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You know, the best thing about new works like HP & the CC is that they can be inspiring. For the purposes of new fics, I mean. :) So here's a ficlet that appeared as a result of those pics of the cast of HP and the Cursed Child. They’re posted on the FIA FB page, and the pic that goes along with this ficlet is at the top.
It’s not very long, but I think it’s significant that it came to me almost right away after seeing those pics. The Cursed Child book is coming out in July, and something tells me that it just might be even more inspiring to actually read the play… ;) Anyway, this was all based on that THING that Ginny was wearing. I’m not totally sure what you would call it, but the most likely word would be “sweater”, which means that in British usage, it would be a “jumper.”
And remember—this was written after an entire day of working under the blazing sun… ;)
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"I believed that I knew evil," Draco said moodily, staring up at the ceiling. "Kneeling before Voldemort and swearing myself to death, destruction, and all manner of un-niceness. Participating in dark rituals designed to bring down the forces of goodness and light. And I seem to recall a certain witch hexing me with a particularly unpleasant Bat-Bogey charm at one point..."
Ginny turned over in bed and smacked him on the shoulder. He arched one eyebrow in a devilish way. "Well, if you'd like to start *that* up again, who am I to--"
"Shut it," said Ginny. "You know perfectly well that I've apologized for that little incident a million times. And what about two years later when I sneaked away from Hogwarts to meet you at Malfoy Manor? Didn’t I comfort you when you were enslaved to the forces of evils? Didn’t I soothe away your nightmares? Didn’t I… er…”
“You certainly did,” said Draco, with a smirk that made Ginny blush, remembering their mad, passionate, illicit affair during her sixth year. “I still can’t quite believe that Potter thought you were at the school all year.”
“Yes, well… he’s always been rather thick,” sighed Ginny.
“Quite, or he’d doubtless have figured out that we’ve been Apparating to Portland, Oregon and meeting at the Benson Hotel every Tuesday night for the past fifteen years,” said Draco. “But you haven’t let me finish. I was telling you about the way that I’d thought I understood the forces of evil in all their darkness.”
“And?” asked Ginny.
“I knew nothing,” said Draco, shuddering. “But now I do. I’ve seen the Jumper of Doom and Despair.” He pointed a shaking finger at Ginny’s jumper, which was thrown carelessly over a chair.
Ginny had to admit that he had a point. It was the most hideous piece of clothing she had ever seen, let alone worn, but Harry had bought several copies for her and demanded that she wear them at every opportunity that the weather allowed. The fabric and cut were both frowsy and blousy, the pale baby blue color made her look anemic, and the strangely pleated front was clearly designed to make anyone who wore it look about twelve months pregnant. Ginny really thought that Harry actually wanted her to resemble her mother as she matured. Luckily, she had inherited her father’s lean, strong build, and so the sweater was slightly less horrific on her that it might have been.
“Sweetheart, that jumper alone *must* provide sufficient grounds for you to divorce him,” said Draco, starting to nuzzle her neck in the way that he knew she liked best. “Or at least poison his morning coffee.”
“The Muggle police do look for those sorts of things,” said Ginny. “And anyway, Harry will never give me a divorce. He wouldn’t let me take our children.”
“So he’s seriously convinced that James, Albus, and Lily are his?” asked Draco, the smirk widening.
“The illusion spells have always held,” said Ginny. “They’ve never quite worked on Lily, but Harry’s thick enough to not realize that Mendelian laws make it unlikely that a dark-haired father and a redheaded mother would have a strawberry blonde child. Although—I meant to tell you—Albus figured it out last week when I didn’t have a chance to renew the spell and his hair started to turn blond. He was quite happy, actually.”
“Good,” said Draco. “Because I’ve got something to tell *you*. Do you remember that ‘accident’ involving Potter that we discussed?”
“The one with a hippogriff, a cliff, and a bottomless pit? Really, Draco, I tried to explain to you that I’ve simply got to draw the line at cold-blooded murder. Unless it’s already happened and you’re only telling me about it, in which case I can be quite shocked but I bravely decide to go on with life?” Ginny looked at him rather hopefully.
“No,” said Draco, “but I’ve had the Divination professor at Hogwarts in my pay for months—Nostradama or whatever she’s calling herself; she’s Trelawney’s niece, I believe—and she’s informed me quite reliably that such an accident *will* happen next week.”
“So all that we’ll need to do is to refrain from actually warning Harry about it,” Ginny said thoughtfully. “It would simply be an unfortunate event. No jury could convict us.” She briefly wondered what she ought to wear at Harry’s funeral. Something suitable and sober in black, and maybe a hat. Draco probably shouldn’t be there, as she wasn’t at all sure she could keep a straight face if she knew he was in the building.
“Indeed,” said Draco. “Since that’s all worked out, I was wondering if you might get rid of that jumper with a well-placed Incendio hex.”
“I don’t see why not,” said Ginny. “Since Harry will never get a chance to notice it’s gone. Except…” She wriggled and sighed luxuriously as Draco kept nibbling on her neck. “Let’s get to it a bit later. We’ll have all the time in the world.”
“Agreed,” said Draco, and the two returned to far more pleasurable activities.
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It’s not very long, but I think it’s significant that it came to me almost right away after seeing those pics. The Cursed Child book is coming out in July, and something tells me that it just might be even more inspiring to actually read the play… ;) Anyway, this was all based on that THING that Ginny was wearing. I’m not totally sure what you would call it, but the most likely word would be “sweater”, which means that in British usage, it would be a “jumper.”
And remember—this was written after an entire day of working under the blazing sun… ;)
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"I believed that I knew evil," Draco said moodily, staring up at the ceiling. "Kneeling before Voldemort and swearing myself to death, destruction, and all manner of un-niceness. Participating in dark rituals designed to bring down the forces of goodness and light. And I seem to recall a certain witch hexing me with a particularly unpleasant Bat-Bogey charm at one point..."
Ginny turned over in bed and smacked him on the shoulder. He arched one eyebrow in a devilish way. "Well, if you'd like to start *that* up again, who am I to--"
"Shut it," said Ginny. "You know perfectly well that I've apologized for that little incident a million times. And what about two years later when I sneaked away from Hogwarts to meet you at Malfoy Manor? Didn’t I comfort you when you were enslaved to the forces of evils? Didn’t I soothe away your nightmares? Didn’t I… er…”
“You certainly did,” said Draco, with a smirk that made Ginny blush, remembering their mad, passionate, illicit affair during her sixth year. “I still can’t quite believe that Potter thought you were at the school all year.”
“Yes, well… he’s always been rather thick,” sighed Ginny.
“Quite, or he’d doubtless have figured out that we’ve been Apparating to Portland, Oregon and meeting at the Benson Hotel every Tuesday night for the past fifteen years,” said Draco. “But you haven’t let me finish. I was telling you about the way that I’d thought I understood the forces of evil in all their darkness.”
“And?” asked Ginny.
“I knew nothing,” said Draco, shuddering. “But now I do. I’ve seen the Jumper of Doom and Despair.” He pointed a shaking finger at Ginny’s jumper, which was thrown carelessly over a chair.
Ginny had to admit that he had a point. It was the most hideous piece of clothing she had ever seen, let alone worn, but Harry had bought several copies for her and demanded that she wear them at every opportunity that the weather allowed. The fabric and cut were both frowsy and blousy, the pale baby blue color made her look anemic, and the strangely pleated front was clearly designed to make anyone who wore it look about twelve months pregnant. Ginny really thought that Harry actually wanted her to resemble her mother as she matured. Luckily, she had inherited her father’s lean, strong build, and so the sweater was slightly less horrific on her that it might have been.
“Sweetheart, that jumper alone *must* provide sufficient grounds for you to divorce him,” said Draco, starting to nuzzle her neck in the way that he knew she liked best. “Or at least poison his morning coffee.”
“The Muggle police do look for those sorts of things,” said Ginny. “And anyway, Harry will never give me a divorce. He wouldn’t let me take our children.”
“So he’s seriously convinced that James, Albus, and Lily are his?” asked Draco, the smirk widening.
“The illusion spells have always held,” said Ginny. “They’ve never quite worked on Lily, but Harry’s thick enough to not realize that Mendelian laws make it unlikely that a dark-haired father and a redheaded mother would have a strawberry blonde child. Although—I meant to tell you—Albus figured it out last week when I didn’t have a chance to renew the spell and his hair started to turn blond. He was quite happy, actually.”
“Good,” said Draco. “Because I’ve got something to tell *you*. Do you remember that ‘accident’ involving Potter that we discussed?”
“The one with a hippogriff, a cliff, and a bottomless pit? Really, Draco, I tried to explain to you that I’ve simply got to draw the line at cold-blooded murder. Unless it’s already happened and you’re only telling me about it, in which case I can be quite shocked but I bravely decide to go on with life?” Ginny looked at him rather hopefully.
“No,” said Draco, “but I’ve had the Divination professor at Hogwarts in my pay for months—Nostradama or whatever she’s calling herself; she’s Trelawney’s niece, I believe—and she’s informed me quite reliably that such an accident *will* happen next week.”
“So all that we’ll need to do is to refrain from actually warning Harry about it,” Ginny said thoughtfully. “It would simply be an unfortunate event. No jury could convict us.” She briefly wondered what she ought to wear at Harry’s funeral. Something suitable and sober in black, and maybe a hat. Draco probably shouldn’t be there, as she wasn’t at all sure she could keep a straight face if she knew he was in the building.
“Indeed,” said Draco. “Since that’s all worked out, I was wondering if you might get rid of that jumper with a well-placed Incendio hex.”
“I don’t see why not,” said Ginny. “Since Harry will never get a chance to notice it’s gone. Except…” She wriggled and sighed luxuriously as Draco kept nibbling on her neck. “Let’s get to it a bit later. We’ll have all the time in the world.”
“Agreed,” said Draco, and the two returned to far more pleasurable activities.
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The End.
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