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If Peter were in my situation right now, he’d probably have this all sorted. I don’t. I'm not Peter.
I don’t know where I am right now. But I know one thing and it’s that this place is not Narnia. Far from it.
Answers. Answers would be good.
I have to sort this out myself.
First. Where am I?
I don’t know where I am right now. But I know one thing and it’s that this place is not Narnia. Far from it.
Answers. Answers would be good.
I have to sort this out myself.
First. Where am I?
Apparate to Xanadu.
Hex the bloody bastard before he can so much as blink and--
Realize, quite abruptly, that this was a very bad idea.]
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Edmund reacts before he knows it. He hears the footsteps before he can smell the newest arrival. He snaps his head, careens it to the side, manages to evade, avoid something, that doesn't look very appealing if it were to make contact.]
Your entrance is in bad form, Malfoy.
[Edmund's eyes narrow, convey his disrespect and lack of appreciation of what he views as blatant underhanded deviousness . He moves pass bright yellow, lashes out a leg. Reflexes come into play like a natural flow. Edmund is very, very, unamused.]
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Instead, he raises his wand again, from his rather un-advantageous position on his arse. A curse, this time, and though crucio is very nearly on his lips he refrains. It is, after all, unforgivable.
(Not that it has mattered in the past)]
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Edmund is forced to avoid yet another spell. He swings to the side from the sea of yellow and black spots, removes himself from the target area with a lithe sidestep. Indeed, magic seems to be everywhere here as Draco said. Especially around Draco.
Edmund scowls. He does not like to be taken as a fool twice.]
That's cheap.
[Edmund doesn't know what world Malfoy is from. But duels were with blades or bows or fists even. Not wands, not magic. Fighting with anything less or more is a cheat's game and a fool's duel for Edmund.
He throws another leg out in his irritation, ready to slam itself onto Draco's hand and render his magical stick useless.]
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Get the bloody hell away from me!
[His words are snarled, an afterthought, several octaves higher than his normal voice, and more than a little panicked.
Fair is not a word that is synonymous with Slytherin. Or Draco, for that matter.]
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Edmund's not letting this game run for a third round. He kicks the stick well out of Draco's hand, lets it roll all the way out of reach. Edmund presses his shoe hard against Draco's sprawled palm, digs deep and applies pressure. He ignores Draco's unnecessary protests.]
No, thank you. What was it you called me again?
[Edmund looks like he has a good think about it, presses harder when he finds his answer.]
Muggle, was it not?
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Yes, you're a Muggle, a filthy, despicable--
[Aaaaaand that's a fist full of dirt flung in the general direction of your face there, Edmund. He has every intention of squirming away, throwing himself on his wand and getting the hell out of dodge.]
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[The swear leaves his lips before Edmund even realises he's even formed the words. He throws hands into the air, a lame attempt to shield his eyes. Edmund is severely unimpressed now, and highly, highly, angry. This is lower than magic. This is just low.
Edmund leans down, still cursing volatile swears in his mind. He does something unexpected. He rushes forward and jerks Malfoy by the material of his robes, slams him with his back to the ground, moving to straddle his hips and trap his arms about his head roughly. He does it the way his brother taught him during times of grappling spars, but with far less kindness than Edmund knows.
Edmund brushes away leavings of dirt off his face with a furious wipe.]
Such high words coming from someone who's being pinned to the ground.
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[He's too shocked to struggle, and bugger it all, he's landed on his wand. No help there.]
You just wait until--
[Until what. His Father shows up? Or, more accurately perhaps after the war, his Mother? Snape? Goyle?
He's not a killer, but he rarely feels so murderous.]
Get off me you disgusting, wandless freak!
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[Edmund isn't letting go. He draws himself up, straightens his back. All the while scowling down at the youth violently.
Edmund's not quite sure what to do now. He's proven his point, but daren't rise - not in fear, but rather, reproach - at what Draco might do. Edmund's learned to never leave an opponent armed if he can help it. He knows Draco can reach for it if he stands. He doesn't want to spare him the chance.
Edmund frowns at the insult, doesn't quite understand it. What's the big deal with being wandless?]
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Edmund draws himself up, stalks back to Draco with murderous intent. Edmund slams his foot down on Draco's chest, eyes ablaze, his back on fire.]
What. Is. Wrong. With. You.
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[Yeah, he's a little on the sarcastic side, his breathing hard and labored because, hello foot to the chest. He'd managed to worm to one side so that his wand, rather than being at his back, is now under one shoulder. Still inaccessible, but nearer now than it was.
Oh, and then there's that thing where he's terrified.
He's not used to picking on people who pick back. Nor had he thought the boy (obviously younger) would be such a bloody brute. He's met less aggressive bludgers. Again, he's reminded horribly of Potter, and it occurs to him - not for the first time, that he should have used the cruciatus curse, earlier. He won't make that mistake twice.]
You're so bloody high and mighty you figure it out!
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Edmund dismisses the thought, applies more unwanted pressure with thinly-veiled frustration hard at the edges. He hears Draco hard-pressed for breath. Edmund feels no sympathy whatsoever. In fact, he applies just a bit more, adds to the cumulating pain.]
Stop being so pigheaded about it then!
[Edmund pushes back wild hair, brushes it angrily off his eyes, glares down upon the fallen boy, an imposing figure standing.]
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[But this time he stops struggling for real. And just lays there, very, very carefully. The panic is back, at the edges of his mind. What if this lunatic kills him he won't go back to his parents-- he'll probably end up stuck here with the likes of Harry Potter with his luck and --
He sucks in a breath, short and pained, and glares back. It's with less heat than before - he's too busy worrying for his life now to be properly angry.]
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You're the one who baited me!
[A clarification for Draco's own information. Edmund glowers, thinks, all talk, it's a shame.]
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