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humbuggirl
Dec. 21st, 2008 04:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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rarepair_shortsAuthor: stavvers
Recipient:humbuggirl
Title: Better things to do
Pairing: Ginny/Viktor, Ron/Pansy, Bill/Cho
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1942
Summary: Christmas at the Weasleys’ is a quieter affair than usual as everyone seems to have something better to do.
Author's Notes:humbuggirl suggested a load of pairings which looked really fun, so I took a few of them and tried to spin a story out of them! I had a great time, and I hope this is as enjoyable to read as it was to write!
“This is everyone?” Harry could barely believe his eyes. Usually the Weasley Christmas table was crowded to the point that it was impossible to eat without savagely elbowing one’s neighbour. Today it was Arthur, Molly, George, and enough turkey to easily feed a small army.
“Hmm,” Molly sighed. “I’m afraid Ginny probably won’t be coming, dear.” There was an edge to her voice, disappointment perhaps.
“Still off in Bulgaria,” George clarified. “No doubt Viktor Krum’s helping her with her-”
*
Learning Quidditch technique under one of the masters of the field had always been Ginny’s dream, and Viktor Krum had exceeded her expectations. She had imagined Viktor to be a natural, a prodigy, with little to teach as Ginny was fairly certain she didn’t possess that innate talent. In fact he had learned all his skill through hard work and expert teaching, and was more than willing to impart his wisdom.
“Ginny!” he exclaimed, pulling up beside her on his broom. She fluttered inside; he was so close she could smell the sweaty, woody aroma of the Quidditch champion. The way he pronounced her name always made her stomach flip; it was irrational, she knew it. It came out more like “Cheeny”. Perhaps it was the voice, then.
“Do not get distracted like that. Alvays be avare of the vood between your thighs. Feel it.” Ginny giggled. Viktor’s English was riddled with peculiarities like that, things always sounded dirty, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Ve shall stop for the day. Clearly you are vanting to not vork at Christmas.”
They landed a little way away from the cabin; Viktor firmly believed it was good to walk for a while to clear one’s mind and get a little bit of extra exercise.
“Are you missing your family?”
A brief stab of guilt as Ginny realised she wasn’t. She remembered having to drag herself away from them, and now she had barely given them a minute’s thought since she had arrived. She shook her head.
“Me neither. It is nice, I think, to be alone. Ginny, vy do you laugh sometimes ven I say something?”
“Oh...” Ginny could see no reason to lie, so told Viktor. “It’s just that sometimes you say things that sound... they sound a bit sexual. And I’m English, we find that sort of thing hilarious.”
“Vot vould you say if I told you that I had been intending that?”
He was close, so close. Ginny could feel his arm, solid as a rock, pressed next to hers despite being surrounded on all sides by open country.
“You... why?”
“I haff heard that you English like—how do you say?—innuendos. I did not know that it vos supposed to be funny for you. I haff thought that it was...” He trailed off, his English had failed. So he used a language that was universal.
His lips were surprisingly moist for one who spent all day in high winds on a broom, and Ginny had no idea how long they had been kissing before she pulled away.
“Right then, Quidditch champion,” she smiled, “you want innuendo? I’ll give you one.”
He looked blank, but followed anyway.
*
“Where’s Ron, anyway?” Arthur asked Harry, piling his plate with roast potatoes.
“He’s... he’s a little bit busy at the office right now, but I’m sure he’ll be with us shortly.”
“He probably has better things to do, too,” Molly sniffed.
“No... he’s just... important things...” Harry lied, poorly. Molly was right.
*
Ron’s morning had begun badly. It was Christmas day, and not only had he been summoned into the bloody stupid Auror Office at stupid o’clock—before he’d even had a chance to open his presents!—but he had been summoned in for a big pile of pointless rubbish. Since Harry had defeated Voldemort, Dark Wizards had become rather trivial and most of his job involved telling off people who had used the M-word. Today’s task was to interview a small group of Dark Wizards who had enchanted a few Muggle Christmas trees to explode. They had failed miserably, the trees merely breaking into a festive song.
“It’ll take ten minutes,” Harry said, “then we can go back, and eat your mum’s brilliant cooking till we feel sick.”
Ron moved from cell to cell, receiving the same old crap each time. “Muggles are bad, pure bloods are brilliant, blah blah blah.”
Until the last. He recognised her face immediately, and it didn’t look out of place behind bars.
“Pansy Parkinson. Still evil, then?”
“Ron Weasley. Still nothing, then?”
It was times like this that Ron wished he was allowed to thump suspects, but words were his only weapon and “Crucio” wasn’t one of them.
“I always thought you’d end up here. You people just end up reverting to type.”
“Really, Ron, you sound just like a Death Eater there. ‘You people’, indeed. As a matter of fact, I’m good now.”
“Yeah, you’re bloody lovely. All you did was try to kill fifty Muggles, not wipe them all out.”
“Actually, I was the one who sabotaged the mission.” Pansy flicked her hair and stood up straight. Ron responded in the only way he could.
“That’s bollocks. You just failed because you’re all useless.”
Pansy sighed. “Subtlety really isn’t your thing, is it Ron? What would I have to gain by actually carrying out the attack? Getting arrested, spending hours talking to an attractive yet stubborn Auror then spending the rest of my life in Azkaban? No thanks. This way, I get to be on the winning team. Might even get a good Ministry job out of it.”
“Selfish bitch,” Ron muttered.
“Maybe, but it worked out well for you lot. Any questions? Like how I managed to do it, and if there’s evidence that I’m on your side?”
“Did you call me attractive yet stubborn?”
Pansy laughed. It was strange how she radiated power, leaning casually on the bars of her cell.
“Irrelevant, but yes. Really not very good at interrogations, are you?”
“For all you know, I could be throwing you off your guard, in a quest to get to the truth.”
“Somehow I doubt that. Tell me, when was the last time you got laid?”
“Yesterday. Give your mum my regards.” This time they both laughed. Ron wasn’t exactly sure when he had stopped wishing infinite torments on Pansy—sometime in the last few minutes of conversation. Somehow he believed her, or at least wanted to.
“That explains the look of soul-crushing disappointment she’s had all day.”
“Of course,” Ron smiled, stepping forward. “She knows she’ll never feel my marvellous meat-weapon ever again.” Pansy roared with laughter at how awful Ron’s comeback was. He had always thought of her as pug-faced and unpleasant, but he realised now that her round face was rather pretty. The unpleasantness, rather surprisingly, was quite witty and charming when it wasn’t targeted towards innocent people.
Only the bars stood between them, and Ron decided he could take a little Christmas kiss after all... Her face was turned upwards, and Ron leaned down.
Then Harry killed the moment. “I think we’re done here, shall we head back now? I’m absolutely starving and I can’t wait for your mum’s cranberry- ah.”
“Miss Parkinson has some information. As it happens, she sabotaged the whole thing. I think the matter bears further investigation, and I volunteer to, er...”
“Fine,” Harry rolled his eyes. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I don’t, and I don’t care. See you later, Harry.”
Harry left and Ron stepped back towards the bars.
“I really hope you know what you’re doing,” she whispered to Ron.
“I do when it come to this,” Ron said, leaning down and touching his lips to Pansy’s.
*
“I am sorry I am so late.” Fleur blustered in, kissed everyone’s cheeks hastily then plonked herself down and loaded her plate.
“Er, where’s Bill?” George asked timidly. Fleur looked rather pissed off.
“Zat bastard? ‘E won’t be coming. I am glad. ‘E loves zat heedeous goblin more zan ‘is own family.”
She said no more, stabbing her sprouts furiously with her fork.
*
After Cho, life with Fleur had never been the same. The affair had been secret, passionate and thrilling, everything Bill had expected from Fleur, yet she had never delivered. Once it ended, he had felt all the usual things a cheating husband does; the guilt, the desire to make everything right, the emptiness, and a little more guilt.
Beyond this, though, he felt something more—he missed Cho like crazy. She was the one who had broken it off, forced him back into the life he was fairly sure now that he did not want. In his pocket, Bill still carried the small bronze Knut that Cho had given him; when she wanted to see him, it would burn hot against his thigh. It had remained cold for months.
He had wondered at first whether it had been the excitement that he missed. Dashing off at all hours, telling Fleur that he was meeting important clients from Gringotts, instead he would meet Cho and spend a half-hour here, an hour there, behind bushes or in seedy hotel rooms. It was not that he missed, though, and he realised it now. It was Cho herself. The way her nose wrinkled when she laughed, her bright conversation, her encyclopaedic knowledge of Quidditch positions. He would see her no more.
“Bill, it is time we are going,” Fleur trilled. Bill sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for company, and felt sick thinking about Christmas bloody dinner.
Then, salvation. The burning feeling at his thigh; it was the coin! Cho wanted to see him!
“Sorry, love, I have to run. Barg wants to see me urgently. Something about his gold. You understand.”
He kissed her on the forehead, barely noticing her look of rage as he skipped out of the door.
It wasn’t one of their usual haunts—a little park somewhere in Kent. Cho was all wrapped up in a red anorak with a furry hood. Her eyelids were wet; Bill couldn’t tell if it was melting snowflakes or tears. As she spoke, Bill knew it must be the snow. She had changed somehow, the aura of vulnerability was gone.
“Do you know why I ended it?”
“The guilt of sleeping with a married man?” It was what Bill had always assumed.
Cho’s face broke into a radiant smile. “No, it wasn’t that. It was... it was because of Cedric. Because you weren’t him, and I was getting happy and I thought I shouldn’t be happy.”
“You shouldn’t feel that way.”
“And I don’t anymore. There was this woman at work, see, and her husband got killed by Voldemort. She got married again last week. I was such a bitch to her, I told her she was desecrating her husband’s memory. She told me something. She said that we must all move on and- well it was a long speech, I won’t bother repeating it. The gist is that life continues, and we should do what makes us happy.”
Bill’s heart leapt with joy, and he tried to formulate a reply which had the message, “Jolly good, let’s fuck”, but sounded a little more sensitive. It was not necessary. Cho threw herself into his arms and snogged him like she was dying.
“I’ve missed you so much,” she mumbled between kisses. “There’s a little greenhouse over there...”
*
The mood in the Weasley house was dire. Those who were present were all fuming at those who were not. Arthur knew a distraction was in order.
“Charades, anyone?”
stavversRecipient:
humbuggirlTitle: Better things to do
Pairing: Ginny/Viktor, Ron/Pansy, Bill/Cho
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1942
Summary: Christmas at the Weasleys’ is a quieter affair than usual as everyone seems to have something better to do.
Author's Notes:
humbuggirl suggested a load of pairings which looked really fun, so I took a few of them and tried to spin a story out of them! I had a great time, and I hope this is as enjoyable to read as it was to write!“This is everyone?” Harry could barely believe his eyes. Usually the Weasley Christmas table was crowded to the point that it was impossible to eat without savagely elbowing one’s neighbour. Today it was Arthur, Molly, George, and enough turkey to easily feed a small army.
“Hmm,” Molly sighed. “I’m afraid Ginny probably won’t be coming, dear.” There was an edge to her voice, disappointment perhaps.
“Still off in Bulgaria,” George clarified. “No doubt Viktor Krum’s helping her with her-”
Learning Quidditch technique under one of the masters of the field had always been Ginny’s dream, and Viktor Krum had exceeded her expectations. She had imagined Viktor to be a natural, a prodigy, with little to teach as Ginny was fairly certain she didn’t possess that innate talent. In fact he had learned all his skill through hard work and expert teaching, and was more than willing to impart his wisdom.
“Ginny!” he exclaimed, pulling up beside her on his broom. She fluttered inside; he was so close she could smell the sweaty, woody aroma of the Quidditch champion. The way he pronounced her name always made her stomach flip; it was irrational, she knew it. It came out more like “Cheeny”. Perhaps it was the voice, then.
“Do not get distracted like that. Alvays be avare of the vood between your thighs. Feel it.” Ginny giggled. Viktor’s English was riddled with peculiarities like that, things always sounded dirty, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Ve shall stop for the day. Clearly you are vanting to not vork at Christmas.”
They landed a little way away from the cabin; Viktor firmly believed it was good to walk for a while to clear one’s mind and get a little bit of extra exercise.
“Are you missing your family?”
A brief stab of guilt as Ginny realised she wasn’t. She remembered having to drag herself away from them, and now she had barely given them a minute’s thought since she had arrived. She shook her head.
“Me neither. It is nice, I think, to be alone. Ginny, vy do you laugh sometimes ven I say something?”
“Oh...” Ginny could see no reason to lie, so told Viktor. “It’s just that sometimes you say things that sound... they sound a bit sexual. And I’m English, we find that sort of thing hilarious.”
“Vot vould you say if I told you that I had been intending that?”
He was close, so close. Ginny could feel his arm, solid as a rock, pressed next to hers despite being surrounded on all sides by open country.
“You... why?”
“I haff heard that you English like—how do you say?—innuendos. I did not know that it vos supposed to be funny for you. I haff thought that it was...” He trailed off, his English had failed. So he used a language that was universal.
His lips were surprisingly moist for one who spent all day in high winds on a broom, and Ginny had no idea how long they had been kissing before she pulled away.
“Right then, Quidditch champion,” she smiled, “you want innuendo? I’ll give you one.”
He looked blank, but followed anyway.
“Where’s Ron, anyway?” Arthur asked Harry, piling his plate with roast potatoes.
“He’s... he’s a little bit busy at the office right now, but I’m sure he’ll be with us shortly.”
“He probably has better things to do, too,” Molly sniffed.
“No... he’s just... important things...” Harry lied, poorly. Molly was right.
Ron’s morning had begun badly. It was Christmas day, and not only had he been summoned into the bloody stupid Auror Office at stupid o’clock—before he’d even had a chance to open his presents!—but he had been summoned in for a big pile of pointless rubbish. Since Harry had defeated Voldemort, Dark Wizards had become rather trivial and most of his job involved telling off people who had used the M-word. Today’s task was to interview a small group of Dark Wizards who had enchanted a few Muggle Christmas trees to explode. They had failed miserably, the trees merely breaking into a festive song.
“It’ll take ten minutes,” Harry said, “then we can go back, and eat your mum’s brilliant cooking till we feel sick.”
Ron moved from cell to cell, receiving the same old crap each time. “Muggles are bad, pure bloods are brilliant, blah blah blah.”
Until the last. He recognised her face immediately, and it didn’t look out of place behind bars.
“Pansy Parkinson. Still evil, then?”
“Ron Weasley. Still nothing, then?”
It was times like this that Ron wished he was allowed to thump suspects, but words were his only weapon and “Crucio” wasn’t one of them.
“I always thought you’d end up here. You people just end up reverting to type.”
“Really, Ron, you sound just like a Death Eater there. ‘You people’, indeed. As a matter of fact, I’m good now.”
“Yeah, you’re bloody lovely. All you did was try to kill fifty Muggles, not wipe them all out.”
“Actually, I was the one who sabotaged the mission.” Pansy flicked her hair and stood up straight. Ron responded in the only way he could.
“That’s bollocks. You just failed because you’re all useless.”
Pansy sighed. “Subtlety really isn’t your thing, is it Ron? What would I have to gain by actually carrying out the attack? Getting arrested, spending hours talking to an attractive yet stubborn Auror then spending the rest of my life in Azkaban? No thanks. This way, I get to be on the winning team. Might even get a good Ministry job out of it.”
“Selfish bitch,” Ron muttered.
“Maybe, but it worked out well for you lot. Any questions? Like how I managed to do it, and if there’s evidence that I’m on your side?”
“Did you call me attractive yet stubborn?”
Pansy laughed. It was strange how she radiated power, leaning casually on the bars of her cell.
“Irrelevant, but yes. Really not very good at interrogations, are you?”
“For all you know, I could be throwing you off your guard, in a quest to get to the truth.”
“Somehow I doubt that. Tell me, when was the last time you got laid?”
“Yesterday. Give your mum my regards.” This time they both laughed. Ron wasn’t exactly sure when he had stopped wishing infinite torments on Pansy—sometime in the last few minutes of conversation. Somehow he believed her, or at least wanted to.
“That explains the look of soul-crushing disappointment she’s had all day.”
“Of course,” Ron smiled, stepping forward. “She knows she’ll never feel my marvellous meat-weapon ever again.” Pansy roared with laughter at how awful Ron’s comeback was. He had always thought of her as pug-faced and unpleasant, but he realised now that her round face was rather pretty. The unpleasantness, rather surprisingly, was quite witty and charming when it wasn’t targeted towards innocent people.
Only the bars stood between them, and Ron decided he could take a little Christmas kiss after all... Her face was turned upwards, and Ron leaned down.
Then Harry killed the moment. “I think we’re done here, shall we head back now? I’m absolutely starving and I can’t wait for your mum’s cranberry- ah.”
“Miss Parkinson has some information. As it happens, she sabotaged the whole thing. I think the matter bears further investigation, and I volunteer to, er...”
“Fine,” Harry rolled his eyes. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I don’t, and I don’t care. See you later, Harry.”
Harry left and Ron stepped back towards the bars.
“I really hope you know what you’re doing,” she whispered to Ron.
“I do when it come to this,” Ron said, leaning down and touching his lips to Pansy’s.
“I am sorry I am so late.” Fleur blustered in, kissed everyone’s cheeks hastily then plonked herself down and loaded her plate.
“Er, where’s Bill?” George asked timidly. Fleur looked rather pissed off.
“Zat bastard? ‘E won’t be coming. I am glad. ‘E loves zat heedeous goblin more zan ‘is own family.”
She said no more, stabbing her sprouts furiously with her fork.
After Cho, life with Fleur had never been the same. The affair had been secret, passionate and thrilling, everything Bill had expected from Fleur, yet she had never delivered. Once it ended, he had felt all the usual things a cheating husband does; the guilt, the desire to make everything right, the emptiness, and a little more guilt.
Beyond this, though, he felt something more—he missed Cho like crazy. She was the one who had broken it off, forced him back into the life he was fairly sure now that he did not want. In his pocket, Bill still carried the small bronze Knut that Cho had given him; when she wanted to see him, it would burn hot against his thigh. It had remained cold for months.
He had wondered at first whether it had been the excitement that he missed. Dashing off at all hours, telling Fleur that he was meeting important clients from Gringotts, instead he would meet Cho and spend a half-hour here, an hour there, behind bushes or in seedy hotel rooms. It was not that he missed, though, and he realised it now. It was Cho herself. The way her nose wrinkled when she laughed, her bright conversation, her encyclopaedic knowledge of Quidditch positions. He would see her no more.
“Bill, it is time we are going,” Fleur trilled. Bill sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for company, and felt sick thinking about Christmas bloody dinner.
Then, salvation. The burning feeling at his thigh; it was the coin! Cho wanted to see him!
“Sorry, love, I have to run. Barg wants to see me urgently. Something about his gold. You understand.”
He kissed her on the forehead, barely noticing her look of rage as he skipped out of the door.
It wasn’t one of their usual haunts—a little park somewhere in Kent. Cho was all wrapped up in a red anorak with a furry hood. Her eyelids were wet; Bill couldn’t tell if it was melting snowflakes or tears. As she spoke, Bill knew it must be the snow. She had changed somehow, the aura of vulnerability was gone.
“Do you know why I ended it?”
“The guilt of sleeping with a married man?” It was what Bill had always assumed.
Cho’s face broke into a radiant smile. “No, it wasn’t that. It was... it was because of Cedric. Because you weren’t him, and I was getting happy and I thought I shouldn’t be happy.”
“You shouldn’t feel that way.”
“And I don’t anymore. There was this woman at work, see, and her husband got killed by Voldemort. She got married again last week. I was such a bitch to her, I told her she was desecrating her husband’s memory. She told me something. She said that we must all move on and- well it was a long speech, I won’t bother repeating it. The gist is that life continues, and we should do what makes us happy.”
Bill’s heart leapt with joy, and he tried to formulate a reply which had the message, “Jolly good, let’s fuck”, but sounded a little more sensitive. It was not necessary. Cho threw herself into his arms and snogged him like she was dying.
“I’ve missed you so much,” she mumbled between kisses. “There’s a little greenhouse over there...”
The mood in the Weasley house was dire. Those who were present were all fuming at those who were not. Arthur knew a distraction was in order.
“Charades, anyone?”
no subject
Date: 2008-12-22 12:49 am (UTC)This was so fun! I liked how you managed to slip all the pairings in there.
This had me in hysterics: “She knows she’ll never feel my marvellous meat-weapon ever again.”
as did this: Bill’s heart leapt with joy, and he tried to formulate a reply which had the message, “Jolly good, let’s fuck”, but sounded a little more sensitive.
Ahaha.
no subject
Date: 2008-12-22 01:33 am (UTC)Absolutely loved it! ♥
no subject
Date: 2008-12-22 03:29 am (UTC)This was so funny. Really well done, and Arthur - just perfect. So Arthur.
no subject
Date: 2008-12-22 03:24 pm (UTC)that was brilliant! :D
*kicks Bill*
*kicks Ginny*
*kicks Ron*
oh, and ROFL @ Arthur. That is SO him xDxD
GREAT JOB ♥!
no subject
Date: 2008-12-22 05:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-22 05:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-22 09:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-26 03:45 am (UTC)Ginny/Viktor - whooo! I love your Viktor, ahahaha he is so funny. :D And then the Ron/Pansy bit was SO HILARIOUS... I was giggling all the way through it. And the Bill/Cho bit... heartbreaking yet funny at the same time!
And then - ARTHUR. HOJEEZ. I feel so bad for those actually at dinner.
BUT SERIOUSLY THIS IS SO GREAT. I HAVE NO OTHER COHERENT WORDS. ♥