I
took prompts for a second round of laundry drabbles. Here are the results: caveat lector. Cheers!
Peer Pressure (PG-13; Snape/Harry; 460 words: AR), for
medawyn Harry followed the new bloke's progress across the lawn, wondering what made Snape think he
was so special that he didn't have to wear robes.
Probably knows his arse is that fine, he thought, half-excusing himself from Ron's company so
that he might seek out Snape's.
He found the other Sixth Year sitting under a tree by the lake, rolling up his sleeves. "Great
tattoo. What is it?"
Snape started and replied, "Don't actually know-I was drunk at the time."
"May I touch it?" Harry asked, kneeling before Snape.
The other boy held out his arm in permission, and Harry bent down to examine the inked snake
that was writhing its way through the skull on Snape's flesh. It moved suddenly, causing Harry to
gasp and Snape to grunt in amusement. Harry swallowed and touched the snake's tail, which
made Snape gasp; Harry felt as though a bolt of electricity had shot through his body, and the
sensation set his nerves ringing all the way up his now-rigid prick.
"Your skin smells like vanilla," Harry said, without meaning to.
A smile twisted its way across Snape's sallow features. "You look like you've got a halo, what
with the sunlight shining in your hair like that."
Harry dropped Snape's arm and rubbed his hands on his thighs. "Well, I-"
"Good afternoon, boys," Headmaster Riddle called then.
"Hullo, sir," Harry replied.
Snape merely nodded respectfully.
"Mr. Potter, it's good to see you making Mr. Snape feel welcome. What are you boys discussing?
Not your lessons, surely, on such a beautiful day?"
Harry smiled. Headmaster Riddle is nothing like that awful Dumbledore.
"I was just showing Potter my tattoo, sir," Snape said.
"Ah. Well, might you want one, too, Harry? I'm certain that could be arranged," Riddle said, his
eyes glinting redly.
"Oh, well . . . I don't know, sir. I'm not sure my mum would approve."
In a conspiratorial tone, Riddle leaned down a bit and whispered, "We've all of us got our secret
tattoos that our parents don't know about-but you shouldn't get one if you're . . . concerned,"
before straightening up and walking slowly away without another word.
"Nice one, Potter. Now the headmaster thinks you're still tied to your mother's apron strings,"
Snape said, when Riddle was out of earshot.
"I am not!"
"Prove it," Snape said, pushing himself up off the ground. "Let's go into Hogsmeade and get you
a tattoo. I think I remember where it was my father took me for mine."
Harry bit his lower lip. I can't let Snape think I'm a coward. "All right-but you lead the way."
Snape smirked. "It is nice, isn't it?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at his arse.
Harry blushed and felt glad of his robes, thinking, At least Dad'll like my tattoo.
A Plan of Pleasure (R; Lucius/Harry; 315 words), for
geniusartist "I have taken his magic. Which of you, my servants, deserves the honor of taking his life?"
Harry did not flinch when Lucius Malfoy stepped forward. He had no intention of shrinking from
his fate. Raising his head-and ignoring Malfoy's avaricious gaze as it assaulted his
person-Harry saw how the other Death Eaters blenched and turned away as he looked at them;
Snape actually winced before his eyes found his feet.
Coward, Harry thought, wishing that he had been able to kill the bastard before he had got
himself captured.
"You may examine your prize, Lucius."
"Thank you, my lord."
Harry did not recoil when Malfoy stroked his cheek with the back of one be-gloved hand.
Steeling himself, he leaned into the caress-it was like silk against his skin-and allowed
himself to accept that he liked it.
"Slut," Lucius whispered.
Harry closed his eyes and thought, You have no idea.
"Strip him off, Lucius."
"With pleasure, my lord."
Harry refused to feel shame when the breeze played over his body, over his weeping prick. If this
is how it has to be, I'm going to enjoy it.
Something told him that Malfoy would know how to fuck a wizard properly, that his ego would
demand driving someone insane with pleasure rather than pain.
That's why Draco loved him so much, isn't it? Harry asked himself, as his muscles strained in
protest against the ropes that held him spread-eagled just off the ground.
"How will you destroy him, my servant?"
Harry did look into Malfoy's eyes then.
"Through degradation and . . . dehydration, my lord, if it pleases you."
I knew it! Harry thought, inwardly exulting. This is going to work! "I'm glad it's you," he said
quickly, forcing himself to quail as if in horror at his words.
Malfoy laughed. "Are you?" he asked, arrogant pleasure shining from his face. "Are you,
indeed?"
"You have no idea."
Faking It (NC-17; Hermione/Fred/George; 175 words), for
inell Hermione never thought that she'd be floating in an engorged barrel full of summer rain with
George's cock nestled between the cheeks of her arse and Fred's prick sliding slowly in and out
of her cunt, but here she was, and here she would gladly stay, buoyed up by the pleasure of too
many cinnamon-scented limbs to count. It was difficult to remember that there were just two of
them, Fred and George, when fingertips were playing over her nipples and tongues were lapping
at her throat and fingers were . . . fingers were-
"Pinching!"
"Oops," said Fred, "think that was me."
"Make it both of us," George urged, pushing inside of Hermione and pinching up along her left
side, while Fred pinched up along her right.
It was too much.
"Oh! I-no! Oh, yes, that's-"
Fred laughed, steadying Hermione's head as it lolled forward so that she wouldn't drown. "Love
it when she comes that hard."
"Love you, Free," George panted, leaning over Hermione's shoulder to kiss his brother.
Her hair covering her face, Hermione smiled.
Bollocks-ing Around (PG-13; Ron/Draco/Harry; 200 words), for
empathic_siren "It's the strangest dream. I'm playing with Frisky. Crookshanks is watching me. I keep thinking
it's odd a male cat gives a shite about what one of his kittens does. I thought male cats ate their
kittens. Aunt Marge-"
"Stop getting distracted, Harry. What next? Why's it weird?"
"Well, I kneel down to shoot more marbles for Frisky-"
"You can't do that, Potter! The kitten would choke on a-"
"Shut it, Malfoy. Let him finish."
"Draco, it's just a dream, and they're big-the marbles, I mean."
"Fine. Big marbles. It still doesn't seem like a weird dream to me."
"As I was saying, I kneel down and suddenly there are hands on my hips-stop sniggering,
Draco!"
"Whose hands are they?"
"That's the weird part. I don't know."
"Malfoy, if you don't stop laughing, I'm going to make you. Harry-"
"How?"
"Draco."
"Aren't you curious, Ron? I mean, if they aren't your hands, and they aren't my hands-"
"I uh, I think they might be Snape's hands."
"Right. That's horrid."
"What are you doing?"
"Malfoy, hold his hands. I'll give him something to dream about."
"I thought you wanted me to finish!"
"Oh, he does, Potter. He does-and so do I."
Amortentia (PG-13 {raised from its original G rating; same story}; Severus/Ginny, implied Harry/Ginny; 907 words), for
magdellin "Will it still be the same?" Ginny asked, turning from the rail and looking up into Severus' eyes
as he appeared on the balcony.
Severus caught his breath and almost dropped the goblet he was holding. "You know it won't be,
Ginevra," he replied, shaking off the affect of seeing the witch in a diaphanous gown that left just
enough to the imagination.
Ginny turned away. "Then I don't want to do it, Sev."
"I hate it when you call me that," Severus told Ginny, joining her at the railing and passing the
goblet to her.
"Then don't call me 'Ginevra'," she retorted, before raising the goblet to her lips.
Severus watched her throat working and smiled.
When Ginny made to set the goblet down on the railing, she missed, and the vessel plunged over
the side.
"Oh! Sorry."
"It's no matter, but you shouldn't stall. You know you have no choice. You have to-"
"There's always death. Lord Voldemort did say I could choose that," Ginny interrupted, her voice
light and teasing.
Severus grabbed Ginny and turned her to face him, shaking her a little. "Never say that!"
"And here I thought I'd never have to brace myself against your visits again. You promised not
to-"
"Forgive me," Severus said quickly, releasing Ginny's shoulders. "I never meant to hit-you
know that I was over-wrought. You refused your medicine, and I couldn't permit you to do that."
"Yes, so you've said," Ginny replied, her eyes uncharacteristically hard. "And you know that I
love you, so why must I-"
"Gine-Ginny," Severus entreated, caressing the side of her face, "you do love me, don't you?
You do want to marry me?"
Ginny swallowed and lowered her eyes. "You know that I do, Severus."
"Then you must take the Mark."
"But if I do that, I will never be entirely yours. Why can't we marry first? If I could just have you
once, as your wife, just once, then I would be happy to take it."
Severus sighed. The potion needs a compulsion component. If I don't add it, Ginevra's
willfulness will get her killed. "The Dark Lord demands loyalty from his followers-and their
wives. Even Bellatrix didn't marry before she took the Mark."
Ginny snorted. "That slut took more than Voldemort's Mark, for all the good it did her."
"Don't say that again. Don't even think it," Severus begged, leaning down to kiss Ginny.
She turned away. "You should go, Severus. We're not yet married, and if you'd prefer to . . . to
do things properly, loyally, then I'd just as soon wait as not."
Damn it! Severus thought, clenching his fists. You've no right to refuse me! You shouldn't be
able to refuse me! "Ginny," he said, forcing himself to be calm, "look at me."
She obeyed him.
"Tonight you must make your choice. If I'm that choice, then-"
"But I have chosen you," Ginny interrupted, turning so that her body pressed against Severus' as
she looked up into his eyes, her own full of tears. "I have chosen you-but you want to share
me."
"I," Severus began to say, stopping when Ginny laid her head against his chest in defeat. "I'll tell
them-him-that you're indisposed, and then . . . and then I'll see what I might do."
"Might do about what?"
"Might do about seeing us married before your Marking. Would that please you?"
Ginny's head flew up suddenly, her eyes dry and filled with love. "Oh, Severus! Oh, Severus,
thank you!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling herself up on tiptoe to kiss
him.
It was heady, being their first; Severus' head swam.
"Yes, yes," he murmured, pushing Ginny away and raising a hand to wipe his lips
"No! No, Severus. I want that kiss to come from me, as well. Leave the lip gloss, please?"
"You're very sweet, Ginevra."
Ginny looked down, blushing. "I just want you to be proud of me."
Severus smiled. So loyal already. So willing to serve-but to serve me first, best, he thought,
swelling with pride. "Of course I will, darling," he promised, sweeping from the room before he
could forget himself.
When Ginny was certain that Severus had gone, she raised the hem of her gown and furiously
scrubbed at her mouth until an unwelcome voice said, "Hey, don't hurt yourself."
"I just want it off me, Harry."
"The poison can't hurt you. You're immune to it, now, just like Snape is."
"I didn't mean the poison."
"Oh, right-the Amortentia-you didn't drink that much, did you?"
"Just enough so that all he could see was . . . was my love for him in my mind. That's all," Ginny
replied, sniffing, before she sunk to the floor and began to cry in earnest.
"It'll wear off, you know. I promise," Harry told her, "just like this spell will."
The spell that made you seem no better than a ghost, Ginny thought, covering her eyes with her
hands and rocking herself. "I'm sorry. I'm just . . . tired."
"Me, too. But soon we can stop pretending. Soon, we'll have our lives back. My poison will
work, Ginny. You'll see."
"I know it will, Harry. I do." I just don't want it to, she thought, wishing that she had not had to
drink quite so much of Severus' love potion. Because I do love him now-better than I ever loved
you, she thought, allowing a lying smile to rise in her eyes as she looked at Harry.
More of the Same (G; Sirius/Remus; 350 words), for
Superren "What's a Naga?" Sirius asked, as he sat down next to Remus on the cot and draped an arm over
him.
Remus winced in pain but snuggled against Sirius anyway and replied, "The Naga are a race of
human-snake shape-shifters native to India."
"Why're you reading about them?"
"Because there's a legend that says the Naga can control their transformations," Remus
whispered.
"Oh."
"Yeah. I thought perhaps . . . ."
"You could find something to help you," Sirius said, fighting the urge to turn and press a kiss
into Remus' hair.
"I have to find something. If I don't, death would be better than-"
"Don't say that!" Sirius exclaimed, leaping up off the bed and clenching his fists. "Just don't,
Moony!"
Remus sighed and closed his book, allowing it to fall to one side of him as he sank down into the
pillows. "Sorry. Just tired, I guess."
"Yeah, well," Sirius replied, fumbling inside of his pockets in search of something, "I uh, I
brought you a prezzie. Here," he said, handing Remus a small box.
Remus took it and opened it; the sound of violin music filled the infirmary. "What's this, then?"
Sirius grinned. "You said you wished we could do something to help Prongs with Evans."
"Yeah. And?"
"Don't sound so suspicious."
"Tell me about the box, Padfoot."
"All we need is some of Evans' hair. We put it in the little drawer under the music box, and then,
when it's opened near her, she'll want to dance-with whoever's holding the box!"
"Sirius, that's almost . . . Dark, isn't it?"
Sirius took back the box and closed it. "No, it's just a prank. I thought you'd like it."
"I . . . I do. It's brilliant."
"'Course it is! I'm always thinking of you, you know. I'll leave it here. You can give it to Prongs
when he comes to see you, all right?"
"Yeah, all right. Tired," Remus mumbled, closing his eyes.
Sirius frowned down worriedly at Remus until he began to snore. Funny, he only ever snores
when he's here, he thought, sighing and turning to leave. "I'll bring a better present next time."
The Plans of Uncrowned Kings (G; Severus/Harry, Minerva; 450 words), for
saladbats and
dacro With the shadow of their adopted daughter's illness no longer looming over them, Severus and
Harry were free to enjoy the cool spring day by following Minerva as she ran, laughing, through
the orchard, picking apples and stopping upon occasion to admire the opal tiara that Harry had
conjured for her to wear when she had left St. Mungo's.
"I think she enjoys being queen of all she surveys," Severus remarked, smiling proudly as
Minerva Vanished a bug out of the air with her over-long wand.
"Minerva," Harry called, "only bugs, all right?"
"Yes, Daddy!" the four-year-old called, skipping farther into the orchard.
"You needn't worry, she'll-"
"Severus, we have to worry. She's got all her adult magic without knowing anything of
responsibility. We have to-"
Severus stopped and turned Harry to face him. "I know. That's why I placed a . . . Confundus
charm of sorts on her wand. She won't be able to cast any 'big' spells."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"You've had enough to worry about since Minerva's accident and Chief Healer Spriggs retired,"
Severus replied, bending down to kiss Harry's forehead.
"Look, I thought you promised not to keep things from me," Harry replied, scowling.
"I wasn't keeping it from you. This is the first time we've had a chance to speak since Minerva
came home from hospital."
"I did offer to quit."
"I don't want that, Harry. St. Mungo's needs all the decent healers-"
"Right. Then tell me everything."
"If you'll do me the same favor," Severus replied, turning to follow Minerva again.
Harry took Severus' hand and asked, "What does that mean?"
"Miss Granger informs me that there was some talk of . . . reversing the process."
"Oh," Harry said, stopping. "How unlike Hermione to be so forthcoming with you."
"I believe she has Minerva's best interests at heart."
"It's not in Minerva's best interest to be returned to her . . . prior condition. You know that."
"I know that she'd probably stand trial for murder and collusion with the Dark Lord, yes."
"She was under Imperius!"
"It pleases you to think that, but-"
"Are you telling me that you don't want our family?"
"No, Harry. But if we want things to remain as they are, it might behoove you to . . . be more
circumspect."
"I'll . . . I'll invite Hermione to dinner tonight. I know she hasn't told anyone-well, except you."
"Searched her research notes, have you?"
Harry flushed.
"I thought as much. I'll ask the house elves to prepare something special."
"And I'll Obliviate Hermione. I'm sure you can think of another research project for her."
"I'm sure I can."
In the distance, 'Her Majesty' began Transfiguring apples into insects, only to Vanish them as
they began to fly away.
Eaveswanking (NC-17; Charlie, Harry; 245 words), for
dragonmhs Charlie crept along the darkened corridor toward the loo, hoping that everyone had finished using
it so that he could enjoy a long hot bath and a long-overdo wank. He missed his decidedly
uncrowded little cabin at the dragon preserve, but he'd promised his mother he'd come for the
Yuletide hols.
If I were home, he thought, stopping before the door in dismay as he saw the light spilling out
from under it, I could be 'bathing' in a nice foamy tub in front of the fire.
Leaning down to peek into the keyhole-Charlie didn't want to startle one of the girls-he saw
something that startled him.
Harry was laying in the tub, his legs thrown over the sides, and he was hissing as his arm rose
and fell in the water.
Is that Parseltongue?
Charlie's cock twitched; he knew it was.
Has to be.
Looking both ways in the corridor, he knelt down so that he could work his prick in time with
Harry, admiring the way in which the pretty younger wizard's head turned from side to side in
abandon as he neared his orgasm.
So hot. Gods. I never knew, Charlie thought, bracing himself against the door as he came.
It had been a long three days without privacy.
Hastily casting a cleaning charm on himself, Charlie returned to his bed thinking, I'm really
going to have to invite Harry to the preserve, before falling almost at once into a guiltless sleep.
Iuls' First Cracktastic Dention Drabble, or A Malfoy is Never Scared (NC-17; Hagrid/Lucius
Malfoy; 387 words), for
potionmistress5 "Yeh jus' set that lamp down on th' table an' keep quiet," Hagrid ordered the mutinous-looking
blond Sixth Year. "What you did to Filch, well, that was right mean o' yeh. Yeh'll have to be
punished for it."
"And you think you're fit to punish me, you mongrel?" Lucius Malfoy retorted, though he did as
he was bid.
Hagrid, who had been looking in a large bin full of brushes, turned suddenly on Malfoy and
demanded, "Yeh've got a filthy mouth, sure enough. P'raps we should clean it up a bit. Here," he
said, pulling a large sponge out of one of his pockets and thrusting it toward the startled boy.
Lucius took it, holding it up before himself with one finger and a thumb. "And just what do you
expect me to do with this?"
"I know yeh're scared, Malfoy," Hagrid told him, stroking his beard, "but yeh don' have to be."
"I'm not scared of the likes of you!"
Hagrid chuckled and moved to the hearth, in which a large cauldron was bubbling. "I was abou'
to take my bath when Argus brought yeh. Seems like we can use some o' this soap for that mouth
o' yehrs. Hand me th' sponge."
"No," Malfoy said hoarsely, clutching the sponge and dropping his arm. "I won't let you do that
to me."
"No?"
"N-no."
"Well, yeh're going to clean summat," Hagrid replied, examining the aristocratic face before him
and trying to think of what he could have the Slytherin wash; he wasn't used to giving detentions.
I s'pose he could wash my dinner pan, but-
Malfoy sighed and dropped his gaze to Hagrid's trousers.
Hagrid's mind blanked. Before he could figure out what Malfoy was planning-or thought that
he was planning-the boy dropped to his knees in front of him.
"If you ever speak of this, I'll-"
"Blimey! What th'-"
"If Filch hadn't have confiscated my wand," Malfoy said, in an obviously furious but oddly eager
tone of voice, "I'd never have allowed you to force me to this-you remember that!"
"But I haven't-oh, Merlin!" Hagrid exclaimed, as Malfoy freed his cock and, without preamble,
stretched his lips around its head. 'M goin' ta get th' sack!
As Malfoy's hands began to fondle Hagrid's balls and he started sucking, however, Hagrid
decided that he didn't care.
The Near Miss (G; Severus/Luna; 1063 words), for
Mananeh: Severus doesn't know Luna Lovegood half as well as he might . . . .
Severus entered the Dreamscape Diarist and stopped just over the threshold because the reek of
the destructive distillation of wormwood pervaded the front room. Several uses for various
extracts of wormwood immediately sprang into the Potions master's mind, but he doubted that a
bookseller needed any of them.
Unless his books are flea-ridden. "Hello?" he called, stepping farther into the shoppe, which
appeared to be empty.
The sound of water cascading caught his attention, and Severus turned toward the left side of the
room in time to see someone in a woolly hat-all he could see was the hat, as the shelves were
taller than its wearer-push through a curtain of colorful beads and make his or her way toward
the service counter before which he was standing.
"Oh! Professor," Luna Lovegood said, blinking up at him. "Happy summer."
Severus frowned. A happy summer is one in which I do not see a student. "Miss Lovegood. What
are you doing here?"
"I work here, Sir," Luna replied, grinning as she walked behind the service counter and hopped
up to sit upon a stool behind it, "since Dad bought the place. How may I help you?"
Severus paused. He had no intention of discussing his special order with a student. "Is Miss
Moonbeam working today? Miss Artemisia Moonbeam? She's . . . familiar with my order."
Luna blinked once and slowly before saying, "Miss Moonbeam's on holiday, Professor, but I'd
be happy to-"
"That will not be necessary. When is she expected back?"
Luna blinked twice and quickly before saying nothing.
"Is there a problem?" Snape demanded, beginning to feel acutely uncomfortable. She promised
not to share our correspondence with anyone!
Severus had met Artemisia Moonbeam quite by accident in the offices of the Quibbler, where
Albus had sent him to ask Mr. Lovegood to refrain from publishing any stories related to
Aberforth and his goat problem. The witch, who was a functionary in the Department for the
Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, had been there to complain about an article
Lovegood had run about the relative harmlessness of vampires. She had also been breathtakingly
beautiful, seemingly unaware of Severus' reputation, and willing to speak to him. Their
conversation had carried over into drinks, then dinner, and then bed. They had met infrequently
since taking leave of each other at the Hog's Head the morning after their first meeting, but their
correspondence had remained . . . vigorous. And when Artemisia had left the Ministry-the
traveling connected to her position had become too arduous-to manage the Dreamscape Diarist,
she had promised Severus that they might see each other more often.
With Potter soon to return for his sixth year of trying Severus' patience, the Potions master had
thought it would be gratifying to see Artemisia again.
She might have told me she was going away on holiday. . . . I might have joined her, Severus
thought, watching Lovegood watch him, while he castigated himself for giving in to the whim
that had put him in his present, embarrassing circumstance.
"There's no problem, Sir. It's just that . . . Artemisia won't be pleased with me if I let you leave
here without filling your order."
"I haven't actually placed it, yet."
"Ah, so you haven't made up your mind. I understand. Would you like to see the Rare Books in
Print catalog?"
"Why?"
"Well, whatever you need is surely in there," Luna replied, adjusting her hat.
Severus stared at it suddenly as Lovegood turned up its black edge to reveal a multi-colored
underside. I know that hat. That's- "You must know Miss Moonbeam well."
"Why? Oh," Luna said, dropping her hand. "The hat? Well, we do share things sometimes.
Artemisia's kind that way, and I'm forever forgetting things."
"It's still rather warm for hats," Severus replied, feeling suspicious without understanding why.
Luna blinked thrice and worriedly before saying, "I've charmed it cold in the back
room-because of the fire, you see."
"The disruptive distillation?"
"Oh, you know?"
"Of course I know, Miss Lovegood. What, pray, do you need with essence of wormwood?"
Her expression close and serious, Luna leaned forward over the counter and whispered, "The
books have fleas."
"Miss Lovegood."
"Not all of them, of course," Luna continued, straightening up, "just the batch we got in on
wereleopards. They're covered in wereleopard fur, you know, and-"
"You're lying to me."
"They are covered in wereleopard fur!"
"You're making absinthe, aren't you?"
Luna blushed and looked down.
Artemisia always blushes and looks down, Severus thought, feeling a pang of loneliness.
Lovegood must spend a great deal of time in her company to be aping her gestures. I . . . I
shouldn't upset her, or Artemisia might . . . . "I don't care if you are brewing absinthe, Miss
Lovegood."
Luna's head flew up. "You don't? You . . . won't tell anyone, Sir?"
"No. Just . . . don't drink too much of it. It's not healthful."
"She was right about you. You are kind, aren't you?" Luna replied, grinning again.
I'm an idiot, Severus thought, saying crisply, "Quill. Ink."
"Oh! You want to leave Artemisia a letter? I'm sure she'll like that," Luna told him, hopping
down from the stool to ferret about the items on the cluttered counter. "She seems to like
receiving your letters-not that she'll let me read them, of course."
It suddenly occurred to Severus, as he was writing his note, that Artemisia, who lived with such
demanding and particular flatmates that she had always refused to bring him home with her,
might keep her letters somewhere in the shoppe. And Lovegood might have read them. No. That
cannot be. My letters are always spelled for her eyes only. "Please see that Miss Moonbeam
receives this the moment she returns. I have need of the books in question by Yule, and it may
take some time to track them down."
"Yes, Sir. Of course. I'll . . . see you in the fall," Luna replied, tucking the note away in a drawer
under the counter.
"So you will," Severus replied, turning smartly on his heel and making haste from the shoppe.
Inside of it, Luna sighed. It had been a lonely summer for her. Not many of her friends had
written, and only one of them had wanted to visit.
"But I just can't get the base of my illusion potion to come out right," she said in frustration, as
she returned to the back room thinking, I miss you, too.
Again, Like Always (NC-17; Harry/Remus; 150 words), for
jadzia7667 There was an apple pie sitting on the kitchen windowsill of the house at Godric's Hollow being
warmed by the autumn sunlight. There was a frolicking group of young cats dashing after one
another in the back garden, frustrating the gnomes' efforts to pull up herbs. There was a soft
keening emanating from the ramshackle shed at the property's edge. There was no one within
earshot to hear it.
And that was a good thing because there was nothing more ruinous to a hero's reputation than
others knowing that he was buggering his father's last surviving friend, a friend who just
happened to be a werewolf.
"Keep your palms to the wall, Remus," growled Harry, as he pushed thickly and slowly inside of
him. "Tell me again!"
"You're . . . oh! I'm yours, Harry."
Damn right, Harry thought, beginning to thrust faster. So stop calling his name! "Tell me . . .
again!"
"I'm . . . yours!"
Keeping it Down (NC-17; Tonks/Charlie; 186 words), for
realmess "I didn't mean for you to quiz me about Bill, damn it!" Tonks exclaimed, standing up in the boat
and raising her bottle of firewhisky above her head.
Charlie quickly hooked an arm around Tonks' knees to knock them out from under her. "Stay
down. Do you want us to get caught, woman?"
"Ow!"
"Yeah, well, if you ate more you'd have a better cushion."
"Charlie Weasley, have you been looking at my bum?"
"I've been looking for witnesses. Keep it down."
"No one's going to be out here so late. Have a swig," Tonks replied, thrusting the bottle forward
and smacking Charlie's head with it.
"Ow!"
"Now who's making a racket? You look like you just inhaled a bag full of kneazle fur," Tonks
said, giggling.
"I'm never bringing you out here again," Charlie replied, rubbing his head.
Tonks pushed herself off the seat and knelt before Charlie.
"Hey! I told you to stop moving," he protested, starting as Tonks fumbled with his trouser
buttons.
"No, you told me to 'keep it down'," Tonks answered, before lowering her head toward Charlie's
exposed prick and swallowing it.
Congratulations on Winning the War (G; Harry, others mentioned; 220 words), for
wendywoowho Harry drank from the milk bottle, catching snatches of conversation as floated into the kitchen
from the lounge.
". . . grand slam."
". . . doubt that you'll win with that."
"Yes, but how could . . . ."
The voices were all young, feminine, and familiar. Ginny's bridge game was a tradition in the
Potter-Weasley household. Every Friday night, Luna, Hermione, and Susan arrived with wine
and baked goods to play until they were too tipsy to continue, while Harry cleaned up the dinner
dishes, read the kids their bedtime story before tucking them in, and then spent the remainder of
his evening however he liked.
It was normal. It was routine. It was boring. It was just one more thing that allowed the sensation
of uncomfortableness within him grow as Harry pretended that he liked his life.
He was fairly certain that Ginny knew how he felt about working for the Ministry and shagging
twice a week and going on with things, but, as he wasn't completely sure, he never mentioned it.
What would be the point? I'm not even sure what needs to be different, he thought, placing the
milk bottle in the refrigerator and running up the back stairs two at a time to check on the kids.
They were fine. They were always fine.
Everything's fine, Harry told himself. Fine. Normal. Routine . . . . Damn it.
Date Night (NC-17; Severus/Harry; 150 words), for
accioslash Slap!
"Aw, fuck!"
"No, not until you can hold your tongue."
Slap!
"But-"
SLAP!
"Mr. Potter, I am disappointed. You're bent over my lap. Surely you can feel how much I desire
to fuck you. . . . You may answer."
"Yes, Sir!"
"Then why can you not accept your punishment silently? Only then will you receive your
reward."
Slap!
"Very good, Mr. Potter."
Slap!
"Excellent-but try to be still. Your writhing is distracting."
SLAP!
"Oh, I am pleased. You may speak to me of the Aconitines while I . . . while I use the ridged
paddle-don't worry. It won't leave any scars on this luscious arse of yours."
Thwap!
"Begin."
"The Aconitines-"
Thwap!
"-areagroupofhighlytoxic-"
"Do slow down, Mr. Potter."
THWAP!
"-alkaloids derived from various species-"
Thwap!
"-of Aconite, and whilst possessing-"
Smack!
"Hands, now, I think-no. No, I believe you're finally prepared for my cock. Isn't that right, Mr.
Potter?"
"Yes! Oh yes, Sir!"
Harry's information was taken from
this page.
Truce (G; Severus/Harry; 200 words), for
sarcasticsra The end came, at long last, in a blasted back garden. Severus watched as Potter, shaking with
some undefinable emotion, raised his head toward the sky and howled.
In the distance, the werewolves howled with him.
It was not Severus' favorite form of music, but the pack was far off in the distance; Severus
suspected that no wolf of any species would be visiting the place in which he now stood, where
remnants of spent magic slid through the air and against him like tendrils of living, sinister silk.
"That wasn't wine in the goblet," Potter said hoarsely, turning to face Severus.
"No. It was the Dark Lord's blood, polluted with a poison based on your own. You were right not
to drink it."
Potter stumbled forward and would have fallen if Severus had not caught him.
"Easy, Potter."
"It . . . was, really, when you think about it," Potter replied, before going limp.
Severus sank to the ground and clutched Potter against himself, rocking to comfort them both
and wondering, Will he still want to kill me when . . . .
"Never . . . wanted to kill . . . anyone."
"Then you needn't kill anyone again, Mr. Potter."
"Funny. I thought you . . . wanted to . . . die."
"Funny-so did I."