happy birthday, <lj user

For you, a Harry/Draco drabble. May this new year (and the New Year) bring you plenty of sparkly and smutty delights. :-)

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"Must you make a mountain out of every molehill, Malfoy?"

"This is not a mountain, Potter. It is merely a fucking mess."

"Oh, good Godric, are you a wizard or not?" Harry slashed the air with his wand and the chocolate souffle reinflated.

"Unlike gormless Gryffindors," Draco growled, "I don't usually have to cheat with charms to produce a perfect dessert."

"Oh?" Harry raised his eyebrows. "I suppose your stunt last night with the Quick-Lube spell wasn't cheating?"

Draco's scowl smoothed out into a smug smile. "Of course not. That a long wooden spoon was handy was mere, sheer fortunestance."

(no subject)

Psst, geoviki! There's a wee giftie for you...

Barking insane to-do list to plow through the next three days, but the weather was sunny and mild for most of the day, and I know I looked great earlier this evening. (Yesterday I was disheveled, and tomorrow I will be drab, but tonight I took pains with the whole presentation -- lint-rollering off the dog hair, blow-drying the Peg hair, and applying powder and lipstick -- and it did feel good...) 85 more words and then to bed.

poem: "Between the Hints"

For catrinella, because it is her fault I wrote this just now:

There's what we want to say, and then there's what
we actually manage to write and to share:
there's what we strive to make, with what we brought

away from Chicago, the books we bought
in England... in Boston... a parish fair...
there's what we hoped to say, and then there's what

we shape from the bones of our demons -- fought
down so often, yet how they reappear,
insisting what we need cannot be caught --

well, fuck that. You know it's not for naught --
that what we spin and style is worth the care
we lavish when we can, the joy it's brought

(and glee, and provocation, even thought-
provoking musings and the occasional tear...) --
these triumphs be -- our words, these things we've wrought --

that what we wring from what we've loved and sought --
it may not be our best, what we can spare,
but what we manage to make? Well, it's what

will do for now, it being what we've got:
"good enough" is more than many ever dare.
You use your pen for good, love. Worry not.