Drabble: Boggarts, Inc, Gen, Ron
Title: Boggarts, Inc
Written for Round One, Week Two of rw_ldws . The prompt was "One of the effects of fear is to disturb the senses and cause things to appear other than they are. -Miguel de Cervantes," and we were supposed to illustrate Ron facing his fear and insecurity.
Rating: PG-13 (adult themes, language)
Warnings: none
Featured Characters/Pairings: Roncentric, Gen, R/Hr mentioned, conversation about Ron between four Boggarts
Word Count: <500
Author's Notes: Have you ever wondered what Boggarts actually look like? Do they have families? Are there Boggart schools? Neighborhoods? Do they hang out with Dementors and Cornish Pixies? Do teenage Boggarts rebel by making people laugh? This drabble answers none of these burning questions, unfortunately. Carry on.
Special thanks to exartemarte , who was a huge help in making this pretty and pointing out my glaring Americanisms.
Two Boggarts sat at a bar, hunched over their pints, when one of them looked up and saw two old friends walking through the door. "Oi, Jimmy!" he called to the first one. "Ain't seen you in months. All right?"
The new arrival grinned, pulling up a barstool. "All right, Alfie. Better'n Bob, any way."
Alfie looked over at the second Boggart, who looked very bewildered. "Wot's wrong wiv him, then?"
"Ron Weasley, that's what."
"Oh, 'im," Alfie said. "I used to get 'im when 'e was an ickle baby. Spiders, it was, and I 'ad a really good one. Big, and 'airy, with gigantic pincers. Clackity clack. Used to make 'im piss 'is pants, little bugger. Then 'e goes and learns about Riddikulus, wot from that ruddy werewolf, and all of a sudden I ain't got no legs, and I'm rollin' around the bleedin' floor."
"With me it was the hoops," Jimmy said. "Got him three times in his Quidditch locker. So I turn into him, right? And he's on a broom, barely hanging on, and there's all these Quaffles flying at him and he can't block a bloody thing. Went green, he did, until the last time, when all of sudden the balls turn into tits."
"Tits? Like the bird?"
"No, tits like on a girl. Only disembodied, like. Just round balls with nipples. Flying at him."
Alfie was incredulous. "You're 'aving me on!"
"I swear. Sick bastard was in hysterics."
"With me it was the girl," Freddie said, finally deciding to join the conversation from the other end of the bar.
"What girl?"
"You know, the wife. Only she wasn't then. So I turn into her, and she's getting off with the speccy best mate. It was fucking brilliant. He was as white as a sheet. I made the speccy one hung like a donkey, and the girl was moaning like a banshee, only in a good way."
"Good one, Freddie."
"Not that it worked."
"Wot 'e do to you, then?" Alfie asked.
"I'd rather not say," Freddie replied, unable to meet their eyes.
"Oh, go on then. Couldn't be worse than tits, could it?" Jimmy protested.
"Fangirls," Freddie muttered. "Delusional ones. Chased after me, scared the shit out of me instead of him."
"Terrifying," Jimmy said, and they all shuddered. "So what'd you get, Bob?"
Bob shook his head. "The daughter."
All four of them groaned.
"It's always the kids, innit?" Alfie said. "Dead kids are dull as shit."
"Well, I gave it my all--blood, vacant eyes, the works."
"And?"
"Whips out his wand, tears in his eyes, and suddenly I'm in a pink party dress, telling Granny Molly 'not to bother with the candles, that I've got Mummy's special torch, the one that makes the lovely buzzing sound.' The bastard was laughing so hard he couldn't stand up straight."
Alfie laughed out loud, but Freddie managed to hold it in. "Bad luck, mate, bad luck. "Oi, bartender!" he called out. "Bring this poor sod a stiff drink."
Written for Round One, Week Two of rw_ldws . The prompt was "One of the effects of fear is to disturb the senses and cause things to appear other than they are. -Miguel de Cervantes," and we were supposed to illustrate Ron facing his fear and insecurity.
Rating: PG-13 (adult themes, language)
Warnings: none
Featured Characters/Pairings: Roncentric, Gen, R/Hr mentioned, conversation about Ron between four Boggarts
Word Count: <500
Author's Notes: Have you ever wondered what Boggarts actually look like? Do they have families? Are there Boggart schools? Neighborhoods? Do they hang out with Dementors and Cornish Pixies? Do teenage Boggarts rebel by making people laugh? This drabble answers none of these burning questions, unfortunately. Carry on.
Special thanks to exartemarte , who was a huge help in making this pretty and pointing out my glaring Americanisms.
Two Boggarts sat at a bar, hunched over their pints, when one of them looked up and saw two old friends walking through the door. "Oi, Jimmy!" he called to the first one. "Ain't seen you in months. All right?"
The new arrival grinned, pulling up a barstool. "All right, Alfie. Better'n Bob, any way."
Alfie looked over at the second Boggart, who looked very bewildered. "Wot's wrong wiv him, then?"
"Ron Weasley, that's what."
"Oh, 'im," Alfie said. "I used to get 'im when 'e was an ickle baby. Spiders, it was, and I 'ad a really good one. Big, and 'airy, with gigantic pincers. Clackity clack. Used to make 'im piss 'is pants, little bugger. Then 'e goes and learns about Riddikulus, wot from that ruddy werewolf, and all of a sudden I ain't got no legs, and I'm rollin' around the bleedin' floor."
"With me it was the hoops," Jimmy said. "Got him three times in his Quidditch locker. So I turn into him, right? And he's on a broom, barely hanging on, and there's all these Quaffles flying at him and he can't block a bloody thing. Went green, he did, until the last time, when all of sudden the balls turn into tits."
"Tits? Like the bird?"
"No, tits like on a girl. Only disembodied, like. Just round balls with nipples. Flying at him."
Alfie was incredulous. "You're 'aving me on!"
"I swear. Sick bastard was in hysterics."
"With me it was the girl," Freddie said, finally deciding to join the conversation from the other end of the bar.
"What girl?"
"You know, the wife. Only she wasn't then. So I turn into her, and she's getting off with the speccy best mate. It was fucking brilliant. He was as white as a sheet. I made the speccy one hung like a donkey, and the girl was moaning like a banshee, only in a good way."
"Good one, Freddie."
"Not that it worked."
"Wot 'e do to you, then?" Alfie asked.
"I'd rather not say," Freddie replied, unable to meet their eyes.
"Oh, go on then. Couldn't be worse than tits, could it?" Jimmy protested.
"Fangirls," Freddie muttered. "Delusional ones. Chased after me, scared the shit out of me instead of him."
"Terrifying," Jimmy said, and they all shuddered. "So what'd you get, Bob?"
Bob shook his head. "The daughter."
All four of them groaned.
"It's always the kids, innit?" Alfie said. "Dead kids are dull as shit."
"Well, I gave it my all--blood, vacant eyes, the works."
"And?"
"Whips out his wand, tears in his eyes, and suddenly I'm in a pink party dress, telling Granny Molly 'not to bother with the candles, that I've got Mummy's special torch, the one that makes the lovely buzzing sound.' The bastard was laughing so hard he couldn't stand up straight."
Alfie laughed out loud, but Freddie managed to hold it in. "Bad luck, mate, bad luck. "Oi, bartender!" he called out. "Bring this poor sod a stiff drink."