a distorted venture

Thu, 15 Nov 2007 13:06:31 GMT

Title: More Than A Pretty Face, Pucey
Author: niyki
Genre: Drabble
Rating: PG (themes)
Word Count: 186 words
Summary: Adrian's cousin and Pansy Parkinson. Just read. For my prompt table at hpfanfic10x10
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: K/A hints! Well, not hints. More like anvil-sized declarations, but eh. For my mother, and Part One of Necca. ♥

“That has got to be the vilest thing I have ever seen. Are you quite sane, Pucey?” Pansy demanded of Eleanor, looking taken aback at the chequered skirt. “I could have sworn you and your family had much better taste than that. But then again,” she began to sneer nastily, “Adrian has started dating that godawful Gryffindor bint. Did he take a Bludger to his head in Quidditch practice, do you think? I do hope he comes to his senses soon. He might be giving McTabby a run for her money in the preachy department, but he is too pretty to waste on a stupid tomboy like Bell.”

It was more than enough for Eleanor’s ears to take, and Pansy found herself pinned against the wall, under the threat of wand in the hands of an incensed Slytherin girl. “Now, we both know I love my cousin dearly. And we both also know I’m rather a friend of Katie Bell. So, unless you want to be pockmarked a bitch for the rest of your life, I suggest you learn and adhere to the meaning of ‘silence’.”

Title: Freshly Dug Graves
Author: niyki
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG (themes)
Word Count: 125 words
Summary: Missing moment from Order of the Phoenix. What the Slytherins might say after discovering Theodore can see Thestrals, and what that infers. For my prompt table at hpfanfic10x10
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Remember that RP-meme I did? Uh huh? This would be one of my!Theodore Nott moments. Take it or leave it, baby. I don't characterise in accordance to the rest of the world. Danke schon.

He ignored them. He was pretty good at that. Raking a bony hand through his hair, and dishevelling it, he raised his chin and sneered right back at those impertinent fools.

“Parkinson,” Theodore interposed dryly, “if you want to know you got off-ed in my presence, try remembering back to the gossip of yesteryear – if your mind is at all capable of remembering anything at all on a long term basis.”

Pansy stared after him, shock explicitly settling over her facial features, but cogs turning nonetheless. Turning to Daphne, she managed to spit out the words, “Callous git. He saw his mother die? And all he thinks we want to do is gossip about it?”

Tracey raised an eyebrow. “Amazing, isn’t it? You’ve already started.”

Sticks & Stones - Lilias Moon Drabbles

Thu, 15 Nov 2007 12:33:15 GMT

Title: Sticks & Stones
Author: niyki
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG (themes)
Word Count: Unknown
Summary: Lilias Moon drabbles. Inspired by the_andorran's take on the girl, but I have a habit of breathing in bouts of humanity into Slytherins. For my prompt tables at hpfanfic10x10 and 100hp_fics
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Canon-compliant. And DH spoilers.

Vulnerable

Dropping a third lump of sugar into her strong, double shot espresso, Lilias Moon’s eyes welled up with tears. She’d only asked for the simple things in life. To be married to someone wealthy, preferably not oh-Merlin-curse-me-dead-now boring, and to stay as far, far, far away from this whole mad war.

Instead, she was trapped in her memories of that room with a perverted Professor eying her just-a-little-too-short skirt, choking down the bile that crept up in her throat as she watched Michael Corner writhe under another bout of the Cruciatus Curse just because he’d helped her little cousin.

She’d even give up her most luxurious aspirations if she could just get them to stop.

♠ ♠ ♠

Someday

He’d stumbled upon her hiding place by pure accident.

Shivering in the darkest alcove of the North Tower, ignoring the snow that slowly wafted and settled onto her hair, Lilias’ face was wet with tears. She stared past him resolutely, not even moving when he removed his jumper, wordlessly gave it to her and sat down beside her.

“You’re going to freeze to death,” the blonde sixth year stated matter-of-factly. “For fuck’s sake, put the jumper on.”

Three years ago, she told Dean Thomas that if Gryffindors were going to heaven, then hell must be having a heck of a party and someday she would be proud to attend it.

Lilias wrapped her arms tighter around her knees. “Make them stop, Quintus,” she whispered. “I don’t like hell.”

♠ ♠ ♠

Ducking Toys, Sausages and Characters That Scare ME.

Fri, 02 Nov 2007 05:45:51 GMT

10:05 am
Finally turning attention to writing. Well, not quite. There's the fact that I really need tea, cereal and PANADOL right about now. Am again only aiming for the minimum of 1, 667 words today. If I write more, that's just words I don't have to write on another day.

10:33 am
Ugh. 1, 897 words of my 3, 472 aim. I am never going to get to 3, 000 even in the next two hours.

10:44 am
Yup, MC is still in the bathroom - and I admitted Lilian into it too.

10:48 am
Whoa. Thunder. And I wrote another 100 words. Ugh, write faster, write faster!

11:12 am
Finished chapter one at 2, 081 words. MC is, yes, still in the bathroom.

11:45 am
Forced MC out of the bathroom by refusing to continue that scene anymore - GO ME! Anyway, 2, 339 words in and Audrey (formerly Clare, before I wrote 'Carl looked across at Clare' and went "EWW" and changed it :D) is a-ranting. Heh. I love ranting characters. They boost the word count with their drivel that no one else actually bothers listening to. About another thousand words to go. I can do it. I can do it. I CAN! I swear!

12:19 pm
Audrey just called MC a fridge magnet.

*dies*

1:35 pm
After an hour break, I recounted: 2, 530 words.

1:47 pm
2, 664 words in, and I have introduced a good guy character that scares me. O.o He reminds me of my!Kingsley Shacklebolt, stripped of a sense of humour and kindness. O.o

2:26 pm
630 words to go before I reach my target, and ... that good guy that scared me? He's just a little bit full of himself (okay, more than just a little) - but I'm still kinda scared of him.

4:24 pm
Have finally exceeded my target for today! If I'm still around tonight, and get time between breaking in (hopefully) Demelza at ON, I will work on it more then. I'm at 3, 666 words now. And in the middle of a cracky conversation about sausages. Yes. Sausages.

The Fatal Wound - Switchfoot ♥ (oh man, his voice at the beginning of this song is swoon-worthy)
Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol (it's a good thing I don't listen to the radio, or I would want to throttle Snow Patrol)
Open Your Eyes - Snow Patrol ♥ ♥
Baby Mine - Disney
Mon Histoire - Les Misérables 1991 Paris Revival Cast
Reason Why - Rachael Yamagata ♥
How Low - José González
The Moon's a Harsh Mistress - Jimmy Webb

My poor MC. He's just discovered his one-true-love-to-be is seeing someone else. Wow, am I a real sucker for character-torture. I think they all want to throw bricks at me. If they had super-human strength, boulders would be better, but as it is...

Lucien was wasting time rebuking his brother for taking through Ambrose’s speech.

“Oh, give it a rest, won’t you?” Quinn snapped at last. “Lucien, you know he’s not really listening to you – and the more you nag, the less personable you become to me.”

“Why would you care if he was personable or not?” Carl interjected.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Quinn smirked.

“Because she’s shagging him,” Laurie stated in a bored tone. “Isle, pass the potatoes, please?”

Carl raised his eyebrow at her.

“You believe everything that twerp says?” Quinn asked him with an even tone, but the blush that crept into her skin gave her away.

“I don’t believe everything you say either,” Carl retorted, and set his fork down. “Why dodge answering the question, Quinn? Ashamed? He’s not so bad a choice.”

“I think you’ve overstepped the line there, Wentworth,” Lucien interrupted in a velvety voice.

Carl turned his gaze towards the young man that addressed him. “You know what? I don’t actually give a flying fuck.” He picked up his fork again, and shoved into his mouth, chewing with a little more enthusiasm than was necessary.

“Iz zis vot you people call a zausage?” Isle suddenly interpolated, her accent heavily German.

“Mmaafgh?” Carl managed, mouth still full of food.

“What?” Laurie translated.

Quinn rolled her eyes, and muttered something that sounded like ‘ducking toys’ under her breath.

Oooh, I did a quick calculation. I am 332 words ahead of schedule so far :D

Sherlock, Watson and PURPLE BUBBLES!

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 03:22:49 GMT

I decided to chronicle my progress in re: to NaNo, and as I operate off a client, it's quite easy, actually, to write my entry throughout the day and hit 'post' when I'm about done with the novelling experiance.

7:52 am
Opened up the sentence starters generator at Feath's bookcase, and got 'Purple bubbles?' as my opening sentence for Shadowfeet

9:30 am
In chat to Alison, "gah - i'm only 280 words in and i already hate my novel :|"

9:46 am
377 words in, and I'm trying to see how many more words until I can shoot my MC and be done with it.

10:03 am
455 words in and I may already be closet shipping, despite the fact that I am the author. Oy vey.

10:26 am
Am starting to enjoy the writing process at last - 689 words in, and writing backstory into the actual story. Er...

10:56 pm
909 words in: My MC just had a private emotional breakdown, which may or may not remind one of a scene in Little Miss Sunshine (I was listening to DeVotchka's How it Ends at the time, mind). AND my tea has gone cold, ergh.

12:37 pm
As Jules, Jo and Kendra all came on-line at roughly the same time, I got distracted, and only managed to boost my word count to 974 words. MC is stuck in the bathroom glaring at his reflection. Uh, yeah - this drivel has no visible destination in my mind either.

1:11 pm
1, 149 words in! Have decided that as I like the MC's mother (Fanny) so much, she will feature in the story more than just as a backstory, throwaway character :D

1:37 pm
Don't you just love flashbacks and backstory tangents? I do. MC (aka, Carl or Carlisle Wentworth if you wanna be formal - but I'll just keep calling him 'the MC', because it's quirkier that way) is still stuck in the bathroom, reminiscing on how he ended up in there. Well, not in the bathroom, in the house where he is moping about in the bathroom. And so far it's brought me to lovely inspiring 1, 300 word count.

2:09 pm
1, 766 words! Alright! It took a cracky conversation with my resident lazy-arse Laurie to do it, but I got there XD

2:20 pm
Phew. Finally. I just submit my word count for the day. It clocks up to 1, 805 words :D And I was actually only aiming for the minimum of 1, 667. The MC, btw, is still stuck in the bathroom. Note to self: Get MC OUT of bathroom sometime tommorow, just maybe, yeah?

Music Used Today:
The Book of Right-On - Joanna Newsom ♥
Hold Me, I'm Falling - The Unknown
All You Deliver - José González
Evenstar - Isabel Bayrakdarian ♥
What Are You Asking Me? - James Newton Howard ♥
Amsterdam - Coldplay ♥
Love You More than Life - Neutral Milk Hotel ♥
How It Ends - DeVotchka
Sober - Kelly Clarkson
Broken - Matt Caplan ♥
So Long, Lonesome - Explosions In The Sky
Hello - Tegan and Sara
Stall Out - Mute Math ♥
Cosy in the Rocket - Psapp ♥
Through The Glass - Stone Sour
The Blues - Switchfoot

I leave you only with a couple of short lines. Most of today's writing was the MC shutting himself up in a bathroom and being introspective and kinda emo, actually. But I did get a firmer grip on his philosophy on life, and Laurie was an interesting person, if a little (okay, okay, a LOT) odd. The closet shipping, by the way, is evidentally Carl/Quinn. I haven't introduced any one else yet other than the MC, the MC's parents, purple bubbles, odd literary references, and Laurie with a fascination for cherries. Don't ask.

“I’m sorry, Wentworth, did you say anything of importance?” Quinn demanded of him, stepping down from the stool upon which she had been previously standing and bestowing upon the occupants of the corridor a regular stream of purple bubbles.

“Tell me; is it worth wasting time explaining the need of relativity if I am to answer that question at all?”

“Your time or mine?”

“Relativity.”

“Inconsequential.”

“Are you trying to be Rosencrantz or Guildenstern?”

“Or both.”

Carl snorted, and quickened his pace. “Motivation?”

“But, Sherlock, I’m innocent!” she responded with a facetiously childish tone, batting her lashes and pouting up at him. He took a moment to survey her. She was petite, to be sure. He could wrap his arms around her twice over if he was inclined to. She had lovely, large grey eyes that no one was quite able to trust, given her disposition and fondness for white lies, as it had seemed of late. Dimples accentuated when she smiled – and what with a nice set of teeth and a pair of kiss-me lips, she certainly had a very beguiling smile even when she wasn’t trying. She was dressed in one of those chain-store smocks and leggings that Carl loathed the look of so much. He turned his gaze away.

“Do I care?” Carl mused, partly to himself, partly for Quinn’s own benefit whilst he pushed open the door of the bathroom. He turned around to face her once more. “Here’s a clue, Watson. No, I don’t.”

“You’re not a very good detective, detective, sir!” Quinn shouted at the now closed door. Deflated, she stormed off and away.

More tomorrow :)

Mon, 29 Oct 2007 08:42:03 GMT

Shadowfeet

We can't all be heroes because somebody has to sit on the curb and clap as they go by.
Will Rogers (1879 - 1935)

Carlisle Wentworth
MC. Has the potential to be badass, but has issues. Apathetic on most counts. Brutally honest. Doesn't really care what you say, think, or do. Rather bratty, in that accord. Prefers entertainment, and parties, and money, and spending money - and wasting his time, generally.

Quinn Rotherwood
A little slippery and manipulative. Is fond of making liberal use of white lies. Distrusted by her peers.

Lysander Barton
The official Drama Queen and Whinging Bastard of the cast. Of dubious sexual orientation, and is crushed on more than even his ego can handle. Goes by his last name, and last name only - or God forbid, he'll whine at you.

Ilse Blauvelt
Not conventionally attractive, but has a seriously wicked sense of humour that makes her easily the most popular member of the cast. A little bit on the wacky side. Alright, maybe a lot.

Laurent Newsom
Lazy, beguiling, and butts heads with Lysander. Constantly.

Shadowmen
Scary buggers who can really fuck with your head if you spend just five minutes in their company. Any takers? Non?

Lucien Newsom
If you thought his brother was annoying? Think again. Closely connected to the Shadowmen, cunning but endowned with brute force of his own - and seemingly pleasant when he wants to be.

Audrey Cooper
Just about the only responsible and poised chick you can find hereabouts. In fact, let's extend that to the only responsible and poised person you can find hereabouts. That she hasn't murdered just about the entire cast is evidence of her miraculous patience as it is.

Lilian Price
A dreamer if there ever was one. Clare's best-friend. Believes herself to be in love with Lucien. Believed to be completely looney thanks to the aforementioned.

untitled

Mon, 22 Oct 2007 13:24:19 GMT

I breathe.

There’s nothing

in my mind

but the image of

a little girl

in a washed-out,

pale blue dress –

water dripping from her braids

and smudges-that-taste-precisely-like-chocolate

accentuating

the dimples that come

with her impish grin.

Her front teeth are missing,

but her mouth is open wide –

in surprise?

I do not know.

Shiver

Mon, 22 Oct 2007 12:47:31 GMT

Title: Shiver
Author: niyki
Genre: One-shot
Rating: PG
Word Count: 876 words
Summary: Demelza is met by a Muggle friend, and things don't turn out so well.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Personally, I don't like it much - but eh.

I haven’t got a clue what I am doing here, but as my feet don’t particularly care whether my brain is able to reason my various movements – I am trudging down the hill and towards the beach.

It’s absolutely freezing, if I may say so myself. You can’t expect much else when it’s the dead of winter. I lost my best pair of gloves somewhere last term at school, and have been living off woollen ones I hurriedly picked up from Hogsmeade ever since. I don’t really want to point out the matter to Dad. He doesn’t particularly think about money – or how much of it we might have left – very much. Not only that, but Christmas and my birthday are both fast approaching.

As I approach the steps to lead me down to the beach below, a cruel and icy wind slices through the unbuttoned half of my coat. It’s too hard to button up properly without taking my gloves off, so I merely shrug the coat into a better position. The wind blows relentlessly, slapping my cheeks and turning my lips into ice. Suddenly, I feel my hood being ripped off my head.

“Thought it might have been you,” I hear a familiar and friendly voice say – its owner clumsily repositioning the hood back onto my head. Unfortunately, the wind has already rearranged my hair so that a good portion of it is presently covering my eyes and stuffed into my mouth.

Spitting my hair out, and attempting to push my fringe out of the way so that it doesn’t end up painfully poking into my eyes, I manage to shoot Eli a dirty look. “Thanks ever so much for that,” I say with a frown. “Why can’t you be conventional or something? And tap me on the shoulder? Or call out my name?”

“But that’s not nearly half as fun as making you glare at me!”

“Oh no! Not you too!”

“Yes, me too. I’ve heard those prats you call your brothers. Kitten, eh?”

“Shut up.”

“Aww, you’re so adorable.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

I grimace at that. Eli is one of the few Muggle friends I have back at home. I suppose it isn’t so weird the majority of my friends are boys. Not if you take into account my family. Or Jill – I mean, sorry, Jack. Jack Sloper. My lips curve into a smile, but before I can slip into any sort of real reverie, Eli pokes me.

“So, how’s boarding school treating you?” he asks in a strange voice.

Shaking away my slight confusion at this, I shrug. “It’s school. Why do you care?”

“Are you implying that I generally don’t care?”

I raise an eyebrow, “Honestly?”

He raises his hands in mock-surrender. “Sorry, sorry, O Great Discerning One.”

“You merely had to say ‘Sage’,” I retort, smiling. We stop short of where the tide laps in along the beach. The wind rips my hood off my head and I shiver. He slinks an arm around me and pulls me closer toward him, clumsily trying to readjust that damned hood. Still, I shiver.

“So, how’ve you been?” I ask politely, breaking the silence that was instigated by the lull of watching the water break, seep back and hurl itself forward towards land once more.

“Miserable. I’ve really missed your pretty face hereabouts.”

“Gee, you’re a regular comedian.”

“Okay, so maybe not miserable, but I’ve definitely missed you, Kitten.”

I hit him lightly. “If I didn’t like you so well, I’d have he- I mean, kicked you for that by now.”

“That’s alright. I don’t have a problem with being kicked by a pretty girl like you – what damage could you possibly do?”

“Much more than you think, you prat.”

“Wow, I must be special. You’ve promoted me to ‘prat’ now?”

I ignore him.

“Be still my heart, the fairest one of all is giving me the silent treatment now!”

I glare at him. “What on earth do you want?”

He blinks, his expression slipping into seriousness, and with a grave tone, “You.”

“What?!”

“Demelza,” he whispers, dipping his head towards my face. I feel his lips grazing against mine, his arm tightening around my frame – my body tenses and I furrow my brow.

“No,” I manage, closing my eyes, and wait for him to let me go.

But as soon as I feel his lips press against mine, I know I was foolish to have waited at all. Anger and disgust boils up in my veins, and suddenly, in a matter of milliseconds, it’s all over.

I blink to find him at least ten meters away, back down on the sand, water and foam washing over him, looking utterly dazed. I gape, unable to move, unable to think really. I suddenly realise I am pointing my wand at him. He springs to his feet and shoots me a frightened and filthy look before scampering away again.

It isn’t fair. I hardly did anything wrong, and suddenly, because of an episode of uncontrolled magic, I feel the guilty one.

Sighing, I fold my arms and turn back towards the route home. Howell is not going to be pleased if he ever hears of this. I resolve, then, to tell no one.

fin
Comments are ♥ ♥ ♥

MEME! For RPing this time, folks

Sat, 20 Oct 2007 15:56:27 GMT

5 Characters I'd Like To Play If I Ever Got the Chance To

Myron Wagtail
I've ficced him, I've NPC'd him into Demelza's FF Journal, I've made him a tryant, he exists in my head. Muso's aren't a challenge for me to play - and I am drawn to the whole rockstar thing, k?
Sample?
Aw, fucking wanker of a fucking Gideon fell down the fucking stairs right before the fucking gig and broke his fucking leg. And if that wasn't fucking cocked up already, bloody Heathcote wanted to play a cover of "Yellow Submarine"

This is bollocks.
Michael Corner
I would not have the guy either moping over Ginny, involved with Cho Chang, a total man wh0re, or anything of that sort. And I would want to play him in a strictly DH game only.
Dolores Umbridge
No, I kid thee not. I would be very interested in playing Umbridge in a game set in either OotP or DH. Trying to get into her head would be extremely, extremely, extremely difficult - but still, it's a challenge I'm definately interested in.
Theodore Nott
You're likely not familiar with him, but MY Theodore would not let any nitwit call him 'Theo', 'Ted' or any other dumb moniker in regards to his surname. He doesn't care what you say or do. He doesn't care whether you like him or not. He likes his books thanks, is more interested in staying alive than in pursuing dumb causes - and would rather people didn't say the word Mudblood in the presence of a Gryffindor, because when they get riled up, they get bloody noisy too. He's not pleasant, but he isn't actively unpleasant either - his whineyness is just a part of his nature.
Narcissa Black/Malfoy
Hell, she's manipulative, self-preserving, a snob, a blood-supremist - but moreso than that, she really loves her son (heaven's knows why) and her husband. I wouldn't mind which era. I think I'd like her no matter what. Oh. And she doesn't swear. Ever. It's just so classless, thank you very much.

5 Characters I'll Never Play

Snape
I love reading him, I love him when he's very well-written, I don't mind ficcing him for a one-shot. But play? Get inside that brain of his? Channel him? No. No, no, no. Danke schon.
Cho Chang
Sorry. I just don't get her.
Lee Jordon
I don't get him either.
Colin Creevey
If I start channeling Colin, I will revert back to Colin Creevey-ism. You don't want that. You really don't want that.
Remus Lupin
Nice guy. Lovely guy. I just don't want to channel him. Give me Sirius, James or Wormtail any day, thanks. Their psyche is much more interesting to me. Especially Wormtail's.

5 Characters I Wish I Never Played

Zacharias Smith
Well, one of my incarnations of him. Mind, it might just have been the game I used him in. Anyway, he was bloody annoying and I loathed him.
Andrew Kirke
Okay, so saying I wish I never played him is way too harsh, and I enjoyed him while I had him. But he was my least favourite of my batch at Hogwarts Blogs. He certainly was a sane one though.
Jonas Summers
I didn't get it. Every one else loved him, and I couldn't wait to kill him off. He BORED the hell out of me, was too nice, it was sick-making. And then, on top of all that, wasn't even inclined towards any of the people that crushed on him. Mebbe he was gay? Who knows. Who cares. The boy is dead, let's keep him there, yeah?
Not sure
Not sure

5 Characters I'm Most Fond Of

Demelza Robins
I will always love Dem. I love that she developed as a character too in the course of the time that I played her in HB.
Cai Bradley
Well, duh.
Auriga Sinistra
Oh, my lovely little romantic who was uber-possessive of her Tower. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
Adrian Pucey
That I love to pick on him so much should be evidence enough of my love for him. Because I am exactly one of those kids in primary school who will annoy the hell out of the boy they crush on. Well, in the RPG Muggle World, I am. In RL - are you kidding? Can you find anything less poised to do with your time?
Quintus Harper
I'm amazed at how well he turned out for me. And then it's his fault I have other fabulous OC muses in my head too - like Lottie Harper and Ti Harper.

5 Characters I Want to Play Again/Flesh Out More

Cai Bradley
He's so memorable to me. Something about zaney characters
Auriga Sinistra
Kingsley Shacklebolt
Quintus Harper
Dean Thomas
Oy. Arguing over milk. I'll never forget it, Dean, m'boy.

5 PBs I'd Like To Use

Alison Sudol
Autumn Reeser
Skandar Keynes (dude, hurry up and grow up already so I can use you for someone older than a fifth year!)
Topher Grace
Cyrille Thouvenin

NaNo: Brainstorming

Sat, 20 Oct 2007 08:52:22 GMT

WIP.

So, the idea is taking a Lottie/Cathy and a Kev/Hareton and sticking them smack bam in the middle of insanity. I'd title it Bravo Insanity, but that's just overkill.

Casting?
I feel like I am auditioning people and stuffing them into the Big Brother house.

I require:

A hero
Because, lyke, duh. I would prefer my hero to not be Harry Potter, Frodo Baggins, or Fanny Price. Because;
1) Harry's backstory is sheer tragic.
2) I can't write hobbits for nuts. And Gollum sympathisers are doubly difficult.
3) Fanny. Price. Is. The. Worst. Heroine. On. Earth.

You know what? Hareton Earnshaw is a wonderful hero. Let's make my hero a Hareton Earnshaw.
Good Guy Auxiliary; Side-kick/Watson
!! A Cai Bradley type, complete with Cai Bradley Logic = GGASK, as obviously every hero/heroine needs a Watson who ought, in fact, to be a Sherlock. Okay, granted, a Sherlock that thinks like House (sorry people, my mind thinks across a broad range of fandoms here. Yes, yes, I watch Gilmore Girls too. That might be why I shove a number of unrelated pop references into the same sentence.)

Good grief, if I use a Cai type for the side-kick, he will become the hero. Meh, who cares. Cai Bradleys of the world ought to be loved and adored and steal the limelight anyway. You know they steal it at all opportunities nonetheless.
Batshit Insane Heroine Sidekicks
Aka, the Allie and Au Types.
Good Guy Auxiliaries In General (compiled with the help of maniacalmuse)
1) A Blaise Zabini Misunderstood Good Auxiliary Who Actually Doesn't Care Whether You Think He's Good Or Not, S'Long As You Don't Fuck With His Friends
2) Edmund Vaisey/Hans Solo Pre-Leia, Good Auxiliary Guy Who Doesn't Look It, And Is Just As Fluffly As He Accuses The Hero As
3) Kevin Entwhistle, Good Auxiliary Guy Who Pouts And Is Anal And For All That Could Pull Twenty Million Girls If The Thought Ever Occurred To Him
4) Quintus Harper, Good Auxiliary Guy Who Is An Overprotective Prat But Keeps His Friends In Line - At Least, He Likes To Think So
5) A Charles Bingley, because Every Hero and Heroine needs to ship a side-love story
6) Ernie MacMillan, Good Auxiliary Guy Whose Bark Is Definitely Worse Than His Bite By Way Of Being A Very Long And Eloquent Bark, But We Forgive Him Because He Can Pull Tough Girls Like Crazy
7) Michael Corner, Good Auxiliary Guy Who Ought To Be A Hero, But Alas We Aren't Writing His Story. Never Mind, Send In The Mass Fanmail Anyway
8) Kingsley Shacklebolt, G.A. Guy Whom You Only Need To Look At To Know Not To Fuck With
Good Girl Auxiliaries In General (compiled with the help of maniacalmuse)
1) Romilda Vane, Good Auxiliary Girl, Though This Is Debatable, Who Likes Stir Up Shit. Lots Of Shit. Is Also Most Likely To Fall For A Bad Auxiliary Guy When Plans to Snag the Hero Falls Through
2) Tracey Davis, G.A. Girl Who Looks More Like A B.A. Girl And Her Special Weapon Is Those Stiletto Heels. Watch Those Hands, Gents
3) Demelza Robins, G.A. Girl With Big Ideals And A Loud Voice To Make 'Em Heard Who Is Loved By All - Including The B.A Guys, Worringly Enough
4) Auriga Sinistra, G.A. Girl Who Might Be Sweet, Romantic and Naive On The Surface, But Suffers Overprotectiveness And A Weakness For Snarky Men Who Give Her A Headache And Love Her To Death
5) Charlotte Lucas, G.A. Girl Who Makes Some Seriously Dumb Life Changing Decisions - But It's Only Because Not Making Them Is Even More Unwise
6) Adeline Hobble, Ice Queen Love Interest For the Side-kick, With A Hidden Soft Spot For Younger Sisters And Baking Brownies
Evil Overlord
Heathcliff??

No. His son LINTON.

Or even Edgar Linton. I didn't like any of the Lintons, to be honest.
Bad Auxiliaries In General
1) Devon Summerby, Bad Auxiliary Guy Who Is An Inconsistant Fuckwit Whom The Hero Delivers A Smackdown To End All Smackdowns
2) Evie Hobble, B.A. Girl Who Can't Get Enough of G.A. Guys And Eventually Swaps Sides, For Good
3) Luc Urquhart, Who Doesn't Know He's Supposed To Be A B.A., Crushes On The Demelza Robins Type And Therefore Gets Smacked By the Quintus Harper and Edmund Vaisey Types Anyway
4) Padma Patil/Fanny Price, B.A. Girl Who Is Self-Righteously FLAT
5) Jezebel Dorny: Well-behaved women may rarely make history, but this badly behaved woman just makes you want to look for a time-turner

Genre?
FANTASY - perhaps Urban?

20 Random Facts About...

Sun, 14 Oct 2007 13:39:34 GMT

You don't even need to squint to see the ship hints here.

Demelza Esyld Robins

1. Demelza Robins hasn’t got a single memory of her mother she can call her own. Anything she does know or seem to recall are things she’s imagined from what other people have told her – or what she’s seen in photo albums.

2. Her favourite borrowed memory, however, is based directly off the sole photo where only she and her mother are the subjects.

3. She has four brothers. Brae is the oldest, Diggory and Trystan are twins, and the last is Howell. The oldest three are proud former Slytherins, and Howell cleaves to the house he and his mother were sorted into – Ravenclaw.

4. Her first display of magic was turning the twins green when extremely upset with the pair of them at the age of four. Her father, when stumbling onto the scene a minute later, laughed so hard and long he very nearly scared his children into thinking he’d cracked. Since, the family in-joke is that to fuck with Demelza is to expect blending in with the trees.

5. She’s never seen her father work the same job for more than three months in her entire life, and wonders how much longer he’ll say he’s “between jobs” than admit outright he’s unemployed the majority of the time.

6. With sweaty palms and a large lump in her throat, she was near horrified when the Sorting Hat declared her a Gryffindor. It wasn’t until she’d taken her seat and glanced over at the Slytherin table with a woebegone expression did she find the reassurance that her three of her four older brothers offered in their carefully arranged grins. Her best friend and cousin, Melinda Bobbin, however, shrugged at her – which was what set her at ease in the end.

7. Jack Sloper was the very next Gryffindor to be sorted after her, and as she thought he had the nicest smile of all the first year boys at her table, decided hence to strike up a conversation with him.

They had trouble remaining silent after that.

8. A week into their acquaintance, Demelza recalled the “Jack and Jill” nursery rhyme and resolved to address Jack as ‘Jill’ henceforth. He’s never been able to cure her of it, and not long after, took to retaliating with ‘Goldilocks’.

9. Once, she remarked that she wished Halloween would never end. Nearly everyone thought it was because she loved the festivities so. She lets most of those people to continue to believe this is the case. Select others have either gathered or been informed that November the first is the anniversary of her mother’s death.

10. Her love for flying was instilled into her by her father – who once, long ago, harboured the ambition to be a professional Quidditch player. He has made it crystal clear he disapproves of his children playing the game at school, however – and it is a topic never discussed in his presence.

11. Howell calls her Kitten, ruffles her hair and addresses her two best friends as ‘Queenie’ and ‘Traitor’. Howell is prone to giving those who ask how Jack Sloper earned his moniker an ‘are-you-stupid?’ look. Demelza very quickly learned to ignore everything but being called ‘Kitten’.

12. Usually skilled at ignoring people, Demelza has never managed to successfully give Jack the silent treatment for more than three hours, at maximum.

13. Though she has her idealistic and romantic fancies and whims – Demelza is also a rather pragmatic soul and is much slower to act that her housemates.

14. One would be wise to not mistake the above as a lack of zeal, however. Or to expect her longer temper fuse to result less explosively when burnt out.

15. She owns and plays a flute she absolutely refuses to let Jack to go near, which was previously her mother’s.

16. The first time Jack visited her house, Demelza discovered her brothers had put together a roster for one of them to always be playing supervisor in her attic room until her friend had left. Needless to say, the roster was confiscated and her father enlisted to keep the boys at bay.

17. She did, however, think it was not so bad an idea the have one of her brothers present when Jack decided to go on a Scavenger Hunt for her flute and it took all her efforts to keep him from actually finding it.

18. She fears especially losing her father, brothers, Jack or Melinda. Her greatest fear would be to lose them all.

19. Though a pureblood, Demelza is a great Asterix fan, her next favourite comic being Calvin and Hobbes. This particular love affair began when she was introduced to both in Muggle Studies one lesson in her third year.

20. Her goal, career-wise, is to be an Astronomer, and she excels particularly at the subject, and enjoys it tremendously.

fin
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Can't Cope

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 04:56:04 GMT

Title: Can't Cope
Author: niyki
Genre: Romance, Angst (kinda?), AU!
Rating: PG (language)
Word Count: 1, 889 words
Summary: In that AU where Quintus Harper and Ginny Weasley are an OTP, they have their first fall out. Featuring Quintus Harper, Ginny Weasley, various Harper family members including Julius AND Ernie Macmillan.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: For BECCA!

Even the splendour of the early morning sky, washed with tinges of roaring gold – the lingering remnants of the almost risen sun – did not improve the dark and unexaggeratedly stormy mood of a certain blonde Healer-In-Training. He stalked the length of his room, down one flight of stairs – knocked very loudly and rudely on his sister’s door and then preceded down a second flight of stairs, almost bowling over his dark-haired nephew.

“Bloody hell, Uncle,” the boy protested, taking a step back and rubbing his shoulder.

“Don’t use filthy language, Ti” he retorted before painfully connecting his knee with the door of the breakfast room. “Fuck!”

“Quintus,” he heard his oldest brother, Titus, growl from within the room.

“Fine, sorry I just stained your son’s innocent ears with my crude expositions. He shall be scarred for life evermore,” Quintus snapped, narrowing his eyes and sneering as he walked in – this time careful to not hurt himself in the process. “It’s not like he’s never heard filthy language in his life before – you might have turned a blind eye, but his mother was fond of spewing it out on a regular basis,” he added, seating himself in his usual chair, conveniently forgetting to mention that his ex-sister-in-law only used filthy language when screaming her lungs off at her brother for apparently being such a useless husband. But the implication was there, making Titus flush darkly in brief anger.

“Well, if someone didn’t wake up on the wrong side of the bed,” his sister, Lucia, interpolated, yawning as she Apparated with a very small ‘pop’ into the room.

“Yeah, and he still hasn’t said sorry,” Ti grumbled, biting into his toast.

“Never mind, Ti. He’ll spoil you when he returns to normality and feels guilty over it at long last.”

“I don’t approve of that,” frowned Titus.

“You rarely approve of anything fun,” Lucia laughed, undeterred and reached over to ruffle her nephew’s hair.

Quintus, on the other hand, was ignoring the lot of them and glaring furiously at his plate.

Her words echoed in his head, just as loudly as they were when she was shouting them at him in her bedroom. “I WISH YOU’D JUST STOP BEING THE MOST INSUFFERABLE PRAT TO HAVE WALKED THIS EARTH AND SEE-“

“Yeah,” he replied scathingly – interrupting her, “I did see. You flirting with that disgusting prick of a waiter.”

She gaped at his accusation, and then recovered, throwing him a death glare under which he flinched. “He was not disgusting.”

It felt like a slap across his face – although the pair stood at opposite ends of the room, eyeing each other, filling the atmosphere with a painful intensity that had more to do with avoiding the temptation to draw wands than the other usual temptation Quintus suffered.

At long last, he found his voice, albeit it was choked obscured by the horrible lump in his throat. “Well, if that’s how it is…” and Apparated away before she could say anything else.

“Oh, the ONE time you decide to leave rather than stay and live out the worst of it,” she said with exasperated anger at the empty air he’d left behind, before collapsing onto her bed, sobbing in pain.

* * *

Ernie was pretty sure he’d never seen his flatmate so morose and quiet like this in his life. It was unnerving. “Good morning, Ginerva.”

No reply, but he was sure she might have said something to the effect of “what’s so good about it?” under her breath.

“Would you like tea?”

She shook her head.

“Good. Nor do I.”

Still nothing.

“Demelza owled early this morning to say she’s looking forward to seeing you and Quintus, but she may be late as Summerby is-“ he broke off, suddenly alarmed to see her face wet with tears.

Some two minutes later, he found himself rather awkwardly patting her back whilst she soaked the shoulder of his work robes.

“He wasn’t supposed to leave!” she wept angrily. “He was supposed to stay like he does every other time we argue. He was supposed to stay and we were supposed to realise we were both idiots and made up. And-” but she seemed unable to continue.

“You can’t bet on the way someone will behave when you try and hurt them. Do you think maybe this time you went a little too far?” Ernie asked, wondering why it was that the box of tissues was just out of reach.

Ginny gasped. “I wasn’t trying to hurt him, good Godric, no. I just wanted his attention!”

“There are less painful and more reasonable methods of doing that, Ginerva,” Ernie asserted sensibly and sternly. He sighed, “Well, what are you going to do?”

She sniffed, “I don’t know! He probably hates me now and-“ she gulped as a new wave of pain washed over her.

“What about apologising?”

“That’s if he never wants to see me again,” she wailed.

“Stop being so melodramatic. If he felt so jealous over you in the first place, he obviously loves you deeply.”

“He shouldn’t.”

Ernie was sure he could feel a pain beginning to throb in his head. “But he does.”

* * *

Carlotta Harper was having the time of her life, riding up almost on par with the clouds on her Daddy’s shoulders. Julius smiled to himself contently as he listened to her constant natter about Mama Mel and her pretty red hair, when suddenly; it was interrupted with a shriek – “Look there! Gin-gin!”

The petite redhead looked up, and seemed suddenly to hide her face, disinclined to speak to him. Julius thought that was incredibly strange. He’d always been on friendly terms with his little brother’s girlfriend. Crouching down to let his daughter off his shoulders, he made up his mind that it didn’t matter if Ginny didn’t want to talk to him, it would be too rude of him to not try.

“Good day, Ginny,” he greeted, approaching her with Lottie’s hand firmly gripped in his.

“GIN-GIN!” was Lottie’s chosen method, her tone full of unrestrained excitement.

“Oh, hello, Julius,” she replied, managing a weak smile. She’d never really thought about the familial resemblances Quintus shared with Julius – but they all seemed to hit her at once this mid-morning. “Hey there, Lottie. How are you both?”

“We’re fine, thank you. Yourself?” Julius replied, gripping onto his daughter tighter – as she seemed to be inclined to get herself just about lost in Honeydukes next door.

“Oh, I’m alright,” she shrugged and went quiet for a moment. “You two shopping?”

Julius didn’t have to probe to know that was a lie. She’d had bags under her eyes and lacked the usual bright spark – forget the lack of her fiery spirit. “No – just going for a walk.”

“Not according to Lottie,” Ginny smirked, watching as the toddler tried to tug away from Julius’ grasp.

“We really can’t stop for hours to look over sweets,” he sighed. “Quint’s coming up for lunch. Hey, you know, you should really join us. We’re going to Madam Puddifoot’s.” He blanched. “I’ve got no idea who’s fault it was for picking THAT. But I’m willing to blame it on my brother.”

She looked up, surprised, and stammered, “Quint… I, um, I would love to. But I really have to getting somewhere and… Well, I can’t be seen in Madam Puddifoot’s anyway. Thanks, though,” she added in a rush before leaning down to kiss Lottie’s forehead. “Best be off. Have fun and ah – yeah, have fun with… Bye!” before rushing away down High Street and Disapparating.

“Bye-bye?” Lottie asked confusedly, looking up at her father.

“Weird, eh?” Julius agreed, before picking her up. “Alright, alright. Ten minutes ONLY. And you can only have ONE chocolate bar.”

But if Julius had thought that reaction weird, he was certainly not expecting his bizarrely bad-tempered and dishevelled brother’s reaction to his recounting the above scenario.

“You saw Ginny? When?”

“A little over half-an-hour ago,” Julius replied, surprised at the demanding edge of Quintus’ interrogation.

“And she just left?”

“No, she said she couldn’t make lunch with us and that she had somewhere to be,” Julius frowned, picking up his menu – thinking that locating a meal for Lottie might be a useful employment of his time if Quintus was going to be like this. “THEN she left.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

“No! Rowena, what is UP with you? For that matter, what is up with HER?”

“Nothing,” Quintus stated stubbornly.

“Riiight. Look, if you two have had a fight, just go apologise. It’s not that hard – plus, you’ll look better for it,” he added wrinkling his nose, “that shirt’s not even been ironed. You’re usually immaculately dressed. And, no, honey. I said you have to have lunch first, THEN you can dig into the chocolate. And only ONE bar, remember? Not all ten.”

By the time Julius had turned back around again, Quintus’ seat was empty.

* * *

Her feet landed on the turf not far from the Burrow. She hadn’t felt up to going inside, but it was home, and to be around it made her feel a little bit better.

“Thought I’d find you here,” said a very familiar voice that caused her stomach to lurch and her throat to constrict.

She turned around, and gave Quintus Harper the best death glare she could manage. ’Prat,’ she thought to herself as he did not stir from his position of leaning against the tree. She shifted her broomstick to her other hand.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want me here. You would have gotten back on your broom twenty seconds ago and flown off at top speed if that were the case.”

“How in the hell do YOU know what I want, Harper?”

“I don’t. But I’m running on a pretty good guess that you want me.”

“Is that so?” she spat.

He sighed and stepped away from the tree. By coincidence, the sunlight happened to catch his unkempt hair as he emerged from underneath the shade. Ginny felt the sudden need to try her hardest to pretend as though she was not impressed or moved by this image whatsoever at all. She could see an almost finished cigarette held between the fingers of his right hand and watched as he dropped in onto the grass and stubbed it out with his foot. At last, he opened his mouth, and softly, “Ginny, I’m sorry I got so jealous. It’s just that I love you and I can't cope without y-“

But he never did get to finish his sentence, unable to speak for her lips pressed against his.

“I’m sorry I was such an idiot,” she began a little breathlessly after finally finding the self-control necessary to pull away. “I’m sorry I hurt you and flirted with that stupid waiter JUST because you were talking to Jenny Callahan – and good Merlin, it was only about Lockhart, and neither of you were leaving me out at all, but I guess I had a bit of a stupid moment. And I love you, and don’t you EVER Apparate out on me EVER again, because I promise it’s just me being a little spastic – but I do pull through. I do,” she insisted.

Quintus smirked down at her. “A little spastic?”

“Shut up, Harper.”

“Gladly,” he replied, and kissed her again.

fin
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Break of Dawn Plights

Thu, 23 Aug 2007 14:49:36 GMT

Title: Break of Dawn Plights
Author: niyki
Genre: Humour
Rating: PG (lotsa swearing, sorry)
Word Count: 1, 350 words
Summary: Jez Dorny's impinging on Quintus Harper's personal space. The consequences cannot sound very pretty.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Response to prompt challenge "... Brought to You by the Letter 'E'" - Prompt #06: Entrance. Many liberties taken with Jez Dorny, as inspired by composim's intepretation.

Green flames roared right up and swallowed the last of her physical presence from the room. But it did not steal the taste of her scent in the air, and the flickering of warm fire illuminated the stony, cold face of Quintus Harper – his disgust painted plainly in the lines of his screwed up nose. He wished he could witness her leaving for the final time. He could imagine the parting; taste the words on his tongue – feel the pull of the curving of his lips into a smirk and then a sneer.

Why was everything he wanted so visible, but so far away from reality?

There was dankness in the aura of his house. He could feel it. It had started before she had arrived, though. Else, he would have needed scarce even a drop of encouragement to blame the whole sorry situation that was inevitably arising on her.

Her. Jezebel Dorny. The thing his very nightmares were made of. And quite literally so. Last night, he’d woken up to find himself breaking into sweat, the image of her scantily clad lingering in his mind. She did not tempt him. Her features had none of the raw beauty Ginny had. Her spirit did not possess fire – forget poise that filled his best friend, Sasha Capper. Jez Dorny was plastic, faux and downright terrifying. He’d always known it would be a stretch to tolerate her for the rest of summer. To be polite to her at dinner in front of his parents, he could manage. Only just. The way she winked over the table at his father infuriated him. The familiar way in which she spoke with Titus made his fists clench. Sure, he didn’t like his older brother terribly well himself, but that didn’t mean his conniving housemate had any right to speak to him like that.

And he tried to not think of the obsession she had developed with his other brother, Julius. It was still trying to not think of her obsession with Julius that caused Quintus to seek the refuge of his bed and a battered copy of Pride and Prejudice his other best friend, Beatrix Dunstan (or more affectionately known as Bee) gave him last year for his birthday – heavily annotated with her own remarks and reflections. It was probably more so the text he found in the margins of the book that made it his favourite – because, to be perfectly honest, he didn’t have much patience for the romance of Mr. Darcy and his Elizabeth. Or was it Elizabeth and her Mr. Darcy? He supposed it didn’t matter, really. The point was he didn’t really care.

The next favourite book after that happened to be Wuthering Heights, which he’d received from his sister, Lucia, also heavily annotated in her hand-writing. Although, he loathed the majority of interaction between Heathcliff and Catherine, and thought the former’s finest moments when he successfully pissed off Edgar Linton and his passionate speeches before and after Catherine’s death. He certainly has not, and never will expect to understand why Hareton’s name was outlined by a heart-shape. Or why she’d called the word “contrary” the most romantic in the whole second half of the book.

As he pored into the world of Lizzy and the disastrous first proposal she was forced to endure unwillingly, snickering to himself at Bee’s personal commentary and interjections, sleep invaded his senses and his past worries packed themselves away into the back of his mind.

He was presented, instead, with a representation of the turn of events that had occurred so many years ago. He peered out of his body, his gaze falling upon a twelve-year-old Jez, asking him as arrogantly as she could please if he’d take her out on a date.

“But where?” he’d laughed, almost scoffingly. “We don’t even have permission to go out to Hogsmede yet. And, furthermore,” he added, eyes shining in the pride of having successfully employed such an impressive word in his speech, “I don’t want to be your boyfriend. I don’t want to be ANYONE’S boyfriend.”

But her eyes had already darkened and glittered with the rage that wounded vanity procures when one is rejected. “Well, that’s good,” she retorted. “Because you’re never going to BE anyone’s boyfriend.”

These images flitted out of his mind, and was replaced instead with the vivid image of the first time he’d kissed Sassy in the Slytherin Common Room, only to hear the heckling of Jez – who deemed it necessary to point out that it wasn’t a real kiss if it didn’t mean anything significant to either of them.

Streams of memories filled his subconsciousness. So deep in his dreaming, he did not stir when a pair of bare legs appeared in front of his face.

He heard his name.

He didn’t like the voice that was calling him. The sound grated in his ears. It was too tinny, too high pitched. There was no hint of velvet, as it was with Sassy. No bubbles of love and life, as it was with Bee. Nothing graceful or delicate, like his sister’s voice. It was whiney, certainly not assertive. It was beyond confident. It was arrogant. Ironically enough, Quintus couldn’t stand the arrogance.

His eyelids fluttered into a slower blinking, irises adjusting to the sudden influx of wand light that might have blinded him if the wand was an inch closer in proximity to his face.

“Fucking Merlin!” were his first two words. “What are you DOING here?”

“Now, now, Quinnikins, there’s no need to take tone with me,” Jez responded, raking her fingers through her blonde hair.

He shook his own out his eyes and scowled. “I’ll take whatever tone I like. This is my house, my bedroom. And – THAT’S MY BED DORNY, GET OFF OR I WILL JINX YOU YELLOW FOR A WEEK!!!”

“My feet are cold,” she pouted.

“Stay. Off. My. Bed,” Quintus growled. “I’m not keeping you in my room. That big wooden thing you pushed to get in? The fascinating thing is you merely need to pull it to get out. Isn’t that just revolutionary?”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you going to let me, your poor, unwanted guest, to freeze then? Great host you are, Harper.”

He cussed under his breath. “It’s quite difficult to want you around, Dorny. When you make demands like that and appear in my room without an invitation. Oh, but wait,” he paused dramatically, “you turned up to my house without an invitation too.”

“I had nowhere else to go.”

“That’s your own fault if you can’t keep, let alone make friends, Dorny.” He glared at her, trying to keep her proximity to his bed, and therefore him, at bay by the power of his stare. So far, she was concentrating on blankly ignoring his efforts – which in his mind meant that he was winning.

“What do you suggest? I headed over to the Resident Prick’s place of dwelling? Or tried Pothead’s family? Or, maybe the insane Cappers? No offence intended towards Sasha, but I ran away from a bitch of a mother who wanted to marry me off to a cradle-snatching pervert. I don’t plan to run into the arms of another one.”

“You’re just here to ogle my brother,” he accused, avoiding the moment he’d have to confess to agreeing with her last point.

“So what if I am?” she replied unashamedly. “It’s a moot point, and not really that substantial in light of the fact that I have no home, no where to go, can’t access my funds until I turn seventeen in a couple of weeks. And did I mention I was disinherited? That’s where I was a couple of hours ago. Saying goodbye to Daddy.”

“And you expect me to believe you?” Quintus raised an eyebrow.

“No. You’d much prefer it if you thought I was playing dirty games with Connolley.”

“That’d be Urquhart’s mind that needs hospital-grade cleaning, not mine,” he retorted proudly.

She shrugged. “Boys. They’re all the same.”

Silence fell between them until – “DO YOU WANT TO BE FUCKING YELLOW FOR A WEEK?”

fin
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"Let's Make It Your Song, Love" - Cookies, Drabbles, One Sentences and In-Betweens

Fri, 17 Aug 2007 11:56:15 GMT

Okay, because I'm such a fan of fanmixes (yeah, I know, talk about self-reflexivity, ja?), I have decided to select a song for whatever characters or ships I feel like and ficcing a few lines to a drabble using the song as a prompt. I've divided it up into two seperate facets of the HP fandom.

And - LE GASP! There's no L/J!!! Or Lucissa!!! WT...?

Harry Potter [game verse chars, incl. OCs]

Cai Bradley - Heretics by Andrew Bird
As he prepared to step out of his dormitory for the very last time, an idea - not the greatest, but an idea - popped into his head. Hurriedly, he pulled out his wand and burnt words into the wood of his door. Smiling over his handiwork, he cast one last charm and bounced off down the stairs into the Ravenclaw Common Room. Months rolled past when, at last, a blearied-eyed Terry Boot and extremely well-stuffed Anthony Goldstein approached their new dormitory door only to be confronted with the words "We'll Be Back. We're A Crack."

Julius Harper/Clarisse Hobble - One Crowded Hour by Augie March
The sight of her could be compared to being slapped sharply across the face. Certainly, he looked as though he just had been. The last time he'd seen her was sprawled in hotel sheets, the morning before she left him without so much as a word. And yet now, as she stood at the threshold of his girlfriend's house, Julius decided that her beauty was far too plastic and her nature far too self-centered to be truly admired. Until his eyes flickered down to a small, chubby hand grasping her skirt tightly, a shyness filling eyes that mirrored his own exactly. And that's when he knew, she was his - in a way - in a new flesh and blood form, innocent of Clarisse's own pockmarked soul.

Quintus Harper/Sasha Capper (platonic) - Maps by Yeah Yeah Yeahs
She nabbed his bottle of butterbeer, knowing it was hardly filled with even a quarter of the original substance - though it were at least three-quarters full. Drawing it to her lips, then tipping it into her mouth, she felt the sorch of liquid mingled with the familiar taste of butterbeer slide down her throat. She swallowed. Maybe a little too much. "What's so special about Vaisey and Urquhart?" she demanded in a casual tone of voice. "They don't like you even half as much as I do."

"They don't know me half so well as you do," Quintus agreed.

"Exactly."

"I mean, we're best friends."

"Yes."

"So what was your point again, darling?"

She decided then and there she was going to have the rest of his mixed Firewhiskey and Butterbeer, and he - so-called best friend, and annoying to the core - was not going to get a drop more.

Demelza Robins/Derek McGrath - Yellow by Coldplay
She wanted him to look up into the clear night sky, and feel the humility one feels under the star-speckled stretch of seeming endlessness framed only by the horizons of nature. Obligingly, he did. But he felt much more humbled when he looked upon her.

Harry Potter, [Canon Only - SPOILERS!]

Michael Corner - Totally Fucked by Spring Awakening
Pain was not strong enough a word for what writhed in his flesh, but as he waited for the second bout of red light to tear into his chest - panting heavily, he knew that if he could go back into time a hundred times over - he'd still let that poor weeping first year out of his chains; he wouldn't change a thing.

Ginny Weasley - "En Gallop" by Joanna Newsom
She stood in the room he'd been sleeping in on borrowed time, standing for what felt like hours, cursing the small twists of fate that left things so painfully unsaid and stole moments from her only to leave her gut-wrenched and - alone.

Teddy Lupin - Chasing Cars by Snowpatrol
Words stuck in his throat; three simple words that he found impossible to vocalise. So he reached out and brushed his fingertips against her beautiful skin - sunk them into her hair. That his lips met her own for a very considerable length of time was just about the most natural thing in the world.

Albus Potter - I Can't Do This By Myself by By Divine Right
As the Sorting Hat's brim fell lopsidedly over his eyes, the comfort of the sight of his brother seated at the Gryffindor table amongst his own friends was stolen from him - but a recognisable figure with silver-blonde hair was noticeable if he peeked at the Slytherin table. It took a good moment before he realised that was precisely where he was to seat himself for the next seven years of his life.

Dean Thomas - Glimmer by Aqualung
As her hand slipped into his, memories of her in a pair of pretty robes a size too big for her - skirt flapping against the wind that billowed up against them - rose up in his mind. "Are there Nargles here?" he managed to ask her softly. She shook her head sadly. "If only," he grimaced.

Luna Lovegood - C.S. Lewis Song by Brooke Fraser
Usually if you let a Wrackspurt enter your brain, you don't have to feel the pain. I don't have to feel the pain. But the moment Hermione's screams fill even the dungeons, I knew not even a Wrackspurt would have a chance to numb that away. So I cut away cords instead and believe, as I must, that Harry is the hope that's going to get us all away. All of us.

20 Random Things About...

Fri, 17 Aug 2007 09:02:31 GMT

James Potter

1. Considered his finest hour in his fifth year when he scored the first goal of the game, flashed a grin at Lily, who sniffed contemptously, but whitened and reputedly squeaked when he made bone-crunching contact with the goal post. NB, he erased the image of Snape smirking his head off just before he blacked out completely from his memory, though Remus always did wonder why he was particularly vindicative towards the boy for at least a week after his release from the Hospital Wing.

2. Made tardiness to Transfiguration an artform.

3. Once got the brilliant idea to give Peeves a stick of super-sour chewing gum. The execution, on the other hand, failed when he shoved it into his own mouth unthinkingly - planning to spit something onto Snape's head as he passed through the courtyard. Needless to say, the image of Snape smirking his head off as he puckered his face at the extreme sour taste and the choking, spluttering noises that followed was mostly erased from his mind.

4. Has a mother with a penchant for baking brownies - penchant being not strong enough a word. When she was too ill one week to make the usual batch for his care-package from home, his father endevoured to fill in instead. This also happened to be the painful week he passed said brownies out, Lily Evans being the first to sink her teeth into the batch. Eyes watering, she looked up at him scathingly, "How dare you play a joke with brownies. You've used salt and left in the eggshells and, oww! I think my tooth almost chipped! I knew you were bad, but that's just sacrilegious!"

5. Was subject to the unforeseen favour of Lily Evans one afternoon in Charms after an idiot classmate (aka, Padfoot) called her 'Carrots'. Alas, Remus was also favoured that afternoon, but he maintains her favour upon him was an improvement, whereas it was normalcy for Remus. Ignored Peter Pettigrew's interpolated, "So maybe she likes him, then?" Did not hear Sirius remark to Remus that it was not the strength of his character that held his tongue, but the fact that he lacked the creative expression of retaliation.

6. Hasn't got a clue how, but managed an O in his Muggle Studies OWL, though consistently required correcting on his pronounciations of 'television' and 'electricity'. His explanations of the use of a 'lightbulb' in the Muggle world to Benjy Fenwick had Lily in absolute hysterics mid-Prefect meeting.

7. Reportedly told fifth year Prefects, "You have now been inducted into the core group responsible for the subtle terror reign upon Hogwarts. Use your powers well," as his first duty as Head Boy on the train to Hogwarts. Remus was reportedly obliged to restrain a highly exasperated Lily Evans by the end of this induction Prefect meeting.

8. Once stood inside Professor Binns' ghostly body, and recieved a detention for disrespectful behaviour when the class reached an uproar and Professor McGonagall was compelled to investigate. To this date, Professor Binns is blissfully or indifferently ignorant of this event.

9. Made accidental "face-contact" with Sirius. Cannot explain with any confidence what happened exactly, and nor can the sole witness recount the incident without intermittent laughter mid-sentence.

10. With utter lack of suave, turned to his date as they paused to see the sunset settle into twilight over the frozen Great Lake, and asked - nerves more noticeable than the cold weather - "Lily, I - well, I wanna know, um, mayIkissyou?" Was rewarded for his efforts by being pegged by a snowball in the back of his head by an idiotic classmate (aka, Padfoot) - the force of which caused him to bump hardly into her much more petite frame and knock themselves into a tangle on the snow-swept ground.

11. Once recieved a detention for attempting to fly out of the boy's dormitory and into the Great Hall. Plan's execution failed when he realised just a little too late that the window he was aiming for was indeed locked.

12. Discovered Mary MacDonald and Benjy Fenwick snogging just outside the entrance of the Kitchens whilst on Prefect patrol with Lily Evans. After docking points and dourly informing Mary that Benjy's a tad too short for her to be snogging - no wonder, she was so dispassionate (and being swotted by Lily for the embarrassment of her friend), proceeded to duck into the Kitchens to nab chocolate cookies and a bottle of butterbeer to share with his fellow Head Student. She ordered him to take it back. He, of course, did not listen.

13. Was discovered snogging Lily Evans by Benjy Fenwick and Remus Lupin during their Prefect patrol.

14. Moped in his dormitory for the entirety of Sunday, and half of Monday following a Quidditch loss to Slytherin, before being dragged out by an idiotic classmate (aka, Padfoot) only to be severly berated by his girlfriend and Head of House - and rewarded for his melancholy dramatics with a detention.

15. Celebrated Harry's birth by getting monumentally drunk, and was monumentally hungover a day and a half thereafter. Lily did not consider this a valid excuse for hedging the nappy-changing.

16. Bought Lily a white, stuffed elephant in celebration of their first six months together - which she promptly lost. Sirius expressively denied having anything to do with the missing toy.

17. Lost both his parents in the same year, and felt guilty for a very long time because he found himself unable to cry at their funreals, though was inexpressibly saddened by their deaths.

18. Designed the engagement ring he proposed to Lily with, taking care to ensure it would fit her finger perfectly - lest she lose that.

19. Owns a pair of boxers covered in a rose-printed pattern. Has never worn it but for on his head one drunken, rowdy night.

20. Refuses to confirm or deny publically, but allegedly cried during Heidi when his mother forced him to read it shortly after his eleventh birthday. May or may not have confessed this to Lily. Has confessed this to Sirius. Considers said confession his biggest regret.

One of Those Mornings

Fri, 11 May 2007 02:10:30 GMT

Title: One Of Those Mornings
Author: niyki
Genre: Humour
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1, 972 words
Summary: Premise: After Hogwarts, Demelza has signed up to be Myron Wagtail's personal assistant, former lead singer of the now disbanded Weird Sisters.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The characterisation of J. Dorny inspired by composim's Jez Dorny at hogwarts_blogs.
Author's Note: Inspired after seeing this picture.

Demelza Robins was rather in a hurry, actually. She had an important parcel to deliver which she could not trust owls to do for her, and a very important appointment to keep; her hair was a mess – a pen stuck in it to keep the bun she had tousled together in a rush – and her wand…

“Shite. Where’s my wand?” she called over her shoulder at her flatmate, Rachel Cornfoot, who was the epitome of asleep. “Oh, sod it. Where’s your wand? Oh, hang on – never mind. I’ve found mine. I’ll see you later, darl. Oh, and it’s your turn to hunt down groceries. The Muggle store on the corner of Gerard and Daisy have biscuits and tea and other things on sale; I’ve left some pounds in the housekeeping kitty – and, Merlin, would you wake up already?”

“Mmmggfff.”

“I don’t have time to do this, just get up! You have to be ready for that appointment at the Ministry, and I can’t come back home to ensure you’re ready, as I’ll be out making sure Wagtail gets his bloody divorce papers. Godric, I hate this job.”

“Ugh. Demza, yer bint. Gettanuva one.”

“I have another one. It’s called ‘being your Nanny,’” she retorted and promptly doused the unfortunate half-asleep Rachel with a fountain of water from her wand. “It’s a pity I’m not getting paid.”

“You’re horrid when you’re stressed, you know that?” Ginny Weasley asked, standing in the doorframe.

“I hate her,” interjected Rachel, after having her small screech of surprise, which the other two girls ignored.

“I hate you too,” Demelza called over her shoulder, picking up her watch and fastening it to her wrist. “Ginny, on the other hand, is beautiful and amazing and – shit, I really have to go!”

“Ginny’s ‘shit’?” pondered a giggly, wet and fully awake Rachel.

“Shut up, Rachel,” asserted Demelza disgruntedly, and Apparated to Diagon Alley.

It was cold outside, and the blonde-haired ball of stress was cursing to herself about having forgotten to take a scarf. Shopkeepers seemed to be taking their time opening up their stores, though there was a heavenly smell coming from the bakery two shops down from Madam Malkin’s.

‘Why did I not have breakfast?’ Demelza thought to herself, pouting internally. ‘I blame Rachel entirely.’

The back entrance to The Leaky Cauldron was thankfully open, and so she hurried through just as snow began to fall over the streetscape.

“Hello, Tom?” she called out uncertainly for the bartender.

“Still ‘sleep,” a frumpy middle aged woman informed her, hovering by a nearly dead fire.

“Oh… Do you know anyone who could help me? I’m looking for Mr. Myron Wagtail? I am Demelza Robins, his assistant.”

“Demelza Robins, eh?”

“Yes,” Demelza replied cautiously, wondering why on earth she was being stared at so.

“Didna see you las’ nigh’?”

“Erm. You – I’m sorry, I beg your pardon?”

“Las’ night’? You woz ‘ere. But you were dressed up somefink terrible. You look much pre’ier like tha’. But woz tha’ in yeh ‘air?”

Conciously, Demelza’s hand flew up to the pen she’d stuck in her hair. “Um… A pen. Here last night, did you say? I wasn’t here last night.”

“Yes, you were,” her other quarter asserted firmly. “Come the think of i’, I di’ no’ see yeh comin’ down. And how come yer dressed all differen’, eh?”

Demelza cleared her throat, and tried to start again. “I’m not exactly sure what you’re talking about. My name is Demelza Robins. I am Mr. Wagtail’s assistant, and I have some urgent papers to deliver to him. He is expecting me. So, if you’d kindly tell me which room he is in? I’ll find my own way around.”

“If yeh’ve left somefink behin’, yeh don’ haffa preten’ teh be all innocen’ an’ all modes’-like.”

Still feeling utterly confused, Demelza nodded. “Yes. Exactly. Could you show me his room, please?”

“I’s room nummer eigh’y-se’en. Mebbe yeh were too drunk teh remember?”

“Maybe…” Demelza pretended to concede, thinking perhaps this tactic might get her to Myron quicker and she could get on with the rest of her day. “Well, it was nice talking to you. I hope you have a good day,” was about all of a farewell she could manage.

Hurrying the stairs to where she knew rooms eighty to ninety were numbered, she pulled the pen out of her hair and mentally checked she had a quill, the papers and the parcel she needed to deliver all in her bag.

Stomach grumbling, she demurely approached the door and knocked curtly.

“Who’s that?” called out the hoarse voice of her employee whom she often thought was worse than Terence Higgs could ever possibly have been when he offered her to be his personal assistant way back when in her sixth year.

“It’s Demelza,” she called back; and could hear a creaking bed and then feet plonking themselves onto the floor.

Oh, good Godric. She sure as Hell hoped he was dressed – unlike two weeks ago when he opened his hotel door in France stark naked. She blushed at the memory, and looked down at the floor. “I hope you’re decent!”

The door opened, and to her immense relief, he had a pair of boxers on; which was decent enough, she supposed, for Myron Wagtail. “What’s ‘decent’?” he mocked, and tapped her on the end of her nose. She fought down the urge to throttle him for it.

“Most people would say it’s, y’know, wearing clothes,” Demelza explained stiffly and with a small sigh.

“That would make sense, Gryffindor,” said a familiar voice from the bed behind Myron. “Not something you were very well known for.”

Demelza craned her neck to see past Myron’s shoulder – the person of whom was inconsiderately tall, and didn’t seem obliged to move. A blonde woman was sprawled on his bed with hair that looked like it had burned a hole in the ozone layer with the amount of hairspray that must have been used on it – if she had known what ‘hairspray’ actually was. Shockingly, she seemed to be dressed in an absurd vinyl leopard print dress with a hem so short it almost looked as though it were merely a long hemmed top.

“Jez Dorny?” Demelza exclaimed at long last.

Jez sneered. “The one and the same, Gryffindor.”

“You gave my name instead of hers to that frumpy woman downstairs?” she asked angrily of Myron, who shifted uncomfortably. “Are you trying to tarnish my reputation? I do not want to be confused with some skanky slut of a – ugh. Jez Dorny? Have you no taste?”

“Must you speak of me as though I am not in the room, little Ranting Queen?” Jez pouted.

Demelza ignored her. “Look. I have an appointment to keep. I don’t care what you do with your personal life, Myron, but I do not want my name dragged into it. Do you understand? Here is the parcel you wanted me to deliver, and the divorce papers. Don’t forget, we have a meeting with that clerk from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement this afternoon at three o’clock. I’ll Apparate over to ensure you’re ready and everything at two-thirty, but until then, I’ll be at a meeting in your place over at the Ministry with Rachel Cornfoot and the official from the International Magical Office of Law. If there’s anything else you want me to do today, you’d best let me know now.”

“Whoa,” exclaimed Myron. “Slow down, take a breath, darling. No need to get so worked up – nobody will know about Jezebel.”

“No!” shouted Demelza. “They’ll all think it’s ME!” Despite it only being eight o’clock in the morning, she felt as though she desperately needed a very strong drink. And some breakfast might have gone down well too.

“And why would that be so bad, now?”

“BECAUSE, Myron, I am your ASSISTANT! Not some fangirl chasing after you for your money, or your fame. I don’t want to be known as some slut you slept with in The Leaky Cauldron.”

Myron seemed to be shocked out of his boots, except he wasn’t wearing any.

“Ever the feisty ranter,” Jez sneered in the background.

“Oh, you shut the Hell up, you. He doesn’t deserve you; he does deserve an awful lot – but not you. What happened to your ‘Pro Quidditch Players Only’?”

“Got over it,” Jez replied shortly.

“Or ran out of them?” Demelza suggested nastily, her fists curling up into angry balls.

“Girls, girls, girls! Really, now. Just breathe, yeah?” interjected Myron.

“HERE are your papers,” said the exasperated girl, shoving them into his hands and turning to go.

“Going so soon?” Jez taunted. “Jealous I snagged your darling Myron first?”

“The only thing I am jealous of, Jezebel Dorny, is your necklace. It really is rather nice,” Demelza added wistfully and stalked out of the room, shutting the door behind her carelessly. Outside in the hallway, she took a deep breath in, and realised suddenly she was still holding Myron’s parcel in her hands.

“Bollocks,” she cursed to herself, gritting her teeth and began an attempt to convince herself to turn around and knock on his door again.

Oh, the nerve of Dorny! To suggest she had a thing for Myron! To suggest she was attracted to him, even. It was disgusting. She’d never even seen him in that way. She was his employee, for one – and did not think he was attractive in the slightest, for another. And he was so irritating and, dammit, OLD. No. Demelza hadn’t even thought of wanting Myron for herself, ever in her life. Even after that unfortunate morning in France.

The memory caused her to blush again, just as Myron’s door creaked open.

“Demelza?” he said with soft uncertainty.

“I forgot your parcel,” she stated stiffly, turning around. “You’re dressed!” she exclaimed, finding him decked out in a pair of his signature artfully slashed black robes.

“Yeah, I thought that if I was going to come out and apologise, I’d best do it looking decent,” he offered, not quite meeting her eyes.

“Oh. Well, thank you for the thought, Myron.”

“No, really, Demelza. I’m very sorry. Especially about giving out your name for Jezebel. It was… foolish.”

“Quite,” Demelza said, feeling gracious. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure I can handle a tarnished reputation, and it’d be a good story to tell if I ever have a date who asks me about it – IF I ever have a decent date again.”

“Well, you know, there’s always me.”

She looked up, and smiled. “I’m flattered, Myron. But I don’t think I’m attracted to you. We’ve had this conversation before.”

“I was hoping you might have changed your mind.”

“I made a mistake of a relationship dating someone I wasn’t attracted to in sixth year,” she sighed. “And it ended badly, though I still talk to the bloke. I don’t want to go there ever again. One mistake is enough for me.”

“You never know if you never go,” interjected Myron.

“I repeat, no, but thank you. Anyway, Dorny will be wondering why you’re taking so long.”

“Is it because of her you won’t-“

“Myron,” Demelza interrupted before he said anything that would really do her head in, “I said ‘no’. And I mean ‘no’. You’re a decent bloke, if a little spaced out. I hope you find happiness.”

His lips curved into a sort-of smile, and he shrugged. “I hope you end up happy too.”

“Thank you,” she said sweetly, touched. “That means a lot to me, but, I really have to go now. I’ll see you this afternoon. Please, stay dressed.”

He grinned. “Later, Demmy.” And tapped her on the nose.

She groaned. She hated it when he called her that and tapped her nose so patronisingly. But, alas, he was Myron. What could she do?

Finis

Of Carrots and Chaos

Wed, 11 Apr 2007 02:55:17 GMT

Title: Of Carrots and Chaos
Author: niyki
Genre: Ficlet
Rating: PG
Word Count: 487 words
Summary: Lily's vexed and has a fondness for italics, poor James is not to blame - so... who is?
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: OLD ficcage that I never typed out and posted before - so this is OLD, but revised all the same. I think I wrote it for some challenge thing or another that never took off. Nonetheless, the prompt was "Carrot". And love to LMM for ma OTP of all OTPs - Anne/Gilbert.

“Alright, that’s it,” cried a vexed Lily Evans as she stormed in her dormitory. “Which one of you twits gave Potter a detailed synopsis of Anne of Green Gables?”

Best-friend Alice Eston shrugged in a light ‘don’t look at me’ way. “Who is Anne? Is she that irritating blonde in third year?” asked Dorcas Meadows, removing a red lollipop from her mouth in mild shock at the sight of her frazzled, vexed red-headed friend.

Lily rolled her eyes, and opened her mouth to say something when Alice interrupted, her round pretty face filled with concern. “Why, what’s James done now?”

“James,” Lily began, spitting the name out disgustingly and noting mentally that she preferred calling him ‘Potter’, “sent some twerp of a Ravenclaw first year to say that Gilbert inquired after his carrot-haired darling.”

“Oh,” was the unanimous reply. Lily’s annoyance seethed into the room making both Alice and Dorcas shift uncomfortably.

“And what did James say?” Alice asked ever so cautiously.

“Well,” Lily admitted slowly, “he didn’t say anything. He caught my eye and smiled at me over breakfast.”

“But – James always smiles at you at breakfast,” Alice interjected.

“Yes, but-”

“And lunch,” Alice mused.

“And dinner,” chimed Dorcas.

“And you do know that Gilbert Diggory has been quite keen on you all term,” reasoned Alice.

“Yeah, that good-looking Ravenclaw. The Head Boy’s brother – Amos,” interpolated Dorcas.

“Yes, but-”

“So, you know… it could have been him who made that ‘inquiry’.” Alice really was on a roll.

“Yes,” agreed a dejected Lily.

“You never inquired back?” Dorcas asked, tilting her head to one side, and resumed sucking on a lollipop.

“I told him to throw his inquiries down Moaning Myrtle’s loo – and ‘Gilbert’ along with it,” Lily mumbled.

“Oh dear,” the other two girls sighed, mutually concerned and alarmed.

“Yes,” Lily stated uselessly.

“Gilbert’s feelings might be hurt,” Dorcas noted, still sucking on her lollipop. Lily had the strong urge to tell her to stop, please – for Merlin’s sake.

“You should apologise,” Alice said in agreement.

“Girls,” Lily straightened, “I shall not do such a thing!”

The ‘why?’ did not even need to be cried out.

“I mean, CARROT-HAIRED?”

“Oh dear,” Dorcas said to Alice, putting her lollipop down at last. “I think I preferred it when she was ranting about James.”

The latter raised her brow.

“Or maybe not….”

And so the Gilbert abuse continued all the way into their first period that morning where a bewildered James Potter was bestowed a warm, friendly smile by a certain Lily Evans.

“Er, Lily?” Dorcas asked, poking her in the back.

Lily glowered. “Carrot-haired. He has never called me carrot-haired,” she stated by way of explanation.

“Carrot-haired?” Sirius Black asked leaning in, and almost squishing Alice’s toes. “Oi! JAMES!!! CARROT-HAIRED!”

“Oh. God. No,” moaned two girls, while the last pushed uselessly at the boy to – “GET OFF MY FOOT!”

“Chaos,” muttered one Remus Lupin. “It’s always chaos.”

But For Time

Sun, 25 Mar 2007 07:55:42 GMT

Title: But For Time
Author: niyki
Genre: Poetry, Life
Word Count: 91 words
Author's Note: Response to prompt challenge "... Brought to You by the Letter 'E'" - Prompt #8: Erode. Very "Our Daily Mask" like, this piece of poetry. Hence, I had fun writing it. One day I'll format it as it ought to be formatted. But here is the skeleton of it - without all the fancy ellipses and so on and so forth.

Time has chipped us away.

Us being the
conceptual word
describing: this.
This intangible, undefinable thing
that we hold onto
– and call a ‘relationship’.

I suppose one could label us as thus.

Us being the
evocative word
for the class we: hold in our esteem.
Until we can’t see
anything
but this veneer

of us.

Us being the
intense, irrevocable, steady
nature of who we are:

That thing that we
can’t quite put a finger on.
That sense of self.
We hold.

We hold.

We don’t let go.

But for time.

ANDI and ASHERON's one-shot debut!!

Thu, 22 Mar 2007 10:27:17 GMT

Title: Not Always in Opposition
Author: niyki
Genre: Fantasy
Rating: G
Summary: From the Koè-verse. Andirah Sethanor and Asheron Terven-kept have their differences.
Dedicated to: maerwyn, of course!
Author's Note: Wroses is a weird concept of two elite warriors and two elite 'healers' who are grouped together to protect their country and allegiances. Hey, it's fantasy. It's meant to be weird and weak conceptually :P
Brethelbod is equivalent to football or soccer in the world of Koè. And that should be all the terms that pop up. And, yes - this is the last upload of the day. Sorry about the overload on the flists, btw.

The atmosphere was dank and something quite rotten could be smelled somewhere near the pipe works. Sunlight filtered in as much as it could through the sole small window with dust and dirt smeared over its surface. Whatever surface there was, of course. It was missing a pane of glass.

A self-assured young dyade approached the broken, dirty window with an idle demeanour painted over his features and set of frame. “You’d think there’d be some sort of ventilation, wouldn’t you?” he observed without any further interest.

“I might. If I had any idea as to what you are on about, Asheron,” replied a pretty girl of the same age as her companion. She sounded a little cross, and for this reason, one may suppose, the boy called Asheron turned away from the window sharply and sought to give the air of including himself in whatever mysterious activity she was determined to accomplish.

“What are you looking for?” he questioned, standing above her as she knelt down and sorted through items in a dusty, old trunk. His hands lay lazily in his pockets. “It might help,” he added.

“I doubt it will,” she retorted, snapping the lid shut. “Seeing as you are so inclined to not help no matter what I tell you I’m looking for.”

He shot her an injured look. “If I wasn’t going to help you, why on earth would I come up here with you in the first place?” he countered. Check.

“Because I so kindly reminded you that Hawerth was looking for you and looked like he wanted to wring your head off. Then you leaped out your chair and pleaded with me to hide you. This was, no, is your only option,” she replied airly. He could detect a smirk on her face, even though he couldn’t see her – owing to the fact that her back was turned to him and it being somewhat dimly lighted didn’t help much either. “Unless you want to brave it in the kitchens. Though, Hawerth’s no fool. He’ll have notified the cooks that he wants your head on a silver platter. And they won’t refuse, considering they want the same thing ever since you nicked off with their share of dessert last week.” Checkmate.

“No, thank you, Andirah,” he replied icily, fighting to not look ashamed and repentant at that incident. If he could undo it, he would. He’d even make the cooks dessert in repayment – if they weren’t likely to pounce on him and rip his ears off the very minute he let one foot into the kitchens.

She turned to face him at the sound of her name. “So, what did you do to Hawerth, then? He’s such a patient man,” she giggled.

“Oh, woe is me. She’s retreating to sarcasm,” he muttered before realising somewhat belatedly that so was he. “I didn’t do anything, to him anyway. Just happened to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, doing –“

“Doing the wrong thing that involved ticking off one of our narkiest teachers most royally?”

“Yeah, something like that,” he agreed with a shrug.

She shook her head. “If I ever end up in a wrose with you, remind me to kill myself.”

Offended, he scowled. “Yes, well if that happens, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, I’ll make sure that I am quite instrumental in that venture.”

Two years later, at eighteen and seated in white wicker chairs with an uncomfortable lattice for the back, both waited solemnly for the ceremonial, yet life changing announcement of two wroses from among their cohorts.

“The examination that these young people faced was indeed a trial that aptly separated which of their year was most thoroughly trained and ready to take on the responsibilities of wrose-hood. Thus, I am most proud to announce and introduce to the community of Bellator Paean and guests from Alipe Equus, Kinglyfort, Lorieda and Vyann the first selected wrose of this group,” sounded the self-important voice of Eanon Twelv-Nor. No one could quite recall why he ought to be doing such an announcement, as these days no one liked him very much, particularly. But no one really payed attention to this thought, if it occupied their mind, for all voices were hushed and anticipation hung thick in the air. “Healers Maerwyn Istalindar and Caralissa Narvoynah and warriors Andirah Sethanor and Asheron Terven-kept.”

Four slightly shaking eighteen-year-olds rose from their seats and with quick pulses forming in their hearts awkwardly stared about them – almost dazed at the unexpected completion of eight years worth of school and training. Slowly, they eradicated themselves from the many pats on the back from those that sat around them, the beaming smiles and grins, the whooping and deafening applause. Slowly, still, they made their way up a small set of stairs and stood upon a platform – receiving a hero’s cheer. Even Hawerth gave a satisfied smile and stood in a standing ovation – prompting the rest of the crowd to the same.

Grinning, Andirah turned to the man on her left. “I don’t really want to kill myself, Asheron.”

“And I never really wanted to help you do so,” he whispered back.

“Well, we’re already friends – so there’s no need to swear to that.”

“But we are two warriors in a wrose. We’ll swear to being tighter than a pack of brethelbod players, then.”

“And fight harder than a she-wolf guarding her pups.”

They held hands and gripped tightly, grinning wildly with dazed expressions in their eyes.

It was quite hard to believe. But both knew they wouldn’t have it any other way.

Flash!

Thu, 22 Mar 2007 08:07:34 GMT

Title: Flash!
Author: niyki
Genre: General
Rating: G
Word Count: 929 words
Summary: Edgar Vaisey of Slytherin has crappy friends, crappy mornings and crappy enemies. Featuring Slytherins Vaisey, Harper and Gryffindors Ginny Weasley, Colin Creevey and Demelza Robins.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: For hpfanfic10x10 - Table #48, claim: Slytherins, prompt: Photograph. See the table here. Edgar's a precious fool. And Quint's just a rich, cheeky little bastard. :P

Edgar Vaisey was feeling rather troubled. No thanks to his useless friends: Quintus Harper and Lùc Urquhart; who had notwoken him up in time for breakfast, he had arrived late to Transfiguration on an empty stomach and was now stuck partnered with two glowering and reputedly volatile Gryffindor girls and one endlessly chattering Gryffindor boy.

He tossed a dirty look at Quint, who smirked back and winked at the girls. Prat. Complete and utter prat. Just because he had a crush on Ginny Weasley (volatile Gryffindor girl number one)and by some strange set of circumstances had somewhat befriended Mudblood Demelza Robins (volatile Gryffindor girl number two). Although, neither Robins nor Quint would admit to being friends, per se. But they bantered often enough for rumours to begin circulating about a supposed romantic attachment between the two, which was most obviously disproved when Jimmy Peakes, in the year below, snogged Robins in the Great Hall and Quint barely even glanced up. (Peakes, of course, got clobbered on the head and had his ears boxed most uncomfortably).

But the point was, and Edgar did rememberthat he had a point, that Quintus Harper was a prat and Edgar was not going to forgive him. Lùc was a walking dunderhead – probably continuously stoned thanks to his ridiculous habit of smoking the marijuana that Quint kept selling him. See? Dunderhead. That’s what Urquharts were. They even did stupid things like join Inquisitorial Squads for the worst witch who ever walked. But Harpers. They were elusive. They had all these stupid and ridiculous traditions – like most old-money, pureblood families – specifically that of the naming of a child. And yet, they weren’t a bad sort. They were cautious and intelligent – and you never quite knew what they were thinking, but they had a habit of being blunt about their emotions. Quite frankly, they were infuriating, Edgar thought to himself. Quint was the sort of person who could smirk his face off in an irksomely knowing sort of way– and yet would just as easily turn about and tell a second year to, “Sod off, you’re despicable, you know,” in a ridiculously matter-of-fact tone.

Edgar sighed and turned his attention backonto his assigned group. Robins and Weasley were glaring furiously about something which was no doubt related to him being in their vicinity. Quint’s usual catch phrase, “Gryffindors are suchprima-donnas,” echoed in his mind, and he found himself irrepressibly smirking.

“What?” demanded Robins.

He blinked. “Nothing.”

She stared at him contemptuously, and shrugged. “Whatever, Vaisey. You’re a prat, anyway.” And Weasley giggled.

His smirk changed instantly into a glare. “Sod off, Mudblood.”

“Excuse me?” Weasley demanded, her face hardening.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he stated, his jaw setting – readying himself for the imminent Bag Bogey Hex.

Surprisingly, she did not reach for herwand at his very words, but was held back by Robins herself who cocked her head to one side and said pityingly, “You poor soul.”

Edgar decided he didn’t want her toelaborate, and she didn’t seem inclined to anyway – but Colin Creevy, who had been chattering to a neighbouring group most obliviously suddenly piped up witha, “Would you two mind? For the school paper?” And Edgar had no idea in Hel land all above it what the tiny, blonde, photography-obsessed boy was talking about until – Flash! He blinked slowly, and then glared.

“Vaisey, you prat!” Weasley admonished.“You got in the way!”

“No, no!” cried Creevy. “It’ll be brilliant. Thanks, er, Vaisey. Moment of genius, there.”

Glaring could hardly be appropriate when he received such praise, could it? He softened his expression into a small, vague smile (and Weasley threw him a strange and cautious look in response) and shrugged. “Now, are we going to stand around and take photos all day, or get on with this… What are we doing again?” he asked.

And Demelza Robins launched into an almost-rant-like explanation. Ye gods.

The proceeding weekend, Edgar was quietly enjoying his dinner after with Quint when Colin, rather nervously, actually, approached the nearly empty Slytherin table – where despite the table being nearly empty, the majority of its occupants tossed him nasty looks. Unnerved, his hand shook until Quint frowned and looked up at Colin. “Is there something you wanted, Creevey?” he asked, not impolitely – but with a dash of attitude.

“I just, well, thought I’d give Vaisey herea copy of that photograph I took.” He glanced at Edgar, hoping for positive appraisal, perhaps.

“Well, go on,” Quint prodded impatiently.“We’re not going to sit around and wait all night for it, are we?”

Edgar cleared his throat. “Have you got it here?”

“Yeah! Yeah, yeah – of course,” Colin almost squeaked. He hurriedly shoved the photograph into Edgar’s hands and offered very quickly, “It turned out really well. Your pose is fantastic. Very, er, sly, I’d say.”

Edgar preened, and handed it over to Quintto inspect.

“Sly, did you say, Creevey? I don’t know how effectively anyone can portray sly with their tie on backwards, though,” was the final word from the blonde Slytherin.

“What are you talking about?” Edgar demanded.

Quint jabbed a finger at the Edgar in the photo – who was leaning against the frame and sneering in the foreground. The two girls behind him giggling and pulling faces every now and then when it suited them.

And there it was; him with his school tie on backwards.

“CREEVEY!” he cried, leaping from his chair.

Too late. The Gryffindor was long gone.

“They’re not always brave little sods, are they?” Quint observed, chuckling.

Chance Meeting with the Prince of Verbose

Thu, 22 Mar 2007 06:07:44 GMT

Title: Chance Meeting with the Prince of Verbose
Author: niyki
Genre: Drabble
Rating: PG
Word Count: 378 words
Summary: Poor James learns the meaning of speaking too soon... Featuring James, Sirius and Snape - Marauder Era
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Response to prompt challenge "... Brought to You by the Letter 'E'" - Prompt #10: Eloquent.
There's not much point to this drabble. It's just that - a drabble wherein James is a prat, but not a prat, Sirius is a prat and scary sometimes, and Snape is icky. End of story. More or less and exploration of dynamics. I like dynamics :P

Wind rustles the leaves overhead as Sirius and I trek back towards the Castle from the green-houses. He is melancholy, which is both a strange surprise and unexpected relief. There is only so long one can put up with one’s best mate jabbering on about, good Godric, motorcycles.

I honestly believe that I, blissfully-ignorant-of-most-things-Muggle-James Potter, know more about those infernal inventions than perhaps a good portion of Britain’s Muggle population does.

It’s a rather frightening thought.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I like Muggles. I think they’re amusing sometimes. I have nothing against them. I’m in love with (just don’t tell Sirius, he’ll think I’ve cracked and will try and commit me to St. Mungo’s) and am presently dating a Muggleborn (he knows about the dating thing, yes. But mention the ‘l’ word, and his sides’ll split faster than you can say ‘quaffle’).

Albeit, my original point stands. It’s still a rather frightening thought.

A slighter frame than me – and even Remus, who is a twig, I tell you – jabs himself into my shoulder.

“Oh, sor- Hang on. It’s Snivellus,” I say, more habitually as opposed to deliberately maliciously.

He snarls and mutters something under his breath which is probably a more eloquent version of, “Sod off, you bastard.”

I wonder, is there a more intelligent-sounding word for ‘bastard’? How about – illegitimate spawn conceived mid-fornication? It’s more so a sentence in itself, that one.

“Now, now,” I say with a smirk. “Don’t want to go ‘round calling the Head Boy names, do we, Snivellus?” This time, it was deliberately malicious.

“Oh, fuck off,” he spits out caustically and makes to stalk away – except that Sirius has grabbed the front of his robes.

“Oi,” Sirius frowns. “Apologise.”

“I don’t think I shall,” Snape asserts with a sneer.

I toss him a funny look and shrug. “Too late. We’ve already witnessed your momentary lapse of eloquence, oh Prince of Verbose.”

His sneer grows cold. “What sort of insult is that?”

“One that undermines your own,” I reply smugly. “Let him go, Sirius.”

And Sirius obliges, grinning manically.

“I felt like a bikie just then,” he says as we begin to walk away.

Oh, dear Merlin. Perhaps I spoke too soon about being unexpectedly relieved?

...Brought to You By the Letter 'E' Challenge

Thu, 22 Mar 2007 05:21:57 GMT

I like self-challenges, so I went and found a bag with Scrabble letters in it, and pulled out the letter 'E'. Therefore, the following ten words are my prompts:

evasive
exemplify
exit
evacuate
extreme
entrance
egg
erode
even
eloquent

I might put it into a table later. Until then, pretend this is a table post :P

NB: It's not restrictive. Although, I might end up having to find a weird and interesting form or genre to use the 'egg' prompt in.

Uggle Quinners!

Sat, 17 Mar 2007 04:08:24 GMT

Title: Uggle Quinners!
Author: niyki
Genre: Drabble
Rating: PG
Word Count: 378 words
Summary: In which Quint's has a headache and Titus is a swotty, paranoid prat.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Random Harper family drabble. For Thalia. And props to zeft because she unknowingly prompted this fic.

Uggle Quinners

It was late morning in the Harper household as a certain young blonde-haired man stepped into the kitchen encroached in a streaming sunlight through the back door. His collar was stained tellingly with a smudge of lipstick just near his ear. His hair was unkempt, his clothes dishevelled and stinking of beer and cigarettes. His eyes were glazed over, and his head – Merlin, his head. It felt like someone had trained a Hungarian Horntail to stomp all over it and then some.

He exhaled heavily, and perched himself on the nearest stool – entirely ignoring the presence of his oldest brother, Titus. Titus the Prat, he liked to call him. A prat, he thought, because he did everything their father whimmed for him to do – and not once did he ever have any ideas of his own to offer anyone else. Maybe that was why Titus was a Hufflepuff, he thought to himself with a faint smirk playing over his lips.

Titus, on the other hand, surveyed his younger brother’s appearance with a certain severity and an obvious distaste. “You’re making a habit of staying out all night, are you, Quintus?” he asked, or more accurately, stated quitely.

Quintus looked up at his brother at long last – a calm look hiding his thoughts. “Doesn’t matter much to you either way, Titus.”

“It matters if you end up in The Daily Prophet, it does,” was Titus’ reply.

“We’re always in the Social Column of that stupid paper,” Quintus snapped. “I don’t see how it’s going to change my life dramatically if I’m in it one week and not the next. Salazar, our life doesn’t depend on the publicity of tabloids, just in case you were wondering.”

“That’s not what I was referring to.”

Quintus glared at his brother. “Look. If you mean I’m going to end up like Julius – who I might add is teaching at Hogwarts and actually doing something with his life, unlike you – then you have no fear. I’m not going to be like you, or Lucia, or even Julius. I’m going to be—“

“UGGLE QUINNERS!” his six-year-old nephew cried from the Kitchen’s threshold.

“Yes,” Quintus muttered. “Uggle bloody Quinners.” Merlin, his head was surely about to explode. Well, he certainly hoped it would.

Lucius-centric One-Shot

Tue, 06 Mar 2007 22:42:56 GMT

Title: Of Narcissa Black And Large Inheritances
Author: niyki
Genre: Humour
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1, 097 words
Summary: Lucius Malfoy is turning 19, and trying to decide how best to woo the girl of his dreams. Lucius/Narcissa.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: I love this story. The Lucius here is quite akin to the Lucius of buttfacemakani's artistry. XD

Of Narcissa Black and Large Inheritances

Good day, Miss Black. I am Lucius Malfoy

"No, too bland."

Good day, fair lady. I am Lucius Malfoy, Esquire (of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but Esquire nonetheless).

"No, too flowery."

Lady. I am Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater.

"Too strong. Far, far too strong."

Mademoiselle, how doth thou fare? I am Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy, Esquire. Would you dance with me?

Mademoiselle, je suis Malfoy, Esquire. Dance with me, oui?

With a loud exasperated cry, a tall silvery-haired young man threw his quill onto his desk - not caring an ounce that it landed into the inkpot and would have to be thrown out. Not caring an ounce about the fact that his father would kill him for such carelessness. But, he would explain that desperate men do reckless things - and quite presently, Lucius Malfoy was about as desperate as a man could get.

His French was terrible. He was turning nineteen in precisely half-an-hour. Narcissa Black was eighteen-years-old, had just finished Hogwarts and had every unattached (and in Rodolphus Lestrange's case, not) Death Eater salivating over her body - and if Lucius didn't manage to woo her at this ridiculous birthday celebration tomorrow evening, he was not going to get that large inheritance his father was offering to him like one offers a carrot attached to a string on a stick to a mule.

And that was the other thing. Abraxas Malfoy was a sodding control-freak. When Lucius was a father, he would not subject his son to such a tight reign. He'd teach him the values and importance of the Malfoy family - and expect him to uphold the honour of their family name. And maybe go into the family hobby of the Dark Arts. Make sure his child was intelligent, sorted into Slytherin, popular, on the Quidditch team, an excellent flier, had a firmer grasp of French than he, Lucius, had - and... Oh, bollocks. He was going to be just like his father when he reached parenthood, wasn't he?

He wondered how many generations of Malfoys it would take for one of them to learn French properly.

Je suis Lucius. My French is fucking terrible, I apologise. I'm not drawling, because I'm nervous. I think you are very beautiful, and I would like to marry you and fuck the brains out of you, get the large inheritance my father is tentatively passing onto me, live in Malfoy Manor and have one child. Preferably a son. Now, will you dance with me and later snog me behind that ghastly sculpture?

Oh, sod it. He needed coffee.

Bags under his eyes, muttering to himself ferociously, armed with a parchment and quill in his hands and wand stuffed into his pocket - Lucius burst into the kitchens and demanded his favourite caffeinated concoction from a poor sleepy house-elf with freakishly large eyes and a long knobbly nose.

Ah, Miss Black. You have arrived. Leave your coat with the servant. Yes, now. My, my, you are a jewel.

"Too possessive," he determined, slapping his hand on the kitchen workbench and settling his bottom onto a stool.

Narcissa, my dear. What a rare beauty you are!

"Too effing smarmy!" He sighed, resting his pointy chin on his palm. The coffee had arrived - in due time too. He took a hurried sip, which burnt his tongue and caused him to spit it out ungraciously down his robes. He blinked once, twice, thrice; leaned back, and realised belatedly that the stool was a stool and therefore had no back.

Finding himself in a mess on the floor, Lucius snarled at no one in particular and drew out his wand to clean himself up.

If he was going to woo the girl of not only his, but all his colleagues, dreams - he'd better do it:

cunningly
masterfully
undoubtedly

And there was a d) - he was sure of it. Oh, yes;

all of the above.

Good evening, Narcissa. How glad I am that you have arrived. Would you care for a drink? My, your dress is very pretty!

"Ah hah!" he cried, stabbing in quill into the parchment in order to dot the exclamation mark. A faint splatter of black ink flicked onto his pale skin, and in his enthusiasm, he managed to force his mind to ignore the stain. "This is the opening line!" He sipped from his coffee - this time remembering to blow on it before drawing it to his lips. The liquid slipped down his throat and he gulped.

So, he had the perfect opening line - for when Narcissa arrived, and he was to greet the guests. It was casual, yet interested, not too smarmy, but charming yet - and left open the possibility of conversation.

And should conversation occur, he should quite immediately jump into a quick list of guests that he is expecting. Names of people the object of his lifetime conquest would be familiar with. And if any of them were male, and a Death Eater, and unattached - he ought to discreetly discredit them.

Yes. The plan was well formulated in his mind.

"Lucius?" called out the deep, gruff and uncertain voice of Abraxas Malfoy.

'Shit,' thought Lucius. "Yes, Father?" he answered, stuffing his parchment into his pocket.

"What on earth are doing up at this hour, my boy?" Abraxas asked, stepping into the kitchen. He wore a dark green dressing gown, and there was a suspicious look cast in his eyes.

"Oh, er, just having a spot of... Ah, something to drink," Lucius managed hastily. He would be damned to tell Abraxas he'd been drinking coffee at this time of the night.

Abraxas sniffed. "You should go to bed, Lucius. It's your birthday tomorrow, you know. We can't have you falling asleep into your cake."

"Of course, Father," Lucius agreed, standing up from his chair and making to leave.

"I hear that Miss Black will be coming."

He paused mid-step and turned to face Abraxas. "She is, Father."

"Remember what we discussed?"

"Couldn't forget it, Father." Well, not now that he had caffeine pulsing through his body, and he'd already been anxious about it, discreetly, mind, for about a month.

"Good, my boy. Don't start now. Well then, off to bed with you."

"Certainly, Father," was the last thing Lucius said that night, for the clock struck twelve.

Oh, sod it. Sod it and damn it all the way to Hell and back. Of Narcissa Black and large inheritances, Lucius Malfoy was officially nineteen-years-old and he was going to sod it. Where was his tequila again?

Tables

Tue, 06 Mar 2007 22:29:11 GMT

For hpfanfic10x10:

TABLE 48, claim: Slytherins

471.	Glamorous	472.	Someday	473.	Curse	474.	Vulnerable	475.	Plaid
476.	Romantic	477.	Savour	478.	Photograph	479.	Death	480.	Finances

For 100hp_fics:

Claim: 'Slytherins'

01.	Vintage	02.	Experiment	03.	Luminous	04.	Apple	05.	Umbrella
06.	Coin	07.	Invite	08.	Rebel	09.	Hour	10.	Tango
11.	Key	12.	Memory	13.	Silence	14.	Vow	15.	Offer
16.	Quiz	17.	Bachelor	18.	Zucchini	19.	Naughty	20.	Journey
21.	Genius	22.	Disaster	23.	Sacrifice	24.	Orange	25.	Guru
26.	Illusion	27.	Upstairs	28.	Friend	29.	Youth	30.	Question
31.	Angel	32.	Escort	33.	Tutu	34.	Milk	35.	Venom
36.	Magnet	37.	History	38.	Grape	39.	Cork	40.	Pendant
41.	Blood	42.	Jazz	43.	Advice	44.	Wrong	45.	Lady
46.	Irony	47.	Patient	48.	Rose	49.	Dessert	50.	Battle
51.	Butterfly	52.	Karate	53.	Love	54.	Hide	55.	Outside
56.	Mail	57.	Sand	58.	Unicorn	59.	Diligent	60.	Wet
61.	Guess	62.	Wisdom	63.	Quaint	64.	Elect	65.	Knife
66.	Frost	67.	Bottle	68.	Nymph	69.	Ghost	70.	Accident
71.	Noise	72.	Duel	73.	Clean	74.	Fur	75.	Novice
76.	Habit	77.	Yesterday	78.	Island	79.	Run	80.	Fashion
81.	Zodiac	82.	One	83.	Karma	84.	Quarrel	85.	Pastry
86.	Thunder	87.	Jacket	88.	Dare	89.	Violin	90.	Encore
91.	Practice	92.	Ugly	93.	Rumour	94.	School	95.	Costume
96.	Author's Choice	97.	Author's Choice	98.	Author's Choice	99.	Author's Choice	100.	Author's Choice

Two Dark One-Shots from Potterville

Mon, 12 Feb 2007 01:01:49 GMT

Title: Red Beads
Author: niyki
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2, 300 words
Summary: "Holidays, in my opinion, are the worst days of the whole year. Why, you ask? It's obvious, isn't it? Holidays mean that I have to actually go home." Lily's home for Christmas in her seventh year - and Petunia's not letting her guard down. Not for a minute. Featuring Lily Evans, James Potter, Sirius Black, Petunia Evans and an angel with a chipped wing.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The poetry within this piece, however, is in fact my own original poetry.
Author's Notes: This was written for the festive season that was Christmas. Unfortunately, the story itself is not as festive as one would wish. I began, once in an earlier one-shot, exploring writing in first person, present tense. It has now become a familiar expression for Lily Evans' voice. May I just say that Sirius is teh dweeb in this story. I still love him, though.

Title: Imprisoned Here
Author: niyki
Genre: Angst, Darkfic
Rating: PG
Word Count:1, 367 words
Summary:"Which ever man said that hell was all flames and fire must have been highly delusional. I repeat, highly delusional." Peter Pettigrew waits, imprisoned, in his own hiding place, remembering two people he shouldn't have lost. A one-shot.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: I love the beginning of this one-shot. It's one of my favourite crafted beginnings - it just seems to have a very pretty balance in it. I played a bit with first and third person, and altered the tense as the story shifted. It's less a story and more a mini anthology of connected drabbles, really. I believe it was unofficially dedicated to which ever sadistic party invented the notion of "textual integrity". Enjoy! I've had a couple of wonderful reviews for it already, so I'll love forEBAR if you left one too.