(no subject)
Here's day nineteen. This is the summary . ”*missing moment from A Blooming Flower* Gryffindor has just won another Quidditch match. Fred Weasley is acting stupid. Emma Creevey falls for James Potter-literally... “
TITLE: After winning a Quidditch match.
PERPETRATOR: Lilly-II
SUE-O-METER:
(okay)
COVER/BANNER ART: None
FULL NAME: Emma Creevey.
SPECIES: She's a Griffindor
HAIR: n/a
EYES: n/a
MARKINGS: n/a
POSSESSIONS: n/a
CONNECTION TO CANON: They're celebrating a win against Slyterin. James is approaching her and she smells something. “It was the faint woodsy smell that she'd smelled in her Amortentia.” And it ends there.
ORIGIN: She's a character from one of the writer's one-shot.
SPECIAL ABILITIES: None
NOTES: This one actually isn't bad. It really just doesn't go anywhere.
SAMPLE:
Emma Creevey threaded her way through the crowds of people in the Gryffindor common-room, heading for the food-laden table over at the side. Gryffindor had just beaten Slytherin in the Quidditch Cup for the third year in a row, and the celebratory party was in full swing. She picked up a plate, filled it, grabbed a Butterbeer, and turned to head back to where Rose and Lucy were sitting.
As she passed the chairs grouped around the fireplace, she paused a moment to watch Fred, who was standing on a table, demonstrate the finer arts of using a Beater's bat. He was using his wand for the purpose of the demonstration, and Emma smiled to herself. Judging by the erratic waving and the random sparks shooting out, he had consumed somewhat more Butterbeer than usual.
She had just started walking again when Fred gave a particularly wild swing, lost his balance, and fell, knocking Emma over. She landed on the sofa, spilling her food and Butterbeer all over the unfortunate person she had landed on.
"I'm so sorry," she gasped, jumping to her feet.
James Potter looked up at her, grinning. "That's all right. It was Fred's fault, the idiot. Here…"
He pulled his wand out of his pocket and waved it. Emma's food soared back onto her plate, unharmed.
"Thanks."
James looked ruefully at the Butterbeer splashed across the cushions, and then at the now almost empty bottle in her hand. "I'm afraid that's past saving, though. Let me get you another."
TITLE: After winning a Quidditch match.
PERPETRATOR: Lilly-II
SUE-O-METER:
(okay)
COVER/BANNER ART: None
FULL NAME: Emma Creevey.
SPECIES: She's a Griffindor
HAIR: n/a
EYES: n/a
MARKINGS: n/a
POSSESSIONS: n/a
CONNECTION TO CANON: They're celebrating a win against Slyterin. James is approaching her and she smells something. “It was the faint woodsy smell that she'd smelled in her Amortentia.” And it ends there.
ORIGIN: She's a character from one of the writer's one-shot.
SPECIAL ABILITIES: None
NOTES: This one actually isn't bad. It really just doesn't go anywhere.
SAMPLE:
Emma Creevey threaded her way through the crowds of people in the Gryffindor common-room, heading for the food-laden table over at the side. Gryffindor had just beaten Slytherin in the Quidditch Cup for the third year in a row, and the celebratory party was in full swing. She picked up a plate, filled it, grabbed a Butterbeer, and turned to head back to where Rose and Lucy were sitting.
As she passed the chairs grouped around the fireplace, she paused a moment to watch Fred, who was standing on a table, demonstrate the finer arts of using a Beater's bat. He was using his wand for the purpose of the demonstration, and Emma smiled to herself. Judging by the erratic waving and the random sparks shooting out, he had consumed somewhat more Butterbeer than usual.
She had just started walking again when Fred gave a particularly wild swing, lost his balance, and fell, knocking Emma over. She landed on the sofa, spilling her food and Butterbeer all over the unfortunate person she had landed on.
"I'm so sorry," she gasped, jumping to her feet.
James Potter looked up at her, grinning. "That's all right. It was Fred's fault, the idiot. Here…"
He pulled his wand out of his pocket and waved it. Emma's food soared back onto her plate, unharmed.
"Thanks."
James looked ruefully at the Butterbeer splashed across the cushions, and then at the now almost empty bottle in her hand. "I'm afraid that's past saving, though. Let me get you another."