Refresco de Limão

Chapter 1 : THE SNAKE IN ME - A PRELUDE

2010-04-29T15:51:00.000-07:00

My name is Albus Severus Potter, son of the famous Harry Potter, grandson of the also famous James Potter, heir of the names of the great Hogwarts Directors and fearless wizards Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape, the last one considered, for a very long time, a traitor.
They also call me Asp.
I am a Slytherin.

A PRELUDE

ALBUS SEVERUS SPEAKS

Some say there were signs.

That I was too much like him.

Black raven untidy hair, straight, shoulder length. Usually greasy, though I washed it everyday.
Black robes with the green and silver sign. Defense Against Dark Arts and Potions books on my arms.

Bright green eyes.

Like another version, just a bit out of place.

The day I was sorted into Slytherin made a commotion.

The day I discovered I was Parseltongue I decided to hide from everybody.

I was so tired of being noticed. Pointed. Commented on. Just for being there.

Of course, the remarkable sense of humour I inherited from my mother was never noticed at all.

Nor my grandmother’s green eyes ever eased the minds.

How could they, when I strutted around with the same black greasy hair and depressed looks as the man I got my name from, Severus Snape?

My curiosity towards the Dark Side was then a rather natural consequence.

I desired solitude. I could not find sympathy in people, so I sought it in books and knowledge.

It was a perfect relationship.

A misunderstood lonely boy in a school full of joyful youngsters is a perfect vessel for all sorts of deep learnings.

Oh, I was an eager learner. And I also learned fast.

Was I devoid of standards or feelings, I would have turned into a great dark wizard!

Like the man I inherited my name from and whom I most resemble, even more than to my own kin, I was an expert in the subject long before my schoolmates.

Like my own father, great things could be expect from me.

Like to my heroic ancestors, my blood would lead me far.

The only “but” in this question were MY own personal wishes, of course.

My brother wished recognition. James wanted to shine as a bright comet in the sky, the red and yellow quidditch uniform flapping to the wind high above the school fields, the golden snitch captured in his victorious hand! Father and mother and all of the school awing his brave dangerous acts! James was fearless. Nothing could scare him! Unfortunately for him, opportunities never came, so he had to make them happen. And sometimes, instead of the undeniable recognition he desired, he got unwanted detention...

My sister Lily was nothing but a child, at the time. She wished friends to play, sunny mornings to explore the garden and rainy afternoons to explore the attic. A mountain of books to read on her free time. She was sweet, caring, an angel in our home. Her smile was enough to ease a dark demeanour. And her laugh was bright and pure as crystal!

I wished quietness. To be alone. In silence. With my readings, my books, my stormy thoughts.

Why would I want to shine? Why would I want to talk? Why would I want to achieve others’ goals?

Never had three siblings been so different, and so loving!

James, the fiery comet.

Lily, the bright clear light.

Albus, the dark abyss.

It all started one day.

One dawn that brought both light and darkness in her arms for my eyes only to see.

The day was the 9th of March.

It was my 10th birthday, and it was the day my childhood undoubtedly ended.

The Promise - Chapter 5.

2009-11-23T02:16:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER 5 – A VERY COLOURFUL TRAIN RIDE!

Harry didn’t sleep most of the night.

Not because of the exciting day the morning would bring.

Not because the neighbour’s crackheaded poodle howled all night long.

Not because uncle Ingeram sang quite loudly during his sleep, in the room at the end of the hall.

Nor did Severus, in the room next to Harry’s.

Dragan decided to wake up at 3.30 in the morning and do the marathon inside the house.

Walls included.

It all ended a few hours later, with Severus sending a decided paralysing spell, but missing several other ones and throwing down a few portraits from the walls, and, in fact, everything else that was on the furniture.

That made Dragan quite upset and disturbed, but immobilised, so Harry and Severus just thrown him in the armchair in the living-room and thought of go to bed to get a few more deserved sleeping hours.

Which turned out to be impossible, because uncle Ingeram was already in the kitchen making fresh Colombia coffee, eggs Benedict, fried bacon, blackberry pie and pancakes all at the same time, and singing in an appallingly deafening way something like “how can we dance when our luck is turning, how do we sleep when our beds are burning”.

Harry considered uncle Ingeram’s cooking abilities far better than Severus’; of course he didn’t mention it, so that his father wouldn’t feel even more depressed than he was now.

Severus considered the exact same thing; of course he didn’t mention it, because he felt enough depressed already, and there was no point in obviously worsening that feeling.

Then came aunt Weasley and in an absurd amount of time they found themselves at the King’s Cross train station, by the Platform 9 ¾, well trimmed, with Harry’s trunk, and Dragan still immobilized and ill tempered inside his cat-basket! Aunt Weasley was very good in speeding up things, indeed!

And she was really eager to chat to Mrs. Longbottom, so Harry, Severus and
Uncle Ingeram just had to gobble their breakfast in a very quick way and obey her unrefusable orders before things got undoubtly bad on their side, as they feared it would.

It was Harry first time there, so he was happy to see already known faces: the Weasley brothers, Aunt Weasley grand-nephews, as she was Mr. Weasley’s aunt, in fact.

It was Ron’s first time at Hogwarts too, so Harry felt empathetic with him, and they were commenting on their fears, expectations and Fred and George’s new pranks, unknown to Mrs. Weasley’s knowledge and eyes, of course.

As usual, their little sister Ginny was hanging on Harry’s neck and swinging her legs from one side to another, because her brothers weren’t really in the mood for that, but Harry was always uncomplaining about her new tricks, once he didn’t have siblings and really missed a younger sister annoying him during summer holidays.

Ron, on the other hand, would gladly give all of his siblings away for adoption during summer time!

Of course Gran Longbottom was already there because – and as she wisely predicted, even without a first class crystal ball – Neville would be losing things around.

Gran Longbottom was a quite regular visit at Spiner’s End, as she was friend with Aunt Weasley, and they met often to talk about... all the things they had to talk about.

It was about everyday, by tea time.

In fact, Harry and Neville, her grandson, had a lot in common: Neville didn’t properly know his parents, as they were both in a hospital since he was a baby, and Harry couldn’t remember his parents because they were killed when he was also a baby.

The misfortune of both Neville and Harry had been caused by Voldemort.

And besides, Harry and Neville had the same birthday – they were even born in the same year!

Those facts made them quite close.

Harry’s present to Neville this last birthday had been a Young Wizard’s All-in-it Agenda – some sort of a Muggle Diary, but everytime one opens it, it tells, or shouts, the things that person has to do that day, or things that person forgot.

Hence the shouting device.

Harry thought it might prove useful to Neville that year at Hogwarts.

After all the mayhem of crossing the gate, saying goodbye to family and friends, getting in the train, finding an empty quiet cabinet, put luggage in place and, finally, sit, Harry, Ron and Neville managed, at last, to update news and confirm theories!

The Weasley twins had, infamously, created a lot of silly misconception on Hogwarts on their younger brother’s mind!

Many things taken, in fact, from Muggle fairy tales, and with their special, twisted touch...

That could not have fooled Harry, because living as a Muggle until this day, he had been in touch with that information since kindergarten, so he cleared most of Ron’s subjects on that topic.

He had always been sure that all that silly information would, someday, be of use...

Harry looked outside the train’s window for a moment, watching the colours changing and the night coming slowly, and he felt that things were quite simple to him now, in spite of the new experiences, the new faces, the butterflies in his stomach, for not having a clear idea of how his life would be from that day forward, and for how on earth they would make Aunt Weasley’s blueberry and lemon muffins disappear until the end of their journey!

He shared his last though, and they were discussing that precise subject when a black cat literally stormed inside their cabinet. Not the cat, in fact, as it could not have opened the door without help, but a black cat, and a girl whose black straight hair made them look more as siblings and less like girl and pet, followed by another brown haired girl that looked like another feline: a lion!

They all shocked, of course.

Not because of the dramatic entrance, but because of the fact that they were girls!

The girls sit quietly, in spite of their tumultuous entrance, looking at them by the corner of their eyes, and the lion haired girl finally spoke, but in a gentle and polite way.

-“I’m sorry, would you mind that we stay here for a while? This is all quite new for both of us, and it seems we can’t find a quiet place...”

A nearly breathless squeak came from where she was sitting her buttocks on, and she paused to take a look at what it could be.

-“Trevor!” – Neville exclaimed, in fear, covering his eyes with his hands. – “Are you alright? Are you alive?!”

He was. Rather disturbed, but still breathing.

_”... anywhere.” – she finished, picking up the toad with one hand without even looking at it, which was not normal in a girl, as girls, most of the times, scream and faint in sight of toads, and gentle paused it in Neville’s lap.

-“My name is Amy Haveron” – said the black haired girl – “and this is Hermione Granger. We are going to start Hogwarts this year, and this entire Witchcraft thing is new to us.”

-“ We are both Muggle.” – she added, lowering her dark eyes and her voice, and looking straight at Harry, who couldn’t have kept his eyes from here since she came into the cabinet, saying the words as they were poisonous. Obviously, she had had a bitter experience with that fact since she got into the train.

“Quite an entrance!” Harry thought.

On Severus’ side, things were not as good, or so he thought, because Uncle Ingeram was thrilling with this new friend of him!

Even though Severus kept his words for himself the whole time.

In fact, Uncle Ingeram had been talking alone all day long. He didn’t seem to mind. Severus finished his packing in silence, wondering at was yet unveiled to him, and though he didn’t want to admit it, secretly wishing time would fly.

Time did fly that day, nonetheless.

It was nearly the sunset hour when they reached Hogsmeade, and that made visible to Severus’ eyes the house that belonged to his family and that he had never noticed in many years around the village.

He would have never guessed that his mother would call “home” to such a place.

But then again, Uncle Ingeram told him of another Eileen. One he never met.

That Eileen might have loved this place he saw in front of him.

The growingly dim light showed him an old stone house, with a large chimney on one of the sides, and a bouncing catavento on the top. An uneven vegetable garden and a coloured flower garden surrounded it, filled with somewhat uncared flowers, herbs, butterflies, birds, bees and ladybugs still flying around.

A gigantic chestnut tree made a picnic-like shadow that called for children running under it, and a swing on the branch.

Severus smiled at the old tree. Chestnuts were a good omen to him.

Uncle Ingeram took the moment to joyfully add that that aged respectful tree had been planted decades ago by great-great-grandfather Breandan, the Long Bearded One, who hid a bag of nuts from his sister Wilmetta, the Also Long Bearded One (for she was the second sister) and one of her flaming rages – literally! -, but that he later forgot where he had buried it.

Severus stared at his uncle.

Ingeram smiled, with the same twitch on his lip he had.

Severus smiled back at him, but intimately, he considered now would be an appropriate occasion to be savagely attacked by an evil wild beast!

Momento de humor da chafarica...

2009-11-05T03:44:00.000-08:00

Só para informar que até ando por aqui...

Há quem venha aqui despencar, parece.

2009-10-07T05:52:00.000-07:00

E ainda por cima, parecem apreciar!

O blog recebeu este selito, vindo daqui: http://bolinhasdesabaoeoutrassinfonias.blogspot.com/

As regras para meter este selo são:

1) Escrever uma lista com 8 características suas.
2) Convidar 8 blogueiros para receber o selo.
3) Comentar no blog de quem lhe deu o selo
4) Comentar no blog de quem escolheu.

Características escandalosamente óbvias da menina do blog, sem qualquer tipo de ordenação whatsoevers:

. Adoro gatos! Especialmente gatos pretos! E falo com eles.
. Não percebo patavina de Matemática. Aliás, acho que o mundo seria um lugar bem melhor sem esse flagelo social que é a Matemática!
. As peças de roupa que mais me divirto a adquirir são t-shirts, meias e cuequitas. Mas sou forreta! E acho que a coisa mais fútil é gastar pazadas de euros em sapatos, a não ser que a pessoa seja clínica e assumidamente doida por sapatos. Há gente assim…
. Não sei mentir. É uma fatalidade nos dias de hoje, em que, aparentemente, tem mais mérito e benefício uma pessoa que mente, mas sempre me pareceu, neste e noutros valores, que vim parar ao século errado.
. Sou absurdamente teimosa. Acredito em causas perdidas. Em coisas impossíveis. Em fadas, fantasmas, vampiros, anjos, no Pai Natal e nas renas todas. Acredito no ser humano, apesar de tudo.
. Tenho a estúpida tendência para acreditar que mesmo uma pessoa muito má tem dentro de si algo de bom, mas a vida também me provou que mesmo as pessoas aparentemente boas são capazes de actos de uma maldade e egoísmo inomináveis.
. Quando começam as aulas, simpatizo automaticamente com os putos que são “diferentes”, os que não são certinhos, os rebeldes, os de óculos, os de franja nos olhos, os ciganos, os “atrasados”, os de calças rasgadas, os “maus” da turma. E não tenho pachorra nenhuma para os parvinhos que gozam com eles!
. Fico tremendamente rabugenta quando tenho frio, sono, ou um ratito no estômago.

E os blogues premiados são… CHANÃ!!!!!! (de novo, ao calhas!)

http://www.gatasemtelhado.blogspot.com/
http://almaanegra.blogspot.com/
http://houseoftherisingcats.blogspot.com/
http://selfmademess.wordpress.com/
http://chavena-de-cha.blogspot.com/
http://nsadtear.blogspot.com/
http://cianetofresquinho.blogspot.com/
http://lagostim.blogspot.com/

Sério, eu divirto-me!

2009-09-08T07:58:00.000-07:00

Momento de descontracção.

2009-08-08T10:46:00.000-07:00

Eu sei, eu sei, ainda não estamos na época, mas hoje está um tempo para o ranhoso, já deitei o dente a uma... estou indecisa entre rabanada e fatia parida, mas qual das expressões a pior, e já tenho prateleiras para arrumar os meus papéis, não parti nada, não senhores, fiz foi uma barulheira do caraças, mas aquilo está em pé, segura-se e tem os parafusos todos direitinhos e no sítio!

Um dia destes, novidades no blog!

The Promise - Chapter 4

2009-03-09T03:38:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 4 – UNDER THE OLD CHESTNUT TREE

Severus could remember clearly one specific day of his distant adolescence. He remembered many, in fact, because bitter memories are more acutely carved in our skin and in our soul, and he had several of those that would never leave him, as hard as he could try to forget. IF he ever wanted to forget them – which he didn’t, because he believed those harsh memories made him the man he was, and he never sought to be anything else.

But the recall that particular afternoon was different. Not dark, but bright. Not sad, but soul-warming. Not long and fastidious, but overly swift… Not to cause him anger, regret or pain when he would remember it, but other things he would seldom feel during most of his lifetime: companionship, security, and love.

Of course, Lily Evans was the central character of the scene.

Severus was reading his mother’s “Occlumancia Ars” book, lying under a big chestnut tree, in a quiet meadow near their house. It was the summer holiday before he started his 3rd year at Hogwarts. The weather was hot, and the cool shadow and fluffy grass under him felt awfully refreshing.

Eventually, the letters started to dance in front of his eyes, playing with each other, his eyelids started to weight a little and he smoothly felt asleep over the book.

A deep sleep without dreams or nightmares.

He gently woke up later in the afternoon, when the heat was already being dissolved by the fresh shadows of the trees, with a light hand passing through his hair, and he slowly opened his sad dark eyes up into a pair of bright green ones and a smiling freckled face that had been staring tenderly at him for the last minutes.

-“Lily.” – he said, in a whisper. She was sitting right next to him.

-“Hi, Sevvie! You seem to have felt asleep!” – she said, in a playful tone. – “I knew I would find you here. I was looking for you!”

-“You were? Why?” - the boy sit, stretching his arms and trying to look respectable. Fortunately, he didn’t drool!

-“Just to chat.”

But she didn’t. She just sit there quietly, not talking about anything at all.

-“Chat about something in particular?” – he decided to ask, after a while.

-“Well, I heard that we are going to Hogsmeade in the first weekend after we return to Hogwarts.” She paused.

And then blushed.

-“And?…” – he asked, but feeling a chill growing on his stomach.

-“I was wondering if you would like to come with me. I mean… you are my best friend.”

She was still red, facing with particular interest the weed in front of her left knee.

And the chill suddenly turned into a yak filled up with guarana juice jumping frantically inside his stomach.

-“A…” – Severus started, completely overwhelmed with surprise. – “Lily… are you sure?” – he doubted it was truth. - “I mean…you have other friends – from your House.”

Silence followed.

Severus looked at Lily. She would be considering the situation. Of course. Why would she go with the Slytherin greasy haired boy? The Dark Arts’ lover, the library worm, Potter’s favourite prank victim?

He saw the colours on her face turn to their original ones.

It was overly obvious. She fell into reason. No one would think of going with Snivellus.

She could look him in the eyes now.

She did it for a few seconds, without saying a word, but his heartbeat was telling him it felt like decades.

-“Yes, Severus, I am sure. Will you go with me?”

He opened his mouth.

Then he closed it, but no word could find its way out.

He was wrong.

-“Why would you want to go… with me? – he asked, fearing an answer.

Lily came closer to him, her eyes sparkling right into his, the warmth of her body could be felt so near she was, the smell of her skin, and the flower scent of her shampoo.

Lily scent.

She took the lock of his deep black hair that had fallen on his eyes.

And all of a sudden she kissed him.

Severus thought his heart stopped at that very instant, but it seemingly didn’t, because he could still feel the lily scented shampoo, her body next to him, her right hand on his face, her left arm around his neck, her lips on his, her breath irregular, her heart beating loud, or was it his?

His own arms were now around her and time seemed to stop for ever.

Her hair was so soft, her skin so smooth, her taste so sweet…

When they broke off, Lily gently step back a few inches and he thought she would run away, screaming at him it had all surely been a mistake.

But Severus was proved wrong again.

She looked at him and smiled.

Her hand held his own hand and she pressured it a little.

-“I want to go with you because you are the one I trust. I know you will always be there for me. Even if you are in Slytherin.”

He smiled at her. It was truth.

She would always be in front of everything else in his life. He was sure of it.

She had always stood for him when Potter and his friends harassed him. She would never let him down. Never.

He was so sure of it then.

That 14 year-old boy was so mistaken.

They stayed like this –so close, hand in hand, the same fast heartbeat – until the day finally started to fall and the colours in the sky changed.

He wished this afternoon would never end.

He didn’t wish to return home, where his parents were fighting once again, his father drunk and violent and screaming as always, his mother dark and killing him with her eyes, but unable to do it with her hands, or just go away and leave it all behind.

He didn’t wish to go back to Hogwarts to be a prank puppet in the hands of most of the students, Potter and Black’s favourite slimeball, as they called him, thinking that the best way to gain others awe was by stalking the greasy boy.

He didn’t wish to go where Lily wouldn’t be this near to him. Why would he?

This very moment was his own – their own.

Severus kissed her again, not deeming it was truth, that Lily was so close to him, wanting him, believing him, trusting him.

Night was coming swiftly and they had to go soon. Severus got up and picked the book.

Lily stood up and gave him her hand to hold, but she didn’t move to go.

-“Severus.”-she said, in a whisper.

He embraced the girl, giving a gentle kiss on her forehead and then softly touching her lips with his own.

-“There is something I want you to promise me.” – she spoke, in a serious tone, her face looking a little paler than it should be, while she touched his determined eyebrows.

-“What is it that only I could do for you, Lily?” – the boy asked.

-“You will always be my friend.” – she exhaled. –“Even if…”

-“If what?” – he feared.

-“Even if I am not your friend.” – she said finally.

-“That’s nonsense!” – he laugh. – “You will never betray your feelings! – He trusted her so much! More than in himself!

-“I have betrayed them before”-she spoke seriously. –“And above all things I don’t want to hurt you. I need you to help me, and understand me. Can you promise such a thing?” – Her voice was a murmur now.

Severus was puzzled. What was the meaning of her words?

However, HE would never betray his own feelings. And he could answer her now with all the conviction in his heart.

-“Yes, Lily. I can promise you that.” - he answered, wholeheartedly.

He picked the weed next to them – a woodspurge – and he gave it to her.

She snuffled it and smiled at him.

They could go now.

(imagem sacada daqui: http://design.artwanted.com/imageview.cfm?ID=530586)

The Christmas Carol Parody!

2009-01-09T01:31:00.000-08:00

Neste desafio, o objectivo era escolher uma canção de Natal, e escrever uma letra alternativa.
Eu pensei nos gémeos Weasley...

(e nem estou a insinuar nada acerca de uma certa personagem que tem tendência para ficar com penugem a mais em certas e determinadas alturas do mês...)

NEW VERSION

WE’LL WASH YOUR FILTHY WEREWOLF,

Sing to the tune of We Wish You a Merry Christmas.

We’ll wash your filthy werewolf,
We’ll wash your filthy werewolf,
We’ll wash your filthy werewolf,
And his hairy tail too!
Getting wet we sure will
From our head to our toe,
But he’ll smell like briar roses
And his hairy tail too!

Now bring us brush and foam,
Oh, bring us brush and foam,
Oh, bring us brush and foam,
And a tin of clean water
We’ll bathe him thoroughly
If only he won’t run away
He’ll cause envy to the Queen
If only he won’t run away!

We won’t rest ‘til we’ve done so,
We won’t rest ‘til we’ve done so,
We won’t rest ‘til we’ve done so,
So, we’ll chain him to this tree!
His paws and his ears
We’ll scrub with no mercy
His nails clipped and filed
His whiskers well trimmed!

We’ll wash your filthy werewolf,
We’ll wash your filthy werewolf,
We’ll wash your filthy werewolf,
And his hairy tail too!
Getting wet we sure will
From our head to our toe,
But he’ll smell like briar roses
And his hairy tail too!

Dead Ringer.

2009-01-08T02:44:00.000-08:00

Ora cá está uma criação designada "One shot", que quer dizer que se trata de um conto, só com um capítulo, e que fica mesmo por aqui.

Desisti de vez da Muggle net fan fiction porque de cada vez que coloco lá um trabalho, este desaparece.

Assim mesmo: vou lá agora, coloco o texto, o resumo, as personagens, os warnings, e tudo, e tudo e tudo, vou lá daqui a bocado e aindá lá está, vou lá amanhã e bye bye! Foi-se! PUF! Gone!

Assim, agarrei nos textos que escrevi para o desafio de Natal e estou a colocá-los TODOS na concorrência.

Este já lá está! Validado e em exibição.

DEAD RINGER

SUMMARY OF THE STORY: Years of bitterness and sorrow can obliviate a person true self, turning that person into someone she can’t even recognize.
But things can change when that person looks herself in a mirror and is able to point the changes she suffered and that blackened her feelings.
Druella Black spent this Christmas with her first grand-daughter, Nymphadora, the child of her cast-away daughter Andromeda, and that time made her start to look at the child as she once looked at herself, as a reflection on a mirror.

DEAD RINGER

Despite the cold, the flowers of the Luma Apiculata shrubbery growing in the greenhouse were blooming perfectly, this year.
She put a bit more of the special soil in the flower pot and made sure the plant was comfortable.
After all, she had always been an expert in Herbology, sometimes even surpassing some of the Hogwarts’ teacher’s skills as a student there, many, many years ago.
Time was becoming quite heavy on her, now. And frighteningly swift, though.
First, to grow up – study, have fun, learn, discover, laugh, cry.
Then, love, marriage, children.
And now a grandchild.
Nothing as she could have ever imagined.
A shame on her family name.
On her blood.
The woman sighed.
Well, the child was a witch, no doubt about that! Those outrageous pigtails changing from pine green to sparkling red were a rather visible way of showing it!
On the inside, Druella Black half-smiled.
On the outside, her blonde-hair-turning-to-grey just got a little brighter and yes, a golden shimmering could be seen once in a while, revealing with no mistake from where the child inherited that precise characteristic.
She enjoyed the sun on her face for a few minutes.
Having no worries was relieving. Even if it was for just brief moments.
Her life had been full, but not quite as plain and predictable as she desired it to be.
She had given birth to three perfect jewels, three brilliant stars of the purest lineages of all times before and after.
Two of them kept the family pride, and enhanced it, making valuable matches.
But one of them...
Dromeda chose love for a useless muggle-born over the brightness of family values, of social pride and consideration.
In vain she pleaded.
In vain she hated.
In vain she cried.
No means could ever have changed Andromeda’s mind, nor – as she called it – her “feelings”.
She had to be punished – her name was scorched in the family tree, and she would be banished from her loved ones for eternity.
And still she kept on her convictions.
How could she ever forgive that?
How could ever she forgive her daughter, her own kin, the child she secretly loved the most?
How could she act otherwise, when her position serenely told her that was the best choice, though something deep inside her yelled “Forgive!”, “Love!”, “Forget!”.
She chose the logical path, of course.
However, a grandchild carries the family blood – though bitterly spoiled now – to the next generation, and that child could not be kept away.
If only Bella would have decided to have children!
Nothing could be more perfect to a union between Blacks and Lestranges than a child with both untainted bloods.
But no child would come.
-“Grandma, look! A “lellow” butterfly!” – the child spoke excited, in her naive tone.
“Grandma”. She could get used to it.
They both ran after the “lellow” butterfly as it was touring around the ancient garden of the family manor.
-“Would you like some hot chocolate, dear?” – Druella asked, after a warming race on the cold sunny afternoon. Something inside her treasured that new emotion the child brought her. Or was it only the festive season?
-“Yes, please, it’s my favourite!”.
It was her favourite too.
As if that thing inside her screamed once again.
As if she was not looking anymore at her grandchild, but to a mirror image of herself, a long time ago, a reflection of her past running and jumping and giggling and laughing in her garden, just as she had done once.
She could see it plainly.
And she rather liked it.
In no time, they were by the generous fireplace, sitting on the carpet, sharing a warm blanket, having a cup of hot chocolate and fresh from the oven cinnamon cookies.
They were her favourite, also.
They chatted the rest of the afternoon about all sorts of silly things, such as the sparkling angels on the Christmas tree, music boxes with sad pale ballerinas or forests where flower fairies with dragonfly wings dwelled, they played with cookies and told gingerbread men stories, taught Christmas songs to each other and invented a few more, guessed secrets inside the boxes under the tree.
When finally tired, Nymphadora felt asleep on her lap, and Druella had the time to fix the flames in the fireplace and to think of an afternoon very much like that one, many years ago.
When she herself was about her grandchild’s age, when she had a grandmother to spend happy endless hours with her in a cold Christmas afternoon, chasing “lellow” butterflies and telling gingerbread men tales, when she could sleep on her grandmother’s lap.
When she believed Christmas WAS magic, even though she lived in a world already filled with Magic.
As a child, she was not aware of all the prejudice that blackened people’s souls and troubled people’s minds as when she started to think as an adult.
Since she had to do it, forced by her own kind.
Her grandmother had different opinions, but then again, she didn’t stay much time to make them worth, or even noticed.
Her grandmother, for a while, was her light in so black a family. And by then she didn´t even know she would become a Black herself!
After she became a Black, everything she saw and everything she believed in was different, it was stronger, deeper, because that was the way of the people she dwelled with in her new life.
Before becoming a Black, she had just a black soul, and black feelings, and black words, and black deeds.
But there was something before those times that yearned to linger outside. For a while, she let it, but then reason, the death of her beloved grandmother or what ever grounds she stand upon, caused that feeling to hide behind black walls.
Maybe things could have been different with her life, if...
Maybe things still had a chance to be different.
As she looked at the child sleeping on her arms, she could not see the blood, the prejudice, the hate.
She saw Innocence.
She saw Love.
She saw herself when she could love freely and unbound.
She saw what she believed was Magic then.
She saw HER past Christmas.
Which was her present Christmas now.

PS: Dead Ringer, de acordo com o dicionário Oxford, aka arma de arremesso quando o pimp do andar de baixo mete a Roberta Miranda dos anos 80 a bombar no volume máximo da aparelhagem até se ouve na Berlenga, credo!, é uma pessoa de aparência física muito semelhante a outra. Tipo "a cara de um, a fuça do outro". É mais isso.

Breve nota da autora:

2009-01-07T03:03:00.000-08:00

Eu não me esqueci deste bloing, mas tenho andado preguiçosa...

A ver se espevita!

Comecei por renovar a página com umas coisitas novas e mais coloridas, o que é uma boa premissa, e estou à espera de ter uma nova história validada, para a colocar aqui também!

Um momento refrescante...

2008-09-16T06:22:00.000-07:00

THE PROMISE – CHAPTER 3

2008-06-19T03:21:00.000-07:00

THE PROMISE – CHAPTER 3

THE AUTHOR HAS SOME WORDS. LOADS OF THEM!

. I checked for Eileen and found it is an Irish name originated by the Greek “Helen”, and it means “light”. I chose Moira for her middle name, coming from the Irish “Bitter” because she seems to have been a good girl who had to go through some bad times, and that’s the kind of thing that stays marked in our skins forever.
. Breandan is ancient Irish, and I found it nice. Just for that reason. Many of the things you might find here have no reason or logical explanation whatsoever. That’s perfectly natural, as it is the way my small confused brain works.
. And yes, I’ve been reading the Dictionary!

CHAPTER 3 – I KNOW WHAT’S COMING, BUT I’D RATHER RUN!

The doorbell rang twice, melodically, with a pleasant sound, though none was expected at number 417, Blueberry Road, Spinner’s End.
Most things were packed now, and that doorbell would not be used for the next few months, because the inhabitants of that house would be in a very different place: the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Severus wide opened the door and just shocked, blinking his eyes at least three times, and believing he had exaggerated on that stomach calming potion.
Again.
There had to be something very wrong with it.
Definitely!
What was it with him these last few days? Honestly!
He was about to shut violently the door on the face of that dreading vision, when it, unexpectedly, spoke!
Obviously, not as a figment of the imagination would speak, saying something amazing from the other world, a revealing message from the Future or a forgotten word from the Past.
No.
It spoke the most ignominious thing such an apparition could ever spit out.
- “Hi there, nephew!”
And, as if it wasn’t enough, it found right to add:
- “You look pale! Have you been eating your vegetables? I bet your madcap mother never thought you properly!”
And even a:
- “Glad I’m here! Mind if I come in?”
There then.
Anything more to be uttered?
Well, Aunt Weasley did it, in fact.
After looking at the smiling man at the door with a very thorough stare over a quivering, nearly breathless Severus Snape sprawling on the floor, she just mumbled something about him having some very nice buttocks and then left the room as fast as she could with that stupidly heavy box with books on her arms and red as a pepper, which was something inordinately obvious combined with that flaming Weasley hair of her.

Who was this man? – this Ingeram Corvinus Prince -, one might ask.

At first, we might believe the two men facing themselves were identical copies but, after a few moments with both of them in the same room, we would soon discover those two particular persons had nothing in common.
Apart from one thing.
As Ingeram wittily noticed, the Prince family – and he meant all of its elements – had the particularity of suffering from a whatsoever pathology of the psychological type. Some kind of a hereditary gift.
The inner Severus agreed completely with that bright affirmation.
In Ingeram’s situation… well, he turned out as a hyperactive knuckleheaded person with the strange tendency of being always in a good mood!
And also the fact that they were close relatives, of course!
Severus managed to put himself together quite swiftly, and in no time they were in the living-room having a lemongrass and ginger tea, and those very special chocolate chip cookies Aunt Weasley got ready in the blink of an eye: a rather altered but fighting to control the situation Severus, a curious Harry, an even more curious Aunt Weasley, and a mysterious Ingeram.
Ingeram Corvinus Prince started his tale by presenting himself as the brother of Eileen Moira Prince – and therefore Severus’ uncle, though he had never heard of him, nor could remember such character, even from the farthest moments of his childhood.
In fact, Severus never knew much of his own family, apart from his parents, and the narrative of this unknown man, who he could, however, feel as strangely trustworthy, had captured all his attention.
He had always been curious about the history of his family that had been kept in the shadow, from both sides, and never succeeded in having a straight answer neither from his mother - a witch -, nor from his father –a muggle.
The simple mention of that subject in their house brought unease and certain trouble.
Though he had been more curious about his mother side of the family, of course.
Ingeram was the older brother of Eileen Prince and, much as Severus himself did also, left the familiar home as soon as he finished Hogwarts.
He went away to the deep North, to study ancient magic forms, but it was a good excuse as any other to get as farther as he could from his elitist parents and his growingly obsessed sister.
However, before starting to date Tobias Snape, Lia – his pet name for his baby sister – was much different – a lovely little girl who he esteemed dearly, and who had been his comfort and light in bitter moments.
He left when he understood that she, blindly in love and influenced like a lifeless puppet by that new person in her life – to whom she didn’t even tell she was a witch, though -, wanted him away, her brother, the one who had always protected and stood up for her, and there was nothing he could do for her then.
The fist bit of information shown itself to Severus as a shocking surprise, as he could have never guessed that of the Eileen Prince he had known, though he had had enough of the second one!
How was it that he barely knew his own mother?
Now, definitely, Severus wanted to know everything else!
Unfortunately for him, Ingeram was fond of suspense tales, and he decided Severus could visit him at Hogsmeade every time he wished to hear a bit more of the story, and even colour it with some pictures he might have all over the place in that dusty attic.
Wait…
- “Hogsmeade?”
Severus swallowed a huge number of questions that popped inside his mind, trying to find the right one to ask.
- “What do you mean by that?” – he asked cautiously, at last, fixing with a pensive look the appealing golden colour of the tea in his cup.
He had to wait for an answer and, as it was taking a while now, he lift his head from his trance and faced his so-called uncle.
It had a reason to be – Ingeram was rather busy at the moment, praising Aunt Weasley’s chocolate chip cookies, and how marvellously it combined with that fresh yet exotic tea she had picked whilst she had the where-had-this-hot-bun-been-all-my-life face while explaining that she had a secret trick for those cookies that, by the way, where his nephew’s favourites also.
- “Aunt Weasley, please!” – Severus bursted. It was enough now! – “I have an image to keep, and I’m afraid that shouting to the world my fondness towards your chocolate chip cookies is not the best way to define it!”
- “Now,” – he turned to Ingeram – “what is it with Hogsmeade? I was never told I had family there.”
- “Well, it is a family house” – the older man started - “though no one has lived in it since the time of your great-great-grandfather – Breandan Snape, the Long Bearded One -, except for the year I lived there after leaving home, preparing my journey to the North.”
- “Your great-grandparents found more refined to live in a big and modern city, shut down the house and never set a foot there again, nor did you grandparents or your mother.”
- “It’s now time I return, and as you are working so close, at Hogwarts, I believe I can expect a few visits from you and your surprisingly quiet and nice son! And from Miss Weasley, of course! I would be devastatingly delighted!”
I guess devastation is the right word for what happened to the set of tea cups and saucers Aunt Weasley was carrying on a tray on her hands at the moment, for there would never be a magic-glue that could possibly fix that jumble it turned into on the kitchen floor!
Harry had other things to think about, and took his socks off, observing the details of the South Park cartoon very thoroughly.
Thoughts were twirling inside Severus’ head now. Breandan, the Long Bearded One? His mother as a nice and balanced person? At attic at Hogsmeade with photographs of the family he never new? Aunt Weasley being overly courteous to a man she had just met? Aunt Weasley being overly courteous in general?
He needed vacation from that vacation!
He still wasn’t sure how he could possibly have agreed with it, but somehow he accepted on travelling to Hogsmeade with his psychotic uncle.
It was about time he read that “Hogwarts: a History” again! All of it! And before returning to Hogwarts!
He’d better start now!
Severus managed to successfully skedaddle from the room in a subtle way – he was a gifted wizard, after all! -, leaving Aunt Weasley and “uncle” Ingeram staring at each other with rather idiotic smiles on their faces, and Harry teasing Dragan with his socks, and just ran away from upcoming madness.
But fortunately for Severus – he breath out relieved -, nothing was wrong with his ability for brewing potions, he could realize now!
The most important thing for him, he decided these last few hours, was to preserve his future and save his sanity!

THE PROMISE – CHAPTER 2

2008-05-23T03:00:00.000-07:00

THE PROMISE – CHAPTER 2

AGAIN, SOME NOTES FROM THIS AUTHOR ARE REQUIRED.
IN FACT, I JUST COULDN’T HELP IT…
HERE THEY ARE:

1. Ingeram and Corvinus are both forms to say “raven”, in Irish and in Roman Latin. It has a lot to do with the character. It’s that “names’ thing”, again…
2. My version of Snape is a bit closer than we can find in the books, and therefore more psychotic. Beware.
3. Things are kind of starting to kick by now. Hope you enjoy it.

CHAPTER 2 – THE BOY WHO DID NOT APPARENTLY DIE, AGAINST ALL ODDS

The first memory of the boy was his mother’s green eyes.
She had long auburn hair, a heart-warming smile and smelled like lilies.
That figures – her name was Lily. Lily Potter.
He had glimpses of his father - up and down his arms, playing, laughing, almost touching the sky, almost reaching for the face with the speckles and the open, honest smile. His name was James Potter.
Then, it came the rainy night and the green light. Nothing but flashes and frightening noises.
Finally, some black truthful eyes looking at him very closely, and a warm and protecting lap. Those eyes were his adoptive father’s, Severus Snape.
All these events happened almost ten years ago. He was just a little baby then, but was marked by such an abrupt change in his life.
He would never forget his parents.
He couldn’t.
He had his mother’s green eyes and his father’s messy hair looking back at him every time he faced a mirror.
That day, Harry woke up long before the sun rise. It would be a full day for him, preparing his trunk for his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!
What to bring? What to leave behind? In fact, those questions were the less worrying ones in his mind now. What really was making his stomach spin since he received the letter and realized it was truth was the new life ahead of him.
He had never left Spinner’s End except for a few times, when he went with his father to Godric’s Hollow, to see where his parents once lived, and some occasional visits to Diagon Alley.
But this time, though his father was with him, he would be on his own for the first time.
While a bit nervous, he was really enjoying the idea.
His father – who he should call now, most of the times, Professor Snape – always told him the worst things about the students. They were a bunch of lazy knuckleheaded twits, just to say the least. He personally believed the school should be stricter with them and, if he was allowed, he would fail them all in Potions, because they were almost as useless as a muggle with a cauldron on his hands!
Nevertheless, he unfortunately had to admit it, some might have surprised him positively. Very few, however.
Harry was already used to the idea of secret passages, hidden doors, moving stairs, talking portraits, people moving in paintings. He had it all the time in the wizarding world, though he lived in a muggle street, in a muggle city, and knew how to get along with muggle people.
Nonetheless, according to the tales told by his father, the wizards’ school was very different from everything he new before.
Hogwarts was an ancient castle with, Harry imagined, the tricks and the secrets of centuries.
Tall walls filled with stories left untold. Long forgotten secret passages. Candles that burnt since ever. Dark closets with frightening secrets. Colossal rooms hidden behind insignificant doors. Tunnels that led to undiscovered locations. Traps that would loose you for all times. Books with lost tales or bright new ones to be built.
A whole world of discovery.
Harry was yearning for it!
However, some part of him was also a bit apprehensive. Dad would never agree with the out-law way of life he secretly desired for himself once in Hogwarts.
Maybe they could find a middle-term – Severus himself was up for some tricks and adventures once in a while!
As soon as he left Hogwarts, Severus Snape travelled the world for a while, seeking both muggle and wizard knowledge, with nothing more than a backpack, a warm cloak, his wand, and his intense thirst for learning, living sometimes as a muggle rover, others as a wizard wanderer, counting with no one else but himself.
He was a strong-minded man: he knew far-off places, met different people, faced unknown dangers.
And then returned.
Harry had the feeling he never found whatever he had be looking for, though he didn’t comment the subject.
Now, things were quite different.
His researches were now made at Hogwarts, or at home, and they barely left away.
On the few details of Severus’ life chronology that Harry could point, he could know exactly the moment when his life changed: the day he brought Harry to this house.
Severus had always been a good father – though adoptive, he was far better than many others. But maybe too protective. And definitely too stressed out!
After all, children are curious. And have that strange tendency to attract trouble, to fall once in a while, to get sick, to eat dirt.
It was high time – he thought as he decidedly thrown his snickers to the unmade bed – he would teach his father something!
Dragan undoubtedly didn’t like to be awakened. He hissed angrily at Harry. The white cat with bright yellow eyes stretched and then left for another room in the house, where his beauty sleep would not be disturbed again.
Harry smiled at the mirror.
He could see the pieces of the most important people in his path so far: his mother’s eyes, his father’s rebel hair, Severus’ steadiness in the eye, the Dark Lord’s mark… and, deep in the eye, a strange new glittering he had only been aware of a while ago.
That was himself.

Severus suddenly woke up broken-breathed in a pool of sweat, again.
It had been the same nightmare.
The red train at Hogsmeade. The fearful first years. Harry’s worried face among them. The procession following Hagrid. The feeble boats going precariously balanced along the lake. Then, as the castle frighteningly grew before their eyes, the light blue sky turned menacingly black, the bright sun wickedly hidden by fiendish dark clouds, the sly wind wildly disturbing the usually peaceful waters.
Finally, a gigantic tentacle emerged from the darkness and viciously captured one child from one of the frail boats, taking its prey to the bottom of the deep black waters.
One child only.
Severus could see clearly his fearing green eyes, his arms desperately reaching for him. In vain.
It was Harry.
He forced his breath to slow, and little by little gained conscience of where he was.
The cat, again disturbed, ran frantically away from his bed, where he was sleeping on Severus’ legs, to the point of making them senseless due to his weight.
Severus was sure it had to do with those pork chops he had at dinner last night.
Too much ginger, he believed.
For years now, since Harry came into his life, he devotedly tried to learn how to properly cook.
His mistake might have been the method chosen: TV cooking programs.
He had long ago given up Jamie Oliver, with that disgusting habit of using his hands for everything, but he was positively more comfortable learning from a male cook rather than a female cook. On this subject, he had the feeling ladies had their own vocabulary, and he definitely needed an illustrated instruction guide on the topic!
How could he – an expert in Potions, measures, stirrings, mixes, powders, roots, smells, textures – come out as a complete and outrageous failure in the kitchen?
That bloody squid would have it come, if something would happen to Harry during that crossing of the lake!!
He would tell Dumbledore off!
What was it with the pets going around loose in the castle fields!?!
A giant squid! What lake needs a giant squid? Some golden fishes are more than desirable!
Alas!, once he was awaken, he might as well go and see what Harry was up to, on his last day before Hogwarts.
And lunch would decidedly be pizza today!

The sunny Summer day had almost come to an end. No clouds in the sky, except for some bits of fluffy cotton pieces, and a soft breeze once in a while passing through the leaves of the trees and caressing the faces of those who came out for a bit of warmth.
Though it was tepid enough to call it a Summer day, Autumn was gently making its entrance.
The mild temperature had made it a quite pleasant afternoon: children were still hanging lose in the street, playing soccer, running and laughing, several mothers with their toddlers and baby prams chatting at each other.
An enormous black crow had been soaring not very high, and finally landed on a branch.
It was now a peaceful street: clean, well-ordered, with a few number of cool shadowy corners, and a meadow with old chestnut trees on its edge, unlikely to what had been a few years ago, when the dirty streets called loudly for trouble-making people.
The black haired man stopped by the playground and smirked as he spotted the last house of the street, right near the meadow.
It was just where he was heading.
At first, when one looked at him, he seemed quite a regular person: discreet sun glasses, black t-shirt, faded blue jeans, army boots, a leather jacket on his shoulder, an old ragged backpack on the other, with the look it had done many stormy miles, an unmistakable hooked nose, straight black hair by his shoulders, with two thin white strands, one on each side.
At first, this man would pass through that street unnoticed.
But people were, in fact, noticing him – looking at him, squinting on his direction, some even pointing their finger.
What was it about that man that those spectators could notice and find strange?
He was a wizard.
Well, one couldn’t tell it just by looking.
There was nothing about Ingeram Corvinus Prince that would tell us that he was, in fact, a wizard.
The reason why everyone seemed to find something particular about him was because he was an older but accurate copy of his nephew, Severus Snape, who lived in the house on the edge of the street.

THE PROMISE – CHAPTER 1

2008-05-08T03:15:00.001-07:00

SOME SCHIZOFRENIC NOTES FROM THIS AUTHOR:

Ok, so I got the “names’ thing” evil sickness. I collect, scan, search the web, look up for meanings of names.
Some may say I am a freak.
I agree.
Here are some explanations:
Nevertheless, some notes on this topic might pop up once in a while.

For this chapter, though, just this one:

. Dewin means “wizard” in Gaelic. I chose this for Sevvie’s middle name because it sums what he is: wise, dark, focused, methodical, devoted to study, hard-working, going beyond the expectations, a little obsessed…

My English not very good – me not native of Great Britain – but me think me not be very very dunderhead! Working really hard on improving it, though. My new hobby is reading the dictionary. Thanks, Robin, for opening the door! Thanks, Mr Dani Filth for the kick on the vocabulary!

CHAPTER 1 – FORSAKEN

Severus Dewin Snape took the little burden on his arms, not knowing properly what to do with it, and not being exactly aware of how he decided to put himself in that specific position, against all things he thought before on that subject.
Well, there was nothing to complain about it, now: he deliberately got himself in that place – as a person – he thought bitterly as it was coming to his mind, with a slight hint of regret – who, happily, gives a step towards an unknown abyss.

The house was a wreck.
It had been pouring non-stop, the skies had been dark all day long and the murky clouds brought the night earlier than usual. Winter would be coming soon.
-“An adequate day for this event.” – Severus thought, feeling his heart still pressured with the gloom of what was ahead of him.
Dumbledore was already waiting for him, but he didn’t come near. He gave Severus some time to himself. His chest seemed as if it was sinking down in a frozen pool of despair and panic, and a cold chill from nowhere ran up his back since… he couldn’t really tell, now. Perhaps since he last talked to Lily and she left him with that gloomy feeling it would be the last time he would ever set his eyes on her breath-taking smile. Severus mentally thanked Dumbledore for that moment, because it suddenly looked as if that a knot kept his throat form working.
He had never been there before.
This had been the home of the Potter family, a family to which he could never have belonged: James Potter, the man he had always hated, the man that had always hated him, and Lily… The only person he ever loved, and he once naively thought was loved by.
But he wasn’t, after all. She chose James.
And he tried to hate her for that.
It was also his flaw, anyway. A sigh slipped into the night without he plan it, and a forlorn tear was stubbornly finding its way out, falling through his cheek mixed together with the cold rain.
If there was something particular about him, apart from the dim look and stern personality, it was his solid nature.
Severus Snape was a man one could count with. If he made a pact, he would follow it, if he believed in something, it would be forever, if he made a promise, he would keep it.
Men make mistakes. He had had few; heavy, but few, and he faced them without fear.
And he was there that wintry night to keep a promise he had made many years ago.
He stepped towards Dumbledore, with wet eyes and steadiness in his face.
The aged wizard nodded his head, understanding.
-“Are you up to this task?” – Dumbledore asked, knowing it was useless to make him change his mind.
-“I am.” – Severus answered with vehemence, though his voice could be barely heard. – “That is what I am here for.”

As the day rose and light came out, the deep clouds started to leave the sky, as if knowing their purpose now was to give hope to the desperate ones.
The future didn’t seem so dark and scaring now, though the past was so.
Severus peeped in the pile of cloth on his arms, protected from the few drops of rain that was still falling over them, and finally looked at… it.
Damn! Just like James!! The same rebel expression on his face, that uncontrollable black hair!
The little thing looked back at him, quiet, curious, not making a sound, and giggled.
He couldn’t help it!
An almost imperceptible smirk twitched the corner of his mouth.
He was human, for Christ’s sake! He was not a child-eating monster!
And it had HER green eyes!
It could not be that difficult to bear.

-“Dad?”
Severus woke up from his daydream at the sound of the boy’s voice.
The same green eyes were piercingly looking at his own grim ones, the messy hair incapable of hiding the lighting bolt shaped scar that marked his forehead since he could remember.
-“Dad? Am I going to Hogwarts with you, or I’ll take the Hogwarts Express with the Weasleys?” – the boy asked, at last.
-“The train, of course, Harry! You shouldn’t miss that fun for anything!” – the wizard near the window sneered, as he turned back inside.

Harry James Potter knew instantly his adoptive father was up to something!

THE PROMISE - PROLOGUE

2008-04-29T08:14:00.001-07:00

THE NIGHT OF ALL FEARS

It was the dawn of the Halloween night.
Not like the others.
The man sitting in the armchair with a book on his hands, his black shoulder length hair on his eyes, focusing the flames in the fireplace and ignoring the book for hours now felt agony, sorrow, distress.
And he didn’t know why, though.
The flames caught all his attention now. Never had his weariness carved its sorrowful twinge on him so deeply.
Sometimes, loneliness can be so heavy on one’s soul.
A sharp bang outside his door woke him from his trance and he swiftly got up and turned around, blinking his eyes and trying to realize where he was, so strong was the memory of the dream he had been into.
Then there was an almost imperceptible knock on the door, as a bat flapping its wings against it.
The black clothed man got nearer and took his wand, preparing for the unexpected.
-“Who is it?” – he asked suspiciously in a low voice. Times were dangerous and nights perilous.
-“Dumbledore.” – was the answer.
The door opened to show a man that seemed not of this time or of this world. Perhaps a Halloween enthusiastic.
The long white haired and bearded man dressed in purple looked gravely above his half-moon shaped speckles to the younger man who step forward for him to enter.
-“Severus.” – was a whisper.
A blink of the sparkling old man’s eyes was enough for him to perceive something was wrong.
-“Lily…” – was all he could say, breathing his air out.
-“She and James were found tonight by Voldemort. They’re…”
This pause kept what he feared the most.
-“They’re both dead. I’m sorry, Severus. I know how you… esteemed Lily.” – Dumbledore said, at last. – “Their son is alive. Harry. I sent Hagrid to get him, I’m going to meet him tonight – we are going to get the boy to his uncles.”
-“No!” – Severus burst. It was so hard. He just couldn’t believe it. So agonizing. He never thought he would feel such pain. And he had known insupportable torture in his past. He just wished selfishly he didn’t have to witness THIS pain – her death.
-“Severus…” – Dumbledore started. – “I understand how you feel…”
-“You don’t!” – he groaned at the sympathetic man. Unbearable ache. How could he survive? Why didn’t he die on the spot too? Breathing was so hard now! Why would he live? There was no reason.
He sighed broken-breathily, trying to control himself.
Silence was deep in that room, except for the flames hopping happily, ignoring the sorrow of the two people in there.
The one staring at the fire again had a shattered heart, a torn soul and an intense difficulty in controlling the emotions that wanted to burst out violently from his inside.
-“The… boy,… is he ok?” – agonizing misery was restraining Severus’ voice.
-“Yes, he is. The curse turned back and hit Voldemort. He’s gone, but the boy is unharmed.”
-“Fine. I’ll meet you there. I have to go to Godric’s Hollow. I have to…” – his head was about to split open. – “I have to see for myself.”
Dumbledore looked at him sadly and put his hand on his shoulder.
-“You don’t have to, you know.”
-“I have to. I must.” – his voice was a painful murmur now.
-“It’s your decision. I’ll wait you there.” And he left quietly, taking a last glance but silencing a word to the man who didn’t turn back, knowing any word or gesture would be in vain now.
Severus took a deep breath.
There was one reason.
One alone.
He opened a wooden chest in the corner of the room and looked for an old Diary. A tragic day had been marked with a dry weed many years ago.
A woodspurge.
He had a promise to keep, and he would honour it.
He hated James so much, more than humanly bearable. And he hated Lily too, since that day.
But he loved her since ever.
That was stronger that all rest.
Old memories started twirling inside his head, as he turned the pages over and over and over. Silence weighted so much now. And loneliness.
And finally he allowed himself to cry his pain out, staining the pages with his tears and the aged ink. Maybe it would ease a little, or perhaps not.
The dark eyed man never cried. Never felt emotions, never shown emotions, never loved.
But he did.
He cried for a love forever lost.
He cried for a promise once made.
He cried for a promise once broken.

THE PROMISE - SYNOPSE

2008-04-29T08:11:00.000-07:00

Title: The Promise

Author: Moi même!

Spoilers: Everything published by J.K. Rowling, plus lots of web research. Lots of Japanese comics, also. And some of my Psychology books from University. Written January/February 2008. Work still in progress, in fact.

Genre: Kind of light romance, heavy on friendship, some humour, I just can’t help it, Ingeram is my hero, sometimes quite dark, also, we have to bear in mind Sevvie is a tormented person, and perhaps some mild erotic scenes.

Era: Harry Potter’s first year at Hogwarts, with some flashbacks in the past.Main Character(s): Snape, Sirius, Lupin, Dumbledore, Harry, the Weasleys, Ingeram, Amy Haveron, Ana Bella Haveron, Lily, James and some others along the way.

Summary: What would have happen if, after the death of Lily and James, and the imprisonment of Sirius, Snape decided to adopt Harry, instead of him being sent to the Dursleys? Apart from the mission of protecting the boy, he would still have had to bring him up, change diapers, pass through the torment of adolescence, the first pimples, and the overwhelming mission of finding out what do kids really like to eat nowadays.

Warnings: Light cursing, we are human here, light violence, light erotic references. Nothing that weird, though.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Have I forgotten anything?

Author's Notes: Reviews and comments are welcome at wolfhearted@hotmail.com.

Objectivo de hoje:

2008-03-20T04:25:00.000-07:00

Apetece-me ser irremediavelmente reduzida a cinzas pelo Tio Voldie!

Ah... o Natal...

2007-12-07T03:12:00.001-08:00

Ravenclaw

2007-12-06T09:33:00.000-08:00

Corvinal, no Brasil. Menos mal.
Fundada por Rowena Ravenclaw, que prezava a inteligência acima de tudo.
Dizem que a sua Casa acolhe as raparigas mais bonitas de Hogwarts, pelo facto de a sua fundadora ter sido excepcionalmente bela.
As suas cores são o azul e o bronze, e o animal-símbolo, a águia.
O Professor Filius Flitwick, de Feitiços, é o professor responsável, e o equipamento de Quidditch é azul.
O fantasma da Casa é a Dama Cinzenta – The Grey Lady – que, como vimos a descobrir no último livro, é a filha da fundadora, e foi morta precisamente pelo Barão Sangrento, que actualmente ocupa a posição de fantasma dos Slytherin.
É sempre interessante ouvir as histórias macabras dos fantasmas do castelo!!
A sala comum fica localizada na Torre Ravenclaw, situada no lado oeste do castelo.

Eis alguns dos Ravenclaw mais conhecidos:

. Filius Flitwick, professor da instituição.
. Dama Cinzenta, ex-aluna e actualmente fantasma da instituição.
. Murta Queixosa, idem… ocupa uma casa de banho, regra geral.
. Cho Chang, pessoa fraca, que se deixou apanhar e que se chibou acerca da localização da Sala das Necessidades, onde o pessoal do Exército de Dumbledore treinava clandestinamente.
Luna Lovegood, miúda fixe, em geral, e saudavelmente aluada a maior parte do tempo.

Hufflepuff

2007-12-04T04:08:00.000-08:00

Chamada, no Brasil, Lufa-lufa.
Ok, já podem largar as máscaras de oxigénio. A mim aconteceu exactamente a mesma coisa.
Fundada por Helga Hufflepuff, uma feiticeira leal e honesta, que valorizava essas qualidades nos seus alunos, e também a justiça e a generosidade, que abriu as portas da sua Casa a todos, e que queria ensinar tudo o que soubesse.
As cores dos Hufflepuff são o amarelo e o preto, e o seu animal símbolo, o texugo.
O professor responsável por esta casa é a Professora Pomona Sprout, de Herbologia, e o fantasma que atormenta alunos, professores e restante staff do castelo é o Fat Friar – que é como quem diz, o Frade Obeso.
Não se sabe propriamente onde fica o dormitório Hufflepuff, mas existem descrições de umas escadas que descem do átrio central, e de uma aparência de cave.

Membros relativamente conhecidos dos Hufflepuff:

. O Frade Obeso
. Cedric Digory
. Justin Finch-Fletchley
. Ernie MacMillan
. Nymphadora Tonks

Há certas teorias... que até podem ter uma certa lógica, sei lá...

2007-11-03T04:22:00.000-07:00

MARAUDER NIGHT

2007-10-26T03:51:00.000-07:00

Sugestões dos nossos amigos Moony, Padfoot, Prongs e aquela ratazana ranhosa e vira-casacas do Wormtail para a noite de Halloween… e para outras ocasiões assim!

Paparoca e etc:- Pizzas

- Tacos – se conseguirem fazer os do Robert Rodriguez, é noitada certa!

- Montes de gomas e porcarias assim

- Chocolate – podem ser uns baldes

- Cerveja de manteiga (ou então Pepsi, Coca-Cola, Guaraná ou qualquer coisa com bolhinhas)

Vão precisar de:

- TV

- DVDs à pázada (espreitem ali nos Marauder movies)

- Leitor de CDs e CDs (espreitem ali na Marauders playlist)

- Computador- Play Station/X-box/Nintendo ect.. e jogos

- Almofadas, puffes e carpetes

- Pijama

- Uma lista secreta e personalizada com várias partidas para fazer e jogos malucos

A fazer:

- Lutas de almofadas
- Puzzle humano em cima do puff, com um desgraçado em baixo, e os outros todos a empilhar por cima

- Ver montes de filmes de seguida

- Comer as porcarias todas que por aí tiverem

- Divertirem-se a valer!

- Deixar a cozinha numa confusão

- Ir na calada da noite roubar maçãs ao quintal do vizinho da caçadeira, ou figos, ou galinhas (isto já é mais chato, porque depois não se tem bem onde as guardar, a não ser que seja no polibã…)

- Ficar acordados a noite inteira (muito importante!!)

- Andar de pijama a noite toda e de manhã também (e porque não o dia inteiro!)

PARA OUTRAS OCASIÕES:

Se estivermos no Inverno:

- Luta de bolas de neve (se moramos num lugar que a tenha)

- Construir bonecos de neve com a forma do Snape (ou de um professor que nos lixou o juízo) e destruí-lo de forma criativa. Várias vezes. Este é um jogo que se pode repetir quantas vezes quisermos! (novamente, lembro que temos de morar num sítio que tenha neve, propriamente…)

- Comer neve (idem):P De preferência, correr atrás uns dos outros para os fazer comer a neve.

- Chocolate quente em frente à lareira. E biscoitos!

Se estivermos no Verão:

- Dormir sob as estrelas

- Luta de água, no quintal, com a mangueira, tachos, pistolas de água, gamela dos pintos, baldes, potes, etc.

- Luta de balões de água

- Nadar o dia inteiro

- Comer quantidades ilegais de morangos com natas e açúcar

MARAUDER MOVIES

- Todos os do Harry Potter, óbvio

- Ace Ventura 1&2

- Bruce Allmighty
- Lemony Snickets

- The Master of Disguise

- Hotshots 1&2

- The Man with the Naked Gun (qualquer coisa assim)

- George of the Jungle – só o primeiro…

- The Pirates of the Caribbean – todos!!

- Robin Hood : Men in Tights
- … e os outros do Mel Brooks!!

- The Haunted Mansion

- American Pie – já vai em quantos?

- Scary Movie – e etc

- Ice Age

- Monsters Inc

- Shrek - todos

- Chicken Run

- Finding Nemo
- A verdadeira história do Capuchinho Vermelho- Eragon
- The Dukes of Hazzard
- The Dukes of Hazzard- the beginning
- The Mummy
- The Return of the Mummy
- Batman – the beginning
- Star Wars – todos!
- The Lord of the Rings – Sim, é isso mesmo, a trilogia!

- Van Helsing
- Le pact des Loups
- The Crow
- Bam Stoker’s Dracula
- Interview with the Vampire

- Underworld 1&2

- The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen
- uns quantos filmes de terror também, que é para possibilitar aquelas brincadeiras parvas tipo pegar cagaços ao pessoal, como o Sexto Sentido, The Ring, Blair Witch (este ainda me faz rir…), The Others, The Messegers, Chuckie, Sexta-feira 13, Shinning (os clássicos são eternos!!)…

MARAUDER PLAYLIST

- Blink 182 - Puddle of Mudd - Dandy Warhols - South Park BSO - Sonata Arctica - Kiss - Karaoke Party - Shrek - The Offspring - Linkin Park - Alien Ant Farm - Swedish Chef Song - Muppets - Pink - Utadasjalapplevelse - Folk og Rï¿½vere (norwegian)
- umas quantas dos 80’s. A sério!! - Gwen Stefani
- Within Temptation - 3 Doors Down - Joss Stone - Aerosmith - Bon Jovi - Guns n’ roses
- Tokio Hotel - Him - Rammstein - Fingertips - David Fonseca - Mundo Cão
- Xutos - e, se estiverem na onda do terror puro, o karaoke de Natal da Floribella!

O Harry Potter – esse grande maluco!

2007-10-25T02:46:00.000-07:00

Também conhecido, em alguns meios, como Harry Pothead (aka Harry Janado).
Isto é, há muito boa gente que fica filosofal, depois de dar na pedra… é o que se diz…
Chamado, ao longo dos vários livros de “O Rapaz que Sobreviveu”, “O Escolhido” e, pessoalmente a minha favorita, “Parry Otter”, entre outras. O Draco Malfoy é particularmente frutífero nestas criações.

Filho de Lily e James Potter, ambos falecidos quando era apenas um bebé, Harry foi criado pelos tios mais muggles que lhe podiam ter arranjado: Petúnia e Vernon Dursley e, como bónus, ainda teve de aturar o parvo dum primo, Dudley, que conseguia unir o facto de ser estupidamente mimado à faculdade de ter um corpanzil que lhe permitia arrear nos mais pequenos, que era, para aí, por alto, a restante população da escola onde andava.

Coincidentemente, Harry nasceu a 31 de Julho de 1980, data de aniversário da autora dos seus livros – mas não o ano.

No início da história, Harry não passa de um puto mirrado e desajeitado que leva porrada de todos e que habita, mais precisamente, o armário das vassouras lá da casa dos Dursley.
Tem um cabelo preto incontrolável, com tendência para espetar atrás (a esta altura ele não sabe, mas é igual ao do seu pai), é baixo e magro, com uns óculos colados com fita-cola, em virtude de estarem sempre a ser partidos pelo brutamontes idiota do seu primo, e uns luminosos olhos verdes iguais aos da sua mãe – informação a que Harry não acedeu ainda.
Tem ainda, no meio da testa, uma invulgar cicatriz em forma de relâmpago que, no mundo mágico, é sinal óbvio de uma maldição que fez ricochete, mas que no soturno mundo dos muggles não é mais do que uma marca que ficou de um acidente.

A sua vidinha cheia de chatices viria a mudar radicalmente no Verão de 1991, quando Harry faz 11 anos, primeiro com a chegada de estranhas cartas (de uma forma mais estranha ainda – são entregues por corujas…), a que os Dursley não lhe permitem aceder, e depois com a apresentação do gigantesco Hagrid numa noite escura e de tempestade. Felizmente, o nosso amigo Harry não era daquelas criancinhas que tinham a infelicidade de fazer xixi pelas pernas abaixo em situações de crise.
Felizmente para ele, é claro!

Nessa altura, Harry passa a conhecer um pouco mais sobre si próprio, dados esses que lhe tinham sido omitidos pelos seus tios: quem eram realmente os seus pais, como morreram, que existe um Mundo da Bruxaria… e que ele próprio é um feiticeiro!
Não há hipótese de isto ser uma brincadeira de mau gosto dos Dursley para celebrar o aniversário de Harry – eles são totalmente desprovidos de sentido de humor.

A 1 de Setembro, Harry embarca no Expresso de Hogwarts, na linha 9 ¾ da Estação de King’s Cross, em Londres.
Quando vai para a Escola de Magia e Feitiçaria de Hogwarts, Harry adquire e desenvolve umas certas capacidades mágicas, e reúne um sem-número de apetrechos curiosos: a varinha de azevinho e plumagem de Fénix, a vassoura Nimbus 2000 (que é desfeita numa bela ocasião em que choca por acaso com o Salgueiro Zurzidor) e depois a Flecha de Fogo, o Manto da Invisibilidade, o Mapa do Salteador, entre outros, e que lhe permitem cometer uma série de transgressões mais ou menos dentro dos limites da legalidade, ou nem por isso…

Em suma, o dia-a-dia de Harry, como por acto de magia, transforma-se agora… numa grande animação!

Harry Potter em bd...

2007-10-23T03:18:00.000-07:00

Teste de personalidade

2007-10-22T04:29:00.000-07:00

Divirtam-se à brava!!

http://www.quizilla.com/users/JasmineBaggins/quizzes/Moony%20presents%20:%20Your%20Marauders%20era%20personality/

Este foi o meu resultado!

You're Padfoot , aka Sirius Black . My heart broke when you died . You had such potential in your life and it was cut short in so many ways . Still , you gave a lot in your life and you will always be remembered by those who truly knew you as the strong , fiercly loyal man you were . In our hearts , Padfoot returns .

Por acaso, o meu preferido!!

GRYFFINDOR – PARTE 2

2007-10-19T08:35:00.000-07:00

A sala comum contém uma série de poltronas fofinhas, uma lareira acolhedora e algumas mesas de trabalho (sim, porque isto é gente que estuda, e isso!)
A lareira, por um motivo misterioso qualquer, está ligada à Rede Floo, que é algo que não tem lógica nenhuma: quer dizer, se o castelo está protegido por tudo quanto é feitiço, porquê uma falha flagrante desta envergadura, que pode levar uma criança a”telefonar” para uma qualquer linha do Jamba, para o “Mi liga, vai!”, ou até mesmo, no pior dos cenários, para uma mãe mais conversadeira?
Aliás, com aquilo ligado à rede pública, que mãe preocupada não estaria sempre a entupir a linha?
Já agora, convém esclarecer que a Rede Floo é uma espécie de PT lá do sítio, sem assinatura, sem tachos, porém, e que te a particularidade de uma pessoa poder enfiar a cabeça nas labaredas num lugar e ela aparecer noutro lugar qualquer. É para lá de fixe!!
De qualquer maneira, a sala comum é um lugar onde anda sempre a circular alguém… excepto no mais profundo da noite. E as pessoas, normalmente, usam as corujas para comunicar para fora dali, o que, de acordo com os padrões da normalidade… fica um bocadinho aquém.
Há ainda um painel para afixar as mais variadas coisas, desde anúncios públicos, como a data do próximo fim-de-semana em Hogsmeade (iupi!!), até anúncios de alunos que pretendem vender ou comprar livros em segunda mão, trocar cromos dos Sapos de Chocolate, ou meramente ofertas de assassinato ao Potter, como, de resto, acontece em qualquer escola.
A Torre Gryffindor tem ainda duas escadarias independentes: uma para os dormitórios dos rapazes (um para cada ano),e outra para os dormitórios das raparigas (também um para cada ano).
Convém informar que a escadaria de acesso ao dormitório das raparigas tem uma característica peculiar: está sob um feitiço que faz com que, de cada vez que um rapaz se lembra (e que rapaz teria uma ideia destas?!?) de colocar um pé num degrau e, pior ainda, avançar alguns passos, soe o barulho óbvio e ensurdecedor de uma portentosa buzina – e a escadaria transforma-se, temporariamente, num gigantesco escorrega de pedra.
De acordo com “Hogwarts, uma História”, os fundadores da escola partilhavam a opinião de que as raparigas eram de mais confiança que os rapazes, pelo que, enquanto a escadaria das raparigas está enfeitiçada para prevenir rapazes audazes de subir, já a dos rapazes não possui qualquer tipo de encantamento.
Cada dormitório é uma sala redonda com janelas com vista para os campos da escola, e que tem várias camas de dossel, o que é uma coisa bastante animada!
A equipa de Quidditch usa mantos vermelhos com um toque de amarelo, as cores da Casa.

Gryffindors conhecidos:

Albus Dumbledore
Minerva McGonagall
Rubeus Hagrid
Arthur e Molly Weasley
Bill e Charlie Weasley
Percy Weasley (vira-casacas safado)
Fred e George Weasley
Oliver Wood
Sirius Black e Remus Lupin
James Potter e Lily Evans
Peter Pettigrew (a ovelha ranhosa! Iztúpido!!)

GRYFFINDOR

2007-10-15T03:49:00.000-07:00

Chamada Grifinória, no Brasil… benzam-se…
E quando eu lhes disser o nome das outras Casas, vocês já estão a telefonar para o padre exorcista da vossa área de residência!

Fundada por Godric Gryffindor, esta Casa é identificada pelas cores vermelho e dourado que, bem vistas as coisas, ficam muito janotas num cachecol!
O seu fantasma – é daquelas coisas vitalícias, como certos fungos… - é Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, mais conhecido, no entanto, por Nick Quase-Sem-Cabeça (Nearly Headless Nick), uma vez que, de acordo com uma nostálgica porém emotiva revelação do próprio, a pessoa encarregue de lhe extirpar a cabeça à força duma machadada não tinha muito jeito para a coisa, ou derivado talvez de outros motivos, como congestionamento intestinal ou andar a cheirar cola de sapateiro, … bem, o que é certo é que ao fim de uns quantos arremessos (em termos concretos, quarenta e cinco golpes dados com um machado ferrugento), o nosso amigo Nick ficou com um ligeiro pedaço da cabeça agarrado ao resto do corpo. Coisa pouca, para aí um centímetro e meio, mas que o impossibilita de pertencer ao mui nobre e requisitado Grupo dos Sem-Cabeça
De qualquer maneira, dá para fazer umas habilidades jeitosas, e o nosso amigo Nick tem assim com que se entreter nos momentos de recato e nas horas de enfado.
O professor responsável por esta Casa é a Professora Minerva McGonagall e, é certo e sabido, com ela ninguém faz farinha!
A característica que melhor distingue os Gryffindor é a sua coragem. Como podemos ver no caso de Harry, Ron e Hermione, esta pode chegar ao nível da estupidez. No caso dos gémeos Weasley também, mas comum toque de humor capaz de descadeirar até um Salazar. No caso de Sirius, Remus e James… bem, digamos que é tudo isso e muito mais.
Os Gryffindor estão alojados na Torre dos Gryffindor, que tem a entrada no 7º andar. Com a quantidade de escadas que mudam de sítio por aqueles lados, acho que nem se lá morasse 100 anos me entendia com aquilo!
A entrada localiza-se atrás de um quadro enorme, com o retrato da Dama Gorda num vestido de seda cor-de-rosinha. Quando se diz a palavra-chave correcta, ela balança-se, revelando uma abertura circular na parede (esta era uma daquelas cenas que eu tinha alguma dificuldade em visualizar, principalmente porque nunca tinha visto alguém a fazer uma habilidade destas).

As canções do Chapéu Seleccionador – Parte 1

2007-05-18T02:16:00.000-07:00

Estão a ver o chapéu de feiticeiro mais roto, ranhoso, empoeirado e marreco que podem imaginar?
Este é pior. Tem personalidade própria…
E nem imagino o bafo…
Tem uma função de importante responsabilidade. Assim como um Ministro, mas mais útil. É também a única. É ele quem determina a Casa para onde vai mandar cada novo estudante.
Cabe também a ele – e nisto insistiu vigorosamente – criar a canção queira apresentar na sua apresentação no início de cada ano lectivo.
Precisamente.
Demora o ano inteiro a criá-la.
Só temos acesso a algumas das canções porque, de acordo com a autora, o Harry andava a laurear a pevide a maior parte do tempo, e baldou-se a uma data de cerimónias de selecção mas, aqui entre nós, que ela não deve perceber muito de português, e o que percebe é com sotaque tripeiro, é que a menina JK se andou a esquivar a ter de escrever estas coisas. Eu faria o mesmo.
Sindroma de Cláudio Ramos à parte, eis aqui a letra da canção do Chapéu Seleccionador que surge na Pedra Filosofal – a versão original e a tradução para português, de acordo com a edição da Presença.
Se os miúdos já tinham pensado – ao levar primeiro com o Hagrid, depois com a lula e finalmente com a McGonagall – que talvez tivesse sido melhor ter partido uma perninha e ter ficado em casa a vegetar em frente à televisão a comer porcarias, no fim disto vemos já alguns a sacar dos x-actos para cortar os pulsos…

Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can top them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you've a steady mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!

E na língua do Saramago, mas com pontuação e um bocadinho mais de lógica:
Bem… não exageremos…

Vocês acham que eu sou feio
Olhem que o aspecto mente
De certeza nunca encontram
Chapéu mais inteligente.
Guardem os chapéus de coco
Chapéus altos e de peles
O chapéu que escolhe em Hogwarts
É melhor que todos eles.
Não há nas vossas cabeças
Que eu não possa adivinhar
Ponham-me e eu já vos digo
Onde é o vosso lugar.
Talvez seja em Gryffindor
Onde reina a ousadia
Que se destaca de todos
Em audácia e valentia.
Ou talvez em Hufflepuff
Onde trabalham contentes
Os alunos verdadeiros,
Leais, justos, pacientes.
Ou no velho Ravenclaw
Se tens a mente prontinha
Se és prudente e estudioso
Achaste o que te convinha.
Ou, quem sabe ,o teu lugar
Seja com os Slytherins
Que nunca olharam a meios
Para atingirem os fins.
Portanto experimenta-me
E não percas a cabeça
Sou o seleccionador
Muito embora não pareça!

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

2007-05-17T07:30:00.000-07:00

Os alunos de Hogwarts estão agrupados em quarto Casas: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff e Slytherin.
Quando os alunos chegam ao mundo mágico em redor de Hogwarts, a 1 de Setembro, no seu primeiro ano, têm direito a uma cativante viagem, desde a estação de combóios de Hogsmeade até ao Castelo de Hogwarts, numa barqueta instável através de um lago escuro como petróleo e fundo como o vazio no cérebro do Cláudio Ramos, povoado (e reparem, a esta altura, os alunos ainda não o sabem!!) por criaturas com que não estamos habituados a lidar no nosso dia-a-dia, eventualmente perigosas e com determinadas pretensões violentas.
Excepto a lula gigante que, acima de tudo, tem preferência pelos ambientes calmos e acata placidamente o que o destino lhe põe à frente, sejam uns doidos de cabelo vermelho a fazerem-lhe cócegas nos tentáculos, ou até mesmo um petisco de pão com marmelada num dia soalheiro em que lhe deu para vir até à superfície.
Tendo em conta que a viagem é comandada pelo gigantesco e assustadoramente peludo Hagrid, há que intuir que as pobres criancinhas vão sofrer de estranhos pesadelos nos tempos mais próximos…
À chegada, para lhes dar um toque de classe aos pesadelos, têm à espera uma porta majestosa… e a Professora Minerva McGonagall (firme e hirta como uma barra de ferro…) com o discurso de introdução à nova vida dos catraios:
"Fedelhos, entrem para os morfes, mas antes disso vão levar com um chapéu cheio de mofo no toutiço, que vai dizer em que casa é que vocês ficam o resto das vossas vidinhas.
Vão dormir no dormitório da vossa casa e ter aulas com os colegas da mesma casa. Espero que se portem como uma família, mas mais como a família da Música no Coração e menos como uma família de ciganos.
Como devem calcular pelo aspecto calamitoso deste castelo, cada casa tem a sua história nobre ou mais ranhosa, dependendo dos casos, bem como um certo número de bruxas e de feiticeiros que foram famosos, fixes, jeitosos, grandes aventesmas ou até mesmo estúpidos filhos de mãe.
A vossa missão, que vão ser obrigados a aceitar, é esforçar-se por dar à vossa Casa mais triunfos que vergonhas, e aqui podem portar-se como famílias da máfia, mas cuidadinho para não sujar os corredores, que só cá temos um gajo a limpar, que é ali o Mr.Filch, e ele tem muito mau feitio.
A Casa com mais pontos ganha um caneco no fim do ano, e o ódio certo do resto dos colegas da escola."
A Professora dá depois a entrada dos alunos ao Great Hall, os que ainda estiverem acordados, e os que não fugiram a correr, é óbvio, onde se procede à cerimónia de selecção dos novos alunos para as Casas pelo Sorting Hat – o Chapéu Seleccionador – que como não faz nenhum o ano inteiro, tem tempo para inventar uma canção diferentes todos os anos.
E depois é a altura da papinha, que já se faz tarde, e o discurso do Professor Dumbledore, que tem a vocação para os discursos assim do tipo… impressionante…

2007-05-16T03:27:00.000-07:00

São quatro!

Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff e Slytherin.

Gryffindor:
O chefe desta casa é a professora McGonagall, o fantasma é o Sr Nearly Headless Nick (O Nick quase sem cabeça...), as cores, o vermelho e o dourado, e o animal, o leão.

Ravenclaw:
O chefe é o professor Flitwick, o fantasma, a Grey Lady, as cores, o azul e o bronze, e o animal, a águia.

Hufflepuff:
O chefe é a professora Sprout, o fantasma, o Fat Friar, as cores, o amarelo e o preto, e o animal, o texugo.

Slytherin:
O chefe é o intragável professos Snape, o fantasma, o assustador Bloody Baron, as cores, o verde e o prateado, e o animal, a serpente!!

O Maravilhoso e Cativante Hino da Escola de Magia e Feitiçaria de Hogwarts

2007-05-15T07:16:00.000-07:00

Esta é a versão original, para se cantar ao som da vossa melodia preferida – de saber que os gémeos Weasley têm preferência pela Marcha Fúnebre (agora vista de forma diferente, depois de ter sido interpretada pelos Canta Bahia…), mas não se pode dizer que não fique bem com a música do Pirilampo Mágico, ou mesmo com uma marcha de Alfama.

Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts
Teach us something please
Whether we be old and bald
Or young with scabby knees
Our heads could do with filling
With some interesting stuff
For now they’re bare and full of air
Dead flies and bits of fluff
So teach us something worth knowing
Bring back what we’ve forgot
Just do your best, we’ll do the rest
And learn until our brains will rot.

Pratiquem em casa!!

Abracadabra!!

2007-05-14T03:46:00.000-07:00

Ideia de Chamuça Vulcânica (moi même, quando estou inspirada - vou para o espelho e digo coisas tipo "És picante que nem uma chamuça", ou "És a Rainha da Colmeia!". O Cristiano Ronaldo faz mais ou menos a mesma coisa...) posta em prática a 12 de Maio de 2007: meter os apontamentos que tinha da minha versão do Harry Potter em blog!!

Ah, pois é!!

Já que não tenho hipótese de conseguir publicar os meus papéis, pelo menos enquanto não der em alternadeira e me envolver com um dirigente desportivo corrupto a vários níveis, ou enquanto não me virar para o lado do avesso e começar a falar numa mistura de Cláudio Ramos + Bobone + Carlos Castro + Castelo Branco + Leide Béte + Clara Pinto Correia... ao menos publico num blog e tenho uma legião de fãs!!

... que é como quem diz, os meus amigos, que são, regra geral, uns doidos, por isso é que não se importam de ler estas coisas!!

Olha se me tivessem calhado amigos betos!! Estava f... lixada!!

(Começo a desconfiar destas ideias quando surgem aquelas vontades súbitas e incontroláveis de comprar um caderno novo...)

Voltando à vaca morta!!

Basicamente, esta decisão prende-se com o preencher de algumas lacunas no Universo Harry Potteriano, nomeadamente coisas que EU acho que faltam, que cada um deve sentir as suas próprias falhas.

A minha gata apoiou-me incondicionalmente.

... a dormir...

(mas ao pé de mim, é óbvio!)

Por isso... vão espreitando!!

E nunca se esqueçam do lema deste blog, que é sempre uma coisa importante, e que, de vez em quando, pode até ser de alguma utilidade na vida diária...