Asleep in the deep

Sat, 11 Nov 2006 12:13:19 GMT

Stole this one from Chris. Hmm... Wonder if I get more than 85 out of... something with hundred. Anyway, if I do, I have no life. But truth be told, my dad just got like 1 000 DVDs, even though I haven't seen everything [yet]. And he's got a plasma screen, very big, but a shit screen to watch Goblet of Fire. It adjusts the colors so everything is quite fucked up. Not that the movie is good or anything. Djees, where did they picked up those screenplay writers, a dumphole? And honestly, ever heard of acting? Anyway, let's start this list.

() Rocky Horror Picture Show
(x) Grease
(x) Pirates of the Caribbean
() Boondock Saints
(x) Fight Club
() Starsky and Hutch
(x) Neverending Story
() Blazing Saddles
() Airplane
(x) Braveheart

(x) The Princess Bride
() AnchorMan: The Legend of Ron Burgandy
() Napoleon Dynamite
() Labyrinth
() Saw
() Saw II
() White Noise
() White Oleander
() Anger Management
() 50 First Dates
(x) The Princess Diaries
(x) The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement

(x) Scream
(x) Scream 2
(x) Scream 3
(x) Scary Movie
(x) Scary Movie 2
(x) Scary Movie 3
(x) Scary Movie 4
(x) American Pie
(x) American Pie 2
() American Wedding
() American Pie Band Camp

(x) Harry Potter 1
(x) Harry Potter 2
() Harry Potter 3
(x) Harry Potter 4
() Resident Evil
() Resident Evil 2
() The Wedding Singer
() Little Black Book
() The Village
() Lilo & Stitch
(x) Finding Nemo
(x) Finding Neverland
(x) Signs
() The Grinch
() Texas Chainsaw Massacre
() White Chicks
() Butterfly Effect
() 13 Going on 30
(x) I, Robot
(x) Roots

() Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story
() Universal Soldier
(x) Lemony Snicket: A Series Of Unfortunate Events
(x) Along Came Polly
() Deep Impact
() KingPin
() Never Been Kissed
(x) Meet The Parents
(x) Meet the Fockers
() Eight Crazy Nights
() Joe Dirt
() King Kong

() A Cinderella Story
(x) The Terminal
(x) The Lizzie McGuire Movie
() Passport to Paris
(x) Dumb & Dumber
() Dumber & Dumberer
() Final Destination
() Final Destination 2
() Final Destination 3
() Halloween
() The Ring
() The Ring 2
() Surviving X-MAS
(x) Flubber

() Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle
() Practical Magic
() Chicago
() Ghost Ship
() From Hell
() Hellboy
() Secret Window
() I Am Sam
() The Whole Nine Yards

() The Day After Tomorrow
() Child's Play
() Child's Play 2
() Bride of Chucky
() Seed of Chucky
() Ten Things I Hate About You
() Just Married
() Gothika
() Nightmare on Elm Street
() Sixteen Candles
(x) Remember the Titans
() Coach Carter
() The Grudge
(x) The Mask
() Son Of The Mask

(x) Bad Boys 2
() Joy Ride
() Lucky Number Sleven
(x) Ocean's Eleven
(x) Ocean's Twelve
() Identity
() Lone Star
() Bedazzled
() Predator
() Predator II
() The Fog (Original)
(x) Ice Age
() Ice Age 2: The Meltdown
() Curious George

(x) Independence Day
() Cujo
(x) A Bronx Tale
() Darkness Falls
() Christine
(x) ET
() Children of the Corn
() My Boss's Daughter
() Maid in Manhattan
() Frailty
() War of the Worlds
() Rush Hour
() Rush Hour 2

(x) My Best Friend's Wedding
(x) How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days
() She's All That
(x) Calendar Girls
(x) Sideways
() Mars Attacks
() Event Horizon
() Ever After
(x) Wizard of Oz
(x) Forrest Gump
() Big Trouble in Little China
(x) The Terminator
(x) The Terminator 2
(x) The Terminator 3

(x) X-Men
(x) X2
() X-Men 3
(x) Spider-Man
() Spider-Man 2
() Sky High
() Jeepers Creepers
() Jeepers Creepers 2
(x) Catch Me If You Can
(x) The Others
() Freaky Friday
() Reign of fire
(x) The Skulls
(x) Cruel Intentions
() Cruel Intentions 2
() The Hot Chick
(x) Shrek
(x) Shrek 2

() Swimfan
() Miracle
() Old School
() The Notebook
() K-Pax
() Krippendorf's Tribe
() A Walk to Remember
() Ice Castles
() Boogeyman
() The 40-year-old-virgin

Oh, that's fine I guess, 62. But what kind of stupid list is that? I should be glad the bloke who made this wasn't French, otherwise I would most certainly have no life. And I think I should be glad that he didn't include Star Wars or Indiana Jones. You know, this is a guess, but couldn't it be that the bloke who made this list just thought of movies he'd seen and thought "well, heck, if anybody saw half of the movies I've seen, they have no life". Which of course is bullshit :-) Where are the real classics, the major blockbusters, instead of all those shitty dumb American comedies. Agreed though, anybody who found genuine pleasure in seeing a movie like "The 40 year old virgin" is pathetic. The title of the flick says enough, doesn't it?

Oh yeah, Chris, if you happen to read this, I'm gonna drop an anvilsized hint and say that I really liked reading I Want Out. (Any chance you'll be writing a sixth chapter?)

Mon, 16 Oct 2006 15:48:46 GMT

I should clean this journal really and make it look neat. Then I'd be posting more; I'm sure of it. Of course, once our wireless network'll be up, I'll be spending more time online, so naturally I'll have a greater need to post on this bloody thing instead of thinking and thinking and smoking a cigarette at night so I can think more during the stillness of the night.

I might even have something interesting to say from time to time. Ha, wouldn't that be a miracle? :P

Something

Tue, 26 Sep 2006 14:53:12 GMT

So... do this, yes? Fill it in and leave it as a comment on my journal, then copy and paste it on your own journal.

1.Your Middle Name:
2. Age:
3. Single or Taken:
4. Favorite Movie:
5. Favorite Song:
6. Favorite Band/Artist:
7. Dirty or Clean:
8. Tattoos and/or Piercings:

Here comes the fun:

1. Do we know each other outside of LJ?
2. Whats your philosophy on life?
3. Would you have my back in a fight?
4. Would you keep a secret from me if you thought it was in my best interest?
5. What is your favorite memory of us?
6. Would you give me a kidney?
7. Tell me one odd/interesting fact about you:
8. Would you take care of me when I'm sick?
9. Can we get together and make a cake?
10. Have you heard any rumors of me lately?
11. Do you/have you talk(ed) crap about me?
12. Do you think I'm a good person?
13. Would you drive across country with me?
14. Do you think I'm attractive?
15. If you could change anything about me, would you?
16. What do you wear to sleep?
17. Would you come over for no reason just to hang out?
18. Would you go on a date with me if i asked you?
19. If I only had one day to live, what would we do together?
20. Will you repost this so i can fill it out for you?

Tue, 29 Aug 2006 21:28:16 GMT

According to some quizthing, I'll be chased by Cleopatra 'cause she wants my soul. My sister's name is Cleo... Au secours? Oh well, always knew I'd end up like a vegatable human anyway. And she did express her hatred of me a few hours ago :P

My pizza's almost done *smiles* Want a piece?

Great, I wanted this post to be very deep and such, and well, I don't really have something to say. I am thinking of an insight of life. Been working on a comparison with a house, but it'd just be one long rant and I'm not sure people will ever bother to read it. It's a spiritual approach on electricity, houses, cities and more where that comes from. If anybody shows any interest, I wouldn't mind writing it down though.

And, urgh, never thought I'd say this, but it's time I speak to my English teacher again. I want to show off :P

Tue, 08 Aug 2006 11:08:30 GMT

UserName: Konrad
Story: Hogwarts Blues
Genre: AU, Humor
Ships: Neville/Luna; Harry/Ginny; Hermione/Ernie McMillan; Ron/Romilda Vane
Rating and Warnings: Book 6 Disregarded, Alternate Universe
Story summary: There are a lot of differences in the magical world, but one of the greatest is that of people who can perform high definition magic by means of music and those who can't. In this fic you'll follow Neville in his sixth year as he becomes a professional blues artist. Starring Lightnin' Albus, Ginny on the drums, The Artist Formerly Known As Riddle and the famous ex-boysband "The Death Eaters".

First chapter - That Ain't It

Mr. Longbottom,

I am glad to say that you have earned 5 O.W.L.’s. Your results are as followed:
- Singing: E
- Piano: D
- Lyrics: A
- History: E
- Harmonica: O
- Guitar: E
- Saxophone: T
- Trumpet: P

Congratulations on behalf of the Ministry,

Brownie McGhee

Neville looked up at his grandmother and started laughing. All those years finally paid off, he could specialize himself from this day on. It hadn’t been easy to go to Hogwarts, it sure wasn’t. B.B. King himself had been a pupil of Lightnin’ Albus, or Headmaster Dumbledore for the regular pupil. Perhaps if Dumbledore had given class himself, he might’ve done better during the piano examination. Neville handed the letter to his grandmother, who read it carefully and even double-checked whether Brownie McGhee hadn’t made a mistake. She was sure he must’ve made any mistake, for her grandson had never shown any talent, at least not the talent his parents had.

“That’s great, Neville,” she said. “You know what? I’ll buy you a new harmonica, because the one you’ve got really is getting old.”

“That’d be great, grandmother, but it’s not necessary, though, the old one’s got a good vibe.”

“Well, one day you had to have a new one anyhow.”

“All right.”

It was true; dreams could come true. Ever since he was a kid and visited his parents in St. Mungo’s, he had promised himself that he’d become a famous blues artist. In fact it was his mother who made him promise, but a given word…

Neville was packing for Hogwarts School of Wizarding Music. From all of the country, young kids with the ability to perform magic by means of music were sent to the exquisite boarding school. Whereas the allied Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry accepted all magical kids, the School of Wizarding Music accepted only those with potential. That’s why it had always been a surprise that Neville got in. Of all the people, he showed least potential. He even said so himself: “I’m practically a Squib.”

He liked most classes, except piano, because a horrible man who went by the name Severus Snape gave that class. The man might’ve had one of the best instincts alive; he had also been a member of Voldemort and the Death Eaters, a scandalous pop group who dominated the hit list for years.

On the train to Hogwarts, Neville met his friends Harry, Ron and Hermione. Ron and Hermione couldn’t stay, though, they had to check whether there wasn’t any illegal copying of music going on in the train. Luna Lovegood joined them a while later with Ginny Weasley, Ron’s sister. Neville had to agree Luna’s voice rocked socks. Soon enough, the four of them started jamming. As he wanted to impress Luna, Neville took his new harmonica and let out a sweet melody even Bob Dylan had to be jealous of.

Harry, keen to impress Ginny, took his guitar and riffled some melody, which he was sure was one of the best he had ever made up. One of the main advantages of wizarding music was that big instruments could be made small, without the sound having to suffer. Even better was that a good drummer could control his instrument by wand usage, which was exactly what Ginny did.

A female voice joined in and soon enough they had the coolest compartment on the whole train. People started dancing outside, or a flute player occasionally joined in, expanding the blues base of the jamming to another level of experience.

Arriving at the castle, the four of them stopped and hid their instruments. Covered in sweat, they changed clothes and went to the Great Hall. The Feast hadn’t begun yet, but Lightnin’ Albus was ready to speak.

“Dear students, I am glad you’ve all made it safe and well, even after last year’s dramatic end. I fear I have to begin this school year by warning that the notorious band Voldemort and the Death Eaters is back and is no longer a strict boys band. The evil man behind the whole operation, Voldemort himself, will strike the hit list soon, if he hasn’t made it up there already. Hereby I would like to announce that every single or album by him and his cronies is forbidden! Now that that’s been said, the Sorting may commence!”

Neville saw Draco Malfoy, a known fan of the group, whispering something to his girlfriend, Pansy Parkinson, who still hoped to be a member of the Wizarding Music School. Neville guessed it must’ve been a disapproving comment on Dumbledore. Draco had never liked the concept of blues and jazz; according to him it was nothing but music for Mudbloods and Squibs. Neville knew better; Draco was jealous of every boy and girl who had the gift of musical magic.

In the magical world there was a lot of diversity, as there was in the Muggle world, but one of the most radical differences in the magical world was the distinction between wizards and witches who had the knack of reaching a higher level of magic by means of music and those who hadn’t. Sometimes an ordinary wizard could feel as jealous about his incapability as a Squib would feel about ordinary wizards. The feeling, which had spread among the magical community throughout the centuries, made an excellent breeding ground for evening courses as Wizamus, How to achieve high definition magic or Blue Eyes Courses.

When the evening had passed and Trelawney had done a wonderful performance of her hit 'Drunk', the four Houses retreated to their common rooms to catch up and even play a few folk tunes. Oliver Knight, a first year, had observed Seamus, a fiddler by heart, all night long until the point Seamus got irritated and asked where Oliver was looking at.

“I’m looking at your violin. My dad plays the violin as well and he sometimes lets me play as well. He can’t do magic with it, though, he’s Muggle-born. Can I try it?”

Seamus shrugged and gave him the violin. A few moments later he’d regret to ever give it to him, the boy obviously had the talent of a teacup. Oliver, however, didn’t notice a thing and continued fiddling. Neville preferred the stillness of the dormitory and left.

“That sure ain’t it,” he said to himself.

Second chapter - Breakfast

Neville woke early in the morning. His first day at school was about to begin and he couldn't really say he wasn't nervous. He had made it to his sixth year, from now on he would specialise himself in the blues. His parents had been famous blues artists as well, who had tried to outclass Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Unfortunately, a few members of the band made an awful song, which made his parents lose their talent. That wasn't going to happen, Neville said to himself. The gig he had played at the end of last year had been the first step towards the final split of The Death Eaters, a bunch of "professional" performers, who prostituted themselves and their magic for the most terrible pop artist ever: Voldemort. Or, as people called him these days, The Artist Formerly Known As Riddle. They say he even tried to sue The Riddler, a famous crook from the comic books.

Neville wondered whether he was the only one in the dormitory who was awake. He glimpsed at Dean's and Seamus' beds, but saw they were asleep as if they had run a marathon the previous night. Loud snores indicated that Ron was wandering through a dream as well. The only person who did give a signal of activity was Harry Potter, though Neville preferred to use his nickname, Guitar Potter. Harry had been named like that after the gig in the Ministry of Magic. His guitar work had rocked Voldemort's socks off. Guitar Potter even had prevented Voldemort from stealing all of their instruments. Of course, the true save of the day was the guest appearance of Lightnin' Albus. He had performed a wonderful version of Red Phoenix Blues, his masterpiece.

"Hi, Neville," Guitar whispered.

"Morning, Guitar. How are you doing?" Neville asked.

"A tad nervous, really. I don't know who's gonna give me guitar lessons this year, and I need to learn more," Guitar confessed

"Well, I hope he'll be good then. What genre are you taking?"

"Folk. According to a very old legend of the Rolling Stones folk is the only way to defeat the dark reign of pop. What are you taking?" Guitar wanted to know.

"Blues. It's an old promise I made," Neville said.

"Did you buy your uniform then?" Guitar informed.

"Yeah, it's grand. It's a black smoking with a tie and a black hat. My grandmother wasn't fond of the price, though," Neville spoke.

"You're making me jealous, you know that? Of course, the blues really ain't my thing. In fact, what I really would like to do is something hard and heavy, like Ron's doing. Did you know Lightnin' Albus made a hard-rock song once?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"I'm bloody serious, Neville. In fact, he used to be a member of The Mighty Houserockers and the song was a tribute to his days as a motor rider."

They continued talking for a while. Sometimes it was hard for Neville to speak quietly. When the others awoke, the atmosphere their conversation bathed in, disappeared. They got dressed, which took a while, because some of their costumes really were odd. Seamus, who had chosen rock, even though he was a natural fiddler, had to wear something in between motor clothing and latex clothing. Neville wanted to comment that he almost looked like Lockhart, the Hell's Angel who taught Rhythm & Blues in their second year and claimed to be the son of Marvin Gaye. Dean, however, looked a bit weirder. He had chosen jazz since he was such a wonderful saxophone player, but had misread the dress code and thought he had to have a black skin, thus he had bewitched himself. One minor side effect of the curse he had used was that there wasn't a counter-curse.

At breakfast it became clear that there weren't a lot of people who had chosen blues. In fact, the only people he saw with the right dress code beside himself were two Slytherin girls he had never seen in his entire life, which wasn't of course a guarantee for newcomers. Neville had never cared to analyse the Slytherin House, because they weren't that friendly at him. Especially not those he had met in person. Another bloke wore the uniform as well; he sat at the Ravenclaw table.

Neville didn't watch further, he had noticed a new face at the teachers' table. It was Bob Dylan!

"You're lucky, Guitar, I'm betting your new teacher's Bob Dylan," Neville said to Harry.

"You're wrong, Neville. Bob Dylan's the new harmonica teacher. You see that empty spot where Flitwick used to sit?" Hermione said. Even though Neville regretted Flitwick was gone, he sure was happy to have the Bob Dylan as his teacher.

"Yes, Hermione, I can see that bloke. Who's he?" Neville asked.

"Well, that bloke is Frank Zappa. You know, the famous guitar player," Hermione answered.

"But he's no folk musician!" Guitar exclaimed.

***

When everybody had eaten, McGonagall came around to give everybody his or her time schedule.

“Right, Neville Longbottom. You signed up for blues, didn’t you?” McGonagall said.

“Yes, Professor. I hope that isn’t a problem?” Neville asked.

“Of course not, but be warned about that new Professor. He’s a bit odd,” McGonagall finished, and turned to Guitar Potter. Neville vaguely heard something about the switch Snape had made. Apparently he was going to give “Lyrics” to the people who followed N.E.W.T. folk lessons, but Neville was occupied by something else. Draco Malfoy was trying to sing, and it looked like he was succeeding. Since when could Malfoy sing? Neville remembered something from his first year.

***

Neville had come to King’s Cross with his grandmother, who muttered something about the useless effort of sending him to Hogwarts. Neville had gratefully said goodbye to her and entered the train. In search for a compartment, he had encountered a pale blond boy. Since Neville didn’t have anybody else to sit with, he agreed.

After a while, however, Draco made a peculiar comment.

“Can you sing?” he asked.

“I’ve never sung before…” Neville had to confess, and honestly, he didn’t feel like beginning to sing. He was shy enough as he was.

“I can,” Draco said.

For a minute, Neville looked as if he wanted to run out of the compartment, but realised he would be more likely to crash against the door than anything else.

“I will be in the School of Wizardry Music,” Draco continued, “because I can sing very well. My father said so, and my father knows such things. He’s in the Board of Governors. I’ll sing a song for you, if you don’t mind.”

Before Neville could reject, however, Draco Malfoy started to sing. It was a terrible song and sounded as if a cat was trying to sing one of the hits of The Monkey Quartet. This time, Neville did go out of the compartment. But he had to come back later, because he had forgotten his trunk. After this event, it wasn’t a surprise to Neville when Draco wasn’t placed in the School of Wizardry Music.

Third chapter - Good Vibrations

"You know, kids," Robert Zimmerman said. He had specifically requested everybody would call him Robert Zimmerman, since that was his real name. Bob Dylan, he had said, is my stage name.

"What must we know, Professor?" Neville asked.

"Blowing through a harmonica is like blowing in the wind," Zimmerman said, ignoring Neville's interruption. "I'll even tell you more. You've got to let your soul go down in the flood your breathing causes."

This really was Bob Dyl— Robert Zimmerman. He knew what it was like to perform musical magic. There were not a lot of roads a man could walk upon to oppose the Dark Arts. It was a very thin boundary between good and bad music. Sometimes you would be on the other side without knowing so. Everybody crossed the line once in his or her life, inevitably. However, the minute they noticed, they were leading the charts and had punished themselves. Zimmerman had known a lot of success with all his performances against the Dark Arts, but he backed out when too much people started listening to his music. He performed badly afterwards, but never got as popular as he had been.

"I'm warning you, the times they are a-changing," Zimmerman said. "Now, let's hear what your talents are."

As the class was not that big, everybody could blow a mind-blowing solo within the hour.

"I'm glad your talents are already this advanced, but they need a lot of training if you ever want to fight pop music. And, kids? Remember: don't think twice, it's all right!"

Having said this, Zimmerman left the classroom, leaving Neville, Tracy Davis and Daphne Greengrass, the two Slytherin girls Neville had never seen, and Kevin Entwhistle, the Ravenclaw bloke he didn't know as well, behind. Neville was glad to be in the same class with them, actually. Besides being strangers, they shared his passion, which was what nobody ever had done.

***

"Guitar?" Neville nervously said. He had been thinking about this for ages, and had finally decided he should do it.

"Yeah, Neville?" Guitar asked.

"Can you play Dylan's ‘I'll Be Your Baby Tonight’?" Neville asked.

"Erm... I guess so, why are you asking that?" Guitar wondered what Neville was planning to do with the song. As long as he didn't need to sing, everything was going to be fine for him.

"The thing is, I would, erm, I would love to, like, you know, play it, if you know what I mean?"

"To whom would you like to play this song then?" Guitar questioned, but he had a fair good idea to whom Neville wanted to sing it.

"Nightin-" Neville answered, but was interrupted by Guitar.

"-gale Luna," Harry finished. "Of course I'll want to play it. But we'll need some practice; do you have a free period this afternoon?"

"Sure!" Neville exclaimed. Ever since the gig at the Department of Mysteries, he had tried to persuade her into a walk along the lake, or, even better, a private duet. Would his dreams finally come true?

***

"So how was your first lesson with Frank Zappa?" Neville asked.

"I haven't got it yet, but I'm really looking forward to it," Harry answered. "You know, they say he's supposed to be dead for a couple of years now. But he didn't seem a ghost to me; do you think he's a ghost?"

"Aren't ghosts supposed to be transparent? I'd rather say he's in hiding," Neville suggested. "I mean, with the rise of pop music and all, who wouldn't?"

"Well, I'd name a few, but that would be too easy, I guess," Harry said.

"Do you mean Malfoy?" Neville asked.

"No, Pansy Parkinson." Harry responded.

"What did she try to do?"

"She wanted me to give her," Harry coughed, "private lessons."

"She surely didn't?" Neville exclaimed.

"She surely did, Neville," Ron said from the open door. Well, Papa Ron was his current nickname. He had many nicknames, though, but none really remained after a couple of months.

"Ron!" Harry shouted. He signalled Ron to come further and close the door behind him. "How's work coming with your song, Ron?"

"Difficult, to tell you the truth. It's never been so complicated to do it," Ron said. "I mean, I've worked all summer long on a song which I expected to be solo, but I've been thinking about getting a band lately."

"What are you working on?" Neville asked.

"It's a song called ‘She Loves Me Not’. As I've said, it needs more musicians. An awful lot more musicians," Ron answered.

They discussed the groundbreaking ways of solo-hard-rock, a new musical genre, for a while, but abandoned it when it became clear it was practically impossible. The rehearsal for “I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight” continued nonetheless. In the end, Neville tried to imagine Ron was Luna, which, of course, led to hilarious moments. It was quite difficult to even imagine such a thing, because Ron had red hair, a slight contrast with Luna's dirty bold hair.

***

"I need a place to perform a love song; I need a place to perform a love song; I need a place to perform a love song," both Neville and Guitar thought. In order for them not to draw extraordinary attention to Neville, Guitar had asked Ginny to come as well, while Ron invited Romilda Vane. They had invited Hermione and her boyfriend McMillan as well, but both of them said they preferred the outdoors that evening. Guitar knew, of course, that neither Ron nor Hermione wanted to see each other.

***

Neville started to blow on his harmonica, while Guitar easily began playing on his guitar. When the melody had gone far enough, Neville looked into Luna's eyes.

"Close your eyes, close the door
You don't have to worry any more
Cause I'll be your baby tonight."

Luna's dreamy gaze slowly began to evaporate. This song was dedicated to her!

"Shut the lights and shut the shade
You don't have to be afraid
'Cause I'll be your baby tonight."

Guitar Potter looked at Ginny and played the song more intense than he had done during the rehearsals.

When Neville had stopped singing, he knew it had worked, but Guitar gave signal he wanted to do one more song.

"What one do you want to do?" Neville asked.

"‘Good Vibrations’, that one song by the Beach Boys," Guitar said.

Ron understood what Harry wanted to pull off, so he joined the two boys in performing. As soon as the music started playing, Neville sung again.

"I, I love the colourful clothes she wears
And the way the sunlight plays upon her hair
I hear the sound of a gentle word
On the wind that lifts her perfume through the air."

This time, none of them cared who heard what. The door seemed to be opened during one of the songs, and soon the room was filled with students who wanted to investigate the sound that had magically spread itself over the castle. Apparently, the three boys' emotions were in perfect shape for the night. They continued for a while after the second song, eventually being helped by their lassies. Neville had even sung a duet with Luna.

The Dragon's Eye

Fri, 28 Jul 2006 19:26:08 GMT

UserName Konrad
Story The Dragon's Eye
Genre Marauder Era
Rating 3th - 5th Years
Ships None
Rating and Warnings Character Death
Word Count 698
Reason Writing Relay Drabble
Summary: Orion Black thinks a bit about his life, but gets interrupted by a crying Walburga. Walburga never cries...

Orion Black always had a dislike for Muggles and Mudbloods. He couldn’t help but feeling repulsed at the idea that people outside the great wizard families. That he had to marry Walburga Black, a member of his family after all, wasn’t that bad. She had been beautiful when she was young. Alas, beauty rarely lasted a lifetime, so it wasn’t a surprise that Walburga and Orion lived more separately.

Orion grew bitter inside the chamber Walburga used to sleep in as well. If she could just one time… He shook his head. That wasn’t going to happen, he thought. It hadn’t been since Regulus went to Hogwarts that they slept together. The only exception had been during the holidays, when their children were home.

“A first impression is everything,” Walburga always said. Even if the first impression already had begun years before. Orion sighed.

The door blasted open; it was Walburga. She was crying. Walburga never cried. At least that was what Orion thought. Perhaps in her sleep, at night, but it was noon.

“He, he, he’s dead,” Walburga wept. Orion didn’t have to guess who was dead. There were few people both of them cared about them, their youngest son being to most important one. They were so proud when he made it into Voldemort’s legions, the greatest wizard of all. But Walburga wept. She wouldn’t cry if he had been dead in action, she would be proud.

“How did he die?” Orion whispered.

“Murdered!” Walburga exclaimed.

“Murdered?” He repeated.

“On Voldemort’s orders!”

“What?” Orion shouted. He stood up, stumbled a bit while heading for the door and left the room. Left the house. Walburga had to deal with her feelings herself. He had to know why.

The Dragon’s Eye, a prosperous pub in Knockturn Alley, was the unofficial meeting point of all Voldemort’s supporters. Security was held up high and made sure no one from the Ministry, whether undercover or outside working hours, could access it. Orion Black of course knew how to get in, even though he wasn’t the type of guy to spend his nights at the bar. He immediately saw who he needed, Mundungus Fletcher, a dodgy man, but he knew everything there was to know about underground wizardry life.

“Still interested in that Black family’s cup, Fletcher?” Orion asked. That was the only side effect of Mundungus; information came with a price.

“What do you need to know?” Mundungus asked.

“I need to know why my son died,” Orion serenely said. In no way was he going to show he was grieving. People died in every war.

Mundungus looked around, careful to see nobody was going to hear what he was going to say. Unfortunately he didn’t saw the big bloke at the table beside his table.

“Your son, Regulus, was a Death Eater, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he was,” Orion confirmed.

“Must’ve done something really bad, mustn’t he? Killed by Voldemort himself.”

“By Voldemort himself!” Orion had difficulties keeping his voice low.

“Ruined his plans, yes he did.”

“And?”

“I don’t know anything more,” Mundungus said.

“Do you know where his body is?” Orion asked, he at least had to fetch his son’s body.

“Here in London,” Mundungus divulged, his voice barely hearable. “They say he was found at the riverside, not far from Big Ben. Probably still lays there.”

Orion rose again and left the pub. Mundungus would unmistakeably come at the house one of these days. He needed to find his son! He apparated to the bridge of Big Ben and quickly went to the river. As if he needn’t light to search or magic to locate, he knew where Regulus laid. He drew his wand and motioned Regulus’ body up. Orion didn’t exactly know how he was going to get to Grimmauld Place with a dead body, but he would make it anyhow.

They went back to the path near the river, but stopped suddenly. The big bloke from the pub stood there, his wand drawn. Orion couldn’t defend himself, his wand was busy moving Regulus.

“Avada Kedavra,” the man said. His sleeves were rolled up and a big tattoo was visible on his left arm. The Dark Mark.

Tue, 25 Jul 2006 18:45:49 GMT

When my father left our house, my mum introduced a rule concerning holidays and travels. The first two year they didn't apply, though, but after that the rule was that she'd go with one of us to a country we'd like to go (within reasonable financial limits, of course). My sister, who's two years older than I am, decided she wanted to see Barcelona. Next year it was my turn and at first I didn't really know what country I wanted to see. I saw enough of France to exclude it, I wasn't really interested to see Germany and the Netherlands never were an option (it wouldn't be a holiday, more of a "how fast can I get irritated"-week).

Suddenly I thought of Russia. I proposed it and my mum agreed. I didn't knew why I chose that country, I didn't know a dime about the country or its history and I never showed a particular interest in it.

We stayed a few days in Moscow, took the night train to St. Petersburg and spend a few days over there (it was with an organisation). A week isn't long, you could say, and in fact that's true. But that one week must've been one of the most important weeks of my life up until now. Thanks to the company of a few men I drank my first beer (I was a bit tipsy when I got back to the cabin I was sleeping in). I learned about blues, jazz and classical music; a lesson which opened my eyes months later. I noticed the cold atmosphere of Moscow and copied the pro argument for communism in my head. Later I took distance of that opinion (that people at least used to have food) and now I have my own interpretation of the communistic way of life.

I started learning the Cyrilic alphabet, read about the Russian language, researched more about the country,... In fact, I'm planning to learn Russian and English when I graduate from high school.

Besides my future, Russia also decided to become my adopted native country. Some of my region developed nationalistical feelings for my region and desire it to be independent. I don't have those feelings, in fact I despise them a bit. I tend to stick up for the Russian people, even though I don't know much about their daily life. I promise myself to set up projects which should help the regular Russian, or at least the poor part of the big Russian cities.

I wonder whether there are other people who had the same experience in one way or another, or am I a boundary rider on this?

Goodbye Stranger

Tue, 25 Jul 2006 11:32:43 GMT

What? This is my first drabble for the Gauntlet, notice the continuation I did with my previous post.
Disclaimer I don't own the Harry Potter world, though the interpretation of that world is mine (from time to time).

Grindelwald had fled from the First World War, leaving a tail of destruction behind him. He first wanted to go to the house he lived in as a kid in Switzerland, but changed direction midway. He couldn’t go there. The Swiss Aurors would be waiting for him and the murders he had made – even if they had been enemies. So he decided to go to Romania. He desired to be with the dangerous creatures whose habitat he soon associated with home.

Of course, the dragons didn’t live alone in the mountains. There were wizards who looked after them. Fools, Grindelwald would say. As if dragons couldn’t look after themselves. Grindelwald did say this all of the time and he scowled the wizards and witches who tried to keep the Poxy Flu down, but deep in his heart he was glad there were people in the neighbourhood. He wasn’t made for solitude, and though he loved dragons, they weren’t humans.

Grindelwald had particularly grown on a witch named Matilda. Though she wasn’t the prettiest woman around, she did have a certain touch. He couldn’t easily describe what it was, but it was undeniable that it was there. If he could only get in touch with her, without being blasted to the sky because he lived with the dragons.

Then one day he saw that she was trying to heal a Welsh Green dragon herself. Grindelwald had hid himself behind a rock. Maybe this was the time? He was about to step into the open, when the dragon awoke. It roared, shouted, breathed, and attacked. Soon enough, Matilda’s broom was broken and her wand was out of her hand. Now Grindelwald definitely hadn’t a choice.

Matilda looked at the dragon, looked behind him, and saw a man with his wand raised. A hermit, in this place? She was about to say something, when the man signalled not to. He made a movement with his wand and the dragon turned around. Matilda didn’t hesitate and ran into a small cave, with only her head coming out of the dark.

She saw how the stranger looked into the dragon’s eyes, apparently communicated with the Welsh Green. Never in her entire education she had heard of people who could speak to dragons. Like every other wizard alive, she knew about Parselmouths, but this wasn’t quite like it. The stranger didn’t even need to open his mouth in order for the dragon to listen. The man even convinced the dragon to let him fly with him, on his back! The pair of them left Matilda alone, who only got out when there was absolutely no sign of dragons. She grabbed her wand and apparated to the central camp.

In the name of the son

Mon, 24 Jul 2006 17:38:39 GMT

UserName Konrad
Story In the name of the son
Genre Historical
Rating 3th - 5th Years
Ships None
Rating and Warnings Violence
Word Count 1075
Reason Original entry for the June/July Challenge, due to many rejections concerning dialogue (which contradict each other a bit), I backed out of the challenge.
Summary: Danny has known Grindelwald for all of his life. Though he might've been a peculiar lad; it sure made life interesting. When both Danny and Grindelwald are on the front of the Second World War, Danny gets to see the real meaning of Grindelwald's oddities.

When I was a young lad I used to hang out with a bloke named Grindelwald. His parents came all the way from Switzerland when he was about four. Apparently they had quite a lot of money, but I never saw any of it. I could only see him during the holidays, though. Said he went to a seminary in Scotland. Never believed a word of it! He always wore bizarre things, which I suspected he did on purpose; I gladly joined in, though. Never met a man as interested in the peculiar side of life as he was. He claimed magic existed and he could perform it. Which I obviously didn’t believe; at least not until the war...

‘Twas a clammy morning on the front. We could hear the Germans singing a song of peace and a couple of minutes later a loud voice shouting something. According to John, a fellow soldier who could speak German, the soldiers were ordered to shut up. We could’ve guessed that of course, for the Germans had stopped singing. As a response to this some Scotsmen started singing Farewell to the Highlands, written by Robert Burns. Grindelwald and me didn’t know the song; nevertheless we listened and eventually mumbled a few words of it. He didn’t want to be here, Grindelwald. At night I heard him whisper things in his sleep. You see, his father had been in the war as well and got slaughtered during one of the many runs across no man’s land. We had to perform one too, the day after. We would be dead meat, that was a sure thing. Only lucky bastards survived. Well, survived was a big word. If they came back they had to go to a hearing, if the officer on duty didn’t shoot them already, that is.
“Stop thinking about tomorrow, Grindelwald.” I said. He gave me a worried look for a second and answered.
“I’m not worrying about myself, Danny. I’m worrying about you.”
“You shouldn’t be. I’m going to be alright.”
“No, you aren’t, but I’ll protect you if I can.”
“Really?”
“Sure.”
We pushed ourselves a bit more in the hole we’d made in the trench and tried to sleep.

I roused at the peep of day. For once the sun was shining, but it had chosen a gloomy day. I saw the chaps around me, either asleep, or helping themselves to a bit of cold soup; and couldn’t help but fearing. Even if Grindelwald could find a way to save me, he wouldn’t be able to save himself. Even if he could use magic; magic wouldn’t be able to save all of these lives. Magic couldn’t stop the war from happening, couldn’t stop the authorities of plotting the most horrible strategies.

An hour later Grindelwald himself woke. The commanding officer ordered all of us to prepare ourselves for battle. Everybody put his bayonet around his shoulder. Everybody except Grindelwald. I asked him why he didn’t and he just said I had to have faith. Too frightened of his death, I ignored him most of the time. I couldn’t see him. Was he planning to kill himself? His father wouldn’t return, he couldn’t return. There’s no turning back from death. I really couldn’t believe he didn’t know this.

“Stand in line!” The officer barked. “When you hear the whistle, crawl out of the trench and conquer the enemy!”
The Scotsmen grunted. I think they wanted to harm the fool who had said that, but they didn’t move. Instead they embraced each other, speaking words of courage. It seemed that everybody was doing this, so I turned myself towards Grindelwald, who still hadn’t taken his bayonet.
“Look, Grindelwald. It’s not because your old fella has-”
“Danny, shut up. We’re going to be fine. I’ll make sure we will.”
He took a wooden stick out of his pockets and thought he had gone mad. He really thought he was a magician! Who in their ruddy mind could think such a thing? I mean, it’s OK to fool around and play for wizard, but there was a war going on and –a whistle sounded. It was time.

Hundreds of us soldiers teemed out of the trench; which had been our heaven and hell for the last couple of days. An immense aggressive roar emerged from our front. I heard guns firing and wanted to fire myself, but Grindelwald stopped me.
“Are you mad?” I shouted.
“I don’t want you to kill someone; your soul is pure, let’s not destroy that.”
Next thing I knew a German machine gun had shot my left leg and I had fallen on the ground. I heard Grindelwald holding his breath for a moment. He clutched his wooden stick and pushed his feet off. He began to run and started screaming all sorts of incantations. I looked up and saw jets of green light emitting from his wand, causing a lot of blasts in the German front and eventually made the Germans to retreat. I was stunned. He was a wizard; he could perform magic!

Grindelwald came back to me after a while and helped me get back to the trench.
“I believe you,” I said.
“What do you believe?”
“That you’re a magician.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve crossed a few lines today.” I wondered whether wizards have laws as well. If I’d have to believe Grindelwald’s words there had to be certain ethics to be accounted. Which ones did he cross?
“What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know, Danny. I really don’t. I have to say goodbye to you now.”
“Why don’t you stay? What must I do without you?” I couldn’t face a life without him, even if I barely saw him during the year. The certainty of our summer wanderings was what pulled me through the dull work year.
“I suspect they’ll let you go home. You’ve done enough,” he paused, “here we are.”
I grabbed hold of his arm.
“Grindelwald?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t forget about me wherever you’re going.”
“I sure won’t, Danny. Say hello to my mum, will you?”
“Of course I will!”
“Bye then.”
“Bye.”

A loud “POP” sounded and that was the end of my friendship with Grindelwald. I visited his mother and conveyed his message. She spoke, nor moved, so I left her be. I wonder what happened to Grindelwald. Is he still alive, or has time caught up with him?