I've been writing "Draco and the Ducklings" (HP/House M.D. x-over) over at
writing_game.
Will go back to writing "Runaway Heir" and then
maddened_stars (AU H/D Blackcest Sweeney Todd) uhh eventually.
Title: "Draco and the Ducklings" (HP/House M.D. x-over)
Genre: crossover, comedy, fluff with some plot
Word Count: 1183 words so far. Expected length: 3,000 words.
Rating: PG-13
Cast of Characters: Draco, House, Wilson, Cameron, Chase, Foreman, Lucius, Snape
Author's Note: Not beta-ed yet. Please point out mistakes, thank you!
I've written another 1500 words for the second half, but I still need to tinker with that part a lot =3
House went on rapping the office window until Wilson excused himself from his teary-eyed patient.
“House, I didn’t wrap any sandwiches for you, so you can just-”
“Did you know that you have a boy tangled up your tree?”
Wilson did a double-take.
Sure enough, amid the green leaves a head of white blond hair was nestled against the tree bark.
“You don’t happen to bed a beautiful Scandinavian woman ten years ago, did you?”
“What? I-House, don’t be ridiculous! I don’t have any children!”
“Condoms are only 95% effective, and useless when not used, Jimmy.” House gave a convincing leer.
Ignoring his friend, Wilson walked toward the unconscious boy on the tree.
“Make yourself useful and see if anyone went missing from the children’s ward.”
None of the patients were missing.
According to the embroidered silk handkerchief found on the boy, his initials are DM.
House could not even enumerate the wrongness of a six-year-old boy carrying around a silk handkerchief.
Predictably enough, Cameron had gravitated to the boy’s bedside and went around fluffing pillows.
“DM is not our patient, you know.”
Cameron calmly dragged down the boy’s blanket. “His hands are bright green. Explain that.”
*******
“How’s our mini-Dorian Gray doing today?”
“Obnoxious as usual,” Foreman said matter-of-factly. “House walked inside his room, flicked on the TV, and they’ve been watching Black Adder reruns for the last,” he checked his wristwatch, “three hours or so.”
“Ah.” Chase said succinctly.
“I just don’t understand!” Cameron paced the floor. “He doesn’t like Chase, he sneers at me for some reason, he completely ignores Foreman, yet he worships House!” She made a near-violent gesture with her arm.
“Well, he probably has a bullshit-detector when it comes to Chase’s charm.”
Chase coughed discreetly.
“He sees me as non-threatening and not worth his notice,” Foreman continued. “And as for you-” he shrugged. “He probably finds your mothering insulting.”
“I-” Cameron closed her gaping mouth, blinking rapidly. “I wasn’t mothering him,” she uncrossed her arms. “I was just concerned that nobody seems to be looking after him.”
“While secretly concocting plans to open your home to foster the poor, abandoned child,” Chase’s voice was muffled by his cup of coffee.
Foreman smirked. “In any case,” he said in a loud voice. “We don’t have to guess what’s wrong with him. He must be a mental case or a moron for being a devout House worshiper.”
The next fifteen minutes were spent with Cameron pretending she wasn’t sulking.
*******
Just a floor away, a little boy in ruffled silk ivory shirt and mother-of-pearl buttons was staring at a TV screen as if he’d never seen one in his life before.
When the credits rolled after the umpteenth episode of Black Adder, House pressed the pause button, tapped his cane on the floor and addressed the boy.
“So, Dorian-how did you end up in this fine, magnificent, American hospital?”
The six-year-old reluctantly dragged his eyes away from the dark screen.
“I told you my name is Draco, not Dorian.” His nose scrunched at the last word. “Professor House, Sir,” he added as an afterthought. His British accent was unmistakable.
“And I told you we only wear standard hospital-issued pajamas here,” House swung his cane and pointed at the pajamas folded on the chair next to the bed.
Draco scowled at the flannel pajamas as if they were emanating a repulsive odor. Folding his arms in front of his thin chest, he announced haughtily, “Those are not proper robes. I refuse to wear them.”
House waved the remote control at him.
Casting a longing look at the TV screen, the boy came to a quick decision. “I shall require help with putting on those robes, Sir.”
“You’re six and you can’t even-” House shook his head. “Never mind, I shall summon my minion.”
Not five minutes later Cameron came running into the room.
“What happened? Did you find out what’s wrong with the boy? Has he developed any physical symptoms?” She trailed off, seeing the boy standing in perfect health next to his bed.
“Mr. Malfoy here-” Draco puffed up his chest. “Shall require your assistance in putting on proper hospital garments.”
Cameron barely refrained from throwing her pager at her crippled boss.
“You paged me away from my lab work to help a boy put on his pajamas?”
Draco cocked his head and blinked slowly once, his grey eyes wide under near-white lashes. “Please, Cam’ron? Mother’s not here to help me put on these robes.”
House grinned. They should’ve dubbed the manipulative little devil “Chase Junior.”
Taken aback by this sudden sweet demeanor, Cameron efficiently slipped buttons out of tiny buttonholes.
“It’s a good thing you’re here, Cam’ron,” Draco said conversationally. “Father said it’s inappropriate for men to undress each other unless they’re your personal valet.”
Struggling to keep a straight face, Cameron disrobed the boy entirely while surreptitiously checking for any signs of trauma or physical injury.
As the pajama bottom’s elastic band snapped into place, Draco giggled and tried not to squirm. The pajama sleeves almost covered his fingers. No longer wearing clothes tailored for pampered little princes, he looked smaller than six.
“Your family must be filthy rich,” House twirled his cane in the air. “Are you some long-lost prince that escaped from his boring entourage?”
“I am not a Prince, I’m a Malfoy!” he said indignantly. He then added thoughtfully, “My godfather’s mother was a Prince though.”
“God, spare me from family genealogies.” House cast beseeching eyes to the ceiling.
Cameron glared House into proper behavior. Shut up and listen! We might find pertinent information on this strange, strange child.
Noting this silent exchange, Draco bestowed her with an approving smile. “You’re not such a Gryffin dork after all, Cameron.”
*******
“Still no news on the Gray family?”
“No one has come forth and claim their pampered, purebred son, no.” House threw an apple core into the waste can. “Although I maintain that he must be a long-lost relative of yours.”
Chase made a half-exasperated, half-resigned sound. “I’m not British. And nobody in my family has fantasy fetish names like Draco.”
“Same difference,” House deadpanned. “And I was about to give you a coupon to Fifi’s Fantasy Parlor.” He waved a colorful flyer at Foreman. “Any takers?”
Foreman snatched the flyer away and crumpled it, ignoring House’s fake crushed expression. “Look, House, we can’t just keep the kid here indefinitely.”
“I don’t see why not-in addition to having neon green hands, the boy had never seen a TV or worn flannel pajamas before in his life. I’d say we have an extraordinary neurological problem here.”
“Maybe…chlorophylls?” Chase ventured, glibly tapping a marker against his bottom lip.
House looked at him with annoyance. “I guess we know who didn’t sleep through the photosynthesis lecture in Biology class. Bravo. Need I point out that the kid is not a zucchini?”
“Zucchini or no zucchini,” Foreman raised an eyebrow. “Green hands are not exactly life-threatening. The kid has perfectly normal health, although he is a bit small for a six-year-old.”