Challenge 78 - Muggle Objects
Title: The Pump
Rating/Warnings: PG; use of the word “breast” and “nipple” - but probably not for what you’re thinking right now.
Characters/Pairing: Ron Weasley
Summary: Hermione forgot a muggle object at home. Ron is admiring it before bringing it to her workplace.
Word Count: 503 Words
Author's Notes: I know “fascinatedly” is not a real word.
Registered purchases?: No :(
503/30 = 16.76666 = 17 points
For a while, Ron just stared.
The object of his intense fascination just sat there, unmoving. It was a system of funnels and buttons, of hoses and stands - he had only seen his wife use it once, but it had been too weird for him to focus on her actions.
She had meant to take it with her to work, but her in haste to leave on time for work and drop Rose off at his mother’s, she had simply forgotten.
It was now his job to bring it to her at the Ministry but…he couldn’t stop staring at it.
The breast pump.
Hermione’s mother had sent it to them. She said it would help Hermione as she went back to work to still be able to provide their daughter with the best food substance available. Which was, you know, breast milk.
The whole process was a little fuzzy to Ron.
He was pretty sure the pump worked by putting the large part of the funnel over the chest area and pressing the “on” button.
Slowly, carefully, fascinatedly, Ron approached the table the pump was placed on. He stared at it long and hard, fingers twitching. As it turned out there was not just an “on” button but also a dial to control how hard it pumped.
How hard did it actually need to pump?
What if it was too hard?
Hermione never once complained; what if it was super painful? He should know, shouldn’t he? As her husband, he had a right! What if she was hurting herself on a daily basis and just keeping it quiet so as not to upset him? What if supplying their daughter with the best food substance available was more important to his wife than her own physical safety?
If he knew Hermione like he knew Hermione - that would be way more important to her than her own safety.
He needed to find out just how much pain, terrible pain, she was putting herself through; because he was a good husband. Who loved his wife. Who was, in fact, a woman.
Ron looked over both shoulders, surveying the room, checking for any other people even though he knew he was quite alone in the house.
Slowly, carefully, fascinatedly, he lifted up his shirt. Inhaling deeply, he stuck the funnel part right over his nipple. With a loud exhale, he pressed the “on” button.
It made a loud noise when it came on, latching on to his nipple and pumping hard.
“HOLY HELL!” Ron exclaimed, trying to pull the pump away.
The suction, however, was too strong. It took a moment of jumping around like an idiot, screaming and cursing, to realize all he needed to do was press the “on” button one more time.
Panting, Ron placed the breast pump back on the table. He wiped his forehead off with the back of his hand.
“Best to just let Hermione keep that to herself.” He said, nodding and backing away from the table. “All to herself.”
--
Title: Draco’s Job
Rating/Warnings: G; None
Characters/Pairing: Draco Malfoy
Summary: Draco goes to work managing one of his family’s estates.
Word Count: 968
Author's Notes: Continuation of Reassemble.
Registered purchases?: Nopers.
968/30 = 32 points
The Malfoys had always been rich - at least, for as far back as Draco could remember - there was always money; money had overflowed, but the work his parents did had been minimal. As it were, his father was very well invested in real estate. He over saw large properties and was on a couple governor’s boards. During the rise and subsequent fall of the Dark Lord, Lucius had secured several pieces of property in muggle neighborhoods, in large part to be a place of safety should any Death Eaters need to slip into hiding for a little while; as a bonus they could terrorize their muggle neighbors.
But the Dark Lord had fallen and many Death Eaters had been taken to prison or wound up dead. The Malfoys, however, had persevered. And the muggle properties had proven to be a very lucrative business venture. Lucius had left the handling of them to his only son, Draco. The older man hadn’t quite gotten over his obscene hatred of muggles, even though they were a very profitable resource.
Draco, certainly, didn’t like ordinary humans - his hatred of them, though, had waned to an unpleasant distaste; they weren’t his brand of tea, but he was not going to stop anyone else from taking a sip.
Fortunately, the young man turned out to be rather good in this line of business. He had a real head for numbers and was excellent in balancing budgets. He was a natural leader and his managing of the estates had been above and beyond what was expected of him. He had turned out higher profits than were predicted.
He was very good at taking a business and making it run smoothly. But his favorite part of overseeing all the Malfoy real estate in the muggle realm was reselling. Draco had even started making purchases of muggle properties on his own. He would buy dilapidated homes in up and coming neighborhoods for very reasonable rates; with the use of magic, the homes would be ready to turn around and put back on the market under time and way under budget, earning him massive profits.
But today he wasn’t getting to put any homes on the market. No, today he was visiting a Bed and Breakfast that his family owned. Spring had sprung, and he was going to do a metaphorical spring cleaning - not of closets and cupboards and old winter clothes, but of budgets and staff members.
The manager of the Bed and Breakfast had been very accommodating; it had been several months since Draco had visited, and he had surveyed the property before entering the manager’s office to go over the budget. It was a very profitable little getaway for muggles, and they were very much in the black as far as profits went, and Draco intended to keep it that way. Which was why he denied the Head Gardener’s request for an increase in wages to buy gardening supplies. He just didn’t see the need. The Head Gardener, however, disagreed. But Draco couldn’t really take him seriously - who honestly called themselves the Head Gardener with pride in their voice? It was shameful, really.
“I need a new hose! The one we have is just awful! And all the snow is melted, I’ve gotta start watering the plants, Mr. Malfoy. What am I supposed to do with a broken hose?”
“Use duck tape?” Draco had supplied, feeling a headache coming on. He would never understand how muggles had been able to take a fowl and turn it into rolls of sticky, silver tape without magic.
The Head Gardener had snorted and snuffed, huffed and puffed and eventually convinced Draco to at least look at the hose before rendering his verdict.
And Draco, exhausted and with a pounding head, had agreed, if only to make the argument end.
Three other men had followed them outside. Apparently, they were the workers who served under the Head Gardener.
“Here,” the Head Gardener said, thrusting a long, green pipe into Draco’s hands. “Turn it on! See for yourself!”
Draco didn’t like the way the three other men were looking at him - they had their arms across their chest (of course, all the sleeves of their shirts had been ripped off the way poor people always seemed to find fashionable) and smiles on their faces. He just sighed and, after a moment of intense staring at the object in his hands to figure out just how it was used, pressed down on the nozzle.
It exploded. Water shot out of his hands and drenched him completely in one large, hard blast. He cursed and threw the hose down; the Head Gardener stepped on it and bent it at a funny angle, halting the spray.
“You see?” he demanded. “I need a new hose!”
The three lesser gardeners were laughing.
Draco inhaled through his nose and wiped his soaking wet face off with his equally soaking wet hand.
“You,” he said, pointing at the lesser gardener standing in the middle. “You’re fired.”
All four men gaped at him, amazed.
“What?” the Head Gardener demanded. “You - why?! I need all my guys!”
Draco felt rather like a drowned ferret. But he stuck out his chest and held his head high. “It’s either all your ‘guys’ or more money for gardening equipment. And, it is obvious you need better equipment. Honestly, I don’t see why it would take more than three of you to do a job a monkey could handle, but, I feel like being generous.” He smiled. “Have a good day, gentlemen.”
Draco left them then, sputtering behind him, and walked back to the building, water sloshing in his shoes. No, he still didn’t care for muggles; but he was excellent in making money off of them, and that he enjoyed.
17 + 32 = 49 points for Hufflepuff!
Rating/Warnings: PG; use of the word “breast” and “nipple” - but probably not for what you’re thinking right now.
Characters/Pairing: Ron Weasley
Summary: Hermione forgot a muggle object at home. Ron is admiring it before bringing it to her workplace.
Word Count: 503 Words
Author's Notes: I know “fascinatedly” is not a real word.
Registered purchases?: No :(
503/30 = 16.76666 = 17 points
For a while, Ron just stared.
The object of his intense fascination just sat there, unmoving. It was a system of funnels and buttons, of hoses and stands - he had only seen his wife use it once, but it had been too weird for him to focus on her actions.
She had meant to take it with her to work, but her in haste to leave on time for work and drop Rose off at his mother’s, she had simply forgotten.
It was now his job to bring it to her at the Ministry but…he couldn’t stop staring at it.
The breast pump.
Hermione’s mother had sent it to them. She said it would help Hermione as she went back to work to still be able to provide their daughter with the best food substance available. Which was, you know, breast milk.
The whole process was a little fuzzy to Ron.
He was pretty sure the pump worked by putting the large part of the funnel over the chest area and pressing the “on” button.
Slowly, carefully, fascinatedly, Ron approached the table the pump was placed on. He stared at it long and hard, fingers twitching. As it turned out there was not just an “on” button but also a dial to control how hard it pumped.
How hard did it actually need to pump?
What if it was too hard?
Hermione never once complained; what if it was super painful? He should know, shouldn’t he? As her husband, he had a right! What if she was hurting herself on a daily basis and just keeping it quiet so as not to upset him? What if supplying their daughter with the best food substance available was more important to his wife than her own physical safety?
If he knew Hermione like he knew Hermione - that would be way more important to her than her own safety.
He needed to find out just how much pain, terrible pain, she was putting herself through; because he was a good husband. Who loved his wife. Who was, in fact, a woman.
Ron looked over both shoulders, surveying the room, checking for any other people even though he knew he was quite alone in the house.
Slowly, carefully, fascinatedly, he lifted up his shirt. Inhaling deeply, he stuck the funnel part right over his nipple. With a loud exhale, he pressed the “on” button.
It made a loud noise when it came on, latching on to his nipple and pumping hard.
“HOLY HELL!” Ron exclaimed, trying to pull the pump away.
The suction, however, was too strong. It took a moment of jumping around like an idiot, screaming and cursing, to realize all he needed to do was press the “on” button one more time.
Panting, Ron placed the breast pump back on the table. He wiped his forehead off with the back of his hand.
“Best to just let Hermione keep that to herself.” He said, nodding and backing away from the table. “All to herself.”
--
Title: Draco’s Job
Rating/Warnings: G; None
Characters/Pairing: Draco Malfoy
Summary: Draco goes to work managing one of his family’s estates.
Word Count: 968
Author's Notes: Continuation of Reassemble.
Registered purchases?: Nopers.
968/30 = 32 points
The Malfoys had always been rich - at least, for as far back as Draco could remember - there was always money; money had overflowed, but the work his parents did had been minimal. As it were, his father was very well invested in real estate. He over saw large properties and was on a couple governor’s boards. During the rise and subsequent fall of the Dark Lord, Lucius had secured several pieces of property in muggle neighborhoods, in large part to be a place of safety should any Death Eaters need to slip into hiding for a little while; as a bonus they could terrorize their muggle neighbors.
But the Dark Lord had fallen and many Death Eaters had been taken to prison or wound up dead. The Malfoys, however, had persevered. And the muggle properties had proven to be a very lucrative business venture. Lucius had left the handling of them to his only son, Draco. The older man hadn’t quite gotten over his obscene hatred of muggles, even though they were a very profitable resource.
Draco, certainly, didn’t like ordinary humans - his hatred of them, though, had waned to an unpleasant distaste; they weren’t his brand of tea, but he was not going to stop anyone else from taking a sip.
Fortunately, the young man turned out to be rather good in this line of business. He had a real head for numbers and was excellent in balancing budgets. He was a natural leader and his managing of the estates had been above and beyond what was expected of him. He had turned out higher profits than were predicted.
He was very good at taking a business and making it run smoothly. But his favorite part of overseeing all the Malfoy real estate in the muggle realm was reselling. Draco had even started making purchases of muggle properties on his own. He would buy dilapidated homes in up and coming neighborhoods for very reasonable rates; with the use of magic, the homes would be ready to turn around and put back on the market under time and way under budget, earning him massive profits.
But today he wasn’t getting to put any homes on the market. No, today he was visiting a Bed and Breakfast that his family owned. Spring had sprung, and he was going to do a metaphorical spring cleaning - not of closets and cupboards and old winter clothes, but of budgets and staff members.
The manager of the Bed and Breakfast had been very accommodating; it had been several months since Draco had visited, and he had surveyed the property before entering the manager’s office to go over the budget. It was a very profitable little getaway for muggles, and they were very much in the black as far as profits went, and Draco intended to keep it that way. Which was why he denied the Head Gardener’s request for an increase in wages to buy gardening supplies. He just didn’t see the need. The Head Gardener, however, disagreed. But Draco couldn’t really take him seriously - who honestly called themselves the Head Gardener with pride in their voice? It was shameful, really.
“I need a new hose! The one we have is just awful! And all the snow is melted, I’ve gotta start watering the plants, Mr. Malfoy. What am I supposed to do with a broken hose?”
“Use duck tape?” Draco had supplied, feeling a headache coming on. He would never understand how muggles had been able to take a fowl and turn it into rolls of sticky, silver tape without magic.
The Head Gardener had snorted and snuffed, huffed and puffed and eventually convinced Draco to at least look at the hose before rendering his verdict.
And Draco, exhausted and with a pounding head, had agreed, if only to make the argument end.
Three other men had followed them outside. Apparently, they were the workers who served under the Head Gardener.
“Here,” the Head Gardener said, thrusting a long, green pipe into Draco’s hands. “Turn it on! See for yourself!”
Draco didn’t like the way the three other men were looking at him - they had their arms across their chest (of course, all the sleeves of their shirts had been ripped off the way poor people always seemed to find fashionable) and smiles on their faces. He just sighed and, after a moment of intense staring at the object in his hands to figure out just how it was used, pressed down on the nozzle.
It exploded. Water shot out of his hands and drenched him completely in one large, hard blast. He cursed and threw the hose down; the Head Gardener stepped on it and bent it at a funny angle, halting the spray.
“You see?” he demanded. “I need a new hose!”
The three lesser gardeners were laughing.
Draco inhaled through his nose and wiped his soaking wet face off with his equally soaking wet hand.
“You,” he said, pointing at the lesser gardener standing in the middle. “You’re fired.”
All four men gaped at him, amazed.
“What?” the Head Gardener demanded. “You - why?! I need all my guys!”
Draco felt rather like a drowned ferret. But he stuck out his chest and held his head high. “It’s either all your ‘guys’ or more money for gardening equipment. And, it is obvious you need better equipment. Honestly, I don’t see why it would take more than three of you to do a job a monkey could handle, but, I feel like being generous.” He smiled. “Have a good day, gentlemen.”
Draco left them then, sputtering behind him, and walked back to the building, water sloshing in his shoes. No, he still didn’t care for muggles; but he was excellent in making money off of them, and that he enjoyed.
17 + 32 = 49 points for Hufflepuff!