Round 3, Challenge 4; Drabbles & Voting - Carpe Diem
Drabbles under the cut. All usual things apply. No voting for yourself.
Drabble #1:
Title: Even Then
By: bambu345
Rating: All Ages
Warnings: None
Summary: Hermione learns something she’d have been happier not knowing and it sends her into a tailspin.
Pairing: Lavender/Ron, Hermione/Ron
Word Count: 997
~~~
“Was he freckled all over?”
“Parvati! You know I don’t shag and tell.”
“Come on, Lav. It happened years ago.”
The two friends met every Wednesday at the Three Broomsticks to catch up on each other’s lives. They’d begun their weekly dinners shortly after the war’s end, and three years later had exhausted most topics of conversation.
Lavender sighed. “Yes, Ron was freckled all over.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Don’t play coy,” Parvati chided. “How was he?”
“You perv!”
“Considering your blush, I’d say he was good.”
“He was great. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Was he?”
“Not at first, but he improved enormously. He was very enthusiastic.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t last.”
“Me, too, but it was always about that cow, Granger.”
“She should send you flowers for breaking him in.”
The two witches cackled with laughter, but neither noticed their curly-haired former roommate in the next booth or her devastated expression.
~~~
Hermione wrangled a field assignment the next morning, and for the following three weeks, avoided everyone she knew, including Ron. Especially Ron.
Her excuse was work. She didn’t respond to his owls and had even blocked her Floo. It seemed extreme, but Hermione was terrified she’d say something unforgivable if she saw him.
They’d been dating seriously for three years and had yet to have sex. She’d thought they would discover the joys of intimacy together, but now her thoughts ranged from revenge - the idea of shagging Malfoy and sending pictures to Ron haunted her that first week - to self-pity.
There were other men in the world, but Hermione was fairly sure Ronald was the only man for her. Heaven only knew why. Hermione certainly didn’t.
She knew, however, that if she didn’t choose the time and the place, the situation could blow up in her face.
When her case resolved Friday morning, Hermione did some judicious snooping -- all right, she cornered Harry who she swore to secrecy - and discovered Ron had been moping about Grimmauld Place for three weeks, and would be home alone that very night. Fortunately, Harry had a date.
Gathering her tattered pride and wavering courage, Hermione prepared for her upcoming confrontation. Silk undies weren’t necessary, but when a girl was feeling insecure, pretty underwear boosted her confidence.
At five, Hermione let herself into number twelve, hurried past the place where Mrs. Black’s portrait had been walled over, and up the stairs to Ron’s room. It was large, and the old furniture shone from Kreacher’s loving care. Nervously, Hermione sat on Ron’s loveseat and faced the door.
Then she waited: fingers twisting in her lap, lower lip systematically peeled by her nervous teeth, and her heart lodged in her throat.
Ron was late.
When he finally arrived, Hermione drank in his lithe frame, from shiny bronze hair to scuffed dragonhide boots. He was the man she loved, and he had slept with Lavender Brown, but not with Hermione. She thought her heart might break.
“’Mione?”
“Hi, Ron.” Her voice cracked.
“What’s wrong?” He’d never been terribly perceptive, but her distress was unmistakable. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” She clenched her fists. “That’s not true. Yes, I’m hurt, but not physically.”
Ron dropped his satchel and crossed to her side. “I haven’t seen you in three weeks, ‘Mione. What’s happened?”
This was it, she thought. “I overheard something a few weeks ago…” she faltered.
His eyes narrowed. “Something about me, then.” She nodded. “That’s why you took the Warrick case.” His voice sounded strained.
“Yes.” She reached out to touch him but her hand hovered, uncertain. “What I heard was about you, and it hurt me.”
“I’ve never--”
“Please,” she pleaded. “I have a question to ask--”
“I’ve never cheated on you! Never!”
Taken aback, Hermione raised her eyes to look into his. They were crystal blue, with tiny white flecks, and she’d always loved them. Now they were sparkling with suppressed emotion. “I know you haven’t.”
“Then what did you hear?”
Her fingers gripped the hem of her jumper. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d shagged Lavender Brown?”
Ron sat on the floor with a whump, as if Gilderoy Lockhart had vanished the bones in his legs.
The tears Hermione had held at bay for weeks overflowed. “I thought - I thought - Oh, it doesn’t matter.”
He scrambled to his knees, hands reaching for her. “It does matter. What did you think?”
In a very small voice, Hermione replied, “That you’re only with me because everyone else expects it. That maybe you don’t really want me.”
“No! Hermione!” Ron rocketed to his feet, dragging her up with him. He embraced her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. “I love you! I’ve only ever loved you. You have to believe me.”
“But - but - you shagged Lavender,” she sobbed.
Shame colored his face. “I didn’t love her. I thought I wasn’t good enough for you, and I used her. I’m not proud of it, but yeah, I shagged her.”
“Then why won’t you have sex with me?”
He released her enough to cup her face in his hands. “With you it would never be just sex … it would be making love, and I never wanted to pressure you. I was waiting until you were ready.”
She sniffled. “I’ve been ready. I thought you didn’t want me.”
“I’ve always wanted you, ‘Mione.” His brow rested against hers. “Always.”
“Even when you were with Lavender?”
“Even then.”
“Oh, Ron. How do we get muddled like this?”
“Dunno.”
“You know, you’ve never told me you loved me before.”
“I have.”
“You haven’t.”
“I tell you every day.”
“You don’t. You’ve never said it.”
“Every time I say your name, I’m telling you I love you. Hermione … Hermione … ‘mione … mine.”
Hermione raised her mouth to meet his, and the kiss was as sweet as it was incendiary.
~~~
When Lavender Brown arrived at her Witch Weekly office the following Monday, flowers perched on every available surface. The single card read, Thank you, and it was signed, Hermione Granger.
~~~
Drabble #2
Title: One Little Word
By: minervasrevenge
Rating: all ages
Warnings: EWE
Summary: Aurors Hermione and Draco in the field.
Pairing: N/A
Word Count: 683
Despite the cooling charms Hermione had cast on her robes, she was roasting under the midday sun. Ahead of her, looking irritatingly refreshed, stalked fellow Auror Draco Malfoy.
“Say ‘please’ and I’ll tell you the spell I used,” he said, glancing back at her.
Hermione made a growling sound. There weren’t any giants out here - the Ministry must have sent her and Malfoy on this hare-brained mission so that she’d kill him in exasperation.
“Muggles call it the magic word, don’t they..?” he said, stopping in the middle of the steep path to thoughtfully tap his chin.
Hair frizzing out of control and temper fraying in a similar manner, Hermione snapped. As if overloaded, her brain simply blanked out all thoughts concerning her assignment and sent her stomping, wand drawn, up the hill at Malfoy.
“I wouldn’t ask your furry ferret arse for help if you were the last wizard on the planet!”
If Hermione hadn’t felt the horrifying sensation of rocks shifting under her shoe, she might have accused Malfoy of hexing her. As it were, she merely slipped. Her hands scrabbled frantically for something to grab while gravity carried her inexorably over the cliff’s edge.
Even though she’d stopped moving Hermione realized that she was far from Out Of Danger. Her left foot had caught on a ledge - a rapidly crumbling one - and her hands already ached as they clung to the rocky shelf.
Dust covered Hermione’s face and the cloud she’d kicked-up tickled her nose as it settled. She fought the urge to sneeze with all the willpower she could spare.
Footsteps crunched on the path towards her.
“Are you at all familiar with the concept of irony?”
“Malfoy - Draco,” Hermione corrected herself in an attempt to appeal to him. “Don’t be cute -” She shrieked as the ledge under her foot crumbled to the size of a Galleon.
“I’m not cute all the time?”
Utterly aghast, Hermione glared up at him.
“If you don’t get me up there immediately,” she left the threat open-ended. Malfoy knew how creative she was with a wand - he’d been through Auror training with her.
“You’ll what? Fall to your death, return as a ghost and haunt me forever… Climb up by sheer force of hatred and hex my balls off?”
“What do you want?” Hermione demanded, choking on dust.
The grin that curled Malfoy’s mouth made Hermione’s skin crawl. He got that smug look whenever he was pleased.
“I want to hear one little word,” he replied airily.
“Wanker,” Hermione muttered through gritty lips.
“I think your wand likes me,” Malfoy said, swishing Hermione’s wand back and forth.
Hermione’s hands were cramping. Malfoy was toying with her and she was about to fall hundreds of meters to her death. She coughed to hide her panic as her toehold shifted.
“One little word,” he repeated.
Pride seriously damaged, Hermione looked helplessly up at him.
“Carpe Diem,” he quoted with an expectant brow.
In this case, it applied quite literally.
As she opened her mouth to spit out the word Malfoy wanted to hear, disbelief swallowed her. The last bit of cliff under her toe gave way, disintegrating into dirt, and then she began to plummet.
Hermione became disoriented as she fell - was she was rising? Was she upside-down? When she floated over the ledge and landed beside Malfoy, she understood that he’d cast something to save her.
“I wouldn’t have let you fall,” he said darkly.
Hermione gathered her limbs and tucked them around herself.
“Now I know that, don’t I?” she snapped. After she regained her breath, she added, “For what it’s worth, please and thank you.”
Silence fell for a couple of moments. Hermione felt a chilly breeze touch her scalp and course down the rest of her body. She sighed blissfully. Malfoy had cast his secret spell. The cooling breeze cycled over her again and she felt almost normal.
“Do you ever intend to do something about your hair?” Malfoy asked and Hermione knew that their earnest (and thoroughly uncomfortable) moment had passed.
“Shut up, ferret. Let’s get out of here.”
Drabble #3:
Title: Nice Girls Finish Last
By luvscharlie
Rating: R
Warnings: Sexual content, language
Summary: Hermione Granger is tired of doing what is "proper." Desperate times call for desperate measures
Pairing: Fred/Hermione/George
Word Count: 776
Hermione had spent the last three days taking careful note of Fred's routine. She always arrived at the shop before the twins emerged from their flat above it, and she had been somewhat surprised to discover that Fred and George Weasley were creatures of habit.
It went against all she remembered about them from their days at Hogwarts. They had always been spontaneous acting on the slightest or most ridiculous whim, which usually landed them in a good bit of trouble.
She had taken this job because it was, quite frankly, the only one available to her. Even several years after the war had ended, blood status counted for far too much, and she had been unable to secure another job despite being better qualified than the individuals who were hired in her stead.
This job did, however, have some unexpected perks…one of which she expected to come down the stairs from the flat above the shop any minute now. Fred Weasley was the reason she hadn't slept more than a couple of hours in as many days.
Much to her dismay, he'd had a visitor at the beginning of the week. A very pretty, very shapely visitor in the form of his ex-girlfriend, Angelina Johnson. Since that day, the girl had reappeared daily at the Wheezes practically throwing herself at her man. Well, perhaps he wasn't hers yet, but she was about to see what she could do about changing that.
Hermione watched him go to the back room to bring out additional inventory for the shelves as he did every morning. She slipped into his office, as it was always his next stop of the day, stripped off her robes and perched on the edge of his desk completely starkers.
Desperate times called for desperate measures after all.
She heard the door to the office open, but kept her back to the door, too embarrassed to meet his eyes when she heard whatever he had been holding clatter to the floor.
She felt a blush spread over her cheeks and continue down her neck, and had just resolved herself to turn towards him when she heard a low whistle and George's high-pitched voice. "Bloody hell! Where do I sign up to get one of these for my office?"
Was it too much to ask that just this once the fates look upon her with kindness?
Alas, apparently it was. This was not the twin she had anticipated surprising, though George certainly did sound surprised. Hermione buried her head in her hands in utter mortification.
She heard two sets of footsteps cross the room toward her, but refused to meet their eyes. However, as George tilted her head back and kissed her, and Fred's hands began to course over her body, Hermione Granger was grateful for every ounce of Gryffindor boldness she had possessed when she'd plotted this out…even if it hadn't gone off quite as planned.
George's tongue pushed past her lips, and she returned each of his kisses with equal fervor. Fred's hands were bold, exploring and touching places that made her moan loudly and caused him to go put the closed sign in the shop's front window.
George took advantage of his twin's absence pushing apart her knees and pushing her flat upon the desk.
"You sure?" he whispered. She nodded her consent and George slid slowly inside her….
~♥~
The activities in Fred's office went on for hours before they moved the party upstairs, where it continued on for several hours more.
It was the first day since the shop had opened that Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes did not turn a single Knut in profit.
~♥~
Later that night, Fred turned to Hermione and said, "Angelina's going to be glad she can stop spending her days in the shop. She thought you were never going to make a move and she was getting a bit testy about it. She doubted it, but we knew there was a naughty girl hidden somewhere down deep inside you."
"What?" Hermione was astounded, and the shock clearly registered in her voice. "You mean, you planned this? You prats!"
"I think we should be grateful she's too tired to pummel us," said George.
Fred cocked his head looking down at her.
"You really are cads," Hermione said.
"And you really aren't such a nice girl, are you?" asked Fred.
The men that she lay sandwiched between made her ever so happy that she was not.
Drabble #4:
Title: Found
By: snowpuppies
Rating: R
Warnings: f/f, roleplay
Summary: Hermione's lost something.
Pairing: Hermione/Ginny
Word Count: 770
Found
Hermione was scowling at a report on current Centaur-Goblin relations when she caught a flash of red hair in her peripheral vision. Turning, she saw Ginny grabbing a biscuit from the jar, robes on and broom in hand.
"You're leaving already?"
Ginny grinned. "It's 4 o'clock-you've been reading all afternoon."
"Four?" Hermione blinked. "Oh, and I promised to help you pack. Did you get everything on the list?"
"Yes, Love."
"And you checked it all off? You know what happens when you don't check it off once you've got it."
"Yes, Love."
"And what about-"
"Yes, Hermione. I got everything. I'm sure." Walking back across the kitchen, Ginny leaned down and pressed her lips briefly against Hermione's cheek-"See you Friday"-before abruptly turning and going out the door.
Gently, Hermione touched the spot where Ginny's lips had touched her.
A kiss on the cheek.
It was a gesture so familiar, and yet it felt so…wrong.
The great love affair that had surprised their friends and families, the passionate hidden make-out sessions, the furtive sex in an unused classroom or the shed behind the Burrow…
Ten years later, all that was left was a kiss on the cheek.
It wasn't Ginny's fault, and it wasn't really Hermione's fault, either. Somehow, they'd just…grown apart-Ginny caught up in her Quidditch team, Hermione tied up in her job at the Ministry-and suddenly, they were more like roommates who shared a bed than lovers.
She couldn't even remember the last time they'd had sex.
Filled with a sense of loss, Hermione's heart broke for what they'd let slip away.
Setting her jaw, she wiped her tears; they might have lost it once, but she…they would find it again.
And she had three days to make a plan.
***
Drumming her fingers on the table, she looked up at the clock.
Just five minutes, then Ginny should be home.
Smoothing her skirt, she silently hoped her little plan wouldn't blow up in her face. The decision to wear her Hogwarts uniform was one she'd stressed over for the past three days, but in the end, she'd decided that remembering the past was the perfect way to bring back the feelings they'd lost.
She just wished she hadn't needed to re-size her skirt.
Checking the clock again, she flipped open the cover of Hogwarts, A History.
She smiled; it smelled like the Hogwarts' library.
"Hey, Love, I'm-Hermione?"
Putting on her most academic look, Hermione turned a page in her book.
"Are those your student robes?"
Hermione pretended to read as Ginny circled the table, open-mouthed.
"Is-is that your Head Girl badge?"
Primly marking her spot, Hermione looked up from the book. "Yes. And this Head Girl is much too busy with essays and revision to be bothered by Quidditch-obsessed girls with nothing better to do than ride a broom around all day and chase after a silly ball, coming home all dirty and sweaty and flushed."
Ginny's stare turned into a leer. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yes. In fact, if you don't mind, I think I'll go back to my reading." Before Hermione could open her book again, small, warm hands covered her own.
"I don't think so, Hermione." Ginny's voice was low, her breath warm and moist against Hermione's ear.
Hermione's eyes closed as Ginny's hands slid, slowly, up her arms, fingers tickling her palms, wrists, shoulders, the lobe of her ear…
Then suddenly, Ginny's mouth was against her own, lips soft and wet and insistent and as she opened herself to Ginny's tongue, they fell back together, toppling out of the chair and onto the floor, hands and fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers and clasps.
They made love on the kitchen rug, Head Girl and Quidditch star melting into Hermione and Ginny-friends and lovers, two in one-twisting and writhing and coming together with the ease that came with ten years of loving and the unhindered passion of schoolgirls.
Finally, they collapsed, sweaty…breathless…
…and complete.
***
Hermione woke to an itchy nose; a lock of Ginny's hair had come loose during the night and lay across her face.
Wrinkling her nose, she brushed the hair away and pulled Ginny's warm body closer.
"Mmm," Ginny groaned, softly.
"You awake?"
"Uhn. Nnnn."
"Love you, Gin." Hermione smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Ginny's neck.
"Love you, too."
Yawning, Hermione settled back into her pillow.
"Hermione?"
"Yeah, Gin?"
Ginny's hand caught the one wrapped around her waist and pulled Hermione closer.
"Thanks."
A soft smile stretched across Hermione's face as she shut her eyes…
…and fell asleep.
***
Drabble #5:
Title: Thinking and Doing
By: gingeraled
Rating: G
Warnings: complies with canon
Summary: The battle is unfolding, and Hermione is doing what she does best--thinking.
Pairing: R/Hr in the periphery
Word Count: 730+
Notes: The italicized blocks of text are lifted straight from an English translation of Horace's poem. No copyright infringement intended.
Don’t ask. It’s dangerous to know-what end the gods will grant me or you.
She was running; they were running. Ron was clutching her hand, pulling her towards the second-floor loo so they could get to the Chamber of Secrets. His hand was rough and sweaty, but firm and solid, anchoring her to the present even as her mind flew off millions of tangents. Thoughts of war, death, her parents, Ron, Harry, Horcruxes…
She allowed herself to be pulled into Moaning Myrtle’s lavatory, which was eerily calm and quiet, and did not betray the fact that outside, a war was starting.
Part of her had always known it would come to this-a real war with Voldemort and his Death Eaters. It was her business to know-she was the know-it-all of the three of them. But right now all the knowledge that she held was of little value. She knew nothing about what she wanted most to know: if they would come out of this alive. If all would be well.
--
Just deal with whatever comes your way.
Destroying the Horcrux had brought her to tears. That evil piece of soul had taunted her with her worst fears-that her parents would remain forever lost to her, that something bad would happen to Harry, to Ron, that she would die. Her hands had trembled; agony had shot through her chest as she was reminded of all the things that she feared would come true.
A gentle shake from Ron had snapped her out of it. Without giving any more room to her thoughts Hermione brought down the Basilisk fang on Helga Hufflepuff’s cup.
She found herself sobbing on Ron afterwards, his strong arms clutching her tightly to his chest. If not for the war, she would have liked to stay there forever-he was warm and solid, and he would protect her-
A loud voice broke through her reverie, however. It was Voldemort, giving an ultimatum, demanding that Harry be delivered to him.
--
Whether you’ll see several more winters, or whether the last one Jupiter gives you is this very one pelting the rocks on the shore… be smart, drink your wine. Forget your long hopes in favor of the now.
Ron was saying something as they ran to find Harry, but she couldn’t hear him above the din of the battle starting around them. They maneuvered the halls of Hogwarts, arms clutching Basilisk fangs for use on the other Horcruxes, Ron slightly ahead of her. Her mind was racing as well. She couldn’t help but think how much she missed her Mum and her Dad.
Clumps of sweat-dampened hair stuck to her neck, annoying Hermione. Hermione thought of her parents enjoying the end of autumn in Australia.
“Where the hell have you been?”
But there was Harry, and he was safe, and he needed them-her. And for a moment, Hermione’s thoughts were driven away from her parents, and from her future.
--
While we speak, time is envious and is running away. Seize the day.
She had kissed Ron. Ron had kissed back.
Harry had died. He’d come back to life.
Harry had defeated Voldemort.
It was the break of dawn, the day after the Final Battle, as Hermione peered out from a window in what was left of the girls dormitory in Gryffindor Tower. She surveyed the school’s lawn, and the Forbidden Forest beyond it. Piles of rubble and shards of glass littered the grounds, but there were no more bodies to be seen.
Today would be a day of mourning, Hermione thought, the first of many. And so much would have to be done before things were set right. Hogwarts would need rebuilding, and lives, restoring.
The piles of blankets on what was once her bed shifted, revealing a mostly-asleep Ron still wearing yesterday’s clothes.
“Come back to bed,” he mumbled.
For a moment, Hermione thought of all the things that needed to be done. She thought of burials, and reconstructions, and of their plans to go to Australia. She thought of Harry, who needed to be checked up on. But the bed was there, and Ron was in it, and there was time. And she needed to sleep.
So she did.
Fin
Poll ROUND THREE, CHALLENGE FOUR; DRABBLES & VOTING