A Mandatory Alliance
By: Provocative Envy
OOO
CHAPTER SEVEN
To: An Overemotional Bitch Who Should Acquire A Sense Of Humor Before She Gets Shot
I must admit to being slightly irritated by your letter. That could have been due to that blasted girl and her “ideas”, though. Get this: she wants me to work alongside house-elves tomorrow! House-elves! I haven’t actually come into direct contact with one of those since I was ten! And it bit me on the arse in an act of defiance, so that doesn’t even really count since I didn’t have a choice! Ahem. Yes, well, go ahead and start your Hermione-bloody-Granger fan clubs. Just make sure you get huge hair and an encyclopedia as your mascots. Or whatever.
No, but seriously. Hermione Granger is…God, there are no words in the English language to describe that evil…thing. I mean, she purposely makes my life a living hell, all out of some perverse scheme of revenge. Or whatever. I don’t even know. And the people she hangs out with…! You know Hairy Pothead? Or, as the invariably insane call him, Harry Potter? Yeah, well his mentally retarded sidekick, Romping Weasel (oh, fine, Ronald Weasley) are her best friends. And the furry woodland creature, it turns out, is a psycho rapist who takes advantage of nefariously bushy-haired Gryffindors in empty classrooms.
Anyways, so the Weasel tried to force himself upon Granger, and I walked in on them since I was on my way to lunch and decided to stalk the chit. Well, I knew that she was fruitlessly struggling and clawing and kicking her way to an intact hymen, but I couldn’t help but use her pre-dick-ament for my own…purposes. Ahem. But, yeah, so I catch them, the Weasel runs for his life, the small bulge in his pants rather sickening in its…less-than-satisfactory stature (oh the woes of prepubescent urges!), and I’m left alone with Granger. She’s terrified, probably more of me than her attacker, and so I do the decent thing and blackmail her.
And then she made me cut my hair, which is just so completely amoral that I really don’t know how she sleeps at night. (Assuming R.W. isn’t frolicking over to her dormitory in the wee hours of the morning.) Yes, but so I dyed her bushy brown hair blonde, making her look like some special-ed version of Madonna, and in retaliation she forced Greek philosophy on me by the armful. And so I then merely ordered my two friends, Crabbe and Goyle, who are complete nuisances as neither are literate, to follow her around and never let her out of their sight. They did their job admirably well for a few days, but then that vile creature (Granger) got all clever on me and befriended them. (How she managed to become “intimate” with two boys who I wasn’t aware possessed personalities is beyond me. Still.)
So she told them to stop following her, and they listened. And then I threw a book at her and she told me that the next “step to recovery” was to work with house-elves, so I’d learn to “commiserate with my inferiors” or something. Naturally, I demanded she work with me. The question is, what do I do to make her miserable? I hate her so much I’m starting to shake.
Those maddeningly wise brown eyes that are so bloody huge it makes me wonder how much of her face can actually be left for that stupid mouth of hers which just…God, she just…I shall scream if I don’t torture her tomorrow. I have to make this good. Really, really, really, really good. I suppose I could bribe Weasel into streaking through the hallways or something as we’re cleaning, or working, or whatever it is we’re doing. Yes. That’s an excellent idea. You know, Overemotional Bitch Who Should Acquire A Sense Of Humor Before She Gets Shot, you’re not that bad to confide things to. In fact, I may write a fake apology to go along with this just so I can keep writing my life story to you. Have a nice day. I think.
From: Boy Who Wants To Torch Your Hermione Granger Fan Club and All of Its Pathetic Followers
OOO
“Malfoy, you won’t get anywhere cleaning those pans unless you actually put them in water, you know,” Hermione Granger’s amused voice broke through his sweat-induced reverie. Throwing down the salad bowl in a fit of anger, Draco Malfoy wiped his desiccated hands on his robes, glaring at Hermione from underneath long, blond eyelashes.
“I still don’t understand why we can’t use magic like normal people,” he snarled impetuously, roughly pointing to the wand in his back pocket.
“Because,” she explained as patiently as she could, all the while suppressing the desire to strangle him, “house-elves aren’t allowed wands to clean things, so why should we get that privilege? Besides,” she added wickedly, “I think it’s marvelously entertaining to watch you splash around in the sink like that. You have no bloody idea what you’re doing.”
“You like watching me splash around in a sink, Granger? I didn’t know you had a porn fetish. You should have told me earlier and we could have skipped this whole no-body-hair, water-running-slowly-down-my-bare-arms business,” Malfoy remarked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow to reinforce his innuendo.
“Oh, yes, Malfoy, I desperately want you,” she replied, deadpanned.
“No need to be bashful, Granger. You’re certainly not alone,” he said loftily, admiring his warped reflection in the back of a copper skillet.
“Oh, for the love of…could you be any more arrogant?”
“Loads,” he responded easily. She sighed.
“Whatever. Malfoy, get back to cleaning those…remember, you’re bettering yourself through all this. Do you really want to end up heavily medicated before the age of forty?” Hermione reminded him. He growled low in his throat at her comment.
“Why don’t you help a little, Granger? Instead of lecturing me like my mother?”
“Because I already know how to do this the magic-free way,” she retorted. “Wait a tick; did you say your mother lectures you? I had no idea! Malfoy? Get discipline? Ha-ha!” she laughed.
Draco clenched his teeth, his dark mood blackening even more. Glancing at the sink full of foamy water before him, he was struck with inspiration. With a dunk of his hands, and a flick of his soapy wrist, Hermione’s arm was splattered with moisture.
“You didn’t,” she gasped, her eyes alight with fury.
“Oh, believe me, I did,” he said shot back cunningly.
“Well, in that case…” With a mutter under her breath, and a small wand movement, a bucket of water launched itself across the floor and dumped itself on Draco’s head.
“You just completely destroyed the labor that was my hair-gel,” he hissed, slowly wiping the suds from his eyes.
“Terribly sorry. I had no idea you wanted to look so dashing for me,” she giggled. Her smile disappeared as a wet, dirty mop smacked her across the face. “Oh, it’s on now,” she mumbled fiercely.
OOO
No comments:
Post a Comment