Round 1 Challenge 8 VOTING!
It's comin' down to the wire y'all. SQUEE!
Read over the drabbles and choose one most favorite and one least favorite drabble. While reading, keep in mind the prompt and word count restrictions. Once you've chosen, put the number of each drabble in the corresponding box at the end of this post. Please remember to put number of the drabble and not the name; it makes it a lot easier for us to keep track. Each most favorite vote will receive +1 point and each least favorite vote will receive -1 point. The drabble with the most points will win, the drabble with the least points will be sent packing. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.
If, at any point in time, you have a question about the voting procedure, please contact indaze22 or me ASAP. Thanks.
Enough babble, onto the drabbles!
PROMPT: Pick from your personal library of music and write a drabble based on that song. The song title must be the title of the drabble.
WORD COUNT: 300-499 words
#1
Title: Possum Kingdom
Author: ayane_tsurugi
Word Count: 473
Rating: PG
Warning: AU, wartime.
Pansy wrapped her arms around herself, fighting the chill of the night air. “Come on, Potter,” she whispered. She had no reason to believe he would come. Her note hadn’t exactly been specific. I need to talk to you. Lakeside. Midnight.
Her eyes narrowed as the watched the castle door quickly open and close with no evidence as to who had passed through. However, when Potter’s head materialized about halfway up the hill from where she stood, her tension lessened. Rumors, apparently true, had been going around for years that he had an Invisibility Cloak.
The end of Potter’s wand lit up and he scanned the edge of the lake, searching for whoever had called him there. Pansy, frowning in determination, stepped out from behind the tree she’d been leaning against, her palms stretched in front of her in an attempt to prove that, contrary to what would be his belief, she was there on a peaceful mission.
When he spotted her, Pansy heard him growl a bit, and he spun on the spot, brandishing his wand menacingly at some unseen villain. He thought she’d set him up.
“I’m alone, Potter,” she said, trying to keep most of the annoyance out of her tone. “I’m not here to get you hurt.”
“Well, it’s hard to tell. Your note was a bit vague, don’t you think?”
“You came, didn’t you? And you didn’t seem all that suspicious. Risky move, letting me see you before you could see me.”
He scowled. “I can handle myself.”
“I’m aware. That’s why I’m here. I have a secret, Potter, a dark one.” She pulled up the left sleeve of her robes, exposing to him an arm that was pale white and completely clear. “I need your help.”
His forehead wrinkled in confusion, and his eyes moved to her face, where they remained for a long minute as he studied her expression. She raised a fierce eyebrow, daring him to doubt her as she stood before him, more vulnerable than she’d ever purposefully been.
“My help?”
“Yes.” She put her arm down, letting the sleeve fall back into place. “I’m ready to choose a side, and I’m afraid my…prior allegiances might make my intentions seem questionable.” Her frown deepened. “I figured, if there was one person I should convince to vouch for me, it would be you.”
Potter was silent, his expression thoughtful. He glanced back toward the castle, and a brief flash of panic shot through her.
Her next words were quiet, but she knew he would hear. “What do you say, Potter? Will you save me?”
He threw his cloak back over his shoulders, and she let out the jagged breath she’d been holding as he held part of it out, offering her the other spot underneath.
“Come on, Parkinson. I have some people you should meet.”
#2
Title: Love Me Dead
Author: somandalicious
Word Count: 496
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Subtlety.
Harry Potter was at sixes and sevens. His clothes were wrinkled and mismatched; he hadn't bothered to eat anything except to sustain himself.
In other words, he was joyfully wallowing in his self-pity.
Joyfully, because he had found bliss at the bottom of a bottle of Odgen's finest firewhiskey.
As with most things that cause men to drink excessively and absurdly, it was all because of a witch.
Or more accurately, as Harry preferred to label her, a succubus. A devilish imp that feasted on the souls of good-hearted wizards until they were nothing but drained zombies.
A long time ago, it had been advised, by Very Important Individuals to be sure, that saturating sorrows with alcohol did nothing to improve the situation and that surely, a positive solution would not be found. Those Very Important Individuals had said that nothing good would come from drinking alone.
Harry disagreed.
If he hadn't imbibed copious amounts of hard liquor, he would not have reclaimed that infamous Gryffindor valor that helped him defeat the darkest overlord of modern times, nor would it have given him the ability to slam the door of his flat on said succubus' perfectly poised, beautifully smug face.
Granted, in the haze of his intoxication, he hadn't the mind to lock the deadbolt and she wasn't impeded.
She merely marched right in like it was a palace and she its Queen. Or a duchess on a social visit, if the way she disgustedly glanced around his studio flat was any indication. When her gaze landed on Harry, she scrunched her nose in repugnance and accused him of being thoroughly sloshed.
In Harry's opinion, it was a rather banal allegation, but he supposed the truth was never really interesting anyway. "Well spotted, Parkinson."
Her brows rose amusedly as her smoky violet eyes narrowed on him and her little, pert nose turned up and her pink mouth curved mockingly.
He reminded himself that he hated her as he reached for the nearly empty bottle of Odgen's, and hugged it protectively against his chest. "Missed me, I see," he tried to drawl. He nearly believed he succeeded, but as she smiled, a brilliant and ferocious baring of teeth, he was forced to concede that he failed and was in serious danger of being attacked.
He watched her saunter towards him, his chin tilted upwards with defiance, and as her hands smoothed over his chest, he promised this time he’d refuse her advances, but his heart was slamming erratically within his chest, threatening to jump into his throat. She smelled so sweet that he was sure if he hadn't already been intoxicated, his head would swim. He felt a pull at his navel and before he could control himself he was leaning toward her, his lips parting, eyes closing and mouths meeting in a feverish dance of control.
He knew he was lost to her again, and would surely perish somewhere within her softness. Where he loved her.
#3
Title: Somewhere Only We Know
Author: pokeystar
Word Count: 471
Rating: PG
Warning: none
It is a waking dream.
It begins as all his waking dreams do. He is a young man again; supple of limb, fleet of foot, a hundred plus years falling away from his body as if they have never been.
He is walking into the forest, his movements calm and sure, a flood of memories buffering the pain and terror of that day. He ambles over the path worn smooth from endless dream-walking, the Snitch in his hand fluttering in time with the beat of his heart.
He passes the wispy silhouettes of mementos-events in his life played out on an invisible screen before his eyes, in his mind-centaurs and pink toads, chocolate frogs, hand-knitted sweaters and woolly socks. A brook meanders by the path, babbling like a fussy friend constantly reminding him of rules broken and papers due. He smiles to himself with bittersweet fondness, bidding his life farewell.
He stops near the fallen elm like he always does, and brings the dully gleaming Snitch to his lips, whispering “I am about to die.”
And the wings cease fluttering, the golden metal cracking open to reveal nothing, the two empty halves rocking slightly in his flattened palm, as they always do. The Stone is not there.
He casts aside his broken hope and walks on alone, through a maze of twisted tree limbs grown so close together they resemble intertwined lovers. His heart pangs at the thought, remembering bright blue eyes, silken ebony hair and a sinfully wicked smile. Arms like alabaster, only warm and soft, always open to him.
He stumbles at last into the clearing, chilled beyond comfort by ghosts of the past-giant spiders ruthless and hungry, red eyes hostile and calculating. A wind blows through the field, the trees rustling overhead, and Harry thinks of his gentle friend, immense even in death, buried in a sun-soaked valley in France with his beloved Olympe.
Beloved. His heart aches. The dream ends here, always alone. He slumps onto a rough boulder, desolation threatening to swallow faith. He suddenly feels all of his hundred and twenty years.
Here at the end of everything.
Where he began again, one moonlit night long ago, making promises to have and to hold, to cherish and keep. A graceful figure in a slip of white linen, her laughter chasing the demons away. Ushering in an age of warmth and peace, marked by children, companionship and love.
A thestral approaches, luminous eyes holding his muddled gaze, a crooning whinny easing his despair. A velvet snout nudges his fingers, depositing a cracked object in his hand, and as the long-sought Stone turns over in his slick-skinned grasp, she appears before him.
Bright blue eyes, silken ebony hair and a sinfully wicked smile.
Arms like alabaster, only warm and soft, always open to him.
A/N: Somewhere Only We Know by Keane
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hmXY2MSrguE
“I am about to die.” - p. 698, Deathly Hallows US edition.
Poll Round 1 Challenge 8 Voting
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Move to the rhythm!
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Read over the drabbles and choose one most favorite and one least favorite drabble. While reading, keep in mind the prompt and word count restrictions. Once you've chosen, put the number of each drabble in the corresponding box at the end of this post. Please remember to put number of the drabble and not the name; it makes it a lot easier for us to keep track. Each most favorite vote will receive +1 point and each least favorite vote will receive -1 point. The drabble with the most points will win, the drabble with the least points will be sent packing. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.
If, at any point in time, you have a question about the voting procedure, please contact indaze22 or me ASAP. Thanks.
Enough babble, onto the drabbles!
PROMPT: Pick from your personal library of music and write a drabble based on that song. The song title must be the title of the drabble.
WORD COUNT: 300-499 words
#1
Title: Possum Kingdom
Author: ayane_tsurugi
Word Count: 473
Rating: PG
Warning: AU, wartime.
Pansy wrapped her arms around herself, fighting the chill of the night air. “Come on, Potter,” she whispered. She had no reason to believe he would come. Her note hadn’t exactly been specific. I need to talk to you. Lakeside. Midnight.
Her eyes narrowed as the watched the castle door quickly open and close with no evidence as to who had passed through. However, when Potter’s head materialized about halfway up the hill from where she stood, her tension lessened. Rumors, apparently true, had been going around for years that he had an Invisibility Cloak.
The end of Potter’s wand lit up and he scanned the edge of the lake, searching for whoever had called him there. Pansy, frowning in determination, stepped out from behind the tree she’d been leaning against, her palms stretched in front of her in an attempt to prove that, contrary to what would be his belief, she was there on a peaceful mission.
When he spotted her, Pansy heard him growl a bit, and he spun on the spot, brandishing his wand menacingly at some unseen villain. He thought she’d set him up.
“I’m alone, Potter,” she said, trying to keep most of the annoyance out of her tone. “I’m not here to get you hurt.”
“Well, it’s hard to tell. Your note was a bit vague, don’t you think?”
“You came, didn’t you? And you didn’t seem all that suspicious. Risky move, letting me see you before you could see me.”
He scowled. “I can handle myself.”
“I’m aware. That’s why I’m here. I have a secret, Potter, a dark one.” She pulled up the left sleeve of her robes, exposing to him an arm that was pale white and completely clear. “I need your help.”
His forehead wrinkled in confusion, and his eyes moved to her face, where they remained for a long minute as he studied her expression. She raised a fierce eyebrow, daring him to doubt her as she stood before him, more vulnerable than she’d ever purposefully been.
“My help?”
“Yes.” She put her arm down, letting the sleeve fall back into place. “I’m ready to choose a side, and I’m afraid my…prior allegiances might make my intentions seem questionable.” Her frown deepened. “I figured, if there was one person I should convince to vouch for me, it would be you.”
Potter was silent, his expression thoughtful. He glanced back toward the castle, and a brief flash of panic shot through her.
Her next words were quiet, but she knew he would hear. “What do you say, Potter? Will you save me?”
He threw his cloak back over his shoulders, and she let out the jagged breath she’d been holding as he held part of it out, offering her the other spot underneath.
“Come on, Parkinson. I have some people you should meet.”
#2
Title: Love Me Dead
Author: somandalicious
Word Count: 496
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Subtlety.
Harry Potter was at sixes and sevens. His clothes were wrinkled and mismatched; he hadn't bothered to eat anything except to sustain himself.
In other words, he was joyfully wallowing in his self-pity.
Joyfully, because he had found bliss at the bottom of a bottle of Odgen's finest firewhiskey.
As with most things that cause men to drink excessively and absurdly, it was all because of a witch.
Or more accurately, as Harry preferred to label her, a succubus. A devilish imp that feasted on the souls of good-hearted wizards until they were nothing but drained zombies.
A long time ago, it had been advised, by Very Important Individuals to be sure, that saturating sorrows with alcohol did nothing to improve the situation and that surely, a positive solution would not be found. Those Very Important Individuals had said that nothing good would come from drinking alone.
Harry disagreed.
If he hadn't imbibed copious amounts of hard liquor, he would not have reclaimed that infamous Gryffindor valor that helped him defeat the darkest overlord of modern times, nor would it have given him the ability to slam the door of his flat on said succubus' perfectly poised, beautifully smug face.
Granted, in the haze of his intoxication, he hadn't the mind to lock the deadbolt and she wasn't impeded.
She merely marched right in like it was a palace and she its Queen. Or a duchess on a social visit, if the way she disgustedly glanced around his studio flat was any indication. When her gaze landed on Harry, she scrunched her nose in repugnance and accused him of being thoroughly sloshed.
In Harry's opinion, it was a rather banal allegation, but he supposed the truth was never really interesting anyway. "Well spotted, Parkinson."
Her brows rose amusedly as her smoky violet eyes narrowed on him and her little, pert nose turned up and her pink mouth curved mockingly.
He reminded himself that he hated her as he reached for the nearly empty bottle of Odgen's, and hugged it protectively against his chest. "Missed me, I see," he tried to drawl. He nearly believed he succeeded, but as she smiled, a brilliant and ferocious baring of teeth, he was forced to concede that he failed and was in serious danger of being attacked.
He watched her saunter towards him, his chin tilted upwards with defiance, and as her hands smoothed over his chest, he promised this time he’d refuse her advances, but his heart was slamming erratically within his chest, threatening to jump into his throat. She smelled so sweet that he was sure if he hadn't already been intoxicated, his head would swim. He felt a pull at his navel and before he could control himself he was leaning toward her, his lips parting, eyes closing and mouths meeting in a feverish dance of control.
He knew he was lost to her again, and would surely perish somewhere within her softness. Where he loved her.
#3
Title: Somewhere Only We Know
Author: pokeystar
Word Count: 471
Rating: PG
Warning: none
It is a waking dream.
It begins as all his waking dreams do. He is a young man again; supple of limb, fleet of foot, a hundred plus years falling away from his body as if they have never been.
He is walking into the forest, his movements calm and sure, a flood of memories buffering the pain and terror of that day. He ambles over the path worn smooth from endless dream-walking, the Snitch in his hand fluttering in time with the beat of his heart.
He passes the wispy silhouettes of mementos-events in his life played out on an invisible screen before his eyes, in his mind-centaurs and pink toads, chocolate frogs, hand-knitted sweaters and woolly socks. A brook meanders by the path, babbling like a fussy friend constantly reminding him of rules broken and papers due. He smiles to himself with bittersweet fondness, bidding his life farewell.
He stops near the fallen elm like he always does, and brings the dully gleaming Snitch to his lips, whispering “I am about to die.”
And the wings cease fluttering, the golden metal cracking open to reveal nothing, the two empty halves rocking slightly in his flattened palm, as they always do. The Stone is not there.
He casts aside his broken hope and walks on alone, through a maze of twisted tree limbs grown so close together they resemble intertwined lovers. His heart pangs at the thought, remembering bright blue eyes, silken ebony hair and a sinfully wicked smile. Arms like alabaster, only warm and soft, always open to him.
He stumbles at last into the clearing, chilled beyond comfort by ghosts of the past-giant spiders ruthless and hungry, red eyes hostile and calculating. A wind blows through the field, the trees rustling overhead, and Harry thinks of his gentle friend, immense even in death, buried in a sun-soaked valley in France with his beloved Olympe.
Beloved. His heart aches. The dream ends here, always alone. He slumps onto a rough boulder, desolation threatening to swallow faith. He suddenly feels all of his hundred and twenty years.
Here at the end of everything.
Where he began again, one moonlit night long ago, making promises to have and to hold, to cherish and keep. A graceful figure in a slip of white linen, her laughter chasing the demons away. Ushering in an age of warmth and peace, marked by children, companionship and love.
A thestral approaches, luminous eyes holding his muddled gaze, a crooning whinny easing his despair. A velvet snout nudges his fingers, depositing a cracked object in his hand, and as the long-sought Stone turns over in his slick-skinned grasp, she appears before him.
Bright blue eyes, silken ebony hair and a sinfully wicked smile.
Arms like alabaster, only warm and soft, always open to him.
A/N: Somewhere Only We Know by Keane
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hmXY2MSrguE
“I am about to die.” - p. 698, Deathly Hallows US edition.
Poll Round 1 Challenge 8 Voting
VOTING ENDS SATURDAY, MAY 16th AT 11:59 PM EST!
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Move to the rhythm!
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