Okay, I need a serious challenge that I can work on over the week. Something that helps me to develop my writing skills when it comes to fight scenes.

 

Harry looked from the Aurors in the door way, to the bloodied and unconscious man on the bar floor, to the dildo he held in his hand. "This isn't what it looks like," he protested plaintively.


Aaaand cue duel with the Aurors. Or maybe you'd prefer to write Harry beating a man over the head with a dildo.

 

You're on, Tomato. I'll see when I can post it.

 

The Hagrid story was pretty damn funny. The ending had me laughing. Nice one!

 

I agree with Richard... nice one Tommy B. Obviously you have some writing chops so I'll have to take a peek at that story you posted in WbA.

Anyone want to give me a challenge?

 

I want to slowly start writing more again, so I would like a challenge I could do this weekend.

All I ask for is to have something serious. I suck at writing comedy.

 

Alrighty, here's a challenge for anyone who wants to take it:

It was quiet. Unnaturally quiet. The constant howl of the wind which had plagued Harry's sleep for years was still, and that rattling breath which he had nearly become accustomed to was gone. The only light came from the single tiny window carved into a jagged stone wall at the end of the hallway, and it was hardly enough to illuminate his cell – not for a normal person anyway. For Harry, years spent in the dark had prompted his eyes to adjust enough so that he could faintly see the outlines of his cot and a roughly hewn basin at the back of the cell. Scanning the room as intently as he could, Harry noticed that the cold he had come to associate with the Dementors was gone – and in its place was a smell awful enough to make him gag on his own breath.


That was when the first drop of something wet fell from the ceiling and Harry looked up.


--

 

A new challenger has appeared: Lindsey

Time/Length: As far as the inspiration takes you

Prompt: "Since Dad died, Hermione has given up on the Ministry work. You know what she does now? She plays with clockworks. Obsessively. A little mechanical whatsit cooked beans and toast for the kids this morning."


[[]]

A challenger steps forth: Don E Delivery/Averis

Time/Length: an hour

Prompt: It was a really old Boggart. Young boggarts pull the first fear they can personify just to get a taste of your panic and then move on. An old boggart draws upon the horrors of a thousand victims to become the worst monster under the bed imaginable. What this thing turned into... would frighten a dragon.

 

Two fucking excellent prompts, mate. Really looking forward to reading the results. I shall be finding and caning Lindsey and Averis if they don't manage to post them.

As your creative hat is obviously on, wordhammer, a challenge for you:

Length: 1000 - 2500 words
Time: A Saturday stint.
Prompt:

'Her hand found her stomach, numb and bloody, and she forced herself to breathe. Two minutes, perhaps, at the rate she was losing blood. Two minutes to do what she had to do. She could feel her body moving, straining, already committed. She tried to focus.

Two minutes.'

Not the best prompt, but really looking forward to seeing what you do with it.

 

I'll take a challenge. Need a break from actually writing my fic (preferably not comedic)

 

A challenger has appeared: Prometheus VII

Line(s): The vampire following in the shadows grinned. The boy's blood stank of desperation and sorrow; curious on such a night of joy and merry-making. Yes, he would make an excellent feast.
Snape, fresh from aftermath of Lily's death, is in no mood for bullshit. Not even from the undead.

Length: 1000-3000 (or as much as you need)

Time limit: weekend

 

This is like... angst-tastic

 

I see no angst--only Snape possibly out-'batting' a vampire.

 

Thanks, Rich and Don. Tomato, that challenge you gave me is turning out to be harder than I expected, so give me an extra day, yeah?

Grinning Lizard: Since I can't kill you for abandoning unforgiven, I have a challenge for you, mate.

Line: Killing by day, shagging by night.
Time: as long as it takes.
Length: 1500 to 3000 words, if you can manage.

Good luck.

---------- Post automerged at 10:55 ---------- Previous post was at 09:15 ----------

Challenge response.

Tomato! I’ve done it. Here you go. Unedited, naturally.

Harry looked from the Aurors in the doorway, to the bloodied and unconscious man on the bar floor, to the dildo he held in his hand. "This isn't what it looks like!" he protested plaintively.


Aaaand cue duel with the Aurors. Or maybe you'd prefer to write Harry beating a man over the head with a dildo.
__________________

Harry deflected a bone-breaker and leapt over a tripping jinx. They were schoolyard spells, but if one of them hit, he'd be fucked. That was why he would make sure that none of them would even come close.

"Give it up, Smith!" Harry shouted.

Harry sent a barrage of spell-chained stunners to try and knock Smith down. He was told not to use lethal force, but Harry, being Harry, could never hold back for so long.

"Just give me the goddamned artifact, Smith and I'll leave you alone!"

"Like hell, Potter! We both know that you'll take me when my back is turned!"

Harry had to concede that one. Smith was a slivery fucker and got away with all kinds of things and this was no exception. A charmed muggle artifact of some kind, Harry knew.

Harry summoned the table that Smith was stand on out from under him and he crashed to the floor. Smith started his roll, before coming to a crashing halt against the frame of the door.

"Got you now, fuckhead," muttered Harry.

Smith was a Deere in headlights, a fly under dragonfire and he was done, Harry had the bastard.

He was in the mood to let go. All work and no play made Harry a grumpy bastard. And when Harry was a grumpy bastard, aurors got canned.

He strode through the door of the swinging club off Diagon, a recent addition to the decor. He made no move to cover up his scar or to go incognito at all. Harry needed free drinks and if he had to play the Boy-who-lived card, then so be it.

Immediately, he noticed the atmosphere. Wild partying made everyone's magic swirl and flow freely. Alcohol lowered inhibitions and concerns. Their magic took the party option along with them, so they weren't alone in acting wild and free.

A huge bouncer, probably an old auror who had gotten canned for some slight against the ministry, guarded the doors to the joint. Harry nodded at him and used a subtle brush of legilimancy to find out the man's name.

"Hello, Bram," Harry said jovially.

Bram looked up and recognized him. "Harry Potter?" He whispered.

"In the flesh," Harry chuckled good-naturedly. "Can I come in?"

The man nearly tripped over himself to let him in. "Yes, sir. Please do! And if there's any trouble... any at all..."

"I'll come to you," Harry nodded.

As he stepped inside, the crash of drums and the rolling sound of an electric guitar, no doubt with hundreds of enchantments on it, hit him. Immediately, as any reasonable man would do, he stepped up to the bar and ordered a double fire-whisky on the rocks. Sipping his drink slowly, Harry gazed toward the dance-floor, where girls in revealing outfits were pirouetting in the arms of their respective partners. Draining his drink and clamping down on the cough that tried to force its way out, Harry began his search for someone single and hot.

He walked forward, pushing through the tightly-gathered knot of bodies just before the boarder of the dance-floor. Spying a pretty witch in a sleeveless dress and heels. Harry immediately felt sorry for her and decided to at least lighten the weight that she exerted on her heels.

Twenty minutes later, Lucy Carson was in his arms and rubbing her chest enticingly against his. Maybe he'd take her bate, but for now, he promised himself, he'd have fun first. They swayed and jumped to a beet that made sense to the young and the wild, something the muggles called electronic, but something the magicals had bastardised, called magonic.

Occasionally, she'd shout something into his ear but he could never catch a word that she was trying to get across. So, he nodded along and pretended to be interested in what she had to say. On his fifth drink, courtesy of his fans, Harry was already getting bored of this little girl. Ditching her, he began to work his way around the dance-floor, making sure to only take the "taken" girls for one turn around the floor.

Harry was on his seventh drink and well on the way to getting pissed out of his brackets. The music was getting to him and the atmosphere, which could turn a lowliest of cowards into men, was beginning to take hold of him. It was for this reason that when Taylor Noggin, a pretty blonde in a low-cut, sleeveless dress was snatched from his grip by a big bloke that Harry went for his wand.

Using his wand, both of them, was what Harry was good at. A slug-vomiting hex, just to humiliate the guy, connected with the man’s ample belly. He immediately bubbled over, vomiting spectacularly all over the witch’s dress.

The man came for him, enraged, meaty paws swinging at him. Harry switched hands and punched the guy with his right. His head snapped back as the guy rolled with the punch and before Harry knew it, the man’s arms were around him in a boxer’s clinch.

“Fuck!” he squeezed out as the breath was driven from his lungs. The man’s arms kept getting tighter around him, but Harry was not done yet.

Harry was still on his feet and used that to his advantage. Lunging forward, he drove the man back – one step, two steps, till he fetched up against the throng of dancers. Harry stomped on his foot and was going to try a banishing charm. Granted, he’d go flying with the man, but he’d land on top.

His wand sparked and they were hurled forward, knocking over a pile of dancers. Harry hadn’t thought that part through. Now, it was a tangled mess and Harry fought to extricate himself from the pile of heaving bodies and the puddles of spilt drink.

Harry drove his knee forward and felt something squish under it. An even louder scream was heard as the man, whose balls had just been kneed, bellowed.

The man finally let go of him and Harry rolled off the pile. Harry was laughing as he watched people punch and kick from the ground up, till they rose as a solid mass of bodies that began pounding at each other.

Women screamed as the men joined in the spirit, hurling chairs and glasses hither and thither, trying to floor opponents.

Wand in hand, Harry directed two glasses to hit the ceiling, where they shattered on impact and began raining lethal chips of glass everywhere. Erecting a shield, Harry watched as the frenzy got worse.

Harry leapt over a mound of wrestling bodies and stood on the bar counter, deflecting a hurled liquor bottle. It sailed into the thick of the crowd and shattered, a bubbling fountain champagne jetting high into the air and into someone’s eye.

Laughing, Harry stepped onto a barstool and started levitating himself above the crowd, deflecting thrown missiles and causing more pandemonium. Taking off the levitation charm, he let the bar stool drop, felling two huge wizards who were cowering away from a witch wielding her high-heel like a miniature pick-ax. The witch looked gratefully up at Harry, who was descending toward her fast, before she was flattened by the falling bodies of the two wizards that were victimized by the bar stool.

“Three birds with one stone,” laughed Harry.

An arm wrapped around his neck from behind, the wrist settling under his chin and yanking his head back. Using this, Harry drove his head back even further and felt the satisfying crunch as the nose shattered. Ignoring the warm blood trickling down the back of his neck, he turned to face the wizard who was about to collapse back. Harry hit him in the mouth for good measure.

Now, the smell of alcohol, blood and sweat permeated the room and things seemed to be dying down again. Bram, the bouncer, seemed to be stunning those who still stood. Harry deflected every one of them that even came remotely close, but let the man stun the others. Soon, Harry was one of the last men standing and Bram leveled his wand at him.

“Sorry, sir,” he said, “but BWL or not, you were the one who started the shit.”

Harry deflected the disarmer and leapt over more of the unconscious bodies. Standing on a particularly high mound of bodies, he sent a whip-like tendril of magic whipping through the air to wrap around Bram's waist.

“You’ve been a naughty boy, Bram,” Harry said. “You aim for the women’s breasts when you stun,” he cackled. “Don’t think I didn’t see you!”

Harry deflected a mediocre tripping jinx, which connected with one of the legs of a table which Bram had just animated. The table tripped, doing an arse-over-tit dance across the sprawl of bodies. Another stunner was deflected toward a hovering candle – and that’s what started the fire.

The candle fell and landed in a pool of alcohol the fire began spreading, till it reached the pile of bodies. The shockwave as something exploded threw Harry off his feet and soaring over the pile of bodies to land, clean on his feet, in front of Bram.

Harry had a slight problem, though. In all this soaring, flying like a bitch whose tampon fuse had been lit; his wand had slipped from his fingers. He had one final weapon in his arsenal to put Bram down.

Harry fished in his right jeans’ pocket and pulled out the artifact he had confiscated from Zack Smith. A dildo, with black stripes and runes engraved along the shaft, with the charging rune situated on the mushroom-like head of the thing. This artifact was said to rip a new one, if the clench or impact was hard enough. So, Harry raised his hand high and brought the sex toy crashing down on the skull of the bouncer.

Zack wasn’t kidding about the new hole. Because that hole drilled into his head and sprouted two sets of lips. And that’s when the Aurors arrived.

Harry looked from the Aurors in the doorway, to the bloodied and unconscious man on the bar floor, to the dildo he held in his hand. "This isn't what it looks like," he protested plaintively.

 

Ha. Not bad dude. Beyond personal quibbles, it was pretty amusing.

You might want to keep an eye on your segues (one that jumped out at me was initial duel to Harry going out to look for a party), and for scenes like the club you don't usually need to name the people Harry encounters--Bram, the bouncer deserved a name, but not the two lasses he singled out. Also in need of some grammar fixing, but like you said, unedited.

I think this means it's my turn for a challenge.

 

Challenge

I think this means it's my turn for a challenge.

Harry walks the halls unchallenged, undefeated. He draws looks and random fire, attention from the deadliest of assassins, but the most attention from the woman he cheated on Rita Skeeter with. Good luck

 

Fuck it, I might as well have another. I want to try my hand at a dark!Harry. Hit me.

 

I'll hopefully get to mine tomorrow or possibly this evening. Got the idea, just need to be able to actually commit to paper.

 

Damn, GL. This is going to be good. I can sense it. Can't wait.

 

[[]]

Ginny was one of the first to notice Harry's reappearance with Cedric, battered and bloody, at the entrance to the maze. She moved to run to his side.

"He's back! Voldemort's back," she heard him gasp out.

That stopped her short. Her heart seized up along with her fear-paralysed body. Others from the audience rushed past her to get a closer look, hoping to understand the strange shift in tone of the contest's administrators.

Some boy cried out, "Diggory's dead?"

"Of course he is," Ginny mumbled. She slipped away from the tumult and threaded her way to the back of the bustling crowd. When her path was clear, she ran full tilt back to Gryffindor tower, not stopping until she was safely behind the curtains of her bed, the dorm's door and windows sealed with a variety of charms and hexes. Even so, she remained fully-clothed and curled up against her headboard, wand pointed towards the foot of the bed or tracking any untoward noise nearby for the next few hours, until her anxiety yielded to an unwelcome sleep.

As a happy consequence of locking her dorm-mates out of the room, she was compelled to serve detention under Professor McGonagall for every remaining day of term. Drudging under the withering gaze of her Head of House was an opportunity to feel safe. Surely nothing could happen to her-- nothing could be done BY her-- whilst under the professor's vigilance.

As she rode the Express back to London, Ginny's dread resurfaced. There would be no responsible chaperones for her once back at the Burrow. Evading her mother's concern was such a regular past-time when on break as to hardly present a challenge to her- especially now. Everyone no doubt had more important matters to worry them than Ginny's waking nightmares.

[[]]

Weeks at Grimmauld Place had put her into a foul temper.

What surprised her was the revelation that thinking of Harry made her both angry and jealous. How is it that he escapes while Cedric and the Potters and me- we all suffer the full effects? Ron and Hermione go on about 'Oh, Harry must be furious; Harry must be suffering; Harry must be feeling alone.' He's not the only of Tom's victims- in point of fact he's the luckiest. Even Sirius Black has suffered more than Harry due to Tom's influence. To Hell with Harry Potter!

She immediately chastised herself for the whinging, but another sad revelation followed- To Hell with Harry. He's not going to save me again, particularly when I can't-- or won't-- tell him what Tom's done to me and why I've never mentioned it before. No- this is your fight, Miss Ginevra Molly Weasley. Best to accept that and work out a strategy to win it.

[[]]

It's Lammas tomorrow. My birthday is less than a fortnight away. I've got the ritual from that book that the portrait of Professor Black had mentioned, and I've found a boggart. No more delays.

[[]]

The ritual wasn't complicated. She drew a circle to bind the boggart to a specific form, incanted a short invocation that used a bit of blood cut from her hand to bring her problem to life, and let the two become one.

Some part of Ginny still knew it was a boggart, but the feeling of Tom's hands on her shoulders, his voice in her ear once more had set her nerves to spasming. This was beyond fear- she was encased in a stifling cocoon of hyperpanic. She couldn't control her own body. Unfortunately, it seemed Tom wasn't having that problem. He gestured and her own arm tossed her wand across the room.

"Take the knife, Ginny." She reached forward and clutched at the blade laying on the floor, grabbing it at the guard. "Turn it to fit in your grip, my sweet." Her forefinger had been sliced in the process, so it took a few extra attempts to fumble the knife into her hand. "Good girl. You've been suffering for them long enough. It's time to end this."

"N-n-n-no!" Ginny knew this was her worst fear - not just Tom, but Tom in control of her body, making her betray herself just by the sound of his voice. Just as he did before.

"You have the knife in your hand; surely you mean to harm someone with it. If not yourself, it must be someone else here. Is Dumbledore coming by? You could take out your pain on the one who's at the center of it all. If you fail, he will end your pain just as well as you could yourself."

"He'd... Professor Dumbledore would never kill me!"

"Why? Has he spoken to you, ever, about anything? Or does he only share that sort of confidence in unsullied witches like your muggle-born roommate? You are filthy, Ginny. Dumbledore would scrape you off his shoe like the droppings you are."

"He doesn't know me. He doesn't know what-- what you made me do--"

"What I MADE you do? Can't take responsibility for your own actions, Ginny? What you did felt good to you at the time. Don't act like it was forced upon you. You chose to act on my suggestions- to join me in using power for yourself. Of course, Dumbledore would know what you did, even if your mother, your father and even the healer never guessed. He knows, Ginny. That's why he avoids you. Someday soon, he'll tell everyone. With me around, it's only a matter of time before he has to separate out the rot from the fair fruit. Better you strike first, no?"

"I won't kill anyone!"

"Oops. Too late."

Ginny's panic-induced vertigo alerted her to a sudden wetness in her lap. She looked down to see the knife, and her hand holding it, covered in blood. A similar-coloured stain was spreading out to soak the fabric of her nightshirt.

"Oh, no!"

"So sad. And no Harry Bloody Potter to save you this time!"

That's the point, isn't it? I summoned up my worst nightmare to confront it; not for Harry or anyone else to save me, but for me to deal with it.

Her hand found her stomach, numb and bloody, and she forced herself to breathe. Two minutes, perhaps, at the rate she was losing blood. Two minutes to do what she had to do. She could feel her body moving, straining, already committed. She tried to focus.

Two minutes.

With accompaniment of Tom's cackling, she tossed the knife across the room. Should've done that at the outset, shouldn't I?

The rapid chilling and numbness made every movement a rollercoaster. She flopped over onto the chalk circle and rolled onto her back. Tom stood over her.

"It seems a shame to waste all that pain you're carrying, but the last gasp is always the sweetest."

Ginny rolled her head around and finally espied the wand that Tom had tossed aside at the start of their encounter. No- I tossed it aside.

She flipped onto her bleeding belly once more. Is it bleeding? I can't feel it. Of course, that's actually a bad sign...

It felt like it took an hour to crawl three paces, but she knew she wouldn't still be moving if that were the case. She reached out her arm and fell prone at the loss of support. Yet at the tips of her fingers, she felt familiar wood spin itself into her grip. Welcome back, old friend.

Ginny turned to look at the attractive, soulless teen that stood over her, watching her final moments with a glee that reflected a gourmand tasting the perfect port after a splendid feast.

"What can you possibly do to me, you silly girl? I've always been impervious to your foolish little hexes."

With her wand in hand, she remembered lessons with Professor Lupin; lessons which before seemed so facile. But what he had been saying was not simple- it was fundamental.

"You... are nothing but my own fear. By listening to you, all I've been doing is hurting myself. By staying silent, I was giving you power over me. I'm done being silent. It's Riddikulus!"

Her spell enwrapped the ghoul and he flattened into a cardboard poster of young Tom Riddle, looking as if he were stumping for Doxycide- 'It'll stop the buggers cold'. Despite the limits of his newly two-dimensional existence, the wizard looked more than a little panicked.

Ginny grinned. "Inflamare!" A jet of fire ignited the boggart and she watched as the creature curled and shriveled in the flames. At the last second, it fell into an amorphous shadow that slipped across the room and shut itself into a nearby writing desk.

Ginny looked down at her shift- the blood was still there. Merlin help me, I really did stab myself! Y'know, it just occured to me- I don't have to do everything for myself, just the things no one else can.

"FRED! GEORGE! HELP ME!"

The sound of twin pops signalling the arrival of her twin brothers was a relief. She coughed and rasped out, "I'm afraid I've gone and done something... rather rash."

The twins shared a look. Fred disappeared again while George knelt down and cradled Ginny's head in his lap. "We've got just the thing for accidental rapid blood loss, but Ginny- you've got to tell us what you were doing here."

"I promise. I'll tell you everything. I need to."

George smiled down at his sister. Fred reappeared and gave her half of an unusual fruit chew, followed by a vial of thick, syrupy goo- a blood replenisher, if her memory of Madam Pomfrey's ministrations served.

"I love you guys."

They replied, "We know."

~o~