An absurd, ribald rendering of J.K. Rowling's characters into a plot of my own design.
Chapter One: (unfinished)
Have you ever given thought to making love twice at the same moment? I can say that I have and find it to be quite physically unfair. The atrocious acrobatics one must apply to snugly satiate thrice is preposterous. I prefer open-faced sandwiches, thank you. They're just as luscious, and far less sticky. And so what to do with the other set of immaculate buns, ripe for the tasting? They should be flung, Yes, flung.
The evening I was seduced by Fred and George is one I shall never put on the back burner, so to speak.
"So," simpered Fred.
"So," whispered George.
The twins had caught up to me. Until that moment I'd been solitary in the Ravenclaw corridor, unwatched by the snoring portraits. I spun on them both and offered up sultry eyes. "So what?" I asked curiously.
Fred stole a glance at George in the lumos-lit stone passage. "So–you've not forgotten that you promised us something—"
"Something terribly—" interjected George.
"Titillating?" Together they smirked; together, wide-eyed and topped with shaggy ginger hair, they were pups sniffing about for a tasty biscuit.
I toyed with a curl of chocolate hair that had come loose from my chignon. "Something terribly titillating. Something unspeakably arousing, is that right?"
"If you please—"
"If it's not too much trouble—"
I bit my lip in faux contemplation. "Have you got the Fizzing Whizbees, then?"
"Have we got the Fizzing Whizbees! George, she wants to know 'have we got the Fizzing Whizbees'!" marvelled Fred. "Show her exactly the fine selection of despicably delightful sweets we've procured from Honeydukes and from our especial collection: rare candies concocted in our personal laboratory."
George nodded heartily and brought the package of confections from under his inky-black robe. "Right brilliant, these are. And consider yourself lucky that we're presenting you with one of the very first batches of our astonishing breakthrough product!"
"Yes, consider yourself right lucky, Miss Blackwell," winked Fred.
I accepted the parcel with some trepidation, but not too much. Cold sweats don't bode well in the flesh trade. Ickle warm-bloods do like a sizzling cuddle. "You shall hear complaints if there are any."
"Please do complain—"
"Yes, please do—"
I purred my consent and forced the sack of coveted sweets into my breast pocket. The resulting protrusion was absurd. The twins rubbed their hands in delight, and I'm sure I saw one of them smack his lips.
