Another Cat's Birthday Fic
The Cat's Birthday HP Drabblethon III is now closed, and for the next twenty-four hours, there is an open challenge.
I picked one of the unused prompts. I swear, only I could turn a prompt for a threesome fic into a gen piece.
Anyway, here it is.
Recipient: cheshyre
Prompt: Draco/Fred/George: testing Weasley Wheezes, forced feminization a plus
Word count: 1,067
Rating: PG
Warning: This is not a threesome fic, though all three are present and accounted for. In fact, this is so gen that I may be drummed out of HP fandom for conduct unbecoming a fangirl. I went in an unexpected direction with the "forced feminization" issue, too.
***
The cellar of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was sizzling with profanities.
Fred and George were taking notes.
"I swear I've never heard of half of these swear words before," said George, scribbling furiously. "Do you suppose Malfoy's making them up?"
"I hope not. They'll be ideal for the Profanity Pastries we've been working on."
"Profanity Pastries?" Draco screamed, his voice even higher than usual. "Look at me!"
"Now, now, Malfoy," said Fred. "I think you make a very nice warthog."
George peered at the beast's rear end. "Wart-sow, actually."
Draco the warthog looked appalled…well, as appalled as he could look, under the circumstances. "No. Tell me you're joking. Please."
Fred studied the warthog's hindquarters with scientific curiosity. "Huh. You're right, George."
"What did you do?" Draco demanded, straining against the conjured ropes binding him. "What in the name of Merlin went wrong?"
George walked over to their workbench, picked up their notes and examined them with painstaking thoroughness. "Hmm."
"What's the matter?" Fred said.
"Nothing. The spell didn't malfunction. That's the problem."
"WHAT?!" Draco's shriek was audible in Madagascar.
"Nothing went wrong, Malfoy," George repeated. "The Identity Ices we were testing work on a principle similar to the Animagus spell. They're supposed to make you become your true self. It's not our fault if your true self is both a hideous swine and a little girl."
"Or that you broke into our shop looking for Skivving Snackboxes so that you could make any Aurors or Death Eaters following you horribly sick without actually killing them."
"Or that you have a sweet tooth as bad as the man you were supposed to kill."
"Or that you ate half of the Identity Ices thinking that they were part of our lunch."
"When you come right down to it," George concluded, "we're innocent."
"Don't tell anyone, though," Fred added. "It would be horrible for our reputation."
"Tell? Who am I going to tell under these circumstances?" Draco made a visible effort to calm himself. "Fine. This is all my fault. Now will you please turn me back?"
"Um…that's the problem," said George, looking guilty. "We can't. The spell's supposed to wear off in an hour if you just consume one Identity Ice. You had ten. And the spell's lasted a good bit longer than ten hours already."
"You mean I'm stuck like this?"
"For the moment…yes."
The warthog's hoof just barely missed George's nose.
"Aah-aah-aah," said Fred, wagging his finger at Draco the warthog. "Please remember that we are the only people who know where you are at the moment--and the only ones who might have a chance at turning you back."
"True," said George, stepping more than a foreleg's-length away from Draco. "St. Mungo's hasn't had much luck at dealing with our failures."
"Though they're fascinated by our successes. When they can tell the difference, of course." Fred regarded Draco with a blandly innocent expression. "So I'm afraid, Draco, that you're stuck--stuck in that form, and stuck with us. We're the only ones who can ever turn you back."
"And that could take some time," George said, frowning thoughtfully. "After all, a Death Eater and attempted murderer is hardly our first priority. We've a business to run. A shop girl to support. A brother to annoy. Sex lives."
"Not to mention beating Moldyshorts," Fred added. "I mean, granted that's Harry's job, ultimately, but that doesn't mean that we can't participate."
George's grin was pure evil. "Or that we can't have tons of fun doing so."
Draco glanced wildly about the shop's cellar, clearly searching for an escape. Somewhere, somehow, there had to be one.
"Of course," Fred said, as if the idea had just occurred to him, "we could call the Aurors, like good little citizens."
"Which would pretty much guarantee you a berth in Azkaban," said George as he rummaged around on the workbench. "After all, the Ministry throws people into Azkaban for giving other people hives without a license. I'd hate to think what would happen to someone who had tried to kill Dumbledore. Several times."
"And who nearly ended up killing Katie Bell--"
"Not to mention our little brother."
All humor had gone out of the twins' faces now.
"I didn't know that Katie had a hole in her glove when I gave her the cursed necklace!" Draco protested. "And I didn't plan on Ron drinking poisoned wine, either. Anyway, you've both done your fair share of nearly killing people."
"Yes," Fred admitted, "we have nearly killed people. But not because we were trying to kill someone else."
"Besides," George added in a voice of pure iron, "not only did you nearly kill Ron, but your father arranged for our baby sister to be possessed, soul-drained and killed by You-Know-Ho--"
"You mean 'You-Know-Who,' " Draco interrupted.
"No," said George. "I mean 'You-Know-Ho.' Because let's face it, he'd whore himself out in any way, shape or form to get the immortality he wants, and the hell with everyone else…including the idiots who work for him."
"So you can't trust me."
"Oh, we never did," Fred replied, as George snorted at Draco's words. "However…you're young. Stupid, but young. So perhaps we can offer you an alternative to Azkaban."
"Alternative?" Draco said uncertainly.
"Yes. You stay here, and we'll work on changing you back. And since we're helping you, you'll help us in a few ways, too."
"Testing our latest experiments."
"Telling us every last detail about the Death Eaters."
"Accurate details. Because lying would be very bad."
"How bad?" asked Draco.
"Well, you see," said George, "if you lied to us, then we'd know that you'd never change, and that you really were no better than a beast. We'd have to call the Aurors, then."
"Or rub your throat with an ointment containing a permanent Silencing Charm, and sell you to a menagerie, like your Auntie Bella was rumored to have done to certain members of the Order during the First War."
George smiled at Fred. "And I'm sure that most menageries would be happy to get a young and healthy female warthog for breeding purposes."
"Exactly." Fred turned back toward Draco, who was now trembling. "So you see, Malfoy, you have a choice. Help us, strategically, militarily and professionally, or spend the rest of your life as an imprisoned animal, either in Azkaban or in a zoo somewhere.
"Which is it going to be?"
I picked one of the unused prompts. I swear, only I could turn a prompt for a threesome fic into a gen piece.
Anyway, here it is.
Recipient: cheshyre
Prompt: Draco/Fred/George: testing Weasley Wheezes, forced feminization a plus
Word count: 1,067
Rating: PG
Warning: This is not a threesome fic, though all three are present and accounted for. In fact, this is so gen that I may be drummed out of HP fandom for conduct unbecoming a fangirl. I went in an unexpected direction with the "forced feminization" issue, too.
***
The cellar of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was sizzling with profanities.
Fred and George were taking notes.
"I swear I've never heard of half of these swear words before," said George, scribbling furiously. "Do you suppose Malfoy's making them up?"
"I hope not. They'll be ideal for the Profanity Pastries we've been working on."
"Profanity Pastries?" Draco screamed, his voice even higher than usual. "Look at me!"
"Now, now, Malfoy," said Fred. "I think you make a very nice warthog."
George peered at the beast's rear end. "Wart-sow, actually."
Draco the warthog looked appalled…well, as appalled as he could look, under the circumstances. "No. Tell me you're joking. Please."
Fred studied the warthog's hindquarters with scientific curiosity. "Huh. You're right, George."
"What did you do?" Draco demanded, straining against the conjured ropes binding him. "What in the name of Merlin went wrong?"
George walked over to their workbench, picked up their notes and examined them with painstaking thoroughness. "Hmm."
"What's the matter?" Fred said.
"Nothing. The spell didn't malfunction. That's the problem."
"WHAT?!" Draco's shriek was audible in Madagascar.
"Nothing went wrong, Malfoy," George repeated. "The Identity Ices we were testing work on a principle similar to the Animagus spell. They're supposed to make you become your true self. It's not our fault if your true self is both a hideous swine and a little girl."
"Or that you broke into our shop looking for Skivving Snackboxes so that you could make any Aurors or Death Eaters following you horribly sick without actually killing them."
"Or that you have a sweet tooth as bad as the man you were supposed to kill."
"Or that you ate half of the Identity Ices thinking that they were part of our lunch."
"When you come right down to it," George concluded, "we're innocent."
"Don't tell anyone, though," Fred added. "It would be horrible for our reputation."
"Tell? Who am I going to tell under these circumstances?" Draco made a visible effort to calm himself. "Fine. This is all my fault. Now will you please turn me back?"
"Um…that's the problem," said George, looking guilty. "We can't. The spell's supposed to wear off in an hour if you just consume one Identity Ice. You had ten. And the spell's lasted a good bit longer than ten hours already."
"You mean I'm stuck like this?"
"For the moment…yes."
The warthog's hoof just barely missed George's nose.
"Aah-aah-aah," said Fred, wagging his finger at Draco the warthog. "Please remember that we are the only people who know where you are at the moment--and the only ones who might have a chance at turning you back."
"True," said George, stepping more than a foreleg's-length away from Draco. "St. Mungo's hasn't had much luck at dealing with our failures."
"Though they're fascinated by our successes. When they can tell the difference, of course." Fred regarded Draco with a blandly innocent expression. "So I'm afraid, Draco, that you're stuck--stuck in that form, and stuck with us. We're the only ones who can ever turn you back."
"And that could take some time," George said, frowning thoughtfully. "After all, a Death Eater and attempted murderer is hardly our first priority. We've a business to run. A shop girl to support. A brother to annoy. Sex lives."
"Not to mention beating Moldyshorts," Fred added. "I mean, granted that's Harry's job, ultimately, but that doesn't mean that we can't participate."
George's grin was pure evil. "Or that we can't have tons of fun doing so."
Draco glanced wildly about the shop's cellar, clearly searching for an escape. Somewhere, somehow, there had to be one.
"Of course," Fred said, as if the idea had just occurred to him, "we could call the Aurors, like good little citizens."
"Which would pretty much guarantee you a berth in Azkaban," said George as he rummaged around on the workbench. "After all, the Ministry throws people into Azkaban for giving other people hives without a license. I'd hate to think what would happen to someone who had tried to kill Dumbledore. Several times."
"And who nearly ended up killing Katie Bell--"
"Not to mention our little brother."
All humor had gone out of the twins' faces now.
"I didn't know that Katie had a hole in her glove when I gave her the cursed necklace!" Draco protested. "And I didn't plan on Ron drinking poisoned wine, either. Anyway, you've both done your fair share of nearly killing people."
"Yes," Fred admitted, "we have nearly killed people. But not because we were trying to kill someone else."
"Besides," George added in a voice of pure iron, "not only did you nearly kill Ron, but your father arranged for our baby sister to be possessed, soul-drained and killed by You-Know-Ho--"
"You mean 'You-Know-Who,' " Draco interrupted.
"No," said George. "I mean 'You-Know-Ho.' Because let's face it, he'd whore himself out in any way, shape or form to get the immortality he wants, and the hell with everyone else…including the idiots who work for him."
"So you can't trust me."
"Oh, we never did," Fred replied, as George snorted at Draco's words. "However…you're young. Stupid, but young. So perhaps we can offer you an alternative to Azkaban."
"Alternative?" Draco said uncertainly.
"Yes. You stay here, and we'll work on changing you back. And since we're helping you, you'll help us in a few ways, too."
"Testing our latest experiments."
"Telling us every last detail about the Death Eaters."
"Accurate details. Because lying would be very bad."
"How bad?" asked Draco.
"Well, you see," said George, "if you lied to us, then we'd know that you'd never change, and that you really were no better than a beast. We'd have to call the Aurors, then."
"Or rub your throat with an ointment containing a permanent Silencing Charm, and sell you to a menagerie, like your Auntie Bella was rumored to have done to certain members of the Order during the First War."
George smiled at Fred. "And I'm sure that most menageries would be happy to get a young and healthy female warthog for breeding purposes."
"Exactly." Fred turned back toward Draco, who was now trembling. "So you see, Malfoy, you have a choice. Help us, strategically, militarily and professionally, or spend the rest of your life as an imprisoned animal, either in Azkaban or in a zoo somewhere.
"Which is it going to be?"