Time for a drabble round-up
I'm sorry that I was eliminated from the ldws round at dyno_drabbles, but I'm quite proud I made it to the final 3. It would figure that I was eliminated on a challenge featuring those punk Marauders. :)
Title: In Knots Over You
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Word Count and Rating: 449, R
Summary: She could stop this if she wanted to.
Notes: Warnings for breathplay. Also for my MI Unthemed table #5, prompt #06: breathless and my 100quills Dramione table, prompt #038: Knots.
"It's tight." Hermione gripped the vanity and lowered her head. Standing behind her, Malfoy pulled the corset's laces taut again, and she gasped, forcing herself to breathe as deeply as she could. "Malfoy, it's harder to breathe."
His hands worked steadily, their goal the knot that would rest at her lumbar spine. "Isn't that rather the point, Hermione?" He stopped and Hermione felt him pick up one of her thick braids.
She hated it when he asked her to braid her hair, hated the velvet ribbons he liked knotted at the ends. Without her hair to hide behind, she was exposed, every blush and nuance of expression laid bare. Malfoy gave the braid a little tug, and Hermione raised her head, watching him in the mirror.
"Remember, you can stop this whenever you want." He was calm, only his high color betraying any excitement. She watched their reflections as he cupped her face from behind. "Say the word, and this stops now."
He said that every week, and every week, Hermione thought about it. She could stop this. She could never see Draco Malfoy again. She could date someone safe who treated her well. Malfoy traced her lips with his fingertip and she shuddered.
Every week, Hermione kept her mouth shut.
She knew by the way he smiled he could read her submission in her eyes, and she lowered her face again to hide her expression. She focused on her body as his hands resumed their work: the way her skin prickled when he laughed, the way her temperature seemed to rise with every tug of the laces, how her chest heaved with her labored breathing.
"All done." Malfoy's voice broke through her golden haze. "What do you think, Hermione."
"I hate it," she said promptly, and she also hated the threadiness of her voice.
"You aren't even looking." Again, she felt that annoying jiggle on her braid, and she looked up. Her reflection made her head spin.
Malfoy's hands bracketed the impossible narrowness of her waist. A sheen of sweat glowed on her skin and curled the tiny loose hairs at her temples. A red flush spread over her chest and up her cheeks, and her lips were dark pink as she breathed rapidly through her mouth.
She was beautiful, and she hated that he could bring this out of her. She hated that he could read her so well. Mostly, she hated that she didn't hate him. Her life would be easier if she did.
He pressed tiny kisses along her hairline. "Still hate me, Granger?" he asked as if reading her mind, and she closed her eyes to hide her thoughts before she said, "I do."
Title: You Must Remember This
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Word Count and Rating: 250, G
Summary: It will be up to Ron to remember.
Notes: Also for my MI Unthemed table #6, prompt #07: Promise.
After Hermione's diagnosis was confirmed, Ron took her back to the beach where they spent their honeymoon.
Ron had never heard of Alzheimer's until it killed Hermione's father years before. It never occurred to him that Hermione, a witch, could be at risk from such a disease, that her brilliant mind could be slowly taken away. He had dismissed her forgetfulness as part of getting older. They could be intellectual equals for the first time, he had joked, thanks to Father Time.
It wasn't until she forgot how to Apparate home while shopping that they went to St. Mungo's.
"I should show strong improvement with the proper application of memory charms and potions. We mustn't lose hope." Hermione held his hand tightly.
"I know." Frizzy silver curls blew in her face and Ron smoothed them away. He loved every silver strand and every wrinkle more than his twenty-five-year-old self, standing on this same beach with his young wife, would have believed possible.
"What are you thinking about?" Her eyes searched his.
He looked down and traced a heart on the sand between their feet with his toe. "Our honeymoon."
"I remember it, too. It was wonderful." She smiled but there were tears in her eyes. "Always remember I love you and the life we made together. If there comes a day when I can't remember, promise me you'll remember for the both of us."
He kissed her, and a wave lapped between their feet, washing his heart away. "I promise."
Title: Father of the Bride
Pairing: Scorpius/Rose, Ron's POV
Word Count and Rating: 397, G
Summary: Sit back and do nothing while his daughter marries a Malfoy? Ron? Not as long as he has one weapon left.
Notes: Also for my 100quills Nextgen table, prompt #057: Young.
Hermione says I need to let go and move on. Maybe she's right. She and Harry both seem able to forgive and forget. But I can't help it: I hate the Malfoys.
Maybe I grew up too fast to outgrow this prejudice. I just dragged it into adulthood with me, even though it no longer fits and serves no purpose in my life.
Today, my daughter becomes Rose Malfoy. It breaks my heart, I don't mind telling you.
If Rose knew, she would glare, lecture, and pull out her ever-growing list of ways Scorpius is not his father. Think of it as gaining a son, she would conclude, not losing a daughter.
Just what I always wanted, right? My own Scorpius.
I ask you, who the hell looks down at an innocent baby and says "Let's name him Scorpius"? Only a family of nutters, that's who. What will my grandchildren be named? Ursa and Little Dipper, probably. I can't wait.
I still think Rose is too young to get married, too young to decide now who she wants to spend the rest of her life with. Hermione disagrees, pointing out that Rosie is an adult and that when she was Rosie's age she had already known for years that she wanted to marry me.
But that's different, isn't it? We spent our childhoods fighting Voldemort so that Rose wouldn't have to grow up in such a hurry.
Of course, when Hermione says we fought so that everyone's children would be free, and the heart keeps its own time, and Rose has made her choice, and so on, I know that she's right.
It doesn't stop me from trying to change Rose's mind.
It's hopeless, though. Even though I sit her down and make sure she knows everything the elder Malfoys ever did wrong, the most I can get from my daughter is a solemn promise not to marry either Lucius or Draco Malfoy. I have only one weapon left.
"Daddy?"
I look up, and Rosie is beautiful, so much like her mother, I could cry. I wrap my arms around her and whisper in her ear, "You know Draco's going bald, right? His comb over's not fooling you, is it? That kind of thing is hereditary. Do you want a bald husband?"
"Oh, Dad." She hugs me tight and before I can hope says, "Shut up already."
Title: Don't Blame the Nargles
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Word Count and Rating: 191, G
Summary: "The Snorkack did what?"
Notes: Also for my MI Crimes Table, prompt #04: Libel (substituted for abduction)
Hermione almost choked on her tea. "The Snorkack did what?"
On the floor in front of her sofa, Harry wadded The Quibbler into a ball and chucked it into the fire. "Broke up me and Ginny, apparently."
Hermione tucked a bookmark between the pages and shut her book. "My goodness." She kept her tone light. "Who knew the Snorkack had such power?"
"Yeah, who knew?" Harry tipped his head back against her leg until he could see her eyes. "Did you know I've been mentioned in every issue of The Prophet, The Quibbler, and Witch Weekly since the end of the war? Ginny didn't like always having our relationship under such public scrutiny. She said it got old."
Hermione could read the anxiety in his eyes and gently touched his cheek. "I'm not Ginny, am I? And you know I've never been afraid of the press."
He smiled. "No, you never were." Turning, he climbed to his knees and gave her a soft kiss. "What do you think The Quibbler will say about you and me and how we got together?"
"Oh, I bet you a Galleon they blame the Nargles."
Title: Winter Campout
Pairing: Harry/Luna
Word Count and Rating: 397, PG
Summary: Luna wants to share something romantic with Harry.
Notes: My favorite drabble from the round. :) Also for my 10themes Luna table, prompt 02: Forest.
Harry hugged Luna against his chest and watched their campfire's light dance on the snow while her dreamy voice surrounded them.
"…and now reindeer are associated with Father Christmas instead of thestrals." Luna turned in his arms until she could see his face. "It's too bad, don't you think? Thestrals need the good press. The reindeer certainly didn't; everyone already likes them."
Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. "I guess so."
She smiled, and Harry admired the way her skin glowed in the firelight and the way snowflakes shone like tiny prisms in her long hair.
"Harry?"
"Hmm?" he asked, distracted by her lips. There was a snowflake rapidly turning to water near the corner of her mouth, and if he kissed her there-
"I'm sorry if I'm boring you. Not everyone is as interested in magical zoology as I am."
Startled, Harry collected his thoughts. "I am interested. Really! And you could never be boring, Luna."
She smiled more brightly. "What a nice thing to say." Turning toward the fire, she settled against his chest again, picking up his hands.
"I hope I'm not boring you. Harry kept his eyes on her rainbow-colored mittens.
Luna pondered his words. A burning log shifted and sent sparks flying toward the winter sky. "I'm not bored," she said finally. "Why would you worry about that?"
"I'm just not that interesting. I never know what to say. Since the war, well…" he stumbled over his words, "it's like people expect me to be smoother." He blushed, remembering his last interview over the Wireless. George had counted 37 "er"s and 22 "um"s in the first five minutes.
Luna nestled more closely. "I think you're interesting, Harry, and not because you're a hero. I'm happy no one's trying to kill you anymore."
"Thanks. Me, too." He rubbed his thumb over hers.
"Do you know why I invited you on a winter campout?" She turned her head until her forehead rested against his jaw, and Harry hoped she couldn't feel him gulp air in reaction.
"I love campfires in the snow. They're romantic." Her breath warmed his throat. "I wanted to share something romantic with you. I'd very much like to kiss you," she whispered. "Is that all right?"
He nodded and made an inarticulate sound when her lips touched his, snowflake-soft and hot as a winter's fire.
Title: Ghosts of Christmas Past
Pairing: Ginny/Remus
Word Count and Rating: 499, PG
Summary: All the usual joys of Christmases past were gone, and this was their new normal.
Notes: Warnings for AU and dreariness. Also for my 15pairings table, prompt #13: "Live to the point of tears."--Albert Camus
"Happy Christmas!" Ginny cringed at how fake she sounded, but she kept as much Christmas cheer as possible in her voice. Not that it mattered, of course. She could come to the table in tears and she would be lucky if Remus bothered to look up.
"It's nothing fancy," her voice cracked on the last word, and she cleared her throat and smiled even brighter before continuing, "but let's have a nice Christmas dinner, all right?" She set their unappetizing meal, tinned ham and vegetables from her last furtive run to the market, in front of Remus, trying not to remember her mother's cooking. Even last year, with Voldemort already in power and everyone's life a misery, her mother had been able to work her kitchen magic, floating a delicious feast to the table with the wand now broken and hidden under Ginny's pillow.
No, she stopped herself. Don't think about that. The usual joys of Christmases past were gone, and this, this near-silent house with its dark rooms and tiny cellar under the floor where Remus tore himself to shreds every month, was their new normal.
Ginny took her chair and stared across at her only companion. "Please eat, Remus." His silvery head was bowed, and his thin shoulders were hunched under his shabby robes. "Remus?"
He lifted his head, looking at the ham and limp vegetables before looking back at his lap. "Thank you, Ginny."
She could feel her carefully crafted enthusiasm splintering. "Eat something." Reaching over, she shoved the platter to the very edge of his plate.
"I'm not hungry." Distant, he sat with his eyes still focused downward.
Ginny knew what he held: Teddy's photograph. Remus's son should be celebrating his first Christmas but was instead presumed dead along with his grandmother. She should pity Remus.
But what about Ron, Ginny wondered as tears began to sting her eyes, who should be celebrating his nineteenth Christmas? Or Bill and his twenty-eighth? What about her? She should be with her family and a boy who loved her, not living in fear and silence with a man so haunted by his own ghosts it was like he couldn't see Ginny existed.
"Look at me," she shouted, sudden anger driving her to her feet. She glared down into his wide eyes as tears began to spill from her own. "You are not the only one who's grieving!"
She spun, unable to face him. "Our families are dead, the whole world's gone strange, and I don't know what to do." She wrapped her arms around herself. "I just know I can't get through this alone. Please, Remus. I'm sad too."
Ginny heard him stand and move closer. When he touched her back, she cried harder. It had been so long since she had felt a gentle touch from anyone that she turned and held him.
"I'm sorry," he muttered against her hair. Ginny nodded and they stayed wrapped around each other, finding warmth as their Christmas dinner grew cold.
Title: In Knots Over You
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Word Count and Rating: 449, R
Summary: She could stop this if she wanted to.
Notes: Warnings for breathplay. Also for my MI Unthemed table #5, prompt #06: breathless and my 100quills Dramione table, prompt #038: Knots.
"It's tight." Hermione gripped the vanity and lowered her head. Standing behind her, Malfoy pulled the corset's laces taut again, and she gasped, forcing herself to breathe as deeply as she could. "Malfoy, it's harder to breathe."
His hands worked steadily, their goal the knot that would rest at her lumbar spine. "Isn't that rather the point, Hermione?" He stopped and Hermione felt him pick up one of her thick braids.
She hated it when he asked her to braid her hair, hated the velvet ribbons he liked knotted at the ends. Without her hair to hide behind, she was exposed, every blush and nuance of expression laid bare. Malfoy gave the braid a little tug, and Hermione raised her head, watching him in the mirror.
"Remember, you can stop this whenever you want." He was calm, only his high color betraying any excitement. She watched their reflections as he cupped her face from behind. "Say the word, and this stops now."
He said that every week, and every week, Hermione thought about it. She could stop this. She could never see Draco Malfoy again. She could date someone safe who treated her well. Malfoy traced her lips with his fingertip and she shuddered.
Every week, Hermione kept her mouth shut.
She knew by the way he smiled he could read her submission in her eyes, and she lowered her face again to hide her expression. She focused on her body as his hands resumed their work: the way her skin prickled when he laughed, the way her temperature seemed to rise with every tug of the laces, how her chest heaved with her labored breathing.
"All done." Malfoy's voice broke through her golden haze. "What do you think, Hermione."
"I hate it," she said promptly, and she also hated the threadiness of her voice.
"You aren't even looking." Again, she felt that annoying jiggle on her braid, and she looked up. Her reflection made her head spin.
Malfoy's hands bracketed the impossible narrowness of her waist. A sheen of sweat glowed on her skin and curled the tiny loose hairs at her temples. A red flush spread over her chest and up her cheeks, and her lips were dark pink as she breathed rapidly through her mouth.
She was beautiful, and she hated that he could bring this out of her. She hated that he could read her so well. Mostly, she hated that she didn't hate him. Her life would be easier if she did.
He pressed tiny kisses along her hairline. "Still hate me, Granger?" he asked as if reading her mind, and she closed her eyes to hide her thoughts before she said, "I do."
Title: You Must Remember This
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Word Count and Rating: 250, G
Summary: It will be up to Ron to remember.
Notes: Also for my MI Unthemed table #6, prompt #07: Promise.
After Hermione's diagnosis was confirmed, Ron took her back to the beach where they spent their honeymoon.
Ron had never heard of Alzheimer's until it killed Hermione's father years before. It never occurred to him that Hermione, a witch, could be at risk from such a disease, that her brilliant mind could be slowly taken away. He had dismissed her forgetfulness as part of getting older. They could be intellectual equals for the first time, he had joked, thanks to Father Time.
It wasn't until she forgot how to Apparate home while shopping that they went to St. Mungo's.
"I should show strong improvement with the proper application of memory charms and potions. We mustn't lose hope." Hermione held his hand tightly.
"I know." Frizzy silver curls blew in her face and Ron smoothed them away. He loved every silver strand and every wrinkle more than his twenty-five-year-old self, standing on this same beach with his young wife, would have believed possible.
"What are you thinking about?" Her eyes searched his.
He looked down and traced a heart on the sand between their feet with his toe. "Our honeymoon."
"I remember it, too. It was wonderful." She smiled but there were tears in her eyes. "Always remember I love you and the life we made together. If there comes a day when I can't remember, promise me you'll remember for the both of us."
He kissed her, and a wave lapped between their feet, washing his heart away. "I promise."
Title: Father of the Bride
Pairing: Scorpius/Rose, Ron's POV
Word Count and Rating: 397, G
Summary: Sit back and do nothing while his daughter marries a Malfoy? Ron? Not as long as he has one weapon left.
Notes: Also for my 100quills Nextgen table, prompt #057: Young.
Hermione says I need to let go and move on. Maybe she's right. She and Harry both seem able to forgive and forget. But I can't help it: I hate the Malfoys.
Maybe I grew up too fast to outgrow this prejudice. I just dragged it into adulthood with me, even though it no longer fits and serves no purpose in my life.
Today, my daughter becomes Rose Malfoy. It breaks my heart, I don't mind telling you.
If Rose knew, she would glare, lecture, and pull out her ever-growing list of ways Scorpius is not his father. Think of it as gaining a son, she would conclude, not losing a daughter.
Just what I always wanted, right? My own Scorpius.
I ask you, who the hell looks down at an innocent baby and says "Let's name him Scorpius"? Only a family of nutters, that's who. What will my grandchildren be named? Ursa and Little Dipper, probably. I can't wait.
I still think Rose is too young to get married, too young to decide now who she wants to spend the rest of her life with. Hermione disagrees, pointing out that Rosie is an adult and that when she was Rosie's age she had already known for years that she wanted to marry me.
But that's different, isn't it? We spent our childhoods fighting Voldemort so that Rose wouldn't have to grow up in such a hurry.
Of course, when Hermione says we fought so that everyone's children would be free, and the heart keeps its own time, and Rose has made her choice, and so on, I know that she's right.
It doesn't stop me from trying to change Rose's mind.
It's hopeless, though. Even though I sit her down and make sure she knows everything the elder Malfoys ever did wrong, the most I can get from my daughter is a solemn promise not to marry either Lucius or Draco Malfoy. I have only one weapon left.
"Daddy?"
I look up, and Rosie is beautiful, so much like her mother, I could cry. I wrap my arms around her and whisper in her ear, "You know Draco's going bald, right? His comb over's not fooling you, is it? That kind of thing is hereditary. Do you want a bald husband?"
"Oh, Dad." She hugs me tight and before I can hope says, "Shut up already."
Title: Don't Blame the Nargles
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Word Count and Rating: 191, G
Summary: "The Snorkack did what?"
Notes: Also for my MI Crimes Table, prompt #04: Libel (substituted for abduction)
Hermione almost choked on her tea. "The Snorkack did what?"
On the floor in front of her sofa, Harry wadded The Quibbler into a ball and chucked it into the fire. "Broke up me and Ginny, apparently."
Hermione tucked a bookmark between the pages and shut her book. "My goodness." She kept her tone light. "Who knew the Snorkack had such power?"
"Yeah, who knew?" Harry tipped his head back against her leg until he could see her eyes. "Did you know I've been mentioned in every issue of The Prophet, The Quibbler, and Witch Weekly since the end of the war? Ginny didn't like always having our relationship under such public scrutiny. She said it got old."
Hermione could read the anxiety in his eyes and gently touched his cheek. "I'm not Ginny, am I? And you know I've never been afraid of the press."
He smiled. "No, you never were." Turning, he climbed to his knees and gave her a soft kiss. "What do you think The Quibbler will say about you and me and how we got together?"
"Oh, I bet you a Galleon they blame the Nargles."
Title: Winter Campout
Pairing: Harry/Luna
Word Count and Rating: 397, PG
Summary: Luna wants to share something romantic with Harry.
Notes: My favorite drabble from the round. :) Also for my 10themes Luna table, prompt 02: Forest.
Harry hugged Luna against his chest and watched their campfire's light dance on the snow while her dreamy voice surrounded them.
"…and now reindeer are associated with Father Christmas instead of thestrals." Luna turned in his arms until she could see his face. "It's too bad, don't you think? Thestrals need the good press. The reindeer certainly didn't; everyone already likes them."
Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. "I guess so."
She smiled, and Harry admired the way her skin glowed in the firelight and the way snowflakes shone like tiny prisms in her long hair.
"Harry?"
"Hmm?" he asked, distracted by her lips. There was a snowflake rapidly turning to water near the corner of her mouth, and if he kissed her there-
"I'm sorry if I'm boring you. Not everyone is as interested in magical zoology as I am."
Startled, Harry collected his thoughts. "I am interested. Really! And you could never be boring, Luna."
She smiled more brightly. "What a nice thing to say." Turning toward the fire, she settled against his chest again, picking up his hands.
"I hope I'm not boring you. Harry kept his eyes on her rainbow-colored mittens.
Luna pondered his words. A burning log shifted and sent sparks flying toward the winter sky. "I'm not bored," she said finally. "Why would you worry about that?"
"I'm just not that interesting. I never know what to say. Since the war, well…" he stumbled over his words, "it's like people expect me to be smoother." He blushed, remembering his last interview over the Wireless. George had counted 37 "er"s and 22 "um"s in the first five minutes.
Luna nestled more closely. "I think you're interesting, Harry, and not because you're a hero. I'm happy no one's trying to kill you anymore."
"Thanks. Me, too." He rubbed his thumb over hers.
"Do you know why I invited you on a winter campout?" She turned her head until her forehead rested against his jaw, and Harry hoped she couldn't feel him gulp air in reaction.
"I love campfires in the snow. They're romantic." Her breath warmed his throat. "I wanted to share something romantic with you. I'd very much like to kiss you," she whispered. "Is that all right?"
He nodded and made an inarticulate sound when her lips touched his, snowflake-soft and hot as a winter's fire.
Title: Ghosts of Christmas Past
Pairing: Ginny/Remus
Word Count and Rating: 499, PG
Summary: All the usual joys of Christmases past were gone, and this was their new normal.
Notes: Warnings for AU and dreariness. Also for my 15pairings table, prompt #13: "Live to the point of tears."--Albert Camus
"Happy Christmas!" Ginny cringed at how fake she sounded, but she kept as much Christmas cheer as possible in her voice. Not that it mattered, of course. She could come to the table in tears and she would be lucky if Remus bothered to look up.
"It's nothing fancy," her voice cracked on the last word, and she cleared her throat and smiled even brighter before continuing, "but let's have a nice Christmas dinner, all right?" She set their unappetizing meal, tinned ham and vegetables from her last furtive run to the market, in front of Remus, trying not to remember her mother's cooking. Even last year, with Voldemort already in power and everyone's life a misery, her mother had been able to work her kitchen magic, floating a delicious feast to the table with the wand now broken and hidden under Ginny's pillow.
No, she stopped herself. Don't think about that. The usual joys of Christmases past were gone, and this, this near-silent house with its dark rooms and tiny cellar under the floor where Remus tore himself to shreds every month, was their new normal.
Ginny took her chair and stared across at her only companion. "Please eat, Remus." His silvery head was bowed, and his thin shoulders were hunched under his shabby robes. "Remus?"
He lifted his head, looking at the ham and limp vegetables before looking back at his lap. "Thank you, Ginny."
She could feel her carefully crafted enthusiasm splintering. "Eat something." Reaching over, she shoved the platter to the very edge of his plate.
"I'm not hungry." Distant, he sat with his eyes still focused downward.
Ginny knew what he held: Teddy's photograph. Remus's son should be celebrating his first Christmas but was instead presumed dead along with his grandmother. She should pity Remus.
But what about Ron, Ginny wondered as tears began to sting her eyes, who should be celebrating his nineteenth Christmas? Or Bill and his twenty-eighth? What about her? She should be with her family and a boy who loved her, not living in fear and silence with a man so haunted by his own ghosts it was like he couldn't see Ginny existed.
"Look at me," she shouted, sudden anger driving her to her feet. She glared down into his wide eyes as tears began to spill from her own. "You are not the only one who's grieving!"
She spun, unable to face him. "Our families are dead, the whole world's gone strange, and I don't know what to do." She wrapped her arms around herself. "I just know I can't get through this alone. Please, Remus. I'm sad too."
Ginny heard him stand and move closer. When he touched her back, she cried harder. It had been so long since she had felt a gentle touch from anyone that she turned and held him.
"I'm sorry," he muttered against her hair. Ginny nodded and they stayed wrapped around each other, finding warmth as their Christmas dinner grew cold.