another second.

    “Daisy?” he whispered, feeling for her. His eyes refused to open, even as his hands found her hair. But just as he moved downwards onto her neck, a sickening, guttural sound emanated from her.

    “Daisy?” He asked again. The sound scared him. This wasn’t right…

    Chris willed his eyes open, only to see complete wreckage. Shattered glass and ripped up seat cushions lay all over, stained with blood. The train’s walls had smashed in. He could see human figures around: some horribly mangled to be alive and some that were barely conscious. A few people were sitting up, looking confused, while others cried out for relatives. But for now, Chris could only think of one thing.

    Daisy was lying over him with her head on his chest. The guttural sound came again, scaring Chris even more. He turned her over and what he saw almost killed him.

    Her eyes were half open, rolling in and out of focus. Her hair was knotted in congealed blood and her breath was laboured. But that wasn’t why Chris was frightened: he had just made out why she was making the weird sound. A shard of glass had wedged itself into the area just close to Daisy’s ear. Blood flowed out in terrifying jerks, spurting out ruthlessly. Even before he pulled out the shard, Chris knew what this meant. The glass had hit her parotid gland, injuring the external carotid artery. She would die of exsanguination within minutes.

    His heart beating fast, Chris put his hand into the pocket of his jeans, but the wand wasn’t there. He felt Daisy’s pants, but they had no pockets. Panic filling him, he pushed apart the mangled cushion beside him, and still found nothing. Chris gasped and hoisted himself into a kneel, desperately pushing aside whatever came on his way. He struggled his way through on all fours, stowing aside dead bodies roughly. And then he saw it. It was Daisy’s black purse and Chris was sure that it contained her wand. He pulled open the zip and grabbed the wand as he found his way back to her. She was pale, now, her breathing coming in short gasps.

    As he placed a hand gently on Daisy’s chin, Chris heard a voice ordering people to place the victims on stretchers. But he couldn’t leave Daisy, anyway. The paramedics would give up and Chris couldn’t let that happen. Muttering a long, song-like incantation, Chris moved the wand tip over Daisy’s wound. The blood flow eased and stopped, as the artery repaired itself. Another incantation healed the skin.

    Chris could feel some of the panic leave, as he lowered his lips to hers and pushed a gush of air into her windpipe. “You’ll be okay, now,” he said, as he took another breath and continued the CPR until her breathing eased. “You’ll be okay,” he repeated, hearing the paramedics’ voices grow louder.

    His head gave a particularly horrible throb and his body refused to cooperate anymore. His body being drained of last ounce of energy, he lay back down, welcoming the blackness once again. Daisy would survive and that was enough for him.
    ~ Pooja

    AMAZING story banner by Nadia/majestic_ginny! Dimply Sammeh by me.
    I found a liquor store. I drank it.

  9. #149
    Name: Cerala
    House: Slytherin
    Original Character: Julia (unknown name)
    Title: Don't leave
    Ratings and Warnings: 3rd-5th years; mild profanity
    Word Count: 699

    Darkness. Cold. Something wet in my mouth. Could that be blood? I asked myself in a horrified way. Yes, it was blood. But why was I bleeding? I looked around and saw… nothing. I froze in panic. My eyes. I couldn’t open them. What the hell had happened? Trying hard to remember, I moved my arm to feel what was wrong with my eyes. My skin and hair felt sticky and I realised that it was blood, too.

    Okay, don’t panic. Calm down, for havens sake. I tried to convince my hard beating pulse to come back to its normal rhythm. And after a minute of sitting still, I was able to think clearly about what had happened. I could remember the last few seconds before the darkness began and I heard once more the laughing of my younger sister Meg. ‘Meg! Oh my god, where are you?’ I cried out loud. I had hardly time to realise that my voice was just a shrieking something of itself when I tried to clear my eyes with a corner of my T-Shirt. It became a bit easier when my tears soaked the dry blood.

    Oh God, please let her be okay, I prayed and opened my eyes with fear of what I could see in a few seconds. Now, for the first time, I sensed the cold wind coming through the crashed windscreen of my car, which Meg drove for the first time. It was her eighteenth birthday today and she asked me if she couldn’t drive it.

    ‘I watched you driving it for two years now. Don’t you think that I can handle it when I even man-age it to fly a broomstick?’ her voice slipped through my head.

    Turning my aching body to the driver’s seat, I made myself the worst accusations that I trusted her. How could I ever thing that she could really drive a Muggle car even though she is an incredible broomstick rider? How could I… ’No… no!’ I cried out. My thoughts were swept out of my head when my eyes caught her body. Her face was pale white, her eyes closed. Even her lips where anaemic. She could be sleeping, I hoped in vain, trying to blink the tears away. ‘Come on, Meg. Meggy! Wake up! Please don’t leave me! You cannot die! Can you hear me?’

    ‘Would you be so kind not to scream at me? My ears are hurting…’ my younger sister whispered, scarcely audible.

    ‘Meg, oh Meg,’ I cried, now unable to stop the tears.

    ‘I’m sorry… Julia. I didn’t see the cat… too hard to control… the tree…’ Meg had no more power to speak and I saw that she would soon lose her consciousness.

    ‘No. Meg. Please stay here. You must help me! I don’t know what to do! You are the witch in our family. Please talk to me, please!’ Now it was my voice that died away and I felt helpless and empty and frozen. Why must it be her? If I were the badly wounded instead of my sister, she would know what to do. She could do some sort of this magic stuff to rescue me and all would be well.

    ‘Julia?’ In a second I was near her face and saw that Meg opened her eyes once more.

    ‘I’m here, Meggy. What can I do?’

    ‘It feels cold,’ she muttered. ‘I can’t feel my legs… and my stomach… how bad?’ Her eyes caught my widened and horrified own and she saw the answer. There was no chance for her without help from the outside. After she dodged the cat which came out of nowhere, Meggy lost the control over the car and we crashed into a tree. This tree wasn’t very high but had a huge size and one of its enormous limbs bore itself into her body right under her heart and tied her to the seat. ‘You must get out of here…’ Meggy whispered but I interrupted her, ‘No. Never would I leave you. I love you.’

    And when I kissed her brow, I saw the lights coming and the cold wind bringing voices to us which called our names…

  10. #150
    miss sarcastic
    Name: Ashley
    House: Ravenclaw
    Original Character: Helen Clearwater
    Title: Ending with Anger
    Ratings and Warnings: 3rd-5th years
    Word Count: 686

    For once in her life, she doesn’t know what to say.

    There is no sarcasm; there are no witty comments, no engaging stories, or any of the other modes of conversation that used to engage both father and daughter. Instead, her grey eyes are fixed on her window, her arms crossed and her face set stubbornly into a neutral expression. But she doesn’t actually see the pouring rain nearly drowning out the view of the rolling hills. Her gaze is fixed inward, where she fumes and frets all at once, hating herself for doing both.
    “Helen, aren’t you going to say anything to me?”

    There is an edge to her dad’s voice, not of irritation, but of concern. And… remorse?

    Helen feels her anger beginning to crumble under the tone of his words, but she doesn’t say anything. Why should she? He’s the one who botched things up between them. He’s the one who—

    A bright light hits the right side of her face.

    All too quickly, all too many things begin to occur.

    Screeching tires. Crumpling metal. Shouts.

    And then, ominous silence. Helen almost wishes for the previous chaos.

    She feels something hot trickling down her cheek, but that’s not what she’s preoccupied with. Her hand is reaching out, searching for her father’s. Each empty-handed grasp makes her panic a bit more. All she can hear is the frantic gasping of her breath that gets louder with every passing moment. The darkness feels as if it’s choking her, and her heart pounds furiously.

    “Dad? Dad!”

    Worry and fear guide her shaking fingers to the button that unclasps her seatbelt. She turns onto her side. The car is still right side up, but the front is crushed slightly against a fence.

    The driver’s side is completely crumpled inwards.

    With wide eyes, she takes in the scene before her. Her dad has dozens of small cuts all over his face; some of them sparkle with glass in the headlights that still shine on him. His eyes are closed. But her gaze is dragged downwards, and the scene causes her breath to catch painfully in her throat. His once-crisp white shirt is drenched in blood that seems to stem from a wound that’s caused by the sheet of metal piercing his side. His breathing is ragged and it takes a few seconds for her usually quick mind to register that her father, her dad, is actually dying.

    Her hand immediately jumps to her wand, and she gently places the tip of the wood on his wound. But no spells come to mind. She’s only eleven! She doesn’t even know how to fix a broken nose! Why didn’t they teach them how to heal instead of how to turn a match into a needle? When would she ever need to turn a match into a needle?!

    Helen’s free hand touches his cheek, and her eyes start to tear up in fear.

    “Dad, wake up. Wake up. Wake up!”

    She’s too afraid that she’ll hurt him by shaking him awake. But she’s also afraid that if her mind remains this painfully blank for any longer, he’ll die.

    He’ll die with the memory of her petty anger. Why did she have to be so idiotic?

    Cell phone.

    The thought causes her to nearly choke in relief at finally knowing what to do. The sobs she had never even realized started quiet a bit. For the first time, she’s thankful that her father is a Muggle.

    “H—hello? My dad and I just got in a car crash. We need an ambulance, quickly.”

    As the dispatcher tries to calm her down and figure out where they are, she rests her head on her dad’s shoulder and attempts to stem the blood flow with her free hand. Little sobs force themselves out of her throat.

    “I love you, dad,” she whispers hoarsely, after the dispatcher hangs up.

    Don’t die, she begs silently. Please don’t die.

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