The Raven's Fannish Quill

Reminder to RSVP for Erotic Harry Potter Night!

2009-06-27T19:14:58Z

Reminder!

If you're in the SF bay area or going to Azkatraz, RSVP for the Erotic Harry Potter Night!

I will still take RSVPs after July 1st, but I need to know by July 1st if you want a copy of the fanzine reserved for you.

Looks like there will be a group heading from the Snapecast meetup and a group heading from the hotel. Details TBA.

All details about this slashy, 18+ event and where to RSVP are here:

LJ: http://ravenna-c-tan.livejournal.com/126140.html
IJ: http://ravenna-c-tan.insanejournal.com/52331.html

PLEASE PIMP FAR AND WIDE! :-)

OMG Hot (original fic rec)

2009-06-03T19:16:45Z

Lauren P. Burka is being the author guest at torquere_social today, and she kicked things off with a scorchingly hot sample of her upcoming m/m erotic fantasy novel, WISHBONE.

http://community.livejournal.com/torquere_social/1202680.html

her synopsis: "I'm including below the break the first chapter of a novel I just completed. Wishbone is a spicy hot fantasy novel of a young hustler who makes a precarious living serving the sailors of a cold, rainy port town. He is one missed bribe away from arrest by the dock patrol and conviction under a legal system that treats homosexuality as a capital crime. One night Wishbone takes a terrible risk and goes home with a wealthy, handsome client who is not human. Wishbone begins a quest for the love and acceptance that he never received from his own race."

A snippet is here below the cut, but just click the link above to read the whole chapter. *fans self*

A fragrance emanated from Wishbone's guest. Musky and spicy, as if a predator beast had slept in a bed of rare herbs, it was detectable even over the foul air of the alley. Unlike every other customer who had come to Wishbone, this one appeared neither ashamed nor furtive.

"You're a shih-aan," said Wishbone.

"And you are a human," said the shih-aan. He smiled, revealing the point of a fang. "I offer you my hospitality tonight."

Going home with a client could earn Wishbone more coin and a nicer place to sleep. But whores who left the relative safety of the docks for the wealthier parts of town did not always return. And what could his friends do then, tell the city guard?

And he'd heard stories about what shih-aan did to humans. Plenty of men would swear they knew of someone who'd been gutted and cut into steaks by one of the demon creatures. If you pressed them about it, though, it always happened back during the war, and there were soldiers who had collections of shih-aan ears taken on the battlefields of Feras-aan. Since the treaty a few shih-aan had always lived in Bronlyn Harbor, trading in fine cloth, building ships and not, generally, eating anyone. Still, there were stories.

Wishbone knew he should decline.

On the other hand, storms had kept the fishing boats to harbor for the past three days, and the sailors and fishermen were saving their coins for hot stew and beer. Wishbone's purse was flat. What the inhuman customer might do to him was theoretical, whereas his fate at the hands of the dock patrol if he didn't have bribe money tomorrow was certain.

Gloved in black velvet, the shih-aan's fingers touched Wishbone's cheek. He swallowed.

Terminus Attendees...

2008-06-24T00:59:04Z

Only 6 weeks until...

I'll be announcing the actual lineup soon, once I get confirmations from all readers. (A few are straggling...)

New Fic: Slaughter (Draco/Rabastan), NC-17

2008-05-30T06:53:21Z

Title: Slaughter
Author: Ravenna C. Tan
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Draco/Rabastan
Warnings: Extremely dubious consent. Implied Rodolphus/Rabastan.
Disclaimer: Non-commercial fanfic.
Compliancy: Deathly Hallows compliant
Summary: After fleeing Hogwarts, Snape brings Draco to the Dark Lord for judgment.
Author's Note: Not for the faint of heart. Thanks to clauclauclaudia for the beta read and ariadneelda for inspirational art.

Slaughter
by Ravenna C. Tan

Snape did not speak to me for two days after our flight from Hogwarts, other than curt commands: eat, be quiet, stay still. We moved from place to place, waiting for word where and when to meet up with the others. He was a bundle of fury, and I feared that if I did not do exactly as he said, that he would unleash that fury on me. I had no idea then, of course, of his true feelings about killing Dumbledore--thinking back on it now, I think that was his way of grieving.

When he began to speak in full sentences on the third day, it was out of pure necessity. "The Dark Lord has a new headquarters at last," he said. "When he commands, you will be brought before him to be judged." So thick was his fury that I thought he hated me then. I thought he relished the thought of dragging me before the Dark Lord. I thought he might even relish being the one to mete out what punishment the Dark Lord commanded.

I had no idea then about many things. And I was wrong, so wrong, about whom to place trust in. I inherited my father's knack for picking the wrong side, I guess.

When a few days later we Apparated to Malfoy Manor, my knees went weak with relief. I thought perhaps we would at least have a respite, that I would at last be able to hide in my room for an hour or two, or cry in my mother's skirts. For so long my only thought had been the tasks the Dark Lord had charged me with, Dumbledore and an attack on Hogwarts. Now they were both done with and I just wanted to crawl into my mother's lap and have her tell me she was proud of what I had done. That I had saved her and Father. Even if I knew, beyond any doubt, that the Dark Lord would only have another test, another task, another horror to face for us in store.

Imagine my surprise when Snape passed through the gate and I did not. He growled and barked at me to stay put, then marched up the steps and into the house as if he belonged there. I was still in shock from that when he returned with Macnair, who performed a complicated series of spells and then beckoned me through.

It wasn't until I stood in the entryway and saw the Death Eaters going back and forth busily that I put it together. Malfoy Manor was the new headquarters. The Dark Lord was here, or he would be soon.

And there would be no respite.

***

I woke to the sound of whispers. I had cried myself to sleep after they had taken my wand, refused to let me see my mother, and sealed the windows and doors to my room. My refuge, now my prison.

"He's awake and pretending to be asleep," said one of the voices.

"Such a pretty lamb," said the other. "There's no mercy in us putting this off, though."

And with that, the lamps by my bed came to life and I found myself looking up at Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. "Uncle Rodolphus?" I asked, my heart pounding, my mind racing... No mercy in putting what off? "Is... is something wrong?"

Their faces were grave. "I have news," Rodolphus said. "And it's not good. The Dark Lord is very displeased that you failed to kill Dumbledore."

His brother chimed in. "Or maybe he's displeased you survived at all. I do not think you were supposed to, Draco." Rabastan was younger, not as burly as my uncle, his hair not as dark. I did not know him well at all. He looked at me with sympathy.

"The sentence is death," Rodolphus said solemnly. "In the morning."

I could not speak. The breath seemed to go out of me such that I could barely think. Surely they were here to rescue me, though? Surely they would help me escape?

My uncle sat on the bed, one hand stroking my hair. "Poor boy. At least... at least I think it will be quick, Draco," he said. "And we came to tell you because... well, if either of us were in your position..." His voice was soft, almost kind. "I wouldn't want to die a virgin."

The cold shock of knowing I was going to die was replaced by a hot burn of shame. "How do you know I...?"

He clucked his tongue. "Now now. No questions like that. We know perfectly well." And damn him for being right, of course. "And me being your uncle and nothing pretty to look at, we both thought you might prefer Rabi."

And I might prefer Pansy. But it was all going too fast for me to stop and think.

Rabastan sat down next to me. "I'll show you pleasure like none other," he said, reaching out to feather a caress behind my ear.

"I... I..." My mind was plunged into a desperate, dark place. Perhaps it had been there all year. Or perhaps since the moment Snape sent Dumbledore, who had offered me salvation, tumbling off the tower. "My mother and father will live?"

They both nodded solemnly. "Your father, in fact, has been rescued from Azkaban," Rodolphus said. "Just in time to see..." He broke off as if having said it once, he now found my fate unspeakable. And it was exactly the sort of "mercy" that the Dark Lord was prone to showing.

I looked back at Rabastan. "A-all right," I said, the clarity of just how terrible a mistake it had all been burning in my mind. Dumbledore, the old nutter, had always gone on about how love had a power that the Dark Lord could not abide. This wasn't love in that sense, no, but if Rabastan Lestrange could drive back the darkness for an hour or two for me, wasn't that chance worth snatching? "What should I do?"

"Hush now," he said, cupping my head with his hand and pulling me close for a kiss, soft at first and then growing more heated, his tongue claiming my mouth as his.

Yes, his. I would be giving this man my virginity, making myself his, and not Voldemort's, for a few hours.

When we broke apart, I was panting, my heart beating like a rabbit's as it is carried, still alive, in the wolf's jaws back to its pups. I wondered why Rodolphus was still there, now sitting in a chair by the window. Did he intend to watch? Apparently, he did.

I didn't question his presence beyond that. Had there been no Dark Lord in our lives, my coming of age party might have consisted of these men and my father taking me to a high class brothel, where my innocence would have been shed in quite a different fashion, as my father's was, and his father before him. I didn't think they would have watched, but what did I know? Maybe there had to be witnesses for it to satisfy pureblood tradition.

He flicked his wand and quite suddenly I was naked and so was the bed, the duvet and blankets Vanished. His own robes had not moved, though. "Would it be easier for you, little lamb," he said, voice rough with desire, "if I tie you to the bed?"

My eyes must have been as wide as saucers. "T-tie me?"

He gave a soft laugh. "I promised you pleasure like no other. You must trust me. Perhaps I'll bind you in a bit. First, I want you to undress me."

He stood then and held out his arms as if saying well? here I am.

I climbed off the bed on shaky legs. I had grown quite a bit in the past two years, but he was still taller, and although he didn't have the girth of Rodolphus, he still had broad, powerful shoulders. I parted the outer layer of his robe and peeled it off him, then the inner layer, letting them fall to the floor. Under it he wore a belted tunic which came off easily enough, too.

"It's all right to touch me," he said, voice rich with dark amusement. "Run your hands over my skin."

I wondered if he could feel the trembling as I skimmed my hands over his chest, then reached for his trousers.

My throat went dry and I swallowed hard when I revealed his erection. It was the first moment of fear I'd had since they'd said I was going to die in the morning.

"Touch it," he insisted.

I wrapped my fingers around it, hot and heavy and even huger in my hand than it had been to just my eyes. My hand was surely clammy with sweat, but I stroked him four or five times until he made an approving sound.

"Kiss it," he then growled, as if he were barely holding himself back from just pinning me to the bed and splitting me open with it. He had promised me pleasure, but...

I went to my knees and kissed it, up and down the shaft, the doughy scent of him filling my nostrils.

"Good boy," he said, his eyes falling closed and the danger seeming to ebb. I licked him boldly, hoping that pleasing him would encourage him to further hold his urges in check. Licked him and sucked the head into my mouth. That was all I could fit. "Oh, very good boy," he breathed as I did so. "What a treat you are."

His hands clamped over my ears then, and he thrust into my mouth, making me gag. "Yes, a treat," he repeated, as he helped me to my feet and back onto the bed.

Ropes seemed to spring from the bedposts, though I knew he conjured them, anchoring me on my back, pulling my legs wide. I cried out, on the edge of pain as my arms were strung taut, but he petted my hair, hushing me again. "There, there," he said, brushing his fingers over my bare, unblemished forearms, his own Dark Mark seeming almost to glow with shadow. "I didn't realize you were so delicate. Here, let me make you feel better."

He swept his tongue down my body, down my sternum, down my belly, and then sucked my cock into his mouth. I was soon fully erect and straining against the ropes, as he brought me closer and closer to completion.

"He's got more staying power than I'd expect," came Rodolphus' voice from the shadows by the window.

Indeed, thinking back on it now, I wonder if it was just that pleasure was such a stranger to my body that I did not respond as a newly-seventeen year old should. Rabastan had to lift his mouth from my cock to answer. "Indeed."

I raised my head to look at him, to look down at my own prick glistening red in the lamplight, at the face of the man who would be my only lover.

"Don't cry," he said, his expression unreadable, and then bound my eyes with a dark cloth.

I felt his grip around my cock, then, slick with some slippery substance, and then his fingers probing at my arsehole, the entrance that had previously only ever been an exit.

I gasped as the first finger slid in, gasped at the unexpected pleasure it elicited as he continued to stroke my cock. Now it was all sensation, all slick fingers everywhere down there, in me and on me and making me cry out, again on the verge of coming.

And then the fingers stopped, though a slick sound still reached my ears. "If he's lasted this long," Rodolphus said, "may was well let him come on your cock."

Rabastan's answer was a growl of agreement and a moment later his weight was atop me. "Are you ready for me, little lamb? I want to feel you come when I'm in you."

I could feel the hot flesh against my belly. It felt as hard as bone, pressing into me, and I squirmed under him in discomfort.

"Why don't you turn him over?" came Rodolphus' droll voice.

"Later," said Rabastan, and thrust into me.

I was naïve. How could I have been else? I had been half worried that I was going to come on his first thrust and that this would disappoint us both. I needn't have worried. The pain I felt was searing, stealing my breath away such that I could not even cry out, and wilting my own desire instantly.

"That's a good little lamb," he said, and I could feel him stroking my cheeks under the edges of the blindfold. Love, I thought, desperate and mad with terror that pain brought. He loves me. See? He loves me.

Then he began to move, and I did cry out. He wasn't really tearing me apart, it merely felt like it. Or, maybe he was, I thought, but what did it matter? I was a few hours from a flash of green light. If I was lucky.

And then he reached down and began to stroke my cock again, and the pain began to ebb, pleasure sparking hot and driving it back. I strained against the ropes, some instinctive part of me wanting to wrap my limbs around him and hold on. But I was caught there, caught, entirely at his mercy.

So naïve. So stupid. He fucked me with abandon, and the pleasure I was feeling began to ebb as my treacherous body would not come and my arse began to feel scraped raw. Perhaps it wasn't my body after all, though. Perhaps he was actually trying to draw it out as long as possible. I do not know. I began to hope, and then to believe, that when I came it would be over. That when I came, he would come, too. I had not forgotten that what awaited me was death, but I was ready for this experience to be over.

It was around that time that he began teasing me blatantly, burying his cock in me and then stroking, stroking, stroking... and then pulling his hand away while I writhed helplessly, trying to get enough stimulation to come. When I'd finally still, he'd fuck me, slowly, so that I felt every inch of him going deeper and deeper. He'd work up gradually faster, until he was fucking me hard, and then he would bury himself deep, hold himself still, and stroke my cock until I was at the edge again.

"Please, oh God, please, let me come, please, please...." My voice sounded foreign in my ears, but I was past caring, past dignity.

He let out a laugh of surprise. "You are a treat," he repeated. "All right, here we go." Now he began slamming into me with rhythmic regularity, stroking me at the same time. "Come on, little lamb. Don't hold back."

I cried out in frustration. I wasn't holding back! It was just that it was all so much. My confused body didn't know what to do. His finger had felt good, but his cock was too much.

I came with a cry, though, the sensation of hot come spraying my stomach a welcome relief. "Here, taste," he said, swiping his fingers through the puddle, and I opened my mouth.

Rodolphus' chuckle came from close by and I realized with a sudden flash of heat on my cheeks that it was to his brother that Rabastan had offered the taste of my come. Was it some ritual I didn't know about? It seemed possible.

The bonds went slack then and Rabastan gathered me in his arms. Was it over? I could still feel his erection, slick and hot against my hip, and knew it wasn't, and yet... he was cooing over me, stroking my hair, though he did not remove my blindfold. I was trembling all over from the release and it felt good, oh so good, to be praised and told I was beautiful.

"Do a favor for me, lamb?" he asked, pressing a wand into my hand. "Extract the memory of this night. I want to keep it forever when you're gone."

"A-all right." I took the wand. I hesitated a moment. Seeing the memory from my head, he'd no doubt see how much pain I was in, how I'd wanted it to end... but... so be it. It might be all that was left of me tomorrow. I pulled the memory free, and I felt someone's hands bottling it.

And then they both chuckled as if sharing a private joke. I wondered what was funny--if there had been a comic moment as the memory had slipped into the bottle or what.

"On your stomach now, lamb," Rabastan said, voice and hands gentle as he coaxed me to turn over and then the ropes tightened again.

He spread my arsecheeks and examined my hole. He touched it, probing with his fingers around the edges as if determining the extent of the damage.

"Utterly despoiled," came Rodolphus' gravelly voice. "Or, he will be."

"He needs more lubricant," Rabastan answered. "Will my come do for you, brother?"

"It will do nicely," Rodolphus answered.

My head jerked upward as I thought... what? But before I could speak he had impaled me once again.

So naïve. So stupid. So gullible. I even thought the blindfold would hide my tears.

But they knew. And now they knew that I knew that I had been tricked. My final night on Earth was not spent in mercifully given pleasure, but in humiliation and degradation. Rabastan came quickly after that, and then Rodolphus put his cock in me and I nearly sicked up. He was rough, clawing my back and biting me while he fucked me, and I prayed that they did not decide that they should let Greyback in on the fun.

Rabastan was taking me for the second time while Rodolphus made me clean his cock with my tongue--yes, I tasted blood--when they discussed whether it was possible to put my father under Imperius and have him despoil me further.

Thankfully they decided they preferred to keep me for themselves. They did away with the ropes and used Imperius on me instead, and Rabastan lay down on the bed and they made me climb onto him and fuck myself on him, and then Rodolphus held me still, his brother's cock still in me, and forced his own cock into me, too. Once he was inside, they let the spell drop, and I screamed until I was hoarse.

And why shouldn't I? That was what they wanted. A victim. They laughed about how they were going to break Lucius' already damaged spirit by showing him the memory of how his son was defiled. And I had consented to it. I had agreed to take part in my own despoilment.

As, I realized, I had agreed all along, from the moment I had agreed to do as the Dark Lord bid. I had been fucked. Just never so literally before. Everything I had suffered, even Potter's hex that had nearly killed me, I had brought upon myself.

Well, it would soon be over. I would soon be dead. And now, I wished for death. I wished for an end to the pain, the terror, the humiliation. The Dark Lord had taken over our home and was taking over the world. My father's will had been broken, his influence shattered. It was good that I was going to die, for otherwise I would be prey to wolves like the Lestrange brothers every night of my life. Maybe Fenrir would have been next were it not all to end in the morning.

They fucked me until I lost consciousness. When I woke in the grey light of dawn, they were standing sentinel at my bedside, fully robed and all humor gone from their faces.

"Good morning, little lamb," Rabastan said, sounding almost fond of me. I sat upright and felt my insides lurch. I was stiff, but the sheets were not crusted to me with blood. My fingers felt between my legs, but Rodolphus spoke. "You're healed. We had to make sure you could walk, after all."

I am sure the Dark Lord would prefer I crawl, I thought bitterly. But it did not matter to me. I was going to die and I no longer cared.

They watched while I washed and dressed, then a soft knock came at the door.

"He is ready," I heard Rabastan say, and I didn't know if he meant me or Voldemort.

They marched me down the stairs and into the large drawing room. I dared not look around, for surely if I caught sight of my mother I would shame us all and break into tears. I was surprised to find I still cared about that. The room was silent except for the sound of breathing and the crackle of the fire in the grate. From what I could see, though, nearly all the Death Eaters were there, in a large circle, three deep.

At the center was the Dark Lord, with Nagini the snake wrapped across his shoulders like a scarf or stole. In his hand was a wand, and with his other hand he pointed to the floor in front of him.

My role was clear enough. I knelt before him, wondering suddenly if I should have tried to prepare some last words, or at least a last thought. He raised his wand.

Mother, I love you, was all I could come up with.

The next moment was searing agony, sending me writhing to the floor, and I had the fleeting thought that he had decided on Cruciatus first. He would torture me and then feed me to the snake, maybe. And I was so counting on my death coming quickly, on the oblivion that would erase the memory of my rape and all the pain that had culminated with it.

And then the pain dropped to just a burning ebb in my arm. As I looked up, blinking, I realized it was my own wand the Dark Lord held in his hand. He was offering it to me.

I had just been Marked.

The Death Eaters broke into applause as I took the wand and climbed to my feet. There were shouts. The Dark Lord said nothing, just smiled cruelly. I will never know if he knew of the Lestrange brothers' deception, or if that leer was merely him thinking of the tortures he himself would put me through in the weeks to come.

I thought I had gone into that room to die. And I did. The child I was was dead, slaughtered like a lamb.

-fin-

More Author's Notes: I've been getting psyched up for the HP Darkfest, which starts claiming in August so it will be a while, but meanwhile my brain has been running to non-con and dub-con ideas. This fic was partly inspired by this art by ariadneelda, which is non-con Lucius/Harry. I was on a long train trip (7 hours) with no Internet connection, but I'd left my browser open in a tab and just drooled over the picture. What came out of my head, though, was not Lucius/Harry, obviously, but some DH-compliant non-con. Going back all the way to the very first fic I published on LJ, By Any Other Name, Death Eaters despoiling Draco has always been a favorite theme for me.... although in the end there are very few actual fics where I portray it. (Sweet Coin, Thrown to the Wolves, and Draco's Folly are the others I can think of... oh, and I suppose most of the Lucius/Draco, too, like the Malfoy Honor series could count, and The Emperor, certainly... links to all of which on various archive sites are in my master list post on LJ.) This story, of course, can also be read as Draco's parallel journey to Harry's, where Harry also thinks he is going to his death. It's nearly 3am and I am going to sleep. Comments are love!

At Wiscon!

2008-05-24T02:27:13Z

So here I am at Wiscon, the feminist science fiction convention, having a blast, as usual.

I will admit that in the years before I started coming to Wiscon, I was leery that feminism could be much fun. Most of my firsthand experience with feminists, of course, was with dour and/or victim-mentalitied proponents of the anti-sex movement back when I was in college. Brown had a women's studies building called the Sarah Doyle Center that I NEVER DARED SET FOOT IN until long after I had graduated and was invited back to speak as an alum.

But Wiscon is, happily, much more a Bastion of Fandom in all its Glory than it is representative of any branch of feminism.

And it is fun. And brainy. And brainily fun. And my brain is funny.

Arrived yesterday by puddlejumper and helped out stuffing the registration packets. Who knew that the summer job I had in a birdfeeder factory would come in so handy? I helped arrange the small assembly line and my line completed 200 packets in under one hour. Then went off with my two roomies for half-price margaritas and Mexican food at "Frida," the pretty good mexican place about 2 blocks from the hotel.

Madison is a college town, so within 4 blocks walk of the hiotel there is every kind of ethnic food to be had for cheap (including "Iowan," according to the con info, which is popcorn. There are three different gourmet popcorn shops. But the cupcake craze doesn't seem to have got here yet.)

Then went into A Room of One's Own, the terrific local bookstore with a feminist slant. Enjoyed looking at books in there. There was a reading by the con guests of honor going on in the back room but me and friends were too tipsy to sit through a reading, plus there were no seats left.

Had lunch today with Karen Healey, of Girl-Wonder.org: Because capes aren't just for boys, and her agent Barry. She's from New Zealand, has traveled all over, and had some very insightful views on the whole presidential election thing we have going on here.

She raved about something I had only learned about maybe an hour before: BookMooch. "Give books away. get books you want." Check it out at www.BookMooch.com. Bloody brilliant.

The main event of the afternoon is something called THE GATHERING, which was sort of like a carnival fair within the con, running all afternoon as people arrived and got caught up with friends. There was henna painting, and tarot card reading, and a knitting circle, and ballroom dance lessons and a clothign swap and a Make Your Own Curry Powder Stand run by Mary Anne Mohanraj.

At the Gathering, I got my Numerology done! According to Lettie, I am an "Architect," and I am in a building phase of my life, very much the builder of my own destiny, but when I am 56 this will change, and I might move on to traveling or something else, but probably not a quiet retirement. She said a bunch more that I can't quite recreate but it was all quite accurate for me.

At the clothing swap I acquired a very cute pair of silver slippers, sort of ballet-style slippers, suitable for wearing to con parties.

I also participated in a "show and tell" session on the stage for tattoos and I showed mine off and talked about how it is time to get a new one. Several people mentioned a good tattoo place here in Madison, Capital City Tattoos, so if I have time, maybe I'll get it done here.

Spent several hours in the dalers room looking at books, talking with writers and editors, and ended up going from there to dinner with Paula Guran, editor of Best New Paranormal Romance. Sadly, she won't be doing another edition of the book. We talked books and writing and erotica for many hours... and now I'm back in my room relaxing with a cup of tea and my blog before I go out to parties in about an hour.

Tomorrow I'll go to some actual programming. I'm missing a panel about LiveJournal right now... heh. Later in the con I am on a Slash & Fanfiction 201 panel. The 101 Panel is tonight, too, but I'll miss it.

HD WorldCup Recs

2008-05-07T21:02:38Z

Some recs from HD Worldcup!

I have not read everything in the fest, not by a long shot, but there have been a few stories I really enjoyed. Overall, there's not been enough sex for my taste in this fest overall, but I've really enjoyed several pieces anyway.

Also, more than half the art's really worth looking at, and not time consuming, so just go and look. Whereas the fics? OMG, they are all really long! It's like the Fest of Novellas and Novelettes! So many are 15K or longer, it's amazing.

I liked more than just these, but these are the ones I recommend the most wholeheartedly. I also notice comments have fallen WAY off the past few weeks now that Snarry Games and some other fests are going on, so I've listed these more recent stories first. Lots of them really deserve notice, but it's clear stuff in the first 2 weeks got read by like 3x as many people...

PERFECT DAY (H/D, R), Wheel of Fortune, Team Canon
http://community.livejournal.com/hd_worldcup/22049.html
Post-DH fic at its best. Draco and his family are at the nadir of their lives. He decides his best recourse is a dose of Felix Felicis, and the "Perfect Day" that ensues is by turns hilarious, hair-raising, and moving. One of the best encapsulations of canon loose ends I've ever seen, and just a really well done story.

RING A RING'O ROSES (H/D, NC-17) The Tower, Team Canon
http://community.livejournal.com/hd_worldcup/14003.html
This might still get my vote for absolute best story in the fest. There's a mystery to be solved--who murdered several very important characters? And much post-DH angst to work through. A cracking good plot and the one fic I've read post-DH that evokes the same urgency and sense of danger as the books in the JKR series themselves.

S. MORGENSTERN'S THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS (H/D, PG), The Moon, Team Canon
http://community.livejournal.com/hd_worldcup/21192.html
This is the fic that probably generated the most debate, because it requires the reader to actually activate her literary analysis brain in order to understand and appreciate it. For many people, that's the opposite of what they are used to in fic, and may be the opposite of what they WANT or LIKE in fic. (A few of the comments it received seemed downright churlish that the author dared to make them interpret the story instead of handing them a pat explanation as part of the text! I, on the other hand, completely loved it for exactly that.)

THE HERMIT (H/D, NC-17), The Hermit, Team Canon
http://community.livejournal.com/hd_worldcup/24221.html
One of the few stories in the fest that had enough sex for me. I'm a sucker for Gryffindor!harry being the more sexually adventurous one, and all the better when he has a heroic reason for suggesting it... Draco has become an agoraphobic recluse, but Harry needs his help. And Draco needs Harry's help. Add in a mysterious curse and off you go.

STILL LIFE IN WOOD AND PARCHMENT (H/D, NC-17), Strength, Team Canon
http://community.livejournal.com/hd_worldcup/17993.html#cutid1
An epistolary tale (that is, one told in correspondence) that is wonderfully crafted, very moving, and also one of the shortest ones in the fest! Albus Severus and Scorpius are determined to learn their fathers' secrets.

PRECIOUS THINGS (H/D. NC-17) The Tower, Team Fanon
http://community.livejournal.com/hd_worldcup/14842.html#cutid1
It's team fanon, so don't be shocked by the "I'm here, I'm queer" Harry in leather pants and mesh shirt. But the story isn't total crack--it's got some really moving moments and real emotional punch. Scorpius is kidnapped, Harry is brought in on the case...

BETTER THE DEVIL YOU KNOW (MEHEN), (H/D, NC-17) The Devil, Team Epilogue
http://community.livejournal.com/hd_worldcup/8573.html
This one has some fascinating post-DH stuff in it, in which Harry discovers his guilt over all the people who have died is alleviated when an initially antagonistic Draco uses a spell to carve their names into his skin.

BROTHER, CONFESSOR, LOVER, REDEEMER (H/D, R) Judgment, Team Canon
http://community.livejournal.com/hd_worldcup/4657.html
Postwar, Harry retreats into a funky Muggle neighborhood of London where he encounters some surprising people. Epilogue compliant.

Going to Terminus!!!

2008-04-23T21:22:12Z

*hyperventilates*

Yes!!! I am going to Terminus!

I just bought my membership and made my hotel reservation!!!

*leaps with gleeeeee*

Now the really cool part:

I've been invited to host a Slash & Fanfiction Night at Quimby's, the ultra-hip zines and alternative culture bookstore! It'll be Wed. August 6th, 7pm - 9pm, and will feature 5 readers, myself and four others.

So, I'm officially looking for other folks who are interested in reading their fic and/or selling their zines through the store that night. Readings will be live in front of a live bookstore audience. The readings will be SHORT. Quimby's has strict policies on this. I'll expect each reader to prepare a piece to read (either an excerpt from a longer work or just a very short piece) that takes no more than 7 minutes to read. if you've never read aloud in front of an audience, expect if you print your story double spaced and read at a normal speed, you can read about 5 pages in 7 minutes.

If you're interested, please email me the following at "ravenna_c_tan" (at yahoo).

Name you write under:
Your likely pairing:
Will you have a zine or fanart to sell:
Link to a sample of your fic:

Although we'll only have 5 readers, we can have more people there selling zines, comix, doujinshi, etc. so let me know if you only want to do that and not actually read!

Also please note that this overlaps the big Wizard Wrock event, which runs from 12 noon through 12 midnight. (Wow.) I figure if we leave the bookstore at 9 we still have plenty of time to see the biggest acts, who are performing at the end!

Repost: Dormiens (H/D, Snape/Draco, NC-17)

2008-04-13T18:49:21Z

I suppose I should add one more warning. This is a kind of melancholy story.

Title: Dormiens
Author: ravenna_c_tan
House: Ravenclaw
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Draco/Harry, Draco/Snape
Warnings: Homosexual sex acts of various kinds.
Prompt: "Wrong" in the 50.1 prompt table at 100quills
Beta Reader: miraba
Summary: Post-war. Harry has defeated Voldemort, but has paid a heavy price. Draco Malfoy still has dues to pay.

--

Draco struggles with his keys, the bag of groceries clutched in one arm. The sticky lock seems to chew at the blasted metal things in his free hand. He glances up and down the street--no one. He shakes the sleeve of his leather jacket, his wand slips into his hand, and he mutters a near-silent Alohomora, feeling a pang of guilt as he does so. He knows it's wrong to use magic where their Muggle neighbors might see, but... The door swings open and Draco calls out with forced cheer: "I'm home."

The house is dark, lit by neither lamp nor candle nor incantation. Draco gnaws his lower lip, trying not to give in to worry.

He fails. Something is wrong. With another guilty pang he lights every sconce in the house with a wordless spell--one of his best, a shame he doesn't get to use it more often--and rushes from room to room, his wand in his hand. "Potter, are you here? Harry?" His voice grows more frantic as he finds each room empty.

He bounds up the stairs first to Harry's bedroom, even looking under the bed, then his own room, then the bathroom--still nothing. Could he have gone out?

Then he hears a thumping sound, like a rat in a cupboard, coming from the spare room. Draco hurries into the room. It is furnished partly as an office with an oak roll-top desk and shelves, partly as a guest room with a futon couch and a chest of drawers.

The thumping intensifies and now Draco hears a voice as well, coming from the top drawer of the chest. "For Merlin's sake..." he swears, feeling sick and angry and worried all at the same time. "Let him be all right..."

He pulls the drawer open with care, and there is a dark-haired man, shrunk to mouse size, nestled among a bevy of miniaturized things, bundles of bed sheets and pillows. Potter looks a bit dischuffed, but relieved. Draco reaches in, unsure for a moment if he should pluck him up between two fingers or not--how fragile is he that size? But an idea dawns as he lowers his hand; he turns the palm upward, and Harry clambers into it.

Draco lifts his hand out of the drawer and the miniaturizing charm reverses--suddenly there is a full-sized Harry Potter landing in his arms, his arms around Draco's neck. The sudden removal of the spell leaves Harry gasping and weak. He leans against Draco for a few moments until he can steady himself.

Then he yanks himself away and kicks the offending furniture. "Goddamn it!" He kicks it again.

"I'll get rid of it," Draco says, slipping his wand into his sleeve and trying to calm his heart, which still pounds from his frantic search of the house. "That blasted charm is defective! The manufacturer will hear from me..."

"Leave it," Harry says, dropping onto the futon and pushing his hands into his hair. "I'll just... I'll just stay out of here from now on."

Draco goes down to one knee, trying to get himself into Harry's line of sight. The resignation in that voice leaves him with a dull ache in his stomach--it was better when Potter was angry. "No. That's no solution. I'm of a mind to ... chuck the entire thing." He almost said obliterate, another good spell he never uses any more, not in front of Harry. "The only thing that's stopping me is there might be something of yours in there that you want."

Harry does not reply, but at least he looks Draco in the eye. Draco suddenly remembers the one thing in the chest that he wouldn't want to obliterate. Harry's wand in the bottom drawer. His remark, which was meant to sound caring, sounds callous in that light, and he swears to himself. Hasn't it ever been thus, between him and Potter? Something about Draco's tongue always had the ability to cut Harry to the quick.

Even when he doesn't intend to he says the wrong thing. But what can he say now? His apology wilts in his mouth. Draco has never been good at apologizing.

"I've been in there since three or so," Harry says, his voice quiet and his eyes now on his hands.

"I'll get rid of it." Draco says again, appalled at the thought of the careless charm-maker. What kind of miniaturizing spell can't tell a former-wizard from a ball of socks? The thought that Potter has the same amount of magic in him as a ball of socks makes his stomach churn. The wrongness of it sometimes makes him want to run screaming. But it's the wrongness of it that makes him stay. "They assured me it was Squib-Safe," he tries, realizing as the words come out how lame they sound.

Harry just stares, out the window onto the tree-lined street. "I'm all right."

You're not, Draco thinks. Harry has never been good at putting up a façade. Draco is. "Do you fancy dinner out or in, tonight?"

Harry huffs, shaking off the horror of being trapped in a sock drawer all afternoon, and looks up. "I could use with getting out." He tries to smile but only manages a twitch.

Draco does smile. "Great. Let me change my pants and we'll hit the little Italian place across the park? Or would you prefer Indian?"

The warmth reaches Harry's mouth at last, and a small grin emerges. "Italian is fine. But let's bring our own wine, eh?"

Draco breathes a long sigh of relief in his room as he switches into a pair of faded blue jeans. It's not just that Harry likes the truly fine cotes du ventoux that Draco raided from the wine cellar at the Manor. By suggesting Draco bring one along--charmed hidden--he is encouraging Draco to do magic.

Not that Draco needs permission, per se. Harry's always said not to act like a Squib on his account. But Draco has seen the open pain and longing on his face, sometimes when Draco performs the simplest of spells, so he doesn't. Draco's one goal in life at this point is to keep Potter out of pain.

And out of danger. Stupid, stupid furniture. Draco moved them to the Muggle part of town for Potter's sake, because there are too many things he can't manage in the Wizarding World, too many everyday charms that Draco and everyone else takes for granted that are suddenly a danger to a person without magic.

Even a simple chest of drawers. Draco berates himself mentally once more. This weekend he'll go through the thing, clean out what he doesn't need, and then give the thing away. Maybe he'll build that wizardspace closet he's been meaning to, though it would mean Harry wouldn't be able to get to anything inside it...

He emerges from the bedroom to find Harry downstairs, reading a book under an electric lamp. He puts the book down too quickly as Draco steps into the room and Draco quirks an eyebrow at him.

"Just a Muggle novel, you wouldn't like it," Harry says, and Draco is astonished, as he always is, by how much Potter sounds like he did in school when he was found out at some mischief.

You killed the greatest dark wizard of our time and saved the Wizarding World, but you're still a scared schoolboy inside, Draco thinks. As he goes into the kitchen to retrieve the wine, he notices the groceries have been put away. "You don't have to show me if you don't want to," he says as he selects a bottle from the Muggle-style wine fridge.
But of course when he returns to the sitting room, the bloody Gryffindor is standing there with the book outstretched in his hand. Potter won't keep secrets from him, and Draco doesn't entirely understand why. Draco keeps secrets by second nature, without even thinking about it. It isn't as if he really cares what Potter reads--but Potter himself has the need to fight the urge to hide.

Draco swallows a small lump in his throat as he takes in the cover. It's a garish thing, the illustration showing a red-scaled dragon--Draco knows perfectly well there wasn't a living species of European dragon with red scales--and what is clearly a wizard in a long robe with a long gray beard. Draco swallows again, not only thinking of Dumbledore, but knowing that Harry is, too.

The title, which glitters non-magically in foil, reads: Wizard's First Rule. Draco puts up his cheerful façade again. "Any good?"

"Actually, it's absolute rubbish," Harry says, reddening. "But after finishing The Lord of the Rings I didn't know what else to pick up."

Draco ushers him out of the house, happy to listen to the stream of chatter that was comes out of Potter now. As if books about magic and gray-bearded wizards are of no more consequence than the weather. As he hops down the front steps, Draco subtly makes the bottle invisible and then stows his wand back in its sleeve sheath. He smiles. Potter bought the sleeve holder for him when they moved to the neighborhood. When Draco asked where it came from, and Potter told him "a magic shop," that had taken quite a bit of explaining, until he had made it clear that there are shops in the Muggle world which cater to charlatans who want to make it seem as if they can conjure their wands out of thin air.

"The prose is horribly stilted and the characters just aren't making sense to me," Harry says, as they make their way across the tree-lined square. "I'm only a hundred pages in, so maybe it will get better." It is a gentle summer night, the breeze ruffling Draco's hair into his eyes, and for a moment he wants to reach out and hold Harry's hand.

But he knows better. He doesn't want to ruin the mood if Harry pulls away or turns dark on him. So he settles for walking alongside him, swinging the invisible bottle of wine in one hand, and watching Harry's lips move as he talks. Things have been very placid, of late, and until the incident with the drawer Draco had almost believed they had finally settled on the way life was going to be for a while. Harry, magicless but with his demons quelled, immersed enough in the Muggle world to keep from being a recluse. Draco, providing.

Providing what exactly, that is the question. Potter has plenty of money, even with the highway robbery that is the Gringotts Galleons-to-Euros exchange rate. He still has friends he can see, especially that Muggleborn Hermione who has no trouble navigating the mundane way to the house. He can cook for himself, clean, write a book if he needs to keep busy... In fact, the way Draco looks at it, the only reason Harry is in need of any help is because Draco himself keeps booby-trapping the house with magical furniture and the like.

But Draco stays. In the beginning, in the early days after the war, Potter needed someone to keep him not only from magical mishap but from hurting himself. He couldn't stand to be around too many people, nearly clawed his eyes out at St. Mungo's. Draco ended up being the one, relieving the others of the burden of a mad Potter and Potter of the burden of their pity.

Now he stays out of his own late-blooming sense of penance, he supposes. When they fight, Harry tries to get rid of him. Sometimes Harry rages. But they have not fought in quite a while. It's reached the point where Draco feels almost like they are friends.

We did it all backwards, didn't we, Potter, he thinks as the restaurant comes into view. We went about it all wrong. We were enemies first, then we fucked, and when everything fell apart, we became friends.

Friends is the word he uses with mother, when they speak, which isn't often. It's even the word he has used with Snape, who knows exactly what an inaccuracy it is and who occasionally points that out. All in all, it's better not to bring up the subject of Potter with Snape, and vice versa. Never the twain shall meet, and Draco does not push the issue. Harry once accused Draco of "compartmentalizing." Once he figured out what that meant, he realized it was yet another vital Slytherin survival trait that Harry thinks is wrong.

Just thinking about the gap between them, the communication gap, the culture gap, everything, makes Draco's heart feel like a stone in his chest. His smile freezes on his face. But Harry is still chattering away, apparently quite recovered from his scare with the drawer and apparently happy to have Draco's company.

Dinner goes well. The veal piccata is strong and lemony and their cotes du ventoux--disguised as a rope-wrapped bottle of chianti--is rich and heady. As good as Draco remembered. They linger over panna cotta with early peaches, finishing the wine. Draco has a moment to think, while looking over a candle flame at Harry's green eyes, that maybe tonight is the night he will ...

No. Harry made the ground rules clear quite some time ago. They are not lovers--never had been, in fact. Harry speaks and acts as if what happened between them wasn't even real. Maybe it wasn't. After Voldemort's fall--it was a time universally remembered as dark and insane. They don't speak of it.

On the walk home, Harry calls Hedwig to give her a few nips of veal, and she sits on Draco's shoulder while Harry feeds her. "She's really taken to you these last couple of months," Harry says, as she flies off.

"She's a good owl," Draco says. See, even your bird thinks I'm okay, he thinks, then silently casts a sobering charm on himself. If he is having thoughts like that, he needs to clear his head.

Harry takes his book to bed with him and Draco makes a pretense of fussing about with things in the kitchen, moving things Potter cupboarded incorrectly and the like. A short while later, he creeps up the stairs and peeks into Potter's room. Harry is asleep with the book on his chest and his glasses askew. Draco eases them off his face and folds them on the nightstand, then whispers "Nox." Nothing happens. He winces, feeling stupid, then reaches for the switch of the electric lamp.

Back downstairs he uses magic to open and close the front door--it's quieter than keys--and waits until he is a block away to Disapparate.

He appears on a weed-choked hill and makes his way down to the gap between buildings that leads to the street. The moon has just risen, but the light from the street lights soon overpowers it. Before he knows it, he is standing on a ragged doormat looking at a heavy, wooden door, green paint flaking off.

He raises his hand to knock, but before he can, the door swings open and there is Severus, as severe as ever, fixing him with the same glare he used when a young Malfoy dared knock on the door to his private quarters one night at Hogwarts.

"Mr. Malfoy," he says, much as he'd said that night, too. That night he also said a great deal more, but in the end the result was the same, as Draco knows it will be. Severus Snape is, if nothing else, consistent. He motions him inside with a jerk of his head, then wastes no time once the door is locked in sliding his hand down into Draco's jeans.

Snape, thank Merlin, has always understood, at least when it comes to this. Draco leans his head against Snape's bony shoulder and almost cries with relief as the older man begins stripping him efficiently out of his clothes, one hand maintaining contact with his erection while the other, holding a wand, charms each piece of clothing off. Draco's own wand clatters against the floor of the entryway as his jacket falls in a heap. Snape's spells are always nonverbal and Draco wonders--not for the first time--what incantation it is that seemingly tears the clothes right off a person yet leaves the garments whole once they hit the floor.

This is Snape's version of taking his time, as Draco is denuded piece by piece. Snape's magic is heady, intoxicating, like stepping out of bitter cold into a greenhouse of night-blooming flowers. Draco presses his mouth against Snape's neck, licking the musky scent of him, of potions, and magic, and maleness. Snape lights the candles in the room with one flick of his wand and Draco sighs, only partly aware that he is rubbing his erection against the roughness of Snape's black robes, only partly aware of Snape's hand snaking into the hair at the back of his neck and pulling, exposing his neck for Snape's mouth to explore. Draco's mind is burning with the candles, the ease with which they flared. He imagines he can feel the magic in the room caressing his skin like the breeze.

"Severus..." he rasps, as Snape's mouth glides over his Adam's apple, and the next thing he realizes is he is on the floor, the carpet actually, of Snape's sitting room, the room crammed with books as usual. He is on his back, and Snape's mouth is attacking his erection, the man's robes pooling over Draco's legs as he crouches down.

The agreement between them has never been spoken. Snape provides when Draco arrives. Snape decides what they do. Draco tries not to arrive too often or too inconveniently. It has been thus since the first time Draco showed up at Snape's door--neither of them will admit how long ago. Draco doesn't know if Snape used Legilimency on him all those years ago, or if his need and tacit agreement were simply that transparent.

He hisses as Snape insinuates a slick finger into the pucker of his ass and begins crooking it in time with his head, which bobs on Draco's cock. Draco's fingers scrabble for purchase on the matted rug, but the sensation stops as Snape rears up, opens his robes, and begins to let down his trousers.

Potter, apparently, isn't the only one who can be reduced to the state of a scared schoolboy. Draco trembles as Snape exposes his cock, veiny and large as ever. To be truthful, Draco isn't scared, just atremble with anticipation, but the distinction is unnecessary to his Slytherin instincts. He relishes the feeling of not knowing what Snape is going to do or demand.

Snape locks eyes with him, as he levers himself along Draco's body until their two cocks touch, the heat making Draco's throat tighten. Snape's hair hangs down, as do his robes, blackness enveloping the gold that is Draco.

He thrusts, and Draco sees stars, squeezing his eyes shut and cutting off Snape's always intense gaze. Snape establishes a rhythm now, and Draco bucks a bit. If he could roll his hips just so, just a little faster, just a touch higher... but Snape's motion is relentless. He moans as he surrenders to the other man's rhythm, Snape getting himself off and pushing Draco up to the peak of arousal himself in the process. He isn't even sure how it happens, how he goes from feeling like it's not enough, he needs more, to he's holding back, he's gritting his teeth and trying to hold back until Snape himself is coming.

Draco likes it when Snape comes--which he doesn't always. It makes it harder for Snape to grouse about Draco's visits. What was it he said last time? "Do you imagine that I enjoy finding you on my doorstep, near-bursting and begging for relief?" But that was typical Snape-speak. Draco never begs, and he knows Snape enjoys it.

He feels the hot spill of come onto his bare belly, Snape's, and his own, as he lets go the carpet, wraps his arms around Snape's shoulders, and thrusts back hard against the man above him, making sure he can't pull away too soon. Not that he ever has. Draco always leaves feeling quite sated. But he can't help himself. He claws at Snape, pushing his pulsing cock convulsively against him, until he falls back like a puppet with its strings cut--spent and now unable to move.

Snape climbs to his feet slowly, and Draco hears the whoosh of various charms. When he opens his eyes, Snape is fully restored to the state he was in when he opened the door. He casts a few charms onto Draco, who opens his mouth as if he can catch the taste of magic on his tongue like snowflakes. Then he takes his time collecting his clothes, putting them on one piece at a time.

"I take it Mr. Potter has not improved," Snape says, his wand now hidden and his fingers steepled.

Draco is accustomed to there being some lecture or piece of advice at the end of one of these little trysts, but he is shocked to hear the name Potter come from Snape's mouth. "He's fine," he says, pulling on his socks. "He's fine," he repeats again, as if that is the end of the discussion.

Snape fixes him with a black stare. "And you?"

"I'm fine, too." Draco stands up, preferring to see eye to eye with his former professor rather than be talked down to, literally, if he is to be lectured. "Brilliant."

"Your reluctance to break down Potter's resistance baffles me." Snape says. "Draco, if I may..."

"You may not." Draco will always be able to muster superior hauteur to Snape. It's the Malfoy blood. "When I want your advice, I'll come for tea."

Snape's eyebrow arches in condescending amusement, but he says nothing. And Draco has nothing else to say. His limbs feel leaden post-orgasm and it is time to go. He checks that his wand is in his sleeve and Disapparates without another thought.

He is startled when he opens the door to find Harry sitting up on the couch, the paperback novel in his hands. He hides his wand as he says "Couldn't sleep?"

Harry's eyes are ringed by dark circles. "Nah," he says without explanation.

Draco sits in the armchair, wondering if maybe Harry does keep some secrets after all. This doesn't bother him. He's not about to tell Harry where he has been. He cracks a casual grin. "So, what is the 'Wizard's First Rule?'"

Harry's eyes remain haunted and serious for a moment and then he gives in. "Never tickle a sleeping dragon,"* he answers, then laughs.

Draco wants to laugh, too. It's the first time Harry has mentioned Hogwarts willingly in months and months. He settles for a frozen grin, as his heart has jammed itself in his throat so tightly he can't even draw a decent breath.

He wants to talk about Hogwarts. He wants to ask Harry if he misses it. He wants to tell Harry he misses it, too, though he doesn't miss the parts where they tried to kill one another. He wants to talk about Dumbledore, and the Tower, and even Snape. He wants to hear Harry rage and accuse and do all the things he never did to Draco's face. He wants to cross the room, kiss Harry until he surrenders, undress him piece by piece without magic and make him cry just with the sweetness of his touch.

But it would be wrong. Potter is the bloody Gryffindor. He decides what is right.

Harry says good night, then, tossing the book aside and climbing the stairs. Draco listens to the sound of his feet as he moves back and forth upstairs, runs the water, makes his bedsprings creak. Then the house is silent.

It is a long time before Draco follows, and even longer before he sleeps.

--
* The Hogwarts school motto is "Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus" which translates to "never tickle a sleeping dragon."

HP Summersmut Signups!

2008-04-07T05:30:27Z

So, the hp_summersmut signups are now open!

Sign up here: http://community.livejournal.com/hp_summersmut/39450.html

And please say you'll write some smutty Snape/Draco, eh? ;-)

Tarot Fest Wrap Up!

2008-04-06T05:41:57Z

So, I finally got around to posting the round two Master List over at the Potterverse Tarot Fest on LJ. Not only that, I finally posted the awards for the best fics from the fest. Pink and I had decided on the fic winners (with some input from comm members and trusted betas) from round one before round two even started...!

I may as well post the list of winners here on JF. Some of the user journal links won't work, if people didn't move over here, but the links to the stories ought to.

The original post is: here.

I promised awards for the fest way way way back in the very beginning. I don't see fic writing as competitive so this is not a "first place, second place" kind of awarding, but rather an acknowledgment of the most exceptional fics' strengths and a reward for those authors who really made both rounds of the fest shine.

lesyeuxverts00 "Borrowed Light" (Minerva) Best Canon Rewrite
gatewaygirl "Night Crossings" (Harry/Regulus) Best RarePair
synn "The Hierophant" (Lucius/Severus/Voldemort) Best Threesome
summerborn "The Chariot"(Snape/Black) Best Antagonist Pairing
phix_me_up "The Hermit" (Filch) Best Character Study
stephanometra "The Wheel of Fortune" (The Sorting Hat & Founders) Best Extension of the Canon
fernwithy "What She Deserved" (Merope/Tom Riddle, Sr.) Best Unseen Scene from Canon
severity_softly "Mosaic" (Severus/Remus) Best Redemption Fic
klynie1 "A Devil Haunts Thee" (Severus/Remus/Harry) Best Postwar Fic
twistedm "Invaluable" (Harry/Draco) Best Sex in a Fic
strickens_girl "For Those Left Behind" (Ron/Draco) Best Unlikely Love
lotrwariorgodss "Desires of the Damned" (Harry/Draco) Best Draco
kyuuketsukirui "All But the Bitter Residue" Best Marauder Era Fic
el_em_en_oh_pee "Queen of Spades" Best Femmeslash (Hannah/Pansy)
anthimaeria "As Summer Rushed In" (Harry/Draco) Most Romantic
snottygrrl "The Apprentice" (Draco) Best Tarot Interpretation
bk03 "Chance to Get It Right" (Harry/Padma) Best Sequel
cyanesnape "Death Sentence" Best dark!harry (Harry/Snape)
enchantedescape "Rite of Passage" Best Portrayal of Evil (Bellatrix/Rodolphus)
lotrwariorgodss "This Moratorium on Life" Best Post-Deathly Hallows Story (Severus)
nurturingroads "All We Might Have Been" Best 2nd Person Narrative (Harry/Draco)

Repost: The Rematch (Snape/Draco, NC-17)

2008-04-04T05:19:21Z

The latest in my repostings of fics that were in comms on LJ:

Title: The Rematch
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Snape/Draco
Disclaimer: This is fanfic. It is produced for non-commercial purposes. All characters are copyrighted and trademarked by J. K. Rowling and the publishers of Harry Potter and related properties.
Warnings: None, really. Dueling can be a bit violent?
Summary: Draco Malfoy is 25 years old, single, rich, and bored with life, when an old schoolmate invites him into a very exclusive club: a dueling club.
Author's Notes: A very slantwise homage to Chuck Palahniuk's novel "Fight Club." This is still my favorite of my Snape/Draco fics. Written originally as a gift for femmequixotic in the 2006 Merry Smutmas fest.

The Rematch
by Ravenna C. Tan

PART ONE: FEINTS AND PARRIES

"Come on, Malfoy. Don't tell me you're scared."

Draco kept his eyes on the fine liquor in the snifter in his hand, only flicking them toward Nott when he was sure his hesitation had conveyed his disdain. "Really, Nott. I thought you'd have outgrown those old schoolboy ways. But I seem to bring out the worst in you."

Theodore Nott was a junior manager of international finance at Hamersly's, which meant that Draco had to rub elbows with him all too often. Most of the Malfoy fortune was managed through Hamersly's, ever since the Gringott's scandal, and Nott always made a point of chumming up to him at public functions.

Yes, they'd been chums of a sort back at Hogwarts, though Nott had always been a little bit of a loner, never really a part of Draco's gang. They'd almost become close, after Potter had named both their fathers in that tabloid rag, but soon after, Draco had pushed everyone away but Crabbe and Goyle, and he had only kept them close because he needed their help.

Draco handed the empty snifter to a passing servant and prepared to speak. He was only standing in this room--his body, mind, and inheritance whole--because he'd taken charge of his own survival all those years ago. "Listen, Teddy," he said, using the nickname the senior managers had tagged Nott with, "I really don't fancy re-living the so-called glory days." Not to mention the fact that some former cohorts might not look kindly on Draco's actions toward the end of the war.

Nott straightened the tie under his robes and leaned a bit closer. "Even Potter shows up sometimes, the crazy git. Malfoy, I'm telling you, you'll enjoy it. You don't have to duel. Just come and... see."

Draco was twenty-five years old, single, rich, and bored with life. He was sorely tempted--but did not want to seem as if he capitulated too easily. "Dueling is for ponces like that old fraud Lockhart."

Nott sniggered, reinforcing Draco's thought that he was very much still a schoolyard bully at heart. "You wouldn't say that if you saw some of the duels we've had. The club retains a full-time mediwizard, you know."

"Losing a limb, even temporarily, is not my idea of fun," Draco persisted, but he was licking his lips as he said so.

Nott gave him a knowing smile and took a scrap of parchment out of his pocket. "Here. Night of the new moon, eight o'clock. See you there."

Draco slid the scrap into his pocket and moved to get himself another drink. He nodded to the undersecretary to the minister for Wizarding trade, elbowed past a portly investor in dragonhide exports, and then found himself continuing out of the room and into the loo.

With the door latched behind him, he uncurled the scrap of parchment and felt his throat tighten. The words written there were innocuous enough, giving an address that was flying distance from the Manor. No, what gave Draco such a shock was the handwriting, the spidery script as familiar to him as the man's face.

Severus Snape had written this.

Draco scowled, disliking the thought that Snape had engaged Nott in a scheme to draw Draco in. But Snape and Nott had never been close. Likely, Nott didn't even know of Draco and Snape's past.

The new moon was ten days away. Draco memorized the address, turned the paper to ash in his fingers, and then washed his hands. He had ten days to decide.

***

The October wind had an icy bite to it, but Draco decided to fly to the meeting. With the moon dark, he would be unlikely to be seen and he wondered if that was the reason for the date. Surely he wouldn't be the only one to arrive by broom? Besides, he wanted to reconnoiter the site before committing to entry, and time on a broom always cleared his head.

He had a feeling he'd want it to be clear. The last time he had spoken to Severus Snape, they'd been in the thick of things. After a mad dash through the countryside, avoiding Aurors and waiting for instructions on how to rendezvous with the Death Eaters, Snape had brought him to the Dark Lord after the attack on Hogwarts. The man had made only a cursory explanation of Narcissa's foolishness with the Unbreakable Vow and Dumbledore's daft plan to sacrifice his own life. Draco had wanted no part of it. Snape's machinations were not going to free Lucius from Azkaban nor secure Narcissa's life. Once they reached the Dark Lord, Draco had acted on his own.

They had not parted on good terms. Draco had negotiated his own way with the Dark Lord, and then as soon as he had insured his parents' safety, went straight to the Ministry with enough to insure himself a full pardon. During the war, they exchanged curt, barely civil words when they had crossed paths in Death Eater circles, and after Draco's desertion not at all. Since then, Draco had not laid eyes on his former mentor and Head of House.

The sky was clear, the stars glittering in the crisp air, as Draco drifted over the circle of ancient stones south of the Manor. Wiltshire was home to several ancient magical sites and he wondered if the dueling club's location was a mere coincidence.

The building hove into view suddenly, a rectangle of grey stone set in the midst of thick forest. It had been a monastery of some kind once, and, like Hogwarts, would appear a mere ruin to any Muggles who happened by it. But having been given the secret, Draco could see torches flickering at the entryway and he spiraled down toward them.

"Malfoy!" came a voice from just inside the archway, and Marcus Flint stepped out and extended his hand. "We wondered if you'd be showing your face here at some point."

"Flint," Draco answered, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. Flint had been one of the most cut-throat Quidditch players Draco'd ever had the pleasure to fly with.

"Go on in," Flint said. "I'm on door watch until the rest arrive."

Draco nodded and went through the open doors and into the entrance hall, where there were many hooks for hanging outer robes and a stand for brooms. Draco left his cloak and broom and continued in. Just beyond was a large room, at least as large as the Great Hall at Hogwarts, with just as high a ceiling. Along the walls stood a collection of overstuffed chairs, wing-backs, some medieval-looking settles with high wooden backs but cushioned seats--a general mish-mash of every kind of chair, all facing the open space in the center of the room, and almost all empty.

Almost. There were several large, high-backed seats on a raised platform--obviously for the judges--and in the center seat sat a dark figure, his hair hanging as black and limp as his robes. He sat with his chin in one hand, his black eyes staring at Draco.

Draco merely gave him a nod, just as he would have if they'd seen one another at a Quidditch match, and shifted his gaze to the corners of the room. There were a few fellows at one end, helping themselves to tea, it looked like. Draco made his way to them.

He was interested to find they were non-Slytherins--the first he'd encountered so far with this group. Draco recognized the names of the two Ravenclaws who had been a couple of years ahead of him, and they introduced him to a third wizard, one Ambrose Colbert, who had been educated on the Continent but who was settled in England now. Colbert looked over his tiny spectacles, his blond hair glinting in the torchlight, and shook Draco's hand, as the Ravenclaws explained it was Colbert's first time there, as well.

Draco smiled inwardly, chiding himself the moment he realized what he had been doing. He had instinctively sized up each wizard and decided that he could beat them, if it came to that. He reminded himself that he was not here to duel, though, just to observe.

Nott walked in a short while later, and came immediately to Draco's side. "They're about to get started. Let's grab seats."

He steered Draco to some of the best near the center, meaning that they were directly across from the judges' platform. Snape was now conferring with another wizard Draco did not recognize, an older gentleman with graying hair, his many heavy layers of robes more archaic than the lighter style of the young generation. Draco relaxed into his seat, a leather-upholstered wing chair with wide arm rests.

The gray-haired wizard, it seemed, served as not only a judge, but as the master of ceremonies. Draco found that interesting. He'd assumed Snape would do so, but apparently the former professor delegated that responsibility. It was obvious--from the placement of his seat to the looks he received from the others--that Snape was the ringleader here.

"Gentlemen," the oldster said. "Thank you all for coming. In times such as these, men such as we shall not rust in the scabbard like forgotten swords."

The words had a ritual sound to Draco's ears and he wondered if they always began this way.

"And now, may I reiterate the rules of The Society, Pugnax Hetairia." The old man, who still had not given his name, cleared his throat. "First, and foremost, as always, what happens here, stays here."

Draco wondered if there were spells compelling them to secrecy, or if the Society depended on the willpower of the members to keep quiet. He'd lay odds that there was some kind of charm at work.

"Second, if any duel progresses to loss of consciousness, or loss of a limb, the duel is over." Draco caught Nott's eye at that, but Nott merely shrugged. "Likewise, if any participant shall capitulate, whether verbally, or if unable to speak, like so." He sent a burst of red sparks from his wand. "There is no limit as to the amount of time a duel may take. Each duel shall progress until one or both participants are unable or unwilling to continue."

He paused and scanned the crowd as though making sure they had all heard, though every wizard's attention was on him. "Third, only two wizards may duel at a time, only one duel shall take place at a time, and no wizard shall duel more than once of an evening."

Draco wondered who had created these rules, or if they had evolved over time. How long had The Society been in existence? There had been no indication. Most of the wizards here looked like they were his age, or perhaps a bit older, though there was one group who looked like they might have battled Grindelwald (or maybe supported him), sitting in one corner.

"Finally," the master of ceremonies said, his eyes suddenly falling on Draco, "If this is your first visit to The Society, you must duel. It is that, or leave now, never to return."

Draco shot a look at Nott, who said quietly, "Come on, Draco. You'd be disappointed if you didn't give it a go."

He scowled--Nott was almost certainly right about that--but gave a curt nod of assent toward the judges. He then tried to pick out Colbert to see his face--had he known or was he surprised by the news, as well?--but he must have been in the shadows at the fringes of the room.

Still scanning with narrowed eyes, he jumped when Snape's voice cut the murmurs, but he was calling out the names of the first two combatants, and Draco was not one of them.

Two wizards stepped into the center of the room, saluted each other and within moments the hexes began to fly. Draco found his attention divided between the two duelists and the audience. Every one of them had his wand out, and it quickly became clear that as a group they were shielding the dueling area. Draco drew his wand so as not to look out of place, but no one had taught him the spell.

He was musing on that and the other things he did not know--like why there were only wizards, no witches, there, and whether there was any kind of unspoken restriction on the types of spells one could use. He decided it was unlikely that the Unforgivables were used--after all, they were called the Unforgivable Curses for a reason. But there were plenty of nasty jinxes that could be used, if the first duel was any indication. It ended when one of the combatants fell back, blood spurting from his nose. The victor was cheered even as the mediwizard and another man Apparated away with the victim.

Draco wondered if this meant there were no Anti-Apparition wards in the dueling hall. He considered the possibility.

The next three duels all ended in similar fashion. Draco wondered where they tended the wounded.

His musings were cut short when he heard Snape bark out Colbert's name. He tightened his grip on his wand, expecting to be called also, but the name that followed was not his.

It was one of the fellow's Ravenclaw chums. Draco's attention to Snape sharpened. Did he choose who fought whom? The murmurs among the audience increased in pitch, though Draco did not know if it was merely because of the newcomer, or if dueling friend-on-friend gave the crowd an extra frisson.

It was over almost before it began. Draco applauded Colbert, who seemed determined to make his mark and who reduced his friend to capitulation in under a minute. The two men shook hands as they left the arena, Colbert basking in the cheers, the Ravenclaw looking chagrined but not angry.

Then Snape stood, and Draco felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. "Draco Malfoy," he said, in exactly the same bloodless tone he would have used to call the attendance roll at Hogwarts.

Draco blinked, as the reason that Snape had stood became clear. He was to be Draco's opponent. There was a momentary hush, and then the buzzing began.

Draco ignored the excitement of the observers and stepped calmly into the open space at the center of the room. Never mind that this was the man who had taught him to duel in the first place. Never mind that the last time they had spoken, they had parted in anger. Draco set all those thoughts aside, balling them up into one tight bundle and burying them under a layer of determination that he would not lose.

He ceased to see Snape standing there, raising his wand in salute. He saw only an adversary. A target.

A moving target that even now was on the offensive. Draco blocked that first hex, threw a Leg-Locker in response, moved to his right, and blocked again. These were mere feeling-out parries, as each measured the other. They exchanged blows and blocks again twice more, before Draco moved in to attack, Apparating just before throwing a bolt of flame from where he suddenly stood, behind his opponent.

Snape barely managed to deflect it, and the hem of his robe caught on fire. Draco then tossed Serpentsortia at him and Apparated again, expecting to appear mere inches behind Snape while the other man dealt with the conjured serpent.

But as he reappeared, ready to hold Snape at wandpoint or hex him again if necessary, he saw not the back of his old professor, but the surprised faces of the wizards in the front row. Snape's arm caught him around the chest, the point of a wand jabbing into the soft place under his chin.

"Yield," Snape said.

Draco struggled, but his wand arm was trapped in Snape's embrace. The man had his wand in his left hand!

"Yield!" Snape said, forcing Draco to his knees.

Draco shook his head. If Snape wanted him to capitulate, he would not give him that satisfaction. Draco would rather be bloodied than bowed.

Snape growled and Draco felt a sudden tightening around his neck, as if his head were through a noose. He gritted his teeth, trying to draw a breath, but the spell choked him. He flailed, his reflexes fighting now, as his wand fell from his hand and his hands went instinctively to his neck.

Now he could not yield, even had he the wherewithal to do so. With no wand and no way to speak, he gradually succumbed to unconsciousness, as Severus Snape choked him without mercy.

He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

***

When Draco woke, he was in a small room with stone walls, illuminated by a few spell-steady torches. By the look of the stone he was still in the same building as before--the tower, he guessed.

The mediwizard was nearby, feet up on a small table as he read the Daily Prophet. Draco cleared his throat and was unsurprised to find it sore. The wizard sat up hastily, leaving the paper in a jumble and coming to Draco's side.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, welcome to the Society," he said.

"And you are?"

"Zarathustra Payne," the man said, inclining his head toward Draco. He couldn't have been older than forty, Draco guessed. He had only a hint of frown lines around his mouth and no gray in his curly brown hair. "You gave me a bit of a scare when you didn't respond to the usual Revival Charms, but Severus, as usual, was correct."

"About what?"

The mediwizard peered at an hourglass on a shelf near the doorway. "He said you'd be out for at least an hour, and of course, he was right, nearly to the minute."

Draco felt a flash of anger. Odd, he hadn't felt at all angry during the duel, not even as Snape had been choking him, but he now felt like hot lead ran through his veins. He sat up, only to find Payne's wand centered on his chest.

"Now, now," the mediwizard said. "You'll have a chance to call him out next month, if you would like a rematch. Though I wouldn't recommend it."

"And why is that?"

"He's undefeated. No one has been able to best him. Not even that crazy Auror."

Auror. "You can't mean Mad-eye Moody?"

"The very same. Severus wiped the flagstones with him and the fellow has never been back. Trying to settle some old grudge, I think. The Auror, I mean. Didn't get satisfaction, though."

No, Draco thought, it didn't seem that he would. "So, always on the new moon?"

"Yes," Payne said, stepping back and slipping his wand back into his sleeve. "And always here."

Draco swung his feet to the floor and was grateful to find someone had tucked his wand into his own sleeve. As he sat upright, it slid into his hand. "I'll be here," he said.

On the flight back to the Manor, Draco couldn't help but replay the duel in his mind. Snape had anticipated his move, and that had been his undoing. Draco knew there were several books on dueling strategy in the Manor library, and he expected to read them immediately. But Snape must have some weakness. He was determined to discover it and exploit it.

***

PART TWO: STRATEGY AND TACTICS

He hasn't changed. That was the thought that Draco had, the next time he sat with Nott and Flint, across from the judges. Snape did not seem to have aged at all--if anything, he looked younger than Draco remembered, even though Draco was quite sure that Snape would never bother with any vanity-stroking potions. But the man was no longer weighed down by the onus of double-agenting--perhaps the difference was visible. Being twenty years apart no longer seemed like a large gulf to Draco, now that it was less than half the difference in their ages. Snape couldn't be older than his early forties, anyway, even though he had always acted at school like he was older than dirt.

He's certainly made himself out to be that when he and Draco had sought mutual comfort when they were in hiding. Snape's castigation of himself for corruption of Draco was as harsh as the rest of the man, never mind that Draco had come of age already and that when it came to being corrupt, Draco thought that a lifetime of being a Malfoy and seven years of being the ringleader of a bunch of Slytherins trumped anything Snape might do.

Draco was much better prepared for this month's meeting of The Society. He had invited Flint to a Chudley Cannon's game--Flint had always had a weak spot for the Cannons--and afterward they had retired to a pub, put up an Imperturbable Charm, and Draco had strip-mined him for information.

"First off, why no females?" Draco had asked, sipping at the dark lager in front of him so as not to end up with a moustache of foam. "How do you keep them out?"

Flint had shrugged. "I don't think they're banned exactly. I just think most guys would rather not have to fight a woman, so they don't invite them. That and I'm sure most of the witches we know would think it was utterly daft what we do."

"It seems like there are a lot of unspoken rules."

Flint took a rather large swig from his pint. "Aye, you got that right. Like if you don't duel at least once every four or five meetings, you might find yourself called out by Snape, and nobody wants that."

"Because he's never been beaten?"

"Because he's a bloody sadistic bastard who'll send you home on two separate brooms, that's why." Flint's grin was knowing. "He took you apart right good last time, eh?"

Draco nodded even as he stared into his lager and thought over the duel. "it was like he knew what I was going to do."

"He's a bloody mind-reader, Snape is."

Draco frowned. He was sure he had Occluded Snape. He's always been able to keep that damned Legilimens at bay before, and he doubted this was any different. But maybe he had given away his strategy some other way. "Yeah," he said vaguely. "So how do they decide who duels?"

"Oh, yeah. If you want to fight, you put your name on a but of parchment and hand it to the judges before the start. Snape decides who fights whom. Oh, and there's one more unwritten rule you ought to know." Marcus glanced around the pub. "Members of The Society don't duel each other outside of The Society. Nott had a row with Higgs, you remember him?"

"A Seeker wasn't he? Terry?"

"Terence. That's him. Well, he and Nott got into a dustup couple of months ago, and the next meeting, Snape wiped the floor with both of them. At the same time."

Draco opened his palm and stared at the tiny flame he conjured, then doused it by making a fist. Palma Ignicula was always a good pub trick wandless. "But I thought it was always one on one, and no wizard fights more than once a night?"

"Apparently, the rules only apply to us peons. And speaking of the rules, we'd best take down the Imperturbable. If we're caught conspiring, you know what they'll assume we're talking about." And with that, Flint had dispelled the charm.

Upon arriving at the monastery, Draco had, of course, presented a neat square of fine cream vellum directly to Snape with his eyes narrowed in challenge. Snape, for his part, merely plucked the paper from Draco's fingers with no change in his expression at all. Now he sat with Flint on one side of him, Nott on the other, waiting to hear his name called.

But it was not called, not by the time they took intermission. Draco hadn't know there would be an intermission, as he'd been unconscious during the previous one. There were some decent sandwiches, but nothing to drink stronger than tea. Draco approved. He found himself chatting with Terence Higgs near the tea cart.

Higgs was looking prematurely gray for someone who couldn't be more than six years older than Draco, but then maybe he was one of those who had been hexed during the war. Draco didn't presume on which side Higgs had fought. In fact, if there was one thing fairly clear about The Society, it was that it mattered not where one's allegiances had lain among the old regimes. Higgs and he talked Quidditch and mused about the weather, which had turned decidedly to winter in the previous week.

When the duels resumed, Draco found his eye drawn again and again to Snape. Snape wore the same expression he had through many of the Dark Lord's entertainments: barely concealed disdain. It was a decidedly cultivated look, and Draco burned with curiosity over what thoughts Snape hid underneath it.

He watched interestedly when Nott had to fight one of the Ravenclaws Draco had met last month, though Draco had forgotten his name until he heard it called: Pell Bradley.

It was a good match, each hexing hard and fast and blocking just as quickly. The shield around the dueling area shimmered with sparks nearly non-stop. The break came when Bradley sent some kind of slashing hex at Nott's ankles and Nott's Shield Charm was insufficiently low. He fell backward, grabbing at the blood spurting from the back of his leg, and Bradley closed in, Stunning him as he hit the floor.

Interesting. Draco wondered whether a sufficiently focused duelist might be able to fire off one last hex as he fell, or whether the reaction to the pain was simply too instinctive to overcome. As Bradley had closed, it seems as though there was a moment when Nott should have...?

"Draco Malfoy," Snape intoned, and Draco was on his feet almost before he had finished his thought.

But Snape did not rise from his seat. He glanced up at Draco as he read off the name of his opponent. "Ambrose Colbert."

The other rookie. Draco cracked his knuckles as he waited for Colbert to make his way into the ring.

As he had before facing Snape, he cleared his mind of his feelings for Colbert, meager as they were. He had eventually proven himself before the Dark Lord, no thanks to Snape, by showing the strength of his mind. Imperius had been like child's play, Occluding no more difficult. If his "heart" was weak and kept him from killing Albus Dumbledore, well, that was Dumbledore's great talent, arousing sympathy. Once the man was gone, Draco set about eradicating any trace of that emotion from himself and the Dark Lord had been pleased.

Really, Colbert never stood a chance. Draco sensed it even as they saluted each other. Happy that he had bested his friend the month before, Colbert wanted mostly to acquit himself well in this duel, to keep his estimation in his friends' and peers' eyes.

Draco wanted to win. The exchange of feints was quick and Draco's only concession to Colbert's ego. He then feinted toward Colbert's feet. Colbert, he previous match still fresh in his mind, overcompensated and aimed his Shield Charm low, even as Draco's wand was whipping upward.

The next few seconds passed as if in slow motion. Draco saw the moment when the tip of his wand, the hex he threw, and the soft whiteness of Colbert's throat all aligned. In the next moment, the spray of blood shot upward, following the rise of his wand as if levitated there.

In the next moment Colbert fell back, and Draco was there, his own wand dropped as he pressed his empty hand against the gushing wound. "Payne!" Draco fairly screamed.

The mediwizard was there, trying to get between Draco and his victim.

"Just, let's go!" Draco urged, not daring to move his hand from where it stanched Colbert's lifeblood. Payne circled Draco and Colbert with his arms and Apparated them together.

When they landed in the infirmary room, Payne did finally succeed in pushing Draco away, flashing through several healing charms as quickly as the hexes had flown in the duel Draco sat on the floor a few feet away, his shirt soaked with blood and his hand red and sticky. His wand had been left behind and he pondered wiping the blood on his dark trousers.

"What did you use?" Zarathustra's voice broke his reverie.

"What?"

Payne sounded urgent. "What hex was that? I've slowed the bleeding but I cannot seem to make it stop."

"Oh." Draco looked up and blinked. What had it been? "Sectumsempra."

"What? I've never heard of that."

Draco got to his feet, willing himself to look at Colbert's pale face, the seeping red spreading through the bandage. "Snape invented it. He taught it to me a long time ago. He knows how to heal it, too."

Payne snapped his wand toward the doorway and Draco was startled as a silver snake with wings shot from the tip and disappeared. Payne's Patronus, Draco realized, and a moment later Snape appeared in the room.

He spared not a glance for Draco nor Payne, merely brushed them both aside and pointed his wand at the gash in Colbert's throat.

The chanting incantation he sang made Draco's hair stand on end. Snape had sung it for him once, in that disastrous sixth year at Hogwarts. Just hearing it brought back the memory of being held in Snape's arms, Snape carrying him to the Hospital Wing...

Draco backed away from the black-robed figure bent to his work. He was nearly out the door, when Snape stood abruptly. "Mr. Malfoy," he said sharply, stopping Draco's progress as assuredly as if Draco had been a schoolboy sneaking out of class. He then gave some instructions in a low voice to Payne before rounding on Draco.

"Come with me," Snape demanded, as though marching Draco to the headmaster's office.

"I rather think I've had enough for one night, don't you?" Draco replied.

Snape held up a slim length of willow. "I don't think you're going anywhere without this, now, are you? Take my hand." He reached his other hand toward Draco, who gripped it reluctantly but strongly, as if he could sprain Snape's fingers in his own.

Draco nearly laughed when they Apparated into another square, stone-walled room. They were in the same tower, just a different floor. This room was furnished richly, with a mahogany table set for eight at one end, dark-leather upholstered chairs and a couch squared around the fireplace. The wall sconces and fire leapt to life as they entered the room.

"Here." Snape handed him his wand. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't leave bloodstains on anything."

Draco was surprised that his hand shook as he spelled himself with the blood-removal charms he had learned in the war. "I assume Colbert will recover fully" he asked, pleased at how steady his voice sounded.

Snape poured whisky into two glasses, put one down with a thunk onto the low wooden table in front of the fireplace, and sat with the other in the chair closest the fire, saying nothing.

Draco took the chair opposite, and the glass, which was clearly meant for him. "I mean, he was gashed nowhere near as deeply as I was, that time with Potter. And I've barely a scar." He tilted his chin upward as if tempting Snape to look for it. But Snape's eyes remained on his glass.

"Don't you need to get back to your minions?" Draco continued then, taking a sip of the whisky. It was golden smooth, like vanilla-scented smoke.

Snape waved a hand vaguely. "They shall carry on without me," he said and then lapsed back into silence.

Draco sat back, cradling his glass in both hands. "Well, then? Haven't you brought me here to scold me? To tell me I've broken yet another unspoken rule I couldn't have known about?"

Snape looked up, his expression dark. "I would not like to see you use Sectumsempra again."

"You reap what you sow," Draco replied, chuckling inwardly at the pun. Snape himself had earned the nickname "The Reaper" among the Death Eaters for using the spell himself during attacks on Muggle villages. It was a useful spell, able to kill several at once, unlike Avada Kedavra, which had to be aimed at a specific person.

Snape took a swallow of his whisky, and then cleared his throat. "I said, I would not like to see you use that hex again."

"All right, I won't." Draco set his glass down. "Now, if that's all, Professor?" He stood to go.

Snape was there, then, his fingers quick but gentle on Draco's chin. "Let me see. The scar."

Draco tilted his head and kept his eyes on the tapestry hung over the liquor cabinet as Snape drew his fingers down the smooth skin of his neck.

"Hm," Snape pronounced as he stepped back. "One would never know it was there, had you not said so."

Draco fingered the wand in the depths of his trouser pocket. "I want a re-match, you know."

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, turning toward the fire and resting one hand on the mantel. "But have you earned one?"

Draco played silent this time.

"I normally only duel when someone is in need of... correction."

Draco shifted where he stood. "Well, then, what did I do to deserve it last month?"

Now Snape turned, partly, his glass on the mantel and his shoulder hunched. "Perhaps I just enjoyed seeing you on your knees."

"Very funny, Snape." Draco resolved that his best course of action now would be to leave and not to return. Forget the Society, Snape, everything; it could not be worth the bother. "Though as I recall it, the one time I offered you that, you slapped me in the face and told me to get away from you."

Snape straightened, eyes blazing. "And as I recall it, you bought your way into the Dark Lord's good graces by selling my safety."

Draco recoiled. "Don't be ridiculous. You were as secure as you could be, while my fate was entirely in the balance! And Lucius and my mother's, as well!"

Snape changed gears suddenly, his voice light. "And how are they, your dear progenitors?"

"Quite well, thank you," Draco replied. They were safe, ensconced in a distant Wizarding community under assumed names. Draco had just received a letter from them this week, asking if he would be joining them for Christmas. "Now, I do feel I've had quite enough chit chat and I should be going."

Draco had his hand on the door that presumably led to the stairwell, when Snape spoke again.

"Draco," he said. But when Draco turned, Snape said nothing more, and Draco, more tired than ever of games and old grudges, shut the door behind him and left without saying another word to anyone.

***

PART THREE: COUNTERATTACK

It was around the time he decided not to visit his parents for Christmas when he also decided to return to The Society. But before doing so, he brought some of his not inconsiderable influence to bear on certain parties, to bring himself a bit more up to date on the state of Severus Snape.

Snape, it seemed, had bought the property on which the monastery stood with the restitution money that the Ministry had paid him after he was finally cleared of all charges of war crimes. Draco had not realized that Snape had spent nearly a full year in Azkaban; he'd been too preoccupied with restoring his own position at the time. It seemed unfair to him that Snape had come out of there nearly unchanged, while his own father emerged with somewhat lessened capacities. There were reasons Narcissa never brought him back to England. Draco had the distinct impression that she preferred him this way.

Draco, too, preferred him this way, if only because he was typically a few thousand miles away and no longer demanded anything of Draco.

Of Snape, there was not much else to know. He was cited a few times in some of the wizarding potions journals; apparently he kept up some research in that area in his spare time. Otherwise, he lived off his restitution and his Hogwarts pension. He remained unmarried, unattached, and was virtually unseen in society.

Except for the Society, which of course no one spoke of, wrote about, or knew of. Draco had no way to tell if the Society had originated with Snape or if it was an ancient Wizarding tradition still practiced after hundreds--or thousands--of years.

It didn't matter. Draco bundled into his warmest cloak and Apparated to just outside the gate. The night was too cold to fly. Bradley was on gate duty, greeting Draco by name.

"Nott coming tonight?" he asked, as Draco made to pass into the entranceway.

Draco shrugged. "I assume so. Think he wants a re-match?"

Bradley just laughed.

Inside, the air was charmed warmer, and Draco shed his cloak and scarf. In the main room, he immediately caught sight of Snape off to one side, his head bent toward Terry Higgs, who seemed to be quite vexed about something. Snape straightened when he had heard enough, putting a hand on Higgs' shoulder. They parted, Higgs looking dissatisfied, Snape looking around the room until his eyes met Draco's.

He stared for a moment, as if coming to a decision, then looked away. Draco went directly to him to give him his name.

"Are you sure you want to duel tonight?" Snape said, as he held the paper in his fingers where Draco could still pluck it back if he wished.

"Why wouldn't I?" Draco shot back, trying to puzzle out Snape's insinuation. "I'm still waiting for another crack at you."

Snape scowled as if a rematch were the furthest thing from his concern. Then he put a hand on Draco's shoulder, a gesture both familiar and alien at the same time, coming from him. "Just be careful."

"I'll attempt no hexes that Payne lacks the knowledge to heal," Draco replied, pulling away annoyed.

He was relieved to see Colbert by the tea cart, looking none the worse for wear. Draco went and shook hands, and in the end they ended up showing their nearly-invisible scars to the Ravenclaw whose name Draco didn't remember, but who apparently had deep inquiries into this sort of thing and wanted to make a comparison. Draco declined to tell them exactly what the spell was, but did mention that it was of Snape's invention.

"Goodness gracious," Colbert exclaimed. "He's quite the dark wizard, isn't he? He must have had you as a student at school."

Draco nodded. "I guess you could say I was his protégé. Didn't last, though. We had a falling out during the war."

Colbert's eyes followed Snape as he took his seat on the platform. "Such an enigma, that man. Who would have thought a dark wizard would have so much healing ability?"

"Well, if there is one thing that the war taught us here in England," Draco said, "it's that the division between dark and light is not as firmly drawn as doctrine makes it out to be." Snape was like a potion, Draco thought. Could be poison, or could be what saves your life.

Draco stayed in the shadows with Colbert and his group when the night's activities began. The first few duels were over with quickly, both ending in unconsciousness. Draco wondered if perhaps excessive bloodshed would now be considered gauche, thanks to him. But then one of the older wizards, a man who must have been a veteran of the war with Grindelwald from the looks of him, had his wand arm severed, and Payne whisked him away for a quick repair job.

"Theodore Nott!" Snape called out, and Draco focused his attention on the arena, wondering if Bradley was going to face Nott again.

A murmur went through the crowd as Snape's hesitation to call an opponent stretched out longer than usual. But finally he shouted, "Draco Malfoy!"

Draco rose amidst cheers from Colbert and his friends. Nott was already standing in the center, twirling his wand with an insouciant twist to his lips.

Clearing his mind as he always did, Draco stepped into the open space and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as the shields rose behind him. They bowed to each other, never taking their eyes off each other as they did so. Draco recalled how Nott had been hamstrung, but discarded the strategy as now too predictable, even as the first flurry of hexes and blocks were exchanged.

Nott was out for blood. Draco smelled rather than felt something singe the ends of his hair. But was that a tactic meant to distract? Draco doubted that Payne could heal him if he were incinerated to a crisp. Was Nott trying to rattle him?

Draco managed to tear a gash in Nott's sleeve with a simple slashing spell, but missed the skin. They circled each other warily. Draco began to Apparate, firing off a hex each time he appeared and then moving to another location. Nott's Shield Charms were strong, though, nothing got through, though Nott was unable to counterattack until Draco had to come to a stop for a few moments to re-orient himself.

Draco's blocks were barely enough to turn the next two hexes. Nott really was trying to hurt him, maybe kill him, Draco decided. He changed tactics, throwing two close hexes and closing the distance between them, until he had Nott's wand hand in his, his own wand in his left. Nott caught hold of that hand though, as well, and they struggled.

This was not about Nott's wand, though, or Draco's. Draco had merely wanted to get close enough for good eye contact. My, how interesting.

Then he Apparated across the ring, jarring Nott loose as they landed, and he backed away quickly, blocking Nott's hastily flung and badly aimed curse.

Theodore Nott apparently felt that he was owed some sort of revenge for the way Draco had sold out his father during the war. Given that Nott was already in the hands of the Aurors at the time, Draco doubted that he had told the Ministry anything that they did not already know about Nott the Elder; it was less the actual facts and more the currency of his own repentance that Draco traded. Son of Lucius Malfoy, infamous right hand man to the Devil himself, turns to the Ministry in fit of righteousness. Sure.

The damnable part of it was that Draco felt himself tiring a bit. No duel he had seen yet had gone on so long at such a fevered pitch.

Nott's weakness appeared to be in close quarters. Draco feinted again, Apparated close, feinted a second time, and then rushed in with his shoulder, his wand coming up between Nott's overwide arm gestures, the tip coming toward Nott's throat.

It would have worked beautifully if the wand had not flown from Draco's hand just as he was delivering the stroke that would have ended it. Draco suddenly had his bare hands on Nott's face, while Nott jabbed his wand into Draco's ribs. No, was all Draco had time to think before he drove the flames of his palms through Nott's face. He heard the scream--Nott's voice--even as he himself was falling, falling. Yes, if he'd had his wand, he definitely would have had time to fling one more hex at his opponent as he fell--it took so long for the stone floor to come up to meet him.

Then came the pain, a searing, tearing sensation that reminded him of Cruciatus. He could no longer see, and he vaguely understood that this was because he was curled defensively into a ball, and that his eyes were screwed shut. And then arms around him, the pain intensifying, trying not to scream... and then not screaming as he realized that it was Snape's arms around him, Snape whom he could recognize by his scent.

The Disapparition felt as though it drove knives through his flesh.

"Good God, Severus..." Payne's voice.

"Leave him to me. See if you can save that other fool--I want him alive for questions. Do you understand me, Zarathustra?"

If there was any answer, Draco did not hear it. He understood that there was a bottle to his lips--a potion? No, whisky. He swallowed and then coughed, and the cough felt as though it were tearing him in two. There were wet sounds. Now another something at his mouth, this time yes, a potion, and the pain began to shrink, until it was no more than a nagging feeling that something was not right below his neck, but Draco could not put his finger on what.

He opened his eyes and was surprised not to see the infirmary room, but another room in the tower which, judging from the tapestries on the walls and the height of the ceiling was probably Snape's living quarters, assuming he lived at the top. "What happened?"

"Please do not try to talk," came Snape's reply as he bent over Draco's torso. "Doing so will tax your lungs, which I am attempting to repair as I speak."

"Fine, you talk then," Draco said.

"Mr. Nott, it would seem, harbored rather a bit more ill will toward you than was healthy for either of you," Snape said.

"I know, I read..." Draco gasped as Snape did something that caused his chest to convulse.

"Please do not talk," Snape repeated. "Now as I was saying, if Mr. Nott recovers from the injuries you dealt him, you can be assured that I shall deal with him." He raised an eyebrow as Draco appeared about to speak again. "Yes, and his accomplice. It was quite clear that someone else expelled your wand from your hand." The look he gave Draco made it clear that Snape was annoyed that Draco would doubt for one moment that he didn't know everything that went on in his desmenses. "Now hold still a moment."

Draco held his breath as Snape did something he could not see, but he heard a cracking sound, almost like a Disapparition, and then Snape wiped his brow with the back of one sleeve, unaware that he left a smear of blood there.

"Can I talk now?" Draco asked.

Snape sighed, the anger that had been building in his face momentarily displaced by exasperation. "Yes, I suppose."

"Have you dealt with this sort of thing before?"

"Your injury, you mean? Or members of the Society attempting to kill one another in full view of the rest of us?"

"The latter. And for the record, I did not try to kill Nott."

Snape placed his hand on Draco's chest. It felt warm and heavy. "You should still not talk too much. But no, this is not the first time we've had an altercation like yours, but it is the first one in a long time. Surely you've noticed here how little enmity there appears to be between what used to be at least three separate factions during the war? The Dark Lord, the Ministry, and the followers of Dumbledore?"

Draco nodded, enjoying the feel of his chest rising and falling under the gentle weight.

"We have a different outlet for our aggressions. We have a shared secret, a shared fellowship." Snape's eyes were almost soft in the torchlight. "The Society is the way that most of these men found to heal after the war, a place where they belonged and were not looked at askance by the more peace-loving members of the Wizarding public."

Draco nodded again. It was if there was some basic difference between those who had cut down an enemy on the battlefield and those who had not, and they could no longer speak to one another for very long. At weddings and cotillions and receptions, Draco inevitably found himself talking with someone else who had fought.

Snape sighed. "And every time I start to believe that we have finally left all the idiocy spawned by Tom Riddle behind, something like this..." He broke off and made as if to stand up, but Draco held tight to his hand.

Something flickered in Snape's eyes, then blazed, then dimmed. "I should see how Mr. Nott is doing."

"No."

Snape raised an eyebrow at the commanding tone in Draco's voice.

"Nott isn't the only one who had unfinished business with me," Draco said, in his best "Lord Malfoy" voice. He expected next to begin an enumeration of the ways that he felt betrayed by Snape in the past, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that he bent his head and rubbed his cheek along the man's hand.

"Draco," Snape said, his voice low. "You're a bit groggy from the potion."

"Then don't leave me. I might... hurt myself."

Snape let out a short bark of a laugh then. "Mr. Malfoy, in ten years you have not changed."

"Neither have you," Draco pouted, tightening his grip on Snape's hand. "I want to be there when you question Nott. You owe me that."

"I suppose." Snape spread his fingers and began to rub small circles on Draco's breastbone. "I promise I won't do so until you wake up. But you should sleep."

Draco shook his head. "Not until you tell me something." He blinked, as the combination of shaking his head and the potion made it seem as though the room were now rocking like a ship.

"What would you like to know?"

"How do you do it? How do you get through the day knowing that you could bloody well destroy every last one of them in the room?"

Snape looked startled; that was certainly not a question he had been expecting. "I could ask you the same, Mr. Malfoy. For I think I can number on one hand the wizards who could defeat you."

"Easy," Draco replied. "I lord my natural superiority over them."

"You have not changed." Snape repeated. "Now sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

Draco suspected Snape cast a somnolence charm as he said it, because he dropped into sleep so quickly, he did not have time to argue that Snape had not answered the question.

***

PART FOUR: VICTORY

Draco woke some hours later, feeling as though every muscle in his body had been chewed by a rabid thestral. He moaned softly in the dark as he tried to roll onto his side.

"Here," came a soft voice, as the candles around the bed came alight. "Drink this."

"Severus," Draco rasped. "Is it a potion?"

"Water first." Snape slid his arm around Draco's shoulders and helped him sit up enough to sip from a goblet. "Now this." He took a small green phial from the bedside table and uncorked it with his thumb.

Draco swallowed it gratefully, the cramps and aches in his muscles easing within a few seconds. He sat all the way up and then ran his hands over his bare rib cage, his stomach. He looked up into Snape's eyes.

Snape sat on the edge of the low bed. He was wearing just a pair of black trousers and a dark green shirt. Draco wondered if his robes had been blood-soaked beyond repair. "Nott used a rather nasty hex, one that turns your bones into knives. Your ribs in particular were affected, but that's why you ache everywhere. There should be no lasting damage at all."

Draco looked at his hands where they lay on the blanket across his lap. "You know, for a moment, when I woke up, I thought we were at that safe house in Wales."

"The one where your aunt cast Cruciatus on you for allowing me to steal what should have been her family's glory?"

"Exactly." Draco blinked, thinking back on it. Snape had put a stop to it, of course, and Bellatrix had allowed it to seem like she was done expending energy on him, and Snape had bundled Draco off to a room and made the door Unlockable...

That had been the night that Snape had not said no, when Draco had been so hurt and afraid and so in need of love. That night, despite all the denials and pain and rage that came later, Draco still remembered as sweet.

"I wasn't a child then, Sn-Severus. And I'm certainly not one now." Draco made two tiny flames dance in his palms, merged them as he brought his hands together, and then snuffed them out by folding his hands. "We have unfinished business, you and I," he said softly.

"I know," Snape replied.

"And you've worked so hard to erase the old enmities. To put all that aside. Have you?" Draco looked up, searching the other man's face.

"I've tried."

"You choked me to unconsciousness the first time you saw me." Draco was gratified to see Snape's eyes flick downward. "Why? The truth, Severus."

"You should have trusted me," came the answer.

"You mean I should have remained loyal to you, isn't that right? Be sensible, Severus. You had hatched an insane plan with Dumbledore. It was clear to me that my life, and those of my parents, were completely expendable if it meant the success of your schemes." His voice, which had been lilting, turned hard. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Draco waited, but when no answer came, he continued. "Yet you blame me for acting in self-preservation. I had to fight to get into Voldemort's good graces, I had to arrange and lead the breakout of Azkaban, for God's sake..."

"Draco." Severus took one of Draco's hands in his.

Draco pulled his hand free. "Not to mention the fact that it was idiocy to think I'd remain loyal to a man who... spurned me."

Snape stood abruptly, but seemed to lack the will to move away from the bed. Instead he stood, the backs of his legs touching the edge of the mattress, his hands clenched into fists.

Draco knew how deep the knife had gone. Now he twisted it. "And to think, I would have worshipped the ground you walked on. I wanted you so..." He hitched his breath intentionally. "My God, Severus, maybe you were right. Maybe I was too young. The things I would have done for you, and only for you. All manner of horribly base acts. I suppose I should thank you for protecting..."

That was as far as Draco got, before a hand clawed at his chin. Severus' eyes burned with anger in a way they never did when he dueled. His other hand was rushing to undo his belt buckle, his fly.

Draco licked his lips and met the angry gaze with one of his own, opening his mouth and daring the man to go through with it. But Snape hesitated and let his hand fall.

"You always did confuse passion and anger," Draco said, placing a hand on either side of Snape's hips, and getting up onto his knees. "Let's try that again." He took Snape's hand in his and placed it gently against his own cheek, then nuzzled into it as Snape caressed with his thumb, his palm.

Draco leaned forward to rub his nose and forehead against Snape's shirt. "Now, Severus," he said, nearly in a whisper, "Let's try something else again." Draco slid onto the floor, pushing Snape into a sitting position on the bed as he did. He tugged at Snape's trousers and left them around the man's ankles as he rested his head against Snape's knee.

"As I recall," Draco said, "This is the point where you slapped me, that time. What are you going to do this time, Severus?"

Snape's answer was a low hum in his throat, and both hands carefully--oh-so-carefully--cradling Draco's face, then drawing him up until their mouths could meet. Snape's kiss was equally careful, until a whimper of desire escaped Draco, and then all pretense at care was lost. Draco found himself flattened onto the bed, Snape's mouth possessing his with growing urgency.

There was no reason to resist. He gasped as Snape slid his mouth lower, down his neck, even as the man's hands traveled further down, stroking Draco's ribs, his thighs, and teasing the sparse thatch of his pubic hair.

Draco's hands worked the buttons on Snape's shirt when they could and it was not long before Snape shrugged it off, as well. Draco tried to pull him down into an embrace, wanting to feel the hot skin on his own, but Snape pressed him down with a hand on one shoulder the other hand continuing to caress and tease until Draco's hips pumped in a silent plea for more direct stimulation.

Snape centered himself between Draco's legs, and then slowly, a hand on each of Draco's shoulders, brought his cock into contact with Draco's, rubbing upward in a long ragged stroke.

He repeated that thrice more, then said "Your hand, Draco."

Draco did not hesitate to grasp both cocks and stroke them. Snape Summoned a vial of something--something wonderfully tingly and slippery, Draco found, when Snape poured it over their cocks and his hand.

"You were saying, I believe, something about all manner of base acts...?"

"God, yes, Severus. Anything." Draco's eyes were closed as he spoke, as he stroked. The lubricant seemed to be getting thicker and even more slippery as he worked it.

"I think my cock in your arse would do for now."

Draco's answer was to hook one leg around Snape's back and pull him down. They shared another kiss, Draco surrendering to Snape's demanding mouth, before Snape pulled back.

Draco kept stroking his own cock as he felt the slick fingers probe his entrance gently. Then a finger slid deep and sent shudders up his body. "Yes," he hissed.

And then the rounded head of Snape's cock was there, pressing, and then popping through the initial ring, sending a shudder through them both.

Draco nearly cried out when Snape pulled out, then gasped as he was entered again right away. And a third time Snape pulled back, and, one hand still wrapped around the base of his cock, thrust in. Oh God, Yes, Draco thought or said, he wasn't sure which. Snape was fucking him with just the tip, maddening and arousing at the same time, making his insides spasm and his cock jerk in sympathy.

He would have begged for Snape to go deeper, but he couldn't catch his breath. So he rode the sensation as it came, shivering and crying out. Then Snape took his hand away from his cock, lacing his fingers into Draco's and pressing his hands into the coverlet, one on either side of Draco's head as he finally deepened his thrust.

It was no longer a duel, if indeed it ever had been, Draco thought. It was now a race to see who would come first, Draco, whose cock was trapped between their slick stomachs and twitching madly, or Snape, whose cock was fucking eagerly and picking up the pace very fast. So of course Draco laughed when at just the moment when he began to spurt, Snape bellowed in orgasm, the two of them coming to a noisy, spasmodic end to their coupling.

Draco would not let Snape out of the bed afterward, not for several minutes anyway, when he wanted to lie there and soak up as much of the other man's heat as he could.

They were still entangled skin to skin in the morning when Payne woke them. If he was perturbed by their state of undress or their position, he did not allow it to show. "I believe you may be able to question Mr. Nott now," he said simply, before leaving the room.

Draco climbed out of the bed, then laughed. "I don't suppose my clothing survived."

Snape sat up. "No, not a scrap. You may borrow some robes of mine, if you wish. You may return them next month."

"Next month?" Draco repeated.

Snape stood and drew him into a deep kiss, then released him. "Next month."

"Next month," Draco said a second time, this time with more certainty. He looked forward to a rematch.

-end-

Repost: "Settling the Score" (Draco/Oliver, NC-17)

2008-03-22T19:35:33Z

I'm re-posting stories of mine that are posted on LJ and which I fear could disappear from there because of policy boneheadness and such...

This one was written for the HP Valensmut Fest, and I wrote it for a person who unfortunately left LJ before the fest and so I never got any feedback from them. (*cries*) And I was so proud of having stuck SOOOO closely to the request, too!

Title: Settling the Score
Author: ravenna_c_tan
Recipient: gnightg
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Oliver Wood
Beta-reader: miss_bowtruckle
Word Count: 4600
Summary/Original Request: "Angst, PWP, Quidditch dressing rooms, Quidditch pitch, desperate erotic dreams, masturbation, watching, admiration, pain is so close to pleasure, sport is so close to sex, tarot fortune telling, wall-sex, smart talk, did I mention ANGST?"
Author's Note: I believe I got every one of the elements in the request into the story except for "watching" and "admiration." The rest fit together incredibly well. I loved this request and had a ton of fun with it! Hope what came out pleases you!

Settling the Score
by Ravenna C. Tan

He was in a circle of Death Eaters and they were laughing, their black robes swishing and their masks as mocking as their voices. There, kneeling in their midst, Draco tugged furiously on his cock, knowing from long experience that the game would only end when he came.

At least this time he was alone, depending on no one but his own right hand, and hurting no one, as the leering crowd around him touched both their cocks and their wands, tossing the occasional hex his way to make his goal more difficult. Little zaps of Cruciatus, Engorgement charms forcing him to wank with both hands, lubrication charms making himself too slick to handle, any sick thing they could come up with to prolong the game.

He was desperate to come now--they had been tormenting him for more than an hour--and there were sounds coming from his throat he had only ever heard here in the Dark Lord's dungeons...

Suddenly there was someone there, which was how he knew this was a dream and not a memory. A hand joined his on his cock, a robed arm curved around his chest from behind. "Come on, Malfoy," said a masculine voice. "What are you waiting for?"

"I'm trying," he tried to say, to explain, but with a sudden start he realized he was awake, in bed, alone as always, one hand wrapped around his cock, pumping himself sore. His wand was just out of reach. He licked his hand instead and pulled hard and fast until he came, quickly and with little satisfaction.

The waking charm then set his wand abuzz and startled him. It took him a moment to remember why this day was different from other days. Why was he going to get out of bed at all? Then full memory returned. Puddlemere. Right.

He dragged himself from bed to kitchen--the distance only a few steps in his tiny, dingy flat--and rummaged for something to eat. Half a box of stale water crackers was all he could find.

He sat eating them one by one and staring at the cracked surface of the table. If this didn't work, he was running out of options. He supposed there was always giving Tarot card readings in the park, but that was dodgy work and the Ministry frowned on wizards doing it, even those like Draco with no actual Divinatory talents.

He left the crackers and dug out his old cards, shuffling them and drawing three, as if doing some old Divination homework.

"Let's see, here's me, here's today, and here's the future," he said, then flipped the cards over at once, spreading them to see.

The Five of Swords, the Five of Wands, the Five of Cups. Draco frowned. Three fives? What were the odds?

He Summoned his old Divination text, one of the few books he had not sold, mostly because no one wanted it, and flipped through out of curiosity.

"The Five of Swords," he read aloud, his the only voice that was ever heard in the flat--he had never had a visitor. "He is the master in possession of the field." Well, that sounded promising, given what he planned to do today. But the divinatory meanings made him frown. Degradation, infamy. Well, those were two things that had ruled his life since Lucius had been given the Kiss.

"The Five of Wands," he read next. "A posse of youths brandish staves, as if in sport or strife. It is mimic warfare." Well, that certainly sounded like a Quidditch reference if ever there were one in the deck. The hairs prickled at the back of his neck.

That left the Five of Cups. "It is a card of loss, but something remains over." He wrinkled his nose. Would he lose at the flyout, today, but get some form of consolation prize? "May mean a newly-formed union, but whether or not it is happy is entirely up to you."

"Sodding useless." He tossed the cards aside and went to dig his broom out of the closet.

***

Draco shifted his broom nervously from hand to hand, looking around the pitch and trying to pretend he was not sizing up his competition. But of course every one of the young men standing on the grass with broom in hand was doing the exact same thing.

Draco began to feel that coming here was a mistake. There were at least twenty five hopefuls, himself included, there already, and he knew a few more would be coming from the dressing rooms. But he reminded himself again, he had very little to lose by trying.

Fighting alongside the Order of the Phoenix at the end of the war had saved him from Azkaban, but had gotten him precious little else. The Ministry handed out a few medals to Order members, Potter and Snape among them, but had looked askance at them generally, and Draco's contribution to the defeat of Voldemort had not been enough to win him much when the Ministry claimed the Malfoy Estate for war reparations to Lucius Malfoy's victims.

Now Draco Malfoy was twenty years old, almost penniless, nearly homeless, and trying desperately not to take Snape up on his offer of a potions apprenticeship in Oslo, where he was on a research fellowship. Draco knew quite well what being apprenticed to Snape would mean--chopping dragon liver by day and cleaning cauldrons by night. No thank you.

The judges were now making their way across the pitch, each carrying a clipboard, already in spirited argument with each other over something. There were five, and Draco quickly identified them in their blue robes with golden emblems as Puddlemere's owner, defensive coach, offensive coach, flying coordinator, and the youngest team captain in the team's nearly four-hundred year history, none other than Oliver Wood.

Draco narrowed his eyes at Wood. If they'd gotten on better at Hogwarts, Draco might have considered leaving off the glamour that turned his usual blond to black and his eyes from grey to blue-green. He was too easily recognizable as the son of the notorious Death Eater and even if the number of nutcases who actually tried to hex him in the street was fairly low, the stares and whispers were tiresome.

No, it was better if his acquaintance with Wood from their school days did not come into play. If he won the backup Seeker position at the open flyout today, it would be on merit.

And if he didn't, he'd have to sell the broom next. Or take Snape up on his offer. Or start selling his arse on Knockturn Alley... but it would be such a bother to spell his pubic hair every day, too, Draco thought. Though at least then maybe he'd be getting some.

Wood blew a whistle and Draco mounted his broom along with the others, and flew a few laps around the pitch, the cloth numbers charmed onto the back of his robes flapping in the wind.

The initial drills were not difficult for him, and he was pleased by that. He had not had much chance for flying, but instinct made up for a lot and some of the "hopefuls" there today were clearly only that--hopeful, not talented.

By noon they were down to a dozen, and now the eyeing of one another became open. There was a Russian who barely spoke English who flew very muscularly, a Frenchman who had no chance really just by virtue of being French, though he flew well enough that they would keep him around all day to save face--none of them had exchanged names and they ate sandwiches on the pitch without speaking to one another.

In the afternoon, they moved on to more complex flying, and Draco's advantage here was that he had scoped out Puddlemere's flying patterns extensively the moment he had heard about the flyout. As a test of their abilities as Seekers it was a bit dumb actually--the Seeker almost never flew in formation anyway, but they needed some way to weed out the best from the rest.

So it was that by mid-afternoon--the summer heat making him sweat whenever he wasn't flying at top speed and plastering his hair to his forehead--Draco was nearly surprised to find it down to himself, the Frenchman and the Russian, and an Englishman named Terrill. Puddlemere's Seeker, a bloke named McNally, came down to the pitch then, and it became clear to Draco what the next test would be when he saw McNally held a Snitch in his hand.

"Number Forty-Seven!" Wood called out, and Terrill mounted his broom. So did McNally, after releasing the Snitch.

Draco took a seat on the grass. This could take all bloody day, and he wasn't about to fatigue his legs with standing about, nor tire his neck with watching too closely. The two flyers chased the Snitch one-on-one all over the place, and Draco could not imagine a less exciting thing to watch. One-on-one Quidditch was fun to play, dull to observe.

Thus it was that he was actually dozing in the sun, the smell of the fresh grass lulling him, when the accident happened. McNally was facing off against the Russian and got run into a goalpost, or so Draco gathered from the chagrined look on the Russian's face as he was sent packing, and the flattened, bloodied state of McNally's nose. Terrill was nowhere to be seen.

"What happened to Terrill?" Draco asked the Frenchman, whose answer was an eloquent drawing of his finger across his throat. "Ah."

"Number Fifty-five!" Wood barked, and it took Draco a moment to remember that was his number. "Get in the air."

Draco shrugged toward the Frenchman and took off, looking back to see Wood himself flying after him. He held steady and Wood pulled even with him, no sign of recognition in his eyes.

"Run me into a post and you'll have more to worry about than your wounded pride," Wood said, then let the Snitch go and was after it without warning.

Draco kicked his broom up to speed and gave chase, artificially-darkened hair, number, and robes flapping madly in Wood's wake. Wood's broom was a Willowback Z60, one of the more powerful brooms out there and the one favoured by Puddlemere United for all positions except Seeker.

Draco clutched his old Nimbus between his legs and flattened himself, trying to reduce his wind resistance and slip into the calm section of Wood's wake, waiting for the Snitch to make a break one direction or the other. They were clearly pushing their top speed and the little golden ball was, if anything, pulling slightly away.

Draco was patient. The only way to keep up with the Willowback would be to draft him like this; there was no chance to overtake him. This was a professional snitch, though, so it would surely change direction suddenly on them...

There it went. Now, with it zooming back and forth, Wood's advantage was lost, and he and Draco were shoulder to shoulder, each trying to bump the other off course and stay on the Snitch at the same time.

It was exhilarating. Draco found himself grinning, baring his teeth as his eyes never wavered from the fluttering prize leading him on, yet completely aware of the body in the air next to him, Wood's shoulder as hard as his namesake pushing at him. He spared a glance and Wood had his teeth bared, too, a wild gleam in his eye.

The Snitch dove then, straight down, but the pitch was so far below them, Draco hardly noticed. Gravity tugged at him, and they spiralled downward... and Draco realized that he was edging ahead of Wood. He flattened himself still further, hearing Wood curse from behind him. Draco laughed. The Willowback probably had some superior braking charm to prevent fatal dives, but the Nimbus had no such thing.

Heart pounding in his ears, adrenaline surging through his veins, Draco hurtled ahead, toward the green of the pitch, and closed his fingers over the whizzing, golden ball.

He pulled up immediately, exultant, and felt and heard something tear--he looked back to see Wood holding the number in his fist and shaking it at him. Draco laughed and flew toward the judges on the ground.

Draco noted that Wood did not join them as the four took it on themselves to talk all at once.

"...brilliant method of dealing with a faster broom...!"

"...nervy, gave as good as you got..."

"...the only one of the four to actually capture the Snitch..."

"...such a dive, absolutely a crucial move in this league..."

Eventually, they wound down and the owner, a portly wizard named Magister Chafee, whose family had owned the team for the past hundred years, stepped forward and shook Draco's hand. "I must say I was a bit sceptical of this plan for an open flyout, but young man, you have made this entire day worth my while." He flourished his wand in the air and a contract appeared, letters shimmering into place on the page as Draco took it in. It would, of course, be magically binding. He saw his salary and his guarantee in case of injury--both were acceptable. He took the quill from Chafee's hand and signed with a flourish of his own.

Chafee squinted at the signature. "Welcome to Puddlemere United, Mister....?"

"Malfoy," Draco said, holding out his hand. "Draco Malfoy."

***

He sat alone in the dressing room an hour or so later, after the mild uproar, put down by the team's Director of PR who quickly determined that the "forgotten war hero" angle was in fact perfect to help restore Quidditch's reputation in the postwar era as a serious and worthwhile pursuit...

Draco didn't care. They could use him as they liked. He would have regular pay, eat three meals a day again, and pay his back rent. If he restored the Malfoy name somewhat, well, that was a bonus he barely expected and hardly cared about.

He stripped out of his sweaty jersey and sat there on the bench naked in front of his locker with it balled in his hands, feeling drained and sunburnt and wishing there were someone he could owl for congratulations. He should share the news with Snape, he supposed, if only as the reason why he wouldn't be taking him up on his offer. There was no one else.

The bang of the door behind him in the hard, echoing room made him jump. He turned to see Wood sauntering toward him slowly, a serious expression on his face.

Oliver Wood had not changed terribly much since his seventh year at Hogwarts. His face had elongated a tad, but his body was much the same as Draco recalled, a solid, trim triangle for an upper body, and long, slim legs under the straps and buckles of his flying gear.

Wood walked up to him, reached out and took Draco's face by the chin, turning him this way and that, looking him over in the glow of the setting sun coming through the high windows. "Yeah, okay, it is you. Pretty damn sneaky of you, Malfoy."

"Don't be ridiculous, Wood. I won the job on my skills, didn't I?"

Wood's hand had not moved from his chin. "Perhaps you did. I wasn't too pleased to be shown up out there," he said, his voice low and menacing.

"What do you want?" Draco hissed. "The contract is signed. You're stuck with me, Wood."

Wood chuckled. "No, I rather think it's you who's stuck with me. Malfoy." His hand slid from Draco's chin into his hair, in a rough caress. "My word is law on this team."

Draco narrowed his eyes. So, big man Gryffindor wanted to play heavy? Wood couldn't even imagine how much worse Draco had stood up to. "You didn't answer my question," Draco spat. "What do you want, Wood? My mouth or my arse?"

The slap came without warning and Draco shook his head, his bell rung but no blood came forth. He sat calmly, waiting to see what Wood would do next.

Wood was seething now, the blow seemed to have unhinged him more than it had Draco. "Your father killed my cousin Ned, did you know that?"

Draco sighed, now dead calm. "You think you're the first person to walk up to me and tell me something like that? My father killed hundreds, and there are hundreds more who were offed by other Death Eaters, but people would like to believe that their great-aunt Myrtle was personally dismembered and then buggered to death by Lucius Malfoy."

Draco took a deep breath, his recitation seeming to have mesmerized Wood, who was still panting angrily but who neither moved nor spoke. Apparently it was Wood's first grudge-fuck, Draco thought wryly. Draco decided to push.

"I say again, Wood, which would you prefer? My mouth or my arse?" He set the jersey aside, giving Wood a good look at the merchandise. "Or have you some other form of restitution in mind? The money's already been taken, you see."

Wood frowned. "Are you serious?"

Draco sighed and stood, putting his hands onto Wood's shoulders. "Quite. Are you one of those who needs to kiss me first so you won't feel like a villain? Gryffindors usually need something like that." And with that Draco leaned in and pressed his mouth to Wood's.

It didn't start out much of a kiss, because Wood was too shocked to respond, but then Draco felt arms circling his bare back, the buckles of Wood's flying braces cold against his skin, and a soft but muscular tongue parting his lips.

Oh, yes, there it was. Draco felt the moment Wood committed himself, made the decision to take what was being offered. A surge of desire ran through him, matching the energy in Wood that was rising up now to claim him. Wood smelled of the grassy pitch and hot sun and musky sweat--and being held against Wood's uniform and gear made Draco feel deliciously naked.

"Fuck," Wood breathed as he broke away. "And if I said I want both, your mouth and your arse?"

Draco was panting, which removed some of the sardonic tone from his statement. "If you take my mouth, you won't last long enough to get to my arse."

"Is that right?" Wood said, hands reaching around to cup Draco's arse and spreading his cheeks. "Your arse it is, then, Malfoy," he said, as he lifted Draco up against the metal doors of the lockers. "Drop your glamour, though. I want you to look like you when I'm taking you."

"I'll need my wand," Draco said, pressing his head back against the doors.

"Summon it," Wood said, one hand working his trousers open.

Draco nodded, Summoning his wand from the pile of his belongings under the bench. He lifted the glamour with one swipe, then swished it once more, casting a silent lubrication spell on himself. (It might have been Wood's first grudge-fuck, but it wasn't Draco's.) Wood then took the wand from his hand and tucked it into his arm brace.

One arm and one knee held Draco in place while Wood's free hand slid down Draco's torso and tugged experimentally on the hard cock he found there. "You get off on being treated like this?" Wood asked, sounding downright concerned.

"Would you prefer I didn't?" Draco shot back.

"No, no," Wood said, startled, fishing a finger into Draco slick hole. "Maybe it's better we fuck instead of talk, hey?"

"Fine with me," Draco said. "Get on with it."

Wood needed no other encouragement, centring himself and breaching him without another word.

Draco cried out in pain, the cry loud in the echoing room, and clung to Wood then with a following gasp. Wood said nothing, but held still, rubbing his cheek against Draco's shoulder as if in sympathy.

Draco pressed his face against Wood's hair and was surprised to find his cheeks wet.

Wood looked up then. "Oh God, Malfoy, I canna do this if you're going to cry."

"I'm not going to cry. Anymore," Draco said.

"You're the one who said to get on with it." Woods voice was reedy with blame. "I thought you would be ready."

Draco gritted his teeth. "I like it to hurt. If it doesn't... it doesn't count. It was just..." He changed his mind about whatever he was going to say. "I'm fine now," he said into Wood's ear, his arms wrapped around his neck. "And I want you to fuck me, Oliver. Or don't you get that?"

"I get that," Wood replied, thrusting against him and making the locker doors rattle. "I can't claim to understand the twisted motivations for it in your Slytherin head, but ... mmph." He ended with a grunt as Draco tightened around him and he thrust again, jerkily, several times.

Draco grunted in response as Wood began fucking him in earnest. "Oh, like your reasons for doing this are... so pure of heart."

"Fuck you, Malfoy."

"You already are."

"Right." Wood moaned as he resettled Draco, shifting them both and deepening the penetration. Now he lifted Draco with both hands as he pulled back, letting him drop as he thrust in, and Draco cried out again, this time in pleasure.

"You flew beautifully," Wood whispered as he increased the pace. "You know that, right? Mmm, when I thought you were just some black-Irish bloke with an out-of-date broom, when we were flyin' up there, I wanted to fuck you just like this."

Draco found himself clinging to Wood now with all his strength. There were too many layers of desire flying around in here. Too many motivations. He couldn't tell who was in control and he no longer cared. "If you keep that up, I'm going to come with my cock hardly touched."

In truth, Draco's cock was rubbing against the navy blue jersey Wood wore, but "untouched" was true enough. Wood groaned at that and continued his efforts. "Always... wondered... if your arse would be this sweet, Malfoy."

"Did you, now?"

"Mmm, quite. You flew like a demon back then, too." Wood was sweating now, thrusting faster, and Draco felt they'd soon both lose the ability to speak. "Always wondered what my broomhandle would feel like between your cheeks."

Draco squeezed him with both his legs and his insides. "Worth the wait?"

"God yes..." Wood growled, then spoke, as if to someone else, incredulously, "I am fucking Draco Malfoy."

"More fucking, less talking," Draco said then, his own orgasm imminent. He reached for his cock but Wood batted his hand away, shaking his head in warning. Draco just clung to him then, helping the motion as much as he could, which was not much, suspended between Wood's cock and the wall as he was, and supported by Wood's arms.

He let the pleasure build inside him, forgot the flyout, Hogwarts, grudges, Puddlemere, and just concentrated on the cock inside him, thick as a broomhandle. He hadn't felt this good in...

Wood backed away from the wall a step, his arms now taking all of Draco's weight.

When Draco came, it felt like flying.

It wasn't long after that Wood pumped him full of come, then sat him on the bench, pulling out quickly, and thrusting his spunky dick, still spasming, into Draco's mouth. Draco sucked it willingly--though he was glad his lubrication charm had cleansing properties to it--revelling in the feeling of Wood's hand on the back of his head, holding him steady as he stuffed his prick as far as it would go, until it was too much and Draco gagged.

Wood pulled out then, but Draco got down on his knees and finished the job, licking and sucking his balls and all around his cock, until he was limp and clean.

"Why'd you do it?" Wood asked, when his breathing had slowed and Draco got to his feet.

"I like flying and I need the money," Draco replied, picking up a towel.

Wood gave an exasperated sound. "No, I mean, let me grudge-fuck you."

Draco sighed. "You're hardly the first."

Wood looked as if he'd been slapped.

"Seriously, are you surprised?" Draco wrapped the towel around his waist, as if modesty counted for something. "It's the only sex I get, anyway."

Wood was suddenly close, his hands on the towel, still mostly in his uniform, spattered in come as it was, pulling Draco against him. "You need it, do you? Someone to punish you for your da's sins?"

Draco struggled a bit, but Wood's grip was firm. That was exactly it, but... "Don’t you claim to understand me."

"Fine, be that way," Wood said, jerking the towel. "But you belong to Puddlemere now, hey? That means you belong to me."

"What are you saying?" Draco hissed.

"McNally got his bell rung pretty good today. We'll see if he's fit to fly on Saturday. If not, it'll be you out there. I won't have you risking yourself looking for old enemies of your Da's up and down Knockturn way, you hear me?" He cupped Draco's arse again, pressing their groins together. "And I fly better when I've had... a release beforehand."

Draco pursed his lips. "It's all about Quidditch with you, then."

"Always has been, always will be," Wood replied. "It's why I'm captain. Now get your arse in the shower. If you're not out of here in ten minutes, I'm going to want another go."

Draco laughed. "And on Saturday?"

"Be here early unless you want me to take you in front of the others," Wood said, as Draco sauntered toward the showers.

It wasn't until he was running his head under steaming hot water that he remembered the Tarot reading of the morning. The final card now made sense. May mean a newly-formed union, but whether or not it is happy is entirely up to you. "Happy" wasn't a word Draco trusted much. But he would have money and food and honestly an arse-reaming by Oliver Wood every week wouldn't be such a bad thing...

Ten minutes later he was still standing under the water, washing his hair for the second time to make sure he took longer than usual, when Wood came into the shower room.

Draco sluiced water from his eyes and saw Wood start the flow on the showerhead next to Draco's. "Your ten minutes are up," Wood said, his voice casual.

"So did you lie about wanting another go? Or about how quickly you recover?" Draco asked acidly. He reached for Wood's cock with a sudsy hand and was gratified to feel the flesh firming quickly between his fingers.

"I want another go," Wood said, his voice husky. "I wasn't kidding when I said I've been thinking about you since you were too young to be thought about. And I wouldn't, you know, really fuck you in front of the others. Not when what I really want is to take you home and keep you myself."

"Keep me?" Draco said warily.

"I am a Keeper," Wood said, as If that explained everything.

"And I'm a Seeker," Draco replied, with a frown.

"And maybe you found what you're looking for," Wood said, running his hands over Draco's which were still massaging his cock with suds. "Figure it out, Malfoy, or don't. But you're coming home with me." And Wood Disapparated them without another word.

Totally goofy but...

2008-03-13T02:02:24Z

Click on this link to increase the population of the Skyehawke Virtual City!

http://skyehawke.myminicity.com/

I was the 7th person added to the population!

Skyehawke Review notifications

2008-03-07T22:10:27Z

Hm. Seems like Skyehawke changed the way their review notifications come? An email now comes with a link to the story being reviewed, but not to the review itself.

They seem to make it incredibly hard to find the reviews at all. Is it just me? Or is this annoying?

I started a thread about it on their forums:
http://forums.skyehawke.com/viewtopic.php?f=53&t=2636

Comm Pimpage: Hijack Me HP!

2008-02-22T18:10:51Z

Is anyone reading this journal? Since I started it I have yet to receive a single comment. It seems like the vast majority of comments still come to LiveJournal, with a few to InsaneJournal.

I've put two of my fics up for adoption at "Hijack Me HP!" a new comm for abandoned fics: http://community.livejournal.com/hijack_me_hp/

Slashy slashy supermodels...

2008-02-07T22:16:02Z

My brain just about melted when miss_bowtruckle passed me this Youtube link of a segment from Bravo's reality supermodel show in which Perry and Casey, two hot straight guys, do a serious "boytouching" shoot. OMFG.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X_2Fdxrkka0

New Comm on IJ for Harry/Marauders

2008-02-03T20:10:00Z

So gatewaygirl and helkamaria have started a new community on InsaneJournal for Harry/Marauders fics and such, called Up To No Good.

There's an intro post here:
http://asylums.insanejournal.com/harry_mwpp/354.html

Which I'll quote a wee bit from:

...a community for stories, art, and other content that focuses on interaction between Harry Potter and one or more of the Marauders (Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, and James Potter). Our hope is that by combining these pairings (which often have overlaps), we can create a community of sufficient size to flourish in HP fandom on IJ.

* Members may post fic, art, vids, recs, icons, and searches within these pairings, or with threesomes or moresomes that include one of these pairings. For posting creative work, use the posting template in the userinfo.

* Slash and gen are both allowed, as long as the interaction between Harry and one (or more) of the Marauders is central to the work. (If your on-topic fic or art contains het, that's fine too. The important thing is that the Harry/Marauder relationship is central to the work.)

* Cross-posted works and postings of old works are permitted. (For now, even encouraged! We need some start-up content.)

GatewayGirl has put up a few of her old fics to "seed" the comm. You'll need to have an age statement in your userinfo IJ to be added to the comm.

Pimpage done!

I Want Your Fest Recs

2008-02-01T01:52:10Z

So, there's too much fic and not enough time (as always) and I have a new strategy this year when it comes to fest reading. I started working my way through the Snape Potter Daft Day Smut Swap, but then I realized I've hardly touched Merry Smutmas, or HD Holidays which I have not looked at since the summer pre-DH round!

So, I'm asking you, my dear friends, to rec me what you liked from these fests, or any other recent fic that knocked your socks off. You know what I like: any combination of Harry, Draco, and Severus, in-character, graphic sex, and plot. Point me at the good stuff.

New Snarry Fic!

2008-01-30T03:02:11Z

Yes, finally, for those who have been wondering if I'm ever going to write fic again, my piece in this year's Snarry smut swap was chosen to end the fest! How fitting that it is called "Closure."

Author: Ravenna C. Tan
Title: Closure
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Rimming and light bondage. Oh, and DH spoilers, okay?
Prompt/Summary: Harry is on the verge of becoming a full-fledged Auror when he learns Severus Snape is not dead. Relevant parts of the prompt are: "Rimming, light bondage, light spanking are great... Snarky (but reluctantly, deep down caring) Snape is Love and Mature Snarky-right-back Harry is even lovelier. First-time, or first time for them."
Author's Note: Jadzia said "I love a first time fic, especially if it's a sarcastic, snarky Severus who is not at all happy to see Potter when he presents himself for whatever reason of your choosing. If that doesn't work for you, pretty much if there's smut, I'm good." So how my smutty plot bunny developed into this plotty monster, I'm not sure.
Hope you love it, my dear! Thanks to the mods who put me on to pinch hit and then were infinitely patient while my work schedule exploded and the story grew and grew. Thanks also to my emergency beta-reader clauclauclaudia.

Closure

Brilliant Snarry story rec!

2008-01-26T09:35:21Z

Brilliant Snarry story rec!

Title: The Cinnabar Sling, a story from Not Groom Lake
Author: dingochow (on IJ)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Let's see: AU. Masturbation. Dirty talk. Wall!sex, library!sex, pickup truck!sex, outdoor!sex. Voyeurism. Very mild bondage. Just rather pervy all around. (Also, some attempts at humor.)
Prompt/Summary: ravenna_c_tan wanted a story with a mature, confident Harry, angst along the road to a happy ending, intensity in the smut, and Snape's POV. She also thinks AUs are fun! (so do I …)

Wheee! The above is all verbatim from the header of the story at this year's Snarry Swap, known by its full name as the Snape Potter Daft Day Snarry Swap and now found on IJ.

I came late into the fest, as a pinch hitter, which explains why this isn't a contradiction from my earlier post about how I was burned out on doing fests and how after "Burning Day" how could I ever really top that writing experience? Well, then I saw the call for pinch hitters and...

But you'll have to wait to see the story I wrote, which isn't posted yet, but will be this week, and which is one of my best Snarries ever, I think.

But this post is about how totally fucking awesome the gift I received is. What's nifty is how really appropriate and fitting the story is for me.

I hate spoilers, so most of what I'll do here is gush. First, the writing style is excellent. It's 3rd person, Snape's POV, and is written with very nice narrative flair (read: snark). It's also an intriguing AU, yet not totally AU--you just have to read it to know what I mean by that. Very nice extensions of magical theory in it, too! Ah, I'm such a geek. The sex is wank-worthy, and ... yeah.

In my comment to the story I wrote I thought it should be considered a Snarry classic. So go find it here:

The Cinnabar Sling

Arisia Science Fiction Convention

2008-01-18T06:47:46Z

OK, so who will be at Arisia this weekend? Cambridge, Mass. Hyatt Regency Hotel. I'll be there and I'm trying to figure out if I'll wear my robes or not. I wore them last year one afternoon and I hate to repeat... hmm, now that I think about it, are they clean?

For more info: Arisia web site.

"Epilogue, What Epilogue?" Schwag

2007-12-14T06:28:18Z

So, it would seem that I have a new favorite kind of fic, which is the "Epilogue? What Epilogue?" or EWE. (You know I've never been into "Plot? What Plot?" and I tend to avoid WIP... so now I finally have three letters (besides 'XXX'--hush, you...) to call my own.

To celebrate this fact, I opened a Cafe Press store! Yes, you can now get "Epilogue? What Epilogue?" T-shirts, buttons, magnets, writing journals and more. Should I add the boxer shorts? Visit The Raven's Quill Store and tell me what you want...

Order NOW and you can still get them in time for Xmas! It's what I gave most of my fic-loving friends! (At least, those whose sizes I felt I could guess!)

I made shirts in all the house colour combinations, of course, plus plain black and white and such.

I didn't do the boxer shorts or the thong. Should I?

And so on....

Tell your friends!

I'll be wearing mine at Arisia! And maybe Terminus if I go!

The Year Without Much Fic

2007-11-29T00:03:30Z

So, I've not written much fic lately. In fact, I've not written much fic in the past 12 months. It's odd because in the 12 months before that I wrote something like 200,000 words of fic, including two novels, finished a 100 Quills table for Harry/Draco, and participated in, I think, seven fic exchanges and fests?

There are a couple of reasons for the drastic change from one year to the other.

The first one is that RP takes up a *lot* of that writing time and energy. It was just over a year ago that I got sucked into Veiled Intention on Livejournal, where my Draco ended up being really the central character for quite a while. The plot is going off in several directions now, and he's able to rest a little, but in the meantime I picked up the role of Draco in a post-epilogue game, All Was Well (or AWW, and yeah it's cute), where my very emotionally broken Draco is coping with his son being 16, his wife having an affair, and his own recent baffling rapport with one Harry James Potter.

The second is that in the Year I Wrote So Much Fic I had just finished a bunch of big writing projects, leaving me sort of in a gap in productivity, and still wanting to write. So, I wrote.

The third is that in the Year I Wrote So Much Fic, many of those previous big writing projects either went down in flames or languished unpublished. The book industry and trying to maintain a career as a freelance editor and writer was just terribly depressing. Writing fic was a great way to chase away those blues. I feel I really worked on my writing craft, got to do it for a readership who really appreciated what I did, got to be supported by my writing instead of isolated by it, etc. Fic = good! And cheaper than antidepressants or therapy, too.

The fourth is that in that second year, I got very busy with paying work again. Editing mostly, which is time consuming and doesn't pay that well, but it was income. But it was also deadlines, which cut into the fic writing time even more than the RP.

The fifth is that I went a bit too nuts with fests and exchanges, I think. Well, not TOO nuts. I love all the stories I created for them--most of them came out really, really exceptionally good. But I got a little burned out toward the end, and when I capped off all the fests with "Burning Day," which was possibly just the best gift fic I've ever written and possibly ever will write... I just can't top that one. So I have refrained from signing up for any more fests.

Well, oops, except the one fest that I run. I took a prompt for the <a href="http://hp_tarot.livejournal.com">HP Tarot Fest</a> and it is the first time I've ever signed up to write a story for a fest or comm. and failed to do it. My own comm! That's the most extreme sign that I'm not writing fic right now, that I couldn't even get the story finished for my own fest. Bah.

Oh, and there is the fact that DEATHLY HALLOWS totally screwed with my personal canon, too. AND the strikethrough bullshit.

So, anyway, this is not to say I'm not going to write any more fic. Far from it. I still plan to write Oriens (the Tempus sequel which has a few chapters done already), but need to plan when to work on it, I have more stories to do in my Seven Spells table (Snape/Harry/Draco), and there are still plot bunnies waiting for me. (And the sequel to The Kiss, too.)

I've not only hardly written any fic for the past year, I've hardly READ any, either. Um, if you want to help me get back into the swing of both reading and writing it, well, I really could use more Snape/Draco. Post-HBP, pseudo- or almost-DH compliant would be rilly keen...

[X-posted to my journals at LJ, IJ, GJ, and JF, all ravenna_c_tan, please cross friend at will!]

ravenna_c_tan @ 2007-08-08T19:25:00

2007-08-08T23:27:43Z

The other places to find me:

LiveJournal
InsaneJournal
GreatestJournal

As well as scattershot archiving at Skyehawke, The Archive at the End of the Universe, Hex Files (for H/D), Walking the Plank (Snarry), and others.

Third and I think final bomb shelter

2007-08-06T02:31:37Z

That's what these other journals are right now. Bomb shelters that I'm stocking with water and supplies in case LiveJournal mounts an assault on me.

I'm ravenna_c_tan everywhere, LiveJournal, GreatestJournal, and InsaneJournal.