challenges #5 and #75
Title: Something Blue
Rating/Warnings: G
Characters/Pairing: Hermione/Ron (I DON'T EVEN SHIP IT, WHAT IS THIS?)
Summary: Hermione freaks out. Ron is patient and long-suffering.
Word Count: 627
Author's Notes: Um...I am flabbergasted to have written R/Hr. O.o What has this comm done to me? I saw an obvious story for this prompt and wrote it, despite my established history of not liking this pairing.
Registered purchases?: Both.
He’d had quite enough of this. “Hermione, I’m coming in!” Ron shouted.
“No! You’re not allowed! It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding!” she shrieked as he opened the door and was promptly forced to dodge whatever had been flung at his head.
“I’m not looking, not looking!” he said, quickly covering his eyes, anxious to avoid turning up to his wedding with a concussion. “Just tell me what the problem is so that we can fix it, would you?”
“Who said there was a problem?” she demanded shrilly. “Everything’s fine, it’s perfect, except for you breaking the rules and coming in here when we’re not allowed to see each other til the wedding!”
“I thought it was just me who couldn’t look at you?” he asked. “Bizarre superstition, if you ask me. Is that really a Muggle tradition? Or has someone just hexed you at the last minute and you don’t want me to run off in horror? Honest, Hermione, even if you have tentacles sprouting from your head, I’ll still marry you.”
She let out several choked sounds that could’ve been laughter or sobs. He decided not to give in to the temptation of looking to find out, he had a feeling that would be detrimental to his health. There was no telling what Hermione would do when she got emotional.
“Come on,” he said soothingly. “Why don’t you tell me what’s got you so worked up? Don’t tell me the girl who helped bring down the worst Dark wizard of our time can’t handle whatever’s come up. It’ll be fine, just talk to me.”
“You’ll think it’s stupid,” she said, sounding watery.
Ron took a hand away from his eyes to try and pat her reassuringly but an outraged hiss had him quickly slapping it back over his eyes. Which were firmly shut anyway and he was in absolutely no danger of seeing his fiancée, but he doubted she was in any state to care.
“More stupid than me being left at the altar by myself? I don’t think so. Help me avoid being embarrassed to death, okay?”
“It’s one of those ‘bizarre’ Muggle traditions,” she said, stressing ‘bizarre’ in an accusatory manner. He winced, but thankfully, she didn’t press the point. “For weddings, you’re supposed to have ‘something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue’- I have your mother’s veil, my new dress, Ginny’s hair combs, but I don’t have anything blue! And it’s too late to find something at the last minute and the wedding’s almost on and I’ve ruined it because I forgot about getting something blue! I had lists! How did I not account for this?!”
He sighed in a fondly exasperated manner. Taking his hands away from his eyes, he ignored her horrified squawk and blindly fumbled for her hand. Grasping it, he pulled his wand from his pocket and closed her fingers around it.
“Hermione…are you a witch or not?”
She groaned in embarrassment. “Would you believe…I completely forgot about using magic?”
Ron shook his head. When she panicked, all her knowledge just flew straight out of her overeducated head. Squinting a little so he could just see a hazy blur, he drew up the edge of her dress with one hand and lowered their joined hands to tap each shoe, muttering the Color Change Charm so they turned the palest shade of blue.
“They don’t go with my dress,” she told him.
“Impossible to please, you are,” he sighed.
Hermione dropped a kiss on his head. “I still love you anyway.”
“Lovely as that is to hear…can we please go get married now?”
She swatted him.
It was a good thing he loved her. Hermione was shaping up to be high-maintenance as a Weasley.
----
Title: For the Lack of a Newspaper
Rating/Warnings: G
Characters/Pairing: Sirius Black, Dolores Umbridge, Cornelius Fudge
Summary: How a newspaper brought about the return of Voldemort.
Word Count: 948
Author's Notes: Funny how one little change leads to a brighter future. Who'da thunk a newspaper could make such a huge difference?
Registered purchases?: Both.
Cornelius Oswald Fudge shivered miserably over his morning tea. He’d taken Pepper Up Potion already and it had done nothing to relieve his symptoms. If he’d had access to Muggle psychologists, perhaps one of them might have informed him that he was suffering from a psychosomatic disorder, that the stress of his long-dreaded appointment had manifested in physical symptoms. However, left to his own devices, he wound up with steam busily blowing out of his ears and still felt dreadfully run-down afterwards.
Which, as it happened, was quite fortunate for him (and the rest of the wizarding world, but he wasn't to know that). No point postponing today’s inspection, he thought to himself. It’s been planned for months, can’t let them down now. I suppose there’s nothing to do but…send Dolores Umbridge in my place. The key to good leadership is knowing when to delegate, after all.
Feeling much more cheerful- and quickly releasing a few more coughs to reassure himself that he really was feeling under the weather- he hastily set about sending a note to Dolores to inform her that she would be taking his place on the inspection of Azkaban. Then he made himself another cup of tea and rejoiced at deferring the unpleasant duty of touring the wizard prison, thus necessitating being in the presence of all those mood-dampening, soul-sucking Dementors, and went back to his newspaper.
‘MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE!’ blared the headlines. Fudge’s heart leaped for a moment- then subsided in disappointment at the announcement that Arthur Weasley was the winner. To be fair, the man definitely needed the money more than he did- although, in Fudge’s opinion, he’d do better to save it for the expenses of the Weasley brood rather than frittering it all away on a lavish trip. Five children at Hogwarts? Fudge shuddered, unable to imagine having such a large family.
He idly glanced at the photo of the grinning, waving family rendered in black-and-white, and frowned at the image of the youngest boy at the center. Is that a rat on his shoulder? Fudge thought, appalled. Disgusting things, rats. Weasley may as well have put aside money for a better, more useful familiar than a rat with that prize money.
Oh, what he would do if and when he finally won the draw…
x:x:x:x:x:x:
Later that morning, Umbridge was reluctantly touring Azkaban in the Minister’s place. This is an honor, she tried to tell herself in vain. He called upon you to fill in his position! The Minister of Magic trusts you to adequately fulfill his role!
It wasn’t quite enough to diminish the impact of the Dementors, though. They may have been kept at bay by the shining Patronus of the guard escorting her throughout the prison, but the dank, dismal atmosphere coupled with the irrational but lingering fear of being grabbed and Kissed by those foul monsters left her on edge.
I must work on producing my own Patronus, she vowed to herself. So that she would never feel this fear again, so that she could trust in herself to be able to fight back if it ever came to the worst and she was left to fend for herself against those Dementors.
Finally, the end of her inspection neared as she was taken past the last, the most notorious prisoner held here: Sirius Black. By this time, she was speed-walking in her eagerness to be done and gone; duty to the Minister or not, she wanted out of here and fast.
The traitor looked about as expected for a man locked up for over a decade; hollow-eyed, lank-haired, wretched. Yet unlike the other pitiful prisoners in this place, he looked up from the corner where he was huddled as she came by, a spark of interest in his eye as he caught sight of the paper tucked into her handbag.
“Can I see…” he paused and coughed to clear his throat, which sounded hoarse as if he hadn’t spoken in ages, “the newspaper?”
She stared down at him coldly. “I think not,” she said haughtily. “This is a prison, not a hotel.” Dolores turned to the guard. “I’ve seen all there is to see, and in my estimation, you have all been doing a fine job. On behalf of the Minister, I’d like to thank you for carrying out your duties in such a difficult post. Now. The quickest way out of here, if you please?”
She trotted away, leaving behind the dismal, sorrowful man in his cell to think about his friends; the ones betrayed and killed because of his error, the traitor he’d killed for the effrontery of giving up his secret to Voldemort, and the last one left alive, whom he’d never see again. “You’re the last one left, Moony,” he murmured. “I hope you have a good life. Make up for the rest of us…”
He lapsed into bitter, mournful thoughts, unaware that across the world in the guise of a rat, the traitor he thought he’d killed still thrived.
And because he was safe and comfortable and was given no reason to flee, Peter Pettigrew lived the rest of his days as a rat, and never sought out and helped resurrect the Dark Lord.
Voldemort never returned.
Barty Crouch, Sr, did not die. (And he finally validated Percy by calling him by his rightful name)
Cedric Diggory never died at the Tri-Wizard Tournament, but was successful and brought much glory to Hufflepuff as the triumphant winner.
And Harry…well, he regretted never having the chance to date Cho Chang. But on the whole, his life was a lot less angsty.
All for the lack of a newspaper.
----
627/30 + bonus = 20.9 + 10 = 31
948/30 + bonus = 31.6 + 10 = 42
==> 73 points for Slytherin
Rating/Warnings: G
Characters/Pairing: Hermione/Ron (I DON'T EVEN SHIP IT, WHAT IS THIS?)
Summary: Hermione freaks out. Ron is patient and long-suffering.
Word Count: 627
Author's Notes: Um...I am flabbergasted to have written R/Hr. O.o What has this comm done to me? I saw an obvious story for this prompt and wrote it, despite my established history of not liking this pairing.
Registered purchases?: Both.
He’d had quite enough of this. “Hermione, I’m coming in!” Ron shouted.
“No! You’re not allowed! It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding!” she shrieked as he opened the door and was promptly forced to dodge whatever had been flung at his head.
“I’m not looking, not looking!” he said, quickly covering his eyes, anxious to avoid turning up to his wedding with a concussion. “Just tell me what the problem is so that we can fix it, would you?”
“Who said there was a problem?” she demanded shrilly. “Everything’s fine, it’s perfect, except for you breaking the rules and coming in here when we’re not allowed to see each other til the wedding!”
“I thought it was just me who couldn’t look at you?” he asked. “Bizarre superstition, if you ask me. Is that really a Muggle tradition? Or has someone just hexed you at the last minute and you don’t want me to run off in horror? Honest, Hermione, even if you have tentacles sprouting from your head, I’ll still marry you.”
She let out several choked sounds that could’ve been laughter or sobs. He decided not to give in to the temptation of looking to find out, he had a feeling that would be detrimental to his health. There was no telling what Hermione would do when she got emotional.
“Come on,” he said soothingly. “Why don’t you tell me what’s got you so worked up? Don’t tell me the girl who helped bring down the worst Dark wizard of our time can’t handle whatever’s come up. It’ll be fine, just talk to me.”
“You’ll think it’s stupid,” she said, sounding watery.
Ron took a hand away from his eyes to try and pat her reassuringly but an outraged hiss had him quickly slapping it back over his eyes. Which were firmly shut anyway and he was in absolutely no danger of seeing his fiancée, but he doubted she was in any state to care.
“More stupid than me being left at the altar by myself? I don’t think so. Help me avoid being embarrassed to death, okay?”
“It’s one of those ‘bizarre’ Muggle traditions,” she said, stressing ‘bizarre’ in an accusatory manner. He winced, but thankfully, she didn’t press the point. “For weddings, you’re supposed to have ‘something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue’- I have your mother’s veil, my new dress, Ginny’s hair combs, but I don’t have anything blue! And it’s too late to find something at the last minute and the wedding’s almost on and I’ve ruined it because I forgot about getting something blue! I had lists! How did I not account for this?!”
He sighed in a fondly exasperated manner. Taking his hands away from his eyes, he ignored her horrified squawk and blindly fumbled for her hand. Grasping it, he pulled his wand from his pocket and closed her fingers around it.
“Hermione…are you a witch or not?”
She groaned in embarrassment. “Would you believe…I completely forgot about using magic?”
Ron shook his head. When she panicked, all her knowledge just flew straight out of her overeducated head. Squinting a little so he could just see a hazy blur, he drew up the edge of her dress with one hand and lowered their joined hands to tap each shoe, muttering the Color Change Charm so they turned the palest shade of blue.
“They don’t go with my dress,” she told him.
“Impossible to please, you are,” he sighed.
Hermione dropped a kiss on his head. “I still love you anyway.”
“Lovely as that is to hear…can we please go get married now?”
She swatted him.
It was a good thing he loved her. Hermione was shaping up to be high-maintenance as a Weasley.
----
Title: For the Lack of a Newspaper
Rating/Warnings: G
Characters/Pairing: Sirius Black, Dolores Umbridge, Cornelius Fudge
Summary: How a newspaper brought about the return of Voldemort.
Word Count: 948
Author's Notes: Funny how one little change leads to a brighter future. Who'da thunk a newspaper could make such a huge difference?
Registered purchases?: Both.
Cornelius Oswald Fudge shivered miserably over his morning tea. He’d taken Pepper Up Potion already and it had done nothing to relieve his symptoms. If he’d had access to Muggle psychologists, perhaps one of them might have informed him that he was suffering from a psychosomatic disorder, that the stress of his long-dreaded appointment had manifested in physical symptoms. However, left to his own devices, he wound up with steam busily blowing out of his ears and still felt dreadfully run-down afterwards.
Which, as it happened, was quite fortunate for him (and the rest of the wizarding world, but he wasn't to know that). No point postponing today’s inspection, he thought to himself. It’s been planned for months, can’t let them down now. I suppose there’s nothing to do but…send Dolores Umbridge in my place. The key to good leadership is knowing when to delegate, after all.
Feeling much more cheerful- and quickly releasing a few more coughs to reassure himself that he really was feeling under the weather- he hastily set about sending a note to Dolores to inform her that she would be taking his place on the inspection of Azkaban. Then he made himself another cup of tea and rejoiced at deferring the unpleasant duty of touring the wizard prison, thus necessitating being in the presence of all those mood-dampening, soul-sucking Dementors, and went back to his newspaper.
‘MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE!’ blared the headlines. Fudge’s heart leaped for a moment- then subsided in disappointment at the announcement that Arthur Weasley was the winner. To be fair, the man definitely needed the money more than he did- although, in Fudge’s opinion, he’d do better to save it for the expenses of the Weasley brood rather than frittering it all away on a lavish trip. Five children at Hogwarts? Fudge shuddered, unable to imagine having such a large family.
He idly glanced at the photo of the grinning, waving family rendered in black-and-white, and frowned at the image of the youngest boy at the center. Is that a rat on his shoulder? Fudge thought, appalled. Disgusting things, rats. Weasley may as well have put aside money for a better, more useful familiar than a rat with that prize money.
Oh, what he would do if and when he finally won the draw…
x:x:x:x:x:x:
Later that morning, Umbridge was reluctantly touring Azkaban in the Minister’s place. This is an honor, she tried to tell herself in vain. He called upon you to fill in his position! The Minister of Magic trusts you to adequately fulfill his role!
It wasn’t quite enough to diminish the impact of the Dementors, though. They may have been kept at bay by the shining Patronus of the guard escorting her throughout the prison, but the dank, dismal atmosphere coupled with the irrational but lingering fear of being grabbed and Kissed by those foul monsters left her on edge.
I must work on producing my own Patronus, she vowed to herself. So that she would never feel this fear again, so that she could trust in herself to be able to fight back if it ever came to the worst and she was left to fend for herself against those Dementors.
Finally, the end of her inspection neared as she was taken past the last, the most notorious prisoner held here: Sirius Black. By this time, she was speed-walking in her eagerness to be done and gone; duty to the Minister or not, she wanted out of here and fast.
The traitor looked about as expected for a man locked up for over a decade; hollow-eyed, lank-haired, wretched. Yet unlike the other pitiful prisoners in this place, he looked up from the corner where he was huddled as she came by, a spark of interest in his eye as he caught sight of the paper tucked into her handbag.
“Can I see…” he paused and coughed to clear his throat, which sounded hoarse as if he hadn’t spoken in ages, “the newspaper?”
She stared down at him coldly. “I think not,” she said haughtily. “This is a prison, not a hotel.” Dolores turned to the guard. “I’ve seen all there is to see, and in my estimation, you have all been doing a fine job. On behalf of the Minister, I’d like to thank you for carrying out your duties in such a difficult post. Now. The quickest way out of here, if you please?”
She trotted away, leaving behind the dismal, sorrowful man in his cell to think about his friends; the ones betrayed and killed because of his error, the traitor he’d killed for the effrontery of giving up his secret to Voldemort, and the last one left alive, whom he’d never see again. “You’re the last one left, Moony,” he murmured. “I hope you have a good life. Make up for the rest of us…”
He lapsed into bitter, mournful thoughts, unaware that across the world in the guise of a rat, the traitor he thought he’d killed still thrived.
And because he was safe and comfortable and was given no reason to flee, Peter Pettigrew lived the rest of his days as a rat, and never sought out and helped resurrect the Dark Lord.
Voldemort never returned.
Barty Crouch, Sr, did not die. (And he finally validated Percy by calling him by his rightful name)
Cedric Diggory never died at the Tri-Wizard Tournament, but was successful and brought much glory to Hufflepuff as the triumphant winner.
And Harry…well, he regretted never having the chance to date Cho Chang. But on the whole, his life was a lot less angsty.
All for the lack of a newspaper.
----
627/30 + bonus = 20.9 + 10 = 31
948/30 + bonus = 31.6 + 10 = 42
==> 73 points for Slytherin