Even a stopped clock tells the right time twice a day

suntzu_s @ 2009-11-20T16:13:00

2009-11-20T16:13:22Z

Well, I’ve totally not fallen off a rock or anything…..I’ve just had nothing to say!
And guess what? …..I’ve still nothing to say!

Heh, I know that’s never stopped me before but I’ve been going for the 10 weeks of ‘no posting thing’ on my thingie – small things amuse me and I rather like to achieve achievable things, it’s what the Empire was built upon, that and meanness.

So how are you?

For draco100:A Sudden Thirst

2009-09-02T15:52:54Z

Title: A Sudden Thirst
Author:suntzu_s
Rating:G
Pairing(s): Neville, Seamus, Dean, implied future Neville/Hannah
Summary: Neville overhears something and gains a thirst
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe – all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work
Warning(s): Canon-ish
Word Count: 100
Author's Notes: written for neville100’s prompt of temperance. (Prompt 84)

Neville was browsing the Herbology bookshelves of Flourish and Blotts when he registered the unforgettable whisperings of Seamus Finnigan. He smiled to himself and edged closer to the end of the aisle in an effort to hear more before being discovered.

“She’s got a nice rack and-” broke off Seamus, as he spotted Neville peering around the corner.

Dean grinned at Neville. “Hullo Neville, we were just talking about little Hannah Abbott. She’s taken over The Leaky.”

“Has she?” asked Neville, who suddenly felt thirty.

“Yeah,” remarked Seamus. “Fancy a pint?”

Neville nodded after all one or two wouldn’t hurt.

suntzu_s @ 2009-08-21T11:43:00

2009-08-21T10:43:30Z

Off to Germany and will be back soon.

For neville100: Nevile Remebers

2009-08-14T09:28:13Z

Title: Neville Remembers
Author:suntzu_s
Rating:G
Pairing(s): Neville
Summary: Neville takes his duties seriously and sometimes he remembers.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe – all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work
Warning(s): Weirdly serious for me
Word Count: 100 and then a take two
Author's Notes: written for neville100’s prompt of justice. Prompt 82

Neville sauntered down the corridor, whistling happily as he performed his nightly rounds. He felt a great sense of peace and contentment that these children - his children were safe and could enjoy their school years in a way that was not afforded to his own generation.

He gently scolded embarrassed canoodling couples, foiled age-old pranks and comforted homesick first years and sometimes in the dead of the night, when all the staff and students were tucked up in bed he could feel the very walls of Hogwarts’ breathe and pulse with life.

And in these times, Neville felt justice.

Take Two

Neville sauntered down the corridor, whistling happily. He had just departed the infirmary after visiting with a small, frightened first year.

He paused then looked down at his wrist, and rotated it slowly then smiled at a long since forgotten memory of a small, first year nursing a broken wrist following their first flying lesson. A boy who lay in a infirmary bed, furiously scrubbing the tears away and desperately trying to be brave for his family.

Neville sighed and began mentally composing the owl he would have to now send.

Dear Mr Malfoy,

It is with great regret……..

Happy Birthday Neville Longbottom!

2009-07-30T11:28:07Z

Woe is me! I’ve been poorly sick the past couple of days and I didn’t think I’d be able to write anything but its Neville’s birthday so on with the useless presents!

Title: Knickers
Author: suntzu_s
Rating:PG-13
Pairing(s): Neville/Harry
Summary: Luna needs help from her friends.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe – all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work
Warning(s): Daftness
Word Count: 490 odd
Author's Notes: Happy Birthday Neville Longbottom! And Happy Early Birthday ~~to me~~ Harry Potter

“Harry, Neville. Thank you for seeing me at such short notice, and I know it’s really early but-”

“Luna, don’t talk daft, you’re our friend, of course we’d see you,” interjected Neville. “Now what can we do to help?”

Luna smiled widely and clapped her hands together. “Excellent! I hoped you could help.”

Harry nodded encouragingly before slinging an arm around Neville’s shoulders.

“Knickers,” exclaimed Luna. “I need some knickers!”

Neville blushed whilst Harry looked puzzled.

“Erm, Luna, you do realise we are male and we don’t wear knickers,” answered a perplexed Harry Potter.

Luna shook her head slowly. “Don’t be silly Harry, of course you’re male, you’re far too flat-chested and you don’t have child-bearing hips and-”

Neville bit back a grin. “We get the point but I don’t think we can help you, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” Luna replied disappointedly. “Are you sure?”

“I think I’d know if Neville had a draw full of lacy, frilly things,” answered Harry. “I do the washing,” he deadpanned.

“But it’s the last week of July,” countered Luna. “And the new orders haven’t arrived yet.”

Neville scratched his head. “Eh?”

“At Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions,” explained Luna.

Neville nodded his head slowly then looked at Harry. “Harry?”

Harry stared at Neville. “Oh right,” then mentally shook himself. “Actually, I don’t have a clue. Luna?”

Luna shook her head slowly. “I was hoping I could have some of your birthday knickers. I’m of to Botswana today.”

“Are you?” asked Neville.

“Yes.”

“But Luna, what’s that got to do with knickers and us?”

“Oh Harry,” Luna patted Harry’s hand. “Everybody knows that it’s quite impossible to buy knickers the last week of July.”

“Is it?” asked Neville, somewhat surprised.

“Yes. Young witches like to buy them-”

“Well, that’s understandable,” interjected a slightly embarrassed Harry. “Girls like that kind of thing.”

“Excellent!” exclaimed Luna. “Then you won’t mind me borrowing them!”

“Erm Luna?”

Luna looked at Neville then at Harry. “You do look at your birthday owls, don’t you?”

Neville loosen his collar and Harry shuffled his feet.

“We look at the important ones,” answered Harry.

“Yeah, we look at the ones from our friends. The rest go to Harry’s secretary.”

“Oh, well, that explains things,” remarked Luna.

“It does?” asked Harry.

“Yes,” nodded Luna.

“Erm, would you like to explain things to us?” asked Neville.

“Oh it’s quite simple and common knowledge. Young witches, though I suspect old witches to, send you knickers for your birthdays. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind me-”

“Borrowing them?” answered Harry.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Well, if you are sure we get them?”

Luna nodded expectantly.

“Then I guess you should go see Harry’s secretary.” Neville looked at Harry. “Right, Harry?”

“Oh right, yes. You should do that, Luna. I’ll floo Nancy to let her know, you’re to be expected.”

“Oh thank you! I knew I could rely upon you two!” exclaimed Luna before hugging them both. “And don’t worry; I won’t take the dirty ones!”

For 30 Days of Neville 2009: The Passing of Neville Longbottom

2009-07-25T19:27:36Z

Day: 25
Title: The Passing of Neville Longbottom
Author: suntzu_s
Rating:PG-13
Pairing(s): Neville/Harry
Summary: Harry wants to look after Neville’s health. Neville just wants to take a leak.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe – all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work
Warning(s): Fluffy suggestive silliness and toilet humour ;)
Word Count: 1300 odd
Author's Notes: Thanks to autumn_veela for the super beta duties and written for 30 Days of Neville 2009

Neville nervously eyed the carrier bag that nestled innocently on his bed. Merlin, he loved Harry, but he hated Harry’s impulsive nature at times. Now was one of those times.

A little over a week ago Neville had heard the most awful, gut-wrenching sound emanating from their bathroom. It was a sound long-since heard but not forgotten, it was a familiar sound from the darker days of the War, it was the sound of pain. It was the sound of Harry woefully lamenting his first grey hair.

And from that day Harry had become somewhat obsessed with his age and health and, most alarmingly, with Neville’s.

Now Neville wasn’t a vain man. He knew who and what he was, and at the age of nearly 30, he was comfortable in his own skin. More importantly, after nearly ten years together, Neville was secure in his relationship with Harry. But now Harry was questioning their health, and if Harry was questioning Neville’s health was Harry also questioning his appearance?

Neville scowled at the bag. Maybe he could lose a few pounds or tone up a little. Middle-aged spread could creep up on a bloke when he wasn’t looking and then -- BAM -- you’ve been traded in for the latest edition without a kiss goodbye, a backwards glance or a boot up the jacksey.

Neville stomped over to the bag and prodded it with a finger. Harry was just being ridiculous, Neville told himself. Every night, when they were spooned together and sleep was just around the corner, Harry would anchor himself against Neville by sliding his arm across Neville’s stomach. He would sigh contentedly when it rested in the slight groove of Neville’s pot-belly and snuggle in for all he was worth.

Surely these weren’t the actions of a man about to run off with nubile eighteen year old, fresh out of Hogwarts and complete with tight buttocks and abs?

Neville sighed and shook his head before gingerly opening the bag. He was clearly being paranoid and he’d just have ride out Harry’s latest obsession until the Quidditch season began.

“Nev, are you ready yet?” Harry whinged through the door.

Neville guiltily pulled out the clothing from the bag and yelled back. “Nearly.” He shucked off his clothes and stumbled into something called a ‘tracksuit’, though secretly Neville thought they were pyjamas. They even had the stripes on them to prove it.

Neville glanced into the mirror and frowned. He looked like a pregnant man. He breathed in deeply and puffed out his chest, which drew his line of sight to the writing upon his nipple. Neville scratched his head. “Um, Harry?” he asked. “This tracksuit thing -- does Adidas mind that I’m wearing it?” Maybe this Adidas was his replacement. He was probably Adonis’s younger, fitter brother.

Harry poke his head around the door. “What? Nah, I’m sure the maker doesn’t mind,” he corrected. “It’s good advertising. Now stick your trainers on then we can go!”

“Where are we going?” asked Neville, secretly hoping it wasn’t going to be anywhere public.

“To the Memorial Gardens.”

“Oh, lovely.” It was anything but lovely as far as Neville was concerned. He was dressed for bed. “What are we going to do there?”

“I thought we’d go for-”

“It’s not a run, is it?” interrupted Neville as dread filled his stomach.

Harry shook his head slowly. “Nah, I don’t think you’d- I think, um, I think it’s too hot. I thought a swift walk.”

Neville nodded then bent to retrieve his trainers. Great. Harry clearly thought that he was unfit and couldn’t manage a jog around the park and well, Neville chided himself gently, he wasn’t going to think down those lines or he’d feel ill. Or he’d mentally start dividing up their joint Wizarding film collection or offer to be best man at Harry’s next wedding.

Harry watched Neville tie his laces with untamed glee. “Ready?” he asked before dragging Neville from the bed.

Neville grumbled in Harry’s wake, mourning the days when Harry was dragging him to bed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” Merlin, it was like detention with Professor Snape again, only with somebody better looking and not as tall.

888

After ambling around the gardens for half an hour, Neville was hot, but not in a good way. Sweat poured from, well, every pore and he was sure there was chafing. But Neville didn’t think a swift swipe of his fingers down the front of his track-suit pants/pyjama bottoms in a public place was appropriate for a Hogwarts professor, or indeed any other professor, so he’d just have to surmise.

Harry, on the other hand, looked positively delicious. His cheeks glowed healthily in the summer sun, his track-suit pants seemed to hang gracefully upon his still-slim hips and the little fucker was bone dry.

Neville closed his eyes for a brief second, not knowing if it was to block out the afternoon sun or the perfection that was Harry.

“Nev? You alright?” broke in Harry.

Neville sighed then shrugged. “Yeah…I was, yeah,” he trailed off at a loss, not knowing what to say to Harry, who was looking so encouragingly at him. “I think…I think I need a pee!” he blurted, rather liking the idea now that his brain and bladder had caught up.

“Oh, oh alright. I think there’s a Gents just around the next bend….I could do a Point Me spell,” offered Harry.

Neville strode out for the gents, mildly affronted that Harry thought him incapable of finding the damned loo in one piece. Fair enough there’d been that one time, but it had been dark and Neville had had one too many firewhiskeys and-. Alright there were all those times at school, but he’d been eleven for Godric’s gallbladder!

Neville pushed open the door to the Gents, feeling decidedly smug that he’d arrived without any assistance or effort. He braced himself for the stale smell of public conveniences and sighed happily when he discovered the lack of ammonia and people. He ambled over to the urinals, intent upon a quick slash.

Neville whistled as he prepared to pee, cursing the fact that he hated peeing in strange places. Shortly after he’d hit the third verse, another patron joined him at the next urinal. Neville nodded briefly in acknowledgement then determinedly stared ahead at the ceramic tiles, grimly thinking about waterfalls and gushing taps.

“I’ve not seen you in here before.” The voice came from Neville’s left.

Neville glanced sideways and coughed. “I don’t usually come here,” he answered, somewhat perplexed. Merlin, this was why he could never pee in a public place for strange men asking him stupid questions and- Neville’s brain caught up with what he’d just witnessed.

Neville looked at his companion. Yup, he was leering and wanking.

Neville snapped his head skywards and breathed out deeply, hoping to cool his now-burning cheeks. Shit, where the hell was Harry when he needed him? He’d only nipped in here to avoid answering an awkward question and have a leak and he’d somehow or other wandered into a Cottaging hangout.

“Ohhh, I’m sure you could come anywhere you’d like, big boy,” purred Neville’s admirer.”

Neville wished the ground would open up and swallow him. “I….um-
”
“He comes with me!” growled Harry from the doorway.

Neville sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Gods above and smiled gratefully at Harry. “Umm, yes. What he said!”

Neville’s admirer sniffed. “Pity.” He cast one last lingering gaze over Neville before tucking himself away and sauntering out of the Gents.

Neville lent his head against the cold, ceramic tiles and sagged in relief.

Harry burst out laughing.

Neville spun around and glared at him. “What’s so funny?”

“This!!”

Neville was indignant. “Well, thanks very much, I must say!”

“I’m not laughing at you. I mean the bloke had damned fine taste, it’s just this!” Harry gestured with a wave of his hands.

Neville folded his arms and turned back towards the urinals. “If you say so!”

“Oh, I do, I do,” nodded Harry before smiling slowly. “You know, I could do with a quick slash whilst I’m here.”

Harry walked over towards Neville and stood beside him.

Neville looked at Harry.

Harry looked at Neville. “Do you come here often?” he asked impishly.

Neville bit back a grin, recognising the gleam in Harry’s eyes. “I could do.”

Harry leered at Neville. “I’m sure you could.”

For neville100 : In From the Kitchen

2009-07-21T11:29:35Z

Title: In From the Kitchen
Author: suntzu_s
Rating:G
Pairing(s): Neville/Harry
Summary: Neville panics Harry!
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe – all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 100
Author's Notes: for neville100’s prompt 78: ice cream

Harry’s eyes widen in fear and his breath caught in his throat, as he watched Neville stagger in from the kitchen clutching his head.

“Neville! What’s the…. Quick! Let’s get you to St. Mungo’s!” babbled a panicked Harry Potter, as he rushed to Neville’s side.

Neville waved Harry off as he battled against a fresh wave of pain.

Harry took Neville’s hand. “Now’s not the time to be a hero! Who was it? Stray Death Eaters? Irate Abbots? Speak to me!”

Neville swallowed down a grimace and his expression eased of pain. “Phew! Ice cream headache. Gets me every time.”

Fic: Welcome to the Pleasure Dome or Draco Malfoy and the Garden Shed of Delight

2009-06-19T21:03:46Z

Title: Welcome to the Pleasure Dome or Draco Malfoy and the Garden Shed of Delight
Author: suntzu_s
Pairing: (if any)Draco/Neville
Word Count:3100 ish
Rating:R for Ridiculous
Warnings: Language and Suggestiveness
A/N:(if any) Thanks to the most excellent autumn_veela for the top beta duties, she rocks!
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, which is a pity!

“Stupid, fucking Hannah Abbot!” exclaimed an irate Draco Malfoy. “Ten bastard minutes I’ve been stood at that bar waiting to get served and Potter and his cronies just waltz in and get served in less than thirty seconds flat!”
Draco plonked down the tray of drinks, spilling Firewhiskey over his hand. “Bloody, buggering, bastard! That fucking hurt!” he grimaced as he lapped at his hand. “This wouldn’t have happened in the old days…. a Malfoy carrying drinks!”

“No, your Father would have Imperiused everyone else to do it.” Blaise Zabini deadpanned, before reaching for a shot.

Draco narrowed his eyes then gracefully perched upon the edge of a bar stool that crowded around their small table. He ran a finger along the crease of his worst woollen trousers and tutted. “It simply won’t do,”

“What won’t do, Draco?” asked a bored looking Pansy Parkinson. “The Malfoy waiter service!” she sniggered whilst gesturing towards the tray of drinks with a nod of her head.

Goyle and Blaise burst out laughing whilst Crabbe looked puzzled. “I don’t get it.”

“No?” enquired Draco, sweetly. “You don’t get the bill, either.”

“Now, play nice, Draco,” warned Blaise.

Draco huffed. “No, the time has come to leave the crumby table nearest the Gents and regain our footing in society!”

“You want to revive the Death Eaters?” Blaise asked, somewhat bemused. “Only most of them are fat and over forty now and busting them out through the bars of Azkaban would be a job and a half even for your wand work, Draco.”

“No, you cretin,” rebuked Draco. “We are going to integrate with-” Draco paused and swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth that was threatening to erupt, “-them!”

The group’s eyes shifted sideways and then they all casually looked over their shoulders towards the table of former Gryffindors.

“Why?” asked Pansy dryly.

“Because because, well, because I’m sick unto death of my hand made Italian Dragon hide shoes sticking to the carpets of dives like this, and because we are always given the crap seats! I’m fed up of seating-plans where ex-Slytherins are situated behind Flobberworms!”

Blaise rubbed at his temples. “And how, pray tell me, are ‘we’ expected to do that?” he asked, blandly.

Draco folded his arms. “Hmmm, I have no idea…yet,” he admitted. “But we will do what Slytherins are good at and what we have been doing for years!”

“What? Piss and moan about Potter and his pals?” remarked Blaise.

“No,” snapped Draco, “stalk and then perhaps blackmail.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Obviously, because that worked so well in the past.”

Draco sniffed distastefully. “Well, killing the little fuckers didn’t work, did it?”

Blaise looked at Pansy and shrugged. “He’s got a point.”

“Unfortunately,” said Pansy with a nod of her head.

Draco smirked then quickly banged his fist upon the table, startling a few of the other patrons of the Inn who were seated close by. “Right. That’s settled, we’ll divide and conquer. We’ll each befriend one of them, improve our social status, then tell them to piss off once it’s been achieved. Any questions?”

“Who are we friending?” Pansy asked. “I can’t have Granger, I can’t be seen with that hair, for clean feet or not!”

Draco briefly chewed his lip in puzzlement. “Well, I can’t have Potter, Weasel, She-Weasel or Granger - they’d never believe me.”

“Nor let you within ten feet of them,” Blaise pointed out helpfully.

“True,” said Draco with a shrug of his shoulders. “Therefore, I believe I should take Longbottom.” He risked a quick glance at Neville, who was sat with an amiable smile upon his face, listening closely to whatever latest thing Potter was bragging about.

Draco decided that Longbottom would be passable. He was a Pureblood, he was quiet, he was male and most importantly he was easily lead and would therefore be easier to befriend.

“Why?” asked Pansy, with a smile.

“Because because he was a seventh year and actually present for it,” remarked Draco.

“And because he’s male and a soft touch,” added Blaise.

“Because nothing of the sort,” retorted Draco, somewhat stung that his true motives had been revealed. If Potter could persuade Longbottom to risk life and limb by being all brave and whatnot during the war then there was no way on earth that Draco couldn’t befriend him, because there was one thing that Draco could do like no other; persuade or moan or nag to his will.

“Right,” said Blaise with a roll of his eyes. “Draco gets Longbottom because he can’t be arsed, Pansy can take Potter, I’ll take the female Weasley, Greg and Vince can duke it out for Granger and Weasley.”

“Right,” confirmed Draco.

Pansy thinned her lips but stayed silent.

Greg and Vince looked at each other and then nodded before playing a swift game of Rock, Paper, Scissors.

“We’ll met here again next week and report on our progress,” stated Draco, feeling somewhat smug in the belief that he couldn’t fail. He downed his shot of Firewhiskey and bade goodnight to his friends.

After all, he had a friend to make.

###

Draco’s army of house elves and lackeys had produced a dossier on Longbottom’s activities and it was quite possibly the most boring read of Draco’s life. He fell asleep twice whilst reading the first page; Longbottom was the most boring Wizard in England, if not the world. He did nothing of interest and spent ridiculous amounts of time in his garden shed, doing Merlin knows what and then when he wasn’t in his shed, he was spending time fixing the damned thing. By Hand.

Draco’s brow furrowed.

Befriending Longbottom was going to be harder than he first thought. He needed an angle. He needed a common interest that didn’t involve Potter.

He needed a garden shed.

After all, Draco mused, men didn’t just have hobbies, they had obsessions and every man’s obsession was greater than the next man’s. If it took bonding over bits of plywood then so be it. Draco would get his Longbottom along with a shed. He just needed to know where one acquired garden sheds from and what one did with them once they had one.

The answer came by scrutinizing a photograph of Longbottom’s shed with a magnifying glass.

Two hours of peering closely at Longbottom’s shed, staring at random knots of wood, blacked-out windows and tongue and groove, resulted in a stiff neck, kinked shoulders and the sight of a small, stamped label bearing the words, “B&Q”.

Draco didn’t have a clue what B&Q stood for, his first thoughts were ‘boring’ and ‘queer’ but Draco quickly scoffed at that idea Longbottom dressed far too poorly for a gay man, boring or otherwise, and Draco had met some boring gay men in his time. Hell, he’d even shagged some of them.

But Draco’s week was running out and the stale scent of desperation was starting to seep into his tailored Egyptian cotton shirts so he Apparated with the words ‘B’ and ‘Q’ firmly etched in his brain.

And arrived in hell.

Actually, he arrived at a Muggle DIY store, situated on the edge of an industrial estate that sold carpets and cheap food but Draco didn’t know this, nor did he care to.

The Weasley- orange lettering of the store’s décor gave him a headache and the sight of the shop assistants wearing aprons that needed an ironing-charm left him feeling queasy. But the shop had garden sheds, and a garden shed would get him Longbottom.

Draco marched up to shop assistant who looked the cleanest and the least creased. “I’d like the most expensive garden shed you have and I’ll pay in gall- I mean cash.”

The assistant punched some buttons upon a screen. “It’s not in stock. We are getting an order in sometime next week.”

“But I need it today!” fumed Draco. Once in this hellhole was enough, an Incendio was too good for this place. “Just give me what you’ve got then!”

The shop assistant narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Of course I’m sure.”

“Sure?”

“Oh for the love of- Of course I’m sure. Do I look like an idiot?”

The shop assistant’s mouth gaped like a goldfish’s before wordlessly punching buttons upon a computer screen. A small roll of paper poured out from the machine and the shop assistant handed it over to Draco.

Draco looked down at the piece of paper. “What do I do with this? Where’s my shed?”

The shop assistant nodded his head in the general direction of the tills. “Over there, pay then pick-up.”

Draco sneered then stalked off.

An hour later, after battling with something known as ‘chip and pin’ and narrowly avoiding the police being called in for something known as ‘identity fraud’, Draco found himself in the car park with a metal contraption on wonky wheels, with bits of thin, pink pieces of plywood and a set of complicated instructions that rivalled the hardest Arithmancy equation.

After aimlessly staring at the instructions for ten minutes, Draco realised that they were upside down, and after turning them the correct way and staring at them for a further twenty minutes Draco decided he didn’t give a shit that they made no sense to him whatsoever. A house elf would be dealing with it.

Decision made, he summoned an elf, barked out his instructions and stomped off, stubbing his toe on the trolley in the blasted process.

Draco could feel his headache growing worse as he dodged cars and hideous women pushing trolleys overflowing with foul food and their even fouler children. He cursed Longbottom and his plebeian ways and he cursed himself for walking around muggle hell when he no longer had any business being there.

He Apparated back to the Manor and poured himself a large Firewhiskey, impatiently awaiting the erection of his shed by drumming his fingertips against the side of the tumbler. When Draco realised he’d been tapping out the Hogwarts School song he dropped the glass, spilling the contents into his lap.

“Bastard! Motherfucking hell!” he exclaimed, whilst hopping around and feverishly fanning his groin with his hands. The burning sensation brought tears to his eyes and his hands fumbled with the placket of his trousers. Draco shoved his trousers down as soon as he was able to sending the last of his trouser buttons flying across the room in his impatience to be free. He quickly drew his wand and cast Aguamenti at his groin then winced as icy cold water poured forth.

“Oh piss,” Draco shuddered as he surveyed the damage. Small pink, mottled patches dotted his groin and thighs and his arse felt decidedly soggy. He stomped off towards the main staircase towards his bedroom, screeching as he went.

###

Draco looked on, aghast. There, cluttering up the lush, green, immaculate landscape that was the Manor’s gardens and grounds was a candyfloss pink eyesore that would have been classed as a blot on the landscape if it had any height and girth wider than Goyle’s.

Draco stalked over to Timby the house elf, who was hopping around with excitement.

“What the fuck is that?” snarled Draco.

Timby’s mood deflated. “Mister Malfoy, this is your Deluxe Barbie Playhouse.”

“What!?!”

Timby offered up the instructions in lieu of an explanation.

Draco snatched the instructions and stared angrily at them. He turned them upside and down and narrowed his eyes in an effort to assimilate the diagram with the object before him.

Timby pointed helpfully to the diagram and Draco read with horror.

He’d bought a child’s playhouse.

“For fuck’s sake! What the-”

“Sir?” Timby asked timidly.

“Oh, fuck off, you little twerp!”

Draco stomped over to the wendyhouse and crouched down to wrench the door open. He peered inside and grimaced at the pinkness of it all. Yes, he could certainly win Longbottom’s friendship with this. Why, he could even hold a tea-party in it and Longbottom could bring his toad, too.

Draco was supposed to be befriending Longbottom over manly chunks of wood, not asking him to squat in an over grown-vagina.

He’d firecall Pansy. Potter would surely be easier than this.

###

Half an hour later and Draco was dramatically sprawled upon his bed, with a damp cloth across his forehead and the entire army of Malfoy house elves fussing and wailing around him.

Draco was traumatised. Deeply.

He’d floo’d over to Pansy’s flat after she had failed to answer his firecall and he’d discovered Potter cooking in Pansy’s kitchen, wearing only an apron and some love bites.

Pansy had- well, Draco didn’t want to think about what exactly Pansy had gotten out of or off Potter(hopefully it tasted vile), but he could safely say that Pansy and Potter were friends, or at the very least two people who did things with each other, whereas he had a giant vagina in his garden.

Draco let out a small breath. Even more desperate measures were needed.

He lifted his arm slowly, earning the attention of his army. “Whomever can get me past the Longbottom wards, and I mean all of them, can sleep in the-” Draco paused to think of a suitable place that would still be out of his way, “-portrait room.” There that would do it; the lucky house elf in question would probably explode with multiple orgasms from having the entire history of Malfoys to serve.

The elves buzzed with excitement, before the repeated sound of popping filled the room.

Draco grimaced at the sound, but mentally he began to plan, mainly what he was going to wear, but plan none the less.

Draco settled for an all-black ensemble, comprising of snug trousers and a turtle-neck jumper, perfect for hiding behind bushes or trees or sheds in the dead of the night, not that Draco ever hid anywhere. Ever. And certainly not near sheds if he ever did decide to hide which was why his ensemble was perfect. His cunningness knew no bounds, really.

###

Draco’s elves had done him proud. He was peering through the blacked-out window of the infamous Longbottom shed, although he couldn’t see a blasted thing except for his hot breath condensing upon the pane. He stood like this for fifteen minutes before deciding enough was enough and Longbottom was merely hiding his dullness away in a sea of cheap black paint. He moved towards the door and pushed it open.

Neville Longbottom’s shed was rather interesting to say the least. Draco Malfoy stood in the centre of what could only be described as a gay sauna but without the steam or the obligatory fat bloke.

Bookcases packed full of both wizarding and muggle gay porn lined the walls, vibrators and dildos of various sizes and girths nestled upon a battered coffee table and a rather peculiar plastic object sat primly upon an old armchair.

Draco bent to retrieve it.

It was an arse, a fake, plastic arse but an arse none the less. Draco handled it gingerly, marvelling at the kinkiness of it all. The two, round globes of buttocks were firm but they yielded slightly beneath Draco’s fingers and Draco was amazed at their lifelikeness.

He idly wondered exactly how realistic the model was. He glanced around the shed, ensuring the coast was clear, then ran his index finger down the arse’s crack.

The fake arse had what felt like a pucker and Draco swallowed down the excitement that stirred in the pit of his stomach. His finger stroked against the pucker then slowly pushed in.

Draco sucked in his breath Merlin, the arsehole felt realistic; the heat, the tightness, the slow willingness to yield. They were all there and under the right circumstances, Draco could see this product getting him off spectacularly. His finger burrowed deeper, then wriggled – it even had a prostate to slide against.

Draco’s cock began to firm within the tight confines of his trousers and he bit back laughter as he brushed the back of his burgeoning erection with the heel of his hand. He felt naughty and rather warm and he seriously considered tossing off or seeing if certain other things would fit into the arse. He just needed to-

“What the fuck?” exclaimed a loud, angry voice. “Accio wand.”

Draco spun around quickly, sending the fake arse sailing through the air along with his wand. He watched in horror as the arse smacked Longbottom on the chest before bouncing to the ground.

Draco smiled weakly. “Erm hello, nice night, isn’t it?”

Neville Longbottom stared hard at Draco then pointedly glanced down at the fake arse. “What the fuck are you doing in here and how the hell did you get in? And stop rubbing your cock!”

Draco whipped his hand away and blushed. “Yes, well, you see, it’s a bit of a funny story.” He trailed off when he realised that Longbottom was probably going to kill him, not offer him tea and biscuits for the amusing anecdote of how or why he was there.

Neville folded his arms. “Go on,” he prompted.

“Yes,” Draco cleared his throat. “Well, I bought a shed and I knew you had this and I thought we could-” he flapped his hands, “-you know, play.”

“Play?” questioned Neville, sceptically.

“Yes, play. Do whatever it is that you do with a shed but together.”

“Together?”

Draco rolled his eyes at the simple-mindedness of Longbottom. They landed upon a stack of porn. Oh.

Neville watched Draco and cleared his throat. “So, you do this,” he nodded towards the stack of porn, “in your shed, then?

“Yes, but I have to squat,” blurted Draco because that’s all he had done in his shed/playhouse/vagina and what else could he say.

“You squat?”

“Yes. Repeatedly.”

“Oh,” smiled Neville before licking his lips and taking a step towards Draco.

Draco took a step back, not knowing if he liked Longbottom’s smile or not. He stumbled against the armchair. “Bugger!”

Neville grinned wolfishly. “Well, if you insist.”

###

Two days later, the former Slytherins once against sat around the table nearest the toilets at the Leaky. This time however, their table had been magically expanded. Pansy perched upon Potter’s knee looking decidedly smug, Blaise had his arm slung around Ginny Weasley’s shoulder, Granger was stroking Goyle’s arm, looking somewhat besotted, whilst Crabbe and Ron were enthusiastically belching their way through the Hogwarts School song.

Draco’s chair was empty.

“Where’s Draco?” asked Blaise as his hand slipped down to cover Ginny’s breast.

“Oh, he firecalled to say he was tied up in Longbottom’s shed with things and that he’d be free sometime next week,” answered Pansy.

Blaise sniffed distastefully. “In other words, he hasn’t done a fuck with Longbottom.”

Potter whispered into Pansy’s ear and she smiled slowly. “Perhaps or perhaps Longbottom likes to top.”

Random Is As Random Does

2009-06-16T17:54:33Z

I don’t know if many of you are familiar with Bettaware catalogues…..There a bit like Avon but with handy kitchen gadgets that clutter up the drawers (yes, we’ve all got them) anyway, a catalogue plopped through my door the other day and as I was contemplating everything non-slip, non-spill, non-use I came across something rather interesting that made me giggle.

Bettaware is flogging tit-tape for those awkward breast malfunctions.

How unglamorous is that ! It’s like buying your condoms at the pound-shop.

In other news…I’ve beaten ~~Draco~~ my Neville/Draco fic into submission (Draco’s favourite position), wrote what could possibly be my most favourite one-liner ever and caught a bunny for my 30 Days of Neville thing and then I’ll be batting my lashes at Comma-queens

Happy Days!

Eh?

2009-06-06T14:32:59Z

Oh dearie me!

So, Twitter is a bit beyond me but I had a bit of a peak at Matt Lewis's and bloody hell....A paid up member of the Conservative party with Oasis plastered all over his lay-out - He could at least be a little bit Lib-Dem

Thanks goodness the real Neville Longbottom is of an age where he'd be voting red or yellow

And in other news.....The schedule for 30 days of Neville 2009 is up........Phew, I'd better write something.

Except It's 200

2009-05-31T19:23:29Z

Title: Hide and Seek
Author: suntzu_s
Pairing: (if any)Draco/Neville
Word Count:100x2
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Not really, I think you can take it.
Prompt: neville100 70# Lost and Found
A/N:(if any) I’m a week late
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, which is a pity!

"I've hidden your Remembrall," remarked Draco. "You've got thirty minutes to find it."

"Huh?" said Neville as he looked up from a stack of marking.

Draco rolled his eyes. ''Just do it!" he exclaimed before adding, "oh and it's somewhere in this hovel you call an office."

Neville straighten his pile of papers. “Thanks,” he remarked dryly.

Draco sniffed, “my pleasure. Now get a move on, I haven’t got all day.”

“Yes sir,” Neville mock-saluted before lifting up his marking and peering underneath it.

Draco rubbed his temples and fondly muttered, “Idiot.”

Neville swooned dramatically. “Yes, but I’m your idiot!”

888

Twenty-five minutes later, Neville was on his hands and knees, rummaging around underneath his desk, haphazardly flinging out stray bits of paper, string and sweet wrappers. “Draco, are you sure it’s hidden in here?”

“Oh yes,” answered Draco somewhat breathlessly. “It’s definitely in here somewhere…..Maybe somewhere further to your left.”

“Really?” asked Neville.

“Mmmhmmm,” answered Draco.

Neville looked at Draco closely and noticed him slowly rocking backwards and forth, his hips gyrating and the heel of his palm pressed against his groin. “This Remembrall wouldn’t be in someone’s pants would it?

Draco smiled. “It wouldn’t hurt to have a look.”

suntzu_s @ 2009-05-23T10:24:00

2009-05-23T09:25:07Z

I'm off up to Scotland to ride my bike!
I'll be back in a week, probably with saddle-sore but ubber fit!
See you all on the other side ~~of the mountain~~

suntzu_s @ 2009-04-24T16:25:00

2009-04-24T15:25:14Z

I love Simon Pegg and I also love kilts therefore I should love this
right?

suntzu_s @ 2009-04-24T12:38:00

2009-04-24T11:40:12Z

Title: The Colour of Death
Author: suntzu_s
Pairing: (if any) Draco/Neville
Word Count:100
Rating:G
Warnings: Daftness
A/N:(if any) for neville100 ‘s prompt of ‘green thumb’, except Neville is missing, sorta
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, which is a pity!

Draco grasped the edge of the desk and his face drained of colour. He felt light-headed and the burning sensation of bile threaten to erupt from his throat.

There were no other words for it, he’d gone and caught a life threatening illness.

And it was all Longbottom’s fault.

Longbottom according to Potter had something that was commonly known as ‘a green thumb’ and because Draco had been rather intimate with Longbottom’s thumbs(and other digits and bits) on numerous occasions, it stood to reason that he too was now afflicted with this disease.

He was going to kill Longbottom. Slowly.

Of Families and Broken Floos

2009-04-15T10:16:50Z

Title: Of Families and Broken Floos
Author:suntzu_s
Rating: G
Pairing(s): Weasley Gen, with canon pairings (sorta)
Summary: Charlie brings his new wife home to meet the family
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe – all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work
Warning(s):There’s no, well, you know-who, no not that you know-who oh and for mild humour (sorta)
Word Count: 1102
Author's Notes:Apparently, I had to write this before I could write anybody else.

“Straighten your tie, Ronald!” yelled Molly Weasley before casting her wand once again along the sideboard, to remove any stray specks of dust that might have gathered there within the last ten minutes that had past since she had previously done so. “There’ll be here in a minute!”

Ginny smirked at her brother, who was currently tugging at his tie. “What do you think she’ll be like?” she asked the room in general from her position on the couch.

Hermione leant across her husband and batted his hands away. “Well,” she paused to tug Ron’s tie straight. “She’ll-”

“Have scales and breathe fire!” exclaimed a gleeful George Weasley from his perch on the arm-chair.

The Weasley siblings burst out laughing, whilst Hermione tried to hide a smirk.

Angelina punched her husband on the arm.

“Oww,” grumbled George as he rubbed his arm. “You’ve got to admit it’s a bit, well, odd. Charlie married to something other than work, even Perce managed to tear himself away from it for five minutes to marry his secretary!”

“Hey!” protested Percy before slipping his hand into Audrey’s.

Audrey smiled lovingly at her husband. “Did you see the report I left on your desk this morning?”

Percy beamed then pushed his glasses back up, along the bridge of his nose. “I’m sure she’ll be charming and rather a Dragon expert.”

Ron elbowed Harry in the ribs. “Yeah, of Charlie’s!”

“Ronald! I heard that!” shrieked Molly from across the room. “Arthur, say something!”

Arthur looked up from his perusal of a tin-opener. “What was that Mollywobbles?”

“Oh honestly,” admonished Molly. “Put that thing away, they’ll be here in a minute and Bill brush your hair!”

Bill’s hand shot to the back of his head and he smoothed down his mane. “Sorry, Mum,” he apologised sheepishly.

Fleur opened her mouth to defend her husband when the familiar hiss of the Floo sent all eyes towards the fireplace.

The green smoke settled and out stepped Luna Lovegood, who casually brushed Floo powder from her cloak. “Oh hello everyone, my you do all look smart!”

Molly looked puzzled. “Luna dear, what a surprise! Come for a visit, have you?” she asked kindly. “Everyone’s here, we’re waiting for Charlie and his new wife.”

“Oh that’s lovely, Mrs Weasley,” replied Luna.

“Yeah, someone was daft enough to put up with Charlie’s dragons,” piped up Ron.

Ginny looked shrewdly at Luna.

Luna smiled serenely and gesturing at Ginny’s stomach, asked, “How long have you got to go, Ginny?”

Harry patted Ginny’s blossoming stomach. “Six weeks, give or take a day or two.”

Ginny shrugged Harry’s hand away. “I don’t recall Luna asking you, Harry.”

Harry winced. “Sorry.”

“Never mind,” said Ginny before gesturing to Luna to come and sit down. “What are you doing here? Last time I heard from you, you were in Outer Mongolia researching, researching- What were you researching?” broke off Ginny.

“Well,” paused Luna as she walked across the room, “it’s quite complicated and yet remarkably simple. The Lesser Known Humped-Back Snorkack, is a migratory animal, as most of you will be aware and-”

“Yeah, we’re all aware of that, Luna!” exclaimed Ron, with a roll of his eyes.

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. “Please, go on Luna!” implored Hermione, pointedly ignoring Ron who was clutching his stomach, dramatically.

Luna blinked. “Really?” she asked.

Hermione took a deep breath and opened her mouth to respond when the Floo spluttered into life again.

“They’re here!” exclaimed Molly, as she crowded around the fireplace. “Arthur, come here, quickly!”

Arthur grumbled beneath his breath but dutifully moved to stand next to his wife. He threw an arm across her shoulder, “Yes, dear,” he squeezed gently then turned towards the Floo.

Charlie emerged from a billow of green smoke; he ducked underneath the mantel and smiled broadly at his parents. “Mum, Dad,” he greeted warmly before being engulfed in a bone-crunching hug.

“Charlie! It’s so good to see you,” squeaked Molly, from the vicinity of Charlie’s armpit.

“It would be if you could actually see him, Mum!” remarked George.

Bill cuffed George around the head.

“Mum,” whinged George.

“Oh shut up George,” rebuked Molly as she tore away from Charlie’s embrace. “My you do look well. Now,” she paused and looked quizzically at her second born. “Where is she?”

“Huh,” remarked Charlie, looking equally baffled. “She left before me, maybe there’s something wrong with the Floo?”

“Arthur!” exclaimed Molly. “Do something!”

Arthur stepped into the fireplace and glanced up. “Now, let’s see.”

“Dad, do you actually know what you are looking for?” asked Bill from across the room.

“Charlie’s wife,” deadpanned George.

“Well, let me see,” pondered Arthur, “if I-”

“Budge up, Dad, I’ll help you look,” interrupted Charlie before re-entering the fireplace.

Molly looked around the room, smiling apologetically. “I’m sure it’s not your Father’s fault.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Nobody said it was Mrs Wea- I mean, Molly.”

“Yeah, Molly!” nodded George.

Molly stared hard at her son. “Pardon, George?”

George smiled then batted his eyelashes, dramatically. “Yes? Mummy! Dearest!”

Molly turned back to the Floo. “Do you need any Floo powder?” she asked, helpfully.

Luna wandered over to the fireplace. “I know of a charm that might be of some assistance?”

“Well,” paused Molly as she looked at the two sets of dusty legs in fireplace. “If it’s not too much trouble. I can’t imagine what Charlie’s wife will think of us…..getting lost on her first visit.”

“Oh, it’s not her first visit, Mr Weasley,” replied Luna.

“What was that?” asked the echoic voice of Mr Weasley.

Molly shook her head. “Arthur, Luna said it’s not the first time Charlie’s wife has visited.” Molly turned towards Luna and narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean not the first time? It’s not that awful Alicia Whatsherface who went to school with George and Angelina, is it? No offence Angelina.”

Angelina’s lips thinned. “None taken.”

“Mum?” asked the disembowelled voice of Charlie. “Who are you talking too?”

Molly huffed. “Really!” she exclaimed. “You’re wife has disappeared and you’re more bothered about Luna Lovegood!”

“Bloody hell!” swore Charlie. “Luna! Is that you?”

“Ummm, the last time I looked it was, though to be honest I’ve not looked for awhile. I suppose I could be an impostor, there have been cases. Why Daddy was saying only the other day that the minister-”

“Luna!” interrupted Molly.

Charlie ducked out from the fireplace. “It’s alright Mum.” He smiled broadly and reached for Luna’s hand. “Why didn’t you tell them?” he asked.

Molly looked puzzled, the room watched in amusement and Luna, well Luna just smiled.

For draco100:Fine French Cuisine

2009-04-09T07:58:49Z

Title: Fine French Cuisine
Author: suntzu_s
Pairing: (if any)Draco/Neville
Word Count:100
Rating:PG
Warnings: Not really, I think you can take it.
Prompt: draco100 35# All things French
A/N:(if any) All hail, Catherine Tate!
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, which is a pity!

Draco eyed the Potter/Weasley wedding buffet with distain as he filed by.

"Garlic bread! Oh the height of sophistication!" exclaimed Draco, sarcastically. "Why they'll be bringing out the satsuma skewered with cheddar cheese next!"

Neville elbowed him in the stomach. "Shut up! They'll hear you!"

"Good. Then they might feel mortally wounded and throw themselves under the Knight Bus.”

“Draco,” warned Neville. “These are my friends.”

“Friends that can’t cook,” retorted Draco.

“And you can do some much better, I suppose,” challenged Neville.

“Yes, I know of a classic dish with a twist,” sniffed Draco. “I just need a toad!”

The Good, The Bad and The Something I've Not Thought of Yet

2009-04-08T07:52:53Z

The Bad
Youtube
Why? Well, because of the pink, not available in your country banner at the top of all those things you wanna watch
especially when the day before it was alright to watch them in 'your' country!

The Good
Sign-ups for 30 Days of Neville 2009 open tomorrow (Around about the time I can get the kids off of the big computer)!
I'll leave them open for a fortnight that way ~~I can stall doing the stuff in excel that needs doing for it~~ you
can nag all of your f-lists into doing it too

The Something I've Not Thought of Yet
.....................................???????????

suntzu_s @ 2009-04-01T14:24:00

2009-04-01T13:25:14Z

So, I’ve just posted an interest post for 30 Days of Neville 2009 (hint, hint) so now my Neville!muse had decided I should write Weasley family gen (ish).

I’m not sure if I should take that as a good omen or a bad one!

Either way, you should all consider signing-up to commit to posting at least 500 words or smarts of Neville goodness in the month of July!

For Neville100

2009-03-29T16:59:27Z

Title: The Colour Purple
Author:suntzu_s
Pairing: Neville/Luna
Word Count:100
Rating:G
Warnings: (if any)
Genre : Daftness
A/N: (if any) neville100’s prompt of Sorting Hat

Neville stared, aghast at the sight that greeted him as he entered his office. “Luna!” he exclaimed, “What have you done?”

“Oh hello, is everything alright in the greenhouses?” asked Luna, as she spelled a garishly coloured pom-pom to the Sorting Hat’s point.

“Fine,” he mumbled absentmindedly. “You do know what that is?”

“Of course I do! Terence wanted to explore his feminine side; I said I’d help him, only I was eleven at the time.”

“Erm,” said Neville.

“Lucky for you, your wife didn’t make you wait fifteen years to explore your masculine side!” piped up the Sorting Hat.

Ficlet: The Manly Art of Origami

2009-03-23T10:50:05Z

Title: The Manly Art of Origami
Author:suntzu_s
Pairing: Neville/Ron
Word Count:523
Rating:R
Warnings: (if any)
Genre : Humour
A/N: (if any) It did start out for neville100’s prompt of spice but the bunny wasn’t have it

Ron wasn’t too sure about all this ‘nancy-boy business’. Yes, he much preferred strong, powerful thighs and muscular torsos and well, cocks if he was being blunt but the whole ‘going on a date with a bloke’ thing was beyond him.

A date with a bloke should be a few Butterbeers at The Leaky followed by a nice bout of drunken groping or shagging.

Ron looked at the hastily written note from Neville and grimaced. A day spent paper folding was not his idea of a good time. Gay or otherwise.

However, Ron mused, Neville was bloody marvellous at the good bits of being gay, his ability at giving head was second to none and the taut, little quiver his thighs made when Ron’s cock brushed against his prostate flipped Ron’s stomach every time.

Ron sniffed. He’d suck it up and go fold paper then maybe Neville would suck him up afterwards.

###

Ron arrived at Neville’s house, armed with a ream of parchment and a determined look upon his face. He was going to fold this paper and bloody well like it.

Ron brushed floo powder off his cloak and set out in search of Neville. “Nev, you there?” he shouted, as he toured the ground floor.

Ron scratched his head then grimaced when he realised his hair now stood up at a weird angle. Flatting his hair, he sighed, he had no idea where the fuck Neville was and Neville wasn’t that forgetful to forget that he was coming.

Ron was about to climb the stairs to Neville’s bedroom, in the vain hope that Neville’s idea of folding paper involved being naked when the kitchen door banged open. “Neville?” asked Ron as he drew his wand and moved slowly towards the kitchen.

“Ron,” answered Neville.

Ron smiled then stashed his wand away. “Yeah,” he answered, stopping short at the sight that greeted him.

Neville was shirtless and an equal amount of sweat and dirt clung to his torso.

Ron’s mouth went dry. “Erm, I brought some paper,” he said, holding up the box for Neville’s perusal.

Neville looked puzzled. “Eh?”

Ron coughed. “You know for the ora-ora, erm for the paper-folding.”

Neville looked at the box of parchment then at Ron. “For the-” Neville broke of laughing.

Ron looked affronted.

Neville wiped the tears of laughter away from his eyes. “You tool,” he said fondly. “We are planting Oregano.”

Ron blushed brightly, then mumbled, “Oh.”

“Oh, is right,” remarked Neville before removing the box from Ron’s hands and leading him towards the kitchen door. “I thought a few hours in the garden then a few Butterbeers then-”

“Then a drunken grope in the flower beds?” asked Ron hopefully. He looked at the box of parchment now standing innocently upon Neville’s kitchen work-top. “I brought some paper towels we can use if we get too mucky!”

Neville smiled. “Oh, I hope we don’t get too mucky, I rather fancied some paper-folding, afterwards.” He winked then turned and walked out of the kitchen door.

Ron watched the slow sway of Neville’s arse then smiled. Maybe this ‘nancy-boy business’ wouldn’t be so bad.

For Neville100

2009-03-18T20:49:20Z

Title: And Then
Author:suntzu_s
Pairing: (if any) Luna/Neville
Word Count:100
Rating:PG
Warnings: (if any) Fluff MacFluff
Challenge: #60 hero
A/N: (if any)

When Luna announced to Neville that she was late when she was standing there right in front of him, he looked at her as if she had grown two heads.

Then when she announced that they’d soon be hearing the teeny, tiny patter of little feet Neville braced himself for the Kneazle that was sure to jump out at him.

And now, eight months later, deep in the bowels of St Mungos labour ward with Luna panting and pushing and Neville feeling decidedly dizzy.

He’d give anything for a hero at this moment, then Luna smiled and everything was alright.

Elegant Hands

2009-03-17T14:42:54Z

Title: Elegant Hands
Author:suntzu_s
Pairing: Neville/Draco
Word Count:919
Rating:R
Warnings: (if any) Lack of Dialogue
Genre : Humour
A/N: (if any)

Draco was absolutely loving this, the body above him was delicious. Hard muscles flexed in rhythm to the snapping of their hips as they rocketed into Draco’s slick hole, the hand on Draco’s cock pumped with a devilish twist of the wrist and Draco was a moment away from a heart attack.

This was the most perfect fuck Draco had ever had in his life and as the thick, veined cock dragged against his prostate for the umpteenth time, he erupted in sticky ropes of semen as the words of ‘Longbottom’ spilt from his lips.

Draco sat bolt upright in bed, gulping for breath and with sweat painting his brow. This was the fourth night in a row he’d dreamt of Longbottom the buffoon and each night he’d awoken in a blind panic.

A blind, sticky panic but a panic none the less.

And this couldn’t go on for both his sanity and the state of his satin sheets.

Five days ago, Draco had discovered that Longbottom was gay and four nights ago he’d began spunking his sheets because his unconscious self got rodgered to death by the Plant Professor of Hogwarts.

Draco gnashed his teeth and glared at the damp patch that was spreading across his bed and silently cursed his brain. The Hogwarts’ Plant Professor, his stupid, sleeping brain couldn’t even give him a decent professor to spunk over. He got a swishy, Gryffindor who played in the mud for a living.

Draco reached for his wand and cast a quick Scourgify upon his bed, then stomped towards the bathroom, intent upon drowning himself in the shower.

He stayed underneath the pounding spray of the shower till his body could no longer stand it, namely till his skin began to wrinkle and prune, then he switched the taps off and rested his head against the cool tiles.

He really couldn’t go on like this; he’d have to owl Blaise and fuck him instead.

Blaise with his lean, coffee colour skin. Blaise who could do amazing things with his tongue and Blaise who hated damp patches almost as much as Draco did.

###

Shagging Blaise had been rather successful for the first thirty seconds Draco had attempted to do so, Blaise had been his usual bendable self but Draco’s rhythm and erection had wilted at the sight of Blaise’s pencil thin willy disappearing behind his elegant, fisted fingers.

Draco’s brain had decided that dicks should disappear behind sturdy, fisted fingers and he cursed his stubborn Malfoy gene as he slipped out of Blaise’s hole.

Fobbing Blaise off with a swift licking and wank, Draco excused himself and walked the two miles to his apartment. He was greatly troubled and his feet ached. He never walked anywhere and yet fantasizing about gay Gryffindors that had shit jobs apparently induced him to walk.

He was not happy.

Draco had ache-y feet, painful balls and a case of brewers’ droop (whereas the only thing of his that should be droopy was his hair).

Serious, drastic measures would have to be made.

Draco Malfoy would have to shag Neville Longbottom. Once. Just to get him out of his system then he could go back to liking elegant hands and gay Slytherins.

###

Draco needed a plan or rather the opportunity to seduce his gay Gryffindor (because, really, no one could resist him). He needed to be around the plant professor, ideally somewhere private for shagging purposes and for privacy because he really didn’t want anyone to know he’d shagged a Gryffindor.

Draco couldn’t think of anywhere that remotely ticked any of the boxes, mainly because he didn’t know anything at all about Longbottom, other than his war record, his liking for plants and his gayness.

Draco would have to stalk.

He’d have to hang out where Gryffindors frequented, he’d have to attend terrible Quidditch matches, turn into an alcoholic and live at either The Leaky Cauldron or The Hogsmead Inn or worst of all, hang around St Mungos Labour Ward, whilst a Weasley of various shades of orange dropped their litters.

It was all very horrendous but all very necessary.

###

Three weeks into Draco’s stalking, Draco was feeling and looking terrible. Neville Longbottom was proving resistant to his manly charms.

Not that Draco had managed to actually speak to the Gryffindor in question, though his manly charms had resulted in Pansy asking him if he were constipated on one or two occasions.

The day Draco started sniffing soil; he knew that serious, super, drastic actions needed to be taken and in a fit of drunkenness or a soil-induced high, he owled Longbottom with the invitation to plunder his behind.

Draco was quite affronted when Longbottom owled back asking, why.

This now left Draco with one course of action, the only course of action available to a Malfoy. Blackmail.

Blackmailing a Gryffindor was rather tricky in so much as they never did anything wrong, unless you counted drinking tea without a saucer and Draco was struggling to find a suitable reason for blackmail, either real or fabricated.

In the end, he decided that he’d employ Slytherin school children to pester the living daylights out of Longbottom till he relented.

Three days later, Draco received an owl from Longbottom.

Thirty-five minutes later, Draco was bent over a potting-table in Greenhouse Three getting buggered to death, whilst trowels scraped and scratched his nipples.

Seven years later and Draco was still being buggered to death by the gay Gryffindor and elegant hands didn’t really matter.

For neville100 When It’s Thong, It’s Thong!

2009-02-19T17:00:19Z

Title: When It’s Thong, It’s Thong!
Author: suntzu_s
Pairing: (if any) Charlie/Neville
Word Count:100
Rating:PG
Warnings: Daftness
Challenge: Prompt: 49 - Gifts
A/N:(if any) Not a lot of plot
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, which is a pity!

Neville stomped in from the greenhouse and glared at his partner Charlie Weasley, who was comfortably sprawled at the kitchen table drinking a mug of tea.

Charlie watched Neville over the rim of his mug. “Still not speaking to me?” he asked, casually.

Neville made a growling sound at the back of his throat. “You told them, they were mine!” he exploded in frustrated rage.

“Ye-s,” answered Charlie, slowly before continuing. “You did buy them!”

“For you to wear!” retorted in Neville. “Now, everyone in your family thinks I wear girls’ frilly knickers!”

“Thong”

“It’s wrong, that’s what it is!”

neville100 In Sickness and In Health

2009-02-13T08:52:56Z

Title: In Sickness and In Health
Author: suntzu_s
Pairing: (if any)Harry, Neville, implied Neville/?,implied Harry/?
Word Count:100
Rating:G
Warnings: Not really, I think you can take it.
Prompt: neville100 56#Evolve
A/N:(if any) Edited to include a bonus 100 words
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, which is a pity!

“Harry, why are you taking me to St Mungos, again?” asked Neville as he trotted along to keep up with Harry Potter.

“Umm, no reason, I’m-” broke off Harry.

Neville looked questioningly at Harry then grabbed his elbow to halt his movements. “Harry?” he prompted.

Harry took several, deep breaths. “It’s Malfoy!” blurted Harry. “It’s not right, Neville….I, we, think you’re sick, under some sort of spell. You need to be checked out! Nobody wakes up and thinks the pointy git is the one for them!”

Neville burst out laughing. “I’d hardly call seven months, over night. It’s called evolution.”

###

“It’s called not right! That’s what it’s called,” exclaimed Harry. “Don’t you remember the ferret at school? He nicked your Remberall!”

“Harry, we were eleven,” remarked Neville.

“So?” Harry challenged.

“So,” Neville narrowed his eyes. “ Don’t you remember Snape?”

“What? What’s that got to do with it?” asked Harry, incredulously.

“ You know, the big, black bat that made our lives a living hell at school and the one that you’re shagging now!” Neville paused for breath then asked, “Has he cursed you?”

Harry bit his cheek and looked down at the ground. “Oh,” he mumbled.

“Oh indeed.”

Invites, Sex and Longbottom

2009-02-12T09:32:57Z

Today, I’ll be exercising my slash!PWPbunny! EEP!

Title: Invites, Sex and Longbottom
Author: suntzu_s
Pairing: (if any) Draco/Neville
Word Count:1050
Rating:NC-17
Warnings: Fluffy PWP
A/N:(if any) Not a lot of plot
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, which is a pity!

Draco glared at the invitation that was innocently propped against the mantelpiece with distain. It was Neville’s invitation to Potter’s wedding and Draco perversely wanted to go, only Longbottom, Neville, hadn’t said a word about it and the invite had been there for five days and Draco was getting impatient.

Five long days, that blasted invitation had tormented Draco.

Five days Draco had pretended that the invite was nonexistent, whilst secretly seething at his boyfriend’s lack of interest. Damn it, he wanted to go, he wanted to witness the wedding of the so-called century, he wanted to quietly mock the idiots of the new order, he wanted to give Longbottom an inappropriate hard-on at the most embarrassing moment of the ceremony and he wanted it more than anything.

However, Draco was still a Malfoy and therefore, he had a plan, a plan that was as cunning as it were simple. He’d have lots of sex with Neville (which really wasn’t a hardship) and whilst Longbottom, Neville, was in a post-orgasmic stupor, he’d hint, to the point of asking and because Neville was still grateful and brain-dead, he’d say yes to anything.

The plan couldn’t fail.

~#~
Draco put his plan into action that very night, he’d been rimmed clean then buggered till he could feel Longbottom’s salt at the back of his throat and as they lay together, with Neville looking particularly dazed, Draco knew the time was perfect.

“Neville,” wheedled Draco, stroking his sweaty hair. “I want to ask you something?”

Neville grunted and threw out an arm to affectionately stroke Draco’s naked arm. “As long as it’s nothing too exhausting, I’m knackered.” He turned his head and cracked an eye open, gazing at the naked, sweaty mess that was more formerly known as Draco Malfoy and felt a faint stirring in his groin. “Just give me a minute…let me get my breath back.”

Draco grinned. He’d never met anyone with Neville’s stamina and he eagerly looked forward to their trysts. He was rather enamoured with the head of Gryffindor, not that he’d ever admit to it though. “I didn’t mean that.”

Neville rolled over and seized him, “and why not?” he smiled.

Before Draco could form a response, Neville straddled him with his strong, muscular thighs and bent to lick his neck. “Tired of me, already?”

Draco quirked a brow and arched his body, pushing his groin up to slide against Neville’s in answer.

Neville rocked back, enjoying the slick slide of Draco’s cock against his own. “Really?” he asked, though he already knew the answer, if the lengthening and filling of Draco’s dick was any indication.

Draco spread his legs and wrapped them around Neville, bringing him closer. “What do you think?” he asked as haughtily as possible.

Neville gave a throaty chuckle but reached towards the bedside table in search of the lube.

In response, Draco wrapped his hand around Neville’s cock and leisurely began pumping.

Neville paused briefly in the search for lube and clenched his arse in enjoyment. He loved his bed mate spread-eagled beneath him, hard, wanting and waiting. Draco forgot all pretence when he was like this. Finding the lube, he pulled back, tweaking Draco’s nipple on the way.

Draco allowed his hand to slip free from Neville’s cock and moved it to his own. He cupped his balls and tumbled them around, before dragging his hand up his length and circling a finger-tip against his slit.

Neville haphazardly slicked up his fingers, eyes glued upon Draco’s pumping hand. He batted Draco’s hand away and bent down to engulf Draco’s cock with his mouth, his fingers stealing into Draco’s still-loosened channel as he lips wrapped around his cock.

Neville’s fingers twisted and turned inside of Draco and with warm, wet, heat surrounding his cock Draco was lost to sensation. Noises that sounded like begging spilled from his lips as Neville’s probing fingers brushed against his prostate and Draco was desperate for the delicious burn of Neville’s thick cock.

Neville wetly released his fingers and mouth from Draco, hooked Draco’s legs over his shoulders and lined up his cock to Draco’s pink, loosen hole. Neville surged forwards with a swift snap and twist of his hips, ringing joint moans from both of them. He stilled when he was fully sheaved , enjoying the white, hot, heat surrounding his cock before setting a blistering pace of push and slide into Draco.

Draco was lost, ever probe and surge of Neville’s cock made his toes curl, his heartbeat faster and pressure coil tight in his balls. He snaked a hand down to his cock and began tugging and twisting at a furious pace.

The end would be soon for the both of them, the pace, the pressure would be too much. Draco’s came first, with a pitiful wail and a belly sprayed with scorching hot ropey strands. Neville’s exploded in a blinding white light and a need for oxygen.

They lay still joined in the aftermath, till their heartbeats calmed and the need to stretch and move overwhelmed them.

Neville slowly pulled out of Draco and flopped down gracelessly next to him, “So what did you want to ask me?”

Draco reached blindly for a long since, discarded shirt and swiped the cooling come from his stomach. “Erm,” he hesitated, all bravado gone. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said. “You wouldn’t any way, it doesn’t matter.”

Neville looked questioningly at Draco. “I wouldn’t what?”

Draco’s eyes stole towards the doorway, then shook his head.

Neville carefully watched Draco. “This thing, I wouldn’t do, it wouldn’t have anything to do with what’s on the mantelpiece, now would it?”

Draco silently cursed Neville and himself for the heat flooding his cheeks and for Neville’s perception.

Neville let loose a low, throaty chuckle, then patted Draco’s arm affectionately. “It’s alright, it’s already taken care of. I’ve booked us a nice, respectable hotel for the weekend, near The Burrow.” He grinned lopsidedly. “ I thought we’d make a weekend out of it, just don’t piss Harry off, or Ron or-”

Draco kissed Neville, swiftly. “I can’t help it if Potter can’t take a joke, though I suppose he is marrying the Wease-”

“Draco,” warned Neville.

Draco huffed but snuggled against Neville’s side. “I’ll be good.”

“I know you will be or else.”