Reality twists 1/39
Jan. 18th, 2011 07:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
herumtreiberTitle: Reality twists
Chapter: One
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
herumtreiber
Genre: Post DH, romance, adventure, time travel
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or related characters. Nor do I make any money from the writing of these stories.
Rating: R
Warnings: Sexual content, threesome, noncon
Epilogue compliant? Maybe, who knows?
Chapter length: 872 words
Summary: Harry/Draco/Daphne. Draco in Azkaban, plus time-travel. Explores the idea of powerful magic pitted against a nuclear bomb and the implications for the world. Noncon - evil Hermione and Ron – Atlantis may appear later on, and another meaning of the Prophecy. How a Time Turner can win a game. Very ecological use of the Fidelius charm; Dementors abound, but...
Table of contents
And still I dream he'll come to me
And we will live the years together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather.
I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.
I dreamed a dream (Claude-Michel Schönberg; Herbert Kretzmer)
5 months after the Epilogue
It was bitter cold in the North Atlantic, a great storm thundered above the island. Azkaban was hardly more than stark rock; the Wizarding prison stood seemingly open to the regard of the world whilst in reality its deep defences could easily withstand a fierce invasion. Azkaban's wards jealously kept the prisoners in check and what the wards could not do, the Dementors would achieve easily.
Deep inside the cold walls of the prison, in one of the high security cells, a blond man sat dejected. He had graceful, chiselled features marred by a grimace of pain. He had thinning white-blond hair.
From the pocket of his worn-out, threadbare robe, he took out a Wizarding photo, gazing lovingly at it. Grief surrounded the man, it wouldn't let go of his mind. It demanded that he do something to assuage it.
His mind dwelled in anguish and rage. The deaths of his parents had been unbearable but he had endured it, just as he'd withstood the time when his love had turned out to be a soulless bastard. But this, this joyless existence was quite worse. They had taken his son from him as they sought to break him. They had killed his son, they who were revered so much by the sodding public!
So deep was his plunge into sadness that he was able to connect with magic in ways he hadn't been able before. There was an ominous crack in the deserted prison cell; the man felt that a spell placed on him was broken. He was more powerful and alive than ever before. Trouble was, it came too late to save his son!
If he'd had this much magic before, maybe he could have resisted the lily-white poseur Aurors that came to arrest him. He would've escaped England with his wife and son. If only… if he could have known the future.
Grief continued to influence his actions, that and a bitter desire for revenge. The sheep had made up their little minds about him, it seemed. Nothing he did would ever change their stuck-up opinions. Years passed in which he was a model citizen, yet people would turn up their ugly noses or taunt him in so many ways until he ended up like this; facing trumped-up charges and tossed into a cell faster than a speeding broom.
He was tired of it all. The problem lay in the Azkaban wards. They were especially cast to prevent the prisoners from injuring or killing themselves. No matter his new strength, the man was aware that the wards would react.
But then the blond remembered that the Dementors could do what the wards prevented.
He pointed his hand in the direction of the door and with all his might wandlessly cast a spell. The creaking sound told him he had succeeded. The blond summoned a Dementor and it entered the cell, floating above the dirt floor. The man's power enticed the creature which swooped down to its prey.
The man saw the hideous sight of the Dementor; he could smell its stench, shivering from the cold and misery it projected, and he didn't care.
He felt deep in his bones that, awful as the Dementor's appearance was, there were decidedly worse things to face, like sweet words spoken by seemingly kind persons which turned out to be machinations. The blond had often faced utter moral ruin housed in the most noble of visages. Uncaring blandishments from people who would be gods, poisoned betrayals that had to be endured.
Compared to this, a Dementor didn't seem that threatening.
As the Dementor approached him, the photo the man held fell to the floor, near some newspaper scraps. It showed the blond man, sitting across from a lovely blonde woman. A child sat between them, he was the mirror image of the blond. The three faced each other with the circumspection expected of purebloods, but there was no mistaking the warmth and love in their regard. The small blond boy had a top-of-the-line broom on his lap, and was obviously thanking his father. The man just waved his hand as if denying it had been that difficult to get the obviously expensive broom whilst the woman looked at her family with deep satisfaction.
The scraps of paper were torn in places, as if the person who read them had been mad with grief and had torn them apart. The letters formed a message of hate and despair.
"…. Searches continue for the adopted son of … yesterday the boy's body was found…"
Underlining it all with a neat and pedantic calligraphy was the gleeful annotation. "One less of you to deal with, Malfoy. Signed HWG."
The Dementor finally reached him whilst Draco Malfoy stood up to eagerly Kiss it.
First twist - 1
Chapter: One
Author:
herumtreiber Genre: Post DH, romance, adventure, time travel
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or related characters. Nor do I make any money from the writing of these stories.
Rating: R
Warnings: Sexual content, threesome, noncon
Epilogue compliant? Maybe, who knows?
Chapter length: 872 words
Summary: Harry/Draco/Daphne. Draco in Azkaban, plus time-travel. Explores the idea of powerful magic pitted against a nuclear bomb and the implications for the world. Noncon - evil Hermione and Ron – Atlantis may appear later on, and another meaning of the Prophecy. How a Time Turner can win a game. Very ecological use of the Fidelius charm; Dementors abound, but...
Table of contents
And still I dream he'll come to me
And we will live the years together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather.
I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.
I dreamed a dream (Claude-Michel Schönberg; Herbert Kretzmer)
5 months after the Epilogue
It was bitter cold in the North Atlantic, a great storm thundered above the island. Azkaban was hardly more than stark rock; the Wizarding prison stood seemingly open to the regard of the world whilst in reality its deep defences could easily withstand a fierce invasion. Azkaban's wards jealously kept the prisoners in check and what the wards could not do, the Dementors would achieve easily.
Deep inside the cold walls of the prison, in one of the high security cells, a blond man sat dejected. He had graceful, chiselled features marred by a grimace of pain. He had thinning white-blond hair.
From the pocket of his worn-out, threadbare robe, he took out a Wizarding photo, gazing lovingly at it. Grief surrounded the man, it wouldn't let go of his mind. It demanded that he do something to assuage it.
His mind dwelled in anguish and rage. The deaths of his parents had been unbearable but he had endured it, just as he'd withstood the time when his love had turned out to be a soulless bastard. But this, this joyless existence was quite worse. They had taken his son from him as they sought to break him. They had killed his son, they who were revered so much by the sodding public!
So deep was his plunge into sadness that he was able to connect with magic in ways he hadn't been able before. There was an ominous crack in the deserted prison cell; the man felt that a spell placed on him was broken. He was more powerful and alive than ever before. Trouble was, it came too late to save his son!
If he'd had this much magic before, maybe he could have resisted the lily-white poseur Aurors that came to arrest him. He would've escaped England with his wife and son. If only… if he could have known the future.
Grief continued to influence his actions, that and a bitter desire for revenge. The sheep had made up their little minds about him, it seemed. Nothing he did would ever change their stuck-up opinions. Years passed in which he was a model citizen, yet people would turn up their ugly noses or taunt him in so many ways until he ended up like this; facing trumped-up charges and tossed into a cell faster than a speeding broom.
He was tired of it all. The problem lay in the Azkaban wards. They were especially cast to prevent the prisoners from injuring or killing themselves. No matter his new strength, the man was aware that the wards would react.
But then the blond remembered that the Dementors could do what the wards prevented.
He pointed his hand in the direction of the door and with all his might wandlessly cast a spell. The creaking sound told him he had succeeded. The blond summoned a Dementor and it entered the cell, floating above the dirt floor. The man's power enticed the creature which swooped down to its prey.
The man saw the hideous sight of the Dementor; he could smell its stench, shivering from the cold and misery it projected, and he didn't care.
He felt deep in his bones that, awful as the Dementor's appearance was, there were decidedly worse things to face, like sweet words spoken by seemingly kind persons which turned out to be machinations. The blond had often faced utter moral ruin housed in the most noble of visages. Uncaring blandishments from people who would be gods, poisoned betrayals that had to be endured.
Compared to this, a Dementor didn't seem that threatening.
As the Dementor approached him, the photo the man held fell to the floor, near some newspaper scraps. It showed the blond man, sitting across from a lovely blonde woman. A child sat between them, he was the mirror image of the blond. The three faced each other with the circumspection expected of purebloods, but there was no mistaking the warmth and love in their regard. The small blond boy had a top-of-the-line broom on his lap, and was obviously thanking his father. The man just waved his hand as if denying it had been that difficult to get the obviously expensive broom whilst the woman looked at her family with deep satisfaction.
The scraps of paper were torn in places, as if the person who read them had been mad with grief and had torn them apart. The letters formed a message of hate and despair.
"…. Searches continue for the adopted son of … yesterday the boy's body was found…"
Underlining it all with a neat and pedantic calligraphy was the gleeful annotation. "One less of you to deal with, Malfoy. Signed HWG."
The Dementor finally reached him whilst Draco Malfoy stood up to eagerly Kiss it.
First twist - 1
