(Note: final version, thanks to my beta ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wemyss
HOW ELPHIAS DOGE TRIED TO NIP ALBERT RUNCORN'S MINISTRY CAREER IN THE BUD
( Read more... )
wemyssHOW ELPHIAS DOGE TRIED TO NIP ALBERT RUNCORN'S MINISTRY CAREER IN THE BUD
( Read more... )
Anastasio Attanasio, alias Ricky, was the youngest of five children, each born a few years after the other. Some had left home and rarely returned; and when the youngest, Maria Alba Caterina (or Ketty), boarded the Zeppelin for Beauxbatons, there was nobody to keep an eye on him when his father was at work.
Inevitably, what followed was a week of highly surprising and different homecomings.( Read more... )
Inevitably, what followed was a week of highly surprising and different homecomings.( Read more... )
Nothing much...
Sep. 10th, 2009 07:46 am...but four years ago I wrote this piece of verse, and I don't think I ever published it on this blog. ( Read more... )
A new fanfic - Cathy
Jun. 13th, 2009 06:28 pm(Note: my thanks to my beta, ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wemyss)
Cathy - by F.P.Barbieri
“What makes Lord Voldemort powerful,” said Dumbledore thoughtfully, “is the way his followers use him as an excuse.”
Harry looked at him in bewilderment( Read more... )
wemyss)Cathy - by F.P.Barbieri
“What makes Lord Voldemort powerful,” said Dumbledore thoughtfully, “is the way his followers use him as an excuse.”
Harry looked at him in bewilderment( Read more... )
THE LONG SHADOW
A man and a boy sat on the roof of a great grey mansion that frowned like a harsh master over the small terraced houses that surrounded it on every side. The air was hot and sultry, a bitter unmoving summer sulk, hot and secret with the makings of a storm; a thick, low, grey wall of cloud hung closely above them; and the city stretched before them with its mass of lives, each little group withdrawn behind its veil of brick and glass.( Read more... )
A man and a boy sat on the roof of a great grey mansion that frowned like a harsh master over the small terraced houses that surrounded it on every side. The air was hot and sultry, a bitter unmoving summer sulk, hot and secret with the makings of a storm; a thick, low, grey wall of cloud hung closely above them; and the city stretched before them with its mass of lives, each little group withdrawn behind its veil of brick and glass.( Read more... )
(no subject)
Nov. 6th, 2007 09:18 pmA crime to outlive him, part 9
By F.P.Barbieri
Part 9 – epilogue
“Wow,” said Hermione thoughtfully.
She was tempted ( Read more... )
END OF THE STORY.
By F.P.Barbieri
Part 9 – epilogue
“Wow,” said Hermione thoughtfully.
She was tempted ( Read more... )
END OF THE STORY.
A crime to outlive him, part 8
Nov. 6th, 2007 09:16 pmPart 8 - guilt
Harry Potter looked up and realized that the sky over Hogwarts had cleared.( Read more... )
Harry Potter looked up and realized that the sky over Hogwarts had cleared.( Read more... )
A crime to outlive him, part 7
Nov. 6th, 2007 09:12 pmPart 7 – The great oak
The hills that carve ancient Brittany are not high, but wild and lonely( Read more... )
The hills that carve ancient Brittany are not high, but wild and lonely( Read more... )
A fragmentary ficlet
Jun. 23rd, 2007 09:42 pmTwo portraits and a quotation – a Harry Potter fragment
1.
A father is what he has never had; a force to match his own, to meet face to face, to give him a model and a frame for his manhood. All he had known in his childhood was violence, and however little he might know of mankind, he knew at least that what he met at home was wrong and not to be accepted.
As a result, he was forever without balance. His immense inner power would either unleash itself without control, hurting friend and foe alike, or retire within itself, nervous, scared of the harm it could do, scared, too, of dealing with people – he had never been taught how. He knew, at some level, that the potential for great things lay within him; but how could that sense join with the confused, half-broken person he was, he could never imagine. And so, even that sense of potential was not an asset, but a condemnation, hanging over him as a demand he could never fulfil.
2.
He could have lived with a son greater than himself. As he turned back to contemplate his fathers and his fathers’ fathers, he was aware that he stood on the shoulders, or in the shadow, of giants; that what had made him was fearsome, perhaps even dreadful, but never petty. And as his life continued, so he grew more aware of his lineage; of the duty he owed them – of being always in the shadow of greatness.
He had sought to live according to his heritage – high and demanding in his private life, married to the most high-born and beautiful lady, herself a treasure to be touched sparingly and with respect. And to preserve her beauty, he – not she – had decreed that they should have only one son.
He could have lived with a son greater than himself; a son who did not proclaim, in everything he said and did, an inevitable mediocrity – a mediocrity that sometimes seemed to reflect his own as in a mocking mirror. He could have lived with a son he could believe in, as now his self-belief was being eaten away from inside by what he saw every day – and could not change. He could have lived with a son that brought out the best of himself, instead of leaving him to set up an awful and brittle façade behind which nobody, not even himself, was allowed to look.
A Quotation
(from The Mask of Apollo, by Mary Renault)
He will rage through the world like a flame, like a lion; seeking, never finding. Like a lion he will hunt for his proper food, and fasting make do with what he finds; like a lion he will be sometimes angry. Always he will be loved, never knowing the love he missed.
All tragedies deal with fated meetings… No-one will ever make a tragedy – and that is as well, for one could not bear it – whose grief is that the principals never meet.
1.
A father is what he has never had; a force to match his own, to meet face to face, to give him a model and a frame for his manhood. All he had known in his childhood was violence, and however little he might know of mankind, he knew at least that what he met at home was wrong and not to be accepted.
As a result, he was forever without balance. His immense inner power would either unleash itself without control, hurting friend and foe alike, or retire within itself, nervous, scared of the harm it could do, scared, too, of dealing with people – he had never been taught how. He knew, at some level, that the potential for great things lay within him; but how could that sense join with the confused, half-broken person he was, he could never imagine. And so, even that sense of potential was not an asset, but a condemnation, hanging over him as a demand he could never fulfil.
2.
He could have lived with a son greater than himself. As he turned back to contemplate his fathers and his fathers’ fathers, he was aware that he stood on the shoulders, or in the shadow, of giants; that what had made him was fearsome, perhaps even dreadful, but never petty. And as his life continued, so he grew more aware of his lineage; of the duty he owed them – of being always in the shadow of greatness.
He had sought to live according to his heritage – high and demanding in his private life, married to the most high-born and beautiful lady, herself a treasure to be touched sparingly and with respect. And to preserve her beauty, he – not she – had decreed that they should have only one son.
He could have lived with a son greater than himself; a son who did not proclaim, in everything he said and did, an inevitable mediocrity – a mediocrity that sometimes seemed to reflect his own as in a mocking mirror. He could have lived with a son he could believe in, as now his self-belief was being eaten away from inside by what he saw every day – and could not change. He could have lived with a son that brought out the best of himself, instead of leaving him to set up an awful and brittle façade behind which nobody, not even himself, was allowed to look.
A Quotation
(from The Mask of Apollo, by Mary Renault)
He will rage through the world like a flame, like a lion; seeking, never finding. Like a lion he will hunt for his proper food, and fasting make do with what he finds; like a lion he will be sometimes angry. Always he will be loved, never knowing the love he missed.
All tragedies deal with fated meetings… No-one will ever make a tragedy – and that is as well, for one could not bear it – whose grief is that the principals never meet.
