HP Birthday Fic
Well, it's Harry Potter's birthday. So, like last year, I needed to write him in a new pairing. Now, if my flist doesn't already think I'm crazy enough:
Harry/The Fat Lady. PG+. 610 words. Harry decides to have a last walk around the castle on his 17th birthday.
Title: Birthday Kisses
Rating: PG+ (Not PG, not PG-13)
Pairing: Harry Potter/The Fat Lady
Beta: Cak
Warnings: Cross-gen, general weirdness
Word Count: 610
Birthday Kisses
The corridors were empty; it being the summer and because of that both students and teachers were on vacation. Harry padded down a random hallway, not really knowing where he was going and not really caring.
It was his birthday. Mrs. Weasley had thrown him a party, and to his surprise, not only were his school friends there, but his former teachers and the entire living Order of the Phoenix. He'd announced that he was leaving with Ron and Hermione to go after the horcruxes right after he had turned seventeen, so he figured they'd come to see him off, or alternatively, possibly see him for the last time. McGonagall had showed up just as dinner was getting underway, giving Harry both another "Harry Birthday, Mr. Potter," and an invitation to come up to the school after the party to raid Dumbledore's old office for anything that might help him on his journey. He'd eagerly accepted, glad to be able to start somewhere.
The party wasn't over until nearly midnight, but after that Harry and the new headmistress (if Hogwarts reopened, that is) used Side-Along Apparition to get Harry to the castle. He'd sifted through some of Dumbledore's pensieve, feeling a bit guilty at invading the man's memories, but needing to all the same. He chatted with Dumbledore's picture, and then was off, deciding only at the last minute to have a last walk around the castle.
Of course, this left Harry where he was now, right in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. "Hello, dear!" she giggled, looking very much intoxicated. Harry wondered how people in portraits could really get drunk, but shrugged the thought from his mind.
"Hello," he stated simply, and then, fancying a last view of his old dormitory, "Gillywater."
"No, the password's been changed I'm afraid."
Harry shrugged, "I figured it was worth a shot. I wish I could see the dormitory again… It is my birthday, you know," he added, not daring to sound even half-hopeful.
"Is it?" the Fat Lady giggled again, hiccupping. "How old are you now?"
"Seventeen."
"That's lovely, dear! Oh, what an age, seventeen…" she suddenly stopped, "You know, there is a way I could let you into the dormitory."
Harry frowned. Portraits never let anyone in without a password. "And what's that?" he asked.
"Well, since it IS your birthday, I'll let you in… as long as you let me give you your seventeen birthday kisses!"
Harry sputtered. Birthday kisses? He'd heard of birthday punches, but not birthday kisses. Especially not from moving portraits.
"You've got to be kidding me," he said, shivering to think what the rough paint would feel like moving against his cheek, and just how wrong it would be that a portrait of a middle-aged woman was snogging him.
"Of course not!" She grinned, and Harry tried hard to swallow his stomach again.
"Fine," he said, darting forward. He wanted to see the dormitory, and some stupid picture wasn't going to stop him. He leaned his cheek against the picture, waiting.
"No, dear, I need your lips. Men get proper kisses when they come of age."
Harry was disgusted, but turned himself all the same. Damn portrait!
She kissed him, the paint moving against his rips roughly, once, twice, three times… until at last she reached seventeen. Harry moved away, wondering what kind of paint was permitted to be so scratchy like that; his lips felt sore. "The password?" he remarked.
She giggled again. "It's still gillywater. I've just always wanted to be able to tell the other portraits that I've kissed the Boy-Who-Lived!"
Harry stared at her in disgust, very much wanting to retch.
FIN
Harry/The Fat Lady. PG+. 610 words. Harry decides to have a last walk around the castle on his 17th birthday.
Title: Birthday Kisses
Rating: PG+ (Not PG, not PG-13)
Pairing: Harry Potter/The Fat Lady
Beta: Cak
Warnings: Cross-gen, general weirdness
Word Count: 610
Birthday Kisses
The corridors were empty; it being the summer and because of that both students and teachers were on vacation. Harry padded down a random hallway, not really knowing where he was going and not really caring.
It was his birthday. Mrs. Weasley had thrown him a party, and to his surprise, not only were his school friends there, but his former teachers and the entire living Order of the Phoenix. He'd announced that he was leaving with Ron and Hermione to go after the horcruxes right after he had turned seventeen, so he figured they'd come to see him off, or alternatively, possibly see him for the last time. McGonagall had showed up just as dinner was getting underway, giving Harry both another "Harry Birthday, Mr. Potter," and an invitation to come up to the school after the party to raid Dumbledore's old office for anything that might help him on his journey. He'd eagerly accepted, glad to be able to start somewhere.
The party wasn't over until nearly midnight, but after that Harry and the new headmistress (if Hogwarts reopened, that is) used Side-Along Apparition to get Harry to the castle. He'd sifted through some of Dumbledore's pensieve, feeling a bit guilty at invading the man's memories, but needing to all the same. He chatted with Dumbledore's picture, and then was off, deciding only at the last minute to have a last walk around the castle.
Of course, this left Harry where he was now, right in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. "Hello, dear!" she giggled, looking very much intoxicated. Harry wondered how people in portraits could really get drunk, but shrugged the thought from his mind.
"Hello," he stated simply, and then, fancying a last view of his old dormitory, "Gillywater."
"No, the password's been changed I'm afraid."
Harry shrugged, "I figured it was worth a shot. I wish I could see the dormitory again… It is my birthday, you know," he added, not daring to sound even half-hopeful.
"Is it?" the Fat Lady giggled again, hiccupping. "How old are you now?"
"Seventeen."
"That's lovely, dear! Oh, what an age, seventeen…" she suddenly stopped, "You know, there is a way I could let you into the dormitory."
Harry frowned. Portraits never let anyone in without a password. "And what's that?" he asked.
"Well, since it IS your birthday, I'll let you in… as long as you let me give you your seventeen birthday kisses!"
Harry sputtered. Birthday kisses? He'd heard of birthday punches, but not birthday kisses. Especially not from moving portraits.
"You've got to be kidding me," he said, shivering to think what the rough paint would feel like moving against his cheek, and just how wrong it would be that a portrait of a middle-aged woman was snogging him.
"Of course not!" She grinned, and Harry tried hard to swallow his stomach again.
"Fine," he said, darting forward. He wanted to see the dormitory, and some stupid picture wasn't going to stop him. He leaned his cheek against the picture, waiting.
"No, dear, I need your lips. Men get proper kisses when they come of age."
Harry was disgusted, but turned himself all the same. Damn portrait!
She kissed him, the paint moving against his rips roughly, once, twice, three times… until at last she reached seventeen. Harry moved away, wondering what kind of paint was permitted to be so scratchy like that; his lips felt sore. "The password?" he remarked.
She giggled again. "It's still gillywater. I've just always wanted to be able to tell the other portraits that I've kissed the Boy-Who-Lived!"
Harry stared at her in disgust, very much wanting to retch.
FIN