Voting Post: Best Dialogue in a Ficlet
Best Dialogue in a Ficlet (501-1000 words)
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1. To submit your votes for this category, copy and paste the code below into a comment to this post (will be screened), or send it in an email to dramioneawards[at]gmail[dot]com. No anonymous comments allowed!
2. You must vote for your top THREE favorite fics, and rank them with your top favorite fic in the #1 position.
3. When casting your vote, please use the number assigned to the fic, rather than writing out the whole title.
CODE (6c):
6c - Best Dialogue in a Ficlet:
1. (TOP CHOICE)
2.
3.
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Nominees:
-1-
Draco, Like a Mac and Cheese Virgin, by eevilalice
“You mean you’ve never had macaroni and cheese before?”
“Granger, I’m a Malfoy. I subsist on ambrosia and nectar. Oh and galleons, liquefied.”
Hermione, sitting cross-legged in the Head Common Room’s lone comfy chair, a bowl of steaming, golden, gooey, homemade-okay, house elf-made-macaroni and cheese in her lap, shook her head sadly, pityingly, dislodging a loose strand of brown hair which she just managed to snag with a finger before it landed in said dish of cheesy goodness.
“All that money, and not one forkful of macaroni and cheese your whole life. I see more and more how it is you’ve turned out to be such a heartless prat.”
“First of all, Granger, I do believe that’s a spoon you’ve got. Or didn’t your ignorant Muggle parents teach you such fine distinctions?” Malfoy shrugged off his bag and dropped it with a thud onto the table separating the comfy chair from the straight-backed monstrosity he was now easing himself into. “Secondly, I wasn’t aware ingesting this ‘macaroni and cheese’ delicacy”-the word laced with disdain-“was a prerequisite for possessing a heart. Thanks for the warning, though. Wouldn’t want to grow one of those things all of a sudden.” He wriggled his shoulders in an exaggeration of disgust.
Hermione smiled wryly and dug into the only “delicacy” that had the power to make her feel better, being sure to get a spoonful with plenty of bread crumb topping.
She’d caught Ron and Lavender snogging each other senseless on patrol tonight, and it hurt doubly so for the fact that she knew that they knew she was assigned to that area of the castle at that time. She was sure they weren’t trying to hurt her feelings on purpose; Ron was too ignorant of Hermione’s interest, and Lavender…well, maybe Lavender did know. It was likely they just got carried away. Her only consolation-besides the mac and cheese-was that Malfoy hadn’t been with her to see it and taunt her about it later. Although, Hermione reasoned, there would have been some gratifying insults directed Ron’s way.
Another heaping spoonful. Comfort food, right?
She looked up at Malfoy, who had pulled his bag over and was sorting through its contents, the light from the fire glinting off his insanely blonde hair. At some point he’d removed his robe, slung it over the chair back, and pushed up the sleeves of his sweater and shirt. Hermione glanced at his forearm, the skin pale and marked only by the blue of his veins.
Truthfully, she knew he wasn’t heartless. Prat, yes. Heartless, no. Sixth year, he and his mother had made a deal with the Order, and Lucius-as much as she still despised him-had offered some crucial information in exchange for a reduced sentence. Now here they both were, Head Boy and Head Girl, supposedly working side by side in some new effort at school unity in the face of You Know Who and all that was evil.
So far, “side by side” consisted of them actually being in the same room together without hexes cast, punches thrown by Hermione, or the M-word uttered by Malfoy. Real progress.
“You’re serious about that stuff, aren’t you?”
Hermione jumped in her seat, spoon clanking against the side of the bowl. In staring at and thinking about Malfoy, she’d somehow forgotten he was, you know, there. And could talk.
“Half the bowl gone in five minutes. Perhaps there’s a contest you could win.” He smirked. Prat.
She smiled graciously. “See what you’re missing?”
Potions book clasped between two elegant hands, he leaned forward and sniffed. “It doesn’t even smell appetizing.”
“But you are curious.”
He leaned back, cocked his head to the side. “I am curious. The house elves made that for you? Special? Didn’t you used to”-he waved a hand vaguely-“care about them or something? Have some club of one you made up?”
Hermione shoved another spoonful of pasta into her mouth. S.P.E.W. had been a tremendous failure, and she wasn’t accustomed to failure. She did still care about the rights of elves. But Dobby-free Dobby-had asked her favorite food once and insisted she request it whenever she wanted. She hardly abused the privilege; this was only the first time in the three months since the school year had started.
Malfoy looked at her expectantly, and she swallowed, ready to default to defensiveness. Then, a knock and Ron’s voice. Apparently, he and Lavender had separated to breathe and do other things.
“Hermione! We’ve come to rescue you from the evil clutches of The Ferret.” A pause. Harry’s voice mumbling something. “Also, could you help Harry and me with Charms?”
Malfoy snorted. “Good luck with that one, Granger.”
Hermione had a strong, inexplicable impulse to throw her arms around Malfoy and plant one right on those surly lips of his.
She resisted.
Instead, she sighed, got up, placed what was left of her mac and cheese on the table, grabbed her robe and Charms book and approached the door. Pulling it open, she offered Ron and Harry a weak smile.
Before the door closed behind her, she heard the jangle of spoon against ceramic.
-2-
Plant, by silvia_elisa
The fireplace roared to life, and seconds later he was stepping out of it to welcome the quietness of his office. He checked his watch, and sighed. The meeting wouldn't start for another hour.
Draco strode up to his desk and winced at the sight that welcomed him. Between his monthly report and his neatly organised pens, a flowerpot had recently taken its place, and the plant was softly impregnating the air, the office, and his clothes, with its unmistakable perfume. It had been her idea, of course.
"An Asteridae to remind you of me," she had said, handing him the pot plant.
He felt the sudden urge to squash it now. She was being unreasonable! Proving him for the umpteenth time what a spoiled little child she was. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, slumping into his chair. He knew the argument had started out of nothing, he knew they hadn't meant half the stuff they had yelled at each other, he knew it was the huge ceremony planning they had undergone in the last two months taking its toll on their sanity... He knew it, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. Draco lazily tore a leaf from the plant to fiddle with it.
A knock on his door.
"Mister Malfoy?" His secretary sounded miffed. "There's someone here for you," he said, and then paused. "She hasn't got an appointment," he finished accusingly.
Draco tilted his head upwards and stared at the ceiling. He was in no mood to entertain, but the choice was not his; if his boss decided to send him someone, he had to at least listen to the woman.
"Send her in," he said a little loudly.
The door clicked open. He stood, preparing himself to make a show of his good manners before sending whomever it was on their merry way; he brushed the leaf against his lips, hiding a smirk at his own shrewdness.
"Granger?" he asked, surprised to see her, of all people.
The witch smiled, taking off her cloak and her hat, placing them carefully on the hook behind the door.
"I met Harry on the way to my office," she said. "He asked me to deliver a message."
Draco relaxed, if only slightly, and stepped away from his desk; the residual anxiety at seeing Granger on his territory caused him to bump his hand against the flowerpot, and several of the scarlet blossoms plummeted to the floor.
"Bugger," he muttered.
"What is it?" Granger asked.
He stared at her. "Bittersweet."
She frowned. "You mean belladonna."
Draco wasn't listening anymore; his mind had gone back to his argument with Asteria, and a small, but persistent voice, was telling him she was the reason why he had wanted to pick a fight with his fiancée. He hated her for it. What right did she have to come between them?
Granger's lips were moving. His brain told him he should stop brooding and listen to her, that was the sensible thing to do. However, if he wasn't in the mood to entertain, he was even less in the mood to do the right thing. His eyes fell on the bittersweet and he considered how fitting it was that she'd usurp the Asteridae part of the plant and highlight the poisonous quality of it instead.
"Are you even listening to me?" he heard her ask.
He spun his head in her direction and closed in on her in two quick steps. She gulped. Still, it was only a moment's hesitation, and then her eyes locked on his, conveying the message he had been resentfully waiting for.
It was an angry kiss, meant to tell her how much he despised her; Draco didn't go for sweet, or soft. He battled with her tongue and bit down on her lip. He resolved he'd punish himself later for the ignoble pleasure he got from hearing Granger whimper, or he'd get a house-elf to do it for him.
"Draco," she whispered, breaking the contact.
Her lips were bruised, and her lipstick smeared. He took her face into his hands and rested his forehead against hers; he smelled the scent of the plant in the air around them, and it prickled his nostrils.
He thought that if he stared at her long enough, the rest of the world would disappear.
-3-
Research, by dollfaced
Before Hermione even walked into the room, she knew Draco would be there. He always was. Every night since he’d arrived at Grimmauld Place, he would sit in the overstuffed chair closest to the fire and nurse a bottle of Ogden’s finest.
“Hello,” she said quietly. Draco didn’t answer. He never did. Not once in all the nights they sat alone in the library had he ever said a word to her - nothing, not an insult or a snide remark. He only spoke to Harry. And even then, it was only when it was absolutely necessary.
She searched the shelf for the book she needed. They were so close to finding the last Horcrux; she just knew it.
Suddenly Hermione felt him behind her. Waves of heat rolled off his body and cascaded over her skin. For split second, she wanted to lean against him and pretend that the kind of warmth he gave off was a comforting one.
“Do you know what today is?” he asked. His words were decidedly slurred.
Turning to face him, she replied, “Are you drunk?”
“It’s rude to answer a question with a question. Have you no manners?” He leaned against the shelf, stumbling closer as he brought the bottle to his lips.
“Yes, I know what today is. It’s your birthday.”
He choked slightly before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Then Draco extended his arm. “Here, have a sip. Celebrate.”
“There’s hardly time for that.” She resumed looking for her book. Her finger traveled along the edges of the spines as she headed toward the corner.
“You’re angry with me.”
Spinning around as she spoke, “What? Why would you say that? I have no reason to feel anything about you, let alone anger.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Granger.”
“Am not!” Her eyes darted over his shoulder, and suddenly she felt trapped between the wall of books and the drunken wizard.
He laughed. “Yes, you are.” Leaning in, she felt the tiny hairs rise on her skin. He was too close. “You’re upset about what happened when Potter and I got back from our little mission.”
“I have no idea what you’re on about.” She tried to make the words sound true.
“Lies. Tell me the truth, it’s my birthday remember? Think of it as a gift.”
“Malfoy, stop it. You’re completely arsed and have no idea what you’re saying.” She pushed her way past him.
Grabbing her arm, he pulled her back, holding her in place against the shelf. “I may be, but I do know what I’m saying.” She struggled as he spoke, “You want me to hug you, hold you like Potter does when he steps though that fireplace. The way he sweeps you up, to let you know that he’s alright and the he loves you.” Her movements slowed. “That’s what you want from me, right?”
She became perfectly still.
His eyes pierced hers, questioning everything that she knew. Draco bent down and whispered into her ear, “Maybe you want even more? You want me to kiss you. Don’t you?”
“No.”
“I thought we agreed on no lies.”
She couldn’t look him directly in eyes. “I’m not lying.”
“Let’s experiment. I’ll snog you a bit and then I’ll let you know if you liked it.”
She huffed.
“I’m serious.” He tapped a book with his finger. “I thought you were into the whole research thing?”
“Malfoy, this is crazy.”
His lips brushed hers. “I know.”
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Complete rules and procedures can be found on the main voting page. To summarize:
1. To submit your votes for this category, copy and paste the code below into a comment to this post (will be screened), or send it in an email to dramioneawards[at]gmail[dot]com. No anonymous comments allowed!
2. You must vote for your top THREE favorite fics, and rank them with your top favorite fic in the #1 position.
3. When casting your vote, please use the number assigned to the fic, rather than writing out the whole title.
CODE (6c):
6c - Best Dialogue in a Ficlet:
1. (TOP CHOICE)
2.
3.
Return to Main Page
Nominees:
-1-
Draco, Like a Mac and Cheese Virgin, by eevilalice
“You mean you’ve never had macaroni and cheese before?”
“Granger, I’m a Malfoy. I subsist on ambrosia and nectar. Oh and galleons, liquefied.”
Hermione, sitting cross-legged in the Head Common Room’s lone comfy chair, a bowl of steaming, golden, gooey, homemade-okay, house elf-made-macaroni and cheese in her lap, shook her head sadly, pityingly, dislodging a loose strand of brown hair which she just managed to snag with a finger before it landed in said dish of cheesy goodness.
“All that money, and not one forkful of macaroni and cheese your whole life. I see more and more how it is you’ve turned out to be such a heartless prat.”
“First of all, Granger, I do believe that’s a spoon you’ve got. Or didn’t your ignorant Muggle parents teach you such fine distinctions?” Malfoy shrugged off his bag and dropped it with a thud onto the table separating the comfy chair from the straight-backed monstrosity he was now easing himself into. “Secondly, I wasn’t aware ingesting this ‘macaroni and cheese’ delicacy”-the word laced with disdain-“was a prerequisite for possessing a heart. Thanks for the warning, though. Wouldn’t want to grow one of those things all of a sudden.” He wriggled his shoulders in an exaggeration of disgust.
Hermione smiled wryly and dug into the only “delicacy” that had the power to make her feel better, being sure to get a spoonful with plenty of bread crumb topping.
She’d caught Ron and Lavender snogging each other senseless on patrol tonight, and it hurt doubly so for the fact that she knew that they knew she was assigned to that area of the castle at that time. She was sure they weren’t trying to hurt her feelings on purpose; Ron was too ignorant of Hermione’s interest, and Lavender…well, maybe Lavender did know. It was likely they just got carried away. Her only consolation-besides the mac and cheese-was that Malfoy hadn’t been with her to see it and taunt her about it later. Although, Hermione reasoned, there would have been some gratifying insults directed Ron’s way.
Another heaping spoonful. Comfort food, right?
She looked up at Malfoy, who had pulled his bag over and was sorting through its contents, the light from the fire glinting off his insanely blonde hair. At some point he’d removed his robe, slung it over the chair back, and pushed up the sleeves of his sweater and shirt. Hermione glanced at his forearm, the skin pale and marked only by the blue of his veins.
Truthfully, she knew he wasn’t heartless. Prat, yes. Heartless, no. Sixth year, he and his mother had made a deal with the Order, and Lucius-as much as she still despised him-had offered some crucial information in exchange for a reduced sentence. Now here they both were, Head Boy and Head Girl, supposedly working side by side in some new effort at school unity in the face of You Know Who and all that was evil.
So far, “side by side” consisted of them actually being in the same room together without hexes cast, punches thrown by Hermione, or the M-word uttered by Malfoy. Real progress.
“You’re serious about that stuff, aren’t you?”
Hermione jumped in her seat, spoon clanking against the side of the bowl. In staring at and thinking about Malfoy, she’d somehow forgotten he was, you know, there. And could talk.
“Half the bowl gone in five minutes. Perhaps there’s a contest you could win.” He smirked. Prat.
She smiled graciously. “See what you’re missing?”
Potions book clasped between two elegant hands, he leaned forward and sniffed. “It doesn’t even smell appetizing.”
“But you are curious.”
He leaned back, cocked his head to the side. “I am curious. The house elves made that for you? Special? Didn’t you used to”-he waved a hand vaguely-“care about them or something? Have some club of one you made up?”
Hermione shoved another spoonful of pasta into her mouth. S.P.E.W. had been a tremendous failure, and she wasn’t accustomed to failure. She did still care about the rights of elves. But Dobby-free Dobby-had asked her favorite food once and insisted she request it whenever she wanted. She hardly abused the privilege; this was only the first time in the three months since the school year had started.
Malfoy looked at her expectantly, and she swallowed, ready to default to defensiveness. Then, a knock and Ron’s voice. Apparently, he and Lavender had separated to breathe and do other things.
“Hermione! We’ve come to rescue you from the evil clutches of The Ferret.” A pause. Harry’s voice mumbling something. “Also, could you help Harry and me with Charms?”
Malfoy snorted. “Good luck with that one, Granger.”
Hermione had a strong, inexplicable impulse to throw her arms around Malfoy and plant one right on those surly lips of his.
She resisted.
Instead, she sighed, got up, placed what was left of her mac and cheese on the table, grabbed her robe and Charms book and approached the door. Pulling it open, she offered Ron and Harry a weak smile.
Before the door closed behind her, she heard the jangle of spoon against ceramic.
-2-
Plant, by silvia_elisa
The fireplace roared to life, and seconds later he was stepping out of it to welcome the quietness of his office. He checked his watch, and sighed. The meeting wouldn't start for another hour.
Draco strode up to his desk and winced at the sight that welcomed him. Between his monthly report and his neatly organised pens, a flowerpot had recently taken its place, and the plant was softly impregnating the air, the office, and his clothes, with its unmistakable perfume. It had been her idea, of course.
"An Asteridae to remind you of me," she had said, handing him the pot plant.
He felt the sudden urge to squash it now. She was being unreasonable! Proving him for the umpteenth time what a spoiled little child she was. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, slumping into his chair. He knew the argument had started out of nothing, he knew they hadn't meant half the stuff they had yelled at each other, he knew it was the huge ceremony planning they had undergone in the last two months taking its toll on their sanity... He knew it, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. Draco lazily tore a leaf from the plant to fiddle with it.
A knock on his door.
"Mister Malfoy?" His secretary sounded miffed. "There's someone here for you," he said, and then paused. "She hasn't got an appointment," he finished accusingly.
Draco tilted his head upwards and stared at the ceiling. He was in no mood to entertain, but the choice was not his; if his boss decided to send him someone, he had to at least listen to the woman.
"Send her in," he said a little loudly.
The door clicked open. He stood, preparing himself to make a show of his good manners before sending whomever it was on their merry way; he brushed the leaf against his lips, hiding a smirk at his own shrewdness.
"Granger?" he asked, surprised to see her, of all people.
The witch smiled, taking off her cloak and her hat, placing them carefully on the hook behind the door.
"I met Harry on the way to my office," she said. "He asked me to deliver a message."
Draco relaxed, if only slightly, and stepped away from his desk; the residual anxiety at seeing Granger on his territory caused him to bump his hand against the flowerpot, and several of the scarlet blossoms plummeted to the floor.
"Bugger," he muttered.
"What is it?" Granger asked.
He stared at her. "Bittersweet."
She frowned. "You mean belladonna."
Draco wasn't listening anymore; his mind had gone back to his argument with Asteria, and a small, but persistent voice, was telling him she was the reason why he had wanted to pick a fight with his fiancée. He hated her for it. What right did she have to come between them?
Granger's lips were moving. His brain told him he should stop brooding and listen to her, that was the sensible thing to do. However, if he wasn't in the mood to entertain, he was even less in the mood to do the right thing. His eyes fell on the bittersweet and he considered how fitting it was that she'd usurp the Asteridae part of the plant and highlight the poisonous quality of it instead.
"Are you even listening to me?" he heard her ask.
He spun his head in her direction and closed in on her in two quick steps. She gulped. Still, it was only a moment's hesitation, and then her eyes locked on his, conveying the message he had been resentfully waiting for.
It was an angry kiss, meant to tell her how much he despised her; Draco didn't go for sweet, or soft. He battled with her tongue and bit down on her lip. He resolved he'd punish himself later for the ignoble pleasure he got from hearing Granger whimper, or he'd get a house-elf to do it for him.
"Draco," she whispered, breaking the contact.
Her lips were bruised, and her lipstick smeared. He took her face into his hands and rested his forehead against hers; he smelled the scent of the plant in the air around them, and it prickled his nostrils.
He thought that if he stared at her long enough, the rest of the world would disappear.
-3-
Research, by dollfaced
Before Hermione even walked into the room, she knew Draco would be there. He always was. Every night since he’d arrived at Grimmauld Place, he would sit in the overstuffed chair closest to the fire and nurse a bottle of Ogden’s finest.
“Hello,” she said quietly. Draco didn’t answer. He never did. Not once in all the nights they sat alone in the library had he ever said a word to her - nothing, not an insult or a snide remark. He only spoke to Harry. And even then, it was only when it was absolutely necessary.
She searched the shelf for the book she needed. They were so close to finding the last Horcrux; she just knew it.
Suddenly Hermione felt him behind her. Waves of heat rolled off his body and cascaded over her skin. For split second, she wanted to lean against him and pretend that the kind of warmth he gave off was a comforting one.
“Do you know what today is?” he asked. His words were decidedly slurred.
Turning to face him, she replied, “Are you drunk?”
“It’s rude to answer a question with a question. Have you no manners?” He leaned against the shelf, stumbling closer as he brought the bottle to his lips.
“Yes, I know what today is. It’s your birthday.”
He choked slightly before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Then Draco extended his arm. “Here, have a sip. Celebrate.”
“There’s hardly time for that.” She resumed looking for her book. Her finger traveled along the edges of the spines as she headed toward the corner.
“You’re angry with me.”
Spinning around as she spoke, “What? Why would you say that? I have no reason to feel anything about you, let alone anger.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Granger.”
“Am not!” Her eyes darted over his shoulder, and suddenly she felt trapped between the wall of books and the drunken wizard.
He laughed. “Yes, you are.” Leaning in, she felt the tiny hairs rise on her skin. He was too close. “You’re upset about what happened when Potter and I got back from our little mission.”
“I have no idea what you’re on about.” She tried to make the words sound true.
“Lies. Tell me the truth, it’s my birthday remember? Think of it as a gift.”
“Malfoy, stop it. You’re completely arsed and have no idea what you’re saying.” She pushed her way past him.
Grabbing her arm, he pulled her back, holding her in place against the shelf. “I may be, but I do know what I’m saying.” She struggled as he spoke, “You want me to hug you, hold you like Potter does when he steps though that fireplace. The way he sweeps you up, to let you know that he’s alright and the he loves you.” Her movements slowed. “That’s what you want from me, right?”
She became perfectly still.
His eyes pierced hers, questioning everything that she knew. Draco bent down and whispered into her ear, “Maybe you want even more? You want me to kiss you. Don’t you?”
“No.”
“I thought we agreed on no lies.”
She couldn’t look him directly in eyes. “I’m not lying.”
“Let’s experiment. I’ll snog you a bit and then I’ll let you know if you liked it.”
She huffed.
“I’m serious.” He tapped a book with his finger. “I thought you were into the whole research thing?”
“Malfoy, this is crazy.”
His lips brushed hers. “I know.”
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