My storeez, let me show you them
Nov. 11th, 2007 01:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
book_worm5I don't think I'll say "it's alive!" again, because you can see how well that worked out. At any rate, I wrote some things lately, and I finally decided to put them up for you guys to have a look at. Just a couple of one-shots about some characters we don't learn much about in Potter canon. They were both created from drabble prompts, but apparently I can't keep things that short. I did manage to make the second one exactly 300 words, though. :-)
Horace didn't remember much of his father. Mostly just the large form and booming voice, sometimes a rough pat or two while he was playing under the table. But there were two occasions that somehow stuck in his memory.
The first was when he was quite small, some meal or other. Probably breakfast, because he remembered the sausages. He'd been reaching for another; his mother, poised to stop him, saying he'd had enough, was forestalled by his father's hand.
"Oh, let him, Mirabella, he's enjoying it!" he'd said, turning seriously to Horace. "Always enjoy your food, son," he said, patting Horace on the shoulder. "Enjoy everything you can in life, because you never know when you might not have it."
The second time he'd been a bit older, on his way to be tutored with the other nearby magical children. His father caught up to him at the door, once again putting a hand on his shoulder.
"I want you to try to make friends at this place," he began. "Friends can sometimes help you out when other people can't. You'll need a few some day." The man's mood shifted into one more familiar, and he beamed. "Now, go on!" he said, propelling Horace out the door with a slap on the back, hurrying him towards the waiting carpet. "Go and learn some things, and have fun!"
Soon afterwards, Ephrem Slughorn disappeared. Horace never saw his father again.Regulus dropped the goblet with a clang. That had been...horrible. Like being around a Dementor, only he didn't just hear things. He physically felt all his worst memories happening, over and over, but he'd made himself go on. He was pretty sure the potion wouldn't leave him alive, or if it did, he'd be a quivering husk. He had to finish it now.
"Kreacher," he said hoarsely, "Exchange them."
The house-elf scrambled over, scooping Slytherin's locket from the floor and placing Regulus' prepared fake inside the goblet.
Shakily, Regulus set it upright again, and watched it refill over his replacement. His mouth firmed, and he drew his wand.
"Take that one home, Kreacher. St-sto--" he coughed. "Store it with the heirlooms."
"Master Regulus must come with me," the elf pleaded, tugging on his arm.
"No. I can't. I won't make it. I'll clear a path into the lake, but as soon as we pass the wards, you leave. And don't tell anybody. That's an order."
Kreacher nodded reluctantly, cowed, and they moved toward the boat.
As soon as the hull touched the water, movement exploded. Regulus fired his most powerful propulsion charm, speeding them forward. "Incendio!" he yelled at the nearest corpse. Now wasn't the time to try nonverbal.
The exertion drove him to his knees, with the potion in his system, but he knew he'd have to do more. They weren't far enough yet.
I'll disappear...they'll probably think he killed me. But I'll know...I went out in, heheh, in a real blaze.
He forced himself to his feet, and pointed his wand to the bow. "Flagrate Maximus!" he bellowed. His legs were shaking, but his wand arm was steady.
I just bet...Sirius would be proud...
A small smile crossed his face, and he charged forward into the flames.
There you go. Hope you enjoyed them.
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