lomonaaeren (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lomonaaeren) wrote2009-02-25 07:22 pm
lomonaaeren) wrote2009-02-25 07:22 pm
Entry tags:
There Are Things Worse Than Harry Shagging Malfoy in Public [one-shot]
Title: There Are Things Worse Than Harry Shagging Malfoy in Public (or, The One Time That Hermione Granger Was Wrong)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this for fun and not profit.
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lomonaaeren
Rating: PG-13 for language, innuendo, mentioned sex; Ron/Hermione mentioned.
Word Count: ~1300
Challenge: forla_choo
Keywords: pink leather, blue glasses, black wedding dress
Dialogue: "And you gave me a dildo for Christmas - in front of my parents!"
Summary: Hermione thought she had come up with a brilliant solution to get Harry and Malfoy to stop having public sex. Not hardly. Crackfic.
There Are Things Worse Than Harry Shagging Malfoy in Public (or, The One Time That Hermione Granger Was Wrong)
“Just admit that you made it worse, and I’ll leave you alone.”
Hermione stared at the ground, but didn’t say anything. She did wince as a shout came from the direction of Harry and Malfoy’s office, because it was impossible not to wince at the kinds of things they were saying.
“And you gave me a dildo for Christmas—in front of my parents!” That would be Malfoy, his voice shrill and filled with enjoyment. He had already shocked two of the trainees into fainting, Hermione thought mutinously. Yes, he probably did enjoy it, the perverted bastard.
“So the fuck what?” Harry shouted back. “That’s nothing compared to the time that you enchanted that strip of pink leather around my cock so I couldn’t get it off and then made it wank me in public! During meetings with Kingsley, no less!”
Then again, Hermione thought, as she put her hand over her eyes, I’m not sure who’s the more perverted one in that particular relationship.
“All right, all right,” she muttered, “I made it worse.”
“Thank you.” She heard Ron’s chair creak as he flung himself into it, and she knew he was glaring at her, though she didn’t look up to meet his eyes. “Now, I want you to admit that this is worse than walking in on Malfoy and Harry shagging a time or two.”
Hermione lowered her hand from her face in indignation and started to answer, but her words were lost in the shout from Harry’s office. Hermione only caught “blue glasses that can see through clothes” because Malfoy’s voice was so shrill, but that was quite enough.
“You were the one who said you would leave me if I didn’t find some way to make them stop shagging where you could see it,” she said tightly. “Because the sight was so traumatizing and you couldn’t help what you might do when you were so traumatized. Remember? This is as much your fault as it is mine.”
“This is my fault,” Ron said to the office walls. “My bloody fault. Right, Hermione, because I trusted you to do the research.” He spun himself around in his Muggle swivel chair—Hermione was seriously beginning to regret ever introducing him to those things—and fixed her with a sharp eye again. “And of course you failed to do it, for once in your life, right before you cast the most important spell of your life.”
Hermione wanted to argue that it was far from the most important spell she’d ever attempted, but the blush of humiliation stealing over her face stopped her, because Ron was right in one thing. She never had failed to do the research properly. She had never cast a spell that had such bad consequences.
“—black wedding dress covered with semen—”
But it had been late and she was tired and out of sorts, because Ron had been withholding sex, claiming that his cock had crawled back inside his body after the terrifying sight of Harry plunging into Malfoy and shrieking, “Oh, yes, God and saints and hallelujah!” whilst Malfoy’s semen rose up in the air like a geyser and splashed all across the reports that Ron had come into their office for in the first place. So she had an excuse for not casting the spell right.
“—erotic statue of a dog humping a hippogriff’s leg—”
“Well?” Ron demanded, raising his voice. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“The spell did what it was supposed to,” Hermione snapped. “It took their sexual energy and released it in a new direction. It just wasn’t the one I thought it was! I thought it would go into their work, not come out as—that.” She gestured towards Harry and Malfoy’s office.
“I have bad taste?” Malfoy said, his voice even shriller in denunciation, but for some reason letting Hermione hear every word this time. “When you were the one who brought home that pig’s heart because you thought thrusting into it would—”
Hermione clapped her hands over her ears so she wouldn’t hear the rest of that sentence and stared Ron down. He looked ill. Probably suffering another “traumatic event,” Hermione thought nastily, and eyed his crotch—what she could see of it over the desk—for some sign of his genitalia moving. “The spell did what it was supposed to,” she repeated. “You can’t blame me for the direction it took.”
“Well,” Ron said, with an air of finality, “then undo it.”
“May I remind you that you were the one who chose that particular spell?” Hermione demanded.
“—broke the mirror with the force of your orgasm—”
“Yes, but I don’t know the incantation.” Ron smirked at her. “So you’ll have to be the one to undo it.”
Hermione took a deep breath. “I can’t.”
Ron’s smirk dropped away. “What?” he shrieked.
Someone pounded on the wall separating Ron’s office from Malfoy’s and Harry’s. “Oi! Weasley!” Malfoy bellowed. “Unless your girlfriend’s riding you to death, then I don’t believe you have any business sounding like that.”
“That’s the way we sound,” Harry agreed.
“No,” Malfoy said with some confidence, “I sound like that. You sound like a stuck pig fucking a fox.”
“Ha, says the one who wanted me to use my Animagus form and bite him on the cock just as he came—”
“What do you mean, you can’t take the spell off?” Ron said, rising to his feet and glaring murderously at Hermione.
“I mean,” Hermione said, “that the spell is permanent. You didn’t want them shagging at work ever again, did you? And now, I can’t undo it.”
Ron buried his head in his hands.
“There’s one chance,” Hermione said, keeping her voice low so Harry and Malfoy couldn’t participate in the conversation. “If they get tired of each other and split up, then the spell goes, too.”
Ron looked up. “Well, let’s think of ways to break them up, then.”
Hermione nodded, a little less than confident. Ron didn’t know how Harry and Malfoy had started dating. He had just seen that they were Auror partners one day, lovers the next, and Hermione knew that he still more than half suspected Malfoy of discovering some more powerful version of the Imperius Curse.
Hermione, though, had been the first to walk in on them, late one night when she’d come back to the Ministry for paperwork Ron was too injured to fetch.
Harry had been lying on his desk, covered in chicken feathers, his head tilted back and his mouth open in a howl, whilst Malfoy did something complicated with leather and buckles around his crotch. He wore kohl around his eyes and there was glitter in his hair.
“You’ve freed me, Draco,” he whispered. “I was so repressed all my life, and now I’m free.”
Malfoy had looked up from the harness and smiled briefly. “Just so long as you remember that I’m the one who did it and don’t try to do it with anyone else.”
Harry had smiled at him, a smile so full of bliss that Hermione had been sympathetic until he spoke again. “Where would I find anyone else as perverted as you are?”
Malfoy had hypnotized Harry, Hermione knew, but it was with no-holds-barred kinky sex, rather than the Imperius. That might, in the end, be a more lasting hold.
But Ron was more pleasant to be around when he had hope, so she said, “I agree. Let’s try that.”
Ron smiled at her, looking so happy that Hermione began to hope she might see him in her bed tonight after all.
“What about doing it with live weasels?”
“Potter. You’re sick.”
“The animal, you idiot.”
“Well…I’ve always had a thing for long, lithe bodies…”
If, that is, Hermione thought, her stomach a little queasy as she left the office to look for books on breaking couples up, I ever want to have sex again.
End.
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this for fun and not profit.
Author:
lomonaaerenRating: PG-13 for language, innuendo, mentioned sex; Ron/Hermione mentioned.
Word Count: ~1300
Challenge: for
la_chooKeywords: pink leather, blue glasses, black wedding dress
Dialogue: "And you gave me a dildo for Christmas - in front of my parents!"
Summary: Hermione thought she had come up with a brilliant solution to get Harry and Malfoy to stop having public sex. Not hardly. Crackfic.
There Are Things Worse Than Harry Shagging Malfoy in Public (or, The One Time That Hermione Granger Was Wrong)
“Just admit that you made it worse, and I’ll leave you alone.”
Hermione stared at the ground, but didn’t say anything. She did wince as a shout came from the direction of Harry and Malfoy’s office, because it was impossible not to wince at the kinds of things they were saying.
“And you gave me a dildo for Christmas—in front of my parents!” That would be Malfoy, his voice shrill and filled with enjoyment. He had already shocked two of the trainees into fainting, Hermione thought mutinously. Yes, he probably did enjoy it, the perverted bastard.
“So the fuck what?” Harry shouted back. “That’s nothing compared to the time that you enchanted that strip of pink leather around my cock so I couldn’t get it off and then made it wank me in public! During meetings with Kingsley, no less!”
Then again, Hermione thought, as she put her hand over her eyes, I’m not sure who’s the more perverted one in that particular relationship.
“All right, all right,” she muttered, “I made it worse.”
“Thank you.” She heard Ron’s chair creak as he flung himself into it, and she knew he was glaring at her, though she didn’t look up to meet his eyes. “Now, I want you to admit that this is worse than walking in on Malfoy and Harry shagging a time or two.”
Hermione lowered her hand from her face in indignation and started to answer, but her words were lost in the shout from Harry’s office. Hermione only caught “blue glasses that can see through clothes” because Malfoy’s voice was so shrill, but that was quite enough.
“You were the one who said you would leave me if I didn’t find some way to make them stop shagging where you could see it,” she said tightly. “Because the sight was so traumatizing and you couldn’t help what you might do when you were so traumatized. Remember? This is as much your fault as it is mine.”
“This is my fault,” Ron said to the office walls. “My bloody fault. Right, Hermione, because I trusted you to do the research.” He spun himself around in his Muggle swivel chair—Hermione was seriously beginning to regret ever introducing him to those things—and fixed her with a sharp eye again. “And of course you failed to do it, for once in your life, right before you cast the most important spell of your life.”
Hermione wanted to argue that it was far from the most important spell she’d ever attempted, but the blush of humiliation stealing over her face stopped her, because Ron was right in one thing. She never had failed to do the research properly. She had never cast a spell that had such bad consequences.
“—black wedding dress covered with semen—”
But it had been late and she was tired and out of sorts, because Ron had been withholding sex, claiming that his cock had crawled back inside his body after the terrifying sight of Harry plunging into Malfoy and shrieking, “Oh, yes, God and saints and hallelujah!” whilst Malfoy’s semen rose up in the air like a geyser and splashed all across the reports that Ron had come into their office for in the first place. So she had an excuse for not casting the spell right.
“—erotic statue of a dog humping a hippogriff’s leg—”
“Well?” Ron demanded, raising his voice. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“The spell did what it was supposed to,” Hermione snapped. “It took their sexual energy and released it in a new direction. It just wasn’t the one I thought it was! I thought it would go into their work, not come out as—that.” She gestured towards Harry and Malfoy’s office.
“I have bad taste?” Malfoy said, his voice even shriller in denunciation, but for some reason letting Hermione hear every word this time. “When you were the one who brought home that pig’s heart because you thought thrusting into it would—”
Hermione clapped her hands over her ears so she wouldn’t hear the rest of that sentence and stared Ron down. He looked ill. Probably suffering another “traumatic event,” Hermione thought nastily, and eyed his crotch—what she could see of it over the desk—for some sign of his genitalia moving. “The spell did what it was supposed to,” she repeated. “You can’t blame me for the direction it took.”
“Well,” Ron said, with an air of finality, “then undo it.”
“May I remind you that you were the one who chose that particular spell?” Hermione demanded.
“—broke the mirror with the force of your orgasm—”
“Yes, but I don’t know the incantation.” Ron smirked at her. “So you’ll have to be the one to undo it.”
Hermione took a deep breath. “I can’t.”
Ron’s smirk dropped away. “What?” he shrieked.
Someone pounded on the wall separating Ron’s office from Malfoy’s and Harry’s. “Oi! Weasley!” Malfoy bellowed. “Unless your girlfriend’s riding you to death, then I don’t believe you have any business sounding like that.”
“That’s the way we sound,” Harry agreed.
“No,” Malfoy said with some confidence, “I sound like that. You sound like a stuck pig fucking a fox.”
“Ha, says the one who wanted me to use my Animagus form and bite him on the cock just as he came—”
“What do you mean, you can’t take the spell off?” Ron said, rising to his feet and glaring murderously at Hermione.
“I mean,” Hermione said, “that the spell is permanent. You didn’t want them shagging at work ever again, did you? And now, I can’t undo it.”
Ron buried his head in his hands.
“There’s one chance,” Hermione said, keeping her voice low so Harry and Malfoy couldn’t participate in the conversation. “If they get tired of each other and split up, then the spell goes, too.”
Ron looked up. “Well, let’s think of ways to break them up, then.”
Hermione nodded, a little less than confident. Ron didn’t know how Harry and Malfoy had started dating. He had just seen that they were Auror partners one day, lovers the next, and Hermione knew that he still more than half suspected Malfoy of discovering some more powerful version of the Imperius Curse.
Hermione, though, had been the first to walk in on them, late one night when she’d come back to the Ministry for paperwork Ron was too injured to fetch.
Harry had been lying on his desk, covered in chicken feathers, his head tilted back and his mouth open in a howl, whilst Malfoy did something complicated with leather and buckles around his crotch. He wore kohl around his eyes and there was glitter in his hair.
“You’ve freed me, Draco,” he whispered. “I was so repressed all my life, and now I’m free.”
Malfoy had looked up from the harness and smiled briefly. “Just so long as you remember that I’m the one who did it and don’t try to do it with anyone else.”
Harry had smiled at him, a smile so full of bliss that Hermione had been sympathetic until he spoke again. “Where would I find anyone else as perverted as you are?”
Malfoy had hypnotized Harry, Hermione knew, but it was with no-holds-barred kinky sex, rather than the Imperius. That might, in the end, be a more lasting hold.
But Ron was more pleasant to be around when he had hope, so she said, “I agree. Let’s try that.”
Ron smiled at her, looking so happy that Hermione began to hope she might see him in her bed tonight after all.
“What about doing it with live weasels?”
“Potter. You’re sick.”
“The animal, you idiot.”
“Well…I’ve always had a thing for long, lithe bodies…”
If, that is, Hermione thought, her stomach a little queasy as she left the office to look for books on breaking couples up, I ever want to have sex again.
End.
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