I don't have to answer the voices in my head

Rating: PG. Ominous thoughts and a couple of assaults.
Summary: 20 things Lily would probably prefer nobody knew, to be perfectly honest.
Author's Notes: Written for LJ-er iulia_linnea's Random Facts Fest. You can't go wrong, claiming a Potterverse character to be random with, or choosing one (or more) of the prompts to inspire you to create fic and/or art.

( Lily's parents were enchanted by the world their youngest had gone to live in. )

Author: soberloki
Rating: PG (darkfic)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Challenge: 15minuteficlets #172 - Sophisticated
Notes: Recently given the editorial treatment over at fanficbunnies, and I thank the lot for their advice and encouragement.


The spell wasn't sophisticated or particularly pithy, nor was its caster, but it was powerful, and everyone agreed its essence was the thing they needed. Well. Harry wasn't so sure, but he trusted Ron, and Hermione certainly wouldn't agree to anything Ron proposed unless she'd already thoroughly trampled its flaws.

Finding Voldemort was never a problem. The red-eyed bastard was hanging about in Cornwall, openly torturing Muggles and decorating the locale with pieces of them. Inferi were common as well; already, they'd seen the risen corpses of Scrimgeour and Arthur Weasley

Oh Merlin, Ron whimpered, is that dad? Is that my dad?
Get it away, said Ginny, he isn't ours any longer, so fucking hex it. Do it, Harry!
And Harry did it, killed Arthur Weasley for a second time and later he killed Ginny after she was dead too

and Flitwick, which had been almost more terrible than the rest, tiny Flitwick still in his teaching robes, because who had time for white tombs and shrouds any longer?

But this was their newest effort. This was something that, if they were right about Harry's particular strengths and Voldemort's weaknesses, should make it all stop. End the war. Kill Voldemort, at long last.

The Horcruxes were a good start, they'd learned, but killing off even the fragment of Voldemort left in its original flesh was trickier than finding the locket Regulus Black stole; more difficult than finally, finally, crushing the power out of Ravenclaw's sodding living sink of magical learning, the Grimoire.

Wormtail, a human cockroach much more than a rat, brought Harry before his master so eagerly. Grinning, proud of his capture, and Harry was grateful he'd finally learned to block. Maybe, just maybe, he could give Voldemort enough of his mind to satisfy and he wouldn't search all the way to the bottom, all the way to the truth.

Harry saw the spell ripple out of his own mouth, coruscations of energy and intent. It was almost pretty, in a brutal sort of way, triggered by a word

Quidditch!
and comprised of every wish, every dream Harry ever had of his future in a free world. It rattled the walls, and killed Wormtail so quickly – Lucius Malfoy and Draco too – that even Voldemort was briefly unable to react to the outpouring of Harry's essence.

As Voldemort wavered and failed to exist, Harry saw the string-of-pearls pulses of magic turning pink, then darker, and understood why they'd developed this idea in the privacy of their shared bed, his two best friends. There were things they loved better than the Boy-Who-Lived.

     Draco Malfoy is controlled and icy, and never gives up anything more of himself than he absolutely must. His spells are cast, potions brewed, essays scribed onto fresh sheets of parchment – no crossed-out word, no blot of ink, no imperfect phrase – precisely. Everything must be just so.

     Malfoy is a work of art, a porcelain boy with poseable limbs, and he loves to pose. Girls watch him wherever he goes. Boys as well, but he doesn’t think about them or what their eyes mean.

     Malfoy watches his classmates from his self-imposed isolations, and finds each of them wanting. His standards are, after all, the highest. As a Malfoy, he can allow no flaw, no stain, to touch him.

     Malfoy does not examine himself; his motives are as precise as he is. Never mind that he cannot define them, they are subliminal, and do not involve desire, or loneliness, or fear.

     Malfoy’s father is his model, the framework upon which he stretches his skin, hoping to be big enough one day to hold all of the grace and rage a pureblooded wizard is made of, despite the fact that the reasons for this are as nebulous and impossible to demonstrate logically as his own motives – though they must be as real. They must.

     Precision is rewarded with correct results, he thinks, dazed, as Potter strides away with the purest of blood on his knuckles and a grim smile on his lips.

TITLE: 20 Random Facts About Peter Pettigrew
AUTHOR: soberloki, duh.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine! Never was or will be.
NOTES: Because I can? I felt a weird sympathy for the little rat bastard. And yeah, I can't resist a meme. Especially in my favorite fandom.


( 20 Things )

Title: Turning Left
Characters: Lucius Malfoy, OFC
Word Count: 219
Notes: Brain fart. Read LJ-er circe_tigana's A Punch-Up At A Wedding and had this come upon me. Don't have anyone in mind for the parent, particularly. *is random*


"Sir? Mr. Malfoy?"

Lucius turns and glares at the girl, his son's age or younger, clearly not in their social circle because he doesn't know her and he thinks she might be wearing Muggle clothing, styled after Wizard garb.

"Yes?" He's ice, he's not bothered at all by the liquid brown eyes and shaggily familiar brown hair.

"Sir, my Daddy went to your wedding and he waited in the woods and he saw you tell them lies and burn the willow boughs. He says you're as pure as you ever were, even in school, but he's purer still." She doesn't seem to understand what she's saying.

Lucius is most assuredly not bothered. He is not. If he were bothered, he would have to remember the days before his wedding, and he doesn't want to. Those days are over. They cannot be resurrected and he cannot be saved.

"What is your father's name?"

The girl shakes her head. "I'm not allowed to say. You're supposed to know. He said if you didn't know, you didn't deserve to."

"What is your name?"

That makes her smile, and she doesn't answer. He expected it. He knows who sent her, now.

As he draws his wand, he wonders if the girl's father remembers the days before that wedding as clearly as he believes.

CATEGORY: AU, Gen
PAIRING: Mentions of Harry/Lavender, Harry/Susan Bones, Draco/girls, OFC/Half-a-bee
SUMMARY: Someone bites off more than she can chew. Harry to the rescue? Seventh year.
WORD COUNT: 1,760-ish
WARNINGS: No resolution. Is only a scene, not a story.
NOTES: X-posted to my journal. And this OFC should exist, damn it.


( The Best Laid Plans of Nobody At All )