My slashnotsmut Fic!
Nov. 10th, 2006 03:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lurkittyThis is the fic I wrote for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hpslashnotsmut. Many thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fiona_fawkes and anasuede for a well-run community once again!!
Here's another plug to go and read Not a Tale of Thumbelina byraegan1, for it will make you smile!
Fic: Pixy-led formeshell_mybell
Title: Pixy-led
Author:lurkitty
Giftee:meshell_mybell
Characters/Pairing: Draco/Faeries/?
Rating: G
Word Count: 1930
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my exceedingly patient betafiona_fawkes. Pixy-led is an old term referring to being in the thrall of faeries. Concrit is welcome!
Summary:When Draco Malfoy tries to make himself scarce, he has an interesting encounter.
Fading into the crowd in a large city like London seems like a good idea when on the lam and in need of a place to lay low. But Draco Malfoy soon found that there were more eyes on him, not less, both human and non-human. He did not like the fact that a loudspeaker yelled at him when he stubbed his fag on a sidewalk one day. He looked up at the ever-present video cameras perched on the light stanchions and realized
that there could very well be squibs or even witches or wizards behind them looking for him and others like him. The fact that he needed to leave was obvious, and do so in the least conspicuous manner his limited means would allow.
It was simply a matter of catching a train. Of course, the exposure of waiting in the open at Euston Station was a bit risky, but Draco needed to leave London, and there was less likelihood of meeting someone from the wizarding world there than at King's Cross. Lifting a ticket from an unwary Muggle was child's play. He found that he was destined to leave within half an hour for a place called Manchester. Checking a map, he found that it was a suitable distance from his present location, and had the advantage of bringing him close to Liverpool.
Settling into a corner, he studied the waiting Muggles. He noted with wry amusement his recent victim frantically searching for the stolen ticket, then rushing back along the route gazing futilely at the station floor. The man obviously had the means to replace the ticket, given the fine cut of his suit. Draco had never waited in a rail station before.
His family had always gone to Kings Cross only minutes before the Hogwarts Express departed to save having to mingle with their inferiors. It was quite amusing now to watch the Muggles scurry about self-importantly with their satchels and bundles. Even more amusing was the fact that, if one were to believe the sign painted on the front,
some of the trains were, apparently, virgins.
Though Draco was amused, he was alert. His eyes flicked from one entrance to the other with mechanical precision, ready to bolt for his chosen exit the moment he caught a glimpse of anyone he knew.
At length, the train arrived and Draco found himself directed into a car. He did his best impression of a shiftless stranger of the sort every mother warns her child never to sit next to on a train; mussing his hair, he assumed a slouch and a blank, menacing gaze. He soon found himself the sole occupant of the compartment without a seatmate.
He settled into his seat, arranging his cloak like a blanket. He closed his eyes and feigned sleep, opening them occasionally to see who had entered or left the compartment. There was too much tension in him from nearly being spotted to really settle down. He was trying to distance not only his body but his mind from what he had just experienced. Station after station passed, the train lumbered on.
Draco caught occasional snippets of conversation. A pair of older gentlemen were conversing quietly in Welsh. They stopped each time someone walked by as though it was their private language. Three girls were joking and whispering at one table, occasionally erupting in giggles. His stomach growled as he smelled someone's pasty, heavy with onions.
He sensed movement and opened his eyes. A dark haired man was walking up
the aisle. The clothes were wrong and the gait was wrong. But the man's hair was disheveled in a delightfully familiar way. Draco began relaxing into thoughts of a dark-haired boy; one he had not wished to admit feelings for at a time when he was only beginning to acknowledge feelings for other boys.
The loudspeaker dashed his reverie, announcing the station he had been waiting for. While his ticket said Manchester, Draco got off at Stockport. When he looked at the map earlier, he had realized that Manchester might be too heavily populated to enter by day. His experience in London had taught him caution. He would find a suitable place to sleep and enter by night, and from there, to Liverpool and perhaps a boat to Canada.
After quitting the train, Draco set off down the road out of town, pausing only to use the last of his Muggle funds to buy a cup of tea. It was not good tea, but it revived him somewhat. He then set off on the road leading out of town and into vast sheep fields. He had left London around six that morning. It was now near nine, and the sun was beginning to beat down on him. Thin threads of clouds unraveled in the clear blue sky.
He walked along until fatigue demanded he find a resting place. Not wishing to be discovered by inquisitive sheep or shepherds, Malfoy carefully chose a field uninhabited by livestock for his nap. This meant in terms of rotation, however, that his bed was more dirt than grass in the moment. Yet he felt secure enough behind the sturdy rock wall that hid him from view of the road to try to sleep for the first time in more
than three days.
He lay down, moving at once to avoid the inevitable tuft of crabgrass beneath his lower back. He settled into a small depression, as comfortable as he was going to be here. His mind continued to work even as his body cried for rest, alert to every sound; the distant tinkle of a bell, the voice of a sheep, the flutter of a bird nearby transforming
into battle sounds in his tired brain. Somehow there was enough brimstone left in his sinuses to transform the smell of sheep dung into something more sinister, somehow, though he knew he was alone, he felt someone watching, someone creeping up on his position.
Though he was warm in the sun, he began to shake. He pulled his cloak tightly around himself, clutching his wand, and huddled next to the wall. He took deep breaths, trying to think of anything other than war and spells and death.
Hogwarts. There was that day in the corridor, the way the sun shone in the window on the contours of the other's face. Draco truly saw him for the first time. There was light in those eyes, light and unspoken sadness that drew him over and over to that face. That night he had dreamed his first dream of his dark-haired love. The shaking subsided as
Draco fell into a gentle slumber chasing dreams.
“OW!” Draco yelled, inadvertently as he grasped his temple. It felt as though someone had pelted him with a rock. “Hey!” He shouted, and sat up as another hit the hand covering his temple. “Stop it!” He glanced around for the perpetrators.
A stone clocked him squarely on top of his head. He saw stars. “What th..?” He looked upward, only to find three Faeries fluttering above. “Took you long enough!” said one, giggling in a manner that sounded something between the trickling of water and breaking glass.
“What's the idea clobbering me? What'd I do to you?” Draco was furious.
This display of anger seemed to amuse the three even more. All three erupted in giggles, sounding like tinkling wind chimes excited by a coming storm. “We saw what you did! We've been following you. You can't get away from us!”
Draco rubbed his eyes in exasperation. He knew faeries had some limited powers, but doubted these three could take on a full-fledged wizard. That they would try was nonsensical. “Look, just go away and let me alone. I'm really not in a mood to play today.” Draco kept his voice even, but commanding.
“Oh, we're not playing," said the first faerie. “We're quite serious. We saw what you did back there during the battle. We want you to account for your actions.”
“I don't have to account for myself to some faeries!” Draco's voice was losing its evenness. He brandished his wand. “You leave me no choice: go away or I use this.”
The faeries' joy erupted into aerial maneuvers in time with their giggles. “Oh, please, Mr. Malfoy, don't be so silly! You'll make us laugh so hard, we'll hurt ourselves! We know you won't use that. You're running away! If you use it, they'll find you and you'll get caught.” Each faerie came to rest in a different position on the stone wall beside Draco. “Now, Mr. Malfoy, tell us why you switched and started fighting on our side, and maybe we might help you escape your former Master.”
Perhaps it was his state of exhaustion, perhaps the faeries exerted some force over him of which he was unaware but he felt compelled to answer, compelled to tell them how much it sickened him to see his powerful father grovel before the hideous Lord Voldemort. The Lucius Malfoy was trembling in fear of punishment and debasing himself for slivers of praise. He saw Lord Voldemort again and again promising power
and allowing only servitude. Draco spoke of his realization that the people he was being asked to kill had only told him the truth while Lord Voldemort had lied all along. Instead of being a mere pawn, Draco had rebelled and killed his comrades. He fled and felt as though he was being hunted by both sides.
The telling was cleansing, and he found himself weeping and shaken. Through it all, the faeries listened intently, nodding here and there, scowling at mentions of Lord Voldemort and his actions. In the end, the first faerie rose up in the air in front of Draco and proclaimed, “I must say, you've convinced us. But we'll have to take your story
elsewhere. Be a dear...” The faerie puffed in his face and Draco fell fast asleep to the words, “and wait for us here.”
Draco awoke and stretched his arm only to find it encumbered. He found himself chained loosely to a bed in a small room. He searched in vain for some clue as to his whereabouts, but only spied a chair and his cloak hanging on a peg on the wall. Its presence was comforting, signaling that he might have a chance of release. Why keep it and hang it up if he was meant to be disposed of?
The door opened. When Draco saw who entered, he was speechless.
“I see you are awake, Malfoy.” The familiar dark-haired fellow crossed the room and sat in the single chair. His voice was grave and accusatory. “I must admit that when we found you unconscious on the battlefield there were many among us who wanted to kill you and be done with it. But reports have emerged you were fighting on our side. Explain yourself.”
Draco buried his face in his hands. A wave of nausea hit him as his head spun. They found him on the battlefield? That was weeks ago! His mind was racing, thinking about his escape, the train to Manchester, the faeries...his hand touched a welt on top of his head and recalled a well-placed stone. He breathed deeply, steadying himself. He would never underestimate faeries again. He was left with only one thing to do.
Draco slowly looked up into those eyes that held both light and sadness and retold his tale.
hpslashnotsmut. Many thanks to fiona_fawkes and anasuede for a well-run community once again!!Here's another plug to go and read Not a Tale of Thumbelina by
raegan1, for it will make you smile!Fic: Pixy-led for
meshell_mybellTitle: Pixy-led
Author:
lurkittyGiftee:
meshell_mybellCharacters/Pairing: Draco/Faeries/?
Rating: G
Word Count: 1930
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my exceedingly patient beta
fiona_fawkes. Pixy-led is an old term referring to being in the thrall of faeries. Concrit is welcome! Summary:When Draco Malfoy tries to make himself scarce, he has an interesting encounter.
Fading into the crowd in a large city like London seems like a good idea when on the lam and in need of a place to lay low. But Draco Malfoy soon found that there were more eyes on him, not less, both human and non-human. He did not like the fact that a loudspeaker yelled at him when he stubbed his fag on a sidewalk one day. He looked up at the ever-present video cameras perched on the light stanchions and realized
that there could very well be squibs or even witches or wizards behind them looking for him and others like him. The fact that he needed to leave was obvious, and do so in the least conspicuous manner his limited means would allow.
It was simply a matter of catching a train. Of course, the exposure of waiting in the open at Euston Station was a bit risky, but Draco needed to leave London, and there was less likelihood of meeting someone from the wizarding world there than at King's Cross. Lifting a ticket from an unwary Muggle was child's play. He found that he was destined to leave within half an hour for a place called Manchester. Checking a map, he found that it was a suitable distance from his present location, and had the advantage of bringing him close to Liverpool.
Settling into a corner, he studied the waiting Muggles. He noted with wry amusement his recent victim frantically searching for the stolen ticket, then rushing back along the route gazing futilely at the station floor. The man obviously had the means to replace the ticket, given the fine cut of his suit. Draco had never waited in a rail station before.
His family had always gone to Kings Cross only minutes before the Hogwarts Express departed to save having to mingle with their inferiors. It was quite amusing now to watch the Muggles scurry about self-importantly with their satchels and bundles. Even more amusing was the fact that, if one were to believe the sign painted on the front,
some of the trains were, apparently, virgins.
Though Draco was amused, he was alert. His eyes flicked from one entrance to the other with mechanical precision, ready to bolt for his chosen exit the moment he caught a glimpse of anyone he knew.
At length, the train arrived and Draco found himself directed into a car. He did his best impression of a shiftless stranger of the sort every mother warns her child never to sit next to on a train; mussing his hair, he assumed a slouch and a blank, menacing gaze. He soon found himself the sole occupant of the compartment without a seatmate.
He settled into his seat, arranging his cloak like a blanket. He closed his eyes and feigned sleep, opening them occasionally to see who had entered or left the compartment. There was too much tension in him from nearly being spotted to really settle down. He was trying to distance not only his body but his mind from what he had just experienced. Station after station passed, the train lumbered on.
Draco caught occasional snippets of conversation. A pair of older gentlemen were conversing quietly in Welsh. They stopped each time someone walked by as though it was their private language. Three girls were joking and whispering at one table, occasionally erupting in giggles. His stomach growled as he smelled someone's pasty, heavy with onions.
He sensed movement and opened his eyes. A dark haired man was walking up
the aisle. The clothes were wrong and the gait was wrong. But the man's hair was disheveled in a delightfully familiar way. Draco began relaxing into thoughts of a dark-haired boy; one he had not wished to admit feelings for at a time when he was only beginning to acknowledge feelings for other boys.
The loudspeaker dashed his reverie, announcing the station he had been waiting for. While his ticket said Manchester, Draco got off at Stockport. When he looked at the map earlier, he had realized that Manchester might be too heavily populated to enter by day. His experience in London had taught him caution. He would find a suitable place to sleep and enter by night, and from there, to Liverpool and perhaps a boat to Canada.
After quitting the train, Draco set off down the road out of town, pausing only to use the last of his Muggle funds to buy a cup of tea. It was not good tea, but it revived him somewhat. He then set off on the road leading out of town and into vast sheep fields. He had left London around six that morning. It was now near nine, and the sun was beginning to beat down on him. Thin threads of clouds unraveled in the clear blue sky.
He walked along until fatigue demanded he find a resting place. Not wishing to be discovered by inquisitive sheep or shepherds, Malfoy carefully chose a field uninhabited by livestock for his nap. This meant in terms of rotation, however, that his bed was more dirt than grass in the moment. Yet he felt secure enough behind the sturdy rock wall that hid him from view of the road to try to sleep for the first time in more
than three days.
He lay down, moving at once to avoid the inevitable tuft of crabgrass beneath his lower back. He settled into a small depression, as comfortable as he was going to be here. His mind continued to work even as his body cried for rest, alert to every sound; the distant tinkle of a bell, the voice of a sheep, the flutter of a bird nearby transforming
into battle sounds in his tired brain. Somehow there was enough brimstone left in his sinuses to transform the smell of sheep dung into something more sinister, somehow, though he knew he was alone, he felt someone watching, someone creeping up on his position.
Though he was warm in the sun, he began to shake. He pulled his cloak tightly around himself, clutching his wand, and huddled next to the wall. He took deep breaths, trying to think of anything other than war and spells and death.
Hogwarts. There was that day in the corridor, the way the sun shone in the window on the contours of the other's face. Draco truly saw him for the first time. There was light in those eyes, light and unspoken sadness that drew him over and over to that face. That night he had dreamed his first dream of his dark-haired love. The shaking subsided as
Draco fell into a gentle slumber chasing dreams.
“OW!” Draco yelled, inadvertently as he grasped his temple. It felt as though someone had pelted him with a rock. “Hey!” He shouted, and sat up as another hit the hand covering his temple. “Stop it!” He glanced around for the perpetrators.
A stone clocked him squarely on top of his head. He saw stars. “What th..?” He looked upward, only to find three Faeries fluttering above. “Took you long enough!” said one, giggling in a manner that sounded something between the trickling of water and breaking glass.
“What's the idea clobbering me? What'd I do to you?” Draco was furious.
This display of anger seemed to amuse the three even more. All three erupted in giggles, sounding like tinkling wind chimes excited by a coming storm. “We saw what you did! We've been following you. You can't get away from us!”
Draco rubbed his eyes in exasperation. He knew faeries had some limited powers, but doubted these three could take on a full-fledged wizard. That they would try was nonsensical. “Look, just go away and let me alone. I'm really not in a mood to play today.” Draco kept his voice even, but commanding.
“Oh, we're not playing," said the first faerie. “We're quite serious. We saw what you did back there during the battle. We want you to account for your actions.”
“I don't have to account for myself to some faeries!” Draco's voice was losing its evenness. He brandished his wand. “You leave me no choice: go away or I use this.”
The faeries' joy erupted into aerial maneuvers in time with their giggles. “Oh, please, Mr. Malfoy, don't be so silly! You'll make us laugh so hard, we'll hurt ourselves! We know you won't use that. You're running away! If you use it, they'll find you and you'll get caught.” Each faerie came to rest in a different position on the stone wall beside Draco. “Now, Mr. Malfoy, tell us why you switched and started fighting on our side, and maybe we might help you escape your former Master.”
Perhaps it was his state of exhaustion, perhaps the faeries exerted some force over him of which he was unaware but he felt compelled to answer, compelled to tell them how much it sickened him to see his powerful father grovel before the hideous Lord Voldemort. The Lucius Malfoy was trembling in fear of punishment and debasing himself for slivers of praise. He saw Lord Voldemort again and again promising power
and allowing only servitude. Draco spoke of his realization that the people he was being asked to kill had only told him the truth while Lord Voldemort had lied all along. Instead of being a mere pawn, Draco had rebelled and killed his comrades. He fled and felt as though he was being hunted by both sides.
The telling was cleansing, and he found himself weeping and shaken. Through it all, the faeries listened intently, nodding here and there, scowling at mentions of Lord Voldemort and his actions. In the end, the first faerie rose up in the air in front of Draco and proclaimed, “I must say, you've convinced us. But we'll have to take your story
elsewhere. Be a dear...” The faerie puffed in his face and Draco fell fast asleep to the words, “and wait for us here.”
Draco awoke and stretched his arm only to find it encumbered. He found himself chained loosely to a bed in a small room. He searched in vain for some clue as to his whereabouts, but only spied a chair and his cloak hanging on a peg on the wall. Its presence was comforting, signaling that he might have a chance of release. Why keep it and hang it up if he was meant to be disposed of?
The door opened. When Draco saw who entered, he was speechless.
“I see you are awake, Malfoy.” The familiar dark-haired fellow crossed the room and sat in the single chair. His voice was grave and accusatory. “I must admit that when we found you unconscious on the battlefield there were many among us who wanted to kill you and be done with it. But reports have emerged you were fighting on our side. Explain yourself.”
Draco buried his face in his hands. A wave of nausea hit him as his head spun. They found him on the battlefield? That was weeks ago! His mind was racing, thinking about his escape, the train to Manchester, the faeries...his hand touched a welt on top of his head and recalled a well-placed stone. He breathed deeply, steadying himself. He would never underestimate faeries again. He was left with only one thing to do.
Draco slowly looked up into those eyes that held both light and sadness and retold his tale.
