Round 1 Challenge 5 VOTING!
*singing and dancing* It's Thursday! It's Thursday! It's time to post the drabbles!
VOTING DAY! WEE! :)
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.
Right! Enough babble, onto the drabbles!
PROMPT: Drabbles must include an archaic ritual of some kind
WORD COUNT: 100-499 words
#1
Title: High Priestess of the Moon.
Author: dj_pagal
Word Count: 498
Rating: PG
Warning: Nada.
Pansy grinned and handed Harry a thick ancient tome.
Harry flipped open the book, and skimmed through the table of contents. Grumbling he looked up at Pansy.
Harry gave Pansy an incredulous look, “Bloody hell woman. Do you expect me to memorize this ritual for tomorrow night?”
“Of course.”
Harry ran a hand through his unruly hair, “Merlin, you Purebloods have way too many rituals and traditions.”
“I know,” was Pansy’s simple answer.
“So basically we need to perform a moon ritual?”
Pansy nodded, and made a noncommittal sound as she looked through the box of contents Hermione had dropped off earlier that morning.
Harry sighed and snapped the book shut. “So tell me about this ritual. Oh, high priestess of the moon goddess.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Well Harry, It’s a ritual for our coming babies, it’ll ensure that they are little witches and wizards.”
Harry scrunched up his face, and wrinkled his nose. “Hunh?”
“Harry, please don’t make that face, you look like a pug.”
Harry glared and Pansy grinned.
“Anyway, all Pureblood traditions were founded by Tiberius the Almighty.” Pansy set the contents of the box on the floor and moved over to the love seat. She held on to Harry’s hand and continued her story. “Tiberius was the emperor of the witches, his wife Cornelia was the empress.”
“Ok, but what does it have to do with the moon, and ensuring that our kids will be witches.” Harry asked wrinkling he nose once again.
“Harry!” Pansy exclaimed and whacked Harry over the head, “I’m trying to tell you. Stop interrupting me.”
“Sorry… continue please.”
“Anyway,” Pansy said. “Cornelia was the descendant of Selene the Goddess of the moon. Selene was furious when Cornelia married the Emperor. She cursed her daughter upon her wedding night.”
“A mother curses her daughter. Damn.”
“Shut up Harry, I’m not done.”
“Oh, right sorry.”
“The curse was that any child descendant of a witch or wizard, would not be born with magical powers. A furious Tiberius then climbed the mountains of Olympia and called upon Apollo for justice. Apollo a reasonable god, bestowed upon him the ability to counteract Selene’s curse. It is then said, that the expecting couple must visit the temple of Tiberius, and at the high tower, Tiberius will bless the mother witch to have a healthy magical child.”
Harry’s jaw dropped. “Oh. Wow. So what did Cornelia do?”
“That story is for another time Harry. Tonight I want to see you in your High Priest costume.” Pansy smiled and held out her hands.
Harry threw the tome on the sofa, and grabbed Pansy’s outstretch hand and yanked her towards his seated form. “Well as long as I get to see what you’re wearing under your costume, you can see me in anything you like.” He murmured as he kissed her lips gently.
Pansy giggled, “OH, Mr. Potter you aren’t getting out of memorizing the ritual.”
Harry gave a defeated sigh. “As you wish Mrs. Potter.”
#2
Title: Family Traditions
Author: ayane_tsurugi
Word Count: 296
Rating: G
Warning: None.
“I want to give her a floral name.”
Harry grimaced. “Why?”
“I don’t know why you’re making that face. If you’ll recall, both your mother and your wonderful, beautiful, not-at-all sweaty wife have floral names.”
“So did the aunt who made the first eleven years of my life a living hell.”
Pansy glared at him. “You did not just throw the abusive childhood card in my face after I spent thirteen hours in labor giving birth to your child.”
“Our child.”
“Shut up, Harry.”
“Love you, too.”
“Alright, so what do you want to name her?”
“Well, I don’t know.” He paused. “How about Jamie?”
“Harry, we’re not saddling our first born with the legacy of your family. She’s going to have enough problems with the ‘Potter’ half of it.”
He huffed, but conceded. He hated thinking about the troubles his name would cause her in the future. “Fine. What about Alice?”
“Hmm,” she said. “It actually has promise.”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
“Why Alice?”
“According to McGonagall, Alice was my grandmother’s name.”
“You’re really fixed on family traditions, aren’t you?”
“Well, at least my fixation is normal. You were the one who insisted we make her name alliterative.”
“I gave in eventually, didn’t I? Besides, it truly does make things easier. My family’s been doing it for generations.”
“And I’m the one fixed on family traditions?”
Pansy just smiled, and held her arms out to take the baby girl back from Harry. Looking down at her, she said, “Well then, welcome to the world, Alice Potter. Your life is sure to be interesting.”
As Pansy realized what she’d said, her eyes widened and she looked up at Harry again. “What do you think the chances are she’ll take an apology in advance?”
#3
Title: Avalon's Canticle
Author: slytherinswench
Word Count: 499
Rating: PG
Warning: none
The fire was a faerie dancer on the hearth, a liquid-flame Atlas holding up the blackened cauldron.
Pansy knelt before the arcing god, hair unbound; her delicate fingers upturned in supplication. Her voice rose like moonbeams on icicles as she sang the incantation of her mother’s people.
The language was rough and raw, no longer spoken in this realm, no longer even hieroglyphs in that darkness of dreaming, but twisted corridors decayed from that eternal quiet of non-existence.
Her fingers dipped into the warm liquid in the cauldron and then spread out throughout the charged air. Shapes appeared before her, frosted with gold and stardust, bursting to bright life, only to fade into dust. All but for those that hardened into diamonds threaded through her daughter’s raven hair.
She held Lily’s hands in her own, showing her how to make the shapes that would become the sound. Her pure voice like rays of sun aligned with Pansy’s soft lunar hymnal.
With her athame, she cut into the apple, offering the ambrosia fruit first to the fire, then to Lily.
Her woman-child smiled and said demurely, “What did you wish for, Maman? When it was your turn?”
Pansy’s heart was full of memory and starry canvases. “I wished for a child of fairest face, heart of purest gold, and eyes like sea off of the shores of Avalon. You, ma petite. I wished for you.”
“But you got Papa.”
“I did, indeed. He was necessary for those requirements, you see. Now, make your wish, petite fleur. Bite of your apple and claim the knowledge that belongs to you as a woman.”
Lily closed her eyes, the black lashes brushing her cheek like a curtsy. Her rosebud lips parted and she bit into her apple and offered the rest to the cauldron as she’d been taught.
“Am I woman grown now, Maman?”
“Do you feel a woman grown?”
Lily shook her dark head, the ringlets flying in waves of inky velvet. “I feel the same, but for that my body is tres unhappy. Can’t I just use my magic to make the blood go away?”
“If only, my little love.” Pansy sighed and held Lily close.
The rite had ended, so it was no great disturbance when the door opened and Pansy’s heart was filled again, brimming with something more than love for the man that stood there.
Harry held out his arms for his daughter and she was swept into the air like an autumn leaf.
“Tuck me in, Papa? Since I’m a woman now, does that mean I can’t have a story?”
“Would you still like a story?”
“Very much. The one about the witch with lips red as blood, skin pale as snow…”
Pansy watched as Harry carried their daughter to her room, content to let her be a young woman and little girl all at once.
She raised her palms in supplication again; the radiant joy inside of her slipping down her cheeks like a warm rain.
#4
Title: The Pattern of Life and Love
Author: laiksmarei
Word Count: 419
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, Sex, Character Death
Every morning he kisses her bare shoulder nine times in rapid succession-each brush of lips a silent endearment, a tribute to their years together-then bites it playfully before crawling out of bed to grudgingly start his day. As he backs out of the bedroom for the toilet, he watches her curl into herself on his side of the bed, burying her face into his pillow.
On Tuesdays he meets her for a bit of nosh at the Three Broomsticks. He orders the luncheon special, oh, how he loves the disgustingly delicious doner kebab, while Rosmerta tries to tempt her into digesting something other than her typical liquid lunch of Gillywater. Of course, she isn’t persuaded, and he smiles when he catches her nicking a bite of his pita soaked in yoghurt sauce.
Twice weekly she visits Headmaster Snape’s memorial, a lonely grey marker to one side of the Shrieking Shack. He watches her from the cover of a massive yew trunk, though he knows she knows he is there. She cleans away a pile of leaves and other debris, leftovers from the last storm, silent tracks of tears trailing down her cheeks as her fingers reverently trace the lettering on her former mentor’s headstone.
At least once a month-well, he’s yet to determine the exact timing, rhyme or reason, not that it matters to him in the slightest-she hikes up her ridiculously short skirt (what is she doing wearing that thing in public!) and straddles him in his work chair, fucking him long and slow with agonising precision. She whispers pretty, dirty promises in his ear as he simultaneously steals glances at his office door, worrying this will be the moment they’re caught by his assistant, his best friend, or worse, his boss. She drags her nails across her tattooed name on his chest when she comes; panic and pleasure tilts him into oblivion, words of reverence tumble from his mouth, his heart, his soul.
Harry reflects on these snippets of their life together, habits and routines lovingly crafted over time. Tears sting his eyes as he reaches into the clay pot and gathers a handful of ashes in his fist. He looks out over the Black Lake, gossamer threads of sadness clinging to his heart. He brings the remains of his darling Pansy to his lips and whispers that he will join her one day soon. He opens his hand and releases her into the world, the ritual of remembrance and letting go complete.
#5
Title: A Bite of the Apple
Author: humbuggirl
Word Count: 499
Rating: PG
Warning: None
Harry's feet beat a tattoo on the orchard floor as he ran. Sweat formed on the back of his neck, his shoulders, causing his shirt to cling uncomfortably. It felt like he had been running forever; it had probably only been ten minutes.
He was going to kill Malfoy. This was his fault. Harry could remember vividly the day his fellow Auror had quietly asked him to call in on Pansy while he was away. Right then, it should have been obvious that something was amiss. Pansy needed as much looking after as a rabid crup.
For one startling, horrifying moment after he had arrived at the Parkinson ancestral estate, Harry had thought that he had walked in on the beginnings of a massacre. Muggles were milling around, along with several magical folk. Then he had noticed the bunting, and the cider stall, and the smiles of the people there. Pansy had appeared in the middle, resplendent in a surprisingly virginal dress.
"It's the annual apple run," she told him. "We've been holding it for eons. The men from the village race to see who can escape the orchard first. The winner gets a bushel of apples and a kiss from the maiden." After a moment, she added, "That's me."
"Maiden?" Harry teased.
"Shut up, Potter."
"Malfoy knew about this, didn't he?"
"Of course. He used to run every year. He never won, though."
"Why did he do it then?"
Pansy's smile was sly. She studied him for a moment. "Enter and maybe you'll find out."
Now, feeling hopelessly lost amongst the apple trees, Harry thought there was every chance that Malfoy had simply given up. He was certainly tempted to. So far, he had come across nothing that even vaguely resembled the outer wall of the estate he was supposed to climb over.
He stopped, sucking in a deep breath while trying to gauge his position. As he did so, he spied a likely looking patch of grey stone. After a few more steps, however, he realised it was too small. The Parkinsons' apparently had a folly. Only a bright flare of white stopped him from turning away. It was quickly followed by a low, familiar laugh. Harry moved closer, stepping inside.
Fingers curled around his arm, spinning him and pressing him against the ivy-clad wall. It took him a moment to identify his captor.
Pansy smiled, leaning closer. A predator's smile, Harry thought, even as felt the firm press of her chest. "You planned this," he accused. When her mouth crashed into his, he was not too surprised.
She drew back a not insignificant amount of time later, smirking. Harry's mouth followed hers, unwilling to relinquish the kiss. She placed a hand on his chest.
"That's enough for now," she told him. "I've got to save at least one kiss, you know, for the winner of the race."
Harry frowned. "But..."
"Later," she promised. He pulled away, surprising her. "Where are you going?"
"To win the race."
#6
Title: Atonement
Author: pokeystar
Word Count: 499
Rating: PG
Warning: none
Harry follows behind the white-robed figure gliding through the halls, past sleeping portraits, under his Invisibility Cloak.
Where is she going this late at night?
In this, his “eighth” year at Hogwarts, he is having difficulty adjusting to a peaceful existence. He keeps seeing subterfuge in other students’ faces; evil lurking in the shadows.
Hermione says he’s suffering from post-traumatic stress-that they all are, to one degree or another, disgust for wizarding society’s propensity to shove unpleasantness under a metaphorical rug coloring her voice with contempt.
But he knows what he saw this time, and so he’s following her to… the Room of Requirement?
He’s so startled, he stops by the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and almost misses his chance to slip inside the room behind her.
Even if he’s still living in the past, he has certainly learned from it, so he watches silently as she puts down a satchel and opens it, taking out candles, a small broom, hammered silver bowls and glass apothecary jars. At last, he sees her pull out the small carved jade figurine of a crouching tiger and he can’t keep quiet any longer.
“What are you doing with that?!” he exclaims as he throws off his Cloak.
“Atonement, Potter,” Pansy replies without batting an eye.
“Cho gave me that tiger to protect me from evil-” Harry grits out before Pansy cuts him off with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“She imbued it with a very strong love spell.” Pansy fusses with the bowls and candles, placing them deliberately on the floor while muttering under her breath. “Don’t just stand there like a gaping cod, Potter. Help me cleanse the circle. The shielding ritual is more powerful if the mark participates willingly.”
“I’m not fond of sweeping,” he mutters, and picks up the broom.
“It’s not a career choice, Potter,” she retorts, filling the bowls with the directional elementals. “Now shut your gob and concentrate on feeling safe.”
He snorts, but falls silent. Safe? He wonders what that’s like. He thinks he’s felt something near it, a time or two at the Burrow, or up in the dormitory, snug in his bed, that first year of school.
“I shouldn’t have tried to turn you over to that monster.” Pansy’s voice is slightly shaky.
So much for feeling safe.
“Well-”
“I’d never been scared like that before. And I didn’t know what he was truly capable of…Draco told me a lot of things…After.” Her eyes slip to the glimmering Cloak lying in a puddle on the floor. “That slag has no right to manipulate you like this. No one does. You’ve done enough.”
He’s strangely elated and close to crying all at once.
“Don’t blubber now, Potter. We need to close the circle and invoke the ritual before that crappy green knickknack emits love goo all over us. I don’t fancy having to fumigate Mumsy’s ceremonial robes of eau de tart.”
They clasp hands and the ritual begins.
#7
Title: Time Will Tell
Author: floorcoaster
Word Count: 498
Rating: G
Warning: None
Note: Everyone is in their eighth-year at Hogwarts following the war.
Pansy stared at the dice in front of her. If she kept staring, then she wouldn’t have to look up; she wouldn’t have to look Harry Potter in the face.
What had started out as a harmless little game had turned into something potentially life-altering. At the very least, a few people would have some serious thinking to do.
Including her.
It was Hermione’s fault. She’d found the book that contained the ritual in the bowels of the Hogwarts library and had showed it to Ginny. They’d proceeded to convince themselves it was a good idea to try it. Pansy couldn’t fathom why Hermione agreed; that witch was too sensible for her own good.
Hermione and Ginny had set the scene: five candles in a circle, a teaspoon each of moonstone powder and powdered unicorn horn mixed with a cup of Amortentia potion, and a pair of dice, one red, the other black.
While the ritual seemed childish, it had been fun at first. Someone sat in the circle of candles, drank the potion, and rolled the dice-twice. Each combination of numbers corresponded to a letter, and the result was, supposedly, the initials of your soul mate.
Things had started to go bad when Hermione produced Draco’s initials instead of her boyfriend’s. She’d tried to claim it was nothing, just a silly game, but everyone who’d grown up around magic knew better.
Pansy suspected Draco had been secretly thrilled, but he’d played if off, refusing to participate. An angry Ron had gone next and produced a pair of Ls, to everyone’s surprise-except Luna’s. She just smiled serenely.
In an effort to prove whether the dice worked, Harry had volunteered. The atmosphere became almost frigid when Harry’s first roll was a P. He’d ended up with two of them.
Pansy had gaped at the final letter, terrified that everyone around could hear her pounding heart. So what if she had recently started thinking Harry wasn’t as annoying as she’d once thought? And so what if butterflies exploded in her stomach whenever he so much as glanced in her direction? It certainly didn’t mean they were soul mates.
Padma and Parvati Patil had rolled, while Ginny stared blankly at the floor, but neither got Harry’s initials. Then someone had shoved the dice into Pansy’s hand.
Ridiculous! She’d protested, but they’d insisted. Her first letter was H. Ginny scowled at her, and she understood why Draco had refused to play. She tossed the dice again, and her heart did a strange thing between jumping for joy and stabbing itself with dread.
P.
While Pansy stared, Ginny very quietly left the room. Harry ran after her.
Relieved, Pansy got to her feet and resolutely avoided looking at anyone.
Blaise eagerly took his turn and cheered when he produced Ginny’s initials.
After everyone had cleared out, Pansy found Draco covertly casting his own fortune. He sighed. “Granger. Seventy times.”
Maybe the ritual wasn’t a farce after all. Only time would tell.
Poll Round 1 Challenge 5 Voting
Voting ends Friday, April 24th at 11:59 PM EST!
VOTING DAY! WEE! :)
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.
Right! Enough babble, onto the drabbles!
PROMPT: Drabbles must include an archaic ritual of some kind
WORD COUNT: 100-499 words
#1
Title: High Priestess of the Moon.
Author: dj_pagal
Word Count: 498
Rating: PG
Warning: Nada.
Pansy grinned and handed Harry a thick ancient tome.
Harry flipped open the book, and skimmed through the table of contents. Grumbling he looked up at Pansy.
Harry gave Pansy an incredulous look, “Bloody hell woman. Do you expect me to memorize this ritual for tomorrow night?”
“Of course.”
Harry ran a hand through his unruly hair, “Merlin, you Purebloods have way too many rituals and traditions.”
“I know,” was Pansy’s simple answer.
“So basically we need to perform a moon ritual?”
Pansy nodded, and made a noncommittal sound as she looked through the box of contents Hermione had dropped off earlier that morning.
Harry sighed and snapped the book shut. “So tell me about this ritual. Oh, high priestess of the moon goddess.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Well Harry, It’s a ritual for our coming babies, it’ll ensure that they are little witches and wizards.”
Harry scrunched up his face, and wrinkled his nose. “Hunh?”
“Harry, please don’t make that face, you look like a pug.”
Harry glared and Pansy grinned.
“Anyway, all Pureblood traditions were founded by Tiberius the Almighty.” Pansy set the contents of the box on the floor and moved over to the love seat. She held on to Harry’s hand and continued her story. “Tiberius was the emperor of the witches, his wife Cornelia was the empress.”
“Ok, but what does it have to do with the moon, and ensuring that our kids will be witches.” Harry asked wrinkling he nose once again.
“Harry!” Pansy exclaimed and whacked Harry over the head, “I’m trying to tell you. Stop interrupting me.”
“Sorry… continue please.”
“Anyway,” Pansy said. “Cornelia was the descendant of Selene the Goddess of the moon. Selene was furious when Cornelia married the Emperor. She cursed her daughter upon her wedding night.”
“A mother curses her daughter. Damn.”
“Shut up Harry, I’m not done.”
“Oh, right sorry.”
“The curse was that any child descendant of a witch or wizard, would not be born with magical powers. A furious Tiberius then climbed the mountains of Olympia and called upon Apollo for justice. Apollo a reasonable god, bestowed upon him the ability to counteract Selene’s curse. It is then said, that the expecting couple must visit the temple of Tiberius, and at the high tower, Tiberius will bless the mother witch to have a healthy magical child.”
Harry’s jaw dropped. “Oh. Wow. So what did Cornelia do?”
“That story is for another time Harry. Tonight I want to see you in your High Priest costume.” Pansy smiled and held out her hands.
Harry threw the tome on the sofa, and grabbed Pansy’s outstretch hand and yanked her towards his seated form. “Well as long as I get to see what you’re wearing under your costume, you can see me in anything you like.” He murmured as he kissed her lips gently.
Pansy giggled, “OH, Mr. Potter you aren’t getting out of memorizing the ritual.”
Harry gave a defeated sigh. “As you wish Mrs. Potter.”
#2
Title: Family Traditions
Author: ayane_tsurugi
Word Count: 296
Rating: G
Warning: None.
“I want to give her a floral name.”
Harry grimaced. “Why?”
“I don’t know why you’re making that face. If you’ll recall, both your mother and your wonderful, beautiful, not-at-all sweaty wife have floral names.”
“So did the aunt who made the first eleven years of my life a living hell.”
Pansy glared at him. “You did not just throw the abusive childhood card in my face after I spent thirteen hours in labor giving birth to your child.”
“Our child.”
“Shut up, Harry.”
“Love you, too.”
“Alright, so what do you want to name her?”
“Well, I don’t know.” He paused. “How about Jamie?”
“Harry, we’re not saddling our first born with the legacy of your family. She’s going to have enough problems with the ‘Potter’ half of it.”
He huffed, but conceded. He hated thinking about the troubles his name would cause her in the future. “Fine. What about Alice?”
“Hmm,” she said. “It actually has promise.”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
“Why Alice?”
“According to McGonagall, Alice was my grandmother’s name.”
“You’re really fixed on family traditions, aren’t you?”
“Well, at least my fixation is normal. You were the one who insisted we make her name alliterative.”
“I gave in eventually, didn’t I? Besides, it truly does make things easier. My family’s been doing it for generations.”
“And I’m the one fixed on family traditions?”
Pansy just smiled, and held her arms out to take the baby girl back from Harry. Looking down at her, she said, “Well then, welcome to the world, Alice Potter. Your life is sure to be interesting.”
As Pansy realized what she’d said, her eyes widened and she looked up at Harry again. “What do you think the chances are she’ll take an apology in advance?”
#3
Title: Avalon's Canticle
Author: slytherinswench
Word Count: 499
Rating: PG
Warning: none
The fire was a faerie dancer on the hearth, a liquid-flame Atlas holding up the blackened cauldron.
Pansy knelt before the arcing god, hair unbound; her delicate fingers upturned in supplication. Her voice rose like moonbeams on icicles as she sang the incantation of her mother’s people.
The language was rough and raw, no longer spoken in this realm, no longer even hieroglyphs in that darkness of dreaming, but twisted corridors decayed from that eternal quiet of non-existence.
Her fingers dipped into the warm liquid in the cauldron and then spread out throughout the charged air. Shapes appeared before her, frosted with gold and stardust, bursting to bright life, only to fade into dust. All but for those that hardened into diamonds threaded through her daughter’s raven hair.
She held Lily’s hands in her own, showing her how to make the shapes that would become the sound. Her pure voice like rays of sun aligned with Pansy’s soft lunar hymnal.
With her athame, she cut into the apple, offering the ambrosia fruit first to the fire, then to Lily.
Her woman-child smiled and said demurely, “What did you wish for, Maman? When it was your turn?”
Pansy’s heart was full of memory and starry canvases. “I wished for a child of fairest face, heart of purest gold, and eyes like sea off of the shores of Avalon. You, ma petite. I wished for you.”
“But you got Papa.”
“I did, indeed. He was necessary for those requirements, you see. Now, make your wish, petite fleur. Bite of your apple and claim the knowledge that belongs to you as a woman.”
Lily closed her eyes, the black lashes brushing her cheek like a curtsy. Her rosebud lips parted and she bit into her apple and offered the rest to the cauldron as she’d been taught.
“Am I woman grown now, Maman?”
“Do you feel a woman grown?”
Lily shook her dark head, the ringlets flying in waves of inky velvet. “I feel the same, but for that my body is tres unhappy. Can’t I just use my magic to make the blood go away?”
“If only, my little love.” Pansy sighed and held Lily close.
The rite had ended, so it was no great disturbance when the door opened and Pansy’s heart was filled again, brimming with something more than love for the man that stood there.
Harry held out his arms for his daughter and she was swept into the air like an autumn leaf.
“Tuck me in, Papa? Since I’m a woman now, does that mean I can’t have a story?”
“Would you still like a story?”
“Very much. The one about the witch with lips red as blood, skin pale as snow…”
Pansy watched as Harry carried their daughter to her room, content to let her be a young woman and little girl all at once.
She raised her palms in supplication again; the radiant joy inside of her slipping down her cheeks like a warm rain.
#4
Title: The Pattern of Life and Love
Author: laiksmarei
Word Count: 419
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, Sex, Character Death
Every morning he kisses her bare shoulder nine times in rapid succession-each brush of lips a silent endearment, a tribute to their years together-then bites it playfully before crawling out of bed to grudgingly start his day. As he backs out of the bedroom for the toilet, he watches her curl into herself on his side of the bed, burying her face into his pillow.
On Tuesdays he meets her for a bit of nosh at the Three Broomsticks. He orders the luncheon special, oh, how he loves the disgustingly delicious doner kebab, while Rosmerta tries to tempt her into digesting something other than her typical liquid lunch of Gillywater. Of course, she isn’t persuaded, and he smiles when he catches her nicking a bite of his pita soaked in yoghurt sauce.
Twice weekly she visits Headmaster Snape’s memorial, a lonely grey marker to one side of the Shrieking Shack. He watches her from the cover of a massive yew trunk, though he knows she knows he is there. She cleans away a pile of leaves and other debris, leftovers from the last storm, silent tracks of tears trailing down her cheeks as her fingers reverently trace the lettering on her former mentor’s headstone.
At least once a month-well, he’s yet to determine the exact timing, rhyme or reason, not that it matters to him in the slightest-she hikes up her ridiculously short skirt (what is she doing wearing that thing in public!) and straddles him in his work chair, fucking him long and slow with agonising precision. She whispers pretty, dirty promises in his ear as he simultaneously steals glances at his office door, worrying this will be the moment they’re caught by his assistant, his best friend, or worse, his boss. She drags her nails across her tattooed name on his chest when she comes; panic and pleasure tilts him into oblivion, words of reverence tumble from his mouth, his heart, his soul.
Harry reflects on these snippets of their life together, habits and routines lovingly crafted over time. Tears sting his eyes as he reaches into the clay pot and gathers a handful of ashes in his fist. He looks out over the Black Lake, gossamer threads of sadness clinging to his heart. He brings the remains of his darling Pansy to his lips and whispers that he will join her one day soon. He opens his hand and releases her into the world, the ritual of remembrance and letting go complete.
#5
Title: A Bite of the Apple
Author: humbuggirl
Word Count: 499
Rating: PG
Warning: None
Harry's feet beat a tattoo on the orchard floor as he ran. Sweat formed on the back of his neck, his shoulders, causing his shirt to cling uncomfortably. It felt like he had been running forever; it had probably only been ten minutes.
He was going to kill Malfoy. This was his fault. Harry could remember vividly the day his fellow Auror had quietly asked him to call in on Pansy while he was away. Right then, it should have been obvious that something was amiss. Pansy needed as much looking after as a rabid crup.
For one startling, horrifying moment after he had arrived at the Parkinson ancestral estate, Harry had thought that he had walked in on the beginnings of a massacre. Muggles were milling around, along with several magical folk. Then he had noticed the bunting, and the cider stall, and the smiles of the people there. Pansy had appeared in the middle, resplendent in a surprisingly virginal dress.
"It's the annual apple run," she told him. "We've been holding it for eons. The men from the village race to see who can escape the orchard first. The winner gets a bushel of apples and a kiss from the maiden." After a moment, she added, "That's me."
"Maiden?" Harry teased.
"Shut up, Potter."
"Malfoy knew about this, didn't he?"
"Of course. He used to run every year. He never won, though."
"Why did he do it then?"
Pansy's smile was sly. She studied him for a moment. "Enter and maybe you'll find out."
Now, feeling hopelessly lost amongst the apple trees, Harry thought there was every chance that Malfoy had simply given up. He was certainly tempted to. So far, he had come across nothing that even vaguely resembled the outer wall of the estate he was supposed to climb over.
He stopped, sucking in a deep breath while trying to gauge his position. As he did so, he spied a likely looking patch of grey stone. After a few more steps, however, he realised it was too small. The Parkinsons' apparently had a folly. Only a bright flare of white stopped him from turning away. It was quickly followed by a low, familiar laugh. Harry moved closer, stepping inside.
Fingers curled around his arm, spinning him and pressing him against the ivy-clad wall. It took him a moment to identify his captor.
Pansy smiled, leaning closer. A predator's smile, Harry thought, even as felt the firm press of her chest. "You planned this," he accused. When her mouth crashed into his, he was not too surprised.
She drew back a not insignificant amount of time later, smirking. Harry's mouth followed hers, unwilling to relinquish the kiss. She placed a hand on his chest.
"That's enough for now," she told him. "I've got to save at least one kiss, you know, for the winner of the race."
Harry frowned. "But..."
"Later," she promised. He pulled away, surprising her. "Where are you going?"
"To win the race."
#6
Title: Atonement
Author: pokeystar
Word Count: 499
Rating: PG
Warning: none
Harry follows behind the white-robed figure gliding through the halls, past sleeping portraits, under his Invisibility Cloak.
Where is she going this late at night?
In this, his “eighth” year at Hogwarts, he is having difficulty adjusting to a peaceful existence. He keeps seeing subterfuge in other students’ faces; evil lurking in the shadows.
Hermione says he’s suffering from post-traumatic stress-that they all are, to one degree or another, disgust for wizarding society’s propensity to shove unpleasantness under a metaphorical rug coloring her voice with contempt.
But he knows what he saw this time, and so he’s following her to… the Room of Requirement?
He’s so startled, he stops by the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and almost misses his chance to slip inside the room behind her.
Even if he’s still living in the past, he has certainly learned from it, so he watches silently as she puts down a satchel and opens it, taking out candles, a small broom, hammered silver bowls and glass apothecary jars. At last, he sees her pull out the small carved jade figurine of a crouching tiger and he can’t keep quiet any longer.
“What are you doing with that?!” he exclaims as he throws off his Cloak.
“Atonement, Potter,” Pansy replies without batting an eye.
“Cho gave me that tiger to protect me from evil-” Harry grits out before Pansy cuts him off with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“She imbued it with a very strong love spell.” Pansy fusses with the bowls and candles, placing them deliberately on the floor while muttering under her breath. “Don’t just stand there like a gaping cod, Potter. Help me cleanse the circle. The shielding ritual is more powerful if the mark participates willingly.”
“I’m not fond of sweeping,” he mutters, and picks up the broom.
“It’s not a career choice, Potter,” she retorts, filling the bowls with the directional elementals. “Now shut your gob and concentrate on feeling safe.”
He snorts, but falls silent. Safe? He wonders what that’s like. He thinks he’s felt something near it, a time or two at the Burrow, or up in the dormitory, snug in his bed, that first year of school.
“I shouldn’t have tried to turn you over to that monster.” Pansy’s voice is slightly shaky.
So much for feeling safe.
“Well-”
“I’d never been scared like that before. And I didn’t know what he was truly capable of…Draco told me a lot of things…After.” Her eyes slip to the glimmering Cloak lying in a puddle on the floor. “That slag has no right to manipulate you like this. No one does. You’ve done enough.”
He’s strangely elated and close to crying all at once.
“Don’t blubber now, Potter. We need to close the circle and invoke the ritual before that crappy green knickknack emits love goo all over us. I don’t fancy having to fumigate Mumsy’s ceremonial robes of eau de tart.”
They clasp hands and the ritual begins.
#7
Title: Time Will Tell
Author: floorcoaster
Word Count: 498
Rating: G
Warning: None
Note: Everyone is in their eighth-year at Hogwarts following the war.
Pansy stared at the dice in front of her. If she kept staring, then she wouldn’t have to look up; she wouldn’t have to look Harry Potter in the face.
What had started out as a harmless little game had turned into something potentially life-altering. At the very least, a few people would have some serious thinking to do.
Including her.
It was Hermione’s fault. She’d found the book that contained the ritual in the bowels of the Hogwarts library and had showed it to Ginny. They’d proceeded to convince themselves it was a good idea to try it. Pansy couldn’t fathom why Hermione agreed; that witch was too sensible for her own good.
Hermione and Ginny had set the scene: five candles in a circle, a teaspoon each of moonstone powder and powdered unicorn horn mixed with a cup of Amortentia potion, and a pair of dice, one red, the other black.
While the ritual seemed childish, it had been fun at first. Someone sat in the circle of candles, drank the potion, and rolled the dice-twice. Each combination of numbers corresponded to a letter, and the result was, supposedly, the initials of your soul mate.
Things had started to go bad when Hermione produced Draco’s initials instead of her boyfriend’s. She’d tried to claim it was nothing, just a silly game, but everyone who’d grown up around magic knew better.
Pansy suspected Draco had been secretly thrilled, but he’d played if off, refusing to participate. An angry Ron had gone next and produced a pair of Ls, to everyone’s surprise-except Luna’s. She just smiled serenely.
In an effort to prove whether the dice worked, Harry had volunteered. The atmosphere became almost frigid when Harry’s first roll was a P. He’d ended up with two of them.
Pansy had gaped at the final letter, terrified that everyone around could hear her pounding heart. So what if she had recently started thinking Harry wasn’t as annoying as she’d once thought? And so what if butterflies exploded in her stomach whenever he so much as glanced in her direction? It certainly didn’t mean they were soul mates.
Padma and Parvati Patil had rolled, while Ginny stared blankly at the floor, but neither got Harry’s initials. Then someone had shoved the dice into Pansy’s hand.
Ridiculous! She’d protested, but they’d insisted. Her first letter was H. Ginny scowled at her, and she understood why Draco had refused to play. She tossed the dice again, and her heart did a strange thing between jumping for joy and stabbing itself with dread.
P.
While Pansy stared, Ginny very quietly left the room. Harry ran after her.
Relieved, Pansy got to her feet and resolutely avoided looking at anyone.
Blaise eagerly took his turn and cheered when he produced Ginny’s initials.
After everyone had cleared out, Pansy found Draco covertly casting his own fortune. He sighed. “Granger. Seventy times.”
Maybe the ritual wasn’t a farce after all. Only time would tell.
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