Hooray, it's May! ~Anniversary Challenge~

[Liandrin]

Name: Lia
House: Ravenclaw
Title: Time
Word Count: 476
Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd Year/None
A/N: Ah, the Switzerlands of war ...

+ + +

Outside they are toasting to the fallen with cheers and smiles and tears and tales of bravery and heroism. War stories. Stories of triumph and glory. She, however, remains indoors, alone with her thoughts and her sorrow.

It has been a year since she last saw him, sitting alone at the Slytherin table, brooding as usual. He always had the look of a man hunted, lost and found, driven and hopeless, all in the same breath. A man – a boy – conflicted with choices, yet never making any. A slave to the incessant reasoning of his own beautiful mind.

The months have passed quickly; so quickly, in fact, that she wonders if she imagined it all: the war, the senseless deaths, the allegiances formed and broken in the blink of an eye. It has all blurred before her vision like a fleeting image, like the flap of a hummingbird's wings – too quick to catch with the naked eye. The days between the months have stretched out, linear and predictable, and jarred like shards of glass beneath her feet.

He has dropped clean off the face of the earth, and his departure has left an ache in parts of her that she had not even known were empty. The void in her heart, though, cannot so easily be filled. He has dissolved into the blood and water of her dreams, and maybe it is safer that way. Safer, but without closure, without substance …

Time has become slow and cold. Not even the parades in the streets can do anything to lift her spirits or warm her heart to the possibility of change, of good triumphing over evil, of a day – of a life – saved. Instead, she sits in front of the window and waits for him to return – waiting on a hope and a prayer and on a miracle that will never happen. And this thought of him never returning to her sends a panic racing through her heart; fears begins to spread like rumours, ballooning until they takes over everything, including her last screed of hope.

She knows that war changes a person: makes one reflect on who one is, where one is going, and who one has the potential to be. And the ending of war can bring peace, no doubt, a certain optimism and hope that cannot be easily taken away. But that peace – that hope – does not apply to everyone. In war there are winners and there are losers; there are those who celebrate and those who mourn. For some, the war is not over yet. Perhaps it never will be. For it takes time to heal the soul, as it takes time and dedication to change.

No, she will not weep for the fallen. Not yet. For not all the soldiers have returned home.

[Equinox Chick]

May the second is, of course, an important date in the Harry Potter calender. Here in The Three Broomsticks, we like to raise a glass to the Fallen, as well as those who fought and survived the Battle of Hogwarts.

Your challenge this month is not a new one. But I hope with the vast crop of newbies, you'll like this and want to participate.

I want you to write a drabble concerning one of the anniversaries of the Battle of Hogwarts. You may write in any tense and any POV, as long as it takes place on the anniversary - so that's May 2nd.

The Catch: You cannot write from these POV's:
Harry
Hermione
Anyone born with the surname Weasley.

They can be mentioned in the drabbles, but you cannot write from their viewpoint.


Remember ... not everyone will be celebrating.

Points ...

I'm going to give 5 participation points this month as well as 15 for first place, 10 for second, and 5 for third. If we don't get enough quality drabbles, then we won't necessarily award a first place etc.

Form for your drabble:

[B]Name:[/B]
[B]House:[/B]
[B]Title:[/B]
[B]Word Count:[/B]
[B]Ratings/Warnings:[/B]
[B]A/N:[/B] 

Because this is a monthly, the word count has been extended to 750 words. Please take into account all MNFF submission guidelines.

This competition will close on May 31st at 10pm( BST)

Good Luck and Happy Anniversary.




The Barmaids

[MadEyeMaddy]

Name: MadEyeMaddy
House: Gryffindor
Title: A Bittersweet Anniversary
Word Count: 296
Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd
A/N: Dead Remus and Tonks POV. I don't know if this is too short or not...

He smiled down from the clouds at the hazy image of his son. He turned to his wife, who laid a hand on his shoulder.

“You know what today is, don’t you?”

“Of course. I’ll never forget.”

Remus watched as his fourteen year old son’s eyes glistened with tears. He was reading the letter his they had written him when he was just a few days old.

Ted,

If you’re reading this, your mother and I just wanted to let you know that we love you. We are so proud of the man you are becoming. Something has happened to us, and we knew this was a possibility when we engaged in the war. It was for your safety. Life will be hard this way, we know. Growing up without your parents is most definitely not an easy task, but your godfather went through the same thing and he is the bravest, strongest, most brilliant man I know.

Nymphadora and I wanted to fight for a better world for you to live in. We wanted you to live in a world where you could be yourself, without being threatened by anyone or anything. And even though we may not be around to live in it, we are so glad that you are.
Please remember that we are never far away, maybe just out of sight for awhile.

With all the love we have,

Remus and Nymphadora Lupin

The husband and wife both wanted more than anything to be with their son on this day; the anniversary of their death. They wanted to be with him and explain the battle and how they had both died together.

“He’ll understand,” whispered Tonks softly.

May second was supposed to be a day of celebrating, but instead it was bittersweet.

[Northumbrian]

Name: Northumbrian
House: Ravenclaw
Title: Remembrance
Word Count: 100
Ratings/Warnings: None
A/N: I’m new to this drabble thing, but 100 words seems, to me, to be the classic length. If I’m wrong, let me know.

Remembrance

Look at them.

Self-satisfied, smug, and yet they are crying. Why? They won!

Mother ordered me to be polite and remorseful.

We’ve lost wealth, power and status because of them, and I must show remorse!

Father is broken, useless; I don’t know what Mother really thinks. She comforts her sister, and she cries. Her tears appear genuine.

Fortunately, Potter carries the mewling werewolf pup!

The buck-toothed Mudblood has her face buried in Weasley’s chest, his sobbing sister is supported by Saint Potter.

‘Why are they crying?’ I wonder.

‘They’ve lost people they love, Draco,’ Mother tells me. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

[CoolCatElly]

Name: CoolCatElly
House: Hufflepuff
Title: Mending the past.
Word Count: 370
Ratings/Warnings: 1-2nd, implied violence
A/N: Inspired by Jess.

Just breathe, Katie, just breathe, I try and tell myself. The whole room has gone breathless in anticipation, filling the air with an electric sense of tension and excitement. I let my eyes flicker to Leanne’s face, flushed with pleasure. George is next to her, beaming, holding Angela’s hand. I look away, a fresh ripple of pain shuddering though my body. There are other faces in the crowd, too many faces. It reminds me of the last time we were all gathered together in a small room, during the war. I feel claustrophobic. Even though I’m not sure why, I wish I had not been put on the spot like this. I need time to… time to what? Think about it?

“Katie?”

His voice jerks me back to the moment. His smile is wavering, but he refuses to break eye contact. He is confused, but his confidence is unshaken. He knows I have no reason to say no. I know I don’t have any reason to say no.

Do I?

How much time has passed since the Battle? It was on this exact day, three years ago, that our world was ripped apart forever. Three years of running away from the dark and hiding in the shadows. Three years of nightmares, replaying images of friends falling to the ground, of screaming in the night, waking up with destruction ringing in my ears. Doesn’t he know? Doesn’t he realise that I… I can’t…

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, the way he told me to. As I meet his gaze once more, I finally understand that this is his way of trying to fix things. He could not erase the pain the memories of this day brings, but he is trying to bring some joy into the mix. He is trying to save me, the way he always has. And just like that, the images stop. The sounds die down. And it’s just the two of us, the broken girl and the boy who rescued her.

“Yes, of course yes.”

I let the tears fall freely as he pulls me close; no one will judge me today.

It’s the happiest day of my life.

Isn’t it?

[eternalangel]

Name: eternalangel
House: Ravenclaw
Title: A Letter Unsent
Word Count: 685
Ratings/Warnings: 3rd-5th, Dark/Angst, Character death mentioned
A/N: It has been quite awhile since I have done one of these. Hopefully I did everything right!

Time was dwindling down slowly to twilight, and Narcissa Malfoy had done all she could to forget what day it was. She had cleaned the floors and polished the fine china. She had dusted the book cases in the library and pruned the roses. She had even rearranged the table and chairs in her dining room where she received what little guests her diminished social status would allow her. Despite having house-elves to do such menial work, on this day Narcissa would have all the work to herself. Her husband, the house-elves and her son had learned long ago that it was best not to disturb her when she was in this sort of mood; she only got like this once a year. Every year on May 2nd, from dawn until dusk Narcissa Malfoy became a reclusive workaholic.

Yet despite all the work she found for herself and the throbbing ache that prevailed in her hands and back, time seemed to draw itself out into an impossible length. Every year at this exact time, Narcissa would find herself with nothing more to do and nothing more to think about than the events that had happened on this exact day. It was the day when she had lost nearly everything.

At dusk, Narcissa would always have the same luminous thought, which she had been trying to avoid the entirety of the day. She would think: maybe this year…, and for a moment she would be seized with the wild notion of sending an owl to Andromeda. Narcissa would never admit it aloud, but with the death of Bellatrix, Narcissa found herself thinking about her other sister and what her life was like.

Did Andromeda hate her for what had happened on that second day of May? Narcissa would tell anyone who asked that she cared not what her sister thought of her and her actions. She was a proud pureblood and would forever be one. But deep within her, the idea of her sister secretly hating her, despising her for what she still had in her life, her child, haunted her.

Draco had long ago grown up and had a family of his own, but things could have been very different. Narcissa often pondered whether she would have hated Andromeda if their roles had been reversed. If Draco had been killed by an Order member and Nymphadora had lived, could Narcissa have ever looked upon her sister the same? Thinking of how close she came to losing Draco that night, Narcissa knew the answer. She could never have looked at her sister without some form of resentment if their roles had been reversed, and knew that the same would be true for Andromeda.

And yet every year on May 2nd at around twilight, Narcissa would be seized with the same urge that maybe this year she would send Andromeda a letter. Maybe this year she would reach out to the only sister she had left. There were years where she even came as close as to getting a paper and a quill to write the letter she had already written in her head, but she never followed through with the action.

And the years slowly fell away like wilted petals on a dying rose. No matter what she did, nothing could ever get her to send her letter because she remembered another terrible truth. On that fateful day in May, she had, in truth, lost two sisters. Death may have taken one, but resentment and grief had taken the other.

Maybe this year…

But like every year, Narcissa shook her head with a weariness that she never knew she had. The time of reconciliation had passed. If she were to see Andromeda on the street it would be like she was seeing a stranger. With that thought, Narcissa sat in her meticulously cleaned dining room, and shed a tear. It was the one day of the year she ever permitted herself to cry for both her sisters.

And it was the one day of the year she would regret the letter which had never been sent.

[indigo_mouse]

Name: indigo_mouse
House: Gryffindor
Title: Remembrance
Word Count: 315
Ratings/Warnings: None
A/N:

She came from a family of soldiers, conscripted to fight in the greatest wars of the century. Her grandfather had died choking on mustard gas in The War to End All Wars – which hadn’t. Her father had bled out his life on the Normandy sands in the same war that unleashed the power and horror of the atom.

War had been her heritage; she would wake from dreams of destruction, surrounded by acrid gas and screams; from nightmares where The Bomb fell on her home and her eyeballs melted from her skull.

She had thought she had left all that behind her when she had gotten the letter on her eleventh birthday - the letter that told her that she was magic born, a witch. It would make her safe, she thought, for surely wars would not come to those with magic. Undoubtedly, the potential for magical destruction would keep the peace.

She had loved Hogwarts.

When she came back to teach she got a secret thrill when the students called her “Professor”. It never wore off. When the Headmaster had warned of Voldemort’s rise to power, of the dangers, she had shrugged them away, not wanting to believe, wanting the safety the Ministry promised.

The end was ugly for her – spinning in midair over the Malfoy’s dining table, listening to cruel laughter as fear hammered her heart until if felt like it would break. Terrified; a soldier in a war she had never prepared for.

Now she is nothing more than a name on a memorial, letters carved deep on a black wall. Dead in a magical war she had denied would happen, fought between people she thought knew better.

May second, and the students of Hogwarts gather to honour the dead. Someone recites a poem, a chorus sings a psalm and then the Headmaster reads the names of the dead...

Charity Babbage ...

[hestiajones]

Name: hestiajones
House: HUFFLEPUFF!
Title: Before Redemption
Word Count: 749
Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd yr; None
A/N:

When I was a kid, Victory Day meant a day of excitement and fun. Gran and I would go to The Burrow, and the celebration would start as soon as we arrived. As the adults watched us, their faces solemn yet content, we would run amok. The day usually ended with a small birthday party for Victoire.

Then I was eighteen and didn’t quite know how to feel.

Hogwarts had its own way of commemorating the day. It was there where the people flocked because it was there where it had all happened. Parents were allowed to visit and take part in honouring the dead. The house-elves would go out of their way to prepare the grandest feast of the year, and everywhere, from the Great Hall to the Entrance Hall, even out in the grounds, tables had to be placed for the teeming guests.

Ever since their children had started going to school, the entire Weasley and Potter families went there as well. Gran, too. The innocent parties which used to occur at The Burrow had been replaced by an ostentatious ceremony dedicated to the battle and the fallen. You had to see the pile of bouquets at the feet of the monument if you don’t believe me.

I’m talking about the monument where they engraved the names of those who died fighting. I never left a single flower myself.

Though I’d be sitting with my large, extended family, I mostly felt disconnected. There were voices and faces everywhere I looked. I often wished I could escape and be left alone.

Victory Day began to have a more definite shape and idea only after I arrived at Hogwarts. I was old enough to fully appreciate the fact that it was the day when my parents died, and the constant stream of reminders, embedded in numerous speeches and condolences and random glances cast my way, didn’t help. Yes, my parents had been heroes. Yes, they died for a noble cause. Yes, I should be proud of them.

But I hardly got a chance to know them, and I didn’t want to think about them anymore than I had to.

Then I was twenty-seven, married to the only girl who mattered. She could tell how I’d try to act as though May 2nd meant her birthday and had no other significance in my life. However, she never made an issue out of it. One of the many reasons why I love her.

I’m twenty-nine today, and I find myself on the verge of yet another May 2nd.

It isn’t dawn yet, but the cry of our first baby has woken me up. Quietly, I slip out of bed and pick her up from her crib.

Although she is just over a year old, she’s already the most beautiful creature on earth. I tickle her tummy, making her laugh. Then, I prepare food for her, feed her, and lull her to sleep with a badly hummed lullaby. As I watch her sleep, I ask myself: how can anyone abandon their child?

How could my parents leave me? How could they both run away to fight? Couldn’t one of them stay back?

Victorie pulls me towards her, murmuring, “Thanks.”

I put my arms around her and snuggle up to her.

“What would you do if you were in either of their positions?” she asks, running her fingers through my hair. “Would you stay, or would you fight?”

“Don’t,” I mumble against her neck.

“You won’t face it yourself, and yet you hate for parents for doing it?”

I look up at her and try to pull away. “Have you been waiting all this while to drop that bomb on me?”

Instead of looking offended, she smiles and doesn’t let me go. “I want you to resolve your own feelings and get some peace of mind.”

“Don’t expect me to answer it.”

“I don’t need you to tell me,” she says. “You only need to tell yourself.”

In later years, I will remember this moment as the one that changed everything, when I understood for the first time why my parents had done what they did. I wouldn’t be able to go on without either my daughter or wife. Sometimes, love robbed you of logic, and sometimes, there were strange ways of showing it.

But for now, I try to act normal, even as I weep inside. Let my redemption come when it does. I’ve been far too guilty to achieve it sooner.

[abovelevel]

Name: abovelevel
House: Ravenclaw
Title: Socks with Bows
Word Count: 742
Ratings/Warnings: None
A/N: I haven't really written a drabble before, but this prompt gave me an idea I really wanted to write, so hopefully it's all right and someone (besides me) enjoys it. Thanks to the challenge organizers!

Daddy wakes me up early.

“Can you wake up for me, Lilybug?” he says. He pulls my blankie off and I reach for it – it’s so cold! – but it’s already fallen down to my feet.

“It’s early,” I say.

“I know.” Daddy smiles. “But you don’t have to go to school today.”

Immediately, I feel more awake. No school! Well, then!

I sit up a little and scratch at the side of my cheek. “How come?”

“It’s Victory Day, little girl,” he says.

Oh, right! We get to see James today!

Mummy picks out a blue dress for me to wear and socks with bows. I don’t normally like these socks, except with my blue dress. She ties a ribbon in my hair and I jump up and down a little so I can see how bouncy my ponytail is. My hair is extra curly because I washed it last night. It feels like a holiday, except without presents.

After breakfast, we all Floo into Hogsmeade. I know a lot about Hogsmeade because Uncle George works there sometimes. I know his shop and the Three Broomsticks and Honeydukes and some others, but I don’t remember them all. Mummy brushes sparks of my dress and then we all hold hands so we can walk to the Memorial, which is at Hogwarts.

When we get there, I feel serious. Mummy had told us stories about the War and the Memorial so I know it is very important. I know that I have another Uncle, but he died here. I know that Teddy’s mum and dad died here too, and lots of other people we love. I wait quietly while Mum and Dad spend time with the names of our old friends.

First we find Gran and Grandpa and then Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione, Rosie and Hugo. We wait a little longer and soon the other Aunts and Uncles are here, too. Waiting is better with company, but it still feels like everything is taking forever. We wait even longer until finally, I see all the big kids from Hogwarts walking down the hill, down to the Memorial where we are standing. A lot of people see their mums and dads and go to meet them. James takes a long time to come, but finally, there, I see him! He walks over and I hug him and then Mum hugs him too. He groans a little bit, because boys hate hugs, but I don’t mind. I’m glad to see him.

He punches Al in the shoulder, which is what boys do for hugs, I think.

Then it is time to be very quiet.

“We call today Victory Day,” says the tall man in front of the crowd. “And undoubtedly, there is a lot to celebrate.”

He pauses. “Yet, today is a sad day for many of us here, too.”

He points towards the Memorial and as everyone turns to look at it, I look too. It is covered by piles and piles of flowers and looks very pretty.

“We feel this tension,” the man says. “We feel torn between joy at what this day represents and sadness at the reality of what happened here.”

My nose is very itchy.

“But we must take comfort,” he says. “…comfort in the …”

He says a lot more, but it is hard to listen. Instead, I think.

Victory Day is confusing. Victory is a happy word. And today feels like a happy day, because I get to miss school and wear my socks with bows. We wake up early like on Christmas and we get to come to Hogwarts.

But on Victory Day, we don’t get presents or eat special food. We don’t sing songs and dance to Granny’s old music. We remember people who have died and we are sad or happy or both.

On Victory Day, we get to see everyone in the family. We don’t get to play or tell jokes, but we do other things. We see James, even though he doesn’t like hugs, and all my big cousins, too. Grandpa lets me sit on his lap and Gran does my hair in a braid starting all the way at the top of my head.

I don’t think I understand Victory Day yet, but I bet I will when I’m older.

For now, though, I just think it’s nice. Because today, we all get to be together. Even though some of us are dead.

[Gmariam]

Name: Gmariam
House: Ravenclaw
Title: To Harry
Word Count: 731
Ratings/Warnings: 3rd-5th years
A/N: Thank you to Lea for looking this over and making some spot-on suggestions!

* * *

Minerva raised her glass to the others in the center of the table. "To the fallen," she said, echoing the toast around the circle. Beside her, Filius Flitwick nodded in agreement; on her right, Hagrid sniffed loudly. Horace Slughorn patted the gamekeeper's back and drained his goblet. Aberforth Dumbledore filled his own dirty glass again before sliding a murky bottle of Firewhiskey across the table for Slughorn.

"And to those who survived," added Poppy Pomfrey, sipping at her gillywater. Pomona Sprout nodded sadly in agreement. Septima Vector handed her a tissue and they both dabbed their eyes.

"Speaking of survivors," barked Aberforth, "where the hell was Potter? Bit dodgy skipping out on his big day."

Minerva sighed, wishing he hadn't brought it up but knowing it was inevitable. It was probably being discussed at each and every gathering that night. It was the fifth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, and Harry Potter had not attended the memorial ceremony at the castle. The Hero of Hogwarts had been nowhere to be found when his turn to speak had come.

Only Minerva knew exactly where he was, and she was guarding that secret closely, for it was almost too heartbreaking to share. He had shown up in her office the night before, a bleary-eyed, bedraggled wreck of a man. He was thin and unshaven, with deep hollows under his eyes. He was obviously suffering, tormented—and strung out on an endless series of Invigorating Charms that let him work far too much but barely kept him upright and coherent.

After a long, heated talk with Dumbledore, Harry had collapsed on the sofa, eyes staring blankly into the fire. Minerva had tucked the Chosen One under a blanket and cast the most powerful sleeping spell she could to ensure a full night's rest free of nightmares. And first thing the next morning, she had taken him to St. Mungo's under the strict secrecy of his invisibility cloak. Now he was resting once more, under the watchful eyes of Healers who could treat the wounds left untouched for so long and begin to bring back the man he was meant to be.

Poppy was watching her closely and reached forward to pat her hand. "Is he all right, Minerva?" she asked, her keen insight reading the thoughts floating across Minerva's face. "Just tell us that much, so we don't worry."

Minerva shook her head. "No…no, he's not. But I think he will be now." I hope so, she thought to herself. She couldn't imagine a more tragic end to Harry's story than for him die a broken hero, lost to the untamed monsters within as pain and anger claimed his soul in a far worse way than Voldemort had ever done. She hoped with all her heart that Harry found peace after the difficult trials of his Hogwarts years; he deserved more than anyone to live the life he had earned, in the world he had saved.

"Course he'll be okay," stated Hagrid, setting down his mug with a frown. "I never met a stronger, braver boy than our Harry."

"He's not a boy anymore," said Minerva. "We've always said he was forced to grow up far too soon, far too cruelly."

"And there are consequences to what he's gone through," murmured Poppy, and Minerva nodded sadly.

"Indeed there are," Minerva agreed, thinking back to Harry's wasted frame, the dead look in his eyes, the desperate shouting at the portrait on the wall the night before. "I fear for Harry, more than I ever have before."

Aberforth snorted into his glass. "If Potter can put down a demon like Tom Riddle, he can conquer his own as well. He'll figure it out."

Minerva raised her eyebrows at the disgruntled barkeep. "So sure, Aberforth?"

"Every man must walk through the darkness in order to find the light," he stated, earning a few surprised glances from around the table. "I did it, my righteous brother did it, we've all done it in one way or another. Potter will do it too. He's a fighter."

"To 'Arry," said Hagrid, raising his glass again. He did not sniff, but instead seemed to put all his confidence in Harry into his words. Slughorn echoed him, and the sentiment traveled around the table, until at last Minerva raised her glass once more.

"To Harry," she whispered. "May he find the light."

* * *