Round Robin
Apr. 2nd, 2008 06:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rillaliciousOkay, guys, here's my offering for the HP Round Robin.
If you haven't been following, you can catch up with the other parts here:
Part 1 by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
zagzagael
Part 2 byhauntingdream
Part 3 bythistle_verse
Why yes, I am feeling incredibly out of my league.
The wind whipped torrents of snow against the panes suddenly, violently, and she felt herself splintering under the pressure of it, under the weight of each leaden flake. She was breaking like the dawn. She ran the tip of one finger down the crevice of a scar that stretched from her temple to her chin, over the once smooth skin of her cheek, over the slender curve of her jaw.
Somewhere behind the thick cover of late winter clouds, the full moon pulled at her still-too-human skin, drawing the sanity from her pores. She curled her fingers on the stone sill, her nails scraping sharply against the cold, immobile surface. She could look into the future of any of her students and tell them with certain clarity what had been laid across their paths by fate, but for the life of her, she couldn't convince herself that she knew without doubt from where she'd draw her next breath.
It almost made her smile to think they'd once accused her of being shallow.
At night she dreamt of human hands with very un-human claws, tearing at her skin, her purple jumper, her tights. She felt the weight of him over her hips, the violation of his breath in her nostrils, the grating of his laughter as it wore her eardrums raw. Funny though, she could not remember his face with any clarity. It was blood-splattered in her memory. Her blood. And she could still smell it. Her livelihood was made out of teaching her students to read the future, but every time she laid her head upon the pillow, the past enveloped her like fog.
Somewhere beneath her feet, Minerva McGonagall sat in a cozy chair, or paced the floor. Somewhere above her, Peeves was likely causing havoc. And somewhere in the halls outside her door, the triumvirate of Hogwarts guardians stood their unnecessary watch.
Beauty, her mother used to say, was what would set her apart. Her grace and good breeding would be her security. Where once hope and promise crackled in her future, now the sharp and bitter root of resentment took hold. She didn't nurture it always; she still had bright days during which the scars and nightmares nearly faded completely to vague memories. But on nights like this, when the pull of the tides slid beneath her skin like a string of pearls, and she was certain she could see the call of her feral self ripple beneath her skin, the envy rose inside her like a snake. She fought their war and now bore the scars, while they—they who had brought her into the outer threads of their tightly woven tapestry, like so many others who'd paid prices beyond hers—bore families now, and fat babies, and grew gardens outside of homes that rang with laughter.
The clouds parted outside the window and a glimmer of pregnant moon shone through.
Lavender Brown glanced over at the bone-coloured china cup on its plate, and the dark, damp leaves splayed across its innards, and shivered. The sound of Apparition crackled in the air like a whip, and she almost wanted to howl. Pulling her robe tightly around her, she summoned her wand and rushed for the door, her canine senses roused.
~@~
mchoneygoose is up next!
Also, I apologize for my apparent need to bring everything back to werewolves, guys.
If you haven't been following, you can catch up with the other parts here:
Part 1 by
zagzagaelPart 2 by
hauntingdreamPart 3 by
thistle_verseWhy yes, I am feeling incredibly out of my league.
The wind whipped torrents of snow against the panes suddenly, violently, and she felt herself splintering under the pressure of it, under the weight of each leaden flake. She was breaking like the dawn. She ran the tip of one finger down the crevice of a scar that stretched from her temple to her chin, over the once smooth skin of her cheek, over the slender curve of her jaw.
Somewhere behind the thick cover of late winter clouds, the full moon pulled at her still-too-human skin, drawing the sanity from her pores. She curled her fingers on the stone sill, her nails scraping sharply against the cold, immobile surface. She could look into the future of any of her students and tell them with certain clarity what had been laid across their paths by fate, but for the life of her, she couldn't convince herself that she knew without doubt from where she'd draw her next breath.
It almost made her smile to think they'd once accused her of being shallow.
At night she dreamt of human hands with very un-human claws, tearing at her skin, her purple jumper, her tights. She felt the weight of him over her hips, the violation of his breath in her nostrils, the grating of his laughter as it wore her eardrums raw. Funny though, she could not remember his face with any clarity. It was blood-splattered in her memory. Her blood. And she could still smell it. Her livelihood was made out of teaching her students to read the future, but every time she laid her head upon the pillow, the past enveloped her like fog.
Somewhere beneath her feet, Minerva McGonagall sat in a cozy chair, or paced the floor. Somewhere above her, Peeves was likely causing havoc. And somewhere in the halls outside her door, the triumvirate of Hogwarts guardians stood their unnecessary watch.
Beauty, her mother used to say, was what would set her apart. Her grace and good breeding would be her security. Where once hope and promise crackled in her future, now the sharp and bitter root of resentment took hold. She didn't nurture it always; she still had bright days during which the scars and nightmares nearly faded completely to vague memories. But on nights like this, when the pull of the tides slid beneath her skin like a string of pearls, and she was certain she could see the call of her feral self ripple beneath her skin, the envy rose inside her like a snake. She fought their war and now bore the scars, while they—they who had brought her into the outer threads of their tightly woven tapestry, like so many others who'd paid prices beyond hers—bore families now, and fat babies, and grew gardens outside of homes that rang with laughter.
The clouds parted outside the window and a glimmer of pregnant moon shone through.
Lavender Brown glanced over at the bone-coloured china cup on its plate, and the dark, damp leaves splayed across its innards, and shivered. The sound of Apparition crackled in the air like a whip, and she almost wanted to howl. Pulling her robe tightly around her, she summoned her wand and rushed for the door, her canine senses roused.
~@~
mchoneygoose is up next!Also, I apologize for my apparent need to bring everything back to werewolves, guys.
