Drabble Day: Prompt 9 - BONUS ROUND!

[kinky-kneazle.livejournal.com]

Snidget

Once again, anything written for the bonus round is worth an extra 2 points! Please do not claim these in the bonus post or normal posts - I'll collect them separately and let the stats mod know :D

Remember, Chatzy is here!

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[vanessawolfie.livejournal.com]

Title: Proving a point?
Word Count: 209
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Harry.
Author Notes: Okay, so this could be something Hermione would rage over....

“This proves my point!” Hermione yelled, standing up and waving her book at her three friends.

Harry and Ron were sitting at in the living room in the Burrow, playing chess while Ginny sat and watched and cheered Harry on.

“What now, Hermione?” Ron asked, like he was way too used to that sentence coming from her.

“I’m reading up on magic beasts, just for some light-reading and there’s a mention about Snidgets here. Did you know that before the Golden Snitch, they used to chase a bird-like creature called a Snidget and when they caught it, and thus won the game, the creature most often died. What does this tell you about Quidditch.” Hermione said, not even stopping when Harry and Ron snickered when she said ‘light-reading’.

“Hermione, that only tells us that someone realised it was cruel and they stopped doing it. We’re not going to stop playing Quidditch just because once upon a time, it killed birds.” Ginny said, letting the boys just continue on playing.

Hermione only glared at them all and then stormed from the room with a huff.

When she’d disappeared, Ron whispered to Harry, “How thick do you think that ‘light-reading’ was?”

“Probably was about a thousand pages or so.”

[kitty_fic]

Title: Worth It
Author: kitty_fic
Rating: PG
Word Count: 240
Characters, Pairing: Albus/Scorpius (preslash), Lily
Notes: Written for hd_writers April 2012 Drabble Day - prompts: 7-9, 12-13 - horoscope, obsessed, snidget, staring and rain.

fill: Pants Parkinson and the Snidget, pg 1/2

[curiouslyfic.livejournal.com]

George is up to something in his workroom and for all her stealth and subtlety, Pansy can’t say what. George Weasley up to something is the sort of thing she’s had to promise their neighbours won’t happen randomly anymore, not without warning and the like, but Pansy’s not too far out of Slytherin to lie when she feels the need and that one, George being mindful of the neighbours’ delicate sensibilities and restraining himself so as not to inconvenience anyone, that’s a lie no one with sense would put to her, because there is just no way she will mean it when she promises.

She knows better than to ask, of course, because he’s ducked his head down to concentrate and he’s always so careful in his workroom, she doesn’t want to throw him off, but she is desperately curious. He’s got a bit of gold before him and an intensity in his eyes that doesn’t belong on his face on a Sunday evening.

Her Earless always works so hard anyway, but it’s worse again Hogsmeade weekends. This week isn’t one — she marks those in her calendar so she’ll be around to help — so she can’t think what it might be keeping him rapt this late in the evening.

She pauses by the door, leans back and folds her arms across her chest, watches his clever hands work, his dear face poised on the far side of a magnifier so one eye’s huge. His hair’s a mess and he’s in his dotty inventions robes, the ones with the singed cuff and the mystery splotch on the breast, and he looks like nothing so much as a madman from one of Draco’s labs.

She adores him.

He scowls and curses quietly, pulls his hand away and shakes it as if to ease a sting. His lump of gold’s fighting back. That should absolutely not be adorable.

She can tell when he sees her because his smile breaks slow and incredulous, more than the simple pleasant surprise she expects.

“Come down to find me, have you?” He sounds a bit sheepish. “Have I been down here that long already?”

She shakes her head. “Not really, no. Got bored upstairs, thought I’d pop in for a visit. If you’re busy, I can find something else to fill my time.”

There’d been a time when she would have said that and not meant it, when she’d wanted every minute of his attention she could get, but she’d grown past it once she’d been assured he’d come back to her as soon as he could. He’s hers now, her Earless, and he will be for a good long while yet if his smile’s any indication, and next to knowing he’ll be dragging himself upstairs to her when he’s done here, it’s easy to give him his private time in his shop.

“Not that busy,” he says, quickly enough that she thinks maybe he’s trying to keep her where she is. “Never that busy, Pants.” His smile then does ridiculous things to her chest with its boyish brilliance. “D’you want to know what I’m working on?”

“Always,” she murmurs, memories of every other invention-in-progress he’s shown her since they met leaving her reluctant to speak too loud. It’s always so fragile in here, so delicate, and there is nothing in the world quite like watching her Earless show her what he’s come up with now.

He waves her in and slips back a bit to make room for her, pulls her into his lap. It’s still just a lump of gold on his work table, a collection of bits and wire in easy reach, but when he slips his arms around her to show his lump of gold off, it’s clear he sees much more.

It’s no time at all before she does, too, because only George would be down here puttering over a birthday gift for his brother a month before said birthday’s due.

“And here’s where I’ll put the wireless,” he says, gesturing at the bulge on one side of the lump, what he’s said is meant to be the bird’s back when he’s done. “Shouldn’t be too much trouble, I don’t think. Well, once I have all the stations done right. That’s the tricky bit.” She nods half-hearted understanding and behind her, he laughs. “All the rest of it’s no trouble at all.”

“Right, no, it wouldn’t be, for you.” He can’t see her face but, she thinks, he’d appreciate the confidence in him. Her George can do anything he sets his mind to doing, even making a lump of gold a flying wireless for his brother. “Any particular stations?”

Re: fill: Pants Parkinson and the Snidget, pg 2/2

[curiouslyfic.livejournal.com]

She can vaguely imagine the sorts of wireless programming Percy enjoys, though she cannot for the life of her imagine how it’s any more than a single station to tune.

“Just the Quidditch ones, really. I’ve asked Lee for a list of them covering Puddlemere and he’s sent one, but I can’t get them all tuned properly without wrecking the tail feathers.”

Only her Earless would worry about a thing like that. Honestly. “You’re sure it needs tail feathers? I’m sure Percy won’t mind if you leave them off.”

George nuzzles into the back of her hair, takes a deep breath of her and hums appreciatively. “You’re delightful, my Pants. Remind me not to run you off with my oddness, right?”

She laughs at the thought he could and turns a little, reaches back to touch his face and hold him still so she can crane back for a quick kiss. “Idiot,” she says fondly, finds her smile matched in his eyes. “Have you eaten yet?”

He nods and only looks a bit shifty about it, so probably he’s scrounged something from down here. Better than she gets from him on Hogsmeade weekends, though, so she takes it peaceably.

“Another hour,” he wheedles. “Should have it put to rights for then, anyway.”

He doesn’t need to say that if he doesn’t, he’ll be tearing his hair out. “What’s left to put to rights? Fix your tail feathers, call it a day. I promise you, Earless, no one’s going to care.”

No one worth a gift like this, as deeply personal and labour-intensive, would bring it up, anyway.

“It’s Perce,” George counters. “He’ll know, and so will his bloody workmates. Might never say anything about it, but believe me, he’ll notice. And then it’ll just be a pretty gold bird chirping out the Quidditch scores, not a Snidget doing it.”

“A what?” Pansy blinks. He’s got an actual type of bird in mind? And he can’t take creative license? What nonsense is this? She stares him flat, makes clear she thinks he’s being too hard on himself again.

“The original Snitch,” he says patiently, dropping a peck of a kiss on her scrunched nose. “Before it was a wicked fast ball, it was a wicked fast bird. Believe me, it’ll mean more this way.”

Which is when she realizes what exactly it is he’s making, the little Quidditch bird to chirp Quidditch scores for the brother who can’t be arsed about Quidditch at all for his own sake but who’s as good as married to a Quidditch star, one who’s always off playing while Percy stays in London to work long hours, and when she looks at George’s lump of gold then, it’s sweet and lovely and thoughtful.

Perfectly him.

“It’s to sit on his desk, so he can hear the games while he’s working,” George explains, and if there’s any more earnest explanation he means to give, well, she’s smothered it in her kiss, hasn’t she?

Because she always thinks the world of him, always feels like having him in her life is more luck than she’s earned for one lifetime, but sometimes, he still surprises her with a great wash of it and when that happens, she’s learned to just close her eyes and hold on.

[sophia-clark.livejournal.com]

What's Important

"And I'd love to visit the Snidget sanctuary while we're in Peru. It's one of the largest in the world, you know. They're simply fascinating birds." Hermione looked up from her many travel brochures at Ron. Her fiance was gazing longingly in the direction of the living room, where the sounds of some sporting event could be heard on the telly. Harry and Draco had come over to watch whatever game it was, and the three of them had not moved from the couch all morning.

Hermione had only wanted a moment of Ron's time to talk some more about their honeymoon plans, but it seemed as though he could not be bothered to listen. "I guess I could just go alone, since you're so much more interested in the bloody game. Or maybe Neville would like to come with me. He doesn't care about sports."

She didn't know whether it was her words or her tone, but Ron suddenly turned back to face her, blushing and looking sheepish. "Sorry, 'Mione. I was listening, honest. You want to go see Snidgets. It sounds great!"

Hermione was pleasantly surprised that he had actually heard her, but she'd still rather have his undivided attention. "Ron, I'm trying to plan our honeymoon here! You could show a bit more interest."

He frowned slightly and sighed, picking at his shirt sleeve. "Hermione, I know you like to plan things out and all, but I honestly don't care what we do when we're away." He held up a hand when she started to interrupt. "Hear me out, alright? It's not that I'm not interested, really. It's just that it won't matter what we do; we could just sit and stare at each other the whole two weeks for all I care. The important thing is that we'll be together and we'll be married. You'll be my wife. You can take me wherever you want and I'll be perfectly happy, as long as you're mine."

Hermione sat stunned for all of two seconds before she flung herself at Ron, wrapping around him and kissing him soundly. He responded enthusiastically until a cough from the doorway broke them apart.

"I didn't mean to interrupt, I just wanted to see what was taking so long with the beers." Draco smirked, his eyes flashing mischievously. "I guess you're done watching the game, Ron."

Ron started to mumble an apology, but Draco waved it away with a laugh. "No worries, soon-to-be-Weasleys, I can tell when I'm not wanted. I'll just take Harry home and leave you two to your fun, shall I?"

Hermione blushed and Draco chuckled as he left the room. They heard the pop of Apparation just after Harry's amused call of "Bye guys, don't do anything I wouldn't do!" She looked at Ron, who was gazing at her with a pleased expression.

"I thought they'd never leave," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her deeply.

Later that night as she watched Ron sleeping soundly beside her, Hermione realized that he had been right: the important thing was that they would always be together.

[ashiiblack.livejournal.com]

Luna Lovegood silently crept through the forest. She had been told that there was a snidget nest. A live snidget! Most of them had been wiped out centuries ago.

She heard a humming sound and tumbled into a bush, letting out a cry of pain as her radish earrings tangled in her hair. For a moment, she briefly regretted not pulling it back into a ponytail.

There it was! What looked like a Golden Snitch with a beak was perched on top of a tree branch.

Luna carefully took her camera out and snapped a few shots of the rare bird. She decided to risk it and imitated the humming noise it had made earlier.

The snidget looked down at her and flew straight to her shoulder. Luna smiled. "I shall call you Margaret."

[sordid-humors.livejournal.com]

Title: Snitch
Rating: G
Warnings: ancient cruelty to animals? gag-worthy gratuitous fluff
Prompt #9: Snidget
Words: 508
Author's Note: This is so cute and goopy, I may vomit just from posting it.



Xenophilius Lovegood bounced his daughter on his knee, listening to the Puddlemere United commentary over the Wizarding Wireless Network. They couldn't afford tickets—not with what little money he made from publishing The Quibbler—but he could still listen to the match on the radio with his best girl. Luna peered up at him with her big blue eyes, her hands on her hips.

“Daddy? Why do they call a Snitch a Snitch?”

He smiled. “That's a great story, my dove. A very long time ago, at a Quidditch game much like the one we're listening to, a wizard named Barberus Bragge released a golden Snidget onto the pitch, offering one hundred and fifty galleons to the first player who could catch it. The Snidget is a yellow bird, very tiny and lightning-fast.”

Luna's lip bunched up in a frown. “But wouldn't the men hurt the Snidget when they caught it? If it's only a baby bird....”

Xeno pulled his daughter tight against him. “There was a lady in the audience that day who thought exactly the same as you. Her name was Madam Rabnott of Kent. She didn't want the Snidget to get hurt, either, so she used a Summoning spell to call the bird to her, and she ran away with it, so no one could hurt it.”

“But the wizards who played the game had enjoyed the challenge of chasing the little Snidget, and it soon became a tradition to release one at the opening of every match. The reward of one hundred fifty galleons became one hundred fifty points to the player who caught it, and that's how the position of Seeker came to be.”

Luna still looked upset. She was clinging to her father's robes, covering her ears so she wouldn't have to hear the broadcast anymore. Xenophilius prized her hands from his clothes, making her look at him.

“What's wrong, dove?”

She squirmed. “I don't think I like Quidditch anymore.”

“You didn't let me finish!” he laughed, setting her right on his lap before she wiggled too much and fell. “We don't use a live bird anymore. That would be cruel. We have a ball made of gold, with enchanted wings. That's what our Seekers chase. Do you think I would listen to a game where witches and wizards hurt animals?”

She shook her head so violently at that, her blonde curls flew out around her head like a tree's branches reaching toward the light. “Of course not, Daddy.”

Luna settled back against him, listening to the Quidditch commentators and the roars of the crowd as they piped through the tinny radio speakers, the chirping of birds making its way past the curtains and through the open window, sunlight across their faces. Xeno would take the peace of home over cheering crowds any day.

“I like the birds,” Luna said quietly.

Xenophilius ruffled his daughter's hair. “Perhaps I should call you Snidget, then, instead of my dove. Snidget, for your golden hair.”