racetrack knows you wank

Fic: Lavender & Someone in the afterlife

2008-01-03T20:54:17Z

Characters: Lavender Brown & ...?
Summary: Lavender isn't sure who would be waiting for her.
Rating: PG. Maybe. Just to be safe.

By the end, she'd watched nearly everyone she knew die. Sometimes, it was only dream death, in her head. It had finally been too much for her, and Susan Bones had been the lucky recipient of Lavender's cowardice. The blast that took her life had altered the outcome very little, and it was possible that she'd only spared Susan for a few moments, but it was enough for Lavender.

There hadn't been any pain, for which she had been thankful for. Lavender could barely stand a too-hard tug on her hairbrush, let alone anything more permanent. But the truth was that she had no idea who, if anyone, would have been waiting for her in the afterlife.

The station was empty. There wasn't even a train yet, or perhaps one had just departed. She had Seen Simon's death only a short time before her own. She thought it might be possible that there was only one train running, but with the state of things, there really ought to be several. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Oliver, Simon, Padma, Parvati... The list was too enormous, daunting to even ponder.

As she stood waiting, Lavender closed her eyes. Faint footsteps preceded a breeze that fluttered through the station, and with it came the scent of freshly cut grass and wood -- specifically broom wood. She remembered flying lessons at Hogwarts, every single time she had to borrow a broom, painting her face for Gryffindor Quidditch matches, and --

"Oliver!"

She spun around, only for him to catch her in his arms immediately. Lavender tried not to laugh, but the happiness was too great, and the knowledge that Oliver had been waiting for her when he could have waited for anyone else in the world set her free. There was no pain anymore, and even when she thought of her previous life, she couldn't feel any remorse or guilt or worry for anything that happened. A giant weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and she thought she could fly.

His arms should have been crushing her, but the tighter her held her, the happier -- elated even -- she felt.

"I didn't mean to be late," he beseeched her quietly, kissing the side of her face over and over again. "You weren't scheduled to be here for a while."

"You couldn't have known," Lavender whispered in return, resting her forehead against his. She could taste salt on her lips, and realised she must be crying. Oliver cupped her face with his large hands, his thumbs wiping away the tears.

"But you did, didn't you?"

Oliver had never quite believed in her Sight, but he'd always been fairly silent on it, choosing to be there for her during the episodes, even when she awoke from the blood bath of a nightmare that prefaced You-Know-Who's return. "...yes."

"Lavender, I'm sorry..." he pleaded, catching her gaze and not letting go. "I'm sorry I didn't believe--"

"Don't be daft," she laughed. "I didn't even believe me. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"Yes, I do. I should have told you that I loved you. I should have told you every day."

Lavender took his hands, tilting her face to him and kissed him softly. "We have all of eternity to make up for it now."

Fic: Fleur and Bill Weasley (Post-Apocalyptic)

2008-01-03T20:54:16Z

Characters: Fleur, Bill, Gabrielle -- mentions of all the Weasleys as well as other Order members
Summary: Bill and Fleur are the last of the Weasleys left, but not for very long.
Rating: R -- there's just some really terrible bad images

At the 1994 Quidditch World Cup, wizards got a taste of a Veela's power. They could strike a man dumb just by entering a room, and if angrily provoked, they had a tendency to throw fire at their victims. All in all, it was a nifty power to have. Fleur Weasley had vague recollections of being lusted after. She could dimly remember someone slapping a table and repeating what she'd said only seconds prior. Boys blushed and stammered, girls sneered with jealousy.

All of the Weasleys had gone into hiding when little Sophie Weasley was torn apart, save Hestia. Hestia couldn't bare the pain, and Charlie had been unable to stop her. The witch had run head-first into Death Eater territory -- what wasn't Death Eater territory these days? -- and the end hadn't come easy. Charlie's denial grew less and less and his anger rose with each body part he received in the post. At first, it was easy to pretend the long fingers weren't his wife's, but by the time her torso arrived, he had to pretend that the breasts didn't belong to his wife. When her head showed up, neatly wrapped with a perfect expression of pain etched on her plain face, Charlie had nothing left to lose.

They found Arthur some time after Charlie's last stand, a rampage that took out five Death Eaters (and himself) and gave some hope to the stragglers left behind.

But then Ron and Harry and Hermione disappeared one night. Everyone hoped they'd gone on whatever search they'd managed last time, and once and for all You Know Who would be vanquished. All hope crumbled when three bodies were displayed with permanent embalming charms in front of the Ministry of Magic.

Then Molly and Ginny vanished.

The twins.

Percy and Penelope.

Even the Weasley's Muggle tax barrister cousin.

Soon, it was just Gabrielle, Bill, Fleur, and their unborn daughter. They crossed the channel by Muggle boat as a way to escape the Voldemort-controlled Ministry, but Bill wasn't so certain that they hadn't been followed somehow. They hadn't used any magic in months so there could be no Trace. But his fears were confirmed when Gabrielle disappeared on the ferry to France. Fleur had been angry, then, and several automobiles on board the ferry had very mysteriously caught fire. She had worked so hard to keep her sister safe during the second war -- for what? Nothing. She had no way to find her, and even less hope of surviving but anger still burned into the Veela, and Bill was satisfied. If she could still get angry, Bill thought, they still had a chance, and Fleur and the baby were all he had left.

Being a Weasley meant that they were hunted like dog, and it wasn't long before they were both bound, gagged, and returned to England. Fleur had put up a fight, burning several of the Death Eaters before they bested her, and Bill thought they had a real chance so long as she could still get angry. They were separated, of course, and he knew that they would torture him, he just hadn't counted on the method of torture.

The voice belonging to the hooded figure wasn't familiar at all, and the Death Eaters dragged Fleur into the room. They'd raped her and beat her, that much Bill could see, and his eyes flashed dangerously. He and Charlie were more alike than the Death Eaters knew. It wasn't just Gryffindor bravery that caused him to scream. "GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF HER! YOU WILL PAY FOR WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO HER, I SWEAR TO GOD--"

"Silence!"

The spell disarmed his tongue, and his binds were drawn tighter. Fleur, now hung by some unseen hook, was suspended directly in front of him. His own binds clamped onto Bill's long hair, jerking his head up to look at her still-beautiful, though badly beaten face. She shook her head almost imperceptibly when he tried to struggle again.

"Half-breeds and blood traitors breeding. How dare you taint Wizarding blood!"

Bill felt the icy fingers of fear down his spine. There was a terrible ripping sound followed by a short, sharp scream that Bill didn't recognise though he saw Fleur's mouth open and her face twist into a pained grimace. Her delicate pale features turned sickly, almost green. He felt hot tears pouring down his face, and he wanted to reach out for the child now lying face down on the ground, not moving or breathing. The same could be said for both Bill and Fleur.

Fight, Fleur. Get angry. Come on, baby. Don't give up yet. We can still get away.

But he knew the fire had gone out of her; he could see it in her cold eyes. He was just thankful she wouldn't have to suffer much longer.

Fic: Post Apocalyptic Lavender Brown

2008-01-03T20:54:15Z

Characters: Lavender Brown, Elliott Chambers, Susan Bones (mentions of Oliver Wood, Simon Capper, Parvati Patil, as well as a whole bunch of name-dropping! YAY!)
Summary: After Seeing death one too many times, Lavender can't take it anymore.
Rating: PG13

Lavender Brown had long since outgrown any urge to stomp around, shouting at the top of her lungs that it just wasn't bloody fair. How had You-Know-Who bested Harry Potter? How had You-Know-Who even come back for the third time! It didn't really matter; all that Lavender knew was that they were gone. Most of her friends was gone.

Parvati had been one of the first, slipping away as silently as a breeze. She was one of the lucky ones. Padma followed in a hail of green light in her revenge. All of the forerunners to the battle were gone, and no one dared to openly mourn them -- there just wasn't time with all the ambushes -- but oh, late at night, huddled in a battered building, what was left of Dumbledore's Army and the Order of the Phoenix scattered into groups so that the Death Eaters couldn't find them, they found they still needed their comfort.

Lavender looked up at the sky needlessly. She knew the moon was full and fat, hanging high in the sky, and she let a daydream of Simon Capper wash over her. It was too late for him, even if he was still alive. But in her dreams, his eyes were still alive and laughing, his smile was bright, and he sang into a hairbrush unabashedly to some song about cauldrons that Lavender once knew all the lyrics to.

"Simon!" she called out with a smile, batting at his hands as he shoved the make-shift microphone under her nose. "Quit fucking around! We're in the middle of a war!"

Simon shook his head mysteriously, and the glow of the moon evaded her dreams mercilessly. Simon changed, right then and there in front of her into a snarling black wolf, and there was no cage to hold him. Except he didn't lunge, didn't attack, just stared at her and she could swear she saw the wolf crying before it turned and ran off into the darkness.

Lavender's feet decided to follow, and before she knew it, she was just outside the safety of the shattered building. Off in the distance, she heard howling and saw a sudden blast of light and fire, and her heart felt as though it had been literally ripped from her chest. She let out a wail that might possibly match Ginny Weasley's in anguish at the triple deaths of Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Simon Capper was dead; she was certain of it.

There was a hand on her shoulder, and for one instant, she let herself believe that it was Oliver Wood's. She'd turn around to find him tucked away in the same hovel by happy coincidence -- just like three weeks ago. He pulled her to him roughly, holding onto her as tight as he could. They spent the next few hours trying to find some hope in each other. Oliver swore he'd never let her go as long as he lived.

And he didn't, even though "as long as he lived" was only four hours.

"No, no, no," she sobbed, and her fingernails dug deep into Elliot Chamber's wrists. He didn't flinch, not even when Lavender began to fight him, pounding her fists against his chest. She sank to her knees, taking Elliot with her.

"We have to get inside," he warned her, cutting across her sorrow and yanking her across the threshold. "They'll find us."

"I don't... I don't care. I don't want to See them all dying. Elliot, please make it stop!" Her shouting was beginning to draw the attention of the others. Whispered threats bounced right off Lavender. "I just want to die. I just want to die."

Lavender wasn't supposed to last this long; she should have been one of the first. One by one, everyone she'd ever cared about was stripped from her. To silence her, Elliot kissed her. He might have laughed, and she might have smacked him once upon a time, but it did the trick now. But she'd Seen it coming, and she welcomed it. It meant the end was near, and that was a relief.

One desperate, clingy encounter later, Elliot passed out. Lavender sat up with a start, knowing what she must do. Down the stairs and through the door, she found Susan Bones standing watch. She was always standing watch, and, smoothing a hand on Susan's tired cheeks, Lavender informed her that she would keep watch.

"Are you sure?" Susan relished the physical contact, even if it wasn't of the male persuasion. At this point, anything was better than nothing.

"Yes, definitely."

"Well, if you're not well enough..."

"You've been such a soldier, Susan. I don't know how you do it." It was a lie, but it was necessary. "I swear, I'm fine now."

Reluctantly, Susan switched places with the other witch.

With a sad smile, Lavender said, "I'll see you soon, Susan."

A second later, a high pitched whirring sound pierced their ears. It drew closer and closer until there was an explosion. Susan was catapulted against what was left of the door jamb, her back feeling near broken. She glanced up to the spot she had been to make sure that Lavender was all right, but there was only a hole in the wall.

Fic: Judas (Padma Patil/Theodore Nott)

2008-01-03T20:54:12Z

Title: Judas
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Padma Patil, Theodore Nott
Word Count 1031
Author's Note: alsoknownas gave me a plot bunny. Actually, she gave me quite a few, and I finished two of them. This one is the more WTF of the two. Idea: Take your character and put them in a Post Apocalyptic World. Ie., Voldemort wins. Well, in a post apocalyptic world, Harry would most likely be dead, or stripped of his powers (and GAH, the PLOT BUNNIES FOR THAT), so I took Padma and did this:

The raids were methodical and exacting. By now, Padma knew what to expect. The house in Liverpool had been foraged through so many times that she'd taken to organizing it in the most efficient manner for them. The less time the Light Detectors spent in her home, the better. They always trifled through her books.

With her legs tucked beneath her, Padma glanced over the top of the book balancing in her lap, expressionless. It was better when one didn't show them the slightest bit worried. The hooded figures did their job, and she, certainly, understood how these things worked; after all, she'd seen the paperwork. Hell, she'd filed it. That didn't stop the Light Detectors from traipsing into her home once a month.

In the beginning, there had been nervousness. There had never been anything to hide, but those invasions would last for days. Her house had been left in shambles. It was those times when she was most grateful that she was a pureblood whose magic had not been stripped away.

It also helped that sympathy was not something that Padma Patil gave anymore.

Sure, it was hard for a moment when Parvati had been dragged away from her, kicking and screaming against the Dementors until she'd slacked in their grasp, submitting to poisonous thoughts and horrified memories. One would have thought the creatures had overcome Padma as well.

But they had, in a way, for it was Padma who turned her own sister in. It was an agreement she'd made with an old friend. He'd spare her from being experimented on, if she turned in bigger fish than the witch who'd created some of the brutal curses and hexes that His Death Eaters were suffering from. One by one, Potter's allies were mysteriously taken from their Unplottable locations.

She'd become something of a war hero or a cautionary tale, depending on one's skewed version of events. Padma would just say she was just too greedy, too tired, too scared, too angry to have committed to a side. That was the one thing about Ravenclaws; wit and learning wasn't a personality trait. Not like all the rest of the Houses.

War was waste. The sooner it was over, the better, and that was her motto.

Waste was the filth in Diagon Alley these days. Filth was the broken Light forces, wading in their own stink. They could have risen above it, saved a little of their pride, but not one of them thought that turning their backside on the Light was a suitable way of life. Padma thought it was Elysium.

Once she'd fallen into lassitude, Theodore Nott had proved himself to be quite the ally.

She never read that book anymore. It was the only book in the house she might have been worried about, if she didn't have the proper paperwork for it. Theodore had made sure of that. A compendium of Shakespeare's written works had no place in a pureblood's home, but considering his kindness for it, he'd secured authorization. That coupled with his inscription (and signature) fastened her safety.

A lazy twist of her wand brought the paperwork into her hands. The Light Detectors were so predictable. Their alert sparks went off monthly. The same book, the same outcome, the same embarrassed muttering. Pardon me, Miss Patil, we didn't know you were intimate with Nott.

"I wouldn't call it intimate; I'd call it consorting."

No, Padma hadn't made sense in a long time, but it was for the best really. No one was in their right mind anymore. When ennui failed her, she always had dogma to steady her. Routines made her (non)life possible. Every day, it was the same: wake, work, sleep.

Oh, and she reread the Dark Lord's credenda. It was interesting, the manner of words He chose, and so she found herself returning to it over and over again. That was always when Theodore would appear.

Every night, it was the same, like clockwork. A loud Crack! always signaled his arrival, of course. No member of His Glitterati ever really sparkled, not when it counted anyway. They all had that strange glassy-eyed stare until the rush of green blitz seemed to make them come alive, and only then.

His face was always as vanilla as her shampoo. She wasn't fooled by his condition; it always started the same. Her soft words were contrasted by her clipped tones; his affections seemingly went undermined by the look in his eye. It was when she wrapped whispers around the Dark Lord's words that he seemed alive.

'It's only in your darkest hour, that you dream of Death. I have Overcome.'

And when Padma spoke the words, she sounded strangely dull, not at all like her former self. She stared at Theodore placidly until he dropped to his knees. Every time he'd appear, she knew another one of her former friends was dead. She also knew that Theodore had been the one dispatched to do it.

He didn't usually prostrate himself.

"Who was it this time?"

When there was no answer, Padma slowly sank to her knees. For the first time in years, Padma felt real fear. Her fingers went to his shoulder. He felt cold to the touch; he must have been up north. Up north meant…

"You didn't…"

There was still no reply, and that sinking feeling magnified. North meant Azkaban. Azkaban meant…

Parvati.

When he looked back up at her, his eyes were red. There was emotion there that hadn't been there in years. It was odd to her that he was looking at her so peculiarly. And when he put his arms around her, she felt him shuddering. Her eyes darted to the encyclopedia-sized book on the shelf.

Unsurprisingly, once the fear was gone, Padma couldn't feel anything.

She stiffened then, unlocking his embrace. She lifted his chin, forcing him to look at her again. Padma gave him a calm, calculating look. It was the same look she gave him she handed him the morning paperwork or his tea or gave him the location of another one of her former cohorts.

"Well, there's not much Light left, is there? I've done my job well."