Lockhart Removed My Bones!
Heart Of Gold
Take A Walk
Most of you will know this already, but I don’t like fluff. It honestly makes me feel ill. And since I don’t usually think in terms of pairings, it was very difficult coming up with these. If anyone dares to write something for me, I'd be very happy
Last edited by ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor; 02-13-2012 at 07:19 AM.
'Til the end of the line
Kill the Spare
Title: Don't Tell Me You Don't Want Me
Prompt: Take a walk
Warnings: Well I think the fact that there be slash ahoy is pretty obvious given the pairing, but other than that just some mild sexual situations.
Word count: 750
Author's Note: I really hope you like this, Alex. I've not written a great deal of slash, so this somewhat new territory for me - hopefully I've managed it okay. I just couldn't resist writing two of my favourite potterverse men.
The late autumnal chill in the air caught Oliver's breath in his throat as he stepped out of the changing room complex. The short hair on the back of his neck, still damp from his shower, stood to cool attention, and he turned his collar up against the icy drizzle.
As ever, he had been the last to leave the training pitch, and the Puddlemere stadium was deserted. Oliver liked it that way though. The quiet served to clear his head. That was why he walked home from training rather than Apparating like his teammates. They mocked him for a fear of Apparition, but the truth was he had no objection to it: he simply preferred to walk.
It was only a twenty minute walk - half that if he were rushing - but recently he had found himself unwilling to hurry. He didn't have the energy for it. Life had left him heavy and sluggish of late, and worryingly it was starting to show in his play. Katie said he was lovelorn, but then she was prone to romanticism. Oliver was more matter of fact than that. He'd have said he was simply disappointed and thinking too much.
It was the thinking too much that meant that he didn't see the lone figure waiting for him at the end of the lane to the stadium, until the man stepped out to block his path.
It had been three years since the Battle of Hogwarts, but it was hard to let go of that instinct to see the unexpected as a threat. Oliver tensed, but then recognised the powerful, stocky build of the man and the red sheen of his hair in the moonlight. The familiarity didn't release the tension though, only changed it.
'I thought we could take a walk,' Charlie said.
'I didn't know you were in the country.' The words came out harsh, with the electric shock of bitter pain that underlay them. It just wasn't fair of Charlie to blindside him like that. None of Oliver's hard won defences were in place, so he clawed at anger as something to cling to instead.
Charlie gave a shrug that was almost apologetic. 'I'm not.'
'Could have fooled me.' There was an arch sarcasm that Oliver despised himself for in the words, or perhaps he just despised Charlie for bringing it out in him.
Charlie flushed, with embarrassment or irritation it was hard to tell - the angry redness darkening his pale skin beneath the sun-worn freckles.
'I mean: no one knows I'm here. I only came to see you ...'
Oliver couldn't fight the warmth that flooded through him - one part gratification that Charlie wanted to see him, one part anger that of course Charlie would have told no one that he was coming to see him, and one part the raw tang of lust. It was a heady mixture.
Charlie started to walk, and like a fool, Oliver fell into step beside him. They were a perfect match in height and their steps fell into rhythm, crunching on the leaves beneath their feet. They walked so closely that every few steps their knuckles grazed one another but neither made a move to step apart.
'I came to apologise,' Charlie continued finally, his eyes fixed firmly on the dark strip of the road ahead, 'and to say goodbye.'
Oliver stopped abruptly and spun towards his ex-lover, grasping his forearm hard in his fist.
'What are you so afraid of?' he demanded. He stepped closer so that, although his hand on Charlie's arm was the only contact between them, there were only inches between their bodies. Oliver could feel the shift in the muscles of Charlie's arm rippling beneath his fingers as Charlie curled his hands into fists and the deliberate release as he forced them to unclench.
'I'm not afraid. This - us - it just won't work. I don't want you the way you want me.' Charlie wouldn't look at Oliver as he spoke, even though that meant craning his neck at an awkward angle since Oliver was standing so close.
Oliver reached up with his free hand and snaked it through the coarse hair on Charlie's scalp, gripping tightly as he pulled Charlie's mouth down to meet his in a fierce kiss, which was met with just as much passion.
'Lie to yourself if you want, but don't tell me you don't want me,' Oliver said as he drew away.
'Til the end of the line
Kill the Spare
Prompt: Wise Up
Rating: 1st/2nd Years – None
Word count: 800
Author's Note: Hopefully this was sweet rather than syrupy. I can’t really tell. =)
* * *
“Molly, dear, you look lovely! Now, are you ready to show the world that Preston Blake is the luckiest man on the planet?”
Sending her mother, Isabelle, a tight smile, Molly Prewett re-examined herself in the mirror. It was the night of her engagement party, the night that wizarding Britain got something new to talk about besides the upcoming nuptials between Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange. Public opinion wasn’t something Molly particularly cared about, but years of school rivalry between Molly and Bellatrix made it impossible not to want to one-up that smug, self-satisfied —
A hefty tug on her arm snapped Molly out of her silent diatribe and back into reality. There was a healthy-sized party downstairs, full to the brim with her parents’ and Preston’s parents’ most important friends and connections, so she needed to make a good impression. They wanted to see a glowing bride-to-be and yet another pure-blooded girl happy to make a proper match. It didn’t matter to Molly overmuch, but Isabelle needed this after Jared, Molly’s father, lost a hefty sum of Galleons in a failed business venture.
Preston was…nice, albeit a fair bit older than Molly’s nineteen years. Though she preferred not to think about it, he was actually one year Jared’s senior. But he would treat her with kindness and, if the rumours were true, neglect regarding more carnal matters, as those needs were being met already by someone else.
Soon, Molly found herself immersed in the party, a beatific grin pasted to her face as she moved around to greet everyone her mother had deemed ‘of consequence’ before working her way through the rest of the guests. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally got to talk to the people that she personally had invited, which consisted of a smattering of classmates who had garnered a look of disdain from Isabelle.
That was when she saw him.
“Molly-wobbles, you look splendid,” Arthur Weasley said with the first sincere smile she had seen all night. “I feel underdressed just looking at you.”
His earnestness made Molly’s breath stall in her chest. It reminded her of why prefect patrols with Arthur had always been her favourites. He was quick to make her laugh with a bad joke and had a soft spot for their more trouble-making brethren. And then there had been that one night in the Transfiguration that had changed everything.
“Molly, I was wondering if you could possibly consider making me the luckiest guy at Hogwarts and letting me escort you to Hogsmeade this fine weekend.”
The way the request had come out, honest yet obviously rehearsed and rehashed half to death in his head, made Molly want to say yes so very badly. But this day had been coming for ages, so she, too, had had time to prepare a reply — the proper one.
“Arthur, I can’t,” she said with genuine regret. “My parents…they’ve already got someone they want me to meet during Christmas holidays, and it wouldn’t do to be seen out with someone else right before.”
Seemingly unperturbed by her rebuff, Arthur said, “Can’t two prefects have a Butterbeer together without rousing too much suspicion?”
She knew Arthur too well to accept that the offer was platonic, so she did what she thought was the right thing and spun on her heel to leave. What she hadn’t counted on was a crack in the flagstones catching the sole of her shoe, causing her ankle to twist painfully. And having Arthur’s arms wrap around her to stop her fall had never been a part of her plan, either. Then there was the matter of the ensuing kiss…
Of their own accord, her feet allowed themselves to be led out into the gardens. Molly was sure at least someone had seen her leave, but she found herself caring less and less about what she was ‘supposed’ to be doing the longer Arthur regarded her with a look that dared her to say the hell with it all. He had told her how he felt months ago, and she had turned him down.
The terse silence, however, was interrupted as a heated conversation sprang up nearby. One of the hushed voices was clearly Preston’s, and the other Molly knew to be Roarke Lestrange, who was heavily suspected of being in league with the Death Eater movement. Ice trickled its way through her veins as she considered the prospect of possibly becoming embroiled with that sort of element.
And then she understood. Two paths awaited her: society life with moderate wealth and status, or a low-level Ministry employee with more lint in his pockets than Knuts who would fly to the moon for her if she but asked.
As her hand slid into his, Molly said softly to Arthur, “Take me home.”
'Til the end of the line
Kill the Spare
Title: If I Could Turn Back Time
Rating: 1st-2nd years; implied mental torture, angst
Candy Heart used: Write Me
Author’s Note: The title is taken from a song, and the drabble is inspired by that song too, but don’t Google it or anything, Alex, or else you’ll know who I am.
Thank you to my beta who will remain unnamed until the reveals!
How are you? I miss you. I miss seeing your beautiful face each day. Being without you is like I am missing a body part, or something like that. I realise that that does not sound terribly romantic. I apologise. Hopefully, it will not matter. Because, Cissa, your presence is truly the most comforting thing in the world, even if you are thousands of miles away from me.
I wish I could see you. Being alone makes my mind teeter on the edge of insanity at times. This loneliness — it consumes me from the inside and makes me hungry for company. Anyone. I even try to converse with the person in the cell next to mine. I do not know who is in there. He never replies. Perhaps he cannot hear me, or maybe he does not want to. But no matter. I have you. And if I could, then I would be with you.
How is Draco? I have tried to write to him several times, but he has not responded, even once. I suspect he is angry at me, and, I suppose, rightly so. I simply hope he realises that if I could turn back time, I would not have acted as foolishly as I did. There are so many mistakes I have made. I hope that you, at least, can forgive me.
Mid-way through the letter, Narcissa let out a long sigh, and it was only then that she realised she had been holding her breath while reading. The parchment was grubby, the handwriting familiar but messier than usual, with crossings-out, the ink smudged in places.
It was another hot, sticky August night. The heat had permeated through Narcissa’s skin, and she was sweating so much that her nightdress clung to her. It was when she was lying, restless, in her bed, that she awoke from the half-slumber she was in by the sound of an owl squawking loudly, which was trying to get in through the half-opened window. Narcissa had sleepily opened it and taken the letter, after which the owl flew through the open door and presumably went to their owlery.
In a way, she didn't even want to read the letter’s contents, and she regretted opening it. Because it was all very well for him to write those words, full of empty love, but what about how Narcissa felt? She missed her husband so badly that she felt an ache in her heart every time she thought about him, and a wave of anger would pass through her each time Bellatrix mentioned Lucius and what he done. What difference could letters — meaningless, pointless words — make, now Lucius was gone?
But even Narcissa couldn’t deny the fact that her heart soared at the sight of the torn (and hastily mended) envelope, and while reading, she had clung to every word. Narcissa knew she would read it over and over again, trace the letters, even memorise it.
Lost in a sudden multitude of emotions, Narcissa returned her attention to the last part of the missive.
Even as I write this letter, the Dementors are draining me of any strength or hope I have managed to cling to. They are making me think horrible things — of you, of Draco, of what could be happening to you right at this moment. My cell is slowly getting smaller and smaller, and I dread the day when the walls enclose me completely. I hope with all my heart that that day never comes, because then I would not be able to see you again.
I long to reunite with you, Cissa, and Draco too. It will happen... soon. I want to protect you both. And until then, stay strong. For me. All you can do is protect our son. He is all we have left.
With all my love,
Clutching the letter to her chest, Narcissa let out a sob, shutting her eyes firmly, as if that could keep her tears at bay. But it was no use. And what was worse was that the bed she lay in — and cried herself to sleep in every night — would remain colder and emptier than ever, despite the summer’s heat.
Last edited by ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor; 02-05-2012 at 11:26 PM.
'Til the end of the line
Kill the Spare
Title: Thick, Woollen Socks
Rating: 1st-2nd years; slash (obviously)
Candy Heart used: Love Life, but rather loosely
Author’s Note: Lines marked with an asterisk (*) are taken from Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, which I, of course, do not own. Alex—I hope you like it This scene has always made me wonder about what Dumbledore really saw in the Mirror of Erised.
“What do you see when you look in the mirror?”*
You hesitate only for a moment, and it is with ease that the first lie that you have ever told Harry slides off your tongue.
“I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woollen socks.”
Trying your utmost to smile at Harry, you continue, “One can never have enough socks.”
Harry does not look fully convinced, and you can’t say you blame him. You bid Harry goodnight, and as he leaves, you stand in front of the mirror, eyes closed, wondering, hoping, even, that your deepest desire could change to something more... decent.
Why can’t you wish to see your parents again? After all, it is something—along with the fact that you and Harry had both resided in Godric’s Hollow, but Harry doesn't need to know that yet—that you and Harry have in common: the fact that you are both orphans.
And you do want to see his mother and father, badly, but even you can’t deny that you want to see and be with Gellert far more. The fact that you know exactly where in this country Gellert is (and that Gellert is alive right this second) doesn't really help matters.
That is wrong. Your parents must mean more to you than the lust of your life, surely? Even more so, you suppose, because you never really had a love life, or a lust life.
You feel shame weigh down on your shoulders, the shame of lusting after a man, the shame of desiring him more than family, and you shake your head, but you do not open your eyes. How could you be so... so callous? At least you have actually seen and spent time with your parents and got to know them. Harry... Harry has never had that.
And here you are, still thinking about a man who you haven’t seen in years, a man who you put in his own prison. Here you are, wondering about your toxic feelings for him, even now, the poison which still runs in your veins—
You open your eyes, as if this will rid the image of Gellert from your head, momentarily forgetting what is in front of you.
Immediately, you frown—not in surprise, but in irritation. For, staring back at you is not the old man you are now, but a much younger, happier version. Your hair is slightly shorter, your nose fully intact, your face free of any lines. You are not particularly handsome; you have always known that. But his beauty makes up for that.
Standing beside you is a beautiful golden-haired boy—and there really is no other way to describe him—with a cheeky glint in his eyes that is so endearingly familiar to you. The first time you met him, you thought he looked almost angelic.
And then he opened his mouth and used his wand, and his words belied any innocence his appearance may have implied.
You turn to your side, despite meeting mere, empty air, just to make sure that Gellert is not really there. You’re not entirely sure what you would do if he were there. Then, you face the mirror once more. The sight of you and him standing there, side by side, is almost laughable after your stand-off all those years ago, and yet, you certainly prefer seeing this over a pair of thick, woollen socks, and you wish you had told Harry the truth.
Lockhart Removed My Bones!
It’s about time I replied to these lovely drabbles people have been so kind as to write for me. I have a pretty shrewd idea of who wrote what, but tomorrow will reveal all.
Don't Tell Me You Don't Want Me: I loved this. I loved the tension between them, and the mentions of the weather, and the way we slowly realised what had happened between them, and the dialogue, and the kiss-it was just lovely. I will love you forever if you expand this to a one-shot.
Crossroads: I really like this. It is on the sweet, rather than the syrupy side, so don’t worry I always find pre-motherhood Molly interesting--in canon she’s so much defined by her maternal instincts that it can be hard to get around that. And I loved the contrast between the ‘high’ pureblood world you present, and the world Arthur presents for Molly. It was lovely
If I Could Turn Back Time: This was very, very sad, but rather beautiful. I loved how poetic and romantic Lucius is--and those aren’t words I’ve associated with him before, ha. And Narcissa’s feelings for him, and confusion, are all very realistic.
Thick, Woollen Socks: I loved the fact in what is a sort of canon pairing, you took a canon moment,and expanded Gellert/ Albus from that. It was so sad. Although, maybe because I think Albus is a bit of a b------, I don’t think that’s the first lie he’s ever told Harry. But the second person works very well for this, as does the present tense. And it’s heartbreaking that he knows he should see his family, but instead he sees the only one he loves.
Thank you all! I really enjoyed these and look forward to seeing if I was right