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HP 100 - Cupcakes2. Cupcakes
Rose loved cupcakes.
She had told him so a hundred times. When they walked through Diagon Alley before term, admiring the masterpieces of Madam Miel who ran the Candide Candies shop, during desserts at Hogwarts, and whenever they went to Honeydukes on the Hogsmeade weekends. He had listened to her politely while she raved on about the different icings, cream colours and consistency of wheat dough, but honestly couldn´t quite understand what it was that made her so crazy about them.
Today, however, he was glad that she had showered him so often with her declarations of obsession, because he didn´t have to think long on what to get her for her birthday. Being a smart and confident Ravenclaw, he hadn´t even considered buying them, because he had heard Rose lecture him often enough about the secrets of baking and of course a true gift from the heart had to be handmade. Besides, he was a good enough chef when it came to magical cooking, so it
HP 100 - See the future3. See the future
With a soft swoosh a handsome brown owl landed on the Potter´s kitchen table, where breakfast was in full swing. That meant Ginny was wrestling with Lily to make her drink her milk, James threw single pieces of cornflakes at Albus, who was trying to eat his toast with bacon in dignity, while Harry tried to be as invisible as possible without invisibility cloak and to stay out of it all. He was, however, rudely interrupted in this highly difficult task by his cup of coffee being knocked over and the hot liquid splattering all over the Daily Prophet.
"James!" All thoughts of neutrality forgotten, he jumped up and pointed at his eldest son with the dripping newspaper. "How often do I have to tell you..."
But he stopped short when he saw the unfamiliar owl sitting calmly between the jam and orange juice. "Anyone expecting mail? He asked looking around.
The children shook their heads in surprise, but Ginny wiped the milk from her face and took a closer l
HP 100 - Kittens6. Kittens
Once upon a time there lived three sisters. All were exceptionally fair, yet very different in their appearances. The first had hair as black as ebony and haughty, heavily lidded eyes. The second had hair as pale as snow and eyes, cold as the moon. The third had hair as brown as a doe and the same warm eyes. They had everything they could wish for, yet they seldom were satisfied. Their house was built of marble, their clothes were made of silk and they drank and ate from cups and plates made of gold.
Christmas was nearing and each sister had wished for something equally impossible. The eldest sister wanted a crystal-palace for her dolls, the middle sister a pair of glass slippers and the youngest a golden ball.
Their parents decided to give each sister the same, simple gift, lest they would envy each other. And so it came that the three sisters looked upon a pair of curious eyes when they opened their gifts under the Christmas tree, for they had all received a little
HP 100 - Don't move11. Don´t move
"...You called me back for this, to tell me that Harry Potter has escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure...do it, or feel my wrath yourself!"(Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, page 145)
Terror spread through Draco like ice, leaving him frozen to the spot. He couldn´t have moved, let alone spoken, even if he had tried. After a few seconds of silence, which was only broken by Rowle´s erratic breathing and the hissing of the flames, the Dark Lord turned and fixed his attention on the pale boy, momentarily forgetting about the man he had been torturing.
"Do you need some persuasion then?" His voice was drowned by the crackling fire and the blood pressing against Draco´s eardrums. But even so he had come to learn what that look meant.
He tried to say something, even tried to raise his wand and do what was expected of him, but his lips had become dry parchment and his hand a heavy stone. The Dark Lord came closer
HP 100 - Dying12. Dying
Neville sat in the old drawing room and studied the photograph in his hands. It showed him and his grandmother in front of the very house he was sitting in which was a miracle to him right now, because he felt as detached from that memory as if it had taken place a thousand years ago. The picture had been taken after his first at Hogwarts. It had been the first time that his grandmother had told him how proud she was of him, for being sorted into Gryffindor and even more for gaining points for his house at the end of the year and thus reclaiming the house cup from Slytherin. She had made him put on his school uniform so she could place the photo right next to that of his parents in their Gryffindor clothes, which hung on the kitchen wall.
He was smiling and waving happily out of the picture at himself, only he remembered too well how quickly that smile had faded afterwards. If only grandma hadn´t said those dreadful words, he thought.
"Well done, my
Slightly DisturbedSlightly Disturbed
It had been Mum's idea. The therapist, that is. She thought it would help the family cope with our situation. Mainly me considering. In all honesty, going to St. Mungo's to sort out my problems was the last thing I needed. But I'd like to see you try saying no to my mother. Especially when she's as torn up as she is.
"So," the elderly man smiled as he looked at me through his smudged glasses, "how are feeling today? Better?"
I shook my head.
"No? Tell me about it."
I shook my head again, "There's nothing much to say. Not much has changed since Monday."
He crossed his legs, allowing the argyle socks to peek out from underneath his trousers. "Well, let's start with the little things then."
"Uh," I started as my mind searched for the tiny differences, "I ate some pudding last night. Made some hangover potion. Oh! I bought an owl!"
"Well, that's new."
"Named 'em Griswold. He has a tendency to bite though." I raised my hand and wiggled my fingers, displaying the man
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
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