Fan Fiction (Shorts)

The Unperformed Dance

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven and eight. Again!”

On the count of her dance teacher, she twirled, jumped, landed and pose gracefully, over and over again.

“Very good Joules!” her teacher exclaimed as she clapped her hands. “One more time and we’re done for today.”

Joules did the sequence once more and as she posed she smiled widely, before breaking into a squel.

“I can’t believe I’ve gotten it! Do you think I have a chance at winning?” Joules asked her dance teacher excitedly.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Mother would be so proud,” Joules said to herself.

“Yes, your mother would have been so proud,” her dance teacher replied before pointing to the door, where her father stood.

“Thank you Ms. Carly. I’ll see you on Saturday!” Joules said as she jogged towards her father.

“Come prepared. And good luck with the reaping! You better not be chosen now,” Ms. Carly said jokingly as she waved goodbye.

As Joules followed her father to the car, she expressed her day’s accomplishments excitedly. While her father merely smiled and patted her on her should.

“Mother would be proud, so very proud, don’t you think?” Joules asked as they entered the car and made their way home.

“Yes, she would be.”

“Did you take the weekend off for my performance?”

“Of course I did,” her father said as he kept his eyes on the road.

“Great! I can’t believe I have finally mastered mother’s routine. Now I can show it to the world!” Joules was still pumping with excitement, that she did not even worry about the reaping that would take place the next day.

Being that Joules grew up in a wealthy home, where her father co-owned the biggest electric company in the district, she never had to put in her name in for tessarae, and every year, during the reaping, she never once thought she would be chosen.

This year was no different. To her, the reaping was just another boring day where she had to assemble in front of the justice building while they chose the poorer children who never really had a life to begin with. You could say she was a pretty spoiled brat, especially after the death of her mother, as her father began showering gifts just to please her.

But it was strange that this year, her father had been acting rather uptight and jumpy when the reaping came up in discussion. Joules had the urge to ask, but she decided not to upset her father any further, until she heard him over the phone that very same night.

“I’ll have the money, just leave her out of it!” her father whispered harshly over the phone.

Leaning closer to the gap in the office door, Joules strained her ears, hoping she could catch what the person on the other line was saying.

“I SAID I would have the money by tomorrow! I’ll give it to you after the reaping!” her father continued.

Peeking through the gap, Joules watched as her father started pacing up and down the mahogany themed office.

“Don’t threaten me. You know I only have one daughter, she’s all I have left.”

At the sound of her involvement, Joules immediately burst into the office, staring at her father who looked shock at her presence.

“What is going on father?” Joules quickly asked.

“I’ll call you back,” her father said on the phone before hanging up.

“Who was that?” Joules continued.

“That was,” he hesitated.

“Is everything alright?”

“Joules, we are in trouble,” her father simply replied.

“What kind of trouble?”

“Money troubles with the capitol.” Her father looked away in embarrassment, trying to keep his composure as he continued in a whisper, “I have failed you Joules. I have failed your mother. Now they’re going to take everything from us, they even threatened to take you!”

Her father was shaking and Joules quickly helped him onto the velvet sofa before he collapsed.

“They can’t take me from you,” Joules said, hoping it would comfort him.

“They can. They say if I don’t give them their money, they are going to put you into this year’s hunger games.”

“What? They can’t do that? How much do you owe them?” Joules tried to hide the panic in her voice. She had never trained for the hunger games her entire life, and she knew she wouldn’t survive one day in the games.

“A lot of money,” her father replied as he buried his face in his hands.

“But you told them you have the money right? Father, I can’t go into the hunger games, I won’t survive! All I know how to do is dance. Father, you…” her voice trailed off when she saw the look on her father’s face as he looked up at her.

He was at a dead end. There was no more hope in his eyes. They were finished.

“We can run away,” her father suddenly spoke urgently, as he stood up and grabbed her by the wrist. “We can leave and they won’t find us!”

“What? No! They will kill us both if they find us! There’s no way we can outrun them,” Joules said as she tugged her father back into reality.

As he finally turned to face her, he fell on his knees and wept. Embracing him in a hug, Joules didn’t know what to do. Through his desperate cry, her father apologized, “I’m so sorry Foxie, I’m so sorry.”

It looks like she wouldn’t be performing on Saturday after all, nor would she ever dance her mother’s unperformed routine. She was going to have to take this one for her father. And maybe, just maybe, they might not read her name tomorrow, during the reaping.

But if they did, she knew she was a smart one, after all, she always thought herself to be as sly as her father and as sneaky as her mother. They did not nickname her Foxie for no reason.

Fan Fiction (Shorts)

Case Study #65

Students of the newly developed Magic & Psychiatric department in St. Mungo’s sat in a small lecture theater. They were studying the techniques of dealing and treating mentally deranged patients through the collaboration of muggle science and magic. Today, they were shown a unique case; case study number 65.

Right in front of the class was a pensieve. It was no ordinary one as it had mirrors around the wide glass bowl. Smoke was also puffing excessively from the liquid within, and a thick cloud had gathered a feet above the bowl. In the cloud itself was a memory, playing out an interview.

“Does it make you feel good to watch people suffer?” The interviewer’s voice echoed throughout the small lecture theater.

“Great pleasure,” the subject replied.

“And do you think what you did was right?”

The subject merely laughed in reply.

“So, you think it was right?” the interviewer asked again.

“My right and wrong is defined by you isn’t it? You are here to call me crazy, to justify my actions, to… help me?”

“Yes, I want to help you.”

“I don’t need your help doctor. I’m not your patient, so you don’t have to test your patience on my sanity.”

Slowly, the dark room started to fade away within the cloud, and that was all with the short memory.

“At the age of six, the subject had already showed intense sadistic, brutal and violent tendencies. Subject was also highly intelligent and could learn quickly. Interestingly, subjects personality is claimed to be hereditary. Both aunt and cousin were also short tempered and easily distracted,” read Dr. Batred, the senior lecturer of the first badge of students.

“For today’s class, I would like you to go back and write a one thousand word discussion on whether you believe the subject had been born or nurtured with such traits. If you have no questions, class is dismissed.”

Once Dr. Batred had turned his back against his students, he expected to hear them leaving, but instead, one of the asked, “Sir, I’m afraid you have not given us enough information to write on, if you do not mind showing us the other memory bottle you have with you?”

Dr. Batred took a quick glance at the two bottles of memory sitting on his desk. He had earlier planned on showing both of them, but thought of saving one for the next class.

“I was actually planning on showing this one in our next class,” Dr. Batred picked the bottle up as he spoke. A label pasted onto the bottle read, ‘1st Interview’.

“Sir, as much as you would like to chase us off, we would like to know more,” another student added in.

Chuckling to himself, Dr. Batred felt rather happy at his students’ response. Such keenness should be credited.

“Very well. If you are all so very keen.” Dr. Batred headed to the pensieve and retrieved the earlier memory before pouring in the new.

As he did so, he briefly mentioned, “This was an interview conducted by a family friend of the subject. The subject’s parents were rather worried of their child’s state and decided to call for help. It wasn’t easy getting this memory, but thankfully for us, I knew the interviewer. He thought this memory would come in useful one day, so he decided to sent it to me with an invitation to his funeral.”

The class chuckled along with uncertainty of the premise of the statement. Thankfully, the awkwardness of the supposed joke dissolved when the memories in the bottle rose into the cloud above the pensieve.

“Hello,” the interviewer greeted the child.

They were seated in a cozy living room. The fireplace was burning brightly, casting flickers of light on their faces.

“Hello sir,” the child replied politely.

“How are you today?”

“Rather fine, thank you.”

“I would like to ask you a few questions. I hope that it is alright with you?”

“Does it have to do with me hurting my sister?”

“There is a question or two on that.”

“If you must know, I don’t like my sister. Father and mother pays too much attention to her, and she’s rather stupid if you ask me.”

“Is that why you have tried to suffocate her?”

“Yes,” the child answered expressionlessly.

“Why do you do that?”

“I want her to die.”

“Do you want your youngest sister to die too?”

“Cissy? No. I like Cissy.” An expression crossed the little girls face as though the interviewer was asking a ridiculous question.

There was a short pause as the interviewer tried to decipher her expression. But not being able to conclude anything, he continued.

“How old is Andromeda, Bella?”

“What a stupid name,” Bella replied as she stared right into the interviewers eyes.

“She’s four am I right?”

“She’s four. And Cissy is two.”

“Do you know why your mother locks your bedroom door at night?”

“Because she’s afraid I might kill Andromeda in her sleep.” Bella paused before she continued, “They think I might kill Cissy too, but I love Cissy.”

“I see. Is that why you left dead baby birds on Cissy’s crib?”

“They are presents. So Cissy know’s I love her.”

“And did you kill those baby birds?”

“Yes. I squeezed them with my hands,” Bella answered proudly.

“Why did-“

“Don’t you think it’s more meaningful when a gift takes effort, rather than just going to a store and buying one?” Bella interrupted immediately.

“Do you think Cissy would know the difference?”

Bellatrix shrugged in reply. As the interviewer looked to her parents the memory slowly disappeared in the cloud.

“Now, a one thousand word discussion wouldn’t be a problem, would it? Nature versus nurture; get on with it!” Dr. Batred ended that evening class, wondering to himself if he actually thought Bellatrix Lestrange was crazy or just a highly intelligent person with a lack of remorse.

Fan Fiction (Shorts)

Adopted

Some said she was a weird child, others said she was disturbed. To be frankly honest, she was both. Often times, you would see her sitting by the pond, throwing knives at the frogs. And every time she hits one, she would smile. She was already like that even before she started her training, and the family that adopted her when she was 8, accepted her the way she was.

You see, she was born in a poor family, with a mother who would take beatings from her father. Sometimes, her father would even take it out on her.

He would take scorching hot rods and jab them at the young innocent girl. But even with that little mind of hers, she realized that if she stopped crying, and pretended that it didn’t hurt, her father would start wearing an expression of utmost confusion, one of which she enjoyed watching.

But the more she became expressionless, the more pain her father would inflict on her. Even her mother dared not stop him when he started hammering nails into her thighs. It would have been a very disturbing experience for most children, but oddly enough, she didn’t feel a thing, and the blood that came oozing out from her wounds felt good.

Finally, when the neighbors saw the burnt marks, the bruises and scars on her little body, they reported her father to the peacekeepers and he was sent away. Her mother, who was not in a proper state to look after her, was forced to watch as the peacekeepers took the little girl of the age of 7 to an orphanage.

There, she spent a year playing by herself, collecting sharp objects and staring at the other children till they were all so scared of her. Every family that came to see the children always asked about that little girl, who sat by the corner by herself. But every time they asked, they leave with no intentions of adopting her. It was at the mention of her horrific background that people were turned off.

One year later, a rich family, with no children of their own, decided to adopt a child. Their intentions were clear as they told the people who worked in the orphanage.

“We don’t want an ordinary kid. We want to raise a career tribute kid.”

And it was then that they were directed straight to the weird little girl, who did not stir any problems when she was told to follow the elderly man and woman.

When she was brought to her new home, she was lavished with new clothes, new toys and a huge bedroom. The elderly couple gave her everything, even though she he did not ask for anything. And when they saw that she was finally ready, they sent her to a special school to be trained.

One evening, on her 12th birthday, she asked her adopted parents one question, “Why did you adopt me?”

“Well, because we need someone to accompany us, and to make us proud,” her foster mother replied.

“O.K. Can I have a new set of knives for my birthday?” she replied.

“I’ll bring you to town tomorrow, you can pick them out,” her foster father replied from behind the daily newspaper.

And that was how she spent all her birthdays. She would ask the same question, followed by something she wanted, and her requests would be met.

But on her 15th birthday, she made a different request.

“Why did you adopt me?” she asked as usual.

“You know why my dear, to make us proud,” her foster mother replied pleasantly, not at all annoyed at the same question she was asked every year.

“Then, can I join this year’s hunger games?”

“You can volunteer if you like?” her foster father suggested, smiling broadly.

“No. I don’t want to volunteer. I don’t want people to think I’m ready,” she replied quickly.

“Then what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to pay them money to lie during the reaping,” she ordered.

“I don’t know about that my child, it’s a tricky thing to mess with the reaping process,” her foster father said.

“Maybe you can wait till you are eighteen, and then you can volunteer. It would make us both very proud of you?” her foster mother quickly added.

“I’m ready now. And you two are getting older, you might die before I turn eighteen,” she answered coldly.

It was no surprise to her foster parents that she spoke to them in such a way. As she grew older, she felt as though she was entitled to everything, and when she was given what she asked for, she became the spoiled, and rather sadistic brat.

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do,” her foster father finally gave in.

“Good. I would also need a dress for the reaping,” she added.

“We will go look for one tomorrow. Is there anything else you need Clove?” her mother asked.

“No. That’s all for now,” Clove said, as she gathered the knives she was polishing on the table and headed to the garden to throw them at more frogs.

Fan Fiction (Shorts)

Home Schooled

As he sat staring out of his room window, he wondered what life would have been like, if he was accepted to a magical school. But the more he thought about it, the more he hated his life. He couldn’t understand why nobody wanted him, why nobody would accept him for who he was, and deep within him, sparks of anger was growing.

But as of now, he had to push away that thought, because in a few minutes, he would have to sit with his relatives who would ask about him, and why he wasn’t in school. He would have to pretend he didn’t like public school, and that he preferred to be home schooled, to save his parents the embarrassment. And though he thought his parents were being selfish, he knew that that excuse would save him the embarrassment as well.

Finally, the knock came from the door, and he knew it was time. The moment his aunts, uncles and cousins were all settled down in their cosy living room, with the fireplace mildly burning with scented wood, he knew that  though the environment was perfect for good stories and laughs, it will soon turn to him.

“So, still being home schooled I assume?” his eldest aunt asked.

“Yes,” he replied, forcing a smile as he nodded

“Oh, it’s better for him. He can focus more,” his mother quickly added.

“Ah, yes, boys at his age are easily influenced. You’re fifteen now aren’t you?” His eldest aunt turned to him.

“Yes,” he replied, with the same plastic smile.

“Well then, you should show us what you could do,” one of his cousin suggested.

“Oh, we know what he can do, there’s no need to show,” his father answered before he could.

“No, he must show. A boy like you, with such talented parents, would definitely have great talent hidden under your sleeves. And since you’re home schooled, we expect greater things from you!” his eldest aunt said.

“I… I’m not sure,” he said, as he watched his parents exchange quick glances.

“Oh, look at the time, it’s late!” his mother quickly said, as his father waved his wand from his back at the nearby clock.

“Yes, you must get going,” his father added, standing up ready to usher them to the door.

“Oh? I think your clock is off uncle, we just got here,” his cousin said with a laugh.

“Oh, stop trying to be funny Artie,” his eldest aunt said to his father, and waved for him to sit back down.

Immediately, his mother gave him a nudge, and acting upon her actions he got up, ready to excuse himself, with a reason that he needed to get some homework done.

“Where are you going?” his cousin immediately asked.

“I have some homework to do,” he replied, trying to make himself believable.

“Oh, you’re home schooled boy, you can do it anytime,” his eldest aunt said.

And when his mother tugged at his sleeve, he sat back down. Confused at what his parents actually wanted, he sat through the excuses they came up with to put him in the clear and when they finally succeeded, they went on to talking about the ministry, quidditch, and everything magic related.

Through 2 hours of rambling, laughing and complaining, he somehow felt out of place. They seemed so happy, and in him, more seeds of anger began to plant itself. He didn’t know why, but he hated them for being so happy, their laughs became too loud to bear, and they complaints felt so petty that he felt as though they were being so ungrateful with the life they had.

Then, when they started talking about how they wished they could actually live a muggle life for one day, he could not believe what he was hearing. Were they kidding? Do they know what they would be missing out if they were muggles?

“Oh, wouldn’t it be nice to drive a muggle car, ON the road? And those special things they call telephone, it looks so fun to use!” his cousin said excitedly.

“It would be nice to experience it. No ministry talk, just tea with a game of tennis,” his eldest aunt added.

“What’s tennis? It sure does sound interesting” his mother asked.

At that very moment, he just couldn’t take it anymore. He knew what tennis was, because he learnt about it in school, muggle school. And when he told his parents about it, they couldn’t care less. Now, they were on the bandwagon about living a muggle life?

“Oh, it’s a game-“

“It’s a muggle game. A muggle game you probably would not play, mother,” he interrupted his eldest aunt, and sent the room quiet.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account. You all seem to want to live the muggle life, so go ahead! Go to muggle schools, learn about muggle art, and BE A MUGGLE! Then when you’re bored, you can go back to being magical, cause you can!” he continued, and everyone in the room merely stared at him, speechless.

“Argus, please,” his mother whispered.

“Don’t PLEASE me mother, you want to live a lie, go ahead, but I’m done living a lie.” Argus paused and turned to his eldest aunt. “Do you know why I don’t perform magic? It’s because I’m a squib! I CAN’T do magic. I DON’T have it! I’m a muggle, living in a magical world, and it is horrible. So stop being so ungrateful with what you have!’

Immediately after his outburst, Argus ran to his room, slammed his door as loud as he could and buried his face in his pillow, muffling his shouts of anger. But even when he was done, his anger never left, because he just couldn’t understand why those who were given special giftings would take it for-granted.

If only they knew how it was like being the only one not special. If only they could stand where he stood. If only they could see the difference, then he wouldn’t be so angry at all of them.

Fan Fiction (Shorts)

Daddy’s Little Girl

He never wanted this for her. He never wanted it for any of his children, but now that his daughter was finally of age, he wished she was never born.

But it was too late to go back now. His little girl has been trying to survive in an arena full of teenagers much more well trained than she was. And as the father of the girl whose late mother he had promised to protect, he couldn’t watch.

“Turn the broadcast off Reg,” he told his son.

“Dad,” Reg replied, not bothering to finish up his sentence.

“I don’t want to watch this,” he said to his oldest son, who went through 6 years of the reaping and was lucky enough not to be chosen.

“I need to know if she is safe dad,” Reg replied softly.

He shook his head in reply as he headed to his room immediately. As he slumped into his bed, he pulled open the side table drawer and took out a stack of letters.

As he untied the bundle, he took the first letter. It was the newest letter she had written to him. And though some may find it odd, but the bond he shared with his daughter was through the letters they wrote each other, which they would slip under their bedroom door from time to time.

Pulling out the brown crumpled paper, the neat handwriting immediately brought tears to his eyes.

“Dear daddy,

Today is my first reaping. I’m scared as hell, but Reg and Rave told me that the odds would be in my favor, cause there’s only one paper with my name on it. So I think I would be fine. But just in case I get chosen, I just want to say a few things.

1) I’m sorry I broke your picking pole. Yes, it was me. I lied to you when I said a dog did it. But I didnt mean to break it though. It was an accident, I swear. I hope you would forgive me.

2) I want to say thank you, for all you have done for Reg, Rave and me. I know I can be stubborn sometimes, so thank you for not getting mad every time I don’t do what you say.

3) I love you so much. And I love writing letters to you, and reading yours over and over again. I know I’m twelve this year and I should start acting my age, but I won’t ever stop writing you letters.

4) If I do get chosen for the hunger games, please don’t be sad. I am fast and I am good with trees, so I think I have a chance of surviving, and when I do win, I’ll come home with a lot of money, and you don’t have to work so hard anymore.

I think that is all. I’m going to put on that pretty dress you got for me now. I know I’m going to look prettier than most girls with the dress you bought. But I think you shouldn’t have wasted money on that, we could buy more bread with the money.

Anyways, I’ll be waiting for your reply!

Love, your only daughter, Rue.”

Immediately, he broke into tears. He couldn’t understand how her innocents could make her so strong and brave for a twelve year old. But as he reread the letter, he could see how alike she was to her mother, independent, courageous and loving. Yes, she definitely has a chance of winning, because she was his brave daughter.

Grabbing a piece of paper from the drawer, he started to write a reply letter.

“My lovely Rue,

I love you so much. So much more than you could ever imagine. I am so proud to have a daughter like you, who is not only as beautiful as your mother, but as brave and kind-hearted.

My naughty girl, I have already forgiven you, cause I knew you broke the picking pole. You can’t lie to me even if you tried so hard, because I know you too well! And I love writing letters to you too. I really hope you don’t grow out of it when you get older.

I know you would try your best to win the hunger games, but even if you don’t, remember that you have made us all so proud of you, not just our family, but the entire district.

I hope to see you soon because I miss you so much!

Please come home Rue. Daddy wants his little girl home.”

With that, he wiped the tears off his cheeks, folded the letter, slipped it into an old envelop, and strode over to his daughter’s room.

While his two sons watched him, he took a deep breath, slipped the letter under her bedroom door and turned to his sons as he said, “She’ll be coming home. I know she will.”

(I watched the Hunger Games today, and Rue’s death made me cry. At the end of the day, I couldn’t help but write something for her. So, this is in honor of Rue.)

Fan Fiction (Shorts)

The Runaway Bride

In the broad valleys of Wales was a young beautiful girl. She lived with her mother and step father in a brick house, where she had to look after her brother, her 2 step sisters and her twin half brothers.

When her father died in the war, while serving the King in service, her mother came under the spell of a wealthy man, who promised wonderful things for her family, but when he married her mother, she and her brother became outcasts.

She was forced to do the cleaning and cooking, as though she was one of the maids in her own home. Her younger brother was forced to work in the farm and over see the male workers. And since she was the oldest among all her siblings, she was forced to look after all of them. She could easily call herself the head maid of her home, as she did everything for her step and half siblings upon their commands.

As a young lady turning 21, she felt as though this was all to the life she had. She never expected anything more as her future seemed as dry as the drought that would occasional sweep across their land. So when she met a young man, she never expected him to be the one that changed her life.

It was during a hot afternoon, that she was sent to the market to fetch for kitchen supplies. As she was browsing through the pile of one day old cabbages, a young man with jet black hair and mysterious eyes came up to her asking for directions to the town exit.

“You have to cross Pixie bridge before you take the left on the split road,” she told the young man.

“Thank you my lady,” he replied with a charming smile.

She couldn’t help but blush as he was a handsome one. But when she wanted to offer him a place for the night, she found out he wasn’t alone.

“Have you found the way out?” his friend with green eyes asked.

“Yes. This young lady here was such a great help. If ever, you need us to do anything for you, just say it, before we leave of course,” the man answered with a wink.

And she blushed even more before she jumped on her question, “Why don’t you buy me a drink?”

“Oh? A fine lady like you drinks?” he asked, while his friend merely snickered by his side.

“I’m not a fine lady, not even a lady as you can see. I’m a maid,” she answered.

“Well, you look like a lady to me. So how about tomorrow afternoon at the tavern?” he asked.

“Sure. That sounds great,” she quickly said and hurried off, completely forgetting to get the cabbages she had took a while to pick out.

When she reached home, she couldn’t help but smile. She smiled while doing all her chores that the house maids thought she was going crazy. But even the idea of having a drink with such a handsome man could not stop the horrifying news she was about to receive at dinner time.

As she finally sat down with her family, after serving each of her siblings, her step father told her she was to marry a man he knew called Arctacus Hawtorn. At the sound of his name, she wanted to burst into tears as Arctacus Hawtorn was no gentleman, he was not even around her age. He was an old rich man whom her step father had been trying to do business with for years.

“I can’t marry him! He’s old and ugly!” She tried to defend her rights.

“When I say you’ll marry him, you WILL marry him!”

She immediately turned to her mother for help, but her mother merely looked away, in guilt and shame.

“Mother! You can’t let him do this!”

“Don’t shout at your mother! She agrees with me on this,” her step father immediately said before her mother could answer her.

“How could you? I’m your real daughter, of flesh and blood! And you’re giving me away to an old filthy man?!” she added as she stood up.

And then, as though she knew it would happen, her step father rose from his seat and slapped her so hard she stumbled onto her chair.

With tears streaming down her eyes, she ran to her room, locked herself in it and never came out till the following day came. Even then, she had to sneak through her window and jump into a hay stack to break her fall.

Once she had made it to town, she headed to the tavern to meet the two men she met the day before. And without expecting to do so, she spilled her whole story to them, with anger and hate in her voice that did not even trigger any tears to flow from her eyes.

“You know what I would do if I were you?” the handsome, dark haired man, asked.

“What?”

“I would run away,” he answered with a shrug.

“I have no where to go,” she replied softly.

“You can come with us,” he offered.

At that moment, a spark of hope left a warm feeling in her heart. Though she wasn’t sure if she should actually agree to it, because she barely knew the men, she somehow felt safer with them than with her own family.

“I would love to, but…” She hesitated.

“The longer you think, the more you would not run away. The less you think, the more risks you would take. So think less and just agree.”

“Sal, are you sure…” his friend finally spoke in a whisper, and she caught it.

“You have not told me your names, how can I just run away with strangers?” she asked as she eyed them.

“I’m Salazar, you can call me Sal. And this is Godric, you cant call him God, so just call him Ric. We’re friends now, so what say you?”

“O.k. I’ll leave with you,” she said as a smile spread across her face. She was finally taking her life in her own hands and it felt good.

“And what shall we call you?” Sal asked.

“You can call me Helga, just Helga.”

Fan Fiction (Shorts)

The Story of The Rubies

As he walked away from the castle, he did not just walk away from his pride and ambition, he was walking away from his friend.

But was it he to be blamed for severing their friendship? He chose to believe not. If Ric would not stand by him, and would turn against him just because of his own morality, then Ric is to be blamed, not him.

And though it was embarrassing for him to admit, he secretly regretted having to have it end like this. He wished all of it was just a dream, but it was not. And the pain he felt in his heart was much worse than the Cruciatus curse, for it was the pain of a broken heart.

Just as he pulled out his wand, ready to conjure a fiery exit, a ruby fell from his cloak. And as much as he tried not to remember the story of the rubies, it flashed through his mind inevitably.

“Find myself a maiden you say?” Sal laughed as he made a quick jab at Ric’s stomach. “How about you my handsome friend? Don’t you need a maiden yourself?”

“A maiden I do not need for I have my horse!” Ric replied with a cheeky smile, as he stroked the brown horse he loved dearly.

But before Ric could utter a change of topic, Sal spotted something worthy of town gossip.

“Look, your mother is talking to the town’s match maker,” Sal pointed out.

Ric’s mother was talking to an old lady who wore gold from head to toe. She must have made a fortune from match making the King’s daughter with the prince of France. Of course, she must have used magic as well, for no alliance between Britain and France could be sealed off so easily by the marriage of two under-aged muggles.

“Oh great, this is just great,” Ric said as he started off towards the little cottage by his family’s farm.

“Mother! What’s the matter?” Ric shouted as Sal hurried to catch up with him.

“Oh, no matter my boy. Just catching up with Lady Gwenlyn, that’s all,” Ric’s mother replied, trying to hide the suspicion in her voice.

“Run along now you two,” Lady Gwenly said immediately as she waved for the young men to leave.

“Ric, go set the table ready for dinner,” Ric’s mother ordered. As he patted Ric on the shoulder, she smiled at Sal, who immediately became more suspicious as he was usually offered to join them for dinner.

But even with curiosity pulsing in their veins, the two of them parted ways.

That night, when the moon was at its fullest, Ric sneaked out of his home to look for Sal. They had agreed to meet at a creek to talk about Lady Gwenlyn, but when Ric found Sal, he wasn’t at the creek, he was by the narrow pathway, leading to Lady Gwenlyn’s cottage.

“I thought you said to meet at the creek?” Ric asked.

“Ric, she’s blackmailing your mother!” Sal went straight to the point.

“What?”

“After I left, I waited for her to come home, and that was when I heard her talking to her mirror about taking your father’s rubies in exchange for your life,” Sal said softly as he led Ric into the forest quietly.

“What grip does she hold upon my mother and I?” Ric quickly asked.

“She knows your father is a wizard Ric!”

“My father is dead. She can’t do anything.”

“The king does not believe in magic and if he finds out you are a son of a wizard, he will kill you! Don’t you see? Magic is prohibited, even if it is in your blood!”

“But she can’t take my father’s rubies, they are all we have left of him, Sal. And they are magical!”

“That’s why she wants it. She’s evil, she always has been,” Sal said.

Silence started to build up between the two of them, that even the birds in the trees joined in. But it was in that silence that Sal thought of a plan.

“Give me your rubies. I know some Goblins from out of town who can conceal theor powers into a weapon. Once they have done that, the power of the rubies cannot be used by any other besides its true heir,” Sal suggested.

“Then what? If she doesn’t get those rubies, she’ll still come after me. She’ll still tell the king about me!” Ric said with desperation in his voice.

“We run away then. I’ll come with you,” Sal said.

“Run away? What about my mother, what about YOUR family?”

“Your mother will be safe, and she’ll have the rubies with her. My family, well, they won’t even know that I’m gone. Don’t worry Ric, if we stick together, we’ll be safe,” Sal assured.

And Ric agreed.

It wasn’t a brilliant plan, but it worked, and before they knew it, they were on the run from Lady Gwenlyn and the King’s men. But it was their friendship that kept them alive, and the little ruby that Ric gave Sal to keep, was a pledge to stay loyal to each other.

Their journey started there, but it ended here, where the Goblin made sword sat in a casing in Godric Gryffindor’s chamber, and Salazar Slytherin is left with the pledged ruby, of which they have both broken their promises to each other.

It was the end of their friendship, but a beginning to the war for blood purity.

Fan Fiction (Shorts)

Round Draw

“So, you wanna join the team eh?” Jacintha Wadcock narrowed her eyes as she asked. Her navy blue robes, emblazoned with two crossed golden bulrushes, was all the new recruits were staring at.

“You are not getting yourselves these robes if all you can do is stare,” she added. Immediately the group of fresh graduates closed their opened mouths and tore their eyes away from the blue robes to her face.

“Ah, finally some respect!”

Murmurs of apologies filled the Quidditch field immediately. Oh, how much she dreaded running the tryouts as millions of hopeless candidates think they are good enough. Thankfully, it was almost the end. These 14 candidates standing in front of her were all that was left, possibly worthy of making the reserve team.

“What we are going to do today is a friendly match. You have each been given a cloth, all reds in one team, all yellows in the other. We will be looking out for the player that has skill and good teamwork. You can elect your own captain if necessary. The game will start in ten minutes,” Jacintha ended and headed to the stands, where a long table was set up and a few people were seated.

She watched as the newbies quickly got into their teams and discussed on their strategies. When they finally had the cloth around their wrists as they faced each other in the center of the field, Jacintha merely waved her hand, and the game began.

Just as they took off into the sky, a player caught her eye. He blocked off every quaffle, that attempted a goal through the three posts, swiftly. He was well balanced on his broom, and there was something in his eyes that told her he was serious. The score was now 20-0, 20 for the yellow team in which the boy was in. Sadly, all of them had the same standards and beating each other was already too difficult.

“Ugh, they are barely up to standards,” her fellow judge said as he reclined in his chair and shut his eyes.

“Call the game off Jacintha, these kids are not ready,” another judge, who was older and with more authority, said as she got up and left.

With a wave of her wand, Jacintha ended the match. The confused faces of the new kids made her feel pity for them, but Puddlemore United deserved the best, and these bunch weren’t the best.

“Look, you kids aren’t ready. I would suggest you try again next year,” Jacintha said as she addressed the 14 close-to-tears faces.

But before she could leave, a wave of pleading and begging came from the group as they were hoping for a second chance.

“You got your chance and you blew it. Come back next year when you’re ready.” Jacintha burst their last hope as she hurried off the field. Slightly relieved that she didn’t have to see those bunch of wannabes any longer, she was disappointed when one called after her.

“Ms. Wadcock! Ms. Wadcock! Can I have a word with you?”

“Ugh, what?” Turning around, she found herself looking at the young boy who played keeper earlier.

“You have to give me a second chance!” the boy pleaded.

“Like I said, you had your chance, and you blew it.”

“I’m versatile, I can play any role, and I would not give up until I make the team!”

Jacintha merely laughed. This boy was living in a fantasy. “And you have seven years of Quidditch experience, am I right?”

“Yes, and-“

“So does everyone who applies. But it’s sad to say, those seven years are useless when you’re playing in school.”

“I can get a recommendation from Ludo Bagman!”

“Go ask the Wimbourne Wasps to take you into their team then. Look boy-“

“Challenge me! You’re a chaser, and if you can score five out of ten goals while I’m keeping, I’ll be on my way.”

The boy caught her by surprise. He was challenging the daughter of the great Jocelind Wadcock. Did he know what he was doing?

“Fine.” Jacintha smiled. And the moment she did, she knew he started to break sweat.

The boy was stationed at the goal posts while Jacintha swerved around the field with a quaffle in hand. She had 10 goals and she knew she could beat him flat out. As she shot straight towards the goal, she sent the quaffle into the air and gave it a whack with the back of her broom. Too quick, the quaffle flew through a post.

“One nil.” Jacintha smirked.

Three more goals and the boy was panicking. She could see him nervously clutching his broom as he eyed her like an eagle eyeing its prey. This last goal would end the challenged, and as she confidently threw the quaffle at the post, the boy blocked a score.

He smiled nervously as he said, “Four to one.”

Four more attempts and he blocked all her quaffles. Now she was breaking sweat. How could she lose to a newbie?

Finally, it came down to the last quaffle. And when she gave her last shot, the boy missed, so narrowly that she could have sworn he might have just caught it.

“I won!” she screamed immediately at the sight of her victory, more so at the relieve of not losing to the newcomer.

The boy heaved a sigh as he gave a weak smile. “It was a good game.”

As they finally dismounted their brooms, Jacintha patted him on the back and said, “Try again next year.”

“Why next year? This boy was brilliant!” a familiar voice spoke from behind them.

“Mother?” Jacintha choked.

“What’s you name boy?” Jocelind Wadcock asked.

“Wood, Oliver Wood.” The boy couldnt help but smile like a Cheshire cat.

“Well Oliver, we could really use you on our reserve team, do you care to join us?”

“Yes!” the boy shouted enthusiastically as he shook her mother’s hand vigorously. And then turning to her, he simply said, “We’re teammates now. Isn’t that something!”

(Best Seller Teen requested a story on Oliver Wood. This was the best I could come up with:))

Fan Fiction (Shorts)

Little B

“Father! Father! Look!” Little B ran into his father’s meeting with the Minister of Magic, looking rather preoccupied with the gold button he was holding up high.

“It’s a button! I found… a button.” Little B looked around the room, and the men in suits were staring back at him. And then looking at his father, he knew he had done something wrong, even though he did not know what it was.

Taking him roughly by the wrist, his father pulled him outside and shouted, “Nancy!”

A young lady hurried to them, apologizing as she mumbled something about losing him. But his father merely grunted as he shoved Little B to Nancy and disappeared behind the white wooden doors.

“You have been a bad boy Little B!” Nancy said as she looked into the eyes of the confused child.

“I did something wrong,” Little B said as he dropped his head, along with the gold button in his hand.

Nancy sighed as she took him by the hand and pulled him along the red carpeted hallway. She then brought him to his father’s office where she sat him down, gave him some cookies and milk, and told him not to move.

Little B did as he was told, as he knew he was already in big trouble. He wished his mother was around, so he could ask why his father was angry with him, but she was away, visiting his sick aunt.

Little B had never followed his father to work. He was not allowed to. But since his mother was away, they had no one to look after him and his father was forced to bring him along. This was his first day in his father’s office, and he somehow knew it would be his last. His father would rather put him at a muggle daycare center than take him to work after what had happened today.

Overwhelmed with confusion, Little B quickly wiped the tears off his cheeks.

“Man do not cry! Father says so,” he told himself as he waited.

Little B waited till his father returned, but he did not say a word as he watched his father work. He did not mutter, or grumble. He did not even raise his hand when he got thirsty. Little B waited till the clock chimed at 5 p.m, when he hurriedly followed his father out of the office, ready to head home.

It was not till they reached the floo network that his father saw him and muttered, “Ah, at least you are smart enough to tag along. I would have left you behind if you have not.”

Those words left a sting in his little heart. Did his father actually forget about him?

Little B did not say anything as he hurried into the chimney, next to his father, and held on to his father’s cloak.

Moments later, they had arrived home, and before he could speak, his father waved him away.

Little B retreated to his room, changed into a new set of clothes and sat on his bed, waiting to be called for dinner. And then the knock on the door came.

“Dinner time Little B,” his old and fragile house elf said.

Little B then smiled to himself. Maybe at dinner time, he could talk to his father and say he was sorry, then his father would not be angry with him anymore. With hope, Little B hurried to the dinner table and waited.

After all the food was served, Little B waited for his father to join him, but his father never came.

“Is father coming for dinner?” Little B asked the house elf, but the house elf shook his head sympathetically at him.

Unwillingly, he waited no longer and finished up his meal. He then let the house elf help him in the shower, and get ready for bed. But just as he was about to tuck himself in, his house elf came with a parcel in hand.

“From your mother,” he said, and then he left.

Little B excitedly ripped it open to find a color changing quill and a letter attached to it. He may not be very good at reading, but he knew his mother’s letter would not be hard.

‘ Happy Birthday Little B!

You are mommy’s big boy now! How is it like being three years old?

Mommy is really sorry. Mommy wish she could be there to blow the candles off your cake with you, but your aunt is very very ill.

You must hang in there Little B. Mommy will be back soon, and then mommy can continue your favourite bedtime story about Little Barty!

I hope you like your present. You can draw a picture for mommy with it!

I love you Little B. So so much! ‘

“There’s no cake, mommy,” Little B said in response to the letter.

And then folding the letter, he slid it under his pillow and rested his small head.

Pulling up the blankets to his chest, Little B recited, “There was once a boy named Barty Junior. He was a very happy boy. His mommy loved him so much, and his daddy too. His daddy was an important man, that was why he can’t take Barty to the park. But Barty don’t have to worry, cause he has his beautiful mommy to take him. Barty loves his mommy, and his daddy. And Barty will always be a happy little boy…”

Fan Fiction (Shorts)

She’s Not My Daughter

(Play this before you start reading. Courtesy of Dummeh.)

It was dark and cold. The quiet, dry, lifeless cells, that hid the faces of the many unstable inmates did not make him feel any better. It was a mistake insulting a ministry personnel, but he was the one. He was the one that put his family to shame. That man slept with his wife and bore that disgusting child, the child who did not deserve his name.

She was not his daughter. Why he constantly believed she was never his own was because she was just too stupid. If Ogden tried to protect his daughter, they probably had relation.

Where he got the insane idea, that Ogden was his daughter’s real father, merely fascinated his messed up mind. It was funny though, because at one moment, he felt like laughing at his ridiculous accusations, and at another, he felt like crying. He often blamed his emotional turmoil on the presence of his daughter. And despite trying to disown her at any given reason, he knew she was his.

She was his daughter, there was no doubt, but he still hated her and it was more than her falling in love with a muggle named Tom Riddle. Every time the Dementors came to suck the life out of him, he would be reminded of why his hatred was so overpowering. The only happiness he had would be destroyed and crushed with the rising memory of her death. His beautiful, elegant, Emily’s death.

She was his. She was beautiful. He missed the way she kissed him and the way her eyes would sparkle every time she smiled. Oh, she was a beauty. Her long gold hair, and her dark brown eyes against her pale complexion, were imprinted so vividly in his mind that no matter how hard he tried to forget, he could never do so.

Now with the presence of Dementors, it was harder to push her from the tip of his mind. Once they came close enough, he would remember the day.

It was October 24th, 1907. Emily was in labour, but she was early. Their daughter was not to be born till the middle of December, and when Emily screamed the news, he rushed to the nearby town, searching for a midwife. When he finally found one, he ran back to their little cottage, shouting at the midwife to hurry up all along the way.

It was supposed to be a happy day. They were about to have their first daughter and Emily was looking forward to the day where she could hold her baby girl in her arms. But the moment their daughter was born, Emily became too weak. She bled too much and before she could lay her eyes on her child, she died.

Days after her death, he would lock himself in his room, leaving the crying baby to his young son. He couldn’t even go near his newborn child. She had her eyes and every time he looked at her, he felt a strong hatred towards the baby girl. And the more he reacted to his daughter, the more his son mirrored after him. It was as though he contracted a disease and his son was infected too.

The only reason why he kept the baby girl was because she looked more and more like Emily as she grew up. She had the same gold hair, and the same sparkle in her eyes. She had the sweetest smile, just like her mother. But she was not her mother, she was a murderer.

He was disgusted at her existence but he knew he had to take care of her. Emily would not have wanted him to get rid of their child.

So he bore with her. But he made sure she lived in hell. She was to do all the cleaning and cooking. He did not spare her from harsh words. And to his delight, his son followed after him. But he did not realize what a man he had become and how he was such a horrible father to his children.

But his daughter, despite being abused, physically and mentally, was still so willing to stay by his side. Just like Emily, she loved him. But his hatred was too strong to bring out any love from his heart.

To him, in his insane state, she was a monster. She was a low life squib who did not deserve his family’s name. She was not his daughter.

And yet, as he sat in his cell, hoping to die, all he could think of was her. But the breath of a Dementor left an incurable disease, and he felt more deranged as the days went by.

If only he could save his soul, he would be able to utter some words of kindness to his daughter. If only he could gather what was left of his sanity, he could maybe show her some love.

Immediately, in the rarest state of his mind, he reached for a broken chain on the floor and scraped the walls, hoping to pen a confession only he would be able to read and soon forget.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a horrible father. I love you Merope. I love you just like I love your mother. You do not deserve a father like me. I wish you could read this. I wish you could know that I’m trying. I’m trying not to be the crazy, violent man that you know. Please forgive me my child. I am a lost soul, already broken and cannot be saved.’

And then, as though a switch was flicked, the last spec of sanity left him and he began violently pounding the wall, demanding his release and cursing his daughter. Marvolo Gaunt had finally lost his mind, and what was left of his soul merely sustained him till he could find last words, written on a goodbye letter from his daughter.

(This is my 1st short fan fiction accompanied by an audio track. Let me know what you think in the comments below. I hope you enjoyed both the story and the music.)