Page 1 of 2 12 LastLast
Results 1 to 10 of 15

Thread: Weekly Drabble Challenge 3

  1. #1

    Weekly Drabble Challenge 3

    Sorry for the lateness of this one...

    This week we will be Drabbling about Glory. What it means, what it feels like etc etc all from the POV of a canon character.

    Drabbles must be 500 words long and the winners will be awarded 15, 10 and 5 points respectively. Due next Sunday.

    Use the following form for submissions:


  2. #2


    Title: Masquerade
    Name: MorganRay
    Words: 473
    Warning: none
    House: Hufflepuff

    I combed out my delicate, silvery blond locks as I gazed at myself in the mirror. I kept combing out my hair as I studied my thin nose and perfectly placed cheekbones. There was just enough color in my cheeks to make me look cheery, but my skin still had that porcelain pale look to it. My lips, the loveliest part of my face, remained full and plump as I continued to rake the comb through my tresses.

    However, if one looked into my eyes, they would see more than just a vapid beauty. I wore my mask of loveliness, my best weapon, to win the world to my side. Underneath, in the very depths of my eyes, the light of an intelligent person could be seen. That was me, the essential desires of my soul, in the very depths of my eyes that most people couldn’t reach.

    For a while, I wondered why people couldn’t touch that part of me that longed to excel and be a true woman. Then, I knew that part of me, that escapes even a second or third glance, is so sacred that I could never let it go or allow just anyone view me as I really am. Under the pretty mask, I am driven, but I conceal it because I’m not for everyone to understand. Even as I apply a small amount of neutral eye shadow to my eyelids to complete my Veela façade, I can see the burning in the depths of my eyes.

    Now, more people may see the woman inside of me. I fear revealing myself, but I embrace the challenge all the same. I hold my head proud because I am the only woman in the Triwizard Tournament. No other woman was chosen to compete side by side with men, or in this case, boys. Despite all the girls who call me a whore and a harlot, I am the only woman standing as a champion.

    As I apply the right amount of rouge to my cheeks, I imagine myself holding a trophy that sparkles in the sun. I want victory to prove that I am more than the loveliest girl with the gaggle of guys following her every step. Yes, I have a lovely face, but I will not be a fairy princess or the damsel in distress. I will slay my own dragons, quite literally, thank you.

    With the finishing touch of lipstick, I am ready to face the world. Yes, I look quite nice, but it’s only a mask. My every nerve is tense, and my entire body tingles as I dream about standing alone in front of everyone. With the rush of fear and the pulsing of adrenaline in my veins, I smile serenely, and a thrill comes over my senses.

    I am ready.

    I am determined.

    I am a champion.

  3. #3
    Name: myownmuggle
    House: Ravenclaw
    Title: Plain Old Ron Weasley
    Warnings: Only a happy ending
    Words: 409

    I’ll never be Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived. I’ll never be famous. I’ll always be just plain old Ron Weasley with hand-me-down robes and dirt on my nose.

    Despite the noise around him, those words echoed in Ron’s head over and over. It was just like hearing that awful “Weasley is Our King” song. In fact, the words had the same irritating, sing-songy pattern. Ron shook his head vigorously in an effort to make the sound and the words disappear. The shaking only made his hair stick up at funny angles and the noise grow louder.

    Weasley is Our King
    He never lets the Quaffle in…

    Ron opened one eye, just a tiny bit, hoping people weren’t about to start throwing things at him. Almost immediately; however, he discovered that people were throwing things. Just not at him. Ron opened both eyes and the crowd around him erupted in cheers.

    I’ll never be Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived. I may never be famous. I’ll always be plain old Ron Weasley with hand-me-down robes and dirt on my nose. But today I’m the Gryffindor Quidditch Keeper and we won the Quidditch Cup!

    The words were much more pleasant this time and Ron quickly lost himself in the crowd, singing new verses of "Weasley is Our King" and doing a frantic dance. He’d never been happier in his life. He was nobody’s brother, sidekick, or best friend. Tonight he was Ron Weasley, Quidditch Hero, and he was going to enjoy every little bit of glory he could absorb. Tonight he would be Harry Potter.

    “Ron-” a familiar voice whispered fiercely in his ear.

    “Hermione! Where have you been? We won! Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup! I can’t believe-” Ron’s elated speech was quickly cut short as he felt Hermione grip his arm like a vise. The colour drained from his face as he looked into her eyes.

    “Ron,” Hermione said seriously, reaching for his hands. He stood very still, a nearly impossible task in the melee that surrounded them.

    “Hermione, what’s-” Hermione silenced Ron by placing one finger on his lips.

    She twisted and wrung her hands like wet laundry, kissed him swiftly on the lips and fled the common room without being able to say another word.

    Ron started to feel dizzy as a rampaging Hippogriff began jumping from his stomach to his chest. His ears turned bright red and a huge grin spread across his face. So this is what glory felt like…

  4. #4
    Title: Cedric the Great
    Name: stareyed_in_LA
    Words: 418
    Warning: Mild cursing.
    House: Gryffindor

    My fate was decided by my decision, the persuasion of my friends, my dreams of becoming a hero, and by an ancient goblet. I entered to be in the Triwizard Tournament, and now, I am the one who will represent the House of Hufflepuff and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I and three others, a Beabaxtons girl, a Durmstrang guy, and another fellow student from Hogwarts, will be forced to overcome three death defying tasks in order to achieve honor, glory, fame, and fortune beyond our wildest dreams.
    Is this what I want? Death? No. Wealth? Maybe. Glory? Yes. Absolutely yes! Above all these rewards, I want glory. I want honor. I want to be more than just a pretty face on the Quidditch pitch. I want to show the world that Hufflepuff is more than just a house of rejects, sissies, and losers.
    But can I achieve that? Can I survive these tasks and still come out a hero?
    My friends treat me as if I am a god. They worship the ground that I tread upon. They want to do my homework and carry my books for me. They follow me like how crazy girls stalk their favorite musicians. It’s kind of cool, but extremely annoying. If you asked them, they would tell you that that was glory; being treated as a god. They would like that a lot. They want to be revered like rock gods and sports stars. But not me. That is not my idea of glory. I do not want to be a bloody celebrity. I want just want to make it out of this gladiators fight alive.
    My definition of glory is standing in front of everyone, friends, family, classmates, and strangers even; raising that prized Triwizard Cup above my head. Glory is hearing the millions of cheers from the crowd like how they do after a rare Quidditch victory. Having people finally knowing who you are and never forgetting who you are. Having a place in history, that is glory. Being praised like the heroes of the Roman amphitheaters, who like me, who faced a lot of dangerous tasks in order to live to tell the tale, who survived the gladiator fights and lion fights they were forced to compete in to later become the idols of ancient Rome, that is glory.
    If I should emerge from this gladiator’s war in victory, then I want to be forever revered as Cedric the Great like the Roman warriors of old.

  5. #5
    Sly Severus
    Name: Sly Severus
    House: Slytherin
    Title: Glory -- Faulted
    Warnings: Character Death
    Words: 232

    He glared down his nostrils at the motionless redhead. She was nothing but a foolish girl. He had given her every opportunity to save her own life. Yet, she had continued to fight. Like an idiot, she clung to the child, as if he would keep her safe. It seemed she was irrational enough to believe that such an action could stop him.

    He would not be stopped by anyone. This was his moment. He would kill the child. Then his position would be secured. There would be no one to stop him. He would finally be able to cleanse the world of the unclean, and purebloods would take their rightful place.

    Peering into the crib, he sneered. The child was clearly nothing special. He sat there with unruly black hair looking up, as though all was well in the world. The child had no idea that he was about to die. He would die so that he, the Dark Lord, could always live. He would die for the glory of the oppressed pureblood race.

    He raised his wand, and spoke the familiar incantation, “Avada Kedavra.”

    The welcoming green jet burst from his wand, but it did not kill the now whimpering child. Instead, it hit him, and returned to the looming man. He fell to the floor, weakened, but not dead. He climbed away into the darkness, his ultimate glory, faulted.

  6. #6
    Name: Pondering
    House: Ravenclaw
    Title: My Promised Glory
    Warnings: N/A
    Words: 420

    When I joined the Death Eaters they promised me glory. They promised me that I would take part in the cleansing of the world, obliterate all the Mudbloods, Muggles and Muggle-lovers dirtying it.

    I joined; foolishly thinking that I would be treated as an equal, for was I not a pureblood, just like them? But then I learned who our Lord truly was. I learnt that the Dark Lord was just a half-blood. What did it matter that he claimed to have the blood of Salazar Slytherin in his veins? The Dark Lord was just a half-blood.

    I had been shocked when I had made that discovery. I didn’t want to serve him anymore. My blood was purer than his, for I was a member of the House of Black! He should be serving me! I could not leave the Dark Lord’s service, however much I desired to. There was only one way to leave the Death Eaters. That way was death.

    I shook myself out of my reprieve, for the task at hand required concentration. My legs shook like jelly underneath me as I tailed the person I had been assigned to ‘eradicate’.

    But could I really do it? For this was not just another Muggle to torture, this was more than mere grunt work.

    I had been assigned to kill my own brother. Sirius Black.

    As a child, I had always admired my older brother. He had seemed so strong, so brave; I had always felt safe in his company. Then he went to Hogwarts and became a Gryffindor, leaving mother and father wondering where they had gone wrong.

    And now I had to kill him. It would be by far simpler if I didn’t have these images running through my mind.

    Sirius, five years old. Giving me his ice-cream after I had dropped mine. Sirius, seven years old, defending me from my parents after I had wrecked some ‘precious heirloom’.

    With these pictures running through my mind, it made me feel sick to my stomach to even think of killing him, like some animal. With a churning sea for a stomach, and spaghetti for legs, I sat down heavily before I could fall. I could not do this. I had gone too far.

    It was time to hand in my resignation to the Death Eaters. I hoped that with my death, I would receive the glory that was promised to me, the glory that I had been denied for so long.

    I would finally receive my glory.

  7. #7
    Name: Whittyleah
    House: Gryffindor
    Title: Glory is Nothing
    Warnings: Character Death
    Words: 325




    That is all he ever wanted, to be known and successful. He did all he could to get to the top. He got coffee, sent paperwork, ignored his boss calling him the wrong name, and even betrayed his family.

    Now, it was finished, the war was over. The Ministry, in the end, did more harm then good. He was part of it. His blindness to anything but his own glory brought this…this carnage.

    It was the day after the war and a group of people stood outside what was left of Hogwarts, saying good-bye to those who died.

    ‘If we had sent Auror’s to help earlier, instead of ignoring Harry and the Order…so many would still be alive,’ he thought to himself as Professor McGonagall stood and listed the departed.

    He tuned her out until she said, “Arthur Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Fred Weasley, Ronald Weasley…”

    He stopped listening as she continued down the list. He looked towards the front where a group of redheads stood, huddled together, grieving. His heart fell, he wished with everything in him that he could be in that huddle, but he had given that up.

    The ceremony ended and people started leaving, he cast one last wishful glance at the grieving family before heading towards the Apparition point.


    His red haired head turned at the sound of his name. His mother stood just a few meters from him, her face stained with tears.

    “Mum,” he answered lightly. Percy looked at the ground, fighting tears. Glancing at her he cleared his throat and tried to talk, but a sob caught his throat and he could not say a word.

    “Percy,” she said again in a soft, loving voice and wrapped her arms around him. He looked into her eyes, seeing understanding and forgiveness, he stiffly fell into her arms and let tears come.

    She stroked his hair and he realised, ‘Glory is nothing when you are alone.’

  8. #8
    Seventh Year Ravenclaw
    Attending a Deathday Party
    Gmariam's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2006
    Wales (I wish)
    Name: Gmariam
    House: Ravenclaw
    Title: A Glory Dimmed
    Warnings: None
    Words: 372

    Salazar turned to gaze one last time at the castle he had helped build, the school he had helped begin. For a few short years Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had been a glorious place where young witches and wizards had come to learn their craft. Their goal of a strong, unified vision for passing on magical learning and wisdom to the next generation had been realized beyond their wildest dreams. The wizarding community had looked to Hogwarts for guidance and direction, and the four founders had been only too willing to give it, rising to become the greatest among their fellows, leaders with power and influence.

    The splendor of Hogwarts was short-lived. The founders disagreed on who should be taught. Salazar believed that magic must be preserved among magical families above all costs, and that only pure-blood students should be admitted to the school. The others felt that magic was a gift which should be acknowledged and tutored in all students, regardless of their birth. The castle had soon become overrun with Muggle-borns and half bloods, polluting the school with their very blood.

    Finally Salazar could stand it no longer. The grand vision he had once shared with the others was now tainted, a delusion from the past. He could not continue to support them, and had left the school, disappointed in his quest to pass on his knowledge to those most deserving of it. Yet he had found a way to ensure that one would come who was worthy of his wisdom. He left behind assurance that Hogwarts would one day be purged of all those unworthy of magical instruction; his vision would be realized, however far in the future that might be.

    The stars were bright, the moon full. Together they cast their milky white light upon the castle, illuminating the grounds he had once tread in full confidence, but would walk no more. Salazar sighed as he gazed for the last time upon Hogwarts. His dark cloak billowed in the summer breeze as he turned and left behind his greatest achievement, and his greatest failure. Its glory might be dimmed, but would one day be restored. Until that day, he would continue on his own, alone.

  9. #9
    Name: crazy_purple_hp_freak
    House: Slytherin
    Title: Doing this for glory
    Warnings: Self injury/violence
    Words: 494


    He wanted it. Wanted so badly to be the one the Dark Lord really valued; wanted so badly to be the one he really trusted. He wanted to be important for once, to have a real role. A vital role.

    It was nearly time. Darkness had gradually fallen from dusk, and the night was now illuminated by the scattering of twinkling stars, and the pale glow of the crescent moon far above. The cemetery reeked of the dead; the musty smell of damp soil saturated the air as dark steam rose from the magnificent cauldron set in front of the largest grave.

    Tonight was his chance, his one opportunity. He could do this; and turn everything around. He could do this, and the Dark Lord would be powerful again. Powerful enough to give him glory.

    It was time, and a sudden flash of light struck the centre of the yard as two boys fell to the ground; clutching a large golden cup.

    “Avada Kedavra!”

    He could do this. He had killed before, and now he had nothing to lose. What did he care about the insignificant life of a minor? What did he care, as long as he’d have glory. Killing the boy was mandatory; a necessity; part of his task.

    He would do it soon. Do it before the traitors returned; those who had long abandoned their Master and now sought to return to their shelters under his shadow. They would have none of his glory.

    The potion only needed three more ingredients; flesh, blood, bone.

    He could hear his master yelling for him to hurry. He could hear the screams of the enemy, as the boy choked with pain. He could hear the potion, its overwhelming heat almost burning his skin; bubbling energetically, spitting and frothing blood red. It was nearly time.

    The knife was in his hands, the dagger’s blade piercingly sharp, glinting under the dim light. He could see that it would do its job, do it quickly, do it right.

    One by one, the other ingredients went in. His master was already there, ready to be restored, ready to receive his gift; receive it and give him glory.

    Bone of the father.

    Blood of the enemy.

    He brought his hand up, over his head, gripping the dagger tightly as his knuckles turned livid white.

    “Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master.”

    In a swift stroke, he brought the dagger down, piercing his arm in one forceful movement.

    Peter lay on the ground, clutching his wrist, sobbing with pain. Inwardly, he could feel no pain, none at all. As hot blood steadily soaked into the soil, dripped down his arm, seeped into his robes, Peter could only feel one thing. It rushed through his body in an exhilarating instant. It was alive as it pulsed through his veins.

    He had given his right hand for this; given himself, and now he had his reward.


  10. #10
    Name: Fuzzy Muffins
    House: HufflePuff
    Title: Grading Glory

    As I shuffled, through old papers, my mind became accustomed to the O on the top of each paper.
    Long ago, when I had first entered fifth year, an O meant something. It was a pen-and-paper trophy, a sign that made the heart swell. Now it had just become another essential mark on the parchment, along with my name and date.
    They don’t mean anything anymore. They once were a sign of achievement; a sign of my best work. Work that I was proud of. Now the small circle on the top of my paper that I had held in such high regard had become a sign of the norm.
    These pieces of writing that I had spent hours on stared back at me as if a stranger had written them. I had not written this section on transfiguring a bird into a mammal; McGonagall had. McGonagall should have gotten credit for this and yet she gave me an O.
    Once I had written a unique essay for History of Magic. I had disagreed with Professor Binns on the reasons for the many goblin rebellions. He had blamed it on the non-conformist nature of goblins, while I wrote my essay blaming the oppressive nature of wizards. I had gotten a P on that essay.
    O is a funny letter. It is a perfect circle. Every circle is exactly the same in symmetry. Try to make one different from the rest and it is no longer a circle. Perfection is a funny thing too. Once you have a perfect piece of work, you cannot change it, or it will no longer be perfect.
    Oh how I wish there was some other grade in there, to break the monotony. Smiling, I remember when Harry got his Potions essay on antidotes back. He had taken in the P on top and, without hesitating, put it into his bag. I wish I could do that, put my grades aside in a small bag without worrying about them.
    Harry never got Os, except in Defense Against the Dark Arts. And yet, I am envious of him. Frankly, he is the most popular kid at school and doesn’t even work for it. I am “the weird girl with the books Harry Potter talks to”.
    I wanted something more than a mark on a paper. I want to do something that will help others, not just me. I want people to say: “Wow, that Hermione Granger is a great girl,”. I want the glory of having something behind me, something that I can truly I have done.
    Zero, Zero, Zero.

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts