Geranium lover, I’m live on your wire

Harry glowered at the ballroom full of glittering sophisticates and knocked back another long swallow of his firewhisky.

Misery incarnate, he almost longed for a new Dark Lord to rise so that he could be justifiably hacked off, instead of indeterminately peevish.

Also, he was bored out of his rakishly scarred skull.

No such luck. Not even Malfoy was interested in playing evil reindeer games these days. He was far too keen on getting into his best friend’s knickers.

The swotty one.

Harry set down his tumbler carefully, signaling the house-elf minding the bar for another round. The mental picture of Ron in a frilly thong positively begged to be obliterated.

Another five minutes and then he’d blow the joint.

Not wide open, unfortunately. Hermione would not be amused if he mussed her fiance’s not-so-humble abode. Especially after his parents went to all that trouble renovating it to please her at Draco’s behest.

A grimace stole over his mouth and his eyes narrowed when he caught sight of flashing deep blue eyes, and lips a blurred “o” of crimson as she laughed at something Zabini said. They were dancing closely together, and her arms slipped up to his shoulders to encircle his neck.

As Harry watched, her arms drew him closer still.

Poor schmuck. Blaise had obviously forgotten everything he’d learned in Herbology. She had him now, ensnared in her embrace and Blaise would cease breathing before he realized he was being suffocated by those sexy, needy vines.

Devil’s Snare. Her parents had definitely named her after the wrong plant.

~~***~~***~~

Originally written for round two of pphp_ldws on Live Journal.

Prompt: A friend, Malfoy Manor, a plant.

Title taken from “Dangerous Type” by the Cars