Post by Samantha Jackson on Feb 16, 2011 16:52:49 GMT
So it was really hard to decide who should win! All the entries were great 
First, I give you Clara Signer's winning piece!
The quiet of the night seemed to stretch on forever - the ghosts of the evening leapt from tree to tree.
The race was on - which of the founders would find their bodies first?
Godric Gryffindor was ahead, though he hadn't counted on Slytherin to unleash his sneaky ways to get ahead.
Helga was falling behind, and Rowena was remembering tips from books she had read that would help her reunite her with her body.
BANG!
Clara's dream had been an odd one, though she knew there was an element of truth in it. It had scared her, but she knew it was right.
The Hogwarts founders were ghosts.
In second place, Ylana Thomson with her story!
Ylana rolled over, frowning; she tossed and turned a few times and then boletd out of bed. She looked around her, taking in the green and silver wallpaper and remembering that she was at home with her parents.
Small comfort.
The dream had been different this time; it hadn't really felt like a dream, it felt more like a vision or a premonition.
The eleven year-old Ylana Louise Thomson had a lot going for her: she was tall, very pretty with beautiful blue eyes and sleek raven hair; she was captain of her local Quidditch group and excelled at her subjects. More to the point, she was destined to become a successful Slytherin like her mother and father, and nothing was going to get in her way.
But she had visions - she could See into the future, and it worried her - if she could do this, then she wouldn't be the perfect Ylana Thomson, Slythie extraordinnaire. She would be Ylana Thomson the Nutcase. And this thought scared her.
In her premonition, Hogwarts had loomed into view and she basked in the full moon's languid tendrils of silver light while the magical boat whisked them towards the castle itself. But when she got to the stool and put on the Sorting Hat, it had shouted out the abominable word, the one thing she had always dreaded:
Gryffindor.
Ylana shuddered and forced herself to forget about the stupid nightmare; she clambered back into bed and pulled the covers tight over her head, shutting out the world.
Imagine if she was Sorted into Gryffindor... It would bring shame onto the whole family, just like it had when her older cousin Sirius Black had been Sorted into the exact same house, and when Andromeda had married that filthy Mudblood. Shame was not an option, Ylana decided, and closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to wash over her.
Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat and Gryffindor house was waiting for her.
And finally, in third place, Lily Marie Svidensky with her awesome poem!
Dream, little witchy,
Dream long and hard,
For when you awake
Your hair will be lard.
Dream, little wizard,
Dream all night long,
For when you cast a spell
You'll burst into song.
Dream, little dragon,
Without fear of a poke,
For the Hogwarts theme says, if they do,
They'll leave with a fear of smoke.
Dream, little Owl,
Dream through the day,
When night is a-dawning
You'll be in need of a pay.
And dream, little Voldemort,
Dream like a baby,
For we all know you're not dead
Not even a 'maybe'.
All entries will recieve the points stated! Well done!
First, I give you Clara Signer's winning piece!
The quiet of the night seemed to stretch on forever - the ghosts of the evening leapt from tree to tree.
The race was on - which of the founders would find their bodies first?
Godric Gryffindor was ahead, though he hadn't counted on Slytherin to unleash his sneaky ways to get ahead.
Helga was falling behind, and Rowena was remembering tips from books she had read that would help her reunite her with her body.
BANG!
Clara's dream had been an odd one, though she knew there was an element of truth in it. It had scared her, but she knew it was right.
The Hogwarts founders were ghosts.
In second place, Ylana Thomson with her story!
Ylana rolled over, frowning; she tossed and turned a few times and then boletd out of bed. She looked around her, taking in the green and silver wallpaper and remembering that she was at home with her parents.
Small comfort.
The dream had been different this time; it hadn't really felt like a dream, it felt more like a vision or a premonition.
The eleven year-old Ylana Louise Thomson had a lot going for her: she was tall, very pretty with beautiful blue eyes and sleek raven hair; she was captain of her local Quidditch group and excelled at her subjects. More to the point, she was destined to become a successful Slytherin like her mother and father, and nothing was going to get in her way.
But she had visions - she could See into the future, and it worried her - if she could do this, then she wouldn't be the perfect Ylana Thomson, Slythie extraordinnaire. She would be Ylana Thomson the Nutcase. And this thought scared her.
In her premonition, Hogwarts had loomed into view and she basked in the full moon's languid tendrils of silver light while the magical boat whisked them towards the castle itself. But when she got to the stool and put on the Sorting Hat, it had shouted out the abominable word, the one thing she had always dreaded:
Gryffindor.
Ylana shuddered and forced herself to forget about the stupid nightmare; she clambered back into bed and pulled the covers tight over her head, shutting out the world.
Imagine if she was Sorted into Gryffindor... It would bring shame onto the whole family, just like it had when her older cousin Sirius Black had been Sorted into the exact same house, and when Andromeda had married that filthy Mudblood. Shame was not an option, Ylana decided, and closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to wash over her.
Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat and Gryffindor house was waiting for her.
And finally, in third place, Lily Marie Svidensky with her awesome poem!
Dream, little witchy,
Dream long and hard,
For when you awake
Your hair will be lard.
Dream, little wizard,
Dream all night long,
For when you cast a spell
You'll burst into song.
Dream, little dragon,
Without fear of a poke,
For the Hogwarts theme says, if they do,
They'll leave with a fear of smoke.
Dream, little Owl,
Dream through the day,
When night is a-dawning
You'll be in need of a pay.
And dream, little Voldemort,
Dream like a baby,
For we all know you're not dead
Not even a 'maybe'.
All entries will recieve the points stated! Well done!
