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According to my journal, I haven't completed a story since August. *weeps* So. [livejournal.com profile] ds_snippets. 300 words. That's acheivable, right? Plus, I get to use my new icon. Oh, and er, I'm incapable of coming up with titles. You don't want to hear the possibilities I tossed around before I gave up. Let's just leave it there, shall we?


Fandom and Pairing: Due South/Harry Potter crossover. Briefly implied Fraser/Kowalski and Snape/Lupin
Rating: PG
Length: 344 words (yes, I'm over, I'm sorry)
Prompt: Of all the dogs whom I have served I've never known one who understood so much of what I say or held it in such deep contempt.
Author's Notes: I'm fairly sure this has been done before, but meh. A passing familiarity with Harry Potter will probably help, but if for some reason you've been living under a rock for the past ten years you haven't read it, all you need to know is that Remus Lupin is a werewolf and Severus Snape is a Potions Master. I've never written in any fandom other than dS, so [livejournal.com profile] ds_snippets seemed like a good place to try out a crossover without comitting myself (I should probably be comitted anyway, but that's neither here nor there). Concrit always appreciated.



"Lupin! Lupin! Get back here, dammit!"

Fraser glanced up to see a slim, dark figure with a clipped British accent striding towards him across the grass. He was preceded by one of the largest dogs Fraser had ever seen, bigger even than One-Eared Joe’s huge, shaggy St Bernard. Dief looked up from the bush he had been nosing around in the hope of finding rabbits or donuts (preferably donuts, as sugar-coated rabbits were sadly rare these days) to growl at the interloper, but he settled back down when the other wolf merely licked Fraser’s hand. Fraser could take care of himself.

“Interesting name for a dog.” Fraser smiled politely as the stranger approached.

“Wolf.” The stranger scowled, as though it were only under the most vehement protest that he were wondering around a cold Chicago park in the November dusk.

“Oh, really?” Fraser’s smile grew a fraction warmer. “So is Diefenbaker. Well, half-wolf, actually.” He leaned forward and examined Remus. “Well, you’re certainly a fine specimen. One of the European sub-species, if I’m not mistaken?” Remus barked something and Fraser smiled again and nodded. “Oh, Scottish? Well, that’s fascinating. I’ve never seen a Scottish wolf before.”

“You can understand him?” Severus asked, shock jerking the words out of him before his brain had a chance to censor them. He had spent the last six months looking for a potion, a charm, anything, that would let Remus communicate with him properly during the full moon. It was very frustrating not being able to have a decent argument for three nights a month.

“Of course.” Fraser was wearing the most earnest expression Severus had ever seen outside of Percy Weasley.

“Teach me.” Fraser raised his eyebrows a little at the imperious command, but Severus waved his hand airily. “I’m sure I can make it worth your while.”

Remus barked again. Fraser looked puzzled. “He says that a sample of what you, ah, ‘brewed’ last week should be adequate payment.”

“Oh, yes.” Severus smiled. “I’ve been working on a new kind of lubricant. It heightens sensation, can go hot or cold on command, and tastes of toffee. Shall we say four gallons?”

Fraser blushed bright red and was about to protest that no payment was necessary, when the image popped into his head of the expression Ray would wear were he to turn up at Ray’s apartment with four gallons of personal lubricant. He smiled. “Well then, let’s start.”




Fandom and Pairing:Due South, Damian Kowalski, gen.
Rating: G
Length: 247 words
Prompt: polish (er, I've taken this to mean 'Polish', not 'polish', which is probably cheating, but that's how I read it when I first saw it.
Author's Notes: This seems to have turned out a bit too emo? Sorry?


You’re never quite one thing or another. Polish-American. It’s always implied to you some dark hint of duplicity, double-agent status, the constant need to present a façade. Everyone at school thought of you as ‘that Polish kid’, never quite American enough, for all that you were born in this very city. But to your family you were too American, too modern, too ready to relinquish tradition and embrace the country that is your home.

So you ran. That’s what you do when you’re sixteen.

That was a mistake. At work you’re still ‘that Polish guy’, and not much has changed since you were at school. You wanted your son to get away from this, get into some profession where he wouldn’t be judged for his surname. But instead he ended up a cop, and that’s ten times worse, the shit you’ve seen cops pull against other cops who didn’t fit in with the way they thought or acted or came from or were.

Then again, maybe Ray made the right choice, because these days he wears and discards other men’s names as effortlessly as you climb into your overalls. Dobson. Rayne. Vecchio.

But you, you’ll always be the outsider, won’t you? The other, because both sides will always see you as the thing you are not, half-and-half, never entirely whole. You never really belong anywhere, and that’s what breaks your heart, because all you want is someone to open their arms and say ‘welcome home’.

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June 2008

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