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Thread: Weekly Drabble Challenge 3

  1. #11
    Ebil Gato Loco Ravenclaw
    He's The Dog... He's An Animagus...
    mugglemathdork's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2006
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    retired to EbilVille
    Posts
    1,307
    Name: mugglemathdork
    House: Ravenclaw
    Title: The Glory of Heroes
    Word Count: 257
    Warnings: None

    He felt the power of the cheering crowd coursing through his body; it was an intoxicating feeling.
    To yield such power – it was his dream. To beckon such glory – his ambition.
    The stands below him vibrated with life, as the fans screamed themselves hoarse for their victor – their Seeker; they had won the Quidditch Cup.
    The thought of achieving such glory sent shivers down his spine; to be glorified, cheered, and respected by all.
    He enjoyed the feeling that overtook his senses; allowing himself a moment to detach from the person he really was.
    The cries of deference were deafening to his ears.

    Unlike the glory his ‘father’ often spoke of, the glory currently emanating from the cheering students was powerful. It spoke volumes about the victor – he was truly respected for his skills, style, and charisma. Instead of having others fear him, he was revered here. However, the cold realization that this kind of glory would never be his was evident as the chanting of the victor’s name reached his ears: “Potter.”

    No, this wasn’t his glory to take in, or enjoy. He was nothing more than a Malfoy. His glory awaited him in the form of the vile Dark Mark currently taking residence in his arm. Yes, he would never know this type of glory. His glory was in the form of gruesome torture, killings, and demeaning human interaction; that was the glory he would vaguely achieve as a Death Eater.

    Draco Malfoy knew that true power, and true glory was reserved only for heroes.


    I've left moddom/fandom...though don't be surprised if I get caught lurking once in a blue moon.
    All questions pertinent to Ravenclaw need to be sent to ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor
    If you wish to keep in touch, feel free to friend me on LJ - I don't friend anyone under the age of 18. Sorry!

    Otherwise, so long, and thanks for all the fish!



  2. #12
    AsphodelWormwood
    Guest
    Name: asphodelwormwood
    House: Gryffindor
    Title: To Bottle Glory...
    Word Count: two or three hundred?
    Warnings: None...
    I told the first years, every time... They would learn to bottle glory, brew fame, and put a stopper to death... All of which I thought were possible. I thought I could do any of those things, but I was wrong. What glorification did I get from brewing the potion to hide Voldemort's locket?

    None.

    The only time... The only time I've ever basked in the light of fame was in my sixth year, potions. I was a genius, and Professor Slughorn only recognized that once, too busy favoring his "Slug Club."

    If anyone could bottle glory, I'd like to know how. All of my life, I've been Greasy-Haired Snape. Students hated me, I had no friends, and was on the verge of death with the Dark Lord. And for killing one of the greatest wizards of all time....

    I was hated more.

    I know now... glory isn't obtained by brewing something, it is achieved by hard work, doing a deed that has touched the lives of many people... or it could even be just getting that 'O' on your O.W.L.'s. Whatever it is...

    You can't obtain it alone.
    I'm really sorry if this is kind of bad... I was jumbling my ideas together a bit.

  3. #13
    coppercurls
    Guest
    Name: coppercurls
    House: Hufflepuff
    Title: The Scent of Glory
    Word count: 498
    Warnings: none

    Neville listened dully to his Grandmother's praise as she boasted to the latest journalist from the Daily Prophet, a young woman with enormous spectacles, about his role in the battle at the Ministry. According to her version, he seemed to say and do a great many things he couldn’t remember ever doing.

    “And you, young man. How are you enjoying the glory you earned at the Ministry?” she asked suddenly.

    Neville stared at her stupidly for a moment. Glory? he thought. This isn’t glory. I broke my wand and broke my nose, certainly no glory in that. I couldn’t stop the hurts from happening; I couldn’t keep anyone from dying. Not glory, but ineptitude. I don’t know what glory is.

    He opened his mouth to correct her and she leaned forward in expectation. A sudden whiff of fragrance, the sweet scent of her perfume drifted past his nose and laced with the scent of a ghost long past.

    His first year in herbology, Professor Sprout had just shown them the new flower she had bred, pinwheel peonies. It awed Neville, he dreamed at night about creating plants, vast gardens appearing under his fingers, until his desire was so strong he thought he would burst from longing.

    He began by collecting seeds from the patch of violets under the willow by the lake. Every day he watched it carefully, watering it, feeding it, renewing the spells that would help it to grow just so. Taller and taller it grew, a bud forming at the top. He couldn’t wait for it to be revealed. His ambitions were high; it would be a violet that smelled like a rose with petals the shade of the dusky sky.

    It bloomed on a Saturday at dawn, a bedraggled four-petaled flower the hue of faded lavender. Only the scent was as sweet as the dew on an early morning. It was Christmas, and downstairs Gran was shouting for him to hurry up. Quickly tucking the plant in his pocket he prepared to visit his parents.

    It was a bad day. His mum was more vacant than usual; nothing would distract her from carefully folding and unfolding a scrap of paper into smaller and smaller rectangles. In desperation, Neville pulled the flower from his pocket and held it out to her. She eyed it uncertainly for a moment while he said, “I made this, Mum. All by my self I made this.”

    She reached out a tentative finger and stroked the velvet petals. A smile blossomed on her face as she took the pot from his hands and gently kissed the upturned face of the flower. Still smiling, she handed him a gum wrapper and walked back to her bed, rocking the pot gently.


    Shaking his head gently to dislodge the memory, Neville smiled gently at the reporter, this poor woman who knew so little. “It was not glory,” he said mildly. “Glory is a smile where none was before, the scent of a flower.”

  4. #14
    Pheonix song
    Guest
    Name : Pheonix song
    House Hufflepuff
    Title: Check mate
    Word count: 500
    Warnings:maybe. . .peril?

    Note: I edited it a tad bit today, I hope that's alright.
    My first time writing Ron, hope its tolerable!

    Harry was unconscious, maybe dead. They had to get him out of here; they had to get themselves out of here.
    Unforgivables were flying over their pathetic cover like a fireworks display, in their light Ron could see his surroundings as if someone had flipped a switch. He studied it like the battlefield of one of his chess games.

    They were a measly ten feet from the exit, from there Hermione could deapperate Harry and herself out of here. That is if she could concentrate. . .

    Her face was red and wet with tears, she wasn’t crying about her own fate. Hermione would let them torture her into insanity before she would give death eaters that pleasure. Harry still wasn’t moving, and they warrant sure if he was breathing.

    Ron thought about the grim options, he had been in a game like this one some seven years ago, then he had had to clear the way so that Harry could save the sorcerers stone. Now his friends needed a destraction if they were getting out, if the Dark Lord was ever to be defeated.

    Ron knew that sometimes in chess you had to sacrifice certain pieces to assure victory. Sometimes it was necessary to loose one to save the others.

    He had never considered himself very brave, and knew that he wasn’t anything special when it came to power. But he had always done what he could to help and protect his friends and family and he would not fail them now.

    Taking a deep breath he looked to Hermione “When you get the chance, take Harry and run”

    She only had a second to realize what this meant before Ron leaped from behind the cover, casting a shield charm as he flew.

    Ron had never experienced the sensation that now seared through his veins. It wasn’t fear, though he had everything to be afraid of. It was like winning the house cup or making a save in quiditch.

    Perhaps this was glory.

    As Ron ran, dodging the curses his thought’s somehow became clearer. He had always seen himself without glory; he was only the youngest Weasley brother or Harry Potter’s sidekick.

    But perhaps he had been looking at it all wrong.

    A blue beam connected with Ron’s stomach. He hit the ground hard, but only felt the curse as it seared through him like a wave.

    He had always thought of glory as doing better than his brothers or being the hero, things he couldn’t seem to do.
    He saw now that glory isn’t always about fame and fortune. That kind of glory is easily attained, easily forgotten and usually lasts until the money runs out.

    Glory isn’t always about winning or saving the day, sometimes it’s about something much harder. Going in knowing that you will fail, but doing it anyway to save what’s most important to you.

    Ron heard a distinct pop and knew Hermione had deapperated, his friends were gone. They were safe.

    “Check mate”

  5. #15
    MithrilQuill
    Guest
    Thanks to myownmuggle for reminding that I still hadn't announced the winners for this one.


    Let me just say that each and every one of them was totally awesome!


    *drumroll*


    First place:



    Glory is Nothing by wittyleah


    Second Place:


    Scent of Glory by coppercurls


    Third Place:


    Grading Glory by FuzzyMuffins
    and
    Glory of Heroes by mugglemathdork



    Excellent work guys, you made me proud in this challenge and I thouroughly enjoyed reading them!

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