Day 3

In your own space, share a favorite piece of original canon (a TV episode, a song, a favorite interview, a book, a scene from a movie, etc) and explain why you love it so much.

I've dithered over this for a while. I have so many favorites. But this morning I put on my shirt that says "...and I of course am innocent of all but malice." and I guess I'll go with that.

The line comes from a scene in Sign of the Unicorn by Roger Zelazny, second book in the Chronicles of Amber, where a bunch of siblings are interrogating and blaming one another over who might have just stabbed their brother. And sister Fiona says the above. Exactly no word of it is true--well, alright, she does have some malice--and yet it's a first step in her attempt to redeem herself.

You might notice the similarity between her name and my username. It is not a coincidence. I love her so so much.

Someone I once dated, after we broke up, used the fact that I admire her to cast aspersions on my character. On the other hand, I call that person the psycho ex, so you decide.

I finally convinced Rosa to read the Chronicles of Amber. She's just gotten to the beginning of Hand of Oberon. Tonight she said to me, "That [Ambercon 2003] shirt I've been wearing? Fiona's holding her trumps and a dagger? Now I know why she has the dagger...that wasn't very nice of her."

I said, "Innocent of all but malice."

She said, "Not really." ROFLMAO.

(when picking a mood, I started typing P..R.. and "predatory" appeared. Apropos, ne?)

(tryslora, this might just be partly inspired by your fondness for Dara...)

Initiation

Thirst. Crusty sore eyes. Wiping them you find your hands are gritty with sand. Struggle to stand, limp a few steps and fall again to hands and knees. Thirst. It seems it might never end. Reach for your wand; find it absent. "Aguamenti", you mutter anyway. Nothing happens. Repeat it again and again until you’re screaming your dry throat raw. No water fills your hands.

Oasis. There must be an oasis. Decide it, looking down at the sand you are nearly lying in. Close your eyes and insist on it. There is an oasis and I WILL get to it. Force yourself to stand and walk. No desert is going to kill a Malfoy, and if it does you will NOT die on your knees. You won’t give it the satisfaction.

And ten steps later there it is. A clear blue pool surrounded by lush trees and shrubs. You wade right into it, robes and all, and plunge your face into the water, drinking deeply.
Eventually you begin to wonder why there are no animals here, and immediately you hear a thundering of hooves. Maybe they’re not thirsty. Maybe they’re running from a lion...and a roar follows on the thought. Several roars. A whole pride of hunting lions. Lions make you think of Gryffindors, and like you conjured it a griffin flies overhead cawing raucously.

What is this place? How did I get here? Is it a place at all, or am I trapped in my mind by some curse?

You decide that whatever it is, it’s obviously responding to your desires, and decide firmly that you’ll be safe. The predators are busy with their natural prey, and have no interest in one slightly-battered wandless wizard.

Time to think, then, and remember.

~~~

Tile. Blood. Pain. Someone else's horrified screaming. And then black, empty, nothing.
An unknowable time later, you awoke in a soft bed with a girl your age looking down at you. Slim, freckled, short brown hair and green eyes, wearing a brown shirt and trousers rather than robes but somehow she doesn't look Muggle. She didn't quite look sixteen, either; those eyes were too knowing, too deep.

"Who are you?"

She turned it around. "My name is Dara. But the real question is, who are you?"

You scoffed. "I am Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius, son of Abraxas. My father sits at the right hand of the Dark Lord."

She scoffed right back. "I eat jumped up sorcerers like your Voldemort for breakfast. Try again."

Oh, shite and bugger. I've been captured by the other side, and they're idiots. Naming that name, arrogant little..."Potter, you're an idiot. He can hear you."

"I said, I eat jumped up sorcerers for breakfast, and my name is still Dara. I will tell *you* who you are. You're Narcissa Black's son, true enough, but your father is my stepson. You can call me Grandmother if you must, but I'd really rather you didn't. Makes me feel old."
She offered you a hand to help you out of bed, but you ignored it and stood up. Somehow it made you feel better that you were taller than she was.

"I don't believe a word of it." You looked around the room trying to find your wand. It was quietly lying on the table beside the bed, and you snatched it up. "Incarcerous!"

She smiled, and the conjured ropes fell away into flames that went out instantly. "I should tell you, as of right now, that I've decided your magic will no longer work here. I need you to listen to me." It was like a gray cloud just smothered something in your mind...no, that's not right. The cloud was outside you, somehow, but it cut you off all the same.

You stepped to the window, which looked out over ...a whirling disorienting mass of color and shine. The walls of the room you are in were just visible to the left and right, but there was nothing that looks like land. "Where AM I?" You were almost shrieking, you realize now.

She smiled again. "You're in the Ways of Sawall in the Courts of Chaos. You're a long way from home...or more accurately, you've finally come home."

You fainted.

When you woke again, you were back in the bed and there were two voices talking. You pretended you were still unconscious.

"Doesn't believe me, poor child." This was the same voice from before. Dara, you remind yourself.

"The Logrus will fix that right up." A male voice, cold and mocking.

"No excess of fatherly feeling, I see, Mandor."

"No point to it, if he can't survive the initiation."

Squinting carefully, you saw that the second voice belonged to a tall thin man dressed all in black and with yes, white-blond hair and aristocratic features. You squeezed your eyes closed again and wished you were back in the bathroom bleeding to death. It was too much, all too much.

The next thing you can remember, you were standing at a tunnel mouth and the thin man pushed you through it. There was darkness, there was terror, there was cold, there was anger, there was endless sand and heat.

~~~

This is the Logrus, then, whatever that is.

An answering presence somehow communicates a 'yes' without any words either aloud or in your mind.

What do I do?

Resignation, knowledge, peace, all flow into you, and suddenly you laugh out loud. Power. It's all you ever wanted, and now it is yours. Yes, you could eat Voldemort for breakfast. Or Potter, if that's your preference. No mere shadow sorcerer can stand against the unleashed true forces of Chaos.

A redheaded wizard named Brand
Said, "Sister, just one small demand."
"All right," she said--
Tied him to his bed--
He came at the slap of her hand.