(Not So) Random Drabble: Izzy, Nick and Edward
Title: Underwear
Who: Izzy Finnigan, Nick Flowers and Edward Finch-Fletchley
Why: Written for my Seamus/Lavender spawn application at toffs. Reposted for polymechanos. R-rated for language and sexual allusions.
Disclaimer: JKR's world, not mine.
* *
Izzy huffed and she puffed and she blew a short fuse all the way from the common room. He had said - he had thought - how dare he? Insulting her Quidditch skills? Made her grit her teeth tightly, but she could bear it. Insulting her make-up and hair? Made her grit her teeth very very tightly indeed, but she could bear it. But insulting her eyebrows - WELL, that was just NOT on!
Unconsciously her hands bunched into fists. Her fingernails left tiny moon crescents in her palm which would have been deeper still had she not trimmed them for Quidditch season. But no matter. She forced herself to relax and a grim smile set into place. It wasn't as if she didn't have a plan. There were first years in Slytherin too after all, and even they could still feel indebted to a friendly face in - much taller - places. And though she wasn't in Slytherin herself, she wasn't above using connections to her advantage.
An idea in mind, she slipped downwards out of Gryffindor Tower and further into the castle's deep, dark heart.
* *
Nick couldn't sleep. It was the night before the first game of the season, but usually he wasn't prone to these sort of nerves. The Slytherin team primed and ready? Check. The opposition ripe to be decimated? Check. And yet he still couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.
It was no good. Sitting up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed with a frustrated growl.
"Having fun in there, Nicky boy old chum?" The curtains around Edward's bed were drawn, but Nick could almost feeling him grinning in the dark.
"Sod off, Fletchley," Nick retorted. "Go back to horse-shagging or whatever fucking depraved wet dream you were having."
"Are you sure you don't want to join me, Nicky boy old chum?" the freak sang out. "There's room enough for two on this old mattress of mine, that is, if we top and tail. It will be just like the good old days for me. We can pretend we're at Eton!"
"Sod OFF, you fucking fairy, or else I'll tell all the blokes you're straight!" Nick threatened. Why the fuck couldn't have Edward been asleep? Not only did he want to preserve his aggression for the match, but he certainly didn't want to lose it in the way Edward was hoping. Sick bloody aristocratic pervert. He'd pound the lights out of him, but he suspected the twat would enjoy it way too much. Getting out of his bed, he stomped over to his trunk and started flipping through its contents.
Second later, his resolution was abandoned as he lunged at his dormie. "YOU BLOODY SICK FREAK, WHERE THE FUCKING HELL ARE THEY?"
* *
Across the other side of the castle, a pixiesh pretty blond was sauntering away from the Great Hall. There was no one about but nevertheless, used to the idea of an audience she twirled her wand around between two fingers in an exaggerated, showy manner. Above the hall entrance hung a pair of navy blue boxers, the snakes on which were singing 'God Save the Queen' in high-pitched, girlish voices. Izzy had felt bad about how she had shrunk Nick's lucky underwear so that it was now two whole sizes smaller than usual, but apparently not enough. Pursing her lips, she began to whistle in tune with the snakes.
Who: Izzy Finnigan, Nick Flowers and Edward Finch-Fletchley
Why: Written for my Seamus/Lavender spawn application at toffs. Reposted for polymechanos. R-rated for language and sexual allusions.
Disclaimer: JKR's world, not mine.
* *
Izzy huffed and she puffed and she blew a short fuse all the way from the common room. He had said - he had thought - how dare he? Insulting her Quidditch skills? Made her grit her teeth tightly, but she could bear it. Insulting her make-up and hair? Made her grit her teeth very very tightly indeed, but she could bear it. But insulting her eyebrows - WELL, that was just NOT on!
Unconsciously her hands bunched into fists. Her fingernails left tiny moon crescents in her palm which would have been deeper still had she not trimmed them for Quidditch season. But no matter. She forced herself to relax and a grim smile set into place. It wasn't as if she didn't have a plan. There were first years in Slytherin too after all, and even they could still feel indebted to a friendly face in - much taller - places. And though she wasn't in Slytherin herself, she wasn't above using connections to her advantage.
An idea in mind, she slipped downwards out of Gryffindor Tower and further into the castle's deep, dark heart.
* *
Nick couldn't sleep. It was the night before the first game of the season, but usually he wasn't prone to these sort of nerves. The Slytherin team primed and ready? Check. The opposition ripe to be decimated? Check. And yet he still couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.
It was no good. Sitting up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed with a frustrated growl.
"Having fun in there, Nicky boy old chum?" The curtains around Edward's bed were drawn, but Nick could almost feeling him grinning in the dark.
"Sod off, Fletchley," Nick retorted. "Go back to horse-shagging or whatever fucking depraved wet dream you were having."
"Are you sure you don't want to join me, Nicky boy old chum?" the freak sang out. "There's room enough for two on this old mattress of mine, that is, if we top and tail. It will be just like the good old days for me. We can pretend we're at Eton!"
"Sod OFF, you fucking fairy, or else I'll tell all the blokes you're straight!" Nick threatened. Why the fuck couldn't have Edward been asleep? Not only did he want to preserve his aggression for the match, but he certainly didn't want to lose it in the way Edward was hoping. Sick bloody aristocratic pervert. He'd pound the lights out of him, but he suspected the twat would enjoy it way too much. Getting out of his bed, he stomped over to his trunk and started flipping through its contents.
Second later, his resolution was abandoned as he lunged at his dormie. "YOU BLOODY SICK FREAK, WHERE THE FUCKING HELL ARE THEY?"
* *
Across the other side of the castle, a pixiesh pretty blond was sauntering away from the Great Hall. There was no one about but nevertheless, used to the idea of an audience she twirled her wand around between two fingers in an exaggerated, showy manner. Above the hall entrance hung a pair of navy blue boxers, the snakes on which were singing 'God Save the Queen' in high-pitched, girlish voices. Izzy had felt bad about how she had shrunk Nick's lucky underwear so that it was now two whole sizes smaller than usual, but apparently not enough. Pursing her lips, she began to whistle in tune with the snakes.