Evening Queerditch Pub Ficlets
Still with the crossovers. The second one is not what I would call gen; the first one definitely is.
REMEMBERING NARNIA
When Luna was born, her grandmother wanted to name her Lucy, after her younger sister. Her mother, however, demurred. "I know you love the name, Mother Susan," she said politely, "but it really isn't a good name for a witch. Especially not nowadays."
What Luna's mother didn't say--didn't have to say, in fact--was that naming a wizarding child something that a Muggle child might be named could be dangerous, not only to the child but also to the child's family. Plenty of Death Eaters out there were eager to take offense at the smallest indication that a family didn't support magical tradition. No one wanted to tempt fate by outraging the Death Eaters…or their genocidal master.
Edmund Lovegood stepped in, as he so often did, with a compromise. "Why don't we name her Luna?" he suggested. "It sounds a bit like Lucy. And the moon gives light too--just a different kind of light."
Luna grew up to have a few things in common with the moon--bright, illuminating, but mysterious and fey as well. Her grandmother Susan was the first to notice that Luna tended to see things other people didn't. Her eyes were sharp enough to spot a fairy dancing on a branch high above her head, and canny enough to spot a centaur mare and foal.
After Luna saw the centaurs--and after her parents had gotten themselves calmed down--her grandmother asked her an odd question: "Have you ever seen any lions about?"
"Lions?" Luna thought about this carefully. "No, I haven't. Why."
Her grandmother sighed. "I simply hoped--you see, I've never seen centaurs in England. They were Narnian creatures. And you're so like my little sister in some ways, seeing things that are hidden from more...practical or more adult eyes--well, I thought you might have seen him."
"Him who?" Luna asked ungrammatically, a puzzled frown upon her face. "And what's Narnia?"
Grandmother Susan smiled. Luna could tell it was an effort, "Narnia is…" And then her words trailed off, and she waved her hands helplessly. "Never mind. I'll tell you when you're older."
Luna scrutinized her grandmother unblinkingly. "Who's the him you want to see?"
"A--magical creature," Grandmother Susan said quietly. "Or perhaps a magical being. He's very powerful and…well, I did something very bad once. I think it hurt him. I've been paying ever since."
"What did you do?"
"I told a lie," her grandmother said. "It didn't seem like a very big lie, back then. I was trying to tell myself that he wasn't real, or that he didn't matter. But of course he was, and he did." Abruptly, she fell silent.
"Is he bad?" said Luna, her grey eyes as big as saucers.
Her grandmother laughed ruefully. "No, dear. He's not bad. Just…inexorable." She paused for a moment, then added, "If you ever do see a lion, let me know. I should like to tell him I'm sorry."
That was the first and last time that Susan ever mentioned Narnia to Luna, but Luna, her imagination tickled by the word, started looking for it. Her parents worried about her, wondering why their little girl spent hours crawling under beds and peering searchingly into cracks of trees. Luna could have told them she was looking for Narnia, but she was afraid that her mother, who was an immensely sensible witch, would say something that would smash her belief. It was better not to argue about what was and wasn't sensible, Luna thought. Especially with grownups.
So she kept her secret, and remained a strange, fey, mysterious child. She grew more so after her mother's death, for her father had a love of the weird and the arcane himself, and now there was no one to get after either of them and tell them, "Don't."
She didn't wonder much about her mother--it was impossible that anything horrible should happen to her--but she did worry about her grandmother now and again. Grandmother Susan had never gotten to apologize, and that struck Luna as very wrong. She didn't like to think of anyone being cross with her grandmother for the rest of forever.
It wasn't until after the Battle in the Department of Mysteries--after, in fact, that she'd spoken to Harry and reassured him about Sirius as best she could--that Luna received the first and only message she would ever get about her grandmother.
When she returned to the Ravenclaw dormitory, she found a large, thick book lying on her bed. A couple of other books were lying across it, so that only one line was visible:
Once a queen in Narnia, always a queen in Narnia.
Narnia.
Her grandmother's country.
And somewhere, as if down through a long corridor, she heard her grandmother laughing like a young girl.
Then the words blurred, and "queen" changed to "king." Luna blinked, and poked and prodded the book, but the line stayed the same.
Luna turned to the flyleaf, wondering what this all meant. There, inscribed in an old-fashioned hand were the words: "To Susan, from Uncle Clive. Thank you for telling me."
Smiling, Luna turned to the first page and read the words: "Once there were four children, and their names were Peter and Susan and Edmund and Lucy..."
***
PURE BLOOD
What the vampire was doing at a society party, young Bellatrix couldn't imagine; he was all wrong. His clothes were mostly leather. His hair was what her mother would have called "suicide blond"--dyed by his own hand. And his Cockney accent was appalling.
But somehow, Bellatrix couldn't take her eyes off of him. There was something painfully familiar about him.
Then she had it.
The accent was too broad, too exaggerated. It was no more genuine than the blond hair or the scruffy-looking workman's garb he was wearing.
He was--or once had been--one of them. A person of good family, good breeding, good blood.
Bella had no trouble whatsoever with blood.
She strolled over to the vampire--his name was Spike, she learned quickly--and proceeded to let him think that he was hunting her. She let him scuttle her away from the party to a distant bedroom. Once there, she ran her hot white hands over his cold, pale skin, and dug her nails into her palms, drawing blood in the hopes it would excite him. When the demon came out to play, she was thrilled.
After all, wasn't she a killer too?
And when he bit her long, white neck, she bit his flesh as well, trying to drink in some of his strength, his passion, his immortality.
When they parted at last, their lips and mouths were covered in blood, their eyes fever-bright.
Their expression might have been horror.
It might have been ecstasy.
REMEMBERING NARNIA
When Luna was born, her grandmother wanted to name her Lucy, after her younger sister. Her mother, however, demurred. "I know you love the name, Mother Susan," she said politely, "but it really isn't a good name for a witch. Especially not nowadays."
What Luna's mother didn't say--didn't have to say, in fact--was that naming a wizarding child something that a Muggle child might be named could be dangerous, not only to the child but also to the child's family. Plenty of Death Eaters out there were eager to take offense at the smallest indication that a family didn't support magical tradition. No one wanted to tempt fate by outraging the Death Eaters…or their genocidal master.
Edmund Lovegood stepped in, as he so often did, with a compromise. "Why don't we name her Luna?" he suggested. "It sounds a bit like Lucy. And the moon gives light too--just a different kind of light."
Luna grew up to have a few things in common with the moon--bright, illuminating, but mysterious and fey as well. Her grandmother Susan was the first to notice that Luna tended to see things other people didn't. Her eyes were sharp enough to spot a fairy dancing on a branch high above her head, and canny enough to spot a centaur mare and foal.
After Luna saw the centaurs--and after her parents had gotten themselves calmed down--her grandmother asked her an odd question: "Have you ever seen any lions about?"
"Lions?" Luna thought about this carefully. "No, I haven't. Why."
Her grandmother sighed. "I simply hoped--you see, I've never seen centaurs in England. They were Narnian creatures. And you're so like my little sister in some ways, seeing things that are hidden from more...practical or more adult eyes--well, I thought you might have seen him."
"Him who?" Luna asked ungrammatically, a puzzled frown upon her face. "And what's Narnia?"
Grandmother Susan smiled. Luna could tell it was an effort, "Narnia is…" And then her words trailed off, and she waved her hands helplessly. "Never mind. I'll tell you when you're older."
Luna scrutinized her grandmother unblinkingly. "Who's the him you want to see?"
"A--magical creature," Grandmother Susan said quietly. "Or perhaps a magical being. He's very powerful and…well, I did something very bad once. I think it hurt him. I've been paying ever since."
"What did you do?"
"I told a lie," her grandmother said. "It didn't seem like a very big lie, back then. I was trying to tell myself that he wasn't real, or that he didn't matter. But of course he was, and he did." Abruptly, she fell silent.
"Is he bad?" said Luna, her grey eyes as big as saucers.
Her grandmother laughed ruefully. "No, dear. He's not bad. Just…inexorable." She paused for a moment, then added, "If you ever do see a lion, let me know. I should like to tell him I'm sorry."
That was the first and last time that Susan ever mentioned Narnia to Luna, but Luna, her imagination tickled by the word, started looking for it. Her parents worried about her, wondering why their little girl spent hours crawling under beds and peering searchingly into cracks of trees. Luna could have told them she was looking for Narnia, but she was afraid that her mother, who was an immensely sensible witch, would say something that would smash her belief. It was better not to argue about what was and wasn't sensible, Luna thought. Especially with grownups.
So she kept her secret, and remained a strange, fey, mysterious child. She grew more so after her mother's death, for her father had a love of the weird and the arcane himself, and now there was no one to get after either of them and tell them, "Don't."
She didn't wonder much about her mother--it was impossible that anything horrible should happen to her--but she did worry about her grandmother now and again. Grandmother Susan had never gotten to apologize, and that struck Luna as very wrong. She didn't like to think of anyone being cross with her grandmother for the rest of forever.
It wasn't until after the Battle in the Department of Mysteries--after, in fact, that she'd spoken to Harry and reassured him about Sirius as best she could--that Luna received the first and only message she would ever get about her grandmother.
When she returned to the Ravenclaw dormitory, she found a large, thick book lying on her bed. A couple of other books were lying across it, so that only one line was visible:
Once a queen in Narnia, always a queen in Narnia.
Narnia.
Her grandmother's country.
And somewhere, as if down through a long corridor, she heard her grandmother laughing like a young girl.
Then the words blurred, and "queen" changed to "king." Luna blinked, and poked and prodded the book, but the line stayed the same.
Luna turned to the flyleaf, wondering what this all meant. There, inscribed in an old-fashioned hand were the words: "To Susan, from Uncle Clive. Thank you for telling me."
Smiling, Luna turned to the first page and read the words: "Once there were four children, and their names were Peter and Susan and Edmund and Lucy..."
***
PURE BLOOD
What the vampire was doing at a society party, young Bellatrix couldn't imagine; he was all wrong. His clothes were mostly leather. His hair was what her mother would have called "suicide blond"--dyed by his own hand. And his Cockney accent was appalling.
But somehow, Bellatrix couldn't take her eyes off of him. There was something painfully familiar about him.
Then she had it.
The accent was too broad, too exaggerated. It was no more genuine than the blond hair or the scruffy-looking workman's garb he was wearing.
He was--or once had been--one of them. A person of good family, good breeding, good blood.
Bella had no trouble whatsoever with blood.
She strolled over to the vampire--his name was Spike, she learned quickly--and proceeded to let him think that he was hunting her. She let him scuttle her away from the party to a distant bedroom. Once there, she ran her hot white hands over his cold, pale skin, and dug her nails into her palms, drawing blood in the hopes it would excite him. When the demon came out to play, she was thrilled.
After all, wasn't she a killer too?
And when he bit her long, white neck, she bit his flesh as well, trying to drink in some of his strength, his passion, his immortality.
When they parted at last, their lips and mouths were covered in blood, their eyes fever-bright.
Their expression might have been horror.
It might have been ecstasy.