Challenge #002: Secondary Character // Challenge #096: Out of Time // Challenge #101: Wedding
Title: Sidebar
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Ron/Pansy, Harry/Draco
Summary: Harry, Draco, and an epic love story. Ron and Pansy are just along for the ride.
Word Count: 1629
Registered purchases?: Both!
in which our story begins
Ron Weasley was enjoying a cuppa when Harry Potter's troubles with Draco Malfoy began.
He'd just gotten off his shift (at George's shop, not Auroring, because that ended up being rubbish after the first three months of being called Potter's Mate) and he was settling into the flat he shared with his brother (Hermione had just kicked him out again for the third time that month--it was fast becoming a record). George wasn't supposed to be around for a while, he had the latest copy of Playwizard ready, and he was just about to ease into an evening of.. you know, innocent reading, when Harry slammed the door open and stormed inside in a flurry of the black-and-red robes that trainees were required to wear.
"Robards can't do that!" he hissed as a way of saying hello.
"Afternoon," Ron replied, because his mother did raise him to be polite. "What can't Robards do?"
Harry didn't even deign to reply. He'd started pacing the room, face red as the robes he wore. His fists were clenched in tight little balls and Ron thought, if he squinted hard enough, he could see a little vein popping on his temple. He gave Ron a baleful look. "Why don't you come back to training? You know, you were really good at it!"
"Not really my thing, as it turned out," Ron said with a delicate shrug. He wondered if Harry would notice if he folded his magazine just so--maybe that'll shut Holly Halloween up. She was just beginning to get loud. Maybe he could get Harry to keep talking. "What's going on now?"
Harry may have growled in response, but Ron waited. Usually Harry wound up explaining himself, and sure enough, he did.
"He's paired me with Malfoy!"
in which tension is just another word for chemistry
It wasn't like it was the end of the world, Ron thought. Harry certainly made it seem like it was a lot worse. One time he came by to pick him up--sometimes when Ron had a long lunch break he'd drop by Magical Law Enforcement and Harry'd go to lunch with him somewhere in Diagon Alley--to find Harry and Malfoy at opposite ends of the sparring room the Aurors used, wands drawn, snapping at each other.
Like the good old days, really.
The other trainees circled the two somewhat nervously, and Ron could tell it had been something that had blown out of proportion, or that had been going on a while. He wondered if he should say something. It was almost half past--George was generally fine with letting him go over, but sometimes he was in a bad mood and would nag him until he promised to take longer hours or some such rubbish.
"Excuse me--what is going on?"
"Oh, they're just--Parkinson?"
"Oh, it's you."
Pansy Parkinson was just as Ron remembered, all snooty and disdainful. (She did grow a nice pair of tits since seventh year.) She wrinkled her nose and nodded toward the couple. "What are they up to now?"
"Just another duel," he said. "You here to pick up Malfoy?"
"We were supposed to have lunch."
"Yeah, I'm waiting on Harry too."
She smirked then. "Didn't realize you two were..."
"What? No! Bloody hell, just because you're planning on giving Malfoy a good tug before--"
There was a loud thwack, the sound of skin hitting skin. Or more to the point, the sound of Pansy's palm on Ron's cheek.
"Jesus bloody Christ, Parkinson--"
"Pansy?" That was Draco, taking his cue.
"Let's go, Draco," she said.
in which secrets are kept
Ron knew something was up with Harry, but his mate wouldn't tell him for anything. That was saying something, because Ron was usually rubbish at this level of sensitivity and Harry was usually the first to talk about his problems. Side effect of growing up without brothers like Fred and George, Ron thought.
But Harry was skittish, avoided his questions, and snapped at the smallest of comments. He walked around like he was being hunted, and it wasn't until Harry blew him off for dinner one night that he managed to sort it out.
Mainly, because that night Pansy showed up at his front door. (Okay, at George's front door. Hermione still wasn't speaking to him.)
"There's something going on," was all she said, pushing past him and flopping onto his sofa. "Draco's not talking to me and I swear Potter's behind it somehow."
"I didn't say you could come in?"
"It's like they're keeping something--" she paused, frowning at something in her seat. She pulled it up and unrolled the magazine tucked beneath a cushion. "Really, Weasley?"
"It's my brother's," he shrugged, though he was sure by the smirk on her face that she didn't believe him one bit. "Anyway, maybe they've just been put on a case or something. S'what he told me today anyway."
"There is no case, Weasley," she scoffed. "Isn't it obvious yet?"
"Isn't what obvious?"
"They're in love."
in which there is imminent danger
He didn't quite believe Pansy Parkinson, truth be told, but she told him what to look for and to be honest, she kind of had a point. At her suggestion (also her urging, she was apparently dying to know but Malfoy was tight-lipped and she was convinced Harry would talk to Ron) he tried to subtly ask Harry to see what he would say about Malfoy, but that somewhat backfired.
"I didn't tell you to ask outright!" she hissed at him.
"I didn't!"
"What did you say exactly?"
"I just-- well--"
"What did you say?"
"If he liked being buggered now, and what Ginny said about that?"
"You're an idiot," Pansy decided, shaking her head and peering around the tree. "Do you see them?"
"No, but you're kind of blocking my view," he said. He was standing behind her, could smell the shampoo on her hair. His crotch was also only an inch away from her bum (and what a finely shaped bum it was) and truth be told, his attention wasn't really on whether or not Harry and Malfoy were anywhere in sight. "You sure you saw them go in?"
"Just Draco so far," she said. Across the street was old Grimmauld Place, which technically, as a half-Black Draco could probably have access to. Ron still wasn't convinced there was any shenanigans-ing going on between his mate and Draco bloody Malfoy, but Pansy was convinced and it meant he didn't have to wait on his best mate to stand him up, or sit around his brother's flat doing nothing.
"You know, I don't think--" he started to say, but just then there was an explosion from inside Grimmauld Place, something that sounded like a shriek within, and Ron had only a split second to grab Pansy and hold her still. "You can't go in there, are you barking?"
"Let go, Weasley, Draco's--"
"Draco!" That was Harry, coming up from down the road. He broke into a sprint, hurrying inside.
Well bloody hell.
in which love conquers all
He didn't know how long they waited, but Ron didn't feel right letting Pansy enter Grimmauld Place, and even though he himself wanted to go, somebody had to watch out for her. (Right?) He did Owl Robards, who told him the squad was on its way, only when they did arrive, they spent a good ten minutes hanging around Grimmauld Place trying to figure out what to do.
For one thing, they had no idea what the explosion was about.
For another, they had even less of an idea why Harry and Malfoy were meeting there.
Ron caught Pansy's look and they decided, telepathically because neither of them said anything but it seemed they came to the same conclusion, to be quiet. By the time a few Aurors finally started to make their way inside, though, Harry burst out, carrying Malfoy's body in his arms.
Pansy and Ron were on their feet in an instant, stopped only by the Aurors around them. Harry's skin was smudged with char and ash, his eyes were wild and his hair was sooty. He stumbled onto his knees, still clutching Malfoy's unconscious body and sobbing, almost hysterically.
"Draco, Draco, you've got to wake up!" he begged. "I can't-- I can't live without you!"
Ron elbowed Pansy on the rib. "Hey," he whispered. "You were right."
Pansy glared at him--why, he had no idea--but then Malfoy started coughing, and she gasped, and so did everyone else, but that was probably less because Malfoy was alive and more because Harry chose that moment to kiss him full on the lips.
"For fuck's sake, Potter--" Malfoy croaked. "What are you doing?"
"Kissing you, you dolt."
Robards and his men looked a little bit unsure about their role in the whole affair, but they mingled around all the same while they gossiped amongst each other. Soon enough, the Healers and paramediwitches showed up too, swarming around the pair and fussing equally over Harry and Malfoy. Harry caught Ron's eyes, blinked in surprise, and, in the kind of silent communication that can only happen between best mates of ten years, told him he was okay, and that he would take care of Draco.
Pansy took a step forward, tried to push past the crowd of people around him, but Ron grabbed her by the wrist. She turned to look. "What?"
"It's okay," Ron said. "Harry's gonna take care of him."
"But--"
"He'll be fine. It's fine."
Pansy still looked a bit unsure, so Ron tried another tactic.
"I'm kind of hungry. Wanna go grab something to eat?"
"With you?"
"Who else?"
Pansy looked at him for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure, why not."
Why the hell not indeed.
Word count points: 1629/30 = 54 pts
Bonus points: 10 pts
Title: Three Minutes
Rating/Warnings: G
Characters/Pairing: Neville, Luna, Ginny
Summary: They have three minutes to steal the Sword of Gryffindor.
Word Count: 940
Registered purchases?: Both!
00:03:00
They didn't have much time, but this was the best shot they had.
"Hurry," Neville whispered, gesturing for Luna and Ginny to slip in. Both girls did, and he looked around one more time before determining that the coast was clear, and then he ducked in after them.
"Three minutes," he said. He crouched in the winding staircase behind the statue and the Headmaster's office, dressed in black robes, face glamored to hide his distinguishing features. Not that it would matter, if they got caught. All it would take was a reversing spell, but that was not his concern right now. "All we have is three minutes."
"Ready?" Ginny asked.
Luna took out the wand she'd had tucked behind her ear and nodded. "Ready."
The staircase grunted, then lurched, winding upward to lead them in. As soon as the door opened, Ginny dropped the pouch of Peruvian Instant Darkness that she'd smuggled in.
"Go."
00:02:00
When the light returned, all of the headmaster portraits had been turned to face the walls.
"What's going on?" someone asked.
"Who's there?" another demanded.
"Where's Severus!"
"Sound the alarms!"
"You won't get away!"
They'd already started to cause a ruckus. Neville wondered how quickly one of them would flee to any one of the portraits in Hogwarts, how fast before Snape heard of the intrusion into his office. He suspected not very long; he didn't want to bet on time they didn't have.
It was incredibly fast work for the amount of time they had in the dark, but they needed to cover their tracks. Neville nodded to Ginny, directing her to a corner of the office. To Luna, he pointed the other way.
He would take the desk.
"Remember," he said, whispering because it would be harder to place his voice that way. "Be careful. Snape might have booby-trapped the place!"
00:01:00
The sword, surprisingly enough, wasn't hard to find at all. It was on a glass display case dead front and center, hanging just behind Snape's desk.
The problem, they soon discovered, was taking it off the wall.
"Are you all right?" Luna asked, her hand on Neville's shoulder as she peered at his burnt palms. "I can take care of that for you."
He shook his head, tearing off a swath of cloth from his robes' sleeves and wrapping it around his fists to stem the pain. "We need to get that sword," he said, determination overruling all else. "Can you tell what ward he used?"
00:00:30
Luna hesitated, but she cast a spell on the display case, eyes closed as the glowing of her wand battled with the angry red that pulsed from the glass.
"It looks runic," Ginny said, pointing at the faint scratches beneath it. "See?"
00:00:20
"What's it say?" Neville asked, squinting. "Merlin, I'm rubbish at Runes!"
"It's not very complicated, actually," Luna said. She walked up closer. "I think I can undo it."
00:00:10
"Okay, then you gotta hurry," Neville said, but Luna had already taken her wand and started to trace the countering runes against the case.
"We have eight seconds left," Ginny whispered, urgent, beside him. They shared a fearful look.
00:00:05
"There," Luna said with satisfaction. The case lifted.
Neville Summoned the sword. It flew to him, nearly knocking him to the ground, but he held on to it. It was heavy in his hand, and in the light from the window its edge gleamed like the rippling surface of still water.
They'd done it, he marvelled.
Almost.
00:00:04
"We need to hide," Ginny whispered, tugging on his sleeve. There was no mistaking the panic in her voice, and belatedly, Neville realized the folly in their plans. They'd planned to get the sword within three minutes, but their plan hadn't included an escape. They would be trapped, unless they found a place to hide.
"Where?" Luna asked.
Neville caught sight of the curtains--he met both girls' gazes and they all nodded.
00:00:03
Three pairs of feet hurried. There was a rustling of drapery, a soft thud as they knocked into each other.
"Sorry."
"It's all right, Neville."
00:00:02
"Hurry."
"Our feet!" Neville looked down. The curtains didn't reach all the way to their feet, and if Snape searched--
"Abdum," Luna whispered. She waved her wand over all three of them, concealing their feet from view. It looked odd to him, to see them all without shoes or feet or anything below their knees.
00:00:01
They all three held their breaths. Neville clung to the sword with both hands, Luna and Ginny behind him. They could not talk anymore, they could not move.
They could not breathe, and then the door swung open.
00:00:00
"What has happened here?" Snape asked, his voice never rising more than a notch. The headmasters, already protesting in various ways, all started talking at once.
"Silence," Snape said, casting a quick spell that muffled all their indignant cries.
-00:01:00
Neville glanced at Luna, then he looked at Ginny. It was so quiet now, so deathly still, and his heart was beating wildly against his chest. His breathing was heavy. Too heavy. Heavy enough that Snape might hear. Fuck.
Ginny squeezed his wrist then, and he turned to look. She pursed her lips, her way, perhaps, of telling him they would be okay. Behind her, Luna smiled. They were far calmer than he was feeling.
They were far braver than he.
He returned the smile, sheepish. He felt somewhat mollified, more comforted by the thought that they were at least feeling more confident than he did.
-00:02:00
And then the curtains were drawn wide open, and Snape loomed above them with a distasteful sneer.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"
Word count points: 940/30 = 31 pts
Bonus points: 10 pts
Title: And a Sixpence in Her Shoe
Rating/Warnings: G
Characters/Pairing: Mrs. Zabini
Summary: There was a rhyme she hummed to herself, a melody of a time-honored tradition that she knew. Isabella Zabini repeated the words to herself, over and over again as she prepared to be married for the eighth time in her life.
Word Count: 1312
Author's Notes: Urgh, this was much better planned in my head. :|
Registered purchases?: Both!
something old
There was a rhyme she hummed to herself, a melody of a time-honored tradition that she knew. Isabella Zabini repeated the words to herself, over and over again as she prepared to be married for the eighth time in her life.
Her glamors were excellent, as they always were. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, a single delicate curl framing her heart-shaped face. Her lips, puckered red and vivid. Her eyes, deep-set and smokey. Her skin was smooth, her cheekbones defined by a shy blush on her cheeks.
The wedding dress she had fitted her body well, hugged her curves where they flattered and made her look at once modest and alluring. It was a secret trick, finding that careful balance between virtuous and irresistible, and even though the cloth was made of ivory instead of pure white she knew her husband would not notice. She was well-versed in commanding attention where she wanted it, and today it would be on how beautiful she was.
She inspected herself once more, checked to make sure that nothing in her face was marred by anything, that her dress was perfect, that she was. She never let anybody in the room the hour before she was slated to walk down the aisle. It wasn't that she was superstitious--certainly she could claim to hold her own share of beliefs both improbable and not--but for her, this was her time. Her last moment of solitude before she tied her life to another's.
There was one more thing missing--she fingered the aged gold clasp of a long chain, smiling at the memories it brought. Damian Zabini was her first husband, and she'd never once, through the next six marriages that followed after his tragic death, considered changing her name. He was her dear son's father, her first love--her true love, and she refused to believe he wasn't, no matter what anyone else said--and she carried him with her always. The necklace was his first present to her, a symbol of his affection when they were still seventeen and courting.
If she closed her eyes she could smell the southern air of the Italian summer still. If she closed her eyes she could hear his laughter, deep and warm, tickling her throat. If she closed her eyes--
There was a knock on the door.
"Who is it?"
Marcus' voice, muffled through the wooden door, wafted through. "Isabella, are you nearly ready?"
"In a minute," she said, taking the necklace and putting it on.
something new
It wasn't that she didn't like Marcus, or love him, even. Goodness, no, she never married out of anything else! He was handsome and kind, gentle and caring. He made her laugh and, if she wanted, would buy her the world.
She told him not to bother, as she'd only ruin it, so instead he bought her a ring.
He'd knelt on the deck of his yacht, after dinner when they were both woozy with red wine and giggling like school children, and he'd asked so sincerely that she'd been unable to say no.
He was hers and she was his, and that was all that should matter, shouldn't it?
She laughed then, threw her arms around him. She dragged him to his feet and beneath the waning moon they kissed, and laughed, and planned for their engagement, their marriage.
This was not the first time she'd been giddy with the sensation. She drank love like an elixir, and to a certain extent, it kept her young. It kept her happy. Marcus was a fine wizard and any witch would love to be in her shoes--witches would love to be in her shoes--and throughout the next few weeks it was his beautiful smile and the warmth of his touch that assured her they were doing the right thing. That it wasn't a mistake.
That this time wouldn't be like the last times.
She glanced at herself once more--she was perfect, she was in love, he was the right man for her. What more could she ask for, really? What more could she want?
She slipped out, opening the door to greet her bridal party.
"Ready?" one of her nieces asked.
"As I'll ever be," she said with as sure a smile as she could give.
This time would be the last time.
something borrowed
She grew up in a small village in the south of Italy, among yellow fields and dirt-streaked roads. Her mother taught her how to knead dough into rye, her brothers ran barefoot among the slippery stones of the nearby creek, and late at night she listened to her father whisper tales of heroic wizards slaying dragons and rescuing their princesses before she went to bed.
He always kissed her good night, and whispered how she was his princess, before he tucked her into bed.
Isabella grew up with the clothes her mother sewed herself, pink and yellow and flower-patterned cottons that fit her just right. She went to the market with her mother and learned when the fruits were at their ripest, what vegetables were best for which stews. Her brothers, as they grew older, stopped playing with her, but their friends continued to come by to talk to her.
It wasn't as though she'd grown up knowing she was beautiful, but that's how the village knew her. She was Bella, for more than just her name. The first suitor that arrived surprised her, but not her parents. It was the second, and the third, and the fourth, and the many more after that did.
She never wanted the attention, and Damian was the sole exception to that. He'd always been, from the moment he first came to play with her and her brothers in the creek.
But nobody believed that. There was a hag, her mother thought, a lonely witch who lived at the top of the hill who resented her beauty and the attention it gave her.
Isabella folded her mother's handkerchief and slipped it into a hidden pocket in her dress.
Her mother thought a lot of things, she thought.
something blue
She'd never seen this hag who was jealous of her, but she knew her cottage well enough. It was rundown and empty, overlooking the village through crooked windows and shadowed by even more crooked trees.
There was a dare, too. That she remembered well. One of her brothers had thought it up, and it had been her and Damian asked to fulfill it.
That had been one of the first times Damian had taken hold of her hand and she'd clung to it, heart beating wild against her chest as they ran up the hill to knock on the door and run all the way back down, breathless and panting and exhilarated from the effort. They never saw anyone there, never thought to look back once their young feet were already flying down the hill.
There was a hag, her mother had told her. A hag who resented Isabella for her childish pranks, who disliked her laughter, who loathed her beauty.
There was a hag, and a curse, and a dead Damian not long after they found out she was with child.
What else could it be, her mother wanted to know, even though she didn't say so until the third husband had died as well.
It was rubbish, of course. Isabella had gone to school; she knew what kinds of curses really existed, that they could be countered. They never lasted longer than three husbands; surely they wouldn't.
There was always a counter-curse, wasn't there? In her father's tales it was always true love.
In Isabella's dreams it was always Damian.
She held her bouquet firmly, smiled radiantly, and to the rising crescendo of the music she walked down the aisle. Marcus greeted her with a wide grin and she took his arm.
Word count points: 1312/30 = 44 pts
Bonus points: 10 pts
Total word count points: 54 + 31 + 44 = 129 125 points
Bonus points: 10 + 10 + 10 = 30
Total points: 155 pts for Ravenclaw!
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Ron/Pansy, Harry/Draco
Summary: Harry, Draco, and an epic love story. Ron and Pansy are just along for the ride.
Word Count: 1629
Registered purchases?: Both!
in which our story begins
Ron Weasley was enjoying a cuppa when Harry Potter's troubles with Draco Malfoy began.
He'd just gotten off his shift (at George's shop, not Auroring, because that ended up being rubbish after the first three months of being called Potter's Mate) and he was settling into the flat he shared with his brother (Hermione had just kicked him out again for the third time that month--it was fast becoming a record). George wasn't supposed to be around for a while, he had the latest copy of Playwizard ready, and he was just about to ease into an evening of.. you know, innocent reading, when Harry slammed the door open and stormed inside in a flurry of the black-and-red robes that trainees were required to wear.
"Robards can't do that!" he hissed as a way of saying hello.
"Afternoon," Ron replied, because his mother did raise him to be polite. "What can't Robards do?"
Harry didn't even deign to reply. He'd started pacing the room, face red as the robes he wore. His fists were clenched in tight little balls and Ron thought, if he squinted hard enough, he could see a little vein popping on his temple. He gave Ron a baleful look. "Why don't you come back to training? You know, you were really good at it!"
"Not really my thing, as it turned out," Ron said with a delicate shrug. He wondered if Harry would notice if he folded his magazine just so--maybe that'll shut Holly Halloween up. She was just beginning to get loud. Maybe he could get Harry to keep talking. "What's going on now?"
Harry may have growled in response, but Ron waited. Usually Harry wound up explaining himself, and sure enough, he did.
"He's paired me with Malfoy!"
in which tension is just another word for chemistry
It wasn't like it was the end of the world, Ron thought. Harry certainly made it seem like it was a lot worse. One time he came by to pick him up--sometimes when Ron had a long lunch break he'd drop by Magical Law Enforcement and Harry'd go to lunch with him somewhere in Diagon Alley--to find Harry and Malfoy at opposite ends of the sparring room the Aurors used, wands drawn, snapping at each other.
Like the good old days, really.
The other trainees circled the two somewhat nervously, and Ron could tell it had been something that had blown out of proportion, or that had been going on a while. He wondered if he should say something. It was almost half past--George was generally fine with letting him go over, but sometimes he was in a bad mood and would nag him until he promised to take longer hours or some such rubbish.
"Excuse me--what is going on?"
"Oh, they're just--Parkinson?"
"Oh, it's you."
Pansy Parkinson was just as Ron remembered, all snooty and disdainful. (She did grow a nice pair of tits since seventh year.) She wrinkled her nose and nodded toward the couple. "What are they up to now?"
"Just another duel," he said. "You here to pick up Malfoy?"
"We were supposed to have lunch."
"Yeah, I'm waiting on Harry too."
She smirked then. "Didn't realize you two were..."
"What? No! Bloody hell, just because you're planning on giving Malfoy a good tug before--"
There was a loud thwack, the sound of skin hitting skin. Or more to the point, the sound of Pansy's palm on Ron's cheek.
"Jesus bloody Christ, Parkinson--"
"Pansy?" That was Draco, taking his cue.
"Let's go, Draco," she said.
in which secrets are kept
Ron knew something was up with Harry, but his mate wouldn't tell him for anything. That was saying something, because Ron was usually rubbish at this level of sensitivity and Harry was usually the first to talk about his problems. Side effect of growing up without brothers like Fred and George, Ron thought.
But Harry was skittish, avoided his questions, and snapped at the smallest of comments. He walked around like he was being hunted, and it wasn't until Harry blew him off for dinner one night that he managed to sort it out.
Mainly, because that night Pansy showed up at his front door. (Okay, at George's front door. Hermione still wasn't speaking to him.)
"There's something going on," was all she said, pushing past him and flopping onto his sofa. "Draco's not talking to me and I swear Potter's behind it somehow."
"I didn't say you could come in?"
"It's like they're keeping something--" she paused, frowning at something in her seat. She pulled it up and unrolled the magazine tucked beneath a cushion. "Really, Weasley?"
"It's my brother's," he shrugged, though he was sure by the smirk on her face that she didn't believe him one bit. "Anyway, maybe they've just been put on a case or something. S'what he told me today anyway."
"There is no case, Weasley," she scoffed. "Isn't it obvious yet?"
"Isn't what obvious?"
"They're in love."
in which there is imminent danger
He didn't quite believe Pansy Parkinson, truth be told, but she told him what to look for and to be honest, she kind of had a point. At her suggestion (also her urging, she was apparently dying to know but Malfoy was tight-lipped and she was convinced Harry would talk to Ron) he tried to subtly ask Harry to see what he would say about Malfoy, but that somewhat backfired.
"I didn't tell you to ask outright!" she hissed at him.
"I didn't!"
"What did you say exactly?"
"I just-- well--"
"What did you say?"
"If he liked being buggered now, and what Ginny said about that?"
"You're an idiot," Pansy decided, shaking her head and peering around the tree. "Do you see them?"
"No, but you're kind of blocking my view," he said. He was standing behind her, could smell the shampoo on her hair. His crotch was also only an inch away from her bum (and what a finely shaped bum it was) and truth be told, his attention wasn't really on whether or not Harry and Malfoy were anywhere in sight. "You sure you saw them go in?"
"Just Draco so far," she said. Across the street was old Grimmauld Place, which technically, as a half-Black Draco could probably have access to. Ron still wasn't convinced there was any shenanigans-ing going on between his mate and Draco bloody Malfoy, but Pansy was convinced and it meant he didn't have to wait on his best mate to stand him up, or sit around his brother's flat doing nothing.
"You know, I don't think--" he started to say, but just then there was an explosion from inside Grimmauld Place, something that sounded like a shriek within, and Ron had only a split second to grab Pansy and hold her still. "You can't go in there, are you barking?"
"Let go, Weasley, Draco's--"
"Draco!" That was Harry, coming up from down the road. He broke into a sprint, hurrying inside.
Well bloody hell.
in which love conquers all
He didn't know how long they waited, but Ron didn't feel right letting Pansy enter Grimmauld Place, and even though he himself wanted to go, somebody had to watch out for her. (Right?) He did Owl Robards, who told him the squad was on its way, only when they did arrive, they spent a good ten minutes hanging around Grimmauld Place trying to figure out what to do.
For one thing, they had no idea what the explosion was about.
For another, they had even less of an idea why Harry and Malfoy were meeting there.
Ron caught Pansy's look and they decided, telepathically because neither of them said anything but it seemed they came to the same conclusion, to be quiet. By the time a few Aurors finally started to make their way inside, though, Harry burst out, carrying Malfoy's body in his arms.
Pansy and Ron were on their feet in an instant, stopped only by the Aurors around them. Harry's skin was smudged with char and ash, his eyes were wild and his hair was sooty. He stumbled onto his knees, still clutching Malfoy's unconscious body and sobbing, almost hysterically.
"Draco, Draco, you've got to wake up!" he begged. "I can't-- I can't live without you!"
Ron elbowed Pansy on the rib. "Hey," he whispered. "You were right."
Pansy glared at him--why, he had no idea--but then Malfoy started coughing, and she gasped, and so did everyone else, but that was probably less because Malfoy was alive and more because Harry chose that moment to kiss him full on the lips.
"For fuck's sake, Potter--" Malfoy croaked. "What are you doing?"
"Kissing you, you dolt."
Robards and his men looked a little bit unsure about their role in the whole affair, but they mingled around all the same while they gossiped amongst each other. Soon enough, the Healers and paramediwitches showed up too, swarming around the pair and fussing equally over Harry and Malfoy. Harry caught Ron's eyes, blinked in surprise, and, in the kind of silent communication that can only happen between best mates of ten years, told him he was okay, and that he would take care of Draco.
Pansy took a step forward, tried to push past the crowd of people around him, but Ron grabbed her by the wrist. She turned to look. "What?"
"It's okay," Ron said. "Harry's gonna take care of him."
"But--"
"He'll be fine. It's fine."
Pansy still looked a bit unsure, so Ron tried another tactic.
"I'm kind of hungry. Wanna go grab something to eat?"
"With you?"
"Who else?"
Pansy looked at him for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure, why not."
Why the hell not indeed.
Word count points: 1629/30 = 54 pts
Bonus points: 10 pts
Title: Three Minutes
Rating/Warnings: G
Characters/Pairing: Neville, Luna, Ginny
Summary: They have three minutes to steal the Sword of Gryffindor.
Word Count: 940
Registered purchases?: Both!
00:03:00
They didn't have much time, but this was the best shot they had.
"Hurry," Neville whispered, gesturing for Luna and Ginny to slip in. Both girls did, and he looked around one more time before determining that the coast was clear, and then he ducked in after them.
"Three minutes," he said. He crouched in the winding staircase behind the statue and the Headmaster's office, dressed in black robes, face glamored to hide his distinguishing features. Not that it would matter, if they got caught. All it would take was a reversing spell, but that was not his concern right now. "All we have is three minutes."
"Ready?" Ginny asked.
Luna took out the wand she'd had tucked behind her ear and nodded. "Ready."
The staircase grunted, then lurched, winding upward to lead them in. As soon as the door opened, Ginny dropped the pouch of Peruvian Instant Darkness that she'd smuggled in.
"Go."
00:02:00
When the light returned, all of the headmaster portraits had been turned to face the walls.
"What's going on?" someone asked.
"Who's there?" another demanded.
"Where's Severus!"
"Sound the alarms!"
"You won't get away!"
They'd already started to cause a ruckus. Neville wondered how quickly one of them would flee to any one of the portraits in Hogwarts, how fast before Snape heard of the intrusion into his office. He suspected not very long; he didn't want to bet on time they didn't have.
It was incredibly fast work for the amount of time they had in the dark, but they needed to cover their tracks. Neville nodded to Ginny, directing her to a corner of the office. To Luna, he pointed the other way.
He would take the desk.
"Remember," he said, whispering because it would be harder to place his voice that way. "Be careful. Snape might have booby-trapped the place!"
00:01:00
The sword, surprisingly enough, wasn't hard to find at all. It was on a glass display case dead front and center, hanging just behind Snape's desk.
The problem, they soon discovered, was taking it off the wall.
"Are you all right?" Luna asked, her hand on Neville's shoulder as she peered at his burnt palms. "I can take care of that for you."
He shook his head, tearing off a swath of cloth from his robes' sleeves and wrapping it around his fists to stem the pain. "We need to get that sword," he said, determination overruling all else. "Can you tell what ward he used?"
00:00:30
Luna hesitated, but she cast a spell on the display case, eyes closed as the glowing of her wand battled with the angry red that pulsed from the glass.
"It looks runic," Ginny said, pointing at the faint scratches beneath it. "See?"
00:00:20
"What's it say?" Neville asked, squinting. "Merlin, I'm rubbish at Runes!"
"It's not very complicated, actually," Luna said. She walked up closer. "I think I can undo it."
00:00:10
"Okay, then you gotta hurry," Neville said, but Luna had already taken her wand and started to trace the countering runes against the case.
"We have eight seconds left," Ginny whispered, urgent, beside him. They shared a fearful look.
00:00:05
"There," Luna said with satisfaction. The case lifted.
Neville Summoned the sword. It flew to him, nearly knocking him to the ground, but he held on to it. It was heavy in his hand, and in the light from the window its edge gleamed like the rippling surface of still water.
They'd done it, he marvelled.
Almost.
00:00:04
"We need to hide," Ginny whispered, tugging on his sleeve. There was no mistaking the panic in her voice, and belatedly, Neville realized the folly in their plans. They'd planned to get the sword within three minutes, but their plan hadn't included an escape. They would be trapped, unless they found a place to hide.
"Where?" Luna asked.
Neville caught sight of the curtains--he met both girls' gazes and they all nodded.
00:00:03
Three pairs of feet hurried. There was a rustling of drapery, a soft thud as they knocked into each other.
"Sorry."
"It's all right, Neville."
00:00:02
"Hurry."
"Our feet!" Neville looked down. The curtains didn't reach all the way to their feet, and if Snape searched--
"Abdum," Luna whispered. She waved her wand over all three of them, concealing their feet from view. It looked odd to him, to see them all without shoes or feet or anything below their knees.
00:00:01
They all three held their breaths. Neville clung to the sword with both hands, Luna and Ginny behind him. They could not talk anymore, they could not move.
They could not breathe, and then the door swung open.
00:00:00
"What has happened here?" Snape asked, his voice never rising more than a notch. The headmasters, already protesting in various ways, all started talking at once.
"Silence," Snape said, casting a quick spell that muffled all their indignant cries.
-00:01:00
Neville glanced at Luna, then he looked at Ginny. It was so quiet now, so deathly still, and his heart was beating wildly against his chest. His breathing was heavy. Too heavy. Heavy enough that Snape might hear. Fuck.
Ginny squeezed his wrist then, and he turned to look. She pursed her lips, her way, perhaps, of telling him they would be okay. Behind her, Luna smiled. They were far calmer than he was feeling.
They were far braver than he.
He returned the smile, sheepish. He felt somewhat mollified, more comforted by the thought that they were at least feeling more confident than he did.
-00:02:00
And then the curtains were drawn wide open, and Snape loomed above them with a distasteful sneer.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"
Word count points: 940/30 = 31 pts
Bonus points: 10 pts
Title: And a Sixpence in Her Shoe
Rating/Warnings: G
Characters/Pairing: Mrs. Zabini
Summary: There was a rhyme she hummed to herself, a melody of a time-honored tradition that she knew. Isabella Zabini repeated the words to herself, over and over again as she prepared to be married for the eighth time in her life.
Word Count: 1312
Author's Notes: Urgh, this was much better planned in my head. :|
Registered purchases?: Both!
something old
There was a rhyme she hummed to herself, a melody of a time-honored tradition that she knew. Isabella Zabini repeated the words to herself, over and over again as she prepared to be married for the eighth time in her life.
Her glamors were excellent, as they always were. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, a single delicate curl framing her heart-shaped face. Her lips, puckered red and vivid. Her eyes, deep-set and smokey. Her skin was smooth, her cheekbones defined by a shy blush on her cheeks.
The wedding dress she had fitted her body well, hugged her curves where they flattered and made her look at once modest and alluring. It was a secret trick, finding that careful balance between virtuous and irresistible, and even though the cloth was made of ivory instead of pure white she knew her husband would not notice. She was well-versed in commanding attention where she wanted it, and today it would be on how beautiful she was.
She inspected herself once more, checked to make sure that nothing in her face was marred by anything, that her dress was perfect, that she was. She never let anybody in the room the hour before she was slated to walk down the aisle. It wasn't that she was superstitious--certainly she could claim to hold her own share of beliefs both improbable and not--but for her, this was her time. Her last moment of solitude before she tied her life to another's.
There was one more thing missing--she fingered the aged gold clasp of a long chain, smiling at the memories it brought. Damian Zabini was her first husband, and she'd never once, through the next six marriages that followed after his tragic death, considered changing her name. He was her dear son's father, her first love--her true love, and she refused to believe he wasn't, no matter what anyone else said--and she carried him with her always. The necklace was his first present to her, a symbol of his affection when they were still seventeen and courting.
If she closed her eyes she could smell the southern air of the Italian summer still. If she closed her eyes she could hear his laughter, deep and warm, tickling her throat. If she closed her eyes--
There was a knock on the door.
"Who is it?"
Marcus' voice, muffled through the wooden door, wafted through. "Isabella, are you nearly ready?"
"In a minute," she said, taking the necklace and putting it on.
something new
It wasn't that she didn't like Marcus, or love him, even. Goodness, no, she never married out of anything else! He was handsome and kind, gentle and caring. He made her laugh and, if she wanted, would buy her the world.
She told him not to bother, as she'd only ruin it, so instead he bought her a ring.
He'd knelt on the deck of his yacht, after dinner when they were both woozy with red wine and giggling like school children, and he'd asked so sincerely that she'd been unable to say no.
He was hers and she was his, and that was all that should matter, shouldn't it?
She laughed then, threw her arms around him. She dragged him to his feet and beneath the waning moon they kissed, and laughed, and planned for their engagement, their marriage.
This was not the first time she'd been giddy with the sensation. She drank love like an elixir, and to a certain extent, it kept her young. It kept her happy. Marcus was a fine wizard and any witch would love to be in her shoes--witches would love to be in her shoes--and throughout the next few weeks it was his beautiful smile and the warmth of his touch that assured her they were doing the right thing. That it wasn't a mistake.
That this time wouldn't be like the last times.
She glanced at herself once more--she was perfect, she was in love, he was the right man for her. What more could she ask for, really? What more could she want?
She slipped out, opening the door to greet her bridal party.
"Ready?" one of her nieces asked.
"As I'll ever be," she said with as sure a smile as she could give.
This time would be the last time.
something borrowed
She grew up in a small village in the south of Italy, among yellow fields and dirt-streaked roads. Her mother taught her how to knead dough into rye, her brothers ran barefoot among the slippery stones of the nearby creek, and late at night she listened to her father whisper tales of heroic wizards slaying dragons and rescuing their princesses before she went to bed.
He always kissed her good night, and whispered how she was his princess, before he tucked her into bed.
Isabella grew up with the clothes her mother sewed herself, pink and yellow and flower-patterned cottons that fit her just right. She went to the market with her mother and learned when the fruits were at their ripest, what vegetables were best for which stews. Her brothers, as they grew older, stopped playing with her, but their friends continued to come by to talk to her.
It wasn't as though she'd grown up knowing she was beautiful, but that's how the village knew her. She was Bella, for more than just her name. The first suitor that arrived surprised her, but not her parents. It was the second, and the third, and the fourth, and the many more after that did.
She never wanted the attention, and Damian was the sole exception to that. He'd always been, from the moment he first came to play with her and her brothers in the creek.
But nobody believed that. There was a hag, her mother thought, a lonely witch who lived at the top of the hill who resented her beauty and the attention it gave her.
Isabella folded her mother's handkerchief and slipped it into a hidden pocket in her dress.
Her mother thought a lot of things, she thought.
something blue
She'd never seen this hag who was jealous of her, but she knew her cottage well enough. It was rundown and empty, overlooking the village through crooked windows and shadowed by even more crooked trees.
There was a dare, too. That she remembered well. One of her brothers had thought it up, and it had been her and Damian asked to fulfill it.
That had been one of the first times Damian had taken hold of her hand and she'd clung to it, heart beating wild against her chest as they ran up the hill to knock on the door and run all the way back down, breathless and panting and exhilarated from the effort. They never saw anyone there, never thought to look back once their young feet were already flying down the hill.
There was a hag, her mother had told her. A hag who resented Isabella for her childish pranks, who disliked her laughter, who loathed her beauty.
There was a hag, and a curse, and a dead Damian not long after they found out she was with child.
What else could it be, her mother wanted to know, even though she didn't say so until the third husband had died as well.
It was rubbish, of course. Isabella had gone to school; she knew what kinds of curses really existed, that they could be countered. They never lasted longer than three husbands; surely they wouldn't.
There was always a counter-curse, wasn't there? In her father's tales it was always true love.
In Isabella's dreams it was always Damian.
She held her bouquet firmly, smiled radiantly, and to the rising crescendo of the music she walked down the aisle. Marcus greeted her with a wide grin and she took his arm.
Word count points: 1312/30 = 44 pts
Bonus points: 10 pts
Total word count points: 54 + 31 + 44 = 129 125 points
Bonus points: 10 + 10 + 10 = 30
Total points: 155 pts for Ravenclaw!