Pinch-hitting: Fics for pinkwonderriffic
TITLE: Festive
SHIP: R/Hr
WORD COUNT: 128
PROMPT: Red and Green
As was customary in the Weasley household, that year each child received their own knitted jumper from Mrs Weasley. As was customary, she made sure each jumper went to its intended recipient by the large, obnoxious letter embroidered on the front. And as was customary, she picked an especially horrendous colour for Ron.
"Puke green," he announced with resignation, shrugging it on because of course, as was customary, Mrs Weasley wanted pictures.
"It's called olive green, Ron," Hermione told him.
"Puked out olive green."
"Ron."
"What?"
"I like the colour on you," Hermione said, cheeks turning a shade of red that had been customarily associated with the Weasleys.
"You think so?" Ron asked, perking up slightly.
Hermione's lips curled up, leaning in a little, her own bright red Weasley jumper brushing against Ron's. "It's very.. festive," she murmured, just close enough to feel Ron grin against her lips.
TITLE: One White Day
SHIP: Cedric/Hermione-ish
WORD COUNT: 585 words
PROMPT: White Christmas
WARNINGS: Around GoF. :\
Nobody had forgotten what happened at the Triwizard Tournament, and the next year when they returned to Hogwarts, Cedric Diggory was all they ever talked about. They whispered in hushed tones that dwindled immediately to silence whenever Cho Chang or Harry Potter passed by, eyes following discreetly, wondering what stories they could tell. Everyone had their Cedric Diggory story, one memorable anecdote each for the times that Cedric was kind, or pleasant, or so much as threw a smile their way.
Neither Ron nor Harry were speaking to her, and Hermione could think of fewer ways that Christmas could have been more horrible. She drew her coat closer around her, stumbling through the snow, certain at least that Hagrid would have kinder words to give her, would tell her that yes, she did the right thing.
Remember Cedric Diggory, Dumbledore had told them. Remember the boy who was good and kind and who stood in the way of evil.
And everyone did.
"It's only a stupid Firebolt," she was mumbling to herself, walking less and stomping more. The snow was thicker in these parts, and she tried hard not to think about what Ron and Harry must think of her now. "I just spoil their fun, don't I?"
"Watch out!"
Something cold and wet hit her hard, and she fell like a bowling pin, sitting in a foot of snow. Something in her snapped, and Hermione Granger started to cry.
"All I know is," the obnoxious blond boy who'd come to the Hog's Head said, "That Dumbledore told us that Diggory had died, and that was all. He didn't tell us how--"
"I'm not going to tell you how Voldemort murders people," Harry replied hotly. "I'm not here to talk about Cedric Diggory, so if that's all you came here for, you can leave now, okay?"
The boy didn't back down from glaring right back at Harry, and in a split moment he turned to glare at Hermione.
She licked her lips. "So, like I said, if we really want to study Defense Against the Dark Arts--"
"Oh, hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry," a boy said, kneeling down beside her. Now she felt even more foolish, and she cried harder. "Hey, hey. Are you okay? Did you break something?"
She sniffled a little, shaking her head quietly before she composed herself long enough to reply. "Wasn't you," was the best she came up with, blinking up at the boy who'd thrown the snowball at her. "It's okay, really, it's just been an awful day."
He smiled at her kindly. "Come on, on Christmas?"
"I'm a spoilsport, I know," she said, nearly tearing up again but catching herself in time to grin uneasily back at the boy, who offered his hand and helped her up.
He laughed a bit. "I'm sure you're not. There's hot cocoa in the Great Hall, let me help you dry your coat over there, if you like?"
She smiled shyly at him. "Okay."
Hermione remembered hot cocoa by the Great Hall, wet from snow but strangely no longer as cold. She remembered him as the boy who made her smile, who spoke with her past Christmas Day, who sometimes sent her notes and who winked at her like they had a secret whenever they passed by each other in the hallways.
Everyone had their Cedric Diggory stories, and while Zacharias Smith had wanted to know how Cedric Diggory died, the halls of Hogwarts instead echoed with stories of how he lived.
But the real stories were those that would not be told again.
TITLE: Between Here and Hogsmeade
SHIP: Neville/Hermione, post 2nd war
WORD COUNT: 371
PROMPT: Anything Goes
At Christmas, he'd heard, you told the truth.
Neville glanced uneasily at the calendar by his desk. There were only five days left. He sighed, busying himself with the paperwork he'd yet to fill out, but there wasn't enough work to occupy him, now that the holidays were near. He'd long finished marking his students' exams, and because Herbology had always been more a practical subject, it hadn't been difficult to stroll quickly down the greenhouse to find which of his students' plants had survived. He sighed, brushing away a stray feather on his parchment and knocking his quills aside.
"Bugger."
"Neville?"
He blinked up, knocking aside his ink pot as he saw Hermione's head poking through his door. Another expletive escaped his lips and, upon realising he'd just cursed in front of Hermione, he cursed again. "Sorry," he winced, sheepish.
Hermione's lip twitched, as though it was trying hard not to giggle but was failing miserably. "I was just wondering if you were still busy, because I'd just finished all the fifth years' essays and I could really go for The Three Broomsticks right now."
Neville grinned. "That bad?" he asked knowingly.
Hermione wrinkled her nose. "It's only Arithmancy, really, how difficult would it be to get the proper numerical properties for the equations?"
Neville bit his lips to keep from saying anything, because he was rather sure it was, indeed, very difficult to remember those things. Instead he held out the door for Hermione, following her out Hogwarts castle to the familiar path that led to Hogsmeade, Hermione still talking about the essays she'd had to mark.
"How were yours, by the way?"
Neville shrugged, placing both hands deep in his coat pockets. "Wasn't that bad, they knew their plant properties well enough, at least."
"At least one of us had it easy," Hermione teased.
"Tell me that when you find me trying to wrestle a grown Mandrake to the ground after it received the wrong fertilizer," Neville countered.
"It was only three feet tall," Hermione pointed out.
"It grew fangs!"
Both of them burst out laughing.
"Hey, Hermione?" he asked, when the laughter had died down and they'd neared Hogsmeade.
"Hmm?"
"Oh, well. It's snowing," he said, taking out an umbrella and holding it above the two of them.
He'd tell her on Christmas, he promised.
SHIP: R/Hr
WORD COUNT: 128
PROMPT: Red and Green
As was customary in the Weasley household, that year each child received their own knitted jumper from Mrs Weasley. As was customary, she made sure each jumper went to its intended recipient by the large, obnoxious letter embroidered on the front. And as was customary, she picked an especially horrendous colour for Ron.
"Puke green," he announced with resignation, shrugging it on because of course, as was customary, Mrs Weasley wanted pictures.
"It's called olive green, Ron," Hermione told him.
"Puked out olive green."
"Ron."
"What?"
"I like the colour on you," Hermione said, cheeks turning a shade of red that had been customarily associated with the Weasleys.
"You think so?" Ron asked, perking up slightly.
Hermione's lips curled up, leaning in a little, her own bright red Weasley jumper brushing against Ron's. "It's very.. festive," she murmured, just close enough to feel Ron grin against her lips.
TITLE: One White Day
SHIP: Cedric/Hermione-ish
WORD COUNT: 585 words
PROMPT: White Christmas
WARNINGS: Around GoF. :\
Nobody had forgotten what happened at the Triwizard Tournament, and the next year when they returned to Hogwarts, Cedric Diggory was all they ever talked about. They whispered in hushed tones that dwindled immediately to silence whenever Cho Chang or Harry Potter passed by, eyes following discreetly, wondering what stories they could tell. Everyone had their Cedric Diggory story, one memorable anecdote each for the times that Cedric was kind, or pleasant, or so much as threw a smile their way.
Neither Ron nor Harry were speaking to her, and Hermione could think of fewer ways that Christmas could have been more horrible. She drew her coat closer around her, stumbling through the snow, certain at least that Hagrid would have kinder words to give her, would tell her that yes, she did the right thing.
Remember Cedric Diggory, Dumbledore had told them. Remember the boy who was good and kind and who stood in the way of evil.
And everyone did.
"It's only a stupid Firebolt," she was mumbling to herself, walking less and stomping more. The snow was thicker in these parts, and she tried hard not to think about what Ron and Harry must think of her now. "I just spoil their fun, don't I?"
"Watch out!"
Something cold and wet hit her hard, and she fell like a bowling pin, sitting in a foot of snow. Something in her snapped, and Hermione Granger started to cry.
"All I know is," the obnoxious blond boy who'd come to the Hog's Head said, "That Dumbledore told us that Diggory had died, and that was all. He didn't tell us how--"
"I'm not going to tell you how Voldemort murders people," Harry replied hotly. "I'm not here to talk about Cedric Diggory, so if that's all you came here for, you can leave now, okay?"
The boy didn't back down from glaring right back at Harry, and in a split moment he turned to glare at Hermione.
She licked her lips. "So, like I said, if we really want to study Defense Against the Dark Arts--"
"Oh, hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry," a boy said, kneeling down beside her. Now she felt even more foolish, and she cried harder. "Hey, hey. Are you okay? Did you break something?"
She sniffled a little, shaking her head quietly before she composed herself long enough to reply. "Wasn't you," was the best she came up with, blinking up at the boy who'd thrown the snowball at her. "It's okay, really, it's just been an awful day."
He smiled at her kindly. "Come on, on Christmas?"
"I'm a spoilsport, I know," she said, nearly tearing up again but catching herself in time to grin uneasily back at the boy, who offered his hand and helped her up.
He laughed a bit. "I'm sure you're not. There's hot cocoa in the Great Hall, let me help you dry your coat over there, if you like?"
She smiled shyly at him. "Okay."
Hermione remembered hot cocoa by the Great Hall, wet from snow but strangely no longer as cold. She remembered him as the boy who made her smile, who spoke with her past Christmas Day, who sometimes sent her notes and who winked at her like they had a secret whenever they passed by each other in the hallways.
Everyone had their Cedric Diggory stories, and while Zacharias Smith had wanted to know how Cedric Diggory died, the halls of Hogwarts instead echoed with stories of how he lived.
But the real stories were those that would not be told again.
TITLE: Between Here and Hogsmeade
SHIP: Neville/Hermione, post 2nd war
WORD COUNT: 371
PROMPT: Anything Goes
At Christmas, he'd heard, you told the truth.
Neville glanced uneasily at the calendar by his desk. There were only five days left. He sighed, busying himself with the paperwork he'd yet to fill out, but there wasn't enough work to occupy him, now that the holidays were near. He'd long finished marking his students' exams, and because Herbology had always been more a practical subject, it hadn't been difficult to stroll quickly down the greenhouse to find which of his students' plants had survived. He sighed, brushing away a stray feather on his parchment and knocking his quills aside.
"Bugger."
"Neville?"
He blinked up, knocking aside his ink pot as he saw Hermione's head poking through his door. Another expletive escaped his lips and, upon realising he'd just cursed in front of Hermione, he cursed again. "Sorry," he winced, sheepish.
Hermione's lip twitched, as though it was trying hard not to giggle but was failing miserably. "I was just wondering if you were still busy, because I'd just finished all the fifth years' essays and I could really go for The Three Broomsticks right now."
Neville grinned. "That bad?" he asked knowingly.
Hermione wrinkled her nose. "It's only Arithmancy, really, how difficult would it be to get the proper numerical properties for the equations?"
Neville bit his lips to keep from saying anything, because he was rather sure it was, indeed, very difficult to remember those things. Instead he held out the door for Hermione, following her out Hogwarts castle to the familiar path that led to Hogsmeade, Hermione still talking about the essays she'd had to mark.
"How were yours, by the way?"
Neville shrugged, placing both hands deep in his coat pockets. "Wasn't that bad, they knew their plant properties well enough, at least."
"At least one of us had it easy," Hermione teased.
"Tell me that when you find me trying to wrestle a grown Mandrake to the ground after it received the wrong fertilizer," Neville countered.
"It was only three feet tall," Hermione pointed out.
"It grew fangs!"
Both of them burst out laughing.
"Hey, Hermione?" he asked, when the laughter had died down and they'd neared Hogsmeade.
"Hmm?"
"Oh, well. It's snowing," he said, taking out an umbrella and holding it above the two of them.
He'd tell her on Christmas, he promised.