not your typical annihilatrix (furiosity) wrote,
not your typical annihilatrix
furiosity

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Fics: First and Last [AD/GG; PG-13] | Fourth Year [Neville; G] | To Flee and Remember [Snitch; G]

Three more of the Hogsmeade fics. The only excuse I have for the first one is severe sleep-dep. The second one is really random because I think I already said everything I wanted to say about a world with Neville as the BHL in Phantasmagoria.

The third one is. Um. Well, let's just say I took the prompt literally and tried to speak from the "mind" of an inanimate object, rather than writing omniscient POV with gratuitous personification. It was fun.

Title: First and Last
Author: furiosity
Genre: Drama/Romance
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Dumbledore/Grindelwald
Warning: Enough sap to revive a very dead tree.
Disclaimer: JKR owns. I only play. You do not sue.
Length: 900 words
Summary: Gellert Grindelwald's first prison letter came precisely fifty-two years after the beginning of his stay at Nurmengard.
Beta: None.
Note: Written back in October for a contest in hogsmeade_elite. The prompt was to out Dumbledore. Second place winner.
Concrit: Always welcome and appreciated.

First and Last


Gellert Grindelwald's first prison letter came precisely fifty-two years after the beginning of his stay at Nurmengard. He knew who had written it as soon as he saw the flowing script addressing him.

Gellert,

I am dying. I have faced evil and lost. Details are immaterial; suffice it to say that a sizeable portion of my youthful arrogance remained to me, and it has proven to be my downfall. There is a cursed darkness inside me that is growing stronger every day. It will not consume me. I will not die a crippled wreck. My death will serve the greater good. I can almost see you smiling, my old friend.

When last I saw you we had duelled, and at the time I thought I was battling evil. I hated you for what you had become, for what you had almost made me become. I am not sure how informed you are about current events, but you may have heard of a man who calls himself Lord Voldemort, though his name is Tom Riddle. Like you, he is a Dark wizard. Unlike you, he has no purpose beyond doing evil.

Sometimes I dream how it could be, if we stood side by side against him. Even now that I'm older and wiser. Facing him has shown me that even at your worst, you still had a conscience, twisted though it may have been. This man has none; his greater good is his own gain alone. It is the struggle against him that has ended me, but the manner of my death shall also spell his doom.

It might interest you that I have, for a time, had the Deathly Hallows in my possession. Two of them still are. The third belongs to a remarkable young man who is everything I wish I could have been. That I wish we both could have been: you and I.

And yet, I am using him as a pawn. After all the years I've spent trying to do good, to get away from memories of what I had done, what I had believed, I am throwing this young man at the mercy of fate, guided by nothing but prophecy and intuition. The more time wears on, the more I realise that I had never quite stopped being like you. I still believe in the greater good, though I daresay it is quite different from yours.

Look how I natter on, avoiding the true reason for this letter. I shall take many secrets to the grave with me, but this one I must leave in your hands, for it concerns you directly -- it is your secret as much as it is mine.

It is said that those we love hurt us the most. I cannot forgive you for Ariana. Not in this life. Yet I cannot deny that I loved you.

I loved you, Gellert. Not as a brother or a friend. You came into my life like a snowstorm in July, dazzled me with your brilliance, bewitched me with your simple beauty. For a time, we shared a dream; I wanted us to share a life, to be as one. Your proximity was enough to awaken my senses to the point I thought I must scream or I would disintegrate, and still every shred of me would cry out for your touch.

You were my biggest mistake, and my love for you is my darkest secret. I have told no one. I have loved no one else since, and though you've disappointed me and torn my life to pieces, I love you still. I have not forgiven you, but I love you.

I have received every one of your letters. They lie unopened in a chest beside my desk. I have not opened them because my love has made me weak once, and I was afraid it would do so again. Perhaps I shall find time to read them before the end comes. If I do not, I am sure you will find me, after.

It was you who taught me that death is but the next great adventure, and though it's foolish, you are the one with whom I wish to embark upon it.

I will wait for you, my friend. My enemy. My love.

Gellert's vision blurred so much that he could not see the signature. He didn't need to. Albus. He was an old man now -- they both were -- but Gellert remembered a shock of auburn hair and a ready smile, a brilliant smile and cool blue eyes.

How those eyes had blazed when Albus would look at him; had he thought Gellert blind? He'd known, he'd always known, but his courage had failed him then, because Albus used to turn Gellert's insides to knotted tangles with his mere presence.

He gripped the letter tightly and wept, eyes open, rocking back and forth on the narrow bed. How pathetic he must have looked: a frail old man with unkempt hair and scraggly beard, lamenting his irrevocably lost youth.

If they had both had the courage, their lives might have been so different. They could have stood side by side against this Tom Riddle. They could have shared a life.

I will wait for you... my love.

"And I will be there, Albus. We will yet have our great adventure."

[end]

Title: Fourth Year
Author: furiosity
Genre: AU
Rating: G
Characters: Neville, Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, offscreen Harry and Draco
Disclaimer: JKR owns. I only play. You do not sue.
Length: 666 words
Summary: Neville tells Ron and Ginny about the dream he had of the Riddle house.
Beta: None.
Note: Written back in October for a contest in hogsmeade_elite. The prompt was to write a fic set in a universe where Neville is the Boy Who Lived.
Concrit: Always welcome and appreciated.

Fourth Year


The Dungbomb exploded just as Neville was about to tell Ron and Ginny about his dream.

One of the trunks overhead -- his trunk, Neville realised with a sinking feeling -- gave a loud thump, and a cloud of acrid green smoke filled the compartment. Trevor leaped up from Neville's lap and landed in Ginny's.

"Bloody--" Ron began, but laughter from behind the door swallowed the rest of it.

"Hope you like it, Weasley -- smells just like your house!" shouted a snide voice, followed by the sound of running feet.

Ron pulled a disgusted face. "Potter and Malfoy. Again."

"They're worse than Fred and George," said Ginny, also scowling. She waved her wand at the stinking cloud and made it disappear.

"They're Slytherins; of course they're worse than Fred and George," said Ron.

"Did someone say Fred and George?" The compartment door slid open, and the twins materialised there, grinning for all they were worth.

"We were comparing you to Potter and Malfoy," said Ginny.

Fred looked genuinely disappointed. "Those hopeless amateurs?"

"Pathetic pretenders to the throne," echoed George. "What did they do?" he asked with the air of a ballistics expert, eyeing the wisps of smoke still clinging to Neville's trunk.

"Dungbomb," said Ginny. "One of them probably slipped it into Neville's trunk on the platform."

"That's why they tell you not to leave your valuables unattended, Neville," scolded George. "The 'You Distract Them While I Put a Dungbomb in Their Trunk' trick is as old as the world."

Neville waved him away. "I don't care about Potter and Malfoy's tricks."

"Maybe you should," said Ginny darkly. "Malfoy was with the Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup, remember? I wouldn't be surprised if Potter was with him, too."

"How can you say that?" asked Neville, frowning. "Death Eaters killed Potter's parents--"

"Maybe he doesn't care," interrupted Ron. "He never knew them, did he?"

Bristling, Neville sat up a bit straighter. "I never knew my parents and I care."

"Yeah, but you're not a Slytherin," said Ginny.

"As fascinating as this dramatic interlude is, I'm afraid we have things to see and people to do," said Fred in a perfect imitation of Professor Flitwick's squeaky voice. The twins disappeared, shutting the door.

Neville sighed. "Forget about Potter. I've got to tell you about this dream -- your mum chased us into the kitchen before I could finish." He fingered the scar on his forehead. It had not hurt since the dream, but it... smarted, prickled, as though waiting for more pain.

"Voldemort is back," he said. Ignoring Ron's instant scowl and Ginny's angry hiss, he ploughed on. "He killed an old man. I saw it happen."

Neville recounted everything he could remember of the dream about the graveyard, and the sinister mansion where the old caretaker had taken his last steps. When he was finished, Ron looked terrified, and Ginny wore a thoughtful expression. "Do you think he's still there?" she asked. "The mansion, I mean."

"Dunno," said Neville. "I'd say so, though -- he couldn't even move by himself."

"And Scabbers -- I mean Pettigrew -- is with him," said Ron, glowering. "You should have let Sirius kill him."

Ginny shook her head. "Maybe so, but he owes Neville now, doesn't he? I wonder if You-Know-Who knows that Pettigrew owes a life debt to the Boy Who Lived."

"I don't think it's a life debt," said Neville. "I didn't risk my life to save him."

Their discussion continued for the rest of the journey as the train carried them into another year at Hogwarts. As Neville settled down to sleep later that night, he thought about the certain dangers ahead, about the evil he would surely face again one day.

He had not asked to be the Boy Who Lived; he wanted nothing to do with evil curses and Death Eaters. But he would see it through to whatever end. For his parents, for his friends, and even for Harry Potter.

[end]

Title: To Flee and Remember
Author: furiosity
Genre: Drama
Rating: G
Character: A Snitch
Warning: First-person narrative
Disclaimer: JKR owns. I only play. You do not sue.
Length: 500 words
Summary: The Snitch was not made for any of this.
Beta: None.
Note: Written back in October for a contest in hogsmeade_elite. The prompt was to write a fic from the point of view of an inanimate object from the Potterverse. First place winner (tied with two others).
Concrit: Always welcome and appreciated.

To Flee and Remember


I was made to flee and remember.

When I am set free, I do what I was made for, the beating of my wings the only meaning of my existence. There is a barrier I cannot pass; I glance off it and flee in the other direction, always moving, always fleeing before the grasping hands of two humans. I do not know why they wish to catch me, but I must not let them.

For all my frantic effort, one of them catches me. I did not expect the human touch to be so wet. There is noise: a large crowd, shouting. I cannot understand them. I must remember my human's touch. I will never fly again for another.

I am placed inside a box in a dusty old shed with many others like me. Someone moves me, but he is not the one who caught me. He is fading. I am to remember this fading - an unnamed fear, an alien sensation. I was not made for this.

A sharp point scratches at my shell, and I am to reveal this message only to my human. I cannot remember being caught, but I remember his touch. I am broken in two and remade with a stone to fill my hollow middle. I was not made to carry burdens, and now I cannot fly.

Memory of my captor flares within my shell, and then once more I sense the fading. This happens many times, until I understand that I am to open only when my human is fading just so. I was not made to be a messenger.

There is movement, and other hands. Many other hands. I am prodded, thrown, immersed in liquid, frozen, burned by fire hot enough to melt my shell, but the fading human must have protected me. I was not made to be a toy.

I am passed from hand to hand. All I know is that people are noisy, but only one of them is wet. My captor's touch was wet. I remember. I was made to flee and remember.

My human touches me the way he did when he caught me. Wet. He is not fading. I reveal the message etched upon my shell. The message is gone as though it never was. I wait for him to begin fading, but he does not. I was not made to wait.

I am moved, stored with other things whose purpose is unknown to me. My human makes sounds at me and shakes me; he touches me, but it is not yet time. He is not fading. When will he fade? I was not made to understand.

I rest forgotten amongst other things for a long time until I am in open air again.

My human makes more sounds, but this time I can sense that unnamed fear in his flesh. He is fading. It is time.

I was not made for any of this, but it is now my only purpose.

Fading, I open.

[end]
Tags: fic:character:hp:grindelwald, fic:character:hp:neville, fic:character:hp:snitch, fic:era:hogwarts, fic:fandom:hp, fic:genre:au, fic:genre:drama, fic:genre:romance, fic:length:flash, fic:pairing:dumbledore/grindelwald, fic:post-dh, fic:pov:grindelwald, fic:pov:neville, fic:pov:snitch, fic:type:gen, fic:type:slash
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