Sirius is busy hexing Death Eaters and such. Lily is busy changing soiled nappies and singing Christmas carols at the wrong time of the year.
How many types of caged birds are there? And most importantly, who set the Jobberknolls free?
Originally written in 2015, no edits.
Sometimes, in Hester’s half-sleep when her limbs are leaden as coal scuttles and her thoughts are arrows strung on bows but never released, she suspects that Anna never really fell, that the infamous scarlet aviator coat was wrapped around nothing, a rag spun into a steaming abyss.
Nobody comes back from the Sunless Country.
A Mortal Engines (2018) fic
The entrance to Givesmore Santa Enterprises was a dark slot of a doorway between the Lucky Duck Restaurant and a shop selling scarlet wedding decorations. Dennis’s eyes kept sliding from the slick barbecued carcasses of ducks dripping into metal trays in the Lucky Duck’s display window, to the gilt-edged Double Happiness cut-outs of the wedding shop.
Givesmore was doing its best to shrug off his gaze and elude him.
Dennis Creevey gets a new job.
[This story was originally posted on HPFF in 2016 and was, and still is dedicated to the very amazing Sian / nott theodore! Sian, Merry Christmas!]
You were enamoured by wicker bones and rosebud flesh that folded under pressure, by voices that turned dry as husks in sunlight, for want of water.
Happy Halloween! Drabble for the forums Maze#3 activity! Prompt: dark/horror
You’re Eleanor Webb. You write this over and over. Your truths can be torn flocks of birds in the wind. Or stones thrown into the sea. But your name must stay. Like a headstone. How fitting, because isn’t a headstone meant to commemorate?
Eleanor is a soucriant, a writer, a portrait.
A Byzantium (2012) fic
“Hello?” Kwai Sim says.
There’s a rustle at the other end, the plastic-pop of interference. Nobody answers, but the line is still holding.
Her heartbeat leaps to a frenetic pace before she even realises why.
“Daniel? Ah Khim? Is that you?” she says, very carefully. If she doesn’t say his name right, or with enough caution, it might not be him. Just her imagination, tricking the name off her tongue.
A series of conversations between two people.
For the Prefects' Celebration Challenge
August, 1997. The Ministry of Magic has changed. Death Eaters are everywhere, Ministry workers are disappearing, and the Muggle-born Registration Commission has come into effect. As a new employee in the Floo Network Authority with a dubious reputation for loyalty, Marietta Edgecombe must decide where her allegiances lie in such unstable and difficult times.
Ryn pulled her gaze back to Maddie. She had the biggest eyes ever. They sat in her face, those round robin eggs of eyes. Unblinking, fragile, waiting to hatch into hairless twiggy birds that would squirm out of her eye sockets. But there was nothing birdlike about Ryn.
“Helen let me stay here.” Ryn turned to face the log and stone cabin behind. “She visits often.”
“She told me that.”
“I am trying to make my own life here, in this house.”
“Yeah?” said Maddie again, smiling. “Let's see it, then.”
Maddie goes to visit Ryn.
(A Siren (2018) fic.
Written for scooterbug8515's Anything But Harry Challenge)
“This is about Kaia.”
“Jody,” Claire nearly shouted. “Stop.”
“Claire,” said Jody. “Not gonna stop.”
Kaia Nieves is dead, and Jody is taking them all camping.
A Wayward Sisters / Supernatural fic
In the interrogation chamber of MACUSA, Gellert has a revelation.
For the 'HPFT Archive Grand Opening Drabble Challenge'.