Round 7 Challenge 4: Voting
Round 7 Challenge 4: Voting
SIX
FIVE
THIRTY
Draco loves cliched presents: A new broom, watches, stock, an island nation to rule, a certain Gryffindor dressed in green lingerie and tied to his bed with silver bows...
A couple of things to remember when deciding which drabbles to vote for (most and least favorite):
Guidelines:
As a voter, you have the option of leaving a brief statement about why you voted the way you did, for both most and least favorite. Your feedback will then be given to the drabble writer (if they want the feedback) ANONYMOUSLY.
Example: Most - #40: the ending was brilliant - OR - Least - #57: the ending fell flat
Please remember writers, that you may not vote for yourselves.
Here we go for week 4!
Choose your favorite and least favorite drabbles. Favorites will receive +1 point per vote, and least favorites -1 point per vote.
Voting ends at 11:59pm, Friday, May 28.
Prompt : Everything Old is New Again!
Cliches make great gifts (or is it that great gifts are cliches)?
Whichever. Recycle one of the three cliches listed below into a brand new drabble for Draco!
1. Head Boy + Head Girl= Shared quarters!
2. Veela!Draco! & Lifemate!Hermione!
3. Oops! We were drunk last night, and now we're married!
599 word max
(from round two, ch 5)
1
Title: Uneven Beats
Author: ayane_tsurugi
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Language
Word Count: 599
The first thing Draco registers upon waking is the sadistic men in his head drumming an uneven beat against the back of his eyeballs. The second, the acrid taste of what could only really be called dead rodent on his tongue.
He tries to roll over, but the nausea puts a stop to that nonsense quickly enough and he groans, a guttural sound that the drummers don’t like very much at all, if the fact that they start jumping around on his poor, defenseless brain is any indication.
He hears a laugh in front of him and, for a moment, hopes that it’s an axe murderer come to kill him, because that would be very convenient. “Morning, Malfoy,” the laugher says.
“Vacate my room or I’ll have you wearing your insides for a hat,” he means to say, but it comes out more like, “Snng.”
“I have a hangover potion,” the wonderful intruder says next, and Draco cracks an eye open to see Potter sitting in a chair beside his bed, tossing a vial of heaven-on-earth between his hands. “Would you like it?”
“Oh Gods, yes,” Draco says in a way that’s not at all whiny or desperate, thank you, and reaches out a hand, but Potter pulls it away.
“First, you have to answer a question.” Potter smirks at him and Draco contemplates vomiting on his shoes just long enough to remember that he’d have to clean the carpet afterwards and probably wouldn’t get the cure besides.
“If it’s ‘where is the loo?’ you’re going to have to wait your turn,” he grumbles, and Potter laughs again before leaning close to the bed.
“What do you remember about last night?”
Draco considers this momentarily, but thinking hurts and the last picture he can recall is Pansy waving him back into his office after their late lunch. “Unless last night ended around two yesterday afternoon, nothing.” He swallows against another wave of nausea. “Is that all?”
Potter tosses him the vial and he downs the contents, moaning in open relief as the effects take hold. When he looks back over, Potter is still staring at him, and sweet sobriety kicks his brain back up to normal pace. “Potter, why are you in my bedroom?”
Potter’s only answer is another smirk before he asks, “What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done while plastered, Malfoy?”
“Are you going to prove me wrong no matter what I say?”
“Most definitely.”
Draco groans and pulls one of his pillows over his face. It smells different. “On with it, then.”
“Your wife wants a divorce,” Potter says, and Draco can hear him laughing. He abruptly sits up.
“My what wants a what?”
“Wife. Divorce. Keep up, Malfoy.”
“I don’t have a wife,” Draco insists, and Potter just looks delighted.
“I beg to differ.”
Right on cue, a horrid montage plays in his mind, first of shots, then of fluffy brown hair, and finally of some bastard in a bad tux magicking a bucket of confetti over the heads of him and… “Oh, fuck.”
“Really, you’re lucky it’s me sitting here and not Ron.”
“I just wanted to ask her out,” he groans, and he should really stop talking, but he can’t seem to. “I just had a couple shots to make myself go through with it, and…Fuck.”
Potter looks at him carefully. “I have the power to slow down the divorce proceedings. If you thought you could bring her around, that is.”
Draco chokes, though he can’t tell on what emotion. “And why would you do that?”
“I just want to see her happy.”
2
Title: The Morning After
Author: floorcoaster
Rating: G
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 598
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Draco gritted his teeth so hard that he thought his head would split open. There was no point in pointing out that he hadn’t done anything-they had done something. Something stupid. Something so horrendous, so terrifying, so-
“I mean, this was surely your idea. I would never have agreed to anything so ridiculous.”
Why were the curtains open again? Whose idea was that? Oh wait, hers.
His and hers. Shared hopes and dreams. All that rot.
“Of all the irresponsible things to do, Draco Malfoy… how could you do this to me?”
He had no choice but to tune her out. Eventually she’d get tired of talking, right? Only problem was that his dry bones might turn to dust first, and he rather wanted to see the light of day again.
Just not right now, driving daggers into his brain.
“Do you think I want a bloody diamond? I don’t care how many butterbeers I’d consumed, I wouldn’t be caught dead with a 2-carat diamond ring! It’s so pretentious and garish!”
Butterbeer, riiiiiiiiiiiight. And he’d only had a few sips of pumpkin juice. There were flashes from the night before, and he would bet the family fortune that she’d downed her share of fruity alcoholic beverages.
“You’re taking it back, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
He wanted to remind her that not saying no had gotten them into this predicament in the first place, but then his head throbbed, and he wasn’t even sure if his retort would have made sense.
“I can’t believe our friends let us get so wasted. I mean, I can’t believe they let us … well, they knew better than to leave us alone together. With all those… butterbeers.”
The smirk that formed was completely reflex.
At least she was close to admitting some personal responsibility for what happened.
“I will never forgive Ginny for this.”
Close-ish.
“Your parents will go completely mad. They absolutely hate me. Your mother thinks I can’t tell the difference between a salad fork and a dinner fork, and don’t get me started on your father.”
The ring on his finger kept capturing his attention. He really wished he could go back in time and peek into his own head and see what he’d been thinking.
“This is horrible! What will I tell my parents? They’ve always pictured me, their only daughter, marrying some nice, safe Muggle from Edinburgh.”
Draco rolled his eyes, then immediately regretted it. His blood rushed in his ears and he told himself he’d never, ever imbibe so much alcohol again.
Only problem was, that didn’t help him now.
“I didn’t even get to wear the dress! I’ve pictured it in my head for years, ever since I was a little girl, and I didn’t wear it. I didn’t even get to shop for it! My mother didn’t cry when she saw me in it.”
On the bright side, Draco didn’t have to go through months of listening to her plan and choose colors and place settings and invitations. Not to mention selecting a menu, deciding on a guest list, trying to seat everyone at the reception in such a way that no one got upset-or worse, killed.
He wasn’t joking about that last bit.
“The worse part is, I-”
Draco leaned over and, despite his raging hangover and his killer morning breath, kissed Hermione mid-sentence. Her look of surprise was one he’d never forget.
“Lots of couples elope,” he said. “I think it’s the best idea you’ve ever had.”
3
Title: Of Teeth and Towels
Author: bookishwench
Rating: PG
Warning(s): not much
Word Count: 499
“I swear to Merlin, Granger, if you put one toe over this line, I’ll hit you with so many hexes that the frizzy Doxy nest you call hair will be your most attractive attribute,” Draco said, scowling darkly.
“I have no desire to intrude on your personal space. If, however, I were to cross your silly chalk line, we both know you wouldn’t stand a chance of winning,” she said, hauling her trunk through the doorway into her newly assigned bedroom in the Head suite.
“You’ve got to sleep sometime,” Draco warned her.
“So do you,” she said far more threateningly than Draco had imagined she was capable of.
Their seventh year was far from domestic bliss. Draco had an annoying habit of leaving Chocolate Frog wrappers everywhere, and he seemed to think it was Hermione’s responsibility to clear them away. Hermione had a rafter-shaking snore that was clearly audible across their common room and through both of their closed bedroom doors. Draco left his Quidditch robes in untidy heaps all over the furniture. Worst of all, Hermione was so obsessed with flossing her teeth that Draco suspected her fingers were permanently grooved.
“You’re going to floss your teeth right out of your head, woman!” he finally yelled in late January, throwing a cushion at her. “Will you please stop it!”
“Did you actually use the word ‘please’ in my general direction?” she asked, putting a hand to her heart in mock dismay.
“Would your sensibilities be less shocked if I said ‘Will you sodding well stop it’?” he asked.
“As long as I’m on my side of the line, I can do whatever I like,” she said, then flounced back to her room, flossing all the way.
It was about this time that Draco developed a penchant for wandering around in nothing but a low slung towel after every shower. Hermione’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head at the first display of entirely too much skin.
“Get dressed, you narcissistic exhibitionist!” she yelped at him.
“I’m on my side of the line, so I can do whatever I like,” he quoted, then looked puzzled. “What has my mother got to do with anything?”
Hermione all but screamed in frustration.
“You quit the infernal flossing, and I’ll put on some decent robes,” he said, folding his arms.
“No,” she said.
Eventually, Malfoy began to suspect she was continuing her ridiculous habit for an entirely different reason than mere stubbornness, not that he minded. After months of parading around like a romance novel cover, he did the one thing she wasn’t expecting.
He stepped over the line.
She couldn’t blame him. After all, it would be impossible to kiss her from the other side of the room. As she relaxed against him, her hands still clutching the floss as they rested on his chest while they gave way to months, no, years of sexual tension, only one thought flitted through Draco’s mind.
He really liked the taste of mint.
4
Title: Year Eight
Author: terrayn
Rating: PG
Warning(s): none
Word Count: 599
AUTUMN
They claim it’s for inter-House unity and remembrance. But he knows they only remember the relics of his cowardice and ambition when they saddle him with Granger as overseer and spy. Draco trips over her everywhere he goes. In Potions, Slughorn partners him with the Head Girl in a demented attempt at symmetry, declaring the arrangement ‘quaint.’ He has a year of schooling on her-if that hellish seventh year counts as schooling-while she roughed it in the wild, fighting and Dark Lord-sabotaging, and still she bests him in everything.
She even has the gall to spell dormitory rules to his door. No House-Elves is quickly followed by No Girls in Common Room (he scribbles: thank god, see you never); No Sharing Hair Products (he scratches: it was once!); Make Your Own Damn Sandwiches (he points to No House-Elves); Crookshanks, Not Pincushion (he retorts: get the furball a leash); and CLOSE YOUR DOOR!! (he leers, walking Pansy out).
WINTER
Sometimes she stares openly, shrewd gaze raking over his face like sandpaper, and sometimes just out of the corner of her eye while he’s perching lazily on their windowsill or when he steals her ink then catches her peering through a door crack, mouth curved as though his stealthy thievery amuses her. She’s an infuriating show-off with the social skills of a gnat, and he’s the object of amusement?
He returns every scurrying glance scornfully until at last she looks away, and then he takes vengeance by watching her. He laughs when she trips over his chair leg (it’s possible he scooted back) and topples onto the floor, scattering the million books stacked in her arms. He sneers when she parades about in pink robes and misshapen slippers, squelching with each step (her tumbleweed hair hangs in wide rebellious loops, tempting a man to twine them around his fingers). He revels when his stack of Christmas presents dwarfs hers until she snaps, “And how many aren’t from your parents?”
Later, she dashes off: No Fisticuffs.
SPRING
He’s observed do-gooder Granger in her natural habitat, cataloguing all her rhythms and whims, so he knows how she takes tea (no sugar), likes to read (on her stomach, chewing a quill), eats snacks (tomatoes with honey, sliced like oranges), and insists on flossing for twenty minutes every night (ignoring threats to blow the bathroom door off its hinges). Worse, she’s a foot-tapper and hair-twirler. His fingers itch to cast a Body-Bind Curse. He misses those days when chambers had secrets, snakes climbed plumbing and petrified girls didn’t fidget.
On patrols she hums, walking with a slight bounce. He wants to grapple her shoulders and shake loose all the reasons she’s so damn happy, like sitting her NEWTs is a treat instead of a bleeding nightmare. Six years of taunts, seven months of cohabitation, and still she confounds him.
He scrawls: Smiley people are asking to be hexed.
SUMMER
“Why do you stare?” she asks.
Disbelief chips his voice jagged. “Why do I stare? A bit pot-calling-the-kettle-black, aren’t you?”
She frowns. “What?”
“Denial’s not a flattering look on you, Granger. You’ve been watching me since September.”
“No… Malfoy, I stopped ages ago. After I realized you weren’t planning to poison, curse, strangle or annoy me to death.”
Abruptly, he knows she’s right. He hasn’t felt scrutinizing brown eyes following him in months. “Well, damn,” he says.
“Yeah,” she agrees. “Bit awkward, isn’t it?”
He walks to his door and writes: No Staring.
Taking his quill with a smile that makes him shiver, she adds: (roommates excepted). “Or you know, just me, really.”
5
Title: A Perfectly Good Reason
Author: ilkee
Rating: G
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 590
A perfectly good reason to get very, very pissed:
Everyone was looking at him. Which would be fine since he was telling them about the Minister’s “accident” involving a lacy pair of pink panties and glitter-covered wand. But Potter seemed to be holding his breath to keep from laughing. Weasley was turning red. And Nott was openly snickering.
Honestly, it wasn’t that funny of a story. Kind of pathetic really.
Granger, on the other hand, was decidedly not looking at him.
The tip-off though, was the knowing smirk on his sort-of-but-not-really girlfriend’s face. Pansy arched an amused eyebrow at him and directed her eyes towards his right hand.
There, threaded with his long, pale fingers were a set of small, delicate fingers, attached to a thin wrist, attached to a fuzzy lilac sweater, attached to a very wide-eyed and pink-cheeked Hermione Granger.
No amount of Malfoy composure could compete with his burning face.
A perfectly good reason to get married:
As an apology for accidentally holding her hand (and because he desperately need a drink to erase the feel of her hand in his) Draco bought Hermione a drink when they got to the pub.
The rest of the group seemed to have forgotten about it, but Hermione was a bit more subdued than usual, smiling nervously at him whenever they made eye contact. Draco decided his storytelling was done for the night.
Pansy left early. Potter wasn’t far behind. Draco would have left but didn’t want it to seem like it was because of Granger. Weasley went home with a blonde with a squeaky laugh. Nott bought two more rounds to make the evening last, but eventually gave up.
Draco sat across from Hermione trying to think of what to say to her.
My apologies, Granger.
Understandable mistake. Thought you were Pans.
Oops.
I love that you eat beets for lunch everyday. From one’o’clock to five’o’clock I’m distracted by your stained lips.
He bought her another drink.
A perfectly good reason not to freak out:
She was in shock. It’s the only reason he could think of that she wasn’t hysterical. He’d like to say that he was in shock too, but the truth was that he hadn’t been that drunk. Drunk enough to need a sobering potion, but not so much that he didn’t remember every single moment of last night.
I love the way you pause after the third word of every sentence, searching for just the right words.
Hermione sat next to him with his sheets pulled around her, frowning at the green twisty-tie she was turning around her ring finger.
A twisty-tie, Draco? You’re loosing your touch.
Panic settled in Draco’s gut and urged him to say something, anything.
“There are something I should tell you.”
Don’t freak out.
I don’t regret this.
I’ve been in love with you for the last three years.
“I know about your toothbrush collection.”
What?
She gaped at him. His cheeks flushed.
“Remember that time we had to work late and we had take-away at your flat?”
Nothing.
“I always imagine you brushing each tooth with a different brush.” And because he was on a roll, he added, “I guess even a brilliant mind like yours needs a bit of crazy for balance.”
Nice, Draco.
“The thing is… I think you should add mine to your collection.”
After an interminable silence, Hermione tightened the twisty-tie and held out her hand.
“We need a spell to protect this thing from breaking.”
ooo
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Poll Round 7 Challenge 4
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This Week: Everything Old is New Again!
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SIX
FIVE
THIRTY
This Week: Everything Old is New Again!
Voting ends 11:59 EST (GMT -4) May 28th
Please spread the word and thanks for dropping by!
SIX
FIVE
THIRTY
Draco loves cliched presents: A new broom, watches, stock, an island nation to rule, a certain Gryffindor dressed in green lingerie and tied to his bed with silver bows...
A couple of things to remember when deciding which drabbles to vote for (most and least favorite):
Guidelines:
- Which drabble best incorporates the prompt?
- Is the drabble clever, different, fresh? Does it evoke an emotional response (good or bad)?
- Does the drabble contain grammar, canon or spelling errors?
As a voter, you have the option of leaving a brief statement about why you voted the way you did, for both most and least favorite. Your feedback will then be given to the drabble writer (if they want the feedback) ANONYMOUSLY.
Example: Most - #40: the ending was brilliant - OR - Least - #57: the ending fell flat
Please remember writers, that you may not vote for yourselves.
Here we go for week 4!
Choose your favorite and least favorite drabbles. Favorites will receive +1 point per vote, and least favorites -1 point per vote.
Voting ends at 11:59pm, Friday, May 28.
Prompt : Everything Old is New Again!
Cliches make great gifts (or is it that great gifts are cliches)?
Whichever. Recycle one of the three cliches listed below into a brand new drabble for Draco!
1. Head Boy + Head Girl= Shared quarters!
2. Veela!Draco! & Lifemate!Hermione!
3. Oops! We were drunk last night, and now we're married!
599 word max
(from round two, ch 5)
1
Title: Uneven Beats
Author: ayane_tsurugi
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Language
Word Count: 599
The first thing Draco registers upon waking is the sadistic men in his head drumming an uneven beat against the back of his eyeballs. The second, the acrid taste of what could only really be called dead rodent on his tongue.
He tries to roll over, but the nausea puts a stop to that nonsense quickly enough and he groans, a guttural sound that the drummers don’t like very much at all, if the fact that they start jumping around on his poor, defenseless brain is any indication.
He hears a laugh in front of him and, for a moment, hopes that it’s an axe murderer come to kill him, because that would be very convenient. “Morning, Malfoy,” the laugher says.
“Vacate my room or I’ll have you wearing your insides for a hat,” he means to say, but it comes out more like, “Snng.”
“I have a hangover potion,” the wonderful intruder says next, and Draco cracks an eye open to see Potter sitting in a chair beside his bed, tossing a vial of heaven-on-earth between his hands. “Would you like it?”
“Oh Gods, yes,” Draco says in a way that’s not at all whiny or desperate, thank you, and reaches out a hand, but Potter pulls it away.
“First, you have to answer a question.” Potter smirks at him and Draco contemplates vomiting on his shoes just long enough to remember that he’d have to clean the carpet afterwards and probably wouldn’t get the cure besides.
“If it’s ‘where is the loo?’ you’re going to have to wait your turn,” he grumbles, and Potter laughs again before leaning close to the bed.
“What do you remember about last night?”
Draco considers this momentarily, but thinking hurts and the last picture he can recall is Pansy waving him back into his office after their late lunch. “Unless last night ended around two yesterday afternoon, nothing.” He swallows against another wave of nausea. “Is that all?”
Potter tosses him the vial and he downs the contents, moaning in open relief as the effects take hold. When he looks back over, Potter is still staring at him, and sweet sobriety kicks his brain back up to normal pace. “Potter, why are you in my bedroom?”
Potter’s only answer is another smirk before he asks, “What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done while plastered, Malfoy?”
“Are you going to prove me wrong no matter what I say?”
“Most definitely.”
Draco groans and pulls one of his pillows over his face. It smells different. “On with it, then.”
“Your wife wants a divorce,” Potter says, and Draco can hear him laughing. He abruptly sits up.
“My what wants a what?”
“Wife. Divorce. Keep up, Malfoy.”
“I don’t have a wife,” Draco insists, and Potter just looks delighted.
“I beg to differ.”
Right on cue, a horrid montage plays in his mind, first of shots, then of fluffy brown hair, and finally of some bastard in a bad tux magicking a bucket of confetti over the heads of him and… “Oh, fuck.”
“Really, you’re lucky it’s me sitting here and not Ron.”
“I just wanted to ask her out,” he groans, and he should really stop talking, but he can’t seem to. “I just had a couple shots to make myself go through with it, and…Fuck.”
Potter looks at him carefully. “I have the power to slow down the divorce proceedings. If you thought you could bring her around, that is.”
Draco chokes, though he can’t tell on what emotion. “And why would you do that?”
“I just want to see her happy.”
2
Title: The Morning After
Author: floorcoaster
Rating: G
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 598
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Draco gritted his teeth so hard that he thought his head would split open. There was no point in pointing out that he hadn’t done anything-they had done something. Something stupid. Something so horrendous, so terrifying, so-
“I mean, this was surely your idea. I would never have agreed to anything so ridiculous.”
Why were the curtains open again? Whose idea was that? Oh wait, hers.
His and hers. Shared hopes and dreams. All that rot.
“Of all the irresponsible things to do, Draco Malfoy… how could you do this to me?”
He had no choice but to tune her out. Eventually she’d get tired of talking, right? Only problem was that his dry bones might turn to dust first, and he rather wanted to see the light of day again.
Just not right now, driving daggers into his brain.
“Do you think I want a bloody diamond? I don’t care how many butterbeers I’d consumed, I wouldn’t be caught dead with a 2-carat diamond ring! It’s so pretentious and garish!”
Butterbeer, riiiiiiiiiiiight. And he’d only had a few sips of pumpkin juice. There were flashes from the night before, and he would bet the family fortune that she’d downed her share of fruity alcoholic beverages.
“You’re taking it back, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
He wanted to remind her that not saying no had gotten them into this predicament in the first place, but then his head throbbed, and he wasn’t even sure if his retort would have made sense.
“I can’t believe our friends let us get so wasted. I mean, I can’t believe they let us … well, they knew better than to leave us alone together. With all those… butterbeers.”
The smirk that formed was completely reflex.
At least she was close to admitting some personal responsibility for what happened.
“I will never forgive Ginny for this.”
Close-ish.
“Your parents will go completely mad. They absolutely hate me. Your mother thinks I can’t tell the difference between a salad fork and a dinner fork, and don’t get me started on your father.”
The ring on his finger kept capturing his attention. He really wished he could go back in time and peek into his own head and see what he’d been thinking.
“This is horrible! What will I tell my parents? They’ve always pictured me, their only daughter, marrying some nice, safe Muggle from Edinburgh.”
Draco rolled his eyes, then immediately regretted it. His blood rushed in his ears and he told himself he’d never, ever imbibe so much alcohol again.
Only problem was, that didn’t help him now.
“I didn’t even get to wear the dress! I’ve pictured it in my head for years, ever since I was a little girl, and I didn’t wear it. I didn’t even get to shop for it! My mother didn’t cry when she saw me in it.”
On the bright side, Draco didn’t have to go through months of listening to her plan and choose colors and place settings and invitations. Not to mention selecting a menu, deciding on a guest list, trying to seat everyone at the reception in such a way that no one got upset-or worse, killed.
He wasn’t joking about that last bit.
“The worse part is, I-”
Draco leaned over and, despite his raging hangover and his killer morning breath, kissed Hermione mid-sentence. Her look of surprise was one he’d never forget.
“Lots of couples elope,” he said. “I think it’s the best idea you’ve ever had.”
3
Title: Of Teeth and Towels
Author: bookishwench
Rating: PG
Warning(s): not much
Word Count: 499
“I swear to Merlin, Granger, if you put one toe over this line, I’ll hit you with so many hexes that the frizzy Doxy nest you call hair will be your most attractive attribute,” Draco said, scowling darkly.
“I have no desire to intrude on your personal space. If, however, I were to cross your silly chalk line, we both know you wouldn’t stand a chance of winning,” she said, hauling her trunk through the doorway into her newly assigned bedroom in the Head suite.
“You’ve got to sleep sometime,” Draco warned her.
“So do you,” she said far more threateningly than Draco had imagined she was capable of.
Their seventh year was far from domestic bliss. Draco had an annoying habit of leaving Chocolate Frog wrappers everywhere, and he seemed to think it was Hermione’s responsibility to clear them away. Hermione had a rafter-shaking snore that was clearly audible across their common room and through both of their closed bedroom doors. Draco left his Quidditch robes in untidy heaps all over the furniture. Worst of all, Hermione was so obsessed with flossing her teeth that Draco suspected her fingers were permanently grooved.
“You’re going to floss your teeth right out of your head, woman!” he finally yelled in late January, throwing a cushion at her. “Will you please stop it!”
“Did you actually use the word ‘please’ in my general direction?” she asked, putting a hand to her heart in mock dismay.
“Would your sensibilities be less shocked if I said ‘Will you sodding well stop it’?” he asked.
“As long as I’m on my side of the line, I can do whatever I like,” she said, then flounced back to her room, flossing all the way.
It was about this time that Draco developed a penchant for wandering around in nothing but a low slung towel after every shower. Hermione’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head at the first display of entirely too much skin.
“Get dressed, you narcissistic exhibitionist!” she yelped at him.
“I’m on my side of the line, so I can do whatever I like,” he quoted, then looked puzzled. “What has my mother got to do with anything?”
Hermione all but screamed in frustration.
“You quit the infernal flossing, and I’ll put on some decent robes,” he said, folding his arms.
“No,” she said.
Eventually, Malfoy began to suspect she was continuing her ridiculous habit for an entirely different reason than mere stubbornness, not that he minded. After months of parading around like a romance novel cover, he did the one thing she wasn’t expecting.
He stepped over the line.
She couldn’t blame him. After all, it would be impossible to kiss her from the other side of the room. As she relaxed against him, her hands still clutching the floss as they rested on his chest while they gave way to months, no, years of sexual tension, only one thought flitted through Draco’s mind.
He really liked the taste of mint.
4
Title: Year Eight
Author: terrayn
Rating: PG
Warning(s): none
Word Count: 599
AUTUMN
They claim it’s for inter-House unity and remembrance. But he knows they only remember the relics of his cowardice and ambition when they saddle him with Granger as overseer and spy. Draco trips over her everywhere he goes. In Potions, Slughorn partners him with the Head Girl in a demented attempt at symmetry, declaring the arrangement ‘quaint.’ He has a year of schooling on her-if that hellish seventh year counts as schooling-while she roughed it in the wild, fighting and Dark Lord-sabotaging, and still she bests him in everything.
She even has the gall to spell dormitory rules to his door. No House-Elves is quickly followed by No Girls in Common Room (he scribbles: thank god, see you never); No Sharing Hair Products (he scratches: it was once!); Make Your Own Damn Sandwiches (he points to No House-Elves); Crookshanks, Not Pincushion (he retorts: get the furball a leash); and CLOSE YOUR DOOR!! (he leers, walking Pansy out).
WINTER
Sometimes she stares openly, shrewd gaze raking over his face like sandpaper, and sometimes just out of the corner of her eye while he’s perching lazily on their windowsill or when he steals her ink then catches her peering through a door crack, mouth curved as though his stealthy thievery amuses her. She’s an infuriating show-off with the social skills of a gnat, and he’s the object of amusement?
He returns every scurrying glance scornfully until at last she looks away, and then he takes vengeance by watching her. He laughs when she trips over his chair leg (it’s possible he scooted back) and topples onto the floor, scattering the million books stacked in her arms. He sneers when she parades about in pink robes and misshapen slippers, squelching with each step (her tumbleweed hair hangs in wide rebellious loops, tempting a man to twine them around his fingers). He revels when his stack of Christmas presents dwarfs hers until she snaps, “And how many aren’t from your parents?”
Later, she dashes off: No Fisticuffs.
SPRING
He’s observed do-gooder Granger in her natural habitat, cataloguing all her rhythms and whims, so he knows how she takes tea (no sugar), likes to read (on her stomach, chewing a quill), eats snacks (tomatoes with honey, sliced like oranges), and insists on flossing for twenty minutes every night (ignoring threats to blow the bathroom door off its hinges). Worse, she’s a foot-tapper and hair-twirler. His fingers itch to cast a Body-Bind Curse. He misses those days when chambers had secrets, snakes climbed plumbing and petrified girls didn’t fidget.
On patrols she hums, walking with a slight bounce. He wants to grapple her shoulders and shake loose all the reasons she’s so damn happy, like sitting her NEWTs is a treat instead of a bleeding nightmare. Six years of taunts, seven months of cohabitation, and still she confounds him.
He scrawls: Smiley people are asking to be hexed.
SUMMER
“Why do you stare?” she asks.
Disbelief chips his voice jagged. “Why do I stare? A bit pot-calling-the-kettle-black, aren’t you?”
She frowns. “What?”
“Denial’s not a flattering look on you, Granger. You’ve been watching me since September.”
“No… Malfoy, I stopped ages ago. After I realized you weren’t planning to poison, curse, strangle or annoy me to death.”
Abruptly, he knows she’s right. He hasn’t felt scrutinizing brown eyes following him in months. “Well, damn,” he says.
“Yeah,” she agrees. “Bit awkward, isn’t it?”
He walks to his door and writes: No Staring.
Taking his quill with a smile that makes him shiver, she adds: (roommates excepted). “Or you know, just me, really.”
5
Title: A Perfectly Good Reason
Author: ilkee
Rating: G
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 590
A perfectly good reason to get very, very pissed:
Everyone was looking at him. Which would be fine since he was telling them about the Minister’s “accident” involving a lacy pair of pink panties and glitter-covered wand. But Potter seemed to be holding his breath to keep from laughing. Weasley was turning red. And Nott was openly snickering.
Honestly, it wasn’t that funny of a story. Kind of pathetic really.
Granger, on the other hand, was decidedly not looking at him.
The tip-off though, was the knowing smirk on his sort-of-but-not-really girlfriend’s face. Pansy arched an amused eyebrow at him and directed her eyes towards his right hand.
There, threaded with his long, pale fingers were a set of small, delicate fingers, attached to a thin wrist, attached to a fuzzy lilac sweater, attached to a very wide-eyed and pink-cheeked Hermione Granger.
No amount of Malfoy composure could compete with his burning face.
A perfectly good reason to get married:
As an apology for accidentally holding her hand (and because he desperately need a drink to erase the feel of her hand in his) Draco bought Hermione a drink when they got to the pub.
The rest of the group seemed to have forgotten about it, but Hermione was a bit more subdued than usual, smiling nervously at him whenever they made eye contact. Draco decided his storytelling was done for the night.
Pansy left early. Potter wasn’t far behind. Draco would have left but didn’t want it to seem like it was because of Granger. Weasley went home with a blonde with a squeaky laugh. Nott bought two more rounds to make the evening last, but eventually gave up.
Draco sat across from Hermione trying to think of what to say to her.
My apologies, Granger.
Understandable mistake. Thought you were Pans.
Oops.
I love that you eat beets for lunch everyday. From one’o’clock to five’o’clock I’m distracted by your stained lips.
He bought her another drink.
A perfectly good reason not to freak out:
She was in shock. It’s the only reason he could think of that she wasn’t hysterical. He’d like to say that he was in shock too, but the truth was that he hadn’t been that drunk. Drunk enough to need a sobering potion, but not so much that he didn’t remember every single moment of last night.
I love the way you pause after the third word of every sentence, searching for just the right words.
Hermione sat next to him with his sheets pulled around her, frowning at the green twisty-tie she was turning around her ring finger.
A twisty-tie, Draco? You’re loosing your touch.
Panic settled in Draco’s gut and urged him to say something, anything.
“There are something I should tell you.”
Don’t freak out.
I don’t regret this.
I’ve been in love with you for the last three years.
“I know about your toothbrush collection.”
What?
She gaped at him. His cheeks flushed.
“Remember that time we had to work late and we had take-away at your flat?”
Nothing.
“I always imagine you brushing each tooth with a different brush.” And because he was on a roll, he added, “I guess even a brilliant mind like yours needs a bit of crazy for balance.”
Nice, Draco.
“The thing is… I think you should add mine to your collection.”
After an interminable silence, Hermione tightened the twisty-tie and held out her hand.
“We need a spell to protect this thing from breaking.”
ooo
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