"Black Widow" Tom/Alecto
Title: Black Widow. (018. Black)
Characters/Pairing: Tom/Alecto, Amycus/Augustus. Tom Marvolo, Alecto Carrow, Amycus Carrow, Augustus Rookwood, Briallen & Rosalie Lestrange. Mention of Dolohov.
Rating: G
Word Count: 864
Summary: A fluffy beginning for a not so fluffy series?
A/N: Founders AU. Um... A prologue of sorts if I can get around to writing the rest of it. The rest wouldn't be fluff >.> Um. Anyway.
Disclaimer: JKR is God, I just fool around a bit.
The joke started with a dress. Eighteen years old and nothing to wear to the school Halloween Ball except a ball-gown that made the wearer look like a harlot at a funeral and a fair deal of fake blood, applied by the Mirrors just so to make sure she still looked herself despite the carnival of gore she seemed to have attended.
“Have you seen what they have actually done to you?” Amycus waved one finger at her torso, glancing warily at her cleavage. The twins had expertly managed to show off her bust with the blood since she refused to push her assets any higher than they already were. Harsh words had been exchanged until Dolohov turned up to add that touch of realism, resulting in a handprint smeared down her back and a rather more subtle smudge on her jaw line. Amycus himself could not be bothered with a costume, choosing to stick to his dress robes. He was too tall to find anything else that would fit him properly. That idiot Temple boy had suggested he dress as Lurch, but upon further questioning, found that he couldn’t explain why.
“Yes, well,” she pushed past him to retrieve her gloves from the mantelpiece, automatically pulling the left one on first, “They’re our cousin’s grand-daughters; I can hardly hurt them for it. Besides…” She quickly checked herself in the mirror above the fire, “I look good.” She also looked a bit like she’d been finger-painting and developed an itch.
“Of course you do,” Briallen chimed, daring Amycus to deny it.
“We did her make up,” Rosalie said rather more firmly as she slipped her arm through her sister’s and pulled her out of the common room.
“They’re going as The Lestranges this year,” Alecto remarked after a moment of contemplation. “One has to wonder…”
“Are you two finished yet?” Augustus called from the top of the stairs, joining them by the fire regardless of their answer.
“He is, I’m not,” Alecto was concentrating on charming her vanity mask to stay fixed in place without the aid of pins or elastic. She refused to sacrifice her hair for an accessory just because Briallen had said it was a fundamental necessity. Then again, pointing her wand at her face was not at the top of her list of sensible things to do. Behind her, Amycus nodded his greeting to Tom as he descended the stairs. “And are you two honestly attending together?” She turned to look at them both, simultaneously flashing her brother a smile that said ‘oh, don’t pretend you thought I didn’t know’ and raising an eyebrow at Augustus in curiosity.
“Is that an appropriate question to ask?” The tone suggested it wasn’t, and that would have been correct if it weren’t for the fact Tom was not supposed to have heard it at all. Tucking her wand down the front of her bodice - it had been years since she last trusted Amycus not to disarm her - Alecto turned in the direction of the speaker, hand on hip and chin tilted up, feigning ignorance. If she hadn’t said it, it obviously didn’t matter and wasn’t worth his attention.
“Can we just go now?” She had lost interest in the others, and her hand automatically found the crook of his elbow. He looked good, but she didn’t feel like stating the obvious.
“Of course,” he started moving towards the common room door, the sound of Alecto’s heels echoing around the room as she attempted to length her stride and keep up. Even with a couple of inches added, she was still significantly shorter.
It was only really from the back that the humour Augustus found in her choice of attire could be appreciated. As he and Amycus fell into step behind the couple, he raised an eyebrow at the black dress with its crimson bustle and train, “I’m going to have to start calling you a Black Widow instead of Pixie.” Amycus hid his amusement with a non-committal grunt.
“Then I pray I’ll be fortunate enough to wed you, Augustus,” she shot over her shoulder. Considering the subject of costumes, she looked Tom over again. They were only dress robes. He looked marvellous, but still. That said, she had hardly expected him to turn up as something he was not. “What are you dressed as?”
“Alecto’s next victim, perhaps,” Amycus suggested with an open smirk that rapidly faded upon seeing the glare she threw at him. A few seconds later Tom’s heel flew backwards, catching him painfully in the shin and leaving him hopping on one leg, the pain clear on his face. He had asked for that, and Augustus told him as much.
“This evening, I am a gentleman,” Tom corrected, reaching to touch the smear of fake blood on Alecto’s jaw with the pad of his thumb. “You look like you’ve been having fun.”
“Then you ought to get into character,” she barely noticed the assault on her brother. Her attention flitted between checking her mask and hair and then returned directly to Tom. “A gentleman looks at a lady’s face, not her neckline.”
“That can wait until we reach the Hall.”
Characters/Pairing: Tom/Alecto, Amycus/Augustus. Tom Marvolo, Alecto Carrow, Amycus Carrow, Augustus Rookwood, Briallen & Rosalie Lestrange. Mention of Dolohov.
Rating: G
Word Count: 864
Summary: A fluffy beginning for a not so fluffy series?
A/N: Founders AU. Um... A prologue of sorts if I can get around to writing the rest of it. The rest wouldn't be fluff >.> Um. Anyway.
Disclaimer: JKR is God, I just fool around a bit.
The joke started with a dress. Eighteen years old and nothing to wear to the school Halloween Ball except a ball-gown that made the wearer look like a harlot at a funeral and a fair deal of fake blood, applied by the Mirrors just so to make sure she still looked herself despite the carnival of gore she seemed to have attended.
“Have you seen what they have actually done to you?” Amycus waved one finger at her torso, glancing warily at her cleavage. The twins had expertly managed to show off her bust with the blood since she refused to push her assets any higher than they already were. Harsh words had been exchanged until Dolohov turned up to add that touch of realism, resulting in a handprint smeared down her back and a rather more subtle smudge on her jaw line. Amycus himself could not be bothered with a costume, choosing to stick to his dress robes. He was too tall to find anything else that would fit him properly. That idiot Temple boy had suggested he dress as Lurch, but upon further questioning, found that he couldn’t explain why.
“Yes, well,” she pushed past him to retrieve her gloves from the mantelpiece, automatically pulling the left one on first, “They’re our cousin’s grand-daughters; I can hardly hurt them for it. Besides…” She quickly checked herself in the mirror above the fire, “I look good.” She also looked a bit like she’d been finger-painting and developed an itch.
“Of course you do,” Briallen chimed, daring Amycus to deny it.
“We did her make up,” Rosalie said rather more firmly as she slipped her arm through her sister’s and pulled her out of the common room.
“They’re going as The Lestranges this year,” Alecto remarked after a moment of contemplation. “One has to wonder…”
“Are you two finished yet?” Augustus called from the top of the stairs, joining them by the fire regardless of their answer.
“He is, I’m not,” Alecto was concentrating on charming her vanity mask to stay fixed in place without the aid of pins or elastic. She refused to sacrifice her hair for an accessory just because Briallen had said it was a fundamental necessity. Then again, pointing her wand at her face was not at the top of her list of sensible things to do. Behind her, Amycus nodded his greeting to Tom as he descended the stairs. “And are you two honestly attending together?” She turned to look at them both, simultaneously flashing her brother a smile that said ‘oh, don’t pretend you thought I didn’t know’ and raising an eyebrow at Augustus in curiosity.
“Is that an appropriate question to ask?” The tone suggested it wasn’t, and that would have been correct if it weren’t for the fact Tom was not supposed to have heard it at all. Tucking her wand down the front of her bodice - it had been years since she last trusted Amycus not to disarm her - Alecto turned in the direction of the speaker, hand on hip and chin tilted up, feigning ignorance. If she hadn’t said it, it obviously didn’t matter and wasn’t worth his attention.
“Can we just go now?” She had lost interest in the others, and her hand automatically found the crook of his elbow. He looked good, but she didn’t feel like stating the obvious.
“Of course,” he started moving towards the common room door, the sound of Alecto’s heels echoing around the room as she attempted to length her stride and keep up. Even with a couple of inches added, she was still significantly shorter.
It was only really from the back that the humour Augustus found in her choice of attire could be appreciated. As he and Amycus fell into step behind the couple, he raised an eyebrow at the black dress with its crimson bustle and train, “I’m going to have to start calling you a Black Widow instead of Pixie.” Amycus hid his amusement with a non-committal grunt.
“Then I pray I’ll be fortunate enough to wed you, Augustus,” she shot over her shoulder. Considering the subject of costumes, she looked Tom over again. They were only dress robes. He looked marvellous, but still. That said, she had hardly expected him to turn up as something he was not. “What are you dressed as?”
“Alecto’s next victim, perhaps,” Amycus suggested with an open smirk that rapidly faded upon seeing the glare she threw at him. A few seconds later Tom’s heel flew backwards, catching him painfully in the shin and leaving him hopping on one leg, the pain clear on his face. He had asked for that, and Augustus told him as much.
“This evening, I am a gentleman,” Tom corrected, reaching to touch the smear of fake blood on Alecto’s jaw with the pad of his thumb. “You look like you’ve been having fun.”
“Then you ought to get into character,” she barely noticed the assault on her brother. Her attention flitted between checking her mask and hair and then returned directly to Tom. “A gentleman looks at a lady’s face, not her neckline.”
“That can wait until we reach the Hall.”