Harry Potter 1. Merope Gaunt:Potion

**Disclaimer-I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. **

**Chapter One. **

**Merope Gaunt: Potion (#14)  
**

* * *

It had taken ages, it seemed. Ages and ages of squirreling away every coin she could find, every bit of scrap metal or herbs she could sell. She had her stash hidden in a tiny hole behind their shack. And she waited. And waited. And waited, until finally she had the exorbitant fee charged by the elderly outlaw witch, who lived in a hovel worse than the Gaunt's.

When her father was sleeping one night, and Morfin was absorbed in singing to his current favorite snake, Merope snuck out of the house with her entire stash of small coins and rare herbs.

While any other person would have been terrified at the thought of walking through a forest in the dead of night, Merope welcomed the solitude.

Finally, she reached the hut where the devious witch lived, knocked three times and waited. She didn't have to wait as long as the first time, for the witch must have been anticipating her arrival. Within seconds, the door (if one could call it that) creaked open and the witch beckoned her in.

"It is ready?" Merope asked, trembling with suspense and excitement. The witch nodded, and pointed to a cauldron bubbling over the fire pit in the corner. It had a silvery pearl colored texture, and had spirals of steam twisting above it.

Merope gasped at its beautiful appearance, and suddenly an exquisite smell wafted to her. It smelled of horses and grass, and somehow, just somehow she smelled little silver carriage bells. Tom. It smelled like Tom.

"I have the money." Merope reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out her meager handful of coins and the rare herbs the witch had asked for, the rarest of which she had sold for a slim wage. The witch's eyes widened and she stretched out her hand greedily.

Merope had sense though. The witch could easily take advantage of Merope's lack of magical ability. She shook her head firmly and closed her hand around the riches. "Potion first."

The witch gave a little sigh of resignation, then produced a flask from somewhere inside her grungy, ripped robes. Squatting carefully over the cauldron, she filled it to the brim and then handed it to Merope. Merope held the flask in her hand. It was still warm, and she felt the powerful tingle that went that this was serious magic. Serious magic, indeed.

"What love potion is it?" she asked the silent witch.

" 'Tis Amortentia. Love potion of immense strength…driving the drinker to love, yes, but a consuming, obsessive love, not pure and true."

Merope had ceased listening to the witch's hoarse, hushed voice after the word strength. She shoved the money and herbs into the witch's hand then fled eagerly from the hut.

She would do it today. She only had a little time, for Tom went on an early morning ride, and the sun was already rising.

She ran and ran, until her lungs were bursting and her legs aching, her arms scratched by errant branches.

As soon as she reached her shack, she slipped in silently. They were still asleep. Good. She found their best cup, poured the potion in, and neatened herself up the best she could.

And then she waited. And waited. And waited. Just when she began to think that he wouldn't ride by, she saw his horse turn round the bend in the path.

And as he slowly rode down the path, she was there, smiling gently and saying, "Fancy a cold drink?"


	2. Hermione Granger:Floor

"Well, if you don't like it, you know what the solution is, don't you

"_Well, if you don't like it, you know what the solution is, don't you?" yelled Hermione; her hair was coming down out of its elegant bun now, and her face was screwed up in anger. _

"_Oh yeah?" Ron yelled back. "What's that?" _

"_Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!"_

_-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, pg.376 (Canadian)_

**Chapter Two**

Ron and Hermione-floor (#25)

Ron was such an idiot.

Couldn't he tell that she wanted, more than anything, for him to ask her to dance?

But no. Even Luna was dancing (albeit on her own) and _still_ Ron had not asked her to dance.

This was such a repeat of the past. Ron sitting doing nothing, and Viktor still pursuing her. Hermione remembered what she had shouted at him in fourth year after a night like this, about how next time, he needed to ask her first. She wondered if he even remembered it. She hoped with all her might that Ron would not provoke Viktor, and also hoped that Ron would dance with her.

Finally Ron broke his tradition of apathetic jealousy.

"Come and dance." He said shortly.

It wasn't extraordinarily romantic, but it was a start. Her face burning, she was led by the hand to the dance floor, where Ron instantly seemed to relax.

It may seem silly, in the midst of a war, but there wouldn't be many delights searching for Horcruxes. She had to seize the opportunity.

She determinedly put her arms around his neck, and he pulled her closer as a slow song began to play. "Hey," he whispered softly in her ear. "I did what you told me to do. Remember, in fourth year?"

"Of course I do."

"I did the right thing this time," he said simply, and she could hear a smile in his voice. His cheek was still next to hers. She breathed in the scent of his hair as much as she could. It smelled like the Amortentia. The essence of her love, for yes it was that deep, her love for Ron.

It was a perfect moment and she relished in it for as long as it lasted.

The war could wait a couple more songs, couldn't it?

"_Come and dance," he added abruptly to Hermione. _

_She looked taken aback, but pleased too, and got up. They vanished together into the growing throng on the dance floor."_

_-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows pg.146 (US) _


	3. Arthur Weasley:Improper

**Chapter Three**

**Arthur Weasley-Improper (#8)**

* * *

Arthur hummed to himself merrily while he tinkered with his car. Yes, it was his, all his, and he whiled away many afternoon hours playing with it. He had almost figured out how the engine worked with the battery, and was very excited about his discoveries.

But he couldn't share his excitement with anyone. Especially not with his co-workers, after all, he worked at the Improper Use of Muggle Artifacts department, and they simply wouldn't understand.

There was no other department where you could take Muggle things home, and so he had eagerly accepted the job. He hadn't gotten an O in his Muggle Studies N.E.W.T. for nothing! Thank Merlin Molly was so supportive.

There went the little twinge of guilt again that Arthur always felt while working on his car. He couldn't tell Molly, though, he argued to himself. She wouldn't understand.

He hadn't told anyone, though he thought that Fred and George suspected him. They knew he was fiddling with something in his shed, and he knew they would tell him when they saw fit (fit for them, at least).

"Where did I put that blasted wrench?" he muttered to himself.

The wrench was handed to him, and he got back to work. A moment later it hit him. Pulling himself up, (and hitting his head on the lifted hood), he fearfully looked around to see who the intruder was.

It was Ginny, sitting relaxedly on his stool near the work-table. He opened his mouth to swear her to secrecy, but she interrupted him.

"You know, Dad, I reckon you should use this one instead. It works better with the small valves."


	4. Rita Skeeter:Exclusive

**Chapter 4:Exclusive**

**Rita**** Skeeter**** (Exclusive #4)  
**

* * *

I, Rita Skeeter, noble and brilliant leading journalist of these dark times, have been hexed two hundred and seventy three times, jinxed one hundred fourteen, and cursed seventy two. My Quick Quotes Quill has been snapped seven times, and I have been punched in the Muggle dueling style nine times.

During my illustrious career, I have faced countless threats of bodily harm and numerous bans from popular wizarding establishments.

The sacrifices I make for my distinguished profession!

I have always had a special talent (one of many, I assure you) for being sly, cunning, and sneaky. That's how I have come so far in my field!

I even learned how to become an Animagus. In my beetle form, I was all-powerful. I managed to sneak into places that my dear readers have barely even dreamed of; hear conversations that would shock you more than a Stunner to the chest.

I was the best. I was the top. I was the elite.

Until that silly girl came along. Miss -I'm-Too-Good-For-Everybody-Granger. Well, she figured it out, and my secret weapon was disarmed.

I was forced to leave reporting for a year (ages, it felt like) until finally I was allowed to return. She held my career, my life, in the palm of her hand, as my informants used to hold me.

Finally I was allowed back-but I had to do free reporting for her. I reluctantly agreed, but you can imagine my delight when I was told to interview The-Boy-Who-Earns-My-Living about what happened that fateful night.

An exclusive. My breakthrough story-for free.

But let's just say that in the battle of wits, I prevailed.

I still managed to publish my bestselling biography of Dumbledore.

There's your exclusive-I win. I always do.


	5. Sirius Black:Azkaban

**Chapter 5 – Azkaban**

**Sirius Black-Azkaban (#3)**

* * *

The Dementors drifted throughout the damp, cold halls of Azkaban, their faces hidden by ragged black robes. Sirius wondered if they had faces. Or souls. He suspected they did not, for what could have a soul that fed upon happiness?

He had lots of time to ponder this, locked in the confines of Azkaban. Hell was not fire, as he had believed, no, it was Azkaban, damp and dank and icy.

What had he done to deserve this prison? According to the Ministry, and everyone he had ever trusted and befriended, he had murdered thirteen people.

His real crime, his _only_ crime, had been trusting that little rat.

He missed all of them. He even missed his conniving little brother, for Merlin's sake.

But he especially missed Emmeline. Her stately, elegant ways. Why had he never told her his feelings? Now she would never know that he loved her, never know that besides his desire for revenge she was the only thing he kept living for.

He used her to fight the Dementors.

He would be imprisoned in here for his life, for betraying Lily and James-not in the way the Ministry thought-but betraying them all the same.

And he remembered how she was slow to smile, but when she did it was radiant. And he remembered how she laughed. And he remembered how she looked fighting Death Eaters, fiercely defensive and brave. And he remembered how she looked when the Order was plotting, and she had come up with the scheme, mischievous and conspiratorial. And he remembered all of this, sickening the Dementors.

Did she hate and revile him as the rest of the Order did?

He had lots of time to ponder this, locked in the confines of Azkaban. Hell was not fire, as he had believed, no, it was Azkaban, damp and dank and icy.


	6. Nymphadora Tonks:Hair

**Tonks-Hair(#16)**

* * *

You could always tell what phase I was in by looking at my hair.

When I was little, I favored neon, lurid colours, lime green and orange and flaming crimson.

When I was in Hogwarts, I toned down a bit on colour, but kept it bright red or sometimes pink.

When I was in Auror training, I wanted to be taken seriously, so I kept it royal blue which I figured was serious but still fun.

And then I met Remus.

And I didn't care how "improper" or "unprofessional" or "juvenile" pink was, because from the second I met him, I knew it was love.

And I reckoned pink was a colour of joy and love.

When he rejected me, saying he was utterly wrong for me, the colour left.

It was dull, limp, and mousy brown. I was dull, limp, and extremely pale.

When he finally came round, it was pink.

And when I was killed by my aunt Bellatrix, it was still pink.

Pink and Black never got along.


	7. Ron Weasley:Pink

**Ron Weasley: Pink (#23)**

* * *

A colour people associated with Ronald Bilius Weasley was not the flaming red of his hair, or the orange of his favorite Quidditch team, but pink.

His Weasley genes gave him the unfortunate tendency of his ears turning pink whenever he felt a strong emotion.

Being a Weasley, that happened often.

Since he was fair-skinned, he also tended to be pink after a bit too long in the sun.

Pink was the colour of his cheeks when he was embarrassed, which happened surprisingly often.

And as loads of girls seemed to believe, (thanks to Ginny), pink was the colour of his tattoo of a Puffskein.

Every nauseating note Lavender had given him was written on pink parchment.

And Hermione's lips were a delicate shade of pale, rose pink, which he thought of kissing for years, (and then he did).

No matter how much he tried to deny it, it seemed he and pink were intertwined for life.

Which he had to admit was the pink of perfection.

* * *


	8. Draco Malfoy:Dragon

**Draco Malfoy: Dragon(#7)**

* * *

His mother used to tell him that Draco was a very special name.

Despite the fact that it is extremely weird, it means _dragon _in Latin. There is also a constellation named Draco.

He never felt like a dragon.

He spent years living in fear of his father, whom he loathed and despised.

_His father was a Draco. But not him._

He spents years at Hogwarts taunting Potty and Weasel and the Mudblood, but at the same time, he admired their bravery in the face of injustice.

_They were Draco. But not him._

He spent a year tormenting those who defied the Dark Lord. But he never liked it. Even though he had power, he hated it. The victims of torture appeared every time he closed his eyes.

_They were Draco. But not him._

After the war, he felt like a pariah...until he met Astoria. She restored him back to the Draco he could have been. She was his light.

_And finally, he was Draco._


	9. Percy Weasley:Glasses

**Chapter Nine**

**Percy Weasley-Glasses (#2)**

* * *

If glasses were supposed to help you see, why had he been so blind?

He didn't see that there was more to life than work, more to life than blind loyalty. And he certainly didn't see that family was more important than the bloody Ministry. How could he have missed all of that?

So after the war, he cleaned his glasses, and cleaned them again, but they were already clean. They had never been dirty or smudged in the first place. The fact that he couldn't see for so many years was not the fault of the glasses- it was his.

And that realization came painfully clear, as he stood with his family at Fred's tombstone, his eyes blinded by tears. But he saw now; saw how he had turned a blind eye to the oppressive atmosphere of his once-beloved Ministry.

He saw clearly now, but it took a death to make him see.

* * *

**A/N- I apologize for not updating anything in so long-I was on vacation and recovering from a crippling case of Writer's Block. Forgive me, dear readers. **

**warning-self plug Ch.4 of Golden Crescendo should be up in a day or so. It will take the story in a whole new direction! self plug over **


	10. Gilderoy Lockhart:Magic

**Gilderoy Lockhart- Magic (#11)**

* * *

I'm Gilderoy Lockhart, and while I can't quite remember, somehow I _know _I've always been a very powerful wizard.

Until something happened. I can't quite put a finger on it, but I _know _something happened, and that's why I've been in this ward for as long as I can remember.

Now I mostly spend my time answering fan mail.

I can't remember why I get fan mail, but I _know_ it has something to do with my stunning good looks and charm.

Speaking of charm, I think they told me that it was a charm that got me here.

So, I…I-I.

What was I talking about?

Merlin knows.

Here, take an autographed picture. Or five.


	11. Kreacher:Kitchen

**Chapter Eleven: Kitchen (Kreacher)**

Kreacher was happy in his kitchen. Always happy.

Especially when Master Regulus came to see Kreacher. He was quite nice to Kreacher.

But then Master Regulus died and Kreacher didn't like his kitchen anymore. It was too sad.

Then Harry Potter told him to work at Hogwarts, which had a nice kitchen. But it wasn't Kreacher's.

One day Kreacher made friends with Harry Potter. Then he liked his kitchen again. He made lots of good food for Harry Potter and the friends of Harry Potter.

But then bad people came, so Kreacher left to go to Hogwarts.

He helped the other house-elves fight the bad people. All for Master Regulus.

So when He Who Must Not Be Named was killed, Kreacher returned to his house. And he made lots of good food for Harry Potter and the friends of Harry Potter.

Kreacher was happy in his kitchen. Always happy.

* * *

**I am trying to update my stories. I was very busy with eleven hour days at band camp, but now we only have four hours, which leaves more time for writing. And kitchens. :D  
**


	12. Harry Potter:Kite

**Chapter Twelve**

Harry Potter: Kite (#22)

* * *

He was like a kite.

He bobbed up and down, dipped and spun between air and ground, life and death.

His strings were never really cut- he never lost the wind. But he was never really free (literally tied to his duty.)

And he swirled, swirled and spun, but always stayed in the air.

He was like a kite.

* * *

**Yes, I know, it's super-short. But I like it. :D**


	13. Verity Carlyle:Assistant

Chapter Thirteen.

Verity Carlyle. (Assistant-prompt #17)

From day one, the twins had warned Verity that her job duties would involve everything from helping brainstorm new products to punishing would-be shoplifters in creative ways.

She had been especially proud of the sneak sensor, which was an invisible ward placed over the door to the workshop. When the would-be shoplifters attempted to discreetly leave the store, pockets bulging with unpaid-for merchandise, a siren immediately went off. When the thieves tried to leg it out the door, they were promptly turned purple, and the color did not wear off for a week.

They hired her on the spot when she suggested that.

Yes, there were many things entailed in being an assistant to the dynamic Weasley twins. But she never anticipated losing one. And she certainly never anticipated having to console the other.

They couldn't find George a month after Fred's death. Out of their minds with worry, the Weasleys floo-called her. Verity calmly assured a frantic Molly Weasley that she was positive that George was just grieving alone, not off trying to kill himself.

Heart hurting, (Fred and George had become close friends), she went to the shop.

The CLOSED sign hung on the windows of the darkened shop. All around, people were busy rebuilding Diagon Alley from the cheerless place it had been for the past year, and they didn't see Verity slip into the abandoned shop.

George was on his knees in the center of the shop, sobbing. Verity's heart, already mangled in the aftermath of the war, (she had lost a cousin), broke to see him.

"George," she murmured, and dropped on the floor beside him, taking him into her arms. They rocked back in forth in the dark shop, the only sound their sobs.

Verity was small, (only eighteen), but she held George like a mother would, and stroked his hair, singing to him softly.

They sat like that for hours. Verity only had gotten up once to send Molly a quick Patronus telling her that George was fine.

Eventually, George's tears slowed.

"You don't have to do this," he said quietly.

"I'm your assistant, George," Verity told him, her heart bursting with emotion. "I help you. "


	14. Luna Lovegood:Native

Native (#9) Luna Lovegood

"She was elusive. She was today. She was tomorrow. She was the faintest scent of a cactus blossom…"

-Stargirl, Jerry Spinelli

She was raw.

There were those clad in insecurities and masked with false feelings.

And then there was she- open, honest, both hiding nothing and having nothing _to _hide.

So they shunned her- hiding behind their masks.

It didn't help that she kept talking about Nargles.


	15. Albus Dumbledore:Carpet

Carpet- Albus Dumbledore

He looked down on it from his position in heaven.

_Was it heaven? It certainly looked a lot like Kings' Cross Station._

The dust figure of himself rose to defend Grimmauld Place. He smiled.

_Everything returns to dust in the end._

Even Albus Dumbledore.


	16. Molly Weasley:Homemade

_Homemade (#6) Molly Weasley_

There was nothing, Molly Weasley believed, that couldn't be fixed with some good cooking.

Underfed Boy-Who-Lived? Stuff him with cakes and pies.

Rejected Metamorphmagus? Prescribed: Tea and Sympathy.

Sending your youngest son off to school? Corned Beef Sandwiches.

But this, losing a son, no amount of delectable pastries or meaty concoctions could repair.


End file.

Harry Potter