Voting Post: Funniest Ficlet
Funniest Ficlet (501-1000 words)
Complete rules and procedures can be found on the main voting page. To summarize:
1. To submit your votes for this category, copy and paste the code below into a comment to this post (will be screened), or send it in an email to dramioneawards[at]gmail[dot]com. No anonymous comments allowed!
2. You must vote for your top THREE favorite fics, and rank them with your top favorite fic in the #1 position.
3. When casting your vote, please use the number assigned to the fic, rather than writing out the whole title.
CODE (2c):
2c - Funniest Ficlet:
1. (TOP CHOICE)
2.
3.
Return to Main Page
Nominees:
-1-
Betelgeuse, by tierfal
Hermione arched an eyebrow, incredulity battling a twisted sort of amusement in her scowl.
"We are not," she announced, "naming our first-born son 'Betelgeuse.'"
"It'll grow on you," Draco promised.
"Tumors grow on you," Hermione retorted.
Draco shook his head mournfully. "What if," he gasped, "you have sworn off 'Betelgeuse' only to discover, when our stunningly beautiful offspring emerges into this splendid world of ours, that he is indubitably destined to be a 'Betelgeuse'?"
Hermione frowned and crossed her arms, protectively it seemed, over her stomach. "Not everyone in your family has to be named after a star," she informed her wide-eyed, innocently-blinking husband. "Tonks wasn't."
Draco paused, but this was a very rare sort of hesitation from him-a tactful one. "Tonks was a bit of a special case," he noted.
"But you've done the same thing that Andromeda did," Hermione countered, "in marrying a Muggleborn. So isn't the prospective not-Betelgeuse a special case just like Tonks?"
Draco was gazing at her in abject disbelief. "You really don't want to name a member of the Black family after a star?" he prompted. "Just think of the family reunions-he'll be surrounded by Leos and Lyras and Perseuses and Cassiopeias, and he'll have to wear a nametag that says 'John'? Do you want our prospective yes-Betelgeuse to feel like some kind of freak?"
Hermione massaged her temples in a wax-on, wax-off sort of maneuver. "If you insist on Betelgeuse for a boy," she decided, somewhat unsteadily, "then if it's a girl, she should be Perdita."
When Draco merely blinked, she explained wearily, "Hermione's daughter in A Winter's Tale."
Draco wrinkled his nose. "But that's so obvious," he said.
Hermione stared at him. "Are you trying to imply," she asked slowly, "that 'Betelgeuse' is subtle?"
Draco's shoulders slumped. "I guess we could always name him Gemini," he remarked wistfully. "Gemmy for short. Or Antlia. Or Cepheus. Or Eridanus."
Hermione picked up 100,001 Baby Names, which she suspected was impossible to read all the way through in less than nine months, and prepared to beat herself in the forehead until she succumbed to a blessed hardcover-induced oblivion.
"Or Vulpecula," Draco was sighing. "Or Scorpius."
Hermione stopped with the orange, cherub-flooded front cover inches from her cranium. "Scorpius?" she repeated. "I… can almost see myself tolerating that…"
Draco rocketed to his feet and thrust both arms triumphantly into the air. "He shoots," he crowed; "he Scors!"
"Wait," Hermione cut in hastily, "if you're going to abbreviate it to 'Scor', I don't know-"
But Draco was already victory dancing out of the room, possibly with intent of Flooing everyone he knew to announce that he had wheedled, weaseled, and hoodwinked Hermione into conceding to Scorpius.
She supposed that he was a Slytherin alumnus, after all.
Groaning, Hermione flopped down on the couch, the intimidating bulk of 100,001 Baby Names perched guilelessly on the cushion nearby, a dozen diaper-clad cherubs grinning cheekily up at her from the front cover's swirl of tangerine-colored clouds.
"What are you looking at?" she asked them.
The mother of a child named Scorpius or Betelgeuse, they seemed to answer smugly.
Hermione made a discontented noise, glanced around, and then bent double to address her stomach plaintively.
"Please," she whispered urgently. "For the love of all that is good, please, please, please be a girl."
-2-
Decorating the Muggle Way, by lynnec114
She was on her S.P.E.W. thing again.
“We can do this ourselves,” she’d said in her huffiest manner. Then she broke out the lights, ornaments, and tinsel, and he knew there was no stopping her.
As she was throwing tinsel on the tree and humming along tunelessly with the wireless, Draco got a wonderful idea. Quietly, ever so subtly, he fiddled with a pile of tinsel until it resembled a dog, charming it to nip at her heels. It was all in good fun, of course, but when she shrieked in indignation at the thing humping her leg, he knew he’d pay for it. Without warning, a fountain of silvery strands began pouring violently out her wand, and onto him.
~*~
In a moment of sheer lunacy, Dumbledore encouraged the four heads of houses - McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and Snape - to participate in a house unity project, where they gathered once a week for a friendly game of Wizard's Poker and a general good time. By forcing them to interact, Dumbledore hoped that it would rub off on their Head Students, and then on to the rest of the student body.
They had just finished that week’s session as Flitwick and Sprout left with their arms linked and smiles on their faces, a rosy flush to gracing each head’s cheek. Sprout had been kind enough to bring a well-aged bottle of Ogden’s finest, and it had made the hours together more bearable.
Snape, quite inebriated at this point, turned to McGonagall, and with a gleam in his eyes, said, “Minerva, I just wanted to thank you for...” He never got the last of the sentence out, as a loud bang shook the ceiling, causing several pieces of plaster to crumble upon their heads.
Above them were the head's quarters.
Shrugging off their alcohol-induced fuzzy feelings, concern etched McGonagall's face, as anger overtook Snape’s already scowling features.
“If your Mister Malfoy touched one hair on Miss Granger's head...” Minerva warned.
“Miss Granger!” Snape sneered. “Miss Granger is perfectly adept with a wand. It's Mister Malfoy I worry about.”
Another thump from above had them clambering out of the teacher’s lounge and up the flights of stairs to the head's portrait.
~*~
Upon letting themselves in, Snape and McGonagall saw an unexpected sight -a flock of tinsel animals chasing after Hermione throughout the dorm, and Draco drowning in a lake of tinsel and baubles in the corner near the Christmas tree, the animated string of the lights holding both his hands and wand hostage.
The scene was almost comic, if it wasn't so ludicrous.
Hermione was shouting over her shoulder, as her patent canaries viciously attacked the animals following her. As one animal would fall, another two would form. She had tinsel in her hair from the destruction of so many of the creatures that her hair literally shone as bright as a star. Every time an animal latched on to her, it would explode, showering her, and anything nearby, with bits of the foil.
Draco wasn't fairing much better. The fountain of glitter that had left Hermione's wand had now become a lake, taking over a better portion of the couch and a quarter of the common room. Each time he tried to surface , the enchanted decorations would pull him back down, his head and hands being the only thing visible in the mess. He was constantly reaching for his wand, in vain it seemed; the flow of tinsel moved it out of his reach each time, sensing his mounting frustration and close proximity, as if taunting Draco.
Neither a surface, nor a corner remained untouched in the common room. It was obvious reversing the spells would take some time, and there was no guarantee they’d remove all the tinsel.
“What is all of this?” McGonagall shouted, effectively stopping all movement in the room with her voice.
Hermione blushed and Draco coughed, glitter spluttering from his mouth..
One of the tinsel-birds tinsel-shat on Snape's shoulder.
So much for decorating the Muggle way.
-3-
Hairline Fracture by kate0404
“No! Not again!” Draco’s frustrated groan rang out through the bedroom.
Hermione sighed before rolling out of bed and wrapping her red, silk robe around her naked body. “You’re just not concentrating,” she said, hoping it was enough to placate him.
“It has nothing to do with concentration, Hermione!” She frowned at Draco’s outburst. So, it was going to be one of those times.
This was not the first time Draco’s little problem had interrupted their intimate time together and it had been getting increasingly worse over the last few months. Frankly, Hermione was starting to feel deprived. He was so distracted all the time, he could barely fulfill his obligation to her, and when they did complete said acts, it was purely out of duty rather than enjoyment.
She was sick of it.
He stood from the bed and started to pace the bedroom. “I don’t bloody understand!”
Hermione, feeling sexually and emotionally frustrated, nearly snapped back at him. However, the sight of his uncovered body, sweaty and flushed with his previous excitement, was calling to her. She was only human, after all, and Draco was as beautiful and sexy as a god. She was powerless when around him.
Feeling all her frustration (well, maybe not all her frustration) slowly leak from the pores of her skin, Hermione looked him over, head to toe, and let her mind wander. Not ten minutes ago they had been doing delicious and naughty things to each other, causing pleasure to course from the tips of her toes through each follicle of hair on her head. Hermione felt the familiar burning knot form in the pit of her stomach and she almost moaned aloud when Draco ran a frustrated hand through his wet hair.
“It should be simple,” Draco muttered and Hermione focused on his full bottom lip that was pouting in an adorable way. She licked her own lips.
“Merlin knows I’ve been doing this for years.” Draco stood in front of Hermione and then raised his eyes to look at her. She had a lustful look in her eyes and he huffed. “Could you focus, please?” he grumbled.
Hermione shook her head slightly to break her thoughts. “Sorry,” she murmured but couldn’t stop her eyes from traveling over his rounded shoulders, hard chest, tight torso and down to his-
“HERMIONE!”
Hermione jumped, “Right, sorry.”
Draco huffed again and started pacing the room once again. “I feel like some bleeding child.” He stopped and turned toward Hermione again, a look of sheer horror on his face. “Even worse,” he said, “I feel like a first year Hufflepuff.” Both hands went to his hair and started pulling, a bad habit he had picked up in the middle of the Second War.
Hermione rushed forward and with sure, but gentle hands, removed his from his head. “Shhh, love, it’s okay.”
Draco’s eyes were huge when he said, “A Hufflepuff, Hermione! Merlin, even in my first year I had more bleeding experience than a Hufflepuff!”
Hermione smoothed her hands over his chest and continued to shush him like a protective mother. Only a protective mother would not be having the thoughts Hermione was having at this very moment.
“I don’t even know why you’d want to be with me,” he grumbled in a defeated voice. “I’m no use to you like this.”
“Stop it right there, Draco,” Hermione murmured as she brushed her lips against his. “I love you no matter what kind of… problem you may have.”
Draco snorted, “Please.”
Hermione bit her bottom lip, ran her hands down his chest suggestively, and said, “Love, it’s just a little wand trouble. It happens to everyone.” Her hand went down his stomach and continued in a southerly direction. “I can help you with it, if you’d just relax.”
“Relax? Relax! How can I relax?” Draco bit out as he whirled out of her arms to pace again. Hermione rolled her eyes and groaned. “I can’t even satisfy you properly because of it. Just look at you,” he said as he waved his arms at her manically, “you’re practically salivating and I can’t even mop up your drool.”
“Dra-“
Draco grabbed his wand from the side table and interrupted her with a shouted, “Scourgify!”
Draco proved his point.
The hairline fracture - running from butt to tip of the Hawthorn wand that was acquired after being chased down by his adoring Quidditch fans three months ago - emitted tiny, white sparks, but nothing more happened.
“AGH! WHY?!” Draco shouted, his defeatist attitude disappearing and being replaced by another perturbed rant.
Hermione sighed, resigned to being done with their previous activities. “We’ll get you a new wand tomorrow,” she said and sat down on the edge of the bed as Draco paced the bedroom again.
-4-
Impotent, by luvscharlie
Draco strode into Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes demanding answers. He smashed his fist down on the counter, which in retrospect might have been unnecessarily dramatic as it did rather hurt. "I demand to know what you sold her!"
Ron and George crossed their arms over their chests simultaneously and leaned back against the wall grinning like ginger Cheshire cats.
"Did you hear that, Ronnie?" George asked. "He demands to know what we sold some poor, unidentified female unfortunate enough to keep company with the likes of him."
"I did hear that, George. I think you might inform Malfoy that we don't divulge what we sell to our paying customers. Not even to smug, pain-in-the-arse wizards who come into our shop demanding to know." Ron's smile mocked him, and if not for the fact that he was quite desperate, he would have turned around and left forthwith.
However, the fact remained that he was desperate.
"Look, I don't know what you sold Hermione, but the fact is that whatever she slipped me has made it so that I can't-well, you know."
"Get it up?" George supplied, making him blush a deep red.
"Can't imagine he had much to get up in the first place," Ron said to George.
"You know," George said, "we should show Hermione what it's like to be with real men."
"You wish," Draco said.
Charlie came out of the back room at that moment and added his two Knuts worth to the conversation. "Having some problems with getting your little soldier to stand at attention then, Malfoy?"
Draco's patience had reached its breaking point about two nights prior when his girlfriend had appeared in his office wearing practically nothing and he'd been unable to do anything about it.
"What makes you think Hermione bought something from us that's caused your problem?" Ron taunted. "Perhaps you're simply not man enough for her."
"So that's what the problem is." Draco hadn't seen Hermione standing in one of the aisles when he'd entered the shop. He had been too intent on demanding that they tell him what they'd done to him. He jumped when he heard her voice.
George and Ron both took a step back from the counter. Charlie grinned and shook his head. "Idiots. Haven't you learned not to mess with her yet? I'd hex them, Hermione, or, perhaps a really powerful Jelly Legs Jinx."
George put his hands up in surrender and handed over a vial of green liquid. "Here's the antidote. It was all in good fun, Hermione. We didn't know the potion we slipped him would render him completely unable to perform and-"
"Shut it, George." Hermione aimed her wand at his crotch. "All in good fun was it? We'll see how Alicia likes it when you can't perform in the bedroom." Hermione approached him and flicked her wand, but George was quicker than she had given him credit for. He pushed Ron in front of him, and Ron took the full brunt of the spell.
Draco leaned over him as Ron rolled around on the floor holding his bollocks and moaning. "Do enjoy your date with Lavender tomorrow night, Weasley. I've heard she's a sure thing, not that you'll have the chance to find out."
Draco took Hermione's hand and they Apparated away with the vial of antidote in hand before Ron had a chance to get to his wand and extract some revenge.
~Fin.~
-5-
Plans, by silvia_elisa
Draco rushed to the lift in a futile attempt to catch it before it began its descent. He saw a hand stick out and stop the doors from closing as his shoes slid on the marble floor.
"In a hurry, Malfoy?"
He smirked at the man inside the lift.
"Yes, actually," he replied. "My fiancée is waiting for me, Potter."
Draco saw his former schoolmate roll his eyes and his smirk turned into a wide grin. He pushed a button on the wall, ready to pretend Potter wasn't sharing his air, but it seemed as his plan to be on time wasn't the only thing he hadn't been entitled to that evening.
"The latest intelligence has it your department is slacking off, Malfoy."
He wondered idly if Gryffindors were innately unable to issue a convincing threat.
"We're going through a dry spell," he drawled. "You would know what I'm talking about."
Potter frowned. "Why should I?"
"No need to get all defensive on me," he replied. "I'm sure you and your wife will rekindle the flame! After all, Valentine's Day is not too far ahead."
Draco didn't listen to whatever insults the other wizard threw at him, because the lift had finally reached the Atrium and he was racing again; he was late already, but he'd better not make matter worse by appearing to have taken his time. His was not the right woman to cross.
He reached the prearranged spot. It was dark all around him due to the fact that nobody used those Floo fireplaces anymore; some where out of order, others hadn't been cleaned in years, and the Ministry had other things to worry about than dusty old fireplaces in the back of the Atrium. Draco glanced around, and sure enough, a cloaked figure was leaning against one of the walls. He tidied his robes, racked his brain for plausible excuses, and walked forward.
His plan was simple enough, in his opinion. He'd sneak up on the unsuspecting and probably annoyed witch, take her in his strong, muscular arms, and snog her senseless. She wouldn't even remember why she had been angry with him! It was perfect.
Draco advanced on her and grabbed her by her shoulders, bringing their faces mere inches from one another.
"I'm here, honey," he whispered huskily.
He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, muffling her response. He manoeuvred his arms around her slim figure, biting her lower lip like he knew she liked; he congratulated himself when the witch moaned softly.
He released her from his grasp a moment later, listening closely to her heaving.
"Draco!" He heard someone call from behind him.
He turned around, curses for whoever was interrupting them already forming on his lips, but the words died in his throat when he realised who had been calling him.
"A- Asteria?" he stuttered.
The blonde giggled as she jogged up to her fiancé.
"Of course! Who else?" she said. "I'm so sorry I'm late, but Mother wouldn't stop talking about the flowers..."
Draco tuned the witch out to focus on the other one, standing right behind him. He stared at her blankly until she lowered her hood; at that, he gasped.
"Draco, don't be rude!" Asteria chided him. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Granger."
"Likewise," she said.
"I trust you received your invitation to the wedding?"
Granger smiled. "We did, thank you."
Draco couldn't take his eyes off the bushy-haired witch talking to his fiancée. There was no way he had been kissing Granger! Her lips couldn't have been that soft. Asteria! His fiancée's lips were what he should be thinking about, not Granger's!
"Well, Draco, let's go," Asteria said at last, tugging his arm.
He followed her, glancing one last time at the other witch.
Granger was wickedly smiling at him.
-6-
We Won't Go Until We Get Some, by marmaladefever
“Decking the halls?” Hermione asked, carefully taking Malfoy’s purchase from him to wrap up.
“Hardly. It’s for a potion,” he sneered.
“Aster’s Brew?”
“Marley’s.”
“Then you’ll be wanting the white rimmed holly, not the solid green. And you need-”
“Mistletoe, I know.” He rolled his eyes, reached a hand up, and snagged the clump that had been hanging ominously above the counter and, gallingly, over their heads.
“Good riddance,” Hermione mumbled, dropping the plant into a paper bag. “Anything else? There’s a special on green and red dragon toenails. It’s not a glamour, either; it’s because of a magical variety of foot fung-”
Malfoy’s eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean, good riddance?”
She shifted her weight onto her left hip. “I’ve just been getting a lot of flak over that mistletoe, that’s all.”
He laughed. “Yeah, right. Like anyone would harass you for a kiss.”
“Excuse me? They most certainly would and have.”
“More likely they refused to pay at the counter, lest you hold them to that idiotic tradition. Now ring me up, will you?”
“You know what? No. I have a right to refuse service. Out, no Marley’s Brew for you.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Oh, come now, Granger. You know me. I kid; I jest; I express dry wit in sarcastic yet exaggerated ways. Now what is it, five sickles? Six?”
“Out.”
“No. No one else has both holly and mistletoe for sale without it being all gaudied up in some glitter-infested, foppish ribbon. And glitter, as we both know, scatters, and would likely end up in my brew, completely rendering it worthless. A galleon, Granger. I’ll give you a whole galleon and you can keep the change.”
“I don’t care about your money or your glitter dilemma.”
“Then what do you want? A bloody apology? It wasn’t that harsh; coming from me, it was actually downright civil. What did you expect? Me to swoop in and beg you for a kiss on bended knee?”
She smiled sweetly, yet evilly. “Loudly. For all in the shop to hear, if you don’t mind.”
He sputtered. “Now you want the flak?”
“No, but a smidgen of respect from you would be nice. Besides, humiliation is such sweet retribution.”
“You’re really very cruel, Granger, you know that?”
“Certainly. Now go on, there is a queue forming, you know.”
“Oh, I know.” He groaned. “Fine.” He took a step back, flopped to one knee, and clasped his hands together. “Please, Granger, oh, oh please! One kiss from your big-er, lovely-mouth would be divine, splendid, nay, splendiferous. Grant me just the briefest of busses, so that I can be on my way to… elsewhere already,” he finished, huffing.
“I refuse your advances, sir. Five sickles, two knuts.” Another sweet smile.
He scowled, flinging the money on the counter and ripping the package from her. “I’m not shopping here again.”
“Oh, I know. NEXT!” He didn’t move. “What now? You didn’t forget the essence of chimera nog, did you?”
“Seriously? You’re refusing my advances? Seriously? Granger, you’ve actually got an excuse to kiss me. You can’t tell me you’ve never fantasized about it even a little.”
“Fphh. No, have you?”
“Yes.”
“What? Then what on Earth was that whole ‘No one would want to kiss you’ thing about?”
“Insults, dry wit, jesting. Hello! Me we’re talking about here.”
“Now you’re really not going to leave are you? I’m sorry ladies and gentlemen, but we have a loiterer in the building.”
“Kiss me, Granger. Now.” He stamped his foot.
“Argh!” she fumed, her ears turning red as she grabbed his head and pulled him to her.
~*~
“Well, about time,” the man at the front of the queue said to the woman standing behind him, as they watched the clerk and the snobby blond man.
“I’ll say,” she agreed. “These holiday crowds are bad enough as it is.”
“Should we remind them he got the wrong kind of holly?”
“And stand here another ten minutes while they do an exchange? I should say not.”
Return to Main Page
Complete rules and procedures can be found on the main voting page. To summarize:
1. To submit your votes for this category, copy and paste the code below into a comment to this post (will be screened), or send it in an email to dramioneawards[at]gmail[dot]com. No anonymous comments allowed!
2. You must vote for your top THREE favorite fics, and rank them with your top favorite fic in the #1 position.
3. When casting your vote, please use the number assigned to the fic, rather than writing out the whole title.
CODE (2c):
2c - Funniest Ficlet:
1. (TOP CHOICE)
2.
3.
Return to Main Page
Nominees:
-1-
Betelgeuse, by tierfal
Hermione arched an eyebrow, incredulity battling a twisted sort of amusement in her scowl.
"We are not," she announced, "naming our first-born son 'Betelgeuse.'"
"It'll grow on you," Draco promised.
"Tumors grow on you," Hermione retorted.
Draco shook his head mournfully. "What if," he gasped, "you have sworn off 'Betelgeuse' only to discover, when our stunningly beautiful offspring emerges into this splendid world of ours, that he is indubitably destined to be a 'Betelgeuse'?"
Hermione frowned and crossed her arms, protectively it seemed, over her stomach. "Not everyone in your family has to be named after a star," she informed her wide-eyed, innocently-blinking husband. "Tonks wasn't."
Draco paused, but this was a very rare sort of hesitation from him-a tactful one. "Tonks was a bit of a special case," he noted.
"But you've done the same thing that Andromeda did," Hermione countered, "in marrying a Muggleborn. So isn't the prospective not-Betelgeuse a special case just like Tonks?"
Draco was gazing at her in abject disbelief. "You really don't want to name a member of the Black family after a star?" he prompted. "Just think of the family reunions-he'll be surrounded by Leos and Lyras and Perseuses and Cassiopeias, and he'll have to wear a nametag that says 'John'? Do you want our prospective yes-Betelgeuse to feel like some kind of freak?"
Hermione massaged her temples in a wax-on, wax-off sort of maneuver. "If you insist on Betelgeuse for a boy," she decided, somewhat unsteadily, "then if it's a girl, she should be Perdita."
When Draco merely blinked, she explained wearily, "Hermione's daughter in A Winter's Tale."
Draco wrinkled his nose. "But that's so obvious," he said.
Hermione stared at him. "Are you trying to imply," she asked slowly, "that 'Betelgeuse' is subtle?"
Draco's shoulders slumped. "I guess we could always name him Gemini," he remarked wistfully. "Gemmy for short. Or Antlia. Or Cepheus. Or Eridanus."
Hermione picked up 100,001 Baby Names, which she suspected was impossible to read all the way through in less than nine months, and prepared to beat herself in the forehead until she succumbed to a blessed hardcover-induced oblivion.
"Or Vulpecula," Draco was sighing. "Or Scorpius."
Hermione stopped with the orange, cherub-flooded front cover inches from her cranium. "Scorpius?" she repeated. "I… can almost see myself tolerating that…"
Draco rocketed to his feet and thrust both arms triumphantly into the air. "He shoots," he crowed; "he Scors!"
"Wait," Hermione cut in hastily, "if you're going to abbreviate it to 'Scor', I don't know-"
But Draco was already victory dancing out of the room, possibly with intent of Flooing everyone he knew to announce that he had wheedled, weaseled, and hoodwinked Hermione into conceding to Scorpius.
She supposed that he was a Slytherin alumnus, after all.
Groaning, Hermione flopped down on the couch, the intimidating bulk of 100,001 Baby Names perched guilelessly on the cushion nearby, a dozen diaper-clad cherubs grinning cheekily up at her from the front cover's swirl of tangerine-colored clouds.
"What are you looking at?" she asked them.
The mother of a child named Scorpius or Betelgeuse, they seemed to answer smugly.
Hermione made a discontented noise, glanced around, and then bent double to address her stomach plaintively.
"Please," she whispered urgently. "For the love of all that is good, please, please, please be a girl."
-2-
Decorating the Muggle Way, by lynnec114
She was on her S.P.E.W. thing again.
“We can do this ourselves,” she’d said in her huffiest manner. Then she broke out the lights, ornaments, and tinsel, and he knew there was no stopping her.
As she was throwing tinsel on the tree and humming along tunelessly with the wireless, Draco got a wonderful idea. Quietly, ever so subtly, he fiddled with a pile of tinsel until it resembled a dog, charming it to nip at her heels. It was all in good fun, of course, but when she shrieked in indignation at the thing humping her leg, he knew he’d pay for it. Without warning, a fountain of silvery strands began pouring violently out her wand, and onto him.
~*~
In a moment of sheer lunacy, Dumbledore encouraged the four heads of houses - McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and Snape - to participate in a house unity project, where they gathered once a week for a friendly game of Wizard's Poker and a general good time. By forcing them to interact, Dumbledore hoped that it would rub off on their Head Students, and then on to the rest of the student body.
They had just finished that week’s session as Flitwick and Sprout left with their arms linked and smiles on their faces, a rosy flush to gracing each head’s cheek. Sprout had been kind enough to bring a well-aged bottle of Ogden’s finest, and it had made the hours together more bearable.
Snape, quite inebriated at this point, turned to McGonagall, and with a gleam in his eyes, said, “Minerva, I just wanted to thank you for...” He never got the last of the sentence out, as a loud bang shook the ceiling, causing several pieces of plaster to crumble upon their heads.
Above them were the head's quarters.
Shrugging off their alcohol-induced fuzzy feelings, concern etched McGonagall's face, as anger overtook Snape’s already scowling features.
“If your Mister Malfoy touched one hair on Miss Granger's head...” Minerva warned.
“Miss Granger!” Snape sneered. “Miss Granger is perfectly adept with a wand. It's Mister Malfoy I worry about.”
Another thump from above had them clambering out of the teacher’s lounge and up the flights of stairs to the head's portrait.
~*~
Upon letting themselves in, Snape and McGonagall saw an unexpected sight -a flock of tinsel animals chasing after Hermione throughout the dorm, and Draco drowning in a lake of tinsel and baubles in the corner near the Christmas tree, the animated string of the lights holding both his hands and wand hostage.
The scene was almost comic, if it wasn't so ludicrous.
Hermione was shouting over her shoulder, as her patent canaries viciously attacked the animals following her. As one animal would fall, another two would form. She had tinsel in her hair from the destruction of so many of the creatures that her hair literally shone as bright as a star. Every time an animal latched on to her, it would explode, showering her, and anything nearby, with bits of the foil.
Draco wasn't fairing much better. The fountain of glitter that had left Hermione's wand had now become a lake, taking over a better portion of the couch and a quarter of the common room. Each time he tried to surface , the enchanted decorations would pull him back down, his head and hands being the only thing visible in the mess. He was constantly reaching for his wand, in vain it seemed; the flow of tinsel moved it out of his reach each time, sensing his mounting frustration and close proximity, as if taunting Draco.
Neither a surface, nor a corner remained untouched in the common room. It was obvious reversing the spells would take some time, and there was no guarantee they’d remove all the tinsel.
“What is all of this?” McGonagall shouted, effectively stopping all movement in the room with her voice.
Hermione blushed and Draco coughed, glitter spluttering from his mouth..
One of the tinsel-birds tinsel-shat on Snape's shoulder.
So much for decorating the Muggle way.
-3-
Hairline Fracture by kate0404
“No! Not again!” Draco’s frustrated groan rang out through the bedroom.
Hermione sighed before rolling out of bed and wrapping her red, silk robe around her naked body. “You’re just not concentrating,” she said, hoping it was enough to placate him.
“It has nothing to do with concentration, Hermione!” She frowned at Draco’s outburst. So, it was going to be one of those times.
This was not the first time Draco’s little problem had interrupted their intimate time together and it had been getting increasingly worse over the last few months. Frankly, Hermione was starting to feel deprived. He was so distracted all the time, he could barely fulfill his obligation to her, and when they did complete said acts, it was purely out of duty rather than enjoyment.
She was sick of it.
He stood from the bed and started to pace the bedroom. “I don’t bloody understand!”
Hermione, feeling sexually and emotionally frustrated, nearly snapped back at him. However, the sight of his uncovered body, sweaty and flushed with his previous excitement, was calling to her. She was only human, after all, and Draco was as beautiful and sexy as a god. She was powerless when around him.
Feeling all her frustration (well, maybe not all her frustration) slowly leak from the pores of her skin, Hermione looked him over, head to toe, and let her mind wander. Not ten minutes ago they had been doing delicious and naughty things to each other, causing pleasure to course from the tips of her toes through each follicle of hair on her head. Hermione felt the familiar burning knot form in the pit of her stomach and she almost moaned aloud when Draco ran a frustrated hand through his wet hair.
“It should be simple,” Draco muttered and Hermione focused on his full bottom lip that was pouting in an adorable way. She licked her own lips.
“Merlin knows I’ve been doing this for years.” Draco stood in front of Hermione and then raised his eyes to look at her. She had a lustful look in her eyes and he huffed. “Could you focus, please?” he grumbled.
Hermione shook her head slightly to break her thoughts. “Sorry,” she murmured but couldn’t stop her eyes from traveling over his rounded shoulders, hard chest, tight torso and down to his-
“HERMIONE!”
Hermione jumped, “Right, sorry.”
Draco huffed again and started pacing the room once again. “I feel like some bleeding child.” He stopped and turned toward Hermione again, a look of sheer horror on his face. “Even worse,” he said, “I feel like a first year Hufflepuff.” Both hands went to his hair and started pulling, a bad habit he had picked up in the middle of the Second War.
Hermione rushed forward and with sure, but gentle hands, removed his from his head. “Shhh, love, it’s okay.”
Draco’s eyes were huge when he said, “A Hufflepuff, Hermione! Merlin, even in my first year I had more bleeding experience than a Hufflepuff!”
Hermione smoothed her hands over his chest and continued to shush him like a protective mother. Only a protective mother would not be having the thoughts Hermione was having at this very moment.
“I don’t even know why you’d want to be with me,” he grumbled in a defeated voice. “I’m no use to you like this.”
“Stop it right there, Draco,” Hermione murmured as she brushed her lips against his. “I love you no matter what kind of… problem you may have.”
Draco snorted, “Please.”
Hermione bit her bottom lip, ran her hands down his chest suggestively, and said, “Love, it’s just a little wand trouble. It happens to everyone.” Her hand went down his stomach and continued in a southerly direction. “I can help you with it, if you’d just relax.”
“Relax? Relax! How can I relax?” Draco bit out as he whirled out of her arms to pace again. Hermione rolled her eyes and groaned. “I can’t even satisfy you properly because of it. Just look at you,” he said as he waved his arms at her manically, “you’re practically salivating and I can’t even mop up your drool.”
“Dra-“
Draco grabbed his wand from the side table and interrupted her with a shouted, “Scourgify!”
Draco proved his point.
The hairline fracture - running from butt to tip of the Hawthorn wand that was acquired after being chased down by his adoring Quidditch fans three months ago - emitted tiny, white sparks, but nothing more happened.
“AGH! WHY?!” Draco shouted, his defeatist attitude disappearing and being replaced by another perturbed rant.
Hermione sighed, resigned to being done with their previous activities. “We’ll get you a new wand tomorrow,” she said and sat down on the edge of the bed as Draco paced the bedroom again.
-4-
Impotent, by luvscharlie
Draco strode into Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes demanding answers. He smashed his fist down on the counter, which in retrospect might have been unnecessarily dramatic as it did rather hurt. "I demand to know what you sold her!"
Ron and George crossed their arms over their chests simultaneously and leaned back against the wall grinning like ginger Cheshire cats.
"Did you hear that, Ronnie?" George asked. "He demands to know what we sold some poor, unidentified female unfortunate enough to keep company with the likes of him."
"I did hear that, George. I think you might inform Malfoy that we don't divulge what we sell to our paying customers. Not even to smug, pain-in-the-arse wizards who come into our shop demanding to know." Ron's smile mocked him, and if not for the fact that he was quite desperate, he would have turned around and left forthwith.
However, the fact remained that he was desperate.
"Look, I don't know what you sold Hermione, but the fact is that whatever she slipped me has made it so that I can't-well, you know."
"Get it up?" George supplied, making him blush a deep red.
"Can't imagine he had much to get up in the first place," Ron said to George.
"You know," George said, "we should show Hermione what it's like to be with real men."
"You wish," Draco said.
Charlie came out of the back room at that moment and added his two Knuts worth to the conversation. "Having some problems with getting your little soldier to stand at attention then, Malfoy?"
Draco's patience had reached its breaking point about two nights prior when his girlfriend had appeared in his office wearing practically nothing and he'd been unable to do anything about it.
"What makes you think Hermione bought something from us that's caused your problem?" Ron taunted. "Perhaps you're simply not man enough for her."
"So that's what the problem is." Draco hadn't seen Hermione standing in one of the aisles when he'd entered the shop. He had been too intent on demanding that they tell him what they'd done to him. He jumped when he heard her voice.
George and Ron both took a step back from the counter. Charlie grinned and shook his head. "Idiots. Haven't you learned not to mess with her yet? I'd hex them, Hermione, or, perhaps a really powerful Jelly Legs Jinx."
George put his hands up in surrender and handed over a vial of green liquid. "Here's the antidote. It was all in good fun, Hermione. We didn't know the potion we slipped him would render him completely unable to perform and-"
"Shut it, George." Hermione aimed her wand at his crotch. "All in good fun was it? We'll see how Alicia likes it when you can't perform in the bedroom." Hermione approached him and flicked her wand, but George was quicker than she had given him credit for. He pushed Ron in front of him, and Ron took the full brunt of the spell.
Draco leaned over him as Ron rolled around on the floor holding his bollocks and moaning. "Do enjoy your date with Lavender tomorrow night, Weasley. I've heard she's a sure thing, not that you'll have the chance to find out."
Draco took Hermione's hand and they Apparated away with the vial of antidote in hand before Ron had a chance to get to his wand and extract some revenge.
~Fin.~
-5-
Plans, by silvia_elisa
Draco rushed to the lift in a futile attempt to catch it before it began its descent. He saw a hand stick out and stop the doors from closing as his shoes slid on the marble floor.
"In a hurry, Malfoy?"
He smirked at the man inside the lift.
"Yes, actually," he replied. "My fiancée is waiting for me, Potter."
Draco saw his former schoolmate roll his eyes and his smirk turned into a wide grin. He pushed a button on the wall, ready to pretend Potter wasn't sharing his air, but it seemed as his plan to be on time wasn't the only thing he hadn't been entitled to that evening.
"The latest intelligence has it your department is slacking off, Malfoy."
He wondered idly if Gryffindors were innately unable to issue a convincing threat.
"We're going through a dry spell," he drawled. "You would know what I'm talking about."
Potter frowned. "Why should I?"
"No need to get all defensive on me," he replied. "I'm sure you and your wife will rekindle the flame! After all, Valentine's Day is not too far ahead."
Draco didn't listen to whatever insults the other wizard threw at him, because the lift had finally reached the Atrium and he was racing again; he was late already, but he'd better not make matter worse by appearing to have taken his time. His was not the right woman to cross.
He reached the prearranged spot. It was dark all around him due to the fact that nobody used those Floo fireplaces anymore; some where out of order, others hadn't been cleaned in years, and the Ministry had other things to worry about than dusty old fireplaces in the back of the Atrium. Draco glanced around, and sure enough, a cloaked figure was leaning against one of the walls. He tidied his robes, racked his brain for plausible excuses, and walked forward.
His plan was simple enough, in his opinion. He'd sneak up on the unsuspecting and probably annoyed witch, take her in his strong, muscular arms, and snog her senseless. She wouldn't even remember why she had been angry with him! It was perfect.
Draco advanced on her and grabbed her by her shoulders, bringing their faces mere inches from one another.
"I'm here, honey," he whispered huskily.
He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, muffling her response. He manoeuvred his arms around her slim figure, biting her lower lip like he knew she liked; he congratulated himself when the witch moaned softly.
He released her from his grasp a moment later, listening closely to her heaving.
"Draco!" He heard someone call from behind him.
He turned around, curses for whoever was interrupting them already forming on his lips, but the words died in his throat when he realised who had been calling him.
"A- Asteria?" he stuttered.
The blonde giggled as she jogged up to her fiancé.
"Of course! Who else?" she said. "I'm so sorry I'm late, but Mother wouldn't stop talking about the flowers..."
Draco tuned the witch out to focus on the other one, standing right behind him. He stared at her blankly until she lowered her hood; at that, he gasped.
"Draco, don't be rude!" Asteria chided him. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Granger."
"Likewise," she said.
"I trust you received your invitation to the wedding?"
Granger smiled. "We did, thank you."
Draco couldn't take his eyes off the bushy-haired witch talking to his fiancée. There was no way he had been kissing Granger! Her lips couldn't have been that soft. Asteria! His fiancée's lips were what he should be thinking about, not Granger's!
"Well, Draco, let's go," Asteria said at last, tugging his arm.
He followed her, glancing one last time at the other witch.
Granger was wickedly smiling at him.
-6-
We Won't Go Until We Get Some, by marmaladefever
“Decking the halls?” Hermione asked, carefully taking Malfoy’s purchase from him to wrap up.
“Hardly. It’s for a potion,” he sneered.
“Aster’s Brew?”
“Marley’s.”
“Then you’ll be wanting the white rimmed holly, not the solid green. And you need-”
“Mistletoe, I know.” He rolled his eyes, reached a hand up, and snagged the clump that had been hanging ominously above the counter and, gallingly, over their heads.
“Good riddance,” Hermione mumbled, dropping the plant into a paper bag. “Anything else? There’s a special on green and red dragon toenails. It’s not a glamour, either; it’s because of a magical variety of foot fung-”
Malfoy’s eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean, good riddance?”
She shifted her weight onto her left hip. “I’ve just been getting a lot of flak over that mistletoe, that’s all.”
He laughed. “Yeah, right. Like anyone would harass you for a kiss.”
“Excuse me? They most certainly would and have.”
“More likely they refused to pay at the counter, lest you hold them to that idiotic tradition. Now ring me up, will you?”
“You know what? No. I have a right to refuse service. Out, no Marley’s Brew for you.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Oh, come now, Granger. You know me. I kid; I jest; I express dry wit in sarcastic yet exaggerated ways. Now what is it, five sickles? Six?”
“Out.”
“No. No one else has both holly and mistletoe for sale without it being all gaudied up in some glitter-infested, foppish ribbon. And glitter, as we both know, scatters, and would likely end up in my brew, completely rendering it worthless. A galleon, Granger. I’ll give you a whole galleon and you can keep the change.”
“I don’t care about your money or your glitter dilemma.”
“Then what do you want? A bloody apology? It wasn’t that harsh; coming from me, it was actually downright civil. What did you expect? Me to swoop in and beg you for a kiss on bended knee?”
She smiled sweetly, yet evilly. “Loudly. For all in the shop to hear, if you don’t mind.”
He sputtered. “Now you want the flak?”
“No, but a smidgen of respect from you would be nice. Besides, humiliation is such sweet retribution.”
“You’re really very cruel, Granger, you know that?”
“Certainly. Now go on, there is a queue forming, you know.”
“Oh, I know.” He groaned. “Fine.” He took a step back, flopped to one knee, and clasped his hands together. “Please, Granger, oh, oh please! One kiss from your big-er, lovely-mouth would be divine, splendid, nay, splendiferous. Grant me just the briefest of busses, so that I can be on my way to… elsewhere already,” he finished, huffing.
“I refuse your advances, sir. Five sickles, two knuts.” Another sweet smile.
He scowled, flinging the money on the counter and ripping the package from her. “I’m not shopping here again.”
“Oh, I know. NEXT!” He didn’t move. “What now? You didn’t forget the essence of chimera nog, did you?”
“Seriously? You’re refusing my advances? Seriously? Granger, you’ve actually got an excuse to kiss me. You can’t tell me you’ve never fantasized about it even a little.”
“Fphh. No, have you?”
“Yes.”
“What? Then what on Earth was that whole ‘No one would want to kiss you’ thing about?”
“Insults, dry wit, jesting. Hello! Me we’re talking about here.”
“Now you’re really not going to leave are you? I’m sorry ladies and gentlemen, but we have a loiterer in the building.”
“Kiss me, Granger. Now.” He stamped his foot.
“Argh!” she fumed, her ears turning red as she grabbed his head and pulled him to her.
~*~
“Well, about time,” the man at the front of the queue said to the woman standing behind him, as they watched the clerk and the snobby blond man.
“I’ll say,” she agreed. “These holiday crowds are bad enough as it is.”
“Should we remind them he got the wrong kind of holly?”
“And stand here another ten minutes while they do an exchange? I should say not.”
Return to Main Page