Can You Bring Small Scissors On Airplane

Meet

t it zieml

I good, I'd say

.
were only there is no n glühw a probe rn other e alkoh

olisc he worn cabinets. and other fun things. many, many other things funny. not have and we kt gekac probe rn '

only' gepis st. hahah . God. sick as .

love r greeting to all the idiot

en, the nciht there were .

you have 'sst s verpa . The party is one

defin ITIV n the best
4 of the year

s 2008! time looking n, which bring the next te years t = 'D

Spectracide Stump Remover

I feel sick.
I must be equal to the dentist. Then there's my granny fish. __. nciht I know which is worse = D Adieu. In the hope to survive this day.

Surgeon Xmas App Bugs Help

I'll go soon lisa hitchhike * _ * Aha schön.Und where?
no idea. maybe berlin \u0026lt;3 I love
berlin ♥ ♥

I know = D

so what? I love I love berlin berlin berlin I love I love I love berlin berlin berlin I love I love I love berlin berlin berlin I love I love I love berlin berlin berlin I love I love I love berlin berlin berlin I love I love I berlin berlin berlin love I love I love I love berlin berlin berlin I love I love I love berlin berlin berlin I love I love I love berlin berlin berlin I love I love I love berlin berlin berlin I love I love I love berlin berlin = D

Jaaaaaha. I do. And that badly.
And I'm looking forward to hitchhike with Lisa. I like to do something with it. One rarely encounters such heart people who are just honest from the ground up and give you the feeling particularly to be. (:... Also, I'd never dare to hitchhike alone But considering it is almost a professional, it makes me a lot nciht
Although the idea is sort of weird
Regardless of anything.. nothing comes And you should indeed all times have tried (:..

Different Types Of Bipolar Disorder

I absolutely tired of the whole Why must all kacka pretend as if everything peace Dory when in reality it's all in the ass. Pfff. Only Rumgeheuchel and acting.
Cheers to all who are honest and strong mob during the festival of love. ♥

In this sense:

If You Have Diarrhea Do You Lose Calories

It's amazing how much some people reveal about themselves when they are confronted with a situation in which the person was himself again, just turn around and everything you would expect a council.

"Then perhaps it was feigned, and she has other friends. Or there is just a reason and you gave her something getanm or they will not cope with something that has to do with you. Then it would also be very very sad because they will at least clarify it could ... "

You're such a pathetic asshole.

Thank you. never to return.

Pokemon Shiny Gold Cheats

BEAUTIFUL LIE - header, prologue, chapter 1

 

 

A Harry Potter Fanfiction


BEAUTIFUL LIE  

~*~    

Draco – and Hermione, an surreal and unfeasible pairing?
Is it a lie to fancy an impossibility?
Well, then let me tell you a beautiful lie...

~*~

Theme: Harry Potter

Genre (changing) : General, Adventure, Dark, drugs / drinking, escape, friendship, microstructure ; St., Grimmauld Place, Hermione Granger, humor, Hogwarts 7.Schuljahr, mystery, romance, suspense

Story: was In a confrontation with Death Eaters, Hermione is seriously injured, so she, Harry and Ron to spontaneously Hogwarts go back and search for the Horcruxes passive. But things change be drawn and when the three forced with Draco Malfoy in the Grimmauld recognizes Hermione that she always had a false picture of him in mind. And the events is incredible ...

Protagonists : priority Hermione and Draco soon, next to Harry and Ron.
Time & Setting : 7th School year, forced to Hogwarts for a while, then at No. 12 Grimmauld Place and ...?
Style: Hermione's point of view, from the moment in which they recovered to Hogwarts breaks (only prologue in the 3.P.Sgl.). The most important events of the seventh volume to be considered more or less and treated. And I am trying to follow the German spelling. Text format from Chapter 11 in block paragraph format.
Warnings: drug use, very slowly developing romance

Idea: Is it a lie, it is wrong to
if I conceal what I am about your Zunkunft
and your life knows?

Disclaimer: Warner Bros and Mrs. Rowling. I own nothing except the plot.

A brief overview:
Part 1: Hogwarts (completed)
Part 2: The Grimmauld (current)
Part 3: The Escape / The last campaign


A / N:
-> I lean in key situations in the book by J. Rowling;):
-> and I'll post as soon as I get some comments on - on other sites, this story is already up to chapter 24 online (already written up to chapter 30) .


MUCH FUN!






Prologue:

She turned with a gentle melancholy of the well-known railway station a few meters away from her and looked into the sky. Today, by pulling him warm, light clouds, just as if it should be a beautiful day.
It was mid-September, but the summer had made this year a few weeks ago catchment. Hermione thought about the heat wave and the last summer that she prefers comfortable with a stack of books on the garden deck in the front yard of the house her parents lived.
This year had all been different.
In her room, piled up like every summer, but dozens of heavy and old books. But compared to recent years, this had absolutely nothing to do with the school.
There were books about black magic, about dark magic, their consequences, their effects, their function, their types. There were books from which they hoped to help with something that went far beyond Hogwarts.
you could not avoid a brief, flickering image of Ron and Harry then appeared before her eyes. A light breeze billowed
on her coat and let him roam about their case.
difficulty and with a sigh, she lowered her head and looked back on the road.
She did not want to think what did the two straight.
And yet a sense of guilt shot through her body.
suddenly heard a faint whinny and with a zestful turning on his heel caught sight of Hermione, the horseless black coaches.
Just that they were no longer pferdelos.

*

Chapter 1:

Is it a lie is it wrong if I
conceal what I know about your
Zunkunft
and for your life?

Even when I got into the coach, I could not help but look at the entire scene suspicious. Black spirits of the dark horses to coach the students welcomed to each new school year.
Something rang me, but I found the best will not see what kind the magical creatures these are.
Sighing, I settled on the red velvet cushion of the car to fall, and even the door clattering beside me fell.
It jerked once briefly and went to the coach on their way up the mountain.
After Hogwarts. could

~ * ~

"Granger?"
I do not claim that disgust that was dripping from his voice, to not notice. "What are you doing here?" His eyes flashed dangerously
and under normal circumstances I would have it now avoid me deal with him. But since these were not normal circumstances for sure, I stared at him and just continue to hope that my eyes sparkled as evil.
"Why should I not be here, Malfoy? I have this same right as you! "A pitiful swung touch with derision in my voice. The practice I have had
.
Even so, his eyes widened and his face looked almost as if they would derail. It took only a moment - but slipped an angry expression on his face.
"Then the rumors vote after all. "He smiled coldly. "Congratulations, sludge blood, you have achieved what most of your hand, dared to dream of only good."
I gasped for air.
"Shut up, Malfoy," I pressed grinding out between my lips.
Draco Malfoy, however, stayed with his smug grin.
"Then I would rather let you unpack. It seems that we will have this year forced a lot in common. "
He gave me a mocking View, as only he could, and disappeared from the room.
Perplex I stood before my huge suitcases unpacked.
Well, it seemed, we would both live in the same corridor as the teachers who did not have a flat in Hogsmeade, and thus preferred the castle.
You could thank every god of this world that Professor Snape and Professor Trelwaney had such an exquisite taste and live the idea that in almost right next to some colleagues, so disgusted that their homes were far away from the others. Yeah well, Professor Snape is no longer important and that Trelawney was already accessible little senile ...
Oh, had Professor Dumbledore ever had his fingers somewhere NOT in the game?
But after all, had I known, who should be the other school representatives, but I had this first meeting presented a bit differently. And when I
puffing hochhievte my bags up the stairs from the fireplace to my dorm, I noticed angry that I had hoped for a moment, in fact, Malfoy would help me when towing.
I gave a little cry of rage and stumbled against the first door.

Malfoy leaned into the huge room in the only bay window and had probably dreaming seen out until I was rushing.
It took only a split second before he turned his head and looked down scornfully at me.
"This is MY room, Granger. If you had the desired, you would also be sufficient time to arrive at the start of school. "
My eyes wandered briefly about the simple dormitory, which did not differ especially from the rooms on the Gryffindor tower. A desk with a horrible mess of scrolls, books, feathers, spilled ink and owls laden biscuits, and a single four-poster bed with gray-black reference was probably alone with his Loneliness is different from the dormitory constituted, a wardrobe, a narrow shelf, loaded to overflowing with thick and thin books, a waist-high chest of drawers and a high ceiling bay window, on which Malfoy still remained motionless.
The sparse furnishings had not have a personal touch by decorating or remodeling gained, and I doubted this would ever happen.
I snorted.
"That's not here!" I was damn angry and I did not even know why. "I'm not pleased to have to cooperate with you." I hissed. "And yet I try it at least ... Oh, damn! "
A slight amusement flitted across his face unmistakable.
"This idea has also come to me already, but that you'll have to live in Granger."
I froze.
a moment I felt the urge to pull my magic wand and Malfoy restrained in a moment.
The turn was not typical, but not surprising after all these years ...
turned without another word, I am around on his heel and rushed from the room.

~ * ~

"Shall we start today evening?"
I just sat at the table when Harry directly broached a topic that I still hoped for some time saving.
But of course, my fantasies were in no circumstances become a reality.
"Harry, I want to eat first. Can not we explain later - and not before all ears, "I sighed and nodded in the direction of Neville, who suddenly pushed with immense speed loaf in his mouth.
"Hermo" I turned
my head and looked directly into the astonished eyes of Ron.
"Mönsch you bisscha there again," he gave me with his mouth full to understand.
I smiled at him. "I told you ..."
"You sögtest TOMORROW!"
He choked and coughed briefly, until he knocked on Harry's back.
"Yes, but ..."
"No way. Forget it. Welcome back! "Suddenly he grinned over the entire face. "Hey, now we are already in the last year ..."
"Be glad we live to see it, Ron." I said.
"... AND we have a prefect. "He grinned with meaning in Harry's direction. This
sighed.
"Ron, I have never expressed a desire to be a prefect. The current turmoil in our late arrival is enough. "Harry raised his hands as if to prove his innocence and had to grin suddenly. "In addition, Hermione is not ONLY a prefect."
Ron him for a moment looked surprised and then started mumbling to stab his meatloaf. I had inadvertently smile and quickly changed the subject.
"How long have you for now at Hogwarts?"
"Since the middle of the fourth week of school. - It has been delayed but somehow" Harry twisted his mouth and stared at his plate.
I sighed and put my potatoes with cottage cheese.
Originally, we no longer wanted to return to Hogwarts, but after my accident and the subsequent hospitalization of the two possibilities were limited slightly. After all, I had consistently maintained the wards and My urgent request had they realized that Hogwarts was the safest and most relaxing break - which would probably last longer than expected.
"... at least we have the largest part of the school substance subsequently recovered. "he concluded.
I nodded absently, not knowing what he had just spoken.
"Come on, Harry, Hermione, you have to tell the not safe. She has been in the hospital safe for the fabric, the entire school year cramming, do not you? "Ron's voice broke me from my thoughts.
an eyebrow I moved to the Height.
"Of course, at least we do not know how long we stay away and if you'd turn your head at times ..."
"HA!" He made triumphant.
"... you knew even the usefulness of this fact has emerged in recent months for both of you." I hissed.
Ron sat on his first look overpowered, but then he smiled, warm and honest.
"How nice that you're back, Hermione."



*

Spotting During Post Menopause

nali12 @ 2008-09-24T19: 58:00

No One At Home

character Draco Malfoy (Childhood I)

Rating: P6

Author: silvermisery

Note: Some time ago I got this text "No One At Home" of silvermisery on fanfiction.net found and found him so terribly sweet that I decided to translate it.

Thus the flow of the characters and Malfoy Manor JK Rowling and the idea and the plot silvermisery and me nothing, except a few translational freedoms (if it that word is). fanfiction.net

The Original Story of silvermisery on fanfiction.net/s/3832485/1 /

No One At Home

" shit "

The word echoed through the stone halls of Malfoy Manor.

At the age of four years ago, Draco Malfoy some respectable sentences and phrases from the friends of his father snapped. These were all very scary and very large, they also wore all very dark clothes and hoods.

Draco admired her with childlike enthusiasm, but at the same time he hated it that his father was gone because of them that often. His hatred extended but not so much that he gave up, thinking of them habits to acquire as herumzustolzieren with their heads held high, or use profanity.

It was not a conscious decision or a child's creative phase, but he was very proud of his tone.

Even Lucius was that this was very impressive for a four year old, although he said quickly that he could do better.

It is always better.

shit.

Draco said this word in a moment of pain and frustration, in which the bulge has grown steadily to the head.

He had stumbled across a carpet - he had to Dobby for scolding that he interpreted carpets in places to which people know could stumble - and had struck his head.

Hart.

Draco reached up to touch his head and as he drew back his hand, she was - tacky!

He panicked.

As he brushed a strand of his sleek, platinum-colored hair to the side, he noticed that they were stuck with ... Blood.

His eyes widened at the sight and he opened the Mouth to scream, and cry to.

wines - not to cry .... that is the question.

When he cried, Narcissa would immediately run to him.

wines would bring him chocolate, new clothes and perhaps even these brooms from Diagon Alley, to which he was so sharp.

If he did not cry, he would of Lucius a pat on the shoulder of harvest, a slight nod and a "Well done, my son. Malfoy never cry. ".

Draco paused as he realized that he would rather Lucius wanted recognition as chocolate. Even better than a new broom.

He wanted to see this expression in Lucius's face, this look that told him that his father was happy that Draco was the heir to the Malfoynamens. The fact that he was dearer to him than Crabbe and Goyle, even if the two were bigger and stronger than him.

Now Draco smiled and was proud of himself that he did not cry.

Meanwhile, there was a lot of blood, but he was more aware of the fear for the pure blood of the Malfoys, which flowed from his body and over the dusty stone floor, ran from the pain.

But then his smile vanished when he realized that it did not matter whether he was crying or not crying, it did not matter if he kept the name of his family or the anxiety gave way , the rumbling in his stomach.

His proud head sank and his hair fell into his face with the creeping realization that there was no matter that he did not care.

No one was at home listening to weep for him ...

*

I will translate all review and send it to the author .. ;)

*

Measuring For Snorkel Gear

evening thunderstorms

evening thunderstorms

Fandome: Harry Potter

Rating : P12

POV: Hermione Granger

Summary: A Hermione Granger the death of their parents has not yet been processed and will be every evening thunderstorms reminded them again ...

A / N: Anyone who deals a little more closely and intensively with the text acknowledges, perhaps one or another text part that is not limited to the storm.
This text tells of an evening thunderstorm, to which Hermione repeatedly experienced the death of their parents.

evening thunderstorms

The rain had started, when I ran home.

It was drizzling slightly but was drenched on the way to the house of my parents my whole shirt.

I hate thunderstorms.

sparkled on the streets of the soft rain on my skin and ate the substance that covered me.

When I pushed open the door and my few belongings on the white-painted Bank put in the hall, one heard not the slightest sound of my arrival. The patter of rain swallowed all sounds that are not inherent in himself.

before the heavy door to my parents' library I paused for a moment. Everything was dark and I could only dimly discern the outlines of the old chair.
a moment I hesitated, then I entered the room and was just as silent as I had entered the house.

I walked past the worn leather chairs, past the many rows of books. As I walked along to the tapes, I raised my right arm and stroked her fine child back.
Soft, gentle, I hardly touched it.

It was a gesture, a tradition that is inherent in me even longer than my second world.
The world in which I could have done things happen and that may exceed the usual sense.

I hate thunderstorms.

now I've come to the window.

I lean against the stout wooden panel, which includes the radiator below the window sill.

The heat goes up on my body, crawling under my skin soaking, the wet fabric and tangled in my hair. I feel the heated air can flow up to my neck and slowly I put my palms on the wooden window frames.

few seconds I remain motionless, silent, rigid and breathless, to the pelting rain outside this Spaces.

I hate thunderstorms.

The old pine trees outside the house swaying gently.

My grandfather had planted with the help of my great grandmother shortly before the birth of my mother.

At that time they were tiny, inconspicuous and fragile.

Today, they tower above the trees in the street and in a storm to threaten to fall to uproot, and to overthrow.

Now they vary slightly in time with the Donnergrollens, but I know how it will look in a few minutes.

I hate thunderstorms.

Slowly I'm going with my palms to the dark wood frame, which limits the glass pane in front of me along.

millimeter by millimeter, I feel for the wood, feel the fine notches and cracks, which in the course have impressed the years.

I believed then to be able to name the year and the origin of each notch.

How much I still deceived.

A lot has happened too much, which I have heard nothing, well guarded in my safe, secluded boarding school at the end of the world. Protected and preserved by an old man who ultimately gave his life for us, his protégés.

My fingers go on the lowest notch of the frame and when I look down a bolt of lightning illuminates my visibility.

Strangely enough, the crack me thinking about my wound that I had drawn last year during our hunt.

When I think back, think of these moments, I think back to taste the blood that my lips, my face and my whole body was covered and hear the screams in my ears , far, far away, but in a deeper and more vivid memories.

How quickly time flies yet.

The rain beats louder and I press my palms firmly into the crack in the wood splintered.

I hate thunderstorms.

When my fingertips again travel along the frame, high and higher, I hear nothing but the rain and the growing rumble of thunder.

My heart beats fast, as my fingers found the iron grip on and within a second I had torn the window.

The rain hits me in the face, still so gentle and soft, as if waiting for my confirmation on my part to increase his strength.

As I have repeated countless times already inside, and finally the rain drumming is gaining appreciation.

My face is completely wet, my hair stuck in my forehead and I feel the Wind on my skin, as it turns.

Now the rain pouring down violently opposed to me, takes more and more in intensity until it herabschmettert hard and unyielding on me.

I hate thunderstorms.

I close my eyes and I dedicate my entire being to the pain, the crashing, bursting shells of the sky, tear my skin.

I hate thunderstorms.

After an eternity, an indecipherable to me period, disappearing until the lightning and thunderous booms, then takes the strength of the rain again.

gently caresses the rain again my skin and I open my eyes.

half blind I blink away the water that has got caught in my corner of his eye.

Then I close the window and go down to the kitchen to cook me some tea.

I hate thunderstorms.

On the way through the empty, lifeless house I change my mind.

As each of these evenings.

I walk into the spacious living room and take out the dusty sideboard next to the fireplace ash-covered bottle of Pinot Madeleine, a corkscrew and the next for me Related prepared glass.

Like every evening.

Then I sit down in the dust before the umkachelten fireplace and put the glass on the shag me.

with a handle, I removed the cork and take on the bitter, effluent smell, which is distributed in space.

The sparkling, red liquid flows with the same performance in the narrow glass.

Here I cleverly ignore the dark red stains on the accurate, white carpet.

Groping I underline the shag, some matted hair in my hands and touched them.

And so I remain for hours, waiting for her.

Like every evening.

emptied the bottle over time and the next one is next to me shortly.

The fact that the fireplace does not burn and the storm rages outside this House, I sure do not remember me.

I could not be indifferent and insignificant, as in this moment.

But I know, this moment will pass.

Because I hate thunderstorms.

thunderstorms.

you mean a new beginning, herald a new era and bring fresh, unused air approach.

why I hate them because they have forced upon me but a new life, but deprived them of their old, not leaving them a choice.

I hate storms, for I would not be the one that nature might not be enslaved.

I do not want to be the one left out.

The living room is completely dark.

I hate thunderstorms.

because they hide even the darkest of the darkest figures in robes.

My glass is rattling on the tiles.

I take the injection fluid as true by a veil, overshadowed by the macabre memories that dominate my view, and let out a wail that goes in a new roll of thunder.

I hate thunderstorms.

I hate these nights.

I love you, Mom and Dad.

---------------------------- ---------~~~~~~~~ ---------

is currently correct,
is currently good.
Nothing is really right
comes after the flood tide.

on the beach of life,
without reason, without understanding
nothing is in vain.
I'll build dreams on the sand,
and it is ...

It's ok, everything on the way
and it is solar time,
unencumbered and free.
And the man is human,
because he forgets, because it displaces.
And because he's enthusiastic and tempers,
because he warms when he talks.

Ohh, it's ok, it hurts
evenly.
And it is solar time, without a plan
without escort.
Man is man because he reminds
because he fights.
And because he hopes and loves,
because he forgives and sympathizes.

And because he laughs, because he lives,
miss you ...

Ohh, because he laughs and because he lives
miss you ...

*

How To Make Your Voice Smooth And Sweet

I'm new!

Hello at all,

My name is Natalie and I really like fanfictions and now I'm posting my own not only on fanfiction.com and fanfiktion.de, but also here.

Mhh, I wonder if I will realize early enough how to work with this page. *laugh*

Also I'm logging into livejournal.com to post my fanfictions, presently only german and of the Harry Potter - Genre ...


The first is one which I've written a few days before on a thounderstorm-day.
It's named "Gewitterabende" and describes the feelings of a lonely Hermione Granger who can't handle the death of her parents.
Each  "Gewitterabend", each thounderstorm-evening is redolent of this...


*