Growth at Home

She looked at all the children around her and smiled. She glanced around at her domain, the greenhouses. The benign and the dangerous lived there side by side, she was mistress to them all. She reveled in the smell of the fertilizer and the steady fall of rain. The slow growth of plants never bothered her, nor the lifetime that she had spent to make these greenhouses what they were.

She gave a thought to the plants that she wanted to bring in to make a part of her home when...

“Professor Sprout, the Venomous Tentacula has Longbottom again.”




(I know I have been doing a lot of characterization, but... (shrugs) and I know that my grammar is still weak but I am trying)

The Original G&F Before F&G

They wore matching grins and had the same wicked glint in their eyes. In the photo, they jostled each other back and forth, but their rough-housing was in jest; they were brothers, and they loved each other fiercely. They were pranksters, mischief-makers, and they had the loveliest blue eyes this side of the Channel. Most days, Molly would shriek at Fred and George for making smoke-bombs in the attic. But then she’d turn to the photo of Gideon and Fabian and remember that her sons, like her brothers, had one life, and war could make it short.

A Change in Course

They moved through the shadowed forest scant more than shadows themselves, proud and noble they had little to do with humans.

He once was one of them, watching stars, at one with the course of the world. His life changed when he helped a little boy.

This day was unlike the others; he was riding through the forest when he felt a great evil in the woods. Drawing his bow he went in search of it; anything truly evil must be destroyed, and he could feel it.


Seeing a boy and a girl backed up against a tree, he acted.

Thoughts of a Colossus

He tried to fit his massive frame through the door, it was a tight fit, but he managed to squeeze through. It was tough being big, tough when he towered over his classmates. He was always careful about his movements, he didn't want to hurt anyone, though inevitably someone always was hurt. He was excluded from many things that the other students were able to do; like ride broomsticks, he was just to big.

His real passion however was creatures, big, small, dangerous, it didn't matter, he loved them, especially the dangerous ones, they were just misunderstood, like he was.

An Introspection of a Shrieking Shack

The walls shuddered and heaved. Nearly thirty winters had heaved and buckled its walls, causing them to crack and splinter. Its hollow rooms had housed pain, fear, hunger, hatred, and bloodshed, the nightmares and horror of a boy inflicted with an unimaginable disease. Its floors had also seen tumbles, playful romps, happiness, the unyielding loyalty of four friends. For the first time its old wooden planks were witness to death, blood seeping through the floorboards and dripping to the tunnel below, taking with it the life, memories, essence, and final being of an unsung hero, black-haired, sallow-faced, strong.

Taming the Beast

He was always nice to the neighborhood dogs, though no one could explain why, especially since he seemed to have befriended the most monstrous dog of all, a giant black Newf-wolf mix that was half-feral and was rumored to have eaten one of the local children. No one could understand why The Beast - whose ill-chosen name was Furball - would be tamed by such an unassuming man. He was only twenty-five, or so the rumors went, but he looked older, tired. He wore ill-fitting slacks, shaggy grandpa cardigans, and scuffed shoes. He called The Beast "Padfoot."

Canned Ego

“Stand and fight you knave!”

No one ever accepts my challenges. I am the bravest in the castle, there is none better than me in a fight. Yet they blithe ignore my prowess in battle and my honor as a knight. They point and laugh at me, ME the greatest swordsman who ever lived inside or outside of a painting.

The knight in the painting trips over his armored feet and lands in a heap beside his horse, trying to rise he gets his sword caught in the straps of the horses harness an falls again, panting with exhaustion.

The Path

The path wound through the woods, starting just inside the border of the trees, it meandered past a small lake and towards the forgotten whitewashed gazebo in the distance, almost hidden by the hanging roses and ivy. The air, heavy with their fragrance and softly falling petals.

Reflections of a Ghost

Everyone fears me, though I have done no wrong in so long, after all how could I. My appearance is enough to drive them away. The other ghosts shun me, yet look to me to lay down the law.
The others are favorites with the students, Nicholas with his humorous almost beheading in particular, but the blood on my shade, so dishonorable, penance I wear for eternity.
Occasionally I do take pleasure in causing a panic, just to see them run, it is amusing to see them fear me, whom nobody knows. Peeves fears me.

I am the Bloody Baron

Path

The path down by the lake was overrun with weeds. He could smell wild garlic and had to hop quickly a few times to avoid being stung by nettles. He wondered, if he'd lived a thousand years before, if he'd have heard a swan singing about how her sister murdered her, or if he'd see Viking warriors counting their spoils on the shore. One day, he'd walk a new path, but today, he was content to walk his familiar one and remember those who'd walked it before him.

Man in the Mirror

Broken glass, jagged along the edges, set in gilt copper green from age and poor storage. The pattern on the back of the frame was a family crest, faded, with illegible words, probably in French. The handle was slender and elegantly formed, all gentle curves that fit right into the palm of one’s hand. Someone had tied a ribbon below the base of the frame, red and yellow, the words “Up Gryffindor” printed on it. Once the letters had danced, but the charm had long faded.

In the bottom of a schoolboy’s trunk, grey eyes gazed from the mirror’s shards.

Never within reach

She could be anyone; short, tall, young, or old. But she could never be what he wanted. He would never have her, would never love her that way. Oh she could follow him and he would never know, he never saw her anyway.

Tonks watched him with sad eyes as he passed by her, heading towards the meeting. He patted her shoulder in passing and it felt as if he had burned her, body and soul. Her heart wrenched in her chest and she closed her eyes against the threatening tears.


She was not good enough for him to love.

A Young Death Eater's Ruminations on a Snitch

Small, round, golden, with wings faster than a hummingbird’s. Arabesques and whimsical swirls adorned its surface. It fit on his palm, cool from speeding through the air, warm from him clutching it close and studying it as he did now. He wondered what it would be like, to be as free as this little toy, to fly and fly and never be caught but by the best. He wondered what it would be like, to be free of the Mark burned into his left arm. He wondered what it would be like, if, just once, he’d caught the snitch first.

The Rules v. 1.1

Haha. Okay. So I'm invoking the original rules to add a rule.

Labels: let's try to keep the list short. If you're writing in someone else's universe, call it fandom, hands down. If you're writing for something of your own or that you hope to develop, call it original. If you wrote something that really, truly belongs nowhere, call it random. If someone was random and becomes original, go back and add that extra label for reader convenience. Use the established list as much as possible. Try to pin down, if at all possible, what literary element you're working with - it'll help you later, as well as readers.

Kali was never normal

She was dangerous.

Sparks showered around her, bright with the silent warning. The darkenss fluttered around her as she arose from her crouch, her eyes still narrow ocher slits, chest rumbling with displeasure. Her lithe body slunk through the shadows, She was an animal, she was a human, she was neither and both at the same time. 57...

Kali slid into her seat beside Tobias. "So where were you last night," he asked.
Kali shruged, "no where in particular."

Tobias looked at her with his deep brown eyes in disbelief. "I know you better than that. How is Saia," he whispered.

(haha hand counted to 100)

For the Smart Girls

Cedric straightened his robes with nervous hands, smoothed down his hair. He didn’t know why he was nervous, because his friends kept telling him - he was the true champion of Hogwarts, prefect, seeker.

He was also just Cedric. He didn’t know what he'd do if she said no.

He found her in the library studying, alone. “Will you...go to the ball with me?”

Hermione looked flustered, surprised; it was over when she smiled like that. “I’m sorry. Someone’s already asked me.”

Cedric nodded and turned away before he could embarrass himself more. On the way out, he spotted Cho.

Project #1: HP-verse

Every day this week, 100 words on anything and everything Harry Potter (to get it out of our systems because, really, everyone on the internet writes about Harry Potter). It can be a person, place, or thing. It can be canon or fanon. Make it fun, snappy, and sharp. Do your best, and we'll post overviews at the end of the week.

The Rules v. 1.0

Welcome to Master & Madness!

Here are the rules of the game:

First, check the OneWord link every day. As soon as there's a new word, give your good sixty seconds and then post it on here.

Second, check the project posted at the beginning of the week. Post questions in the comments of the weekly project post if any portion of the topic confuses you at all. A week begins on Sunday and ends on Saturday.

Third, try to write every day. Leave lots of constructive criticism in the feedback and do the best you can to help each other.

Fourth, your limit is 100 words. Seriously. 100. Use whatever tools in whatever word processors works best for you and make sure you have your 100 limit. We are working on an honor system, however, so there will be no repercussions if your work isn't 100 on the nose. Still - 100. No more, and certainly no less. (I know I originally said sixty seconds, but it'd be better if we stuck with a word limit rather than a time limit. If we can do it well briefly, we can do it well when we have more space. Although brevity is the soul of wit.)

Fifth, label your posts. Can be anything from "random" to "Dagaz" (but really, only use that one if you must). Try to use a consistent system of labels, so check the existing list of labels before randomly slapping one on your post.

Sixth, there will be overviews. At the end of the week, we make our confessions - strengths, weaknesses. Posts of our own we liked most and liked least. Types of writing we found typical, we thought were experimental, we enjoyed doing or were like pulling teeth. Places we improved. Places we screwed up.

Seventh, these rules ares subject to alteration and change as the game progresses.

In the meantime, game on.