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sophie-hatter-jenkins · 8 months ago

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Enigma

Written for @ladiesofhpfest Monthly Mini - Hermione Granger, 1st March 2024.

Word Count - 2359

Summary - Hermione is different. She doesn't fit in, and she doesn't understand why. If only she could find the answer.

Rating - General

It's my first Monthly Mini, so please be gentle with me!

Hermione is four years old, but only just. Her fifth birthday is in exactly two weeks. Hermione is very excited today, because it is her first day at school. She walks there with both her parents, skipping along in between them, each of them holding one of her hands. Hermione knows all about school, because her parents have told her. At school, Hermione can learn lots of new things, and make lots of new friends. Hermione already knows all her letters, and all her numbers. She can write her name, and she can read most of the storybooks on her shelf in her bedroom at home. She is looking forward to telling the teacher all about it, and she is looking forward to meeting the other children.

Hermione doesn’t skip on the way home, because school wasn’t at all what she expected. When Hermione’s mummy asks her about her day, she tells her about the teacher, Mrs Woods. Mrs Woods is a nice lady, and Hermione likes her. She smiles a lot, and answers Hermione’s questions with patience and kindness. Mrs Woods has a hamster in a cage on her desk, and Hermione tells her mummy all about him too. She laughs as she explains that Speedy escaped from his cage, and Mrs Woods had to chase him around the classroom to catch him, exclaiming about how inconvenient it was that he lived up to his name.

What Hermione doesn’t tell her mummy is how Speedy escaped from his cage in the first place, because Hermione really isn’t too sure herself. One moment, Hermione was standing in front of the cage, imagining how soft his brown and white fur would feel, and the next, there he was, in her hands. Hermione was so surprised, she shrieked and dropped him. No one saw it happen, and once her heart had stopped racing, Hermione was sure she must have imagined it. So no, she doesn’t tell her mummy.

She also doesn’t tell her mummy about the other children, because they were not nice to her. One of them, a boy called Trevor, kept snatching her book from her hands when Mrs Woods let them use the library corner. Others jostled her in the playground. A girl named Vanessa, who has long, straight, blond hair, laughed at her teeth and called her Bugs Bunny. It made Hermione feel sad, and a bit scared. She doesn’t understand why the other children were mean, and that upsets her too. Hermione hates it when she doesn’t understand.

When Hermione’s mummy asks if she is looking forward to going back tomorrow, Hermione smiles and says yes, because she knows that is the correct answer, and Hermione always gives the correct answer. But inside, Hermione really isn’t so sure about going back at all.

-------

Hermione is eleven years old, but not for much longer. It is mid-July, and her twelfth birthday is in two months. Yesterday was her last day at primary school, and Hermione isn’t quite sure how she feels about it.

There is a lot about primary school that Hermione loved. She loved the warm, sunny, comforting library corner. She loved all her teachers. She loved the satisfaction that comes from learning a new skill, or concept, or fact. She especially loved when she knows the answer to her teacher’s question.

But, there is one thing that Hermione didn’t love at all, and that is the other children. Or, to be more precise, the way the other children made her feel. Trevor and Vanessa and the other children were not openly hostile towards her. Well, not very often anyway. Mostly, they just left her alone, which Hermione still tries to tell herself suits her fine. It doesn’t though - it just hurts. This is because Hermione is different. She isn’t like the other children, not at all, and she is painfully aware of this fact. She has tried so very hard to fit in, but never with any success. Her classmates remain as much a puzzle to her as she is to them. Hermione finds this frustrating - she hates not belonging, but not as much as she hates her own inability to understand why.

It isn’t being alone that is the problem, because Hermione is used to this. She has spent much of her life alone. Mum and dad do their best, when they are not busy with the dental practice, and Hermione is not at school. There are many fun, family days, trips to the theatre, holidays to sandy beaches, visits to historic sites - castles, battlefields and ancient woodlands. Hermione loves spending time with them. But, with no siblings, and no school friends, she inevitably spends much of her time with no company but her own.

She thinks it would bother her more if she didn’t have her books. With a book open in her lap, Hermione can lose herself entirely. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a fairytale, a detective story, an autobiography or an academic textbook, the words melt off the page and into her brain, wrapping themselves around her like the very warmest of hugs. When she reads, she almost doesn’t see the words themselves. Instead, she inhabits the worlds they create within her own mind. She sees the characters as clear as day, moving through landscapes deftly painted into her imagination with vivid prose and printer’s ink. When she reads, she is transported.

Hermione wonders how very different this will all be in September, when she starts at Secondary school. Keen to stretch her, academically, her parents have found a place for her at a very well regarded private school. None of her former classmates will be there. Hermione hopes, desperately, that she will find kinship amongst them, but she is scared that she won’t - that the differentness of her will follow her to this new school, like a shadow.

In the early afternoon, there is a knock at the door. Hermione’s dad answers it. Hermione can’t really hear the conversation at the doorstep, just two voices, her father and a woman with a voice that she does not recognise. They talk for quite a long time, until eventually, her father leads the woman into the living room. She is tall and slender, wearing a tartan skirt suit in shades of muted green. Her black hair is pulled back into the neatest bun Hermione has ever seen, and Hermione is immediately envious of how pristine it is.

Once Hermione’s mother has served everyone a nice, civilised cup of tea, the woman introduces herself as Minerva McGonagall. She tells them, in what sounds like a well practised speech, that magic is real, and that she herself is a witch. Hermione and her parents are, naturally, extremely sceptical, but the woman seems prepared for this. To prove her point, she promptly turns herself into a cat. She then turns herself back into a woman and produces a slender wooden rod from her sleeve, which she uses to repair Mrs Granger’s broken teacup and clean up the spilled tea.

After this extremely effective demonstration Minerva McGonagall explains that she is the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and that she is there to offer a place to Hermione. Hermione, it seems, is also a witch.

Hermione’s parents are sceptical of this, too, even when Professor McGonagall asks them if they have ever noticed any times when things seemed to happen around Hermione, strange things, things they could not explain. Hermione’s parents seem sure they have not, so Professor McGonagall turns to Hermione and asks her instead.

“Hermione? Can you think of any times?”

Hermione thinks back. She remembers the time that Speedy the hamster escaped from his cage, on her first day at school. She remembers the sports day when her egg and spoon suddenly became welded together after everyone laughed at her for dropping them. She remembers the Halloween when Trevor tried to scare her with a spider made of pipe cleaners, but somehow when he picked it up it was a real one, and Mrs Woods had to hit it with a shoe to stop everyone screaming.

Hermione looks at Professor McGonagall, and nods, slowly.

After an extremely long discussion, it is agreed - Hermione’s parents will turn down the place at the very well regarded private school. Instead, on September the First, Hermione will board the Hogwarts Express, bound for the Scottish Highlands, and the whole new world that awaits her there.

Conversation turns to the subject of trunks, wands, books (so many books!), cauldrons, and a hundred other details. Hermione is enthralled and excited, and tells both her parents and Professor McGonagall this. At length.

What Hermione doesn’t mention is the flicker of hope that she feels, curling up inside her, catching light in her chest. She is so, so excited. Yes, she is excited to be a witch, and yes, she is excited to begin on her journey, but these are not the only reasons. No, the other reason she is excited is because she knows. She finally has the answer. This is what makes her different, this is why she has never fitted in, this is the reason for all the mean comments and scathing glances. Well, no more. Finally, Hermione is going to belong.

Finally, Hermione understands.

-------

Hermione is twelve years old, and today she feels stupid. It isn’t a feeling that she is very familiar with, which is probably why she’s finding it so hard to deal with. Hence, she isn’t dealing with it very well. This, it seems, is the theme for the day, because Hermione has also had to accept that she was wrong, and this isn’t something that happens very often either.

Hermione was wrong, because actually, she doesn’t fit in at Hogwarts after all. She’s been here two months now, and being here is so much like being back at primary school that it makes her want to scream. Just like primary school, she loves the teachers, and the library, and learning all the new and wonderful things. And also, just like primary school, none of the other children like her at all. She doesn’t belong here, any more than she belonged back home. So she was wrong; whatever it is about her that makes her different, it clearly isn’t being a witch. She feels stupid to have thought that it would ever make a difference in the first place.

The girls, she supposes, are mostly alright. The others that share her dormitory are pleasant enough, in their own way. They aren’t openly mean to her, anyway. They just seem to have so much more in common with each other than with Hermione. She exists in their orbit without ever truly interacting with them. She is adrift, always at arm's length.

No, it’s the boys who are so much worse. Being a Gryffindor, she doesn’t have to spend too much time with Draco Malfoy and his Slytherin cronies, who, as far as she can tell, dislike her purely because her parents are dentists. But, she can’t honestly say that the boys in her own house are much better. In fact, one of them is the reason she’s spent the afternoon sitting on the loo, crying.

It was such a stupid thing, really. She was only trying to help. Hermione always wants to try her best, and she doesn’t understand why other people wouldn’t want to do the same. So, if she sees someone struggling, she’ll always try to help them improve. Today, that meant she tried to help Ron Weasley, and look what happened - he called her a nightmare, and mocked her for the very thing that haunts her the most: her lack of friends. It felt as though he had physically punched her.

She did think, for a while, perhaps he wasn’t so bad, Ron and his best friend Harry. They both seemed nice enough when she met them on the train, but then came that awful night when she tried to stop them getting into trouble for sneaking around the castle at night. She tried to explain that she was only trying to help, but it didn’t seem to matter to them, not at all. Afterwards, though, a funny thing happened, as she pelted back to the common room with the boys at her heels, running from Filch and his cat and a three-headed hell hound. Alongside her annoyance and her fear, she felt a thrill of exhilaration, a glimpse of what it was like to be one of the gang and she wondered if maybe, just maybe, this was what friendship might feel like. But, a glimpse was all it was. Now, with hindsight, that glimpse seems more cruel than any words could be, because Hermione finds herself alone, again. Worse, she’s now alone, and hundreds of miles away from her mum and dad, the only people who have ever seemed to actually like her.

Hermione sighs, and leaves her cubicle, trudging over to the sinks. Somewhere in the distance, she can hear shouting, and a distant thumping noise, but she doesn’t pay it too much attention. Instead, she gazes at the face in the mirror, blotchy and puffy, evidence of the misery she’s spent the afternoon hiding from the rest of the world. She’s missed the Halloween feast, but she doesn’t care, no matter how much her stomach rumbles.

Tomorrow, she knows, she’ll get up and start again, always trying her best, and never giving up, because it’s all she knows how to do. Right now, at this second, all she wants to do is go back to the dormitory and curl up behind the curtains of her bed, losing herself in a book; the ultimate comfort.

As the rhythmic thumping sound becomes louder, Hermione takes a deep breath. She so desperately wants to feel like she belongs, that she fits in. She desperately wants to make some friends. It’s really all she’s ever wanted, but as she stands there, gazing at her reflection in the girl's bathroom, it feels further away than ever. She wonders if it will ever happen.

Behind her, the bathroom door opens.

#ladies of hp fest #ladies of hp monthly minis #hermione granger #harry potter fanfiction

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lipzlipzlipz · 9 months ago

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Coping

After the second task, Fleur wanted someone to blame, knowing full well who really deserved her ire.

765 words, rated G

Takes place in the same world as my fic Tender Is The Night which you can read here on ao3. I’m not totally sure but I don’t think I’ll be adding this ficlet to ao3 so it’ll just live here for now.

For the Ladies of HP Fest Monthly Mini: 1 Feb 2024 - Fleur Delacour @ladiesofhpfest

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“This is outrageous and an affront. I demand to file a formal complaint against whoever is responsible,” said Fleur upon bursting through the door of Olympe Maxime’s office in the Beauxbatons carriage. It had taken time to make sure Gabrielle was cleaned, fed, and napping in her room, but once she was convinced of her sister’s warmth and safety she’d marched straight towards the office.

From her chair behind her desk, Maxime watched for a few moments as Fleur furiously paced back and forth, then said, “Calm yourself, Fleur. You should’ve known the song wasn’t meant to be taken literally once you realized what was stolen from the champions were actually people. You should’ve known Gabrielle wasn’t in any danger.”

“How? How could I have known that?” Fleur asked, coming to a stop and glaring at the older woman. “People have died in this tournament. No matter what protections they used today, the risks for the hostages – for any of us – have never been zero.”

Was she the only one who knew this? How could anyone think this was acceptable?

“Gabrielle is not old enough to have consented,” argued Fleur. “It’s also clear my parents were not told the full extent of her requested involvement because they certainly would not have given their permission either. And why her, for that matter? The other champions had friends, a couple of Yule Ball companions – Gabrielle is my blood! The only one brought in from outside the school.”

It wasn’t fair. Granted, the other champions had undoubtedly been unnerved at the thought of their friends under threat, each of them having to cope with that turmoil as they braved the task. But what was taken from her had been her family. If her dalliance with Hermione Granger were known and she’d been selected instead, Fleur was certain she would’ve been less rattled by it. While the girl’s participation as Krum’s hostage still filled the young Veela with an odd mix of fear, concern, and jealousy, Hermione was fifteen and a capable witch, and Fleur would’ve been on more equal footing with the other champions in her search for her.

Now that she thought about it, another thing the hostages had in common was that neither of them was of age. It was absolutely barbaric that the age limit put on champions had not been a limit for their hostages as well. And Gabrielle wasn’t even in school yet. Her little sister… immobilized and tied down under that horrible lake. The thought sent a frightening chill down her spine.

“Whose idea was it to choose her? Was it yours?”

“Of course not,” replied Maxime in a placating tone. “The organizers and headmasters consulted together. I suggested your friends Odette and Paolo, even the boy you took to the Yule Ball since it was apparent that’s where they were leaning for Krum and Diggory. It was Mr. Crouch who’d sent a message through his subordinate to suggest your sister… hm… in hindsight, the note was curiously adamant about it.”

Her eyes narrowed. Fleur didn’t like Crouch. It hadn’t bothered her that he’d skipped the Yule Ball and the second task. But now she wanted him here so she could give him a piece of her mind.

“But regardless of Mr. Crouch’s motives,” continued Maxime pointedly, “you as a fully-grown witch and champion of Beauxbatons were expected to maintain your composure no matter who was chosen. You faced the same obstacles in the lake as the others.”

Fleur frowned and clenched her fists. Unsaid, yet loud and clear, were the criticisms at her performance against the grindylows, creatures a fourteen-year-old boy had bested, and she felt those criticisms as if they were lashings across her back.

Not wanting to let Maxime see how she’d been cut, she stormed out of the office. Only when she reached her bedroom did her face fall and her shoulders sag. Fleur opened the door and silently entered her room, collapsing onto a chair facing her still-sleeping sister.

The innocent girl who idolized her would never cast blame. Neither would Hermione. And later, Fleur would seek out the brunette and take comfort in her arms, but right now she wanted to wallow in the painful truth of her shortcomings.

The issues of fairness in the tournament didn’t matter. What mattered was her.

Her wits and skills. Her ability to overcome her emotions and accomplish her task.

Which she hadn’t.

In the end, when challenged with the belief that someone she loved was in danger… Fleur Delacour had failed.

And she would never forgive herself for it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Note: I didn’t originally plan to contribute to this fest but then yesterday I had an idea of how this conversation between Fleur and Maxime could’ve gone, taking inspiration from Tender and how I kept her canon tournament performance, and I typed this up.

Thanks for reading!

#pretend Fleur and Maxime are conversing in French #fleurmione #but more like background fleurmione #fleur delacour #ladies of hp fest monthly minis #tender is the night

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saintsenara · 1 year ago

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this piece was written for the second @ladiesofhpfest monthly minis, this time focusing on lily evans. you can read the first piece i did for this challenge - on andromeda tonks - here, and find the masterlist of all the pieces written for andromeda here.

today, even though we're looking at lily, the perspective is someone else's: her much maligned and often overlooked sister, petunia.

petunia's letter to dumbledore, written just before her sister starts at hogwarts, is one of those incidental details which are dropped into canon and then never addressed again and which now live rent-free in my mind. i've always wondered what she said. i've always wondered why she wanted to follow her sister - with whom, from what we see of snape's memories, she doesn't seem to be particularly closely aligned in terms of personality, sense of daring etc. - to a castle in the middle of nowhere. i've always wondered why she wanted to be magic.

this is what i think she said.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

My name is Petunia Evans.

I am thirteen years old and I live in Cokeworth with my parents and my sister, Lily. We are ordinary people - Muggles, your deputy headmistress called us - with a normal house and normal clothes. My father has a normal job, my mother keeps a normal home, my sister and I squabble like normal girls.

I am writing because, in ten days time, you will be taking my sister away from me.

We were supposed to go to school together - to St Andrew’s High School, where everyone we know goes - which is the normal thing to happen. But now Lily is going to your school, and I won’t be there to show her what you do at lunchtime or how to take books out of the library or to tell her which teachers are creepy and which ones are nice. I did that when she started in the infants and it's something I should be doing again. It's my job as her big sister, and I believe in doing things properly.

But instead people like you are taking Lily somewhere where everyone says I can’t follow. And nobody’s explained to me what I should say when people at school ask me why my little sister isn’t in the first form this September. Because if I just say that she’s gone to a boarding school, then people will ask why I’m not there too. Things might be different in your world, but in ours sisters go to the same school, and it's not right if they don't.

Lily rolls her eyes when I say this. Since she found out that she was a witch, she has taken to pretending that we were never the best of friends. Having been best friends with your sister isn't special enough, I suppose.

But we were. Totally inseparable, mummy called us. Never saw one without the other.

So I know that, when she gets to your school, Lily will probably pretend that she’s not related to someone like me. How could she be? After all, people have always stopped mummy to say that she’s pretty and sweet, with her red hair and her big eyes. They never stop her to talk about me. I’m just plain old Petunia, with yellow hair. Lily thinks I cry all the time and when we’re fighting she says that I look like a horse.

And now you’ve made that even worse. Because she thinks how can I be related to someone like Petunia? After all, Lily’s a witch, Lily’s magical, Lily will want to stick with her own sort, to have magical friends.

And I’m just a Muggle.

But - the thing is - I showed her magic first. Maybe it’s not as impressive as the sort of magic your lot can do - I can’t fly or make flowers bloom - but I was the first person who showed her that things are not what they seem, that everything can be transformed if you just know how. I was the first person who showed her how you can change boring things into fun ones by making them a game. I showed her how you can change flour and eggs and butter and sugar into a cake. I showed her how you can turn the black-and-white lines of a colouring book into a real picture. I taught her that snow melts and the garden comes alive again. I taught her that grazed knees scab and then the scab falls off and they’re healed.

I was going to show her all the magic which grown ups get to have. We were going to move to London - or Manchester, or Liverpool, or Birmingham, anywhere, really - and go to restaurants and the cinema every night. We were going to get good jobs and trade silly stories about our bosses. We were going to get married, and be each other’s maid-of-honour, and have children, and be the favourite aunt. We were going to live next door to each other and gossip over the garden wall, and our children were going to grow up and be the very best of friends.

Aren’t those things magic too?

I think so. But Lily has already stopped thinking of them that way. She already looks down at the magic we used to have, and I want to stop that and let everything be as it should be. With me as the big sister.

I know that I could learn magic too, because I’ve already done so much of it. Please offer me a place at your school. I enclose my latest reports, so you can see that I’m clever and well-behaved. I look forward to your letter.

Yours sincerely,

Petunia Evans

#asenora fics #petunia dursley #red and gold #ladies of hp fest #monthly minis

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abihastastybeans · 11 months ago

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Back to the pavilion - Written for @ladiesofhpfest Monthly minis! 1st December 2023 - Minerva McGonagall

Word Count: 1227

Summary: A day in the life of Minerva McGonagall

“Now, I want all of you to try and turn your matches into needles,” Minerva joined her hands together. “Remember the incantation and,” she waved her wand and multiple matchboxes materialised in front of the students, “speak clearly.”

She walked through the rows observing the class as the First Years waved their wands slowly, eager to try their first Transfiguration spell. She corrected wand movements and helped the students who were struggling.

“I did it!” Jessica Breestone, the bright muggleborn exclaimed suddenly.

Continue reading on ao3!

#ladies of hp fest #monthly minis #minerva mcgonagall #abi's fic #Back to the pavilion

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lucigoo · 1 year ago

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Calmwrimo: Day 15 - 2145 words

So i worked on my Youletide fic, but also wrote a LIly-centric fic for the @ladiesofhpfest monthy mini.

Heres the A03 link, and a snippet for you too.

Lily had taken a few more step up the stairs, away from that door and the melevolance behind it. How could James not feel it? She knew whatever was out there was bad news. Her shock at seeing it was Peter didnt deminish the feeling. In fact seeing Peter stood there, scared and pale, face sweating the way it did when he was called into McGonagal’s office ,and her stomach plummet even further. Lily noticed the hand on Peter's shoulder and followed it to it's owner. She couldn't help the soft scream she let out whe she saw who it was. He was here. Voldermort was stood on her doorstep. She understood what was happening, what was going to happen, much quicker than James had. She realised before he had even opened the door that something was very, very wrong. She held Harry a little bit tighter, gently kissing his head whispering apologies and prayers into his baby soft hair. He smelt of softness, and baby and love and Lily inhaled , his scent in, knowing they weren't going to make it out of this. She felt the rage burning inside of her. How dare they? How dare HE? He was their family and he had betrayed them all.

#ladies of hp fest #Monthly minis #lily evans #Hallowen 81 #calmwrimo

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transacelovegood · 9 months ago

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HP Saffics Femslash February 2024 and The Ladies of HP Fest Monthly Mini (@hpsaffics and @ladiesofhpfest)

001. Ice Skating - Cho Chang/Fleur Delacour - https://archiveofourown.org/works/53448103

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charmsandtealeaves · 9 months ago

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Okay! The first draft of Chapter 5 of Spitting Image is somewhat done (it will need extensive editing I’m sure) but I’ve given it to my lovely friend to get feedback first. Fingers crossed for posting later tonight?!

In other news this week I also dropped a little something for the Ladies Of HP Galentine’s Day monthly minis, Hothead Harpies. And all the jily gift exchange fics dropped last night so you’re spoilt for choice really 😊

#Ray writes #fic: spitting image #fic updates

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ladiesofhpfest · 9 months ago

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Hothead Harpies by @charmsandtealeaves

The Galentine's Day fun continues with Ginny! This time charmsandtealeaves is giving us a look at the friendship between Ginny & Gwenog! Snippet and link below!

Sweat was coming out of places Ginny didn’t even know it was possible to sweat. Forget a trickle, there was practically a whole stream running down the length of her spine and her bra might as well be considered a swamp. With trembling hands, arms and shoulders fatigued from hours of use, she threw the Quaffle with what little might she could muster. The leather ball fell several feet too short of the goal post, the Keeper not even flinching for it and looking utterly bored.

“Again, Weasley!” came the aggressive bark Ginny had anticipated.

She muttered a string of curses under her breath, catching the Quaffle that was lobbed at her underhanded. The bloody thing felt like a lead weight. Ginny repeated the movement with a grunt, which only managed to make the ball travel a couple of inches further forward than it had previously.

“Weasley, ten laps. The rest of you hit the showers.”

Every training session this week had ended the same way. Ginny was forced to perform some extra meaningless task, while the rest of the team turned in for the night. She watched the tight lipped smirk of the Keeper as she flew past her. With screaming muscles, gritted teeth, and a brewing temper Ginny completed her laps. What she wouldn’t give to be the one assigning pointless drills. She imagined punting Bludgers at a certain unsuspecting Beater who then plummeted to the ground having been thrown from their broom.

#ginny weasley #gwenog jones #galentine's day #ladies of hp fest #ladies of hp #fic rec #ladies of hp monthly minis #ladies of hp fest monthly minis #quidditch queens

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dobnny · 7 months ago

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@ladiesofhpfest

monthly mini for Ginerva Weasley

Summary: Ginny is being interview by Hannah from Risk-and-Taken, but someone interrupts their conversation.

The interview?

"So, Ginerva-"

"Please, call me Ginny." She corrected the interviewer, with a smile that didn't fully reach her eyes.

"Oh, of course. Ginny, as I was saying how excited are you with the upcoming Quidditch season? Do you think the Harpies has what it takes to win the Quidditch World Cup this year?"

"Well, Han-Han, I definitely believe that-"

"Erm, please call me Hannah," the interviewer from Risk-and-Taken, a new prophet company that was competing with the Daily Prophet.

"Of course, Hannah my apologies." Ginny replied, "I believe that this season the Harpies are certainly going to take a risk and come out victorious at the end. Yes, the odds are certainly stacked against us but there's one thing that we have that the other Quidditch teams lack."

The interviewer leaned in closer, intrigued by the determination in the young Quidditch star. Ginny could tell she was about to ask what exactly makes the Harpies stand out amongst all the other teams. When suddenly the living room became dark, and an unfamiliar muggle song started to play all around them.

Before the lights turned back on, instead of a soft white light, the room the light changed from red to pink. Thick smoke began rising from the ground, quickly spreading throughout the room.

"You don't have to be rich to be my girl. You don't have to be cool to rule my world. Ain't no particular sign I'm more compatible with. I just want your extra time and your kiss."

"Shit." She muttered, her face burning scarlet....damnit. Why now out of all times. She thought to herself, why couldn't Harry take Dobby with him?

Ginny stared at Dobby, who was wearing- wait was that little butter wearing her favorite jersey? She quilted her eyes, and realized that not only was Dobby wearing the jersey that she wore for her first Harpy match, but he was also wearing a pair of Harry’s grey joggers. It was magicked to fit the house elf, yet it didn’t suit him at all. In fact Ginny noticed how Dobby had to continuously hold onto the sides of the joggers in order to keep them up as he danced in a slow circle.

Merlin’s saggy left-

“Oh, it seems as if I’m in the middle of something intimate….I can reschedule this interview at a later time?” Ginny heard Hannah ask from besides her, almost in a strained voice.

Before she could reply to the reporter, Ginny noticed how Dobby had turned around and was staring at her. His eyes were extra wide open and he was watching her like a hawk, he had the audacity to wink at her as if saying, “you like the show?”

“Dobby, what in Merlin’s name are you doing?” She asked, through clenched teeth.

“Ms. Ginerva-“

“It’s Ginny.”

“Oh, yes sorry!” Dobby squeaked out, his face turning a shade of murky green. “Ms. Ginny, I wanted to show my gratitude for letting me serve you.”

She closed her eyes, willing herself to count to ten before reaching for her wand and firing a bat bogey hex to the house elf. After a few deep breaths, Ginny opened her eyes and spoke, “there isn’t a need for all of this, Dobby. Please can you leave? I'm in the middle of a very important interview.”

“But, Dobby needs to express his gratitude! Dobby has been practicing for hours, and this time the socks are clean,” the house elf squeaks out as he gestured to his feet. The pair of “clean” socks that Dobby claimed were a mixture of brown and green. It was also emitting a foul odor from the longer he stood there in front of them. Ginny tried her best to push down the bile in her mouth. Nope, she doesn’t want to even think about what the “dirty” socks even looked or smelled like for the matter.

Another silence stretched between the three occupants, that was until Hannah had decided to break the silence.

“You know what, maybe I should get going. Yes-I will send an owl to your manager and we will fix up a different date.” The reporter spoke with difficulty since she was doing her best to hold in her breath.

“No, it’s fine, I’ll ask Dobby to leave-”

“No! I mean, it’s fine….I’ll make sure to keep in touch with your manager and hopefully we’ll set up another date.” Hannah said as she gathered all her things quickly, “Besides, I believe Donny…?”

“It’s Dobby, Miss,” Dobby replied while attempting to give a lopsided smile to the reporter. It seems as though he tried to get that out of her brother’s Ron’s arsenal, because he would always smile like that to Hermione to get his way. Which worked practically all the time, but the way that Dobby is doing it, it just wasn’t pleasant to see. Ginny wondered if Hannah would end up sending in a restraining order against the house elf, just from the way he was trying to smile.

“Right. Dobby, I believe you two have some sort of conversation to finish, and I truly don’t want to interrupt,” Hannah replied and with that she was already rushing to the floor and before Ginny could even call out to her, Hannah was gone.

“So now that we are alone-”

Ginny pulls out her wand quicker than ever and stuns Dobby into the next realm. That buggering little shit.

#ladies of hp monthly minis #Dobnny #Ginny #Ginerva Weasley

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sophie-hatter-jenkins · 1 year ago

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Hello World!

Who The Hell Am I?

I'm a canon-shipping Harry Potter fan fiction writer, mostly (but not exclusively) writing Hinny (my OTP), Jily and Romione. You can also find me on AO3 and Discord as sophie_hatter_jenkins.

What I've Written:

Evolution (Complete - 47 chapters, 279k words - Rated M)

Harry, Ginny, Ron & Hermione navigate life after the Battle of Hogwarts. Mostly canon-compliant, multi-chapter, lots of Hinny and Romione, romance, mystery and a lot more angsty than I realised when I was writing it!

Hearts & Arrows (One-shot, 5.7k words - Rated Gen)

The surprising truth behind Ron & Hermione's romance: a little help (or not!) from Hogwarts resident Cupids. Fluffy, canon-compliant, Romione, one-shot, from Year One through to the Battle of Hogwarts

Hinny Microfics Series (Ongoing, various ratings/warnings)

A series of the various Hinny Microfics I've written, all together in one place, mainly so I can keep track of them. All posted to Tumblr before AO3.

Enigma (One-shot, 2.4k words - Rated Gen)

Hermione character study, examining her childhood friendships - or rather, the lack of them. Written for the Ladies of HP Fest Hermione Granger monthly mini.

Into the Hinnyverse (Complete - 14 chapters, 16k words - Rated M)

A collection of various Hinny drabbles, microfics and one-shots written for the Ginny Lovers Discord server's 5-Year Ginniversary Bingo game - which I (somehow, miraculously) won!

The Loyal Companion - A Tale of Bad Dates and Good Whiskey (WIP - 4/? chapters posted - Rated M)

Lily Evans endures a series of disastrous dates at her new favourite bar, The Loyal Companion. Still, at least the whiskey is good. And the bartender is cute. Not her type though. Nope, definitely not

The Grapevine (Complete - 6 chapters, 15k words - Rated T)

Follow a rumour as it spreads through the extended Potter/Weasley family one sunny Saturday afternoon, helped on its way by Albus, Lily, Audrey, Molly, Victoire and Teddy. Series of interconnected (mostly) Next Gen character studies.

The Pink Bedroom on the First Floor (One-shot, 2k words - Rated Gen)

Ginny Weasley reflects on the importance of her childhood bedroom as she prepares to embark on a new chapter of her life. Written for the Ladies of HP Fest Monthly Mini - Ginny Weasley, 1st April 2024.

Body Positive (One-shot - 9k words - Rated M)

Eight lessons that Ginny Weasley learns about her body, and her changing relationship with it, throughout her life. Written for the Ladies of HP Fest 2024 - Character Chic theme.

Electric (Blue (One-shot - 3.5k words - Rated E)

Ginny is contractually obliged to attend the Q.U.A.B.B.L.E.'s annual charity ball, which means that Harry is obliged to go with her. Luckily, his wife is happy to make it worth his while! Married Hinny smut, written for the Behind The Greenhouse Fest, Summer 2024.

#my fics #writing

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lee-bella · 11 months ago

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HP Winter Holiday & December Prompt Challenges

Updated on Nov 30: Added TTB presents the Twelve Days of Yule Bash.

I posted this on Potterfests on DW and LJ. Thought I'll share it here as well.

Here is a list of HP prompt challenges that are running in December and beyond. Some are themed around winter holidays and December; some aren't. Have fun!

TTB presents The Twelve Days of Yule Bash *ADDED* A HP canon-compliant prompt challenge for the winter holiday. Self-posting and reblogs will run from December 11 to December 22. Tumblr | AO3 | Rules & Prompts

Rare Pair Shorts Winter Prompt Extravaganza 2023 *ADDED* A HP rare pair prompt challenge for December, January and February, hosted by the Rare Pair Shorts community. Maximum word count is 2000 words. Posting to Dreamwidth is optional. For a list of banned ships, see here. Dreamwidth | Tumblr | AO3 | Info & December Prompts (also on Tumblr)

dracoharry100 Christmas Challenge 2023 *ADDED* A Draco/Harry Christmas prompt challenge hosted by dracoharry100 on Dreamwidth and Livejournal. No word count limit. It runs from December 1 to 31. Dreamwidth | LJ | Rules & Prompts (also on LJ)

Liquid Luck Roll the Dice Challenge Winter Edition A winter themed HP prompt challenge. To recieve your randomly generated prompts, send the mod a message on Tumblr. Request a prompt: November 15 - January 24 Self-post to AO3: December 1 - January 31 Tumblr | AO3 | Rules | How to get a prompt

HP Yuletide Bliss 2023 A HP fic prompt challenge celebrating the winter season. It runs from December 1 to 31. Tumblr | AO3 | Rules & Prompts

Marauders Christmas Fest A 12-day winter holiday fest focusing on Marauders era characters. The fanwork doesn't have to take place in the Marauders era. The challenge runs from December 20 to 31. Tumblr | Twitter | Website | AO3 & Rules | Prompts

25 Days fo Draco and Harry 2023 A Draco/Harry winter holiday challenge. Self-posting runs from December 1 to 25. Traditional format prompts, which will be a bit different from early bird prompts, will be released daily from December 1 to 25. Livejournal | Dreamwidth | Tumblr | AO3 | Rules (also on Tumblr)

Snolidays 2023 A Severus-centric holiday challenge hosted by snapecelebration on Tumblr. Any medium is welcome. The fest runs from December 1 - 31. Tumblr | Info & Prompts

Game of Drarry's Drarropoly 2023 A Draco/Harry prompt challenge inspired by Monopoly. Run by Game of Drarry. Sign-up ends: January 14 Last day to get new prompt: February 2 AO3 collection closes: March 9 Tumblr | Discord | AO3 | Announcement | Player's Handbook | Sign-up Form

HP Deflower December A month-long HP daily prompt challenge focusing on loss of virginity. It runs from December 1 to 31. Tumblr | AO3 | Guidelines & Prompts

In addition, the ones below are still open or are accepting late submissions till December 31:

Harry Potter Kink Meme Round 2: Prompting ends on December 31. Fills are open indefinitely for both Round 1 and 2.

HP Snooze Fest: Sleep themed.

HP Cottagecore Fest: Cottagecore.

Harry Potter James Week: Harry-centric.

Wood You Rather: Oliver Wood-centric.

Snarry AUctoberfest: Severus/Harry and AUs. This one will accept late additions till May 2024. See here for more info.

And a few upcoming prompt challenges that will happen in 2024:

Good Godfather Sirius Black Fest: Non-romantic Sirius & Harry. It will run throughout the month of January.

HP Animagi Week: Prompts reveal on January 8. The event will happen in April.

Ladies of HP Fest 2024: Opens in April. You can check the schedule here. They are also running monthly minis twice a month, each time centering on one HP female character.

If you are looking for prompt challenge communities/blogs that regularly post new prompts monthly, biweekly, etc., see Lists of Prompt Communities.

Note: Many of these communities, including the ones currently on breaks, welcome everyone to use older prompts as well as new ones.

If you are curious about what HP fests are happening right now, see HP Fest Schedule for the most up-to-date info. See also HP Fest News Round-up for a round-up of HP fest news and announcements.

#potterfests updates #hp fests #harry potter fests #hpevents #hp prompt challenge

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saintsenara · 1 year ago

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this piece was written for @ladiesofhpfest monthly minis, focusing on andromeda tonks.

grief is a theme which has been prominent in my reading and writing lately, and one aspect of grief which i am particularly drawn to at the minute is the fact that grief can often make the grieving quite unpleasant. the rage of grief, its vindictiveness and petty cruelty, are subjects which i think this fandom often shies away from. after all, nobody likes to think of their faves being horrible in their sorrow.

but i think andromeda makes a good case study for this feeling. i'm always struck in deathly hallows by how there's such a potent undercurrent of anger and disapproval in the way she deals with harry and hagrid. i like the description of her looking haughty - above and beyond the visual comparison it draws between her and bellatrix - and i like her complete lack of interest in doing anything other than talk about tonks and her fear for her.

i've written a lot about how i think someone in andromeda's position would understand the risk which tonks has taken on by joining the order (i'll die on the hill, written about in several of the pieces i did for the fest this summer, that she is aware that bellatrix has convinced voldemort to leave her and ted alone, which then becomes forfeit). and so here i'm thinking about just how furious she'd be when her fear and rage and warnings about that risk were proven to be completely justified - set around dirge without music by edna st. vincent millay. because andromeda does not approve. and she is not resigned.

Spring did not amble into summer that year, as it usually did.

It did not drift with mellow ease from April’s pale into May’s gold, lying idly on the grass in Richmond Park with the cracked-sugar coating on mini eggs on its fingers. It did not wake up one morning and put all its jumpers into storage, then fish them out again three days later when there was still a chill in the morning air. It did not spoon mint sauce onto its Easter lamb and watch as the tendrils of the broad beans curled themselves around their frame.

Death was squatting in her house, disarraying the furniture and stretching the sleeves of her cardigans, a winter’s dirge in his horrible voice and a sepulchral damp trailing in after him whenever he opened the door.

And although she had prided herself for years on her skill as a hostess, she was growing furious with her unwanted guest.

May was a month of rain and of rage.

For all the others - the other mothers in the club she had not asked to join, whose company she loathed, whose losses she refused to comprehend - it seemed that May was a month of silence.

She could picture them, sitting mutely by empty beds, the ephemera of childhood clutched in their white-knuckled hands, as if it will help clear the fog. She could see them searching through the gloom for the glittering past; the memories of summer’s haze which parents cast unthinkingly away, believing that there will never be a time when they will have to beg death to let them remember the way a seven-year-old face looked on a particular May morning.

She could picture them, sitting mutely by the fresh-turned earth of newly-dug graves, spring’s white flowers - apple blossom and yarrow; baby’s breath for their unbreathing babies - laid before headstones slick with the unseasonable squall. She could see them letting the rain mingle with the tears on faces rubbed raw, until the one cannot be distinguished from the other in the drops falling to the earth.

But she could not sit. She could not search or cry.

She could only spit; and snarl and scream until her teeth clashed through the dry and splitting skin of her lower lip and blood pooled in her mouth.

While death laughed at her.

They had never been able to work out where Nymphadora’s talent - the clay suppleness of tendons and bones, the shape-shifting malleability of skin and marrow - had come from.

Ted had been a solid man, substantial in the way that bookshelves are: never rickety; never uneven; smelling of wood polish and leather. He contained a hundred thousand little treasures; he was a source of knowledge, a place of solace on rainy days; a best friend in the aftermath of a lonely childhood.

And she herself was solid, in the way that music is: the tempo can be varied but the notes remain the same. One sister can strike out on her own, but there is a refrain which follows her, the same funeral dirge which lilts in the air after her sisters, letting the careful listener know that these three women are one and the same. No matter what one was pretending.

Nymphadora had none of her father’s solidity. She was an opal: gaudy and colour-changing and brilliant, but with a softness beneath it all. She was fragmentary and fractured. She had wanted her jokes to be laughed at. She had wanted to be taken seriously.

She had wanted to be loved, in all her contradictory, flesh-and-blood glory.

She lay now beside her lukewarm lover in the earth.

She did not speak to her daughter when she visited the graveyard, its pathways washed with rain, a yew sagging against the church’s ancient walls. She did not speak to Ted either, though he mouldered next to his daughter. She did not leave flowers leaning on their headstones. She clenched her fists until her nails pierced the dry and splitting skin of her palms, and blood dripped over her wedding ring to the ground.

She was too angry at them both; at how they had clearly been in cahoots to turn themselves into food for the worms, and leave her pouring tea for death and keeping the radiators blasting. This is how it had always been - Ted’s gentleness turning into permissiveness when it came to Nymphadora throwing herself from the tops of trees or telling old ladies who reprimanded her on her knicker-baring miniskirts to go swivel, and she was forced to become the strict one, the one who disapproved of burping and pot noodles and joining the Aurors.

Neither of them had ever listened, adventure twinkling in their identical eyes and schemes whirring in their swashbuckling minds. They thought her silly - nervous and elegant and a lover of order. In their unkinder moments, they thought her rigid, icy, cruel. She could still picture Nymphadora at the breakfast table - sixteen and sulking over being told off for overindulging at a party and being sick all over the hydrangeas - and how it had felt to know her eyes were raking over her mother’s heart-shaped face for the fragments of Narcissa and Bellatrix that a quiet life in a Muggle suburb could not erase.

But look at that. She was right and they were both dead. And she was furious.

She did not speak to her husband when she returned to the house, where death was laying on the sofa instead of babysitting. There were crumbs on the coffee table, the gingery shards of a whole biscuit now snapped and softening. Like Ted - with his hair the colour of saffron cake and his eyes like spring water - would be in the damp of May’s earth.

As a child, her after-dinner habit had been bridge - a constant torture since Bella would never pay attention long enough for them to have a really good game. As an adult, it was coffee and chocolate liqueurs on the sofa with Ted.

As a widow, it appeared to be screaming.

The morning dawned as grey as all its cousins; May was a month of rain and of rage. Death clattered around the kitchen, leaving eggshells on the floor and teabags staining the worksurface with their tannic drool. The disorder made her skin itch.

She looked at herself in the mirror, her face prickled and pink from a shower which had scalded her. The heat was a comrade; the water was boiled up to a flesh-burning point, her blood was hot enough to eat her marrow, turning her from the inside out into mulch. Somehow it all evened out.

Ted and Nymphadora were competing over who could decompose the quickest, laying in the graveyard and giving thanks for all the damp. It would putrify them all the quicker. Still, how shocked they would be when victory was snatched from them before their sightless eyes. If there was a prize for shattering first, the person they’d left behind would win.

Her day was one of half-drunk coffees and constant movement. She could not sit, there was no way of relaxing with a magazine on the sofa when death was leaving so many crumbs. There was no way of staying in the house when there were so many fragments lurking on shelves and in wardrobes. Ted’s jumpers curled up like newborn kittens in a drawer; his mismatched socks were lined up like limp orphans in the laundry basket.

A hairbrush, entangled with bright pink strands, lay on the stairs. She had told Nymphadora to take it up with her the last time she went to bed. Her daughter hadn’t listened.

She was so angry at her.

#asenora fics #andromeda tonks #fragments #ladies of hp fest #monthly minis

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celestemagnoliathewriter · 11 months ago

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💌

Look that this love and keep it!

I swear, you have no idea how much I admire all the freaking hard work that you do with the fest’s that you are working with: Remadora fest and the Ladies of HP fest. While also working on your own projects (70K Tedromeda and Remdora fic 😳😳) like holy hell, I hope you get some time to sit back and relax.

I love seeing the way you analyze characters from the HP series, because you show their flaws as well as their beauty. I always look forward into reading your thoughts and opinions.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart, you do so much and I can tell from your multi-chaps that you do amazingly with getting the most accurate information in order to deliver such a great story to your readers.

Truly, thank you

Anon. ANON. I love you. This is so stinking sweet. So so so sweet. I can't. I cannot.

Thank you so much for this sweet message in my inbox. I am so proud of all the work I've done (with tons of help from people like @merlinsbudgiesmugglers and @artemisia-black along the way). Remadora Fest will run for about two weeks (!!!!!!) and the Ladies of HP Fest has almost 100 works in its collections between last summer's fest and the current monthly minis.

The Tedromeda/Remadora fic is now up to almost 90k words! I think it will end up somewhere between 300k-400k words when all is said and done. Bless Merlins, Artemisia, and even Mr Celeste aka @rawr-gorg-smash for beta'ing for me. Yes, I've even roped Mr C into reading.

Thank YOU from the bottom of my heart, anon. I write stories I want to read but when I see that others enjoy them it fills me up with indescribable joy.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

#asks #send asks #lovely anons #i love you anon #i would like to give you a gigantic cinnamon roll #and a three tiered cake #also a fresh batch of muffins

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gamersonthego · 2 years ago

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GOTG Review: Legend of the River King

In 2023, I’ve decided to make a real effort in clearing out my massive and ever-increasing backlog of games. To assist with this I built something I like to call Backlog Roulette.

Each month I’ll spin this wheel during the monthly preview episodes of a podcast I co-host called The Casual Hour, and I will play whichever of the 90+ games Lady Luck selects for me. I don’t have to finish every game chosen, but I do need to give them “the old college try.” You can watch me explain the concept and rules if you’re interested, but the other thing of note is I want to write about each game here on GOTG. And the first game that came up was 1998’s Legend of the River King for the Game Boy.

Legend of the River King is a fishing RPG developed by Victor Interactive Software and published by Natsume (which is probably why it gives off some strong Harvest Moon vibes from its visuals).

I think fishing games are fascinating in the same way I think golf and baseball video games are fascinating. It’s interesting to analyze the different ways designers handle their mechanics, how they view the act of casting a rod, throwing a ball or swinging a club through a controller. Whatever method they land on, it’ll never be quite like the real thing, but that layer of abstraction can be its own form of fun.

That’s uh, not really the case here with Legend of the River King. Its mechanics are tedious, arbitrary, confusing and often frustrating. Its options are too deep and its systems are too shallow. I wrote almost 600 words about the arcane way you select your bait and tackle, how the game includes a way to basically bypass all of its most intriguing mechanics and the pretty, but dead simple mini-game you play every time you hook a fish, but it was about as fun to read as Legend of the River King was to play, so instead, let's talk about the deeper issue here.

youtube

That deeper issue is the game's use of tension, and I can’t understand why the developers put so much of it into Legend of the River King. For a fishing game set in a tiny, slow-paced, generally carefree world, you are often put on edge. Some of this tension is believable and low stakes, like running out of bait or having a full pail of fish and needing to return to town. But some of it feels weirdly punitive, like random wild animal JRPG battles that can ether knock you out, steal your fish or both. Or your raft (a crucial part of you traversing the world) actively diminishing your health every time you use it, which is often! There’s even a manufactured story tension of needing to catch a specific fish to cure your sister’s illness (though thankfully no time limit is put upon you to get that medicine).

But for all this tension the game piles on you, none of it results in anything really meaningful. If you get knocked out by an animal or collapse from exhaustion on your raft, you’ll just wake up at the last inn you visited (though, in an odd bit of design, you'll be at 1 HP, requiring you to stay at the inn again to fully heal). You don’t even lose the fish you caught. The worst thing that can really happen to you is that a monkey steals a fish in a random battle that you were going to deliver to a quest giver, but it just creates more busy work rather than something that truly affects the gameplay experience. I suppose if you completely ran out of money and couldn’t buy new bait or lures, you could theoretically hit a failstate, but that’s never really an issue.

So with that in mind, is Legend of the River King supposed to be a chill fishing adventure, or is it supposed to be a test of survival against a harsh world that doesn’t want you in it? The game can’t decide, and leads to a mess of a 6-8 hour experience.

And while I’m pretty down on the game generally, I do have to admit there is the foundation of something cool here. The art (especially the underwater scenes featuring nicely detailed fish sprites and a very impressive parallax scrolling effect) is quite good, and the music is great. And when it wasn’t slowly sapping my health away, I liked exploring the world and mentally noting which fish show up where (but man, could this game have used a map).

Legend of the River King is a long-running series, with at least four of its titles having come over to the west, so I have to imagine Victor Interactive Software figured out the formula at some point. I’m not sure I’ll be putting Legend of the River King 2 on my backlog anytime soon, but I could also see myself taking the bait once again at some point.

#game review #legend of the river king #game boy #backlog roulette #Youtube

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