Tag-team Fic, Chapter One
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* All writers are asked to submit their chapters of no fewer than 200 words (with a recommended maximum of 1500) in the approved format within TWO HOURS. An additional hour will be granted if required. All fics will be reviewed and may be edited for consistency, characterisation and, possibly, British styles.
* Remember, no common squicks or hard NC17, and if your characters start shagging, they must stop before you pass the fic on.
Title: The Other Turn
Author: blamebrampton
Chapter: One
Rating: (this chapter) G
Pairing(s): None
Warnings: None
Word Count:(this chapter) 1212
Author's Notes: Go forth, have fun, try not to break anything or anyone unless the narrative absolutely requires it.
They were all in the Great Hall when Harry returned from burying the Elder Wand; all the survivors, talking among themselves. The euphoria of the morning had mellowed and now people were gathered in small groups, drinking tea, hot chocolate, and in some cases something stronger.
Tables were being cleared in preparation for lunch, and minor wounds were still being dressed. Harry was surprised to see Narcissa and Draco Malfoy rolling bandages under the supervision of Madam Pomfrey, while Lucius glowered nearby. He almost laughed, but he owed Narcissa something, and if that was forgiveness, then so be it.
In a quieter corner of the Hall, Ron sat with Hermione, a little away from his family, the two of them leaning against each other. Molly and Arthur Weasley clutched each other’s hands, while Percy and Ginny tried to convince George to drink from a cup of tea.
Harry looked away from their private sorrow. He was not ready to join in their mourning and provide what comfort he could. Not yet. A few more minutes of quiet in the shadows by the door, and then he would walk in, become a part of the public world again.
‘Do you need a sandwich?’
Harry nearly leapt from his skin at the whisper behind him. He spun about, and was instantly relieved. ‘Luna - don’t do that!’
She was laughing, but silently, so no one would look their way. ‘Sorry, you were looking so serious, I couldn’t decide if you were hungry or about to cry, and sandwiches help either way.’
‘I am hungry,’ Harry confessed.
‘I do have sandwiches, and we can ask a house-elf for hot chocolate.’
Harry knew he would regret asking, but: ‘Where did you get sandwiches?’
Luna smiled. ‘I packed them yesterday at Shell Cottage. I put a freshening spell on them. They’re a bit squashed, but they’re still good.’
‘Of course you did.’
She patted his arm. ‘You never know when you might need a sandwich, Harry. If we’d had more time during the battle, I’d have eaten them by now.’
‘Well, I’m glad you didn’t.’
She beamed at him. ‘Come on, there’s a good part of the Entrance Hall still intact, and a nice bit of rubble to use as a seat.’
‘Thank you,’ Harry said, trying to fit years into the words.
‘That’s all right,’ Luna replied over her shoulder.
The Entrance Hall rubble provided both seat and table, and the two of them sat quietly munching as they listened to the business behind them. A house-elf gave them a pot of hot chocolate and two mugs as he bustled past on his way to the kitchen. Harry briefly wondered where Kreacher was, and hoped he was having a good long rest.
Luna made quiet observations about the day, but Harry didn’t really take any of them in, though he made vague answers. It was over, it was really over. And this sandwich was chicken, with a thick layer of good butter.
‘Harry?’ Luna was looking at him patiently.
‘Sorry, I think my brain’s full.’
‘I’m not going to make any jokes about that,’ she told him gently. ‘Are you all right?’
Harry shrugged. ‘Mostly. I’m just …’ He sighed as his thoughts shifted from woolly to clear. ‘I’m wondering what on earth I can say to Andromeda Tonks.’
Luna took his hand and squeezed it companionably. They sat in silence for a few minutes, then she stood up. ‘Coming inside?’ she asked.
‘Not yet.’
She squeezed his hand once more before heading back inside. Harry tried to make himself follow her. He had responsibilities. He needed to talk to Ginny. People expected to see him.
It was no good. He wasn’t ready to sit with the living yet, and he certainly wasn’t up to seeing the dead. He chose the middle ground.
‘Back so soon?’ asked Dumbledore’s portrait as Harry entered the Headmaster’s study.
‘’Fraid so,’ Harry said wryly.
‘My dear boy, is everything all right?’
Harry took comfort in the fact that Dumbledore’s eyes seemed as twinkling and as compassionate as ever. ‘It will be,’ he answered. ‘I just wish we could have done it without such a horrible cost.’
The old man in the painting nodded in agreement. ‘Oh Harry, you are quite right. It was my generation that failed yours; the time was out of joint long before you were born to set it right. If only we could have seen it, and spared you.’
‘Useless rabbiting on about regrets at this point, you old fool,’ muttered Phineas Nigellus from his frame. ‘Unless you’re going to send him back in time, what’s done is done!’
‘If only,’ snorted Harry.
‘Phineas!’ said Dumbledore sharply. ‘Hold your tongue.’
Harry frowned as he watched the silent argument between the portraits, waged with threatening eyebrows and belligerent chins.
‘Hang on … are you telling me …’
‘It’s nothing, Harry,’ Dumbledore assured him. ‘A phantom hope, like the Resurrection Stone.
Phineas gave a cough of disgust. ‘Just tell him! It’s in the cupboard, boy, middle shelf, at the back.’
Curious enough to ignore Dumbledore’s head shakes, Harry made his way to the cupboard indicated by Phineas’s crooked finger and searched among the shelves. Though many artefacts had been disturbed by recent events, there were still treasures enough to be found. And very quickly he came upon the one that Phineas must mean.
Harry knew the shape: he and Hermione had used a far smaller version to replay an evening and save Sirius. But the Time-Turner he took from the cupboard was several times the size of that one.
He held it up to Phineas’s frame. ‘How far back can this take me?’
‘As far as you’d like, lad!’
‘Phineas!’ Dumbledore snapped. ‘Harry, it’s too dangerous.’
‘Nonsense, Albus, look what the boy has accomplished. He’s remarkable, just as you always said. If anyone can do it, he can!’
‘Harry …’ Dumbledore’s voice was kind. ‘Think of what it could mean to change history. All that you know, all that you have done, all of it could disappear.’
Harry thought. He thought of a lost childhood, locked in tiny rooms without charity. He thought of those he had grown close to, and had snatched away each time. He thought of Sirius: bold and brave and doomed and alone. He thought of Hedwig, of Dobby, of his parents …
He thought of all the dead and mourning people in the hall below him. Even the Malfoys -- Voldemort had nearly destroyed them, too, he realised. What if he had taken Draco Malfoy's hand on that train or at Madam Malkin's? No, that would not have saved them from this ending. And there would have been no point trying to save his parents that Halloween; Voldemort would have just killed him as well without Lily's sacrifice. No, that would not change the world so that it could still contain a living Fred, or Tonks or Lupin. But … an idea occurred to Harry. Yes, he realised. Yes, there was a point, a single moment, when everything could have turned out differently.
Dumbledore entreated him silently, with a face both grave and trusting. Harry looked at him for a moment, then made up his mind. He turned the device in his hands ...
* Commenters who wish to write the next chapter of the TTF should leave a comment saying MINE NEXT.
* The FIRST such commenter will become the next writer. Please check all comments above yours. If this commenter defaults, the chapter will go to the next in the queue, or be re-advertised.
* Each writer MUST read through the TTF Introductory Post and accept all the conditions within.
* It is the writer's responsibility to contact the mod team at azkatrazathome@gmail.com within ONE HOUR to confirm that the next chapter is being written. This is also the best time to advise the mod team if you will require leeway on any story elements or on the time frame.
* All writers are asked to submit their chapters of no fewer than 200 words (with a recommended maximum of 1500) in the approved format within TWO HOURS. An additional hour will be granted if required. All fics will be reviewed and may be edited for consistency, characterisation and, possibly, British styles.
* Remember, no common squicks or hard NC17, and if your characters start shagging, they must stop before you pass the fic on.
Title: The Other Turn
Author: blamebrampton
Chapter: One
Rating: (this chapter) G
Pairing(s): None
Warnings: None
Word Count:(this chapter) 1212
Author's Notes: Go forth, have fun, try not to break anything or anyone unless the narrative absolutely requires it.
They were all in the Great Hall when Harry returned from burying the Elder Wand; all the survivors, talking among themselves. The euphoria of the morning had mellowed and now people were gathered in small groups, drinking tea, hot chocolate, and in some cases something stronger.
Tables were being cleared in preparation for lunch, and minor wounds were still being dressed. Harry was surprised to see Narcissa and Draco Malfoy rolling bandages under the supervision of Madam Pomfrey, while Lucius glowered nearby. He almost laughed, but he owed Narcissa something, and if that was forgiveness, then so be it.
In a quieter corner of the Hall, Ron sat with Hermione, a little away from his family, the two of them leaning against each other. Molly and Arthur Weasley clutched each other’s hands, while Percy and Ginny tried to convince George to drink from a cup of tea.
Harry looked away from their private sorrow. He was not ready to join in their mourning and provide what comfort he could. Not yet. A few more minutes of quiet in the shadows by the door, and then he would walk in, become a part of the public world again.
‘Do you need a sandwich?’
Harry nearly leapt from his skin at the whisper behind him. He spun about, and was instantly relieved. ‘Luna - don’t do that!’
She was laughing, but silently, so no one would look their way. ‘Sorry, you were looking so serious, I couldn’t decide if you were hungry or about to cry, and sandwiches help either way.’
‘I am hungry,’ Harry confessed.
‘I do have sandwiches, and we can ask a house-elf for hot chocolate.’
Harry knew he would regret asking, but: ‘Where did you get sandwiches?’
Luna smiled. ‘I packed them yesterday at Shell Cottage. I put a freshening spell on them. They’re a bit squashed, but they’re still good.’
‘Of course you did.’
She patted his arm. ‘You never know when you might need a sandwich, Harry. If we’d had more time during the battle, I’d have eaten them by now.’
‘Well, I’m glad you didn’t.’
She beamed at him. ‘Come on, there’s a good part of the Entrance Hall still intact, and a nice bit of rubble to use as a seat.’
‘Thank you,’ Harry said, trying to fit years into the words.
‘That’s all right,’ Luna replied over her shoulder.
The Entrance Hall rubble provided both seat and table, and the two of them sat quietly munching as they listened to the business behind them. A house-elf gave them a pot of hot chocolate and two mugs as he bustled past on his way to the kitchen. Harry briefly wondered where Kreacher was, and hoped he was having a good long rest.
Luna made quiet observations about the day, but Harry didn’t really take any of them in, though he made vague answers. It was over, it was really over. And this sandwich was chicken, with a thick layer of good butter.
‘Harry?’ Luna was looking at him patiently.
‘Sorry, I think my brain’s full.’
‘I’m not going to make any jokes about that,’ she told him gently. ‘Are you all right?’
Harry shrugged. ‘Mostly. I’m just …’ He sighed as his thoughts shifted from woolly to clear. ‘I’m wondering what on earth I can say to Andromeda Tonks.’
Luna took his hand and squeezed it companionably. They sat in silence for a few minutes, then she stood up. ‘Coming inside?’ she asked.
‘Not yet.’
She squeezed his hand once more before heading back inside. Harry tried to make himself follow her. He had responsibilities. He needed to talk to Ginny. People expected to see him.
It was no good. He wasn’t ready to sit with the living yet, and he certainly wasn’t up to seeing the dead. He chose the middle ground.
‘Back so soon?’ asked Dumbledore’s portrait as Harry entered the Headmaster’s study.
‘’Fraid so,’ Harry said wryly.
‘My dear boy, is everything all right?’
Harry took comfort in the fact that Dumbledore’s eyes seemed as twinkling and as compassionate as ever. ‘It will be,’ he answered. ‘I just wish we could have done it without such a horrible cost.’
The old man in the painting nodded in agreement. ‘Oh Harry, you are quite right. It was my generation that failed yours; the time was out of joint long before you were born to set it right. If only we could have seen it, and spared you.’
‘Useless rabbiting on about regrets at this point, you old fool,’ muttered Phineas Nigellus from his frame. ‘Unless you’re going to send him back in time, what’s done is done!’
‘If only,’ snorted Harry.
‘Phineas!’ said Dumbledore sharply. ‘Hold your tongue.’
Harry frowned as he watched the silent argument between the portraits, waged with threatening eyebrows and belligerent chins.
‘Hang on … are you telling me …’
‘It’s nothing, Harry,’ Dumbledore assured him. ‘A phantom hope, like the Resurrection Stone.
Phineas gave a cough of disgust. ‘Just tell him! It’s in the cupboard, boy, middle shelf, at the back.’
Curious enough to ignore Dumbledore’s head shakes, Harry made his way to the cupboard indicated by Phineas’s crooked finger and searched among the shelves. Though many artefacts had been disturbed by recent events, there were still treasures enough to be found. And very quickly he came upon the one that Phineas must mean.
Harry knew the shape: he and Hermione had used a far smaller version to replay an evening and save Sirius. But the Time-Turner he took from the cupboard was several times the size of that one.
He held it up to Phineas’s frame. ‘How far back can this take me?’
‘As far as you’d like, lad!’
‘Phineas!’ Dumbledore snapped. ‘Harry, it’s too dangerous.’
‘Nonsense, Albus, look what the boy has accomplished. He’s remarkable, just as you always said. If anyone can do it, he can!’
‘Harry …’ Dumbledore’s voice was kind. ‘Think of what it could mean to change history. All that you know, all that you have done, all of it could disappear.’
Harry thought. He thought of a lost childhood, locked in tiny rooms without charity. He thought of those he had grown close to, and had snatched away each time. He thought of Sirius: bold and brave and doomed and alone. He thought of Hedwig, of Dobby, of his parents …
He thought of all the dead and mourning people in the hall below him. Even the Malfoys -- Voldemort had nearly destroyed them, too, he realised. What if he had taken Draco Malfoy's hand on that train or at Madam Malkin's? No, that would not have saved them from this ending. And there would have been no point trying to save his parents that Halloween; Voldemort would have just killed him as well without Lily's sacrifice. No, that would not change the world so that it could still contain a living Fred, or Tonks or Lupin. But … an idea occurred to Harry. Yes, he realised. Yes, there was a point, a single moment, when everything could have turned out differently.
Dumbledore entreated him silently, with a face both grave and trusting. Harry looked at him for a moment, then made up his mind. He turned the device in his hands ...