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Snow and More Snow
Author: Ronan Eastwick
Date: 11-18-08 17:58
The bright red light struck Caden square in the chest. He exploded instantly, sending bits and pieces of him flying into the snow. Ronan, rooted to the spot, gaped in disbelief at the sight of the scattered remains of his brother. Tears fell fast and hard down his cheeks.
"Pick up the pieces. All of them!" Carrow spat at him, before leaving him alone with his grief.
Ronan blinked several times. The memory of that fateful December day gradually faded from his mind as reality set in. He stood outside, knee-deep in snow that continually fell from the swollen clouds, and held a shovel in his hands. He wished he could use the wand in his pocket to clear all the pathways, but he knew he couldn't risk the chance of a guard finding out about the wand, especially since they patrolled the grounds with surprising regularity, given the horrible weather conditions.
The activity warmed him to some extent, though his muscles ached. Everytime he cleared a path, it filled up again with snow. It fell relentlessly from the sky and had for days now. He didn't see any point in being outside, shoveling snow, but when did any of the jobs the students did at Happy Haven make any sense?
A guard emerged from around the corner of a nearby building and approached Ronan. Ronan made a show of clearing some of the snow off the pathway, suddenly aware that his daydreaming had cut into his work.
The guard stopped in front of him and scrutinized Ronan's work.
"I don't see any progress here!"
Ronan resisted the urge to give a sarcastic retort. He said nothing and continued to shovel, though he made an effort to look the guard in the eye to show that he wasn't ignoring him. He even made himself appear belittled, so that the guard would feel satisfaction in hurting Ronan's feelings.
"Go to lunch. Perhaps a little nourishment," he grinned, knowing full-well that the food at Happy Haven lacked any nutrition, "will help you do better this evening when you will report back here and continue shoveling the snow."
This time Ronan couldn't hide his true feelings. He gaped at the guard and nearly let out an exclamation of surprise. He had classes this afternoon until five, and then it would be dark.
"Problem, boy?" the guard sneered.
Ronan forced himself to shake his head. "No, sir." He carried the shovel to the tool shed and then went to eat lunch, trying hard to mask his anger so that he wouldn't draw any unwanted attention onto himself.
Happy Haven (Olive)
Author: Emerald Green
Date: 11-18-08 21:13
On Saturday Olive had returned to the job she'd been doing before seeing why Emerald was being called to Alecto Carrow's office. She'd worked by kept an eye out for Emerald's return, ending up standing outside for hours, only going inside when Alastor and Jill made her, Alastor physically picking the protesting Olive up and dragging her indoors.
Olive sat up all night, watching Carrow's office from one window, searching for any sign of her sister. Sunday morning she asked to see the headmistress but was turned away. When she returned an hour later, the same person who'd turned Olive away before Crucio'd her for being a pest.
Olive went about her assigned work, running on automatic, when done going to stand where she could see into Carrow's office. Before Olive earned another curse Jill and Alastor once more forced Olive away.
When Monday morning rolled around, Jill had to take Olive by the shoulders and push her to the dining hall, practically feeding her the meager offerings called breakfast. Throughout Potions all Olive could think about was how at least Emerald had a wand wherever she was and about the promise not do something rash that would expose the fact that the students do have wands now. Even in her anger at Carrow for doing whatever it is she did to Emerald, Olive isn't going to ruin the escape plan that Coco Nutt has been putting together with help from friends on the outside.
That doesn't mean Olive has to meekly go about Happy Haven life as if Emerald never existed.
Potions ends with Professor Urquhart barking out an assignment, which is really laughable considering how little free time students have to spend on things like homework. Olive gets up, following Jill and Alastor out as if she has every intention of going to lunch.
Blasted by the frigid wind whipping in through the open door, Professor Urquhart yells at them to hurry up and get outside, using her wand to send a few electrical type jolts into the behinds of those in the back, causing them to surge forward. Olive lets herself be carried out by the tide. Pulling her shabby clothes more tightly around her, Olive braces herself against the gusting wind, turning not towards the dining hall but towards Carrow's office.
Olive walks with such purpose the guard she passes thinks Olive must be on her way to do some job assignment before going to eat lunch so he doesn't stop her. Carrow's office door is open, the foul woman standing with her back to it, enjoying the warmth radiating from a crackling fire.
Olive hurls herself at Carrow, throwing herself on Carrow's back, her thin arms wrapping tightly around the woman's throat. Carrow staggers forward, screeching, hands clawing at Olive. Carrow shoves her back against the wall, knocking the wind out of Olive but not enough to make the girl lose her grip. All the while Olive is screaming over and over, "Where's my sister?"
Having heard Carrow screech and Olive's loud demanding, repeated question, the guard came running. He yells at Carrow to move away from the wall where she's been repeatedly pounding Olive in an effort to dislodge the girl. Determined not to let go, it takes being hit four times with curses for Olive to losen her hold.
Carrow finally throws Olive off, her face mottled from where Olive's tight grip on her neck had been having an effect on her air supply. Olive continues screaming her question, even after being hit yet again with another curse.
The guard grabs by the hair and hauls her off the floor where Carrow had thrown her. Carrow approaches, wand now out. She croaks, "Who's your sister?"
"Emerald Green."
"That name should mean something to me?"
"You had her in your office on Saturday."
Carrow's mouth curves in a cruel smile. "Oh, that one. I killed the lying bitch."
Olive lunges at Carrow but is held in place by the guard. Carrow's eyes narrow but her smile stays in place. "You'll die too but not before you've suffered for choking me." To the guard she says, "Turn her around and hold her still."
The guard forces Olive's back to Carrow who moves her wand hand back as if holding a whip. A lash like light is emitted from the wand, cracking Olive across the back. Olive bites through her lower lip, trying hard not to cry out each time the whip of light strikes her. She loses count of how many times it connects with her back. Just when Olive thinks she's going to pass out from the pain, Carrow stops.
"Dump her in the pit for a couple of days. By that time I'll have decided what next to do to her."
During the frog march through a haze of pain to the solitary confinement area they call the pit, Olive has one clear thought: The next time she gets her hands around Carrow's neck, nothing and no one is going to make her let go until the woman is dead.
(Community Q) Third Strike
Author: Harry Potter
Date: 11-19-08 10:42
Although not yet to the full heat of the day in Community Q's little corner of the Caribbean, the heat and humidity is already oppressive, especially to the prisoners more used to the climate of Great Britain. Harry looks up from digging yet more irrigation trenches, noting that even strong Hagrid as the worn, weary look etched deep into everyone's bones. Those who know of the rafts being built have to keep telling themselves to be patient, the mantra of soon, very soon going through their heads.
An older gentleman stumbles then falls, succumbing to either heat stroke or heat exhuastion, possibly both. Harry rushes over to where the bucket of water from which they are allowed a meager ration of water while they work and, grabbing a ladel full of water, rushes to the man's side.
Harry's barely lifted the man's head enough to receive any of the water when the warden herself, Imogen Bulstrode, walks into view, taking in the scene. "Leave him, Potter," she orders. "Back to work, you lazy lot," she yells at the others working in the same vicinity.
Two of the guards spring into action now, having reacted much more slowly than Bulstrode who is shooting them dirty looks. She doesn't yet scream at them for being slow though because she's too busy yelling at the prisoners to get back to work. She's also too busy pointing her wand at Harry.
Bulstrode snaps, "I said leave him, Potter."
Harry stays where he is, trickling water into Vincent Brown's mouth. Not looking up Harry says, "He only needs some water and a little rest in the shade."
The Cruciatus Curse is not unexpected though that doesn't dull the pain of it. When Bulstrode releases the curse, Harry doggedly continues giving Vincent water. Bulstrode stomps over, kicks the ladel from Harry's hand, then for good measure uses another curse on Harry.
Hagrid, who's nearby and who still hasn't returned to his work despite the shouting guards and Bulstrode's obvious anger, starts for Harry who gives Hagrid a quick shake of the head. Hagrid stops moving but that could also be because four other guards have arrived, wands at the ready.
As calmly as possible Harry says to Bulstrode, "Vincent is an old man, warden. He should be given tasks that don't have him exposed to as much direct sun."
Bultrode's nostrils flare and her eyes flash angrily from Harry to Vincent. She points her wand at the older man and bites out, "Avada Kedavra."
Green light shoots from the wand, hitting Vincent. The old man's eyes never even flicker as the killing curse drains him of life.
Bulstrode snaps, "Problem solved. Back to work, Potter, and remember this is your second strike."
Three strikes means being given the hardest of labor and when not working, having to stay in a cramped, rodent infested hole that provides no shade from the sun or shelter from storms. Meals are the cliché of some water and a single, hard, moldy slab of bread. Earning a strike is as easy as blinking so at some point everyone's had the three strike punishment.
Harry gently lays Vincent's head on the ground then stands. He gives Bulstrode a measured look, telling himself, "In for a knut, in for a galleon." To the warden Harry says, "Strike one, strike two, strike three. Muggle references."
Bulstrode's face flushes with more anger. "What did you say?"
"You hear me. You're using Muggle references. Does that make you a little bit of a hypocrit?"
"You think that just because you are the great Harry Potter that you are invincible?"
"Far from it and even if I did, that doesn't change the fact that this whole strikes business is a Muggle reference."
"It is not!" Bulstrode childishly responds.
"Is too. Muggle game of baseball. A batter is out with three strikes. Aaron Miller could probably tell you all about baseball as he's American and it's a very popular American game."
Bulstrode's face has become mottled with her fury. Harry overhears Hagrid say, "Now ya done it, 'arry."
Harry finds himself on the receiving end of a very long held curse. When it finally ends, he's vaguely aware of Bulstrode barking out more orders before he's hauled to his feet and taken to the hole.
(Q) Psychotic Warden
Author: Aaron Miller
Date: 11-19-08 17:39
I'd been working on the opposite side of the island from Harry so had no idea what was up when Imogen Bulstrode clomped furiously up to me, demanding to know, "Is three strikes a Muggle expression?"
Looking down from the ladder I'm on, I ask, "Ma'am?"
"Three strikes! Is it Muggle?"
"I don't know of any Wizarding origin for it."
"Is that a yes?"
"Yes, it's Muggle."
Searing hot pain shoots up my legs into my spine, causing me to lose my grip on the ladder. Unceremoniously dropping hard to the ground in front of her, the wind knocked out of me, Warden Bulstrode now peers down at me. "Are you certain?"
"Yes. It's a baseball term. That's a Muggle sport."
"Bloody hell!" she practically screams.
I could easily imagine her jumping up and down like a two year old having a tantrum.
I've made it to my feet just in time for her to spit in my face, "It's not used as a sports term, twit."
"Not all the time anymore. Three strikes has come to be used to be used in other ways."
"But it's Muggle?"
Why she's obsessed with asking the same thing, I haven't a clue.
"Yes, it's Muggle, unless there's something Wizarding I don't know about."
Warden Bulstrode looks at me as though whatever her problem is, it's all my fault. Another blast of firey pain hits me, nearly knocking me down again.
Talking to herself and gesticulating wildly, Warden Bulstrode stomps off, leaving those who've witnessed her fit - including me - staring after her.
I climb back up the ladder, still watching her receeding form.
Great.
A psychotic in charge.
As if things at Q weren't already bad enough.
Vigo, Spain: Helping Hand
Author: Hermione Granger
Date: 11-19-08 18:10
"How bad does it look?"
Hermione looked up at Professor McGonagall from where she sat at the foot of the bed and smiled. "They're healing nicely," she replied. "How do they feel?"
Professor McGonagall drew her lips into a thin line. "They don't."
Hermione shot her a sympathetic look. When she'd first arrived at the safe house in Vigo, Spain, Professor McGonagall had had several black, frostbitten toes. Although she'd started her rotations at St. Mungo's before going into hiding with Harry, Ron, and Janine, Hermione hadn't felt comfortable in treating Professor McGonagall's injuries to the full extend necessary. Instead, she'd taken Professor McGonagall to a local hospital.
Explaining the frostbite wouldn't have been easy. Spain was cold this time of year but Vigo or its surroundings didn't get the type of wintry weather that could lead to one's extremities losing circulation long enough to cause irreversible damage. Luckily, the language barrier saved them from having to fabricate a plausible story.
Although Hermione had wondered if advancements in healing could save Professor McGonagall's toes from the inevitable, she knew that treatment probably should not be delayed. In the end, Professor McGonagall lost five, two on her left foot and three on her right.
In the time since the amputation and even since her rescue from Goen Bren, Professor McGonagall's overall condition had improved, slowly yet surely. As hungry as she'd been, those who'd looked after her, including Hermione, Molly, Moody, Bill and others, had only gradually offered her more and more to eat. Feeding a starving person too much at one time could cause more problems, so it was best to take things one step at a time to ensure a full recovery.
Hermione didn't stay at the safe house in Vigo very often, but she made regular visits to change Professor McGonagall's bandages and to learn more about Goen Bren so that she could inform the others about it. Professor McGonagall and Bill had both provided a partial list of names of the remaining prisoners. Dumbledore's wasn't on them. Hermione still wanted to find him and wondered if he'd left any clues behind at Hogwarts, where he lived and worked. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to go to Hogwarts and see what she could find out. But how?
"I suppose I'll have to practice walking," Professor McGonagall murmured, pulling Hermione from her thoughts. She'd gotten up to use the bathroom and take a bath but she hadn't really walked.
"You'll probably have to learn how to balance yourself, but hopefully it won't be too hard. Professor McGonagall..."
"Hmm?"
Hermione finished bandaging the older woman's foot and then looked up again. "What happened to Dumbledore's things after his replacement arrived at Hogwarts?"
Professor McGonagall drew her brows together. "His office appeared unchanged to me, last I saw it. I cannot tell you what became of his personal quarters, however." She raised a sharp brow. "Why do you ask?"
"I just wonder if he's left a clue behind as to where he might be now."
"Miss Granger..."
"Don't worry. I won't do anything rash."
Hermione stood and discarded the old bandages in a waste bin in the corner. "Would you like some tea? Some soup? I'm rather thirsty and hungry myself. Why don't I fix us something?"
Professor McGonagall knew Hermione was changing the subject but didn't argue. She nodded. "Tea and soup would be lovely."
Smiling, Hermione left the room. Professor McGonagall's rescue gave her hope that Dumbledore, Harry, and so many other missing person would be found.
(Kate) Ouch
Author: Bronwyn Dewhurst
Date: 11-20-08 17:17
Kate tried not to cry. For the last three hours, she'd been removing thorns from a variety of magical cactus plants, not with tweezers or while wearing gloves but with her bare fingers. Her hands were full of thorns and splinters and were bleeding. She'd hoped that the intense cold, felt even in the greenhouse, would numb her sore hands, but no such luck.
"Stop," commanded Professor Bloom.
Although she was relieved to not having to pull out any more thorns, Kate forced herself not to show any emotion. She stopped and brought the jar of thorns to her professor's desk. Then she cleaned her work area and, after being sure that Bloom had officially dismissed the class (she didn't want to get punished for the mistaken belief that he'd already done so, even though it was well-past noon now), she left.
Although she had a small window in which to eat lunch before her next class (Muggle Studies), she stopped by her dorm first to clean up her hands. One of the older children had shown her a simple healing charm some time ago, so when she got to her room, she pulled the wand she'd been secretly given from a hole in the side of the mattress and used it to treat her aching hands. Moments later they felt better. Kate quickly stowed the wand in its hiding place and then hurried to lunch.
She had an incredible appetite, but then she always did these days. Unfortunately, the offerings weren't very appetizing at all. She literally had to force herself to eat the slop put onto her plate at every meal, knowing that not eating the food at Happy Haven would just make her sicker, or worse.
Kate tried not to think of death, though it was hard when someone had already died. Rumor had it, someone else had just bitten the dust. She was scared that one day she might get killed off too, and then she would never get to see her father again. Thinking about him caused her to get weepy once more. Kate missed her father so much.
She sighed softly to herself and picked up a tray in the lunchline. She went forward as the line moved along, allowing gruel and other equally unappetizing food to land on her plate. Kate came to the end of the line and then, sighing again, moved to the lunchtable.
Hopefully the revolt still in its planning stages would finally put an end to the inhumane routines at Happy Haven School For Nons.