#fmrpchallenge

[arosierbyanothername-blog]

CHALLENGE #001: "Dear Me..."

Dear Evan Rosier of the Future,

If you've received this letter, than no doubt Alexander is already dead. This is why I'm writing. Alexander's dying. The doctors at St. Mungo's say he's got some terrible lung infection, possibly genetic. It has some muggle name I don't know how to pronounce. It's still kind of bizarre. Can you imagine that? The brilliant, intelligent, talented, amazing Alexander dead? At the hands of some silly muggle disease? I would laugh, but mother and father say it's not proper to laugh when someone is dying. Mother shot me an odd look when I asked her if I could have Alexander's room when he was gone. It wasn't as if he'd need it, and besides, he has the bigger one with the view and all the toys. Mother says it's because he's older, so naturally he was allowed to have the bigger room. Naturally. Naturally Alexander gets the bigger and better everything. I suppose that's just what happens when you're the youngest. Mother and father didn't have any brothers or sisters, so it's not like they'd ever understand. 

If he's somehow miraculously survived - how is he? Is he still taller than you? I mean, he is five years older, but still. Maybe I'll have caught up by then? He isn't still messing up your hair when he thinks you've done something funny, does he? Because that would be terribly annoying, after so many years. How many years has it been? Ten? I can't imagine Alexander in ten years at all. Maybe because he's so sick. He's actually gotten quite skinny, so skinny that I might even be bigger than him now. Granted, the doctor said he's probably - well, not probably, he was pretty firm about it - around two weeks left. Two weeks until I might get a new room. Two weeks until he might be gone, never to be seen again. Of course there'll be a funeral and all. Mother wants me to write something to say but I have no idea what. It's pretty silly, seeing as he won't be able to hear me. It'll be like talking to the dirt on the ground or the worms that eat you once you're dead. I think he's getting a nice big wooden coffin though, so maybe it'll take longer for the worms to eat through, who knows? 

Well, mother has been crying nonstop. She doesn't seem to do much but mope around the house and stare out the window or just stare at the wall. Mostly a lot of staring at nothing. I've approached her to say hello lots of times but it's like I'm a ghost and she's looking through me. I wonder what it  would be like to be a ghost. Do you think Alexander's going to come back as a ghost to haunt me? Maybe he'll haunt the manor? He probably will, to make sure I don't ruin all of his toys and mess up his room. When I asked Mother if she thought Alexander would come back to haunt the house she made me leave her room. I don't know why, I feel like it was a perfectly legitimate question. I haven't seen her since then, except at dinner. I stopped going down since last Friday and she hasn't sent for me since. So I've been holed up here making a list of the things of Alexander's that I want and things I don't want so the house elves will know what to throw away. I actually stuffed some of them in a box the other day and was heading out to the back where the rubbish bins are and she caught me. I told her what I was doing and I have never seen a look stranger than the one that crossed her face. I'm not sure if she wanted to slap me or break down into tears. Turns out she did both. If you've still got a scar under your left eye where her fingernails scratched us, you'll remember why now. Well, it's not like those kinds of things are that easy to forget in the first place.

You might be wondering why I haven't mentioned father yet. That's because he's barely been here. He's come home about a total of two times since Alexander's diagnosis was given to us. Nothing out of the ordinary at all though. I just thought, since his eldest son and precious heir is dying, he might have paid more attention. There must be some really important muggleborn rallies going on or something, I don't blame him. I think Mother does though. I don't know why. He's a very important man, the Minister for some department, I forget which, like he's always told me, working to bring honour and reputation to our name. The Rosier name. After this, I'll be the only Rosier boy. How strange. The elves will never yell at us "Boys! Come down for dinner!" and Mother will never say "Boys! We're leaving now!" and Father will never say "You are my sons. You are Rosiers. Be proud of what you are, boys." I'm guessing it'll take some getting used to, hearing just "Evan".

Father must be terribly sad about it. He's always been so proud of Alexander. He's five years older than me and top of all his classes at Hogwarts and people are saying he'll probably be Head Boy. If not Head Boy, then probably Quidditch Captain since he's so good at it. Or he was, anyway. I wonder if I'll be better than him at all those things. I hope so. I'm fairly excited to go to Hogwarts. If it means getting away from here and finally meeting some people my own age I can't wait. I hope people aren't going to give me sad looks about Alexander though. It'll probably die down after the first couple of weeks but it'll still be annoying. What if they call me 'Alexander Rosier's little brother' everywhere I go? Merlin, that would be irritating. Father's always telling him how proud he is of him, if I end up being better than him at everything than Father will tell me that, too! Alexander has so many friends, he sometimes doesn't come home on holidays. I get the feeling he likes being here just about as much as I do - which is not at all. But at least Father and Mother love him. 

I suppose I'll miss him. He was a good brother. Nice and everything. He always let me play with his toys, though he doesn't have much of a choice now seeing as he can't even lift his arms. I'll be extra careful with them when he's gone, at first, just in case his ghost is still watching me. Now that he's gone though, Father will call me his eldest son, right? Because technically I would be. The only one, but that'd still make me the eldest. Father will tell me how proud he is and all his friends that I'll be Head Boy someday, just like Alexander. Below is little epitaph I wrote that I was going to read to him at his funeral:

Dear Alexander,

You were a good brother. Thanks for the toys. I hope it's fun wherever you are. Oh, and thank you for the room, I promise not to mess it up too much.

Your brother,

Evan.

I showed it to Mother and she ripped up my first draft so I had to rewrite that one off the top of my head. She kept on asking someone who wasn't there what she'd done wrong and not looking at me and crying - she wouldn't stop crying. It was really weird and kind of off-putting. I tried to pat her hair but she flinched away from me and told me to get away from her. I asked her why she was crying, I'd written such a good letter, I even made sure to say thank you to him. She screamed at me a bit, it was really loud and sad and I couldn't understand what was going on. I tried to make myself cry so maybe she'd stop yelling at me. I'd seen Alexander do it sometimes when we were little and it always worked on Mother. I couldn't do it though, I tried so hard I went all red and out of breath. Mother went back to screaming and crying again so I just shut the door and left. 

It's been a very strange past couple of weeks. I get the feeling I'm missing something here. But it could just be that I'm only ten years old, and not fifteen like Alexander who understands everything. Fifteen. How odd. Alexander will never get to be older than that. At least in this one respect, I'll be able to better than him at - growing up. Alexander's going to be dead in a couple of weeks and I'll probably never see him again. I'm going to go sit by his bed for a couple of minutes to just look at his face and try and remember it. We've got pictures but I want to remember for myself, so when he's been gone so long that I can't imagine him I'll just conjure him from my mind. Did it work? Do you still remember his face? Probably not. It being more than ten years or so, right? Before I go, I just want to say I hope everything is going alright with you. I hope Father's proud of you and that he finally got to say you were his eldest son. I hope you're either Head Boy or Prefect or Quidditch Captain so he got to tell you how proud of you he is and tell all his friends how proud he is of you. Has Mother changed any? Is she still the same? She hasn't died yet, has she? I wouldn't be surprised if she was. Anyway, I'd better go now. I'm starting to get a little hungry and there's not much point staying up here if they don't care where I go either way. 

Yours Sincerely,

Evan Rosier, aged ten. 

[jones-gwenog-blog]

oo1 // Dear Me...

A loud clap of thunder made the shivering eleven year old jump slightly from her position underneath the covers of her bed. Gwenog Jones was stuck at home, sick, whilst her parents were out at another one of their adult social gatherings. Normally, Gwenog would tag along, creating havoc by threading mud onto carpets and breaking delicate chinas, but she had fallen sick just a few days ago, and her nose was a dripping mess, so her mother had decided to leave the little girl alone with the house elves for company. It had started raining an hour ago, and the elves were huddled underneath her bed, squeaks and squeals echoing through the room at every rumble of thunder. They were doing nothing to help the wide eyed little girl, hiding under her blanket with a toy Beaters bat clutched close to her chest. 

"Close the curtains." 

Her small voice sounded rough from her sore throat, and it was soft, unlike her usual loud, high pitched shrieks. The elves squeaked from under her bed and Gwenog could feel them scurrying around before a small elf, probably still a young one, inched out and drew the curtains closed. "Wait." Her voice stopped the elf from running back to the safety of the bed, and she squinted at it. "Come here and entertain me." Sniffing softly, she moved slightly so that there was a bit of space for the elf to sit next to her. It trembled, climbing onto the bed with shaky limbs and wide eyes. Gwenog stared at it for a moment, as though ordering it wordlessly to do something, anything to take her mind off the thunder. 

But the elf only shivered somemore and gripped her blanket tight between it's long fingers. "You're useless. Get out!" Rudely shoving it from the bed, she grasped around for a piece of paper and a quill, sniffing again as she finally managed to find the things she was looking for. If she wrote a letter to her Papa, he would come back and yell at the elves for not obeying her. Rubbing her nose, she began to write.

Dear Papa...

Her little nose scrunched up and she tilted her head to the side, frowning. That didn't sound right at all. Papa didn't like it when she complained, after all, and if she wrote to him, maybe he might get mad at her as well. Scribbling the words off, she continued.

Dear...Me.

Yes, that sounded good. She could write to herself, just to get it off her chest.

Dear Me, 

The elves are being ridiculous (fancy new word) today. It's just stupid thunder, I don't know why they're so scared. Anyway, I'm sick today, and my nose is all runny and disgusting, and the medicine that's s'pose to make me sleepy isn't making me sleepy. I know that sounds like whining, which I shouldn't be doing because I'm eleven and whining is for babies, but I can't help it.

Besides, Papa still calls me 'kiddo' sometimes, so I guess he still sees me as a baby.

Anyway (I say anyway alot), I'm going to Hogwarts soon. I tried asking Papa and Mama about it, but they're too busy to explain to me, though Papa did take me to a Quidditch Match last week, and he told me I could be the Quidditch Captain of my House Team if I worked hard enough. I will, Gwen. I will be Captain. Papa was Captain, but he was a Ravenclaw. Mama was a Slytherin and she doesn't like Hestia very much. I don't know why though, Hest is still a baby and stuff, Mama shouldn't be so mean to her.

My fingers are starting to ache from all this writing, so I should stop. Whenever you read this, Gwen / Me / Future Gwen, just remember that you were an awesome kid and make sure you stay awesome.

Don't get married and all that. I think that makes you less awesome-r.

Bye, 

Gwenog.

Coughing, she rolled up the paper and stuck it into the open trunk that was meant to be her Hogwarts trunk. Perhaps she could show it to her father tomorrow, just so he could see her fancy words and improved writing.

[emerald-eyed-lily]

Challenge 001: "Dear me..."

Lily was sitting at the Gryffindor table eating her breakfast when the morning post came in.  She and most of the other students, watched as the owls flew about the Great Hall delivering letters and packages to their school mates. Most all of Lily's friends were in Hogwarts and so she never received post owls.

It seemed today was different however, as Lily was surprised to have one of the owls land before her and present it's leg.  She raised an eyebrow and untied the letter so it could take flight and return to it's origins.

She looked down at the obvious muggle letter and smiled a little.  Her parents had likely sent this, although how they obtained an owl to send it with was lost on Lily. Her smile widened to a grin and she turned the envelope over to open it, wondering what her parents had to say.   Inside she found a folded piece of paper and a note attached to the front.

Dearest Lily,

You may not remember writing this, but your father and I recently found it while cleaning out the office.  I thought you would appreciate having it. I've watched you grow from a little girl to a bright young woman, and I want you to know how proud I am of you.  I hope school is well, and we can't wait to see you at Christmas.

Love, hugs, and kisses,

Mum

Lily smiled at the note, taking a moment to admire her mother's handwriting.  Despite any complaints she made about her family, she loved them dearly and missed them while she was away.  Setting the note onto the table she opened the folded letter and was greeted by her own handwriting.

It was a letter she had written when she was younger to her older self. It had been a small project her mother had her and Tuney do as a sort of game.  Lily had forgotten about it entirely, but now started to read it again, curious what she had said.

Dear Lily-

This is Lily.  I'm you and you are me.  Strange isn't it?  Mum wanted me us to write this letter. She claims it will show us how much we've changed over time.  I doubt I've we've changed much.

By now you've been to Hogwarts, the magic school that Severus has told me about. I bet it's just as magical and brilliant and amazing as I picture it to be.  Other kids who can do all the things you and I can do?  It can't be anything but amazing!

Perhaps Tuney is there too?  She is so scared of the things we can do, but if she could do them as well then she wouldn't have to be so mean.  If she isn't, then perhaps we've been showing her how to do things? 

Severus said we're special.  But Tuney is special too, even if she can't do the things we can.  Hopefully, future me, we and Tuney have started being nice always.  I miss the times before.

Lily stopped reading for a moment.  She had been so hopeful before she came to Hogwarts.  Hopeful that all things could be fixed with a neat little bow.  She knew now that it didn't always happen that way, and she was conflicted on how to feel about it. 

Sad?   Sad that she lost that childlike innocence in some ways when it came to the magic world around her?  She still felt awe at the things that had presented themselves in everyday wizard life, even if she never really showed it, but it all came at a price didn't it?  She of course was extremely aware that as a Muggleborn there was a war being fought for her right to even be a part of this world.  That she may be one of the last generation of witches and wizards like herself that would enter this school's walls.

Determined?  Determined that because of this war and what it could mean she should take up arms herself and join the battle?  There are so many children out there that still have the innocence that her own younger self has written into this letter and she felt a need to preserve that innocence in any way she can.  She herself didn't contain it anymore, and she knew that time would take it from everyone eventually, but it would be better if that innocence was kept as long as possible.

Shaking her head a moment to clear her thoughts, she continued reading.

By now, I'm sure Severus has shown us all the things he's told us about.  Except perhaps the dementors.  Although, I don't much want to meet a dementor.  I think Sev thought I liked them because I kept asking him about them, but the truth is they scare me.  I keep asking about them because if I know them better then perhaps they won't be so scary anymore.  And if then if I ever meet them, I'll be prepared to face them.

I hope we haven't met a dementor.  The idea of having all your happiness sucked from you sounds horrible.  If you can't be happy, then what can you be?  There are times I've thought that Tuney met with a dementor.  Not really, but just because she's so sad.  I want her to be happy.  I hope that she's happy now, in the time that you -future me- are reading this.

That's right.  You and me are the same.  You know already all these things that I'm saying.  What would actually change?  Too many us things that can't change with time.  Although... a fear of dementors could change I suppose, but I doubt it.  They are the scariest things in the world.

Lily laughed a little to herself.  Young her was quite the philosopher it seemed.  Or perhaps she was now?  That she could see such deeper meaning in her own 10 year old words.  Lily still continued to learn as much as possible about the things she feared, realizing early on that the more you know of these things the more prepared you can be for them.  Or, at times, the more you know the lesser the fear til it disappears completely.

Did she still fear dementors?  Yes.  But not in the same way she did as a child. 10 year old Lily was more scared of black robes and empty faces, a little of what a life devoid of happiness would be like.  How can you truly fear something you have little understanding of?  Now that she had experienced more life, and seen and heard the things that could be happening.  Seen what her life could become... it was that void of happiness that she feared.

Lily gave a small sigh, folding the letter and choosing not to continue reading it... for now.  She set it aside and picked up her fork again, her thoughts now having gone deep.  She just sort of stared at the plate, trying to figure out why she feared a lack of happiness.  Her only conclusion being that she felt she was on a path that would lead to her not being happy in the end.  And perhaps that was a problem she had to face.  She tried to make sure people were happy.  That was the thing she felt should be held most dear in someone's life.  Everyone had their quirks, and everyone had skeletons in the closet.  But what is the one thing everyone has in common?  A need and a want to be happy.

She shook her head again, clearing the thoughts from her mind.  If she kept this up it would turn into quite the melancholy day.  She finally started to eat again, wanting to finish her breakfast quickly and move on.  She would shove the letter into the bottom of her trunk and forget about it for now.  No use dwelling on it when she could be out actually trying to make things better.

[lucianna-czarjika-blog]

FM Challenge #001;

Dear ..... Mr.Notebook,

Yeah, that sounds about right in calling you that, calling you a diary would be sissy-ish and calling you a journal would mean I'm gonna like, spill my soul to you or something as equally cheesy as that. Mum and dad are forcing me to write in this to "show how I've developed at the end of each school year towards becoming a better lady" or some other shit like that. They're even sending Mipsy to check on me later to make sure I actually did write in this blasted thing, prats that they are. What's the point of this? Gonna forbid Mipsy for ever saying anything about what's in here to my parents or anyone else for that matter, can house elves make things unreadable by others? I could try to read a book but I'd rather go out to play. Mum and dad won't even let me on a broom because they say it's not classy to ride a broom and throw things into circles in the air. Whatever. Anyways, I'm off to Hogwarts tomorrow. I already know what house I'm gonna be in anyways, Slytherin of course. Nothing but the best for me, as if I'd get into Hufflepuff, bunch of good-for-nothing pansies. Well, if you're future Lucie reading this, then you better not have gone off and become all soft and stupid like you wanker. Seriously, you're better than those prats and you better remember it. Besides, if mum and dad knew you went all soft you'd never see then end of the Crucio. Feels safe to write that here since no one's gonna read it and if they do, I'll just have Mipsy shove some cupcakes in their face. Serves them right. Although, I'd rather eat them instead ... Off to go find some food, I don't feel like finishing this anymore.

[toujourscarrow-blog]

Father and Son // Challenge #01

It was raining hard that day. One more month and Amycus would finally start his classes at Hogwarts. He wanted to play outside, make the most of his free time until school would finally take up his time. He was seated by the window, watching as the rain trickled down and he sneered. Bloody rain, he cursed as he glanced forlornly at his broom, the special broom his mother got for him for his first year at Hogwarts since they all had to have Flying Lessons but Amycus knew how to ride a broom ever since he was five. True, his parents were thought to be cold and distant but they weren't mostly like that to their children. There was not one time Amycus felt neglected as a child.

"I like watching the rain," a deep baritone voice interrupted his sulking and Amycus turned to the direction of the voice and sat up straighter. There, leaning by the wall opposite the window, was his father with a small smile as he made his way over his son and knelt down in front of the window so he was at the same level as his son. "It makes me think, calms my mind." "I don't like it," Amycus' small voice replied, pouting. Although his parents did love him and his sister, it didn't necessarily mean they spent a lot of time with them and Amycus was a bit happy to see that at least the rain, he assumed, made his father stay home today. "I wanted to go and play with my broom, to practice so everyone would know I fly better than them during our class."

His father chuckled and put his arm around his son's shoulders, proud and amused. "You will be better than them son, some of them probably don't even know that you can fly in a broom." Looking out towards the rain again, his father shook his head and mumbled something incoherently, something about a meeting in two hours and mudbloods but Amycus might have heard wrong. Surely people didn't have mud as their bloods. That's simply unimaginable!

Instead of asking about what his father was saying, he tried to stay on topic. Adults did that, right? Maintained the conversation and didn't switch from one topic to another. Not to mention he was astonished with what his father told him. "I'm sure they do, father!" He said in an debating voice. "How could they not know that? We can't play Quidditch if we don't use brooms! And everyone likes Quidditch!"

His father chuckled again. "Not everyone knows about Quidditch, son." And Amycus opened his mouth to tell his father that it wasn't possible. Everyone knew about Quidditch! But before he could say anything, he stopped himself when his father shot him a look that he wasn't done speaking. Amycus was, after all, taught that manners was very important. "There's a world outside of ours, one without magic."

His father looked at him to see his reaction but Amycus remained still, waiting for him to continue. A world without magic? His father must be kidding! But his father rarely joked and he didn't look like he was joking right now. "There's a world outside of ours with people who only think that magic could happen in their wildest imaginations and only a handful of them have magic in them. Do you think you're ready to know what they did when they found out that there were witches?"

Amycus could only nod. His father was talking to him like he was a man and he wanted it to continue. "They burned them or shot them with horrid devices they created and they killed them." Amycus' eyes widened. He wasn't prepared for that. How cruel these people were! "Muggle is what you call them, people with no magic, and they killed our kind because they were afraid of us. They're the reason why we had to create a different world, a smaller world, where we're forced to hide when it should be the complete opposite. We, who are fare superior than them, who can do whatever we want with a snap of our fingers and a flick of a wand! It's preposterous and unaccep-" His father stopped in his rant and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply before exhaling, a way of calming himself, Amycus knew. When he opened his eyes again and looked at Amycus, his brown eyes were darker and much more intense.

"In Hogwarts," he started again with his serious voice that commanded attention. "You will have classmates from these families, those who threaten our kind and who want to mix with us. We are far better than them and, now that you're about to be thrown in the situation where you have to face them everyday, you and your sister must know whom you should call friends and those who don't deserve your time." His father didn't say it directly but Amycus got the message loud and clear. Don't be friends with those who aren't from their world, that they are better than them.

His father stood up then but not before patting his still chubby cheeks. "I have a meeting I need to prepare for," he said, looking down at his son. "I will tell you more about this tomorrow when your sister is present. You need to prepare yourself, need to know what your surroundings will be. You're no longer a boy, are you?"

And Amycus shook his head, pride filling him up that his father now thought he was now old enough to discuss serious matters with. His father gave him another smile. "You're a man now. Tomorrow then."

When the rain finally stopped that afternoon and Amycus was on his broom, not too high so his mother wouldn't be worried, his fathers words still echoed in his head. He was ready to learn more about these muggles and how prejudiced they were, blind to see that people of his kind were clearly better than them. How stupid they were and now some of them actually wanted to become a part of his world? Tomorrow was too far away.