UU Drabbles by DSDragon

Rules: Contest #1

Note: The rules were taken from post #4465 on the UnbrokenUniverse Yahoo!Group. The words are Sara's. Not mine.

Random Unauthorized Contest time. Y'all get to write a drabble.

Ye Olde Rules:

-- It must be between 100 and 500 words. Extra brownie points for a spiffy word count.

-- It must begin with EITHER: "If this started off as a bad day, it's only gotten worse!" OR "Well, that certainly wasn't the best idea they ever had," OR "We have a Slytherin problem."

-- Extra brownie points if you use all three. But only if you integrate them well so that they don't look stuck in for the sake of sticking them in.

-- Must be set in the Unbroken Universe. Canon is nice and fine, but if you're gonna write canon fic, why do it in the UU? You could do it on your own and get much more credit for it.

Soul’s Shelter Shattered

Note: This drabble is not written for any specific, as-yet-known time in the UU, but could possibly be for that vague “attack on Hogwarts” that was hinted at in the Trailer for Promises Remembered.

“Well, that certainly wasn’t the best idea they ever had,” Hermione remarked. The other Misfits glared across the dark clearing at their know-it-all companion.

“What?” she glared right back. “All I’m saying is that, if this started off as a bad day, it’s only gotten worse!”

-----

Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione had been sitting in the Gryffindor common room, playing a game of Exploding Snap, when Fred and George burst through the portrait hole. Both twins looked as though they had run all the way from the Quidditch pitch. Ginny was the first to notice their worried expressions.

“All right, Fred? George?”

George shook his head while Fred caught his breath, leaning on the table. At that moment, the cards exploded, and Fred’s eyebrows caught the brunt of the blast. It was a mark of how serious the situation was that George didn’t even grin.

“We have a Slytherin problem.”

“Problem” was an understatement. The four second-years immediately clamored for explanations, but Fred and George merely pointed out the window.

On the grounds, dark creatures and Death Eaters stood in silence, awaiting their master’s order to proceed. The Misfits (plus Ginny and minus Lee) scrambled for emergency gear—Harry’s cloak, the Marauder’s Map, some extra Pumpkin Pasties, and Ginny’s glasses, to name a few—and made their way as quickly and silently as possible to the nearest un-guarded exit.

Eventually, the six made their way to a little-known exit at the back of the castle, where they met prefects herding students to havens under enchanted statues in the gardens.

It was nearly twenty minutes after their escape from the common room that Hermione spoke her piece.

“Seriously,” she said. “Hogwarts Castle is one of the safest places in all of Great Britain; surely, the Death Eaters can get to us easier on the grounds?”

“Hermione,” Ron replied, rolling his eyes. “Dementors can’t get under ground, everyone knows that—don’t you?”

The others, who had their backs to the entrance, backed up in order to separate themselves from the ensuing shouting match, not noticing Hermione’s widening eyes and horror-filled gaze behind them until they felt a chill permeate the air around them.

As one, the twins, Harry, Ginny, and Ron turned. As if it was there merely to prove Ron wrong in Hermione’s stead, a dementor loomed just inside the cramped shelter’s entrance.

Hermione’s last words hung in the air for a few seconds after the Misfits lost their souls.

“Looks like everyone’s wrong.”

Words (Not including note, title, or word count): 413

Prongs’ Potions Pandemonium

Note: I wrote this drabble BEFORE Robin posted the chapter where Severus smelt the potion brewing at Grimmauld Place. Go me!

“If this started off as a bad day, it’s only gotten worse!” James ranted, resisting the urge to roll his chair back and forth as though pacing.

Across the room, his wife and son looked at each other, then back to the Minister, wondering what had happened to make him act more frazzled than he had been lately.

“What is it?” Lily ventured, breaking into her husband’s muttering.

“Sirius and Peter thought that, if I changed into Prongs, then I might be able to feel my legs,” James answered, surprising the room’s other two occupants. They hadn’t thought he was listening while he muttered. “And since I’d been feeling a little better lately just before I took those potions, they thought that would be the best time to test their little theory.”

“Well, that certainly wasn’t the best idea they ever had,” Lily answered, shaking her head to clear out the confusion.

“Actually, it was a brilliant idea,” James countered.

“Only, when I tried it, I could only sort of feel my legs, so ol’ Prongsie fell arse-over-teakettle in no time. Peter wondered what was in the potions—and honestly, I’d never thought to question the Healers, but I should have. You see . . .” he paused. “We have a Slytherin problem.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“Maybe you should go get something to eat, dear,” Lily said in her “This-is-a-grown-up-conversation” voice.

“But Mum—“

“Harry, food. Now.”

As the twelve-year-old skulked down the stairs into the gloomy basement kitchen of Twelve Grimmauld place, Lily turned back to her husband, crossed her arms, and said merely, “Explain.”

“Sirius and Peter went to St. Mungo’s to what the potions were, and who’d prescribed them.”

“And?”

“Well, the potions, according to Severus, when combined cause temporary paralysis. But taken too long, the condition can become permanent,” James explained with gritted teeth. Ignoring Lily’s gasp for the moment, he continued, “And the Healer in charge is someone Peter remembers from, well, you know.” He ran a hand through his hair, waiting for his wife to say something to break the tension he’d created.

“What are you going to do?” she finally asked. “Is it too late to stop taking the potions?”

“I hope not,” James said. “Because I already have. Severus tells me that, unless feeling comes back within the next week, I really will never walk again.”

Words (not including note, title, or word count): 397

Bella Blades the Blokes

Note: This doesn’t have any real place in the UU, except that I say it does. Part of this was the drabble challenge, and part was a challenge that Sara gave me in a UU chat—the mental image of a woman who wants to do harm to a man kneeling at her feet, something glinting in her hand.

“We have a Slytherin problem,” the man stuttered, not to the vision of menace and femininity in front of him, but rather to the comrade behind in hopes that his partner could get away, even though his own situation was hopeless.

“Wha--?” Whitenack, who had been in the lift a few seconds before when the attack started, had less than a second to comprehend the parody in front of him—Dawlish, sweat dripping down the back of his robes, on one knee in the dark corridor from the lift to the Department of Mysteries, torchlight shining dimly on the knife Bellatrix held in her left hand like the glint of a diamond ring.

Without warning, the woman lifted the wand in her right hand, sending the knife zooming at an upward angle through both men’s tracheae.

Words (not including note, title, or word count): 137

Contraband Birthday Bash

Note: This is also one that doesn’t have a specific place, other than the short period where Tonks’ auror class was on Avalon, and she and Horace explored the island when they weren’t supposed to.

“Well, that certainly wasn’t the best idea they ever had,” Lockhart giggled as Horace Smeltings got the frosting and cake cleaned off of his face.

Tonks, in one of her solo adventures over Avalon, had made friends with a wizard in section two who had been to Diagon Alley to help in the cleanup after the battle.

Apparently, this wizard, thinking that everyone could use some cheering up after the messes at the ministry and at the Alley, had “contributed in the rebuilding effort” by purchasing all he could afford of what remained of Gambol and Japes’ stock, including some exploding birthday candles.

Tonks had managed to wheedle Horace’s birthdate out of him, and had teamed up with the wizard from section two to throw an illicit birthday bash.

Poor Horace never knew what hit him—but it sure was tasty.

Words (not including note, title, or word count): 141

Rules: Contest #2

Note: The general rules were the same, except for . . .

"Write a drabble involving the colours red and gold.

Don't reference Gryffindor." --Post #5654 from the UnbrokenUniverse Yahoo!Group.

Gallumphing Under Gringotts

Note: Takes place in Diagon Alley in Promises Remembered, shortly before the battle.

One of the girls shrieked as the chinese fireball that had poked its head around the tunnel intersection as the cart flew by sent a red-hot burst of flame down after them.

The MISFITS--minus Lee and plus Ginny--had begged Mrs. Weasley and the others to be let down to the vaults on their own, and the adults had reluctantly agreed, despite Sirius' misgivings. On the caveat that the six children stay together at all times--Sirius' gut still nagged him--the adults shooed the children off, waiting anxiously in Gringotts' spacious lobby.

Meanwhile, deep in one of the lowest, oldest parts of the wizarding bank, the children had reached the Potter vault. The Weasley children--and, to some extent, Hermione--gawked at the sheer mass of gold that shone as the stone cupboard was opened.

"What?" Harry asked, thinking the others were staring at him, as he grabbed a handful of galleons and stuffed them into the pouch his godfather had given him.

Hermione was the first to shake her head and close her mouth.

"Nothing, Harry," she smiled, breaking the twins, Ginny, and Ron out of their own trances. "Let's go."

Words (not including note, title, or word count): 194

Voldemort’s Very Vexed

Note: Takes place just after Peter renounces Voldemort in Promises Unbroken.

I should have known he'd turn on me, I muse, listening to the grown man blubbering at my feet. Associating with Potter, Dumbledore's Golden Boy, as he did, it was foolish to contemplate possibilities of loyalty.

Treachery was inevitable, once Black got away.

“Crucio!” I curse. The insignificant sycophant who suggested he would be a useful addition to our ranks screams, and a red stream drips to the floor as his vocal chords tear.

Serves him right for persuading me to allow Lucius to extend the invitation.

More blood pools under his head, his eardrums shattering. A few flecks of grey matter mar the lengthening rivulets of crimson.

That's two servants, no longer useful.

Pettigrew must pay.

Words (not including note, title, or word count): 117

Early Morning Clumsies

Note: This is a random morning moment, sometime after Godric’s Hollow is attacked, and the Potters move to Grimmauld Place.

Lily watched, smirking, as her husband and son sloughed into the kitchen at twelve Grimmauld Place, bleary eyes and droopy arms making them resemble a pair of gorilla.

Adding a bit of cheese to the omelet in the skillet, she set her boys’ plates in front of them, overflowing with golden hash browns and scrambled eggs.

Harry pulled up the leg of his red pyjama trousers, scratching a morning itch on his shin before digging into his breakfast.

James shambled over to the pot of coffee she’d prepared, perking up immediately after a sip of the bitter liquid.

He didn’t get more than a sip, however, because Harry had fallen asleep—and off his chair. The resulting “thud” startled James so much he dropped the mug.

Lily turned back to her omelet with a grin. Happens every time.

Words (not including note, title, or word count): 138

Pondering Promises

Note: Takes place some time after the Diagon Alley battle in Promises Remembered.

She’d been staring through a glass of water at the gold motes of dust in the air for ten minutes, trying to make sense of it all. First, the ministry, then Diagon Alley—what was next?

Alice gave a small shriek as a distorted silver image came through the glass and water, startling her. The ghost that had been haunting her family’s house for generations upon generations had floated into the kitchen unnoticed.

It was all a matter of promises, she’d decided. Sirius Black had kept his promise to defend the Potters, and had been captured. Peter Pettigrew had broken a promise to Voldemort for the good of his friends—his brothers.

Which promise would be next to go? Which promise would be sealed for eternity with the red of innocent blood?

There was no way to know, and Alice hated it.

Words (not including note, title, or word count): 142