Welcome to Thirty-Minute HP Fic Challenges

fanfiction and libraries

Fri, 25 Apr 2008 04:33:39 GMT

Off topic - mods, please don't kill me...

Hey guys,

In a library mailing list somebody asked for libraries that offer programmes of any kind for fanfic writers. Mostly, they were interested in examples from Germany, but when I asked they said they'd be very grateful for information on other countries.

So here's my question: do you know libraries that offer programmes for fanfiction writers? Have you as writers participated in such programmes, has your library offered them?

Any information would be helpful. Please spread the word!

Cross-posted all over the place.

Response to challenge #160 - You're still a virgin?

Sun, 16 Mar 2008 21:27:38 GMT

Is this com not getting challenges any more due to the release of DH? It's a shame to see it innactive for so long - I say we resurrect it!

Title: Untitled for the moment
Summary: Eighteen, Remus decided, was far too silly an age to be a virgin.
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Remus Lupin, Sirius Black
Words: 1352
Author's Notes: It`s been a while since I`ve written anything at all.. It feels quite good to be back!

Eighteen, Remus decided, was far too silly an age to be a virgin.

For a moderately attractive, intelligent, boy with a subtle yet fierce sense of humour, it was an inadequate and unacceptable sexual class for a boy – no, a man – of his stature to fall under.

And so, after reducing his current dilemma to a single self derogatory statement, Remus found himself seated on an uncomfortable stool in an overly crowded bar, wedged between two large, middle-aged women, who were – to use a common phrase – piss drunk.

“So,” the drunk woman on Remus’ left said, leaning forward to get a look at her friend, and spilling her drink on the bar top in the process. “I told me ‘usband that ‘e can secretary his shag if ‘e bloody well wants to, but I,” she jabbed herself dramatically in the chest, “was leaving ‘im.”

Remus shifted in his seat and swivelled his stool, with much difficulty, to face the woman. “Are you sure you don’t want to switch places with me, miss?”

The drunken woman peered at Remus with such intensity that she went cross-eyed, opened her mouth and then promptly passed out. The dull, wooden thunk of her head meeting the bar-top went unnoticed as it was in perfect timing with the drumbeat of the bar music.

Remus concluded that it was time to find a new place to sit. He cleared his throat and muttered his excuse to the woman’s friend, and spotted a pretty blonde girl sitting alone, who could potentially help him out with his quest. Approaching her nervously, he caught her eye and smiled at her. “Excuse me,” he said with what he hoped was a deep, attractive voice. However, it sounded more like the squeak of a frightened mouse. “Is this seat taken?”

“No,” she said and rose to her feet. “It isn’t. And neither is this one.”

Stunned momentarily, he stood rooted on the spot. Rejection number one. How many more were to follow? Since there was no sense in letting the small table and two chairs go to waste, he sat down in hopes that someone would spot the poor lonely boy and offer him sympathy with some full out sex.

“Excuse me, Sir, would you like me to top you off?”

It had worked in all of two seconds. Hardly suppressing his grin, Remus turned to face his soon to be sexual partner, only to encounter a wandering bartender holding a pitcher of beer and gesturing to his almost empty glass. His face fell far beyond sea level. “Yeah, please,” he said nonchalantly, and the bartender proceeded to ‘top him off’.

He sulked and drank his beer.

“Remus!” a voice hollered from across the dance floor starling Remus and miraculously being heard by just about everyone in the bar. He knew that voice rather well; he also knew that no one in their right mind would shag – let alone notice – him if he were standing next to Sirius Black. Remus pointedly looked away.

“Blimey, it is you.” Sirius had not noticed the anvil sized hint to go away. Instead, he did the very opposite, he sat in the empty chair across from Remus and spoke to him. “You do realise that you’re in a bar? Drinking a beer.”

“Yes, thank you.” Remus took another sip.

“But you work in a book shop; your lot don’t normally venture to these parts.”

“Go away,” Remus hissed through clenched teeth.

Sensing something complex and perhaps even sinister behind Remus’ words, Sirius leaned forward intently in his chair. “What’s the matter with you tonight?”

“Nothing.” Remus focused all of his attention on the wall to his right where there were many pretty flashing lights morphing and twisting into many pretty flashing patterns.

“I really beg to differ.”

“Differ away, then.” Why wouldn’t the bastard just leave?

“Tell me, you div.”

“If I tell you, will you leave?” Sirius nodded.

Remus took a deep breath, readied himself by drinking half his glass in one gulp, and said, “I came here to get laid.”

He inched his head to the left to peer at his friend, and instead of being met with laughing eyes like Remus had expected, he was confronted with worry.

“Remus,” Sirius said. Remus did not have to be sober to notice that his words were dripping with caution. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Go away,” Remus said. “You said you’d go away.”

“I – Right.” And he left without another word.

That was Remus’ queue to get himself a much stronger drink.

Three rather large rum and Cokes later found Remus stumbling out the back door of the bar – unsuccessful in his mission – and desperately trying to remember where he lived. If only the ground would stop swaying back and forth as though he were on a boat, he may have been able to procure a precious peaceful moment to recall the more important personal facts one should really know about themselves.

He thought he saw a person walk by him but, given that his sight had gone white and fuzzy, he could not be certain and it could have very well been a large rubbish bin.

Caught up in these very vital thoughts, he tripped and fell against the outer walls of the bar, hands clawing ineffectively at the bricks in futile attempts to remain upright. It was useless. Defeated, he managed to turn his body round with a loud drunken grunt so his back rested against the bricks and let his body slide down the wall in – despite the circumstances of things – a graceful, fluid manner.

He would sleep here, and hopefully remember his address in the morning. It was a very good plan, and Remus nodded enthusiastically to hinder any unwanted doubts.

A curious sensation in his chest began to come over him, and for a moment he thought it was his address generously returning to him. However, that notion was quickly dismissed when he pitched himself to his side and vomited something fierce.

He did not recall commanding his hands to brush his hair out of his eyes, but apparently they did so anyways. “Are you out of your bloody mind?” Apparently his hands could speak to him as well. Curious.
Remus moaned rather pitifully and pathetically to his hands in reply.

“Of all the stupid and irresponsible things you’ve done, Remus, this is the worst. Come to think of it, this is the only stupid and irresponsible thing you’ve done.”

“Where – live?” he asked in such a quiet voice that he was not even sure he had uttered it.
He felt hands grasp his sides and lift him up. His legs unable to support his weight, he fell forward and the arms around his waist tightened resulting in a one sided embrace and passed out.

_____________________________________________________________

Remus awoke with a loud moan. The inside of his mouth felt like sandpaper. He was still leaning against someone for support, but sensed rather than saw that the setting had changed.

“Decided to wake up after I dragged you up four flights of stairs, have you?”

Remus mumbled incoherently as Sirius gently lowered him onto a soft surface that he concluded must be a cloud. He could not have been unconscious for very long for his head had gone numb and his limbs tingling unpleasantly indicating that he was still rather drunk.

Opening his eyes a sliver, he saw Sirius rise from the edge bed – not a cloud. Without consulting his brain or common sense, Remus grabbed hold of Sirius’ elbow and pulled him closer and crushed their lips together. Dry lips against shocked lips. Closed eyes against wide eyes. Remus was in no state of mind to know what he was doing, but his body was convincing him that this was what he wanted.

Sirius shoved him back onto the bed, a little rougher than he had expected. “No, Remus,” Sirius said. “Not when you’re like this.”

He walked to the door and closed it quietly behind him. Leaning back on the wall behind him he sighed deeply. “Maybe when you’re sober.”

Challenge #4

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 01:16:06 GMT

Title: Mars Is Bright Tonight
Rating: PG, I s'pose
Completion Time: A bit more than 30 minutes

The centaur paused as he stepped to the edge of the forest, reveling in the caress of the night’s soft breeze against his bare torso and the rustle of leaves overhead. Stars twinkled in the inky darkness above, and he nodded in approval at the cloudless sky. He waited a moment before proceeding cautiously forward, feeling the earth shift from loamy soil to dewy grass beneath his hooves. When finally he stood in the center of the meadow, he raised his majestic head to gaze upon the infinite universe.

Immediately he noticed – Mars was bright.

The sound of a snapping twig broke harshly through the silence a few moments later, followed by the shuffling of the heavy, booted feet of the Hogwarts groundskeeper. “Evenin’ Firenze,” Hagrid said in greeting, emerging from the wood and approaching the centaur carefully. “Did’n’ expect nobody to be aroun’ so late an’ all. ‘S not any trouble brewin’ with yer folk now, is there?”

“Mars is bright tonight,” came the response. After a moment, the centaur lowered his eyes to meet the gaze of the giant hybrid. “Mars is bright,” he repeated. “The heavens show this to be a night of revelation. One shall see that which shall come to be desired, whilst another shall be laid bare before both foe and ally.”

Hagrid shifted his weight uneasily, passing his bow from one hand to the other. “Righ’, well, I’ll jus’ be gettin’ back then ... would’n’ want ter disturb yeh none ... g’night, Firenze.”

~~~
“For the love of Merlin, can’t you bloody KNOCK?!”

Fleeing from the first floor bath reserved for professors’ use only, Severus Snape hastily pulled the heavy door closed behind him just moments before a thunderous bang sounded from within and thick plumes of gray smoke belched from beneath the door in looping scarlet curls. Heaving a sigh and slumping against the cool stone of the wall, the professor swiped an arm across his perspiring forehead and silently thanked whatever gods-that-be for blessing him with impeccable reflexes. He held no reservations in his belief that had he been but a fraction of a second slower, the spell flung by his irate colleague would no doubt have landed him in the hospital wing for a week.

Placing a hand to his chest, he slowly and methodically worked to even the pace of his breathing; however, the rapid drum of his heart beneath his pale fingertips adamantly refused to abate in its intensity. “Oh, come now,” he muttered as he straightened his robes. He felt more than a bit flustered by the entire situation and attempted to reason with himself. “It isn’t as though there was even all that much of interest to see.”

A pause. “Then again,” Severus thought aloud, pushing away from the wall with a newly-forming grin on his lips, “when it comes to her, apparently there is much more to see than one would think.” And so he headed gaily down the dungeon stairwell toward his rooms, a surprisingly superb image of a very enraged – and very naked – Minerva McGonagall emblazoned clearly in his mind. Clearly, he’d have to remember to forget to knock more often.

~~~

Response to Challenge #179: The Circular Challenge

Thu, 13 Dec 2007 16:57:28 GMT

Title: Time and Distance
Rating: PG-13
Paring: Tonks/Remus
Author's Notes: Unbeta'd. Written in less than thirty minutes. Encouraged to post by a friend.

( Tonks never understands Remus. )

Challenge #104 - Seventh Sentence

Thu, 29 Nov 2007 21:54:27 GMT

Title: Moonlight Discoveries
Rating: PG-13 for mild sexual content, slash
Characters: Harry, Remus/Sirius
Author's Notes: I used the seventh chapter, seventh sentence from the American edition of Order of the Phoenix-- "He did not stir as Harry crossed the room, stepped out onto the landing, and closed the door behind him."
Moonlight Discoveries by 2_4_joy

Response to Challenge #146: The Secret Indulgence Challenge

Wed, 12 Sep 2007 14:21:42 GMT

Title: Taboo
Rating: Probably a PG-13, for somewhat crude subject matter
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Peter Pettigrew, Bellatrix Lestrange
Author's notes: Less than half an hour. Very slightly spoilery for DH. Devilishly poor taste. *pokes community* Is this comm still going properly, I haven't seen a challenge released for ages!

This was the dullest task a Death Eater could be assigned to. One sat in a small room, gazing at a little red lantern, hoping beyond hope that it would light up. It rarely did.
        Today, the unenviable task fell upon Draco Malfoy and Peter Pettigrew. Draco was sorely disappointed to be stuck with Pettigrew; sometimes one could have an interesting conversation with one's cohort, but Pettigrew was half-mad and all boring. Idly, Draco withdrew a deck of his cards from his robes and began to play Patience. With Exploding Snap cards, it was a faintly interesting game. More interesting, anyway, than looking at the bloody lantern which never did anything.
        "You're not meant to do that," Pettigrew squeaked, "what if somebody breaks the Taboo and you're not ready to move immediately? They might get away and the Dark Lord would be furious."
        "It's not going to ever do anything," Draco replied dismissively. Nobody broke the Taboo. The lantern hadn't illuminated for months now.
        "It might," Pettigrew said petulantly, and made a point of staring at it. Draco returned to his game. Where was the bloody ace of diamonds?
        "Ahahaa!" Pettigrew squealed, startling Draco, and causing the cards to explode. "Look, look, it's lighting up. What do we do, what do we do?"
        Although Draco's heart was pounding at the concept of actual combat, he forced himself to remain calm and superior to the wreck of a man hopping from foot to foot. Both placed their hands upon the little red lantern, and Draco felt a sensation, similar to a Portkey. The lantern transported the Dark Lord's supporters to the location of anyone who dared to utter his name. Draco trembled slightly in flight; he secretly hated the idea of duelling another wizard, who would probably be better trained than he was.
        The location seemed strangely familiar to Draco. As he looked around, he realised it was one of the guest bedrooms in his own home. Had they infiltrated it? Where was the transgressor? He could not see anyone standing, poised to fight. There were no bumps behind the curtains.
        It was then he spotted a shape in the bed, moving, panting. He recognised that dark hair, wild and untamed now. His aunt Bellatrix. She looked blissful, her right hand moving at herself under the duvet. Draco felt immediately quite sick, as he knew exactly what she had been doing. It was something that no man ever needed to see. Especially as she had broken the Taboo! Now he knew what she gasped, breathily as she fantasised. His aunt! He turned to leave, motioning Pettigrew to follow. Pettigrew, was, of course, oblivious, being a complete simpleton, and said loudly,
        "But what about the Taboo?"
        It was like a spell had been broken. Bellatrix's eyes flew open, and she groped for her wand. Draco blushed. He could not imagine a more embarrassing situation than this.
        "What are you doing in here?" she hissed. She had her wand now, and was waving it frantically between Pettigrew and Draco.
        Draco tried to concoct a lie that would somehow make this whole sorry situation disappear. He drew a blank.
        "Someone broke the Taboo up here," Pettigrew said.
        "GET. OUT. NOW!" Bellatrix screamed, sparks flying from the end of her wand. Draco considered himself lucky that she was not sending out Killing Curses.
        They scarpered. Draco took his own wand and pressed it to his forehead and mumbled, "Obliviate."
        Nothing happened. Draco hoped that Occlumency would eventually block out this whole incident.

Challenge #176: The "Stranger in a Strange Land" Challenge

Wed, 12 Sep 2007 03:16:03 GMT

Title: Me and my girl
Rating: PG
Pairings: The Dark Lord and his signifcant other
Author's Notes: Took just a wee bit longer than the thirty minutes, it needed some editing, and a bit of quick reserch.

A small group of men huddled by a badly damaged statue. A cold wind blew across the field that was a few years ago a beautiful park. The sun was setting and the men having stopped the potato harvest lit up a single, small cigarette to share amongst them before heading home for the day. The men looked upwards as a young British Officer passed by.

A few of the older men thought him a bit too young to have reached such a rank, but then as they solemnly reminded themselves, this war was fought with children. The young Captain met their glares and returned them with a sneer but did not stop. The men continued to watch him but said nothing until they believed him to be out of earshot, "Verpiss dich"*, one old man muttered then took a long drag of the quickly shrinking cigarette and passed it onto the man to his left.

A youth, having waited for a suitable distance between himself and the young man, shouted after him, "du bist klien in der hosen"**!

Standing across the street from the park he turned to meet the insulting boy, and for a moment he considered teaching the young muggle a lesson he may not survive, but where they stood was too exposed, and the city was infested with wizards. They were looking for an American wizard that had helped the muggles in their war. He turned his back upon the muggle men, he thought he could deal with them later.

A sound from the ruined building before him woke the young man from his contemplation, and as he looked into the darkness he caught a glimpse of movement and unexpectedly, a small blue light.

As carefully and as quietly as he could he crept inside the ruin, and in the dim light he saw the shape of a man in worn and ripped wizarding robes and wondered if this was the wizard the Americans were looking for. His wand pointed at the back of the man he decided to make himself known and kicked at a brick. At the noise the wizard jumped and spun around and shot a curse at the young man in the muggle officers uniform, but he was prepared and easily returned the volley with knocking the older wizards wand out of his hand.

The wand spun upwards and towards the young man who caught it easily despite the room having plunged once more into darkness. “A bit nervous aren’t you?” He queried and again lit the newly captured wand, casting the light upon himself. “I wonder why”.

The older wizard came to his senses quickly, “Oh thank god, you’re English”! he exclaimed.

“British,” the young man corrected.

“Yes, British, listen, you gotta help me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because, I’ve got….I’ve got money, I can give you a lot of money”.

“I highly doubt you can offer me more than the reward your countrymen are offering for your capture, Jim.”

Jim looked desperate for a moment, “but wait, I got something you won’t find just anywhere. Tell me son, what do you think about snakes”? He asked hopefully.

The young wizard cocked an eyebrow, “I’m quite fond of them actually. Why?”

Jim quickly began to brighten up, “Son, I’ve got perhaps the most rare snake known to wizard kind”. He hesitated before whispering, “the Ananta.”

The young wizards heart lept, ‘the Ananta,’ he thought excitedly, but kept his composure. “The Ananta,” he repeated calmly, that’s quite a claim to make. Tell me, how does one find such a treasure amongst this mess”?

“I got her six years ago, she’s about ten years old by our standards but if you know anything about them she’s still a baby and there’s still plenty of time to make her your own”.

He couldn’t put it off any longer, “prove it, take me to her”.

They made their way up a large, winding staircase, despite its outside appearance the building was still quite intact. Lying on a dusty step was a childrens’ book. Picking it up with his free hand, the young wizard asked, “is this why you hid out here”?

Jim, who had reached the top landing turned around, “yeah, I’m a descendent of Wilhelm, they used to live here, well not in this exact building but on the Lennestrasse and….”

“I’m not interested in a lengthy family history lesson, in particular about wizards who worked for muggles, I want to see the snake”. He motioned to Jim with his wand.

They entered a large room, various bits of furniture lay about in the dust, the walls pockmarked by bullets and shrapnel, and at the far end lay a bundle of rags put together to form a kind of bed.

“She’s right here”, Jim grunted as he reached behind a large bookcase and brought out a small glass box, in the box lay a small, thin snake.

The snake raised its head as the young wizard approached it, ‘hello master,’ she said. He took the offered box and opening it he placed his left hand inside. Jim gasped as the snake wrapped itself around the young man’s wrist, “I shall call you Nagini”.

“Ah, you’re Parseltongue, yes it all fits. I.. ahh…I didn’t get your name’.

“It’s Lord Voldemort,” he replied caressing the snake.

“Lord Voldemort? Oh I see you’re one of them royal types, well just because you’re going to help me out of here don’t expect me to bow or call you Sir or Lord or whatever you get called, I don’t hold to nobility”.

Voldemort took his gaze away from the snake, “and I do not hold to," he said quietly, "as you put it, to wizards who assist muggles and still end up on the losing side. And, I never said I would be helping you”.

Before Jim could react, Voldemort had taken out his wand again and a shot of green light lit up the darkened room.

As Jim lay crumpled by his makeshift bed, Voldemort, feeling curious had a look through his belongings. In amongst personal items that were of no importance he found several maps of Albania. “Albania, well Nagini shall we find out what he felt was so important about that country? But let us first collect our reward”.

*fuck you
**you have a small penis

Challenge # 172: Random Elements Challenge 12

Wed, 15 Aug 2007 20:14:16 GMT

Title: Finding Out True Love is Blind
Rating: G
Characters: Victoire Weasley & Teddy Lupin
Author's Notes: I haven't posted anything in this community in awhile, and I had some time before work today, so I looked through past challenges and picked this. The random elements include a clock, a candle and a kiss. I hope everyone likes it.

Finding Out True Love is Blind

Her candle went out, leaving her in the dark kitchen, her eyes blinking blindly as the hairs on the back of her neck rose in alarm. Victoire had never felt completely safe at Uncle Harry’s and Aunt Ginny’s place. Yes, she loved and trusted them, but she was also painfully aware that Uncle Harry had been at the center of the war and that if any evil decided to resurface, he would be first on the death list.

Several long, heart-pounding moments passed, yet, despite her eyes adjusting to the darkness, she could not see anything; the blackness encompassed her like a blanket.

‘Okay,’ she thought to herself, taking deep, calming breaths as she did so, ‘I’m a big girl; I can find my way through the darkness.’

She slowly rose from the table. To her right, she heard the kitchen clock ticking off the seconds, and she knew that the stairs that led to the bedrooms was right beside that clock. All she had to do was follow the sound of the ticking, and she would be alright.

Keeping one hand on the table, Victoire took a step towards the ticking clock, only to pause rather suddenly as she felt something warm brush against her side.

“Who’s there?” she asked quickly, wincing when she heard the fear in her voice. ‘Stay calm, Victoire.’

No one answered her. She swallowed hard and continued on her way, her left hand on the table to steady her. She was almost there when she felt a poke on her left side, causing her to shoot away from the table in her fear. She backed up blindly into the sick, her hands grasping its side to steady her as her heart beat fiercely in her chest. She felt another poke to the side, accompanied by a gust of air, as if someone had moved by her quickly.

She gasped and shot away from the sink, crashing into a warm, sturdy body.

There was a soft chuckle and a whispered ‘Lumos’ before the kitchen filled with a soft, golden glow, illuminating the smirking face of Teddy Lupin.

“Hullo, Victoire,” he said, wrapping his free hand around her waist.

Victoire scowled at him. ‘Damn him and his stupid night vision!’

“Teddy!” she exclaimed, wishing her beating heart would slow down; she was certain he could feel it pounding through her chest, which was currently pressed pretty cozily against his. “You scared me, you git!” She punched his chest admonishingly, but Teddy merely continued to grin down at her.

“Sorry,” he apologized, although he didn’t look sorry in the least. They stood in silence for a few moments, his arm around her and her hands resting upon his chest, until they both realized their close proximity and broke apart rather abruptly, as if they had burned one another.

Victoire blushed and stared down at her feet, cursing her feelings.

Teddy was family. Teddy wasn’t related to her by blood. They were raised as cousins. They weren’t really cousins. They were friends. They spent their summer holidays visiting the same relatives. They were complicated.

“You’re pretty when you’re frustrated,” Teddy admitted softly, and Victoire raised her eyes to look at him.

At eighteen years of age, Teddy Lupin was beginning to look more like a grown man instead of an adolescent child. He was (normally) tall and lean, with a (normally) thin face, straight nose, sly smirk, golden brown eyes, and messy, bright blue hair. He also carried himself in a way that suggested he was very self assured, but there were times, such as now, that Victoire saw a (normally) hidden vulnerability.

He was leaning against the table with his hands as if he needed support to keep his knees from buckling. His face was flushed with splotches of pink blush, and his eyes were looking at her under the veil of his long lashes. No longer smirking, his mouth meekly pulled to the side in a shy smile.

“Are you sure you should be talking to me like that?” she asked, flashing a shy smile of her own.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he retorted, his brow knitting in confusion.

Victoire blushed and glanced down at her feet again.

“It’s just that we’re…”

“Yes?” he asked, drawing the word out. She was vaguely aware that he had taken a few steps forward and now stood very close to her. He dipped his head, trying to force eye contact with her. “We’re what, Victoire?”

“We’re…” she looked up at him, feeling dumb, “…not really related.”

His smirk was back. “Yeah…we’re not.”

“But…I mean…it’s just that…”

But Teddy had leaned in, cutting off her protests. Victoire’s body went rigid, her eyes blinking rapidly as he kissed her. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds.

Tick.

Kiss.

Tock.

Kiss.

Tick.

And then Victoire gave up, melting into his embrace and kissing him back. They were complicated non-relatives. They were Teddy and Victoire. Always.

Sat, 11 Aug 2007 13:20:57 GMT

Title: Licorice
Rating: NC-17

Challenge: #178 Honeyduke’s

Word Count: 639
Characters: Severus/Remus
Author's Warning: Public sex. MPreg. Blpaintchart, I mean it.

Remus went through the trapdoor first then turned, and held his hand out for Severus. Severus scowled. He wasn’t that big! Certainly, he was almost six months pregnant and looked liked he’d swallowed a bludger, but really. He took the proffered hand.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this tunnel existed.”

“If I did you’d be as big as a castle already. Come on they close soon.”

Severus grumbled. “That was a long walk.”

Remus turned back and grabbed the snarky man and kissed him, and kissed him. “Exercise is good for you especially since we’re here to get you sweets.”

Severus was slightly breathless and aroused. He was more hormonal than a seventeen year old boy. His cock was already stirring as he watched Remus mount the stairs. Damn the man had a nice arse. Severus started up the stairs himself. They stepped silently into Honeyduke’s to see Ambrosius Flume, sitting on a stool napping.

Severus marveled at the sweets, but he really only wanted one thing. Remus headed off towards the chocolate, as Severus began to obsess about his craving. Black licorice, wands and wands lined up in jars. His cock even more interested at the thought of those phallic symbols. Then he thought about licorice whips. Currently, he was missing the light slap of a riding crop, just a bit of a sting and no blood. He and Remus had curtailed some of their more adventurous sex play due to the pregnancy. Then as he got closer to the licorice counter, he could smell it.

Severus was rock hard in an instant. He shifted a bit; he wished he’d worn underwear. They’d set off on their trek after Severus complained bitterly about the total lack licorice in the castle. He’d been wearing only a dressing gown (men’s maternity clothes left much to be desired) when Remus told him there was a way into Honeyduke’s, that didn’t involve going outdoors in January. Severus had thrown off his dressing gown and slipped into a robe, nude underneath. Now, all he had was the slight scratch of the robe to rub his rampant cock. He stood licking his lips and unknowingly rocking his hips.

Remus came up behind him and wrapped his arms around him, rubbing his hands over Severus swollen belly. Severus became ramrod still. Remus whispered “Did you see something inspiring?”

“Pardon?”

Remus wasn’t fooled reached his hand below the swell and found Severus erection. He rubbed his hand over and over. Severus rocked into Remus hand

“Lupin.” Severus groaned. “Not here.” Although Severus wanted it right here, right now.

“He’s dead asleep. He’d never know.” Remus nuzzled the spot under Severus ear that drove him wild. “Even if he wakes up he can’t see behind the counter, if you’re quiet it will work.”

Severus hadn’t stopped rocking, and was very ready to start moaning.

“Please, Lupin.”

“As you please, Severus.” Remus undid his trousers and dropped them and his pants just below his bum. He muttered preparatory spells and lifted Severus robe from behind. “Hands on the counter, Sev” Remus whispered.

Remus rocked his hard cock against Severus cleft and Severus shifted backward. Remus kept it up until Severus made a low moan. “Please.”

Remus entered Severus slowly and when fully seated, wrapped his hand around Severus cock.

Severus thought he would burst right there. The smell of the licorice, Remus’ cock and Remus’ hand on his cock it was almost too much. Then Severus remembered they weren’t alone in the room. He stiffened, pushing Remus’ cock against his prostate. Severus bit his lip to keep from crying out as he came all over Remus’ hand and the front of the counter. Remus followed him almost immediately.

Severus leaned heavily on the counter. The worst part was the licorice scent made him want to go again.

Response to Challenge #171: The Interview Challenge

Thu, 02 Aug 2007 16:01:33 GMT

Title: A Well-Qualified Witch
Contains DH spoilers
Rating: G
Characters: Dolores Umbridge, Percy Weasley
Author's notes: 25 minutes, this took me. I felt like writing something with a little bit of wicked humour in it.

It was good to be back.
     The Ministry looked different from the last time Dolores Umbridge had seen it. Gone was the magnificent Magic is Might statue that Umbridge herself had helped design. In its place was an obelisk, like a Muggle war memorial, detailing the names of all those who had perished in the struggle against Voldemort, along with those (Umbridge noted in disgust) who had been killed escaping legitimate Ministry officials due to their flagrant violation of laws against Muggle-borns.
     Umbridge, too, had changed a lot over the years. Since the defeat of Voldemort, eight years previously, she had been in Azkaban for her cruelty, her crimes against Muggle-borns. All she had left in the world were the lilac robes and matching lilac cardigan she was currently wearing. The clothes she had worn into Azkaban. They were shabby now, as was her hair, which she had attempted to curl with her wand.
     A young wizard arrived to show her to the Wizard Resources department. As the door opened, Umbridge gave a start. The officer was none other than Percy Weasley, a young man who had served her faithfully so many years ago.
     "Percy!" she cried, "it's so lovely to see a familar face. I'm so glad you got this valuable promotion."
     Percy made no sign that he recognised Umbridge, or had heard her familiar greeting. He gestured to the wooden stool across from his desk.
     "So, Madam Umbridge," he began, shuffling pages, "what led you to apply for the position?"
     "I felt like I ought to return to the Ministry. It is, after all, where I belong." She let out a laugh. Umbridge was convinced that her laugh sounded sweet and would win Percy over. However, to her interviewer it sounded false and forced.
     "Certainly, certainly," Percy looked up properly for the first time, inspected Umbridge's appearance through his horn-rimmed glasses. He frowned. "Do you, Madam Umbridge, consider this outfit suitable for an interview?"
     "I-" another high pitched laugh, like a small glass breaking, "I have fallen on hard times, Percy. Naturally, I should replace this outfit-"
     "You may call me Mr Weasley," Percy replied coldly. "Now, let's see. You certainly are a well-qualified witch. High positions in the Ministry, a teaching post at Hogwarts. Excellent, excellent." Umbridge's heart gave a leap. He was going to employ her! Dolores Umbridge would once again be walking the corridors of the Ministry!
     "-are you listening to a word I say, Madam Umbridge?" Percy had snapped her from her reverie. "I asked you, what you went to Azkaban for."
     "Loyalty to the Ministry!" Umbridge replied defiantly.
     Percy shook his head sadly. "Madam Umbridge, I granted this interview to see if you had changed, if you had realised the mistakes the Ministry had made, as I did. But I do not see a drop of remorse for what you have done. Therefore, I must say that your application for the position of toilet cleaner has been unsuccessful."

Challenge #181

Thu, 02 Aug 2007 11:55:16 GMT

Title: Captured
Rating: NC17 (PWP)
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Challenge: #181 – The "Whistling in the Dark" Challenge
Word Count: 500
Please note: May be spoilery for the last book.

Harry smiled.

"What's so funny?" Draco was clearly annoyed by this unwarranted cheerful demeanour.

"Nothing. Actually, this is all really pathetically depressing."

"So why are you bloody smiling? Do you even realise what's going on? We are fucked."

Draco looked around. The dark room seemed smaller than usual. With but one torch on the wall, he could barely see anything, except that stupid smile on Harry's face.

"I think we're going to die," Draco said in a small voice. It was just a whisper. It took Harry a few seconds to respond.

"Don't be daft. It'll be good. Sooner or later the Ministry is going to figure out we're missing, and they'll send someone. Draco snorted. "I know you've only been in this Auror business for a few months, but that is not how it works. If you go missing, the Ministry will assume you're dead, and send a note to your precious wife."

Harry's smile didn't even falter. "I've defeated Voldemort. Do you really think they'll just assume someone as pathetic as Rodolphus Lestrange?"

"Well, he did lock us up in here."

Draco seemed uncomfortable. He surely did not look happy in the slightest. Harry moved a bit closer to him, and pushed a strand of blond hair back. "We'll be ok. We'll find a way."

"I don't know," Draco whispered. "Rodolphus has been quite unstable since Bellatrix died. I reckon he might do something stupid. And soon. We've been down here for hours."

Feeling an unstoppable urge fill him, Harry took a deep breath and kissed Draco. Taken aback by the pressure against his lips, Draco tried to move back, but soon found his resilience shaken. He had wanted this moment for so long. Even with Ginny in the picture, he had always thought there could be something. And now that they were a team for the Ministry, he was closer to his dream than ever before.

Harry's hand found it's way to the clasp of Draco's robes, and with one quick jerk, Draco found himself naked before Harry. Harry's smile stretched a bit more, and he unfastened his own cloak. Draco could feel Harry's erection pressing against his thigh. His hand moved down to grab hold of it. Harry's breathing was shallower now, slower, heavier.

Draco loved the feeling of the soft skin in his hand. He moved his wrist in slight circular motion, creating more pressure at the bottom, releasing at the top. It only took Draco a few minutes until he stole a few groans from Harry.

Harry felt his knee buckle a bit, and leaned against Draco. Their lips met again. It was a much softer kiss, almost as a thank you. As Harry moved backwards to retrieve his robes, Draco noticed his smile had never disappeared. Draco fastened his own robe back on, feeling slightly frustrated and unsatisfied. He knew he shouldn't expect more though.

Suddenly, the door flew open. Before either of them could do anything, Rodulphus's deep voice shouted: "Avada Kedavra."

Response to Challenge #181: The Whistling in the Dark challenge

Tue, 31 Jul 2007 23:28:32 GMT

Title: Smile
Contains DH spoilers (fairly major ones, too)
Rating: G
Characters: Weasley family, Harry, Hermione, others mentioned in passing
Author's notes: Took me 32 minutes. I must stop writing about the Weasley twins and focus on some other characters sometime :P

It was the fourth funeral Harry had been to that week, but this one was different. All present were clothed in bright colours. In fact, black robes had been expressly banned by the family of the deceased. Fred Weasley, it was said, had wanted his funeral to be a cheerful affair, one where people laughed and got raucously drunk sharing stories about his life.
     This was not the case. Although it was colourful, there was not a single face that was not stained with tears. Mrs Weasley had been near hysterical as the coffin was bought out. Mr Weasley had swayed on the spot, face pale, eyes red. Ginny held on to Harry's hand so hard he thought the bones might crack. The Weasley brothers had carried the coffin. While none looked particularly together, it was the sight of George that shocked Harry the most. Harry had never seen George cry, or indeed express any emotion other than laughter. The George present today was like a different person, shaking and white as death.
     Mr Weasley gave a moving speech. Harry could hardly bear to listen: he could hardly imagine the pain of losing a son. Ron was openly weeping on to Hermione's shoulder. Fred had been so loved and had seemed practically indestructible. Mrs Weasley let out a wail as Mr Weasley concluded his speech. Ginny squeezed Harry's hand still tighter as George walked slowly to the lectern.
     He stood there for a few minutes, studying the notes he had made intently. "I loved my brother," he began in a small voice. "I will never get over losing him, there will never be a day that I don't think about him. Life without him seems daunting, and empty."
     Harry's heart gave a tug. He wished at that moment that he had never lost the Resurrection Stone, that he could somehow bring back Fred, for his own sake, for the Weasleys' and especially for George.
     "Fred is gone," George continued, "but will never be forgotten." George's voice was growing steadily stronger now. The anguish was leaving his face, and he began to speak of memories of his twin:
     "My brother made it his life's goal to make people laugh and smile. I was going to talk about what a great bloke he was, but I think it's important we remember him how he was. He told me once that if he were to die before me, he wanted me to read a poem at his funeral. It began like this: "There once was a young witch from Ealing."
     Beside Harry, Ginny gave out a little laugh. It was a strange sound among all the mourners. "What's that mean?" Harry whispered.
     "Tell you later. Rude limerick," Ginny replied.
     "Ginny has the right idea," said George, his body seeming to change, to grow, "it was how Fred said he wanted his send-off to be. I heard he- he- went laughing. That was the way he wanted to go. In fact, he once said to me, 'George, the day Percy cracks a joke that makes me laugh is the day I die.' I didn't realise we had Seer blood in the family." A pause. A few smiles. "What I'm trying to say here is that life without Fred will never be the same. But I bet there is not one person here who thinks of Fred and remembers him badly, who he did not make happy."
     Harry thought to the times when Fred had made him laugh till his ribs hurt. He thought to Fred's personality, his liveliness. Fred would not have wanted to make anybody feel sad, even in death. Life was still worth living, and he would still laugh.
     "I see Argus Filch is here. He might have bad memories of my twin. Maybe he's here to check if Fred's really dead?"
     At this, Harry had to laugh, had to smile. He noticed tentative grins all around him. Ron looked as though he had woken from a trance, and discovered that smiling and laughing were still possible.
     "Remember my brother as he was," George said. "A funny guy who was willing to lay down his life for a good cause and still went down laughing. That was Fred."
     Applause. It was hard to tell from where it originated. Mrs Weasley grabbed her son and held him tightly in a hug.
     The coffin disappeared in a blaze of colourful smoke, as Fred would have wanted. Fireworks were let off, great swooping dragons, catherine wheels and bright explosions in colours Harry did not even have a name for.
     Life without Fred would not be the same, but as long as one could smile and laugh, Harry realised, one could live.

Response to #175-- Shrieking Shack Challenge

Tue, 24 Jul 2007 00:09:40 GMT

Title: Intruders!
Rating (G through NC-17): PG
Characters: Sirius, James, and Lily
Author's Notes: I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this one, which was written for the Shrieking Shack challenge, but I took almost exactly 30 minutes writing it. Constructive criticism would be very helpful.

Dusty light filtered through the boarded-up windows of the Shrieking Shack and landed on the floor, highlighting four distinct patches where the dust had been disturbed. Footprints. The two sets were very close together, as though their owners had been walking arm-in-arm, but it was obvious that there had been two people, as one of them appeared to be wearing stiletto heels.

The tracks led toward the Shack’s bedroom. Sirius noted with glee that there were not yet tracks leading from the bedroom. Finally, he would catch the intruders and get some answers. He followed the tracks, swerving to keep clear of the especially creaky floorboards. The people whose tracks he was following had either not cared about being silent or not known that there was a less creaky route.

Finally, he paused at the solid oak door that he knew led to the master bedroom. Who would he find? Should he knock?

Nah. The door flew open, and Sirius found himself staring at a red-faced James and a hurriedly dressed Lily Evans.

“Prongs!” Sirius yelled, forgetting his previous anger, and beginning to laugh. “You had Moony and me worried that Snivellus was taking his snotty friends and exploring—and all this time it’s been you—“ He broke off, doubled over. It was too much.

Lily’s blush slowly crept over her face. “I’m sorry…”

Sirius grinned. “No trouble. You two have fun. Only about two more weeks until we take the NEWTs anyway.” And with a click, he shut the door on James and his new girlfriend.

Challenge #126 -- What If?

Sun, 22 Jul 2007 12:32:16 GMT

Title: A Mistake Not Repeated

Rating: G

Characters: Dudley, Petunia, and Vernon Dursley; Harry Potter; brief reference to Rubeus Hagrid

Author's Notes: Not only is this not a spoiler for book seven, but it is in fact a what-if which would have diverged from the early part of the first book.

Petunia Dursley stood in the hallway, calling for two boys to get up. One protested aloud, the other put his pillow over his head. Although she couldn't see through the closed door, Petunia figured this was the case and pitched her voice even louder. "Get up or you'll miss Dudley's birthday breakfast!"

This got results from the two bedrooms, as the occupants scrambled up. Both of them were very good at judging when it would be ready but not yet getting cold, and both of them arrived at that moment. It was Dudley's turn to set the table, but it was a birthday tradition for Petunia to set the table on the boys' respective birthdays. Dudley and Harry sat down and began wolfing down the feast.

Vernon showed up then, smiling at the older boy and barely concealing a scowl at the younger. At a glance from Petunia, Vernon's expression became more neutral, and downright happy when she gave him his breakfast.

Petunia took a chance to glance at her family. Dudley took after his father, solidly built and handsome. Harry was smaller than his cousin, both in height and girth, but the two boys kept each other healthy, and Dudley's pudge was more remaining baby fat than it was want of exercise. Harry took after his father, she supposed, though she had never met him. His eyes, though... his eyes were the clear green of Lily's, Petunia's sister. Shoving that thought from her mind, she began a cheerful discourse on the day's celebration, and watched as Dudley opened his mound of presents.

Harry watched on as his cousin ripped open the parcels. His birthday would be soon, and although his stack of presents, especially those contributed by Uncle Vernon, would be more modest, he looked forward to the cake and perhaps a day at the museum. Dudley, of course, always went for the zoo.

Dudley was happy as he shredded his presents open. He was already sorting it into two mental stacks; those he wanted to keep and those Harry would inherit immediately. He knew what he liked, and that pretty much was everything Harry didn't, which could be useful around dinnertime. More importantly, Dudley was secure in the knowledge that his parents loved him best, and considered his cousin to be the little brother he never had.

Vernon could not understand Petunia. She was sensible; she had rejected her freak of a sister to the point of not attending Lily's wedding, and yet she coddled Lily's son. Had it been up to him, Harry would have grown up under strict discipline, any possibility of becoming like his mother's folks beaten out of him as was good and proper. Ah well. They would see soon enough whether her answer had been, in fact, the proper one.

Days passed; Dudley broke most of the presents which he had kept while Harry stored the hand-me-downs. Since about the only place Dudley would never think to look for something was where it belonged, this increased the lifespan of Harry's things considerably. Harry knew he would get one of everything his cousin had broken and would be expected to give it to him, but he'd read enough fairy tales to know that he was pretty darned lucky for being an orphan in the care of relatives.

Harry got the post the day his letter from Hogwarts arrived. As he looked at the odd paper quizzically, his aunt and uncle froze. Not even realizing the stir this piece of mail made, he finally opened it. His expression became even more confused as he read it. Petunia took a deep breath and said "Harry, there's something I need to tell you once Uncle Vernon has taken Dudley to buy a new computer game." Vernon was about to protest the absence of any such plan, but one look from Petunia and he said cheerfully "You heard her, boy. Go get in the car and decide which game you want." Any curiosity Dudley might have had about the letter evaporated.

After they had left, Petunia turned to face Harry. After a few false starts she said "Harry, remember how we told you your mother and father died in the same car accident which killed your grandmum and granddad?"

Harry nodded. Always quicker on the uptake than Dudley, he was already trying to figure out where this was going, and Petunia saw as much. She added quickly, "I'm sorry, but that wasn't quite the truth. We thought you were too young to handle what really happened, but now that you've begun receiving the letters, we can't put it off any longer."

Petunia paused to take a deep breath while Harry remained riveted. "Your mother and father were, well, different. You know the witches and wizards you read about in your stories?"

Harry nodded, and Petunia continued "That's what your parents were, Harry." She held up her hand as he began to speak. "Please hear me out. We've noticed how you sometimes just have things happen, and it's obvious why. But there's something else."

"There are some very dangerous witches and wizards out there, like the evil ones in your books but even worse. One of them wanted to do terrible things to people like your uncle and cousin and me, and your mother and father wouldn't stand for it. But they stood up to him too many times, and one day..."

Aunt Petunia gulped, then continued in a voice which quavered only slightly. "One day, when you were about a year old, the wizard found where they were hiding. He killed your father and your mother, and then, even worse, he tried to kill a little baby. Somehow this went wrong on him, though, and he went away for a while. We were your only living relatives, so you were entrusted to us."

Harry sat there, dazed, trying to make sense of what his aunt had just told him and what the letter, still clutched in his hand, said. After a long pause on both of their parts, Petunia said his name softly. He looked up and saw her crying.

"Harry, I was so very jealous of your mother... my sister, when she got a letter just like that. I said and did some horrible things to her, and even though she forgave me every one, she ended up dying without my being able to say "goodbye". Please believe me, I loved her. She was my little sister, and I will never have the chance to know her as the person she became. There isn't a day when I don't regret my actions."

Again she paused, trying to control her voice and her tears. Harry sat, entranced. He had a wild imagination, but none of his daydreams approached something like this.

Finally she continued "When the wizards left you with me, they left a note saying that the man who murdered your parents was not gone for good. He'll be back, and when he comes back he's going to be furious at you and hunt you down and kill you like he planned to ten years ago. Because I'm Lily's sister I can protect you as long as you stay here." Her tone became more desperate now; her voice fast and urgent. "Harry, I can't let what happened to Lily happen to you. I can't bear to lose you, too. Please don't go. I want to see you and Dudley grow up together."

Harry had a lot to think about over the next few days. He asked aunt Petunia questions, and she told him about happy times with his mother when they were children, as well as the fights over Hogwarts. Uncle Vernon, who had never liked him very much but had also never treated him all too badly, grunted the one time Harry asked him. Dudley had gotten away with buying three new computer games, so he was happy.

When a wild looking, huge giant of a man came knocking on the door on Harry's birthday, his alarming appearance cemented the deal. After inviting the large man in for cake and coffee, Petunia and Vernon waited tensely as Hagrid asked the question.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, politely declined the invitation to attend Hogwarts.

A note from your moderator

Sun, 15 Jul 2007 17:21:39 GMT

Due to the upcoming release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, there will be no challenge issued next week. Like most fans, I'll still absorbing the book and plan on incorporating the new canon into future challenges. However, I am aware that not everyone reads at the same rate. Therefore, for the next month, I'll issue non-specific challenges. In addition, during that same time frame, I ask that you use the following format for any challenge response that contains spoilers for DH:

Title:
Contains DH Spoilers
Rating: (G through NC-17)
Pairings (if any):
Author's Notes:

(lj-cut goes here)

Then the text of the story.

(end lj-cut)

This will allow readers to avoid spoilers until they've finished reading the book. After August 19th, no challenge response will be required to carry the DH spoiler warning.

The community will remain on moderation through July 22 to continue to allow people to avoid spoilers, if they wish.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Challenge #181: The "Whistling in the Dark" Challenge

Sun, 15 Jul 2007 17:19:20 GMT

Per The Dictionary of Cliches, to whistle in the dark means to "be cheerful or optimistic in a situation that doesn't warrant cheer or optimism."

An HP character is putting on a cheerful demeanor in the face of daunting circumstances. Which character and what circumstances is all up to you.

Response to Challenge #179: The Circular Challenge

Mon, 09 Jul 2007 16:57:04 GMT

Title: The Blame Game
Characters: Fred and George Weasley
Rating: PG
Summary: After Dumbledore's funeral, the Weasley twins muse upon the role that they played in Dumbledore's death.
Note: This is my first time, be gentle! Took me half an hour exactly, and I don't think I rushed it too much.

"That," said George Weasley, "was absolutely horrible."
      "Too right," replied his twin, Fred, dropping his black dragonskin jacket on the floor in the hallway of their flat. "I mean, did you see-" Fred trailed off. He had been about to crack a joke about the ugliness of the guests at their old headmaster's funeral, but George did not look in the mood for jokes. It was a rare time that either of the brothers were not in the mood for a joke, but twin telepathy was not necessary to deduce that this was such an occurrence.
      Fred strode to the kitchenette and emerged with a large bottle of Firewhiskey and two glasses. "Sit yourself down, and we'll talk."
     The twins flopped down on to some squashy, chintzy sofas. It was a high priority task to furnish the flat to their taste, but with so much work to so at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, there was no time for interior design. Fred poured a healthy measure of spirit for himself, and an even larger one for his brother.
      "To Dumbledore," he toasted, solemnly. George grunted in agreement. His eyes were wet. Fred felt a tug of shame: why was George so bereft at the loss of their headmaster while he, Fred, was not? After all, both had the same relationship with their headmaster: they had both been ticked off by him for a prank or two (though both suspected he had been secretly amused). They had both fought Voldemort under his command with the Order of the Phoenix. Fred had felt shaken by the loss, understood its enormity and felt sad about the death of one of the most decent wizards ever to live. But he had not cried and his twin was now weeping openly.
      Fred topped up George's glass. He knew his brother better than anyone in the world and knew that once the drink had been drained, George would be willing to talk. Until that moment, he sat, awkwardly contemplating why George may be so affected by grief when he was not. Perhaps, Fred thought, it's me being an awful, cold person, and George is reacting like any normal human being.
     "You're not being cold," George sniffed, draining his glass. Fred smiled. It wasn't exactly twin telepathy. Their minds just worked in exactly the same way. Usually, at any rate.
     "What's up, then?"
      George grabbed the bottle of Firewhisky and poured himself another glass. Fred's stomach dropped. Whatever was bothering George was big, bigger than he could have possibly imagined. Maybe George was in love with Dumbledore, Fred thought, then fought to stop himself cracking up at the idea.
     "D'you think... maybe... it was our fault, wasn't it?" Fred sat up as though electrocuted. The thought had not even crossed his mind, but as George stammered it out, he realised exactly how much they had contributed to Dumbledore's death.
      "I doubt it, mate," Fred said, though he was sure his twin would not believe it.
      "Fred," George replied, his voice sounding slightly stronger, "I saw the look on your face. You feel it too."
      George was correct. Fred's face crumpled, he did not even bother to hold back the tears as he felt a wash of guilt rushing over him, it was like drowning in ice cold water.
      "Malfoy used our Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder," he said slowly, "to sneak the Death Eaters in." A long-forgotten memory of Hogwarts returned to his mind. "And Montague... the Vanishing Cabinet. If we hadn't... if we hadn't put him there then-"
      "I know. It was... it was us."
      Fred was never usually one for physical comfort, but at this time he needed it. Although he would never repeat this to anyone, he wished for that moment that their mother was their, to reassure them, to hold them, and to say it wasn't their fault. The next best thing was George. Fred moved to George's sofa, and wordlessly they embraced, sobbing. George's presence was comforting. He was warm and, most importantly, felt equally awful.
      "Fred," George said, his voice muffled by Fred's armpit, "hramfffqueer."
      "Eh?"
      "Gerroff me, you queer," George clarified.
      Fred produced a sound that was half sob, half laugh. The net result was a large amount of snot being liberally sprayed everywhere.
      "Sorry," George said, "I just realised, while you were there, it wouldn't have made a blind bit of difference that we might have given Death Eaters a means to get in. It was Snape. Snape and Malfoy."
      "But- Bill wouldn't be- if we-"
      "Look," said George, sounding more convicted by the second, "they probably would have found a way. Dumbledore wouldn't want us sitting here looking like Moaning Myrtle, playing the blame game, would he? I don't know, I just suddenly felt that while you were huggling me like a big girl's blouse."
      Fred felt the shame lift from his shoulders like a phoenix taking flight. Evil always found a way, it was true.
      "What made you realise?"
      "I don't know," George said bluntly, "I just felt it. I felt like I didn't need to cry or feel guilty, that it wasn't our fault. Must have been the Firewhisky."
      Fred nodded. He suspected that his brother had actually felt comforted and was thoroughly unwilling to admit to it. Twin telepathy, maybe. He poured out two more glasses of Firewhisky.
      "To Dumbledore," he toasted once again.
      "Dumbledore," George agreed, "greatest wizard to ever have lived, no wonder the dark side wanted him dead."
      Fred drained his glass. The fiery drink hit the back of his throat and caused him to choke slightly, driving snot out of his nose and liquor out of his mouth.
      George laughed, still teary, and wiped his face.
      "That," said George Weasley, "was absolutely horrible."

Response to Challenge #180: The Beginning of the End Challenge

Mon, 09 Jul 2007 13:40:56 GMT

Alright. I've never done one of these before, so here goes nothing. With loads of nervousness thrown in on the side.

Title: The Price of Never Knowing
Rating: G
Characters: Vernon and Dudley Dursley, Harry Potter
Author's Notes: The Dursleys have never been particular favorites of mine and this was fun. It took me 35 mins with a short break in the middle.

Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. Therefore, the missives that had arrived by owl for the last few days were only acknowledged long enough to toss in the fireplace. It had been years since mail had arrived in such an unconventional manner and Vernon Dursley wasn't about to let the insanity of his wife's family intrude on his orderly life again. There had been nothing in the news, either papers or broadcasts, to indicate there was anything amiss. Vernon had been inclined to pay attention since Sirius Black escaped and wreaked havoc on his quiet little existence. Any and all obligations to her sister's son had ended when he'd come of age and disappeared from their lives. Dudley had regained the use of his second bedroom and all was right with the world again.

Three more letters had arrived during the day according to Petunia and had been dispatched accordingly, so when Vernon sat down in his chair after dinner he was fairly confident no more would be arriving. Glancing up from the telly when his son waddled into the room, Vernon frowned when he saw another of the pale cream envelopes clutched in a meaty fist and assumed Dudley was heading for the fireplace.

"Good idea," the elder Dursley said as his attention returned to the program. "There's a bit of a chill in the air tonight and a fire will be just the thing."

Consternation crossed Dudley's face for a moment and he wondered if he'd made a huge error. He'd always wanted to open one of the letters that came for Harry, but he'd never been allowed and had taken this opportunity.

"Father?"

The slight note of trepidation in Dudley's voice made Vernon narrow his eyes and concentrate harder on the telly. He was telling himself that Dudley hadn't just raised his other hand and didn't have a sheet of that stupid parchment his nephew had insisted on using as paper.

"Father?"

Slightly louder this time and Vernon slowly turned his head to glare at his son. The glare was nearly Dudley's undoing, but he knew his father loved him and would forgive him anything or his mother would never let her husband hear the end of it.

"It's an invitation."

"No, it isn't. It's a bloody figment of your imagination that should have been in the fire by now!" Vernon thundered from the chair as his face turned a beet red.

Dudley pouted and stamped one foot.

"But there's a feast after. It says so! With puddings and cakes and all sorts of..."

Dudley's voice trailed off as his father rose and snatched the parchment and envelope from his hands. Marching over to the fire, Vernon tore them in twos and threes before watching them curl and turn to ash. An idea - a rare event in this particular brain - caused a cramp which quickly turned into a headache.

"Dudley, do you recall the tale of Hansel and Gretel?" Vernon asked with a snarl while turning to look at his son. Dudley's mouth opened and closed a few times while his eyes widened.

"They wouldn't!"

"They mostly certainly would," Vernon bellowed while taking two steps toward his son. More lies came readily to his tongue in desperation.

"Why do you think I've tried so hard to keep them out of our lives? Your mother doesn't know. I've tried to shield the true facts about her dear sister and the rest of those freaks from her for years, but you're old enough now to know."

Dudley nodded, gulped and stared at his hands. The hands that opened the envelope.

"I need to go wash my hands in case..."

The rest of the sentence was lost in a forlorn wail as he presented his pudgy posterior to his father and ran out of the room. Giving a sigh of relief, Vernon walked back over to the chair he'd vacated earlier and it aired its own complaints as his weight plopped down again.

An invitation? What could he possibly be inviting us to?

He knew he couldn't ask Dudley what it had been for and curiosity had been stirred enough that Vernon vowed to at least open the next envelope. His curiosity would never be satisfied as there would be no more missives sent by owl to number four, Privet Drive. It would burn and turn up in his thoughts at the most inconvenient times, souring his stomach and making his already testy nature that much worse. Petunia would fret and try to tempt his appetite back with a few of the tasty morsels he'd always loved.

Once or twice, during the remaining span of his life, Vernon was tempted to try and contact his absent nephew, but couldn't lower his pride enough to do so. On his deathbed, years later, he would try to ask Dudley what the invitation had been for. Dudley would pale and run from the room. So it was, one Vernon Dursley died with a curse on his lips because his thoughts centered around the one person he'd despised from the day he'd been born.

Harry bloody Potter.

Far away, in a much happier household, Harry closed a desk drawer and stood. Crossing to some pictures of his mother and father he picked up one that showed the three of them.

"I made the overtures, Mum, and kept at it until at least one was opened. She was your sister and her blood protected me for a long time so I owed them that much at least. If they come - fine. If they don't - it's fine too."

Response to Challenge #174: The Book Title Challenge.

Sun, 08 Jul 2007 23:49:13 GMT

Title: Three Wizards In A Boat
Summary:Remus, James, and Sirius in a boat. What could go wrong? Everything, of course.
Characters: Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, James Potter
Words: approximately 900
Time An hour (I feel terrible, this is the second time in a row that I've gone over the time limit!
A/N: I used Three Men In A Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog) by Jerome K. Jerome as my inspiration book. Funniest book ever - a boat trip on the Thames written in the late 19th century. You guys should pick it up if you should ever come across it!

Remus Lupin sat with slouched shoulders at the back of a small wooden rowboat, sulking. He glared at his two friends, nostrils flaring dangerously. “Tell me why I have wound up in a row boat, in the middle of the lake, with two incompetent fools for company?”

James stopped rowing to exchange a glance of annoyance with Sirius. “We are looking for a water plant, and thankfully, you agreed to help us find it.”

“I did no such thing,” said Remus. “You dragged me.”

“Yes, we do tend to do that, don’t we?” said James as he picked up his oars and began rowing once more. Remus snorted as James and Sirius exchanged toothy grins.

“Did you steal this boat from Hagrid?” Remus examined the wood as though he would find a piece of evidence proving it was the same rowboat he had rode in to cross the lake at the beginning of his first year.

“Cheer up, mate, this plant will help us all, even you,” said Sirius and leaned back, eying James who was struggling with the oars and was splashing more than he was rowing.

“How,” Remus asked pointedly, “will this plant help us?”

“It’s a plant to put in a hair potion, my furry friend. Makes your hair shiny. How do you think James and I get all the birds?”

Remus would have liked to say that many of the girls they ‘got’ were only because of their persistent nagging; instead, he asked, “Why do you need me, then?”

“Because,” said James, halting with his ‘rowing’, “we need someone to go and get it. Last time, we managed to capsize the boat despite our careful planning.”

Remus chose his next words very carefully. “What exactly do you need me for?”

Sirius and James exchanged their mischievous grins once again, making Remus cringe. “Like I said, we need someone to go and get it.”

Remus groaned. “I do not think I need to be a Seer to know that no good can come of this.” He squinted up at the sun that was glaring down at him and cursed it for creating such a nice a sunny day, one that was perfect for a jolly boat trip.

“You see,” said Sirius importantly, completely disregarding Remus’ words. “It looks very much like the seaweed and it grows underwater, however, it is tinted purple. So what James and I had planned was for you, Remus,” he pointed at Remus, “to go underwater, head first, while James and I,” he pointed to himself and his devilish accomplice, “keep a hold on your feet so we can yank you up in case we spot the giant squid looking hungrily at your flailing arms.”

“Why not use Peter?”

“Hates water,” James said gruffly and he grunted as he attempted to row faster. The wind picked up in their favour and propelled the small boat across the vast lake. Remus closed his eyes momentarily as the wind slightly lifted his hair, soothing his scalp. He however forced himself to open them when a small voice in his head reminded him whom he had for company at the present moment.

“We’re here,” James called as he floated up to an arbitrary spot approximately sixty feet from shore. Remus could see the infamous plant swaying happily in the water below them. Remus scowled crossly at it.

“C’mon, Remus, time for a dip,” Sirius quipped, and before Remus had time to react, Sirius had grabbed the smaller boy’s torso and James apprehended his ankles.

Sirius forcefully shoved Remus overboard. However, the strong hold on his ankles was gone as both James and Sirius were plunged into the water after him, followed by the two oars, one of which absolutely insisted on smacking Remus upside the head.

The lake water was quite chilly despite the warm sunny day causing Remus to gasp in surprise. Unfortunately, he was submerged at the time of his gasp, causing him to intake a lungful of water in his windpipe. He flapped his limbs helplessly, smacking James and Sirius in the process.

All three students struggled to keep their heads above the water, but had much difficulty for each one’s flailing got in the way of the other one’s flailing thus, forcing them all to flail even more in order to not drown.

And then they looked down into the murky waters and realized that they were flailing for their lives in three feet of water.

“Brilliant idea, you two,” Remus spat as soon as he gulped several gasps of glorious air.

“Did you get it?” James looked rather odd, Remus observed, with his hair weighed down by the water – it looked almost tame.

“Are you serious? You’re in the water. You get it,” Remus snapped and pulled a water beetle out of his hair. Disgusted, he threw it back in the water.

“Fine,” said James and disappeared underwater. He emerged with a fistful of seaweed looking plants.

“I thought you told me the plant was tinted purple?”

James’ face fell as he realized the slimy plant he was clutching was actually common seaweed.

“Back in the boat, you two,” Sirius ordered and waded his way over to the capsized rowboat.

Constructive crit would be greatly appreciated :)

Challenge #179: The Circular Challenge

Sun, 08 Jul 2007 22:47:53 GMT

Title: The Uncomfortable Truth
Rating : soft R
Characters: Hermione Granger, Severus Snape and many many others
Author's Notes: Challenge #179: The Circular Challenge

"Who knew that he was a closet sex fiend?"

"Oh my god," Hermione kept repeating as she squirmed deeper into her chair. The mid-day light streamed through the mullioned windows.

Her dripping quill had left a sizable blotch of India ink on her parchment. The hands which gripped the worn school book were visibly sweaty. Hermione had worried her bottom lip bloody and she struggled against a mix of revulsion and curiosity.

As the summer before her seventh year at Hogwarts passed, she had been fervently searching for an explanation for the deception, the outrageous act, the betrayal of the one person whom she had come to count on as her rock. As usual, once she had calmed down and started to analyze the event, she plotted a course of research and would not be satisfied until she found the true motive for Professor Snape's reprehensible actions.

Once she returned from her obligatory two week stay with her parents, the library at Grimmauld Place had been searched and scoured for any clue as to the reason for the said betrayal. Hermione skipped meals and eschewed sleep in her quest to answer that burning question.

Exhausting the resources of the Black family library, she schemed to get access to the Ministry of Magic's archives. Mr. Weasley had obtained permission for one week's pass, with an escort, for the purpose of a wholly acceptable, but unrelated search. As all of the Order where in disparate stages of denial or outright rage, they paid little mind to Hermione's quest.

The archives proved no less helpful than anticipated. Desperate and out of ideas, Hermione remembered that book. That vile and now proven dangerous text. She tagged along with Professor McGonagall one afternoon, on the pretext of needing some books from the Hogwarts library for NEWT revision. As luck would have it, she was trusted to retrieve the materials on her own.

As the professor mounted the staircase to Dumbledore's office, Hermione doubled back to the Room of Requirement. It took a few tries to get the room to produce the tattered Sixth year potions text, the Property of the Half-Blood Prince.

After several hours of examining the book, looking at context instead of content, Hermione found an intriguing set of encounters described within. Her parchment was filled with lists, with names and covered in lines.

Evan Rosier --------- Astronomy Tower ------- lubricus trials

Bella Black ---------- Green House #5 -------- mandrake abuse

Osmandius Sextant --------- Behind the Hogs Head -------- flagellation

Arugula Marchant --------- Trophy Room -------- humiliation via house elf

On and on, the list of encounters grew. Her over-stimulated mind succumbed to the absurd and she concluded that these were encounters of a sexual nature. She closed the book, noticing at last that the notes were becoming obscured by the dripping ink.

A quick spell eliminated the excess ink from the parchment, but nothing could get the images out of her mind. Eclipsing thoughts of his murderous transgression were visions of Professor Snape with parties of both sexes and deviant proclivities presented in his research notes. And this was only a list from a 10-month stretch out of his short life. What else had he gotten up too since adulthood?

"Who knew that he was a closet sex fiend?"

Moderated Status

Sun, 08 Jul 2007 17:17:58 GMT

We've never had a problem with trolls posting spoilers in this community, but I'd rather that we didn't start with the last book in the series. Therefore, in an effort to avoid any such problems, beginning today and through July 22th, 30minutefics will be on moderated status. Your posts will be reviewed and approved as soon as possible.

I apologize for any inconvenience, but I'd rather that no one use the community to spoil the last book for others. Thank you very much for your cooperation.

Challenge #180: The Beginning of the End Challenge

Sun, 08 Jul 2007 17:17:02 GMT

The HP series will shortly draw to a close, and this week's challenge is to tell us the end of the saga by going back to the beginning. The HP series opened with the sentence: "Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much." Using that as your opening sentence, tell us the end of the tale. Do the Dursleys learn that Voldemort has won? Does an Order member return to tell them of Harry's victory? Or is it years in the future before they give Harry or the wizarding world another thought? It's all up to you.

Challenge #179: The Circular Challenge

Sat, 07 Jul 2007 11:06:31 GMT

Title: Lilies.
Author: unlikely2
Rating: G
Challenge: First and last lines.
Characters: Snape, Evans, Potter.
Words 182
Author's note: Sub Rosa: a secret. Can refer to sex or espionage.
All week plotting it. Fourteen minutes typing it up. Quite some time posting it right and one minor revision thereafter.

Snape doesn't care for flowers. He cares even less for the idea of naming people for flowers. Evans had been like a force of nature before Potter had told her she was pretty and turned her into a doll. Snape wonders if Potter ever knew about his perfect princess, scrambling, muddy-kneed, behind the greenhouses while he’d held them off. ‘Sub Rosa’ she’d said, laughing, and he’d used ‘sectumsempre’ and ‘leviosa’ to shower her with petals that had fallen and settled like snow in her hair before its fire had been tied back and buried under orange blossom and lace.

All stiff white satin, with yellow roses at her waist, she had resembled the tall flowers that surrounded her, their waxen pallor burning his eyes, their heavy odour suffocating. The undertaker had reached in to smooth a straying tendril of her hair and stopped. He couldn’t touch her.

Another rose bush explodes: another pair of miscreants to clean bedpans and cauldrons. Leaves and petals trickle away in the wind, into the night that surrounds him. Snape doesn’t care for flowers.

Sub Rosa

Response to Challenge #89: The Death Scene Challenge

Fri, 06 Jul 2007 20:35:14 GMT

Title: In Between
Summary: Harry is somehow stuck in between reality and the afterlife with the legendary Godric Gryffindor. Is he dead? Can he find a way home? One-shot
Characters: Godric Gryffindor, Harry Potter. No slash.
Word Count: 1700
Time: Much longer than 30 minutes, hence the fake cut.
A/N: It could fit the death scene, and it could not. I wrote it with the challenge in mind, but it did veer off a little with the whole 'Is he really dead?' question. Feedback is greatly appreciated :)

Story can be found here!

So, with my characterization of Godric in mind, do you guys think it would be worth my time to write a Founders Fic of my own?