This is just something I had to do for an English assignment. I had to do some creative and descriptive writing about a storm. It could be about anything, just as long as it had a storm in it. Any way, here it is, I thought I might as well put it up on ff.net. It's like a poem which tells a story. I hope you like it.
Neville's Storm
"Settle down" said Snape, his voice revealing hidden evil,
I sit and whimper as he glances at me, his eyes pools of darkness.
"Today we form a potion to create a creature of the mind," drawls Snape,
His mouth a black hole, sucking in pupils' abrupt attention.
I begin to stand, when a cold voice stops me,
"Careful Longbottom, we do not want a repeat on last week," Snape says.
Memory floods my mind. The explosion; The hospital wing; The pain…
"Instructions on the board," Snape shouts. "Begin now."
Looking up, I need: a drop of aconite, bubotubor pus, chopped daisy roots
Two inches of boomslang skin shredded, three sliced caterpillars, ginger.
Six drops of dragon blood, two spoonfuls of leech juice and dried nettles,
My mind screams out, each detail will become a disaster, I should know.
Walking around the dingy underground dungeon, I collect the items I need,
Dragging an old cauldron along the bare floor.
Pushing it onto the table, I add the boomslang skin, shredding it carefully,
I work slowly, to avoid mistakes which Snape will taunt me for.
After adding all my ingredients into the cauldron, I glance at Hermione's,
I see a whirlpool of pink, I look at mine, blue-black swirls.
My heart thumps wildly in my chest, my face sweating feverishly,
How could I have gotten it wrong? My thoughts displaying my panic.
My eyes are caught an a blackness moving towards me,
I lift my eyes, and see Snape sneering at me.
"Blue!? Longbottom! You incompetent fool, can you not read?"
His voice is replied to, with several sniggers from Malfoy and co.
"Yours will be shown to the class in precisely… 5 minutes," sneers Snape.
With this, he moves away, leaving me paralysed with growing fear.
I realise slowly, that there is nothing I can do,
But pray that my potion will work, the colour of a darkened cloud.
Mortified I put away my equipment, walking past Malfoy who whispers,
"This'll be a laugh Longbottom, you snivelling idiot."
The time arrives,
"Come forward Longbottom," the dreaded voice says.
Carrying my vial of blueness and my wand, I walk to him,
Hermione gives me a look which holds hope, mingled with sympathy.
When I reach him, he says "Pour it there Longbottom,"
His crooked finger pointing sharply.
I turn the vial slowly, allowing the dark liquid to come cascading out,
Into a pool of blue.
"Say the words on the board." I look up, past the eager faces of Slytherin,
"Espalarama, exquisitàe ou'jordæ," my wand waving.
Silence,
Then suddenly a roar escapes the floor.
Pupils back away, expecting something huge,
They are greeted with a sharp wind, filled with blackness.
It whirls and whirls until it's spinning uncontrolably,
The blackness, is now mixed with grey, sharp lines etching through it.
It expands, pulling tables and chairs into it's heart,
I feel wetness on my face, looking up I see a ferocious cloud.
It begins to rain, strage as it is indoors,
Pupils screaming and running for cover.
The spinning blackness throwing furniture around, barely missing pupils,
One not so lucky, she falls slumping against the wall.
I have created a storm,
A killer storm.
Snape is wild with fury and fear,
His arms outstretched, but no longer. As a wind throws him against the wall.
I am the creater of this monster,
Who desroys all in it's way.
Sharp winds blow against my face, making it sting with cold,
I am powerless to this beast, I am at it's mercy.
Lightening erupts from the clouds formed above,
A quick flash, like a silent light switching on… and then off.
I know what is next, all I can do is wait,
Rumbling, building up quickly. Letting out a blast of thunder.
Chaos everywhere, as the storm evolves,
Everything is a blur.
Only one thing clear,
Professor McGonagall, at the door.
Her face a portrait of bewilderment,
Her minds sntches at the last bit of common sense.
"Ditinguishà le potiana," she shouts waving her wand,
The noise stops.
Chairs which had been taken by the monster, drop,
A pupil also falls to the groud, his face showing fear and wonderment.
Other pupils stir, awaking from there deep sleep,
Taking in the room, with it's broken furniture and papers thrown on the floor.
"What happened?" shouts Professor McGonagall,
I look up meekly and reply, "Me."
A/N: so wat d'ya think? Pleaz review