a famous writah

part one: Shaun/ Arrested Development Crossover!!

Tue, 01 Apr 2008 13:11:51 GMT

Title: Untitled as yet. help me? 1/ ? (2 or 3, not much)
Fandoms: Shaun of the Dead x Arrested Development Crossover
Character: Focused on Michael in part one. the usual cast as in the show.
Notes: this was prompted by a fan meme which horribly suggested Michael/Barbara fic! While I would never even consider shipping that, the idea of a fic did grow on me. The time line is kinda AT/AU: it pretty much takes place after the film and after the series respectively, but with some major alterations:
1. in SotD: Barbara didn't die, or even get bitten. she survived Z-day just like Shaun and Liz.
2. in AD: (haha look at the appalled faces! D: ahhh!) Basically canon up until the very last episode, the family all stay together and things continue much as they had. There will be changes to canon, I'm not going to be pernickity. (hehe, that word!) Definitely spoilers for all 3 seasons, especially s3.
Word count: ~3100

It was Arrested Development.George Michael was sitting at his computer, logged on to the Unoffical Fansite for Les cousins dangereux, which he helped moderate, when Michael gently knocked and simultaneously poked his head around the door. George Michael quickly changed tabs over to the Junior Savers Alliance, a site which promoted both economic frugality and sexual abstinence.

“Hey, buddy, whatcha doing?”

“Oh, nothing, I’m just checking up to see if there’ve been any updates in saving, cause you know I don’t want to be left behind. I might be wasting my money right now, and not even know it yet. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and find out I’m no longer frugal.”

“Hmm. Really?” Michael glanced at the screen and grimaced. George Michael continued to babble quietly, “And maybe they‘d changed the rules on abstinence, or like, maybe who you were allowed to um, like, they might cross stuff off the taboo list, you know they do that sometimes.” while his father spoke over him, “Yeah, you know, George Michael, I’ve been thinking. We don’t have to be frugal all the time, you know? We’re doing okay, we can splash out sometimes, you don’t have to save every penny you know.”

“But I like saving.”

“Yeah.” “But there’s more important things than making money, isn’t there?”

“Ethical Investment.”

“No. People, George Michael, people. I think maybe this computer business is not for us, hey? Why don’t you get out there, you know, meet some real people, maybe go on a date sometime. Get a girlfriend.”

“Oh, yeah, I thought you meant in economics, so, yeah, no, people are more important. Well, actually I kind of wanted to see Ann today, anyway, so that works out fine.”

“Hey that’s great. Whose aunt?”

“Ann, my girlfriend.”

“Wow, you work fast, buddy, where’ve you been hiding her? I didn’t know you had a girlfriend, when am I gonna meet her?”

“You’ve met. It’s Ann, remember, I nearly got engaged to her. She dumped me for Uncle Gob. You’ve met many times.”

“Her? Eh, you’d think I’d remember. Look George Michael, maybe dating’s not important, you know, it’s friends and family,” Michael put his arm around George Michael’s shoulder and gave him a squeeze, “that matter. You don’t have to make up a girlfriend to impress me, I’m sorry I made you feel that way, and you know, dating kind of gets in the way of family doesn’t it? Yeah, we don’t need anyone, we’re the Bluth Boys! Okay!”

“Yeah, but, it’s Ann, I didn’t make her up, you just drove her home last night.” George Michael trailed off as Michael gave him a fatherly punch on the shoulder and left the room, saying one last piece of advice,

“Okay, so less of the computer stuff hey, and lets not worry about dating any time soon.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lindsay was ecstatic about having a date that night with a charming, handsome, rich, male-model rocket scientist. None of which he actually was.

“Oh my god, Michael, he’s actually been to the moon!”

“Really? I think you’ll find that rocket scientists don’t actually go in the rockets, that would be astronauts.”

“Oh whatever, Michael. He’s just amazing. And he has the most luscious head of hair. So thick, and long.” Tobias who had been walking past the kitchen, smiled on hearing ‘he’s amazing’ and quickly wilted and left the scene at the mention of hair. Charlie Brown.

“Well, whatever he is, Lindsay, I’m really glad for you, I hope the date goes well,“ It doesn’t.
“despite everything about you, you actually deserve a little happiness.”

“Thanks Michael! You know, you deserve it too; you ought to get out there again. I mean it’s been forever since you’ve had a date.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got George Michael to think of. I’m just not sure he’s ready.”

“Oh come on Michael, we all know it’s you who’s not ready. But you are. Just because all of your relationships have gone disastrously wrong doesn’t mean the next one will. You’re just chicken.”

“Chicken?” This was Gob, poking his head in from the living room where he’d been eating Michael’s food and watching his tv. He had an eager look on his face. “Why is he a chicken?”

“He’s scared to start dating again.”

Gob’s smile was huge as he began the chicken dance. Cock a caw cock a caw! Lindsay joined in too.

“Stop that! I’m not scared. And that’s not what a chicken sounds like. What is wrong with this family?”

“We all know what’s wrong with your family: you haven’t got a girlfriend! Ha, you couldn’t even hang onto your wife!!”

“My wife died, Gob, unlike your wife who divorced you.”

“Yeah? Well, at least I didn’t try to marry a retard! Come on!”

Michael winced. “Don’t say it like that, Gob, it’s offensive. She was a really lovely girl, and I didn’t know she was mentally retarded, her accent confused me. You obviously did a much better job, marrying a complete stranger in Vegas on a dare. How much did she take in the divorce, again?” Gob was silent and looked away.

“You’re still chicken.” Lindsay said. Gob moved, about to start the dance again; Lindsay and Michael both shook their heads at him, and he reluctantly stopped.

“I’m not chicken. I will go on a date, I’m not scared, I just haven’t met anyone recently. You know, I’ve been so busy trying to save the company, save dad, you know save this family, in case you’ve forgotten? Plus, I’m still kind of raw over Sally Sitwell dumping me.”

“Stickwell! She didn’t dump you! You never even went out! You were too scared to stick it to her, weren’t you Michael?”

“And you actually slept with your wife before she divorced you, didn‘t you?” He didn’t. Gob narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

“Oh Michael, you could meet someone if you just tried looking.” Lindsay said encouragingly, “I bet there’s someone at work who’d love to date you, I don’t know who, but we hire lots of people, don’t we?”

“That may well be, but as her boss it would be unethical of me. You see, it’s not that easy.”

“Easy? You can meet someone anywhere if you wear skimpy enough clothing.”

“Ah, I find that doesn’t always work.” Tobias said as he entered the room in horribly revealing clothing. “Crazy, isn’t it? I’m sorry, I couldn’t help over hearing that you’re looking for a special someone, Michael. And I’d love to be that special someone.”

Lindsay rolled her eyes, Gob looked mildly sick. Michael was pre-occupied trying to keep out of Tobias’ hug. “Tobias, that’s really… flattering, but I’m just not interested in you in that way.”

“Oh, no, you silly. I want to be that special buddy who helps you find a date. You need someone to hook you up. But first, I’ll need to get inside you and find out what turns you on! My extensive analrapist skills will really come in handy.”

“Look, Tobias, that’s really nice of you but I just don’t think it’s going to work out.”

“Well, at least I’ve managed to get a date; who else are you going to ask for advice? Gob? Lindsay?”

“Hey, I’ve got a date, Tobias, and he just happens to be a dream!”

“Oh, really? When did, no, that’s fine, I don’t need to know because ours is an open marriage and that doesn’t mean that we need to be open with each other.”

“Anyway, you have a date, Tobias?” Michael asked to distract them.

“Ah, yes! Well, I had a date. A met a very attractive lady on the ‘Internet’, and we had a date last night.”

“How’d it go?”

“Very well, in fact we’ve made plans to see each other again. We had a marvellous time.”

“Really? Tobias you old dog, what’s her name?”

“Jeff.” It really was. “Oh, well, you see it was the darndest thing, but this lady turned out to be a man!”

“Is any one else getting de ja vu?”

“I know what you’re thinking, how could I make this mistake - again. But he was dressed as a woman in his profile picture, and it was very very convincing. Anyway, if you are interested in meeting someone, and I’m sorry but I just don’t think that skimpy clothing is going to do it for you Michael” He tried to slap Michel on the bum, “even with that tocus! Ahem, you might find the internet a timely invention!”

“The internet isn’t new, Tobias. But I might see where you’re going, I’m just not sure I like it.”

“Oh nonsense! Internet dating is now seen as a very mainstream practice, Michael, almost all stigma has gone from it.”

“Well, that’s certainly reassuring…”

“I’d be willing to help you find a woman, by filtering through the sites with you - you wouldn’t believe how many times they accidentally matched me with a man! But that hasn’t stopped me from getting my fair share of action, and it shouldn’t stop you either! I won’t take no for an answer! Methinks I will find you the perfect woman this very eve!” Tobias raised his hand in the air and dramatically left the room, smiling broadly.

“I’m not getting out of this, am I?”

------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that day, Tobias approached Michael on his own.

“I’ve done it!” Tobias said, giggling wildly. “Well, I haven’t found you a woman yet, but I’ve found the perfect site for you! It’s not strictly a dating site, but it is for pairing up likeminded people.”

“Tobias, I’m not so sure…”

“Uh-uh-uh. I’ve listed you on LoveBuriedDeep.com, it’s a widow/widower networking site! I accidentally stumbled across it while searching for something else. Give me one day and I’ll work my way through everyone on that site until I’ve found you the perfect woman, and don’t worry - I’ll make certain she’s not a man this time, no matter what lengths I have to go to!”

“Ah. Well, you know it might be nice to meet a young widow, she’d certainly understand some of what George Michael and I are going through. Look, I’ll let you do this, since you seem to be enjoying it so much, just don’t get your hopes up too high, okay? These things don’t always work out.”

Tobias was nearly peeing with excitement. “I won’t let you down Michael! You’ll have Ms Perfect’s email address in one day! And she’ll be burying her love deep in you in no time!”

“Okay, that’s great. I just hope she really isn’t a man.”

---------------------------------------------------

Two days later, Tobias did actually come through. He’d been reading every profile, male and female, on the site and had finally found a woman he thought Michael would like. Her name was Barbara, she was about Michael‘s age, originally from England but was currently living a mere hour away; she seemed very sweet, was quite attractive, and had a young son close to George Michael in age. The more he read of her, the more suitable for Michael she seemed, so he promptly, and proudly, copied out her name and email, and printed her gorgeous profile picture. He had a huge sense of satisfaction, whistling show tunes, as he carried the information to Michael. Of course, what he didn’t realise in his triumph, was the fatal error he’d made. barbara87@email.com was not her email address, but that belonging to the middle-aged, twice-widowed, English Barbara one profile above hers.

Michael, being given assurances of Barbara’s compatibility by Tobias, hesitantly sent his first email, and received one back. Barbara was excited to hear from a similarly aged man with a similarly aged son. The emails began to come thick and fast. Among other things, they discussed their sons.

My son Shaun has a lovely girlfriend, Liz, although he seems to still be rather immature at times, he certainly loves playing those video games with his best friend. He’s had some trouble adapting to other father figures, but despite his outward aloofness he has a heart of gold and will come around in the end. He’s not very communicative with me, but he is very loving to his mother.

Your son sounds great; it‘s understandable that he should be wary about new men in your life, I think it’s only natural, but I hope he won‘t be too hard on your next partner, if I could be bold enough to think it might be me. George Michael is generally very sensible, I wish he would have as much fun as Shaun. He is not currently seeing anyone, although he did nearly get engaged recently. I was not very fond of the girlfriend and am very relieved it didn’t go ahead. Perhaps Shaun could give him some tips?! Lol.

Soon they were smitten, and still hadn’t tried to clarify the other’s identity. When Michael suggested that Barbara come to visit, he was mildly surprised to hear that she lived in London, but gladly accepted the fact when she proposed coming anyway. He was also surprised at her leaving Shaun behind, still believing him to be a teenager. He isn’t.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lindsay was still mourning her disastrous date with the not so handsome, charming, rich or intelligent plumber, whom she had believed to be a rocket scientist with a side line in male modelling. She was currently in the kitchen eating ice cream. Michael was trying not to be too smug.

“You know you’re right Michael: dating isn’t worth it. You can meet someone easily enough, but they’re never what they seem. I mean, I thought Tobias was a real catch and look what happened there!”

“No you didn’t. You married Tobias to piss off mom and dad.”

“Yeah, but it seemed like I was killing two birds with one stone. I thought I knew him, but there’s all this never nude stuff, and he suddenly thinks he’s an actor, and not to mention our love life… He’s…”

“Please don’t…mention it, don’t. I’m not having this conversation with you again.”

“Fine, Michael. Let’s talk about your love life then.”

“Must we?”

“Oh come on, Michael! We’re not really brother and sister! Why are you shy with me?”

“Perhaps the five marriage proposals have something to do with it. Look Lindsay, you are my sister, regardless of blood. Like you’re my twin, regardless of age.”

“Then talk to me! Did Tobias get you laid, at least? Someone in this family has got to be getting some!”

Tobias entered smugly rubbing his hands together. “Did I get him laid? I gave him the best sex he’s had in years!”

“That’s unfortunate wording, Tobias, and not strictly accurate.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Barbara wasn’t a good lay? She certainly looked like she’d be good in bed - she didn’t turn out to be a man, did she - it would be the trifecta! O boy, Tobias you sure can pick em!”

“No. No, she’s all woman, Tobias. We haven’t slept together. And I’m completely comfortable saying that, because she lives in England.”

“Ohhhh.” Lindsay said. “I understand now. You’re scared. You are scared, that’s why you’re dating someone in another country, because then you’ll never have to get close to her. It all makes sense now.” She looked remorsefully at him. “It’s all my fault. You’re crippled with guilt over your feelings for me.”

“I do sometimes feel guilty about my feelings towards you.” Michael admitted, remembering every moment of condescension, hate, irritation, bewilderment, anger,… “But no, Lindsay, I’m not scared… in fact, I really want to see just how far I can take this relationship. You know, I think there might really be something there.”

“Well, that’s marvellous!” Tobias interjected, then turned to Lindsay, “But I really would appreciate it if you’d stop coming on to my brother-in-law in my presence, I find it very upsetting. You seem to forget that we are married.”

Tobias was ignored until he left the room, while Michael and Lindsay discussed Barbara. Michael’s face shone as he spoke, but Lindsay was less than enthusiastic.

“Argh, she’s ugly then.”

“No actually, she’s a very attractive woman…. I have seen her photo…not that it matters.”

“Oh you’re so naïve. You have no proof that that’s her. She probably cut the picture out of a magazine. She’s odd or she’s ugly. Trust me Michael,” At this point George Michael entered the room, oblivious. “that’s the only reason anyone uses the internet.”

“I wasn’t! It’s educational, that’s the only, I’ve never seen that page before…”

“What? George Michael, what are you?”

“What? Oh, no nothing. Why, what are you talking about?”

“Your dad’s dating an ugly kook, but he’s in denial.”

“Ha, what? Dad, you’re dating someone?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say dating - thanks Lindsay. But, yes, I suppose I have been talking to someone lately, and I might be considering… One day, yes. Yes, I am dating someone. Sort of.”

“Oh, I thought we agreed that dating’s not for us? Bluth boys!“

“Did we? Arh, no no I think that extending our family is a great idea! Yeah, you could really use a mother figure, don’t you think?”

“I guess. What about Aunt Lindsay, and Gangee?"

“A better mother figure. Not that we’re replacing mom, no one will ever do that. And not that I’m serious with this girl, not really. It’s really more of an acquaintance.”

“So, does this mean that I can date again?”

“Sure, son, just as soon as you can get a date!”

“Maybe he should use the internet too.”

“What, no, dad I haven’t been using the internet, not since we agreed it was bad.” He had. “ No, yeah, People, woo!”

“What? Oh that’s right, I asked you not to use the internet. Yeah, I’ve been thinking; it’s not that bad, you know, it’s a great resource, and as long as you’re sensible about it, I can’t see it being a problem. No, in fact it can be a lot of fun, as long as you‘re safe; we have no problem with the net.”

“Oh, great. So as long as I don’t, like, meet strangers in person or give them my details, I can go back to… um, the Junior Savers?”

“Yeah, sure, buddy. But actually, I just remembered… I may have a date coming up, with that acquaintance I told you about. She might be coming here to stay, from England. In fact, well, she is.”

“You hadn’t really told me.. She’s English? Is she…?”

“She is a nice normal girl, and very intelligent, okay? Just wait till I meet her, till you meet her, you’ll love her.”

Snake of Hufflepuff, First year 2/3

Sat, 29 Mar 2008 06:02:53 GMT

Title: Snake of Hufflepuff; 1st Year; Lessons (2/3)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: primary: Severus Snape. secondary: Lily Evans, Remus, Sirius, James etc...
Notes/Summary: AU marauders era. Severus Snape is sorted into Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin. (these first 2 chapters previously posted by mr_eccles)
Words: 3811
Warnings: none yet. But apologies for any change in format, i can't be bothered.

"Alright everybody! Line up and put your brooms on the ground beside you. No touching! Good! Excellent!"

It was a grey morning, and the first years of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor were assembled in the muddy courtyard for their first flying lesson. They had all been given a school broom to learn on, as it was not allowed for first years to keep a broom, a fact which relieved Severus though did nothing to lessen his embarrassment as the other students began to brag and crow, "I’ve got a broom at home, but I wasn’t allowed to bring it", and "my brother sometimes lets me borrow his!". His mother didn’t even own a broom, at least not since he could remember. They looked harmless enough just lying in the mud, rather domestic, rustic. Who would want their own broom, anyway.

"Now, hold your hands out over your broom and call ‘up’. Don’t be disheartened if it takes a few tries."

Among all the cries of ‘Up!’ and the laughter and frustration that obedient and disobedient brooms both caused, Severus had managed to call his broom into his hand on his second try. He held it beside him like a wild animal, unsure if he should take his eyes off it. As the noise around him grew less, he chanced a look around the class and saw Lily still calling to her broom. He wondered if he could get her attention, to show her that he had succeeded, and then to offer her some help or encouragement. He cleared his throat loudly.

"You never caught a cold, did you?!" Barnaby chatted amiably from beside him. "My mother had some really good cough medicine at home, I bet the nurse here will have it."

"I haven’t got a cold." Severus said to shut him up, and as he said it he saw Lily pluck her broom out of the air. Severus smiled and wanted to call out.

"Nice one Lily!" James Potter and Sirius Black both exclaimed and ran to pat her on the shoulder, their own brooms obediently buoyant in their hands. A scowl darkened Severus’s face until his own broom made a sudden lunge for the sky and nearly pulled him off his feet. He struggled to bring it back to rights, trying to block out the distracting sound of Gryffindor laughter.

"And now for the fun part! When I say so, and not before, you may mount your brooms, hover into the air, and then return to the ground. And that’s return immediately to the ground. Alright, are we ready? Go!"

Before Severus had even swung his leg over, James, Sirius and Clara, a girl from Hufflepuff, were in the air and smiling down on everyone. Clara quickly dropped back to earth and gave an embarrassed but pleased laugh, but James and Sirius remained hovering in the air. Severus’ broom was struggling against his grip, he had trouble getting it low enough to mount and when he tried to his foot caught in his robes and he fell into the mud. Heat blazed across his face, but so few of the students had succeeded yet that no-one had noticed. Severus stood and tried to brush the dirt off him, but he could feel a damp stain on his backside. Angrily he muttered ‘Up!’ and the broom rose to him again, and this time he mounted it safely. He gave it a tug that he thought would make it rise, and lifted into the air. Watching James and Sirius it had looked similar to sitting on a seat in a vehicle, merely commanding it to move, but it didn’t feel like it. The broom was full of pent up energy, like it was alive and wanted to get moving, and it bobbed and swayed on the breeze. And Severus found the narrow broom handle a very uncomfortable perch, and not quite adequate to hold him; he felt in constant danger of sliding off to either side, or of tipping the entire broom head over tail. He had hovered for a brief moment, and was quite ready to come down as the teacher had instructed, when he suddenly found himself upside down, his legs wrapped around the top side of the broom, and his hands still gripping the handle. His robes hung down into the mud (as he discovered he was not so very high after all), and bared his skinny legs. Then his grip failed and all of him was in the mud, the broom stayed hovering in the air only to clatter down on top of him a moment later.

He wasn’t the only one to fall of their broom that day. And Peter Pettigrew from Gryffindor had barely managed to get his broom off the ground at all. But that made no difference to Severus. He had seen the eyes all turned on him as he dragged himself out of the mud, trying not to show the bruises from his fallen broom. He had heard Sirius Black jeer from aloft "Big nose fall down?". And he saw James Potter, show off that he would prove to be, fly a figure eight around Lily as she hovered shakily, biting her lip and pointing her toes.

At the end of the class they all returned their brooms to the teacher and got praise or encouragement in return.

"Well done, Mr Potter, a natural! Though do pay more attention to instructions in the future, or you’ll lose House points. I think the same goes for you, young master Black."

"Oh dear, Mr Pettigrew, I think you’ll do better after a growth spurt, hey? Never mind!"

"Mr Lupin, a little more confidence and I think you’ll do fine."

"Ah, Barnaby Mantis, isn’t it? A good job, you might do well to tuck your knees in."

"Oh dear, and just look at you, you have more mud on your robes than on the field. Well, Mr Snape, you can make the broom obey you well enough. You just don’t seem to have the athletic side down. I think a spot of exercise out doors would be my best advice."

"Miss Evans, a fine first try, though I don’t think you need look so terrified!"

The children were excited and exhausted as they walked back to the castle, retelling the lesson to each other as they went. James and Sirius had run virtually hand in hand, grinning from ear to ear, Peter Pettigrew tailing them a few steps behind interjecting their conversation with cries of "oh yeah that was great!" and "you were far out!". If only they were far out, thought Severus.

"Are you alright?" Severus nearly jumped out of his skin, but thought he did a good job of hiding it. It was Lily, walking beside him. "I saw you fall off your broom, did it hurt? I was terrified I would fall off."

Severus felt happiness swell up in him, and squared his shoulders. But he couldn’t help wondering where Lily had been the past week, when he had been alone.

"Why are you talking to me?" He sneered at her, "I thought you didn’t want to be my friend."

Lily’s eyes widened sorrowfully. "Oh no, Sev, you’re... the only person I know here! "

"What about Potter and Black?"

"Them? They just talk to me because we’re in the same House, and because we’d met on the … train. But I haven’t even made any friends yet. It’s hard when you’re muggle born. Not that people are being mean about it, it’s just that I don’t know everything like you do. Like one girl offered me a Berty Botts Every Flavour Bean, and I got really mad at her, because I didn’t know that Witches made sweets that taste horrible. In the muggle world, you usually make lollies that taste nice. I thought she was playing a prank on me, and now everyone thinks I’m crazy."

"But you’ve been avoiding me."

"No, honestly I haven’t! But we‘re always separated into our Houses , and I thought you might be mad… and I’ve been trying to make friends…and learn - everything! I’m not avoiding you now, am I?"

Severus relented, quite happily. "No. And maybe we’ll get more classes together, like today. And I could help you, if you needed it."

"Still, I’m glad you’re not in Slytherin after all."

"Why?!" His bad mood returning.

"They don’t seem very nice, that’s all. And most of the Gryffindors really seem to dislike them."

"So you’re choosing them over me! Just because those boys said that…" He was too angry to finish.

"I’m not!" Lily cried in surprise. "You aren’t even in Slytherin!"

"That’s completely beside the point!" Severus shouted and stormed off into the castle, very nearly making the turn for the dungeons before correcting himself, leaving Lily standing by the entrance hall bewildered.

***********

Just as at home, Severus found his relief not in friends but in study. He had developed an appetite for magical knowledge at his mother’s knee. He had devoured what magical books she had been able to keep from her husband, and whenever he was absent, sleeping or, as Severus grew older, drugged by a potion slipped into his dinner, she had regaled Severus with all kinds of stories. So that although they were cut off from the wizarding world, he had felt like he was raised in (at least half) a proper wizarding family. To Severus, his very identity as a wizard was tantamount to how much he could learn, understand and achieve. He felt more of a wizard, and more himself, with his nose in a book of magic, than horsing around with other so-called under aged wizards who often seemed little different to the muggle children that had taunted him back in Spinner’s End.

To his greatest delight, Severus had found the library bookshelves almost overflowing with texts on potions, charms and hexes, herbology, magical creatures, the great magicians of the past, magical sports and recreation, magical institutions, healing magic, transfiguration, divination, astrology, astronomy, ancient runes, racing brooms, muggle studies, and even correct wand usage.

For the first few months at Hogwarts, Severus rose early and slipped away from the sleeping Hufflepuffs, slinking into the library only seconds after it’s doors were opened. He worked his way randomly through the shelves, devouring every book that seemed to speak of greatness and innovation. Smugly, he placed back any book that mentioned ‘beginner’ ‘easy’ or ‘fun’ without so much as flipping through the pages. He returned to the library at lunchtimes and free periods, and spent most of his afternoons there until curfew, when he would return to his black shrouded bed and practice spells he had learnt during the day. Between his own studies and his homework, he found he had little time to worry about friends, or the lack of them.

As the classes became harder, and the teachers came to expect more of them, Severus found himself excelling in earnest, particularly in potions and charms, and in a subject that was soon rising to be his favourite, Defence Against the Dark Arts. He was no longer able to rely on his past experience, the class work had soon caught up and overridden what he had known before coming to Hogwarts, but his natural intelligence and his over-zealous studying kept him firmly ahead of most of his classmates.

Potions classes were shared with Ravenclaw. Severus found the Ravenclaws as clever and studious as himself, a fact which only pushed him to study harder, and yet he found many of them lacked an understanding on, could he say, a more spiritual level. The Ravenclaws were certainly good at memorising, and following instructions, and achieving expected results, but seemed quite removed from the process. Severus took it on himself to understand every ingredient, every motion, until he knew how and why each was chosen, until he could answer questions that the textbooks didn’t even touch on. Professor Slughorn continued to be impressed. Severus preened, in his own dark and simple way, under Slughorn’s endless praise, but he never asked a favour of Slughorn again.

Charms, on the other hand, was shared with Gryffindor, and thus with Lily. Like Potions, it was a practical class which served to challenge and inspire him, being able to exhibit his skill in front of the class without being accused of boasting. But this did nothing to prevent him labelling James and Sirius ‘insufferable show-offs’ for behaving in, perhaps, the exact same way.

The two Gryffindor boys were always seated side by side, grinning and whispering, and showing a prodigious natural talent. Lily proved a dab hand at Charms, herself. While Severus remained a top student, his style was understated, almost grim with determination, and his utterance of the charms was quiet (and he felt sure he would soon be able to dispense with the spoken word altogether, though it was years before silent spells would be taught); so that his successes were rarely noticed by more than his immediate neighbours and the teacher. James and Sirius, however, had a loud and flamboyant style; James whipping his wand with a certain amount of aggressiveness, and Sirius with an almost dangerous carelessness. (And yet the seeming imprecision was always spot on, and Sirius ever avoided the common mistakes of explosions that afflicted, in particular, Peter Pettigrew. Peter also went a long way in drawing attention to the duo, by constantly squealing in glee at their feats.) Sitting further from them than they would have liked, next to a Gryffindor girl she had finally befriended, Lily matched all their achievements in a style that spoke of nothing more or less than pure joy.

At the end of one Charms lesson several weeks into term, as Sirius and James, with Peter in their wake as usual, ran quickly from the room to get up to some mischief Severus had been unlucky enough to drop his textbook in their path. Sirius had glided over the top of it, but James’ foot had caught it and sent it flying behind him just as it had sent him flying forward onto the ground with a loud thump. Peter, too close behind and too slow in reflex, fell on top of him and was thrown roughly aside as James tried to rise.

"You did that on purpose." James accused, red in the face with anger and embarrassment. Severus ignored him, and pushed past the jumble of limbs to retrieve his book. As he bent to pick it up he could sense James and Sirius standing behind him.

"Turn around, you coward."

He slowly grasped the book and stood, looking at a handful of pages that had been torn almost right out, the top one of which had a dirty shoe print on it. He looked over his shoulder at the Gryffindor pair. James had his wand out and pointed at his back. Sirius was holding his wand at his side.

"Turn around and face me! You did that on purpose."

"You broke my book." Severus said quietly, his eyes glittering with malice.

"Prove it. It was in tatters to start with." James’ response made Pettigrew laugh, even as he was still struggling to get up and cradling his bruised elbows.

"Oh, stop it!" Lily rushed between them, blocking James’ wand. "You just tripped on a book, go cradle your ego someplace else."

"What do you care about it?" James said, trying to aim over her shoulder.

"He’s my friend. He’s alright."

"Your friend? Huh, I thought you had better taste. Yeah, alright Lily" He said, as she started admonishing him again, "alright, maybe it was just an accident, this time. But this little Slytherin-wannabe had better stay out of my way."

Lily encouraged the Gryffindors out of the room, then returned to Severus who was still looking at his broken book. He didn’t look up as she stood next to him. "No need to thank me."

"I know. You didn’t need to save me from Potter. I could take him. I wasn’t scared, you know."

"Well. That’s what you think is it? Next time maybe I’ll just let you handle it on your own. Maybe I won’t bother talking to you anymore, either."

"Wait….thanks."

"How’s the book?"

"Wrecked." Severus took his wand out of his robes and pointed it at the book, mumbled something and the pages magically knitted back into one piece. "No harm done, I guess." His tone contrary to his words.

" It’s just the way you went on about Slytherin, you know. Why they don’t…get on with you. They’re actually okay, otherwise."

"They’re self-righteous bullies, Lily."

"Yeah, well I remember what you said to Petty, before we came here. She told me, and she wouldn’t speak to me at the station because of it. You were horrid to my own sister, and I’ve forgiven you for it."

Severus scowled as he searched for an answer; he knew Lily needed him to apologise and say he never meant it, but he did, he was only interested in magic and some silly Muggle girl was nothing but a waste of his time.

Thankfully, before he could answer in any wise, Professor Flitwick had returned to the classroom to pick up some papers he’d left behind. He started to see the two students still in the room.

"Merlin’s Beard! Out out out! Students are not allowed in here unattended!"

Severus gladly hastened from the room, and Lily had no choice but to follow, but found he had disappeared down the corridor heading to the only place he could actually hide from her (excepting the boys’ bathrooms), the Hufflepuff common room.

****

The Huffelpuff common room was always warm and cosy, the fire always lit, and the comforting smell of a home cooked meal always wafting in from the nearby kitchens. Students were regularly lounged before the fire or in the spacious, deep armchairs, studying or just chatting in their usual amiable manners. For almost every student this served to stave off homesickness, but one young Hufflepuff found it alien and strange. Severus had grown up in a sparsely furnished house, with utilitarian wooden chairs and a fire that was often dead, or smoking frightfully; a house that had rarely known the smell of roasting beef or apple pie, nor the sound of carefree conversation, or joyous laughter. Severus found that his small, dark presence was incongruous in its new home, and yet he was tolerated, welcomed even.

Many of the Hufflepuffs had given up on Severus within a month, and left him to himself, without animosity. Two older students had taken a dislike to him, since he had decided to shun Hufflepuff they decided to shun him, and could be heard to whisper that he didn’t deserve to be in their house, and yet even they withheld from tormenting him. And one first-year, that red-faced curly-headed Barnaby Mantis, was positively determined to befriend him. His attempts to get Severus talking, however, didn’t always turn out so well.

Barny Mantis was a prattler. He could talk about anything or nothing for hours, his inconsequential chatter interspersed with "I say", "golly", "boy", "old man" and "chum". Severus on the other hand, prefered to keep conversation to a minimum, brief and to the point. Worse, it was soon very obvious that Barny Mantis was rich, and Severus, being rather on the opposite end of the scale, fully expected to be rejected even by him soon enough. In his experience, social classes didn't mix, just as - it seemed to make sense - muggle and wizard ought not to mix. To his suprise, Barnaby had a different opinion.

The (mostly one-sided) conversation had eventually led to Severus exclaiming unhappily "You're rich; I'm not! You go on and on about your dad - my dad's a labourer, alright, and a bloody muggle too. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now that you've beat it out of me with your incessant blabber?! Now that you know how worthless I am you can go ahead and hate me all you want."

"I say, old chum, I'm shocked! I didn't mean anything of the sort. I don't hate you, and I think you're far from worthless! Why, you're much better than me in classes - excepting broomsticks - better than almost anyone! And I know you aren't rich, but what could that matter?! Really! As if I cared how much money you had, or if your dad's a muggle? It doesn't change who you are. I'm sorry I bore you with talk of my father, I'm just proud of him, like I'm sure you are of yours..."

"I'm not." Severus muttered.

"Well, gosh, maybe you should be? Like my dad says; don't judge people by things they have no control over."

Barny looked at him sideways, and walked away shaking his head. Normally Severus would be thrilled to have finally shut him up, but instead his mind was filled with all the anxiety he’d ever felt over his father and his class. Barnaby had left him, but he'd not rejected him. Severus couldn't help being poor, or having Tobias Snape for a father, and yet that was who he was. And here was some rich wizard boy, trying to tell him that none of it mattered. Not because he could turn his back on it, and despise it, but because there was honestly nothing wrong with it. Well, Severus had grown up with it, not Barny, and as far as he was concerned it did matter, and there was a lot wrong with it.

That night Severus dreamt of his mother and father shouting at each other. By the time he awoke, he was exhausted and confused. Severus peered out of the black curtains of his bed and found Barnaby dressing for the day, he spotted Snape's nose sticking out and gave him a friendly "morning!". Snape withdrew back into the dark of his bed, thinking that maybe it didn't matter how much money you had, or how much wizard blood you had, not if you were a wizard yourself, not if you were a strong, good wizard who could command respect. Because money and blood couldn't make you a great wizard, it was something you had to be, in yourself. And a really great wizard wouldn't use his unfortunate past as an excuse to be less than he deserved. And yet, the insecurities and prejudices of eleven years are not conquered overnight.

first chapter: Sorting
next chapter: to be posted soon.

Snake of Hufflepuff 1st Year 1/3

Sun, 23 Mar 2008 03:29:13 GMT

Title: Snake of Hufflepuff; 1st Year; Sorting (1/3)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: primary: Severus Snape. secondary: Lily Evans, Remus, Sirius, James etc...
Notes/Summary: AU marauders era. Severus Snape is sorted into Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin.
Words: 2533
Warnings: none yet.

Placing the hat on his head pushed his hair forward so that it cascaded over his face, and the crowded room disappeared behind the dark greasy veil. And they were silent, waiting for the hat’s verdict. He was alone. Well, they could all wait with hushed anticipation, but Severus himself felt none of the anxiety that the other students went through. He was quite confident. His mother had told him all about the ritual, he knew the hat would talk, and he knew what it would say. Slytherin. He thought to himself.

Slytherin, hey? Severus jumped a little, despite himself. He had expected the voice to be loud and triumphant, not this weaselling niggling whisper that tugged at his insecurities. Oh yes, I can see the desire for power, for recognition. A chance to prove yourself. Yes, and I see the pride of Salazar Slytherin himself. But I also see strength, endurance, bravery. Perhaps it will be…Gryffindor for you? No? Hmm, a good mind too. Perhaps too good. Ravenclaw would help you to develop it to its upmost potential.

Slytherin. Severus thought more forcefully, not sure if he should speak aloud.

Aaah, yes, I do see your desire for that particular house. Yes, you would do well in Slytherin. Very well. You could be Head Boy, you could be Head of Slytherin thereafter. I see it. But I can see more than that. I can see your desires, your strengths, but I can see your weaknesses too. And your needs. A bit of love, and bit of care, wouldn’t go astray. You could well use a lesson in kindness yourself. You could do well to have your mind broadened rather than narrowed. Yes. Oh, yes. The best place for you…is not where you desire to be.

"Gryffindor then, with Lily!" Severus muttered, and blushed at having spoken out accidentally.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" The hat announced to the room. The Hufflepuff table let out a cheer and the rest of the assembly gave a polite smattering of applause, mingled with the odd snigger.

"Hufflepuff?!" Severus cried as the hat was lifted off him. He had never felt so insulted in his life, and that was saying something. He felt a cringing fear burn into his stomach, and came close to tears. The teacher in charge of the ceremony gave him a friendly pat on that back and pushed him towards the Hufflepuff table. "Go on, dear. Your classmates are waiting for you."

"But there must be some mistake!" He tried desperately, but the teacher simply smiled and pushed him a little harder, "The hat has his reasons, and he hasn’t gone wrong once. Go and join your table, there are more students to be sorted."

Severus let his feet carry him to the gold and black table and sat down in stunned silence. No. No. Mother’s going to kill me. How will I tell her? Hufflepuff? I was supposed to be in Slytherin, the best house, mother’s house. She never said anything good about Hufflepuff. It even sounds pathetic. Huflepuffle. HR Pufnstuf. I s’pose Dad will be happy.

While Severus moped several more students were placed in their houses, including two more to Hufflepuff who attempted to celebrate with him but gave up when he refused to even look at them. He only looked up when he heard "Slytherin!" called out once more and he looked over to their table where a pale haired prefect was genially welcoming their new classmate, everyone cheering and clapping the young boy on the back. His face screwed up in envy, it should have been him. It was too much to bear, to finally be here at Hogwarts, and to be denied his rightful place in Slytherin. He tore his gaze away and flung it towards the Gryffindor table. The boys from the train were there, Lily sitting beside them and laughing. And with them, two more boys, one small and pandering, the other shy. He felt longing and envy dig at him again. I don’t want to be in stinking Gryffindor, Severus thought angrily to banish the feeling. But it didn’t go away. It grew worse as he saw Lily smile and laugh at something that Potter kid said. Then they all looked at him. Humiliation burned his face. Lily smiled apologetically and gave him a tiny wave of her fingers. Sirius Black made a face and pulled on his nose before bursting out laughing, and they all turned back to their table again. Severus stared into his empty plate. Wondering if his hatred would burn a hole through it.

****

"Cheer up, old boy." A pink cheeked boy said gently, and placed a hand on Snape’s shoulder. Severus shrugged it off violently, and went back to picking at his food. The feast was amazing, but he wasn’t in the mood, despite never having seen so much food at once before.

"Oh, what’s the kafuffle? This is a feast! All that terrible waiting is over; we’re in a house now. I don’t know about you, but I was awful nervous about that hat business. But now that it’s all over, I feel a bit foolish. Everyone here seems awful nice. My name’s Barnaby, by the way. It’s Severus, isn’t it? Jolly good to meet you."

The ridiculous boy held out his hand. Severus glared at it. After a few moments Barnaby let his hand fall. "Well, I suppose I’ll see you in the dormitory."

"I wouldn’t count on it." Severus muttered. "The hat made a mistake, I’m really in Slytherin. I expect the Headmaster will sort it all out before the end of the day."

"Slytherin? Are you sure? My dad says that Slytherin is full of dark wizards and toadeaters, or toadies, or something, and that they’re mostly bad news, and often quite dim." He paused as Severus gave him a scathing look. "Er, but he also tells me not to judge people over things they have no control over, which I suppose includes which House they get placed in. But surely you don’t want to be in Slytherin? A jolly bit of good luck I’d say it was, the hat getting it wrong."

Severus curled his lip in a sneer that Barnaby decided to interpret as a smile, and the cheery boy walked off to sit at his own plate surrounded by the rest of the Hufflepuff family. Severus took a quick glance and noticed that everyone was at least two seats away from him. Bitterly humiliated again, he grabbed a pumpkin pie and set to devouring it.

****
In the first year dormitory it was quickly established that Severus didn’t wish to be there. He stared at the yellow curtains around his bed, and with a quick slash of his wand, turned them black. He turned his back on the appreciative gasps and whispers of the other boys, and crawled onto his bed and closed the curtains tight.

While the other boys got to know each other with jokes, and pillow fights, and shared candies, Severus stayed shut behind his black curtains and unpacked his meagre belongings. A tattered photograph of his mother, and a threadbare grey nightdress went under his pillow. His wand and a battered copy of Hogwarts: A History (first ed.) went on the bedside table. Out of his robes he drew a handful of tarts that he’d smuggled from the welcoming feast, and stored them in a draw for a midnight snack. His single change of clothes he slipped into the trunk at the end of his bed. Then he dragged his bundle of text books onto the bed and untied the string keeping them together. He looked at their dilapidated state; he had only been able to afford the cheapest of second hand copies. And still two were missing. As if it wasn’t bad enough to be poor in the muggle world, now he faced a lifetime of being poor in the wizard world as well. He thought wistfully of the green thread his mother had secretly sewn into his robes, certain he would soon be the darling of Slytherin House. He still hadn’t sent her an owl, and wasn’t certain if the school sent them on his behalf. It was possible that his mother already knew of his disgrace. He thought it best to put off the moment as long as he could, still hopeful that the mistake could be remedied.

Within the week he had lost all such hope.

In his first potions class he had met the head of Slytherin House, Professor Slughorn. He had impressed his teacher by being the only student in the class to successfully make a simple potion. Severus had found the lesson tedious, having made more complex potions at home to drug his father with, and found the teacher’s praise somewhat distasteful. It was not as if he had done anything of excellence yet, he had merely been surrounded by fools. And yet it gave him a chance to speak one on one with the Slytherin Master, and he gratefully took the opportunity to mention his situation.

"…and so you see, Professor, the dilemma I’m in."

"Oh, and you expect me to wave my hand and have you transferred, is that it?"

"Surely you can manage it."

"Well, perhaps if you were somehow ejected from your own house, and were floating as a free agent as it were, then I suppose I could step in and take you, but to poach you. No, I’m afraid the sorting hat does the sorting, and that’s that. I can’t go around poaching all the best students for my own house, now, that would never be allowed! And now, Hufflepuff’s a fine House, perhaps not so fine as Slytherin, I grant you, but you’ll soon find your feet!"

And speaking to the Head of Hufflepuff had only earned him detention. His punishment: to write a four foot parchment on the virtues of Hufflepuff and the prestige of its alumni. He had been forced to grudgingly admit that Hufflepuff was not such a disgraceful House to call his own, and yet he remained adamant that it was still not his.

His final ray of hope had appeared and disappeared during lunch on the Saturday. Severus had refused to sit or talk with his fellow Hufflepuffs but had sat at the very end seat of their long table, and eaten in silence every day. This day, however, he had found his seat to be occupied by a seventh year, and unwilling to confront him, Severus had turned away. The entire length of the Hufflepuff table was filled with students, although many spare seats presented themselves they were interspersed throughout the crowd. It was almost as if they had done it on purpose, to force him to sit beside one of them. Well, thought Severus, it’s Saturday and I can eat in the common room, while you’re all out. But as he walked down the aisle to reach the food he liked, someone tugged on his robes. It was someone on the Slytherin table.

"Aren’t you the kid who wants to be in Slytherin?" The boy asked. He looked like a second or third year, another boy beside him was clearly his brother. A whole gang of them was looking at him; including the pale-blond prefect, and two pretty girls, one blond and the other with dark hair. A few Slytherins further down the table were looking up at them with sycophantic grins on their faces, including the boy he’d watched during the Sorting Ceremony.

Severus gulped in anticipation and struggled to speak clearly, "Yes. I suppose that’s me."

"I don’t blame you. Think you’re good enough for Slytherin do you?"

"Yes." He answered with as much certainty as he could. The boys laughed in a manner that seemed well natured and friendly, one muttered "Got the attitude".

"So you can get me in, can’t you? I can be in Slytherin."

The older blond boy, the prefect, smiled directly at him. The kindest, best smile Severus had ever seen, a smile that seemed to say I’ll let you in on a secret, I’ll let you in to my private circle. And Severus inwardly prepared for the joy he was sure to feel when he was welcomed into their fold.

The blond smiled, and leaned toward Severus, "The sorting hat didn’t think so."

And they all burst out laughing. It wasn’t friendly or well natured, it was mocking and cruel, and had taken Severus by devastating surprise, as he just stood there with his mouth hanging open.

Suddenly anger flashed within him and he shouted "The Hat lied! It told me I could be in Slytherin and it put me in Hufflepuff, but it said, it SAID I would do well in Slytherin! IT SAID!"

His outburst only made the Slytherins laugh more, and made heads turn from the other tables to glance at him. But he was too worked up to stop himself.

"It said I would be Head of House! I’d be the master of Slytherin one day! I’m better than all of you!"

The laughter reached a ridiculous pitch and the dark haired girl actually fell off her chair. People in the furthest reaches of the dining hall were standing up to get a better view. The prefect sneered and made a quick cutting motion to silence his classmates, succeeding with all but the girl who was now wriggling on the floor, cackling like a fairy-tale witch or hyena. He stared at Severus until he calmed down, then he spoke quietly with a voice gentle and charming.

"I am Lucius Malfoy. I come from a long distinguished pure blood family. I am prefect of Slytherin House. When I go home during the summer it is to a mansion. When I am lonely I have that gorgeous girl there" he motioned slightly in the direction of the blond girl, who simpered, "Narcissa, to keep me company. Look at my robes…" Severus did, and they were beautiful, if a little effeminate, "…and then look at yours. I have a dozen more like this, and nicer. And you have… what? What do you have? Who are you?"

Seething inwardly, Severus tried to sound dignified, "I am Severus Snape!"

"Snape…I don’t recognise it. You cannot be pure blood, then?" Lucius phrased it as a question, but it was really a challenge.

"My mother’s a witch! I’m no mudblood!"

"And yet you’re still a dirty half-blood, who even the Sorting Hat can see isn’t worthy of Salazar Slytherin’s name. Why would we waste our time on you."

Severus turned and ran out of the hall. Behind him the cackling girl was calling out in a sing-song voice "Half-blood Hufflepuff! Half-Blood Hufflepuff!"

He wanted nothing more than to run to the dungeons that his mother had described to him as home, but he couldn’t. And he couldn’t face the cheery warm Hufflepuff common room, so he ran to the library, where he found a deserted aisle and sank to his knees, and cried.

next chapter: Lessons

Thu, 20 Mar 2008 13:06:12 GMT

kali in the dead end

Wed, 19 Mar 2008 06:23:43 GMT

original fiction. 1200 words. forgive spelling errors, plz. Probably just one piece, though maybe I'll continue it as it doesn't really end. It is a recurring setting though. A future melbourne of giant buildings, warren like sub-terrainian tunnels, and a super powered cult of internet surfers, (kinda), and junkies hooked on a defunct internet that spews out empty information directly into the body/mind (~ that is unless youse a total super hero who can find a way into the hidden paths of the ancient net, and surf it, busting out through links into the modern web and kicking ass on the baddies.) although none of that is in here...

The Subterrain. 12:36am. This area here; abandoned subway tunnel, the tiled walls slick with damp, grey-green sludge oozing from the cracked mortar, graffiti - abandoned too. The long fluerescent lights ceased even flickering a decade past. Even the sewer rats don't run here much. Too close to the collapsed tunnel, it's a dead end. Everyone avoids deadends in the warren of the Subterrain. Everyone that wants to live, wants to get high, get wasted, get fucked. The drugs aren't sold in dead ends. Sex neither. Not even a tat parlour. Only the lowest of the low bother turning into a dead end. The shitters want to take a dump, or dump the body. The air is stifling. The sound is dead, like the end. The stench is stale urine and faeces and rotting body parts. All the Subterrain is dank and dark and dirty - but it's home to a third the city's population, but there's places even they won't go. Other than a toilet, a cemetery, a garbage tip, what's this place got to lure in a pretty little thing like Kali? Only the most private internet hub she's ever fucking found.
The computer interface long since liberated, screen stolen for a homemade tv, keypad sold for drugmoney. Still, the jacks are there, the wires stripped bare in places but still there. Kali only has to survive the stench long enough to get herself plugged in. The padded tip is missing here, that bit of metal - rusty. She knows she's risking an infection, but she wires up anyway. Addiction outways infection, every time. Without the interface there's no fine tuning, and the power's lying dormant and in need of a jump start. She crosses the wires expertly and feels the sudden rush of static. Bliss. The waves of static roll over her. Everything is oblivion. Her senses are swallowed by the ocean of abandoned space, the pathways lost, the empty bites in their trillions upon trillions, or maybe not empty, maybe only unreadable, jostling in the cyber space that no longer has reason. Hitchhiking the super-highway to nowhere. She feels herself emptied into the internet even as she herself is filled with the flood of information it gorges out at her that screams NOTHING. The static that fills her veins her neural pathways devoid of the beauty and meaning they were once intended for, now screaming NOTHING into her brain and lungs and heart. It swirls inside her as she wallows in the void that stretches to infitity in every direction including time, and yet is only a foyer, a waiting room, a station, with the timetables down and the train never coming, and the destinations long since forgotten. The closest to death she's ever been, the closest to the clouds where her father rose and abandoned her, his club tie around his neck, his smile broad and smug and unapologetic. But he's not in the clouds, her brain struggles to articulate above the rolling static, not in the sky but in the scrapers, towering over her and her mother just as he had when she was young, but now she was in the clouds, in the sky itself and higher so much higher than he would ever be. Her teacher's warned the empty net was like the deepening pits of hell, black and consuming, but to her tonight it was the sky endless and expanding, she rose and stretched and was filled with infinity and she was the universe. The universe was inside her and her bloated empty mind was bursting at the seams. Cracks appeared like lightning. Cracks in her mind that appeared before her eyes in the endless expanse that she had swallowed.

3:15am. Jack has entered the dead end for the only reason a sane man would. He slit his pants and slashed the wall with urine, strong with GutterGin. He staggered as he did his fly, and saw the slumped form of Kali below the pillaged internet hub. Behind her half-closed lids, her eyes were darting wildly. Saliva wet her chin. Her arm was discoloured, the veins bulging, where the damaged jack had caused the start of an infection.

"Ah shit." Jack muttered. He didn't need this. But he was a net junky himself. He saw the signs of a beginner going too far too fast. Not to mention the spreading infection. He knew it would hurt her, but without the interface, or a twin-jack to go in and retrieve her, he had no control but to rip her out of there by force. He grabbed the jacks and unplugged her, none too gentle in his drunken state. As the wires withdrew so too did the static, the empty signal getting sucked back out of her, draining a whole sea from her mind in a second - the gurgling plug hole so loud in her ears that the pain was unbearable. She scrunched up her body and tried to cover her ears. Jack held onto her, hoping she wouldn't hurt either of them before returning to proper consciousness.

Ten minuted later she notices that she's no longer floating in outer space, that she has indeed a body of flesh and bone, and that it is sitting in a rundown subway, craddled in the arms of a stranger. She looked up at him, remembering that she was wired, but not remembering him at all, not remembering pulling the plug. "Who are you and what are you doing to me?" She asked, though all that was audible was "ha?".

Jack interpretted it pretty closely, and answered, "You were in too far, I was afraid you were going to blow out, so I pulled you out. I'm sorry. That arm will need looking at." He pointed to the infection. Kali winced, recognising the sensation of pain now that her brain was coming back on line. "I'm Jack, by the way. I ought to get you home, if you trust me? Do you have someone to look after that?" Meaning the infection again.

Kali shook her head, or thought she did. The tiny movement to the left was signal enough for a fellow junky. "Right, well, I can take you home and recommend a guy for you, if you like? Where you live?"

"Fitzroy."

"Sure, I can get you there. I know a guy in that area can fix you up."

"No. Phoenix Towers. Level 5."

"No shit! You live in a scraper? Even level 5, that's high enough to know better. What on earth are you doing down here, surface dweller?"

"Junky."

"Yeah. I hear you."

"Mum."

"Kill you?" She tried to shake her head again, her eyes got wet enough to suggest tears. Jack took another guess, "It'd kill her? Yeah, so you don't want to upset mummy. Look, if you're not opposed, I got a place on the surface myself, though not in any tower trunk, an original dwelling, I'm shacked up with this old guy and he knows more about the internet than God. He's an original Pirate."

Kali half-heartedly agreed to go with Jack, still knocked about by the abrupt return to reality, she allowed him to half-carry her out of the dead end and eventually towards the ancient terrace house of one original Pirate.

6 word meme!

Wed, 27 Feb 2008 14:30:49 GMT

http://www.wired.com/wired/archive/14.11/sixwords.html
from over at the Black Books slash journal, comes this meme-ish fun:
simply; write a story (fannish or original) in 6 words!

afterwards; manny purred, bernard just smoked.

after midnight. internet. late for work.

Happy with no money, big tv.

Boy Who Lived dies; Voldemort defeated!

No sweeter sound

Wed, 27 Feb 2008 13:59:36 GMT

Here is a little very pointless piece of author(gentle)slash.
Characters: C.S. "Plain Jack" Lewis. and JRR "Ron" Tolkien.
Disclaimers: i am not writing biography, these are characters, duh, not real people, despite any similarities.
Warnings: ever so slightly gently slashy.

The air was thick with smoke, curling from his pipe, leaking from under the floo. Jack was sitting on a low footstool directly infront of the fireplace, his ruddy features illuminated by the flickering light. Ron looked down at him from the doorway; he liked the image of the tall man squatting awkwardly, puffing contentedly.

"Am I the first here, Plain Jack?"

Jack slowly drew on his pipe, and carefully exhaled an elegant ring of smoke. "The others aren't coming, Ronald. Shut the door."

Ronald pushed the door to, keeping his eyes on Jack. "If the Kolbitars aren't meeting, what will we do? Surely we won't be reading the epics, just the two of us... as much as I can't wait to wrap my tongue around those... syllables... again, it seems almost unfaithful to carry on without the men."

"I'm certain we can find other things to amuse us. Come sit with me by the fire, my friend."

Ron smiled, he dropped his books onto the table and withdrew his pipe from his jacket, setting it rakishly in the corner of his mouth. He grabbed a large bottle of dark ale and two beer mugs and headed to the fireplace. He knelt next to Jack, who took the glasses, and opened the bottle. The foam overflowed and the two men laughed, catching the rest of the beer in the mugs. Ron set the bottle down and pulled a hankerchief from his breast pocket and started to dab at the stain on the carpet. Jack laughed and kicked at his hands.

"Stop that! We're before the fire, it will dry by itself." And he used his heel to rub in what was left of the bubbles until it was just a dark wet patch.

Ronald was left holding his hankerchief, half-spoiled and smelling strongly of beer and tobacco, he waved it at Jack then reached over and tied it onto the leg of the footstool.

"A token, my knight." He smiled. Jack smirked, and spoke around his pipe, "M'lady."

They drank and spoke and smoked into the night. Jack filled and re-filled their pipes with his tobacco. Ron fetched and poured the beers. He had an idea that nothing could compare to the friendship of men, and he eagerly expressed it to Jack; the passionate loyalty that could withstand all trials, that could make heroes of small and simple men. The words rushed, gushed forth, Jack bouncing them back, the conversation cascading around them. They nodded and laughed at their easy, natural harmony of ideals, and the conversation surged anew. In the energy of their talk, ash spilt from their pipes, Ron paused, "Damn." and tried to clean it, Jack grabbing his hand to stop him again and said "I told you to just rub it in!". He held onto his hands and rubbed at the spot with his toes, the ash disappearing into the carpet, making another dark smudge. He looked at the stain with satisfaction. Ron looked up at him, their clasped hands between them.

"Mr. Lewis..."

Jack threw Ron's hands back into his lap, and took another swill of beer. Laughing gruffly, but good naturedly, and so infectively that Ron was forced to join in.

Jack leaned back and sighed. "There is no sweeter sound; the laughter of men."

Ron smiled, and took Jack's hand in his own.

Polyjuice.

Sun, 10 Feb 2008 06:47:20 GMT

Here's a short piece written just now!

Fandoms: Harry Potter
Characters: Snape/Lupin/Lily Evans
Notes/Warnings: M. a wee bit queer, wee bit pwn. Not for the kidliwinks but not very graphic. (although, does it require 'explicit' flagging? I don't know?)

"What have you got there?" Snape asked as his friend appeared out of the trapdoor.

Remus smiled wickedly, holding a steaming and foul smelling cauldron. "A suprise! I have learnt something from you, you know. Polyjuice Potion. Bet you didn't think I could manage that, did you?"

Severus was suprised, and let out a pleased, bemused, snort of laughter. "You've been brewing that all this time in secret? Where did you ever do it?"

"Oh that was easy: the girl's bathroom."

"Really Remus, even you couldn't pass as a girl without first taking some of that potion. Didn't any of the girls scream at your obvious masculinity, or at least at the smell?" Snape tried not to laugh.

"Oh there was no screaming, only moaning."

The laughter died in his throat; a quiver passed through him, and he felt a conflicting arousal and jealousy stir in his loins. Quietly he uttered "Moaning?"

Remus was enjoying the effect he was having. "Oh yeah, moaning, groaning. She was all wet, I had her literally lifted off her feet, she was floating on air, just... moaning."

Snape was chewing his lip, holding his breath, salivating. He let out his breath with a pop. "Lily?"

Remus relented with an easy laugh. "Myrtle. The ghost, lives in the dunny."

"And you...?!"

"What do you take me for, Severus Snape, some kind of pervert?"

They grinned at each other.

"So what is the potion for, Remus? Just trying to impress me?"

"Ah, well. I thought we might have a little fun... I invited Lily along, she should come any second now."

Severus made a questioning face, but Remus just smiled crookedly. His anticipation built as they waited for Lily. Soon she arrived, as oblivious as Snape as to Lupin's plans.

Remus conjured three goblets and poured in the polyjuice, ignoring the others' questions. They took a full goblet each, it was thick and stinky like swamp mud. They all cringed.

"But who is it? Who are we going to become? And why?"

Lupin's smile spread wider, twitching slightly. "Nobody yet, I haven't put the final ingredient in: a piece of the person you'll transform into. Now, everyone... put a piece of yourself into your goblet! And pass the goblet on!"

The three of them added themselves to the potion in their hands, and when they were done passed it on, red in the face. Remus panted and played the mc again, "Okay, now you've not got your own potion anymore? No? Good, then drink up!"

Embarrasment. They held their noses and chugged. The potion went down, Severus plucked a stray hair from between his crooked front teeth, Lily shuddered at the bitterness, Remus smacked his lips. A moment passed when nothing happened. Then... their faces bubbled. Lily's red hair turned black, lank, greasy, her nose grew several centimeters, her school dress remained. Remus' floppy hair deepened to a dark red and plummeted down his back, his pale scruffy face smoothed into Lily's. Snape softened into Remus.

Remus-Snape looked at himself and dropped the empty goblet. "Remus, you taste like dog... but you feel good."

"Wait a minute, I didn't use to be a man. Why do I have male sexual organs?" Snape-Lily asked, shocked, but not unpleasantly.

Lily-Remus laughed, "Severus you look good in a dress!"

Remus-Snape stared at her-him. "I'm not in a dress. I'm you!"

Snape-Lily looked at Remus-Snape in a new light. "Is this what it feels like to be you? Hmm, I think we do look good in a dress."

Remus-Snape stared at what looked like himself. "Well, maybe. Uh. Are you inside me, Lily?"

She laughed, her own voice escaping delightfully from Snape's lips. "You know, I could be, now."

"Lily." Remus-Snape said seriously and soberly, "Are you suggesting sexual intercourse?" The other two burst into laughter. "Are you suggesting that we... that I...fuck myself?"

Lily-Remus cackled, absently fondling a breast as he laughed. "Are you attracted to him in my body, Lily? Perhaps you ought to fuck me instead, it would be a new experience for me, sort of; I've never had a vagina before."

"Lily, could you physically make love to someone who looks like you?!" Remus-Snape was shocked.

"I think we all could." Lily-Remus said, and bit the air between them. "Arrggnn."

"Ha! If I fuck you Remus, it'll look like Sev was fucking me; he's never had the guts before, but if we show him how it's done...." Snape-Lily and Lily-Remus shrieked with delighted laughter and reached for each other with hungry ... hands.

"WAIT!" Remus-Snape screamed, and pulled at Lily-Remus making her-him look him in the eye. "Did you do this so that if I try to kiss Lily I'd have to kiss myself or you, and either way it would look like i was kissing you?! And if I actually tried to fuck you I'd either have to masturbate or bang Lily?! This is doing my head in? Tell me!"

Lily-Remus twirled a long strand of red hair on her-his little finger and smiled sweetly. "Pretty much. Although it's not all about you."

"Freak!"

"Yes. But is that a problem?"

Remus-Snape grinned. "No, it's why I love you."

**
Outside, in the village of Hogsmead, a couple were taking a stroll through the woods past the Most Haunted House in Brittain, there was a great deal of shrieking coming from that old shack, it sounded like mad beasts but they were sure there was laughter as well, and as the couple ran away in fear they couldn't help an embarrassed flush rise to their cheeks.

The Hobbits are back but where is it?

Sat, 09 Feb 2008 08:23:04 GMT

Written: 1991 (grade 4)
Fandoms: The Hobbit (before discovering that LOTR existed)
Words: ~850
Notes: Original spelling and grammar included.

The Hobbits are back but where is it?

It was an awful day in Hobbiton for Terbo and Cerbo, so awful, in fact, that they didn’t even hear Gandalf knocking on the door of their cosy little hobit hole.

When they finally realized he was knocking, Terbo went to open the door with a sigh. But before he could do anything, Gandalf came rushing in wailing and groaning. “Where is it?! It cant (sic) have gone too!”

‘Calm down, and tell us what is happening!’ Gandalf started to tell them that Bilbo baggins sword and magic ring had disappeared and that they had to do something, but he didn’t finish. ‘Oh, Gandalf, do tell us!’ Terbo and Cerbo said frantically. “You have to go by the path Bilbo did many years ago, until you come to the end of mirkwood. And I, my friend shall be going for now. I will meet you at the entrance of Hobbiton 3 days from now! Good bye.” Gandalf said hurriedly. “Good bye! Fare well! The two hobbits called after him.

“If the sword has gone and the ring too, we shall have no protection!” Cerbo cried, very sorry for himself.

Two days soon passed and the hobbits were very nervous. When the 3^rd day came they were off at dawn.

They soon met Gandalf and then the journey began. They went as fast as they could to the Edge of the Wild where they stayed for 3 nights because they had missed out on a lot of sleep. When they finally came to the Misty Mountains they were very careful of goblins. They managed to dodge them at the crack in the wall of the cave. Even though it was only open a little bit they could just slip through.

They had gonea fair way, when Terbo saw a young goblin crying. The hobbits went a bit closer but Gandalf stood still. The goblin didn’t know that Terbo was looking at him from the left and Cerbo from behind. The goblin was wailing “Everyone left me ‘cause I didn’t want to fight! And they left me poor ol’ Gertil!” The hobbits were feeling rather sorry for Gertil and wished they could do something. Gertil then saw the hobbits and they made friends. Together they went to Mirkwood.

They were invited to many feasts of the wood-elves. “Oh, you must be Terbo and cerbo Took of Bilbos race, we shall help you find your sword and ring.” Said one of the wood-elves. It took a long time to get to the end of Mirkwood, but they did. There waiting for them was Gandalf and the Lake men also accomponied by Bond. The Hobbits asked where Thesil was and the reply startled them. ‘We can not help it if Thesil felt sick when we told him about it.’

The Hobbits were sure that Thesil know something they didn’t, and were very suspiciouse about it. Terbo and Cerbo couldn’t sleep that night, they were both thinking about THesil and the sword and ring. They had to do something, find the sword and ring, but how? They asked themselves this question over and over again.

Atlast they dicided what they would do, and one night the two hobbits crept into Thesils kingdom.

As they explored they came across a locked room. They saw something glittering through a crack in the door.

The hobbits went back to their tent, it was very late so they both slept in next day. They picked flowers after lunch then they went with Gandalf to see Thesil because he was supposedly sick. When they were they asked if they could see all his kingdom.

When they walked past the locked room they started asking questions. “It’s my special secret room. I only open it on Mondays, so nobody come here then!” Thesil answerd grumpely, and with that he asked them to leave.

Terbo and Cerbo thought about it for a while.

“It’s Sunday today, so if we sneak in again tomorow we will see what it was in the room.” Terbo said to Cerbo.

With the help of Gertil they dug a tunnel that opened into Thesils lounge room, which was right next to the locked room. They waited a long time till Thesil came and opened the locked door. Then he went and had breakfast so the two hobbits quickly ran into the room.

They were right, the sword and ring were there! They carefully picked up the sword and ring and started to back off. But they heard Thesil coming, so they had to go as fast as they could back down the tunnel and ran to the tent. Gandalf and the lake men, accompanied by a few wood elves, went to see Thesil, to ask him why he took the sword and rig, but when they got there he wasn’t there. He had gone off after finding out that some one knew he took the sword + ring. The hobbits wanted to go home, but were persuaded to stay a few more days.

Cursed

Wed, 06 Feb 2008 01:57:25 GMT

I have decided to post something straight away, so I dug out an old piece. This was written for a high school literature assignment.
It is (supposedly) written in the style of Edgar A Poe, who we were studying.
Written: 1999
Word Count: about 3100

Cursed

“…May those who curse you be cursed…” Genesis 27:29

I am of a most affluent breed; my family’s position was exquisite, our rambling estate nestled within rolling green hills, and surrounded by tall oak forests, and not least our large and luxuriously furnished Elizabethan mansion, occasioned us to be among the most elite and respected society. Suffice to say, throughout the years of my youth, I was lavished with all the material wealth and opportunities one of my class deserved. Yet it was that, at times, I felt the most poor and dejected creature upon this earth. My mother had died during her first childbirth – a fact which I have always mourned deeply, for it occasioned not one, but two sorrows. I was denied the privilege of knowing the woman who gave me life, but what has now proven to be worse was the birth of another child, a twin brother to myself, who had the strength, or luck, to be cradled first and named sole heir as eldest son.

We both grew strongly, well provided for by our father who was utterly blind, the unfortunate consequence of a past illness, and somewhat deaf, the usual infirmity of his far progressed age. My elder brother and myself were very much alike in size, shape and voice, thus our father, in his complete blindness, could barely distinguish one son from the other. The sole discriminating factor grew upon my brother’s body. While my skin was smooth, my twin’s was covered in a thick layer of coarse dark hairs.

As I have previously mentioned to you, we grew very much alike; in our early years we were wont to hold such fond intimacy that we were rarely seen apart, and we, with equal diligence and passion, determined to succeed in all our studies, labours and talents. As years progressed, however, to my bitter disappointment, although we were in truth fit equals, our father showed a blatant preference for his elder, hairy son.

I endured years of my brother’s faithful friendship, and indeed loved him for it, yet coveted our father’s favour, so lavishly bestowed on him but frightfully lacking towards myself. In the recesses of our father’s mind, I know not why my light shone but ever dimly in the strength of my brother’s radiant glow.

I could not tell you when my youthful mind formed such a notion, but as the years passed I developed a strong association between my own hapless predicament and my brother’s unnatural hair. Hence from this dubious conclusion, I came to loath his hair with a passion quite beyond my control, and became fixated upon it as the sole blame for all my troubles; I was driven to a state of pure agitation by perceiving my father caress his hairy arms and give him alone the praise we both deserved. And yet I loved both father and brother, and strove to please them both. It could be supposed then, that with maturity this phase should pass and my excitable fancy be quelled. But such was not the case. As my age increased so too did my hatred of my twin’s hair, and so dramatically indeed, that simply upon sight of it I would fill with commingled envy and disgust and be forced to quit my brother’s otherwise pleasantly tolerable company.

With growing animosity, I watched the years slowly pass and my father’s health decline, until one frosty winter it became evident he should not witness the next year in, and became confined to his deathbed, waited upon by his servants and sons. I cared for him lovingly, indeed with more kindness than ever his favourite son showed, but even facing death my father would not share the love evenly between his two progeny, and my soul starved for love. So perhaps you shall be kinder in your judgment of the story I shall now relate. For I swear it was for no vindictiveness of my own nature, but a bitter consequence of my love’s harsh rejection.

One chill morning father called upon my brother and I, he was very poorly, very wan and pale, and so very cold, his lips were pale blue and it pained me to watch them struggle with his words. “My sons, I die”, his voice was low and dry, and he needed to constantly moisten his lips with his swollen tongue, but he continued speaking quite audibly and bid my twin alone “join him ‘ere he passed through the pearly gates, so that he might abdicate his position and wealth upon his heir, and give his paternal blessing.” As I left him to sleep, I cried unabashed at my imminent loss, and on reaching the egress, turned to look once more upon his frail form, and perceived instead of a sleeping figure, my father smiling into the eyes – although he could not see them himself – of my brother, whose hairy arms held in an embrace the man who had shunned my proffered touch. My peculiar temperament, the idiosyncrasy I have previously divulged to you, would not, could not allow this final neglect to pass unavenged.

Many would say my motive was the inheritance, but I deny this outright, I had no, and have no desire for increased wealth or land, such material riches I have always known and thus cared little for, knowing the truth that the soul needs more intangible food. That day, however, after supping alone with my twin, forced to look upon his haired arms lifting each spoonful to and from his mouth, to witness his bearded chin wag back and forth in idle conversation, and moans of grief, the anger rose within me, and while I hid it well I could not subdue it.

“Brother,” Said I, as we exited the room, “I am much grieved, wilt thou come walk with me, it would much mitigate the melancholy hanging on my spirits” even as I welcomed him to join me, I wished for nothing but his absence. In false-pretence I led him towards the yards, to a shadowy, isolated region where I found, as I knew I would, the tools of the forge. From the collection I retrieved a weighty hammer and approached my brother, holding the instrument aloft my right shoulder. In a fit of passion, but by no means of madness, I knocked the life from him. I knelt and affirmed my surmise: he was stone dead. Well may you wonder at my sanity, but the power I held over my emotions was immense; despite the urge to rid myself forever of the repellent pelage, I forced myself to acquire it. With what meticulous care, what fine skill and grace I set to work with the unaccustomed instruments, flaying at the pelt-like skin until I had procured an entire hide of the most remarkable and unusual quality. You shall not think me mad longer, for what I proceeded to do with this strange skin is so profound and ingenious, that only one of sound mind and wit could have conceived it. I fought my rising nausea at holding such abhorred material, and with needle and thread began a second hours’ labour, the conclusion of which left me wearied but alert, and in the possession of a finely crafted costume. From the stuff of my brother’s naked form, I had now fashioned sleeves, wig and beard, perfectly fitted on my own cast, and convincingly enough for a blind and dying father, transformed myself to that aforementioned twin. The body I disposed of cunningly, I am as sure now as then that none shall ever find it; the sibling bond which held me to him was not so easily broken, despite my actions, and with the wish to both hide all evidence and lay my beloved twin (for now without his wretched hair I could so account him once again) to rest in peace, I buried him immediately in the garden where our mother lay, beside a tree we had often climbed as boys. As for the small amount of blood that had been shed, I had performed all my bloody work in a hovel reserved for the slaughter of game, and none could tell my handiwork had been on ought but a boar.

My toil had brought me to the end of a third hour, and the evening had drew on fast, it was now the time my father lay awake waiting for his eldest son and heir to come as he had charged. Secreting the strange suit within my cloak, I hurried to my father’s chamber. Upon entering I found him sitting up, with a man long employed at our estate standing by with paper, ink and quill (he was there to witness my father’s will, and ensure its directions proceeded). My father called out to affirm it was his eldest son, I answered yea immediately and confidently, and the man showed some confusion, but spoke not. Panic rose within me, albeit I mastered it afore it dominated my senses, my plan should fail with this man present, and thus it needs be altered. I have never been one of slow wit, and quickly I devised an amended strategy. Disguising my voice, as best I could, to sound more of my brother than myself, I quietly persuaded my father that this business was best done privately, being family matter alone, and that he should ask the man to leave. My genius was rewarded; on my request and prompting, father bid the man witness, and here am I most pleased with my cunning, “that this, my son, here present, [mark it, I say, that he said not, ‘my eldest son’!] doth own all my wealth, property and title, and right of this estate. Now leave us to our family business, write as I have charged you, our business now is done.”

The man, in some small confusion, did as he was bid, and penned upon the will, that I, and not my brother, now inherited the whole of my father’s monopoly.

I would lie, of course, to say this pleased me not, but my greatest success was yet to come. I reached within my cloak and withdrew my hairy leathers, secured them upon my self, and hid my own smooth skin that was not covered by the disguise, under my regular garments. At my father’s feeble call I went to him and knelt beside his chair, his long, wrinkled fingers stretched towards me slowly, searching the air as he asked again if I was truly his eldest son. His suspicion troubled me but little, I answered him softly and sweetly at the moment his hands found my arms, his attentive fingers feeling instead the arms of my hairy brother. He smiled at me, an uncommon occurrence, and said that I “sound more like his youngest son, but feel as his eldest.” I would have the next moment again and again if it were possible, I believe now I should have been happier to die on that moment, than to have lived even three minutes more. My father spoke to me in pure kindness; he held my hand and smiled upon me, blessing me with prosperous future, happiness and health. I was elated, and still am now to reflect on his words, but my ecstatic happiness was not to last long.

“Son, I love you and give you all, but your younger brother cannot be forgotten. Call him to me, I am too weak, and must bless him also, ‘ere I die.” My heart soared to hear him speak of me, deliberately of me, in such fond terms, but instantaneously I shuddered and grew cold and pale, as I filled with remorse and guilt stricken grief. I left the room, hovering by the egress for what I accounted a decent time, and used the opportunity to compose myself. Entering again, quietly, and standing further from him, I spoke clearly in my own voice a greeting to my dying father. He held some small conversation, he thought to be between himself and his two sons. I have had skill in ventriloquism since my youngest years, and easily I deceived my father that both his sons were present. To my most bereaved pleasure, he wished upon me, a share in all my brother’s plenty and blessed my faithful soul with happiness. Indeed, this I could have borne with pleasure, had not my father continued I surely should not have been undone. In the most loud, and sure voice his limp lungs could muster forth, he articulated

“A curse, upon any who do you wrong [and here certainly he spoke only of his eldest] may the devil torment his soul that does not take heed, that you, my son, shall live and prosper till the end of your natural days.” My now much heated brain, allayed to see him fall asleep at his speech’s end, and I quit his company immediately, fleeing toward the library as the great black clock struck twelve and its doleful toll rang hollowly about the deserted halls. With streaming eyes, but hardened heart, I found myself alone in some obscure wing of our, my, expansive library. In fury I tore the hated suit of hair from my frame, and in haste withdrew a large book, on some such matter as tropical diseases or so, which surely none should find use for, I rived a secret compartment into the internals of the book, and stuffed the hated matter amongst the pages of the tome. As for the shreds of text I had removed, these I burned in the torch at the egress to the library, successfully disposing of all clues to my misdeed.

My father never saw the light of another day. The next morning I assumed dominance over the estate, those who asked, I convinced my elder brother had fled in the night, ashamed and outraged that he had been left from our father’s will. I would fain deny it, but I am a superstitious person, and my father’s dying words left me timorous, and so this enhanced that part of my nature that was a recluse, I have never felt entirely loved or appreciated and a house of attentive, obedient men attending my will, made me both proud and unsettled. Bar the most necessary and trusted, I released every employee, and I took refuge from a consoling, but much too prying neighbourhood, by rejecting most society. I lived for several months a languid lifestyle, I received every pleasure money could buy, and spared no expense to satisfy even the most outrageous of my whims, and I worked not one day for my luxury. I know the village spoke of me, rumours ran thick of my obscure behaviour, I often sat up all night in the Cimmerian library savouring my prosperity, but more than once, upon the striking of the midnight hour, my mind would turn to my father’s death, and I would fill with dread. Forever fearful of my father’s curse, forever seeking his black purpose in my misfortunes. And so it was when I fell ill upon the anniversary of both kin’s death, I read within it the advent of his revenge. No doctor could find a name for my symptoms, though I sent afar for the best of their propensity, nor could any relieve my sufferings.

I lay abed for weeks on end, unable to speak for swollen glands and inflamed throat, spent nights delirious and in cold sweats, others in burning fever, for the many months of my suffering I could only abide the most staple diet, all else my stomach rejected. Often I would feel recovered, but strolling in the gardens, would faint and be insensible for days, in which time I would anomalously waste rapidly away, and my carers would mistrust all hope of my convalescence. Yet the most hideous of all my symptoms was an ailment of the epidermis; a sickly yellowish hue stained my formally perfect skin, and similar to diseases such as foot rot, it peeled and hung upon me with an onerous odour. For such a foul and unnatural disease to beset me, when I had spent no time abroad, nor enjoyed unhealthy practices, I accounted supernatural forces were at play, and my demise was incontestable. And yet, my stubborn, proud and forceful will would not allow my life to end so hideously without a fight.

A fair and warm week chanced to bless us, and my spirits rose with the sun each day, as my illness subdued to the relieving weather. I took opportunity at this to journey from my sickbed into the now much forsaken house. Gathering carers about, I bid them accompany me to the library. I knew that within such a grand collection there must be some volume addressing such a condition as mine. With men on either side to support my frail chassis, I ever so slowly approached the massive doors of the library, enervating with each laborious step. Within, the aisles were dim; necessity made us venture further and further into the gloom filled depths in search of the healing manuscript. With each step my disease took a firmer hold, and the encroaching darkness little emancipated by my carer's candle, caused a chill to run the length of my spine as we approached the hunted shelves. As we searched for the tome to rid me of my virulent disease, I felt the area familiar as if in some dream I had visited before, I dismissed the thought, in my childhood I had often played at hiding games with my brother amongst these books, such a distant memory should justify my deja vu. A carer exclaimed with delight that he had found the desired tome, and heaving it from the shelves, for indeed it was a massive text, called our small congregation to gather round and see. In hushed anticipation we observed the man open the bindings and read within the list of contents which page contained cures for symptoms such as my own. Someone held the book aloft while the man turned the pages, and my wearied eyes watched all in commingled trepidation and desire. But fulminate my father for his evil design, for as the desired page was reached, the writing was entirely omitted, instead a strange object fell from the ragged hollow within the tome where my cure should have been. My men gathered round the fallen article with their candles shining acrimoniously upon the curious fibre, yes indeed, the book held not my cure, but my undoing, for the object on the floor was none other than my brother's hairy skin!