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WIP Amnesty Day
I never realised how many WIPs I have floating around my HP folder... and how many of them are really bad and are so obviously by someone not yet conversant in the fandom and its many 'rules'. There's Princess Orla Mac Nessa, the daughter of Jareth & Sarah with mismatched eyes who is also an owl, in me HP/Labyrinth crossover.
Orla slammed the door closed and threw herself roughly down onto her bed. Trying very hard not to cry she opened the little box with trembling fingers. Nestled inside was a sparkling crystal orb. The sob that had been forcing its way out of her throat all day won the fight and tears began running down her eyes.
The note accompanying the crystal merely said: If you turn it this way, it will show you your dreams.
It was not signed, but she already knew who had sent it. She picked up sthe crystal and turned it expertly in her hands, as if she had been handling magic crystals all her life. Which, she reminded herself with a slight groan, she had. She looked into and the blood drained from her face. What she saw inside broke her heart.
Her home had been entirely destroyed. The scene within the crystal shifted to show her the extent of the damage. Where a neatly constructed Labyrinth had once stood, with its complex maze of passages and dead-ends, oubliettes and forests, now only rubble remained. It had been entirely flattened to the extent that she could easily see the half-destroyed city beyond and a battered castle beyond that.
She managed to control her sobs and asked for the crystal to show her something else. The crystal showed her a vast battle of thousands, as if the entire Underground had taken up arms against each other. It was bloody and horrific to observe. Right in the heat of the battle, she saw something that stuck out amongst the mass of goblins.
He was tall, thin, and had the unmistakeable bearing of a king. His long blond hair hung limply around his face and was stained red with blood. His face was stony and he fought with callous precision. The battle was all there was in his mind at that moment. She watched, mortified for some moments, before she saw another fae approach him, sword held up. The blond, too concerned with the fate of several of his own goblin foot-soldiers, did not see the dark-haired fae approach, sword held high.
"I wish the goblins would take me away. Right now!" Orla shrieked in a panic.
The crystal went blank. Outside, the night became even darker, lit only very briefly by lightning twice. The second time the lightning flashed the windows of the dorm opened and an owl flew in. After a moment the owl transformed into a person. It was the man in the crystal. Instead of being covered in blood, he had managed to clean up and was wearing particularly intimidating looking black clothes, topped with a magnificent black cloak. His hair was now clean and neat. He did not look happy.
"What is going on here?" he demanded as he became aware of his surroundings. "Orla!" His eyes widened as he recognised the wish-maker.
"Hello Daddy," she said softly. The sneer on his face fell away to leave only concern etched into his features.
*
and a little later
They had no sooner sat down in the Potions dungeon when Malfoy pounced.
"You look well today Orla," he said smoothly.
"No I don't. I look like I was shot and poisoned yesterday and then slept badly. If you're going to lie, try harder," she snapped.
Malfoy actually looked rather hurt for a moment, but regained his composure with ease.
"You know, I don't see why you hang out with Mudblood here..." he was going to continue, but before he could, Orla seized him by the throat in fury.
"What did you call her?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"What? Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"It sounded to me like you called her a Mudblood."
"Did I? How remiss of me," Malfoy wheezed.
Orla released him ever so slightly and he gasped for air.
"Who do you suppose I am, Draco?" she asked smoothly, a dangerous glint in her eye.
"You're Princess Orla, daughter of the Goblin King."
"Yes. Tha'’s right. Do you suppose I'm very powerful?"
"I know you are. I heard Dumbledore and McGonagall talking yesterday."
"Really? So I must be pretty tough and cool, right Draco?" her smooth, cool tone made him shiver.
"Yes."
"And I'm a Princess?"
"Yes."
"And one day, when my father dies, I'll be the Protector of the entire Underground?"
"Yes?"
"And I'll be able to create or destroy cities there with a flick of the wrist?"
"Yes," he said. She paused for a moment and let go of him.
"Do you know who my mother was, Draco?"
"No," he said, taken aback by the swift change in questioning.
"She was called Sarah Williams and she was as Muggle as they come."
Several students gasped at this shocking announcement. Malfoy, for his part, didn't bother concealing his surprise.
"She was a Muggle, but she believed in magic. A Muggle was the only person to ever steal the heart of the cold, manipulative, cunning, wicked Goblin King. Did you know that he remodelled the entire Labyrinth for her? That he reordered time, just for her. But you know what happened before any of that?"
"No."
"My lowly born, Muggle mother was the only person to ever beat the Labyrinth."
More gasps followed. Most magical children were told stories of the Labyrinth at bedtimes and it was a fantastical, impossible place to them.
"So Draco, what do you say to that?"
"I..." he stopped.
"Do you remember what I said last time? Do you really want to meet my family, knowing what you do now?" her eyes gleamed again.
"No."
"Well then, you know what to do. Mention it again and you'll become personally acquainted with my great uncle Ugani, a fae so mean that he won't even allow himself a birthday card."
"Yes," he went to move away, but a thin hand grabbed him again.
"Apologise to Hermione," Orla said in a pleasant tone that masked her intent.
"Not on your life!" At that, Orla pushed him away and conjured a crystal. She then went to throw it at him.
"OK! OK! I'm very sorry Granger... Hermione. It was wrong and mean of me and I’m sorry," Draco said through gritted teeth.
"Better," Orla growled before sitting down. She then turned to Hermione and whispered.
"I'm glad that worked. All this crystal would do is shatter," she said, turning the sparkling orb in her hand.
***
There's also the story I started about the Holyhead Harpies circa 1969, which was indirectly inspired by A League of their Own. Sadly, the idea petered out in my head by page 4.
Harpy House, Holyhead, Wales. November 1969.
"Bloody HELL!"
The voice ripped through the quiet serenity of the house before being followed up with a pair of feet stomping down the stairs. Two pairs of eyes shared a knowing 'not this again' look before the cause of the commotion stormed into the living room.
"Something wrong, love?" asked the ever-patient Louise McGonagall. The cause of the commotion, also known as Rhiannon Wood, sighed.
"Somebody has used up all the hot water!" she said, glaring daggers at the ceiling. "And I'm meant to be going out in an hour."
"You're going out?" Guinevere Llewellyn joined the conversation. "Who with?"
Rhiannon sighed romantically, twisting her blonde hair in her fingers as she did.
"Stewart Rees," she replied, her eyes getting a glazed look as she said it.
"Well, you'd better be back by nine. You know what Sian's like with curfew on game nights."
Rhiannon now sighed unhappily.
"Louise..." she began in a syrupy tone. Louise raised her eyebrows. "I don't suppose you could cover for me?"
"No. Not again. No. Not ever again. No."
"Lou!"
"Not after the last time. I got fined as well, you know."
"Fine." Rhiannon jumped up and ran out of the room, leaving a somewhat bemused Louise and Guinevere in the wake of Hurricane Rhiannon.
***
Although it might seem a strange occurrence, such events were common at Harpy House. The Holyhead Harpies were the only all-witch Quidditch team in Europe and were also Wales' most successful team. The team shared a large house just outside Holyhead during the Quidditch season, and as a house full of women there were several common arguments. Using up all the hot water and breaking curfew were two of them.
The 1960s had seen something of a revolution in Quidditch. Previously, players had gone to their local teams, rarely transferring to far-away teams. But after the Montrose Magpies signed the Irish national star Darragh Malloy in 1962, the floodgates had opened. Four out of the seven first team players for the Harpies were from Wales, although Rhiannon Wood was from South Wales. One of the Chasers was a woman by the name of Joan Parkin, one of the renowned Wigtown Parkins who had moved to Holyhead after marrying a local man. She was the only player who didn't live in the house, but as her house was next door, it didn't make much difference. The Keeper was a pretty girl from Loch Lomond up in Scotland, while the Seeker was from London. The team thus spread to the four corners of Britain outside of the season and so three years previously the Captain Sian Ludlow had decided to set up Harpy House. It enabled her team to have somewhere to live during the season but also let them get to know each other. There are some things which encourage closeness, and as all women know, having your stockings hanging up to dry together is one of them.
***
Sian Ludlow was twenty seven years old. She'd joined the Harpies straight out of school and would be celebrating four years of captaincy at Christmas. She was the kind of girl described as 'fresh-faced', simply because she had better things to do than apply make-up. This was not to suggest she was particularly unfeminine, but a long time ago she'd set her priorities in order and Quidditch ranked higher than preening.
Sometimes, she had to wonder about her priority rankings. This was one of those times. Right now she wanted nothing more than to be snuggled up in her nice warm bed with her cuddly toy Snidget Brian, and sleep. Instead she was sitting in the decidedly draughty living room of Harpy House waiting for her rogue Chaser to return back. The clock read 11:23, which meant that Rhiannon was two hours and twenty three minutes late. It wasn't the first time and Sian sighed when she realised that it wasn't likely to be the last. As the clock turned to 11:24, she heard giggling outside, heralding Rhiannon's return. After about two more minutes the door creaked open and Rhiannon tiptoed in.
"Don't bother being quiet," Sian said in her sternest Captain voice. "I'm here."
"Oh. Hi Sian. How's life treating you?" she asked in a breezy tone that just served to irritate Sian even more.
"Well, I'd like to be in bed so that when we play the current League champions tomorrow, I don't fall asleep and fall off my broom. But one of my Chasers just keeps disregarding the rules..."
"I'm sorry Sian! But Stewart doesn't finish work until six and..."
"I don't care about your excuses," said Sian in a cold voice. "I'm tired and I want to go to bed. Just be assured that you'll be fined a week’s wages tomorrow and if you mess up tomorrow because you're tired, you'd better start looking to see if any teams need a new Chaser."
With that said, Sian stalked up the stairs.
***
Then, as if that's not enough, there's the adoption fic I started in an attempt to write the second decent adoption fic in the fandom (after Anne's LITTB)... Set in December 2023...
It took another day of searching through microfilm and other assorted records before she finally found anything relating to her birth mother's name. A record of birth, tucked in amongst countless others. The name in a long-ago registrar's neat handwriting:
Hermione Joanne Granger.
That name was the only thing Charlotte had ever known about her birth mother. In fact, the middle name was new information. One of the reasons Charlotte had thought it would be so easy was because of the name- neither Hermione nor Granger were particularly common. The monotony of the last few days' relentless searching through records melted away as she noted down Hermione Granger's birthday, her parents' names and everything else on the microfilm. Feeling a very real need to leave the library, she smiled to herself, put her notebook in her bag, cleared up the rubbish she’d collected up and bounced out of the library, knowing she had the really crucial information that had eluded her. Now, at least she had a hope of finding Hermione Granger.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialled a number.
"Want some lunch?" she asked when the person on the other end picked up. She listened for a moment. "Meet you there in five minutes."
***
As promised, five minutes later Charlotte was sat at a window table in Caffe Toscana, one of the many coffee-house/restaurant chains that had taken root in every town in Britain. She ordered the same food as she always did, sat at the same table as she always did when waiting for the same person.
But now she had a full name, a birthday and a place of birth for Hermione Granger and the world was ever so slightly different.
"Did you order for me?"
"Yup," Charlotte said, not needing to look up from her notebook to recognise her best friend's voice. Olivia Hammond sat down opposite Charlotte and fixed her with a rather steely look.
"Find anything yet?"
"Hermione Joanne Granger. Born 19th September 1980 right here in sunny, scrummy Swindon."
"Is that all? You've been searching for days!"
"Liv, without that small shred of information I couldn't even begin the easy searches. I called one of those register places and they said that the name wasn't enough."
"Even a weird name like Hermione?"
"Even a weird name like Hermione."
"Told your mum yet?"
"No. I only found it five minutes ago."
"And you dragged me out of work early? I'm touched."
"What do you mean early? You always get your lunch break at half twelve."
"I do. Which is why I had to ask permission to leave at half eleven."
Charlotte checked her watch. Half eleven. She could've sworn it had said 12.30... She was going insane after so long cooped up in front of the oldest microfilm reader in Britain.
"So, what now?" Olivia asked as the waiter plonked her hot chicken salad down in front of her.
"I'll give my information to the big national register and see what happens."
"Is it that easy?"
"Sometimes," Charlotte said, picking at her own food. "Sometimes it is."
***
And of course, no WIP Amnesty would be complete without including The Day Led Zeppelin Came to Hogwarts which started off as a good/crazy idea until I realised that I don't do Real Person Shipping at all.
"Sirius!" Suzie trilled brightly at breakfast on the morning of the ball. Sirius stabbed his spoon into his porridge and plastered a smile on his face.
"Hello."
"Did you know that Robert Plant was in Gryffindor?"
"Yes. I knew that yesterday when you told me, and two days ago when Clara told me. I knew last week when Lily told me. I even knew two months ago when Remus announced it at a breakfast exactly like this one. Now Suzie, tell me, do we still say 'good morning' or has 'did you know Robert Plant was in Gryffindor' replaced it as the morning salutation of choice?"
"You don't need to be so mean," she replied, lip quivering.
"Sirius Black just used the word salutation? What is the world coming to?"
Sirius looked up as another female voice joined the conversation. Sirius groaned as Lily Evans sat down opposite him.
"Sod off, Evans," he growled, noticing now that she was wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. Ordinarily, he would've taken this as a good opportunity to stare at one of the nicest chests in school (as voted for by the Marauders, 1st September 1975) but instead he growled at her.
"Someone got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning," she said with a grin, grabbing some toast and slathering butter all over it. Another stab at the porridge.
"I just don't see the fuss about Robert 'stupid long-haired git' Plant is all."
"You're just jealous that they’re taking all the attention away from you," Lily guessed.
"No. If all you birds are going to be this silly over some grinning baboons, I don't want to know."
"Grinning baboons?" Lily asked with a raised eyebrow. "You really are bitter that Dagmar turned you down."
"I am not," he said. Dagmar Turner was one of the prettiest sixth years and had rejected his offer of a date to the ball twice. He was most certainly not bitter, he decided. He poked his bowl with the spoon again.
"Did you know that they'll be eating dinner with their former houses?" Lily asked. Sirius looked up from his now-massacred porridge.
"Are you still here, Evans?" he asked. She rolled her eyes and picked up her toast.
"I should go. I’m getting my hair done especially."
"Just for James? You shouldn't have," he said with the express desire of winding her right up. It worked. She scowled at him.
"I hope you have a bloody horrible time tonight."
"If you're going, that’s already a given."
***
The Thestral-drawn carriages pulled up just after six o'clock and the school was already in uproar. Despite the order to stay in the Great Hall, most of the students had piled into the Entrance Hall to see the visitors arrive.
Jimmy Page was the first out of the carriage, looking entirely at home in a long, traditional wizard robe, even though it was far too large for his waifish frame. He walked quite hurriedly through the Entrance Hall and into the staff room.
John Bonham was next, in warm, practical Muggle clothes. He briefly shook hands with a few dazed girls before heading in the same direction as Jimmy.
John Paul Jones got out of the second carriage and shook a few hands, spoke politely to a few people before following the other two into the staff room.
Robert Plant was the last out, and despite the bitter Scottish December had not bothered putting a shirt with buttons on underneath his cloak. He tottered into the Entrance Hall and patiently waited while several Sixth year girls pawed at him. He then flashed them all a bright smile and disappeared into the Staff Room. As the door closed behind them, Margo Parkinson fainted again.
***
And FINALLY... the AU fic about Sirius not being banged up in nick and looking after Harry. This was to span many years- Harry & Sirius were to go into hiding in the muggle world for a bit where Harry met Hermione at primary school, they were to then go back to the wizard world for First Year, leave again in third, defeat Voldemort in fifth/sixth year and have Harry return in Seventh year. But this is Harry's first day of school, AU style:
At half past two, Sirius finished work. He usually worked longer, but today he wasn't going to risk being late for anything. He Apparated home to get a cloak for Harry- the weather had turned unexpectedly cold up in Hogsmeade. Then he headed back to the school with fifteen minutes to spare, although some other parents were already there, including a very beautiful blonde woman. Sirius tried not to snarl angrily at her, opting instead for unbridled sarcasm.
"Narcissa Malfoy." She turned around and didn't bother to disguise her look of disdain.
"Mr Black," she nodded curtly.
"I'm surprised that Lucius let his precious trainee Death Eater off the estate," Sirius said. She glared angrily.
"My son is not, nor will he ever be, a Death Eater," she said, her cool veneer about to crack. Then, as an afterthought, "And my husband was under Imperious."
"So he says," Sirius muttered. She went to reply, but was interrupted by the arrival of Molly Weasley. Clutching her arm was little Ginny.
"Hello Sirius, dear," she said warmly. Her expression turned icy. "Mrs Malfoy."
Narcissa didn't bother replying.
"Why are you waiting out in the cold?" she asked Sirius. "We can go inside you know."
"Oh. All right," he said, following Molly inside, where they waited outside the first year classroom. Through the window, Sirius could see Harry and Ron playing with another boy, a small, quite delicate looking blond boy. From Narcissa's look of horror, Sirius deduced that this must be young Master Malfoy.
"Don't they all look so sweet, getting along together?" Sirius said pointedly. They watched through the glass as the three boys interacted.
***
"Have you got the blue pencil?" Draco asked. The way Draco requested things often sounded more like a demand. Ron glared at him, but Harry stepped in.
"Not until you say please," he said quite gently. Draco sighed exaggeratedly.
"Please may I have the blue pencil?" Draco said in his most polite voice. Ron continued to glare, not wanting to give it to him.
"Ron," Harry said in a warning voice he'd learned from Molly. Ron sighed and handed Draco the now fabled pencil.
"Thank you," Draco managed to say without prompting. Harry grinned proudly. It had taken him since half past nine, when they were put into a group together, but at last, Ron and Draco were getting along. They'd never met before, but the two had, at first, seemed to rub each other up the wrong way. Harry only ever saw Ron act that way when Percy was about. But now, at ten to three, they were nearly friends. This gratified young Mr Potter, who knew from time spent at the Weasley house, that otherwise, Ron and Draco would've torn each other apart by now.
***
Soon enough, the bell rang and children poured out of the classrooms. Ron, Harry and Draco emerged from the first year class together before splitting off to their respective adults. Narcissa began yanking Draco out of the building.
"Bye Draco!" called Harry. Draco twisted in his mother's grip.
"Bye! See you tomorrow!" he shouted before he disappeared outside.
"Put your cloak on, Harry." said Sirius, handing him his bright red cloak.
"No," said Harry stubbornly. Sirius looked perplexed.
"Why not?"
"Because."
"Because what?"
"Draco didn't have to wear his. Or Ron."
"Yes, but they aren't going to have to walk through the village in the cold," Sirius fixed Harry with a firm look. "I was going to take you to Honeydukes. But if you're not going to put your cloak on..."
He'd barely finished speaking when Harry grabbed the cloak from him and shoved it over his little shoulders. He stood there for a moment.
"Well?" he asked impatiently. Sirius smirked.
"Do you want to go to Honeydukes, Harry?"
"Yes please!"
"Come on then," he said. He took Harry's hand and with a last wave to the Weasleys, together they walked out into the cold.
"Sirius is getting good at this," Molly mused from where they waited for Fred, George and Percy.
"I want sweeties, Mum!" Ron whined, which started Ginny off on the same track. Suddenly, Molly found herself cursing Sirius Black.
***
I shan't torture you with any more!
Orla slammed the door closed and threw herself roughly down onto her bed. Trying very hard not to cry she opened the little box with trembling fingers. Nestled inside was a sparkling crystal orb. The sob that had been forcing its way out of her throat all day won the fight and tears began running down her eyes.
The note accompanying the crystal merely said: If you turn it this way, it will show you your dreams.
It was not signed, but she already knew who had sent it. She picked up sthe crystal and turned it expertly in her hands, as if she had been handling magic crystals all her life. Which, she reminded herself with a slight groan, she had. She looked into and the blood drained from her face. What she saw inside broke her heart.
Her home had been entirely destroyed. The scene within the crystal shifted to show her the extent of the damage. Where a neatly constructed Labyrinth had once stood, with its complex maze of passages and dead-ends, oubliettes and forests, now only rubble remained. It had been entirely flattened to the extent that she could easily see the half-destroyed city beyond and a battered castle beyond that.
She managed to control her sobs and asked for the crystal to show her something else. The crystal showed her a vast battle of thousands, as if the entire Underground had taken up arms against each other. It was bloody and horrific to observe. Right in the heat of the battle, she saw something that stuck out amongst the mass of goblins.
He was tall, thin, and had the unmistakeable bearing of a king. His long blond hair hung limply around his face and was stained red with blood. His face was stony and he fought with callous precision. The battle was all there was in his mind at that moment. She watched, mortified for some moments, before she saw another fae approach him, sword held up. The blond, too concerned with the fate of several of his own goblin foot-soldiers, did not see the dark-haired fae approach, sword held high.
"I wish the goblins would take me away. Right now!" Orla shrieked in a panic.
The crystal went blank. Outside, the night became even darker, lit only very briefly by lightning twice. The second time the lightning flashed the windows of the dorm opened and an owl flew in. After a moment the owl transformed into a person. It was the man in the crystal. Instead of being covered in blood, he had managed to clean up and was wearing particularly intimidating looking black clothes, topped with a magnificent black cloak. His hair was now clean and neat. He did not look happy.
"What is going on here?" he demanded as he became aware of his surroundings. "Orla!" His eyes widened as he recognised the wish-maker.
"Hello Daddy," she said softly. The sneer on his face fell away to leave only concern etched into his features.
*
and a little later
They had no sooner sat down in the Potions dungeon when Malfoy pounced.
"You look well today Orla," he said smoothly.
"No I don't. I look like I was shot and poisoned yesterday and then slept badly. If you're going to lie, try harder," she snapped.
Malfoy actually looked rather hurt for a moment, but regained his composure with ease.
"You know, I don't see why you hang out with Mudblood here..." he was going to continue, but before he could, Orla seized him by the throat in fury.
"What did you call her?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"What? Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"It sounded to me like you called her a Mudblood."
"Did I? How remiss of me," Malfoy wheezed.
Orla released him ever so slightly and he gasped for air.
"Who do you suppose I am, Draco?" she asked smoothly, a dangerous glint in her eye.
"You're Princess Orla, daughter of the Goblin King."
"Yes. Tha'’s right. Do you suppose I'm very powerful?"
"I know you are. I heard Dumbledore and McGonagall talking yesterday."
"Really? So I must be pretty tough and cool, right Draco?" her smooth, cool tone made him shiver.
"Yes."
"And I'm a Princess?"
"Yes."
"And one day, when my father dies, I'll be the Protector of the entire Underground?"
"Yes?"
"And I'll be able to create or destroy cities there with a flick of the wrist?"
"Yes," he said. She paused for a moment and let go of him.
"Do you know who my mother was, Draco?"
"No," he said, taken aback by the swift change in questioning.
"She was called Sarah Williams and she was as Muggle as they come."
Several students gasped at this shocking announcement. Malfoy, for his part, didn't bother concealing his surprise.
"She was a Muggle, but she believed in magic. A Muggle was the only person to ever steal the heart of the cold, manipulative, cunning, wicked Goblin King. Did you know that he remodelled the entire Labyrinth for her? That he reordered time, just for her. But you know what happened before any of that?"
"No."
"My lowly born, Muggle mother was the only person to ever beat the Labyrinth."
More gasps followed. Most magical children were told stories of the Labyrinth at bedtimes and it was a fantastical, impossible place to them.
"So Draco, what do you say to that?"
"I..." he stopped.
"Do you remember what I said last time? Do you really want to meet my family, knowing what you do now?" her eyes gleamed again.
"No."
"Well then, you know what to do. Mention it again and you'll become personally acquainted with my great uncle Ugani, a fae so mean that he won't even allow himself a birthday card."
"Yes," he went to move away, but a thin hand grabbed him again.
"Apologise to Hermione," Orla said in a pleasant tone that masked her intent.
"Not on your life!" At that, Orla pushed him away and conjured a crystal. She then went to throw it at him.
"OK! OK! I'm very sorry Granger... Hermione. It was wrong and mean of me and I’m sorry," Draco said through gritted teeth.
"Better," Orla growled before sitting down. She then turned to Hermione and whispered.
"I'm glad that worked. All this crystal would do is shatter," she said, turning the sparkling orb in her hand.
***
There's also the story I started about the Holyhead Harpies circa 1969, which was indirectly inspired by A League of their Own. Sadly, the idea petered out in my head by page 4.
Harpy House, Holyhead, Wales. November 1969.
"Bloody HELL!"
The voice ripped through the quiet serenity of the house before being followed up with a pair of feet stomping down the stairs. Two pairs of eyes shared a knowing 'not this again' look before the cause of the commotion stormed into the living room.
"Something wrong, love?" asked the ever-patient Louise McGonagall. The cause of the commotion, also known as Rhiannon Wood, sighed.
"Somebody has used up all the hot water!" she said, glaring daggers at the ceiling. "And I'm meant to be going out in an hour."
"You're going out?" Guinevere Llewellyn joined the conversation. "Who with?"
Rhiannon sighed romantically, twisting her blonde hair in her fingers as she did.
"Stewart Rees," she replied, her eyes getting a glazed look as she said it.
"Well, you'd better be back by nine. You know what Sian's like with curfew on game nights."
Rhiannon now sighed unhappily.
"Louise..." she began in a syrupy tone. Louise raised her eyebrows. "I don't suppose you could cover for me?"
"No. Not again. No. Not ever again. No."
"Lou!"
"Not after the last time. I got fined as well, you know."
"Fine." Rhiannon jumped up and ran out of the room, leaving a somewhat bemused Louise and Guinevere in the wake of Hurricane Rhiannon.
***
Although it might seem a strange occurrence, such events were common at Harpy House. The Holyhead Harpies were the only all-witch Quidditch team in Europe and were also Wales' most successful team. The team shared a large house just outside Holyhead during the Quidditch season, and as a house full of women there were several common arguments. Using up all the hot water and breaking curfew were two of them.
The 1960s had seen something of a revolution in Quidditch. Previously, players had gone to their local teams, rarely transferring to far-away teams. But after the Montrose Magpies signed the Irish national star Darragh Malloy in 1962, the floodgates had opened. Four out of the seven first team players for the Harpies were from Wales, although Rhiannon Wood was from South Wales. One of the Chasers was a woman by the name of Joan Parkin, one of the renowned Wigtown Parkins who had moved to Holyhead after marrying a local man. She was the only player who didn't live in the house, but as her house was next door, it didn't make much difference. The Keeper was a pretty girl from Loch Lomond up in Scotland, while the Seeker was from London. The team thus spread to the four corners of Britain outside of the season and so three years previously the Captain Sian Ludlow had decided to set up Harpy House. It enabled her team to have somewhere to live during the season but also let them get to know each other. There are some things which encourage closeness, and as all women know, having your stockings hanging up to dry together is one of them.
***
Sian Ludlow was twenty seven years old. She'd joined the Harpies straight out of school and would be celebrating four years of captaincy at Christmas. She was the kind of girl described as 'fresh-faced', simply because she had better things to do than apply make-up. This was not to suggest she was particularly unfeminine, but a long time ago she'd set her priorities in order and Quidditch ranked higher than preening.
Sometimes, she had to wonder about her priority rankings. This was one of those times. Right now she wanted nothing more than to be snuggled up in her nice warm bed with her cuddly toy Snidget Brian, and sleep. Instead she was sitting in the decidedly draughty living room of Harpy House waiting for her rogue Chaser to return back. The clock read 11:23, which meant that Rhiannon was two hours and twenty three minutes late. It wasn't the first time and Sian sighed when she realised that it wasn't likely to be the last. As the clock turned to 11:24, she heard giggling outside, heralding Rhiannon's return. After about two more minutes the door creaked open and Rhiannon tiptoed in.
"Don't bother being quiet," Sian said in her sternest Captain voice. "I'm here."
"Oh. Hi Sian. How's life treating you?" she asked in a breezy tone that just served to irritate Sian even more.
"Well, I'd like to be in bed so that when we play the current League champions tomorrow, I don't fall asleep and fall off my broom. But one of my Chasers just keeps disregarding the rules..."
"I'm sorry Sian! But Stewart doesn't finish work until six and..."
"I don't care about your excuses," said Sian in a cold voice. "I'm tired and I want to go to bed. Just be assured that you'll be fined a week’s wages tomorrow and if you mess up tomorrow because you're tired, you'd better start looking to see if any teams need a new Chaser."
With that said, Sian stalked up the stairs.
***
Then, as if that's not enough, there's the adoption fic I started in an attempt to write the second decent adoption fic in the fandom (after Anne's LITTB)... Set in December 2023...
It took another day of searching through microfilm and other assorted records before she finally found anything relating to her birth mother's name. A record of birth, tucked in amongst countless others. The name in a long-ago registrar's neat handwriting:
Hermione Joanne Granger.
That name was the only thing Charlotte had ever known about her birth mother. In fact, the middle name was new information. One of the reasons Charlotte had thought it would be so easy was because of the name- neither Hermione nor Granger were particularly common. The monotony of the last few days' relentless searching through records melted away as she noted down Hermione Granger's birthday, her parents' names and everything else on the microfilm. Feeling a very real need to leave the library, she smiled to herself, put her notebook in her bag, cleared up the rubbish she’d collected up and bounced out of the library, knowing she had the really crucial information that had eluded her. Now, at least she had a hope of finding Hermione Granger.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialled a number.
"Want some lunch?" she asked when the person on the other end picked up. She listened for a moment. "Meet you there in five minutes."
***
As promised, five minutes later Charlotte was sat at a window table in Caffe Toscana, one of the many coffee-house/restaurant chains that had taken root in every town in Britain. She ordered the same food as she always did, sat at the same table as she always did when waiting for the same person.
But now she had a full name, a birthday and a place of birth for Hermione Granger and the world was ever so slightly different.
"Did you order for me?"
"Yup," Charlotte said, not needing to look up from her notebook to recognise her best friend's voice. Olivia Hammond sat down opposite Charlotte and fixed her with a rather steely look.
"Find anything yet?"
"Hermione Joanne Granger. Born 19th September 1980 right here in sunny, scrummy Swindon."
"Is that all? You've been searching for days!"
"Liv, without that small shred of information I couldn't even begin the easy searches. I called one of those register places and they said that the name wasn't enough."
"Even a weird name like Hermione?"
"Even a weird name like Hermione."
"Told your mum yet?"
"No. I only found it five minutes ago."
"And you dragged me out of work early? I'm touched."
"What do you mean early? You always get your lunch break at half twelve."
"I do. Which is why I had to ask permission to leave at half eleven."
Charlotte checked her watch. Half eleven. She could've sworn it had said 12.30... She was going insane after so long cooped up in front of the oldest microfilm reader in Britain.
"So, what now?" Olivia asked as the waiter plonked her hot chicken salad down in front of her.
"I'll give my information to the big national register and see what happens."
"Is it that easy?"
"Sometimes," Charlotte said, picking at her own food. "Sometimes it is."
***
And of course, no WIP Amnesty would be complete without including The Day Led Zeppelin Came to Hogwarts which started off as a good/crazy idea until I realised that I don't do Real Person Shipping at all.
"Sirius!" Suzie trilled brightly at breakfast on the morning of the ball. Sirius stabbed his spoon into his porridge and plastered a smile on his face.
"Hello."
"Did you know that Robert Plant was in Gryffindor?"
"Yes. I knew that yesterday when you told me, and two days ago when Clara told me. I knew last week when Lily told me. I even knew two months ago when Remus announced it at a breakfast exactly like this one. Now Suzie, tell me, do we still say 'good morning' or has 'did you know Robert Plant was in Gryffindor' replaced it as the morning salutation of choice?"
"You don't need to be so mean," she replied, lip quivering.
"Sirius Black just used the word salutation? What is the world coming to?"
Sirius looked up as another female voice joined the conversation. Sirius groaned as Lily Evans sat down opposite him.
"Sod off, Evans," he growled, noticing now that she was wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. Ordinarily, he would've taken this as a good opportunity to stare at one of the nicest chests in school (as voted for by the Marauders, 1st September 1975) but instead he growled at her.
"Someone got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning," she said with a grin, grabbing some toast and slathering butter all over it. Another stab at the porridge.
"I just don't see the fuss about Robert 'stupid long-haired git' Plant is all."
"You're just jealous that they’re taking all the attention away from you," Lily guessed.
"No. If all you birds are going to be this silly over some grinning baboons, I don't want to know."
"Grinning baboons?" Lily asked with a raised eyebrow. "You really are bitter that Dagmar turned you down."
"I am not," he said. Dagmar Turner was one of the prettiest sixth years and had rejected his offer of a date to the ball twice. He was most certainly not bitter, he decided. He poked his bowl with the spoon again.
"Did you know that they'll be eating dinner with their former houses?" Lily asked. Sirius looked up from his now-massacred porridge.
"Are you still here, Evans?" he asked. She rolled her eyes and picked up her toast.
"I should go. I’m getting my hair done especially."
"Just for James? You shouldn't have," he said with the express desire of winding her right up. It worked. She scowled at him.
"I hope you have a bloody horrible time tonight."
"If you're going, that’s already a given."
***
The Thestral-drawn carriages pulled up just after six o'clock and the school was already in uproar. Despite the order to stay in the Great Hall, most of the students had piled into the Entrance Hall to see the visitors arrive.
Jimmy Page was the first out of the carriage, looking entirely at home in a long, traditional wizard robe, even though it was far too large for his waifish frame. He walked quite hurriedly through the Entrance Hall and into the staff room.
John Bonham was next, in warm, practical Muggle clothes. He briefly shook hands with a few dazed girls before heading in the same direction as Jimmy.
John Paul Jones got out of the second carriage and shook a few hands, spoke politely to a few people before following the other two into the staff room.
Robert Plant was the last out, and despite the bitter Scottish December had not bothered putting a shirt with buttons on underneath his cloak. He tottered into the Entrance Hall and patiently waited while several Sixth year girls pawed at him. He then flashed them all a bright smile and disappeared into the Staff Room. As the door closed behind them, Margo Parkinson fainted again.
***
And FINALLY... the AU fic about Sirius not being banged up in nick and looking after Harry. This was to span many years- Harry & Sirius were to go into hiding in the muggle world for a bit where Harry met Hermione at primary school, they were to then go back to the wizard world for First Year, leave again in third, defeat Voldemort in fifth/sixth year and have Harry return in Seventh year. But this is Harry's first day of school, AU style:
At half past two, Sirius finished work. He usually worked longer, but today he wasn't going to risk being late for anything. He Apparated home to get a cloak for Harry- the weather had turned unexpectedly cold up in Hogsmeade. Then he headed back to the school with fifteen minutes to spare, although some other parents were already there, including a very beautiful blonde woman. Sirius tried not to snarl angrily at her, opting instead for unbridled sarcasm.
"Narcissa Malfoy." She turned around and didn't bother to disguise her look of disdain.
"Mr Black," she nodded curtly.
"I'm surprised that Lucius let his precious trainee Death Eater off the estate," Sirius said. She glared angrily.
"My son is not, nor will he ever be, a Death Eater," she said, her cool veneer about to crack. Then, as an afterthought, "And my husband was under Imperious."
"So he says," Sirius muttered. She went to reply, but was interrupted by the arrival of Molly Weasley. Clutching her arm was little Ginny.
"Hello Sirius, dear," she said warmly. Her expression turned icy. "Mrs Malfoy."
Narcissa didn't bother replying.
"Why are you waiting out in the cold?" she asked Sirius. "We can go inside you know."
"Oh. All right," he said, following Molly inside, where they waited outside the first year classroom. Through the window, Sirius could see Harry and Ron playing with another boy, a small, quite delicate looking blond boy. From Narcissa's look of horror, Sirius deduced that this must be young Master Malfoy.
"Don't they all look so sweet, getting along together?" Sirius said pointedly. They watched through the glass as the three boys interacted.
***
"Have you got the blue pencil?" Draco asked. The way Draco requested things often sounded more like a demand. Ron glared at him, but Harry stepped in.
"Not until you say please," he said quite gently. Draco sighed exaggeratedly.
"Please may I have the blue pencil?" Draco said in his most polite voice. Ron continued to glare, not wanting to give it to him.
"Ron," Harry said in a warning voice he'd learned from Molly. Ron sighed and handed Draco the now fabled pencil.
"Thank you," Draco managed to say without prompting. Harry grinned proudly. It had taken him since half past nine, when they were put into a group together, but at last, Ron and Draco were getting along. They'd never met before, but the two had, at first, seemed to rub each other up the wrong way. Harry only ever saw Ron act that way when Percy was about. But now, at ten to three, they were nearly friends. This gratified young Mr Potter, who knew from time spent at the Weasley house, that otherwise, Ron and Draco would've torn each other apart by now.
***
Soon enough, the bell rang and children poured out of the classrooms. Ron, Harry and Draco emerged from the first year class together before splitting off to their respective adults. Narcissa began yanking Draco out of the building.
"Bye Draco!" called Harry. Draco twisted in his mother's grip.
"Bye! See you tomorrow!" he shouted before he disappeared outside.
"Put your cloak on, Harry." said Sirius, handing him his bright red cloak.
"No," said Harry stubbornly. Sirius looked perplexed.
"Why not?"
"Because."
"Because what?"
"Draco didn't have to wear his. Or Ron."
"Yes, but they aren't going to have to walk through the village in the cold," Sirius fixed Harry with a firm look. "I was going to take you to Honeydukes. But if you're not going to put your cloak on..."
He'd barely finished speaking when Harry grabbed the cloak from him and shoved it over his little shoulders. He stood there for a moment.
"Well?" he asked impatiently. Sirius smirked.
"Do you want to go to Honeydukes, Harry?"
"Yes please!"
"Come on then," he said. He took Harry's hand and with a last wave to the Weasleys, together they walked out into the cold.
"Sirius is getting good at this," Molly mused from where they waited for Fred, George and Percy.
"I want sweeties, Mum!" Ron whined, which started Ginny off on the same track. Suddenly, Molly found herself cursing Sirius Black.
***
I shan't torture you with any more!