Progress of the Moon, a Harry Potter derived fan fiction. Chapter One
by flax, December 2003.
JK Rowling owns Lucius Malfoy and all things Potterverse. The rest of the babble is mine.
a/n: This plot bunny has been bugging me since before OotP. The result is not cannon. This got so AU & OOC that I considered changing Malfoy's name and posting it at the original fiction url. But in my mind, this really is a riff on Malfoy. I hope it doesn't frustrate readers too much.
*********************************************
Pylla stood looking over the Swamp. It had been a conscious choice to try new hobbies, and here one was: Sunday afternoon painting. It had its ups and downs, but today Pylla was just bored. No view had charmed her. Now she doubted the value of "new hobbies" - whether they were just another way to waste time.
That and the mess of green on her palette board. None of it got the unlikely neon of the algae at the edges of the swamp. Who knew there was algae in December, but who knew there would be a nice day in mid December. If I'm outside and comfortable, why shouldn't the algae? thought Pylla to herself.
There was the sound of footsteps on the boardwalk. Pylla willed them away. Despite the nice temperatures, most people weren't out on the boardwalk looking at the black cold water and the out of season traces of green amid the brown and grey. Which made a great time to paint. She could be alone. Pylla was never happy to talk about her painting. She just wanted to paint.
Fake it Fake it Fake it, said Pylla, psyching herself up. You have a right to be here. You don't have to be hostess social girl. Just plain social.
Despite sitting here with a giant conversation piece and the intention to be around people? asked her sarcastic little voice.
This is not a day for me to meet people, Pylla said to herself.
"We don't pick the time if we want to be successful," replied the voice. "Don't worry - it could still be a crash and burn, even if you try," it added unhelpfully. It almost made a comment about looking good in these pants, but Pylla ignored that voice before it could.
Argh.
Fake it Fake it Fake it, she chanted on. Show no neurosis. You are having fun. Don't be a perfectionist who takes it out on other people. You are having fun.
I'll have fun when I figure out what I like in that tree line responded the inner perfectionist. She stared at the line of the tree tops like lace against the winter blue sky.
Footsteps walked by Pylla and she looked up. She made eye contact and nodded at the man before returning to trace the trees with her eyes.
"Nice clouds," he said.
Pylla looked back at him and then followed his eyes up to the clouds. They had covered over the moon which hung low but visible in the daylight.
"It's a great day," she responded. She took a fast look while he looked into the sky. He was clearly one of the "gentleman birders," not that Pylla had met one before. Usually guys like this were the divorcees out with their kids for the day. But this one had no kids hopping about.
He nodded once more at Pylla and moved on, round the paths, and with some cheating of perspective, Pylla added him to her picture: a man with binoculars, nice lines, paused over what had to be a look out. Perhaps the wood ducks? White hair. White. Picked up in the reflection of light in the water. Picked up in the moon. Picked up in the clouds. Green jacket. Not at all the algae green. More the frog. The emerald frog green from spring. And shadows.
Pylla, beginning painter, had not made friends with shadows. Purple and blue made logical sense, but still felt wrong. So grey red was his shadow. Which wasn't right either.
Engrossed by the tree line again, this time coloring in the lines, Pylla hadn't seen the man return or stand beside her. She jumped when he spoke.
"I'm surprised to be used as a figure in your painting, miss," he said.
Pylla felt a trace guilty. "I hope you don't mind too much," she said. "It hit me while you were out there that the landscape needed a figure."
"I guess I was fair game," he said.
"Is it a problem?" she asked, feeling a strange tension. "I meant no harm."
The man smiled at her and the painting. Pylla felt nervous.
"There is something you can do for me."
Pylla tried to put it aside that she didn't like his tone.
"You can take my place in that painting and do what I failed to do just now," he said.
"I don't understand," she replied. She thought she did understand, but figured that maybe he wasn't insane and she miss heard him.
"No, I'm not insane," said the man.
Damn, he knows he's insane, thought Pylla.
"Hello. My name is Lucius Malfoy. I'm the guardian of the moon's pearl." He paused for her to respond.
"Hello," said Pylla at her cue.
"Every year, at an appropriate time near the solstice, the guardian has to carry the pearl across a threshold into the next season, carrying the force of change into the next season. Today, St. Lucy's day, will do."
And the force of change can't get there itself? thought Pylla to herself. Then she hoped that this was not a man with violent tendencies. Just babble at strangers in the park - that would be cool.
"I just failed to take the pearl over the threshold, past the guardian."
"Sorry to hear it," replied Pylla.
"If this were just an insane man telling a story, it wouldn't matter," he said growled. "Life gets to decide if it embraces change. And for some reason, today, I can't make that choice."
Pylla regretted coming out at all today, and began putting away her stuff. "I'm sorry to trouble you," she said to the stranger.
He suddenly stretched high, looming and casting shadows which were dark and sudden. The shade darkened the world, and sucked it into the realm of greys and reds. Pylla shivered. The shock white of his hair gleamed in bright contrast to the sudden shadow. "I am going to require you to take this seriously," he said. "Introduce yourself."
"Hello," she said, surprised by the oddly flat sound of her voice. "My name is Pylla Arawn. And I'd like to leave now." The world returned to normal but Pylla couldn't bring herself to leave.
"Now this makes sense," said the strange man. He looked her over. "I am a wizard, do you know what that means?"
"No," she said.
"I am an agent of nature."
"Aren't we all," she retorted without thought.
"Yes," he said simply. "But sometimes the living choose which force of nature to back."
Lucius took off a pendant. A long sturdy chain held a faceted crystal, inside of which was a pearl, turning and shifting colors from black to white. Streaks of red shot across it once or twice. Pylla blinked and nauseous to watch too long, but put up no resistance as he hung it around her neck.
"Remember," he said, turning Pylla to look at her painting, "You carry the power of nature to change and live. It won't be in the world tomorrow if you don't get it there."
"What?" she said, cringing from his touch on her shoulders.
"The path is a circle. Walk the orbit back to here." Malfoy pushed Pylla at her painting and everything became strange. When the world resolved back from blurry, Pylla was shocked.
Lucius and her painting were there, but Lucius was not moving. There was no sound. The tree tops weren't waving anymore.
Nervous, Pylla thought about doing the reverse of what was asked. She packed her paints and headed to the car, but in the parking lot she was more frightened. The people there were frozen, too. Families paused in their moments. And the traffic over on the road was halted, parked.
More nervous, Pylla returned to the boardwalk and decided to try the path Lucius mentioned. Not that there were any circuit paths out that way. But that would be only one problem with this irrational afternoon.
Along the way, Pylla put her easel back up next to the frozen strange man. She took a breath, looked at the park, and went off to carry this thing over a threshold somewhere over there.
Once the woman was out of sight, gone around a bend in the path, Lucius took a deep breath and looked about. He stooped and took a blank canvas out of her portfolio and then unbundled her brushes. He unwrapped the pallet and began to paint.
tbc (I think this will be 3 chapters, btw.)
JK Rowling owns Lucius Malfoy and all things Potterverse. The rest of the babble is mine.
a/n: This plot bunny has been bugging me since before OotP. The result is not cannon. This got so AU & OOC that I considered changing Malfoy's name and posting it at the original fiction url. But in my mind, this really is a riff on Malfoy. I hope it doesn't frustrate readers too much.
*********************************************
Pylla stood looking over the Swamp. It had been a conscious choice to try new hobbies, and here one was: Sunday afternoon painting. It had its ups and downs, but today Pylla was just bored. No view had charmed her. Now she doubted the value of "new hobbies" - whether they were just another way to waste time.
That and the mess of green on her palette board. None of it got the unlikely neon of the algae at the edges of the swamp. Who knew there was algae in December, but who knew there would be a nice day in mid December. If I'm outside and comfortable, why shouldn't the algae? thought Pylla to herself.
There was the sound of footsteps on the boardwalk. Pylla willed them away. Despite the nice temperatures, most people weren't out on the boardwalk looking at the black cold water and the out of season traces of green amid the brown and grey. Which made a great time to paint. She could be alone. Pylla was never happy to talk about her painting. She just wanted to paint.
Fake it Fake it Fake it, said Pylla, psyching herself up. You have a right to be here. You don't have to be hostess social girl. Just plain social.
Despite sitting here with a giant conversation piece and the intention to be around people? asked her sarcastic little voice.
This is not a day for me to meet people, Pylla said to herself.
"We don't pick the time if we want to be successful," replied the voice. "Don't worry - it could still be a crash and burn, even if you try," it added unhelpfully. It almost made a comment about looking good in these pants, but Pylla ignored that voice before it could.
Argh.
Fake it Fake it Fake it, she chanted on. Show no neurosis. You are having fun. Don't be a perfectionist who takes it out on other people. You are having fun.
I'll have fun when I figure out what I like in that tree line responded the inner perfectionist. She stared at the line of the tree tops like lace against the winter blue sky.
Footsteps walked by Pylla and she looked up. She made eye contact and nodded at the man before returning to trace the trees with her eyes.
"Nice clouds," he said.
Pylla looked back at him and then followed his eyes up to the clouds. They had covered over the moon which hung low but visible in the daylight.
"It's a great day," she responded. She took a fast look while he looked into the sky. He was clearly one of the "gentleman birders," not that Pylla had met one before. Usually guys like this were the divorcees out with their kids for the day. But this one had no kids hopping about.
He nodded once more at Pylla and moved on, round the paths, and with some cheating of perspective, Pylla added him to her picture: a man with binoculars, nice lines, paused over what had to be a look out. Perhaps the wood ducks? White hair. White. Picked up in the reflection of light in the water. Picked up in the moon. Picked up in the clouds. Green jacket. Not at all the algae green. More the frog. The emerald frog green from spring. And shadows.
Pylla, beginning painter, had not made friends with shadows. Purple and blue made logical sense, but still felt wrong. So grey red was his shadow. Which wasn't right either.
Engrossed by the tree line again, this time coloring in the lines, Pylla hadn't seen the man return or stand beside her. She jumped when he spoke.
"I'm surprised to be used as a figure in your painting, miss," he said.
Pylla felt a trace guilty. "I hope you don't mind too much," she said. "It hit me while you were out there that the landscape needed a figure."
"I guess I was fair game," he said.
"Is it a problem?" she asked, feeling a strange tension. "I meant no harm."
The man smiled at her and the painting. Pylla felt nervous.
"There is something you can do for me."
Pylla tried to put it aside that she didn't like his tone.
"You can take my place in that painting and do what I failed to do just now," he said.
"I don't understand," she replied. She thought she did understand, but figured that maybe he wasn't insane and she miss heard him.
"No, I'm not insane," said the man.
Damn, he knows he's insane, thought Pylla.
"Hello. My name is Lucius Malfoy. I'm the guardian of the moon's pearl." He paused for her to respond.
"Hello," said Pylla at her cue.
"Every year, at an appropriate time near the solstice, the guardian has to carry the pearl across a threshold into the next season, carrying the force of change into the next season. Today, St. Lucy's day, will do."
And the force of change can't get there itself? thought Pylla to herself. Then she hoped that this was not a man with violent tendencies. Just babble at strangers in the park - that would be cool.
"I just failed to take the pearl over the threshold, past the guardian."
"Sorry to hear it," replied Pylla.
"If this were just an insane man telling a story, it wouldn't matter," he said growled. "Life gets to decide if it embraces change. And for some reason, today, I can't make that choice."
Pylla regretted coming out at all today, and began putting away her stuff. "I'm sorry to trouble you," she said to the stranger.
He suddenly stretched high, looming and casting shadows which were dark and sudden. The shade darkened the world, and sucked it into the realm of greys and reds. Pylla shivered. The shock white of his hair gleamed in bright contrast to the sudden shadow. "I am going to require you to take this seriously," he said. "Introduce yourself."
"Hello," she said, surprised by the oddly flat sound of her voice. "My name is Pylla Arawn. And I'd like to leave now." The world returned to normal but Pylla couldn't bring herself to leave.
"Now this makes sense," said the strange man. He looked her over. "I am a wizard, do you know what that means?"
"No," she said.
"I am an agent of nature."
"Aren't we all," she retorted without thought.
"Yes," he said simply. "But sometimes the living choose which force of nature to back."
Lucius took off a pendant. A long sturdy chain held a faceted crystal, inside of which was a pearl, turning and shifting colors from black to white. Streaks of red shot across it once or twice. Pylla blinked and nauseous to watch too long, but put up no resistance as he hung it around her neck.
"Remember," he said, turning Pylla to look at her painting, "You carry the power of nature to change and live. It won't be in the world tomorrow if you don't get it there."
"What?" she said, cringing from his touch on her shoulders.
"The path is a circle. Walk the orbit back to here." Malfoy pushed Pylla at her painting and everything became strange. When the world resolved back from blurry, Pylla was shocked.
Lucius and her painting were there, but Lucius was not moving. There was no sound. The tree tops weren't waving anymore.
Nervous, Pylla thought about doing the reverse of what was asked. She packed her paints and headed to the car, but in the parking lot she was more frightened. The people there were frozen, too. Families paused in their moments. And the traffic over on the road was halted, parked.
More nervous, Pylla returned to the boardwalk and decided to try the path Lucius mentioned. Not that there were any circuit paths out that way. But that would be only one problem with this irrational afternoon.
Along the way, Pylla put her easel back up next to the frozen strange man. She took a breath, looked at the park, and went off to carry this thing over a threshold somewhere over there.
Once the woman was out of sight, gone around a bend in the path, Lucius took a deep breath and looked about. He stooped and took a blank canvas out of her portfolio and then unbundled her brushes. He unwrapped the pallet and began to paint.
tbc (I think this will be 3 chapters, btw.)