why_me_why_not (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
why_me_why_not) wrote2008-10-22 10:07 pm
why_me_why_not) wrote2008-10-22 10:07 pm
(no subject)
A few random drabbles as I'm dumping fic:
225 words from the random H/D Eighth Year verse that exists in my head. Written from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gelsey’s prompt words: bottle, crimson, breeze.
Draco didn’t look at Pansy as he handed over the bottle of firewhisky. He knew she wouldn’t actually drink it – she was humouring him, sitting beside him on the steps to the Owlery in the late-evening breeze and taking fake sips from the bottle each time he passed it to her. When they got caught – which was usually by one of the Seventh Year Prefects, who would roll their eyes and warn them where Filch was – or when Draco started talking something he did little of lately, Pansy would help him stumble back to the dungeons. They’d curl up under the throw he had picked up in London, crimson like the blood that was on his cowardly hands, and Pansy would talk until he fell asleep, spinning fanciful stories about far-away places where children didn’t fight in Wars and school was a safe haven and parents proved their unconditional love. Draco knew it was selfish, knew he shouldn’t allow Pansy to look after him. Shouldn’t expect it. But he’d been a selfish, spoiled brat for so long now, he didn’t really know how to change, so he’d keep letting Pansy do as she pleased until she got fed up and left. Maybe then he’d find a reason to leave this school, this world, this life behind, because really, she was the only reason he stayed.
125 words of Stanford-era Sam. Written fromnasus221’s prompt words: grow, best, heat.
The heat wasn’t too unbearable (yet) but it was enough that anything more strenuous than lying on the patio was an unappealing prospect. These were the kind of days Sam liked best, lazing around with his friends, enjoying the few days respite between finals of Spring Term and the start of summer classes. Nothing to do but watch the grass grow and pretend his discontent wasn’t growing along with it. When his days weren’t filled with class and work and his friends, it was harder to pretend that this was his life, that he didn’t miss the backseat of the Impala. That didn’t mean Sam didn’t try. He smiled at Jess as she handed him a cold beer and tried to shake away the memories.
150 words of Hermione & Charlie. Written fromgelsey’s prompt words: silly, desk, shout.
Hermione knew she was being silly – honestly, it was just a little (really really big) mouse (rat) – but her wand was on the other side of the room and she wasn’t getting off the top of the desk to retrieve it. That mouse (rat) was probably rabid and hungry, and Hermione was pretty sure it had been eyeing her toes when it had run towards her. She looked up when the door edged open, expecting to see Ron or Ginny. Instead, it was Charlie.
“I heard you shout; what’s wrong?”
Hermione blushed, feeling even more ridiculous. “Um. There was a mouse…”
Charlie laughed, the sound warm and friendly, and stepped into the room. “Well, mice are decidedly more wily than dragons, but I’m pretty sure I can manage to capture one in order to rescue a fair maiden.”
Hermione didn’t bother telling Charlie she wasn’t technically fair or a maiden.
350 words of Teddy/Victoire. Forgelsey’s prompt of “first kiss”.
Teddy wasn’t expecting anyone to be out here, but apparently he wasn’t the only one wanting to escape the festivities. Celebrating the anniversary of the Final Battle had become a Wizarding tradition, filled with food and explosions and laughter, but for Teddy it was sometimes only a sad reminder of the parents he didn’t remember. He knew they had died fighting, knew that they were good people and heroes, but he would sometimes rather they were boring and unknown and here.
Teddy wasn’t exactly being quiet or stealthy, so he was surprised when Victoire jumped the touch of his hand to her back.
She whirled around, laughing and wide-eyed as she held a hand over her heart. “You scared me!”
“Sorry. Can I sit with you a while?”
Victoire sat back down and patted the empty bit of log beside her. The two of them sat in silence for a few moments, but it wasn’t really awkward. They were friends, pretty close friends, and despite the tension that had sprung up between them during the school year when Victoire had starting spending her time with the captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, they generally got along well.
Finally, Teddy spoke up. “I expected to see Jacob here today.”
“We’re not seeing each other anymore,” Victoire answered, not looking at Teddy. “He was more interested in my parentage than in me, I think.”
“His loss. Although, I suppose that means I won’t have to take away House points when I catch the two of you snogging in the library, so that’s a plus.”
Victoire laughed. “That never happened; you must be thinking of Amelia Wood and her Hufflepuff fling.”
“I heard stories.”
“Lies, all lies. I never actually kissed Jacob.”
“Really?”
“Nope.” Victoire turned to face Teddy, watching him with an expression that was part mischief and part anxiousness. “First kisses are supposed to be special. He wasn’t special enough.”
“And do you have someone in mind that is special enough?”
“Perhaps.” She leaned in to whisper, “I always wanted you to be my first,” before pressing her lips to his.
225 words from the random H/D Eighth Year verse that exists in my head. Written from
gelsey’s prompt words: bottle, crimson, breeze.Draco didn’t look at Pansy as he handed over the bottle of firewhisky. He knew she wouldn’t actually drink it – she was humouring him, sitting beside him on the steps to the Owlery in the late-evening breeze and taking fake sips from the bottle each time he passed it to her. When they got caught – which was usually by one of the Seventh Year Prefects, who would roll their eyes and warn them where Filch was – or when Draco started talking something he did little of lately, Pansy would help him stumble back to the dungeons. They’d curl up under the throw he had picked up in London, crimson like the blood that was on his cowardly hands, and Pansy would talk until he fell asleep, spinning fanciful stories about far-away places where children didn’t fight in Wars and school was a safe haven and parents proved their unconditional love. Draco knew it was selfish, knew he shouldn’t allow Pansy to look after him. Shouldn’t expect it. But he’d been a selfish, spoiled brat for so long now, he didn’t really know how to change, so he’d keep letting Pansy do as she pleased until she got fed up and left. Maybe then he’d find a reason to leave this school, this world, this life behind, because really, she was the only reason he stayed.
125 words of Stanford-era Sam. Written from
nasus221’s prompt words: grow, best, heat.The heat wasn’t too unbearable (yet) but it was enough that anything more strenuous than lying on the patio was an unappealing prospect. These were the kind of days Sam liked best, lazing around with his friends, enjoying the few days respite between finals of Spring Term and the start of summer classes. Nothing to do but watch the grass grow and pretend his discontent wasn’t growing along with it. When his days weren’t filled with class and work and his friends, it was harder to pretend that this was his life, that he didn’t miss the backseat of the Impala. That didn’t mean Sam didn’t try. He smiled at Jess as she handed him a cold beer and tried to shake away the memories.
150 words of Hermione & Charlie. Written from
gelsey’s prompt words: silly, desk, shout.Hermione knew she was being silly – honestly, it was just a little (really really big) mouse (rat) – but her wand was on the other side of the room and she wasn’t getting off the top of the desk to retrieve it. That mouse (rat) was probably rabid and hungry, and Hermione was pretty sure it had been eyeing her toes when it had run towards her. She looked up when the door edged open, expecting to see Ron or Ginny. Instead, it was Charlie.
“I heard you shout; what’s wrong?”
Hermione blushed, feeling even more ridiculous. “Um. There was a mouse…”
Charlie laughed, the sound warm and friendly, and stepped into the room. “Well, mice are decidedly more wily than dragons, but I’m pretty sure I can manage to capture one in order to rescue a fair maiden.”
Hermione didn’t bother telling Charlie she wasn’t technically fair or a maiden.
350 words of Teddy/Victoire. For
gelsey’s prompt of “first kiss”.Teddy wasn’t expecting anyone to be out here, but apparently he wasn’t the only one wanting to escape the festivities. Celebrating the anniversary of the Final Battle had become a Wizarding tradition, filled with food and explosions and laughter, but for Teddy it was sometimes only a sad reminder of the parents he didn’t remember. He knew they had died fighting, knew that they were good people and heroes, but he would sometimes rather they were boring and unknown and here.
Teddy wasn’t exactly being quiet or stealthy, so he was surprised when Victoire jumped the touch of his hand to her back.
She whirled around, laughing and wide-eyed as she held a hand over her heart. “You scared me!”
“Sorry. Can I sit with you a while?”
Victoire sat back down and patted the empty bit of log beside her. The two of them sat in silence for a few moments, but it wasn’t really awkward. They were friends, pretty close friends, and despite the tension that had sprung up between them during the school year when Victoire had starting spending her time with the captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, they generally got along well.
Finally, Teddy spoke up. “I expected to see Jacob here today.”
“We’re not seeing each other anymore,” Victoire answered, not looking at Teddy. “He was more interested in my parentage than in me, I think.”
“His loss. Although, I suppose that means I won’t have to take away House points when I catch the two of you snogging in the library, so that’s a plus.”
Victoire laughed. “That never happened; you must be thinking of Amelia Wood and her Hufflepuff fling.”
“I heard stories.”
“Lies, all lies. I never actually kissed Jacob.”
“Really?”
“Nope.” Victoire turned to face Teddy, watching him with an expression that was part mischief and part anxiousness. “First kisses are supposed to be special. He wasn’t special enough.”
“And do you have someone in mind that is special enough?”
“Perhaps.” She leaned in to whisper, “I always wanted you to be my first,” before pressing her lips to his.