𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐒 2008

Prelude to the 7th Goblin Wars, Or, Thou Dewberry Pisshead Lout

Author: stillaseeker
Title: Prelude to the 7th Goblin Wars, Or, Thou Dewberry Pisshead Lout
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Alleys, mythical creatures, London in summer, gratuitous fondling and the clinking of well-earned coin - for now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.
Warnings (if any): Historical AU. Random and possibly erroneous use of historical trivia.
Total word count: ~1,300

Prelude to the 7th Goblin Wars, Or, Thou Dewberry Pisshead Lout

c. 1598 A.D.

Darkness fell over London. Peat fires broke out, scattered over the Thames like night candles on the water. The river boatmen hailed each other – jocund with the day’s parting, anticipating the alehouses’ warmth and beery welcome. A fine mist settled over narrow alleys like dandelion florets in a puff of wind; broken here and there by the gimlet gaze of perched gargoyles.

Norfin the goblin paused for a moment to adjust his money pouch; trundling down Gringotts’ steps, his tongue flickered out to taste the salt-slickness of rain-laden air. There was a storm coming – soon the alleys around Diagon would be criss-crossed with puddles, their shilling-like pools strewn willy-nilly like the forgotten coins of some absent-minded giant

As he darted into the gap between Frau Fraipeust’s haberdashery and the apothecary, their shop fronts leaning into each other like two rotten teeth, Norfin felt pleasantly aware of the Galleons weighing down his pantaloons. A pasty – he thought, licking his lips – ale-rich and flavoured with chestnut and fresh fawn-meat. That would tide him over till supper.

Two pairs of eyes watched him go by.

Eyes alight, Harry traced the goblin’s movements as he deftly picked his way through crooked lanes, dodging between a soused witch and a Ministry wizard waving his wand. As the Queen Mab Coach drew up, agate stones sparkling in the twilight, Harry murmured an incantation – savouring the familiar vowels on his tongue like a favourite sweet.

audere est facere

In the left pocket of his faded leather breeches, a warm presence stirred. Hidden by the untucked cambric folds of Harry’s shirt, two round ears peeked out, capped by tufts of silver fur. A pale nose twitched, quivering with reluctance.

In the shadow of Eyelops’ Emporium, Harry scooped the small creature’s rump in his hand, giving it a firm, reassuring pat. The creature squeaked indignantly; grey eyes searing Harry with dislike. Undaunted, Harry rubbed its soft belly, grinning as he carded spangled fur through his fingers. The creature’s short whiskers twitched; its eyes fell shut.

One eye on the rapidly departing goblin and his money-pouch, Harry lifted the creature from his pocket, using his balloon sleeves to keep it from sight. Small enough to fit in his palm, the demilune chittered softly, attempting a half-hearted bite of Harry’s fleshy thumb.

Harry raised his palm to his lips, pressing a kiss on downy silver fur. Grey eyes met green as the creature wrinkled its nose, suddenly prudish.

With a muffled laugh, Harry bent down, setting the demilune on a sun-warmed cobblestone. Sighing, Draco fastidiously picked his way around a foul-smelling boot-print, casting an irritated glance back at the boy crouched down before him, storm-cloud hair blending into the waxing moonlight. Harry blew Draco a last, jaunty kiss, stroking the sensitive rim of his ear, before the creature – with a visible effort at concentration – disappeared into the air, leaving behind an echo of a purr and a trail of magical residue.