Lucy Lupin's Fics

For the_andorran

Sat, 21 Jun 2008 03:13:42 GMT

Title: Anthony and Padma Talk (yeah, I rock the original titles)
Who: Anthony and Padma (ya rly). Plus some mentions of Parvati, and some non-mentions of Susan.
When: Mid-2002. Euterpe's Corner universe.
Disclaimer: Not mine. All JKR's. Including the money.

Written to try and nudge other muses into gear. I can't decide whether I like parts of it or hate all of it, but oh well. A dialog-only Ravenclaw piece, attempted for Thalia and written for Meg.

* * *

“Sometimes I think that there are only two reasons for Parvati’s existence. To provide everyone in Euterpe’s Corner with muffins and to humiliate me.”

“And to wear stilettos. Don’t forget the stilettos. Isn’t humiliation too strong a word for it though? You do have a rather nice six pack, if I may say so myself.”

“Only you could say things like that and not make it sound like a come-on, Padma. It’s a talent.”

“Well, not necessarily, Anthony. Not in every situation.”

“Alright, so Parvati has the muffins, the stilettos, and the humiliation of Anthony Goldstein. Which is three reasons. Which is three more than what most people have to justify their existence, but - I was naked, Padma! Naked!”

“Technically, you were half-naked.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it, thanks.”

“You will eventually though.”

“I know. You know me too well, Padma. Sometimes I wish your sister knew me a little less well.”

“Interesting.”

“Not interesting really. Just embarrassing.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, I think we know each other well enough so that if thought me in a towel was interesting, I’d be aware of it.”

“True. You in a towel?”

“Not my idea. I’d better tell you the whole story. This is beginning to sound worse than what it is. Not that it still isn’t humiliating, of course.”

“Embarrassing.”

“Humiliating. And I suppose you’re wondering what exactly Parvati had to do with me in a towel.”

“The thought did cross my mind, yes. I assume there was a good reason for it though.”

“Not that reason. Eww. Well, I mean - I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with - I’d probably be smiling more often if - I mean, I would have shagged a flatmate but at least I’d still have got - and I really don’t need to talk to you about what your sister might be like in bed. It’s really not necessary.”

“Not really, no. Unless it has something to do with why you were in a towel?”

“No! Merlin’s codpiece, Padma! What sort of bloke do you think I am? And stop looking at me like that, please.”

“I think you are a bloke who has been lonely ever since - for a long time. And Parvati is very friendly and pretty.”

“You say that like she doesn’t look exactly like you. Which is why I would never shag her.”

“Why, thank you.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know you didn’t. Do you discuss what Parvati might be like in bed with other people?”

“No! Parvati’s just a mate. And besides, I don’t know Thomas that well.”

“Dean? Oh, never mind. Perhaps you should just explain about you and the towel.”

“Yeah, that might be for the best. Well, Parvati had got photos of me in a towel from somewhere. How she got them, I don’t know. But then she got drunk on tequila one evening and posted them all over the journals. So now everyone in Euterpe’s has seen them, even Sus - even Sergei! It was awful! I swear I didn’t have anything to do with it!”

“Interesting.”

“Yes. And humiliating. And conducive to Anthony Goldstein never leaving his room again.”

“You will have to. You have work tomorrow. What I meant was interesting was that Parvati usually gets drunk on vodka.”

“I think you’re latching onto what Parvati got drunk on unnecessarily. It doesn’t really matter what she got drunk on, but that she got drunk, period. And last but not least, posted photos of me in a towel so that everyone in the bloody building knows what I look like in a towel.”

“You’re harsh on your physique. Is that such a bad thing?”

“I could do with pumping iron more.”

“You’re small-boned, Anthony. You would look ridiculous all overtly muscular like that Muggle who looks as though he got hit by a badly-cast Engorging charm. I am certain that Sus - that other witches would agree.”

“I suppose. Is small-boned a nice way of saying that I’m short?”

“Perhaps. But you are also slim, attractive, with clean teeth and nails-”

“Clean teeth and nails? I’m a man, not a horse.”

“-and as well as toned pectorals, you do have rather shapely legs.”

“Shapely legs? Is that it?”

“I would be more blunt, but it would embarrass you.”

“Not likely. I’ve just been seen by my landlord and two of my colleagues in a towel.”

“You do also have a rather shapely bottom.”

“Padma!”

“I daresay I’m not the only one who feels that way. Parvati likely agrees, which is why she put the photo on the journals.”

“Yeah, well, you Patil sisters are odd.”

“You might want to share that with Laura Madley. I heard her and Romilda Vane giggling about your physique - in a complimentary way, of course - in the stairwell this morning.”

“Romilda Vane? That’s it - I will kill Parvati.”

“I might have to object to that.”

“Why? At least with only one of you around, Poliakoff won’t blame you for blocking the sink when Parvati’s done it so that she can get a glimpse of how ‘fit’ he is anymore.”

“I also wouldn’t be able to borrow her shoes. I don’t expect you to understand the weight of that. Unless there is something about yourself that you are hiding very well, Anthony Goldstein. You were genuinely concerned about Sergei Poliakoff seeing you in a towel, weren’t you?”

“Oh, stop being a tease when I’m trying to sink into self-pity.”

“Stop trying to sink into self-pity and I won’t have to.”

“Well, fine then. It could have been worse. At least they weren’t describing anything below my waist as ‘cute’ or ‘small.’ I suppose I can permit you to try and cheer me up. I’m not saying that it will work, mind you. Only that you can try.”

“Where would the challenge be otherwise? I do like it when a man plays hard-to-get.”

“Ha ha ha.”

“That’s not quite up to your usual standard of retorts, but never mind. Would you like a hug, or would admitting you want physical contact in a non-sexual manner be compromising your masculinity too much?”

“My masculinity has already been compromised by your sister last night, so I suppose it doesn’t matter either way. Thank you, Padma.”

“It’s alright. You are nice to hug.”

“And you’re a nice friend, Padma.”

“I know. Now I suppose the next thing to do in such a situation is to offer you comfort food. Such as tea. And maybe a muffin.”

“Har-dee-har-har. You’re a real riot, Padma.”

“I try. At very inopportune times, admittedly. Would it help if I reminded you that Parvati did a stint of modelling for Witch Weekly a year or so back?”

“Why would that help me?”

“Well, one of those issues was Summer, 2000.”

“Again, I’m not really seeing where this is going.”

“Summer does mean swimsuits, Anthony. In southern parts of Britain at any rate.”

“Ah.”

“And needless to say, I am not mentioning this to encourage you to be seen in a towel by sister for other reasons.”

“Ah.”

“Would you like to borrow my old copies of the magazine?”

“Yes. Yes, I would like that very much. And Padma?”

“Yes Anthony?”

“You’re a very good friend.”

“Currently more so than a very good sister. Let’s go.”

I can't believe I wrote a Malfoy...

Sat, 19 Apr 2008 06:02:20 GMT

Title: Chocolate and Conversation
Who: Scorpius Malfoy and OC, with mentions of Mallory Carmichael
Why: Another third person rpg sample and reposted for the hell of it.
Disclaimer: JKR's world and characters, not mine.

* ~ * ~ *
"Are you Draco Malfoy's son?"

Scorpius looked up from what he was reading, which this evening was a Quidditch magazine cover charmed over a copy of Transfiguration Today. Sure enough, a first year was standing a few yards from where he was seated, a sceptical expression on his freckled face. "No," he responded politely enough, then paused deliberately. "I'm his daughter."

"Ha ha ha." The first year wrinkled his nose. "It's obvious to anyone that you're not that. Well, are you or aren't you?"

"I am," Scorpius said neutrally, putting down his magazine as it didn't seem that the first year would leave him alone anytime soon. At least this one didn't seem phased by his surroundings or who he was talking to, which would make for a more interesting conversation. He settled deeper into his armchair. "And you are?"

"Quentin Maugrim." Quentin Maugrim held out a hand. Scorpius shook it, but not before surreptiously checking to see if the younger year had a buzzer hidden there or some other insane Muggle practical joke. "I say," Quentin added, glancing around disparagingly at the common room surroundings, "how you lot manage without a television here, I don't know."

"Well, I suppose you're going to find out," Scorpius said drily, hiding a smile at what his father would think if he knew that yet another potential Muggleborn had invaded the once vaunted pureblood stronghold. But since while wary of Muggles themselves, he didn't have anything in particular against their magical offspring and lowered his guard slightly more around the younger students than what he did his immediate peers, he felt at ease to pursue the subject. "Are both your parents Muggles, or is one magical?"

"My mother's a Muggle but my father is a wizard," Quentin replied. "He was in Ravenclaw. On their house team. Got his NEWTs in 1994..." Another plus with asking questions was that aside from making yourself appear friendly and interested in other people, it also got them talking about themselves and therefore not about you. A prompt here and a careful question there, and the Maugrim kid was prattling on about his family for a good few minutes. It was only when a fifth year entered from the girls' dormitories that he seemed to remember Scorpius. "Hey, how come you don't play Quidditch?" A slight sneer. "Did you try out but then Flowers dropped you?"

"No, I just prefer to watch it, that's all." Scorpius didn't rise to the provocation, as the child obviously wanted him to do and he didn't see the point in obliging him. "Are you going to next year?"

"Yeah. Father reckons I'll make a good Beater." If the kid's build and temperament were anything to go by, Father was right. Plus he appeared to be quicker on the uptake than the Beaters during his father's time, who Draco often bemoaned. He spoke less disparagingly of Crabbe, if at all, Scorpius having gleaned that he had somehow perished during the Battle of Hogwarts all those years ago. He noticed that his new acquiantance was holding a rumplied tie at his side. "Say, you don't know how to do one of these up, do you?"

"Probably not how you're used to. I use a spell to do up ties. If you can't be bothered of course, the trick is to loosen it just enough to get it off over your head at night but not undo it completely, and then to tighten it again the next day. If you put it over your shoulders though, I can do it up for you right now." He gave the tie another look. "It looks like it needs an ironing charm as well."

"Nah, it's after dinner so I can't be bothered." Quentin shrugged. "Besides, ironing charms are for pansies."

"Maybe, but there are prefects like Kirke in Ravenclaw who will take points off for that sort of thing," Scorpius said neutrally. "And if you want to make good with the older years, it's best not to get a name for yourself as someone who gets points docked needlessly off Slytherin for things like that. Finch-Fletchley and Flowers are really out to win the House Cup this year, and I don't think you'd want to get on the bad side of them or any of the other seventh years."

Quentin considered, then handed the tie to Scorpius, who performed the charm on it and passed it back. "Thanks," he said with a brisk nod. "Rowe- er, Salazar, I'm still hungry after dinner. If only you could get seconds around this place. Say, you don't have any chocolate, do you?"

"It depends." Scorpius gave him a smile and, since the kid seemed like a bit of a hard case, decided to humour him. "What do you have for me in exchange for this chocolate that I might or might not have?"

"Oh, I don't know." As he expected, Quentin was playing along - and playing hard to get. "I remember something Carmichael was saying about what he was going to do to you tonight earlier, but I'm hungry and I tend to forget things when I'm hungry. Some chocolate may jog my memory."

"Lucky that I have some then." Reaching into his pocket, he broke the slab in two and gave one half to the first year. "You'll get the rest after I hear this news." It was a win-win situation really, even if it cost him some chocolate. If the kid was telling the truth, he'd be able to evade Mal, and if he was lying, well, then Scorpius would learn that he was not to be trusted.

So it was that when one Mallory Carmichael went to bed that evening, he found that the Muggle snake sweet, which he had charmed so that it was enlarged and wriggled and bit, had been transfered from under Scorpius's pillow to the foot of his own bed. The next morning, he had to limp to the infirmary before breakfast. Scorpius naturally feigned innocence.

More misc stuff

Sat, 19 Apr 2008 05:57:47 GMT

Title: Blaise's (not so) Quiet Night In
Who: Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson
Why: This was a third person rpg sample for dis_rpg. But I liked it and I haven't done any writing as such recently, and since this is passable for a ficlet, I decided to repost it.
Disclaimer: JKR's world and characters, not mine.

* ~ * ~ *
Blaise stretched out on the leather sofa and stifled a yawn. He found yawns to be undignified, a sign that you were not only bored by proceedings (even though he was) but had let your guard down significantly. Both were bad ideas where he was. Theodore had just retired to bed and with that the intelligence quotient of the Slytherin common room had been significantly lowered.

On the plus side, the assortment of simpering fifth year girls had nanced off not long after Theodore and the room was now empty. Unlike the fifth years Blaise liked Theodore well enough, as much as he could like anyone in the school, but his prefered company still came in a six foot package and a shirt and pair of trousers minimally rumpled considering that he had donned them sixteen hours earlier. Conscious of his appearance and the impression it gave others, he had actually performed an ironing charm over his clothes on the sly. Again, not something he would prefer to share. Crabbe and Goyle might cast the sort of stipulations one with their lack of imagination might make about a well-groomed male who didn't attempt to hump the leg of anything in a skirt. Blaise smiled at that. He was picky but then he could afford to be. Ironic that in spite of their lack of standards other than the witch being pure, the chubbier two of his dormmates could not pull to save their lives.

It was a Monday night so by the looks of things he was going to remain undisturbed. Reaching for his book, a well-done satire of Malecrit's Helas, J'ai Transfigure Mes Pieds, he prepared to relax fully for the first time that day.

Sadly but not completely unpredictably, it wasn't to be. A high-pitched scream sounded down the stairs, followed by a cry of "OH NO HE DIDN'T!" Tucking a bookmark back into the satire, Blaise sat up and waited for the onslaught.

No sooner than he had done so then Pansy Parkinson was upon him, eyes narrowed and hands propped on hips. "Blaise Zabini!" she blurted out. "I have something truly disgusting to tell you!"

What, you and Draco finally consummated your relationship? Blaise wanted to ask. Even if - on the other hand - he really didn't want to know the answer. However, he did not ask. He merely raised one eyebrow a fraction of an inch and said, "Oh?"

"Oh?" sufficed. As usual, Pansy was used to functioning on autopilot. "Blaise Zabini!" she repeated. Yet again. Ho hum. "Would you or would you not class having SEX with a Muggle as bestiality?"

"Er," he said, privately thinking that copulating with Crabbe or Goyle would be closer to the mark. In front of Draco he would have never paused in such a telling manner, but Pansy was typically too dim to pick up on such things. She went off onto a diatribe of who had slept with what and how DISGUSTING it was and how she was simply APPALLED. Blaise paid attention long enought to realise that it had about as much of a point as her usual chatter, which had the sharpness of a feather pillow, and from that moment on only tuned in with half an ear, making sure to nod and articulate "mmm"-ing noises at all the right places. If he was a Muggle and aware of such things, he would have said that he could sense his brain cells bidding adieu every second Pansy spoke. Finally she was done. Or perhaps not. Typical. "Well, what do YOU think?" she demanded.

"I don't think shagging a Muggle is bestiality exactly," he said, sinking back into the sofa cushions with a laconic air. Then, when Pansy's lower lip plummetted to the stone floor in shock, he deadpaned, "In comparison to, say, shagging Ginny Weasley, that is."

"AHAHAHA HOW FUNNY YOU ARE!" Pansy brayed. Blaise resisted an urge to Scourgify his eardrum - and the brain contained within. "I agree that she's disgusting - and that family of hers! Really, is it normal to have that many children? I ask you!"

No you won't, well, not really. Again Blaise modified this thought with a shrug. Pansy as usual didn't need much more encouragement than this. On and on she went. It might have classed as a break from homework, he reflected, if it wasn't so headache-inducing. He schooled his features to a neutral expression and zoned out.

(Not So) Random Drabble: Izzy, Nick and Edward

Mon, 11 Feb 2008 14:17:02 GMT

Title: Underwear
Who: Izzy Finnigan, Nick Flowers and Edward Finch-Fletchley
Why: Written for my Seamus/Lavender spawn application at toffs. Reposted for polymechanos. R-rated for language and sexual allusions.
Disclaimer: JKR's world, not mine.

* *

Izzy huffed and she puffed and she blew a short fuse all the way from the common room. He had said - he had thought - how dare he? Insulting her Quidditch skills? Made her grit her teeth tightly, but she could bear it. Insulting her make-up and hair? Made her grit her teeth very very tightly indeed, but she could bear it. But insulting her eyebrows - WELL, that was just NOT on!

Unconsciously her hands bunched into fists. Her fingernails left tiny moon crescents in her palm which would have been deeper still had she not trimmed them for Quidditch season. But no matter. She forced herself to relax and a grim smile set into place. It wasn't as if she didn't have a plan. There were first years in Slytherin too after all, and even they could still feel indebted to a friendly face in - much taller - places. And though she wasn't in Slytherin herself, she wasn't above using connections to her advantage.

An idea in mind, she slipped downwards out of Gryffindor Tower and further into the castle's deep, dark heart.

* *

Nick couldn't sleep. It was the night before the first game of the season, but usually he wasn't prone to these sort of nerves. The Slytherin team primed and ready? Check. The opposition ripe to be decimated? Check. And yet he still couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.

It was no good. Sitting up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed with a frustrated growl.

"Having fun in there, Nicky boy old chum?" The curtains around Edward's bed were drawn, but Nick could almost feeling him grinning in the dark.

"Sod off, Fletchley," Nick retorted. "Go back to horse-shagging or whatever fucking depraved wet dream you were having."

"Are you sure you don't want to join me, Nicky boy old chum?" the freak sang out. "There's room enough for two on this old mattress of mine, that is, if we top and tail. It will be just like the good old days for me. We can pretend we're at Eton!"

"Sod OFF, you fucking fairy, or else I'll tell all the blokes you're straight!" Nick threatened. Why the fuck couldn't have Edward been asleep? Not only did he want to preserve his aggression for the match, but he certainly didn't want to lose it in the way Edward was hoping. Sick bloody aristocratic pervert. He'd pound the lights out of him, but he suspected the twat would enjoy it way too much. Getting out of his bed, he stomped over to his trunk and started flipping through its contents.

Second later, his resolution was abandoned as he lunged at his dormie. "YOU BLOODY SICK FREAK, WHERE THE FUCKING HELL ARE THEY?"

* *

Across the other side of the castle, a pixiesh pretty blond was sauntering away from the Great Hall. There was no one about but nevertheless, used to the idea of an audience she twirled her wand around between two fingers in an exaggerated, showy manner. Above the hall entrance hung a pair of navy blue boxers, the snakes on which were singing 'God Save the Queen' in high-pitched, girlish voices. Izzy had felt bad about how she had shrunk Nick's lucky underwear so that it was now two whole sizes smaller than usual, but apparently not enough. Pursing her lips, she began to whistle in tune with the snakes.

Random Drabble IV: Albus, Izzy and Amity

Sat, 09 Feb 2008 12:47:25 GMT

Title: Books and dirty looks
Who: Albus Potter, Izzy Finnigan and Amity Smith
Why: Albus was requested by upandmeltaway. It was meant to be just about him, but Gryffindor females seem to have a habit of gatecrashing my fics.
Disclaimer: JKR's world, not mine.

* *

"Albus Potter!" Izzy stood at the foot of his bed, her hands on her hips as she looked down at him, an interrogative look on her face. "What are you doing?"

"Iseult Finnigan!" Albus raised his head and mimicked the seventh year's tone as he spoke, that being one of playful exasperation. "What does it look like I'm doing? Reading, obviously."

"Oh, I can tell that much." Izzy rolled her eyes and settled on the edge of his head, giving her blonde hair a flick. As usual, she had invited herself into the sixth year boys' dormitory. "When people ask that question and you're clearly in front of them reading, what they mean is what are you reading? And incidentally, don't ever call me Iseult again. Greater wizards than you have come to nasty ends that way."

"I fully believe that, Izzy. And of course I'll tell you what I'm reading. It would be rude of me not to after all." He rolled over and looked up at her. She waited expectantly. "It's," he paused, "a book."

"A book!" Izzy's green eyes were now threatening to roll out of her head as she expressed her impatience. "Well, isn't that unusual! Fancy being caught reading one of those. I want to know what book it is, Albus. I bet it's Quidditch Through the Ages. That's the only thing you ever read that you're not made to anyway. Have you got to the chapter about how the Tornados went pear-shaped after the 90's? I really liked that part. Well, come on now, give me a look." She reached for the book. Albus held it away.

They ended up in a sort of tussle on top of the bed. Izzy had overbalanced and Albus had slipped an arm around her waist to prevent her from bouncing off the mattress and falling to the floor. Not above taking advantage of chivalry, she had swung out and attemped to snatch it out of his hand, and he was now holding it at full stretch away from her. As he was slightly taller than her and the arm around her waist was holding her secure, so far the manoeuver was working.

He and Izzy didn't have the type of friendship where they wondered if that was really all it was. They therefore didn't realise how all this must have looked until they heard an inhaled gasp from the doorway.

Amity Smith was standing there, her mouth open. She was Zacharias Smith's daughter and in spite of this Albus and Izzy's friend. However, she was currently looking anything but friendly. Before either of them could respond, she spun on her heel with an angry hiss and marched out of the room.

"Ami..." Izzy called after her weakly, then rolled off Albus and lay back on the bed next to him with a sigh. They shared a perplexed look that Izzy did not truly feel. Albus may have been confused about Amity's anger, but while she would never tell him the cause of it she knew why.

Random Drabble III: Zacharias and Ginny

Sat, 09 Feb 2008 11:44:25 GMT

Title: Time travel and not being sympathetic
Who: Zacharias and Ginny
Why: _puppeteer requested Zacharias. Ginny snuck in, as she often does. Again longer than a drabble. And I have this sadistic urge to break up certain people's OTPs, mwuahaha. Set after the epilogue.
Disclaimer: JKR's characters and world, not mine.

* *

"I think you need to take the rest of the day off."

Ginny inhaled as if she had been slapped. Then she began to talk. His comment had loosened the last small stones and now her words tumbled out like an avalanche.

"You know what, I don't think I'm going to go home," she said, her voice pitching unevenly with anger and frustration. "I can barely eat or sleep. I'm currently in negotiations with my ex-husband to get whatever Galleons I earned over the years out of our joint account and to persuade him that they are actually my Galleons. Two of my three children are no longer talking to me and the one who is cannot spend Christmas with me. My eldest brother's health is deteriating and yet in spite of this I come to work, I stay until well after five, I meet deadlines with time to spare, I do a bloody good job - and now you're telling me to go home early? Well fuck you, Zacharias Smith, but unless you have the guts to try and physically throw me out, I think I'm going to stay."

Zacharias got up from his desk and walked over to her. She hadn't realised before how tall he was, how much taller than she. Images flashed through her head of her being frogmarched out of his office and being told to clear her desk, of her having to leave her nice little flat and showing up on Bill and Fleur's doorstep and once again sharing a bed with Victoire. Then the loss of control becoming complete, she burst into tears.

A hand slid under her arm, but rather than ushering her out of the room, instead guided her away from the door and deeper into the office. She was helped into a chair and the footsteps retreated, then stopped. Presently she raised her head. He was seated across from her at his desk, sipping his coffee and watching her levelly. She was surprised to see that he didn't appear angry. "Better?" he asked.

Ginny nodded, took a deep breath and tried to salvage. "I apologise for my outburst. It was unprofessional and it won't happen again. Of course I will go home if that is what you want me to do."

"That is what I would prefer," Zacharias said. "But so far you have been coping. Your work continues to be satisfactory." Unconsciously Ginny's chin raised challengingly. "More than satisfactory, in fact," he amended himself. "But you may stay, if you would rather."

"I would rather," Ginny confirmed. Leaning forward to remove a blank scroll from Zacharias's desk, she Transfigured it into a hankychief and began dabbing at her eyes. "I know that you're aware of what I've been going through outside of work, but I don't feel as though it's affected my job so far and I don't plan on letting it."

Zacharias leant back in his chair and locked his fingers together. Unbelievably, Ginny thought she saw a touch of amusement in his features. "You may find this incredible. In fact, I am certain that you will. However, in calling you in here your job performance was not my only concern. My main one, perhaps, but not my exclusive concern." Ginny stared back uncomprehendingly. "I am not very good at expressing myself, in particular when it comes to sympathy of any form, Ginerva," he added by way of elaboration.

"Thank you, but I don't want any sympathy," she said after a moment's pause. "I just want to get through this."

"I had an idea you would say that. Which is why I haven't offered you any. And as I do not have a timeturner, I am also unable to help with your second request."

A second twitch of amusement. It was a small smile, but it was definitely there. She found herself smiling back. "We destroyed them all during fifth year," she recalled. His confusion snapped her back to the present. "Nevermind. Thank you for...allowing me to keep my desk, I suppose. And not offering me your sympathy or a time turner."

"I am always happy to oblige," he added drily. His eyes ran over her for a moment and she felt oddly self-conscious. "You say that you are barely eating?"

"Not out of choice," she admitted. "That would be daft." She had lost almost a stone since the separation. "I try to force down what I can, but usually I can only manage a few mouthfuls at a time."

"If you cannot eat a lot, then eat more often," he told her. "I would not mind if you ate at your desk in between breaks, so long as it did not hamper your work rate." He stood, collecting his coat from a hook behind his desk. "Speaking of food, I think we should take your lunch hour early."

Ginny nodded, then the rest of his statement hit her. "We?"

"That term usually implies more than one person. Do you see anyone else in this room? The Leaky Cauldron is near here and besides, I doubt that you are eating well anyway, when you are eating. This will give me a chance to evaluate." Taking her arm, he guided her back into the corridor and Summoned over her coat with a flick of his wand before they stepped into the ancient lift.

Random Drabble II: Cad and Lisa

Sat, 09 Feb 2008 10:30:20 GMT

Title: Parvati is sometimes right
Who: Lisa, Cadwallader, Parvati and Padma
Why: For wickedpixy05 who requested Cad. A bit longer than a drabble, but aren't mine all.
Disclaimer: JKR's characters and world, not mine.

* *

"...And even though she's a very good dancer, she's rather tall for a ballerina, don't you think? For pointe shoes it's alright I suppose, but you can't wear those for a night out and she has trouble finding blokes who are taller than her when she's in her heels, don't you Lise? Ah, but you're nice and tall, aren't you Cad? With that big beefy bouncer build of yours you'd make us witches feel so nice and safe and little! You'd be what, four inches taller than Lisa even with those shoes she's wearing tonight, wouldn't you?"

Next to her Lisa Turpin reflected that if her shoulders were any more hunched over, she'd somehow turn herself inside out. Her only consolation was that the dim lights of the club hid her reddened cheeks. She shared a glance with Padma, who shrugged and gave her a what-can-you-do look before turning her attention back to her sister. Lisa could tell what Parvati was trying to do, and while she appreciated the intent the former Gryffindors was being as usual as subtle as a dragon in an apocathery.

"Oh, I don't know, once a wand is drawn then size becomes somewhat irrevelant. Ginny Weasley is a friend of mine and no one can hex like that girl. Well, not that I've been on the receiving end of one but well, my mate Harper could probably tell you a few stories." The big wizard let out a dry chuckle. Lisa had thought that she had been wallowing in her own humiliation too much to notice what was going on around her, but Cad's response snagged her attention like a nail brushing against a jumper. She wished she had on a jumper right now, actually. Parvati had assured her that she had an enviable stomach and she had allowed herself to be talked into a midriff halter top along with her black trousers, but unfortunately a few of the bar's male patrons appeared to share Parvati's opinion. And she hadn't actually thought she'd bump into anyone she knew other than the twins when she'd agreed to wear the ridiculous thing!

"Parvati, drinks. Come on." Padma had decided to respond to her roomate's silent plea. Unfortunately, her strategy seemed to be to remove Parvati from the scene but to leave Lisa there by herself - with him! Before Lisa could protest Parvati was frogmarched off, still calling out remarks to Cadwallader.

The Hufflepuff slid a look towards the Patil sisters, then shrugged and gave Lisa a bemused smile as if to say 'What the hell was that about?' In spite of her nerves Lisa laughed and found herself relaxing slightly. "So, just how tall are you exactly?" she asked.

"About 6'3," he shrugged, keeping a wary eye on the clientel. Parvati's chatter had probably been designed to pique Cad's interest but she was right, Cad did make Lisa feel protected. "It's really an appropriate question for people like us, isn't it? With Macmillan we should be asking 'How short are you,' really." Lisa bit back a burst of laugher. "And how tall are you?"

"5'7," she responded. "Add about another three inches with these. Parv was trying to talk me into a still higher pair, but I vetoed them. I'm a dancer. I like to be able to, you know, dance in my choice of footwear. Parv might be able to run a marathon in very high heels, but I can't."

"You managed to talk Parvati out of something?" Cad's eyebrows rode. "You must be a very formidable witch. Say, no one here is giving you any trouble, are they?"

"No, no one at all." Cad's hand was on her bare shoulder, his head bent closer to hers. Now she was finding it harder to concentrate. "There's been a couple of blokes who approached me, but Padma just gave them The Look and they went off."

Cad's eyes narrowed, just an ounce, but he was no longer the friendly, jovial bouncer. She wished she hadn't mentioned the boys. "Well, if you have any trouble, you know where I am, don't you?" he asked. "Head and shoulders above everyone else." He smiled and the tension evaporated once again.

Lisa spared a glance at the bar. Parvati and Padma were nowhere in sight, but she could tell by the throng of people that they would be a while. "I'm sorry about Parvati," she found herself saying. "She's really nice, but she gets these things in her head and once she'd convinced of something, she just won't let the idea go."

"That's Gryffindors for you," Cad shrugged. "But besides, she can be right about some things." Before she could ask what that meant, a patron had arrived at the door and he turned to check the ID. Then Parvati was grabbing her arm and it was back to the dance floor.

Random Drabble I: Liam and Izzy

Sat, 09 Feb 2008 09:49:26 GMT

Title: Contested
Who: Izzy Finnigan and Liam Willoughby
Why: For _puppeteer who requested Izzy and Liam. Written because I was in a shit and needed something to do. I'm even writing this in the entry otherwise it will turn into one of my epics. I fail.
Disclaimer: JKR's world, not mine.

* *

"That chocolate muffin is mine!" Izzy's green eyes gleamed as she made a lunge for the treat and held it in the air triumphantly. Chocolate muffins were a weakness of the blonde Gryffindor's. It had been the last of its kind and now its fate was in the balance.

"That chocolate muffin is yours," Liam added obediently enough, but there was a slight amused tilt to his lips. He hadn't even bothered contesting the confectionary.

Izzy contemplated the muffin for a second or two, then drew her wand. A strike sliced through the air and it feel neatly into two halves. "Chocolate muffins are my favourite but ah, you're no fun," she grinned, handing one to Liam. "What's the point in winning if you have no competition?"

"I knew you'd see it that way," Liam said. "You being a big bad Gryffindor and everything. And chocolate muffins are my favourite too. Which is why I didn't provide any competition." Before Izzy could react, he took a large bite and smiled back at her with crumbs around his mouth. She swiped at his arm, but she was smiling too.

The crackiest crack that ever cracked

Sun, 16 Sep 2007 12:37:12 GMT

Title: A Blonde, a Brunette, and a Jeepfull of Idiots at a Drive-Thru
Author: lucy_lupin
Dedicated to: maniacalmuse
Set: Post-Hogwarts, (very very) AU
Characters: Blaise, Luna and random goons
Pairing: None
Genre: General/Humour
Rating: PG-13 for language
Word Count: 803
Disclaimer: JKR pwns all. I am just borrowing them for fun, not profit.

Summary: Blaise and Luna are Muggles. Luna is working at McDonalds and gets harassed by a group of frat boys. Blaise does not appreciate it. Sentence #3 is the understatement of the year.

Author's Notes: So crack and soo bad, but sooo fun. Written for Thalia’s birthday.

* ~ * ~ *

“Hello, may I take your order please?”

The speaker was a blonde with stringy long hair trailing safely down her back in a waist-length braid, and radish earrings that jangled as she spoke. In a black Mercedes near the window sat a young man with carelessly artful dark curls, slanted green eyes, and long-fingered hands, one of which was currently hanging idly out the window as he waited. The fast food joint was not Blaise Zabini’s usual haunt, but the service at the 59th street branch was unparalleled. At least in his opinion.

It was not him however that she was speaking to. A car ahead lolled a gang of hooligans. They were frat boys, and they were attending a local college on an athletic scholarship, when both their academics and SAT scores reflected that they would have never got in otherwise. Hailing from a collection of southern states, this group had been heroes of their hometown teams and idolized and adored by mothers, fathers and daughters alike. All this hero worship isn’t good for growing boys, and therefore the four of them had grown up to be neither idolatrous nor adorable people. Even though most other than his girlfriend Daphne and the slim blonde at the window would apply the same attributes to him, Blaise didn’t particularly like that sort of person. How they were talking to the drive-thru order staff member only served to fuel his ire.

“Are you on the menu?” one asked.

“I’m sorry, but only the Quarter Pounder, Big Mac, Fillet O’Fish and McChicken meals are available, actually,” the blonde responded, her smile not waving in the slightest. “If I could interest you in our Happy Meal? We have Star Wars figurines this week, you know.”

“I know what you could interest me in,” the leader responded. “And yeah, it would certainly qualify as a happy meal.”

The rest of his groupies laughed. One car behind, Blaise did not. His fingers clenched around the steering wheel.

Meanwhile the blonde had managed to string enough full sentences out of the frat boys to create something resembling an actual order. One had ordered beer, only to be told serenely that American McDonalds did not serve alcohol, but their Dutch counterparts did. This was met with the response, “Well, I’ll be happy to take you to Neverland any day.” The blonde repeated their order back to them, and asked if they wanted to anything upsized. “My meal isn’t, but I bet you are!” cracked one. Cue more aping from the Neanderthals.

Blaise’s knuckles had grown white.

Finally, the order appeared to be complete. But there appeared to be an infinite stupidity limit on the group’s stupidity factor. As they were about to pull away, the leader quipped, “You know, baby, you have such a hot voice. You should look into being a phone sex operator. I bet you’d make a lot of guys happy. Me, I’d put you on speed dial.” Then, hooting with laughter, the car jumped forward to the next window.

Blaise wound his window up. He had lost his appetite for dead cow, but found he was craving something else red-blooded but with significantly less brain cells. He waited until the four-wheel drive had bounced off, blaring with loud doof-doof music, then quietly slinked his own vehicle forward.

The jocks were too busy stuffing their faces to realize that a car was trailing them. Until it drove hard up their rear end down a dark, deserted street. There was the searing sound of tearing metal then, cussing loudly, the four leapt out of the jeep and spun around to where a tall, dark young man in a tailored white shirt and grey slacks was leaning patiently against the side of his own vehicle. “You fucking pinged my ride!” the leader roared. Staking out the culprit the way a group of rhinoceros surrounded a lone cat, they began to circle around him.

The next thing the leader knew (or didn’t know, as the case may be, since the blow had knocked him unconscious), he had one half of a pair of Gucci loafers at his jawbone.

Quickly the other three were dispatched in similar fashion. Blaise Zabini was not a 250 lb womanizing footballer, but he – unlike the others – was sober, and a 4th dan black belt. As he was fluent in Tae Kwon Do, a form of martial arts that specialized in exuding quick reflexes and maximum damage while keeping your opponents at a distance, the four human-shaped tubs of lard never stood a chance. And several hours later, after the frat boys had recovered a sufficient amount to crawl back to the campus with their tails hanging between their legs, the creed echoed through the fraternities and sororities alike: DO NOT FUCK WITH LUNA LOVEGOOD.

The End

Big Damn Table II

Thu, 30 Aug 2007 06:05:33 GMT

Big Damn Table for fanfic100. Class of '96.

001.	Beginnings.	002.	Middles.	003.	Ends.	004.	Insides.	005.	Outsides.
006.	Hours.	007.	Days.	008.	Weeks.	009.	Months.	010.	Years.
011.	Red.	012.	Orange.	013.	Yellow.	014.	Green.	015.	Blue.
016.	Purple.	017.	Brown.	018.	Black.	019.	White.	020.	Colourless.
021.	Friends.	022.	Enemies.	023.	Lovers.	024.	Family.	025.	Strangers.
026.	Teammates.	027.	Parents.	028.	Children.	029.	Birth.	030.	Death.
031.	Sunrise.	032.	Sunset.	033.	Too Much.	034.	Not Enough.	035.	Sixth Sense.
036.	Smell.	037.	Sound.	038.	Touch.	039.	Taste.	040.	Sight.
041.	Shapes.	042.	Triangle.	043.	Square.	044.	Circle.	045.	Moon.
046.	Star.	047.	Heart.	048.	Diamond.	049.	Club.	050.	Spade.
051.	Water.	052.	Fire.	053.	Earth.	054.	Air.	055.	Spirit.
056.	Breakfast.	057.	Lunch.	058.	Dinner.	059.	Food.	060.	Drink.
061.	Winter.	062.	Spring.	063.	Summer.	064.	Fall.	065.	Passing.
066.	Rain.	067.	Snow.	068.	Lightening.	069.	Thunder.	070.	Storm.
071.	Broken.	072.	Fixed.	073.	Light.	074.	Dark.	075.	Shade.
076.	Who?	077.	What?	078.	Where?	079.	When?	080.	Why?
081.	How?	082.	If.	083.	And.	084.	He.	085.	She.
086.	Choices.	087.	Life.	088.	School.	089.	Work.	090.	Home.
091.	Birthday.	092.	Christmas.	093.	Thanksgiving.	094.	Independence.	095.	New Year.
096.	Writer's Choice.	097.	Writer's Choice.	098.	Writer's Choice.	099.	Writer's Choice.	100.	Writer's Choice.

NB: Canon students two years ahead of Harry are Roger Davies, Angelina Johnson, Lee Jordan, Montague, Adrian Pucey, Alicia Spinnet, Patricia Stimpson, Kenneth Towler, C. Warrington and the Weasley Twins. In the universe of this table, several students with ambiguous entry points into Hogwarts, such as S. Fawcett and Stebbins, will be classed as 1996 alumni.

And I am still working on my Terence/Alicia Big Damn Table. I just feel like trying something new, and with ootp_newts starting on Saturday and Alicia being a graduate of that year, there's a lot of convergeance between the two.

OMG I wrote a fic!? MWPP fic, even!?

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 10:46:20 GMT

Title: Firewhiskey, Marauders and Pink Tutus (alias: definitely not a good combination)
Author: lucy_lupin
Dedicated to: ohgeens
Set: MWPP sixth year
Characters: James, Sirius and Lily, with a small (but very important) cameo from Remus
Pairing: None, but suggestions of James/Lily
Genre: General/Humour
Rating: R for one dialogue allusion to certain acts done solo. I apologise (but will not be held responsible for) James’s and Sirius’s language. But other than that it's pretty clean.
Word Count: 2,857
Disclaimer: JKR pwns all. I am just borrowing them for fun, not profit. Oh, and I owe Frasier for one of Sirius's comebacks to James.

Summary: James Potter and Sirius Black get up to some fun. Which means anything but for poor beleagued prefect Lily Evans. And who exactly is responsible for those knights on the fourth floor, who don’t usually sport pink tutus and peg legs? One-shot.

Author's Notes: I normally don’t write MWPP and I still feel like the beginning is missing something, but this came surprisingly easy. James and Sirius were behaving themselves. Well, as I said to celebren not “behaving themselves” in terms of not getting up to any mischief (in which case LilyMuse says they’d be OOC) but behaving themselves by being good muses and giving me heaps of material. Personally I think they just want the attention and it’s out of vanity. Oh well.

Also as I’m not so hot with MWPP-era, I’ve taken some liberties with a few minor characters’ ages. Please to be not hating me.

* ~ * ~ *

“So, Padfoot, is the coast clear?” James Potter asked.

“I don’t know, Prongs,” Sirius Black responded, glancing back up from where he was rummaging around in the chest at the foot of his bed. His shaggy black hair flopped forward over his face with a nonchalant ease that his best friend’s own crop could only dream of. “Why don’t you go and have a look? It’s like you think I’m the second-in-command or something, and I don’t recall either volunteering for or being demoted to that post.”

“Let’s rock-paper-scissors it,” James shrugged. With Remus or Peter he might have pressed the point further, but he could never argue with Sirius for long. The boys dueled in a fashion, sniggering when they each cast the same object three times in a row, then finally Sirius landed scissors to James’s paper. “Bugger,” James said. He slowly rolled off the bed and loped over to the door.

“So, the coast is clear?” Sirius sang out. “No Evans about? She can’t be as you still seem to have the power of speech. And thanks. I’d misplaced mine.” He ducked with a laugh as James launched his scarf at him, then tucked it into his own trunk. “And you’re not acting like a complete arrogant prat. Only seventy-five percent of one. So yes, definitely no Evans in the vicinity.”

James came back, flopping down on his bed so that he was lying in his original position. “You can’t talk. You’re as big a one as me.”

“Goes without saying. Just look at the amount of points we’ve had removed from Gryffindor all by ourselves this year alone. But we always earn them back. Because we’re just brilliant that way.”

James grinned. “You know-”

“-Yes, I do know. I am all-knowing-”

“-I sometimes wonder-”

“-You wonder, Prongs? Don’t strain yourself now-”

“-if we’re only best mates because no one else would have us.”

“Speak for yourself. Rita Skeeter at the Halloween Party, she was quite happy to have me. Whether or not I’ll have her of course is another matter.” Sirius winced and let out a bark of a laugh. “And Marlene McKinnon. Also quite happy to have me-”

“-In your dreams-”

“Which just shows how much you know.”

James boggled. “Really?”

“Nope. As for Helen Bones though…” Sirius trailed off with a lecherous grin.

“Enough about your sex life. Why do we always end up talking about that?”

“Because I have one.”

“So do I.”

“Your right hand doesn’t count. But you’re saving yourself for Evans, so I’ll forgive you. Though at the rate you’re going, you’ll probably die a virgin. You really need to rethink your strategy, if you have one to begin with.” He smirked at James’s scowl. “I only tell you this because I love you.”

“Well, you know what they say, Padfoot. With friends like you, who needs enemies? But we’ve already established that I have the brains and you got stuck with the looks.”

“Have we now?”

“Merlin’s Balls, you’ve even more of a prick than usual today, Padfoot. You either need to get laid or drunk, and I really can’t help you with the former, despite the insinuations that Skeeter is passing around.”

“Whatever Skeeter’s on, I want to know where she’s getting it,” Sirius shrugged. “She thinks that just because a bloke says no to her means that he’s a fairy.” He returned to dumping his possessions in and out of his trunk.

“That must be it.” James sat up and snapped his fingers. “Evans doesn’t like boys.”

“Or she has taste. Pull the other one, Prongs.”

James laughed. “Godfrey, you’re a bastard. What do I need to do to shut you up?”

“Get me drunk. Actually, that might work for Evans as well. After half a bottle of Firewhiskey she might find you only slightly irritating, and hopefully in a charming, roguish way. But since I have to spend more time around you than she does, I lay claim to my half of that bottle you hid in my trunk.” He tossed a mismatched pair of socks over his shoulder. “And hid very well too. Where the bloody hell is it?”

“Somewhere that no one would ever think to look for it.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Wormtail’s trunk?”

“Nah. Wormtail can be so thick at times that I wouldn’t trust him not to mistake it for cordial and drink it. Try Moony’s.”

“Good thinking.” Sirius ambled over to Remus Lupin’s bed on his knees. Seconds later he’d produced the bottle. “Still as we left it. Bless Moony, he’s too honest for his own good at times.”

“Speaking of which, do you think we should wait for him?”

“I don’t think he’d really want to know about it, being a prefect and everything,” Sirius frowned. “But you’re right. It’s not a proper piss-up unless we have a lightweight who we can mock mercilessly present and participating. Wormtail would be funnier to get drunk.”

“Wormtail has a deceptively strong constitution. And he never drinks. What a waste. Moony…well, I think he’ll come around. I feel as though we ought to let him have some, since he kept it hidden for us in his trunk for three months. And besides, if he’s a participant, then he can hardly report us, can he?”

“I admire your logic, Master Prongs.” Sirius twisted off the cap and raised the bottle at James.

* * *

Meanwhile Lily Evans, prefect and Muggleborn, was raging at the world. Or, more specifically, James Potter and Sirius Black. Which as she was a prefect and they were – well, James Potter and Sirius Black – she was forced to give more than their fair share of attention to. Two first years approached wearing smiles at the sight at one of the (normally) more kindly senior students, which quickly turned to looks of alarm at the black expression on her face, and then scuttled out of the way. Lily paid them no heed, if she had noticed them at all. Her mind was fixated on one thing. Just when she had finally managed to get James Potter completely out of her head – they had gone too far this time!

Normally when angry, Lily preferred to take time out and mentally regroup and cool off before taking on the guilty parties, but the trek up to the boys’ wing in Gryffindor Tower had only served to fuel her ire. Which was what she was hoping would happen. She didn’t classify herself as being a mild or cowardly person, and she had more than the shade of the stripes on the tie at her neck to prove that, but despite years of practice something about taking on James and Sirius made her feel distinctly unsettled. And she couldn’t quite put her finger on the reason why. And Lily didn’t like not knowing the reason why. Lily very much liked to know the whys and hows of things.

Unfortunately, James – no, James and Sirius – didn’t really fit whys and hows. Unless it was “Why are they both such bloody gits?” and “How have they managed not to be expelled after all these years?” The only two in that whole friendship group that she had time for were Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew, Remus because he was a decent and intelligent enough fellow (though she wished he had enough force to exude a sterner influence over his friends) and Peter because he was more of a follower than a leader and wouldn’t have got up to anything had he not the other two to goad him on. Would that Peter have been Sorted into Hufflepuff, Remus into Ravenclaw and the other two landed together in Slytherin, where they would have had nothing to do with each other and she therefore less to do with them! She reflected and admitted that she was being unfair. Remus at least could stay in Gryffindor. And after tonight she would be having a long talk with him about keeping his friends in line better. But right now she had two teenaged boys to put the fear of Godfrey into.

Blasting open the door (because in such situations, knocking just wouldn’t cut it) she cried out, “What the bloody hell were you thinking?”

“Evans!” Sirius swooped forward and bestowed a bearhug upon the unwilling redhead, giving James enough time to stash the Firewhiskey under his pillow. “We’ve gone up in your estimation since our last meeting. Last time you said that we didn’t think at all.”

“And I still stand by it!” She wriggled out of Sirius’s arms and smoothed down the front of her uniform angrily, looking vaguely reminiscent of a cat which had been caught out in the rain.

“So how can we not think if we don’t think at all?” James beamed. If he didn’t have such a horrid personality behind it, she realized, he’d actually have quite a nice smile. “In order to not do something, we have to be capable of doing it in the first place. But confusion is an understandable effect for my manly presence to have on you, so I’ll overlook this inconsistency, just this once.”

“More likely because I’m confused wondering whether you’re a man or not,” Lily shot back. Sirius let out a loud guffaw then quickly snapped his mouth shut, at least having the grace to look abashed at James’s glower. “Really, you two have done it this time! You’ve broken so many rules that I hardly know where to start!”

“So don’t start.” Sirius, ever the smooth operator, slid an arm around her waist but she shrugged him off. Few girls were immune to the charms of the eldest Black but then, few girls had hauled him into detention as many times as she. “Let us off the hook, Evans, just this once?”

“Just this once?” If Lily had been one of those redheads with curls, she would have bristled at that moment. “As if you haven’t broken every rule in the book, and even the ones they’ve yet to come up with to boot! You’ve got a bloody cheek and a nerve-”

“Do you really think you should be using such unladylike language, Lily?” Sirius asked. “It’s a bit beneath you at least, and as a prefect you should really be trying to set a good example to the rest of us.”

“I would, but as far as you two are concerned it’s a lost cause!”

“Hang on.” James held up a hand. “This time I really don’t know what I’ve done. Or whether I’ve done anything at all, to be honest.”

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me.” Lily’s hands fisted upon her hips. “Are you trying to make me believe that the knights in the fourth floor hall got pink tutus and peg legs of their own accord?”

“Pink tutus and peg legs?” James and Sirius shared a look with each other, then collapsed in guffaws of laughter. Had the act of such not further enraged Lily, she might have noticed that prior to it the pair had looked genuinely bemused, but instead she stood by, regarding the two coldly and silently fuming. James was the first to recover. “Really, Lily, it’s a top prank,” he said. “And we wish we could take credit for it. But this time we weren’t involved.”

“Yeah, we’ve been here all this time,” Sirius added with a nod. “Just ask – well, I know that you’re not going to believe us - but just ask Remus. He’ll back us up when he gets back from…wherever he is. Where did he say he was getting off to?” he asked James.

“Didn’t say anything. He just upped and left.”

“Oh, come off it,” Lily scoffed. “Those knights have “James Potter and Sirius Black” written all over them.”

“Really?” Sirius’s mouth twitched. “Written all over them, you say? I don’t recall autographing any knights, do you, James?”

“Nope, me neither,” James shrugged, then turned serious at the glint in the redhead’s eye. “For real, Lily. We had nothing to do with them.”

“So, let me get this straight.” Lily’s voice held a menacing note which suggested she was only just getting warmed up. “You two have an alibi, which other than yourselves consists of the word of someone who isn’t even present. What about nine OWLs exactly suggests that I am enough of an idiot to be taken in by such a pathetic, lame cover story? Do I have the word “fool” written on my forehead?”

“Actually…” Sirius flicked his wand in her direction. Her temples tingled briefly, and she didn’t need a mirror to know that the figurative had become literal and she did indeed have the word fool written on her forehead. “Sorry. You’re not really a fool, Evans, and I’ve got the detentions to prove it. But that was just too good an opportunity to pass up. I couldn’t resist.”

“It was a rhetorical question, you twit!” Lily cried, all but raking her fingers through her hair with frustration.

“Apologies. I don’t do rhetorical questions. You’ll have to check with Pettigrew on that one. Every question’s a rhetorical one with him, if you take the strict definition of the word, because he can’t answer any of them.”

“That was mean,” Lily protested. “Peter’s a nice boy.”

“It’s easy to be nice if you’re an idiot.”

“Well, that says a lot for you, doesn’t it, if you choose to be friends with someone who you think is an idiot.” She was starting to feel drained. Dealing with these two always took so much out of her. Lily didn’t mind hard work, but at the same time she liked to be making progress, and with James and Sirius the phrase ‘banging your head against a brick wall’ sprang to mind. Finally she located a mirror and stood in front of it, meaning to remove the charm.

“Don’t.” A hand reached out and grasped her wrist. James’s. She felt uncomfortable with the contact, but strangely not because she was annoyed with him. “If you cast the charm yourself, you’ll only end up reversing it because of the reflection, and who knows what will happen?” Lily stared at him. The serious expression was foreign on his face, but not unattractive. She swallowed. He was awfully close to her. “I’ll do it. Just keep still.” She closed her eyes – she found that she was grateful for the excuse not to look at him, with him being so near – and when she opened them again the writing was gone. “Sirius, that was completely unnecessary.”

James was joking. At least Lily thought so. And expected Sirius to respond in kind. So she was surprised when he reacted defensively. “Oh, come on. It was just a little joke.”

“Well, if it was just a little joke, how come neither of us are laughing? You could have hurt Lily’s feelings. Apologise to her at once.”

“Really, James, thank you but it’s not necessary.” Lily was starting to feel odd, like her perceptions of the universe were not quite what they used to be. She had seen James squabble with Sirius from time-to-time, but it was always forgotten in a moment. Never before had he appeared this obviously and prolongedly annoyed with his best friend.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry!” Sirius held up both hands in a gesture both pacifying and defeatist. “Godfrey, I don’t need to be told to remember my manners.” He swept his overhanging hair back off his forehead, as seemingly uncomfortable by the tension in the room as Lily. “What’s keeping that Lupin?”

For the second time that evening, the door to the sixth year boys’ dormitory burst open. It was Remus Lupin, but as Lily had never seen him before. Not James and Sirius either, judging by the looks on the faces. He was staggering under the weight of a collection of objects clutched to his chest, but more than he ought to, and it looked like his limbs weren’t working properly.

Remus Lupin, Lily realized, was drunk.

“Whatsitellsyoush, Icanshoodrink,” Remus slurred, tilting forward dangerously into the room. “And yoush not shee onleesh ones shoo can getsh points taken shoff Grysshindosh, oh noes. Ish given the shights a makeover.” He brandished a peg leg, causing the rest to tumble out of his arms and crash to the floor, then staggered over to collapse on the edge of his bed, the springs groaning under the sudden dropped weight of his normally light form. “Now wheresh the rest of sha Firewhiskey?”

“You drank most of it, Remus,” James suggested, a dubious look on his face. “Remember? Um, come to think of it, you probably don’t.”

“Did nosh drink all sha Firewhiskey.” Remus waggled a finger at him. “Would be shable shoo walk shin a straigsh line if shad drunk all sha Firewhiskey? Nooosh. And shee, I proves it shoo you.” He swayed to his feet and took one step forward, then collapsed to the ground.

Over the prone form of her fellow prefect, Lily glowered at the two still standing. Though not for much longer. “Firewhiskey?” she began. James and Sirius edged closer together. “FIREWHISKEY!?”

The End

brushes cobwebs off writing journal

Mon, 12 Mar 2007 05:53:23 GMT

Yeah. 'Kay. Hi. The last couple of months have been really busy for me, involving moving back to Singapore and getting two part-time jobs, so I've been neglecting my writing a bit. I haven't updated my Pipverse fic since NaNo finished o_O. At the moment I have a few things in the works, some half-finished one shots and some stuff to add to the Terence/Alicia BDT, so hopefully I can get something up within the next week or so. Sorry for being AWOL and thanks for sticking around!

For heathersy

Tue, 09 Jan 2007 04:14:21 GMT

Title: Decorated Chasers
Author: lucy_lupin
Dedicated to: endofhistory
Set: The summer between the Golden Trio’s fifth and sixth years
Characters: Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell
Pairing: None, but suggestions of Fred/Angelina
Genre: General/Humour
Rating: PG-13 for discussion of femme-parts
Word Count: 1,433
Disclaimer: JKR owns the Chaser Trio. I am just borrowing them for fun, not profit.

Summary: “The summer that changed them forever.” Physically, too. After a wild night in Spain celebrating the completion of Angelina and Alicia’s NEWTs, the girls wake up with an unpleasant surprise.

Author's Notes: A very belated birthday present to Heather. So so sorry for the wait. I also owe this bunny to zanne_turtle and wickedpixy05. Also, a sort of prequel to this Terence/Alicia fic.

* ~ * ~ *
“Katie?”

“Ali?”

“How’s your head?”

“Feeling like a thousand Hippogriffs are tapdancing on it.” Katie Bell finally inched her tousled blonde head out from beneath the covers. “And that sunshine should be outlawed.”

“Mine isn’t quite that bad.” Alicia Spinnet wasn’t given to quite the same tendency to exaggerate as her two best friends, Katie and Angelina Johnson, who was sleeping in the other room. “If I ever smell Tequila again though, I might just vomit.”

“Please. Don’t talk to me about puking,” Katie groaned. “Don’t give me any ideas. I did quite enough of that last night, you know, thank you.”

“I do know,” Alicia said, nodding with as much emphasis as her aching head would allow. “I was the one who held your hair back, remember?”

“I don’t, sorry,” Katie frowned. “But I’ll take your word for it. Thank you.”

“That’s alright,” Alicia shrugged. “You probably held my own back at some time last night, though I couldn’t remember that to save my mother’s life.”

“Right,” Katie said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to take a shower. And hope that I drown in the process.” She got to her feet and stumbled towards the bathroom.

In many societies water was used as a purification process, Katie reflected absently as she lent back in the shower, and so it was that she felt some of last night being washed away. Normally she hated the sensation of water running off her face, but today it make her feel more awake, clean and whole. She scrubbed a hand over her eyes and reached for the soap.

Alicia was trying to ease herself out of bed when a loud, piercing scream ripped through the air. She raced across the room and banged on the bathroom door, trying to ignore the wave of dizziness and nausea that was trying to force her to her knees. “Katie!” she called out. “What’s happening? Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Katie called back, her voice pitching hysterically. “But there’s this thing on me!”

“What thing?” Alicia demanded. “If it’s only a little bug, then just Stun it, silly.”

“It’s not a bug! It’s - it’s hideous!” Alicia jumped back as a dripping wet blonde barged out of the bathroom, the t-shirt and pyjama bottoms that she’d obviously thrown on without even drying herself off clinging to her.

Alicia squinted. “I don’t see anything except a Chaser who looks like a drowned cat,” she commented.

“Look!” She turned to the side and tugged down the waistband of her pyjamas. Curved on her left hip was a tiny tattoo of a black star. “It’s awful!”

“It’s not so bad,” Alicia consoled her, bending down to get a closer look.

“It is so bad. It’s not even big enough to be called a proper tattoo. It looks more like a mole. A big, ugly one. I always thought that with tattoos, the smaller they were, the better. I never thought it was possible for one to be small enough to be tasteless.” She pouted. “I stand corrected.”

“Really, it’s not as bad as you think it is,” Alicia croaked, ambling over to the bedside table to pour herself a glass of water, which she downed in one gulp. “When did you get it, incidentally? I don’t remember noticing it in the changing room last year.”

“That’s because I didn’t have it last year.” Katie’s fingers rubbed through her damp hair, slicking it back to her scalp. “I only noticed it this morning, and I don’t remember getting it done, so it must have been from last night.” She grimaced. “Why does it have to be so small, bugger it?”

“Well, at least that way it will be easy to hide.”

“Hide?” Katie blanched. “Merlin, Alicia, at least you and Angelina have finished your NEWTs, but I’m still going to school and living at home. I’ll have to hide it from my parents for the rest of the summer holidays, and if any of my brothers - my older brothers - see it, well, put it this way, it would be better if Mum and Dad got to me first.”

“Katie,” Alicia began, “you’re of age. You should be able to do as you please.” Katie rose one eyebrow. “Well, maybe wait until you’re back at Hogwarts before you tell them about it,” she amended herself. “Hang on. If you got your last night - and I was almost as drunk as you - then who’s to say that I don’t have one as well? Oh Godfrey.” She dashed to the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. Seconds later a shriek could be heard.

Katie grinned dryly. “Where’s yours?” she called out.

“I. Have. A. Heart.”

“I always said you wore it on your sleeve too much, Ali.”

“It’s not on my arm though. It’s on my lower back.” Alicia opened the doorway and tugged up her singlet, the same singlet she had gone out clubbing in and not bothered to take off on returning. Right above the elastic of her lilac knickers was a small black-edged red heart.

The door suddenly burst open, the sound making Katie and Alicia cower and cover their ears. A beaming Angelina stood in the entryway. “Ladies, why are you sleeping? We’ve got the rest of our holidays to sleep. We however only have thirty odd hours left in Spain, and I plan to enjoy every single one of them!”

“Angelina, did I ever tell you that you’ve been spending far too much time with Oliver?” Katie asked.

“Oliver wouldn’t be lying about in bed after eleven,” Angelina said. “Oliver would have been up for a big night, and wouldn’t have used it as an excuse to miss the better part of the morning.”

“Oliver might have to change his tune about late nights followed by early mornings,” Alicia said. “Didn’t he tell you? He’s gone and chucked his job at Puddlemere United and joined the Aurors’ training problem.”

“No way,” Katie moued.

“Bloody hell,” Angelina echoed.

“Therefore I’d count him out for any wee hours outings in the future,” Alicia finished. “So, where’s yours then?”

“Where’s her what?” Katie asked.

“Her tattoo,” Alicia explained. “Don’t you know Angelina well enough by know to figure out that if both you and I have - very uncharacteristically, I may add - gotten tattoos after a night out on the tiles, that she was the instigator? So, out with it, Angelina.”

“Here!” Angelina tugged up her top.

Katie and Alicia both groaned and shielded their eyes. “Angelina, too much information,” Katie said.

“Yes, more of you than I’d ever want to see,” Alicia added.

Angelina threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, come on, you two. You did ask to see it.”

“You could have given us some warning.”

“Warning, schmarning. We’re all girls here. We’ve got nothing than the other two haven’t got.”

“Speak for yourself,” Katie added, “not Little – well, not so little – Miss C Cup Spinnet.”

“Please,” Alicia grimaced, “leave my breasts out of this.”

“Yes, leave Alicia’s breasts out of it,” Angelina seconded. “Let’s talk about mine instead. Don’t you think that it’s adorable?” She pulled up her top to reveal the rose tattoo – again. “And unlike Alicia, I don’t have to worry about finding tops that you can wear bras underneath with, so I can flaunt it as much as I like.”

“Ange, consider for a minute how Fred might feel about it,” Katie suggested tiredly. “He might come off as a practical joker, but in some ways he’s as conservative as the rest of the Weasleys. He might not like you look differently to the last time he saw you naked.”

“Fred, schmed.” Angelina rolled her eyes. “He’ll get used to it.”

“You, schmoo. We’re tired, Ange. Let us get some sleep.”

“No. That’s what death is for.”

As the other two argued, Alicia rubbed her aching forehead. Her friend and former captain was still rather, no, very drunk. “Angelina, can you do me a favour?” she asked. “Can you sit down on the bed and close your eyes?”

“Easy,” Angelina shrugged. The instant her eyelids were lowered, she collapsed backwards and breathed heavily in a deep sleep.

“Good. She’s finally quiet,” Katie said. “Now, shall we go and sleep for like the next ten years?”

“Yes, lets,” Alicia said heavily. Both girls slumped back in their beds and pulled the covers back over their heads. They didn’t wake again until after five, when they had to ply a very ill Angelina with tea and hangover remedy potion.

The End

Ickle Alicia and Terence

Tue, 09 Jan 2007 01:37:00 GMT

Title: The Two Seekers
Author: lucy_lupin
Dedicated to: Whoever
Set: Prior to the Trio’s years
Characters: Alicia Spinnet and Terence Higgs
Pairing: Terence/Alicia
Genre: General
Rating: PG for language
Word Count: 1,701
Disclaimer: JKR owns Terence and Alicia. I am just borrowing them for fun, not profit.

Summary: The defeated emergency Seeker for Gryffindor finds a surprising source of comfort.

Author's Notes: I think I’m coming down with something. Blergh. Anyway, this was written a few days ago. Done for the fanfic100 Big Damn Table challenge. Prompt: Enemies. And yay for ickle Terence and Alicia!

* ~ * ~ *
Terence Higgs was a slightly built boy with a frame not even beginning to hint at the growth spurt that would hit sometime during his sixth year. Yet at the moment there was a strut to his gait worthy of someone six feet plus. He felt like the biggest bad of the biggest bads, and that not even Slytherin captain Marcus Flint was bigger or badder. His team had just clobbered those annoyingly self-righteous prigs, the Gryffindors, and clobbered them totally and utterly, in fact. They had been 200 points ahead when he had finally put them out of their misery by catching the Golden Snitch.

And he had gloated. And gloated some more. They all had. The twats would have done the same had they won. Particularly the newest of those freckled faced carrot heads that had plagued their side for the last decade, and that pretty but too tall and stroppy worm-haired Johnson and – last but not least annoying – that smug and unrelentingly energetic and gung ho Keeper captain of theirs. Wood Head or something. Just because they were all brave didn’t make them all morally superior to everyone else. They were no better than Slytherins after all. Slytherins at least had the honesty to own up to their badness, and not to try and explain everything away in a fit of moral hypocrisy.

The sun was falling down towards the horizon as he left the Slytherin changing room, the last player to do so. Flint had chewed him out for catching the Snitch when they were only 200 points to the good and the reserve Chaser that the Gryffindors had drafted in as their emergency Seeker after seventh year Sam Bell had woken up with a nasty case of Trollpox had been nowhere near it. What was her name? Spinnet something or rather. Terence didn’t know and he didn’t care. Other than taking pot shots at them and mocking their anal morality, he didn’t pay much attention to Gryffindors. He continued walking past the long-empty stands and reached the staircase that led out of the stadium.

And stopped.

Making fun of Gryffindors was one thing when you were surrounded by your teammates to egg you on, and they were surrounded by their teammates to egg them on, and one of their interchangeably alike and annoying Beaters had just belted a Bludger at you when you had caught the Snitch a good ten seconds earlier. It was quite another though when you were by yourself, and one of them was by herself, and she was their young and inexperienced replacement Seeker – and she was slumped on the steps producing enough water to put the taps in the famed Prefects’ Bathroom to shame.

He remembered the tiny brunette’s first name now. Alicia. Before he realised what he was doing, he’d descended the stairs quietly and sat down next to her.

Alicia was sobbing so hard that she didn’t hear the approaching footsteps. It was only when she sensed a foreign presence next to her, another person in the stairwell that had previously been hers alone, that she raised her head. Her wet face formed into a hard, defiant look when she recognised the intruder. “If you’ve c-come here to g-gloat, then j-just go ahead and d-do it,” she sniffed in a half-snarl. “T-tell me that I’m p-pathetic. That I l-let the team d-down. I k-know that’s what y-you’re thinking. It’s even what m-m-my own teammates were t-thinking. They d-didn’t say so of c-course, but they w-were. I could t-tell.” Her shoulders heaved as she buried her head in her hands in a fresh spurt of tears.

Terence resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was so like a Gryffindor to be a – what was the word – a “martyr” and blame themselves for something that wasn’t even their fault. If his team had lost by as much as Alicia’s had, he would have been in the changing room griping at the rest of them for not doing their jobs and supporting him, not sitting in some cold and dark stairwell weeping. “You can’t learn how to be a Seeker overnight,” he said. “There’s a strategy to it and it takes a lot of work.”

“But that was what I had to do.” Alicia raised her tearstained face to look at him. “I was the Seeker. It was my job. And I c-couldn’t do it.” She took a deep, shaky breath which turned into hiccups.

“Shit happens,” Terence shrugged and smiled as the Gryffindor blinked, then scowled at the swearword. “And if Wood Head expects you to come off the bench – when you’re been training as a Chaser – and win the game for him against someone who’s been playing since second year, and someone who’s as good as me, then he’s expecting too much.”

“Don’t call him Wood Head,” Alicia sniffed.

“Well, that’s what he is,” Terence said, but decided to drop it. The sight of her sitting on the step across from him with the skin around her eyes puffy and red from tears – and abandoned by her teammates – was seeping all the scorn out of him. For all their faults, at least Slytherins stuck together. Wood Head had no business leaving her there by herself after a loss like that. He noticed that Alicia was wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her Quidditch robes and burrowed into the pockets of his own, producing a rumpled bit of parchment with diagrams on it. Removing his wand from the side of his boot, he cast a charm on it and Transfigured it into a tissue. “Here.”

“T-thank you.” She took it from him, her eyes registering surprise and then suspicion. “Aren’t you going to make fun of me?”

“Nah,” he said, crossing his arms around his knees. Taking jibes at people was only enjoyable if they had enough spark in them to snap back, so it would be no fun to mock someone as low as Ali – Spinnet – obviously was, sort of like kicking a dog that was already down. Besides, she didn’t seem as loud and obnoxious as the rest of her house. Usually he saw her in the library with a pencil tucked behind one ear and her nose buried in a book almost as large as she was. At the thought of her teammates he felt angry again. “I’m telling you, the loss wasn’t your fault. If the rest of the prigs are pissed at you, then they have no right to be. You lost by 350 points, not 30. So the whole team wasn’t doing their job. Even if you’d caught the Snitch, you still wouldn’t have saved the game, and it wasn’t fair for them to put you in that position. You didn’t fly badly. You were just out of position and you’re inexperienced. Think about it. Are either of those things your fault?” Alicia paused, then shook her head. “So then the loss isn’t either. And anyone who thinks otherwise has the brains of a Flobberworm.”

It was then he realised why he had caught the Snitch when they were only 200 points ahead, and the realisation made him feel disgusted with himself. Pity. It had been because of pity. It just wasn’t fun to beat someone who was working hard but who was so obviously out of her depth, almost mean, actually. Terence liked sparring with equals, but he was no bully. Where was the challenge in that? No, it wasn’t because of pity, but out of boredom. That’s all it was. He’d been bored because the Gryffindor hadn’t presented enough of a challenge and he, Terence Higgs Esquire, had better things to do with his time than circle around the pitch above a game already won in the freezing Highland wind. He felt pity seldom, he told himself, and never towards stuck up little Gryffs. He ignored the nagging part of his mind that told him Alicia didn’t seem stuck up. “There’s nothing you could have done differently,” he said. “So it’s a waste of time worrying about it. Get naffed off at the rest of your team for being so pathetic instead and leaving you out in the open. You’d feel better and it would be more fun.”

“My team isn’t pathetic,” Alicia said, but some of the heat had gone out of her voice.

“I didn’t say that they were pathetic. I said that they were being pathetic. There’s a difference.” He paused. “Besides, Wood Head obviously thought you were good if he took a little second year off the reserve team who normally plays as Chaser and put her as Seeker, and you didn’t do too badly. So if you look at it logically, then you must be.”

“If you say so.” She brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face and turned to look at him. There was still an air of melancholy about her, but she seemed more composed. “Thank you for the tissue – and for not teasing me.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, trying to look apathetic. He’d been angry at Gryffindors plenty of times in the past, particularly their Quidditch players. But this was the first time he’d been angry for one. He wasn’t used to it and he didn’t like it. “I’ll be wanting that tissue back though.”

“Why?” Alicia frowned.

“Because it has team tactics on it,” Terence said. He held out his palm and Alicia dropped the tissue into it. “I’ll walk you back to the castle,” he added gruffly. “It’s getting cold.” Alicia eyed him in surprise, but fell into pace with him as he exited the stadium and walked towards the distant school.

Once they reached the entryway, they parted as if by a mutual, silent consent; Alicia going up the stairs towards where the mysterious Gryffindor Tower awaited, while Terence headed down to the dungeons. But he found that he couldn’t join in the laughter in quite the same way when Miles Bletchley did an imitation of Alicia half-falling off her broom after Bole had hit a Bludger towards her, or likewise give Adrian Pucey a straight answer when his friend asked why he was back so late.

The End

I ficced again!

Tue, 02 Jan 2007 00:54:02 GMT

Title: Alicia’s Little Red Bleeding Heart
Author: lucy_lupin
Dedicated to: zanne_turtle and wickedpixy05
Set: The Golden Trio’s sixth year
Characters: Alicia Spinnet and Terence Higgs
Pairing: Terence/Alicia
Genre: Humour/Romance/Snark
Rating: R for post-coital conversation and anatomical discussion
Word Count: 1,189
Disclaimer: JKR owns Terence and Alicia. I am just borrowing them for fun, not profit.

Summary: Terence sees Alicia naked for the first time. And laughs. But it’s not as bad as you think it is! Really. Now if only he could coax her out from the bathroom to explain that…

Author's Notes: My muses don’t sleep. And don’t seem to realise that I have to. Done for the fanfic100 Big Damn Table challenge. Prompt: Heart. I also owe zanne_turtle and wickedpixy05 for the tattoo bunny.

* ~ * ~ *

Terence Higgs wasn’t a bastard. Really. He was of course aware of how it might look to the casual observer if one was to drop in on the room that he was in, the room in which he currently stood, banging on the bathroom door and beseeching his girlfriend to come out – while trying to stifle his laughter. And failing miserably. His girlfriend was no doubt aware of this, which was why she hadn’t come out.

Terence Higgs wasn’t a bastard. Truly. He was a pretty decent bl- well, he wasn’t a total bastard. He was aware that it looked bad on paper, how it was the first time they had had sex, and the first time she had had sex – period. And that she had finally got up the nerve to get her kit off got him and he had caught a glimpse of her naked backside and laughed. Which had led to her racing into his ensuite and barricading herself within.

Terence Higgs wasn’t a bastard. Well, only a slightly little one. He’d been considerate and concerned and understanding and gentle and made sure that it was lady first and him second and all that stuff – yes, that part had gone well. Smashingly, in fact. Now he was hoping that one of his nosier elderly neighbours hadn’t Flooed the Aurors’ Guild due to some of the louder responses his girlfriend had made during that part. To be caught with a naked bird locked inside his own ensuite and refusing to come out would be a very bad look indeed. And particularly after he’d won over 200 Galleons off a group of them last weekend, he somehow doubted that the fine and upstanding members of the wizarding law enforcement squad would be too keen to listen to his side of the story.

“Ali Cat,” he prepared to try again, giving a couple of cautious raps on the steadfast door, “please come out. You must be cold in there without your clothes and I promise that I won’t laugh, well, I won’t laugh again – at…at-” It was no good. He sunk onto the floor, his arms wrapped around himself as he shook with silent mirth.

“Bollocks,” Alicia Spinnet snapped. “You’ll laugh at me again and you’re laughing at me right now, in fact. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to take my clothes off in front of you when I’ve never slept with anyone else before and you have, hundreds of girls and likely most of them much prettier than me?”

“There were not “hundreds” of girls. And they were not prettier than you,” Terence said, now feeling some frustration along with his amusement. Why was it that witches always seemed to want to find ways to blame something entirely unrelated on their appearance and some mysterious invisible flaws unseen by the male eye?

“Rose Parkinson was,” Alicia retorted, her voice sounding a little shaky.

“Rose Parkinson was a money grubbing little tart who wanted to be married to my Gringotts account with me as a bit on the side as an afterthought.” He was annoyed that Alicia could for even a second place Parkinson above herself. Alicia didn’t go out with him for his money. Alicia hated his money, and he liked her for that. “Now please come out, sweetheart. You’re a perfectly lovely girl with a perfectly lovely bot-” He started laughing again.

“Sod off, Terence,” Alicia hiccupped. “I can’t help it. There’s no way to remove it and I can’t reach around far enough to cast a cosmetic charm and cover it up. I’m not that flexible.”

“You’re flexible enough.”

“Sod. Off. Terence.”

“I could have cast the cosmetic charm for you. I wouldn’t have minded the view. Though I don’t see the point in concealing it unless you’re planning on showing that part of your anatomy to someone other than me-”

“That idea is beginning to sound better and better!”

“-Because it’s not a part the general public usually gets to see and I’d like to be its sole viewer for the next while. I would be most worried if that particularly piece of art moved to a different gallery. Ali, you must be getting cold in there. Come out and get back into bed. I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

“This, Terence Howell Higgs, is one thing that even tea won’t fix.”

Terence Howell Higgs sighed. It was bad when she started using his full name. “You could have given me some warning, you know,” he said. “If I’d known beforehand – well, let’s just say that you would be the last witch I’d expect to see something like that on.”

“It’s all because of that bloody trip we had to Spain!” Alicia burst out. “Angelina and Katie and I – after Angelina and I had finished our NEWTs. Katie and I don’t even remember getting ours done. And mine is not as bad as Angelina’s! She got hers on her – on her boob!”

“Oh really? Now I know I definitely went out with the wrong Gryffindor Chaser. Do you have her address on the Floo Network?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Terence winced. So not the time and place for a remark like that. Sure enough, there was the sound of shattering glass as Alicia threw something against the door, no doubt his new and very expensive cologne, if his luck held true to form. “Sorry. Bad joke. I’m glad you didn’t get yours done there. Really.”

“And hers is much bigger than mine. Mine is really quite subtle. And tasteful. But you don’t do subtle and tasteful, do you, Terence? Perhaps you should go and ask Angelina if you can see hers. You might like it better than mine, although I doubt she’ll let you get that far. She’ll probably hex you all the way to St Mungos, and I must say that the thought is looking more and more attractive to me.”

“For once, Spinnet, listen to me. I wouldn’t give a fuck if Angelina had one on her – I don’t want to see her tattoo. I want to see yours. I want to see you, period.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Now come out and bring that heart tattoo with you.”

There was silence, then he heard the sound of footsteps padding across the linoleum and the door creaked cautiously open, Alicia’s head peeking around the side. Terence took her arm and pulled her into a hug, brushing the tears of her cheek and kissing the top of her head. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “I was just being emotional.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “I was a bit of a bastard. Let’s go and get some sleep now, shall we?” He pulled the covers up under her chin and then settled in next to her, his hand resting in the curve of her waist until her eyes shut. In the dark and under the covers, his fingers slid down and across until they found the red and black heart tattoo, to the right of where her spine ended.

The End

I ficced!

Tue, 02 Jan 2007 00:50:05 GMT

Title: Meet the Muggle In-Laws
Author: lucy_lupin
Dedicated to: Whoever
Set: The Golden Trio’s sixth year
Characters: Alicia Spinnet and Terence Higgs
Pairing: Terence/Alicia
Genre: Humour/Romance/Snark
Rating: PG-13 for off-page happenings
Word Count: 1,859
Disclaimer: JKR owns Terence and Alicia. I am just borrowing them for fun, not profit.

Summary: It’s Christmas and Terence Higgs is being dragged along to a party by the bidding of girlfriend Alicia Spinnet. And he’s less than happy about it. They’re Muggles, after all. Will he or won’t he manage to drum up the necessary Christmas cheer, or will Alicia have him in the doghouse for the next few weeks?

Author's Notes: Done for the fanfic100 Big Damn Table challenge. Prompt: Christmas.

* ~ * ~ *

“Why are we driving?”

“Because we can’t Apparate there.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re spending Christmas with Muggles, that’s why.”

“I understand that,” Terence Higgs said, running a hand over his short, prickly hair. “But why can’t we just Apparate to a nearby field and walk from there? They don’t have to see us arriving. Why do we have to arrive at all, actually?”

“Because my sister-in-law’s parents live in the middle of the countryside,” Alicia Spinnet said with practiced patience. “We can’t just show up without visible means of transport and say that we took the Tube or whatnot. And since I am going to give your last comment a dignity it doesn’t deserve and respond to it, we’re arriving because we have to. Everyone is dying to meet you. You can’t go out with someone for half a year and not show up to family events.”

“Apparently I can’t. And we could say that we walked.”

“It’s too far away. And besides, I couldn’t walk anywhere in these.” Alicia glanced down at her feet, which were clad in high heels.

“True.” Terence shrugged. “They do make your legs look fantastic though. We could say that I carried you.”

“You? Not likely.”

“See, this is what I hate about not being able to use my wand,” Terence griped. “Being strong and manly is somewhat superfluous if you can’t swish it properly. You could get taken out by a decent hex from the weediest of wizards. Again, why are we currently transporting ourselves to the arse of the world in this damned contraption?”

“I told you. My sister-in-law’s family are Muggles. And they don’t know that we aren’t.”

“They don’t?” Terence grinned impishly. “Excellent. This might be fun after all.”

“You can’t pull any of that nonsense,” Alicia warned. “For one thing, it’s against the wizarding statute of secrecy and you could get into all sorts of trouble. For another, it will get you into even bigger trouble with a certain someone. Namely, your girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend? Which one?” Terence quipped. “I wasn’t expecting a multiple choice response.” Alicia shot him a withering look and he held his hands up in a pacifying gesture. She turned her attention back to the road.

They continued in silence for a while, Terence chewing idly on a piece of gum and Alicia driving, her hands fixed meticulously in the ten and two o’clock position. But then, Alicia was meticulous when it came to most things. Terence preferred her when she was a little less meticulous, and it was because of the thought of her being less than meticulous on his king sized bed – or his kitchen table, he wasn’t picky – that he was actually going along with this venture. Christmas. With Muggles. He didn’t even want to think about what his former teammates would have to say to that. Bad enough that he was going out with a Gryffindor, but one whose brother had married a Muggle? By Salazar.

Silence would have been the best thing for Terence, but unfortunately he didn’t do well with them, even though a nagging part of his brain was telling him that it would be better to keep quiet. “So, how long do we have to stay at this shindig?” he asked.

“As long as Callum needs me to,” Alicia responded neutrally.

“I’m sure Callum is big and ugly enough to take care of a few Muggles.”

“Callum is indeed big and ugly. Yet another reason why you need to behave. That, and it’s Christmas.”

“Yes ma’am,” Terence shrugged. A thought occurred to him. “Muggles smell bad, don’t they?” Alicia glowered at him. “No, I mean, I’m not being nasty. But it’s just that they don’t have hygiene charms or anything like that.” Under her look, he became increasingly defensive. “I’m not being a Muggle hater or the like. They can’t perform magic, so they don’t have cleansing charms. It’s a reasonable assumption to make. It has nothing to do with prejudice.”

“They smell no worse that most wizards, and significantly better than the average Slytherin Beater,” Alicia retorted. “They have things called soap and deodorant to keep control of their body odour. Magic is merely a substitute we have for the things Muggles can do without. They’ve managed to find ways around not having it. If you’d taken Muggle Studies at school, you would have known that.”

Terence rose one eyebrow. “I don’t recall ever telling you that I didn’t take Muggle Studies.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a reasonable assumption to make,” Alicia shot back. Terence harrumphed and slouched against the car door. The wine from lunch and his previous late night with Warrington and Pucey was making him feel sleepy, so he held his wand against the car window, attempting to lower it to get some fresh air. Nothing happened. He swore. Alicia muttered something about how that sort of language had better stay inside the car, but took pity on him and pressed a button. The window shot down a couple of inches, making Terence jump. “Do I have to ask you again to behave yourself?”

“Depends on how many Its are there.”

“Callum and Jolene have one child, my nephew. As for the other – children is the word for them, Mister Maternal – I’m not sure how many my in-laws have, but whatever the number, hitting them with the Leg Locking Curse is not an appropriate means of dealing with them.”

“You only say that because you’ve never had any of them yourself. You’ll change your tune if you do. And it’s impossible for me to be Mister Maternal, sweetheart. I’m a bloke. I have to be paternal, and I’d rather not be. Particularly with Muggle spawn. So assuming that I’m perfectly behaved and charm the pants of all your icky Muggle in-laws, well, what do I get out of it?”

“Your Christmas cheer is astounding, Terence. And you had better not be charming the pants of any of my Muggle in-laws.”

“No ma’am,” Terence said blithely. “Your brother does that.”

Alicia’s eyes popped open and she swerved, then swore as she rightened the car. Terence smirked. Alicia loathed swearing, and he was happy to have this small victory over her. “I think that the way you’re heading, you should be considering what won’t happen if you don’t behave,” she said levelly.

Terence eyed warily. “You don’t mean that.”

“Oh yes I do,” Alicia responded in a honeyed, sing-song voice than still carried the steel of a threat. “If you don’t believe me then just keep on going as you are, Terence Howell Higgs.”

“You wouldn’t,” Terence said. “You’d miss it as well.” But he was beginning to get worried, and he could tell that it showed on his face.

“Any feelings of loss I may experience would be countered by the satisfaction I would get out of your misery.”

“I can’t perform a Leg Locking Curse,” Terence muttered bitterly. “You’re already done one – on yourself. Well, so much for it being the season of giving to the needy.”

“Go and visit one of your other girlfriends then.”

“I don’t have any other girlfriends,” Terence said quietly. “Only you.”

“Stop it,” Alicia said, but she was struggling against a smile.

Terence finally sensed an in. Shifting slightly in his seat so that his back was against the door, his knees facing Alicia, he said, “You’re a little covered up there, Miss Spinnet.”

“It is winter, Mister Higgs.”

Alicia had shown no reaction, but Terence was familiar enough with her nuances to know not to give up. That she had echoed his use of her surname showed that she was willing to go along with this – to an extent. He just had to stretch that extent, which he was becoming expert at doing. “I’m just saying that you don’t have to dress like one of the Founding Mothers,” he said. “You have a good figure. You look fine a little less covered up. More than fine, in fact. And a lot less covered up.”

“Terence, you are not going to see me a little, never mind a lot, less covered up by the end of this evening.”

“Bugger,” Terence shrugged, but really he was only feigning at his disappointment. He had an idea, and when Terence finally got off his comfortably inheritanced arse enough to get one, he made them happen. “I bet your feet are killing you though.”

“Yes, they are,” Alicia admitted. “But don’t bother going through the motions of offering to drive when we both know very well that you can’t.”

“Wasn’t about to. Although, how about if you pull over and I go through the motions of offering to give you a foot massage instead?”

Alicia slid him a sidelong look, considering. “Only a foot massage?” she challenged.

“Only a foot massage,” he confirmed reassuringly, but privately thought Like hell only a foot massage. Alicia was no doubt expecting him to jump her bones the instant she parked the car, but he was more subtle than that. He’d been her first, and while she was a fast learner and had certainly made up for lost time, there were still plenty of aces he had up his sleeve in that department. Like what a cracking bloody erogenous zone the foot could be.

She was still looking at him. “And what on earth would make me believe that you would offer something for nothing?”

He smiled and opened his hands in a permissive gesture. “It’s Christmas, after all.”

Terence’s smaller and more straight-laced half eventually pulled into a little clearing off the side of the road, underneath a willow tree. She bent down to undo the buckles on her shoes, then turned and lowered her stocking feet into his lap. Her dress had slid up past one knee, and he gave that a quick grope, then shot her a look of wide-eyed innocence when she began to protest and started on her feet. He rubbed his thumb along her arches, gently manipulating her toes back, trying not to beam like a Kneazle that had got the cream. He would be true to his word, and he wouldn’t touch her beyond her ankles, but she would be begging for it when he was done.

Alicia’s arms gradually slipped out their tightly crossed stance underneath her bustline and fell to her sides. Her head slid back. When she groped around the side of her seat until it tilted back and said, “You win – this time,” he decided to do so graciously.

Jolene Spinnet’s – nee Edwards – family did finally get to meet the dashing young man that they had heard so much about, his apologies and charm more than making up for their being almost half an hour late. And if Callum Spinnet rose his eyebrow at the boyfriend’s story of the car breaking down and then scowled at his explanation of the two of them being so flushed from having to push it up a hill and the way his little sister reddened and squirmed in her seat whenever he did so, no one else did. It was Christmas, after all.

The End

HMS Sparklypoo

Sat, 16 Dec 2006 12:29:43 GMT

Alias The Crack Pairing to End All Crack Pairings. And a product of nentari and my warped imaginations. Patricia, you participated in the conversation that led me to get the bunny for this drawing, so you have no one but yourself to blame ;p

Like with she_who_dares's drawing, this is the cookie you got for correctly guessing a challenge to one of my original fiction excerpts.

Disclaimer: I own neither Lavender nor Klinger. I am borrowing them for my own amusement, not for profit.

HMS Sparklypoo

I'm currently writing a fic to go along with it, but realised I'd never get it done before going away and so decided to post the drawing anyway. The fic is a M*A*S*H/Harry Potter crossover and came about from nentari posting a poll about which houses we would sort the M*A*S*H characters into. I make a quip about how if Klinger was in Gryffindor he'd have fights with Lavender about his pretty dresses (which she'd want for dates with Ron), which she countered by saying that Klinger would act as an ally in that respect, maybe evening exchanging them for a few kisses. Sooo, here's Lavender finally deciding that Won-Won isn't worth it and that she's going to give Klinger more than his share of the deal instead. I felt that Lavender got a raw deal in The Half-Blood Prince, so this was fun to draw.

And (embarrassing story time), after spending five minutes explaining the concept behind it I managed to show it to my grandmother, but only showed the Heather/Richie drawing to my grandfather. However he later went into my room to get something, and later commented that "I also liked the one you didn't show me." What he thinks of a girl kissing a boy in a girl's uniform that another girl who is his grand-daughter drew I really don't want to ask o_O

Also, I have the originals of this (including the version without colour), if you want to use them for graphic purposes.

Picture Dump

Sat, 09 Dec 2006 03:11:50 GMT

The next three pictures are done for potter_drinks. The end product is meant to be some sort of layout with the graphics together, but alas, I am crap at that sort of thing. So here are the individual pictures for feedback.

I used the same concept for she_who_dares and nentari's pictures, namely a black and white cartoon style with house colours thrown in. I wanted to do one for each house but I ran out of time, so I had to combine the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff house. And because it is for a cocktail community, drinks feature in each one. Featured characters: Narcissa, the Trio plus Ginny, and Zacharias and Luna.

Disclaimer: All characters are property of J K Rowling. I am doing this for fun, not profit.

Narcissa Alone

This is the first that I did and a bit more sombre than the other two. Ironically, Sombre was my maiden name for Narcissa before The Order of the Phoenix came out and threw a curveball at everyone's Sirius/Narcissa ships. I originally intended to draw her and Snape together but Snape was being a bitch to draw, so I just did her by herself. This is how I imagine her sometime near the start of Harry's sixth year, when her husband is in prison and her only son has gone off to Hogwarts on a mission that would most likely end in failure, if not his death. I see her having a glass of elf wine and wondering what the fuck to do with herself and how to solve this mess.

Drawing for the scanner can break my heart sometimes as Narcissa's expression was a lot more ethereal and innocent before I went over it with the pen.

Bill and Fleur's Wedding

Alias "Ron's Very Short-Lived Love Affair With Firewhiskey." I debated drawing this one as the characters are all under 18, but only Ginny is underaged in the Wizarding World and I didn't have her and Harry holding any drinks. Hermione is, but it's only champagne so I figure she'd be allowed at such an occasion. Strangely, it's the one I'm happiest with out of all of the sketches.

In case you can't tell, they're meant to be posing for a photograph, and I really wanted to get the dynamics between the characters. Ginny is the only one who's doing what she's supposed to be doing, which is looking and posing for the camera. I assumed that Fleur's comment about gold bridesmaids' dresses in canon was final and went with that. Harry isn't holding Firewhiskey, but is looking at Ginny rather than the camera. Ron is looking at the camera, but is clutching a bottle of Firewhiskey - which by his flushed cheeks and the level of liquid left he's already had some of.

Hermione is my favourite. I feel like there's a lot to read in her expression. She looks calm and relaxed, but like she's about to unleash all hell on Ron and confiscate that Firewhiskey from him the moment the camera leaves. What amuses me is that when I went over it with pen, she came out looking a lot more like Helena Bonham Carter, who of course is playing Bellatrix in The Order of the Phoenix. I guess I just wanted to give everyone one day of happiness and one moment of calm in the eye of the storm that is likely about to hit.

"Waiter, There's A Nargle In My Drink!"

This is the Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff one I had to combine due to time restraints, and yes, because it's my Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff picture, it ended up being (surprise, surprise) a Zacharias/Luna. For people who have read Our House, the epic fic I wrote for lindsical's birthday that I've yet to finish *hides*, this could possibly be set in an off-page scene when the pair, who are sharing a house with Ernie and Millicent, get into a massive fight and Millicent drags Ernie off to give them time to settle their differences. And settle their difference they do. I imagine that since it was around the festive period they may have fixed a drink or two in order to talk things through (although Luna appears to have found a Nargle in hers), and it would also explain Luna's shoes. If it's ever possible to truly explain her choice in clothing ;p

I like this the least out of the three in terms of colouring because once I had both the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff colours there and also some red and green to stop Luna's radish earrings blending into the background and make the hollies on her shoes stand out more, it looks as though it can't decide whether it's a colour picture or not rather than a black and white one with just a hint of colour, a la Sin City. And as they are - or will soon be - a couple, I put some of the other's house colours onto each one, like Luna's black leggings and the bronze piping on Zacharias's jeans. It also took me a while to draw both of their faces and I'm still not completely happy with them. But I heart the dynamics between the two. The look on Luna's face makes me smile and Zacharias's expression is a cross between wtfing and caring.

I have to eventually get these around the same size (or at least the same height) for the layout. Which will be interesting as once I reduce the drawing to a certain point, it starts getting all scratchy and blurry. Blergh. Need coffee...

OMG I drew a picture!

Tue, 05 Dec 2006 09:13:01 GMT

This is the first installment of the cookies I promised for nentari and she_who_dares waaayyy back when after they correctly guessed something I was hinting at for my original fiction. Post-NaNo I really didn't feel like writing so I drew instead - and I hope you're happy with the results.

This is something my cracktastic brain cooked up. It features the lovely Heather as a Hufflepuff fifth year and doing what we she does best - fangirling Richie McCaw!

Disclaimer: Heather and Richie own themselves - though Heather, along with many other girls, would perhaps want to own Richie.

As usual, the scan doesn't do justice to the drawing and everything is a lot more washed out here. For this and my next few drawings I was feeling inspired by Sin City and how just a splash of colour can change the dynamics of a black and white picture, and what better than house colours? Also Richie was a lot more Richie-like before I had to go over the picture with a black felt pen in order for it to show up on the scanner, and I had a vague idea of what Heather looked like but couldn't go online to track down a picture of her, but we know that it's meant to be her and Richie :)

I figured that with his work ethic if Richie was attending Hogwarts with Heather he'd be a Hufflepuff, and I think most who have seen him play would agree that him and Jerry Collins would be their house team's Beaters ;p

Heather, I have the black and white and original of this drawing if you want me to email it to you for graphic purposes, though they are on the large side. And Patricia, yours will be in the next installment but it's just begging to have a fic to go along with it and my shoulder isn't up to it right now. I don't think you'll be too surprised by the result though ;)

Slytherin Quidditch gods have taken over my brain

Mon, 30 Oct 2006 04:32:42 GMT

Title: Marcus receives a letter
Author: lucy_lupin
Dedicated to: zeft
Set: Several years post-Hogwarts and post-Voldemort
Characters: VictorMarcusMuse Flint (ahahahahaha) and Penelope Clearwater, with mentions of Alicia Spinnet, Oliver Wood and Teagan Moran (and other characters)
Pairing: Marcus/Penelope, with Oliver/Teagan if you squint
Genre: General/Snark (yes, that is a genre)/Romance
Rating: PG-13 for sexual innuendos and Marcus's language (and mushiness)
Word Count: 1,844
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the clothes on my back. Satisfied, disclaimer nazis?

Summary: Professional Quidditch player Marcus Fint is at home with his pregnant wife when he receives some unwelcome news.

Author's Notes: I'm trying to get a bit up each day to push my writing muscle into gear for NaNo. I'm fairly happy with this one. It could be part of a larger fic, but works as a one-shot. Dedicated to Millie for Evil!Caveman!Le Bob!MarcusMuse! *ahem* ;p

* ~ * ~ *
Despite the chill of the early autumn air, several occupants were perched on balconies of the revamped and remodernised apartments overlooking the River Thames, designed to house the up and coming of moderate, not modest, means. One such man was Marcus Flint. He sat in amongst the potted herbs and shrubbery that Penelope had dotted the area with, having nothing more but a green terrycloth robe and a pair of boxers to shield him from the bite of cold. With an espresso at his elbow and a cigarette in one hand, he was comfortable, only more in his element when slamming a Quaffle home for the pro Quidditch team he plied his trade for. And when…well, his co-participant in that particular activity was currently dead to the world, snoozing away beneath the covers in the bedroom that was positioned just behind the wall to his back. She was the reason why the cigarette was being taken outside. That, and her condition.

Suddenly he was grinning from ear to ear. Who would have thought that Marcus Aurelis Flint, one of the most reticient and anti-social pricks even by Slytherin standards, would have married the prettiest girl in his year (and a year he’d only made his own by failing his NEWTs the previous one, which just showed that sometimes even the crappiest things could lead to something wonderful and unplanned – if he allowed himself that particular train of Gryffindorian optimist smut) and soon have a family on the way? And who would have thought that Penelope Lucia Clearwater, fit but anal Head Girl extraordinaire who had spent her time in Hogwarts not hitting the books snogging something even less appealing than his Potions text in the form of Weasley, would have been paired with him during their Auror training days and would have ended up to be so bloody…well, wonderful and everything? The hardness and ice from their student days had still been present, but there was also a warmth and a softness and – once he’d dug deeper – humanity and vulnerability. She still followed the rules by the letter, but over time he’d come to understand why she stuck with them, which was pretty much the same reasons why he didn’t stick to them, and they had reached an understanding. Oh, what an understanding.

The air from a flutter of wings disturbed from his reverie and he put down his coffee, running a hand along the feathers of his owl Emmanuel before taking the scroll clutched in his talents. Before he could open though, he was joined by a third presence on the balcony. He looked up at where Penelope stood, clutching a cup of that putrid peppermint tea stuff she’d starting drinking and blinking. Removing his wand from the pocket of his robe, he stubbed out the cigarette and then performed a charm to get rid of the smoke. “Are you alright?” he asked gently, noticing with alarm that she looked pale.

“Yeah.” Penelope brushed a brown curl off her face and sat down gingerly next to him. She was clutching the cup of tea as if the weight was too heavy for her long-fingered hand. “Just a bit of morning sickness, that’s all.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is?” He shifted over and helped her onto the wooden bench next him, sliding a cushion behind her back. “I mean, that young Mediwitch assigned to you, she didn’t look too competent.”

“You mean Alicia Spinnet?” Despite her waness Penelope looked as though she was on the verge of laughing at his protectiveness, which made him harrumph a little, but he was glad to see a bit of colour back in her cheeks. Even if it was caused by amusement at him. “The very same Mediwitch who got Outstandings on her Potions and Herbology NEWTs, and who Fleur Delacour personally recommended to me? No, this just comes with the deal, Marcus. It’s what being a female and pregnant is about.”

“Well, screw being female and pregnant then,” Marcus shrugged. “You guys definitely got the raw part of the deal. In comparison to us guys, that is.” Then seeing his wife was starting to look distinctly less amused, he added with a hopeful wince, “Er, sorry? For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a much better job than I would in your position – and stuff.”

“Yes, and don’t you forget it,” Penelope said with some satisfaction. Whoever said that Ravenclaws couldn’t be smug had obvious never been proved wrong in a debate by one. At least as often as he had. “Really, Marcus, you needn’t fuss over me so. I haven’t even begun to show properly yet.”

“Yeah, but your stomach’s hard. And the first trimester is the one where you’re most likely to miscarry.”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “I should have never let you read those books.”

“I’m just looking out for you.” Like most other Slytherins, whenever an attempt to care was refused, however gently, Marcus got sulky. “I can’t wait until you start to show. I think you’re going to have the best baby bump and that you’ll look real cute.”

“When I waddle, you mean?” The light freckles on her nose scrunched up. “Like a duck?”

“I’ve never had a pet duck,” Marcus grinned. “We can call you Lumpy.” Penelope punched the arm he’d slung over her shoulders, though not as heavily as he might have done. He was careful not to put too much of his weight on her these days. Even – no, especially – during certain scenarios. More specifically the ones that had led to this situation in the first place. “Nah, you wouldn’t waddle. You’ll glide. Like a swan.”

“Tease,” Penelope said, snuggling deeper into his side. She glanced down at the scroll in your hand. “Are you going to open that or not?”

“Course not,” Marcus shrugged. “At least not in front of you. It’s from my mistress.”

“I don’t think so. No other woman will have you. Besides, it has the grey Falmouth Falcons seal. So it can only be work.”

“Excellent.” He brightened. “Bobbins was making hints about how he was this close to signing another Seeker before training last Friday. Who knows, he may have even lured that git Potter away from the Canons, though one bloody sanctimonious Gryffindor on the team with Wood is enough. How we even got him to dot the i’s and cross the t’s for us in the first place, I don’t know. Falmouth’s style is a bit too-” Penelope looked as though she was trying not to smile “-robust for them.”

“I do hope you’re not too horrid to poor Oli.”

“Pah. He brings it on himself.” At the Ravenclaw’s reproving look, he added quickly, “Nah, I’m the captain. I have to maintain team spirit and stop the players from picking on each other too much. I look after him.”

“In a matter of speaking.” Penelope’s mouth twitched. “Those poor young boys are so lucky to have you as a role model, Marcus. Where would they get their sense of gentlemanly decorum from otherwise?”

“Hey, I’m not the worst by any means. Truth be told, I was hoping that Teagan’s presence would calm them down some after she signed.” Teagan Moran was one of the Irish Chasing stars of the past two World Cups, and a large part of the reason why they were currently fourth in the league. “Well, it stopped the worst of the potty talk for a while, but now it’s back to the level it was. They see her as one of the crew now, and they figured out pretty quick that there’s no point wasting the effort to be polite and chivalrous and whatnot around a bird that you’ll never shag. The only one who keeps a civil tongue in his head when she’s there is Wood. Boys will be boys,” he elaborated, somewhat defensively, as Penelope glared at him.

“Oli is a gentleman,” she said reproachfully.

“Wood’s got no balls. At least, where girls are concerned. Well, at least none of them would be touching her anyway. Not with me around.”

“Marcus, have you ever considered that you should be a less overprotective where she’s concerned? I mean, they can’t all be that bad. Perhaps without you glowering over her shoulder all the time, she might actually be able to spend some one-on-one time with them and decide that she likes him.”

“One-on-one time?” He spat out his coffee. “Her? With those wankers? Fuck, no.” Penelope glowered at his language. “And stop looking at me like that. It can’t hear. I have seven whole months before I have to start worrying about being a good influence. But Teagan – and one of them? Over my dead and decapitated corpse. And yes, I know that by it being a corpse, then saying it’s also dead is redundancy,” he blazed on as Penelope opened her mouth. “Not a single one of them is good enough for her! They’re all crass, and foul-mouthed, and only ever associate birds with one thing.”

“Much like you when you were unattached, in other words.” Penelope opined dryly. Marcus stopped suddenly and gazed open-mouthed at her. “Look, they’re single and they’re young and they’re idolised Quidditch stars. So what you’re seeing now is them at their absolute worst around women. I’d daresay their behaviour would be significantly better if they met one that they actually cared for.”

“Yeah, well, Teagan doesn’t have your training skills,” he rapped out. “Wood – as much as it pains me to admit it – is about the only one who doesn’t need to go to dog obedience school.” He paused and ran a hand through his thick brown hair, which was trailing around his ears. Penelope had been nagging him about its length for the last three years, but he wasn’t budging. “Sorry to rant at you, love. Anyway, let’s see what Bobbins is waffling on about.” He slid open the letter. “Aha, he has found a new Seeker! An unknown, but very promising he says. And someone I’d be familiar with.” His dark eyes scanned the page, then widened in horror. He sat mutely for a few seconds, then leapt to his feet, throwing the parchment away in disgust. “Oh no. Fucking Merlin, no! Damn, damn, damn him!” He kicked at a potplant angrily, then let out a torrent of language that would have had a woman more faint-hearted than his wife reaching for the smelling salts.

“Oh for goodness sake, Marcus.” Penelope charmed off the tea that she’d spilt on her lap when Marcus had reacted to the contents of the letter. “Calm down. Let’s just sit and think about this logically for a moment, shall we? Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”

“Not that bad?” His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Not that bad? And I'm not the one who’s being illogical! I’ll tell you what’s bad. He’s decided to get off his daddy’s trust fund and is coming to play with us, that’s what’s bad. Bloody blimmin’ Higgs!”

The End

New potential OTP alert

Sun, 29 Oct 2006 11:08:03 GMT

Title: Close Encounters of the Coffee Kind
Author: lucy_lupin
Dedicated to: maniacalmuse
Set: Summer before the Golden Trio's sixth year
Characters: Alicia Spinnet, Terence Higgs, with mentions of other characters
Pairing: Terence/Alicia
Genre: General/Character/Romance
Rating: PG for low-level snark and medium-level flirting.
Word Count: 1,448
Disclaimer: I own nothing (insert obligatory remark about certain characters being nice to possess here).

Summary: Recent graduate Alicia Spinnet is at Diagon Alley when she has a surprising encounter with an old school rival, who seeks to engage her company.

Author's Notes: I wrote this in a couple of hours and am not entirely satisfied with it, feel as if I need to analyse it...flesh it out a little more...blah blah blah, but with the onset of NaNo I need to learn how to write quickly without analysing too much. Much like Alicia ;p

* ~ * ~ *
It was a July morning, still crisp at this hour, and Alicia Spinnet was walking purposefully through Diagon Alley. Having run a few errands – she’d just been to the second hand robe shop next to Gambol & Japes and then to Gringotts to set up a personal vault – she decided to head to the Leaky Cauldron for a coffee to kill time before her next appointment, perhaps the most important of the day. She was applying for a part-time job at Flourish & Blotts. True, it wasn’t why she’d sat eight NEWTs, but it would pay the bills, and for the time being would suffice.

Many of the stores she had frequented over past summers were now boarded up. As she walked past Fortescue’s, she felt a twinge of sadness. That was, until someone collided with her, knocking her flat to the cobblestones.

She barely had time to register the breath being knocked out of her, the stones connecting soundly with her arse, when someone quickly pulled her to her feet and swooped her parcels back off the ground with a flick of his wand, stacking them neatly in the crook of his free arm. A young wizard of medium height and slender build and with hair not quite veering towards either the blond or brown spectrum stood in front of her. “Terribly sorry about that,” he said smoothly, but still with a touch of genuine regret. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, just a little startled,” she responded, smoothing down the front of her robes. There was a tear along one hem, which didn’t bother her overly. Nothing a simple clothing charm couldn’t fix. Tucking a piece of chestnut brown hair that had tumbled free of her bun, she squinted up at him. “Do I know you?”

“Awww.” His mouth curved into an exaggerated, mocking pout. “Do I make that little of an impression?”

She raised her eyebrows in mild reproach, feeling rather at a loss for words. While he didn’t look old enough to own a franchise, he could very well be either Flourish or Blotts, and it would be just her luck if she somehow offended her potential employer. And he did seem rather arrogant. “You’re not the owner of the bookstore, are you?” she asked. “If I’m supposed to know you from somewhere, I’m sorry. But you don’t look old enough to work in any of the shops here and I don’t remember you from any of my classes at Hogwarts.”

“You really don’t remember me?” The wizard’s eyes twinkled in humorous reproach. “Terence Higgs, Esquire. The best Slytherin Seeker of your time at Hogwarts.” He tipped an imaginary cap at her.

Higgs? That would explain the arrogance, but make his apology all the more surprising. She had vague memories of a slightly built boy who mocked her good friend Oliver Wood and gloated relentlessly over any of their losses until he was unceremoniously dumped for a septet of Nimbus 2001s during her fourth year. “Not really, no,” she said honestly, attempting to step around him. “You seem rather full of yourself though.”

Terence placed a restraining hand on her arm. “I still have your parcels,” he said.

“Oh.” Alicia flushed, then was annoyed with herself. It must be the interview. She wasn’t usually this flustered. Among her friends she was always the calm, steady, grounding one – the earth to Angelina’s fire and Katie’s water. “May I have them back, please?” she asked, pulling herself together. She extended a hand for them.

“Of course I’ll give them back to you.” Terence, funnily enough, seemed a little hurt, as though he thought that she doubted he would return them, and somehow that affected him. “Eventually. But I’d much rather do the exchange after, say, a glass of wine at our vested establishment.” He waved his free hand towards the Leaky Cauldron.

“But since you’re giving me something and I’m not giving you anything in return, then strictly speaking it wouldn’t be an exchange-” she began, then the rest of what he said caught her. “Oh.”

“Ah, though you would be exchanging something,” he elaborated, smirking down at her. Though she wasn’t given to obvious facial animation in general, Alicia always secretly admired how well the average Slytherin could nail a smirk. Gryffindors either ended up looking like they had some sort of facial tic or just caught a whiff of something unpleasant. “Your fine company, of course.”

Alicia’s eyes widened. The last thing she’d expected to happen today was to be come onto to by a former Slytherin – and not a bad-looking one at that. But though he hadn’t been unpleasant to her, there was still the general cockiness. “I have a job interview in a little less than an hour,” she said. “I can’t go drinking wine.”

“Coffee then?” he suggested.

“I don’t think so,” Alicia said. Even though she'd been heading there in the first place, and her reaction therefore made no sense. Well, not much sense. Then, because she found herself feeling rude and a little guilty and something else she couldn’t quite place, but that quirked at her oddly, she added, “Maybe some other time. But for now I really should go over my notes and think about what to say during the interview.”

He blinked. “You wrote out notes?”

“Yes,” she said defensively. “If something’s important, I usually write it down. It helps me to organise my thoughts.”

“When I need to clear mine, I just do something to distract myself from whatever’s on my mind,” Terence shrugged. “There’s such a thing as too much organisation, you know. Look, you’ve probably already gone through stuff and thought about what to say, yeah?” As Alicia nodded and started to speak, he raised one hand to cut her off, adding, “And so you don’t want to make it too rehearsed, because employers pick up on that sort of stuff. You’d want to sound a bit more spontaneous and animated. No one wants to hire an Inferius, after all.” As she paused, he added, “So, how about it?”

“Why?” she asked.

“Why?” Terence repeated, running a hand through his bristly hair. “Because you seem intriguing. On first impressions you’re not really a typical Gryffindor. You’re not as…loud…as the rest of them. Not as much the type to run around committing daring deeds and trying to make the world a better place and all.” He smiled apologetically, as if he was aware that Alicia thought he had been about to say something less complimentary. “And you’re rather cute, Spinnet. Don’t worry though. I’m not planning on ravishing you or anything like that. It’s not my style and anyway, I get the impression that despite appearances, you can take care of yourself if needs be. I’m only asking you to join me for a coffee.”

Alicia stood, absently chewing on her lower lip. While his motives were a bit suspect, what he had said before all that did have surprising merit. Besides, it wasn’t as if she was in any danger accompanying him. They’d be going a short distance away to the Cauldron, then she’d be leaving him for her interview. “I do want to make the world a better place,” she added softly. “I’m just – better at accepting the world as it is, I suppose – and working with that, rather than imposing some false idealisation of what it should be like upon it that would never work in practice.”

“A realistic, cautiously optimistic Gryffindor?” He grinned. “I’d hardly have thought that was possible. Though,” his eyes drifted towards the boarded up ice cream parlour, “we could probably do with a bit more of that these days.”

Alicia nodded. While she wasn’t judgemental enough to think that all Slytherins were merely underqualified Death Eaters, she was significantly more suspicious of them than the two other houses not her own. And being a Gryffindor, their rivalry during her school days had encouraged her to loathe them on principle. So it was somewhat of a comfort that Terence appeared to find the sight of the building as unnerving as she did. And then she remembered that while he taunted Oliver and the Weasley twins and body-checked her as much as anyone else on the pitch, he had never once insulted her. At least – not while they weren’t playing Quidditch. “Alright,” she said slowly. “We can have that coffee. But I only have time for one.”

“One it is. I wouldn’t dream of you going to your interview with caffeine jitters,” he beamed. Alicia reached for her packages, but he said, “Allow me,” then pressed a hand in the small of her back as they walked, guiding her towards the pub.

The End

Birthday fic

Sun, 17 Sep 2006 10:33:59 GMT

Title: Birthday Butterflies
Author: lucy_lupin
Dedicated to: maniacalmuse
Set: The Golden Trio's seventh year
Characters: Parvati Patil, Eddie Carmichael, with mentions of Lavender and Seamus
Pairing: Eddie/Parvati, with hints of Seamus/Lavender
Genre: Romance
Rating: R for medium-level sex descriptions - nothing too heavy though
Word Count: 3,058
Disclaimer: I own neither Parvati nor Eddie. Nor any of the other characters mentioned. And if I did own Eddie, I'd loan him to maniacalmuse for the day. Because it's her birthday!

Summary: Parvati is a seventh year Gryffindor mourning the absence of her sister when she meets Eddie Carmichael, a recently graduated Ravenclaw working as Slughorn's Potions assistant. She's at Hogwarts by herself for the Christmas holidays and an uneventful eighteenth birthday. So far...

Author's Notes: This fic is based off the universe of the RPG hogwarts_blogs, particularly off celebren's characterisation of Eddie.

* ~ * ~ *

Parvati Patil was stomping along the seventh floor corridor towards the Room of Requirement she and the other DA members had frequented during their fifth year, rubbing her hands together with the cold and grinding her teeth. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts of foggy air. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she had to spend Christmas – and therefore her birthday, which was also during the festive period – at Hogwarts, but now she had landed herself a detention to boot. A detention! She hadn’t known it was possible to get one over the Christmas holidays, but apparently it was.

Dean was going to give her so much shit about that when he got back. Not even during their wildest capers had he and Seamus accomplished such a feat. And for what she was currently doing, she’d probably end up with a second detention. If she was caught. But Parvati didn’t trust her luck to hold that much.

Bloody Merlin, it wasn’t her fault that Draco Malfoy was such an annoying little twat. And due to the comment he’d made, she had no choice but to respond. Well, technically she could have not hexed him. But she didn’t want to. And along a similar vein, if her best friend had sent her a pleading owl imploring her to meet and discuss a huge altercation between her and her boyfriend, well, what could she do but go along?

If she did get caught though, she might just knock Lavender and Seamus’s heads together. Not perhaps the most civil means, but the way she was feeling right now, she wasn’t above resorting to such brutality to bang some sense into her friends. Once again she wondered if it wasn’t too late to owl her parents and ask if she could at least spend the last few days before term at home, but steeled herself against this urge. Her parents had made their choice. So had Padma. And so had she.

Merlin, how she ached to see her sister again.

After a few false alarms, however, she was outside the door of the Room of Requirement. Her eighteenth birthday, meaning she was now of age in her mother’s as well as her father’s universe, and she would have to spend it comforting her best friend. And it was New Year’s Eve to boot. New Year’s! “I know that you and Seamus have had a falling out,” she began, pushing the heavy oak door open, “but I would have preferred it if you hadn’t made me walk-” She broke up abruptly as her eyes adjusted to the dim light and took in the figure seated at the far end of the room. “You’re not Lavender!”

“Indeed I’m not.” Eddie Carmichael, erstwhile Ravenclaw and current Potions assistant, took a few steps across the room, a small, wry smile on his face. “Certain scenarios would hardly be on the cards if I was. But I admit that the two of you would make an attractive couple. I’d say that you’d have beautiful children together, but again, that’s also a physical impossibility.”

“You’re…I…well.” Parvati was so startled by his sudden appearance that she neglected to call him up on his remarks. “But where’s Lavender? Oh.” Her eyes narrowed in sudden understanding. “She’s not coming, is she? She was never coming. You two set all this up.”

“If you call arranging a surprise birthday party a “set up,” then yes, we did.” Ernie said, taking her arm and helping her into the room. “And a little gratitude wouldn’t exactly go amiss at this point.”

“I…um…thank you,” Parvati said, trying to force her brain back into gear. “And sorry. I just…wasn’t expecting it…I suppose. I thought you would have-”

“Forgotten?” Eddie suggested, looking rather amused. Parvati bit her lip and gave him an abashed look. “We haven’t been doing this for very long though,” he added as a compromise.

“And you don’t exactly have the best memory in the world,” Parvati opined.

“I remember the important things,” Eddie said. He stepped behind her and helped her out of her coat, his hands brushing against her shoulders as he did so. “So, what do you think?”

“Nice,” Parvati said truthfully, looking around the room. He had set it up to look like a cosy but expensive restaurant, a chandelier dangling down towards the centre of the room and a piano tinkling away quietly in a corner. “Thank you. I’m…well, “surprised” would imply that I didn’t expect you to do anything which might make you feel bad and isn’t really true, so I don’t mean it that way, but I do feel, um…“surprised.” In the best possible way.” Eddie was wearing a shirt and black pants. She finished surveying the room (and him), then glanced down at her outfit and said, “But I’m not dressed for it!”

“That can be fixed,” Eddie said. He gave his wand a flick in her direction and she felt her simple jeans and jumper twist and shrink around her body until they had been transfigured into a classic little black dress. Reflexively she grabbed at the hem as it crept up her legs, but fortunately Eddie stopped the spell and ended the dress so that it was a few inches above her knees, but far from indecent. “Don’t worry,” he added with a smirk as he noticed the gesture. “I wouldn’t expect to see that much of you this early in the evening.”

Parvati gave him a swipe for that comment, but it was half-hearted. She still felt honour-bound as a female to make some sort of retaliation for things like that, but over the last three months she’d figured out that Eddie was merely playing a role for humour’s sake when he said things like that. Besides if that was all he was interested in, there were greener and more accommodating pastures to visit.

Her bare arms and shoulders were breaking into goosebumps from the cold night air. A fire would be nice, she thought, and instantly one appeared across from the table on which a candelabra flickered. “Sorry,” Eddie grimaced. “I should have thought of that.”

“You’re fine,” Parvati said. She took his arm as they crossed over to the table. “You’d redeem yourself if you pulled out my chair for me though,” she told him, a teasing smile on her lips.

“Done,” Eddie said as a chair slid out with a flick of his wand and he helped her into it. This time his hand brushed the bare skin of her shoulders, and it wasn’t just the coolness of his fingertips that made her flesh break into fresh goosebumps. She wondered if the two of them would be able to hold out this evening, and a thought crossed her mind that somehow it would be harder than previously.

Eddie sat down across from her, concentrating hard on the tabletop. A full platter of food appeared between them, complete with curry and roti, her favourite. It didn’t occur to her to point out that roti was really only served with morning meals, which it would have done perhaps at the start of the school year. Instead she said, “Thank you. I’ve been missing it,” and broke off a piece to dip in the curry. Neither did she tell him that wine usually wasn’t served with roti, yet here it was at her elbow served in a tall, silver goblet. These things didn’t appear to be terribly important right now.

After a while, he pulled out a package and put it on the table next to her. “Here,” he said. “It’s not much but I hope you like it.”

Parvati carefully removed the wrapping to see a little velvet jewellery box. Nestled inside was a simple silver hairclip with a blue topaz butterfly on its tip. Topazes were the Hindu birthstone for her month. She knew there was more to Eddie than what he let on to most people, but still, she was touched that he had gone to such thought and trouble for her.

“You don’t like it.” He misinterpreted the worst from her silence. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything nice.”

“Oh no!” she said quickly. “It’s more than nice. I really like it. I’m just surprised that you remembered that I like butterflies.”

“Yeah, well, as I said, I remember the important things.” He shrugged now, awkward. She leant across the table to kiss him thank-you, then sat down again before things got too out of hand. They continued their meal.

People who didn’t know them probably assumed that they didn’t have much to talk about. How could they, with one half of the couple being the giggly Gryffindor gossip and the other a boy a year ahead of her whose claim to fame was attempting to invent Baruffio's Brain Elixir during his sixth year? But in her experience, comedy usually came from something serious and for her own part, she was as smart as her Ravenclaw twin. She just applied it towards other things. So it was that once they had bypassed the usual double entendres – intentional or not – and catch-me-if-you-can style flirting, their conversation drifted onto more serious things. Like how after she’d saved up money from modelling, she was interested in starting her own clothing label and wanted to do a business course to learn how to manage her assets. Like how he was paying off an apartment in Hogsmeade and wanted to open a store of flying motorcycles catering exclusively for wizards. There was an untapped market out there, he claimed. After all, what red-blooded bloke would want to zoom around with a fit bird behind him on a nobbly old broomstick? What was hot about that?

Parvati’s own mind drifted to Eddie’s motorcycle and to what she may have liked to do involving herself, its padded leather seat – and Eddie. She blushed.

Talk turned to their families and after a bit of awkwardness they broached the issue of Parvati’s. In September after Neville Longbottom had got into an entanglement with some of the friendlier, larger plants in Greenhouse Six and was only found three days later, her parents had owled her and her twin requesting for them to return home. Padma complied. She didn’t. As she discussed it with Eddie, she found herself being candid in a way that she hadn’t been with others, even Lavender and Seamus. And she also realised that in his company, the longing she had to be home – not home as it existed now with all its various tensions, but home in the past with memories of fond Christmases together – had diminished. She supposed that was the natural progression of things. After all, she wouldn’t be having Christmases at home forever. Someday she’d be spending them with her own family: her children and her-

Fucking Merlin, did that mean she wanted to marry Eddie? No! They were too young, they’d only known each other for a matter of months, and just because there was a war on didn’t mean she had to start popping out babies like a Butterbeer production line. And they hadn’t even…yet…and she’d always pictured herself as marrying someone more serious, like a dour Ravenclaw or stoic Hufflepuff, who didn’t make her laugh as much.

At the thought of herself getting married, she started to choke on her wine.

Instantly Eddie charmed a glass of water out of the air, pressing it into her hand and helping her to take a swallow. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” Parvati managed, placing the now-empty glass on the table. “I was just thinking about you…me-” she glanced down and realised that while she had been choking, she had knocked over her wine and now the tablecloth was being stained a deep, blood red “-the table!”

“The table?” Now Eddie himself seemed short of breath, and in his case it had nothing to do with choking on wine.

“The table,” Parvati echoed breathlessly. Eddie hadn’t moved closer towards her, but she was suddenly more aware of him; his lips seemed nearer. Oh, bollocks to this, was her last conscious thought.

Eddie managed to imagine the tablecloth and the remainder of the food and drink away just in time. They were kissing as if neither of them had ever been kissed before, let alone by each other, their hands tracing over all the familiar haunts with a new frenzy. Her foot was falling asleep as she sat, twisted on the table in an awkward angle, but she didn’t give a fuck. As far as various body parts went, it was currently the lowest on her list of priorities right now. She encircled her legs around Eddie and pressed herself closer, her lips clinging to his as if they were the only things between her and certain death.

As her legs tightened around his waist, Eddie slid his hands underneath her and lifted her off the table, carrying her across the room and lowering her on top of a velvet chaise lounge. A distant part of her mind noted that the chaise lounge hadn’t been present before and Eddie had probably requested the room for one, but she was a seventh year witch and had grown up with magic – and at the moment there were more important things on her mind. Like how as an aspiring designer she appreciated the nice, clean lines of Eddie’s clothing, but it had to come off in order for her to enjoy the still nicer and cleaner lines of his torso that lay beneath. Her hands managed to grasp at the lapels of his shirt, then pull – and tear. Eddie raised one dark eyebrow in amusement at that. Pressing a grinning mouth against hers, he chuckled, “I never thought you’d voluntarily wreck an item of clothing.”

“It – can – be – fixed – with a – charm – after – wards,” Parvati managed between kisses, pushing him away so that her lips could find better access to his chest. Eddie groaned and wrapped his fingers through her hair. He was pulling a little too tightly, but she could ignore it and she figured, what were a few strands of hair anyway? She was quickly reconsidering the importance of good grooming. It was overrated anyway. Particularly in certain scenarios. Like this one. She’d give up hair charms for a week to repeat this experience. A month, even. That time frame stretched out to a year – and then to eternity – as the straps of her dress slid southward and Eddie returned the favour on her own décolletage, and then lower. “Oh, bloody Merlin,” she groaned, imbuing her usual favoured curse phrase with unspeakable longing.

Parvati’s speech, despite its lack of coherency, seemed to being Eddie to his senses. Somewhat. Which was the last thing Parvati wanted to do right now. She gazed up at him as he drew back, her mouth opened in silent protest. “Vati?” he said, taking the straps of her dress and pulling it back up so that she was once again somewhat decent. “Is everything alright? I mean, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Well, everything was alright until you stopped kissing me.” She was torn between feeling touched by his concern and exasperated that he’d stopped things right there. “And in case you need a more exact answer, yes, I am bloody well sure that I want to do this. Now get back down here and finish what you started.”

He needed no second bidding. They both picked up where they left off, but the pace had become still faster and more frenzied. She hoped that along with her dress, he had charmed her sensible cotton knickers into something more appealing, but there was no time to think or worry because they along with the rest of her clothing were off as quickly as if they had been Disapparated. Then he was lying on top of her, his full weight and length of her body pressed against her. But before things could go any further, she pressed one finger to his lips. “Eddie,” she began.

Eddie pushed himself upright, supporting his weight with his forearms. “You’re not on contraceptive potion?”

“Yes I am, Eddie, but that’s not-”

“You’re still a virgin?” His eyes widened. “Oh Rowena’s tits, you’re a virgin. I mean, it’s not a problem. It’s fine. We can wait. I can wait. I mean…oh Rowena’s-”

“No! Eddie, calm down.” She reached up to place a hand over his mouth. “I’m not a virgin. I was just about to tell you that it’s been a while, so be gentle, alright?” Her brown eyes, usually merry with gossip or scowling at an offending boy, were wide and moist with vulnerability. She didn’t often show that emotion, not even around him.

Eddie carefully took his weight off his arms, leaning down to kiss her on the forehead. “I’ll be careful,” he said, then sunk into her.

Their movements were at first awkward and jarring, not quite merging and blending with finesse together, but as the fire dimmed and the night crept on, they gained more of an understanding with each other until when at last they were still, their limbs docilely curled together but with a sort of dormant, spent energy. Eddie was the first to speak. “You must have really liked that hairclip then, yeah?”

Parvati gave him a punch on the arm, then snuggled closer. The sweat was cooling on their bodies, and he concentrated hard on the need for more warmth until the fire flared up and a thick blanket appeared on top of them. Lulled by his fingers sifting through her hair and the fatigue brought on by their previous exertions, Parvati gradually drifted asleep, one hand still half cupping his own.

“Happy Birthday, Vati,” Eddie whispered. “And Happy New Year too.” But for the softly breathing witch next to him, he was left alone with his thoughts. She was lying on his arm, which was going numb. He could ask her to move and she would, but then she might – no, she mostly certainly would – be hurt and he didn’t want that. I love her, he realised, quickly followed by, Rowena’s Tits, where did that come from? Parvati’s weight was pressing down heavier on his arm. My arm, bugger it, my arm, he thought, and then he too was fast asleep.

The End

Answers to anonymous ficlets

Sun, 17 Sep 2006 04:01:06 GMT

Here are the answers to the Five Under 500 anonymous couples ficlets I posted last weekend:

1. Angelina/Montague
2. Marcus/Penelope
3. Zacharias/Luna
4. Eddie Carmichael/Parvati Patil
5. Dean/Hermione

Tra-la-la...

Five under 500

Sun, 10 Sep 2006 07:42:57 GMT

Title: Misconceptions
Author: lucy_lupin
Dedicated to: My muses
Set: Various
Characters: Various
Pairing: Five different pairings, four interhouse.
Genre: General/drama/romance
Rating: Ranging from PG to PG-13
Word Count: 273 to 499
Disclaimer: I own nothing. My muses, however, pwn me.

Summary: Five anonymous couples, in chronological order from the Trio's fifth year through to post-Hogwarts. Guess who's who.

Author's Notes: With thanks to maniacalmuse who inspired these with her wonderful anonymous ficlets, and zeft, celebren and other players from the game hogwarts_blogs for the aid of their muses.

* * *
One - 273 words

Divide and conquer. That was the rule. Apparently even the biggest lout was significantly more approachable when separated from the mob and relieved of the obligation to preserve his reputation and so make an arse of himself in front of all his little Quidditch friends.

So she’d decided to catch him alone after his training, when he lingered to strap the Bludgers and the rest of the balls into their storage box, his fingers working with deft practice on the fastenings. She’d stood beneath the Quidditch stands until the last of his team-mates filed away and tried not to let her nerves get to her. Or at least try not to let them show.

She had said many things to him. About how he had bodychecked her when they were both off the Quaffle. About how he had squeezed her hand far too tight when shaking it before the match. About how he was most unnecessarily the biggest git in the school, a role he had taken on with gusto after Flint had left.

And after she had said these, and other things, she had expected him to say a few things back. Like how she should have stayed up in the stands with the other little girls. Like how her braids looked like the Giant Squid had leapt from its pool and attached itself to her head. Like how she insisted on picking keepers who didn’t know one end of a goalpost from another.

But what she hadn’t expected him to say was “I’m sorry.” And then touch her arm as he left the grounds, hefting the box up onto his shoulder.

Two - 497 words

All through her two NEWT years she’d been accustomed to the is-she-really-going-out-with-him looks. And he’d certainly added his voice to the clamour. One night after a victory of his, he’d staggered into her and slurred that it was a shame such a hot arse was wasted on one of the untouchables of his world. Even in his inebriation his choice and emphasis of that possessive had been unmistakably deliberate.

She’d slapped him for that.

After graduation she had fallen out of touch with him (not that she had tried to keep in touch). She hadn’t with her ex either, but for different reasons. So it was with some surprise that when joining the Auror training program after a thankless year with the Ministry she saw his name as one of the enlistees.

He had worked hard. They both had. But while she was outstanding in the theoretical component, particularly when it came to intelligence, he had a knack with wandwork, particularly the more cynical hexes – and had passed his examinations a full six months ahead. As she watched him receive his badge from Rufus Scrimgeour, she remembered that during his second round of NEWTs, when he wasn’t busy snarking he had actually applied himself. She thought about what it must have taken to end up with an acceptable batch of results – but not for an Auror – and then go through the humiliation of a repeated year to get to where he wanted. But she wasn’t ready to change her mind about him.

As trainees he’d still been an arse, but in a non-blood biased way. When asked about it by a bemused colleague, he’d responded, “I don’t discriminate. You all naff me off equally.” Their few encounters had been polite but distant, brief. Consequently when the guild had decided she was up to it and transferred her to their Hogwarts batch and he had offered her the spare room in his village apartment, she’d been surprised and a little suspicious. But exhausted from flooing back and forth to London, she had also accepted.

Their first weeks together were hardly heaven sent. One night after a slew of eighteen hour days he and that low-level crook crony of his she’d apprehended nabbing silverware once had kept her awake – driving her to lose her temper and then near to tears. Slytherin. Quidditch. Boozing. That was what she associated with him, she thought angrily as she struggled to sleep. And she wasn’t going to change her mind anytime soon.

She thought that with the hangover he’d most likely given himself he’d sleep until noon. So she didn’t expect to hear him moving about when she got up to take a shower before her dawn shift. She was downright shocked when she got out, yawning and groggily towel-drying her hair, to come face-to-face with a cooked and generous breakfast accompanied by a full pot of coffee and a flower in one glass.

Perhaps it was time to change her mind.

Three - 455 words

For all of his seventeen years he’d known what to do. He, a member of one of his house’s oldest families (in fact, a direct descendent of its founding family), was going to follow in his father’s footsteps and work his way up in the Ministry of Magic and become a judge.

He imagined many things. Winning the Quidditch Cup as the new captain, and then the House Cup on top of that. Leaving Hogwarts with nothing else than an “E” and then taking the Ministry by storm in the briefest amount of time as possible. Buying a nice manor just outside of London and settling down with a nice girl from a good, old-money family. With good, old-money values and good, old-money common sense.

He’d never imagined that of all things, he’d be spending a Hogsmeade weekend on a bridge in the heights of the castle with the school lunatic.

True, her idiosyncrasies had at first irritated him greatly. She doggedly insisted on all sorts of claptrap, proclaiming, “But how can you know that Wrackspurts don’t exist if you’ve never even seen one? They’re invisible, you know.” Then she would continue by painstakingly explaining that of course they were real because one felt the effects of them all the time, like how pathological liar Potter would always be infected by one whenever the girl Weasley walked into the room. Lately she conceded on the point that Potter had been dumbstruck for other reasons, but still maintained in the existence of yet another pet creature.

Then, as he’d gotten more used to her, it ceased to be annoying. Well, it was still annoying, but only because it wasn’t annoying. And he couldn’t figure out why. And that was annoying. But it started to become cute. Calming even, as he’d just tune out all his problems and listen to her enunciate on about Crumpled Horn Snorkacks and Nargles.

And then he’d get annoyed because it shouldn’t have had that effect on him. What effect exactly?

It took him much longer to figure that out. In fact, he was still figuring it out. That was why he was here.

“I don’t get you,” he was saying, waving his hands in the air with exasperation. She meanwhile calmly watched, nestled in the folds of his black cloak edged with yellow. “I don’t get you at all. And I’d like to. And it’s brassing me off royally.”

“There aren’t many who do.” She gave him that mysterious yet somehow open smile and reached over to take his hand. “But that means there’s all the more to discover about me, you know. After all, it’s only been two weeks.”

And that, he thought, surmised it perfectly. His irritation faded away.

Four - 477 words

They were the pretty ones. Exceptionally so. But because her sister had been sorted into Ravenclaw and she into Gryffindor, her sister was the smart one and she wasn’t. And because she was beautiful, that also made her dumb. Over the years she grew tired of trying to explain to snotty purebloods and confused half-bloods the concept of identical DNA and that she was as smart as her sister, she just applied it to different things. So she learned to give up. It was less effort just to giggle in the common room with her best friend and discuss what others did and thought rather than think about what her own opinions were.

And over the years, her own experiences installed in her the knowledge that getting more attention than most other girls didn’t mean that it was the right kind of attention, and that the average boy could be trusted as far as she could throw him without the aid of a hex. It was just safer to sit back behind the girly mask of lip gloss and eyeliner and gossip and hide while inside her real self curled up.

For six years it developed then continued like this, and showed little sign of abating. But the year she was due to take her NEWTs, she met someone who knew what it was like to be judged by what you showed to the outside world.

He had been a year ahead of her sister in Ravenclaw and was at Hogwarts to assist Slughorn in potion brewing. She had gone to see him for a headache remedy after a falling out with Madam Pomfrey had made her temporarily swear off the school nurse. He had been hesitant about giving her the remedy, not yet being an accredited Apothecary. She had felt touched by this show of scruples, and guilty, and so had offered to stay in the abandoned Potions classroom until the potion took affect. He had accepted. Their fingers had brushed as she had taken the vial.

True, he was no longer a student, but they were only six months apart and he never treated her like a silly schoolgirl. And for her part she found a strangely supportive ear, someone who would listen to her in all seriousness and encourage her to develop thoughts of her own. In turn she learned there was more to him than the tomfoolery he presented to others, and by and by both their masks, the ditzy and the relentlessly jovial, slipped. To the point where they had been discovered by a student returning for a missing textbook, conversing through much less reserved and sedate means to previously on a tabletop. She was surprised when there was little reaction from McGonagall or any of the other teachers. Apparently it had been accepted as a given, even before it had happened.

Five - 396 words

She and her two best friends had been inseparable at Hogwarts. There had always been a sort of halo around them; they had seemed to get out of the most unimaginable dangers on a day-to-day basis, and to just take it in stride with day-to-day student life. But even then he should have realised that not everyone would get out alive, even from those three.

The other two were both killed. She was left with scars, and not just in a figurative sense. The right side had won, but to her it probably made little difference.

These days they worked together in the same office, he and she. Trying to smoothen over relations with the Muggles that were already strained prior the war, and that were now close to the point of eruption. It was summer when he first found her seated at the previously empty desk adjacent to his own. The other witches wore short-sleeved robes with necklines as low as the dress code would allow. She didn’t.

To him the idea that her scars were repulsive was unthinkable. He couldn’t imagine anything on her, anything that was a part of her bare flesh, being less than beautiful. He had realised during their second month as colleagues why this was. So as she bent her beautiful swanlike neck – the one part of her body she still revealed - over scroll after scroll of policy, he covertly sketched. And sketched. Until one day she looked over and saw what he was doing. And he, summoning up the courage that they shared within their house, asked her to sit for him.

At first she agreed to a head portrait. And a head portrait only. Over time, though gentle reassuring, he managed to get her to reveal part of her arms and her upper décolletage. Then in time, more. When he asked to sketch her bare back, she protested. “But I’m ugly,” she said, blinking back tears.

“No you’re not,” he said, and kissed her. It was only after she’d removed the rest of her clothing and looked up into his eyes, expecting to see revulsion and finding only love instead, that she kissed him back.

As they lay in bed afterwards, the sunlight rippling over her pinkish skin, she took his hand and traced the scars. “At least they only exist on the outside now,” she said.

The End.

A Gryffindor-centric fic for once

Tue, 22 Aug 2006 02:44:11 GMT

Title: Something Old, Something New
Author: lucy_lupin
Dedicated to: a_life_verbatim
Set: Post-Hogwarts
Characters: Hermione, Ginny (major), Mystery Groom, Neville, Molly and Seamus (minor)
Pairing: Hermione/Mystery Groom, plus hints of various others, both canon and non-canon
Genre: Romance. We're talking fluffier than a duckling's backside here.
Rating: PG-13 for cracks about Seamus's "uncontrollable monkey" ;p
Word Count: 2,146
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: It's Hermione's big day, and she's suffering from nerves. Which aren't exactly being settled by Seamus and his insane monkey familiar. And just who is the lucky bloke? Gryffindor-centric, with various cameos from a variety of characters.

Author's Notes: Various people need to be mentioned for this. Firstly, nekiko27 for providing the inspiration for Seamus and his bedamned monkey. Secondly, the actress Rebecca Romjin provides a quote Ginny makes involving underwear which I couldn't possibly take credit for. Thirdly, a_life_verbatim for it being her birthday in the first place.

* ~ * ~ *
Ginny Weasley gazed at her friend’s reflection and grinned. “I never thought that this day would come.”

“I never thought that it would either.” Hermione Granger – for the time being anyway – adjusted her veil and tucked a stray curl behind one ear. “And now that it’s arrived, well, it just feels so soon and sudden.”

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you? You are having second thoughts. Here, this is what you need.” Ginny poured a flute of champagne – real champagne from the Champagne region of France, not just the “sparkling wine” stuff – and pushed it into Hermione’s hand. “Alcohol. The answer to half of lives problems, as Seamus would say.”

“And the cause of the other half of them,” Hermione said firmly. She’d only drunk on three other occasions: the Yule Ball during her fourth year, when she had come of age – and when she had got engaged. “After the ceremony I’ll have a glass. I just haven’t been able to eat anything all day and I don’t want to drink on an empty stomach. Vomiting all over the priest’s shoes would not be the most promising of starts to our new life together.”

“So you do plan on going through with it after all.” Ginny almost exhaled in relief. “You know,” she added more seriously, “if you hurt him, I’ll have to hunt you down and kill you.”

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Hermione laughed. “And of course I’m going through with it. It’s just that after months of planning, it seems to have come around so quickly. But this is the best day of my life. I’ve been dreaming of this since I was a little girl. Well, not so much the wedding in itself, but the marriage to come and meeting someone who I could grow old with. And it’s all that I expected and yet somehow different, somehow more.”

“And he’s the best thing that ever happened to you and whatnot,” Ginny added with a smirk.

“No, dear, I’m the best thing that happened to him,” Hermione corrected. Both girls burst out laughing.

There was a knock at the door. Ginny swooped across the room as if she was after the Snitch back in her school days. “Oi, you!” she hollered. “You’re not supposed to see the bride before the wedding. It brings bad luck.”

“It’s only me, Neville,” a nervous voice spoke up through the keyhole. “Are you two – er – decent? Can I come in?”

Ginny glanced over at Hermione, who nodded. She opened the door.

“Sorry!” Neville cried, floundering into the room. “I had to get out – someone fed Seamus’s monkey familiar some mead and now it’s started to hump my leg.” He stopped. “‘Mione. You look beautiful.”

Hermione winced. “Don’t call me that.”

“Not even on your wedding day?” Ginny grinned.

“Not even,” Hermione confirmed. “Neville, pull yourself together, then go back outside and tell Seamus to get his monkey back under control. Gabrielle doesn’t even arrive until the reception, after all.” Fleur Delacour’s sister had grown into a very pretty girl of seventeen.

“Er, right.” Neville gulped. “See you soon, Hermione. And you really do look amazing.”

Neville hadn’t even reached the door when it swung open and Mrs Weasley bounced inside. She was wearing a gown of dark blue velvet and the jewelled witch’s hat that Fred and George had given her all those Christmases ago. “Ginny, dear, you look beautiful,” she said. “I don’t know what Fleur was thinking when she said you couldn’t wear pink. The right shade-” She broke off as she took in Hermione and promptly burst into tears. “Oh, and I promised myself that I wouldn’t cry! Ron will have my head.”

“It’s alright, Mum,” Ginny said. Neville was patting her shoulder awkwardly.

“We won’t tell him,” Hermione said, trying not to smile him. Mrs Weasley was really an old dear. “You look quite nice yourself.”

“Oh, thank you, dear.” Mrs Weasley straightened up, wiping her cheeks. “I was wondering if velvet wasn’t too much of a winter fabric, but it did go well with the hat and I supposed that early summer mornings can still have a bit of coolness to them.” She was right – the air did have a bit of a bite to it. Not that Hermione noticed. Her hands were sweating madly and the bodice of her simple ivory gown seemed far too tight. “Anyway, what I came in to tell you is that the service will start in five minutes. Now don’t panic, dear. The two of you will have a wonderful life together. Who knows, perhaps there might soon be another wedding on my cards?” Her bright eyes shifted between Ginny and Neville.

“Neville, why don’t you go outside and calm Seamus’s monkey down?” Ginny suggested pointedly.

“But it’s got a mind of its own,” Neville protested.

“Neville,” Ginny warned. At the look on her face, Neville quickly exited the room, herding Mrs Weasley out with him.

Previously Hermione’s dress felt as if it was constricting her stomach. Now she felt as if she didn’t have one. “Oh Merlin,” she said, sinking onto a padded stool. “It’s finally happening. It’s actually happening. Oh my goodness. I can’t imagine why I’m so nervous,” she wailed. “It’s not like the old days – as if I’m still a virgin or something.”

Ginny pursed her lips at that unwanted snippet of information but otherwise made no other comment. “Well, it is a big change,” she said, pulling up another stool and sitting down next to Hermione. “I mean, I suppose. Not that I’ve ever been through it myself. Bill said it took him a while to get his head around it too, and as for Ron-”

“I can’t believe it’s happening,” Hermione repeated. Her lower lip trembled.

“Now look,” Ginny said, pulling her to her feet. “Don’t you start crying. Lavender and Parvati will have my head if you ruin your make-up before the ceremony. Besides, you'll get me started, and that wouldn't do. Wait until the reception-”

“When it’s too late for him to change his mind?” Hermione joked, giving a watery laugh.

“Don’t be silly. You two are perfect for each other. Not a couple I would have picked, but it works anyway. Now pull yourself together.”

Hermione gazed at her anxiously. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Why would I mind?” Ginny shrugged. “It happened a long time ago, and as Mum’s certainly noticed, everyone’s moved on. Anyway, I have something for you.” She reached into the little purse that accompanied her dress and pulled out a thin silver bracelet with one solitary sapphire hanging from it. “Mum’s very superstitious about these things and she’s got to me too. Neville gave me this for our anniversary. So I think that Sorts it into the “something borrowed” and “something blue” houses.” Her nose wrinkled. “Better the “something borrowed” for jewellery rather than – say – your knickers.”

“Ginny,” Hermione pleaded, trying to stifle her laughter yet look disapproving at the same time.

“I am Fred and George’s sister after all,” Ginny shrugged. “So, what do you have on that’s old and new then?”

“Old? The wedding dress.” Hermione ticked off items on her fingers. “It was my mother’s when she got married. New? How new does it have to be? My shoes, I suppose. I’ve never worn them before. Or if it has to be really new, my underwear. I only picked it up yesterday. I never thought of what would go under the dress until Lavender asked.”

“Lavender would ask,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Hermione shrugged. “After the reception we’ll probably be so exhausted that we’ll just tumble into bed and fall asleep. And it’s not stuff that I can wear under my normal clothes. He’ll probably never get to see it. Waste of money if you ask me.”

“You’ll see,” Ginny smirked. “Boys can have surprising reserves of energy in that area. Although I agree with you – to a point. I’ve never understood why some girls spend a lot of money on lingerie. If it’s doing its job, it should be off as soon as possible anyway.”

Hermione once again reflected how at ease Ginny was at discussing this particular topic. Which wasn’t remarkable in itself, but given just who she was about to embark upon holy matrimony with…She was startled out of her reflections by another knock on the door.

“Ladies,” came Seamus Finnegan’s voice, “you’re on.”

“Is that monkey of yours under control?” Ginny called back.

“It would be much happier if you only paid some attention to it,” was the reply. Even through the oak door Hermione could detect the Irishman’s mirth. Ginny rolled her eyes and reached for her wand, which Hermione quickly snatched up. “I’ll be seeing you after the ceremony, Freckles.”

“No you bloody well won’t,” Ginny muttered. At the look on Hermione’s face she quickly sobered up. “You’ll be fine. I have to go now. Just remember what Fleur said about it being fine once you get to see the other person’s face as you walk down the aisle. She’s a twit but she can occasionally say some wise things.”

“She’s not that bad,” Hermione murmured distractedly. Her stomach felt as if it was eating itself alive.

“Perhaps not.” As they were talking Ginny had taken Hermione’s elbow and steered her out into the foyer of the church. The main room, which had been full of chatter before, had now died into an expectant hush. “I’m walking down the aisle now,” she added softly, “and I expect you to follow me. Remember what Fleur said.” She arranged the train of her dress, then touched Hermione on the shoulder one last time and stepped through the entryway leading to the cathedral.

Hermione’s heart thudded under her breastbone. She ached to wipe her hands on something, but was afraid of ruining her mother’s dress. A dress that she had seen for years growing up, standing in a photo on the mantelpiece with her father’s suit and that would now have a new set of memories. Ginny had walked down the aisle ahead of her, the pale peach-like pink of her dress disappearing from sight around the corner. Now it was her turn.

For all her brashness Hermione hated crowds. Particularly if those crowds were assembled with the purpose of watching her do something. Just take one step, she told herself. Just one after the other, and then think about the second one. Somehow she made it to the entryway of the church. Neville was the first person she spotted, attempting to hold on to an enthusiastic monkey who was playing with the peacock feathers of Luna Lovegood’s overlarge hat. Luna herself was staring vaguely ahead at the front of the church, completely unaware of the scuffle taking place beside her. Zacharias Smith was seated next to her, wearing a suit of subtle grey and glowering at Seamus’s monkey. The twins were in the row behind him – but for once they were managing to behave themselves with Zacharias within range of their wands. Ron was seated close to the front, the former Miss Parkinson at his elbow. She nodded haughtily at Hermione, then turned and faced the priest. Lavender and Parvati were across the aisle in shades of lilac and apricot respectively, beaming up at Hermione like proud parents. Seamus was at the altar along with Ginny. He gave her a knowing wink.

Then she saw his face and all nerves, all thoughts of fleeing to Alaska or eloping somewhere equally remote fell out of her head. She couldn’t believe how easy this felt, how right it seemed. As the priest spoke she noted every word, but in a distant way, as if it was only background noise for the man in front of her and the steady way he looked into her eyes. She had always been aware of how much taller than her he was, how safe and small she had felt when dancing that one dance with him at the Yule Ball during their fourth year, but now that and every other facet of information that she had noticed during the last several years seemed familiar yet new, as if it had somehow been washed over with a fresh coat of paint. She almost started when the priest asked if he would take her to be his lawful wedded wife, his deep, steady voice confirming that was indeed his wish as he smiled down into her eyes.

“And do you, Hermione Jane Granger, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband, until death do you apart?”

“I do,” she beamed. “Except it’s Hermione Thomas now, actually.” The applause from the congregation dimly roared in her ears as Dean Thomas scooped her into his arms for their first kiss under her new name.

The End