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Thread: The Weekly Drabble - Pairing Up - Results!

  1. #1
    Sixth Year Slytherin
    Snape's Not Evil?
    Magical Maeve's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2006
    North Yorkshire

    The Weekly Drabble - Pairing Up - Results!

    Something a little different this week to promote House unity.

    I want you to pair up with a member of another House and present a pair of drabbles that explore the thoughts of two characters during a scene in one of the books.

    Both characters must be present in the scene, although they do not have to be speaking or taking an active part in the action.

    The drabble must consist purely of their thoughts about what is happening around them.

    So, for instance, it could be Crabbe's thoughts in one of the many scenes that he does not get to speak, or it could be Bellatrix's thoughts in the scene at Spinner's End.

    You may also use unnamed characters, as long as they are present during the scene you have chosen.

    I'm going to extend this to two weeks, because of the extra time involved pairing up with someone. You may PM a member if you feel confident that they will be happy to take part, or you can request a member in The Ideas Station thread.

    One of you should submit the pair of drabbles with the following information...

    Author Names:
    Houses: [you must enter this or you will not gain points]
    Word length:
    The scene that the drabbles are based on:
    The two characters:

    You may only have one entry for this particular challenge

    Drabbles must be between 100 and 499 words.

    All MNFF's normal standards apply, including grammar, spelling and formatting. Points may be deducted for badly presented drabbles.

    You can earn 10 points for your house by entering. The winner will be
    awarded an additional 25 house points, second place 20 and third 15.

    Challenge closes 12th July.
    I'm not lost to you. You'll always be able to find me in your words. That's where I'll live on..

    The Book Thief

  2. #2
    Author Names: HermyRox12, Cruciatus Love
    Houses: Ravneclaw, Slytherin
    Title: Battle of a Life Time
    Word length: 497, 349
    Warnings: None
    The scene that the drabbles are based on: Chess scene in PS/SS
    The two characters: The King and Queen on the White side

    CL's Drabble:

    I had not been happy when Minerva set us down in these dark tunnels. It feels as if I have been here for years, but it has actually been only a few months. Only once did Dumbledore come down here himself to test the obstacles, but he made it through this barricade with the best of ease. Before he left I bowed to him naming him “Chest Master,” but he didn’t appear to have heard.

    Earlier today as well, another person of competition entered my playing field. This one was not quite as handy with the pieces, but by blasting us away using some dark magic, he managed to win over us in the end. I had thought at that point it would take my family weeks to recover from the hit. We, however, were not given that much time.

    I knew we were doomed the second those three rascals raced onto my board.

    The Mistress would not be happy.

    I can hear her thought process as she sends messages to the other members of our party. She is quick but precise as she makes every move. Each step is thought about ahead of time to plan for the best route to success.

    All I can do is watch and stay alert when a game starts. The first move is always the same; my dear wife sends one of our offspring forward to meet their downfall. That continues for a few moves until one of our noble knights steps forward.

    The other side makes the same move, but my Misses takes his life. I am used to the tragic defeat of each piece, but my opponents seem utterly frightened when one of their own men finds his end.

    The game continues and I show no mercy. The face of my partner in war appears to be completely blank, but I can see the determination that lies below it. She is set on winning this battle and protecting her kin. If only we can be so lucky.

    I continue to observe as more and more pieces fall. We are getting to the core of the game now and our men are running short. The thoughts of my men are going crazy as we know how close we were to losing. It is not until I see the gleam in my wife’s eye that I also see the ray of light held at a distance before us. She has a plan; three more moves and we could win.

    It is then that disaster strikes. The red head had steps forward to surrender himself and my lady doesn’t see the danger this has put me in. All she can think of is the stupidity of the boy as she steps forward to bring him down.

    I know now that it is all over. The second young boy takes his final move and I drop my crown to the floor. We lost our final battle. There is nothing left for us.

    HR12's drabble:
    Three small children, about eleven years old, are coming in the room. They have taken their places on the board, and now we will begin our fight. I am the leader of the family. But, if I go out, my husband takes charge.

    One girl and two boys are playing. The girl is playing as the castle, one boy is a knight, and the other is a bishop. The red headed knight is the leader. He is quite bossy.

    I send a precious pawn forward two squares. The game begins. Red Knight counters all of my moves. The bishop with huge glasses moves diagonally four squares to my left. Other than the Red Knight’s shouting, the game has been silent. I never liked silent games. Even so, the battle is still beginning.

    The other knight is mine. I’m dragging him off the board, facedown, so he is out of the way. The girl is walking up, and I order my bishop to leave the board. They take away my family, so I will show no mercy.

    Move after move, I take away more of their pieces. By now there is a pile of black pieces. The Red Knight does most of the moving. Whenever I am about to take the other two, he protects them with an unexpected move.

    Now the pile of pieces is about the same. The Red Knight has talent. He stares at me, planning his move; I give him no sign of my thoughts. My face remains blank as not to give anything away.

    Red Knight does something stupid. He takes one step forward. That messes up my plans. I was sure he would move the girl four spaces to the left. Well, that leaves me to take him. I went forward, and knocked him straight on his head. He passes out as I drag him to the pile. The girl screams as I resume my place.
    I notice my mistake when it is too late. Glasses moves three spaces to the left, which gives them the game. My spouse tosses his crown at Glasses's feet, and I order my family to bow to the winners. I mutter to them, “New masters of chess,” but like when the king said that, they didn’t hear. They leave worried about the Red Knight. Next game, I want him on my side.

  3. #3
    Dean Thomas
    Author Names: Sour.Apple., Dean Thomas
    Houses: Slytherin, Gryffindor
    Title: The Search for Sleep
    Word length: 485, 496
    Warnings: Character death spoiler?
    The scene that the drabbles are based on: Dumbledore's Office after DoM battle.
    The two characters: Phineas Nigellus and Armando Dippet

    Sour.Apple.'s Drabble

    That rude boy.

    He has the nerve to randomly appear by Portkey in the middle of the night, waking all of us up and doesn’t even have the manners to apologise! Then, he doesn’t even have the decency to answer our questions. A simple yes or no would have been sufficient. But, no, even that’s too good for ‘The Boy Who Lived.’ He would have never gotten away with it if I was still Headmaster.

    Back and forth. Back and forth. Gave me a Bloody headache watching him go from side to side of the room.

    When Dumbledore arrived the boy’s annoying pacing ceased, but instead he began yelling. However, the next thing I knew there was a loud crash as the boy threw some trinket at the wall. In the end, he didn’t destroy any of the portraits, (even if he did, none of them would have shared a frame with me. Not even in my worse nightmares), although he did come rather close to breaking Armando Dippet’s canvas. Too bad, too, maybe they would have temporarily moved him out. I never did like him, with all of his bad mouthing of the prestige name Black.

    I tried to listen as the boy continued yelling, while the other portraits began calming down from the boy's actions. With all the commotion, the only fragments I could clearly make out concerned someone dead and no fatal injuries. Really! Don’t people have manners now-a-days? Couldn’t they see I was trying to eavesdrop on a conversation? Would it kill Dumbledore and that rude boy to at least mention who died? I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s curious to know.

    Wherever the boy and Dumbledore had been earlier that night, they certainly hadn’t been alone. That part I could make out at least.

    I tried to get a word edgewise to Dumbledore, to comment on the fact the he was allowing the rude boy to destroy his possessions. If I was still Headmaster, he would have been gone a long while ago. But then again, they do let just about anyone into this school now-a-days. It’s a shame really.

    Dumbledore needs to work on his communication skills. Honestly, we portraits did miss him a great deal (he’s better than that frog lady we’d occasionally see around the school) but he needs to know when a student crosses the line. And that kid has pushed the line’s limits far too many times.

    In the duration of Dumbledore’s guilt speech, it took me longer than necessary to realise who had been killed. It’s needless to say the news came as a slight shock, and I, Phineas Nigellus, am rarely shocked. But, when I had found that supposedly my worthless great-great-grandson was dead, I was indeed shocked. So, without wasting another moment it was off to Grimmauld Place for me.

    The Black linage simply could not have met its end.

    Dean Thomas' Drabble:

    Portrait, though I am, I have never before been awoken by any such circumstances as this, not even during my time as Headmaster of Hogwarts School. I, however, found it dismissible as the interruption was due to a visit of Dumbledore’s own prized student, Harry Potter. I assumed that at such an hour the “Boy-Who-Lived” must have had enough sense to visit his office only with a concern of utmost importance and wouldn’t dream of disturbing his quarters any less of an issue, since, as he must have known, Dumbledore had been gone for quite some time. The other portraits and I kept watch over the room, as Professor McGonagall would enter periodically to retrieve a scroll, but the office had primarily been empty for a large part of the latter school year.

    I had first attempted to drift back into my slumber, thinking that Mr. Potter’s visit was perhaps on business of Dumbledore’s, business that I saw no need in interfering. My efforts, however meager they may have been, were squandered by the harpings of Phineas Nigellus, who, instead of returning to sleep himself, decided to pester the boy with questions, who as far as I could tell, had been perusing the room quietly. He had always been polite, that boy, during every earlier visit. I could certainly see why Dumbledore had taken to mentoring the young man.

    Disappointed at the prospect of returning to sleep, I was overjoyed at the return of Albus soon after. It was a much lively place when he was around tending to the school. Although, tonight…no. No, he didn’t look lively at all, far from it. Suffice it to say, he looked absolutely dreadful, much older than the Dumbledore who had departed from us earlier in the year.

    Lasting damage, he mentioned, full recovery? What exactly had Dumbledore been doing while he was away? Was the school suffering from Dumbledore’s leave?

    As he continued to speak, I saw a side of Harry Potter I had never experienced before. He looked angered. His demeanor, usually calm and inquisitive, was now bubbling with irritation and frustration. Surely, he couldn’t be upset with Dumbledore. Should a headmaster have to leave his post for whatever reason, it was certainly not the job of the student to become furious. I, myself, had even taken a brief period of leave, allowing for negotiations with the Wizengamot during the time of Grindelwald’s rise to power.

    Nonetheless, the boy sat annoyed, speaking to Dumbledore, who always had the gift of patience even back in his days of Transfiguration teacher. Dumbledore’s serene voice soothed my air, triggering my eyes to slowly droop back down and give back the sleep that I so desperately desired.

    A loud smash struck one of the walls, shattering one of Dumbledore’s fine instruments into a hundred tiny pieces.

    Really!” I announced, watching such irresponsible behavior and in the early hours, no less. I could no longer keep quiet, and, moreover, no longer sleep.

  4. #4
    Fourth Year Gryffindor
    McGonagall Likes My Quidditch Skills
    moonymaniac's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2006
    Buried under a huge WIP
    Author Names: malko050987 and moonymaniac
    Houses: Slytherin and Gryffindor
    Title: At Odds: Schemes of a Toad, and Preventing the Ambush
    Word length: 313 and 496
    Warnings: none
    The scene that the drabbles are based on: Harry’s hearing before the Wizengamot. Chapter 8, OotP
    The two characters: Umbridge and Dumbledore

    malko050987’s Drabble: Schemes of a Toad
    Ah, he's entered now. He looks frightened. Good, fear is good. Fear makes people obey the law. People must obey the law.

    I lean back; he doesn't need to see my face. They say justice is blind, after all.

    Oh, the Minister is talking now. Yes, tell them the laws, Minister. They need to know the laws, or they can't obey them. Especially lunatic children. They must be disciplined.

    What? What is Dumbledore doing here? He's not supposed to be here! He'll ruin the process! the Wizengamot doesn't want him here! Can't he see that? Has he gone so much round the bend? He's as crazy as the half-breeds he's protecting! Stupid old man.

    Finally, he's in his place. He won't be able to do anything anyway. The brat's fate is sealed. He broke the law. Yes, Minister, tell them the charges. Such an illegal act he did. He must be disciplined.

    Oh, the brat is guilty! You can see it all over his face! Good job, Minister!

    This is getting better and better! He is clearly lying. No boy his age can produce a full Patronus; it's impossible! A werewolf taught him? Such an obvious lie.

    Ha! They caught you now, Mister Potter, you lying brat! Everybody will see that you are insane now, Potter!

    What? A witness? Nobody was there! Nobody knows about the dementors! Nooo! She must shut up... but I must stay silent. No, all my plans... It's your fault, Potter!

    He saw me! Dementors being ordered out? Oh, they mustn't find out about that. The Minister doesn't even know about it.

    It's over now. Stupid, stupid Fudge, you didn't plan enough. No matter, we will have time later. Oh yes, we will have time for our revenge later. Potter and Dumbledore won't be allowed to get away with their lies anymore. I will personally make sure of that.

    moonymaniac’s Drabble: Preventing the Ambush

    Is this what we have come to, Cornelius…the entire Wizengamot trying a boy for violation of the Restriction of Underage Sorcery? Is this the length you will go to discredit his…and my story?

    You look surprised that I am here. Did you think I would let Harry face such an ambush alone? Do you really think I could be fooled by a mere change of time and venue? Could it be that you are starting to believe the rubbish you are feeding the Daily Prophet, that I am no longer in possession of my faculties?

    Ah, Cornelius, I fear you have lost sight of your priorities, in your imagined need to protect your position. You are blinded by your fear…this ridiculous perception that I want your job. I have never wanted it. But here we are, truly at odds. It is you who would make us rivals, not I. We have a common enemy, and until you stop this foolishness, I can not help you. So, let us get on with it.

    Calm yourself, Harry; it does not help to get angry, though I can’t blame you. This is utterly ridiculous. But you have won points with Madam Bones at least, and many others I would wager…that Patronus is impressive. Ah, yes, tell them about the dementors. Cornelius may find that his attempt to discredit us backfires. You are frightened, but this is an opportunity to speak the truth. The Ministry may not want the truth told. But they had better start hearing it. Tell it; Amelia Bones is listening.

    Oh, Cornelius, you bring him before the court, but refuse to hear him out. I’m afraid I can not sit quietly by for that. It is time for Arabella to give testimony.

    Percy, how I hate to see you so misguided. You will not even meet my eye. Alas, Voldemort gets help even from those who despise him…fear and mistrust weakens us. I hope that soon you will see the truth.

    Arabella is not a terribly strong witness, but she speaks the truth. Some are now listening. Yes, dementors in Little Whinging is an extraordinary thing, isn’t it? Why were they there, indeed? Maybe now, we will get to the crux of the matter.

    Ah, Dolores, I was wondering when you would enter the fray…

    Do I really need to spell it out? Clearly someone sent the dementors after Harry, for they do not work for themselves…Now the Ministry must determine who they work for. Then there will be more evidence that Harry speaks the truth, however badly some wish to ignore it.

    Now bringing up what goes on at Hogwarts is going too far. That is my responsibility. I will not let Harry be railroaded.

    Cornelius, you are being a fool. Turning a blind eye to the truth will not make it go away. But Harry is cleared. There is one small victory. It is a pity this battle had to be fought at all.

  5. #5
    Author Names: Starmaiden, Periwinkle
    Houses: Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff
    Title: A Fateful Meeting
    Word length: 327 (Starmaiden) and 281 (Periwinkle)
    Warnings: None
    The scene that the drabbles are based on: Harry and Draco meeting on Hogwarts Express
    The two characters: Draco, Harry

    By Starmaiden:
    So this is Harry Potter. He’s not so much to look at – short and skinny with no distinction, Mother would say. He’s not much to talk to, either. How long were we standing in Madam Malkin’s? And he never said anything worth hearing. Except that his parents are dead, which I know now anyway.

    Actually, I know a lot about him now. I probably know more than he does, since he was raised by Muggles. Imagine that! Being raised by Muggles! That explains, though, why he’s sitting with a Weasley. Can’t tell the trash from the real wizards.

    He’s looking at Crabbe and Goyle, of course. Stupid oafs, but they do their job just by standing there. Good job, too, because if it was any more complicated, they’d fall over.

    "My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford... You'll soon find out some Wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

    What is wrong with him? I, Draco Malfoy, the son of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black Malfoy, hold out my hand, and he doesn’t even move? Who does he think he is? What does he think he is? He can’t expect his name to carry him through life. Even the famous Harry Potter needs connections.

    He actually looks angry! As if I insult him by offering my friendship! Well, he’ll know who’s who by the time our first week together is over –

    “I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks.”

    Imitating my words! And he really thinks he can get away with this. The son of a traitor and a Mudblood --

    If Harry Potter won’t come to me, I’ll get Harry Potter. He’s got no one but that Weasley kid; I’ve got the Malfoy name and power behind me. And a Malfoy always wins.

    By Periwinkle:
    His platinum wisps of hair are sticking to his forehead. His grey eyes gleam almost paranormally. A smirk is plastered on his face. The designer clothes he wears, so perfectly fitted to his thin frame. The pale, aristocratic face that bears so much confidence.

    Who does he think he is? He can't go around abusing my friends like this. Look at him. Just look at him. He thinks he can be my friend. He doesn't even know me.

    "My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford... You'll soon find out some Wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

    Wait...what? Oh, no. He's offering his hand to me. He wants me to shake it. I don't want to. I'm not going to.

    Wizarding families that are better than others? Wrong sort? And what was that part about Ron?

    How dare he come to me, presuming that I agree with him and offer me a friendship? He thinks that I agree with him. That I'm just like him. He's wrong.

    Something blindingly hot rushed through my body, threatening to overtake me, making it hard for me to stand still.

    He wants me to become his friend. And he really thinks that I will accept.

    "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks."

    I matched his tone to mine, adopting the condescending attitude he had shown me.

    The white hand reaches up to run through the blond locks. The grey eyes scrunch up in confusion. The smirk slides off his perfectly sculptured lips. The once pale, aristocratic face is now stricken.

    Malfoy leaves.

  6. #6
    Author Names: butterflykisses and lily_evans34
    Houses: Slytherin and Ravenclaw
    Title: Past Caring
    Word length: 370, 498
    Warnings: Mild Violence
    The scene that the drabbles are based on: Department of Mysteries Battle
    The two characters: Bellatrix Lestrange and Neville Longbottom

    butterflykisses' drabble:
    I barely noticed the measly boy Crabbe had pinned against the cold stone wall. I didn’t think much of him, until Lucius mentioned his last name. Longbottom. My mind raced back to when I had met his disgusting parents. I chuckled to myself as I remembered their screams and blubbers as I took guilty pleasure in my action. They had thought they could overcome it together. The man had tried to protect his mouse of a wife by throwing his exhausted body over hers. I remember laughing out loud, the move being so futile. In the end, the pathetic couple went mad together, and I had failed to find my beloved master, for I had nothing to show for it, and they both got away alive. Now was my chance to redeem myself with their dim-witted boy.

    I taunted him, making it seem as if I had met his parents while grocery shopping or while out for a stroll on a sunny day in the park. That infuriated him and I relished in it. I glanced over at the prophecy, clutched in foolish Potter’s hand. That prophecy was my ticket to redemption in My Lord’s eyes. I knew Potter couldn’t stand to see anyone in pain – especially one of his worthless friends.

    I strode over to where Crabbe was struggling to pin Longbottom Junior against the wall, my wand raised high in defiance. I wanted to see how long he would last before cracking like his parents. I wanted to do it so badly; I could all but see him writhing before me such as his worthless parents had, but I gave Potter another chance to hand over the prize, with the insolent fool yelling at him not to hand it over. My frustration hit its breaking point, so I went in for the kill. Short, and fast, yet hard and as sharp as a blade. I felt like I was on a high. His cries of pain and anguish were music to my ears. His distorted face was a masterpiece in my eyes. I enjoyed seeing him suffer more than life itself. I didn’t care how much pain he was in, just as long as he writhed in it.
    Lily_evans34's drabble:
    I could taste the blood running into my mouth, but I didn’t care. I was past caring. I stared into her evil face; her gaunt eyes and her hollow expression, and wondered if she had ever cared. About anything. Or if it had always been about causing people pain. If she only found solace in reaping others’ misery.

    I fought harder and harder against the Death Eater’s grip. All I wanted was to hurt her. To see how she liked the taste of pain. I didn’t think that a single person could be evil enough to want such grief for another, but my views had changed in a matter of seconds. For her to have the nerve to mention my parents, when she had ended their life before I had become a part of it… To see how her face lit up when she said it… All of these thought were more than I could bear. All of these emotions of me wanting to cause pain were so new that I wondered whether it was really me here at all. I wondered why I wasn’t scared. Why I didn’t want to hide, as I so normally did. But I didn’t care anymore. I was done caring.

    I fought harder as I saw her eye the prophecy with such greed. I didn’t care what she wanted to do to me. I would fight. It was worth it. All that was important to me was to keep the prophecy safe. I had to do whatever it took.

    In an instant, all I could feel was pain. That was the only way to describe it. I wasn’t aware of falling from the Death Eater’s grip. I wasn’t aware of lying, jerking on the floor, screaming with all my might to drown out the inescapable pain. All I was aware of was that pain, coursing through every inch of my body; more real and intense than anything I had ever experienced. But I didn’t care. I could take it. I wanted to feel pain. Anything to make me forget about what was going on around me. Anything to stop me from seeing the evil expression on her face as she mentioned my parents… And as quickly as it had started, it stopped. The curse was lifted, but the pain still lingered. By now I was sobbing, gasping for breath, though it barely came as easily as it had before. Every breath was forced and foreign to me, as though they were coming from someone else. I tried to stand, but I couldn’t. I stared into her face, lit with such an intense cruelty that it made me sick. It made me only that much more aware of my aching body. But I didn’t care. All I wanted was to hurt her. For her to experience the pain that I had just felt. And even though I could still feel the effects of the curse, I didn’t care. I just didn’t care anymore.

  7. #7
    I love Severus Snape
    Author Names: I love Severus Snape and mooncalf
    Houses: Slytherin and Ravenclaw
    Title: You Don't Understand
    Word lengths: 363 and 289
    Warnings: None
    The scene that the drabbles are based on: In PoA when Sirius Black slashes the Fat Lady's portrait
    The two characters: The Fat Lady and Sirius Black

    I love Severus Snape's drabble for Slytherin:
    The Fat Lady's POV

    What is that coming this way? It’s not a human… it’s… an animal, by the looks of it. Too big to be a cat… a dog, perhaps? Can’t be, it’s enormous... much bigger than any dog I’ve ever saw in any painting.

    Hmm. What is it, then? It’s getting closer… yep, definitely a dog. That Dumbledore… allowing an animal like that to just romp through the school is bizarre, not to mention dangerous – it looks vicious. Those students had better watch themselves.

    But my word, the damage it could do with its size! I don’t see how – by Jove! That dog is turning into a man!

    How disgusting. He looks like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, let alone bathed!

    And how incredibly rude of him. Who does he think he is, demanding me to let him in? Doesn’t he know he needs a password for entrance?

    He just whipped out his wand! He better not use it against me… I’ll see to it that Dumbledore fixes him if he does.

    What’s that? It looks like he just conjured a knife… he best not do what I think he’s going to do with it.

    My first instinct is to run. I’m not like those Gryffindors that I protect and keep watch over… I’m not brave. And I am certainly not stupid. I know some portraits that would just stand there and put up a fight. Absurd, that is.

    As I scurry past inhabitants in other portraits, I hear a slashing noise some ways behind me. Anger issues that one's got!

    I dodge behind some trees where I know I can’t be seen. I need to calm down so that man doesn’t find me. Who does he think he is?

    I recognize him from somewhere. Those Gryffindors have been speaking of him lately, flashing about newspaper clippings and warning others. His face was always on the cover of the Daily Prophet … I’ve seen glimpses of it. What did I hear about him?

    Wanted . . . escaped from Azkaban . . . Sirius Black . . . murderer . . .

    My mind scurries back to that wretched name. My God, that’s Sirius Black!

    mooncalf's drabble for Ravenclaw:
    Sirius Black's POV

    Where is he…? That rat, that sneaking rat that destroyed my life and friendships. I will find him, and he will die. Just a few more minutes, and I’ll be there.

    The Fat Lady! I almost forgot; she would never let a dog in. I must change; feel that all-encompassing sense that my bones have turned to jelly. It feels strange to be a man after all those years of living like a dog. Worse; few dogs live in the conditions I suffered in Azkaban. But now the time has come for the rat. The years of waiting have paid off. Only the Fat Lady stands between the two of us…

    What? She must let me through! I have to find him, to kill him, make him suffer for all he has done. No one can stand in my way. Desperate times…

    I don’t want to use this. This knife is meant for him. But if you will stand in my way, I will do as I must. I have to get in. Don’t look at me like that, fear and shock evident in those painted eyes. Just let me get at Peter, and everything will be fine.

    No! Come back, you preening, flabby creature! You don’t understand; I need to go in. That rat, that rat isn’t a rat. No, he is. He is a foul, stinking and loathsome rodent, but what makes it worse is that he calls himself human. I have to find him, make him pay for what he’s done. I – HAVE – TO – GET – IN!

    Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stabbing the portrait won’t help. Peter survives a little longer, cringing behind that redhead he has duped. But I will get him in the end. I must.

  8. #8
    Author Names: kumydabookworm and wandaXmaximoff
    Houses: Gryffindor and Hufflepuff
    Title: Bonds of Blood
    Word Length: 394 (Kumy) and 491 (Wanda)
    Warnings: None
    The scene that the drabbles are based on: Chapter 30 of Goblet of Fire--the trial of Barty Crouch Jr.
    The two characters: Barty Crouch Sr. and Barty Crouch Jr.

    kumydabookworm's Drabble: Judging Strangers (Barty Crouch Sr. POV)

    My wife’s dry sobs sing through the courtroom. I cannot pardon him.

    Justice holds the magical world together. The line between love and hate can be crossed, and laughter can become tears, but right and wrong are always certain. Death Eaters are always wrong. Aurors are always right.

    Bartemius Crouch Jr. is wrong.

    I look at the man who once was my son. Pale, bedraggled, frightened--his face doesn’t look familiar. This man tortured innocents for the Dark Lord; my son got presents from the Longbottoms after his Hogwarts graduation.

    My son was not a Death Eater.

    “…brought here before the Council of Magical Law so that we may pass judgment on you…”

    The horrendous allegations fill my mind. How could my son have become this monster?

    Some people seated around the court look scornful. They think I will not pass judgment. However, this stranger, who has sullied the name and reputation of my son, will be punished.

    Justice will be served. This stranger will be punished for sullying the good name of the boy I loved--the boy I was proud of. My son and I will be avenged. He doesn't deserve to be hated, and I don’t deserve to be doubted.

    “…subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse…”

    You have to enjoy pain to use the Cruciatus. That wasn’t the Barty I knew. Years ago, he used to leap into my arms happily when I came home from the office before dinnertime. He cried when his toad died.

    Who is this person? He’s not Barty. I restrain myself from pleading with the court to not call this traitor by my son’s name. I want to pull out my wand and finish him myself. This man has destroyed my son--destroyed my name.

    “…restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…”

    This is not the innocent boy that I was proud of. The Dark Mark brands his skin.

    “...resume the lives of violence…”

    Did I know someone who could torture good people? In my memories, Barty’s smile was bright, his eyes calm, and his voice honest.

    I watch his mouth move silently. My heart pounds deafeningly in my ears. On my right, hands rise decisively.

    The man screams, “I am your son!”

    This monster is not my son – my Barty.

    “You are no son of mine! I have no son!”

    My son died when he became a stranger.
    wandaXmaximoff's Drabble: Of Love and Power (Barty Crouch Jr. POV)

    The Dark Lord holds his wand over the empty skin of my left arm. “Are you willing to serve me, Crouch? I will reward you if you remain loyal.”

    “Yes, master.”

    I begin to scream.

    Suddenly, the memory disappears. I shiver uncontrollably. The Dementors glide away from me and I can feel cold steel binding me to the chair.

    My father sits on a pedestal. The contorted expression of hatred on his face makes him look like a stranger. He
    is a stranger to me--always at work because the people there give him power. I only give him love.

    “…so we may pass judgment…” The Dark Lord promised me power, and I would’ve given it all to you. You think the key to power is to hate Death Eaters…but I became one for you.

    “…for a crime so heinous…” I wanted you to love me like you love this audience. If I gave you the power the Dark Lord promised me, you would have loved me. Wanting to be loved is no more horrible than hating your own son.

    “…subjecting him to the Cruciatus…” Pain gives one power over people, Father. Don’t you understand? Don’t you want it?

    “Father, I didn’t!” I wanted to find Voldemort, so I could make you content with me. I never hurt anyone – I only watched Bellatrix.

    “…resume the lives of violence…” Not violence, lives of power. This is all you ever wanted. How can you send me to the Dementors for this? How can you punish me when I’m working toward the one thing you love?

    “Barty, I’ll teach you how to play wizard’s chess,” Mother said softly.

    “Father promised he’d be home. He will come.”

    Mother smiled. “Well, if he doesn’t come, I’ll teach you.”

    He never came home.

    Maybe she would help. “Mother, stop him!” I don’t think she can hear me when she’s rocking back and forth. Will no one stop him? I just wanted to please Voldemort enough that he would give me what you wanted. I never thought Bellatrix would drive him insane.

    On my left side, people stand and begin to clap. What does this mean? The Dementors are coming closer. Please…Merlin…no. Please…I hang on. My father may love power, but he has to love me just a bit. He wouldn’t let this happen.

    “I’m your son!” I can't fight the Dementor's slimy grip. Father, please...

    Pain engulfs me. “Are you willing to serve me, Crouch?”

    “Well, if he doesn’t come, I’ll teach you.”

    “We may pass judgment on you.”

    “I have no son!”

    My mother appears - it must be a hallucination. But when her husband takes me in his arms and carries me out of Azkaban, joy slips back into my mind. I smile and remember the truth taken by the Dementors.

    The Dark Lord will reward me if I wait. I know what boon I will ask of my Master.

    I will have no father.

  9. #9
    Authors: Bellatrix Black and StellaSirius
    Houses: Ravenclaw and Gryffindor
    World Length: 320 -Bella- and 308 -Stella-
    Warnings: None
    The scene: GoF, Quidditch World Cup, when the Bulgarian Mascots come out
    The characters: Ron and Hermione

    Bella's Drabble: Ron
    The Quidditch World Cup: The day Ron had been dreaming about since he was old enough to know that ‘Quidditch’, ‘World’, and ‘Cup’ in the same sentence meant a period of excitement, mad cheering, and healthy rivalries between opposing fans. The grin not fading from his face, Ron straightened up a little in his seat, making him the tallest of their party, save Mr. Weasley. He wasn’t going to miss even the introduction of the teams.

    “And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!” Bagman said from beside him, almost making him fall out of his chair. Bloody soronus spell. He looked expectantly onto the field, and almost fell off of his seat again when a group of stunning women floated onto the field, dancing seductively to music that had suddenly started playing.

    Ron, however, did not care where the music had come from, or why there were scantily clad women dancing on the Quidditch pitch. He felt warm and fuzzy, and had the strange desire to do something to get their attention. He had to do something that no one else had ever attempted: He was going to dive down into the pack of gorgeous women, and just as he was about to hit the ground, he would fly up, impressing them with his rare and stunning Quidditch skills. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have a broom; that was a mere technicality.

    Grinning, he made his way up onto the ledge of the box, about to drive. Surely driving to his almost doom would impress them?

    “Ron, are you- Oh, for pity’s sake!” Hermione snapped from beside him, pulling him forcefully back into reality. The women had stopped dancing now, and the music was over. He hadn’t acted quickly enough. He'd have to try something else, before the fuzzy feeling really wore off. Slowly, he began shredding the shamrocks on his hat.
    Stella's Drabble: Hermione

    The Quidditch World Cup. Hermione wasn’t a big Quidditch fan, but she knew the rules, and it was a fascinating sport. She just wasn’t any good at it. However, she was in the seats along with the Weasleys and Harry, waiting for the match to start. Her long, bushy hair got in her eyes, and she pushed it away irritably.

    “And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!” Ludo Bagman boomed from his commentator’s stand. Mr. Weasley mused what the Bulgarians could have brought, then smiled, clearing away the filth on his spectacles. “Veela!”

    Hermione looked towards the field, eyebrows furrowed in thought. Veela… Weren’t they bird creatures? Why was-

    Suddenly an army of beautiful women danced out onto the field. Their hips swayed back and forth in time to music, and males all around Hermione seemed to zoom in on them. Their long, platinum hair seemed to dance along with them, and they were scarcely clothed. They all seemed to be clones of each other, all perfect. There wasn’t a single feature that wasn’t completely fetching. Any one of those veela could have a man eating out of her hand… Or anything, for that matter.

    Hermione rolled her eyes in disgust. Of course. They turned into the bird things when they got angry. But of course, nobody ever remembered that. They remembered the beautiful things that seduced men. How revolting.

    Shaking her head, Hermione turned to Harry. Her eyes widened as she saw his dazed expression, and his position. He was leaning over the edge of the seats, gravity almost pulling him down towards the field. “Harry, what are you doing?” Hermione said, exasperated.

    Harry blinked, and retreated from the seat ledge. Hermione pivoted towards Ron, who was still mesmerized by those disgusting… females. “Ron, are you- Oh, for pity’s sake.”

  10. #10
    Authors: Oppungo and MrTibbles
    Houses: Gryffindor and Ravenclaw
    Warnings: None
    The Scene: Chamber of Secrets, when Harry breaks his arm and Lockhart debones him
    Characters: Lockhart and Colin Creevey.

    Oppungo's drabble for Gryffindor
    I can't believe it! That Bludger knocked Harry right off his broom, but he still caught the Snitch! Wow! He really is amazing! But wait, he isn't getting up! Maybe he's hurt! I've got to get down and get a closer look, maybe take a few pictures to show to Dad and Dennis...

    There he is - ooh, this'll be a great shot, his arm is all wonky and there's mud everywhere! A great post-action picture! Now if he would just shuffle a bit to the left... Wow! Here comes Professor Lockhart! He's not as brilliant as Harry, but he does pose better for photos - you know, it almost looks like Harry's pulling away in this picture!

    "I don't want a photo of this, Colin!" Wow - Harry noticed me, out of all these people! Ah well, I've nearly run out of film anyway, but I've got some great shots of Harry's accident. Ooh, Lockhart's going to heal Harry's arm - that wand movement looks pretty impressive - but - oh! I wonder if Harry's arm was supposed to go all funny and limp like that?

    Harry's friends are taking him off to the Hospital Wing now, so I suppose I'll go and develop the film. I wonder if Madam Pomfrey will let me visit him later to show him the pictures? I'll have to remember to put this in the newsletter...

    MrTibbles' drabble for Ravenclaw
    "No, not you."

    Not me? Why would anyone be unhappy to see me? He simply doesn't know what he's saying- the pain. The poor boy's arm, it's a shame. If he had my agility he could have avoided this altogether. I'll just step in and help- he really is so lucky that I am here.

    He just needs to relax; I am here, nothing bad could possibly happen! Oh! There's a camera- I'll give Harry a reassuring smile, it will be so picturesque! No, no, going to Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing is quite unnecessary. I can mend bones with my eyes closed, there is absolutely no need for worry! It is a difficult charm, but I am Gilderoy Lockhart!

    The pain in poor Harry's eyes- it's heart-wrenching. With just a twirl of my wand, I can stop his suffering, and he will be overwhelmingly grateful. I'll roll up my sleeves- these robes are brand new, after all, I cannot stain Persian silk!- and one, two, three ... ... ...

    Oh, dear. Well, this isn't that big of a problem. And of course, it wasn't my fault! It's just a rare side-effect. He is no longer in pain! Yes, that is what matters. This kind of thing happens all the time- even to the best of us, unfortunately. Now, he can just trot up to the hospital wing and allow Madam Pomfrey to fix the... er... problem. I could fix it in an instant, of course, but the wind does do dreadful things to one's hair ...

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