AN: Huge Thanks to LitteTee and FireDiva0 for Betaing!
Gringotts Prompt Bank:
Bambi:
[Animal/Creature] Owl
[Trait] Brave
Great Literature Prompts:
87. "Never expect to outgrow loneliness." – Janet Fitch, White Oleander
64. "Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart." – Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
Daredevil
In The Blood
Phantom of the Opera
Emotion: fearful
Quote: "Our lives are one masked ball."
Plot point: a murder
Emotion: Anger
Theme: Monsters
Jane Austen:
Item: A letter
Location: A cottage
Task #1: Write about a character defending against an attack. This attack can be verbal, physical, emotional, or anything else you can think of. I only want to see your character defending themselves. Your character can't attack the person/people/thing attacking them.
Task #2: Write about a character attacking another character. The attack can be anything, as long as it is only an attack. Your chosen character can't defend against a different attack, and they can't be attacked by the other person. If the other character was to attack, your character would be forced to defend, which is not allowed for this task.
Notes: If you wish to combine the two tasks you can, BUT you must use TWO additional prompts instead of just one, and the minimum word count is 900 words instead of 500. The required prompt (or prompts) only needs to be in one story if you plan to write multiple. Please let me know which task you wrote for and the extra prompt you used.
Extra Prompts (please use one):
(action) someone crossing their arms
(time of day) dawn
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
He knows.
I should have written to you sooner. I know that now, but I couldn't bring myself to believe what I knew in my heart to be true.
Tom Marvolo Riddle is going to kill me. By the time you read this, I might already be dead.
I'm sorry to say that I love him, still love him, or a part of him – a part that has never really existed. Maybe it did once. Or maybe I was trying to see exactly what he wanted me to. These memories are killing me.
Memories are supposed to be happy. Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.
He killed Myrtle, you know. I don't know how, but he's hinted. He's always hinted, to me, to others, to those who he believes is in his circle of trust.
It should have been me. If I had just told people that I was a Muggleborn, maybe she would be alive, and I can't forget that. I can't forgive it.
I owe Myrtle that, owed her that, and I'll never get to tell her I'm sorry or that I understand.
I can't be your spy, I'm sorry.
I won't rise from the ashes and that's ok.
Sometimes death…isn't someone we need to run from.
Goodbye, Professor.
Phoenix.
/
Putting her quill back into its holder, Gwen folded the letter, sealing it and stepping outside; whistling for her owl. The barn owl swooped down, pecking her affectionately as she gave her the letter, taking flight easily soon afterward.
The air seemed cold, even though it was barely fall, and Gwen crossed her arms across her chest as she shivered in the dawn's early light. Part of her wanted to cry as the unbearable weight of the reality before her settled in.
She had always been wary of Tom, but she had always, always, passed it off as childhood arrogance or a personality trait instead of true psychopathy.
However, the Muggle world around her had been shaken to its core when Hitler had started the World War - members of her family being 'sent away'. Tom had seemed to approve of his rhetoric, and the actions he was taking - when most magical people had no idea what was it was like to be Jewish in a world that didn't want you. Then again they had no idea what it was like to be Muggleborn in a world where Purebloods were considered royalty.
However, Tom wasn't all he said he was either.
She wasn't supposed to find the newspaper clippings of the murder of a Muggle man, bearing the same name, under "mysterious circumstances" in Tom's things – but she had. Tom had become enraged, going so far as to use a Forbidden Curse on her.
It was then that she couldn't deny it any longer, as it was she had denied herself and the truth for far too long – putting them all at risk.
Even worse, he had pretended to be her lover – abusive, yes – but lover none the less; making it harder to escape.
It had taken the help of Albus Dumbledore to get her, and her child, out.
Out of the school.
Out of the Country.
Out of her own life.
A life she wasn't sure she had the right to be living anyway.
Heading back inside, she smiled gently at the snake that was curled within its cage. She had always loved snakes, especially boa constrictors; they were greatly misunderstood creatures. Like all dangerous creatures within the natural world, if simply given enough space - and proper care and handling - often times they did not pose a threat.
Then again it could have just as easily have coiled around her body and crushed her body slowly before devouring her - so perhaps it the danger she was attracted to once again.
Maybe it was that this creature, so misunderstood, was much like herself.
The clock chimed across the room, making her glance over at it, the little cuckoo bird announcing it was seven am.
All she had left to do, was wait.
/
The dark wisp of smoke came as dawn was fading.
The rage held within his person could be felt from within the walls of her small home before the door exploded off its hinges.
"What is this!?" he screamed, his wand aimed right at her heart, flickers of what could almost be considered emotions dancing in his eyes. "Guinevere?"
He was holding the letter she had written to him, stating only that he had killed the wrong Mudblood during his fifth year.
She felt tears begin to burn behind her eyes but blinked them away, shaking her head and looking at her hands. "It was you, then." Saying the words made all those years of suspicion feel less like paranoia, but it didn't ease the guilt.
Pain ripped through her as the curse was uttered, her body slipping from the chair; her screams filling the cottage.
"What is this lie?" Tom barked, "You can't be a Mudblood."
Gasping for breath, Gwen couldn't find the will to fight back; though her wand lay nearby.
"Why not?" she whispered, letting the tears roll, steeling herself for the next attack. "Why can't I lie too Tom, just like you?"
"You're a Fawley," Tom stated, seemingly enraged and dumbfounded.
"Not a Fawley," Gwen corrected gently. "Just a plain, ordinary, non magical Fawley."
"You just let everyone believe you were a pureblood?" he snarled, unleashing the curse once more, becoming angrier and angrier. "You let me believe."
Groaning, finding the urge to fight somewhere deep within her soul, Gwen pushed herself up off the floor – jumping up and grabbing a handful of herbs; throwing them in his eyes.
It gave her just enough time to grab her wand.
The spell was on the tip of her tongue, but he was too quick.
"Crucio!"
Jumping, she landed hard on her stomach, but avoided the spell.
"You made me care for you," he barked, sending jinxes and hexes at her, "I made love to you."
"Drop the mask, Tom!" She screamed, when she could, between the pain. "You never cared about me, about anyone. You care about yourself."
"Our lives are one masked ball. We," he emphasized, "were alike. You were supposed to understand!" he yelled, sending another flurry of attack, throwing things out of his way.
"I touched your dirty skin." He hissed, coming to stand over her as she screamed through the Unforgivable. "And then, you learned about my father."
The gears in his head finally clicked.
He stood silent for a moment, his face expressionless; memories of his own swirling like a hurricane in his mind. "You asked if I believed in monsters."
"Yes."
A pause, one to let him think what answer he was going to give; now that he knew the truth about her.
"I believe you are one," he said, looking over at the snake, making a decision. "Avada Kedavra."
It didn't feel like the others, which surprised him, and he felt the urge to look at her once more.
Her large, soft, brown eyes were open, staring up at him - he hadn't noticed before how much light had once been within them. Her lips were curled at the edges, smiling faintly, making her final expression not one of sadness, surprise, or fear - like his Father - but it was somehow peaceful and content.
Guinevere was gone and he was experiencing none of the usually rushes of justification or satisfaction; instead, he was alone.
She'd been his competition, his target, his….
No, he thought, still angry. She was never anything to me.
"Come with me," he gestured to the snake, whose name placard on the cage was Nagini, speaking in Parseltongue. "And neither of us shall be lonely again."
"Never expect to outgrow loneliness," it replied, slowly slithering out of its box.