The Bookshelf

Fanfiction Username: ChrissyWheeler
Piece Genre: Angst/Tragedy
Submission Piece: It All Started with a Flash (T)

It's a tad longer then 500 Words, I'm sorry for that.. But I honestly couldn't it any further.. I hate the cut already =3
________________________________________________________


Her eyes cracked open, and she blinked three times, temporarily blinded by the blazing sunlight shining in from the one window in her cell. Slowly, the girl sat up her body wracking with blinding pain ending the attempt as soon as it started, causing her to roll over onto her back. Wincing nonstop as she did so.

Her capturer's face grinned at her feeble attempts, tapping his wand against his thigh soundlessly. She wouldn't know he was there, not yet at least.

She grimaced, biting her lower lip, trying to force herself to sit up. Try to remember what happened.. just try. Almost at once, she was greeted with an unwelcome flash black.

“Come on Mummy, let's go play!” A little girl about the age of four managed to squeak between giggles. Her light brown hair, fell out of her pigtails at the side of her face, and obstructed her crystal blue eyes from seeing everything clearly, causing her to trip over her two feet. The girl giggled harder, heaving herself up to a sitting position and looking at her Mom once again. “Muuuuuuuummmmy!” She giggled once again, putting her hands on the ground and pushing herself up. “Muuuummy! I wants-ta pllaayyyy” she jumped up and down. What was left of her pig-tails jumped up and down with her, tickling her face.

Her Mother, was sitting on a blanket, with a basket to the right side with food almost jumping out of it. They had planned this picnic for awhile, and she was going to make this work for her. Her daughter deserved this day of play.

”Muuuum!” the girl moaned out, looking over at her again, and her Mother stood up.

“Alright, alright, Jessica. I'm coming, now.” She said, her voice sweet, soft, she remembered. Almost like honey...

She flashed back into reality. The girl didn't want to remember the rest, what came next... but her mind, didn't listen and poofed back into the memory, almost as if she weren't controlling her mind anymore...

Jessica giggled with delight, grabbing a hold of her Mother's hand and leading her to the swing set on the play ground. A boy was swinging on the swings already. He looked a few years older then Jessica, did, and he looked playful enough. The four year old Jessica, ran over to the guy, and smiled sweetly.

“Hiya! I'm Jessi-ca!” She said, giggling at her own rhyme. The boy raised his eyebrows and shrugged responding with a simple “Hello,” And continued to swing. Jessica didn't want to give up, she was a stubborn child by nature..

“What's your name?” She asked, bouncing on her heels, and her Mother looked to the boy apologetically,

“I'm sorry, she doesn't know when to stop. Come along Jessica, hun.” The boy's eyes sparkled lightly hearing her voice.

“It's quite alright, Miss. I'm Tom.” He smiled lightly, holding out his hand to Jessica, who didn't know anything about shaking hands, so she grabbed his hand and let go of her Mother's pulling Tom off the swing.

Username: Owl
Genre: Drama (and AU. Very, VERY AU. You have been warned.)
Piece: Excerpt from Chapter Three of March to the Empire

The two women watched their loved children walk into the dojo, smiling fondly as they watched Neville hang back while Harry rang the doorbell. They watched until the door closed, and then stood there for a bit, as if waiting for something. Finally, the eldest of the two turned to her younger comrade.

"Lily, dear," she said, uncharacteristically gentle, "I've been noticing something odd for a while, now. Every so often, you look at me as if I'm a mystery you can't figure out." Her voice, though on the surface simply curious, held hints of a hidden certainty.

Lily gulped suddenly. Ever since she'd met the woman, she'd been expecting something like this, but as the years (was it really only two?) had passed, she'd hoped that she'd managed to avoid it. "I-I don't know what you mean, Augusta," she replied, unable to keep the nervousness from her voice.

"Really?" said the older woman in a tone that implied disbelief.

Lily sagged suddenly. "No," she admitted. "I know what you're talking about. I think."

Augusta nodded. "You're a witch, then. I'd thought so."

"If I wasn't, you'd have been in trouble for asking me," observed Lily gloomily.

Augusta shook her head. "Nonsense, dear," she declared firmly. "I'm officially dead, remember?"

Lily nodded, but frowned curiously. "Since we're coming clean, I'd like you to explain that. Your house was burned to a crisp, as I recall."

Augusta nodded. "Yes, but it wasn't my enemies who burned it."

Lily's jaw dropped. "You…you burned your own house? Why?"

Augusta sighed. "Do you know the reason for the attack, Lily?"

Lily's brow creased in thought. "The story was that it was because you were a powerful supporter of the Light, but that's not the reason, is it?"

Augusta shook her head. "No, Lily. It's not well-known, but…Frank, bless his soul, was a squib."

Lily gaped. "A squib?"

Augusta looked at her sharply. "Your point?" she asked coldly.

"Nothing, nothing," said Lily hastily. "It was just unexpected, is all. I mean, the only squib I know is Argus Filch…" Not true, she thought guiltily, but hastily squashed the thought. After all, there wasn't any reason why she should know another, and she wasn't compared to come completely clean just yet.

Augusta's glare softened, and the corners of her mouth turned up into a wry smile. "Yes, quite," she agreed. "At any rate, during the attack I realized that with the Wizarding World the way it was then, even if Frank managed to live to adulthood he'd be miserable, forever looked down upon as a second-class citizen, if not worse."

Lily nodded slowly. "I…guess that makes sense," she agreed thoughtfully. "It's no less than I'd do for Harry."

OWLs Form:

Fanfiction Username: alisonlynn
Piece Genre: Angst/Fluff/Family
Submission Piece: Severus Wishes


“Severus…” Harry started, “Do you ever wish you had been there, the night my p- my mother and James died?”

Severus stopped, his mind blank. How to answer this question? A series of pictures flashed through his mind, telling him what might have been, if he had been there that night.

He was jumping in front of Lily, stopping the beam of light from hitting her. She was trying to get in front of him, while keeping her son away from the curse, trying to save them both. The light hit both of them, but neither died, because of Dumbledore’s theory.

Severus was holding Lily on his couch, stroking her hair as she cried for her best friend, and Harry was holding onto his leg and crying too, for his mother’s tears.

Lily was sitting against the couch, reading a book. Severus was playing with Harry on the floor.

Harry was standing up unsteadily, poking Lily’s large stomach. Severus was standing behind Lily, his arms around her and his head on her shoulder, laughing at the look on Harry’s face.

Severus and Lily were sitting on the couch, looking in wonder at the tiny baby in Lily’s arms. Their daughter looked mostly like Severus, but had Lily’s eyes, hair, and nose. Harry was holding himself up on Severus’s leg, staring at his little sister.

It was many, many years later, and there was a graveyard. It seemed to be full of only generations of Snapes, and it was laid out like a family tree. He and Lily were next to each other. Harry and Rose were beneath them, with their children and their children’s spouses and their children’s children beneath them. There was only one grave, to the left of Lily’s, that did not belong to one of his family. James’s tombstone stood there, defiantly, yet Severus found he did not begrudge the man this place. James had helped Lily when she needed it, and had died for them and his son. James deserved his peace next to Lily. As long as they were both with the woman they loved, even if the love was different, they ought to put aside the silliness of young feuds. It was over. They were dead. And they had both had much happiness in their lives.

Severus came back to the present in a flash, as if his time spent in that other place had truly ended in his death, and he had been sent here for being the terrible murderer he had once been. Are, he reminded himself, This is the real world, and here I am still a murderer. But, upon his return to this reality, he saw Harry standing there, still waiting for an answer, and thought, No…perhaps not Hell after all. They don’t give people gifts like Harry…my son…in that place.

On impulse, the tall, black haired man drew his slightly shorter, black haired son into a hug. For a moment, he felt the reaction he’d never thought to dread, Harry stiffened, and it seemed as if he might pull away. Then, just as Severus started to pull back, he felt Harry smile into his shoulder, and the boy wrapped his own arms around his father.

“Every day.” The dark man whispered, and began to feel slightly less dark.

Username-Irishpen86
Genre-Romance, Angst, Humor
Piece-"Success is Counted Sweetest..."
AN: this is a snippet from my ff.net fanfic. it's about 32 chapters right now. this is just one of my favorite scenes that i actually have typed out.

She smiled to herself, or at least, she thought it was to herself.
“Thinking about him again?” Ginny asked.
Hermione blushed.
“Maybe,” She admitted. “He was up in the astronomy tower a second ago. Watching.”
“He so likes you.” Ginny grinned.
“Who does?” Asked Draco.
“Professor Lupin.” Ginny responded.
“Ginny!” Shouted Hermione.
“Really?” Exclaimed Draco.
“What?” Ginny said. “He won’t tell.” She turned to Draco. “Are you going to tell?”
“Tease, yes. Tell, no.” He answered with a smirk.
Hermione shook her head.
“So…” Draco began. “Professor Lupin. He’s the guy you broke up with me for?”
Hermione nodded sheepishly.
“Wow. I wouldn’t have figured you to fall for a teacher.”
“Oh shut up.” She said. “I didn’t fall for a teacher, I fell for a friend.”
“Or at least that’s her excuse.” Added Ginny.
Hermione glared in her direction.
“Well, does he like you?” Draco asked.
Hermione shrugged.
“How should I know? He keeps changing his mind. One minute we’re talking and having fun, and the next he’s pushing me away.”
“Well, he is a teacher. Maybe he doesn’t want to get fired for dating a student.” Draco ventured.
“There’s no rule against it. I’ve checked.” She stated.
Draco laughed.
“Ever the bookworm. Still though, do you know of any other student dating a teacher?”
“Well, no, but it still doesn’t mean that you can’t.”
“That’s not what I meant. Students don’t want to be accused of favored grading, do they?”
“Like Professor Lupin would ever do that.” Ginny countered.
“Yeah,” Added Hermione. “He’d probably have someone else grade my papers if he even thought about grading unfairly.”
“Still not what I meant.” Draco said exasperatedly. “Maybe he’s more worried about your reputation than his.”
“I’m not 5. I can handle a little criticism.”
Ginny shook her head. “I’m starting to see where Malfoy is coming from. I mean, you’re known as a know-it-all. If you date a teacher, everyone is going to wonder how you got that title.”
Hermione looked confused for a moment, until comprehension appeared on her face, and her eyes started to mist over.
“I see.” She choked out.
“Hermione, we know you’re not like that, but there are the Slytherins.” Draco looked affronted. Ginny ignored him and kept going. “And all of the people you don’t know very well or at all don’t have anything to compare to.”
“What? So they’re just going to believe some random rumor naming me a slut?!”
“Yes. I’m not saying it’s right, but it’s likely.” Ginny finished.
Hermione nodded and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
“Gotta love high school.” She muttered.
She checked her watch and sighed.
“Time for class.”
Draco frowned, eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. “What’s high school?”

Fanfiction Username: tambrathegreat
Piece Genre: Family/Romance
Submission Piece: Severus' Perfect Spouse



If anyone asked before Severus’ ignoble and prematurely reported death, ‘who would be his perfect spouse;’ most would have scoffed at the idea that there could be such a creature. The less polite recipient of the question would have pointed to the nearest hag and had a laugh at the hag’s expense. The thought that he could attract a human partner, with his obvious physical deficiencies and his acidic manner, would have sent both acquaintance and foe into paroxysms of laughter.

Yet, here he stood, nineteen years later, very much alive with a woman on his arm and two children, a boy and a girl, before him. The woman was plump, redheaded and American in her manner of dress. She was his approximate age with the softening of the features that came faster in women than men. She had a sharp, bird-like quality in her gaze and an economy of movement that might be called grace in a taller woman. Her nose, while nowhere as beaky or hooked as her husbands, was quite a prodigious accessory that dominated her features with a certain pride of place.

She was handsome, not beautiful. She was smartly dressed, but no fashion plate.

Severus stared ahead, bending stiffly to treat his daughter to a muttered observation. The girl smiled, revealing white teeth behind thin, pale lips. The boy peered around as if in awe of the foreigners who surrounded them. He pointed at the shiny magically powered engine as he looked up at the woman. She laughed and patted the boy’s back in response.

Severus’ austere features relaxed as he observed the interaction between the woman and his dark-eyed son. His wife turned to him, and to the surprise of all who knew the Potions Master before his supposed death, kissed his cheek.

Soon the children were boarding the Hogwarts Express and the casual observer of the tableaux then saw the twisted appearance of Severus’ limbs, and the awful way he leaned on an aluminium crutch as he swung around to exit the platform. A more astute observation could be made about the woman who aided him without compromising his dignity. She lent her strength as he moved painfully past the barrier and into Muggle London, the look of pride and love in her eyes enough to make even those who did not know the former Death Eater’s past pause in contemplation of how their own spouse should behave in similar circumstance.

Finally, as they trudged to the car park, the woman’s face was shadowed with gentle sorrow as she helped him to his seat in the car, and smoothed his brow. A few words passed between them and then he reached up with his twisted fingers and brushed her cheek with his knuckles.

“You are perfect,” he said.

“I’m glad you noticed.” She bestowed the same brilliant smile upon him that one might see on a child’s face, and then she kissed him once again. “Let’s go home. It’s been a long day.”


This was a piece written as an exercise for a Yahoo group to which I belong.

Thanks
tambrathegreat

Fanfiction Username: Strawberry xx
Piece Genre: Romance
Submission Piece: This super short excerpt is from my longer, soon-to-be 50 chaptered story as a response to the 50 Phrases Challenge on the HPFC. Hope you like!

---

A deep breath escaped me as I walked past him in the cold, stone hallways of Hogwarts.
“I know you don't want to hear this, but I'm in love with you. Just thought you should know.”
And then I ran like an army of blasting, stinging, spontaneous-combustion...ing Blast-Ended Skrewts were right on my tail.
Oh Merlin, oh Merlin, oh Merlin, oh Merlin, oh Merlin, oh Merlin, oh Merlin, oh Merlin, oh Merlin, oh Merlin…
Why’d I do that?
What in Merlin’s name possessed me to do something like that?
And then the mantra of ‘Oh Merlin’s reappeared in my mind, as I could clearly hear the hard patter of footsteps right behind me.
I gulped, feeling a warm hand capture my arm gently, but I stopped running nonetheless.
“W-what did you say?” he asked quietly, a slight stutter in his tone. Quite frankly, I was surprised. Did he just stutter?
“I-I… I said that I’m in love with you.”
“Oh. I thought so.” He waited a moment before he replied with, “I’m in love with you too.”
“Oh, that’s fi—wait, what?”
A light coating of pink appeared on his cheeks, and I could also feel the obvious heat of a blush spreading over my neck.
“I-I well, since you just randomly said that out of no where, I decided I’d do the same thing.”
I laughed softly, finally noticing the fact that his hand was still gripping my arm.
And then I proceeded to flush again.
Yes, this was awkward, yes, this was odd, but, really, it was natural the way I felt about him.
And, apparently, he felt the same way for… for me—plain, bold-looking, little ole me.
Maybe random confessions aren’t so bad after all.

Username: Snapegirl

Genre: Drama

Submission: Arms of A Dark Angel


“Watch over Harry, Severus, but don’t let anyone know.”

Those had been the last words Lily Potter had ever spoken to him. It had been right
before she had gone into hiding in Godric’s Hollow, and she had made her oldest and best friend
swear Wizard’s Oath that he would watch over her son should anything happen to her or James.
She had said he was the only one she could trust, for he was skilled in the arts of healing as well
as subterfuge. Severus had agreed, reluctantly, for James had never done him any bloody favors,
but he could sense the desperation in Lily’s tone and couldn’t bear to refuse her. So he had
sworn, and bound himself to be little Harry’s unseen guardian, the watcher in the shadows, apart
yet closer than his own heartbeat, thanks to a special bracelet Severus had given Lily to put on
her baby. Once on, it would turn invisible and could only be removed by Severus himself.

The bracelet was keyed to Harry’s emotional and physical state and would alert Severus,
who wore its twin upon his left wrist, if something happened to the boy while under the care of
his Muggle relatives, such as an injury or an illness or some violent emotional upheaval. He had
protested to Albus, of course, that leaving Potter with Lily’s sister and her husband was not a
wise choice, but Albus had insisted that blood must take care of blood, and silenced the younger
man with a stern glare.

Severus had subsided, seething silently, but vowed to be true to his promise.

Watch over Harry, but don’t let anyone know.

* * * * * *


Three years later:


Harry coughed loudly, trying his best to smother it with one little hand. If his aunt or
uncle heard, they’d yell at him to stop being such a burden and he wouldn’t be allowed to eat
tomorrow because he had disturbed them with his damn coughing. But it was getting harder and
harder to breathe in the cramped cupboard under the stairs. He had started coughing on
Wednesday, from staying out too long in the rain, Dudley had locked him out of the house and
no one had heard him banging on the door until two hours later.

Once Petunia had hauled him inside and scolded him for tracking mud on her clean
floors, she had then sent him to his cupboard and locked him in. Harry had been shivering and
soaked, and had done his best to dry himself with the tattered blanket, but it had barely been
enough, and he had shivered the whole night through until his clothes had dried.

He had started coughing then and now it was getting worse. His chest felt heavy, it hurt
when he breathed, he was achy and hot and hungry. He huddled under the threadbare gray
blanket Petunia had purchased from the sixpence store, trying to stem the wracking cough that
burst from his chest.

It was hopeless. He coughed loudly, feeling as if he were going to cough up his insides,
his whole frame shook with violent tremors, and tears prickled his eyes. In a way, he almost
hoped his aunt or uncle would hear him, because then they might come down and see what was
wrong. His chest hurt so much . . .he was thirsty but there was no water, and it was dark and
clammy and the door was locked.

END EXCERPT

There's more posted on FF.net & PotionsandSnitches, but I'll be posting here too. Hope you all like!

Username- HoMeSlIcE4LiFe
Genre- Romance, Humor
Piece- Losing (it's a bit longer than 500 words, but I couldn't find a way to cut it short, without ruining the piece. It's still only like 700. Sorry!)

You are sitting on a white bench as snow falls down on your face. The cold stings you as if your face was slapped. Your nose and cheeks are pink, and your lips chapped. Your cap, scarf, gloves, and clothes keep the rest of your body warm. The contrast bothers you, but you concede that you concede that you cannot do a thing about it right now. Your best friend is on the opposite side of you, mindlessly chatting about the one who is currently on your mind.

You don’t want to admit that he’s gotten to you, that he’s in your thoughts. Because, if you do, he’s won. He’ll win because your heart, and mind, would be his. You can’t allow this. You won’t allow this. You’ve been fighting this too long and hard to give up now. He was going to crack any day now. You were sure of it. Still, you could not deny that this was a worthy opponent that you have been put up against. Your comrade has put up a good fight.

You couldn’t deny that. There were a lot of things you couldn’t deny about him lately. You hate to admit this, and you never will out loud. Nevertheless, you can’t not admit what he’s done to you, body and mind.

He’s made you think. You’ve reconsidered decisions, ideas, and beliefs because of him. You’ve had to rethink your entire outlook on life. You’ve begun to choose friends over school, Hogsmeade over the library, and dates over sleep. Your priorities have changed, causing yourself to change as well. You’ve become happy, fun, and it’s all because of him. He can’t know that he’s changed you for the better, and that you’re grateful for it.

You’ve also changed your appearance. You dress with more care than before. You wear make-up and fix your hair every morning. You stand up straight with your chin up and head high because you know and feel beautiful. And it’s all thanks to him. He’s helped you more than you’ll admit, and he’ll imagine.

Sometimes, when you see him, you get a strong urge to tell him how grateful you are, but every time you stop yourself, because you’ve thanked him already. You thank him by hating him, even though he deserves better for saving you from yourself. For all you’ve received from him, he gets so little back from you. He’s become important, and you won’t admit that either.

Whenever he says you’re beautiful, or that he loves you, you pretend to brush it off; but, really, you soak it in, lavishing in the compliments. You know what he says is true, because everyone trusts him, and you do too. So, when he says your eyes sparkle like jewels, you know it’s true, and so does the world.

You wish you could by honest like he is, but you can’t because of the hundred-pound façade that you can’t seem to lift. You’re stuck pretending that he means nothing, when he really means so much, instead of the person that’s everything to you. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

You convince yourself that you’re going to win with him giving up, but it’s too late. You’ve already lost. You’ve lost the war and you’ve lost your chance with an amazing person. It’s all because of your pride. That damn pride. You imagine all the wonderful times you would’ve had if it weren’t for that.

You regret it now. You regret every yell, every fight, every mean name, and every hateful thought. It’s taken you over six years to realize this, and it’s too late. You’ve done too many things to take back, to forget. You can’t. He probably won’t.

Most likely, deep down, he hates you, too, for what you did. You don’t blame him. You hate yourself.

You look up at your best friend and see him standing off behind her. He’s laughing with his three friends, walking into a shop. Before he goes in, though, he looks at you. The two of you lock eyes for just a moment. Then, he smiles, and you can’t help but smile back. And as he goes in the store, you realize something.

This war ended a long time ago.

And you’ve lost.

But so has he.

(Let's try this the right way, shall we?
Username: Theodusa (story under Ugly Kitten)
Genre: Family,General
Piece: Letter To Hermione

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4582655/1/L ... o_Hermione

Just a bit of it here...

“ ‘The Kitchen Table’,” she read aloud. Hermione flipped the envelope over and peeled a carefully stamped bit of purple wax from the flap. The crest pressed into the wax looked like an old English shield, separated into four animals. It looked sort of like a family crest, but somehow she knew that wasn’t the case.

Hermione opened the letter and read softly to herself, her mousy brown eyes growing wider by the moment. At first, she thought it must be a joke, a last prank by her acquaintances at her primary school.

Then, something extraordinary happened.