Tag: marlow : 30 days of writing

30 Days of Writing – 30: Future

Future

(The Train to Nowhere)

This drabble contains spoilers.

–

“If,” Harry says, and Filippa looks up at him. The sunlight sweeping in through the windows bathes her in its glow, and yet it does nothing to make her look happier. Because she isn’t. Happy. At all. The ongoing, drawn-out war has left its mark on all of them.

“If?” she repeats, mouth drawn into a bitter smile, the exhaustion on her face telling Harry a story of nights spent worrying rather than resting. “If what?”

“If I don’t come back,” Harry says, and reaches for her.

“Don’t,” Filippa whispers, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around him. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s a possibility,” Harry admits. “If I don’t come back, I want you to be okay.”

“Harry-”

“Listen. It’s. You’re my truest friend, Filippa. No matter what happens, I want you to be happy in the end. I want you to try, okay? Try and try until you succeed.”

“What you’ll be doing is madness, though,” Filippa says, holding back her tears. “Harry-”

“I want you to have a future,” Harry tells her. “A happy one. Regardless of what happens, I want you to survive. I want you to stay safe and survive and live old and be happy.”

“Don’t speak as if you already know your fate, please,” Filippa pleads. “If you want me to grow old and happy and find peace, you must come back. Harry, you’re my best friend. A future without you, do you know what that will be like?” Her voice is shaky when she continues:

“We’ve already lost so many of our friends, and together, helping one another, we have been able to keep going on. But if you’re gone, too, I will not… I cannot…" Her voice breaks and she takes deep breaths, fighting her tears.

"The future,” Harry tells her, finally letting her go and stepping away. “I want you to have that. For… for everyone. For every friend of ours who lost his or her chance to have a future. Please. Please. Don’t give up on tomorrow.”

30 Days of Writing – 29: Simple

Simple

(Post Mortem)

This drabble contains spoilers.

–

“Leave us,” Lord Voldemort orders, and after a moment of hesitation only he and Harry remain in the room. The bruised necromancer takes a deep breath, and pushes himself to sit up.

“I suppose those fools were a tad too eager to get their hands on you,” Voldemort says, sounding nearly sorry. “But if it makes you feel any better, you scare them quite a bit.”

“I know,” Harry replies and tries to wipe some of the blood off his face. “I gave them all the reasons to. They deserved it.”

“Oh yes, revenge. So many you’ve known are dead now, I believe,” Voldemort tells him with casual nonchalance. “My condolences. Truly, it must be terrible to be such a mortal. And get attached to other mortals. The more I think about it, I suppose you might as well blame yourself. Everybody dies, after all. Except me.”

“Is that so,” Harry says with a grimace. “So many dead and even more are being tortured by your people. Does that really make you feel nothing? Not a twinge of pity? You enjoy their pain, don’t you?”

“Quite,” Voldemort drawls. “Dumbledore has this theory, dear Harry. He thinks my past made me a monster. He believes that due to my childhood, I picked the wrong path and got helplessly lost somewhere on that road. All the bad things I do, I assure you, are because my life as I grew up was dreadfully void of hugs.”

“Your choices made you a monster.”

“I deal with pain by recycling it.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Harry grunts, and Voldemort shrugs. “I had… My childhood…”

“Oh yes,” Voldemort cuts in, and leans forward. His red eyes gleam with almost childish joy and he smiles with genuine amusement. “Your childhood. I’ve seen the minds of the people you hold close, and I must say I’m impressed. Your parents have managed to ruin your life in a manner so spectacular that you will never recover. This knowledge keeps me happy.”

Harry clenches his eyes shut and groans. This encounter wasn’t going the way he thought it would. “What do you want?”

“I’m a Dark Lord who needs a dead and deadly army, and you’re a Necromancer,” Voldemort says almost cheerfully, and Harry cannot help but feel that the man would have been much easier to deal with if he had turned out to be a raging megalomaniac with no sense of humour. “You do the math. It’s simple.”

Simple, he says.

Harry opens his eyes and stares at the man.

‘I’ll show him simple.’

30 Days of Writing – 28: Promise

Promise

(The Train to Nowhere)

This drabble is a deleted scene.

–

“You promised,” Harry says, swallowing his tears and trying to ignore the smell of stale beer and spilled wine filling the room. James is pale, in yesterday’s clothes, with bruises under his eyes. He’s sitting on the couch and Harry doubts that the man could stand up even if he wanted to.

“Don’t shout,” James says. His voice hoarse and he’s squinting. “Is it morning already?”

“You,” Harry starts, but doesn’t know how to continue. There are so many ugly words and thougths inside him, waiting to be spat out – but he knows he will regret saying those words in anger. The disappointment he feels is nearly overwhelming, and all he wants to do is to give up and leave. Go and forget this man. Forget his promises.

“You promised not to drink again,” Harry says finally, and James sighs, closing his eyes.

“Not for… forever, Harry.”

“You know what you meant. I know what you meant. You promised you’d stop this and you’re still here, doing that, getting drunk because that’s all you seem to be capable of anymore!” Harry’s voice gets steadily louder as he speaks, and the last few words are loud enough to make James cringe.

“Don’t shout at me,” James tells him. “I’m… I’m your father.”

The words I wish you weren’t would have been so easy to say, and they would have hurt James so much, and yet Harry couldn’t say them. He wants to – a part of him wants that more than anything else, but he remains silent.

“This is nothing,” James continues. “Just a little drink, Harry, I’m not… I’m not what you think I am.”

“An alcoholic?” Harry asks coolly. “I know what you are.” James looks at him then, and Harry sees how old his father looks. Heavy drinking and so much stress and grief have taken their toll, and Harry wishes he knew how to fix this – how to fix anything. But he doesn’t.

“You promised me to stop this,” Harry repeats again. “You said you’d get help. Two days ago, you… liar.”

“I will,” James is quick to tell him. He leans forward and doesn’t push away the bottle of sherry. “Tomorrow I’ll-”

“Don’t bother,” Harry interrupts, and takes a step away. “Stop tellin me that you’ll stop tomorrow if you know very well that you won’t. I don’t want to hear it. I won’t be here to hear it. I… I’m going to leave.”

“You’d abandon me?” James asks, and Harry shakes his head and turns away. “You’d abandon your own father?”

“There’s no one left for me to abandon.”

30 Days of Writing – 26: Diamond

Diamond

(If Them’s the Rules)

This drabble contains spoilers.

–

“I don’t think you completely understand the way I operate,” Tom says, giving the older man a cool smile. “You cannot offer me a thing I would be swayed by.”

“Not even emeralds?” Grindelwald asks, and only well-practiced control kept Tom from reacting to what he knew to be a comment about Harry.

“There is nothing you have that you can give me.”

“Not quite.” Grindelwald sets down his glass of wine before leaning forward, offering the younger wizard a mocking grin. “I know of magic you cannot even comprehend, young Riddle. I can help you. You would not settle for a diamond if you could get an emerald, now would you? Or is sentiment keeping you from ensnaring what you desire?”

“You think I’m bound by sentiment,” Tom says, sounding almost sorry. “I thought – I hoped – that you wouldn’t make that mistake. How disappointing.” Grindelwald’s expression does not change, but Tom knows that the Dark Lord is now much less pleased than he was a moment ago.

“Then what is stopping you?”

“I am a patient man, my friend. I have no need to take what will be given to me, and you must understand how much that matters in my… situation.”

“And what will you do until then?” Grindelwald sneers. “Leave the jewels unattended, to mix in ways most unfortunate?

"Hardly. I am not a fool, as you very well know.”

“Then what is it? What will you do?”

“Give him an acquired taste for rubies,” Tom replies, “and keep away the diamonds altogether.”

“And you think that you can change familial love to something else easily?” Grindelwald says, contempt clear in his demeanour. “You think he won’t notice?”

“How can a person defend against an attack that does not appear to be one?” Tom asks, allowing himself another smug smile. “As contrary as you might find it, I can achieve what I want without you.”

“I should warn you, then,” Grindelwald tells him. “This world is divided in two: those who are with me, and those who are not.”

30 Days of Writing – 25: Winter (Seasons 2/2)

Winter

(Creative Cruelty)

–

Naruto dislikes winter.

The cold that makes him hurt and keeps him trapped beneath the layers of clothes that he needs to keep piling on, in order to control the constant shivering.

He’s cold most of the time anyway, and the dropping temperature does nothing to help him. He dislikes the long, dark nights that last for much too long, stretching well into what should have been a new day.

The world seems bigger somehow in winter. Looking up at the sky and all it’s stars reminds Naruto of places he wants to forget. The icy wind is sharp and sometimes Naruto’s heart skips a beat, because is that the wind or someone’s – his – fingertips? Will there be a sea of tulips waiting for him behind the next corner?

“You’re never really warm, are you?” Sasuke asks, pressing his palm against Naruto’s chest. They’re in Naruto’s bed once again, with thick blankets covering them, lying side by side.

“Not in winter,” Naruto replies, and Sasuke snorts.

“It’s like the blood inside you doesn’t flow,” Sasuke continues. “It’s like you’re dead. Cold and dead. A fucking corpse.”

“So necrophilia is your kink?” Naruto smirks. Outside, snow keeps falling and Naruto hates it. Doesn’t want to notice it. Tries to not focus on it.

So he focuses on Sasuke, who’s not as cold as Naruto, and very willing to share the warmth he has.

30 Days of Writing – 24: Outside

Outside

(The Train to Nowhere)

Possible scene.

–

“Okay, that’s it,” Ginny says, slamming her book shut and turning to Hermione. “Sweetie, listen.”

“Sweetie?” Harry whispers, and Luna smiles at him.

“She’s been spending a lot of time with Gildy,” she reveals, and Harry isn’t sure if what troubles him is what Luna just said or that Luna called Gildy, well, Gildy.

“I know you’re smart,” Ginny says. “I know you’re pretty. I know you’re good at duelling. I know you ace all of your exams. I know you don’t use any make up. I know you don’t use charms on your hair. I know you dislike high heeled shoes and lip gloss and the thought of a girl having more than one boyfriend within the span of a year. But.”

Harry dares to glance at Hermione, who’s eyeing her friend with a worried expression. Ginny continues:

“But even if a girl is all that – even if a girl is your opposite – that doesn’t make her any less respectable, you know. Being a tomboy is okay, not being a tomboy is okay too. Having multiple boyfriends or girlfriends is fine. You keep harping about Lavender having dated five guys so far, and I want to know – why not? Because she has had sex with all of them? Newsflash: when done right and fully consensual, sex is fun–”

“Ginny!” Ron squeaks, and covers his ears. Ginny doesn’t seem to have heard him, though, and keeps pressing on:

“– and the way you think that guys can have quick, easy sex because they like it – the way you think that that reasoning cannot be applied on women – kind of gives the impression that somehow you think that sex is all about what the guy wants. That women can’t enjoy it, can’t do it because they want the pleasure of it, but because they’ve got some hidden agenda that makes it somehow shameful.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Hermione exclaimed, horrified. She looks genuinely upset, and so does Ginny, who shakes her head with a grim expression.

“We already have to endure so much misogyny from the outside,” the redhead says. “Men who think they understand what women want. Men who forget that every man came from a vagina. Men who think that women are secondary, not as important, not as smart or powerful. Men who think that our gender defines us. Women, too. Women who believe these men. We don’t need more of that.”

30 Days of Writing – 23: Thousand

Thousand

(Yours, In Murder)

–

Harry does care for Tom. A lot. Loves, him, even.

Some things, though, will never be forgotten. There are things Tom has done that Harry will never be alright with, and will never completely forgive. Time will not heal all wounds, and it will not make Tom’s crimes less severe. The trauma Tom has caused will not disappear simply because they’ve found a balance now.

Harry knows that Hermione thinks that he is somehow blind to all this. That he’s repressing all of his issues, avoiding dealing with them and with the wrongness of his whole situation. He knows that Tom believes himself to be in control of what’s going on, and Harry allows him that illusion. He allows that because he doesn’t know how to deal with the alternative.

The nightmares are not completely gone. Things are better and he’s stronger and Tom’s touch does not repel him. He can smile and laugh and be happy. He’s content. He doesn’t want or need revenge. He doesn’t think he’s holding a grudge, really. He does not wish ill upon Tom – not anymore.

But sometimes… the touch of Tom’s fingertips will ghost over him when the chaos inside his heart rises closer to the surface, and it will make him sick. Tom’s voice will sometimes shift, change into a lighter one – that of a teenage boy from a different timeline – and Harry would need to turn and take a look at him, half-expecting to see into the past.

He cannot forget that he’s living with his nightmare, only it’s now in a different wrapping. A matured body that has become familiar in all the good and bad ways.

He does care for Tom a great deal.

But there is a part of him that will never forget, will never forgive, even if he lives for a thousand years more.

30 Days of Writing – 22: Mad

Mad

(Post Mortem)

This drabble contains spoilers.

–

“You have this… loyalty,” Harry says, and the Dark Lord looks at him with an amused expression.

“Loyalty,” the man repeats. “Now that’s something no one else has ever accused me of having.”

“Loyalty to an idea,” Harry continues. “Loyalty to an insane idea.”

“I see,” the Dark Lord murmurs, and leans closer to the chained boy. “And what do you think of me, Harry Potter? Am I insane as well?” The Death Eaters behind him shift nervously, and he knows what they think. Has always known.

“No,” the boy says, his eyes narrowed. “That’s why I don’t understand you. You’re not crazy. But this… thing you’re doing. The whole idea of it. That’s crazy. That’s insane. That’s mad.”

“Says the necromancer. From other people’s point of view, raising the dead is madness. To you, it is simply a fact – a part of you.”

“Something I was born with. Something that has always been a part of me. What you are, though. Your…”

“Immortality, dear. You can say it.”

“It’s not right,” Harry says, and resist the temptation to lean closer to the power sorcerer, whose magic – as sick and twisted as it is – is also alluring beyond reason. Harry swallows nervously, and continues: “It’s like an extra limb that you insist on having. You shouldn’t… want that.”

“Oh, Harry,” the Dark Lord sighs, and his mouth stretches into a grin that reminds Harry of fear and ice. “Don’t be like other people. People who are good at pretending to know what you want better than you do. I’m more than you can comprehend. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that you understand me. I am beyond you.”

“Self-praise is no recommendation.”

“You know this is no simple self-praise.”

Harry knows that. Of course he knows, is painfully aware of it. He bites his lip, unsure of what to say next. The Dark Lord does not seem to mind his silence, though, and after a few minutes, Harry is in his cell alone once more.

The Dark Lord isn’t mad – not in the ways other people think he is.

And that’s precisely, Harry thinks, why he will lose.

30 Days of Writing – 21: Sunset

Sunset

(If Them’s the Rules)

Drabble contains possible spoilers.

–

Harry’s cold.

He’s lying on his back on the cold ground, the organge rays of the setting sun doing nothing to make him warm. He knows it’s going to be less than an hour before the darkness takes over. He knows he should move, stand up, go somewhere else. He doesn’t have the energy for any of that, though.

The fight he had with Tom was horrible, and left him feeling the kind of hurt he has not felt for years. It’s strange how emotional pain could feel so physical, and yet the illogicality of it does not ease any of Harry’s pain. The nausea. The ache.

He hears footsteps approaching, but doesn’t move to look. He knows it’s not Tom. It cannot be Tom. Tom’s away. Tom left, in a fit of anger, not understanding Harry’s reasons. Not understanding Harry.

Harry closes his eyes as the sunset paints everything red. He wants to cry but he doesn’t. The footsteps don’t stop until he feels someone looking down at him. Feels the steely points of the shoes dig into his right side, hears someone sigh. Harry doesn’t react. Doesn’t open his eyes. He might as well be asleep, as he has no energy left to move.

The stranger – who might not be a stranger at all – lifts him and carries him inside. Harry knows then who it is – only one person aside from him and Tom has the keys. He should have guessed.

There’s only one who sees the sunset and cares not for appropriate visiting times.