Holy crap. That was actually plausible and now I really want to do one of those.

"Kill the spare" sounds more like "just desserts" now

 

minhoto:
Words:Whatever
Time limit:Whatever
Challenge: Harry looked into the mirror and smiled as he ran his hands over his freshly shaved and tattooed head. The double lightning bolts covered up his scar magnificently

 

I dislike that challenge very, very much, Edgeworker. It sounds like something out of a really, really bad fic when authors graft their personal tastes onto Harry - tattoos, piercings, hair color and other bullshit. :\

Dun write it, minhoto, pick one from the backlog instead.

 

Ehhh... usually the expectation is for you to answer a challenge before making one.

Minhoto, try this:

Length: 1000
Time: an afternoon
Prompt: "Seven years later and you still wave your wand around like it's a kitchen knife."

 

Or it could be done as The Painted Man crossover/fusion.

 

I was all set to do it up until I saw that was his first post, which means he's never taken a challenge before.

@Edge - Go and read up on the rules of this thread.

@Word - My Snape sense is tingling

 

I had a Molly flash...:awesome

 

Shorter then the posted length, but I had less time then I expected today and I wanted to post something.

Enjoy:


Apparently Snape was feeling a bit nostalgic for our final DADA class. Hermione had been called an insufferable know-it-all and reminded of her inability to keep her mouth shut, Ron was going to be serving detention till graduation and Seamus was told to stay far, far away from any potions ingredients that could in any way explode. Surprisingly Snape had yet to snipe at Harry, but no one knew if it was because he was saving the best for last or if it was because Snape had learned not to piss off the man that had torn Voldemort to piece’s with the barest of effort. And now he was turning towards me.

“Pathetic effort Longbottom, seven years later and you still wave your wand around like it's a kitchen knife. How you survived the war I’ll never know.”

I take a moment and look Snape over before responding. Our esteemed professor had a rough war, if his appearance is any indication. Left hand missing. Vicious scar running from the base of his neck to the tip of his ear. His big ugly beak broken in two places. Even his hair hadn’t escaped untouched, having been burned off with a spell no one had ever seen before. It had yet to grow back, but at least his skull wasn’t a blackened mess like it was at the beginning of the year. I feel sorry for the man for a moment. Here he stands, a hero of the war, saviour of countless from his efforts as a spy. His body beaten and bloodied from the numerous battles he had fought after being discovered and fleeing Voldemort’s service. Here stood the man who had killed Rosier, fought Dolohov to a standstill and had saved Ginny from Fenrir’s bloodlust. Still teaching, as bitter and hateful as ever before. Thanked and rewarded for his services, but never respected. Never honoured. Never loved.

This is the man who, if not for the war, would have been the biggest nightmare I would face in my school years. But I stood back-to-back with Harry during the Hall of Prophesy battle, raw magic pouring from us both as we bought time for the other to escape. I was part of the rescue team that found the Weasley Twins surrounded by the bodies, and body parts, of a dozen Death Eaters. I had hunted Nagini in the forests of Europe and walked out with a new pair of snake-skin boots and a half litre of snake poison running threw my veins.

Severus Snape doesn’t scare me anymore. And while some may see that as a good thing, as a sigh that I’ve gown into the man my grandmother had pushed me to become, it just reminds me of what me and my friends had lost. Our friends, family and mentors. Our childhood. Our innocence.

He must have seen something in my eyes. Snape has moved on before I can give him a piece of my mind and Lavender and Parvati are his newest targets. As he wonders aloud if their “talents” were all they were worth, I catch Harry’s eye. The same memories are running through his mind, the same battle of nostalgia and grief.

I don’t hate Snape for being a git.

I hate him for making me remember.

End​

Don't know how it went from Neville ripping Snape in class to a mild case of Severitus, but... yea. Still trying to figure out how that ended up like that.

So yea, what did I fuck up this time?

 

-

"Dragons?" he repeated numbly, looking at Ludo Bagman like he was mad. "You want to import dragons half way across the world into British territory?"

Bagman smiled back enthusiastically. "Cornelius," he said, calmly putting one hand on the Minister of Magic's shoulders and guiding him back towards the magically reinforced pen that held the only Norwegian Ridgebacks south of Norway. "Imagine the thrill that the students of Hogwarts will feel when they get their first glimpse of a full-sized dragon! 'Course, the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons delegations will be there watching as well so we certainly want to give the crowd a show that they will remember." Bagman neglected to mention that there was a slight chance the crowd would get an upclose view of a champion being dismembered by the dragon's massive jaws.

Cornelius Fudge stood for a long while and watched the Ridgeback gnaw on a half-eaten cattle carcass thinking of the safety of the students but more importantly the reaction of the adult voters who would be present. He had spoken with the leader of the dragon handlers a half an hour previous and the grizzled, flea-bitten old man scared him far more than he was willing to admit and did nothing to put his worries to rest. Fudge grimaced and scratched at his neck underneath his high-collared robes; he promised himself that he would invest heavily in clothing that repelled small insects next time he decided to visit a dragon pen.

"So, you're saying that I should allow the students to be at risk just so that the tournament will be memorable? That doesn't seem very intelligent and certainly not voter-friendly, Ludo."

Ludo nodded in agreement but then caught himself before the Minister could notice. "No, sir, not at all; in fact, I think that bringing the dragons to Scotland shows great trust in the dragon handlers and the people arranging the tournament as well as the competitors who will be challenging for the cup. Remember, the students will be endangered, but they won't be directly attacking the dragon because they are merely after the egg." Ludo wisely avoided mentioning dragons cared less for their own safety than for the safety of their children and were commonly known to eat predators that entered their nest.

Cornelius didn't look convinced so Ludo licked his lips and added, "Furthermore sir, the dragons will be tranquilized to some extent so they will not have their full capabilities; it will be difficult for them to fly without vertigo and their vision will be significantly reduced. We also plan to outfit the students with clothing that is flame retardant and--"

Cornelius sniffed, "Please do not tell me you're planning on outfitting our best and brightest children with something a gay retard would wear."

Ludo paused, covered his laugh with a cough, and then continued as if Cornelius had not spoken. "Not at all, sir! It is our intention to make sure that the students are as safe as they can be, but as you know, the Triwizard Tournament has always been about facing true danger and adversity and coming through that with all limbs intact."

Cornelius did not talk for some time and Ludo stepped in front of the Minister to return to silently making faces at the easily-offended Ridgeback. Minutes passed before the Ridgeback reacted, blowing a vicious stream of fire towards Ludo though it struck the invisible wall between them with a clang, drawing Ludo's pleased laughter. "Beautiful bastards," he murmured, smiling happily.

At long last Cornelius made his decision, nodding fertively and clapping the other man on the back. He returned Ludo's predatory smile with an uncertain one and then he turned away from the spectacle, much preferring the confines of his immaculately decorated office to the wilderness around him. Before he apparated he whispered, "I hope you're right, Ludo. I'm trusting you not to screw this up but if a Hogwarts student ends up in the stomach of a dragon expect yourself to its next course."

Ludo's blank look was followed by dawning comprehension but before he could discuss perhaps importing something significantly more furry and less devious for the students to battle he heard the sharp crack of the Minister apparating. Wryly, he smiled, drawing a galleon from his pockets and flipping it in the air. It fell smoothly into his hand and he glanced non-chalantly at his watch.

Lightly, he said, "Time to hedge your bets, Ludo."

-

Harry made sure no one was looking and took another sip from the small flask hidden in the breast pocket of his robes. It was surprisingly easy to waltz into the Champions' tent wasted drunk, especially considering it was early in the morning and everyone automatically assumed he was nervous about the First Task. Cedric smiled warily, Krum paid him no mind and Fleur just sniffed at him; it occured to him suddenly that most likely he did smell rancid from the alcohol but then again Fleur tended to make that face when she was beside anyone of English descent.

Harry tentatively checked his underarms but all he could smell was the acrid odor of dragon dung coming from outside the tent. He sighed dramatically; this dragon-fighting business was dreadfully boring when you didn't actually get to fight a dragon.

His wand was a blurr of motion as he swung it wildly, miming hacking away at the dragon he was about to face. "Aha!" he called, sweeping one leg drunkenly in a circle and flailing his arms. "Do you think you can defeat me? With the strength of my blade I will destroy... you!" It was merely moments later when Fleur openly jeered him, breaking his concentration and leaving him feeling foolish. He non-chalantly returned his wand to its holster and stuck his tongue out at the French Veela, an action which caused her to roll her eyes and turn away from him.

He spent the remaining minutes before his own turn happily transfiguring mosquitoes into snitches, laughing delightedly as they slapped into him and made whole-hearted attempts to suck his blood. Apparently he wasn't brilliant at transfiguration when drunk, but he found a snitch that always made a journey back to its seeker tremendously funny. The hilarity ended when Ludo Bagman appeared, wrapping one of his thick, scarred hands around the snitch.

A moment later Harry lost his concentration and Ludo was forced to wipe the bloody smear on his hand off on a hankerchief. After a serious look that Harry smiled brilliantly at, Ludo shook his head and asked the question he had travelled from the announcer's box to ask.

"Are you prepared for this, Mister Potter?"

Harry made a solemn attempt to reassure the Head of Magical Games but he was relatively certain that it came out as a particularly venomous belch. In fact, Ludo took a step back and wrinkled his nose. Quickly, Ludo grasped Harry by the front of his robes and angrily asked him, "Are you drunk, Harry?"

Harry's response, lost as he was in blissful intoxication, was to nod and smile bigger.

Apparently this was not the correct answer to Ludo's inquiry because he looked ready to berate the Gryffindor student, but it was at that moment that the Minister of Magic waved the man over to him. With one last exasperated glance Ludo left Harry in silence.

Six minutes later, Viktor Krum came back but Harry was too preoccupied to notice. Thirteen minutes later, Cedric returned and was then followed by Fleur five minutes later. When Harry's own name was called he stood shakily and half-trotted, half-fell to the opening of the tent and then unceremoniously threw himself through it before spectacularly throwing up all over the place.

Smiling, he waved at the crowd, most of whom were disgustedly eyeing him from hundreds of feet away. He followed his bright smile with another one, this time aimed at his opponent, the massive Hungarian Horntail that was already on the move towards him. Still waving, Harry calculated how awesome he was going to look kicking the dragon's ass.

One too many muggle fantasy films had finally done the inevitable to his sense of reasoning, Harry thought through the light buzz of fire whiskey-- he was going to saddle and ride that bloody Horntail even if it killed him.

Then it killed him.

 

The end killed it... you should cut out the last sentence.

 

Yea, cut the last sentence and you leave us hanging with this great image in our head. The way it is now just made me go, "well fuck."

 

To be honest, I love the last sentence. My vote is leave it.

That was, all told, fucking excellent. Put it on ff.net and send me the link so I can favourite it.

 

Spoilsport(s). It was intended to kill the rest of the story, that's why its important. Makes you go "What the fuck did Averis do that shit for?"

Then, hypothetically, you'll want to go read We'll All Fall After the Yule Ball to wash the bad taste out of your mouth.

EDIT: Grinning Lizard is my DUDE! He gets me. *tear*

 

I like the end. Drunk!Harry's always interestings, as long as he doesn't turn into a whiny drunk.

 

Should have had a drunk/notdrunk/IDontKnowAnymore!Katie cameo.

 

Alright, I need to kick-start the writing gears, so throw me something I can sink my teeth into.

Small warning: I'm a slow writer. In case you haven't noticed.

 

Did you ever consider that the reason Tom Riddle didn't want to return to the orphanage was because the Germans were bombing London all the time?

 

Oh, I like that.

Hold that thought. I'll be over here writin'.

 

Hi all hope your holidays were good; anyone have any challenges for me? I need something to write tommorrow once I'm positive my essay is good to go.

 

Hit me.

/10.