[Fic] Lorelei in the Menagerie: Prologue
For hd_fan_fair.
Title: Lorelei in the Menagerie (1/5)
Author: Belladonna
Pairing: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: Horror/Suspense
Rating: R for mentions of torture, miscarriage and cannibalism, but nothing graphic.
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.
Summary: "I think my dead son is haunting the manor," says Draco when Harry runs into him in an antique book shop. Driven by yearning and suspicion, Harry offers his help and is drawn into a web of secrets and half-forgotten nightmare.
A/N: A vaguely Gothic horror story of a sort I wrote for the 2013 H/D Book Fair. Special thanks to josephinestone for being my beta.
Lorelei in the Menagerie
by Belladonna
Prologue: In the Rainy Forest, I was Lost.
The boy was lost in the woods: the Witching Woods, as local folks called it. No one in the town knew who invented the name, but most people believed that strange creatures haunted the forest. There was no consensus as to what the said creatures were: werewolves, demons, witches, or some unknown monsters. For hours the boy had been wandering about, but he saw neither monsters nor animals.
The rain came down and dampened much of the boy's spirit. Seeking shelter beneath an ancient oak tree, he peered at the leaden sky through the foliage. Although he was anxious to leave the forest before the sky darkened, nighttime would not arrive for several hours. Tired, hungry and cold, he sat down with his back to the tree trunk and hugged his legs.
His parents were probably looking for him right now; at least, that was what he hoped. When he thought about his parents, he bit his lip and hugged himself more tightly. His parents were filing for a divorce. While they claimed that they had his best interest in mind, no one bothered to ask him what he wanted. When his mother introduced her friend to him, he had enough of their selfishness.
He took out a compass from his pocket. The needle had been spinning non-stop from the moment he entered the forest, though he took no heed of it until he had lost the way. If he had taken a leaf from Hansel and Gretel and left pebbles along the way, he would at least be able to find his way home. Heaving a sigh, he put away the compass and stared into the rain.
The forest seemed a little less intimidating than before; nevertheless, it was still a lonely place. Other than the pitter-patter of rain, he heard no other sound. In an attempt to boost his courage, he sang one of his favourite songs, a pop song he had heard on a CD his friend had lent to him.
The air smelled of damp wood and some other fragrance he could not name; somehow, the scent reminded him of home. Resting his chin on his knees, he closed his eyes and was gradually lulled to sleep by the murmur of rain.
As he was about to doze off, a voice snapped him awake. Sitting bolt upright, he squinted into the distance, his heart pounding in his chest like a hopping rabbit. Someone was singing a song he did not recognise. He relaxed for a moment before he tensed up once more. Although the singer sounded human, there was no guarantee that he was safe.
Looking around for a weapon, he found a broken tree branch that was a little thicker than a pencil. It was better than nothing, he thought. He got up, grabbed the branch and inched away from the tree.
A dark figure emerged from behind another oak tree, startling the boy out of his wits. With feline grace it prowled towards him, but it stopped within several paces from him. When he recognised what it was, the boy felt relief wash over him.
"Hello. Are you from the other side of the forest?" There was nothing but silence from the figure, and the boy began to fidget in unease. "Do you know the way back to town? No? Can I use the phone at your house then?" More silence. "Are you lost as well?"
The boy's voice fell into the void and was annihilated by the rain. Dark eyes stared at him without blinking. Fear gripped the boy by the throat. Clutching the useless branch with shaky hands, he stepped away from the figure. When the figure opened its mouth, the boy froze, his mind eaten away by feverish dreams until all that remained was the sound of rain.
* * * * * * *
In the antique book shop tucked away in an inconspicuous corner, a barricade of books and tomes smothered the bustle of the city outside. The air smelled of age and dust; tables and shelves formed crooked alleys for customers to traverse. After browsing around in the shop for the past hour, Harry Potter found himself quite lost in this maze.
The quest for Hermione's birthday present turned out to be more difficult than he had imagined. Enchant the Enchanted: How to Make and Break a Contract with the Elfin Folk was out of the question, for his best friend would not stand for what she regarded as slavery. The Akashic Records could be a good choice, but an even more omniscient Hermione would do more harm than good. Once he reached the end of the row, he pulled out the most promising looking volume on the shelf: Encyclopaedia of Rune Magic. He frowned; he was certain he had seen a copy of the book at Hermione's house.
A sigh escaped Harry's mouth. When he rounded the corner, he was just in time to see a blond man vanish behind one of the shelves. His heart stopped dead. Before he registered what he was doing, his legs led him towards the direction the figure had disappeared into. After brushing past an old wizard who was cradling a coverless book as if it were his child, Harry located the person he was looking for.
In one of the nooks in the shop, an ashen-faced Draco Malfoy was leafing through a battered-looking book. His gaze darted from line to line; his finger hovered over the page; his lips pressed together as though the facility of speech was stolen from him. Enveloped in black and grey, his figure seemed thinner than Harry remembered. Had it already been a year since the day he last saw Draco?
As yearning collided with reason, Harry wetted his lips and stepped out of the shadow. "I didn't know you are back in England."
The book was snapped shut like the jaws of a beast. Draco's frozen grey eyes stared at Harry for a moment before the ice melted away. "I did say I'd come back," Draco said.
"Yes, you did say that." Harry noted the title of the book in Draco's hand: The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. The ink black cover stirred his memory; it was one of the textbooks they had used at Hogwarts. "Are you brushing up on your DADA skill?"
Wariness seeped through Draco's defence, for the current head of the Malfoy family had more secrets to hide than most people. "You could say that," he muttered. "Have you seen Astoria lately?"
Memory of a certain incident rushed back into Harry's mind: the torture chamber of a demented wizard, blood flowing down Astoria's legs, and the mangled remains of the assailant hanging from a tree. With a resilience that was pragmatism in disguise, Astoria had maintained that quiet smile of hers in spite of what happened. Her ex-husband, on the other hand, did not fare so well.
Harry studied Draco's profile, all jutting bones and sharp angles stretched over pale skin. "I ran into her several times in the Ministry. She's now working as an independent information broker. It's not much different from being an investigator."
"But you haven't worked with her since she left the Aurors." No longer looking at Harry, Draco returned the book to the shelf and took down a heavy tome. Long fingers flipped through the pages, stirring up dust and a whiff of mustiness unique to old books.
"Yeah." Harry tore his gaze away from Draco and scanned the titles on the shelves. All the books in this section dealt with defence against the dark arts. "You aren't here because you want to satisfy some morbid academic curiosity, are you?"
"How observant of you." Draco pushed the book back to its proper place. "If I were to tell you everything," he ran his hand along the books on the shelf, yet his eyes were fixed upon Harry, "what are you going to do?"
Avoiding Draco's gaze, Harry watched dust particles float beneath the lamplight, drifting without meaning, like the feelings that lingered for no reason other than to elicit regret and longing. "I'll help you."
"You haven't changed at all," Draco whispered, prompting Harry to look at him. There was a wry curve on Draco's lips; in the next beat, the ghost of a smile vanished.
"Ever since I got back, I can sometimes hear a child's voice talking or singing in my head. In the morning, I'd wake up in another part of the manor, even though I went to bed the previous night in my own bedroom. Something in the house would disappear or be misplaced, but I have no memory of moving it around." There was a pause. "I think my dead son is haunting the manor."
* * * * * * *
To be continued...
A/N: This story ended up being posted on Hallowe'en in the fest, though I couldn't say anything about it till now. This story is the result of combining various elements and themes I'm fond of. Although I wrote this during the summer, it's a very autumnal story. Thank you for reading.
Title: Lorelei in the Menagerie (1/5)
Author: Belladonna
Pairing: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: Horror/Suspense
Rating: R for mentions of torture, miscarriage and cannibalism, but nothing graphic.
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.
Summary: "I think my dead son is haunting the manor," says Draco when Harry runs into him in an antique book shop. Driven by yearning and suspicion, Harry offers his help and is drawn into a web of secrets and half-forgotten nightmare.
A/N: A vaguely Gothic horror story of a sort I wrote for the 2013 H/D Book Fair. Special thanks to josephinestone for being my beta.
Lorelei in the Menagerie
by Belladonna
Prologue: In the Rainy Forest, I was Lost.
The boy was lost in the woods: the Witching Woods, as local folks called it. No one in the town knew who invented the name, but most people believed that strange creatures haunted the forest. There was no consensus as to what the said creatures were: werewolves, demons, witches, or some unknown monsters. For hours the boy had been wandering about, but he saw neither monsters nor animals.
The rain came down and dampened much of the boy's spirit. Seeking shelter beneath an ancient oak tree, he peered at the leaden sky through the foliage. Although he was anxious to leave the forest before the sky darkened, nighttime would not arrive for several hours. Tired, hungry and cold, he sat down with his back to the tree trunk and hugged his legs.
His parents were probably looking for him right now; at least, that was what he hoped. When he thought about his parents, he bit his lip and hugged himself more tightly. His parents were filing for a divorce. While they claimed that they had his best interest in mind, no one bothered to ask him what he wanted. When his mother introduced her friend to him, he had enough of their selfishness.
He took out a compass from his pocket. The needle had been spinning non-stop from the moment he entered the forest, though he took no heed of it until he had lost the way. If he had taken a leaf from Hansel and Gretel and left pebbles along the way, he would at least be able to find his way home. Heaving a sigh, he put away the compass and stared into the rain.
The forest seemed a little less intimidating than before; nevertheless, it was still a lonely place. Other than the pitter-patter of rain, he heard no other sound. In an attempt to boost his courage, he sang one of his favourite songs, a pop song he had heard on a CD his friend had lent to him.
The air smelled of damp wood and some other fragrance he could not name; somehow, the scent reminded him of home. Resting his chin on his knees, he closed his eyes and was gradually lulled to sleep by the murmur of rain.
As he was about to doze off, a voice snapped him awake. Sitting bolt upright, he squinted into the distance, his heart pounding in his chest like a hopping rabbit. Someone was singing a song he did not recognise. He relaxed for a moment before he tensed up once more. Although the singer sounded human, there was no guarantee that he was safe.
Looking around for a weapon, he found a broken tree branch that was a little thicker than a pencil. It was better than nothing, he thought. He got up, grabbed the branch and inched away from the tree.
A dark figure emerged from behind another oak tree, startling the boy out of his wits. With feline grace it prowled towards him, but it stopped within several paces from him. When he recognised what it was, the boy felt relief wash over him.
"Hello. Are you from the other side of the forest?" There was nothing but silence from the figure, and the boy began to fidget in unease. "Do you know the way back to town? No? Can I use the phone at your house then?" More silence. "Are you lost as well?"
The boy's voice fell into the void and was annihilated by the rain. Dark eyes stared at him without blinking. Fear gripped the boy by the throat. Clutching the useless branch with shaky hands, he stepped away from the figure. When the figure opened its mouth, the boy froze, his mind eaten away by feverish dreams until all that remained was the sound of rain.
* * * * * * *
In the antique book shop tucked away in an inconspicuous corner, a barricade of books and tomes smothered the bustle of the city outside. The air smelled of age and dust; tables and shelves formed crooked alleys for customers to traverse. After browsing around in the shop for the past hour, Harry Potter found himself quite lost in this maze.
The quest for Hermione's birthday present turned out to be more difficult than he had imagined. Enchant the Enchanted: How to Make and Break a Contract with the Elfin Folk was out of the question, for his best friend would not stand for what she regarded as slavery. The Akashic Records could be a good choice, but an even more omniscient Hermione would do more harm than good. Once he reached the end of the row, he pulled out the most promising looking volume on the shelf: Encyclopaedia of Rune Magic. He frowned; he was certain he had seen a copy of the book at Hermione's house.
A sigh escaped Harry's mouth. When he rounded the corner, he was just in time to see a blond man vanish behind one of the shelves. His heart stopped dead. Before he registered what he was doing, his legs led him towards the direction the figure had disappeared into. After brushing past an old wizard who was cradling a coverless book as if it were his child, Harry located the person he was looking for.
In one of the nooks in the shop, an ashen-faced Draco Malfoy was leafing through a battered-looking book. His gaze darted from line to line; his finger hovered over the page; his lips pressed together as though the facility of speech was stolen from him. Enveloped in black and grey, his figure seemed thinner than Harry remembered. Had it already been a year since the day he last saw Draco?
As yearning collided with reason, Harry wetted his lips and stepped out of the shadow. "I didn't know you are back in England."
The book was snapped shut like the jaws of a beast. Draco's frozen grey eyes stared at Harry for a moment before the ice melted away. "I did say I'd come back," Draco said.
"Yes, you did say that." Harry noted the title of the book in Draco's hand: The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. The ink black cover stirred his memory; it was one of the textbooks they had used at Hogwarts. "Are you brushing up on your DADA skill?"
Wariness seeped through Draco's defence, for the current head of the Malfoy family had more secrets to hide than most people. "You could say that," he muttered. "Have you seen Astoria lately?"
Memory of a certain incident rushed back into Harry's mind: the torture chamber of a demented wizard, blood flowing down Astoria's legs, and the mangled remains of the assailant hanging from a tree. With a resilience that was pragmatism in disguise, Astoria had maintained that quiet smile of hers in spite of what happened. Her ex-husband, on the other hand, did not fare so well.
Harry studied Draco's profile, all jutting bones and sharp angles stretched over pale skin. "I ran into her several times in the Ministry. She's now working as an independent information broker. It's not much different from being an investigator."
"But you haven't worked with her since she left the Aurors." No longer looking at Harry, Draco returned the book to the shelf and took down a heavy tome. Long fingers flipped through the pages, stirring up dust and a whiff of mustiness unique to old books.
"Yeah." Harry tore his gaze away from Draco and scanned the titles on the shelves. All the books in this section dealt with defence against the dark arts. "You aren't here because you want to satisfy some morbid academic curiosity, are you?"
"How observant of you." Draco pushed the book back to its proper place. "If I were to tell you everything," he ran his hand along the books on the shelf, yet his eyes were fixed upon Harry, "what are you going to do?"
Avoiding Draco's gaze, Harry watched dust particles float beneath the lamplight, drifting without meaning, like the feelings that lingered for no reason other than to elicit regret and longing. "I'll help you."
"You haven't changed at all," Draco whispered, prompting Harry to look at him. There was a wry curve on Draco's lips; in the next beat, the ghost of a smile vanished.
"Ever since I got back, I can sometimes hear a child's voice talking or singing in my head. In the morning, I'd wake up in another part of the manor, even though I went to bed the previous night in my own bedroom. Something in the house would disappear or be misplaced, but I have no memory of moving it around." There was a pause. "I think my dead son is haunting the manor."
* * * * * * *
To be continued...
A/N: This story ended up being posted on Hallowe'en in the fest, though I couldn't say anything about it till now. This story is the result of combining various elements and themes I'm fond of. Although I wrote this during the summer, it's a very autumnal story. Thank you for reading.