R/HR LDWS....
First off, go vote at this weeks LDWS. We're on the final 3, and again a mix of genres, all good!
Here is my last week's entry. This one was tricky, the prompt was Sight, Sound, Smell, Taste, Touch...100 words each in that order. I cannibalized the concept from an unpublished WIP of mine. I think it works better in the WIP, but it helped me battle my way through this prompt, too. And, yes, I am being bullied by miss_daizy to finish that WIP!
Author: maybe1ce
Title: A Sense of Time
Rating: PG
Word Count: 100x5=500
Six seconds after The End, Harry Potter couldn't see a bloody thing.
It was a blessing, honestly, to be lost for a moment in a blur of relieved tears and embracing arms. At least he didn't need to look to closely at this new, uncertain world.
When he finally emerged, Harry was blinded by colour. The golden morning light shone through the cracked and broken stained glass of the Great Hall. It's stonework still scarred and smoking, the room was now filled with glowing jewels of light -- the colours of his Beginning.
But first, what Harry really needed was a rest.
******
Six hours after the battle, Ron and Hermione hadn't had enough time to rest, but there was work to be done.
The Great Hall buzzed with activity, but the pair was still too numb to speak. Walking silently to their usual table, they were startled by a familiar shriek, and turned to see Lavender Brown racing towards them, arms outstretched. Ron stepped back reflexively, but Lavender was not to be deterred. She ran up and threw her arms...
Around Hermione.
"You saved me!" Lavender squealed as she squeezed her shocked schoolmate tightly.
"I'll...er...get you some toast..." Ron stammered, slowly backing away.
******
Six weeks after parting from her friends after the Victory at Hogwarts, Luna Lovegood burned the toast.
Her father wasn't the man he used to be, but at least he was out of Azkaban. Their home was a wreck, but at least it wasn't the Malfoy's cellar. She sighed and fanned the smoky air.
"Bargle-snouted Soulsuckers!" Xenophilius shouted in terror, cowering against the remains of his printing press. "I smell them! They're coming for me!" He curled into a ball, sobbing loudly as Luna embraced him.
"It's OK, Daddy. They aren't real." She rocked softly. "None of it is real."
******
Six months later, Lucius Malfoy still couldn't believe that it was real.
What a bitter potion it was to swallow. So many years of careful work, only to reach 50 years of age with a nation that hated him, a wife that pitied him, and a son who resented him. He uncorked a small bottle and downed its contents, wincing at the acrid taste.
"Speaking of bitter potions," Lucius sneered, although, technically, there was no one else there to speak of anything at all.
He ignored the salt on his lips as he sunk into a stupor, a merciful sleep.
******
Six years after, Ron's arm tingled as he held his surprisingly heavy godson.
James clutched at his finger with his impossibly tiny fist, and those soft but strong fingers gave his uncle a clear message.
Ron was a Grown Up.
He was a married man, 25 years old, but part of him had been playing house. But, now, this was Harry and Ginny's son. They were the ones who would give, protect, and love. And, finally, Ron felt ready for that, too.
Ron turned to speak to Hermione, but his eyes were full of tears. He couldn't see a bloody thing.
Here is my last week's entry. This one was tricky, the prompt was Sight, Sound, Smell, Taste, Touch...100 words each in that order. I cannibalized the concept from an unpublished WIP of mine. I think it works better in the WIP, but it helped me battle my way through this prompt, too. And, yes, I am being bullied by miss_daizy to finish that WIP!
Author: maybe1ce
Title: A Sense of Time
Rating: PG
Word Count: 100x5=500
Six seconds after The End, Harry Potter couldn't see a bloody thing.
It was a blessing, honestly, to be lost for a moment in a blur of relieved tears and embracing arms. At least he didn't need to look to closely at this new, uncertain world.
When he finally emerged, Harry was blinded by colour. The golden morning light shone through the cracked and broken stained glass of the Great Hall. It's stonework still scarred and smoking, the room was now filled with glowing jewels of light -- the colours of his Beginning.
But first, what Harry really needed was a rest.
******
Six hours after the battle, Ron and Hermione hadn't had enough time to rest, but there was work to be done.
The Great Hall buzzed with activity, but the pair was still too numb to speak. Walking silently to their usual table, they were startled by a familiar shriek, and turned to see Lavender Brown racing towards them, arms outstretched. Ron stepped back reflexively, but Lavender was not to be deterred. She ran up and threw her arms...
Around Hermione.
"You saved me!" Lavender squealed as she squeezed her shocked schoolmate tightly.
"I'll...er...get you some toast..." Ron stammered, slowly backing away.
******
Six weeks after parting from her friends after the Victory at Hogwarts, Luna Lovegood burned the toast.
Her father wasn't the man he used to be, but at least he was out of Azkaban. Their home was a wreck, but at least it wasn't the Malfoy's cellar. She sighed and fanned the smoky air.
"Bargle-snouted Soulsuckers!" Xenophilius shouted in terror, cowering against the remains of his printing press. "I smell them! They're coming for me!" He curled into a ball, sobbing loudly as Luna embraced him.
"It's OK, Daddy. They aren't real." She rocked softly. "None of it is real."
******
Six months later, Lucius Malfoy still couldn't believe that it was real.
What a bitter potion it was to swallow. So many years of careful work, only to reach 50 years of age with a nation that hated him, a wife that pitied him, and a son who resented him. He uncorked a small bottle and downed its contents, wincing at the acrid taste.
"Speaking of bitter potions," Lucius sneered, although, technically, there was no one else there to speak of anything at all.
He ignored the salt on his lips as he sunk into a stupor, a merciful sleep.
******
Six years after, Ron's arm tingled as he held his surprisingly heavy godson.
James clutched at his finger with his impossibly tiny fist, and those soft but strong fingers gave his uncle a clear message.
Ron was a Grown Up.
He was a married man, 25 years old, but part of him had been playing house. But, now, this was Harry and Ginny's son. They were the ones who would give, protect, and love. And, finally, Ron felt ready for that, too.
Ron turned to speak to Hermione, but his eyes were full of tears. He couldn't see a bloody thing.