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**Not my characters. Not my world**
A/N: I edited out some stuff, so it's shorter but more consistent? I don't, know...I like it better this way.

The Boy Who Lived

Harry walked through the streets of London, anonymous. Another jean clad youth, strolling home from a night of pub crawling with friends. Ron sang a muggle song, tunelessly, drunkenly stumbling over his words and the pavement. Neville, leaning against Seamus for support and trying to join his voice to the song, kept forgetting the words, replacing them with his own gibberish. This elicited snorts and admonitions from Seamus, who was swaying beneath his own inebriation and Neville's added weight.

Harry focused on his trainers.

One foot in front of the other. Never drink this much again.

The Vampire

The vampire watched from the shadows. Stealthily stalking his intended meal, eyes fixed on the quiet one. Caught up in their own delirium, the others would never notice if he pulled the boy into a darkened alley.

Best to be safe. Best to watch and wait.

His patience was rewarded when the boys stepped into an alley to relieve their aching bladders. Luck was on his side, the quiet one was at the entrance to the alley. All he had to do was silently creep, faster than dazed eyes could perceive. Coming up from behind, he clasped the boy's mouth shut with one hand, wrapping his free arm around the boy's waist and in a moment they were out of the alley, climbing the opposing wall, landing on the roof. Dazzled creature in his arms, warm trickle of blood running down his chin.

So sweet. The quiet ones are always sweeter. A hint of bitter aftertaste. Perfection.

The Boy Who Died

His right hand was pressed against the cold brick wall, his left hand aimed a stream of steaming piss away from his trousers. His head was swimming, barely cogent of frozen fingers digging into his waist, a cold hand sealing his mouth. Not that he'd thought to scream. It was all a muddled dream, wasn't it? Leaning into the wall for support one minute, slumped against a cold shoulder the next. Lips pressed against his neck. No fear, only slipping slowly into a warm bath, melting into darker waters, drowning in oblivion. No pain. Only peace.

The Stranger

Harry opened his eyes. The last thing he remembered was a gentle warmth wrapping around him, filling him with peace. He woke with his own lips pressed against cold skin. Sucking in chilled blood, plunged into arctic waters, fully aware of both the night behind him and it's consequences.

“Enough,” the stranger pushed him away.

With a swish of black fabric, the stranger was gone and Harry was alone on the roof.

He had died...again, and this time, there was no coming back into the light.


Apr. 3rd, 2015 01:27 pm
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Notes: Not my characters, not my world
So I was thinking about Draco and Harry and how much I would like to read some femeslash and why can't there be Drarry femeslash. Um, because Draco and Harry are both Boys. But what if they were girls, and what if Harry wasn't the girl who lived, what if her brother (Michael) was the boy who lived. And then I started thinking about the girls and what their family might expect from them as opposed to what would be expected from boys. And then I gave up on writing this because I'm embarrassed of my writing. But then I wrote a comment on someone's LJ where I mentioned that I lock my posts due to the embarrassment, which made me reconsider. I thought, well so what if my writing is bad (and no, I'm not fishing for compliments I just don't believe in lying to myself. Okay, maybe not bad, but thoroughly mediocre, I'm okay with that, I really just write because I like to write). So, I'm posting it anyway. And I'm rambling and here is what I have so far. I probably won't finish it.

Draco stood before her full length mirror, absently straightening her school robes. She needed to look immaculate for her first day at Hogwarts. Her father was counting on her. Her father had been a Death Eater and only just barely managed to escape prison by convincing the Minister that he was, in fact under the Imperius the entire time. While the Minister believed him, Dumbledore did not and where Dumbledore's opinion went, the majority of the wizarding world's opinion followed. Her father had come to her the night before to explain things.

It was her responsibility, he said, as the Malfoy heir, to return the family to it's former glory. He had been grooming her for this her entire life. He had molded her into the perfect lady. Charming. Beautiful. Intelligent. Fit for a Prince, fit for The Boy Who Lived. It was Draco's duty to her family to enchant Michael Potter. It was her duty to befriend him and eventually make him fall in love with her...for her family. The ultimate goal was marriage, of course, because in tying themselves to the Potters , they where insuring their future standing in the world of public opinion. That was the only way they would ever rid themselves of the distrust that the public still felt for them even after all these years. After Draco was married to the boy who lived no one would ever again dare to look down their noses at the Malfoy name.

...her father had droned on for hours. It made her excited, at first, to think that she could be so important to her family. But by the time her father dismissed her from his study, Draco had found that perhaps the fluttery feeling in her belly was not excitement, but nausea. She was terrified. This was too real, too much responsibility. What if she couldn't do it? What if she failed her family? What if she failed her father? Her mind flashed to the look of disgust he wore whenever she failed to live up to his expectations. By the time she reached her bedroom she felt as though her heart would escape through her throat. It seemed to be stuck there, choking her, keeping her from being able to breathe and beating too loud and too hard and too fast.

Her father had taught her that in times like these, when one's own body became the enemy, there was only one thing to do. Turn it off. Disconnect. Draco closed her eyes and pictured herself climbing out of her body. Climbing out of her Draco suit.

That was last night.

Draco looked at herself in the mirror and realizing that she had been fussing with her robes, she clasped her hands together, digging her fingernails into the skin of her knuckles until she could feel pain. She had turned off her panic last night by disconnected herself from the body. Once disconnected it was getting more and more difficult to reconnect and pain was often the only thing that could jolt her back into the physical world.

Draco looked at her hands reflected in the mirror. She had torn the skin. If her father saw he would be furious. A lady had to be perfect. Not a single blemish or bruise. She reached into her robes and pulled out a pair of black gloves. Disgusted, she turned away from the mirror, unable to look at herself any longer.


Harriet couldn't get enough of this day. She had been waiting her entire life for this, a chance to get out of the overprotected bubble that her father had created for her and her brother since the night that they survived Voldemort's attack on Godrick's Hollow. Her twin brother Michael had reflected the killing curse onto Voldemort and saved her life and the whole of the wizarding world when they were only babies. But her mother had died that night and her father had never fully recovered. So he insisted on keeping them locked tight under wards in their little home, until it came time to send them off to Hogwarts.

Harriet was ready. Harriet was so ready to see the world open up before her. Her eyes were hungry for every detail of this day, she felt she would never be satiated with it's sights and sounds.

What she was hungry for, what she was starving for...was people. Other people. She had spent her entire life surrounded by the same people. Her father and her brother, Dumbledore and the Order. This was her first chance to expand her world. To finally make some friends.

Harriet followed Micheal onto the Hogwarts Express and couldn't help but stop and look into the first compartment as they passed. Two boys, two identical older boys were trying to shove a third, younger boy out of the door. All three boys had alarmingly bright red hair and freckles, obviously siblings. The younger boy whined and pleaded but finally gave in and moved on past the doorway of the compartment and down toward the end of the car.

Harriet, watching the scene play out, had stopped just at the entrance of the train car. She was holding up the boarding process and the boy behind her was pushing past her and ranting about clueless first years. When Harriet reached the end of the car, she finally found Michael, already in conversation with the red haired boy.

“Harri, there you are!” Michael's face was bright with excitement as he introduced her to his new friend.

“Harri, this is Ron Weasley. Ron, this is my sister Harriet, but we call her Harri.”


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April 2017



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