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Thread: The Character Gymnasium

  1. #1

    The Character Gymnasium

    Welcome to the first week of:

    The Character Gymnasium!

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

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

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

    Challenge One: First Impressions

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Ten points will be awarded for the highest achieving character!

    Five points will be awarded to the runner-up!

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

    Drabble #1
    POV: Isla Black
    Words: 657

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

    ‘Yes, sir, I’m down in a moment.’

    ‘Good.’ And Mr Black was gone again.

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

    ‘Hmm, see you.’


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ‘I do, Searle.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "This is illegal," he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Drabble One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    --grace slick
    avvie: julia/the_opaleye

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

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

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

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

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

    “You must be Draco.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  7. #7
    Name: Cirelondiel/Chelsea
    House: Hufflepuff
    POV: Hermione, first person
    OC: Isobel Hayman, of Koomalong Academy, Australia
    Word count: 699 according to MS Word
    Warnings: None

    Koomalong Academy is remarkably different to Hogwarts. Long, low buildings, courtyards filled with leafy eucalypts, and flat red desert stretching in all directions - a far cry from the soaring towers and wall of mountains that formed the backdrop for my seven years at school.

    I admire the grounds through the window, trying not to let nerves take hold of me. I've never been good with speaking to large groups. My work in the Ministry is deeply satisfying and worthwhile, but when I wrote my book, I didn't expect to be sent halfway around the world to talk to Australian schoolchildren.

    I go over my speech plans in my head as Professor Midgely speaks.

    "... so please make Madam Weasley welcome."

    The children clap and I stumble forwards, feeling self-conscious.

    "Good morning. Thank you very much for welcoming me; I'm honoured to be here. As you know, we'll be discussing discrimination and Muggleborn rights..."

    My talk goes smoothly. I'm impressed by the insightful questions the students raise and their passionate responses to my calls for worldwide equality. Finally my hour is up, and I am directed to a small table where students come up in waves to talk to me further and request my signature. I feel more like a celebrity than a visiting government official. I suppose that's what you get for being a central part of Voldemort's defeat.

    There are only a few students left milling around when a lone girl of about sixteen approaches me with a copy of my book. She shyly asks me to sign it.

    I ask her name.

    "Izzy - well, Isobel - Hayman," she says. "Actually, I-I'm a Muggleborn, too, and I was just wondering... I mean, after living with wizards... did you find it hard to fit in with Muggles?"

    I'm intrigued. This is quite a departure from the typical questions I get about my book and my work. It's one I don't have a good answer for, either, because I didn't spend a great deal of time with my family after starting Hogwarts. Mum and Dad would write with news of overseas trips, and I would reply and say I would be staying at Hogwarts for the holidays because of exams, or going to Ron's for the World Cup. I don't regret it, because I needed to be with Harry and Ron during those times, but I do feel a certain amount of guilt. Mum and Dad were always supportive, but I think they felt like they'd been cheated out of their little girl by my world.

    I tell Isobel this, and she nods rather gravely. We go on to discuss blood discrimination some more. She says she's never been picked on for being Muggleborn, but that her lack of knowledge of things that other students take for granted meant she often felt out of place here in her early years. I advise reading as much as possible, and she nods earnestly.

    "Oh, yes, I do. That's why I know so much more about the wizarding world now, it's all so fascinating!”

    I regard her as she speaks, seeing her eyes light up as she goes into raptures about this world. She reminds me a lot of myself: brown hair, though it has a sleekness that I would have envied when I was her age; a Muggleborn girl who seems to have lost touch with her old world; and with a thirst for knowledge. She seems intelligent. I'm certain she'll be very successful, if she's not held back by her timidity and lack of confidence. The more she talks, the clearer it is that she doesn't feel that she fits in with either the Muggle or the wizarding world.

    I advise her to keep on reading, but to appreciate her Muggle heritage. I hope she’ll learn one day that being a Muggleborn witch can be a blessing.

    Professor Midgely comes over to take me to lunch - apparently a traditional 'Aussie' barbecue is being prepared in my honour - so I ink my quill and write a message in the front of her copy of my book:

    For Isobel:
    Use your charms to your advantage!
    Best wishes, Hermione Weasley.

  8. #8
    Rhi for HP
    Name: Rhi for HP
    House: Slytherin
    POV: Draco Malfoy
    OC: Reuben Peck
    Word count: 700 according to Microsoft Word
    Warnings: None

    ‘You must be kind,’ Mother reminded me. ‘Reuben is delicate. Often ill.’ She fussed with her hat as we stood in the entryway waiting. I sighed. She had repeated the same thing for the last hour.

    These dinner parties were bores. Do not mess your robes, Draco; asked a few dull questions by some adult and then shunted to the end of the table to eat in silence. This time was to be worse, however. Mother’s friend Mrs Peck had a son my own age, and of course the expectation was that we would be dear little friends by the end of the evening; pen pals for years afterwards, assuredly.

    The door finally opened to reveal the Pecks, dressed formally, as we were. Their son stood between them. I disliked him immediately. Short, curly blonde hair and large, watery blue eyes. Dark circles under the eyes, milky complexion, bruises all over. Everything about him gave off the feeling of illness and frailty. The night would be a long one.

    ‘Evette!’ exclaimed Mother. ‘It’s been too long, my dear.’ She embraced Mrs Peck and then nudged me. I outstretched my hand as I had been taught for a proper handshake with the miserable boy.

    He seemed to crumple before my eyes, frail shoulders folding in on themselves like wings. He was obviously horrified. At what, I had no idea. He fidgeted, eyes flicking to the hand and away from it rapidly, as if he could usher it away with that glance. The silence stretched awkwardly between us, amplified by the adults towering above, undoubtedly wondering as I was at the situation. Finally Mr Peck growled and elbowed his son roughly, with a look that said clearly this kind of thing had happened before.

    I swear the boy let out a little sob, his eyes pleading, head tilting back to look at his father standing over his shoulder, searching desperately for any way out. The face there was set. He looked like he was about to cry. I rolled my eyes. What a pathetic creature. Instead he gulped and stretched out his thin bird-bone hand to meet mine. He allowed the tips of his fingers to clasp as briefly as possible before he pulled back, clearly intending to withdraw them once more. But I wasn’t having any of that. I gripped his bruised little hand tightly in a proper shake. He let out a whimper which was thankfully inaudible to all but me. When I finally released him, I saw tears in the corners of his eyes—probably from pain.

    The tension eased as the grown-ups saw this civility. Conversation began. Stealthily, when he thought everyone’s attention had been redirected back to the gossip of high society, he withdrew from his pocket a snow white handkerchief and thoroughly wiped down his right hand. I didn’t care if he was ill or delicate or any of that. It was inexcusable.

    ‘Take him to your room, Draco,’ Mother instructed, leaving no room for protest. Grudgingly I complied. I wanted to beat some sense into him, but his skin was like paper—probably ripped upon contact. Instead, I led him upstairs and sat down on my bed.

    ‘So what do you like to do?’ I finally asked, as he remained standing, watching me carefully, arms folded around himself.

    ‘Read,’ he practically whispered, voice rasping from disuse. He coughed to clear it. ‘I like to read books.’ I grunted in response. Nerd. I lay back on my bed, as he remained standing, hands clenched behind his back. I grew self-conscious in the silence as I realised he was watching me intently.

    ‘Why are you staring at me?’ I growled. Always best to be on the offence. He flinched visibly at my tone and then murmured a response, not meeting my eyes.

    ‘I’ve never met anyone of my own age before.’ I snorted, rolling my eyes. He was what, nine? How was that possible? ‘My mother says I’m too delicate to play with other children,’ he said, answering my unspoken question. I settled into the soft comfort of my bed. If I had it my way this would be his first and last encounter with this child.
    Drabble 2:
    POV: Ginny Weasley
    OC: Rahim Peck *pronounced Rah Heem* (with mentions of Reuben)
    Word count: 671
    Warnings: A bit AU, I suppose

    The maharaja of the west. The teenage sultan. Hogwart’s own reigning prince.

    I watched him walk—if you could call his strong, confident yet graceful stride a ‘walk’—into the Great Hall for breakfast. Black eyes calmly surveyed the scene under like-coloured fine brows. A small smile played round the edges of full lips.

    The atmosphere changed subtly as the boy entered the room. He didn’t announce his presence, but somehow, everyone knew it. Something stirred in the communal unconscious, unacknowledged but recognised nonetheless: The prince has arrived….

    Black leather shoes, which even in wet, muddy February were polished to mirror quality, clicked smartly on the flagstones. Heads turned surreptitiously to watch his progress, their owners not even aware they were doing so. He silently made his way through the rows of tables, before stopping at the red-and-gold-clad one. Mine.

    An olive-skinned hand, the fingers unnaturally long, casually brushed away an errant lock of hair. I could almost hear the girls of Hogwarts sighing as one as their eyes traced the path of that curl. It was common knowledge that hair such as his, which hung in long, edgy black ringlets, framing his face just so, had never been paralleled in Hogwarts history.

    And yet, if you looked closely at this boy, you would almost think he was obtuse. Written there on his handsome face was a lie he seemed to believe in earnest: I’m not perfect…

    ‘Oi, Rahim!’ One of his friends waved him over. He smiled and sidled in next to him.

    It took only seconds before all the seats around him had filled. He was just one of those people with blessed auras: everyone wanted to come closer. I listened expectantly, and sure enough there came a peal of laughter from what seemed to be the whole House, all over some witty joke he’d made.

    ‘Ahh—’ sighed my friend from across the table suddenly. I heard the click, click of shoes on stone somewhere behind me but paid them no attention.

    ‘What’re you—?’ I was cut off by a sudden tap on the shoulder, light as spring rain. I turned round in my seat, and who was there, but Rahim himself, in all his glory, for all the world as if he had a halo of golden light framing his body.

    He smiled breathtakingly. You would expect that I, who had seen him day in and day out for years now, would be used to him. But no, it still took me by surprise every time, that a human being could be so immaculate.

    ‘Excuse me,’ he said in his measured, quiet voice. ‘Would it be possible for me to slide in next to you? I need to speak to my brother.’ I blushed profusely, unable to speak, and mumbled to the table what was probably assent, uncomfortably aware that every eye in the Great Hall was turned on me. ‘Thank you,’ he said casually, apparently not miffed at how I had turned into a pool of jelly. He clapped me on the back in goodwill and then seated himself next to me. Not because of me, of course. No, his brother, Reuben, whom I had never much liked, had been sitting on my right. How the two had come from the same mother was beyond anyone’s guess.

    I peeked over my shoulder to see Rahim withdraw a thick envelope from some hidden pocket and slide it over the table to his brother, who took it with shaky hands.

    ‘There you go, then, Reub,’ he was saying. ‘Mum and Dad sent pocket money for the year.’ His brother was silent, perhaps as awed as I was at the mystery of their relation. ‘Well, have a good term then,’ he said, winking, seemingly unaware that his brother sat immobile, staring at his breakfast, never acknowledging him. Perhaps he was just used to such behaviour.

    Smiling, he withdrew himself from the table and strode back to his place further down, where, it seemed, he had been sorely missed.

  9. #9
    Name: XhayleeXblackX
    House: Slytherin
    Point of View: Harry Potter, third person limited.
    Original Character: Maverick Crawford, whom may be found among my drabbles.
    Word Count: 699 in MS Word.
    Harry sat alone at a table in the back of the pub staring into a mug of butterbeer as he waited for his only daughter to arrive. He often presumed this habit when lost in thought. He wasn’t sure why he felt nervous, but, then again, he wasn’t exactly sure why he had agreed to even come at all.

    “Oh, just come. Please, Dad, you’re the one who’s always saying that there is no power greater than love, aren’t you? Just meet us at The Three Broomsticks, please.”

    Lily was the reason he came, it seemed foolish to think otherwise; he could never say no to her, especially at the pleading desperation in her voice. He placed the mug to his lips and drank deeply. He checked his watch for what seemed the hundredth time, and was vaguely deciding to leave when the pub door opened, letting in the bright sunlight as a red-haired girl walked in, closely followed by a boy with hair a much darker shade of red.

    “Hello, Dad,” Lily said, hugging her father. “It’s so good to see you.”

    “And you too, Lily,” he replied.

    “Dad, this is Maverick Crawford. Maverick, this is my dad, Harry Potter,” she announced, gesturing to each of them in turn as she spoke.

    Harry focused his gaze upon Maverick, studying him intently. He was slightly taller than himself, his hair wasn’t as long as Albus had made it out to be, actually short compared to the two feet his son had described to him, and his black eyes held a certain warmth that reminded him vaguely of someone, but he couldn’t figure out whom it could be.

    “I’ll go get us drinks, shall I? And you could do with a new one, too, Dad,” Lily said, and Harry had the distinct feeling that she had left them alone purposely.

    Unexpectedly, Maverick held out his hand and said in a firm voice that clearly gave away his nervousness, “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Potter.”

    Harry shook the boy’s hand, amiably surprised that Maverick had showed such a formal, yet genuine gesture, and politely motioned for him to sit down in the seat across from him.

    “I hope you will excuse my asking, but in light of recent events, I feel it necessary. What exactly are your – er – intentions with my daughter?”

    Maverick’s eyes widened slightly, but he did not flinch otherwise. He sat silently for a moment, before looking across the table and straight into Harry’s own vivid green eyes.

    “Mr. Potter, I assure you that my feelings for Lily are completely genuine. I understand that she has suffered a good deal of pain at my hands, but I am not the same person that I was. I am not the reckless, carefree boy I used to be. I love your daughter, and have nothing but good intentions where she is concerned,” Maverick stated, a confidence in his voice that had to be admired.

    Slightly dumbfounded, Harry continued to stare at Maverick. The confidence and sincerity that he had put behind his words seemed to have settled the matter. He watched as the boy’s eyes started searching for Lily. When they found their target they lit up happily, and Harry realised whom Maverick’s eyes reminded him of: a young Sirius Black, though he was not entirely sure why they did so.

    “I appreciate your words, Maverick, and I will trust that you have indeed changed. However, you should know that I will not take lightly to my only daughter coming home from school with a broken heart and shattered spirit again,” Harry said finally, when Lily could be seen making her way over to their table.

    Maverick nodded his head agreeably and relieved Lily of the three mugs she was carrying. The rest of the hour passed in pleasant conversation and by the end, Harry was thoroughly impressed with his daughter’s choice.

    “I hope to see you again soon, Maverick,” he said as they prepared to depart.

    “And I, you, sir. It was truly a pleasure.”

    As Harry watched them exiting the pub together, a thought suddenly struck him: Maverick had never so much as glanced at his scar.

  10. #10
    The Canon Queen Hufflepuff
    Sirius Black Entered Gryffindor Tower
    mudbloodproud's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jan 2008
    With Sirius on his flying bike
    Name: mudbloodproud
    House: Hufflepuff
    POV: Ron Weasley (First person)
    OC: Skylar (last name withheld for now as I haven't submitted the story yet)
    Word count: 699 according to Microsoft Word
    Warnings: None

    The first time I saw him, he was standing across the street from Grimmauld Place in the little square. He seemed to be watching the house, though I knew he wouldn’t see it as all the protection charms placed on it over the years were still in place.

    He seemed to be around seventeen or eighteen. His hair was dark and a bit on the long side. He was there again a week later as Harry and I prepared for another meeting with Minister Kingsley.

    “Harry, that kid is standing outside again,” I called over to Harry who was trying to stuff a bunch of papers in an old battered briefcase my dad had given him.

    “Harry, did you hear what I said?” I asked, not sure if Harry was paying any attention to me.

    “What? Oh, yeah, I heard you. I’m sure he isn’t a Death Eater, Ron. He’s probably just lost, or waiting for someone.” Harry said to me. I watched as he shoved the remaining papers into the inside pockets of his robes. “We have to get going. We should have been at the Ministry ten minutes ago. If you’re so worried, we’ll Apparate from the top step. No one will see us leave.” Harry stood and walked towards the door.

    “I’m telling you, there is something wrong with that kid,” I stated as I followed Harry into the hall.

    Opening the front door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Harry and I stood side by side on the top step. We both turned on the spot and Disapparated.


    The next time I saw him he was watching Harry and me from outside my brother’s store. As we left the shop, I noticed him walking ahead of us on Diagon Alley.

    “Harry, I know I saw that kid watching the store while we were in there,” I stated emphatically. “Look, there he is up ahead of us. Let’s see where he’s going.” My pace quickened to keep the stranger in sight.

    I watched as he went through the gateway and into the Leaky Cauldron. When we entered, Harry headed towards the bar to ask Tom about him. As Harry talked to Tom, I looked around the room and spotted him sitting in the corner.

    We learned his name was Skylar and he was from America. Tom also said he had been there about a week.

    “Harry, he is staring at us. He hasn’t taken his eyes off us since we came in” I told Harry.

    Harry turned suddenly and walked over to the table where this Skylar was sitting.

    As we drew closer to him, I noticed several things at once. He didn’t seem to be the least bit ashamed at having been caught watching us. I also noticed he looked familiar though where I could know a wizard from America from, I could not figure out.

    His hair was dark brown and his eyes were grey. He didn’t react to our approach.

    “Hi, my name is Harry, Harry Potter. Is there something I can help you with? Are you looking for someone?” I could tell Harry was trying to sound pleasant, but he wasn’t succeeding.

    I saw him hesitate in his answer. ‘He’s hiding something,’ I thought.

    “Actually, I’m looking for you. I have a few questions for you about…” He paused for a brief moment. When he continued, his voice sounded harsh, “my father. I have been told you were with him when he died.”

    His father? Who was his father? I looked closer at him. I had a flash of memory of another man with dark hair and grey eyes. But I knew he had no children.

    I already distrusted this man, now it seemed my distrust was warranted.

    “First off, what’s your name? Who is your father?” Harry’s voice sounded angry. When he sat down across from Skylar, I knew I had better sit next to him, just in case things got out of hand.

    Skylar’s next words deepened my distrust of him. As we stood to follow Skylar upstairs, I pulled my wand out of my pocket. I was worried this was a trap and I was going to be prepared.
    This is a character I have in a WIP I am about to submit the prologue for. This is why I haven't given his last name. Don't want to spoil the surprise in the story.
    Terri Black (as in Mrs Sirius {aka Padfoot} Black)
    Hufflepuff Head of House

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