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Thread: Minor Canon Characters: A Portrait, A Challenge

  1. #11
    Name: atkarid
    House: Hufflepuff!
    Title: Who am I?
    Character: Gabrielle Delacour
    Word Count: 422
    Warnings: None
    Inspiration: Well, i was always wondering on the relationship of Fleur and Gabrielle. I imagined how it would be like to live with an older sister who was almost perfect.

    What does she have that I don’t?

    Beauty, grace, elegance, an air that puts her above everybody else…

    Who am I?

    Just her sister. Just the younger sister of Fleur Delacour.

    Am I ever Gabrielle Delacour? Is she ever referred to as the sister of Gabrielle Delacour? Am I somebody other than her sister?

    I’ve been compared to her ever since I was born:

    ”Gabrielle, your hair is in your face again. Brush your hair neatly. Fleur never had any hair in her face, and look how pretty she is.”

    “Gabrielle! You’ve grown so tall! You remind me of your sister at your age, except, of course, she was exceptionally pretty.”

    “Gabrielle, why don’t you do something productive around the house, instead of banging on that old piano? Fleur was always helpful.”

    “Miss Delacour, your work is not pleasing. You were supposed to levitate this quill, not change its color. I thought the Delacours were smart. Your sister, Fleur, got it on her first try.”

    “Wow! You’re Fleur Delacour’s sister? She’s so pretty, and you look, well, different.”

    I’ve never been treated as an individual. Just Fleur Delacour’s sister. Nothing else.

    I escape this world by going to my piano. My piano, for Fleur never touched it, and it has belonged to me since I was very little. I would hit a few keys, and slowly I learned how to read and play music. It’s been the only reason why I’m not dead and lying in my room, wishing for the insanity to stop.

    I can escape with music. It takes me to realms where I am free and can explore my own creativity. It’s where I can be myself and have no other distractions. It’s where I can be free, be away from the world where Fleur Delacour is queen.

    It’s the only thing in which I cannot be compared to her for she has never even touched a piano in her life. Music and the piano are mine, and I live off them.

    Although the piano is my escape, the house is too. She clings onto me (more of she glues me onto her) outside of the house, but inside, she stays far away. It’s probably just to draw more attention to her when we’re with others.

    And, unfortunately, it works.

    So I’m just a little girl, covered by Fleur Delacour’s shadow. A girl whose name is “Fleur Delacour’s little sister”. A girl who escapes with music and her piano. A girl who is nothing.

    A girl who is jealous.

  2. #12
    Name: hermione210
    House: Gryffindor
    Title: Grey
    Character: The Grey Lady, the Ravenclaw ghost
    Word Count: 430
    Warnings: None
    Inspiration: Very little is know about the Grey Lady, and I wondered what her life was like- both before and after she died.

    Good day. I am the Grey Lady, the ghost of the Ravenclaw House. No one knows my real name apart from me. Why should I tell you what it is? Even when I was alive, no one could ever remember my real name. I just blended into the woodwork, apparently.

    I died in 1111 from one of my experimental potions. (I am quite proud of the fact that I died in one of the very few years that consists of only one number.) It exploded without warning, killing me instantly. No one even noticed I was dead until I pointed it out to the other teachers at Hogwarts. Yes, I was a teacher at Hogwarts. Didn’t I mention that?

    Yes, I taught Potions for seventy years. I have not seen a competent professor teaching the subject since I died. It is disgusting that, since my time, not one Potions Master or Mistress has gone into the Library and merely spent hours researching new potions.

    In fact, I believe no one told you that I discovered the Potion of Good Fortune. It took me ages to perfect that particular potion. Oh yes, I forgot, it is now called Felix Felicis. He found the recipe in my notes… Dirty thief.

    I think that no one really liked me because I set such high standards for friends when I was alive. They had to be perfect, or they could not become my companion. As it was, I only found one true friend. However, she did not come back as a ghost- she went on to wherever it is that you go when you die and do not become a ghost.

    You know, I was unmarried when I died, which was very unusual for a woman of my position then. However, I sent high standards for beaus, too. I refused to marry anyone whom I did not truly love. I never found true love, so I never married.

    Now that I am dead, I have found I have a knack for discovering exciting things.

    I have witnessed Albus Dumbledore accidentally set the Gryffindor House table in the Great Hall on fire. I have seen James Potter and Sirius Black play any number of pranks on everyone at Hogwarts. I have seen Fred and George Weasley torture that woman, Dolores Umbridge. You know, I never liked her, even when she was at school. I have seen numerous heroic things that Harry Potter has done. And I’m sure I will see much more in the coming years. Hogwarts only gets more exciting as time goes on.

  3. #13
    Aquilus Luna
    Name: Aquilus Luna
    House: Hufflepuff
    Title: A Clear Conscience
    Character: Blaise Zabini
    Word Count: 900
    Warnings: None
    Inspiration: When I read about how Blaise's mother had married seven times, each time the husband strangely dieing, leaving everything to Mrs. Zabini, I wondered how it must be for Blaise.

    “Blaise dear,” Mrs. Zabini pleaded with her son. “Please join Richard and I for dinner. I know he’d love to meet you.”

    Blaise stood his ground firmly, his eyes never wavering, his tone deathly soft as he replied to his mother’s request. “Why?” he asked stubbornly, “So I can help you get into his will? Is that it? Do you think I enjoy knowing all the while that as soon as you get what you want, he’ll inexplicably and tragically die, just like all the rest of them?”

    “Blaise!” his mother scolded. “You know that’s not true.”

    “I’m your son, mum. Don’t expect me to believe that just because I did when I was younger.”

    “Blaise,” his mother began, but her son cut her off with a slight shake of his head.

    “No mum. Do as you like, but don’t expect me to get involved.” And with his final say in the matter, Blaise Zabini returned to his room, leaving a distraught Mrs. Zabini standing alone in the front corridor of his mansion.

    Blaise couldn’t believe the nerve his mother had. He’d already clearly stated he wasn’t getting involved whenever a new prospective husband was concerned. Not after the last time, at least.

    He still remembered the looks on the faces of the little girls of his mother’s last husband. He remembered the two children standing over the grave of their father, dressed in their best clothing; clothing barely fit for a rat. He remembered the tears flowing down their faces, and for the first time in many years, he felt pity. And he felt disgust, for his mother, and for the father of the young girls, the father who hadn’t the decency to leave anything for his children, but instead left everything he had to his new wife.

    And it wasn’t only the man he felt disgusted with. Blaise felt abhorrence for his mother. Rich as she was, she refused to give any money to the young girls. And so it was then that he resolved not to get involved again. If he weren’t involved, he wouldn’t feel anything for anybody else. No pity, no disgust, no anything.

    That was another thing. Blaise shouldn’t be feeling pity for the girls, the disgusting half-blood girls. But he did, and he didn’t know why. Maybe it was because somewhere deep down under his icy demeanor was a human. And being human he knew when something was wrong.

    Of course, Blaise was still a Slytherin, and therefore rarely acted upon that. Knowing something was wrong had never stopped a Slytherin from doing it before, but Blaise supposed there was always a first time for everything. He figured if he could stop his mother this one time, the feeling of pity and repulsion that had been haunting him for so long would go away. And so what Blaise was about to do wasn’t for the man, but to give himself peace of mind.

    Blaise pulled out a piece of parchment from his desk and with his quill in the other hand, thought about what he was going to write. He settled on something short and to the point, something that would help him clear his conscience, and nothing more.

    Though I don’t know what brought me to do this, maybe the feeling I’ve had since the last time my mother’s husband died, I felt as though I should give you a fair warning about what you are getting yourself into. Whether you listen is up to you, because frankly, I don’t care. I’m not doing this for you, but for me.
    My mother has had seven husbands in the past, all of which mysteriously died once she had gotten herself into their wills. She seems to think that I believe that they all mysteriously died, but if by mysterious she means that she had a large hand in their deaths then she’s right. I thought I’d give you fair warning, but as I said, what you choose to do knowing this is up to you. If you don’t listen, know I’ll be there at your funeral, but at least I’ll have a clear conscience, knowing that I tried.
    -B. Zabini

    Satisfied, he called over to his owl Demeter, attaching the letter to her leg. Feeling better he retired for the night.

    The following morning, when Mrs. Zabini demanded to know why Richard had cancelled at the last moment, Blaise replied, “You really just don’t get it, do you? I have a conscience, and just because you don’t doesn’t mean that I can sit back and let him die. I haven’t slept a full night’s sleep since the funeral of your last husband. And do you know why? It was because of you mum. It was because I couldn’t be totally at peace until I stopped you at least once, and that’s just what I did.”

    Mrs. Zabini didn’t even have a chance to respond, as her son left her standing once again alone in the corridor. But whether or not she cared, something about what her son said had struck her.

    Alone in his room, Blaise sat down to think. He knew his own act alone wouldn’t stop his mother. She would move on, as would he, but for the first time in his life, he had done what he knew was right, and that, at least, was a start.

  4. #14
    I hope it's ok to do a character that has already been done. I only saw that there was already a drabble about Blaise after I had already started writing mine.

    Name: LadyAlesha
    House: Hufflepuff
    Title: Never get attached to anyone!
    Character: Blaise Zabini
    Word Count: 642
    Warnings: None
    Inspiration: Blaise didn't seem convinced that Draco could carry out Voldemort's task on the train, and he also didn't seem to be too fond of Death Eaters, so I was wondering where his loyalties really lie.

    Blaise followed Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy and Draco down to the dungeons after the Welcoming Feast. Pansy was clinging to Draco even more than usual ever since he told them that Voldemort had given him a task to complete at Hogwarts. The pure adoration in her eyes disgusted Blaise.

    Blaise doubted that he could carry out whatever task Voldemort had set for him. He wasn’t even a fully trained wizard yet, how did he think he would be able to hold his own as a Death Eater? Blaise had said it on the train already, what could a sixteen year-old boy achieve? How would Draco go about living his life if he really left school at the end of the year and didn’t complete his education?

    While Blaise wasn’t a big fan of Hogwarts and his teachers, he knew that it was important to finish school. The world was at the brink of war, scores of wizards and witches would die. It was therefore important to learn as much as they could and to become as strong as they could in order to stay alive.

    I wish there was no war, Blaise thought as they arrived at the common room. Draco said the password and the group entered the low-ceilinged room silently. Blaise sat slightly apart from the others, but no one took any notice of him. They were used to seeing him sitting in a corner by himself, brooding.

    If he could choose he would stay out of the war altogether, not fighting or supporting any side. But he didn’t think that would be possible. Before long he would have to ally himself with one side, he only hoped he would choose the winning side when the time came. If he was afraid of one thing, it was belonging to the loosing side of the war. If he survived the war, and he had no doubt he would, he didn’t want to be killed or carted off to Azkaban for fighting on the wrong, meaning the loosing, side.

    Blaise hated not being in control of things. Becoming reliant on someone else was the one thing his mother had always warned him against doing. She herself had made this mistake with Blaise’s father, who had abandoned them after Blaise’s birth, because he couldn’t accept that his son was black. After that his mother had never needed anyone ever again. Her numerous husbands were nothing more than means to an end. Blaise understood his mother’s reasoning and had never felt sorry for any of them. It was their own fault that they died, they were just too gullible and weak, letting others dominate them.

    Blaise had tried to follow his mother’s example. At school he didn’t get attached to anyone, he wasn’t a loner by any stretch though, he was well-liked inside his own house and the younger students looked up to him, but his withdrawn nature had stopped any real friendships from developing. The only person he was really attached to was his mother. Sometimes he tried imagining a life without her in it, tried imagining what would happen if she died in the war, but he never could. She was as much a part of his life as he himself was.

    Blaise was broken out of his thoughts by the sound of laughter. Looking up he saw Crabbe and Goyle doubled over in laughter on one of the couches, while Pansy couldn’t seem to stop giggling. All three were looking at Draco, who had obviously just made a joke, considering the pleased grin on his lips. Blaise shook his head, a smile working its way onto his face. His thoughts of doom and gloom could wait for another night, for now it was good to be back at Hogwarts for another year of classes with not one life-altering decision to be made.

  5. #15
    Name: megan_lupin
    House: Gryffindor
    Title: Revenge
    Character: Fenrir Greyback
    Word Count: 596
    Warnings: None
    Inspiration: The chapter in Half-Blood Prince when Remus talks to Harry about Fenrir

    He walked slowly, stealthily, through the forest surrounding the single house. His footsteps made almost no sound at all as he crouched under low-hanging tree branches, continuing on his trek through the wilderness.

    Fenrir shoved some loose strands of hair from his face as he walked. Sweat had already begun to form along his brow as he felt the pull of the moon in the night sky. It was almost time. He knew that the moon would be revealed soon, in all its bright and full glory, and he had to be ready when it did.

    Dark clouds shifted in the sky as Fenrir approached the borders of the forest, his gaze locked intensely on the house in front of him. He heard voices and other sounds coming from the inside of the house, and his muscles tensed. Fenrir’s heart raced in anger, and his blood boiled and burned with a suppressed fury.

    A low growl escaped his lips as he watched the house. The man inside had done wrong, Fenrir knew. He had done wrong and now, he would have to answer for it. The anger intensified in Fenrir as he felt the moon’s pull become even stronger; the burning anger fuelled his desire for revenge.

    He had always been a vengeful person, ever since he was a child. His mother used to scold him for his attitude in the beginning, saying it was wrong. “Forgive him, Fenrir,” she would say. “Accept her apology.”

    But he would never listen to his mother. No, the wolf inside of him always yearned for blood, for revenge. Fenrir had always chosen to get even with his enemies, and his mother had finally just stopped trying to teach her son differently.

    And tonight, he wanted to get even again; he wanted revenge on the man in the house.

    Fenrir’s joints stiffened and, looking up, he saw the dark cloud shift aside in the night sky, revealing the full moon’s glowing, bright orb of light. His bones and muscles altered their sizes, some stretching and others shortening, and his face stretched out to form the long snout of the wolf.

    He had long ago gotten used to the feeling of the wolf and the different instincts. The strength and power he felt as the wolf flooded through his veins and he revelled in it. Fenrir had also discovered, long ago, that it was better not to fight the wolf’s natural instincts. Its taste for blood and flesh fuelled all of the negative human emotions of anger and vengeance. The wolf had taken from him years ago; he could no longer have a life like the one his cousins led.

    But the wolf had also given Fenrir something. The wolf gave him power, power and the ability to be respected. Some might replace the word respected with that of feared, but to Fenrir, it did not really matter; both of the words were near enough in meaning.

    Yes, he thought. Fear. Respect. Anger. Blood. Fenrir’s ears perked up as he heard voices coming from the house, and the sound of the wooden door creaking open. His yellow gaze locked on the small figure that was slowly and stealthily exiting the house. Flesh, he thought as the little boy came further away from the house’s front door and closer to the forest’s edge.

    And, his mouth curling into a snarl, a low growl escaping his lips, Fenrir Greyback leapt from the shadows of the forest and towards the young, brown-haired boy, a final thought on his mind as the wolf attacked.


  6. #16
    Gryffindor - 60 in participation to:

    Madame Marauder
    the nutty imp

    Hufflepuff - 50 in participation to:

    Aquilis Luna
    Lady Alesha

    Slytherin - 30 in participation to:


    10 additional points awarded to each: Madame Marauder, cmwinters and Gryffinpuff


    Gryffindor: 70
    Hufflepuff: 60
    Slytherin: 40

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