A/N: Oh the joys of writing. Cheers to those who've been kind enough to review, not very many, granted, but thanks all the same.
Thanks heaps, especially to Orion for (quiet literarily) giving me the idea for Fifteen because this a long version of Chapter 8 from Short Shots: Harry Potter.
BTW, I am very aware that I've told this already but I'll say it again, just for the benefit of the tape: I really think you'll like his stories, you'll be doing humanity a favour if you check them out. There's a link to his stuff in my fave authors list.
*nudges people encouragingly towards the active 'merryduffer' link at the top of the page*
For me?
Disclaimer: I didn't do a proper one before so I'll do it hear. I do not, cannot and will not own anything remotely close to the rights to Harry Potter. That is my fate. I will never own the rights themselves, a doggy photocopying of the rights, or even a ticket into a museum exhibit of the rights to Harry Potter. That is a privilege left the J.K and J.K alone. The books belong to J.K and whoever the hell prints the books.
This idea belongs to Orion, who has kindly lent me the idea. I will return the idea to him when I have finished writing.
I have a book in which I write the fanfic before typing it up, my mum bought it for me.
Fourteen.
Hermione's hand shook ever so slightly as she turned the pages of a heavy medical book. She knew it was hopeless, how couldn't it be?
She had no idea how to save the boy, even if she did it wouldn't be enough; she was a doctor, not a miracle worker. If she was this kid's last hope he was as good as dead.
Something at the base of Hermione's stomach fluttered and something deeper still nagged at her: it wouldn't matter if he died from cancer today or by a wand tomorrow, they were all going to die soon. Everyone knew that, even the muggles had the vague idea that something was wrong. Some of them were even coming close to the truth in the frantic predictions.
Oh god, this was the end. She knew it.
Hermione took a deep breath, trying to calm herself and looked out the window of the small back room in the medical practise.
The world had had less than half and hour of darkness before the pinkish tinge had emerged on the eastern horizon which signified the dawn of a new day.
'Are you alright Hermione?' Asked Dean from the door.
'I can't do anything to save him." She replied shakily.
'Occupational hazard,' he said quietly, callousness mixing with compassion, 'you can't let it get to you.'
Hermione shuddered, 'That doesn't make it any easier,'
'We won't have to put up with it for much longer, I guess.'
Hermione turned to face him, 'Are you scared?'
Dean shrugged and moved to lean against the window sill, 'I've seen a lot of death, so I'm not scared. After all, I'm not leaving anyone behind am I?'
'But can you accept your own death?'
Once again Dean shrugged and stared out the window. He nudged Hermione.
'You'll miss it.' He prompted.
But she already had, because before 13 seconds had passed the sun had already risen and the end was a little bit closer.
Draco Malfoy sat calmly in his manor-house watching the sun rise blandly and emotionlessly. Of course he had had doubts, a moment of regret, a flash of his conscience, but that had long gone by now. The time for cop-outs had long passed.
Nevertheless, he did feal something as he watched the sky turn from midnight purple to orange. An image flashed through his mind, as clear and as tangible as a drop of water. I could have been a reality, if things had fallen different. It might have been a good life, or even a pleasant dream if Draco had let it stay a moment. Bust everyone knows one can't escape the future and no one can change the past.
Thanks heaps, especially to Orion for (quiet literarily) giving me the idea for Fifteen because this a long version of Chapter 8 from Short Shots: Harry Potter.
BTW, I am very aware that I've told this already but I'll say it again, just for the benefit of the tape: I really think you'll like his stories, you'll be doing humanity a favour if you check them out. There's a link to his stuff in my fave authors list.
*nudges people encouragingly towards the active 'merryduffer' link at the top of the page*
For me?
Disclaimer: I didn't do a proper one before so I'll do it hear. I do not, cannot and will not own anything remotely close to the rights to Harry Potter. That is my fate. I will never own the rights themselves, a doggy photocopying of the rights, or even a ticket into a museum exhibit of the rights to Harry Potter. That is a privilege left the J.K and J.K alone. The books belong to J.K and whoever the hell prints the books.
This idea belongs to Orion, who has kindly lent me the idea. I will return the idea to him when I have finished writing.
I have a book in which I write the fanfic before typing it up, my mum bought it for me.
Fourteen.
Hermione's hand shook ever so slightly as she turned the pages of a heavy medical book. She knew it was hopeless, how couldn't it be?
She had no idea how to save the boy, even if she did it wouldn't be enough; she was a doctor, not a miracle worker. If she was this kid's last hope he was as good as dead.
Something at the base of Hermione's stomach fluttered and something deeper still nagged at her: it wouldn't matter if he died from cancer today or by a wand tomorrow, they were all going to die soon. Everyone knew that, even the muggles had the vague idea that something was wrong. Some of them were even coming close to the truth in the frantic predictions.
Oh god, this was the end. She knew it.
Hermione took a deep breath, trying to calm herself and looked out the window of the small back room in the medical practise.
The world had had less than half and hour of darkness before the pinkish tinge had emerged on the eastern horizon which signified the dawn of a new day.
'Are you alright Hermione?' Asked Dean from the door.
'I can't do anything to save him." She replied shakily.
'Occupational hazard,' he said quietly, callousness mixing with compassion, 'you can't let it get to you.'
Hermione shuddered, 'That doesn't make it any easier,'
'We won't have to put up with it for much longer, I guess.'
Hermione turned to face him, 'Are you scared?'
Dean shrugged and moved to lean against the window sill, 'I've seen a lot of death, so I'm not scared. After all, I'm not leaving anyone behind am I?'
'But can you accept your own death?'
Once again Dean shrugged and stared out the window. He nudged Hermione.
'You'll miss it.' He prompted.
But she already had, because before 13 seconds had passed the sun had already risen and the end was a little bit closer.
Draco Malfoy sat calmly in his manor-house watching the sun rise blandly and emotionlessly. Of course he had had doubts, a moment of regret, a flash of his conscience, but that had long gone by now. The time for cop-outs had long passed.
Nevertheless, he did feal something as he watched the sky turn from midnight purple to orange. An image flashed through his mind, as clear and as tangible as a drop of water. I could have been a reality, if things had fallen different. It might have been a good life, or even a pleasant dream if Draco had let it stay a moment. Bust everyone knows one can't escape the future and no one can change the past.