Jun. 11th, 2011

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Author's Note: Written for this game of Fill the Plothole. Everything from the Harry Potter series belongs to J.K. Rowling. The Chronicles of Narnia belongs to the estate of C.S. Lewis.

The spell of the moon...Draco Malfoy was having a good day when Longbottom did IT.Now,all they have to do is find Draco's true love.The problem is everybody wish to get inside his pants but no one inside his heart...or do they?slashHD

[This story broadcast in HD where available.]

Draco Malfoy had been walking around the back of the stands to reach the Quidditch pitch when he heard someone whispering to him from underneath the seats. He stopped and listened; a short figure moved forward out of the shadows. Malfoy couldn’t have expected the face that revealed itself.

The face was covered in white makeup, with bright red on the lips. The nose was covered by a big red ball. The face was surrounded by an orange wig of frizzy hair above, and a frilly white collar below. “Hiya, Malfoy!” the figure said in a raspy voice. “Aren’t you going to say, ‘Hello?’”

Malfoy was dumbfounded. “. . . Longbottom?”

Neville tossed an unfolded balloon animal at Malfoy’s feet. “A snake certainly does have a long bottom! Aha! Aha!” Neville squeaked the clown nose in time to his laughter.

Malfoy looked around. He didn’t see anyone else. Had someone jinxed the Gryffindor? Malfoy had certainly never seen Longbottom smiling for so long.

“Has your pitiful life finally driven you completely mad, Longbottom?”

“My name is Pennywise, the dancing clown!”

“Yes, fascinating. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some Quidditch to practice.”

“But don’t you want a balloon?” Longbottom was now inexplicably holding a bundle of balloons by their strings. “Look! They FLOAT!”

“Where are you getting these?” Malfoy shouted, furious.

“We all FLOAT down here!” Longbottom shook the balloons desperately.

Malfoy turned to go, but as he walked away, he felt the sensation of something being pulled out of his pants pockets. He glared and spun around, coming face to face with the Weasley twins.

“Well, it was a fine plan,” said George. “Just didn’t quite work out.”

“You did great, Neville,” added Fred.

Malfoy was looking back and forth between the twins. “Do you mean to tell me,” he seethed, “that this was all just a plot to steal my wallet?”

“Well, you are rich,” said Neville, blushing through the clown paint.

Author's Note: It was created by Stephen King. The original link to the following story is lost.

“The Mirror” by o0NarnianLullaby0o
When Clary and Isla Kennedy are taken aboard the Dawn Treader, they find something more amazing than they could've ever imagined. A mirror that shows what you want the most. But the girls didn't even know that love was what they wanted... AU

The sisters had been wandering around the Dawn Treader since their arrival on the ship. To their utter disappointment, the majority of the ship’s cabins were either empty, or worse, filled with equipment or supplies. They were just giving up on finding anything amazing and magical when they opened the door to one room in particular.

“Like, whoa! Check it out, Clary! A magic mirror!”

“Totally, Isla! Like, mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the hottest one of all?”

“What’s that writing at the top? Mirror of . . . Erised?”

“Dude, it’s an Italian mirror. So chic.”

“No way, Clary! That’s so totally French.”

As the girls walked closer to the mirror, however, each saw something a little different in the reflection.

Isla cried, “Oh, it’s that total hunk from school!”

Clary sighed, “It’s that dreamy stud that runs the Cinnabon register at the mall!”

The sound of the door opening behind them broke both girls out of their reverie.

“Terribly sorry to intrude,” said Professor Dumbledore, “but I seem to have—Ah! Yes, there it is.” With a flick of his wand, the mirror levitated off the floor and headed for the door.

Dumbledore followed after it, but turned back in the door frame. “Incidentally, you young ladies ought to go home. Before you . . . as they say, mess something up?” He smiled politely, raising his eyebrows. Then he left.


Jun. 11th, 2011 05:23 pm
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Author's Note: This is the story I used as sample writing to get permission to write in the PPC.


Captain Janzen Peck sighed as he observed the image before him. The ship’s view-screen showed an average-sized, but beautiful, planet, wrapped in blankets of cloud. It was their next target, and he had been tasked with making sure the cargo vessels in his fleet had a safe landing and recovery effort. That meant locating any life forms able to pose a potential threat and destroying them from orbit.

“So. This is our next victim.”

The statement had been rhetorical, but the communications officer chose to respond anyway. “This planet’s surface is abundant in metals that haven’t been seen in our crust for decades now: iron, copper, even silicon. It’s a rare find. The Geologic Assessment Crew from the cargo ships estimates the planet may have formed over five billion years ago.”

“In other words, this planet is nearly as old as ours.” Captain Peck sighed again as he leaned against the metal railing that separated crew from the view-screen. “Today, we could be killing beings as evolved and complex as us.”

The communications officer, whose last name was Pryor, but whose first name Captain Peck couldn’t remember, gave him a weary glance. “We are quickly running out of natural resources. Our neighbors”—Lieutenant Pryor sneered as she said the word—“in the east are hoarding what materials they still have left, and have made it clear there will be no more exports or imports, no more loans. Our country can survive, but only if we keep bringing in new materials from other solar systems.”

Captain Peck had heard this many times before, though phrased differently each time. The government’s desperate attempts at maintaining order—and control—in the crumbling international climate had taken the form of survivalist xenophobia that focused on self-sufficiency. As times grew harsher, the populace as a whole clung to these messages more and more, ignoring the signs of the nation’s gradual slide into weakness and obscurity.

Lieutenant Pryor displayed many of the same signs of blind faith in the government as many other young officers Captain Peck had come to know in his time serving on the Alkaline Dream. It seemed that the mounting losses of resources and importance had instilled a deep fear in the populace, giving rise to overwhelming nationalism that left no room for discussion or dissent. Peck rarely met anyone who shared his misgivings, and he couldn’t help the feeling that his entire country was setting itself up for a disappointing failure.

Captain Peck felt that he had to try and voice his concerns, now, before he and his crew led another attack. “We're mining other systems with just as little restraint as we mined our own country's lands. Can we truly expect to rely on extraterrestrial materials forever? As it goes, we put half of what we collect back into ship repairs and fueling collection voyages.”

Pryor frowned. “What choice do we have?” she asked. “Our nation has led the world in aviation, military tech, communications and social welfare for almost our entire three centuries! Our economy is the world economy! We have a legacy to live up to, and we can’t simply give it up!”

“Why not?” Captain Peck pressed. “It’s a lot of pressure, always being the strongest, the best, at everything we do.”

“Don't you have any pride!” Pryor rose from her seat as she raised her voice, tingeing it with desperation. “Don’t you like having a right to say, 'We're the best! We're the strongest!'”

Peck stared hard at his subordinate, waiting for her to sit down again, which she soon did. Settling back into her seat, she masked her face in a blank expression. “My apologies, Captain.” She still couldn't hide the hardness in her eyes. “But we have a duty to our homeland—a duty we all swore to.”

“Don't inform me of my duty, please,” Captain Peck said calmly, but coldly. “We will all do as we have been ordered, Lieutenant. Nothing more and nothing less.”

Peck turned, sweeping the room with his eyes. Most of the bridge crew was ignoring the exchange, though not all were smart enough to avoid watching the Captain. Internally, Peck was disappointed with himself, not because of the argument, but because he had been so easily put on the defensive once his loyalty had been questioned. Was he, too, so easily swayed by the same blind nationalism that afflicted Pryor? Did Pryor herself have the same misgivings as the Captain, only to be too fearful to admit them?

Captain Peck turned back to the view-screen, and gazed at the planet there. Beneath the wispy clouds were massive oceans of pristine blue, wrapping tightly around what continents were visible from this angle. One was colored white, which probably signified proximity to a pole. The other landmasses were mottled with green and brown.

“What do we know about this planet?” Peck asked. “Besides its physical characteristics, I mean?”

“Well…” Pryor must have been looking through data on her computer screen. “Based on observations of various wavelengths used for communication or entertainment broadcasting, there appear to be at least one hundred twenty-five political states here, probably more. Thousands of differentiable languages, with multiple variations on each.”

“Translation progress?”

“We’ve made some headway in what seem to be the dominant tongues, mostly just to figure out central military locations.”

Peck paused for a moment. “And what is its name?”


“The planet. What do the natives call it?”

“Some of the names we’ve come across include Ziemia, Jord, Aarde, de Erde, Tierra, Earth? The last two seem to be most commonly used.”

Captain Peck grasped the railing with his claws. “Well, Earth,” he mumbled quietly through the vocal slits on either side of his face, “I hope, for your sake, you’re better organized than we are. I hope you’re unified enough to stand a chance.”


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