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ɴʊɱɞɘʀiɴʛ ([info]numbering) wrote,
@ 2025-12-25 14:18:00

Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
☈ THE APPLICATION
Describe in third-person storybook format, with 400 WORDS at the very least, one of the following prompts involving the character you are applying for.
❶ Their worst memory.
❷ Their happiest memory.
❸ A memory they cannot seem to forget which may seem mundane to others.

Yes, that’s all we’re asking for. When applying, please comment below with your name, any form of contact you wish to include, the played by, and of course the sample. In the subject line include the character’s name and their assigned number. All comments will be screened at your convenience. Good luck!


Page 1 of 3
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Sirius Black - #1
[info]spiffynerd
2009-12-26 08:47 am UTC (link)
Name: Lily
Contact: thespiffinator@yahoo.com for YIM and e-mail.
PB: Ben Barnes
Sample:

“Sirius' Worst Memory”


During their years at Hogwarts, the Marauders conceived, planned, and executed hundreds of pranks, but only one would come to be known as The Prank, and at first, Sirius didn't realize what he'd done. When he got back to the dorm the day of The Prank, the day of the full moon, Remus was conspicuously absent, already down at the hospital wing. Sirius, on the other hand, was all smiles as usual as he boasted about his latest fight with Snivellus.

“So then I told him...” Ever the storyteller, Sirius knew he'd reached the climax of his story, so he paused for dramatic effect. James looked interested; Peter, captivated. “I told him if he really wanted to know what was up, to go down to the Whomping Willow tonight and poke the knot with a long branch. Once Moony gets a whiff of his greasy arse, Snivellus'll be a midnight snack, and we'll finally be rid of him once and for all!” Sirius outright crowed, looking far too proud of himself. However, like the dog who's left a dead animal “present” at its master's feet, he quickly realized he'd done wrong. Interest shifted to anger; captivation to fear.

“Sirius, you idiot,” was all the warning Sirius had before James' fist smashed into his left cheekbone. He staggered backwards, one hand clutching at the trunk behind him, the other covering the point of impact.

“What? Worried all the grease will give Moony indigestion?” Sirius tried, weakly. He hadn't quite worked out what, exactly, was the matter with his stroke of brilliance, but he'd never seen James this angry before, so it was likely something quite bad.

“I can't believe even you would do something that stupid--Sirius, how the hell do you think Moony's going to feel when he sees he's gone and killed Snape? Worse than that, what do you think Dumbledore's going to do? Keep him in school and smooth it over? Not bloody likely!”

'Quite bad' didn't quite cover it, as Sirius was quickly realizing. He blanched, bruise forgotten. “There's got to be something we can do, we're the Marauders, we can do anything...”

“I think you've done enough for one day. C'mon, Wormtail.”

As James and Peter left the room, the door shut loudly behind them, and Sirius didn't think he'd ever felt so alone.

---

The cold feeling of dread had settled in his stomach, and Sirius hadn't moved from where he was sitting on his trunk when James and Peter returned several hours later. Peter looked very pale, and James a little scraped up, but still furious. “Don't know if you care, but no one died.” Sirius let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, but James had more to say, in the same terse tone. “Dumbledore wants to see you.”

---

He received plenty of detention from Dumbledore, of course, but that punishment was nothing compared to what he got from his friends. Sirius apologized up and down to Remus, James, and even Peter, but for weeks afterward, they pretended he didn't exist except when they were glaring at him. Finally, when it was approaching the next full moon, James asked Sirius out of the blue if he planned on coming to the Shack. After the last three weeks, Sirius couldn't believe his luck, so he turned to Remus for confirmation, which was given with a sharp nod. Sirius broke out into a grin, unspeakably glad that the whole mess was over.

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2009-12-26 08:18 pm UTC
Lily Potter: #15
[info]_evans
2009-12-27 08:42 am UTC (link)
Name: Becka
Contact: AIM- occifer becky, E-mail- occiferbecky@gmail.com
PB: Kirsten Dunst One. Two. Three.

Sample:
Lily's Happiest Memory


It seemed like something out of a fairy tale. It was warm outside, the sun shining brightly as a breeze gently passed by carrying the scents of summer.

If there was ever a perfect day, a perfect moment, this was it.

When Lily Evans first met James Potter on the Hogwarts Express, she didn't like him very much. She never expected to become friends with him and refused to even date him, let alone marry him. But then he'd gone and stolen her heart. Looking back now, Lily wouldn't want it any other way. Their relationship had always been push and pull, an explosion waiting to go off right from the start. That's what made it brilliant, why Lily loved James. They were partners, in it till the end, no matter what. And today it was going to be made official.

The ceremony was small, close family and friends, outside in a field near Godric's Hollow. It was a personal favorite spot for the pair, the home of many fond memories together.

Standing just out of sight of the wedding party, Lily took in a deep breath and smiled. It all felt so surreal. Just a few months ago James had asked her to marry him, and without hesitation she'd jumped into his arms and said yes. It felt as though minutes had passed and Lily was waiting, dress zipped, veil on, flowers in hand.

What would the future bring? The War was getting worse everyday, and it was impossible to tell what would happen next. "As long as we're together, which we always will be, it doesn't matter." That's what James always said, and it was true. They would always be together.

Suddenly the music started playing, and Lily knew it was her cue: the ceremony was starting. Adjusting her veil and checking her dress, Lily Evans stepped into view of the small crowd. Everyone was there: members of the Order, close friends from school and after, the people that mattered. A Minister stood at the end of the aisle, Alice and Dorcas on one side as her bridesmaids, and Sirius, Remus and Peter on the other as best men, respectively. Green eyes flickered momentarily until she saw him step forward, and after that moment he was all she saw.

Hair as messy as ever, James stood waiting for her. Lily felt her eyes being to tear as she reached her spot and James moved her veil back. She couldn't hear the Minister's words as her eyes were locked with James', and they did not move until it was time for vows. They had chosen traditional vows, and as the wedding band was slipped onto her ring finger, Lily couldn't help but smile, laugh and cry at the same time. Her fingers held tightly onto his as the ceremony continued, and once it all had been said, there was only one thing left to do.

"You may kiss the bride."

Since the invention of the kiss there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.

That day, that moment, was all Lily had ever wanted.

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2009-12-27 05:47 pm UTC
Caradoc Dearborn - #3
[info]saintbastard
2009-12-31 06:30 am UTC (link)
Name: Vic
Contact: cakenotdeath on AIM
PB: Hugh Laurie
Sample: holy crap why is it so long o.0

'A memory they cannot seem to forget which may seem mundane to others'


It was snowing in London. It wasn’t snowing all that hard, but their coats were thin. Caradoc and Elizabeth clung together for warmth. His arm was wrapped tightly around her, and her cheek was pressed against his shoulder.

“I told you. This is why I don’t like London,” he said.

“What?”

“This is why I don’t like London. It’s out to get me,” he announced, the words escaping in a puff of steam from between his lips and dissipating in the cold air.

“You’re mad,” she said, half-laughing.

“No, no, it’s true. It’s always been like this. The last time I was here I tried taking the tube in to see my brother, and it was the one day some idiot decided to jump in front of it and we were delayed for hours, and then the time before that I got completely lost trying to find Hyde Park and it turned out I was right next to it the whole time…”

“Yes, that definitely sounds like proof of a whole city conspiring against you.”

“Exactly! And now this! The theater closes on us, that restaurant was terrible, and now it’s snowing. It’s turned out so awful.”

“It’s not awful at all. It’s lovely.” She nestled into his coat a little closer, and they both stopped to watch the snow fall on the inky Thames. “If it weren’t for that terrible restaurant,” she said quietly, “we’d never have taken a walk, would we? And if it weren’t for the snow, we’d never be… like this, would we?” Her face was now barely an inch away from his. Caradoc could almost feel the warmth of her cheek.

“No, no,” he said gallantly. “I mean, it’s nice like this, but it really has gone all wrong. I should make it up to you.” He pressed his forehead against hers and she smiled. “What do you want?” he said. “Tell me anything, and I’ll give it to you.”

Elizabeth raised her head, and for a moment Caradoc’s face was buried in the red of her hair, and she was whispering into his ear. “Violets.” She drew back and looked into his face. “Violets in the middle of December. Can you do that?”

Caradoc drew away and looked briefly over one shoulder, and then the next. He looked around. The night was too late and the dark was too cold for anyone else to be out, and it felt like they were the only ones in the world. There was not a soul to see.

He fumbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out his wand. He flicked his wrist and produced a single, perfect flower from the tip of his wand, and then offered it to Elizabeth with a flourish. She beamed and tucked it behind his ear.

“I always forget that you’re-- you’re...” she could never bring herself to say a wizard, “...amazing. I always forget. You have to remind me like that sometimes.”

“I will. We’ll have flowers in our house all year round.”

“When we get a house.”

“Yes. And then we’ll have violets all the time.”

She pressed her lips against his cheek briefly and squeezed his hand and they kept walking, alone in the falling snow.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2009-12-31 07:02 am UTC
Arthur Weasley - #7
[info]i_am_excaliber
2010-01-04 01:46 am UTC (link)
Name: Jillian
Contact: alinneaelindor at yahoo dot com
PB: Fran Kranz
Sample: posted in two bits since it doesn't all fit in one

'A memory they cannot seem to forget which may seem mundane to others'

It was Saturday, which was Molly Day in that it was Molly's day to do whatever she liked. It didn't always involve not being bothered by a cadre of raucous boys - last weekend, in fact, it involved getting her boys dressed up in their nicest clothes and having their portrait taken in a studio by Elgar Hensen's wife, who was quite good at that sort of thing - but this weekend it did. Molly was entertaining a few of her mates at the house for Ladies Tea which meant not only did Arthur have the full reign over the Redheaded Hoard, but he had to have them out of the house for at least three hours.

"Cheers, Bill," Arthur said lazily as he sat on the porch of the tumble-down house his eldest brother owned. When Bill lifted his beer, Arthur did the same, clinking it against each other before each taking a swig.

"No worries, mate- good action for the pups. You want to put money on who'll drop first?" Bilius grinned with a wide, gap-toothed smile as he gestured wildly with his beer to the tableau before them.

Three slobbering sheepdogs buried Charlie to the point that only a wiggling hand and a foot that somehow lost its shoe were visible. Bill was similarly difficult to see, but not so difficult to hear as he kept repeating a mantra of 'whozagoodboy' from the bottom of the pile. A little ways away, Percy slid over the midsection of another, older sheepdog, turning a somersault as his head came into contact with grass. Looking dazed for a moment, he stood up and laughed and clapped with his triumph.

Arthur took another sip of his pilsner as he watched Charlie escape free of the pile of dogs and started running off, Bill scrambling after him along with the three 'pups', even Percy toddling along on his unsteady legs around a circuit. Shaggy white and gray and red swirled in his view, laughing and barking with thumps of feet acting as a baseline to what was music to Arthur's ears. They were magic, they were. Little bundles of irrepressible magic with smiles and opinions and the ability to cut straight to his heart just by the sound of their laughter.

"You're doing it again, Art. You're such a total tosser, it's un-bloody-lievable," Bilius said, but it was only until Arthur got smacked across the back of the skull that he looked away from the three shining lights of his life.

"Yeah, well it's only going to get worse," Arthur replied, barely repressing a smirk as he brought the beer to his lips again.

There was a long pause before Bilius reached over and grabbed Arthur's shoulder. "AGAIN?"

Arthur held up two fingers simply, chortling happily. "That'll be five, my lad, and no mistake! That just puts me down a keeper and seeker," he announced, counting out the last two positions on one hand and leaning over the armrest to shove them in in his brother's face. Cackling as he rested back in his seat, Arthur looked out at his sons.

There was a long pause between the two of them as they each took a sip of their beer, the arm action mirroring each other perfectly.

"Hellfire, Arthur," Bilius said quietly as they both looked out onto the children and the dogs, all three boys on the ground trying to teach the dogs to roll over and only succeeding in educating Percy. Then, suddenly the older man shifted out of his chair. "What do you reckon, Art? This is a bigger space that what you lot are living on- what do you say we trade spaces?"

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Arthur Weasley - #7
[info]i_am_excaliber
2010-01-04 01:47 am UTC (link)
the conclusion

Arthur spit out his beer and looked over at his brother who was suddenly standing before him. "How much have you had?" Arthur snickered disbelievingly.

"Serious. I'll take over the lease at your place in Hounslow, you can have The Burrow. Five kids in two bedrooms!? How much have you had? Shouldn't be raising kids in the city anyroad - can't run around like little red rabbits."

Arthur continued to look at his brother as if he'd just acquired an illness that turned his head into that of a canary. He gave a mildly confused chuckle as his brother continued to look serious at him. "I can't have a fish let alone a pile of dogs in the place we're renting--"

"I didn't say I'd stay there, just that I'd take over the lease. You've only got a few more months on the year, yeah? We'll why don't we just call it a Christmas present; when your lease runs out, you can move here." Bilius put his hands on his hips and looked up at the building. "Wouldn't take much to make this place presentable, you know? I just don't give a damn, but put a sploch of paint, maybe do up the shelving in the kitchen... look, what are you looking at me like that for - it's not like I'm clothing five kids on a Hit Wizard salary. Just take it! I was going to move anyway."

"Yeah- where?" Arthur challenged, starring utterly gobsmacked at his brother.

"Fuck if I know," Bilius chuckled, grinning madly. "But I guess I'd better start looking." Now it was his turn to wear a shit-eating grin as he half-mosied, half-sauntered into the kitchen. "What do you say to another one, Art?"

Arthur got out of his chair slowly, turning to look up at The Burrow. Some of the boards looked a bit loose on the outside of the house and paint was chipped in all manner of places. He took a few steps off the porch and took more of it into his view: the stone chimney, the second floor with the windy turret rooms, the solidly-tiled roof.

"Yeah. Sure." He said distractedly as he tried to picture living here. It wasn't difficult to do at all.

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2010-01-04 02:24 am UTC
Bellatrix Lestrange - 13
[info]etoile_noire
2010-01-04 10:51 am UTC (link)
Name: Amanda
Contact: kissmecassius@yahoo.com
PB: Lonneke Engel
Sample: Happiest Memory

Bellatrix awoke to Regulus tugging softly at her sleeve. His bright, wide eyes shone like a cat's in the pitch black of the early morning.

"Bella, Bella, wake up! I'm afraid," he said, his thumb finding its youthful refuge in his mouth.

She sighed but pushed the covers down and got up anyway, taking his tiny hand in hers to lead him to the kitchen for some warm cocoa.

"Where's your brother?" she asked, smothering a yawn.

Regulus shrugged and shook his head.

From the quiet in the hallways, it seemed the party had died down some hours prior, and the adults had finally retired to their rooms. It was the annual Black family holiday to a small chateau on the Normandy coast, the original inheritance of some French ancestor. The rooms were large, the grounds extensive, and the mighty sea crashing against the jagged cliffs had a way of perfectly echoing the power and fearlessness of the bloodline that Bellatrix recognized and revered even at a young age.

The sound of music from somewhere slowly trickled into the stillness, followed by a warm, flickering candlelight. The children continued through the house, the music growing in volume, until they were bathed in the bright light of the ballroom. The empty space of the dark wood floors shone brilliantly beneath the high ceilings and candlelit chandeliers.

"Mummy!" Regulus called out excitedly. Bellatrix stood awestruck. In the center of the room was her aunt, the honorable Mrs. Black, and the mother of Sirius and Regulus. Her heavy black curls spilled down her back, released from their more formal, tightened style. She wore a flowing black gown and elbow-length black gloves, diamonds sparkling on her fingers, wrists and long, elegant neck. Her tall black heels had been tossed aside, and she was twirling barefoot with a grinning, pajama-clad Sirius. She took his hands in hers, led him swaying around the floor, and perfected his bows, all the while tossing her head back and laughing, fully, heartily, the way only she could.

To Bellatrix, she was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. She'd always loved her aunt; she felt, even in looking at her - from the rough-edged, unruly black hair to the deep brown eyes - that she belonged to her aunt more than anyone else. She knew she would idolize her as no other for the rest of her life. She was the strong-willed matriarch of the Black family whom Bellatrix hoped one day to succeed, the intense, wild warrior, as passionate in her moments of affection as she was in her rages.

Regulus's fingers slipped through Bellatrix's hand as he ran across the room.

"Mummy, Mummy, my turn!" he yelled.

Mrs. Black laughed, scooping him up into her arms and rocking him with the music.

"Come, Bella darling, the night is young!" she called to her niece, extending a slender, gloved hand.

Bellatrix didn't know then what a struggle it was for her aunt to sleep, the toll her untamed temper took on her physically, nor did she know much of the ferocity and sorrow that would grip her in her darker hours. She hadn't yet seen her aunt stand on the edge of the cliffs in her torn gown years later, staring wild-eyed at the crashing waves below, commiserating with their torment and envying the peace of the ocean on the horizon. She hadn't felt the guilt of Sirius and Andromeda's betrayal, and her own powerlessness as any potential successor to the helm of the Black clan.

She hadn't experienced her aunt's screaming, clawing grief, nor the flames it would fan in her own hatred.

In this moment, she was just a young girl, twirling like no one was watching, with two cousins still too new to life to know danger and prejudice, and the most enchanting woman in the world.

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2010-01-04 06:56 pm UTC
Re: ACCEPTED! - [info]etoile_noire, 2010-01-04 08:27 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]numbering, 2010-01-04 08:28 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]etoile_noire, 2010-01-05 12:44 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]numbering, 2010-01-05 01:42 am UTC
narcissa malfoy (9)
[info]conceits
2010-01-04 02:31 pm UTC (link)
NAME: Alicia
CONTACT: the white birds (AIM), thewhitebirds@gmail
PB: Jessica Stam
PROMPT: Happiest Memory

Narcissa is fairly certain she’s never been more terrified in her life. In a sense, the entire future of everything revolves around how the next few moments go. Despite having worked for this for years, she has never felt more ill-prepared. She has five minutes, perhaps, until Cygnus comes to escort her downstairs, and she tries to remember every piece of advice Druella has ever given. While breathing at the same time. Shifting nervously, Narcissa fixes the white satin gloves that reach her elbows and examines her jewelry in the mirror. The necklace is the most important; her first diamonds, a present from Cygnus and Druella. And there’s the dress. A Parisian confection of silk and embroidery in shades of white, only to be worn once.

"The only debut that matters is the first one of the season," Druella had informed them smugly. That’s why she and Walburga had waged a war against every other family planning a debut this summer. And as usual, she won. Mr. and Mrs. Cygnus Black’s cordial invitations to the debut of Miss Narcissa Cassiopeia Black had gone out promptly, and the ballroom downstairs was now packed with everyone who was anyone. Despite the humiliation the family had suffered two years back with Andromeda, there was no denying the Blacks had power and prestige.

Cygnus taps on the door once before pushing it open, his dark hair and robes a stark contrast to his daughter’s paleness. The warmth in his face is apparent as he surveys Narcissa, and presses a short kiss to her forehead before offering his arm. "The first dance is mine."

"Of course," she replies, managing a smile back. The first dance always goes to the father, but in reality, most of the other dances on her card are already full as well. "It’s because we have too many uncles," Bella had sniffed. Uncle Orion, Uncle Alphard, Uncle Rosier, Great Uncle Arcturus... "So I hope you’re saving the second one for someone handsome; the relatives will be too busy congratulating mother to dance with you for that one."

They pass portrait after portrait towards the room of noise and light, and words race through Narcissa’s mind. Chin up. Back straight. Small gliding steps. Eye contact. Somewhat demure smile. But it’s Cygnus who sums it up best as they step in to the ballroom with a murmur of "Remember you are a Black, and bow to no one."

The hush in the room as they enter is collective. Narcissa is truly a natural at this, gliding in and smiling as though it's something routine. Only the vise-like grip on her father's arm betrays nervousness. Suddenly, roaring starts in her ears and she knows people are applauding. Welcoming her entrance into the adult world. And it becomes apparent that no one is going to remember any of the other debutantes from the summer of 1974. This is the one that will go down in legend.

It's easier to pick out faces, now that she can breathe a bit easier. Bellatrix - Rodolphus - Druella - Mr. Avery - Rabastan. And then Lucius Malfoy, standing with his parents. She feels a catch in her thoat, seeing him after such a long time, and can't help but hope he's admiring her. And will hopefully ask for a dance soon. Preferably the second one.

As the music begins and Cygnus leads her to the dance floor, Narcissa feels an overwhelming sense of belonging. She belongs here. Right here in this room of glowing chandeliers and expensive champagne and rustling silk and whispered gossip. A one way ticket to the upper echelons of society is the real present from her family, not a diamond necklace. And she will do whatever she must to make them proud of her.

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2010-01-04 06:56 pm UTC
Dorcas Meadows - #10
[info]spiffynerd
2010-01-05 06:08 am UTC (link)
Name: Lily
Contact: thespiffinator@yahoo.com
PB: Kiera Knightley
Sample: (Mundane memory)

That Wednesday, like several other Wednesdays of the recent past and soon-to-be future, began in much the same way. Dorcas came in early and put the tea on in the office kitchen, went to read the Prophet and her inter-office memos, got so immersed that she didn't so much as hear the whistle of the kettle, and when she got back the pot was half empty, full of lukewarm water, and most of the Department had their morning tea out of it already. As usual, Dorcas merely rolled her eyes, reheated the kettle with a flick of her wand, and poured herself a cup.

Like every Wednesday, there was an informal inter-department meeting after lunch. Everyone ate around the same time, and in an effort to avoid getting back to the mundane business of testing a spell over and over again and making notes on all the things they'd done wrong, they would sit around for about an hour and discuss the progress they'd made in the last week. This Wednesday was the eighth one for which Dorcas had been an official member of the Department, but finally, something about it was different from the previous Wednesdays. For one, Dorcas had made an excellent breakthrough on a new cushioning charm Friday afternoon after most of the Department had gone home and she'd been waiting all weekend to share it.

For another divergence from the typical Wednesday routine, when it came round to Dorcas' turn, she was interrupted before she could even open her mouth. “I think we ought to skip Dorcas,” called out Jones, a rather round man across the little circle of chairs from her who had been in the Department for ten years at least. Immediately, Dorcas' heart raced a little and she felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach (though on the outside she merely closed her mouth and looked moderately confused). Did he mean her contributions weren't worthwhile and she was wasting everyone's time? Was she going to be fired? Before she could ask, another man spoke up; Weston, to her immediate left.

“Yeah, she's always showing up the rest of us.” Dorcas' face flushed instantly at the compliment. So they were just teasing her, then, not devaluing her careful research. Inwardly, she let out a great sigh of breath, though outwardly she just grinned and spoke up.

“If you think I've been making you lazy slobs look bad so far, wait until you hear this...”

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2010-01-05 06:27 am UTC
Molly Weasley - #14
[info]fireriot
2010-01-05 08:38 am UTC (link)
Name: Iona
Contact: spanish verbs (aim)
PB: Felicia Day
Sample: Worst Memory.

Molly was locked in a closet. To be more precise, Molly had locked herself in the upstairs linen closet. It had been an impulsive decision. The morning had started off as it usually did. Molly rose at the same time Arthur did, threw some water on her face, brushed her teeth, and ambled downstairs to prepare breakfast for her husband and house full of boys. After the sausage and eggs had been downed like that had never even existed and Arthur had kissed her goodbye and gone off to work, Molly found herself facing a table full of boys who needed to be entertained and given attention and GOOD LORD COULDN'T WAS GEORGE PICKING HIS NOSE AND WIPING IT OFF ON FRED? Molly bit her tongue and went to get a clean towel to wash her one year old's face when Bill popped up in front of her in the way that he did and began asking her for a dog.

"Not now, Bill. Besides, you've got Errol." Whatever Bill said in response was drowned out by the loudest wailing shriek that Molly had ever heard. Whipping around, imagining blood spatters and other horrible possibilities, she found herself staring at Charlie, who was holding Percy to the ground and hitting him, "CHARLIE! No --"

A tug on her dress. Bill. "Mummy, the dog!"

"Bill, I - ." She was close to saying "ask your father," but she had a feeling that Arthur would say yes and a dog was definitely not what they needed right now. "Ask me later. Charlie, stop that! Charlie!"

She didn't know what had caused Charlie to unleash his wrath on his younger brother, but Percy was sobbing at this point and Molly just really needed to separate the two. She grabbed hold of Charlie by the back of his shirt and yanked hard, but he held on and unleashed a yell that Fred and George began to imitate, banging their small fists on their highchair tables. Bill continued to pester in the background, promising to take of a dog and feed it and walk it and --

"QUIET," The sound of her voice seemed to echo and for a moment, the absolute chaos in the kitchen stopped. Molly hoisted Charlie off of Percy and gave him a look so fierce that he immediately hung his head in shame. And then. And then.

"He started it," Said Charlie.
"DID NOT!" Screeched Percy.

And they were on each other again. Fred and George continued to yell and Bill just would not quit it and Molly was just done. Blinking back tears, she fled the kitchen and ran up the stairs, past Bill's room and straight into the upstairs linen closet, slamming the door behind her. She could hear her boys yelling downstairs and for a moment, she almost cried. Her shoulders shook and she slapped a hand over her mouth to cover a sob. There were so many of them and only one of her and you'd think she would have gotten the hang of this considering she'd been a mother for eight years now. Curled up on the floor of the closet, her knees pulled up to her chest, Molly listened as the noise eventually died down as the boys began to realize, hey, their mum was missing.

Footsteps. The soft, unsure patter of unsteady legs coming up the stairs. It was Percy, then. Bill ran up those stairs like he was being chased and Charlie liked to jump the stairs, two at a time, no matter how many times she and Arthur told him not to. "Mummy?" Percy's voice, soft and uncertain. Molly closed her eyes briefly and then opened the closet door. Well, she couldn't ignore her children, could she?

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Molly Weasley cont.
[info]fireriot
2010-01-05 08:39 am UTC (link)
"In here, dear." Percy followed the sound of her voice and arrived a few moments latter. In her current position, Percy stood a few inches taller than her. He tilted his head to the side, his face still red from crying. His eyes were wide and concerned.

"Charlie said you loved him best," His voice quivered. "And I said he was a liar and then he started hitting me. And then you went away. Charlie said it was because you hate me." He took deep gulping breaths like he was going to cry again. Molly felt guilt swell up in her chest and she crawled out of the closet over to Percy and hugged him to her.

"No, of course not. I don't hate you. And I don't love Charlie more than you. I love you all the same," She stroked Percy's hair. "Mummy's just having a bad day, is all," Bill and Charlie began to call for her from downstairs. Fred and George had stopped yelling, but now they were crying. "A very bad day."

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2010-01-05 05:09 pm UTC
15. Rodolphus Lestrange, Part 1
[info]strangest_son
2010-01-06 04:42 am UTC (link)
PB: Michael C. Hall

1971

It seemed to Rodolphus that the true spirit of the preservation of magical society and the strength of dark magic seemed to live in the dank and hidden places of society. It was the sort of thing that was dealt with in back rooms at wandpoint if it was ever seen in politics at all. To most, it was something to be afraid of, and therefore it had to be discreet.

It was a little bit disgusting, though he’d never say it aloud. If keeping Muggle blood from sullying wizard kind was a matter of such grave importance as he’d always been told it was (and certainly knew it was), then it should have been discussed on the very floor of the Wizengamot. For such a noble cause to be forced into darkness and obscurity was unforgivable.

That was all the more reason for him to be here.

As an up-and-coming at the Ministry from a rich and highly visible family, Rodolphus should have never been any where near comfortable in Knockturn Alley. At the very least he might have had the collar of his overcoat up and been walking a bit faster. After all, you never knew who would know you here, and who would be willing to rat you out. Rodolphus, however, was all too aware of who would know him. After all, the eldest son of a man who associated closely with the most powerful dark wizard of the century could only expect it as part of his education. He had stood silently in Borgin and Burke’s and pretended not to be afraid of the cursed items as his father negotiated the price of something illegal. He had been shown off as the next great hope of wizard-kind to his father’s grim-faced associates and had been expected, on pain of death, to live up to the title. The house he was headed to was the same place he had first stood with reverence before the Dark Lord, and the same house that he had been initiated into the Death Eaters.

Being arrogant, over-achieving, and twenty-six, there were very few things that Rodolphus would admit to being afraid of, and Knockturn Alley certainly wasn’t one of them. In his mind, it was simply a sign of a temporary setback before pureblood supremacy could take its place, its rightful place, in public life. They would not be confined to the shadows for long.

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15. Rodolphus Lestrange, Part 2
[info]strangest_son
2010-01-06 04:42 am UTC (link)
Rodolphus walked straightbacked, steadily, his boots hardly making a sound as they hit the cobblestone. Perhaps he wasn’t as confident as he thought, or maybe as certain people would have asserted, he was simply trying not to crack the delicate crystal of the wardrobe he spent most of his time in. Even so, there were very few people to see him tonight, especially going this way. Most of the people who would see him had problems of their own, he knew that all too well. Still, it was better to be careful, even for someone so overconfident in his own abilities.

Suddenly, he became aware of a light that had previously been in his blind spot, and the sound of footsteps behind him. He began to move faster and felt for his wand. He couldn’t afford to be late. The footsteps sped up to match him and they were growing faster. Damn. Rodolphus stopped suddenly, drew his wand and turned, ready to attack. When he saw who held the light, he relaxed, though he was more than a little annoyed.

“Evening to you, too,” the boy’s voice was soft, and he was laughing a little. Rodolphus nodded to him, turned, and continued to walk. The boy caught up with him quickly enough, and continued to speak.

“Places to be? Can’t even spare a few minutes, love?” The boy had an idea of what Rodolphus was in this part of the Alley for, and any other day he would have been right. Rodolphus would have been looking for him, too.

“Just a drink, someplace to get out of the cold.” He actually shivered, which was something of a surprise. Rodolphus looked at the boy for a moment. In the thin light, he looked somewhat ghostly, an angel-faced, if somewhat gaunt boy barely out of his teens, slight in figure and, Rodolphus had noted over their last few meetings, with a slight tremble about him that spoke to the way life was treating him.

Still, he had no time. “In a few hours,” he muttered, continuing to walk. The boy didn’t retreat. A little bit of desperation betrayed his coy tone when he said, “Busy then, eh? Poor darling. I could help you with that, you know.” The boy smiled.

“Yes, I am busy. Yes, I’ve got places to go. You’re not exactly helping, sorry to say.” Then his expression softened a bit. “I’ll be ‘round later.”

The boy seemed a bit put off, but stopped following him. Rodolphus looked back after a second, and he was still standing there. He looked a bit miffed and to some degree nervous.

Rodolphus turned to walk away when he heard the boy speak again. “Say hallo to him for me.” There was something in his voice that made Rodolphus certain that he wasn’t just taking a shot in the dark.

That wouldn’t do.

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2010-01-06 04:49 am UTC
James Potter - 14
[info]straightbacked
2010-01-06 06:07 am UTC (link)
Name: Iona
Contact: spanish verbs (aim)
PB: Jason Mraz
Sample: "A memory they cannot seem to forget which may seem mundane to others."

James's earliest memory is of his mother. He does not know how old he is, but if he could guess, he would say three or four. He is sitting in the middle of his parents' bed, which is meticulously made, as always. This is before he has glasses, when he can see perfectly and what he sees is his mother. She is sitting at her vanity, applying her make-up. Her hair is pulled back into an intricate bun, save for a single strand that curls delicately on her forehead. James is small and does not realize that his mother is, by many standards, old. Her hair, although styled elegantly, is dyed to hide the silver. That hardly matters to James, of course, because she is his mother and so she is beautiful.

His mother leans forward to apply lipstick, her lips pursed in that curious position that all women seem to instinctually know. She spies James watching her, his reflection appearing in the mirror and she smiles and waves to him, her reflection connecting to his. James giggles and falls onto his back, his arms thrown out beside him. He has ceased to watch her, but he can hear the click and clatter of make-up cases being opened and closed. Then, the tell-tale sound of a single spray of perfume and James knows that she is done because that is always last. The swoosh of her dress against the floor. The bed dips as his mother sits down beside him and traces her finger down over his forehead, his nose, his mouth, all the way down to his stomach where she tickles him. When he is breathless from laughter, she picks him up in her arms and carries him off to his bedroom. James presses his nose to her shoulder and inhales the smell of her perfume, something sweet that he cannot identify. She puts him to bed where she whisper-sings a tune that James can no longer remember, but it brings a sense of calm and safety. When she leaves, James is sleepy is his mother's perfume is still heavy in the air.

James remembers this scent all throughout his life. His mother was a traditionalist at heart and always wore the same perfume. When she died at the end of his seventh year, James took the bottle of perfume from her vanity and kept it, stashing it away under the loose floorboard in his bedroom. It was silly, he knew, but it's a piece of her that he is unwilling to give up.

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2010-01-06 03:41 pm UTC
Regulus Black - #2
[info]leahtragic
2010-01-07 12:22 am UTC (link)
Name: Leah.
Contact: leahtragic@ymail.com
PB: Kevin Zegers.
Sample:

Regulus' Worst Memory

It had started at the dinner table, as it had so many nights before. This time, Sirius was being particularly stoic, choosing to ignore everyone as they spoke to him, and their mother, a proud and fierce woman whom no-one but Sirius would dare to annoy, was taking the bait as she so often did. As his older brother folded his arms across his chest, in what Regulus believed to be a move of defiance, their mother erupted. Regulus tried not to listen, instead looking down at his plate and mentally reciting the twelve uses of dragon’s blood slowly. He hated confrontation, especially when Sirius was involved, and even more so when their father got started.

Orion Black was sat at the head of the table, his steely eyes observing the altercation that was happening in front of him. Both Black brothers knew that as soon as their father got involved, there would be hell to pay. In his mind, Regulus was begging Sirius to stop, to just sit down and eat his food, to answer their parents when he was spoken to. His brother was stubborn though; a trait he received from their mother. Neither of them were likely to back down any time soon.

“May I be excused?” he asked politely, looking at his father as his mother stood and pointed an accusing finger in Sirius’ face. He hoped that his father had read his lips, as it was at that precise moment that Sirius had shouted back, standing up so fast that his chair had fallen backwards and banged loudly onto the floor. With the resonating clatter ringing in his ears, Regulus swiftly stood and moved behind his mother, taking that opportunity to shake his head and send his brother a warning glance. Suffice to say, it went unnoticed.

He could still hear them twenty minutes later. His room, which was situated on the topmost floor of the house, still did not protect him from the vicious argument going on many floors below. By this time, their father had intervened. Sirius was still fighting back though, and Regulus could pick out the odd word or two being yelled from his brother’s mouth. It was nothing new though. It was the same confrontation as last week, and the week before that, and every week before since Regulus could remember.

Then the voices got louder, then stopped all together. The house fell into silence, and Regulus began to worry. Opening his door, he came face to face with Sirius, who had just reached the top step and was about to storm into his room. From the red mark on his cheek, Regulus could only deduct that his brother had been hit. The look on his face was one that Regulus had never seen before; it was pure and unadulterated loathing.

Opening his mouth to speak, Sirius merely glared at him before opening his door and promptly slamming it behind him. Knowing better than to push the matter, Regulus turned and walked back into his room, closing the door behind him. In the morning, everything would be back to normal. Sirius would continue to be defiant and their parents would continue to try and fix him. There would be many more arguments and quarrels.

But what Regulus hadn’t counted on was Sirius leaving. According to their mother, who told him at breakfast the following day, Sirius had disgraced the name of Black for the last time. He had left during the night, taking only his trunk and his broomstick, and had expressed most venomously that he would not be returning. Both their mother and father had said good riddance, and that had been the end of it.

Regulus had continued to eat in silence, as he always did. He went on with his day as normal. It seemed as though nothing had changed at all. But what his parents didn’t know was that as he watched from behind the doorframe as Sirius was blasted off the family tree, Regulus silently mourned for his brother. He had been abandoned without so much as a farewell, and from that moment on he was not sure of anything, save one thing; life as he knew it had ended, and it would never be the same from that moment on.

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2010-01-07 12:40 am UTC
Fabian Prewett #16
[info]fab_prewett
2010-01-07 01:37 am UTC (link)
Character: Fabian Prewett
Played by: Pawel Szajda
Player Name: kori
Contact Info: AIM / Y!M - fllnangel23 / chaosdancing [at] gmail [dot] com

If someone were to ask Fabian what his best memory was, he would easily say the day his brother was born. Of course, considering that he and his brother shared a birthday this was, perhaps, a bit of an exaggeration, since he'd be lying if he said that he remembered that fateful and historic day. But there was a memory that he counted among his happiest memories. He wasn't sure it was the happiest, as that would requiring ordering memories in some sort of organized categories, something that was distinctively Ravenclaw. Fabian Prewett was most definitely not a Ravenclaw.

However, in the memory, he was eight and playing outside. Now, that seemed like the beginning of a wonderful memory, but it was indeed a sad part of the memory. Because Fabian was playing alone. The thing is, it's hard to be alone for most people, but it's harder than normal for a twin. However, Gideon was spending the day in bed with dragon pox which meant Fabian, who had not yet caught this disease, was required to spend the day outside and a 'safe' distance away from his brother. Little did his parents know, there was no such thing as a safe separation distance between Gideon and Fabian Prewett.

Which is why, at this moment, eight year old Fabian Prewett was climbing a tree much too tall for him with the intent of sneaking back into his bedroom. Years in the future, Fabian would become an expert at this manoeuvre in the wee hours before dawn broke on the horizon, but on this day, the tree wasn't quite tall enough and neither was Fabian. Gideon, however, was as resourceful as ever, even when sick, and was soon lowering down a rope made of bedsheets tied together. Their mother would, of course, tan their hides if she found out, but that did nothing to diminish the children's enthusiasm and soon, amidst grunts and crashes of furniture being knocked over, Fabian Prewett was back in his bedroom wrestling with his brother. You see, Fabian Prewett was determined to share the dragon pox with Gideon. Because it was simply inconceivable (that was a word he'd learned from their uncle, although he still wasn't sure what it meant) that Gideon get to do something without Fabian, even if that was simply to suffer through a childhood disease alone.

Intertwined on the floor was how Mrs. Prewett found them, when the crashes alerted her that something was amiss and there were simply too many giggles and shrieks for it to be Gideon on his own.

"Fabian Lysander Prewett!"

That was how the tirade began. And it was also usually the point that he tuned out because there were only so many different tirades that his mother had in her repetoire and the sheer fact that she'd used his middle name meant that he was in trouble. The details hardly mattered. By the time dinner was ready, it became evident that Fabian had indeed caught the dragon pox from his brother, causing Mrs. Prewett to throw her hands up in distress and Mr. Prewett to simply chuckle and comment on his rambunctious boys. The diagnosis was music to Fabian's ears because it meant that he was no longer barred from the bedroom. Instead, he and Gideon were curled up in bed together, taking turns reading from Beedle the Bard to each other and acting out the tales with their quidditch figurines.

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2010-01-07 01:44 am UTC
Gideon Prewett - #17
[info]giddy_prewett
2010-01-07 03:09 am UTC (link)
Name: Jessica
Contact: AIM jenzaquinn EMAIL jenzaquinn@gmail.com
PB: Pawel Szajda
Sample: "Worst Memory"

Gideon could only assume that the Quidditch game was finally over considering the increase in the amount of people who were wandering in and out of the infirmary. He wasn't sure who the people were really, only that some must have been teammates as he caught large swatches of red and gold out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't even sure if they had won or lost, although considering they had been short two chasers, he'd likely put his money on the latter and everyone knew that putting your money where Gideon did was a sure way to end up a bit richer. Not that any of that mattered right now. If he had really cared about the outcome of the game, he would have kept on playing through everything. He would have kept flying towards the goal and gone through with the play. Instead he was sitting by his brother's bed in the infirmary, his own arm in a sling, and had been there for who knew how long.

It had all gone so quickly. Gryffindor was dominating the game, the plays were going off seamlessly. He had just gotten the quaffle from Fabian and it looked as if another sure goal was in sight when it happened. All of a sudden there was a sharp snap. For a moment, Gideon had thought someone had been hit by a bludger, but both beaters were occupied and then he heard his brother's yell. Because despite what anyone may say, Fabian and Gideon Prewett did not scream. They might yell and swear worse than sailors (much to their mother's annoyance), but they did not scream. The rest of the game was forgotten when he looked over to see why his brother would yell. The shaft of Fabian's broom was split in two and splintering more as his twin tried to control the broken broomstick enough to not completely plummet to the ground. It was a losing battle though, anyone could see that, and with them up so high... He'd dropped the quaffle and was racing towards his falling brother when a bludger did hit, pain shooting through his arm and knocking him off course. It took him a moment to get his bearings back after the disorientation caused by the pain, his panic, and the jolt from the bludger, but as soon as he did, he felt as if he had just taken another bludger to the gut when he saw Fabian lying broken on the pitch.

Time moved in stops and jerks after that. Landing on the ground next to Fabian. Getting him up to the infirmary with some help. Being ripped from his side to have his own injuries dealt with. And now waiting. The medi-witch said he'd be alright. That he was badly hurt, but he should heal fine. But those words didn't help when his brother wasn't smiling wildly and making a joke to verify the words. Merlin knew they had gotten hurt more times than was likely healthy for teenagers, but they had always both been conscious to reassure each other and brush off what could have easily been a life-threatening injury if one of them had shifted just a few inches one way or another.

Taking Fabian's hand with his uninjured one, Gideon gave it a steady squeeze, gaining a bit of strength from the contact even if it was only one way. Taking a deep breath, he looked worriedly at a face he knew as well as his own. Which really wasn't saying much considering it was almost exactly like his own. "Come on, Fabian... You know you can't just leave me here on my own. Think of the poor professors who haven't been tormented enough... We can't leave them with all of their sanity intact," he said softly before glared at his twin. "And I swear, when you're better, you are bloody well going to take care of your things better. I told you that broom wouldn't last the season. When you get a new one, I am going to hex you something awful whenever you leave it someplace stupid or don't do proper maintenance. You hear me?"

Gideon was sure that that threat alone would ensure that Fabian would wake up soon. After all, his twin would never pass up the chance to show that he could outdodge any hex he could throw at him.

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2010-01-07 03:22 am UTC
Fenrir Greyback - #10
[info]lokischild
2010-01-07 03:52 am UTC (link)
Name: Vic
Contact: cakenotdeath via AIM
PB: THIS SEXY BEAST
Sample:

Worst Memory [or best, depending on his mood when he recalls it]

The first thing he noticed, and recalls to this day, was the ache in his bones. Every inch of him felt as if it had been stretched and twisted just a little too far, like he’d spent the night on the rack. Every movement brought another little stab of pain. His head was muddled. Last night was a blur of darkness and smells and sounds, and trying to make sense of what he was seeing before him in the drowsy predawn was difficult. Like the morning after too much wine and dancing, that’s what it was like. Except that there was also a hot, shooting fire in his side and on his back. The scars where he’d been bitten those many nights ago were throbbing, burning.

There was grass beneath him. And a puddle in front of him. Had it rained? He’d lost a night and was far from home and, to add a bit more spice to the predicament, he was stark naked in the chill air. He dragged himself over to the puddle on all fours – he could not bear to stand up just yet, he was sure of that. And he peered into the water, and what looked back at him was a dirty face, caked with mud and, around the mouth, something that was… not mud. It was in his hair, too, sticky and matted.

It was the iron taste of the stuff on his lips and chin and between his teeth that suddenly made him bend double and retch violently. There are some things a human stomach is just not meant to digest. Like excessive amounts of raw meat and fragments of bone. He inspected them – he thought at first they might have been from a rodent, or a dog, they were so small. But no. They were fingers. Very tiny fingers. He tore his eyes away from the mess and looked back into his reflection and splashed water onto his face until the filth cleared and he saw someone a little more recognizable in its depths; a scarred brown face barely out of boyhood with tired eyes.

A man drinks from his hand, but he did not very much feel like a man at that moment. So instead he bent his head and just lapped and sucked and drank his fill there on his hands and knees. In the ripples of the puddle, he saw the sky, the gray clouds shot with the light of a not-yet-risen sun. And the moon in the puddle, hanging a little ways above his head.

And he looked up at it and squinted, as if seeing it for the first time. It was faded and dim as a ghost, though the night before it had been so beautiful. Then, for no reason at all, he clutched at his head and crumpled onto the cold, soothing ground and he threw his head back and oh how he screamed. Roared. Howled.

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2010-01-07 04:00 am UTC
Marlene McKinnon - #9
[info]middle_mckinnon
2010-01-09 02:52 am UTC (link)
Name: Leah.
Contact: Same as before.
PB: Ellen Page.
Sample: Happiest Memory.

Marlene had always looked young for her age. Her mother said it was because she possessed a young soul, but Marlene just thought that the genetics had messed up and she’d drawn the short straw. Her older sister, Elizabeth, was the famed beauty of Hogwarts. Two years older and more than a foot taller, Liz carried herself in a way that Marlene could only dream of. She was gorgeous, and near enough every boy who Marlene knew agreed. Her younger brother, Callum, was intensely funny and charming. Although a year younger, he was much more popular than his sister, and had made quidditch captain for Hufflepuff in his fourth year. With an older sister whom everyone worshiped, and a younger brother who could get on the good side of anyone; Marlene was the runt of the litter.

So when her seventeenth birthday came around, Marlene felt the same as she always had. Being seventeen was no different to being sixteen, really. It was nothing new. Just another day in the year, and hopefully one of many more to come. Thankfully her birthday had fallen on a Saturday, and it was a Hogsmeade weekend. So after a particularly rambunctious birthday greeting from Sirius, which included gold and crimson streamers falling above her head, all screaming “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” (which promptly ended with a stern scolding and a weeks worth of detention from McGonagall for causing such a ruckus), Marlene made her way with her friends to the village. They wandered around for a few hours, content to while the day away, before ending up at The Three Broomsticks.

Instantly, Sirius went to charm Madame Rosemerta whilst the rest of them looked on. He returned several minutes later and declared that if anyone wanted firewhiskey, they had to go up for it themselves as Rosemerta didn’t want to serve those not of age. So off Marlene went, knowing that as soon as she got there, she would probably be denied for looking like a fourth year. Her first legal drink would have to wait for later that night, after James and Sirius broke out their private stash that was hidden under the floorboards of Peter’s bed.

Reaching the bar, she waited her turn. As soon as Madame Rosemerta made her way over, Marlene gave her a disheartened smile and asked for a fire whiskey before waiting for the denial. Instead of being met with one however, a glass slid in front of her. Raising an eyebrow and looking up, she was surprised to see Rosemerta smiling at her.

“This one’s on the house, birthday girl,” said the landlady, winking mischievously at Marlene, “Just don’t tell Headmaster Dumbledore, or he’ll be down here faster than you can say ‘butterbeer’. Got it?”

So with a wide grin and a nod, Marlene promised not to say a word.

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2010-01-09 03:10 am UTC
Hope you like the icon! Keywords should be noted. ^_^
[info]kingamongmen
2010-01-09 04:03 am UTC (link)
Name:Becka
Contact: occiferbecky on AIM
PB: Shemar Moore, the sexy brotha! I don't think you need a picture, but will glady supply one.
Sample:

A [somber] memory they cannot seem to forget that may seem mundane to others


Kingsley walked, stride full of purpose as his feet followed the familiar path to the front door of the old house. He knocked a few times, pausing to wait for a reply, before gently trying the doorknob. Of course- he thought to himself. She never locks the door. Brow furrowing slightly, Kingsley took a few steps inside. It was silent, and then his ears picked up the slightest sound and a smile eased its way onto his face. Locking the door, Kingsley made his way into the main room of the house.

Lying on the couch, asleep, was his mum. The radio was on, only just, so the buzzing of music mixed in with the warm summer air. Kingsley walked over, planting a kiss on his mum's forehead. Since his father died, his mum had seemed to be slowly slipping away. Her youth was covered up by grief. Honey eyes opened slowly, and Victoria Shacklebolt looked up. A tired, satisfied smile crossed her face.

"Happy Birthday, Mum." Kingsley smiled as he sat down next to her. "How are you?"

"Kingsley," She said sheepishly, sitting up and fixing her hair. "I--I'm fine. You should have told me you were coming."

"It's your Birthday, Mum, of course I'd come over." He grinned and placed the present he was holding into her lap. "Here."

"Oh, you shouldn't have-" A small smile traced her lips. "Thank you, sweetheart." Her slender fingers carefully picked at the wrapping paper, making their way to the box and its contents. "Kingsley-" Victoria Shacklebolt's eyes grew wide as she took out the items: a smaller, black box and a badge. Victoria looked at the badge with inquiring eyes. "Honey, what-? I already have your father's badge." Kingsley took in a breathe.

"It's mine. My badge." He paused and met eyes with his mum. "I passed my Auror training and wanted you to be the first to know." Victoria's eyes lingered on the item in her hands, and Kingsley began to fear he'd upset her. Since his father had been killed on duty as an Auror, the idea of him continuing his training wasn't spoken of much. "Mum..." He began, voice quiet.

"Kingsley." Her voice was soft, her eyes studying the badge as her fingers ran along the edges. "Go out there and make me proud." Victoria took the badge and placed it in her son's hands. All hesitation and tension released from the air. Both mother and son smiled.

"Thank you, mum." Kingsley replied, taking the badge back. He would only have truly been happy accepting his position as long as it was okay with her.

"Now, what's this?" Victoria asked, picking up the small box. "You're all
I need, I don't know what else you could have gotten."

"Open it to find out." Kingsley watched as his mum slowly opened the box, revealing her real gift. A locket, shaped like a heart, with two pictures in it. On one side, a candid shot of his parents on their wedding day, smiling and laughing. On the opposite side, a picture taken shortly after Kingsley was born. Victoria stared at it, a sad smile taking over.

"It's wonderful. Thank you." She stared at her younger self, dancing without a care in the world. "You look just like your father."

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2010-01-09 04:06 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]kingamongmen, 2010-01-09 04:07 am UTC
(no subject) - [info]numbering, 2010-01-09 04:08 am UTC
Emmeline Vance - #19
[info]msvance
2010-01-09 09:14 am UTC (link)
Name: Morgan!
Contact: teapartyyy@gmail.com
PB: Katie McGrath

Emmeline's memory she cannot seem to forget:


The tyranny presented by the Dark Lord is a revolting attack on our human rights. Surely everything he and his followers stand for is nothing short of a new reign of terror, borne upon power and greed...

"Emmeline!"

Emmeline's quill stilled at the sound of her mother's voice, insistent and impatient. The woman rarely used any other tone with her, forever complaining on how her youngest child was not the daughter she had wished for. Madame Vance lived in a lucky state of ignorance, however - if she ever got wind of the anonymous essays Emmeline frequently sent to the Daily Prophet, surely those complaints would escalate to disowning.

"Emmeline, maintenant!!"

"I'm coming, mother, honestly-" Emmeline grumbled, sliding the parchment beneath her bed with the wave of her wand. Her stomach turned unpleasantly as she descended the stairs, suspicion growing. Rarely did her mother acknowledge her presence unless the matter was pressing.

"Ah, Emmeline."

Eleanore Vance wore an uncharacteristic smile when Emmeline reached the foyer, her bright eyes holding a strange light. She moved forward and seemed to scrutinize her daughter - Emmeline had no doubt she was taking in the dark circles beneath her eyes and the worry lines etched into her forehead with great displeasure, but for whatever reason she still could not decipher.

"You look so weary - Have you been getting adequate rest?" Eleanore asked, tone ever impatient behind her clipped French accent.

"Yes, mother." Emmeline answered, turning her face away from her mother's gaze. Of course she would not say her tiredness had been the cause of many late night Order patrols and incessant letter writing to help the cause; she had been hiding those facts for months, and had little doubt that her well being was the last thing on her mother's mind.

"We can't have you wasting away when your betrothed comes calling, now can we?" Eleanore spoke up rather suddenly, a cheery smile on her face.

Emmeline's jaw dropped.

"B-Betrothed? Mother, no - no-" She gasped out in protest.

"Yes!" Eleanore countered, beaming in a manner that suggested she was rather pleased with herself. "He's a lovely pureblooded boy, one of your father's associates - Edmund likes him as well, he says you'll be a lovely match."

Emmeline's mind was reeling, the thought of marrying some bloke she didn't even know a repulsive one - and her father's associate, no less!

"Your father and I have decided it's time you settle and be tamed. He will dine with us tomorrow, Emmeline. The matter is settled, and I'll not hear another word against it."

Eleanore turned and left the room in a flurry of fine silk and lace, leaving Emmeline alone with her thoughts. She sunk down into the nearest chair, burying her face in her hands.

This man - however soon they were married - would soon catch on. He would expect her to keep his bed warm during the nights and she could not afford such a thing, not while the Order required her services. But if this mystery fiance was somehow interconnected with the Dark Lord's forces, she could easily wrap him around her finger and spy.

Whatever the future had in store, she would bide her time - and until then, she would do well to let her mother and father know this decision was certainly not one she was happy with.

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2010-01-09 03:14 pm UTC
application for benjy fenwick #20
[info]fenwickb
2010-01-11 03:35 am UTC (link)
Name: Tasha
Contact: lowshoulder@gmail.com
PB: Matt Dallas
Sample: here

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2010-01-11 04:22 am UTC
Alastor Moody - #11 -1/2
[info]alwaysvigilant
2010-01-12 07:19 am UTC (link)
Name: Nikki
contact: xnikkernoodlex @ aim
PB: Jackie Earle Haley

Sample: Worst Memory

Alastor Moody didn't give himself that much time to relax. However, this was one of those rare moments, as it was a time of celebration for all the newly graduated Aurors. As a result, the Leaky Cauldron was filled with plenty of loud, laughing students, congratulating each other on their success and ordering round after round of Firewhiskey and Butterbeer to pass around the three tables they had pushed together. Moody himself was seated at the end of the table, listening to the conversations being passed around him, slowly nursing a Butterbeer.

“Well, well, look who’s all here!” There was a general uproar and ruckus of greetings exchanged as several of the teachers entered the pub. One of them, Rufus Dehane, clapped Moody on the shoulder. “You all even managed to drag ol’ Moody out here.”

“Who’re you calling old, then?” Moody asked, smirking against the rim of his mug. Dehane laughed, pulling up a chair between him and another Auror, Andrea Trimaine, as the teachers integrated themselves with their former students, and another round was ordered.

“Oh, oh, remember the time you got turned into a ferret, Moody?” Andrea giggled, somewhere between her sixth and seventh firewhiskey. She leaned heavily on the table, grinning at him, eyes glinting mischievously. “All because you tripped that trap! I even told you to wait before going inside the room!”

“Next time, Miss Trimaine, I’ll be certain to listen to you.” Moody intoned with a smirk of his own, and she laughed in return, as did Dehane, who was still sitting between them.

“I just think Moody let his guard down.” Dehane laughed. “Now what is it that I’ve taught you is important above all else?”

“Constant vigilance, I know, I know.” It was with a slight rolling off his eyes that he said it, and his teacher socked him in the shoulder lightly for it.

“That’s right! And don’t you forget it.” Dehane took a sip of his firewhiskey, with a chuckle. “In fact, there was one time—“

However, Alastor Moody would never get to hear the end of that story. At that very moment, several spells went off in the Leaky Cauldron, exploding like bombs, knocking Moody back into a table, head cracking loudly on the polished wood. Dazed, he slumped to the floor, dumbly groping for his wand as stars blinked in his eyes. He thought he heard screaming, maybe, and his leg hurt. It hurt a lot, and did he feel something wet on the back of his head? He couldn’t tell, the edges of his vision starting to darken. His hand just closed around his wand as he collapsed back against the table, unconsciousness pulling him under.

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Alastor Moody - #11 -2/2
[info]alwaysvigilant
2010-01-12 07:20 am UTC (link)

He awoke in St. Mungo’s disoriented, confused, and loudly demanding to know where he was. His head throbbed, as did his leg right above the knee. According to the Mediwitch attending to him, the former was because, when the timed spells were set off, his was thrown backwards from the table at which he was sitting and into the table behind them, nearly splitting his head open. The latter was due to the fact that his leg had been blown off right above the knee in the blast. The Mediwitch assured him that they would be able to get him a wooden leg to replace it, but Moody waved off this explanation, demanding to know the other facts.

The facts, it seemed, all pointed to the fact that, all things considered, he’d come out unscathed in comparison to his classmates and teachers. Andrea, with whom he had just been joking with not just last night, had completely lost her sight, and the damage was to a point where repair was impossible. It was unlikely she’d be able to continue as an Auror with her lack of vision. But she, like Moody, had gotten off easy.

Dehane, as well as two thirds of Moody’s classmates and teachers, were dead. It was a blow that he didn’t expect, and it staggered him, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Dimly, he could hear the Mediwitch telling him that he should be able to walk again normally with a couple months of therapy and the right kind of spells, but he wasn’t really listening. All he could hear was Dehane’s words repeating in his head.

“Constant vigilance.”

He swore he wouldn’t forget them ever again.

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2010-01-12 07:44 am UTC
andromeda tonks #10
[info]atonks
2010-01-14 06:55 am UTC (link)
Name: Tasha
Contact: lowshoulder@gmail & hope in obama (aim)
PB: Rose Byrne
Sample: here

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2010-01-14 06:58 am UTC
[Matthew] Selwyn, #23
[info]disciplediscidi
2010-01-14 09:50 am UTC (link)
Name: Cori
Contact: joly6598@hotmail.com, disciplediscidi on AIM
PB: Cillian Murphy

Selwyn's Worst Memory


Those who knew Matthew Selwyn might have presumed the worst day of his life was the occasion he buried his younger sister, but in fact those who knew him were as blind to the inner workings of his mind as he was obtuse to theirs-- and for a man who lived inside his own head, that was saying quite a lot. It was in the privacy of his own head that he came to an epiphany; bereavement itself was not so difficult as living every day thereafter.

Some days were harder than others. There were mornings when he could scarcely bear to look at himself in the mirror. Still, most days he rallied; he soldiered on, because there was something greater than him. He could transcend beyond his petty hurts, knowing there was still something worth fighting for, something they almost had in reach.

There was a time, however, not long after his sister's untimely demise, when even that light guttered briefly, when his perverse faith in the cause seemed in vain. Selwyn lived in his head, and in his head he nursed the assumption that any Pureblood who had seen the light, who had thought well enough to join the Pureblood supremacy cause rather than to fight it, could only be as high-minded and as devout as he. He was too often confronted with evidence to the contrary, however, in the form of the movement's low-level foot soldiers-- common thugs who reveled in the brute force it took to terrorise a nation. Selwyn thought they were little better than Muggles, and abhorred their necessity.

Nevertheless, Selwyn himself was a civilised man, and it was on that day he was conversing with one of these boorish business associates on civilised terms, at least until the ruffian had the gall to broach the immediate topic of the death in his family.

“Stories have been tricklin' down, you know,” the man was saying. “I don't know what to believe, but all I'm sayin' is, if you wanted rid of the problem that badly, you could've handed her off to somebody else.” Selwyn bit his tongue as a sharp retort threatened to burst out. “Now, I'm not saying anyone shoulda killed her. There are other ways to put a woman out of sight. Snap her wand, and you coulda married her off, easy. Hell, even I coulda tamed that kitten without any claws.” He guffawed.

Selwyn could hardly believe his ears. Not only was he encroaching on his personal affairs, but this mouth-breathing troglodyte, this Neanderthal who was not even fit to bow at Lord Voldemort's feet, dared to leer over the prospect of Selwyn's sister before him. It was a horrifying reminder of what he had sacrificed, and why. This fool was the face of Pureblood supremacy, as much as Selwyn.

Finally he said carefully, his voice grating more than was usual just for the effort it took to keep it level, “Mind your words, friend. These misogynistic slurs impugn the honour of such women as Mrs Lestrange, as well.”

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ACCEPTED! - [info]numbering, 2010-01-14 05:27 pm UTC

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