Drabbles
These are my drabbles, all from the same reality. I've compiled many
different perspectives and ways of telling what's happened.
137 wds. Draco Malfoy sits and remembers his days at Hogwarts. He remembers a time when he scowled at clouds and wished for sun. He remembers cursing the sun when it did come out. He remembers flying on a broomstick. He remembers a lot of things that are gone.
He remembers magic. His mother. His father. His teachers. And now they are all gone.for him, in any case.
But mostly, Draco remembers a time when he wished for the death of the one person who could save him now, the one Death Eater who knew that he was imprisoned here and who sometimes questioned the morals of evil.
He remembers a time when he thought that she was a good-for-nothing Mudblood. But Voldemort had accepted her into his circle when she came, and now only she could save him.
264 wds. Dear Ginny,
I'll burn this letter when I finish it, and maybe the ashes will sink into this earth in front of your gravestone, and maybe the smoke will rise to wherever you are. Maybe you'll never get it, but they keep saying I need to let you go. I don't want to, damn it, but I don't want to live this hellhole life anymore. I want to sleep at night without seeing you haunt me in my dreams, and I want to sleep at night without waking up to find tears on my pillow.
More than anything, I want you to come up behind me right now, and hug me, and tell me it was someone else, that it was another life, that it's time to go home.
I wish you'd told me, Ginny. I was supposed to take care of you. When you were only an hour old, I held you in my arms, and Dad told me that you would be the last, and I had to take care of you. You were my only sister. You still are.
It's been a month now, and I'm back at work. I hate it, and I want to quit, but I need money. Mum said I could live at home, but everything's different now you're gone. There's a new clock, and Mum cries every time she looks at it. There are pictures of you everywhere. Your room is just how it was, except filled with flowers. And Harry lives there now.
I have to go.
I love you forever and a day,
Bill
142 wds. The wind shifted, and the black dog lifted his nose to the sky as if to howl. As if deciding against it, however, he lowered his head back onto his paws and waited. He didn't even know any longer what he was waiting for. It might have been death. It might have been kindness. It might have been that he was waiting for the two cats that were slinking down Knockturn Alley, looking for the alley he lay in.
Whether Sirius Black waited for Crookshanks and Minerva or not, they found him, and although he did not exactly receive kindness, he did not find death either.not then.
What he did find was a purpose, something that he would live for. He would hate them for it, one day, because a time came again when he wished for death but refused to die.
123 wds. April 13, 2003 I hate Sundays. They are the longest days now, it seems, because it was a Sunday when Hermione went missing. The anniversary will be harder
I have a match tomorrow. I do not think that we will win. Recently, their record has been superb, and I am certainly not in a mood to play, much less to win. I may be cut from the team. Teams all over are swiftly degrading, and Quidditch is one of the few sports in which our country has a chance for a title. If I cannot win for my team, they need to find a better player. I do not think I would mind.
No more to say now. But I hate Sundays. V.K.
137 wds. It is raining, and the figure at the window does not look away from the storm when a knock comes on the door. There is a long and heavy silence, and then an even heavier voice that sighs, "Come in."
A half-giant with a patch over one eye opens the door. "Headmaster," he says quietly, "the train oughtta be here in ten minutes. Will yeh be at the feast?"
The figure turns slowly and nods. "Yes, Hagrid. Is Minerva back?"
"No, sir."
"Have Jason Hall lead the Sorting."
"Who?"
"The Defense Against Dark Arts teacher."
"Yes, sir."
"It's good to have you back, Hagrid. Do you have any news from the front lines?"
"No, sir. Sorry."
The old man nods, and the half-giant stares at him for a moment before leaving him to watch the dark rain.
All right, my people. Is this worth making into a fic? -D.E. Hermione, everyone thinks she's dead -imprisoned Draco -depressed Bill and Viktor and.well, everyone -Voldemort still in power -Sirius having been living starving in a Knockturn Alley alleyway -Harry living at Weasleys -Ginny dead -Hagrid on front lines -Hogwarts, for the moment, still intact
137 wds. Draco Malfoy sits and remembers his days at Hogwarts. He remembers a time when he scowled at clouds and wished for sun. He remembers cursing the sun when it did come out. He remembers flying on a broomstick. He remembers a lot of things that are gone.
He remembers magic. His mother. His father. His teachers. And now they are all gone.for him, in any case.
But mostly, Draco remembers a time when he wished for the death of the one person who could save him now, the one Death Eater who knew that he was imprisoned here and who sometimes questioned the morals of evil.
He remembers a time when he thought that she was a good-for-nothing Mudblood. But Voldemort had accepted her into his circle when she came, and now only she could save him.
264 wds. Dear Ginny,
I'll burn this letter when I finish it, and maybe the ashes will sink into this earth in front of your gravestone, and maybe the smoke will rise to wherever you are. Maybe you'll never get it, but they keep saying I need to let you go. I don't want to, damn it, but I don't want to live this hellhole life anymore. I want to sleep at night without seeing you haunt me in my dreams, and I want to sleep at night without waking up to find tears on my pillow.
More than anything, I want you to come up behind me right now, and hug me, and tell me it was someone else, that it was another life, that it's time to go home.
I wish you'd told me, Ginny. I was supposed to take care of you. When you were only an hour old, I held you in my arms, and Dad told me that you would be the last, and I had to take care of you. You were my only sister. You still are.
It's been a month now, and I'm back at work. I hate it, and I want to quit, but I need money. Mum said I could live at home, but everything's different now you're gone. There's a new clock, and Mum cries every time she looks at it. There are pictures of you everywhere. Your room is just how it was, except filled with flowers. And Harry lives there now.
I have to go.
I love you forever and a day,
Bill
142 wds. The wind shifted, and the black dog lifted his nose to the sky as if to howl. As if deciding against it, however, he lowered his head back onto his paws and waited. He didn't even know any longer what he was waiting for. It might have been death. It might have been kindness. It might have been that he was waiting for the two cats that were slinking down Knockturn Alley, looking for the alley he lay in.
Whether Sirius Black waited for Crookshanks and Minerva or not, they found him, and although he did not exactly receive kindness, he did not find death either.not then.
What he did find was a purpose, something that he would live for. He would hate them for it, one day, because a time came again when he wished for death but refused to die.
123 wds. April 13, 2003 I hate Sundays. They are the longest days now, it seems, because it was a Sunday when Hermione went missing. The anniversary will be harder
I have a match tomorrow. I do not think that we will win. Recently, their record has been superb, and I am certainly not in a mood to play, much less to win. I may be cut from the team. Teams all over are swiftly degrading, and Quidditch is one of the few sports in which our country has a chance for a title. If I cannot win for my team, they need to find a better player. I do not think I would mind.
No more to say now. But I hate Sundays. V.K.
137 wds. It is raining, and the figure at the window does not look away from the storm when a knock comes on the door. There is a long and heavy silence, and then an even heavier voice that sighs, "Come in."
A half-giant with a patch over one eye opens the door. "Headmaster," he says quietly, "the train oughtta be here in ten minutes. Will yeh be at the feast?"
The figure turns slowly and nods. "Yes, Hagrid. Is Minerva back?"
"No, sir."
"Have Jason Hall lead the Sorting."
"Who?"
"The Defense Against Dark Arts teacher."
"Yes, sir."
"It's good to have you back, Hagrid. Do you have any news from the front lines?"
"No, sir. Sorry."
The old man nods, and the half-giant stares at him for a moment before leaving him to watch the dark rain.
All right, my people. Is this worth making into a fic? -D.E. Hermione, everyone thinks she's dead -imprisoned Draco -depressed Bill and Viktor and.well, everyone -Voldemort still in power -Sirius having been living starving in a Knockturn Alley alleyway -Harry living at Weasleys -Ginny dead -Hagrid on front lines -Hogwarts, for the moment, still intact