hobgoblinn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hobgoblinn) wrote2007-10-15 12:03 am
hobgoblinn) wrote2007-10-15 12:03 am
Entry tags:
Fic: Lost Boys 7/14 - Another Life
Prologue - Two Dads
Part 1 - Visions of the Afterlife
Part 2 - Little Boy Lost
Part 3 - Detention
Part 4 - An Intruder
Part 5 - Conversations with the Dead, Part 1
Part 6 - Conversations with the Dead, Part 2
Title: Lost Boys, 7/14 - Another Life
Rating: FRT (PG)
Distribution: Sure. Let me know where it’s going. Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
snape_after_dh ficathon.
Feedback: Makes me write more. Or feel guilty for not writing more. Flames make me toasty.
Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lady_clover, rainkatt and emmessann for fantastic beta work. Remaining mistakes are, of course, my own.
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and whoever else may have a hold on them. I own nothing in the Potterverse, or anywhere else, for that matter. Strictly for entertainment, and no profit is being made. Please sue somebody else. David Dursley, however, is mine. Please ask before you borrow him.
Summary: Past and present meet in the dungeons of Hogwarts.
Not long after this conversation, the ghost began feeling increasingly unsettled. He tried to escape into the drifting peace, but he found himself unable to attain that lovely, careless state. He found himself staring more and more into the dusty old mirror, seeing the green-eyed woman, the strange boy, the old man.
But now he saw new scenes. Memories he knew were not his own.
One night, he saw a wizarding house in the mirror, two sets of knitting needles clicking away in a corner, a broom scratching across the kitchen floor, sweeping during those last minutes before dawn, before the household came down to track more dirt across the floor. A small boy sat at the kitchen table staring into a glass of milk, tracing the scratches in the heavy wooden table idly with his finger. A familiar-looking man with dark, untidy hair appeared in the doorway behind the boy.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
The boy started, then relaxed as he saw the man. “No, Sir.”
The man pulled out a chair and sat by the boy, looking at him kindly. After a moment, he said, “I remember when I first found out about this world. It was a feeling-- I can’t describe it. I was so relieved I wasn’t strange, you know. But I also remember how it was, wondering if I would ever fit in.”
“I like Al and Lily and James,” the boy offered. “But I feel so dumb. I’ll never know half what they do.”
“Your dad tells me you like to read,” the man said.
“Yeah?” the boy said dubiously, still tracing scratches on the table.
“Well, my best friend from school was just like you, only she didn’t find out this world even existed until she got her Hogwarts letter. You know what she did?”
That captured his attention. The boy shook his head, eyes wide.
“She read everything she could get her hands on. She knew more about the wizarding world by the time she got on the Hogwarts Express, than most of the kids who’d grown up in that world. You know who she was?”
The boy shook his head again.
“Aunt Hermione.”
“No way. Really?”
“Yes, way,” the man replied. “And I’ll bet you a new broom that if you ask her, she’ll set you up with all kinds of stuff even her own kids don’t know.”
The boy brightened. The ghost recognized the little boy, then. It was his young friend, Mr. Dursley. Much younger, obviously just finding out about the wizarding world. Something about his expression, eyes wide with wonder, yet unsure, reminded him of someone. But he could not bring to mind who it had been.
The scene faded, and he saw the boy again, a little older, fidgeting uncomfortably on a hideous chair in a floral-patterned sitting room. A heavy, unpleasant man was pacing, saying something to the boy, but it was the woman in the rocking chair who caught his eye. Her hair was shot through now with grey, but he thought he almost recognized the thin, bony features, the hard set of the mouth. She spoke.
“I don’t know what Dudders means, making us go to their house for Christmas day. I can't imagine why Lisa goes along with it. I thought she was more sensible.”
The man snorted. “You know Dudley. Ever since he married that girl, he’s been all about getting along with people, no matter how freakish they are. I bet she's the real reason the boy here is....”
“Vernon!” the woman burst out warningly. The man stopped and met her eyes, then seemed to recollect himself.
“Yes, well,” he said, glancing at the boy. “Sorry, Davey. Just you remember, if you ever get up to any trouble from your, er, condition, we love you. We’ll help you, if you want to try to get away from all that.”
The boy was spared having to formulate a reply as the fireplace flared to life and the familiar dark-haired man stepped though. “Aunt Petunia. Uncle Vernon,” he said, coolly, as if he often dealt with unpleasant people in his profession. His eyes warmed as he caught sight of the boy. “Hey, Davey. You ready?”
“Oh yes, Sir,” he replied fervently, jumping to his feet.
“Great. Here, you take Grandmum through first. You remember how we do it?”
“Yeah. And Dad’ll be there, in case I trip, right?”
The man grinned and gave him a quick wink at the woman’s strangled gasp. “He sure is. You’ll do great.” David and the woman disappeared into the flames and the man’s grin faded as he turned hard eyes on the other man.
“I’m warning you now, Uncle. You are about to be a guest in my home. I would never treat you or yours like you treated me. But I will not tolerate abuse of my family. Any part of it. Including Davey. You keep your poisonous opinions about magic to yourself, all right? It’s part of who he is, and he is a great kid, magic or not.”
The other man flinched a little at the word “magic,” but he nodded, looking fearfully at the strong young man who held his eyes in a steely gaze. “All right,” he replied.
The ghost did not know what to make of these visions, so much more detailed than any he had seen before. But something about them awakened a kind of hunger in him. He was seeing life, and for the first time in he could not remember when, he found himself longing to be more than he was. He could not, of course. So he sought out the mirror more and more and gazed into it, drinking in the scenes from his young friend's life. Remembering.
Part 8 - A Sudden Illness
Part 1 - Visions of the Afterlife
Part 2 - Little Boy Lost
Part 3 - Detention
Part 4 - An Intruder
Part 5 - Conversations with the Dead, Part 1
Part 6 - Conversations with the Dead, Part 2
Title: Lost Boys, 7/14 - Another Life
Rating: FRT (PG)
Distribution: Sure. Let me know where it’s going. Written for the
snape_after_dh ficathon.Feedback: Makes me write more. Or feel guilty for not writing more. Flames make me toasty.
Thanks to
lady_clover, rainkatt and emmessann for fantastic beta work. Remaining mistakes are, of course, my own.DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and whoever else may have a hold on them. I own nothing in the Potterverse, or anywhere else, for that matter. Strictly for entertainment, and no profit is being made. Please sue somebody else. David Dursley, however, is mine. Please ask before you borrow him.
Summary: Past and present meet in the dungeons of Hogwarts.
Not long after this conversation, the ghost began feeling increasingly unsettled. He tried to escape into the drifting peace, but he found himself unable to attain that lovely, careless state. He found himself staring more and more into the dusty old mirror, seeing the green-eyed woman, the strange boy, the old man.
But now he saw new scenes. Memories he knew were not his own.
One night, he saw a wizarding house in the mirror, two sets of knitting needles clicking away in a corner, a broom scratching across the kitchen floor, sweeping during those last minutes before dawn, before the household came down to track more dirt across the floor. A small boy sat at the kitchen table staring into a glass of milk, tracing the scratches in the heavy wooden table idly with his finger. A familiar-looking man with dark, untidy hair appeared in the doorway behind the boy.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
The boy started, then relaxed as he saw the man. “No, Sir.”
The man pulled out a chair and sat by the boy, looking at him kindly. After a moment, he said, “I remember when I first found out about this world. It was a feeling-- I can’t describe it. I was so relieved I wasn’t strange, you know. But I also remember how it was, wondering if I would ever fit in.”
“I like Al and Lily and James,” the boy offered. “But I feel so dumb. I’ll never know half what they do.”
“Your dad tells me you like to read,” the man said.
“Yeah?” the boy said dubiously, still tracing scratches on the table.
“Well, my best friend from school was just like you, only she didn’t find out this world even existed until she got her Hogwarts letter. You know what she did?”
That captured his attention. The boy shook his head, eyes wide.
“She read everything she could get her hands on. She knew more about the wizarding world by the time she got on the Hogwarts Express, than most of the kids who’d grown up in that world. You know who she was?”
The boy shook his head again.
“Aunt Hermione.”
“No way. Really?”
“Yes, way,” the man replied. “And I’ll bet you a new broom that if you ask her, she’ll set you up with all kinds of stuff even her own kids don’t know.”
The boy brightened. The ghost recognized the little boy, then. It was his young friend, Mr. Dursley. Much younger, obviously just finding out about the wizarding world. Something about his expression, eyes wide with wonder, yet unsure, reminded him of someone. But he could not bring to mind who it had been.
The scene faded, and he saw the boy again, a little older, fidgeting uncomfortably on a hideous chair in a floral-patterned sitting room. A heavy, unpleasant man was pacing, saying something to the boy, but it was the woman in the rocking chair who caught his eye. Her hair was shot through now with grey, but he thought he almost recognized the thin, bony features, the hard set of the mouth. She spoke.
“I don’t know what Dudders means, making us go to their house for Christmas day. I can't imagine why Lisa goes along with it. I thought she was more sensible.”
The man snorted. “You know Dudley. Ever since he married that girl, he’s been all about getting along with people, no matter how freakish they are. I bet she's the real reason the boy here is....”
“Vernon!” the woman burst out warningly. The man stopped and met her eyes, then seemed to recollect himself.
“Yes, well,” he said, glancing at the boy. “Sorry, Davey. Just you remember, if you ever get up to any trouble from your, er, condition, we love you. We’ll help you, if you want to try to get away from all that.”
The boy was spared having to formulate a reply as the fireplace flared to life and the familiar dark-haired man stepped though. “Aunt Petunia. Uncle Vernon,” he said, coolly, as if he often dealt with unpleasant people in his profession. His eyes warmed as he caught sight of the boy. “Hey, Davey. You ready?”
“Oh yes, Sir,” he replied fervently, jumping to his feet.
“Great. Here, you take Grandmum through first. You remember how we do it?”
“Yeah. And Dad’ll be there, in case I trip, right?”
The man grinned and gave him a quick wink at the woman’s strangled gasp. “He sure is. You’ll do great.” David and the woman disappeared into the flames and the man’s grin faded as he turned hard eyes on the other man.
“I’m warning you now, Uncle. You are about to be a guest in my home. I would never treat you or yours like you treated me. But I will not tolerate abuse of my family. Any part of it. Including Davey. You keep your poisonous opinions about magic to yourself, all right? It’s part of who he is, and he is a great kid, magic or not.”
The other man flinched a little at the word “magic,” but he nodded, looking fearfully at the strong young man who held his eyes in a steely gaze. “All right,” he replied.
The ghost did not know what to make of these visions, so much more detailed than any he had seen before. But something about them awakened a kind of hunger in him. He was seeing life, and for the first time in he could not remember when, he found himself longing to be more than he was. He could not, of course. So he sought out the mirror more and more and gazed into it, drinking in the scenes from his young friend's life. Remembering.
Part 8 - A Sudden Illness
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I've added this story to my recommended fics lists btw, at www.whitehound.co.uk/Fanfic/links/HP.htm
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The 1950 vibe caught me another place too-- maybe I'm the only one who reads the Wizarding World as being a bit anachronistic, and the Dursley household as having a grotesque 1950s "Leave it to Beaver" kind of vibe. I use "Say," when David asks if Snape's remembered who he is yet, and another Britpicker caught me with that. I think both are from the same root-- they feel like they should fit. Like our world, but slightly askew (until you get to JKR's moral compass, and then, wildly askew. I believe it was
Thanks for the comments, and for adding me to your recs list. I am quite honored. I'll have to go out and see what else is on your list-- I am still quite new to the fandom, so everything is new and wonderful for me.
Thanks again.
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"Mr so-and-so" if they were being frostily polite. Or they, as adults in a superior position, might well say "sir" - a policeman might say "Move along now, sir" - but in that case it's a gesture of superiority rather than respect. Or it's nominally respectful, but it signals "I'm being polite because it's my professional duty to be, but if it wasn't my duty I *wouldn't* be polite," so it's very nearly an insult.
"Say" would always be a bit out of place, even for the 1950s - it's a straightforward Americanism. But it didn't bother me because a Muggle-born child of David's generation will have watched a lot of American shows on TV and probably picked it up there.
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