You know I don’t have much say in these things. He-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed said to write a Reunion drabble, but alas I was too late. Yes, I know I can do it anyway, but then the drabble series went tits up and well, he said I could change it to the new one and it would still work. You know how he gets.
Title: Must We Always Resort To Violence?
Challenge: I Dare You
Team: Death Eaters
Rating: R for language
Length: 5 X 100
Warning: Language, silliness, OOC, violence, warped humour, fluff-o-rama
A/N: No betas were fondled in the creation of this series. No really good plot lines, either, for that matter. The usual Anti-Litigation ward has been cast.
Severus’ hands were trembling as he opened the gate.
His plan was simple. He would arrive unannounced, knock on the door, and she would open it to find him standing there, looking imposing, dignified and completely, knicker-wettingly irresistible.
He had planned so carefully, using all the powers of his meticulous, logical brain, and the scenario would play itself out perfectly, just as it had in theory.
He had, of course, forgotten Hermione’s penchant for throwing a spanner in the works, and his own tendency to overthink tactics until they were too mushy and pappy from handling as to be almost unusable.
Instead of following his meticulous plan, Hermione was bent over in the garden, presenting her delicious backside like every peach he’d wanted to devour.
The gate creaked, and she whirled around, wand in hand, and hexed the living shit out of him.
He jumped back, hissing. “What was THAT for?” he barked, flinching at his stinging wrist.
She raced toward him, a harridan in Muggle jeans and his cast-off The Damned t-shirt. “For sneaking around like the snake in the grass you are, Severus!” she bit back, amber eyes flashing.
Severus glowered. She fumed. “Are you hurt?” she grudgingly asked.
“Not really,” he answered with a pout.
The silence was not part of the plan.
“I’m waiting,” he said, dragging his dignity across his chest, along with his robes.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re the only wizard I know who can manage to fall in a bucket of roses and come up smelling like a bouquet of shit, Severus. You. Screwed. Up.”
“I’m giving you the chance to apologise.”
It was fascinating, really. One moment, she was Hermione Granger, all luscious curves and fuckable lips. The next instant she was a Gorgon – Medusa with Slythern-snake hair and bolshy, breast-heaving anger.
Her eyebrows rushed together; her hair crackled at the ends. Her face, pink from the sun, bloomed into a dark flush of fury. “Of all the mad, idiotic things you have ever said, and grant their haven’t been that many, what gives you the first idea that I will apologise about anything?” Hermione screeched, and kicked him in the shin.
That hadn’t been in the plan, either. Cradling his injured arm, clutching his bruised leg, Severus hissed, “If you will allow me to explain-”
“I want you to explain why you should leave here with your bits intact, Severus Snape!”
They faced one another, witch and wizard, male and female, Gyffindor and Slytherin. He coughed. She cleared her throat.
He blinked. Twice. His mouth twitched.
“I dare you.”
Hermione started. “Pardon?”
Severus took a bracing breath. “Forgive me. I dare you.”
“I double dare you.”
Her mouth twitched. “I am busy, Mr. Snape,” she intoned, with impressive dignity.
“Triple. Dare. You.”
Severus growled, “You cannot possibly be as aroused as I am at this moment, you delectable succubus.”
“Bet me, Snake boy,” Hermione replied, panting.
He threw her over his shoulder, and marched into their home.