WARNING: This is a non-magical Darkish Toy Fairytale AU and is based on Hans Christian Andersen's The Steadfast Tin Soldier. (Dramione/Tomione) Not a triad. Love triangle
IMPORTANT: To stay true to the original version of the classic tale, Draco's personality will be similar to the actual Tin Soldier of the same story. A broken Draco after the war is what I imagine when writing him here. I will insert his canon traits mildly in the story but not fully utilize it. Because for a person who is different from the rest, and suffers from a disability... I don't think using Draco's haughty, arrogant demeanor will be fair to them.
This was supposed to be my Champagne and Countdown entry for the New Year's fest over at Beyond the Nook but I just couldn't finish it in time of the deadline. I really tried to get it done however real life got in the way, aside from my godson being in the pedriatic icu. I did manage to write half of the story so this will be a WIP and a yuletide gift for all my readers. Happy Holidays, everyone. Please leave a review if you enjoy this.
P.S. Some of the HP cast will be toys! Plus I manipulated the timeline of the characters in canon again! And my Tom always had grey eyes but since Draco has them, Tom's irises will be red throughout the entire fic. This is important well… because I like describing different colored eyeballs xD
** I'd like to thank IvyCresent and NinjaFairy86 for looking over this fic! You ladies are awesome!
In a time of war and famine, a soldier's march would bleed and rumble into a person's very bones. Each step could drown each and every wandering thought with an insistent beating akin to one's own heart. A steady, heavy-spirited drumroll of brave men whose bootheels crushed the gravel underneath their feet – unflinching, unwavering, and unfaltering until the last moments of their lives. Those who possessed a persistent single-mindedness of iron will and steadfast determination.
And as time had begun to dissolve itself as shapeless as the rain, there came twenty-five toy soldiers – brothers born of the same old tin spoon. Their shoulders were squared firmly and their muskets in place. Their eyes heavily focused on the stretched distance in front them with their splendid uniforms in shades of green and silver. Perched on top of their heads were tall military caps crafted with visors and adorned with polished ornamental plates.
The little tin soldiers were fashioned to look exactly the same, all except for their youngest brother. Unlike the rest of them, he had been cast the last and his tin was so short that merely one leg was created for him. Although, there he stood tall, proud and commanding despite his sole leg. Better than any of his brethren on their two.
Out of the twenty-five miniature platoon, just the single-legged brother was a given a name. It was from a little boy called Regulus, whose affluent parents had bought the tiny men in their uniforms from an old, famous toymaker who lived down the street. The unique tin man was named Draco, who wore a serious expression on his face as though he was always preparing for a battle to take place. He was a perfect carbon copy of stoicism and gallantry.
What he lacked in his body had been compensated in his features. For even if he was created from a worn tin spoon, his face had been the only one shaped into a handsome piece of work. The toymaker had painted his skin into a brilliant alabaster and his hair was in the color of a vibrant pale blond. He was given piercing grey eyes which revealed a deep intensity, a bold honesty, and a fierce determination in their depths. Perhaps, this was the mark of being a true gentleman. It was the absence of weakness or trite politeness, one made of great spirit and noble ways.
When the night sky stood with an inky canopy of darkness freckled by thousands of stars, the little boy was found inside his large playroom with Draco in his hands. This particular serviceman had become the child's favorite among the many toys he received from his father and his mother on Christmas day. He was twisting and turning the tin soldier's limbs, admiring the detailed handiwork it took the toymaker to create him.
"Young Master Regulus..." an older woman's voice spoke from outside the room followed by a knock on the door. She turned the knob and entered, holding the child's sleep pyjamas in her arms. "It's time for bed."
Regulus sighed and slumped his tiny shoulders. "Yes, Madam Pomfrey." Even at his young age, he was already aware of this monotonous way of living in an environment filled with strict discipline and formality; he felt absolutely lonesome. "Are Father and Mother home?"
"I'm afraid they still have urgent matters to attend to," the aged lady told him with a gentle and apologetic expression. In this era, most wealthy children had been raised by a nanny or a nurse, hired to carry the burden that was child-rearing. Thus, the majority of parent-child interactions were done on rare occasions and only for a specified time each day.
"Come, so I can read you a bedtime story," Madam Pomfrey added softly when she saw how crestfallen his features had become.
"Alright." Regulus smiled at her and turned to the toy that was grasped in his small fingers. "See you tomorrow, Draco." Then, the little boy placed him inside the metal box where his other tin brothers were laid. He walked over to his nanny standing in the doorway and reached for her hand as she guided him outside.
With the night growing silent and the shadows were being consumed by the encroaching blackness, the stars and the moon shone brighter on the horizon. It was as though their presence served as a reminder that even in the darkness there would always be light.
The moon was a white-grey disc sailing in the cloudless sea; streams of moonbeams sank into the earth, bleeding silver on its path. A soft glow illuminated into the direction of Regulus' playroom. The toys inside had slowly began to stir – awakened from their slumber and coaxed to life by the magic of the moonlight.
A crimson clockwork train roared heartily toward its given course as the springs and gears started to move in action on the tracks. Rich-colored paper dolls fluttered the sleepiness from their lashes and stood on their toes to gingerly stretch their arms. Stuffed animals shook the dust that gathered on their faux fur coats. On the far corner of the room, a beautifully carved wooden rocking horse began galloping back and forth in its place; just as a silver music box encrusted with precious stones started to play a soft melody.
Meanwhile, one by one, the tiny soldiers were making their way out of their metal confinement, for most of them had been kept in the box. Draco shifted cumbersomely on his one leg as he felt the power of the moon surge freely inside him. He helped his last brother up on his feet and balanced himself on the table. Then, he positioned the musket at his side while his grey eyes surveyed his surroundings. He was standing perfectly still, preparing himself for another night of patrolling.
"Oh, dear brother. Don't you ever get tired?" A tin man asked Draco wearily. He was called Brother Sixteen, as he was birthed from the toymaker's tin spoon on the sixteenth time.
"Tired of what, you mean?" Draco furrowed his brows but maintained his composed gait, while his steady gaze continued to sweep over the large playroom.
"Standing steadfast all day," Brother Sixteen answered with a sigh and a shake of his head.
The blond serviceman hopped and hobbled, turning to face his prodding brother. A questioning glare was etched on his handsome face – this was not the first time they had this conversation. "Why should I, when it's something I must do?" In truth, he was pleased that in spite of his condition, Regulus favored him among his many brothers.
Although before the sixteenth sibling could respond, Brother One, the eldest, had interjected. He placed his arm around Draco's shoulder in an attempt to make him realize what he was missing. "You rarely mingle with all the other toys. Let loose, have fun, whilst our owner has gone to sleep. There are lovely paper maidens who would be happy to meet with you." He gestured to the alluring female group in their pretty dresses, who were giving the blond tin soldier hopeful glances and playful giggles.
Draco's face flushed scarlet and shyly tipped his cap toward the young women before replying to Brother One, "No, it's alright. I can't even ask the ladies to a dance while having just one leg."
Then, his grey irises travelled to the rest of his older siblings. After some of them had chosen to remain by his side, instead of walking over to the charming paper dolls. "Enjoy yourselves, brothers, and worry not. I shall happily carry on with my duties," he finished speaking and straightened his posture once more, hoping that they would not pester him about this subject anymore.
"If you say so, Draco," Brother One said with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. On his two legs, he ambled toward the other tin soldiers who were already chatting and dancing the night in bliss with the comely feminine toys.
He watched from afar as his eldest brother bowed in a gentlemanly manner and extended his hand to a raven-haired doll in a bright blue gown. The little lady curtsied mirthfully and placed her delicate fingers in his. With a smile on his face, Brother One spread his palm on her waist and whisked her away to dance along with the rest of the miniature couples.
For a special plaything with a disability, the gift of sight was lucid evidence that Draco was not alone in this wide universe. He was just like one of many in a world that was filled with countless interesting things to see, to touch, to taste, to hear, and to feel.
It kept his mind anchored that his condition should not be viewed as a weakness or a fault. He did not permit it to hinder him from performing tasks his brothers could freely do on their own two legs. But as the milky white light spilled from the night sky and seeped into every crevice of his hollow shell, he knew he was all by himself in the bleakness of the shadows – as no one in this vast planet had shared the same fate as he.
He was the lone-legged tin soldier. A visual anomaly dictated by a faithless society where the physical attributes of beauty and aesthetics could only be found in symmetry. A balanced proportion or the quality of something that had two sides or halves that were alike in size, shape, and position – and, his dysmorphic limb deemed him anything but symmetrical.
Draco was in deep contemplation over his predicament when he noticed a marvelous palace set high upon a marble table. The grand house sat by its lonesome as though it was solely meant to be admired from a distance and it overlooked the rest of Regulus' playthings. Its many pointed crystal towers resembled a crown of ice, reflecting the night light like many shards of glass. The walls were created from the most magnificent white stone that glistened gloriously under the stars and the moon.
There was a lake as flat as a luminous mirror. It lay without a ripple in its silver-blue water as if time itself had been frozen. There were also swans made of wax dusted with glitter. The whole scenery was adorned with green trees that surrounded the palace like great armies defending their citadel, and fancy gems scattered around it.
However, none of these could compare to what lay at the center of the splendid table. At the grand hall of the frosted palace stood the most beautiful porcelain ballerina. She had the loveliest face, the kind one would remember for days. She had blood-stained full lips and a perfect brow.
She wore a form-fitting bodice with a periwinkle tutu, and pink laced up pointe shoes. Her soft, honey-toned skin was bare and her chestnut brown hair was tied into a bun. Her arms were gracefully raised above her head and one of her legs was beautifully elevated high behind her back. It made it seem to the tin soldier as if she was standing on the toes of her one leg.
And it was at this moment, Draco felt he was no longer alone anymore. He thought he had found someone who shared the same fortune as himself. He watched her maintain an elegant pose even when she had come to life. How could someone who possessed just a single limb, be as breathtaking as she was to him?
"Beautiful," he murmured, for no words could describe how enraptured was he.
She was a masterpiece. A sculptor's most exquisite work of art. When the moonbeams caressed her translucent skin, rays of colors from every end of the spectrum bounced in each direction. It poured effortlessly onto her hair and made each curl seem as if it was alight by passion, looking for an untouched canvas on which to leave a mark. Instead of being the subject of a creation, she was the true embodiment.
"If only I could just..." Draco said to himself in great yearning, devouring her beauty with his striking storm-colored eyes. He wished with every fiber of his being, to reach out and stroke her impeccably shaped cheekbones… for his pale fingers to softly trace her luscious, plump lips... or for his knuckles to tenderly brush under the feathers of her thick, dark lashes.
Suddenly, the blond serviceman trampled the unexplainable desire he felt for the ballerina and quickly scolded himself for his inappropriate thoughts. "What was I thinking?" He knew he did not deserve her. She was too good for a flawed tin man like him. So, he continued to subject himself to the endless torture of gazing at her from afar, without being able to touch.
As though sensing someone's gaze on her, the porcelain beauty glanced in his direction from a few tables away. He froze in shock, clueless on what to do as he had been caught looking intently at her. He did not dare move… did not dare breathe, even if he was not a living thing. For some unknown reason, he felt his tin heart began pounding inside his chest. The beats grew louder and louder, ringing in his ears – a cacophonous, thrumming rhythm.
Her eyes were a soft brown, Draco distinguished, and it sparkled radiantly against the moonlight, making them come alive. He was helplessly drawn into their depths, unable to avert his lingering scrutiny of her chocolate irises. With a determined mind, he decided that the consequences of his action did not matter, for now.