A/N: This was originally meant to be a drabble, I swear. I promised soupcan it wouldn't end up being more than four pages of notebook paper, which quickly turned into five, then six, and somehow I made it to nine. It really is an accomplishment for me to actually finish writing something these days, though, so I'm sufficiently proud. Please don't flame too badly?
Oh yes, this is a challenge fic, where I was told to use the words avocado, typewriter, and holographic Mew Two Pokémon Card. So if you love it, review with lovely words of happiness; if you hate it, blame soupcan. (^.^)
Disclaimer: It's not mine, but I wrote a fic based on it because fanfictions are written so much better than Twilight.
Of Jesus and Avocadoes
It began with a smidge of guacamole. Well, no, to be honest, this wasn't the true beginning of the story. Who can ever find a true start of everything, though (except for maybe G-d, but He doesn't count)? In fact, it could have begun with the avocado picked ripe from a tree growing in Ecuador. However, this story isn't about child labor laws in South America, so we'll just begin with the smudge of guacamole which was made from many exotic ingredients, one of which an avocado picked by a child of eleven who answered to the name Jesus.
It was the fifth of May and Hogwarts, trying to rid its inhabitants of their ethnocentric tendencies, decided to host a fiesta in place of its Spring Fling. Little to say, said inhabitants were not pleased by this turn of events, except for maybe Pedro Arnez, the Latino foreign exchange student, but no one really liked him anyway.
The fiesta was progressing splendidly, or so thought Peeves, who was gaily dropping sleep potions on the heads of random passer-by. For this, Spanish was the original culprit, since the language decided to make the words fiesta and siesta sound so bloody similar. Needless to say, most everyone was asleep by noon.
Everyone, that is, except a particular Malfoy who was very excited over his most recent purchase. Most sixteen-year-old boys would buy porn as soon as they could scrape two galleons together, but not Draco. No, he had a higher calling: Pokémon. He was gonna catch, err, collect 'em all.
Draco Malfoy was a great deal more than obsessed over his collection; he loved the cards like little children. Little, mutant children… He'd even gone so far as to write fan letters to Nintendo, suggesting new characters to create. It truly was a shame that Parchmentazon, the walking scroll of Parchment, didn't proliferate quite as quickly as he'd imagined. Perhaps next time he should create some sort of walking typewriter…?
But I digress. On the opposite side of the Great Hall, the boy-who-lived was contemplating, just as strenuously, the effects of a sleeping potion on his taco salad: mainly, whether or not to eat said salad after it'd been coated in enough of the stuff to knock him out for a good eight hours. On the other hand, there really was no use to letting good food go to waste.
Harry continued to meander through the slums of sleep-laden students, nibbling as he went, when he came upon a piece of foil-covered paper. 'Ooh, shiny,' his sleep-laden mind thought as he picked up the card and sloppily placed it in his pocket. After doing so, he hobbled on again.
Draco looked down at his now perfect collection (until the artists at Nintendo released Cellphonachu), and gasped. Where was his holographic, cellophane-coated, Super Rutabaga Edition Mew Two trading card?
"Hey! Hey you," a very disgruntled Malfoy shouted towards the only moving figure he could see. It was really a shame the man would have to turn around to answer Draco; he had a very nice bum.
"Wha'?" the owner of the toned body slurred as he turned around. Oh good lord, it was Potter! Draco had to steel himself in order to not start scratching his eyes out. 'Eyes this beautiful don't come along every day,' he needed to keep reminding himself, 'It'd be a waste to ruin them on account of Potter.'
"Do you have my Super Rutabaga Edition Mew Two card?"
"Your wha'?
"MY POKEMON CARD!" It was a stroke of luck that even through such yelling the ethnocentric students of Hogwarts neglected to wake up. Then again, Peeves did brew a pretty mean potion. Being dead is quite dull if you can't find a hobby to spend your eternity perfecting. Even Snape was secretly jealous; it is this author's belief that the culprit behind the rumors connecting Harry Potter to the poltergeist was the man who badly needed to join Oily Hair Anonymous. But, once again, I digress.
"You're a pretty girl, aren't you?" Harry asked, breaking into a carefree grin.
"Give me my- what?" Draco paused, flabbergasted. Did Potter really just compare his masculine, rugged beauty to that of a weak little GIRL?
"Would you fancy going out sometime?"
"No!"
"I wasn't thinking anything fancy, jus' perhaps a butterbeer or-"
"Look, I just want my card back!"
"You're wha'?" Harry asked. "Oh, this," he said while holding the card up and peering at it meaningfully. The blonde beauty tried to grab at the card, but Harry pulled it away. He wasn't about to allow her to have it that easily. Obviously the shiny piece of paper was important to this girl; Harry could indubitably use that to his advantage.
"Tell you wha'," Harry said, thinking quickly, well, as quickly as one can when one is fighting a sleeping potion brewed by Peeves, "I'll give you this card," he held it over the pretty girl's head challengingly, "if you do something for me."
"Don't be daft Potter, I'm not doing anything for you," Draco answered haughtily.
"Fine, I'll jus' keep this lil' card, then," Potter said in an annoyingly amused tone of voice.
"… Alright, I'll do it."
"Marvelous."
"What is it you want me to do?"
"…Wha'?" Crap, Harry hadn't gotten quite that far. If all else failed, which it just had, he'd figured he could just improvise, right? What Harry hadn't taken into account was the fact that his mind was moving slower than a slug's digestive system and that, if he hadn't come up with anything thus far, he probably wasn't going to be able to invent anything on the spot. "You have to… to…"
"Spit it out already, Potter," Draco interjected agitatedly.
"To… To kiss me! Yes, that's it!"
Draco contemplated this dare for a minute. Who knew where Potty had last placed his mouth? But, at the same time, the boy-who-wouldn't-freaking-die hadn't said for how long they needed to kiss, or even where. He could just give a chicken's peck on the cheek of that insufferable prat and be done with it. It would be degrading, yes, but he needed that card and everyone else was knocked out by sleeping potions.
"Alright, I'll do it."
Harry broke out into a wide grin. This girl was gorgeous when she was mad with rage. "Well, get on with it," he said.
"Stop being so smug about it, it's annoying."
"Well blimey, stop making excuses and get on with it already."
'The worst part is, Potty's right,' Draco thought irritably. He hated this feeling of being a cornered rabbit, waiting for Mr. Potter to finally get out a shotgun and start firing. 'Just do it on the cheek,' he thought, 'I seriously hope idiocy isn't an STD…' Harry smiled greedily in anticipation.
Draco forced his head forward and lightly pursed his lips on Potter's cheek. After a moment, Harry's smile dropped off his face while his brow wrinkled; the effect of realizing what had just transpired. "No, I meant on the lips!" he angrily exclaimed while grabbing the defiant girl's chin.
Draco didn't process what was happening until his muddled brain finally realized that Potter's lips were situated in-between his own, while his tongue was, well, doing other things. It was only after the boy-who-wouldn't-freaking-die pulled away that Draco realized that he, Draco Malfoy, had actually enjoyed the kiss. Hell, he was pretty sure that he'd even latched his arms around Potter's biceps. His big, strong biceps… At that thought, Draco immediately dropped his arms.
Meanwhile, Harry was giddy with excitement. Sure, he ended up dropping his taco salad, letting good food go to waste, but in the meantime he'd just had the best kiss of his life. He might have initially wanted the kiss from Malfoy, who was obviously a boy albeit his effeminate qualities, on the principle notion that it would embarrass the prat, but he'd be damned if it turned out that Malfoy had a wonderful, reactive organ that was so soft and muscular. He almost wanted to cut it out and bronze it.
Harry didn't even know people could do such acrobatics with their tongues.
Pervs…
"That was nice," he said, handing Malfoy the apparently precious card.
Draco was coming down off of a high. He'd just had the most wonderful, and surprising, experience of his life and was trying to think of a way to receive a repeat performance. Thinking quickly, Draco knelt to the ground and said, "Potter! You ruined my card!"
"What?" Harry asked. How could his bloody card be ruined? It was in his pocket the whole time!
"Look! You got guacamole on the edge," Draco yelled, hiding his green-smudged finger, "It was in mint condition! I demand retribution!"
"But-"
"This is worth at least three butterbeers at The Three Broomsticks, if not more!" Draco yelled, desperately hoping Potter would take the hint. What? He wasn't exactly the sharpest quill in the box; the brightest ink cartridge in the typewriter, if you will. It would be too depressing to bear if Draco ruined his Mew Two holographic card for nothing.
It took Harry a minute to contemplate the very complex workings of the Malfoy mind, but when he finally figured it out, he replied, "Okay Malfoy, but only if you insist…"
"I do," Draco answered brightly.
"But just so you know, if I ever happen to find your card again, I demand the same payment as today," Harry bartered back.
"Potter you can yank my card any day of the week," Draco smiled.
And that, good friends, is how a young boy in Ecuador named Jesus became the metaphorical butterfly to flap his wings and cause a relationship to form between two teenage wizards whom otherwise would have remained bitter enemies for the rest of their lives.
The End.
Soupcan, we are so Barium (Ba) for challenging each other to challenge fics whilst others would have done something unproductive, like talking or playing Monopoly, at a sleepover! Because fanfictions are oh so productive…
Anywho, please review; that would make my day.
-Crick