Fanfiction: Of Undesired Companionship (L4D OCs/Harry Potter).
WHY DO I KEEP GETTING INVOLVED IN FANDOMS THAT DON'T EXIST
THIS IS RIDICULOUS
By which I mean that I have had a crack at fanfiction involving, erm, ladyHunter and ladySmoker, zarla's wonderful Left 4 Dead original characters.
Erm.
It's a Hogwarts AU.
I probably haven't got their voices quite right yet (I always have trouble when working from audioless media), but, frankly, that's the least of my worries. What am I doing? I love these characters, but what am I doing?
In any case, I hope someone enjoys this! Posted with the permission of the characters' creator. Here is the page explaining who they are and archiving her comics about them.
Title: Of Undesired Companionship
Fandoms: Left 4 Dead/Harry Potter, where by Left 4 Dead I obviously mean zarla's pre-zombification genderswapped zombie original characters, with appearances from jazaaboo's. Knowledge of Left 4 Dead not required.
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1,300ish
Summary: Dropping zarla's Left 4 Dead original characters into a Harry Potter AU. LadySmoker is the caretaker at Hogwarts. LadyHunter is a Gryffindor student. I have absolutely no excuse for this.
“Why don’t you just use magic?”
She took a long, deliberate drag of her cigarette before looking up. The girl who had spoken was leaning on the banister: probably in her fifth or sixth year, East Asian, Gryffindor. Someone else who grew up in America, from the sound of her voice. “I don’t know; why do you have cat ears?”
The girl flicked her ears back: magically attached, then, rather than just an accessory. “Guess I like cat ears.”
“You look ridiculous. And you’re breaking uniform regulations.” She took another pull on her cigarette.
“Are you smoking?”
She exhaled. A long plume of smoke drifted up between them. “What gave it away?”
“You’re actually smoking. And you’re using a mop,” the girl said, fascinated. “It’s like you’re a Muggle or something.”
Almost got it, she nearly said, but what business was it of this girl’s if she was a Squib? Fuck Gryffindor, seriously. At least Ravenclaws mostly kept to themselves.
“Do you not know any cleaning magic?” the girl asked, tilting her head to one side. “Because, sorry, but that makes you a pretty crap caretaker.”
This was evidently a situation that called for her most unimpressed look.
“Nah, I get it,” the girl said, not taking the hint. “I’m not planning to end up totally dependent on magic. Some things are more fun when you do them yourself. I just wouldn’t’ve thought mopping up would be one of them.” She rocked back and forth on her heels. “So what’s the reason?”
She shrugged. “S’pose I must find it fulfilling on some level mere students don’t understand.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re haemorrhaging fulfilment all over the floor.”
“That or it’s none of your business.”
“That makes sense,” the girl said. “I’m gonna keep asking.”
-
“Hey! Hey, Smoker!”
It was the cat-eared girl again. ‘Smoker’, as she supposed she was going to be in this exchange, rolled her eyes. It was marginally preferable to ‘Mopper’, at least; those had been an unbelievably tedious couple of conversations.
“I’ve figured out why you don’t use magic.”
“Have you?” Smoker said, flatly. The girl’s previous theories had included sexual attraction to sponges and a pathological hatred of dirt so deep that she took a murderous pleasure in scrubbing away every last grain of it, so Smoker’s expectations of accuracy were not high.
“It’s fine,” the girl said, contradictorily dropping her voice as a group of Slytherin boys walked past the corridor. “My dad’s a Muggle; my cousin’s a Squib. There’s nothing wrong with not having magic.”
Smoker was fleetingly, genuinely pissed off. She’d fucking got it right.
“I mean, have you seen freerunners? The things Muggles do with their bodies, even without magic: they’re amazing.” Her eyes strayed towards the bucket and mop. “If you want me to help you with the cleaning - ”
“No. Fuck off.”
She raised her hands. “Okay, okay.”
“This is my job. How long do you think I’ll last if a student comes along and does it all in three seconds?”
“Okay. What if I didn’t use magic?”
Smoker paused, then shrugged and tossed her a sponge. “Help yourself.”
-
“This is so incredibly boring,” the cat-eared girl complained, scrubbing at a particularly persistent stain on the floor. “I don’t know how you survive.”
“Gosh, I don’t know,” Smoker said, pointedly lighting a cigarette.
“Oh, yeah, those are gonna help with survival.”
“Short-term, anyway. Want one?”
The girl wrinkled her nose. “No.”
“’s as well; wouldn’t’ve given you one, anyway.” She rested her shoulder against the wall and took a long drag.
“Ugh,” the girl said, getting to her feet and stretching. “I can’t do this any more.” She glanced at the hourglass suspended in mid-air below the corridor’s entrance arch, then did a double-take. “...Ah.”
“Hunter!” a blonde Hufflepuff called from the other end of the corridor. “Been lookin’ for you all over the place! We’ll be late!”
The girl turned to wave to her, then looked back at Smoker, grinning apologetically. “I’ve gotta get to Care of Magical Creatures. Prof Charger’s pretty strict.”
“Well, nice of you to explain, but I’m probably actually going to survive without you.”
“Pfft, don’t get confident. You-Know-Who is going to come back and get you when I’m at class, you’ll see.”
Smoker looked to her left, through the patch of transparent wall that had appeared a week ago and been slowly expanding ever since. A young man stumbled out of a Charms classroom and vomited brightly-coloured caterpillars all over the floor. “I honestly look forward to it.”
Hunter-apparently clapped her on the back and ran off.
-
Five minutes after Hunter-apparently and her friend had vanished around the corner, Smoker reached for the half-open packet of cigarettes in her shirt pocket and found it gone.
Fuck. That was her last packet. She’d have to go out into the Muggle world for a new one. What an absolute pain in the tits.
-
She didn’t see Hunter for a couple of days, possibly because Hunter had guessed that if she got anywhere near a smokeless Smoker she’d get both her eyes poked out with a broom handle. Three days after the probable theft, though, Hunter vaulted over the side of the Friday staircase and landed in front of her.
“Dragon’s breath!” Smoker exclaimed, starting backwards, before regaining control. “You’re going to break both your legs,” she added, “and you’re going to deserve it.”
“Hey,” Hunter said breathlessly, pushing her hair back from her eyes. “You’ve been smoking Muggle cigarettes, right?”
“You know I’ve been smoking Muggle cigarettes,” Smoker pointed out, “because you stole them.”
Hunter at least had the decency to look a bit sheepish. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
“Are you going to give them back, or am I going to have to fill your stupid cat ears with soapy water?”
“Those are definitely not the only options,” Hunter muttered, but she dug a crumpled packet out of her bag and held it out.
There was no Marlboro logo on it.
Smoker raised her eyebrows.
“Okay, I know they’re not yours, but they’re better. I promise. Just take them.”
“I don’t recall saying I wanted better,” Smoker said, taking the packet and opening it. She drew out a cigarette. It looked suspiciously lumpy.
“Yeah, okay, they might not be perfect, ’cause they’re my first try,” Hunter explained, “but I’ve been looking at your cigarettes, and I’ve been trying to make something exactly like them, but without the health risks. You know, magically.”
Smoker held the lumpy cigarette up. Some of the contents, whatever they were, fell out of the end. She’d just swept that floor. “Exactly like them.”
“My first try!” Hunter said, defensively.
“Hmm.” The more Smoker looked at the magical cigarette, the more dubious it appeared. “Have you tried one yourself?”
“Uh,” Hunter said. “Not really.”
“What exactly do you mean by ‘not really’?”
“Okay, I mean ‘no’.”
The cigarette nestled between Smoker’s fingers, being threateningly misshapen. “So what you’re saying is that this could kill me.”
“The things you were smoking before were killing you.”
“Maybe, but at least I could be reasonably sure they weren’t going to blow up in my face.”
“It’s not going to blow up in your face!”
“Did you ruin all my real cigarettes making these things?”
“Oh, come on,” Hunter said, grabbing it out of her hand. She raised her wand.
“Magic’s not allowed in the corridors.”
“Yeah, but who’s going to report me?”
Smoker stared at her, incredulous. “I work here! I’m who people should be reporting you to!”
“We both know you don’t really care.”
“I’ve got a lighter right here. I can - ”
“Incendio,” Hunter said.
The cigarette exploded.
-
The first thing Hunter said when she opened her eyes in the hospital wing was, “Well, okay, maybe I could do with more practice.”
“Something is incredibly wrong with you,” Smoker said.
Hunter levered herself into a sitting position, wincing. “Hey, did you wait for me to wake up?”
“Only to tell you to leave me alone,” Smoker said. “For my safety and yours.”
“That makes sense,” Hunter said, testing her joints. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
THIS IS RIDICULOUS
By which I mean that I have had a crack at fanfiction involving, erm, ladyHunter and ladySmoker, zarla's wonderful Left 4 Dead original characters.
Erm.
It's a Hogwarts AU.
I probably haven't got their voices quite right yet (I always have trouble when working from audioless media), but, frankly, that's the least of my worries. What am I doing? I love these characters, but what am I doing?
In any case, I hope someone enjoys this! Posted with the permission of the characters' creator. Here is the page explaining who they are and archiving her comics about them.
Title: Of Undesired Companionship
Fandoms: Left 4 Dead/Harry Potter, where by Left 4 Dead I obviously mean zarla's pre-zombification genderswapped zombie original characters, with appearances from jazaaboo's. Knowledge of Left 4 Dead not required.
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1,300ish
Summary: Dropping zarla's Left 4 Dead original characters into a Harry Potter AU. LadySmoker is the caretaker at Hogwarts. LadyHunter is a Gryffindor student. I have absolutely no excuse for this.
“Why don’t you just use magic?”
She took a long, deliberate drag of her cigarette before looking up. The girl who had spoken was leaning on the banister: probably in her fifth or sixth year, East Asian, Gryffindor. Someone else who grew up in America, from the sound of her voice. “I don’t know; why do you have cat ears?”
The girl flicked her ears back: magically attached, then, rather than just an accessory. “Guess I like cat ears.”
“You look ridiculous. And you’re breaking uniform regulations.” She took another pull on her cigarette.
“Are you smoking?”
She exhaled. A long plume of smoke drifted up between them. “What gave it away?”
“You’re actually smoking. And you’re using a mop,” the girl said, fascinated. “It’s like you’re a Muggle or something.”
Almost got it, she nearly said, but what business was it of this girl’s if she was a Squib? Fuck Gryffindor, seriously. At least Ravenclaws mostly kept to themselves.
“Do you not know any cleaning magic?” the girl asked, tilting her head to one side. “Because, sorry, but that makes you a pretty crap caretaker.”
This was evidently a situation that called for her most unimpressed look.
“Nah, I get it,” the girl said, not taking the hint. “I’m not planning to end up totally dependent on magic. Some things are more fun when you do them yourself. I just wouldn’t’ve thought mopping up would be one of them.” She rocked back and forth on her heels. “So what’s the reason?”
She shrugged. “S’pose I must find it fulfilling on some level mere students don’t understand.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re haemorrhaging fulfilment all over the floor.”
“That or it’s none of your business.”
“That makes sense,” the girl said. “I’m gonna keep asking.”
-
“Hey! Hey, Smoker!”
It was the cat-eared girl again. ‘Smoker’, as she supposed she was going to be in this exchange, rolled her eyes. It was marginally preferable to ‘Mopper’, at least; those had been an unbelievably tedious couple of conversations.
“I’ve figured out why you don’t use magic.”
“Have you?” Smoker said, flatly. The girl’s previous theories had included sexual attraction to sponges and a pathological hatred of dirt so deep that she took a murderous pleasure in scrubbing away every last grain of it, so Smoker’s expectations of accuracy were not high.
“It’s fine,” the girl said, contradictorily dropping her voice as a group of Slytherin boys walked past the corridor. “My dad’s a Muggle; my cousin’s a Squib. There’s nothing wrong with not having magic.”
Smoker was fleetingly, genuinely pissed off. She’d fucking got it right.
“I mean, have you seen freerunners? The things Muggles do with their bodies, even without magic: they’re amazing.” Her eyes strayed towards the bucket and mop. “If you want me to help you with the cleaning - ”
“No. Fuck off.”
She raised her hands. “Okay, okay.”
“This is my job. How long do you think I’ll last if a student comes along and does it all in three seconds?”
“Okay. What if I didn’t use magic?”
Smoker paused, then shrugged and tossed her a sponge. “Help yourself.”
-
“This is so incredibly boring,” the cat-eared girl complained, scrubbing at a particularly persistent stain on the floor. “I don’t know how you survive.”
“Gosh, I don’t know,” Smoker said, pointedly lighting a cigarette.
“Oh, yeah, those are gonna help with survival.”
“Short-term, anyway. Want one?”
The girl wrinkled her nose. “No.”
“’s as well; wouldn’t’ve given you one, anyway.” She rested her shoulder against the wall and took a long drag.
“Ugh,” the girl said, getting to her feet and stretching. “I can’t do this any more.” She glanced at the hourglass suspended in mid-air below the corridor’s entrance arch, then did a double-take. “...Ah.”
“Hunter!” a blonde Hufflepuff called from the other end of the corridor. “Been lookin’ for you all over the place! We’ll be late!”
The girl turned to wave to her, then looked back at Smoker, grinning apologetically. “I’ve gotta get to Care of Magical Creatures. Prof Charger’s pretty strict.”
“Well, nice of you to explain, but I’m probably actually going to survive without you.”
“Pfft, don’t get confident. You-Know-Who is going to come back and get you when I’m at class, you’ll see.”
Smoker looked to her left, through the patch of transparent wall that had appeared a week ago and been slowly expanding ever since. A young man stumbled out of a Charms classroom and vomited brightly-coloured caterpillars all over the floor. “I honestly look forward to it.”
Hunter-apparently clapped her on the back and ran off.
-
Five minutes after Hunter-apparently and her friend had vanished around the corner, Smoker reached for the half-open packet of cigarettes in her shirt pocket and found it gone.
Fuck. That was her last packet. She’d have to go out into the Muggle world for a new one. What an absolute pain in the tits.
-
She didn’t see Hunter for a couple of days, possibly because Hunter had guessed that if she got anywhere near a smokeless Smoker she’d get both her eyes poked out with a broom handle. Three days after the probable theft, though, Hunter vaulted over the side of the Friday staircase and landed in front of her.
“Dragon’s breath!” Smoker exclaimed, starting backwards, before regaining control. “You’re going to break both your legs,” she added, “and you’re going to deserve it.”
“Hey,” Hunter said breathlessly, pushing her hair back from her eyes. “You’ve been smoking Muggle cigarettes, right?”
“You know I’ve been smoking Muggle cigarettes,” Smoker pointed out, “because you stole them.”
Hunter at least had the decency to look a bit sheepish. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
“Are you going to give them back, or am I going to have to fill your stupid cat ears with soapy water?”
“Those are definitely not the only options,” Hunter muttered, but she dug a crumpled packet out of her bag and held it out.
There was no Marlboro logo on it.
Smoker raised her eyebrows.
“Okay, I know they’re not yours, but they’re better. I promise. Just take them.”
“I don’t recall saying I wanted better,” Smoker said, taking the packet and opening it. She drew out a cigarette. It looked suspiciously lumpy.
“Yeah, okay, they might not be perfect, ’cause they’re my first try,” Hunter explained, “but I’ve been looking at your cigarettes, and I’ve been trying to make something exactly like them, but without the health risks. You know, magically.”
Smoker held the lumpy cigarette up. Some of the contents, whatever they were, fell out of the end. She’d just swept that floor. “Exactly like them.”
“My first try!” Hunter said, defensively.
“Hmm.” The more Smoker looked at the magical cigarette, the more dubious it appeared. “Have you tried one yourself?”
“Uh,” Hunter said. “Not really.”
“What exactly do you mean by ‘not really’?”
“Okay, I mean ‘no’.”
The cigarette nestled between Smoker’s fingers, being threateningly misshapen. “So what you’re saying is that this could kill me.”
“The things you were smoking before were killing you.”
“Maybe, but at least I could be reasonably sure they weren’t going to blow up in my face.”
“It’s not going to blow up in your face!”
“Did you ruin all my real cigarettes making these things?”
“Oh, come on,” Hunter said, grabbing it out of her hand. She raised her wand.
“Magic’s not allowed in the corridors.”
“Yeah, but who’s going to report me?”
Smoker stared at her, incredulous. “I work here! I’m who people should be reporting you to!”
“We both know you don’t really care.”
“I’ve got a lighter right here. I can - ”
“Incendio,” Hunter said.
The cigarette exploded.
-
The first thing Hunter said when she opened her eyes in the hospital wing was, “Well, okay, maybe I could do with more practice.”
“Something is incredibly wrong with you,” Smoker said.
Hunter levered herself into a sitting position, wincing. “Hey, did you wait for me to wake up?”
“Only to tell you to leave me alone,” Smoker said. “For my safety and yours.”
“That makes sense,” Hunter said, testing her joints. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”