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.

The old GU banner. Nostalgic, eh? ...No? Fine...

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!

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 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

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).

~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.

***

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!