I F***ing Do! Part 10
Title: I F***ing Do! Part 10
Team Name: Spy for the Men in Black
Word Count: 8x100
Rating: M (language)
Challenge: Creative Cursing
Characters: Hermione/Severus (in absentia) and many other characters
Author’s Notes: This is part ten of the round-robin drabble series “I F***ing Do!”, a Hissing Harpies production relating the true story of the Snape-Granger wedding.
Many thanks to all the Harpies, but especially to
camillo1978
for a thorough editing, and to
septentrion1970
and
dacian_goddess
for a friendly perusal.
Previous chapter
*****
The three witches were seated at one end of the long mahogany table, near the balcony. The large French windows opened directly above the dark blue, almost purple waves of the Black Sea.
The villa was perched on the flank of the spectacular Balchik cliffs. The breeze twitching the silk curtains smelled in equal parts of seaweed and success.
Rita breathed in deeply and almost closed her eyes.
At the other end of the table, the face of the seated wizard was lost in the shadows, but a ray of light fell on the hands resting on the dark wood.
*****
Even Rita didn’t know all about Iorgovan’s obscure past, but not for the first time she wondered if those square, powerful hands didn’t belong to a dragon tamer.
He certainly had the build of one, and Rita was sure he would have the language too, if the thin veneer of respectability wore off.
At Rita’s left, Lavender tittered, and Rita took hold of herself. This was not the time for dreaming.
“And this is what the little tart wrote to me.” Parvati was fumbling in her bag. “Ah, here it is.” She waved the letter victoriously and began to read.
*****
Dear Parvati,
Thanks for the dress. Only the editor-in-chief at International Glamour could have got me a vintage dress by Yvonne Saint-Laurie at such short notice, complete with invisible hollow leg (which, believe me, was useful).
Lavender was very nice too, and gave me a sample of potion that I put to good use.
Anyway, as promised, here is some fresh news from that bloody Snape-Granger party. I won’t bore you with what is already in the press, but after the fwooping great fiasco at the Manor, the old biddies (minus a defeated Narcissa) had a council-of-war at the Burrow.
*****
So, Mum, dear Jocasta and Minerva were arguing, and the Snape hag was scoffing all the chocolate biscuits, when Hermione dropped in, without the greasy git, and looking like a dysenteric Thestral shit. I’ll try and repeat the conversation for you.
“What’s up?” says Mum.
“Bad day at work,” Hermione whines.
( I could tell she was hiding something, but Mum just poured her a cup of tea and tried to stuff her with ginger cake. Miss Plan-it-All was upgrading from green to greyish yellow when Pigwidgeon flew in and dropped the evening edition of the Tattler on the table.)
*****
It was there, on the front page!!! Snape with his hand up Hermione’s pathetic excuse for a skirt, both of them looking pissed as a pickled Lethifold. I swear, those two could have found subliminal messages in ice cubes.
Minerva started mumbling about kilts and nadgers, Mum kept swearing that it would never have happened at the Burrow, Jocasta was screaming that daft witches were obviously incapable of protecting her daughter. Bloody Eileen just kept munching chocolate biscuits and then Mum yelled that it was Jocasta’s fault for having accepted a Malfoy’s proposal, and anyway WHAT WOULD A MUGGLE KNOW?
*****
Everybody froze. Minerva spilt tea in her lap and Hermione looked like she was about to spew. Jocasta stood up as if she was going to leave, then turned gracefully and punched Mum right on the fwooping nose!
“Fuck! Mother!” shouts Hermione.
“Mrs. Granger!” yells Minerva, and then she drops Mum’s best rose-painted bone china cup (a wedding present from Aunt Muriel).
Mum didn’t say anything; she had both hands clapped over her blood-pissing nose. I offered her a tea-towel. And then we heard this deep, silky chuckle. It was that harpy, Eileen!
“I bloody like you, Jocasta,” she says.
*****
After that, Hermione did an Episkey on Mum’s nose and everyone settled down again.
“We need careful planning. We should hire professionals,” says Mum.
“We need tight security,” adds Minerva.
Bloody Eileen just nods and pinches the last biscuit.
“Why not hire Lavender Brown?” I suggest.
Miss Know-it-All, soon to be Mrs. Dark-and-Surly, actually kept her big mouth shut!
That’s all for now but I’ll keep you updated. If you liked this, how about letting me freelance for your People page?
P.S. Could you get me a different dress for the wedding? I can’t possibly wear the same one twice.
*****
“Good,” said the man at the other end of the table. “Once we’re through with the Snape-Granger wedding, Flamelixirs won’t be worth a dragon’s last fart.”
“I’ve already been hired to organize the event,” said Lavender. “They want a lot of security. I’ve proposed Trolls supervised by vampires, and the Holyhead Harpies on their brooms armed with bug sprays. Oh, and Veela go-go girls, of course.”
A baritone chuckle joined the three soprano titters.
“I have good news too,” said the man when the laughter had subsided. “We have located Tobias Snape.”
“Where?” asked Rita.
“In Jamaica. He’s breeding goats.”
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