#fhwc8

[thatch-loose-lipped-linguist]

Hitting the Books

As more and more jobs came in from Mister Martin of the Ministry of Magic, Milo grew ever more curious about what he was translating.  When he had the time to sit down and think about it, he recalled how some stories and characters seemed to be reflected in many of his students.  Some of these documents were also simply fairy tales, from what Milo gathered, and as any good story goes, people should be able to relate to the characters.  But it was odd how close some of the similarities were, especially when it came to names.

Upon translating a document on Indian stories and tales, he came across an interesting character.  For some reason, this character reminded him strongly of someone, yet he couldn’t quite pinpoint who it was.  Additionally, Milo was not well-versed in Indian folklore and so the stories from that specific culture were ones he required more studying.

He would have asked Aparna for some help, but in the rush of the moment, he couldn’t find his friend and decided he must find the solution now.  What better place to look than the library!

So off Milo ran in hopes of finding what he needed.  He passed by many students studying and if he had not been so in his own head, he would have sensed the tense energy.  Now, granted that it was a library full of (typically) wizarding materials, there was a section for muggle lore and readings (he internally thanked Jock for teaching such a class and thus the need for these books).  His eyes scanned quickly with practiced ease as he was used to speed-reading and picking out the exact books he needed.

Finally, his eyes caught onto something.  The spine read Anthology of Indian Tales.  Pulling the book from the shelf, he stood there, quietly flipping through the pages until he came to the story that seemed to fit the translated Nihil work the most.  It was called Jungle Book and the character that resonated him was a tiger named Shere Khan.  Thankfully, the text was written in English, though that did mean some things were probably lost in translation.  The tiger had a strong personality and large disdain of humans.  He called many of the other characters in the story imbeciles, a rather interesting and specific choice of insult.  Where had he heard that before?  He racked his mind for several minutes, his gaze going back and forth between the text and the open air above him as if the answer would magically appear.

Then a lightbulb turned on and he knew who this Shere Khan shared a spitting resemblance to.  He was about to turn and search for the young Slytherin girl when a loud crashing sound split his ears and the shelves before him toppled over.  Books crashed down, knocking him on his head and he dropped his book onto the ground.  He seemed to have blacked out for a moment because the next thing he knew, young Gryffindor prefect Holley Shiftwell was helping him out from the cave of books.

“Professor!  Are you okay?  Are you injured?” she cried out, glancing quickly over him and inspecting for any injuries.

Milo chuckled and winced.  His head felt like it was bruised and pounding intensely from the inside.  “I have been better, Miss Shiftwell, but thank you for the rescue.”  For once, he looked around and was shocked to find the library in shambles.

“Why were you under there, professor?  Did you need a book?  Perhaps we can summon it so we don’t have to crawl back in to find it,” Holley frowned, looking very concernedly at the pile.  She seemed determined to help and Milo admired the bravery.

“I- Well frankly, Miss Shiftwell, I can’t recall why I was here nor what book I was looking for.  Must have been the hits to the head,” he frowned.  A small part of him felt that he was in search for something very pertinent.  But he simply couldn’t remember at all.  So, he shook his head and chuckled softly again.  “Well, look alive, Miss Shiftwell.  We’ve got some cleaning up to do.”

#fhogself #fhwc8 #hitting the books #i'm not gonna proofread this because i'm lazy like that #but this is semi important for plot and nihil stuff #self

[flikissorry-blog]

Now It’s Time to Leave and Turn to Dust || Self

Right now was a surprisingly light time for grading. Of course, with final exams coming up for most of the students, that wasn’t really surprising. Right after their most intense experience was the most intense time for all the teachers as they tried to finish grading in time to submit all of the grades and figure out who was passing, who would get to sign up for the class next year, and who wouldn’t. Jock had told him to take advantage of his last remaining bit of freedom before he would be staring at horrible student hand writing for hours on end. He hadn’t felt like arguing.

He was doing…ok right now. Maybe it wasn’t as good as he would like to be, and certainly nowhere near where Daisy wanted him to be. He smiled softly to himself as he thought about her most recent letter. Yet again, she was ranting about the lack of inventing she was hearing about, and how he needed to get over his problem and ask for help if he was going to be so stubborn and self sacrificing. If he didn’t do something soon, she would.

He didn’t really see it as self sacrificing. It was just a phase, and it hardly effected other people if it never went anywhere. But he had no doubt at all that Daisy would take it upon herself to try something if he didn’t do something to please her. So, instead, he compromised.

Sitting in the library, he stared at notebook after notebook after notebook. Every page was full of ideas, designs, notes, and tests. Some inventions had dozens of versions with different modifications, others only had one or two before he had deemed them good enough to test. The date and time of each test, each minor change, were listed out neatly, and through it he could follow the growth of his thought process. It was the one aspect of his life that was scrupulously organized. Looking at it was…satisfying. Satisfying was the best word for it.  

Just looking through the notebook had rusted wheels in Flik’s brain beginning to turn. This year, he had done a lot of reading, and despite his best efforts, he kept drifting to books about mechanics. First to help Jock with his projects, and then out of his own quietly desperate interest. But all of that meant that he had a full year’s worth of very specific knowledge more than he’d had before, and he found himself reaching for his pencil. Of course he could see those issues now – it was so clear. All he’d needed was new knowledge.

Maybe…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to try again. Maybe all he’d needed was a break to learn a little more, and then he would be able to do his inventions right. If he could get even one of them right and get it patented, he might be able to start making an independent living. He didn’t necessarily need one for financial reasons, not with his family being what they were. But he did for his pride. Perhaps he could do it through his inventions after all.

Smiling to himself, brain working faster and faster as if the thought alone had unlocked an oil blowout of ideas, he scrambled to make his hand keep up. Maybe he could test one of these in his old workroom, it was bound to still be there, and it would be safe enough to test it there before he went home –

BOOM!

The bookshelf next to Flik exploded, tossing him sideways. Dimly, through the ringing in his ears, he heard several other explosions going off. People screaming. Heavy wood crashing to the ground. More screaming. So many screams.

Flik knelt on the ground, staring at the torn remains of his notebooks. He was unhurt. Other than the ringing in his hears, he could tell that he was completely fine. But he could still hear the screaming.

Of course, wasn’t it always this way? The only time Flik was the one hurt was when he was by himself. Otherwise, it was always someone else. Someone who had just happened to be there. Who Flik had hurt because he was stupid and careless and for some reason thought that he could create something useful for people without it going all wrong. He tried to satisfy his own pride, and other people always paid the price.

It didn’t occur to Flik that it might not actually be his fault. He couldn’t make the mental connection between all of the other events that had happened this year, and this newest shocking tragedy. It didn’t even occur to him that this explosion was on a scale far grander than the ones that had ever happened around him, so for once it might not have anything to do with him. All he knew was that there was an explosion, there were people screaming, and every other time this had happened near him, it had been somehow his fault.

Part of Flik was crying out to help. He was a TA, but more than that, who he was at his core was someone who wanted to be useful. But if he had truly been the cause of this, the worst thing he could do would be to go near any of those people now.

No. He needed to leave. Not just the library – the castle. He needed to leave it all behind. And go somewhere where nobody could be hurt by him ever again.

Filled with frantic purpose, Flik turned and bolted towards the library exit, stepping on the destroyed remnants of his notebooks and grinding them to dust accidentally as he did so. Holding his breath, he raced around broken bookshelves and through the dusty air until he made it to the entrance. A few other students had already stumbled out there, coughing hard and clutching each other as they stared around in confusion. When they saw the way he was moving, they moved out of the way. They probably thought he was running to get the professors for help. They had no idea he was doing something much more important.

Flik raced back to his small room and immediately started shoving clothes into a bag, mostly at random. His books, empty notebooks, camera, and the toolset Daisy had given him for his 14th birthday followed them into the bag. At the last minute, he reached for his photo box and paused. He wouldn’t really need all of these in the forest. And he had mostly been taking them for Daisy. It would be better to leave them here so someone could get the letters to her. Then they could all have something to remember him by.

In the confusion that was bound to result from all of this, no one would miss her for awhile. He could afford a moment longer. He scribbled out a note to Jock – he could drop it off under his door as he was leaving – so the man wouldn’t worry about Flik. He had been an incredible mentor, and was something almost like a friend. It felt a little wrong to be leaving him so close to the end of the year without really finishing his commitments, but Flik knew he couldn’t stay any longer. It was better for him too if Flik left. But maybe he could send the pictures to Daisy for Flik. That would be good.

There were some other people he wanted to write to, but he wouldn’t send those until he was safely away from the castle. He couldn’t risk anyone stopping him. So that meant he had to go now.

The one regret he really had was Scarlett. Whatever was between them, his heart wanted to stay and explore it. He wanted to tell her that around her, he felt more alive than he had since he’d stopped inventing. She made him think, she made him laugh, she made him pay attention. She made him better. And maybe it was wrong, and it was all going to end badly as she so often said, but he hadn’t cared. He’d wanted to build something with her for as long as he could. The fact that this was for her benefit too was cold comfort. But it would have to do.

Taking one last look around his room, Flik turned and walked quickly towards the exit of the castle. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t know how he would survive. But none of that

#self #fhwc8 #you didn't really think an explosion could happen and flik wouldn't have a selfie did you

[jenny-foxworth-survivor]

Not Again || WC Selfie

Since she’d started as a TA, Jenny had taken to reading any and all of the books that interested her in the Hogwarts library; specifically those she hadn’t gotten to as a student. Having tried her best to just focus on her studies, and get the hell out of there, reading for fun wasn’t something she’d done much in her final year as a student. However, by the time she’d graduated, she’d unwittingly become comfortable in the castle, and hadn’t wanted to leave it upon graduating. So now she worked there, while she tried to figure out what to do with her life after the year was over, and attempting to face the crippling fear that came with the thoughts of returning to New York all alone. Heck, work had even managed to keep the fears at bay for awhile, until the pranks started. Perhaps they’d only been meant as practical jokes, but after the war at Beauxbatons, nothing that outright caused trouble for the masses was harmless in Jenny’s eyes. As a result, she’d been understandably on edge, which lead to her spending most of her free time huddled in the library, where she felt safe and content; that is until the explosion.

The second she heard it, Jenny was transported back almost two years, to a time when she’d feared for her life almost constantly. Everywhere she looked, the castle was falling apart, people were fighting, and people were dying. To be clear, she hadn’t had high hopes that she’d make it out alive once the uprising started, but that didn’t mean she was prepared when it happened. An explosion, much like the one happening now, had happened nearby, causing things to collapse, and crush people, herself included, and she was struggling to breathe. Not daring to call out, for fear that the people who heard may not be willing to help someone like her, Jenny had tried to get herself loose, and even succeeded for the most part. Except she was too shell shocked to notice that her injuries weren’t something she could survive without help, which didn’t come for quite some time. She couldn’t tell you how long it took her to pass out, or who had finally come to her aid, but according to everyone she’d spoken to after waking up, she had in fact died for a brief time.

After reliving her death for what felt like hours, Jenny came back to herself in library at Hogwarts, and screamed. It was all happening to quickly, and while she wasn’t pinned under anything deadly this time, she wasn’t totally unharmed either. She managed to get out with no broken bones, but where other injured parties were headed to the infirmary to be healed and taken care of, she was headed out of the castle, across the grounds, and towards her house in Hogsmeade, praying to the God she didn’t believe in, that no one would try to stop her. Having all but shut down, she was navigating the halls on autopilot, and didn’t bother to stop and acknowledge the world around her until she reached her own front door and broke down. Jenny didn’t even make it inside before she collapsed and proceeded to have an all too familiar panic attack. Not again, please not again. She repeated it like a mantra, both out loud and to herself, while she waited for it to pass. That was it, if everything around her was determined to explode, then she was justing going to have to stop moving; it was the only way to stop taking other people down with her.

#FHWC8 #fhogself #drabble #// this could've been better and it could've been worse but i guess i can live with it as is #tw: death #tw: ptsd #tw: explosions

[blindeyes-watching-blog]

chaos in the library

There were times when Rose felt that she herself, not just her eyes, was cursed. Times when something especially unfortunate would happen to her and she’d be forced to wonder “what did I do to deserve this?” Rose didn’t believe in karma, not really, but it seemed like all the bad things that had a possibility of happening to her did in fact end up happening to her - life was a bitch like that. This was one of those times.

The library was supposed to be a sanctuary. A place where Rose could find peace and quiet. A place where she could study for her upcoming finals and not worry about anything blowing up. She’d been searching for “Hogwarts: A History” among the many shelves in the library (some idiot had neglected to put it back in the right place) when, without any warning, there was a sharp cracking sound too close for comfort quickly followed by an earsplitting “BOOM!” An entire section of the wall was blown out, destroying the shelves and blasting books and pieces of wood in every direction. Rose screamed, a sound that was cut off when something with rough edges nicked the side of her face.

Everything was happening so quickly, Rose didn’t have time to properly react and dodge the bookshelf that was five seconds away from falling on top of her. Fortunately for Rose, the Hufflepuff boy that had been standing a few feet away in the same aisle as her appeared to be hypersensitive to everything going on and pushed her out of the way before she could be crushed. Rose stumbled backwards, but her arm was hit by the falling shelves before she could reach safety. A sharp ache - deeply situated in her left arm - shot through her limb like lightening; the pained area spanning from her elbow to her wrist. Not even a minute later two more explosions burst off, sending everyone into a dangerous panic and triggering more shouting.

Rose tried to stand up, grimacing when she accidentally bent her arm. She cradled her wounded arm against her chest, looking around at the chaotic scene before her. Students and teachers alike were running all over the library, some kneeling on the ground beside other injured students and others advancing towards the newly formed openings in the walls with their wands at the ready. 

What the hell just happened?

#FHWC8 #selfie #it's really short but whatever

[layla-taylor]

The Last Straw || Writing Challenge

To say that Layla had stormed out of her house fuming was an understatement. She hadn’t remembered when she had been this mad at one of her mother’s rules. In reality, this one was just a small issue, but it wasn’t just about this rule. It was about all the rules that she was supposed to follow so she would be a lady. But for what? What was being a lady really getting her? This was one of the few times she was questioning why she was even following all these rules. She also wanted to know how many of these rules were legitimate and which ones were designed to control her.

So maybe Layla had been spending a lot more time outside doing whatever she pleased and a lot less time inside reading. It wasn’t like she had soiled anyone’s reputation or name. She didn’t see why her mother insisted on keeping Layla home all the time. She sincerely wanted to know exactly who cared enough to gossip about how much time anyone, including Layla, spent outside their home, alone. Right now, the rules were feeling less like helpful advice and more like bars turning her bedroom into a jail cell. She was feeling too constrained by the rules and too trapped by her parents. She needed out.

Then again going out to drink probably wasn’t the best idea she had ever had. She planned on showing up to the carnival, just a little, or a lot, late. Did she really want her fellow classmates see her drunk? That was how reputation ruining gossip started in the first place. But who would talk about Layla to their parents? Maybe having people see her be less than a lady was a good thing. This way she’d be able to find out who it was safe to not worry so much around. With a nod, she walked into the usual bar she went to for a good sulk after being scolded and ordered a drink. The problem this time? This new objection to going out too much might have been the last straw. She chose not to stop at her usual two drinks. Tonight, she was going to see how much trouble she would really get in if she broke a few extra rules.

She had planned to leave the bar just when the carnival started so she would only be slightly late but then she noticed a guy looking over at her from across the bar. Although it wasn’t like she couldn’t afford her own drinks, it was always fun to get someone else to pay for them. Newly determined to get this guy to buy her at least one drink, she started her little game. It began with a little flutter of her eyes, a couple more looks, and then a hair flip. Usually that got them to come over or at least order her a drink. Sure enough, after her hair flip she had the guy walking over. 

Layla lost track of time talking to him. It wasn’t that she was incredibly invested in the conversation, rather it was that he kept the conversation going and the drinks flowing. She wasn’t sure how many drinks he ended up buying her, just that she never refused him. His name was Rick. What was really interesting about him? He was a high school drop out and a muggle. This was the kind of guy that her parents would hate her to be around. Of course, that was exactly why she gave him her number. When he offered her a ride home or to his place she shook her head no. “Not tonight,” she said. Instead she told him to go home before he got too drunk to remember her. Only in the morning would he be allowed to contact her, any sooner and she would ignore him. By the time he left, Layla was pleased. Not only did she have a better reason to use her phone now, she had gotten him to buy her more drinks than she had planned on drinking.

#fhwc8

[still-crushin-it-blog]

Deja Vu All Over Again || FHWC8

3 Weeks Before the Incident

Cale had been wandering aimlessly around town, passing the time as usually did, going wherever his feet decided they wanted to go. There were so many eclectic little shops in this town, and browsing stores was one of those few activities one could do for free. Besides, watching mysterious magical items was even more entertaining after a few tokes. Smiling dreamily, Cale opened the door to a shop he’d never been in before. A heavy smell of incense wrapped around him like a welcoming hug, and he was grateful as it masked the lingering scent of weed on his clothing. Gazing around, he took in the high, completely cluttered shelves. Every surface was taken up by strange objects; pointed gemstones hanging from silver strands, a wall of various kinds of tea and accompanying elaborate tea sets, hand-painted tarot cards, Ouija boards of fine hardwood, and so much more. Cale’s mouth came open a little as he stared, a hand coming up to scratch his chest absently. This place seemed very delicate and refined, two things he definitely was not, but he wasn’t unused to the atmosphere. After all, his parents were quite rich and esteemed people. Besides, Cale’s feet had taken him here. He’d gone with the flow; time to see where the flow had taken him. Walking further into the store lazily, he browsed the wares. Happening on a shelf of crystal balls, he grinned, making faces in the rounded glass, watching his reflection warp. Distracted by this, he almost didn’t see the other movement, deep within the glass, as if it were hovering in the centre of the globe. Squinting, he peered closer. It was… A turtle. Two turtles, actually. Swimming in the ocean, and talking apparently, though he couldn’t hear what they were saying. He blinked, widened his eyes, shook his head. But every time he looked back at the ball, the image materialized again. And what was even weirder was that the turtles…they seemed vaguely familiar somehow. But that was as ridiculous as talking turtles. He puffed out his cheeks. “Man, what was in that weed?” he grumbled to himself, turning away from that ball and facing another. This one was nicer. A fair scene, all bright lights and colours lighting up the night. And in the background a huge Ferris wheel, spinning, spinning, spinning and…and getting closer? He frowned, his eyes widening with terror as the wheel crashed through the booths. People ran, screaming past him, bodies flew from the wheel as people tried desperately to jump from their otherwise sure deaths. The wheel spun past him, missing by a few hundred metres. His line of sight turned, watching the wheel pass, when he locked eyes with someone packing up their booth for the night, looking at the screaming people with confusion and concern. Someone who hadn’t noticed the wheel’s detachment. Someone who was right in its direct path. Cale gave a terrified shout has the wheel demolished the booth and continued on its way. The scene panned in slowly, closer to the crushed booth. An arm stuck out of the wreckage, twitching with the last energy of the nearly dead, a rapidly spreading stain in the fabric of the tent as it soaked up so much blood… Cale’s hands clamped around his mouth, his whole body shaking as the image faded. What the hell had that been? Was this what wizards decorated their houses with? What kind of sick and twisted person had made this thing? A hand found his shoulder, and he yelped at the sudden touch. Turning, he took in the grumpy-looking shopkeeper. “Are you buying anything? Or just here to loiter and scream?” Cale’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. The shop keep sighed. “I have the finest anti-burglary spells on the block. Take your dirty, sticky fingers someplace else.” Grumbling, he hobbled away, leaving Cale to make a break for it. Moving as fast as his legs would carry him in his inebriated state, he made a mental note never to buy weed from that particular dealer ever again.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Day of the Incident

Sure, the images he’d seen in the crystal ball were enough to make the fair seem unappealing, but Cale wasn’t one to pass up a good time. It had only been some weird drug-induced trip, anyways. He’d had his fair share of bad drug experiences, and none of them had kept him from having a good time before. Getting a funnel cake from one of the food booths, he sat munching it and people watching for a bit, making friendly conversation where he could. He considered going on a ride. Something was nagging him at the back of his mind, but he pushed it away. Probably something he had to do. He was an old pro at ignoring responsibilities, so dismissing this feeling was nothing new. It wasn’t until he turned a corner, realized the familiar setup, that the feeling rebounded in full force. He stopped chewing, his face going slack, the plate slipping through his fingers to the ground. Everything was how it had been placed in the crystal ball, down to the last scrap of garbage, the last sign, the last booth… And that’s when it happened. The awful crash, the screams, the giant wheel spinning fast, careening towards him, people running past him, him in shock, too shocked to move, too shocked to warn the person he turned to lock eyes with in their booth as the wheel crashed towards them…and over them. The wheel, continuing. His feet, moving, his line of sight panning in to look at the wreckage, the twitching arm, the bloody tent, so much blood. The arm stopped twitching before his eyes, breaking the horrific real-life replay he’d been experiencing. Blinking, he promptly sat beside the ruined booth, uncaring that his cargo shorts would very probably be covered in red stains from the ground. His face blank, he wrapped his arms around his knees, staring straight ahead. He’d seen this. He might have prevented this, had he known what he’d seen. Or would he have? Responsibility wasn’t really his cup of tea. He’d have probably forgotten, dismissed it. After all, he wouldn’t have wanted to stop the carnival. He was no party pooper, and he didn’t take anything seriously until something bad happened. And he was the bum that wandered around town. No one would have taken him seriously anyways. And how had he known? What was happening to him? Was this all his fault? Muddled, lost, confused, and scared, Cale waited for nothing in particular, feeling like even more of a child than usual.

#FHWC8 #selfie #tw: blood #tw: death #tw: drugs

[rozalierapunzel]

Strange Places || Writing Challenge

She pushed herself up in the bed...bed? What was she doing in bed? That explained it, the fair, the devastation, it had all been a bad dream, the fair, that night in London, the war, they were all just a horrible dream...except the scent of the sheets was unfamiliar, the creak of the mattress strange to her ears. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked around, this wasn’t her room at Hogwarts or Gothel’s...it wasn’t even her room at her castle. Her bright green eyes widened, she had no idea where she was, she tried thinking back as far as she could, but all she could remember was passing out next to two boys she had met at the carnival...

She felt her heart drop to her stomach and she looked down immediately, relief flooding into her when she noted that she was still wearing her clothes from last night. Wasting no time she swung aching limbs over the side of the bed, tripping over a suitcase she grabbed onto the door handle and turned it, swinging the door open.

She had to find Ulf. Ulf had gone with her to the carnival, she needed to find him or a familiar face at least. She didn’t know whether she could trust the place and taking into consideration the attempts made on her life she couldn’t waste time mulling it over. The Hallways were nearly barren and this made her nervous. Ulf would take care of her though, he would take her back to Montsolei and she could start putting everything behind her.

She crept as quietly as she could down the stairs, she recognized the place now, it was the three broomsticks. She was in Hogsmeade, that was good right? It meant she could just open the door and find her way home...

FLASH!

Rozalie staggered back as she was blinded momentarily, her vision was filled with dark spotchy spots and someone was talking to her, “Princess Rampion Corona,” he said, “what happened to you the night of the carnival? What explanation do you have to give the worried people of Corona for your absence? Have you heard about the death of one of your beloved guardians, a mime by the name of Ulf?”

That last one got her, “Ulf? No...” she shook her head, backing away from the reporter, “no, you’re lying!” Her body began to shake, it was too much, too much at once.

“Yes, what a bitter tragedy, can you explain to us why you’re leaving an inn with ripped up clothes, messy hair and no shoes? The public will be very curious considering the picture?”

It was too much. It was the war all over again, first Wally and now Ulf? How many more would die trying to keep her safe? Her vision blurred with tears and she ran. She wasn’t one to run away from people or her problems but she ran from this one, straight for the auror’s office and the Floo back home.

#FHwc8

[notbotheringstuff]

I tried so hard || Writing challenge

When he heard what happened he rushed to the scene of the fair but was brushed to the side. His help wasn’t wanted, he was a squib, what could he do? He insisted he could do a lot, he knew he could do a lot, he knew some first aid, he knew a thing or two about simple machines and ways to help people escape from wreckage. Despite all these things he knew, he wasn’t welcome there, not to help, not to do anything. No one wanted him around because it was clear he didn’t belong there or anywhere for that matter.

He stumbled away into the streets clutching his head, “AAAAAAh,” he howled out in gutteral frustration. Why had he been born this way? Why had he been stuck between to worlds, two realities and why couldn’t he fully engage with either of them? He had no friends, no real friends because they had all either chosen sides or had grown distant from his refusal to choose one. WHy did he have to choose one? What made those damned magic eople think that he was so damned useless? What made them think they were so special? What?!

Tears were streaming down his cheeks but he wiped them away and got to his feet. They had just been lucky enough to born to belong, that was the only reason they acted that way, so superior, plain, dumb luck. Christopher had just been born unlucky and although certain people said they believed in him they were still protective as if he needed the protecting, the shielding.

He made his way to his house, seething with rage, he didn’t know why he felt so entitled to help, maybe it was because he had never been given a chance...mostly, he was sure it was because this was his town as much as anyone else’s. It was his town, it had pretty well always been but no one else seemed to feel that way.

And he was done with it.

Crashing through the door to his house, he didn’t bother trying to be quiet. His family was all gone helping anyway, it didn’t matter if he was loud enough to wake the dead. He stomped up his stairs and went straight for his room. They thought they were so superior because of their magic did they? Well fine, Christopher would just have to level the playing field then.

He opened the door to his closet and went straight for the back, digging under a pile of clothes until he found it. The potion. All he had to do was take it and then they would have to take him seriously, the would have to. In frantic, frustrated desperation he yanked the cork out of the bottle, stuck the rim to his lip and tilted the bottle back.

It tasted like shit. He had expected it would.

Nothing happened and for a moment he was...relieved? But that moment was short lived as soon after he found himself convulsing on the floor, his body felt like fire and there was a terrible taste in his mouth, like bile. Was his body rejecting the potion? Was he allergic to something in it? Was he dying? Maybe it was all three.

He tried to breath...

Finally, the convulsions stopped and he rushed into the bathroom, knowing he was going to hurl. With shaking hands clutching the sides of the toilet bowl, he heaved, but nothing came out. There must have been fox glove in the potion, he had an intolerance to the stuff and there must not have been much because he was still alive.

He finally stopped heaving and fell backwards onto the shower mat with a groan. Taking a potion without checking the ingredients had been one of his less brilliant ideas...at least it didn’t work. He was grateful for that....

#fhwc8 #TW: vomiting #TW: alergic reaction

[sally-finkelstein-blog]

Accursed Places || Writing Challenge

She wished she could say that the news came as a shock to her but by now it simply didn’t. She lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, she had been in her home so infrequently since she started her job. The place was beginning to feel like someone else’s room, it was beginning to take on that smell. She sat up and studied her hands as if she would find any answers to the questions that plagued her mind on the lines and creases of her palms.

Sally had unusually smooth palms, the lines there were very clear but there weren’t many extra creases, during divination class it had made them very tricky to read. She crossed her legs, if she hadn’t pursued being an auror, she would have pursued divination. Sally was never one to form opinion based on assumptions, she had always built her view of the universe based on tried and tested fact. What she had found in her experience was that a person’s gut instinct had a tendency to be dead on almost always...at least hers had. It was frustrating in that it felt as though she were, on occasion, twisting facts to suit theories but then again she had never been wrong.

Still, she kept that part of herself quiet lest she become a Cassandra, proclaiming the truth of tomorrow only for no one to listen to her. She wondered how Clark was doing in that moment, her heart was filled with worry over him,a carnival seemed like it would be the closest thing to a natural habitat for the man. Her heart worried but her gut told her he was fine...or alive and uninjured at least. There was just something in the wind...and it told her that he might need time for reflection.

If he was going to reflect, she would as well but not on the events of the carnival, no, her mind was stuck on something she feared was bigger than a single incident. The mysterious person named O. What did this O stand for? What was his game here in Hogsmeade, what did he stand to gain....did he have anything to do with the Ferris wheel? She was unsure. All she really knew about it was that Hogsmeade was an accursed place, nothing good ever seemed to happen there...

...well, almost nothing, but those were thoughts for another time. Instead she would think about the inevitable investigation to follow in the next few days...

#fhwc8

[belle-moore-blog]

Where are you...mother? || Writing Challenge

Jennifer ran through the battlefield, narrowly avoiding mine fields as she searched for her mother amongst the chaos. People were screaming and crying but not her, never her, Jennifer didn’t scream or cry. She was an army corporal, she had to be tough as nails and even stronger than that. She had people depending on her, she couldn’t let them down, especially now that the enemy had her mother.

Jen wasn’t about to just loose that woman, the most important woman in her life. She was going to fight for her, no matter what happened, she would fight, she wouldn’t give up, it was all she could do. All she knew how to do. A scream broke her focus though, a child...what was a child doing here?

She turned and saw them trapped under wreckage, she pushed it off as quickly as she could, her hands stinging with splinters. “GO!” she yelled at them. They looked up at her with eyes shimmering with tears before taking off out of the battle zone. With the child saved, its was back to searching for her mother...

...then she saw her, laying on the ground, alive, she had to be alive. What was the point of it all if she wasn’t? She dashed for her and crouched next to her body, rolling the woman over so that she was in her lap. Her chest didn’t move, her mother...her mother never made it...

snap

Belle’s face blanked and as the darkness faded she glanced around her, confused. The carnival? She...she had decided not to go to that, there was weight in her arms and her lap. She looked down and screamed, “AAAAH!” she was holding onto a dead body, their face mangled with their final moments of terror. Quickly without much thought, she shoved it off of her and stumbled back.

She tried to catch her breath but he couldn’t, the last thing she remembered was being alone in her room, she was reading...and now she was here. People were panicking around her but there were still some that stared at her in judgement, likely at her apparent callous treatment of the dead woman. Tears blurred her vision as she began to cry, getting to her feet she ran away because if there was one thing Belle wasn’t, it was strong and tough as nails. All she seemed to know how to do was scream and cry...

#tw:death #TW: gore #fhwc8

[holdonandfeelibelong]

Written in the stars || Writing Challenge.

Jim Hawkins had been at school the night of the fair, he had told Ariel that he would go but...something held him back. Perhaps it was running into her in London that prevented him from going, perhaps he was just scared to have fun again. It had been so long since he had genuine non-life threatening fun, he wasn’t even sure he knew how to anymore. He supposed that relearning how to be happy was a good enough start to justify skipping the fair to do some more work in the astronomy tower.

He was tracking a comet, according to the divination professor, it was supposed to be an omen of fire and chaos to come. Jim was never so superstitious to buy into such nonsense...but fire and chaos had him concerned. Fire and chaos were words that always had him concerned. With his eyes to the sky he decided to do the old man a favour and track the damned thing. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. Well, he did, he could go to the fair but that wasn’t actually going to happen.

His eye was on the view piece of the telescope when the comet flared, it was bright and sudden and he stumbled back, shielding his eyes. Quickly he took note of it and returned back to viewing it...but it had vanished. Jim furrowed his brows and cursed, that was impossible, comets didn’t up and disappear, at least not comets of that size. It was around eight at night...

...he continued to look for it for nearly an hour before he gave up and sat on the edge of the platform, looking out at the fair...but something was wrong. The lights were on but the Ferris wheel wasn’t spinning anymore, in fact, it was gone. His eyes narrowed again, that was impossible, maybe his vision was off? No, he never had problems seeing things that were far away, just things that were up close. What he saw at the fair was fire and chaos...

His eyes widened, names flashed through his mind...

He got up, immediately collected his jacket and his broom and flew down to make sure that every name in his mind was accounted for.

#fhwc8

[misunderstood-badboy-blog]

An Unwelcome War Machine // Selfie

A carnival. That was benign right? Finally, something normal was happening in the town -- something that Marco could actively participate in. Sure, it might be a little strange since he found himself going alone, but it was better than not at all. Of course, he’d have to be cautious still. His pursuer was still out there, and he hadn’t heard back from the aurors yet. It would likely take a while since they had little to no information to go off of. In any case, he needed a break from constantly looking over his shoulder. Maybe sketchy rides and overly fried food would do him good.

Once at the fair, the teen bought the tickets he needed to for the rides, deciding that these would have to be enough. If he ran out, he ran out. Since he only needed to worry about himself, they should last him the entire evening. He pocketed the tickets and began his quest for some form of amusement.

After about an hour of fun and games, the muggle was ready to wind down and head home -- but, he wasn’t about to waste the last few tickets he had. Deciding that the ferris wheel was the most relaxing ride there, he lazily made his way over to the line. His stomach grumbled in protest as he meandered over, so he stopped for a corndog and some cotton candy. The teen figured he would be able to eat more, and for free, when he got home. When his corndog was finished, he headed back towards the ferris wheel once more. As he waited in the relatively short line, he picked at the bag of candy.

When it was his turn to get on, he handed the operator his last few tickets and took his seat in the cage. It was a little claustrophobic, but he could handle it. It wasn’t like ferris wheels were notorious for going fast or being overly dangerous. They just got stuck once in a blue moon -- if this was the blue moon, he could probably handle being stuck. He had some sort of sustenance, even if it wasn’t exactly ‘healthy’. Marco sat back in his car, waiting as the empty seats were filled. The slow motion of the ride was a little relaxing; plus, it would be hard for anyone to hurt him while he was in the air. Closing his eyes, the teen listened to the sounds of the carnival, took in the weird fried smells, and waited. When the last car was finally loaded, and the ride began to move, Marco opened his eyes. The view was, admittedly, stunning. It wasn’t the tallest ride he’d been on, but still, the view was great. If he could learn to ride a broom, this view could be a regular thing. The teen’s mind drifted to his first, and only, broom ride, leaving him to smile a little. He’d also seen something posted about quidditch practice -- which was something that also caught his attention. The only sports he had ever been ‘interested’ in were karate and  football [soccer], and even then his soccer was less than a mild interest. He sighed as his car rotated towards the bottom. As it did, the ride let out an awful groan and lurched forward. That definitely wasn’t right. The many screams and cries of carnival goers proved this. Marco gripped one of the outside bars of the cage, sitting forward as the wheel hit the ground. The teen fell into the other side of the car painfully, though he needed to act. Adrenaline and panic surged through him. He needed to get out, desperately. Marco fumbled around with the cage lock, his hands sweaty and shaking. If he wasn’t in this sort of situation, it would have been easy. The lock wasn’t meant to be complex -- it was meant for safety and convenience.

When he finally unlocked the cage door, he swung the door open, his eyes wide. Of course he was at the top. Why wouldn’t he be? Of course he had to wait to get out. Marco knelt down, trying to keep his balance in the shaking car as he waited for it to get closer to the ground. He looked at the other cars, hoping everyone inside them was alright. Some others seemed to have the same idea as he did. The teen bit his lip as his car neared the ground, and, when the time was right, he jumped out. As soon as he did, he regretted it. His foot crumpled underneath him with a sickening crack, leaving him to cry out as he hit the ground. His eyes watered as an intense pain shot up from his ankle. His own screams added to the ones that echoed in the air. He couldn’t move -- he couldn’t do anything but cry out and wait for help. Marco gripped at the flattened grass underneath him, the sounds around him sounding farther and farther away as the seconds passed. The world spun around him and, slowly, his vision darkened to black.

“Hey, hey…” Marco stirred as someone gently shook his shoulder. He blinked slowly as the person in front of him helped him sit up. Where was he? Oh, right… The carnival. The teen rubbed his eyes slowly, staring ahead of him. Most of the screams had died down and were replaced with crying and whimpering. He looked at his ankle, which had been propped up and wrapped in a cool cloth, didn’t hurt nearly as bad as it had before. Why? He heard it break -- he felt it. At least, he was sure that was what happened. He didn’t care much, though. There was a more pressing matter.

“Was it stopped..?” The girl next to him nodded solemnly.

“Yeah. A group of boys stopped it.” That was good at least.

“My ankle-.” He was cut off.

“It looks broken -- we’re going to fix it as soon as possible.”

“Wait, n-.”

“Just rest for a bit. Okay?”

“Rest?” The request was ridiculous -- but, he was in no shape to fight it. Marco sighed and laid back down, trying to drown out the world around him. “I’m never going to a carnival again,” he muttered. A few minutes passed before someone else approached him -- this time, it was a much older man.

“Excuse me! Young man, I have a few questions…” Questions? Who was this man? Why did he want him to answer questions?

“Uhm… Uh… Sure..”

“I see you have a swollen ankle there, can you tell me how you got that?”

#selfie #an unwelcome war machine #fhwc8 #read more for style points #tw: injury #tw: vague chaos #this was better in my head #oh well

[theres-good-noose-tonight]

Supporting Role in a Tragedy // Self Para

Large parties were beautiful–all elegant appearances and layered conversations, but carnivals? Carnivals were messy. Wild, unpredictable occasions, bubbling with all the laughter and recklessness that a party might suppress. In its own way, a carnival was just as beautiful.

Attending had seemed like the only reasonable option for Clark, so he had gone without question. Was he meant to resist such a delightful atmosphere? If so, the universe must have been mistaken. There was something about the fair which left him ecstatic, with far too much energy than he knew well what to do with. 

He should have known; beautiful things don’t stay beautiful for long. Perhaps in another’s eyes, tragedy sparkles in a way that makes it alluring, but that isn’t the case for most. Tied up in the glittering mess that was the carnival, there was bound to be something terrible.

When the large wheel came tumbling down, he stood a fair distance away, eyes wide in horror. There were screams–loud and piercing, sparking what spiraled into sheer unstoppable chaos. It felt a little like he was watching the events unfold from through a window. Almost like he wasn’t there at all. 

“Help! Please help!”

This scream was close, snapping him out of the strange trance he had fallen into. Unsure of how long he had been standing there, he finally moved again. It only took a moment to spot a young girl standing a short distance away, arms around another girl, who couldn’t be any older than a first year. By the looks of it, the younger wasn’t conscious, her body limp in the older girl’s arms. Oh. Oh no.

Without hesitating, Clark ran to them, skirting around a few passing strangers who ran in fear. He stopped beside the two of them, eyes looking from one to the other. 

“Please, h-help my s-s-sister. I don’t know what t-to do.” The oldest was speaking in between sobs, her face smeared with tears and dirt. Then her grip on her sister slipped, and she let out a strangled cry.

Clark lunged to catch her before she hit the ground, pulling her small frame close. After taking a quick instant to steady himself, he knelt, looking down at the small girl in his arms. She was filthy–coated in dirt and hair matted with blood. It only took a quick look to see that her head had been injured, and she was bleeding out quicker than he had time to fix. With a trace of fear, he looked up at the girl’s trembling sister. “I’ll try.” Two words. Two words and a promise he knew he couldn’t keep.

He was racking his brain for spells as he took out his wand, wondering briefly if there was time to take her to St. Mungos. But he knew there wasn’t–not if she continued like this.

Then the air shifted.

Tensing, he looked back at the young girl, praying desperately for his assumption to be wrong. She didn’t appear to be breathing any longer. Carefully, he brought his fingers to wrist, then to her throat. Nothing. She was gone.

For a long moment, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. She was so small. So naive and innocent and undeserving...and gone. Painfully, he finally looked up again, meeting the fearful pair of eyes that watched him. “I’m sorry, little one.” A broken whisper of an apology, tearing apart the silence which had formed. 

With loud sobs, the girl sank to her knees, her whole body shaking. Clark felt his own eyes grow wet, but he couldn’t do that. No, this girl didn’t need that. So with gentle movements, he laid her sister’s head on the ground, and reached out for the crying girl. She let him pull her into a hug, reaching out to grasp at the edges of his shirt. And with her face in his shoulder and his arms protecting her, she cried.

They stayed like that for a long time, him keeping an eye on the chaos around them, should it threaten to put this girl in any more danger. He thought about calling for Sally–she was his lifeline, after all. She could help. But he didn’t want to move. Not until he needed to. 

When her crying became only silent tears, she leaned back again. He dropped his arms, but didn’t move, watching her with sadness. “Where are your parents?” He asked after a moment, voice soft. 

She shrugged, wiping at her cheeks. “Home. I can walk.” Her gaze shifted to the unmoving body of her sister, and she visibly shivered. Then she looked back at him, renewed terror in her expression. “I don’t wanna go by myself.”

The tone of her voice threatened to break his heart, but he nodded his understanding. Wordlessly, he stood and held out a hand to her, waiting for her to take it and stand up. Standing up was never easy, when you felt like you had been dragged so far down, but she did it. With questioning eyes, she looked from Clark to her sister, and back again. 

“I’ll tell your parents,” he squeezed her small hand in his, hoping the promise would settle her worries as best it could. “Now, lead the way.”

The home was only a few blocks away, and when he knocked, the door flew open. Two worried parents stared back at him, then waited for his explanation. In the end, he wasn’t sure which was harder; seeing the girl die, or watching the hope slip out of her parents eyes when he told them what had happened. But through the tears and devastation, they thanked him for bringing their daughter home. As if gratitude had any place in a situation like this.

The girl had given him a hug as he turned to leave, and as he stepped outside again, a thought lingered at the forefront of his mind. Something about fate. Days ago, he had said that tragedy was a constant. A brutal, unforgiving complication, but a necessity to life. Nothing could change that. But he was staring to fear for the hands that tragedy played, and that alone left him a little empty. Again, the odd thought crossed his mind–but this time, he mumbled it softly.

“If time spent together is a comedy, it could be coincidence. And if it is a tragedy? It must be fate.”

#self para #fhwc8 #tw: death #tw: blood