I F***ing Do! Part 16
Title: I F***ing Do! Part 16
Team: This goes to the masked ones
Word Count: 14x100
Rating: R for language
Challenge: Creative Cursing
Characters: SS/HG, the bitching biddies, the snarling Snapes, the gossipy gal-pals, two enterprising elves and one rogue Romanian
A/N: Thanks to the whole team for helping me think through some of my choices in this set, and special mention to Coco (gilded_glamour) for her sharp-eyed beta skills.
Previous Chapter
Even in his rage, Iorgovan stayed shadowed in his chair.
“Tell me, Miss Brown, how you failed to manage as fucking simple a task as convincing a pox-ridden Mudblooded hag to stay off the Hogwarts grounds for her wedding?”
All three witches flinched. There were some words one just didn’t use.
“I tried, I did. She was dead set against it after I explained that she wouldn’t be able to bring her gaggle of Muggle cousins along, but something changed her mind. And Hermione sodding Granger’s just impossibly stubborn. You don’t know what she’s like once she’s made a decision.”
…
“Have you forgotten that your business and all its assets revert to me should you fail to fulfill my requirements?”
“But …” Iorgovan had asked for unusual language in the investment agreement, but nothing her solicitor had found unacceptable. “I’ve made a good faith effort to sabotage Hermione and Severus’ wedding; you have no grounds for complaint.”
“The contract says ‘satisfactory,’ and this is not to my satisfaction. And you, Miss Brown, are one of the business’ assets. Fail me, and that fish-belly white, bloated arse of yours quite literally belongs to me. Just imagine what I’ll do with it.”
…
Dissa was worrying. Her mistress was having big troubles from the horrible, snarly, ugly man. Dissa couldn’t tell the snarly man’s Dark secrets without getting her mistress into more trouble, but Dissa could distract the snarly, ugly man. The braid-headed, gossipy lady could have big troubles instead, and Dissa could help cousin Bugo at the same time. (Even in her thoughts, Dissa could never call Bugo that horridly cute, insecty nickname he preferred.) After all, Bugo was family, and family was the most important thing after service to the Mistress. Dissa could share the braid-headed, gossipy lady’s secrets, oh yes.
…
Hermione called a war council. Not that anyone else had to be at war, she was angry enough to take on a small nation all by herself.
“I’m sure you’ve all seen this bit of loveliness.” She held up the cover-story from International Glamour that provided a gossipy, insider’s account of the wedding planning. “This part in particular: ‘The groom-to-be shared a ganja-fueled haze with his business partner and co-founder of Flamelixirs, the luscious Lucius Malfoy. One wonders, are their potions brewed under similar conditions?’ Anyone care to know where they got their information? Hmm?”
Ginny shrank in her seat.
…
“My supposed matron of honour! You wouldn’t know honour if it smacked you across the tits with a pustulant Troll’s dick.”
“Ginevra Weasley, I’m ashamed of you! How could …”
“Shut it, you haranguing harridan.” Hermione cut Molly off before she could build up to a proper rant. “You don’t know the half of it. It may interest you all,” and here she looked to where Severus and the Malfoys were sitting wondering why they were there, “that International Glamour is owned by the Flobberworm fucking Dourak Dourakine.”
“A spy? Little Ginny Potter a spy for our enemies?” Severus hissed.
…
“Hold off, Snape,” Harry interjected. “Gin fucked up, but she’s not underhanded. Parvati’s an old school chum; Gin was just sharing some gossip.”
Hermione snorted. “Not quite that innocent, was it, Ginevra? Or should I read your filthy letters out loud? Care to let everyone hear what you really think of us?”
“No, please. I didn’t mean any harm. I was just having a bit of fun. Parvati said if I got her some good goss I might be able to write for the magazine, but it had to be good…”
“And,” Hermione growled.
“I might have spiked Percy’s punch.”
…
Everyone shouted at once.
“Eighteen hours of labour, you ungrateful she-demon.”
“Must I always suffer the sleazy shenanigans of slimy, soul-sucking Potters?”
“Merlin’s lice-ridden hair-shirt, how have I sunk to entanglements with wittering Weasleys?”
“Gin! How could you? Hermione’s my best friend!”
“We should never have let you go to that godforsaken, demon-infested hell-hole of a school in the first place!”
“Get your leprous hand off my arse, you whore-mongering wretch of a goat-herder!”
“Like ol’ times, eh Leenie?”
“Bloody hell, Harry. She’s madder than a she-Knarl in heat. Reckon we ought to get out of here right quick.”
“SILENCIO!”
…
Hermione glared until everyone was seated. “Now that you have no choice but to listen, I’m going tell you how things are going to go from now on. This is MY Circe-cursed wedding, and it will be done MY way.”
Starting at one end of the room, she told Jocasta, “I’ll wear what I fwooping want.”
Moving to the next of her silenced listeners, she informed Lavender, “No Veelas, no vampires, no Quidditch queens and no troglodyte trolls.”
Ginny was told, “You won’t be matron of honour, you shallow, imbecilic twat. You’ll be lucky to be allowed to show up.”
…
To Ron and Harry, “No bloody way I’m getting married in the fucking Great Hall. Killing the slimy snake lord was a great moment, but I’m not celebrating a literally, metaphorically, and in every fucking way bloody battle on my wedding day.”
To Melanie, “I’ll bugger Orion with a meat-hook before I let you turn my wedding into a political statement. Wax or don’t wax, but if you won’t wear the dress don’t fwooping show up.”
To Narcissa, “I’m inviting who the fuck I want. Your society friends can bugger your peacocks in the Hall of Heroes; they’re not invited.”
…
To Buggy, “It will be at Hogwarts, but I won’t have one of your infernal feasts. Finger-food. Nothing but finger-food. Sweet Merlin, let me never have to eat another bloody Hogwarts feast for the rest of my life!”
To Minerva she pronounced, “My wedding will not be a school event. I don’t care how fwooping educational it would be, your students are not invited. And it’s bloody well not going to be on Halloween either. Saturday, October 18th, during the day. And every one of the fucking little blighters had better be in Hogsmeade or shut up in their rooms.”
…
To Tobias, “Put one fucking finger out of line and I dance the sodding Macarena on your bleeding, goat-loving corpse.”
And finally, to Eileen: “I’m the one who has to pick up Severus' filthy, fungus-encrusted socks, I’m the one who puts up with his endless whinging about incompetent dunderheaded employees, and I’m the one whose hair is turning to fiend-fire fried frizz from having to wash his slimy drool out of it every morning. So I’m the one who gets to tell him what to do. Is there any part of that your sex-sodden, syphilis-infected brain can’t manage to comprehend?”
…
“Let me be perfectly fucking clear. This is MY fucked to perdition wedding and I will make the decisions without any help from any of you thrice-damned interfering arseholes. Now, I think that covers everything. Finite Incantatem.”
There was a prolonged silence, broken when Severus got to his feet and walked over to the door. As he stepped out, he calmly said, “I do hope you enjoy YOUR wedding, you self-centered, arrogant, unfeeling she-Knarl. So sorry I’ll be missing it, but I happen to have plans for that day.”
Hermione sank into a chair. “Sweet Nimue. What have I done?”
…
Lavender calmly recounted Hermione’s rather spectacular breakdown to Iorgovan. It took all her concentration not to think about her meeting the next day with Lucius, Severus and Harry. If they couldn’t get her out of this mess, she was a bloody dead woman, she just knew it. She’d only wanted to make a fool of Hermione, the snot-nosed, swotty skank, for all her swanning around school flaunting her famous Quidditch-star boyfriend and getting her name in the paper for panting around like a slut after Ron and Harry, not that either of them would have had her skinny arse anyway.
…
The so-called Iorgovan listened quietly to Lavender’s account of the Mudblooded slut’s eruption. His plan was working well, but it was time to increase the pressure. Let the blood-traitors Malfoy and Snape know who they’re really up against, he thought. Let them wet their robes as they quake in fear before they suffer the retribution due the faithless. He turned to Parvati.
“You seem to have outlived your usefulness, Miss Patil. Remove your things from your office by morning. But before you go, a small parting gift.”
Leaning forward, Antonin Dolohov pulled out his wand and almost casually cast: “Crucio.”
Next Chapter
Team: This goes to the masked ones
Word Count: 14x100
Rating: R for language
Challenge: Creative Cursing
Characters: SS/HG, the bitching biddies, the snarling Snapes, the gossipy gal-pals, two enterprising elves and one rogue Romanian
A/N: Thanks to the whole team for helping me think through some of my choices in this set, and special mention to Coco (gilded_glamour) for her sharp-eyed beta skills.
Previous Chapter
Even in his rage, Iorgovan stayed shadowed in his chair.
“Tell me, Miss Brown, how you failed to manage as fucking simple a task as convincing a pox-ridden Mudblooded hag to stay off the Hogwarts grounds for her wedding?”
All three witches flinched. There were some words one just didn’t use.
“I tried, I did. She was dead set against it after I explained that she wouldn’t be able to bring her gaggle of Muggle cousins along, but something changed her mind. And Hermione sodding Granger’s just impossibly stubborn. You don’t know what she’s like once she’s made a decision.”
…
“Have you forgotten that your business and all its assets revert to me should you fail to fulfill my requirements?”
“But …” Iorgovan had asked for unusual language in the investment agreement, but nothing her solicitor had found unacceptable. “I’ve made a good faith effort to sabotage Hermione and Severus’ wedding; you have no grounds for complaint.”
“The contract says ‘satisfactory,’ and this is not to my satisfaction. And you, Miss Brown, are one of the business’ assets. Fail me, and that fish-belly white, bloated arse of yours quite literally belongs to me. Just imagine what I’ll do with it.”
…
Dissa was worrying. Her mistress was having big troubles from the horrible, snarly, ugly man. Dissa couldn’t tell the snarly man’s Dark secrets without getting her mistress into more trouble, but Dissa could distract the snarly, ugly man. The braid-headed, gossipy lady could have big troubles instead, and Dissa could help cousin Bugo at the same time. (Even in her thoughts, Dissa could never call Bugo that horridly cute, insecty nickname he preferred.) After all, Bugo was family, and family was the most important thing after service to the Mistress. Dissa could share the braid-headed, gossipy lady’s secrets, oh yes.
…
Hermione called a war council. Not that anyone else had to be at war, she was angry enough to take on a small nation all by herself.
“I’m sure you’ve all seen this bit of loveliness.” She held up the cover-story from International Glamour that provided a gossipy, insider’s account of the wedding planning. “This part in particular: ‘The groom-to-be shared a ganja-fueled haze with his business partner and co-founder of Flamelixirs, the luscious Lucius Malfoy. One wonders, are their potions brewed under similar conditions?’ Anyone care to know where they got their information? Hmm?”
Ginny shrank in her seat.
…
“My supposed matron of honour! You wouldn’t know honour if it smacked you across the tits with a pustulant Troll’s dick.”
“Ginevra Weasley, I’m ashamed of you! How could …”
“Shut it, you haranguing harridan.” Hermione cut Molly off before she could build up to a proper rant. “You don’t know the half of it. It may interest you all,” and here she looked to where Severus and the Malfoys were sitting wondering why they were there, “that International Glamour is owned by the Flobberworm fucking Dourak Dourakine.”
“A spy? Little Ginny Potter a spy for our enemies?” Severus hissed.
…
“Hold off, Snape,” Harry interjected. “Gin fucked up, but she’s not underhanded. Parvati’s an old school chum; Gin was just sharing some gossip.”
Hermione snorted. “Not quite that innocent, was it, Ginevra? Or should I read your filthy letters out loud? Care to let everyone hear what you really think of us?”
“No, please. I didn’t mean any harm. I was just having a bit of fun. Parvati said if I got her some good goss I might be able to write for the magazine, but it had to be good…”
“And,” Hermione growled.
“I might have spiked Percy’s punch.”
…
Everyone shouted at once.
“Eighteen hours of labour, you ungrateful she-demon.”
“Must I always suffer the sleazy shenanigans of slimy, soul-sucking Potters?”
“Merlin’s lice-ridden hair-shirt, how have I sunk to entanglements with wittering Weasleys?”
“Gin! How could you? Hermione’s my best friend!”
“We should never have let you go to that godforsaken, demon-infested hell-hole of a school in the first place!”
“Get your leprous hand off my arse, you whore-mongering wretch of a goat-herder!”
“Like ol’ times, eh Leenie?”
“Bloody hell, Harry. She’s madder than a she-Knarl in heat. Reckon we ought to get out of here right quick.”
“SILENCIO!”
…
Hermione glared until everyone was seated. “Now that you have no choice but to listen, I’m going tell you how things are going to go from now on. This is MY Circe-cursed wedding, and it will be done MY way.”
Starting at one end of the room, she told Jocasta, “I’ll wear what I fwooping want.”
Moving to the next of her silenced listeners, she informed Lavender, “No Veelas, no vampires, no Quidditch queens and no troglodyte trolls.”
Ginny was told, “You won’t be matron of honour, you shallow, imbecilic twat. You’ll be lucky to be allowed to show up.”
…
To Ron and Harry, “No bloody way I’m getting married in the fucking Great Hall. Killing the slimy snake lord was a great moment, but I’m not celebrating a literally, metaphorically, and in every fucking way bloody battle on my wedding day.”
To Melanie, “I’ll bugger Orion with a meat-hook before I let you turn my wedding into a political statement. Wax or don’t wax, but if you won’t wear the dress don’t fwooping show up.”
To Narcissa, “I’m inviting who the fuck I want. Your society friends can bugger your peacocks in the Hall of Heroes; they’re not invited.”
…
To Buggy, “It will be at Hogwarts, but I won’t have one of your infernal feasts. Finger-food. Nothing but finger-food. Sweet Merlin, let me never have to eat another bloody Hogwarts feast for the rest of my life!”
To Minerva she pronounced, “My wedding will not be a school event. I don’t care how fwooping educational it would be, your students are not invited. And it’s bloody well not going to be on Halloween either. Saturday, October 18th, during the day. And every one of the fucking little blighters had better be in Hogsmeade or shut up in their rooms.”
…
To Tobias, “Put one fucking finger out of line and I dance the sodding Macarena on your bleeding, goat-loving corpse.”
And finally, to Eileen: “I’m the one who has to pick up Severus' filthy, fungus-encrusted socks, I’m the one who puts up with his endless whinging about incompetent dunderheaded employees, and I’m the one whose hair is turning to fiend-fire fried frizz from having to wash his slimy drool out of it every morning. So I’m the one who gets to tell him what to do. Is there any part of that your sex-sodden, syphilis-infected brain can’t manage to comprehend?”
…
“Let me be perfectly fucking clear. This is MY fucked to perdition wedding and I will make the decisions without any help from any of you thrice-damned interfering arseholes. Now, I think that covers everything. Finite Incantatem.”
There was a prolonged silence, broken when Severus got to his feet and walked over to the door. As he stepped out, he calmly said, “I do hope you enjoy YOUR wedding, you self-centered, arrogant, unfeeling she-Knarl. So sorry I’ll be missing it, but I happen to have plans for that day.”
Hermione sank into a chair. “Sweet Nimue. What have I done?”
…
Lavender calmly recounted Hermione’s rather spectacular breakdown to Iorgovan. It took all her concentration not to think about her meeting the next day with Lucius, Severus and Harry. If they couldn’t get her out of this mess, she was a bloody dead woman, she just knew it. She’d only wanted to make a fool of Hermione, the snot-nosed, swotty skank, for all her swanning around school flaunting her famous Quidditch-star boyfriend and getting her name in the paper for panting around like a slut after Ron and Harry, not that either of them would have had her skinny arse anyway.
…
The so-called Iorgovan listened quietly to Lavender’s account of the Mudblooded slut’s eruption. His plan was working well, but it was time to increase the pressure. Let the blood-traitors Malfoy and Snape know who they’re really up against, he thought. Let them wet their robes as they quake in fear before they suffer the retribution due the faithless. He turned to Parvati.
“You seem to have outlived your usefulness, Miss Patil. Remove your things from your office by morning. But before you go, a small parting gift.”
Leaning forward, Antonin Dolohov pulled out his wand and almost casually cast: “Crucio.”
Next Chapter