the top secret journal of ives, age 26 and one half

jives @ 2006-07-23T11:00:00

2006-07-23T15:17:08Z

I hate writing summaries for fic. Now I know why, when surfing FF.net (for example) you see countless "JUST READ THIS IT IS AWESOME!!" or "R/R!!!!!1eleventy!!!!!!" Because really, writing a summary is kinda beastly.

In other news, tigger, my old computer, died last week. I lost almost all my HP stuff. Am a wee bit devastated but will get over it. Maybe this will inspire me to try something new.

Shove

2006-07-06T22:15:20Z

Title: Shove
Pairing: Millicent/Ginny
Summary: Get out of her way or she might shove you.
Mad props: Thank you to yamapea for the beta. And the prompt. Even if she did give it me over a year ago.

Millicent doesn’t know how to deal with people who do not back down. She doesn’t know how to deal with people who shove her against walls. Millicent does the shoving, not the other way around.

The only time she's let somebody shove her like this was three years ago. Marcus Flint wasn’t cute but Millicent didn’t care. It was dark enough in the Quidditch Broom Shed that she could ignore his troll-like features. She wanted to know what happened next. Pansy said it would be awful. Daphne said she saw fireworks, felt like the earth was shaking. Blaise said Tracey was a screamer.

When it was all over, Millicent said it was boring and messy. An event only made worthwhile by the four red slashes down Marcus’ back that she made with her fingernails. He has scars. She shoved him against the wall once to check.

But this is different. This is not Marcus. This is a girl. Not just any girl, either. Ginny is a Weasley who won’t back down. She is glaring at her with a heat in her eyes that Millicent’s only seen once while looking at herself in the mirror. Studying.

The memory makes her angry. This girl makes her angry. Millicent shoves again. That’s what she does when she’s angry, that or she -- no, won’t think about Marcus again. Can’t think about Marcus again. It means remembering she once backed down.

So now she shoves, over and over again. And still the girl shoves back. Finally Millicent pins Ginny against the wall. One hand captures her tiny wrists, holds them above her head. With the other she takes Ginny’s chin, grasping it tightly.

“Get out of my face.”

Fucking hell, she’s brave. Millicent can barely tell what Ginny is saying; it’s hard for her to open her mouth when Millicent is holding it so tightly. “Or what?”

“Or you just might like what I do next.” Ginny throws her head forward, forcing Millicent to let go. Her mouth smashes against Millicent’s in a very painful kiss. Ginny hopes to take the angry girl by surprise, but it’s Ginny who is surprised when Millicent kisses her back. And it’s Ginny who is surprised when Millicent bites down, hard, on her tongue.

Millicent tastes blood and mint, mostly blood, and decides she needs to be shoved around more often.

Cross-posted to: hp_girlslash.

The Biggest Fan's Biggest Fan

2006-07-06T02:14:26Z

Apparently I am writing again. Ah.

Title: The Biggest Fan's Biggest Fan
Pairing: Colin Creevey/Romilda Vane.
Guest Staring: Dennis Creevey.
Summary: Romilda is Colin's biggest fan.
Mad Props: Thank you VERY much to chalkdrawn for the Beta! It was very much appreciated!

Written for The Great Fluff Challenge 2006!!!, hosted by yamapea.

Colin Creevey feels a bit like Atlas at the moment, his back almost breaking under the weight of the world he's created for himself. Only, Uunlike Atlas however, Colin is about to hand it all over to somebody else, somebody with the strength and energy (and -, if you were to ask Colin -, with a bit of a bad attitude) to carry it. His back aches under the weight of the two book bags he's carrying, one slung over each shoulder. These bags are full of everything to do with Harry Potter that he's ever collected. Everything.

Shirts, buttons, photos, scrapbooks, newspaper clippings, banners, booklets, badges, hats and one left shoe (purchased for 23 Galleons from Fred and George Weasley during his second year at Hogwarts.) Everything you ever wanted to know about Harry James Potter but were afraid to ask. Colin knows all the answers. And so does Romilda Vane.

Romilda Vane, Colin thinks to himself. Fierce, funny and fanatical. Colin's grown to like her over the years, though he'd never tell her as much. He doubts she'd even care. The only person Romilda cares about is Harry Potter. That's how he met her, really. They were both big fans, and together, started a fan club for him.

There's been no point to their fan club meetings this year, though, not with Harry gone. And even if he were at the school, hardly anybody else showed up two months ago when classes started. Club membership was at an all time low, only four members:; Romilda, Dennis, Luna and himself. Besides, Colin has more important things to focus on now.

Harry Potter has asked him to take over the D.A.

Sighing, Colin dumps the book bags on the floor and shakes his shoulders out. He's supposed to meet Romilda inside the classroom but he doesn't think he can carry them any further. He wonders how he'll get Romilda to let him carry the stuff back for her,her; she's hard work like that.

He hears Romilda approach before he sees her. The even click click click of her tiny, heeled shoes on the stone floor announces her presence. He pushes his fringe out of his eyes, and offers her a cheery hello. She says nothing, just looks at the bulging book bags on the ground, then up at him, sighing exasperatedly.

"What's this about, Creevey?" she asks, glaring at him with dark eyes. Gypsy eyes, Colin thinks, though he's not even sure what a gypsy's eyes would look like.

"Um, well, you see! It's like this! I got an owl from Harry!" he begins excitedly.

Normally this would have Romilda excited as well, but all she does is fold her arm tightly across her chest and raise one eyebrow questioningly. Colin's tried to raise just one brow countless times but nothing short of pushing it up with his finger works.

"Anyway," he continues quickly, not wanting her to glare at him much longer, even if she was kind of cute when angry., "Hhe wants me to take over the D.A., so, I don't really have time for the fan club anymore! So! Here's all our stuff. In these bags, I mean!" He taps the nearest bag with his toe and smiles sheepishly at Romilda.

"Oh." Colin stares at Romilda's pink lips as they form a perfect "O" shape, another indication that she's less than impressed with him. "Well, I've been meaning to talk to you about this anyway. You see, I'm not interested in carrying on with the fan club either."

"You're not?!?" He's completely flabbergasted. Part of him wonders what they'll do with all their Harry Potter stuff, while another part of him wonders how long Romilda's felt this way.

"No," she replies, "I'm not."

"But! jJust last week we had that argument about who was Harry's biggest fan, and we decided it was you!"

"Don't be stupid, Colin. It's not Harry I'm a fan of."

Colin? Why is she calling him Colin? It's always Creevey. Has It has been that way since they first started talking to each other.

Romilda closes the distance between them, pushing the book bags out of the way with a seemingly effortless kick. In the time it takes for Colin to blink once she is suddenly a hair's breadth away from him, her too-high heels making her tall enough to look him right in the eye.

"Um.…" Colin is speechless. It's a proven scientific fact, or so he told Jack Sloper just last week, that the closer a girl gets to him, especially a girl as good looking as Romilda, with her long dark hair and the uniform skirt that's at least two inches too short, the harder it is for him to form complete sentences.

Her face softens, and the icy glare in her eye is replaced with something warm that, for reasons he can't figure out, makes his stomach flip flop a little.

"It's you I'm a fan of, silly."

Romilda kisses him before he can reply. His lips are a bit chapped, but she doesn't seem to mind. Colin's not sure what to do with his hands, but Romilda solves that problem for him. She grabs one, then the other, and places them on her hips, all the while kissing him senseless. When his knees start to buckle, Romilda walks them backward until Colin's back is against the wall and she's pressing herself up against him. Somehow her hands are in his back pockets, and he's about to find out if her skirts come with similar pockets when they are very rudely interrupted.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for snogging in the corridor!" Dennis squeals loudly. "And another ten points for being stupid enough to kiss my ugly brother!"

"Bugger off, Creevey," Romilda growls. She doesn't move though, just glances over her shoulder and glares at Dennis like Filch does at the firsties whothat leave their bubblegum in keyholes.

Dennis considers things for a moment before backing off and trotting away. Even he knows better than to go face to face with an angry young woman.

Romilda turns back to Colin, a coy smile on her face. "Now, where were we?"

You, Me, Wine and some Warbeck or The Auror Who Saved Christmas

2005-12-15T00:49:51Z

Title: You, Me, Wine and some Warbeck or The Auror Who Saved Christmas
Summary: Stan Shunpike showers Tonks with presents and (bad) poetry after she saves his life one cold, December evening. In an attempt to get him to stop, Tonks visits Stan at home on New Year's Eve and is pleasantly surprised by the events that follow. Written for harrychristmas, Dec. 15th, 2005
Mad Props: A thousand thank-yous to bowiemullet & thefiyaah for the beta jobs!

Nymphadora!
I adore ya.
I implore ye,
Don’t ignore me.

You, me, a bottle of wine and tickets for tonight’s Celestina Warbeck New Years Eve Party. Say you’ll go?

Tonks sighed in exasperation as she stared at the messily wrapped present on the desk before her. Spellotape jutted out at odd angles, bits of fluff and hair stuck to the exposed, sticky surface. A bow, obviously recycled, was hanging off the edge of the lid. It obscured the gift tag but Tonks knew, without a doubt, who the gift was from.

Stan Shunpike.

Or rather, “Stanley D. Shunpike, ESQUIRE”, which was how he’d signed the poem scribbled on the gift wrap.

“Probably doesn’t know what esquire means,” Tonks grumbled to herself as she opened the present.

It was a Portable Patronus, a Weasley Twin invention and a very costly one at that. Fred and George had only started marketing the device last week. How on Earth did Stan Shunpike manage to get a hold of it?

Tonks lay the tube shaped container on her desk, lining it up with six other gifts, each one as unwanted as the first. Not to mention the fact that Christmas had been seven days ago. The first gift had arrived on Christmas Day. That one at least made sense to Tonks. As for the rest of them...though Tonks wanted to know why he insisted on sending her things, she was almost afraid to ask.

Stan Shunpike had been a thorn in her side since the day she saved him from a Dementor…that had really been a Boggart. Curiosity had driven Stan to open a trunk that had been left on the Knight Bus. Stan’s screams had beckoned Tonks from the third level of the bus. The rest, as Stan told anybody who would listen, was history.

Thank you cards and poems of appreciation had arrived daily every since. He had called her ‘the Auror who saved Christmas’ and Tonks had been mortified when the day after the Boggart incident, a picture of the two have them had ran on the front cover of the Daily Prophet below that very headline.

Sighing, Tonks picked up the Forever Fresh Flower that had arrived yesterday. She held it to her nose, breathing in the heady scent that according to the packaging, would last forever. It really was quite beautiful - until she thought of who had sent it. Tonks sighed again and put the flower down, exchanging it for a quill.

In choppy printing she explained to Stan that she was not interested in his poetry, his gifts, or his self, and that she had not done him a favour by saving his life, but had only been doing her job. She signed the note “I hate Celestina Warbeck. Have a nice life, Tonks” hoping he’d get the picture.

He did not.

**

Stan paced back and forth in his rather dingy kitchen. A bottle of wine sat abandoned on the counter, condensation dripping down the glass and onto a pair of concert tickets beside it. Stan didn't notice any of this. He was too caught up in himself.

His heart was pounding rapidly in his chest and his breathing was laboured. Occasionally he'd wave his arms about frantically, but only when the excitement was too much for him. He tried sitting down in an attempt to catch his breath, but it was no use. He had to pace. Had to work it out of his system.

A more exciting moment he had never experienced. Why, not even the night he met Harry Potter, the Harry Potter compared to this! Because tonight, tonight he received an Owl from Nymphadora Tonks.

The letter was currently folded up carefully in his shirt pocket, directly above his heart. An apropos place, thought Stanley, ever a romantic. That the letter was an out-right shut down did not occur to him. Oh no, to Stan Shunpike, this letter was a beacon of hope, a ray of sunshine in an otherwise gray and dismal world.

She'd wished him a nice life! And what would be nicer then sharing that life with Nymphadora Tonks? Nothing Stan could think of, that was for sure. And she'd told him she didn't like Celestina Warbeck! Never before had Tonks shared with him something so personal. Stan viewed it as a sign that they were growing closer together.

Sighing a bit dreamily, the pimply faced man collapsed in the nearest chair and took the letter out. He'd read it once more, he told himself, before putting it away somewhere safe.

"It wouldn't do to lose this token of love," he mused as he slowly unfolded the piece of parchment, "not when I plan on reading it to our Nymphadora on our wedding night!" Happy with that thought, Stan began reading again, etching the words in his mind so he'd never forget.

**

With a little bit of effort, Tonks had found out where Stanley D. Shunpike called home, and as it was on the way to the party she was attending that evening, she decided to stop by and put an end to the presents and poems. Stan lived in a dingy building that smelled a bit like the Quidditch changing rooms at Hogwarts, after a very long game. It didn’t take her long to find flat 444. Taking a deep breath, she rapped on the door with a gloved fist

Stan awoke from a rather steamy dream of his wedding night, wondering who could possibly be knocking on his door? He never had company. Maybe it was Ernie dropping off something he’d forgotten at work. It wasn’t Ernie, though. When he opened the door, there stood before him a pink-haired beauty, resplendent in icy white dress robes. She looks like an angel, Stan thought to himself.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing resembling words came out. Tonks thought she made out a ‘sporfle’, or maybe it was a ‘murfle’ but she had no clue what either word meant.

“Please stop sending me things,” she said in cool, clipped tones. “It was my job to save your life. I get paid very well for it by the Ministry. There’s no need to keep sending me gifts.”

Confused, Stan was silent for a moment. “Don’t’choo like the presents?” he asked her finally, his heart falling a little. He’d spent so much time picking them out and now he was afraid she was going to say that she really didn’t like them.

“They were lovely gifts, Stan,” she said.

Stan’s eyes widened with surprise. “Well then, wot’s the problem?”

Sighing loudly, Tonks closed her eyes and counted to ten before replying. “I don’t know how to say this nicely so I’m just going to say it! I don’t like you like that, Stan! Please stop sending me presents, and the poems! They really aren’t necessary.”

“I forchoo liked Celestina Warbeck,” was all Stan had to say to that.

“You thought what?” It was Tonks’ turn to be confused. What did Celestina Warbeck have to do with any of this?

“You told me in yer letter that you didn’t like Celestina Warbeck.” Stan crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the door frame. “But when you saved my life, you ‘ad on a Celestina Warbeck T-Shirt.”

Tonks sighed again. “It was an old shirt,” she mumbled. She could feel her cheeks blushing as she lied.

Stan gazed down at her, the look on his face clearing saying that he didn’t believe her. Tonks started explain to him that she didn’t feel comfortable abusing his generosity by using him to go to the (sold-out for months) concert when he confused her again.

“Well-a-well-a-well!” he stated loudly over her weak excuses. “Would you look at that!” Arms still crossed over his chest, he lifted a finger, pointing at the door frame above. “A little bit o' mistletoe. Nargle free, 'n all.”

Tonks looked up and sure enough they were standing under the rattiest dustiest looking piece of mistletoe she’d ever seen. She surprised herself by blushing at the implications.

Stan didn’t even wait for her to look back at him. He puckered up, lunged forward, and planted a kiss on Tonks’ lips before she knew what was happening. Too shocked to move, Tonks just stood there, eyes wide with surprise. As she didn’t run away immediately, Stan kept on kissing her, interpreting her staying with him as a very good sign.

Somehow Tonks managed to squeeze an arm up in between them and she tried to push Stan away from her. He merely took her hand with his own, and held it tightly against his heart. It was beating rapidly, Tonks noticed, much like her own. Her heart always beat quickly when she was on the receiving end of a good kiss.

A good kiss?

Tonks felt a bit faint at this revelation. Her knees buckled and she leaned against Stan so she wouldn’t fall over. He let go of her hand, and slipped his arms around her waist. She gave in and slid her hands up his arms, and begged unnamed gods that nobody would see them.

When they finally broke apart it was because somebody walking down the hallway jostled them as they passed. Stan just stared at Tonks, blinking rapidly, wondering if this had really happened.

“I’ll just wait out here while you get your coat,” she said. Unable to look directly at Stan, she stared through the door and into his kitchen at the bottle of wine still sat on the counter.

“I get my wot?”

“Your coat. Me, you, a bottle of wine and some Warbeck, remember?”

**

Stan's poem was stolen from Sue Townsend who stole it from Adrian Mole who I think is related to Stan some how, some way.

jives @ 2005-12-11T21:45:00

2005-12-12T02:44:12Z

I am having the most interesting experience betaing for a young HP Fan who is making the transition from all that isn't FanFiction.net to all that is FictionAlley.org.

It was totally frustrating at first as her work is full of these really awkwardly phrased things and most everything is written a bit like something that was originally French translated into English. Her things are...backwards.

In English we say, "The red sweater." But French, it's " The sweater red." (Un chandail rouge.) Pages upon pages of sentences formatted like this. Phwoar, it made me feel bad at first, as I was changing things up all over. But then I found out she's only spoken English for less than four years so that is probably why her phrasing is wonky.

So yes, this is frustrating, but on the flip side, she seems like a nifty little kid, and sure she isn't writing something that's going to go down in fandom history as amazing, or that's going to be recced on any of those newsletter things, but she is happy:) And she's writing! Which is all that counts.

Happy Christmas, Neville

2005-12-05T17:46:19Z

Title: Happy Christmas, Neville
Summary: Harry gives Neville the gift of a Christmas Memory before heading to the Burrow for Christmas. This was written for harrychristmas, Day 5, 2005.
Mad Props: Thanks to yamapea for the Beta. She is my hero.

It was hard walking down the hallway, tucked as he was under his Invisibility Cloak. In one hand Harry was clutching the Marauders Map, checking it constantly for anybody that might stand in the way of himself and his destination. His other hand held tightly on to Neville’s as he lead him down the corridor toward Dumbledore’s office.

Neville’s hot breath on the back of his neck was driving him to the edge of distraction. Harry wanted nothing more than to turn around and feel that breath against his face, his neck, his…no, there’d be time to act on those thoughts later. Now was not the time for that. It was time to give Neville his Christmas gift.

Like the Mirror of Erised from his first year, Harry was drawn to the memories contained in Dumbledore’s Pensieve because it showed him his parents. He’d visited it almost nightly since that first night during September when Dumbledore had allowed him to peer into it, sifting for clues to Tom Riddle’s past.

As they entered the office, Harry dropped the cloak. Still clutching Neville’s hand, he led him across the office.

“Wh-what are we doing in here, Harry?” Neville asked, panic evident in his voice. “We’ll get in trouble!”

Neville was nervous and Harry could tell, not just by his stuttering, but by the clammy hand held tightly in his own. Neville’s hands were always clammy. Harry had learned earlier in the school year that the boy usually walked around with a handkerchief jammed in each pocket. Whenever his hands got to sweaty, Neville would jam his hands into his pockets and clutch the handkerchiefs, the cottony fabric wicking away the moisture from his palms.

“No we wont,” Harry said soothingly. He tugged on Neville’s arm, dragging the boy over to the cabinet. He toed open the doors and pointed at the Pensieve nestled within. “Close your eyes.”

Neville obeyed, his eyes closing instantly, but he still protested. “Harry! What are we doing here? The Headmaster will catch us and then - !”

Harry pressed a finger against Neville’s lips, silencing him. “Shhh, we won’t get caught. Promise.”

Neville was silent and Harry turned away from him, focusing his mind entirely on the Pensieve. He’d learned, after a few clandestine visits, how to call up memories of certain people, even certain situations. He’d revisited parts of his own past, even that fateful night he’d been left on the Dursley’s door step.

Dumbledore had to know Harry was doing it. The password to his office door had not been changed, and the cabinet that housed the Pensieve was always left open, the doors angled almost invitingly. Harry had been through countless memories belonging to Dumbledore, of his parents, of Sirius, of Order meetings from the past. Tonight, though, he had something to show Neville.

Harry checked to make sure Neville’s eyes were still closed, then leaned over the Pensieve even more, concentrating as hard as he could on Frank and Alice Longbottom. He imagined their faces, not as they had been that day at St. Mungo’s when they’d bumped into Neville at random, but as Harry remembered them from looking through the Pensieve in the past.

Alice Longbottom’s smiling face floated to the surface of the Pensieve, and soon after, Frank’s joined it. Moments later a vision of Frank handing Alice a gold wrapped box appeared and Harry knew it was the right memory. He slipped his hand out of Neville’s, sliding it up the boys arm and resting it around his shoulders. Harry touched the silvery matter in the basin with his wand and the boys were sucked into the memory.

“MUM! DAD!” Neville shouted inside the memory. He lunged forward, letting go of Harry’s hand, darting toward his parents. It took him stumbling into a rough-hewn wooden table for Neville to realise something was amiss.

In front of them both, Frank and Alice chatted happily about their holiday plans. Though not visibly pregnant, Alice was holding her tummy like pregnant women often do; stroking it fondly, and looking down as she did so with a warm smile in her eyes. A tiny tree, decorated in green, red and gold balls was tucked in the corner, the only sign that it was Christmas.

Neville spun round on his heels and glared at Harry. “Harry, what have you done!”

“It’s a memory,” Harry said calmly. “One of Dumbledore’s memories. We’re inside his Pensieve. I thought you might want to see your mum and dad.” One look at Neville’s distraught face told Harry otherwise. He stepped forward and reached out for Neville’s hand. “I’m sorry, Nev, come on, let’s go.”

Harry looked up and thought ‘up’ and felt himself being tugged out of the memory. Neville was rising with him but he let go of Harry and shouted, “No!” Harry was ripped out of the memory, Neville was not.

An hour passed before Neville’s head rose from the Pensieve and he looked at Harry once more. Neville had watched the memory over and over again until finally he had it memorized. Every word, every motion, every nuance. Tears glistened in his eyes and Harry lifted a hand, rested it gently against Neville’s cheek and wiped away a few tears there. Neville was smiling, smiling and crying. Though saddened by the memory, there was an underlying happiness in that smile, and Harry knew he’d picked the right present.

“Happy Christmas, Neville.”

jives @ 2005-11-25T00:38:00

2005-11-25T05:38:13Z

One day I'm going to write a book about how Colin Creevey saved my life. But not tonight.

Rabbit Hole Day 2005

2005-10-28T02:03:35Z

This was written for Rabbit Hole Day 2005. A few months ago, crisper had a dream in which LiveJournal and everyone on it went completely nuts for a day. The entire world had turned upside-down and inside-out and nobody was their normal self anymore. And it was such a good read, that I think it should happen for real.

January 27th is the birthday of Lewis Carrol, author of ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND. Alice fell down a rabbit hole into a place where everything had changed and none of the rules could be counted on to apply anymore. I say, let's do the same: January 27th, 2005 should be the First Annual LiveJournal Rabbit Hole Day. When you post on that Thursday, instead of the normal daily life and work and news and politics, write about the strange new world you have found yourself in for the day, with its strange new life and work and news and politics. Are your pets talking back at you now? Has your child suddenly grown to full adulthood? Does everyone at work think you're someone else now? Did Bush step down from the White House to become a pro-circuit tap-dancer? Did Zoroastrian missionaries show up on your doorstep with literature in 3-D? Have you been placed under house arrest by bizarre insectoid women wielding clubs made of lunchmeat?

Let's have a day where nobody's life makes sense anymore, where any random LJ you click on will bring you some strange new tale. Let's all fall down the Rabbit Hole for 24 hours and see what's there. It will be beautiful.

This is what I wrote for that challenge. It's a strange peice involing myself, and my various HP muses.

Well! Today was surreal to say the least.

I was not, as I expected to be, woken up by my alarm, but by this strange, itching feeling on my chest. It quickly went from a mere itch to a sharpish burn. I yanked down the collar of my shirt and looked…there was a raw patch of skin smack dab in the middle of my collar bone and my favorite freckle.

My tattoo was gone!

Then I felt a soft fluttering breeze against my face, I looked up, and there was my butterfly! Somehow it had flapped its wings and managed to free itself from the confines of my skin! It was so beautiful! I sat up and reached for it, but it kept flittering out of my reach. I was determined to touch it, though…no, not touch it, for that would damage its wings. I wanted it to perch on my finger, to be a part of my body for one last moment before it flew away to freedom.

But first I had to catch it! This was going to be tricky.

I reached for my favorite sweater and shrugged it on, not bothering with the zipper. I swung my legs down to the floor, thinking I’d slide my feet into my slippers and be on my way only...my slippers weren’t there! And neither was the floor, for that matter!

What the…! Something strange was going on here. I found myself slip slippy sliding down a tube. It twisted and turned and I twisted and turned with it. After a while, I couldn’t figure out which way was up.

No sooner did I begin to panic, then my ride stopped. I tumbled out of the tube onto some sort of landing pad. This room was lit with a soft, peach light, and from where I sat I could see my butterfly tattoo, flying away.

Scrambling upright, I took after it, but no matter how fast I ran, the butterfly eluded me. I thought of the leathery patch of skin I had instead of my beautiful butterfly and wondered if I’d be stuck with it forever. Lost in this moment of thought, I did not realize that I had also lost track of my butterfly. When I finally paid attention to my surroundings I discovered myself in a rather strange place. A giant, green field with three hoops at either end. Stadium seating, far up in the air surrounded this field. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was on the…

“What are you doing out here! It’s 6 o’clock in the morning, you’re supposed to be sleeping in, my dear, not gallivanting about on the Quidditch pitch! And in bare feet, I might add.”

Poofy hair. British accent. Evidence of a manicure. It had to be…

“Ryan!” I exclaimed happily. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? More like what are YOU doing here my dearest. You can’t stand out here all day, you’ll ruin your pedicure.”

I was not given a chance to argue, as Ryan, who surprisingly did not complain about my chosen attire, grabbed my hand and dragged me into a castle.

“Hurry up! Hurry up! Don’t you know they don’t allow Canadians here?”

“They don’t?” I was confused. I thought Canadians were welcome everywhere..

“Of course they aren’t, silly,” Ryan said, as if he was reading my mind. “Not in this world they aren’t. Now hurry up. We’ll have to sneak you into the tower. We’ll borrow a set of robes from Lavender, they’ll be a bit snug,” he said pointedly, staring at my (slightly!) pudgy tummy, “but they’ll do the trick!”

I let myself be dragged along, and hid safely behind a statue, that much to my surprise, started to sing! Too afraid to venture out on my own (in case the Anti Canadian people showed up) I stayed put and tried not to laugh at what the statue was saying. Eventually Ryan returned and we managed make the robes fit. Ryan was right, it was a tight fit!

“Better lay off the butterbeers, darling, they go straight to your hips! Don’t worry, we’ll get you into something more comfortable once were safely in the Common Room.”

“The what?” I asked, still confused.

“The common room, silly! My goodness, you do ask the strangest questions.”

By then I’d followed Ryan through a portrait hole and into the strangest room ever. It was decorated almost entirely in shades of maroon, and was full of squashy, well worn looking furniture. Two boys appeared to be playing chess. Yes, it must be as one of them just said Checkmate…but wait a minute! The black night was moving on its own, and whoa! Whoa! It just totally smashed the white king.

I tugged on Ryan’s sleeve. “What is that game?” I asked quietly.

“It’s Wizards chess. Honestly,” he said, shaking his head, “Don’t you know anything?”

I decided to keep my mouth shut as apparently I didn’t know anything. And who wants to admit to that.

Ryan practically shoved me into a comfy arm chair by a window. It was isolated from everybody else, which Ryan said was just as well. He told me to sit tight and he’d track me down something to wear.

So I sat, and I waited and waited and waited.

Ryan never came back, which is a shame as I’m in desperate need of some fashion tips. Instead, I was joined by an intrepid young lad named…

“Colin! I’m Colin Creevey! Wow!!! You’re a Muggle, aren’t you!! Whoa!! Ryan wasn’t kidding when he said he had a Muggle here!! Never can tell with him, you know!! Sometimes he tells me stuff to get rid of me I think!!! But once he helped me tie a tie for a date!!!”

I was stunned. I could literally hear the exclamation marks fall out of this little boys mouth.

“I’m not a little boy!!! I’m just short. But I’ll grow, just you wait and see!! I’m going to be as tall as Jordan from the New Warlocks!! Maybe even as tall as my dad!! He’s a milkman, you know!!”

“Erm, that’s very nice, uh, Colin,” I told him, trying to sound as excited as he was. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve just got to, uh, yeah. I’ll be right back.”

I stood up and began to edge away from Colin, who was now taking my picture with a giant, old fashioned camera. Blinded by the flash I stumbled over something and fell crashing into…

“Dean!” I exclaimed, looking up at the person who’d caught me. “Dean Thomas!”

“Yeh, that’s me. Come on, we’ve got to get you out of here. Ryan was crazy from bringing you into the castle. He should have hid you outside or something. It’s not safe here as Hermione’s due back from… Oh, Hermione! How are you!”

Suddenly Dean had me in a sort of headlock. His arm was around my shoulders, and his hand pressed my face into his neck.

“Oh, Lavender will be okay,” I heard him tell this Hermione girl, “Just had a bad time in Divinations. Seems her tea leaves told her that pink was no longer in fashion, she’s shattered. No, no, that’s okay Hermione, we’re just going to go for a walk, she’ll be okay.”

I managed to follow Dean, and once again found myself climbing through a hole in the wall. From behind a suit of armor, Dean picked up a soccer ball, and began kicking it down the hallway as we walked.

“You like to play soccer?” I asked him, attempting to make conversation.

“Football, you mean.”

“Er, yeah, you like play football?”

“I do!” He grinned, “Who’s your favorite team?”

“Man United!” I exclaimed, “It’s the family team. Once when I was little, I-”

“Man United?!” Dean snorted, “What a crap team. West Ham all the way. Listen, I’m supposed to meet Seamus for a scrimmage match. Will you be okay on your own?”

“Okay on my own?!” I asked incredulously. “I don’t even know where we’re going!”

“Ravenclaw,” was the only answer I got. And I could tell by Dean’s tone of voice that I should have known the answer to that.

“Right, Ravenclaw…and how do I get there again?”

Dean sighed and patted me on the shoulder as you would a small child who is pestering you.

“Keep going straight. Hang a left at the statue of Nedric the Naughty, and DON’T stop and talk to him or he’ll keep you there all day, and after you pass about three staircases, you should be there. I’m sure that if you don’t show up on time, Mandy will come looking for you, so if you get lost, stay put!”

At that, Dean jogged off down the hallway, kicking his soccer ball and bouncing it off the walls along the way.

I took a good look around me. The walls were covered in old oil paintings, there were random statues every for or five feet, and between the statues was an occasional suit of armor. How was I to know which one was Nedric the Naughty. And there, right in front of me! A staircase, but it was moving!

How the hell was I supposed to count staircases if they were swinging away from me?

I spun around in a circle, trying to get my bearings, but it only served to confuse me more. I tapped my heals together three times and whispered, “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like…”

“Like Ravenclaw, you mean,” I heard a firm, but polite voice say to me.

I looked up, and there standing before me was..

“Mandy Brocklehurst. You do know who I am, don’t you? Ryan said you were a bit, well, that doesn’t matter now, does it. What does matter is getting you out of here and I think I know how. Well, what are you waiting for? I do not have all day.”

Mandy strode purposely down the hallway and I struggled to keep up with her. It was a bit hard in my pajama pants, bare feet and Lavender’s too tight robes.
I wanted to ask where we were going, or if I could get some shoes but there wasn’t time. Mandy was practically running now, but I didn’t understand the rush.

“You are making me late,” she turned to look at me, “I am expecting a very important letter and the post is due to arrive in less then fifteen minutes. I would prefer being in the Great Hall when the post arrives to avoid any…embarrassment.”

I could see Mandy’s cheeks begin to pink up.

“You signed back up for the Gilderoy Lockhart fan club again, didn’t you!” I started to laugh. I knew she would, the second I turned my back on her.

“I did no such thing!” Mandy’s cheeks turned an even brighter shade of red.

“You did too! Oh man, what did you get for joining this time? Monogrammed handkerchief? Autographed poster? You can tell me, you know. I’ll find out eventually!”

Mandy glared at me, her eyes narrowing as she stared me down.

“How rude! I should just leave you here to be found out! I don’t know why I am helping you!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

Mandy had started off down the hallway at a run. I never thought she could run that fast, but apparently all that football playing has paid off. It was hard to catch her, but eventually I did.

The first thing I did was apologize, and she was gracious enough to accept.

“If you must know, it was the autographed poster,” she told me under her breath, as we made our way out of the castle. “I got the monogrammed handkerchief last time, and a signed letter last month asking me if I’d reconsider joining. But please, don’t tell anybody!”

“My lips are sealed,” I promised.

“And to make up for all the trouble you’re causing me, perhaps you could arrange for me to have another Tango lesson? And how about getting a date for Millicent.”

“A date for Millicent? But she seems to be doing okay on her own.”

“With Percy, I mean. It’s very uncanon, but, just one date wouldn’t hurt, would it? Percent is love, you know.”

“But what about Theocent?” I asked, “Or Manicent for that matter! And you know full well that Colin would want in on all that action. When he develops hormones, of course.”

“Oh Kelly,” Mandy said, rolling her eyes like aGryffindor, “you have so much to learn. Now hurry it up, we’re almost there.”

“Almost where?”

“Here.”

I looked about me. We were in an old, dusty room full of cobwebs, and furniture draped in sheets. In the far corner stood a tall mirror. It was the only uncovered item in the room.

“Isn’t that the Mirror of Erised?” I asked.

“No, it is not. Good guess, though. It’s the Looking Glass. Alice’s looking glass. Not sure why it’s here, but I found it while searching for an empty classroom once and did some research about it in the library. Did you know Duval has dedicated two novels to this mirrors very existence? I’m tempted to write him about it, you know.”

I stood in front of the mirror, in it, I could see my bedroom, just as I left it. In fact, there was a lump under the covers…the lump began to move and then roll over. I was staring at myself sleeping!

A fluttering at the side of my face caused me to look away from the mirror, and once again, there was my butterfly! I watched in amazement as it flew right into the mirror, and instead of bouncing off of it, melted right into it. The butterfly was now flitting around my bedroom.

I turned to Mandy, “Do I have to….”

She nodded wisely at me. “Yes, you do. And unless you want me to tell you exactly how and why I know this, you can go through anytime you want.”

I smiled at her, and thanked her for her help.

“Tell Dean and Ryan thank you for me!”

“I will!” she said waving.

I turned back to face the mirror, and put my hand up against it. The surface flickered for a moment, and I felt my hand sinking in to it. First my hand disappeared, then my wrist, my arm, and finally I had one shoulder through. I took a step, and then another, and soon my entire body was standing back in my bedroom.”

I spun around and the mirror was there, in the corner of my bedroom! Through it, I could see Mandy standing in the dusty room. She was still waving at me.

“Don’t forget the dance lessons!” she called out.

I waved again, and the mirror was gone. The butterfly wasn’t, though. I watched as it flew over to my sleeping body, and landed on my chest. Within seconds, it went from three dimensional to two, and was once more a part of my skin.

Beside my sleeping form, my cat Fred lay cuddled into the pillow. I could hear him
purring at me, luring me into bed.

I crawled into bed beside myself, and when I rolled over to get comfortable, rolled into myself, and suddenly, I was one again. Fred cuddled up against me, purring even louder. As I drifted back to sleep again, I swear I heard him whisper, “Welcome home…”

Remus' Piano

2004-07-20T00:44:40Z

Title: Remus' Piano
Involving Remus, with a side order of Padfoot, Prongs and Wormtail

Summary: Written for the fan!boy/girl challenge at Fiction Alley but I so totally missed the deadline.

There is a piano in the Shrieking Shack.
He thinks it was Dumbledore's idea. It sure as hell wasn't his.

None of this was his idea: not the piano, not the shack, and most certainly not being a werewolf. But despite all his bitterness, he does appreciate the little things. The piano being one of them.

He spends the hours before his transformations teaching himself how to play. At first he pecks at the keys with two fingers, until he is familiar with their different sounds. It's not until Sirius sneaks in with A Wizards Guide to Piano that he really makes any progress.

It is dangerous for Sirius to be with him in these hours before his transformation, but he enjoys the company too much to protest his presence. Remus develops a love for the melancholy compositions, but Sirius likes it when he plays swing music.

When James finds out, he joins them. He sings along with the piano, changing the words of the song to suit his moods. The ribald little tunes with their lewd lyrics, usually about his most recent ladylove, send even Remus into fits of laughter.

They always leave before the moon rises. And Remus moves away from the piano lest he harm it in a fit of dementia.

By the time they are in Fifth Year, James and Sirius have mastered the Animagus transformation. Peter catches on by the second term, and Remus is no longer alone during the full moons. The piano is pushed aside in favour of their companionship. When he is with them, he feels more like a man then a wolf.

He doesn't touch the piano at all during his Sixth year. Sometimes he looks at it longingly, running his fingers over the dusty keys, but there are more important things to do. Hogsmeade begs to be explored, and at night when students are supposed to be sleeping, they investigate every nook and cranny of it. There is the Marauders Map to finish. By the end of the year, they know every blade of grass, every squeaky stair, and every dark corner of the school.

Seventh year comes and goes. Remus leaves Hogwarts but the piano remains in its corner, dusty and unused.

It's sixteen years before he sees it again. Sixteen years in which he never played a note.

He didn't give it much thought on that hot night in June. He was too busy reuniting with Sirius, trying to punish Peter, and saving Harry's life. He thinks about it afterwards, though. The piano stands out in his memory almost as much as the black ink of tattoos stood out on the pale skin of Sirius's chest.

It was somehow appropriate to be back where it all began, back in that room with the piano. And Sirius. And even Peter. Though James wasn't there, Harry was, and he looks enough like his father to remind Remus of those nights the Marauders spent together.

Fresh back from my beta, bless them!

I need to reword a few things. I have way to many Shatner-style 'dramatic' sentence fragments and the bit about Sirius' tattoo is a bit wonky. I know what I want to say yet can't find the words to describe it. If only I could take a picture of what I see in my head and just show that instead of a paragraph. Ahh, well!

jives @ 2004-06-29T21:24:00

2004-06-30T01:19:59Z

I am late with this. I'll walk myself to detention.

I reviewed three pieces by honeycakehorse for the Review Challenge. I wanted to pick three different pieces but ended up picking three based on who was in them! I went with fave characters/pairings each time. I'm glad I did!

Reviews and Links as follows:

Never
Link
TrioFics are my guilty pleasure in the HP Fandom. It was a wonderful treat to discover that I could review one for the Feedback Challenge.

It took me a moment to figure out the point of view - a very pleasant surprise when I learned it was Mrs. Weasley! It was so nice to look at the Trio from an outside perspective; I found the new point of view very refreshing.

I loved this line:

"...three glowing faces with three soft smiles lighting them and six arms around each other and six feet tangled together and six shining eyes closing..."

It was just. Beautiful. Very vivid imagery yet still left a lot to the readers imagination. I read that and can't help but wonder how the person watching them earlier could believe what they were doing was filthy or wrong.

Another wonderful moment, when Molly looks at them and truly sees what they are to each other and understands. I know that in reality, not everybody would be as accepting so it made it extra-special that Molly was.

Randomly, I loved the last line of this fic. Once Molly sets her mind to something, that's it! I know that Harry, Hermione and Ron's secret is safe with her.

Press Coverage
Link

"Think we should ask if we can have copies of those photos?"

That line was my favorite! I laughed so loud my cat leapt off my monitor and glared at me for interrupting her.

All in all, a very enjoyable read.

I felt that Mrs. Weasley was very well written in this fic and the outtakes from the Daily Prophet were very entertaining.

"You really want to learn about sex from one of the teachers?" Bill's look of incomprehension was mirrored in all their faces.

That line had me laughing as well. I had to stop my reading for a moment and imagine what it would be like to have Snape or McGonagall teaching sex education.

Who I Remember He Was
Link

What I loved most about this fic was the interesting perspective on the impact Dumbledore had on Harry's life.

That what Dumbledore did for Harry's own good (or so he thought) could seriously damage Harry mentally and emotionally.

"It had never occurred to Charlie that Dumbledore could make such grievous mistakes."

It never occurred to me either until I read this line. Up until this point, I always viewed Dumbledore as a wonky, slightly batty but very wise man. A bit of a puppetmaster, but ever move he made was in the best interests of everybody.

I also really enjoyed the careful attention to detail the author has in this story. The little things like fire proof clothing and the logistics of getting a memory-less Harry to Romania.

*nsync fic rec

2004-06-13T01:44:54Z

Did a lot o' reading today. Because it's Saturday and I'm lazy and I qualified it as "inspiration" for my work. Hah! Not bloody likely, but I did come across a little gem of a fic.

I Only Eat Things That Are Already Dead by Rhys@ Experiment V.

The line that sold me?
"Cheap ass motherfucker," Justin said, which Chris knew was Justin-ese for "yes, I am."

Definitely worth reading if you are into *nsync fic.

Fic Rec

2004-06-09T14:28:38Z

I just read the awesomest fic this morning. It's over at Fiction Alley

Eradicated by Kailani.

It's from Draco's POV, contains some really evocative description and ends up with Lucius dead in the end. If you are overly attached to him, you might not like that aspect of it!

What made it so powerful was a combination of the emotions expressed and the words used to express them. This author has an awesome vocabulary and she really puts it to good use.

The Boy Who Didn't

2004-06-07T20:49:20Z

The Boy Who Didn’t, companion piece too The Future That Wouldn't Be
HG/DM, HG/NL (but only in his head)

Leap Day, 1992. The students in the Gryffindor common room were divided into two groups that night. The biggest and loudest group by far was the female students, huddled together, whispering amongst themselves about that dreamy Cedric Diggory and whomever else they wanted to propose to. It was Leap Day, the only day a witch could legally propose to a wizard, and though the students were too young for marriage, it was still fun to dream.

The second group of students was the male students. They too were huddled together, sniggering about whether anybody would ever propose to Snape. Neville belonged in neither group. He was not a girl to gush over well-built Beaters, nor did he have it in him to laugh with the boys about the propositions in Snape’s past. Instead he was out for a walk along the lake.

It was the perfect night for it. Crisp. Cold. Quiet. Too quiet. He found, in the silence, that he thought too much. Tonight he was thinking about Hermione Granger. Truth be told, he thought about Hermione most nights, but tonight his thoughts were particularly vivid.

He could see her walking along, on the other side of the lake. She was recognizable by the nimbus of brown hair surrounding her head. Except for a solitary figure flying around on a broomstick in the distance, they were alone outside. Neville stared at her, and though he couldn’t see her face with his eyes, he could see her in his mind.

Beautiful, to his eyes at least. He heard the Slytherins talk nastily about her in the hallways; he knew what they said was wrong. She was beauty to him, from the top of her untamable head of hair to the tip of her size five boots. He had learned her shoe size in Madame Malkin’s before school one year when she’d been measured for a pair of dragon hide boots. He’d filed that tidbit about her in his brain and had never forgotten it.

There she stood, on the edge of the lake, her cloak free to float in the wind. Her eyes were shining at him by the light of the moon as he walked up beside her. After a few nervous gulps, he took her hand in his, happy when she didn’t pull away. It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. Nobody ever would have guessed that forgetful Neville Longbottom would end up married to the smartest student ever to attend Hogwarts; nobody ever would have guessed that they’d make such a happy and well-matched pair. Neville could hardly believe his luck. The look in her eyes when she told him she loved…

Neville heard a loud crash and several snapping noises. His moment with Hermione was over before it even began. He looked across the lake. Hermione had fallen to the ground. Somebody in a green cloak was helping her up.

Green cloak. He heart leaped into his throat and he felt his stomach sink into the ground beneath his feet. Paralyzed with emotion, he stood rooted to the ground, staring across the lake.

Neville saw the moonlight glint off silver-blonde locks of hair. He saw a hand reach out towards Hermione, and then he turned and walked away. Hands in his pockets, he sighed to himself and refused to look back at what happened next.

He didn’t hear the shouts of Harry and Ron on the other side of the lake.

He didn’t see the hand reaching out for Hermione fall short of her face.

He didn’t know that he wasn’t the only one who wanted to reach out to Hermione that evening, and fail.

Leap Day, 1996, found Neville Longbottom once again walking laps around the lake. His legs ached and his feet felt as if they were going to fall off, but still, he walked. He’d stayed in the common room for a while, laughing with the rest of the Gryffindors at the preposterous proposals made for the Proposal Pool. The Weasley Twins had a real racket going on, taking bets on which of the girls would proposition certain boys. It was a twist on the real meaning of Leap Day, and a profitable one at that. Ron had good odds on Cho Chang proposing something (Neville blushed when he remembered Seamus and Ron laughing about exactly what “something” was) to Cedric Diggory by seven that evening. He didn’t stick around to hear the results.

He knew that Hermione was also out for a walk. He could see her walking now, if he wanted to. He just had to turn his head to the left and she’d be there across the water. The months leading up to this Leap Day had been full of thought for him. He remembered that first February the 29th he’d spent at Hogwarts, his walk along the lake, the future he’d envisioned. He told himself he was out here for the fresh air, but his heart knew differently. Maybe this time he’d reach out and…

Once again Neville’s imagination swept him into a never-to-be moment. As he stood staring at Hermione across the lake, he imagined their future together. They were returning to Hogwarts to teach, he as the Herbology Professor, and she taking over for Snape, who’d recently retired, as the Potions Master. It would be a wonderful opportunity to spend more time with their four children, all of whom were enrolled in Hogwarts. Gryffindor, of course; even little Alice who wanted to be put in Ravenclaw, just to be different. He smiled, remembering the sour look on her face when the Sorting Hat had shouted out what she didn’t want to hear.

Neville’s feet started walking of their own accord; they were speeding up, forcing Neville to move towards the other side of the lake, towards Hermione. By the time his thought-filled mind caught up with his body, it was too late. Hidden in shadow he watched as once again, Draco Malfoy sought Hermione out on the shoreline.

This time he didn’t stay to watch him reach for her. He turned himself back around, his black cloak blending him in with the shadows created by the moonlight and the trees.

He didn’t see the quick caress foiled yet again.

He didn’t hear Ron shouting excitedly, driving Draco away.

He didn’t know he wasn’t the only one who had tried to be with Hermione, and fail.

Leap Day, 2004, is a day Neville tries not to remember. The twenty-ninth was ghastly. The images of the final day in the battle against Lord Voldemort will forever be burned onto his eyes. It doesn’t matter if they are open or closed, he can still see the piles of rubble, the burnt bodies, the vacant stares of the dead.

He did not participate directly in the battle, not like Dumbledore or Harry or even Ginny Weasley. He was more of a ‘behind the scenes’ man. After graduating from Hogwarts, he went on to study advanced theories in Herbology. Together with several other top minds in the field, he designed a Devil’s Snare hybrid that killed within seconds. If the nerve toxins the plant secreted didn’t kill you, its strangling vines would. It had been his job during the war to plant the seedlings in areas known to be Death Eater territory.

Neville’s job was made easier when Luna Lovegood joined his research team. She had been in Greenland, looking for Six-legged Snorkelsnipes, a rare bird capable of invisibility and once thought to exist only in fairy tales. Somehow, Luna had managed not only to discover the birds but tame them as well. Her return to Britain was nothing short of triumphant, and when it was discovered that anything the birds carried in their claws would turn invisible as well, she was teamed up with Neville and his group. The Snorkelsnipes were taught how to plant the seedlings. Point to an area on a map and they were off, one seedling clutched in each claw.

Now that the battle was over, now that Voldemort was dead, Neville, Luna and even the Snorkelsnipes were working to clean up the debris, search for survivors, and find the dead. It was heartbreaking work. Every time Neville saw a hand or a foot sticking out of the rubble, his heart started beating triple time and fear rushed through his veins. It might be somebody he knew…

That was the case on the first of March when, led by a Snorkelsnipe (they had turned out to be amazing at finding survivors), Neville came across Hermione. She was huddled beside a concrete beam that was lying across a body. The body was Draco Malfoy’s, and Hermione was cradling his upper body in her arms. Neither was conscious. Neville placed two fingers up against Hermione’s neck. She had a pulse, but it was weak and thready. He looked down at Draco. His lips, chin, and neck were bloodstained, and so were Hermione’s fingers, tangled in his hair.

He carefully untangled her hand from Draco’s hair and held her hand in his. Closing his eyes, he pressed her hand to his face. It was still warm.

When she took her hand away, she was looking up at him, smiling. “Neville,” she whispered. “You came.”

“Of course I came!” he told her, chuckling. “You don’t think I’d miss the most important day of our lives. It’s not everyday I get to marry the woman of my dreams.”
Hermione blushed and smiled at him once more.

“You were late. I was getting worried.”

“I love you, Hermione, and I wouldn’t miss this day for anything. Come on, let’s go!”

Hand in hand, Neville and Hermione walked into a large, outdoor tent. Its white walls were billowing in the breeze. Inside the tent was everybody they knew and loved. Friends, family, old schoolmates; they’d all traveled for miles to go to what was the biggest wizarding wedding of the year. Neville looked around, smiling at everybody, and then looked up at the ceiling. It was enchanted to look like the sky outside, but when he glanced at it a second time, he noticed it was pressing down on him…

The ceiling above him creaked loudly, startling him out of yet another imaginary future. When he looked up, he noticed that the ceiling was a lot closer to the ground than when he had first walked in. He would have to move fast. There wasn’t time to send for the others.

Somewhat reluctantly, (…funny how years of torture at Malfoy’s hand would come crashing back to him now…part of him wanted to just leave him there but it wasn’t in his nature to commit such an atrocity, no matter how much that part of him yearned to…) he felt for Malfoy’s pulse. He felt nothing. Hermione could be his! Instant joy flooded through his heart followed by an intense amount of guilt for feeling that way.

Neville separated Hermione from Draco and carried her gently out of the way. Walking back to Draco, he pointed his wand at the concrete beam. Swish and flick. A little ‘Wingardium Leviosa’ and the beam rose off the ground. Keeping his wand pointed at the beam, he used his other hand to drag Draco out from under it.

Whether it was the sudden movement or the release of the horrible pressure on his legs, Neville never knew, but Draco Malfoy rushed back to consciousness with a vicious howl of pain. And whether it was the screaming in general or the fact that it was Draco doing the screaming, Neville never knew, but Hermione was instantly alert. She tried to crawl towards them.

“Hermione...” Draco’s voice was quiet and strained.

“Draco...you’re...Neville! Oh, thank Merlin you’re here. Draco, he’s hurt…”

Neville lay Draco gently back on the ground. He had passed out again. Tears streamed from his eyes, creating pale pink rivulets down his bloodstained face. Neville looked closely and could see the painfully slow rise and fall of Draco’s chest. Somehow, he lived. He moved towards Hermione.

“Hermione, stay still. You’re hurt. Help is coming.”

As if on cue, a Six-legged Snorkelsnipe swooped into the room and Luna was not far behind. She brought with her a Healer in lime green robes and several other Search and Rescue members. Neville faded into the background as the Healer took over, ordering the rescuers about. He ducked out of the building, presumably to search for somebody else.

Only Luna noticed him leaving, but she didn’t say anything. She just stood there and watched as he made his way through the wreckage.

Neville didn’t see the Healer, shaking his head sadly.

He didn’t hear Hermione, calling out to him.

He didn’t know he wasn’t the only one to leave Hermione that night.

Author notes: I would like to thank the lovely Aleonai, Nubster and CrackHead for beta-ing this for me. Without your suggestions, questions and edits, this story would not have been possible

Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters belong to JK Rowling, I am just taking them out to play for a while and promise to put them back nicely when I’m done. Now, on with the show!

An American Transfer Student At Hogwarts - For Summary Suckathon Challenge

2004-06-03T01:42:38Z

This was written (by my uh, alter ego:) for the Summary Suckathon Challenge by mctabby

Title: An American Transfer Student At Hogwarts
Summary:Ohmigod! Like, Harry and Draco are totally hot for the new American student - shes the only one for one of them! Who?! I wrote this b/c my best friend said shed luv me 4ever! Please R/R or I will die!!!!
Summary Written By:scarheadboy
Ratings/Warnings:Rated H for HOT American Girl

Chapter 1: Sandra D
Sandra Belinda Mystiie Dennis (A/N This is you! BFF4EVA!1!) arrived at Hogwarts from America one day. She sauntered in to the Great Hall one morning, swaying her hips and strutting her American stuff. She wore low-riding blue jeans that flared out perfectly over her brand new, bright pink Sketchers and a baby blue Stuff by Duff TShirt cropped to display her belly button ring.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were eating lunch at the Gryffindor table and Draco, with his minions, Crabbe and Goyle, were eating lunch at the Slytherin table when she walked in.

Harry’s jaw dropped and the pancake he had been chewing fell out of his mouth onto the table. "Ew, gross," said Hermione. Draco, who had been sipping on some pumpkin juice, spit the juice all over Crabbe and Goyle. They were both flabbergasted by the great American beauty that just entered into their presence.

Both Harry and Draco leapt out of their seats and ran over to Sandy. They glared at each other before asking her name.

"You can call me Sandy,"she purred.

"Uh, high Sandy," drooled Draco. He sniffed deeply and enjoyed the minty yet fruity fresh scent of her perfume.

Harry was made speechless by the sound of her voice.

Chapter 22: Your the one that I want!
Sandy had been going to Hogwarts for 3 months now. Everyday Draco and Harry fought over her. Harry had an easier time vying for her attention as Sandy had been sorted into Gryffindor. That didn’t stop Draco from lusting after her, though. He was convinced she was the one for him!

That evening after class, Sandy decided to go for a stroll in the Forbidden Forest. Her BFF from America was Bane the Centaurs penpal so she would not be harmed for entering the forest. She put on her tightest robes and some high heeled boots and went for a walk.

Harry followed her under the Invisibility Coat and tried to be as quiet as possible when he followed her, which was hard, because she was so hot that every time he saw her he felt all tingly inside and she made him breathe really heavily. He finally took his hand out of his pocket and put it over his mouth so she wouldn’t hear him.

When they got to the Forest, Harry saw that Draco was there too!

"What the hell!" he shouted loudly. "Malfoy, she’s mine!" Harry threw the Divisibility Cloak to the ground, revealing his muscular form and spiked, raven, black, messy hair to Sandy. His penetrating green eyes started at her across the dark expanse of the night

Sandy turned and smiled at Harry. "Harry, hi!" she said, smiling.

"But Sandy!" demanded Draco in a demanding voice.

Sandy turned her shining smile and bright blue-green-violet eyes (A/N She has majikcal contact lenses!1!) on Draco. "Hi, Draco!”"she said, giggling.

Harry was SO SO MAD! "This has to stop, Sandy! You got to choose one of us! We can’t go on like this!"

"For once I agree with you, Potty, Sandy. You have to pick me."

"Pick you!" snorted Harry. "Pick me, is more like it!"

Sandy stood and watched the boys argue.

"Puhlease, will you both shut up!" she shout.

They shutted up right away.

"We’re sorry, Sandy," mumbled an apologetic Draco.

"Yeah,sorry,”"Harry muttered regretfully.

"I will choose which one of you I love and merry and have children with. You will live in America with me and we will have 3 puppies. With ribbons. They will be yellow puppies."

"Hurry it up," said Draco derisively. "It’s cold out."

Sandy continued talking as if Draco hadn’t spoken. "And we will have a kitten named Thimbles. Okay, I think that’s it. I’m ready to choose."

Harry and Draco waited in the dark forest, holding their breathes. This was the moment they were waiting for.

Sandy took a deep breath before announcing, "I choose you-"

The end..or IS IT?!1!
Review and I’ll tell you who she chooses! I won’t tell until I get at least 44 reviews! scarheadboy, I dedicate this to you! You are my BFF4eva!11

The Future That Wouldn't Be

2004-06-02T18:40:08Z

The Future That Wouldn't Be
HG/DM (but only in their heads)
Writen for the Three Things That Didn't Happen to...Challenge at FictionAlley Park

Leap Day, 1992. In the Wizarding world, it was the only day a witch could legally propose to a wizard, an archaic tradition that had Hermione's inner suffragette screaming.While most female students were gathered in small groups, giggling over whom they dreamed about proposing to, Hermione was out walking along the lake. Afterward, she was never quite sure what happened-just that suddenly she was in a pile of tangled limbs and a broken broomstick. She looked up. Grey eyes met brown. She blinked, not seeing the cold, heartless eyes of a Slytherin but seeing love. Future school years were spent sneaking furtive glances across the Great Hall; brushing hands as they passed each other in the hallway; sharing a clandestine encounter in the restricted section of the Library. That and a lifetime of more flashed between them. Their remaining years at Hogwarts would follow a drastically different path then the one they were traveling on moments earlier. Draco reached out to touch her face but the loud shouts of Harry and Ron had him snatching his hand back quickly. They stood up. It was as if the moment they shared had never happened.

Leap Day, 1996 found Hermione walking aimlessly along the shores of the lake. It was cold out and she should be sitting in the common room with the other Gryffindors. The Weasley Twins were running a Proposal Pool. Ron had 10 sickles on Cho Chang proposing "something" to Cedric Diggory by seven pm. A rogue thought floated through her head, teasing her about who she wanted to propose to. The back of her neck prickled and she looked up. As if reading her mind, Draco Malfoy stood before her. Hermione's eyes found his and they catapulted into a moment they both knew would never happen. Ron and Harry disgusted and disappointed at her choice of lover; Lucius Malfoy stopping at nothing to see the both of them dead; a lifetime full of fear and paranoia and love. They drifted closer together. Draco reached out to touch her face and this time he managed to caress her cheek before they were interrupted. Ron was running down the shore, cloak flapping madly in the wind. Hermione turned towards him.

"Hermione, I won! You'll never guess what Cho proposed to Cedric..."

Hermione turned back towards Draco, but like the moment, he was gone.

Leap Day, 2004. The last day of The Month of Five Sundays, a calendrical occurrence caused by the leap year. Hermione Granger, member of the Order, had spent the past three years sifting through predictions relating to Voldemort. Her job had involved extrapolating the time and place of Voldemorts Final Battle, the battle she was now surrounded by. She was stumbling through the wreckage, seeking a safe haven. She heard a moan and with a little searching found the source. It was Draco, trapped under a concrete beam. His eyelids fluttered as he passed in and out of consciousness. Unable to lift the beam, she knelt beside him and arranged his head in her lap. Hermione stared into his vacant eyes, rekindling the connection they'd shared twice before. They recovered from their wounds in some beachfront rehabilitation clinic. They let the ocean air heal them as they took walks in the sand, he on crutches, she with her broken arm in a sling.

"Draco, will you..."

Draco exhaled, a ragged, gurgling breath. Blood spilled out of his mouth. Startled by this, Hermione snapped back to reality. Draco's eyes closed and the moment was over.

Worth Noting
Rules of the challenge were as follows:
"Write three ficlets about a total of three events and/or three moments that never happened to a character but, had they happened, would have changed their life forever.":