Last week's Dramione_ldws entry
Jun. 22nd, 2009 09:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bookishwenchLast week's quote stated "Summer bachelors, like summer breezes, are never as cool as they pretend to be." It needed to be exactly 200 words, and frankly, that killed me. For my own sake, I'm going to put in the one I turned in followed by the longer version that actually makes more sense. The problem was this image hit me hard and I couldn't dump it for anything else, which was probably a mistake, though I didn't get eliminated, which is good.
Hermione was baffled by testosterone contests. She, Harry, and Ron were in a Mexican bar, and the boys were eating hot peppers. Suddenly, Draco Malfoy, smiling derisively, sauntered to their table, motioned for a server, and spoke words that stunned the whole bar.
“Naga jolokia.”
“You’ll eat one of those?” Harry asked.
“Challenge me.”
“Finish the pepper, no eating or drinking for three minutes, no magic, or you’ll wear a tutu,” Ron said.
“And if I win,” Draco said, “Hermione kisses me.”
“What!”
“Please,” Harry pleaded. “He’ll cry for his mum after one bite.”
Hermione hesitated, but nodded. The pepper arrived, and he ate it calmly. Harry pulled out his watch. Draco appeared as comfortable as if he had eaten ice cream until three minutes passed.
“Holy Hecate’s nicest knickers, that’s hot!” he screamed.
He ran out the door and plunged himself into a horse trough, resurfacing to wild applause.
“You earned it,” Hermione said, puckering primly.
“I earned more than that,” he said, pulling her into the trough with him and kissing her enthusiastically.
Hermione couldn’t understand testosterone contests, but she also couldn’t tell if her lips were burning from pepper juice or Draco’s expertise, and she didn’t care.
Alternate version
Usually, Hermione could figure things out pretty well. Arithmancy problems that sent lesser wizards running were child’s play to her, brewing complicated potions posed little challenge at all, and even an amicable break-up with Ron while maintaining their friendship after the war had proved relatively less than messy.
However, the idiotic things men did to prove their masculinity, especially in front of women, completely baffled her. Currently, she, Harry, and Ron were sitting in a Mexican restaurant after finishing up their duties as liasons to the International Wizards Convention that had met in Mexico City that year. For some completely bizarre reason, they had started trying to impress a pair of particularly pretty senoritas by eating various kinds of extremely hot peppers, each time making the most grotesque facial expressions possible.
“Hey, Lucita, watch this!” Ron called out proudly as he downed an entire jalapeno.
His eyes immediately started to water, and in less than five seconds he was burying his mouth in a glass of ice water, slurping horribly. Lucita’s expression wavered between rather impressed and sickened. Hermione, for her part, was simply happy there hadn’t been a repeat of the results of Harry’s attempt at gaining Josephina’s admiration. She was pretty sure those burn marks were never going to come out of the carpet.
A loud laugh from the bar snapped Hermione’s attention towards the familiar face of Draco Malfoy. He’d been playing very nice on this trip for the Ministry, in fact so nice that it was beginning to become suspicious. He sauntered over to their table, gave Hermione a nod, and joined them.
“Weasley, Weasley, Weasley,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve got the digestive fortitude of a flobberworm.”
“Like to see you do better, Malfoy,” he rasped from the bottom of his glass.
“Oh, I can,” he said, “but not with that lightweight stuff.”
He motioned for a server to come over, then words that made the conversation in the room completely stope, the mariachi band grind to a halt, and the bartender drop the margarita his was mixing.
“Naga jolokia, por favor.”
“You’re really going to eat one of those?” Harry said, still holding an ice cube against his burning lips.
“Only if we make the bet interesting enough,” Draco said as the waiter hurried off to procure the pepper via a magical supplier in India.
“Fine,” Ron said, rallying enough to sit upright. “If you don’t manage to eat the whole pepper, keep it down, and not drink or eat anything for a full three minutes after you’ve finished the last bite, without using magic, you’re giving us the keys to your villa in the Riviera for a month next summer.”
“And if I do meet all of those conditions,” Draco said, “Hermione will kiss me.”
“What!” she said immediately, blushing furiously.
“Oh, come on, Hermione,” Harry said. “There’s no way he can do it. That’s the hottest pepper in the world. He’ll be crying for his mum after the first bite.”
Hermione looked at Draco uncertainly, then nodded her assent.
The bright red pepper arrived on a tiny plate, and without further ado, Draco ate it in three perfectly calm bites. Harry pulled out his watch and began counting down the time. Draco, for his part, appeared as comfortable as if he had just finished a dish of ice cream.
However, by two minutes there was a telltale sheen of perspiration forming on his forehead. At two and a half, Draco developed a facial tic, immediately followed by his eyes bulging in their sockets.
“Three!” Harry yelled, and the moment the word was out, Draco was on his feet.
“Holy Hecate’s nicest knickers that thing is hot!” he screamed. “Water!”
To the amusement of everyone in the bar, Draco proceeded to run out the door and plunge himself into a horse trough out front, mouth gaping open. When he resurfaced, he was met with the applause of half the bar, including Ron and Harry.
“Well, I suppose you earned it,” Hermione said, kneeling next to the trough and puckering primly.
“I earned a lot more than that, woman,” he said, and grabbing her shoulders, pulled her into the trough with him and soundly kissed her to another round of cheers.
No, Hermione couldn’t understand testosterone contests, but at the moment, she couldn’t tell whether the burning on her lips was residual pepper juice or just Draco’s expertise. Frankly, she really didn’t care.
Hermione was baffled by testosterone contests. She, Harry, and Ron were in a Mexican bar, and the boys were eating hot peppers. Suddenly, Draco Malfoy, smiling derisively, sauntered to their table, motioned for a server, and spoke words that stunned the whole bar.
“Naga jolokia.”
“You’ll eat one of those?” Harry asked.
“Challenge me.”
“Finish the pepper, no eating or drinking for three minutes, no magic, or you’ll wear a tutu,” Ron said.
“And if I win,” Draco said, “Hermione kisses me.”
“What!”
“Please,” Harry pleaded. “He’ll cry for his mum after one bite.”
Hermione hesitated, but nodded. The pepper arrived, and he ate it calmly. Harry pulled out his watch. Draco appeared as comfortable as if he had eaten ice cream until three minutes passed.
“Holy Hecate’s nicest knickers, that’s hot!” he screamed.
He ran out the door and plunged himself into a horse trough, resurfacing to wild applause.
“You earned it,” Hermione said, puckering primly.
“I earned more than that,” he said, pulling her into the trough with him and kissing her enthusiastically.
Hermione couldn’t understand testosterone contests, but she also couldn’t tell if her lips were burning from pepper juice or Draco’s expertise, and she didn’t care.
Alternate version
Usually, Hermione could figure things out pretty well. Arithmancy problems that sent lesser wizards running were child’s play to her, brewing complicated potions posed little challenge at all, and even an amicable break-up with Ron while maintaining their friendship after the war had proved relatively less than messy.
However, the idiotic things men did to prove their masculinity, especially in front of women, completely baffled her. Currently, she, Harry, and Ron were sitting in a Mexican restaurant after finishing up their duties as liasons to the International Wizards Convention that had met in Mexico City that year. For some completely bizarre reason, they had started trying to impress a pair of particularly pretty senoritas by eating various kinds of extremely hot peppers, each time making the most grotesque facial expressions possible.
“Hey, Lucita, watch this!” Ron called out proudly as he downed an entire jalapeno.
His eyes immediately started to water, and in less than five seconds he was burying his mouth in a glass of ice water, slurping horribly. Lucita’s expression wavered between rather impressed and sickened. Hermione, for her part, was simply happy there hadn’t been a repeat of the results of Harry’s attempt at gaining Josephina’s admiration. She was pretty sure those burn marks were never going to come out of the carpet.
A loud laugh from the bar snapped Hermione’s attention towards the familiar face of Draco Malfoy. He’d been playing very nice on this trip for the Ministry, in fact so nice that it was beginning to become suspicious. He sauntered over to their table, gave Hermione a nod, and joined them.
“Weasley, Weasley, Weasley,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve got the digestive fortitude of a flobberworm.”
“Like to see you do better, Malfoy,” he rasped from the bottom of his glass.
“Oh, I can,” he said, “but not with that lightweight stuff.”
He motioned for a server to come over, then words that made the conversation in the room completely stope, the mariachi band grind to a halt, and the bartender drop the margarita his was mixing.
“Naga jolokia, por favor.”
“You’re really going to eat one of those?” Harry said, still holding an ice cube against his burning lips.
“Only if we make the bet interesting enough,” Draco said as the waiter hurried off to procure the pepper via a magical supplier in India.
“Fine,” Ron said, rallying enough to sit upright. “If you don’t manage to eat the whole pepper, keep it down, and not drink or eat anything for a full three minutes after you’ve finished the last bite, without using magic, you’re giving us the keys to your villa in the Riviera for a month next summer.”
“And if I do meet all of those conditions,” Draco said, “Hermione will kiss me.”
“What!” she said immediately, blushing furiously.
“Oh, come on, Hermione,” Harry said. “There’s no way he can do it. That’s the hottest pepper in the world. He’ll be crying for his mum after the first bite.”
Hermione looked at Draco uncertainly, then nodded her assent.
The bright red pepper arrived on a tiny plate, and without further ado, Draco ate it in three perfectly calm bites. Harry pulled out his watch and began counting down the time. Draco, for his part, appeared as comfortable as if he had just finished a dish of ice cream.
However, by two minutes there was a telltale sheen of perspiration forming on his forehead. At two and a half, Draco developed a facial tic, immediately followed by his eyes bulging in their sockets.
“Three!” Harry yelled, and the moment the word was out, Draco was on his feet.
“Holy Hecate’s nicest knickers that thing is hot!” he screamed. “Water!”
To the amusement of everyone in the bar, Draco proceeded to run out the door and plunge himself into a horse trough out front, mouth gaping open. When he resurfaced, he was met with the applause of half the bar, including Ron and Harry.
“Well, I suppose you earned it,” Hermione said, kneeling next to the trough and puckering primly.
“I earned a lot more than that, woman,” he said, and grabbing her shoulders, pulled her into the trough with him and soundly kissed her to another round of cheers.
No, Hermione couldn’t understand testosterone contests, but at the moment, she couldn’t tell whether the burning on her lips was residual pepper juice or just Draco’s expertise. Frankly, she really didn’t care.
