Train, train,
Take us away.
Take us away,
Far away.
To the future we will go;
Where it leads,
No one knows.
Man, it's been empty lately. Just so everyone (myself included) knows, there was no competition to see how long everyone could go without posting. So I've broken the silence.
I've finally finished all of my projects and assignments that I know I've missed. I don't see how Yaning could have finished her geo summative in one day. That BS was so boring, it took me four days. I couldn't concentrate on it at all, and in the end, I just threw in a bunch of filler. I also scribbled colour onto my Parks poster. I don't care about geography and I'm NEVER taking it again. So too bad, it's all done.
In less than an hour, it'll be 2011. I don't know about everyone else, but I really don't feel ready for a new year. I feel as though I haven't done everything that should have been accomplished this year, as though I failed.
Enough about that. I just finished reading through a giant section of an old chainmail that someone attempted (and failed) to revive. It always feels weird to look back like that. Guess that's how nostalgia works. What's weird though is that you always want to go back. You always think of the past as a simpler time. Maybe that's just how life works. A new year, a new level. And as you get older, the game gets harder. If only there was a New Game option.
Yes, I have been gaming too much over my extended break. Whenever I hear or read certain "key words", my mind warps them into "game words". (E.g. "overtime" looks like "overdrive".)
I hope I won't have too much work to catch up on. I'm kind of worried. I have an urge to do non-existent homework right now, even though I'm at a party.
Great, this has turned into another ramble devoid of any content. Hopefully the new year will bring in new ideas. I feel very burned out right now, and I know that the feeling isn't going to go away until I get back into school mode. Currently, I'm in anti-social mode. That usually happens when I get too absorbed into games. Not a great mode to be in with exams coming up, so hopefully I won't crash. I wasn't expected to have started studying yet, was I? Because I haven't. And I really don't want to. Where's the fun in review?
On a lighter but still negative note, a new year means a lot of erasing and whiting out as I attempt to remember that it's 2011 when filling out the date.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Christmas Caroling
Imagine these people with pitchforks and torches.
Last night, my friends and I went caroling. Before you get started, I'll just tell you, I know. Caroling? WHY? Aren't there better ways to spend your break? Playing Farmville? Have an all-nighter with Call of Duty? Or, more importantly, doing homework? I know what you're thinking. And a lot of people we visited must have been must have been thinking the same thing.
"Look at those people! Standing outside acting all innocent. I''ll tell you, they're going to try and rob us!"
But caroling, is in fact, quite amazing. It's a nice way to spend time with your friends, cheer up some strangers you might not ever meet again, and surprisingly, make some money (we made $65). Before you start zipping up your jackets, and putting on your mittens, let me tell you, that it's apparently only a Romanian tradition, and before you go start Googling the closest Romanian neighbourhoods, remember it's a once-a-year thing. Oh, plus, we're giving the $65 towards charity.
You'll be surprised at how many people thoroughly enjoyed being greeted with a nice holiday song, and how many people are just plain pricks. Although those pricks also tend to make the most hilarious of excuses quote: "There's nobody home." So I encourage you to go out, preferably with a group of friends, and go and spread the holiday cheer!
Tastes Like Drowning
I remember what happened last year at Hallowe'en. I felt really weird when I woke up in the morning; my head was too heavy. It grew in heaviness as I washed and ate, and by the time I got to school, heaviness wasn't the only thing on my mind.
You have no idea how many times you dart your eyes around in a minute. I certainly did that day. And it hurt to do so. Every time I tried to look at whoever was speaking to me, or what that flashy object on the other side of the street was, I was given a painful reminder that I probably shouldn't have gone to school that day. What would later be realized as a sinus infection was strangling my eyes. So I had to resort to turning my whole head to glance around, a nagging pain sharp in my face whenever I neglected to do so.
A fever fired up quickly, blasting a headache into my skull. I stumbled around each period, feeling hung over and fatigued; thank god the dance took up most of the afternoon. I spent that time slumped over the cafeteria table, staring at the cover of the book someone was reading. For whatever reason, I decided that it would be necessary to take home my instrument that day. Bad idea. As I dragged myself down the sidewalk from the bus stop, I lost consciousness for a split second, slipping hazardously on the ice. The weight of my bass clarinet probably saved me from a fall, but then I micro-fainted again. And again. And I got so worried that I was going to end up bleeding from the head all over the sidewalk, that I ran the rest of the way home. It was a terrible idea, but it worked. Interestingly, my fever was completely gone the next day.
I had a feeling that the same thing was going to happen on Wednesday, December the 8th. I was both right and wrong. First period was off to a good start. Our class watched the remainder of our science fair presentations. I was very glad that mine was already done. Then it was on to Geography.
I don't remember what exactly we did; I think we just took up another one of those countless chapter question packages. But by the end of class, we had a few minutes of free time. I decided to work on my music theory, due Friday, (for class, not RCM) because I knew that I wouldn't have time for it before then; my National Parks poster was due on the same day, and I hadn't even started. The end of class was also when I finally noticed that my head and core body were leaching all the heat from my arms and legs. I was shivering like crazy and my WHOLE body was sore. So sore that I could feel my skin. I stepped out to get a drink and the water "burned" my mouth. I went to the washroom, and well... let's just say certain sensitive areas burned. By lunch, I could really feel it.
Concert band was set to perform smack dab in the middle of the atrium hallway, and with the bake sale tables set up literally right across from us, there was a metre's clearance for students in the busiest hallway to maneuver. I had the pleasure of sitting right at that gap, and it really wasn't exhilarating to have half the school jostle it's way through me while juggling a chair, stand, instrument, and lunch bag (and managing to hold everything at the same time with Eric's handy technique) and trying to set up. Anyways, after we were done, I could barely eat my lunch. As a matter of fact, I didn't really. The fever was starting to burn, and my mouth was sore. I had music class next and that meant our final exam. Which I didn't care for. At all. My back was starting to bully me. It refused to feel normal no matter what position it was in. It was as though I had some form of juvenile dorsalgia. The only advantage I had was that I wasn't nervous at all.
French was last. We had a test, so I just hid my face in my arms for most of the period.
That was a really long story. I think I'll cut the rest and make my point. I was sick and away from school for... well... I'm still sick. So... that's 15 days so far. But I'm fine now. Just remnants of a cold. So hopefully I'll be back to regular posting.
Oh, and the title? On Thursday, I was eating lasagna for lunch. But whenever I took a bite, my nose would feel like it was breathing in water. So I felt like I was drowning.
You have no idea how many times you dart your eyes around in a minute. I certainly did that day. And it hurt to do so. Every time I tried to look at whoever was speaking to me, or what that flashy object on the other side of the street was, I was given a painful reminder that I probably shouldn't have gone to school that day. What would later be realized as a sinus infection was strangling my eyes. So I had to resort to turning my whole head to glance around, a nagging pain sharp in my face whenever I neglected to do so.
A fever fired up quickly, blasting a headache into my skull. I stumbled around each period, feeling hung over and fatigued; thank god the dance took up most of the afternoon. I spent that time slumped over the cafeteria table, staring at the cover of the book someone was reading. For whatever reason, I decided that it would be necessary to take home my instrument that day. Bad idea. As I dragged myself down the sidewalk from the bus stop, I lost consciousness for a split second, slipping hazardously on the ice. The weight of my bass clarinet probably saved me from a fall, but then I micro-fainted again. And again. And I got so worried that I was going to end up bleeding from the head all over the sidewalk, that I ran the rest of the way home. It was a terrible idea, but it worked. Interestingly, my fever was completely gone the next day.
I had a feeling that the same thing was going to happen on Wednesday, December the 8th. I was both right and wrong. First period was off to a good start. Our class watched the remainder of our science fair presentations. I was very glad that mine was already done. Then it was on to Geography.
I don't remember what exactly we did; I think we just took up another one of those countless chapter question packages. But by the end of class, we had a few minutes of free time. I decided to work on my music theory, due Friday, (for class, not RCM) because I knew that I wouldn't have time for it before then; my National Parks poster was due on the same day, and I hadn't even started. The end of class was also when I finally noticed that my head and core body were leaching all the heat from my arms and legs. I was shivering like crazy and my WHOLE body was sore. So sore that I could feel my skin. I stepped out to get a drink and the water "burned" my mouth. I went to the washroom, and well... let's just say certain sensitive areas burned. By lunch, I could really feel it.
Concert band was set to perform smack dab in the middle of the atrium hallway, and with the bake sale tables set up literally right across from us, there was a metre's clearance for students in the busiest hallway to maneuver. I had the pleasure of sitting right at that gap, and it really wasn't exhilarating to have half the school jostle it's way through me while juggling a chair, stand, instrument, and lunch bag (and managing to hold everything at the same time with Eric's handy technique) and trying to set up. Anyways, after we were done, I could barely eat my lunch. As a matter of fact, I didn't really. The fever was starting to burn, and my mouth was sore. I had music class next and that meant our final exam. Which I didn't care for. At all. My back was starting to bully me. It refused to feel normal no matter what position it was in. It was as though I had some form of juvenile dorsalgia. The only advantage I had was that I wasn't nervous at all.
French was last. We had a test, so I just hid my face in my arms for most of the period.
That was a really long story. I think I'll cut the rest and make my point. I was sick and away from school for... well... I'm still sick. So... that's 15 days so far. But I'm fine now. Just remnants of a cold. So hopefully I'll be back to regular posting.
Oh, and the title? On Thursday, I was eating lasagna for lunch. But whenever I took a bite, my nose would feel like it was breathing in water. So I felt like I was drowning.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
An Assortment of Goods
Mmm. Sounds like chocolates. Hey, since I'm leaving for NYC tomorrow, and probably not going to be posting any time soon, here are a couple of short pieces, all on the same subject. Enjoy!
-Grace
**
all born of the same mother
winter babies
attitudes of frost
don't do anything but bicker
chase
fight
all day, all night
raging around the place
crashing
colliding
destroying all that's in sight
silent shrieks fill the air
leaving the fallen to
fall
down
on unsuspecting heads.
Children of the winter sky.
**
White little things
t(wh)irling, flittering, fluttering
SOME travelling fasterfaster than others
racing a race against each other
unbeknownst is the other contestant in the race of their lives
The warming sun.
**
He looked up.
Millions of them.
Gently drifting to the ground, a couple landing on his eyelashes.
Some sing in the rain. She danced in the snow.
He gave a half-hearted spin, remembering the way she used to twirl. The way her chocolate curls moved with her.
The way she used to laugh as she spun.
It wasn't fair. He hated winter, hated the bitter cold. She'd loved winter. Said the polar air was exhilarating.
He had told her she was exhilarating.
His eyes were wet. Damned snowflakes.
**
Ehh. I was lazy, alright? Anyhow, hope you like. By the way, I snuck in a Dramione. Teehee.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Epilogue: Debonair Dance
She hurried along the sidewalk, intent on getting home. It was close to midnight already, and somehow, even London managed to seem asleep. It was Christmas Eve; she was walking home from a Holiday party with her Muggle friends. Forgetting to bring a change of shoes however, Hermione stumbled along in her high heels.
Snow fell gently, blanketing roads and turning houses into gingerbread illusions. I’m tired and cold. I still have to prepare food for tomorrow’s Christmas party at the Burrow. And buy Christmas gifts for everyone. She groaned audibly at the reminder. That can wait until tomorrow.
Deep within her thoughts, she failed to look up and, upon turning a corner, ran smack into someone. “Omigosh I’m so s–” Looking up, she saw a shock of blonde hair, and realized who it was.
The horror from the crash turned into a look of surprise. “Malfoy? What are you doing wandering the streets at this time of night?”
“The same can be asked of you.”
“Walking home from a Christmas party with some friends. Muggle friends,” she clarified when his eyebrows rose. “…Well, I probably should get going. It was nice seeing y–”
“Granger, come have a coffee with me. You sure look like you can use one.”
Malfoy, out of all people, was making such an offer to her? Maybe she was so tired she was having delusions. “But I really have to–”
“It won’t take long. Besides, I insist.”
“I don’t have time for t–” But even as she spoke, she was being directed into a nearby café.
“Goodness gracious,” she grumbled, “why do you always get your way?”
He smirked. “Because I’m a Malfoy.”
“Fine, thank you.” She replied politely. “Harry and Ron have both become Aurors.”
“Ha! With brains like his, the Weasel actually got a job?” He smirked, and ignoring the glare from Hermione, continued. “And yourself?”
Suddenly, a voice filled the entire room. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for our Christmas Eve Midnight Dance!” Soft music began to play in the overhead speakers and all around, Muggle couples were beginning to get up and dance. Hermione and Draco looked around awkwardly.
Hermione quickly answered. “Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”
Figures, Draco thought to himself. “Yes, you always did like those house elves.”
“And you, Malfoy? I haven’t seen you around these days.” Hermione asked.
“You better hope not. I became a Healer at St. Mungo’s – I create potions.”
“Yes… That was always the one subject you beat me at,” Hermione laughed a little to herself. “Though, I always wondered whether or not it was because Snape fancied you a little.”
Even Draco had to flash a smile at the thought. “One subject and you’re still putting it against me ten years later? That’s so like you.”
“Draco.” He glanced up at her, startled at hearing his first name. Her voice had suddenly changed tone; the atmosphere became sombre. “I… I just want to know, why did you save us that day at your Manor? You didn’t have to. I saw it in your eyes – you knew it was me.”
So she knew, he thought. “Why’d you refuse to dance with me at the Yule Ball in fourth year?” He countered.
Why’d he bring tha–? But glancing down, Hermione realized she’d chosen a pale, pink gown for the night. Oh. “You first,” she said.
“Dammit Granger, do you really think I would’ve let my aunt murder you that day? I’m not as cold-hearted as I tend to lead on. I didn’t want to be part of the Dark Lord’s plans, but my dad forced me! I had no choice but to do what Voldemort wanted of me, but I still tried to do what I could. Besides I–” Crapcrapcrap. He’d said too much. I can’t, won’t have her find out.
But she’d caught on. “Besides what? What were you going to say?” Her voice was soft.
He quickly changed the subject. “Answer my question first.”
“I wanted to dance with you, Draco. I really did.” There was his first name again. “But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
“Why?” The question fell, broken, from his lips.
“If I’d danced with you, it would’ve gone against everything I’d known! Don’t you see, Draco? I’ve been a coward all this time. Too scared to go against what I was supposed to, meant to do. I did only what people expected of me, but in the process, lost myself.” She looked at him, tears in her eyes as she realized she’d lied, hidden the truth from herself all along.
“You’re not the only one.” He spoke quietly, looking into her eyes. “If I’d been braver, I would’ve tried harder.”
“Harder? To do what?”
“Dammit Hermione!” He seemed to like using that word a lot. “I’ve liked you from fourth year! You’ve rejected me multiple times, and still I would’ve killed myself to save your life. Yet I taunted you, called you every single degrading name I could think of, and hurt you because I couldn’t bear to admit it to my friends, my family, anyone! Now I realize I was just scared. Too scared to actually do anything.”
A huge, uncomfortable silence followed. Hermione wondered what she was going to say. Draco wondered whether she was ever going to respond.
“Draco, will you dance with me?” She asked suddenly. To herself: This is going against anything and everything I’ve ever believed in.
Incredulous, he looked up at her; she smiled faintly. Without saying a word he got up, and held out his hand.
They danced and waltzed far into the night, content and happy. All the waiting has paid off, the two thought together. It’s better late than never.
Snow fell gently, blanketing roads and turning houses into gingerbread illusions. I’m tired and cold. I still have to prepare food for tomorrow’s Christmas party at the Burrow. And buy Christmas gifts for everyone. She groaned audibly at the reminder. That can wait until tomorrow.
Deep within her thoughts, she failed to look up and, upon turning a corner, ran smack into someone. “Omigosh I’m so s–” Looking up, she saw a shock of blonde hair, and realized who it was.
The horror from the crash turned into a look of surprise. “Malfoy? What are you doing wandering the streets at this time of night?”
“The same can be asked of you.”
“Walking home from a Christmas party with some friends. Muggle friends,” she clarified when his eyebrows rose. “…Well, I probably should get going. It was nice seeing y–”
“Granger, come have a coffee with me. You sure look like you can use one.”
Malfoy, out of all people, was making such an offer to her? Maybe she was so tired she was having delusions. “But I really have to–”
“It won’t take long. Besides, I insist.”
“I don’t have time for t–” But even as she spoke, she was being directed into a nearby café.
“Goodness gracious,” she grumbled, “why do you always get your way?”
He smirked. “Because I’m a Malfoy.”
***
“So Granger, how’s the Golden Trio doing these days?” Draco asked over a steaming cup of latte.“Fine, thank you.” She replied politely. “Harry and Ron have both become Aurors.”
“Ha! With brains like his, the Weasel actually got a job?” He smirked, and ignoring the glare from Hermione, continued. “And yourself?”
Suddenly, a voice filled the entire room. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for our Christmas Eve Midnight Dance!” Soft music began to play in the overhead speakers and all around, Muggle couples were beginning to get up and dance. Hermione and Draco looked around awkwardly.
Hermione quickly answered. “Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”
Figures, Draco thought to himself. “Yes, you always did like those house elves.”
“And you, Malfoy? I haven’t seen you around these days.” Hermione asked.
“You better hope not. I became a Healer at St. Mungo’s – I create potions.”
“Yes… That was always the one subject you beat me at,” Hermione laughed a little to herself. “Though, I always wondered whether or not it was because Snape fancied you a little.”
Even Draco had to flash a smile at the thought. “One subject and you’re still putting it against me ten years later? That’s so like you.”
“Draco.” He glanced up at her, startled at hearing his first name. Her voice had suddenly changed tone; the atmosphere became sombre. “I… I just want to know, why did you save us that day at your Manor? You didn’t have to. I saw it in your eyes – you knew it was me.”
So she knew, he thought. “Why’d you refuse to dance with me at the Yule Ball in fourth year?” He countered.
Why’d he bring tha–? But glancing down, Hermione realized she’d chosen a pale, pink gown for the night. Oh. “You first,” she said.
“Dammit Granger, do you really think I would’ve let my aunt murder you that day? I’m not as cold-hearted as I tend to lead on. I didn’t want to be part of the Dark Lord’s plans, but my dad forced me! I had no choice but to do what Voldemort wanted of me, but I still tried to do what I could. Besides I–” Crapcrapcrap. He’d said too much. I can’t, won’t have her find out.
But she’d caught on. “Besides what? What were you going to say?” Her voice was soft.
He quickly changed the subject. “Answer my question first.”
“I wanted to dance with you, Draco. I really did.” There was his first name again. “But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
“Why?” The question fell, broken, from his lips.
“If I’d danced with you, it would’ve gone against everything I’d known! Don’t you see, Draco? I’ve been a coward all this time. Too scared to go against what I was supposed to, meant to do. I did only what people expected of me, but in the process, lost myself.” She looked at him, tears in her eyes as she realized she’d lied, hidden the truth from herself all along.
“You’re not the only one.” He spoke quietly, looking into her eyes. “If I’d been braver, I would’ve tried harder.”
“Harder? To do what?”
“Dammit Hermione!” He seemed to like using that word a lot. “I’ve liked you from fourth year! You’ve rejected me multiple times, and still I would’ve killed myself to save your life. Yet I taunted you, called you every single degrading name I could think of, and hurt you because I couldn’t bear to admit it to my friends, my family, anyone! Now I realize I was just scared. Too scared to actually do anything.”
A huge, uncomfortable silence followed. Hermione wondered what she was going to say. Draco wondered whether she was ever going to respond.
“Draco, will you dance with me?” She asked suddenly. To herself: This is going against anything and everything I’ve ever believed in.
Incredulous, he looked up at her; she smiled faintly. Without saying a word he got up, and held out his hand.
They danced and waltzed far into the night, content and happy. All the waiting has paid off, the two thought together. It’s better late than never.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Chapter 8: Garden Gemination
A twirling blur of vermilion. A swish of byzantium. A whip of wisteria. Looking at the dancers in the grand ballroom made Draco Malfoy dizzy. It had to be the sickest type of déjà vu he had ever encountered. He'd never liked the lavish balls his parents used to throw. He scanned the group of mingling guests on the side, and found the person he was searching for.
Making his way through the guests, he tapped the shoulder of a witch wearing an elegant cream-coloured dress. Turning around, Narcissa Malfoy gave him a weary smile. Her once-perfect face was now lined with gentle wrinkles, no doubt an after-effect of the war. Ever since Lucius had been carted off to Azkaban, she had been working hard to redeem the Malfoy name. Making large donations to numerous organizations, making appearances at volunteer galas, she had tried everything in order to gain back the trust and respect her name had once had.
It was only now, a full three years later, that she dared invite high standing members of the wizarding community to the Manor again. The Ministry, business partners, the Golden Trio, everybody had been invited. If the Christmas Ball was a success, it would certainly go a long way towards helping repair their image again. The truth was, Draco wouldn't have even attended the ball, if he didn't know how much it meant to his mother. There was nothing he wanted to do less than face the rest of the world again, after everything that had happened, even if it was three years ago.
Draco, where have you been all evening? Come here. I want to introduce you-
Mother, I am going outside to get some fresh air.
With that, he strode away, and headed for the garden.
**
All the spinning, whirling, and pirouetting of the dancers was making her dizzy. The only reason Hermione Granger had attended the Christmas Ball at Malfoy Manor was because she didn't want to let Narcissa down. The woman seemed to really have changed in the years following the war, helping out in the community, and even donating to the charity Hermione had set up for the Protection of Magical Creatures. The woman seemed to have so much hope when she personally handed Hermione the invitation, and she couldn't bring herself to burst that bubble.
She walked over to Ron, who was animatedly talking to a pretty brunette that worked in the ministry. They had come to the ball together, as Harry wasn't able to attend, due to his wish to spend Christmas with Ginny and their newly born son, James. Hermione and Ron had split up a few months after the war. They had parted amicably on the mutual agreement that they were just to different for things to work.
She tapped him on the shoulder.
Ron, I'm going outside to get some air, okay? He didn't respond, so she repeated his name. Ron? He gave a non-committal grunt. She took that as a sign to leave, and exited for the garden.
**
As Draco stepped outside, the cold air hit him immediately, causing him to shiver slightly. It was also strangely refreshing. As he walked on the snow-covered path, his thoughts carried him away.
It's been three years. Why is everybody acting like nothing ever happened? Why can't I go back to normal?
**
Sitting on a bench under a tree, Hermione looked up. She saw bright Christmas lights wrapped in the branches of the tree. The flashing lights were strangely mesmerizing, and reminded her of the days when she used to love Christmas. It was cold, but she didn't care. Her tingling fingers and toes made her feel strangely alive, more alive then she had felt since the war.
It's been three years. Why can't I forget about what happened? Why can't I go back to normal like everybody else?
**
He snapped out of his contemplations when he saw her. Granger. The one that he had spent three years attempting to forget, the one who had saved his mother and him. She was sitting under the central ash tree, staring up at the sky.
He didn't say a word, as he walked over and sat down beside her. After a period of stony silence, he opened his mouth to speak.
Granger. It's been three years. It's Christmas Eve. Let's just put our differences aside for one night, alright?
**
Funny. Malfoy seemed to be making a serious offer. Oddly, he didn't seem as repulsive as back in school. Blast it all, she was too tired to be hostile.
Okay. One night.
**
Draco conjured up a bottle of firewhisky, poured them each a glass, and drank in silence.
A few minutes passed before she spoke again.
I don't get it.
Hm? He almost choked from surprise as her small voice filled the air.
It's been three years. The war is over. So why can't I forget about anything? I don't want to be the only one left behind.
[pause] You aren't.
I'm not what?
The only one. I can't forget about any of it either. It's like nobody remembers what happened, and I'm stuck behind, frozen in time, frozen with terrible memories in my head.
She stared at him. Then,
Exactly.
**
They had lost track of how much time had passed. Hermione and Draco had talked, openly talked about everything. The war, their days at school. They cleared up many misunderstandings. Hermione was surprised to find that so many of their thoughts were the same. Draco was surprised that so many of his observations had been correct.
They now sat in a content silence, each sipping cups of newly conjured butter beer. This time, Draco spoke.
I'll tell you something that I've never told anybody before. Do you still remember fourth year, the Yule Ball?
Yes, of course. I went with Krum. I really regret that now.
Well, do you still remember the chocolate truffles you got? They came in a box with a green ribbon.
How do you know about those?
It was me who gave them to you. I was the one who asked you to meet me in the great hall, so I could ask you to the Ball. Not Krum.
The following silence was filled with a million unsaid apologies, and he accepted.
Another period of silence followed. Snow began lightly falling again. They stared up at the sky, snowflakes gently resting on noses and eyelashes.
Another period of silence followed. Snow began lightly falling again. They stared up at the sky, snowflakes gently resting on noses and eyelashes.
Okay, I'll tell you something that I've never told anybody before either.
You know, I used to love Christmas. It was the most merry time of year, where everybody could get together with family, and compassion would be contagious. But one year, I just stopped believing. It just didn't make any more sense. I realized then, that Christmas was just a charade.
I've felt that way too. I mean, once the holidays are over, nobody gives a shit anymore, and it's like nothing ever happened. Kind of like how we feel about the war.
But tonight, while talking to you, I think I've got it. The meaning of Christmas. It kind of makes sense again, now.
Oh?
At the commencement of the ball earlier this evening. You were standing in the background behind Narcissa. And you had the most peculiar expression on your face. One that I swear I've seen before.
Really.
Yes. I'd seen it once before. A while back, before I knew I was a witch, before I even knew what Hogwarts was.
Really.
Yes. I'd seen it once before. A while back, before I knew I was a witch, before I even knew what Hogwarts was.
One Christmas, while Christmas shopping with my parents, I remember a very curious scene. I had just finished admiring my favourite book in the window of a bookshop, and had turned around to go home with my parents.
Lots of people around me were pointing and whispering, so I stopped to see what they were staring at. Walking down the festive street, I saw a father and son dressed in all black, they were probably wizards. The little boy had the saddest expression on his face, and I remember wondering what on earth could possibly be making him so sad. In that moment, I promised myself that I would always use Christmas time to make sure that nobody showed that expression. I'd always try to make sure as many people were happy as possible on Christmas.
A moment passed.
Something clicked in that moment.
Draco's face lit up, and for the first time Hermione had ever seen, he smiled. He raised his glass to toast hers.
Draco's face lit up, and for the first time Hermione had ever seen, he smiled. He raised his glass to toast hers.
Merry Christmas, Granger.
---------------------
That was a little lengthy, I know. That was the last official chapter, and there will be an epilogue coming soon. I tried to make it less angsty, and gave you guys the happy ending you love!
By the way, did you notice that I used part of the title of each of the chapters in this one?
Tell me what you think!
-Grace
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Chapter 7: Reminiscent Rendezvous
This has to be the worst Christmas ever, Hermione thought to herself. It wasn’t a bitter thought; just a mere fact, a sad reality. It was Christmas Eve, and everyone had already gone to bed. But no matter what, Hermione couldn’t fall asleep. She sat up on her bed, in her temporary room at Shell Cottage, and turned the bedside table lamp on.
My parents don’t know I exist, Ron ran away…
Ron. Hermione liked Ron fine, but something had changed after he left. Or perhaps it hadn’t been there at all in the first place. He’d pleaded with her in sixth year to go out with him, and, not knowing any better, she’d agreed. But in his short absence, she realized that while he cared for her, they didn’t like each other in that way, much less love. And he had betrayed not only her, but Harry as well by leaving them.
Not wanting to break the fragile relationship between the three of them though, and with more pressing thoughts on her mind, she hadn’t said anything to him. Hermione wanted to keep it that way, at least until after the final battle had been fought. Meanwhile, it’d give her some more to think about it.
I was on the fringe of being murdered by Bellatrix LeStrange, we just barely escaped Malfoy Manor…
Malfoy Manor. It was only a few days ago that they’d been trapped there, held for questioning. Of all the events that had happened there though, she remembered one the most clearly: Draco. Bellatrix had asked – no, forced was more like it – Draco to come and determine whether or not they were actually thy “Golden Trio”. As soon as he’d stared into her eyes, recognition had flickered. He almost seemed to be peering into her, searching for something that wasn’t there. He had looked scared too. But then again, wasn’t everyone? Though he could clearly tell it was her, he’d flatly denied it. And maybe that was really what saved the three of them.
To this day, Hermione wondered why. Why would Malfoy, someone who she hated, and hated her right back, feel any obligation to save her life? As she’d stared into those steely grey eyes, she’d felt… a connection? She couldn’t quite understand it. But maybe it being there at all was enough for now.
Happy holidays Draco, she murmured, before fatigue finally overtook her and she fell asleep.
If it had been his choice, he wouldn’t have joined the force of the Death Eaters. He would’ve stayed out of the battle, in his own world where the Dark Lord did not exist. But his father had forced him to join, saying it would reflect well on their family. Secretly, Draco resented Voldemort. He knew the truth behind the Dark Lord’s lies and plans – murder. Murdering all who were not like them, though they did nothing wrong.
Like Hermione, he thought. For the past few days, his thoughts had flashed back constantly to that night. He’d stared into her pleading eyes, and felt… pity. Sadness. Anger that it had to go down like this. They were emotions he was unfamiliar with, and for that he was scared. Was he becoming like the Dark Lord too: cold and emotionless?
Despite all his actions, he secretly cared. About her. Though of course he’d never tell; not in a million years. But upon seeing Hermione being tortured again and again by his aunt, Draco had longed to go over there and protect her; take all the pain for himself, which he deserved. The one thing that stopped him was betrayal. He would’ve betrayed his family, something he could not bring himself to do.
Which was why he had grasped the chance of denying his aunt, and lied. He owed much more to Granger, but it had been the most he could do. For now. He hoped she was safe; there’d been no word on where they’d gone after disapparating with the house elf. He hoped that wherever she was now, she had a nice warm bed to sleep in and food on the table each day. These kind thoughts were foreign to him. But hey, I think I can get used to them. It was funny really, how much he cared about Granger now. Or, rather, how much he admitted it.
All this thinking is starting to get to me. Better go to sleep now, he thought. Merry Christmas, Hermione. Wherever you are.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bleh! Didn't really like this one. I kind of rushed in order to finish, and so it's pretty messy. Argh. :(
My parents don’t know I exist, Ron ran away…
Ron. Hermione liked Ron fine, but something had changed after he left. Or perhaps it hadn’t been there at all in the first place. He’d pleaded with her in sixth year to go out with him, and, not knowing any better, she’d agreed. But in his short absence, she realized that while he cared for her, they didn’t like each other in that way, much less love. And he had betrayed not only her, but Harry as well by leaving them.
Not wanting to break the fragile relationship between the three of them though, and with more pressing thoughts on her mind, she hadn’t said anything to him. Hermione wanted to keep it that way, at least until after the final battle had been fought. Meanwhile, it’d give her some more to think about it.
I was on the fringe of being murdered by Bellatrix LeStrange, we just barely escaped Malfoy Manor…
Malfoy Manor. It was only a few days ago that they’d been trapped there, held for questioning. Of all the events that had happened there though, she remembered one the most clearly: Draco. Bellatrix had asked – no, forced was more like it – Draco to come and determine whether or not they were actually thy “Golden Trio”. As soon as he’d stared into her eyes, recognition had flickered. He almost seemed to be peering into her, searching for something that wasn’t there. He had looked scared too. But then again, wasn’t everyone? Though he could clearly tell it was her, he’d flatly denied it. And maybe that was really what saved the three of them.
To this day, Hermione wondered why. Why would Malfoy, someone who she hated, and hated her right back, feel any obligation to save her life? As she’d stared into those steely grey eyes, she’d felt… a connection? She couldn’t quite understand it. But maybe it being there at all was enough for now.
Happy holidays Draco, she murmured, before fatigue finally overtook her and she fell asleep.
***
Draco lay awake, thinking. Suddenly he remembered that it was Christmas Eve. Damn Christmas, he thought. Everyone fakes being happy, and then everything goes back to their nasty state again. This year, his parents hadn’t even bothered pretending they were celebrating the holiday. They’d both been too busy focusing on the Dark Lord’s plans…If it had been his choice, he wouldn’t have joined the force of the Death Eaters. He would’ve stayed out of the battle, in his own world where the Dark Lord did not exist. But his father had forced him to join, saying it would reflect well on their family. Secretly, Draco resented Voldemort. He knew the truth behind the Dark Lord’s lies and plans – murder. Murdering all who were not like them, though they did nothing wrong.
Like Hermione, he thought. For the past few days, his thoughts had flashed back constantly to that night. He’d stared into her pleading eyes, and felt… pity. Sadness. Anger that it had to go down like this. They were emotions he was unfamiliar with, and for that he was scared. Was he becoming like the Dark Lord too: cold and emotionless?
Despite all his actions, he secretly cared. About her. Though of course he’d never tell; not in a million years. But upon seeing Hermione being tortured again and again by his aunt, Draco had longed to go over there and protect her; take all the pain for himself, which he deserved. The one thing that stopped him was betrayal. He would’ve betrayed his family, something he could not bring himself to do.
Which was why he had grasped the chance of denying his aunt, and lied. He owed much more to Granger, but it had been the most he could do. For now. He hoped she was safe; there’d been no word on where they’d gone after disapparating with the house elf. He hoped that wherever she was now, she had a nice warm bed to sleep in and food on the table each day. These kind thoughts were foreign to him. But hey, I think I can get used to them. It was funny really, how much he cared about Granger now. Or, rather, how much he admitted it.
All this thinking is starting to get to me. Better go to sleep now, he thought. Merry Christmas, Hermione. Wherever you are.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bleh! Didn't really like this one. I kind of rushed in order to finish, and so it's pretty messy. Argh. :(
Yay --> HOLIDAYS! <---Yessss
Okay, so the holiday festivities have finally caught up with me. After today, my (geo)summative will be done and handed in, and I will no longer have any homework. YES. THAT IS VERY AWESOME.
We also did Secret Santa today, and it was actually one of the best ones I've seen. There were some really cool gifts (and some pretty exciting reactions. Actually, the reactions were the best part. And people were really generous. The cap was supposed to be $15, but I'd say most gifts were at least $20. Probably more.)
Tomorrow is Music Night, and I plan on staying at school until it starts. So basically, I spend the whole day at school on Thursday. But that's alright, because, again, NO HOMEWORK.
Oh, and Friday is a half day. It's actually less, because we don't have period 2 class since our teacher is in a Christmas show. So we have about 30 minutes of class. And then we're free! And I'm thinking of visiting Tyrrell and the teachers. [Anyone want to come?]
Anyways, this post was mostly pointless, and partly an update. A short update, because I'm still not completely done my summative. >.>
~Yaning
Monday, December 13, 2010
Chapter 6: Cogent Charade
It's that time of year again. Mum and dad have gotten the tree up, and it's been beautifully decorated with garlands, ornaments, and lights. Snow is lightly falling outside, and already a dozen carollers have rung our doorbell and bellowed their merry tunes.
I don't know why, but somewhere along the way, Christmas has lost its magic for me. With each passing year, it has become increasingly evident that it is just a charade. At the end of the day, when the celebration finishes, we all go back to normal. When the clock strikes twelve, even the most beautiful dress becomes tattered rags, and the most elaborate carriage turns out to be but a pumpkin. The lonely still ignored, the problems still so big there's no way to patch them up.
I sit here, on my window ledge. Looking down, looking at the neighbours, two muggle children happily playing in the snow. The sister makes a snow angel, and the brother makes a snowman. They are so happy, so ignorant, so innocent. Do they know what is happening? Will they be the Dark Lord's next victims?
I know so much, but I'd rather not know at all. I should be worrying about Harry, should be helping him figure out what Dumbledore's lessons mean, should be ignoring everything else and just playing the perfect part. I'm so sick of being the sidekick, of being the perfect one, the 'brains' of the Golden Trio.
So many shoulds, but all I do is keep finding myself thinking about him. Malfoy. He hadn't made a single offensive comment at me for two years now. Ever since fourth year, it's like he's become somebody else. Quieter. More serious. More...burdened. I can't help wondering, what's happened? Could Harry possibly be right? Could he really be a death eater? If only I were braver, if only I could just ask.
Sometimes, I think he catches me staring at him. Something quickly flickers in his eyes, disgust, understanding? Who am I kidding. Understanding of my need to know what is bothering him? Of my need to be a nosy know-it-all? Yeah right. But always, before I can place the emotion, it disappears. His face becomes as stony as before, and whatever expression his eyes may have betrayed disappears. His gaze becomes glassy obsidian once again.
Sometimes, I think he wants somebody to ask him. Just so he can finally tell somebody what he's feeling. I long to be that somebody.
But we both know that I won't. I must keep playing my part perfectly. Be the best actress. Even if I am no longer able to tell what is a lie and what is really me.
Like Christmas, I am a charade.
--------
Oh gosh. That was pretty depressing. And basically all over the place. It's okay, even I think so. Sorry, but I've just had a pretty horrid day, so excuse this pathetic post. By the way, I like the new layout of GU, but could somebody perhaps change some of the colours? It's a little hard to read.
Grace
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Chapter 5: Merry Melancholy
Sorry for posting so late, but today has been one of the most hectic days of my life. Anyways, decided to change the format to make things more interesting...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Candles glowing;
red and green.
Streamers;
gold, silver, dangling from the ceilings
of the Great Hall.
The arrival of Christmas.
This time around;
no joy or Christmas spirit.
Only silent nights;
waiting for the cheering, happiness
to be over.
Christmas is so nostalgic.
Snow is cold
Home is cold
I am cold
cold
cold.
Bitter memories line my thoughts;
even my own sarcastic commentary
is not welcome;
not this time.
The bells rang loud, last time
The laughter rang loud, last time
Until everything got too loud
loud
loud.
People spiraling, orchestra playing;
they dot my vision
like mosquitoes;
unwanted but persistent.
The beautiful pale pink dress…
One chance.
Once-in-a-lifetime chance.
Two times.
Two fucking times.
Three others.
Three better others? No way.
No one knows it, but I asked her.
And she said no.
Why do I care so much anyway?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Please comment! Feels like no one bothers to comment on these chapters anymore... :(
- Hannah
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Candles glowing;
red and green.
Streamers;
gold, silver, dangling from the ceilings
of the Great Hall.
The arrival of Christmas.
This time around;
no joy or Christmas spirit.
Only silent nights;
waiting for the cheering, happiness
to be over.
Christmas is so nostalgic.
Snow is cold
Home is cold
I am cold
cold
cold.
Bitter memories line my thoughts;
even my own sarcastic commentary
is not welcome;
not this time.
The bells rang loud, last time
The laughter rang loud, last time
Until everything got too loud
loud
loud.
People spiraling, orchestra playing;
they dot my vision
like mosquitoes;
unwanted but persistent.
The beautiful pale pink dress…
One chance.
Once-in-a-lifetime chance.
Two times.
Two fucking times.
Three others.
Three better others? No way.
No one knows it, but I asked her.
And she said no.
Why do I care so much anyway?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Please comment! Feels like no one bothers to comment on these chapters anymore... :(
- Hannah
Friday, December 10, 2010
Bus Stop Philosophy
I walked over to the bus shelter on unsteady feet because I was still feeling the dregs of a rush of dizziness that, like always, came with standing on firm ground rather than the sticky bus floor. Like all the blood was rushing to my head, and wasn’t it? because it certainly felt like an upcoming headache or just a head rush, but who can tell the difference sometimes, the spiralling relief that follows the tight nausea of motion sickness.
I was glad for the sting of cold air on my eyes and fingertips; it made the world marginally more focused and cleared my sinuses of heavy damp cloth and radiator air with a sharp tang of winter and car exhaust.
The dizziness must have really gotten to my head, because as soon as I so much as toed the curb across the street, I realized that logically, blood shouldn't rush to my head after motion sickness, that exhaust made me short of breath, and that the refreshing breeze of cool air had turned into a biting chill that crept its way into the bones of my fingers despite how deep they were stuffed into fleece lined pockets and made me shiver no matter how tightly I pulled the hood over my head.
There was also a boy standing on top of the bus shelter, arms spread eagle as if he were lying down in bed rather than balancing precariously on top of a plastic roof with the wind and the static rush of passing vehicles whipping past his ears. I was pretty sure I was losing it then, but the thought was gone before it had fully formed, and instead of blink, stare, repeat, I waved my arms wildly in the air and shouted a terse hey! that was quickly carried away by the wind. The part of my mind that was still sane remarked that I looked rather like a goose thrashing before its untimely drowning death, and that it was quite out of character for me but who’s fault was that if not the smell of cubicles that clung to nylon briefcases and the post-bus-sickness headache of which I could still feel pulsing echoes (or were those flashing headlights?)
The boy did not respond to my twitching arms or my rather feeble cry. He just stood, unaffected by the traffic or frigid wind or any such worldly things, and kept standing like he belonged there, or maybe it was the world that belonged to him and that was why he was so calm and ethereal, lit in cold yellow by sodium vapour lamps. Maybe I really was losing it, and he didn’t even exist, because no one had the right to be so solid and weightless under the city night’s glare.
The bus chose to pull up at that moment, a blur of blue pinpricks and orange LED in my periphery that stopped with a hiss and creak, like an old man that was tired of his burden pausing to lean on his cane with a sigh and a groan before continuing in his weary, ungainly journey.
The last of the blurriness had lifted from my mind as I fished for my transfer, and I was eager to be enveloped again in the warmth of the bus. Before I ducking into the roar of hot air, I looked back at the bush shelter, and the boy was gone. As if he had never stood, so serene, atop the empty bus shelter.
Uh. Wow, this had a lot of run-on and funny punctuation. Hopefully, it’s understandable, though. Tell me if the style works for you, or if it’s just confusing to read? I might write a follow-up to this, because the original piece I had planned was pretty different, and I didn’t include a lot of things here that were present in the “draft.” That, and it’s pretty pointless without anything that actually happens, but I kind of feel like leaving it here. I can write something else completely different for the cut out ideas. What d’you think?
~Yaning
Turtles
Christmas sucks.
I looked bleakly down the aisle of the drugstore, the only remotely close shopping centre to my dorm. The place was dimly lit, and virtually deserted except for a salesperson wandering in and out of the cashier area, an opened box of Turtles sitting on the counter. It was Christmas Eve, and due to working overtime at Tim Horton's (the only job I could find so close to the end of the year), a variety of annoying, warble-throated Christmas carolers chortling over the radio, and my iPod breaking on the trip back in my beat-up Ford, I was exhausted and fed up. Why was it that every single person on campus seemed to be having more fun than I was during the holiday season?
Frowning, I adjusted the rim of my backwards baseball cap and sniffed. Aside from various feminine hygiene products and a couple of expired packs of Doritos, there was nothing in the store that I would even remotely classify as a gift. Where was an elf when you needed him?
A buzz in my pocket. "WE WILL, WE WILL-" I interrupted my Queen ringtone by picking up the phone. "What?" I said, not meaning to snap, but my voice coming out sharp anyway. Absent-mindedly I walked down the aisle, wondering if disposable air fresheners would be hard to gift-wrap. "Who is this?"
"Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!"
I groaned inwardly. "Marsha, are you drunk?"
"Noooooooooooooooooooooo silly." A giggle and some rustling. "I'm just..." Heavy breathing, a hiccup. "Gettin' into the spirit of the hol-"
"Marsha, you remember what happened last time, right?" My screwball sister (and, as cruel fate intended it, my soon-to-be conversational partner at sleep-inducing Christmas dinner) did not make good choices when a guy gave her a beer, especially if he was tall and didn't give her his name. I sighed, flipping a yellow price tag over to peer at the amount of money it would cost me to buy a pack of mini-tissues. "I had to hold your head over the toilet."
"Oooohhhh but it's different this time," Marsha whispered, as if she were sharing a secret with me over the phone. "He's cuuutee. His name is-" A pause as she chewed her bottom lip (a bad habit we both shared). To the guy she called, "What did you say was your name again?"
"Marsha, I'm picking you up," I replied, abandoning the drugstore shelves to focus on my phone conversation. "Where are you?"
There was a long silence. "...I dunno," she murmured. "There's a lot of light though. It's real pretty..." A tiny bit of worry began forming at the pit of my stomach. She didn't know where she was? "And there's soooooooo many people around-"
"Marsha," I said, my voice loud enough to attract the attention of the cashier. "Listen to me. I'm coming to get you, okay? You need to figure out where you are."
"But I'm having funnnnnnnnnnnn," she protested, her words slurring together into laughter. "These guys are cool, right, guys?" There was a chorus of cheering in the background, followed by a get the pot exclamation from one of the nameless 'cool' guys.
"Marsha?" I stamped my foot. Damn family! "Marsha, I swear to God, tell me where you are-"
"Don't worry... I'll be..." My sister, the drunk, erupted into a fit of coughing. "I'll be-Don't worry. I'm at... At..."
The line went dead.
"Damn it!" I slammed my phone shut and shoved it into my pocket, then proceeded to attack the nearest deodorant display. "Christmas sucks! It blows! It stinks like a rotting hyena carcass!" With every kick and punch I delivered, I spat out a new word. "Stupid... Christmas... Stupid... Presents... Stupid... Marsha... St-"
"Excuse me!"
I whipped around in rage to find the salesgirl from the cashier staring at me like I was crazy. Her brown eyes were wide as saucers. "What?" I asked.
"What the hell are you doing?" Seeing the display, her mouth fell open in shock. "I just organized those an hour ago!"
I didn't know what to say. "I-I-"
"Do you know how long it takes to separate Secret from Speed Stick?" she hollered, picking up one of the cans off the floor. "And I spend Christmas Eve not with my family or friends, not getting drunk in some bar like your sister, not even drinking eggnog in front of the TV like fifty percent of the Ohio population." She paused, catching her breath. "I spend Christmas Eve organizing deodorant into the shape of a freaking pyramid!"
You could've knocked me over with a feather. She was angrier than I was!
"And then you come along," she spat, "with your $200 shoes and baseball cap--what are you, 50 Cent?"
For some reason I felt the need to correct her. "These were fifty bucks, actually-"
"Does it look like I freaking care?" Exasperated she knelt down and started picking up the cans, stacking them back up on the shelf. Guiltily I stared at my relatively inexpensive shoes. That was a wake-up call if I'd ever seen one...
"Help me, idiot," she growled, and I hurriedly stumbled to pick up some more cans. Involuntarily I looked at her name tag, but it was blank. She was kind of pretty if you got past the verbal beating she'd just given me...
"We can track the number, you know," she said suddenly, not looking at me. I was confused.
"What?"
"Your sister." She abandoned the deodorant and strolled over to the front desk, punching a few numbers into the computer. Slowly she picked up a Turtle from the box and chewed absent-mindedly. "We can track her phone. The store's certified to do that, in case there's an emergency or something."
"Oh," I replied, getting up, "you don't have to-"
"Don't be silly," she said. "What's the number?"
I handed her my phone. "Under Marsha."
The computer beeped and a box lit up on the screen. "Takes a while," the girl said. "Crappy Internet in here."
I could only nod.
The silence echoed off the store walls. She broke it. "You know, I was exaggerating," she said. "You're not really that big of an idiot. The deodorant took me like two seconds to put up."
I shook my head. "No, I-"
"I'd be pretty pissed off, too," she continued, pretending to not have heard, "if my sister ran off in the middle of the night and got drunk with some random guys without even knowing where she was." She chuckled, reaching for another chocolate. "Then again, my sister's three."
I nodded again, feeling like a puppet with a broken string.
"Christmas isn't all that bad," she drawled, plopping down into the chair behind the counter. She looked up at me through dark bangs. "You get food, and people stop yelling at you to wash the dishes all the time." She half-smiled. "Plus it's kind of nice to have everyone together. It's cheesy, but it's nice."
"Not in my family," I snorted.
She nodded. "Well, whatever. There's always New Year's."
The computer beeped again. Address located.
"Oh, goodie," she said, reaching over to scribble it onto a Post-It. She stuck it to my forehead. "Merry Christmas, loser."
Silently I nodded for the millionth time that evening, my eyes focusing on her blank nametag again. "Thanks."
I turned to leave, but she hooked her pinky into the crook of my elbow. "For God's sake," she said, holding out the box, "take a Turtle before you go."
***
I didn't take off the Post-It until I was in my car, driving out of the parking lot. The address wasn't too far away: it would probably take me about five minutes to get there. That wasn't what made me smile that Christmas Eve, though.
I held up the note again, sticking it to my windshield when I stopped at an intersection. The extra line of sloppy cursive at the bottom glimmered at me as the light turned green.
"Merry Christmas, Sherry," I said to nobody. "And a happy new year."
I looked bleakly down the aisle of the drugstore, the only remotely close shopping centre to my dorm. The place was dimly lit, and virtually deserted except for a salesperson wandering in and out of the cashier area, an opened box of Turtles sitting on the counter. It was Christmas Eve, and due to working overtime at Tim Horton's (the only job I could find so close to the end of the year), a variety of annoying, warble-throated Christmas carolers chortling over the radio, and my iPod breaking on the trip back in my beat-up Ford, I was exhausted and fed up. Why was it that every single person on campus seemed to be having more fun than I was during the holiday season?
Frowning, I adjusted the rim of my backwards baseball cap and sniffed. Aside from various feminine hygiene products and a couple of expired packs of Doritos, there was nothing in the store that I would even remotely classify as a gift. Where was an elf when you needed him?
A buzz in my pocket. "WE WILL, WE WILL-" I interrupted my Queen ringtone by picking up the phone. "What?" I said, not meaning to snap, but my voice coming out sharp anyway. Absent-mindedly I walked down the aisle, wondering if disposable air fresheners would be hard to gift-wrap. "Who is this?"
"Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!"
I groaned inwardly. "Marsha, are you drunk?"
"Noooooooooooooooooooooo silly." A giggle and some rustling. "I'm just..." Heavy breathing, a hiccup. "Gettin' into the spirit of the hol-"
"Marsha, you remember what happened last time, right?" My screwball sister (and, as cruel fate intended it, my soon-to-be conversational partner at sleep-inducing Christmas dinner) did not make good choices when a guy gave her a beer, especially if he was tall and didn't give her his name. I sighed, flipping a yellow price tag over to peer at the amount of money it would cost me to buy a pack of mini-tissues. "I had to hold your head over the toilet."
"Oooohhhh but it's different this time," Marsha whispered, as if she were sharing a secret with me over the phone. "He's cuuutee. His name is-" A pause as she chewed her bottom lip (a bad habit we both shared). To the guy she called, "What did you say was your name again?"
"Marsha, I'm picking you up," I replied, abandoning the drugstore shelves to focus on my phone conversation. "Where are you?"
There was a long silence. "...I dunno," she murmured. "There's a lot of light though. It's real pretty..." A tiny bit of worry began forming at the pit of my stomach. She didn't know where she was? "And there's soooooooo many people around-"
"Marsha," I said, my voice loud enough to attract the attention of the cashier. "Listen to me. I'm coming to get you, okay? You need to figure out where you are."
"But I'm having funnnnnnnnnnnn," she protested, her words slurring together into laughter. "These guys are cool, right, guys?" There was a chorus of cheering in the background, followed by a get the pot exclamation from one of the nameless 'cool' guys.
"Marsha?" I stamped my foot. Damn family! "Marsha, I swear to God, tell me where you are-"
"Don't worry... I'll be..." My sister, the drunk, erupted into a fit of coughing. "I'll be-Don't worry. I'm at... At..."
The line went dead.
"Damn it!" I slammed my phone shut and shoved it into my pocket, then proceeded to attack the nearest deodorant display. "Christmas sucks! It blows! It stinks like a rotting hyena carcass!" With every kick and punch I delivered, I spat out a new word. "Stupid... Christmas... Stupid... Presents... Stupid... Marsha... St-"
"Excuse me!"
I whipped around in rage to find the salesgirl from the cashier staring at me like I was crazy. Her brown eyes were wide as saucers. "What?" I asked.
"What the hell are you doing?" Seeing the display, her mouth fell open in shock. "I just organized those an hour ago!"
I didn't know what to say. "I-I-"
"Do you know how long it takes to separate Secret from Speed Stick?" she hollered, picking up one of the cans off the floor. "And I spend Christmas Eve not with my family or friends, not getting drunk in some bar like your sister, not even drinking eggnog in front of the TV like fifty percent of the Ohio population." She paused, catching her breath. "I spend Christmas Eve organizing deodorant into the shape of a freaking pyramid!"
You could've knocked me over with a feather. She was angrier than I was!
"And then you come along," she spat, "with your $200 shoes and baseball cap--what are you, 50 Cent?"
For some reason I felt the need to correct her. "These were fifty bucks, actually-"
"Does it look like I freaking care?" Exasperated she knelt down and started picking up the cans, stacking them back up on the shelf. Guiltily I stared at my relatively inexpensive shoes. That was a wake-up call if I'd ever seen one...
"Help me, idiot," she growled, and I hurriedly stumbled to pick up some more cans. Involuntarily I looked at her name tag, but it was blank. She was kind of pretty if you got past the verbal beating she'd just given me...
"We can track the number, you know," she said suddenly, not looking at me. I was confused.
"What?"
"Your sister." She abandoned the deodorant and strolled over to the front desk, punching a few numbers into the computer. Slowly she picked up a Turtle from the box and chewed absent-mindedly. "We can track her phone. The store's certified to do that, in case there's an emergency or something."
"Oh," I replied, getting up, "you don't have to-"
"Don't be silly," she said. "What's the number?"
I handed her my phone. "Under Marsha."
The computer beeped and a box lit up on the screen. "Takes a while," the girl said. "Crappy Internet in here."
I could only nod.
The silence echoed off the store walls. She broke it. "You know, I was exaggerating," she said. "You're not really that big of an idiot. The deodorant took me like two seconds to put up."
I shook my head. "No, I-"
"I'd be pretty pissed off, too," she continued, pretending to not have heard, "if my sister ran off in the middle of the night and got drunk with some random guys without even knowing where she was." She chuckled, reaching for another chocolate. "Then again, my sister's three."
I nodded again, feeling like a puppet with a broken string.
"Christmas isn't all that bad," she drawled, plopping down into the chair behind the counter. She looked up at me through dark bangs. "You get food, and people stop yelling at you to wash the dishes all the time." She half-smiled. "Plus it's kind of nice to have everyone together. It's cheesy, but it's nice."
"Not in my family," I snorted.
She nodded. "Well, whatever. There's always New Year's."
The computer beeped again. Address located.
"Oh, goodie," she said, reaching over to scribble it onto a Post-It. She stuck it to my forehead. "Merry Christmas, loser."
Silently I nodded for the millionth time that evening, my eyes focusing on her blank nametag again. "Thanks."
I turned to leave, but she hooked her pinky into the crook of my elbow. "For God's sake," she said, holding out the box, "take a Turtle before you go."
***
I didn't take off the Post-It until I was in my car, driving out of the parking lot. The address wasn't too far away: it would probably take me about five minutes to get there. That wasn't what made me smile that Christmas Eve, though.
I held up the note again, sticking it to my windshield when I stopped at an intersection. The extra line of sloppy cursive at the bottom glimmered at me as the light turned green.
"Merry Christmas, Sherry," I said to nobody. "And a happy new year."
Looking For Ideas
I haven't posted in a while, but my brain is kind of drained of creativity at the moment (ironic, since I just did a character trait presentation on that). So, I have a proposition. First person to comment on this post gets to pick what my next post will be about! Comment with a word or phrase or anything, really that you want me to write about and I'll be happy to oblige.
Thanks!
Thanks!
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Chapter 4 : Owl's Observation
Owls have souls. They really do, I mean, after flying around delivering things for humans all our lives, we deserve to have some sort of afterlife too, right? Anyhow, some people have got it in their head that we just *poof* disappear once we die. But we don't. And now the million pound question. Who am I, and why am I intruding in this 'GU' place?
Well, I'm an owl, you see. Not just any normal owl, but one that was very special to a student here at Hogwarts Witchcraft and Wizardry. So special in fact, that when I died, I was painted and hung in the corridor leading to the Owlery, in the west tower. Quite a good choice, as most of my friends are still there. You may have seen my picture before, or maybe not.
Anyhow, I'm here today because two odd muggles found me the other day and asked me to come and share a story. I've seen a lot through the years, but they wanted me to tell you about this one. Here we go!
~
About a decade ago, I saw a very curious occurrence that I cannot forget. It was a week to Christmas, and every student was excited for the Yule Ball, as they would be having the chance to go to the ball with students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. It was the year of the Triwizard tournament, of course.
I was having my daily morning fly though some portraits in front of the Great Hall, when I saw a boy hiding behind a podium, in the shadows. Curious to what he was doing, I silently flew to the portrait behind him, and looked towards the entrance of the Great Hall.
The scene that he was observing consisted of one of the Triwizard tournament competitors from Durmstrang, and a curly-haired girl from Hogwarts. It looked like he was asking the girl to accompany him to the Yule ball. I couldn't really hear, so I flew to a closer portrait. "... of course I will, Viktor! By the way, I loved the chocolate truffles, how did you know I loved dark chocolate? ..."
What I heard confirmed my theory. I flew back to the portrait behind the hiding boy. I was very surprised to hear him cursing, and I thought I heard "...that shit-faced bugger, taking credit for what I did..." I quietly perched on a branch, and continued to observe in the painting. The hiding boy waited for a while after the happy couple departed, then left as well.
~
I don't know why the muggles who asked me to come were so surprised when I told them this story. I guess I'm just a very observant owl, is all! Well, that's that. I hope my story was interesting, but now I've really got to fly off to the Fat Lady, I promised her I'd visit today!
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Well. Ahem. I kind of erg, changed the style a bit? ;D Tell me what you think, I think I may have gone overboard with the creative liberties this time. :)
-Grace
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Chapter 3: Repulsive Remarks
Hermione sat in Sybill Trelawney’s Divination class, trying to focus on anything but “the fine art of Divination”. Pure rubbish was more like it, she thought to herself. Personally, Hermione thought Divination was a complete waste of time – she’d rather have taken Ancient Runes, or even Advanced Charms! They were likely to be a lot more useful in the future. The dark room, eerily lit with blue candlelight, didn’t improve her mood. She glanced up to see Trelawney coming around with cups and tea leaves. Oh goodness, she muttered under her breath, tea readings. They’ll certainly help me determine my future! Nonsense.
Up ahead, she could see Malfoy, walking with Crabbe and Goyle faithfully by his side. Suddenly, a folded piece of parchment fell from the stack of Malfoy’s books to the ground. None of the three noticed. Hermione walked faster and went to pick it up, intending to give it back. But curiosity got the best of her, and she decided to take a peek. Unfolding it, she started to read.
Draco,
I am very displeased that you only placed second in your school rankings. Must I repeat myself? – First in your house is not enough. You need to be at the top, and stay at the top. You cannot, I stress, allow some filthy mudblood to beat you – our pureblood reputations will be destroyed, should you continue. We cannot let that happen.
No words of encouragement? Nice wishes? Only harsh words of criticism, Hermione thought as she read.
I have brought you new, pristine dress robes for the Christmas Ball. Remember that all the upper-class purebloods will be attending. It shall be a grand time. Meanwhile, practice your manners; we will not allow you to behave so atrociously like last time. Your mother and I hope that in growing older, you will have matured.
Father
Finished reading, Hermione hurried to catch up to Malfoy and his gang.
“Malfoy!” Malfoy turned back, a cold stare already registering on his face. “You dropped this.”
Malfoy looked at the piece of parchment, recognition in his eyes. He glanced up at Hermione; he saw a flicker of… sorrow? Apology? Regret? But the moment passed so fast he wasn’t sure whether or not it had just been a pigment of his imagination.
“So nice of you to return it to me Granger… after reading it through thoroughly.” His voice was hard and cold.
“Gee, Malfoy. No words of gratitude or thanks? I expected just as much,” came the equally snide retort.
They glared at each other, both intent on winning the battle. Something within Draco shifted; he didn’t know what. In a calm voice, he broke the silence. “Get out of my face, mudblood.”
“You moron! I’d rather get out of your life!” screamed Hermione; “clearly the manners still need working on, don’t you think?” Then, without a second glance, she flew down the hallway and up the stairs. It wasn’t until she reached the Gryffindor common room did she break down and begin to cry.
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Hi! Wasn't that such a sad chapter, or at least the ending? I'm a sucker for unhappy endings, so I wanted to bring some angst into this. Hopefully Grace's next chapter will be a lot more happier! Nothing much happened in this chapter, because there wasn't much action in the "Prisoner of Azkaban" book; plus, they are still so young. However, I guarantee a lot more action in the future, as they get older... ;) Don't forget to leave your thoughts and comments!
*
Draco sat in Sybill Trelawney’s Divination class, trying to focus on anything but “the cleansing of the mind and spirit that is Divination”. This is pure garbage, he thought to himself. Divination was a complete waste of time – Advanced Potions, or even Transfiguration would’ve been more to his liking. It would’ve been a heck of a more useful way to spend time on potions then this crap. The dank, scented room was starting to get to him. He looked up wearily, to the sight of Trelawney coming around with cups and tea leaves for everyone. Bloody hell, he muttered to a Crabbe who was trying to down his tea without it coming back up, tea readings. Maybe it’ll tell me to switch to a more functional class. Rubbish.***
Divination, the final class before the holidays, had finally ended. After Trelawney had asked Harry to stay back to talk about how she’d witnessed “great danger ahead with her crystal ball”, Hermione had not waited for him, desperate to get out of the classroom – the smell of the incense Trelawney always lit were starting to get to her. Once down the ladder leading to the Divination room though, she allowed herself to slow down and clear her head.Up ahead, she could see Malfoy, walking with Crabbe and Goyle faithfully by his side. Suddenly, a folded piece of parchment fell from the stack of Malfoy’s books to the ground. None of the three noticed. Hermione walked faster and went to pick it up, intending to give it back. But curiosity got the best of her, and she decided to take a peek. Unfolding it, she started to read.
Draco,
I am very displeased that you only placed second in your school rankings. Must I repeat myself? – First in your house is not enough. You need to be at the top, and stay at the top. You cannot, I stress, allow some filthy mudblood to beat you – our pureblood reputations will be destroyed, should you continue. We cannot let that happen.
No words of encouragement? Nice wishes? Only harsh words of criticism, Hermione thought as she read.
I have brought you new, pristine dress robes for the Christmas Ball. Remember that all the upper-class purebloods will be attending. It shall be a grand time. Meanwhile, practice your manners; we will not allow you to behave so atrociously like last time. Your mother and I hope that in growing older, you will have matured.
Father
Finished reading, Hermione hurried to catch up to Malfoy and his gang.
“Malfoy!” Malfoy turned back, a cold stare already registering on his face. “You dropped this.”
Malfoy looked at the piece of parchment, recognition in his eyes. He glanced up at Hermione; he saw a flicker of… sorrow? Apology? Regret? But the moment passed so fast he wasn’t sure whether or not it had just been a pigment of his imagination.
“So nice of you to return it to me Granger… after reading it through thoroughly.” His voice was hard and cold.
“Gee, Malfoy. No words of gratitude or thanks? I expected just as much,” came the equally snide retort.
They glared at each other, both intent on winning the battle. Something within Draco shifted; he didn’t know what. In a calm voice, he broke the silence. “Get out of my face, mudblood.”
“You moron! I’d rather get out of your life!” screamed Hermione; “clearly the manners still need working on, don’t you think?” Then, without a second glance, she flew down the hallway and up the stairs. It wasn’t until she reached the Gryffindor common room did she break down and begin to cry.
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Hi! Wasn't that such a sad chapter, or at least the ending? I'm a sucker for unhappy endings, so I wanted to bring some angst into this. Hopefully Grace's next chapter will be a lot more happier! Nothing much happened in this chapter, because there wasn't much action in the "Prisoner of Azkaban" book; plus, they are still so young. However, I guarantee a lot more action in the future, as they get older... ;) Don't forget to leave your thoughts and comments!
Sunday, December 5, 2010
SC: Confusion
Remember SCs? They seem like so long ago... but I had a BRAINSTORM today! So here you go:
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They tried to break it to you as nicely to you as possible.
“That was the BEST they could do?” A snarl emerged.
There was nothing they could’ve done to make things easier. The calmness of the voice infuriated him further.
“I guess that’s it, then.” He replied coolly.
I’m sorry, but I’m afraid so. I assure you, it’s as difficult for them as it is for you.
“You think I had it easy, don’t you?” He turned accusing, now.
No, do you really think that? The voice was desperate now. We are trying to–
“–Help me, I get it. I don’t need your help.” His flat tone had a dangerous edge to it.
Things are much dangerous now than ever. You do not understand yet!
“Then make me understand! Do I not have a right to know?” He made a desperate noise, almost on the verge of tears.
The time will come when the knowledge will be passed on to you. That time is not now. I’m sorry; you have to trust us first.
Trust was just a false sense of security – nothing good every came out. Sorry was just a word.
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Now tell me what you think this was all about. 'Cuz I'm not even sure.
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They tried to break it to you as nicely to you as possible.
“That was the BEST they could do?” A snarl emerged.
There was nothing they could’ve done to make things easier. The calmness of the voice infuriated him further.
“I guess that’s it, then.” He replied coolly.
I’m sorry, but I’m afraid so. I assure you, it’s as difficult for them as it is for you.
“You think I had it easy, don’t you?” He turned accusing, now.
No, do you really think that? The voice was desperate now. We are trying to–
“–Help me, I get it. I don’t need your help.” His flat tone had a dangerous edge to it.
Things are much dangerous now than ever. You do not understand yet!
“Then make me understand! Do I not have a right to know?” He made a desperate noise, almost on the verge of tears.
The time will come when the knowledge will be passed on to you. That time is not now. I’m sorry; you have to trust us first.
Trust was just a false sense of security – nothing good every came out. Sorry was just a word.
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Now tell me what you think this was all about. 'Cuz I'm not even sure.
Chapter 2: Christmas Contemplation
December 23rd, 1992
Dear diary, Wait. Hold on. Why am I writing to an animate object? Why am I questioning why I’m writing to an inanimate object? Why am I questioning why I’m questioning writing to an inanimate object? Okay, I’ve got to stop. I think I need to rest a bit after this. It must have been all the sugar cookies from dinner. I wouldn’t have eaten so many, but it gave me a reason not to have to participate in the quidditch conversation Harry and Ron were having.
I love my best friends and all, but haven’t they realized by now that I’m just not interested in a sport where wizards on broomsticks chase a flying ball around? It requires next to no strategy or brainpower whatsoever, and I’m not just saying that because I’m terrified of flying, as Ron and Harry always say. I’m not scared at all. Okay, fine, maybe just a little bit.
Anyways, time has really flown by. It’s already been a year since I found out I was a witch and came to this wonderful school. We had quite an adventure last year, finding the philosopher’s stone. Classes are great! Professor Lockhart is just wonderful at teaching DADA. I’m at the top of all my classes, except one. That egotistical Malfoy brat has somehow beaten me in Potions.
I do admit that his Wiggenweld potion was quite marvelous, and completed quicker than everybody else in class. However, his father knows Professor Snape, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he bribed Snape into giving him extra marks. Being the spoiled git that he is, I bet he did exactly that.
Speaking of Malfoy, I’d rather like to hex his big head off. He always makes rude remarks and calls me names like filthy mudblood. Just yesterday, his two moronic friends, or minions, rather, Crabbe and Goyle, stole my book bag and hid it! It took me forever to find it, and I was late to Transfiguration. Thank goodness McGonagall likes me. I can’t prove anything, but I’m sure Malfoy had something to do with the whole episode.
On another topic, it’s a week until Christmas, and even Malfoy can’t ruin my holiday spirit! Almost everybody will be going home for Christmas break soon, and I can’t wait to see how mum and dad have decorated the tree this year.
Rumors are that the only student staying at Hogwarts over the break will be Malfoy, because his parents have urgent matters to attend to in another country, and nobody will be at their manor over the break. No matter how stupid he is, I feel sort of bad for him. Nobody should have to spend Christmas alone.
Oh well. Maybe I’ll give him a Christmas present this year. Oh! That reminds me, I have to get started on wrapping presents for everyone!
I promise I’ll write more later!
H. G.
-----
I wasn't very 'inspired' for this chapter, but don't worry, the next one that Hannah is writing should be interesting. :)
On another note, we have an early dismissal tomorrow, so Hannah and i will be going to see the Deathly Hallows. I'm sure that will give us some more inspiration for this fic.
-Grace
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Mind Games
During a momentary meander through the meadow on Monday morning, a miniature bird made to maneuver my way. It settled on my shoulder, and stared straight at me. It started to speak, stating all sorts of slanders. I brushed the bird away, biding bye-bye and briskly bustled along.
The bird, however, followed, twittering obscenely in front of my face.
I told it to go away, but it didn't want to.
I told it to be quiet but it didn't want to.
I told it to stop flying so close to me but it didn't want to.
The little louse leered at me, laughing lugubriously. It informed me that I was ignoble. It declared diligently that I didn't deserve to draw breath or die in this domain. It sat on my shoulder a second time and sighed into my sanity. I ended my exercise and excluded my eyes, all the finer to follow the fascinating flummery my foolish friend was feeding me.
Then I grabbed the bird and bit its head off . I spat it out on the sidewalk and tossed the rest of the feathery lump onto the grass.
Dear birds,
Don't fuck with me.
Two is Better than One
Yes, 200 posts is certainly better than 100. I never really thought we'd come this far. Especially after those dismal results from August. I thought that might have been the end. We had to push ourselves to keep writing during the summer, but interestingly, I feel much more motivated to post nowadays. I hope the same can be said for everyone else.
200 posts ago, all there was on this blog was a title. And from that title came the first post. It explained who we were. The Giftees. The second post was about our common goal on here. It told the world why a few random grade eight students had created a Web page from preset templates. High hopes and initial excitement led to an atomic 44 posts in February. I do not expect that number to be reached again. As a matter of fact, I might be quite worried how much homework everyone would have piled up if they posted that many times, especially as our summatives and midterm exams approach. But at the same time, I continue to encourage everyone to post as often as they can. And that includes those who seem to have vanished too. Kindly remind them that this place still exists.
I'm looking forward to when we reach the next hundred. Thanks everyone, for making this worth it!
And now...
You should have seen that coming!
 |
| The old GU banner. Nostalgic, eh? ...No? Fine... |
I'm looking forward to when we reach the next hundred. Thanks everyone, for making this worth it!
And now...
You should have seen that coming!
Friday, December 3, 2010
Chapter 1: Winter Wonderland
It was Saturday and, with classes just finished, no one wanted to start their homework yet… Except for one. It is always good to get your homework done bright and early. Then you can enjoy yourself the rest of the weekend! Simple logic, Hermione thought to herself.
She sat curled up in one of the big, comfy armchairs in the Gryffindor common room. With two weeks to go until Christmas, the room was covered with fresh evergreen garland and glittering tinsel. A huge Christmas tree decorated one corner, covered with intricately designed ornaments, shiny ribbons, and hundreds of tinkling Christmas lights. The fireplace, dancing with crackling flames, cast a warm golden glow on the entire room.
Across from her sat Harry Potter and Ron Weasely, battling out a game of Wizard’s Chess. She’d only met them a few months ago, but they’d grown to be very good friends – though they could never understand why she wanted to do homework all the time. Sometimes she suspected they only put up with her because she grudgingly agreed to do some of their homework for them.
Speaking of homework… Hermione got up. The battle cries associated with the scenes of destruction from the chess game were too distracting. She decided to make a visit to the library, where, at this hour, ought to be deserted. With a “see you later,” and uncommitted grunts from her busy friends, Hermione rushed off to the library.
Draco’s head popped up to glance out the window once again, lost in another winter daydream. This time however, he found his view blocked by a messy bunch of curly brown hair, put up in what looked like a desperate attempt at a ponytail. Granger.
His parents had warned him about people like her; the mudbloods. But what Draco found even more loathing about Hermione Granger was the fact that so far, she’d managed to beat him in every single subject, forcing him to study even harder just to keep up! Well, except in Potions. But every time he got beat, a gleeful smirk would direct itself straight at him, and the anger would deepen. Plus, she hangs out with Potter, he thought to himself with disgust. As soon as he and Potter had met, they’d become instant enemies.
Draco decided that he needed to wipe that smile off Granger’s lips as soon as possible. Why the hell was he thinking about her lips? Rebuking himself silently, he returned again to studying for his upcoming History test.
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Well there you have it, chapter one! To all you Dramione haters out there, at the very least just appreciate the stories. Think of them as different characters, even. It's Christmas, and we (Grace and I) just wanted to start a series of "heart-warming", funny Christmas tales. So if you don't like Dramione, just pretend they're any other two people, and enjoy the stories for what they are.
She sat curled up in one of the big, comfy armchairs in the Gryffindor common room. With two weeks to go until Christmas, the room was covered with fresh evergreen garland and glittering tinsel. A huge Christmas tree decorated one corner, covered with intricately designed ornaments, shiny ribbons, and hundreds of tinkling Christmas lights. The fireplace, dancing with crackling flames, cast a warm golden glow on the entire room.
Across from her sat Harry Potter and Ron Weasely, battling out a game of Wizard’s Chess. She’d only met them a few months ago, but they’d grown to be very good friends – though they could never understand why she wanted to do homework all the time. Sometimes she suspected they only put up with her because she grudgingly agreed to do some of their homework for them.
Speaking of homework… Hermione got up. The battle cries associated with the scenes of destruction from the chess game were too distracting. She decided to make a visit to the library, where, at this hour, ought to be deserted. With a “see you later,” and uncommitted grunts from her busy friends, Hermione rushed off to the library.
***
Draco Malfoy sat crouched behind a bookshelf, reading A History of Magic. This was not how he had intended on spending his Saturday, but the constant letters from his parents, reminding – no, urging – him to stay at the top of classes, forced him to hide away from his newfound friends Crabbe and Goyle and study. For the last hour, he’d stared out the window across from him countless times; taking in the clear blue sky, snow gradually blanketing the grass as the hours grew. He wished he was out there with the others, working on flying skills, or even just enjoying the soft white flakes that were falling from the heavens…Draco’s head popped up to glance out the window once again, lost in another winter daydream. This time however, he found his view blocked by a messy bunch of curly brown hair, put up in what looked like a desperate attempt at a ponytail. Granger.
His parents had warned him about people like her; the mudbloods. But what Draco found even more loathing about Hermione Granger was the fact that so far, she’d managed to beat him in every single subject, forcing him to study even harder just to keep up! Well, except in Potions. But every time he got beat, a gleeful smirk would direct itself straight at him, and the anger would deepen. Plus, she hangs out with Potter, he thought to himself with disgust. As soon as he and Potter had met, they’d become instant enemies.
Draco decided that he needed to wipe that smile off Granger’s lips as soon as possible. Why the hell was he thinking about her lips? Rebuking himself silently, he returned again to studying for his upcoming History test.
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Well there you have it, chapter one! To all you Dramione haters out there, at the very least just appreciate the stories. Think of them as different characters, even. It's Christmas, and we (Grace and I) just wanted to start a series of "heart-warming", funny Christmas tales. So if you don't like Dramione, just pretend they're any other two people, and enjoy the stories for what they are.
-Hannah
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
The Golden Hour
The last time I sat on my rooftop with you, it was a Saturday afternoon. Fall of 2009, before the air turned crisp and your smile turned bitter.
Thing is, I already knew what was happening, even then. Isn't it funny that in those silent moments when we think too much and say too little, when you can feel the cracks of carefully built glass walls shivering under its own pressure, you notice every. Single. Little. Detail.
The air wasn’t chilly, but the smell of leaves carried by the occasional breeze swept by. It was the golden hour, before the sun began to set, and everything glowed.
You were beautiful, then.
I watched you as I talked, my hands flying through the air in front of me in fluid gestures. My laugh imitated their swift pulls.
I was an energetic person, then.
Your hands were absently tracing the rough small pits and bumps of asphalt tiling, and your eyes were focused somewhere in the clouds behind me. They were high, feather arrows like airbrush strokes. Those were your favourite type of clouds, because they were also the hardest to draw. Even so, I knew you were listening.
You used to listen to me, then.
I spoke about the things I’d learned in class that day, words that slid easily from my mouth and floated on the breeze. I was sure you’d have learned more interesting things during your day, but I was smiling, and you must have been too, even if only your eyes showed it.
You used to smile, then.
I once told you that the golden hour was the most spectacular time of day, because when you’re standing on a rooftop and the world spreads out in front of you in neat rows of suburban houses and manicured lawns of the gated communities that make up the city’s fringe and you can almost feel the shine through your eyelids and you sigh because nothing is dull during the golden hour,
The world will sigh with you, and there’s no better feeling.
That was your last golden hour.
And, did you know? It was mine, too.
This was more about descriptions and mood than an actual story (which doesn't make much sense to me right now), and I wanted to add some texture in there too, 'cept it felt too long when I did. I think this was the result of some "free time" (read: procrastinating on Geography and Art) and pressure to write something.
The characters, if you can even call them that, are not supposed to be anyone or anything in particular. Actually, they don't even have genders. Huh. What do you guys think (about what/who they're like)? And the ending is open to interpretation (but I didn't really mean for it to turn out as depressing as it sounds).
Thing is, I already knew what was happening, even then. Isn't it funny that in those silent moments when we think too much and say too little, when you can feel the cracks of carefully built glass walls shivering under its own pressure, you notice every. Single. Little. Detail.
The air wasn’t chilly, but the smell of leaves carried by the occasional breeze swept by. It was the golden hour, before the sun began to set, and everything glowed.
You were beautiful, then.
I watched you as I talked, my hands flying through the air in front of me in fluid gestures. My laugh imitated their swift pulls.
I was an energetic person, then.
Your hands were absently tracing the rough small pits and bumps of asphalt tiling, and your eyes were focused somewhere in the clouds behind me. They were high, feather arrows like airbrush strokes. Those were your favourite type of clouds, because they were also the hardest to draw. Even so, I knew you were listening.
You used to listen to me, then.
I spoke about the things I’d learned in class that day, words that slid easily from my mouth and floated on the breeze. I was sure you’d have learned more interesting things during your day, but I was smiling, and you must have been too, even if only your eyes showed it.
You used to smile, then.
I once told you that the golden hour was the most spectacular time of day, because when you’re standing on a rooftop and the world spreads out in front of you in neat rows of suburban houses and manicured lawns of the gated communities that make up the city’s fringe and you can almost feel the shine through your eyelids and you sigh because nothing is dull during the golden hour,
The world will sigh with you, and there’s no better feeling.
That was your last golden hour.
And, did you know? It was mine, too.
This was more about descriptions and mood than an actual story (which doesn't make much sense to me right now), and I wanted to add some texture in there too, 'cept it felt too long when I did. I think this was the result of some "free time" (read: procrastinating on Geography and Art) and pressure to write something.
The characters, if you can even call them that, are not supposed to be anyone or anything in particular. Actually, they don't even have genders. Huh. What do you guys think (about what/who they're like)? And the ending is open to interpretation (but I didn't really mean for it to turn out as depressing as it sounds).
~Yaning
Clever...
I was checking my inbox as usual on Hotmail, when I noticed the ad on the right side of the page. Usually I don't notice them, but there's something very distracting about seeing a censored, naked man when you're reading about when the next concert band performance will be. Particularly when the censors happen to be in places more appropriate for females. (Note that the following were ripped off of the actual website, and not from Hotmail because after refreshing 9000+ times, I still couldn't get that ad to come up again. However, I did find another interesting one coming up.) (Pictures after the jump.)
Prologue
"Wooooow. It's beauuutiful!"
A little girl of not more than 10 stood with her face pressed right to the window of a bookstore. Passersby stared, amused, and often chuckling to themselves. She had a little red toque pulled over her mass tangle of curly brown hair, which at her young age was already unmanageable. Wearing a green coat, she looked positively like a little elf, dressed in the Christmas colours.
Many thought the little girl was looking at the exquisite china doll sitting in the display window, but in fact, she was admiring a first edition copy of her favourite book, Anne of Green Gables, which was nestled in the lap of the doll.
Behind the girl, her parents stood hand in hand, smiling at each other. They knew exactly what to get their daughter for Christmas.
Clean white snow fell gently, holly and bows were hung everywhere the eye could see, and carolers could be found at every corner. The little girl's parents told her it was time to go. As she grabbed her mother's hand in one hand and her father's hand in the other, Hermione Granger thought to herself — It's really the most wonderful time of the year.
School was out, and it was Christmas. It ought to have been the happiest time for most children, but the solemness on the boy's face clearly said otherwise. It was an expression that seemed unfit for somebody so young, the kind of seriousness only age should have brought. The pair walked quickly down the street, not making eye-contact with anyone.
As they passed a bookshop, the little boy suddenly spotted a young girl with her face pressed to a bookstore window. Her hair was a mess, looking as if it would burst out of her little red toque any second. As she turned around, he could not help but stare. She had the biggest smile he had ever seen on her face, with both front teeth missing. Her eyes were a warm chocolate, her cheeks a rosy pink.
He was unaccustomed to seeing such a happy expression, but immediately lowered his gaze again as he was scolded by his father. "Don't stare at those worthless muggles. Hurry up, we have to get you a new dress robe for the Christmas Ball." The father walked quicker, leaving his son behind.
The boy snuck one last peek back at the happy girl. She was now walking away, holding on to both her parents' hands. I hate Christmas, thought Draco Malfoy, as he hurried to catch up to his father.
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HOHOHO! No pun intended. That's what the surprise was: Hannah and I are now working on a collaborative Christmas Dramione series! There will be about 10 installments, and we will update every 2 days or so. We can't wait to hear your comments!
By the way, we have yet to come up with an awesome title yet, so any suggestions are welcome!
Behind the girl, her parents stood hand in hand, smiling at each other. They knew exactly what to get their daughter for Christmas.
Clean white snow fell gently, holly and bows were hung everywhere the eye could see, and carolers could be found at every corner. The little girl's parents told her it was time to go. As she grabbed her mother's hand in one hand and her father's hand in the other, Hermione Granger thought to herself — It's really the most wonderful time of the year.
***
Walking down a festive, Christmas-transformed street were a father and a son that stood out like a sore thumb. They both were dressed in black, each with and odd black cloak. Both were rather pale, with striking features and startlingly light hair. However, what was causing many heads to turn and get a second glance at them was the expression on the young boy's face.School was out, and it was Christmas. It ought to have been the happiest time for most children, but the solemness on the boy's face clearly said otherwise. It was an expression that seemed unfit for somebody so young, the kind of seriousness only age should have brought. The pair walked quickly down the street, not making eye-contact with anyone.
As they passed a bookshop, the little boy suddenly spotted a young girl with her face pressed to a bookstore window. Her hair was a mess, looking as if it would burst out of her little red toque any second. As she turned around, he could not help but stare. She had the biggest smile he had ever seen on her face, with both front teeth missing. Her eyes were a warm chocolate, her cheeks a rosy pink.
He was unaccustomed to seeing such a happy expression, but immediately lowered his gaze again as he was scolded by his father. "Don't stare at those worthless muggles. Hurry up, we have to get you a new dress robe for the Christmas Ball." The father walked quicker, leaving his son behind.
The boy snuck one last peek back at the happy girl. She was now walking away, holding on to both her parents' hands. I hate Christmas, thought Draco Malfoy, as he hurried to catch up to his father.
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HOHOHO! No pun intended. That's what the surprise was: Hannah and I are now working on a collaborative Christmas Dramione series! There will be about 10 installments, and we will update every 2 days or so. We can't wait to hear your comments!
By the way, we have yet to come up with an awesome title yet, so any suggestions are welcome!
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Auras
It was the surreal, bird's eye view that kept drawing her back. Or maybe it was how the lights twinkled up at her from the condos. Or the blinding sunsets that illuminated the skyline in fiery reds and oranges, shimmering off the pink ocean. Anyhow, she would come here whenever she could; on days where the sun dazzled the little people below with its bright smile and on days where it was feeling a little too grey to show its true colours. Every time, there would be something new to see; something she hadn't noticed on the last visit. Today, it was the way the setting, winter sun reflected off of the house windows, lighting them on fire. They glowed intensely as though possessed, and the deep blue sky contrasted magnificently. It was only five, and the sun was already almost gone.
Her legs dangled loosely over the precipice, feet bobbing to the beat of the song she was currently listening to. She turned her head to the left and watched the waves for a while.
For months, she had stared at the cliff blankly everyday. Five weeks ago, she'd dragged herself to the top of it against her will. Every cell in her body had been screaming with adrenaline, but her heavy, bitter heart had kept her feet moving. She'd sat down a good fifty metres from the edge and closed her eyes. She knew she was going to die. And she knew she wanted it to happen this way, not with a rope or a pellet of lead, or with bottles covered with warning labels. Just jumping off, and never feeling the ground. As a matter of fact, that's how she had convinced herself to come this far. It would have been just like flying. Or skydiving.
But when she had approached the void, trembling and crying silently, what she saw stopped the shaking. And the tears. She had been shocked. Completely shocked. All self-destructing thoughts had left her head. The view had been absolutely astonishing.
She knew she should have been home half an hour ago. But that was okay. Her homework could wait. This was absolutely paradise.
***
It was the quiet, solemn atmosphere that kept drawing him back. Or maybe it was how the tombstones stood out majestically against the soft, green grass. Or the eerie sunsets that illuminated the white marble in pastel pinks and oranges, shimmering off the laminated caskets. Anyhow, he would come here whenever he could; on days where the sun sparkled between the branches of the old weeping willows, and on days where the sky cried a river for every buried body. Every time, he would find a new tombstone to read; a dedication he hadn't noticed on the last visit. Today, it was an old, stone obelisk isolated from the main group. He couldn't read the words on it because it was five in the morning, so the sun had not yet risen. He'd stumbled upon it after getting lost on the cemetery paths.
For weeks, he'd been visiting the place. It all started one day when he and some friends had decided it would be funny to carve obscene phrases into the stone. He'd felt bad about doing it, but his friends' impressions of him were a priority. He had always been the gutsiest, and he wasn't about to give that title up.
But when he came back the next day with spray paints, smug and ready for some fun, the curious tingling he felt stopped him dead in his tracks. Alone, the graveyard had a different feel. There was something that demanded respect, softly but firmly. He had thrown all of his equipment in the garbage, and walked around slowly, seeing his environment in a new way. Oddly, the more time he spent next to those passed away, the more compelled he felt to join them. Their spirits tapped into his flesh and left a longing in his heart. Sometimes he would even shiver as their icy hands touched his face.
"I'll join you guys someday," he whispered to the door of a tomb. "Soon, I'll be with you all."
Her legs dangled loosely over the precipice, feet bobbing to the beat of the song she was currently listening to. She turned her head to the left and watched the waves for a while.
For months, she had stared at the cliff blankly everyday. Five weeks ago, she'd dragged herself to the top of it against her will. Every cell in her body had been screaming with adrenaline, but her heavy, bitter heart had kept her feet moving. She'd sat down a good fifty metres from the edge and closed her eyes. She knew she was going to die. And she knew she wanted it to happen this way, not with a rope or a pellet of lead, or with bottles covered with warning labels. Just jumping off, and never feeling the ground. As a matter of fact, that's how she had convinced herself to come this far. It would have been just like flying. Or skydiving.
But when she had approached the void, trembling and crying silently, what she saw stopped the shaking. And the tears. She had been shocked. Completely shocked. All self-destructing thoughts had left her head. The view had been absolutely astonishing.
She knew she should have been home half an hour ago. But that was okay. Her homework could wait. This was absolutely paradise.
***
It was the quiet, solemn atmosphere that kept drawing him back. Or maybe it was how the tombstones stood out majestically against the soft, green grass. Or the eerie sunsets that illuminated the white marble in pastel pinks and oranges, shimmering off the laminated caskets. Anyhow, he would come here whenever he could; on days where the sun sparkled between the branches of the old weeping willows, and on days where the sky cried a river for every buried body. Every time, he would find a new tombstone to read; a dedication he hadn't noticed on the last visit. Today, it was an old, stone obelisk isolated from the main group. He couldn't read the words on it because it was five in the morning, so the sun had not yet risen. He'd stumbled upon it after getting lost on the cemetery paths.
For weeks, he'd been visiting the place. It all started one day when he and some friends had decided it would be funny to carve obscene phrases into the stone. He'd felt bad about doing it, but his friends' impressions of him were a priority. He had always been the gutsiest, and he wasn't about to give that title up.
But when he came back the next day with spray paints, smug and ready for some fun, the curious tingling he felt stopped him dead in his tracks. Alone, the graveyard had a different feel. There was something that demanded respect, softly but firmly. He had thrown all of his equipment in the garbage, and walked around slowly, seeing his environment in a new way. Oddly, the more time he spent next to those passed away, the more compelled he felt to join them. Their spirits tapped into his flesh and left a longing in his heart. Sometimes he would even shiver as their icy hands touched his face.
"I'll join you guys someday," he whispered to the door of a tomb. "Soon, I'll be with you all."
Part 2: Stop
This is in continuation of Somersaults. :)
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Meet me outside the main entrance. 8pm. Before I go.
The note had been left outside his dorm door, a ripped piece of yellowed parchment. It wasn’t signed, but the loopy, elegant cursive made clear instantly who it was from. Her.
For awhile after the gift incident, he had wondered what she’d thought of it. Was it too much? Too classy? The thoughts had swarmed his head constantly; during class seated two spots to the left and one behind her, lying awake in his bed at night. There was no indication she’d received it at all – the dark, cold stares and harsh sarcasm wars continued. It left him in a bitter mood the days leading up to Christmas. Yet still each time he saw her, his heart threatened to jump out of his chest.
And now, finally, was his chance. Perhaps she’d chosen this moment simply to make him wait. Maybe she had finally remembered the note tied to the box. Whatever the reason though, he knew he had to go. Instinct told him it was his only chance.
At 8:26, he got angry. I’ve been stood up. How dare she? No one stood up to Draco Malfoy. The hope that had flickered on inside him since the discovery of the note slowly drifted away with each passing second.
By 8:41 his mood had taken a turn for the worse. Enraged and shivering from the snow that had begun to fall, he trudged back inside to the Great Hall and up the stairs. Suddenly, he paused, hearing voices coming out from one of the unused classrooms.
“…Be fair. You liked me perfectly fine in fourth year!”
That was two years ago! We’ve both changed since then. I don’t have the same feelings for you anymore.
“At least give me a chance! I’ll be good for you.”
Ron, I see no point in continuing this argument. It’ll end up hurting both of us.
“Trust me! I know you inside out. Who could be more perfect for you? Just let me give it a shot. I’ll prove my worth.”
…Fine, you know what? I’ll go out with you, and we’ll see how it goes. I’ll give you a chance. Are you happy now?
“The most, Hermione. I promise you I’ll be good to you forever.”
As soon as he heard those words, his heart stopped.
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Two comments/notes:
1. Did you notice the Marianas Trench reference? Haha. I was actually thinking about them when I wrote that line.
2. Tomorrow is December 1st! Thus I probably won't update for awhile... you'll see why soon. :)
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Meet me outside the main entrance. 8pm. Before I go.
The note had been left outside his dorm door, a ripped piece of yellowed parchment. It wasn’t signed, but the loopy, elegant cursive made clear instantly who it was from. Her.
For awhile after the gift incident, he had wondered what she’d thought of it. Was it too much? Too classy? The thoughts had swarmed his head constantly; during class seated two spots to the left and one behind her, lying awake in his bed at night. There was no indication she’d received it at all – the dark, cold stares and harsh sarcasm wars continued. It left him in a bitter mood the days leading up to Christmas. Yet still each time he saw her, his heart threatened to jump out of his chest.
And now, finally, was his chance. Perhaps she’d chosen this moment simply to make him wait. Maybe she had finally remembered the note tied to the box. Whatever the reason though, he knew he had to go. Instinct told him it was his only chance.
***
The neon glow of his watch read 8:02. She still hadn’t come. It’s against her nature to be late, he thought. In fact, she’s usually at least ten minutes early. He waited anxiously for her arrival, wondering what he was going to say when she finally came.At 8:26, he got angry. I’ve been stood up. How dare she? No one stood up to Draco Malfoy. The hope that had flickered on inside him since the discovery of the note slowly drifted away with each passing second.
By 8:41 his mood had taken a turn for the worse. Enraged and shivering from the snow that had begun to fall, he trudged back inside to the Great Hall and up the stairs. Suddenly, he paused, hearing voices coming out from one of the unused classrooms.
“…Be fair. You liked me perfectly fine in fourth year!”
That was two years ago! We’ve both changed since then. I don’t have the same feelings for you anymore.
“At least give me a chance! I’ll be good for you.”
Ron, I see no point in continuing this argument. It’ll end up hurting both of us.
“Trust me! I know you inside out. Who could be more perfect for you? Just let me give it a shot. I’ll prove my worth.”
…Fine, you know what? I’ll go out with you, and we’ll see how it goes. I’ll give you a chance. Are you happy now?
“The most, Hermione. I promise you I’ll be good to you forever.”
As soon as he heard those words, his heart stopped.
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Two comments/notes:
1. Did you notice the Marianas Trench reference? Haha. I was actually thinking about them when I wrote that line.
2. Tomorrow is December 1st! Thus I probably won't update for awhile... you'll see why soon. :)
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