Post by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore on Jan 2, 2007 19:01:25 GMT -5
Both entries are posted below speperated by line breaks. Vote for whichever you like best and remember: one vote per person, not per character.
Voting ends on the 6th.
Feel free to leave comments and constructive criticism.
And He Came - by Ellai Cantari
Hermione sat in the Owlery. Her frizzy hair was even larger than usual and her face streaked with tears. It was the day before the beginning of the winter holiday, and she had greatly been looking forward to going home. She turned her eyes, red from crying, towards the owl that had swooped down upon her unexpectedly during her walk by the late. Her trembling hand reached towards the school barn owl and stroked it. “Oh, I had so wished to get out of here and go home.”
Her mind flashed to scenes of her first three months at Hogwarts; a Slytherin fourth year calling “Mudblood!” in the corridor, the endless taunts of other students and endless quarrels with one of her only two friends, Ron. Again painful memories swooped down as she recalled her eager anticipation on receiving her letter of acceptance.
But all of this was okay, her wounds would heal and Ron would magically forgive if she just had those few weeks at home on holiday. Then even that small bit of haven was taken. The owl that had overtaken her on her walk with the foul correspondence dropped the light envelope on her head. She pet the owl and sent it off to the Owlery.
She would soon follow the owl with a desire to avoid any company after bursting into tears upon reading the letter. It was from her parents. The cheery not was written by the obviously rushed hand of her mother read, “Dearest Hermione, I do hoe you are having a splendid term! Your last letter seemed cheerful enough and I know your brain must be serving you as well in the magical world as it did in this one. Since I know you must be enjoying yourself I do not fear to inform you that your father and I will not be home for Christmas. The family surprised us with a belated anniversary present; you know it was a month ago, of a week long holiday cruise! Regrettably there are only two tickets, but I’m sure you will have a lovely holiday at school. Your present is on the way, I’m sure you’ll enjoy reading it! Love you immensely, Mom and Dad.”
Hermione had torn the letter to pieces, thrown the letter in the lake and fled to the Owlery. Her crying eased, but the pain did not. Pity the owls were bad company, but she felt she could talk to no one. Harry was busy with Quidditch, Ron was angry, and no one else liked her. She wanted to feel someone cared now; she no longer needed to be alone. But who could she go to?
The door behind her creaked open. Shuffling steps sounded and her hastily wiped her eyes, and turned. Ron stood there, awkwardly. His face bore its usual ‘I’m sorry’ look and she knew he had come in search of her to apologize. At the sight of her tearstained face however, he hesitated a moment, and then ran to her. He put his arms around her.
Hermione began to cry again. But it was no longer the lost crying of a girl unnoticed, but the healing tears of a friend comforted.
The Reason Why - Hermione Granger
Grey sky, grey ground, the entire world was cloaked in a dreary mask of heavy cloud cover that blocked out the sun and kept the all-concealing blanket of snow from glistening whitely. Which was just as well, in the opinion of a tall figure who was observing the uniform bleakness of the world. For the occasion, he had left his traditional black robes in his wardrobe and swathed himself in grey. It gave him the appearance of a walking corpse still draped in his funeral shroud. His hands clasped behind his back, the figure paced back and forth along the veranda of an Unplottable house, watching sleet fall untidily into drifts of snow with an expression of distaste.
Christmas.
He scoffed at the very thought. As he once again recalled an occasion of so very long ago, the thin man paused in his movements and scowled. Christmas was not a happy time for everyone, and certainly not for him. As a child, the holiday was never quite what it was for most children, for those with families. And yet, the day had still managed to be especially scarring for him in particular. Often, kids stop believing in Santa when they don’t get a treasured toy and it was no different for him. Turbo Man. That’s what it was. The “action figure with the arms and legs that move and the boomerang shooter and his rock'n roller jet pack and the realistic voice activator that says 5 different phrases including, ‘It's Turbo time!’ Accessories sold separately. Batteries not included.” Christmas came and the optimistic little boy he had been had indeed gotten an action figure. Not Turbo Man, though, but Booster, that stupid pink tiger sidekick. Who wants the idiotic sidekick? He certainly didn’t.
The moment he tore the plain brown paper off of the box to have his eyes assaulted by that pink fur and his ears abused by the pitiful catchphrase, “Help, Turbo Man, help!” little Tom had changed. With no wonderful superhero to model himself after, his anger at the Booster doll had gone unabated. That’s what started it. Not an innate nature for evil, not some twisted part of his brain. Even the nosey old Headmaster never knew the awful truth.
A pathetic pink tiger was responsible for the creation of the Dark Lord Voldemort.
(((Yes, that's a stolen quote from Jingle All the Way. *dodges tomatoes*)))
Voting ends on the 6th.
Feel free to leave comments and constructive criticism.
And He Came - by Ellai Cantari
Hermione sat in the Owlery. Her frizzy hair was even larger than usual and her face streaked with tears. It was the day before the beginning of the winter holiday, and she had greatly been looking forward to going home. She turned her eyes, red from crying, towards the owl that had swooped down upon her unexpectedly during her walk by the late. Her trembling hand reached towards the school barn owl and stroked it. “Oh, I had so wished to get out of here and go home.”
Her mind flashed to scenes of her first three months at Hogwarts; a Slytherin fourth year calling “Mudblood!” in the corridor, the endless taunts of other students and endless quarrels with one of her only two friends, Ron. Again painful memories swooped down as she recalled her eager anticipation on receiving her letter of acceptance.
But all of this was okay, her wounds would heal and Ron would magically forgive if she just had those few weeks at home on holiday. Then even that small bit of haven was taken. The owl that had overtaken her on her walk with the foul correspondence dropped the light envelope on her head. She pet the owl and sent it off to the Owlery.
She would soon follow the owl with a desire to avoid any company after bursting into tears upon reading the letter. It was from her parents. The cheery not was written by the obviously rushed hand of her mother read, “Dearest Hermione, I do hoe you are having a splendid term! Your last letter seemed cheerful enough and I know your brain must be serving you as well in the magical world as it did in this one. Since I know you must be enjoying yourself I do not fear to inform you that your father and I will not be home for Christmas. The family surprised us with a belated anniversary present; you know it was a month ago, of a week long holiday cruise! Regrettably there are only two tickets, but I’m sure you will have a lovely holiday at school. Your present is on the way, I’m sure you’ll enjoy reading it! Love you immensely, Mom and Dad.”
Hermione had torn the letter to pieces, thrown the letter in the lake and fled to the Owlery. Her crying eased, but the pain did not. Pity the owls were bad company, but she felt she could talk to no one. Harry was busy with Quidditch, Ron was angry, and no one else liked her. She wanted to feel someone cared now; she no longer needed to be alone. But who could she go to?
The door behind her creaked open. Shuffling steps sounded and her hastily wiped her eyes, and turned. Ron stood there, awkwardly. His face bore its usual ‘I’m sorry’ look and she knew he had come in search of her to apologize. At the sight of her tearstained face however, he hesitated a moment, and then ran to her. He put his arms around her.
Hermione began to cry again. But it was no longer the lost crying of a girl unnoticed, but the healing tears of a friend comforted.
The Reason Why - Hermione Granger
Grey sky, grey ground, the entire world was cloaked in a dreary mask of heavy cloud cover that blocked out the sun and kept the all-concealing blanket of snow from glistening whitely. Which was just as well, in the opinion of a tall figure who was observing the uniform bleakness of the world. For the occasion, he had left his traditional black robes in his wardrobe and swathed himself in grey. It gave him the appearance of a walking corpse still draped in his funeral shroud. His hands clasped behind his back, the figure paced back and forth along the veranda of an Unplottable house, watching sleet fall untidily into drifts of snow with an expression of distaste.
Christmas.
He scoffed at the very thought. As he once again recalled an occasion of so very long ago, the thin man paused in his movements and scowled. Christmas was not a happy time for everyone, and certainly not for him. As a child, the holiday was never quite what it was for most children, for those with families. And yet, the day had still managed to be especially scarring for him in particular. Often, kids stop believing in Santa when they don’t get a treasured toy and it was no different for him. Turbo Man. That’s what it was. The “action figure with the arms and legs that move and the boomerang shooter and his rock'n roller jet pack and the realistic voice activator that says 5 different phrases including, ‘It's Turbo time!’ Accessories sold separately. Batteries not included.” Christmas came and the optimistic little boy he had been had indeed gotten an action figure. Not Turbo Man, though, but Booster, that stupid pink tiger sidekick. Who wants the idiotic sidekick? He certainly didn’t.
The moment he tore the plain brown paper off of the box to have his eyes assaulted by that pink fur and his ears abused by the pitiful catchphrase, “Help, Turbo Man, help!” little Tom had changed. With no wonderful superhero to model himself after, his anger at the Booster doll had gone unabated. That’s what started it. Not an innate nature for evil, not some twisted part of his brain. Even the nosey old Headmaster never knew the awful truth.
A pathetic pink tiger was responsible for the creation of the Dark Lord Voldemort.
(((Yes, that's a stolen quote from Jingle All the Way. *dodges tomatoes*)))
