Interim Competition: Voting Polls
Below the cut you'll find the Interim Competition drabbles and polls. Happy Reading!
Please make sure to:
- Vote for each drabble using the 1-10 scale (10 being the highest mark).
- If you're a participant, you must vote for every drabble but your own.
- Please vote for all the drabbles, if you don't none of your scores will count.
- If you make a mistake when voting, don't try and vote again. Instead, email us at genhpmods@gmail.com and we'll fix your votes accordingly.
- Feedback for our wonderful authors is welcomed and appreciated. There's a zero tolerance policy on flaming or bitching. So play nicely.
Mod miss_daizy will be out of town starting early tomorrow morning with spotty internet time (who needs internet when you're at the Harry Potter Theme Park!) so please direct all question or concerns to pili204.
Drabble #1
Title: Some Things Are Best Left Unknown
Rating: PG
Word Count: 457
It was not strange at all to find Hermione Granger in the library, buried in a pile of books. But upon closer look, those books were all about death and the afterlife.
Ron blinked, then frowned. Now that was strange.
"Hermione?"
She jerked upright. "What - oh, Ron, it's you."
He walked over and picked up one of the books on 'The Mystic of Life After Death'. "Blimey, since when did you get so uptight about dying?"
"No, no," said Hermione, hastily taking the book from Ron. "It's not me."
"Thank goodness, I had an image of you wearing those batty glasses of Trelawney's in thirty years' time." When she didn't smile, his eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute, you aren't reading up because Harry got you to, are you?"
"He didn't ask me to," Hermione mumbled. Then she looked back at Ron earnestly. "But I'm sure we can-"
"Hermione, we can't bring them back.”
“I don’t know.” Hermione sank into her seat. “Maybe there might be something that could at least be of comfort to Harry...”
“Like what?” Ron scoffed. “Jam and scones for those who enter?”
Hermione shot him a disapproving look.
“What? Does he think he’s the only one who’s sad that Sirius and Dumbledore are gone?”
“You’re not to tell him-”
“Bloody hell, Hermione, it’s Sirius’ death anniversary today and I’m not going to have you give Harry hope that there’s a possibility of bringing those two back.”
“Who said I was ever going to do such a thing? I’ll have to do the comprehensive research myself before I come to any conclusion about-”
Ron took the book out of her hands. “What Harry needs now isn’t all this rubbish about what happens after death, or whether Sirius, or even Dumbledore, is doing good down there. What he needs now is to move on, that’s what.”
“He’s been having all these nightmares, Ron.” Hermione’s voice was trembling. “And we can’t do anything.”
“Well, frankly speaking, that’s his fate, ain’t it?”
“Ron-”
“Hermione, we promised him.” Ron’s voice was cracking. “We promised him that we’d leave school behind to help him fulfill his being the Chosen One, to find those Horcruxes and kill Voldemort. But it’s Harry who’s got to do it. That’s what he’s got to do. If anything - don’t you get it - it’s these people’s deaths that are motivating him to carry this out!”
There was a long silence.
Then Hermione wiped her face clumsily. “Since when did you obtain so much common sense?”
Ron puffed out his chest for a moment, then sighed. “No, I haven’t got much of that yet. I’m just not feeling particularly sympathetic towards someone who just dumped my sister. That son of a...”
Drabble #2
Title: Four Feet
Rating: PG
Word Count: 387
A/N(optional): The poem below is entitled “Four Feet” and is the property of Rudyard Kipling. I do not own any of this - it's all JK's.
June 1997
Remus found the glass before him empty again and he tipped the amber coloured liquid to refill it. The ache of his joints belied his age and affirmed that the moon was again on the rise. Soon, too soon, he would run alone.
But, tonight he needed silence and solace.
Grief was now his constant companion, and losing Sirius ripped at healed-over wounds. The pocked and puckered marks on his skin were nothing compared to the black lead that weighed on his chest. His heart pounded, though his hands steady. The glass found its way to his lips again and he drank. The world looked gold through whisky and the warmth lessened the empty ache. He thought if he turned his head quick he might see a black dog lying in the corner, a beautiful redhead tossing her head back in laughter, and the firelight reflecting off a pair of spectacles.
“Poetry. We should have poetry.” He spoke to the ghosts in the room though they had long moved on to wait him out on the other side of the veil. The small book was easily found inside of the rucksack he carried. He fumbled his way back to the chair in front of the fire and drank long from the bottle.
The pages moved slowly one by one - like years, he thought, one by one - until he found the words he’d been looking for.
“Day after day, the whole day through--
Wherever my road inclined--
Four-Feet said, 'I am coming with you!'
And trotted along behind.”
Remus heard the whispers of soft paws moving across the wood floor. He tipped the bottle to his lips and drank deeply. His tear-filled voice cracked as he read on.
“Now I must go by some other round--
Which I shall never find--
Somewhere that does not carry the sound
Of Four-Feet trotting behind.”
Remus held the bottle up in a silent salute and then with careful deliberation sat it down beside the empty glass. His breathing slowed as he rubbed his hands over his face. And as his troubled thoughts gave way to sleep, the ghostly black dog slid his head under the man’s hand before resting his head on Remus’ knee. He would keep watch until it was time for Remus to come home.
Drabble #3
Title: Raise a glass.
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 256
A/N(optional):
Hogwarts: A History
A lot has been said, and even more has been written, about the momentous and life changing moments which shaped the war and the Wizarding world which emerged from it. But, I felt it fitting that this section of the revised edition of ‘Hogwarts: A History’ pay tribute to the individual souls who lost their lives along the way. Some have been mentioned in various sections in this very tome but others have been overshadowed by major events, other people or simply the passage of time. As I write this final section I beg the reader’s indulgence as I deviate from academic objectivity and address each of you directly. Do not forget the quiet couple who lost years and their chance at a ‘happily ever after’. Do not forget the chatty neighbour who mysteriously disappeared on a stormy October evening. Raise a glass amongst friends and family, as I myself have done this very night, and remember the joker who brought laughter to the halls of Hogwarts while he was sheltered as a student there. Remember the tragedy that left that man languishing in a joyless place. Remember the tragedy that took him from this world just as he, and others, had a chance for redemption and happiness.
Take a moment, raise a glass and remember the individuals who have all impacted and influenced this new world in which we find ourselves.
Their smiles, their laughter, their courage and their sacrifices help to hold the walls of ‘Hogwarts’ strong and true.
Page 2360
Drabble #4
Title: Untitled
Rating: G
Word Count: 477
A/N(optional): Thanks to my beta!
Ron woke with a start, gasping for breath and his heart beating rapidly. He looked over at Hermione sleeping peacefully and then sat up. The remnants of his odd dream were still rattling in his head and he knew it would be a while before he went back to sleep. He swung his legs over the bed, stood and stretched. He quietly padded out the room into their small kitchen where he turned on the light with a wave of his hand.
He went straight to the cabinet, reached up to grab a glass and filled it with water. His glass now full of water, Ron turned around, leaned against the counter top, and thought about the dream.
In the dream he was in the center of a dark, circular room. All around him were normal looking doors that were open and in each of the doorways was a disturbing scene. Hermione was in one, reaching out to him, appearing to shout out his name, but no sound came out her mouth. Harry was in another, his back to Ron, and yelling “Crucio” over and over. Neville was two doors down dancing a funny jig with a look of abject terror on his face. Sirius was just standing in front of another door and kept appearing and disappearing. His sister’s body was laying, lifeless, in another and Luna stood in one, bloody all over, at the ready. The most terrifying aspect of the dream was not these oddities; it was the fact that he was in the center of his friends and was laughing. Hysterically. Why, would he be laughing when it appeared that all of his friends were in pain?
Unable to find a rational solution to his dream, Ron’s eyes roamed the small kitchen until his eyes landed on the calendar posted on the refrigerator. Last night’s date was circled in red ink and inside was written “Dinner with Harry.” It was then Ron realized why he’d had the strange dream.
Last night was the10th anniversary of Sirius’ death and Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all went out to have dinner with Harry so he wasn’t alone. Sirius’ death was the big elephant in the room that no one wanted to talk about, but was the reason why everyone was together. The dream made sense to him now. While he didn’t fully remember all of the events of that night, he must have retained more than he thought. His dream was his memory of that night, mixed in with events that were told to him.
Sighing, he placed his cup on the counter top, looked at the silver scars on his arm and shook his head. It had been ten years since Sirius and 7 years from the Battle of Hogwarts. It seemed like the scars from Voldemort’s reign of terror were never going to fade.
Drabble #5
Title: Wanted For Murder by Suffocation
Rating: PG
Word Count: 500
A/N(optional): As misleading as the title is, this drabble is not about Peter Pettigrew.
Hissing Silencio, Mrs. Weasley shut herself in her room and let her tears fall. She didn’t want to disturb Harry in his mourning, or worry Arthur, the dear. Oh, if only I wasn’t so hard on him, she moaned internally. He’s so sweet, why do I always have to be the bossy uptight one, the one that’s right but not heeded until it’s far too late…
Ginny, Ron, Harry- all there, all with only five (four, for Ginny!) years of muddled Defensive magic against skilled, conscienceless Dark Wizards?!
It took Sirius to die for them to realize how abysmally-!
Hadn’t she told them to stay in school, to stay safe, to respect their lives? During perceived danger, the last thing they’d remember was their mother, brave, rash souls they all were. She was a Gryffindor, too; she knew how it was. Yet, first and foremost, she’d always be a mother…
Maybe she ought to stop mothering altogether! Warning Sirius, insisting he stay in Grimmauld Place, curb himself, even grow up, had done nothing but make him sour in his Azkaban-free days. He still encouraged the children to fan their flaming spirits, tried to resurrect the glory days, refused to listen- and then... then look what happened…
It’s all no use, she thought, blowing her nose quietly. If I just stopped at cooking their food and making their beds, they’d all like me better for it.
“Mrs. Weasley?” called an unfamiliar, unfocused voice. Molly rapidly unsheathed her handkerchief and attempted to mop up the evidence. “You oughtn’t mourn alone. Father tried that for awhile- it wasn’t good for him at all.”
“Mourn? I know I’m a horrible, selfish person, but honestly… I’m not really mourning Sirius,” she confessed to this strange person, angel-like with her otherworldly apparel and haloed in dirty blonde hair. “I’m just mourning… something else lost with him.”
“Well, if people truly mourned the person, no one would fuss like this. People in death are happier than we in mourning,” said the girl simply, squatting beside Molly and offering her own handkerchief. “Here, this one’s imbrued with Nargle-disinfectant. Nargles muddle the mind, see,” the girl added at Molly’s confused hesitation, “which is simply no good when you’re already upset.”
“Thank you,” the Weasley matriarch replied automatically, indeed feeling marginally better as she accepted the proffered gift.
“Harry Potter lost a connection to his parents, his parents all over again really, and three years after it he can properly mourn without the worries of war. What do you ail from?”
“I just- I realized now, should’ve years ago- that- nobody wants mothers anymore. Everyone’s all grown, and self-willed, and I don’t have any place in the world.”
“My name is Luna Lovegood, and I want a mum,” Luna stated without any tone variation. “I’ve wanted one ever since I was twelve.”
“You do?” Molly sniffled, suddenly ashamed at falling to pieces before Ginny’s more pitiable peer.
“Everyone does,” Luna declared, suddenly firm. “Now go downstairs. Harry needs his, too.”
Drabble #6
Title: What Might Have Been
Rating: G
Word Count: 500
A/N(optional): Hover your cursor over the French phrases to see the English translation.
Looking out the window of Shell Cottage, Fleur's keen blue eyes watched her husband amble aimlessly along the beach. Tucker, their dog, ran alongside him, yapping happily and chasing seagulls, though Bill paid neither beast nor bird any heed. He was there, on their beach, but his mind was a million miles away.
Dominique was down for her nap, and Victoire was spending the day with Gabrielle, leaving Fleur was a bit of peace and quiet; a rarity in any Weasley household. It was a nice reprieve, though she did enjoy having her girls around to pepper their Papa with kisses, each clamoring to be the first to leap into his arms when he came home.
With a heavy sigh, she summoned her wrap- there was always a breeze blowing in from the water- and slipped out the back door.
So caught up in his thoughts was he, Bill didn't even notice her coming down the sloping back yard until she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.
"Chéri, what is ze matter?" she asked, tilting her head back to look at him.
His brow furrowed, and he frowned as he looked down at her. "Fleur, you shouldn't be out here. The baby-"
His wife shook her head. "Non, eet ees alright, Bill. Ze 'ealer said so. You must not worry so much."
Bill stopped their forward progression and turned to face her, letting one calloused hand drift down to rest on her swelling stomach. "I can't help it," he admitted softly. "Especially today. I just can't help but think about it."
Fleur didn't need him to extrapolate. She knew all too well the nightmares that plagued him. They were the same ones that haunted her own sleep. "Eet ees normal zat you are scared," she replied. "Je suis effrayée aussi. But..." she trailed off and took his hand, entwining their fingers together, "everyzing will be alright, chéri."
"It's been ten years," he said abruptly. "I... I didn't realize so much time had past." Glancing out towards the sea, he continued, "S'why I came home, you know. Ron, Ginny... they almost died. Sirius did die. And yet, all I could think about was how I'd failed to protect my little brother and sister. Not that a man, a good man, had died."
"Bill," she said patiently, "you 'ardly knew 'im. And zere ees no shame in wanting to protect Ron and Ginny. Eet ees no different for me with Gabrielle. But do not blame yourself because you were not 'ere, d'accord? You do not know what would 'ave 'appened."
He sighed and gave a resigned nod. "I know." Looking back towards her, he mustered a small, crooked smile. "I love you."
"Je t'adore aussi," she murmured, leaning in close to press a kiss to his jaw. Drawing back, she gave him a little smile. "Now come. Dominique will awake soon, and she will be wanting 'er Papa."
And with that, Bill let Fleur lead him back home.
Poll Interim Competition
Please make sure to:
- Vote for each drabble using the 1-10 scale (10 being the highest mark).
- If you're a participant, you must vote for every drabble but your own.
- Please vote for all the drabbles, if you don't none of your scores will count.
- If you make a mistake when voting, don't try and vote again. Instead, email us at genhpmods@gmail.com and we'll fix your votes accordingly.
- Feedback for our wonderful authors is welcomed and appreciated. There's a zero tolerance policy on flaming or bitching. So play nicely.
Mod miss_daizy will be out of town starting early tomorrow morning with spotty internet time (who needs internet when you're at the Harry Potter Theme Park!) so please direct all question or concerns to pili204.
Drabble #1
Title: Some Things Are Best Left Unknown
Rating: PG
Word Count: 457
It was not strange at all to find Hermione Granger in the library, buried in a pile of books. But upon closer look, those books were all about death and the afterlife.
Ron blinked, then frowned. Now that was strange.
"Hermione?"
She jerked upright. "What - oh, Ron, it's you."
He walked over and picked up one of the books on 'The Mystic of Life After Death'. "Blimey, since when did you get so uptight about dying?"
"No, no," said Hermione, hastily taking the book from Ron. "It's not me."
"Thank goodness, I had an image of you wearing those batty glasses of Trelawney's in thirty years' time." When she didn't smile, his eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute, you aren't reading up because Harry got you to, are you?"
"He didn't ask me to," Hermione mumbled. Then she looked back at Ron earnestly. "But I'm sure we can-"
"Hermione, we can't bring them back.”
“I don’t know.” Hermione sank into her seat. “Maybe there might be something that could at least be of comfort to Harry...”
“Like what?” Ron scoffed. “Jam and scones for those who enter?”
Hermione shot him a disapproving look.
“What? Does he think he’s the only one who’s sad that Sirius and Dumbledore are gone?”
“You’re not to tell him-”
“Bloody hell, Hermione, it’s Sirius’ death anniversary today and I’m not going to have you give Harry hope that there’s a possibility of bringing those two back.”
“Who said I was ever going to do such a thing? I’ll have to do the comprehensive research myself before I come to any conclusion about-”
Ron took the book out of her hands. “What Harry needs now isn’t all this rubbish about what happens after death, or whether Sirius, or even Dumbledore, is doing good down there. What he needs now is to move on, that’s what.”
“He’s been having all these nightmares, Ron.” Hermione’s voice was trembling. “And we can’t do anything.”
“Well, frankly speaking, that’s his fate, ain’t it?”
“Ron-”
“Hermione, we promised him.” Ron’s voice was cracking. “We promised him that we’d leave school behind to help him fulfill his being the Chosen One, to find those Horcruxes and kill Voldemort. But it’s Harry who’s got to do it. That’s what he’s got to do. If anything - don’t you get it - it’s these people’s deaths that are motivating him to carry this out!”
There was a long silence.
Then Hermione wiped her face clumsily. “Since when did you obtain so much common sense?”
Ron puffed out his chest for a moment, then sighed. “No, I haven’t got much of that yet. I’m just not feeling particularly sympathetic towards someone who just dumped my sister. That son of a...”
Drabble #2
Title: Four Feet
Rating: PG
Word Count: 387
A/N(optional): The poem below is entitled “Four Feet” and is the property of Rudyard Kipling. I do not own any of this - it's all JK's.
June 1997
Remus found the glass before him empty again and he tipped the amber coloured liquid to refill it. The ache of his joints belied his age and affirmed that the moon was again on the rise. Soon, too soon, he would run alone.
But, tonight he needed silence and solace.
Grief was now his constant companion, and losing Sirius ripped at healed-over wounds. The pocked and puckered marks on his skin were nothing compared to the black lead that weighed on his chest. His heart pounded, though his hands steady. The glass found its way to his lips again and he drank. The world looked gold through whisky and the warmth lessened the empty ache. He thought if he turned his head quick he might see a black dog lying in the corner, a beautiful redhead tossing her head back in laughter, and the firelight reflecting off a pair of spectacles.
“Poetry. We should have poetry.” He spoke to the ghosts in the room though they had long moved on to wait him out on the other side of the veil. The small book was easily found inside of the rucksack he carried. He fumbled his way back to the chair in front of the fire and drank long from the bottle.
The pages moved slowly one by one - like years, he thought, one by one - until he found the words he’d been looking for.
“Day after day, the whole day through--
Wherever my road inclined--
Four-Feet said, 'I am coming with you!'
And trotted along behind.”
Remus heard the whispers of soft paws moving across the wood floor. He tipped the bottle to his lips and drank deeply. His tear-filled voice cracked as he read on.
“Now I must go by some other round--
Which I shall never find--
Somewhere that does not carry the sound
Of Four-Feet trotting behind.”
Remus held the bottle up in a silent salute and then with careful deliberation sat it down beside the empty glass. His breathing slowed as he rubbed his hands over his face. And as his troubled thoughts gave way to sleep, the ghostly black dog slid his head under the man’s hand before resting his head on Remus’ knee. He would keep watch until it was time for Remus to come home.
Drabble #3
Title: Raise a glass.
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 256
A/N(optional):
Hogwarts: A History
A lot has been said, and even more has been written, about the momentous and life changing moments which shaped the war and the Wizarding world which emerged from it. But, I felt it fitting that this section of the revised edition of ‘Hogwarts: A History’ pay tribute to the individual souls who lost their lives along the way. Some have been mentioned in various sections in this very tome but others have been overshadowed by major events, other people or simply the passage of time. As I write this final section I beg the reader’s indulgence as I deviate from academic objectivity and address each of you directly. Do not forget the quiet couple who lost years and their chance at a ‘happily ever after’. Do not forget the chatty neighbour who mysteriously disappeared on a stormy October evening. Raise a glass amongst friends and family, as I myself have done this very night, and remember the joker who brought laughter to the halls of Hogwarts while he was sheltered as a student there. Remember the tragedy that left that man languishing in a joyless place. Remember the tragedy that took him from this world just as he, and others, had a chance for redemption and happiness.
Take a moment, raise a glass and remember the individuals who have all impacted and influenced this new world in which we find ourselves.
Their smiles, their laughter, their courage and their sacrifices help to hold the walls of ‘Hogwarts’ strong and true.
Page 2360
Drabble #4
Title: Untitled
Rating: G
Word Count: 477
A/N(optional): Thanks to my beta!
Ron woke with a start, gasping for breath and his heart beating rapidly. He looked over at Hermione sleeping peacefully and then sat up. The remnants of his odd dream were still rattling in his head and he knew it would be a while before he went back to sleep. He swung his legs over the bed, stood and stretched. He quietly padded out the room into their small kitchen where he turned on the light with a wave of his hand.
He went straight to the cabinet, reached up to grab a glass and filled it with water. His glass now full of water, Ron turned around, leaned against the counter top, and thought about the dream.
In the dream he was in the center of a dark, circular room. All around him were normal looking doors that were open and in each of the doorways was a disturbing scene. Hermione was in one, reaching out to him, appearing to shout out his name, but no sound came out her mouth. Harry was in another, his back to Ron, and yelling “Crucio” over and over. Neville was two doors down dancing a funny jig with a look of abject terror on his face. Sirius was just standing in front of another door and kept appearing and disappearing. His sister’s body was laying, lifeless, in another and Luna stood in one, bloody all over, at the ready. The most terrifying aspect of the dream was not these oddities; it was the fact that he was in the center of his friends and was laughing. Hysterically. Why, would he be laughing when it appeared that all of his friends were in pain?
Unable to find a rational solution to his dream, Ron’s eyes roamed the small kitchen until his eyes landed on the calendar posted on the refrigerator. Last night’s date was circled in red ink and inside was written “Dinner with Harry.” It was then Ron realized why he’d had the strange dream.
Last night was the10th anniversary of Sirius’ death and Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all went out to have dinner with Harry so he wasn’t alone. Sirius’ death was the big elephant in the room that no one wanted to talk about, but was the reason why everyone was together. The dream made sense to him now. While he didn’t fully remember all of the events of that night, he must have retained more than he thought. His dream was his memory of that night, mixed in with events that were told to him.
Sighing, he placed his cup on the counter top, looked at the silver scars on his arm and shook his head. It had been ten years since Sirius and 7 years from the Battle of Hogwarts. It seemed like the scars from Voldemort’s reign of terror were never going to fade.
Drabble #5
Title: Wanted For Murder by Suffocation
Rating: PG
Word Count: 500
A/N(optional): As misleading as the title is, this drabble is not about Peter Pettigrew.
Hissing Silencio, Mrs. Weasley shut herself in her room and let her tears fall. She didn’t want to disturb Harry in his mourning, or worry Arthur, the dear. Oh, if only I wasn’t so hard on him, she moaned internally. He’s so sweet, why do I always have to be the bossy uptight one, the one that’s right but not heeded until it’s far too late…
Ginny, Ron, Harry- all there, all with only five (four, for Ginny!) years of muddled Defensive magic against skilled, conscienceless Dark Wizards?!
It took Sirius to die for them to realize how abysmally-!
Hadn’t she told them to stay in school, to stay safe, to respect their lives? During perceived danger, the last thing they’d remember was their mother, brave, rash souls they all were. She was a Gryffindor, too; she knew how it was. Yet, first and foremost, she’d always be a mother…
Maybe she ought to stop mothering altogether! Warning Sirius, insisting he stay in Grimmauld Place, curb himself, even grow up, had done nothing but make him sour in his Azkaban-free days. He still encouraged the children to fan their flaming spirits, tried to resurrect the glory days, refused to listen- and then... then look what happened…
It’s all no use, she thought, blowing her nose quietly. If I just stopped at cooking their food and making their beds, they’d all like me better for it.
“Mrs. Weasley?” called an unfamiliar, unfocused voice. Molly rapidly unsheathed her handkerchief and attempted to mop up the evidence. “You oughtn’t mourn alone. Father tried that for awhile- it wasn’t good for him at all.”
“Mourn? I know I’m a horrible, selfish person, but honestly… I’m not really mourning Sirius,” she confessed to this strange person, angel-like with her otherworldly apparel and haloed in dirty blonde hair. “I’m just mourning… something else lost with him.”
“Well, if people truly mourned the person, no one would fuss like this. People in death are happier than we in mourning,” said the girl simply, squatting beside Molly and offering her own handkerchief. “Here, this one’s imbrued with Nargle-disinfectant. Nargles muddle the mind, see,” the girl added at Molly’s confused hesitation, “which is simply no good when you’re already upset.”
“Thank you,” the Weasley matriarch replied automatically, indeed feeling marginally better as she accepted the proffered gift.
“Harry Potter lost a connection to his parents, his parents all over again really, and three years after it he can properly mourn without the worries of war. What do you ail from?”
“I just- I realized now, should’ve years ago- that- nobody wants mothers anymore. Everyone’s all grown, and self-willed, and I don’t have any place in the world.”
“My name is Luna Lovegood, and I want a mum,” Luna stated without any tone variation. “I’ve wanted one ever since I was twelve.”
“You do?” Molly sniffled, suddenly ashamed at falling to pieces before Ginny’s more pitiable peer.
“Everyone does,” Luna declared, suddenly firm. “Now go downstairs. Harry needs his, too.”
Drabble #6
Title: What Might Have Been
Rating: G
Word Count: 500
A/N(optional): Hover your cursor over the French phrases to see the English translation.
Looking out the window of Shell Cottage, Fleur's keen blue eyes watched her husband amble aimlessly along the beach. Tucker, their dog, ran alongside him, yapping happily and chasing seagulls, though Bill paid neither beast nor bird any heed. He was there, on their beach, but his mind was a million miles away.
Dominique was down for her nap, and Victoire was spending the day with Gabrielle, leaving Fleur was a bit of peace and quiet; a rarity in any Weasley household. It was a nice reprieve, though she did enjoy having her girls around to pepper their Papa with kisses, each clamoring to be the first to leap into his arms when he came home.
With a heavy sigh, she summoned her wrap- there was always a breeze blowing in from the water- and slipped out the back door.
So caught up in his thoughts was he, Bill didn't even notice her coming down the sloping back yard until she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.
"Chéri, what is ze matter?" she asked, tilting her head back to look at him.
His brow furrowed, and he frowned as he looked down at her. "Fleur, you shouldn't be out here. The baby-"
His wife shook her head. "Non, eet ees alright, Bill. Ze 'ealer said so. You must not worry so much."
Bill stopped their forward progression and turned to face her, letting one calloused hand drift down to rest on her swelling stomach. "I can't help it," he admitted softly. "Especially today. I just can't help but think about it."
Fleur didn't need him to extrapolate. She knew all too well the nightmares that plagued him. They were the same ones that haunted her own sleep. "Eet ees normal zat you are scared," she replied. "Je suis effrayée aussi. But..." she trailed off and took his hand, entwining their fingers together, "everyzing will be alright, chéri."
"It's been ten years," he said abruptly. "I... I didn't realize so much time had past." Glancing out towards the sea, he continued, "S'why I came home, you know. Ron, Ginny... they almost died. Sirius did die. And yet, all I could think about was how I'd failed to protect my little brother and sister. Not that a man, a good man, had died."
"Bill," she said patiently, "you 'ardly knew 'im. And zere ees no shame in wanting to protect Ron and Ginny. Eet ees no different for me with Gabrielle. But do not blame yourself because you were not 'ere, d'accord? You do not know what would 'ave 'appened."
He sighed and gave a resigned nod. "I know." Looking back towards her, he mustered a small, crooked smile. "I love you."
"Je t'adore aussi," she murmured, leaning in close to press a kiss to his jaw. Drawing back, she gave him a little smile. "Now come. Dominique will awake soon, and she will be wanting 'er Papa."
And with that, Bill let Fleur lead him back home.
Poll Interim Competition