tigriswolf (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tigriswolf) wrote2012-04-11 10:38 pm
tigriswolf) wrote2012-04-11 10:38 pm
Entry tags:
- book fic,
- fanfic: harry potter,
- fanfic: highlander,
- fic,
- gen,
- point of view: harry potter,
- point of view: methos,
- point of view: original character,
- point of view: third person,
- rated pg,
- series: comment_fic,
- title: i,
- title: r,
- title: t,
- tv fic,
- type: oneshot,
- type: past tense,
- type: present tense,
- wordcount: drabble,
- wordcount: drabble plus
comment_fic 671-675: Harry Potter and Highlander
Title: to taste the sky
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: future!fic; made up magical processes
Pairings: Albus Severus/Scorpius
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 740
Point of view: third
Prompt: Harry Potter, Albus Severus/Scorpius, flying
It was Al's idea to research how to become animagi; it was in his blood, after all. His father's shape was a well-kept secret, but he whispered it to Cory one night, curled up together beneath the sheets in their dorm, three privacy charms stacked on each other around the bed.
Dad's a pit viper, he told Cory, peering around carefully to make sure the charms held and none of the other boys could hear.
Really? Cory asked, adding another silencing charm.
Really, Al said, nodding. And my granddad was a stag. So, I have to be able to, right? It's in my blood.
Cory considered all the data, of course, and a minute later, he said, Let's do it.
.
Their first night as dormmates, Al stopped next to the bed Scorpius Malfoy had claimed, held out a hand, and said, I'm Al.
Scorpius had looked at the hand, looked up at Al, and said, I'm Scorpius, shaking his hand.
That's too much of a mouthful, Al told him. D'you mind if I call you Cory, instead?
I… I guess not, the newly-named Cory said.
Al smiled and hopped into the bed next to his. The next day, they walked to breakfast together, chatting about anything and everything, including familial expectations. They both agreed that Ravenclaw would be acceptable for families with histories of Slytherin and Gryffindor.
James tried to make a fuss, but none of the cousins cared, so Al turned back his conversation with Cory.
.
In fourth year, Al brought up the possibility of becoming animagi. In sixth year, they really set out to do it.
In seventh year, they succeeded, quicker than the Marauders and Dad.
Al wished he could brag to someone besides Cory.
.
Cory brewed the potion, the final step; Al cast the spell to reveal what their shapes would be.
Think the incantation very hard, Cory said. Don't hesitate, don't doubt.
I know, Al told him.
Al went first. He thought the incantation clearly, repeating it six times, and then drank the potion, keeping his eyes on Cory's the entire time.
The world went white, then black, and he was suddenly much shorter. It worked, he thought. It worked! He opened his mouth to tell Cory, and then Cory was above him, saying, Al? You alive down there?
He meant to say yes, but some sort of shriek came out instead, and Cory laughed. You're an osprey of some kind, remember? Cory crouched down and slowly reached out, holding his arm steady at Al's feet. C'mon, Al, he said. You may be bird shaped now, but you still need to learn how to fly.
.
By early morning, Al had mastered flying. Using his wings was even more exhilarating than being on a broom. He tried casting lumos as a bird and lit up only a small area around him, but since he hadn't expected anything to happen, he nearly fell out of the air.
Cory laughed again, the git.
.
Three days later, they were back at the Shrieking Shack, this time for Cory. Al watched, holding his breath, as Cory - shifted. He shimmered and shrank and then a gorgeous gyrfalcon was staring up at him.
Wow, Al said. You're silver, Cory. Magnificent.
Cory preened. Al crouched beside him and held out an arm.
.
Cory's lumos was a little more powerful than Al's, but then, he knew ahead of time he could do it.
Try to summon a rat! Al yelled up at him.
Five minutes later, a dead rat landed on his head.
.
On Saturday, when they were supposed to be at Hogsmeade, Al and Cory snuck away, shifted into birds, and took to the sky. It was the first time they'd been able to fly during the day, and fly together, since someone had to be the lookout.
Al couldn't resist divebombing him, and Cory retaliated, and it was the most fun Al'd ever had.
.
Should we register Cory asked one night, wrapped around Al in their bed. (They were both meant to have their own, but they shared anyway, going back and forth. None of their dormmates seemed to mind.)
Al seriously considered it for a moment. Granddad James hadn't registered. Dad wasn't registered, even though most of the family knew he could change shape – but only Al and Mum knew what he changed into.
No, Al decided.
Cory kissed him and whispered, Let's go flying tomorrow.
Title: the day the music died
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: AU
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Point of view: third
Wordcount: 135
Prompt: any, any, let the whole world burn.
They scream for him, on the battlefield. They beg and whimper and howl.
They want him to save them, even if it kills him to do it.
He stands in the middle, looking at Tom, and he asks, "Why should I?"
"Who should you what?" Voldemort hisses, calm in the midst of a storm.
They are still shrieking. He wishes they'd stop.
"Why should I fight for them?" he explains. "Against you? I haven't... I can't think of a reason."
Voldemort smiles. Tom says, "Then don't, Harry. I'll let you leave."
He thinks, for a long moment, as the world holds its breath.
"Yes, please," he says.
He's no one's savior, least of all the people who never even once tried to save him.
They scream for him, as he walks away. He leaves them screaming.
Title: I cross so many brooks in the world
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Denise Levertov
Warnings: none
Rating: PG
Pairings: none
Point of view: third
Wordcount: 120
Prompt: Highlander, Duncan and Methos and Joe, old is a comparative term
Humans would consider MacLeod old. Most of them would consider Joe old, too.
MacLeod thinks Methos is old. Amanda thinks Methos is old. Rebecca and Cassandra and Darius all thought Methos old.
Kronos and Silas and Caspian, ancient themselves, all knew Methos was old.
Old, Methos tells Joe, is all relative.
He stares down into the Grand Canyon. He daydreams about the ocean and all the life she swallowed, including what had been his before he went to the desert.
Joe will wither and die. MacLeod will try to finish a fight and lose his head.
Methos will walk into the desert and out of the sea.
Old, he whispers, watching the sun. Tell me what you think that means.
Title: to the victor go the spoils
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: future!fic
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 460
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander, Methos, changing the past is easy enough when you are the only left who can tell you what happened
Devon raises his hand and asks, "But how do we know it's right?"
Mr. Benson smiles at him. "What do you mean?"
Devon swallows and licks his lips, looking around the room. Callie gives him an encouraging nod. "Well, I mean," he says, "the winners write the books, right? So, all of the past... how can we know that's what it was really like? It's all guesswork, isn't it, or propaganda?"
Mr. Benson chuckles. "That's what everyone who looks at the past wonders, Mr. Wiles." He turns to the board and writes To the victor go the spoils in broad, sweeping letters. "Now, can anyone tell me what this means?"
George says, "What Devon just said. The winners write the history books. Who cares about the losers? They were all enslaved or wiped out, anyway."
Mr. Benson nods. "Exactly. History is whatever the victor wishes it to be." He holds up their textbook, then lets it fall to the desk. "And how would any person know for sure it's wrong?" He shrugs. "It might he harder today to fake something, or rewrite it how you like - but not impossible."
A moment passes, while Devon stares at his book in growing horror, and Mr. Benson says, "But we're not here to investigate the veracity of a millennia's worth of historical texts. We're here to learn what will be on your tests. So turn to section three and read about the Black Plague that wiped out Europe."
Mr. Benson raises an eyebrow at Devon. Devon flips open his book.
.
(In ten years, Devon dies in a carwreck. One of the EMTs sneaks him out of the morgue and he hears about his family's lawsuit against the city for losing his body. Sarah teaches him how to live in this new world – guys with swords after his head, and waking up after death, and living forever if the guys with swords don't get him.
And then Mr. Benson finds them at the place Sarah said was safe, a bar in a city protected by the best of them all, and Mr. Benson says, "I knew I'd see you soon."
Devon gapes at him. Mr. Benson hasn't aged a day. "But – you – I –"
Mr. Benson laughs. "Call me Adam, child, and ask your question again."
Staring at him, Devon tries to remember. History had been fascinating that year, with all of Mr. Be – Adam's snark about what the book said. Quips and asides, and pithy comments that had even the least interested kid sitting up in anticipation of what might come next.
Devon asks, "How can we know the books are right, when the winners write the books?"
Adam smiles. "Live long enough to find out," he says, and buys Devon a beer.)
Title: rewriting history
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: Methos is not mine
Warnings: none
Rating: PG
Pairings: none
Wordcount: 165
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander, author's choice, the oldest of the Immortals.
"Pierson," Dr. Collins says, stopping in the door of his very tiny office. "Any more information on Methos?"
"I think I might have something," Adam replies, looking up from his notebook. "I'm not sure yet, though, and don't want to raise any false hopes."
Dr. Collins nods and leaves.
Adam smirks and focuses back on leaving the punchline in the middle of the page.
.
After Pierson is revealed as an immortal, he is, of course, fired and assigned his own Watcher.
His replacement goes over all of his notes and on the very last page, finds something scribbled in a language he can't identify, much less translate.
It'll be almost a hundred years before heads or tails is made of that last page.
.
Dr. James Smyth stares at the paper in shock, before laughing so hard he cries.
Well, that answers that question, he thinks.
Pierson not only knew he was an immortal... he was also Methos.
Wonderful.
James sighs. He'll have to report this.
Just wonderful.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: future!fic; made up magical processes
Pairings: Albus Severus/Scorpius
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 740
Point of view: third
Prompt: Harry Potter, Albus Severus/Scorpius, flying
It was Al's idea to research how to become animagi; it was in his blood, after all. His father's shape was a well-kept secret, but he whispered it to Cory one night, curled up together beneath the sheets in their dorm, three privacy charms stacked on each other around the bed.
Dad's a pit viper, he told Cory, peering around carefully to make sure the charms held and none of the other boys could hear.
Really? Cory asked, adding another silencing charm.
Really, Al said, nodding. And my granddad was a stag. So, I have to be able to, right? It's in my blood.
Cory considered all the data, of course, and a minute later, he said, Let's do it.
.
Their first night as dormmates, Al stopped next to the bed Scorpius Malfoy had claimed, held out a hand, and said, I'm Al.
Scorpius had looked at the hand, looked up at Al, and said, I'm Scorpius, shaking his hand.
That's too much of a mouthful, Al told him. D'you mind if I call you Cory, instead?
I… I guess not, the newly-named Cory said.
Al smiled and hopped into the bed next to his. The next day, they walked to breakfast together, chatting about anything and everything, including familial expectations. They both agreed that Ravenclaw would be acceptable for families with histories of Slytherin and Gryffindor.
James tried to make a fuss, but none of the cousins cared, so Al turned back his conversation with Cory.
.
In fourth year, Al brought up the possibility of becoming animagi. In sixth year, they really set out to do it.
In seventh year, they succeeded, quicker than the Marauders and Dad.
Al wished he could brag to someone besides Cory.
.
Cory brewed the potion, the final step; Al cast the spell to reveal what their shapes would be.
Think the incantation very hard, Cory said. Don't hesitate, don't doubt.
I know, Al told him.
Al went first. He thought the incantation clearly, repeating it six times, and then drank the potion, keeping his eyes on Cory's the entire time.
The world went white, then black, and he was suddenly much shorter. It worked, he thought. It worked! He opened his mouth to tell Cory, and then Cory was above him, saying, Al? You alive down there?
He meant to say yes, but some sort of shriek came out instead, and Cory laughed. You're an osprey of some kind, remember? Cory crouched down and slowly reached out, holding his arm steady at Al's feet. C'mon, Al, he said. You may be bird shaped now, but you still need to learn how to fly.
.
By early morning, Al had mastered flying. Using his wings was even more exhilarating than being on a broom. He tried casting lumos as a bird and lit up only a small area around him, but since he hadn't expected anything to happen, he nearly fell out of the air.
Cory laughed again, the git.
.
Three days later, they were back at the Shrieking Shack, this time for Cory. Al watched, holding his breath, as Cory - shifted. He shimmered and shrank and then a gorgeous gyrfalcon was staring up at him.
Wow, Al said. You're silver, Cory. Magnificent.
Cory preened. Al crouched beside him and held out an arm.
.
Cory's lumos was a little more powerful than Al's, but then, he knew ahead of time he could do it.
Try to summon a rat! Al yelled up at him.
Five minutes later, a dead rat landed on his head.
.
On Saturday, when they were supposed to be at Hogsmeade, Al and Cory snuck away, shifted into birds, and took to the sky. It was the first time they'd been able to fly during the day, and fly together, since someone had to be the lookout.
Al couldn't resist divebombing him, and Cory retaliated, and it was the most fun Al'd ever had.
.
Should we register Cory asked one night, wrapped around Al in their bed. (They were both meant to have their own, but they shared anyway, going back and forth. None of their dormmates seemed to mind.)
Al seriously considered it for a moment. Granddad James hadn't registered. Dad wasn't registered, even though most of the family knew he could change shape – but only Al and Mum knew what he changed into.
No, Al decided.
Cory kissed him and whispered, Let's go flying tomorrow.
Title: the day the music died
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: AU
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Point of view: third
Wordcount: 135
Prompt: any, any, let the whole world burn.
They scream for him, on the battlefield. They beg and whimper and howl.
They want him to save them, even if it kills him to do it.
He stands in the middle, looking at Tom, and he asks, "Why should I?"
"Who should you what?" Voldemort hisses, calm in the midst of a storm.
They are still shrieking. He wishes they'd stop.
"Why should I fight for them?" he explains. "Against you? I haven't... I can't think of a reason."
Voldemort smiles. Tom says, "Then don't, Harry. I'll let you leave."
He thinks, for a long moment, as the world holds its breath.
"Yes, please," he says.
He's no one's savior, least of all the people who never even once tried to save him.
They scream for him, as he walks away. He leaves them screaming.
Title: I cross so many brooks in the world
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Denise Levertov
Warnings: none
Rating: PG
Pairings: none
Point of view: third
Wordcount: 120
Prompt: Highlander, Duncan and Methos and Joe, old is a comparative term
Humans would consider MacLeod old. Most of them would consider Joe old, too.
MacLeod thinks Methos is old. Amanda thinks Methos is old. Rebecca and Cassandra and Darius all thought Methos old.
Kronos and Silas and Caspian, ancient themselves, all knew Methos was old.
Old, Methos tells Joe, is all relative.
He stares down into the Grand Canyon. He daydreams about the ocean and all the life she swallowed, including what had been his before he went to the desert.
Joe will wither and die. MacLeod will try to finish a fight and lose his head.
Methos will walk into the desert and out of the sea.
Old, he whispers, watching the sun. Tell me what you think that means.
Title: to the victor go the spoils
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: future!fic
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 460
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander, Methos, changing the past is easy enough when you are the only left who can tell you what happened
Devon raises his hand and asks, "But how do we know it's right?"
Mr. Benson smiles at him. "What do you mean?"
Devon swallows and licks his lips, looking around the room. Callie gives him an encouraging nod. "Well, I mean," he says, "the winners write the books, right? So, all of the past... how can we know that's what it was really like? It's all guesswork, isn't it, or propaganda?"
Mr. Benson chuckles. "That's what everyone who looks at the past wonders, Mr. Wiles." He turns to the board and writes To the victor go the spoils in broad, sweeping letters. "Now, can anyone tell me what this means?"
George says, "What Devon just said. The winners write the history books. Who cares about the losers? They were all enslaved or wiped out, anyway."
Mr. Benson nods. "Exactly. History is whatever the victor wishes it to be." He holds up their textbook, then lets it fall to the desk. "And how would any person know for sure it's wrong?" He shrugs. "It might he harder today to fake something, or rewrite it how you like - but not impossible."
A moment passes, while Devon stares at his book in growing horror, and Mr. Benson says, "But we're not here to investigate the veracity of a millennia's worth of historical texts. We're here to learn what will be on your tests. So turn to section three and read about the Black Plague that wiped out Europe."
Mr. Benson raises an eyebrow at Devon. Devon flips open his book.
.
(In ten years, Devon dies in a carwreck. One of the EMTs sneaks him out of the morgue and he hears about his family's lawsuit against the city for losing his body. Sarah teaches him how to live in this new world – guys with swords after his head, and waking up after death, and living forever if the guys with swords don't get him.
And then Mr. Benson finds them at the place Sarah said was safe, a bar in a city protected by the best of them all, and Mr. Benson says, "I knew I'd see you soon."
Devon gapes at him. Mr. Benson hasn't aged a day. "But – you – I –"
Mr. Benson laughs. "Call me Adam, child, and ask your question again."
Staring at him, Devon tries to remember. History had been fascinating that year, with all of Mr. Be – Adam's snark about what the book said. Quips and asides, and pithy comments that had even the least interested kid sitting up in anticipation of what might come next.
Devon asks, "How can we know the books are right, when the winners write the books?"
Adam smiles. "Live long enough to find out," he says, and buys Devon a beer.)
Title: rewriting history
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: Methos is not mine
Warnings: none
Rating: PG
Pairings: none
Wordcount: 165
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander, author's choice, the oldest of the Immortals.
"Pierson," Dr. Collins says, stopping in the door of his very tiny office. "Any more information on Methos?"
"I think I might have something," Adam replies, looking up from his notebook. "I'm not sure yet, though, and don't want to raise any false hopes."
Dr. Collins nods and leaves.
Adam smirks and focuses back on leaving the punchline in the middle of the page.
.
After Pierson is revealed as an immortal, he is, of course, fired and assigned his own Watcher.
His replacement goes over all of his notes and on the very last page, finds something scribbled in a language he can't identify, much less translate.
It'll be almost a hundred years before heads or tails is made of that last page.
.
Dr. James Smyth stares at the paper in shock, before laughing so hard he cries.
Well, that answers that question, he thinks.
Pierson not only knew he was an immortal... he was also Methos.
Wonderful.
James sighs. He'll have to report this.
Just wonderful.
no subject
I can perfectly imagine Methos sitting on some beach, watching the waves and sun and pondering all the old-ness stuff too. The history thing leaves me with a slight sadness about humanity though that feeling's nothing new.
And all Highlander stories were excellent. When I saw them I got the inner-"Yay!" mood immediately XD *sneezes* :) <3
no subject
Thank you so much!
no subject
I've always wondered what it'd be like if Harry walked away. He was a hero by force, not choice, and not everyone's built for that. (And really, he's only a hero with the rest of his triumvirate).
no subject
Oh, Methos is amazing. Give canon!Methos a try.
Thank you for reading!
no subject
no subject
Thank you so very much!