http://www.cosforums.com Chamber of Secrets Forums - The Ultimate Harry Potter Community. Discussion of Harry Potter characters, plots, theories, rumours, movies, games, Fan-fiction, Fan-art as well as mature, off-topic. en Mon, 20 May 2013 03:39:54 GMT vBulletin 60 http://www.cosforums.com/images/cosdefault/misc/rss.jpg http://www.cosforums.com http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?t=132187&goto=newpost Sat, 11 May 2013 20:48:56 GMT This is just a one-shot written for the sake of pure silliness: it’s a view into the mind of seventeen-year-old Gilderoy Lockhart. There’s not much of a point to this story, but I thought I’d post it anyway, so here it is. :yuhup:


*******

This is the story of how I became marvellous.

That’s a joke. I was always marvellous. But my seventh year at Hogwarts was really a turning point for me. It’s when I figured out what I wanted to do with my life. And it’s when I first discovered how good I looked in lilac. I’ve always thought that those two discoveries were related. The day my life changed is one I remember particularly well…


It’s the first week of seventh year, and I’m still reeling in shock at a discovery: Wilhelm Wigworthy is Head Boy. I really don’t understand why; he is intelligent of course, but his eyebrows connect in the middle. That’s unsupportable, especially for a Head Boy whom all the students are supposed to look up to. And his acne is terrible. I get queasy just looking at him.

(I wonder if it’d be rude to offer him some sort of face cream. At least it would be an improvement, even though he’ll never look as good as me. Obviously my intentions are good, but I think he might take it the wrong way. Sometimes it’s difficult being as handsome and friendly as I am.)

I could write an entire book about why I’d be a much better Head Boy than Wigworthy. I’m incredibly brilliant. That’s why I’m a Ravenclaw; it’s the house for the brilliant people. I am also brave, kind, considerate, and humble. I have beautiful hair. In my spare time I make hair potions, using my own secret recipe that I invented on my own. This is how I get my hair to look so fabulous. Recently I’ve even been thinking of selling my hair potions, because I understand everyone wants to have beautiful hair like mine. I am an adept photographer, and have taken countless artistic pictures of myself. I fought hags when I was on holiday over the summer, and I won. All of these things were, for reasons unknown to me, overlooked in the selection of this year’s Head Boy.

So on this particular day, I’m on my way to Potions class when I hear a disturbance in the corridor.

“Tarantallegra!” says a voice. I turn to see a couple of Gryffindor boys, fourth years I think. Potter and Black, if I remember correctly. They’re laughing at two Slytherin girls who are dancing crazily, their feet tapping out of control. One of the girls, the shorter, blond one, loses her balance and reaches out for Black. I think she’s making eyes at him despite the fact that he’s casting jinxes at her. Black leaps out of the way, and the blond girl falls on the floor, her feet still twitching. The other girl rolls her eyes, takes out her wand and points it at the boys, who begin jumping up and down like their feet are on springs. Then the girls start laughing too. All this dancing and jumping is amusing, but as I am a seventh year and a voice of authority, I decide to end this fight in the corridor.

“Finito,” I say, waving my wand with a flourish, and it all stops. I reach up a hand to sweep my golden hair out of my face a bit, and give the four of them a wide grin. I have a great smile. My smile alone should be able to stop wars, so it will assuredly stop a few fourth-years from their childish rivalry. “There, there. Can’t we all just get along?” I ask. I throw in a wink just for good measure.

The blond Slytherin girl starts making eyes at me now. Understandably. But the taller, curly-haired Slytherin only laughs dismissively, and Potter angrily asks what I’ve done. I turn back to look at him; it seems he’s got flippers now instead of feet – rather like a mermaid. That’s technically not what I intended to do, but at least he’s not stuck jumping up and down anymore! It is an improvement, really.

“I can fix that, of course,” I tell him. “I’m a seventh year, I know all about these charms. It must have been those Slytherins who did it. Allow me.”

“No,” Potter insists, and tries to step away but he kind of slides. The Slytherins are laughing again, now that they’ve seen Potter’s fins. Black takes out his wand and one of the girls falls down again very suddenly; she slips and lands on her backside, and yells “Black!” Then the girls stomp off into a classroom, and Black helps Potter walk away. Potter glances back at me and mutters “Git” under his breath.

If I were Head Boy, they’d listen to me. It’s really a shame. And how dare Potter call me names?! I only want friendship and cooperation among all houses – what’s wrong with that?

Or maybe it’s because he feels intimidated by me. After all, his hair is dreadful; it sticks up all over the place. Perhaps I could kindly give him one of my hair care potions that I’ve been working on, as a token of friendship, and he’ll respect me. I’m sure he couldn’t possibly want his hair to do that – who would? – so he’ll thank me in the end.

I walk away into Potions class, where I take my seat next to Bertha Jorkins and she tells me all the latest gossip. Most of it is about other people, and I find it boring. At the front of class, Professor Slughorn is talking about the potion we’re going to be making today. I already know how to make it, so I tune him out and entertain myself by looking at my stunning reflection in the side of my shiny cauldron. My teeth look excellent today. They always look excellent. But I finally start listening to Bertha when she informs me that Gladys Gudgeon fancies me. Most people fancy me, so I’m not too surprised to hear it. Gladys has always seemed like a sensible person, and what is more sensible than fancying me?

Gladys is watching me from her seat two desks away. When I glance up at her I’m already smiling, because I’ve just been looking at my reflection in my cauldron, so I wink at her. She blushes and turns around again.

I convince Bertha to trade seats with me, which makes it easier for me to pass notes to Gladys. I take out an elegant peacock feather quill and write: Guess what my favourite colour is. Xo, Gilderoy Lockhart. My signature on this note is so beautiful that I’m tempted to tear it off of the note and frame it, but I decide not to because the signature’s not quite large enough for that. I’ll have time to do it later though, with my lilac-coloured ink, of course. So I fold the scrap of parchment and flick the note across to Gladys’s desk.

She opens the note, hidden from Slughorn’s view by her cauldron, and looks back at me. I perform a quick colour-changing charm on my hat to give her a hint. I never liked the black hat. I turn away from Gladys and admire my new reflection in my cauldron. The lilac hat does wonders. I looked like an Adonis before, but now, it’s just unreal. I grin at my reflection again.

Something hits the side of my cauldron and I jump in my seat, startled. Then I realise it’s only the note from Gladys. I had forgotten about that in all the excitement of how the lilac hat looked on me.

I don’t know, is it lavender? she’s written.

I write back to correct her. After all, lavender and lilac are quite a few shades apart. Then Slughorn walks by my desk and asks me why I haven’t started making my potion yet because we’re nearly twenty minutes into class. I give him a winning smile and inform him that I’ve already made it, but it’s in Bertha’s cauldron. Bertha can’t deny this because she’s at the supply cabinet getting more dead flies to put in her potion. Slughorn watches as I pick up a dried leech from the pile on the desk and drop it into Bertha’s cauldron. That must be convincing enough, because Slughorn walks away, shaking his head in amazement at how clever I am.

I don’t actually have enough time to complete my potion anymore. So when Bertha comes back, I tell her I’ll make a trade with her: she will pour half her potion into my cauldron, in exchange for one of my new hair-care potions. I would offer her a photo of me as well, but she already has one. I’ve told her to save that photo because I’ll be famous one day and the picture will be worth a load of Galleons.

She considers my offer. I tempt her even more with gossip: I tell her the story of how I rescued the fourth years from their spell fight. And it’s the grin that does it. I give her a glimpse of my great pearly whites, and that vision, combined with the way my hat looks now, are enough to convince her. When Slughorn isn’t watching, Bertha pours half of her potion into my cauldron, and then I resume my work: I rub my sleeve on the side of my cauldron to shine it up a bit and make its reflecting qualities better.

At the end of class everyone collects some of our potions in small phials, which we then bring up to the front of the class for Slughorn. He’ll never find out I used Bertha’s potion.

I meet up with Gladys again after class, and she compliments my hat. Then she asks me why I was late for class.

“Because on the way here, I stopped a fight, saving some fourth-years from certain detention, spell injury, and humiliation,” I tell her. “One of them was so grateful, he practically begged me to give him one of my hair-care potions that I’m making. And out of the goodness of my heart, I told him of course I would.”

“That’s so nice of you,” says Gladys. “And I didn’t know you make your own hair-care products – that must be why your hair always looks so soft.” She gazes longingly at my luxurious locks.

“My potions weren’t always quite this amazing,” I say. “When I first started, they didn’t work – if you can even imagine that! But now they’re top of the line. My dearest ambition is to sell these potions someday, and while I’m promoting my hair potions I’ll create peace and cooperation between all magical folk just through mutual appreciation of my hair-care potions.”

“That’s amazing,” Gladys enthuses. “You know, I think that’s a great way to change the world. And I’m sure you could do it. My favourite colour is lilac too, by the way.”

“You don’t say!”

“I did say so, when I wrote back to you the second time in class.”

I don’t recall her writing back a second time. I must have been distracted by the sensational face smiling back at me from the side of my cauldron.

As Gladys and I approach the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall appears from around a corner. She sees me at once and scowls at me, her narrowed eyes flicking upwards to my hat. “School uniforms are to be black, Lockhart,” she says.

McGonagall isn’t someone to cross; not even my dazzling smile can persuade her to see my point of view. I would have thought she’d appreciate a good colour-change charm, but apparently she doesn’t. I sigh and change it back, and she walks on.

For the remainder of our walk into the Great Hall, Gladys and I discuss whether I should change my hat back to lilac, and whether the risks, such as McGonagall’s displeasure, outweigh the benefits, such as how glorious I look with a lilac hat. We part at the entrance to the Hall where Gladys heads for the Hufflepuff table.

After lunch I make a quick stop by my dormitory to collect some bottles of my best hair potions, and then I catch up with Bertha again. By this point, the anecdote of me gallantly rescuing ten fourth years and permanently ending the rivalry between Slytherins and Gryffindors has circulated around the school, thanks to Bertha’s tendency to chatter (and to myself, of course, for saving them).

It’s nice to be friends with someone like Bertha, because she truly appreciates what a magnificent person I am and ensures that everyone at Hogwarts knows about my good deeds. There are many reasons she likes me, one of which must be because her association with me helps her out a lot in her social life: because she’s friends with me, that makes her one of the most respected people at Hogwarts… apart from myself, obviously.

I reach into my bag and offer her one of my hair potions, and she selects one that’s scented like roses. The scented potions are a new thing – I think it’ll make them sell better. I’ve also added a nice label on the outside, which features a picture of my face, and my gorgeous wavy signature.

“Now, when people start begging to know where you got this hair potion, let them know it’s from Gilderoy Lockhart, the hero who saved first-years from an Acromantula, who has the most beautiful teeth in all of Hogwarts, and who will be the world’s greatest potion maker!”

I haven’t actually saved any first-years from an Acromantula, but I know there are some Acromantulas living in the Forbidden Forest and I know some first-years have gone into the forest, so it sounds quite believable.

“World’s greatest potion maker?” Bertha repeats. “I made your potion during class today.”

Oh, she’s a cheeky one. “Yes, well, that was only a Fire Protection Potion,” I remind her. “Not quite on the same echelon as hair potions. But it’s a start.” I grin and pat her shoulder in a reassuring way, and then walk off down the hall to go to Divination.

This class goes much like usual. Professor Sage doesn’t realise what a gift I have and when I read the tarot cards and predict the imminent unity of wizardkind because of my magical hair potions, she merely looks curious, not astounded as she should be. But the other students who’ve heard my prediction are all staring at me, envious that I possess such an ability for Seeing and that I’ve foretold a wonderful event. I pity them all a little. It must be dreadful to not have people be jealous of you all the time. I wouldn’t know.

On my way to dinner afterwards, I nearly run into the scrawny fourth-year Potter again. He’s coming into the Great Hall, splattered with mud, clearly having just come from Quidditch practice. He looks toward the Gryffindor table, raises one muddy hand, and ruffles his hair, making it even messier than usual. I recall the bottles of hair potion I’ve still got with me in my bag, and approach Potter.

“I’m sure you remember me from this afternoon when I stopped those Slytherins for you,” I say with a smile. “I see you’ve got those fins sorted out – I knew it must have been just a simple spell to fix it, I could have done it myself and it would have been much less trouble for you!”

Potter is trying to walk around me to get into the hall.

I continue, “Yes, but I’m sure you don’t need reminding of that. What I did come to say is that I saw you trying to fix your hair just now, and I’ve got the solution for you. Just a bit of this hair potion and your hair can look as good as mine!”

I produce one of the bottles from my bag with a flourish. I hold out the bottle, grinning just like the picture of my face is grinning on the bottle.

Potter stares from me to the bottle repeatedly, his mouth hanging open. Apparently, he is so impressed with me, with my kindness, that he can’t find the words to thank me. I prompt him by offering him a choice: if he doesn’t want this one, maybe he’d want one of the scented ones instead, and I show him the other potion in my bag, which is scented “Lily of the Valley”.

“What kind of a joke is this?” says Potter, and walks away into the Hall without even taking either bottle.

And then I understand: he was just too surprised that I would be giving away such a valuable potion for free. So it’s all for the best – I’ll start charging for them from now on. And Potter will rue the day when he walked away from such a bargain. If he wants a potion after this, he’ll have to pay for it.

That proves to be an effective business venture. Three days later, I sell those two remaining potions to Bertha Jorkins, who has found that her hair is now ten times prettier because of the potion I gave her, and thus my potions are making her more popular. Everyone wins.

And that was the day I began in earnest my quest to change the world. Soon, everyone in the country will know my name. Gilderoy Lockhart, the protector of younger students, hair-care potion maker extraordinaire, with the best smile in all of Hogwarts… but not Head Boy. Even I can’t have everything. But I bet that in a couple of years, once I’m famous and wildly successful in my career of saving people from distress and making their hair look beautiful, if I tell someone I was Head Boy at Hogwarts they’ll believe me. Maybe they’d even believe that I saved people from Acromantulas and met hags on holiday.


*******
Thanks for reading! You can leave feedback here if you want to. :) ]]> Flourish and Blotts marauderfan http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?t=132187 http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?t=132184&goto=newpost Tue, 07 May 2013 08:12:59 GMT Welcome to the voting thread. Please pick your top three of entries you love best. If you want to give feedback you can do so here or in the open thread after voting is closed. Deadline: May 14th 10am GMT You can see the entries here (http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?t=132175) Welcome to the voting thread.

Please pick your top three of entries you love best.

If you want to give feedback you can do so here or in the open thread after voting is closed.

Deadline: May 14th 10am GMT

You can see the entries here ]]> Voting - A year in the life of a Hogwarts student Hes http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?t=132184 http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?t=132183&goto=newpost Sat, 04 May 2013 05:48:58 GMT
Hello. I had this idea, so wrote it down quickly before I forgot.
It centres around George getting over Fred’s death, and him and Angelina my favourite couple in the HP series, even though we never hear anything about them:)
It could be a romance, I don’t know, I ain’t so good at writing them.
Characters and settings and all that sort of stuff, all J K’s or Warner Bros. Yup. You know that, so yeah…
________________

The grass on the grounds of Hogwarts had been trimmed for the memorial service. Hogwarts students had covered the large birch tree that had its roots dangling in the water with black decorations and charms. On the trunk was a picture of the fifty people who had given their lives for a better future in the Battle of Hogwarts. A small pile of flowers had started to gather there, as people started to arrive to give their respect.

The few hundred chairs sat at the base of the slope, looking out over the black water where many shimmering heads were surfacing from the mer-village resting at the bottom. A podium had been set up under the shade of the tree, and ministry officials had gathered and were discussing what seemed important matters.

And the sun shone brightly at it’s ten o’clock position. Too bright for a funeral, George Weasley thought, as he arrived with his family by side-along apparition. He had been too distracted over the last four days. Since his world had ended. Since he had to continue living as though the dead were in the past. His eyes blurred as he followed the collection of red heads that were his family down to the area marked out for the ceremony.

As they walked by the black tree, he dropped back.


‘This is for you, Freddie boy. Enjoy it.’ He murmured, as he let the tears drip from his eyes, showering the ground. Stooping low, to try and block out his movements from the rest of the world, he waved his wand and made a beautiful wreath out of an assortment of flowers with FRED spelled out in small petals. He saw Fred’s picture next to the many others. The picture Fred saw George staring at him, and grinned. George mirrored his grin, knowing that to anyone watching, he would look like a lunatic. But then again, who cares?


‘Hey mate. Long time, no see.’


The picture Fred chuckled, and upon hearing that familiar tone he had thought he would never hear again, George joined in.


‘Yeah,’ The picture of Fred leaned over and looked at his surroundings outside his frame.


‘Wow, would you look at all the flowers there? And that really girly one with Fred written there and… you didn’t make that, did you Georgie? Please tell me you didn’t, George?’


‘All for you mate.’ George laughed. Fred gave him a rude hand gesture and turned around, facing the back of the picture, the outside of Weasley Wizards Wheezes. It had been a photo of the two of them that they took to put in the Daily Prophet to advertise. It was the most recent picture they had taken. Absentmindedly, George fingered the other half with him in his pocket.


‘Oh come on mate. You would have done the same thing if you were in my position and I was in yours…’ He broke off when Fred turned around. His eyes. They must have been what George had been looking like the past week. Dead, saddened, like a dementor had sucked out his soul.


‘It’s so unfair!’ George blurted out. ‘I mean, why you? Why not me? Why not someone else? It didn’t have to be you, yet it was.’


‘It wasn’t just me who died. Fifty other people are dead. All those families torn apart, because of one selfish, evil git who was an idiot. Voldemort.’ He paused and smirked.


‘George, look at me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I can no longer be there with you, helping you out, being your other half, chatting up girls, picking on Ronniekins, or selling our produce at our shop. We started a whole new franchise! That was our dream, and we did it before I died.’ Fred smiled sadly at George. This was definitely the longest speech Fred had managed to say without a joke.


‘It was your idea…’ George mumbled.


Fred just smiled at him. ‘I’ll see you later good buddy, and take it easy out there, okay?’


George just stood there and gaped as the picture Fred went mute and waved at him. A soft crunching of the ground alerted him that someone was walking towards him, and he went to turn away, but couldn’t tear his eyes away from his the picture of his brother. Tears cascaded down his cheeks. Forget what they say in books, about not crying when a loved one has died. It was the easiest thing in the world to let go of the salty liquid and taste it as it fell by his lips, to just stand there for eternity. He jumped a little when a hand gently rested on his shoulder.


‘Hey.’ Ginny’s voice crept up to his ear. ‘George, who were you talking to?’


He didn’t turn, just gazed at Fred.

Ginny seemed to understand enough and wrapped her arm around him. Of course the picture wasn’t talking. It wasn’t the first time he had let go of the present and turned to his imagination.


His family very much knew that.


They stood there for well over five minutes, never taking their eyes away from Fred, who still just waved. Some important Ministry man announced that it was time for everyone to take their seats. A large amount of popping could be heard over yonder, and people were walking from all over the castle grounds to the ceremony.
Soon there weren't any chairs left, and people had to start standing around the gathering.

Ginny led the unwilling George over to the seats their family had saved, and George sat next to Charlie, wishing that he could never have to speak to anyone again.


‘Friends, families, witches, wizards, and the few muggles, we are gathered here in this significant place to remember our lost ones, who died in what will be a significant turning point in History.’


The person sitting next to George sniffed, and he looked over to find Angelina Johnson sitting next to him. He shouldn’t have looked over. He remembered how she used to date Fred. How he used to think she was amazing, and she used to really like him. George was there too, of course. They had been friends with Angelina even before she got ‘romantically involved’ with Fred. Though somewhere in sixth year, Angelina went into hiding, and they completely lost contact with her.


When George started listening to what was being said again, he found that the man was reading out all the names, and the represent from each family had to go and do something, probably lay out a wreath at the foot of the new memorial. That was meant to be George for the Weasley clan.

Oops… He thought.

Come on Georgie. He jumped when Fred’s voice echoed in the back of his mind. Go on out there and put on a good show. This ceremony could be spiced up a bit, it isn’t exactly entertaining… Pretty big turnout, eh? A thousand?

Freddie, it’s a funeral. Even we knew when to not cross the line.

Oh oh. Buzz kill alert!

George’s grin faltered when the little priest spoke out Fred’s name. He stood, and walked to the end of his row. He took one look at the little priest, and turned his heel.


And he ran. He didn’t stop to look back at his family, who would share sympathetic glances, he didn’t look back at the priest, who would be trying to cover it up, and he didn’t look back at the crowd, who would all be thinking he’s lost his marbles over the shock of losing a twin. He couldn’t face it all over again. It just seemed so... final.


His feet ran of their own accord, and after several minutes of heavy breathing, he came to a halt in front of what was left of the changing rooms beside the quiddtich pitch. Hesitantly, he entered.


Memories came so vividly, George had to step back. Over in the corner, where Fred had snogged Mary Ashlea, or where Oliver used to stand, trying to give a speech but always being interrupted by Fred. There was Fred's old locker, next to what used to be George's.


He looked over to the shelf with all the photos of every champion quidditch team. The 1993-1994 years win had their team all smiling up at him. Harry sat in between Fred and George. They all looked very happy.


He walked back outside to the pitch, and would have been surprised to see the storm clouds gathering over in the south if it wasn’t for his deadened mood.

Climbing the only stand that hadn’t been destroyed in the battle, he felt the first raindrop. It was fresh on his face, landing splat of his cheek where it joined his drying tears.

He stood where he had once sat as a seventh year, when he had been told he could never play quidditch again. Looking back at the service, someone had conjured a water repelling charm over the crowd. But George welcomed the rain. It almost seemed to wash away his sorrow.


He looked down. The grass was starting to dampen under the light drizzle, far away beneath them.

It seemed so easy that life was taken. George could quite easily jump now, and take his. It wouldn’t be painful, or if it was, he wouldn’t know. He just wanted to see Fred again.

It was selfish. He could kill his mother with the shock, but he didn’t think about her now. He stepped up. Did he have the guts?

Yes.

Would it get rid of the sorrow and misery?

Probably.

Did he want to do it?

…

‘Wait!’ A female voice shouted out. He looked around angrily. Angelina Johnson was coming up behind him, her stretched out arms were shaking.

‘Wait.’ She said weakly again. George stepped off the side, and took a seat. Nervously, she sat down next to him.


Probably thinks I’m crazy, he thought.


You kind of are, mate. Fred’s voice said from the back of his mind, proving what he said was true.


‘Shut up.’


Angelina jumped, and glanced at George.


Trying to make him seem less like a sad little puppy, he said ‘I wasn’t talking to you, sorry.’


Good cover up. Now she only thinks you’re talking to yourself, or better yet, a voice in your head... Fred’s voice said again.

George shot an imaginary scowl at Fred.


After a long awkward silence, George spoke. ‘I wasn’t going to jump you know.’ He was surprised how his voice sounded. How dead it was.


She looked like she was going to say something, but switched at the last minute.


‘I miss him too George. I know this must be so hard on you. No, I can’t even imagine how hard this must be. But it’s not fair to your family. You need them, and they need you. No matter what happens, there is always something to live for.’


She was looking at him. He could feel it. Slowly, he raised his head up and looked back into those brilliant brown eyes. She started tearing up. He could hardly see that she was the same person that was a fiery quidditch captain in their seventh year.


‘You have the same eyes you know.’ She said, choking back a sob. He reached over and put his arm around the girl who had loved the other half of him.

It was strange how calming she was. He felt all his immediate craziness slip away, and all the knots in his brain that had left him confused all week seemed to untie themselves.


‘Why did you leave without saying anything to him? It tore him apart.’ An echo of his old self haunted his new dead voice.


‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged, and George, thinking she had nothing more to say, let his arm retreat to his side.


‘I went into hiding with my sister, as she got into trouble with some Death eaters. And I couldn’t bring myself to tell Fred in person. I told myself I loved him, but there was still some part of me that realised, well, he wasn’t completely right for me. So I left.’


George’s arm was back around her shoulders in an instance as a fresh tidal wave of tears came from her, and he let what had clearly been bothering her for the past week escape her mind, and let the burden lift from her shoulders.


‘The last time I saw him was at the Battle of Hogwarts. He was coming out of a bathroom, saying that he couldn’t fight properly unless he had an empty bladder.’


A laugh echoed in the back of George’s mind.


‘He said I was looking good, and then asked how I had been. I didn’t answer. I just kissed him.’ She looked at her hands when she said this, almost as if it was in shame.


One hell of a kiss it was, too.


Get lost Fred. Can’t you see I’m trying to comfort her?


Well, you obviously aren’t doing it right. Look at her bring on the waterworks!


Ok, well then what do you expect me to do then?


Well, you should kiss her.


George looked at Angelina. And a light suddenly lit up his insides, helping the emptiness seem that little bit more bearable. She was gorgeous, even when her shoulders slumped like that, or the tears made her face look grubby. He could picture her resting in his arms, perfectly fitting. The emotion that swept through him lit his eyes up. He suddenly became very aware of how close he was sitting to her, and how his arm wrapped protectively around her.


I can’t do it. I can’t kiss her. She’s your ex!


George. Do you think I would have suggested that if I wasn’t alright with it?


But you’re my imagination!


So then I guess it was your idea. Mate, nothing would make me happier than to see you happy with a girl by your arm. To see you let go. I ain’t coming back, ok? I’m dead. It’s time you recognised that.


I love you Freddie.


And I love you too mate.


Without hesitation, George took hold of the sobbing Angelina’s hands, looked her in the eye, and kissed her.

She was taken by surprise, but immediately kissed him back, long and hard. It was funny how the electricity jumped from her dark skin, straight to George's freckly complexion.


When they broke apart, they were both speechless.


‘Feel better now?’ George asked, his cockiness returning.
_________________


Okay, it was fairly depressing, but that’s the story line, ain’t nothing I can do about it:)

I think I’m going to leave it as a one-shot, but if I get any brainwaves, then I’ll continue.

And also, I didn’t really know what happened between Fred and Angelina, so I made it up:)
Please, Leave feedback here, Helps a lot:) ]]> Flourish and Blotts Baarney http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?t=132183 http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?t=132178&goto=newpost Sun, 28 Apr 2013 22:56:38 GMT This one-shot story started out as an entry in a recent challenge in The Quibbler section. While it didn't fare so well as a role-playing piece, people seemed to agree that it would be a better fit as a fan-fiction story, so here we are.

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A Night in Detention

Her name was Hesmerelda Meriphibosheth, so she could be forgiven her insistence that everyone, even her professors, call her by her middle name, Anne.

Anne was a kind girl, much kinder than most in Slytherin House. In truth, though in her fifth year now, Anne still saw herself more as a Ravenclaw than a Slytherin; the former was the House she had always wanted as a child, with half her family having been Ravenclaws. When the Sorting Hat had been on her head only ten seconds before happily exclaiming, "SLYTHERIN!" she felt as if she'd been branded with what Muggles call a "scarlet letter." What had she done wrong to be condemned to the most unsavory House at Hogwarts?

Fortunately, one of her earliest friends, a fellow Slytherin boy in her year, had helped her see things differently. To him, Slytherin wasn't the "evil" House. It was a House of destiny, he had said, a place for those who would be significant to the wizarding world. She took to this boy quickly, and she considered him her best friend over the intervening five years.

It was no surprise, to her or anyone else, when the boy became a Prefect this year.

What was a surprise, however, was when she landed in detention one spring day. It was the first time that she'd ever been in trouble the whole time she'd been at Hogwarts. Little did she expect that it was her own Prefect and best friend who had set her up!

"You!" she exclaimed, upon seeing him strolling in her direction on the grounds as dusk fell. "Don't tell me you were behind this, were you?"

He merely quirks his mouth with that confident grin of his. "Not to worry. It will all work out in the end, I assure you. I have plans for tonight, you see."

Anne, tucking her hands inside the sleeves of her robe, wrapped her arms around her chest to ward off the chill of the unseasonably cool evening. "I hope you know what you're doing."

He gave her a piercing look. "Don't I always?" Setting his bag down, he stretched out upon the grass and directed her to do the same. "Still have another hour or so before the detention. We might as well relax while we're waiting."

Anne complied but still felt grumpy. "Easy for you to relax. It's not your good name being sullied."

"I never really cared much for my name, to be honest," he said.

She snorted. "Try having mine, Tom! Hesmerelda Meriphibosheth. No professor ever gets it right. Even Headmaster Dippet stumbles over it." Anne looked over at him. "No, I wish I had a simple name like yours. Tom Riddle. Easy and straightforward."

A faraway look came to Tom Riddle's eyes. "Easy, yes," he said after a time. "But altogether very... common. Just imagine for a moment, Anne. Do you think it'd be possible to have a name so... so magnificent that it would transcend the common? What if you could have a name held in such reverence that no one in the wizarding world would dare even speak it?"

Anne shrugged. "Be a pretty useless name if no one can be bothered to call you by it, wouldn't it?" She rolled over on the grass to face him. "So who else is going to be joining us in detention tonight?"

"Hagrid," he answered. "Rubeus Hagrid, a third-year."

"Isn't he that tall, hairy boy from Gryffindor?" Anne couldn't help wrinkling her nose.

"The same. He's also a half-giant, but I suspect you're clever enough to have figured that out on your own."

"And where're we going?" she asked, unable to keep the slight trepidation out of her voice.

"Why, that forest, straight ahead."

"The Forbidden Forest?!" she exclaimed, bolting upright.

Tom looked unconcerned. "Do try to compose yourself, Anne. I'm on pace to get twelve O.W.L.s this year. Don't you think I might just be skilled enough to protect you from a few woodland creatures?"

She smiled at that. "You are brilliant, and there's no denying it. Honestly I'd sooner trust you in there than half the professors at Hogwarts!"

The next hour passed quickly. In time, the professor supervising the detention, Hufflepuff Head of House Professor Bones, marched down the slope, a downtrodden Hagrid in his wake. "Everything in order here, Tom?" he asked crisply. "Are you ready, Mr. Hagrid? Miss Mephiboseth?"

"It's Meriphibosheth actually, sir, but really just Anne will do."

"Ye gotta understand, Professor," Hagrid blubbered. "I didn't mean nothin'. It wasn't even like that, promise!"

"Off we go then," he announced as if Anne and Hagrid had said nothing.

It was a cheerless trudge into the woods that gray spring night.

"Please do keep up!" Professor Bones called over his shoulder after a while. "Ah, here's the place. Sato! If you would please?"

At this, a centaur emerged from a thicket, covered in a mane of fiery red hair. He stiffened immediately upon entering the clearing. "There is great evil here," Sato declared, raking over each of the humans with keen, dark eyes.

Anne moved instinctively away from Hagrid. "I don't know about this place, Tom," she whispered to her friend. "Even the centaurs give me the creeps!"

Meanwhile Professor Bones waved a hand in dismissal. "Yes, yes, Sato. We get it. We humans are overconfident, always overstepping our bounds, we're going to get what's coming to us, so on and so forth, ad infinitum..."

"Be glad that I do not subject you to centaur justice for your insolence, human!" Sato boomed.

"If I may?" Tom stepped in, keeping a questioning eye on Bones until the latter nodded his permission to speak. Tom then addressed the centaur. "Sato, it speaks well of you and your people that you have extended your hospitality to us this night. We would not impose on you any further than we have, so if you will allow my friend Anne and myself leave, we have further work to do in this forest."

The Prefect locked eyes with the centaur. "See, there is a mystery here to be unraveled. And I daresay it just might have something to do with this premonition of evil that you have so wisely sensed." Anne noticed Tom try--and fail--to keep from making a surreptitious glance at Hagrid when he came to the word "evil."

Sato did not move. "We do not give you leave to trespass upon our realm of the forest," he declared.

The smile that Tom Riddle gave him was smooth and genuine. "Not to worry. It is a part of the forest far from the centaurs' home where we intend to travel tonight."

Anne saw something like alarm flicker across Hagrid's face before Tom took her arm. Off in the distance, she noticed webbing hanging from trees far ahead. Rather large webbing. "Come along now, Anne. The nest may be a long journey from here, but don't fret. You'll be safe with me."

---

Feedback thread here! ]]> Flourish and Blotts Rew http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?t=132178 http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?t=132175&goto=newpost Fri, 26 Apr 2013 12:21:52 GMT Welcome to the entries thread. As you can see we´ve only five entries in this final round. *Please vote for your top three entries. * As always don´t talk about your entry until voting is over. If you see any mistakes, owl Hes. Welcome to the entries thread.

As you can see we´ve only five entries in this final round.

Please vote for your top three entries.

As always don´t talk about your entry until voting is over.

If you see any mistakes, owl Hes.


VOTE HERE ]]> A year in the life of a Hogwarts student Professor Dumbledore http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?t=132175 http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?t=132174&goto=newpost Sun, 21 Apr 2013 01:32:08 GMT Mods, I did a search and found no threads in a similar vein. What are those moments that stick with you for good or ill? For me: _House M.D._: It was good for quite a while, until they messed up House and Cuddy as characters :no:. Big no-no. They just went and threw the show off a cliff, imho.... Mods, I did a search and found no threads in a similar vein.

What are those moments that stick with you for good or ill?



For me:

House M.D.: It was good for quite a while, until they messed up House and Cuddy as characters :no:. Big no-no. They just went and threw the show off a cliff, imho. Wouldn't have cared if they'd just broken up, but not only did they do that, they had him go nuts in a way. And the writing went down hill from there.

As for good moments, I loved how they handled House and Cuddy's relationship at first. It was pretty well played and I used to like how House acted until they took his behavior too far and made him almost a characture (sp?) of the character himself :sigh:.



The X-Files: Loved the show, but there were moments where I could have just stopped watching it. The whole 'Who's the daddy?' issue in season 8, combined with whiny Scully had me wanting to throw something at my tv :err:. Not to mention the bad writing that happened during that period :grumble: -- the whole 'Dearest Dana' thing made me want to scream :no:.

As for good moments, I really appreciated the show's sense of humor (for the most part). The funny episodes didn't get all that much love back when it was on the air. Heck a lot of people (iirc) wanted to see aliens and thought that the show should have more of a serious tone to it. But imo, the show was at its best (most of the time) when it balanced all of the themes out. Having M & S banter back and forth and make quips helped to add to the show. Seriousness was a part of it (ie: the cancer arc, for example), but it wasn't the entire show.



Star Trek: TNG -- For me, the best moment from that show, are actually two of them, when Capt. Picard became Locutus of Borg :eeep:. That was just terrifying and it showed that the show could do well on its own. And the other one is the finale of the series, loved the entire episode, and I especially loved how he finally took the time to play cards with the crew.



Frasier: One of my favorite shows. Really wasn't a fan when Frasier went and dated all those women during one part of the series (don't remember what season that took part in though).

As for favorite moments, really loved when Niles and Daphne danced the tango. It was just sheer perfection :love:. Such love and longing. And it really showed (for the most part) what a class act the show was.




Those are only ones I can come up with right now, but I look forward to seeing what you guys come up with :). ]]> Television Fawkesfan1 http://www.cosforums.com/showthread.php?t=132174