Prompt Drabbles
Six drabbles of varying lengths and various characters from the prompts I requested on antonia_east.
1. Prompt: Happy Birthday, Dad!
When Arthur Weasley came home that evening, the house was quiet.
Quiet was never a good sign.
The Burrow hadn’t been quiet since … Arthur scratched his head. He couldn’t think of a since. Before the twins were born, definitely. Probably before any of the children were born. Arthur had been the youngest of his brothers and he hadn’t really remembered how noisy children were. His children seemed very skilled at making an awful lot of noise.
That was how he liked it though. Arthur knew that he had always been rather timid. The ability to make noise was something he appreciated in others - appreciated in his wife and in his children. Except, perhaps, when they made it in the middle of the night.
The silence of The Burrow as he walked up to the door was unnerving. He looked up at the sky, but it was as clear as it had been when he’d Apparated in front of the house a few seconds before. He tried to ready his breathing. It was all right, it was all right. They were probably just asleep. Molly needed sleep. He was working so much, thanks to the wretched war, that he could hardly help her out at all. She insisted she didn’t need help, but what with the twins being so disruptive and Ron being so little, and the new pregnancy wearing her out, and she was still grieving for her brothers … Arthur sighed. He was a terrible husband, leaving her with the children all the time. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d dozed off at the kitchen table.
But then what about the children? It wasn’t that late - he’d managed to sneak home at the comparatively early hour of half past six. Bill and Charlie would usually be playing something loud. Percy would probably be trying to inform anyone who’d listen of whatever it was he’d just discovered, but the twins would be on the rampage and Ron seemed only to cry when his mother couldn’t afford him the attention.
The silence was eerie. Despite the lack of mark, fear clutched at Arthur’s heart as he hurtled into the house and into the darkened kitchen.
“Lumos,” said a voice.
Light flooded the room. He saw Molly holding Ron and standing next to a most enormous cake, Percy blinking in the light, and Bill and Charlie each with one of the twins on their shoulders. Then the noise exploded, as Bill and Charlie, Percy and even the twins (although how they had managed to stay silent for so long, Arthur didn’t know) roared:
“Happy Birthday, Dad!”
2. Prompt: "Harry, will you put that away,"
Harry Potter was a wizard.
Most people might not think that witches and wizards existed in real life, but Harry Potter knew differently. Harry Potter knew, you see, that he was a wizard.
Wizards and witches weren't like ordinary people. They could do magic. With a simple spell, they could turn people into frogs. They could turn boring steamed puddings into treacle tart. They could ride on broomsticks.
Harry's broomstick let him fly through the air. He had a wand as well. When he waved it and said the magic words, anything could happen. Nobody could tell him what to do any more because he was Harry Potter, the wizard, with a magic wand and a magic broomstick.
He decided to go flying, and sped about the country on his broom, sometimes using his wand to make the weather nicer or to conjure up something good to eat.
Then the door opened, and Aunt Petunia's bony face peered into the cupboard under the stairs. She scowled to see Harry brandishing her second best broom and a feather duster.
"Harry, will you put that away," she hissed.
Harry meekly did as he was told, and put them back in the corner of his cupboard. When he came home from school that afternoon, his broomstick and his wand were gone.
Harry Potter wasn't a wizard any more.
3. Prompt: A Quiller and a Canon character
Leanne Jones had once had a hamster which had tried incredibly hard to escape. It used to charge at the clear plastic walls of its cage over and over again until Leanne had been afraid it would hurt itself, and had let it out. Of course, the cat had eaten it the next day.
That evening, Leanne Jones's brain was reminding her very much of that hamster. She was very sure that when she had decided to take up teaching she had had all sorts of reasons for doing it. Noble reasons like wanting to provide children with good foundations of learning. Wanting to make a difference in the lives of young people. Giving something positive to the next generation.
Currently, all she was giving herself was a splitting headache and several grey hairs. At least it was a Friday, though. She kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto the sofa. With a luxuriating sigh she wriggled her toes and leant back into the soft cushions. She pulled her computer towards her and switched it on, listening idly as it burred and whirred into life. It seemed to be taking longer than usual and she hoped that it wasn't on the brink. She'd got through two computers in as many years and she couldn't afford to keep replacing them.
Then again, she had no desire to forgo her favourite hobby.
The red and gold frontpage flashed up at last, making her feel that she was completely home at last. 'The Sugar Quill,' it proclaimed. She grinned. Clicking onto the newest updated fanfiction page, her grin got bigger. For there, right at the top, was her story. Great_Godric - the name she used on the internet, and next to it, the title of the story, complete with a link. She clicked, and there were her words, her creation, staring back at her from the flat screen of the laptop. She had no idea how computers and the internet worked. She knew that there were plenty of people who did know what made it work - knew that it wasn't magic.
But it was magical to her.
She clicked back onto her name and then to the review page, scanning down to see what people thought of her tale. She was rather proud of it. It was about one of the characters only touched on by the Harry Potter books which were the reason for the existence of such wonderful places as 'The Sugar Quill'. It told the story of a Muggle-born girl who had been invited to go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, who had been Sorted into Gryffindor house and who had made friends there of the kind she'd never believe she'd make, and become a part of a world which she'd never dreamed had existed.
"It's well-written," one reviewer had put, "but it sounds much too like Hermione's story for me."
Leanne pulled a face, and Summoned a cold drink out of the fridge.
"It was my story first," she said.
4. Prompt: The Wolfsbane potion spilled on the floor
Remus never thought he'd welcome the taste the Wolfsbane potion. It was a vile bitter taste which he had to stomach every night for a week - each dose of the potion taking him closer and closer, swallow by choking swallow, to the inevitable transformation at the full moon.
But, as Remus lifted the steaming goblet to his lips and fought the rising of his gorge at the mere smell of the stuff, he reflected how glad he was to be taking it again, even if he would never get used to the hideous taste.
The months spent with Greyback and the pack had been bloody, gruesome, violent and oddly alluring. The thrill of running wild under the full moon - of losing control and giving into it completely - Remus shuddered. It scared him so much because he had, somewhere, enjoyed it. During those full moons he had been a beast, and between the moons he had been little better.
And now, thanks to this potion and the woman who had made it for him, he was a man once again.
Two cold hands slid up underneath his shirt, brushing against his bare skin. He dropped the goblet. It landed with a clatter and the Wolfsbane potion spilled on the floor.
"Oh no! I'm so sorry," Tonks yelped, whipping her hands away.
Remus cheerfully Vanished the mess. "It doesn't matter at all. There's a whole cauldron full of it, remember?" He ladled another goblet of potion and gulped it down before he could dread drinking it again. He shuddered.
"Well done," Tonks said, leaning up to kiss him. She grimaced. "You taste disgusting," she said, before kissing him again.
No, Remus thought. He'd never get used to this.
5. Prompt: Sirius’s Sorting
"Black, Sirius."
And Sirius's ears went deaf. He started to walk up to the stool, but the Great Hall stretched out before him, so that he thought he'd never reach the Sorting Hat.
The the cloth was under his fingers and he raised it, his heart hammering, his hands stiff, his teeth gritted. He could see the students on the Slytherin table looking expectant and others looking hostile. He caught Professor Dumbledore's eye - the headmaster was looking at him with a knowing expression, and Sirius was so startled that he let go of the hat, so that it dropped onto his head. Blackness fell over his eyes.
Nevertheless, Sirius could feel that he was being watched - years of dodging Kreacher had taught him that. The hat was looking at him, and it was the most intrusive thing he'd ever experienced. The thing was seeing him. Testing him. Judging him. He almost panicked and tried to reject the hat's keen sight into his head.
"Keep still, will you?" the hat said in a tetchy voice.
Of course it could talk. Sirius remembered the daft song - that was only a few minutes ago, he realised - and decided that he was not going to be cowed by any enchanted object which sang in rhyme.
"You didn't like my song?"
"It was all right," Sirius thought to the hat. He sensed its disapproval. "It was very good," he amended. "For a hat."
"For a hat!" The voice was almost a splutter. "I contain the brains of all four founders, you know."
Sirius began to enjoy himself. "I bet none of them were poets, though. If they were busy being brave and clever and kind and cunning, like you just sang about. It's Slytherin the ambitious, not Slytherin the good-at-rhyming."
The hat gave what sounded like a snort. Sirius felt much more cheerful. He was about to suggest to the hat that it experiment with blank verse next year, but the hat seemed to have had enough of such pleasantries.
"As much as I enjoy discussing poetry, I've got a whole sorting to be getting on with. Now, you mentioned Slytherin. Is that where your heart lies?"
"NO!"
The hat sounded amused. "You are a Black, you know."
"How do you know I'm a Black? I don't feel like one."
The hat gave an impatient 'tut'. "I can see into your heart and mind and soul," it said majestically. "Besides, I heard your name being called out."
"If you know all about me, you'll know I'm nothing like my family."
"On the contrary. You are more like them than you will know. Moreover you have many of the qualities most cherished by the Blacks - pride, brilliance, wit, loyalty ..."
"I don't want to be in Slytherin," Sirius thought furiously.
"My dear boy, I never said you did. Although Slytherin would foster your talents."
"NO!"
"No?" The hat chuckled. Sirius felt that he was being teased.
"Well," the hat said, "I'm glad to hear it. I believe you will make an admirable
GRYFFINDOR!"
6. Prompt: "Ron, you do know what that is you're about to drink, don't you?" asked Ginny.
"So we know Snape won't be able to get there for at least an hour," Hermione was saying very quickly, thrusting sheafs of parchment under Harry and Ron's noses and then snatching them back before they had a chance to read them. "It's as safe as, well, as it can be."
Her eyes were puffy and her lip was red from being bitten. Harry dragged a hand through his hair.
"It's still not right," he said. "If any one's going to be doing it, it ought to be me. This is my fault, it's my -"
But he was cut off by Ron, who cuffed him on the shoulder.
"Shut up, Harry," he said grimly. His face was pale, but he had the stubborn Weasley look on his face. "You're too much of a risk. He - Voldemort - can't get his hands on you. Not until we've got rid of the last Horcrux."
Harry had no argument, but he hated this. It made him feel sick at the thought that Ron would be going off into danger and he, Harry, was going to stay safely behind.
"If - when Ron manages it, we'll be almost there," Hermione said, although her voice trembled.
"It'll be fine," Ron said shortly, and Harry marvelled that Ron could act so calmly. "Give you a taste of your own medicine, mate."
Harry had left Ron and Hermione behind enough times, when all they could do was worry for him. He'd never known how terrible it felt.
"Ron!" Hermione said, a croak in her voice. The air felt very thick, and Harry was almost relieved when Ginny arrived.
"I've got it," she said at once.
And Harry felt dreadful because he'd been hoping that she wouldn't have been able to do what they'd asked her to, even though if the mission were successful they would be on the way to giving hope back to the wizarding world.
Hermione sniffed and took the glass phial from Ginny, and bent over a cauldron which had been bubbling in the corner of the tiny room. Her shoulders shook and Harry thought she might be crying. Ginny had reached for Ron's hand and was gripping it so tightly that it must have been painful, although Ron didn't seem to have noticed. Harry wished he could do something, say something, but he had no words any more. Just a horrible horrible feeling gripping his chest.
He had to try. "Ron, please," he said.
Ron turned on him, looking almost savage. "Stop making it harder, Harry," he said. "Maybe I have a saving people thing too - did you ever think of that?"
"Sorry," Harry muttered.
Hermione let out a sob. In her hand was a glass of murky green potion, which she handed to Ron.
There was a long pause.
"Ron, you do know what that is you're about to drink, don't you?" asked Ginny.
They all three looked at her.
"That's essence of Snape," she said. "You're drinking one of his oily greasy hairs that he left behind at the castle."
Harry gawped at her. She was looking straight at Ron, her face utterly impassive.
Ron's lips began to twitch, and then he sniggered. Hermione let out a gurgle of laughter, and Harry caught Ginny's eye and found laughter bubbling up in his own chest, and he heard her familiar laugh soon after.
It wasn't particularly funny, just absurd, but it meant that the four of them had one last laugh together before Ron downed the Polyjuice potion and transformed, lank-haired, hook-nosed, into Snape, forced Snape's smirk into Ron's grin, and then Disapparated, leaving the three of them to worry and fear together until his - if he would ever - return.
1. Prompt: Happy Birthday, Dad!
When Arthur Weasley came home that evening, the house was quiet.
Quiet was never a good sign.
The Burrow hadn’t been quiet since … Arthur scratched his head. He couldn’t think of a since. Before the twins were born, definitely. Probably before any of the children were born. Arthur had been the youngest of his brothers and he hadn’t really remembered how noisy children were. His children seemed very skilled at making an awful lot of noise.
That was how he liked it though. Arthur knew that he had always been rather timid. The ability to make noise was something he appreciated in others - appreciated in his wife and in his children. Except, perhaps, when they made it in the middle of the night.
The silence of The Burrow as he walked up to the door was unnerving. He looked up at the sky, but it was as clear as it had been when he’d Apparated in front of the house a few seconds before. He tried to ready his breathing. It was all right, it was all right. They were probably just asleep. Molly needed sleep. He was working so much, thanks to the wretched war, that he could hardly help her out at all. She insisted she didn’t need help, but what with the twins being so disruptive and Ron being so little, and the new pregnancy wearing her out, and she was still grieving for her brothers … Arthur sighed. He was a terrible husband, leaving her with the children all the time. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d dozed off at the kitchen table.
But then what about the children? It wasn’t that late - he’d managed to sneak home at the comparatively early hour of half past six. Bill and Charlie would usually be playing something loud. Percy would probably be trying to inform anyone who’d listen of whatever it was he’d just discovered, but the twins would be on the rampage and Ron seemed only to cry when his mother couldn’t afford him the attention.
The silence was eerie. Despite the lack of mark, fear clutched at Arthur’s heart as he hurtled into the house and into the darkened kitchen.
“Lumos,” said a voice.
Light flooded the room. He saw Molly holding Ron and standing next to a most enormous cake, Percy blinking in the light, and Bill and Charlie each with one of the twins on their shoulders. Then the noise exploded, as Bill and Charlie, Percy and even the twins (although how they had managed to stay silent for so long, Arthur didn’t know) roared:
“Happy Birthday, Dad!”
2. Prompt: "Harry, will you put that away,"
Harry Potter was a wizard.
Most people might not think that witches and wizards existed in real life, but Harry Potter knew differently. Harry Potter knew, you see, that he was a wizard.
Wizards and witches weren't like ordinary people. They could do magic. With a simple spell, they could turn people into frogs. They could turn boring steamed puddings into treacle tart. They could ride on broomsticks.
Harry's broomstick let him fly through the air. He had a wand as well. When he waved it and said the magic words, anything could happen. Nobody could tell him what to do any more because he was Harry Potter, the wizard, with a magic wand and a magic broomstick.
He decided to go flying, and sped about the country on his broom, sometimes using his wand to make the weather nicer or to conjure up something good to eat.
Then the door opened, and Aunt Petunia's bony face peered into the cupboard under the stairs. She scowled to see Harry brandishing her second best broom and a feather duster.
"Harry, will you put that away," she hissed.
Harry meekly did as he was told, and put them back in the corner of his cupboard. When he came home from school that afternoon, his broomstick and his wand were gone.
Harry Potter wasn't a wizard any more.
3. Prompt: A Quiller and a Canon character
Leanne Jones had once had a hamster which had tried incredibly hard to escape. It used to charge at the clear plastic walls of its cage over and over again until Leanne had been afraid it would hurt itself, and had let it out. Of course, the cat had eaten it the next day.
That evening, Leanne Jones's brain was reminding her very much of that hamster. She was very sure that when she had decided to take up teaching she had had all sorts of reasons for doing it. Noble reasons like wanting to provide children with good foundations of learning. Wanting to make a difference in the lives of young people. Giving something positive to the next generation.
Currently, all she was giving herself was a splitting headache and several grey hairs. At least it was a Friday, though. She kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto the sofa. With a luxuriating sigh she wriggled her toes and leant back into the soft cushions. She pulled her computer towards her and switched it on, listening idly as it burred and whirred into life. It seemed to be taking longer than usual and she hoped that it wasn't on the brink. She'd got through two computers in as many years and she couldn't afford to keep replacing them.
Then again, she had no desire to forgo her favourite hobby.
The red and gold frontpage flashed up at last, making her feel that she was completely home at last. 'The Sugar Quill,' it proclaimed. She grinned. Clicking onto the newest updated fanfiction page, her grin got bigger. For there, right at the top, was her story. Great_Godric - the name she used on the internet, and next to it, the title of the story, complete with a link. She clicked, and there were her words, her creation, staring back at her from the flat screen of the laptop. She had no idea how computers and the internet worked. She knew that there were plenty of people who did know what made it work - knew that it wasn't magic.
But it was magical to her.
She clicked back onto her name and then to the review page, scanning down to see what people thought of her tale. She was rather proud of it. It was about one of the characters only touched on by the Harry Potter books which were the reason for the existence of such wonderful places as 'The Sugar Quill'. It told the story of a Muggle-born girl who had been invited to go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, who had been Sorted into Gryffindor house and who had made friends there of the kind she'd never believe she'd make, and become a part of a world which she'd never dreamed had existed.
"It's well-written," one reviewer had put, "but it sounds much too like Hermione's story for me."
Leanne pulled a face, and Summoned a cold drink out of the fridge.
"It was my story first," she said.
4. Prompt: The Wolfsbane potion spilled on the floor
Remus never thought he'd welcome the taste the Wolfsbane potion. It was a vile bitter taste which he had to stomach every night for a week - each dose of the potion taking him closer and closer, swallow by choking swallow, to the inevitable transformation at the full moon.
But, as Remus lifted the steaming goblet to his lips and fought the rising of his gorge at the mere smell of the stuff, he reflected how glad he was to be taking it again, even if he would never get used to the hideous taste.
The months spent with Greyback and the pack had been bloody, gruesome, violent and oddly alluring. The thrill of running wild under the full moon - of losing control and giving into it completely - Remus shuddered. It scared him so much because he had, somewhere, enjoyed it. During those full moons he had been a beast, and between the moons he had been little better.
And now, thanks to this potion and the woman who had made it for him, he was a man once again.
Two cold hands slid up underneath his shirt, brushing against his bare skin. He dropped the goblet. It landed with a clatter and the Wolfsbane potion spilled on the floor.
"Oh no! I'm so sorry," Tonks yelped, whipping her hands away.
Remus cheerfully Vanished the mess. "It doesn't matter at all. There's a whole cauldron full of it, remember?" He ladled another goblet of potion and gulped it down before he could dread drinking it again. He shuddered.
"Well done," Tonks said, leaning up to kiss him. She grimaced. "You taste disgusting," she said, before kissing him again.
No, Remus thought. He'd never get used to this.
5. Prompt: Sirius’s Sorting
"Black, Sirius."
And Sirius's ears went deaf. He started to walk up to the stool, but the Great Hall stretched out before him, so that he thought he'd never reach the Sorting Hat.
The the cloth was under his fingers and he raised it, his heart hammering, his hands stiff, his teeth gritted. He could see the students on the Slytherin table looking expectant and others looking hostile. He caught Professor Dumbledore's eye - the headmaster was looking at him with a knowing expression, and Sirius was so startled that he let go of the hat, so that it dropped onto his head. Blackness fell over his eyes.
Nevertheless, Sirius could feel that he was being watched - years of dodging Kreacher had taught him that. The hat was looking at him, and it was the most intrusive thing he'd ever experienced. The thing was seeing him. Testing him. Judging him. He almost panicked and tried to reject the hat's keen sight into his head.
"Keep still, will you?" the hat said in a tetchy voice.
Of course it could talk. Sirius remembered the daft song - that was only a few minutes ago, he realised - and decided that he was not going to be cowed by any enchanted object which sang in rhyme.
"You didn't like my song?"
"It was all right," Sirius thought to the hat. He sensed its disapproval. "It was very good," he amended. "For a hat."
"For a hat!" The voice was almost a splutter. "I contain the brains of all four founders, you know."
Sirius began to enjoy himself. "I bet none of them were poets, though. If they were busy being brave and clever and kind and cunning, like you just sang about. It's Slytherin the ambitious, not Slytherin the good-at-rhyming."
The hat gave what sounded like a snort. Sirius felt much more cheerful. He was about to suggest to the hat that it experiment with blank verse next year, but the hat seemed to have had enough of such pleasantries.
"As much as I enjoy discussing poetry, I've got a whole sorting to be getting on with. Now, you mentioned Slytherin. Is that where your heart lies?"
"NO!"
The hat sounded amused. "You are a Black, you know."
"How do you know I'm a Black? I don't feel like one."
The hat gave an impatient 'tut'. "I can see into your heart and mind and soul," it said majestically. "Besides, I heard your name being called out."
"If you know all about me, you'll know I'm nothing like my family."
"On the contrary. You are more like them than you will know. Moreover you have many of the qualities most cherished by the Blacks - pride, brilliance, wit, loyalty ..."
"I don't want to be in Slytherin," Sirius thought furiously.
"My dear boy, I never said you did. Although Slytherin would foster your talents."
"NO!"
"No?" The hat chuckled. Sirius felt that he was being teased.
"Well," the hat said, "I'm glad to hear it. I believe you will make an admirable
GRYFFINDOR!"
6. Prompt: "Ron, you do know what that is you're about to drink, don't you?" asked Ginny.
"So we know Snape won't be able to get there for at least an hour," Hermione was saying very quickly, thrusting sheafs of parchment under Harry and Ron's noses and then snatching them back before they had a chance to read them. "It's as safe as, well, as it can be."
Her eyes were puffy and her lip was red from being bitten. Harry dragged a hand through his hair.
"It's still not right," he said. "If any one's going to be doing it, it ought to be me. This is my fault, it's my -"
But he was cut off by Ron, who cuffed him on the shoulder.
"Shut up, Harry," he said grimly. His face was pale, but he had the stubborn Weasley look on his face. "You're too much of a risk. He - Voldemort - can't get his hands on you. Not until we've got rid of the last Horcrux."
Harry had no argument, but he hated this. It made him feel sick at the thought that Ron would be going off into danger and he, Harry, was going to stay safely behind.
"If - when Ron manages it, we'll be almost there," Hermione said, although her voice trembled.
"It'll be fine," Ron said shortly, and Harry marvelled that Ron could act so calmly. "Give you a taste of your own medicine, mate."
Harry had left Ron and Hermione behind enough times, when all they could do was worry for him. He'd never known how terrible it felt.
"Ron!" Hermione said, a croak in her voice. The air felt very thick, and Harry was almost relieved when Ginny arrived.
"I've got it," she said at once.
And Harry felt dreadful because he'd been hoping that she wouldn't have been able to do what they'd asked her to, even though if the mission were successful they would be on the way to giving hope back to the wizarding world.
Hermione sniffed and took the glass phial from Ginny, and bent over a cauldron which had been bubbling in the corner of the tiny room. Her shoulders shook and Harry thought she might be crying. Ginny had reached for Ron's hand and was gripping it so tightly that it must have been painful, although Ron didn't seem to have noticed. Harry wished he could do something, say something, but he had no words any more. Just a horrible horrible feeling gripping his chest.
He had to try. "Ron, please," he said.
Ron turned on him, looking almost savage. "Stop making it harder, Harry," he said. "Maybe I have a saving people thing too - did you ever think of that?"
"Sorry," Harry muttered.
Hermione let out a sob. In her hand was a glass of murky green potion, which she handed to Ron.
There was a long pause.
"Ron, you do know what that is you're about to drink, don't you?" asked Ginny.
They all three looked at her.
"That's essence of Snape," she said. "You're drinking one of his oily greasy hairs that he left behind at the castle."
Harry gawped at her. She was looking straight at Ron, her face utterly impassive.
Ron's lips began to twitch, and then he sniggered. Hermione let out a gurgle of laughter, and Harry caught Ginny's eye and found laughter bubbling up in his own chest, and he heard her familiar laugh soon after.
It wasn't particularly funny, just absurd, but it meant that the four of them had one last laugh together before Ron downed the Polyjuice potion and transformed, lank-haired, hook-nosed, into Snape, forced Snape's smirk into Ron's grin, and then Disapparated, leaving the three of them to worry and fear together until his - if he would ever - return.