Apple Wars #2
Title: Apple Wars #2
Rating: R?
Word Count: 1100
Summary: Ron's Revenge
A/N: Swearing, excessive use of the f-word
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter
Draco scrubbed at his teeth with far too much toothpaste and spit out a wad of the foam into Ron and Hermione’s kitchen sink. The sound of Ron’s cackles could be heard over Rose’s screeching, “You son of a bench,” and Hermione’s cries for some semblance of order.
“Ronald, pull yourself together,” Hermione bellowed and kicked at her husband’s shins. “Don’t make me hex you,” she warned, her voice tingeing on that terrifying quiet rage that most women possessed. Well, most were quiet about it, but Molly Weasley was the exception to every rule.
Thank Merlin she wasn’t here, Harry thought as he glanced from the chaos of the living room to the complete and utter carnage of the dining room. The table had scorch marks on it, one of the chairs was a smoking pile of splinters, and the tray of desserts that Ron had made was plastered to the wall.
Harry shouldn’t have been surprised. He should have known that this dinner wasn’t a truce between Ron and Draco like his best friend had proposed. It was a declaration of war. Ron was still seething about the alternate swearing that Draco had taught Rose-especially since she had spent the past month calling Ron an apple anytime he had upset her.
Like she sometimes had to do with Crookshanks, Hermione muttered Aguamenti, and attempted to drown her laughing husband with the stream of water shooting out of her wand. “And you,” she rounded on the child, “Stop saying that. It’s naughty,” she scolded.
“You’we such a bwizzard,” Rose supplied helpfully with a wide, innocent smile.
Harry suppressed a snicker, quickly biting his bottom lip and shaking his head as he turned around to look at the blond rinsing out his mouth with the water from the faucet. Harry’s gaze raked over the perfect lines of his boyfriend’s body, landing on his firm thighs, taut buttocks, slender waist, lean back and broad shoulders. He was practically drooling by the time he reached Draco’s neck, a light purple love bite peeking out of Draco’s collar.
“How are you doing, love?” Harry cooed, walking up to the other man and resting his chin on his shoulder.
“I’m going to kill him, Harry,” Draco deadpanned.
“Oh, come on,” Ron crowed from the living room floor. “Don’t be like that Drakeykins.”
“Fuck you Weasel.”
“Ron,” Harry scolded at the same time that Hermione shouted, “Draco.”
“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” Rosie sing-songed from her spot on the couch. She jumped to her feet and started dancing on the cushions as she continued her song.
With a paralyzing glare, Hermione sighed, “Do something,” she pleaded with Harry, clearly just as exasperated with Draco’s and Ron’s antics as Harry.
“He said duck,” Harry told the dancing child. “He said ‘duck you.’”
Rose scrunched up her face as if she was trying to make all the pieces of the puzzle fit in her head. “Oh, thanks Unca Hawwy! Duck you, duck you, duck you, duck you DADDY!”
“You arse,” Ron shot at a smirking Draco. “That’s not funny!”
“I beg to differ,” Draco drawled, crossing his arms over his chest.
Their silent stare down was interrupted by Rose’s excited chanting of, “Duck you Daddy, you arse! Duck you Daddy, you arse! Duck you Daddy, you arse!”
“Honestly, Ronald,” Hermione shrieked, her wand pointing dangerously close to his favorite piece of anatomy. “Do something or I will,” she threatened with a cock of her eyebrow.
“I said horse,” Ron informed his daughter, a flush coloring his face and ears.
Harry nodded at the little girl when she turned to him for confirmation. Her blue eyes brightened, she beamed at everyone in the room and clapped her hands. “Yay! Duck you Daddy, you horse! Daddy is a wittle owpple bench!”
Feeling the danger level in the house rising with the icy glare Hermione shot at all of the men in the room, Harry bravely dove behind the couch and peeked around the corner. He brandished his wand in case he needed to restrain the scariest woman alive or cast a shield for Draco and himself if needed.
A tense few minutes passed in which Harry was ready to recall every maneuver he had learned from Auror training in case this was just the calm before the storm.
“Make this right,” Hermione warned, her voice shaking with restrained fury. “And you little missy,” she waltzed over to her daughter and scooped her into her arms, “it’s time for bed. Say good night.”
“Nigh nigh Unca Hawwy,” she waved a chubby hand over Hermione’s shoulder as the woman carried her up the stairs. “Nigh Unca Dwaco! Duck you Daddy.”
When Hermione had disappeared out of sight with Rose, Harry laughed so hard that tears were streaming down his face. Just when he thought he had it under control, another chuckle would burst forth and the process began again. “Er-sorry,” he choked out between high-pitched-and very manly-giggles. “You are ridiculous,” Harry added when Ron and Draco had opened their mouths to say something. “You,” he pointed his wand at his best friend, “I can’t believe you did that.”
Ron had the grace to blush deeper and duck his head. “He deserved it,” he grumbled under his breath.
“I deserved it? I’ll show you what you deserve you fucking wanker,” Draco snarled and prowled toward the other man only to be stopped by Harry’s hand gently clasping his elbow.
“Dray, stop,” Harry whined. “I can’t do this anymore. You two need to get over whatever rivalry you still have going on. This isn’t Hogwarts,” he chided. “Ron,” he said and turned the full power of his glare on the redhead, “Serving Draco a caramel covered onion under the guise of a caramel apple is just low. And Draco,” he added, turning to his boyfriend, “exploding his chair and setting him on fire isn’t any better. You two should be ashamed of yourselves.”
“Sorry, Harry,” they both said in unison, scuffing the floor with the tips of their shoes and looking at Harry through their eyelashes.
“Good,” Harry nodded, “that’s good.” He walked over to the fireplace, pinched some floo powder from the canister, tossed it into the flames and shouted the “Leaky Cauldron,” after the fire turned emerald green. “I’m getting a drink,” Harry called over his shoulder and disappeared in the flames.
Before he was lost to the floo network, the unmistakable voice of a very foolish Ronald Weasley floated through the connection, “You have to admit, Ferret, the caramel covered onions idea was pretty funny.”
Rating: R?
Word Count: 1100
Summary: Ron's Revenge
A/N: Swearing, excessive use of the f-word
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter
Draco scrubbed at his teeth with far too much toothpaste and spit out a wad of the foam into Ron and Hermione’s kitchen sink. The sound of Ron’s cackles could be heard over Rose’s screeching, “You son of a bench,” and Hermione’s cries for some semblance of order.
“Ronald, pull yourself together,” Hermione bellowed and kicked at her husband’s shins. “Don’t make me hex you,” she warned, her voice tingeing on that terrifying quiet rage that most women possessed. Well, most were quiet about it, but Molly Weasley was the exception to every rule.
Thank Merlin she wasn’t here, Harry thought as he glanced from the chaos of the living room to the complete and utter carnage of the dining room. The table had scorch marks on it, one of the chairs was a smoking pile of splinters, and the tray of desserts that Ron had made was plastered to the wall.
Harry shouldn’t have been surprised. He should have known that this dinner wasn’t a truce between Ron and Draco like his best friend had proposed. It was a declaration of war. Ron was still seething about the alternate swearing that Draco had taught Rose-especially since she had spent the past month calling Ron an apple anytime he had upset her.
Like she sometimes had to do with Crookshanks, Hermione muttered Aguamenti, and attempted to drown her laughing husband with the stream of water shooting out of her wand. “And you,” she rounded on the child, “Stop saying that. It’s naughty,” she scolded.
“You’we such a bwizzard,” Rose supplied helpfully with a wide, innocent smile.
Harry suppressed a snicker, quickly biting his bottom lip and shaking his head as he turned around to look at the blond rinsing out his mouth with the water from the faucet. Harry’s gaze raked over the perfect lines of his boyfriend’s body, landing on his firm thighs, taut buttocks, slender waist, lean back and broad shoulders. He was practically drooling by the time he reached Draco’s neck, a light purple love bite peeking out of Draco’s collar.
“How are you doing, love?” Harry cooed, walking up to the other man and resting his chin on his shoulder.
“I’m going to kill him, Harry,” Draco deadpanned.
“Oh, come on,” Ron crowed from the living room floor. “Don’t be like that Drakeykins.”
“Fuck you Weasel.”
“Ron,” Harry scolded at the same time that Hermione shouted, “Draco.”
“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” Rosie sing-songed from her spot on the couch. She jumped to her feet and started dancing on the cushions as she continued her song.
With a paralyzing glare, Hermione sighed, “Do something,” she pleaded with Harry, clearly just as exasperated with Draco’s and Ron’s antics as Harry.
“He said duck,” Harry told the dancing child. “He said ‘duck you.’”
Rose scrunched up her face as if she was trying to make all the pieces of the puzzle fit in her head. “Oh, thanks Unca Hawwy! Duck you, duck you, duck you, duck you DADDY!”
“You arse,” Ron shot at a smirking Draco. “That’s not funny!”
“I beg to differ,” Draco drawled, crossing his arms over his chest.
Their silent stare down was interrupted by Rose’s excited chanting of, “Duck you Daddy, you arse! Duck you Daddy, you arse! Duck you Daddy, you arse!”
“Honestly, Ronald,” Hermione shrieked, her wand pointing dangerously close to his favorite piece of anatomy. “Do something or I will,” she threatened with a cock of her eyebrow.
“I said horse,” Ron informed his daughter, a flush coloring his face and ears.
Harry nodded at the little girl when she turned to him for confirmation. Her blue eyes brightened, she beamed at everyone in the room and clapped her hands. “Yay! Duck you Daddy, you horse! Daddy is a wittle owpple bench!”
Feeling the danger level in the house rising with the icy glare Hermione shot at all of the men in the room, Harry bravely dove behind the couch and peeked around the corner. He brandished his wand in case he needed to restrain the scariest woman alive or cast a shield for Draco and himself if needed.
A tense few minutes passed in which Harry was ready to recall every maneuver he had learned from Auror training in case this was just the calm before the storm.
“Make this right,” Hermione warned, her voice shaking with restrained fury. “And you little missy,” she waltzed over to her daughter and scooped her into her arms, “it’s time for bed. Say good night.”
“Nigh nigh Unca Hawwy,” she waved a chubby hand over Hermione’s shoulder as the woman carried her up the stairs. “Nigh Unca Dwaco! Duck you Daddy.”
When Hermione had disappeared out of sight with Rose, Harry laughed so hard that tears were streaming down his face. Just when he thought he had it under control, another chuckle would burst forth and the process began again. “Er-sorry,” he choked out between high-pitched-and very manly-giggles. “You are ridiculous,” Harry added when Ron and Draco had opened their mouths to say something. “You,” he pointed his wand at his best friend, “I can’t believe you did that.”
Ron had the grace to blush deeper and duck his head. “He deserved it,” he grumbled under his breath.
“I deserved it? I’ll show you what you deserve you fucking wanker,” Draco snarled and prowled toward the other man only to be stopped by Harry’s hand gently clasping his elbow.
“Dray, stop,” Harry whined. “I can’t do this anymore. You two need to get over whatever rivalry you still have going on. This isn’t Hogwarts,” he chided. “Ron,” he said and turned the full power of his glare on the redhead, “Serving Draco a caramel covered onion under the guise of a caramel apple is just low. And Draco,” he added, turning to his boyfriend, “exploding his chair and setting him on fire isn’t any better. You two should be ashamed of yourselves.”
“Sorry, Harry,” they both said in unison, scuffing the floor with the tips of their shoes and looking at Harry through their eyelashes.
“Good,” Harry nodded, “that’s good.” He walked over to the fireplace, pinched some floo powder from the canister, tossed it into the flames and shouted the “Leaky Cauldron,” after the fire turned emerald green. “I’m getting a drink,” Harry called over his shoulder and disappeared in the flames.
Before he was lost to the floo network, the unmistakable voice of a very foolish Ronald Weasley floated through the connection, “You have to admit, Ferret, the caramel covered onions idea was pretty funny.”