Writer's Block 33.5 - VOTING
Challenge: Procrastination
Points: 1st/2nd/3rd/Participation Only: 50/40/30/10 points & 20/15/10/5 knuts, respectively. 2pts for voting.
Deadline: Submissions taken until Monday, November 16th @ 11:59PM UTC, Voting until Sunday, November 21st 11:59PM UTC. EXTENDED...come vote...let's not Procrastiante any longer!!
Details: Your inspiration for this Writers Block is simply "Procrastination"!
RULES:
+ You may submit ONE (1) entry.
+ All fics must be between 100 and 500 words. Use either this site to double-check your count or this one.
+ Your fic must be written specifically for this challenge.
+ Include only official Harry Potter characters from the books and movies. No original characters or characters from another series.
+ No fics of an R or NC-17 rating. (Use common sense for this, but examples include no intense violence, no graphic sex scenes, etc.)
+ Do not share your entry or post it in any other capacity until voting concludes.
And the entries for Procrastination are:
Title: The Servant Will Set Out to Rejoin His Master
Later, he would claim he'd been busy. He'd been on the run from Sirius, who himself had also been on the run and therefore Peter needed to keep one step ahead-- not an easy task when Sirius had always been faster and smarter. But really, there'd been no sign of Sirius at all.
It had taken him two months to arrive in Albania, and he had dragged his feet every step of the way, almost as if hoping to be caught, though he would not prefer to be caught by Sirius, who would kill him on sight.
His fear of Sirius was the reason he went to Albania at all, desperately seeking someone who might be more powerful than a wizard who could escape Azkaban. He could only think of one person: Lord Voldemort.
Maybe Peter dragged his feet because he was hoping another thought would present itself, another person who could protect him, but there was no one. Death Eaters wanted him dead, Wizards on the light side wanted him dead, and probably Voldemort would as well, but if he could make himself useful, Voldemort would keep him alive.
Still, he traveled by Muggle transport, staying in random hotels and inns until he worried Sirius might catch up with him, traveling mostly overland and always slowly, hoping someone could save him from what he had to do, save him from returning to Voldemort.
But just like last time, no came to help, and Wormtail fell once again into service to Voldemort.
Title: Nothing Better To Do
It was the dead of night and Zacharias Smith felt unusually restless. He felt certain the Daily Prophet would lull him back to sleep, but before he could locate a paper, he spotted something that required his attention. Close by the dying fire, Hannah Abbott sat huddled under a fluffy powder-blue blanket. Scraggly strands of blond hair stuck out from her cowl and her big brown eyes were staring.
Zacharias stopped, looking down at her under a raised eyebrow.
"All right, Hannah?"
"No," Hannah moaned. "It's this Transfiguration essay. I don't know why I'm taking Transfiguration. Ernie thinks I should try to become a Healer, but I don't even know if I want to be a Healer. I couldn't handle the stress."
"No," Zacharias agreed. He took the armchair across from her, crossing his long legs out in front of him. "I daresay you couldn't."
Hannah blinked. "You think I couldn't manage as a Healer?"
Zacharias gestured with an upturned palm. "I'm certain you would be a complete wreck. Just look at you now. You're miserable. Why should you put yourself through this?"
Hannah sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. "Because - because I'm a prefect, and I - I should make something of myself."
"Make yourself comfortable, I say. If you're comfortable raising Puffskeins for a living, who are we to judge? I can't for the life of me understand why you listen to Ernie," Zacharias said loftily. "He's mad, you do realize?"
Hannah barked a laugh. "He's not, Zach."
"We'll have to disagree," Zacharias murmured. "Now, this essay. When's it due?"
"Tomorrow." Hannah squeezed in her lips and shut her eyes.
"Oh, dear. Well, come on, let's see what you've got. We have about seven hours or so."
"We?"
Zacharias shrugged. "I don't have anything better to do, really."
Title: Divinations
The Divinations essay was due at the end of the month. The end of the month! Ron had an entire month to work on it. Why would he start the day it was assigned? Plus he already had a Potions essay to write and a Charms exam to study for that were much more pressing. Those are the things he should be focusing on.
--
"Did you start your essay?" Harry asked over breakfast.
"For what?" Ron asked, mouth half full.
"Divinations, it's due in three weeks."
Ron's mouth was too full to laugh at that but three weeks? That was all the time in the world! The most important thing was the breakfast he was stuffing his face with.
--
Ron fell asleep on the sofa in the Common Room. It was late but not really late enough that he should have fallen asleep. He was very rudely awakened by someone poking him repeatedly in the arm.
"Wake up!" Hermione hissed in his ear.
"Huh?" he wiped the sleep from his eyes.
"Go to bed, Ron," she sighed dramatically. "You can work on your essay tomorrow."
"Wha essay?" he asked, since he had fallen asleep reading up on the latest Chudley Cannons' match. Hermione just rolled her eyes.
--
"How's the essay going?" Parvati asked as she sat down at one of the tables in the library. Ron, alarmed, looked between her and Harry.
"What essay?"
"Divinations?" Parvati reminded him with a look that clearly indicated how crazy she thought he was acting. "It's due Friday?"
"Oh," Ron said with a sigh of relief. "Yeah I'll probably start it tomorrow."
--
Friday morning, Ron skipped breakfast. Harry found him furiously scribbling in the Common Room, his eyes a little bloodshot. The parchment was mostly illegible.
"Your Divinations essay?" Harry asked, barely containing a smirk.
"I thought I could do it in a night. Why didn't anyone make me start earlier!"
Title: Priorities
“Epic.”
Pansy’s voice sliced through my thoughts, shattering the intricate sequence of moves I’d been contemplating. “What?”
“Your powers of procrastination. They’re almost Gryffindorian.”
I felt my face flush as I retreated to our standard banter. “Your words wound me to the quick, Pansy.”
She arched an eyebrow, not missing my flaming cheeks for a moment. “Apparently they do, Draco.” She sat down across from me and leaned over to look at the book I’d been pouring over. “So, the real question is what could possibly cause you to risk Snape’s immortal wrath by not leaving enough time to do our Potions essay properly?” She paused, taking in the pictured configurations. “Wizard’s chess? Why would--aaaah. Weasley.”
I felt my jaw tighten.
“You know, it’s quite possibly the only thing he’s good at. Oughtn’t we leave him something to excel at?”
My mouth dropped open. “Who are you and what have you done with Pansy?”
She flipped me a saucy grin. “Got you. Crush him like a Cornish pixie, Draco. You can crib from my Potions essay if you need to.”
I grinned back at her. “You’re the best, Pansy.”
“Bloody right I am.” She blew me a kiss. “Now, study up. Slytherin House’s strategic gaming honor demands it.”
Title: Last Minute Lectures
"Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit!" Ginny tossed a boot over her shoulder, followed by a paperback novel and a Quaffle; Hermione flicked her wand to cast each item aside as they flew at her, lest she be clocked off the side of the head with one of them. "Where the bloody hell is my paper?"
"Language," Hermione said, clucking her tongue. "What on earth are you looking for?"
"My interview notes for the Quidditch article," Ginny replied, still rummaging through the disastrous mess otherwise known as her office. "It's due tomorrow and I haven't even started writing it proper yet."
Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes, watching Ginny from her position in the doorway. She adored the Weasley family, truly, but honestly, sometimes it was exhausting trying to teach them anything. "How many times have I told you not to procrastinate on these things?" Hermione asked, shaking her head with disapproval. "Especially if you aren't going to keep your things organized."
"Shut up and help me look," Ginny said; she turned around with a grin, throwing a sock in Hermione's direction. Ginny adored Hermione, truly, but honestly, sometimes it was exhausting listening to her lecture.
Hermione grabbed the sock and tossed it back at Ginny, fighting the smile which was breaking through the scowl upon her face. She knelt down beside her best friend and began shuffling through papers and books. It was one thing to criticise Ginny on her bad habits, but Hermione certainly didn't mind coming to the rescue at the last minute.
Anyway, Ginny was still better than Ron, who had turned in countless things far past their deadline, and left his important things buried behind much more...interesting items than a clean pair of socks.
Title: Procrastinating Painter
[Dean cursed under his breath when a knock pulled him away from the canvas he had spent all morning toiling over. If he didn't get this painting for the War Relief Gala finished by tomorrow, Hermione would have his hide. She had wanted the painting a week ago but he hadn't been able to finish the bloody thing. Either he got distracted or someone else distracted him, without fail, whenever he was finally sitting down to paint.
“One moment!” Dean called out as the knocking continued. Looking longingly at his paintbrush, he placed it into a cup of tepid water before grabbing a rag to ineffectively wipe at the vermilion and auburn staining his fingers.
Looking impatient and fidgety as always, Seamus had raised his hand to knock yet again, when Dean finally opened the door. Dean just shook his head in amusement and moved aside. Oddly enough, Seamus didn't say anything when the door closed and instead of plopping into his normal rocking chair, he hesitated by the door without even removing his cloak. Dean cleared his throat but Seamus wouldn't meet his eyes.
“Shay what's-,” Dean started, but the sentence died prematurely in his throat when Seamus looked up with visibly wet eyes. Immediately, Dean pulled the other man into a tight hug, cradling the back of his friend's head absently.
“Look I know you're busy and this isn't a good time but I just needed to come here and say something to you and then I promise I'll bugger off until you're done working.” Seamus' voice was firm but very small. Dean held him closer but he didn't try to interject. “I know this is probably going to ruin everything but I can't stomach the idea of watching you leave another party with Ginny Weasley. I...” he trailed off, taking a fortifying breath but moving his hands to cling to the back of Dean's shirt. “I know you think I'm jealous but I can't just shut up and watch as you slowly but surely get back together with Ginny. Dean... I love you.”
For a moment, Dean froze. He didn't know what to say. Not because he didn't feel the same way. On the contrary, Dean had known he was in love with Seamus Finnegan since their third year. He just had never expected Seamus to return the sentiment, not in a million years! When he felt Seamus' shoulders become tense and the Irishman try to pull away, Dean didn't waste any more time. He grabbed Seamus' slightly scruffy chin in a firm hold and brought their lips together fervently. Dean didn't let off until Seamus' shoulders were relaxed and the Irishman whimpered softly. Hermione's painting would get done, Dean had given her his word, but right now it appeared he had a bit more procrastinating to do.]
Title: Stupid Love
Harry does nothing because he knows that he could accomplish so much if he did something. That simply is not allowed. If his aunt or his uncle finds out that he is capable of achieving more than Dudley then it will not be worth waking up in the morning at all. He did that once. He is not foolish enough to do it again. He does not think he has felt so hungry in his life. Yes, better to do nothing and be seen as stupid than to show an inkling of anything and starve and so knowing you are. ]
Title: I’ll Tell You Tomorrow
He'd tell her tomorrow.
He'd pull her aside after breakfast, walk with her to class. He'd apologize for the words he spoke, for the things he said in anger that never should have been said.
He'd tell her she was his best friend, the only person in the world he really cared about. He’d tell her he couldn't stand to fight with her, couldn't stand to not spend time with her.
If that went well - and he knew it would, felt that it would - maybe he would tell her the rest. Tell her he’d loved her since the day they met, tell her she was the only person he could see a future with, tell her he would do anything to make it right if it only meant they could be together.
Yes, he would tell her tomorrow.
That’s what Severus Snape told himself every night before he fell asleep. And it’s what he told himself every morning when he looked in the mirror, his stomach too in knots to do it that day.
He would tell her tomorrow. Tomorrow. He’d tell her then and it would be perfect. Everything would be alright.
Until the morning he woke up, walked into the Great Hall and felt his stomach drop as he watched James Potter lean over and give her a kiss.
Snape turned around and fled, sick to his stomach.
He had meant to tell her, he had. He’d had it all planned out, every word, every detail. He was going to tell her, he was.
Tomorrow. He was going to tell her tomorrow.
Now he never would.
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