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argelfraster.
The lyrics post still has selections from TMBG, John Denver, Billy Joel, Eve6 and a Bing Crosby cover unclaimed. C'mon, I thought those would be the easy ones!
Eh. I'm awakened from an epic 10-hour nap. Not a good idea, considering the amount of schoolwork I have to do. Eh. And failing that, polyficathon, which I'd really like to posttomorrow later today sometime. Instead, I have for you 400 words of actual Harry Potter fic.
At the start of sixth year, Draco noticed that Ron Weasley had started wearing his robe sleeves around his elbows. Sometimes he rolled them up, whenever classwork gave him the least excuse, or to keep them from dragging in the sauce at dinner. Sometimes they just happened to fall back with a gesture as he was writing or talking.
Weasley's arms were darkly tanned under a thick dappling of freckles, probably from spending the summer doing servants' work outside in Muggle t-shirts like the 'blood trash he was. Weasley's arms were uncouthly muscled from manual labor and playing a brute-force Quidditch position like Keeper. Weasley's arms were marked, from the wrists almost to the elbows, with winding welts of starkly white scar tissue, and everyone in Britain knew where those had come from.
Weasley had perfected the humble-yet-proud routine he used whenever first-formers and billywig-brained girls came up to simper at him. He'd look over at Potter, as if he was ashamed to be stealing some of the real hero's attention for once, and then give the little sycophants a lopsided grin that made him look like a twit. He'd let them *touch* the scars and ooh and ah and trace the patterns with their fingers and tell him how brave and wonderful he was. He'd beam at them, and shrug, and repeat something stupid and sappy that Dumbledore had said, about everybody doing their part, or the real sacrifices being made by those who'd died.
Draco would have reported him for being out of uniform if he hadn't known he couldn't afford to call attention to such things that way. Draco himself had been wearing long sleeves since mid-June, when the dressings came off. Since school started, he'd taken Professor Snape's advice and begun to wear a black underrobe with his uniforms, one with cuffs that button tightly halfway to the elbow, so that even if his robe sleeve fell back his forearms would still be covered.
After Christmas break, during the first Advanced Potions class, Draco cursed as his Deliquescing Potion bubbled as he was stirring and left the black cloth spattered with bleached purple specks. He glanced at Professor Snape, and then smiled, and caught Weasley's eye, and very casually, to keep his sleeves safe from the potion, unbuttoned the cuffs and folded them both up past his elbows.
Eh. I'm awakened from an epic 10-hour nap. Not a good idea, considering the amount of schoolwork I have to do. Eh. And failing that, polyficathon, which I'd really like to post
At the start of sixth year, Draco noticed that Ron Weasley had started wearing his robe sleeves around his elbows. Sometimes he rolled them up, whenever classwork gave him the least excuse, or to keep them from dragging in the sauce at dinner. Sometimes they just happened to fall back with a gesture as he was writing or talking.
Weasley's arms were darkly tanned under a thick dappling of freckles, probably from spending the summer doing servants' work outside in Muggle t-shirts like the 'blood trash he was. Weasley's arms were uncouthly muscled from manual labor and playing a brute-force Quidditch position like Keeper. Weasley's arms were marked, from the wrists almost to the elbows, with winding welts of starkly white scar tissue, and everyone in Britain knew where those had come from.
Weasley had perfected the humble-yet-proud routine he used whenever first-formers and billywig-brained girls came up to simper at him. He'd look over at Potter, as if he was ashamed to be stealing some of the real hero's attention for once, and then give the little sycophants a lopsided grin that made him look like a twit. He'd let them *touch* the scars and ooh and ah and trace the patterns with their fingers and tell him how brave and wonderful he was. He'd beam at them, and shrug, and repeat something stupid and sappy that Dumbledore had said, about everybody doing their part, or the real sacrifices being made by those who'd died.
Draco would have reported him for being out of uniform if he hadn't known he couldn't afford to call attention to such things that way. Draco himself had been wearing long sleeves since mid-June, when the dressings came off. Since school started, he'd taken Professor Snape's advice and begun to wear a black underrobe with his uniforms, one with cuffs that button tightly halfway to the elbow, so that even if his robe sleeve fell back his forearms would still be covered.
After Christmas break, during the first Advanced Potions class, Draco cursed as his Deliquescing Potion bubbled as he was stirring and left the black cloth spattered with bleached purple specks. He glanced at Professor Snape, and then smiled, and caught Weasley's eye, and very casually, to keep his sleeves safe from the potion, unbuttoned the cuffs and folded them both up past his elbows.
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