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Thread: The FIFTH TTB DRABBLE BRAWL~THE FINAL~ RESULTS INNNN

  1. #11
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    RESULTSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS




    Christmas Joys – Apollonious <4,0>
    Together – coolh5000 <1,3>
    Sneak – Karaley Dargen <1,0>
    A Dent in Her Integrity – jk Salmeier <2,0>
    Midnight Letters – Theo Paleye <4,1>
    An Approved. Edited Copy of ‘Beyond the Veil ... psijupiter<1,3>
    Life of Lies (1)– MapleandPhoenixFeather <1,4>
    It – ToBeOrNot <2,0>
    A Life of Lies (2)-Gwendalynne <1,3>
    Facing the Fallout –Weasley Mom <1,0>
    The Rusty Dagger –lunalovegoodlover <1,1>
    A Human Amongst Savages – Ascendio <1,1>
    Looking Back – TM Wandstick <0,1>
    Misled – TheCursedQuill <0,3>


    Sadly, leaving us this week are The CursedQuill and MapleandPhoenixFeather. Both receive hugs, squishes and a few tears, but more importantly 5 points each for the House of Lions.

    The winner this week is the fabulous Olivia (Apollonious) for the fabulousness that was Christmas Joys. She takes 5 points for Hufflepuff (YAY!!!!)


    The Fallen
    iMusic17
    ron lover
    MapleandPhoenixfeather
    TheCursedQuill

    Zach Smith
    melody98
    Laurski
    grimlysirius

    and because she sent me a sweet PM apologising and I'm a sucker for that

    Dennis Creevey (unable to attend)
    Evora

    WEEK 3 PROMPT


    Let us sally forth into the next round with a prompt close to your barmaid’s heart, but will probably have you reaching for your sporks. Yes, I remember the poor old toothbrush prompt.

    Okay, whose birthday is it tomorrow?

    You at the back, yes, you. That’s right, Hermione Weasley nee Granger.

    So this week the drabble needs to be based around her.

    HOLD YOUR THESTRALS! That’s not quite it. (obviously). Your barmaid has a favourite song. This song, quite neatly, is called Letter To Hermione by David Bowie. You may listen to it if you’re at all interested in your barmaid’s tastes, but it won’t be necessary for the challenge.

    This is NOT a song fic challenge.

    What I want you to do is write a letter to Hermione from a canon character. It does not have to be about her birthday, but you may include that if you wish.

    All drabbles must be between 250-500 words.

    Use this form.


    PHP Code:
    [B]Name:[/B]
    [
    B]House:[/B]
    [
    B]Title:[/B]
    [
    B]Ratings/Warnings:[/B]
    [
    B]A/N:[/B

    All drabbles must be sent to me by Thursday 22nd September 8pm BST.

    Have fun and stop cursing your barmaid. She has feelings, you know.


    Madame Carmerta
    Last edited by Equinox Chick; 09-18-2011 at 03:21 PM.
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  2. #12
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    Okay

    Week THREE

    And the Evil prompt was

    LETTER TO HERMIONE.

    It was simply to be about a letter written by a canon character to Hermione. The letter had to be in the drabble. It could be sent to Hermione before or after she was married.

    And that's it.

    YAY for the birthday girl!

    Okay, now you need to read all the drabbles then vote for your favourite and your least favourite.



    VOTING CLOSES SUNDAY 25TH SEPTEMBER 3PM BST



    Title: Don't Forget
    Ratings/Warnings: 3rd/5th Yrs - character death
    A/N: ---

    Dear Hermione,

    First off, I want to tell you that I love you, and that I always will. That’s the most important thing. Whatever else you do now, please, please don’t forget that. I know there will probably be some hard times ahead of you, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am. But please don’t forget that I will always be looking out for you, wherever I may be.

    If you are reading this now, it is because something has happened to me. I knew, and you knew, and everybody knew this was a possibility. Being an Auror was never an easy career path, and even now I don’t regret it, which I hope you can understand. I’m sorry I hurt you, but I was doing it to protect you, and all of our family, and everyone else. I know you’ll understand, even if it hurts right now.

    Tell Rose and Hugo that I love them and that their Dad is in a better place. I hope that they will understand why I did what I did, when they’re older. I hope I was able to make them proud. I hope I was able to make you proud. I’m sorry I couldn’t watch them grow up properly. I’m sorry I couldn’t give Rose away at her wedding. I’m sorry you’ll have to raise them by yourself, but I know and you know you will never really be by yourself. Especially with my family around, I know you’ll have plenty of support, which I hope will make a difference. I’m sorry about a lot of things, but then again I’m not. I don’t regret anything, and I don’t want you to regret anything.

    And lastly, I love you. You can’t forget. Keep carrying on. I love you.

    Love,
    Ron



    Title: Love, Hugo
    Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd/none
    A/N:



    Dear Mum,

    Happy Birthday! It is today, isn’t it? Rose says it was yesterday, but she’s been off on everything since she started dating that Hufflepuff bloke, Charles Rodney, a few days ago. Wait, I think maybe I wasn’t supposed to tell you about that. Forget I said it.

    How’s Herbert? You’ve been feeding him, right? And cleaning his bowl and everything? You know how he just floats around when his bowl’s dirty. I hate it when he does that. Makes me think he’s about to go belly up any second.

    I’m over that cold I wrote you about in my last letter, by the way. Thanks for the Pepperup potion, it helped a lot, although sending that entire huge jar was a bit overkill.

    Classes have been good. Professor Binns is just as boring as Dad always said, but my other teachers are interesting. I think I like Transfiguration best. We’re turning matches into needles. I can’t wait til we get to the bigger things, like turning rocks into dogs and trees into horses.

    Hagrid had us over for tea on Friday. His puppy, Max, really liked me. He wouldn’t get out of my lap. It was kind of annoying, actually. I thought he was going to pee all over me. Lily sulked the whole walk back up to the castle because Max didn’t pay her any attention and whined when she tried to put him in her lap.

    Anyway, it’s almost time for Charms, so I’ve got to get going. But, like I said, Happy Birthday, Mum.

    Love,

    Hugo



    Title: Love from Mum
    Ratings/Warnings: 1st – 2nd Years
    A/N: Takes place during the many sucky days in the tent during Deathly Hallows.


    Hermione Granger hadn’t been homesick in all six years while away at school. Maybe it was because she had found a second home in Hogwarts. But this year, she wasn’t at Hogwarts. Instead, she was in the middle of nowhere, sleeping in a drafty tent with her two tired and hungry best friends.

    The unfamiliar pangs of loneliness and anxiety, once only felt as a first year student, were now resurfacing at a steady, unwelcomed rate. Hermione could feel the tears start to build behind her tired eyes along with a painful lump that throbbed at her throat.

    Breathe, Hermione.

    The familiar words of her mother reverberated through her head. Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep shuddering breath. It had been the one constant piece of advice her mother would always give whenever Hermione needed to focus. It was so simple, and yet so easily forgettable.

    Hermione opened her eyes and let the tears fall. Her hands held tightly against her mouth, desperately stifling a sob. It wouldn’t do any good to have Harry and Ron hear her crying.

    She missed her mother, and the constant correspondence and reassurance her mother would send to her in the form of a simple letter. Maybe that is why she hadn’t been homesick since that October in first year.

    Hermione wiped her tears with her shirt sleeve and searched inside her beaded bag. She felt around for a few minutes until she found a small wooden box. The box contained her most treasured things, photos and letters from her parents. She pulled out a very old tear-stained letter.

    My Sweet Hermione,

    I’m sure that Ron didn’t mean anything by what he said. I think he was just frustrated that he couldn’t do the magic to levitate the feather and instead he directed his anger onto you. Don’t tell Daddy, but boys say mean things sometimes when girls are able to do things boys cannot do.

    But just remember for next time, if you want to help teach him something or any of the other students, do it nicely. We have a tendency to be rather bossy when it comes to things we know how to do (an awful trait you inherited from my mother).

    I love you, and I know things are tough and unfamiliar right now, but it will get better. Just remember to breathe in the good things, and blow out the bad things.

    In the morning, if you still want to go home, Dad and I will arrange to collect you first thing in the afternoon. Be confident in your decision. I wouldn’t want you to have any regrets.

    Love from
    Mum


    A small, watery chuckle escaped Hermione’s lips at reading the old letter. She marveled at the ability her mum had at being able to say just the right words to cheer her up.

    “Thanks, Mum,” Hermione whispered as she delicately folded the letter, returning it back into the box.



    Title: Love, Ron
    Ratings/Warnings: 3rd-5th, mild language
    A/N: 497 words



    Ron sat at the kitchen table reviewing his copy of Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches.

    “If you haven’t seen your Witch of Interest for some time, your must get your feelings in order before you are reunited. Wizards who ignore this step often end up flustered and incoherent upon seeing their witches again, resulting in regrettable behavior that may significantly impede their progress toward the desired goal. Write her a letter. Honestly communicate your feelings about your relationship, and inquire about her well-being. Sorting out your feelings in private can prepare you for your reunion. One final, crucial word of advice: destroy the letter when you’ve finished.”

    It was well-past midnight and everyone else at The Burrow had already retired for the night. Ron set the book aside, squared his shoulders, and faced the blank parchment.


    Dear Hermione,


    Wait. Maybe he shouldn’t say “dear.” Was that too personal? Was this the kind of “regrettable behavior” the author had mentioned? Surely not--wasn’t it the standard greeting for letters? He honestly didn’t know, as he’d never been much good at letter writing. But Hermione had always begun hers, “Dear Ron,” so it must be all right. Merlin, who cared? He wasn’t sending the d*** thing anyway.


    Dear Hermione,

    You’ll be here the day after tomorrow. It seems like a long time still, but I suppose it isn’t. I’m glad you are coming early, and I hope everything goes well with your parents.



    He reread what he’d got so far. Profound, he thought. Really illuminating stuff. He was no good at this, but he would have to press on: he needed all the help he could get. Glancing at the instructions again, he tried to focus on his “thoughts and concerns.”


    Are you as worried about everything as I am? There’s Harry, of course. The wedding is getting closer, too, and Mum goes a bit mad now and again with the preparations. She will have us all as slaves before it’s over, I think.


    There was more, but he felt so strange writing it that he had to remind himself the letter would soon be gone.


    I’m sorry about last year. Things seem good between us now, but I can’t help worrying that it’s too late, that I missed my chance. I can’t sleep sometimes for worrying. It’s funny: we’ll soon be prey for Death Eaters, and I’m more nervous about what you could do to me.


    He grinned, knowing she would laugh if she read that last bit. He hadn’t been joking: she could break his heart as easily as he’d (possibly) broken hers.


    I miss you—there, I said it. You’ll be pleased to know I’ve been reading quite a lot and learning plenty. When you get here, you’ll see. Until then, just be careful.


    He considered the prudence of signing, “Love, Ron,” before remembering that it didn’t matter. Then, feeling strangely satisfied with his efforts, he touched his wand to the parchment and muttered, “Incendio.”



    Title:Dedication
    Ratings/Warnings:1st-2nd years/ none
    A/N: /

    Dear Miss Granger,

    I hope you are having a pleasant holiday. I am writing to you about your upcoming school year. Following our discussion at the end of last term I have reviewed your class elections and thought about your situation.

    After much contemplation I petitioned to the Ministry for a Time Turner, a device that allows one to travel back into the past, giving you the opportunity to take several courses at once. A lot of responsibility comes with this; when in the past one has to be very careful not to be spotted by someone that could be confused by your presence, or shall we say second presence. You are also not allowed to change the past; what has happened is the past and has to remain that way. This is one of the most important Wizarding laws and if it is broken I fear you will not come off lightly.

    I told the Ministry officials that you are up to the job, a model student who would never misuse this privilege, so do not disappoint me. I understand your thirst for knowledge and admire you for your dedication and am positive you will perform admirably.

    You should also consider the work load you would have if you go through with your plan. Third year is hard enough without the added stress and time you have to put into this. Not many could pull off taking so many classes, and I am sure it would be better to drop a class or two and therefore continue to perform well in all of your classes instead of taking a large variety of courses but letting your work suffer. However, as you are a very intelligent student and do not shy away from hard work, you will be permitted to act as you see fit and supported by your teachers. With dedication and hard work I know you can pull the coursework off.

    Think through this very carefully and we will talk again at the beginning of next term.

    Yours Sincerely,

    Minerva McGonagall,
    Deputy Headmistress
    Last edited by Equinox Chick; 09-22-2011 at 08:30 PM.
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  3. #13
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    Title: Stand by You
    Ratings/Warnings: 1st/2nd Years — Character Death
    A/N: I have often wondered about how easy or difficult it was for Hermione and Viktor to write to one another. I my little brain universe, he can speak English decently but can’t write it due to the difference between the Cyrillic alphabet used for Bulgarian as compared to the Latin-based English. The quill he uses, at least in my head, is about the equivalent to an average online translation service: serviceable but not entirely accurate. Just so you don’t think I’d completely forgotten proper grammar.

    * * *

    27 June 1997

    Dear Hermione,

    I am just hearing about Dumbledore’s death. He was a good and fair man, and it is sad to think that he is dead. Your friend Potter will be missing him, I am sure. The papers say that the Dark Lord is responsible, but as I learned in my years dealing with Karkaroff, you cannot believe everything you hear.

    I miss you. Stay safe.

    — Viktor

    P.S. — I am trying a new model of translating quill. I just hope that it is an improvement over the last one.


    * * *

    10 August 1997

    Dear Hermione,

    It was very nice seeing you at Fleur’s wedding. You looked beautiful. I was surprised that Harry was not there. But now I understand. We are getting wanted posters of him here, asking for information.

    If they are looking for Harry, I am assuming you are with him. It is not safe to be disappearing like that. Times are becoming dangerous, and Harry is a dangerous friend to have. I trust that he will take care of you. If he does not, then he will be answering to me.

    — Viktor


    * * *

    19 September 1997

    Dear Hermione,

    The man who made my wand, Gregorovitch, was murdered. There are rumours that the Dark Lord killed him personally, but I suspect he is wanting us to think so to make us afraid. It is working.

    The posters of Harry are everywhere now. I am sure you are with him, so I am protecting this letter with every security spell I know so only you will be reading it. I will even use Dark Magic if necessary. You are not needing to be in any more danger.

    I miss you very much, and I wish you would let me know if you are well.

    — Viktor

    P.S. — Happy birthday.


    * * *

    27 April 1998

    Dear Hermione,

    I am sending this through Muggle post because I do not know what else to do. I am not hearing from you in nearly a year, and the more news I am hearing about your country, the more it makes me afraid. There is talk of all owls being searched. I do not even know if you have received any of my letters since you last wrote, but I will keep trying.

    I have met someone. I think you will be liking her. She smiles like you do, but her hair is less interesting. Her name is Iskra, and she is not liking Quidditch, either. I do not know how I manage to find women who do not like my job, but I do not mind so much with her. She is a good cook and a very skilled witch. My mother and father like her a lot, but I suspect it is because they are wanting the grandchildren soon.

    Please write back when you can. I worry about you.

    — Viktor

    P.S. — I do not like this quill. The words do not look right to me. Maybe this is why you are not answering.



    Title: The Selfless Lament of a Concerned Professor
    Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd years; no warnings.
    A/N: Please do not blame me for any gaping holes in Lockhart's intelligence. I am well aware of the differences between Greek and Latin.


    Dear Miss Granger,

    The grave news of your stay in the hospital wing saddens me. Of course, I respect Madam Pomfrey’s abilities as much as the next wizard, and I would never criticise a fellow colleague, however, I must admit that I would have been able to clear up your unfortunate deformity in a jiffy.

    I’m no stranger to the Polyjuice Potion, you see. In fact, I have a rather amusing tale involving Polyjuice, which you can read more about in Marauding with Monsters, although I am sure such a bright and dedicated witch such as yourself has read my entire collection from cover to cover. Never fear, Miss Granger! My next thrilling tale is on its way to my publisher as I write this letter. You can expect it to arrive in a bookshop near you in due course. I very nearly sent you an advanced copy to cheer you up. Alas, spoilers!

    But back to you, Miss Granger. When I first heard of your affliction, it did not take me long to realise that it was all my fault. It’s obvious, really. You had a minor taste of fame as the friend of Harry Potter and more importantly, you saw the result of how hard work and copious amounts of talent may lead to success. Me! I apologise, Miss Granger, I truly do. I just can’t help being an inspiration. It is a burden I must bear. Naturally, you imagined yourself as the next internationally acclaimed Gilderoy Lockhart, gallivanting with goblins and duelling dragons.

    I must have planted the idea in your head and it is unfortunate that my dear friend, Professor Snape, had not yet taught you competency in brewing what is really a very simple potion. If you ever have the urge to learn more about this particular subject then do not hesitate to ask. My office door is always open, even during the weekend, although my portraits do prefer a brief siesta between the hours of one and three in the afternoon on Saturday. Oh and on Sunday I have an ongoing arrangement with Madam Papillion in Paris. You might have heard of her? She’s an award-winning stylist of the stars. I’m her top client, of course. You don’t become the six-time winner of Britain’s Most-Swoon-Worthy-Magical-Mane Award by sitting idly by and watching the world fly past! Oh no. Carpe Diem, Miss Granger! That’s Greek for ‘seize the day’.

    I hope this letter has managed to bring some cheer to your rather hapless situation. Just remember that the fur and whiskers won’t take much longer to disappear, although, as I mentioned before, I could have removed them days ago if dear Madame Pomfrey allowed me to enter the hospital wing. I’m afraid she is rather intimidated by my skills but who can blame her?

    Wishing you a speedy recovery,

    Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin Third Class, Honourary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five times winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award.



    Title: I regret
    Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd/none
    A/N: As far as I'm concerned, he didn't die. I'm fairly sure that's just movie canon.



    Dear Ms Granger,

    I wish to appeal to your sense of reason and humanity before you make any hasty judgement. Please read this letter through to the end and give me a chance, despite my name and my past, particularly the parts of that which we shared.

    You are my only hope at this point. I realise that you may not care about that, that you may even find some sort of joy in the thought of me rotting away here. Today, I’ve been in this cell for five years. The Dementors have been removed from Azkaban, but the place is still horrid. It’s still a prison, and there are people here who have committed crimes far worse than mine. I’m not saying that that makes the things I did any more acceptable. I know it doesn’t. I have spent a lot of my time in here thinking about all my faults. There is a social worker, Susan Bones, who will probably send you some of my files. She was obnoxious for a while, but she really helped me see my errors and flaws. I regret a lot of things now.

    It was Susan’s suggestion to contact you, too. At first, I was very much against it. However, she convinced me that it could be a good thing on many levels. In writing this letters, I am confronting my past, and one of my greatest flaws that I wish to overcome. It also gives me a chance to apologise: I truly am deeply sorry for what I did to you and many other Muggle-borns. I am not going to try and justify my deeds by telling you that I needed the money to get by, or that I wasn’t really involved in the crimes. I was. But as I said, I regret it.

    I heard that you are working on the rights of creatures, and have stretched into Magical Law Enforcement occasionally. Obviously, this doesn’t mean that you are a public lawyer, but I know that you represented a number of people in the past. There never really was a proper trial for me and people like me. They rounded us up with lots of others and put us in here. I know that I deserve to be here for a while, but I was never a Death Eater, and I also know that I can become a valuable member of society again.

    Azkaban has changed me. I have been taking classes in here and have successfully taken my O.W.L.s last year – something I never achieved at Hogwarts. I read a lot now, and I’ve had a lot of time to think.

    I regret what I did, Miss Granger, and I hope you can see that and are willing to help me. At least think about it. Don’t tear this letter up at once.

    I don’t know how much longer I can take this place.


    With honest gratitude for your time,
    R. Scabior



    Title: Apologies for the Future
    Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd years, none.

    Dear Miss Granger,

    The only thing I may tell you with absolute certainty about this letter is that I will never send it. You might find it some time in the future, when you are in this office, perhaps with your own child, but I will never post it to you.

    If I were to ask myself why I am writing this, I could only imagine that it is to apologize. I ask your forgiveness for all the things that will happen over the coming years, as you hunt down Voldemort and try to destroy him. You don’t know yet the sacrifices you will have to make, or the strain it will put on your most vital relationships.

    I know that, after I die, you will journey with Harry Potter to hunt for Horcruxes. Before you leave, you must make arrangements for your parents. They will not be safe without you to protect them, and we both know that Voldemort will gladly harm them to hurt you. I know what you must do to protect them, and soon so shall you. Make sure you send them far away. Don’t be afraid. They will forgive you. It will take a long time and be a hard, tiresome fight, but they will forgive you. I am so sorry; I wish that you did not have to do that. You are a very clever girl, Hermione, and very brave. I know you will do what you must.

    As you hunt, be careful. Dark wizards will be hunting for you wherever you go. You know as well as I do that Harry, an excellent and brave young man, does not practice prudence as well as you do. Keep him safe; he will depend on you. Never leave him. Never, never leave that boy behind. Always set protective charms around wherever you camp, charms to prevent you from being seen and heard, and for Merlin’s sake, don’t wear too much perfume. Harry is the best chance we have of winning this war. He does not think of his own safety, and so you must.

    Eventually, you will have to choose between them. I am sorry, but you cannot have them both. Be careful with your choice, but do not think on it overlong. In the end, the choice will be the easiest of your life. One of them will leave. I have enabled him to return; I think you’re going to like that bit. Even when you think you have made the choice between them, things could always change. Remember, you are not choosing between two men you love. You are choosing between your best friend, one who has been like a brother to you, and the one who matches you perfectly.

    Do not be afraid, Hermione. Be strong. Harry depends upon you to keep him save and keep him going in the race to defeat Voldemort. Do not abandon him.

    I send my warmest regards. Farewell.



    Title: Memorable
    Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd years / no warnings

    My dearest Hermione,

    Your father and I were delighted to see you for Christmas this year. What with you leaving so early in the summer to see your friends and spending so many holidays with them or at school, it seems a long time since we have spent time together, just the three of us. The house seems so much emptier now you are gone again, although we're keeping ourselves busy, as always.

    Our next door neighbour, Mrs. Humphries has been asking what A-Levels you are taking at your fancy boarding school. She has been unwell lately, but she still remembers you fondly. You used to love going round to her house after school do you remember? You would sit with her and do sums for hours. I think she enjoyed it, retirement can be so difficult when you're used to being busy. She still asks how you are doing in your maths exams. We have to make something up for her, of course. Your father told her that you are more focused on the humanities these days, which made her a little sad.

    Your cousin Anne has been accepted to performing arts school this year. You always thought she was a dreadful show off when you were children, I guess something good has come of it! We went to stay with them a few weeks ago and she has grown into a charming and talented young girl. She asked after you and how you were doing at school. I know you didn't like her, but I think she still looks up to you!

    We look forward to seeing you next summer. We were thinking of taking a long trip next year, perhaps a month in Italy? Or perhaps further afield – your father is longing to go to Australia, and I remember when you were a little girl you did that school project about The Great Barrier Reef. Do you remember that? You were so proud of it! We have been saving especially, a treat, as it will be your last summer before you leave school. We would like to make our last family holiday a memorable one.

    I know you are busy, but do write soon! We love to hear all that goes on at your school.

    All my love, as always,
    Mum.
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  4. #14
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    Title:Letters to No One
    Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd/None
    A/N:
    Word Count 494



    Dear Hermione,

    I hope you’re well and staying safe. Your father and I –


    Suddenly Monica Wilkins stopped writing and frowned.

    “That’s not right,” she muttered to herself, reading back over the words before emitting a groan. “Not again.”

    With a flash of anger, Monica scribbled out the words and started writing again.

    Dear Hermione,

    WHO ARE YOU?

    I don’t have a daughter. In fact, I’ve never actually
    met anyone called Hermione, and yet somehow, I find myself writing these letters to you. I don’t even know I’m doing it and then suddenly I’ll come to my senses and find myself sitting in front of a letter to someone who doesn’t exist.

    The doctors think there’s a problem with my mind – they think I’m mad. Even
    I think I’m mad. How can I write letters to someone I don’t even know, without realising that I’m doing it? One minute, it seems like the most natural thing in the world to be writing to you, and I want to talk to you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But then suddenly the feeling vanishes, and I can’t even remember why I started writing.

    Whoever you are, Hermione, I wish you would leave me alone. I suppose you are some sort of guilt. Some hidden memory of something from the past. The therapist says I should let myself keep writing, to see what I have to say. She thinks maybe it’ll give them some sort of clue. So I suppose that’s what I’m doing now. I’m trying to understand who you are, Hermione, and why I am so desperate to contact you.

    But a part of me doesn’t want to know. I’m not sure I want to remember whatever terrible thing my mind is trying to hide from me. I just want these thoughts to leave me alone. So please, Hermione, please stop hurting me like this.


    At this point, Wendell Wilkins entered the room to find tears streaming down his wife’s face.

    “Whatever’s wrong, love?” he asked coming to put his arm round her. As he did so he caught sight of the letter in front of her and his face fell. “Oh no, not again.”

    “What’s the matter with me, Wendell?” she sobbed. The familiar throb of a migraine was forming behind her eyes. Headaches always seemed to follow these ‘episodes’, as they had started calling them.

    “It’s going to be okay,” he soothed. “We’ll work it out, I promise. Now why don’t you go and lie down and I’ll put it away.”

    He picked up the letter from the table and headed to the drawer where the rest of them were stored in the hope that someday they might be able to make sense of them. He paused after he had opened the drawer and looked at the growing pile. They were all written on different paper, in different colours and with different words, but they all started the same way.

    Dear Hermione.
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  5. #15
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    RESULTS




    TM_Wandstick – Don’t Forget <1,2>
    gwendalynne – Love, Hugo<1,4>
    jk_salmeier –Love from Mum <2,0>
    Weasley Mom – Love, Ron <1,1>
    LuNaLoVeGoOdLoVeR – Dedication <1,2>
    ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor – Stand by You <2,0>
    the opaleye – The Selfless Lament of a Concerned Professor<3,1>
    Karaley Dargen – I Regret <2,1>
    psijupiter – Memorable <0,4>
    coolh5000 – Letters to No One <3,0>
    Apollonius – Apologies for the Future<3,4>

    I can see by the comments left this week, that all the voters had a dreadful time trying to decide between the drabbles. The standard is ridiculously high, after all.

    There is only one winner, though and this week it is the fantabulous Hannah/Bob (coolh5000) who takes 5 pointsssss for SSSSSSlytherin. She earns bragging rights for the week.

    Sadly leaving us this week are Ali (psijupiter) of Ravenclaw and Gwen (gwendalynne) of Hufflepuff. Both take 5 points for their respective houses, and will be huggled and squished until they hex me to let go.

    The Fallen:
    psijupiter
    gwendalynne
    iMusic17
    ron lover
    MapleandPhoenixfeather
    TheCursedQuill

    Zach Smith
    melody98
    Laurski
    grimlysirius



    Dennis Creevey (unable to attend)
    Evora
    Ascenio




    Moving on! (with indecent haste – sorry)

    WEEK FOUR

    THE BRAWL

    Yes, that’s the prompt. In time-honoured tradition, week four of the TTB brawl is always a brawl. But not just any old brawl. The reason behind the squabble has to be trivial.

    Brawl – definition in this case is ‘A noisy quarrel or fight’


    All drabbles must be between 250-500 words.
    Use this form.

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    B]Warning/Rating:[/B]
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    I need all drabbles by Thursday 29th September 8PM (BST). Any questions – please PM me.
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  6. #16
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    WEEK FOUR


    THE BRAWWWWWWWWWWL

    The prompt was to write a brawl (definition: noisy quarrel or fight). The catch ... the reason for said brawl had to be trivial.

    Please bear in mind the prompt, SPaG, and the overall fabness of the drabble when you vote.



    IMPORTANT NOTE: AS WE HAVE OFFED OVER HALF THE BRAWLERS AND AREN'T THAT FAR IN, THERE WILL ONLY BE ONE BRAWLER LEAVING US THIS WEEK. CAST YOUR VOTE WISELY!





    Title: Family Fights
    Reason for brawl: The Next Gen loses a Quidditch game and James blames Lily
    Warning/Rating: 1st-2nd years/none
    Word Count: 500
    A/N:


    Lily swung out, whacking James with her new Firebolt X while swerving to avoid Fred, who was blindly kicking around him, hitting and angering everyone.

    ‘Ouch!’ James grunted and grabbed her broom.

    ‘James! That’s mine!’ she shrieked, tugging it back.

    It was hard to believe that a mere half an hour ago they had been on one team, having fun playing Quidditch against their parents, aunts and uncles on a lazy summer day. A cool breeze and the laughter and cheers from her younger cousins set an idyllic scene – which was now ruined.

    Brutally torn from her thoughts as someone – Rose? Teddy?- knocked into her from behind, Lily reluctantly relinquished her hold on the broom. She shrieked angrily again and jumped forward, snatching at her prize. When James pulled it from her reach she punched him in the stomach and he tried maneuvering the broom so he could use it as a shield, but instead hit Fred’s arm and was tackled in return.

    It had all started when she missed the snitch and her dad made the catch, securing the win for the grownups. Lily had been frustrated with herself, as she knew she could have caught the ball, but when she saw James land angrily a few meters away, aiming a kick at nothing, she knew there would be trouble. They started trudging back to the Burrow in a tensed silence before she spoke: ‘I’m sorry, okay?’

    ‘Not your fault, don’t worry about it,’ Teddy had said graciously, but she hadn’t been worried about him anyway. James had given a derisive snort.

    ‘It’s fine – but it’s still your fault!’ he had said.

    ‘Hey, you weren’t playing that well either!’ Rose had defended Lily, and she had smiled at her cousin, glad to have an ally.

    ‘It’s just a game. Everybody calm – ‘Teddy had put in before being cut off by James.

    ‘I was fine. If Lily hadn’t been sleeping, we would have won!’

    ‘Well, if you had played better, we would have won anyway!’ Lily had retorted, angry tears shooting into her eyes. Why was he so competitive? Why was it always her fault?

    ‘You wanted to play seeker! It’s a seeker’s job – ‘

    ‘Oh, so a seeker has to do everything alone?’

    ‘I didn’t say -‘

    ‘Yes you did!’

    ‘You did, James,’ Fred had assented while Rose and Albus nodded.

    ‘I didn’t! And you were all playing lousily!’ James had stopped walking. ‘How did this become my fault?’

    ‘It didn’t, I just said that you had said that seeker’s the most important position.’

    ‘And you aren’t better! You’re a bad seeker,’ Lily cut in again.

    ‘Watch it!’ James had warned, and in response she had raised an eyebrow and accidentally on purpose stumbled into him, making him trip.

    And so it started: the hitting and kicking, scratching and screaming.

    At the time it didn’t seem so, but they would all forgive each other by the end of the day, bruises blooming but smiles on their faces once more.




    Title: Sibling Rivalry
    Reason for brawl: Quidditch complaints/bad losers
    Warning/Rating: 1-2nd, none
    Word Count: 499
    A/N: I think Charlie would make it home for more frequent visits after Fred's death.


    Hermione’s concentration was broken by the sound of brooms landing in the distance. She looked up from her book but was unable to determine who had won the Quidditch match. In fact, judging from the angry voices in the air, the matter was of some dispute.

    Fleur, too, had glanced up from her knitting to watch the drama. The sisters-in-law sat in the garden, quietly enjoying the fine weather until the loud arguing could not be ignored.

    “The teams weren’t fair!” Ron shouted in Bill’s direction.

    Charlie laughed. “You’re joking—you had one player more than us.”

    Percy? You can’t be serious,” Ron spat back.

    Percy crossed his arms. “I’m standing right here.”

    “Sorry, Perce,” George piped up. “But it’s true.”

    Hermione glanced at Fleur when her knitting needles resumed their incessant clicking. She always knitted by hand—a practice Hermione believed was done primarily to irritate Molly, who had been quickly rebuffed when she’d tried to teach the Knitting Charm to Fleur years ago.

    “Zese boys and their games.”

    “Ginny’s as bad as any of the men,” Hermione said.

    As if on cue, Ginny’s voice rang out. “You’re a sore loser, Ron! You had George and Harry, so shut it!”

    “George is out of it, and you know Harry’s out of practice.”

    “Hey!” Harry objected.

    The insults began again in earnest and everyone was talking at once. Someone pushed someone else, and then George and Charlie were on the ground wrestling. Ron yelled at his sister over Harry, who told Ron to stop antagonizing his wife. Hermione’s eyes widened as Ginny—obviously not interested in Harry’s protective gestures—pushed her husband, causing him to stumble over those on the ground and land unceremoniously on his bum. Soon Ron and Ginny were in the fray, and only Bill stood back, laughing at the sight.

    “Ron’s a ‘orrible loser, don’t you theenk? ‘e always overreacts.”

    Hermione shifted in her seat. She couldn’t deny the truth in Fleur’s words, but they galled her just the same. She might give her husband a hard time in private about his excessive enthusiasm for the game, but no one else was going to insult him in her presence. “Ron’s passionate. Perhaps if Charlie and Bill didn’t work so hard to antagonize him,” she trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished. “Besides, everyone knows Percy is a liability on the pitch.”

    Fleur gathered her things and gave Hermione a look of supreme pity, obviously thinking her judgment poor and misguided.

    Hermione tried unsuccessfully to resist the slow simmer of anger bubbling inside her, thinking how Fleur occasionally needed to be put in her place. As Fleur went inside, Hermione eased her wand out of her pocket and gave it a little “flick” toward the house. When high-pitched squeals mingled with the noise of battle in the garden, satisfaction swelled within Hermione. I knew that Hair-Thickening Charm would come in handy some day, she thought as she raised her book to eye level and began to read.




    Title: The Prince’s Plot
    Reason for brawl: The irrational fear of poisoning
    Warning/Rating: 1st/2nd Years — None
    Word Count: 500
    A/N: Crabbe and Goyle are at their stupidest when they try to think, lol.


    The plans were drawn and the trap set. A darkened corner of the Slytherin common room beckoned you to watch the plot unfold from its shady confines. The view was excellent, so you settled in and waited as your prey arrived. This part was worth waiting for, watching those two trolls ogle the solitary biscuit sitting on an end table. They never would’ve shared, this was certain. It was exactly what you required of them.

    Crabbe was the boldest and inched toward it first, only to have his progress halted by Goyle’s grip. Excellent — right on schedule. But Crabbe, being ever so, well . . . Crabbe, wrenched his arm away and grunted at his counterpart. And then the stalemate continued. Both gazed at the confection, lust in their eyes, but for the longest time, neither moved.

    You felt frustration that they mightn’t take the bait after all, despite your certainty that their combined intelligence was, in a word, dire. Their hesitance, however, took a curious turn, and the biscuit no longer enraptured them. Instead, they fell into deep conversation. You couldn’t hear what was being said from that distance, but the occasional glance back toward the end table confirmed that they were, indeed, up to something of their own.

    It was quite a surprise when their attention shifted across the room, where Malfoy snoozed in a chair. You were captivated as they approached their sleeping ringleader. Goyle shoved Malfoy roughly, rattling him awake. His face, mottled in rage, demanded explanation for the assault, but it was Crabbe’s turn to react.

    “Not funny, Malfoy,” Crabbe said loudly. “Don’t think we’re stupid enough to fall for the same trick twice.”

    Now you were interested. Despite the disappointment that your plan had already been taken, it begged to question what had directed the duo’s ire toward Malfoy.

    And Malfoy seemed to wonder much the same. “What are you two dolts on about?”

    “Well, we reckon it was you who gave us that drugged cupcake earlier this year,” Goyle interjected. “And that biscuit —” he jabbed his finger toward the offending snack, “— ain’t fooling anybody.”

    Draco stared. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said finally.

    “I’m not ridic’luss!” Crabbe growled.

    Your lips curled in glee as the far larger Crabbe dragged Malfoy to his feet. This wasn’t what you’d planned at all; it was far, far better. You were hard-pressed to stay silent when Goyle elbowed Malfoy in the ribs whilst muttering his agreement. Malfoy’s accompanying girlish whimper of pain only heightened your enjoyment. But Malfoy lashed back, swinging a puny fist wherever he could land it — namely, Crabbe’s jaw. And then the skirmish really started.

    The plan had been to embarrass Malfoy through his lackeys’ poor discipline. However, as you watched your housemates beat each other senseless, you reminded yourself that, while you weren’t quite the Heir of Slytherin, you, Blaise Zabini, were definitely the Prince of Slytherin house. And Malfoy would have a black eye or two to remind him of that.







    Title: Seamus Wanted Lemonade
    Reason for brawl: Gandalf and other minor atrocities.
    Warning/Rating: 3rd-5th years; Mild Profanity
    Word Count: 499
    A/N: Eejit is Irish slang for idiot.


    Dean took a long sip of Butterbeer and sighed. Seamus sat opposite, glaring at the other people enjoying their evening drinks in the Leaky Cauldron.

    “You haven’t said a word since we left the cinema,” said Dean, breaking the tense silence. “Well, apart from the grunt you aimed at Hannah when I ordered your ale.”

    “What?” snapped Seamus.

    “Oh come on, mate. What’s your prob—”

    “Forget it!” Seamus exclaimed loudly. An elderly wizard at the next table tittered, shuffling his chair in the opposite direction.

    “Look, I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy the movie but you were the one who asked if we could have a lads night out,” whispered Dean, trying not to disturb anyone else. “And since you nearly broke the International Statute of Secrecy the last time I took you to a footy match…” Dean shook his head trying to focus on something more pleasant. He was getting tired of Seamus’s moods since Lavender married Zabini.

    “You want to know what’s wrong?” asked Seamus. “First of all, what the hell was that thing you just made me watch? It was over three hours long! Secondly, who does that Gandalf eejit think he is? Dumbledore? Well, if Dumbledore were still alive then he wouldn’t be galloping around some volcanic wasteland with Lucius Malfoy’s walking stick! Why doesn’t he use a wand like normal wizards, eh?”

    Dean bit his tongue, trying not to laugh. “It’s a staff—”

    “AND,” interrupted Seamus with a large huff and more flaring of the nostrils, “WHAT THE HELL IS A HOBBIT?”

    Dean burst out laughing, unable to hold it in any longer.

    “Seamus, you realise it’s just a story, right? Fictional?”

    “Oh, please!” bellowed Seamus, sending a shower of spittle across the table. Fictional, my arse! I know what I saw and it was all there on that giant rectangle!”

    Dean groaned and sent a frustrated glance at Hannah and the other customers who were now staring at Seamus with annoyance and disgust.

    “Gandalf and Frodo weren’t actually standing behind the screen…”

    “And you want know what’s even worse?” Seamus yelled.

    “Not really—”

    “They gave me Coke at the cinema! I ordered lemonade! I ASKED SPECIFICALLY FOR LEMONADE.”

    Dean slumped forward onto the table, burying his face in his hands. What on earth had possessed him to take Seamus to the movies, especially after the footy debacle?

    Unexpectedly, there was a light tap on his shoulder.

    “It’s okay, they’ve gone now." whispered Seamus. “The movie was great by the way. That Eowyn bird was fit!”

    Dean stared back at his friend in confusion.

    “What on earth, Seamus? You were screaming at me about a walking stick one minute ago!”

    “I know, mate, but I had to scare them off, somehow! There was no way I could stomach another drink with those two snogging in the corner behind you.” Seamus took a long draught of ale.

    “Who?” asked Dean, completely lost.

    “Lavender and that Zabini git, of course. They just left!”


    Title: The Day he Died
    Word Count: 498
    Warnings/Ratings:Very very mild profanity/1st-2nd


    Fred and George never argue.

    That’s what they used to say about us. Load of rubbish, of course. We spent so much time together that no matter how close we were there was bound to be occasional trouble. And if there was one thing we were good at, it was trouble. They were usually over something so stupid, but once we got going we could really shout the place down with our arguments.

    Like the one we had the day he died.

    ***

    “You can be such a git sometimes.”

    I looked up at Fred as he stomped into the living room of our flat and threw himself onto the sofa.

    “Have I done something in particular?” I asked, running through any potential misdeeds in my head. Nothing immediately stood out to me as likely to have upset him.

    “Oh don’t pull that one. You know damn well what.”

    “Not if you don’t tell me. I know we’re twins, but in case you’d forgotten we still haven’t figured out the mind-reading thing.”

    “Julie,” Fred shot back.

    He didn’t need to say anything else – it was suddenly all clear to me. I had to fight keep a smirk off my face at the memory of my practical joke on Fred’s latest love interest. “Oh of course, the wonderful Julie. “What happened? Did she turn you down?”

    For one tiny moment, I thought Fred might hit me. “Well she was hardly going to say yes after what you did!”

    “It was just a bit of fun!”

    “You didn’t have to pretend to be me when she caught you! Now, not only does she hate but she thinks I’m a mental case as well. Couldn’t you just back off and let me be happy for once?”

    This stung a bit. “Wow, Fred, what’s got into you. She’s just a girl! And you hadn’t even asked her out yet. It’s not like it was that big a deal. I don’t know what’s got into you recently.”

    This was clearly the wrong thing to say.

    “You don’t know what’s got into me? Maybe it’s the fact that you just drove away yet another girl I’ve been interested in, or that we’ve got the Ministry breathing down our necks, or, oh yeah, the fact that we might die.”

    For a minute I was too stunned to reply. Fred never talked like this.

    Before I could say anything else, a high pitched chime rang through the apartment. Suddenly, everything changed. Turning away from Fred, I ran over to the chest of drawers where the noise had originated. It was our galleons – magically enchanted to make a noise every time the inscription changed. I looked down at the message and turned back to Fred, all thoughts of our argument forgotten.

    “We’ve got to get to Hogwarts.”

    For one terrible moment I thought he might refuse, but of course he wouldn’t. Instead, he grinned at me, and instantly everything was normal again. “We’d better be going then.”
    Last edited by Equinox Chick; 09-29-2011 at 06:02 PM.
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  7. #17
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    Title: Something New
    Reason for brawl: an accidental bump in the corridor
    Warning/Rating: 3rd/5th Yrs - slash
    Word Count: 483
    A/N: The rating is just a precaution, the drabble is actually quite mild.


    The corridor was crowded with students headed toward the Great Hall for lunch. James adjusted the strap on his bag before diving into the current and letting himself be swept along down the staircase and into the Entrance Hall. He staggered when a shoulder collided violently with his own, causing him to knock into the students on his other side.

    “Hey,” he said, more out of surprise than because he felt any real anger, but the back of the figure who had run into him hadn’t bothered to stop until he heard James’ words. The blond, smirking figure of Scorpius Malfoy turned on James with narrowed eyes.

    “Watch where you’re going, Potter,” he sneered. James felt a flutter of annoyance.

    “Actually,” he said “I think it was you who ran into me.”

    Malfoy cocked an eyebrow in a way that made James want to smack him.

    “Why would I do that?” the younger boy said rudely.

    “I dunno, maybe you’re just a careless git or something,” James said, his temper rising. He had never liked Malfoy, never liked his knowing smirk, his greasy, slicked-back hair, the way his laugh was high and breathy like a girl’s.

    “You know what, Potter?” Malfoy replied, a pink tinge creeping onto his face. “I think you ran into me. I bet you did it on purpose.”

    “As if I pay any attention to you, Malfoy,” James spat. “You’re not worth noticing.”

    “If I’m not worth noticing, then you’re practically invisible,” Malfoy said with a knowing smirk that left James momentarily stunned.

    Could Malfoy know about his Invisibility Cloak? Impossible. James’ mind was reeling, but when he saw Malfoy’s expression he caught himself. His face hardened. There was no way he was going to give anything away to Malfoy.

    “Then you’re a slug,” he responded vehemently.

    “Don’t you insult me!” Malfoy said, his hand moving towards his pocket. But James was too quick for him, and he drew his wand out before Malfoy could even blink.

    Levicorpus! he thought, and Malfoy swung upside down, suspended in mid-air by his ankle. He struggled to keep his robes from falling over his head, and the blood rushed down to his head, turning his face bright red. Something stirred in James’ stomach that made him uncomfortable. He approached Malfoy until they were face to face, with Malfoy upside down.

    “Apologise,” James said softly, but it didn’t come out nearly as menacingly as he had intended. Malfoy merely glared at him, breathing heavily. James gazed into Malfoy’s grey eyes, and he saw something there that surprised him and made the thing in his stomach tighten. But before James could focus on it, a teacher’s voice rang out across the hall, shouting the countercurse that released Malfoy from his suspension. He fell into a heap at James’ feet. Scorpius met James’ eye once more before leaping up and rushing away to the dungeons.






    Title: Frivolous Pursuits
    Reason for brawl: Snoring
    Warning/Rating: 3rd – 5th years (For some language and crude comments involving a Hippogriff and a Blast-End Skrewt.)
    Word Count: 498
    A/N: Italicized quotes are from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince page 592, Bloomsbury Publishing

    Harry lay on the top bunk, closed his eyes and waited for sleep to claim him. But his brain wouldn’t shut off. Instead, it kept reciting, ‘the cup … the snake … something of Gryffindor’s or Ravenclaw’s … the cup … the snake … something of Gryffindor’s’ or Ravenclaw’s’.

    It had been another useless day of searching in various locations for another one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes. The most recent trip proved to be the most futile of all. Harry knew Voldemort would never have hidden a piece of his soul in the orphanage where he was raised. There was nothing special about the orphanage, not like Hogwarts.

    Harry had been insistent that one of the Horcruxes had to be somewhere in the castle, and mentioned that they should venture to Hogwarts. However, Hermione and Ron thought differently. In the end, Harry was outnumbered.

    He had regretted relenting so easily, especially when their pursuit had proved to be so worthless. At least Hermione had tried helping to decide where they should explore. Ron hadn’t contributed any useful ideas at all, expect where they should go to get food.

    Harry changed his position to his side and punched his pillow for good measure.

    There was something else preventing Harry from getting to sleep – Ron and his incessant snoring.

    “Oi, Ron! Shut it, will you,” Harry hissed.

    “What?” Ron responded sleepily.

    Less than a minute later, the snoring continued.

    “RON!” Harry bellowed, throwing his pillow and hoping he made contact with Ron’s face.

    “What the hell, Harry!”

    “STOP SNORING!”

    “STOP SHAKING THE BUNK!” Ron yelled, throwing the pillow back toward Harry.

    “I’M NOT SHAKING THE BUNK!”

    “STOP IT, BOTH OF YOU!” Hermione exclaimed.

    “HE STARTED IT!” Ron shouted.

    “I WOULDN’T HAVE HAD TO DO ANYTHING IF YOU COULD ACTUALLY SLEEP WITHOUT SNORING! It’s like listening to a Hippogriff mate with a Blast-Ended Skrewt.” Harry retorted.

    “Oh honestly Harry, put a silencing charm on him, if it’s so bad.” Hermione suggested.

    “NOBODY ASKED YOU, HERMIONE…“

    “DON’T YELL AT HER, HARRY! SHE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING TO YOU!”

    “NO, YOU’RE MY PROBLEM, WEASLEY!”

    “ENOUGH OF THIS!” Hermione shouted.

    Harry was seething, but it had felt good to get his frustrations out on Ron, even if it was something as trivial as snoring. He laid there on his back, staring at the ceiling and breathing heavily as if he had just ran a race. He turned just in time to see Hermione approaching his bunk.

    “Give it to me, now,” Hermione glared, holding out her hand to Harry.

    Harry didn’t have to ask what it was she was asking for. He removed the gold chain of Slytherin’s locket from around his neck and placed it in her offering hand. The minute the Horcrux departed contact with him, Harry realised the frivolousness of his fight with Ron.

    “Now go to sleep, both of you,” Hermione scolded, heading toward her bed.

    Harry closed his eyes and fell asleep before the guilt of his fight could consume him.




    Title: Life is Like a Box of Chocolates
    Reason for brawl: The chocolates in the box.
    Warning/Rating: uhm... Maybe mild profanity. 3rd/5th?
    Word Count: 500 exactly


    ”Give them back, Bella,” the girl said. She remained sitting on the grass, looking up at her sister.

    “Why should I?” Bella replied. “They’re mine, after all.”

    “No they’re not. He sent them to me. To Ravenclaw Tower.”

    Bella waved her argument away. “Surely the House-Elf must have been careless. I keep telling the headmaster that he must punish them, but you know how he is. Oh well.” With a shrug, she opened the box of chocolates she had taken from her sister.

    “He sent them to me. There was a note.” Andromeda’s posture had stiffened, and her voice had grown icy. “Give them back.”

    “Please, Andromeda,” she said, still chewing on a praline. “Stop deluding yourself. Why would Rodolphus send chocolates to you? You’re not the one who is engaged to him.” She drew herself up to a more erect posture.

    “Just because you’re going to marry him doesn’t mean he loves only you – or loves you at all.”

    If Andromeda intended to hurt her sister, she was disappointed. “It’s hardly about love. Rodolphus knows as well as I do that even before marriage, a certain protocol needs to be observed. And anyway,” she went on, snapping the lid of the box shut, “why would he send chocolates to you of all people? If you’re lucky, this was a mistake, but I rather suspect that someone might be having a laugh. It is rather amusing.”

    Andromeda got up now, and put her hands on her hips. “What do you mean by that?”

    “Sending chocolates to you. Since you’re – well.” Bella looked her sister up and down, smirking. “Has Lucius ever sent you anything? You will be married one day, after all. But no, I can see why he wouldn’t want you to have more sweets.”

    Andromeda didn’t even look for her wand before she launched herself at her sister. Bella was superior with spells, but the physical attack surprised her too much to react. Blind with rage, Andromeda threw her to the ground and hit her on the shoulders, the ribs, the face.

    Bella shrieked, yanked Andromeda’s hair so that she lost her balance, and rolled away from under her. Jumping to her feet, she pulled out her wand. As she did so, however, she lost sight of her sister. The moment Bella pointed it at her, Andromeda was on her feet as well, launched herself at her sister, and grabbed the wand from her. Before Bella could react, Andromeda had thrown the wand as hard as she could, and the only sound that they heard for a moment was a small splash as the wand hit the surface of the lake.

    “You witch,” Bella screamed, and charged at her. Andromeda was too quick though; just before Bella could reach her, she stepped aside, so that Bella ran into the oak tree under which Andromeda had been sitting.

    There would be hell to pay later, but for now, Bella was out cold. And it had been worth it.
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  8. #18
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    LunaLovegoodlover – Family Fights <0,6>
    Weasley Mom – Sibling Rivalry <4,0>
    ToBeOrNot – The Prince’s Plot <3,1>
    The Opaleye – Seamus wanted Lemonade <5,1>
    TM Wandstick – Something New <0,0>
    Coolh5000 – The Day He Died <1,4>
    J K Salmeier - Frivolous Pursuits <2,2>
    Karaley Dargen – Life is like a box of Chocolates <1,2>



    The winner’s points will be split between Lori (Weasley Mom) and Julia (the Opaleye). Well done, you sublime witches! You get two points each.

    Sadly leaving us this week is Andi, LuNaLoVeGoOdLoVeR – whose name I’ve only just managed to get right. For those of you who don’t know (which is everyone), Andi has been a total star because this barmaid, for some odd reason, kept deleting her drabbles. *sigh*



    And so ... this week’s prompt. And yes, I’m pretty sure that most of you will hate it.

    Marauder Era

    Yup, that’s it for this week. I want a drabble set between 1960 and 1981. You may use any of the characters who were at Hogwarts during the Sixties and Seventies. Please note the wording here very carefully. I mean ‘at school’ – capiche!

    EDIT: Making this clearer. Your drabble can be set just after the 70's (say 1980), but the character used must have been at Hogwarts in the sixties and/or seventies. And ... it doesn't have to be at Hogwarts.


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    All drabbles must be between 250-500 words.

    Send your drabbles to me by Thursday 6th October. 8pm BST


    I will now retire to my cellar and avoid the hexes.

    Madam Carmerta.
    Last edited by Equinox Chick; 10-02-2011 at 04:56 PM.
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  9. #19
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    The prompt was simple. ‘Marauder Era’. But that didn’t mean the brawlers were restricted to the Marauders. They could write a drabble about anyone who was at Hogwarts in the Sixties or Seventies. The drabble didn’t have to be set at Hogwarts.

    Lovely prompt – you agree?

    And yet, I heard cursing from all over the world, and I swear someone tried to Imperio me to change it to Harmony ... (Merlin forfend!)

    When you vote, bear in mind not only the SPaG and characterisation, but how well the brawler used the prompt and ... which one you liked best.





    ONE BRAWLER LEAVING THIS WEEK



    Title: The End of Sisterhood
    Rating/Warning: 1st/2nd Yrs - none
    Author note: I've had this conversation in my head for a long time...



    Lily leaned back on the porch swing and let her legs dangle in the air. Petunia was below her, picking a bouquet of flowers from the plants that grew next to the steps of their childhood home. She paused for a moment to wipe the sweat off her brow, leaving a streak of dirt across her forehead that she hastily rubbed away. The sun was beginning to set at the end of the street, and it bathed everything in a warm, late-summer glow. Indistinct voices could be heard from inside the house, coming from their parents and the boy that Petunia had brought home for dinner.

    “He seems really nice,” Lily said lightly, her gaze fixed on the house across the street. Petunia straightened up a little to look at her before resuming her work.

    “I don’t care whether you like my boyfriend or not,” she said in a voice that was clearly meant to sound indifferent but wasn’t wholly convincing.

    “I care,” Lily said simply, but Petunia chose to ignore her. Lily rose from the swing and descended the steps, intending to help Petunia with her task, but Petunia straightened up then with a perfectly arranged bouquet of flowers. Lily looked at her and then looked down at the ground.

    “You don’t even know him,” Petunia said abruptly. Lily raised her head back up. “You’ve been away at school all the time I’ve been dating him.”

    “Well, you never invited him over until now, either,” Lily said, looking a little hurt. Petunia acted like she was going to ignore her again, but then she replied.

    “I think he’s going to ask me to marry him.”

    Lily gaped at her for a second before catching herself. Her face broke into a tentative smile.

    “That’s great!” she said with as much energy as she could muster. Petunia said nothing. A single tear rolled down her cheek and fell to the ground.




    Title: What Remus Said
    Rating/Warning: 1st-2nd years; character death, violence.
    Author note: This drabble was inspired by the Death Cab for Cutie song, The Ice Is Getting Thinner.




    Whenever he looks in a mirror, he remembers every second, although he never says so. There is no mention of the torn flesh, or the blood, or the cruel laughter from Greyback. It’s easier that way and no one ever really asks for the details once they know. ‘Werewolf’ is a dirty word and so ‘Remus’ becomes a dirty word, too. As a child, he lies in bed and traces the scars with his fingertips, every inch punctuated with a constant litany of remusremusremusremus until it doesn’t sound like a name at all.

    It’s not until he reaches Hogwarts that his name gains new meaning. The way it slips from the lips of James and Sirius and Peter becomes a sound of friendship and freedom. ‘Werewolf’ becomes separate from ‘Remus’ and ‘Remus’ becomes separate from pain. At Hogwarts he lies in bed and traces the scars with his fingertips, whispering a constant chant of moonywormtailpadfootprongs until he falls asleep.

    The day after Sirius blows Peter from the face of the earth, Remus sits in some dingy pub and remembers every second of Hogwarts, although he tries so very hard to forget. It’s easier that way and no one really wants to sit and listen to a stranger crying over a glass of Firewhiskey when he should be celebrating. You-Know-Who is dead! Raise your glass and sing, for Merlin’s sake! ‘Remus’ becomes a silent word, a pitied word, and at night he traces the lines on his face, the wrinkles and crinkles and cracks that shouldn’t even be there. He chokes on their names in the dark until his constant prayer of jameslilyharrypeter seeps into the pillow along with his tears.

    He dreams of smiles and the phantom clap of a hand on his shoulder, and when he wakes he is surrounded by shadows. It’s not until four weeks after that day—one full moon without stag, rat, or dog—that his name finally slips from his lips. He looks in a mirror and sees something more than pity. In this new world he must reinvent himself, learn to survive alone, and the word ‘Remus’ becomes the only familiar piece of him left—a word that once meant friendship and freedom and memories that he cannot bear to lose. At night, he traces a line down the centre of his chest, every inch punctuated with a constant litany of remusremusremusremus until it belongs to him once more.




    Title: Brother Mine
    Rating/Warning: 3rd/5th Years — Implied Character Death
    Author note: The courage to drink from that basin, I believe, would have to come from an uncommon man, and deep motivations would’ve been necessary to make one reach the bottom. This is my perception of how Regulus took that first step, that first drink.



    * * *


    A demon’s heart within a well of nightmares awaits me in the centre of this cavern, but I approach it willingly. I am drawn to it as I examine the locket I had received upon my eighteenth birthday. In another lifetime, it would’ve been a token to the woman I would eventually marry, housing hopes and dreams and the flush of youth. But in this existence, its last act would be one of defiance.

    Holding it out, I say to Kreacher, “Take this. When the basin is empty, switch the lockets. Take the other one and destroy it.” As I contemplate that second, diseased trinket, my jaw clenches and I add, “No matter what, it must be destroyed.”

    “Kreacher understands,” comes the throaty response. I spy the glint of tears on the old elf’s face, and it gives me a rush of affection for this noble creature I had stupidly offered to the Dark Lord as a beast of inconsequence.

    The water in the basin is the most frightening of all. Kreacher had told me what it does; it made me sick and still does now. Silently, I wonder what it will conjure in my head, what sort of hells lurk in that crystalline fluid, but I push these thoughts away. I will know soon enough. It is with resignation that I conjure the goblet that shall enlighten me.

    If anything, I have been a fool in my short lifetime, but I don’t doubt that death will accompany the bottom of this basin. I could leave this locket here and never speak of it again. I do not have to perish for the sake of destroying the Dark Lord. A year ago, I the concept would’ve been laughable, but it is something Sirius of all people had said to me when we last spoke that has brought me to this place.

    “You may be an idiot, but you’re my brother,” I repeat aloud to myself.

    Sirius is many things: obnoxious, bull-headed, snide, and a blood-traitor. As long as the Dark Lord lives and breathes, that last trait will forever make Sirius his enemy. I have seen both in battle and know with certainty which will win that fight.

    “Tell . . . tell no one of any of these events, Kreacher,” I say woodenly. “Not my parents or my cousin or my —” I take a shuddering breath and finish, “— my brother.”

    “But what of Master Regulus?” sobs Kreacher.

    “I will take care of myself,” I lie. “Do as I ask and you will have served me best of all.”

    When Kreacher’s objections fade once more, I re-consider the basin. My eyes reflect in its mirrored surface. Sirius has the same eyes, only without the burden of conscience. I envy him . . . not for the first time, but certainly for the last. While I have finally found a cause worth dying for, he will have forever defeated me in finding a cause worth living for.

    And, with that, I drink.



    Title: Other Mothers
    Words: 494
    Rating/Warning: 3-5th, none
    Author note: From the Lexicon: "At 16 Sirius "had enough" of his parents' "pure-blood mania" and ran away to live with James Potter’s parents."




    Knock, knock, knock… his knuckles on the door…

    It opens and she is there—her face full of happy welcome. Sirius smiles and shrugs before she pulls him inside and wraps her arms around him. He will never get used to her hugs, never. She expects nothing, thinks nothing of his unexpected arrival though she must know from the bag on his shoulder that this is not a casual visit. Her arms around him hurt a little: the filling of an empty place can ache a bit at first, and this does. It always does.

    Then James is there, thumping his back in excited reunion until he catches the truth in his friend’s eyes. Then understanding takes over his face: Oh.

    Later, as Sirius sits on the quilt in the extra room, the tension finally eases in his back and shoulders. He will stay with the Potters. It is done.



    Tap, tap, tap… her wand on the table…

    She prepares meals without the assistance of house elves, ruffles her son’s hair, and smiles a lot. Sirius doesn’t watch her. When he watches, he thinks about the other one, the one at his house. When he watches, he can’t keep out the questions that press against the walls of his mind, demanding consideration. Had she been sad for even a moment? Had there been any sense of loss, any small, buried feeling of attachment—perhaps from the birthing room—that had stirred her heart toward her prodigal son? Did she ever look out the window, wondering?

    But he knew the answers, didn’t he?

    And so now, when the meal she prepared was his favorite rather than James’ and her hands did their rumpling on his head… then he had no choice but to let a little rain fall into the parched places.



    Creak, creak, creak… his weight on the floorboards…

    He stands in the room that had become his quarters. He’d only been out with James for a couple of hours, but the room is different now. A large red-and-gold rug covers the wood floor, and scarlet curtains—tied back with gold cords—now hang on both windows. Best of all, a tapestry bearing the image of the Gryffindor lion hangs on the wall nearest his bed. He can't stop staring at that lion.

    James comes in and settles himself on the bed.

    “How did you do this?” Sirius wants to know.

    Me? You must be joking.”

    He got a picture in his mind of James’ mum waving her wand this way and that, getting the curtains just how she wanted them, arranging the tapestry on the wall.

    And then, without him asking, rain began to fall in thirsty places.

    Sirius pressed his teeth together to quell the sudden tightness in the back of his throat. He’d lived sixteen years in Grimmald Place with the ones whose name he shared. Yet somehow, after only four days at the Potters' house, he was finally home.
    Last edited by Equinox Chick; 10-06-2011 at 09:11 PM.
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  10. #20
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    Title: We Grew Apart
    Rating/Warning: 1st/2nd
    Author note: Her mum is a gardener in my personal canon.


    “There’s a Hogsmeade weekend at the end of the month. Do you want to go?”

    How often have you asked this question, this year alone? It feels like the twentieth time at least. My answer, though I try hard to vary my excuses, is in essence always the same – and never ‘yes’.

    “I don’t know yet. Maybe I should study instead of going. I’ll let you know, right?”

    This shouldn’t be such an issue for me. It’s not like we never went to Hogsmeade together before. It was all we did in our third year. What has changed?

    “I guess that’s better than ‘no’.” You smile sadly, and it stabs my insides. You’ve noticed that I’ve been avoiding these things, and you must wonder why. Funny, because so do I. “But what do you have to study for? OWLs are still months away!”

    The truth is, while there are some things I could study more in-depth, I don’t really need it. In fact, if I don’t go with you – which I most likely won’t – I’ll go to the village with other people, and hope, as I have hoped so very often lately, that we don’t run into you. I tell myself that I have to do this for your well-being. Because if they saw you, they’d jeer and yell, and maybe even curse you. They think they’re so much better than you, but they aren’t. They don’t have a clue. No one even comes close to you.

    But there’s another part of me that has a different reason for avoiding you in their company. If they realised that I know you, if they saw us together – well. I can pretend that I’m doing this for the sole purpose of protecting you, but I’m not like you. I’m not that noble. I’m not a Gryffindor. If they knew about you, that’d be the end for me. I wouldn’t be safe in my own house. And your friends wouldn’t help me like they would help you. They hate me.

    “Herbology. I really have to work on plant identification. If I can’t get that right, I won’t manage to get an O.”

    It’s feasible enough. We don’t work at one table in Herbology this year. You have no idea what I’m good or bad at.

    “You don’t need an O; an E will be more than enough to get to next year.” And then you smile so warmly, and put your hand on my arm, and the shivers that run through me send every other thought far, far away. “But I know you need it for yourself. I can help you, if you want to. I know lots about plants from my mum, and I feel like we haven’t really done anything in so long.”

    They’d all be in Hogsmeade, so no one would see us around the castle. We could spend all Saturday together.

    “Come on, Sev,” you say, “it’ll be fun!”

    I smile for the first time in days.




    Title: Truth at Last
    Rating/Warning: 1st-2nd/None


    The sound of the alarm woke Remus with a start.

    "Not already," he groaned. He had been trying to catch up on some sleep during lunch but now had fifteen minutes to get back to class. It had been a rough transformation and he was still suffering a day later.

    As he stood to leave the door to the dormitory burst open and James, Sirius and Peter tumbled in.

    "Remus!" James exclaimed. “Where've you been?"

    "Oh I needed to find my Transfiguration book - I think I've lost it."

    "You mean the one that you had at breakfast this morning?" Peter asked.

    "Um, yeah, must have left it down there."

    Suddenly the door to the dormitory slammed shut with a bang. "You're a rubbish liar, Lupin," stated Sirius, who was now standing in front of the locked door. “We need to talk.”

    Remus thought he might be sick. They'd figured it out. Of course they had. They weren't stupid. And now here they were, all alone, locked in the dormitory. What would they do to him? He wondered how he would feel if the roles were reversed. He'd be angry, of course, but what if it was more than that? The Blacks weren't exactly known for their tolerance of his kind. And who was to say that Sirius was different from his family in all ways.

    "I don't know what you're talking about, Sirius, and shut up with the Lupin thing. My name's Remus," he snapped, determined to defend himself.

    To his surprise, Sirius looked apologetic. "Sorry, mate. We hadn't really planned for this, but since we've got you on your own for five minutes, we may as well talk about this."

    "What?"

    "You're a werewolf," Peter interjected bluntly.

    There was a dead silence in the room.

    "Yes," Remus muttered at last.

    Sirius punched the air. "Knew it! See, James, I told you it wasn't just a coincidence."

    Remus stole a look at James, who was watching him closely. "Why'd you lie to us, Remus?"

    If not for the seriousness of the situation, he would have laughed at this. "I'm a werewolf, James. It's not the kind of thing you bring up in casual conversation."

    "Yes, but we're your friends."

    "Still?"

    It was Sirius’ turn to look incredulous. "Of course! You don't seriously think that we'd be put off by such a stupid thing. In fact, it's brilliant. Now when the Slytherins try anything, we can threaten to set our werewolf on them."

    "NO! You can't tell anyone. Please, Sirius, no one else can know."

    Sirius sighed. "Yeah, okay. But if we figured it out, others will too."

    "Yeah, but it's all right," added Peter, "because you've got us now, and we’re not going to let anyone touch you."

    Remus looked at the faces of three friends and felt a huge weight lift from his chest. He was foolish to have doubted them. They were his friends and they had proved they always would be.




    Title: Sneaking Around
    Rating/Warning: None
    Author note:



    She waited quietly in an empty classroom; hiding in the shadows making sure the door was in her line of sight. Five minutes later the door opened and then shut quickly. She didn’t see anyone come through the door, but she knew someone had entered the room.

    She could hear footsteps approaching her, and wished he would take off the Cloak, so she could see his handsome face, and mischievous eyes. However, she didn’t have to wait too long to see him, as he quickly removed his cloak greeting her with a kiss.

    “I missed you today, Lils,” James whispered, kissing her along her jawline and neck.

    “Missed me?” Lily giggled. “I’ve been in almost every class with you all day.”

    “I know, but it’s not the same,” James teased, embracing her in his arms. “We don’t get to talk or do, you know, other things.

    Lily laughed, but suddenly a thought struck her.

    “No one followed you here, did they?” Lily asked.

    It was the usual question she had asked him since they first stated going out and slinking off to various hiding places in the castle. At first, it had been entertaining hearing from James the numerous excuses he had given Sirius about his whereabouts. But lately each time she had asked this question, James’ answers sounded strained and troubled.

    James’ arms went slack as he distanced himself from her.

    “No, Lily, I was careful,“ James signed. A look of disappointment graced his features.

    Lily knew she shouldn’t have said anything. James had always been careful when it had come to their afterschool rendezvous in various empty classrooms. The pain in James’ eyes was enough to bring her to tears.

    “Lily, are-are you ashamed of me, of us?” James stammered, his eyes focused on the floor instead of her eyes.

    “NO!” Lily responded, bringing his chin up gently with her hand and placing her arms around his neck. “No, James, I’m not at all ashamed of what we have. I-I guess I’m just a little nervous about all the attention it will bring. Honestly, I kind of liked slipping off somewhere with you.”

    Lily could feel the tension leave James’ shoulders as he reached over and kissed her.

    “Lily, I know the sneaking around was fun at first and necessary seeing as we are Head Boy and Head Girl, but I’m bursting to tell someone about us.”

    “I know you are, James. Tell you what, you may tell Sirius and the guys, but only them. I sure hope they can keep a secret.”

    “Knowing them, they probably already know about us,” James smirked.

    “You’re probably right,” Lily laughed.
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