skoosiepants | Superhero!HP!AU!Fusion!Crackfic!

Overwhelmingly, you all seemed to want me to throw everything into the bucket o' crack, so here's the shortish prologue.

It's set in the future of the actual bulk of the fic. Meaning, subsequent chapters/installments will be placed one year before this.

And oh my god it's cheesy. Gracious me, cheese is so very fun to write! Lame names and all... just wait 'til you see what I've got cooked up for Hermione and Harry's alter egos :)

Think Comic superhero meets Mystery Men meets... crack. Which is why it's sorta an AU and sorta a fusion.

Diagon City
Prologue

In the dark hour between the small of the morning and dawn, Draco Malfoy stood at his library window watching the shadowed city of Diagon struggle to breathe, struggle to wake. The blackness of the Dark Lord weighed her down, leaving ugly, smudging pock marks on everything that would shine, every light that vainly flickered against the thick fog, every voice that tried to spill itself out of a hushed throat. It was rare to hear laughter echoed in the streets at any time of day, but the bleak, hopeless moments before sunrise were always the most eerily silent and still.

Draco’s face was impassive, unflinching, the hands curled loosely at his sides betraying nothing of his thoughts. Only the crystallized ice on the clear pane of glass, the verging and diverging veins of white-cold that steadily threaded inward towards his line of sight, belied the casualness of his stance.

“A city oppressed,” came a droll voice from his left. “It’s odd you would care.”

Blaise, the sneaky bastard, knew the telltale signs.

Draco spared a brief glance for his closest friend. “Oppression is well and good in its place,” he said absently. He had no qualms about behaving ruthlessly. He enjoyed many luxuries, and was perfectly aware of the people he’d stepped on to acquire them. But he never wanted to be a prince of a broken land, never wanted to bow and scrape to a Black Void that sucked all joy out of everything. Good and bad. Draco knew of balances. He knew that the ice had to melt to be frozen again.

“I rather like the quiet,” Blaise sighed, and Draco smirked at his reflection in the window.

“You hate the quiet,” he called the dark-skinned man’s bluff. “In the quiet, there’s nothing to hear.”

Which wasn’t exactly true, of course, but Draco knew Blaise was a sly bloke who held more secrets than he’d most likely ever reveal. He was the wind that tugged at the end of a whisper, the hair prickling uneasily on a skulking nape, the chill that swept down spines and chattered teeth into talking truths. Blaise, nearly invisible when he wanted to be, reveled in all levels and definitions of noise.

Blaise chuffed lightly, neither denying nor agreeing with Draco’s claim, then shifted in his large wingback chair, crossing an ankle over his knee. “He’s taken the Stone out of Flamel Antiquities.”

“Has he?” Draco hmmm’d under his breath, raising a hand to tap idly at the glass, shavings of ice vibrating off the pane to melt at his feet. “I suppose if we put in an early appearance tonight, he won’t notice if we slip off after an hour or so.”

“He won’t notice me at all,” Blaise pointed out.

Draco turned and sauntered towards the sideboard and an ever-present decanter of brandy, cutting an amused look at Blaise. “Either way, we’re bound to have an advantage over the Trio.”

The dark man’s teeth flashed bright white in the dim room. “Oh, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind a scuffle with Ember,” he commented, lifting his own stout rocks glass to his lips. “Nearly had you on your back last time, didn’t he?”

“I slipped.” Draco tilted his slim nose skyward and sniffed derisively, though his gray eyes were shining. Arguably the only entertaining thing that’d come out of the Dark Lord’s reign over Diagon City, Ember was a hot-tempered slick fellow, part of the terminally lucky Golden Trio that selflessly served the city denizens like modern-day Robin Hoods. They hated each other - Draco smiled a cat-smile to himself - and it was delicious. “You’ve effectively drawn me out of my melancholy funk, Blaise. Well done.” He tipped his filled-to-the-brim glass at him, expertly not spilling a drop.

There was nothing so wrong with Diagon that a few rivaling superpowers couldn’t fix.

TBC.

Current Mood: cracktastic!

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I'm first! And you rock!

Ember! Diagon City! The Dark Lord! The Stone!

Yay for crack!

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Skoosie has fancy plans... and pants to match

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