blamebrampton

A very big thank you to micolerose  for my lovely rubber duckie! I will be diving into the bath in a minute and will toss in his non-virtual counterparts in homage!

The reason that I originally took up lj was because my lovely friend GBrampton, aka dumbys_baby, lured me to the dark side by having a birthday, or perhaps going away for a few months ... something that deserved a nice present at any rate. But I was out of ideas. The one thing I could remember her saying wasn't "I crave a red mandolin for the kitchen", rather: "Don't knock fanfic until you've read, or better yet, written some."

So I did, both. And while I still would not describe myself as a fan, I am a convert to fic. You've heard me rave before about the talent and the generosity of fandom, so I won't repeat it all here, but it has been an experience that I would not have missed. And I have had some really unmissable experiences in my life to calibrate by. Of course, the past tense there is purely for effect, as if nothing else, I have WIPs and a sense of how cranky people will be if I never finish them. Unlike some people *cough Shadow of his Wings, cough*.

Alas, this is not the fic update you are probably looking for, but it is the next part of that story I began for GB. And I'll post again in a few minutes with a small gift for those lovely people who have nagged, harrangued, wondered how Fathers is going recently (and not so recently).

Title: These Fragile Bonds (GB's Story) 4/?
Author: blamebrampton 
Summary: Dumbledore's death drives two points home to Harry. The first is that he can never go home again. The second is that he wholly failed  to understand Draco Malfoy. One rescue, some unplanned shagging and a battle to the death later, both points are still true. Set directly after HBP.
Rating: PG this chapter. Up to a light R overall
Words this chapter: 5505 (23,300 so far in total)
Disclaimer: Absolutely nothing to do with Jo Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic or any other media titans. But affectionately nicked from all of the above.
Author's notes: Thank you so much to anthimaeria for her lightning-fast edit of the first four chapters of this section, the remaining blunders are all my own work. I completely failed to get it to the wonderful jadzialove in anything approaching reasonable time, so check back in a day or two if typos cut to the quick.

Many, many thanks to dear GB, who was so right. I will be much faster with the next bit as the lads fall back into bed there and rescue me from the necessity of plot for a few lines!

Most of all, thank you Flist for making this such an enjoyable, enlightening and intriguing year. Here's to the next one!

part one
part two
part three

I'd just like to know how it became 4am again.

Right, so this is the post HBP, completely AU to DH fic that came out of the very first fic I ever wrote. It began as a present for Gillian Brampton aka dumbys_baby, and then it grew. And now it's an alternative to seven in my head and will probably end up being about as long, so if you hate the WIP, stay clear! I have some next-gen one-shots underway if you're looking for a light diversion.

The same people die, not in the same ways for the most part, and there are Hallows. This is what happens when you begin writing with influenza! But at least it has a real title now!

Title: These Fragile Bonds 3/?
Author: blamebrampton
Characters: as in DH, lots of H/D, plus other canon-established couples
Rating: PG this chapter, adult themes. Up to a light R overall
Words: 6565
Notes: Absolutely nothing to do with Jo Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic or any other media titans. But affectionately nicked from all of the above.

Thanks to dumbys_baby for beta-ing, inspiring and nagging. You were right, fandom is a delicious place and I am loving it.


Part one
Part two

Not my characters, JKR's, not what I'd normally be up to, not quite sure how I ended up enjoying writing this quite so much.
Some degree of shagging, tastefully ellided.
H/D, because what's the purpose of HP fic if it's not?
And it appears to be Part One ...



It was cold here. But he knew not to complain, because cold was better than dark, and anything was better than dead. Snape had left him enough food to last him through the week, and there were blankets he could huddle under, books and old letters to read.

Draco was glad of the distraction. Unoccupied, his mind kept returning to that scene on Hogwarts’ roof. The gentleness of Dumbledore … he had expected fury, rage, grief at the betrayal … but the man had offered to help him. And then Snape had … Draco picked up the nearest book at random and read intently. It was a novel, a bad one, about a friendship between a wizard and a giant. He read a few pages, then dropped it back onto the threadbare sofa, pushing himself up to walk around and warm the blood in his legs.

Giants were no more likely to befriend wizards than Dumbledore had been likely to protect him. The Dark Lord had them fighting on his side, but once the war was over, they would be on their own side, with their own list of demands. Everyone had a list of demands. Kill Dumbledore, get the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, be a proper Malfoy, stay quiet, stay hidden, wait till we can find a use for you.

He smiled ruefully. Three years ago he thought that the worst of his problems was losing at Quidditch to bloody Potter. He’d pay to go back to those days, now. He had thought there was high drama in a House prize, and that a victory in Potions meant something, then. The heights of joy had been found in swanning about the Slytherin common room and making Harry Potter’s life miserable.

Potter. God, what would Potter be doing without his precious Dumbledore? Three years ago Draco would have gloated that his hero was stronger than Potter’s. Now he felt a stirring of empathy. They’d both been left abandoned in this war. Potter had lost just as much as he had. More. Every one who had ever stood as a parent to him had been taken away, one by one. Just as Draco’s father had chosen the Dark Lord over him, and his mother had chosen his father, and Snape had …

To be honest, Draco had no idea what Snape had chosen. His former teacher appeared for half a day every week, gave brief updates, restocked the larders, then left. What passed for conversation between them was lists. Lists of the living and of the dead. Of those who had declared themselves for the Dark Lord and those who had been killed by his forces. Of towns that stood, of towns that fell. Lists that described a world ever shrinking, descending into one overwhelming conflict. Draco had come to dread Snape’s visits.

At least, said a quiet voice deep inside him, at least your family is still alive.

Draco picked up the wretched book again and began to read in the light of the small lamp. Outside the wind blew fiercely, and the black curtains that covered the cottage’s windows stirred, even behind their closed windows and shutters.

With a sharp crack, the door flew inwards and Draco realised, too late, that the weather had been calm. He lunged for his wand, but as his hand closed around it, a familiar voice cried “Expelliarmus!” and it flew out of reach.

Potter stood in the open doorway, his arm outstretched, with wand at the ready. Sunlight blazed behind him and Draco couldn’t see Potter’s face clearly, but he didn’t have to. There was only one path left to him, now, and he chose to face it with dignity. With his hands open and lifted away from his sides, he stood up straight. “Finish it,” he said. “You win, just let it end.”

Potter took two swift strides towards him, there was a crash of pain, and then blackness.




Part Two