thehdproject is a community for Harry x Draco shippers on tumblr. This is a concept which aims to raise awareness of new talent - writings, art, graphics, gifs - basically anything you take fancy to. Please read the Intro, Rules and Guidelines post to find out more information.
WARNING: Some content may be explicit.
Thanks to those of you who have already taken the survey! We’re diligently going through the answers and giving much thought into how we can better this blog when we come back :)
We’re taking all your suggestions quite seriously.
So help us out! We want to hear from you!
Love your HDP mods
xx
(Source: thehdproject, via thehdproject)
Hi folks!!! Miss us yet?
We’ve put together a survey for all you HDProject readers and followers! We’d like to find out what you liked about the blog, what inspired to submit, why you may not have submitted, etc etc.
PLEASE take the time to fill this out :) It would mean a lot to us if you did and help us in the future whenever we decide to restart the blog. It’ll be fun! Clickly clicky!!
Go on… the link loves you. Yes. Loves You. Here it purr?
Love your HDP mods :)
xx
It’s now the last Friday of 2011 and It’s been five months since the H/D project launched. We’ve had a lot of fun along the way but it’s time to take a little break now.
We genuinely appreciate everyone who has participated, submitted and supported us along the way; we couldn’t have gotten this far without you! If you have any inquiries at all, feel free to contact us here, we’ll continue to have one eye out for our ask box. Unfollow if you must, but we do plan to be back, hopefully soon.
A heartfelt thank you to you all, and goodbye for now. Happy New Year <3
Love your mods
xx
![We are pleased to announce that the winning entry was Sun by backtocheyenne!
[Artwork by roosterblue]](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lww107ZhMl1qmod32o1_1280.jpg)
We are pleased to announce that the winning entry was Sun by backtocheyenne!
[Artwork by roosterblue]
Luminescent Reminiscence by amayasora2992
Silent Sincerity by twelvefootmountaintroll
The Mug of Magic by hopelesslyintricate
What’s Left When Stars Burn Out by Anonymous
So that’s all for December!
We hope you’ve enjoyed it as much as we have :)
It would also be very nice of you to click on the following button to vote on your favourite entry this month. Remember, the author of the winning entry will get a specially commissioned art dedicated to them, so please vote!!
(The poll closes on the 27th Dec 0500 GMT.)
So that’s all for December!
We hope you’ve enjoyed it as much as we have :)
It would also be very nice of you to click on the following button to vote on your favourite entry this month. Remember, the author of the winning entry will get a specially commissioned art dedicated to them, so please vote!!
(The poll closes on the 27th Dec 0500 GMT.)
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters. I don’t own the song at the end. I don’t own the quote in the beginning. Character and Quote are JK Rowling’s. Song is Christine Glass’s.
Notes: -Summary- Harry loses his memories and is trying to find his way back home.
~0x0x0~
-29 November, 2012, 00:19-
He felt it. Something warm. It brushed against his senses, teasing him, taunting him. A stroke there, a caress here, and yet he couldn’t reach it. There was a memory there, but he couldn’t touch it. What was it? What was he forgetting?
The feeling wrapped itself around him. It was so gentle that he barely noticed it, but it was there. Something was missing, something so fundamentally a part of him that he shouldn’t have lost it, but he didn’t know what it was. He couldn’t remember.
It was bright. Too bright, beating against his eyes. He squinted, but it did nothing to help. The light was blinding, everything too white. He was alone. Words that sounded familiar echoed somewhere in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t quite remember where he’d heard them.
“Where are we, exactly?”
“Well, I was going to ask you that.”
“It looks like King’s Cross station.”
He thought of another white-washed setting from another time. Was it another place? Or the same? He couldn’t remember. Was he dead? Had he died, then? Was this what death was like? Something told him he should know and yet….
Slowly the white faded, faded, faded. He opened his eyes to a ceiling covered in shadows, but he could tell it was white. The room felt familiar, and yet, something wasn’t quite right. Beeping instruments surrounded him, and there was a strong smell of disinfectant. Turning his head, he could make out gay holiday tinsel decorating the room. But who put that up?
Hospital. That seemed the right word, but still something was off. It’s the wrong one, he thought, but how he knew this he couldn’t be sure. An instinct?
A woman stepped in, carrying a clipboard. He just stared at the clipboard, like it was out of place.
“Ah, Mr. Doe, how good of you to finally join us,” she said, smiling brightly at him. She had blonde hair, pulled back loosely to keep it out of the way.
Too long. Too wavy. Not pale enough.
“Doe? Is that my name?” he asked her.
“Well, it is for now, until we find out who you really are,” she was still smiling.
Smiling too much. Too curvy. Female.
He blinked up at her.
“Don’t worry. We’ll have you sorted out soon.”
(Source: lusterofgems)
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: No owny wony rights.
Notes: If you have trouble understand what the hell is going on, don’t worry, the author knows how you feel.
.x.x.
I feel like I know you.
You don’t.
Have we met before?
Get some sleep.
I sigh, and turn my head towards the window with its frosted edges and its blurry, wonderland view. I try and I try, every day I do, but he won’t give up his name, his affiliation with me. I know we must have known each other in my previous life, I’m sure of it. There aren’t many things I’m sure of these days. I know that when the sunlight reaches my knees, the nurse will come in with my food; I know that when the sunlight falls on my elbow, another nurse will come in and ask me questions, questions like how I’m doing, whether I feel up to getting up, if I’d like a change of scenery; when the sunlight begins to warm my face, he walks in. I caught my reflection on his round, scratched glasses once, and my eyes sparkle in the light. I don’t mind the sunshine; it’s warm and feels like I’m being cleansed of all the drugs they give me. My feet are always cold, and every single day I tell myself to ask the first nurse to roll up the blanket so my feet aren’t covered and I can feel the heat of the sun, and every day I forget.
Since most of my day is spent sighing and looking outside, I try to talk as much as my body will allow me when he comes. He doesn’t like me, I think, because sometimes I catch him looking at me with such dark contempt masking his face, it almost makes his eyes seem black. But then I think about how he visits every day, and how he sits there with his head hanging and his hands in his pockets (Why does he wear such baggy clothes? Why do they irritate me like an itch I can’t locate?) and listens to me talk to him in my whisper quiet voice, responding whenever necessary, and I don’t feel his hate anymore. I wish he would talk to me more.
(Source: backtocheyenne)
