Read over the drabbles and choose one most favorite and one least favorite drabble. While reading, keep in mind the prompt and word count restrictions. Once you've chosen, put the number of each drabble in the corresponding box at the end of this post. Please remember to put number of the drabble and not the name; it makes it a lot easier for us to keep track. Each most favorite vote will receive +1 point and each least favorite vote will receive -1 point. The drabble with the most points will win, the two drabbles with the least points will be sent packing. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.
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Enough babble, onto the drabbles!
PROMPT:Each drabble must include the following nouns:
- Person: Doppelganger
- Place: Hogsmeade
- Thing: Gloves
WORD COUNT: 300-499 words
TITLE: In Case of Emergency
WORD COUNT: 488
Pansy sat silently, waiting for the barmaid to finish serving them. But even after she’d set down their drinks (a cup of coffee for him, a double shot of the bar’s finest Firewhisky for her) and left, Pansy found herself unable to speak, not knowing how or where to even begin.
Silence stretched between them until Harry finally put his cup down with a loud sigh. “I’m doing this as a favor to Zabini, Parkinson. If you don’t start talking before I finish my coffee, I’m leaving.”
Her lips thinned to a sullen line. Begging Harry Potter for help nauseated her, but she had no other options left. She picked up her drink and tilted the glass against her mouth, savoring the fiery taste of the alcohol. Carefully, she placed the glass back on the table
“I didn’t see anything at first,” she began, her gloved hand tracing the whorls on the surface of the wooden table. “Just the faintest prickle on the back of my neck as I walked down a street. I brushed it off, telling myself that I needed to stop reading those crime stories in the back of the Daily Prophet. Then I started to see things. The flash of black hair at the edge of a crowd. The sweep of a familiar cloak around a corner. It wasn’t long before I finally saw…it.” Pansy paused, and then shook her head in disbelief. “I was in Hogsmeade, doing a bit of shopping. It had been a cold and rainy afternoon so I decided to stop for tea before going back home. As I looked out the window, I saw…myself…standing across the street. I dropped the cup I was holding in my hand. When I looked up from the mess, it was gone.” She sighed and bit her lip. “I wish I could say that was the last I saw of it.”
Glancing down, Pansy found that she’d pulled off her gloves and had been toying with the fingers, twisting the fine leather into wrinkled lumps. She shoved them aside irritably.
“Are you telling me you saw your doppelganger?”
Pansy’s head shot up. Harry was watching her, curiosity and doubt shading his eyes.
“Don’t bother telling me to just take myself over to St. Mungo’s,” she said with a shaky laugh. “I’ve already considered that option.” Taking a deep breath, she added, “I don’t know what’s happening to me, why I’m seeing things. I feel like I’m slowly losing my mind, Potter, and I’d like to have it back as I’m very fond of it.”
Harry was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I don’t think you’re crazy. Well, not that kind of crazy,” he added with a wry twist to his mouth.
“How very flattering,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. In a more quiet tone, Pansy asked, “Will you help me?”
Harry nodded. “I think we should start right away.”
TITLE: Bet Astray
WORD COUNT: 495
“Hermione! I saw Harry holding hands with Pansy Parkinson at Hogsmeade just now!” The doors to the Gryffindor’s common room slammed open as Ron’s deafening voice echoed through the walls.
“For Merlin’s sake, Ron, we’ve had this conversation before. Harry is not dating Pansy Parkinson.” Hermione sighed exasperatedly as she shut her book closed, her eye roll almost audible.
“But Malfoy insisted that they are dating, and my Galleon is at stake! Do you know how many Butterbeers a single Galleon could buy me?”
Hermione groaned, “You should know better than to bet with Malfoy, of all people! Especially on Harry’s relationships!”
“I’m his best mate! So it’s natural for me to think that I would win!”
Hermione sighed, “Harry is the one who decides what he wants to do with this love life. We don’t have a say in it, even if one day, he decides to date Malfoy himself.”
Ron gasped at the statement. “I can’t believe that came out of your mouth, Hermione! They’re SLYTHERINS!” He said incredulously, half scandalized and half disgusted at the thought.
Hermione watched as her best friend started pacing around the common room, muttering both irrational and ridiculous assumptions. Unable to take it anymore, she grabbed a pillow from the couch and chucked it at him.
“OWW!” He glared at her. “Anyways, I think I’ve got it. If it wasn’t Harry at Hogsmede today, nor was it him snogging Parkinson in the library the other week, that can only mean one thing.”
“It’s his doppelganger!” Ron said brightly.
Hermione nearly fell off the couch.
“Clearly, you’ve been watching too many muggle movies. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re developing an appreciation for muggle culture, but –” The door opened and Harry strolled in wearing a grin that was a little uncharacteristic for the boy hero. “Thank Merlin! Harry, do tell Ron where you were just now!”
“Quidditch practice.” The answer came out a bit too animated for Ron’s liking.
“But today’s Valentine’s day!”
“Normal people don’t have practices on Valentine’s Day.” Ron cried, “They go on dates!”
“We’re not exactly normal though,” Hermione pointed out. “And if so, why don’t I see you going on dates?”
“That’s not the point! Now please prove to me that you’re not dating Parkinson.” At this point, Ron was practically kneeling in desperation.
“…Actually, I’m afraid he can’t.” Hermione smirked.
“Why not?” Ron glared.
“Because if you look at the gloves on Harry’s hands right here, ‘Pansy’ is written on it.”
Ron visibly paled at the sight. He looked as if he would like nothing more than to dig a hole and bury himself in it.
“What’s wrong with him?” Harry asked, eyebrows becoming acquainted with hairline.
“You don’t want to know.” Hermione shook her head.
“… My entire earnings from chess tournament… to that Ferret!”
“What did I tell you?” Hermione lectured, “You can never get rich from betting…”
“…Unless, I suppose, you’re Draco Malfoy.”
WORD COUNT: 499
The best time to take a holiday is when the hallucinations start.
For two weeks before he’d handed in his leave request to Kingsley Shacklebolt, he’d been possessed by someone who desperately wanted to talk to Pansy Parkinson. It was the only answer, he reasoned, because what other reason was there for him to have to bite his tongue every time he saw a woman with long dark hair? A couple of times, he was distressed to admit, the woman with long dark hair had actually been blonde. And she’d never once been Pansy Parkinson.
Something was obviously very wrong.
So, he spent a couple of days in France with Bill and Fleur, sleeping on Gabrielle’s couch. He left suddenly on the third day when her flatmate returned, a brunette with a slightly pug-like face.
He didn’t last long at Viktor’s after being introduced to his fiancée, a long-haired brunette with a love for green scarves and gloves.
He even tried a stay at Ginny’s, who he knew was living with a redhead. However, ten minutes at the party she was throwing for her Holyhead Harpies teammates had him back outside, cursing colorfully.
In a last ditch effort, he spent the night in a hotel and Apparated the next morning into Hogsmeade, where he met Hermione for lunch so that she could, at the very least, get him a nice room at St. Mungo’s.
Only, before he could get the words out, a sight outside the window caught his eye and his mouth fell open. He waved his hand to get Hermione’s attention and pointed. “Do you see her too? I mean, I know I’ve been seeing Parkinson everywhere, but this time it looks exactly like her!”
Hermione looked at him strangely. “Harry, that is Parkinson.” He turned wide eyes on her, and she continued, “She comes on the weekends sometimes to see Draco. Now what do you mean you’ve been seeing her everywhere?”
He was out of the booth before she finished the question, shoving clumsily through the door of the Three Broomsticks and practically running to where Parkinson was standing. She looked up at his sudden arrival and raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Potter?”
Which, Harry discovered, was where his brilliant plan hit a snag. Unfortunately, whoever had possessed him didn’t actually know what he wanted to say to Pansy Parkinson, just that he wanted to say something. “Er, hi.” Well, that probably wasn’t it, but it was a start.
She sounded almost amused when she returned his “Hi.” Turning to face him fully, she asked, “Did you want something, or was that it?”
Searching his mind, which was usually full of words in various forms and arrangements, he came out only with, “Um.” Then, mercifully, “Would you like to have some lunch with Hermione and me? We’ve got a table across the street…”
Looking at the building then back at him, she asked, “Are you paying?”
He blinked in confusion. “I suppose so.”
“Lead the way, then.”
WORD COUNT: 352
WARNING(S): Minor Angst
Long, black, silk, opera-length gloves.
Seeing the statuesque blonde saunter down the busy Hogsmeade street, Harry could only stand amongst all the bustle and stare. And as he stood there being jostled by apathetic sixth years and giddy third years, all his thoughts focused on her –the one that got away.
The one who refused to treat him like he was made of glass. The girl who called him on his bull-shite while he simply tolerated hers. The woman who had known how to capture any man's attention but only wanted his. The lady who rudely stole his heart and took it with her when she disappeared all those years ago, when the public outcry regarding her exoneration became too much to bear.
Since then he had chased after every brunette in London, Paris, and Madrid. Then it was every brunette with blue eyes in Prague and Tokyo. Finally after days, weeks, months, years of searching, he became good enough at spotting the little things that he only chased her doppelgangers through the streets. Of all the girls, women, ladies he had stopped all this time, no one had ever worn gloves like the blond did now; the way he remembered her wearing them –until now.
That realisation hit him like the Hogwarts Express taking his breath away.
Suddenly his legs couldn't move fast enough as he tore down the street. He didn't dare say her name for fear that she would Disapperate in front of his eyes. And he couldn't lose her again, not now, not ever.
Catching up with her, he reached out to grab her and spin her into his body. He didn't give her anytime to react before we wrapped his fingers around her neck and crashed his lips against hers.
Harry felt her freeze against his body before melting into it. Only then did he break the kiss. Opening his eyes, he softly looked upon the blue eyes that had haunted his every dream that now shed tears and said the only thing he could, “Please stay and let me love you.”
TITLE: Looking Up Old Friends
WORD COUNT: 484
WARNING(S): Implied non-con; violence
A/N(s): "But he’s there! Potter’s there. Someone grab him!" Deathly Hallows, US hardcover ed. p. 610
“You have to try this, Harry,” said George, beaming proudly.
He held open the curtain door of a small booth tucked into a corner of the Wheezes’s Hogsmeade branch.
Seeing Harry hesitate at entering an enclosed space, Ron offered to go first.
“We’ve placed Silencing charms on the booth,” a ghostly Fred explained, when observing the black curtain became boring so quickly.
“Hermione’s idea,” George piped up. Hermione preened a little as Luna and Ginny shot her looks of gratitude. They’d all tried the booth the previous Hogsmeade weekend, while the boys were still in Academy. “The gloves, too. Some Muggle invention called viral reality.”
“And the booth works on a combination of Pensieve principles and an advanced version of our Daydream Charm,” finished Fred, bobbing on his ghostly heels.
Fifteen minutes later, Ron stumbled out of the booth, blissful and dopey, and handed over the gloves to Harry.
Moments, hours, seeming years went by as he stood in the small space, feeling awkward and foolish. He flexed his fingers in the gloves, looking at the stretchy fabric covered in odd oval pads. They were shot through with fine wires that gleamed in the low light, hypnotizing him until a flash of movement caught his eye and tugged his gaze upward.
A milk white arm shook as the hand attached pointed its finger at him, and Harry heard Pansy Parkinson exclaim "But he’s there! Potter’s there. Someone grab him!"
The faceless students surrounding him melted away and he smirked at Pansy coolly, opening his arms wide. “Yes, here I am, Parkinson. Grab me!”
She sucked in a breath and puffed out her chest, advancing on him with false bravado. When she was mere inches away, he reached out and snagged her wand, throwing it behind his back to clatter to the floor. She whimpered and his hand stung; a drop of blood clung to her lip where it had split open, and he realized he’d hit her.
He thrust his hand into her sleek black hair, a hollow parody of a lover’s caress, and jerked on her tender scalp, sending her to her knees with a muffled scream. Harry watch in horrified fascination as his doppelganger laughed at Parkinson.
What had Ron done in this booth? Fornicated with baked goods? The other Harry chuckled darkly at the shared thought.
“Please,” she murmured, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Please, what?” Harry sneered, unzipping his trousers. He smacked her cheek when her lips tightened and she tried to look away.
No! I don’t want this! She doesn’t deserve it! I am not a monster!
And yet, Harry stumbled out of the booth, making up a story about Voldemort interrupting his honeymoon. Avoiding Luna’s knowing eyes, and Ginny’s smothering attentions; his mind whirling, twirling upon one fixed point.
I wonder, where does Miss Parkinson live these days?
WORD COUNT: 465
WARNING(S): Slight language, but not really. :P
Harry Potter is a right git. This was the persistent mantra in Pansy's head as she stormed angrily back along the path toward the castle after a trip to Hogsmeade.
He'd told her he couldn't make it. He'd said he had Quidditch practice today. She'd been willing to be seen with Scarhead, finally, at Madame Puddifoot's, but he'd led her to believe that, though he wanted nothing more than to take her on a proper date, he couldn't get out of practice without Oliver going mad.
Who did he think he was turning her down and then showing up in Hogsmeade to go glove shopping with that twit Granger? And they were ogling over the ones she had told that four-eyed ponce she wanted! Of all the nerve.
She'd show him. She'd wait for him outside of Gryffindor tower and, just when he thought he'd gotten away with his treachery, she'd pounce. She was not a girl to be crossed.
Pansy paced along the corridor, her anger still unabated, until Harry finally came into view, dressed in his Quidditch gear and carrying his broom thrown over his shoulder. She narrowed her eyes and walked right up to him, hand on hip and wagging her finger in front of his nose.
His teammates shot him a quizzical look and scampered into the common room, knowing full well that a look like Pansy's meant nothing good for the recipient or any innocent passersby.
Harry looked befuddled. "Er, what's up, Pansy?"
"What's up?! You! You said you couldn't make it to Hogsmeade today!"
Harry looked confusedly around him to the spots where his team mates had been behind him moments before. "I couldn't. I had practice. I just got back, obviously."
"Don't lie to me, Potter. I saw you there with Granger. Just admit it; you didn't want to be seen with me. Don't waste my time!" she shrieked.
Harry winced as his cheeks reddened and he shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Er, I, well, I don't know what you're on about." He cast his eyes downward, not looking Pansy in the eye.
"What, then? Was it your doppelganger I saw?"
Harry sighed. What was it with girls? They always had something to yell about. Looking angry now, Harry sighed and shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small green box and shoved it into Pansy's hands.
"Fine. I was there. I snuck down before practice. Here. Happy Birthday, Pans." Harry frowned and turned to walk through the portrait hole.
Pansy stared, wide-eyed and mouth gaping, at the retreating form of her boyfriend. She felt like a complete jerk. Turning her attention to the box, she opened it and felt her heart sink. Inside was the pair of gloves she'd told him she wanted.
WORD COUNT: 499
WARNING(S): Reference to violence.
Of the fall, Pansy only could remember the gentle rustling air beside her, the silent darkness that cradled her like a child.
She wasn’t sure how it had happened; one moment she was on the second floor of Flourish and Blotts, novel in hand, gazing out on the crowd that had Hogsmeade bursting at the seams.
A few seconds later, there was nothing.
She must have been sprawled across the cobblestone path for only a few minutes, for the fearful crowd that surrounded her was small in number.
“She’s alive!” screeched a woman next to her ear, Pansy’s blue eyes slowly fluttering open. “Miss Parkinson, do you think you’ve injured your head?” asked Terry Boot, who was the newest manager of Flourish.
Pansy shook her head, getting up slowly and carefully brushing her bangs off her face. “I’m quite fine. In fact, I’ve never felt better!” Her body seemed to be electrified by a newfound vitality, her senses sharp, defined.
“I insist you see a Healer,” Terry continued, worried about the political backlash.
“No bother,” Pansy replied, brushing the last of the dirt off her overcoat. “I’ll be just fine, thank you for your concern.”
The crowd watched, astounded, as Pansy left without another word.
Pansy had barely set foot in the Three Broomsticks before Harry was upon her, crushing her small form to his.
“There you are, I was wondering when you’d show up! I thought I saw you pass by…”
“Yes, I’m here,” Pansy replied, cheeks flushed from the cold.
“You’re not conspiring with Malfoy to leave me, are you?” Harry joked, smiling.
“Don’t joke about such things,” Pansy said sourly, sinking down in the seat before her. “I’ll never leave you.”
Harry nodded grimly. “I could understand why you would, it would certainly make your father happy.”
“I don’t give a bloody badger what my father thinks,” Pansy replied seriously. “You’re the one for me, Halfblood or not.”
Harry tightly grasped her hand.
The couple was walking towards Zonko’s when the screams began.
“Merlin! Someone, help!”
Harry pulled out his wand, grabbing Pansy’s hand and carefully approaching the crowd. “Ministry Auror,” he told a man craning his neck to see. “What happened here?”
“It’s Lord Parkinson,” the man replied, the blood draining from Harry’s features. “He’s been viciously murdered. The assassin fled ran off into the forest.”
Harry sucked in a deep breath and turned to Pansy, who was surprisingly emotionless. “I’ll be right back,” she said quickly, pulling away and running in the opposite direction. Harry bit his lip, turning his attention once again to the ruby red drops that drenched the snow.
Pansy ran to the woods near the edge of Hogsmeade, tearing off her dove-grey gloves and letting them fall. The forest was quiet, nothing out of place. She nearly didn’t see the familiar dark brown locks ducking behind a tree.
Pansy followed her target, placing a hand on her hip as she turned to face the assassin.
“Well done…Pansy,” she said smugly.
TITLE: Dueling Practice
WORD COUNT: 434
Laughter surrounded him, throaty and full. “Come on, Potter. Hex me.” The voice also came from every direction, out of the mouth of every doppelganger that stood around him in a ring. Harry cautiously turned in a circle, wand held in a defensive position, eyes straining to find a flaw in her Doppelganger Curse.
The details of Pansy’s face were clear and exact on every single one, from the upsweep of dark hair to the dark beauty mark accenting the curve of her wicked, taunting grin. The tight-fitting but un-restricting robes molded to the curves of her body deliciously, perfect for the dueling practice they had weekly in the new facility in Hogsmeade. Harry struggled to resist the admittedly tempting distraction.
“What? Can’t you find me?” The grin flashed as her voice mocked, echoing faintly in the bespelled room. The collective shes flicked her wands and every doppelganger wore a pair of dark gloves. Evilly, she pushed her wand up through her hairdo and lazily started stripping the right-hand glove using her teeth. She tossed it on the floor, where every single one melted into inky smoke. The gauntlet was thrown, the glove symbolically slapping his face. “Come find me.” Find me, find me. It was a deliberate dare to get him to react—oh, she knew him too well. Harry James Potter could never refuse a dare.
He slinked around, as smooth and graceful as a cat as he stalked. He assessed mentally, striving to take in every excruciating detail. There was no way she could have duplicated everything exactly. He went wider, closer to the doppelgangers and ultimately the real Pansy, with every circuit. His eyes tracked her as the shes retrieved her wands and dark hair fell in a tumble down her back.
It was the smallest vanity that gave her away—a tiny chip in her nail polish that she likely hadn’t even noticed yet. His face remained smooth, not letting on even as she twirled her wand with calculated nonchalance.
A feint, a diving roll, and he wrapped his arms around her, tackling her to the ground. Turning his body as they went down, Harry took the impact and her body fell onto his. During all their sparring sessions, she was always surprised when he resorted to the physical instead of magical.
“Found you,” he murmured huskily, out of breath from the fall to the floor rather than the sparring—and, he admitted to himself, from falling in love with her all over again, yet again.
“Brava, love,” she replied and gave him his reward: a thorough, loving kiss.
WORD COUNT: 498
The mirror had come by way of owl.
It was wrapped in plain parchment and had no return address.
Harry wasn’t exactly sure why someone would anonymously send him a mirror, but stranger things had happened. Besides, he was used to receiving odd trinkets. Being “The Chosen One” had some interesting perks.
As Harry inspected the mirror, his reflection stared back at him. There appeared to be nothing special about the mirror. With a shrug, he tossed it aside and headed for the door. He was due to meet his girlfriend, Pansy Parkinson, for lunch.
But unbeknownst to him, his reflection remained in the mirror. And with a frightening smile, it winked once and disappeared.
The headlines said it all.
The Boy Who Lived: Gone Mad?
Harry Potter is a Menace!
As Harry stared incredulously at the Daily Prophet in his hands, he simply could not believe what he was seeing. For weeks, bogus reports had been popping up of wizards claiming to have seen him committing various acts of crime. It was absolutely ludicrous! He was in no way linked to the incidents in the paper. But someone was….someone who looked an awful lot like him….
Harry groaned. Hours of research and he was still without answers.
He was about to give up when he stumbled across the following entry:
Doppelgänger- A malicious spirit that masquerades as a living person; an evil twin; usually resides in mirrors.
“The mirror!” Harry groaned, “Bloody hell!”
There was also a footnote under the entry. Doppelgängers are known to prey on women, especially those of interest to the person they are portraying. Use caution!
Harry could feel the blood draining from his face.
Without a moment of hesitation, he turned on the spot and Apparated out of sight.
Pansy looked around anxiously and pulled off one of her wool gloves to glance at her watch. There was a definite chill in the air and it wouldn’t be long before the village of Hogsmeade was covered in snow.
Suddenly she felt a warm pair of arms wrapped around her. “Oh! Harry! There you are.”
She was just about to lean in for a kiss when a loud voice shouted from behind her. “Stop!”
She turned around and there stood….Harry!
As her jaw fell open, the two Harrys flew at each other, wands at the ready. As they began to tussle in the snow, one of them shouted. “Help me, Pansy. It’s a doppelgänger!”
“Merlin!” She cried, raising her wand. “Which one?”
One of the Harrys leapt to his feet. “I’m Harry!”
“No, I’m Harry!” the other shouted.
They continued to argue back and forth until Pansy finally raised her wand and shouted, “Exterminous!”
And with a loud pop, the doppelgänger disappeared.
Later, when Harry was destroying the mirror he asked how she had known who the real Harry was.
Pansy just laughed and shook her head.
No way in hell, she’d ever tell she had simply guessed.
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