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Thread: Jess's Little Shoebox: Insert LoveNotes [HERE] — FILLED

  1. #1
    'Til the end of the line Ravenclaw
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    Jess's Little Shoebox: Insert LoveNotes [HERE] — FILLED

    Yay, I love doing this! ALL OTPs, battle stations!


    Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
    Terry Boot/Theodore Nott
    Michael Corner/Daphne Greengrass
    Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum

    Candy Hearts


    Wishes: FILLED!
    Last edited by ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor; 02-17-2013 at 09:07 AM.
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  2. #2
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    Title: Empty Vase
    Pairing: Michael Corner/Daphne Greengrass
    Candy Heart Used: Broken
    Ratings/Warnings: 3rd-5th years/Strong Profanity
    Author's Note: Grandioso gracias to Señorita Lily for the beta!

    The thing about victory is that no one ever really wins. Even those people who remained neutral are left shaken and fragile, leaving them available for the wind to come along and send them reeling to the floor. There, they are shattered into a million pieces that can never be glued back together, like an empty vase that has fallen on stone, crumbling at impact.

    Daphne knows that feeling all too well, how it feels to be teetering on the edge of the table and having someone stomp right past her table and send her falling towards the floor. Here, she lies in a thousand little pieces and is swept under the rug in hopes that no one will miss her.

    She never thought a war would affect her so much. She hadn't been a part of either side, preferring to keep her opinions silent (not that she had any), keeping to personal ambiguity in the hopes that she could avoid being seen as a bad person.

    Not that she was a good person, because she knew she wasn't. Not by a long shot.

    Luckily for her, someone did remember her. But when the rug was pulled back, there was no comfort in being found. Instead, she felt naked and exposed in a thousand little pieces, some of which had crumbled to dust, lost forever.

    It was 11:58 pm on October 16, 1998 when Michael comes up to her in a Muggle bar.

    "It's Daphne, right?" he asks her as she's on her third vodka tonic.

    It has been five months and two weeks since the Battle of Hogwarts, and three months, three weeks, two days, and thirty-seven minutes since her best friend died from battle inflicted wounds at the age of eighteen. She knew this for a fact. After she died, all Daphne could do was keep track of the days in an effort to stay together.

    Daphne knows it was her fault. If she had taken a stand, perhaps Catherine would have followed her out of the school, away from danger.

    "What's it to you?" Daphne replies, sipping her drink.

    "It's Michael Corner. We were in the same year at Hogwarts." Michael pulls up a seat beside her and orders a whiskey.

    "Oh. I remember you," Daphne says as she throws back the rest of her drink and signals for another. "You played Quidditch, didn't you?"

    Michael nods. "Feels like a lifetime ago though, doesn't it?" His comment is met with silence and he awkwardly takes a sip from his glass.

    "What are you doing at a Muggle bar anyway. Aren't you a pureblood?" he asks, trying to break the tension. Daphne turns in her chair and looks at him.

    "I hardly think that matters anymore, do you? They lost, didn't they? Equality and happiness for all, isn't that right?"

    Michael is a little taken aback and looks at her.

    "Are you okay?" Michael asks, wondering if talking to her was a good idea in the first place.

    "It's none of your business," Daphne snaps, and she turned back to face the bar.

    "Fine," Michael says. "Only, the only time I've seen Wizards in Muggle bars lately are because they’re hurt and they want to forget. Some just don't want to be found." Daphne blew air through her nose in a sort of annoyed gesture. "Is that what you are trying to do, Daphne? Are you trying to hide from everyone?"

    "It's none of your f***ing business!" Daphne said. "Who do you think you are, anyway?"

    "A friend," Michael replies. "Someone who has been where you are and only wants to help you. So are you okay?"

    "There's no reason to hide if nobody's looking," Daphne mutters.

    "Well, I did," Michael says, laying his hand on hers.

    "No you didn't, you just ran into me," Daphne says, withdrawing her hand.

    "But I stopped. I remembered you. And that's what you mean, don't you? You needed someone to stop, to recognise you, to remember that you aren't just another drunk on a barstool, but a witch.And a damn good one, if I remember properly."

    "You're just saying all that," Daphne interjects. "You don't actually know any of this. You’re just trying to make me feel better."

    "I said it before, Daphne," Michael says. "I've been there. I know exactly how you feel right now, like you're broken inside and there's no one left out there who remembers you, let alone who wants to see you. You feel like you are irreversibly damaged inside, and that there's no one left who can save you. Well, I'll tell you something, Daphne. You are fixable, if you'll only give me the chance."

    Michael throws some cash onto the bar and holds out his arm.

    "Come on, Daphne, let me try."
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  3. #3
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    Title: Thinking Straight
    Pairing: Theodore/Terry
    Candy Heart used: Rough
    Rating/warnings: 3rd-5th years; strong profanity, violence
    Author's note: This is pure crap and is the reason why I should not drabble late at night... hehehehe. No, actually, there is a LOT more to the story which I unfortunately can't fit in due to word count restrictions D: I hope to expand this one day, because I certainly think this is more a prelude to their relationship than anything.

    1st May 1998

    Terry’s trek down the corridor felt like the longest walk in his life. Every limb of his ached, and his lip was no longer bleeding but threatened to split every time the skin stretched even the tiniest bit. A few times, he stumbled, and he had to pause for a moment and get his breath back, his palm slippery on the wall and his whole body caked in sweat.

    He knew he shouldn’t have done it. Not really. It wasn’t like shouting about Harry Potter would change things; Harry wasn’t exactly going to return to Hogwarts just because Terry had yelled about him at dinner, and Terry had just paid for his actions, something that even McGonagall hadn’t been able to stop. He was sure that was her banging on the door demanding the Carrows – it sounded vaguely like her, anyway. Right now, even his brain was hurting, and it ached even to think straight, let alone walk in a straight line.

    He stopped again, this time giving in completely, his back sliding down the wall until his legs were sprawled on the dusty floor. However, a moment later, he cursed aloud as he caught sight of a tall figure heading his way, and even worse, whoever it was held a lit wand. Terry involuntarily cowered, excuses already in his mouth – he was in detention, he didn’t know it was curfew yet, or maybe just a cowardly please don’t hurt me – but as the person came closer, the incantation was whispered, and Terry only felt a welcome icy feeling on his lip where it had split.

    After a closer look – Terry finally recognised him as Theodore Nott – Terry tried to get up, but now he was no longer on his feet, he didn’t have the strength to get up once more. Nott just stood there, watching him, and Terry matched his gaze, scared to blink in case he did something.

    “Can you stand?” Nott’s voice was soft, and the concern Terry could hear somehow managed to get under his skin. Spluttering, Terry attempted to get to his feet, but even as he clawed at the wall in his efforts, he only fell back on the floor with a loud thump.

    “Let me help you up,” Nott murmured.

    “Why?” Terry finally managed. “Who the f*** are you, anyway, Nott, trying to help me?”

    Under his own wandlight, Nott’s face was thrown into sharp relief, the cut of his cheekbones making him look strangely delicate, and for the first time, uncertainty flickered in Nott’s eyes. “I heard the Carrows gave you a hard time after today, so I thought…”

    “You thought what?”

    “You’re hurting,” Nott said softly, kneeling, and Terry felt the gentle press of his knee on his thigh for the shortest moment. Terry could feel the warm kiss of breath on his neck, and it was only then that he realised that he himself was holding his breath.

    “Why do you care?” Terry demanded, even though his voice was still weak. But Nott didn’t answer, instead taking Terry’s hand and pulling him to his feet; Terry didn’t object and allowed Nott to lead him to the Ravenclaw common room.

    2nd May 1998

    Stupefy!” Terry yelled, but he cursed as he missed his target completely. His opponent was forcing him to back slowly into the criss-crossing jets of light, to the point where Terry was simply bracing himself for the moment when a curse would hit him and he would fall — but at least he would die with a hex on his lips, the last whisper of a Shield Charm on his tongue. As he aimed an Impediment Jinx at his masked dueller, it occurred to him how scared he was. He could die at any moment. What about his mum, forced into hiding because she was Muggleborn, or his father, having to play along with the Death Eaters who dominated the Ministry just to stay alive? What if Terry couldn’t make it back to his parents and they never saw him again?

    His temporary distraction stalled him, and fear suddenly rooted Terry to the spot, so the jet of green light head towards his chest would surely meet its target – but then he felt a hand close around his arm and pain as he was yanked roughly out of the way. Water streamed involuntarily from Terry’s eyes, still smarting from what was definitely Terry’s closest brush with death, and as he felt those same hands steer him much more gently into the corner, Terry recognised his saviour.
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  4. #4
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    Title: Firsts
    Pairing: Viktor/Hermione
    Candy Heart Used: Rebirth
    Ratings/Warnings: 3rd-5th years/substance abuse (kinda)
    Author's Note: I def just butchered this, but oh well, I tried. And I kinda like the idea.

    There's something about a girl's first boyfriend that makes him stick in her heart for the rest of eternity.

    Or at least, that's what Hermione assumed. It's hard to forget that boy who first told you that you were beautiful and that treated you in every way like princess you wanted to be. The first guy to hold your hand, your first date, your first kiss.

    Hermione remembers that day well, the day that she and he went for a walk in mid-January, even though it was freezing cold. She was shivering slightly, and Viktor noticed almost immediately. He took of his outer cloak and wrapped it around her cold shoulders. His hands lingered on her arms, and he pulled her in and kissed her ever so slightly.

    In that moment, Hermione felt the light of a million firecrackers lighting up the night sky.

    Over the years, Hermione never forgot the young man with his duck feet and slightly awkward demeanor. The boy who waited for hours in the library for a chance to ask her to the Yuleball.

    Eight years later, over a Butterbeer, Hermione wonders what has happened to the young Quidditch player. She knows he's still playing (how could she not, when she dated Ron for so long), but she didn't really know how he was. They had lost touch years ago, and Hermione almost regretted it.

    She and Ron had been broken up for a year now. Funny how that turned out. It turns out that some things that seemed meant to be just aren't. But really, life isn't so clichéd that storybook endings actually happen.


    Hermione spins around to see a dark hard, hunchbacked man in front of her.

    "Viktor?" Hermione gasps, thinking that life really couldn't be so crazy as to have the exact person she was thinking about show up in The Three Broomsticks.

    "Oh my god, Viktor, what are you doing here?"

    "Our Quidditch team is doing some training things here. Vhy ve have to do this in England, I do not know," Viktor replies.

    "That's long trip for training, but I'm so glad to see you!" Hermione stands up and gives Viktor a hug.

    Viktor sits down beside Hermione and orders something strong. "So how are you doing? Are you still seeing the Veasley boy?"

    "No," Hermione says, taking another sip of her Butterbeer. "And I'm working for the Ministry, trying to secure elf rights."

    "Is that still to do with that group you made vile I vas at Hogwarts?"

    Hermione laughs. "Yes."

    "Vow, that is dedication. But it is a Friday night, vhy are you drinking only Butterbeer?"

    Hermione shrugs. "I don't know. I was never much of a drinker."

    "Vell, you should try something a little stronger."

    A few hours, and many drinks later, and Hermione is feeling happily buzzed but fully conscious. Feeling slightly bold, she grabs Viktor's hand.

    "Come on, come to my place for some tea," Hermione says.

    "Are you sure?" Viktor asks. "I don't want you to do anything not normal because of me."

    "Yes, I'm sure," Hermione says.

    As they leave, Hermione hopes that perhaps she can add Viktor to another list of firsts, and maybe, if she's lucky, they can start of again where they left off.
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  5. #5
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    Title: I Hate You (Like I Love You)
    Pairing: Draco/Harry
    Candy Heart: Love/hate
    Warnings, rating: 6th-7th, slash, sexual situations
    A/N: The title belongs to the lyrics of a rather amusing song. And I hope you like this!

    “Don’t you ever take off your glasses, Potter?”

    “Oh, shut up, Malfoy.”

    “Well, don’t complain then, that my nose smudged your lenses.”

    Harry felt a pair of lips on his and he sighed, kissing Draco back with all the passion that he could muster. He could feel Draco’s slender fingers tracing a line along his collarbone and making its way to undo his shirt. He gasped, pulling away, only to undo Draco’s shirt with his own fumbling fingers and within moments, Draco’s lips were on Harry’s neck, and then on his collar, planting a tantalizing line of kisses, while his hands worked on the zipper of Harry’s jeans. A finger traced another line down Harry’s belly button, making its way lower below, and he only saw Draco’s smirk appear for a moment before the latter got down on his knees.



    “That wasn’t supposed to happen, Malfoy. We were a mistake.”

    “Well, it did happen.”

    Harry turned around and faced Draco. “Yeah, but… I’m with Ginny now.”

    “Oh, come off it, Potter, you love her as much as you hate me.”

    Harry fell quiet for a minute. Sighing, he said, “I can’t…”

    Draco didn’t want to plead or beg. “Fine,” he muttered, and walked away, only to leave Harry staring after him, and not knowing what to do.


    “Malfoy, please talk to me.”

    “I thought you hate me, Potter.”

    “Hate is a strong word.”

    Draco turned around to face Harry, who bit his lip nervously. “I broke-up with Ginny,” he said.

    “Yeah? Why?” asked Draco sarcastically. “Didn’t you love her a lot?”

    “I love her as much as I hate you.”

    “You just said hate is a strong word,” Draco pointed out to him.

    “It is,” agreed Harry. “But so is love.”

    Draco smirked and walked towards Harry. “So, how much do you hate me, Potter?”

    Harry looked into his eyes. “Do you really want to know?”


    Smiling, Harry leaned forward, and enclosed Draco’s lips in his. Pulling back, he said, “That’s how much I hate you.”
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  6. #6
    'Til the end of the line Ravenclaw
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    Sep 2009
    Forever and always in rarepair hell
    Title: Misery
    Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
    Candy Heart Used: Hate
    Ratings/Warnings: 3rd-5th years/Strong Profanity, sexual situations
    Author's Note:

    The dingy pub was almost empty. The smell of stale beer hung in the air, mixed with sweat and grime from the vagrants occupying the table a few feet away from him. It was no use coming here, he realised. She hadn’t shown.

    He should have known it. She was playing him.

    Sighing, he got up to leave, throwing a few Sickles on the table.

    The noise turned a few heads, and the glances turned into full fledged stares when they saw who he was. He clenched his teeth. People stared at him wherever he went; that’s what one gets when they’re an ex-Death Eater. Whispers floated around him in every alley, and stares and points were common to him. He even recalled one incident where a small child of no older than five had suck out his tongue at him. Sneaky son of a--

    “What’s the great Malfoy doing here?”

    That voice. He loathed that voice more than anything.

    “Potter,” he answered, not bothering to turn around.

    It was all his fault, all Potter’s fault that he was in this state. All Potter’s fault that people looked at him like he was a slug. And to make it worse, he owed Potter for saving his life! Potter had gone and ruined his life and Draco could do nothing about it.

    Potter stumbled in front of him, his green eyes slightly unfazed. He looked worse for wear. “What are you doing here, Malfoy?”

    “None of your business,” he snapped, fighting the urge to reach for his wand. “Out of the way, potter.”

    He didn’t move an inch. “Don’t tell me where to go, Malfoy,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don’t take orders from you.”

    “What’s the matter with you, potter?” Malfoy asked, frowning. Potter looked terrible, he realized. “What’s the savior of the world doing in an alley, completely drunk?”

    “None of your business” he answered, and Draco had a feeling Potter had just used his own words against him.

    “Looks like your girlfriend dumped you, if I’m not wrong.”

    Potter flushed, anger flashing in his eyes.

    “I’m right, aren’t I, Potter!” Malfoy said, smirking. For once, he felt gleeful. Potter was miserable, and he had nothing to do with it. “You couldn’t even keep your blood-traitor Weasel girlfriend, Potter. How on earth could you keep the Wizarding world in peace, I have no idea. ”

    Flushing even redder, if possible, Potter tried to push past him. Malfoy, however caught his hand. Quick as a flash, he had Potter up against a wall. “Where do you think you’re going?” He whispered in his ear.

    “Malfoy!” Potter yelled, pushing against him.

    Draco smirked. “I can’t let you go, Potter. Not until I’m done seeing how miserable you are.”

    Potter stopped squirming, and looked straight at him. There was an odd glint in his green eyes, Draco realized. Before he could wonder what it was about, he felt a rough pair of lips slam into his own.

    Potter’s lips moved against his very forcefully, sending a tingling sensation down his spine. His breath smelled of alcohol, and his hands grasped Draco’s hair so tightly that he thought his hair would rip off. He tried to push Potter off him, slapped him, but it was useless. Potter’s grip was too strong.

    “Get off potter!” He shouted against his lips, and with a bang, Potter was thrown to the ground. Panting hard, he looked down at his wand. Red sparks flew off the end.

    Wiping his mouth, Potter got to his feet, stumbling. With a sneer on his face, he turned on his heels and left.

    It took Draco a while to process his thoughts, and when it hit him, it hit him hard. Potter had just kissed him. And whether he believed it or not, he’d enjoyed it.

    “F***, Potter!” He yelled to the night. “I f***ing hate you for this!”
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