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Quizes and plot bunnies
Bored--bored bored bored... I am surviving on 4 hours of sleep. Kill me now--the damn plot bunnies...*sigh* If I didn't love my Draco!muse so damn much, I'd kill him...just because he doesn't need to sleep doesn't mean I don't. *sigh*
Your magical style is Angelic.
What type of Magic do you work?. Take the Magical Style Quiz by Paradox
You are a muse.
What legend are you?. Take the Legendary Being Quiz by Paradox
Oh, god, though. Everything is whacked...I've got a new plot bunny...unedited and a piece of crap (what else do you expect out of a typing marathon at 2 a.m.?)
Shadows edged along his vision, darting around him as sharp giggles reached his ears. Draco Malfoy took a deep breath, panting as he ran, tripping over roots and pulling himself up by sheer strength of will as he wavered, the threat of the Dementors squalling in his head like a cacophony of piercing hysteria. The forest was silent other than he and the remaining Dementors, and he fought back tears of panic at the thought. Had they gotten everyone? Severus? Ron? Even Ginny?
Draco rubbed his eyes furiously, weaving around the trees as he desperately searched for a way out. He had to warn the rest of the resistance--he had to warn Dumbledore and *Harry*--
A flash of energy came from behind him, blasting into his shoulder, and Draco went down with a cry of pain, clutching at the wound as he scrambled to his feet, pulling his wand out and circling uncertainly. The dark, misty figures of the Dementors surrounded him, coming ever closer...so close...
"Expecto Patronum!" Draco shouted, and a few of the Dementors squealed and cowered away from the translucent cougar that appeared. Draco watched eagerly for an opening--perhaps he *would* be able to give a message to the resistance--
"Not so fast!" screamed a familiar voice--but before Draco could decipher who it was, another blast of energy ripped through him, and everything went black.
~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~
Draco groaned, his neck and shoulder throbbing with his heartbeat. His hair was being stroked--his mother? No, no, it couldn't be...she was dead... He rose against the weakness residing in him and forced his eyelids open. And then he wished he could close them again.
It was his father, looking down at him sadly. "Ah, Draco...what have you gotten yourself into now?"
"At least I'm fighting, Father," Draco said calmly, sitting up with the barest hint of a wince. "I will not sit and fear him as you do."
"I was trying to protect you," Lucius declared softly, hunching his shoulders as he looked away from Draco's silver gaze.
Draco could barely contain his sneer of disgust at the shell his father had become. What happened to the powerful man with ambition--so much ambition it spilled out like an aurora, drifting anywhere that he touched? "Trying to protect me, Father? Please, do say that again... I hadn't laughed so much inside for ages."
"Draco!" Lucius hissed. "I'm trying to keep you alive, you idiot! Tell Voldemort what he wants, and he will spare you!"
Draco's eyes turned icy. "I neither need nor want Voldemort's mercy, Father. Yes, I will die--but at least I will die free of him, and not under the heel of his boot, as you will die. Oh, yes, I might be the here-to-fore condemned traitor--but it's you I pity. Let's get this over with."
The doors to the small room where Draco was waiting flung open, and his jailers walked in. "Blaise," Draco nodded congenially. "And Vincent--I haven't seen you in...well, years." He stood up and shut his eyes as they grabbed him, controlling his expression. He couldn't show them his pain--they'd kill him for it.
He was shown to the throne room, red carpets and plush black velvet pillows that cascaded over the dais dominating most of the room. And in the center of this opulence was Voldemort.
Draco was pushed down at Voldemort's feet, and the Feeling came upon him. Draco bit down on his tongue, the pain and the taste of his blood stilling the scream that had threatened to erupt out of him.
Voldemort was stroking his hair, the taloned hand scraping through the pale strands. The shimmering, snake-slit eyes were looking intently at him, as if he could divine Draco's soul. But Parseltongue was Voldemort's gift.
The Sight was Draco's.
"Voldemort." Draco said calmly, raising his chin haughtily as he looked at Voldemort unpleasantly. "To what do I owe this distinct displeasure?"
The hand stroking Draco's hair gripped tightly, pulling Draco's head back and shooting agony through his injuries. "I would be very careful how you speak to me, my lovely. It would certainly be an unhappy event if I had to dicipline you." The stroking started again. "You know what I want."
"You're not going to get it from me." Draco spat instantly, his eyes narrowing in fury.
"Tell me where Harry Potter is, and I will spare you."
Draco's mouth twisted into a feral grin. "He's safe from you, you pervy bastard. That's all you need to know."
"Don't count on that so quickly, my dear Draco. You aren't my only source of information. I have one much more willing to come to a compromise." A shadow materialized beside Voldemort and stepped adroitly into the light.
"*RON*?" Draco shouted, his eyes flaring wide in shock. "What--what--but you're his Secret Keeper!! How can you--"
"Mr. Weasley," Voldemort gestured over at the captive Draco. "As you requested."
Ron inclined his head, his brown eyes narrowing hatefully at Draco.
A chill of pure dread shot down Draco's spine. "Do you relly hate me that much, Ronald Weasley? And to think--I was worried about you in the forest, you bloody prat."
Ron kicked Draco, sending him flying down the stairs of the dais to hit the marble floor. "Don't make assumptions about me, Malfoy."
"Ah, yes. Don't assume things, Weasley, because to assume makes an ass out of you and m--well, really, it just makes an ass out of you." Draco spat blood onto the floor, holding Ron's eyes rebelliously.
"I hate you." Ron walked over to Draco again and kicked him, pulling him up by his hair to punch his jaw. "I HATE you."
"Tell me why you hate me enough that you're willing to give up your best friend, Weasley." Draco requested quietly.
"Do you really want to know why, Malfoy? Honestly?" Ron leaned close. "I hate the way you look at him--as if he's the only person in this world that means anything." Another strike. "I hate the fact that he looks *back*." Another strike, but Draco was too stunned by that revelation to feel it. Harry had never looked back.
"And most of all," Ron spat, pummeling Draco's stomach and chest with his fists before he turned almost gentle, his eyes going still, a faraway look stealing him from the present. "We could have saved her, you know, if Harry had been there. But he saved you instead."
"You blame me...for Hermione?" Draco shook his head. "That wasn't my fault, Ron."
Hermione had been a medi-wizard--she understood her duty; Severus had been the one assigned to find Draco and rescue him from the Death Eaters, because Dumbledore knew about his violent precognition... That day, Harry saved him instead...
"Your pain was more important to Harry--your disappearance had been more important than 'Mione. I blame you for that. I hate you for making him choose. But he made the choice that cost Hermione her life--and for that, I hate him too." Ron stood up and faced Voldemort. "That is why he has to pay."
Oh, Gods. Despair traveled downard to settle in Draco's stomach. "Nothing is worth this, Ron. If only I could turn back the clock, and bring her back, I would-believe me--I would...but my gift failed me that day..."
"Your *gift* is ruin," Ron growled. "Nothing matters anymore."
"Ron--no--don't!!" Draco shouted, but Ron ignored him and opened his mouth.
The secret hung heavily in the air, silence draping over everything in the resulting hush. "Accio (A/N: ?) wand!" Draco shouted, and his wand came zooming toward him. Maybe, just maybe, there *was* something he could do...
"Avada Kedavra." Voldemort flicked his wand at Ron, who fell over, dead, with a peaceful sigh. Voldemort stood up and faced Draco, readying his wand again. "Do you see how merciful I am, lovely one? I could be kinder to you."
"Never!" Draco spat, and two spells rang out simultaneously.
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Denuo Ostium!"
Voldemort blinked his eyes, and discovered that in the moment when his eyes had fluttered closed, instead of a cold body falling with a thump onto the floor, Draco had disappeared completely.
~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~
Draco groaned as he sat up, more of a wish to sleep rather than any actual physical discomfort, flopping back down and throwing his pillow over his face. Damn, that was a terrible dream--they seemed to be coming more frequently now...perhaps he should tell Severus about the possible symbology of his dreams...after all, the coup on Voldemort's citadel had been called off, so there was no reason for him to be dreaming of utter defeat--
"Draco!"
Draco flung the pillow off of his head, bolting upright. "Vincent?? Gregory?!" Draco blinked his eyes at the two giants looking sheepishly at him, and he smoothed the covers over his legs. "What are you doing here?"
"We know you told us not to come into your room, but we really need help on our Transfiguration."
"Transfig--are you daft? We--hold on--just give me a moment..."
The two boys nodded, and departed simultaneously.
"Draco frowned. Unless there had been some changes that he didn't know about, he was in a very bad spot. One thing at a time... Draco got up and got dressed, eyeing the stylish clothing in suspicion. Who had changed his wardrobe? Yes, it was nice to dress finely once again, but it was wartime--who had the wealth to spend so frivolously on clothing? All the fighting must be driving him mad, after all.
Draco froze at the sight of the robe.
Black, with a snake...his Slytherin robes...but--they didn't even *make* school robes anymore... Draco risked a glance in his mirror, and gasped in surprise at the image looking back at him. Messy blonde hair, but he had just woken up-- 'You're looking tousled today' his reflection teased him--but it was wrong--his eyes, everything--
"Vincent, what is today's date?" he wondered aloud.
"October 10, 2002, Draco," Came the immediate reply.
The brush Draco had picked up dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers, and his legs weakened, sending him onto the floor. Then it was true...that face in the mirror *was* him.
It was October 10, 2002--exactly 12 years from the day when Ron Weasley would betray Harry to Voldemort.
Exactly 12 years until the day Draco died.
TBC
I'm so bad--I'm cutting class right now, but--damnit, my nose is running and my throat is sore and my neck hurts...and I don't feel well enough to be in class anyway. *sigh*
Your magical style is Angelic.
What type of Magic do you work?. Take the Magical Style Quiz by Paradox
You are a muse.
What legend are you?. Take the Legendary Being Quiz by Paradox
Oh, god, though. Everything is whacked...I've got a new plot bunny...unedited and a piece of crap (what else do you expect out of a typing marathon at 2 a.m.?)
Shadows edged along his vision, darting around him as sharp giggles reached his ears. Draco Malfoy took a deep breath, panting as he ran, tripping over roots and pulling himself up by sheer strength of will as he wavered, the threat of the Dementors squalling in his head like a cacophony of piercing hysteria. The forest was silent other than he and the remaining Dementors, and he fought back tears of panic at the thought. Had they gotten everyone? Severus? Ron? Even Ginny?
Draco rubbed his eyes furiously, weaving around the trees as he desperately searched for a way out. He had to warn the rest of the resistance--he had to warn Dumbledore and *Harry*--
A flash of energy came from behind him, blasting into his shoulder, and Draco went down with a cry of pain, clutching at the wound as he scrambled to his feet, pulling his wand out and circling uncertainly. The dark, misty figures of the Dementors surrounded him, coming ever closer...so close...
"Expecto Patronum!" Draco shouted, and a few of the Dementors squealed and cowered away from the translucent cougar that appeared. Draco watched eagerly for an opening--perhaps he *would* be able to give a message to the resistance--
"Not so fast!" screamed a familiar voice--but before Draco could decipher who it was, another blast of energy ripped through him, and everything went black.
~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~
Draco groaned, his neck and shoulder throbbing with his heartbeat. His hair was being stroked--his mother? No, no, it couldn't be...she was dead... He rose against the weakness residing in him and forced his eyelids open. And then he wished he could close them again.
It was his father, looking down at him sadly. "Ah, Draco...what have you gotten yourself into now?"
"At least I'm fighting, Father," Draco said calmly, sitting up with the barest hint of a wince. "I will not sit and fear him as you do."
"I was trying to protect you," Lucius declared softly, hunching his shoulders as he looked away from Draco's silver gaze.
Draco could barely contain his sneer of disgust at the shell his father had become. What happened to the powerful man with ambition--so much ambition it spilled out like an aurora, drifting anywhere that he touched? "Trying to protect me, Father? Please, do say that again... I hadn't laughed so much inside for ages."
"Draco!" Lucius hissed. "I'm trying to keep you alive, you idiot! Tell Voldemort what he wants, and he will spare you!"
Draco's eyes turned icy. "I neither need nor want Voldemort's mercy, Father. Yes, I will die--but at least I will die free of him, and not under the heel of his boot, as you will die. Oh, yes, I might be the here-to-fore condemned traitor--but it's you I pity. Let's get this over with."
The doors to the small room where Draco was waiting flung open, and his jailers walked in. "Blaise," Draco nodded congenially. "And Vincent--I haven't seen you in...well, years." He stood up and shut his eyes as they grabbed him, controlling his expression. He couldn't show them his pain--they'd kill him for it.
He was shown to the throne room, red carpets and plush black velvet pillows that cascaded over the dais dominating most of the room. And in the center of this opulence was Voldemort.
Draco was pushed down at Voldemort's feet, and the Feeling came upon him. Draco bit down on his tongue, the pain and the taste of his blood stilling the scream that had threatened to erupt out of him.
Voldemort was stroking his hair, the taloned hand scraping through the pale strands. The shimmering, snake-slit eyes were looking intently at him, as if he could divine Draco's soul. But Parseltongue was Voldemort's gift.
The Sight was Draco's.
"Voldemort." Draco said calmly, raising his chin haughtily as he looked at Voldemort unpleasantly. "To what do I owe this distinct displeasure?"
The hand stroking Draco's hair gripped tightly, pulling Draco's head back and shooting agony through his injuries. "I would be very careful how you speak to me, my lovely. It would certainly be an unhappy event if I had to dicipline you." The stroking started again. "You know what I want."
"You're not going to get it from me." Draco spat instantly, his eyes narrowing in fury.
"Tell me where Harry Potter is, and I will spare you."
Draco's mouth twisted into a feral grin. "He's safe from you, you pervy bastard. That's all you need to know."
"Don't count on that so quickly, my dear Draco. You aren't my only source of information. I have one much more willing to come to a compromise." A shadow materialized beside Voldemort and stepped adroitly into the light.
"*RON*?" Draco shouted, his eyes flaring wide in shock. "What--what--but you're his Secret Keeper!! How can you--"
"Mr. Weasley," Voldemort gestured over at the captive Draco. "As you requested."
Ron inclined his head, his brown eyes narrowing hatefully at Draco.
A chill of pure dread shot down Draco's spine. "Do you relly hate me that much, Ronald Weasley? And to think--I was worried about you in the forest, you bloody prat."
Ron kicked Draco, sending him flying down the stairs of the dais to hit the marble floor. "Don't make assumptions about me, Malfoy."
"Ah, yes. Don't assume things, Weasley, because to assume makes an ass out of you and m--well, really, it just makes an ass out of you." Draco spat blood onto the floor, holding Ron's eyes rebelliously.
"I hate you." Ron walked over to Draco again and kicked him, pulling him up by his hair to punch his jaw. "I HATE you."
"Tell me why you hate me enough that you're willing to give up your best friend, Weasley." Draco requested quietly.
"Do you really want to know why, Malfoy? Honestly?" Ron leaned close. "I hate the way you look at him--as if he's the only person in this world that means anything." Another strike. "I hate the fact that he looks *back*." Another strike, but Draco was too stunned by that revelation to feel it. Harry had never looked back.
"And most of all," Ron spat, pummeling Draco's stomach and chest with his fists before he turned almost gentle, his eyes going still, a faraway look stealing him from the present. "We could have saved her, you know, if Harry had been there. But he saved you instead."
"You blame me...for Hermione?" Draco shook his head. "That wasn't my fault, Ron."
Hermione had been a medi-wizard--she understood her duty; Severus had been the one assigned to find Draco and rescue him from the Death Eaters, because Dumbledore knew about his violent precognition... That day, Harry saved him instead...
"Your pain was more important to Harry--your disappearance had been more important than 'Mione. I blame you for that. I hate you for making him choose. But he made the choice that cost Hermione her life--and for that, I hate him too." Ron stood up and faced Voldemort. "That is why he has to pay."
Oh, Gods. Despair traveled downard to settle in Draco's stomach. "Nothing is worth this, Ron. If only I could turn back the clock, and bring her back, I would-believe me--I would...but my gift failed me that day..."
"Your *gift* is ruin," Ron growled. "Nothing matters anymore."
"Ron--no--don't!!" Draco shouted, but Ron ignored him and opened his mouth.
The secret hung heavily in the air, silence draping over everything in the resulting hush. "Accio (A/N: ?) wand!" Draco shouted, and his wand came zooming toward him. Maybe, just maybe, there *was* something he could do...
"Avada Kedavra." Voldemort flicked his wand at Ron, who fell over, dead, with a peaceful sigh. Voldemort stood up and faced Draco, readying his wand again. "Do you see how merciful I am, lovely one? I could be kinder to you."
"Never!" Draco spat, and two spells rang out simultaneously.
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Denuo Ostium!"
Voldemort blinked his eyes, and discovered that in the moment when his eyes had fluttered closed, instead of a cold body falling with a thump onto the floor, Draco had disappeared completely.
~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~&~
Draco groaned as he sat up, more of a wish to sleep rather than any actual physical discomfort, flopping back down and throwing his pillow over his face. Damn, that was a terrible dream--they seemed to be coming more frequently now...perhaps he should tell Severus about the possible symbology of his dreams...after all, the coup on Voldemort's citadel had been called off, so there was no reason for him to be dreaming of utter defeat--
"Draco!"
Draco flung the pillow off of his head, bolting upright. "Vincent?? Gregory?!" Draco blinked his eyes at the two giants looking sheepishly at him, and he smoothed the covers over his legs. "What are you doing here?"
"We know you told us not to come into your room, but we really need help on our Transfiguration."
"Transfig--are you daft? We--hold on--just give me a moment..."
The two boys nodded, and departed simultaneously.
"Draco frowned. Unless there had been some changes that he didn't know about, he was in a very bad spot. One thing at a time... Draco got up and got dressed, eyeing the stylish clothing in suspicion. Who had changed his wardrobe? Yes, it was nice to dress finely once again, but it was wartime--who had the wealth to spend so frivolously on clothing? All the fighting must be driving him mad, after all.
Draco froze at the sight of the robe.
Black, with a snake...his Slytherin robes...but--they didn't even *make* school robes anymore... Draco risked a glance in his mirror, and gasped in surprise at the image looking back at him. Messy blonde hair, but he had just woken up-- 'You're looking tousled today' his reflection teased him--but it was wrong--his eyes, everything--
"Vincent, what is today's date?" he wondered aloud.
"October 10, 2002, Draco," Came the immediate reply.
The brush Draco had picked up dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers, and his legs weakened, sending him onto the floor. Then it was true...that face in the mirror *was* him.
It was October 10, 2002--exactly 12 years from the day when Ron Weasley would betray Harry to Voldemort.
Exactly 12 years until the day Draco died.
TBC
I'm so bad--I'm cutting class right now, but--damnit, my nose is running and my throat is sore and my neck hurts...and I don't feel well enough to be in class anyway. *sigh*
no subject
that's gonna be one FUCK of a good story! holy moly!
Re:
Re:
i love it. such potential for.. for.. for EVERYTHING!
i like the setup. it's kinda groundhog's day-ish, but with a bit of logic thrown in for good measure.
lots of opportunity for greatness here. w00t.
no subject
write more of it. now. damnit.
oh, what a *great* idea! :schnoogles mori:
and i have so much to ask! what take on fate/divination are you taking? are you doing the 'the future can be altered'? or 'what you see, you get'?
will draco believe that what he saw was a true vision? *arg*!!!
wants more NOW.
ok. i'm feeling better now. much. this just looks to be- (would you take it amiss if i was incredibly repetetive? no?)
Amazing.
Re:
And...amazing? *blushes and huggles Ishuca*
I'm writing more! Honest! But I'm also working on the sequel to 'You' & 'Us' and Regret's story 'The last Words you said' and all that. :)
Currently, I'm believing that Future!Draco went into his past body, Young!Draco, because of the spell he cast 'Demo Ostium'. Of course, it could also be assumed that everything before him waking up was a prophetic dream...
The question I'm trying to ask in this story is: If you could change the past, would it be worth it?
What do you think? Oh! *grins happily* I even have it figured out how Draco becomes precognitive in the first place. :) *laughs* Any other questions? Anyway, I certainly hope the story lives up to your praise. :)
no subject
yes, amazing. good ideas are fast becoming scarce in this fandom. :laughs and huggles mori back:
oh, gods. tons and tons of glorious sequels. well... good luck on all of them!
hmmmm. depending on which tack you take the fic changes radically. i mean, the issues that future!draco as opposed to now!draco would be going through would be very different. i would say- follow your intuition. and if it *is* future!draco, it'll explore a *very* different dynamic between draco and the world around him.
and i think that's a good question you're asking. another one might be- if you had the power to change the past, would you be able to not do so?
humans are, after all, natural meddlers. ;)
i think that it's a good premise. and plot bunnies like that are important. but i wonder- if it really *is* future!draco, he is currently precognitive. he has chnged the past just by transporting himself back. maybe? unless it is the body that possesses the ability, so while he has the knowhow, he can't tap into it yet? or maybe he knows how to tap into it/break the barrier, so... blarg!
:schnoogles mori:
Re:
Thanks for the luck! I might need it! *grins*
And now, I'm becoming more and more convinced (by the scenes my Draco!muse keeps giving me) that it really *is* Future!Draco. Which is going to be interesting, because he's a major player in the resistance. *laughs* I think I'm gonna love his reactions when he sees everyone...Considering in his time, he's more accepted by the Gryffindors than the Slytherins...
Ooh, that IS a good question... *blinks* And I just think I got my ending. *huggles Ishuca*
Okay. :) Future!Draco's mind is what went back--his personality and his experiences--what defines him in the future--are what is there now. However, anything concerning his actual magical gifts, things like Precognition that have nothing to do with actual knowledge, are dormant.
Also, I always considered time travel to be a tricky thing, like, instead of changing YOUR future, what you do by changing things in the past is create an alternate timeline--a different path that one change forced into existence. Does this make any sense?
Damn! I'm going to have to go to work, and all I wanna do is write on this thing now! *sniffles*
no subject
1) I like the idea of future!Draco going back in time to his younger self. It'd be interesting to see older Draco trying to act like his younger self and observing the way things were. We all forget what we were like when we were young.
2) Stop saying it isn't that good, cos it is. So there.
3) That's all I can think of that hasn't been said. If you need a sounding board, talk to me. I mean, I *am* gonna host your stuff, after all. ::grin::
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