A/N: This story was written for The Houses Competition, Year 3, Round 5.
House: Gryffindor
Year: Head Girl
Category: Additional
Prompt: 5. [Genre] Humour
Word count: 1989 words (written on Google docs)
Betas: Thank you to Shiba (Shibalyfe) and CK (Theoretical-Optimist) for beta'ing and for their constant support! Xx
Additional A/N: I apologise in advance for this. Humour is actually not my genre (contrary to the round title), but I thought I'd go for the challenge (and tbh, I had another plot bunny in mind from last round I thought would fit... but it didn't). I'm not really a funny person (although sometimes I need to remind myself of this fact). The pick-up lines in this aren't my own (Google'd), but they are some of my absolute favourites.
This general plot idea is something I've had in the back of my mind more or less for several years now, and haven't had a chance to use until now (and when you read this, you'll know why I haven't haha). The writing style, however, is something I've only really been trying on and off for the last two 'years' of this competition (I've been inspired by both teammates and other stories I've read in the competition), so hopefully it isn't the wrong risk to take on a longer story now.
Anyway, if this does amuse you in some small way, then maybe there is hope for my comedic skills yet :') All the best and have a pleasant week! Xx
The Perfect Woman
If there is one day of the year that Aberforth hates more than anything, it's Valentine's Day. February 14th could never pass quick enough for him, and he often found himself wondering if the money the youths from Hogwarts spent was worth opening the bar on that day.
Today he thinks it most definitely isn't.
He stands behind the bar, wiping the same grimy goblet he's been holding for the last half hour or so. His blue eyes are focused on a couple sitting just in front of him, but they still don't seem to be getting the hint to leave.
"It's not Madam Puddifoot's, but this place isn't too bad, Won-Won," the blonde says.
"Anything for you…" the redhead says, his eyes vacant-looking. He looks around before he adds, "My Lav-Lav."
It doesn't seem enough for the girl, who raises an eyebrow. "Really? Prove it!"
"We're in public!" the boy protests and Aberforth has to agree. He would never understand why females were so fond of showing off their relationships in public.
The boy gives up pretty quickly, though. The pair leans toward each other, and soon, a horrible squelching noise hits his ears.
He turns away and tries to focus on something else. His eyes fall instead upon the photograph of his own girl, and it calms him just a little. His Matilda is not like the blonde; in fact, she's not like any of the silly females he's seen. She has a lot more propriety, despite her rough start in life.
Three years earlier...
A strong wind blows through the small village, carrying with it the eerie howls and moans from the Shrieking Shack.
Aberforth scratches his beard, staring at the little house on the hill above them. He hasn't heard such noises for years, and although he doesn't believe in the nonsense of haunted buildings, he can't help the shiver that now runs up his spine.
He hurries to seal the shutters on his bar's windows as another moan comes, this time, sounding louder and closer.
CRASH!
The loud clang of a bin sends him flying into the air. Placing a hand on his chest, he withdraws his wand and whips around.
"Who goes there?" he calls down the alley towards a group of bins.
Another moan sounds, but there's something not quite right about it. It's as though the owner is in pain. Still, he approaches with caution, just in case it's that convict, Sirius Black, on the loose.
"I'm warning ye, I have—" His threat is cut off as he peers around the bins.
Staring straight back at him are the most gorgeous brown eyes he's ever seen. Thick eyelashes frame them as they widen in fear. Her greying brown hair is matted and her skin clings to her bones, but there's a youthfulness about the poor girl that makes his heart skip a beat.
Instinctively, he puts his wand away and holds out his hand. "Don't be afraid; let me help you up."
She flinches away from him, but he knows she can't stay out here.
"How'd you get here?" he asks. Hogsmeade is a nice village; her appearance doesn't relate to such a town. "Come now, let's get you inside."
She doesn't speak, but that's okay by him. Eventually, she stands and he's able to coax her into his hotel. He'll give her a bed for the night and some food, and if she wants, she can use the bathroom to tidy up.
When he gives her a salad, she eats it all in just a few bites. It's a nice change to the customers he normally gets, who pick around their food as though one bite will make their stomachs explode.
She cautiously leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek before jumping back. It's all the thanks he needs.
Schloooooooooop.
"Ugh, she's Phlegm 2.0."
A voice cuts through the slurping sounds of the young couple's kiss. Aberforth turns to see another ginger-haired student sitting on the stool in front of him.
"Phlegm?" he asks, even though he doesn't really want to know.
The girl taps the glass of her empty Butterbeer bottle as she glares at the couple. "I wish my brother would dump her already. At least she didn't come over for Christmas—one nitwit was enough." She then turns to him and adds, "Trust me, you haven't seen the worst yet."
Something about her expression makes him uneasy; after all, the face sucking has been bad enough. Unfortunately, as soon as she says this, his ears are accosted by a high-pitched squeal.
"A present! Oooh, I knew you cared, my wovely boy!"
The redhead's cheeks are crimson as he tries to quieten her. "It's not much…"
Before the poor boy can place the box on the table, the girl rips off the lid. "I've always wanted… huh?"
She pulls out a few stems with pretty purple flowers. Her cheeks are also turning red, and her eyes are narrowed.
"Is this a joke?" she shrieks.
The boy gulps. "Well, I thought because your name…"
The girl throws the bunch of lavender on the table and stands up. Her lips are trembling and her eyes are welling with tears. "I thought you loved me! I thought I was important to you! I—"
The tears now spill over, and she turns on her heel and flees. The boy stays at the table, blinking.
"She probably wanted a gold necklace," the boy's sister says with a snort.
Aberforth shakes his head. It's not the first time today he's seen a girl expecting a better gift. He supposes he's lucky that his girl appreciates the flowers he brings her.
Two years earlier...
He's late to close the bar again, and he knows Matilda will be up waiting for him. He has no doubt that she's probably standing by the living room door, chewing on something to abate her nerves.
Sometimes he thinks she's just using him for a roof over her head, and thus shouldn't get angry at him, but he wants to appease her anyway. The trouble is, it's too late now to visit Gladrags and buy her a new hat or pair of shoes.
He looks around the alleyway in the vain hope of finding a gift for her. Time is ticking away, so when he sees a few daisies sprouting from his neighbour's garden, he ducks over and picks them.
By the time he heads upstairs, Matilda is indeed mad. The door opens to reveal her dark eyes glaring at him and her nostrils flaring. She tosses back her head, no doubt to start having a go at him.
He takes a deep breath and holds out the posies. Thankfully, the effect is immediate, and her eyes soften. She runs to him and accepts the flowers—no matter that they're not her favourite roses—and plants a wet kiss on his cheek.
Things get better from there. By the time it's bedtime, her head is nestled in his lap and her anger is forgotten.
It's nearing evening now, but he knows he's in for more drama as he heads to a table at the back where a woman is fanning her red cheeks.
Her husband is trying—and failing—to console her. "For the last time, I'm not implying that you're fat. I simply ordered you a salad because that's what you always get."
The woman sniffs and takes a sip of her drink. When she places the goblet down, there's a ring of foam around her mouth. The man tugs at his collar and looks at him, but Aberforth pretends not to notice.
The brunette sees the exchange and fixes an accusing gaze on her husband. "What now? Are you going to try and tell me I have a moustache again?"
The man looks at him again for help, but all Aberforth can do is clear his throat and ask if they'd like dessert. It's not his fault the man has chosen such a fickle partner.
Six months earlier...
"So, Aberforth, how's Matilda? Gone through any more robes lately?"
He knows that Rosmerta is only pulling his leg, but it still irks him. Matilda may have a slight obsession with clothes, but it's perfectly natural. It doesn't make her spoilt or vain by any means, as the blonde likes to joke. His girl doesn't care one iota what she looks like, and he's glad hours aren't spent on grooming.
Besides, he thinks Matilda looks quite beautiful the way she is, facial hair and all.
Rosmerta sighs. "Honestly though, I'm jealous that she doesn't have to shave her legs to impress people. Do you know how long it takes to get ready each morning, just for it to go unappreciated?"
He thinks she's exaggerating, but he can't help wonder if perhaps he doesn't let Matilda know she's appreciated enough. She'd kept the upstairs rooms clean lately, and yet he still hadn't praised her for it.
As his friend goes on to pester him about Matilda's secret to knot-free hair, he makes up his mind to tell Matilda that he loves her. After all, another war is brewing, and he knows from experience that each day is precious.
It's nearing close time, which means the couples have left and only a few hopeful singles remain in the bar. In his opinion, this is the worst time.
He's back to wiping the grimy goblet as he watches a nervous young man approach the stools. Aberforth knows it's not fair to judge anyone by their looks, but he can already see from the boy's oily face and the way he slicks back his mousy-brown hair that rejection is in store. The boy licks his lips as he sits next to a pretty raven-haired girl.
His next words, of course, cement his future. "So… Did you order some Felix Felicis? 'Cause you're about to get lucky."
The girl raises an eyebrow, clearly not impressed. Aberforth isn't sure if he can blame her, even though he thinks she shouldn't be too picky. Conversations with Matilda were easy; she'd always listen to his tales of work, and he'd listen to her day. On days when she had nothing to say, they'd simply sit in comfortable silence.
He shakes his head as the boy doesn't give up. He opts for boasting, "I'm going to be the next Minister for Magic, I am," even though he's wearing a purple Knightbus uniform.
The girl snorts.
The boy is clearly nervous; sweat beads are breaking out on his forehead. He opens his mouth to say something else, and Aberforth prays it's something intelligent.
Brrrrrrrrrp.
With her nose wrinkled in disgust, the girl stands up. Personally, he doesn't know why the burp has caused so much offence. He does cringe though when the boy tries to recover.
"Please don't go, er… Oh! I could make you scream louder than a mandrake," he blurts.
Aberforth huffs as he realises he'll have to spend extra time cleaning up the Firewhiskey the girl pours over the lad.
"What a day! I bought us both a treat, Tilly."
Matilda skips up to him with a smile on her face. He bends and gives her a hug before they make their way to the living room—there's no need to bother with cutlery.
Sitting down, they tuck into their meal. He rarely makes baked-beans, but he knows it's her favourite.
About halfway through, the reason why he doesn't make beans becomes apparent. A bubbling in his chest makes him sit up, and soon the room is filled with an unpleasant smell. He doesn't apologise though, and when he turns to his girl, he sees that she isn't bothered.
In fact, her meal is already finished, and she answers him with an extra-loud burp.
"Happy Valentine's Day, girl," he says, patting her head.
"Mehhh," she replies and burps again.
Matilda really is the perfect female, even if she's a goat.