TTB DECEMBER MONTHLY 2012: Week 1

[hestiajones]

Welcome to WEEK 1
of
TTB December Monthly: The Year That Was

Our chosen pillar for this week is fanart, so we'll be using a past challenge from Dean's Corner as our plot bunny production house: Illustration for Inspiration. This is how things are going to go down. Play close attention O..O

First, click on this link to get to plot bunnies. You'll learn that this DC challenge was set in collaboration with the Great Hall. There's fanfiction already written for some of the entries on this thread. Ignore those. Give us your own version of events!

Here's a list of guidelines to remember:

+ Choose any artwork from the Illustration for Inspiration challenge and write a drabble inspired by it. The connection between the artwork and your drabble should be obvious. For e.g., if you pick my Hipster Fred pic, the drabble should be about Hipster Fred doing what he's supposed to be doing as described in the notes. If he chooses to tickle somebody at the publishing house or suggest they market a range of nailpaints instead, that's up to you. But make sure you aren't writing Fred going to Diagon Alley to buy a new pair of plaid trousers. It'd help to read the artist's notes carefully, wherever they've been provided.

+ There is no "first come, first served" rule here. An artwork can be used by more than one drabblist, but not more than once by the same drabblist. We're interested in seeing different interpretations by different people.

+ You can write more than one entry; all entries, however, must be edited into the same post to avoid clutter.

+ Your drabble(s) should have a word count of 500-800. Make sure it's devoid of errors. It's safest to get it beta-read or looked over by another pair of eyes.

+ Your drabble(s) should follow MNFF guidelines. No Professor-rated fic. We're willing to see 6th-7th year, with all applicable warnings mentioned in the author note.

+ Your drabble must be submitted in the default font format. It's uncomfortable to read a weird assortment of font colours (especially if it doesn't go well with the background) and bolded/italicised text that jumps out at me/shies away from me. Formatting should be used for a reason, and I can't see any reason not to use the regular fonts for entries. It makes the judging process smoother. Yeah, we barmaids reserve the right to use whatever font we want in whichever way because... because GOYLE RULES!

+ You have until 5 a.m. GMT, December 8th, to post in this thread. Remember that if you participate without fail every week, you will get a shot at winning the Overall Winner title.

+ Try not to get Cake-Womaned. Good Lord!

+ Use the following form for your submissions:

Name:
House:
Title:
Ratings/Warnings:
Word Count:
Link to Post Containing Artwork:
A/N: 

Any questions may be directed to the Ask a Barmaid thread. For more information regarding the monthly, go here. NOW, GET YOUR QUILLS OUT AND COOK US SOME TASTY DRABBLES!

[Cinderella Angelina]

House: Hufflepuff
Title: First Kiss
Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd years
Word Count: 622
Link to Post Containing Artwork: Carole's Post, Art entitled "Passion among the Pumpkin Patch"
A/N: The plot bunny that failed this summer in the Great Hall challenge has finally emerged as a drabble. Such as it is.

It happened on the way back from Hogsmeade. Teddy and Victoire chanced to meet on the path back and it was natural to walk together, discussing Victoire's first impressions of the village.

"Uncle George tries to be at the Hogsmeade branch when he knows we'll be here, so we said hello," Victoire was saying with a smile, when she felt a telltale tingle in her ribs that indicated her veela magic was active.

Ah, I forgot to keep my guard up! she thought despairingly, trying to tamp her out-of-control charm down. Stupid puberty. And stupid me, for relaxing around Teddy.

She glanced up at him worriedly; Maman had warned her that young teenage boys were more susceptible, so even though her power wasn't strong she might have problems if it surged. Teddy was staring, and when he spoke his voice sounded odd.

"Shall we go check out Hagrid's pumpkins?" he asked. "I hear they're getting enormous."

"I--" Victoire started, panicking. Why wasn't it going away? Should she rebuff him? No, Maman said that could be dangerous. I'll just act normally. And normally, I would enjoy taking a detour to the pumpkin patch. "Yes, let's," she said, and Teddy's answering grin started an entirely different sort of tingle in Victoire.

Would it really be so bad if -- well, Maman did say I should practice -- and we're friends -- maybe I'll try it. She concentrated for a moment and increased her charm, reaching out to take Teddy's elbow as they approached Hagrid's garden.

"Ah, um, Victoire," Teddy stammered.

"Yes?" Victoire replied, batting her eyelashes as she glanced up at him. She noticed that Teddy's eyes were a little more vacant, and he was blushing furiously.

"I have a question for you." He paused, detaching her arm. "I was wondering, since you're part veela and all, if you--" he paused again, and Victoire went cold.

He suspects! Oh, I should have warned him, or asked him or--

"If you've ever been kissed," Teddy finished in a rush.

"No!" said Victoire, too stunned to give anything but the obvious answer. "I haven't, and Teddy--"

But she couldn't finish her confession because his lips were against hers. The shock of it extinguished all her charms, but even after it drained away he still kissed her. And it was...nice. Victoire knew she'd enjoy it more if she didn't feel like she'd tricked Teddy into it, but she could still appreciate the sensation.

"You'll miss dinner a' this rate."

They jumped apart. Victoire saw Hagrid at the edge of his patch, arms crossed and his beard hiding the smile in his voice. "Wha' will they say when I tell 'em, your Gran an' your parents?"

"Oh, don't!" Victoire begged. Teddy's Gran was always kind but also fiercely protective of her grandson. She couldn't see her Papa being too pleased with Teddy, either. Teddy remained silent, and Victoire couldn't look at him.

"Best be off, then," Hagrid said, waving his hands at the two of them. "I got things to do 'fore dinner, and I don't want to miss it neither."

Victoire didn't wait to be asked again; she took one frightened glance at Teddy then ran. Oh, she didn't like the look on his face, like he was working something out he hadn't picked up on before. How can I ever face him again?

She knew her Maman would tell her that it was a good learning experience, and she may even laugh about it one day. But right now, she had a sinking feeling that she'd changed things with Teddy forever.

And I'll have to drop Hagrid's class too.

[eternalangel]

Name: eternalangel
House: Ravenclaw
Title: Shade
Ratings/Warnings: 6th-7th year, character death, violence
Word Count: 771
Link to Post Containing Artwork: Mirror Mirror on the Wall by Welshdevondragon
A/N: I was inspired by this picture in the first challenge, and now I get a chance to write something for it. I attempted to get a beta, but didn't get one in time

There was going to be a storm tonight; Pansy could feel it in the air. All throughout the dull afternoon she watched the murky clouds with an increasing sense of foreboding. Pansy walked the cavernous halls of her family summer manor, stirring up clouds of dust as she meandered about. Her back always ached when a storm was imminent, a reminder of how old age had its strangle grasp on her.

She had once had family and lovers, but over the years they had drifted away or died. Never being fully accepted into the Wizarding world, she had resigned herself to the fact that she would, in the end, be alone. That fact was true for most days of the year, but not today.

For today, she knew he would come. Theodore Nott had always been a man of his word.

As the day dwindled into evening, she fussed over the small things. Pansy found herself fluttering around the rooms she inhabited the most, and cleaning. She had made sure her best dress was clean and pressed, and that her gray, thinning hair was twisted up just so to hide the growing bald spot on her head. She layered on makeup to hide the deep wrinkles and age spots on her face. Pansy had never been a beauty, but today she did her best to hide that fact.

Evening slipped into night, and the beginning patter of rain drummed on the rooftop. The air had a bitter chill to it, but Pansy didn’t seem to notice. Come nightfall, Pansy found herself sitting in front of a vanity mirror, the candles around her distorting the shadows on her face. She lightly touched her sagging skin, and wondered who it was she saw in the mirror. It was her eyes that were the hardest for her to look upon. Resignation and regret undulated in them. Pansy found herself remembering things of the past she had wanted to forget. In one particular memory she remembered blood, a destroyed wedding cake, and the wailing screams of pain and anger.

When she was younger Pansy had had no regret. Voldemort may have been gone, but his cause had lived on. She had gone to all the meetings, and hated all the same people. Now, as an old woman, she looked at herself in the mirror, and shuddered at the monster she saw reflected back. Who had she been all those long years ago? And who was she now? She had no cause to believe in anymore, and without a cause to follow, Pansy found she was only a shade of a person.

It was within this gloomy contemplation that a tall shadow approached Pansy from behind. She caught sight of Theodore in the mirror, and watched him come as he promised he would. His tall body moved with preternatural silence, and his eyes were like dark steel. An old, white scar ran down his cheek. She remembered when he had gotten that scar, remembered it as clearly as she remembered the blood and the screams of that terrible day.

Theodore laid his strong, veined hands on her shoulders, and looked into the mirror. She wondered what it was he saw reflected back. Did he see a monster as she did for herself?

“It’s time, Pansy,” Theodore simply stated, his words devoid of any emotion.

She remembered a Theodore who had once caressed her face, a Theodore whom she had passionately loved at one point, but he had found another. He had become a blood traitor, and she had hated him for it. Pansy remembered well the vow he had made to her on that bloody floor with his lifeless bride at his side. She would get her retribution one day. He would be sure of it. And now that day had finally come.

Theodore dug his fingers into her shoulder. Lightning cracked, thunder rolled, and Pansy felt an icy vice clench her heart and squeeze. She had not seen the wand in his other hand. She gasped in surprise and fear as her life flashed through her mind. At the end, it was Theodore’s bloody, scarred face that she saw. Pansy whimpered, and then collapsed to the ground lifeless.

Theodore looked down on her still body, and waited for the cathartic release that vengeance had promised him. He waited as the storm shook the windows, and roared down the chimneys. He waited as the lightening shattered the darkness around him. He waited until he couldn’t wait anymore. Theodore looked up into the mirror, and shuddered.

Vengeance could be just as frightening to look at as hatred.

[hestiajones]

Attention!

I'm extending the deadline by twelve hours. So, you can submit your entries by 5 p.m. GMT, 8th December.

[hestiajones]

Welcome to WEEK 2
of
TTB December Monthly: The Year That Was

Our chosen pillar for this week is fanpoetry, so we'll be using a past challenge from Poetry Anyone? as our plot bunny production house: The Fourth Annual October Triathlon: Race to Halloween. This is how things are going to go down. Pay close attention O..O

First, click on this link to get to plot bunnies. Now, most of the entries on this thread make the theme quite apparent; you can easily recognise who they are about. For others are not immediately obvious, such as this, or isn’t about a specific person or event, such as this, you’re allowed to put your own spin to the meaning. Also, the third stage had multiple prophecies in one post, so you can pick any one of them.

Here's a list of guidelines to remember:

+ Choose any poem from the Fourth Annual October Triathlon challenge and write a drabble inspired by it. The connection between the poem and your drabble should be obvious. It'd help to read the poet's notes carefully, wherever they've been provided.

+ There is no "first come, first served" rule here. A poem can be used by more than one drabblist, but not more than once by the same drabblist. We're interested in seeing different interpretations by different people.

+ You can write more than one entry; all entries, however, must be edited into the same post to avoid clutter.

+ Your drabble(s) should have a word count of 500-800. Make sure it's devoid of errors. It's safest to get it beta-read or looked over by another pair of eyes. Or, at least, let it stew for a while, return to it and scrutinise with a magnifying glass.

+ Your drabble(s) should follow MNFF guidelines. No Professor-rated fic. We're willing to see 6th-7th year, with all applicable warnings mentioned in the author note.

+ Your drabble must be submitted in the default font format. It's uncomfortable to read a weird assortment of font colours (especially if it doesn't go well with the background) and bolded/italicised text that jumps out at me/shies away from me. Formatting should be used for a reason, and I can't see any reason not to use the regular fonts for entries. It makes the judging process smoother. Yeah, we barmaids reserve the right to use whatever font we want in whichever way because... because GOYLE RULES!

+ You have until 5 a.m. GMT, December 15th, to post in this thread. Remember that if you participate without fail every week, you will get a shot at winning the Overall Winner title.

+ You do not need to have participated in the previous week.

+ Try not to get Cake-Womaned. Good Lord!

+ Use the following form for your submissions:

Name:
House:
Title:
Ratings/Warnings:
Word Count:
Link to Post Containing Poem (include the title if it's a prophecy):
A/N: 

Any questions may be directed to the Ask a Barmaid thread. For more information regarding the monthly, go here. NOW, GET YOUR QUILLS OUT AND COOK US SOME TASTY DRABBLES!

[ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor]

Name: ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/Mama Claw
House: Ravenclaw
Title: Walking on the Outside
Ratings/Warnings: 3rd-5th Years — None
Word Count: 800
Link to Post Containing Artwork: Falling Apart by clabbert2101
A/N: I really wanted to write something for this for the original challenge, but alas, when you run the challenge, it tends to make it difficult to participate.

* * *

Ginny walks out of The Burrow and doesn’t look back; Fred’s in there. Fred is everywhere, it seems like, but he resides the heaviest in their childhood home. She knows there aren’t too many places left in the magical world that don’t remind her of someone who won’t be coming back, but some days — like today — anywhere is better than that house.

Harry is there, too. Harry, with his golden promises and self-assuredness that he’s fine and she’s fine and everything is fine, is almost always there.

They are the new “item” these days. Everyone in the country wants to know what “Hinny” (she cringes at the moniker) are up to. The first time someone saw them kiss publicly, there was a three-page spread in Witch Weekly, full of things that never actually happened. There had even been pregnancy rumours after Harry visited during a Hogsmeade weekend. He stopped coming around during the school year after that.

In under a week, Ginny is set to leave for Holyhead for the Harpies’ training camp. Once she is immersed in her new job and Harry delves deeper into his own, they won’t see much of each other, yet Ginny still ducks out of rooms when she hears Harry’s voice. She doesn’t know why.

Seconds before she passes the anti-Apparition ward, she hears him call out to her. There is nowhere to hide. It’s a talk she knows they must have, but she’s just so tired. “Ginny!” he shouts again.

She considers pretending that she didn’t hear him for a moment, but she loves him and knows he deserves better from her. Her feet halt, only a few feet away from the edge of the wards, and she turns. His face startles her. He has a black eye (a common occurrence for Auror work, especially on training days), but what strikes her the most is how lost he looks. “Harry,” she sighs.

“Why do you keep avoiding me?”

The question is straightforward, and Harry deserves an answer, but Ginny isn’t sure she has one. She can’t even muster the kindness of a lie, so she says honestly, “I don’t know.”

Harry bites his bottom lip and looks pointedly at the ground. “I thought as much.” He directs his gaze toward The Burrow, which is just visible in the distance. “Everything there reminds me of the way things used to be and that they changed because of me.”

“Not everything revolves around you,” Ginny fires before her hands fly to her mouth in horror at her tone. She can almost see his face falling, even though he isn’t looking at her. “Harry, I —”

Ignoring her plea, Harry trudges over to a nearby apple tree and kicks one of the fallen fruits. Even Ginny finds the casual skittering of the apple to be lacklustre, but when he plucks a greener one from a low-hanging branch and hurls it with a guttural shriek at the trunk, she takes a step back.

“I’m sick of this!” Harry shouts, still facing away from her. His voice cracks underneath the words and the weight they bring. “I hate all of this.”

Ginny knows what he means without him even saying the words, yet she thinks he might need to hear them for himself. “You’re angry, and you don’t know why. Everything is supposed to be better, but you were happier before, when you had your path laid out for you by someone else. You expected things to change and to move on, but you’re stuck at Hogwarts, watching your friends die over and over.” She exhales wearily and approaches him. Her hand slips into his. “I’m tired, too, Harry.”

He turns his head, the tell-tale evidence of sleep deprivation letting her know that she isn’t the only one. “I don’t know what to say to you anymore. You’re different; I’m different; we’re different. What do you want me to say?”

His words barrel into Ginny’s chest, and for that moment, Harry’s pain is hers and hers is his. “That’s the first truly honest thing you’ve said to me in over a year.” She moves to take his other hand and meets his gaze. “I can’t stand being in my own home. It makes me want to vomit every time we go out somewhere because everyone expects us to be happy and in love, but how am I supposed to be in love with you when everything you say to me — and to yourself — isn’t what you feel?”

Harry blinks at her. Ginny thinks he might not understand what she said until he yanks her to his chest and brands her with a harsh, desperate kiss. She meets him with parallel intensity. Their lips grasp for territory, joyous and relieved that they have finally talked so they can live.

[the opaleye]

Name: Theo Paleye
House: Sssssslytherin
Title: The Unfairest of Them All?
Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd years; mild profanity
Word Count: 794
Link to Post Containing Artwork: Mirror, Mirror
A/N: Italicised excerpt from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.


She has never been in this room before and it surprises her because she thought she knew them all. It’s as if a door has appeared where there was once a slight peel of wallpaper at the seam between two sheets. The door pushes across the carpet with a slight shh, and the light from the hallway spreads across the floor lighting up the shadowed bodies of long forgotten furniture.

The mirror hangs above a chest of drawers, a heavy and mottled carcass of a thing that should be covered in dust but isn’t. At first, Pansy thinks she is looking at a stranger because her complexion is a little less clear, her hair is a slightly different colour—off, somehow. She can’t quite tell what it is. She moves closer and holds up her hand to touch the glass. The fingers are too thin. She smiles and then curves her lips into a frown. Her nine-year-old mind doesn’t question the magic.

After, she rattles around the other contents of the room, finding nothing of interest except a stained blanket in one drawer, dappled with blood. She tucks it away and returns to the mirror. Her reflection stares back, passive.

She returns the following day, a dead salamander in her pocket that she plans to put in her mother’s wardrobe, and a chunk of Lucinda’s blonde hair that she cut when her ‘friend’ refused to join in the tea-party. Pansy fingers the hair as she enters the room and looks up into the mirror. She gasps. Her eyes are hollow and black, as if she never had any, as if she could hold up a candle and stare through the emptiness to the back of her head. She blinks hard, looking down at the scattered hair and dead salamander that have slipped to the floor. The thought of Lucinda, palming her scalp and crying in the corner with Pansy’s dolls, brings an aching hardness to her chest. When she dares to lift her head, the reflection is normal. Her hand hovers in the air, wanting to touch the glass again, wanting to check that it is solid and real, but her fingers clench into a fist and she cannot bring herself to do it.

It’s not until years later that she returns.

+++

But he's there! Potter's there. Someone grab him!

She doesn’t regret returning to the family manor. She doesn’t regret leaving him behind. She doesn’t. Not really. As the battle rages at a school she no longer cares for, and as the people who ate and slept and studied around her fall, Pansy wanders the hallways of her home until she comes to a door that she hasn’t visited since before Hogwarts.

She is not sure why she wants to look in the mirror. She knows what she is going to see.

After, her mouth feels dry and full of chalk. She sleeps.

+++

Theo grips her waist as they walk through the hallways. Her mother is dead, her father is drunk in his study, barely coming out and doing god-knows-what to the house-elves. His hand is warm and hard and it makes her smile. Everything makes her smile.

He pulls her against him, his fingers linking through hers. She can feel her ring press into his skin, and his lips hot on her neck. He fumbles with the door handle by her hip and they fall through into a dark room.

She turns. Theo stills.

Two people stare back at them but she does not know who they are. Theo’s hands fall from her shoulders, and his breaths come thick and silent. She can feel the exhalations in her hair but the man in the mirror is perfectly still. There is even a slight smile on his lips.

Their skin is grey and thin, as if they are looking right through to the veins and bone. Theo's eyes are a dark blue but Pansy’s are completely hollow. She looks to the floor and she can see the salamander so clearly, she can hear Lucinda’s sobs. She can feel the anger of her mother and the absence of her father. She can hear the whispers of the girls at school, the calm rage of that b**** McGonagall as the Slytherin’s are led from the Great Hall and away from the glory and shame of war.

Now she knows why the mirror had been hidden. Now she knows why she never discovered the room until her nine-year-old magic burst forth, unbidden, and unlocked the door.

Theo never speaks of the mirror again, and Pansy never returns. Sometimes she wonders, and her hand hovers in the air as if to touch imaginary glass, but those moments are fleeting.

Her conscience is clear enough.

[iMusic17]

Name: iMusic17
House: Slytherin
Title: Acceptance
Ratings/Warnings: 6-7th years (profanity and slash)
Word Count: 781
Link to Post Containing Artwork: Jess/Free
A/N: Thank you, Maple, for the brief read.

For the first time, James had nowhere to go.

Whenever he had been upset, a little sulking in his dormitory had fixed most things. If not, Albus and Lily were always there. It had never been like this; James couldn’t go to the dormitory- he would be there- and his siblings didn’t know.

They didn’t know who … what he was. He supposed they would know soon enough, but James was scared. He was scared of what they’d say, of what everyone would. How James felt was unnatural … he shouldn’t feel this way.

That was what he had said, before the s*** had hit the fan; his girlfriend had found out. He wasn’t breaking up with her, though … he was breaking it off with James. After everything that happened- the lust, the frenzied kisses in hidden corners, getting drunk off each other’s lips- it was over. The warm feeling in James’s gut was still there, something he desperately hoped wasn’t love.

His girlfriend knew; she was going to tell. Everyone would know.

The first time after it happened, James had cried. He had no idea why he felt the way he did, or why it felt so … right … when he was kissing him, but at the same time, James was scared. He didn’t have anything against being gay, but other people did. For a Gryffindor, he wasn’t very brave.

So, James found himself on the Quidditch pitch, broom in hand. He doubted anyone would look there; he hadn’t played on the house team since fifth year, and no one would be out there in December. The sky was clear, but the cold was bitter.

Trying to rein back all of his emotions- sadness, anger, and maybe-possibly-hopefully-not love- James took off into the sky. It only took a few laps for the old rhythm to return to him, and he remembered why he loved it.

Everything just seemed to fade away; no one else existed. Flying was just so … simple … and so exhilarating. Slowly, James pried his fingers away from the broom, and just held his arms out. Merlin, he hadn’t felt this good in a while.

It was a rush, but a different type from kissing him. It wasn’t complicated, or full of lust, no- it was pure adrenaline. Simple and wild. Like James used to be.

He didn’t know how long he was out there, but James knew it was awhile. His fingers were practically frozen to his broom, but he just kept flying. Flying kept the feelings at bay.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, a figure came running out onto the pitch. James would recognize that person anywhere. The emotion came crashing back in a tidal wave; anger, but mostly a sharp pang in his gut. The feeling had been love, it had to be to hurt that much.

Hesitating, James tried to ignore the figure on the pitch, but he was waving his arms, trying to get James’s attention. Closing his eyes, attempting to sum up any courage he had, James slowly drifted back to earth. His heart was taking up a frenzied beat, and he could see the same fear in his eyes.

The beautiful blue eyes almost covered by blond hair, the ones that had melted the anger away. James hated himself for it, but even after all the ets*** that had just happened, it faded away when he saw the fear.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out once James’s feet had returned back to earth, before running at James. Their lips met, and the burning need was more than ever- as James bit his lip slightly, and his fingers became entangled in his hair- oh, god, James had never felt so alive. When they finally broke apart, James turned away.

He couldn’t do hide anymore. He couldn’t be someone’s dirty little secret.

“James … I …. I broke it off with her. You were right; it is you. I can’t f***ing run from this anymore; I … I love you.” In that moment, James swore his heart stopped. It couldn’t be. It was too good to be true. “Please, look at me.” At the pleading in his voice, the pain, James did. When he saw the pain, James found his voice.

“I love you, too.”

There, on the Quidditch pitch, James finally felt truly happy. They didn’t just kiss, they talked. But a lot of the former was involved.

After he had left, James went back up into the sky. Unable to stop smiling, he just flew, but it didn’t hold the same power it had before.

Nothing would compare to that kiss.

[Weasley Mom]

Name: WeasleyMom
House: Hufflepuff
Title: A Deep Breath
Ratings/Warnings: 3-5th
Word Count: 798
Link to Post Containing Artwork: Kara/Wedding Tears
A/N: If only there had been time for a beta.



Narcissa Black turns once in front of the mirror, thinking herself a flower with petals lying flat over layers and layers of exquisite satin. She knows she is beautiful, with hair piled high in ribbons and a feather, and this incredible dress… Narcissa feels positively royal.

When the time comes, she sends everyone away—even her mother, who is none too pleased—and asks them to wait for her at the entrance to the garden. The schedule has been unbearable, with each day filled to the brim with appointments and final fittings and lunches during which her mother obsessed over everything from the flowers to the reporters to the number of house elves they required for the reception. Lucius enjoys it, for the most part; he likes the attention and the formality that come with all the activity.

But Narcissa doesn't. She feels, rather, that she has not drawn a full breath in days.

On the stairs, the folds of her gown draw up, rustling softly as she descends. Her steps are slow and deliberate because of heels and hair and having only moments ago been tucked and fluffed to bridal perfection. The solitude settles her inside. The quiet focuses her mind on what is about to happen: a wedding, and shortly after, a marriage.

Halfway down, she straightens her back and fills her lungs, feeling the hem of her gown lift slightly and sink again as she blows the air out slowly through her mouth. It’s a cleansing sigh, and her nerves are momentarily soothed.

But quiet isn’t always passive and peaceful. A quiet moment springing up between the bricks of noise and chaos in one’s mind is an invitation. One deep breath, and a door swings open to the everything stacked behind it, to all the things normally kept at bay by movement and sound.

Released by the quiet, unwelcome doubts and concerns roll themselves out in her mind.

Her father is not himself today. His features had softened upon seeing her, but then his eyebrows had come together, making lines on his forehead that spelled worry. She’d asked, but he’d only reworked his expression into that of a proud father, and said something about the Malfoys being respectable and Lucius performing well in his new job at the ministry. But she’d seen his hesitation, and with only an hour before the ring would slide onto her finger, it was unsettling at the very least.

Lucius.

He’s right for her. Their families agree, or it simply wouldn’t be happening. For the longest time, their relationship was nothing more than pleasant compatibility, but it grew into more after the engagement. They love one another. And they both want the same things, which is at least as important as love.

Her only concerns about Lucius involve his growing fascination with the dark arts, particularly dark objects, and his unquenchable ambition. Both qualities are admirable in a sense, particularly the latter, and yet both cause her to worry. Right now, there is a box in their bedroom that has been cursed with dark magic. It’s beauty is mesmerizing, but it sometimes sends a prickle of fear over her skin when she thinks of it being there while she's sleeping.

And his ambition… it will serve them both well as long as it isn’t ever misplaced.

Doubt and worry press in, and by the time she reaches the bottom, her knuckles are white on the gleaming gold banister. Music reaches her ears, and a low hum that is the chatter of guests in the garden. She glances at the magnificent clock on the wall: ten minutes until it chimes the hour. Her parents and Bella wait for her in the room at the back of the garden.

This is the thought that undoes her.

Because the one she most wants is not here and not coming, and probably not giving a passing thought to Narcissa in her gown and her glory, getting married today. The ache of loss swells in her chest and she releases the banister. She fights the burn of tears and thinks alternately of girlish bedtime giggles and the importance of protecting her perfectly painted wedding smile.

She covers her face, her fingers coming to a point and pressing against the place where tears come from. A few fall, but it's only a moment, and a quick spell repairs the damage. The music seems louder now, and Narcissa stands tall.

This is the last time she will cry for Andromeda.

Narcissa Black Almost-Malfoy fits a smile onto her face and walks toward the garden, thinking of this house being hers, of the way she looks on Lucius’ arm, and of the children to come… two or four, she thinks. Just not three.

And she is ready.

[Equinox Chick]

Name: EQ
House: TTB House of Fun
Title: The Eggsasperating Day
Ratings/Warnings: 3rd-5th, Mild profanity. Mild SSP
Word Count: 790
Link to Post Containing Artwork:eleventh one down Woe, I did a lot
A/N: DRARRYYYYY EGGGGS

It had been a b*tch of a day. Not only was The Prophet haranguing Harry for a quote, because suddenly his lack of a love life was far more important than sending Rabastan Lestrange to Azkaban, but Ginny had sent back the last of his clothes from her flat. They had landed just now in a box on his desk – more pertinently right on top of his glasses, now smashed beyond a simple Reparo.

This time he wasn’t sure they could work it out. Things had been tense for a while, with his workload and then her sudden catapult into the limelight after she made the Harpies first team. Whereas in the past, they’d always made an effort to patch things up, now it seemed the whole relationship was a patch, and no amount of darning was going to make them strong again

Sighing, he picked up the box, placed his smashed glasses on top, and left for home.

“Watch where you’re going, idiot!”

Malfoy, that’s all I need.

“Someone walks towards you carrying a box, and you can’t get out of their way,” Harry snapped. Just then the box broke, littering his pants, odd socks and an old t-shirt on the corridor floor. “Thank you so bloody much, Malfoy!”

“You’re the one who needs glasses and yet isn’t wearing them,” Malfoy snapped back, sidestepping the pile of clothes as Harry bent to pick them up.

“Watch where you’re walking!” yelled Harry.

Looking down, Malfoy started to snigger. He picked up the pair of pants he’d trodden on and hooted with derision. “Niffler pants? What treasure do you have down there, Potter?”

“Give them back!”

Malfoy dangled the pants in front of Harry, who reached out to snatch them back, falling forward when he missed.

“Merlin, you really are blind without your goggles, aren’t you?” Malfoy said, laughing. “Either that or your reflexes have gone to pot.”

Feeling an intense fury build up inside, Harry lunged. Caught off guard, Malfoy fell to the floor. Both let rip a stream of swear words then crashed though a seemingly solid Ministry wall.

“Get off me, Potter!”

“Make me, Malfoy.”

“No, seriously. Where the hell are we?”

Although Harry couldn’t see his expression clearly, he heard the alarm in Malfoy’s voice and slackened his hold. Blinking, he took in his surroundings as best he could; they were in a room, a bare room, with no windows and no furniture. He sniffed.

“What’s that smell?”

Malfoy stood up and stepped towards something in the corner. “There’s a brewing cauldron here. What department is this, Potter?”

“No idea.”

“You work opposite. How bloody unobservant are you, Mr Big-Shot Auror?”

“We crashed through a wall, Malfoy. I don’t go round the Ministry checking every wall in case there’s a room hidden somewhere.”

“I would,” muttered Malfoy. “Never know when you might need somewhere to escape to.”

The smell of the potion was becoming more obnoxious now. Harry got to his feet, intending to suss out the room and discover a way out, but just then, he heard a thump as Malfoy fell to the floor.

Except it wasn’t Malfoy anymore. Or rather, it was Malfoy, but not his body.

Draco Malfoy was an egg.

“What the bloody hell’s just happened to me?” Malfoy yelped. “I can’t feel my legs. Salazar, I have no legs, or arms. Potter, do something!”

“Shut up, and let me see what’s happened. No, we’re okay, it’s still skin and not shell,” Harry said as his fingertips assessed Malfoy’s face. Very smooth skin, he thought. And bloody hell, he has soft hair.

Shaking his head, Harry tried to come to his senses, but the smell of the potion, mingling with the unexpected surge of lust coursing through his veins sent his mind reeling. Hurriedly stopping his examination of Malfoy, he rocked back on his heels, knocking the cauldron slightly and causing a small droplet to land on his skin.

All at once, he fell to the floor. His skin was stretching, his limbs shortening, and through the blur, all he could see was a look of horror on Malfoy’s face.

“We’re eggs,” he exclaimed. “Bloody hell, it must be an Ovulatium Potion. I thought it was just a myth!”

“Great! So what do we do?” Harry complained, then wobbled as Draco rolled into him. “What are you doing?”

Close up, he could see the smirk on Malfoy’s face. “We need to wait for it to wear off, Potter. So ...” He stopped talking and licked his upper lip with deliberate precision.

“Are you making a pass at me?” Harry asked, very nervous now (but also oddly excited).

“Are you complaining?”

Harry gulped, and then groaned as Draco’s lips touched his. “Not eggsactly.”

and with that, she vanishes!

After closing the thread.

Thanks, guys.