Right, sling a challenge my way. I need something to distract me from trying to piece together Ghost Story fragments until I can get my hands on a hard copy again in a few days >_<

 

Fuck it, challenge me.

 

A New Challenger Has Appeared: Jormungandr

Length: ~1000 words

Line: "Fuck it, challenge me."

 

I would like a challenge please

 

A New Challenger Has Appeared: Oliver of Kingston (Or anyone really)

Length/Time: Whatevs

Line: "Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. And count to ten."

 

Isn't that how wastelands of time starts?

 

You see that challenge up there? :3

 

Now that I think about it, pretty much, yeah. Funnily enough, that story didn't even cross my mind. My thoughts were on the horror genre more than anything.

 

A challenge please.

 

Ok, people need to start posting their responses to these challenges. This is getting ridiculous. You ask for a challenge when you have a couple of hours free to put one together, and then post within the deadline. It's the simplest thing imaginable.

Last response was on the 18th of September. 16 challenges have been posted since then, none of which have been answered.

Alive and Free, I'd recommend just picking one from the list since you posted the prior response. There's literally no point in just piling challenge upon challenge, and I doubt any of the people who haven't responded to their challenge prompt in more than a month are actually going to complete it.

 

A/N-0: If you want a challenge, you don't ask for one; you simply take it.

A/N-0 Addendum: LIKE A BOSS.

Bring me that horizon​

Open the door. Close the door. The room is shrouded in near-complete darkness. I throw my cloak onto the couch. One step forward. Second step. Fifth. Tenth. I have walked across the room without running into or stepping on anything. I have now reached the icebox. I open it and grab one of the bottles. Judging by the soft hiss it is wizard-made beer, the weak stuff, probably the pack Al left behind last month. Oh well. I down half its content in one gulp. I was right. I grab another bottle, by the feel of it scotch, and slam the icebox shut. Note to self: introduce Al to real beer befitting a real man.

I transverse the room, again without stepping on anything, and settle down in the couch. I let out a held breath instead of sighing. In the years since I bought the place it has never been this quiet. First came Luna Lovegood and her father, who lost their house and—well—everything during the war. Then Ron and Neville, while the three of us attended Auror Academy. Andy Tonks and little Teddy were, of course, frequent visitors. Neville moved back home when his gran’s health began failing. Old Xeno moved out when the old Lovegood house was rebuilt. Luna ran off with that fucker after that, but recent Hogwarts-graduate Hermione moved right in. She and Ron got their own place a year later, and in their place came Gin. Two years after that, she touched her belly one night and said I’d have a new tenant soon. Three months later she became the house’s mistress. The next few years saw the arrival of first Jimmy, then Al, and finally little Li-Lu. Alongside Teddy, who had become a semi-permanent fixture since Andy’s second marriage, the kids had the run of the place.

Then the kids began leaving for Hogwarts, and Gin was depressed as one by one our babies left the nest; Teddy first, then Jimmy, then Al, finally Li-Lu. I encouraged her to go back to her job with the Prophet but it didn’t work. Then I decided, what the hell, I’ve done my share with protecting the world. I resigned at the ripe old age of fifty and we began travelling the world. I wanted to try for another kid but Gin put the foot down on that, though I did try. Hard. Several times a night.

Good times.

I finish the beer and take a swig of the scotch. Oh yes. That’s the stuff.

Gin used to say I made a bad example for the kids for drinking so much while I, in turn, laughed it off. Honestly? I never drank more than two bottles a week. And no, those weren’t charmed, self-filling bottles. Frankly, my coworkers (and later, subordinates) were amazed. They didn’t know how I stayed sane with all the shit we dealt with, day-in and day-out.

A beautiful wife, four great kids, and lots of sex, I said.

No one believed me.

Oh well.

Maybe I should go talk to Hugo. Maybe not a frontline Auror again, but I can work in the office. Or I can be a consultant. Heck, maybe even an instructor at the Academy. Something to help pass the time.

I never realized just how long each day really is. Twenty four hours. Fourteen hundred and forty minutes. Eighty-six thousand, four hundred and forty seconds.

I miss stepping on Li-Lu's toys, or stubbing my toes on Al's books. I miss the kids livening up the place. Above all, I miss Gin. Even her incessant nagging.

The doorbell rings. I don’t want to answer it. The bell rings again. I keep quiet, hoping that whoever it is will get the clue and go. Rings again. I begin to wonder who would come to a dark and seemingly empty house in the dead of the night.

The bell finally stops ringing. The my ears start ringing as the door gets blown off its hinges.

“What the flying fuck?” In one fluid moment I have climbed to my feet, dropped the bottle and drawn my wand. Old instincts never die. “Who—?”

The dust cleared. Light from a lit wand reveals a tall, nearly bald man at the entrance. “Harry.” Neville says, his eyes sharp as ever despite being the same age as I am. “Why didn’t you answer the damn door? I thought you had an accident or something!”

I flick my wand to turn on the lighting charms in the room. My eyes sweep the room to assess the damage. “I was hoping you’ll just go away, not destroy my front door.”

He rolls his eyes. With a flick of his wand the front door begins fixing itself.“I was going to, but I did a Human-revealing Charm. I know you’re inside but you didn’t answer; what conclusion do you think I’d have drawn?” He huffed.

I stifle a sigh. Neville means well. “Alright.”

“Alright isn’t enough.” He retorts. His expression softened. “Gin wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

I run a hand through my hair.

“You still have Hannah and the girls, you don’t understand. And I pray you never have to.” I tell him. I don’t begrudge them, I really don’t; I knew that the kids would one day leave home and crave their own niche in the world. I knew that they have their own lives to live. And I knew that Gin never truly recovered from her stroke in ’46, that she would very likely go before I do. I accepted that, and have made peace with it. It’s just that…

“I miss them. I miss her, Neville. But more importantly, I’m bored near fuck to tears.” I tell him. “Peace and quiet is great only if you have someone to share it with; I don’t. Not anymore.”

Surprisingly, his face split into a grin. “In that case, I have some good news.”

I blink at him, and only then does my second visitor reveal herself.

“Luna!” I cry, genuinely happy to see her. I pull her into an embrace. “My goodness!”

The years have been kind to her. Blond hair has long since been replaced by white, of course, but her face is barely touched by the passage of time; she looks just like the girl I met on the Hogwarts Express nearly seventy years ago.

“It’s good to see you too.” She smiles, her silvery-grey eyes bright as ever. Her humour diminishes slightly as she says, “I’m sorry about Ginny. I came as soon as I heard.”

“Thank you.” I say sincerely. Even with the use of magic it’s a month-long trip from Mars back to Earth. I force myself to smile. “But where are my manners? Come on in, both of you.”

Luna kicks shut the newly-repaired door and kicks off her shoes, just as she used to do when she was living here. I can’t help but laugh. Neville smirks and takes over my duty by pouring refreshments for the three of us.

“So how are things in the Colonies?” I ask. It was quite the rage two years back; the muggles bit off more than they could chew when they opened those tombs on Mars, and it was only with the aid of the Wizarding World that they defeated the reanimated White Martians. Magical peoples were sought after since then, and many witches and wizards found new opportunities off-planet.

“I’ve resigned, actually.” Luna says. I raise an eyebrow at her. As one of the senior magical naturalist in the world, she was among the first people recruited for the off-planet missions, and as far as I knew she loved the job. She explains before I ask, however. “I’ve signed on for the new Expedition to Europa. And that’s why I’m here.”

“Oh?”

She gestures at the room. “I felt the same way after Rolf, you know. I ran off to Mars because I can’t stand everything reminding me of who—what—I lost. I need to go away, at least for a bit. And I think you need to do the same now.”

My eyes meet hers. “I wasn’t a researcher, or a scientist. I was an Auror.”

Neville speaks up. “Who knows? There may be alien monsters to kill, or alien criminals to catch.” He winks at Luna, who shakes her head in amusement. “I’m going, too, Harry.”

“We’ll make something for you, Harry, provided you are willing to come.” She says. “You don’t have to decide now; the Expedition doesn’t leave for another month.”

I look at Neville, then Luna. I recall myself with two other, my best friends then (and now still), having grand adventures in our youth.

A spark rekindles the fire in my heart. I down the last of the scotch and Vanish the bottle.

“I don’t need a month.” I say.

Neville grins and holds out his fist, which I bump lightly with my own. Luna gives me a tight hug.

“Fuck it, challenge me.”
-----
A/N-1: 1.5k words in about a day. My first venture into 1st person viewpoint, actually.

A/N-2: title stole from the last line of the first Pirates of Caribbean movie. Altherate title is "Second spring".

A/N-3: If you didn't get it, Gin is the recently dead Ginny Potter. Jimmy, Al and Li-Lu are James Sirius, Albus Severus and Lily Luna Potter. Hugo is Hugo Weasley. That Fucker is Rolf Scamander. (Don't ask.)

A/N-4: I had this idea of a romance fic, tentatively called "Fly me to the moon", of Harry and Luna in their golden years, after their spouses passed away; in that story Luna is a magical naturalist working at the Lunar Colonies. The Colonies idea is also used in my other TGYH entry, "Thy Last Enemy" on page 23.

 

But you don't take someone else challenge when there are more than a few without any challengers.

 

You fucker, Oruma. That being said, nice one-shot.

And since I'm a bastard, and you stole my challenge...

 

It makes things all the more fun and possibly pressure the original request-er to actually write? *wink Jorm wink*

Bring it, buddy :awesome

Or shall I say...


---------- Post automerged at 23:36 ---------- Previous post was at 15:06 ----------

A/N-0: All glory to Jormungandr.​

Of Firebolt and Whipped Cream​

“Katie, why do you have two cans of whipped cream and my Firebolt?”

The Gryffindor fifth-year turns around and greets you with a Cheshire smile.

“I’m planning on vandalizing the Dungeons?”

You raise an eyebrow. “With whipped cream.”

She shrugs. “Easier to clean away the evidence than spray paint. Tastier, too.”

You sigh. “And how, pray tell, did you get the Firebolt?”

“Your best mate stole it for me?”

You glare at me and mumble something about gingers under your breath. Katie giggles. Feeling rather cheeky, l remind you that we have Dark Arts and Defence next period. You roll your eyes and promise to hex me thoroughly before turning back to your girlfriend.

“Is there any way I can…” You scratch your head as you try to find the correct word. “…convince you otherwise?”

Katie winks at you. “You can try.”

You have never been one to back down from a challenge. With a bark-like laugh you pull her into your arms; her giggle is cut short as you crush your lips against hers. She releases the Firebolt and it floats by your side as you…

Well. Hmm. You know what? I’ll give you two some privacy. I’ll, err…

Whoa.

I’ll be in my bunk.

TGYH-TGYH-TGYH-TGYH-TGYH-TGYH-TGYH-TGYH​

When the Yule Ball was announced, you decided to track down and ask Hermione Granger. She blushed furiously and thanked you for the offer, and she wished she could, but someone had already asked her and she accepted. She did promise to save a dance for you, but you couldn’t help fuming as you left the library, wondering who beat you to her.

Deciding that you needed to get some fresh air, you grabbed your Firebolt and went off for a flight around the Hogwarts Lake. The Tri-Wizard Tournament was great, and being selected a Champion was an honour, but you missed Quidditch. You decided to loop around the school then flew to the Quidditch field. You found someone there; it was Katie.

She, too, missed Quidditch, and was trying to practice by herself, by charming a Bludger into attacking the Quaffle—in essence, making it a Keeper. The problem was that she couldn’t set a limit on the distance; the Bludger would knock the Quaffle away from the goal posts, followed it and attacked her when she tried to catch the ball. You couldn’t help laughing at that—it reminded you of the time when you tried to charm the Bludgers to chase you, and you ended up getting two bruised ribs. You offered to play Keeper for her, and she accepted.

Two hours and a lot of sweating later, the two of you landed, utterly exhausted but happy for the workout. You told her of this move you saw at the World Cup Final. It was difficult but you thought she could do it—and you wouldn’t mind helping her out. She blushed and said that as a champion you should focus on the Second Task. Your mind, however, drifted to the unexpected task closer at hand.

You asked her if she had a date for the Yule Ball already.

Her blush grew darker and she shook her head. You ran a hand through your dark, windswept hair. You should have more experience with girls, but you didn’t—you had never taken advantage of your fame. You swallowed hard and bellowed the question.

Her eyes widened.

You stared back.

She finally realized you were not joking, and nodded. You couldn’t help it; a face-splitting grin appeared on your face. She excused herself and quickly raced toward the girl’s changing room, to shower, and you did likewise. It was nearly suppertime and you were quite hungry, but somehow you had this spring in your steps.

TGYH-TGYH-TGYH-TGYH-TGYH-TGYH-TGYH-TGYH​

Over the next two weeks, you had several more meetings with Katie. You confided in me your fear that aside from Quidditch you didn’t know what else to say to her. You didn’t like it when I said she’d be barmy to talk about other things with you.

Discreetly you inquired about her dress, and decided that you would owl-order a new dress-uniform to match her dress’ colour. I lamented the waste of money, but you did have more than enough to spend.

Katie was gorgeous that night, and I could tell from your look that you were absolutely smitten with her. You two disappeared around nine o’clock and you didn’t come back until midnight. You said you had the most wonderful gift, although mine was very, very useful as well. You couldn’t have done it without that silencing charm, you said--she was quite a screamer.

TGYH-TGYH-TGYH-TGYH-TGYH-TGYH-TGYH-TGYH​

You and Katie are decent at last, and I have… relieved my tension, as well. It seems that she was still determined to invade Snake territory. Apparently some fifth-year Slytherins made a derogatory remark about you two.

You were more thoughtful than she was, however. After the Second Task your relationship was all but made public, especially after that insect Skeeter’s article in that rag of a newspaper. The age difference between the two of you, in particular, was a heated subject.

Katie makes puppy eyes at you, and I have to remind her that you have more important things to worry about. She doesn’t like it, but she knows I have your best interest at heart.

“Killjoy.” She says, sticking her tongue out at me.

I put on an innocent look. “Me? A killjoy? I’m the life of parties.”

You laugh. I know that you were worried, that Katie and your best friend might not get along. The truth is, there are quite a few things she and I don’t see eye-to-eye. We have agreed to disagree, however, for your sake.

“And besides, I see a better…revenue?”

“Avenue.” She corrects me.

I nod. “...Avenue for your revenge.”

“Really?” Her interest is piqued.

“That’s enough, you two,” You say, half serious and half amused. I check my watch and discover it’s time for her next class. You and I have different schedules, naturally, so she kisses you goodbye and returns to the castle.

“She’s quite a girl.” I say, picking up the Firebolt she left behind. “I’m just not sure where you’re going with her.”

Your look darkens, and I know you have thought of that, too. What kind of future is there for the two of you, when you leave at the end of the school year?

...What kind of future is there, for international Quidditch superstar Viktor Krum and ordinary British student Katie Bell?

You sigh. “I wish I know, Poliakoff. I wish I know.”

-----
A/N-1: I hope you like the twist at the end. Clocked at about 1.1k. And, oh look! 2nd person POV!

A/N-2: If anyone has a better suggestion for the title, please let me know.

 

Thought something was odd when you mentioned the "honour of being a Champion" and an age difference controversy. Was not the ending I was expecting, so yea... well done sir guy.

I lol'd

 

Sooner or later I'm going to get more thumbs up. Good stuff, Oruma, and definitely an unexpected result on the ending. Same with the other challenge.

 

I bow to thee, Oruma.

 

Fuck it, isn't anyone going to write anything?

 

I'd forgotten about mine, but I'm writing it now. I'll be able to post it by tomorrow, me thinks.

 

Author’s Note: the flu and some internet issues meant that what should have taken an hour has taken weeks but here it is. Not great but the challenge has been answered.

x-x-x-x​

Harry Potter and the Lawmen ​

x-x-x-x​

“You’re in a lot of trouble Potter,” Moody said, both eyes fixed on the young wizard. “Do you know what the Ministry would call what you just did? They’d call it assault, maybe even attempted murder. And, unfortunately, the Malfoy name has enough pull in the Ministry that people are taking his complaint seriously.”

Harry said nothing, even as he boiled with anger and frustration. Despite his aggravation he wasn’t stupid enough to smart mouth Alastor Moody. Moody wouldn’t hesitate to hex his mouth off and Harry actually respected him, which helped keep his mouth closed.

“An official investigation’s already been opened,” Rufus Scrimgeour added. “The lead auror will be here in less than an hour to speak with you.”

Harry stiffened at the sound of the Minister’s voice and he resolutely avoided looking at him.

“We can’t afford to have you tied up in an investigation or in Azkaban for assaulting Draco Malfoy, you’re too important for that,” Moody said.

“Dumbledore told you ...” Harry began before snapping his mouth shut, remembering the company that he was in.

“Dumbledore told me nothing,” Moody said, “but I’m an investigator Potter, unlike most of the idiots in the Order. I put clues together and figure things out and Albus drops more clues than he cares to admit.”

“The point is, we want to help you.”

“Like you wanted to help me at Christmas?” Harry asked.

“I was wrong in how I approached you at Christmas,” Scrimgeour admitted. The admission sounded painful and Scrimgeour looked everywhere but at Harry as he spoke. “Alastor made me see that. I’m afraid that I allowed my preconceptions about you to cloud my judgement.”

Harry began to smirk and comment but Moody cut in sharply. “You did exactly the same thing Potter. Rufus has made mistakes but so have you. Hopefully, you’ll be smart enough to learn from them.”

Harry flushed at the rebuke and avoided Moody’s gaze.

“What I’m trying to say Potter, is that you two need to start over, and I’m here to make sure you act like reasonable adults.”

“I want to help you Harry,” Scrimgeour said sincerely. “I want to help the wizarding world. Working together you and I can do a lot of damage to Voldemort, maybe even see the bastard dead.”

“And Rufus can get the investigation against you buried,” Moody added.

Harry’s temper, always a fragile thing, flared at the inference that he’d accept favours from the Ministry in return for his support. “Why should I care about an investigation, when that prick was trying to cast the cruciatus on me?” he demanded angrily.

“He what?” Moody asked, sounding surprised. “Are you sure? Did he actually cast it or are you just guessing what his next spell was going to be?”

“He got most of the incantation out before I hit him with the Sectumsempra,” Harry said.

“Sectumsempra?” Scrimgeour drew in a sharp breath. “I know that curse Potter. It was a favourite of some Death Eaters during the last war. It’s one of the nastier dark cutters I’ve come across. Where did you learn it?”

“Later Rufus,” Moody interjected. “If Malfoy tried to cast the cruciatus, and we can confirm that with pensieve memories and veritaserum, then this investigation is over. Potter can claim self-defence. The curse that he used in retaliation being dark magic, and we will be discussing that later Potter, might cause some trouble but nothing we can’t deal with completely above board. We could even open an investigation into Malfoy. If Lucius Malfoy’s spawn doesn’t already have blood on his hands then I’ve learned nothing over the past sixty years.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s already a marked Death Eater,” Harry added. He was excited by the idea that he might have finally found someone who was receptive to his suspicions.

“Based on what?”

Harry quickly sketched out what he knew, causing Scrimgeour and Moody to trade thoughtful looks.

“You make a lot of assumptions based on rather flimsy evidence,” Scrimgeour said cautiously.

“Some of our best investigations started out with assumptions and flimsy evidence. Remember the Smythe case, we had nothing there and it ended up being one of our biggest arrests,” Moody said. “Potter might just have a nose for these things. We should look into it. Voldemort’s always avoided marking students in the past. If he’s changing his pattern now it must be for a good reason.”

“I agree about that,” Scrimgeour said, “but perhaps we should get back to our reason for being here.” He checked his watch. “We’ve got forty minutes before Decker will be here and even if we’ve got a possible solution to the Malfoy situation we’ve got other things to discuss.”

“I want you to help the Ministry Potter,” Moody said. “Rufus needs your help and you need the Ministry’s help, help that Albus should be giving you but isn’t.” Harry felt the urge to defend the Headmaster but Moody continued before he could speak. “I love Albus like a brother Potter. I’ve followed his command in two wars and he was the best man at my wedding, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s slipping. If you’re as important as I suspect then he should be doing a hell of a lot more to get you ready then he is. Don’t deny it. If you’re half as smart as I hope you are then you suspect it as much as I do.”

And the horrible thing was that Harry did suspect it. The private lessons he was having with Dumbledore were a joke, though he hadn’t voiced that thought yet. It wasn’t just that he wasn’t quite willing to admit it aloud but he also knew that the idea wouldn’t find an appreciative audience in Ron and Hermione.

“What are you offering?” he asked, ignoring the feeling that he was betraying Dumbledore just for hearing the Minister’s offer.

“I want you to support the Ministry and in return I’m prepared to offer you training and protection.”

Harry was shaking his head before Scrimgeour could finish speaking. “I’m not offering my blind support,” he said. “I told you that at Christmas.”

“I’d be disappointed if you did,” Moody said while Scrimgeour’s expression tightened in displeasure. “How about a compromise? You support Rufus but speak out against the policies you don’t like if you feel the need to. Before you speak out though, you bring your misgivings to me or Rufus and give us the chance to adjust the policy or to bring you around to our way of thinking.”

“And having you disagree with some of my policies should stop people from accusing you of being a mindless mouthpiece,” Scrimgeour admitted grudgingly.

“Well, if I’m not being a mindless mouthpiece, I suppose I should ask if Stan Shunpike is still in jail?”

Scrimgeour’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll be glad to hear that he was cleared of all charges except poor judgement and I imagine that he learned his lesson in that regard,” he said, a hint of frost in his voice.

Moody snorted. “I doubt it. The whole bloody family are idiots.”

“And you’ll give me training and protection? What sort of training? What sort of protection?”

“Alastor will handle both sides, as well as ensure that we can keep in touch. Officially he’s been brought back into the Ministry as a consultant, which means he gives briefings on the capabilities of some of the Death Eaters, helps make tactical plans, looks over newly gathered intelligence and serves as my advisor, but he’s chafing at the bit to get into a more active role. Since you’ve got a history with him it makes sense to assign him as your bodyguard and trainer. As for the type of training, well I’ll leave that up to him but I imagine that it’ll be mostly hands on with an emphasis on personal defence.”

“It’s easy to protect someone if they can handle themselves. So, do we have a deal?”

Harry swallowed and tried desperately to ignore the feeling that he was betraying Dumbledore by making a deal with the Minister. “I think we have a deal Minister. Though I reserve the right to end the agreement or renegotiate it later,” he added hastily.

Scrimgeour nodded and held out his hand. Harry shook it.

“Now that you’re both acting like reasonable adults, we need to get ready for Decker’s arrival. We’re going to want to move fast on this Malfoy thing Scrimgeour, especially if Snape and Dumbledore are in on it like Potter’s thinks.”

x-x-x-x​

“I wish that you had not done this Harry,” Dumbledore said, his expression resigned. He looked tired. Malfoy’s arrest in the middle of lunch had hit him like a sledgehammer. That Harry had been the impetus of the arrest only made it worse.

“I did what I thought was right,” Harry said, summoning feelings of righteousness. “Just like you did when you left me with the Dursleys.” That helped. Memories of the Dursleys stirred his anger, shielding him against Dumbledore’s sadness and disappointment.

“So you did. It appears that I must hope that you have not made a mistake as I did.”

Harry hoped the same thing.