Harry Potter - Harry Potter and the Curbside Prophet
inspired by pepperjackcandy's Unfogging the Future fic (which, i might add, is unfinished) and the line 'curbside prophet' by Jason Mraz.
An intro, of sorts, to something I probably won't ever write. Also a very shaky "shitty first draft" (thank you Anne Lamott--you hit the nail on the head with that phrase ^_^).
Harry Potter and the Curbside Prophet
*
They called him the Curbside Prophet down in Hogsmede, and before he had been there a week all the children knew. It was said that when he looked at certain people--one had to be influential enough to merit a place in the stars--then he would tell you of your life, and your family, and your future.
The line to see the hooded figure in the concealing brown robes was long when the sixth year Gryffindors got to Hogsmede. Draco Malfoy, the git, used Crabbe and Goyle to push him and a few favored Slytherins to a place in line just behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the last of the Gryffindors in their year; a brawl nearly broke out between the opposing houses. The only thing that stopped it was how quickly the winding line was moving. The hood, pulled low over the Prophet's head, shook minutely as person after person stepped in line. Periodically, someone would step forward, and the hood was still. The student, adult, child, would place his or her feet at the very edge of the Prophet's circle of stones, and they would bend at the waist to hear the sotto voce tones
impart words of truth, advice, or comfort before the fact.
He had something to say to most of the Gryffindors. A handful of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. He spoke to Theodore Nott and Professor Snape, and he actually touched Rubeus Hagrid's hand.
People stayed to watch after they were turned away, "waiting for Potty, no doubt," Draco sneered. Secretly, everyone thought it was true, even Harry, though he half hoped the Curbside Prophet had nothing to say for him.
Somehow he felt the Prophet would, though. He had a very peculiar feeling about this. Malfoy, too, got quiet the closer they all came.
Finally it was Harry's turn. The stranger nodded and Harry stepped to the edge of the circle and bent, waiting, straining to hear. Distantly, he felt Draco creep up close behind him, to hear, and it wasn't until much later that he understood why the thought was a comfort just at that moment, rather than the fearful embarrassment it usually inspired.
The voice was speaking, low masculine tones that slid around Harry's ears like a snake along the ground, like a rope around the ankles...like--
"A spell--" he heard Malfoy say, and felt a calloused hand latch onto his wrist and burn there, but it was too late to back away from the circle, too late to move at all. A bigger hand clamped on his left wrist and drew him into the cirle of colorful stones that had suddenly begun glowing, bright and brighter until they were blinding to look at. One of his hands was still trapped in Malfoy's, outside the circle, and Harry found himself praying to the Slytherin like one prays to a lifeline not to unravel and break.
My wand! he thought before he realized his wrists were both trapped, and he didn't dare try to use his right hand lest Malfoy let go rather than be drawn into the circle. A voice chanted in his ear, suspiciously familiar, but graver than most. Latin, it sounded like, weaving around his body and holding him, pressing in tight.
The street was suspiciously free of screams, the circle free of outside help. Malfoy's hand spasmed on his wrist, and Harry managed to turn enough to see the snooty Slytherin wincing in pain and then strangely peaceful as his head broke through the tower of light formed by the circle of stones. Suddenly he could understand...
--through the window destined thee
...give to innocence my quest...
...seek and protect Draco Malfoy...
...tame the unicorn of stars...
...Lucius's curse of broken threads
...that through your deeds i may be me, and you return and wiser be...
Harry Potter, you have been chosen and charged. Do you accept?
Harry didn't understand, though he felt an urgent desperation in the Curbside Prophet that he thought he might recognize. "Why should I help you?" he choked, raw power beginning to seep white-hot and cold as arctic winds, all wound round his pulsing veins.
"Don't do it, Harry," whispered the disembodied voice behind him, for once with a backbone to match the quavering fear.
"Draco will die if you don't save him," the Prophet said. Malfoy vehemently denied it. "Not you," he said. "My Draco..." and his voice cracked.
"Why should I care?" Harry bit out, a sinking feeling in his stomach and something like disappointment piercing his chest.
The stranger released him, hesitantly peeling his white-knuckled fingers off Harry's wrist. Harry tried to pull himself toward Malfoy, toward the safety outside the column of light, but found himself still bound, as if by invisible chains.
The Curbside Prophet peeled off his dirty brown hood and met Harry's eyes, sorrowful green piercing shocked green of the exact same shade. Scar for twisted scar, feature for feature, freckle for faint freckle, they were mirror images of each other but for the age and deep sadness in one that couldn't possibly be reflected by the other. Malfoy's hand spasmed around his wrist, and Harry twisted his wrist so that he could grip Malfoy'd hand tightly.
"Draco is my soulmate," whispered the Curbside Prophet. "He is in my timeline, and in every other universe I have traveled seeking an incarnation of me who could travel the quest I am too jaded to travel myself. I want my husband back.
"I don't want Lucius's curse to break every us apart."
"What right do you have to ruin Potter's life so you can enjoy yours? You only get one chance at life. You don't get another after someone dies."
"He's not dead. He's trapped. And only one person can attempt to break the curse and free Draco: you. Out of every universe with Harry Potter in it, you are the only one with a chance of completing this task."
"Potter, don't--"
"Please, Harry, I'm begging you. This affects you too--"
"I'm begging you, Harry, don't do it! This world still needs you, you selfish stupid--"
Harry was astonished Malfoy used his name. So much so that he barely registered the Harry-Prophet's words: "he can never love you if you don't--the curse will end all that. All of it."
"I'll do it," Harry said, and there was a roaring nose in the white light that overwhelmed his senses, and then there was silence, and the hand gripping his wrist wasn't there. Still, he felt a tenuous connection to the young man who had cared enough to make his life hell, and hold on and beg that he not be Gryffindor enough to accept another cross.
An intro, of sorts, to something I probably won't ever write. Also a very shaky "shitty first draft" (thank you Anne Lamott--you hit the nail on the head with that phrase ^_^).
Harry Potter and the Curbside Prophet
*
They called him the Curbside Prophet down in Hogsmede, and before he had been there a week all the children knew. It was said that when he looked at certain people--one had to be influential enough to merit a place in the stars--then he would tell you of your life, and your family, and your future.
The line to see the hooded figure in the concealing brown robes was long when the sixth year Gryffindors got to Hogsmede. Draco Malfoy, the git, used Crabbe and Goyle to push him and a few favored Slytherins to a place in line just behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the last of the Gryffindors in their year; a brawl nearly broke out between the opposing houses. The only thing that stopped it was how quickly the winding line was moving. The hood, pulled low over the Prophet's head, shook minutely as person after person stepped in line. Periodically, someone would step forward, and the hood was still. The student, adult, child, would place his or her feet at the very edge of the Prophet's circle of stones, and they would bend at the waist to hear the sotto voce tones
impart words of truth, advice, or comfort before the fact.
He had something to say to most of the Gryffindors. A handful of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. He spoke to Theodore Nott and Professor Snape, and he actually touched Rubeus Hagrid's hand.
People stayed to watch after they were turned away, "waiting for Potty, no doubt," Draco sneered. Secretly, everyone thought it was true, even Harry, though he half hoped the Curbside Prophet had nothing to say for him.
Somehow he felt the Prophet would, though. He had a very peculiar feeling about this. Malfoy, too, got quiet the closer they all came.
Finally it was Harry's turn. The stranger nodded and Harry stepped to the edge of the circle and bent, waiting, straining to hear. Distantly, he felt Draco creep up close behind him, to hear, and it wasn't until much later that he understood why the thought was a comfort just at that moment, rather than the fearful embarrassment it usually inspired.
The voice was speaking, low masculine tones that slid around Harry's ears like a snake along the ground, like a rope around the ankles...like--
"A spell--" he heard Malfoy say, and felt a calloused hand latch onto his wrist and burn there, but it was too late to back away from the circle, too late to move at all. A bigger hand clamped on his left wrist and drew him into the cirle of colorful stones that had suddenly begun glowing, bright and brighter until they were blinding to look at. One of his hands was still trapped in Malfoy's, outside the circle, and Harry found himself praying to the Slytherin like one prays to a lifeline not to unravel and break.
My wand! he thought before he realized his wrists were both trapped, and he didn't dare try to use his right hand lest Malfoy let go rather than be drawn into the circle. A voice chanted in his ear, suspiciously familiar, but graver than most. Latin, it sounded like, weaving around his body and holding him, pressing in tight.
The street was suspiciously free of screams, the circle free of outside help. Malfoy's hand spasmed on his wrist, and Harry managed to turn enough to see the snooty Slytherin wincing in pain and then strangely peaceful as his head broke through the tower of light formed by the circle of stones. Suddenly he could understand...
--through the window destined thee
...give to innocence my quest...
...seek and protect Draco Malfoy...
...tame the unicorn of stars...
...Lucius's curse of broken threads
...that through your deeds i may be me, and you return and wiser be...
Harry Potter, you have been chosen and charged. Do you accept?
Harry didn't understand, though he felt an urgent desperation in the Curbside Prophet that he thought he might recognize. "Why should I help you?" he choked, raw power beginning to seep white-hot and cold as arctic winds, all wound round his pulsing veins.
"Don't do it, Harry," whispered the disembodied voice behind him, for once with a backbone to match the quavering fear.
"Draco will die if you don't save him," the Prophet said. Malfoy vehemently denied it. "Not you," he said. "My Draco..." and his voice cracked.
"Why should I care?" Harry bit out, a sinking feeling in his stomach and something like disappointment piercing his chest.
The stranger released him, hesitantly peeling his white-knuckled fingers off Harry's wrist. Harry tried to pull himself toward Malfoy, toward the safety outside the column of light, but found himself still bound, as if by invisible chains.
The Curbside Prophet peeled off his dirty brown hood and met Harry's eyes, sorrowful green piercing shocked green of the exact same shade. Scar for twisted scar, feature for feature, freckle for faint freckle, they were mirror images of each other but for the age and deep sadness in one that couldn't possibly be reflected by the other. Malfoy's hand spasmed around his wrist, and Harry twisted his wrist so that he could grip Malfoy'd hand tightly.
"Draco is my soulmate," whispered the Curbside Prophet. "He is in my timeline, and in every other universe I have traveled seeking an incarnation of me who could travel the quest I am too jaded to travel myself. I want my husband back.
"I don't want Lucius's curse to break every us apart."
"What right do you have to ruin Potter's life so you can enjoy yours? You only get one chance at life. You don't get another after someone dies."
"He's not dead. He's trapped. And only one person can attempt to break the curse and free Draco: you. Out of every universe with Harry Potter in it, you are the only one with a chance of completing this task."
"Potter, don't--"
"Please, Harry, I'm begging you. This affects you too--"
"I'm begging you, Harry, don't do it! This world still needs you, you selfish stupid--"
Harry was astonished Malfoy used his name. So much so that he barely registered the Harry-Prophet's words: "he can never love you if you don't--the curse will end all that. All of it."
"I'll do it," Harry said, and there was a roaring nose in the white light that overwhelmed his senses, and then there was silence, and the hand gripping his wrist wasn't there. Still, he felt a tenuous connection to the young man who had cared enough to make his life hell, and hold on and beg that he not be Gryffindor enough to accept another cross.