Writer's Block at Sugarquill Challenge #01: Favorite Quote - VOTING!!
Challenge: Favorite Quote - Voting!
Points: 1st/2nd/3rd/Participation Only: 50/40/30/10 points & 20/15/10/5 knuts, respectively. 2pts for voting
Deadline: Tuesday, September 17 @ 23:59 UTC for voting (timezone converter).
Details: For this challenge, you need to pick your favorite quote from any of the HP books, then write a fic inspired by it. The one catch - your fic can't relate to the original scene in which the quote was said. You're putting a new spin on an old quote!
We have 10 great fics for you to read and vote on today! Usual voting guidelines apply; you'll get two points for your vote and don't vote for yourself or ask others to vote for you!
Textbox for your convenience
1st:
2nd:
3rd:
Name || House (or sigtag)
#01
"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!"
It was the first day of September in the year 2017. Ron Weasley was sitting at the Hog's Head with his secret lover, Pansy Parkinson. They were sipping on particularly delicious Firewhisky, flirting with and teasing each other outside of the view of any mutual acquaintances of the two. Then, suddenly, Pansy received an owl from the Head of Slytherin House. It mentioned the names of all the children of her friends and rivals who had just made it into Slytherin House. With her hand around his waist, Pansy smirked as she whispered the names of the people who had been Sorted into Slytherin. "Scorpius Malfoy": no surprise there; it would have been news for a Malfoy to have been Sorted anywhere else. "Albus Severus Potter": Ron winced a little bit but that too made sense. The young Albus, after all, seemed to stand out among his Gryffindor relatives by being quiet and subtle instead of boisterous - and his older brother had already predicted many times that this would be where Albus ended up.
It was the final name on the list, though, that was the real bombshell to Ron. Pansy gave Ron a quick kiss before moving her mouth up to his ear and whispering in the name "Rose Weasley". At that moment, Ron was livid. He moved a half step away from Pansy, clenched his fists, stared right at her, and - suddenly feeling all the rage he had remembered from his student days, yelled at the top of his lungs a phrase his mum had made famous nineteen years prior:
"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!"
#02
Always
Hermione sat back and watched. It was the eighth year and she saw fireworks exploding between Harry and Malfoy. She was a bit shocked, but it made sense. They always made fireworks. They fought. They followed each other. Their entire worlds just seemed to blend together. She glanced around the deserted corridor, wondering which one would finally snap. She cast a disillusionment spell over herself and leaned back against the wall.
She watched their verbal word play back and forth. It looked as if Malfoy would be the one that had too much today. She watched in shock as he pushed Harry up against the wall, both arms up above his head. The two boys were breathing heavily as they became lost in the other’s eyes. She was not quite horrified when suddenly Malfoy lowered his mouth to Harry’s. She put a hand over her mouth as she watched. Malfoy let go of Harry’s hands and bunched them into his robes. Harry’s arms were wrapped around Malfoy’s neck as the kiss deepened.
There was always something between the two. Now she saw where it could lead.
#03
"Mischief Managed."
Remus had to be brave. If there was any time in his life to show he was a true Gryffindor, this was it.
He thought of Teddy; his little hand curled around Remus' finger. He thought of Nymphadora; her smile and the smell of her skin. He thought of his friends. Sirius; always so reckless. James; willing to sacrifice his life for those he loved. Peter... well, best not to think of Peter.
He took a deep breath and raised his head. His wand was in his hand. Now was the time to be brave; to show the recklessness and selflessness he learned from Sirius and James. The conclusion to all their childhood mischief.
The Final Battle had begun, and Remus would not be afraid.
#04
"There are all kinds of courage" - Dumbledore
There are all kinds of courage. Draco had thought on this for a long time, wondering if there could be a possible way for his behaviour to be construed as courageous. He searched his mind, desperate for an inkling - even a shaky improbable one - that suggested he could be a brave person. He couldn't have been in a more difficult situation for this, though, as he sat at a long table of Death Eaters with his father at his side, looking more haggard and terrified than Draco could have ever imagined him being.
He had certainly not expected his life to take such a turn, or to find himself in so deep with Voldemort and dark magic and promises to help murder schoolmates. He had only allowed himself to become involved with the Death Eaters at all so he could parade his scary and serious connections in front of his jealous Slytherin housemates, so he could easily gain the upper hand in his beloved dungeons. He never really wanted to inflict harm on others - he was all talk and everybody knew it. He wasn't even sure if he'd actually cared at all about blood purity or Muggleborns.
Draco sat and watched as Voldemort taunted his father, the man he'd dedicated his life to impressing and aspired to be just like someday. His father had been dignified, handsome, and noble, but now was reduced to tears as his leader snapped his wand in half to humiliate him. It was then that Draco had wondered if surviving this was enough to consider himself brave. He knew he had gotten himself into this situation, but he didn't know what it would turn into. Would forcing himself to make it through be one of those secret forms of courage that nobody had ever told Draco about? That thought, that he might someday be recognized as brave, was what Draco decided he'd hold onto to keep himself from surrendering and giving up. He didn't want to die a coward. He wanted to live.
#05
"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”
It’s been so long and still your heart hasn’t healed.
.
.
.
Cho Chang. It means butterfly, but you never thought herself to be one.
Butterflies are fragile. Delicate. And all you are is a copy; a person with broken wings trying to fly.
The past weighs you down.
.
.
.
Maybe you did soar at one point - when the sky used to be blue and you had broken out of her shell and your heart wasn’t guarded.
But now it’s battered and bruised, locked up in an iron cage that only Cedric holds the key to.
Cedric’s gone now, isn’t he?
You try not to remember.
.
.
.
It’s just so hard. He’s gone, and your heart can’t heal when it’s all alone in its dark prison.
The past adorns you; your tears are drops of ice that shatter when they hit the ground; Cho Chang is the name of a girl that has been long discarded. You are a symphony of whys and ghosts and the stormy eyes of the man that used to hold you.
He still does, doesn’t he?
.
.
.
They say he’s dead, he’s gone, but he’s not, you know he’s not because he’s dancing right in front of you, always twirling around you like he did at the dance, spinning and holding out his hand towards you-
You reach out and he’s gone, gone like a wisp of a blown out candle.
.
.
.
Your heart is still locked up, caged in a tower of ice that will never thaw.
And you try to open it up, you really do, but all you can think is Cedric and he’s not Cedric and why aren’t you here, Cedric?
You’re a butterfly, hopelessly flitting around and trying to reach the sky, with too many dreams that will never, ever, ever come true.
Gravity hurts.
.
.
.
So it is now, as you stand in front of the mirror, staring at your pale skin and empty eyes and disheveled black hair, that you finally cannot recognize yourself.
Where have you gone? Where has the Cho Chang, the pretty one that liked to talk and read and play Seeker for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team? Where did she go?
Where did you go?
.
.
.
Butterflies don’t have a long life but what they have is beautiful. You are done with dying, because you’re still alive and you’re not over yet.
The next day, you wear a short skirt and dress up your hair. A smile follows, except this time it’s not a chore; this time, your face moves like it knows how.
You walk out and people smile at you; and suddenly, you’re not the sniveling girl from yesterday, you’re the new girl that has put herself back together.
You have put yourself back together, but the cracks still remain underneath.
But, healing doesn’t mean erasing, does it?
You will live; for Cedric, and for yourself.
#06
"There's enough filth on my robes without you touching them."
I pace my cell anxiously, trying to distract myself to make the time pass quicker. It doesn't really help; if anything, it makes it worse, because when I sit down on my bed again I realise hardly any time has passed at all. Or, at least, it feels like that. I've only one way of guessing the time, and that's by concentrating on the light that I can see through the small window at the top of my cell. It's nowhere near accurate, but it lets me know day from night.
Draco left when it was dark, and it's still dark now, so it can't have been that long. It's the end of summer, so the nights are drawing to a close, but I'd bet he's been gone no more than two or three hours. I can't do anything more than bite my lip and anxiously await his return. If he returns, I should say. There's no guarantee he will. The higher up the Dark Lord's ranks Draco goes, the harder and more unsafe his missions become.
I lean back on my bed and close my eyes, trying to get some much needed sleep in. I feel as though I'm just there, about to fall into oblivion and allow my dreams to overtake the horror of my life, when the crack of Apparition rouses me.
I jump up, startled at first, then I relax when I see it's just Draco. He's alone, and though he looks as if he's been dragged through a hedge backwards, he's alive. A few cuts and bruises here and there, dried blood and mud on his robes and usually perfect skin. He looks a sight. I'm quite surprised he's allowing me to see him like this, to be quite honest. I would have thought he'd have a shower straight away. Perhaps, what with the added danger of this particular mission, he wanted to put my mind at rest.
I can hope that's why, anyway. If he never tells me, I can always believe it. I run the couple of steps from my bed to him, grabbing onto his robes in an attempt to embrace him.
"There's enough filth on my robes without you touching them," Draco says cruelly. His voice is hard and cold, and that tells me all I need to know. The battle did not go as hoped. He's always the same after a mission that wasn't entirely a success; fearful and ashamed. He freely takes his anger out on me, but I know he must care because he took the time to come here first.
I nod and step backwards. He runs a hand through his hair and stares at me for a few moments, but he says no more. He Disapparates then, and I suspect it'll be a day or two before he comes to see me again.
That's fine. I understand. At least I know he's alive now.
#07
"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that." (Albus Dumbledore, Philosopher's Stone)
Daniel always had a quip for Cho when she came to his counter. “Something sweet for a sweetheart,” he might say, as he tipped her doughnuts into a bag with a flourish. “I brewed this one especially with you,” perhaps he might add, with a wink, as he slid her coffee across the counter.
Normally Cho would be repulsed by such obvious flirtation, but there was something kind in Daniel's eyes, and his laughter set butterflies off in her stomach. And she couldn't deny that he had a physical appeal. When she stepped into the cafe that afternoon, Daniel smiled brightly at her and said, “You know, Miss Chang, I think this has gone on far enough, hasn't it? I would be honoured if you would agree to see me sometime, outside the cafe. I still look dashing without the apron, I can assure you.” And Cho had no absolutely idea how to respond.
After the disaster that was dating Harry Potter, Cho had tried her hardest to avoid dating. Yes, she'd seen Michael Corner a couple of times, but that was nothing serious, just two friends talking Quidditch, mostly. And then the war had truly started, and Cho had been too busy worrying to even think about dating. She'd been too busy fighting.
Now, war was over and Cho was making her way through Healer training, working to help people who'd accidentally transfigured their hands into oven mitts or who'd inadvertently crossed some magical creature. Now, Cho was an adult, and living the life she'd always dreamed of living, with one exception. And she hesitated because she was afraid of losing that dream.
Cho still remembered Cedric Diggory, her first love and the sweetest and most perfect gentleman she had ever known. She still dreamed of him, his easy smile and the way his hair fell into his eyes, the way he always encouraged Cho to do whatever made her happiest, and the way his hands felt on the back of her neck when they kissed. Cho dreamed of Cedric, dreamed that one day he would return to her and sweep her off her feet, the way he once had.
But Cedric Diggory was never going to come back. That was the simple truth of it, and Cho couldn't spend the rest of her life dwelling on him. No, it simply would not do. She would never find true happiness that way; she would never really live.
Cho lifted her head and smiled at the sweet, handsome, kind man behind the cafe counter, and Cho decided to live. “All right,” she said, as a flush of heat rushed into her face and neck. “That would be very nice, actually.”
#08
It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live
Most days were spent holed up in the laboratory, concocting some new prank-item. Ninety-nine percent of his ideas are junk -- too difficult, too gross, too silly, too insignificant. Only one in a hundred make it past the laboratory stage into the testing stage. And from that one percent, only half made it into the store. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes didn't necessarily need a lot of new material, though. In fact, the marketing experts thought George should slow down on his production. But the only thing he ever did was work on production. He didn't go home to visit his parents. He didn't attend his niece's first birthday party. He didn't help out with the store. He didn't listen to the radio or read the Daily Prophet or even leave his apartment above the store. Finally, Ron decides to venture into the off-limits lab area and see what was going on. It's nothing spectacular.
"This is the only place I can see him," George admits.
"You can't just stay in this nightmare," Ron insists. "You're missing out on your own life."
"But what's my life without Fred?"
Ron doesn't have an answer for that one.
#09
"Oh, I hope she tries Vanishing them next...they multiply by ten every time you try..."
Sirius was watching as Lily looked down at the rats that were swarming around the first years in the common room. It had been a particularly tricky spell for him but he'd managed. James stood next to him, mouth twisted into a scowl as Lily waved her wand, obviously trying to round them up since immediately they all scattered in opposite directions. "Oh, I hope she tries Vanishing them next...they multiply by ten every time you try..." Sirius said with a laugh.
James punched him on the arm and Sirius rubbed it, looking over at him. "You idiot. I just got her to consider going out with me and now she's going to think that I-"
"James Potter!" Lily screamed and James narrowed his eyes somewhat scarily at Sirius.
Clearing his throat, Sirius pulled his wand out. "Right, right. Sorry. I'll fix this."
It took Sirius three times before he remembered how to get rid of them. James made sure that Sirius told Lily that it was entirely his fault but Lily still glared at him as she took two first years to the hospital wing. Sighing, James slumped into a chair in the common room. "Maybe next time."
#10
"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."
She had been dreaming the same dream every night for what felt like months. So much of it was familiar - it was her and him, here, in this tent, in this forest. But they weren’t seventeen-year-old kids in her dream. They were much older. Much, much older.
Their hair was gray, their skin wrinkled. They had long ago lost the ability to walk without the help of a cane.
The tent was in shambles, too. It was barely standing around them. She could feel the chill in the air as the wind came through holes that were growing larger and larger every day.
It was almost as if their magic had been aging as well.
Every night in her dream, she pointed her wand at the fire, but nothing happened. So the two of them sat, on opposite sides of the tent, never talking, staring into nothingness.
There was no way to tell from the dream what had happened in the outside world, but she always knew anyway. They hadn’t succeeded, nor had they died. The war went on, their friends and family perished, the world forgot about them. Until there they sat, lost and alone and forgotten.
Every morning, she would wake, a cold sweat covering her, trembling, pale, afraid. It was her worst nightmare. Everything she had never wanted from her life, coming to pass. A failure at everything she had tried to do. Aging away with no one caring.
“It’s just a dream,” Harry would tell her, not unkindly, every morning when he saw her face, but it didn’t make her feel any better.
Soon, the dream was all she could think about. Not just in the hours after waking when it seemed seared in her memory, not just in the hours before bed when she would worry it would return, but every minute, every hour, until she found herself in a constant state of fear.
Until one afternoon when out of no where Harry took her hand.
“It does not do to dwell on dreams,” he said, “and forget to live.”
She glanced at him.
“A wise old man told me that,” he said, almost embarrassed.
She nodded.
“It’s not over,” he continued, then gestured at them, at the tent, at the world outside. “This is not over. We are not going to fail. We are going to get through this, and we are going to go home. And no matter what, I am not going to forget you. Nor is Ron or Ginny or Fred or George or anyone else. You believe me, right?”
She smiled, for the first time in what seemed forever.
“I believe you,” she said.
That night, when she went to bed, she was dreamless.
She believed him.
Look for the second WB challenge later this weekend!