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Old 06-03-2019, 12:05 PM   #6 (permalink)
Stormdancer


DMC & DMAC
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Join Date: Aug 2003
Location: Scotland, [GMT]
Posts: 10,058

Hogwarts RPG Name:
Bennett Potter
Slytherin
Sixth Year

Hogwarts RPG Name:
Atlas Ward
Ravenclaw
First Year
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Toto * RotiSila * ToRo * Braveheart * Grandma & Mama Tori

Round One Submission Entry
written by nicole black




The sun was still shining brighter than Queenie believed it had any right. School was still happening and the allure of sunshine, clear days, hot nights, and so much more, was punishment. She felt itchy under her robes, eager for freedom and promises the year had never kept. It was enough to make you go a little mad.

Maybe that was the reason she and Tina had been looking at each other with daggers in their eyes lately, or maybe it were just a part of growing pains like her daddy had said in his letter. There were whispers around her, but Queenie was used to them. Boys were often whispering around her, talking dung like they knew somethin’ she didn’t, exceptin’ she did know, and she knew more enough to give ‘em the regular friendly little brush off. A big smile. A dopey laugh. Sometimes that was all you needed to be left alone. Exceptin’ today the whispers wouldn’t go away. They buzzed and hummed, snickered and shushed and followed Queenie all through her walk to the commons.

Enough to drive ya mad. Enough, and enough. She turned sharply, ready to give the boys she expected to find a piece of her mind. Exceptin’ they weren’t there. No one was. Queenie switched one foot to the other, humming impatiently to keep her nerves down. People, not her, but people, sometimes said this part of the school was haunted. Not haunted like ya normal run-of-the-mill-ghost, but worse. Queenie didn’t know what was worse, she didn’t wanna know to-be-sure.

Tinie wouldn't-a run. Tinie woulda hopped back on her heel and traced her steps until she figured on out what was happening. Then, and only then would she have run. Where were all the promises now? The golden sun no longer felt a friend, for what kinda friend faded away just as ya needed them? Dusk swept over, coloring Queenie’s golden hair to bronze and painting shadows where none had been before. Eerie, but not silent.

Queenie shuddered as she passed closed room after room with voices growing closer after each step. Half the talk wasn’t even scary, more than half now that she thought about it. There was somethin’ idle to it, lazy even. Somethin’ about that irked Queenie real bad. (On later reflection - much, much later reflection - Queenie’d realize the majority of the ghost-problems were much-too-much like living-problems.) Clatter! Thunk! The door just behind her was thrown open and Queenie had the good sense to throw her wand at the ghastly figure of sixth year Scotty Thompson, closely followed by a red-cheeked Angel-Marie Tribbiani.

Boy, was the egg on her face.

“What’s the big idea, Goldstein?” Angel-Marie spat out while Scotty bent over to pick up the badly-aimed wand.

“My big idea? You two oughta talk.“ She laughed, light as air in a moment. “Who throws themself at-ta door like that?”

“Who throws a wand?” Scotty countered. He was big, buff and sharper than a thumb tack. Nobody didn’t know what he was doing with Angel-Marie.

“Dodging a question with a question is like putting two rights together to make a wrong.” Fast talking, Queenie plucked her wand outta the boy’s hand. How dumb, how thick. The dusk had turned Queenie into a creeper’s dream. To think all those whispers were from a sneaky couple a little too eager in their lovin’, Queenie coulda laughed herself to sleep.

Relieved, proud Queenie backpedaled her way between the couple, earning an unhappy yelp as thanks. “My common’s the other way.” She didn’t peek back, uncaring for the upper classmen or the perplexin’ looks they sent after her. The hallway, which before had felt so long, was barely a hop, skip and a jump now. To think she’d been afraid; what a laugh! What a gas! Queenie giggled to herself as she ran into the commons, eager to share her story with the gals of her dorm. The young witch would tell that story a hundred times that summer without even once a-realizing the whispers and snide comments hadn’t been words, but thoughts.
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