Lost And Found. A Story.

Lost And Found. A Story.

description: alternate reality, draco is a small lost boy searching for his place in life. pre-slash. five chapters.

(a/n: i've had some things going on, and carridwen will be updated with chapter 10 soon. hope everyone enjoys this. its a little different.)

The little boy adjusted his headdress, the feathers sticking out at awkward angles as he scratched his ears.

"Why do i have to wear this again, Theo?" his voice was light as he rubbed at the dirt smudging his cheek.

We make things better,
We make things hard.

The band of boys had started a fire in a clearing off the road. Their carriage was settled and several of them danced around the fire, running off excess energy.

Theo looked up from a scrap of bread and adjusted the fox fur around his shoulder. His ears almost perked up like the sly animal, and he glanced ostentatiously at the smaller boy, "Because they make us more fierce. Like a warrior's armor. Y'know, like those gypsies with their beads and magick!"

A shelter of sorrow grows in the dark.

The tiny one nodded absently, the feathers rustling about his face and casting shadows. He was the newest addition to their group, the boys were wanderers. The oldest, a tall Italian boy named Blaise, was aged sixteen years, and could lead their carriage across the continent. They would stop in every city or town peddling such things as flowers and performing skits for street crowds, while the younger boys would scout the city for expensive trinkets to be pinched and sold on the ruthless roads.

When they were in the cities, they wore polished boots and silk ties. Blaise would wave a shiny cane about, the tip engraved with gold. When they were on the roads, they donned feathers and masks and furs, dancing around the fire and chanting savagely. Blaise would paint his face and sit on top of the carriage, one leg settled over the other as he surveyed their rumpus.

The youngest boy simply sat, watching the flames lick the logs, adjusting his headdress again and again.

He took it off and began braiding the largest peacock feather into his wild blonde hair. Blaise told the other boys not to cut it, that he would be useful if they ever needed to say he was a girl. The little boy didn't get offended, just stared up at the others with bright blue eyes.

As he worked a dark blue raven's feather into another braid, Blaise called out to him, "Draco! Why aren't you up with the other boys? You should be celebrating the stars. Where is your feathered cap?" His voice was commanding, the dancing and jumping boys began to still.

Draco looked up, his bright eyes standing out on his dirty face. "My feathers are still here," his little voice warbled.

Oh, How long can the soul survive?
Under the weight of these haunted pines.

Blaise jumped down from his place on the carriage and stalked across their small camp to stand before the trembling child. He knelt down and took the boy's chin in his hand, as the others began whispering behind them.

"We wear our uniforms for strength in the wilderness, Draco. Do you not want us to be strong?"

Draco simply quaked, blinking thickly to hold back tears.

The older boy stood, folding his hands behind his back. He wore no shirt save the colorful, embroidered vest that was rumored to have come from the Orient. There were elephants on it, and he wore an elephant's mask pulled to his brow, lifted so he could assess his surroundings.

"Draco, I have given you so much. You have been with our family for three weeks now. You have said grace with us, you have eaten our food. You have done nothing to earn our trust, and certainly not our love." The other boys shuddered. Blaise was their big brother - they would hate to feel his wrath. "You have sat on the streets while we sell our wares and you have slept while we scavenged for treasures. What are you willing to offer us in return, Draco?"

Blaise had been pacing around the fire, and now he stood before the child once more. The boy simply broke into tears, clutching at his feathers.

"Nothing to give us in return. Draco, leave our camp. The roads to the north will take you back to the germanic lands we found you in. The roads west will find Paris, but do not think to tag along with us on our way." He turned his back once more, and turned up his nose, signaling the end of their discussion, as the boys around him began to jeer at the small child, their mild taunts turning to screams.

Draco shivered at the assault and scrambled up, grabbing his headdress and holding it to his chest in fright. He turned and bolted from the camp, making his way out of the clearing, crying out when the underbrush tore on his legs, or when he'd trip over a dark log. He ran until he was out of breath. He ran until the tears had stopped.

Set the woods on fire.
Set the woods on fire, now.

He fell to the ground, dry sobs breaking from his throat, his tiny hands still grasping the feathered headdress.

He looked up between the trees and saw the millions of stars etched in the sky, the gleam of moon threaded through the branches like a silver spoon. His hiccoughs echoed in his ears, and the wind flew behind his small neck, comforting and soothing. His eyes were heavy from the run, his knees were muddied from falling so often in the dark forest, his bare feet were scratched and bloodied.

Curling himself around that headdress, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

He awoke as the sun rose to the sound of a bird's song. Blinking, he thought back on the previous night and his escape from the only family he could recall, as once more tears slid down his dirty cheeks.

He pulled himself to his feet and tried to remember which direction west was.

Like Randall Adams,
And the thin blue line;
You're not guilty,
but you're doing time.

Walking for a ways, he felt his feet grow sluggish, every rock and twig dug into his small bare feet with a vengeance. He smiled and ran when he spotted a small stream, hastily throwing the headdress down to strip from the meager ankle-length breeches and flaxen colored coat that he wore over a simple, dirtied white shirt.

The small boy splashed in the cold stream and cupped his hands, dragging water across his form. He hissed as the cool water washed the wounds on his feet and sighed in relief as he dunked his head under the creek, the feathers still twined in his hair, trailing rivulets down his back.

Oh, how long must the soul endure?
Divine silence is all you get for yours.

He growled when his stomach did the same, drying off with the dirtied white shirt, replacing his breeches and sitting to tear the sleeves off of his coat. He would make it into a smart vest, like the one Blaise had. His small fingers worked at setting the remaining feathers amidst his tangle of golden hair; a hawk's feather, an owl's feather, a smaller peacock feather.

He continued in the direction that he thought was west, and he smelled a fire in the distance. Maybe Blaise was setting up camp early?

Set the woods on fire.
Set the woods on fire, now.

The child glanced at the noon sun, and doubted his thoughts. Feeling fear creep inside of him, he puffed up his chest and walked to that smoky scent. His foot slid in mud, he took the light clay-colored stuff and streaked it across his cheeks. He was a warrior. He would wear his uniform proudly. He would deserve their love.

The trees thinned into a small clearing, and he spotted a campfire. Several carriages were settled around it, covered in richly colored canvasses. A tanned woman sit near the fire, stirring a pot of what smelled like saffron.

He walked closer to the camp, striding past a carriage, his chest still out in confidence. The woman turned to face him, and she smiled crookedly.

"Come to join us for dinner, small one?" Her voice wheezed like an accordion, and lilted like the trees against a breeze.

He smiled brightly at her invitation. Blaise always said his smile would bring them a fortune some day; no one had white teeth as his.

She gestured to one of the caravans, and a lithe woman stepped out, rubbing her doe-like eyes sleepily.

"Matilde, I was sleeping. What summons me?"

"I've found a bird-child. Pour him wine, we shall dine soon." The older woman returned to stirring the large pot.

The younger woman turned to the boy, shock evident in her eyes as she took in his appearance. A small smile pulled at her soft lips, and she knelt before him, tucking a strand of his feathers behind his ear.

"A bird child, hmm?"

The little boy nodded, "Trying to fly west."

Her laughter was like a wind chime, and he smiled with pink lips as she led him to sit by the fire.

We make things better.
We make things hard.

Slowly, others came from their carriages, wearing colored tunics and beads of gold and silver. They smelled of incense and opium, offering the boy dark wine that burned his tongue. But they laughed and told stories and pressed bowls of saffron rice and meat into his tiny hands, and he smiled. He fell asleep wrapped in a soft, wool blanket covered in constellations.

The fire crackled and the camp was still, but he woke before the sun's ascent, shaking the sleep from his shoulders. The old woman was still awake at the fire's edge, looking to the boy with dreamy eyes.

"Which way is west?" his voice was still small and light.

She stepped to him and slipped a golden locket around his neck, pressing it to his chest, "Keep this on, for protection, bird child. West is the direction the wind blows from." And with that, she stepped away and disappeared into the largest carriage.

He sighed, looking at the starts and feeling for the wind, before setting off once more. Maybe Blaise's group hadn't gone too far. How man days had it been?

A ways down the path, something shook in the corner of his vision, a shadow in the trees. He stopped short and stood still, listening to the forest, hearing nothing. Then a twig snapped to the north. He turned, crouching low, hoping to avoid whatever was in the night. He was shaking.

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, the fear was overwhelming. He was alone. Nothing could protect him.

We make things better.
We make things hard.

He held up his chin, thinking of the way he ran from the boys those nights ago. Why hadn't he stood his ground and fought for his place?

His lips curled into a snarl as he pushed his own weaknesses away. Whatever was out there, he'd face it.

And two glowing eyes appeared between the trees.

A silver wolf crept forwards, each muscle tensing as it saw the crouching boy. It growled in the back of its throat, sharp teeth bared.

The boy choked back his fear. If it pounced, it could kill him. If he ran, it would kill him.

Draco growled back, his small voice echoing on the dark path.

The wolf advanced further, licking its lips.

Draco felt his mouth go dry, and his tiny voice couldn't growl.

Oh, how high will the flames reach?
Behind every tree is just another dream...

He stood tall, realizing he had height on the wolf, and shook his mane of feathers.

He was a bird child. A bird god.

And he crowed as loud as he could.

"Caw-aw-ah! Caw-aw-aw-ah!" He stamped his feet and screamed out.

The wolf paused, stepping back before turning around and running off.

That was it?

He smiled. He walked west again, and passed by another stream at dawn. There was a large crow feather near his clothes when he returned to them, and he braided it into his hair with the rest.

Sitting by the path, he waited. He wasn't sure what for, but he waited.

And soon, a familiar carriage came into view.

Set the woods on fire,
Set the woods on fire.

"Is that our little Draco?" Blaise slowed the cart and settled the horses, smirking. Theo sat at his side and grinned sloppily.

"Have you come to beg your way back, Draco?" Blaise couldn't recall how many days the small boy had been gone, but he looked like he'd grown in that time.

"No." Draco replied lightly and looked at the path. This wasn't what he was waiting for, he was sure of it.

"No?" Blaise curled his lip at this, "Why you ungrateful child. How dare you speak so insolently." He leapt from the cart, and Draco noticed the polished cane in his hands.

Theo stayed in the driver's seat, but stood to view the altercation.

Towering over Draco, Blaise yelled to his face, "You think a little mud and feathers make you a man!"

Draco stood, livid. "At least I'm not some dumb elephant!"

Blaise raised his cane, as Draco puffed him chest and held up his chin. There was a spark of madness to Blaise's eyes.

Draco heard movement behind him and didn't flinch, ready to take what came his way.

But Blaise did flinch. And lower his cane. And rush back to the carriage before setting the horse off at a neck-breaking speed.

The small boy realized his breathing was heavy, and he turned slowly, wanting to see what caused Blaise's hast exit.

"Is there a problem, bird child?" The old gypsy woman stepped forward from behind a large man that Draco had seen playing a violin around their fire.

He smiled, his blue eyes lighting up, "No. There's no problem."

"We are taking the roads to the west, and then to the south for warmer weather," the woman spoke, "Would you care to join we travelers?"

Draco walked to her and placed his small hand in hers, "Don't birds fly south for the winter?"

She helped him into one of their carriages and set a blanket around his shoulders.

Set the woods on fire,
Set the woods on fire, now.

"Yes, child. They do."