'Summeries' based crack.

Drabbles

2007-12-01T01:22:49Z

A little late - my apologies!

Neville took a deep breath to steady his nerves. HIs pulse was racing and he was certain his hands were trembling. All because he knew it. He knew the answer!

Looking up, he caught Ginny's gaze across the table. Suddenly, Neville found himself doubting his previous certainty. Was he wrong? Had he made an error in his deduction? Ginny smiled at him as her left eyelid flickered in a wink. Neville found that comforting.

Breathing in, he nerved himself to speak out. It was his turn after all.

"I accuse Auror Umber, in the Owlery, with the Bottle of Antiquity."

“I've got a lead for you Harry,” Hermione exclaimed as she bustled into his office. Harry looked at her blankly. “On the unusually high number of Roman artifacts flooding onto the antiquities market,” she prompted.

“Oh yeah. That. What's the lead?”

“I've managed to track a shipment back to a warehouse in Lancashire. I want you to come and check it out with me.”

Harry objected – after all, she was the civilian and he was the professional, but eventually they did it Hermione's way.

They were astonished to find Nevillle Longbottom crouched in a converted weaving shed, cackling maniacally as he carefully sprinkled something from a plain-looking bottle over a clunky, roughly handmade pottery cup. When the tatty slipshod pottery cup turned into a fine artifact they were almost silent.

“I don't believe it!” Hermione breathed. “He's got a bottle of antiquity!”

“This is Gran's pride,” Neville said, laying his hand on an unassuming terracotta vessel. “She calls it her bottle of antiquity.”

“But it's not a bottle,” Hermione objected. Neville shot her a long-suffering look from under his eyebrows.

“We all know that, but still, that's what she calls it.”

“So does it do anything? I've not read anything about a Bottle of Antiquity.”

“Yeah. Any water poured into it turns into wine.”

“Wow!” Ron perked up with visible interest. “Sounds like a winner Nev.”

“Not really Ron. Have you ever tasted two thousand year old wine? 'Cos I have, and I can tell you it's really an acquired taste.”

Latest Challenge: Hermione Granger and the Amulet of Antiquity

2007-11-11T12:49:58Z

Follow the link to my journal to see my contributions to the latest challenge. I think of them as 'the Good, the Bad and the Ugly'

The 3 x 3 Challenge

2007-11-07T14:07:15Z

Hola, says Senor Draco! It's time for another challenge over here at perposterice. Here's how this one's going to work.

If you want to participate, leave a comment with the name of a character you want to write about. This can be a major character, an OC you've invented, a character from another series who screams out to be crossed over, a minor character like the Sorting Hat, a collective character like "the 7th year Slytherins" or an as yet unnamed character like "the heir of Hufflepuff." Anything you want. Then you must also give me two numbers between 1 and 20 (inclusive).

I'll reply to your comment with whatever words match up with your numbers on my secret lists (tm) to make a title, like so:

Harry Potter and the (5) Chamber of (18) Secrets.

Only, you know, chamber and secrets won't be options. You're more likely to get Blaise Zabini and the Library of Silliness or something along those lines.

You task, then, should you choose to accept it, is to write three (3) drabbles of at least 100 words each based on that title. You can do three snippets from an imagined longer fic, you can do three drabbles that tell a complete story on their own, you can do three beginnings or endings to possible stories with that title - it's up to you. But there must be three of them, 'cause it's thematic, see? :D

You'll have until the end of the month to post your resulting fics to the community, at which point I'll throw up a master list. Standard rules apply - give us pairing, ratings, and warnings up front, put the fic behind a cut, etc. Crack and non-crack is equally welcomed.

If you want to participate, drop me a comment here with your character and number selections. Any questions, let me know! Let the ficcing begin!

perposterice @ 2007-10-25T14:41:00

2007-10-25T18:46:18Z

Given the spirit of this community, I thought I'd point you guys to omniocular's November Challenge: the Totally Not Badfic Challenge. You can submit prompts here until November 1. Since omniocular is a gen community, prompts should have some leeway to be written without romance, but that's the only restriction. Show some badfic summary love!

As for this community, I've got a drabble challenge coming up for November as well, so get your drabble fingers ready.

Mod post - Senor Draco does not approve of spoilers

2007-06-06T21:31:05Z

Hi guys. I had hoped to put this off until, like, a month from now, but seeing that some other communities have already had the first jerks posting (fake) spoilers, I just wanted to let you know that I've put this community on moderated posting. All this means is that your posts will go into a list and one of the mods will have to approve them before they get posted. Obviously we're just going to approve everything unless it's an obvious troll with spoilers, so there's no need to give us a heads up - just post as normal and we'll get to them as soon as we can. There hasn't been a lot of traffic here lately so I'm sure it won't be too much of a problem - I just want to help keep you all happy and spoiler free.

The community will remain spoiler free until the release of book 7. After that point spoilers will be allowed if they are CLEARLY LABELED and BEHIND A CUT. The community will remain on moderated status until two weeks after the book release.

Any questions - drop a comment or an email. :D

AN TRAGIC TAIL OF UNREQUITED LOVE

2007-04-06T07:25:31Z

[[good goddess, I can't even look at this. VD BD GD DD ZD XD]]

Of course I can spell 'unrequited'. Drr. I looked it up specially for the perposterice poetry challenge.

This is a poem about love and broken hearts. warning! if you can't handle robots or clones or love or artsy poems, just click away. Hope you like it tho.

Servus Snape Once Loved a Woman With All His Hearts
Or, An Accusatory, Post-Mortem Love Letter to Maud Qghtblup

Oh he watched her sway like fat bottom bayobob trees (or is that fat top?)
and he knew that his objective was to please
to observe (and bake her ~~cookies~~ biscuits)
he couldn't help its
as each of his four mechanical hearts fell victim
to her fickle, well-fed whim
and the ~~sway~~ ~~gurth~~ ~~mass~~ ~~wiggle~~ sway of her
~~fat~~ ~~hippy~~ ~~wide~~ ~~meaty~~ luxirient derrear

he lost the first at breakfast
when he served her ~~cereal~~ ~~pancakes~~ ~~toast~~ a repast (as he'd been engeered to do by the original snape)
the second at tea
though she paid no attention to the ~~m&ms~~ sugar violets that spelled out 'luv me'
the third went with a loud, squelching sigh
over a dinner of roast beasts and wine
the fourth went quietly when she patted him on the head and shut the door
~~half-eight~~ ~~half-seven~~ seven thirty (just after dinner) saw him lying on the floor

puddles of potion and motor oil
leaking from his chest like... burst boils
his gears lost in a mire
of dark, denied desire
though he was made to serve
he was also a capable perv
but his mechanical hearts all crumbled from shock
and there also died his coin-operated co love.

omgsosad I'm gonna go watch OTH omg so hot. cheer me up-- R&RPLZ

Poetic Summary Challenge

2007-04-06T05:20:03Z

This is a summary for a fic titled xXBleeding PassionsXx by male_foy_luvr295 ~~crack? moi?~~

The Summery:
Harrie's back from summer vay-cay,
cutting himself every day
to deal with the pain of being molested;
Gallons of galleons into Hot Topic have been invested.

Potter's on the Astronomy tower to attempt suicide
(all that Evanescence sure has got his brain fried),
when who should appear but Draco Malfoy?
Ferret's boysmexy love saves the life of Scar-boy!

This was fun; I might do another one later!

Mod post - April Poetry Challenges

2007-04-05T13:58:05Z

Hello all! Since April is National Poetry Month, I think it's high time perposterice took advantage of that to torment us all. :D So I'm issuing two challenges.

1. Poetic Summary - Write a fic summary in the vein of the ones this community is known for, only in verse! The lamer your rhymes, the better.

2. Write a poem based on one of the summaries from last batch of Summary Executions. Make sure to carry the horrible punctuation and spelling throughout! :D

In conclusion, I'll leave you with this:

There was a great fan named mctabby
Whose Sum. Executions were fab-y.
We love Senor Draco
And he loves to make-o
Bad fics where we laugh 'till we're flabby.

*bows*

New Summary Executions is up

2007-01-22T14:40:32Z

Summary Executions part XLI is now up at mctabby's journal. As always, feel free to post your "summery"-inspired icons and ficlets here!

I should also note that I'm planning an exchange for this community in the next few weeks, so stay tuned!

A Fic With A Very Long Name

2006-10-23T04:14:22Z

Title: The Quidditch Team, the Peeping Tom and the Cheerleading House-Elves
Word count: 6,000
Author: cheryl_bites
'Summery' or 'summeries' it's based on: “DMHG relationship in later chapters Hermione's POV when the two teens are chosen to be head boy and girl, they also find out that they must share a room (and a bed) and be kind to one another on threat of losing their position.”
Summary: Dumbledore decrees that the members of each of the Hogwarts Quidditch teams must share a bed in order to improve their teamwork. It works, in manner of speaking. *Deep breath* Katie/Alicia, Fred/Angelina, George/Harry, Ron/Cho.
Rating: 15 as usual. Warnings: sexual references, fighting, snogging, mild swearing, drunkenness. Slash, femslash, het. Think that’s all.

This is from Babb Chronicles, not Summary Executions. Looking back through the older entries, I found a complaint about fics in which the Head Girl and Boy are made to share a bedroom and how ridiculous this well-worn plot device is. In this particular fic, though, Draco and Hermione have to share a bed, and Dumbles spies on them to make sure they’re being nice. I’m not sure the author really thought this concept through.

The Quidditch Team, the Peeping Tom and the Cheerleading House-Elves

Monday, 9:32am

“As you know,” beamed Dumbledore, “for many years, the Head Boy and Head Girl of Hogwarts have shared a room, a bathroom and a double bed. This is for the purpose of promoting team spirit and unity, and I have implanted a secret Watching Charm in their room to – er – make sure that unity is being promoted. Yes. I am sure you all approve of this effort to improve school morale.

“However, certain others,” he went on with a sigh, giving a beady sideways glance at Dolores Umbridge, “have doubts, and have questioned the utility of our great team-building exercise. Therefore, I am most proud to be able to prove that the principle of cooperation extends to all areas of Hogwarts. Tomorrow, all the Quidditch teams will be sharing a bed as well!”

There was a silence so gargantuan that its vacuum sucked the entire universe into its ghastly depths. The twenty-eight unlucky Quidditch victims sat there buttock-eyed until it occurred to Harry that this arrangement might have some benefits.

“Erm – Professor,” he called, “Is this all four Quidditch teams? In... together?”

“Most certainly not,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. “A fine sort of team spirit that would foster! No, we’ve procured four tents, one for each house, which will be erected in the grounds tomorrow afternoon; and Professor Sprout has kindly agreed to sit up with the Hufflepuff team to, er, keep an eye on things.”

“That’ll make the Hufflepuffs’ night,” Ron said absently.

“In short, I’m sure it will all be excellent!” a beaming Dumbledore wound up. “Members of the Quidditch teams should please report to Professor Sprout for a list of things they are allowed to take into their tents. Now, you may eat your breakfast, and we’ll all see the improvement in your Quidditch at the next match! Tuck in!”

“Ha!” Fred Weasley said exultantly, punching the air. “Now they’ll see who’s the best Quidditch squad! Should have put some girls in your teams, shouldn’t you, boys?” he demanded rhetorically, leering at the Slytherins.

Harry was pleased to see that Malfoy indeed looked less than aroused at the thought of spending a night in Crabbe and Goyle’s embrace.

“Er – what d’you mean, they should have put some girls in their team?” demanded Katie Bell.

“Well – y’know,” said Fred with a sly but sheepish grin.

”All night in a tent,” George said happily.

“Blokes and girls in together,” continued Fred.

“Anything could happen!” exulted George.

“Like me and Katie might have a snog in the corner ON OUR OWN,” said Alicia Spinnet.

“Oh,” said Fred, crestfallen.

Monday, 8:53pm

“Thing is,” Fred muttered anxiously, “I’m not sure about this Watching Spell that Dumbledore says he’s got up in the Head Girl and Boy’s room.”

“It sounds like a basic Panopticon Charm to me,” Hermione said briskly as she knitted little babuskas for the house-elves. “You can disrupt it quite easily using the Occludus Hex, I’ll teach you how, or alternatively you can use the Peepshow Charm to make him see things that aren’t really there.”

“You can?” said George, eyes wide.

“If he’s really watching,” Hermione amended. “I mean, if anybody’s watching. If there’s a charm, that is. I mean...”

“I always had him down as a pervert,” muttered Ron.

“How are we to know if there is a charm on the tent?” Harry said doubtfully.

“Er... point your wand in the air and say ‘Occludus’?” Hermione said feebly.

Monday, 9:12pm

“Master Harry Potter!” the house-elf squeaked in surprise, peeping fearfully round the kitchen door as though anticipating a monster. “Is long time since we is seeing you here, Harry Potter, long time indeed.”

“Yeah, hi, er-? What’s your name?”

“Gongo, sir. Can I be helping you?”

“Erm, yeah, I wanted to talk to Dobby, if that’s all right.”

“Dobby is leading Sockalist Party meeting, sir,” Gongo shouted happily, “but Harry Potter is welcome to wait half an hour, sir, then Dobby will be happy to serve him, yes, he will...”

“Right. I might just leave a message?”

“Certainly, sir, but be quick, Gongo wants to get back to common ownership of the means of production, sir.”

“OK, excellent. Could you ask Dobby if he’s seen my Sneakoscope, because I can’t find it, and I’m sure I left it inside some socks...”

“Socks! Socks!”

“...yeah, some socks that I gave him a while ago, and I need it for the Quidditch team sleepover thing tomorrow.”

“Gongo will be happy to pass on the message of Harry Potter, the Seneschal of the Socks!”

“...Thanks. BYE!”

Monday, 9:57pm

Crack! “Harry Potter, sir! Dobby has your Sneakoscope!”

“Thank you, Dobby,” whispered Harry, trying valiantly not to cast a quick Silencio to prevent the elf’s waking the whole of Gryffindor Tower. “Well. Perhaps that should be, Thank you, Prime Minister.”

“Ah, Harry Potter is too generous!” whispered Dobby, for once in his life catching on and lowering his voice. “Dobby is not Prime Minister yet!”

“Mmm. You’ve got to start somewhere, though. Yeah, that’s it, great – no, you can keep the socks. And... Dobby... what the?...”

Dobby was ecstatically brandishing a crate about three feet cubed. Harry wasn’t even sure how he was lifting it, let alone what was inside.

“Dobby has heard about the Quidditch team sleepover thing, Harry Potter,” he whispered, “so Dobby brought him a crate of Butterbeer, and some Firewhiskey too.”

Harry opened his mouth to say that really hadn’t been necessary, then suddenly realised what the Weasley twins would think. He smiled sweetly and said “That’s great, Dobby. You’re the best elf in the world.”

This caused a minor whirlwind, as Dobby spun round excitedly, jammed the crate into the nearest window embrasure and shouted “Dobby does not forget his emancipator, Harry Potter! A place in Dobby’s cabinet will be reserved for his Sockretary, and none shall ever harm him!” Crack!

“Thank god he’s gone,” moaned Ron.

“Sorry,” said Harry, “but he did get us a crate of Butterbeer. Help me get it out of the window.”

Tuesday, 5pm

An odd procession of twenty-nine people made its way to the Quidditch pitch: eight happy-looking Hufflepuffs, seven sulking Slytherins, seven relatively cheerful Ravenclaws and seven cackling, over-excited Gryffindors.

At the front door they were, of course, stopped by Filch, who was armed with a Probity Probe, a Secrecy Sensor and a gleeful expression. Before long Crabbe, with the Probe still jammed up his nose, had been relieved of nine bottles of Butterbeer and a case of Dungbombs, and even some of the Ravenclaws had been found to possess contraband items; but when the time came to check the Gryffindors, Filch was infuriated to see that every member of the team swore earnestly that they had no hidden goods, with the Probe remaining quiescent in agreement. He turned all their bags out on the ground to relieve his feelings, but found nothing, and Professor Sprout eventually insisted that he give up so they could all get a move on. The Gryffindors marched happily off to the Quidditch pitch, Fred and George waving cheerfully at Filch, whose glaring face resembled a particularly unhygienic gargoyle.

Tuesday, 5:35pm

Under Professor Sprout’s guidance, the teams put up four tents, rather widely spaced, and built four bonfires. Harry stood with an armful of bracken, staring glassily at Cho Chang; he couldn’t help wondering how she could be expected to sleep in a tent with six lads, and speculated hopefully as to whether she might be persuaded to sneak off with him instead.

Whack! “Ow!”

“Sorry, mate,” said George, grappling with a long birch branch. “Grab that end, will you?”

5:42pm

“Harry, I can’t remember what you do with these ropes.”

“They go in the ground and you hit them with a hammer. You must remember your dad doing it.”

“Well, yeah. I mean, who could forget?... But you can’t hit ropes with a hammer.”

“They ought to have pegs, Ron.”

“...Oh.”

6:02pm

Professor Sprout made a tour of the tents and pronounced them satisfactory, then conjured foam rubber mattresses and sleeping bags with a wave of her wand. The Gryffindors dumped their bags in the tent and charged gleefully outside to light their bonfire.

The sky was now dark amber and some of the other students had cast Light Spells to help them find their way about; they were visible as little blue nimbi at the other end of the pitch. This made for an extremely pretty scene, but, more to the point, was perfect for sneaking.

Lighting his wand, Fred whispered to Harry, “Wait until it’s properly dark before you set off, OK? If anyone asks where you’ve gone, I’ll say you’ve gone for a piss.”

“Right,” said Harry, then, “Fred – do we actually have any toilets?”

“Yes, Dumbledore conjured a little toilet block in the middle of the pitch.”

“Oh. Thank god for that.”

“Yeah,” Fred agreed. “The next match might have been a bit messy.”

6:13pm

The sun had set and it was sufficiently dark for the students to be visible only as groping myrmidons in the ultramarine gloom. Harry picked his moment and sneaked away to a clump of hawthorns to the west of the Quidditch pitch.

Even though he knew their wanton cache was there, it was quite unnerving to see the space between the hawthorns. He extended a hand and was relieved to feel the top of the Butterbeer crate. Whisking the Invisibility Cloak off it, he spread it over himself and started slowly lugging the crate back to the Gryffindor tent.

6:21pm

The campfire session, directed by Professor Sprout, was surprisingly good fun. Their scran included sausages on sticks, lumps of bread to toast, and the finest fire-related items from Honeydukes: Cinder-Toffee Salamanders, which crawled all over the bonfire until they were properly cooked, and Marshmallow Bombs, which when buried in the embers would eventually explode and spray floating marshmallows everywhere.

There were also three large jugs of pumpkin juice for each team. George handed them to Harry and stared at him meaningfully. Harry sneaked round to the back of the Gryffindor tent, Vanished the pumpkin juice and replaced it with Butterbeer.

Katie went innocently to get her first glass of pumpkin juice, gave a squeak of surprise and said “This is – ” before suddenly shutting up.

Harry, Ron and the twins nodded and grinned like loons.

“It’s what?” Angelina said suspiciously. “What have you two done to it, Fred? If you’ve put any of your weird inventions in it I’ll – ”

“Nah, Harry got it for us,” Fred said happily.

“There’s nothing wrong with it, Angelina,” Harry assured her, hoping there wasn’t. It was Dobbified Butterbeer, after all.

Angelina took a glass, took a mouthful with a most distrustful expression and underwent a sudden revelation. She smacked her lips, looked thoughtful and said “Nice work, Harry. Anyone got a pint glass?”

If Professor Sprout wondered why the Gryffindor team looked so much happier than the rest, she didn’t ask.

7:04pm

Harry was reacquainting himself with the pleasure of having the front of his body toasted by the bonfire while his back grew cooler and cooler, then turning round. It was a Sassenachishly dry night and the stars were bright and sumptuous; watching the sparks fly up towards them gave him a warm, fuzzy glow, although that might have been the Butterbeer.

“Do wizards have bonfire night?” he asked Ron rather randomly.

“Nope,” said Ron. “What’s bonfire night?”

“Fifth of November?”

“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about that. Well, the Muggles can be quite noisy, so we sometimes have a firework party to drown them out. Dad gets a bit worried about Muggles with fireworks, he says the Death Eaters might plant magical ones that kill people when they go off.”

“We’ve been working on magical fireworks,” Fred contributed. “Not the killing-people variety, though. Except maybe for Umbridge...”

“Wow! Could you let some off now?” Harry said enthusiastically.

“Oh, yes, Harry,” Fred said, rolling his eyes, “because fireworks are such subtle and unobtrusive things, and there’s no way Sprout or Dumbledore would notice.”

“Sprout could supervise,” Harry suggested hopefully.

“Doesn’t matter, they’re not finished yet,” said George, arriving with yet more Butterbeer. “All they do so far is make rude noises and clouds of green smoke, so that rules them out. I’m not setting off Slytherin fireworks.”

“Unless we put them out by pissing on them,” Fred said with relish.

7:16pm

The Hufflepuffs had broken out the campfire songs, and the by then very jolly Gryffindors decided to so some of their own. Before long the pitch resounded to the tones of “Kumbayah”, “Ging Gang Goolies” (an amendment made by Fred) and, of course, the Hogwarts school song, still sung in several different tunes. All these, however, were eclipsed by the hugely popular “Slytherin Are Losers”, sung to the tune of the conga while performing the dance round their bonfire in a seven-person crocodile. This was highly successful and went on for some time, possibly because it provided an open goal for covert cuddling.

“Get your hand off my nips, Fred,” yelled George at the front of the conga.

“That’s nothing, you should see where Angelina’s got me!”

7:50 pm

“Harry,” whispered Fred, “have you still got your invisibility cloak?”

“He doesn’t look very invisible,” observed George.

“Oi,” said Katie Bell, “you needn’t pretend we’re not here, Fred. I can see you whispering to Harry. We can’t very well improve the teamwork by you lot doing something secret that we can’t join in.”

“But we were going to suggest pushing the Slytherins in their bonfire, so you won’t want to join in anyway,” George said reasonably.

“Oh, yes, I will,” said Katie, a manic glint appearing in her eyes.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Fred said, eyeing Katie apprehensively. “She looks a bit too enthusiastic.”

“Angelina! Angelina!” shouted Katie, capering off to the Butterbeer jugs where their mighty leader was topping up her glass. “We’ve got a plan to murder the Slytherins!”

“Really?” said Angelina appreciatively, rejoining the others and throwing her arm around Fred’s shoulders (Ron looked away, aghast). “I hope it involves sending them to Uranus with strategically placed rockets.”

“Nah,” said Harry, “their fireworks don’t.”

“Harry, you had to tell her that,” Fred said reproachfully. “You just wait till I see you trying to impress your girlfriend.”

“Hell freezes over,” mumbled Harry.

“Well, what do they do, then?” Angelina demanded.

“Well...” demurred George. “Kind of make farting noises and produce green smoke.”

“Well, we could let one off anyway in their tent,” observed Katie, “but they just probably wouldn’t notice anything unusual. I still reckon we should just – ”

“ – just shove them in the bonfire,” chorussed the rest of the squad, great minds clearly thinking alike.

“It’s a good thing Wood’s not still on the team,” mused Angelina. “We’d have had to tie him up or he’d actually have gone and done it.”

“That is a good thing,” said Alicia. “I haven’t forgotten how many times they’ve fouled us.”

“Maybe we could sneak up to their tent in the night,” Ron said thoughtfully, “and find out if Malfoy really is bumming Crabbe and Goyle.”

In the general storm of revulsion that followed, George said “That’s the worst idea anyone’s had since You-Know-Who’s dad decided not to use a condom.”

“Unless he’s sneaked that Pansy Parkinson into his tent,” said Angelina, her features acquiring a daemonic cast. “That’d be the right time to use one of your fireworks.”

Harry wistfully contemplated sneaking off to the Ravenclaw tent and abducting Cho Chang, but the fantasy seemed rather faded. He decided he was actually enjoying this more.

8:17pm

George Weasley became bored, went to the toilet and came back with an enormous amount of bog roll wrapped round the top of his head. Grabbing Harry round the throat and shaking him gently back and forth, he yelled, “I am Professor Quirrell, and you die now, boy!”

8:46pm

“Right, I want all your tents ready to sleep in by nine,” bawled Professor Sprout, trundling between the four bonfires. “Spread out your sleeping bags and get all your rubbish out of the way, I don’t want anyone tripping over in the night and breaking their neck...”

“Does she really expect us to go to bed at nine o’ clock?” complained Ron, who was checking the tent very carefully for spiders. Harry and Fred, meanwhile, were dragging the Invisibility Cloak over the whisky box and hiding it all over again. Professor Sprout peeped in, nodded in approval and sodded off.

“Is that it?” spluttered Harry. “We needn’t even have bothered hiding the bloody thing it that’s all she was going to do!” They lugged in the crate once more. Ron had carefully laid his foam rubber in the exact centre of the groundsheet, reasoning that this would keep him farthest from the spiders. Katie and Alicia, meanwhile, had set themselves up in a corner and were already snogging.

Harry detached his Sneakoscope from its socks and placed it carefully on top of the empty whisky crate, ready to spin lest Dumbledore should spy on them. Turning to Fred and George, he admonished, “Now, don’t put beetles in anyone’s soup, all right?”

“Especially mine,” shuddered Ron.

George brandished a deck of cards and said happily, “How about Exploding Snap?”

9:05pm

Harry, Angelina and the Weasleys, lubricated by large amounts of Butterbeer, became ever more vehement in their pursuit of playing-card twindom. Fred, moreover, decided to seat himself in Angelina’s lap. His snapping performance suffered accordingly.

“This has got to be the best idea Dumbledore’s ever had,” he announced, wobbling perilously backwards. “I reckon it was worth making the Head Boy and Girl suffer.”

“Who even are the Head Boy and Girl?” asked Ron, trying not to look at where Fred’s right hand was.

“Who cares?”

“Tight for them to have to share a bed,” Angelina said absently. “Imagine if it was a Gryffindor and a Slytherin.”

“What if I get made Head Boy?” worried Harry.

“Or Ronniekins,” said Fred. “He’s a Prefect already, so...”

“Take it and shove it, Fred,” said Ron.

“You can’t want Dumbledore to spy on your own brother,” Harry said, disturbed.

“I hope he spied on Percy,” Ron said vindictively. “Except it might traumatise him for life.”

“Merlin,” whispered Angelina, bursting out laughing, “Look at Katie and Alicia!”

Harry looked, and guffawed as quietly as possible. The Chasers had clearly availed themselves of the same hawthorn clump where Harry had hidden the Butterbeer; they had surrounded their corner with a wall of branches about three feet high, presumably to keep out unwanted males. Past the thorns very little was perceptible apart from lots of hair, a lone hand and occasional slurping noises.

“They’re so sweet,” Angelina said fondly to no one in particular. “They’re really in love with each other. Don’t it just bring tears to your little eyes?”

“Yes,” Harry said glumly, contemplating his vacant love life.

“Snap!” shrieked Fred and Ron, blowing up the deck in Harry’s face.

9:27pm

Fred and Angelina were spread out on one of the foam rubbers snogging devoutly, looking, Harry mused, like some sort of modern art sculpture entitled Legs II. George cast his twin occasional proud glances; Ron, meanwhile, was not amused, and had one hand held permanently to the side of his face to prevent his finding out whether they were doing more than snogging. After five minutes he cracked, settled down puritanically with his back to them, and announced that it was time to break out the Firewhiskey.

“What?” said George in amazement. “You sound so authoritative, my good man. I didn’t know you’d ever even had a pint at the pub in Ottery.”

“C’mon, George, everyone knows how to drink,” said Ron, rolling his eyes. I can show you how if you want. You pour some in a bottle, then you open your mouth...”

“Or shut your mouth, in your case,” said George. “And if you’re not careful I’ll tell Mum.”

“Try,” retorted Ron. “Like you’re even allowed to drink either!”

“Ah, you won’t tell anyone, will you?” said Harry, who rather liked the idea of christening his liver. “I mean, seeing as Dobby gave us it and everything, we might as well put it to good use.”

“Well,” mused George, “I see your point...”

9:31pm

The first thing they discovered was that Dobby hadn’t included glasses, necessitating the consumption of Firewhiskey via empty Butterbeer bottle. Once George had explained to Harry that you didn’t actually fill the entire bottle, this worked well. During this little speech, Ron seized the opportunity to cast a Dilution Jinx on his Firewhiskey; he wasn’t opposed to mild merriness, but getting sloshed in front of Fred and George would be signing his own death warrant, humiliation-wise.

They clinked their bottles expectantly and all took a sip. There was a brief silence while George grimaced, Ron carefully copied him, and Harry gulped with tears streaming down his face and finally said “Quite strong, isn’t it?”

“Now you WAIT A WHILE before you drink the next bit,” George said firmly. “No – stop – Harry, you don’t drink it like water!”

“I was thinking I’d get it over with,” said Harry, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“I can see why it’s called Firewhiskey,” coughed Ron.

“Too strong for you?” leered George. “Aww, ickle baby Ron can’t take his drink!”

“I can!” Ron said faux-indignantly, and took another glug, rejoicing that his ploy appeared to have worked. Harry and George promptly copied him. Harry was pleased, albeit surprised, to discover that the awful taste had mostly gone away.

10:10pm

Harry was sitting, or rather slouching, on the floor in a pose of total abandonment, giggling loudly.

“Oh god,” groaned George, “Harry’s a giggler.”

“I am not!” said Harry, and giggled again.

“You’re not much better,” Ron said triumphantly. “I’m holding it better than you!” and he finished his bottle of diluted Firewhiskey with a flourish and poured himself some more, making a mental note not to drink too much of it.

“Yeah,” said George with a regretful hiccup. “If I’d known you were such a tough little git I’d have made sure I spiked it.”

Ron silently awarded himself the Medal of Magical Merit.

“This is blinding,” giggled Harry. “Dumbledore should make us do it every night.”

“Possibly not before a match, Harry,” George said dryly, or, rather, the opposite of dryly. “I wouldn’t want to take on the Slytherins with a hangover. Ron, I really shouldn’t have any more of this, make me stop,” he said, and took another beb.

10.17pm

Harry’s Sneakoscope, which had been thinking about going off ever since Ron started faking his Firewhiskey, suddenly detonated with a painfully loud squealing noise. Everyone jumped. The two snogging couples cracked their heads together and swore; the drinkers spilt Firewhiskey everywhere.

“Dumbledore’s looking in on us!” shouted George, running everywhere and waving his arms. “Come on, everyone, Dumbledore’s looking in on us! Let’s tell him what he can do!”

“Sod off, Dumbledore!” cried Alicia and Katie, not bothering to untangle themselves or move.

“TAKE THIS, DUMBLEDORE!” shouted George. “BEHOLD THE WEASLEY BUTTOCKS!” and with that his jeans dropped round his ankles to display his magnificent cleavage. He did a jumping war-dance all over the tent without even falling over, which was quite impressive in his state; from all around came shrieks of horror, cheers of congratulation, and helpless giggles. “Take that, you old sod!” he roared, pointing a skinny finger at random parts of the tent. “That’ll teach you, you randy, mouldy pervert! Don’t spy on the Gryffindors!”

When he eventually finished his peroration, he began to notice shouts of “Urgh”, “Hey, George, what’s that on your arse?” and “George, your boils, mate,” and remembered his little problem. He blushed and covered his bum with his hands. Ron gave up trying not to puke and ran off for the toilets.

“Bugger me, George,” Harry slurred, stifling his giggles (mostly) and crawling across the tent. “What the hell are those things? Are they warts?”

“I got them as a side-effect of our experiments, if you remember,” he said with maximum dignity. “I can’t make them go away again. And Dumbledore might as well see them, as well,” he added, bending over and waggling his bum at the ceiling.

“Urgh, they look horrible,” Harry observed in fascination, poking George’s arse.

Ron ran back in, shouted “Angelina, the Slytherins are trying to piss on our bonfire,” and ran out again. Fred and Angelina immediately jumped to their feet and sprinted out of the tent. Everybody else was too drunk or too loved-up to move.

“OW!!!!!!” bellowed George as Harry’s finger found a particularly painful boil.

“Sorry, George. Do they hurt?” Harry slurred earnestly.

“Yes, Harry, they do,” George said between gritted teeth.

“You should try my Murtlap essence, I’ve got some in my bag.”

“Try your what?”

Harry was rummaging drunkenly through his bag. “I know it’s here somewhere...”

10:19pm

“OI! Malfoy!” Angelina roared, stamping out to the bonfire like, well, a very angry Angelina Johnson, which is a sight frightening enough to require no metaphor. “Get your dick out of my bonfire before you give it an STD!”

“You probably gave it the STD,” Malfoy sneered, shaking off his penis and backing away from Angelina; he couldn’t hit a bird, after all, and it was easier to just all stand around and laugh at her.

“The hell I did, you caught it from your dirty girlfriend. That’s the one with the dirty mouth, and don’t think I forgot what she said, because I haven’t,” she shouted, grabbing Malfoy by the collar of his robes and lifting him up to her eye level. “You’re a sneery, snotty little bigot that needs his girlfriend to do his insults for him. You’re a wimp, Malfoy, nothing but one, you’re a wimp.”

Angelina had had a few shots of Firewhiskey too, and a drunken Angelina was even scarier than one stone cold sober. Malfoy’s lips went white, although he tried to cover up with a sneer and a defensive laugh.

“You’re pathetic, the most pathetic team that’s ever been at Hogwarts. All you’re good for is sledging. The reason you spend so much time sledging is because you’re no bloody good at nothing else,” she roared at the Slytherins in general. “Big mouths are what Slytherins are good for, kids.” Putting Malfoy down, she drove him further and further backwards with six jabs of a bony finger: “You got big MOUTHS, big MUSCLES, small DICKS, and small BRAINS. GOT IT?!”

Malfoy, realising it was him that was being made to look ridiculous, broke and ran, shouting “Cow!” over his shoulder. The remaining Slytherins fell into disarray and were easy prey for Fred and Ron, who grabbed flaming branches from the bonfire and chased them round the Quidditch pitch.

10:22pm

Harry, once again giggling helplessly, was kneeling behind George and massaging the Murtlap essence into his posterior. George had started off with yelps of shock, first because the liquid was cold and second because Harry was fondling his arse, but had by now assumed a litany of “Oh – yeah – aaargh! Yes – right there – that’s it – Oh!”

“Do you two realise you sound as if you’re having sex?” Alicia enquired drowsily from behind the lesbian barricade.

“I do,” retorted George. “He doesn’t, listen to him! OUCH!”

“I do,” giggled Harry. “Ooh-hee-hee-hee-hee! Stop moving around.”

“Is it working?” asked Katie with clinical interest.

“Oh yes – ha ha! – they’re shrinking away,” Harry assured her. “They’ve nearly vanished now.”

“I – aargh! – I love you, Harry, you’re a life saver,” George said fervently. “I’ve tried everything to get these to go.”

Harry, meanwhile, was rather less concerned with the medical aspects of the situation. “George,” he giggled, entranced, “you’ve got a beautiful backside. It’s all, like, smooth and white.”

Katie and Alicia gave twins shrieks of horrified mirth. George spluttered.

“There’s not even a freckle,” said Harry, peering in awe at George’s callipygian haunches. “It’s really pretty,” and he underlined this by kissing it.

10:27pm

Angelina discovered that if she stood in the same spot and waited, the Slytherins would eventually run round in a circle, chased by George and Ron, and come right back to her, enabling her to hex them one by one and chortle at the screams. Really, it was a pity they hadn’t shoved them in the bonfire.

10:29pm

George was sitting on his sleeping bag with his back to the whisky box. Kneeling astride him was Harry, who was kissing him soundly on the mouth with an ecstatic expression. George wasn’t quite sure there was anything sexy going on, because he was sure he’d seen that expression before when Harry was eating treacle tart; but it held such rapture he decided it would be rude to intervene.

10:36pm

“Wouldn’t it be interesting to be one of the twins?” pondered Katie, snuggled up comfortably into Alicia and their conjoined sleeping bags.

“What, mad?” Alicia said sleepily.

“Well, hyper and doing more or less everything at once.”

“Yes. Mad!... It would be interesting, though.”

“They always manage to pull, too. It’s quite remarkable really.”

“Considering they can both be arses. Well, yes.”

“Don’t mention arses!”

They both cackled for some time.

10:49pm

Harry was once again giggling, this time in rapture. He had persuaded George to lie on top of him, which had been a very good move. George had a very nice torso as well as nice buttocks, as far as he could figure out from feeling it through his shirt; at least, it was warm and squeezable and hard. He also had nice hair, through which Harry was running his fingers.

“You’ve got beautiful hair, George. You’ve got really beautiful hair.”

“You’ve got beautiful eyelashes, Harry,” George informed him, having examined them minutely over the preceding minutes.

“”It’s really soft and shiny, your hair. It’s a really odd colour. I’ve never seen hair like that. It matches your eyebrows.”

“Yeah, right. I’m a ginger,” snorted George.

“You’re a goooooorgeous ginger,” Harry crooned. “Gorgeous Gorge. I mean, Gorgeous George. Hee hee.”

A tired but happy Angelina and Ron marched in and started demolishing the remaining Butterbeer. “Bloody hell,” said Angelina, “who’s that snogging George?”

“It’s meeeeeee,” sang Harry, giggling again. “I love you, George.”

Frowning, Angelina took a gulp of Butterbeer and said “I didn’t know Harry liked him. Did you, Ron?”

“No,” said Ron feebly, privately thinking that his eyeballs were going to spontaneously combust.

“I’ve always liked George,” Harry said sleepily. “He’s always been good to me, haven’t you, George? Ever since you helped me on the train.”

“You’re a top guy, Harry,” George assured him. He decided woozily that it was best not to get too sentimental, because in the morning Harry would probably be the most embarrassed person in the world. Still, for the moment things seemed to be going all right.

11:01pm

Fred had magically attached the blazing branches to his head and was standing topless in front of the Slytherins’ bonfire, shouting, “I am the god of hellfire! And I bring you...”

11:19pm

While Ron and Angelina gave a rousing chorus of “Ten Butterbeer Bottles”, and the Ravenclaws an equally lusty rendition of “Shut up!”, Harry suddenly found himself more or less sober. Well, a bit more lucid, anyway.

“George, did I just tell you I loved you and you’re my best mate about a thousand times?” he asked.

“Yes, you did,” confirmed George.

“You won’t let me pretend I didn’t say it in the morning, will you?”

“Erm...”

“It’s true, I do love you. You’ve always helped me out.”

“Of course I helped you out. You deserve it.”

“And you make me laugh,” said Harry, kissing him some more. “And you’re gorgeous. And you’re fit as a Hagrid’s monster. And you’re a great Beater. And...”

“Whereas you’re just a great Seeker with a really cute face who gave me a thousand galleons, oh, and saved the world.”

“That’s never got me many girlfriends up till now,” Harry mumbled.

“It still hasn’t,” George reminded him.

“Will you be my boyfriend?” Harry said hopefully.

“Not half,” George said fervently, and resumed snogging. Harry snogged back like a vacuum cleaner. Ron, who had been watching the brother/best friend action with increasing queasiness, finally gave up and sneaked out of the tent.

11:35pm

Ron wandered through the dark and abruptly bumped into a soft, sweet-smelling obstruction that tumbled backwards and onto the ground with a yelp of surprise. “Sorry,” he mumbled, embarrassed, and bent down to help the person up, which proved quite tricky in the pitch dark.

“Erm, it’s Cho Chang,” the mystery woman began. “Argh!”

“Oh. Ah! – I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to put my hand there. Er, hi, Cho.”

“Oh, aren’t you’re Harry’s friend?”

“Yeah. Ron. Hi.”

“Well, erm, the rest of the Ravenclaws nominated me to come over and ask you – the Gryffindors, I mean – if you would mind keeping the noise down.”

“Oh. Er.”

Cho giggled nervously. In the background, an excitable Fred Weasley chased Goyle round the Slytherin bonfire, waving a burning branch and whooping like a constipated owl.

“Right. Well,” Ron said. “We can always, like, ask, but I’m not really sure they’ll really listen to me, or you either, except Harry, obviously.”

“Will Harry listen to me?” Cho said hopefully.

The answer was “If he’s sober and has stopped snogging George”. “Sure,” Ron said uncertainly.

“OK, let’s ask,” Cho said, and made off invisibly towards the Gryffindor tent. Ron hurried after her, trying to think of a way to get out of this, and, well, failing. Floundering around, he wished her hair wasn’t so dark. He didn’t see her clearly again until she drew back the tent flap and was silhouetted against the Lumos inside; the Lumos that revealed, very clearly, Harry and George wrapped round each other, not to mention Angelina happily knocking back the Firewhiskey. Cho lowered the flap very quietly and crept away.

“Sorry!” Ron blurted out, running after her.

“I don’t think I was supposed to see that,” she responded in a clipped voice.

“I just couldn’t think how to tell you!” Ron moaned, then, “I wish they’d stop.”

“That other one’s your brother, isn’t he?” Cho said, now sounding rather more sympathetic.

“Yes,” Ron said glumly. “I didn’t even know he was gay!”

“I wish there was some way you could tell,” Cho lamented.

“...before they start snogging in front of you, you mean,” Ron concluded grumpily. Cho gave a small laugh.

“I don’t mean to sound like a whiner and I hope they’ll be really happy with each other and everything,” she said, starting to sound bunged up, “but I chose one man who d-d-d-d-d-died and one who turned out to be gay, and it’s making me wonder if there’s something wr-wrong with me...”

Ron wasn’t an expert at comforting crying people, but logic told him her belief in the Curse Of Cho Chang was ill-founded. “Cedric Diggory getting killed was hardly something wrong with YOU,” he said firmly, “it was something wrong with Y-y-y... V-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-v-Voldemort.”

Cho gave a gratifying scream, as though rather impressed by Ron’s bravery. Encouraged, he forged on: “And Harry being gay isn’t, like, wrong. Cos you know what they say, you know, gay people are like just the same as everyone else, only, well, gay. So you just need to find the right bloke for you. You’re so pretty, you’ll have no problem.”

Cho gave a tremendous sigh and said “Yes, but... I’m so sick of people thinking I’m just an ornament. I hate being the only girl on the team. I wish I had a captain like Angelina...”

“She’s a bit scary at times, you know,” Ron warned. “You wouldn’t like her quite so much at a morning training session in winter.”

Cho laughed, and Ron felt rather impressed with his own wit. Now seemed like a good time to say, “I’m really sorry I said you weren’t a proper Tornados fan.”

“Oh, well, that’s all right,” she said. “There have been a lot of incomers since we topped the league."

“I don’t know why I was so rude.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cho said playfully, and took his hand. “Let’s walk round the bonfires.”

Ron hoped Harry would forgive him for this, but reflected that, if the way he’d been going with George was any indication, he wouldn’t mind much.

0:03am

“Isn’t Harry sweet?” Katie whispered to Alicia now that the loud slurps and proclamations of love had finally died down. “It’s really cute how much he loves George.”

“Do you not think he was just pissed?” Alicia said more pessimistically.

“No... I assumed he must be one of those blokes who never realise they’re gay until they get drunk and let their guard down.”

“Well, we’ll have to wait and see if they still like each other when they’re not drunk.”

“Oh, I hope they do.”

“I never knew you were so romantic!”

“No, it’s just because they’re gay. I’d practically given up hope of ever finding any other gay people.”

“I did too,” agreed Alicia, “until I met you.”

“Cue violins,” agreed Katie, beginning the next kiss.

0:22am

Fred Weasley wobbled vaguely across the pitch, supported by Ron, who had crashed into him on his way back to the Gryffindor tent.

“Ah, thish was a good idea of Dumblebore’s,” Fred announced to no one in particular. “Excellent night. Eh, Ron?”

“Yep,” Ron agreed fervently, rubbing his neck. “A complete success.”

Wednesday, 9:58am

Pacing round his office, Dumbledore cackled sinisterly. A team of beleaguered house-elves had spent hours editing all the data from his Panopticon Charms, sitting patiently through hours of sleeping Slytherins in search of the smut. He had watched Malfoy humping up against Crabbe with the greatest enjoyment, and been most intrigued by the sight of the Ravenclaw captain getting off with one of his Beaters, but to be honest he was most interested in what the Gryffindors had to offer. After all, they had three girls on their team, four if you counted Harry, and two were rumoured to be lesbians. Rubbing his hands in anticipation, he leaned over his Peeposcope and peered into the eyepiece.

Ten seconds later he was sprinting down the spiral staircase with a howl of horror and making for the nearest bathroom, desperate to wash away the image of a hundred naked house-elves shaking their booties at him. Dobby, who was listening in from the corridor, heard the screams and laughed maniacally. “None shall harm Dobby’s Sockretary,” he declaimed, and did a little celebratory dance before heading off to the kitchens to plan his next speech.

Fanfic: Tokyo Outing

2006-10-08T11:38:00Z

Header: Fanfic
Title: Tokyo Outing
Author: ireneadler
'Summery' or 'summeries' it's based on: A Death Eater meeting. No Slash. and Major Draco angst type stuff
Summary: Draco is sent to Tokyo for his own protection
Rating: Mature?
Disclaimer: Recognize it? Not mine.
Notes: This is my second piece of fanfiction, ever. Written for my own amusement, but hopefully someone else will enjoy it, too. If anyone is wondering, here's info on Harajuku, Nichome and Kabukicho.

This whole Death Eater business, Draco soon realized, wasn't quite what it seemed. He'd expectated excitement, power, glamorous swishy robes and excellent hair. He had not anticipated being stuck in a horrid hovel with Severus Stick-Up-His-Arse Snape. Then, not only did he get Crucio-ed for not killing Dumbledore (and the Dark Lord completely overlooked his Sheer Brilliance in getting the Death Eaters into the castle), but his first meeting as a full-fledged Death Eater was a total let-down. Sure, there was the rumored orgy, but no slash to be found for love or money.

Draco was not having none of it. Telling Lord Voldemort that he was going out for a haircut (and it was obvious he needed it, personal hygene was distressingly scarce in Snape's hideout), he escaped Snape and found Harry Potter (buggering Ron Weasley, which confirmed all his suspicions but did at least bode well for entertaining meetings). Yes, joining the Order of the Phoenix (and what a prissy, Gryffindor name!) was looking more and more promising.

~~~

"You're shipping me where?" Draco's voice, which had become increasingly shrill during the course of the preceeding conversation, now ended in a squeak reminiscent of a ferret getting its tail trampled. He cleared his throat and tried again. "You're sending me to Japan. You cannot be serious."

Hermione sighed. "For the third time, yes. You'll be safe there, and I can get some research done. You can start by reading these books." She dropped a sizeable stack on the table, which groaned in protest. "Oh, and here's your passport."

"My what?"

"Passport, Draco, surely you're heard of them."

"But aren't they for Muggles?" He practically spat out the word.

"Indeed. And since you'll be living in Tokyo as a Muggle, you'd better start getting used to the idea, and stop that obnoxious pouting. You have no idea the strings I had to pull to get you a passport, not to mention a visa."

Hermione flounced out, leaving Draco stuck in this horrid flat with nothing but cockroaches--and now a stack of depressingly dull books--to keep him company. He half-heartedly flipped through the top book, something ridiculous about a sword and a chrysanthemum, whatever that was, before giving it up as a bad job and hurling the book across the room. He'd never dreamed that betraying the Dark Lord would be so demeaning.

Before retreating to his room for a nap, Draco retrieved the book and carefully laid it back on the table. He had no wish for another verbal lashing from that book-worshipping Mudbl--Muggleborn.

~~~

"Hermione, you cannot be serious." Harry sounded bewildered, while Ron looked on in horror, apparently still too stricken to speak.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Look, you both know that we have to get him out of England, and Japan is the logical but not obvious choice. Voldemort's never had support there, and the Japanese Minister of Magic agreed to give Draco sanctuary. Do you have any idea how rare that is?"

"But why do you have to go with him?" Ron, red in the face and bellowing, had found his voice at last.

"First of all, someone needs to help him get settled, and I doubt either of you could manage that without killing him, which would rather defeat the purpose." Ron and Harry looked mildly abashed, unable to argue with the truth of that statement. "And as you well know, there's evidence that a Japanese tour group viewed Rowena Ravenclaw's wand soon before it disappeared from the magical wing of the British Museum. If I can talk to the people from that tour, it might give us the clue we need to find the next Horcrux."

"Fine," said Harry with a resigned air. "But if he does anything to hurt you, we will kill him."

"Painfully," Ron fervently added.

~~~

Draco had to work hard to cover his glee with his customary smirk. Airplanes were--there was no other word for it--cool! Once he'd figured out how to operate his personal television, he had watched 2 1/2 movies (and had to pretend to have something in his eye at the end of Titanic--what a wonderful film!) and played a dozen video games. He beat Hermione in all but the trivia challenge, but he was having too much fun to pout over that minor defeat. By that point, he'd tossed back quite a few complementary cocktails, which, combined with his pre-boarding binge, might also explain the pleasing appearance of the flight attendants and that unfortunate watch from the duty-free cart.

Eventually Hermione cut off his alcohol consumption when he couldn't stop giggling as she explained the proper procedure for getting through immigration and customs. After which point the flight was significantly less fun, and his pout much more convincing.

~~~

What with the Unfortunate Baggage Cart Incident, getting lost on the 36 or so Tokyo train lines, getting lost again in the labyrinth of tiny back streets in Harajuku, dragging his vast amount of luggage up to the fourth floor of his liftless flat, and discovering that said flat was in fact approximately the size of an average lift, Draco was Not In A Good Mood. He moped for a full hour while Hermione pranced around the flat, arranging her things in the living room (Draco got the bedroom, as he'd be staying longer) and experimenting with the gas and water. He then proceeded to sulk for the next three hours when she left him alone to explore the area. When Hermione finally returned, glowing with the exercise and bursting to talk about her afternoon, the storm cloud above Draco's head was nearly visible.

It was time to resort to whining. "I'm hungry!"

Hermione rather unkindly pointed out that he could, in fact, have joined her on her walk, and thus stopped at a convenience store for a snack, but then suggested they visit an izakaya for dinner.

"An iza-what?"

"Oh, just come with me."

~~~

The izakaya was dark and smokey. Hermione slipped off her shoes at the entrance, but Draco walked right in, earning him a sharp elbow in the side from Hermione and a scandalized look from the server.

"Excuse me, Sir. Please to take off shoes."

Draco complied with bad grace, muttering to himself about stupid customs and wastes of time.

Once they were seated, Hermione still pink-cheeked, a waitress brought them warm towels and a small appetizer. Hermione immediately dug in, but Draco was pouting again.

"I don't have a fork."

"This is Japan, Draco. Use chopsticks, like me." She received a blank stare in response. "Didn't you ever eat Chinese takeout?" Another look. "No, I suppose not." She proceeded to teach Draco to use his chopsticks. It was a long battle, and more than one bit of food ended up in unfortunate places, but luckily no lasting injuries were sustained. Draco eventually got the hang of it, and after finishing his appetizer, asked what was in it.

"Jellyfish, mostly, with seaweed and carrot."

Draco's jaw dropped unattractively, displaying some of said jellyfish. He closed it with a snap. "They eat.....what?"

"Oh for goodness sakes, Draco, didn't you read any of the books I gave you? There was one specifically on Japanese cuisine. If you had been using the Translation Charm, you would have heard the waitress explain the dish. But yes, they eat jellyfish here. It's an island."

"How about dog?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Do they eat dogs here?"

"No!" Hermione was indignant. "Look at the menu, it's all seafood, chicken, beef....oh, wait, they do have horse sushi." She seemed to wilt a bit at this discovery.

Draco pulled a face. "No, I'll pass."

With the help of Hermione's charm and the English menu the waitress conjured up, they managed a complete and edible meal. Draco still felt violated, though.

~~~

Draco was starting to get used to the place after a week or ten days. He could find his way from their flat to the park, the station, and the shops. Even more importantly, he could find his way back. Even the food had improved, and he had developed a taste for tempura and sushi, although nothing was better than ramen. The British version was pure travesty compared to what he had been eating of late. He'd have to be careful, though. He didn't want to lose his perfect physique.

One very nice part of living in Harajuku was the clothing. It was truly a place where anything was appropriate, even robes. Draco didn't have to dress like a Muggle, and hadn't since the drab trousers and ugly jumper Hermione had forced on him for the plane ride.

And yet....if he were honest with himself, Draco had to admit that the Muggle fashions in Japan were truly fabulous. And so practiced his Translation Charm by eavesdropping on a group of ~~attractive~~ well-dressed young men lounging in the park. An hour later, armed with plenty of knowledge, a wallet full of yen, and a wand in his pocket, he staggered to the station and Shibuya. There he found nothing less than Paradise.

First stop was the hairdresser. Living in hiding had severely curtailed his grooming routine of late. He told the stylist to go crazy, and the man certainly had. When he emerged several hours later, Draco had never looked prettier. It was poufy in some places, feathery in others, and absolutely divine. Glowing with his new look, it was on to the shops. Clothes, shoes, belts, sunglasses--he had to have it all. It was the most fun he'd had in years. Better than Quidditch. Better than....no, sex was still tops, but it was nevertheless a stellar day.

He'd changed into some of his earlier purchases, and when he arrived back at the flat, clad in tight jeans, pointy shoes, and a silk shirt unbuttened to the navel, Hermione seemed to not recognize him, judging by the decibal level of her screech. Then, to Draco's dismay, she began to laugh. Cackle, even. She didn't stop until the tears rolling down her cheeks started to land in her precious research. Honestly, what was she doing all day, cooped up with a massive stack of books and a telephone?

"Are you going to a club tonight or something?" Hermione had finally gotten her breath back, although she was still looking rather flushed.

"Club? What's a club?" Draco was intrigued.

"They generally have loud music, dancing, and lots of alcohol."

Draco's eyes widened. "Why have I not heard of this before? It sounds wonderful! Where are these places?"

Hermione gave Draco the once-over. "Well, there are some in Roppongi, but with your look, I think you'd be better off in Shinjuku. In the Nichome area."

~~~

Draco was having the time of his life. He was all sweaty from dancing half the night in the crowded club, but it was fine because everyone else was sweaty, too. Especially those men wearing nothing but very short shorts. They were positively shiny, and so muscle-y. Mmmmmm. And--oh god, oh god, they were looking at him! Coming over! Draco was glad the Translation Charm he'd cast while sober (not that that state had lasted long) was still working. He'd never wanted so much to talk to anyone in his life.

~~~

When he staggered into the flat at 9am, drunkenness fading into a splendid hangover and arse too sore to sit on after all the, ahem, activity of the previous night, Draco was looking forward to seeing Hermione for the first time in, oh, ever. Surely she'd give him some sympathy and take care of him.

But instead of hunched over her books as usual, she was nowhere to be seen. Draco took advantage of her absence by collapsing facedown on the couch, too tired to bother with the futon in his bedroom. He Summoned a glass of water but only drank half of it before conking out totally. His dreams were sweet indeed.

~~~

Hermione was Not Happy. She'd traced one member of the group that had gotten to see Rowena's wand all those years ago, but the foolish woman had been to London a dozen times and couldn't remember this visit at all. After Hermione had come all the way to his tiny village in Niigata! Instead, whe was hearing, in great detail, about all the musicals this bloody woman had ever seen. Cats had been covered at mind-numbing length. Now they were on to Phantom of the Opera. Damn Andrew Lloyd Webber straight to hell. Hermione prayed she could contrive a reason to escape before they reached The Lion King. Honestly.

~~~

When Hermione returned some days later, she stopped outside the door, sensing a Silencing Charm had been performed. Wand out, she carefully entered, heart pounding. The sight that met her was truly horrible. She had to fight the urge to gouge out her eyes, or vomit.

Draco Malfoy, wearing nothing but very short shorts and looking incredibly shiny, was enthusiastically shaking his arse to some of the loudest, most god-awful music Hermione had heard in years. She was no club slut. The vision in front of her, however--Hermione had a sinking feeling that she had created a monster.

~~~

Draco sashayed over to the mirror, the better to admire his pretty, pretty self. Now that the swelling from his nipple piercings had gone down, he loved to look at his lovely smooth chest.

After gazing at himself for a while--that eyeliner did wonders for his features--Draco happened to glance over his shoulder. The color drained from his face before returning tenfold a moment later. He let out an undignified squeak before gathering his wits enough to flick off his new sound system and wrap himself in his purple silk lounge robe.

Then, reluctantly, he turned to face Hermione Granger.

~~~

Hermione Jane Granger rarely swore. In fact, when Ron and Harry used such language in front of her, they could depend on a swat to the back of the head, or its verbal equivalent.

Nevertheless, as Hermione discovered That Day, there were in fact some situations in which such language was indeed justified.

"Bloody buggering hell, Draco, I'm gone a week and you become a frelling fairy. What the fuck is going on?"

Draco was crimson. "I got a job. I need to practice."

"A job," Hermione screeched. "As what, a prostitute?"

"No, I'll be a host in a club in Kabukicho."

Hermione was speechless for a full five minutes, during which Draco endlessly figited. Finally she managed to sputter, "But you're on a cultural activities visa!"

"Trust me, my activities lately have been very cultural."

~~~

Hermione returned to England the following week, having gotten the necessary information from the Niigata witch's daughter-in-law, who was rather less impressed by floating tires and falling chandeliers.

Draco stayed in Tokyo until after the War, and its cleanup, had finished. He had amassed a fair amount of money in the Japanese entertainment industry, and upon his return to England opened a hugely trendy gay nightclub, frequented by both Muggles and Wizards in disguise. He had numerous flings, at one point or another having most of the gay Wizarding community lusting after him. Incidently, he had during his time abroad learned to use chopsticks in ever-so-many creative and daring ways.

The Self-Centred Approach

2006-10-02T11:09:20Z

Title: The Self-Centred Approach
Author: moi
'Summery' or 'summeries' it's based on: The malfoy's are broke, lucious is dead and now he and his mother has to live in the muggle world. Hermione has gazillions of problems like being rejected by harry, hagrid dead, her parents separating and millions more.. draco found a job in a hotline service in which hermy calls and they began talking not knowing who they really are... lots more stuff will happen like amnesia's, jealousy and such..
Rating: 15 for swearing and sexual references.

Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring...

Click!

(Sulkily) “Hello.”

“Hi, is this the Telephone Counselling Service?”

“Mm... yes, I think so.”

“Don’t you know?”

“Well, I only started this job last Thursday.”

“Right.”

Pause.

“Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Well, I’m not really sure where to begin now.”

“I think you’re supposed to whine about what’s going wrong for you, dear.”

“You’re not supposed to say that.”

“Aren’t I? What do I say?”

“You’re supposed to be a counsellor. Helping others to help themselves. The person-centred approach.”

“...What?”

“All right, how about ’Hello, the TCS, would you like to tell me about your problems’... I don’t really know, I’ve never called before.”

“Thank fuck for that. There’s this omee who keeps phoning to tell me about the delicatessen he’s put up his bum.”

“You’re not supposed to say that, either, strange though it may be. You’re in breach of confidence.”

“Oh, you have no sense of humour.”

“This isn’t Monty Python. Shall I talk about what’s going wrong?”

“Do you have to?”

(Laughter)

“You laughed at me!”

“You just laughed at everyone else!”

“Oh, so what? They’re only... plebs. I don’t see why I should have to take them so seriously. My problems are much worse than theirs.”

(Hysterical laughter)

“You’re laughing at me again! That’s not fair! I hate you!”

“Ahem. Tell you what... *soothing tone* Why don’t you tell me about your problems. What’s your name?”

“Er... Daniel.”

“Why don’t you tell me about your problems, Daniel.”

Sounding chuffed: “All right. I have to work at this horrible job where stupid Mug...s phone me and ramble on about stupid things like wanting to kill themselves, and wear this headset thing that not only makes me look like a freak, but that I don’t know how to work, and it makes screechy noises in my ears. Then when I’ve scraped a totally pathetic wage I have to go home to a really shitty little hole of a rat’s demesne with no staff where you could count the number of rooms on your fingers. Also it has electricity and gas and other stuff that I don’t know how to work.”

“The fact that your house has electricity and gas is a bad thing?”

“And no fire! No bloody fire! I can’t even toast marshmallows.”

“But how are your problems worse than those of the man who sticks sausages up his rectum?”

“Oh bugger off! I couldn’t care less! He’s not got to support his dead father and grandmother on the proceeds of this vile little job, has he? My poor nana, she would be turning in her grave if she was in it...”

“Er – how exactly d’you need to support your dad and grandma if they’re dead?”

“Oh, yes! Be sympathetic! You don’t care a bit about my family catastrophe! Daddy’s been executed and mummy has to work as a Health and Safety officer and all our money’s bloody gone and you don’t fucking care. Good thing you’re not manning this line.”

“Womanning.”

“I hate women.”

“I’d noticed. – What, even your mother and your grandma?”

“Of course not!”

“OK. Well. Now I’ve listened to your problems, so you have to listen to mine.”

Sulky again: “Oh, all right. Although I don’t see why should.”

“Your mummy will be proud. All right. First, my parents are separating.”

Interested: “Ooh. Was there an affair?”

“I don’t want that mental image, thank you. No, no bust-ups, they’ve just grown apart.”

“Grown a what? Is that like a Snarglepuff?”

“Grown apart. – What?”

“Ahem. Nothing, carry on.”

“So two of the people I love most are not speaking any more, and after all this... trouble, I can’t even go home, because home’s not there any more.”

“Ah, but your daddy’s not DEAD, is he?”

“Shut. Up. Also a friend who I’ve known since I was eleven... a big friend... he’s died. It’s awful. Sometimes he was lovely and at other times he was a pain in the arse, and I’m all mixed up between feeling devastated and feeling guilty that I didn’t care more.”

“Don’t see what you’re so wound up about, darling. If he was such a pain in the arse, you’re well rid of him, aren’t you?”

(Sigh) “You know, in an extremely peculiar way, you are actually making me feel better.”

(Surprised) “I am?” (Preens) “I told the boss I would be good at this.”

“Ha!.. erm... yes. I found a lump in my breast...”

“Urgh!”

“Boobies. Boobies boobies boobies...”

“Aaaaaargh! Shut up, shut up!!!”

“Heh heh. But it wasn’t malignant...”

“Unlike certain people...”

“Quite. And the electricity company have overcharged me, so I’ll have to phone them up and sort that out...”

(Forlornly) “I don’t suppose you could do mine next?”

“The possibility hadn’t previously occurred to me... my boyfriend is in, hmm, a mental hospital with brain damage, and his long- and short-term memory are shot to shit, so it seems possible we’ll never get married now.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t see why, dear. I mean, if he can’t remember anything, just rush him to the altar and get him to say ‘I do’ before he realises what’s going on.”

“Now there’s a thought.”

“Well, I assume his prick still works?”

“I hadn’t actually asked.”

“You hadn’t asked?! ”

“Look, I am not a gay man! And his mother was there.”

“Oh. Oh, well, obviously...” (Awkward coughing)

“I thought that would shut you up. Also, there’s... this other man...”

“You hussy!”

“Fuck off! He kept hugging me and kissing my cheek and crying on my shoulder!”

“Definitely gay.”

“And I’ve known him since I was eleven!”

“What, and he’s never asked you out in all that time? Helloooo! Friend of Dorothy, dear!”

“Oh, it’s so simple for you! You didn’t grow up with Harry...” (Sigh)

...

“Wait. Did you say Harry? I used to know a Harry.”

“I doubt it’s the same one.”

“Tell me his surname. Come on, come on.”

“Oh, I don’t know...”

“Oh, you bitch! Tell me!”

“And what d’you want to know for, Draco? ...”

“GRANGER! I KNEW IT!! And it is Potty you’re talking about, isn’t it? Oh, tell me where he’s staying, Granger, I’ll be your friend for life! Give me his fellytone number!”

“Does he have to live with your dead father and grandmother?”

“Oh, why not? Nana will only pinch his bum from time to time. Go on, Granger, I’ll Imperio Weasley for you and steer him up to the altar, I’ll get mummy to do your hair and make-up for the wedding...”

“Done. Here’s the number...”

“Ooh, thank you, Granger, I always knew you were a fag hag, dear.”

“And I expect the two of you to be groomsmen at the wedding and godfathers at the christening. Don’t bring your nana.”

“Could be worse. I love you, Granger. Toodles!”

Click.

(Pause) “Carl Rogers was a genius.”

Summary Executions XL is now up!

2006-09-30T17:23:46Z

Yoooooooooohoooooooo! Oh, lovely fans of Senor Draaaaaaaco!!

Summary Executions Part XL is now up at mctabby's journal. As usual, we'd love to see your fics and icons based on these summaries posted to the community.

Um, except for this one: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Gentle baby dinosaur sex cum falling like sweet rain on Harry's upraised face, menacing penile forests of wizardry.

I think, maybe, just... no. :P

Spam Sender OC Challenge - Master List

2006-09-16T16:13:08Z

Thanks to all who participated in this challenge! It's been fun. This is the master list of fics and art I've seen so far - if I missed you, please comment and I will add you. If you're not finished with your work yet - fear not! You can still submit your challenge responses to the community and we will be delighted to see them.

The Master List

Speshul (art and text) by la_fono. PG. Prompt: Manuelabag Huggins

Mada Cash (fic) by dm_p. G. Prompt: Mada Cash

Choice (fic) by alexandramuses. G. Prompt: Osbourne Furness

Man of Mystery (fic) by cheryl_bites. PG. Prompt: Bryon Dowdy

Fairy King of Spain (fic) by animamea. PG. Prompt: Tacito Giddings

Azeneth Petree (fic) by soberloki. PG. Prompt: Azeneth Petree

Harry and the Dark Vengeances From America (fic) by crucio_4_coffee. PG. Prompt: Vangelis Grizzle

Friendship is Hard-Won (fic) by dm_p. G. Prompt: Materialism H. Anorak

And I thought you guys might like to see the full list, in case it provides any future OC inspiration. I was particularly sad that no one ended up claiming 43. Maud Qghtblup. :D

Full Prompt List

1. Bryon Dowdy
2. Clotilda Murphy
3. Coldness Temperate
4. Manuelabag Huggins
5. Frodo Mary
6. Zorro M. Sweetheart
7. Avert A. Diviners
8. Amando Gullett
9. Syrupy H. Abolished
10. Ambra Sledge
11. Inalienable C. Belling
12. Minted D. Treacherous
13. Vangelis Grizzle
14. Thaddeus Cullen
15. Pitchman A. Intoxicants
16. Julius Battle
17. Tola Grubb
18. Reynaldo Ruffin
19. Ilmarinen Mcalexander
20. Carmela Delong
21. Brennus Vantrease
22. Gregorio Elmore
23. Zimri Scutt
24. Osbourne Furness
25. Tacito Giddings
26. Marsiglio Padua
27. Basil Burkitt
28. Drezner Kevin Drum
29. Azeneth Petree
30. Mordecai Timmons
31. Polydeukes Segers
32. Feichi Shooley
33. Dobrogost Younan
34. Maoilios Edgecomb
35. Fidel Posey
36. Unsound T. Parkas
37. Temperance A. Apaches
38. Tad Bogus
39. Marla Bacon
40. Mata Cash
41. Riggs A Castrations
42. Charity H Scrotum
43. Maud Qghtblup
44. Sharika Y Buhrman
45. Cretan C Numbly
46. Magnus Tobechi
47. Elmo Pendleton
48. Ducat T. Diphtheria
49. Yosemite F. Faun
50. Materialism H. Anorak

Thanks again to all who participated. I've already got another challenge in the works for mid-October, so get your "summery"-writing skills all lubed up, okay?

Spam Sender OC Challenge art (G)

2006-09-15T00:58:10Z

Title: Speshul
~~Author~~ ~~Artist~~ Person Responsible: la_fono
Challenge: Spam Sender Challenge; Number Four - Manuelabag Huggins
Rating: G
Notes: Slightly cracked. I'm afraid I have a soft spot for Mary Sues with all the bells and whistles on... *ducks*

Five days left!

2006-09-10T22:55:13Z

This is just your modly reminder that there are only five days left before I will post the master list of the Spam Sender OC Challenge. If you want your work to be memorialized unto eternity with all the others, now's the time to get it finished and posted to the community. :D

Perposterice OC Challenge Numero Dos!

2006-09-02T02:08:54Z

Yayez!

Okay, so this one isn't nearly as cracky as the first, mostly because my inspiration came from the Wizard of the Month/Chocolate Frog cards. I wrote the entry as one of these. Only...this person would never be Wizard of the Month nor have a Chocolate Frog card, they are just that lame. And weird.

So yes.

Mada Cash
1494-1571

Miss Cash was the daughter of Italian immagrants (Wanta and Havva) who were well-known in the metals industry in the Wizarding World. Their most famous metalcraft, the chamberpot that now rests in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has warranted the Cash family much fame.

Although Miss Cash herself was a Squib and was never married, she continued to help with her family's business until a tragic flobberworm accident took her life. She was cremated and buried in her pride and joy, a chamber pot she called Bertha Agatha Wimblebottom.

Choice (G)

2006-08-24T17:45:50Z

Header: drabble
Title: Choice
Author: alexandramuses
Words: 100
Rating: G
Characters: Fenrir Greyback
Warnings: major stupidity ahead
Challenge Name: Spam Sender OC - Osbourne Furness.
Notes: I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I know it's not really the exact challenge, but it's still worth a groan... I hope? It's a lot funnier if you're thinking of Ford Prefect at the same time.

"No, milord," Alecto insisted, "these are common Muggle names. I swear, you will fit right in!"

Fenrir Greyback glared at his minion. "They sound very strange." He picked up the list. "Tad Tucker, Frank Young, Rob Boyer... So harsh, so dull. Where did you find them?"

"Something called the Internet, milord."

"Hmph." Greyback skimmed down until his eyes lit on one entry in particular. "Hm... Osbourne Furness. Osbourne... I like it."

"And Furness, milord," said Alecto, immensely relieved. "A silent tribute to your nature."

Greyback grinned. "Osbourne Furness it is!" Thus armed, he prepared to infiltrate and kill the Muggles.

Spam Sender OC Challenge No. 1: Bryon Dowdy

2006-08-14T15:22:11Z

Title: The Man Of Mystery
Author: Erm, me.
Word Count: 548
Challenge: Spam Sender OC Challenge (No. 1: Bryon Dowdy)
Rating: PG for a couple of sexual references.

Bryon Dowdy sounded a bit anonymous, so it took me a couple of days to figure out the right personality for him.

“Mr Potter,” the Headmistress pronounced. “I am very glad you could come.”

“We haven’t the time, Professor,” Harry said restlessly, looking out across the lake to where the giant squid was making Cat’s Cradle with six lazy tentacles. “Professor Dumbledore entrusted me with a very important mission - "

“I know that, Potter, but I also happen to know that you are recovering from a fractured coccyx today, and so may as well make yourself useful.”

Harry flinched and said “Don’t remind me, please. It was all Mundungus’s fault.”

“Quite. In any case, you have a few hours on your hands, so I should like you to do a service to the school, and find our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

Harry’s eyes bulged. He spluttered for a few moments and finally detonated: “Professor McGonagall, finding new DADA teachers was practically impossible even for Dumbledore, and he always had the whole summer to do it in, not to mention my assistance, in the form of offering Horace Slughorn sexual favours...”

“I don’t wish to know the details, thank you...”

“And yet he still managed to appoint an insane torturer who sent Dementors to kill my cousin – "

“Well, that was me, actually, I knew you didn’t like him.”

“ – and someone who had to take several days off every month and be replaced by Snape – "

“Really?” said McGonagall with interest. “I had no idea Dolores’s period pains were so debilitating.”

“ – and a delusional, narcissistic blond fruitcake with pink and green robes and a thing about peacock feathers – "

“Lucius Malfoy?!” said McGonagall, profoundly shaken.

“ – and three maniacs controlled by Voldemort!”

“The Headmaster was having trouble coming up with ideas for the practical part of the exam,” McGonagall said loftily. “He decided hands-on experience would suit your needs.”

“It didn’t suit him very well.”

“The Headmaster would not have allowed Professor Snape to kill him unless he felt that was what would best serve the needs of the DADA curriculum,” was the Caledonian dominatrix’s crushing reply. “And in any case, Mr Potter, you have misinterpreted what I require you to do.”

Harry was brought up short pre-explosion, and stood staring at McGonagall with his mouth open until a bee flew into it. After some emergency choking and back-slapping, he coughed, “OK. Right. What exactly do you require me to do?”

“Well, Mr Potter,” McGonagall said resignedly, “you seem to think that I wish you to make the appointment. The appointment has already been made.”

“It has?!” spluttered Harry. “Who is it?”

“His name,” she sighed, drawing a letter out of the pocket of her robes, “is Bryon Dowdy, and he’s a distant relative of Professor Sprout. He specialises in photographing particularly dangerous monsters in remote corners of the world; this is obviously a perilous job, which is why he is an unparalleled master of camouflage and disguise. Hence the name, presumably...”

“And what d’you want me to do again?” Harry said, confused.

“In a nutshell, Potter: Professor Dowdy has been here for over a week now, and I still haven’t figured out where he is. You have several hours of free time today, so, as I said before, I would like you to go up to the castle and find our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

The Fairy King of Spain!

2006-08-14T05:01:16Z

Title: The Fairy King of Spain
Author: animamea
Word Count: 807
Challenge: Spam Sender OC Challenge (prompt: Tacito Giddings)
Rating: PG-ish
Summery: There's a new student and Draco finds out he's a fairy!

Note: This is my first crack ever. I can't believe how easy it was! I didn't need to worry about grammar, Britpicking, plot, or coherency. I don't think I sparked more than three brain cells to write it! That probably explains why there's so much of it...

[ETA: On the main page, my Neil icon is looking RIGHT AT THE TITLE and saying 'WTF.' Totally unintentional but deliciously appropriate]

It was the first day of school at Hogwarts and there was a new student named Tacito Giddings. He was sixteen, but since he came from Spain, he had to be Sorted. He stood at the end of the line of first years and all the girls stared at him in adoration. All the boys immediately hated him because he was so beautiful that they weren't getting any attention from the ladies.

Tacito was over six feet tall with long black hair down to his waist and beautiful violet eyes. His features were chiselled like stone and his skin a deep creamy caramel. He was wearing a Hogwarts uniform, except for the pants, which were black leather and very tight. Everyone was staring at his huge package, even the teachers.

Finally, it was his turn to take a seat and use the Sorting Hat. He talked to the Hat for a minute and they both laughed. The Hat shouted “Slytherin!” and the girls from the other houses were very sad.

Tacito went and sat down at the Slytherin table, knocking Draco over so he could sit next to Pansy. She started flirting and giggling with him and he conjured a violet rose for her and she said it was the same colour as his eyes. Draco was so pissed that he tapped Tacito on the shoulder, ready to fight for his woman.

“What the hell is your problem?” Draco said madly. “You need to stay away from my girlfriend!”

Tacito smiled flashingly and Draco felt a weird feeling in his pants. “I was just making new friends. Don't worry about it!” And Draco didn't worry about it anymore.

They talked all through dinner and Tacito told everyone how he was the last Wizard in the Great House of Giddings. His ancient ancestor, Gandalf Giddings, would have been one of the founders of Hogwarts, but his last name didn't fit the naming convention cos it only had two syllables. So Gandalf Giddings took his family and went to Spain to create his own school of Wizarding. Everyone was very impressed.

Draco said, “Well, if your family is that important, than you must be a good friend!” and everyone agreed to be friends. Draco kept staring at the beautiful man next to him, getting more and more uncomfortable. Tacito's shining violet eyes had bits of silver in them that sparkled when he looked around and his long hair was brushing against Draco's arm very distractingly.

After dinner, everyone went to their Houses. Draco showed Tacito to his new bed. Everybody gathered round to see all of Tacito's beautiful clothes and things. He even snuck some bottles of Firewhiskey in! It was time to party!

So, all of the Slytherins got drunk and had a party! It was crazy! Everyone was dancing and drinking and making out all over the place. Draco got Tacito to come with him to a little room away from the common room, where Pansy was dancing topless on a table. Usually when she did that, Draco couldn't take his eyes away from her, but tonight his eyes were only for Tacito.

When they got to the room, Draco sat very close to Tacito and said “You have very beautiful eyes.”

Tacito smiled and said “I know, I get them from my mother. She was a fairy queen in Spain. That's why, when my father died, I was the only Giddings left. She's not really in this world.”

“That's excellent!” Draco yelled! “So you're a fairy?”

“Yeah, I am. I got special magical powers from her and that's why I told the Sorting Hat to put me in Slytherin. I know you people are really cool to powerful people like me.”

“Yeah, that's true.” Draco said and then kissed Tacito on the mouth.

Tacito pushed him away and got all nervous. “Dude, I'm a fairy, but I'm not that kind of fairy!” he yelled and ran away to the common room. Draco was so mad that he Obliviated the bench they had been sitting in out of rage. He stomped all over the splinters of the bench and went to bed.

The next day, Tacito told everyone how Draco was gay and Draco was mad. He wrote a letter to his dad and told him to get rid of Tacito. The next day, Tacito left Hogwarts forever, but he took Pansy with him. (And you can hear about their adventures in Spain in “The Pure Blood Queen and the Fairy King!”) Draco was so pissed.

But then Harry Potter came up to Draco and told him “You're gay, too? I sort of thought you were. Do you want to go on a date to Hogsmeade?”

And Draco said yes, and they lived happily ever after (in the next chapter titled “The Passionate Embrace of Harry Potter!”)