I challenge you to look through these challenges and pick one yourself.

 

In fairness, they're mostly pretty dire

A NEW CHALLENGER HAS APPEARED: Stalin's Pipe Organs
Line: "Murder— After all we've done, all we've hurt and destroyed, it seems like such a little step, doesn't it?"
Length: 2k words

 

It's got to be better than the endless reams of shitty contrived "humour" that people have pumped out for ten pages.

 

A NEW CHALLENGER HAS APPEARED: Caliburn!
Line: "Such a sweet boy. You always were such a sweet boy."
Length: 1000+ words.

Can anyone guess where I stole that line from?

 

TAKEN.

The arctic wind howled furiously outside of the hut, and Harry shivered. He had been assigned to watch the mountain pass, but he'd be damned if he was going to go outside in this weather. Rubbing his shoulders to stay warm, Harry growled. What was the fucking incantation for the goddamn warming charm? Not for the first time, Harry wished that he had actually paid attention in Charms class. He moved to the last piece of furniture in the room, the table, and with a muttered Reducto, it exploded. Summoning the shards, Harry tossed them on the dwindling flames that were the only thing keeping him warm. They sputtered slightly, and then grew to new heights, brining a new wave of warmth into the building. Harry glanced critically at the flames. From his experience, with that much wood, the fire would last him another hour. Maybe. Hopefully, by then, his partner would return from the scouting, teach him the fucking warming charm, and then he could stop burning every single thing in the room.

Glancing around, he examined what was left. Not much. Aside from a fine layer of saw dust on the floor from his destruction of the wooden furniture, all that remained was the firepit, his sleeping bag, his personal 235 compartment trunk that contained all of his billions of galleons of gold from Gringotts, and a pile of stuff in the corner that belonged to Fleur. Well, the stuff she hadn’t taken when she’d gone off scouting, anyways. Harry opened his trunk of gold and morosely stared down at it. Maybe galleons were flammable? He grabbed a handful and tossed them into the fire. Other than releasing a torrent of sparks through the air, nothing happened. Well, there went that idea. Harry growled in frustration, slamming down the lid of the trunk. The amount of money he had just thrown into the fore could buy him enough firewood to last the whole winter, but was bloody useless otherwise.

His eyes suddenly alighted on Fleur’s stuff, and with a smirk, he went over to it. Sorting through the pile, he divided it into two piles: “will burn” and “Won’t burn”. The “will burn” pile consisted of an elegant wooden backed mirror, several old and valuable books, a set of extra wands, and every item of clothing except for skimpy lingerie, which Harry reasoned was far to valuable to destroy. Looking at the two piles, he bit his lip, and, after a moment’s indecisiveness, added Fleur’s broom to the “will burn” pile. His comfort was more important than the one of a kind family heirloom., after all.

Once the fire began to go out, Harry started with the manuscripts and mirror. Shattering the glass in the mirror, Harry tossed it into the fire along with the books. The fire eagerly consumed them, and warmed the room, settling any lingering doubts Harry had. The clothes and wands followed. Though they smelled rather terrible, they burned and smoldered for much longer, and Harry was warmed by the massive gouts of flame that shot into the air every time one of the wands’ ores was set alight. Finally, nothing was left but the broom. Sighing, Harry aimed his wand at it, and began to cast “REDUC-“, when suddenly the door slammed open, and Fleur stepped in. She stopped short, blinked at what she saw. An empty room filled with sawdust, and Harry aiming his wand at her precious broomstick. Just as she entered, he completed the spell, and the bolt of magic flew from his wand, blowing the broom to smithereens.

"What the hell, Harry?! That was my broom!" screamed Fleur. “And what have you done to the room??” Harry sheepishly grinned, and explained. By the end of his story, Fleur looked nearly apoplectic. “YOU IDIOT! How did you manage to forget the warming charm?? I’d make you sleep on the couch tonight, but you bloody well blew it to smithereens!”

Harry nervously clasped his hand behind his back. It was going to be a long night. But at least Fleur knew the warming charm...

 

Happy, Oz?

 

Well then, Oz, what would she say?

 

Something along the lines of "Oh merde, 'arry, 'ou have disintegrated eet!"

But I was trying to write Fleur after she has been pretty severely Englsih-ized after years of working as an Auror.

 

Making love to a bird?

 

Lolol. You're an idiot.

 

LOL. That is all.

 

She 'as, 'ow you zay, gone native, no?

 

Reminds of that Harry/Hedwig story from the old days. And wasn't there one where Fleur turned into a bird during sex with Roger Davies and Harry caught them whilst trying to fuck a sphinx? Shits was lulzcity.

Anyway, throw ya boy Av a challenge.

 

A sphinx eez fine too, non?

 

Anyone want to throw me a challenge?

Zennith, you need to complete my challenge.

 

I'm claiming this one