I F***ing Do - Part 20
Title: I F***ing Do Part 20
Team Name: Order
Word Count: 100 x 12
Rating: Bad language - PG?
Challenge: Creative cursing
Characters: Severus, Hermione, everyone else
Authors Notes: Part Thirteen of the Hissing Harpies' round robin. JKR's toys, we're just playing with them and will put them back in the cupboard after we've washed their mouths out with soap and water. Many thanks to the other Harpies for feedback and encouragement .
Previously:
Part 19
Part 20
Lucius straightened, his hand going to the singed remains of hair above his left ear.
"Cannibalistic, turd-eating boil on a wizard's arse!" he spat into the silence left in the wake of Dolohov's Apparition.
Harry struggled upright, hissing.
"Fancy enough duellist, though," he gasped.
Malfoy tossed him a phial of potion and started turning out the desk.
"You take the filing cabinet." He snatched his fingers back. "And watch out for traps. Mordred's manacles! This is worse than Narcissa's lingerie drawer."
"Let's just take the whole frigging lot back with us. Hermione and Severus need to know the bastard's coming!"
*
Hermione looked at the sea of de-jinxed papers and parchments.
"Herpo's haemorrhoids! He's ticked every fwooping box. We'll have to work closely with Romania on this one, and probably every other magical authority in the world, the way this lot's looking."
She glanced at her watch.
"Harry - just separate out my department's stuff and I'll get to it whenever. I'm meeting Severus at the school in ten minutes."
"Don't forget your protection."
Hammerhand and Brass Monkey stood to attention.
"Numbskull and Squeaky. Fucking marvellous. What in Maeve's name did I ever do to deserve the Goblins?" she muttered, beckoning them.
*
Neither Goblin was accustomed to using Portkeys. She dusted them off, maintaining a straight face.
"I'm going to fucking screw Leadbelly's knackers into a G-clamp and show them how much my lump hammer likes my anvil," growled Hammerhand, swaying. "He'll be talking like you, Monkey, by the time I've finished."
"No he bloody won't," shrilled the other Goblin. "I've got a pair of pliers just waiting to tear out his slag-coated tonsils. Via his arsehole." His legs collapsed.
Severus opened the Hogwarts gates to admit them.
"I see you merit real guards," Hermione commented.
"Eat thistles, human," spat Bane.
*
It was a crowded meeting. After the tenth time, Hermione had given up shouting that she did not want her wedding to symbolise anything other than her desire to be with Severus, and was slumped gloomily against his shoulder, daydreaming about Gretna.
"There's always Vegas," he murmured.
"Fat bloody chance. With Dolohov on the loose, we're being watched more obsessively than a tot watches Jolly John Dee and his Dancing Doxies. It's your turn to…"
Severus exploded out of his chair.
"No! Pout like a broody banshee if you like, Minerva, but there'll be no sodding bagpipes at my wedding!"
*
Beneath the smugly nonchalant presence of the Sorting Hat on its shelf, Kingsley, McGonagall and Leadbelly were still arguing about the role of the sword in the ceremony.
"Well, as this wedding is, despite our express wishes, going to be made a symbolic free-for-all, how about we really go for broke?" Hermione snarked. "We will be handfasted over the sword, which we will then bless with wards of faithfulness ensuring that it will remain in Goblin hands. And up yours, Hat."
"Nit-infested nincompoops!" yelled the Hat. "Scabrous dunces!"
McGonagall stuffed the offensive haberdashery into a cupboard.
"My turn," said Severus.
*
"The setting," he mused, "must really be natural, to reflect wizarding tradition as well as my own tastes. There will, of course, be a bower to shelter the Happy Couple - while the guests will be expected to symbolise the symbiotic and unfettered union of man and wife, like that of creature and environment, by standing bare-headed and barefoot beneath the open skies."
They all looked out of the window at the horizontal sleet.
Hermione sniggered.
"You sadistic son of a she-skrewt," marvelled Pomfrey.
"Shut your trap, you poncy, jumped-up quack," snarled Eileen.
"I rest my case," smiled the Matron serenely.
*
"My go," said Hermione.
"The school," she continued, "nurtured and educated us. The staff, obviously, embody both the achievements and the continuing mission of Hogwarts."
They looked flattered, but nervous.
"Truly, my friends, you deserve positions of prominence at this event."
"Naturally," snorted Slughorn.
"Ah, yes - there will be plenty of use for that self-important swagger as you all trot about ushering the guests to their seats, ensuring they are comfortable, that everyone can see, that they all have what they need…"
"Ptolemy's trefoil titty-rings! You can't expect ME to stop fights breaking out!" Horace cried, fearing for his brocade.
*
"I believe we can set that one aside for the moment," said McGonagall drily. "And since you are both now determined to throw yourselves into symbolism like Pomona confronted with sherry trifle -"
"Anorexic, tentacula-tongued, skinny-arsed…" grumbled Sprout.
" - I believe we should proceed to the subject of decorations."
"Ah, now I am the obvious expert there," began Flitwick.
"You have no taste, though, Filius, you bauble-balancing homunculus," sniffed Sinistra, sitting up very tall. "Whereas the symbolism of the heavens lends itself to fine - "
"That's MY field, you encroaching icicle!" shouted Trelawney.
"Now the language of flowers…" Sprout interrupted.
*
Hermione sat back, enjoying the spectacle. Let it get sufficiently fraught and they'd eventually agree to any reasonable ultimatum.
Something nudged her, and she looked round to see Hammerhand's thick fingers. He had spent the last couple of hours fiddling with McGonagall's paper clips, and was now presenting her with the fruits of his labours.
"Oh! Perenelle's purple petticoat!" she breathed. "Severus - look!"
She was holding the most gorgeous filigree bracelet she had ever seen, a tracery of fine wire no less beautiful for the dull shades of grey that were incorporated into the design.
"A quiet word?" muttered Leadbelly.
*
"So - you Goblins are branching out into creative self-expression on a large scale, making jewellery and decorations for any budget?"
Severus was looking hellishly amused.
"And our wedding is the showcase? You've got a fucking nerve, Leadbelly."
"Balls of titanium," he agreed.
"And the elves are your promoters? Crowley's crumpets, I'm tempted to send you to dance a naked tango on the Quidditch pitch, but…" He looked at the bracelet around Hermione's wrist. "At least you have taste. Just make sure you incorporate all the symbols, will you?"
They winced at a screech of "Fwooping peacocks?!" from the Headmistress.
*
It was late and they were exhausted. Remnants of tea and sandwiches were scattered everywhere.
"Setting?" demanded McGonagall, quill poised.
"The Fore…"
"Classroom Eleven will be the location," said Firenze, speaking for the first time. "We need a woodland location, but Mercury will be in Uranus on the day of the wedding. It will be unpropitiously teeming."
Blimey - had a centaur just made a joke? wondered Hermione.
"Ushers?"
"Undecided," said Slughorn hurriedly.
"Decorations?"
"Lists of symbols to be submitted to Leadbelly by tomorrow, decorations made by the Goblins," Severus confirmed.
"And finally, regrettably, we must think about security arrangements. Kingsley?"
*
"Oh, I reckon me and Grawpy can handle that side o' things," said Hagrid.
"Persephone's plaited pubes, Hagrid!" sighed McGonagall. "I know you do big and scary without even trying, but there's a clinically insane magical mafioso out there with his sights set on Severus and Hermione and Merlin knows how many hench-things at his beck and call."
"But I can use me pets…"
"Agrippa's arsehole - NO!" roared Hooch. "I've still got the habjabs from the last time your menagerie got loose!"
"Calm down," Kingsley said. "We've got Macavity Magical Security - the Ministry's used them for years. They're the best."
*
Team Name: Order
Word Count: 100 x 12
Rating: Bad language - PG?
Challenge: Creative cursing
Characters: Severus, Hermione, everyone else
Authors Notes: Part Thirteen of the Hissing Harpies' round robin. JKR's toys, we're just playing with them and will put them back in the cupboard after we've washed their mouths out with soap and water. Many thanks to the other Harpies for feedback and encouragement .
Previously:
Part 19
Part 20
Lucius straightened, his hand going to the singed remains of hair above his left ear.
"Cannibalistic, turd-eating boil on a wizard's arse!" he spat into the silence left in the wake of Dolohov's Apparition.
Harry struggled upright, hissing.
"Fancy enough duellist, though," he gasped.
Malfoy tossed him a phial of potion and started turning out the desk.
"You take the filing cabinet." He snatched his fingers back. "And watch out for traps. Mordred's manacles! This is worse than Narcissa's lingerie drawer."
"Let's just take the whole frigging lot back with us. Hermione and Severus need to know the bastard's coming!"
*
Hermione looked at the sea of de-jinxed papers and parchments.
"Herpo's haemorrhoids! He's ticked every fwooping box. We'll have to work closely with Romania on this one, and probably every other magical authority in the world, the way this lot's looking."
She glanced at her watch.
"Harry - just separate out my department's stuff and I'll get to it whenever. I'm meeting Severus at the school in ten minutes."
"Don't forget your protection."
Hammerhand and Brass Monkey stood to attention.
"Numbskull and Squeaky. Fucking marvellous. What in Maeve's name did I ever do to deserve the Goblins?" she muttered, beckoning them.
*
Neither Goblin was accustomed to using Portkeys. She dusted them off, maintaining a straight face.
"I'm going to fucking screw Leadbelly's knackers into a G-clamp and show them how much my lump hammer likes my anvil," growled Hammerhand, swaying. "He'll be talking like you, Monkey, by the time I've finished."
"No he bloody won't," shrilled the other Goblin. "I've got a pair of pliers just waiting to tear out his slag-coated tonsils. Via his arsehole." His legs collapsed.
Severus opened the Hogwarts gates to admit them.
"I see you merit real guards," Hermione commented.
"Eat thistles, human," spat Bane.
*
It was a crowded meeting. After the tenth time, Hermione had given up shouting that she did not want her wedding to symbolise anything other than her desire to be with Severus, and was slumped gloomily against his shoulder, daydreaming about Gretna.
"There's always Vegas," he murmured.
"Fat bloody chance. With Dolohov on the loose, we're being watched more obsessively than a tot watches Jolly John Dee and his Dancing Doxies. It's your turn to…"
Severus exploded out of his chair.
"No! Pout like a broody banshee if you like, Minerva, but there'll be no sodding bagpipes at my wedding!"
*
Beneath the smugly nonchalant presence of the Sorting Hat on its shelf, Kingsley, McGonagall and Leadbelly were still arguing about the role of the sword in the ceremony.
"Well, as this wedding is, despite our express wishes, going to be made a symbolic free-for-all, how about we really go for broke?" Hermione snarked. "We will be handfasted over the sword, which we will then bless with wards of faithfulness ensuring that it will remain in Goblin hands. And up yours, Hat."
"Nit-infested nincompoops!" yelled the Hat. "Scabrous dunces!"
McGonagall stuffed the offensive haberdashery into a cupboard.
"My turn," said Severus.
*
"The setting," he mused, "must really be natural, to reflect wizarding tradition as well as my own tastes. There will, of course, be a bower to shelter the Happy Couple - while the guests will be expected to symbolise the symbiotic and unfettered union of man and wife, like that of creature and environment, by standing bare-headed and barefoot beneath the open skies."
They all looked out of the window at the horizontal sleet.
Hermione sniggered.
"You sadistic son of a she-skrewt," marvelled Pomfrey.
"Shut your trap, you poncy, jumped-up quack," snarled Eileen.
"I rest my case," smiled the Matron serenely.
*
"My go," said Hermione.
"The school," she continued, "nurtured and educated us. The staff, obviously, embody both the achievements and the continuing mission of Hogwarts."
They looked flattered, but nervous.
"Truly, my friends, you deserve positions of prominence at this event."
"Naturally," snorted Slughorn.
"Ah, yes - there will be plenty of use for that self-important swagger as you all trot about ushering the guests to their seats, ensuring they are comfortable, that everyone can see, that they all have what they need…"
"Ptolemy's trefoil titty-rings! You can't expect ME to stop fights breaking out!" Horace cried, fearing for his brocade.
*
"I believe we can set that one aside for the moment," said McGonagall drily. "And since you are both now determined to throw yourselves into symbolism like Pomona confronted with sherry trifle -"
"Anorexic, tentacula-tongued, skinny-arsed…" grumbled Sprout.
" - I believe we should proceed to the subject of decorations."
"Ah, now I am the obvious expert there," began Flitwick.
"You have no taste, though, Filius, you bauble-balancing homunculus," sniffed Sinistra, sitting up very tall. "Whereas the symbolism of the heavens lends itself to fine - "
"That's MY field, you encroaching icicle!" shouted Trelawney.
"Now the language of flowers…" Sprout interrupted.
*
Hermione sat back, enjoying the spectacle. Let it get sufficiently fraught and they'd eventually agree to any reasonable ultimatum.
Something nudged her, and she looked round to see Hammerhand's thick fingers. He had spent the last couple of hours fiddling with McGonagall's paper clips, and was now presenting her with the fruits of his labours.
"Oh! Perenelle's purple petticoat!" she breathed. "Severus - look!"
She was holding the most gorgeous filigree bracelet she had ever seen, a tracery of fine wire no less beautiful for the dull shades of grey that were incorporated into the design.
"A quiet word?" muttered Leadbelly.
*
"So - you Goblins are branching out into creative self-expression on a large scale, making jewellery and decorations for any budget?"
Severus was looking hellishly amused.
"And our wedding is the showcase? You've got a fucking nerve, Leadbelly."
"Balls of titanium," he agreed.
"And the elves are your promoters? Crowley's crumpets, I'm tempted to send you to dance a naked tango on the Quidditch pitch, but…" He looked at the bracelet around Hermione's wrist. "At least you have taste. Just make sure you incorporate all the symbols, will you?"
They winced at a screech of "Fwooping peacocks?!" from the Headmistress.
*
It was late and they were exhausted. Remnants of tea and sandwiches were scattered everywhere.
"Setting?" demanded McGonagall, quill poised.
"The Fore…"
"Classroom Eleven will be the location," said Firenze, speaking for the first time. "We need a woodland location, but Mercury will be in Uranus on the day of the wedding. It will be unpropitiously teeming."
Blimey - had a centaur just made a joke? wondered Hermione.
"Ushers?"
"Undecided," said Slughorn hurriedly.
"Decorations?"
"Lists of symbols to be submitted to Leadbelly by tomorrow, decorations made by the Goblins," Severus confirmed.
"And finally, regrettably, we must think about security arrangements. Kingsley?"
*
"Oh, I reckon me and Grawpy can handle that side o' things," said Hagrid.
"Persephone's plaited pubes, Hagrid!" sighed McGonagall. "I know you do big and scary without even trying, but there's a clinically insane magical mafioso out there with his sights set on Severus and Hermione and Merlin knows how many hench-things at his beck and call."
"But I can use me pets…"
"Agrippa's arsehole - NO!" roared Hooch. "I've still got the habjabs from the last time your menagerie got loose!"
"Calm down," Kingsley said. "We've got Macavity Magical Security - the Ministry's used them for years. They're the best."
*