Dads' Day Duel, A Harry Potter Father's Day Challenge Options

[McGonagall's Cat]

When they pan the stadium at just about any event inevitably someone holds up a
"Hi, Mom!" sign.  
At home Mom pretty much decides what colour the decor' will be and what kind of food will be for dinner -  while Dad gets stuck taking out the trash.

It is SOOO unfair!


Ferrets, UNITE!  







Write a wonderful Father's Day Story!  


Choose an already existing Father
(Arthur, Lucius, Mr. Evans, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, Vernon, Mr. Granger, Tom Riddle Sr., Ted Tonks, Mr. Hagrid, Barty Crouch Sr., Mr. Creevey, Mr. Roberts,  or whoever strikes your fancy)

A soon-to-be Father
(James, Seamus' Dad, a centaur?)

A banish-the-thought Father
(Filch, Phineaus Nigelus, Cornelius Fudge, Death Eater Nott, Severus Snape, Aberforth, etc.)

OR

Start from the point of view of your favourite kid character!



Make it funny, touching, clever, adventuresome, inspirational ~ whatever direction you'd like it to go is fine!


REQUIREMENTS ~
500-3,000 words
Father's Day themed
No stories accepted with ratings higher than K+
"Ferret", verb or noun, must be mentioned somewhere in your submission.

Entries will be accepted between June 1st and 15th

Voting will close June 18th  
In the event of a tie, a run-off contest will be held consisting of three trivia questions. Highest trivia score will get highest for the place in contention, second highest score takes the next place.  





Prizes:

"O" Level ~
A Muggle device we were told was suitable to "Listen to the game" with.  
(We didn't think they even knew about Quidditch.)  

PLUS a Muggle refreshing Potion with a traditional Muggle mixing apparatus.


"E" Level ~
Second Ranking Story~ Muggle Refreshing Potion with traditional Muggle mixing apparatus.


PF Wizard's Choice ~
Muggle Refreshing Potion

[pinkpanther]

Hee Hee Hee.

Daddy Dobby

High above the spotless pattern-tiled floor of the grand Hogwarts kitchen, a large green clock clicked once in the darkness, then chimed loudly four times. Just under the floor in the house-elves quarters, Dobby felt himself being shaken awaken. Winky was already dressed in the clothes which, at first, she had loathed more than anything. “Dobby is needing to get up now,” she squeaked, giving him a final prod and moving to a small box in the corner of their den. Dobby sat up and rubbed the sleep from his over-large eyes, then, feeling his natural energy flow through him, leapt from the bed and bounded to the wash basin near the door to give his face and huge ears a brisk splash. Some house elves, he knew, considered washing a mark of conceitedness and dishonor, as they did clothes, but Dobby didn’t pay them any mind and always carefully scrubbed himself and his beloved clothes. When he was clean (by a house elf’s standards, of course), he sat on a short, crudely hewn wooden stool to pull on his socks—his most treasured garments. His eyes filled with tears as he remembered his first sock, which bestowed upon him freedom from his cruel master, Lucius Malfoy. The great Harry Potter had been responsible for that. As Dobby wiped a tear from his eye with the back of one small hand, he glanced down and saw a pair of bright green eyes, just as enormous as his own, though set in a much smaller head, peeking over his knee. A huge smile broke over Dobby’s face as a tiny arm shot into the air, its fist clutched around a hideous plaid sock. “Pookie is having Daddy’s sock! Pookie is bringing it to him, but Daddy must not be wearing it today!”
Dobby lifted the small house elf to his knee and replied, “Why is you saying that, Pookie? Daddy must be having socks. They is his favorite clothes.”
“But Daddy must not be wearing these socks. Daddy must not because Mommy and Pookie is having a surprise for Daddy!” and his tiny form shook with excitement. Dobby looked to the corner where Winky was straightening Pookie’s sleeping box. She too seemed very excited and pulled from under her lumpy hand-knitted woolen hat a package, oddly wrapped in shiny gold paper.
“Winky is hearing that humans has a special day for fathers,” she explained, her voice reaching an even higher pitch, “And Winky is thinking, there is no better father than Dobby. So Winky and Pookie has got a present for Dobby.” She handed the package to their son, who handed it to Dobby with a shriek of anticipation.
Dobby tore off the wrapping to reveal a pair of mismatched socks. One, a putrid shade of yellow with uneven pink lettering read, “#1 Dad” all over it. The second, fluorescent purple with orange polka dots and glitter, had excessive amounts of orange lace spilling over the top cuff and, plastered on the front, was a the furry shape of what appeared to be a ferret. “They is the most beautiful Dobby is ever seeing!” he exclaimed shrilly, his eyes once again filling with tears of pure joy, “Dobby is loving them!” With that, he squeezed Winky and Pookie, who squealed with delight.
“Oh!” Winky said suddenly, “We is all being late!” and she squashed a tiny doll’s jumper over Pookie’s head as Dobby hastily pulled on his new socks. Then, hand in hand, they climbed the steps to the Hogwarts kitchen, pausing briefly to direct Pookie to the back corner where an aged elf was demonstrating the fine art of dusting furniture to a large, noisy group of house elf children. Then Dobby and Winky joined the happy bustle of preparing the Hogwarts breakfast, smiling to each other as many elves scowled down at the new socks. Dobby didn’t care—he was proud of them and proud of his son, one of the very few house elves born free.




THE END

[chad13]

Vernon Dursley: World's Best Father

Vernon Dursley squinted into the spotless mirror as he combed his mustache for the hundredth time. You couldn't sell many drills without a properly combed mustache, and Vernon was always looking to sell quite a few drills, even on Sundays. With a last tug at his straight and starched collar Vernon headed downstairs.

"Morning Petunia," he said quite curtly entering the kitchen. He did not kiss his wife hello, he was more likely to greet her with a hand shake than with a kiss. "Is everything prepared?" Petunia smiled widely, although it was more like a grimace, and nodded.

"Yes Vernon it is," she replied gesturing towards the living room. Vernon stared at the pile of, he counted quickly, thirty seven presents. Vernon slightly relieved sat down at the kitchen table and opened his newspaper.

"Ah, very good very good."

"Just a few more moments till Dudders is up, then we can start." Petunia almost shook with anticipation, but Petunia Dursley was never one to actually shake from anything remotely resembling joy. A thud was heard in the hall and the kitchen door swung open, Petunia's face fell as she spotted her nephew, Harry. She stared at him disapprovingly. "Just cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything,” she ordered.

"Yes Aunt Petunia," Harry replied glumly. Vernon stared at the boy coldly over his newspaper as Harry moved towards the stove. He still couldn't understand why they'd taken the boy, it was because of him that Vernon had started working on Sundays, couldn’t stand the sight of him; the good for nothing weasel, the sorry excuse for a human, that ferret, that ... Vernon was not really a very creative man and could thus not think of anything else to call his nephew at the moment.

"Dudders!" Petunia's voice brought Vernon back from his laborious thinking as their son, Vernon's real son Dudley, a strong handsome and intelligent boy, entered the room.

“Hello son!” Vernon called a bit to jovially. Dudley however did not greet either of his parents right away, instead, after extracting himself from his mothers choke hold of a hug, he headed straight for the living room and looked at the pile of packages.

"How many are there?" he asked immediately.

"Thirty seven, just as usual, counted them myself!" Thank god they hadn't missed one this year, Dudley was a very bright boy, especially when it came to remember the amount of presents he received.

"But last year, last year I had ..."

"Thirty seven!" Harry yelled from the stove.

"Oh do be quiet you! I know how many presents I got, and it's more than you've ever got!" Dudley smiled at this insult and turned back to his gifts which he immediately started unwrapping. Vernon smiled to himself, he was a wonderful father and he knew it. He treated his son as the prized possession he was, just as all fathers should, he told himself.

"Happy fathers day son!" he chuckled as the pile of papers began to build around Dudley. Vernon was never one to give up an opportunity to dote upon his son.

[timeturner]

Journal Entry - June 15, 2005

Today was rather uneventful and consequently I have little to say about it. However, my journal entries have become somewhat of a habit so I feel the need to pick this book up and write something anyway. Plus, Lily is busy adding more embroidery to the baby’s blanket and I don’t want to disturb her concentration. Looks like I need to entertain myself. For now. It won’t be long and the baby will be here. Spare time will become just a luxury. Least that’s what Lily keeps saying.

With just over a month to go, everything’s nearly ready. We finally decided on names today. Harry James if it’s a boy and Sarah Lily if it’s a girl.

Lily keeps telling me that the gender doesn’t matter to her, but I think she’s secretly wishing for a boy. As for me, I want one of each. Doesn’t matter which comes first though, really.

We’ve chosen Padfoot as Godfather. We were going to wait and tell him after the baby was born, but I let it slip this morning while he was over. He was awful excited and acted just like a little kid when he found out. Even stood up and danced a jig. I was afraid he had gone mental for a moment. I couldn’t help but laugh until I looked at Lily and saw she had tears falling down her face. Took me a moment to realize they were tears of happiness. When I leaned in to kiss them off her cheeks, she smiled and said we had made the right choice. As if there was any doubt. I know that Padfoot will love the baby just like we do. He’s my best friend and a good man.

Lily just looked up long enough from her sewing to mention that Father’s Day is less than a week away. I caught a glimpse of a smile when she said it which means she probably has something up her sleeve. She’s always going out of her way to do something for someone else. That’s my Lily. She’s going to be a good Mum.

I hope I’m a good Dad. I want to be someone that my kids can look up to. Someone they can be proud of, the way I was proud of my Dad. He was always there for me. Teaching me, guiding me…indulging me. I need to do the same. There will come a time when my kids will have to choose between right and wrong, just like Lily and I had to not long ago.

Our world is changing and not necessarily for the better. Voldemort’s followers are still increasing every day. Lives are filled with suspicion and war. Lily says that we have nothing to fear because we’re on the side of right. I only hope that’s enough. Not for me, but for my family.

[zymurgy]

The Betting Pool

Dumbledore twiddled his thumbs as he waited for his staff to show up for breakfast Sunday morning. After a furtive glance around, he pulled his book of odds from his pocket. If his staff ever figured out there were bets about which one of them showed to breakfast first the day after the Horribly Debilitating Staff Meeting of Epic Proportions, and that he had been making quite a pile on this venture for years, he knew there’d be Hades to pay.

He’d bet a large amount on Professor Snape. Everybody knew the man never ate more than tea and toast for breakfast, and everybody knew he only showed up because it was considered traditional for professors to be seen during meals where the students were required to be present.

But today was a holiday to the joy of the students but meant for the recuperation of the staff. Dumbledore smiled to himself. Severus would arrive punctually, just to prove that he was not debilitated in the least, let alone horribly, and would derive great joy out of sneering at the latecomers.

“One hundred to one,” Albus chuckled to himself. “Dobby is a terrible bookie. Which means I shall win hands down. Unless… Trelawney. You never know when that woman will throw a spanner into things…”

Stashing the book away again, he checked the time; it was 5:45. Dumbledore allowed himself to snicker inwardly, knowing that the House Elves were probably only paying half an eye to breakfast due to keeping the other fixed on the Spying Mirror so that they could be the first to catch sight of the winning staff member.

Dumbledore wondered as he did every year exactly how the Mirrors worked. Then again, he had no idea how the staircases worked either, let alone how the patronage of the Hog’s Head, the Three Broomsticks, or the Leaky Cauldron got their spy mirrors to work for that one day a year, or why they wouldn’t work for any other room any other day or time.

The Day After the Horribly Debilitating Staff Meeting of Epic Proportions Breakfast Sweepstakes however, had been running since the days of the Founders, and he supposed that just as they had all endowed their own pubs, (only Helga’s having gone out of business due to its rather dull nature and patronage) each had also provided the means for watching the games.

When he retired, Albus thought, he would hopefully get all the way to Timbuktu before Severus found out about the numerous occasions Dumbledore had bet on him. The First Staff Member to Wear a Goofy Hat from a Christmas Cracker Sweepstake, the First Staff Member to Have a Nervous Breakdown Sweepstakes, and, amazingly enough, the First Staff Member to Run Off with a Transylvanian Countess over the Easter Holls Sweepstakes.

5:50. Ten minutes left… Dumbledore tried very hard to get the up-to-something twinkle out of his blue eyes, but failed miserably, only managing to keep himself from grinning insanely. At last he would regain what he’d lost betting on Sinistra last year.

Footsteps in the corridor. Albus waited with baited breath. The door creaked slowly open, and Severus swept into the room with a swish of his robes. Albus could barely contain himself from jumping or whooping. A wail of anguish arose from the kitchens.

Severus grimaced. “I hope that caterwauling doesn’t mean the tea’s been sabotaged.”

Albus couldn’t help it any longer and grinned like a Cheshire cat. Severus raised an eyebrow as he pulled out his chair, the only straight backed chair in the hall, and seated himself. “Is there something you know that I do not, Headmaster?”

“Well,” said Albus, “it not only our choices, but also our knowledge that make us what we are. And since you an I are nothing alike, there must be some discrepancy.”

“I can be sure I shall never, at least, inflict any poor soul with the sight of that ghastly color before they have been fortified with their morning tea,” spat Professor Snape.

“What’s wrong with lilac?” asked Dumbledore. “I think it’s an excellent color.”

“Lilacs, Headmaster, can be a variety of colors,” said Severus. “I regret to inform you that you are wearing purple.”

“It could be worse, you know,” said Dumbledore. “I could be wearing - ”

“Perish the thought,” interrupted Severus. “Where is everybody this morning?”

“Horribly debilitated, I suppose,” said Albus mildly. “Though I do hope Minerva arrives at the very least.” If she came in second, Albus might very well be able to afford to retire early. Some fifty years early. If on top of that Professor Vector showed up third, and seven students altogether arrived fourth, Dumbledore could probably retire now, one hundred and fifty ears early.

Severus sneered nastily, remembering how he had made quite sure the Deputy Headmistress had been not only debilitated but horribly so during the, to put it delicately, ‘heated discussion,’ about Quidditch and it’s effects on the Student Body. The sneer had no effect on Dumbledore’s mad grin whatsoever.

The door slammed open, and an extremely peeved Minerva McGonagall stamped through. “Good Morning,” she snarled, making it sound like the Curse of the Wastrels.

Another wail of misery reached them from the kitchens, and Dumbledore’s grin got impossibly wider.

Minerva let out a low growl in her throat. “If those ungrateful green tennis ball-headed excuses for a serving class use whatever calamity they’ve suffered as an excuse for letting my coffee get cold…”

“Professor McGonnagal,” said Snape serenely, “your robes are inside out.”

Minerva bared her teeth at him and snarled.

Severus smirked. “Letting out your catty side are you?

Dumbledore rubbed his palms together and cackled before recovering his composure. “Now, now, children…”

The expressions of hatred on their faces as they turned against him simultaneously were enough to make the stone gargoyles supporting the enchanted ceiling cringe and nearly drop it, but not enough to make the Headmasterstop grinning as though he were posing for a full page spread advertisement for Whitney’s Tooth Whitening Potion.

“Griffin spit,” cursed McGonnagal. “I want my coffee.”

“I want my tea,” rejoined Snape.

“I want Professor Vector to show up next,” thought Dumbledore gleefully to himself.

Finally, some House Elf or other (probably one who had won a pillowcase or two on either professor and was satisfied enough to tear his eyes away from the mirror) had come to his senses enough to activate the Charm and send up coffee, tea, soft boiled eggs with sliced toast, kippers, scrambled eggs, fried bread, sausage, and more different types of roll than it is advisable to think about, though all quite crusty in keeping with Hogwarts tradition.

It had always been considered a perfectly acceptable means of stress relief to bean anybody with a crusty roll, or even to do so to catch their attention. Severus grabbed one and lobbed it at the opposite wall where it made a quite satisfying smack.

“Feeling debilitated?” asked Minerva nastily, having gulped a fortifying gulp of java.

“They’ve forgotten my scones!” complained Snape bitterly, launching another roll, hitting a suit of armor square in the visor. "I always have scones after the Horribily Debilitating Staff Meating of Epic Proportions!"

Dumbledore stopped grinning enough to put on a mildly admonishing paternal expression. “Severus, my boy, one doesn’t eat scones for breakfast in Britain.”

“I don’t very much care,” groused Snape, surreptitiously adding three lumps of sugar to his tea, “I’m Bulgarian.”

Professor Vector staggered to the table, clutching her head. Dumbledore let out a war whoop in delight, and punched the air in triumph. Another wail arose from below.

Vector winced. “I have a hangover,” she said, grabbing a roll and hurling it through the nearest window, which shattered with a satisfying crash before automatically repairing itself. “Shut up!”

“Good morning,” snarled Minerva.

“Did you sleep well?” asked Vector, as though she was hoping they hadn’t.

Severus helpfully poured Vector a cup of strong black coffee and unhelpfully shoved it towards her so hard that it landed in her lap.

“Raven’s Revenge!” she shrieked. “I hate my job, I hate Hogwarts, but most of all, I hate YOU!”

Severus was about to protest that for once in his life he hadn’t actually meant to, when he realized she was talking to Dumbledore, who was grinning like a madman and rubbing his palms together.

“Did you HEAR what I said!” she continued, “if there’s ANYTHING good about this position, it’d take another sixty seven YEARS to ferret out!”

Dumbledore began to hum the school song to himself, happily planning what to do with his winnings, tuning out a very impressive nearly five minute rant, in which Vector even managed to swear in Hindustani.

A jumbled of voices announced the arrival of more breakfasters. Dumbledore’s eyes were lit with a strange and fearsome light. Could it be true? Seven students? If so, the betting pool, the entire pool was his. Forget retirement. He was going to start a publishing company.

Sure enough, the entire Hufflepuff Quiditich teem stumbled tiredly through the doors and plopped themselves at their table, after throwing a careless “Good morning,” to their professors. Only the Hufflepuff Team would have awoken so early on a (to their eyes) completely unnecessary school holiday in order to practice.

“Bless your little black and yellow souls,” sighed Dumbledore happily. “I win.”

Vector groaned, and sank into her seat, clutching her head and mopping the spilled coffee up with her sleeve. McGonnagal sniffed disapprovingly, as she buttered her roll. Severus glared at the Hufflepuffs for being more conscientious than his own team, and promptly beaned their Captain with a crusty roll.

Wails of despair came from the kitchen again, as the Hufflepuff teams breakfast was finally served; scones, with cream. Severus growled, grabbed the breadbasket, and strode menacingly over to the Hufflepuff table. The students cringed and waited for the blow to fall, only to watch in frank amazement as Severus slammed the basket of rolls on their table and made off with their scones. Nobody dared to say anything, and so with a sigh, they settled for no breakfast at all, which is actually quite intelligent if one is about to go to stomach churning training sessions.

“What is the matter with you?” asked McGonnagal, finally realizing that something was amiss with the Headmaster.

Dumbledore couldn’t say anything, because he was grinning too hard. He couldn’t wait for the mail to arrive, brining in his winnings. He sighed happily, dipping a slice of toast (known as an auror in the Wizarding World for some reason lost to time) into his soft boiled egg and then munching it.

Snape scowled, eating his confiscated scones.

Vector clutched her head, wondering why she’d bothered to show up to breakfast at all.

Minerva wondered whether murdering your Headmaster was punishable by the Kiss or merely life in Azkaban.

Dumbledore rubbed his palms together again, waiting eagerly for the rush of wings of the morning post.

It came all to soon, but it was not an owl that flew into the Great Hall. It was a stork. Carrying a small, wailing bundle wrapped in blue bunting.

Despite their condition, everybody stopped and watched in complete silence and awe as the enormous bird circled about the hall, trying to find the addressee.

Vector sobered enough to remember the date. “On father’s day, too,” she breathed. “How romantic. Severus, is it yours?”

Severus paled, which in itself ought to be considered a medical miracle. "Banish the thought.”

The bird abruptly stopped circling and made a beeline for the Severus, who rose with a look between absolute joy and horror on his face.

Sure enough, the bird deposited the blue bundle of joy into Severus’ arms, before letting out a croaking cry and flapping out. Severus glared down his nose at his son, who abruptly stopped squalling.

There was a moment of profound silence before Severus suddenly smiled, and turned to Dumbledore. “I resign.” Turning on his heal, the Professor marched smartly out of the hall. The door slammed behind him, leaving another rather impressive silence.

Suddenly, Dumbeldore sprang from his chair. “The First Staff Member to Have a Son Sweepstake!” he cried. “I WIN!”

[Merman]

Mr. Weasley and the Vexation that Wasn’t


“Good night, Arthur, dear," came the voice of Mrs. Weasley as she turned out the lights.
Mr. Weasley lay in bed thinking about all he had to do the next day.

“Tomorrow I have to take out the trash,” thought Mr. Weasley to himself, “I also have to work,” he continued, “but most of all I’m looking forward to tomorrow being Fathers Day.” With that Mr. Weasley lets he eyelids close and his mind wander off to a world that is entirely his own.

Mr. Weasley opened his eyes to the horrid noises coming from his alarm clock. The time between his eyelids closing and reopening seemed so short that he felt like he had slept but a few seconds. Never the less, the clock on his bedside table clearly displayed 8:30 AM.

“Oh bugger,” He thought to himself as he waved his wand for the clock to stop its insufferable noise “I don’t feel like I’ve had nearly enough sleep!”

His eyelids tried to close again, insistent upon a few more moments rest. They did not get what they wanted though, as Mrs. Weasley had other things in mind.

“Arthur dear,” she yawned loudly, “don’t you have to be at work in an hour?”

“Yes, dear,” Arthur replied, disappointed that he hadn’t slept those few seconds he had his eyes closed, “I need to be there by nine thirty. Could you make breakfast while I get ready?”

“Certainly, honey. Oh and be sure you take out the trash before you go," came Mrs. Weasley’s reply.

Mr. Weasley heard the door open and close as she left to go downstairs. He considered going back to sleep, but thought the wiser of the situation and sat up in his bed. He paused there for a bit until he decided his feet felt like carrying him. As he stood up he slipped on the small carpet next to his bed and landed on his back, thankfully on his bed. However, it wasn’t just the rug that wouldn’t cooperate with Arthur, the bathroom floor was wet, the soap didn’t want to stand still, the toothpaste wanted to say in its tube his suitcase wouldn’t close, his chair at breakfast wouldn’t stop squeaking, the kids were louder than usual, and to top it all off Harry didn’t want to talk about Muggle objects.

Arthur’s day had started out miserably.

Eventually Arthur gave up wondering why today was so strange, without wondering at the odd occurrences, he apparated to work. Upon arriving he was immediately sent on a task by his assistant, Perkins.

“Arthur you’ve got to go and investigate a talking trash can right away.”

With that Perkins ran off down the corridor without even telling Arthur where to go.

“Weird,” Arthur thought to himself while he closed the door. “He could have at least given me the address, now I have to go look it up.”

Just then his office door started creaking open, then closed again, as if a ghost had just entered the room.

“Must have been the wind,” thought Arthur. "Wait a minute, there is no wind in my office.”

Just at the moment Fudge barged into the room with a ferret in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

“Would you like some tea Arthur?” Fudge asked eagerly, holding out the cup.

“Err, Arthur hesitated. “Sure.”

“Foooooled ya,” Fudge yelled and tossed the cup of tea at the red-headed wizard, spilling its contents all over his neatly ironed shirt.

Fudge’s voice started to fade, the tea started smelling like coffee, Arthur’s shirt turned into a stained pajama top, and Fudge turned out to be Fred Weasley.

“Oops! Sorry Dad,” Fred apologized.

“Come on, Fred,” moaned Ron, “You spoiled everything.”

“Yes you did,” agreed Ginny. “It was supposed to be a surprise”

“A surprise?” Arthur asked, looking lost.

“Yes, a Father's Day surprise party,” George informed him.

“You look confused.” Stated Fred.

“Well, so would you be to if you just got woken up by you’re kids throwing coffee on you,” mocked George.

“Ok now. That’s enough, kids,” interrupted Mrs. Weasley, “We don’t want to quarrel. We want to make this Father’s Day better than all the rest.”

“That’s what you say every year Mom,” replied Ron.

“Yes, but its not every year you get to come home from school a day early,” Mrs. Weasley pointed out.

It suddenly dawned upon Mr. Weasley that he didn't have to take out the trash, he didn’t have to work, it was Sunday, his wonderful family had brought him breakfast in bed, and he would indeed have a great Father's Day.

“Thank you Weasleys! Its so nice of you to think of me like this,” Mr. Weasley interrupted, putting an end to the argument. “You brought me breakfast in bed, how nice, you know how I enjoy that.

“Well if you think that’s amusing just wait tell you see all the presents,” Fred blurted out.

“Now you’ve done it, Fred,” moaned Ron again.

“I didn’t hear a word,” Mr. Weasley replied before Fred could counter Ron’s statement.

With that Arthur dug in to his lovely breakfast of bacon and eggs on toast, while Fred went and got a new cup of coffee.


~The End!

[evlpez]

Comments on the story Daddy Dobby

zymurgy commented:
Awe... <br />Pookie is so cute. Question is, does Dobby come under the heading of "Banish the thought father," or not? *blinks*

timeturner commented:
You have wonderful description abilities. Everything flows so very nice. And I love Dobby.

AnimeEyeshime commented:
Hey, I didn't even think of Dobby when I was trying to brainstorm for this. Great idea! Though, I must ask where Winky and Dobby got the name "Pookie" for their son... ^_~

evlpez commented:
Brilliant! Highly original, very amusing and sweet!

McGonagall's Cat commented:
This was just too cute and warm-fuzzy. Good job!

[evlpez]

Comments on the story Vernon Dursley: World's Best Father

zymurgy commented:
If Dudly were any more spoiled he'd be banned by the FDA. <br />

timeturner commented:
This was great. Very funny.

evlpez commented:
Excellent. Great detail, and the punch line at the end was so great that I really wanted to slap the lot of them. Stinkin' Dursleys!

McGonagall's Cat commented:
You certainly captured the characters... I wanted to smack the Dursleys. Good job!

[evlpez]

Comments on the story Journal Entry - June 15, 2005

zymurgy commented:
Missing a ferret, but otherwise much fun!

evlpez commented:
AWWW!!! *sniff!* Nice one... so sweet!

McGonagall's Cat commented:
Nice capture of the dichotomy of joy and war. (I dropped it one point for the missing ferret, but the concept is really good).

[evlpez]

Comments on the story The Betting Pool

Merman commented:
It was a great story its just that the beginning wasnt really fathers day theamed

timeturner commented:
Hilarious and fabulous. I loved the use of the term griffin spit.

AnimeEyeshime commented:
I love it! Love it, love it, love it! And, of course, we all know old Dumbledore's got all kinds of secrets... I guess the real reason he trusts Snape is because of how much money he's won off 'im, eh? Spiffing job! Made my day!

evlpez commented:
Abso-freaking-lutely hilarious! Several spelling errors in this, but this was SO entertaining!!! WELL DONE! *yay!*

McGonagall's Cat commented:
*eyes crossed* Creative storyline! (Sometimes you're very scarey.)

[evlpez]

Comments on the story Mr. Weasley and the Vexation that Wasn’t

zymurgy commented:
Gak. We all know what it's like to wake up because somebody spilled coffee on your chest. At least I do. Poor Mr. Weasley! <br />

timeturner commented:
That was great. Perkins! Very Mr. Weasley.

evlpez commented:
So Sweet! Arthur deserves the best!

McGonagall's Cat commented:
Arthur has to be the best Dad! Good job.