I F***ing Do!
Title: I F***ing Do! part 3
Team Name: Spy for the Men in Black
Word Count: 9x100
Rating: M (language)
Challenge: Creative Cursing
Characters: Hermione/Severus, Harry, Ron, Lucius Malfoy
Author’s Notes: This is the third part of the round-robin drabble series “I F***ing Do!”, a Hissing Harpies production relating the true story of the Snape-Granger wedding.
Many thanks to
camillo1978
and
a_bees_buzz
for a quick and efficient beta.
Part 1
Part 2
“What are you doing, witch? Screeching like a bloody barn owl in heat! And where is the hangover potion?” Severus groaned, scrunching his eyes and covering his ears with his hands.
Harry grabbed Ron’s arm and pulled him towards the door.
“I didn’t hear a frigging word, Hermione. I think we’d better let Severus recover. Ron. Out. NOW!”
Ron turned.
“You son of a basilisk bogey! I want to know what...”
“...Know with what, you walking argument for birth control?” retorted Snape.
Harry pushed Ron out of the house, and the redhead’s protests were cut short by the slamming door.
*****
“Flaming Salazar’s festering piles, what do you think you’re doing, idiot girl, yelling death threats in front of an Auror?”
As soon as the door had closed, Severus had turned on Hermione, eyes flashing.
“Harry is my friend, not that a cold-hearted, slimy Slytherin, would understand.”
“And that’s why you’d want him to break his oath, or have to be interrogated under Veritaserum, oh warm-hearted, bowtruckle-brained Gryffindor?”
They stood panting, facing each other with fists clenched, until Hermione felt something bite into her palm. She unclasped her left hand and stared at it, eyes filling slowly with tears.
“Oh, Severus.”
*****
The engagement ring had turned, and the diamond had cut into the skin.
In a single stride, Severus was beside her, kissing the bruised flesh in her upturned palm.
“Sit down. Just tell me where you’ve put the blasted hangover potion.”
“Third fucking cabinet on the left, fifth bloody shelf, second row.”
Hermione slumped on the sofa, and Severus pattered away to the kitchen. When he came back with a chipped tray laden with two doses of extra-strong Hair of the Dog Potion and two big glasses of fresh orange juice, he found Hermione staring in horror at the Tattler.
*****
Severus almost dropped the tray.
“Nimue’s dripping knickers! How in the nine pricks of Hell...”
The tabloid lay on Hermione’s coffee table, obscenely splayed, offering its centrefold picture.
It was a good photograph. The camera had captured Firenze in full extension, leaping to get hold of his ill-fated arrow. The muscles rippled under the pale skin of his shoulders and under the palomino coat of his hindquarters, and the posture displayed proudly his advantageous endowment.
It was a wizarding photograph. Firenze was leaping again and again, while the arrow shaft vibrated inside the sparkling engagement ring, pinned against the tree.
*****
“How the fuck...”
“Where was she?”
“It’s almost as if you took it.”
“Or you. I was more to the left.”
They eyed each other suspiciously, then Severus sighed.
“Neither of us has a reason to do that, as far as I’m aware of.”
“Thank you,” answered stiffly Hermione. She swallowed her dose of potion and grimaced. “Rotten.”
“The question is, why is she doing that?” continued Severus.
“You mean, apart from being a dung-eating bug?”
“She has hated you for ten years, but you have kept her in control and even made her work for you. What has changed?”
*****
The fireplace suddenly flared. Lucius Malfoy’s head appeared in the flames, his blond hair mingling with the blaze.
“Severus, we must speak. May I come through?”
“No.”
“Thank you for the gracious invitation, Severus.”
Lucius was already stepping out of the fire, brushing the soot from his dove-grey robes.
“My compliments, Miss Granger, and congratulations on your impending marriage.”
Hermione turned beet red, and Severus hastily clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Fuck off, Lucius.”
“As soon as you’ve seen this, my chrysostom friend.”
Lucius opened the Financial Wizard and pointed at a small-lettered section on the Legal Announcements page.
*****
Hermione was struggling, but Severus held her firmly while reading the notice. “Dourak Dourakine, named chairman and managing director of ... Veela Feathers?!”
“Our principal competitor,” nodded Lucius. “And look at this.”
“... congratulations from the staff on his recent marriage to the brilliant journalist and writer... Merlin’s swinging bollocks!”
“I’m going to rip her head off and plant her spine in a flowerpot for Crookshanks to piss in.”
Hermione had succeeded in freeing herself.
“And I’m going to make haggis with the rest, and feed it to her retarded husband,” snarled Severus.
“Dourakine is only a sockpuppet,” said Lucius.
*****
“Of course,” snarled Hermione. “That flobberworm shithead used to clean the changing rooms when Viktor was a seeker.”
Severus eyed her, but said nothing.
“Slughorn has just told me,” continued Lucius. “Eighty percent of Veela Feathers shares belong now to Iovan Iorgovan.”
“The dirty bastard who tried to take control of the Romanian Dragon Reserve?”
“He failed that time, but he owns or controls now fifty-odd companies throughout the wizarding world, his most recent acquisitions being Veela Feathers and... The Tattler.”
Hermione’s jaw dropped open.
“Shacklebolt allowed this?”
“Shacklebolt has no power in the matter. It was the shareholders’ decision.”
*****
“I trust you understand the situation. As to your personal problem... we’re facing a smear campaign. You must get married as soon as possible. Narcissa is offering to host the wedding, naturally.”
“There’s no fucking way I’ll let anyone dictate our bloody private lives!” shouted Hermione.
“Of course. And now, I’m afraid you must excuse me.”
Lucius bowed and disappeared into the flames.
“I told you to disable that stinking fireplace,” growled Hermione. “It’s summer, for fuck’s sake!”
“At least we don’t need to bother with the announcements,” said Severus. “Everyone knows.”
“Not everyone yet,” replied Hermione.
The telephone rang.
Next Chapter