jaebility: (random // snape)
Deathly Hallows was AMAZING.
jaebility: (Default)
She had the answers when she woke up - all of them, right there in her eager fingers - but the light of dawn that crept through her open window was dazzling and she knew she had lost them before she had opened her eyes.

Hermione dressed slowly, pushing drowsy arms through a comfortable jumper without really even looking at it and tugging on faded jeans, the ones that had turned soft at the knees. She stood at the mirror for nearly a half an hour as she brushed her hair, her hands busy untangling the knots, while she concentrated hard on her dreams, searching through the muddled shadows for whatever she had learned. It was a task done in vain, and though she spent all breakfast pacing from kitchen to pantry and back again, she memories remained stubbornly hidden.

She met the resistence with increasing desperation. She had known.
jaebility: (goblin! (art by arborwin))
The contempt from Slytherin hangs in the air like fog and I can almost taste it. When Draco, Prince of Snakes, slides down the hallway the preditorial hatred is like a heavy perfume - stifling and draining. But they're Ravenclaw's closest friend, no matter how much either side contests it.

Ravenclaw's children tend to be distant, bonding with books rather than each other. But there is a bond there, silent and strong, and a circle that encompasses us. Much of the time I stand outside, watching from the stairs as we play and teach in the common room. Cho, the former queen of the house, sits on the padded chair as the rest of us tease and please her, but since death has touched Hogwarts, she's no longer an eager compatriot.

I can't help but wish that I could feel the warmth of such love, but I'm Loony Luna, untouchable and unforgiveable. So close to winning my place in our house, Harry Potter's dismissal meant that the stairs to glory closed.
jaebility: (goblin! (art by arborwin))
Summer had been unsually dry, August in particular had been a desert's season, parched and desperate. Instead of the yellows and reds of autumn, the leaves were a crumbled brown. Regulus stared up at them as he lay under the massive oak in Hogwarts' sprawling grounds. The sharp winds coming across the valley tugged at the faded trees, shaking the branches and pulling any loosened leaves and flinging them downward at him and Regulus thoughy fleetingly of Sirius.

He lay in silence as the clouds swam overhead, unmindful of the time. Finally, a noise - a soft crunch behind him and Regulus turned his head but didn't stand.

"Regulus," a low voice drawled, "How pleasent."

"Bellatrix," he replied evenly. He lifted himself up onto his elbows and nodded a greeting to his cousin. "What are you doing here?"

She smiled, her thin lips a strand of scarlet thread. "Such a cold reception." With a graceful sweep she gathered her robes and folded her long legs to sit on the grass next to him. "Researching."

Regulus sat up and brushed leaves from his shoulders. "Ah," he said at last, "Well, it's lovely to see you again."

Bellatrix smiled again and leaned forward to pluck a stray leaf that had escaped Regulus' administrations. Her robe gaped open and even though she wore a shirt underneath, Regulus saw glimpse of darkness on her pale chest. When she moved again to flick another leaf, Regulus saw the tattoo more clearly. Nestled between her breast was what looked like a flower.

She straightened and her robe fell back into place. "You've grown much since I've last seen you," she commented lazily, "Still, you full more of ignorance than anything else."

Regulus' brows furrowed. He thought again of his brother and how much he resembled Bellatrix. Overflowing, obnoxious confidence, but with intelligence. However, she lacked Sirius' casual and distent coolness. Every breath that Bellatrix took was calculated, nothing was completely natural. "Interesting tattoo," he said with feigned indifference.

Her long, dark hair slid across her shoulder like water. "It's practice," she replied with a cat-like grin that split her face.
jaebility: (goblin! (art by arborwin))
Pansy knows that the war is coming - it's a constant burden on her shoulders, a heavy cloud that boils and bubbles. She avoids choosing a side, weighing her options and checking the cards, before she speaks to Malfoy about it.

They press their heads together and he brags and boasts as quietly as he can and her head whirls and turns and she finally decides to follow her blood and ally herself with him and his Dark Mark. He conjures wine as if it were a celebration and she drinks with with a fake smile on her lips.

Her real reward comes that night when Malfoy promises her wealth and glory and presses and curls his fingers into her cunt. She grabs his shirt and buries her face in his shoulder and shivers with pleasure and wonders if the Potter boy would be as good.

silence

Sep. 4th, 2005 04:28 pm
jaebility: (Default)
Ginny is still her partner in class when they're told to pair up and Neville always smiles at her in the hall, but Luna knows that things are like they were Before, and she eats alone and studies at her own table in the library.

Slughorn knew her father which was why he pretended not to. McGonagall never said it, but Luna knows that her teacher doesn't approve of her. Hagrid doesn't have time to notice her - and, anyway, he has already picked his favorite students. She had found a strange ally in Trelawney, but the Divination professor is often drunk and when she isn't, her strange depression drives Luna away.

Her father bought her a pair of purple canaries because they kept away jubob spirits and Luna is glad that she had them to fill the silence of her dorm room. She has an owl, too, and Friday and Saturday nights are spent stroking the bird's soft feathers and talking to the captive audience of the school's owls. It is nice, speaking to an alert group of listeners. And though they can't answer with much, their lack of words means that she hears no insults. No teasing, no mocking.

No conversation, either.
jaebility: (Default)
The galleons in his pocket were practically weighing him down. He almost had to drag his right leg behind him, they were so heavy. Ron Weasley had ten -yes, ten- shiny galleons of his very own to do with them whatever he pleased and the sun was shining and life was beautiful.

Ten whole galleons.

And they were his, all ten of them.

Ron didn't bother to contain his mirth. He grinned at everyone and even tipped an imaginary hat to an old witch. "Morning," he said cheerfully. "Brillant weather we're having, eh?" She may have said something in return, but Ron had already strutted merrily past her, listing in his head all the things that ten galleons could buy.

He was in Diagon Alley to meet up with Hermione and Harry. Hermione had scheduled the rendez-vous to discuss the upcoming year and if Voldemort was ready to kill them and if anyone had found Fawkes and probably to worry about the future and bite their nails and frown and sigh a lot, and Ron had planned to take part of the whole angsty affair, but that was before ten galleons had been bestowed upon him. Now all he wanted to do was run around and go into all the shops that he hadn't bothered even looking in before and pay the bill for lunch for once and tip the waiter an exorberent amount and get all the things that he hadn't even allowed himself to want in the past.

TBIETBT.E

Aug. 14th, 2005 01:25 pm
jaebility: (goblin! (art by arborwin))
James often had Brillant Plans. Sometimes he even conceived of Incredibly Brillent Plans. But today, two days after the first day of the school year, his fantastically clever and awesome brain had given birth to what was probably The Best Idea Ever To Be Thought. Ever.

The TBIETBT.E required a few ingrediants. The most important part was Lily Evans, soon to be Lily Potter (even though she didn't know it yet). It also called for equal parts of Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew.

The plan had other parts to it, naturally, but those had yet to be discovered. All James had at the moment was an unyeilding desire to make Miss Lily Evans his offical girlfriend as soon as possible and to do so without using the Imperius Curse.

And he wanted to do it as soon as possible. He wanted to spend Christmas with her and kiss under the mistletoe without having to tackle her when she least expected it. He wanted to ring in the New Year and kiss her then, too. And go to Hogsmead on Valentine's Day and buy her something pink and frilly or maybe something with warts and a bad gas problem. And be together for their birthdays. And for Sirius' birthday. And Remus'. And Peter's. And then all summer holiday and see her in her bathing suit.

the boys

Aug. 8th, 2005 10:18 am
jaebility: (goblin! (art by arborwin))
"Imagine, if you will, being orally pleasured by a dementor."

It was the third weekend in October and a cold, angry rain pelted against the castle as if it were trying to break in. Inside, Peter, Remus, Sirius, and James made plans to stay up and drink butterbeer from the stash they hid inside the Ravenclaw girl's prefect bathroom.

They managed to squeeze into James' bed -all four of them- because stored underneath it was a veritible mountain of candy. And because it was his bed that had been infested with Marauders, he had the honor and pleasure of beginning the game.

"Potter, only you could fantasize about something so twisted."

James straightened his back and gave and exageratedly pompous sniff. "My dear Pettigrew," he sad with a lofty air, "I assure you that my fantasies consiset entirely of the young lady Evans and I in __ circumstances. I'm presenting you with the image of mouth-to-cock stimulation by a dementor for the sake of you blokes."

"How consideate," Remus said dryly. "Always thinking of others, that James."
jaebility: (taichi x yamato)
In legends, the lamia was female - representing practically all of the stereotypes invented for women.

In reality the lamia was neither female nor male, but gender neutral. It raped through mental means, not physical. Still stunned and dulled by the battle, Hermione thinks of these things when she should be caring for Ron. But instead of healing his open wounds or Apparating to safety or calling for help or acting logically, she stands over the serpent's body and absently wonders about consequences of her discovery.

Eventually, the poison in her veins will be bled out and her senses will return. For now she can do nothing more than stand and watch over the corpse and considers writing a dissertation on the matter.

Ages pass. The dripping of Ron's blood slows and now only the occasional splatter echoes through the empty manor. Hermione's mind registers this and slowly makes the connection that has been so hestiant to form. Like sands in a hourglass these thoughts slip through her, one by one, piling intil they spill over into her consciousness - until she can no longer remain blind.
jaebility: (Default)
The creature gasps and spatters blood on the marble floor. Hermione grimaces but doesn't step away, even when coughs up scarlet glop -which she'll later identify as organs- she stands her ground. It shivers and squirms in its final agony, smearing red across the white stone, and finally shudders and lies still.

Hermione has killed.
jaebility: (goblin! (art by arborwin))
Hermione had been one half of Ron's pair of best friends ever since she had taken the blame for the nasty troll incident of first year. From that point forward she had proved time and time again that she was a useful and worthy piece of the Trio - and probably its best part.

Another interesting thing about Hermione was that she had breasts.

Ron had berated himself for being so surprised at this development; after all, she had been a girl for quite some time now (perhaps even her entire life) and it was only natural that as a member of the female persuasion, she would exhibit some of the qualities most commonly associated with said gender.

Thus he had no excuse for turning an unattractive shade of purple when he caught a glance of her chest. And he most certainly had no right whatsoever for staring at her bosom and wondering about the feel of the skin in that general area. Being that she was both a Best Friend and had known him since he was a Wee Lad, Hermione was logically and severely out of bounds. It would be an insult to her person if he thought about the taste of her lips, or the sighs that he could evoke from her, or if she'd ever consent to meeting him in the Room of Requirement after hours. But his devious and often antagonizing mind had a way of fantasing about such inappropriate material, the damned thing, especially at inopportune times. He didn't think about Harry that way and he'd even seen Harry in his skivvies.
jaebility: (taichi x yamato)
Even though it was the third week in July and the sun had no excuse for not shining, the weather was absolutely miserable. Cold rain pettled the roof and stirred up the ghoul who howled and moaned with unyielding vigor. The Weasley brood was forced to pull out the beloved/accursed Weasley sweaters and one of Ron's old ones was dutifully cleaned and given to Hermione.

Ginny offered to let Hermione wear the current Ginny Weasley Sweater (of Doom) and suggested that perhaps she herself could simply huddle under the blankets all day and thus miss out on her chores, but Mrs Weasley would have none of it. There had been a bit of blushing and a pair of red ears, but Hermione pulled on the sweater happily and thanked both Ron and his mother profusely.

And so, that Thursday late morning found the clan of Weasley wizards and witch (and visiting witch Hermione, of course) sitting cozy in the den with the fire blazing and Weasley sweaters out in full force.

Hermione chatted animatedly on the sofa with Ginny, discussing something about someone somewhere (Ron had a hard time hearing her over the loud gaffaws and chortles comgin from the twins).

"Then I told him that he was kindly invited to stick it-"

"Oh, and Ginny, I bought this book that explains exactly how to-"

Ron, sitting and sulking alone in the middle of the striped, saggy sofa, sighed. Right over there was Hermione. Right over there. And she had been just as close the past day and a half, but with Ginny, George, Fred, Mum the Meddler, and Dad about, he'd barely exchanged two words with her. He wanted to hear about her vacation with her parents (mostly, to discover if they'd gone over to Bulgaria), about her latest theories on Harry, about how she was getting better in Wizard's Chess and he'd better watch out lest she conquer him in a game, and all those lovely things that he had imagined they'd be talking about (he had also imagined that she had come to stay in the Weasley manor and then he was twenty-one years old with more money that he could ever count and so much charm that he was practically drowning in it) but so far all he had managed was a "Hi," "Good morning," "Er," and "'Night."

He thought that with the absense of the parental units, he have a better chance to speak with her. She was, after all, one of his two best friends, and she had come to visit him, not any of the other Weasleys. With Dad at work and Mum doing some grocery shopping, he thought that he would only have to contend with Ginny. And he could also tell her to bugger off - he was her older brother, after all - but then the twins had announced that they were staying for a bit longer before returning to their shop and Ron's brillant plan had gone to shambles.

And so they were all sitting around and Ron was most definately not having a conversation with her. She was on the other side of the room, in fact, and completely unaware of the torture she was causing.

He wasn't sure if it had been George or Fred, but someone had hauled out Dad's old Muggle record player and started it up. The blast of stratchy music caused Ginny to almost fall off of her chair, but once the twins had worked out how to adjust the volume, smiles began to appear.

"I'm almost afraid to ask," Hermione started with a grin, "But this has been enchanted, hasn't it?"

"Dad's had this thing for ages," Ron answered before someone else could steal Hermione's attention, "We used to listen to it during dinner." it had worked for a moment, Hermione's bright eyes turned towards him and her lips pursed pensively. For a wild second Ron thought that she'd come and sit by him to hear the whole story, but then Ginny stood up and distracted her by fiddling with the machine's knobs.

"Yeah, it was a family favorite... Until it decided to only play troll operas," George added dryly. "Seems to have returned to proper behavior, though."

*

It sounded like regular swing music, Hermione thought as the music played on, only with a bit of... A bit of something that Muggle music didn't have. Pondering over the possible reasons (charmed speakers? Hidden spells in the notes?), she had been oblivious to the hand in front of her until it had grown impatient and pulled her to her feet.

"Why, Hermione!" Exclaimed George, batting his eyelashes, "You'd like to dance with me? How thrilling!"

Hermione wanted to scowl and tell him that he shouldn't be so forward, but she dipped so suddenly that she barely had time to grab hold of his shoulders before she spilled down to the floor. "George!"

"Yes, darling," he said as he swept her upright, "We're all very impressed that you can tell us apart now."

Ginny grinned wickedly at Fred and grabbed his arm. "You, dear brother, need to practice your dancing. You practically killed poor Angelina at the Ball."

And that was how a dance party started at the Wealsey residence. Hermione, whose epxerience with fancy footwork was limited to the few dances she had attempted with Victor at the Yule Ball, clung frantically to George as he spun her around. When it seemed liked he was about to crash the both of them into the armrest, she gasped and opened her mouth to cry a warning. Faster than her was Ginny and with a flick of her wand, the chairs, sofa, and record player moved neatly to the sides of the room creating plenty of space for a proper dance floor.

(There was only one problem. At it was fuming with anger.)

With only two girls for the three men of the house (and one of those girls being a sister), it was only natural that someone had to sit out. As it were, Fred looked as if he were about to step in and claim Hermione as his own partner - as nice as Ginny was, she was Family and dancing with Family was not as good as dancing with Not Family.

"'Scuse me, mate, cutting in."

Hermione found herself twirled in a circle which ended in the arms of Fred. "'Lo, Fred." She said, a bit breathlessly, "Fancy meeting you here."

Fred laughed and Hermione was dipped for a second time. "Cheers, darling; always a pleasure. Though it's becoming pretty obvious that you're no ballerina."

Hermione trod upon her partner's feet again and grimaced. It was hard to keep up with the twins - both moved so quickly that she barely had a chance to keep herself upright, let alone consentrate on her feet's position. She would have groaned at her incompitence if her lungs had enough air in them. She was already feeling a bit light-headed, what with all the crazy dance moves that the twins were capable of, it was a wonder that she didn't pass out properly. It was futile to fight though, the twins were light an army, or a hurricane, or a pair of stampeding German Gorkspout Dragons. It was better to simply hold on and try to enjoy it.

"Tell me, Hermione, do you tango?" Fred dipped her again, his hand low on her back. She'd hadn't really been aware of how many of her body parts had been touching other people's (male) body parts until the warmth of his hand soaked through her heavy Weasley jumper. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to move to a more decent area, thank you very much, when his other hand reached down and pulled her right leg upwards. Her knee bent and pressing against his thigh and her fingers clasped desperately around his arms, Hermione looked as if she had doing the forbidden dance her entire life.

*

Ron glared at anyone with red hair and began to grind his teeth. Pushed to the side like an old piece of furniture, he had been forgotten (or just ignored) while a bloody dance club was formed. Anger and dismay mingled with disastrous results and he felt his face flush red and then pale depending on which emotion got the better of him.

But then, the unthinkable occured. Fred did something even more daring and outragious than his usual highjinks - he touched Hermione in a way that could possibly be construied as somewhat sexual right there in front of Ron's face for the entire world to see. His left hand was in a very shocking place (the lower back) and his right hand in an even more horrifying area (under the knee).

Fury stamped out indignation and horror and Ron rose to her feet. He shot a murderous look to George whose eyes widened and face broke out into a grin. George would be getting off easy - it was Fred whose very existence was about to be snubbed out. Ron pulled off his Weasley sweater and rolled up his sleeves. Right, so first he'd knock out Fred, then smash the record player, then maybe even smack George around for being the one who got to hold Hermione first, and then maybe-

But when he made the two steps over to his brother, all he could think about was Hermione and how wrong it was that Fred got to hold her. So instead of giving his brother the beating he so deserved, Ron simply cut in.

*

Hermione had barely recovered from Fred's tango when a new pair of hands caught her. She expected George to have come back for round two, but when she looked up it was Ron's frowning face that greeted her. Saved, at last.

From the corner, the other Weasleys yanked off their sweaters and fanned their faces. "Water," croaked Ginny who had been busy showing George how to do some crazy Muggle dance. The twins nodded breathlessly and follwowed her to the kitchen.

It was just at the moment that the song changed. The tempo slowed and the notes dropped to a lower octave. Suddenly the air changed too - Ron's ire skittered away and a nervous voice in the back of his head reminded him that he was now dancing with Hermione. Alone. To a slow song. Instantly Ron tensed. He chanced another look at her, to see if she felt it too.

Hermione, exhausted, slumped in Ron's protective embrace. "Your brothers..." She said with a shake of her head. "I don't know Ginny survives in this place." She buried her face in Ron's shirt and drew in a shaky breath. "I swear, it was like being caught up in a tornado. This is much better," she added as they slowly moved across the floor.

*

Ron's heart thumped and he inhaled sharply. "Loads better," he agreed and then whinced. Not only had his voice manage to crack (the damn, devious thing), but he managed to sound pathetic and lovesick all at once. But it was hard to keep his secret in, what with her draped around him. Her arms had curled around his neck and her breath was hot against his chest - But he could be intrepreting it all wrong. Maybe she was just recovering from the twins, or maybe she danced with him because she had never considered that the could be more than friends, or (a terrible realization) it was out of pity.

((Clearly I have yet to manage the art of writing in one perspective.))

more ron!

Jul. 11th, 2005 05:04 pm
jaebility: (taichi x yamato)
Part three of a Ron story (part one, part two)

Although now resembling a raisin more than a Weasley, Ron endured the downpour of cold water, refusing to get out. Sullenly he washed his hair and cleaned his feet, wishing he could simularly scrub some of the less than appropiate thoughts from his head. His daydream of Hermione had once again produced some rather ill effects and -once again- Ron was filled with a terrible sense of guilt and defeat. Fantasising was as good as fighting a dragon with a wooden sword - a study both of futility and foolishness.

A swift kick to the side of tub helped not only to relieve him of some anger but also stubbed his toe which took his mind off his problems. It also gave him the oppotunity to curse profusely.

Ron stepped out and grabbed a towel. For a moment he stodd dripping on the titled floor (which once had been ivory but now had turned slightly green due to the mold) and debated returning to the shower and spending the rest of the day there. Instead he sighed (number five so far), and wiped the steam from the mirror.

If he squinted and crossed his eyes a bit, what he could see of his reflection wasn't too ugly (naturally, ignoring its strange expression). His freckles, amazingly and thankfully, weren't as copius as Charlie's who looked as if his entire face was just one huge freckle and his eyes sported particularly long eyelashes for a person of the male persuation. Women adored long eyelashes on a bloke, he'd read in one of Ginny's Witches' Weekly. His hair wasn't that bad, he could be bald like his father. He had all his teeth, and that was something to be proud of, right?

In conclusion, he was no Lockhart, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Lockhart was all beauty and no brain, and Ron prefered being sane, thank you very much, even if it meant not having wavy golden hair or legions of adoring female fans.

Comforted slightly, but still morose, Ron dried off his hair and desperately tried to keep Hermione from his thoughts. It was a losing battle. Thinking of Lockhart had progressed to thinking about her again. Like his mother, Hermione had fallen for Lockhart's roguish charm. It had all been rubbish, of course. Still, she had fancied Lockhart even when it was painfully obvious to the rest of the world (namely, Ron and Harry) that their professor was a fraud. "Bloody Lockhart," Ron mumbled. "If he weren't in St. Mungo's right now..."

He gave the basin another kick. His already bruised toes smarted awfully after this repeated attack and Ron swore a second time that morning. "Damn tub," he grunted as he hopped about on one foot, "One of these days you'll find yourself in a junk yard where you belong."
jaebility: (goblin! (art by arborwin))
Continuation of this.

Determined to console or, at least, occupy his over-excited mind, Ron tried to concentrate on something other than his naked body and poor performance with Hermione in the hallway, lest he ended up crying into his muffin or blowing his nose into his toast. Ron wasn't the bawling type, prone to anger and sullenness but rarely tears, but his breakfast food was asking for a good what-for.

He steered his thoughts to the coming school year. It'd be fun, and if not fun, likely interesting. Maybe the new Defense teacher would be a bird rather than a creepy old man (Professor Lupin was excluded from this list, of course). Or maybe Dumbledore would give up on finding a suitable replacement and teach the class himself. He certainly had enough experience. And he was the most powerful wizard alive. Certainly those two things would come in handy. Or maybe the position would go to sniveling Snape. Ron grimaced, picturing a victorious Snape usurping the Defense throne.

That'd be a nightmare, to say the very least. More like the seventh circle of Hell.

Ron scrubbed his underarms furiously and dismissed the thought. It wasn't healthy thinking of Snape so early in the morning. So instead he studied the row of shampoos that stood along the small shelf in the shower. Susanna's Shining Shampoo with Rose Hips and Barn Shallow Egg Shells was either Mum's, Ginny's, or Bill's and Algernon's Hair Soap for the Busy Wizard or Witch, Now with Less Bubbles for the Magic User On-The-Go could have belonged to any member of the house, but Herbal Refreshment was definately Hermione's. Not only was the bottle plastic rather than glass, but it had a non-moving picture of a non-distinct flower and a coupon promising the to give the owner fifty pense off his or her next purchase on the front label.

Out of curiousity, he opened the lid, fumbling a bit and cursing the Muggles for their strange contraptions, and delicately sniffed the contents. The was no question now, he immediately recognized the soft scent. If Hermione came too close he could catch a faint whiff of what he now knew was her shampoo. It was nice - light and unoffensively sweet. But it was imitation herbs, crazy Muggles never used the real stuff. His mother used to make the family's shampoo from the small window garden she had in the kitchen. Lavender, thyme, mint... But now, in the Black house, she had to buy almost all of the family's supplies. Ron frowned and the muscles in his chest tightened; Christmas would be tough this coming winter.

In his hands the shampoo bottle whistled - he had unconsciously squeezed it - and again the scent filled the tub. He rather liked it, even though it was imitation. The smell was quiet but definitely present, like the first bloom of spring rather than the heavy, humid nights of summer.

Briefly he thought of using it, but quickly he set it down on the yellow-stained shelf. It wouldn't be right, using her personal things. It fell somewhere between theft and perversion. He adjusted the bottle a few times on the shelf until he was satisfied that no one would notice that it had ever been touched. If Fred and George found out...

'Sides, he didn't want to use it all up. With her thick and heavy hair, Hermione needed all the shampoo she could get. An image of her in the shower, dripping wet and covered with conveniently placed bubbles filled his mind. A Venus in a shell, only with wash cloths and bars of soap instead of blossoms and nymphs. He wet hair, shimmering like silk in the steam of the hot shower would drape around her shoulder... "Ron," she'd breath (it would be a whole lot better if his name were Darien, or Julius, or Alexander, but it was too late to change that now), "Ron, could you wash-"

"-Faster? you'll use up all the hot water before your brothers have had a chance to get in there."

Ron dove for the tap and turned until cold water poured down. "Sure, Mum," he said through now chattering teeth, "Be right out."

He sighed as her footsteps retreated and stared forlornly up through the stream of water up at the mineral encrusted shower-head. Like the rest of the Black estate, it sagged sadly between the airs of old majesty and rotten lost glory. The wallpaper was pealing and the pastoral scenes faded and often stained. The sink, shaped like a scallop shell, had dark stains at the faucet and the drain, making it looked more like a bloodied hand than a oceanic creature. The bath tub rested on iron feet which had once been painted black. Some of the color remainded but over the years much had fallen off leaving the claws to rust.

The house didn't feel like a tomb - oh no, that would mean that the act of dying had finished. Instead the inhabitants had the unique pleasure of witnessing the actual progress toward death.

Being Ronald Billius Weasley had too few perks to ease the innumerable defects.
jaebility: (goblin! (art by arborwin))
Ron plodded out of bed and stumbled down the hallway towards the loo. Between the howls of the ghouls in the attic and his own strange dreams about Professor Flitwick the pirate, he'd barely got a lick of sleep. He hoped that a shower would help and clear the cobwebs from his head or else he'd probably end up drooling into his morning cup of tea or falling alseep into his oatmeal.

The door to the watercloset was closed so Ron lifted his fist (it took a lot of effort to raise his hand) but before he could knock properly, the door flew open.

"Morning, Ron," a bright and cheery, fresh-faced Hermione smiled up at him.

"'Lo, Mione." Startled by all the sudden movements, Ron stepped back. "Er, are you done in there?"

"All yours," she said as she slid past him. "See you at breakfast."

Ron nodded in reply which was a useless gesture - Hermione had already turned the corner. He sighed and slumped his shoulders, "Great job, Don Juan." After closing the door, he quickly shed his pajamas (which were getting too small. Would he *ever* stop growing?) and turned on the shower. Before he stepped in, he glanced at himself in the old, crooked mirror. He sighed again, why'd he have to be cursed with all the bad looks in the family? Big ears, long nose, messy hair, gangly limbs, no chesthair, and monsterous hands that seemed to break whatever they touched.

The cherubs on the mirror's wooden frame shook their heads at his naked form, "Maybe you should try to blast away all those blemishs," one advised.

"They're not blemishes," Ron grumbled, "They're bloody freckles."

"Well, they certainly are unattractive, whatever they are."

Ron growled and shook his fist. "Watch it or I'll make you into kindling." He stepped into the shower after thoroughly examing the drain for tentacles and sighed for a third time that morning as the hot water washed over him.
jaebility: (Default)
They had been at it for days - dusting, organizing, sweeping, mopping, and scrubbing - but it seemed like they had made almost no progress. It seemed like the Black house was simply built of evil. The hallways howled, the attic moaned, the cupboards rattled, and Fred swore that he saw a tenticle reaching up from the shower drain.

When Harry came, there was a brief respite from the cleaning, but it was too good to last. Thus on a bright Tuesday morning, when she could have been out flying around on her broom, or loitering in London, or even doing homework, for Merlin's sake, Ginny was awoken with a not so gentle jab.

"Oi," Ron's face slowly came into view as Ginny blinked away the cobwebs of sleep, "Mum says we've to tackle Sirius' bedroom today. Apparently there's an infestation of ___ that needs to be smashed."

Ginny scrunched her eyes and let out a long moan. She rolled over and buried her head in her pillow, muffling her voice. "I'm so bloody sick of cleaning! Why hasn't he done anything 'bout the damn ___? He's been sleeping in that room for months!"

Ron shrugged and poked her again for good measure. "Anyway, time to get up."

"The things I do," Ginny threw off her coverings and stretched. "Right. Tell the slave-master that I'll be down in a jiff."


"All right, then," Molly said, overly brightly, to the army of scowling teenagers in front of her, "Fred and George, you two will start under the bed. Harry, dear, you'll tackle the bookcase. Hermione - the curtains on the left window. Ginny - the right. And Ron, you've got the job to clean out the wardrobe. I'll do the desk."

Collective groans from the peanut gallery.

Molly put a hand on her hip and wagged a finger, "Now, you lot, stop your whining. Sirius has graciously allowed us to stay here and the least we can do is help with the cleaning."

"It's not like we want to be here," Ron mumbled. He companions nodded sullenly in agreement.

Pretending not to have heard, Molly began handing out cleaning gloves. "Always keep your hands covered," she warned as she pulled her own in place, "The ___ have nasty teeth and their bites will keep you in bed for days."
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Luna stared dreamily at the pale sunlight that drifted through an open window. Spring had just blossomed and the smell of the flowers had began to permeate the stale and musky air of her History of Magic class. Today's lesson was about the discovery of the glorious goblin rebellion of 1387. Luna's quill had stopped moving about fifteen minutes into the class; her mind preferred to ponder the latest rumors of the Loch Ness' monster's offspring than boring old politics. Was it true that Nessy's babies were eating all the dogs in Scotland that they could get their hands -claws- on, or were they being blamed unfairly? Her father's article was simply mind-blowing and she silently congratulated him on another smashing story. Now, if he could teach ...!

Sighing, Luna looked around at her classmates, her large eyes almost unblinking as she stared at each of them. History was with the Gryffindor and they always were fascinating to watch. Hermione was scribbling away furiously, as usual, while her two companions played some sort of game on a piece of paper. Silly Ronald and Harry, Luna smiled at them; they were lucky to have a friend in Hermione. They'd be able to beg her notes from her later. Luna's eyes flicked down to her own half-empty parchment. Alas, she'd have to go to the library and look up the information herself.

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November 2016

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