|yule_balls_mod (yule_balls_mod) wrote in hp_yule_balls,|
@ 2008-12-05 12:02:00
|Entry tags:||2008, character: draco malfoy, character: harry potter, character: pansy parkinson, character: susan bones, fic, pairing: harry/draco/susan, pairing: susan/pansy|
Fic: Taming of the Prude (Harry/Draco/Susan, etc., NC-17) for the community
Recipient: the community
Title: The Taming of the Prude
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco/Susan, Harry/Draco, Susan/Pansy, various promiscuous Slytherins
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older.
Summary: Susan Bones is a nice, polite girl. Maybe a bit on the boring side. Okay, okay, so she owns four pairs of tartan trousers! But Susan's also got a crush on Harry Potter, and she'll do anything to get his attention, including leaving her fate in the hands of Pansy Parkinson.
Warnings: Voyeurism, threesome, mentions of casual sex and drinking
Word Count: ~8200
Author's Notes: Happy Christmas, everyone! This fic absolutely ran away with me, and I had a blast writing it, so I hope you enjoy! Thanks to my beta S, who is far too good to me, and a very big thank you the amazing K and T, who were endlessly patient with me and are just awesome in general.
The Taming of the Prude
Harry Potter had a strut.
He didn't know it, of course. Men like Harry were never aware of that sort of thing – strolling through their lives, completely oblivious to the look-at-me vibe that each step demanded. But a strut it was, effortless and inimitable. A stride full of confidence. A masterpiece of fluid muscles and casual grace. A set of perfect buttocks, showcased in a pair of well-fit trousers…
"Sue? Suze. Susan Bones!"
Susan's head snapped up and immediately she could feel the flood of heat rushing, unbidden, into her face. "What?" she asked, trying – and failing – to feign indifference.
Across the office, Hannah Abbott just laughed. "You were staring again, I saw you this time. You're so obvious, Sue."
"Oh, shut up, I was not," Susan grumbled, but that damned blush in her cheeks refused to go away, proclaiming her "caught" as loudly as if she'd held up a bleeding sign. Why, why did she always have to blush?
"Were too," Hannah sung lightly, giving her head of shining blonde hair a smug toss.
Susan glared. She hated Hannah. She hated her stupid, lovely hair and her bright blue eyes and her easy charm. Most of all, she hated the non-existent blush that would never dare to show itself on the likes of Hannah's pleasing round face. Oh yes, she hated Hannah. And that was obviously why they were best friends.
"I hate you," Susan reminded her, for good measure.
"Yes, you've told me that." Hannah had gone back to her writing, occasionally giving a quizzical glare to the pile of papers spread out next to her.
Deciding her friend was distracted enough for the moment, Susan risked a glance at the spot Harry had last occupied, but he was gone, fitted trousers and all. She let out a small disappointed sigh. Damn.
"Are you ever going to actually say something to him?" Hannah still hadn't lifted her gaze from her work, but there was a slight smirk on her face as she spoke. "Honestly, if you keep staring like that, I'm afraid eventually his trousers will burst into flames."
Snatching up the nearest useless object – which happened to be a memo from the Ludicrous Patents Office that she had no intention of reading – Susan balled the paper in her fist and whipped it at Hannah's head, growling her irritation when Hannah dodged nimbly out of the way.
"Repressed anger is no remedy for unrequited love," the blonde chided.
Susan groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Will you please just drop it?" she pleaded. They'd had this same conversation at least once a week since Susan had turned sixteen and discovered that Harry was, well, quite nice to stare at. But Hannah – perfect, male-attracting Hannah – didn't seem to understand the concept of admiration from afar.
Hannah fixed her with a long-suffering stare. "I'll drop it the day you actually say 'hi' to him instead of going 'nnrgh' and running away," she said.
"There's nothing wrong with going 'nnrgh' and running away," Susan protested.
Snorting a laugh, Hannah replied, "Oh yes, just like there's nothing wrong with wearing tartan trousers."
What's wrong with tartan trousers? Susan had opened her mouth to answer when she caught the slight sneer on Hannah's face. She quickly changed her mind, instead scribbling a quick note on her hand. 'Burn tartan trousers. All four pairs.'
"Besides," Hannah went on, "it's been ages since you've even been out with a bloke. You could use one in your life."
Susan rolled her eyes. Hannah, she knew, had many blokes in her life, and couldn't seem to understand how Susan functioned without someone to open her every door and pay for all her meals. "I do not need anything in my life that I do not already have," she said. "Besides, I have Reginald and Adalbert."
"And that right there is why it's scarily obvious you do need one!" Hannah burst out. "Normal women don't have… ugh, spiders as pets!"
"They're not spiders, they're Mexican Red-Knee tarantulas," Susan replied smugly.
Hannah gave her most exasperated stare. "Please, do continue to add weight to my argument."
With a sigh, Susan relented. "Honestly, even if I were to have a bloke, it would never be Harry. He's handsome and famous and an Auror. And I'm…" she gestured helplessly to herself. "I'm just Susan, plain, boring Susan from the Muggle-Worthy Excuses Committee."
"Oh, Suze, you're not—" Hannah began.
"Susan, who owns four pairs of tartan trousers!"
Hannah winced. "Well, that does cause a bit of a problem."
"So let's just accept that I'm boring Susan, who will forever be watching the likes of Harry Potter from afar, yeah?" Susan said weakly. All the fight had gone out of her, with all her insecurities now sitting in front of her face where she couldn't ignore them. She buried her face in her hands, trying to force them away.
"Oh, Susan." Hannah was beside her in an instant, wrapping her arms around her best friend's shoulders. "Don't. You're much better than that! I bet if you just talked to Harry once, he'd like you! Yeah?" She gave Susan a squeeze. "C'mon, it's after five. Let's Floo to the Leaky and get some drinks or something."
"I can't," came Susan's muffled voice. "I promised McClaggen I'd have that list of updated Quidditch excuses to the Sports department before day's end." She finally lifted her head, offering a tired smile. "Besides, I'm sure you've got one bloke or another who'll want to see you tonight."
Hannah's return smile was slightly guilty. "You know me too well." She grabbed the jacket off the back of her chair, slipping into as she headed for the door. "But you'll call me if you need anything, right? Sue? I'm always here for you."
"I know," Susan answered, "and I love you for it. Now go, or it'll be six before I'm out of here."
Giving her friend a last searching glance, Hannah disappeared into the hall.
Susan waited until she heard the lift doors at the end of the hall rumble closed, then she sat back into her seat with a sigh. Hidden underneath her elbow and a few loose sheets of paper, the Quidditch department's list sat, completely finished. She hated lying to Hannah, but all she really wanted now was her quiet little flat, her most comfortable pyjamas, and not a single remaining thought given to Harry Potter.
She took her time gathering up her things, walking with no great speed as she made her way down through the Ministry to the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Most of the offices were quiet now, with their respective occupants having called it good enough for a day, and Susan took the moment to enjoy the small peace it offered her.
It was a few minutes to six when she finally stood waiting for the lift, humming a soft tune to herself. She was starting to feel better about her evening, with the prospects of a hot cup of tea and a good book in her near future.
So of course she wasn't expecting to run face first into Harry Potter as she stepped into the lift.
"Bleeding hell!" Susan gasped as she stumbled back against the wall of the lift. Already she could feel the accursed blush creeping its way up her neck.
"Oh god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you! Alright, Susan?"
He was talking to her. Harry Potter was talking to her. She had to answer.
No, not that!
"N-no worries," she stuttered, trying her best not to look like a startled idiot. Which she was, of course. "Not your fault. I'm just… easily startled, I suppose." Great, now he would think she was mental and would start talking to her slowly in small words. The blush continued up her face.
"Happens to the best of us," Harry said, offering her a smile.
Susan laughed nervously, "I'm sure."
They met each other's gaze for a moment, and then the awkward silence descended, giving Susan's blush plenty of time to move past her cheeks and on up to the tips of her ears. Harry cleared his throat. She had to say something.
"So… how's your, er…" she cast around, blurting out the first thing that came into her field of vision, "broomstick!"
Harry glanced at her, then the object he held in one hand. He raised a curious eyebrow. "Erm… fine? And… yours?"
"Good! Good. Very… hard." Oh god. She hadn't just said that. "Broomy, I mean." Why was she still talking?! "And made of wood." Shut up, shut up, why could she not just shut up?
To her amazement, Harry laughed. "Suppose that's the best state for a broom to be in, yeah?"
"Yes." She forced her lips tightly shut, refusing to let them have so much as another syllable.
Apparently realizing Susan was a hopeless twit incapable of conversation, Harry took up the effort. "So are you heading home then?"
"Yes," Susan said again. Okay. This was better. If she could keep on like this, she might be alright.
"Me too. That's why I've got my, erm—" he gave his broom an indicative shake. "It was supposed to be brilliant weather this evening, so I figured I wouldn't waste it."
Now he was talking about the weather. She really was a twit. People only talked about the weather when they desperately wanted to end the conversation; Susan did it herself all the time. She cast around the corners of the lift, wondering if there was a small hole she could possibly crawl in.
At long last, the lift gave a light chirp, sliding open to release them to the Atrium.
"Our stop," Harry said, giving Susan a warm smile as stepped out. Susan felt her knees wobble. Outside the lift he paused, glancing back at her. "Coming?"
Susan stared across the Atrium, calculating in her head the time it would take to reach the closest Floo hearths. At least half a minute. That was long. What if he asked her another question? What if it required more than a single word answer? She couldn't risk that.
"Erm, no…" she said slowly, feeling even her forehead getting in on the blush as she attempted to lie. "I've, erm… just realized I've… forgotten my… wand! Yes, forgotten my wand." Her wand was sticking out of her handbag. She wondered if he could see it. She tried to tuck it behind her back. "So I'd, ah, best go back for it, because, rather important, after all…" She trailed off, secretly hoping she might drop dead from embarrassment.
"Oh! Well, yes then, you probably should go back," Harry agreed, looking surprised. "So I'll… see you later then?"
"Sure," Susan said, feeling a little surprised herself. "You know where to find me."
"Yeah, I do." Harry smiled again, and now Susan was sure she'd felt her heart stop for a moment. "See you, then." And he was gone, strutting across the Atrium.
Susan kept up her best fake smile until the lift doors had closed again, and then she collapsed against the wall, sliding down to the floor. She pressed her forehead against her knees. She was a monumental idiot. An idiot who had just blown her single chance with Harry Potter. Honestly, who asked about other people's broomsticks? And 'broomy' wasn't even a word. She was such a fool.
Tears began to prick Susan's eyes and she lifted her head quickly, determined not to cry. She forced herself to glare at the floor, focusing on being angry at herself rather than let the misery sweep over her as it so desperately wanted to…
And then she saw the note.
It was sitting by her toe, demanding her attention with its very presence. Harry must've dropped it.
With slightly trembling fingers, Susan snatched it up. Surely it was just a memo, or some boring reminder to clean the loo before Tuesday; there was no way it could possibly be meant for her. But all the same, her heart sped up as she fumbled it open, hoping against all hope.
Inside, in slightly scratchy male handwriting, she read: