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Thread: NOVEMBER MONTHLY ~ Ways of Seeing _RESULTS

  1. #1
    Wizengamot Hufflepuff
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    NOVEMBER MONTHLY ~ Ways of Seeing _RESULTS

    Reviving an old favourite but with a November twist ...

    November is when the weather is gloomy, and spirits are low. Fortunately, it's also the month when

    DUN DUN DUN

    Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows Part 1 is released!

    (I presume you all knew that)

    To celebrate this, your drabble challenge for this month is to rewrite a canon moment from Deathly Hallows from someone else's point of view. This person has to have been there, and you cannot write Harry' POV at all.

    Thus, you can't write Ron's opinion of the Dursleys leaving Privet Drive, because he wasn't there, but you can write him as one of the seven Potters.
    You have to write events that we have seen, NOT reported. So you can't write Ron hexing Rodolphus because we didn't see it. You could write Hermione's POV as she waits anxiously for Ron.


    Use this form for your drabbles.

    The word count for this month needs to be between 300 - 800 words.

    The Challenge will close on November 30th at the witching hour .... (probably 10pm GMT)


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    All standard MNFF guidelines must be followed. Whilst a minor typo can be ignored, glaring SPaG (and canon misspellings) cannot. This has led us to discount marvellous drabbles before now, so if you're not sure, then use a beta.

    Remember also that bad canon makes us twitch, although tweaking canon can occasionally raise a smile.

    Any questions?

    Your barmaids are willing to answer on this thread here.



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  2. #2
    Sixth Year Hufflepuff
    You Need Some Driving Lessons, Ron
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    Name: WeasleyMom
    House: Hufflepuff
    Title: Two People
    Ratings/Warnings: 3-5
    Word Count: 498
    A/N: I reworked this from something else I'd written in letter format, hoping stands as well in prose form. Also had to cut it down to fit the word count.

    I thought the anger had gone. I thought it had been weeks ago overshadowed by loneliness and blinding pain, ground into the numbness, burned up by my desperate need to see him. But I was wrong. It was only sleeping, waiting to see his face in this tent again.

    There was a moment of surprise, of enormous relief, and then that sleeping fury stood up inside me and decided to trash the place. How could he stand there looking so contrite, his face full of nervous apology? And why was Harry so happy about his return? He has been sullen and angry since Ron left; he has been utterly lost, as bad as he was after Sirius died.

    How did Ron change his mind?

    Right, then—he saved his life. Harry kept repeating it as if it explained everything.

    That’s wonderful, Ron. I’m glad Harry’s alive, but here’s a question for you: what about my life? Do you intend to save that, too?

    I shouldn’t have hit him. I do feel bad about that. I’m rather ashamed for losing control of myself. He deserved it, of course—that’s not what I mean. It just… wasn’t the whole truth. Before I fell asleep, I saw again in my mind how he had come in with his arms open, and I felt sick that I hadn’t simply walked into them. What would he have done? Would it have been one of those awkward hugs he used to give me? Or would it have been something more meaningful? I suspect the latter, and the possibility that I missed out on that made me ache in ways I cannot describe.

    It seems I am two people. I am the one last night—the one ruled by anger so fierce it frightens me. But I am also the one right now, right here in my bed under his blanket, staring at him sleeping under mine. And I am so sorry for how I was last night, for not finding a way to show him how relieved I was… how relieved I am… that he is back with us. His hand is up over his sleeping face, but I can still see his hair, his jaw. And it is now that I realize nothing has changed at all in me. I want to cry, and I want him to wake up and see me crying and care about it. I want to creep out of my bed so quietly, right under Harry’s nose, and climb in next to him while he is sleeping. He would be so warm… what would he do? Perhaps he would react in alarm, awkward and stammering and nervous… but I don’t think so—not anymore. I would rest my back against his chest, and he would slip his arm around me and put his face in my neck and hold me like he loved me because the smallest part of me believes again that maybe he does... just maybe.
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  3. #3
    Fourth Year Hufflepuff
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    Name: Cinderella Angelina
    House: Hufflepuff
    Title: Lift
    Ratings/Warnings: 1-2 yrs/none
    Word Count: 495
    A/N: I was paging through the book, looking for a different scene, but this one caught my attention...the starred dialogue is from DH (though I'm sure that with enough hard work I could've come up with it myself).

    Molly hated for Arthur to go to work. She told him every day when they kissed goodbye, but they both knew it was necessary. If he stopped coming to work, they'd surely come to the house to find out why -- their family was so close to "Undesirable Number One."

    Still, Arthur had to admit that he didn't like it any better. Already today Wakanda had tried to get him involved in some shady undercover stuff (was she really that naive, or was she trying to catch him out?). They'd ended their conversation at the lift, as Albert Runcorn and Reg Cattermole were there. Poor Reg, dripping wet and trying to fix Yaxley's office while his wife was in for questioning. No wonder he was acting so oddly, with the man who put her in for questioning standing next to him.

    Runcorn was the kind of man Arthur hated, turning in his colleagues in order to get himself and his buddies ahead. Unfortunately, he was the kind of man that thrived in an environment like this, but Arthur would be no kind of man himself if he didn't say something....

    Before he had a chance, though, the lift opened and let in another man whom Arthur didn't have much respect for. He wanted to; he desperately wanted to see in his son Percy the kind of man Arthur knew he could be. If he would, even now, acknowledge his father with even the barest hint of politeness they would be on their way to a much-needed reconciliation. Everyone knew Percy was wrong. Surely there was no reason for him to keep up this ridiculous charade! It was a time for families to be united, to band together, to stand for the right! Not for proud children to flush and avoid the very sight of their father. Arthur watched his son scurry out of the lift and decided, as he decided every time he saw him, that he wouldn't mention this to Molly.

    Runcorn was also trying to leave the lift, but with only the two of them there Arthur knew this was his best chance to make his voice heard. "One moment, Runcorn."*

    Later that day, when news broke about an infiltration at the Ministry itself, Arthur finally made sense of the odd conversation -- why Runcorn had been uncomfortable with the accusations about Dirk Cresswell, his odd threats (or non-threats) about the Weasleys being tracked. He wished he'd known that he was talking to Harry (and Ron -- had Reg been Ron?); he'd have told him how proud they were of the three of them (perhaps after telling them off for their risky plan), how much he and Molly loved them. It would've been odd to tell Runcorn that, but it would've done Harry some good.

    Instead, Arthur gritted his teeth, endured the additional security measures, and lived in hope.

  4. #4
    Justice
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    Name: Justice
    House: Gryffindor
    Title: Snape's End
    Ratings/Warnings: 3-5
    Word Count: 785
    A/N: This is Snape's version of his final moments. The bold parts are direct quotes from DH. Thanks to my beta FawkesToTheRescue.

    Snape gazed at the Dark Lord’s beloved serpent as it twirled and hissed in anticipation above his shoulder. It took Snape a split second to realize what was happening as the snake’s magical encasement drifted toward him. He let out a paralyzing scream that was chocked out when his head and shoulders passed through the magical cage.

    Panic surged through Snape as he desperately tried to push Nagini’s cage off himself, but his efforts were futile. The moment the starry bubble fully encased him, he heard it- Parseltongue. He had heard the Dark Lord utter that word in snake language so many times he knew what was coming- death.

    Before he could react or try to block the attack, the snake bore its long, venom-soaked fangs and struck. A pain that Snape had never experience before surged through his body. He could feel blood gushing from the puncture wound in his neck. The venom felt like fire, slowing burning its way though his veins. He legs gave out, and he collapsed, hitting the side of the snake’s cage.

    Oh Merlin, this is it. This is how it’s all going to end. I’m going to die alone, in agony, in this horrible place. All for what? Were any of my efforts worth it? I had to do what I could to protect him… for her.

    Snape heard the Dark Lord say something, but he couldn’t understand what. His tone was emotionless and cold. Before leaving, he lifted the bubble off Snape, who fell the rest of the way to the ground and hit the cold, hard, dirt covered floor with a thud. But the pain was so intense he didn’t even feel his head connect with the wood.

    Snape lay in the shack twitching in agony, desperately trying to stop the blood from gushing from his neck. He tried to work out a plan, a way to get out of his current predicament, but he knew it was hopeless. It would take an exceptionally skilled Healer for him to have a shot at life, and even then it would be a long shot. If only he didn’t have to be alone. He had spent most of his life alone and hadn’t minded. But now, after a lifetime of suffering in solitude, he wondered why he couldn’t have one moment of peace.

    That’s not the way of my life. I am still being punished for my horrid actions towards the only one I loved. I deserve to suffer after my cruelty toward her. This thought had hardly crossed Snape’s mind when, seemingly out of nowhere, Potter appeared.

    Potter knelt down, his face unreadable. Snape couldn’t tell if he was happy or sorry to see him dying. He has to know. I would never hurt Lily’s son. She loved the boy, and I so desperately love her. He’d never again do anything that could hurt her. Even on his death bed he wanted to act in Lily's inerest; he wanted to continue atoning for his past sins. And if penance includes allowing Potter’s son to see my most personal memories, so be it. Maybe he has more than his mother’s eyes; maybe he will use my memories for good.


    Snape grabbed Potter’s robe and pulled him close. He wanted to be near her. The memories flooded from Snape as freely as the blood flowed from his neck. He was losing them, losing the few precious moments he had had with her throughout his cursed lifetime. I can’t lose them. My time with her can’t just disappear, forever. Someone has to keep them; protect them.

    “Take… it…Take… it….” he gurgled. Snape knew Potter would protect any memory that had his mother in it.

    Potter dumbly looked around for a container. Just when Snape was worried his memories would be lost, a flask was thrust into Potter’s hand. He looked and saw Granger leaning over him. Unlike Potter, he saw nothing but compassion in her face. As Potter collected his memories, Snape’s eyes met Granger’s. They were filled with tears. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and he gasped for breath. He knew death was coming. He was cold; he felt the venom spreading and blood bubbling in his mouth as it mixed with the air he struggled to pull into his lungs. Potter finished collecting his last memory as it floated out of his body in a ghostly white strand and put a stopper on the flask.

    “Look…at…me…” he told Potter. The boy complied.

    His black eyes met Lily’s green ones. The cold was gone, he felt warm and comfortable. He knew Lily had forgiven him, and he would see her soon. He was at peace.

    Lily.

  5. #5
    Fourth Year Hufflepuff
    Swallowing the Golden Snitch
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    Name: hogwartsbookworm
    House: Hufflepuff
    Title: George's Injury
    Ratings/Warnings: 3rd-5th/violence...
    Word Count:384
    A/N:Rating cautiously. You said I could write another POV of one of Snape's memories, so here it is.
    I dodged another curse, my broom swerving to the right as the bright blue jet of light flew past. Beside me, George, former Gryffindor beater, was sailing between spells and hexes as if he did this every day. I’ll admit, I wasn’t as comfortable on my broom as he appeared to be; I hadn’t been on one in over ten years. Nevertheless, one remembers old talents quickly when one has five Death Eaters on one’s tail.

    I glanced back at the dark figures blotting the night sky behind us and fired a stunning spell into their midst. They scattered momentarily, and the Death Eater in the middle lost his mask. It was Severus Snape.

    I turned back, heart racing, urging my broom to go faster. Snape, my old school mate, was coming after me – the only one left from the group that he had despised in school -- not counting Peter. He had every reason to want me dead. A wave of panic filled me – not for myself, but for my young bride. What would happen to Dora if I died this night? She was out there, somewhere, probably with Death Eaters trailing her as well…

    That thought only distracted me from the task of staying alive, so I shoved it to the back of my mind.

    I hurled another hex over my shoulder. One of the Death Eaters let out a yell, and I thought I must of hit at least one, but when I looked back there were still five figures coming after us, their dark cloaks flapping, bat-like, as the night air rushed past them.

    More spells shot past, and, with a cry of pain, George went spiraling off to the side. I glanced back at the Death Eaters again. Snape’s wand was raised. With my heart in my throat, I zoomed after George. When I reached him, my stomach turned over. The side of his head was covered with blood, and his face, still disguised as Harry’s, was pale. He swayed on his broom, and I hurried to wrap an arm around his shoulder. Bending low over my broom, I struggled to keep George upright, and tried not to think about all the people I cared about who were flying tonight, and who might be in poorer shape than he was.
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  6. #6
    'Til the end of the line Ravenclaw
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    Name: ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor
    House: Ravenclaw
    Title: His Final Victory
    Ratings/Warnings: 3rd/5th Years — Character Death
    Word Count: 645
    A/N: All dialogue save for the last line taken from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Ch. 23, Pgs 456, 469, 472; Am. Paperback Edition). I have ignored the bizarre original punctuation, because it bugs me.

    “So, you have come,” breathed the withering man curled up on a rotting bunk. “I thought you would one day. But your journey was pointless; I never had it.”

    “You lie!” hissed the self-professed Dark Lord.

    Gellert took immense satisfaction in uttering those words that he had been rehearsing in his cell, of the prison he himself built, for years, as well as the petulant reaction. He had followed any news he could on Voldemort’s exploits, clinging to whatever scraps of newsprint or stray echoes from the wireless that were available. It seemed as if this new regime might have been able to succeed where he did not, but no matter how appealing that might have sounded fifty years before, the lustre of it had been dulled by decades of thought. Thinking was about all he had to do in his lonely little universe, constructed by unfinished business and faded ideals.

    But he knew something Voldemort didn’t, and just for a moment, Gellert felt a sense of power that he hadn’t known since that final curse was uttered from that fabled wand. He didn’t know about the Hallows. He sought one of the most powerful and extraordinary magical artefacts ever to have existed, yet he knew not of the final two. It was with relish that Gellert said, “Kill me then, Voldemort. I welcome death, but my death will not bring you what you seek.”

    Scorn and derision crossed that snake-like visage, which told Gellert that he had been right. For a man who wanted everything, Voldemort knew nothing. “There is so much you do not understand,” he said, almost patronisingly.

    Was it a death wish? Of course it was. Locked away from the world, far from any other feeling but helplessness for ages, Gellert knew that this was his last chance to earn himself a worthy death. He did not want to perish here, mouldering away into nothing, being kept alive by guards who weren’t even born when he had been imprisoned for his so-called crimes, guards who had never seen that hunger in their beloved Albus Dumbledore’s eyes, the Albus who wanted Muggles crushed to the nonentity that they were.

    So much you do not understand, Gellert’s mind echoed. Voldemort would never accept that Albus was far more like the enemy he so vehemently fought than anyone would have been comfortable with, but the latter had something that the former did not: patience. Albus had been willing to obtain the Hallows and to become a master of death, but Voldemort blundered about, killing anyone who stood in his way like the violent cretin that he was. He fancied himself the most powerful wizard, but in truth, even in death, Albus was far more powerful because he was apt at manipulation and subtlety, qualities that this impatient man, almost childlike in his inability to compromise, would never understand.

    He would never even know that Gellert was manipulating him to his own end at that very moment. It would finally come full circle. He, Gellert, had brought out the lust for might in Albus, which had in turn landed him here in this miserable jail, unwittingly bringing Albus that power that he then professed to never want. He was the most feared wizard by all who opposed him. Voldemort had seen to the end of Albus, but Albus had lain those clandestine traps and hatched the invisible schemes that would end this miserable excuse for a would-be conqueror.

    And Gellert would still win, because he brought this all about. With the closest thing to a grin he could manage with his age-petrified face, he shouted, “Kill me, then! You will not win; you cannot win. That wand will never, ever be yours—”

    AVADA KEDAVRA!” bellowed Voldemort, the cascade of green ending the feeble old man’s challenge and sealing the fate of an entire reich.
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  7. #7
    Wizengamot Hufflepuff
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    Thank you for entering.


    Closing now.


    Results soon (ish)


    Madam Carole
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  8. #8
    Wizengamot Hufflepuff
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    ~Results~

    1st Place - ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor -Ravenclaw - His Final Victory - 15 points

    2nd Place - Weasley Mom - Hufflepuff - Two People - 10 points

    3rd Place - Cinderella Angelina - Hufflepuff - Lift - 5 points.



    Ravenclaw 15 points
    Hufflepuff 15 points.

    Thank you for entering.

    ~Carole~
    I'm a BARMAID. I write. I drabble. I duel. I poet. I'm a BADGER!!!

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