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Thread: April challenge ~ we are proud to present ~

  1. #21
    Second Year Gryffindor
    Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea
    Gwen Evens's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2010
    Location
    The TARDIS
    Posts
    61
    Name: Gwen Evens
    House: Gryffindor
    Chosen Character: Sirius Black
    Ratings/Warnings:3-5years/Language
    Word Count:418
    A/N:
    Thank you to Caroline. Sirius visits the Potters before going off on an mission for the Order.

    Chapter 2 Harry Smile

    It was seven in the morning as Sirius walked down the path from the gate to the front door of the Potter’s house. It was a bright, shining morning. The sun was up and a warm spring wind was blowing. Sirius knocked on the door, which was answered by Lily, who was wearing a pink Easter dress with a bunny rabbit pattern on it.

    “Hello, Padfoot. How are you?” she asked him, smiling.

    “I’m gr. . .” He was cut of by a little boy “running,” well more like totaling, as fast as he could toward him, yelling “Uhnter Paaaaaadyyyyy. . . fffooooot”

    Smiling widely, he picked up his godson Harry, giving his bark of a laugh. Harry, who was carrying a blue eggin his hands, looked up at him and said “Bruber”

    “Um, Lily? What is ‘Bruber’?” He asked, confused but with a smile.

    She laughed and said, “He means Bluebell. He’s been calling everything that since we named the cat.”

    Sirius smiled and threw Harry up into the air to make him smile and laugh. When James arrived, he put Harry down, walked over to his old friend, and clasped arms saying, “ I can’t stay long. I have some business with the Order.”

    “Where are you going, Padfoot?” James asked looking worried.

    “Sorry, Prongs can’t say. But, don’t worry Prongs; I’ll be fine.”

    “Sure, make us worry more,” Lily scoffed.

    “Don’t worry. It’s not like I’m going with Moony to hunt,” he said sarcastically.

    “I heard that Padfoot, you know,” said a calm, tired voice from behind him, which made Sirius jump and spin around to come face to face with Remus.

    “MOONY! Bloody Merlin’s Pants of Hell! Don’t do that!”

    “You did deserve it though, Padfoot,” said James teasingly.

    “All right, boys, settle down.”

    “What, us? We’re not causing you any trouble, now, are we Prongs?” asked Sirius teasingly.

    “Well, Ma’am, I believe Padfoot’s right; we aren’t causing any trouble,” James responded teasingly back.

    “Come on,” Remus said.

    ~*~

    Sirius said his goodbyes and Apparated outside of the Shrieking Shack where Albus Dumbledore stood worried. Then he was back, back in his cold, dark cell. Tears started running down his face as the images of their happy faces looked back at him. He wondered, if he were ever to meet Harry again, would he forgive him? Why could he not just. . . what? He did not know. He buried his face in his hands, finally letting the tears come free for the first time in seven years.







    Last edited by Gwen Evens; 04-09-2012 at 09:44 PM. Reason: Spacing


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  2. #22
    Seventh Year Hufflepuff
    Am I in the Right House?
    AidaLuthien's Avatar
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    Jan 2010
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    The City
    Posts
    570
    Name: Aida
    House: Hufflepuff!
    Chosen Character: Albus Wulfric Brian Dumbledore Barmaid Edit:What about Percival? Edit: Oops. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
    Ratings/Warnings: 3rd-5th, slash
    Word Count: 350
    A/N: I'm surprised I managed to turn such mostly happy words into such a depressing drabble. Well, here it is.

    Albus has a hard time sleeping after the nightmare. He tosses and turns, and almost takes a Sleeping Draught just so that he can finally get some rest. Eventually he manages to drift off again. He dreams of a field of bluebells and Gellert. There is no plot, no point to this dream. It’s just a hazy fantasy, an impression, a pink bubblegum daydream. It’s as if his subconscious is trying to make up for the nightmare earlier. It exists out of time. It feels absurdly ephemeral. It’s all gentle wind, flowing curly blonde hair, a carpet of purple-blue flowers and soft blue eyes. It’s the feeling of Gellert’s lips against his and the sun’s gentle rays against his skin. Gellert’s body pressed against his, arms holding him tightly, his voice surrounding him. Gellert’s hands card his auburn hair.

    The sun is shining directly in his eyes when he finally raises himself from bed. He is late for breakfast. Albus dresses mechanically, the nightmare from last night still resounding in his mind coupled with the bitterness of waking up to a world where Gellert was in prison for his crimes, not by his side. It had been wonderful, in a terrible kind of way, being with Gellert and conquering the world together. It had been even more wonderful to just lay with Gellert in a field of fairy flowers. It was all Albus had ever wanted from Gellert, really... to be by his side. His feet take him to the Great Hall, nimbly avoiding the trap steps after years of living here at Hogwarts. He takes his place at the head of the teachers table, and nods to his neighbors.

    He assumes the House Elves have cooked up a wonderful breakfast as they always do, but he can’t seem to eat. He picks at his food, sipping at pumpkin juice. He reads The Daily Prophet, but there is no good news. A headline screams about the ongoing hunt for Death Eaters. After Minerva gives him a pointed look towards the eggs, he forces himself to eat a piece of toast.
    Last edited by Equinox Chick; 04-13-2012 at 06:07 PM.
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  3. #23
    Fifth Year Gryffindor
    I See Dead People... In Mirrors
    lucca4's Avatar
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    Apr 2010
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    With Teddy <3
    Posts
    236
    Name: Ariana/lucca4
    House: Gryffindor
    Chosen Character: Bellatrix Black
    Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd years; mention of killing
    Word Count: 300
    A/N: These word bead prompts are always the death of me .




    Her father once said that the women of the Black family have a tendency for obsessions. He once joked with Bellatrix that it would be her single downfall – that a mind as brilliant and cunning as hers could not handle being so wrapped up in a single subject for long; it would drive her to insanity.

    Ironically, it is only Andromeda who heeds his warning – rebellious, moody Andromeda who has defies everything but never falls prey to obsessions.

    In time, she is the only one without a compendium of her own.

    Narcissa collects flowers. Pansies and bluebells and jasmine but she loves roses especially. She presses them carefully into a small booklet until their petals are as fragile as eggshells and they are no longer beautiful but they are all hers and that’s what matters in the end.

    Bellatrix collects people. She hunts them and toys with them and then when it is not so much fun anymore she kills them. They, too, become faded and delicate but in the end become hers.

    She has favourites, too. Kills that she waited for, worked for, and still dreams about. Sometimes she can even taste them on her tongue. Sometimes they whisper to her in the night. Bellatrix thinks of them as The Three.

    They are the prize of her collection: the shining trophies in the myriad of kills she has made.

    Bellatrix doesn’t remember every life she took – somewhere, sometime, they mangled and tangled together in a cloud of bloodlust and adrenaline.

    But she does remember The Three: the pink-cheeked little boy, the striking young man, the woman with the sad eyes. There had been fun in these kills but also something deeper, something that bubbled in her throat like rage and left the taste of passion lingering on her tongue.

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  4. #24
    Savannah Hen Slytherin
    Sirius Black Entered Gryffindor Tower
    coolh5000's Avatar
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    Aug 2007
    Location
    Wonderful England!
    Posts
    1,235
    Name: Bob
    House: Slytherin
    Chosen Character: Neville Longbottom
    Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd/None
    Word Count: 498
    A/N: Thank you to Kara for betaing and preventing me from making some grave errors.

    On the surface, Hogwarts seemed largely unchanged, and despite Neville’s anxiety about the changes to the castle, most students seemed oblivious and happy to be back. Even the weather was doing its best to prove everything was fine, and September was incredibly mild. The summer flowers remained in bloom for longer than usual, and the grounds were brightened by a cheerful array of bluebells and daffodils. They were helped by the sun, which continued shining brightly well into October, allowing students to spend weekend afternoons sunbathing by the lake.

    For Neville, the first sign of what was to come appeared on Wednesday. He was in the Great Hall, piling eggs onto toast for lunch when Ginny sat next to him, a dark look on her face.

    “What’s up with you?” he asked. They had formed an easy alliance over the week, both recognising that however simple things seemed at the moment, they were unlikely to remain so for long, and they needed to be prepared for the worst.

    “I’ve just had my first Muggle Studies lesson. That Carrow woman is foul. Have you had either of them yet?”

    “I have Dark Arts next. I suppose we could hardly expect them to be anything but foul given who they are.”

    “You should have heard her. She didn’t even try to hide her hatred of Muggles – she actually talked about the medieval Muggle Hunts as if they were a fun sport that should be reinstated. I don’t know how many lessons like that I can put up with.”

    Neville frowned. “We’ll have work out a way to deal with them. Speak to Luna – see if she’ll meet us in the Room of Requirement later and we’ll figure something out.”

    Ginny nodded. “Good luck with Defence,” she said gloomily. “You’ll need it.”

    Neville had seen many decors in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, from the magical creatures of Professor Lupin to the garish pink frills of Umbridge. Never before, however, had he felt quite so repulsed. As it had been when Snape taught there, the walls were covered in posters but the illustrations were so much more vivid than the previous year’s. There was no attempt at subtlety in the obvious pain and torture that was being inflicted on the victims. Neville’s mind flashed to an image of his parents and he wondered how long it had taken for the looks of agony to be replaced by their vacant stares. He quickly shook his head, knowing it wouldn’t help to think of that.

    It did not take long to get an idea of how things were going to go. Professor Carrow clearly had no intention of teaching anything useful at all. By the time the seventh years were finally dismissed, Neville had witnessed the teacher hurling several curses at students. Carrow had resisted the Unforgivables so far, but Neville was sure it was only a matter of time, and he was certain now that something had to be done.
    Last edited by coolh5000; 04-13-2012 at 11:31 AM.

  5. #25
    Seventh Year Gryffindor
    First Brush With A Dementor

    Join Date
    Mar 2009
    Posts
    903
    Name: Kara
    House: Gryffindor
    Chosen Character: Lucius Malfoy
    Ratings/Warnings: 3rd/5th, implied death
    Word Count: 494


    He went to see her right after breakfast the next morning. Generally, he disliked going to the hospital. It was a gloomy place, and all the attempts to make it quirky only worked to reinforce that. That day, however, he was in much higher spirits. The skies were clear, and the sunlight was warm on his face as he took the last part of his way by foot.

    The one place the sun didn’t reach was Narcissa’s room. He noticed as soon as he entered that she had her curtains drawn, and the only light came from an orb that hovered in the room, glowing too brightly for his taste. She sat in her bed, the child in a cot next to her, and her breakfast – a boiled egg and some bread – untouched on the table. But she was happy to see him; she said so.

    “We have to get you home,” Lucius said. “Have some proper food made for you.” He walked over to the cot and picked the sleeping child up. His son blinked for a moment, then went back to sleep in his arms. His son. Draco.

    Narcissa only looked at him for a moment, then smiled. “I was thinking... You don’t suppose we could add a bit of pink to the nursery?”

    “Pink? I thought we had agreed on blue if it was a boy... it is a boy, right?” He resisted the urge to check for himself. Narcissa had, in fact, spent the larger portion of the past two months hunting down the perfect shades of both colours, settling on bluebell for a boy, and pale rose for a girl.

    “Well, not entirely pink, only some details perhaps...” She trailed off, tracing her wand over her bedspread, creating beautiful patterns of tendrils. She looked up at him suddenly, and her eyes were shining. “Please,” she said.

    When Lucius left the room a while later to make arrangements for his wife to return to the manor the next day, he almost walked into one of the Healers in the corridor.

    “Mr Malfoy!” the other man exclaimed. “I’m so glad to catch you here. I’ve written down the name of a specialist that you might want to contact for your wife.”

    “A specialist?” Lucius asked. “Why, is she ill? Is there anything wrong with my son?”

    The Healer frowned and hesitated for a moment. “Well, maybe not ill as such, but these things leave their marks, and even if it isn’t a physical ailment...” He paused when he saw the puzzled look on Lucius’ face. “Haven’t you been told?”

    “I only managed to get here today, and you’re the first Healer I’ve seen,” he said, growing restless. “Told what? What is the matter with my wife?”

    The Healer guided him to a set of chairs, but Lucius didn’t sit down. “There’s no way to make something like this any easier,” the Healer explained. “Your wife had twins. The girl was stillborn.”
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  6. #26
    Seventh Year Hufflepuff
    Protecting Scabbers from Crookshanks
    hestiajones's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2009
    Location
    The Fellowship of Non-Literary
    Posts
    984
    Name: hestiajones
    House: Hufflepuff
    Chosen Character: Albus the Dumbledore
    Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd yr; None
    Word Count: 499 on MSW
    A/N: This was not easy.




    Whenever he thought of visiting the grave, Albus pictured himself armed with a bouquet of bluebells. Although she’d never felt the softness of their petals, they had been her favourite flowers.

    It was actually the painting Ariana had loved, if one had to break it down to the bare bones of things: a painting done by their mother, Kendra, when she’d still been cheerful enough to fiddle with her paints. How the bluebells moved on the wall of a darkened room that was ironically pink, forever tickled by a breeze trapped within the canvas. Once, when Albus had been alone with her, coaxing her to eat the egg he’d made, he could’ve sworn he saw the flowers reflected on the enthralled, shining eyes.

    “Or perhaps,” he remarked to a non-existent audience, as all the portraits were sleeping, “it was just the colour of her irises.”

    “Mmmpf?” mumbled a bleary-eyed Dexter Fortescue from his left. “What was that?”

    “Nothing,” said Albus. “Good morning, Dexter.”

    Dexter didn’t respond for a while, his attention entirely caught by a succession of deep, loud yawns. Meanwhile, Albus settled down to read the Prophet. He’d already finished skimming the front page when Dexter coughed.

    “Yes, Dexter?”

    “May I know what that is?”

    Without looking up, Albus answered, “It’s a mirror.”

    “Yes, yes, it’s a mirror, all right. But what is it doing here? Surely you haven’t fallen prey to vanity at this age?”

    “I daresay you’ll find that vanity has always been a failing in my character.”

    “Pah!”

    “Or have you simply decided to ignore the flamboyance of my sartorial style, Dexter?” Albus continued, now amused. “The buckles of my shoes? My complete excitement over the fact that they have a Chocolate Frog Card featuring my exploits?”

    “Well, you have achieved a lot in life, Albus,” Dexter said. “You deserve to be on a Frog Card.”

    “But surely, I’m under no obligation to wear a velvet cloak that sweeps majestically over the ground as I-”

    “Arrgh!” cried Dexter irritably. “Don’t lead me astray. Now that I’ve observed it more closely, I can tell that is no ordinary mirror there!”

    “It isn’t.” Albus paused for a second; he thought of the certainty that somebody was hunting for the Philosopher’s Stone, of the possibility of who it could be, of the young boy who must ward him off, and the role the mirror was to play. It was a long story, a secret only he knew the full details of. “It is enchanted,” he said finally.

    “Enchanted to conceal something?” Dexter asked with interest. “All I can see upon its surface is fog.”

    Before he could stop himself, he glanced at the mirror. It flashed something back at him, clear as Veritaserum. He blinked. Bluebells.

    Don’t you dare speak her name again
    , threatened a young boy’s gruff voice inside his head.

    “Precisely, Dexter,” he replied, eyes closed. “It's enchanted to conceal something.”

    The honesty in his voice didn’t surprise him, for he’d vowed to not remember her.
    Last edited by hestiajones; 04-13-2012 at 06:00 PM.
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  7. #27
    Fourth Year Gryffindor
    Arguing With The Sorting Hat
    iwannabeanauror's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jan 2011
    Location
    Virginia
    Posts
    116
    Name: Iwannabeanauror/Caroline
    House: Gryffindor
    Chosen Character: Bellatrix
    Ratings/Warnings: 3-5 years, with a warning for violence. This is also kind of dark, but there isn't really a warning for that.
    Word Count: 328
    A/N: I just can't seem to write anything over 350 words *sigh.*

    Stars were shining above, illuminating the garden. The delicate bluebells and tender pink roses gave an impression of gentle innocence that Bellatrix felt she never knew. All her life, she had been raised for this. Now, on the night of her seventeenth birthday, she had finally been able to join them. Only an hour previously, she had received the mark, symbolizing her role in... what? An evil regeime? A Muggle hunt? At that realization, she felt her heart begin to crack. Slowly, then all at once, like an egg.

    Eyes straining to hold back tears, she rolled her sleeve back to reveal the freshly burned skull and snake; the symbol of him. Voldemort.

    "I hope you're happy," she grumbled, as if he could hear her.

    She then thought of her family. How her parents were always pushing her. How, despite how much she admired her oldest sister, she never felt like she was anything compared to Andromeda. Bellatrix would never admit it to anyone but herself, but she envied the way Andromeda was able to follow her own path instead of being an imitation.

    Imitation. Bellatrix's youngest sister, Narcissa, would often try to be exactly like Bellatrix. Why, Bellatrix was unsure. She didn't know who she was, let alone why anyone would want to be like her. All her life, she felt like a fake, like she was a puppet who had strings that were constantly being manipulated by someone who refused to let go. "I hope you all are."

    The next day was her first official mission. Hoping to impress those on her side, she allowed a fake yet high-pitched cackle to leave her lips as the green light left her walnut wand. She was sure she would feel the guilt later. But for now, all she felt was a burning anger at herself. Because yet again, she had fit inside someone else's binding box.
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  8. #28
    Clone Club Hufflepuff
    Unspeakable
    Seeking Keys
    Padfoot11333's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2011
    Location
    On the other side of the galaxy
    Posts
    351
    Name: Lily/Padfoot11333
    House: Hufflepuff
    Chosen Character: James Potter
    Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd years, *one* curse word
    Word Count: 475
    A/N: <3s to Maple (Maple_and_Pheonix_Feather) for betaing this in a flash, and it was incredibly hard to write this >.>


    I’m not sure where I am. All I know is that I feel like I’ m walking on eggshells and broken glass. But when I look down, all I see is a bright field of bluebells, and it’s only then that I realise that the everything that I see around me is all a façade and I’ve left Lily and Harry behind.

    I remember when Harry, with shining eyes that looked exactly like Lily’s, and hair that, even though it looked like mine, had a mind of its own, had celebrated an Easter egg hunt because Lily swore that everyone had to have at least one. Even though I never had. She had tried to dress Harry up in a costume but, for the most part, it was useless, although she managed to put on a pink headband with rabbit ears. She hid each and every egg carefully for Harry to find, even though Harry was just seven or eight months old and didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t even walk yet.

    So we had taken Harry outside into the bright sunshine and cooed to him in that tone that parents always use. He didn’t understand what we were saying—how could he? He wasn’t even old enough to walk—so instead of guiding Harry step by step to find the eggs, Lily moved them out into the open one at a time. He went up to get them, one by one. He examined the one that I had magically dyed red before Lily made us do it by hand. I’ll never forget this, as long as I live—or, I scoff, die—he deliberately took it and threw it into the side of the house.

    This field of eggshells and glass feels like that Easter egg hunt, only instead of innocent eggs, secrets are hidden. I have no idea where I am or what I’m doing, but I want to. I want to know. Only I get the feeling that if I did know the secrets, I would get just as angry as Harry did and throw them into the wall.

    I know I shouldn’t think this—I know I should hope that Lily’s alive—but I wish that she was here to hold my hand and help me find the answers to what’s just happened to me. I know, that, as blunt as it sounds, I’ve died. Maybe, I think wryly, death is the only place that has all the answers.

    It’s like I’ve predicted it to happen, even though I know it shouldn’t have (because we’ll never get to say good bye, and what if the next person I see here is Harry?). But suddenly Lily is there, and she takes my hand. Only it doesn’t help. It just makes me wonder why the hell I deserve to be here.


    Lily xxx
    Last edited by Padfoot11333; 04-14-2012 at 01:56 PM. Reason: stupid html
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  9. #29
    Second Year Hufflepuff
    Beset by Owls
    LollyLovesick's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2011
    Location
    in Sweden
    Posts
    45
    Name: LollyLovesick
    House: Hufflepuff<3
    Chosen Character: Pansy Parkinson
    Ratings/Warnings: 3rd-5th years, Strong Profanity
    Word Count: 492
    A/N: Beta'ed by Soraya (babewithbrains). Thank you!



    When the war ends, she thinks Draco is now hers.

    Pansy knows she should feel embarrassed and scared to be blacklisted, outcast and forever branded by the community, but she doesn’t care. All she feels is that she has finally been given a chance.

    He really should be hers now. She should be the only one left. The only one who remains when his fall from grace ends. She should be the one to save him from complete misery. The one who picks him off the ground when he can’t stand anymore.

    No one else is supposed to want him now.

    She really thinks he’s hers now.

    But there’s another. A girl with shining eyes and flashing smiles, a girl with hair just as long and blonde as her sister… When Pansy first met her, the girl was just a child, a child in a pink dress, who came out in the garden to pick bluebells one hot summer’s day.

    Pansy and Daphne had been lying on the Greengrasses’ lawn, gossiping, when the girl had skipped out in front of them. Too used to assessing people at first sight, Pansy had understood immediately that the little girl was flawless.

    Already, then, she had known that Astoria Greengrass had the potential to be perfect.

    But Pansy had assumed that Hogwarts would corrupt her, like it had her sister.

    Apparently not.

    Once she grew up, Astoria – younger and even prettier than Daphne – was able to pick and choose any man. Why did it have to be the only one Pansy wanted?

    Perhaps that was just another one of her graces.

    Astoria was forgiving.

    Draco Malfoy is not at all a fitting match for a girl whose family has always kept on the right side of the law. Yet she chooses him and restores him to his former glories, or, at least, more so than anyone had thought possible.

    Good and true as she is, Astoria even sends a wedding invitation to Pansy. This is a topic of discussion for some time; shouldn’t Draco distance himself from someone who so openly showed her disloyalty for the Chosen One? Astoria explains that Pansy is one of Draco’s oldest friends and deserves to be there on his day.

    Pansy wants to spit in the face of the person who tells her this.

    She never even considers attending, but somehow, she ends up at the reception anyway, a stupid, cheap gift in hand, for which Astoria thanks her warmly.

    When she sees Draco she knows that it’s all over.

    It’s just so blatantly obvious how f*cking happy she’s made him.

    For a few days, Pansy is completely furious. All the other employees of the shop she works in walk on eggshells around her.

    Then she falls silent.

    The only thing that’s left is the thought that hunts her at night, in bed, when she can’t sleep because she is aching for him, still...

    It is the thought of revenge.
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  10. #30
    First Year Hufflepuff
    In the Cupboard Under the Stairs
    Free_Elf's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2011
    Location
    Lurkerville
    Posts
    17
    Name: Free_Elf/Bec
    House: Hufflepuff
    Chosen Character: Luna Lovegood
    Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd, none
    Word Count: 484
    A/N: My brain is stuck in surgary Easter mode. I blame all the chocolate I've eaten this week. Anyway, I'm sure Luna would make a fantastic storyteller.



    It was difficult to measure time in the cellar. No sunlight ever trickled down and their captors made certain to keep the arrivals of pitiful food irregular. Luna had tried to keep track of the time since Christmas but even her rough estimate was probably several weeks off. They couldn’t be certain that Easter had arrived, but now was as good a time as any. In the cold darkness of the cellar there was little to do to mark the occasion, except tell stories about Easters they remembered.

    “I remember,” Luna began, “one Easter my mother took me down to the village. All the children were spread among the houses, each one carrying a basket, and they seemed to be searching for something. I was curious – I’d never seen them do that before – and didn’t know it was because of Easter. I chose a small girl with blonde hair, like mine but woven through with bluebells, and I followed her.”

    Closing her eyes, Luna became immersed in the memory. She could feel the warmth of the morning sunshine and the grass tickling her toes, echoes of children’s giggles carrying on the breeze.

    “My mother laughed and let me tug her along. We watched as the girl picked up several small coloured eggs. She looked like she was having so much fun; laughing and dancing around. I wanted to join in, but my mother said we had to leave.

    “I sulked all the way to the outskirts of the village.” Luna paused as Mr Ollivander chuckled and a smile tugged at her own mouth. “Then my mother showed an egg she found, perfect in its bright pink wrapper. I picked it up and held it all the way home. It melted by the time we got there, because it was made of chocolate, but I kept the wrapper to remember how beautiful it had looked. I think I still have it, tucked into one of my books back home.

    “When I got to Hogwarts, I learned that hunts for eggs are a traditional Easter celebration. As much as I like my family’s way of celebrating Easter, I still wish I’d been able to join that hunt. All the children were so happy, running around filling their baskets.”

    Luna sighed as she finished her story and returned to the damp coolness of the cellar. She felt the remembered warmth of the cheerful shining sun fade from her skin as the aches of her bruises set back in.

    They could only escape the cellar though their stories and never for very long, but they hadn’t run out of stories yet. They could never be truly trapped, not while they still had their stories.

    Luna opened her eyes and turned to where she knew Mr Ollivander sat in the darkness.

    “What about you, Mr Ollivander?” she asked politely. “Did you ever hunt for coloured chocolate eggs at Easter?”

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