This week's theme is Diligence.
Enjoy, and use the following form for submissions:
This week's theme is Diligence.
Enjoy, and use the following form for submissions:
Name: Simply Being
Title: Neville's grandmother
Neville sighed deeply as he sunk into his favorite armchair, recalling the previous conversation with his grandmother. Neville’s grandmother always said he wasn’t as good as his father. Neville’s grandmother always said he wasn’t as good as his mother either. Neville’s grandmother said that Neville wasn’t talented. Neville’s grandmother also said he wasn’t good enough And lastly, Neville’s grandmother also always said that Neville just didn’t have what his father had.
But secretly, Neville thought as he closed his eyes wearily, he did have one thing his father had. Neville had diligence. Neville did not care what his grandmother said or thought. Neville had diligence, and he had the determination to keep trying. Neville knew that no matter what, his grandmother would keep criticizing and criticizing, but Neville did not care. Neville had the diligence to keep trying.
Title: Find a Way
Warning: A single, not extremely terrible or profane, expliative
The simple, oaken door appeared to be nothing more than just a door. ‘It’s very well hidden. I’m glad no one else is here. Why didn’t I think of this before?’ Draco wondered as he continued to stare at the simple door.
‘All I do is open the knob and my issues are over. I’ve asked for a place to work, and I’ve got it,’ Draco realized. Tentatively, he grabbed the door handle and stepped into the dank, musty room. Draco instinctively covered his mouth to block the dust, but he coughed into the sleeve of his robe as he entered the room. Like nearly invisible confetti, the dust floated through a the shafts of sunlight that illuminated the room filled with junk.
‘Well, I won’t be found here, and there is certainly enough things to work with,’ Draco realized as he closed the door. With every step causing a micro storm of dust to rise and move like sand blown by the wind, Draco trudged through the rows of junk, looking for anything to give him inspiration.
‘This is degrading,’ Draco thought as he picked up a shattered mirror and stared down at his fractured image in the smudged glass. ‘I shouldn’t be hunting around in some storage room. My plans should’ve worked by now. Damn it, I need to find something!’
Moving on, he picked up a tarnished sword and held it up in the light. ‘If only it were as easy as stabbing,’ Draco mused as he examined the rusted edges of the blade. ‘I’ve tried so hard, and I can’t come close! What will I do if I fail? I can’t go home because there might not be a home. The Dark Lord will come after me . . . and mum. And mum.’
With that thought, Draco placed the blade back on the table and began to comb through the room. At the end of the time he had allotted himself, Draco only managed to root through one of the myriad of rows of junk. With a sigh of dejection, he headed back towards the door at the end of the cavernous storage closet.
Exiting the room, Draco turned back towards the drab door and whispered, “Same time, same place, tomorrow.”
Turning on his heels, he left the room behind. Once again, there was the twisting in his gut that was the voice of his doubts. ‘I’ll do it yet,’ Draco thought, steeling himself. ‘I have to. I can’t quit.’
Title: His Greatest Ambition
~**~The candle’s flame flickered as the night wore on, a nearly-full moon shining down on Hogwarts’ grounds. All throughout the castle, wizards and witches were slumbering peacefully in their beds. Well, almost everyone was asleep. One tall, black haired young man remained in the library, books piled in front of him next to the flickering and slowly dying candle.
He had been searching for weeks at every moment he could, and still, he had not found anything about them, save one obscure reference that was not any help at all. Of course, he knew that the information in Hogwarts would be limited, but he had still hoped, perhaps fruitlessly, that he would at least have found something. As he slammed the book shut in anger, a tiny voice uttered in his mind.
Perhaps the fact that you can’t find it means you shouldn’t do it. Perhaps it’s for the best that the information is not known.
But, like always, the young man pushed the voice from his mind. It was a doubt he had had in the very beginning, but he refused to experience it now. Weeks of effort had been put into this, and the rewards would be far greater when he finally found the information he sought. There was nothing, nothing at all, that would make him give up now.
Then where is the information going to come from? the voice questioned.
Tom Marvolo Riddle smirked as he thought up his answer. “Professor Slughorn,” he muttered under his breath. And with that, he blew out the candle, plunging the library into complete darkness. He had an answer; his weeks of effort and searching would not go to waste, and he knew, without a doubt, that he would succeed in this – his greatest ambition . . . He would cheat death, with only a bit of work, a small amount of diligence.
Title: For Remus
~Megan, who may get another one up before the deadline.“You know, don’t you?” said James, grasping Sirius on the arm as he started to walk off.
“Know what?” he asked.
“Remus's secret. I know you know what he’s hiding.”
“Why? Do you know?”
“We’re never going to get this!” exclaimed Sirius, throwing one of the advanced Transfiguration books across the common room, where it slammed into the wall. “It’s been six months, and the first part isn’t even working right.”
James removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, exhaling a sigh of frustration as he did so. Sirius was right, in a way. They had been working on the transformations for six months, and they were no closer to achieving their goal than they were when they started. He glanced over at Peter for a moment, and the smaller boy was just sitting in one of the chairs, looking back and forth between Sirius and James. Then he got up and went to pick the book up, replacing it on the table.
“But we need to keep trying,” he said. “For Remus.”
Another six months passed, and before they realized it, two years had passed. They were getting closer, but it still wasn’t close enough.
“Two years, James,” said Sirius. “We’ve been trying to get this for two years.”
“But we’re almost there,” replied James, flipping through pages in another of the Transfiguration books scattered on his bed. “According to this chapter, we should be able to transform in a few months.”
“Is it worth it anymore, though?”
“Yes, it is,” James answered, looking up from the book as Peter entered the dormitory. “We need to do it for Remus.”
When 15-year-old Remus Lupin walked into the Gryffindor Common Room, it was to see a black dog, a stag, and a brown rat chasing each other around the scarlet chairs. The look of shock and confusion on his face only intensified when the animals disappeared to be replaced by his three friends, all of whom were doubled over, laughing.
“James? Sirius? Peter?” he asked. They all jumped as they heard his voice. “What’s going on?”
“Well,” said James, and after seeing that the common room was empty, continued. “We found out about your secret, and we decided to do something.”
“We became Animagi,” said Peter. “After a few years of work, we finally achieved it.”
“But why?” muttered Remus.
“For you,” said Sirius. “We did it for you.”
Title: Survivors of a Lost Generation
“Helga, where have you been?” 16-year-old Godric Gryffindor asked as a young girl snuck into the ruins.
“I’m sorry, Mother made me clean the stable,” Helga replied, and nodded to the two other people by the fireside. “Hey Salazar, Rowena.”
“You’re making it a habit, Helga,” Salazar Slytherin said, poking the fire broodily. “You were late yesterday as well.”
“What can I do if I am an only child?” Helga snapped. “I have work to do.”
“We have work to do as well,” Salazar said grumpily. “But we’re coming on time.”
Helga opened her mouth to reply, but Godric cut her off.
“Leave it, Salazar,” he said calmly. “It’s not like we’ve been waiting for hours.”
As Salazar glared at him in response, Rowena took out a book from a bag that lay on the ground.
“Shall we start?” she asked. As everyone nodded, she opened the book. “I thought we should practice Charms today - like conjuring things from the air.”
Salazar snorted. Rowena threw her hair out of her face.
“You don’t like my choice of topic, Salazar?” she asked coldly.
“No,” Salazar replied openly, “I don’t like it at all.”
“What do you think we should be practicing, then?” Helga asked with an air of impatience.
“We should be practicing spells that will help defend ourselves!” Salazar exclaimed as if it was obvious.
“We’ve discussed this several times before,” Godric interrupted with anger leaking in his voice. “Haven’t we agreed that Muggles mean no harm to us? They are too busy fighting each other!”
“Of course they mean harm to us!” Salazar argued heatedly. “A Flame-Freezing Charm would do when they try to burn you, but don’t you know how violent they get if they think someone’s doing magic? My own aunt has been caught, and they almost lynched her! She had to Apparate in front of everyone’s eyes. Now they are even angrier. They will find new ways to be rid of us!”
“Salazar, please.” Rowena cut him off calmly. “People, Muggle or otherwise, fear things they don’t understand. Let’s not spend valuable time arguing. We have to learn how to defend ourselves, but we also need to learn other things. Since there’s no one to teach us advanced spells, we have to do our best. I don’t want my most accomplished spell to be controlling a spoon mixing the soup.”
“We have to develop each of our talents...” murmured Godric.
“...otherwise, we will be a lost generation,” Helga completed softly.
For a minute, only the cracking of fire was heard. Then, Salazar raised his head.
“Fine. We'll learn the charms. But someday, when we've become Masters at our art, we'll be able to teach.”
The three others nodded. That was their plan.
Salazar continued. "And then, I want to be able to do things my way."
“We'll do it.” Godric said with a nod. “We’ll make sure there are no lost generations after us."
"So..." Rowena concluded with a smile, "Here's the wrist movement..."
Title: Neville Longbottom, insomnica
"Stay awake, Neville!" cried a boy with a round face. Every few minutes he pinched himself rather hard on the cheek, and jolted awake again. He was sitting at a table in the Gryffindor Common Room at midnight, and his Potions book was frequently becoming his pillow. It was open to page 348, ironically, the Sleeping Draught.
He looked around the Common Room, and saw he was the only one still awake. All the others, even the older students, had gone to bed already. Sighing to himself, he said, "Neville Longbottom, second year, insomniac due to Professor S. Snape."
It was tempting to go upstairs and climb into his nice, warm bed and fall asleep. But he still had a Potions essay to complete, and was still having trouble with it after three drafts. He had been very good about studying, and up until that week's class had never not had any trouble with the potions. But that week he had done miserably, and therefore needed to write Professor Snape an essay about how to correctly make a Sleeping Draught.
Neville shivered just at the thought of his leas favorite professor and class. And then, as soon as the image of the dungeons with it's oily professor, it was gone. He stood up, stretched, and yawned. "Time for bed, Trevor," Neville said sleepily to his toad.
But no, Trevor was sitting on the Potions book, looking beadily up at his master, daring him to leave the essay incomplete. Neville sighed again and sat back down, determined more than ever to finish the essay. "Alright, I'll try again. Try, try, try again. That's all Neville does," he said to the toad.
Title: For Love or Money
Word Count: 396
"Stupid wench! Can't even wash the dishes without her hands to help her!" her brother jeered.
Merope bent down over the sink, her dank locks hidng her face. Soon, I'll get away from here. So soon.
She finished washing the dishes, and dried her hands, wincing as her calluses caught on the textured fabric. Glancing at her brother who was now engaged in talking to a snake, Merope slipped into her father's room.
I only have a few minutes. He'll be back from talking with Mr. Snape soon.
She hurriedly found the page she was looking for. Her father never thought she had the brains to read his books, but while she was cleaning, she found the time to find...
Here it is. Amortentia. Merope glanced at the page and memorized it. I may not have magic, but I have this skill.
She gaped at the ingredients. Where will I get the money to buy this? How will I escape this house to get them?
She shook her head to herself and shut the book just as her father walked into the room.
"In my room, are you?" he screamed. "Touching those books like you think you're worthy, you Squib!"
He snarled, and Merope felt, rather than saw, his hand hit her cheek. She felt the blood trickle into her eye, felt the bone crunch as she tried to clench her jaw to bite back a scream.
I will make this potion, and Tom will love me. I will get away. No matter how much of myself I have to sell to get the ingredients, or how many beatings I have to take from them.
For a startling moment, Marvolo Gaunt's face changed into Tom Riddle's and the image smiled at her. She smiled back.
Marvolo screamed with rage at her insolence, and slapped her again across the face.
She fought the urge to lash out at him, and instead, scurried by him like the deferent daughter he expected her to be. If she continued to slave away, she would be free to make this potion without suspicion, if not hurt.
All of the pain I'm going through - all of the shame.
Merope began to scrub the kitchen floor, seeing her bedraggled expression in the shiny reflection of the suds. I will do it - no matter what it takes. He will love me.
Name: wendelin the wierd
Warnings: Character Death.
Title: I'll Always Fight For You
Bitter winds blew biting every inch of her bare skin. She still walked on.
Ron had told her never to give up, never to waver, but he was gone now. She was empty, left only with an endless black void inside her, eating her slowly from within, like poison. She knew she would just fade away, be lost in the endless sea of people, each of them nameless, faceless.
He was gone, but she could not live with that. She would not live with that. He was gone…but was his spirit gone too? She knew that his spirit still resided in each grain of sand she walked on, the trees she touched, in the walls shrouding her, in the faces of the strangers, but in her heart?
Grieved by his death, she would throw herself to the winds, letting fate decide which way to carry her, thinking about his memory, not him.
No, she wouldn’t let that happen, she couldn’t let that happen. Everything he stood for, his principles, his passions, his dreams, she would never let them be blown away with so much ease. He had died fighting, and so would she for she would never ever let his spirit die.
No matter what.
‘I’ll always fight for you, Ron.” she whispered softly. “I’ll always fight for you.”
Well, finally I managed to get through this poem. I knew it was there - but stuff like this takes time to... stew.
And I've just noticed that almost everything's a poem with me lately. *Blink*
But this particular one is from Percy's point of view, and is what he consciously thinks to himself (as opposed to embarassment, fear, denial, and 'etc' with the deeper subconscious) as time passes and the Ministry's catching on and realising that Dumbledore was right all along.
Basically - it's about Percy and how he reckons his decisions are of diligence, as opposed to pride and stubborn-ness.
House: Ravenclaw to the proverbial bone.
Warnings: ... uh, poetry?
Words: 348 words
To turn back, to return to them.
The desire within me is great.
To be comforted, and comfortable.
To start over with them. Clean slate.
To step back, to return to them.
I wonder, had I one wish,
Would I choose to choose a family?
That would be easy… ish.
To flip back, to return to them.
That might be what I’d do.
Might lose my loss, start again,
Have parents –siblings too.
But this is not reality,
But fanciful thoughts of mine,
And I chose practicality,
And chose family to decline.
I chose to choose this path,
And it will take me far.
One day, I will be taller,
I could reach any star.
I chose to choose this path.
This path, I will thus take.
I will follow to the end.
All for success’s sake.
I chose to choose this path,
If nothing else, for me.
I knew what would occur,
And I chose insightfully.
Thus, I choose the clever choice,
And from here on in I stay,
Always loyal to Ministry.
I’ll fight another day.
Thus, I choose the clever choice,
To keep with what I’ve done.
I have done no wrong, and so,
It’s not my place to run.
Thus, I choose the clever choice.
To succeed – it is my right.
Always have I toughed it out,
I work, day and night.
No matter if, now and then,
A thread of doubt I feel.
I stuck to ink and pen,
To what was proven to be real.
My choices, they will see me through,
Though it’s hard now, I’ll agree.
For me, it will surely work out.
I chose the guarantee.
I choose to choose the ink and pen,
Despite what I might feel.
I choose the stone, the signature.
I choose what is real.
To turn back, to return to them.
It’s hard to know what to do.
I want comfort – to be comfortable.
With parents – siblings too.
I stick it out, just for me.
So ‘bout Percy they will say,
Despite loved ones and his family,
He wasn’t led astray.
Name: Sly Severus
Tonks focused on the various pixies rushing around the room. After a moment she raised her wand and began to knock them from the air. A wide smile spread across her face. She had managed to subdue the whole lot of them in under a minute.
She was about to awaken the pixies and try again when her bedroom door squeaked opened. Her mother slipped into the room, staring at the various pixie bodies on her daughter’s floor.
“What are you doing?” she asked, cautiously.
“Practicing for the Auror’s exam. I have to show great talent in Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
“Honey, it’s Christmas Eve,” Andromeda said, shaking her head. “You can practice later. Come downstairs and enjoy the holidays.”
“I will,” she replied, “but I need to get this perfect. Just give me five more minutes.”
Andromeda sighed. “You shouldn’t work so hard. You’ll do fine on the test. If you’re sure this is what you want.”
“I’m sure,” Tonks told her, “and I’ll be down in just a few minutes. I promise.”
Andromeda sighed and nodded.
Tonks returned her attention to the pixies, determined to beat her own time record.