skoosiepants (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
skoosiepants) wrote2004-10-07 10:27 pm
skoosiepants) wrote2004-10-07 10:27 pm
Entry tags:
Weee!
Last entry was fun!
I love getting random facts and, somehow, amazingly, it inspired me for my Quiet One's gift-fic! I'm on a roll! And it's not remotely broody!
Of course, I can't post any bits of it here for you because that's a no-no and would ruin all the fun. However, to showcase how sucky and depressing my original concept was, I'll post a bit of that one. No essentials are given out, so the author wouldn't be able to guess it was their request fic (which it really isn't, since I'm not using any parts of it at all in the new ficcy). Am I making any sense? For some reason I feel like I'm babbling. Ah, well...
****
He moved out a week before Christmas, and Hermione and Blaise had a huge row over Harry.
Millicent left for her parents’ house in Wiltshire three days later and Hermione sat dejectedly at the kitchen table, staring into a stone-cold bowl of soup. “Happy Christmas,” she whispered to herself, then sniffed and wiped her nose with a napkin, blinking rapidly to stave off tears.
She’d pasted on a smile earlier for Harry, waving him off at the train station. He was taking a break, a holiday, visiting some old friends ‘til after the new year. She’d hugged him and told him she’d be fine, even though she hadn’t seen Blaise since their fight and her head hurt and she was desperately afraid she’d be all alone on Christmas.
Which was stupid. Her mum and dad expected her bright and early Christmas morn.
Still. The soup was cold.
***
On Christmas Eve, Hermione set a bottle of red out to breathe and stood at the kitchen counter, her head in her hands. She hadn’t gone shopping since Harry left and they never kept regular meals anyway, so she had to make due with a jar of peanut butter and pre-sliced swiss cheese. Take-away was too depressing to contemplate.
She tuned into a Christmas station so she could think of Harry and not Blaise. Because it was all right to love Harry. Harry would love her back.
She got drunk on an empty stomach and ended up on the cold bathroom floor, vomiting way past two, tears streaming down her cheeks and sobs caught in her raw throat.
***
Aren't you glad I came up with something cheerier?
I love getting random facts and, somehow, amazingly, it inspired me for my Quiet One's gift-fic! I'm on a roll! And it's not remotely broody!
Of course, I can't post any bits of it here for you because that's a no-no and would ruin all the fun. However, to showcase how sucky and depressing my original concept was, I'll post a bit of that one. No essentials are given out, so the author wouldn't be able to guess it was their request fic (which it really isn't, since I'm not using any parts of it at all in the new ficcy). Am I making any sense? For some reason I feel like I'm babbling. Ah, well...
****
He moved out a week before Christmas, and Hermione and Blaise had a huge row over Harry.
Millicent left for her parents’ house in Wiltshire three days later and Hermione sat dejectedly at the kitchen table, staring into a stone-cold bowl of soup. “Happy Christmas,” she whispered to herself, then sniffed and wiped her nose with a napkin, blinking rapidly to stave off tears.
She’d pasted on a smile earlier for Harry, waving him off at the train station. He was taking a break, a holiday, visiting some old friends ‘til after the new year. She’d hugged him and told him she’d be fine, even though she hadn’t seen Blaise since their fight and her head hurt and she was desperately afraid she’d be all alone on Christmas.
Which was stupid. Her mum and dad expected her bright and early Christmas morn.
Still. The soup was cold.
***
On Christmas Eve, Hermione set a bottle of red out to breathe and stood at the kitchen counter, her head in her hands. She hadn’t gone shopping since Harry left and they never kept regular meals anyway, so she had to make due with a jar of peanut butter and pre-sliced swiss cheese. Take-away was too depressing to contemplate.
She tuned into a Christmas station so she could think of Harry and not Blaise. Because it was all right to love Harry. Harry would love her back.
She got drunk on an empty stomach and ended up on the cold bathroom floor, vomiting way past two, tears streaming down her cheeks and sobs caught in her raw throat.
***
Aren't you glad I came up with something cheerier?