Fic: Lost Boys 4/14 - An Intruder (Harry Potter)
Prologue - Two Dads
Part 1 - Visions of the Afterlife
Part 2 - Little Boy Lost
Part 3 - Detention
Title: Lost Boys, 4/14 - An Intruder
Rating: FRT (PG)
Distribution: Sure. Let me know where it’s going. From this point forward, written, unbeknownst to me, for the snape_after_dh ficathon “ghost snape” prompt. Thanks to elphaba_of_oz for suggesting I apply, and the mods for accepting a late claim and letting me post the lion’s portion of the fic here.
Feedback: Makes me write more. Or feel guilty for not writing more. Flames make me toasty.
Thanks to lady_clover for fantastic beta work. And now also to rainkatt and emmessann who have also donated their time quite graciously. Remaining mistakes are, of course, my own.
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and whoever else may have a hold on them. I own nothing in the Potterverse, or anywhere else, for that matter. Strictly for entertainment, and no profit is being made. Please sue somebody else. David Dursley, however, is mine. Please ask before you borrow him.
Summary: Past and present meet in the dungeons of Hogwarts. Set after the epilogue to Deathly Hallows. This section-- a few years after the last one.
The ghost could never quite work out, later, how the boy became part of his routine. He’d honestly never expected or intended to set eyes on the earnest young man from Hufflepuff after that second chance encounter during the boy’s detention.
He’d occupied himself for months gathering all the materials for potions-brewing, many from long-forgotten storerooms on the lower levels. Wrestling a decent sized cauldron into his chosen lab space had been difficult, but he had nothing but time, really, and in the end he managed it. He went along his new routine quite undisturbed for a considerable span of time: drifting, gazing into the mirror, brewing, locating ingredients and equipment, then more drifting.
But one day, he returned from his mirror in an unsettled mood to find a strange boy in his workspace, quietly examining by wandlight the ingredients lying on the table beside the cauldron.
“Here, now! What are you doing in my laboratory? Get out, at once!”
The boy turned bright green eyes on him and smiled. “I thought these might be yours,” he said.
He was familiar, but the ghost could not quite place the boy, who looked to be about 14 or 15. “Who are you?” he asked peevishly, scowling.
The boy’s grin faltered a little. “David Dursley, Sir. You saved me from starvation, or worse, my first day at school. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
“My memory of recent events is perfectly fine, Boy,” the ghost replied loftily.
“Yeah, well. I guess I have grown a little bit, too,” the boy admitted. “My mum keeps telling me she’s gonna find a spell to stop me from growing. But she’s not magic, so don’t know how she’s gonna do it.”
The ghost was surprised to find his unsettled feelings dissipating in the presence of this inane prattle. That was the only excuse he could find later, when he asked himself why he had encouraged it to continue. “Your mum’s not magic, then?”
“Nah. Dad’s not either. But somebody way back in our family musta been, ‘cause my dad’s cousin is. And his mum was, too. My little sister’s not, though. Just me.” He sighed. “Sometimes, I wish I weren’t so special.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I just miss them, sometimes,” the boy admitted. “Uncle Harry’s great and all, and this place is brilliant, but I don’t really fit in anywhere.”
“I knew a Harry once,” the ghost mused as if to himself. Finding the boy’s eyes on him uncomfortable, he added, “I am sure I must have detested him.”
“Yeah. Say, have you remembered who you are or anything?”
“No. Nor do I wish to. Once again, I must ask, why are you down here? Lost again? Surely you’re too old for that by now?”
“Nah. Just my common room’s still crazy tonight, on account of we beat Gryffindor at Quidditch yesterday, and I have a test tomorrow I really have to pass.”
“And you thought this dungeon would be more conducive to studying than, say, the library?” the ghost asked sarcastically.
“Ah well, that. I’d usually go there, but there’s someone I kinda don’t want to see right now, and she pretty much lives there these days. Please, let me stay. I promise I’ll be quiet.”
The ghost glared at the hopeful face. “All right,” he said finally. “But if you bother me, I will chuck you right out-- of this room, as I sadly no longer have the authority to chuck you out of school.” Even as he said it, he wondered where that certain knowledge had come from.
But the boy was grinning and agreeing enthusiastically, and before he quite knew what had happened, young Mr. Dursley was cleaning off another table near his cauldron and setting a globe-shaped lamp of unfamiliar design on the corner of the table and lighting it with his wand.
“What is that?” the ghost found himself asking, intrigued.
The boy blinked. “Oh, just something I put together. It looks sort of like a muggle lamp, but it works by magic-- see the little flame inside the glass? Gives off better light than candles. Safer, too.” The boy finished unpacking his books and settled down to read, making notes from time to time on the parchment on the table before him. The ghost watched him thoughtfully for a while, then turned to his own work.
Part 5 - Conversations with the Dead, Part 1
Part 1 - Visions of the Afterlife
Part 2 - Little Boy Lost
Part 3 - Detention
Title: Lost Boys, 4/14 - An Intruder
Rating: FRT (PG)
Distribution: Sure. Let me know where it’s going. From this point forward, written, unbeknownst to me, for the snape_after_dh ficathon “ghost snape” prompt. Thanks to elphaba_of_oz for suggesting I apply, and the mods for accepting a late claim and letting me post the lion’s portion of the fic here.
Feedback: Makes me write more. Or feel guilty for not writing more. Flames make me toasty.
Thanks to lady_clover for fantastic beta work. And now also to rainkatt and emmessann who have also donated their time quite graciously. Remaining mistakes are, of course, my own.
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and whoever else may have a hold on them. I own nothing in the Potterverse, or anywhere else, for that matter. Strictly for entertainment, and no profit is being made. Please sue somebody else. David Dursley, however, is mine. Please ask before you borrow him.
Summary: Past and present meet in the dungeons of Hogwarts. Set after the epilogue to Deathly Hallows. This section-- a few years after the last one.
The ghost could never quite work out, later, how the boy became part of his routine. He’d honestly never expected or intended to set eyes on the earnest young man from Hufflepuff after that second chance encounter during the boy’s detention.
He’d occupied himself for months gathering all the materials for potions-brewing, many from long-forgotten storerooms on the lower levels. Wrestling a decent sized cauldron into his chosen lab space had been difficult, but he had nothing but time, really, and in the end he managed it. He went along his new routine quite undisturbed for a considerable span of time: drifting, gazing into the mirror, brewing, locating ingredients and equipment, then more drifting.
But one day, he returned from his mirror in an unsettled mood to find a strange boy in his workspace, quietly examining by wandlight the ingredients lying on the table beside the cauldron.
“Here, now! What are you doing in my laboratory? Get out, at once!”
The boy turned bright green eyes on him and smiled. “I thought these might be yours,” he said.
He was familiar, but the ghost could not quite place the boy, who looked to be about 14 or 15. “Who are you?” he asked peevishly, scowling.
The boy’s grin faltered a little. “David Dursley, Sir. You saved me from starvation, or worse, my first day at school. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
“My memory of recent events is perfectly fine, Boy,” the ghost replied loftily.
“Yeah, well. I guess I have grown a little bit, too,” the boy admitted. “My mum keeps telling me she’s gonna find a spell to stop me from growing. But she’s not magic, so don’t know how she’s gonna do it.”
The ghost was surprised to find his unsettled feelings dissipating in the presence of this inane prattle. That was the only excuse he could find later, when he asked himself why he had encouraged it to continue. “Your mum’s not magic, then?”
“Nah. Dad’s not either. But somebody way back in our family musta been, ‘cause my dad’s cousin is. And his mum was, too. My little sister’s not, though. Just me.” He sighed. “Sometimes, I wish I weren’t so special.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I just miss them, sometimes,” the boy admitted. “Uncle Harry’s great and all, and this place is brilliant, but I don’t really fit in anywhere.”
“I knew a Harry once,” the ghost mused as if to himself. Finding the boy’s eyes on him uncomfortable, he added, “I am sure I must have detested him.”
“Yeah. Say, have you remembered who you are or anything?”
“No. Nor do I wish to. Once again, I must ask, why are you down here? Lost again? Surely you’re too old for that by now?”
“Nah. Just my common room’s still crazy tonight, on account of we beat Gryffindor at Quidditch yesterday, and I have a test tomorrow I really have to pass.”
“And you thought this dungeon would be more conducive to studying than, say, the library?” the ghost asked sarcastically.
“Ah well, that. I’d usually go there, but there’s someone I kinda don’t want to see right now, and she pretty much lives there these days. Please, let me stay. I promise I’ll be quiet.”
The ghost glared at the hopeful face. “All right,” he said finally. “But if you bother me, I will chuck you right out-- of this room, as I sadly no longer have the authority to chuck you out of school.” Even as he said it, he wondered where that certain knowledge had come from.
But the boy was grinning and agreeing enthusiastically, and before he quite knew what had happened, young Mr. Dursley was cleaning off another table near his cauldron and setting a globe-shaped lamp of unfamiliar design on the corner of the table and lighting it with his wand.
“What is that?” the ghost found himself asking, intrigued.
The boy blinked. “Oh, just something I put together. It looks sort of like a muggle lamp, but it works by magic-- see the little flame inside the glass? Gives off better light than candles. Safer, too.” The boy finished unpacking his books and settled down to read, making notes from time to time on the parchment on the table before him. The ghost watched him thoughtfully for a while, then turned to his own work.
Part 5 - Conversations with the Dead, Part 1