Nanoquin

Harry Potter fic snippet

2008-12-26T01:11:37Z

For minisinoo, based off her request over here: a scene that should be (and maybe eventually will be) part of something larger. Unfortunately for the rest of the fic, my brain has been eaten by Merlin.

Short version of the setup: Canon-compliant through the end of Deathly Hallows (not including epilogue) EXCEPT Cedric didn't die in Goblet of Fire. Pettigrew mis-cast the spell, and instead of killing Cedric, the Killing Curse threw him into a coma. About five years later, he woke up, and this happens some time after that.

Cedric & Harry go out for a drink. Mention of Harry/Ginny.

Cedric wasn't really sure why he was sitting in a Muggle pub waiting for Harry Potter.

He'd gotten an owl from Harry last Tuesday suggesting that they go out for drinks one night after work. Cedric had been surprised, as he and Harry weren't really 'go out for a pint and a lark' close, but he agreed readily enough. After a bit of to-ing and fro-ing, they'd settled on the time and place. Cedric had arrived slightly early, Apparating to the alley behind the bar, and had gone ahead and ordered a pint from the bartender. He sat back, sipping at the foamy drink, and took the time to survey the room.

Cedric wasn't sure why Harry had chosen a Muggle pub over a wizarding one. Cedric could have just as easily met him at the Three Broomsticks or the Hog's Head if Harry had wanted to stay in Hogsmeade, or at the Leaky since he'd apparently felt like coming to London. On the other hand, it gave Cedric a chance to watch Muggles in their natural environment, and he always found that somewhat interesting.

At the moment, the dingy pub was sparsely populated. Besides himself and the scowling bartender, there were a handful of men clearly just done with work at a table in front of the window, discussing the latest game enthusiastically, and a rather morose-looking chap halfway down the bar. Cedric was looking at the collection of 'Oh Goodness, My Guiness!" advertisements behind the bar and half-listening to the table behind him arguing about Man U, whatever that was, when Harry plopped down on the stool next to him.

Cedric turned to Harry, smiling. "Harry! How are you?"

"Sorry I'm running late," Harry said breathlessly. "We got in the latest batch of Unplottable Pests and one got lose. Giselle and I spent the last hour chasing it round and round the shop." He caught the bartender's eye and pointed to Cedric's beer. "Anyway, how was your day?"

Cedric laughed at that image. "Not as exciting as yours, apparently! So, what happened?"

Harry launched into an animated retelling of the incident, ending with "So then I'm chasing the little bugger with a broom and yelling my head off and Giselle finally gets the bloody crate open again and in he goes, obediant as can be, like we didn't just about destroy the whole shop trying to chase him down!"

Cedric laughs helplessly at the look on Harry's face, remembered frustration mixing with amusement in retrospect. "Oh, that must've been a sight!"

Harry shrugs, grinning. "Yeah. Giselle made a smart remark about my face being the color of a Weasley's hair."

Cedric snorted. "Just about, from the sound of it!"

Suddenly serious, Harry shifted uncomfortably. "So, uh, Cedric." He paused, hunching into himself.

"Yeah?" Cedric raised an eyebrow questioningly. He had no idea what had just changed the mood, but Harry's evident amusement of a moment ago had vanished completely.

"Well," Harry hesitated, apparently seeking the right words. "I wanted to ask you..."

Cedric made an encouraging noise, tilting his head to indicate his attentiveness. Harry, however, didn't continue, Instead, he suddenly seemed to find his glass fascinating, tilting his glass back and forth, staring into it's depths like the pint might spontanetously offer up the meaning of life. The silence stretched on as Cedric watched him and waited for Harry to look up or speak or in any way indicate that he remembered Cedric's presence.

Finally, when it had been long enough that Cedric was considering giving up and saying something, Harry sighed. "Sometimes I think you're so lucky."

Cedric blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Harry shrugged and took a swig of his pint, staring into the middle distance. "I mean, not, yanno..." He trailed off awkwardly. "It's just that you've figured out what you're doing and don't compromise it. You've taken what you had and made it work. And look at you. You seem so... contented."

Cedric tried not to choke on his own beer. "Uh, Harry, I know I don't need to remind you that things have not exactly worked all that well so far."

Harry's eyes snapped back to Cedric's face and he looked mildly horrified. "Oh, no, I didn't mean-! I... Uh. Sorry, that wasn't really--"

Cedric took a sip to hide his expression. "It's ok, Harry. I know you didn't. Anyway, what's got you so..." He gestured. "I thought things were going pretty well for you these days. You've got the store, and Ginny..."

Harry examined the surface of the bar, tracing his fingers over the pits and scars of years of use. "I'mhavingsecondthoughtsaboutthewedding," he said, all in a rush.

Cedric blinked again. "Sorry, come again?"

Harry looked miserable. "The wedding. I'm not really sure..." He trailed off. Cedric suddenly understood why Harry was talking to him, rather than to any of his closer friends - most of whose name ended in "Weasley". And, for that matter, why he might not've wanted to drop that particular tidbit at a Wizarding pub; Harry might not be embracing his role as Hero of the Second Wizarding World these days, but most of the Wizarding world would still just love to hear juicy gossip about The Boy Who Lived. Cedric was a little surprised that Harry felt comfortable confiding in him.

"Oh. Uh," he said intelligently.

Harry's shoulders dropped. "I know." He started tracing the condensation his glass had left on the bar.

Cedric signalled for another drink.

"Like... second thoughts as in cold feet, or like... for real?" He knew he was out of his depth here. In fact, he was pretty sure he was the last person whose advice should be asked for this sort of thing. It had never really been something that had come up in his life. Mercifully, he supposed.

Harry seized his new pint gratefully. "I don't know." He spoke quickly and half into his glass as he lifted it, in a hurry to drink more.

"Harry..." Cedric tried to think of something useful to say. "Wouldn't one of your other friends be better for this? Like, uh, Hermione?" While not precisely helpful, passing the buck did have a certain appeal.

"Uh. Well." Harry looked embarassed, which was at least a change from miserable. "She's sort of busy, with school and Krum and all. I don't want to bother her."

Cedric wasn't sure how he felt about the fact that Harry apparently didn't have a problem bothering him. "I'm sure she would want to help you out, Harry. You're best friends."

Harry brightened slightly. "You're probably right. It's just that she and Ginny get along, and with the stuff with Ron... I don't want to make anything worse."

Cedric supposed that made some sense, at least. He thought about it as he finished off his second pint. "Okay, so... if you don't want to marry Ginny--"

"Shh!" Harry glanced around nervously, even though no one nearby had any idea who they were.

"--why did you propose?" Cedric finished reasonably.

Harry sighed gustily. "I 'spose... it seemed like the thing to do?"

Cedric raised an eyebrow.

Harry deflated again. "No, really. I mean, we've been going for years, and everyone just assumed I would, you know? Mrs Weasley's been dropping hints about how good it will be when I'm finally part of the family for real, and after Lavendar got married last year Ginny seemed like she was waiting, and..." He stared morosely into the bottom of his now-empty glass. Cedric wondered if it was just the admittedly uncomfortable topic at hand or if he normally only held eye contact for three minutes at a time. "It just seemed like the thing to do," he finished lamely.

Cedric raised the other eyebrow for good measure. "Well. Then the question is, do you want to marry her?" he asked bluntly.

Harry gulped. "Well, I mean..." he prevaricated.

"Do you want to spend the rest of your life with the girl? Because if you don't, marrying her because it's expected of you isn't really doing her any favors." Cedric would have thought that was obvious, but clearly it needed to be said.

Harry stared blankly at the rows of bottles behind the bar. "I... don't know." Cedric might've made some noise in disbelief, because Harry refocuses on him. "I really don't know. It's all tangled up."

"Well, then. Sounds like that's what you've got to figure out." Cedric thumped Harry on the shoulder, looking for a quick escape. "And on that note, I've got to be going. Dinner plans, you know." He wasn't going to mention that his dinner plans were feeding his cat.

Harry nodded quickly. "Of course. Thanks for making the time to see me."

"That makes it sound like a doctor's appointment." Cedric shrugged on his coat and tossed a handful of coins onto the bar. "It was hardly an imposition."

Harry grinned sheepishly and looked at the floor. "Yeah, well... thanks."

Cedric laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Really, Harry," he said seriously. "It was no problem. Let's get together again soon, yeah?"

Harry nodded. "I'd like that."

Cedric smiled. "Well, bye then!" He turned and left the bar, shrugging to himself at the way Harry stood there and watched him go. Clearly the guy had a lot on his mind.

He turned the corner outside into the alleyway beside the bar, and once hidden by the dumpsters, took a step and turned quickly to Apparate home, leaving the puzzle that was Harry Potter behind.

It was time to feed his cat.

Nano 2008, post 2; The Little White House (count: 2350)

2008-11-09T06:08:19Z

The sun came blaring in Luke's window, bright and golden and insistant. He groaned and turned over, hiding his face against his pillow. The sun did not abate, only grew stronger and more demanding the more he tried to ignore it. He tried pulling his pillow over his head, but that was a little too undignified even for him, so at last he admitted defeat and opened his eyes, blinking against the bright light.

"Really, is it morning ALREADY?" he groaned. He thought again about mashing his pillow over his head, but the sun was so bright and cheerful, and the sky outside such a brilliant blue, that at last he decided he couldn't possibly put off conciousness any longer. Besides, the birds outside his window were loud and irritating and giving him no peace.

Sluggishly, he forced himself to sit up against his headboard. It was hard and pressed unpleasantly into his back, but at least he was slightly less likely to fall back asleep than if he remained lying prone. He sat there, blinking and trying to reorder the jumbled images in his mind. He had dreamed, a most vivid dream, but even as he tried to recall it the details faded away into a series of random images. There had been a girl, and a great battle...

But even as he tried, it was gone, scattered into the corners of his mind. He knew there had been a girl, and that she has been beautiful beyond all measure, with the most vivid eyes... They had been blue, like the sky. No, wait. Maybe they had been brown.

Ah, well, he thought. This is a lovely waste of time. He shook his head to dispel what was left of the dream and pulled the blankets away from his body, slinging his legs over the side of the bed at the same time. As his feet touched the rough floorboards, he yelped. He had forgotten, in sleep and all his musings about dreams, the blisters he had sustained the day before, hauling precious wood home from the train station.

He straightened his shoulders determinedly and forced himself to put full weight on both feet, wincing at the pressure. He took one step, then another. The day's work wouldn't wait for him to dally, whining about a little blister or two.

After he had dressed, splashed a little water on his face and relieved himself, he emerged from his room into the main room of the house, as bare and whitewashed as his bedroom. Its only contents are a rough-hewn table, big enough to seat 8 easily, a stove set into one wall, and a butcher-block counter with a pail of water beside it. Its only occupant is an older woman, with a kind face etched deeply with lines, who is sweeping dust out the open front door. She looks up as Luke enters, smiling tiredly.

"I thought you'd sleep all morning! I know you wore yourself out yesterday with all that lumber, but even so." But her tone is indulgent, and she doesn't frown.

He crosses to her side, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Oh, Aunt May. I'm sorry. I had no idea it had gotten so late. You should've woken me!"

"I thought you needed the sleep. Besides, the boys are out in the fields and Richard came by to see what he could make of all that fine wood. I didn't see any harm in letting you sleep. But I bet you're hungry, now."

Luke was about to protest when his stomach rumbled loudly. He smiled sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his head casually. "Well, alright. Maybe just a bit."

May smiled again and handed him the broom, wiping her hands on her apron as she crossed the room to the counter. She put a kettle on the stove and added a cast iron frying pan, tossing several strips of bacon into it. They sizzled as the pan heated up.

Luke went outside and relieved himself around the side of the house, and when he came back in and sat down at the table she set a plate down before him, with a fried egg, bacon, and thick slices of toast smeared with honey. She also set down a large steaming mug.

He gratefully took a long drag of the tea, hoping it would perk him up - he still felt strangely sluggish, as though sleep had not yet fully let him go - and dug into the meal with relish. Aunt May watched him with a fond look, sitting down across the table from him and waiting with folded hands. At first, he was too busy devouring the contents of the plate to notice the strangeness of this, but presently he finished sopping up the last of the egg with the last of his bread and looked up to see her watching him silently. She looked uncharacteristically sad, as though he had looked up and surprised her in a moment of melancholy.

As soon as she saw him watching her, she smiled, but this time the smile did not reach her eyes, which were distinctly worried.

"Aunt May, what's wrong?" Luke was concerned. His aunt was a cheerful woman, one who rarely let the worries of her life keep her from cheerfulness, who always put an upbeat face on everything, no matter how dire. Why, the time Luke had put the pitchfork through his calf, she had been smiling and joking with him to keep him from worrying. It hadn't even seemed that forced once she'd been sure it had gone through cleanly and not hit anything vital.

She bit her lower lip and looked at him, searching his face as though looking for something. "I've received a letter." She stopped, looking uncertain.

Luke waited. He had no idea where this was going.

She took a deep fortifying breath and tried again. "I've received a letter. From your father."

Luke made a small noise. "My father?" His brain whirled. He had not heard from his father in years, not since... but his mind shied away from that thought and wherever it lead.

Aunt May nodded. "Your father. He asks... He says it's time." Her voice died in a small sob, and she fished in her apron pocket for a kerchief.

Luke got up and came around the table to her, taking the kerchief from her and dabbing at her eyes gently. "Time for what, Aunt May? I don't understand."

She waved a hand at him and reached into her apron again. This time she produced a letter, which she put on the table and took back the kerchief. "Sit, sit, it's all... it's explained in there."

So, not knowing what else to do, Luke returned to his seat and picked up the letter. Opening it, he found a short, hastily scrawled note in an unfamiliar hand. It read:

My Dear Em,

I know that this is the note you've been waiting for, either eagerly or with dread, for many years now. I hope that, now the time has come, you do not regret the deal we made.

I appreciate all you have done for us and for the boy, but now you must send him to me with all haste. It's no longer wise for things to remain as they have.

I hope that all is well with you, and that he is ready.

Signed, this day the 17th of Juno in the Year of the Badger, 483 PF,
CR

Luke stared at the note uncomprehendingly. This made no sense. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand. Send me where? To whom? This..." He trailed off in bafflement. Aunt May could not seriously mean to send him away, could she? He must have misunderstood. There must be some other boy. He said so, but even as she stopped dabbing her eyes to shake her head, he knew he was wrong. There was no one else, so clearly it must refer to him.

"Oh, my dear boy..." She clutched at his hand, lying on the table between them. "I know I should have told you sooner, but it seemed for the best. There was never a chance... it always seemed so far away, and now suddenly there is no time left to explain."

And with that, she stuffed her kerchief back into her apron and rose from her seat. "Well, as there's nothing to be done about it, you'll just have to go pack. You'll want your pocket knife and your compass, your good sturdy boots, and a sweater. Bring whatever you think you'll need, but pack light enough to travel on your own feet. I'd send Tillie with you, but I just can't afford to lose both you and her." As she spoke, she was already puttering about the small kitchen, pulling things from drawers and cabinets, while Luke stared after her in complete shock.

She looked up and noticed this. "Well, get on with it! There's no time to waste."

Luke jumped up to obey automatically, but he couldn't stop his mind racing. He had no idea what was going on, but he couldn't imagine not doing as told, especially when Aunt May ordered so directly. He went into his little white room, still bright with morning sunshine, and leaned back against the door once he's shut it. He had no idea what to think, but after a moment of breathing in and out he went directly to the chest at the foot of his bed and got out his pack. It was mildly travelstained but not yet worn in the least - it had been a gift from Aunt May at his birthday only a year past - and it had room enough, he was sure, for whatever he could wish to take.

After a moment of gaping around, wondering which of his belongings should be brought and which would weigh him down - Aunt May's warning about traveling on his already weary feet ringing in his ears - he started by pulling out his sweater, a change of clothes, and his compass, as she had suggested. The pocket knife was on his bedside table, and he added this to the growing pile on his bed. To this he then added his duck whistle, (and other stuff that would be useful which I will figure out TOMORROW).

Suddenly worrying that if he kept going, he should think of a use for every single item in his room and then be unable to leave without any of them, Luke removed a few items (his extra pair of pants, a bobbin, (some other stuff)) and then shoved the rest into his pack without looking.

He paused for a moment at his door, looking back at the room he had spent all his childhood in and wondering if he would ever see it again. Then, he turned and opened the door, stepping through determinedly.

He emerged to find Aunt May hovering worriedly, clearly torn between giving him a few moments more and hurrying him along. She was holding a bag he presumed contained food - a quick glance inside showed a loaf of bread and a round of cheese - and something oddly shaped strung on a string, half-hidden in her hand. She pressed the sack of food into his hand and looped the string around his neck, tucking whatever hung on it under his shirt, patting it into place. "This will tell you when magic is afoot."

Luke, already overcome by confusion, merely nodded and shoved the bag of food into his already somewhat stuffed pack. Aunt May led him to the door and gently pushed him out onto the front step.

"Know that... know that you have always been a great help to me, and a great comfort, and..." Here she paused, overcome for a moment. "And that I love you very much and that you always have a home here, whatever happens."

Luke found his eyes filling with tears and wrapped his arms around her, this woman who had been his only family as long as he could remember. He had no idea what was happening, where he was going or why, but he was not happy to be leaving her.

After a long moment, she gently pushed him away. "Alright, love, that's enough. Now listen to me; this is important. In that bag I gave you is a map. You can look at it later. For now, you need to go to Clara's house, on the other side of the village, away from the railroad station. She knows you're coming, and can get you pointed the right way. It's very important no one in the village sees you go there, so you'll need to loop through the fields. It's nearly midday now, so most everyone will be inside for lunch, but you'll have to hurry so as to keep unseen. Can you do that?"

Luke nods. "Of course, Aunt May. But I don't--"

"I know, dear, but right now we just don't have time to explain. I've left you a note in that pack, and I want you to read it once you're safe at Clara's, if she thinks you've time. Not before, though - can't have you dawdling in the fields, trying to figure all this out. We're low on time. I do so wish it weren't so, but there it is."

Luke wrapped his arms around her tiny body once more. "Oh, Aunt May, must I go?"

She hugged him back. "Yes, my dear, you must. And you must go now, and quickly. Remember, to Clara's and let no one see you!" And with that she pushed him away again, kissing his cheek and pushing him the rest of the way out the door.

"I'll miss you!" He hoped his tone wasn't desperate, but was sure it was, even as he obediently began to walk across their little yard.

Aunt May's smile was sad. "I shall miss you, too, dear boy, and more than you know."

Luke's last impression of the little white house was Aunt May standing , looking sadly after him, framed by the doorway and flanked on either side by marigolds, flaming cheerfully along the front of the house as though this were a day like any other. Then he was rounding the edge of the barn and beginning to run, down behind the gentle slope behind the barn, past the startled cows, around the grain silo and out into their fields.

Nano 2008, post 1; Prelude: The Little House By The Stream (count: 125)

2008-11-08T05:48:54Z

There is a little house by a stream, deep in the wood where no one goes. It is a quiet house, a cozy house. It is also a waiting sort of house.

It has been years and many years since last smoke was seen to drift from its chimney, or laughter to issue from it's doorway. The little house has been alone for a long time now.

But still it sits, and waits.

And one day, not long before the beginning of our tale, the little house by the stream will sit up, so to speak, and straighten its walls and blink its shutters and shake just a few of the sparrows from their nests at its eves.

For the little house knows that soon, its waiting will be over.

In response to a meme...

2005-12-08T20:47:52Z

artaxastra posted the first line meme, and I just couldn't resist.

This is not a drabble, it's a snippet of a larger story which may or may not be written, and it isn't even vaguely polished -- I wrote it in a hurry, and was having trouble reconciling what I wanted to say with the words I could find.

That said, here's the snippet.

Once upon a time there were three sisters, all born in the same summer, all born in the same great palace beside the sea. The eldest was lovely, with flawless skin and waves of dark hair cascading down her back. She was strong and imperious and headstrong, and she was always first in everything. The middle was plain, prone to spots and uncontrollable hair, and her dark eyes seemed to swallow the light. She was friendly and pleasant, but there was something deep and still within her. The youngest was a true beauty, with laughing eyes and a kissable pout. Her smile lit up a room, and she was beloved of all who met her.