I F***ing Do! 2/28
Title: I F***ing Do!
Team: Order
Rating: M
Word Count: 8x100
Characters: Severus/Hermione, Ginny, Harry, Molly, Ron
Challenge: Creative Cursing
A/N: This is the second installment in a group project to describe the cursed blessed nuptuals of Severus Snape and Hermione Granger. Thanks to Dicky and Camillo for Britpicking and beta work.
Previous chapter
“That horrible, hissing harpy!”
“Who is it this time?” asked Harry from behind The Daily Prophet.
Ginny slammed down her Twittering Tattler. “Hermione sodding Granger is who. Your friend, Hermione, sodding, backhexing Granger.”
He looked up. “Hermione’s in that godforsaken rag? Let me see.”
“‘Rag’? I happen to enjoy my tabloids, and if you weren’t such a stuck-up, Granger-loving wanker you’d appreciate them.”
“Don’t be silly, Ginny. Whatever you’re mad at Hermione about’s nothing to do with me. Besides, you know you can’t believe anything you read in the gutter press.”
“Oh really? Suppose you tell me what this means.”
…
“Bloody hell.”
“See? Didn’t I tell you? That’s it. She and I are finished as friends. She can go fuck a Flesh-Eating Slug for all I care.”
“How is that even possible? Flesh-Eating Slugs don’t have … you know, orifices.”
That bit of cluelessness earned him a glare from his wife. “You’re thinking the wrong gender.”
Harry reached back to scratch behind his neck and squinted, but it didn’t help. “Still not getting it.”
“Bloody hell, Harry. Is everything Muggles say really that male-centered? Hermione brings her own orifices to the party.”
“So you mean the slug ... Ewwwwww.”
“Exactly.”
…
“Ginny?” The voice from the fireplace was unmistakable. “Ginny darling? Are you there, luv?”
“I’m here, Mum,” Ginny replied, moving into the other room and seating herself on the hearth. “Have you heard about Hermione?”
“Just now. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just found out. Fwooping little bitch didn’t even tell me herself. How did you find out? ”
Harry watched from the doorway as the flaming image of his mother-in-law turned even redder.
“Mi-mi-minerva!” Molly wailed.
“Noooo.”
“YES! After everything I’ve done for that girl, made her part of our family, and she told bloody Minerva before us!”
…
“You know, mum, it’s possible Hermione didn’t tell Minerva.”
“Oh, really? Then I’d like to know how that desk-twirling, mange-ridden, she-Kneazle found out before I did.”
Ginevra silently held the paper before Molly’s fiery visage.
Harry clapped his hands to his ears and fled up the stairs to the bedroom, cutting off Molly’s shriek of “WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON THAT PUBLICITY-SEEKING HARLOT, SHE’LL RUE …” with a hastily cast Muffliato once the door closed.
If the women-folk were going to be such Knarls, he was going to have to call in reinforcements. Fortunately, there was a second fireplace.
…
“Morgana’s maternity bra! She didn’t?”
“She did.”
Ron shook his head. “What was she thinking? You reckon she’s got a death wish, putting it in the paper like that? Course, it’d get her away from the greasy git if Gin killed her.”
“I don’t know,” Harry replied. “I thought it might be one of those fuckwitted reporters getting it all wrong as usual, but it doesn’t read that way. It sounds real.”
“Yeah. Except for that bit.” Ron pointed to the byline. “No fwooping way that’s within a Quidditch pitch of the truth.”
“Bloody, fucking, blistering hell. Hermione’s in trouble.”
…
“Bloody, fucking, blistering hell. I’m in trouble.”
Ron and Harry shifted uneasily. Hermione’s language had become quite a bit more … colourful since she’d taken up with Snape, but this was more than they were used to.
“We thought you should know,” Ron said hesitantly.
“SEVERUS SNAPE! Get your dragon-pox-ridden, skinny arse in here, NOW!”
“Balthazar’s bollocks, woman! Are you trying to kill me?” Severus staggered into the room. “Where’s the bloody hangover potion?”
Ron smirked. “Rough night?”
“What I do, day or night, is a private matter,” Severus growled.
“Not any more.” Hermione slid the paper across the table.
…
Severus read in mounting horror.
The Romance of the Century.
Who would have thought Cupid’s arrow could convince the blushing heroine, Hermione Granger to accept the impassioned proposal of one smoking-hot Severus Snape? And what an arrow it was! My dear readers, imagine if you will the scene when the well-known, well-built, well-hung centaur centrefold himself, Firenze of the forest, delivered the dazzling diamond engagement ring on a long, hard, feathered shaft. Everyone’s favorite promiscuous professor proclaimed his devotion in a secluded glen, deep in the Forbidden Forest, surprising the scholarly spinster with a last chance at marital bliss.
…
“She made the whole fucking thing up, yeah? S’not true.”
Harry stood back and watched as Ron pleaded for some order to the universe.
“Would it be so terrible? Tell me, Ronald, what bloody business of yours is it if I want to marry Severus?”
“Don’t give a kelpie's arse who you marry, Hermione. Or what Red Cap infested swamp you get engaged in. Just tell me that part’s not true, a'right?” He pointed at the byline.
An exclusive, personal account, provided to Rita Skeeter by Hermione Granger.
Hermione looked at Severus. “That does it. We kill the Vipertoothed beetle.”
Next Chapter
…
A/N: As per the Lexicon, the Fwooper is an, “African bird with brightly-colored feathers. A Fwooper's song will drive the listener insane, so each bird must be sold with a Silencing Charm on it,” and a Knarl is, “very similar to a hedgehog, except that the Knarl takes offense easily and will wreak havoc on garden plants.”
Team: Order
Rating: M
Word Count: 8x100
Characters: Severus/Hermione, Ginny, Harry, Molly, Ron
Challenge: Creative Cursing
A/N: This is the second installment in a group project to describe the cursed blessed nuptuals of Severus Snape and Hermione Granger. Thanks to Dicky and Camillo for Britpicking and beta work.
Previous chapter
“That horrible, hissing harpy!”
“Who is it this time?” asked Harry from behind The Daily Prophet.
Ginny slammed down her Twittering Tattler. “Hermione sodding Granger is who. Your friend, Hermione, sodding, backhexing Granger.”
He looked up. “Hermione’s in that godforsaken rag? Let me see.”
“‘Rag’? I happen to enjoy my tabloids, and if you weren’t such a stuck-up, Granger-loving wanker you’d appreciate them.”
“Don’t be silly, Ginny. Whatever you’re mad at Hermione about’s nothing to do with me. Besides, you know you can’t believe anything you read in the gutter press.”
“Oh really? Suppose you tell me what this means.”
…
“Bloody hell.”
“See? Didn’t I tell you? That’s it. She and I are finished as friends. She can go fuck a Flesh-Eating Slug for all I care.”
“How is that even possible? Flesh-Eating Slugs don’t have … you know, orifices.”
That bit of cluelessness earned him a glare from his wife. “You’re thinking the wrong gender.”
Harry reached back to scratch behind his neck and squinted, but it didn’t help. “Still not getting it.”
“Bloody hell, Harry. Is everything Muggles say really that male-centered? Hermione brings her own orifices to the party.”
“So you mean the slug ... Ewwwwww.”
“Exactly.”
…
“Ginny?” The voice from the fireplace was unmistakable. “Ginny darling? Are you there, luv?”
“I’m here, Mum,” Ginny replied, moving into the other room and seating herself on the hearth. “Have you heard about Hermione?”
“Just now. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just found out. Fwooping little bitch didn’t even tell me herself. How did you find out? ”
Harry watched from the doorway as the flaming image of his mother-in-law turned even redder.
“Mi-mi-minerva!” Molly wailed.
“Noooo.”
“YES! After everything I’ve done for that girl, made her part of our family, and she told bloody Minerva before us!”
…
“You know, mum, it’s possible Hermione didn’t tell Minerva.”
“Oh, really? Then I’d like to know how that desk-twirling, mange-ridden, she-Kneazle found out before I did.”
Ginevra silently held the paper before Molly’s fiery visage.
Harry clapped his hands to his ears and fled up the stairs to the bedroom, cutting off Molly’s shriek of “WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON THAT PUBLICITY-SEEKING HARLOT, SHE’LL RUE …” with a hastily cast Muffliato once the door closed.
If the women-folk were going to be such Knarls, he was going to have to call in reinforcements. Fortunately, there was a second fireplace.
…
“Morgana’s maternity bra! She didn’t?”
“She did.”
Ron shook his head. “What was she thinking? You reckon she’s got a death wish, putting it in the paper like that? Course, it’d get her away from the greasy git if Gin killed her.”
“I don’t know,” Harry replied. “I thought it might be one of those fuckwitted reporters getting it all wrong as usual, but it doesn’t read that way. It sounds real.”
“Yeah. Except for that bit.” Ron pointed to the byline. “No fwooping way that’s within a Quidditch pitch of the truth.”
“Bloody, fucking, blistering hell. Hermione’s in trouble.”
…
“Bloody, fucking, blistering hell. I’m in trouble.”
Ron and Harry shifted uneasily. Hermione’s language had become quite a bit more … colourful since she’d taken up with Snape, but this was more than they were used to.
“We thought you should know,” Ron said hesitantly.
“SEVERUS SNAPE! Get your dragon-pox-ridden, skinny arse in here, NOW!”
“Balthazar’s bollocks, woman! Are you trying to kill me?” Severus staggered into the room. “Where’s the bloody hangover potion?”
Ron smirked. “Rough night?”
“What I do, day or night, is a private matter,” Severus growled.
“Not any more.” Hermione slid the paper across the table.
…
Severus read in mounting horror.
The Romance of the Century.
Who would have thought Cupid’s arrow could convince the blushing heroine, Hermione Granger to accept the impassioned proposal of one smoking-hot Severus Snape? And what an arrow it was! My dear readers, imagine if you will the scene when the well-known, well-built, well-hung centaur centrefold himself, Firenze of the forest, delivered the dazzling diamond engagement ring on a long, hard, feathered shaft. Everyone’s favorite promiscuous professor proclaimed his devotion in a secluded glen, deep in the Forbidden Forest, surprising the scholarly spinster with a last chance at marital bliss.
…
“She made the whole fucking thing up, yeah? S’not true.”
Harry stood back and watched as Ron pleaded for some order to the universe.
“Would it be so terrible? Tell me, Ronald, what bloody business of yours is it if I want to marry Severus?”
“Don’t give a kelpie's arse who you marry, Hermione. Or what Red Cap infested swamp you get engaged in. Just tell me that part’s not true, a'right?” He pointed at the byline.
An exclusive, personal account, provided to Rita Skeeter by Hermione Granger.
Hermione looked at Severus. “That does it. We kill the Vipertoothed beetle.”
Next Chapter
…
A/N: As per the Lexicon, the Fwooper is an, “African bird with brightly-colored feathers. A Fwooper's song will drive the listener insane, so each bird must be sold with a Silencing Charm on it,” and a Knarl is, “very similar to a hedgehog, except that the Knarl takes offense easily and will wreak havoc on garden plants.”