Having a little fun with Dungeon Watch

[icarus]

lizardspots got me in the mood to write Ron/Draco, and my research paper is not moving along very well. I'm in a rotten Malfoy-esque mood.



"Oh holy FUCK!"

The shout caused house-elves up and down the ringing halls to look up from their afternoon chores, blinking. Then Inky returned to restacking the books in the Malfoy third floor library, hovering cautiously out of reach; Ipsquick resumed firing quelling charms on the Ferns in the second floor hall, genus ichathi malignus, to water them. Lickspittle continued to squeak for help - alas, the others were far too busy - as she was dragged down those steps to her doom.

Aside from the shout, it was a normal morning at the Manor.

"Weasley..." a voice drawled. "You are not walking out of my house wearing a sheet, so sit down."

"WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY CLOTHES!?"

"The house-elves probably picked them up from where you threw them -"

"--Awk!"

"Nice show, Weasel. Yeah, that's the other reason you're not leaving with my sheet: magical hospital corners. They keep you from rolling out of bed."

"WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING HERE?"

There was a moment's stunned silence. Then a short laugh. "You mean to tell me that you don't remember anything from Potter's party?"

"No!" Ron's voice was emphatic. "Do you think I'd be here if I did?"

The next pause was thoughtful, and long. One could almost hear Draco Malfoy's eyes glitter.

"Oh..." There was a quick intake of breath. "We didn't... we couldn't --"

"You're as slow as ever, Weasley." There was a snide pause, "or should I say 'Ron' now?"

"-- oh, fuck, you can't tell a soul! God help me," a thump-thump of bare footsteps, "if you tell anyone, Malfoy, you're gonna regret it."

"You're in no position to make threats, Weasley." The sheets rustled with a sound much like someone folding their arms behind their head. "But I'll tell you what you can do."

Draco licked his lips and couldn't believe his good luck. This had been a monumental blunder. But it seemed that Weasley did not remember he had been too drunk to fly when Mister-Gryffindor-In-Shining-Armor offered to take him home; nor that he, a Malfoy, couldn't get it up the night before. Now if he played his cards right.... well. This might even last till the end of term.



I think I'll go squash some house elves now.

ETA: Here's a rough context for the story Voldemort's dead, the Malfoys switched sides (conveniently) and Draco had to suck it up and go to Harry's party.

Comments

[thywillbedone.livejournal.com]

oh

dear

LORD

*glomps Icarus* My god, I SO love you right now! I'm still young, I'll bare more kids just for you, I swear.

[icarusancalion.livejournal.com]

*giggles*

I have been in the shittiest mood today, burning bridges with friends and basically ready to take a morning star to anything in my path.

Poor Ron. :D

Icarus

[thywillbedone.livejournal.com]

Poor Icarus too!

*hugs you tight*

I'm sorry about today. I can relate to shitty moods. Been on several now for the whole week.

Not pretty.

[icarusancalion.livejournal.com]

It's the end of term. Final research paper not going well, bit of nastiness with someone that was fun when it started, but is really poorly timed. *Clubs them into the ground with a morning star.

Icarus

[thywillbedone.livejournal.com]

Yeah, I kinda wondered about that. I mean,i don't pay attention to a lot of the things that go on and then suddenly you leave, though I know it was totally unrelated with that specific problem.

i'm sorry for the broken friendship. I know the feeling. :-(

But I still loved your fic. And you have to marry Lizard too. She's making me drool over here everytime she updates.

[icarusancalion.livejournal.com]

Oh. That situation's okay, if slightly strained. I left hp_dungeons because of the time involvment. An over-stretched Icarus is an unpleasant Icarus. A stressed, over-stretched and unpleasant Icarus handles normal ups-and-downs in an RPG with something less that her usual level-headedness. It wasn't worth the stress, the impact on my other responsibilities, and it wasn't developing my writing. No, this an entirely different - if related - situation. But I just beat the perpetrator into the ground with a morning star (3" spikes) and thus feel much better now.

Cathartic, it was.


Icarus

[thywillbedone.livejournal.com]

i still send you much love and hugs!

{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{HUGS}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}

[icarusancalion.livejournal.com]

Thank you.

Icarus