Ghosts of Ourselves (Prologue) by khgirl08, literature
Literature
Ghosts of Ourselves (Prologue)
It was hard, Harry thought, to die. Much harder than Sirius had told him, much harder than Dumbledore had claimed it was back in King’s Cross, and certainly much harder than he had imagined. At least, it was hard to not die. He had thought he would come straight back to life, just in time to kill Voldemort and save the others. He had, apparently, been wrong. He could hear the Death Eaters celebrating, marching off, could almost see them, but the image looked like one of Dudley’s broken televisions. And the pain… the pain was so intense. But it didn’t matter.
He would put up with it, with anything, if he could
Lightning Struck (Chapter 1) by khgirl08, literature
Literature
Lightning Struck (Chapter 1)
“So, let me see if I’ve got this straight. Shrinking Solutions just make things smaller, yeah?”
Colin shook his head, his eyes never leaving his copy of 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi. “It can also revert them to earlier stages of life. A cat who drank some might turn into a kitten, if it drank enough.”
Ginny groaned in frustration and rested her head on her Potions notes. “Maybe, if I sleep right here on my notes in the middle of the library, I’ll actually absorb some of this information. I’m just going in circles now.”
“I know that feeling. I swear, if I reread this passage
Of a Worthless Grandson (Chapter 1) by khgirl08, literature
Literature
Of a Worthless Grandson (Chapter 1)
The kettle shrieked and the mirror snorted when Augusta walked into her kitchen. The elderly witch ran a finger through her hair to tame it, hoping to soothe the mirror's temper before it got started. "It's only six in the morning."
"But if you would only wear curlers to bed at night-"
"I haven't worn curlers for years, thank you very much." Augusta sat heavily at her table and waved her wand at the stove; the kettle immediately turned off and poured its contents into a cup. The cup floated to the table to join Augusta, who added a cube of sugar and stirred the tea with her wand.
She had yet to take a sip when an owl soared through her win
Ginny watched a strange look cross Ron and Hermione's faces as she leaned against her mother. Both stood at the same time as the look faded and walked briskly to the entrance of the Great Hall, and that was when Ginny knew Harry was with them. She hadn't spoken to him since he shooed her from the Room of Requirement, hadn't stopped thinking about him since a funny feeling went through her while searching the grounds, hadn't stopped wanting to hold him since she saw him in Hagrid's arms. She yearned to follow the three of them, to latch onto Harry's arm and never let it go again, but she knew the time wasn't ri
The pain in the air is tangible.
My mother is sitting catty-cornered to me, drinking a vending machine produced swill that masquerades as cappuccino and flipping idly through the latest Janet Evanovich novel. I try to read the textbook that sits open on my lap, but the waiting room noises make it difficult to focus. The news anchor on the T.V. discusses a possible murder case. The old man across from my mother taps his cane on the arm of his chair. His grandkids giggle at some juvenile tale from his side. The receptionists chirp into their phones, a weirdly happy chorus. "Cleveland Clinic Pain Management Center, please hold. Cleveland
She was looking at Harry like she had never looked at him before. And all of a sudden, for the very first time in his life, Harry fully appreciated that Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister. He could not have said why this hit him so very powerfully at this moment. All he knew was that he was not the only person in the room who had an inkling of what Lord Voldemort being back might mean. Aunt Petunia had never in her life looked at him like that before. Her large, pale eyes (so unlike her sister's) were not narrowed in dislike or anger; they were wide and fearful. The furious pretense that Aunt Petunia had maintained all of Harry's life
Cinnamon: A Romione Drabble by khgirl08, literature
Literature
Cinnamon: A Romione Drabble
She smells like cinnamon.
He doesn't understand much of what she says --and when she gets upset and starts talking quickly and using words outside of his vocabulary, he's learned it's best not to ask her to repeat herself--, but he can smell her from across the room. And she smells like Christmas, and flavored coffee drinks, and breakfast rolls. It kind of makes him hungry.
She looks like cinnamon.
Her eyes are that perfect warm shade of brown, and her increasingly bushy hair matches them perfectly. Her old dressing gown is even the exact same color. And, though she will never believe him, she is just as hot in this state as when she s
You’re editing his History of Magic essay. Again.
He’s playing chess. Again.
Your new eagle-feather quill is the only barrier between your eyes and his. You know he wouldn’t notice you if it wasn’t there.
He never notices when you stare.
You lean down to decipher his scrawl. Your lips brush the quill and you freeze. You’ve never experienced a featherlight kiss before.
Your eyes seek out his lips. You idly wonder if they would give featherlight kisses. They look as soft as the quill does.
He doesn’t notice you. The quill brushes your lips as you correct his spelling.
You can wait.
Something was terribly wrong.
He had woken at six to set tea on for his roommate, who normally stormed in at half past complaining of weariness and chills and mussy hair. But Sirius had not come in at half past, nor at a quarter 'til. When Sirius hadn't returned by seven o'clock, a full hour after he should have been relieved from guard duty by the timely Alastor Moody, Remus had sent him a Patronus message. In another frightening turn, Sirius had not returned the message.
But Sirius's failure to return home after his guard duty scared him to his bones.
This had happened in the past, when Sirius had gotten involved with some Death Eater
We made it all the way to I-70 before the snow got really bad. I wanted Ollie to pull off at an exit until it died down a little, but he wouldn't hear of it.
The car can make it. I'm a good driver, and the car is on new tires. It'll be fine.
He sounds so reassuring. He's always sounded like this, ever since I met him three and a quarter years ago. Even when he isn't trying to reassure me, his voice sounds so peaceable that all my problems just kind of melt away. I guess that's what love does.
If you think you can make it, that's fine. Go for it.
He's so oblivious. For a while, I thought he knew. I thought he felt the same. I tho