Story Notes
This story started when I decided I was going to take items from atalantapendrag of LiveJournal's 50 Things I Am Not Allowed To Do At Hogwarts and its assorted appendices. and write drabbles about them. Why? Because I felt like it. So there. You can probably still find them at my personal LJ (link under my profile) if you look at the tags and click on the crackfic one.
Anyway, I was reading them all out to a friend, and there were two Labyrinth ones - Plotting and Entering respectively. Being the Labyrinth movie buffs that we were, we decided there needed to be a drabbleverse about this. And thus it was spawned.
No, I have no idea where it's going. No, it's not hard to write. Yes, they are little throwaway things I do in my free time to get my juices running when the muses are being stubborn. Yes, if you leave a request for a certain verb in the present progressive tense (that's -ing, in case you fell asleep in English I did) I will probably write a drabble for it. I warn you, it may or may not go where you want it to, seeing as my brain works very differently than most people's. Yes, you can request one that I've already done, but I'm less likely to do it - and a third time? No way. Yes, this will probably be the one story where prodding me will probably get you a new chapter quickly. Feel free to prod the other ones, though, because I could use the reminder they exist.
/shameless self-pimping
Also, I do not write these in order. An update will have at least one drabble forward in the continuity, but I will fill in many blanks as I go. Also, I'm instituting a change in policy, because it's a pain to make all these new chapters. All the drabbles will be in this chapter, but the new ones will be in italics. I'll pretend to make a new chap or something when the new ones come out for those of you who get alerts.
Plotting
Flying into the Great Hall along with the rest of the horde of owls of Hogwarts, Jareth touched down on a House table and ruffled his feathers. It was a miracle that no one had noticed that he never delivered any mail for years, but then again, that was humans for you.
But really! Forced into taking refuge at a human magic school, all because of That Girl. The Goblin King consoled himself with the knowledge that at least her brother would be coming here next year. He had most carefully arranged that.
Leaving
Toby's father has gotten a promotion. Unfortunately, in an international company like his, a promotion often means a transfer, and this time is no different. So Toby's carefully packing his most treasured possessions into a box marked simply with his name in black Sharpie. For a six (and a half! he always insists) year old, this is a very important task, requiring a lot of concentration. There is Lancelot, of course, and a couple of storybooks he treasures. And then there is the crystal. Toby does not know where he got it, or what it is supposed to be. All he knows is that to play with it, twisting it back and forth on his fingers like the contact jugglers he sometimes sees on TV, is hypnotizing, and if he looks for a very long time images will flicker in it.
Dreaming
Toby is seven years old and dreaming. Or maybe he's remembering, but if he is, it's with the faint fuzzy tinge of an infant's memories, often with only one or two senses. There is a man's voice, crooning to him. He cannot discern the words, only the upbeat tune. His world is going up and down, like on a trampoline only he is not propelling himself. Toby wakes, humming, with his fingertips glowing golden.
Learning
When the owl comes, it is at Toby's eleventh birthday party and it hits the picnic table hard enough to tip over the pitcher of soda, in turn soaking the cake. Toby is secretly upset because Sarah, whom he adores but never gets to see anymore, has slaved over it for hours, ruining several before coming out with this one. But soon he has more to worry about, as his much older sister's face goes pale at the sight of the owl, and she unrolls the note written on funny thick paper.
Shopping
Diagon Alley is busy and loud, filled with the hubbub of people going about their daily business. Toby looks around wide-eyed, not just because of the magic tingling everywhere with the feeling of one of his childhood dreams, though that is certainly a part of it, but because he has never seen this many people in one place before. He spends the day in a constant state of wonder, and vows to drag Sarah here someday.
Arriving
The feeling that Toby gets upon seeing the castle is not, oddly enough, the utmost sense of awe that a great number of his yearmates seem to feel. Instead, it is a vague sense of homecoming - not like the familiarity of his house now, but maybe like that time when he went back to America after two years here in Britain. Once he is sorted, he can close his eyes and imagine that the stones are lighter, the climate is drier, and the hall is messier (but no less noisy). The feeling of belonging he gets is so strong that his eyes fly open in shock, and the disorientation that he didn't feel before comes back with a vengeance.
Magicking
Transfigurations happens to be the first class Toby is able to use his wand in. He has never seen it before, because Ollivander's is the only wand shop to use the trial-and-error method any more and it closed the year before Toby entered Hogwarts. The warmth he feels whenever his fingers brush against it multiplies, and glorious golden energy surges through him – caressing him, loving him. Toby is thrilled.
Familiarizing
For some reason, Toby has no problem with the changing staircases and disappearing rooms of Hogwarts. This makes the other students insanely jealous, and they all crowd around, demanding to know his secret. Toby is helpless to explain; what it feels like is that the castle should be even more mixed up, that even the perspective should change. But he knows this is ridiculous, so he keeps quiet and lets his housemates think he just has a good sense of direction.
Writing
One of the conditions of Toby entering Hogwarts was that he write at least once every week. After an incident Sarah's first college semester, in which three-year-old Toby toddled off to find 'the man with the funny eyes', as he had told her, Toby's mother was very clingy. Toby could understand her attitude somewhat, but past a certain point it was stifling. Sighing, he blew gently on his letter to dry the ink, before rolling it up and putting it aside to give to the owl that had taken to hanging around him later.
Sneaking
The corridors of Hogwarts are dark, lit with only dimly flickering torches that do not gutter and smoke like true fire. All Toby wants is to get to bed – he had fallen asleep in a secluded corner of the library attempting to finish an essay. But to arrive back at the dorm, he must sneak through the hallways patrolled by teacher and prefect alike. He didn't want detention!
That was the noise of footsteps further down the hall, he was sure of it. Toby looked desperately for a place to hide, and found only the meager shadow of a suit of armor. Nevertheless, he ducked into it, clutching the crystal in his pocket like a lifeline. Filch hobbles into view and passes him without notice, as does Mrs. Norris. This is the first inkling Toby has that his childhood toy is not just an immobile lump of glass.
Divining
For some reason, Toby can easily see shapes and figures in the smoke and crystals his two Divination teachers want him to stare into, respectively. They are never exactly what Professor Firenze wants, but Professor Trelawney flutters about him like he was Apollo's own priest. Most of the school, however, seems to believe Trelawney is a quack, and Toby's observations support that. So he doesn't let it get to him – instead, he enjoys the visions of his owl and a fantastic land far away, crumbling into ruins but with the potential to be saved.
Mischiefing
Divinations class is always enjoyable for Toby, amusing and revealing by turns. He does not tell the teacher he sees more in his crystal than he ever does in the school's inert globes. Maybe it is a thing like the low-quality, overused textbooks his sister always complains of in America. One day it strikes his fancy to replace the school's sphere with his own, but he quickly switches back. The bauble doesn't belong in a stand, it belongs in his hand, heated by the warmth of his flesh. As if to confirm it, the crystal flashes - dimly and quickly, but there nonetheless - and shows him a quick image of the owl he has come to think of as his.
Studying
Toby's first year at Hogwarts is nearly over, and exams are loming on the horizon. So he is studying, frantic, three different textbooks spread on his bed. He is not so sure this is the best idea, because while he always studies like this some of the time he names famous goblin war heroes as a crucial ingredient to his Calming Drought. The other times, though, he has come out on top, so Toby takes the risk. He is terrified of losing the precious golden glow that fills him whenever he casts a spell.
Deciding
The Goblin King had been fluttering around at the side of the boy – who, somehow along the way, had become Toby – for the better part of three years, and he knew that the time to make a decision concerning him was fast approaching. Thirteen was a magical number in all the realms, but especially in his own, where he was almost governed by it. So. Jareth ruffled his feathers as he thought. Was the boy worthy of becoming his heir?
Entering
"Um."
The goblin attending the Gringotts counter looked up at this hesitant noise, and Toby gulped, fixed by its stare. "I was sent this note -" he pulled said note from his pocket, unfolding it and smoothing it out before sliding it across to the goblin - "and told to ask for Jareth? It said to tell you that he knows me...something about an inheritance?"
Toby stopped talking, because the goblin had stopped listening at 'Jareth', instead rapidly perusing the note. When he finished, he looked up at Toby, searching his face. Finally, his gaze dropped, and he called sharply to another goblin to man his post. Then he looked back at Toby, and gestured impatiently. "Come with me."
Recognizing
Toby was nervous about meeting this Jareth person, whoever he was, even though the name struck a chord of familiarity deep in his mind. He wished for the comfort of his owl, the bird who had hung about him all through his first three years at Hogwarts, but he hadn't been able to find the bird all morning.
And then he was through a strange doorway, and there was the man from his dreams as a child, the man with the funny-colored eyes that had tried to woo him away to the fae realms at the tender young age of three. And he was definitely not a creation of Toby's overactive imagination.
Reacting
"I know you," Toby blurted, and then wished he hadn't, because the strange mismatched eyes that matched his own turned amusedly onto him. He was reminded – strangely – of the owl that had abandoned him today, which was ridiculous. But this was the man he had been dreaming of all these years, who he had seen in the Divination classroom, and so it was perhaps not so ridiculous.
"Yes, you do, Toby," the man said, and he wasn't at all scary or indimidating, merely friendly with a sultry edge that seemed to be unchangeable. "And I've been waiting for you."
Revealing
"Waiting for me?" Toby asks warily, eyeing the man and trying to be suspicious. But it's hard - this is, after all, a face he knows nearly as well as his own. If he wasn't fussier than the average teenage boy, he'd certainly see it more frequently than his own.
The man - Jareth, he supposes - smiles enigmatically. "Waiting for you," he agrees. Something about his attitude is sharp, sharp as his almost hawkish visage. Maybe a different cut could soften the planes of his face, but the pouf of hair crowning his head simply threw them into relief. "We all were. Because, you understand, a heir must turn thirteen before he truly comes into his power." Jareth smiles. It wants to be friendly. "My power."
Smiling
The boy is still confused, and gradually the corners of Jareth's lips tilt downwards into a frown. Had his sister told him nothing? He supposed there was a largeish age gap, at least to the humans, but he thought she would be sure to warn him, skittish little thing that she was. But then again, perhaps she hadn't wanted to admit her own mistake.
Toby still hadn't spoken. Jareth forced his mouth back into the rictus of a pleasant expression and tried again. "The power of the Labyrinth." Toby's face tightened, and Jareth continued, "You see, when someone defeats the Goblin King, they must be a better ruler. So says the logic of the Labyrinth. It's a trial by stone, so to speak. Only your sister didn't want the power, wasn't receptive to it. And there was a much more fertile mind nearby - you." Jareth paused. "In a way, you are my heir," he reflected thoughtfully. "But I'm very much not dead yet and you're not ready to rule. So I'd like my kingdom back, please."