Round 3, Challenge 6; Drabbles & Voting
Sorry for the delay folks, my computer hated me this morning, nothing was loading fast enough.
Behind the cut are the drabbles for this challenge, writing using second person narrative.
Usual rules still apply, no voting for yourself, and do not get people to vote for you.
Drabble #1:
Title: Nightmare
By: minervasrevenge
Rating: All ages
Warnings: N/A
Summary: Malfoy Manor revisited.
Pairing: Hermione/Ron
Word Count: 563
The fear was like a bucket of icy water cascading down your body when you heard “If she dies under questioning, I’ll take you next.”
More words followed but you never really heard them. You saw Bellatrix Lestrange slap Ron and your heart leapt into your throat, nearly choking you.
The mad witch sliced through your ropes and your mind foretold the same knife slicing through your flesh. Then the witch grabbed a handful of your hair and dragged you away from the others. You were alone. You understood that you were going to be killed but were too frightened to say good-bye to Harry and Ron as they were handled out of the room.
Without warning, pain, pure and unrefined, dropped you to your knees. It seemed to last forever. Your body shook with it and you heard an awful sound - it was your voice giving sound to your agony.
“That was encouragement for you to tell me the truth,” the witch hissed. You heard her but couldn’t process what was happening. You saw her feet shift on the thick rug as if she was drunk and then she screamed something at you. You picked out one shrill and unimportant word - Mudblood.
“Where did you get this sword?” the witch panted.
Your bleary eyes focused on the wand leveled at your face.
And then the pain came again. Black spots danced in your eyes while your body tried to turn inside out. As you regained your breath, you noticed that the carpet smelled like fresh herbs.
Suddenly, lucidity grabbed you and you realized that you had to lie. In that moment, triumphing over Voldemort weighed on your shivering shoulders.
“I’m going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?”
“We found it - we found it - PLEASE!” you cried.
In the moment before the curse hit you again, you remembered that Bellatrix is insane and no matter what you said, you’d be made to suffer. Your throat ripped with the force of your screams.
Sobbing and coughing, you thought her last curse hadn’t hurt as much as the first or maybe your body was bursting with endorphins.
“You’re lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!”
Amidst your pain and over your scream, you thought you heard a treasured voice call your name.
“What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!”
Lightning-quick, metal flashed at your arm. You wanted to laugh because you barely felt the nick of the blade after suffering multiple Cruciatus Curses. The sound of feet moving away lifted your heavy eyelids. Your quick mind realized that your reprieve served to enhance further torture.
So, so slowly, you pushed yourself up to sit. You found it interesting that only one face watching you was full of hatred - the rest were terrified.
As if to punish you for your audacity in sitting up, you found yourself trapped in fiery pain again.
You didn’t want to die.
“What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!”
And then you wake up. Sometimes, the nightmare lasts longer and sometimes it’s shorter. But when you roll onto your side, you press your face into Ron’s back and are comforted.
Drabble #2:
Title: Peace
By: luvscharlie
Rating: PG
Warnings: Character Death, completely AU
Summary: Hermione is desperate to find happiness and peace in a world where her true love no longer resides.
Pairing: Hermione/Ron, Hermione/Harry
Word Count: 625
You wonder when it might stop hurting, when the pain might subside enough to allow you to remember him with less than the unpleasant tilt of your stomach and the dizzy spin of your head, and a need to empty your insides onto the floor that far surpasses them all. You wonder when-make that if-- you wonder if that might happen. You pray it comes soon.
And the days drag on. Minutes pass as though they were hours, hours as though days, and you wonder if you might ever feel that elusive cheerfulness again. If you do, will you recognise it. It's been so long since happiness was an emotion you associated with yourself that even the word is foreign to you now.
It has been five years since the War ended and took his life. You have lived every minute as though it were a lifetime. A painful, heart wrenching lifetime that you wish had never been. What you wouldn't give if you could just go back to that day and die beside him. You think, perhaps, that you married Harry for no other reason than that he was the closest thing to Ron you could find. And you were so desperate to find him…
You wonder if the man beside you, your husband now, knows he is a substitute for his best friend… the man you so desperately wanted…the man you loved so deeply it hurt… the man you watched die.
He does. You know that somewhere, deep down, he knows. He knows that he will never be anything more than your second best.
Harry looks at you and says your name-or at least you think he does.
"Hermione." It's a whisper that barely reaches your ears, but it's certainly your name. He takes your elbow and turns you toward that all too dreaded place. Harry, however, is the only one who understands how hated this place is now. Or, rather, the only one who hates it perhaps as much, if not more, than you.
How was it that simple swing hanging from that old tree signified so much? When would you be able to remember it with the fondness that it once brought you? When would you not hurt at the memory of climbing onto that old swing during that fateful summer when you were only seventeen and so many things teetered on that precipice of change; some would go back and some things simply never could. They had changed too significantly.
He pushed you high into the air on that old wooden swing. Oh, the freedom when you released your hold on the ropes and plummeted into the icy, cold pond water below. You had never known such a feeling as that. The way it felt when you came spluttering, laughing to the surface, to find that he was already there encircling you in arms that were strong and sure; arms that would never fail you; arms that had never failed you. Tried and true, that was your Ron.
And he kissed you, and your world stood still.
***
That night as you lie down in your bed next to the man you married with the glass tube that so recently held the Draught of Living Death dangling from your fingers, it comes over you. It is peaceful, this sleep that takes over your body. Then Ron's face is before you, his hand outstretched welcoming you into that place where happiness awaits you, where you may well find peace at last.
And you are together…finally.
Drabble #3:
Title: These Things
By: gingeraled
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mentions of death
Summary: Of course, you say silently, and hope she knows this somehow.
Pairing: gen, but R/Hr in the background
Word Count: 669
The emotions are all jumbled up inside you. There is surprise; there is hope; there is relief.
Pure awe.
You are exhausted like you've never been and the sole reason you are awake is the tiny bundle of life you have in your arms. Rose-that's the name that's been decided on-is so small and wrinkled, but she's beautiful. You can't help but check if she got the complete set of fingers and toes, but decide that, come what may, you will love this child with your life.
You decide you are willing to die for little Rose, but more importantly, you decide that you are completely willing to live for her.
For a second your concentration is broken by the large hand that wipes away the sweat from your forehead. You look up. There are tears in your husband's blue eyes as he gives you a reassuring smile. Somehow, he looks even more overwhelmed than you feel, but you know that he will be strong for both of you. For the three of you. Your husband flashes a lopsided grin at your daughter, your daughter, and all lingering fears of parenthood and the future fly out the window.
Rose yawns and tightly grips the finger you've offered her tiny hand. She looks ready to fall asleep, as are you.
Tears flood your eyes as well, and another emotion is born in your heart. You feel overwhelming joy from holding this new life-this new love.
--
Rosie’s blue eyes are big and wide as she looks at the small bundle you’re holding to your chest.
“What’s that, mummy? Is that the brother from your tummy?”
You smile and nod as you show her Hugo. Rose, your perceptive three-year old, inspects him closely and declares him “not very pretty.”
“He’s like the gnomes in Nana’s house!”
This brings a smile to your face.
“Even so, Rosie, he’s your baby brother.” You kiss Hugo lightly on the forehead. “And Daddy and I love him just like we love you.”
Rose’s face scrunches up just like she’s about to start crying. And yes, tears do start falling down her face.
“Mummy, you gave him my special kiss! You don’t like me anymore!”
She’s crying fully now, small sobs and sighs that pierce you straight to your heart. You tug Rose into an embrace with a free hand, and give her a kiss on the forehead too.
“Oh Rosie, Mummy will always, always love you,” you say, and you can’t help but tear up yourself.
--
You think your heart has just broken.
Rose's letter is still in your hands, and is quickly being blotted by the hot tears spilling from your eyes. Your baby, your poor, poor baby.
She wrote and told you not to tell Daddy. She said she’d gotten pregnant two months ago, but had lost the baby last Sunday. She doesn't know what to do, she said, admitting she hadn't even told the school nurse about it.
"Please don't tell Daddy," your baby pleads, promising she'll tell him herself when she's ready.
So yes, you won't.
Rose's letter is full of apologies and explanations that don't particularly make sense. You don't particularly care about them now, either. She said she’s sorry for being careless, for forgetting to take her potion just that one time.
She said she was afraid to tell you, but had to, because it hurt to have secrets from you.
I’m sorry, Mum," she wrote. "I hope you're not disappointed and mad for long. I hope you still love me." Of course, you say silently, and hope she knows this somehow.
"It hurts, Mummy."
Your heart breaks once more.
--
Rose smiles at you and gives you a tight hug. She leans in even closer.
“Mum! We’re going to have a baby!”
She’s happy, so very unlike the last time-you don’t want to think of that now, not ever.
“Don’t tell Dad yet! I want to tell him myself.”
You give her a huge grin even though tears are spilling from your eyes. Even through the tears, though, you know that her eyes are the brightest they’ve ever been.
Poll Round 3, Challenge 6; Drabbles
Behind the cut are the drabbles for this challenge, writing using second person narrative.
Usual rules still apply, no voting for yourself, and do not get people to vote for you.
Drabble #1:
Title: Nightmare
By: minervasrevenge
Rating: All ages
Warnings: N/A
Summary: Malfoy Manor revisited.
Pairing: Hermione/Ron
Word Count: 563
The fear was like a bucket of icy water cascading down your body when you heard “If she dies under questioning, I’ll take you next.”
More words followed but you never really heard them. You saw Bellatrix Lestrange slap Ron and your heart leapt into your throat, nearly choking you.
The mad witch sliced through your ropes and your mind foretold the same knife slicing through your flesh. Then the witch grabbed a handful of your hair and dragged you away from the others. You were alone. You understood that you were going to be killed but were too frightened to say good-bye to Harry and Ron as they were handled out of the room.
Without warning, pain, pure and unrefined, dropped you to your knees. It seemed to last forever. Your body shook with it and you heard an awful sound - it was your voice giving sound to your agony.
“That was encouragement for you to tell me the truth,” the witch hissed. You heard her but couldn’t process what was happening. You saw her feet shift on the thick rug as if she was drunk and then she screamed something at you. You picked out one shrill and unimportant word - Mudblood.
“Where did you get this sword?” the witch panted.
Your bleary eyes focused on the wand leveled at your face.
And then the pain came again. Black spots danced in your eyes while your body tried to turn inside out. As you regained your breath, you noticed that the carpet smelled like fresh herbs.
Suddenly, lucidity grabbed you and you realized that you had to lie. In that moment, triumphing over Voldemort weighed on your shivering shoulders.
“I’m going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?”
“We found it - we found it - PLEASE!” you cried.
In the moment before the curse hit you again, you remembered that Bellatrix is insane and no matter what you said, you’d be made to suffer. Your throat ripped with the force of your screams.
Sobbing and coughing, you thought her last curse hadn’t hurt as much as the first or maybe your body was bursting with endorphins.
“You’re lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!”
Amidst your pain and over your scream, you thought you heard a treasured voice call your name.
“What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!”
Lightning-quick, metal flashed at your arm. You wanted to laugh because you barely felt the nick of the blade after suffering multiple Cruciatus Curses. The sound of feet moving away lifted your heavy eyelids. Your quick mind realized that your reprieve served to enhance further torture.
So, so slowly, you pushed yourself up to sit. You found it interesting that only one face watching you was full of hatred - the rest were terrified.
As if to punish you for your audacity in sitting up, you found yourself trapped in fiery pain again.
You didn’t want to die.
“What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!”
And then you wake up. Sometimes, the nightmare lasts longer and sometimes it’s shorter. But when you roll onto your side, you press your face into Ron’s back and are comforted.
Drabble #2:
Title: Peace
By: luvscharlie
Rating: PG
Warnings: Character Death, completely AU
Summary: Hermione is desperate to find happiness and peace in a world where her true love no longer resides.
Pairing: Hermione/Ron, Hermione/Harry
Word Count: 625
You wonder when it might stop hurting, when the pain might subside enough to allow you to remember him with less than the unpleasant tilt of your stomach and the dizzy spin of your head, and a need to empty your insides onto the floor that far surpasses them all. You wonder when-make that if-- you wonder if that might happen. You pray it comes soon.
And the days drag on. Minutes pass as though they were hours, hours as though days, and you wonder if you might ever feel that elusive cheerfulness again. If you do, will you recognise it. It's been so long since happiness was an emotion you associated with yourself that even the word is foreign to you now.
It has been five years since the War ended and took his life. You have lived every minute as though it were a lifetime. A painful, heart wrenching lifetime that you wish had never been. What you wouldn't give if you could just go back to that day and die beside him. You think, perhaps, that you married Harry for no other reason than that he was the closest thing to Ron you could find. And you were so desperate to find him…
You wonder if the man beside you, your husband now, knows he is a substitute for his best friend… the man you so desperately wanted…the man you loved so deeply it hurt… the man you watched die.
He does. You know that somewhere, deep down, he knows. He knows that he will never be anything more than your second best.
Harry looks at you and says your name-or at least you think he does.
"Hermione." It's a whisper that barely reaches your ears, but it's certainly your name. He takes your elbow and turns you toward that all too dreaded place. Harry, however, is the only one who understands how hated this place is now. Or, rather, the only one who hates it perhaps as much, if not more, than you.
How was it that simple swing hanging from that old tree signified so much? When would you be able to remember it with the fondness that it once brought you? When would you not hurt at the memory of climbing onto that old swing during that fateful summer when you were only seventeen and so many things teetered on that precipice of change; some would go back and some things simply never could. They had changed too significantly.
He pushed you high into the air on that old wooden swing. Oh, the freedom when you released your hold on the ropes and plummeted into the icy, cold pond water below. You had never known such a feeling as that. The way it felt when you came spluttering, laughing to the surface, to find that he was already there encircling you in arms that were strong and sure; arms that would never fail you; arms that had never failed you. Tried and true, that was your Ron.
And he kissed you, and your world stood still.
***
That night as you lie down in your bed next to the man you married with the glass tube that so recently held the Draught of Living Death dangling from your fingers, it comes over you. It is peaceful, this sleep that takes over your body. Then Ron's face is before you, his hand outstretched welcoming you into that place where happiness awaits you, where you may well find peace at last.
And you are together…finally.
Drabble #3:
Title: These Things
By: gingeraled
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mentions of death
Summary: Of course, you say silently, and hope she knows this somehow.
Pairing: gen, but R/Hr in the background
Word Count: 669
The emotions are all jumbled up inside you. There is surprise; there is hope; there is relief.
Pure awe.
You are exhausted like you've never been and the sole reason you are awake is the tiny bundle of life you have in your arms. Rose-that's the name that's been decided on-is so small and wrinkled, but she's beautiful. You can't help but check if she got the complete set of fingers and toes, but decide that, come what may, you will love this child with your life.
You decide you are willing to die for little Rose, but more importantly, you decide that you are completely willing to live for her.
For a second your concentration is broken by the large hand that wipes away the sweat from your forehead. You look up. There are tears in your husband's blue eyes as he gives you a reassuring smile. Somehow, he looks even more overwhelmed than you feel, but you know that he will be strong for both of you. For the three of you. Your husband flashes a lopsided grin at your daughter, your daughter, and all lingering fears of parenthood and the future fly out the window.
Rose yawns and tightly grips the finger you've offered her tiny hand. She looks ready to fall asleep, as are you.
Tears flood your eyes as well, and another emotion is born in your heart. You feel overwhelming joy from holding this new life-this new love.
--
Rosie’s blue eyes are big and wide as she looks at the small bundle you’re holding to your chest.
“What’s that, mummy? Is that the brother from your tummy?”
You smile and nod as you show her Hugo. Rose, your perceptive three-year old, inspects him closely and declares him “not very pretty.”
“He’s like the gnomes in Nana’s house!”
This brings a smile to your face.
“Even so, Rosie, he’s your baby brother.” You kiss Hugo lightly on the forehead. “And Daddy and I love him just like we love you.”
Rose’s face scrunches up just like she’s about to start crying. And yes, tears do start falling down her face.
“Mummy, you gave him my special kiss! You don’t like me anymore!”
She’s crying fully now, small sobs and sighs that pierce you straight to your heart. You tug Rose into an embrace with a free hand, and give her a kiss on the forehead too.
“Oh Rosie, Mummy will always, always love you,” you say, and you can’t help but tear up yourself.
--
You think your heart has just broken.
Rose's letter is still in your hands, and is quickly being blotted by the hot tears spilling from your eyes. Your baby, your poor, poor baby.
She wrote and told you not to tell Daddy. She said she’d gotten pregnant two months ago, but had lost the baby last Sunday. She doesn't know what to do, she said, admitting she hadn't even told the school nurse about it.
"Please don't tell Daddy," your baby pleads, promising she'll tell him herself when she's ready.
So yes, you won't.
Rose's letter is full of apologies and explanations that don't particularly make sense. You don't particularly care about them now, either. She said she’s sorry for being careless, for forgetting to take her potion just that one time.
She said she was afraid to tell you, but had to, because it hurt to have secrets from you.
I’m sorry, Mum," she wrote. "I hope you're not disappointed and mad for long. I hope you still love me." Of course, you say silently, and hope she knows this somehow.
"It hurts, Mummy."
Your heart breaks once more.
--
Rose smiles at you and gives you a tight hug. She leans in even closer.
“Mum! We’re going to have a baby!”
She’s happy, so very unlike the last time-you don’t want to think of that now, not ever.
“Don’t tell Dad yet! I want to tell him myself.”
You give her a huge grin even though tears are spilling from your eyes. Even through the tears, though, you know that her eyes are the brightest they’ve ever been.
Poll Round 3, Challenge 6; Drabbles