Ficlet: A Little Night Music (Godric/Salazar)
Title: A Little Night Music
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairing: Godric Gryffindor/Salazar Slytherin [uni!au]
Rating: PG, U, the lowest, lol.
Word Count: ~1,020
Prompt: 'a little night music' from rarepair_shorts; no. 1 in my prompt table!
Summary: Salazar Slytherin has three great nemeses, and their names are Rowena Ravenclaw, dry gin, and George Michael.
Author's Notes: No warnings, hurrah! After the sad G/S I wrote before, I wanted something upbeat - and I wanted to actually make a start on this uni au (and my prompt table)! They're all Muggles, no wizards exist, it's the modern day, and everything's ridiculous. They're students! (Should that be a warning in itself?)
Disclaimer: Still not JK Rowling. If only. ;__; (No, but seriously, no copyright infringement meant, and no money is being earned from this self-indulgently stupid au, or my obsession with the Hogwarts founders)
Oh! And this video is the compulsory soundtrack for this fic! (You have to share in Salazar's pain) ♥
--best friend told me what you did last night, left me sleeping in my bed--
Godric's radio wakes him up in the morning, and as soon as his brain starts translating the noise wailing about six inches from his right ear, Salazar knows he's going to have to kill someone. Or himself, if he can't manage to beat the machine into submission in the next seven seconds.
--dreaming but I should have been with you instead--
"Oh my God, is that-?" croaks a muffled voice from somewhere over to Salazar's left. There are shuffling sounds that must be Helga sitting up in the rumpled pile of brightly-patterned material that is her sleeping bag, and if Salazar could bring himself to open his eyes he'd probably see her scrubbing dry palms across her face, completely indifferent to the bird's nest her hair had managed to tangle itself into during the night. She giggles lowly, and Salazar flails his hand again.
There's a cackle from the other side of the small, square room, and suddenly the volume doubles.
--Wake me up, before you go-go! Don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo!--Salazar shrieks and sits straight up in bed, arms windmilling and eyes open wide. A second later he's cringing against a thumping headache and wishing he’d gone ahead and smothered himself.
Helga’s laugh at least is warm, kind even as it teases, and he doesn’t object when she crawls over to pat his hair, carding her fingers through it.
"Rowena, sweetie, you know Salazar is going to kill you, yes?"
The radio is still pounding out noise, and Salazar isn't really listening to Helga, just leaning into her hand and trying not to wail, if only to keep his skull in one piece. There's a dry, almost rancid taste in his mouth, and his tongue feels twice its normal size.
--‘cause I’m not planning on going solo! Wake me up before you go-go, take me dancing tonight--
For the sake of all that’s holy, it’s not even light outside; it’s just a miserable dark grey, a weak pink tinge blurring the edges of the skyline the only indicator that the sun might be ponderously starting to rise. Salazar blinks a couple of times at the dismal view through the window then, still curled up around his knees, turns his head to Helga, trying not to dislodge her hand in his hair. The striped yellow-pink-white of her pyjama bottoms is even more painful to Salazar’s eyes than the lilac kitten rolling its googly eyes at him from her top.
A sharper voice steeped in a Belfast accent, even stronger for the early hour, answers Helga, and Salazar can feel his jaw clench in irritation before he even registers that it’s Rowena.
“As if he could,” she scoffs, and Salazar can hear the sardonic raised eyebrow. “I can wrestle him to the ground even when he’s not hung-over. What’s he going to do now, grunt at me?”
--You make the sun shine brighter than Doris Day-
An idea is starting to form around the pulse beating in Salazar’s head, and he rasps out some sort of inquiring noise, sadly devoid of the snappy disdain he was hoping for. Even to himself he sounds lost and in pain, and Rowena’s sunny laugh - the loud, sincere one even she always sounds surprised to hear - confirms it.
“Aww, baby,” she coos, and Godric’s neighbours must have ears full of lead, the lucky bastards, because the radio is just getting louder and louder, making Salazar’s fingers twitch as they massage his temples. He can barely hear himself think above the racket, but suddenly he feels something click.
--my beats per minute never been the same--
His head snaps up and he glares death at Rowena. She’s laughing and clutching her sides as she slides down the wall, the radio’s remote control clutched in her hand. Helga’s hand falls out of his hair and she’s smirking too, even as she offers a half-hearted “Salazar, darling-”
Salazar ignores her and launches himself in Rowena’s direction, only to be brought down hard as the blanket wraps itself insistently around his legs. His stomach lurches under a wave of nausea, and his moment of dizziness gives Rowena time to leap to her feet, still sniggering, and escape out into the corridor, blue silk nightie only barely preserving her modesty.
--it makes me crazy when you act so cruel--
His thrashing around gets him up onto his knees, but before he can stagger to his feet to doggedly pursue Rowena through the dorms, a large hand curls itself around his bicep, callouses rubbing gently against his skin.
--Come on, baby, let’s not fight-
“Salazar,” groans the new voice, roughened by sleep, syllables slurring into each other, “stop wiggling. Turn th’radio off. Cuddles now.”
Helga’s squeak is muffled, no doubt because her hands are clasped over her face at their sheer adorableness, and Salazar lets his eyes drop shut in despair. It really is too early for this.
With an explosive sigh, he lets himself be pulled over backwards, landing half on top of Godric, who barely seems to notice. Godric’s always slept like the dead - as proved already by his immunity to Wham! yowling - and he just snuffles as Salazar’s hair tickles his nose.
Just before Helga turns the radio off, tapping Salazar’s foot in a friendly goodbye, Godric nuzzles into the back of Salazar’s neck and murmurs along with George Michael: “-everything’ll be all right.” His fingers tap out a sloppy rhythm on Salazar’s stomach, and even as Salazar hates everything about his life, a tiny part of it finds Godric hopelessly endearing.
Helga lets herself out quietly, and Salazar lets himself relax again in the silence. Whatever Rowena thought, he’d get her back later, when he feels less like he’s on the verge of throwing up the entire contents of his stomach. For now though, he just rolls onto his side, lets his arm drop heavily across Godric’s torso, and settles in for at least six more hours of sleep.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairing: Godric Gryffindor/Salazar Slytherin [uni!au]
Rating: PG, U, the lowest, lol.
Word Count: ~1,020
Prompt: 'a little night music' from rarepair_shorts; no. 1 in my prompt table!
Summary: Salazar Slytherin has three great nemeses, and their names are Rowena Ravenclaw, dry gin, and George Michael.
Author's Notes: No warnings, hurrah! After the sad G/S I wrote before, I wanted something upbeat - and I wanted to actually make a start on this uni au (and my prompt table)! They're all Muggles, no wizards exist, it's the modern day, and everything's ridiculous. They're students! (Should that be a warning in itself?)
Disclaimer: Still not JK Rowling. If only. ;__; (No, but seriously, no copyright infringement meant, and no money is being earned from this self-indulgently stupid au, or my obsession with the Hogwarts founders)
Oh! And this video is the compulsory soundtrack for this fic! (You have to share in Salazar's pain) ♥
--best friend told me what you did last night, left me sleeping in my bed--
Godric's radio wakes him up in the morning, and as soon as his brain starts translating the noise wailing about six inches from his right ear, Salazar knows he's going to have to kill someone. Or himself, if he can't manage to beat the machine into submission in the next seven seconds.
--dreaming but I should have been with you instead--
"Oh my God, is that-?" croaks a muffled voice from somewhere over to Salazar's left. There are shuffling sounds that must be Helga sitting up in the rumpled pile of brightly-patterned material that is her sleeping bag, and if Salazar could bring himself to open his eyes he'd probably see her scrubbing dry palms across her face, completely indifferent to the bird's nest her hair had managed to tangle itself into during the night. She giggles lowly, and Salazar flails his hand again.
There's a cackle from the other side of the small, square room, and suddenly the volume doubles.
--Wake me up, before you go-go! Don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo!--Salazar shrieks and sits straight up in bed, arms windmilling and eyes open wide. A second later he's cringing against a thumping headache and wishing he’d gone ahead and smothered himself.
Helga’s laugh at least is warm, kind even as it teases, and he doesn’t object when she crawls over to pat his hair, carding her fingers through it.
"Rowena, sweetie, you know Salazar is going to kill you, yes?"
The radio is still pounding out noise, and Salazar isn't really listening to Helga, just leaning into her hand and trying not to wail, if only to keep his skull in one piece. There's a dry, almost rancid taste in his mouth, and his tongue feels twice its normal size.
--‘cause I’m not planning on going solo! Wake me up before you go-go, take me dancing tonight--
For the sake of all that’s holy, it’s not even light outside; it’s just a miserable dark grey, a weak pink tinge blurring the edges of the skyline the only indicator that the sun might be ponderously starting to rise. Salazar blinks a couple of times at the dismal view through the window then, still curled up around his knees, turns his head to Helga, trying not to dislodge her hand in his hair. The striped yellow-pink-white of her pyjama bottoms is even more painful to Salazar’s eyes than the lilac kitten rolling its googly eyes at him from her top.
A sharper voice steeped in a Belfast accent, even stronger for the early hour, answers Helga, and Salazar can feel his jaw clench in irritation before he even registers that it’s Rowena.
“As if he could,” she scoffs, and Salazar can hear the sardonic raised eyebrow. “I can wrestle him to the ground even when he’s not hung-over. What’s he going to do now, grunt at me?”
--You make the sun shine brighter than Doris Day-
An idea is starting to form around the pulse beating in Salazar’s head, and he rasps out some sort of inquiring noise, sadly devoid of the snappy disdain he was hoping for. Even to himself he sounds lost and in pain, and Rowena’s sunny laugh - the loud, sincere one even she always sounds surprised to hear - confirms it.
“Aww, baby,” she coos, and Godric’s neighbours must have ears full of lead, the lucky bastards, because the radio is just getting louder and louder, making Salazar’s fingers twitch as they massage his temples. He can barely hear himself think above the racket, but suddenly he feels something click.
--my beats per minute never been the same--
His head snaps up and he glares death at Rowena. She’s laughing and clutching her sides as she slides down the wall, the radio’s remote control clutched in her hand. Helga’s hand falls out of his hair and she’s smirking too, even as she offers a half-hearted “Salazar, darling-”
Salazar ignores her and launches himself in Rowena’s direction, only to be brought down hard as the blanket wraps itself insistently around his legs. His stomach lurches under a wave of nausea, and his moment of dizziness gives Rowena time to leap to her feet, still sniggering, and escape out into the corridor, blue silk nightie only barely preserving her modesty.
--it makes me crazy when you act so cruel--
His thrashing around gets him up onto his knees, but before he can stagger to his feet to doggedly pursue Rowena through the dorms, a large hand curls itself around his bicep, callouses rubbing gently against his skin.
--Come on, baby, let’s not fight-
“Salazar,” groans the new voice, roughened by sleep, syllables slurring into each other, “stop wiggling. Turn th’radio off. Cuddles now.”
Helga’s squeak is muffled, no doubt because her hands are clasped over her face at their sheer adorableness, and Salazar lets his eyes drop shut in despair. It really is too early for this.
With an explosive sigh, he lets himself be pulled over backwards, landing half on top of Godric, who barely seems to notice. Godric’s always slept like the dead - as proved already by his immunity to Wham! yowling - and he just snuffles as Salazar’s hair tickles his nose.
Just before Helga turns the radio off, tapping Salazar’s foot in a friendly goodbye, Godric nuzzles into the back of Salazar’s neck and murmurs along with George Michael: “-everything’ll be all right.” His fingers tap out a sloppy rhythm on Salazar’s stomach, and even as Salazar hates everything about his life, a tiny part of it finds Godric hopelessly endearing.
Helga lets herself out quietly, and Salazar lets himself relax again in the silence. Whatever Rowena thought, he’d get her back later, when he feels less like he’s on the verge of throwing up the entire contents of his stomach. For now though, he just rolls onto his side, lets his arm drop heavily across Godric’s torso, and settles in for at least six more hours of sleep.