Post by pinkie on Mar 12, 2008 8:44:24 GMT -5
Here we are...
1. Object: Guitar
2. Quote: "hide me"
3. Character: Neville
4. Sound/Smell: Onion(s)
5. Flora/Fauna: Fanged Geranium(s)
6. Choice: a waving wand
This is not much – because honestly, I am not that inspired, but I thought if I would post something here, maybe others will be inspired by it and might want to try it too. This is really not as difficult as you would think at first.
March had always been one of Pomona’s favourite months. The start of spring, the tempestuous weather, the days that lengthened. The warm body of Filius next to her as she fell asleep and woke up. Of course being with Filius was not something that was a privilege to March.
Their relationship had blossemed when Neville had told Pomona that Filius had a terrible crush on her. According to him, Filius couldn’t play chess without telling the whole staff about Pomona’s qualities, from her green fingers to her curly hair, her kindness and the way she smelled. Pomona, never in want of lovers, had looked at Neville with a confused expression on her face, telling herself that if they had been working together for forty-odd years, he could have told her sooner if this was the case.
Late that same night that Neville had spilled the beans, Pomona thought about Filius. How he always held the door for her. How he send her flowers and chocolates on Valentine’s Day. How he brought her articles on Fanged Geraniums and Nightblooming Orchids. How they would go to the pub in the village while they ought to chapperone the First years on an outing. How his sense of humor never failed to make her laugh.
She remembered that when both she and Filius had been working at Hogwarts for about five years, Filius had bought himself a Fender guitar. He said he would become as good a player as BB King. Pomona had never heard Filius play, nor seen the guitar in his rooms. She wondered what had happened to it. She knew Filius had a lovely voice, because he would stand next to her during the times Albus had asked for the school song. Why had he never showed his skill?
The week went by quickly as her Fanged Geraniums blossomed and she had enough weeding for two persons to do. She sat next to Filius at breakfast and dinner and she talked to him, casually. He was kind and gracious as ever. Friday night came and Pomona had gathered her courage to ask him about his guitar. But when she arrived at the table, he was not there.
Disappointed, she walked back to her rooms, changing into comfortable sweats and top. She opened her window and looked outside. Far from the castle, she saw a little figure, carrying a bulky bag, going towards the Lake. Pomona threw her Parka on, stepped into her wellies and ran outside. She followed the small path she had seen the figure go and after almost a mile, she held still.
Before her she saw him. Filius was standing with his face to the Lake, holding a red electric guitar. He had an amplifyer behind him and he was strumming. Pomona smiled. Filius was playing one of her favourite songs and she could not make out the words so well, but the music sounded almost magical in her ears.
When Filius turned around to unplug his guitar, he saw Pomona. Her cheeks were wet and she smiled at him. Filius put his guitar down and put it away in its cover. He placed it on the amp and walked towards Pomona, his arms stretched out to her.
They enveloped each other and Pomona lowered her head, so she could whisper in his ear:
“I bet I am better than Layla…”
A year later, Pomona didn’t need the five pounds she had betted on. She had received something better: love, serenades and a warm bed.
(if you didn’t get the references: Eric Clapton had a red Fender guitar and was best friends with George Harrisson, who wrote: While my guitar gently weeps. Eric stole George’s wife and wrote a song about it: Layla.)
1. Object: Guitar
2. Quote: "hide me"
3. Character: Neville
4. Sound/Smell: Onion(s)
5. Flora/Fauna: Fanged Geranium(s)
6. Choice: a waving wand
This is not much – because honestly, I am not that inspired, but I thought if I would post something here, maybe others will be inspired by it and might want to try it too. This is really not as difficult as you would think at first.
While my guitar gently weeps
March had always been one of Pomona’s favourite months. The start of spring, the tempestuous weather, the days that lengthened. The warm body of Filius next to her as she fell asleep and woke up. Of course being with Filius was not something that was a privilege to March.
Their relationship had blossemed when Neville had told Pomona that Filius had a terrible crush on her. According to him, Filius couldn’t play chess without telling the whole staff about Pomona’s qualities, from her green fingers to her curly hair, her kindness and the way she smelled. Pomona, never in want of lovers, had looked at Neville with a confused expression on her face, telling herself that if they had been working together for forty-odd years, he could have told her sooner if this was the case.
Late that same night that Neville had spilled the beans, Pomona thought about Filius. How he always held the door for her. How he send her flowers and chocolates on Valentine’s Day. How he brought her articles on Fanged Geraniums and Nightblooming Orchids. How they would go to the pub in the village while they ought to chapperone the First years on an outing. How his sense of humor never failed to make her laugh.
She remembered that when both she and Filius had been working at Hogwarts for about five years, Filius had bought himself a Fender guitar. He said he would become as good a player as BB King. Pomona had never heard Filius play, nor seen the guitar in his rooms. She wondered what had happened to it. She knew Filius had a lovely voice, because he would stand next to her during the times Albus had asked for the school song. Why had he never showed his skill?
The week went by quickly as her Fanged Geraniums blossomed and she had enough weeding for two persons to do. She sat next to Filius at breakfast and dinner and she talked to him, casually. He was kind and gracious as ever. Friday night came and Pomona had gathered her courage to ask him about his guitar. But when she arrived at the table, he was not there.
Disappointed, she walked back to her rooms, changing into comfortable sweats and top. She opened her window and looked outside. Far from the castle, she saw a little figure, carrying a bulky bag, going towards the Lake. Pomona threw her Parka on, stepped into her wellies and ran outside. She followed the small path she had seen the figure go and after almost a mile, she held still.
Before her she saw him. Filius was standing with his face to the Lake, holding a red electric guitar. He had an amplifyer behind him and he was strumming. Pomona smiled. Filius was playing one of her favourite songs and she could not make out the words so well, but the music sounded almost magical in her ears.
When Filius turned around to unplug his guitar, he saw Pomona. Her cheeks were wet and she smiled at him. Filius put his guitar down and put it away in its cover. He placed it on the amp and walked towards Pomona, his arms stretched out to her.
They enveloped each other and Pomona lowered her head, so she could whisper in his ear:
“I bet I am better than Layla…”
A year later, Pomona didn’t need the five pounds she had betted on. She had received something better: love, serenades and a warm bed.
(if you didn’t get the references: Eric Clapton had a red Fender guitar and was best friends with George Harrisson, who wrote: While my guitar gently weeps. Eric stole George’s wife and wrote a song about it: Layla.)
