Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made.

Written for the Quidditch League – Season 4 Fanfiction Competition – Semi Final

Semi Final – A Different Point Of View

These objects are capable of having their very own mind, will, consciousness, thoughts, feelings, sensations, memories, and possessing their host's mind and body. And you've guessed it - you will be writing from the point of view of your given object in your stories. What does the Sorting Hat think about at night? Who does the Marauder's Map secretly spy on? The questions are endless.

There are no restrictions in terms of first or third person perspectives, but you must make sure your objects are portrayed as sentient in your entry. Good luck!

Wasps: Peter Pettigrew's Silver Hand

Additional Prompts:

#2. (song) 'Part of Your World' from The Little Mermaid

#9. (quote) "I'm not so good with advice. Can I interest you in a sarcastic comment?" - Chandler Bing, FRIENDS

#11. (dialogue) "Hey! Don't objectify me."

Chaser 2 for the Wimbourne Wasps

So Much More

It was strange. One moment, there was nothing at all; then, it was aware. It couldn't see, and sound was slightly muffled, but it could feel.

The first thing it ever felt was something smooth, warm, soft. 'Skin,' something in the back of its consciousness informed it. Oh, so that was skin. So strange. It knew it had no skin. It was cold and hard, but it were part of more, and that more had skin. Then there was something else. It was moist and crumbled under its touch—dirt, grass, nature. All of it was so new for them, so fascinating. It couldn't wait to explore more of its surroundings. It had the whole world at its fingertips—quite literally—and it couldn't wait to see what else there was to see.

Then, before it knew what was happening, it was somewhere else, and there were so many new things, so much to explore. 'Look at this stuff. Isn't it neat?' it tried to tell the one holding it.

That was when it noticed.

It had no voice, no way to express its wonder about the brand-new world it was exploring. It tried to move on its own, to give its holder any sort of sign that it was more than an inanimate object. Every single one of its attempts ended in failure.

This was it, then? It could do nothing more than hear muffled voices and feel the world around it?

It brushed against something soft and fluffy—a cat.

Well, it supposed there were worse existences in the world, and it still had a treasure trove of things to discover. Experiencing things, even without someone to share them with, was better than the great nothing of not existing.

It had the world at its fingertips, and it would enjoy exploring it.

Time was a strange concept when one didn't sleep. Its consciousness was always aware, which made for long, boring stretches of time where it felt nothing new. Even so, it was happy. Its holder might not lead the most exciting of lives, but it had always new things to explore and touch. It was particularly fond of that warm piece of wood—the wand. It felt different from anything else it had touched. The wand felt just as sentient as it, if in a different way.

This night, though, there was something different; it could feel it. Every so often, there would be this static all over it, which usually meant that others like its holder were around. This night, the static was so intense that it actually created a constant, impossible to scratch itch. There were many around, and its holder was going through a lot of effort to stay completely still. It could not explore, it could not touch, and for something that had very little other senses to speak off, it was feeling more than a little trapped.

The noise dropped abruptly.

It could feel something wash over them, and it felt unclean. Then, the noise was back tenfold. It heard screams and shouts and crying, far clearer than anything else it had ever heard before. It wanted nothing more than to cover its ears, but it had no ears, and nothing to cover them, even if it'd had them. It could do nothing but let those harsh sounds invade every inch of its consciousness.

Then… then there was something new.

Whatever it was, it was warm. Sticky and fluid and gooey. It was all over it, and if it could, it would have gagged.

His holder laughed—a vicious, cruel sound that he had never heard before. A scream followed as it felt himself wrap around something soft, delicate. Hands grasped at it desperately, trying to pull it off, but it just kept on squeezing.

It felt a frantic beat against its palm, slowly losing strength, until it was no more.

Things had been different since that night. It found no joy in exploring any longer. How could it, when its holder made it do such things? It had lost count of the number of lives it had taken.

It had never wanted to know what blood felt like, how fragile human bones truly were, or how the last beat of a person's heart stuttered.

It hated all of it, and there was nothing it could do. Oh, it tried. It tried so hard. But it could never do anything at all.

Since that night, sound was coming through better. It would have been perfectly happy with muffled screams and cries of anguish. Now, though, it was as if they were there with it, and the sounds reverberated through its consciousness in an endless loop.

"This hand is amazing!" it heard its holder exclaim, and in any other situation, it would have been happy to be so appreciated. Not now, though. It wanted nothing more than to scream back: "Hey! Don't objectify me. I am so much more than your hand! I am alive! I have a consciousness! I am myself!"

But it couldn't. It was alone with its thoughts, drowning in anguished screams.

It was going to the dungeons, the place it liked least. The screams were always louder there.

"Why do I have to do this? Why not get a house-elf to do it? They can't boss me around."

Its holder was grumbling all the way, and if it could have, it would have scoffed. "I'm not so good with advice. Can I interest you in a sarcastic comment?" it would have told them. It had become quite good at those. Again, though, its holder heard nothing, and it was left to its own thoughts.

It felt itself open a door, and it knew what was coming. It could already feel the soft flesh it were wrapped around, the frantic beating of a heart.

"You're going to kill me?"

Yes, it was.

"After I saved your life? You owe me, Wormtail!"

It faltered for a moment. This boy had saved its holder's life? Then why was its holder trying to kill him? Why? Why was it forced to do this day after day? It didn't want that. It was done. It was tired, so tired. It just wanted to rest. It wanted everything to be over.

It felt itself wrap around soft flesh once again, its holder trying to pry it off.

One more life, then it could rest.

A.N.: Well, we had a complicated prompt this round, I quite envied the other teams. Really, guys, a hand? Anyhow, we did he best we could with what we had. Hope it didn't turn out too bad. Thanks to the wonderful Lokilette, Kefalion, and 3cheersforidiots for beta-ing :)