![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Delicate Sound of Thunder - Duinn Fionn - Prologue, part 2 of 5
Thank you for all your nice comments from part 1 of the prologue. I usually make it a point to answer every comment, but I have a feeling you readers are going to overwhelm me, so consider this a global greeting and thank you. A few of you asked to friend me; feel free and no permission needed.
Again, my deepest thanks to my betas,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
isiscolo, ajhalluk, ravurian, and kattiya.
Delicate Sound of Thunder
Prologue - Five Letters part 2
~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Draco caught sight of a deep violet bag bearing Madame Malkin's scrolling gold logo, and sighed. Harry must have tossed it on the chair last night; it was a sure bet the new robe Draco had persuaded him to buy would be a mass of wrinkles by now. Even though Sully adored doing chores for Harry, it wasn't on for someone who'd been a charter member of S.P.E.W. to be so slovenly.
He opened the bag and jumped back, startled, when something flew out and nearly clipped him in the eye. A Howler. He batted at it fruitlessly, then gave up and went for his wand instead.
HARRY POTTER, YOU DISGUSTING, LOATHSOME SODOMITE. THE WAY YOU LET THAT DEATH EATER SCUM MALFOY TREAT YOU LIKE A KEPT BOY IS A DISGRACE TO YOUR NAME. IF YOUR PARENTS WERE ALIVE—
The parchment disintegrated into bits of gray ash, and he lowered his wand.
His heart was hammering and his hand trembling, but he didn't know if that was from the unexpected trespass or from hearing the filth screamed at him. Howlers rarely crossed his threshhold: Sully scrupulously took care of them without mention. Someone had been unusually clever to sneak this one past her vigilant eye.
He picked up Harry's robe, battling his fury by imagining a creatively spiteful death for the unnamed sender. It was fine, he told himself; he would just go about his tasks and make himself believe nothing was wrong. Forget it.
With one hand holding Harry's new robe and the other fumbling with a hanger, he instantly noticed the unwelcome change coming over him. Most noticeable was that raw, choking tightness in his throat that robbed him of his voice. Reflexively he tried to call out, even as he knew he couldn't. He could hear a low, organic sound; a little like far-off thunder rolling over hills, or the sound of waves crashing on some invisible ocean.
Damn. Damn and fuck.
Just when he thought the pressure would send him to his knees, he heard a sudden explosion. He barely managed to throw his arms over his head for protection. Looking around, he saw the now-fragmented and waterlogged pieces of a snow globe littering a nearby shelf – one of his mother's mementos of a long-ago trip to Vienna.
"Damn and fuck," he said, aloud this time, mostly to mask the fear coursing through him. He thought about trying a reparo, but decided the splintered ornament was a lost cause and accio'd the remains to the dustbin.
A short time later, he sat down at his desk, dipped his quill carefully, and began to write.
Prologue part 3
Again, my deepest thanks to my betas,
isiscolo, ajhalluk, ravurian, and kattiya. Prologue - Five Letters part 2
Draco caught sight of a deep violet bag bearing Madame Malkin's scrolling gold logo, and sighed. Harry must have tossed it on the chair last night; it was a sure bet the new robe Draco had persuaded him to buy would be a mass of wrinkles by now. Even though Sully adored doing chores for Harry, it wasn't on for someone who'd been a charter member of S.P.E.W. to be so slovenly.
He opened the bag and jumped back, startled, when something flew out and nearly clipped him in the eye. A Howler. He batted at it fruitlessly, then gave up and went for his wand instead.
HARRY POTTER, YOU DISGUSTING, LOATHSOME SODOMITE. THE WAY YOU LET THAT DEATH EATER SCUM MALFOY TREAT YOU LIKE A KEPT BOY IS A DISGRACE TO YOUR NAME. IF YOUR PARENTS WERE ALIVE—
The parchment disintegrated into bits of gray ash, and he lowered his wand.
His heart was hammering and his hand trembling, but he didn't know if that was from the unexpected trespass or from hearing the filth screamed at him. Howlers rarely crossed his threshhold: Sully scrupulously took care of them without mention. Someone had been unusually clever to sneak this one past her vigilant eye.
He picked up Harry's robe, battling his fury by imagining a creatively spiteful death for the unnamed sender. It was fine, he told himself; he would just go about his tasks and make himself believe nothing was wrong. Forget it.
With one hand holding Harry's new robe and the other fumbling with a hanger, he instantly noticed the unwelcome change coming over him. Most noticeable was that raw, choking tightness in his throat that robbed him of his voice. Reflexively he tried to call out, even as he knew he couldn't. He could hear a low, organic sound; a little like far-off thunder rolling over hills, or the sound of waves crashing on some invisible ocean.
Damn. Damn and fuck.
Just when he thought the pressure would send him to his knees, he heard a sudden explosion. He barely managed to throw his arms over his head for protection. Looking around, he saw the now-fragmented and waterlogged pieces of a snow globe littering a nearby shelf – one of his mother's mementos of a long-ago trip to Vienna.
"Damn and fuck," he said, aloud this time, mostly to mask the fear coursing through him. He thought about trying a reparo, but decided the splintered ornament was a lost cause and accio'd the remains to the dustbin.
A short time later, he sat down at his desk, dipped his quill carefully, and began to write.
Dear Healer Fenestrane,
I write to you upon the advice of Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, on a matter of some delicacy. As you may understand, after recent events I am reluctant to share my trust, but I pray that your oath of confidentiality will extend to these circumstances.
Recently, I have been experiencing episodes of what may be described as uncontrolled magic. These events are similar to those that I had undergone as a child but have not suffered for over sixteen years. Needless to say, these episodes are disconcerting and embarrassing. The most recent occurrence happened a few minutes ago.
I was at home, alone in my bedroom, when I was surprised by a Howler. I won't bore you with the contents, except to say it was addressed to Mr. Harry Potter. After I destroyed it, I noticed symptoms that always seem to announce the onset of the magic: I felt my throat tighten and I was unable to speak, and I heard a strange pounding in my head. These symptoms disappeared immediately after an object in the room exploded – in this case, a glass snow globe, which had no particular significance to me.
I hope you can suggest some course of action. Please let me know by return owl if you are willing to take on my case. Barring your assistance, I suppose I shall have to banish all my breakables to the attic.
Sincerely yours,
Draco Malfoy
Prologue part 3
no subject
no subject
*is so excited*
So intriguing! *smooches* Got an ETA on the fic itself?
no subject
no subject
And the purple garment bag... mmm, nice touch. And Harry being a slob.
yes!
And the trailer? OMG. hahaha, it made me happier than the GOF teaser.
;)
no subject
no subject
He could hear a low, organic sound
This may be wishful thinking, but I read orgasmic instead of organic...
no subject
no subject
Nice catch. :) Also, I reckon the Howler-dude is just jealous. These -- vignettes? -- are too insanely fun. They should prolly come with some class of health warning.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
These aren't really chapters, just small parts of the prologue.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
I'm so excited about this. Lovely little bit here. The intrigue is already afoot :)
no subject
Poor Draco - why do I get the feeling he's in for a rough time. *wraps Draco up in big hug*
*waves*
no subject
[*small whimper*]