Short Story Anthology

[potterknowitall]

As you might have noticed, this board has always been rather, well, massive Lately we've been trying to think of ways that will minimize the number of topics on this board, so that it won't seem as scary to people who might be interested in checking out some of the stories, and arrange it in such a way so that there won't be stories stuck on a Page 3 never getting read.

In this Short Story Anthology, we will be collecting Short Stories which have not been posted in for a year. See below for a table of contents of the stories currently in this topic. If you want to send your comments to the author, click on the link to their name below

Happy reading!

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Author / Title / Pages # -#

Fico / Katy / 1
Niamh / Niamh's Story / 2-3
Jessie / Alexi Wrinelle / 4
Fico / Non-things / 5
Dianella / The Forgotten Memory / 6-7
Fico / Lids Down / 8

[potterknowitall]

Fico - Katy

Dedication: Um, corny as it sounds, Nialle. After all, that's the whole reason I wrote it at all.

Note: "Katy" is pronounced "kay-tee." Don't ask me why, but this one kid I had read it thought it was pronounced "kah-tee."

Katy walked along, scruffing his feet in the dirt and leaves, the smell of decay drifting up lazily, almost palpable. It was beautiful. This night, this noise, this air. Everything.

He inhaled deeply and the air sang of sweetness. He was a part of this. He truly was. The night enfolded him and honored him and accepted him. He was one of them. A child of the night. A wistful imagining from a youngling’s mind, born on the air of hope. And here he was, Katy.

His own person. His own self. A physical being with a life ahead of him and a purpose in his heart. His mind was ignorant, but his heart knew. He could feel it there. There. Just below the breast bone. He was here for a reason. As all people are. Only he was something more. A Child of the Night.

The cry tore out of him in a whoop of glory, and then he was running. Running, running. Running. He ran and fell into the wind, a leaf in the sea of sweet decay.

The smell was pleasant at the back of his throat, like a delicately fermented wine. The slightest touch of an alien being could displace that smell with all the strength of a storm, whipping away the delight with gnarled, clutching fingers. Instead, the wind danced on his arms and a wolf howled.

He turned at the sound, enjoying the chill that sizzled down his spine. More howls joined the first and he longed to be with them. One of them as well. But a Child of the Night can not also be a Child of the Pack. It does not do to become greedy.

So Katy simply sat at the crest of the hill, relishing the sound of the Pack, the smell of the air, and the leaves twirled in his hair by the wind.

The voices of the wolves faded, intent on the hunt, and Katy felt suddenly alone. The sun was rising and the dark was falling. With a shout of anguish, he rolled down his hill, falling into the shallow valley. The semblance of night was still here, without the nails of the sun clawing the grass and giving shadow to what had been. He curled into a ball at the base of the lone tree, racking sobs tearing his body. Such a pain, the loss of himself, the loss of the Night.

~~~~~

Katy awoke to the feel of the Night. It was rising, it was becoming itself, and he himself with it. He breathed in the cold scent of winter air, with its promise of short days and long nights and hope.

And this. What? What is this?

He was cradled in the tree, no longer at its base. The leaves were swishing overhead, and he turned over in the hollow. A branch. A branch flattened to be bowl shaped, near the trunk, with leaves overhead to keep in the heat and dead leaves below to soften the bark. And he was inside the bowl.

This. What? How is this?

The struggle to crawl out of the bowl without breaking the tree. Pretty tree. Beautiful tree. Forget you are a lovey of the day, lovely tree.

“Wickey. Wickey. Groooan.” goes the tree.

“Wickey.” the sound easy in his throat, even and smooth. Crouch on the branch, breath on the bark, beautiful bark. Rough under fingers, easy grip, texture and feeling and life. Lick the life of the tree.

“I share with you, Lovely Tree. You give me sleep and hold me from sun. I lick your life and it is strong and good.” Pat the tree like a small child, good job, good you.

Katy climbed down the tree, careful not to rub off the precious bark, the precious life. Life that is strong and good. “I’ll come back to you, Lovely-Tree. I will remember you.” Give a final pat to the tree. Oh, pretty, pretty bark. Lick the life once more and run back into the night, enjoy the Night, my Child.

~~~~~

And the Tree. The Lovely-Tree. The Wickey Wickey Tree. Whistle-laughter in the leaves. Breathing bark, licky-life, strong soul. Soul of the Tree. The Wickey Wickey Tree. Pretty.

Pretty boy, Pretty Katy. Tree keep Katy. A Child. A Child of the Night. Tree keep Katy, and one day. One day. Katy’s heart, his heart will share with his mind. And Katy will know. Katy will know, this is me, and this is what me will do. Until then, Wickey Wickey Tree, until then, you are mother to Katy.

And you keep him safe and young, Lovely-Tree. You keep him innocent, a True Child of the Night. Because the children of the Night can’t know. If they know, if they know of the Day, they forget the Night. And they leave the Night for the Day, for the Pretty Day, with all its shadows and all its hidings and all its lies. They join with the Day, and they do not know to call Wickey to you, and they do not know to lick your life, and they do not know to take care of you bark, your soul. They do not know, and they do not care.

But Katy, my Child, my Night Child. He has many things in his heart, and they are all of them good.

[potterknowitall]

Niamh - Niamh's Story

note: this story is not totally completed

Part 1

Blaine Snape smirked to himself as he watched his 11-year-old niece Niamh concentrate intently on her potion. Her black hair fell idly over her face as she bent watchfully over the cauldron. Her father would be here soon, and she wanted to show him just how well she could make a potion. She had already spent an hour on it, and wanted it to be perfect. After all, as the daughter of a Potions Professor, she couldn’t very well show him a badly prepared sleeping draught.

Niamh stared at her dulled reflection in the dark, cloudy blue brew. Her bright blue eyes stared back at her. A cloud of tangled black hair surrounded her face. Her pale, creamy cheeks were flushed a faint pink, and her rich red lips were pursed in concentration. She was amazed her father could stand looking into her bright eyes, as they resembled those of her mother. It wasn’t that long ago that Niamh’s mother, Liadahn had walked out on her father, leaving Niamh and her two brothers in the care of their professor father. Niamh’s brothers, Liam and Connor, had left home; Liam had gone to live in Southampton; and Connor worked in Diagon Alley, making a living in the Leaky Cauldron. And Niamh, still young, had been sent to live with her uncle, Blaine, while her father taught all year round at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And as she stared at her sombre reflection, she hoped that it wouldn’t be too long before she too attended the school from which her brothers had been expelled.

At that moment, she heard her uncle turn on his heel and walk down the hall to answer the door. Sure enough, she soon heard her father’s silky voice drifting through to her darkened room.

“…How is she? Still working hard, I presume?”

“Of course she is, Severus, she tries terribly hard to please you.” Niamh heard her father sigh.

“I know she does. And she succeeds more often than not.”

She straightened out the regal purple dress she wore, and straightened out her hair. She looked in the mirror quickly to see if she was presentable.

“Brush your hair, dearie,” whispered her mirror. Niamh smiled listlessly and quickly took her brush to her hair, before half-running out to see her father.

Severus Snape stood tall in the hallway, and faced his dark-haired daughter with the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. She was so young, but so serious. And growing to be so beautiful, he thought to himself. He watched as she straightened out her dress nervously, and smiled a little. Her soft voice soon greeted his ears.

“Hello father.”

He smiled and knelt before her, letting her run to him and throw her arms around his neck in a tight hug. No words needed to be passed between them. The strong father-daughter bond they shared allowed them to feel one another’s emotions without words. And as Blaine watched his brother and niece reunite again after another year, he smiled to himself. Niamh was so happy to see her father. And she would soon be even happier when she found out her father’s plans for her to attend Hogwarts…

Part 2

Two days later, Niamh sat in the wild, untamable garden of her Uncle Blaine’s house; carefully studying a leather bound book entitled “Hogwarts: A History”. Beside her, on a small rickety table sat a plateful of rich, overripe strawberries. As she pored over the yellowed pages, she slowly devoured the soft, juicy berries, savouring their overpowering taste.

A slight rustle came from the hedge beside her, and she turned sharply towards it. Behind the hedge stood a tall willow. She observed it with great scrutiny. She could see nothing unusual, and so went quietly back to reading. It wasn’t too long before the rustle came again, more distinct this time. This time it startled her from her seat, and she toppled over her strawberries and the book. She watched the garden around her with sharp, seeking eyes. She could see nothing out of the ordinary; she walked inside, her face contorted in a worried frown.

Her Uncle Blaine and her father were sitting at the kitchen table, looking over Severus’ class plans for the year.

"My child, you look worried is there something wrong?" asked Severus, looking up from the papers scattered around the table.

"I just got startled, that’s all." Niamh looked down at her folded arms, and suddenly realised that her book was not near her seat, nor was it in her hands. "Oh no my book!"

"It’s best you get it child." suggested Blaine looking up from over Severus' shoulder. Niamh nervously replied with a high pitched 'yep', slowly walking out the door she looked in the direction of where she had heard the noise. She saw a near by branch that had fallen of the willow tree, she picked it up and walked over to her book. Bending down slowly, she once again heard the noise. Rather reluctantly, she decided to investigate. Peering up through the leaves and branches, she tried to find what had startled her so. With a cry of fright, she leapt back, and a sleek black cat streaked past her. She ran after it, and saw it’s tail disappear through the door. She heard Uncle Blaine’s yell of indignation and the cat’s screech as it tore through to the living room. Niamh bounded quickly through and pounced on it, just as it leapt onto the couch. To her surprise, it yelled in a clear, human female voice, and Niamh quickly scrambled away, accidentally backing into her father’s chest. He caught her shoulders, and held her steady. The cat began to twitch and morph into the shape of a young girl, not much older than Niamh. The girl took a deep breath and straightened up, standing about three inches taller than Niamh. Niamh stared in shock.

“I’m sorry to give you such a fright,” the girl said in a pleasant voice. “But indeed, you yourself gave me quite a shock.” She smiled. Niamh managed a small, nervous smile. The girl looked up at Severus. “My apologies for the commotion I have caused.” She smiled and morphed again, this time into a snowy white owl. She flew out of the living room, and back outside.

Severus turned to his daughter. “Are you alright, my child?” Niamh nodded a little incoherently, and her father led her back to the kitchen table. Uncle Blaine was straightening out all the papers that the girl has scattered everywhere. Severus sat on a chair, and drew Niamh up onto his lap. She looked up him, puzzled. “What was she?”

“A Shape Shifter, I’d wager,” Severus replied. “No ordinary Transfiguration student her age would be that advanced.”

“Do you think she was a student from Hogwarts?” Niamh asked curiously.

“Almost without a doubt. After all, a girl with that kind of magic would either attend Hogwarts, or…” Severus stopped mid-sentence. He looked at Uncle Blaine with his usual unreadable expression.

“You don’t think…” Uncle Blaine looked terribly worried. “But why would she come here of all places?”

“Now, we don’t know whether she actually was from there, but…” Severus trailed off, frowning to himself. “Where’s my quill?”

Niamh reached over the table and handed it to him.

“Thankyou, my dear.” He quickly wrote a short note; his forehead still creased in a thoughtful frown. Niamh watched his quill with great interest. He was writing to Professor Dumbledore, asking whether the Shape Shifter from Hogwarts had left. He slipped it into a parchment envelope, and addressed it to “Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts” and attached it to his owl’s leg. Niamh watched as Civetta, Severus’ owl launched himself into the air and flew off strongly in the direction of Hogwarts. As curious as she was about the reply, she knew it would take some time before Civetta returned, and so slid over a piece of parchment and began writing a letter to her pen-friend Zicdeh, who lived in a desert far away. He belonged to a race of people called the Al Bhed, and Niamh had learnt to fluently speak their language. Zicdeh was the one wizard friend she had… come to think of it, he was the only friend she had. But as depressing as it sounded, she enjoyed her solitary life. She had her family, and she was happy. Besides, she assured herself, there will be plenty of wizards and witches to befriend at Hogwarts.

Part 3

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Some time later, Niamh was sitting at the kitchen table with Zicdeh across from her. He had come to stay for two weeks, before they had to go school. At the moment, he was demonstrating an Enlargement Charm on a cup of tea. She watched with an intent grin as the cup swelled and grew. The teacup was easily the size of a large saucepan, and Niamh frequently had to move her quills and books so they were not pushed towards the edge of the table.

At that moment, Uncle Blaine walked in, and Zicdeh immediately shrank the cup back to its normal size with such speed that it was almost as though it had never been enlarged. Uncle Blaine looked at them both with a slightly suspicious smile. Niamh grinned back, and Zicdeh simply smiled his usual lopsided grin.

“Your father will be back soon,” Uncle Blaine directed at Niamh. “He said something about a surprise for you.” Niamh raised her eyebrows questioningly, but Uncle Blaine wouldn’t say anything more. “If I told you what it was, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” Niamh pouted as Uncle Blaine left, and Zicdeh laughed.

“You are so impatient!” he said, grinning.

[potterknowitall]

Niamh - Niamh's Story, con’t

“Well you would be too if your father had just gone to Diagon Alley for no apparent reason!” She beamed radiantly. “Hey, wanna see what we can do to the garden?” Behind her beautiful, glowing smile, her eyes twinkled mischievously. Before Zicdeh could say a thing, she had risen from her chair and had bolted upstairs to get her case of potions she had made over the year. He followed her outside and to the small patch of earth she called her garden. It was full of magical plants and seedlings, and was under the shade of the willow tree. Niamh sat herself down in front of a tall, plain looking flower. Opening her case of potions, Niamh took out a vial of what appeared to be an oily substance that glowed with many different colours. Zicdeh looked at it curiously. As soon as Niamh had dropped a single splash of it on the petals of the white flower, it glowed brilliantly; it’s petals changing colour from red to purple to blue to green to yellow, then orange and back to red. Zicdeh laughed.

“One of your little inventions?”

“But of course,” she grinned. “I spent four months developing this one.”

“Four months to change the colour of a flower?” Zicdeh looked at her as if to say, “Why waste your time?”

“Ahh, but you haven’t seen the best of it yet.” Niamh carefully detached the flower from its stem, and placed it in a glass jar. Motioning Zicdeh to follow her, she lead him down into the cellar, where it was almost pitch black. At once, Zicdeh saw why she was so excited about this particular potion. It lit the cellar with a radiant glow, the light changing colour as the petals changed.

“I still have to develop it a bit more. It doesn’t last as long as I want it to.” Almost as if by command, the cellar was thrown back into darkness as the solution wore off. “Once I get it to work permanently, I can have the flower in a pot and use it as a lamp.” Zicdeh laughed.

“You and your absurd little abstractions,” he said, shaking his head.

At that moment, Uncle Blaine called down to them. “Niamh! Your father’s back!” Zicdeh had never seen her move so fast. She was up and out of the cellar before Uncle Blaine had even finished speaking. Zicdeh, however, stayed behind, picking up the flower that she had dropped so heedlessly before she had run out in a fluster. He could hear her excited squeals and Severus’ rarely heard laughter. It was almost as though being with Niamh was the only thing that made Severus happy.

Zicdeh clambered up the stairs and out into the sunshine again to be confronted by an awesome sight.

Niamh grinned as she brandished a brand new Firebolt broomstick. Zicdeh gawked at it in disbelief.

“No way,” he said, his face twisting into a lopsided grin.

“Way,” Niamh replied, mounting it with a zealous shine in her eyes. As Zicdeh watched her kick off from the ground, he had a growing instinct that she was being a little over-confident. But as he watched her zipping around him, and flying in tight zigzag patterns in the air, he felt a little more at ease.

Niamh, however, was completely confident from the beginning that nothing would go wrong. She grinned to herself as she spotted Uncle Blaine and her father watching from the kitchen window. But she was fast getting bored of zigzags and spirals. Her eyes turned to the loosely twined branches of the willow tree. A cheeky smile crept upon her lips, and she dove for the bright foliage. Her agility on her old Comet was perfect, but compared to the Firebolt, Niamh felt that her old one could easily have been outstripped by butterflies.

Flitting between the flexible branches of the tree, she swooped out of the leaves and was suddenly blinded by the sunlight. She lost sense of direction, and pulled up, trying to regain control. But however valiant her attempts, it was impossible to regain the control she’d had. Her eyes were still swimming with indefinable flashes of light, and she had a sickening sense that she was plummeting towards the ground. Using every ounce of her strength, she brought the broomstick level, and felt her stomach return to its normal position. But just as she thought she was fine… CLUNK! The handle collided with the strong trunk of the tree, and Niamh was thrown clear off it. Landing on the grass, she groaned; her head was throbbing and her body aching. She opened her eyes, and could clearly make out the shape of Zicdeh staring down at her, his face torn between mirthful entertainment and clear concern. Uncle Blaine and her father soon joined him. All of a sudden, she burst out into laughter, her hysterical giggling showing an edge of bewilderment. She could feel a sharp pain throbbing in her wrist, but all she could do was laugh. She could hear Zicdeh trying gallantly to hide his laughter, and she could see from her father’s tight lipped expression that he too was trying desperately not to explode into laughter. With a small look from Zicdeh, to her father, to Uncle Blaine and back to Zicdeh, she exploded into another fit of giggles, and was soon joined by all three companions.

After she had been helped back inside, Niamh waited patiently while her uncle mended her wrist, a lopsided grin still bestowed upon her red lipped mouth. Every now and again, she would catch Zicdeh’s eye, and he would immediately begin coughing in an attempt to cover his laughter.

While Niamh was moving her wrist around, admiring how easily Uncle Blaine had fixed it, she sat acutely aware of his now disapproving frown.

“You knew that was dangerous, Niamh. You shouldn’t have been so reckless.” She dropped her gaze to the floor, and he continued. “I know you are excited about having a Firebolt, but that is no excuse to slacken in your judgement. And although Severus isn’t particularly keen on this idea,” he expressed with a little annoyance, looking pointedly at Severus, “he also believes it to be a good lesson for you to learn self-discipline.” She looked at them both, apprehensively. “The Firebolt will be locked away for a month. You can have it back then, and only then. You may still use your Comet,” he added, trying to be fair. “But not the Firebolt.” She nodded in a very resigned sort of way, staring at a small black ant scuttling across the floor. She knew just how that ant felt: tiny.

Part 4

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Almost two weeks later and Niamh was just stirring from her warm, protected chrysalis of sleep. She blinked languidly, her eyes feeling like sandpaper. The day had barely dawned, and the grey morning sky was fast growing blue. Taking a deep breath and stretching her arms up over her head, she sat up and reached for her deep green dressing gown. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and wriggled her toes into the oversized slippers that once belonged to her brother Connor. She grinned down at the Slytherin emblem patched onto the top of them, and stood up, slipping into the dressing gown as she did.

Slipping out of her room, she made her way to the staircase, and slid down the banister. The house was pleasantly warm, and the sun was creeping in through the windows. The kitchen was soon lit brilliantly, and Niamh set about boiling the kettle for herself.

“Good morning,” came a voice from behind her. Niamh jumped, spilling a bit of water down her front. She turned to face Zicdeh’s cheeky grin. “You’re very jumpy in the mornings.”

“I didn’t expect you to be up and about just yet. I normally have the mornings to myself,” she replied.

“Would you rather I leave then?” he said, moving to leave, his mischievous smile still in place. She grinned and rolled her eyes.

“Please, why would I want that?” Zicdeh sat at the table, watching her. He grinned at her oversized slippers.

“Aren’t they a little big for you?” he queried. Niamh laughed.

“Yeah well, I like them. Besides, they were Connor’s. He forgot them when he left, so I took them.” Zicdeh caught sight of a soft smile gracing her naturally bright red lips. Her eyes were misty, remembering her older brother.

“Remind me, what happened with him again?” Niamh sat across from him.

“He and Liam were expelled after they were caught luring a troll into the Ravenclaw Common Room.” Niamh laughed in a melancholic tone. “I miss them.”

At that moment, the kettle whistled at a high pitch, and Niamh quickly swept it off the stove. Zicdeh inclined his head to one side, as if only just noticing the old fashioned kettle.

“Why do you still have a kettle like that?” he asked in a curious tone. “Why not just use magic?”

“One, I’d rather use a Muggle kettle, and two, every time I boil the kettle, I heat up the kitchen at the same time. Very handy in winter,” she added, grinning. He laughed at her inane humour, and accepted the cup she handed him.

The morning wore on, and before long, Uncle Blaine came down to the kitchen, bidding them both good morning.

“Your father said he would meet us at Diagon Alley at noon Niamh,” he said as he sat down. “He had to leave early this morning. Civetta returned, and obviously had some very important information with him, considering your father left almost as soon as he read Professor Dumbledore’s reply. But he said not to worry,” he added, noticing her look of anxiety. “He’ll be there, he promised.” At this, Niamh face lightened. Her father always kept his promises. She had never known him to once break a promise.

[potterknowitall]

Jessie - Alexi Wrinelle

note: this story is not completely finished

Chapter 1 - Alexi Wrinelle

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It was Alexi’s first day back, since she had been absent for, about half of the semester because of stomach problems and stomach surgery. She was extremely nervous because she knew that most people thought she was gone for good, and she was also extremely late for the first period of the day. As she left the counseling office, a boy yelled out behind her "Wait up!” Alexi looked back in awe, seeing that it was one of her three major crushes,Patrick Hatone. He said slowly "I’m supposed to help you with your things today, since you haven’t got anyone to help you yet.. Ms. Urchyne said so, I’m her TA.” Alexi smiled softly and managed to say “,Ok, well, I need to go to my locker first..” Patrick smiled, and replied,” Ok then, let’s go, let me hold your back back,” she handed him her back pack and they walked to her locker in a medium pace.

Alexi & Patrick ended up missing the rest of first period. They took their time at her locker talking about things that had happened since she was gone, how the surgery was, and just random things in general. In the next class, English, Alexi was suprised to see that her english teacher was really gone on maternity leave. She had heard about it, but she had a hard time believing it, so when she saw it, it was just different. She walked up to the substitute that would be her english teacher for the rest of the year and she shyly handed him, her absent slip. He looked up and said “OK, well I have spoken to your father. So you got the books and study guides that we have been doing correct?” Alexi nodded and then he continued “Oh and I’m not sure if you new about this, but there’s going to be a few book reports & projects due next week. I’m sure I can give you some extra time, but I would really appreciate it if you could get one, or some of one to me by next week.” Alexi nodded her head once again and said quietly “I’ll do my best.” He handed her the absent slip and she took her seat, as all of the other students looked at her in amazement. Whispering was heard through out the class room until the teacher called the class to order, and the work began.

By nutrition, everyone that Alexi knew and had no clue she knew, had talked to her and greeted her back. She met here two unsuspecting best friends at the 8th grade lawn and they welcomed her back excitedly. The two had always been fighting and with Alexi around the fights always were kept to a minimum, Alexi was known to them as the peace keeper. Alexi, very hyperly bounced and smiled “I knew you guys would miss me so much! I mean afterall I’m loved by all around here,” she said sarcastically, her bestest of friends, Elle Ranite replied “Oh yes so lovededed!! The only one around here who likes to talk about the Gilmore Girls apart from me! Did you see the last episode?” Alexi grinned & nodded, as her other best friend, Rina rolled her eyes and shaked her head saying “You guys are such dorks. You know no one else likes that show.”

Alexi “That’s so damn funny! Of course everyone has to love that show! I mean who could not like Lauren Graham?”

Elle responds “No no no, you mean who could not like Alexis Bledel? I mean she plays Rory Gilmore, she’s great!”

Alexi shook her head “So? Lauren plays Lorelei Gilmore.. she’s pretty and cool andstuff. She rocks” she nodded her head as the bell for the third period rang,walking off to her next class happily, as Elle followed with both of their back packs.

The next class, history, was great. Alexi actually got her guts up to speak up to the kids who sat next to her, who were coincidentally very annoying. The history teacher was pretty easy on her, although she did lay on a lot of make up work. Alexi just thought that she’d talk to her dad about it, and maybe get the teacher to cut the work. By the time the bell rang, Alexi was more than willing to go to P.E, one of her most hated classes.

She hurried along the hallways with Elle, still bickering over the best Gilmore girl. Alexi sighed with relief as Elle entered the locker room to change and she looked over her P.E. excuse slip, making sure that it said she didn’t need to dress. She handed her absent slip & P.E. excuse slip to her P.E. teacher, and took a seat on her number, waiting patiently for everyone else to take a seat so the class could get started. As soon as roll was taken, Alexi was excused to go sit in the teachers office with Elle to keep her company.

Elle remembered something that Alexi hadn’t heard yet “Lexi.. you know... Zack has a girlfriend now.. That Elizabethe girl with the funky dyed blonde hair.. you know here.. I personally think she’s a bitch.. but” she trailed off and looked down at some sport magazines on the desk.

Lexi frowned for a moment and then perked up “Ha, so? They’ll break up! I mean seriously! How old are we now? You think it’ll last at this age? Funny.. hehe.. Besides, I think I’m gunna go for Pat..”she smiled and looked around the room curiously “Hum..”

“Whaaat? You mean Patrick Hatone? Ugh.. you can most definately have him! Although.. I dunno.. I think Brittney might like him.. But who cares? Uh.. I dunno.. 50-50 chance I guess” Elle continued on the tangent for a few moments, then looked up and realized that she had already lost Alexi’s attention, so she just stopped.

“Ha! He’s cute and you know it! He talks to me once in awhile.. So he might like me..I dunno.. I guess trying to be friends with him would work.. You know he is soooo funny... I love that!” she smirks for a moment,thinks, and then says “But you know..there’s also this guy in band, if he still goes to the school.. He was cute.. And talkedto me.. And was actually taller then me”she trails off and bites her lip. They continued talking like this for the next hour until the bell rang for lunch and Alexi took her back pack, wondering over to her locker.

Lunch seemed to fly by faster than nutrition that day. Alexi & Elle hung out the whole time, making up new nicknames for people and talking to people they didn’t even know in different accents. Alexi was only slightly disappointed to know that she didn’t get a chance to see any of her crushes, but she knew that she would see them another time, and it was no big deal. By the time she made it to her next class, Senior Band, her stomach scar from the surgery, was really starting to bother her. The teacher welcomed her back understandingly, introducing her to her new stand partner and giving her the dates of the upcoming field trips & festivals.

She was astonished to see all of the people in her band class again, especially Tristan, she really liked him. He was funny, cute, tall, and actually talked to her. She was almost sure that he might like her. So, band went by, slowly, but surely, Alexi feeling like an idiot for not knowing any of the songs they were playing and her teacher reassuring her every once in awhile that it would take time for her to be able to play like she had played before, again. When the bell rang Alexi was the first person out the door. She was suprised to find herself walking into Zack. He smiled at her and waved as he rushed by her, probably for the next class. She smiled and dreamily sighed as she walked to her next class.

Science. She always hated science because her teacher was so strict and bitchy, she was sure that there was no way to enjoy the subject. But to her suprise the teacher was nicer about everything than any of the others. Telling Alexi things like ‘not to worry’, and that ‘it will be alright’, really helped. Alexi knew she was really getting off easy, so she did the work as well as she could that day and when the bell rung she frowned and slowly walked off the school grounds looking around for her ride.

Chapter 2 - Home Life

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Like every regular day, Alexi got online as soon as she arrived home. She zoned out all of the irritating surroundings and just concentrated on the humming of the computer as it slowly but surely, signed her online. She smiled brightly as she saw the people she thought of as her true friends, were online. She clicked on her ‘favourites’ menu and opened all of her favourite sites, just checking the new things going on. Most of her favourite sites dealt with HP or LotR role play, and other than that she did enjoy just surfing the web.

Her parents insisted that she had an addiction to the web and that a break would do her good. But they didn’t get how much it helped her to relax, to have fun, to pretend to actually have more than two friends in the world, just to be online. She let her creativity soar while role playing things like wars or dances. It would never stop, she thought-this happiness could never stop. The people online had strangely enough become a community of people, who had people who liked eachother and would be friends, who had people that weren’t liked as much.. annoying if you will. She had met many good friends online, even if they only could talk online, they really helped her out with good advice at times.

You see, she got into the gist of going into these rp web sites a couple of months earlier during Winter Break. She had joined one of the web sites a month or two earlier and logged on one night, and opened an email giving her the details of the new site, for the other one had broken down. Alexi being as bored as usual online, curiously clicked on the link to the new site, and remembered why she thought the other one was cool. She registered, and started to post in random places, before she knew it she was a regular there, and at many sites like it.

She smiled and shook her head as she continued to remember the past things thatshe had done on these websites, and really could not imagine her life without them now.

[potterknowitall]

Fico - Non-things

There are things over there, over everywhere. You can see them too, can't you? Or rather, you can't see them too. That's the point of them, isn't it? To never quite be seen. But one was just there. It was the slithery type. There are all different types. Did you know that? There are. And each type has different abilities and different defects. The slithery types can only move around in the shadows of unnatural light. It makes them especially difficult to recognize. The bouncy ones are easy to recognize, but they stay forever. They can move anywhere, and they just hop and hop and hop. A guy never gets a break with all that almost-hopping going on. He closes his eyes, but they're still hopping, just where he can't see. The loping ones hang around even longer than the bouncy ones. They lope along, fast as anything taking you anywhere. One kept up with a car, a car going 70 on the turnpike. And the hanging ones are the most unnerving. They hang from anything and everything, leaving a sludgy feel on everything they touch, making a guy feel sludgy for knowing it's there. The curly ones are the hardest to spot. They curl into nothing before a guy can see them. They never move, but they curl in on themselves until they're gone, and they reappear when a guy isn't looking where he knows they are. The snorty ones, a guy never even not-sees them. He just not-hears them. They snort into everything, specking everything with gravelly bits of nothing-nice. The skirty ones twirl. They twirl so fast, a guy can look straight at one, and all he'll get the impression of is a winky-type thing, not quite there. It has a wider base, but he can only tell that by looking at something else and not seeing the winks. And there are more. There are many more. A guy can't even tell how many. And the reason he can't tell is 'cause he doesn't know. But they're there. You see them, too, don't you? Don't you? You know about the things, the things that adult people forget about, because they're too scared to remember. Because the things get braver as a guy gets older. Because if a guy doesn't forget about them, he has to see one. Because once a guy sees one, he has to look at all of them, forever, even the ones he can't tell you about because he doesn't know, even those. Because I guy can't... What? What was I saying? ... What are you talking about? What "things"? ... That's ridiculous. Who are you, anyway? And what are you doing here? This is my apartment. Why aren't you home? You're mother must be sick with worry. ... Stop that rubbish. There are no "things", skirty or otherwise. It must have been a remnant of a bad dream. Go home now, and have your mother comfort you. I must concern myself with matters of consequence, not with blubbery little boys who wish to tell me fairy stories of "non-things". Now go.

[potterknowitall]

Dianella - The Forgotten Memory

Chapter 1 - The Dream

It happened on his second birthday. Most people don’t remember things that happen on their second birthdays, but there was a part of his mind that would never let go, no matter how many memory charms were placed on him. He always seemed to remember in his dreams. Vivid, terrible images and sounds would bubble up from deep within his brain, bursting forth into his conscious mind only when it was off guard. Tonight was such a night.

His eyelids were closed tightly, but beneath them his eyes rolled madly in their sockets, reconstructing the scene as it had been 12 years ago. He saw the old house so clearly. His hands were placed on two of the white spindles of the banister that gently arced down the side of the staircase, his face pressed between them and hidden in shadows. He could see the old floral couch where he and his mother used to sit together at night as she read to him until he fell asleep in her arms. He could see his father’s favourite chair, so worn and tattered from years of use that stuffing was peeking out between the brittle cracks of the cordovan. On the small side table laid a burled walnut pipe and a copy of the Daily Prophet. A small wisp of smoke still curled from the end of the pipe.

The walls, papered with pale stripes, were populated with pictures of the three of them enjoying happy times. A picture of him opening a Christmas present. His mother guiding him in his first steps. His father tickling him and laughing. Forever laughing in a black, shiny frame. But the sound he was hearing now was not laughter.

In the center of the cluster of pictures was the large oval mirror, and it was here that the rest of the dream always took place. It was here, reflected in this mirror, that Neville could see why the air was filled with the screams of his parents.

Chapter Two - The Cruciatus Curse

“Where is he?” asked a man in a black cloak to a crumbled form on the floor. “We know you’ve been following the rumors. We know you’ve located his hiding place. We’ll find him, with or without your help…so why don’t you save yourself all this pain and suffering. Just tell us where he is and we’ll leave you and your pretty little wife alone.”

The form on the floor was panting hoarsely. “She…doesn’t…know…anything!” he gasped, his sides heaving from the effort.

“Then you admit that you know something? Frank, Frank, Frank…you’ve been lying to us, haven’t you?” The man sounded like a disappointed father talking to a disobedient child. “And you know what we do to liars, don’t you?” His voice remained in the silky, patronizing tone as he pointed his wand at Frank Longbottom and said, “Crucio!”

Neville clapped his hands over his ears, trying to block the tortured screams of his father, and the scene went black as his eyes shut tight. Not wanting to look again, but not able to stop himself, Neville opened his eyes once more and watched the scene reflected in the mirror.

His father was still writhing on the floor, his mother sobbing and struggling to reach him. A witch with long, stringy black hair that concealed most of her face was restraining his mother, but she broke free and flung herself onto her husband in an attempt to shield him from the curse that wracked his body.

A third stranger, a younger man with sandy hair, grabbed his mother roughly by the arms and raised her up to face him. “Where is the Dark Lord?” he yelled, shaking her roughly. “Tell us or we’ll kill him!”

Neville could clearly see his mother’s face in the silver glass. He could see her red eyes, wide with terror, her skin pale and bloodless as she stared into the face of madness. But as Neville continued watching his mother, he saw a change occur in her. Her pale face suddenly flushed and her eyes narrowed as a steely resolve flooded through her. Her voice shook in uncontrolled anger as she replied, “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell scum like you”, and then she spit in the young man’s face. The sandy-haired wizard removed one of the hands grasping Neville’s mother and hit her across the face, sending her reeling backwards as a spray of blood trailed behind. She dropped out of the mirror’s reflection, and Neville could only hear what followed.

“Crucio!” yelled the wizard, whose pale face and freckles Neville could now see in the mirror. His mother’s screamed ripped through the air and tore into Neville’s very soul. He couldn’t understand what was happening. All he knew was that his parents were being hurt and he could take no more. He stood up from behind the banister of the staircase and screamed, “NO!” At that moment a wave of force seemed to explode from within Neville, blasting through the house. The mirror shattered, a vase on the mantle flew across the room and smashed against the wall, the windows rattled violently as the entire house shuddered. The three intruders spun around to look at tiny Neville, standing on the staircase in his pajamas, and for just a moment there was utter silence in the house. Neville’s mother struggled to her knees, supporting her weak, tortured body on a chair. “Run, Neville, RUN!”, she cried. That would be the last time he would ever hear her speak his name. As the Death Eaters made a move toward Neville, his father mustered the last of his strength and flung himself upon them. Neville turned to run and sat bolt upright in bed.

Chapter 3 - The Breakthrough

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Neville laid awake for the remainder of the night. He had never remembered the scene so clearly before, and his mind kept working over the details. His mother’s face, his father’s heroic effort to save him, and perhaps most terrifying of all, the burst of power that had come from deep within him. He had never felt power like that before. He had never felt particularly magical, in fact, and often doubted his abilities to complete his studies here at Hogwarts. But there was no denying that one night more than 12 years ago, when he was just a toddler, Neville had certainly displayed an awesome magical force.

Neville sat up and pulled open his bed curtains. On his bedside table was a book – Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean. It had been leant to him by Professor Moody after yesterday’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class. During that class, something had happened to Neville. Something had broken free. Professor Moody had been showing the class the Unforgivable Curses, and when he had performed the Cruciatus Curse, a part of Neville’s mind opened itself up to him. He was sure this is why the dream had been so detailed…so complete…and why he could still remember the details even now, while he was awake.

Harry, Ron and the others were still asleep. Neville dressed quietly and slipped out of the common room. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now. He needed time to think, to deal with these memories, so raw and painful. He went down to the greenhouses, to be alone with his thoughts.

Chapter 4 - The Hospital

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Neville and Gran stood outside the white metal door of his parent’s hospital room. “Now Neville”, Gran was saying as she adjusted the large stuffed vulture on top of her hat, “did you remember to bring that photo of you with your herbology project?”

“Yes, Gran”, Neville replied in a near-weary voice. The strange thing was, he did remember. In fact, he seemed to be remembering everything lately. He had remembered to do all of his homework assignments for the entire week. He even remembered to add the porcupine quills to his potion after he removed his cauldron from the flame, and for the first time had not caused a catastrophe in Potions. Of course, Snape had still deducted 5 points from Gryffindor, accusing Hermione of interfering. But the truth was, ever since that dream things had been clearer for Neville. It seemed as though he was fully awake for the first time.

Things had changed magically for Neville as well. When he attempted spells, they actually worked. Even Professor McGonagall couldn’t complain about the teapot he’d transfigured into a rabbit. His clear mind was allowing his magical powers to focus and work properly.

[potterknowitall]

Dianella - The Forgotten Memory, con’t

He pushed open the door and entered his parent’s room. His mother was standing by the window, the morning sun washing over her face and reflecting from her golden hair. She would have looked beautiful had it not been for the blank expression on her face and the dull, lifeless eyes that roved in Neville’s direction at the sound of the door.

Neville winced. There was a time when seeing her like this would have seemed normal. But now, in the wake of that dream, he remembered her differently. He remembered a time when she was full of life. He remembered a time when she was terrified, but defiant. He remembered her last words as she tried to protect him. He looked away to stop his heart from bursting with pain.

His father was seated at a table. He looked as though he was about to take an exam. His feet were placed evenly side-by-side directly under the table. He sat fully erect, hands folded tightly in front of him, eyes staring at a picture on the wall. It was a crude drawing in bright colors of a crooked house with a stick-figure family in front of it and an owl circling the chimney.

Neville walked forward, kissed his mother on the cheek and placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. Neither showed any response.

“I remember drawing that”, Neville remarked as his eyes followed his father’s gaze to the childish artwork on the wall. “That was our old owl, Mercury.”

“You…you do?” asked Gran in a would-be casual tone. She was fidgeting with the strap of her handbag.

“Yeah. I remember Mercury giving me a good nip for pulling his tail feathers once! I never saw him again after…after that night.” Neville was too caught in the memory of his childhood to notice the panicked look on Gran’s face.

“Um, Neville, dear”, she said, her voice light but wavering ever-so-slightly, “I need to just run down the hall and check on some things. I won’t be but a moment.”

“Ok, Gran”, Neville replied as he continued staring at the picture he’d drawn when he was a happy toddler with two healthy and loving parents.

Chapter 5 - The Secret

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Neville sat nervously in the doctor’s office. His Gran was standing behind him, still twisting the strap of her red handbag with a stricken look on her face. His Great-Uncle Algie had just arrived, his wife Enid next to him. Both had very serious expressions on their faces, and Neville couldn’t escape the feeling that somehow he was in very big trouble.

Dr. Altheus, an old and tired looking wizard, was sitting behind his desk, head resting on tented fingers. “Well, I think we’re all here now. Neville, your Grandmother tells me that you’ve started remembering things…things about your childhood. Is this true?”

Neville looked a little startled. He hadn’t realized the changes in him had been so noticeable. But even if they were – why would everyone care so much? Wouldn’t they want him to remember things and to act like everyone else?

“Um. Yeah, I guess so. I had a dream last week, and since then, things have been sort of clearer. And today I remembered about our old pet owl.”

“I see”, continued the doctor. “And this dream – what can you tell us about it?”

Neville paused a moment, not because talking about the attack on his parents upset him, but because he thought it would upset his grandmother. “It was about…about the night my parents were…hurt.” He threw a nervous look at his grandmother, still wringing her handbag’s worn handle.

“Hmm. And since then, you’ve started remembering other things as well? Things other than what happened that night?”

“Yes, like I said, I remembered about Mercury, our owl, today when I was in Mom and Dad’s room.” Neville looked around nervously at everyone in the room. “I don’t understand what’s going on. Why do you care if I remember about Mercury? Why shouldn’t I remember the night my parents were attacked? I’m ok about it. I’m not falling to pieces or anything.”

Dr. Altheus looked at the elderly man sitting to Neville’s left and said, “Algie, perhaps this is best coming from you.”

Neville looked at his Great Uncle Algie with a bit of surprise and curiosity as the old man hung his head and sighed deeply.

“Neville”, he began, “your parents were deeply involved in fighting You-Know-Who and his supporters.”

“I know that”, interrupted Neville impatiently. “Everyone knows that – that’s why they were attacked!”

“Not entirely. Your parents were the keepers of some extremely valuable information. We don’t know what that information was – no one does. No one except them…and you.”

“Me? I know something about You-Know-Who? That’s impossible…I was just a baby!”

“Your parents knew that if they were captured they would be tortured for information. And whatever this information was, they couldn’t risk revealing it. So they used you as their secret keeper. They imparted this secret to you, and unless you chose to reveal it, no one could make them tell it no matter what. After your parents were injured, we feared for your safety. We didn’t want anyone to know you held this secret. So…while we were here at St. Mungo’s arranging for the care of your parents, we asked Dr. Altheus to place a memory charm on you, so that you would never remember this secret.”

Something funny was happening in Neville’s brain. People around him were still talking, but like the day in Professor Moody’s class, time was acting funny and the room around him was dissolving. He could see his mother and father kneeling before him. His father had his wand out and said some funny words, and Neville’s insides felt squirmy. His mother was looking in his eyes and was telling him…telling him that –

“Obliviate!”

Dr. Altheus’ spell shot across the room and struck Neville squarely in the chest. Neville was pushed back against his chair, nearly spilling backwards from the force of it. His eyes slid out of focus, the room went blurry, and then Neville gave his head a shake as if it were filled with cobwebs.

He looked around. He was in an office. His relatives were with him. But why?

“Gran? What happened? Why are we all here?”

“Oh, dear boy. We’re at St. Mungo’s and you gave us the most awful fright! We were visiting your parents and you slipped and hit your head. Dr. Altheus here has been tending to you. Don’t you remember, dear? Oh, not to worry – you’re right as rain now!” And his grandmother came over, gave him a hug and kiss, and helped him up to his feet. “Thanks ever so much, Dr. Altheus. I’ll just take him home and fix him a nice cup of tea and a plate of cookies.”

Neville started heading for the door with her when Dr. Altheus spoke up. “Neville – is this your wand? You must have dropped it.” Neville turned and nodded embarrassedly, walking back to retrieve his wand.

“That’s our Neville!” said Gran. “Always forgetting things!”

[potterknowitall]

Fico - Lids Down

He rolled over for the twentieth time that night, punching his pillow as he did so. But the pillow was soft and downy, encased in warm, soft flannel. Despite their numerous shortcomings, muggles had gotten it right with flannel. He ran a hand through his hair (he would have to wash it soon, but where would he find the time?) and rubbed his cheek against the comforting warmth of the pillow cover. He smiled grimly at the thought of how pathetic he must look: a man by all standards, yet still comforted by the warmth and feel of sheets his mother had bought him years before. Disgusting. Weak. He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. Self-pitying, he thought with contempt.

The banked fire cast strange shadows on the low, stone ceiling. The entire room seemed to flicker in the light, as though not quite sure whether or not it wished to exist. He could empathize. He glanced around his room in the dim, unsteady light. Everything looked distant, detached, utterly lifeless.

He curled onto his side, facing the wall beside his bed, his back to the fire and the miserable life it threw into lighted relief. He shivered under his many blankets and wished the fire were more useful. But the dungeon-room sapped heat more effectively than an angitherm potion. He shivered again and tried to clear his head.

He thought of a large hourglass and watched as one grain of sand after another fell to the bottom. He did not count.

But the hourglass became a time-turner which Hermione Granger was shoving down the neck of her robes. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley appeared beside her. Potter walked up to him and sneered contemptuously. "What are you scared of, Snivellus? Me?" His voice was the Dark Lord's.

He was jerked out of his half-dream by the thought of Potter jeering at him. Though he didn't need Potter to; Black was doing it for him. The complete fool, wanting to be out of the safety of his mother's house. Goaded by the fact that he was forced to stay out of sight while other risked their lives, their livelihoods, their everythings. Jealous of Severus because he couldn't be "useful". As though Severus were useful. His attempts to contact the few Death Eaters he didn't fear would betray him were pointless. The occasional one or two he did manage to contact either ignored him or threatened to snuff him. The Dark Lord surely knew by now.

He realized he was rubbing his left forearm. The Dark Mark was smoky and black, clearly visible no matter what the light. He angrily pulled the sleeve of his night-shirt over the Mark and folded his arms tightly against his chest.

Sirius had to be insane to be jealous of him. As though he wanted the perpetual thought of the Dark Lord finding him weighing him down nightly, daily, constantly. As though he enjoyed putting himself at risk, working himself to a lethargic sort of daze in which he performed his lessons out of habit.

Don't think, don't think. He called the hourglass to mind again, relaxing as he watched the sand. But the hourglass dissolved into green smoke and reformed as the Dark Mark. His arm burned.

He rolled onto his other side, the fire causing orange light-spots to tumble over each other behind his closed lids. What a wonderful job he would do teaching Potter Occlumency, he thought to himself, when he couldn't even clear his own mind long enough to fall asleep. He tried to watch the light-spots, tried to conform them into some sort of twisted sense, some kind of order he could understand. But they moved at complete random, and whenever he caught solid sight of one, it slipped into the shape of another. This must be how the Greeks pictured Eris, he mused. Impossible to hold still, completely incomprehensible, entirely incapable of understanding.

He shook his head and threw his covers back. You just need some food. He realized he had barely eaten all day. Or was he confusing days again? No, this was Saturday, and he hadn't eaten. He was sure of it.

He wasn't sure of anything anymore.

He rolled out of bed and put the covers back in place, hoping some of his body-heat would still be there when he got back. He shivered over to his set of drawer and opened the top right drawer. Rummaging around in his socks and a few spare potions, he found an apple that was slightly soft and a roll that was quite stale. He ate them both without tasting them, core and all. I'll take care of the crumbs tomorrow, he thought to himself as he climbed back into his still-warm bed.

This is what Black wants, is it? Worked to the marrow by the day, giving lessons, dealing with Umbridge, negotiating with Death Eaters, forgetting to eat. And by night, riddled with worry about the Dark Lord, exhausted to the point of not being able to sleep, fighting off doubts of self-doubt and self-pity in turn. And forced to withstand all of it absolutely alone, the memory of a mother's gift his only comfort.

And meanwhile, Black was perfectly safe and comfortable. Lupin was rarely sent on a mission which kept him away for more than two or three nights at a time.

Black could be worse off. He didn't have to remain a respectable model for little twits who might come calling at any time of the night. Black could relate his anxieties to an eager ear and then drown his thought in desperate surges of physical relief.

All Severus could do was stew in his own thoughts.

He shoved a pillow into his stomach and curled tightly around it. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You're finally doing something worthwhile with your life, and all you can do is complain.

He concentrated on his breathing until it was slow and regular. Then he conjured the hourglass within his mind. The sand fell slowly, hypnotically. A distant part of himself noticed that the falling sand matched the low, thick beating of his heart. He lost the vision of the hourglass and wandered into sleep just as the first rays of sunlight struck the astronomy tower.

[potterknowitall]

Rita - NYC and Sept 11th

Ok, so this is an article I wrote for a magazine (one of the best in Portugal, "Volta Ao Mundo"/"Around The World") and it was published. I just hope that the translation is as good as the original thing.

It was dark. The high buildings covered the Sun light. The day was grey, the city was grey. We were almost falling on the ground, so tired we were after 7 horrible hours on a plane. And it was right there where I turned. It was right there when I realised that I was in a new world, completely different from mine in every possible aspect. Neons all around me almost made me go blind. Broadway two steps ahead. The center of the World, where I was. I confess that I only could shut my mouth closed when I understood that everything I was seeing wasn't a dream. It was real... and then I understood that New York is something fantastic and surreal...a small world inside the World. Everything happens, everyone is there. Black people, Chinese people, Japs, Italians, Germans, Spanish people, Latins, fat people, thin people, punks, gays, freaks...all together. All united. I think that New York sort of influences it's inhabitants...don't ask me why, but I got that feeling. It's a place where the city rules, not the Man. New York is much more than a complicated net of sky-scrappers (??), something beyond real. It's the so-called city of all dreams because everything can happen. It's a city where there are tastes for everything and everything for tastes. It's a city with ice-rinks (extremely important to me). And it's not because of a man, the more terrifying he can be, that this small world is going to change. There will still be people from every corner of the world there, all united for one single will: peace. There will still exist the same "stress" and ultra-crowded streets, characteristics of a great city. The streets will continue to be grey. The buildings will continue covering the Sun light. Broadway's always two steps ahead and the center of the World will always be Times Square. New York will not yield. It can't yield. And the Twin Towers will always be present in the hearts of every single person in the World.

In this days, there is only one thing we can do. Scream, high and loud: I LOVE N.Y!

[potterknowitall]

Jessica - Shazaam

Once upon a time there was a young girl named Isabelle. The orphanage Isabelle lived in was her home and her workplace. She cooked during the day and did her school work at night. To her it was like having an overly large but close-knit family. One day as Isabelle was rummaging through the small pantry, taking inventory and adding up what was needed from the local village, her portly black and white cat, Shazaam, wound himself around her legs and purred noisily.

“Oh how I would love to get out of this place,” she said to her cat, “and live on my own in the village.” She sighed heavily and turned back to the barren pantry. The fat cat then sneezed with a resounding, “Shazaam!” As a child she found the sneeze funny and decided to name the cat for it’s odd tendency. Now as she looked back, the past thirteen years hadn’t been so bad. When she had no one to turn to she would talk to Shazaam.

Isabelle finished up her work at the orphanage before heading off to town. Learyfiat was a small kingdom ruled by the queen, Holly and her husband, King Shannon. The king was often out of town overseeing royal business matters, so the queen, in a way, ruled alone. Queen Holly had two children. The oldest was her son, Prince Tanner. Tanner was a rambunctious eight-year old with dreams of one day becoming a brave knight much like his father once was. Princess Laney was a small four-year old girl with the looks of an angel. Or so it was said. No one outside of the castle walls had ever seen the child. She was always out visiting her aunt and uncle or playing in her room with her many dolls.

As Isabelle walked about the open market, she thought of how her life would be if she were a princess. After shopping around a bit, picking up what she needed to cook with and other necessities for the orphanage, she stepped into a mercantile store. By saving her lowly salary of one silver piece each week she was able to save up ten silver pieces. As she stepped into the store, a flamboyantly decorated piece of paper caught her eye. And it read:

Royal Babysitter Needed
The queen is in need of a young lady to help with the care of her two children. Meals and room will be provided for the babysitter and a weekly salary of ten gold pieces will be included also. Please report to the castle gates at midday tomorrow for an interview and evaluation.

Isabelle quickly tore the paper off the wall and thanked the heavens for the blessing. She hurried back to the orphanage to talk it over with Ms. Petunia, the ‘mom’ to all the orphans.

The next day Isabelle was at the castle gates, along with the many others anxious for the job. One by one the girls left with hopeful looks on their faces. Shazaam walked next to Isabelle in the line. Isabelle looked down at her cat as it purred and rubbed against her legs. “I sure do hope I get this job.” She told her cat as if he understood what she was saying. The cat sneezed, “Shazaam!” and several of the girls turned to look at her. She looked back at them and smiled sheepishly.

An official looking woman motioned Isabelle forward for her interview. She walked up the several stairs into the front hall of the castle. Two red velvet chairs were placed in the middle of the vast foyer with a tired looking man in each. They both cleared their throats and straightened the papers in their laps.

“Your name please.”

“Isabelle Gibson.”

The man in the chair to her right pulled a paper of half-moon spectacles from his front pocket and put them on, “Your age please Miss Gibson.”

“Sixteen, sir.” Isabelle shifted her weight from left to right.

He nodded and proceeded to ask her about her home life and previous experience. Afraid that they would turn her way for being an orphan, she lied. She told them that she had been working at the orphanage for eighteen months as a cook, but she lived right outside the village with her brother and his wife. Some of this was true. She had started working as a cook for Ms. Petunia eighteen months ago. This made it look like she had had some child care experience without telling them directly that she was an orphan.

The two men turned to each other and began talking in whispers. Isabelle took this opportunity to examine the great hall. The long hall was lit with a large crystal chandelier and the walls were covered with what looked like pale green silk.

One of the men then cleared his throat and brought her back her senses, “We have talked it over and decided that you will be the princess’s new babysitter. You are aware of what is required of you?”

“Yes, sir.” Isabelle fought to keep her joy from bubbling out.

“Then you will return home, gather your things and be back before sunset.”

Isabelle’s knees bent in a quick curtsy and she walked out of the castle. The sunlight hit her face with a warm splash and she no longer felt like the outcast.

She practically skipped to her buggy and horse outside the mercantile store. She reached the orphanage and quickly grabbed her things. With a quick goodbye to all the children and a promise to visit often, she headed back to the castle. The maid showed her where her room would be and where the Princess’s would be. Isabelle inquired as to where the Princess was. The maid informed her that the queen’s children were visiting their aunt and uncle, the duke and duchess of Muroomy, and would not return for another week.

Isabelle spent the week wandering through the castle. Isabelle soon finds out that the queen is a woman of many talents. Isabelle watches secretly as the redheaded queen cross-stitches in the green drawing room. Wonderful smells wafted through the vast castle and Isabelle found the queen baking. Cookies, cakes and other delectable pastries emerged from the oven as Isabelle hid in the shadows. The time came for Isabelle to meet the little princess. Princess Laney was a blue-eyed angel with straight blonde hair. At least this was how Isabelle saw her at first. The closer she got the more Isabelle could hear her impertinent demands. For a four year old to be demanding her to be given cookies and candy was not unusual, but the fact that the servants around her jumped at her every move was.

Isabelle moved forward and introduced her self to the small girl only to receive an angry girl.

“Are you one of my servants?” the little girl asked impatiently.

“No.” Isabelle was taken aback. This little girl was four going on twenty-five.

“Get away from me!” She screamed as one of the servants tried to take the doll out of her hand so she could hold the cookies. Tears formed in the small girls eyes and with an earsplitting scream, she dropped her doll and cookies and ran to her mother, wrapping her arms around the queen’s legs. The queen soothed her and the princess soon fell silent.

“It has been a long trip from Muroomy. The princess must be tired. She is but four years old.” The queen lifted her daughter into her arms and carried her through the open doorway.

Isabelle stood in the middle of the gravel driveway mystified. What had she gotten herself into?

The following day was unlike anything Isabelle had ever encountered at the orphanage. Princess Laney went about the castle demanding things from the cook, harassing the dachshund puppy, and constantly asking Isabelle questions. Later in the day Isabelle met the Prince. Tanner was a vivacious boy. But he mainly stayed out side, watching the castle guards in training. Laney spotted him amongst his few friends, walked over, and kicked him in the legged.

“OW! Laney!” Tanner grabbed his leg and glared at the little princess.

Isabelle promptly marched over and swatted Laney’s hand, “No. We don’t hit.”

Laney burst into tears, “I’m telling my mommy.” And then ran off.

Isabelle panicked and ran after her but the child reached her mother in the green drawing room before Isabelle could stop her.

“She hit me mom.” Laney leaned into her mother’s side and shot Isabelle a victorious smile.

“She kicked Prince Tanner for no reason. I was only…”
The queen looked at her with slight annoyance, “You were only what? Laney is but four years old. She doesn’t know any better.”

And so the weeks came and went. Laney would hit or kick someone and Isabelle could do nothing to stop it. One day the princess found Shazaam.

“It’s my cat.”

“No, that is my cat, Shazaam.”

“No. MY CAT!” Laney picked the cat up and trudged off to the parlor.

This had pushed Isabelle over the edge. She stomped into the parlor and took the cat from Laney. “He is my cat. You will not demand anything else from me. As your mother says, you are but four years. And four years is how you will be treated. I am your babysitter and you shall treat me as such.” As Isabelle turned she saw Queen Holly and Laney’s aunt standing in the doorway.

“Who is this slip of a girl, Holly? And why in heaven’s name is she scolding my precious niece?”

The queen looked from Laney to Isabelle, “This is the royal babysitter.”

“Where do you come from girl and why were you scolding my niece?”

Laney rushed past Isabelle in a blur of pink silk and blonde hair and attached herself to her aunt’s legs. “Aunt Nanette,” she whined, “She hit me and yelled at me and wouldn’t let me have the cat.” The duchess was infuriated.

Isabelle glared at the child and in a surge of anger blurted out, “Shazaam is my cat. My parents gave him to me when I was three, before they died. He’s the only family I have left and you can’t have him.”

[potterknowitall]

Jessica - Shazaam, con't

The queen gasped, the princess smirked and the duchess yelled, “I thought you were from an upstanding family and you lived with your brother outside of town and…and…” she sputtered, “LEAVE! You should be put to death for lying to the royal interviewers. But since you are but a girl I will let it go, but you will leave the cat for my niece. She could be scarred for life after what you have done to her.”

Tears threatened to spill as Isabelle looked at her cat and then at the small princess whose smirk was gone and then ran out of the castle doors.
The duchess made a “tsk, tsk” sound and turned to

Queen Holly with a look of disbelief. “How could you have let just anybody watch after her? That girl was an orphan for God’s sake. I thought you had more sense than that.”

Just as Nanette was about to take Shazaam and do away with him Laney began to cry. The loud, incessant wail blocked out anything anyone might have said. In between sobs she choked out a few words

“I…want…Isabelle…back…” Laney cried. Just as the crying got louder the cat sneezed, “Shazaam!” and the princess’s cries were magnified ten times. And each time Laney said those four words Shazaam would sneeze and the crying would get louder. For several days this went on, night and day the child cried. The townspeople had to write things down because they couldn’t hear someone an inch away was saying.

The queen had had enough, “This is ridiculous. Just because the girl is an orphan is no reason to send her away.” She looked at her sister.

“She lied to y--.”

The queen held her hand up, “She was afraid to reveal her true self. She lied because people who think her a lesser person because of her parents or lack-there-of have penalized her before. A person should not be judged by whom their family is, especially when they have none. Their character and what they are on the inside should be what matters most. I have let you wash my mind with this nonsense for long enough. I am going to get my royal babysitter back.”

And so Queen Holly went to the orphanage on the outside of town to retrieve Isabelle. The royal trumpeters announced the queen’s arrival and all the children in the orphanage ran to the door to see who was there. Rarely did the homely orphanage receive visitors, especially those of such high esteem. The queen apologized to Isabelle and begged her to return to the castle, if not for her than for the little princess. Isabelle agreed as long as she got her cat back.

At the castle, Princess Laney cried and cried. Her sobs had stopped getting louder. Shazaam was curled up in a chair in the great hall when Isabelle walked in. With a resounding sneeze, “Shazaam!” the crying ceased. The little princess clambered down the stairs and latched herself onto Isabelle’s legs, almost knocking the both of them to the ground.

“You know what, Laney?” Isabelle asked as the patted the child’s head.

Laney looked up at her with sparkling blue eyes, “what?”

“I think shazaam is magic.”

Laney quickly looked at the cat and then back up at Isabelle, “You know what, Isabelle?”

“What?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And they all lived happily ever after.