FICLET SERIES: Lessons (Michael Corner/Daphne Greengrass)
Title: Lessons
Character Pairing: Michael Corner/Daphne Greengrass
Prompt: Set Thirteen - viii. the most amazing sight
Rating: This chapter's a hard T for strong language and non-explicit sexual situations . . . er, no pun intended.
Word Count: 1457
A/N: Rated T for some language and intense snogging, but not physically graphic enough to necessitate an R rating. Chapters 8 through 13 will be told from Daphne's POV.
Summary: 13 ficlets, in which Michael Corner learns you can't judge a book by its cover and Daphne Greengrass learns to trust.
Link to Prompt Table: table here
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viii. the most amazing sight
Daphne sighs. The day had not started out well-
“Virgil,” Queenie Greengrass - a proper woman of refined dress and manners - sets her fork down next to her plate, her just-cracked soft-boiled egg in front of her, yolk running down the white shell, and an asparagus spear hovering over the yellow. “A shame about the Malfoys! Obviously, they won’t be able to make the festivities tonight.”
Her father, Virgil Greengrass, a tall, dark, and stern figure, speaks in a severe tone. “Sacrifices must be made, for the greater good. Once we’ve restored order, and we can correct the mistakes of the past, wizards like the Malfoys will be given their rightful place back in society. It’s simply a matter of time.”
Queenie turns her attentions to her daughters, asking about the ball. “Daphne, I think you might find Healer Goldstein’s son a remarkable young wizard. Do you know him? He’s your age.”
She doesn’t wait for an answer. “He comes from good stock and I’m told he has aspirations to become a Healer as well.” She purses her lips together. “The only troubling rumor I hear about him is that he has some rather unfortunate associates at your school. A couple of those,” her nose wrinkles in disgust, “with Mudbloods in their families . . .”
Daphne returns to the present and looks out at the sea of colored jewels and swirling fabrics. House-elves walk in cleaner tea towels than what they normally wear, Levitating trays of hors d’oeuvres and wine, for they have much company tonight at Greengrass Estate.
Mother wouldn’t want anyone thinking we don’t take care of our trash.
She longs for a little more excitement in the evening, like when she heard what sounded like small explosions on the top floors. The house-elves, however, had seen nothing.
She feels a pit in her stomach, and she can’t give definition to it. Her body doesn’t feel natural as she wears full-length lavender dress robes that clinch and cling to her; she feels less like a girl and more like a fancy little bauble in a room full of magpies.
But none of them are sweeping in to pick her up for their collections.
Astoria is on the other side of the room, talking to Blaise Zabini, Frederick Montague and Walter Vaisey, the star of the Slytherin Quidditch team. She curls her lip in disdain as she spies Professor Slughorn at her house talking to old Healer Aloysius Reddy and his grandson, Harold, a seventh-year Ravenclaw.
Bastard ignores me in his Potions classes, but will drop everything to attend these meat markets?
She hopes that Slughorn is not on her parents’ list as one of the eligible wizards for her, because while she wouldn’t mind getting to know Snape a bit better, she’ll draw the line at wizards who’re as old as mud.
She’s deep in thought when a wizard approaches her. She silently curses that she didn’t look stand-offish enough, but she smirks, intrigued, as she spies his face.
“Are you Anthony Goldstein?”
“Uh, y-yeah, I am.” He holds out a shaky hand. “D-do you want to dance?”
Daphne gives him a placating, humoring smile and takes his hand.
They move along, both quite inelegantly, and Daphne winces as Anthony steps on her foot several times. She’s got absolutely no idea how to move, and she’s trying to refrain from swearing, but fucking hell it’s really hard-
“Mike’s here.”
Daphne snaps her head towards him. She knows she’s blushing and her heart’s beating very fast but she maintains a distracted, distant air. “Really . . . interesting.”
Anthony peers at her curiously. “Do you want to know where he is?”
Daphne looks at him carefully. “Do you want to tell me?”
Anthony huffs and rolls his eyes. “Not really, but I can’t help it if my friend’s gone mental over a bloody Slytherin.” Anthony turns her around, shuffling his feet in a very awkward manner, and gestures with his head upstairs. “He’s in your room.”
Daphne’s eyes widen. “How in the world did-?”
He shrugs casually. “Your family took down your wards for the party. I came in, found your room, then left and Side-Along Apparated with him.”
Daphne just gapes at Anthony.
“You’re . . . those pops upstairs? Those were you?”
Anthony smugly grins.
“I wouldn’t have thought it possible from you!” She regards Anthony. “I mean, the blue blood . . . poncey attitude . . . rather weak constitution-”
Anthony steps on her foot.
“Ow! Fuck Goldstein-!”
“Sorry,” he hisses, annoyed. “My weak constitution had a momentary fit!”
She glares at him, and then she smiles, almost wickedly, her eyes flickering to the stairs.
~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~
The feeling of a boy surrounding her is not foreign to her. Her physical relationships with the wizards in her House have probably contributed to the chilled relationships with her Housemates.
Among other things . . .
But they are not at Hogwarts, and to be enveloped by a boy in her own bed is something entirely different.
Warm. And since it’s Michael and not a pure-blood, forbidden.
Daphne still wears her dress robes, the jewels attached to her top and the gems on her necklace pressing into her skin as Michael pulls her closer to him. He kisses her neck and his hands fan out over her back.
“Nice . . .” she barely whispers.
She feels him smile into her skin. He laughs. Michael moves his head to the top part of her chest and he kisses just beneath the small dip of her neck. She doesn’t mean to arch her back as his head continues its downward trajectory, but it’s a reflex to the warmth and the sensations as his lips touch her chest.
“Enjoying this?” His voice is muffled.
Daphne breathes out. As if he just knows, and as if he can read her so well, Michael moves his hands from her back. She falls onto her bed. He begins pulling her dress up, running his hands up the outside of her thighs and making straight for her knickers.
“What,” she pants, “in the world are you doing, Corner?” She looks down at him and she’s trying to catch her breath.
Michael gives her a very cocky smile. “Well, I simply wanted to try something. If you don’t mind.”
Daphne grins and snorts at him with a little incredulity. “Before we ever met, you were Mister ‘Barely-Score-Through-The-Center-Hoop’! Now, you’re Mister, ‘I’m-Going-For-Your-Knickers’.”
Michael laughs, and his head falls onto her belly. “Am I . . . being too forward?”
Her face falls slightly. Michael intrigues her, and she can see an odd, compelling mix of innocence and desire for her. She wants to play a game with him, to see exactly how far he’ll want to take it.
Something tells her he would let himself go as far as he humanely can.
“No, Michael. You’re not.” She reaches for her wand and casts several Privacy charms because the ball should still be going strong downstairs. She kneels on her bed.
“What do you want to do?”
She attempts to sound both disinterested and alluring, as if this were a casual fling; inside, though she’d never say, she is growing more and more nervous, more and more . . . something that she doesn’t quite know.
But whatever it is . . . it makes her redden and it makes her lose her breath.
Michael looks at her, but he doesn’t say a word.
“What?”
“J-just . . . you.”
She peers at him curiously and smiles at him with a hint of dubiousness. “What do you mean, me?”
Michael lifts his brows and lets out a little breath. “You’re beautiful, y’know?” His hand sweeps down her body. “In these robes. I couldn’t tell you earlier, what with all the snogging.”
Her face falls. “Beautiful?” She feels a frown developing. This is not something she signed up for.
Michael chuckles. “You look like you’ve never heard that before.”
Daphne does not admit to him that that word is usually reserved for Astoria, as she is the one who many of the young wizards flock to. Not her.
Never her . . . unless she gives them something in return.
She furrows her brows. She would prefer to keep this whole arrangement purely in the physical realm; she’s starting to dread where Corner is taking this-
This would be much easier if he would simply shut up.
Her lips crash into his and she pulls his body to her. They fall back into her bed. And when he tries to speak again, she brings her arms down and unbuckles his trousers so she can slide her hands inside.
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Character Pairing: Michael Corner/Daphne Greengrass
Prompt: Set Thirteen - viii. the most amazing sight
Rating: This chapter's a hard T for strong language and non-explicit sexual situations . . . er, no pun intended.
Word Count: 1457
A/N: Rated T for some language and intense snogging, but not physically graphic enough to necessitate an R rating. Chapters 8 through 13 will be told from Daphne's POV.
Summary: 13 ficlets, in which Michael Corner learns you can't judge a book by its cover and Daphne Greengrass learns to trust.
Link to Prompt Table: table here
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viii. the most amazing sight
Daphne sighs. The day had not started out well-
“Virgil,” Queenie Greengrass - a proper woman of refined dress and manners - sets her fork down next to her plate, her just-cracked soft-boiled egg in front of her, yolk running down the white shell, and an asparagus spear hovering over the yellow. “A shame about the Malfoys! Obviously, they won’t be able to make the festivities tonight.”
Her father, Virgil Greengrass, a tall, dark, and stern figure, speaks in a severe tone. “Sacrifices must be made, for the greater good. Once we’ve restored order, and we can correct the mistakes of the past, wizards like the Malfoys will be given their rightful place back in society. It’s simply a matter of time.”
Queenie turns her attentions to her daughters, asking about the ball. “Daphne, I think you might find Healer Goldstein’s son a remarkable young wizard. Do you know him? He’s your age.”
She doesn’t wait for an answer. “He comes from good stock and I’m told he has aspirations to become a Healer as well.” She purses her lips together. “The only troubling rumor I hear about him is that he has some rather unfortunate associates at your school. A couple of those,” her nose wrinkles in disgust, “with Mudbloods in their families . . .”
Daphne returns to the present and looks out at the sea of colored jewels and swirling fabrics. House-elves walk in cleaner tea towels than what they normally wear, Levitating trays of hors d’oeuvres and wine, for they have much company tonight at Greengrass Estate.
Mother wouldn’t want anyone thinking we don’t take care of our trash.
She longs for a little more excitement in the evening, like when she heard what sounded like small explosions on the top floors. The house-elves, however, had seen nothing.
She feels a pit in her stomach, and she can’t give definition to it. Her body doesn’t feel natural as she wears full-length lavender dress robes that clinch and cling to her; she feels less like a girl and more like a fancy little bauble in a room full of magpies.
But none of them are sweeping in to pick her up for their collections.
Astoria is on the other side of the room, talking to Blaise Zabini, Frederick Montague and Walter Vaisey, the star of the Slytherin Quidditch team. She curls her lip in disdain as she spies Professor Slughorn at her house talking to old Healer Aloysius Reddy and his grandson, Harold, a seventh-year Ravenclaw.
Bastard ignores me in his Potions classes, but will drop everything to attend these meat markets?
She hopes that Slughorn is not on her parents’ list as one of the eligible wizards for her, because while she wouldn’t mind getting to know Snape a bit better, she’ll draw the line at wizards who’re as old as mud.
She’s deep in thought when a wizard approaches her. She silently curses that she didn’t look stand-offish enough, but she smirks, intrigued, as she spies his face.
“Are you Anthony Goldstein?”
“Uh, y-yeah, I am.” He holds out a shaky hand. “D-do you want to dance?”
Daphne gives him a placating, humoring smile and takes his hand.
They move along, both quite inelegantly, and Daphne winces as Anthony steps on her foot several times. She’s got absolutely no idea how to move, and she’s trying to refrain from swearing, but fucking hell it’s really hard-
“Mike’s here.”
Daphne snaps her head towards him. She knows she’s blushing and her heart’s beating very fast but she maintains a distracted, distant air. “Really . . . interesting.”
Anthony peers at her curiously. “Do you want to know where he is?”
Daphne looks at him carefully. “Do you want to tell me?”
Anthony huffs and rolls his eyes. “Not really, but I can’t help it if my friend’s gone mental over a bloody Slytherin.” Anthony turns her around, shuffling his feet in a very awkward manner, and gestures with his head upstairs. “He’s in your room.”
Daphne’s eyes widen. “How in the world did-?”
He shrugs casually. “Your family took down your wards for the party. I came in, found your room, then left and Side-Along Apparated with him.”
Daphne just gapes at Anthony.
“You’re . . . those pops upstairs? Those were you?”
Anthony smugly grins.
“I wouldn’t have thought it possible from you!” She regards Anthony. “I mean, the blue blood . . . poncey attitude . . . rather weak constitution-”
Anthony steps on her foot.
“Ow! Fuck Goldstein-!”
“Sorry,” he hisses, annoyed. “My weak constitution had a momentary fit!”
She glares at him, and then she smiles, almost wickedly, her eyes flickering to the stairs.
~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~
The feeling of a boy surrounding her is not foreign to her. Her physical relationships with the wizards in her House have probably contributed to the chilled relationships with her Housemates.
Among other things . . .
But they are not at Hogwarts, and to be enveloped by a boy in her own bed is something entirely different.
Warm. And since it’s Michael and not a pure-blood, forbidden.
Daphne still wears her dress robes, the jewels attached to her top and the gems on her necklace pressing into her skin as Michael pulls her closer to him. He kisses her neck and his hands fan out over her back.
“Nice . . .” she barely whispers.
She feels him smile into her skin. He laughs. Michael moves his head to the top part of her chest and he kisses just beneath the small dip of her neck. She doesn’t mean to arch her back as his head continues its downward trajectory, but it’s a reflex to the warmth and the sensations as his lips touch her chest.
“Enjoying this?” His voice is muffled.
Daphne breathes out. As if he just knows, and as if he can read her so well, Michael moves his hands from her back. She falls onto her bed. He begins pulling her dress up, running his hands up the outside of her thighs and making straight for her knickers.
“What,” she pants, “in the world are you doing, Corner?” She looks down at him and she’s trying to catch her breath.
Michael gives her a very cocky smile. “Well, I simply wanted to try something. If you don’t mind.”
Daphne grins and snorts at him with a little incredulity. “Before we ever met, you were Mister ‘Barely-Score-Through-The-Center-Hoop’! Now, you’re Mister, ‘I’m-Going-For-Your-Knickers’.”
Michael laughs, and his head falls onto her belly. “Am I . . . being too forward?”
Her face falls slightly. Michael intrigues her, and she can see an odd, compelling mix of innocence and desire for her. She wants to play a game with him, to see exactly how far he’ll want to take it.
Something tells her he would let himself go as far as he humanely can.
“No, Michael. You’re not.” She reaches for her wand and casts several Privacy charms because the ball should still be going strong downstairs. She kneels on her bed.
“What do you want to do?”
She attempts to sound both disinterested and alluring, as if this were a casual fling; inside, though she’d never say, she is growing more and more nervous, more and more . . . something that she doesn’t quite know.
But whatever it is . . . it makes her redden and it makes her lose her breath.
Michael looks at her, but he doesn’t say a word.
“What?”
“J-just . . . you.”
She peers at him curiously and smiles at him with a hint of dubiousness. “What do you mean, me?”
Michael lifts his brows and lets out a little breath. “You’re beautiful, y’know?” His hand sweeps down her body. “In these robes. I couldn’t tell you earlier, what with all the snogging.”
Her face falls. “Beautiful?” She feels a frown developing. This is not something she signed up for.
Michael chuckles. “You look like you’ve never heard that before.”
Daphne does not admit to him that that word is usually reserved for Astoria, as she is the one who many of the young wizards flock to. Not her.
Never her . . . unless she gives them something in return.
She furrows her brows. She would prefer to keep this whole arrangement purely in the physical realm; she’s starting to dread where Corner is taking this-
This would be much easier if he would simply shut up.
Her lips crash into his and she pulls his body to her. They fall back into her bed. And when he tries to speak again, she brings her arms down and unbuckles his trousers so she can slide her hands inside.
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