Close Encounters of the Third Kind

I'm done

Sat, 21 Jul 2007 19:34:30 GMT

I haven't read any Potter related posts on my flist for weeks. So I can honestly say I went into this completely unspoiled.

I decided not to get the book during the night, because I did the last time and finished it by the morning and was sleepy while I read it, and just didn't enjoy it that much then.

So, I got mine just after ten in the morning and came home to read. Loved how it plunged right into action. Cried a little after the second chapter.

But I really, really loved to finally get Dumbledore's backstory. Especially how it was muddled up by Skeeter and a bit of a mystery. And how it made him so completely human for me. Fallible, filled with regrets, but never not clever.

I think I had only one WTH moment during the book, and that was Dumbledore's little sister's story. I recognise how much more grown up this book and the characters are, but the series is still supposed to be children's, right? So, the idea and hinting at three boys attacking a young girl in a way that eventually destroyed her mind doesn't exactly sit well with me.

I thought it would be devastating for one of the Weasleys to die, but for me the saddest moment was the sentence fragment that informed us of Lupin and Tonks.

What I loved?

Snape. Yes!

And Neville! OMG. And Luna & Dean.

And I thought that having an epilogue would be cheesy and predictable. And with their red-headed little girl named Lily I chuckled a little and remembered the thousand fanfics I've read.

And with Albus Severus Potter I smiled. Because I remembered then Snape's best hidden side, and while cried a little for that little boy who fell in love for a lifetime. Bittersweet ending.

I'm not sure what younger children will make of it, but I thought it a wonderfully complete book. It literally had everything.

Oh, I'm gushing with how lovely it was. :)

And if they can do a four hour movie, it'll make a fierce one!

I cannot believe it's over.

Back with art!

Sun, 25 Mar 2007 22:47:19 GMT

I'm gonna keep it short since I just walked in the door from my 10-day ski trip. It's 1.45 am and I have to be at uni for a midterm at 8.

And we've been driving since forever.

Anyway, to recap, I got bored one evening, had brought no paper etc, and decided to give PAINT a go.

No references used since I had none. No wonderful layers or blending. Just simple pixels in Paint.

And despite the wacky proportions I had fun (it turned out to be very relaxing not worrying about getting things right), even if during colouring not erasing the lineart became a problem.

I hurried to share, since these were just really fun to do.

So, here you have it - learning to draw in Paint (with a mouse, naturally) in four fanart portraits. In chronological order to show the 'progress' in handling Paint. :p

Molly, in kinda lazy, wide strokes. :)

****

Hermione. I decided to try shading from now on by using the wide strokes of black and shadow-colour as before, but then go over with a 1-pixel brush of the main colour.

****

Snape.

****

And Ginny. With a strangely wavy room. :p

****

These were all done during a 2-day period. Insane really.

Photos (I have some really good ones!) and a recap of the trip coming as soon as I'm a bit more rested from my holiday. ;)

Book title and films

Thu, 21 Dec 2006 20:51:38 GMT

Book seven title? I'm sorta sad that it's out. And thought I'd be more excited, but all I can really think is how many fanfics will there be in the next months with the exact same title?

Meh.

And my most prominent thought today? 'Why the bloody hell did I waste two hours of my life on Eragon?'

It's got to be the biggest pile of shite I've seen in ages. The only thing worst have been... I don't even know what, but with Eragon they atleast had decent material to work with and they still managed to churn out a thing where the only acceptable element was the dragon. Grr. Like I've said before, the book isn't among the best fantasy epics I've read, but it is a fun read nonetheless. Compared to the film it's a masterpiece.

To erase the experience from memory I re-watched The Princess Bride with little sis. Now that was fun.

And since bedtime is closing in, I leave you with - 'Rest well, and dream of large women!' =)

Art: Hermione (G)

Sun, 29 Oct 2006 15:31:40 GMT

So, it's been almost ten months since I lasted posted fanart. I kinda feel guilty. So what you get is Hermione after the final battle.

The one my dear flist saw unfinished yesterday. And please, don't mind the hair. Finding it impossible almost stopped me from finishing, so it can't be helped that when it exploded in my face I kind of kept going.

Title: After
Characters: Hermione
Rating: G
Media used: pencil sketch one of my sisters posed for, scanned in, lineart cleaned up in The GIMP. After that lots of gimping with my trusty mouse and a knitting pattern photo found on google. Lots of references for tears... word of advice, when trying your first realistic looking colouring, don't decide on tears. Takes up way much time. ;)

Click on image for full size

I think I'd like to go back to b&w now. Colouring - not as easy as it seems.

Drabble/ficlet- A Perfect Day

Sun, 14 May 2006 20:19:26 GMT

Completely out of the blue I felt like writing something today. And something happy, to boot. I've never written happy. I'm prettty sure it's not me, but that's what came out, so go figure. *shrugs* Really short , 30 min and unbeta'd.

Title: A Perfect Day
Characters: Lily/James
Word count: 461
Rating: G, just completely G

A Perfect Day

Sipping a cup of cocoa, she looked out of the window. The bright July sun sent sparkling and flirty rays of light though the greying branches of the mighty old oak. Been there for ages, that tree. Long before the family ever moved to the little house, if she was to believe her husband. And she did, of course. There was no reason to doubt him; besides, it was a comforting feeling to have something with such ancient strength stand watch over their cottage.

She stretched her back a little and, placing her hands on the table, basked in the warmth pouring in from the open window. A breeze made the white curtains dance slowly, and the smell of roses tickled her nostrils. She breathed in deeply, and closed her eyes for a second. Then, with a little smile, she opened them again and pushed herself up from the chair. With small and lazy steps, quite suitable for a day like this, when the Earth seemed to stand still, she walked towards the old-fashioned sink in the other side of the room. She rinsed her cup and placed it in the cupboard; her every move filled with love for the moment.

As the cupboard door was closing, she felt someone slip into the room behind her. Hands circled around her waist and hot breath brushed her neck just before she felt a soft kiss just below her jaw line. Her body relaxed as she leaned back into the embrace, turning in his arms the corner of her mouth lifted into a smile just before her lips met his. Her hand lifted to trail her fingers over the light stubble of his cheeks, and his hands closed more tightly around her, making her fall towards him. Still kissing her, he mumbled in protest and stumbled backwards a little.

“Ow!” His eyes snapped open as his hip hit a chair. Letting her go he bent a little to massage the stinging spot. She took a step back and looked at him. Her husband. With his reddened cheeks and the wild dark hair, the hurt gaze that the offensive chair fell victim to he looked like a boy still. She couldn’t help it: a giggle escaped her. Which she quickly silenced as his eyes landed on her.

But still little giggles burst free, and faced with the mirthful face of his wife, he suddenly found himself snickering in unison. Laughing, she moved closer and placed a little kiss on the side of his mouth. “Oh, my poor baby,” she whispered against his cheek.

He stood up straighter, and his hands moved to encircle her swollen belly once again. “Not poor.” He smiled and ran his hands across the soft fabric of her robes. “Happy.”

the end

Art post!

Wed, 04 Jan 2006 17:08:06 GMT

Haven't done one of these in a while.

Anyway, the short story: an unexcpected hour of free time behind an ancient computer with only MS Paint. A doodle that didn't want to stay a doodle. Later at home, the background added, and her eye touched up in PS. As always, mouse only.

Title: Cissy
Rating: G, since it's a portrait.
A/N: This doesn't look like something of mine at all. Entirely different style. But I couldn't help but finish it after I had started.

Still unsure whether I like it or hate it.

Friends Only

Tue, 03 Jan 2006 10:14:55 GMT

I seriously hate to do this, but I already lock over 90% of my posts, so it made no sense to put this off any longer.

If you're here to read my fic or other fandom stuff, these are the only entries I'm keeping public. No need to friend me just because of that.

Otherwise, I love friends, so comment, and I'll add you right away. =)

Drabble: Chocolate

Wed, 30 Nov 2005 22:23:32 GMT

Title: Chocolate
Rating: R (for everything implied)
Characters: Remus/Sirius
Wordcount: ~200
A/N: Yay, an actual drabble for that crazy, crazy person who prompts me with "Food. And Angst." (a.k.a. manraviel).

* * *

Chocolate cake always tastes good, no matter where or why you eat it. You might be deliriously happy, celebrating or just having fun…

Soft and creamy chocolate is smeared over your lips, decorating the corners of your mouth with sweet, dark stains. You giggle delightedly as he crawls closer on the bed. His head hovers over yours for a second, lowering as his tongue licks off the rich goodness.

He pauses and moans against your cheek, before those sweet lips once again devour your mouth. You smile against the intrusion, and give back as good as you get.

This time, it’s your hand that sneaks towards the nightstand. Your fingers sink into the moist cake, clumsily grabbing a large chunk.

He’s still kissing you hungrily, when you flip him over and sit on top, straddling his hips with your legs. You smile mischievously as you cover his chest in thick chocolate cream. He grins appreciatively when you lean in to lap up the velvety mess. He moans, and his blue eyes sparkle with desire.

Chocolate cake always tastes good. Even when you wish to forget. But instead, end up remembering how it felt like, when you used to eat it together.

* * *

Fic: In the Dark

Wed, 30 Nov 2005 22:06:49 GMT

Now, a good indea in theory, ask for drabble prompts to take up three hours. I hit a glitch with the first one. The damn thing decided to mutate into a ficlet. :p

Title: In the Dark
Characters: Snape/Bill
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~1650
A/N: For lisamarie0921. Her prompt was: Severus Snape/Bill Weasley. Wartime affair. "Bill wonders how he could possibly stay with Fleur now that he knows..."

* * *

The rain pelts down on the crumbling wooden shack, pools of murky water form around it. A lone cat sits solemnly on the top stairs, carefully hidden under an overturned basket, licking her paw and watching the heavy drops fall from a darkened sky.

With lazy curiosity, she looks up as a flash of light envelops the garden, and green from high in the skies reflects in her feline eyes. Uninterested, she turns her head away and returns to the task of meticulously cleaning her fur of every imaginary bit of dirt.

Heavy footsteps clear the corner, running feet. Two shadowed figures, breathing hard and fast, wrapped in dripping dark cloaks. The cats jumps up and hisses furiously as a boot hits a puddle and showers her in muddy wetness. They never even notice the angered animal.

One of the men slips on the mushy ground and grabs the other’s shoulder for support, pulling them both down in a messy heap.

“Bloody –“

“Shh!” hisses the other.

“You don’t think they’re still following us?” the taller, slender man asks; the hood of his cloak has fallen from his head, and the cold green glow overhead highlights his freckled face and red hair, which would me messy if it weren’t plastered to his forehead.

“Shh,” the other man repeats and, untangling their limbs, gets up on his knees. The wind beats his wet and dirty cloak against his legs as he tries to move, and he takes it off.

“Bill, what do you think you’re –“

“Quiet,” he snaps, and holds out his hand to pull the other man up.

He looses his balance once more and falls heavily against his brother’s chest. Bill gasps and steps back involuntarily, his back hitting the side of the shack with a thump. As he tries to steady his feet, the younger man straightens himself and smiles sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Bill makes a gesture with his hand waving away the apology, when a flash of lightning nearby lights up the garden and the little, ramshackle house. The harshness of the light makes the scars on his face stand out grotesquely as he scans their surroundings carefully.

There. He isn’t imagining it; there’s something moving near that big old house down the street. He grabs Ron’s sleeve and pulls until they are both crouching in the mud, backs pressed against the rotting wood of the wall. Their breaths come rapid as they observe a small group of black-robed figures emerge from the shadow of that house and then split up as they move in different directions, checking every bush, behind every garden fence.

“Bill,” Ron whispers suddenly. “Apparate.”

But his brother shakes his head, his eyes never leaving the shadowy figures searching the street. “They don’t know we’re here. We could still get some useful information,” he says so quietly that Ron almost doesn’t hear him.

A man has separated from the group and is walking in their direction. He comes closer and closer and Ron’s knuckles are white as his fingers clench compulsively around his wand. His hand shakes a little as he raises it slowly to point at the dark haired wizard who is so near, he can see the identifying cruel curl of lips.

The Death Eater doesn’t notice them yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Ron’s lips move to voice the words of a curse, when Bill strikes out, knocking the wand from his hand. There’s something strange but not unfamiliar in Bill’s eyes as makes that split-second decision. The wand falls to the ground soundlessly, but the movement must have caught the Death Eater’s attention. His dark eyes land on Bill, taking in the disfigured face and the tufts of red hair; they move over to Ron who is on his knees, frantically searching for his wand in a puddle of mud and rainwater. They look at the small cat, who hostilely watches the proceedings from under her overturned basket.

The Death Eater turns around sharply and, as he nears the others down the road, they hear him call, “Nothing but a cat.”

Bill lets out a shaky breath he doesn’t know he’s been holding.

* * *

Diagon Alley hasn’t been the same since the war started. People seemed to be afraid of going out, leaving the illusion of safety their homes provide. At this time of night, all the shops are closed, and even those few who still dare to venture out at daytime, have abandoned the Wizarding streets to creatures of the night – werewolves, vampires and the minions of the Dark Lord, his Death Eaters, growing steadily in numbers and in power. But they don’t wander often out of their familiar Knockturn Alley. Thus, Bill stands alone and undisturbed in the shadows of a doorway, watching the entrance to that street of corruption and evil.

He pulls a vial from the pocket of his robes and downs the contents, grimacing at the vile taste. Holding his stomach and struggling with the urge to through up, his features transform into that of a fair young man in his late teens.

Flicking long blond hair back with an expert move, he walks into Knockturn Alley with his head held high, a cocky smile on his lips and a confident bounce in his step. He shrugs away the groping hands, the lusting invitations and offers from passersby. When a weathered hand grabs his waist, and he comes face to face with madly gleaming eyes and a nasty tongue flickering out to lick dry old lips, the blond grabs the offending hand and with a swift motion, a crack and a cry of pain fill the air. No one dares to touch him again.

Bill walks up to a seedy little tavern and smiles coquettishly at the doorman who looks him up and down slowly. He receives a sharp nod of approval and the doors open.

He walks though a narrow corridor to a large room. It’s noisy inside. There is loud music and young wizards and witches levitating trays full of Firewhisky between overflowing tables. Bill looks over the room and, finding what he’s looking for, saunters towards a group of wizards sitting around a table in the back.

He pauses nearby and orders as glass of whisky from a passing waiting-witch in a loud, obnoxiously drunk voice that carries over the music. Many of the patrons of this fine establishment look his way, some with distaste, some with amusement and some with interest. He smiles, glassy-eyed, to the room at large and clumsily pulls up a chair from the nearest table. A heavyset wizard smiles and licks his lips unconsciously as the blond boy settles next to him.

Bill smiles back and says in a slurred voice, “Hey.”

The wizard looks at him carefully and then leans in to ask, “How much?”

Bill whispers a number in his ear and as a greasy hand moves to rest on his thigh; the deal is struck.

One of the wizards around the table coughs and points to the pile of cards in front of them. The thick man smiles at Bill, showing yellowing teeth. “You’ll be my good luck charm. For now,” he adds, and the table bursts with rowdy laughter.

Bill sips slowly from his glass of whisky and leans back to listen to the careless, drunken conversation of the Death Eaters.

The thick wizard, his client, wins the game, and piles of golden coins from the table levitate to his open pouch. “Let’s celebrate.” His eyes glitter at Bill.

Bill smiles at him and gets up. “I’ll just be right back.” He walks out of the room without looking back.

He breathes out as the barroom door closer after him, but –

“You, wait! Where do you think you’re going?” The old wizard comes stomping out into the corridor after him. “I’m not done with you, boy!”

Bill discreetly reaches for his wand as the wizard gets close enough to touch him. Just as he’s about to do something desperately stupid in a house full of Death Eaters, a firm hand pushes the fat wizard away from him.

“He’s mine now,” someone says, and he finds himself pulled against a warm body. He looks up in surprise.

“Is there a problem?” Snape asks slowly, one eyebrow raised.

The other Death Eater looks taken aback, but then straightens and looks at him challengingly. “I paid for that whore; he’s mine.”

Snape narrows his eyes and, quite suddenly, Bill finds himself pinned against the wall. Lips descend on him as Snape whispers against his mouth, “Relax.”

And then there’s only the sensation of tongue finding its way into his mouth, pushing apart his trembling lips, trailing against his teeth. There are strong hands traveling down his body. He shivers and presses himself closer. The kisses turn hungry and needy, and he moans into that sweet mouth, still on his. He wants to grab that dark hair and pull him closer still.

He whimpers a little and opens eyes he doesn’t remember closing, when those lips leave his mouth.

Snape’s arms are still encircled around him and he’s smirking. “He is long gone.”

For a moment, Bill doesn’t understand what he’s talking about, but as he looks around the empty corridor, he remembers. Everything.

His eyes widen as he stares into the fathomless black of Snape’s, who raises a hand to wipe red hair from his face. He leans in closer, until his lips are almost touching Bill’s ear. “Go home, Weasley,” he hisses softly.

* * *

Bill pulls back the covers and settles in next to his wife.

“You’re beautiful,” she says into his ear. And when he closes his eyes he feels a touch on his cheek; sees wet, dark hair brush his face. Strong, clever fingers unbutton his pajamas.

“So are you,” he whispers into bottomless black eyes.

… the end …

Fic: Whispers in the Night

Mon, 28 Nov 2005 04:58:06 GMT

As you can see, it's been a busy night/morning. ;)

Title: Whispers in the Night
Rating: PG-13 to be on the safe side
Wordcount 2914
Disclaimer: Nothing but the plot is mine
A/N: My thanks to danijo1 for being wonderful and betaing this fic super fast. This is a genfic companion piece for The Darkness Within. It can stand on its own, but it contains major spoilers for the last couple of chapters. Consider yourselves warned!

* * *

Everything started with a cliché. The lights went out.

Her book dropped to the floor with a bang, the pages fluttering helplessly as they tried to rearrange themselves. Rapid breaths pounded in her ears as she listened, frozen to the spot. Crisp footsteps, a staccato of heels walking confidently across the library. Where were they? Why didn’t the librarian appear at her side the moment the thump of a book hitting the floor echoed in the cavernous room?

She waited in her unmoving, soundless position. Nothing.

She fumbled in the folds of her robes for her wand; her fingers found only loose expanses of heavy cloth, not a touch of reassuringly hard wood. Puzzled, she looked onto the desk she was sitting behind. Slanting beams of moonlight flickered across the smooth surface, illuminating a blank sheet of curling parchment and a half-empty inkpot. A quill lay near it, its tip covered in thick black ink. A droplet formed and fell to the desk. It turned from round to flat, slowly forming a splotch of glittering darkness.

She reached out her hand to utter a cleaning spell before the librarian came and saw. There was no wand in her hand, and with a confused frown, she let it drop.

Leaving the book where it lay, the quill in its place, the ink stain marring the polished wood, she stood up. Something creaked in the distance, and she repressed a shiver.

Her right hand balled into a nervous fist, and she forced it to relax, rubbing the fingers together.

The room was too quiet. It was too dark, and there was no one there. She was alone with the books. But that couldn’t be right, could it? Was it nighttime? Had she fallen asleep behind her desk and her empty parchment?

Her brow furrowed; she couldn’t remember.

As she moved between the looming bookshelves, sinister and tall, moving towards the librarian’s desk, she couldn’t remember.

There. There it was, a single candle burning with a merry flame. It cast specks of light into the darkness of the library as Madam Pince leaned over an old, yellowing piece of parchment. Strands of hair had escaped her strict bun, and she looked more relaxed than ever. It was her time, and there were no students in the library. The girl glanced at her watch; these were the midnight hours.

Hesitantly, she walked closer to the desk, suddenly nervous. Had she fallen asleep in the library? She didn’t want to anger the librarian. So, she walked softly, pausing near the older woman. “Excuse me,” she said quietly.

No reaction.

A little more confident, she repeated, louder, “Excuse me, Madam Pince.”

The librarian’s long fingers moved swiftly across the parchment as she traced a line, mumbling some words aloud to herself. No reaction.

She bit her lip and reached out to touch her shoulder

The black robes were almost invisible in the dim light, and she moved her hand slowly, not wanting to hit her. She made contact with the cloth. Only … she didn’t.

With a gnawing terror in the pit of her stomach, she watched as her fingers disappeared into the solid material. She jerked away, eyes wide open, passing through the corner of the librarian’s desk.

* * *

The Fat Lady ignored her.

No matter how loud she spoke, no matter how madly she waved her transparent arms in front of the large portrait, no matter how she pleaded in her desperate voice, cracking with exhaustion and fear.

She wasn’t transparent; she was invisible. As she finally lowered her voice, hair a wild mess of tangles and locks around her face, a fat tear escaped her eye. She could feel it travelling down her cheek, slowly dragging across her jaw line, then escaping her skin in a run for freedom. She looked down; it disappeared before ever reaching the nose of her sensible shoes. A sad, invisible, vanishing thing; like herself.

* * *

The light was bright in the hospital wing. Voices drifted out to the corridor. Wizards in bedraggled robes, smelling of blood and sweat rushed by her. She pressed herself against the wall as not to be trampled by running feet, or get in the way of the wounded being levitated into the infirmary. However, a brush of a sleeve against her side, an arm passing through her robes, her body, without resistance, reminded her of her situation.

She moved closer, her silent footsteps pounded loudly in her ears. Surely, someone would notice? But no one did; every sound she made was as invisible as her form, creeping through the doorway of the hospital wing.

So many people, adult wizards and witches lying unconscious, awake, voicelessly screaming in the after effects of Cruciatus or some other unnamed, unknown curse. There was a young witch, barely older than she, dressed in the blue robes of an Auror. Her left hand clenched the side of the mattress, her right lay unmoving, hidden in the cloth of her robes, but it was so immobile, so eerily calm while her other hand clenched the mattress, rumpled the sheets. There was blood oozing from under her fingernails, it left spattered lines of red on the white of the beddings. She whimpered and writhed, and her right arm never moved.

Suddenly, she stopped, lying so very still. Her eyes flew wide open, wild, unseeing, or perhaps seeing too much, her body jerked up to a half sitting position. She opened her mouth and screamed. There was no sound.

Just as suddenly, she slumped back on the bed, blissfully unconscious.

There were wizards and witches lying unconscious in the hospital beds everywhere in the infirmary; no one noticed another.

She drew her eyes away from the young Auror, she was only one of many in that room. Whimpers and pleas, and the smell of blood and vomit filled the air. What had happened? She could not remember.

She closed her eyes and everything went black, the noise died away to the distance. And she breathed in slowly, taking a deep breath, ignoring the nausea stirring in her stomach. The smells vanished too. And just for a moment, she could imagine that everything had been a dream, a nightmare, and soon she would open her eyes in her own bed, resting under the warm blanket. She would meet Harry and Ron in the Great Hall for breakfast and everything would be all right.

Harry.

Her eyes flew open. The chaos around her assaulted her senses once more, but she didn’t even notice. Harry. She had to find him. Somehow, she knew with certainty that everything, all of this madness, was connected to him. There was an ache in her heart that longed for knowledge, needed to remember, to understand. But somewhere on the borderline of her consciousness, she knew that the ache was for Harry, her heart’s longing for him.

She blinked back the tears that threatened to escape her eyes for no apparent reason. Yes, her heart remembered, but she did not. Thus, she squared her shoulders, swallowed the tears and decided to find her boys. This was not the time to linger on sentimental, self-pitying nonsense; that made no sense at all. It was time to take action, find out what had happened, why she couldn’t remember any details of the year, why everything was fuzzy and unfocused in her mind. She didn’t like unfocused.

She turned resolutely to walk out of the overpopulated infirmary in her quest for answers.

She managed to take only one step towards the door, when running footsteps accompanied by two heads full of thick red hair followed a levitated body into the room.

Ron.

He was unconscious but seemed unharmed. While one of the twins tried to locate either Madam Pomfrey or an unoccupied bed – she wasn’t sure – she approached Ron’s body, gently floating in the air, supported by his brother’s wand.

He looked surprised, there was a frown on his face that she remembered from the times when someone had beat him in Wizards Chess, or that time in fourth year when Harry’s name was spit out by the Goblet of Fire. It was a look that said, I don’t believe this is happening; I don’t want this to happen.

She resisted the temptation to touch his face, try to smooth that expression off his forehead. After all, it wouldn’t do any good, would it? As gravity made his black school robes pool under his body – the only clean one’s in the room, she noticed – Fred, maybe George, returned with Madam Pomfrey in tow.

The nurse made a clucking sound with her tongue, and directed the redheads towards a chair by the wall. With a wave of her wand, she Transfigured it into a common hospital bed.

Ron lay on the white sheets, his hair bright red, robes pitch black against the pureness of his bed. With an inappropriate snicker she was reminded of the fairy tale of Snow White: an enchanted dream where you can be awakened with a kiss.

As she thought that, his face twitched, and suddenly blue eyes that she remembered so well, looked straight into hers. Hope blossomed in her chest and she smiled.

She gasped as the sensation of someone passing through her body overwhelmed her. A shaggy red head leaned out of her chest. “Ron, can you hear me? Are you all right?”

The younger boy nodded slowly, his eyes flickering lower to meet the gaze of his brother.

“All –“ His voice cracked and he coughed. “All right,” he confirmed.

“What happened to you?” Fred, maybe George, asked.

Ron closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his brow was furrowed in puzzlement. He stared straight ahead. “I don’t … remember,” he whispered.

She let out the breath she’d been holding and smiled sadly, nothing was ever easy.

Ron stretched in the bed in an attempt to get more comfortable, his long legs dangled over the side. He froze in movement. Scared, little boy eyes locked on one of his brothers. “Is … is everybody else all right?”

“Our family is fine.” He touched Ron’s hand in a gesture of reassurance.

Ron relaxed back into the comforting softness of his bed, but as his brother tried to pull his hand away, Ron grabbed hold, not letting go. “What about Harry and Hermione?”

The twins exchanged a hesitant glance. “Um, Harry’s fine, Ron. We’ll track him down and ask him to come and see you. Is that okay?”

Ron didn’t seem to notice them not even mentioning Hermione. He relaxed. “Yes, find Harry.” And then he closed his eyes, as one of the twins gently pulled a blanket over his head, soft snores reached her ears.

The twins left the room. Presumably to find Harry, she thought. And she sat by the bedside of one of her best friends, not daring to touch, and waiting for Harry to come.

* * *

His face was white, colourless. Dark hair hung in limp tufts around it. Brownish red covered his face and neck in a scattering of spots. Blood, she thought. Perhaps it went even lower, covering his robes, trenching his hands in the dried liquid, but that was all hidden. His black robes, a cloak thrown carelessly around his shoulders were covered in a thick caking of brown mud. He, himself, was hidden. There was only white and black, and earthly brown, and a lingering sent of old blood and fresh tears. He was a stranger.

Then, he closed his eyes for a second and turned his head. His eyes met hers and moved away again. But they were familiar. Tortured green eyes. She smiled. The sun peeked into the room, even finding them in this concealed little corner. It was morning, and Harry was here.

She smiled.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey stepped closer to Ron’s bed. She frowned as her wand touched his forehead. “Still not awake?” she asked Harry, who sat with his one hand resting on the edge of Ron’s mattress. He shook his head.

The nurse sighed. “Very well, call me if anything changes.” She started to move away and then turned to look back. “Rest for a moment, Harry,” she said. “Go find something to eat; you’ve been sitting here all day.”

Harry shook his head again and turned his eyes back to Ron.

Madam Pomfrey smiled under her nose and fingered her wand; a warm blanket wrapped itself around Harry, who stiffened in surprise, then pulled it closer around his body.

It was early evening, and the last lone sunbeams and the flickering torches on the walls cast a soft, reddish light. Harry leaned closer to the bed and his head drooped. It fell to his shoulder at first, then as his posture relaxed, he was resting with his torso on Ron’s hospital bed, the woollen blanked generously covering his uncomfortably folded body. A quiet snore escaped his mouth.

She longed for a warm blanket of her own, as she at there, on the cold floor, looking at her boys.

She longed for her memory.

She wished she were herself again.

* * *

She woke to screams.

Was it that young Auror crying, calling out as though the very essence of life were sucked out, drop by drop, one scream at a time? No. It was just another body lying somewhere among all the others.

She closed her eyes again, and the world faded to black.

* * *

The next time she looked around, Madam Pomfrey was pulling a crisp white sheet over a green robed wizard.

Ron’s hand was hanging, limp, over the side of the bed. His eyes were still closed and he was breathing slowly and deeply. Harry hadn’t moved.

All around them people slept, walked, moaned, nursed the injured, ate, whimpered. Someone stifled a quiet laugh behind a screen, and someone snorted in response.

Madam Pomfrey floated the body of the green robed wizard – Order member, friend, child, father, brother? – out of room.

She followed them with her eyes as they moved along; there, present, yet invisible.

She closed her eyes and looked away. When you vanish from the world, would someone notice?

* * *

“What happened?” Harry was sitting next to Ron, staring intensely at the redhead.

He shifted uncomfortably and bit his lip. “The meeting … I was sitting at the Order meeting and –“

“And?”

She saw how Harry’s jaw had clenched and how his right hand stayed in his robes as he leaned forward to hear the answer to his question.

“And nothing,” Ron said slowly.

Harry looked away quickly, but Ron could see relief flickering in his eyes before it disappeared under iron self-control. She frowned.

“Harry …” Ron hesitated. “What did happen? I mean all these people here.” He made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the room. “I just … don’t remember.”

“The final battle, Ron. We had the final battle.”

“What?” He sat up. “How did – What about Voldemort?”

“We won.” He kept the response simple, short, emotionless, but she noticed a sadness and anger in Harry’s voice that he wasn’t able to disguise. “Voldemort is dead.”

Silence.

“Harry! We won! We won and it’s over.” Ron grabbed him in a hug, laughing loudly. “You-Know-Who is really gone, it’s over,” he repeated, quieter.

Harry nodded against his shoulder.

Ron pushed him away and held him at arms length. His eyes searched Harry’s. “Then why –” His hands lowered and he looked around, asking slowly, “Where is –“

“She’s dead.”

Hermione closed her eyes and stifled a hysterical laugh, threatening to escape her lips.

* * *

She followed Harry out of the hospital wing, through the corridors, up to Gryffindor Tower.

The boys’ dormitory was empty; Ron was still in the infirmary, the other boys … she didn’t know. Sitting with injured relatives, friends; mourning the dead; out, celebrating the victory.

Harry sat on his four-poster bed. His posture slumped and he rested his head on his hands. His shoulders shook.

He stayed so for some time; she couldn’t tell. When he straightened, he took off the ragged robes and let them fall to the floor unceremoniously. He pulled off his boots.

The sweater came over his head as he sat on the bed. And as he laid down and pulled the covers up to his shoulders, the Dark Mark gleamed in the moonlight.

* * *

She smiled at the quiet snores escaping his mouth, and stepped closer. Her eyes didn’t leave the mark on his forearm. As she moved to touch it, a shiver of pain travelled down her arm, and she could see Harry’s face as he held the tip of his wand against her skin.

She had longed to remember; now, she did.

Her fingers, the palest of white, passed though his hair. He stirred, and she pulled away.

“Why did you choose this?” Her voice trembled only a little. “Why did you become this?” She bit her lip and looked with sadness at the sleeping man. Her hand rested on his cheek. “Why, my friend?”

His deep green eyes blinked open.

The room was empty and dark; there was nothing there. Yet, he felt a coldness cocoon his skin, a sent of vanilla hovered in the air.

And if he listened just carefully enough, he could hear them. The whispers in the night.

…the end…

Christmas cards

Thu, 03 Nov 2005 02:21:13 GMT

This is my first LJ Christmas, so I am excited. Also, I love Christmas card hunting, so give me an excuse, please.

Everybody who wants one from this corner of Europe, sign up!

I'm screening the comments, so leave your contact info there. If you are uncomfortable with that, you can always email me at clen3k(at)gmail.com :)

If I don't know you all that well yet, leave a fun tidbit, so I'll know what you'd like. =D

~clen

Fic: The Darkness Within - Epilogue

Tue, 01 Nov 2005 16:38:20 GMT

My very stressed but always lovable beta Jenn has delivered the epilogue of Darkness to my inbox. Since she is the first person to read it, I was obviously chewing my nails during the wait, but it's here now.

The conclusion of this 'sort of dark' fic can be found here.

*breathes in deeply* There, now it's online in its entirety and I can't change anything. Not that I'd want to, but...

*bites nails and stares off to space*

Oh, and - *points to icon* That's my second cat, Minnie Mouse. She is the very, very older half-sister of the kittens. Before you laugh, she is shy as a mouse. And I kinda liked the Mickey Mouse comics when we named her.

It's done! Finished! Completed!

Mon, 24 Oct 2005 01:35:37 GMT

Oh. My. God.

I can hardly believe it myself, just a couple of hours ago I got to write the words - The End - for my novel-lenght fanfic 'The Darkness Within'.

I wrote the first three chapters right after OotP (that's more than two years ago!) but worked up the courage to post online only this April. And now it's done.

I'm so confused right now. I thought I'd be relieved I can move on to new projects with a clear conscience. But as I wrote the last words of the epilogue I got almost teary eyed. Damn, I'm teary eyed while writing this post. I'm desperately going to miss my Harry, I've enjoyed living in his head so much.

I have the last chapter online here and the epilogue is sitting in my beta's inbox, waiting for her exams to be over.

Oh god, it's the most bizarrely sad and happy feeling to finish a story that has been a part of your life for two years.

A drabble for captainjames

Wed, 19 Oct 2005 01:37:30 GMT

Thanks to the lovely conversations captainjames has with his sister I find myself writing my first ever R rated (and slash) fic at four in the morning. As though that were not enough, it's historical RPS.

I'm also blaming this Wellington quote: Hard pounding, gentlemen. Let's see who pounds the longest.

Grace
Characters: Wellington, Napoleon
Rating: R

***
</span>
The tall, gangly man carefully placed the blue sash on the chair next to his bed; he fingered the golden buttons, slowly removing his bright red coat. With the exact same precision of movements, his hands traveled down to the pristine white of his trousers. Carefully manicured fingers hesitated briefly where pale flesh gave way to soft cloth, and then, with a most graceful flip of hand undid the buttons of his braces, and unceremoniously the pants dropped down around his knees.

With a slight frown he glanced down to see they wouldn’t touch the dirt floor of his tent. No need to be worried; the shining black of his boots held them up.

He smiled, exposing large, yellowing teeth, and reached out to grab the curly hair of the small man sitting on the edge of his bed. He yanked him up harshly, and pressed a smirking kiss on his head. Strands of hair got caught between his teeth and he spluttered, spitting them out.

He shoved the smaller form away, a suddenly foul taste in his mouth.

But then the red of the sash around the man’s body caught his eye once more, the clinking of the platoon of medals adoring his chest was music in his ears and he stepped closer. And closer. And the man was kneeling on front of him, a breath of fear in his eyes, his mouth just slightly opened. His cheeks were chubby, his lips soft and wet and trembling.

He was trembling now. A rush of blood pounding in his ears, he yanked that curly hair once more.

Just the right height.

The soft, trembling lips closed around his hard, throbbing cock.

Fingers curled around that small head and he moved. Faster and faster, pounding him into submission.

His breathing became erratic, and with a loud hiss of air he came.

The candle on his table flickered out.

With precise movements, he picked up the white, lace handkerchief placed on the table, and wiped cum off his hands.

***

This was possibly the weirdest thing I've written.

Some more icons

Wed, 05 Oct 2005 23:46:28 GMT

I know exactly who to blame for my new obsession with making icons.

Also, I know why I seem to have fixated on hands. Someone's bad influence again.

The stock photos were black and white, so I had some fun. The result was:

1. 2.

3.

New chapter!

Wed, 05 Oct 2005 12:02:06 GMT

I've uploaded Chapter 13: Amongst Friends to FF.net.

Also, the prologue of the same story is now up at The Dark Arts.

I'm trying to decide whether to start plugging the FA version instead of the FF.net one. I already have readers on FF.net, but, of course, I could do with some more. The problem is, the first few chapters are not good. I mean they really aren't. The first four chapters were written straight after OotP came out. It just took me almost two years to work up the courage to post them.

So, if I direct potential readers towards TDA version ... they probably won't even want to read the rest of the story. And FF.net hitcounters and favourites and author alert lists are really good for my ego. :p

I have a question I feel I should know the answer to. Can I plug the same fic on FA Lead, etc threads twice, if it's on different archives?

Again that stupid Y!M

Wed, 28 Sep 2005 10:29:21 GMT

I was taken for a prostitute today... Where on earth do these weirdos on Messenger keep getting my info? I checked, I'm not in the Members Directory.

Hi from Sweden!
Have been in you country, going to visit again in near future. I am a gentleman looking for good company when I am in your country and maybe? Respect and honestly are garanteed.

Excuse me?
Has anything similar happened to other people? Or am I just increadibly lucky?

Oh yes, and I did a much lighter version of the H/Hr icon:

Icon!

Tue, 27 Sep 2005 22:40:06 GMT

Ask me what happens, when you can't sleep, are feeling bored; have watched the new trailers entirely too many times with the mouse hovering over the 'screencaps' button... Nothing good, I tell you. Nothing good at all.

Feast your eyes on the result of sleep depravation:

1.
2.

Am I pathetic to listen to something only because Alan Rickman speaks there? No need to answer, I know I am.

Story update: chapter 12

Mon, 12 Sep 2005 17:07:51 GMT

I had real trouble with this chapter, but in the end I think it turned out alright. Not my favourite, but my sister, who always get to read them before anyone else, says it's one of hers.

So I guess it's just a matter of taste.

Follow the link toCh 12: A Spy in Need

Update! Chapter 11: Young Gods

Mon, 29 Aug 2005 15:18:07 GMT

I got too impatient to wait until my Betas appeared, so the un-Betaed verision is posted here.

Enjoy!

H/D

Fri, 19 Aug 2005 18:42:39 GMT

I have recently discovered drabbles.

This is my first attempt.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: G
Disclamer: Everything belongs to JKR.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
One touch on his cheek - gentle, hesitant, questioning. Merely a soft brush of fingertips: feather-light, tickling and teasing, sending shivers down his spine.

He longs desperately to lean in. Just a little. Feel the graceful hand trace his jaw ... his lips. He breathes in and swallows, nervously licking his suddenly dry lips.

Takes a step backwards. One step ... and then. Nothing.

Coldness breathes on his skin, emptiness, rejection.

That beautiful pale hand is lost. Cold grey eyes meet green. Coward, they seem to say. He lowers his lashes: he cannot bear that look.

Coward, he agrees ... and turns to run.

Fic rec

Thu, 28 Jul 2005 23:19:23 GMT

HP fanfiction rec list.

I’ve decided to start a list of my favourite HP fanfiction novels. It is only a small portion of
everything I’ve read, but these stories really are the best ones on the
Internet (at least in my opinion). This list does not include the stories I’m reading at the moment … You will only find completed novel-length fiction here. I read R and NC-17 rated stories, so that's what you can expect here.

I'll update the list as new stories are completed.

Harry/Hermione:

Draco Triology by Cassandra Claire;
Acceptance of Fate;

Harry/Snape:

The Master Plan by StarryGazer;
Penance is the Play by Maeglin Yedi;

Harry/Draco:

Underwater Light by Maya;
Snakes and Lions by GatewayGirl;
Windfallen by Cinnamon;
Beautiful World by Cinnamon;
Beneath You by Cinnamon

Hermione/Snape:

Unlikely Connections by LadyTuesday;
Taking Over Me by snapesforte;

Severitus’ challenge and similar:

Forlon Hope by elsshanna;
Happy Days in Hell and its sequels by enahma;
Blood Magic by GatewayGirl;
A Father’s Sin by Severitus;

Other ships:

Chainless Soul (G/RL) by Cinnamon;
Unbecoming(R/D) by Cinnamon
Abyss and its sequel(Hr/V) by Lunalelle;

---------------------------------------------------------------------

As you can see, I ship pretty much everything except HP/GW & RW/HG, but my real favourite is H/D.