OK. This was the result of a meme that had gone around my friends list a few months back. The rule was, you had people pick one of your LJ icons, and you'd write a drabble or a ficlet based on the image chosen.

It doesn't have a title, and if I had to rate it, it would be PG-13 at best for some slashy innuendo. It's not one of my best works, but I like it anyways. :)

First off, this is the icon that I had to work with:



And this is the result. It's Harry/Blaise, just so you know. Oh, and before you ask, yes, the setting is inspired by the Potter Puppet Pals, at least a little bit. Hee!

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Twenty-seven pairs of eyes followed the action before them in rapt attention. As the scene unfolded, voices cried out, squealing and smiling at all the right times, and enraptured at both the show, and the heroic tales of the fabled Last Battle, when the Dark Lord had fallen.

Eventually--and all too soon as far as they were concerned--it was over.

A few pouts, some calling out for more, and a promise from their teacher, Miss Patil, that there would be another performance soon, if they behaved.

Suddenly, a figure materialized right before the semi-circle of children, all of whom were seated in front of the elaborate set of a large castle surrounded by a lake, a Quidditch pitch, and a place called the Forbidden Forest. Just what sort of fantasy world were they staring at? Was it even real? Would they ever know of or visit such a place?

And just who was the man in front of them?

He stood a respectable height, with messy, raven black hair, vivid emerald eyes that sparkled, and an easygoing manner, his black and burgundy robes draping across a lithe, fit frame. The one thing that gave him away was the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, which had faded in the intervening years, but had never completely disappeared. Gasps were heard around the room as the small band of moppets realized just who the wizard was. But why did he have one hand behind his back?

A conspiratorial look crossed his face, and he knelt down, silently motioning for the crowd to lean in, as if he was prepared to divulge a major secret. As they all got close, his eyes swept across in a panoramic arc. Left to right, and then back again. His upper lip quirked in amusement.

In a flash, he moved, his hidden hand exposed.

“Boo!” he said loudly, and almost as one, twenty seven bodies jumped back in shock, a chorus of yelps, then laughter greeting him, for on the wizard’s hand was one of the puppets from the show. It was dressed in simple black robes, wand in hand. But what made the puppet unique was its look. It was bald, with pure white, pale skin, a flat nose, lipless mouth, and red eyes with slits for pupils.

A grin crossed the wizard’s face, and he waggled the puppet in a swishy, side-to-side motion. “Beware the Voldiepuppet!” he intoned seriously, though his expression failed miserably in matching his voice. “If you’re not careful, he’ll get you!” Gales of laughter followed his pronouncement, and Harry stood up, taking said doll over to a nearby box and placing it inside, along with all of the others that had been featured in the show.

“Harry James Potter-Zabini!” came a voice from behind, and the Gryffindor turned, seeing his bondmate walk in. Blaise had been a Death Eater, but upon Severus’ death at the hands of Lucius, Zabini’s admiration for his former head of House motivated him to switch sides, and it was through the Slytherin that the Order had been able to infiltrate Voldemort’s headquarters, leading to the Dark Lord’s ultimate defeat. Today, he was dressed simply, in dark indigo robes that complimented his sapphire eyes, his dark brown hair impeccably groomed as always.

“What have I told you about encouraging the children in the crèche?” drawled Blaise, who let out a long-suffering sigh, raking his eyes skyward. “Parvati has a hard enough time calming them down after a puppet show without you egging them on further.”

“I know, I know,” his lover replied, “but you know I can’t resist a bit of fun.” Harry shrank the set and the small stage, and walking over to a small closet, he put them away, along with the box of puppets, spelling the door locked and warding it from any curious souls.

Strong arms enveloped the slighter wizard, and Blaise pulled his lover close, leaning in, his warm breath ghosting across olive toned skin, the Slytherin's tongue discreetly tracing the shell of Harry's ear. “If it’s fun you want, love, I have a much better idea for that,” the telltale bulge nudging at the Gryffindor’s thigh reinforcing that statement.

“Sounds intriguing. Shall we go home and ‘discuss’ this matter further?” teased Harry as he shook his hips fractionally, his own hardness grazing Blaise’s, sending a shiver up both wizards’ spines.

“I do believe that’s the best idea you’ve had all day,” Zabini smirked, grinning at the playful swat he was rewarded with. “Say your goodbyes, and let’s go. I’ve got a feeling we’re in for a long…conversation.”

A loud laugh, and Harry threw his head back in amusement. Turning to the teacher in the room, he cocked an eyebrow. “You’ll send an owl when you want me back, right?” The witch nodded in response, and with a wave to the children, who all chorused their farewells, Harry and Blaise disappeared.


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Enjoy! :)

~~Tish~~
Ravenclaw