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quillpunk- Rating: T
- Categories: M/M, Gen
- Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
- Relationship: Draco Malfoy/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
- Characters: Draco Malfoy, Tom Riddle | Voldemort
- Additional Tags: Ficlet, LVDM Week 2022, Curses, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, POV Draco Malfoy, First Meetings, Pre-Slash, Pre-Relationship
- Status: Complete
- Wordcount: 1547
- Series: Part 1 of LVDM Week
- Published on AO3: 2022-12-07
Notes: For LVDM Week 2022: Day 1 - Cursed
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any associated trademarks.
because there is a dragon in the town ahead, draco very smartly chooses not to announce that he's a knight (well, mage knight to be perfectly accurate, but not many people bother--mage knights are all that remain, really). instead, he dresses himself in the most obnoxious noble simpleton clothing that he owns; bright colors and puffy sleeves and way too many ribbons and frills included. he rides his horse into the town in question at midday, when the crowds are thick and the air sings with magic.
"out of the way," he snaps at a peasant walking too close to his mighty pitch-black horse, bred and raised for wars that don't exist any more. the world was remade when the dark lord voldemort was defeated--the land broke and shattered and it was put back together in the wrong order. or something like that. and now relics of the war litter the lands like trash, digging down into graves better left buried and leaving curses for any old commoner to walk right into.
as is the case with the dragon.
draco, not named after a dragon but a star constellation, tracks the magic through the air and land, the cloying sensation so thick it seems to sink into his bones, and traverses over the better part of the town before he reaches his goal. it's a tavern of some kind, the people entering looking drab and dreary and filthy, and he wonders what reason the cursed one has for coming here. the dragon curse is old, after all, and it changes mind and body both while leaving memories intact that the new draconic brain can't really comprehend.
after leaving his horse with the local stable-boy (and tipping very well to make up for any potential loss of limbs if the horse gets upset), draco enters the tavern. instantly he's washed over with sounds of revelry--he stops for a moment, lips curling into a distinctly unplesant expression, before he draws himself up as tall as he can and heads deeper in.
it's not hard to find the dragon in question; the air stinks, here. his senses are so blanketed by the feeling that he can't imagine not finding it. so draco heads right for the corner where someone is holding court--spots a few minor nobles and merchants that he recognizes--and pushes his way through the crowd until he sees--
the dragon.
despite himself, he gulps.
it's in human shape, of course. dark brown, fluffy hair, eyes that glow red when the light from the many candles strike it right, a body that's slim but undeniably well-muscled--the man's sleeves are pulled up to the elbow and draco is maybe a tiny bit distracted for a second. then he shakes his head a little bit and draws himself up again, pretending that he was absolutely not caught off guard.
"hello," greets draco, lamely.
the dragon looks up from where he's been talking to an older woman with gray in her hair. he rises a dark eyebrow and looks draco up and down, the sneer tiny and hardly noticable. but draco is a malfoy; he notices. the dragon's voice is nevertheless deceivingly soft as he says, "and who might you be, gentleman?"
"that's none of your business, dragon." pulling his hands out from behind his back, the array blooms to life in the air between them, the geometric shapes a green color interspersed with silver runes. draco watches the dragon hands tense, sees the nails changing shapes, and he knows there's no time. the dragon can't use magic--if it did and it was a mage, it could undo the curse itself. but if it changes his spell-work won't hold, and he'll probably get swatted like a fly.
"you don't know what you're playing with," the dragon says, not like a threat but like a statement, and rises. the tavern has started clearing out, now, and draco's array blooms bigger, more and more shapes unfolding like a flower. the runes scratch themselves into existence on the air itself, catching on building blocks too small to see with the naked eye.
the dragon stares at him, and the eyes are definitely red now.
draco merely sneers, putting every lesson of noble disdain his mother has given him into it. "i," he says, ignoring his sweating as the last of the runes are written, "don't concern myself with petty things like playing."
the dragon laughs. it revels wicked fangs, tusks starting to grow in, too. green scales are shimmering under the man's skin, the colors shifting with the light from draco's spell. as draco watches, the dragon seems to grow taller, seems to be looming under the tavern's wooden ceiling, almost hitting the beams above. "you are certainly a foolish one, mage," the dragon's voice is still silky smooth.
narrowing his eyes, draco grunts, "call it what you will," and lets the array go.
there is a moment of nothingness, where the array blinks out of existence. this is the reason draco survived, why he's a remnant in a unfamiliar world when so many others got killed in the wars. his magic is not quick and sudden like that fool potter's, is not pure power incarnate. it does not work seamlessly, without delay. it is a lazy thing, perhaps just like him.
and so the dragon looks at the empty air and with scales on his forehead, asks, "that's it?"
and so the array curls around the dragon, attaining visibility again as it finishes drawing on his power.
and so the dragon sets off a rush of flames so powerful that draco is thrown into the tavern's wall.
and so the array breaks.
and so the scent of dragon-curse is gone.
draco is, for a moment, not entirely sure where he is. there is a ringing in his ears, and fire in his nose, and splinters in his hands. as he pushes himself onto his all fours, he shakes his head and shuts his eyes, waiting for the world to make sense again. his magic is not gone--that's not how magic works. but his body feels heavy in a way that he's unfortunately familiar with.
it pulled, the array. it pulled when the dragon fought. and his bones ache, now, and his vision is blurry when he opens his eyes again. it takes yet another moment for him to make sense of what he's seeing.
the dragon--no, not a dragon any longer--the man stands in the middle of the room. chairs and tables have been scorched undone, a circle around the man. his hands are held out wide to the sides and as draco watches, arrays are etched into existence. the geometric shapes are are red, like fire, and the runes are the kind of silver that is untainted by other metals.
huh. so it was a mage.
he thought so. peasants don't tend to last as dragons--they usually go catatonic, simply not made for that kind of bodily changes.
"i suppose i owe you a thank you," the man says, and draco is slightly startled to note that the voice hasn't changed at all.
coughing, draco stands. he brushes a hand through his hair, the tie having come loose in the attack. the blond strands reach his waist now, and he pushes them behind his ear. "i take payment in gold, jewels or favors. take your pick," he says, brushing off soot and ash and other filth from his clothes. they are irreversibly dirtied now, he thinks.
the man crosses the distance, gazing at him with eyes that still hint red. there is something unsettling about the focus, the intensity. but draco has dealt with more pressure than can be counted, and he merely looks back.
"i am tom riddle," the former dragon says, looking intently at him. draco does not react, and so the man smiles. it's not kind. "i've been looking for your father, draco malfoy."
draco's eyes narrow, and he breaks their eye-contact. clicking his tongue at the thought of mind-readers, he says, "that can be arranged."
"good. you'll accompany me, won't you?"
draco looks the man over from head to toe, taking his time just to be obnoxious. "certainly," he says at last.
something nags at him. he thinks he should recognize this man--not the face, maybe, but the taste of his magic is strangely familiar. it stings on his senses, and his nose subtly scrunches up as he thinks. but he follows, still. out the tavern and into the town, where the town-folk converge on the man--riddle--and shower him in concern. strange, draco thinks. something is strange.
but he is swept up in the celebrations, in the goodwill, in the money he's given by the governer. and so he forgets, stops worrying, sleeps soundly even if there is an odd sense of being observed. and the next morning they set off from the town to head to draco's ancestral manor to find his father. and the man builds a horse out of arrays, and draco...
draco is very good at not worrying. it's the best skill he has, really.
or he might wonder how the man survived his array--it's a death spell, after all.
