jlh | Drabbles, my god the drabbles

Well, friends, here are a few drabbles and links. First, some Idol things:

Top 9 Drabble from yours truly, incorporating a conversation I had with dana_kujan. The really funny line? It's hers.
Jacob's TWoP recap is up (I always need to check the recap before I write the drabble) and I think he's been reading Hunter S. Thompson. He converts his hatred of the white male power structure that the constant harkening back to the American Songbook, and Tony Bennett himself, represents to him by deconstructing the entire boring show, including a long exegesis of the shift from friends of Dorothy to folks that are queer as well as a throwaway reference to Ryan giving Simon an "insouciant handjob." It's brilliantly strange, or better yet, strangely brilliant, threatening to flop over into incoherence before righting itself with wry self-awareness.
The AMG recap is also up, wherein our music experts predict that that Blake absolutely is the Daughtry of season 6, right down to being the probable overall biggest seller post-Idol, even though he never should have sung "Mack the Knife." They also agree with us that the show was boring and Tony easily the worst mentor yet.
In case you missed them, my other must-have recaps from the snarky but pop-loving music nerds at Idolator: Tuesday and Wednesday.

In addition, I wrote a Snape/Lily double and a half drabble at the request of

ali_wildgoose, who stumped me earlier. No title, not really beta'd. Takes place immediately after Snape's Worst Memory:

"What is your problem?"

Snape looked up from where he was eating his breakfast, alone at the very end of the Slytherin table. "Hello, Evans. I am unaware that I have a problem."

"Why do you act like this? Do you really want the entire school to hate you?"

"Better than wanting the entire school to love me."

"You don't have to be like them."

Snape followed Evans's glance up the Slytherin table, where Narcissa and Bellatrix were giggling. "And you don't have to be like them," he replied, nodding toward where James Potter and his sycophants sat at the Gryffindor table, no doubt scheming new ridiculous stunts.

"I'm not like them!" Evans protested.

"Aren't you? Tell me, how much of what you think you know about Narcissa and Bellatrix came from a source other than their disgruntled cousin?"

Evans had the good manners to flush and stammer. "Er, I—"

"Precisely," Snape interrupted. "When you show yourself capable of a thought that hasn't been clouded by that lot, perhaps we'll have something to talk about. Until that time, just leave me alone." He turned back to his meal, and heard Evans sigh melodramatically and storm off.

It was disappointing how easily even a clever girl like Evans could be taken in by charm and nonsense, Snape thought. He pushed his eggs around his plate for a bit before deciding he wasn't hungry anyway. He gathered up his things and left the Great Hall; if he hurried he had time to check on last night's potions experiment before his first class.

For similar reasons, about 250 words of Seamus/Dean requested by

amyamy. A real ficsnip from something I'm working on, so also un-beta'd. In the EWFS-verse, takes place about four years after they've left school—two years after "Re-Union":

Parvati Patil could hear the raised voices all the way down the hallway. She knocked on the door of the flat, a bit apprehensive about what she’d got herself into.

“Thank God you’re here,” Seamus said, flinging the door open. “Dean, where are the menus?”

Dean walked out of the kitchen, handing some parchment to Seamus. “Nice welcome for our guest, Seamus. Parvati, thanks so much for coming over. We really appreciate it.”

“I’m just glad I’m in town and can help,” she replied.

“I’m welcoming her by feeding her, Dean. How does falafel sound, Parvati?”

“Just fish and veg for me until October. Can’t be puffy on the runway for fashion week.”

“That’s a reason not to hate you for being beautiful. Here, a salad place,” Seamus said, handing her a menu.

“Thanks. I see you’ve mostly finished unpacking.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Seamus’s boxes arrived from Greece a week ago, and we found places for everything.”

“Then what is the problem?” Parvati asked.

“That,” Dean said, and gestured to several frames stacked up against the wall of the sitting room. A pile of smaller frames, for snapshots, lay on the coffee table.

Parvati shook her head. “Only you two, after being in separate countries for three years, would have no trouble agreeing to move in together, no trouble finding a flat, no trouble painting or unpacking or furniture arranging, and then have a three-day argument over hanging a mirror.”

“It isn’t just a mirror,” Seamus said. “It’s the art, our family photos, everything. The Artist thinks he knows what’s best.”

“Of course I do, Shay,” Dean replied. “I’ve only, I don’t know, studied the subject!”

“Stop!” Parvati shouted. “No more arguing until I’ve been fed.”