Be Yourself

HP Fic: Magical Me (Rosmerta/Gilderoy, Fred/Cho, Cormac/Hermione)

Sun, 14 Mar 2010 20:04:50 GMT

So, the reveals went up at rarepair_shorts's anonymous fest, and it turns out the lovely purelush wrote my Hopeful Hearts fic! You should all definitely give it a read, it's amazingly good. =)

And somehow, I managed to have the most correct guesses in the "Who wrote what?" poll (no clue how I managed that one), so I got this lovely banner!

And, finally...here's the fic I wrote!

Author: briony_tallis
Recipient: runningsissors
Title: Magical Me
Pairings: Gilderoy/Rosmerta, Fred/Cho, Cormac/Hermione
Rating: G
Word Count: 1,980
Summary: An autograph from Gilderoy Lockhart warms more than one heart.
Author's Notes: I hope this is as fun to read as it was to write!

Several students snickered when Gilderoy Lockhart sauntered through the door, but he paid them no mind, sitting down gracefully at a table near the bar. "Hello, everyone!" He shouted happily, waving eagerly to the crowd. "It's a lovely day, isn't it? I expect you're all thrilled to see me." And indeed, some of the younger girls did look rather awestruck, though most of the crowd just turned away awkwardly and began whispering quickly to their friends.

"Gilderoy?" A woman in Healer's robes rushed into the Three Broomsticks, looking rather harried. Breathing a sigh of relief, she rushed to Lockhart's side, seating herself clumsily across from him. "You mustn't go rushing off like that; you're going to get yourself lost. You don't know this area very well."

"Oh, I'll learn it soon enough," said Gilderoy, flashing a smile to Rosmerta, who had just walked up to their table. "Hello, there. I'm Gilderoy Lockhart!"

"I can see that," said Rosmerta, placing a couple of empty glasses upon the table. "What can I get for you?"

"A glass of your finest!" Gilderoy shouted, jumping to his feet; a wave of giggles swept through the bar again. Gilderoy looked around in confusion before slowly sitting back down. "Whatever that may be."

"You'll have to excuse him," said the Healer, leaning over the table to pat Gilderoy's arm. "He's still recovering from a bad memory charm, you see. We thought a little field trip might help trigger something."

"Ah." Rosmerta smiled. "A couple of butterbeers, then? Nobody ever forgets one of my butterbeers." She winked at Gilderoy and walked off.

"She's lovely, isn't she?" Gilderoy asked excitedly. "Did you see her smile? She must think I'm charming, eh? They always do." He sat up in his seat, beaming as he looked around in wonder. "Have I been here before?"

The Healer laughed. "Oh, a breakthrough already! Yes, Gilderoy, you used to teach at the school up the hill, remember? We're in Hogsmeade."

"Brilliant," said Gilderoy, clasping his hands together. "And look at all the young faces! The children do so look up to me, don't they? How marvelous, that I was given the opportunity to pass on my wisdom to some of them. I was very wise, wasn't I?"

"Certainly," said the Healer, as Rosmerta returned with a pitcher of butterbeer. "You were the best, Gilderoy, dear."

"Did you hear her?" Gilderoy asked loudly, grasping at Rosmerta's arm in his excitement. "She said I was the best." He grinned saucily. "And I was the best, I'm sure. Just look at how handsome I am!"

"My, aren't you excitable," Rosmerta replied, gently tugging her arm out of his grasp. She leaned over to pour for the Healer, speaking softly to her as she did. "He may have had his memory wiped, but he doesn't seem much different, does he? I remember a few years ago, when he was coming in here all the time on Hogwarts weekends; all he ever did was hang around the bar and boast about his various achievements. I could barely do my job with him hanging about."

"Oh ho, you miss the tales of my adventures, do you? Well, you're in luck, my lady!" Gilderoy opened his bag and pulled out a large, golden book. "I've got a copy of my memoirs! They tell me I wrote it, and it is pretty spectacular, so I must have penned the masterpiece!" He slammed the book onto the table, jostling the newly filled glasses so that butterbeer sloshed over the sides. "It's a very large book." He grinned cheekily. "So I must be quite the wizard, don't you think?"

"Oh, Merlin," said Rosmerta, whilst the Healer busied herself with mopping up the spilled butterbeer, muttering nervously to herself as she did so.

"Ah, but that's not all!" Gilderoy pulled an ink well from inside the bag and hurriedly checked his pockets for his quill. "I'll even autograph it for you, as a token of my unyielding affection for your appreciation of my greatness. And I've perfected my handwriting by now; it's first class!" He clumsily dipped the quill into the ink and opened the autobiography.

Rosmerta glanced around her, smiling knowingly at the snickering students sitting around them. "No, it's just as I said; he hasn't changed a bit."

"He's a sweet man, though, really," his Healer said quickly, her face slightly flushed, "though I know he sounds a little boisterous."

"Boisterous?" Rosmerta laughed heartily. "He's adorable, is what he is! Make that out to Rosmerta, darling, won't you?" She winked again at Gilderoy, who beamed back up at her before slowly beginning to write.

*****

Sliding away, Cho Chang made her way carefully through the room, her eyes darting about restlessly. She was nearly at the front of the tavern when someone slammed into her, pushing her against the wall. "Oh!" Cho turned her head to see who had so rudely shoved her. "Watch where you're going, please!"

The Weasley twins grinned in unison, which was slightly unnerving to the startled Cho. "Our deepest apologies, Miss Chang," said the boy on the left; he had a nice smile. "We can get distracted when we're in a rush, can't we, George?"

"Quite right, Fred," said the other twin, whose gaze did not exactly meet Cho's, but rather floated somewhere overhead.

Cho shook her head and frowned slightly. "It's all right, I suppose," she said carefully. "Only, just what are you doing in such a rush?"

"Ah, now that is the question," Fred replied eagerly, and Cho was sure of it; there was something in his eyes that wasn't present in the other. They weren't identical at all, now that she was closer. Fred leaned in, and Cho felt a rush of heat in her face that frightened her; she hadn't been consciously attracted to anyone since the Harry Debacle. "We're up to mischief, we are." Fred winked at her and leaned back, nudging his brother in the ribs. "Tell her, George."

George's smile wasn't quite as intense; he had a dreamy expression on his face. "It's nothing, really," he said, running a hand through his bright red hair. "We've only nicked a book from the bar."

"A book?" Cho's forehead crinkled in confusion, and the twins snickered, sharing a glance before turning their eyes back to the Ravenclaw. "What sort of book?"

"Only an autographed copy of Magical Me," Fred said, and he laughed loudly, drawing curious stares from those seated nearby. "I'm planning to sell it."

"Magical Me?" asked Cho, and she laughed, too, covering her mouth with her hand. "But, who would want that? Everyone knows Lockhart's history, don't they?"

"But that's just it, isn't it? This copy has been signed by the current, memory-addled-version of Gilderoy Lockhart." Fred pulled the book out and opened the cover, showing Cho the front page, which was covered in childishly-crude scrawl. "It's rare and, frankly, rather mad, I think. And I know there's a young witch out there mad enough to pay for it."

"It sounds like a terrible idea, actually," Cho said, but she was grinning; somehow she was charmed by this foolishly impossible scheme to make a few Galleons.

"Suit yourself, then," said Fred, shutting the book and handing it to George, who stowed it away in his robes. "You won't get your share of the money, then, will you?"

"Oi," said George, with a laugh, "who said we were handing out shares?"

"I think Miss Chang's worthy," said Fred, making Cho blush. "Or she would have been, if she hadn't decided it was a terrible idea. She's not worthy at all now, sadly enough."

"He's joking, really," said George, rolling his eyes and attempting to tug his twin away, but Fred stood firm, raising his eyebrows at Cho with a silly grin.

And Cho didn't mind at all; she grinned and touched Fred's shoulder, squeezing gently and offering up a wink of her own. "I think I'll find my own way of making money, thank you. Something a little more innocent is my style."

"You're missing out," said Fred, his smile fading slightly, and George quirked one eyebrow slightly as he studied his brother.

Cho shook her head and moved away, heading for the bathroom with a little smile upon her face. Who knew she could find hope in thievery?

*****

A large hand landed on Hermione's shoulder, and she gasped, wheeling about in shock. She'd been ready to scold Ron for startling her, but the words evaporated when she saw who had really accosted her. "Cormac! What do you want?" She was breathless, though she stubbornly accounted this to the shock.

"Hey, Granger." He was giving her that look again, that smug, knowing look which drove her mad. He held out a large wrapped package. "I got you a present."

Hermione stared, her mouth agape, and then a hot wave of embarrassment swept over her. "Oh, Cormac; I wish you hadn't." Slowly, she reached out and took hold of the gift. "I know I asked you to Slughorn's Christmas party, but I didn’t expect –." The anxiety was making it hard to speak. "I mean, I didn't think you'd --. Well, honestly, Cormac, it wasn't meant to be a date. I'm not your . . . we're not . . . well, you know." She coughed. "We're not dating."

"Open it," said Cormac, grinning madly, like he'd just won a Quidditch match. Hermione smiled weakly, cursing herself for thinking about Quidditch at a time like this, though it was only because the sport was all she'd ever heard Cormac talk about.

Hermione tore open the package and immediately had to struggle to hold her laughter, for Cormac McLaggen had given her Gilderoy Lockhart's autobiography. "Cormac, what is this?" She knew very well what it was; she still had her own copy from second year, hidden at the bottom of her trunk. She only asked because she had absolutely no idea what else she could possibly say.

Cormac shrugged casually, still smirking, his stance and expression quite obviously indicating his confidence. "I heard you liked the bloke. I've asked around about you." His grin faded, as he gazed intently into her eyes. "I wanted to make you happy."

Hermione was stunned. There she was, standing in the middle of the Gryffindor common room, holding a Gilderoy Lockhart book and receiving a compliment from Cormac McLaggen. She couldn't have come up with a more unlikely scenario if she'd tried. Swallowing, Hermione glanced around, thanking all the deities she knew that no one was around to see this. Despite herself, there was a warmth growing within her. "Thank you, Cormac," she said, averting her eyes. "This is a sweet gesture."

"But of course; I always know how to please the ladies," he said, the swagger back in his voice. He threw an arm around her shoulders and guided her towards the sofa. "Sit down and check it out; he's even signed it, you know."

And despite the fact that he was Cormac, despite the fact that she was Hermione, she reached up and planted a kiss on Cormac's cheek, her face flushing fiercely as she did so. Because it was the Christmas season, after all, and he'd asked around about her. So he couldn't really be all that bad, and when had Ron ever asked anyone what she might like for Christmas?

Cormac grinned down at her, and together they collapsed onto the couch. "I knew you'd like it," he said proudly, and Hermione finally burst into laughter.

"You are ridiculous, you know that," she said, grinning, and placed the book down beside her. It was lucky she hadn’t opened it, really, for the dedication to "Rosmerta" would certainly have spoiled her happiness just a bit. It was still the best five Galleons Cormac had ever spent; he would have to remember to thank those Weasleys later.

Writer's Block: Arts v. smarts

Sun, 21 Feb 2010 18:48:11 GMT

Given the choice, would you prefer to be a world-class (visual or performing) artist or an intellectual genius? Which, in your opinion, would facilitate a more fulfilling career and social life?

Submitted By numbartist

View 1205 Answers

An artist for sure! It's always been my dream to be a great singer or writer...does writing count as art? It should.

Being an intellectual genius sounds so stuffy and boring. I'm already smart enough to get by, and I have smarter people around for when I have questions about stuff, lol. Although being a scientific researcher is also a really cool job. And I like my solitude...I don't know if I could handle being famous, if I were a singer or popular writer.

This question is harder than it first seemed. I think I'll still go with the art, though, as it seems more fun.

I got a present!!

Thu, 11 Feb 2010 03:15:31 GMT

My rarepair_shorts gift was posted today, and I love it! It is a beautiful, touching tale of two women making sacrifices for the ones they love. It's Angelina/Katie and Parvati/Lavender, and I love when an author weaves two pairings into one fic, so I am all squee-tastic right now. And a little teary, I admit, because it's actually a pretty sad piece. But definitely give it a read, I love this gift. Definitely one of the best gift fics I've ever gotten. =)

http://community.livejournal.com/rarepair_shorts/321582.html

HP FIC: Betrayal, Ginny/Luna

Sat, 30 Jan 2010 17:10:51 GMT

Title: Betrayal
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairing: (Ginny/Luna)
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Word Count: 884
Summary: "Oh, I've been kissed before, you know," Luna says; she is still smiling. "But they always found someone better in the end."
Notes: The second of my relationship table at 10iloveyou. Prompt used is #9, Betrayal.

http://community.livejournal.com/10iloveyou/55001.html

My Third Rarepair_Shorts Prompt Table

Mon, 18 Jan 2010 04:26:01 GMT

*gasps of shock and horror* Am I actually claiming slash?? The world must be tilting off its axis! ;)

This set will be dedicated to deathlydragon....you're welcome. ;) I expect lots of cookies for this!

rarepair_shorts HP Rare-Pair Challenge
Author: briony_tallis
Pairing: Lucius Malfoy/Amos Diggory
Progress: 3/13

1. one by one

2. without warning

3. fall to your knees

4. not listening to a word

5. a veritable treasure trove

6. out of the shadows

7. to feel or not to feel

8. the question is obvious

9. fundamental

10. hear the silence

11. the horizon is near

12. window in the wall

13. oh, the insanity

Writer's Block: I'm with the band

Sat, 02 Jan 2010 18:01:10 GMT

If you could be a member of any musical group, past or present, which group would you choose and why?

Submitted By baleheadmel

View 1141 Answers

The Spice Girls! They always looked like they were having so much fun. Plus I never had sisters and they seemed very close. So...yeah. Lame? Maybe. I don't care. =)

FIC: Truth (Ginny/Dean, G)

Sun, 27 Dec 2009 19:24:36 GMT

Title: Truth
Pairing: Ginny/Dean
Rating: G
Word Count: 369
Warnings: None
Summary: The truth, for Ginny, is complicated.
Notes: The first of my 10iloveyou table! It's about time I got to this.

Truth

FIC: Tears and Daggers (Cho/Marietta, PG)

Sat, 19 Dec 2009 05:09:20 GMT

Title: Tears and Daggers
Characters/Pairings: Marietta Edgecombe/Cho Chang (one-sided)
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Wordcount: ~5,400 words
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Marietta Edgecombe's version of OotP -- "It was going to be a difficult year, indeed."
Author's Notes: Written for 2009's ownficfest. This didn't turn out quite as I'd imagined, but it's something I've wanted to write since I first read OotP the day it came out. And it was fun exploring Marietta's psyche. =)

Marietta tossed her O.W.L. results aside and huffed impatiently, waving the haughty Hogwarts owl out the window. "Get going, you've done your job," she snapped, slamming the window shut on the startled bird, who just barely escaped with his tail intact. It wasn't his fault he hadn't been carrying a letter from Cho; still, Marietta needed to take her anger out on somebody.

She'd sent some ridiculously formal letter to Cho at the beginning of the summer, offering her condolences for the heartbreaking loss of Cedric Diggory and vowing to be there for Cho whenever her fellow Ravenclaw needed her. Three weeks ago, and still no reply. Marietta had taken to spending her days sitting at the window in her bedroom, just waiting. It was beginning to be insufferable.

Sure, Cho should be grieving for her boyfriend, but they hadn't been really close, had they? Not like Marietta, who'd sat up every night with Cho for the past five years in the Ravenclaw dormitory. She'd helped Cho with homework, studying, hair styling, dress robes, and gossip, including who was going with whom to the stupid Yule Ball. Marietta had been asked by Zacharias Smith, who'd ended up spending the evening discussing how ridiculous Harry Potter was for attempting to best his precious Cedric. And Cho had danced the night away with the Hufflepuff Champion, grinning like mad and not even glancing at the suffering Marietta. It was always Marietta who was suffering.

Until now, apparently. Marietta tore open the Hogwarts envelope and glanced morosely over the results. Just one year previous, Marietta Edgecombe would have been trembling with anxiety and anticipation over the receipt of her O.W.L. grades. Now, after all that had transpired the previous year, she could only sigh with the confirmation that she'd passed in every subject. She had expected no less, and she felt completely devoid of feeling, as though she were staring at a blank piece of parchment.

It was utter rubbish, growing up.

*****

Marietta rolled her trunk through the throng of excited students in King's Cross Station, her face red with the effort. Her schoolbooks seemed to get heavier every year. Platform nine and three-quarters was filled to the brim with chatting students, large trunks, owl cages, and caring parents, come to see their children off. Well, mostly caring parents.

"Now, mind yourself this year, Marietta, darling," said Madam Edgecombe, hurriedly kissing her daughter on both cheeks. "Be good and keep your head down. There's going to be change at Hogwarts this year, and it's about time, really. Keep in line. I'll write when I have time; you can get yourself onto the train all right, yes? Of course you can." She smiled proudly. "My little Ravenclaw's gone and grown up on me. Where do the years go? Now on your way, there's a good girl. Love you, darling."

Marietta scowled and turned away from her mother, hoisting her trunk up into the train's storage compartment. There was no need for her mother to pretend; it was quite obvious that she didn't much care for her daughter. Would she say she loved Marietta if the young Edgecombe were to get in trouble at school? If she didn't "keep in line" the way she ought? Marietta wasn't so certain. Madam Edgecombe's position in the Ministry was everything; that had been made clear since Marietta was a very little girl. She knew how important her mother's job was. Long ago, she'd admired it, the power and responsibility her mother held. Again, growing up had ruined everything.

Marietta strode purposefully through the Hogwarts Express, looking for her usual compartment. The Ravenclaw girls always sat together; Cho's Gang, Marietta called it, though only in her thoughts. Cho didn't even realize the sway she had; the very fact of her centrality escaped her. She was just naïve and humble that way.

"Mari!" Cho was upon her in an instant, throwing her slender arms about Marietta's neck, suffocating her with her scent. "I've missed you so much." Cho pulled back, face flushed and grinning like mad. "Come, we're sitting in here." She guided Marietta into her compartment. "You must tell us all about your summer; we've just been sharing stories."

How can she smile like this, thought Marietta, when she's spent the entire summer ignoring me? When she's lost somebody she cared for? Despite her best intentions, her heart soared as she considered what this may have meant. Cho Chang was smiling at her; she'd said she missed her. Perhaps Cedric hadn't been quite so important, after all.

Marietta smiled as she sat beside Cho, brushing her unruly hair off her shoulders. "Oh, my summer was all right," she said slowly. "My mother's been awfully busy at the Ministry, new policies and all." She gently nudged Cho with her shoulder. "How about you; how have you been?"

An awkward silence greeted her words; the other girls in the compartment glanced elsewhere, refusing to look at either Mari or Cho. Marietta frowned at them and focused her gaze on Cho, who was still smiling despite the fact that her eyes had begun to water. "Oh, I'm all right," Cho said softly, shrugging, her hands trembling in her lap. "It's been a bit of a rough summer, but I'm sure things will be okay now. I'm here now, after all, with all of you."

Their eyes met, and Marietta's entire body flushed with heat. There was so much in Cho's gaze, her beauty and trust, and immediately she was entirely forgiven for her summer silence. It was all Marietta could do not to snog her best friend right there in the filled train compartment. Instead she smiled wryly and forced her eyes away, catching her fellow Ravenclaws in her sights. "So, who's taking N.E.W.T. potions with Snape this year?"

Bashing Snape was a safe topic amongst anyone who wasn't Slytherin, and the rest of the train ride passed smoothly, the girls chattering away on superficial things. All the while Marietta leaned against Cho and tried unsuccessfully to still her racing heart. It was going to be a difficult year, indeed.

*****

"Cho? Cho, are you in here?"

Marietta pushed open the door to their shared dormitory and peered inside. Cho Chang sat on the edge of her bed, hurriedly brushing her hair. "Come in," she said, her voice strained.

"Are you all right?" Marietta closed the door and approached slowly, frowning with worry as Cho turned to look at her. She'd been crying, again – there was no mistaking it. The tell-tale redness around the eyes always gave it away. Oh, the others never noticed, but Mari always knew. "Cho, why are you crying again? I thought we'd gotten through this already." Her voice trembled; it bothered her to see Cho this way.

She forced a smile. "Oh, Mari, don't worry so about me. I'm doing okay, really." She laughed hollowly. "I just, er, I've been a bit behind on my homework lately, is all." She held up a textbook. "It's awfully difficult balancing all of this N.E.W.T. work with Quidditch practices."

Marietta sat beside Cho on the bed and yanked her friend's book out of her hands. "Cho, this is Umbridge's book," she said accusingly, dropping the text disgustedly to the bed. "Why in the world are you stressing out over DADA? It's been a joke this year, honestly."

Cho immediately seemed to brighten, an excited gleam shining in her eyes. Dropping her hairbrush, she threw her arms about Marietta and hugged her tightly. "Oh, Mari, I'm so glad you think so," she said happily, making Marietta's stomach twist painfully.

"What are you on about?" Mari asked suspiciously, pulling back to look into Cho's eyes. "I am seriously beginning to worry about you." To be honest, she'd been worried for Cho since the first day of term. Many a day had ended with the two of them sitting on Cho's bed, whispering about You-Know-Who and the loss of Cedric. Marietta couldn't decide what to make of Potter's stories, but she couldn't deny that Cedric had been killed somehow, and her comforting sessions with Cho always left her feeling conflicted, as though she'd been split in two. It was obvious Cho was still mourning the Hufflepuff, and why should she ever think of Marietta Edgecombe as more than a caring housemate and friend? Even if Mari had been a bloke she wouldn't stand a chance. All of this, added to the constant stream of letters from Madam Edgecombe, urging her daughter to play nice and obey Professor Umbridge, made Marietta sick to her stomach.

Cho sniffled loudly and smiled broadly. "I need you to do something for me, Marietta."

"What is it?" She eyed Cho nervously, feeling her palms start to sweat, having absolutely no idea what was going on. She much preferred control, Marietta; there hadn't been much of it to go around so far this term.

"Well, I just." Cho's eyes shone with what may have been a fresh wave of tears. "I need somebody to come with me to the Hog's Head next Hogsmeade trip."

"The Hog's Head? Nobody goes there, Cho." Mari's eyes widened. "Are you planning something dangerous?"

Cho glanced away nervously. "Technically, no, Mari, but I really need your help." She took Marietta's hands and squeezed tightly, sending Mari's stomach into swirls again. "You see, I've heard, from some Gryffindors–" And here Marietta groaned, because Gryffindors were absolutely nothing but trouble. Cho heard this and frowned, pausing before she continued. "Be nice, Mari. They're fighting back; we're taking a stand, against Umbridge, against the Ministry. We're starting a secret DADA group, to learn how to defend ourselves honestly. And maybe this time," she choked on a sob, "we'll be able to save ourselves…unlike Cedric." Two tears slipped down her cheeks.

"Cho." Marietta was speechless. A secret, possibly illegal, Defense organization, right under the nose of the Hogwarts High Inquisitor? Merlin only knew what Madam Edgecombe would have to say about it. "Be good and keep your head down," indeed. But how in Rowena Ravenclaw's name could Mari resist when Cho was crying, when Cho was asking for her help? "And you need me, do you?" She asked, desperate for some kind of clue, a divine answer.

"Oh, I can't go alone, Marietta, I'd be dreadfully nervous," Cho said, her face slowly turning pink. "It's just, you see, it's Harry, Harry's in charge and I just can't face him alone. He makes me so nervous! I think I…well, I can't even begin to think about it, Mari, and so I need you to come with me, for support. I can't ask the others; they don't worry like I do, they don't understand. You're my best friend, Marietta; can you please do this for me?"

And there it was. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Torment-People, made Cho Chang, the most beautiful person Marietta had ever known, nervous. And Marietta Edgecombe made nobody nervous, turned nobody's stomach into a knotted frenzy. Marietta, best friend Mari, was the dependable one, the solid shoulder to lean on. A backup, a support beam. It infuriated her, filled with heart with sorrow and her head with pounding anxiety. But still, after considering, how could she say anything other than yes?

"I'm going to regret this," she said sternly, playing uneasily with Cho's hairbrush. "I think we all are."

"Oh, Mari, I love you so much," said Cho, once more hugging her friend, and Marietta closed her eyes and gently inhaled Cho's sweet flowery scent, foolishly pretending the words could mean more than they did.

*****

Sometimes Cho Chang was infuriating. It was bad enough Marietta had been forced into signing some contract, into sneaking around after classes like some common criminal, and into lying to her mother when she wrote her weekly letters, but this was just going too far, honestly. Sighing loudly, Marietta tapped her foot on the floor and shot daggers at Harry Potter, who was lingering in the Room of Requirement with her Cho.

"You can go on without me, it's quite all right," Cho said in a low voice, leaning conspiratorially towards Marietta and giving her friend a nervous smile.

Mari just stared, her arms hanging limply by her sides. Couldn't Cho see what was going on? She was the one crying in the loo every day, sobbing on Marietta's shoulders every night. This ridiculous obsession with Harry Potter was just making things worse. Why couldn't Cho just open her eyes and stop worrying over determinedly foolish blokes? She wouldn't have to worry about Marietta chasing after You-Know-Who like a suicidal Gryffindor, that was for certain. Cho Chang was beautiful, sweet, and incredibly intelligent; why did she keep ignoring her best friend and chasing after idiots?

"Go on," Cho said urgently, nudging Mari with her elbow, her deep eyes wide with fright. "I mean it."

Marietta pursed her lips and clutched her book bag tightly to her chest. "Fine," she hissed eventually, turning with a huff and storming away. If Cho wanted to throw her life away on the wrong sorts, so be it. Marietta Edgecombe wasn't going to be made a fool of any longer. And she certainly wasn't stupid enough to get caught crying in a toilet; she'd have to hurry if she was going to make it back to her dorm in time.

*****

She was still up doing homework when Cho came back to the common room, sliding silently through the doorway and wiping her face hurriedly with one hand. At first, Mari tried to ignore her, lowering her head over her parchment and scribbling away with her quill as quickly as she could. If she could just manage to stop thinking about Cho Chang's tears, she'd be all right. But it couldn't last, and Marietta was forced to look up as Cho sank into the chair beside her with a heavy sob. "Mari, I'm so confused," she said, her words coming out in a rush, "I think I really like Harry, but I still miss Cedric so much, and I don't know what to do! It just feels so wrong, and I can't help it. And they're looking for a replacement seeker for the Quidditch team, I just know it! I overheard some of the girls talking, and –"

"Cho, I'm very busy right now," Marietta said stiffly, continuing to write. "This essay is due tomorrow, and Snape will have my head if it's late."

Cho blinked, clearly stunned, and sat back in her seat, wiping her eyes again. "Oh," she said softly, and the tone of her voice was like a dagger in Mari's heart. "Of course. I'm sorry, Mari."

She stood up to leave, and her flowery scent washed over Marietta's potions essay, staining the ink with the sorrow of the betrayed. "Oh, Merlin," Marietta muttered, angry with herself, and she shoved her work away. "Cho, hang on, I'm sorry. Let's go to bed; we'll talk about it."

Cho's eyes shone with teary happiness. "You're always so good to me, Mari."

"Too good, really," Marietta said grudgingly, though she followed Cho up to their dormitory. She would not endorse the likes of Harry Potter, though she would be forced to once again swallow her own feelings. She was beginning to feel as though this was as far as it could ever go with Cho; she would be the girl's shoulder forever, and never her heart. Perhaps she would settle, if it meant holding Cho.

*****

"Dearest Marietta,

I am hearing some disturbing things coming out of Hogwarts lately. The Ministry is convinced some illegal activities are afoot, though they are astonished to find that they are unable to locate the perpetrators. Do be a sweet girl, and keep your eyes open for your old Mum. It might mean a promotion if I can name the troublemakers! And of course there will be rewards for you, darling, if you were to come forward. Nothing helps with getting a job after school quite like high connections, if you catch my drift.

Hoping all is well, and your grades are as well up as always,

Your Mother."

"What does she say, Mari?" Cho was looking over her shoulder.

"Nothing," said Marietta, crumpling up the letter. "What are you up to today?"

Cho was incredibly cheerful that breakfast, something that warmed Mari's heart. It was good to see her beloved not crying for once. Could this be the beginning of a recovery? Perhaps once Cho felt better, it would be okay for Mari to be true to herself for once. "I'm meeting Harry in Hogsmeade," Cho said excitedly, stomping all over Marietta's heart.

"How delightful," Mari said dryly, stabbing at her food with a vengeance.

Annoyingly, Cho was still gorgeous even when she frowned. "Why don't you like Harry, Marietta? He's been so brave and good, trying to help us rise above Umbridge and You-Know-Who."

"He's a Gryffindor," Marietta replied, rolling her eyes. "They're all the same; brash and unreasonable. I think he's a fool for trying to beat You-Know-Who on his own."

"He's not on his own," Cho said fiercely. "He's got the DA. Honestly, Mari, don't you feel like a part of something?"

"No," Mari replied, feeling just as fierce. "I don't even want to be part of your little defense club. It's only going to get you in trouble in the end."

"Then why do you keep coming to the meetings?" Cho asked angrily.

"For you," Marietta said, slamming her fists on the table. "Because you asked me to, and I'm stupid enough to care about you." She stood up and stormed off, abandoning her nearly full plate. She wasn't hungry anymore, anyway.

She was reading her Astronomy textbook when Cho got back, her face flushed pink and her hair attractively windswept. She said not a word to Marietta, simply tore her coat and scarf off and collapsed into bed. Rolling over onto her stomach, Cho pulled out a piece of parchment and a book and began to write, slowly and painstakingly scratching her quill across the page and ignoring the girl in the next bed.

Marietta glanced over curiously. Cho had never ignored her like this before. It didn't seem like she'd been crying, which was a good sign, but still, something was off. Torn, Mari looked back down at her own book, though she was unable to return to reading. She didn't want to be first to speak, to have to ask how things had gone with Potter, but she didn't think she could bear it if Cho remained silent. Finally, clearing her throat awkwardly, Marietta leaned over and stared at Cho. "What are you doing?"

"Writing a letter to home," Cho replied shortly, without looking up.

"Oh? What about?" Marietta asked, trying to sound casual.

Cho snorted angrily. "I'm not going to say you were right, because you weren't."

Mari was taken aback by this. "Your date with Potter not go so well?" Her excitement, try as she might, somehow managed to seep into her words.

"He's just so insensitive! Can you honestly imagine, he deserted me halfway through to meet up with Hermione Granger! And he never wants to say a word about Cedric, it's completely unfair, he's the only one who was there, the only person who knows what it was like," and Cho was crying yet again, and Marietta took over, jumping quickly over the next bed to snatch Cho's letter up.

"Come on, now, you'll ruin your letter," Mari said soothingly, much happier to play comforter now that Potter was on the outs. "I told you he was a stupid Gryffindor; they never think about other people's feelings. And I've never liked that Granger girl; she's such a busybody."

Cho laughed through her tears, sitting up so that Marietta could hold her again. "Oh, Mari, I think she's rather a lot like you, actually."

Marietta laughed. "We're both a little bossy, are we?"

Cho nodded, and Mari's heart swelled at the look on her face, the way she could smile through her tears. "He doesn't care about me, does he, Mari?"

"Not like I do, anyway," said Marietta, and she kissed Cho, gently, just on the cheek, trembling all over with her own audacity.

"I suppose, if you don't want, you don't have to come to DA meetings anymore," Cho said slowly, casting her eyes downward, her face still pink.

Marietta considered. "I can't leave you feeling awkward around Potter on your own," she said finally. "Besides, who'll save you if you start acting like an idiot around him again?"

Cho grinned. "Sounds reasonable." And the two of them laughed together, and Marietta started to feel safe again for the first time all year.

*****

Marietta would never, never be safe. "Why are you still lingering around Harry-bloody-Potter?" She exploded, dropping her sack of books to the floor, not even caring anymore who was around to watch her going mad.

Cho Chang flushed pink and stopped in her tracks, staring at Marietta in wide-eyed shock. "Mari, I, I didn't realize . . . I can't help it, he's so noble, he cares about me, really."

"No, he doesn't," Marietta fumed, picking up her bag reluctantly. "He only cares about breaking rules."

"You're starting to sound like Professor Snape," said Cho, smiling nervously, clearly trying to turn the tide, to make things normal again.

But Marietta was tired of normal; her tide had been steadily building into a tsunami. "Well, so be it, then," she snarled, pushing her hair out of her face. "I'm not going to stand around and watch you get yourself into trouble again over a stupid Gryffindor." Shoving past Cho, she stormed away down the corridor, vowing to Rowena Ravenclaw herself that she would stop loving Cho Chang and start behaving like a proper Edgecombe. It may have been irritating, but at least it was safe.

"Oh, Miss Edgecombe, dear?" As though her day couldn't get any worse, Umbridge herself was in the corridor, leering at Marietta in that toad-like way she had. "Could I speak to you in my office for a brief moment?"

Marietta did not respond, merely following the older woman into her distastefully pink office and throwing herself into a chair with a sullen frown. Glancing around her, Marietta was almost disappointed to discover that she agreed with the Gryffindors – Umbridge was a horrid little woman. "What can I do for you, Professor?" She asked, arms folded over her chest.

"I have just been informed that your mother works for the Ministry," said Umbridge, clearly trying to sound friendly. "Tea, dear?" Marietta shook her head. "Well, anyway, I was merely wondering if you might like to join my Inquisitorial Squad, a little project I'm hoping to begin very soon. It would do wonders for your reputation, Miss Edgecombe, and your mother has informed me that she would be undoubtedly proud of you if you were to accept. I think, perhaps, you might be able to curb some unfavorable behavior around here, hm?"

Marietta stared at Umbridge with what she hoped was a neutral expression, because she was screaming on the inside. Her mother's letters were bad enough; now Madam Edgecombe was speaking with Umbridge herself? The day just could not get worse. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I just really don't think I have the time right now," Marietta said cautiously. "I'm very busy with my studies, you know."

Umbridge frowned at her. "Hmph, well, yes, of course, schoolwork must come first." She grinned horribly and rose from her seat. "But you must let me know as soon as you change your mind, dear. I think I can assure you, your mother will be more than happy to convince you to make time for this. It won't do to be on the wrong side when times get difficult, Miss Edgecombe. I'm sure you'll give yourself some time to think it over."

Marietta nodded and rose to leave. "Your permission to go back to my common room?"

Umbridge missed the sarcasm. "Of course, dear."

"Thanks a lot," Mari muttered as she closed the office door behind her. Cho owed her for this, for not turning in the whole lot of them. Marietta wasn't sure when she'd be able to collect.

*****

"I think Harry and I will try going to Hogsmeade again," Cho said cautiously at dinner one evening, picking at her food. Things had been strained between her and Marietta since Mari's blow up in the Charms corridor, and Cho had been spending her time with the rest of her gang. This was the first night she'd spoken to Marietta; Mari hadn't been going to DA meetings anymore.

"I suppose you'll have a lovely time," Marietta said stiffly, determinedly not looking at Cho.

"Can't you please give him another chance?" Cho asked desperately, and Mari knew she was going to cry again. It hurt her so much every time, and she had never been able to stop it, never been able to keep herself away. "He's a very good person, and he does like me, really."

"You don't understand," said Marietta, feeling like maybe she was about to cry, too, and feeling very silly about it. "It doesn't matter to me."

Cho blinked. "It doesn't? But you were so angry."

"I just don't want you to get hurt," Marietta said slowly, forcing the words out. "I don't like it when you're upset."

Cho gingerly pressed her lips to Marietta's cheek. Mari felt like she'd stopped breathing, and she turned to stare into Cho's eyes. "I'll be all right," Cho vowed serenely, smiling. "You'll be around to save me, won't you?"

Marietta pursed her lips and thought of a million things to say, all equally damaging to Cho's fragile and unknowing mind. "Of course," she said, hating herself, hating Cho, hating all of them, hating the world for tormenting her this way.

Cho grinned and pushed away. "Well, so it's settled, then." And Marietta clenched her fists and nodded her head, and plotted her own doom.

*****

It was for Cho's own good, really, Marietta told herself as she walked fearfully towards Umbridge's office later that night. Her fake galleon was burning a hole in her robe, and she wished she had thrown it away, so that she wouldn't have been so tempted to do exactly what she was doing right at that moment. It was for Cho's own good, for what was a student army really going to accomplish, anyway? They were never going to fight You-Know-Who, and even if they did, they'd never survive. Nobody survived that; just look at Cedric Diggory. Maybe Cho Chang thought it heroic to die beside the heroes she so loved, but Marietta couldn't let it happen. Harry Potter was going to kill Cho Chang eventually, either by throwing her into You-Know-Who's path like he did Cedric, or by throwing her over for Hermione Granger or some other ridiculous Gryffindor girl. What better way to save Cho's heart than by preventative measure? Marietta told herself all of this, and still she felt horrible.

She had a letter from her mother clutched in her hand. It told of her troubles at the Ministry, how suspicions were starting to go round that there were traitors in the midst, loons and liars right under the noses of the loyal and true. Madam Edgecombe couldn't allow herself to fall under suspicion. What would happen if she were to be cast from the Ministry? It wasn't just her who would suffer; her daughter, surely, would be punished, as well. The entire family's reputation would be flung into the dirt, and for rumor? It was dreadful. Madam Edgecombe begged her daughter; surely Marietta could do something, knew some way to stop this nonsense, this paranoia. Surely she could save her family, as well as her lovely Cho.

She had never much cared about her mother's feelings, but Marietta Edgecombe had a very heavy load on her shoulders, and the fear of losing her ambitions only added to the pile. What would she do if she couldn't get a job after school? Sit around and mourn the loss of Cho forever? It was a miserable outlook. It was a mess, a complete and utter mess. It couldn't be helped. There was nothing left to be done. Cho had to be made to see, had to be pulled away from the dangers of Harry Potter. Marietta sniffled, took a deep breath, and knocked on Umbridge's door.

*****

It seemed like a long time before Cho came to see her. Marietta was lying in the very last bed, farthest from the door, with bandages covering up her abomination. Seeing Cho Chang come inching towards her was the most welcome sight she could have imagined. She could almost pretend it was before, and she was doing things over, doing the right thing and telling Cho plainly how she felt. But it was too late for that now.

"Hi, Mari." Cho looked incredibly awkward, shuffling her feet beside the bed. "How are you?"

Marietta snorted in disgust and closed her eyes, not willing to speak. Every word she uttered only irritated her face, and she couldn't bear it.

"Well, er, I just wanted to let you know that I understand." Opening her eyes, Marietta looked curiously at Cho, who was staring down at the bed sheets. "I know you had a lot of worry, about your mother and. . .about me, as well. We didn't exactly agree on the DA, did we?" Cho smiled weakly. "I thought you should know that everyone escaped and no one's in trouble. I thought maybe you might care to know. It was Professor Dumbledore; he saved us all, really. He took the blame for us, for Harry." Suddenly there was hardness in Cho's eyes. "He's not pleased with you, Harry, but I told him you just made a mistake. I know you're a good person, Mari. You're my best friend."

Marietta, touched, allowed one tear to slip out of her eye and slide slowly beneath her bandages. It itched like hell, but it was worth it to see the look on Cho's face, to feel Cho's smooth hands on her hair and forehead, to savor Cho's lips as she gently kissed Mari's head. So maybe she had done the right thing, after all. Marietta hated having high hopes, for they were always dashed, and so she tried not to think about the future, and instead enjoyed the present moment, having Cho sit beside her and talk about normal things, what she was missing in class. It was peaceful, and she was happy, if only for a brief moment.

*****

The rattling of the Hogwarts express train soothed Marietta's nerves, and she sat with her head pressed against the cool glass of the window. Never before in her life was she so happy to be going home.

"I'm really better off without him," Cho was saying to her friends, to Cho's gang, as they giggled and avoided looking at Marietta. They hadn't even been in the DA, they hadn’t approved, and still they treated her like a thing, like a disgusting curse. She was a curse, and she did feel disgusting, but she was angry at them for agreeing with her. Cho had never stopped smiling at her, and for that, Mari was more than grateful. "Harry and I just aren't really fit for one another, in the long run. Now, Michael Corner, he is so incredibly nice. He always knows just what to say to make me feel better about things, when I get down every now and then. I do cry, still, sometimes, but it's getting better. You've all helped me get better. Especially you, Mari," and she nudged Marietta's shoulder.

Marietta nodded and smiled at Cho, and tightened her balaclava around her face. Even if she could never tell Cho how she felt about her, even if she were to continually place second in the race for Cho's heart, it was worth it to have moments like this, sitting next to Cho and sharing a smile. And besides, at least she'd chosen a Ravenclaw this time. She was getting closer. Marietta laughed to herself and closed her eyes, hoping for a quick nap before the train reached King's Cross station. It had been a very tiring year.

FIC: A Perfect Peace (Lavender/Parvati, R)

Sat, 19 Dec 2009 05:03:46 GMT

Title: A Perfect Peace
Pairing: Lavender/Parvati
Rating: R (for femmesmutty goodness)
Word Count: 2,790
Warnings: Some war angst
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Lavender and Parvati knew what would happen to them if they were caught outside after curfew; still, they couldn't seem to help themselves. Two best friends try to find some peace in the midst of a frightening war zone. Takes place during the events of Deathly Hallows.
Author's Notes: I wrote this as a gift to holyfant for 2009's hp_summersmut fest. I know, it's taken me forever to repost the thing; I hate being so lazy! :P I am really, really proud of this fic, though, so I just had to post it here eventually. Many thanks again to my two beta readers, tray_la_la and amor_amoris.

It was always dark at Hogwarts these days. Somehow, despite the coming of Spring, the sky over the Great Hall remained cloudy and dark, and the lights in the corridors were never enough to brighten the gloom. It was as though unseen Dementors lurked around every corner, hiding behind suits of armor just waiting for the next soul to steal. The atmosphere of war stained everything.

Clouds of dust and fear hovered above Lavender Brown as she peered around a corner, looking towards the front entrance of the school. There didn't seem to be anyone around; Filch, the caretaker, had headed upstairs to monitor the students climbing back into their dormitories. The Carrow siblings had already been seen, dragging another poor young child off to the dungeons for one of their sadistic torture sessions. They had tried to stop these things, the DA, but it was like standing before an avalanche; they were only swept away. Lavender looked behind her, to her friend Parvati, who nodded solemnly as she took Lavender's hand. Quickly, casting fearful glances around them all the while, they ran desperately for the door, slipping out quietly onto the grounds.

The sunlight hit them like a spell, blinding them briefly before their eyes adjusted. It was evening, nearly dark, but there was still warmth and sun, and the very sight was a comfort to the girls. But they weren't safe yet, standing in the open, exposed in the doorway for all to see. Grasping each other's fingers more tightly, they continued to run, casting backwards glances towards the doorway as they ran around the outside of the castle, keeping tightly to the wall in an effort to avoid being seen.

It was nearly curfew. The moment the sun set properly, the magical alarms would sound if any humans were about. Lavender and Parvati were well aware of what would happen to them if they were caught outdoors after dark. Still, somehow they could not help themselves. The gloom of the castle was suffocating; they needed air. Turning the corner, they broke into a run, desperate, the tantalizing promise of safety so close it spurred them on ever more quickly. And there it grew, that twisted oak tree with the long limbs, hugging the back wall of the castle, creating a tiny crawl space through which they smuggled themselves, settling in quietly between the thick, rough trunk of the tree and the cool stones of the castle wall. If they sat just so, nobody could ever find them. They would remain unseen, two shaking, panting young women with nothing but the simplest of hopes in their heart – that they could steal just one moment for themselves, one perfect moment of peace.

"Parvati," said Lavender, gripping her friend's arm, fingers scrambling for purchase as she trembled. "We're losing, aren't we? The army, I mean. We're not making a difference."

"Look, the tree's blooming," said Parvati, who did not come to this spot to talk of war. She pointed upwards, and they stared, watching the little buds sway in the breeze, the first signs of Spring. Beneath them they could feel the grass, cool and damp, sparse patches of softness scattered amongst the expanses of hard dirt. It wasn't a bad evening to be outdoors; now that they were settled in their safe place, they could appreciate the atmosphere around them, the streaks of fading sunlight illuminating every crooked rock and tree, the cool wind caressing their hair. The world seemed poised on the edge of Spring; they could almost feel the seedlings trembling beneath them, readying themselves for their new lives in the earth.

"A flower," said Lavender, smiling, and she reached down to touch it, fingering the gentle white petals, imagining how beautiful it would look perched in her hair. Or Parvati's, it would suit her perfectly; her hair was made for flowers. "I just adore Spring."

"Me too." Parvati squeezed her friend's shoulder, a comforting gesture, hoping to somehow supply some warmth on this cool evening. They needed warmth more than ever now.

"What if we don't ever see a Spring like this again?" Lavender asked, leaning back against Parvati, her hands reaching up to meet the other's, fingers intertwining on her shoulders. "What if they find a way to take this, too?"

"They won't," Parvati said fiercely. "We won't let them."

"We're just kids," Lavender countered, voice shaking. "What can we do? Even the Order is giving up. Can't you feel it? We're losing."

"We're not just kids," said Parvati, tightening her hold on Lavender, on her dreams. "We're Gryffindors. We're an army. The Order's not done yet; they're just lying low until it's time to strike."

"And when is that?" Lavender asked desperately, pulling on Parvati now, fingers traveling over slim wrists and forearms. "When will they strike, after we've all been locked up and beaten, cursed to oblivion? Can't you see how we're suffering, Par? They're killing our childhood. I've loved Hogwarts so much, and they're killing it. They're killing me."

Parvati shifted in the crevice, releasing Lavender's hands and crawling around her, her body sliding against Lavender as she circled around to meet her eyes. She placed her hands gently upon Lavender's cheeks, warm and slightly clammy, comforting all the same. "We're still alive, Lav. We're alive, and we're here, and we're going to beat this. You'll see."

"I just don't want to lose you," Lavender whispered, eyes moist, though they both knew she would not cry, not anymore. "You're my best friend."

Parvati grinned. "I'm not planning on going anywhere, Lav."

"Everything's changing," Lavender whispered, slowly placing her hands on Parvati's waist, circling her torso, stroking the soft skin in the narrow space between blouse and skirt. "I hate change."

"Some change is good," Parvati said, struggling to breathe, voice husky in the slowly darkening sky. "Just think, once this is over, we'll be stronger than ever."

"I miss being weak," Lavender said. "It used to be okay to be weak."

"We're Gryffindors," Parvati said again, their faces inching closer, feeling each other's breath on their cheeks. They were touching all over now, hands and breasts and hips, and Parvati lost her trail of thought, lost the feel of hard earth beneath her, lost war and fear and darkness, lost everything but the honey brown of Lavender's eyes. "We're not weak, never weak."

"I miss our dorm room," Lavender said, voice lower than a whisper. "Our beds. Just you and me, whispering in the dark."

"We're whispering here," Parvati said, grinning, letting her hands trail down Lavender's neck and shoulders, squeezing her arms.

"It's nearly curfew," said Lavender, worry shining in her eyes.

"Fuck curfews," Parvati countered.

Later, they wouldn't know, they couldn't say who started it, who leaned in, pressing her lips hungrily to the other's, hands straying to soft, round breasts under starched blouses, squeezing and moaning. Their tongues darted out, playing, testing the waters before giving in, tangling and stroking, licking at one another. Parvati pushed Lavender up against the oak tree and trailed kisses down her jaw and neck. She was so pale, nearly glowing in the sunset, collarbones jutting out like wings. They hadn't been eating well lately, fear gnawing away at their stomachs and leaving no room for food. But there were no thoughts of fear here, in their secret space, in their perfect peace. Lavender moaned and giggled, pulled at Parvati's shirt collar, and tugged her back for more of her mouth, their soft lips meeting again and again.

They had thought about this before, both of them, separately and never aloud, in the corners of their lives, late night fantasies and fevered dreams. It had never seemed right before, the kind of thing you can only think about but never do. But, as Lavender had said, everything was changing, and this was the only way they could think of to hold on, to go back to the old days, the safe days. Kissing was a promise, an agreement to remember how things used to be, giggling in the corridors between classes. They would always partner in Charms and Transfiguration, laughing at some silly misstep, turning chickens blue and setting their hats on fire. Passing notes in History of Magic, rating the boys in their year, gossiping over when Pansy would finally land Draco and whether Hermione would ever pull her nose out of a book long enough to date.

They were inseparable, lying on their stomachs in the common room and sharing notes so as to better complete their homework, sharing spoonfuls in the Great Hall, stuffed snugly into the corner of the Gryffindor booth during Quidditch games. They always gasped in unison, whenever someone managed a spectacular dive. Agony over what to wear to Hogsmeade, trying on each other's dress robes, sharing secret worries in the dead of night. It was this they missed most, disembodied voices in the dark, talking about school troubles and young love. How Snape was such a git, Seamus had smiled at Lavender during dinner, would sex hurt the first time? Fervent nods and stifled laughter, the constant assurances that yes, the other felt the exact same way. It was a magic all their own.

Parvati had had similar closeness before, with her twin sister, but it was never like this. Padma would never stay up all night talking; she threw the covers over her head and complained that she had a test in the morning. And it only got worse at Hogwarts, where they gradually saw less and less of one another. Eventually, summers became unbearable; Padma shutting herself up in her room studying her new textbooks while Parvati sat outside in the hot sun and wrote letters to Lavender. There were no more ice creams to share between sisters, no more hidden smirks when company couldn't tell them apart. Besides, Parvati had never wanted to kiss her sister, could not imagine touching anyone else this way, the way she had always wanted to touch Lavender.

Parvati had done things with boys, a kiss here and there, a lunch in Hogsmeade, but it was nothing, mere games, something to laugh about later that night with Lav. She knew it wasn't the same with her friend; she knew that Lavender had really cared for Seamus, for Ron, and Parvati had stood patiently by and watched her friend stumble through these relationships, smothering her man with gifts and kisses until he grew past her and moved on. And Lavender would cry in Parvati's arms that night, bemoaning the stupidity of boys, and they would both think of how wonderful it could be to just kiss each other, though they were far too embarrassed to do anything about it.

It was all of this and more as Parvati kissed Lavender's stomach, pulled her shirt up over her breasts, squeezed and fondled their gentle softness through the thin lace bra she wore. Sometimes people did things in times of war, things they would never do otherwise. Parvati would not admit that Lavender had frightened her, that maybe she never would see another Spring, but she knew that if things hadn't become so difficult, they may never have found the courage to kiss one another. You never knew, in times like these, what you would lose, and they were determined not to lose this, their chance to be together, to share this comfort, this peace, this acknowledgement of what they really meant to one another.

"Par, I need you," Lavender moaned quietly, almost unheard in the gentle wind of evening. Parvati smiled against her stomach and slid her hands up Lavender's thighs, thumbs brushing against her white cotton knickers. Lavender leaned her head back and closed her eyes, hands clasping Parvati's shoulders, the budding leaves above them casting dancing shadows on her eyelids.

Parvati pulled Lavender's knickers off slowly, hands trembling. It had all seemed so natural until this moment, when a cold wind of awkwardness blew in; Lavender lying on a twisted tree trunk with her legs spread wide, her body exposed. Parvati looked, hard, and swallowed. She was beautiful, pink and fleshy, slightly moist and topped with soft, golden brown curls. It was nothing like her own, dark and wrinkled, the hairs wiry. The contrast shocked her, aroused her.

Lavender opened her eyes and smiled. "It's all right, you know," she said, laughing, her voice like a bell. "I want you to."

Parvati smiled up at her and gently stroked Lavender's lips with one finger, her breath catching in her throat at the wetness, at how smooth and soft the skin was. "You're beautiful, Lav."

Lavender laughed. "Kiss me."

Parvati did, desperately, sliding her tongue through Lavender's folds with a growl deep in her throat. Lavender closed her eyes and let her head loll against the tree, not even minding the rough bark cutting into her skin, not feeling anything but Parvati's tongue probing her depths, her lips sucking gently, deep wet kisses on her clit.

Birds rustled above them, settling into their newly built nests for the night, and the tree branches swayed in the breeze as Lavender clenched her fists and cried out, waves of pleasure radiating throughout her body. It wasn't just anyone above her, no random man's warmth seeping into her skin; it was Parvati, her best friend, her confidante and her partner in this deteriorating world of war and magic. Parvati was small and soft and nothing at all like a man, and Lavender found this startlingly comforting, the fact that it was a girl tasting her for the first time, though she knew it would be different if it were anyone but Parvati.

Parvati bit down on her Lavender's lips, teeth scraping in a desperate struggle for more of Lavender's skin, and Lavender squealed at the piercing, the pain tangled in the pleasure. It was like her life in this castle, running around the corners with Parvati, trying to avoid the curses. Tears threatened to fall once again; not of mourning this time, they were a celebration, an overwhelming surge of joy in knowing that she could be here now, snuggled between a stone and a tree trunk, hands grasping at low hanging branches as Parvati kissed her over and over again.

And when Lavender came she thought of freedom, of sun-dappled hillsides and freshwater streams running over her ankles. The taste of fresh apples, running barefoot through the tall grass. And Parvati always beside her, touching her, laughing, her head thrown back in delight. Lavender ran her hands through Parvati's hair, her grip tightening, midnight strands slipping through her fingers like sand, particles of time falling away.

Parvati looked up at her as her spasms ebbed away, leaving a muddy mess of satisfaction and emptiness, a longing for more. "How did I do?" She was grinning, playing at casual, but this wasn't just some game, curious girls experimenting one boring rainy day. They weren’t playing, only struggling to find some way to live.

Lavender couldn't help but smile, reaching her arms out towards Parvati, coaxing her nearer, reveling in the feel of Parvati's skin sliding over hers. "You're lovely," Lavender said, kissing Parvati's forehead, her eyelids, her cheekbones.

"Oh, Lav." Parvati sighed happily, resting her head on Lavender's chest. "I wish we could stay here all night."

Lavender looked up, through the buds on the tree, the miniature leaves like babies. She thought of all the children out there, too young for Hogwarts, innocently dreaming of their futures here, futures that, even now, in this perfect moment, were hanging in the balance. "The curfew alarm's about to go off," she said, surprised it hadn't already; the sky was darkening quickly and nothing ever went her way these days.

Parvati drew circles on Lavender's stomach, awed by the contrast, chocolate nails on a vanilla cream landscape. They looked so different, and yet their insides were identical. Lavender was the very opposite of Padma, who was nothing but Parvati's reflection. Lavender shared Parvati's carefree laughter, her love of Divination, her wildness and freedom. Now, finally, huddled in a crawl space just waiting to be captured, Parvati understood soul mates.

"Even if we die tomorrow," she whispered, eyes drifting shut, "I'd be happy."

"Don't be so melodramatic," said Lavender, shifting, rousing Parvati from her half-sleep, her dreams of pale skin and pink lips. "Besides, if we did die tomorrow, how would I ever get to taste you?"

They smiled the same smile, and then the moment broke, their peace dissipating into the air with the last of the sunlight. Hands clasping, fingers holding tight to one another, they ran back into the castle, skirts billowing in the wind and hearts alight with the promise of tomorrow.

HP FIC: Acceptance (Tom/Ginny)

Sat, 05 Dec 2009 23:35:14 GMT

Title: Acceptance
Character Pairing: Tom/Ginny
Prompt: don't say yes
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,188
Summary: "And behind her, he bellows, ordering her once again to bow for him, to say yes."
Author's Notes: The thirteenth and final of my Tom/Ginny set for rarepair_shorts! I've seriously written five different fics for this, I had such a hard time. I may post one of the alternate versions in my journal if I decide to clean it up a bit.
Link to Prompt Table: The Complete Prompt Table!

"Hello, Ginny Weasley. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come across my diary?"

"I found it in a used textbook. Are you a ghost?"

"No, I'm a memory, preserved within these pages. I suppose one could say that I am the diary itself."

"My father says not to trust talking objects."

"I can understand such sentiments. However, I assure you, Ginny, I am completely innocent. Won't you let me prove it to you?"

"Okay."

*****

She can hear him sometimes, still, even when she is preoccupied with other people. His voice is small and faded, a bit like the old quilt Ginny used to carry around when she was a little girl. His voice is not, however, as comforting as the quilt. "Dean isn't very appreciative of you, is he?" The whispers come at all hours, when she is trying to take notes or go to sleep. "He doesn't understand you like I do."

Dean smiles kindly and opens the door for her, and Tom cackles in her ears. "Ignoring your independence again. Tsk tsk, what a shame, Ginny. I would never treat you that way, now would I? You really ought to leave him."

Ginny whirls around and snarls at poor, unsuspecting Dean, who backs up a step in shock. "Yes," she says loudly. "I will."

*****

"Ginny."

"No."

"Come to me, Ginny."

"No."

She can almost picture him, twiddling his thumbs as he grins smugly at her. "It is useless to fight me, Ginny. I'll never leave you alone otherwise."

"If I go," Ginny says firmly, sitting up in bed, "you'll only hurt me again."

"Why, Ginny, I'm stunned. Don't you trust me?" He is an echo in her mind, a memory of slanted ink scribbles on the crinkled old pages of a journal. "Won't you come and give me a chance?"

"Fine," she says, choking back a sob. She leans over and opens the window.

*****

Voldemort's fingers close upon her wrist. "You are mine, aren't you, Ginny?"

She nods silently, burying her face into his chest.

*****

"Do it," he snarls, shoving her forward, sending her tumbling to her knees. "Prove your loyalty to me."

Ginny looks up desperately and meets Dean's eyes, sees the fear and shock reflecting upon her, and she starts to shake her head, starts to crawl away. But Voldemort is there behind her, suffocating her with his scent. Slowly, she lifts her head, stares into that terrifying red glare, and still all she sees is Tom Riddle with his hands upon her soul.

"Will you show yourself, Ginny? Will you show us all how Mudbloods should be treated?" Tom's voice echoes horribly around the room, around her heart.

Ginny frowns and narrows her eyes, and silently apologizes as she directs her wand. "Crucio," she whispers, and the Death Eaters howl with laughter as Dean collapses.

*****

"Go, Ginny!" Chaos erupts around her, and there is a mad rush, people running and cursing all around her, humans and beasts yelling and pushing and storming up the grassy hill and into Hogwarts. Lights flash as people cry out in pain; Ginny stumbles along in the crowd, her hood pulled tightly over her head to hide her identity from anyone who knew her.

"Go, Ginny!" He cries again, and then he is there beside her, one hand clasping upon her shoulder as he tosses curses with the other. "Find them, kill them all!" He is twisted beyond all recognition now, his voice thin and hissing with rage.

Ginny pulls out her wand and opens her mouth to hex the nearest Hogwarts student, ready once again to blindly obey her Lord. And yet, her eyes fall upon them, the righteous anger of the oppressed, the collection of lifeless bodies in the Great Hall, and her heart skips a beat; her body freezes. Is that a shock of red hair she sees, amongst the dead? Is that Ron, bleeding as he duels Rowle? Is it Luna, smiling as she fells a cloaked madman? And could it be her mother, a terrifying look in her eyes as she chases Bellatrix down?

All around her are the ones who've loved her, the people she's cared about for years, if not her entire life. And behind her, he bellows, ordering her once again to bow for him, to say yes. "Kill for me, Ginny; kill them all." Is this the love she has chosen, the trust she believes in? Murder and hatred.

Ginny kneels on the floor and retches, feeling a desperate need to empty herself. The battle rages around her, and Harry is not amongst the side of good; perhaps his body still lies outside on the grounds. All of Ginny's acceptances have led to this; all of her agreements have killed Harry Potter, and possibly countless others.

"Ginny!" Voldemort's voice is shrill, and it carries across the sea of bodies like a siren song. "Help me, Ginny; come to me!"

She has been coming to him since she was eleven years old; she has been coming to death all this time. And as Harry appears like a burst of light in the middle of the hall, Ginny's heart breaks yet again along that same old fracture, and the tenuous line of heat connecting her to Lord Voldemort fizzles and dies.

"No!" She shouts angrily, flinging the black cloak aside and tearing her mask from her face. The world is watching Harry, but Voldemort stares at Ginny, his eyes wide with shock as he realizes what has happened.

*****

"Try for some remorse, Riddle," says Harry, and Tom looks at Ginny, who is standing in the background with tears streaking her face, her beautiful red hair fanned out around her face in a frizzy halo. She has forsaken him, his dear little Ginny Weasley, and he is stunned by the force of his sorrow. He has never needed anyone; why should a little girl reduce him to feeling now, when he is facing his greatest enemy in a climax for the ages?

"I've seen what you'll be otherwise," Harry continues, his voice steady as he circles. "Go ahead, try."

Tom Riddle looks from Harry to Ginny and feels a tearing in his body, a painful crackling of his skin. Is this remorse, then? Does he feel bad about hurting beautiful little Ginny? He has murdered hundreds, directly or indirectly, and he has never thought twice about it. So how different could Ginny have been, really? He has touched her, kissed her, consumed her, and she turned aside when he needed her most. But she is human, after all, and the Dark Lord does not need humans. All he needs is power, and he can certainly have that without Ginny Weasley by his side. He will show her, later, when the boy is done. He will show her his power.

"No," he says, grinning, and tears his eyes away from the girl, who closes her own eyes and silently lets Tom go for the last time. "No, I don't think I will feel anything, thank you very much," says Lord Voldemort, sealing his own doom.

Writer's Block: If we took a holiday ...

Thu, 26 Nov 2009 16:54:45 GMT

What is your favorite holiday and why?

Submitted By crazyprotein

View 1053 Answers

Christmas, because it is MAGIC. That's really all there is to it.

Haha, on my way to my folks' place for Thanksgiving, or I could go on about Christmas forever and ever. Maybe I will, later.

HP FIC: A Secret, Divulged In The Most Unfortunate Manner (Rose Weasley)

Tue, 10 Nov 2009 06:20:27 GMT

Title: A Secret, Divulged In The Most Unfortunate Manner
Characters/Pairing: Rose & Albus Severus with special guest appearance by Lily Luna; mention of a one-sided Rose/Anthony Goldstein
Rating: G
Word Count: 853
Summary: Rosie's trying to have a quiet moment in the Gryffindor common room; Al's got other plans.
Author's Notes: This was actually my first attempt at writing a Rose/Anthony Goldstein, but it got a little off track. I liked it so much I decided to post it anyway. =)

"Rose, what are you doing?"

"Nothing!" Rose quickly slammed her book shut and flashed her cousin the most innocent look she could muster. Of course, she could try to look as innocent as an angel and it would fail miserably, for she had unfortunately inherited the Weasley flush, which took over her face regardless of how wide and bright her eyes were.

Albus smirked at her. "Rosie, are you writing a loooove poem?" He tugged on her hair playfully; Rose swatted at his arm and he used the distraction to snatch the textbook off the table.

"Don't!" Rose dived madly, but it was too late; Al had swiped the parchment from between the pages of the book and was already reading it. Rose buried her face in her hands and prayed for a quick death.

If she had been watching, Rose would probably have been amazed by the transformation in her cousin's face. Albus began his reading with a wide grin on his face, which slowly and steadily faded into a lop-sided frown of bewilderment. As he neared the end of the letter, Al looked up at his mortified cousin and let the thin piece of parchment slip from his fingers and float silently to the floor. He could only say one thing. "What?"

"It's not what you think," Rose mumbled, her voice muffled both by the sleeves of her robe and her massive auburn curls, which had cascaded over her face as she sat hunched up at her little table. "Just please don't tell anyone."

"What would I even say?" Al asked incredulously, stooping to pick up the parchment. "Rosie's gone completely nutters?"

"I have not," Rose replied hotly, and Al grinned; her anger was hard to take seriously when she kept her face hidden. "It's not what you think."

"You said that already," Al replied, not in the least bit helpfully. He tugged at Rosie's hair again, then pouted when his cousin did not react. "Rosie." Rose snorted but did not move. "Rose, look at me."

Rose reluctantly lifted her head, just enough so that she could peer at Albus, who was leaning over her with a friendly smile on his face. "I'd much rather be alone right now, if you don't mind," she said seriously; her face was still flushed.

Al laughed. "It's not really a big deal," he said, scratching the side of his head. "This kind of thing happens to a lot of people. It's not like you picked Hagrid or something." He made an exaggerated face of disgust, sticking his tongue out of the side of his mouth and crossing his eyes.

Rose snorted again, this time with laughter. "Al! Don't be mean. Merlin, you sound like James." Jolting upright, Rose glanced around the common room, her eyes wide. "Where is James, anyway?"

"Quidditch practice," said Al, his grin fading. "And you don't need to worry, Rosie. I'm not going to tell him."

"Or the others," Rose added quickly, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Aunt Ginny did teach me her bat bogey hex, you know."

Albus shuddered. "I've seen her use it," he said, shaking his head. "It's pretty horrific."

"So this stays between us," Rose said firmly, nodding her head once.

"'Course." Al grinned again. "Though I won't promise not to tease you mercilessly every night after Astronomy." He put on an affected, feminine tone. "Oh, Professor, it's so lovely star gazing with yoooooouuuu. Please show me Venus again; I love the way you steady my telescope." Laughing madly, he bolted from the table, leaping over a couch as Rose chased him around the common room. "Hey, Rosie, can I borrow your notes; I've got a crush on Professor Longbottom and I don't know how to tell him!"

"Albus Severus Potter, I will murder you in your bed!" Rose shrieked, tossing her textbook at him. The Astronomy book just missed its mark; Al ducked at just the right moment and the book slammed against the wall, scant seconds before Lily Luna entered from the door to the girls' dormitories.

"What is all this shouting about?" Lily asked, her eyes wide with wonder.

Al and Rose froze in their tracks; Albus was ducking awkwardly by the staircase while Rose was sprawled across the large red couch, her arms outstretched as though she were still aiming her textbook. The cousins looked at one another and smiled conspiratorially. "Nothing," they said, in perfect unison, and Lily glared at them, because she just hated it when Al and Rose kept things from her.

"Gits," said Lily, and she picked up Rose's textbook and slammed it onto the very table where Rose had been sitting, planting it precisely on top of the wrinkled parchment on which Rose had written "Mrs. Rose Goldstein" and "Anthony + Rose" multiple times in large, swirling handwriting. "Tell Hugo he's still got my Potions textbook the next time you see him, Rosie." And, completely and totally oblivious, Lily Luna stalked out of the room and back up the stairs to her dorm.

"Well, that was close," said Albus, and Rose threw a pillow at him.

HP FIC: War (Tom/Ginny)

Tue, 10 Nov 2009 06:11:27 GMT

Title: War
Character Pairing: Tom/Ginny
Prompt: some people stay
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,408
Summary: "She was a war-torn country herself, Ginny Weasley, stricken and hollow and torn in half by a dividing faction."
Author's Notes: The twelfth of my Tom/Ginny set for rarepair_shorts. I'm still not entirely happy with this, but I have no idea how to make it better. I think I've just been staring at it for too long, ha. It's slightly longer than the ideal length, but hopefully that's all right.
Link to Prompt Table: Prompts

Ginny hated her job. Despite his obvious affection for her, Tom still couldn't consider her part of his inner circle, and so she was sent on such pointless and ridiculous tasks as rounding up runaways and Taboo-breakers and bringing them into the Ministry. She loathed it, her skin crawling at the thought of these "interrogations." It went against everything she'd stood for as a Gryffindor, as a Weasley, as a member of Dumbledore's Army. It went against morality itself, but if she tried to resist, the Tom ghost inside her howled and clawed at her insides until she was beaten back into submission. And so she found herself Apparating into the midst of some unfamiliar forest, chasing someone who'd dared speak the name Voldemort.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," she said tauntingly, poking her wand at the flap of the tent that lay in the center of the clearing. "I know you're in there." She was tired already, and weak from emotional fighting, and her heart plummeted deep into her stomach as Harry Potter himself emerged from the tent. This was something she had never expected, and yet now that it was happening it seemed fitting, perfect, that it should be she to recover the Chosen One. Tom had to reward her for this, had to promote her to her rightful place as his second, his equal partner. They were already two halves of one whole; now they would all see it.

"Ginny," Harry said, clearly stunned, confused as he stumbled to his feet. "What are you doing here?"

Behind him, Ron and Hermione peered out of the tent, curious and wary. Ron's entire face expanded into an almost comical expression of shock at the sight of Ginny, standing tall before them with her wand raised. "Ginny?"

"They sent me for you," said Ginny calmly. "If you try to fight, I can call for reinforcements." She watched him carefully as she rolled her sleeve up, locked onto those dazzling green eyes as they stared in slowly dawning horror. Something deep inside Ginny's heart snapped, a brief wave of confusion rippling through her as Harry met her gaze. His eyes were hurting her; after a moment, she looked away.

"Ginny," he said again, quieter, whispering, his whole body shaking. "What have they done to you?"

"I'll kill them," said Ron violently, bursting from the tent even as Hermione hissed at him and clutched at his robes. "WHERE ARE THEY? I'LL HEX THEIR FACES OFF, DO YOU HEAR ME? HOW DARE THOSE FILTHY BASTARDS CURSE MY SISTER?" He rushed at Ginny and grabbed her by the shoulders before she could stop him, shook her violently as his eyes blazed with hatred. "I'll stop this, Ginny, you hear me? I'll get this curse off you and we'll kill them all!"

"Ron." Harry sounded oddly calm after all the shouting, placing his hand gently upon Ron's back. "Ron, don't worry, we'll save her." He met Ginny's gaze again; she swayed slightly on the spot and glared at him. "We'll save her."

"There's nothing to save me from," Ginny snapped angrily, stepping away from them, raising her arms in frustration. "You've already had your go at saving me, Harry, remember? It didn't work then and it's not going to work now. Tom is mine and I belong to him. We're one and he loves me; you can't separate us."

"Tom," Harry whispered, but before he had time to work it out, Hermione was speaking.

"Ron, Harry." Her voice squeaked slightly; she was incredibly nervous. "Ginny doesn't really sound like she's been put under the Imperius Curse. They're usually rather blank, aren't they?"

"OF COURSE SHE HAS!" Ron thundered, whirling on Hermione in a way that made her shrink back. Even Ginny was surprised; she hadn't seen her brother this angry in a very long time. "Are you saying my sister would just up and join the Death Eaters?"

"Well, no, of course not, Ron, but you have to admit –"

"It's Tom," said Harry loudly, glaring at the both of them. "She's talking about Tom."

"Harry, Tom is You-Know-Who, in case you'd forgotten," Ron snapped, glaring back.

"The diary, Ron, she's still held by the diary!"

"Shut up!" Ginny cried, and they turned towards her, eyes wide. "I am going to take you to Him, whether you like it or not. All that remains is whether you'll go quietly."

"She must be cursed, if she thinks we're going anywhere quietly," Ron said.

"Oh, and are you going to kill me, Ron? Your little sister?" Ginny sneered at him, even as her insides writhed, even as bits and pieces of her howled away for her to stop this madness. She was a war-torn country herself, Ginny Weasley, stricken and hollow and torn in half by a dividing faction. The Ginny she was, the little red-haired Gryffindor girl, wanted to protect her old friends. The Ginny she had become, Tom's Ginny, wanted to murder them.

"We will kill you," Harry said firmly. "If we have to."

Hermione whimpered and nodded weakly; Ron swallowed hard and looked away. "I seriously doubt it, Harry," Ginny said, lingering over his name just to watch him flinch. "Don't you still see the beautiful Hogwarts grounds in my eyes? The lake, the trees, the endless fields of grass? We've snogged over just about every inch of it, haven't we? How sad to realize now that I was thinking about Tom all the while." Her heart pounded madly; she couldn't look him in the eye. He had to know she was lying; she almost prayed he would know. Why, then, did she say these things? Tom would hurt her if he knew she was feeling this way, dizzy and nauseous and hesitant. But didn't she like it when he hurt her? She didn't like it at all; she just needed it.

Harry clenched his fists and raised his wand. "You don't mean that," he said bravely, trembling almost as badly as Ginny. "You're still Ginny on the inside; I know it."

"I left once," Ron said quietly, staring at his feet. "I got angry, too, Gin. I started thinking I didn't care if He won, that there was no point in fighting a war we couldn't win. So, maybe, I can understand where you're coming from." He glanced back at her; his eyes were shining. "But I came back."

"I don't care," Ginny cried desperately, but if she really didn't care, why hadn't she touched her mark yet? Why was she still standing there doing nothing, shaking and fighting the urge to vomit? Why was she listening to their sentimental bullshit? Maybe it was the greenness of Harry's eyes; they hypnotized her.

"Ron came back," Harry said now, loud and firm. "Tom doesn't love you, Ginny. Do you think Voldemort cares whether you live or die? He's using your confusion, Ginny. Once he's won, once he's killed your family and your friends and your loved ones, he's going to kill you, too. Because he can't love. I know he can't. It's how I'm going to win, Ginny. He can't love you; we already do. Stay with us."

"I." He couldn't be right; Ginny could feel Tom's love, feel his adoration wrapped around her heart, his obsession clamped around her neck. Harry couldn't possibly know anything about Tom, about their relationship. Still, there was something so sweet in Harry's gaze, something tender and caring and Ginny felt sick as she gasped and took a step back. "I can't."

They didn't understand; Tom could touch her now, and he was, the very essence of his power snaking around her chest like an embrace. "I need you, Ginny; we need each other. Come to me."

She looked at them, the three of them staring at her, eyes wide and shining, waiting patiently for her to return to them. And on the other side, He waited, too, knowing which side Ginny would choose, simply because she had to. And so she chose compromise, the only path that seemed right, the only path she could possibly walk without completely destroying herself. "I won't tell them I've seen you," she said to them, to the Golden Trio of heroes, who drew closer together at her words. "I don't know, maybe some people could do as you ask, could stay. But I'm sorry; I just can’t. He's inside of me." She closed her eyes and Disapparated.

A Shameless Self-Promotion, sort of

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 05:27:55 GMT

Hey, guess what?? I have created a community! It's called 100greatsaves, and it's a Harry Potter fanfiction haven dedicated to Cormac McLaggen. There wasn't one focused on him yet, and I think he needs more fans. Yeah, he's arrogant, but so's Draco Malfoy and he has a million fans. So, really, Cormac needs more love. It's as simple as that.

100greatsaves

And let this inspire you to write something you might normally have avoided. Don't even try to claim you didn't laugh like crazy when he threw up on Snape's shoes in the HBP film!!! And that scene at the dinner, when he licked the ice cream off his fingers....you gotta love the guy.

HP FIC: Triumph (Tom/Ginny)

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 17:02:11 GMT

Title: Triumph
Character Pairing: Tom/Ginny
Prompt: of the spectacular sort
Rating: PG
Word Count: 400
Summary: "He will have her completely now, he thinks, not knowing he has already won."
Author's Notes: The eleventh of my Tom/Ginny set for rarepair_shorts.
Link to Prompt Table: Prompts

Ginny trembles as Tom (he is forever Tom, despite his hatred of the name) places his hands upon her shoulders, as his magic curls about her like smoke, a hot veil of dizzying pressure. She clears her throat and opens her eyes, trying to look calm, collected, pleased. She can't let them know how frightened she is; her Tom would not be proud of her.

"My fellow warriors," says Tom, and his voice is like honey on her tongue, thick and sweet. "Tonight, we welcome Ginevra Weasley into our midst; we greet her as our own."

Across the room, Bellatrix meets Ginny's gaze; the two women glare at one another. Ginny knows how Bellatrix hates her; she can read Bella's eyes, can see the same adoration for Tom that lies in Ginny's own brown orbs. They are alike in this way, and they hate each other for it, for trying to steal him as her own. Ginny, though, allows her gaze to soften, allows herself to smile at Bella. She can do this, forgive her, now that Ginny has won.

Around her the Death Eaters wait, solemn in their black robes and masks, standing tall and silent as they await the ceremony with bated breath. Tom leers at them eagerly; Ginny can feel his excitement. He will have her completely now, he thinks, not knowing he has already won. But of course, he must know; she is standing here, after all.

"Give me your arm," says Tom, and Ginny shivers from head to toe, knowing what comes next. She hesitates, briefly, and a face pops into her mind, a handsome young boy with the most glorious green eyes. But Tom is here, in front of her, and the memory of his kiss is stronger, the pressure of his hands on her shoulders blinding her. Ginny raises her left arm.

It only hurts a little, Ginny thinks with relief, staring into the dark eye holes of the many masks circling her. They look like Death himself, ghostly specters swirling about in the darkness of Malfoy Manor, greedy demons feeding upon the destruction of Ginny Weasley. And as Tom etches the skull into her flesh, they all kneel before her, recognizing that they are witnessing a miracle, a betrayal of the spectacular sort. Harry Potter's own girlfriend, they think with wonder, with triumph. Ginny doesn’t think of Harry at all; not anymore.

HP FIC: Like Apples (Tom/Ginny)

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 03:12:47 GMT

Title: Like Apples
Character Pairing: Tom/Ginny
Prompt: looking for more oranges
Rating: PG
Word Count: 888
Summary: "It's all she's done for years, the constant struggle to forget, to replace."
Author's Notes: The tenth of my Tom/Ginny set for rarepair_shorts. You've heard of the phrase "like apples and oranges"? That's how the prompt fits in; you'll see!
Link to Prompt Table: Prompts

Pacing back and forth in her cell, Ginny forces herself to think of Harry, who is probably out there risking his life for her. He would do anything to save the world, to stop the evil Tom has become, the evil he probably has always been (though it's gotten harder and harder for her to remember this). Harry is goodness and light, a stalwart champion, the sort of person she used to dream of being. Now she's stuck pacing the floors in the Malfoys' cellar, trying as hard as she can to think of someone other than Tom.

It's all she's done for years, the constant struggle to forget, to replace. The only reason she even started going with Michael Corner was because he had the same self-satisfied smirk. Michael was different, though, less charming somehow, more aloof. Tom had lured her in with compliments; she'd been glad for the change, afraid that to trust another charmer would mean her death. Michael was funny; he could tell jokes almost like her brothers, and she liked that, the easy laughter. Tom wasn't so funny; brilliant and lovely, but not funny.

But Michael Corner had grown tired of her and eventually ditched her for Cho Chang. Ginny remembers crying in her dormitory, feeling like a drifting log in a raging river. By this time, though, she was a master of false faces, and nobody had ever discovered her heartbreak. But then again, she'd never really loved Michael (not like Tom, she thinks, and curses herself), so it had been rather easier than expected. And then Dean Thomas came along.

She wanted Harry Potter; she hasn't forgotten this yet. But he still looked through her as though she were invisible, and so she chose Dean instead, a nice boy and not much else. No false flattery like Tom, no snide remarks like Michael. Dean was polite and sweet; he drew pictures of her in the common room after dinner. He wasn't so easy with words like Tom; he used his pencils to convey his feelings. Ginny still has some of them, his artworks, non-moving Muggle pictures hidden in her trunk, just above her own less-talented scribbles of Tom. This amuses her now, the obvious irony, and she laughs to herself briefly. Dean was much too nice, always offering to pull her chairs out or carry her books. Ginny has never wanted to depend on anyone, not even when she's needed it, and so the two of them drifted apart, Dean's desperate attempts to reconcile only annoying her more by the day.

And then, finally, Harry. Ginny really thought she had it this time, the ultimate in anti-Tom, the hero. Harry had saved her from Tom himself in the Chamber; surely that was enough to cleanse her soul of him. And at first it had worked. Harry was easy and fun; he combined Michael's sense of humor and Dean's kindness without going overboard either way. He was comfortable, like she'd known him forever. She'd thought she was free, and still, still, Tom grew stronger, his voice drowning out all reason. Eventually she couldn't stand it any longer, and she'd come to him. The moment she jumped out of her bedroom window, all thoughts of Harry had been swept away in Tom's hurricane winds. Now, though; now she tries to cling to him.

Harry is coming to destroy the darkness, to flood the cellar and save her yet again from Tom's clutches. Harry is everything Tom isn't, loyalty and truth, and these are the keys, the hopes Ginny has harbored for so long. Harry is perfection.

Ginny feels stronger and more clear-headed than ever before. No longer will she sit in the corner of a dank, musty cellar and wait patiently for a man with such evil in his heart. Tom will never be good and whole and hers; he is simply using her for his own horrible ends, whatever they may be. Lord Voldemort must be stopped, and Ginny will stand by her true hero, and they will vanquish him together.

Shuffling footsteps on the stairs, and Ginny prepares herself, ready to spit in the face of Lucius Malfoy and make her escape. They have taken her wand, but she is a force to be reckoned with all on her own.

She feels it even before the door opens; the air changes around her and her vision blurs, her head spins. Tom, her Tom, swings open her prison door and smiles down upon her in a way he never has before. "I have missed you, my Ginny," he says, and comes for her.

Voldemort has been gone for a month, sweeping the continent for the final piece in his puzzle. Ginny has spent this time pacing in her cell, sneering at the Malfoys when they bring her food, plotting and reasoning and clearing her head. All of this time, all of these memories swirling about, the realization that she needs to forget Tom and start anew. She has spent her life searching for saviors, men who are nothing like her ghost, and all it takes is for Tom to smile upon her and she is lost again.

"Tom," she breathes, and kisses him, her mouth pressed hungrily to his. He is warm and strong and familiar, and he tastes deliciously like apples.

HP FIC: Weakness (Tom/Ginny)

Mon, 26 Oct 2009 01:49:17 GMT

Title: Weakness
Character Pairing: Tom/Ginny
Prompt: maladroit
Rating: PG
Word Count: 967
Summary: "Surely, my Lord, you cannot be fond of the thing?"
Author's Notes: The ninth of my Tom/Ginny set for rarepair_shorts. I'm playing with the timeline a bit, trying to squish this into canon somehow even though it's wildly AU. Also a little uncertain about how IC some of the figures are, let me know if I've gone overboard at all.
Link to Prompt Table: Ye Table

"My Lord, the resistance is growing. Are you certain you want to leave the country at this time?"

"I see no need to entertain any thoughts of disobedience," Lord Voldemort replied idly, staring down at the glass table. He spun his wand in one hand; the wand he would soon be disposing of, if all went well. "Are you afraid of a bunch of fools, Rowle?"

"Of course not, my Lord."

"Any who would dare oppose me have already been killed or forced into hiding. Any movement from them would certainly trigger a reaction from my most loyal. I am free to go where I please for the time being."

"And what of the prisoners? Will you be taking care of them before you go?" It was Snape, his most trusted advisor, and he looked as enigmatic as ever.

Voldemort curled his lip and stared Severus in the eye silently for a moment. Seeing no actual feelings for any of his prisoners, the Dark Lord leaned back in his seat and contemplated the question. Of Ollivander he had no care; they could do what they liked with him now that his knowledge of wand lore had been thoroughly explored. As for Ginny, she was another story entirely. "I will deal with the prisoners when I return," he said at length, splaying his fingers upon the smooth surface of the table. "They are not to be disturbed until then."

"My Lord, forgive me, but I can hold my tongue no longer," a shrill voice cried, and Voldemort looked down the table at Bellatrix, who had risen from her seat. Beside her, Narcissa Malfoy clutched at Bella's robes, no doubt wisely attempting to save her sister from the Dark Lord's wrath. Bellatrix shook Narcissa away impatiently before continuing to speak. "You have been spending too much time with that girl, time that could be better spent in crushing our adversaries! I am always the first to rush to your defense, my Lord, but the whispers are rising! The girl must be killed at once! She is a traitor, a distraction! And surely, my Lord," and here her voice lowered seductively as she leaned over the table towards him, "you cannot be fond of the thing? She is but a child; a rotten little stick who would laugh over your grave if you could be brought to your knees. Surely there are much better women you could be spending your time with, women who would kiss your feet at every opportunity."

He should have called her a liar and a whore; he should have made an example out of her in front of the so-called whisperers, cursed her with everything he had and made her beg for forgiveness for her words. He should have been quicker to react, but instead he was thinking again about Ginny, lying beneath them in her little cellar. "Surely, my Lord, you cannot be fond of the thing?" He had never been fond of anything in his entire life; even now, when his bones ached with unspeakable yearning, he would never in a million years confess to being fond of Ginevra Weasley. His dear little Ginny, so weak and beautiful. No, fond was much too weak a word. He was obsessed with her.

"My Lord?" Bellatrix was nearly lying flat on the table now, so eager was she for a response. Around them, Death Eaters stared in wonder, curious as to their Lord's silence and not daring to even breathe until he spoke. Snape raised an eyebrow but otherwise showed no sign of even hearing Bella's rant.

Lord Voldemort, ruler of the British wizarding world and soon to be the most powerful being on the earth, jolted out of his thoughts and dropped his wand onto the table, where it rolled quickly off the side and landed with a burst of red sparks upon the floor. "What?" He asked angrily, slamming his palms upon the table; several people jumped in their seats then looked away guiltily. Nobody seemed to be looking his way now; he had lost the reverent stares of his servants. "Bellatrix, my most loyal Death Eater," he sneered mockingly. "You are a raving lunatic, and while that serves me well in battle, it does not do at meetings. Calm yourself or I shall do my best to calm you."

Bella looked as though she had been slapped. "Yes, my Lord," she said, and reluctantly took her seat.

It was something, but it wasn't enough. The Lord Voldemort they knew would never lose his focus; he would never allow his wand to leave his grasp. Now the sacred object was lying on the floor like a scrap of timber, and their own Dark Lord had settled for simply insulting a soldier instead of flying into a rage at the blatant act of disobedience. He was slipping, growing clumsy; if anyone before him were to suspect the true nature of his relationship with Ginny, what would they think of him then? What would they do to the girl? He was not interested in finding out. It was becoming difficult to think clearly where she was concerned. The sooner he left the country, the better. Perhaps the time away would rid him of this weakness against her.

"The prisoners are not to be disturbed until my return," he said firmly, retrieving his wand from the floor. As he rose, he eyed his troops menacingly, daring them to say anything at all about the incident. "Any who disobey my command will find themselves in serious danger." He looked directly at Bellatrix, who had lowered her head in shame. She would not dare to make a move against him again; still, he would double the protective enchantments on the cellar before he left, just to make certain.

Pumpkin

Sat, 24 Oct 2009 21:17:02 GMT

I carved this bat last week (it's already rotted out by now, lol). It's not quite as bad as I'd originally thought. All the little holes (if you even noticed them) are because I was trying to follow a pattern....and it didn't work out. So I just went at the thing, haha.

I want to do another tomorrow!

HP FIC: Heat (Tom/Ginny)

Sat, 24 Oct 2009 20:36:05 GMT

Title: Heat
Character Pairing: Tom/Ginny
Prompt: as you were
Rating: PG
Word Count: 575
Summary: "She is fire personified, a blazing heat beneath his fingers, cascading waves of molten lava upon his nerves."
Author's Notes: The eighth of my Tom/Ginny set for rarepair_shorts.
Link to Prompt Table: Here Lies Ye Table

"Ginny," he says softly, caressing her, reveling in the feel of her touch. She is fire personified, a blazing heat beneath his fingers, cascading waves of molten lava upon his nerves. He has touched people before but never like this; never as though he needed them.

"Please," she says sweetly, an intoxicating mix of sorrow and anger. "Please stop touching me." She writhes in his grasp, pushing at him with her fragile hands.

He laughs at her struggle. "Why do you fight me so, my dear?"

"You're not him," she cries, her eyes flashing. "This isn't right! I don't belong here. You disgust me."

"I disgust you?" He is smirking at her, gripping her arms tight. "Please don't lie to me, Ginny; we both know I do not disgust you."

"You're evil! You're Him, You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Voldemort!" She shivers at the sound of the name, closing her eyes tight. "I thought I could save you, bring you back, but I can't, so just kill me, please, and get it over with. You can't be as you were, and I can't stand it anymore; just let me go."

Her shivers send a chill down his back. She is still in his arms, only partially struggling, perhaps as torn as he is. He does not need her to save him; he is offended by the very idea. Perhaps it would be best to destroy her now, before her hold grows ever tighter on him. Still, her heat, it touches him. Her soul touches him.

"Dear Tom," he whispers, and his heart beats faster as he feels her freeze in his lap. "My stupid brothers keep pushing me around. I wish I was stronger and smarter so I could get them back. Once I start learning spells at Hogwarts they're never going to mess with me again. I'll learn all the best jinxes, won't I, Tom?"

"How do you know?" She breathes anxiously; he can feel her heart racing, keeping time with his.

"Of course you will, Ginny," he continues, pulling words from nowhere, shadows in the deepest corners of his brain. He can't say, of course, how he knows these things, but he only seems to know them when she is near him, when he is inhaling her scent. "It's prudent to know at least a couple of hexes, in order to defend yourself. I could even teach you some, if you'd like."

She is crying now, again, always she is crying. "Tom," she says, "Tomtomtom." She clings to him, hands snaking up his arms.

"I would love to learn from you, Tom." The climax; they tremble together. "I'd just love you to teach me."

Ginny sighs into his neck, her breath sending yet another wave of heat through him, and he decides it's worth keeping her for this; not because he needs her (or so he tells himself), but because of the thrilling thunder of emotions within her, that this small girl can be so devastatingly torn over him, filled with such equal amounts of longing and hatred. The mixture is delicious, and he drinks from it greedily. "You would do well to learn from me again," he says, rising to leave her. "Eventually you'll have to make a choice."

She does not respond, turning away from him in her little jail cell. He watches her for a moment, pleased with their meeting, and locks the door as he goes. The air is cold without her.

Yet another prompt table

Sat, 24 Oct 2009 02:32:30 GMT

Well....I was invited, what can I say?

For 10iloveyou
Claim: Ginny Weasley
Table: Relationship

1.	Trust	6.	Passion
2.	Truth	7.	Duty
3.	Rules	8.	Forgiveness
4.	Loss	9.	Betrayal
5.	Loyalty	10.	Your choice

HP FIC: Break (Tom/Ginny)

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 03:55:19 GMT

Title: Break
Character Pairing: Tom/Ginny
Prompt: fall to your knees
Rating: PG
Word Count: 560
Summary: "She has dreamed of this every night since her childhood, dreamed of dear Tom Riddle caressing her skin."
Author's Notes: The seventh of my Tom/Ginny set for rarepair_shorts.
Link to Prompt Table: Tables are shiny!

Ginny whimpers when she hits the floor. Somewhere above her, there is laughter, and her jaw tightens. She cannot tolerate their laughter. Opening her mouth, she means to shout, but a voice fills the room and she is startled into silence.

"What have you brought me, Bella?"

"A traitor, my Lord," Bellatrix says gleefully. "A filthy little traitor girl, wandering foolishly into our midst." Ginny hates how she says the word "our." Ginny hates how she hates this, the irrational loathing of a mad woman for the simple reason of her closeness to him. To their Lord.

Long, slender fingers trace Ginny's cheek, and she whimpers again, her insides melting at the feel of his hand upon her. She has dreamed of this every night since her childhood, dreamed of dear Tom Riddle caressing her skin. It fills her with nausea, the wrongness of her surrender, and still she can do nothing but whimper as he lifts her head to meet her gaze.

"Ginny Weasley." He is breathless, surprised, and Ginny feels a brief freedom, a jolt of victory. Can he feel the same way she does right now, boneless and swirling, caught in a storm cloud of confusion? His eyes say nothing; he is blank, a wall. Ginny's hand twitches, but they have taken her wand. She only meant to break through the wall.

"My Lord?" Bellatrix hovers, uncertain. Perhaps she, too, can sense the disruption in the air, the break in the safety of routine. The Dark Lord kills intruders, dances with his faithful servants over their broken bodies. He does not stare at them so, so deeply.

"Leave us." Voldemort's voice is sharp, piercing the hearts of both women before him. Ginny trembles in his grasp, and Bellatrix throws her a look of utter disgust before sweeping away, her robes trailing upon the floor behind her.

"I haven't come here to join you," Ginny manages, once Bella is gone. She fights to gain her legs back, shivering as she reluctantly breaks the contact with him. Her knees are weak; she leans upon the table for support.

"I didn't bring you here to ask permission," Tom replies, and despite the changes, she can see him, her dearest friend, smiling at her from an unfamiliar face. He's there, inside, and the thought flows like fire through Ginny's veins: He's still with me.

"You didn't bring me anywhere," Ginny says, her voice growing stronger. She remembers school, flinging hexes at irritating boys; how can he change her so? She couldn't cast a single spell now, before Tom. "I came to you."

"Did you, now?" He raises an eyebrow. "And I suppose you haven't been hearing voices, my dear Ginny?"

Her face pales. She nearly faints at the sound of it, "my dear Ginny." The words swirl about her head like a fog. "Voices," she says, disbelieving. He can't have, it couldn't be. The voice, his voice, it was only an illusion, wasn't it? A dream, a memory. Just as Tom was a memory.

"Do you remember?" She asks, desperate, leaning forward, so far forward she tumbles, falls to her knees at his feet.

And the Dark Lord smiles as he reaches for her, tangles his fingers in her hair. "I remember," he says, his eyes gleaming, heart racing as he looks down upon her, dear little Ginny finally his again.

HP FIC: Pull (Tom/Ginny)

Sun, 11 Oct 2009 02:01:38 GMT

Title: Pull
Character Pairing: Tom/Ginny
Prompt: to whet the appetite of a demand
Rating: G
Word Count: 269
Summary: "Ginny hears it crying, tumbling through her veins"
Author's Notes: The sixth of my Tom/Ginny set for rarepair_shorts. It occurred to me that I'm not quite doing the "pairing" in this set, and so I've decided to take this in a bit of a different direction. AU, here we come!
Link to Prompt Table: Ooh, table

Ginny hears it crying, tumbling through her veins; she hears it calling, a lone voice at the bottom of the well. Ginny hears it and smiles, ignoring; she goes to classes and plays Quidditch and pretends, laughs at jokes and hexes Slytherins, sits in the middle of Slug Club meetings and winks saucily at Blaise Zabini, just to irritate him. Ginny slips under the covers at night and holds her hands over her ears, blocking out the snorts of sleeping Gryffindors and the wind whistling through the trees; Ginny shuts her eyes tight and wills sleep to come, wills him to leave her, wills herself deaf to the howling whispers of the night.

Ginny hears it crying, tumbling through her veins; she hears it calling, that lone voice at the bottom of the well. She's been ignoring it for years now, putting on her smiles and hiding behind her laughter. She can fool them all, parents and siblings and friends and boys, but, try as she might, she cannot fool herself. She can be tough, and spirited, but still it gets louder, louder and meaner and angrier, and finally, one night in the middle of summer, Ginny sits up in bed and knows what she has to do.

Ginny hears it crying, tumbling through her veins; she hears it calling, that lone voice at the bottom of the well. Ginny hears it and smiles, stumbling over tree roots in the dead of night, picking her way through the wilderness with a newfound determination. "Come," says the voice, stern and thrilling, and Ginny goes, unable to resist him any longer.

FIC: Discovery (Tom/Ginny)

Mon, 28 Sep 2009 05:42:11 GMT

Title: Discovery
Character Pairing: Tom/Ginny
Prompt: invisible line
Rating: PG
Word Count: 880
Summary: "he would not rest until he had encountered her in person."
Author's Notes: The fifth of my Tom/Ginny set for rarepair_shorts.
Link to Prompt Table: Table

Lord Voldemort awoke with a start, shooting up in bed with a sense of alarm that greatly disturbed him. It was occurring more often now, these odd dreams, the young girl with the messy red hair and the dark, smiling eyes of a man no one knew, a man who no longer existed outside the dreams of the Dark Lord. He may have been gone for a long time, Lord Voldemort, but he did not forget, and he recalled his many years with perfect clarity, which was only natural for one so brilliant as he. Yes, he remembered his teenage self, the budding Dark Lord, but he did not recall the girl in the dreams. She was so young, so frightened; it enthralled him. He must discover, he must root out this girl; he would not rest until he had encountered her in person. There was only one way it could be possible, though he did not understand – he had given such explicit orders. It could not be so. There was only one way to find out.

*****

"WHAT?"

"My Lord, I didn't know, I was confused. Please, I beg of you, Dark Lord, I beg your forgiveness. I was wrong, I hadn't realized---"

Voldemort, who usually so loved begging, was so angry that he could not even bear this. "Crucio!" He bellowed, and sneered down at Malfoy, watching him writhe in pain with only the merest hint of enjoyment. Lifting his wand, he curled his upper lip in disgust. "That diary was incredibly important to me, Lucius. It was going to be a major part of my plans, and you knew this. I specifically told you to wait for my order, to obey my command. You should never take things into your own hands, Lucius Malfoy. Not when my orders are concerned, you pathetic little slug!" Again he cursed Malfoy, sending shockwaves of pain through his servant. "I should kill you on the spot," he said angrily, kicking the blonde man viciously. "WORMTAIL! Remove this filth from my presence immediately!"

"Yes, my Lord." Wormtail scurried into the room, like the little rat he was, and pulled the limp body of Lucius Malfoy out of the room.

As usual, the sight of cowering little Wormtail filled Lord Voldemort with hatred. It was utterly humiliating to need such disgusting little fools as this. Waving his wand, the Dark Lord sent curses into every corner of the room, smashing vases and mirrors with wild abandon. It was soothing, when he was livid, to break things, to be reminded of his power. Soon he would no longer need such pathetic servants, once Potter and the Ministry were out of the way. Soon he would truly be Lord over all, and then things would be better.

But the girl. Who was this young red-haired female, helpless victim of Malfoy's disobedience? In his rage, Voldemort had forgotten to ask Lucius, and now he would need to re-question the Death Eater. Slamming his fist angrily upon the table, the Dark Lord swore to himself. He was too angry to talk to anyone just now; he would ask Bella later to get the answers for him.

*****

Lurking silently in the shadows, Lord Voldemort peered out into the sun and frowned angrily at the sight. So many cheerful young people, so many Muggle families greeting their unworthy Hogwarts children. But the Dark Lord was not out to cause trouble; not today, at least. He had to lie low, for now. Soon the second wave would begin, but on this day, Voldemort had a more particular mission.

"Ginny, sweetheart, how are you?" A plump older woman pulled her daughter into a hug and stroked her long red hair.

"I'm fine, Mum, honestly," said Ginny, pulling free from her mother's embrace. Shaking her head, so that her hair glimmered in the sunlight, she smirked at her mother and patted her arm gingerly. "Don't worry so; I'm all healed."

Lord Voldemort stared at young Ginny Weasley, she of the long red hair who had been disrupting his dreams for nearly a year. She was older than she had appeared to him, older and neater and a lot less frightened, which bothered him. He would never admit to her loveliness; he had never paid much thought to such things. But still, there was something about her that called to him, and as he lurked and watched, Ginny Weasley froze in the middle of the train station and stared at him, stared with eyes wide with shock and trembling limbs. Despite himself, the Dark Lord startled, and checked his magic. He was hidden, of course; he was disillusioned perfectly, invisible to all the inferior humans who dared to look in his direction. Why, then, was Ginny staring so, shaking and frightened and more lovely because of it? Perhaps it was for the same reason Lord Voldemort dreamt of her every night, woke up in a haze of confusion and desire. There was something connecting them, some invisible tether born of the diary she had nearly died to. He had almost consumed her, and now, perhaps, they were consuming each other. Lord Voldemort smiled and Disapparated, leaving Ginny Weasley frozen in the middle of the train station with a sudden feeling of abandonment.

Prompt Table: runaway_tales

Sat, 19 Sep 2009 02:55:17 GMT

Story Title: Caterpillar Dreams
Table: Chocolate -- Emotional Bunnies

1. loyalty/trust
2. rivalry/jealousy
3. sympathy
4. frustration
5. mercy
6. grace
7. regret
8. appreciation
9. resentment
10. awe
11. confusion
12. understanding
13. humility
14. vengeance
15. passion
16. pride
17. freedom
18. confinement
19. solitude
20. caution
21. luck
22. anticipation
23. (in)security
24. peace
25. inspiration
26. nostalgia
27. determination
28. longing
29. relief
30. joy

Fic: Escape (Tom/Ginny)

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 03:07:06 GMT

Title: Escape
Character Pairing: Tom/Ginny
Prompt: the sky has limits, too
Rating: G
Word Count: 445
Summary: "She is the sky, and she is free."
Author's Notes: The fourth of my Tom/Ginny set for rarepair_shorts.
Link to Prompt Table: Table

Right now, the wind is all Ginny knows. The force of freedom pulls at her Quidditch robes, the silky red fabric straining against her skin, fibers and colors as desperate as her heart to be free. Ginny's hair streams out behind her, her own built-in Gryffindor banner, shimmering red locks flying in the breeze.

Her broom is trembling beneath her, the only ground she has right now, the only stability in a swirling world of frenzy. Katie Bell calls out to her, tosses her the Quaffle, and Ginny is there with a grin upon her face, snatching the ball away from the scrabbling Slytherin chasers, green blurs scowling as Ginny soars beneath them. She is not a Weasley here; she is not a Hogwarts student. She is the air itself, the speed of a racing broom, the pressure of gravity on magic, the thrill of a dive. She is the sky, and she is free.

The goal posts loom ahead of her, defended by a particularly large Keeper with a particularly sinister smile upon his face. Ginny grins as she nears, leaning low over her broomstick, Quaffle tucked under one arm as she plans her attack. He matches her expression, leering at her as he hovers between the large golden hoops. Ginny narrows her eyes, readies her throwing arm, and glances at the Slytherin Keeper, her eyes happening to land upon the silver snake emblazoned on his chest. Immediately her heart stops, the wind growing colder about her ears. "What is this, Ginny? You see my snakes every day; why should they worry you up here?" It's the voice again, that all-too-familiar whisper in her soul. "You are free up here, aren't you, my dear?"

He's never been here before; she's always been safe here, up in the sky. Hesitating, Ginny ruins her chance, overshooting the goal posts and looping around the back, eyes shut tight to block out the distractions of voices and fear. She attempts a rebound shot, coming around the corner and aiming for the leftmost hoop, but she is all out of sorts now and the Slytherin Keeper catches the Quaffle easily, laughing at Ginny as she soars back towards the center of the pitch. She will not let him win here, not now. The air is her friend here; the wind her power. Tom Riddle cannot survive so far beneath her, confined to dark bedrooms and the backs of classrooms. Ginny chose Quidditch to escape the voices; she won't let the sky haunt her, too.

The next time she catches the Quaffle, she keeps her eyes focused on the goal posts. The Keeper never gets another chance to stop her.