“Wonderingly, I lift my long, flowing sleeves into the air, and that’s when I see myself on the television screen. Clothed in black except for the white patches on my sleeves. Or should I say my wings. Because Cinna has turned me into a mockingjay.”
Hello, Cross. I am really craving for a good Harry Potter fanfiction right now. Do you think you can share something? An except, perhaps?
Hmm I actually don’t have any new strictly HP excerpts to show. But I have a bit of an HPxHunger Games crossover fic with MoD!Harry I can post? I can’t remember if I already did but I wrote it a long-ass time ago and never really continued it, and it’s the only remotely HP thing I can find on my usb atm.
Here’s a bit of background first:
Summary: In a magic-fused Panem,
tributes are allowed to bring a Contracted Creature with them into the arena…
if they have one. Harry’s not quite a
Creature but nobody needs to know that, especially when the little Mockingjay
girl he took under his wing five years ago volunteers for the Games in the
place of her sister. In the past, he’s
kept out of human business for the most part – saves him grief in more ways
than one in the long run – but the Capitol sickens even him, and when it
threatens the few things he still cares about, Harry decides it’s time to
return to the battlefield.
*Contracted Creature – A magical
creature partnered with a human for a certain amount of time, agreed upon by
both creature and human. During that
time, human is sworn absolute obedience from its creature, while the creature,
depending on its strength, might need to draw on the human’s energy to
fight. Mostly, contracts are allowed to
form only when the human finds and defeats the creature in battle. When magically bonded, if one dies, so does
Wonderingly, I lift my long, flowing sleeves into the air, and that’s when I see myself on the television screen. Clothed in black except for the white patches on my sleeves. Or should I say my
wings. Because Cinna has turned me into a mockingjay. (Insp.)
Foam. I really am floating on foam. I can feel it beneath the tips of my fingers, cradling parts of my naked body. There’s much pain but there’s also something like reality. The sandpaper of my throat. The smell of burn medicine from the first arena. The sound of my mother’s voice. These things frighten me, and I try to return to the deep to make sense of them. But there’s no going back. Gradually, I’m forced to accept who I am. A badly burned girl with no wings. With no fire. And no sister. - Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins
The smell’s very faint but still laces the air. It’s there. The white
rose among the dried flowers in the vase. Shriveled and fragile, but
holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow’s greenhouse.
I grab the vase, stumble down to the kitchen, and throw its contents
into the embers. As the flowers flare up, a burst of blue flame envelops
the rose and devours it. Fire beats roses again. I smash the vase on
the floor for good measure.
Wonderingly, I lift my long, flowing sleeves into the air, and that’s when I see myself on the television screen. Clothed in black except for the white patches on my sleeves. Or should I say my wings.Because Cinna has turned me into a mockingjay.
I’m your mockingjay, whose song has now been heard No longer clipped and burned ‘Cause my fate has now been turned Living in a dream, a new reality These wings have come unfurled ‘Cause I’m your mockingjay