Stupid fanfic.
Why it must always get written between the hours of 2 and 3 in the morning, when I have a 9:30 class the next day...
Right, here we go. White War-verse Dresden Files fanfiction. Our Hero goes after a target, and, well, fails. For a bit. PG-13.
I'm not terribly pleased with the title, so if you have a better suggestion I'd be grateful.


Aaron Hoffman was about to explore the bounties of his latest purchase when word came.
The little concubine flinched away from him when the grin spread across his face. A bit predatory, he reflected, but whose wouldn’t be, when told the infamous Harry Dresden had just been captured, and on his estate? He waved the messenger away and put his shirt back on, then caressed the concubine’s small, sweet face.
“Come along, sweetheart,” he told her, indulgently, “and I’ll show you something special before you begin service here. A little treat.”
The concubine trembled, but followed him obediently enough. He made a mental note to thank the buyer; her training had obviously been the best money could buy. A sweet little delicacy, that, and an absolute steal at the price she was being offered.
But there was more important business at hand. Hoffman settled himself in his chair of state and directed the concubine to kneel beside him. Once she was arranged to his satisfaction, he waved to the messenger-slave.
“Bring him in,” he ordered, trying not to let his glee fill his voice. “Bring him here.”
The messenger nodded impassively and left the room. Hoffman laid his hand against the concubine’s cheek. “You’ll enjoy this,” he told her, turning her face up to his. “An enemy to the Alliance has been captured—yes!—and if you’re a very good little girl I’ll let you see his execution.”
Her eyes widened, and she dropped her face before a soulgaze could begin, leaving him with a view of a knot of golden hair, spiked with chopsticks. Hoffman frowned absently at them, made another mental note to have her provided with more appropriate hair ornaments, and looked up as the door opened.
Two of his brawnier slaves dragged a dark, skinny, ridiculously tall man in wizard-proof chains down the room and threw him at Hoffman’s feet. One of them wiped his forehead and informed Hoffman that “’e’s a fighter, sir. Might wanna watch ‘im.”
“Mind your place,” Hoffman said, relishing the little concubine’s tiny gasp. “Stand to the side.”
The slaves exchanged a look and did so. Hoffman chose to ignore the impertinence of the look in favor of smirking at Dresden.
It was Dresden, there was no doubt of that. The man looked exactly like his wanted posters. A bit filthier, and certainly scruffier, but some of those bruises and cuts must have been a result of his capture. And the expression...Hoffman actually laughed aloud.
“Well, Harry Dresden,” he said, leaning back in his chair and absently stroking the concubine’s hair, “welcome to chez Hoffman. Your stay will be short, and, I trust, unpleasant.”
Dresden spat blood from a split lip onto the floor. “Short, yeah,” he said. “I don’t plan on hanging around.”
“Oh, you’ll hang, I think,” Hoffman said, and chuckled. “Perhaps we’ll go traditional and draw and quarter you as well, or perhaps we’ll stay simple. Wouldn’t want to risk a death curse, now.”
“Of course not,” Dresden murmured.
Hoffman smiled, picturing the event, and reached down to cup the little concubine’s breast. She stiffened under his hand, and his smile grew broader. He loved it when they cried, when they fought; always made the eventual conclusion so much more satisfying. And with Dresden to boot...wait.
Dresden’s eyes had dropped to the concubine, and his face had shut down. He looked back up at Hoffman. “Your slave?” he inquired, too politely.
Hoffman, always ready to brag, dismissed the expression. “My latest purchase. Such a pretty little thing, don’t you think, and so obedient you would never know she was human.” He rose, walked to Dresden, circled the man with his hands clasped at the small of his back. “Certainly, you never will.”
“You’re going to kill me right away,” was the surprising answer. “Then...what?”
Now, what did the man want to know that for? Ah well. Couldn’t hurt to answer. The man was chained, after all, and helpless. “Then, I treat myself,” he said, then looked up at his burly slaves. “I grow tired of this conversation. Take him to the torture.”
The slaves nodded, and stepped forward, but paused when Dresden began to laugh.
Hoffman, on his way back to the chair and to the little concubine still frozen beside it, turned around and looked somewhat skeptically at the man. “You find torture funny?”
Dresden, still laughing, shook his head. “Oh, no, I don’t find torture funny at all.”
“Then what’s the great joke?”
Dresden looked up at him, and grinned widely. “Aaron Hoffman,” he said, “that isn’t a concubine.”
Hoffman turned around.
The last thing he saw was a hair chopstick, driving for his eye.

Karrin Murphy shook her hand briskly, and glared at Harry. “It’s not funny.”
“But did you see his expression? Inventive use of chopsticks, by the way.” He got unsteadily to his feet, and eyed his chains. “God, I hate thorn manacles.”
One of the brawny men who’d dragged him in stepped up and tossed him the keys. “Got ‘em off the steward,” he said. “We’ll go and spread the word, shall we?”
“Yeah, thanks, guys,” Harry said, absently, trying to maneuver his hands so he could unlock one cuff while still holding the keys. Karrin, after a moment of letting him struggle, made a faint tsking noise and came to help him, stepping delicately over Hoffman’s body.
“I think I bruised my thumb,” she said, after a moment.
Harry watched the top of her head, bent in concentration. “Yeah. Unnecessary force, that.”
She jerked her head and pulled the cuffs off his hands. “Get your feet yourself. And that was very necessary force, thank you. You haven’t seen the other girls in his harem yet.”
“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he said, sitting back down to unlock the cuffs on his feet and, not so incidentally, to get a look at her face. “I practically had to jump up and down in front of the guys in the field before they’d actually catch me.”
Success—he’d made her smile. A tiny smile, but still. “Funny how you never can get caught when you intend to.” She raised her hands to her neck and struggled with the fake collar she wore.
Harry, ignoring the one foot still chained, got up, wordlessly broke the collar open, and threw it away.
This had been a bad idea from the start, and he’d known it the second he saw her, her face twisted and a collar around her neck. Fake or not, it was still a sight to make his temper rise and haunt his dreams. And watching Hoffman sit there and molest her, watching her face...
“I’m sorry,” he said, again, breaking the silence.
She shook her head, still facing away from him. “It was my idea.”
“I should’ve stopped you.”
“You think you could have?” Karrin turned to face him now, and her expression was more ironically amused than angry, for which favor, much thanks.
Harry pulled her into his arms, rested his chin on top of her head. “I should’ve tried.”
She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into his chest. “Wouldn’t’ve worked. This was the only way to get at Hoffman and you damn well knew it. Anyway, he’s dead. That’s it. We won.”
Yes. They’d won. One more small victory for the rebels.
“We don’t do this again,” he said. “But yes. We won.”
She took a deep breath. “Right. Homeward ho.” She pulled away from him, then, and bent to retrieve her chopstick. It made a faint sucking noise, coming out.
“Ew. I’m surprised you still want that.” Harry sat back down and fiddled with the chain still on his foot.
Karrin eyed the chopstick’s dripping point speculatively. “I don’t know. It was a surprisingly efficient way of killing him. As a last-ditch resort it’s not bad.”
“Yeah, I guess...” Still, if she ever put it in her hair again, she was a lot less squeamish than he was. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you in a dress.”
“And the last,” she said. “Get that damn chain off your foot, I want to get back and get changed. Fucking dresses.”
“I don’t know, I kind of like the view...”
That should have earned him a kick. She lifted an eyebrow instead. “One of these days, Dresden...come on. Let’s go home.”