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Thread: TTB DECEMBER MONTHLY 2012: Week 1

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  1. #1
    Seventh Year Hufflepuff
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    TTB DECEMBER MONTHLY 2012: Week 1

    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:

    PHP Code:
    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!

    Last edited by hestiajones; 12-01-2012 at 06:02 AM.
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  2. #2
    Fourth Year Hufflepuff
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    Cinderella Angelina's Avatar
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    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.

  3. #3
    Fifth Year Ravenclaw
    People Hate Me for Losing Points
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    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.

    Banner of one of my favorite characters. Icon is a quote from Battlestar Galactica. Banner and icon by me.

  4. #4
    Seventh Year Hufflepuff
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    Attention!

    I'm extending the deadline by twelve hours. So, you can submit your entries by 5 p.m. GMT, 8th December.
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  5. #5
    Seventh Year Hufflepuff
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    TTB DECEMBER MONTHLY 2012: Week 2

    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:

    PHP Code:
    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!

    Last edited by hestiajones; 12-08-2012 at 05:10 AM.
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  6. #6
    Fifth Year Hufflepuff
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    Name: majestic_ginny/Nadia
    House: Hufflepuff
    Title: Amendment
    Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd year, none
    Word Count: 565 on MS Word
    Link to Post Containing Poem (include the title if it's a prophecy): Hesitate, by Carole/Equinox Chick
    A/N: I realize I've never mentioned it in the drabble, but it's Draco and Astoria.

    “Go to Hogsmeade with me.”

    You stand in front of me, a lazy smirk playing on your lips, a confident look in your eyes. You’re question sounds more like an order to me. I’m not surprised; you’ve always got what you wanted, when you wanted.

    My brows furrow. I’ve heard many rumours about you – some say you’ve joined them. I can see where they get that from; there’s that strange gleam in your eyes that frightens me. There’s darkness behind your cold, grey eyes, a darkness that you aren’t aware of yet. You don’t know what you’re in for, what this darkness would do to you. You’re still too young, brainwashed by a vision that leads to nothing but downfall. I know what it would do to you in the end, what he would make you do. I know. I’ve lost my father to him, after all.

    Your smirk gradually fades and a tiny frown appears on your face. You notice my hesitation and take a step forwards, your eyes boring into mine.

    “I’m going with someone else,” I lie. “I’m sorry.”

    Without a backwards glance, I walk away.
    ___________________________________

    Next year, you change. You turn pale and sickly, and your eyes bear a haunted look that tells me of the millions of deaths you die every day. I see the ghost of the scream on your face - a silent scream you let out as you fight the inner demons inside you. I see the hollow look on your face as you see your perfect world crumbling down around you. I can see it killing you, and it nearly breaks my heart to see in this way.

    They say he’s living at your house. I can see that you’ve witnessed many things, things that are enough to make your skin crawl, things that make you want to take back everything wrong that you’ve done.

    I can see the regret in your frightened eyes.

    You look at me. I know you’re terrified. I want to tell you that it’ll all be okay, that it’ll be over soon.

    But I can’t. You’re still one of them.

    I tear my eyes away from you and run away.
    ___________________________________

    Two years later, I see you again. Once more, you change. I see a bitter past following you around as you strive to make amends, to make a difference for the bereaved, for those who lost everything. You help others regain what they have lost for your previous actions. You seek to obliterate your past, to liberate yourself from what you once were. Yet that mark remains, for though the wounds heal, the scars remain, forever serving a reminder of your tortured past.

    No matter what you do, you can’t get rid of that mark on your forearm.

    And yet you try so hard to prove that you’re not one of them.

    This time when you catch my eye, I smile. You deserve a chance to live a better life, to forget your past and start anew. You’ve suffered more than you ever should have. You walk over to me, an apple in hand, and I notice a change in your posture – slow and confident, but not as arrogant as before.

    “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

    This time it’s a question. This time, you prove yourself.

    This time, I don’t hesitate.

    Smiling, I nod my head.

    {iBAbanner!} ~♥~ {iDrabble!} ~♥~ {iExcerpt!} ~♥~ {iPuff!}


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  7. #7
    'Til the end of the line Ravenclaw
    Unspeakable
    Kill the Spare
    ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor's Avatar
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    Name: ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor
    House: Ravenclaw
    Title: The Reckoning
    Ratings/Warnings: 3rd/5th Years: Snark, Mild Profanity, Unf
    Word Count: 796
    Link to Post Containing Poem: I Am the Dragon by Peppermint Toads
    A/N: I went for a bit of opposites in this parallel. Most of what I drew from the poem applies to Harry, not Draco (the narrator). However, you could use the line 'Me, and my snapping mouth' for Draco, as well. There are also elements of 'You shrink away from me' and a dash of 'How ironic are we?' in there if you squint. I read this poem, and it had to be Drarry. Thank you to Julie for the inspiration.


    * * *


    Draco prodded the food on his plate with a scowl, his fork making no motion toward his mouth. The bland pub fare was even less appetising than usual when coupled with disappointment. He knew he had no right to feel let down; it was ludicrous to expect his invitation to be taken seriously. Draco wasn’t even sure he took it all too seriously.

    It had been an hour. Potter wasn’t coming.

    Throwing a Galleon on the table, Draco headed for the exit. The man behind the bar called to him cheerily to thank him for his patronage; Draco nodded curtly, not bothering to break stride. Frigid air ignited his nerves as he stepped out into the night, his breath hanging heavily in the air. The whistle of the winter wind burnt its way through his clothes, nearly masking the sound of someone calling out to him from the shadows. Draco missed it once, but the second time, he would’ve known that voice anywhere. Stopping mid-step, Draco muttered, “Potter.”

    Potter swooped from his hiding spot to stand next to Draco. “Sorry. I couldn’t go in there. You said you wanted to talk, but we wouldn’t have been able to say a whole lot in there without it falling on the wrong ears, if you know what I mean.”

    Draco did know what he meant and was annoyed with himself for not thinking of it. “You could’ve owled me or something so I didn’t sit in there like a dolt.”

    “Better than standing out here in this mess like a dolt.” Shrugging, Potter said, “Honestly, I thought you’d leave a lot sooner, or maybe I might’ve done.”

    Struggling to find fault in Potter’s logic, Draco let it be and broached the only other subject weighing on his mind. “So where to, then?”

    “Well, um —” Potter stuttered, “— we could go back to mine. It’s warded from intruders until hell wouldn’t have it, and Ron’s not home for the next week. Whatever you wanted to say to me, you can just say it.”

    His will to argue being rapidly defeated by the cold, Draco nodded and allowed Potter to Apparate them to a dim little alley that was blissfully still and quiet. “Nice house you’ve got here, Potter. I love the bins and the rats. Stylish.”

    “We have to walk from here,” Potter grumbled. Draco followed him with a smirk. Soon, they were in front of a non-descript door in an even more non-descript neighbourhood and on their way inside. Potter’s flat was sparse, cluttered, and a bit smelly — about what Draco had expected.

    Gesturing toward a manky old sofa, Potter said, “Let’s get this over with. What was so pressing that you had to say it in person and not in an owl?”

    Draco sat, pointedly looking at the wall and not at Potter. He’d had a speech all made up in his head, full of bilious insults and jibes, but the earnest face next to him stole his ability to say any of them. “I — I owe you,” Draco lied, “and I don’t like it.”

    “Are you serious?” Potter snapped and he flung himself to his feet. “You dragged me across the country into that demon blizzard to tell me you owe me? I don’t want your favours, Malfoy, so if that’s all you have to say, then do us both a favour and get the hell out!”

    Despite the true purpose of his visit being little more than to return some belongings of Potter’s that recently turned up at Malfoy Manor, Draco bristled at Potter’s tone. “What did you expect, a love poem? Gods, you’re a moron.” Draco pulled the bag of Potter’s possessions from his cloak and flung them on the floor. “There.” Beyond done, he marched toward the door.

    He did not expect a hand to close around his wrist to stop his departure.

    Before he could protest, Draco felt himself be spun around and pressed against the door. Lips sizzled against his skin and Potter’s clumsy mouth searched for territory to call its own. Draco’s protest died in his throat as a gasp of pleasure escaped.

    No.

    This was Potter.

    Draco’s hands pressed hard against Potter’s chest and thrust him backwards. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you? I came to give your things back, not be molested by you!”

    Spinning on his heel, Draco stormed out and back to the alley. Exhausted from his near-running pace, he leant against the clammy bricks and fought for his breath. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and shouted into the empty street. Anything was better than the taste of Potter on his lips.

    Potter had kissed him. He had liked it.

    One thing was certain, however: the games had only just begun.
    Jess WritesJess DrabblesJess DuelsJess PoetsJess Draws



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  8. #8
    Wizengamot Hufflepuff
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    Keeping this open for a further six hours.


    Will be close at 5PM.



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  9. #9
    Ebil Lieutenant Ravenclaw
    Enemies of the Heir, Beware...of the Petrified Cat!
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    Name: Sorayers
    House: La Maison d’Ebille
    Title: Being Human
    Ratings/Warnings: 6th-7th years; naked!Remus, implied violence
    Word Count: 799
    Link to Post Containing Poem (include the title if it's a prophecy): ici Specifically, I used these lines since it’s a pretty abstract poem (I hope that’s okay):
    You stare,
    yet not by a flicker
    do you betray
    the words unsaid

    A/N: I blame Jamie and her squeeing over Being Human and George. Also, apologies for the quality (or lack thereof) of this drabble. I kind of wrote it in an hour. OH, and lastly, this is a kind of companion drabble to the one I wrote for SPEW this month, which you can find here: CLICK

    The metallic taste of blood in Remus’s mouth finally roused him from sleep; it was only after several moments of blurred disorientation that he realised he was lying on his front, completely naked. He immediately sensed that he was not alone, and were he not so tired, he would have been embarrassed. As it was, every muscle in his body ached, and the effort with which he debated whether or not to get up made his brain hurt.

    Slowly, the events of the previous night flooded back to him: being bound, gagged and dragged to a shack in the middle of nowhere by a group of hooded strangers. Then he was shoved into a cage like the animal he became once a month, Remus thought bitterly. But this was different. There was someone else there, another man, whose name Remus hadn't found out, who Remus would have definitely torn to pieces given the chance.

    He remembered his pleas to the man to kill him before he transformed and the man’s insistence that he would do nothing, nothing of the sort. And Remus had yelled at him that he needed to save himself, even if that meant killing Remus with his bare hands, because he was certainly going to die otherwise, and all the while, his hooded captors watched their exchange, jeering delightfully. But then, for some reason, the Death Eaters scattered, Disapparating one after another, and Remus could only vaguely register — in his wolfish mind — the jets of light, the cage door opening and closing, before the wolf within him took over.

    Opening his eyes a fraction, Remus’s jaw slackened at the sight of a young woman with bright pink hair, fast asleep, her knees hugged to her chest, her back against the wall. Taking advantage of this, he decided to get to his feet. As expected, the pain that followed was so strong that he groaned out loud; to his horror, the woman started to stir. He made to turn around, at least to retain what little dignity he had left, but instead, he stumbled and fell on his back.

    “Is everything okay?” the woman asked with a yawn, standing up and unlocking the cage door. She tactfully kept her eyes shut, and to his relief, she did not offer to help him up. “Remus Lupin, right?”

    “Yes,” he said, panting a little as he finally got to his feet again, holding on to the cage bars for support.

    “Tonks,” she replied. “I would shake your hand, but you know…”

    “This isn’t funny!” Remus snapped, still horrified by the whole situation.

    “It’s not,” Tonks agreed. “Your clothes are here—” She pointed, her eyes still closed, into the corner of the room. “—and I promise I’m not looking.”

    He could hear her bite back a laugh, and to his surprise, he did see the funny side to it, so it was with the tiniest smile that he picked up his clothes, which were not, as he expected, sweaty and torn in places. Instead, they were warm and clean, and he gratefully pulled them on.

    “Thank you,” he blurted out, his footsteps loud in the cavernous room as he reached Tonks, who opened her eyes and smiled at him.

    “Not a problem, Mr Lupin. It’s my job.”

    He frowned. “Why, what do you do? How did you find me? Last time I heard, the Ministry didn’t want anything to do with… with…”

    “Werewolves?” she finished. “I’m an Auror. Mad-Eye — you know Mad-Eye, don’t you?”

    “Yes,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. Thank Merlin for him. No wonder most of the Death Eaters had disappeared so quickly.

    “He got tipped off about a werewolf cage fight. Apparently, it hasn’t happened since You-Know-Who was last in power. We’re unsure who was behind it, only that it’s likely they were ex-Death Eaters, who said they were Imperiused by You-Know-Who, wanting to have a bit of fun.”

    “That sounds about right,” Remus muttered gloomily. “I was fortunate enough never to be in any during the war, but I know people who were. A few were killed by the humans they were trapped with, but most of the time, the werewolves won.”

    “The ‘humans’?” Tonks repeated, raising her eyebrows. “What are you trying to say — that you’re not human?”

    “Of course I am not. Miss Tonks—”

    “Just Tonks is fine.”

    “Tonks, you cannot pretend that you weren’t scared last night.”

    “I was,” she admitted, “but that doesn’t mean you’re not human, Mr Lupin—”

    “Remus.”

    “Remus,” Tonks amended with a smile. “You seem like a perfectly normal man. And from what Kingsley told me, you were so concerned for his safety that you actually asked him to—”

    “Anyone would have done the same.”

    “No. Not everyone. Only someone human would.”
    Last edited by babewithbrains; 12-15-2012 at 03:49 PM.

    Beautiful banner by the lovely Pooja/Ginny Weasley Potter.


    Keep calm and carry on my wayward son.

  10. #10
    Sixth Year Hufflepuff
    Voldemort's on the Back of Your Head, Professor
    Ginny Weasley Potter's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2006
    Location
    India
    Posts
    416
    Name: Pooja/ Ginny Weasley Potter
    House: Hufflepuffey
    Title: Disloyal
    Ratings/Warnings: 3rd-5th years, mild profanity
    Word Count: 710
    Link to Post Containing Poem (include the title if it's a prophecy): Ron's Loyalty by ToBeOrNotTo...WellYouGetTheGist/ Jess
    A/N: This isn't my best, but I love Ron.


    CRACK!

    The sound of my own Apparition reverberates along the deserted street that I have landed in and I gasp as sharp pain becomes evident on my fingers. There are two wands in my hand, slippery with sweat from my palm and I stuff the other one into my rucksack, retaining only my own wand. The pain in my fingernails is there again and as I raise my hand to examine them, I can see dark blood pooled in what minutes ago were perfectly good nail beds.

    “Lumos,” I mutter, and the wand lights up to reveal two missing fingernails. I sigh. It’s bloody painful, but I’ve got other things to worry about.

    I can hear my own breath as I walk down the deserted street, holding my cloak close to my body. The moon shows its head through the thick clouds, casting a weak, silvery light at me. I am miles away from where they are, and I must Apparate again. What was I thinking anyway, leaving them that way? Where was my mind? Harry is my best mate, and Hermione… well, she’s my best friend too. We are, and have always been in this together, and I am ashamed of being such a bloody git and walking out on them.

    I walk along until dawn, hoping I won’t run into another bunch of Snatchers. It was bad enough facing those ones, though they weren’t very bright. I just want to be back with Harry and Hermione now. Walking out like this isn’t who I am, it isn’t who I should be. I am not a coward and I’m not a disloyal friend. Yet, I proved the very same to my two very best friends. Will they ever forgive me? But then, maybe I won’t forgive myself.

    My anger from before is completely gone. I have no idea why I was angry in the first place. It isn’t Harry’s fault. I’m worried for my family, yes, but that isn’t Harry’s fault. It isn’t even Hermione’s fault, that she chose to stay with Harry and help with the Horcruxes. She did the right thing. I was wrong, like every other time.

    It starts to rain and I let myself get drenched. I have to Apparate back— and I will. I’m guessing they’ll stay on a while anyway— so I’ll go back, find them and apologise— and maybe it will be okay again, if they decide to forgive me, that is. But they will. I know they will. They understand what the bloody locket does to me, don’t they?

    Merlin, I hate that thing. It brought so many thoughts to my mind, which really couldn’t be right. It just made things worse. I really don’t want to be anywhere near that locket again. I am inclined to blame everything on the Horcrux, but I know that it ultimately boils down to me. I must get back to Harry and Hermione.

    ***

    I am down on my knees, shaking uncontrollably, tears streaming down my freezing face. The moonlight reflects from Gryffindor’s sword as it lies beside me, having recently destroyed a Horcrux. I can feel Harry’s unsure eyes on me as he collects the locket, and then he’s beside me, an awkward hand on my shoulder. I do not shake it off, and listen to him silently as he tells me about how he regards Hermione as a sister. But I already know that. I already knew that. That isn’t the reason for my distress.

    It is everything I’ve done; the way I’ve behaved with my friends, combined with the worst fears of my heart being displayed before me, all at once. I don’t know what to say, how to react, except hate every part of me that thought in this way.

    In the end as Harry embraces me, I know he has forgiven me, and I can think of forgiving myself now. I can’t wait to see Hermione now. Maybe she has forgiven me too, and I hope she has. I’m back with my best friends, with the new promise of sticking with them through whatever happens now, and facing everything together. And I promise myself; this will never happen again. I will never fall back on my loyalty. Never again.
    ~ Pooja

    AMAZING story banner by Nadia/majestic_ginny! Dimply Sammeh by me.
    I found a liquor store. I drank it.



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