Round 7 Challenge 5: Voting - GRAND FINALE
Round 7 Challenge 5: Voting - GRAND FINALE
SIX
FIVE
THIRTY
Here we are, opening the last prezzies. Draco would be sadcakes, but he has the Big Bang to forward to. But you know him, never satisfied, right? Let's keep him happy, shall we?
A couple of things to remember when deciding which drabbles to vote for (most and least favorite):
Guidelines:
As a voter, you have the option of leaving a brief statement about why you voted the way you did, for both most and least favorite. Your feedback will then be given to the drabble writer (if they want the feedback) ANONYMOUSLY.
Example: Most - #40: the ending was brilliant - OR - Least - #57: the ending fell flat
Please remember writers, that you may not vote for yourselves.
Here we go for week 5, the Grand Finale!
Choose your favorite and least favorite drabbles. Favorites will receive +1 point per vote, and least favorites -1 point per vote.
Voting ends at 11:59am, SATURDAY, June 5.
Prompt One: Holiday in July June
Draco thinks he deserves a holiday (vacation) for his birthday.
First person, Draco's pov, 300 words
(from round one, ch 9)
1
Title: Selfish
midnight_birth
Rating: PG
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 300
Sometimes I feel like I'm always the one asking, like a spoiled child. I asked (begged, actually) to move out of her flat and into the mansion, I've asked for a second chance three times now, and I asked, too soon and clumsily and in an unromantic fashion, for her hand.
"Go on then." There is both apprehension and amusement in her voice. "It's not like you not to have a humongous list of demands for your birthday."
I stare at her. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her hair is sticking out everywhere. She's been working a lot, refusing, of course, to accept the possibility that there is a way to do too much.
"I would like a vacation for my birthday," I say firmly. "Somewhere far away for the whole week where I don't have to go to a hundred parties and see a hundred people I don't care about."
She sighs. "Draco, my work-"
"-and you have to come, naturally."
The corners of her mouth tighten. "I don't know if right now is the best time."
"Sure it is." I scowl. "I deserve a vacation for my birthday." I know she is bound to point out that I don't work, so I put on the whiniest, most childish voice I can pull off. "It's my birthday and it's the only thing I want."
She seems about to protest, but stops herself. "Fine. I did ask. I'll move things around at work and do what needs to be done to get time off."
I smile. My Hermione. Work is her life, I know that. But I am quite sure that once I get her out of this dusty city and out of that uncomfortable suit, I'll make her forget all about it. After all, I deserve a good birthday.
2
Title: Vacation Planning
bookishwench
Rating: G
Warning(s): none
Word Count: 300
Trying to figure out where to go on holiday with Hermione is like tiptoeing through a minefield of geo-political disaster.
“We could go to Greece?” I suggest. “Ancient ruins for you to gawk at, you in a bikini for me to gawk at…”
“Didn’t you read that they legalized hunting Golden Snidgets last year?! I won’t put a toe in that place!”
“What about Italy?” I say, attempting to rub her shoulders, but she shakes me off and goes back to her knitting.
“I won’t visit a country that refuses House-elves the vote,” she say, her needles clicking angrily.
“Mexico?”
“No,” she says firmly. “Their stand on leprechauns is appalling.”
“What about the States?” I ask. “We could go to DisneyWorld?”
She glares at me wordlessly, her needles suspended.
“I forgot: Tinker Bell is an offensive fairy stereotype and their witches are all evil,” I recite. “Why don’t you pick where we go?”
She puckers her mouth in thought and stares at the ceiling so intently it might as well be the Sistine Chapel… not that I’ll be seeing that anytime soon. Finally, she looks at me.
“Canada,” she says.
“Land of mooses?”
“The plural is still moose, and there are lots of other things there!”
“Yeah, but hockey’s out of season in June,” I say. “That axes two-thirds of available entertainment.”
“They’ve granted full rights to all creatures of human or near-human intelligence,” she says, then looks almost embarrassed. “Besides, I loved the Anne books when I was little, and I want to see Prince Edward Island.”
She’s giving me The Look, the one that’s pleading with me and promising lovely things if I give her what she wants. I sigh, knowing I’m defeated.
“Fine,” I say, kissing her forehead. “At least Green Gables has a Slytherin color scheme.”
3
Title: Paris in the Afternoon
ayane_tsurugi
Rating: PG
Warning(s): Half a dirty word.
Word Count: 300
Draco glared as hard as he could but, try as he might, couldn’t actually bore holes into the wall of newspaper that separated him and his girlfriend over the breakfast table.
“Did you really just say that?”
He heard her sigh behind the paper. “I’m sorry Draco, I have to work. Not negotiable.”
“You really just said that.”
Finally, she closed the newspaper and gave him a disgruntled look. “There’s no need to sound like I just kicked your puppy. You know my job’s unpredictable.”
“The Department of Mysteries can go fu-”
“Draco!”
“Well, really, you asked for this week off months ago. We were supposed to get away! It’s my birthday, for Merlin’s sake!”
Her look of genuine regret stopped him short, and he sighed as she kissed him and grabbed her case. “We’ll meet for lunch, okay? We’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah, all right.”
After she‘d left, he went about things as normally as he could, but there was nothing to do. He’d done it all in preparation to leave for Paris. The thought made him scowl.
Eventually, in sheer desperation, he began to clear away the breakfast dishes, only to feel a pull at his navel as soon as he picked up Hermione’s mug.
When he landed with a surprised stumble, a voice behind him said, “Oh, thank Merlin. I’ve been up here almost an hour! The portkey was only active until noon.”
He spun around, noticing two things. One, Hermione was there, a wide picnic spread out before her, and two, they were really high up.
She grinned at him. “The top of the Eiffel Tower. It’s ours for the afternoon. One of my co-workers called in a favor.” Behind her, he could see their luggage piled up and he nearly laughed. “Happy Birthday, Draco.”
4
Title: I Need A Vacation From My Vacation
ilkee
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): some swearing
Word Count: 300
The problem was that she was everywhere I went. Like a goddamned fly that keeps buzzing in your ear and is immune to vicious swatting.
It’s bad enough that she tormented me at home, but was it necessary to follow me across oceans and continents? I was on the OTHER SIDE OF THE EARTH for Merlin’s sake!
But alas, even over the waves crashing violently into cliffs, I could still hear her. My own goddamned Jiminy Cricket (yes, I know the stupid muggle reference).
“You should help that muggle with her bags.”
“Feed the neighbors cat while he’s away.”
“You shouldn’t have left.”
So I went back to London. Cold, wet, dirty London and I shivered. Perhaps I’d taken her voice to far away, and searching for a home, it landed in my head. Maybe if I was nearby, her voice would sense her presence and drift away.
If only.
If anything, it grew to the point that I couldn’t brush my goddamned teeth without wondering if she brushed hers in the same pattern.
I threw out my toothbrush and bought a new one.
“You should have bought one with rotating bristles.”
Fuck.
Maybe I had to return it in person. I imagined her opening her mouth to speak and not being able to, because, well, I have her voice. I grin maliciously. She always did talk too much.
But now I’m here. She’s invited me in and we’re sipping tea and we’re tiptoeing around things to say, because, well, we’ve never been friends. I’m watching her fidget with her shirt and I can’t believe what a fool I was. She’s sweet and awkward and lovely and I know with absolute clarity that no other voice will be allowed in my head, ever. And that I need a new toothbrush.
5
Title: Love Letter
terrayn
Rating: PG
Warning(s): none
Word Count: 300
Hermione,
This is not a love letter. I did ghastly things to convince the owl this even was a letter.
You’re probably squinting at this napkin, ready to chemical test it to its last fiber to find my location. Don’t bother. Go with your gut instinct. The reason it smells like eau de tar, lime and salt is because I’m on my seventh tequila shot and the stripperbartender has chimney breath.
By now, you know I’m missing. Relax. This isn’t a ransom note either. I’ve nipped out and gone on holiday. If you’re reading this, you’ve finally cajoled or threatened your way into my French villa. Whatever my sins, I trust being bloody spectacularly obvious isn’t one of them. If I were drunk enough to believe you wouldn’t search my villa after I’d strutted around for weeks crowing over outbidding that bastard Phillipe for it than I’d be in urgent need of medical assistance instead of writing this lovenot love napkin.
I’m not returning until you owl back. I heard from those wankers W- and P- (whose identities the male code of bonding-over-sexcapades-and-cigars forbids me to reveal) that you planned to celebrate my birthday by proposing. Woman, I realize upending centuries-long cultural traditions is just Wednesday for you but you should know I am an emeralds man. Diamonds and I wouldn’t suit, tempted though I am by your impassioned, footnoted speechproposal forever memorialized in pictures that would April Fools prank my father right into his grave.
But I digress. As I can’t stop you, I must needs go first.
Marry me? (circle one)
Yes
No
Seething; will RSVP.
Draco
NOBODY IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD ASK YOUR HAND IN MARRIAGE, YOU POMPOUS ARSE. I’M POSING IN SCANDALOUS, BARELY THERE LINGERIE FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY! GET BACK HERE. I’M COLD.
-Your fiancé
Prompt Two: one freestyle drabble
100-300 words (from every finale rounds 2-6)
A
Title: Gifts
floorcoaster
Rating: G
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 300
ONE
There is music playing but the notes blend together. The wizarding world is celebrating the end of war, and no one knows it’s his birthday, too.
She gives him three looks that night. The first is surprise--even he doesn’t know why he’s there. The second is curiosity. After all, he hasn’t crumbled under the weight of the whispers all around him. The third is determination, just before she crosses the room.
He doesn’t remember what she said, but he spent the rest of the night distracted by her surprising curves, dipped into a dress the color of midnight.
TWO
At twenty-four, she gives him three kisses. One at twelve-oh-one in the morning, the last of the night before she refuses to see him again--for a few hours.
The next is in front of a hundred guests, sweet and perfect and just a little too short. Her smile is brilliant in the morning sun; it lights the room. In a twist, he gives her his name.
The third kiss is bestowed at midnight, when they finally reach their hotel room and fall, exhausted, into bed. But their lives are just beginning, and he slips off her white dress.
THREE
When he turns thirty, his whole family is there to celebrate. Five, three, and four months. They are all beautiful, and he can’t believe his good fortune. He’ll never believe he deserves such joy, but he isn’t one to complain.
She is radiant in red tonight, telling anyone who will listen that her smallest gift had learned to roll over just that morning.
The biggest gift zooms through the gathered guests on a training-broom, nearly crashing at his father’s feet.
His second gift is pensive, catching her father’s eye between yawns. Draco winks. Hermione smiles. Life is exceptionally good.
B
Title: Meant to Be
ayane_tsurugi
Rating: PG
Warning(s): Background Ginny/Seamus and Harry/Ron
Word Count: 180
Luna was the first to know. She’s always the first in things like these, not that anyone ever believes her.
When she told Hermione, her friend just stared at her in vague horror before mumbling something about having to get back to work.
Draco just choked on his coffee before telling her, in the politest way possible when he was still gasping for air, to get the hell out of his office.
“You’re joking,” was all Ginny managed to say, but Luna smiled.
“I was right about you and Seamus.”
“That was different.”
“No, it was destiny.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say.”
So really, it was only right that Luna was the one to find them kissing in the linen closet of Harry and Ron’s flat on New Year’s Eve.
“Don’t say it,” Hermione told her later. “It wasn’t destiny, it just happened.”
Luna hummed, her smile brighter than ever. “I was just wondering if I should say anything to Ron and Harry.”
Hermione’s smile suddenly matched hers. “Oh don’t worry about that one. They’ve been shagging for ages.”
C
Title: Muggle Food
midnight_birth
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Snogging.
Word Count: 267
"So this is eatable?" Draco sniffed the corn dog, obviously not impressed with its smell and appearance. "Do I have to eat this?"
Hermione nodded solemnly and then made a face. "Yesterday I acted pretentious and ate something that looked like brains and tasted like soap. This was the deal."
Draco was stalling and they both knew it, but he had a hard time getting over the fact that food could be bought unwrapped, on the street, from a seedy-looking Muggle.
"So what makes this Muggle food again?"
Hermione bit into her corn dog. "Well, have you ever seen or heard about it?"
"No. But the fact that I've never encountered it can be simply because..."
She raised a brow. "Yes?"
"You know, it's..."
"Oh, right." Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's Muggle-made and gross and evil and unclean. Nothing that is not made with the help of magic in extremely pretentious places by wizards and witches probably wearing plastic gloves deserves the name food. Is that it?"
They glared at each other for half a minute until he broke and chucked, and her features softened. Sighing, he forced the strangely-shaped food into his mouth and took a small bite, chewing fast and swallowing just in case his regurgitation instinct kicked in right away.
"Hmmm."
Hermione looked at him imploringly. "Sprouted a third leg yet?"
"I suppose it's ok, for Muggle food."
He took a considerably larger bite, chewed, swallowed, and then pulled her to him and planted a long, slow kiss on her lips.
Flustered, she was blushing slightly at his intensity when he leaned away. "What was that for?"
He smiled. "It needed a little something. For the taste."
D
Title: Soothing Comfort
bookishwench
Rating: PG
Warning(s): nothing
Word Count: 298
Author Note: Round 4's word table finale
The heat of the day was over, but for Draco bedtime tonight meant a deep, unquenchable burning.
Unfortunately, that had nothing to do with his feelings for Hermione and everything to do with his having fallen asleep that afternoon under a shady tree on the estate which proved to be far less shady as the sun changed position in the sky. He’d awakened to skin the color of Chinese Fireball, and from the feel of it a dragon had been roasting him for at least an hour. It was easily the nastiest sunburn he’d ever had.
“Just hold still a minute longer and I should have this sorted,” Hermione said, carefully applying a cooling charm to his back.
He could almost hear her wincing in sympathy as she gently healed the red skin, but even with her best efforts it was still smarting like mad.
“There,” she finally said. “All done.”
“Thanks, love,” he said, rolling over and hissing at the lingering pain. “Some birthday, eh? I skive off from work, intent on having a relaxing day, and look what happens. It’s karma for being lazy.”
“You don’t believe in karma,” she said, lying down next to him but being careful not to touch his skin. “And everyone’s entitled to be lazy on their birthday.”
“Pretty much killed romance though, so I won’t be getting my usual favorite birthday present,” he sighed.
“I’m sure you’ll feel better by morning,” she said, giving him a mischievous smirk. “Sometimes presents are better with a little anticipation anyway.”
Draco sighed melodramatically and put his hand over his eyes.
“Happy thirtieth birthday,” she said, kissing him very gingerly.
Draco smiled as she curled up next to him. Maybe his birthday hadn’t been perfect, but he wouldn’t trade his life for anyone else’s.
E
Title: Come Away From The Window
ilkee
Rating: PG
Warning(s): none
Word Count: 246
He wanted to tell her: Come away from the window.
Sit down. I can’t concentrate. I can’t think with the shadow of your body moving across the walls. I can’t think with the sun streaming over your bare shoulders.
He wanted to tell her: I hate working in this room with you.
It makes me confused and angry and leaves me feeling like I’m being pulled from some empty area behind my heart, towards something I can’t see. I want it. And I’m afraid.
He wanted to tell her that everyday, for hours after they’d locked up and gone home, that he could smell her. An indistinct smell that seemed to sit next to him while he made notes, or read, or didn’t read because he was thinking of her.
He wanted to tell her everyday: Everyday I think of you all day.
Everyday I think of ways I could tell you this. Everyday I try to think of ways that I could touch you. Your fingertips when I hand you some papers. Your hip as I move behind you to reach a book. Your elbow after I open the door, to usher you into our warm, sunny little room. My prison.
Everyday my body screams at me with unfulfilled impulses as I sit here and watch the sun bathe the back of your neck with light. I imagine my hand curving over your sun-warmed neck and my fingers ache.
Come away from the window. Please.
F
Title: Venice
terrayn
Rating: G
Warning(s): none
Word Count: 300
The sky didn’t fall down; how strange the sensation of feeling that selfsame thudding in his chest.
There she was crossing a bridge in Venice like a postcard or maybe a child’s dream, warm and brimming with larger-than-life characters, her. The years had not been kind to either of them. Starbursts of laugh lines carved familiar paths in the corners of her eyes when she bought a handful of grapes and then she faced him fully and he saw that she was thinner now, cutting a sharper figure than the hazy image he’d carried in his mind like that last crinkled, yellowing photograph everyone had of some relative in their unimaginable youth.
He wondered if he stood still, she’d walk past and never see him, never know that one summer day in Italy, her ex-husband had stood on planks and watched her part the crowd like a montage in a lazy romance. But he didn’t stand still and she didn’t walk past. The grape on her lips slowly lowered, and that was the only indication she’d spotted him. Somewhere else, in some other time, she had learned understatement.
“What are you doing here?” she asked softly, ignoring the tourists jostling around her.
It shouldn’t have but it made the unbearably damp air on his cotton shirt cool, and he shivered. “Taking a walk,” he replied.
Her gentle expression turned wry. “To Italy? You must be exhausted.”
“Someone littered a brochure on my doorstep. It was a whim.”
“Is that what you do now? Whimsical things?” she said, a rueful smile crooking her lips.
He shrugged, knowing he read too much in her wistful tone. “Sometimes.”
“Not always,” she reminded.
“No. I’ve changed some.”
She hummed. “Everyone does.”
Their shoulders touched when he turned to walk her way. When she bumped him again, he smiled.
ooo
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SIX
FIVE
THIRTY
Here we are, opening the last prezzies. Draco would be sadcakes, but he has the Big Bang to forward to. But you know him, never satisfied, right? Let's keep him happy, shall we?
A couple of things to remember when deciding which drabbles to vote for (most and least favorite):
Guidelines:
- Which drabble best incorporates the prompt?
- Is the drabble clever, different, fresh? Does it evoke an emotional response (good or bad)?
- Does the drabble contain grammar, canon or spelling errors?
As a voter, you have the option of leaving a brief statement about why you voted the way you did, for both most and least favorite. Your feedback will then be given to the drabble writer (if they want the feedback) ANONYMOUSLY.
Example: Most - #40: the ending was brilliant - OR - Least - #57: the ending fell flat
Please remember writers, that you may not vote for yourselves.
Here we go for week 5, the Grand Finale!
Choose your favorite and least favorite drabbles. Favorites will receive +1 point per vote, and least favorites -1 point per vote.
Voting ends at 11:59am, SATURDAY, June 5.
Prompt One: Holiday in July June
Draco thinks he deserves a holiday (vacation) for his birthday.
First person, Draco's pov, 300 words
(from round one, ch 9)
1
Title: Selfish
midnight_birth
Rating: PG
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 300
Sometimes I feel like I'm always the one asking, like a spoiled child. I asked (begged, actually) to move out of her flat and into the mansion, I've asked for a second chance three times now, and I asked, too soon and clumsily and in an unromantic fashion, for her hand.
"Go on then." There is both apprehension and amusement in her voice. "It's not like you not to have a humongous list of demands for your birthday."
I stare at her. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her hair is sticking out everywhere. She's been working a lot, refusing, of course, to accept the possibility that there is a way to do too much.
"I would like a vacation for my birthday," I say firmly. "Somewhere far away for the whole week where I don't have to go to a hundred parties and see a hundred people I don't care about."
She sighs. "Draco, my work-"
"-and you have to come, naturally."
The corners of her mouth tighten. "I don't know if right now is the best time."
"Sure it is." I scowl. "I deserve a vacation for my birthday." I know she is bound to point out that I don't work, so I put on the whiniest, most childish voice I can pull off. "It's my birthday and it's the only thing I want."
She seems about to protest, but stops herself. "Fine. I did ask. I'll move things around at work and do what needs to be done to get time off."
I smile. My Hermione. Work is her life, I know that. But I am quite sure that once I get her out of this dusty city and out of that uncomfortable suit, I'll make her forget all about it. After all, I deserve a good birthday.
2
Title: Vacation Planning
bookishwench
Rating: G
Warning(s): none
Word Count: 300
Trying to figure out where to go on holiday with Hermione is like tiptoeing through a minefield of geo-political disaster.
“We could go to Greece?” I suggest. “Ancient ruins for you to gawk at, you in a bikini for me to gawk at…”
“Didn’t you read that they legalized hunting Golden Snidgets last year?! I won’t put a toe in that place!”
“What about Italy?” I say, attempting to rub her shoulders, but she shakes me off and goes back to her knitting.
“I won’t visit a country that refuses House-elves the vote,” she say, her needles clicking angrily.
“Mexico?”
“No,” she says firmly. “Their stand on leprechauns is appalling.”
“What about the States?” I ask. “We could go to DisneyWorld?”
She glares at me wordlessly, her needles suspended.
“I forgot: Tinker Bell is an offensive fairy stereotype and their witches are all evil,” I recite. “Why don’t you pick where we go?”
She puckers her mouth in thought and stares at the ceiling so intently it might as well be the Sistine Chapel… not that I’ll be seeing that anytime soon. Finally, she looks at me.
“Canada,” she says.
“Land of mooses?”
“The plural is still moose, and there are lots of other things there!”
“Yeah, but hockey’s out of season in June,” I say. “That axes two-thirds of available entertainment.”
“They’ve granted full rights to all creatures of human or near-human intelligence,” she says, then looks almost embarrassed. “Besides, I loved the Anne books when I was little, and I want to see Prince Edward Island.”
She’s giving me The Look, the one that’s pleading with me and promising lovely things if I give her what she wants. I sigh, knowing I’m defeated.
“Fine,” I say, kissing her forehead. “At least Green Gables has a Slytherin color scheme.”
3
Title: Paris in the Afternoon
ayane_tsurugi
Rating: PG
Warning(s): Half a dirty word.
Word Count: 300
Draco glared as hard as he could but, try as he might, couldn’t actually bore holes into the wall of newspaper that separated him and his girlfriend over the breakfast table.
“Did you really just say that?”
He heard her sigh behind the paper. “I’m sorry Draco, I have to work. Not negotiable.”
“You really just said that.”
Finally, she closed the newspaper and gave him a disgruntled look. “There’s no need to sound like I just kicked your puppy. You know my job’s unpredictable.”
“The Department of Mysteries can go fu-”
“Draco!”
“Well, really, you asked for this week off months ago. We were supposed to get away! It’s my birthday, for Merlin’s sake!”
Her look of genuine regret stopped him short, and he sighed as she kissed him and grabbed her case. “We’ll meet for lunch, okay? We’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah, all right.”
After she‘d left, he went about things as normally as he could, but there was nothing to do. He’d done it all in preparation to leave for Paris. The thought made him scowl.
Eventually, in sheer desperation, he began to clear away the breakfast dishes, only to feel a pull at his navel as soon as he picked up Hermione’s mug.
When he landed with a surprised stumble, a voice behind him said, “Oh, thank Merlin. I’ve been up here almost an hour! The portkey was only active until noon.”
He spun around, noticing two things. One, Hermione was there, a wide picnic spread out before her, and two, they were really high up.
She grinned at him. “The top of the Eiffel Tower. It’s ours for the afternoon. One of my co-workers called in a favor.” Behind her, he could see their luggage piled up and he nearly laughed. “Happy Birthday, Draco.”
4
Title: I Need A Vacation From My Vacation
ilkee
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): some swearing
Word Count: 300
The problem was that she was everywhere I went. Like a goddamned fly that keeps buzzing in your ear and is immune to vicious swatting.
It’s bad enough that she tormented me at home, but was it necessary to follow me across oceans and continents? I was on the OTHER SIDE OF THE EARTH for Merlin’s sake!
But alas, even over the waves crashing violently into cliffs, I could still hear her. My own goddamned Jiminy Cricket (yes, I know the stupid muggle reference).
“You should help that muggle with her bags.”
“Feed the neighbors cat while he’s away.”
“You shouldn’t have left.”
So I went back to London. Cold, wet, dirty London and I shivered. Perhaps I’d taken her voice to far away, and searching for a home, it landed in my head. Maybe if I was nearby, her voice would sense her presence and drift away.
If only.
If anything, it grew to the point that I couldn’t brush my goddamned teeth without wondering if she brushed hers in the same pattern.
I threw out my toothbrush and bought a new one.
“You should have bought one with rotating bristles.”
Fuck.
Maybe I had to return it in person. I imagined her opening her mouth to speak and not being able to, because, well, I have her voice. I grin maliciously. She always did talk too much.
But now I’m here. She’s invited me in and we’re sipping tea and we’re tiptoeing around things to say, because, well, we’ve never been friends. I’m watching her fidget with her shirt and I can’t believe what a fool I was. She’s sweet and awkward and lovely and I know with absolute clarity that no other voice will be allowed in my head, ever. And that I need a new toothbrush.
5
Title: Love Letter
terrayn
Rating: PG
Warning(s): none
Word Count: 300
Hermione,
This is not a love letter. I did ghastly things to convince the owl this even was a letter.
You’re probably squinting at this napkin, ready to chemical test it to its last fiber to find my location. Don’t bother. Go with your gut instinct. The reason it smells like eau de tar, lime and salt is because I’m on my seventh tequila shot and the stripperbartender has chimney breath.
By now, you know I’m missing. Relax. This isn’t a ransom note either. I’ve nipped out and gone on holiday. If you’re reading this, you’ve finally cajoled or threatened your way into my French villa. Whatever my sins, I trust being bloody spectacularly obvious isn’t one of them. If I were drunk enough to believe you wouldn’t search my villa after I’d strutted around for weeks crowing over outbidding that bastard Phillipe for it than I’d be in urgent need of medical assistance instead of writing this lovenot love napkin.
I’m not returning until you owl back. I heard from those wankers W- and P- (whose identities the male code of bonding-over-sexcapades-and-cigars forbids me to reveal) that you planned to celebrate my birthday by proposing. Woman, I realize upending centuries-long cultural traditions is just Wednesday for you but you should know I am an emeralds man. Diamonds and I wouldn’t suit, tempted though I am by your impassioned, footnoted speechproposal forever memorialized in pictures that would April Fools prank my father right into his grave.
But I digress. As I can’t stop you, I must needs go first.
Marry me? (circle one)
Yes
No
Seething; will RSVP.
Draco
NOBODY IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD ASK YOUR HAND IN MARRIAGE, YOU POMPOUS ARSE. I’M POSING IN SCANDALOUS, BARELY THERE LINGERIE FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY! GET BACK HERE. I’M COLD.
-Your fiancé
Prompt Two: one freestyle drabble
100-300 words (from every finale rounds 2-6)
A
Title: Gifts
floorcoaster
Rating: G
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 300
ONE
There is music playing but the notes blend together. The wizarding world is celebrating the end of war, and no one knows it’s his birthday, too.
She gives him three looks that night. The first is surprise--even he doesn’t know why he’s there. The second is curiosity. After all, he hasn’t crumbled under the weight of the whispers all around him. The third is determination, just before she crosses the room.
He doesn’t remember what she said, but he spent the rest of the night distracted by her surprising curves, dipped into a dress the color of midnight.
TWO
At twenty-four, she gives him three kisses. One at twelve-oh-one in the morning, the last of the night before she refuses to see him again--for a few hours.
The next is in front of a hundred guests, sweet and perfect and just a little too short. Her smile is brilliant in the morning sun; it lights the room. In a twist, he gives her his name.
The third kiss is bestowed at midnight, when they finally reach their hotel room and fall, exhausted, into bed. But their lives are just beginning, and he slips off her white dress.
THREE
When he turns thirty, his whole family is there to celebrate. Five, three, and four months. They are all beautiful, and he can’t believe his good fortune. He’ll never believe he deserves such joy, but he isn’t one to complain.
She is radiant in red tonight, telling anyone who will listen that her smallest gift had learned to roll over just that morning.
The biggest gift zooms through the gathered guests on a training-broom, nearly crashing at his father’s feet.
His second gift is pensive, catching her father’s eye between yawns. Draco winks. Hermione smiles. Life is exceptionally good.
B
Title: Meant to Be
ayane_tsurugi
Rating: PG
Warning(s): Background Ginny/Seamus and Harry/Ron
Word Count: 180
Luna was the first to know. She’s always the first in things like these, not that anyone ever believes her.
When she told Hermione, her friend just stared at her in vague horror before mumbling something about having to get back to work.
Draco just choked on his coffee before telling her, in the politest way possible when he was still gasping for air, to get the hell out of his office.
“You’re joking,” was all Ginny managed to say, but Luna smiled.
“I was right about you and Seamus.”
“That was different.”
“No, it was destiny.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say.”
So really, it was only right that Luna was the one to find them kissing in the linen closet of Harry and Ron’s flat on New Year’s Eve.
“Don’t say it,” Hermione told her later. “It wasn’t destiny, it just happened.”
Luna hummed, her smile brighter than ever. “I was just wondering if I should say anything to Ron and Harry.”
Hermione’s smile suddenly matched hers. “Oh don’t worry about that one. They’ve been shagging for ages.”
C
Title: Muggle Food
midnight_birth
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Snogging.
Word Count: 267
"So this is eatable?" Draco sniffed the corn dog, obviously not impressed with its smell and appearance. "Do I have to eat this?"
Hermione nodded solemnly and then made a face. "Yesterday I acted pretentious and ate something that looked like brains and tasted like soap. This was the deal."
Draco was stalling and they both knew it, but he had a hard time getting over the fact that food could be bought unwrapped, on the street, from a seedy-looking Muggle.
"So what makes this Muggle food again?"
Hermione bit into her corn dog. "Well, have you ever seen or heard about it?"
"No. But the fact that I've never encountered it can be simply because..."
She raised a brow. "Yes?"
"You know, it's..."
"Oh, right." Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's Muggle-made and gross and evil and unclean. Nothing that is not made with the help of magic in extremely pretentious places by wizards and witches probably wearing plastic gloves deserves the name food. Is that it?"
They glared at each other for half a minute until he broke and chucked, and her features softened. Sighing, he forced the strangely-shaped food into his mouth and took a small bite, chewing fast and swallowing just in case his regurgitation instinct kicked in right away.
"Hmmm."
Hermione looked at him imploringly. "Sprouted a third leg yet?"
"I suppose it's ok, for Muggle food."
He took a considerably larger bite, chewed, swallowed, and then pulled her to him and planted a long, slow kiss on her lips.
Flustered, she was blushing slightly at his intensity when he leaned away. "What was that for?"
He smiled. "It needed a little something. For the taste."
D
Title: Soothing Comfort
bookishwench
Rating: PG
Warning(s): nothing
Word Count: 298
Author Note: Round 4's word table finale
The heat of the day was over, but for Draco bedtime tonight meant a deep, unquenchable burning.
Unfortunately, that had nothing to do with his feelings for Hermione and everything to do with his having fallen asleep that afternoon under a shady tree on the estate which proved to be far less shady as the sun changed position in the sky. He’d awakened to skin the color of Chinese Fireball, and from the feel of it a dragon had been roasting him for at least an hour. It was easily the nastiest sunburn he’d ever had.
“Just hold still a minute longer and I should have this sorted,” Hermione said, carefully applying a cooling charm to his back.
He could almost hear her wincing in sympathy as she gently healed the red skin, but even with her best efforts it was still smarting like mad.
“There,” she finally said. “All done.”
“Thanks, love,” he said, rolling over and hissing at the lingering pain. “Some birthday, eh? I skive off from work, intent on having a relaxing day, and look what happens. It’s karma for being lazy.”
“You don’t believe in karma,” she said, lying down next to him but being careful not to touch his skin. “And everyone’s entitled to be lazy on their birthday.”
“Pretty much killed romance though, so I won’t be getting my usual favorite birthday present,” he sighed.
“I’m sure you’ll feel better by morning,” she said, giving him a mischievous smirk. “Sometimes presents are better with a little anticipation anyway.”
Draco sighed melodramatically and put his hand over his eyes.
“Happy thirtieth birthday,” she said, kissing him very gingerly.
Draco smiled as she curled up next to him. Maybe his birthday hadn’t been perfect, but he wouldn’t trade his life for anyone else’s.
E
Title: Come Away From The Window
ilkee
Rating: PG
Warning(s): none
Word Count: 246
He wanted to tell her: Come away from the window.
Sit down. I can’t concentrate. I can’t think with the shadow of your body moving across the walls. I can’t think with the sun streaming over your bare shoulders.
He wanted to tell her: I hate working in this room with you.
It makes me confused and angry and leaves me feeling like I’m being pulled from some empty area behind my heart, towards something I can’t see. I want it. And I’m afraid.
He wanted to tell her that everyday, for hours after they’d locked up and gone home, that he could smell her. An indistinct smell that seemed to sit next to him while he made notes, or read, or didn’t read because he was thinking of her.
He wanted to tell her everyday: Everyday I think of you all day.
Everyday I think of ways I could tell you this. Everyday I try to think of ways that I could touch you. Your fingertips when I hand you some papers. Your hip as I move behind you to reach a book. Your elbow after I open the door, to usher you into our warm, sunny little room. My prison.
Everyday my body screams at me with unfulfilled impulses as I sit here and watch the sun bathe the back of your neck with light. I imagine my hand curving over your sun-warmed neck and my fingers ache.
Come away from the window. Please.
F
Title: Venice
terrayn
Rating: G
Warning(s): none
Word Count: 300
The sky didn’t fall down; how strange the sensation of feeling that selfsame thudding in his chest.
There she was crossing a bridge in Venice like a postcard or maybe a child’s dream, warm and brimming with larger-than-life characters, her. The years had not been kind to either of them. Starbursts of laugh lines carved familiar paths in the corners of her eyes when she bought a handful of grapes and then she faced him fully and he saw that she was thinner now, cutting a sharper figure than the hazy image he’d carried in his mind like that last crinkled, yellowing photograph everyone had of some relative in their unimaginable youth.
He wondered if he stood still, she’d walk past and never see him, never know that one summer day in Italy, her ex-husband had stood on planks and watched her part the crowd like a montage in a lazy romance. But he didn’t stand still and she didn’t walk past. The grape on her lips slowly lowered, and that was the only indication she’d spotted him. Somewhere else, in some other time, she had learned understatement.
“What are you doing here?” she asked softly, ignoring the tourists jostling around her.
It shouldn’t have but it made the unbearably damp air on his cotton shirt cool, and he shivered. “Taking a walk,” he replied.
Her gentle expression turned wry. “To Italy? You must be exhausted.”
“Someone littered a brochure on my doorstep. It was a whim.”
“Is that what you do now? Whimsical things?” she said, a rueful smile crooking her lips.
He shrugged, knowing he read too much in her wistful tone. “Sometimes.”
“Not always,” she reminded.
“No. I’ve changed some.”
She hummed. “Everyone does.”
Their shoulders touched when he turned to walk her way. When she bumped him again, he smiled.
ooo
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