Harry/Ron, ??/??, Draco/Hermione Ficlets

May 07, 2006 02:16

A very long time ago I offered to write a couple short pieces for LJ, and I left them in comments and managed to not have them saved anywhere. I've dug them up--8 months old, mind you, I can't promise anything about quality.

Title: The Persistence of Memory
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Notes: Asked to write a Harry/Ron with the prompt 'pumpkins.' It should be noted that this is my very first 'slash' story ever...edit: delicatetruth is the one for whom this was written *big grin*


The Persistence of Memory

Ron surveyed his hand-carved pumpkin doubtfully. At The Burrow, Halloween for Weasley children under the age of 11 had been a special treat, as his mother would magically carve a pumpkin for each of them by request--even, according to Fred, the year Charlie had requested a fire-breathing dragon. His mother had always done an amazing job, and consequently Halloween was one of his favorite childhood holidays. When Harry had nearly begged him to join him in carving their own jack o' lanterns, it was this memory that had him saying yes.

Well, that wasn't true. Harry begging might have had something to do with it as well.

Apparently his git of a cousin Dudley used to spend the holiday stealing candy from the neighborhood kids, making fun of Harry (who always had to stay behind, due to his Aunt Petunia claiming that she didn't want to nurse him back to health after he caught something from the other children), and taunting him with the fact that he was allowed his father's swiss army knife, ostensibly to carve pumpkins with. Harry hadn't said what else his cousin used the knife for, and Ron didn't ask.

He grunted as he finished scooping the last of the flesh from the gourd in front of him, momentarily distracted by the sight of Harry across the table--he had a bit of the fruit on his cheek. Ron blushed and looked back down; he didn't know what his friend would do if he walked over and brushed it off like he wanted to. Either possible reaction from the black haired boy would probably have him flushing red as a beet and stammering.

He felt a strange sensation of warmth and looked up to see Harry looking at him curiously. Ron offered up a small smile, glancing back down at his pumpkin and back at Harry as if to say, 'I'm so totally rubbish at this.' Harry grinned back, and he felt the urge to go over and brush the pumpkin from his cheek so strongly that his fingers tingled. He rubbed at them absently and was shocked when Harry came over to him with a look of concern.

"You haven't cut yourself, have you?" he asked, taking Ron's hand and examining it closely. This contact coming so soon after he'd been firmly denying his desire to initiate it started his heart beating wildly and his blood to turn to fire in his veins. Unconsciously, he curled his hand around Harry's; his friend was still touching him, even though it was obvious that he had no injury. Belatedly, Ron realized he'd been asked a question.

"No," he said.

Harry's reaction simultaneously caused him to blink in surprise and his eyes widen in excitement. The very second the negative left his lips, Harry dropped his hand as if it were poison, blushed deep scarlet, and stepped back, nearly tripping over his own feet. It was exactly the sort of response Ron had envisioned himself making, if he'd been brave enough to walk over and touch Harry's cheek only to be rejected.

Did Harry feel rejected? Could he feel rejected? Ron took a quick step forward, reaching his hand out to Harry defensively.

"I--I meant... it's not cut," he said lamely. This didn't appear to help, for now Harry's expression was one of deep embarrassment, his eyes closed and a hand over his face. Ron couldn't help but notice that it was the opposite cheek of the one with the...

His veins full of pure adrenaline, he moved to Harry's side and oh so gently swept the pumpkin remains from the other boy's cheek with his thumb, leaving his hand there for a long moment before removing it almost caressingly. Harry's eyes popped open, a look of shocked wonder reflected in them.

Hours later, after they'd scoured the place of pumpkin remains, Ron reflected that he was absolutely certain that Halloween was his favorite holiday.

Fin.

Title: The Room
Pairing: Just read it, it'll be worth the mystery, I promise.
Notes: written for lumoslight


The Room

She steps from the carriage and nervously smoothes her long skirt with an exsquisitely manicured hand. It is red--a common red, for all its expensive styling. She knows she looks fabulous in it, but he only likes her in blue. She shivers deliciously when she imagines what his reaction will be, and this heady mixture of excitement and fear sustain her as she walks across the foyer behind the scurrying house elf to the door of The Room.

The Room is only for them, although he's never told her so. He is rich enough that he can afford to have a room reserved for only their--his, she chides herself--pleasure. From time to time the furnishings change, but he does not, and usually, neither does she. Except tonight, she's wearing red.

The elf lifts its tiny hand and knocks, sparing her the indignity of doing so herself. Little does this creature of service know that she is of the same profession; hers is far more elegant, however.

His voice echoes through the marble foyer as if he'd been standing in the center of it instead of behind the ornate oak door. "Come," he says--and she shivers. She steps into the room, her throat suddenly dry as she sees him illuminated by the thousands of floating candles. Somehow, the room is still dark in the places where he is not, and she thinks to herself that they would be no matter how many candles he'd conjured.

His grey eyes burn her with an intensity that makes her burn in response to it; anger and lust swirl together in him, coupled with an ironclad control over himself, over her. Those captivating eyes narrow, and he barely breathes the word over again.

"Come," he says-- and if they were somewhere else, if they were more primitive, it would have been a growl.

==========

Later on, in their library, Narcissa asks Lucius if he knows just how much money she spent on the red dress that lies shredded and torn in a room downstairs. His eyes burn again--she can see it, although he isn't looking at her--and he says casually that she can always buy another dress. She stands, pausing at the doorway to turn to him and ask if that means he liked it.

His response--striding over to her and sweeping her up in his arms and down the hall to their bedroom--is answer enough.

Fin.

Title: Potion Play
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Notes: I uh... well gosh. I...I'm as surprised to find this story as you are, folks... written for coolits


Potion Play

They were separated by a table and a cauldron when it happened. Draco put just a tiny bit more Iris Root into the mixture than the recipe called for, and since the fire was a tiny bit more hot than it was supposed to be, it exploded a tiny bit more than he was expecting. Though Hermione should have probably been expecting it, she got a shock, just the same--some of the flying purple potion landed in her cauldron, ruining it (though much less spectacularly than his had, just now). She turned to scold him crossly just as Snape came striding over.

"You should have had a lid on that!"

"What seems to be the problem, Malfoy?"

They spoke at the same time, an event that displeased the Potions Master greatly.

"Miss Granger, kindly attend your own cauldron and leave your nose out of where it does not belong!" He favored her with his iciest gaze.

"I'm sorry, sir--but his explosion ruined my own--"

"Then it appears you will be receiving your first zero in my class." He turned his back on her and began to speak to Draco. Hermione tried to tell herself to relax, that this was part of the whole point of the exercise. She sighed deeply as she began to clear up the remains of her potion.

"Miss Granger, as there is clearly no need for you to remain here with no potion to grade, I suggest you take your sighing somewhere else."

Hermione almost suspected that Draco had suggested this to their professor--it was almost too easy. A quick 'Scourgify!' and her table was pristine. She did not look back as she left the room.

A few minutes later, she heard footsteps behind her. Whoever it was caught up quickly, and soon she was faced with a jubilant Draco Malfoy.

"Let me guess, he's letting you remake yours?" she asked, scathingly.

"I'm to go to the hospital wing at some point," he said casually, ignoring her raised voice.

"You should probably go, Merlin only knows what else went wrong with your potion," she replied tartly. They glared at each other for a long moment before Malfoy suddenly grabbed her upper arms and thrust her against the cool stone of the hallway.

"I can't believe we got out of class to snog and you're playing hard-to-get!" he said, impishly breaking into a grin that bordered on a smirk. Hermione tried valiantly to keep her composure.

"I didn't think I'd get a zero!" she said finally, in a small voice.

"I'll make it all better, Granger," Draco promised.

Fin.

fanfiction: hp: drabble/ficlet, fanfiction: hp: draco/hermione, fanfiction: hp: harry/ron, fandom:harry potter, fanfiction: hp: rated g, fanfiction: hp: rated pg-13

Previous post Next post
Up