bedlamsbard | stories I am not writing, part two (Reply)

vi.

(If I were ever to do a HP AU where Cedric lives, this would be how I'd do it)

And Harry heard it -- a low, rasping voice like the hissing of a snake, almost but not quite Parseltongue.

"Kill the spare."

Harry had a heartbeat to see Cedric's face before a lean, ragged shape flung itself out of the shadows.

"No!" Harry yelled, as Cedric staggered backwards, wand flying out of his hand as he scrabbled out of his hand as he scrabbled at the werewolf's jaws. Harry didn't have another chance to speak; a spell flung him off his feet and up against a tombstone.

Wormtail walked toward him,holding a bundle of robes like a baby in his arms. The -- thing -- there raised a wand. "Harry Potter," it said in a high, cold voice. "Your companion is a fighter."

"You call your dog off him," Harry whispered, struggling against his bonds as his scar burned.

"Oh, he's old, but I think Greyback is enjoying it," Voldemort said. "He enjoys them all."

vii.

(If I wrote this, it would be the sequel to "There Are No Heroes Here" and a Cedric/Oliver resurrection story.)

Harry raised his glass. "To the best and most faithful of witches," he said, grinning widely. "And to -- well, I have to admit it, one of the greatest prats ever born, but I suppose he has some points."

Malfoy's pale eyebrows went up. "Only some? Potter, I have more than some. I have all the points in the world. I'm full of points. I --"

"No, Harry, you're wrong," George said, grinning like it hurt him. "He's completely pointless."

"Listen, Weasley, I'll have you know --"

Hermione forestalled the impending argument by putting a hand over his mouth. "Not today," she said. "This is a very special day and I don't want anyone to spoil it, George, please, I -- did you just lick me, Draco?"

Malfoy grinned. "Maybe," he said slyly.

George's face twisted. Oliver put a hand on his knee to calm him down and felt the tension there, bunched just beneath the skin. He might not have been home for four years, but George was still his partner and he still knew him, inside and out.

There was a sudden awkward silence, made worse by the way George was staring at Malfoy and Hermione like he was hoping to incinerate them by eyesight alone. Charlie coughed and said, overly loud, "Harry, what do you think of Gryffindor's chances at the Cup this year?"

"Unless Coldwood gets his team together, they're going to be murdered by Hufflepuff," Harry said immediately. "Lynch's Chasers are too tight for Coldwood and O'Carolan to get through. They've got a pair of unbeatable Beaters, but the Chasers --"

The curse cut him off in mid-sentence. Harry toppled to one side, hand scrabbling for his wand as red light flickered off the walls, bouncing around like mice in a box. Charlie did a little pirouette off his chair, sweeping Oliver and George to the floor; Malfoy and Hermione both leapt for each other and ended up in a tangle of limbs and broken wood beneath the table. Oliver got up on his side, wand slipping out of his sleeve into his hand, and roared, "Protego!" just as a bolt of green light scorched the hardwood an inch from his face.

The next curse bounced off the pale gold curve of the Shield Charm and they were all regrouping now beneath it, wands out, automatically covering each other. "Stupefy," Harry whispered, sweeping his wand around in a wide arc; there was a strangled yell that cut off as the curse hit.

Malfoy and Hermione didn't bother speaking, just stood back to back and raised their wands, faces screwed up in concentration.

Oliver scrambled to his feet and yelled the first curse he could think of, half his mind still on the Shield Charm, watching George and Charlie like mirror images of each other, red hair and red hair, wands the same length, only differentiated by the spells they cast. The Shield Charm shook with every spell that struck it and every one that passed through, and disappeared with a pop and a shower of harmless gold sparks in time to let a jinx send Charlie flying backwards into the wall.

"Bloody hell, Wood!" Malfoy yelled, dodging a bolt of green light.

"Protego!" Oliver screamed again, jumping aside himself this time. China was in pieces all around them and bits of the ceiling were raining down on the floor.

"Get down!" Harry roared, and Oliver realized he'd picked up Charlie's fallen wand in his free hand, so that he was holding two wands. He raised them both.

George lunged forward to grab Oliver around the waist and throw him to the floor; Hermione and Draco had already both dove for the relative safety of the table.

"STUPEFY!"

The spell actually shook the building. When Oliver had finished blinking red sparks out of his eyes only Harry was still standing, wands dangling limply from his hands. He looked around at all of them.

"You all all right?"

"Charlie," George said, and scrambled over to his brother.

Harry put Charlie's wand down slowly, watching it roll over the table and bump up against half a broken wineglass. Then he looked at the others. "Hermione, stay with Charlie and George," he said. "Draco, Oliver --" He jekred his head in the direction the attack had come from. "Let's go see who wants to kill us this time."

Oliver picked his way over the wreckage toward the shattered remains of the door, eyeing the half-dozen or so limp bodies in the rotunda warily. Malfoy was kicking wands away and peeling back masks. He jerked back abruptly.

"Potter," he said, "all these people are dead."

Harry blinked and wandered over. "No one used Avada Kedavra, though," he said. "Did you?"

Oliver shook his head. Malfoy just looked frustrated. "I don't mean dead, Potter, I mean dead. These people died in the war. Johnson. Spinnet. Bell. Krum. There's a Weasley, I'm not sure which one. Another one." He pulled the last mask off. "And...fuck."

Harry closed his eyes. "Cedric," he said.

viii.

(Complete cracktastic UFF/Ultimates AU that shall otherwise never, ever see the light of day.)

Steve leaned forward, one hand over his eyes, listening intently. When the man was done speaking he turned back to Fury. "The man you're looking for, his name is Orage," he said. "Louie here says he lies downriver." He waved a hand along the waterway.

"Anything else?"

"He says Monsieur Orage doesn't like visitors," Steve added.

Fury nodded, expression resigned. "Well, tell the nice guy thanks for all hsi help."

"Merci beaucoup, monsieur," Steve said, leaning over the rail.

Fury waved a hand at the cabin. "All right, boys, start her up!"

As they started to pull away from the shore, the man on the dock yelled something after them. Fury looked at Steve. "What'd he say?"

Steve tapped his fingers thoughtfully on his chin. "He said Monsieur Orage likes fire."

Fury nodded again. "What's orage translate to, Cap?"

"Storm." Steve glanced at him. "Why?"

"Just want to make sure we're going after the right jungle recluse."

ix.

(CSI:NY AU crackfic, a.k.a. the weird story with the vampires)

Danny slammed up against Flack in the dark, giddy and almost laughing from blood loss. "Suckers!" he yelled at the door. "Betcha regret that undead gig now, huh? Huh?"

Flack levered Danny off him to grope for the light switch with one hand. They flickered on reluctantly, tinting the hallway in pale yellow and illuminating the blood staining Danny's collar.

"Hey, man, come on,' he said, walking Danny backwards into the living room. "You're hurt, come on, lemme look at that."

"Oh, Don, you can do more than look at it," Danny said, lettingout a weird little giggle. He pushed his jacket off, then reached for the bottom of his t-shirt.

"Danny-boy, you're high on vamp bite," Flack said with a certain amount of regret. "You just stay there; I'll go get something to put on that."

"Aw, come on, Don, you know you wanna piece of this."

"Yeah, well, I'll just wiat till you're back in your right mind," Flack told him, tossing his jacket over the back of the nearest chair.

He was in the bathroom cutting antiseptic with holy water when his phone rang. He flipped it one-handed out of his pocket, glanced at the number, and pressed Talk.

"Hey, Supercop, what gives?"

"DOA in Harlem," Stella said. "Looks like she's one of ours. Meet you there?"

Flack glanced at his watch. "Might be a little while. Danny got bit."

"Shit. Is he all right? I'm getting fond of the little twerp. You take care of him; I'll give Aiden a call, see if she's free."

"All right. Thanks for the heads up, Stel."

"Give me a call when you're free. Otherwise, see you on shift tomorrow."

"See ya then." He pressed End Call, slipped the phone back into his pocket.

Flack walked into the living room. "Danny?"

It was empty.

x.

(Numb3rs Don/Colby plotfic. May one day get written.)

"Wait, wait," Charlie said as Don paused for breath in mid-rant. "What happened?"

Don glared at him and bit off the words. "One of my agents has been kidnapped," he said shortly. "By the same perp we've been chasing.

"You lost an agent?" Larry said.

Don turned on him like a rifle primed to fire. "I didn't lose Colby," he snapped. "He was kidnapped."

"You lost Colby?" Charlie repeated shakily, looking like he'd been hit in the face with the blunt end of an AK-47.