Beware, may prickle

thornyrose42 @ 2008-02-22T16:18:00

2008-02-22T16:23:43Z

So... after the metaphorical drought of inspiration I am now sitting in a oasis of plot bunnies.

I'm not sure whether this is going to result in an out flow of fic or curses but for the moment all is well.

So far I have this little drabble:

It was inspired by a quote from Heroes and may increase in length but for the moment I give you Pansy.

"The Earth is large. Large enough that you think you can hide from anything. From Fate. From God. If only you found a place far enough away. So you run. To the edge of the Earth. Where all is safe again. Quiet, and warm. The solace of salt air. The peace of danger left behind. The luxury of grief. And maybe, for a moment, you believe you have escaped."

Five Years Gone

Pansy dreamed.

Two dreams, one good and one…not so good.

She dreamed the American Dream which was all about hope and the future and handsome men who were not averse to buying a girl several drinks in the hope – important thing hope – that she’d do them a couple of favors in return. Sometimes she did…and sometimes she didn’t. It was all just a dream and what did it matter what you did in dreams?

Sometimes she flew. There was so much space in her American Dream. Land went on forever. It was desert and grass and corn like cloth of gold. And the sky was a clean wash of blue with just the speck of Pansy and broomstick floating in the emptiness. It felt like solitude. Up there in the blank she was washed clean. For a moment she was an empty slant ready to be filled with new scribbles.

It never lasted.

There were two dreams, one good and one…not so good. And she couldn’t rub out the not so good one.

It was a dream of wands and they were all pointing at her.

thornyrose42 @ 2007-12-29T16:22:00

2007-12-29T16:29:21Z

I really wish that JKR would stop telling us things.

If someone had told me that last June i would have been shocked and would probably have acused you of smoking something out of a herb jar. But...never the less, it is true.

Mainly because she is warping FernWithy's Teddyverse by inches. First she knocks Neville/Vivian on the head, which as I felt I knew Vivian a lot better than Hannah rather annoyed me. Then there was what she said about Dudley. And now she has wiped out half of Victoire's family.

Aparently this is the "official" version.

*bleh*

thornyrose42 @ 2007-11-23T17:07:00

2007-11-23T17:38:06Z

Sooo....

This journal is a mite dusty.

And I think the Post a Comment button is pretty much defunt from lack of use, sorry about that guys.

This is more a post to let everyone know that I do still exist and haven't been taken out by some strange virus that caused me to vomit small kittens or been thrown in prison after being involved in a Italian Job style robbery that went badly wrong, possibly because I would be unable to drive the mini because my mum refuses to insure her car so that I can learn to drive.

I have how ever had the lead in the school play (it went really well thanks for asking) and haven't done anything else either work or writing related as a result of this, after all the play is the thing. And now that teh play is over coursework and auditions are the thing. I've got at least three auditions coming up, hopefully four, and I need two speeches one a Shakespeare and a song for nearly all of them. Currently it is the song that is giving me problems as I am rather afraid that if I do sing for them I may be asked to leave on the spot. (I not that bad but I have issues with pitching). And on top of that there is the History and the English coursework and all the other essays that people keep setting me.

Sigh, so writing and internet on the back burner at the moment. Although before all of this hit my Dean fic produced a black little plot bunny showing what happened to the Muggleborn kids that didn't go on the run. It promises to be one of the darkest things that I've written, once I've got some of the fundamental elements sorted out in my head.

I've basically decided that after the Preliminary Interview that Harry read about in the Prophet any underage Muggleborns are removed to this random old house in the country for holding until their "trail". I figure that the Ministry might want to keep them out of the public eye until everything is a bit more secure, stuff involving kids tends to stir up people. I'm thinking propaganda involving them learning how to live like Muggles in preperation for being released back into their natural enviroment. Sending eleven year olds straight to Askaban isn't very good PR.

The problem I keep banging my head up against is that for the purposes of the fic I sort of need them to be able to talk to each other, exchange information contraband and maybe saliva (after all they are teenagers) but I also know that if I was in charge of a bunch of magically gifted kids in that sort of situation I make damned well sure that they couldn't. Constant supervision and all that jazz, I mean you could just put Silencio on all of them, so I need justification for the amount of freedom that they are given.

Also stuff for them to do. There is only so many times you can clean one house.

thornyrose42 @ 2007-10-06T18:06:00

2007-10-06T17:14:34Z

Sooooo.....

I'm bored. Its Saturday night and none of my friends are in so.....

I should probably do some work, or write some more of my Dean story, but I'm too busy being bored.

....

On the plus side England beat Australia in teh ruby this afternoon! Go team! It was a really tense match, so glad that we pulled through.

Hmm, I need some inspiration, either that or I shoudl phone my mum. Haven't chatted to her in a while.

thornyrose42 @ 2007-10-03T19:32:00

2007-10-03T18:39:47Z

Play rehersals are going well you will be pleased to find out. I'm starting to make a dent in the huge number of lines that I have to learn, which is all good, but doesn't exactly leave a lot of time for drabbles or fic. And when I do write I'm trying to concentrate on my Dean fic, so....

Yeah.

But I have dredged this up out of the depths of my computor for your viewing pleasure. It is pre-DH, so well, it would need some major changes to fit into canon now so, yeah, it is still Andromeda/Ted.

I am now going to tell you about Ted.

I am afraid that you will be disappointed. People always seem to expect a great love story, you see. And, really, there isn’t one. I think it must be to do with the word “elopement.” People’s minds spring to secret rendezvous, midnight flights and pledges of eternal love. They imagine nights of wakefulness, internal arguments, love sickness…. Muggle-borns talk of Juliet, or sometimes Lydia. Among the magically raised: Diamante. Heaving bosoms are also mentioned. By males usually. Everyone thinks: fear, danger, excitement!

The reality is rather, dare I say it…dull.

I didn’t meet him until sixth year. This may seem strange. After all, we had lived in the same castle for five years. But, as you know, I don’t like to put myself forward. And he was an older, Muggle-born boy. A very undesirable person, as Cissy would have said. Nobody would have introduced him to me--or pointed him out to me as a useful connection. But I suppose I must have seen him in the corridors, wandering somewhere. Or in the library. Studying. I suppose I must have – and not remembered. After all, unlike a hero in a story, Ted isn’t handsome. At all. Or memorable. Maybe that’s why… why I liked him. He was like me.

It was Bella’s fault. If she hadn’t been deluding that poor first year, I would never have left, disgusted, for the library. If Bella hadn’t just scorned Evan, Melia wouldn’t have been too busy comforting him to go with me. And if Bella hadn’t laughed at my “wimpishness” I wouldn’t have been trying to stop myself crying. And if I hadn’t been doing that, then I wouldn’t have sat down at Ted’s table, thinking that it was empty.

As you can see, it was all Bella’s fault.

I suppose I could have got up. I was going to. But then he asked me to pass him the book beside my elbow: Wizards Are From Mars, Muggles Are From Mushrooms. I did. After all he had said please. He took it, still writing. With a muttered “Thanks.” He then added: “A B S U R D or A B S A R D?” I replied. He nodded, and was about to go back to his work when he looked up at me and did a sort of double take. He then informed me that I wasn’t Mark. I agreed. I wasn’t Mark. I was Andromeda Black. He blinked. Then asked me, in a puzzled sort of voice, why I was sitting at his table if I wasn’t Mark? I started to apologize—to explain To explain that I hadn’t seen him and that I would go if he was waiting for Mark. He cut me off by telling me that his name was Edward Tonks but that everyone called him Ted. Then he held out his ink-stained right hand. I took it.

There was no spark. No leaping of the heart. No goose bumps up my spine. Very disappointing, you will agree. But…I did warn you that this isn’t a romance novel.

His hands were slightly damp, and when I let go I found that my hand was now equally as stained as his. He apologised, and offered me his handkerchief. Which was, if possible even more covered with ink than his hands were. But I wiped my hands, and didn’t tell him that I had a much cleaner hanky of my own in my breast pocket. He smiled at me and said, now that the formalities were over, I was welcome to stay at his table for as long as I wanted.

I have told you before that Ted was almost completely unremarkable. Average, is the word. Average height. Average weight. Mouse-brown hair cut at an average length. Brownish eyes of average shape. A heart shaped face with average cheekbones. Average. But he did have a nice smile. Sort of vague but warm as well. Genuine, I think is the word. It made his eyes crinkle up. And his average nose wrinkle.

So we sat there and talked. Looking back I can’t remember what about. Lessons? The tyranny of Madam Pince? Rumours about the old Head Boy’s upcoming marriage? I don’t know. They were just ordinary little things. Inconsequential. What we didn’t talk about was ourselves. On my part, that was deliberate. I was trying to deceive myself. To pretend that I didn’t know what, from the moment he had introduced himself, I had known. Ted was, at the very least, a Half-blood. Filth, as Auntie Walburga would have said. Someone who I couldn’t possibly talk to as an equal. It would be wrong. Stupid. And as such, something I would not, could not, ever do. So I pretended. I told myself that I must have heard his name wrong. Or forgot that Tonks was a pureblood name of good standing. So that this…this delusion wasn’t challenged. So that later I could say that I had had no idea. That he had tricked me. Led me up the garden path. And I had followed, all unknowing. I didn’t ask him about himself. And in return, he didn’t ask about me.

(Looking back now, I suppose he must have known. Bella was in his year after all. And he would have had to have avoided her and her friends. He might not have known me by sight… but he would have known my name. Or at least my surname. I suppose the really surprising thing is that he didn’t walk away from that table. I wouldn’t have blamed him. Bella could be…rather unpleasant to some people.)

We stayed there, talking, until Madam Pince threw us out at eight. Ted, being a polite sort of boy, escorted me down to the Entrance Hall - and, being a polite sort of boy, he carried my books for me. And said goodbye, very nicely. And that would have been the last time we saw each other. But for one thing.

His handkerchief. I kept it you see. Maybe by accident. Maybe not. But it meant that I had to give it back. Which meant that I had to see him again. And talk to him. Maybe ask him his opinion on my History of Magic Essay while I was there. After all it would be rude to just hand the hanky over and leave. Wouldn’t it? It certainly seemed so to me. And I probably know an awful lot more about etiquette than you will ever want to know.

I waited a week. After all, I needed to clean and press the handkerchief. And find a way to shake Melia off for an afternoon. This proved easier than expected. Apparently Evan had, at last, realised that Bella was not the only girl in the world. And, according to Melia, he had reached an "Understanding" with her. I was pleased for her of course. Evan was a good match. A bit too handsome for his own good. But she didn’t seem to mind. She was in fact very, very happy. And she was happiest when she was either with him, or talking about him. I listened, nodded, and smiled throughout the week. Then I quietly slipped away on Saturday morning muttering about an essay that I had to finish.

He wasn’t in the library.

I felt let down. Disappointed out of all proportion to the event. Then, of course, I felt foolish. I realised suddenly that it was irrational to expect him to be in the library. It wasn’t as if we had arranged to meet. It was silly to think that, just because I needed to see him, he would be there. But I hadn’t thought. I had just assumed.

I stood there for a while, my cheeks heating up with shame, his newly cleaned handkerchief neatly folded up in my pocket. I couldn’t think what I was meant to do next. Stay in the library and work? Wander around the school and hope for a miracle? One option was defeatist, the other was…well, silly. I turned around anyway. Somehow I couldn’t face my Astronomy essay now.

And then…and then a miracle happened.

Ted came in. He gave me a slightly puzzled smile. And for a moment I thought that he hadn’t remembered me. That was unpleasant for me. Obviously because it would have made it harder for me to return his handkerchief. At least, so I told myself then. Thankfully I didn’t need to worry. At least about that. He did remember me. Quite well in fact. He greeted me by name, invited me to sit down with him and asked how my research for History of Magic was going. Ted may look absent-minded, but he isn’t really. (Except when it comes to things like mending socks or cleaning handkerchiefs).

So we sat and talked for a while. Quite a long while really. And I completely forgot about giving him the handkerchief back, which was rather dim of me, I think you will agree. But I liked talking to Ted. He seemed to be genuinely interested in my opinion. And he had a way of listening that made me want to tell him things. I don’t know what it was. The way he tilted his head perhaps. Or the way he nodded when he thought that I had said something interesting. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t laugh when I said something silly. Instead he would smile in a nice way, and say that, yes, he liked the smell after rain too. And that didn’t I think that there should be a proper word for it? Then somehow we would end up discussing possible words that would mean the-smell-after-rain.

I was having such a nice time. Such a nice time. I didn’t want it to end.

It did of course. As all good things do. Six o’clock brought grumbles of complaint from my stomach. For a moment I was tempted to ignore them, but reason prevailed. Melia would wonder if I missed supper. So I parted from Ted for the second time, his handkerchief still folded up in my pocket.

I saw Ted quite frequently after that. In the library normally, on Saturdays, when there was hardly anyone else about. We had our own table in the library, almost hidden in a funny little alcove right at the back. Neither of us commented upon the deliberate seclusion. We continued to avoid certain subjects, as if ignoring them would make them go away. But we still found plenty to talk about. At first, we only talked about shallow subjects: school work, articles in the Prophet. Then as time passed we delved down into deeper water: hopes, fears, dreams…. Ted was working on a book and hoped, some day, to get it published. He let me read what he had written so far. He let me read his book. His book which, he confessed, I would be the first one to see. I was so pleased when he, blushing lightly, pushed the cheap notebook towards me. So proud that he trusted me with…with his future, me of all people! It was a wonderful burden. After all, I could give him nothing in return. I had no book. No grand scheme to entrust to him…. So instead I tried to look after him. I checked through his essays for spelling mistakes. I added patches to his robes, which had gone at the elbow. Once he let me cut his hair. It was inadequate, but at least I was doing something. At least I was doing something….

I would have been quite content for us to continue that way. With our study meetings and our shared friendship. Quite content. But, as you know it didn’t stay that way. No, it most definitely did not.

It was, I remember, the last weekend before the Christmas holidays. The last time I would see him for several weeks. I had bought him a new notebook, (brown leather, with a quill holder and small enough to slip into his pocket) and was, irrationally, nervous about giving it to him. What if he didn’t like it? Or worse, what if he wasn’t able to return the gesture? I had spent ages figuring out what to write in the front page. Was “from Andromeda” too informal? Was “love from Andromeda” too soppy? I knew that I was worrying needlessly, since when had Ted cared about the formalities of letter writing? But still…I was nervous even after I had finally decided, and it was with great difficulty that I restrained myself from tearing off the wrapping paper and rubbing out the whole inscription.

Anyway, we met in the library as normal and settled down at our table. We talked of inconsequential things for a while. The "Incident" in the Entrance Hall the night before, (involving, in case you wanted to know, Peeves and a large amount of mistletoe), the amount of homework the teachers were setting for the break…. Ted seemed slightly distracted; he kept losing his thread and trailing off into silence. Which is very unlike Ted. Mind you I wasn’t much better. I kept thinking that this would be the last time we would be able to talk to each other for weeks….

Time slipped away, as it does when you try to hold onto it. The hands on Ted’s watch had somehow jumped a couple of hours forward. There was a lull in the conversation. I remember thinking, in a rather clichéd fashion, that it was now or never. I stuttered out that I had something for him. Then I retrieved the notebook from my satchel and pushed it across the table. Task completed. I busied myself with looking up a date I suddenly needed for my essay. I listened to him thanking me, unwrapping and opening the notebook. Then there was a pause. I could feel my cheeks heating up and I didn’t dare look up to see his reaction.

He took my book away from me. Stretched over, eased it gently out of my grasp and set it aside. Automatically I sought refuge behind my hair, dipping my gaze to my lap. He stopped me. Reached out and cupped my chin with his hand. I froze. His fingers trembled against my skin. I was suddenly very aware of my heart beating faster and louder than normal. We stayed like that for a moment. Teetering on the brink of unknown territory. Then he tilted my head up until our eyes met.

“You don’t need to hide.” He told me gravely, “No one as… as beautiful as you should ever need to hide.”

I blinked. It was all I had time to do, because then he leaned forward, and kissed me.

thornyrose42 @ 2007-09-23T15:42:00

2007-09-23T14:48:36Z

Ah the first proper weekend of the term, a whole two days! A complete lack of school on Saturday, bliss. I've spent most of it in front of the tele catching up on Heroes, which is my new favorite show. I'm up to Chapter Twelve.

I'm busy trying to complete my UCAS form at the moment, (or uni aplication form for those not in the UK), I have to write a personal statement that says that I am equally enthusiastic about drama and English, but that isn't as difficult as the one my friend needs to write, for Geography and art.

Oh and I have the main part in the school play, with a huge amount of lines to learn.

But in the midst of all this i have managed to put a story up on SQ: http://www.sugarquill.net/read.php?storyid=3195&chapno=1

IS COLD

2007-09-18T09:34:48Z

I'm cold, in case you didn't get that from the title.

Currently I'm wearing thermal leggings, thermal top, scarf, gloves and the rest of my uniform and I'm still cold. Why is this I hear you ask. Well because our Bursar He Who Controls The Purse Strings refuses to turn the heating on. So the only room in our entire house that is moderatly warm is the computor room, so obviously I'm spending more time on teh computor than i would if all the other rooms wern't like the proverbial freazer.

Cold is bad for my social life.

It is three weeks into the term and I still can't believe that this is my last year. I man I swear I'm still fifteen, or maybe five....

Anyway, school is weird and fic is a coming.

thornyrose42 @ 2007-07-23T16:50:00

2007-07-23T17:01:15Z

So what do people think now about the chances of reconcilliation between Andromeda and Cissy? Of corse I do realise that the chances are slightly...slimmer now that Death Eaters have killed both her husband and daughter, and Cissy's DE husband and son managed to survive. But maybe Harry will tell Dromeda about Cissy lying about his death, and maybe Dromeda will want to renew ties with the one other bit of family she has left.

I don't know. Despite Bella saying that her and Cissy haven't set eyes on Dromeda since she left that doesn't mean that a) letters weren't exchanged or that contact wasn't made during Bella's stint in Askaban between the two other sisters.

OK I might be a bit optomistic but they is still the possibility at least.

The Last Book

2007-07-22T03:30:51Z

Well I read it. Then I went and checked up on my flist and the SQ. And I've only just stoped shaking and hour and a half afterwards.

Okay, here goes.

I thought that this would be easier to write after I'd calmed down a bit, but no, my brain is still over loaded and uh, but I need to get my impressions down now. It is weird how everything is already getting a bit blurry, the desire to read it again is growing...but I must pluck up the courage and press on.

The Tonks Family.

I almost feel like writing to JKR and saying "How dare you! They were mine! And I loved them and you just killed them with a flick of your pen and no one even cares about Ted, just one among many. Obviously ment to be one of the deaths that happen half way through and remind you that this is war and people are dying, and it is a bit unpleasent because we met him and he was nice, but oh never mind, lets move on. But I minded! What about his wife? Oh god what about my Dromy? My poor poor girl.... Almost all of her family just gone, just like that. And what makes me even sadder is that I didn't get to properly cry for Tonks and Remus, they were just suddenly dead, lying there like they were asleep. And you can't cry properly unless there is a good build up. And I wanted to see the Tonks family, I really did. But you know I never thought, never imagined... I thought that Remus and Tonks were safe, that Remus had got his happy ending (after Harry had knocked some sense back into him) and that they see it to the Epiloge. And Ted!

This just serves me right really, saying that I prefer angst to fluff. Well I've got angst aplenty now and...well I've already got plot bunnies nibbling at my heals to be honest, but still.... Hasn't Dromy suffered enough?

Right, I'm not going to rant, I'm not going to rant.

I have seen some people wondering about the Tonks/Lupin subplot, some about how well JKR handled it and some questioning how stable their relationship would have been if they had survived. Well personally (especially considering my new found love of fluff) I really really want Lupin to have left Grim Place, gone somewhere, anywhere and just sat down for ages and thought, really thought about what Harry had said, about fatherhood, exactly what Tonks means to him and then got up dusted his knees off and gone back to Tonks. This is what I want and what I think did happen. You did see Lupin rushing in crowing about having a son, and showing Arthur baby photos and, (oh no I'm tearing up again) the way, the way in the battle they were always looking for each other.... I think that Remus's reaction to the news of the baby was entirely in character, even if that character was a lot more unpleasent then what we would like to think of Remus. He was just so scared. I mean look what happened to the last lot of people that stood by him, and we have seen him (rather bizarly blame himself for that) his whole none of this would have happened if I hadn't been bitten speech in PoA. He is afraid of getting too close to people and he just couldn't deal with the enormous responsibility of a wife and child, whom he could seriously hurt or who might be hurt because of him. So much so that the duties of a teacher (a role that he would have played and hid behind if he had gone along with the Trio) seemed a much lighter burden to bear.

And I hope and believe that he and Tonks did get things sorted out during that year. I have to, he has to have had just one year of happiness, please.

The Malfoy Family

Who were just...just utterly and completly a family. How anyone is ever going to be able to support Abusive!Lucius after this is just beyond me. All the moments, we just got so many glimpses of them. The very first chapter! Cissy as the rock which Lucius needs to lean on, that simple reasuring hand squeeze under the table. And a mother's love helping to defeat Voldemort again, Cissy, my heart nearly burst with love for her when I read her lie about Harry's death. Oh and Draco, I was begging, constantly begging as I was reading that he would survive, pity does not even come close to describing how I felt about him during this book. Right from the word go when we see him terrified and trembling under poor Charity. To him avoiding identifying the Trio when they were captured, I had a brief flash back to a more innocent time when he was more than willing to rat on them and I wished for his sake that he could go back to being someone who was just a sort of whimpish, mean, class clown . He is just a boy, my age, just my age. The way his voice trembled after the fire when asking about his friend. (OH and we finally heard Crabbe and Goyle speak!). What made that bit even more painful is that the whole confrontation between the two Trios had had so many connections to their younger days, the brooms and oh the hints of Quidditch. And the way that his parents were just frantically searching for Draco during that final battle, I defy anyone not to have loved them at that moment. And Lucius...just seemed broken, the contrast between this book and the previous books is well, disturbing.

PoA Theme (theory nicked from Red Hen, she is awesome)

Was absolutly in this book. I mean completly there. We get Snape filling Sirius's shoes You Know Who's right hand man, believed by everyone to be guility from the word go but the real "villian" turns out to be the one that nobody suspected, the one who died a hero, please step up to take Mr Wormtail's place Albus. We even get a brief return to the Shack! How great is that!

(Peter's death, while not as significant as I had hoped for was...well chillingly grusome would be the word I reckon.)

While I'm one the subject I am just blocking out quite a bit of the Snape/Albus/Lily stuff, for instance WTF is SWM doing coming after the Prank, I mean... no, not only is the timing screwy: the full moon is just coming up. I also continue to believe that the Prank and its results had An Effect upon the Marauders, James in particular. They would not be all bussiness as usual lets go and string up the boy who could give away our friend's secret to the whole school, something would have changed. The Prank happened after Snape's Worst Memory, end of story. Also how could Snape only have heard the first part of the Prophecy if Sybil saw him at the door after she came out of her trance, it doesn't make sense.

Also although I heartily aprove of Lily and Snape being friends the notion that Snape Did it all for the Love of a Good Woman sticks in my throat, as does the fact that she had a choice because Snape requested it not because of her own merit. I liked the theory (also nicked from Red Hen) that Lily didn't have to die because she might In Herself have been useful to the Dark Lord, didn't we listen to Slughorn raving about her genius with Potions for a whole year. Wouldn't someone like that have been more useful alive then dead? But no, instead she is presented as some sort of bad conduct prize. Pah!

Also the entire Horcrux, soul, Hallows thing ended up being a bit too confusing for my liking.

And while we are talking about things that were bad, how...fanfiction was the Epiloge. And what? None of the Slytherins stayed to help defend Hogwarts? None of them? None of them! I would quite happily have killed to have had just one, maybe two people stay. Is that too much to ask? I mean sure we get the "I don't mind which house you are in" thing at the end, but still an illustration that not all Slytherins are out and out Death Eaters and cowards would have been nice. (Please ignore the Potion Master behind the curtain) Did no one listen to the Sorting Hat?

But those unpleasent things aside.

It was pretty incrediable.

I cried, I mean really really sobbed. Which is something I generally don't do for books, End of Buffy's fifth season, yes, ET, whole buckets, but not Harry Potter. Sirius was blink and you'd miss it and for Albus I was just in shock. But this book? I was an absolute wreak. Ted I was too angry that she had just disposed of him like that, but I think everything just caught up with me when Dobby died. I really don't know what it was, maybe the fact that I've always had a soft spot for him, or that I'd just been through absolute hell reading Hermione's torture scene (it was just horrible, awful, awful, awful, I really couldn't bear watching Ron. Oh Ron....) but I had a lump in my throat from the moment I realised that he was dying and when I read the inscription I jsut started bawling, really sobbing. I actually had to stop reading and go downstairs to curl up with my mum on the sofa until I'd stopped crying.

Then I was OK right up until Harry's walk into the forest. That...that just... oh. I think I started crying when Harry realised that he was going to have to die, or it might have been when he met Neville but I know that I could barely see the page for tears when Harry asked whether dying hurt. (I'm tearing up just thinking of it now). That entire scene was just... Well, you read it too. You've been there.

But despite all my rantings I did love this book, so, so much.

Looking back you can definitly see where my loyalties lie. The thing is, you all know how awesome Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna and all the kids were. You saw it too.

I loved, more than anything, the glimpses we got of how the wizarding world was coping with rule by Voldemort. The radio programe was just brillient and the DA and all of that, that wonderfulness. And Chilla, I reckon you got your Luna/Dean!

*sighs*

I still can't believe that it is all over.

But it is four in the morning now, I'm off to bed.

(But first I just have to say that Dudley is...well, good on ya Big D. I've always liked the Harry Dudley relationship, every since the silent fight for door listening in the very first book)

thornyrose42 @ 2007-06-17T15:17:00

2007-06-17T14:15:41Z

First and most importantly of all, look at Mini!Bella and Dromy, aren’t they amazing. The drawing is the sole property of Makani (which is why it is so fantastic) and I coloured it in myself (which is why the colouring is a bit dodgy) But that aside aren’t they just perfect, seriously this is the closest I've got to my mental picture of these two and that is just something that my Bella would do.

Anyway, exams are OVER!!! (Actually they've been over for a week but it has taken me this long to get out of the "I Can't Write I Have Things To Do" mode) They all went fairly well, so fingers crossed and all. I don't want to say anything else for fear of jinxing my marks or something. Knock on wood and all that.

Talking of writing, the amount of things I feel I have to do at the moment is quite scary really. The next chapter of GUB is in the pipeline, I can promise more of the Gang, Fun and Games at the Rosier Grandparents house and Magic! Then there is the one shot that is begging to be written, damn plot bunnies that won't give up and all that (by the way this one is your fault Chilla). And I need to get caught up on the drabble prompts.

Thank goodness that summer is nearly here (not that you can tell from the weather, which is disgusting damn you British summer.

But my summer is pretty hectic as well. I've got two drama courses down in London which take up most of August, then there's relatives to be visited and at some point I want to start my driving lessons, oh, there was something else as well wasn't there...

Now I remember THE SEVENTH AND LAST HARRY POTTER BOOK IS COMING OUT!!!!!! SQUEE, GASP, FAINT ETC

I really do have mixed feelings about this, on one hand we get to know how it ends and on the other hand...we get to know how it ends. We will probably see Andromeda (yey!), we will probably see Andromeda (argh). I mean after this... all our wriggle room disappears. We will know the mysteries of Snape, who lives, who dies, which ships sink and which go sailing off into the sunset. And, well I like not knowing the be all and end all. (Though I suppose since I mainly write pre-canon I won't be as effected as some) Oh but I really need to get that one shot done! Argh! That'll sink with DH, pretty sure of that.

I'm going to the midnight party in Waterstones though. Something which I've never done before, and I'm dressing up, as Luna with proper radish earrings and a cork necklace. My sister will probably be going as Ginny. She isn't much of a fan, in fact she isn't really a fan at all, but she wants to go as "The Biggest Harry Potter Freak Ever" and asked me for tips, I told her to get stuffed and just to go as a really good Ginny. A friend of ours is also coming, curly brown hair, therefore Hermione. It is going to be so much fun.

I'm also going to take ear plugs in case we get people driving past shouting spoilers like last time.

Oh and bit of fic:

Miss Patricia (Patty) Inglesby really didn’t deserve what was about to happen to her. She was, in general, a good person. She gave to charity, was kind to cats and always paid her share of expenses when she went out with friends. She was a good teacher as well.

The children she taught tended to leave her class with more knowledge then they had had to begin with, including an understanding that hamsters don’t, in general, survive being flushed down the loo. And that is the whole point of Year Three after all. However, she did have a few faults. One was a louder voice than she thought she had, and another was a tendency to believe what parents told her about their children despite evidence to the contrary.

These failings led to the reason why, shortly after this story begins, Miss Patricia (Patty) Inglesby locked herself in the staff bathroom and refused to emerge until someone found her a new wig.

Miss Patricia (Patty) Inglesby always enjoyed it when, about twenty minutes into the first lesson every Friday, Mr. David (Dave) Middleton would come into her class to borrow the tape-recorder for Year Four’s music lesson. She always made sure to have Year Three settled down for Silent Reading by twenty past nine. Then she and Dave would have a nice little chat for five minutes or so while she reminded him how to work the Infernal Contraption.

Today the topic of conversation was Mr. (Dave) Middleton’s future class, namely her Year Three, soon to be his Year Four.

“I hope your class remembers how to work this Infernal Contraption when they come up next year, Patty,” said Mr. David (Dave) Middleton with a crooked smile at his fellow teacher.

“Oh, I don’t tend to let them fiddle around with it, Dave,” Miss Patricia (Patty) Inglesby replied quickly, “I’m afraid you’ll just have to try and remember how to work it yourself.”

“But you will remind me once in a while, won’t you?”

“Of course.” They smiled at each other across the Infernal Contraption until she dropped her gaze back down on the problem at hand, a slight tinge of pink on her cheeks. “This one is the play button,” she added swiftly, placing a finger on the switch.

“Right, play button, first on the left, got it.” He nodded to himself, and then returned to the topic of Year Three. “I’m sure that I’ll be able to leave next year's Year Fours alone occasionally; they all seem like perfect angels now, or is that just your expertise?”

Year Three - who hadn’t realised that being able to fake an interest in "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" qualified them for the heavenly chorus - sharpened their ears slightly.

“Oh, well, I…I do my best,” Miss. Patricia (Patty) Inglesby stuttered, evidently flustered by the compliment. “Most of them are little gems. Autumn Leaves (yes, I know, awful name, isn’t it) always stays behind to help tidy up…."

There was a simultaneous flicker of eyes within Year Three, and poor Autumn (who was not the sort of girl who could carry off a name like that) sank down a bit further in her chair. It had, of course, never occurred to Miss Patricia (Patty) Inglesby to wonder why the girl was so desperate to put off going home. She had never stopped to think that perhaps tidying up spilt glue and stacking paper was a good excuse for spending as little time as possible curled up in bed listening to the shouting downstairs. And having to endure a week of teasing from Dudley’s gang was a bit much on top of everything else.

“Oh, and Matty Brown is such a little gentleman. Always opening doors and so eager to please.”

Another flicker. But Matty was a pragmatic boy who had less faith in Dudley’s memory than Autumn. He was one of those rare boys that enjoy being helpful. In any other class this would have made him the principal victim for the class bully, but Dudley already had a personal vendetta against his cousin and there wasn’t enough space in his brain for another.

“Of course there are a couple of boisterous ones, but I’m sure they’ll settle down; they just don’t know their own strength.”

Year Three kept their eyes fixed on the pages in front of them and inwardly wondered why Miss Patricia (Patty) Inglesby’s nose hadn’t grown a foot. Well, most of them did. Dudley’s gang, who ruled the back row of desks, made Ha! We’ve got her fooled! faces at each other, and Dudley stopped hacking at the desk with his pen long enough to yank Clarissa Atkins’s ponytail in celebration.

“You should watch out for Harry Potter, though,” Miss Patricia (Patty) Inglesby continued, oblivious to the class's behaviour. “He’s just a bit…weird. Mooches around on his own the whole time, never speaks up in class, goes and does goodness-knows-what on his breaks, and I swear he did something to the hamster.”

She paused, and then lowered her voice in a way that only made it seem louder in the quiet classroom.

“And you do hear rumours. Apparently his parents were a Very Bad Lot, unemployed the both of them, and goodness knows what sort of things they got up to. I was talking to Mr. and Mrs. Dursley at the last parents' meeting and they said that his parents died in a car crash...well, it doesn’t take a genius to work out what they’d been up to before that...."

Actually, on second thought, Miss Patricia (Patty) Inglesby did deserve what she got. After all, in some places there is a law against being Bloody Stupid. And gossiping, while a fine tradition in staffrooms across the country, should happen when the pupil in question isn’t sitting three desks away from where you’re standing.

Yes, I think that like Aunt Marge in later years, Miss Patricia (Patty) Inglesby got exactly what was coming to her.

English Exams

2007-05-24T07:05:35Z

I find it very ironic that my AS English exam takesplace on the 25th of May and I am debating whether or not to find a lilac ribbon and wear it for luck or something. Although I have the niggling doubt that that isn't really the point of wearing lilac tomorrow.

That will probably only make sense to Discworld fans....

Anyway, the subjects of this exams are old Will's sonnets and "A History of the World in 10 1/2 Chapters" by Julian Barnes.

Barnes I can get good marks on if I have a couple of hours rather than fifty odd minutes and sonnets are quite lovely so....

Mind you my revision last night eventually deteriorated into trying to find *hem hem* phallic symbols in the sonnets, it wasn't difficult really, practically any line you care to mention can be well...taken the wrong way (much like the last bit of that sentence).

"And my next self thou harder hast engross'd"

Even, and I hate to do this because it is my absolute favorite sonnet:

"Rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickles compass come"

Oh dear....

Also fic:

“Well, I think Zanthia is a lovely name for a girl.”

“Yes dear, if you want her to become a stripper.”

“Or maybe Peach….”

“That’s a type of fruit.”

“How about Amymone?”

“Didn’t she murder her husband?”

“Cinderella.”

“Now you’re just being silly.”

“Well, at least I’m making an effort to choose a name; all you’ve done on your notepad is a new design for an Invisible Footstool and a really bad drawing of a frog.” Lily grabbed the offending notepad and flicked through it. A large frown was etched on her face.

“Well, I might make more of an effort if you were choosing slightly more sensible names,” James retorted, snatching the pad back from her and crossing his arms across his chest.

“Sensible?! Sensible?!” cried Lily wildly, raising her hands to the ceiling as if pleading with the deity of Harassed Wives and Never Ending Arguments. “This coming from a man who named his owl after a brand of broomstick!”

“I was eleven!”

“Well, you’re twenty-one now, so for goodness sake at least try to come up with a decent name for your child,” Lily huffed, banging her head back against the headboard. She then tried not to wince when she realised that bringing a solid object into contact with your head to emphasise your point actually hurt.

“Fine then...Harry. Harry is a good name,” James said, scowling back at his wife.

“That’s a boy’s name,” Lily said grumpily. She gave her head a surreptitious rub.

“Well, I think that he will be a boy, so giving him a boy's name would probably be the right thing to do.” James said this in a tone that indicated that he was rapidly losing patience with the entire debate. “Unless you want him to be teased unmercifully when he gets to school….”

“You have to think of girls’ names, as well you know,” Lily said, only slightly mollified.

“That’s simple, Harriet if it’s a girl, Harry if it’s a boy. Problem solved. Now go to sleep, busy day tomorrow.”

He rolled over and turned out the light, effectively cutting off any spluttered objections that she might have had. She elbowed him instead; he groaned and shoved his head under the pillow.

It was quite a nice name though, she mused as she snuggled down beside him; it had a sort of a ring to it...Harry Potter.

“Still have to come up with a middle name though,” she whispered drowsily. “Personally I quite like James.”

“Glad to hear it,” came the muffled reply. “I would hate to think that you liked anyone else.”

thornyrose42 @ 2007-04-28T18:08:00

2007-04-28T17:18:06Z

Well, it's been a while since I updated this....

Mainly because the Easter Holidays are over as of ten days ago. So I have been busy catching up on all the work that I didn't do over the holidays because I was doing things like updating the journal. However I have not just been busy with school work, oh no! Not only have I produced several drabbles, (located on the UR drabble thread if you are interested) I have finally managed to finish the next chapter of GUB and have sent it off to my beta. So hopefully it should be up quite soon.

Also last night I went on a sponsored sleepout on the streets of Edinburgh, to raise money to help homeless people, with a group of friends from school. It was really good fun and absolutely nothing like really sleeping rough, as there was soup and hot drinks available through out the night, you were allowed to go inside this nearby building to go to the loo or if you got really cold, the entire square was sectioned off so that no actual homeless people (or other dangerous folk) could come in and the provided materials (cardboard and plastic sheets) with which you could make your own shelter. Our shelter was amazing, it covered all twelve of us, didn't fall down during the night and protected us from the wind. All in all it was a blast. Although my sister and some of the others went straight from this to a two day hike over the Pentlands for Duke of Edinburgh. Poor them.....

Also this:

If she had been asked, later, what she remembered about that first night she would have said the clock.

It had been small, square, and made of shiny red plastic. It had sat upon the wobbly bedside table and ticked its way through the night. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes in bed she could still hear that tick. Persistent, unchanging, as if every single second was being marked down as present and correct. There had been something very…emotionless about it. Very Muggle. Only they could have forced Time to march at such a steady pace.

There had been a Sky-clock in her bedroom at home. Bought by some distant relative during his travels upon the Continent, it had hung opposite her bed for as long as she could remember. There had been no hands, just the moon and the sun dancing across the sky. She had fallen asleep counting the tiny pinpricks of stars and woke up when the dim light of the sun fell across her face. That was the way Time was, it danced to the music of the cosmos, not to the petulant ticking of some two Knut piece of trash.

And then she had cried, because she knew that she would never see her Sky-clock again. And then she had cried even more, because the first thing she had cried for had been a timepiece not her family. And she had cried because she had promised herself that she wouldn’t cry. And by then the lumpy pillow had been soaked with her salt tears.

She had stopped eventually. After all there are only so many tears one person can shed. But then she had been left with an awful, empty, aching feeling in the pit of her stomach and it had taken all of her willpower to stop herself from getting up and going home. She had wanted desperately to go home. Back to her Sky-clock and her mother who smelled of lavender perfume and old silk, back to her father with his “interesting stories”, back to her uncle and his books. Back to her sisters who were as different as night and day. Back to her family, who through the rose tinted glasses of recollection seemed…softer, kinder and more likely to forgive.

But she hadn’t gotten up. She had forced herself to remember what she knew. One sister had sold her soul to a monster. The other sister had taken their diminished fortune far too much to heart. Her parents were blind and her uncle was stuck in the past. If she had stayed she would have been trapped, trapped by obligation and duty and, yes, love. Because even then, on the eve of her wedding to a totally unsuitable person (as one sister would have said), she had loved her family. She had loved them and she still did love them. Despite…everything.

And she would have left her husband-to-be for them in a heart beat if she had known one thing more. That they would have accepted both of them back into the fold.

For Chilla

2007-04-08T22:45:41Z

Because I was foolish enough to mention it to her.

OK so this needs a bit of back story, basically Sirius got Sorted into Slytherin and after a few weeks of tantrus from him and bullying from Bella and the Boys, Lily finds him in a random room looking rather bleak and some how they get talking and well, talk their anger and problems out on each other. So they become friends.

Here are some extracts:

She finally found him in the mostly abandoned hideout somewhere in the middle of the South Tower. He was sitting in his old position on the widow-sill, arms wrapped around his knees, head turned toward the outside world. For a moment she could almost kid herself that they were back in their second year, sneaking away from the world for a few short hours to talk about anything and everything under the sun. Then she saw the disaster he had wreaked on the room, only last year was it? It seemed a lifetime away. Dust now covered the smashed chairs, the small fireplace was cold and the room smelt of neglect. How things had changed.

Her gaze fell once again upon the boy at the window sill, back turned very determinedly towards her. She suppressed a sigh, situations might change, but it seemed that some people never did. Cautiously she crossed the grimy floor, skirting the broken glass that lay near the door but stooping to pick up the picture that lay next to the shards to place the frame carefully upon the only table that had escaped the slaughter. She regretted throwing it now.

If the boy heard her he gave no sign but then again she hadn’t expected him to, he wasn’t one to forgive and forget. She had to make the effort though; she had to try to mend the rift. She would have been kidding herself though if she said that she was doing it for anything but selfish reasons. After a year with his brooding presence hanging over her she was sick to the back teeth of the feelings of remorse and anger he conjured up. It defiantly wasn’t because she missed him, because she didn’t, not one bit, she just didn’t like loose threads trailing along behind her. Yes, purely selfish reasons.

Surprisingly, it was him who spoke first.

“I wondered whether you’d come.”

“I don’t break my promises.”

He shrugged, “You might have forgotten, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you decided to spend the last night with him, don’t you have vows of eternal love to share or something?”

“He has a name you know,” She said with out rancour, then added, “He’s having a boys night out if you must know, from what I’ve gathered they plan to go down to the Three Broomsticks, get completely wasted then reminisce about all the good times until Rosmerta kicks them out.”

“Sounds like fun.” He said, slightly wistfully, she thought.

“Yes I thought so to, which is why I brought this,” She proffered the amber filled bottle towards him and he took it with a questioning look in her direction.

“I confiscated it from Danny Caspin last week,” She said in answer to his silent query, “He was intending to celebrate the end of exams, but I think we have something better to celebrate, don’t you?”

“A large bottle of this would keep a man celebrating for a month,” He said with just a hint of his old humour in his eyes, “used wisely.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of using it unwisely,” She said retrieving the bottle from him and uncorking it with a quick twist of her wrist. Glasses were produced from thin air and generous shots of the ochre liquid were poured into each, she passed one glass to him then raised her own glass. “To new beginnings.” She said solemnly then chucked back the shot, winching slightly at the bitter taste, she had never been one for spirits but tonight was a special occasion.

He stared at her, face blank then he quite deliberately placed his glass down beside him.

“Why did you come?”

“I told you, I don’t break my promises.”

“Don’t give me that crap, we both know that you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to be, promise or no promise.” His voice was bitter now almost angry, “You made it perfectly clear a year ago that you wanted nothing more to do with me and now you’re here again, strolling back in as though nothing had ever happened, as if you weren’t just about to go skipping merrily off into the sunset, hand in hand with your bloody Quidditch Captain.”

“OK, first off he is not my bloody Quidditch Captain; he is the team’s bloody Quidditch Captain, he is my bloody boyfriend. Secondly, you were the moron that practically chucked me out of here last year and thirdly…” She trailed off unsure of what to say, “I missed you.”

He blinked, temporarily floored by her quiet admission. Then he smiled the old smile that she could remember so well and took up his glass to toast her.

“And to old friendships, may they never be forgotten.” He drank, tossing it back as if it were water then slamming the glass down by his side. She returned his smile, inwardly rejoicing and topped up their glasses.

“Now, I’m sure I said something about reminiscing.”

***

The last time they had drank together had been the night after their last OWL, already high on the sudden release from tension and stress she had been more than willing to indulge in a bit of… rebelliousness. Slipping out of her dorm had been easy, after five years of living with them it had only taken five minutes of intent listening to determine whether or not her companions were truly asleep. Then she had slithered out of bed, cautiously donned the previously laid out clothes with suitable sneakiness and tiptoed out of the room, down the stairs and through the common room with no alarm being raised. The Fat Lady had been snoring loudly when she exited through the portrait hole, shifting only slightly in her sleep when her frame was softly shut.

The corridors were eerily empty, it seemed that even the ghosts had settled down for the night and if Filch was patrolling he was doing it elsewhere. She was shaking by the time she reached the mirror, from excitement she told herself firmly but then again she did make a mental note to wear thicker clothes next time she decided to wander the corridors at night. He must have sensed this because his first action upon seeing her was to force his cloak on her, ignoring her vain protests.

“There’s been a change of plan,” He said shortly, “Slughorn has organised a Staff night out, The Three Broomsticks will be too dangerous for us.” He cut off her sigh of resignation with a triumphant smile, “Don’t worry, I’ve got the perfect place.”

He had led her back upstairs, once again showing his almost complete mastery of Hogwarts secret ways. She had trailed after him and whispered queries; despite his continuing statements that it was a surprise and that she would find out when they got there. When the got “there” however there was nothing “there”. She was ready to go back to her nice warm bed but he paced up and down, angrily searching for the elusive room, muttering desperate pleas for it to “Bloody well get back where it damned well should be”. While this had been rather amusing it didn’t appear to be very fruitful, until on his fourth circuit of the corridor a door appeared, just as much to his surprise as hers.

The room was… perfect. Just, perfect.

A blazing fire flickered in the large hearth that took up the entire far wall, long comfortable benches were set into the sides of the inglenook and there was a sturdy cabinet full of glass decanters and goblets on each side of the massive fireplace. The walls were panelled with some sort of dark wood that made her think of what her father’s study ought to have been like and when she had finally stepped into the room in awestruck wonder she had found that the carpet was thick and deep. On impulse she had kicked off her shoes to squiggle her toes into the delicious softness.

“When I leave here, I’m going to have a room in my house exactly like this.” He had said quietly, handing her a glass half full of ruby-red wine

The events were a bit blurred after that but she did remember pulling him up into a dance that went from wild abandon to breathtaking slowness, and then she remembered the wonderful feeling of his hands on her face, the way she got lost in his eyes, the irresistible power of his body pressed against hers and finally the overwhelming feeling of pleasure that arose in her heart when he lent down to press his lips against hers.

She had no idea how long they stood there revelling in each other’s nearness, delighting in their newfound bliss, swaying to the music that only they could hear. But the time had been too short and when she had finally crept back into her freezing cold bed she could remember a longing for the summer to be over soon.

***

“Psst”

She paused intrigued by the curtain’s sudden exclamation; she was still new enough to Hogwarts to be surprised at the inanimate objects refusal to stay, well inanimate. Her less inquisitive dorm mates continued on down the corridor, chatting loudly about the difficult homework assigned to them for tomorrow, the horribleness of the caretaker and the upcoming Quidditch tryouts.

“Psst.” Once again the curtain displayed its powers of speech.

“Err, hello?” This time the curtain sighed with exasperation, then sprouted an arm and pulled her behind it.

“Oh, it’s you.” She said rather awkwardly to the boy crouching beside her, “What do you want? And why are you hiding behind a curtain?”

“Well obviously I was hiding,” He said sarcastically, “attempting not to get my ears cursed off, wacky fun stuff like that.”

“Oh,” She said, they sat in a slightly awkward silence for a while, they almost simultaneously they spoke.

“You know we could…”

“What did you…”

“You go first.” They said together, smiling widely.

***

She had been holed up in the hospital wing, suffering from a bout of a disease know as Caraway’s Complaint. Although at that point she hadn’t really cared what its name was. She had just wanted to stop coughing up live baby chickens. They had scratched her throat into something resembling a battle site, left feathers in her mouth and she hadn’t even wanted to think what they were doing while they were travelling up her throat.

At first she had thought it was a curse or something and she had trudged over to see Madam Pomfrey confident that everything would soon be resolved. Not so, as soon as she had reached the hospital wing surrounded by slightly soggy chicks she had been forced in to bed with a boiling hot water bottle, fed large amounts of some disgusting potion and told that she wasn’t allowed to stir from her bed for at least a week. Suffice to say she was not in the best of moods when late one night he had padded in.

“What on earth are you doing here?!” She had croaked.

“Bringing you some homework,” He had replied jumping up onto the foot of her bed, “budge up.”

“I got lots thanks, some complete muffin thought that I would hate to slip behind in my classes and so keeps bringing me all her notes from the lessons, unfortunately its quite hard to concentrate when chickens keep popping out of your mouth and pooping all over your Charms diagrams.” It had probably been fortunate that she hadn’t been able to talk over a whisper as if she had retained all powers of speech she would have been shouting by then.

“Keep your wig on,” He had said, shoving freezing cold feet under the covers. “This hasn’t exactly been set by any teachers.” He had then produced a thin paperback book and handed it to her.

Curiosity piqued she had opened the tattered covers. Even through the feathers this had looked at least mildly interesting. And a couple of minutes leafing through the pages had proved her notion right.

“This has got to be your most insane idea yet,” She had whispered.

“Insane, yes, but brilliant too.” He had answered eyes shining in the moonlight streaming through the windows, “Just think what we could do with this.”

“We could get ourselves killed is what,” She had said, but already the idea had started to grow on her, “It’s incredibly dangerous.”

“Hypocrite, since when have you not been a fan of danger.”

“Since there was a possibility of…” She had flicked back through the book, “urgh, my eye balls becoming attached to the back of my head, my brain dripping out of my ears, something I don’t even want to describe happening to my feet, the list goes on and that’s only what can happen if you twirl the damned incense the wrong way.”

“We won’t twirl the damned incense the wrong way,” He had said mockingly, “Come on think of the excitement, the adventure…”

“The many new and interesting ways we can die…”

“Stop being such a scardy cat.”

“Stop being so reckless.”

“You’re just as reckless and you know it.”

“Well…”

“Remember in second year, who was it that suggested sending that Howler to Filch?”

“He hung you from the ceiling by your ankles for ages, we had to do something! It was necessary.”

“Well this is necessary too.” His expression had become abruptly serious, “I’ve got to do something otherwise I swear I’m going to leave.”

She had gaped, startled by the abrupt change in tone.

“I mean it. I can’t stand to be in my common room for more than two minutes, the entire house hates me and the rest of the school isn’t much better, classes… well you know I could do most of them standing on my head but…”

“You shouldn’t let them ruin your life,” She had sighed, it was an old argument, “you shouldn’t not try just to make them angry, in three years you can leave them behind and never look back, but your OWLs and NEWTs will be with you for the rest of your life. Not doing any work when you enjoy doing it is just cutting of your own nose to spite your face.”

“I know, but I can’t stop now can I, they’ll think that I’ve given in,” She could still remember the strange desperateness that had shone in his eyes at that moment, “I can’t lose to them, I can’t, you know I can’t.”

“I know, I still think that for all your natural talent you’re a complete dunce, but yes I do sort of understand. You’ve got to much pride, that’s your trouble.” She had waved the distasteful subject away, “But I still don’t see how doing this is going to help, how is it going to stop you…running away.”

“I’m not running away!” He almost shouted, then abruptly lowered his voice with a apprehensive glance at the door to the nurses office, “I’m not. I won’t any way, not if we do this. Don’t you see, there’s nothing here for me, I’m either sulking around the castle trying to keep away from every one or deliberately picking a fight to lose points, it’s no way to live! But if I was working for something, something as amazing as this then I think I could keep going. Please, say you’ll help.”

It had been an easy decision. Despite the strangeness of their friendship, he was a friend, and she told herself to give some semblance of a logical choice to her resolution, if she didn’t help he would probably do it anyway and get himself killed. At least this way, well, at least this way she was involved if every thing went horribly wrong.

***

The attic was small, snug was the word her mother had used, and filled to the brim with carefully labelled cardboard boxes of every shape and size. She was in a peculiarly poetic mood so she thought of them as the residue of generations - instead of a huge chore that was going to take up most of her weekend. She had brought up a wet handkerchief to keep out the dust that inevitably built up in unused spaces, but it was unnecessary, the room was as clean and dust free as a new pin. Petunia had obviously been here before her.

Lily was slightly surprised that her sister hadn’t gone through the boxes herself, she had been ruthlessly sorting everything thing else in the house into very definite “Yours” and “Mine” piles. It seemed strange that Petunia hadn’t immediately pounced upon such a large source of potential conflict. She pondered upon the problem as she pulled down the first box.

Opening the cardboard flaps immediately provided an answer, instead of the old sheets or broken toys that she had been expecting she found – magic. She stared down into the depths like a travelling explorer finally gazing upon her El Dorado or a tramp finding gold in some dustbin. Elation mixed with surprise, a heady combination. She could already feel the wide grin spreading across her face. She reached in to the box and one by one drew out the jigsaw pieces of her charmed childhood.

A chipped tea cup with a rat’s tail. A bundle of grimy test tubes wrapped together with Spellotape. Two stuffed white mice. A twisted willow branch. Three sets of plain black and potion scarred work robes. A wooden badger with one foot missing. Sixteen different types of sweet wrapper. A clumsily mended photo frame. Bottles of all shapes and sizes. Notebooks bulging with messy notes, jagged cuttings, dried herbs… Photos, envelopes and letters bound up with string.

Fingers trembling she tugged at the knots. Swearing under her breath as they grew tighter. Exasperated, she let that bundle drop to her side and reached blindly in to the pile in beside her for a more easy going collection of memories. This one was bulkier and she recognised the handwriting. She paused. Then with care she slid the string around the stacks’ corners. Suddenly released the letters surged over her knees like the tide covering a beach. She removed one and triggered another avalanche of parchment.

For a moment she simply held the richly embossed scroll in her hands. Abruptly she was twelve again, feeling once again the thrill of anticipation and the biter tang of trepidation that had always preceded the breaking of the wax seal. Then she gently eased the scroll open.

The mother is once again confined to her bed; this comes as no surprise as she consumed the best part of a bottle of the 1565 elf made wine by herself last night. Brought on I feel, by yours-truly, it was actually quite amusing…

April Fools and Prefectship

2007-04-02T13:40:46Z

Well I for one am absolutly exhausted after our riot last night. Would you believe I didn't get to bed until 2 in the morning! It was worth it though, it isn't often that you embark upon a perilous quest to save a rooster, witness, try to prevent the horror of your UR mother falling for the noted spouse killer Mrs Zabini, inspire a drabble and acheive the rank of Prefect all in one night. And Draco doesn't seem to be as annoyed this year as he was the last couple of years, maybe being on the run has softened him a bit, either that or he just has better things to do with his time then chastise his humble minions. Pity I was quite looking foreward to seeing Desie realise her dreadful mistake.

All five of our older pet lambs are suckling off the bucket now, but unfortunatly we have two new ones who are completly useless. And lambing isn't even half over!

Could some one tell me which challenges I have to do to gain other ranks, I am rather curious and quite desperate to climb further up the UR ladder.

Cover Releases

2007-03-29T10:12:27Z

Well, my first reaction upon seeing the UK cover was "Oh no poor Ron! This artist has decided that Rupert Grint's Terrified!Facial expression is something that you actually do". Also they all apear to be falling out of the Stargate (for those of you who haven't seen Stargate SG1 the Stargate is this round thing that looks exactly like the thing in the UK cover, and it is a portal to other worlds) and if it is a Stargate, which it obviously is, then the funny symbol on the spine is one of the symbols on the Stargate which I think means Earth.

As for the US cover, well it has got a veil, or at least a pair of yellow curtains. Which is alwasy a plus I feel.

On the lambing front, one more pet lamb. Both suckling well.