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hd_writersI'm sure you can all guess what the last prompt is. That's right - it's
Acromantula
Anything written for a BOB bonus prompt earns 2 points! Please don't include these two points in your check-ins - I'll be tracking them separately.
Remember, Chatzy is here and srs!chatzy is here. There'll be an official end to drabble day in an hour, with a few announcements and the like. Happy writing!
Anything written for a BOB bonus prompt earns 2 points! Please don't include these two points in your check-ins - I'll be tracking them separately.
Remember, Chatzy is here and srs!chatzy is here. There'll be an official end to drabble day in an hour, with a few announcements and the like. Happy writing!
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no subject
Date: 2012-04-22 05:07 am (UTC)Author: starduchess
Fandoms: HP and Legend of Zelda
Pairing/Characters: Seveus/Harry, Link
Word Count: 215
Link did another spin attack, blasting five of the damned creatures out of his way. At this rate he would never get to the Swollen Gorge. Unfortunately there was no margin for error. He had to succeed. All of Hyrule was counting on him.
As he stepped through a copse of trees in the Forbidden Forest, he saw another swarm of the spindly legged varmints.
Just as he was about to charge them, a snap came from off to his right and an "Expecto Petronum" was shouted. A shimmery image of a stag came galloping out of the trees and scurried the animals.
"Show yourself!" he called.
Two figures walked out into the clearing: a short person about his own age with messy hair and radiant green eyes and a tall man with menacing black eyes and a stern stance.
The younger one said, "You really shouldn't kill the Acromantulas."
"The what?"
"The spiders," he answered. "They're favourites of Hagrid. A simple Patronus spell gets rid of them."
"Nice to know that. Care to teach me."
"Only if you are not a nincompoop," said the older gentleman.
Right, thought Link. Yet another person he was going to have to convince about his fighting abilities. Goddesses, why did everything have to be so hard?
fill: Pants Parkinson and the Unfortunate Convo, pg, 1/4
Date: 2012-04-22 06:41 am (UTC)She doesn’t want to hear it, because she knows damned well what they thought of her back then and frankly, she doesn’t need the reminder that they likely always will think of her that way, but sometimes it’s harder than she thinks it should be to keep her peace.
Ron talks about battling a Basilisk and a great, hairy spider and the whole of the room’s going along with it like it’s a fine adventure to discuss. All Pansy can think is that her own school days had been far more passively terrifying. Nightmarish in their own right but without the information Potter and his bloody friends took for granted.
She skips out while Ron’s speaking, slips into the kitchen and gives serious thought to nipping out for a smoke. She doesn’t normally but she’s learned the benefits of having some sort of escape on her, some way to remove herself from their company without raising any eyebrows.
She’s not the only one to make it to the kitchen, though. Percy’s Oliver’s ducked out, too.
Percy’s Oliver’s a bit of all right. So’s his Percy under the right circumstances — Pansy’s learned, too, never to ask how his work’s going unless she’s actually interested in hearing about Ministerial affairs — and Charlie, of course, but Charlie’s long-since skived off coming round for family birthdays unless it’s one of his parents blowing out candles. She can’t blame him. It’s a long haul back from Romania and when he does show, he spends so much time looking adrift, lost in a crowd he should know better than he does.
“Had enough of the reminiscing?” Oliver asks, handing her a butterbeer and taking a swig of his own.
She accepts it with a nod, cracks it open and considers. “Yeah, not really big on looking back, myself.”
“Same.” Oliver only sounds a little bitter but the way he glances at the door suggests he’s bristling with it. “I suppose they mean well.”
Pansy’s never been sure they do. It’s fine when it’s the lot of adults and that’s how the conversation turns, but it comes up around the kids, too, and it’s always about how wonderful Uncle Ron is, how brilliant and brave Aunt Ginny’s been, how Uncle Bill left his dream job in Egypt to join the Order and how he’d nearly died trying to save the school from Death Eaters, never mind the accolades they’re still showering on Granger and Potter and dear, departed St. Dumbledore.
She’d care about it less, let it bother her less, if they didn’t let the conversation turn to Fred, which turns her Earless quiet in all the wrong ways, and while she’s heard him explain about his ear to the kids a few times, she can tell it hurts.
Can tell, too, that it bothers him to hear them all talk like the loss was equal, like they all lost a brother to the same degree and like it’s worse somehow, nobler or some rot, that Molly and Arthur lost a son.
She supposes Oliver’s arsed about how they talk about Uncle Percy when it comes up, how he’d come back to the fold just in the nick of time. She wants to tell him that their concession for her is that they’ve stopped talking about how she tried to turn Potter over to the Dark Lord to save every other fucking student in the school.
A good decade she’s known this family, nearly half that besides since that bloody awful night, and she’s still waiting to hear someone explain why that was so bloody terrible and not just an accurate prediction of necessary events.
Re: fill: Pants Parkinson and the Unfortunate Convo, pg, 2/4
Date: 2012-04-22 06:42 am (UTC)“Go on about their good old days?” she prompts, and earns a sidelong look for her trouble. “Yeah, I can think of more exciting ways to spend an evening.” Then, because she’s still a bit bitter herself, she mutters, “Preferably talking about something that doesn’t make all my friends out to be evil.”
Oliver’s look turns assessing. “Right, yeah, you were Slytherin, weren’t you? Back at school? Gin’s year?”
“I wish.”
Oliver snorts. “Poor thing. I was three years ahead of him.” He doesn’t need to give names. She supposes no one does, not around here. “Just starting out with Puddlemere United, actually. Doing all right for myself before things went to shit. Still feels like I should apologize for it, you know? Not going back earlier, not being there.”
She scoffs a joyless laugh. “I was there. And on behalf of someone who was with some measure of sense, be glad you weren’t. I swear time’s made them feeble — to hear them tell it, it was one ripping great adventure, only if it was, no one filled me in.” She can feel her face twist unpleasantly. “Or the fucking Death Eaters running my classes.”
Oliver watches her for a long moment, then nods as though he understands. He can’t, of course, no one can but the people who lived through it, but it means something that he’s trying. “Don’t even care so much about it for myself, but every time they get on about it, Perce goes off.” Something equally unpleasant crosses over his face, a shadow of distaste that speaks to her more than she expects. “Sometimes I think they do it on purpose, to punish him for something he had every right to do. Fucking hate that, the way he gets after. The way he’ll be tonight.”
“Same with George, actually.” She imagines he’s going to be right quiet again, pale and sad and withdrawn again, Forge when he should be her Earless. She’ll have to draw him out again, have to coax him back to himself with a careful patience she wouldn’t need if his bloody idiot siblings could only think before they speak. She’s never said a thing about it to anyone because honestly, who could she say a thing about it to, but standing here with Oliver just now, she thinks maybe she should. “Nightmares tonight?” she hazards.
Oliver startles a little, then nods. He looks so tired. “Yeah, probably. Voldemort winning, taking the Ministry. Did you know he was there for it? In the bloody building when it happened. Christ Merlin, it’s a miracle he’s still alive. And they just…” He waves a hand vaguely at the door, where the laughing’s turned into children asking questions and Fleur’s voice ringing out like bells, chiming a warning it’s nearly time for bed. “But no, nothing he did’s going to be good enough for them, because he wasn’t neck-deep in the Order from the beginning.”
“It’s Fred for us,” she says, though she doesn’t mean to. It’s just between her and George, what happens in the quiet dark after one of these things, and that’s how she’s meant to keep it. Still, there’s a raw honesty in Oliver’s unhappiness that pulls it out of her like Veritaserum, leaves her aching to reassure him somehow that he’s not alone.
“Of course it is,” Oliver says. “Of course it would be. Fucking hell. Poor George. Put all that work in to getting on with it, putting it behind him, and they’re all just out there dragging it up again.” Oliver sounds disgusted for her George’s sake and she could kiss him for it, because so few people here seem to understand. “Did you know them back at school? The pair of them?”
Re: fill: Pants Parkinson and the Unfortunate Convo, pg, 3/4
Date: 2012-04-22 06:43 am (UTC)Even if this all ends terribly, she’s certain she doesn’t have it in her to ever hurt her Earless on purpose. Even if he can’t be her Earless anymore.
“Not well enough to matter,” she says, because Oliver doesn’t need to hear the details of how they’d put the past behind them. “You did?”
“Captained Gryffindor when they were playing. Can’t say I knew either of them particularly well, since you never got one without the other, but I don’t even want to imagine what it was like for him, losing that.”
“Rather like your Percy being cut off, I’d think,” she offers. There’s a terrible sort of sense to how eager Percy’s been to please people. George has said it’s not right, Percy being agreeable, and she’d thought it a joke from a past she can’t share. Now, though, in light of Oliver’s explanation, she thinks maybe it’s something more.
“Well, he had to, didn’t he? Them thinking him a spy for Scrimgeour?” Oliver sets his butterbeer down, rubs at his temples as if to ease an ache. “As if he ever would.”
“Wait,” she says, trying to wrap her head around that and waving him off in case he wants to keep going. “Wait, they thought Percy was a spy?” Even hearing the words in her own voice, she can’t make sense of them. “How is that even possible? Do they not know him?”
Because the man she knows is as straight an edge as she’s ever met and she’s quite sure any first year Slytherin could see right through his attempts to obfuscate.
Oliver shoots her a tired look of sympathy, tips his head at her. “Got it in one.”
She cannot wrangle her gape, just cannot. “Please be joking.” He shakes his head. She’s not certain because she doesn’t know him well, but she thinks maybe his mouth’s lifting in a corner.
Her giddiness is unfortunate. Unfortunately timed, unfortunately loud, just overall unfortunate. He goes just after she starts, tries to apologize for laughing but — “Your face, Panse, it’s your face” — and then they’re both in hysterics, bleeding off the tension in the only release they’ve got.
She hears her name — her proper name in that flat, dull voice — from the doorway while she’s all-but leaning on Oliver to cry with laughter, and when she forces herself to focus, she finds George in the doorway, staring at her as though she’s lost her mind.
He’s not alone, either. Oliver’s Percy’s there, as well, and Arthur looking rather worried for their sanity.
“Something funny?” George asks in a tone Pansy swears died 15 years ago. She doesn’t get her laughter under control until she hears the slight pause, the missing words, in “…share the joke?”
Oliver flinches, puts a hand on her arm to keep her steady and tightens his fingers reflexively. One look at his Percy and she understands why. Percy looks stricken, quite possibly worse than George, as though he’s been betrayed by the last person he expects it from.
Re: fill: Pants Parkinson and the Unfortunate Convo, pg, 4/4
Date: 2012-04-22 06:44 am (UTC)George looks so very distant, so very lost, so she can’t equate his vague nod with actual comprehension. Percy’s gone wide-eyed and stiff, as though he’s not sure what might happen if he moves, which is a level of insecurity she can only trust to his Oliver. Arthur, though, Arthur looks like he might be close to catching on.
“I suppose we’ve all made our mistakes in our time,” Arthur agrees cautiously, as though he’s not quite certain what he’s agreeing to. He looks between them, her and Oliver, and considers for a moment. She’s come to tolerate most of George’s family in small doses but Arthur’s something else, something very near a fatherly figure in her life. Watching him with her own father the first time they’d met had been a revelation, really, and she’s certain he approves of her more than Molly ever will. “The important thing is learning from them and moving on.”
“Hard to do that when they keep coming up,” she counters, then takes a breath and reminds herself it’s not Arthur telling the stories, not anyone in this room bringing it up. “Are they still on about their mighty Aggro-fangula or whatever? Or is it bedtime now?”
If the kids are being hauled home for the night, she and George can leave, too. No questions, no odd looks, just the pair of them popping home for the long night ahead.
“Acromantula,” Percy corrects, more habit than thought, she thinks. “Oliver, are you ready?”
“More than,” Oliver mutters. “Yeah, I’ll go say goodnight.” He heads off, stops in the doorway to turn back to her. “Good talking to you, Pansy. Steady on, yeah?”
She nods back, finds a shaky smile. “Same to you.” Then Oliver’s gone, him and Percy heading back and leaving her just with George and Arthur.
“Shall we, my Earless?” she asks, brightness forced. “Lovely night, Arthur. Thanks for having us.” And as she tries to slip past him to start her own round of farewells, Arthur stops her with a hand to her wrist.
“Is it really that bad for them?” he murmurs by her ear in the guise of a quick, congenial hug, and when she nods once, he says, “I’ll see it doesn’t happen again.”
“Thanks,” she says, pulling back to stare up at him. “That would be…Thanks.”
Arthur dips his head at her, looks for a moment more resolved than she’s ever seen him. “Look after him for us?”
Which is easy enough to answer, she thinks. “I always do.”
And maybe it’s not the last time Ron starts telling stories, maybe the kids still have questions that come up while they’re all together, but it’s the last time they get in a big rehash of the things that happened in the war, the last time Pansy has to sit in furious silence while half the room makes the other half feel unwanted, as though they don’t measure up.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-22 05:36 pm (UTC)Word Count: 141
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Hermione/Ron
Author Notes: No animals were harmed in the making of this fic.
“Hermione!” Ron yelled.
“What is it honey?” Hermione said, rushing into their bedroom.
“There’s, there’s, there’s a spider on our bedroom floor. Get it out!” Ron said, sounding like a little girl.
“Ronald Weasley, did you really call me here, scaring me half to death, because of a spider? A little spider, who isn’t going to do anything to you?” Hermione said, getting her wand out to levitate the poor animal out of the window.
“Hermione, spiders kill. I know you were a stone when we met them, but the Acromantulas were of all sizes, but all ready to kill us.” Ron reasoned, still standing on a stool in the corner.
Hermione got the spider out, then went to the stool and tugged her husband down from it. “Remind me never to let the children see you near spiders.”
no subject
Date: 2012-04-23 02:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-24 10:00 am (UTC)Author:
Rating: G or PG
Word Count: 150
Pairing: Severus/Harry
Contains: total FLUFF, established relationship, Did I mention fluff?
Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns everything. No money is being made by me.
Notes: Written for
Summary: The one in which Harry searches for potions ingredients and finds Severus' romantic side as well...
Harry stepped into the Potions supply cupboard. His eyes raked over the supplies. There were shelves and shelves of them covering every available service, sorted alphabetically and ranging from Acromantula venom to wormwood.
Finally locating what he was looking for, Harry conjured a step stool, climbed atop it and reached up high to grab the needed bottle. Suddenly, he felt a warm body pressed up against his back.
"Do you need help?" Severus purred into his ear as a hand wrapped around Harry's waist to offer extra stabilization.
"Hey." Harry turned to look over his shoulder at his husband. "I remember the days when you would have just as soon pushed me off a much higher ladder than this," he said with a laugh.
"When we first met, I had no idea you would be so important to me."