Page 3 of 4 FirstFirst 1234 LastLast
Results 21 to 30 of 37

Thread: The Eternal Glory Thread!

  1. #21
    My top three, as rec'd by Mask since I couldn't decide.

    Name: Kumydabookworm
    House: Gryffindor

    Title: Mundugus
    Words: 488
    Warnings: Death

    Young and old members were gone, and the Order was decimated. Molly was one of the few left who knew the older members; most of the Order members around now were quick admissions to fill the ranks.

    She never thought she would do this, but Mundungus deserved this final respect. He had fought and died honorably just like Arthur, Fred, and Bill. There was no one else but her to give him his final farewell. She took a deep breath.

    “We all know that Mundungus Fletcher wasn’t an honorable man. In fact, he tried to attack my late husband when he was conducting a raid for Muggle artifacts. So you may ask, why am I speaking today?”

    Molly swallowed, knowing she had to force these words out, knowing that they were true. “I am speaking today because despite his questionable morality, Mundungus fought for us and our children, and died for them, too.”

    Several people sniffled. “I will be the first to admit I did not like Mundungus. He sold stolen goods to my sons, and he smoked these terrible cigars.” Molly heard a laugh, and even smiled herself. “However, he had a good side. He was always loyal to Dumbledore – he never wavered. He rescued my last remaining son, Ron, from some purple robes that were strangling him at 12 Grimmauld Place two years ago.”

    Ron blushed in the front row. “Most people will look at Mundungus and see a thief. They will see a man imprisoned. They will not see what he stole – the final Horcrux that Harry Potter destroyed. They will not see why he was imprisoned – an Imperius curse made him act like an Inferi.”

    Molly looked at the audience. “I once saw him this way, too. I never saw his loyalty or his wit – I saw a scruffy, belligerent no-good. I will never claim that Mundungus wasn’t scruffy, or belligerent, or even a no-good. He did some very criminal things in his life.”

    Molly nodded firmly. “But we cannot lose sight of what he did do. He never wanted to die; in fact he tried to get out of it. When the dementors cornered him on the battlefield, he ran. But that’s not important. The fact that he came back, that he conquered his fear, that he died because of it – that makes him a hero.”

    Molly blinked away unexpected tears. “I couldn’t see why Dumbledore trusted Mundungus Fletcher. Now, I think Mundungus, out of all of us, was the one to trust. Though he was not the best man, he was, in the end, strong enough to get the job done.”

    Molly swallowed back the quivers in her throat. She watched his body slip into the ground next to the graves of the Order members – of six of her children and countless others. He had been an unaccountable fool, but he done what she could not. He had protected those he loved.
    Title: Endless Game
    Words: 325
    Warnings: Violence

    Crisp, blue skies stretched over the field. The sun shone brightly, light glinting on the blades of grass. The reflection of this light on the dew created a blinding mirage. Oliver Wood attempted to blame the glare for the tears building in his eyes.

    Around the stadium, the seats were emptied and signs supporting each player were showing the trauma of battle. The Keeper’s hoops lay shattered on the field – it would take years to replace them. Broomsticks were broken around the field, and jerseys lay bloodied and ragged in the grass.

    The Dark Mark floated up near the stadium lights, and the scoreboard had been twisted by a sadistic mind. Dark Lord: 1, Dumbledore: 0. A dead man stood for their side in a symbolic gesture. Oliver could feel a hysterical laugh building up – two years later, and the magical world still hadn’t stopped grieving for Albus Dumbledore.

    Everything came down to the playoffs – the final game to decide who would win the World Cup, and who would win the War. Quidditch had been canceled.

    The balls sat idle in their box, and Oliver picked up the Quaffle, running his hands over the familiar contours of the red ball. The people were gone, and so was every team. Tents stood empty and ravaged where they were.

    There would be no World Cup winners this year – no trophy to hold, or cheering audiences. He had been so close to achieving his dream, of standing along the English Quidditch team as a world champion. He looked at the intact banner. Welcome to the Quidditch World Cup 1998.

    Maybe in another four years. He would be older, and he would get less playing time, but maybe…in four years, maybe England would have another chance.

    They said that the Quidditch games at Hogwarts had not been canceled – that the Death Eaters hadn’t been able to ever get inside the castle again, thanks to the added protections.

    Tied match.
    Title: Golden Eyes
    Words: 495
    Warnings: None

    “Charlie!” called Mafalda, his supervisor. “Come watch! Paapet’s egg is cracking!”

    Charlie dashed over to the bonfire and grabbed the leash of the anxious mother. The keepers had not allowed the mother to nest the egg because she was a first-time mother. Gently, Charlie urged her back. Paapet, a Common Welsh Green dragon, was one of his favorites on the reservation.

    Suddenly, the bonfire turned green. Paapet reared back in confusion and rage. She was very protective of her eggs; anything she didn’t understand was subject to immediate hostility. Charlie struggled to contain the dragon.

    He forced her head down and stared into her golden eyes. “Paapet, it’s alright. Your egg will be safe.”

    The dragon bared her fangs in response to being forcibly held, but reluctantly stilled. “Good girl,” he murmured, stroking what he could reach of her gargantuan side.

    Ludo Bagman, the head of the Department of Games and Sports at the Ministry back home, appeared in the fire, beaming. “Hello, Charlie. We’ve tracked you down to ask if you’ll consider being a member of the 1994 English Quidditch team.”

    Charlie gaped. “We lost the Quidditch Cup last year! You’re asking me to practice with the team that will compete at the World Cup! Are you sure?”

    Bagman nodded earnestly. “Your team was made of mostly second years, Weasley! You exhibited magnificent skill and leadership, and we believe you’d make a brilliant addition to the team!”

    Charlie hesitated. “I was planning to take up a career in dragon-handling.”

    Ludo laughed. “The Ministry would be happy to explain your situation to the reservation.”

    Paapet jerked on the leash hard, effectively startling Charlie out of his dazed shock. He glanced at the edge of the bonfire to see what was happening. Mafalda had removed the egg from the fire with fire tongs. The tip of a snout was peeking out of the eggshell.

    Paapet caught Charlie’s gaze. He looked deep into her protective, anxious eyes – they were as gold as the Snitch he once chased after in his glory days of Hogwarts. As the crumpled baby dragon lifted itself out of the eggshell, Paapet broke free of Charlie’s flaccid grip on the leash, and rushed toward the newborn. She engulfed it in a wreath of cool fire, and the baby crooned with pleasure.

    Charlie felt butterflies float in his stomach that were identical to those he caught during the exhilaration of a game. His heart pounded in his veins. But another feeling accompanied that rush – pure love flowed through his body, filling him with a glow he had never felt.

    He imagined the cheers of a Quidditch crowd, the sound of the wind rushing past his face, the smell of a Quidditch field, the smoothness of Quidditch robes…none of it compared to this.

    Turning back to the fire, he smiled at Bagman. “I’m afraid not.”

    Totally ignoring the man’s protests, he turned to gently stroke the new baby’s wings under its mother’s golden eyes.

  2. #22
    Mind Games
    Author: Mind Games
    Title: Unaware
    House: Ravenclaw
    Warnings: None
    Words: 385

    Told from Sirius' point of view...

    As I stand here, I am completely unaware that this is the last time I will consider you my family. I am completely unaware of my opinions, beliefs, and thoughts. I haven’t met myself yet. All I know is what you’ve shown me, which is a world of very small-minded thinking and beliefs. A world where everything is only black and white. Of course, as I stand here, I am completely unaware of this.

    We’re moving rather quickly through the crowded station, not wasting any time, even though we’re plenty early. I push my cart along, the excitement building. I am ready to leave you for now. I am ready to please you and make you proud. I am completely unaware.

    It’s coming down to the last few moments. We step through the barrier, and now the Hogwarts Express is in view. I gaze upon its shining beauty, something I haven’t quite been able to imagine, though I have certainly tried. I take in a breath, ready to experience everything. Though at this time I have a different idea of what I’ll be experiencing. I’m still thinking exactly the way you want me to, acting the way you want me to. Everything is going as planned. We’re both completely unaware of how I’m going to destroy this plan not long from now.

    Students are starting to board the train, and I am eager to join them, but I stand by your side for just a little longer. I savour the last few moments of my time with you, but in my mind I know I’ll be seeing you not too long from now, which is comforting at this time. I am completely unaware of how different my mind will be once we reunite.

    At last, it is time for the final goodbyes. You both wear very stern expressions on your faces as you gaze down upon me. “Make us proud,” you say. I simply nod, expecting to do just that. You see, I am still completely unaware.

    You watch me board the train, reassured that I will do fine. You feel that you have taught me well up to this point, and now I can carry on by myself, following your plan for me exactly as you want me to. You too, are completely unaware.
    I would recommend Ambition by Masked One. Mask really opens up a new side of Luna's character in just 200 words. It's amazingly written!

    I would also recommend Glory is Nothing by WhittyLeah. It's a very insightful look at Percy's character, and it has inspired me in more than one way.

  3. #23
    Fifth Year Gryffindor
    I See Dead People... In Mirrors

    Join Date
    Aug 2006

    A series of four drabbles by SomberBallad (the third post on the thread!)

    Here are a few of mine - though I'm not sure why I'm posting in between all these wonderful drabbles...

    Name: kehribar
    House: Gryffindor
    Title: From the eyes of a canon
    Warning: The usage of the word "canon" may seem a bit confusing here; what I meant is the wooden models used in studios, which are named "canon". I hope it's not too confusing.
    Words: 387

    “Isabelle, I’m telling you for the last time: Stay straight, or I’ll lock you in the cupboard.”

    “…again,” I complete the sentence under my breath, and return to the position Dean put me. The last time he locked me in the cupboard, I stayed there for a week. But I had deserved it. An incredibly talkative magical canon would only annoy the artist, especially if he’s running out of work.

    As I sit on a non-existent broom in the appearance of the captain of that Quidditch team, Chudley Cannons, I watch his hand move in swift and sharp motions as he draws an outline. Yesterday, he received an owl from the Chudley Cannons, requesting a new crest for their team. Dean was thrilled. He’s always like this; always so excited for any new work he gets. Now, for the last seven hours or so, he’s been sketching endless crests. I can see pride and joy in his eyes; this is such a big honour for him, and so, he’s trying to do his very best… using me to death in the process.

    I hear him sigh in frustration, and he ruffles his hair in despair. He looks at me.

    “I can’t get it right,” he says simply. I smile and roll my eyes. He always says this.

    “What about using a cannon?” I suggest. “It’d be really symbolic.”

    This time it is him who rolls eyes.

    “What a creative idea,” he mutters. I step down from the invisible broom and put my hands on my waist.

    “Being creative is your job, Dean, not mine,” I remind him. “Use the usual in an unusual way. That’s what you always do.”

    He looks at me for a few moments without saying anything. And then, he jumps in his seat, pulling a new sheet of paper before him.

    “Okay, get on the broom,” he instructs, his voice again business-like. “You’re flying in the uppermost speed; lie down on the broom, your hair is waving behind you, eyes narrowed against the wind…” he looks at me and grins. “… as if you’ve been fired by a cannon.”

    I smirk at him, and once again climb on the imaginary broom to do what he says. No matter what, I know that Dean will come up with the best. This is his job.
    A drabble written a while ago, out of nowhere.

    Title: Intelligent Conversation
    Words: 241

    “Remus, what in Merlin’s name is this?” Sirius Black asked as he entered the living room of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, where harsh tunes of a cello were filling the air.

    Remus Lupin looked up from the parchments he’d been looking over in a huge armchair by one of the windows. He had a smile on his face as if Sirius’ reaction was exactly what he’d been waiting.

    “What is what, my friend?” he asked innocently, with raised eyebrows.

    “This... music... if you call it so,” Sirius replied with a grimace, dropping a couch.

    “Oh, that...” Remus replied, and he waved his wand towards the huge gramophone on a table in one corner, turning the volume down a little. “Why, just as you said, it's music.”

    “Oh, please,” Sirius retorted, “It reminds a kind of blood ritual – it’s hammering on my brain!” With that, he swiftly drew his wand and had the music stopped. Silence settled in the air like a cloud of dust. Remus sighed as he laid the parchments on his knee.

    “Just to let you know, Sirius, it was Bach. And it had nothing to do with a blood ritual, my friend, it was meant to visualize an inward struggle.”

    Sirius snorted in response.

    “Then I really wouldn’t want to meet that man.”

    Remus only shook his head and returned to the parchments on his lap. It couldn’t be any clearer that he believed Sirius to be hopeless.
    And here's another one I'm actually quite fond of.

    Title: Save Me From the Grey
    Warnings: Extended use of fragments and metaphors. May be boring.
    Words: 496


    Dusty and airless silence, filled with the intriguing smell of past years. The crowd of memories; a calm, peaceful, but nevertheless sad crowd.

    The only visitor of the attic was the sun. The loyal, faithful sun; passing by the small, triangular windowpanes every single day, touching its light to the faded colours of old pictures, trying to liven up the grey that slowly, but surely swarmed on the old sparks of life that once coloured several people’s lives.

    But it was no avail.

    The memories in the attic were dying. They’ve been buried alive under the dust.

    But today, something happened. Something that hadn’t happened in years.

    A click tingled in the room. A faint, almost inaudible click; but it spread through every single particle of dust. The pictures held their breaths. The click became louder. A key was put in to the lock… and it turned… the rusty old padlock clanged… and then came the long-waited creaking of the hatch.

    The first real movement in the attic in years. The trap-door straightened, pushed by a shoulder from below. It made a muffled, huffing sound; the dust that covered the wooden floor splashed in the air with soundless joy. A head rose from within the opened trap-door – a head with thick, curly black hair with a few strands of grey on the sides. The first real colours in the attic in years.

    A man made its way through the dusty place. Heavy breathing filled the stiffened air; a few coughs shook the shoulders and sparked more of the dust. The wooden floor moaned under the feet. Every single picture in the attic kept its stare on the man; silent, begging, insistent. The man stood still and uncomfortably surveyed the memories.

    With two wide steps, he crossed the room, reaching a huge, wooden trunk. On the top of it stood an opened scrapbook, covered with the grey dust like everything else it kept company. The man held the scrapbook; raised it close to his face, and filling his lungs with the old air, he blew on the page. The dust sprayed up and glided down to perch on the floor. From under the thinned grey layer, faint traces of colours and shapes appeared. The man stood still; his eyes hard on the scrapbook, a frown creasing his forehead. And then, with a harsh movement, he wiped the remaining dust off the page with one hand. The sketch of a woman came in sight. A confused, unbelieving look on her rough face, she gingerly stood up from the corner of the page, and looked at the man with widened eyes. A smile made its way up to her face; timidly, she held up a hand, and waved.

    The man smiled back. With the scrapbook in his hand, he turned and passed the attic in two steps. Climbing down the hatch, he pulled the trap door, and once again, condemned the memories to the remorseless dust and loneliness.
    And lastly,

    Title: Farewell to the Stage
    Words: 467

    Silence filled the great concert hall. A heavy, expectant silence. That was the moment she enjoyed the most. The silence of the crowd.

    A cough or a sniff echoed off the hall every now and then. She waited behind the curtain. She waited to prolong the silence, and the crowd waited for her. She knew when to walk on the stage. She knew how fast to walk. She knew how to smile, how to make that little elegant bow, and she knew when to start playing. Her heart did not beat the least faster than usual. She had been doing this for nearly forty years.

    She straightened her back, smoothed her long dress, and walked on the stage with wide steps. The explosion of applause she received upon walking on the stage was the proof of how celebrated she was. Her chin was held up high, but not so high to make her look conceited. She was aristocratic, she couldn’t change that. She was, and always would be, a Black. If nothing, in blood. And yet, she managed to look both noble and unassuming. She bowed slighty to the audience, and a real smile curled her lips up. She straightened, and surveyed the crowd as she waited for the applaud to die. The hall was full, just like it had always been. All the tickets were sold by the middle of November – over a month ago. She didn’t give the last concert of her career every week, after all.

    And it was December 25th.

    The hall was decorated with Christmas decorations. There was even a small pine tree by the end of the stage. Hundreds of misletoe bunches were hanging from the ceiling. Faces shone with excitement.

    And Andromeda felt the first glimpse of excitement when the applaud kindly died away after her second bow.

    She stole a glance towards the misletoe-filled balconies. There they were. Her family. Ted Tonks, her husband, the most handsome man in the world for her, sat on the right. His purely white hair shone in the dim lights. Next to him sat her daughter. Nymphadora, or Dora, as they called her, looked so beautiful in her night-dress, and her long, dark blue locks surrounding her heart-shaped face. One of her hands rested on the shoulder of a young girl, who sat beside her. Her grand-daughter. There wasn’t a more beautiful child in the world than Dorothy.

    The racing of her heart somewhat confused her as she turned and walked over the piano. She sat, and smoothed her skirts. She nodded at the sheet turner with a polite smile, and placed her fingers softly on the keys.

    She paused.

    The silence.

    Like everyone’s holding their breaths.

    The keys felt cold under the tips of her fingers.

    She knew they’d warm up soon.
    The Run of the Mill

    The phenomenal banner is by MissBean

  4. #24
    My submissions for this drabble challenge are my favorites from past challenges I've entered. This is going to take up a lot of space....


    Author: Lily_writes
    House: Ravenclaw!

    Title: Is There a Problem, Professor Dumbledore?
    Word Count: 219
    Warnings: None, anymore...
    Original Source: Weekly Drabble Challenge: Inner Thoughts

    "Is there anything you would like to tell me?"

    James Potter and Lily Evans were both standing in front of Professor Dumbledore's desk.

    Does he know what we were doing? Lily thought anxiously. I know it was inappropriate, but it was too much fun! I mean, it sounded like a good idea at the time.

    I knew I shouldn't have persuaded Lily to do this, James thought, looking over at his nervous girlfriend. I mean, it's not something most teachers punish you for. We were only having some innocent fun, is all. I just wish we looked a little more presentable.

    Oh no! I just remembered that some of the other kids said he could read minds! Oh man, we could be in so much trouble! Lily thought, panicking slightly now. What we did was far from dignified, and something I would never have thought I would do anywhere, let alone by the lake while it's raining out.

    Oh, great, I just remembered that Dumbledore is one of those Leg...legi...mind readers, James thought. All I have to do is not think about Filch hauling us up here because we were having a mud ball fight in the rain. Oh no....

    Dumbledore surveyed the Head Boy and Girl, who were dripping mud onto the floor.

    "I see."

    Title: He Deserved It, Right?
    Word Count: 351
    Warning(s): None, unless you have an issue with people pranking Snape...
    Original Source: Weekly Drabble Challenge: Inner Thoughts

    "Is there anything you would like to tell me?"

    All four Marauders were sitting in front of Dumbledore's desk, looking down at their feet and studying them as if they had suddenly found them rather interesting.

    If only Dumbledore could understand, James thought. I was only helping Peter get back at Sniv- I mean Snape. He really deserved it too. At least, I thought covering all his robes in large neon orange spots reading "I love Professor Slughorn" was a fair exchange for him splashing Peter's potion in his face. Poor Petey was in the hospital wing for a week with blue and green acne. I know I'm Head Boy now, and should be more responsible. Just please, don't tell Lily, she'll kill me!

    Come on Dumbledore, don't blame James for adding the hens that were magically glued on, that was completely my idea, thought Sirius. I only threw it on as a finishing touch. It's not my fault they all lay eggs every minute, it's not like I charmed them to do that. Oh, wait, yes I did. But you have to admit it was really funny.

    Professor Dumbledore, I wish you could understand, thought Remus. We Marauders are like the Three Musketeers, except there are four of us. Don't punish them for the cloud that followed him for an hour raining grease on him, that was me. Let's face it, I'm not prefect material. I can't stop my friends from pranking people, let alone myself. I wish you could forgive us.

    Please Professor, don't give us detention, they were only sticking up for me, Peter thought. They only wanted to help me get revenge on Snape for what he did to me last week. Anyway, I'm the one who persuaded Peeves to follow him and scream out "here comes the king of snot" everytime he left a room.

    Dumbledore looked over the four seventh-years, three of whom looked a little nervous and kept shooting him quick glances, the last one looking a bit calmer than the rest, as if he had done this hundreds of times.

    "I see."

    Title: The Rant of a Free Prisoner
    Word Count: 469
    Warnings: None, really.
    Original Source: Weekly Drabble Challenge: Inner Thoughts

    "Is there anything you would like to tell me?"

    You know bloody well there's something I'd like to tell you. I don't like being locked up in the house I ran away from at sixteen, I despise being told I'm not doing anything useful by Sniv- Snape, I haven't heard from Harry for months now, and I'm bloody lonely. I miss gettting letters from my godson. I feel guilty because I half-wished he would be expelled over the dementor incident. I even wish that that wretched old toad would throw him out sometimes, I'm getting so bored.

    I haven't been outside for nine months now, did you know that? I'm desparate to get out. I wouldn't mind if I was disguised as a dog on a leash, being led by someone just to take out the trash. That's how much I want fresh air. I would like to have a fresh breeze flow through the window, but even that can't be. "What if someone looks up and sees you standing by the window?" That's what Molly says every time I beg her to crack it open an inch. I'd be better off in Azkaban, at least there was a breeze, and company all the time. I see you look surprised. Don't be. I find it rather ironic that I escaped one prison only to be holed up in another.

    Anything that would've made my life enjoyable has been taken from me. Harry can't write anymore, Remus doesn't stay long, nor anyone else from the Order, all I have here is Kreacher and Buckbeak, and even then that accursed house-elf isn't here all the time. I still don't know where he disappears off to half the time.

    You don't even know how I feel right now. The only way you could truly appreciate my situation is if you locked yourself in your dead mother's house for nine months, have people pop in and out once in awhile but can't talk to them because, they're too busy to "stay for a chat", and while you're at it, make absolutely sure that there's someone who can rub it in your face that you aren't doing anything useful as they brag about top secret assignments they were given.

    I don't even know if Harry cares about me anymore. I gave him James' mirror before he left to go back to school. Either he forgot about it or he's not using it because he doesn't care about me anymore.

    I think I hear Remus calling me. Snivellus wants a word with the Order members here. Oh, don't give me that look. If you were trapped here for as long as I have, you'd be just as cantankerous. Do me a favor and stay here. I still have a few bones to pick with you. I need to go see what Snivelling Snape wants with me. I hope Harry's okay, even if he doesn't care about me anymore.

    "I see."

    Title: Through the Eyes of a Dragon
    Word Count: 416
    Warning(s): None
    Original Source: Weekly Drabble Challenge: Fantastic Beasts

    Set in the first task (GoF).

    She heard the crowd make a great deal of noise and looked down, only to notice a boy with black hair standing alone. She appraised him carefully, flailing her tail around in a warning.

    He's only raised his arm and shouted something, she thought. I won't breathe fire, yet.

    Then, a long stick came from somewhere distant. Another man was shouting as the boy climbed on the stick. She watched the boy ascend and fly far above her head. She turned her head skyward, immediately suspicious of the boy's intentions, to watch his every move. He dove and her maternal instincts told her he was after her eggs.

    I'll show him to steal my eggs, she thought determinedly. So she opened her mouth and shot fire at him, but she missed as he pulled up.

    The crowd made more noise as did the shouting man, but she didn't care, and neither did the boy since he flew back above her head.

    He was flying in circles now as she watched. She opened her mouth once more to release more flames. The boy, however, swooped down, but she was ready and swung her tail up.

    She heard more yells and screams as she felt one of the spikes catch on something. With some satisfaction, she knew her eggs were safe for now.

    He flew above her head a third time, now moving from one side to the other.

    What is that boy up to now? she wondered in exasperation, allowing her neck to stretch up toward him.

    He moved a little higher as she brought her neck out as far as possible before roaring.

    What do you want with me? she thought, shooting some more fire at him.

    She spread out her large, black wings and came up off the ground a little. Then, the next thing she knew, the boy was gone.

    Where is he? she thought angrily. Where did he go?

    She heard the crowd make more noise than before and saw the boy flying over the mass of people. The men that had brought her from her home ran over to her, and then the world around her went black. When she woke up, she was back home.

    Maybe it was only a dream, she thought.

    She brought her tail around her and noticed something on one of the spikes. She lifted her tail up to eye level and saw it was a piece of a strange dark material. Like the boy had worn.

    Title: Fred and George's New Pet
    Word Count: 238
    Warning(s): None
    Original Source: Weekly Drabble Challenge: Fantastic Beasts

    "Hey mum, look what we found!" Fred called as he ran into the kitchen.

    George followed at his heels, carrying what appeared to be a hedgehog. Mrs. Weasley turned from the stove to look down on the eight-year-old twins.

    "Can we keep it mum?" George pleaded. "Please?"

    "I don't know," she began. She looked at the creature George was holding up, regarding it with some suspicion. "Do you know what it even is?"

    "Sure we do, it's a hedgehog," Fred told her. "We even asked Charlie, and he said it was a hedgehog."

    Their mother looked at the little animal in George's hands. Then glanced between Fred and George, both boys looking very hopeful.

    "Take it outside and feed it something," Mrs. Weasley relented finally. "I must be crazy..."

    Grinning widely the boys took their new pet, whom they promptly named Percy, and set him on the ground. Fred got a dish from the kitchen and put some orange peels on the plate. The little animal immediately went berserk. It began to rip up their mother's flowers in the garden. The boys ran after it, hollering.

    "Percy, come back here!" Fred yelled.

    "What's gotten into you, Percy?" George shouted.

    "I'm right here, you two," Percy announced from the back door. "Mum asked me to check on you..."

    He stopped upon seeing his brothers chasing the little creature.

    "MUM!" he hollered. "Fred and George gave food to a knarl!"

    Title: Harry's Not the Only One With Nightmares
    Word Count: 349
    Warning(s): Torture
    Original Source: Monthly Drabble Challenge: Neville Longbottom

    Neville Longbottom watched on, helpless, as three wizards and a witch surrounded his parents. He felt as if some invisible force was preventing him from moving.

    "Tell us where He is!" the youngest shouted at him.

    "I told you, we don't know!" Frank Longbottom called to them.

    "Liar! If you refuse to comply, we'll torture you," the witch shrieked, now drawing her wand. "Crucio!"

    Frank screamed in pain. He collapsed to the ground, twitching uncontrollably. The young Death Eater pulled out his wand and pointed at the man too, shouting the same curse as the witch. Alice Longbottom sobbed uncontrollably, restrained by the remaining two Death Eaters, unable to help her husband. Neville watched in horror, unable to break free, unable to help. The witch cackled mercilessly, as she stared down upon the man she was torturing.

    Soon, the man moved no more. His mouth was open, but no sound came out. The two wizards holding Alice let go of her. She fell to the ground and crawled over to her husbands side. She took one look at him before burying her face into her hands and crying even harder. Neville shed some tears too.

    The witch lowered her wand, looking down on Alice sobbing over her husband, with some satisfaction that made Neville feel ill.

    "Now tell us where the Dark Lord is," she commanded. "Or you get the same fate as your husband."

    "We already told you, we don't know where he is!" Alice sobbed.

    "Have it your way," hissed the witch. "Crucio!"

    Alice fell next to Frank, screaming and twitching just like him. Neville yelled out, but what he said was not heard, as his mother's screaming drowned him out.


    Neville fell to the floor of the boy's dormitory, tangled in the bed sheets. The room was pitch black but he heard someone sit down on the floor next to him.

    "Neville, are you okay?"

    He finally fought his way out of the sheets and saw who was sitting next to him. It was Harry.

    "Yeah, it was just- just a nightmare," he answered quickly.

  5. #25
    Third Year Gryffindor
    Searching for Neville's Toad
    ProfPosky's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2006
    On a very large Island
    Author: ProfPosky
    House: Gryffindor
    Title: Feathers
    Word count:493

    You couldn’t say she was in a good mood. She was usually in a bad mood these days.

    “Why did he say he wanted us?” she asked curtly.

    “Something hatching. Don’t tell him I told you. He wants to surprise you.”

    “Come in, come in. It’s good ter see yuh, good ter,” Hagrid said when he opened the door. “I got sumptin’ nice fer yer both. You’ll like ‘em.”

    <i>Pink acromantulas, most likely</i>, Harry thought . <i>That, or an improved screwt. Grawp couldn’t have a child hatching out, could he? Do Giants hatch?.</i> He approached the basket with a certain amount of caution, only to have something appear in it just as he poked his head over the edge. He pulled it back sharply, surprised.

    “Hagrid, you’ve got a bird in there!’ he exclaimed.

    “Not jes’ any bird, Harry, not jest any bird. That’ll be a Diricawl.” At Harry’s blank stare he added “Muggles call ‘em Dodo birds.”

    He looked down into the nest box, and noticed…

    “So this is what you brought us here for, Hagrid? Your Dodo bird is about to hatch her eggs?”

    Hagrid looked over at the box with a slight smile on his face. “They’re not jes’ Diricawls. I bred ‘em up meself, see. Thought they’d make good pets, right cheerful. Thought they’d make people laugh…” He seemed sad, somehow, and as if there was less air in him than formerly – as if he needed less, and had less, and was perhaps not looking for more.

    “Well, she’s going crazy in there, Hagrid. Do we do anything? I mean, in Muggle movies they’re always boiling water and tearing up sheets.”.

    “Ye jes’ watch ‘em, mostly. See, that egg is cracking now.” Hagrid put his face right into the box, and Hermione mouthed “Fangs?” over his head. Harry tried to peak around Hagrid, couldn’t, and shrugged.

    “OOP. He popped off right quick. He’ll be back though.” He looked up as if he had forgotten them for a minute. “They disappear in a burst of feathers. Sorta like bird fireworks, see, only with feathers.”

    “But Hagrid, there’s…” Harry looked closely inside the box “Pink fuzz in there. Do the babies have fur?”

    “These will, “ said Hagrid with a shadow of his old paternal pride. “I crossed ‘em with Pygmy Puffs, see?”

    “Pygmy Puffs, Hagrid?” Hermione asked. “Pygmy Puffs? Not spiders, not Basilisks, not Alligators, not even Pit Bulls, Hagrid, Pygmy Puffs? No claws? No fangs? No Poison?” Her voice rose in a crescendo, getting wilder as it went, and the two men watched her in alarm. “No monsters, Hagrid? A disappearing bird, and a PYGMY PUFF?”

    Hagrid just stood there, amazed and a bit defeated looking. Harry was desperately thinking in useless circles, and then it came, like a storm, like a fireburst, like the explosion they had all known would have to come some day.

    Hermione, for the first time since Voldemort was vanquished, began to cry.

    Author: ProfPosky
    House: Gryffindor
    Title: Killjoys
    Word count:500

    "Five o' them, ye say?" The large, bushy-haired man put his enormous tankard to his lips and sipped. "Five?" His voice echoed in the almost-empty tavern.

    "Five," agreed the mournful pile of unkempt hair and tattered clothing that sat and drank with him, "an' if ye can believe it, Hagrid, I only paid for three. How I got the other two I couldn't say." He, too, took a drink absentmindedly. The beer spilled from the heavy cup, splashing his filthy clothes further, but he seemed ot find it funny. "There ye go, mate. I just put on these robes this mornin' for the firs'time, and they're broken in already." His laugh was rusty, but a laugh, all the same.

    "Do they play cards like that fer folks? Ye ough' ter make a few knuts lettin' folks watch." Hagrid observed the small, sheeplike animals sitting cross-legged on the floor near the fire. "They'r real convincin' like."

    The largest of the small animals looked up at Hagrid and growled. The ferocity of the sound, combined with the adorable mop of curls on top of it's placid, sheep-like head got a smile out of the large man.

    "No," Dung continued mournfully, "They won't perform in public.. Although Eunice in the corner there'll knit."

    "Really? Well, thats sumpin' like. Don' see too many sheep as can knit."

    "No, ye don't, do ye. There's no market for knittin' sheep in these times, Hagrid. I've wasted my money." Mundungus seemed resigned. "Free to a good home. Ye've got the room."

    "But they're a bit dull, ain't they. No breathin' fire or bitin' or spinning rope?" he asked with a faint hope in his voice.

    "Not a bit of it. Still, sort of amusin', watchin 'em when they think ye ain't lookin. Billy was playin' drums on the oatmeal box this mornin'"

    Hagrid burst out then with a deep belly-laugh. "OATmeal, Dung? I'd a never picked ye fer oatmeal in the mornin'."

    ”Oatmeal goes very nice with a bit o' fire whiskey in the mornin'. An ye know, I don' think they're sheep. I think they might be KillJoys."

    "Ye don' say. But they're supposed to be extinct!" This was more interesting to Hagrid.

    "I have it on good authority," Mundungus responded, in a low voice, "That there's odder thin's in New Jersey than that."

    "Maybe. Maybe, Dung. I can' take em, though, anyways. Too much to be doing right now, what with..."

    "Well, mebbe Fred and George, then. they're use' to bad knitting anyway..." He stood up and whistled. "On yer feet, lads." Obediently, they stood on their hind legs. "March."

    The little wooly animals sashayed out the door of the Leaky Cauldron. "Then again, Hagrid, mebbe I'll keep 'em meself. There's sumthin' about them I je' can' put my finger on, but their cheerful, like."

    "Well, if ye like that, then. Good day, Mundungus." Hagrid sat down again at the table, remembering to be bereft, while happiness on the hoof marched itself out the door.

    Author: ProfPosky
    Title: Defying Time
    Number of words: 491

    It was constant.

    In September, it had been burning eyes, a bit of irritability, the occasional headache. She had made sure to eat the celery in her salad, bathed her eyes in chamomile, and started putting cinnamon on her toast.

    By November, the headaches were more frequent, and she was tossing back chamomile tea at every meal, although it smelled like grass clippings. The book didn’t say, but she privately suspected it was making her hay fever worse.

    Christmas provided a break. Being in only one time at a time gave her young body some opportunity to recover. Her mother fed her up. Her Aunt Rose fed her up. Her Grandmother, the lady next door, and Emmaline, her best friend from her pre-wizarding days all encouraged her to take second helpings. She was developing not only a thinness of body those at school did not notice under her uniform robes, but a pulling, a taughtening of the spirit, as if it were a drum head. They saw, they did not know what they saw, but still, saw, and threw at this problem the numerous remedies they trusted – fresh air, exercise, good food, dark chocolate, tea of every description, over the counter dietary supplements, and water. She ate so much celery that her mother spoke to her father about a specialist. She did not quite seem anorexic, and yet…

    February rolled into March, rolled into April. People were so foolish, so easy to put off. Not once did her friends actually corner her, demand to know how she could be taking so many classes, and while Professor McGonagall had told her it would be so, she had not believed her, could not believe it now.

    Had it only been the time turning she would not have been in such a state. It was a miscalculation on Minerva McGonagall’s part. She had not foreseen that as she became more and more depleted Hermione’s judgment would slip. She consistently broke the law of diminishing returns, demanding of herself not the hour that would guarantee a good grade, but the hours additional that might – only might - yield a perfect one. Her nerves were at a breaking point.

    And yet, it went on. Parvati and Lavender were too intimidated to tell anyone that she kept a Citron on her desk to stare at. Lavender had a vague recollection – she did not remember from when, or from where, of an old Muggle man with a citron done up in a bit of cellophane shuffling around on a street corner in some perplexing ritual which her mother could not explain. From this, they deduced that the citron was Muggle business they could not expect to understand, rather than realizing she was going round the bend.

    Long before she hauled off and belted Malfoy she had begun seeing birds flying across the periphery of her vision and meant to have her eyes checked. She did not realize …

    House: Gryffindor
    Title: Early Signs of Promise
    Word count: 492

    If she was getting them in the hospital wing, thought Poppy Pomfrey, things were dire. Normally, students did not come all the way up to her lair for constipation.

    There were 15 students out there now, lined up in a row of chairs. All were Slytherins. She debated in her mind the wisdom of talking to Severus Snape. On the one hand, there was patient-healer confidentiality to be preserved. On the other, there seemed to be some sort of public health crisis going on in that house. If 15 first and second years were sitting in her reception area, as it were, there were undoubtedly many others sitting – or, more to the point, not sitting – elsewhere.

    Severus Snape rarely looked at the picture just to the left of his bookshelves. It came with his territory, although whether that was his territory as potions master or as Slytherin’s Head of House, he couldn’t say. He had inherited both from Horace Slughorn, and it could simply have been that it was a picture Horace liked. It showed the Hogwarts kitchens, with the house elves as work, like a Muggle television with only one show.

    He was watching it with great interest now, however. He knew that most of his house was – internally cluttered at the moment. It didn’t seem to be bothering anyone else --at least not in such numbers. The furtive, desperate looking glances from those first year students who had yet to meet Poppy Pomfrey, the ones more afraid of healers than they were of potions masters, were coming only from the Slytherins. He was starting to overhear whispered conversations. “You ask him.” “No, YOU ask him.”

    He was eyeing the two red-headed boys in the frame with interest. Taller than the house-elves, but not by much, they seemed to be deep in earnest discussion with Drabby, the head of the kitchen crew. A hand of bananas was peeling itself. The conversation continued – it was joined by another hand. A very large bag of rice – larger than the elf beneath it – was making its way over to the preparation table, and a bushel of broad beans as well – those were difficult to identify at a distance, but he had passed Hagrid bringing in that very bushel earlier that afternoon.

    With a nod, he walked over to the picture and removed it from the wall. A matter of moments had him in an astonished Minerva McGonagall’s office.

    “There is a picture in the kitchens of Julius the Childless. He has a picture on his wall in the portrait. Whatever that picture would see is shown in this one. I think you might like to hang it someplace you can keep an eye on it.” He said coolly.

    “And why would I want to do that?” she asked, perplexed.

    “Because,” he said with a certain satisfaction, “for the next seven years, you will be finding it much more useful than I would have.”

    Thanks to Joanna for my very first ever banner!

  6. #26
    Here are a few of my drabbles.

    Author Name: tc015
    House: Gryffindor
    Word count: 299
    Warnings: None
    I Never Stopped


    I had always wanted more than the average pureblood woman. I did not intend to be married off to the highest bidder, who only wanted me to produce heirs. I knew that I was worth more than. I had intelligence, and I planned to use it to make a difference in the world. It had been my dream since I was a child to become a healer. But more than anything else, I wanted a choice in life. I wanted to choose my husband, choose how many children I have, to choose what profession I become. And I would do anything to make that dream become a reality.


    I was able to deceive everyone for so long. Everyone, my family, my friends, thought that I would just willingly marry Augustus Rookwood, my fiancé, and that I would live happily ever after as Rockwood’s trophy wife, producing several good heirs and leading a life of luxury. But no one knew the truth. No one knew that I was in love with another man. No one knew until I left the house that fateful morning.


    That fateful morning, the morning before my wedding to Augustus Rookwood, I told my family the truth. I told them that I had done one of the worse things a Black could do – I had fallen in love with a Muggleborn, and I intended to marry him. The reaction was nothing more or less than what was to be expected. Over the harsh screams of my mother and the deadly curses being thrown at me by my older sister, my father said that I had ceased to be a Black and a Slytherin. He was wrong. While I may have stopped being a Black that day, I never stopped being a Slytherin.

    To the end.
    Name: tc015
    House: Gryffindor
    Warnings: Mentions of Character Death at the end
    Words: 273
    His Dream

    “I want to be like Professor Dumbledore,” the young boy of eleven thought.

    After his first meeting with him, that was all Remus could think about. Professor Dumbledore was extremely tall, taller Dad even. He had a long white beard that sparkled in the sun. He wore these moon shaped spectacles on his face, and his bright blue eyes were always twinkling. Remus wanted to be just like him.

    He wanted to be a professor. He wanted to teach other boys and girls about magic. He wanted to someday become headmaster of Hogwarts. He wanted to be kind like Professor Dumbledore. Dumbledore let him into the school, even though no other man would have done so. He loved everything about the professor.

    But he could never become a professor. No one would want to go to school with someone like him; that’s why he had to keep it a secret. If no one wanted him to go to school, then no one would want him to teach there. But he still wanted to be a professor just like Professor Dumbledore.

    When he found out the news, that Professor Dumbledore had died, Remus Lupin collapsed onto a nearby chair and put his face in his hands. The man he had loved, the man he had admired was dead. Professor Dumbledore made his dreams come true. He let him, a poor werewolf, teach at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He loved his one year teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts; it had been his happiest year in a long time. He owed it all to Professor Dumbledore, the one person he looked up to.
    Name: tc015
    House: Gryffindor
    Warnings: Mentions of Character Death
    Words: 499


    I was extremely bored that day. Snape had been missing from Spinner’s End ever since he had murdered Dumbledore, and it looked I wasn’t getting out soon. I was looking through the few possessions I had managed to retrieve. I found something at the bottom of my small orange bag that made me jaw drop.

    It was an old book filled with pictures. I was so surprised to see it; it had been years since I looked at the old thing. I opened up the book to a random page and laughed at what I saw.

    It was taken during Lily and James’s wedding. It was of all of us, who were all smiling brightly and patting James on the back. We told James about how now he would have to give up his mischief making for his dear wife. James replied that he would just tell his kids to do it. I laughed for the first time in months. Just looking at that picture brought back memories of all my good times spent with my friends. I turned the page, and the next picture made my smile disappear.

    It was from when I was around twenty. It was from my mum’s wedding. She was smiling brightly at her husband, my stepfather Neil Roberts. I was standing on Neil’s side as his best man. I was faking a joyful smile, pretending I was actually happy about it. It was a year after my dad died, and she had already gotten married. It bothered me that he was a pureblood. My dad was a Muggle. It felt so weird that my mum had been so quick to forget her Muggle husband for some pureblood wizard. My blood boiled as I turned to the last page of my album.

    It was my favorite picture. It was of my dad and me, in front of Kings Cross Station. I was twelve, and beginning my second year at Hogwarts. We were both beaming. Dad loved magic. He loved to see me do magic. It made him smile. It was the last picture I had of him. Shortly after that day, Dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. It was long six years of battling the cancer.

    It was the worst thing for me, losing my dad. I can remember crying all night long, praying that somehow my dad could come back. I could never imagine inflicting that on a person. It was the worst punishment in the world.

    Then it hit me. I did inflict that fate on a person, on Harry. I gave the Dark Lord the location of the Potters. I led him to the Potter’s house. I let him kill Lily and James. I allowed Harry to be an orphan, to live with horrid Muggles.

    Tears were spilling from my eyes. I had felt never guilty about betraying the Potters until now. I had to make it up to Harry. I quickly left Spinner’s End, knowing what I had to do.

  7. #27
    I don't have many drabbles, but here's the one I like best. It was for the Narcissa Malfoy challenge a while ago.

    Author: Viv
    House: Slytherin
    Title: Failure
    Word count: 434
    Warnings: None

    He had failed. He had failed in the Department of Mysteries. Voldemort had counted on my husband to get him the prophecy, but he deceived him. This is a disgrace to our family. What will the other Death Eaters think about the Malfoys from now on? How much respect will there be left for us? It took so much time to earn ourselves a place of choice in His circle of followers. Now, it looks like the day of our downfall is near. I know we’re not the only ones who couldn’t achieve a mission entrusted by the Dark Lord and that humans are born to make mistakes, but Lucius never failed before. And with Him, there is no place for mistake. You fail; you die. And if you don’t die, He will punish you in a way you can only wish you were dead. At least, He cannot harm Lucius now that he is in Azkaban. I would never have thought to say this one day, but to be in prison is the best thing for him right now. He’s safe.

    Then again, it is Azkaban, a place full of Dementors. What are the chances of seeing Lucius again? And if I do, in which mental state will he be? They say people go mad after sometime spent in there. I fear for him. I know I shouldn’t, he can handle himself pretty well, but I can’t help myself. He’s my husband, for God sake! And what about my son? He always thought Lucius was the greatest wizard in the world. Draco needs his father, stronger and prouder than ever. He needs his protection. I need his protection. What if the Dark Lord decides to punish Lucius through us? I could stand a punishment, to go through terrible ordeals, but if something were to happen to Draco, I know it would be way too difficult to bear. My poor boy… He’s still so young, and so fragile, even if he doesn’t want anyone to notice it. He wants to follow his father’s path, but he’s not ready yet. And I don’t want him to be ready. He’s the only thing I have left. My only child…

    Well, now look at me, I’m crying. What a shame I am. I must stop it now. I must be strong. I must do what I always do in this family: keep my head up and show no weakness. I must not give a chance to our Lord to find an easy way to reach us. Stand up straight, Narcissa, and brace yourself: the worst is ahead…
    And my recommandations!

    Doing The Right Thing by Sly_Severus
    She took the words right out of my mouth by helgaandgodric
    Doing This For Glory by crazy_purple_hp_freak

  8. #28
    This is my St. Mungo's challenge drabble.

    Title: The Candystriper
    Author: MorganRay
    House: Hufflepuff
    Words: 380
    Warnings: None

    The young girl fidgeted with the edge of her white bed sheets. Her straggly, brunette tresses hung around her face and hadn’t seen any grooming in a while. She would go into moments where she just couldn’t think about anything. She would sit and forget where she was and what she was doing. The edge of her blanket was the most interesting thing in the world at the moment, and she left the plate heaped full of turkey, an ear of corn, and a sweet potato unattended. She hadn’t sipped the juice they brought her, either, and the pitcher of water remained completely full.

    Beside her bed sat a little bear who would tap dance and spray hearts out of its chest when one touched its nose. It scared the girl the first time she saw it; her parents became upset, too, because they picked it from the hospital gift shop. Her mother insisted it was better than the bear that spewed smiles out of its mouth.

    The door to the room clicked open. The girl didn’t look up as a petit woman entered the sterile, white room. Her long face wasn’t unpleasant, and a look of alertness filled her gray eyes. Her large, strawberry lips opened in a cheerful smile to reveal straight, clean teeth.

    “Katie Bell?” She paused, waiting for the girl to answer. When she didn’t look up, the woman in striped, pink scrubs continued in a chipper voice. “I’m Heather Pierce, and I was wondering if you need anything. I see you haven’t touched your dinner.”

    Katie didn’t move, and the woman went over to examine what Katie was looking at so intently. “I’m glad you like your blanket, dear.” A look of pity flashed through her eyes. She put her hands on the girl’s wrist gently. “The intern told me you get like this. I personally have seen worse since working here, though, so don’t feel too bad, dear. I’ll just keep your diner warm for you.”

    Without another word, Heather collected Katie’s meal and walked out of the room. Katie continued to fidget with her sheets.
    This is my drabble about how Tonks feels about herself.

    Title: Tonks
    Words: 388
    Warnings: None

    She turned her back on them, and her knuckles were bawled up so tightly that she could feel her fingernails digging into her palms.

    Bloody prick! I only gave him what he deserved.

    Instead of heading towards the doors, her feet turned her unwillingly in the direction of the Forbidden Forest.

    I don’t care if he runs back and tattles on me. I’m no more a man than he is! It felt so good to slam his nose.

    She walked into the darkness and leaned against the rough back of the first tree she could find.

    He’s so thick! What does he know about being a Metamorphagi? Is he one? He’s probably never even read about one! If he had, he would have known that we can’t really change our sex, although it is possible to look like the other sex, but my abilities aren’t nearly that advanced!

    Rubbish! It’s all rubbish what they say about me. Today it’s one thick boy. Tomorrow it’ll be another thick person. Today, he was in Ravenclaw. Tomorrow he could be from Gryffindor. It doesn’t even have to be a boy. Merlin knows that my own roommates say the same thing.

    She tilted her head back against the tree truck and stared up into the dark canopy. She brushed her hand across her eyes to remove the tears.

    I know I’m different, but there’s nothing wrong with who and what I am. Girls don’t have the same interests as me, I know, and they avoid me. I’m not a real girl to them, but I’m just ‘one of the guys’ to the guys. If one of them would open their eyes, they’d see I really was a woman. I’m not some stupid girl. Sorry that I don’t own a skirt or a dress. I like to dress in jeans and T-shirts. None of these thick boys can understand that, apparently. Not one person really looks at me as a woman. I’m ‘Tonks the Metamorphagi’ to them, not just Tonks.

    I don’t want to change for them. Being a Metamorphagi is what I am, not who I am. I wish someone understood that, too. I like being different because it’s me. I am who I am. There’s no need for me to be who they want me to be. I wish that at least one of them would try to understand.
    Title: Prince Charming
    Rating: 1st-2nd Years
    Words: 530
    Warnings: None
    Summary: When she was little, Hermione made her own rules for who Prince Charming would be.

    She couldn’t get the tune out of her head.

    ‘I’ve forgotten most of the words! I hated the story!’ she mentally chastised herself for recollecting a song that she loathed.

    But it was a catchy tune.

    So this is love . . . . hmm hmm hmm hmm . . .’

    To keep her occupied, her mum had plunked her in front of the TV and inserted a tape into their VCR almost everyday. One day, at some undetermined but unquestionably young age, Hermione remembered watching Disney’s Cinderella. She liked the magic. She always liked the magic in the videos, but she simply didn’t understand why Cinderella wanted a man that badly. She didn’t understand why she simply didn’t find a better place where she belonged.

    And, for Hermione, the most puzzling thing was why she wanted that man so much. They didn’t seem like they were in love. They couldn’t be in love -- she reasoned, even at that young age, --they hardly knew each other! You couldn’t love someone you really didn’t know, now could you?

    Also, she never understood the concept of ‘Prince Charming.’ None of the men in fairy tales seemed to be charming. Sure, they could feed you, clothe you, and give you jewels, but her parents could do that, too. For her, a charming boy would be one who would want to talk to her and play make-believe in the woods. And, even then, she didn’t think she wanted the boy to be overly sweet and charming, as the fairy tales put it, because it might take all the fun away from their play.

    My heart’s a glow . . .

    And now, she stood there, in a frilly, pink dress, exactly like one of those princesses. And, worst of all, she heard that song in her head.

    And now I know . . . that this is what makes life divine . . . .

    She tactfully itched a spot where her lace irritated her skin before descending down the stairs towards the Great Hall. As she turned the corner, she saw Ron and Harry. A small smile flitted across her face at the sight of them, and she pushed her annoyance with Ron aside for the moment. She was going with Viktor – the perfect prince charming.

    This is the miracle that I’ve been dreaming of . . .

    Strangely, at that moment, the idea of going with someone who embodied the hero in the movies repulsed her. She let herself stand on the stairs, and she pined to go with the boyhood companion she had always told herself she preferred in the place of Prince Charming. She could see herself waltzing across the floor with Viktor, and the idea made her feel girly and silly.

    Then, she glanced at Ron, who looked absolutely ridiculous in his robes. A grin tugged up the corners of her mouth at the thought of waltzing across the floor of a massive, elegant ballroom with Ron. Somehow, it relieved her to know that the two of them would never share in that awkward experience.

    So this, so this . . . is love.

    Here's the link to StaceyLC's drabble page, and I reccomend Someone To Talk To.

  9. #29
    Author Name: Hel
    House: Gryffindor
    Word count: 309
    Warnings: None

    Ink Stains

    Hermione was writing a letter. People were rushing around her in every way, but they were but a blur to her focused eyes. Nothing else mattered, except that this letter reached him, and that he be alive to read it.

    As people rushed past in all direction, she dipped her quill into the ink bottle, waited a moment, then returned to her writing. All she could hear were the words in her head, and the scratching of the quill. She was in her own world - his world. She was at peace, and peace was echoed in her words; she hoped her peace would bring him peace, if nothing else.

    She glanced at her watch, and realized that she must say goodbye…

    Reluctantly she drew herself part-way out of his world and wrote her name. She hesitated, then wrote 'love'. Feeling pleased with herself she looked up, and was jerked abruptly into the real world by a person.


    Hermione started, her heart beating faster than it had ever beaten. God I missed him... She looked down and found that her starting had caused the ink bottle that had been perched precariously on her lap to topple over, spilling its ink all over her new robes. Her heart stopped, it was all too much, the war, Ron, and now this…

    Her distress must have shown on her face, because at that moment Ron had pulled out his wand, leant in towards her, and muttered a spell.

    Hermione could barely breathe his face was so close. She could see every freckle, every blemish, every imperfection, all - perfect.

    "Thank you." she breathed.

    She could feel him glance down at the letter, focusing on the last word. He read it, and as the comprehension dawned on him, he looked back up at her, his blue eyes locked into her brown.

    "I love you..."

  10. #30
    Author: mspadfoot89
    House: Ravenclaw
    Title: A kiss
    Word length: 415
    Warnings: --

    A Kiss

    “What are you doing here?” Draco Malfoy whispered.

    His once-perfectly combed hair was swept all over his face, which was gaunt, hollow and paler than usual—standing in contrast with his red, chapped lips. His eyes reflected nothing, whereas once they had been full of mockery and life. His gaze unsteady, he looked at his visitor with the closest thing to feeling. Azkaban had weakened Draco Malfoy.

    Cho Chang stood in front of him her eyes filled with pain, her heart bursting with unshed tears. She had long learnt that crying would get her nowhere.

    “I’m here to see you,” she answered, sitting down if front of him, a sense of cold and dread taking hold of her, although there were no Dementors around. But the minute she did he turned away from her.

    “How did they let you in?”

    “It …” she spoke, but seemed unnerved, “It was Harry. He … he did me a favour.”

    “Almighty Potter?” His voice was flat and held none of the usual maliciousness, his back still turned towards her. “What are you doing here?”

    “Draco … it’s … it’s Valentine’s Day. I had to see you. Why are you like this?”

    “What do you expect me to be like? I had no idea what day it was. I don’t know why you’ve come. I thought I was clear three weeks ago? Before they stuffed me in this …” Words failed him, but for the first time since her arrival, he looked at her and his eyes were haunted by something she could not define.

    “How can you say that?” she asked, her heart tearing. “Have you forgotten all we went through to be together? You told me you’d always be there for me. I haven’t forgotten, you know.”

    “It’s over, Cho. You know it is. I will never get out of here. Move on with your life! I can carry on a normal conversation now, but in a few weeks time, you won’t recognise me. Is that what you want?”

    “But … Draco … please. We’ll find a wa—“

    “There is no way. Now leave! GO!” he shouted, his heart breaking, just like hers.

    As she looked into his eyes, she knew he was right and she knew that she was lost. She stood to go, leaving one small, heart-shaped chocolate next to him. And as Draco looked at it, he wished for the Dementors to give him what Cho never would be able to again—a kiss.
    Author: mspadfoot89
    House: Ravenclaw
    Title: Only Us
    Word length: 397
    Warnings: --

    Only Us

    11. 23. 1998

    I sit here alone, thinking. The thoughts that cross my mind are countless, but they are all connected to one thing. This war. It seems impossible to grasp the fact that we’ve been fighting for more than a year. It seems like just yesterday when Dumbledore fell, and alongside him, Hogwarts. Things have changed so much since then.

    The few faces that you see in the streets are fearful, haunted, sad, tormented. I don’t blame them. I feel the same way. Every day is torture, thinking that people are being killed—people you care about, people whose names you don’t know, people who are trying to change something. Because this whole war is about accepting change. Many people see that, while others just refuse to acknowledge it. I suffer deeply. Watching the people I love fight and die, watching morals die, watching people’s rights die. It pains me. I cannot stand to fight any longer. I am tired of every single thing, every word, every feeling. I just want this to end.

    But still I fight. I fight for my beliefs, I fight for others’ rights, I fight for life, but most of all I fight for Harry. I see him everyday, courageously facing everything that comes in his path, trying his best to put an end to all this. He stands tall, but deep inside he is scared and I know he thinks he’s alone. But he’s not and he’s never been. I fight alongside him, with all of my strength, with passion and with loyalty. He’s the one who keeps me fighting, he’s the one who keeps me sane and the one who always reminds me of the gentle days when we were still in Hogwarts, thus making me temporarily forget the sick, twisted feeling in my stomach, the iron hand clutching my heart.

    He is the only one I have left and I like to think I’m the only thing he has as well. We have both lost so many people through this ordeal. Smiling faces flash through my head as I fight to keep my tears from falling. Redheads and old friends, teachers and parents—we’ve lost them all. As I look at his sleeping form huddled under a tree, my determination grows stronger. We will emerge victorious. Because as long as we have each other, we can go on.

    Hermione Granger.

    Author: mspadfoot89
    House: Ravenclaw
    Word Count: 448
    Warnings: --

    Am I a Wizard?

    “Wake up, sweetheart” Melanie Goldstein called up the stairs, her voice soft and sweet.

    Anthony Goldstein, a little boy of around eleven years of age and curly black hair, woke up startlingly.
    He hated it when his mum woke him like this. He loved to sleep and saw absolutely no point in getting up early. Sighing deeply, he got up and started dressing. His father had always been this way too—he hated mornings—and he had always let Anthony sleep until late.

    But dad isn’t here anymore, Anthony thought, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. After all, he had promised himself and his mum that since his dad had decided to get up and leave three years ago, he would be strong for both of them. And he certainly couldn’t do that if he kept thinking of all this. At eleven, Anthony was as much grown up as most people became later in life.

    The sweet smell of bacon and eggs met his nose as he entered the kitchen. He sniffed happily, his stomach growling. He had come to like the way his mother cooked. He sat down at the table and started eating, occasionally asking his mum this or that. The mail came as he was finishing his apple.

    “Bills, bills, pizza ad, magazine—ooh, I’ve been waiting for this—” she stopped, looking at an envelope in her hands with all the surprise in the world.

    “Mum, what is it?” Anthony asked, dropping his apple on a plate and moving behind his mother to get a look at what she was looking at.

    Melanie quickly opened up the envelope and read its contents, her eyes getting wider as each sentence passed by. This was … this had to be … Had Richard known this all along? Was he a … wizard? She flinched as the word passed through her mind. Then, unbidden, a memory of old times came into her mind.

    “Our child will go to the best school, you shall see,” Richard Goldstein said patting his wife’s round belly.

    “Well, of course, we’ll do our best, but what with our financial—“ Melanie started, but was interrupted.

    “No, no, that’s not what I mean. You’ll understand one day.”

    She had never truly forgotten those words—they had haunted her until this very day, when she was finally able to understand their meaning.

    “So mum, what is it?” Anthony repeated, his black eyes boring steadily into those of his mother’s.

    “I-it’s a letter … from a school … Hogwarts.”

    “It says here, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” He turned around at his mother, eyes unbelieving. “What does that mean? Am I a … a wizard?”

    Author: mspadfoot89
    House: Ravenclaw
    Word length: 348
    Warnings: --

    On the run

    Life on the run is a hard thing, Draco Malfoy decided while crouching inside a cave, feeding on a piece of moulted cheese he had found, in the ruins of a nearby house. However, he had no other choice but to keep running—running and wondering if he would ever get rid of the smell of sweat on heated skin, of the dirt that seemed to crawl under his skin, or of the habit he had picked up of eating his food as though it was going to be taken away from him.

    He, Draco Malfoy, proud son of Lucius and pureblood heir of the Malfoy name, reduced to sleeping on tree branches and caves, eating whatever garbage he could find, not knowing if the next day would find him alive or dead. He was afraid to show himself to anyone for fear of talking to a traitor, but kept his constant lookout for Harry Potter. Although he hated to admit it, Potter was the only person that could get him out of this mess. As much as Draco liked being independent, he appreciated his life, and having clean clothes even more.

    Having finished his dinner, he slumped on the back wall of his newfound cave, left alone to think about the misery of what he had come to call life, dreaming of warm beds, long baths and proper food. His imagination was not helping much though, as he could not clearly remember the smell of soap, the feel of clean sheets under him, or the taste of proper food. He looked at his long, blonde hair so covered in grime, one could not tell its colour anymore. His hands clenched around them, as he made himself a promise. If it were the last thing he would do, he would get out of this disaster he had dug himself into. And with that, and not much else, given to the fact that he had not slept for three days, his eyelids began to close, and he had long dreams of Voldemort chasing him with soap and water.

Posting Permissions

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