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Aug. 26th, 2006 07:22 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
dedra.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tamingthemuseComputers suck. Mine crashed and burned, eating alive my entry for this week and my other story for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
watchersdiaries that I was supposed to post yesterday. I think that it was something that one of my kids sent me, but I can't be positive...
Anywho, here's this week's *hastily done* prompt response. Not what I'd originally written, dangit, but oh well...
Title: The Harvest
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spikespetslayer
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: None
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Sometimes the most innocent things are revealing.
The Harvest
“Who made up that bloody phrase anyway? Must have been some American. The early bird catches the worm. More like the early bird catches pneumonia, you know Harry?”
Hermione let Ron's tirade slide without speaking. She concentrated instead on the small stand of trees in front of them. In their shadows lay a miniscule patch of green sprouts that pushed their way vigorously through the snow covering. Mentally she reviewed the process for harvesting the rarest snowdrops on the planet, the only genus known to have any magical properties. They were only potent during the sunrise on the first day of spring, hence her presence here in the Forbidden Forest in the early pre-dawn hours.
She finally turned to hiss dangerously over her shoulder. “The sun’s about to rise, Ron—do shut up!”
Narrowing her eyes, she crept forward silently, berating herself mentally for bringing her two best friends with her on her gathering expedition. Never mind that it was for a strengthening potion for Harry; that was of lesser importance right now. Harvesting the snowdrops at the peak of their potency was uppermost in her mind and she knew that allowing her friends to turn her from her purpose would be a grave error for all of them.
Waving them back, she knelt in the snow, feeling the moisture seeping through her robes to chill her knees. A finger of light touched the tip of the snow bank and she leaned forward, excited and hesitant all at once. As the tendril of light grew stronger and longer, she leaned forward even farther until it seemed she would tip over onto her nose. Harry drew breath to shout a warning at her when she waved her hand again in his direction, indicating she wanted him to be silent and still just with the angry movement.
The first glimmer of light touched the edge of the snowdrops and she watched the flower burst forth from its calyx. With a whispered freezing charm she snatched it from the stem and shoved it deep into the sack at her side. Her actions were repeated a dozen or more times until all the snowdrops were safely cached in her bag and the sun shone brightly on the bare stems.
Ron and Harry watched her single-minded performance with a semblance of awe. Of course, they knew that she was the brightest witch of her age—what other witch could brew Polyjuice Potion in their second year with no tutoring or assistance from the potions master? Seeing her, though, was a singularly daunting experience. Harry knew that he got by with luck and assistance from his friends. Ron had neither advantage, only his long exposure to magic to fall back on. Hermione had none of these advantages; her talent came from pure magic, born in her blood and a thirst for knowledge that no book could quench.
The two boys looked at each other, their eyes conveying what they thought without a word. She was brilliant and they were lucky that she was on their side. They looked back at the now-smiling witch, waving her wand over the sack to preserve the potent magic in the flowers resting inside.
She looked up at them and gave them a secretive, mysterious smile that neither one could interpret. “All right now, boys. All done. Let’s head to the Great Hall for some breakfast. I’m starved.”
Wordlessly they followed her. The brightest witch of their age, the loveable lumpy sidekick and the Boy-Who-Lived. Although many trials awaited them, their friendship may be the greatest trial of all and they all were aware of it, though none of them spoke the truth.
watchersdiaries that I was supposed to post yesterday. I think that it was something that one of my kids sent me, but I can't be positive...Anywho, here's this week's *hastily done* prompt response. Not what I'd originally written, dangit, but oh well...
Title: The Harvest
Author:
spikespetslayerFandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: None
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Sometimes the most innocent things are revealing.
The Harvest
“Who made up that bloody phrase anyway? Must have been some American. The early bird catches the worm. More like the early bird catches pneumonia, you know Harry?”
Hermione let Ron's tirade slide without speaking. She concentrated instead on the small stand of trees in front of them. In their shadows lay a miniscule patch of green sprouts that pushed their way vigorously through the snow covering. Mentally she reviewed the process for harvesting the rarest snowdrops on the planet, the only genus known to have any magical properties. They were only potent during the sunrise on the first day of spring, hence her presence here in the Forbidden Forest in the early pre-dawn hours.
She finally turned to hiss dangerously over her shoulder. “The sun’s about to rise, Ron—do shut up!”
Narrowing her eyes, she crept forward silently, berating herself mentally for bringing her two best friends with her on her gathering expedition. Never mind that it was for a strengthening potion for Harry; that was of lesser importance right now. Harvesting the snowdrops at the peak of their potency was uppermost in her mind and she knew that allowing her friends to turn her from her purpose would be a grave error for all of them.
Waving them back, she knelt in the snow, feeling the moisture seeping through her robes to chill her knees. A finger of light touched the tip of the snow bank and she leaned forward, excited and hesitant all at once. As the tendril of light grew stronger and longer, she leaned forward even farther until it seemed she would tip over onto her nose. Harry drew breath to shout a warning at her when she waved her hand again in his direction, indicating she wanted him to be silent and still just with the angry movement.
The first glimmer of light touched the edge of the snowdrops and she watched the flower burst forth from its calyx. With a whispered freezing charm she snatched it from the stem and shoved it deep into the sack at her side. Her actions were repeated a dozen or more times until all the snowdrops were safely cached in her bag and the sun shone brightly on the bare stems.
Ron and Harry watched her single-minded performance with a semblance of awe. Of course, they knew that she was the brightest witch of her age—what other witch could brew Polyjuice Potion in their second year with no tutoring or assistance from the potions master? Seeing her, though, was a singularly daunting experience. Harry knew that he got by with luck and assistance from his friends. Ron had neither advantage, only his long exposure to magic to fall back on. Hermione had none of these advantages; her talent came from pure magic, born in her blood and a thirst for knowledge that no book could quench.
The two boys looked at each other, their eyes conveying what they thought without a word. She was brilliant and they were lucky that she was on their side. They looked back at the now-smiling witch, waving her wand over the sack to preserve the potent magic in the flowers resting inside.
She looked up at them and gave them a secretive, mysterious smile that neither one could interpret. “All right now, boys. All done. Let’s head to the Great Hall for some breakfast. I’m starved.”
Wordlessly they followed her. The brightest witch of their age, the loveable lumpy sidekick and the Boy-Who-Lived. Although many trials awaited them, their friendship may be the greatest trial of all and they all were aware of it, though none of them spoke the truth.
