“Babe, have you seen the Pickle?”
“For the love of Merlin, will you please stop calling it that?”
“None of your concern, Potter,” Parkinson snarls, which makes Harry almost jump out of his seat. Man, this woman still scares him sometimes. Most of the time, actually. Pretty much all the time. He has no idea how Ginny feels safe living with her.
“Aww, don’t pout, babe. I just want to find the Pickle so we can—”
“Yes, I know what we do with it,” Parkinson barks back. “I would just appreciate it if you stopped referring to it as—”
“It does look like a pickle, though,” Ginny says with a shrug.
“What looks like a pickle?” Harry tries again, making sure not to make eye contact with Parkinson.
“Do you have any more wine?” Draco drawls. “The bottle is empty.”
“Already?” Parkinson raises an eyebrow. “You practically drank it by yourself. Greedy wanker.”
“All this talk about pickled vegetables got me thirsty.”
“Maybe we left it in the bathroom?” Ginny says absentmindedly.
“No, I already checked,” Parkinson replies.
“You eat pickles in the bathroom?” Harry asks, wrinkling his nose.
“I see Ginny has turned you into a savage,” Draco says disapprovingly.
“We really aren’t,” Ginny laughs. “The Pickle is—”
“None of their business,” Parkinson sniffs.
“Aww, babe, are you being shy? You’re usually not.”
“As if,” Parkinson snorts. “But they don’t need to know everything.”
“I’m your best friend,” Draco immediately pipes up. “I deserve to know everything.”
“Yeah,” Harry says, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“We don’t ask you about your sex life, though,” Ginny points out.
“Sex life?” Harry asks, knowing full well he sounds far too scandalised.
“Your sex life involves pickles?” Draco says, making a face. “Maybe I don’t need to know everything after all.”
Harry frowns. “It didn’t involve pickles back when we were—”
“I remember now,” Ginny suddenly exclaims. “It’s on the roof!”
Something flickers across Parkinson’s face; Harry doesn’t really appreciate that expression.
“Ah, that’s right,” she smirks.
“I’ll be right back,” Ginny whispers and dashes out of the living room.
“What the hell are we even talking about?” Harry whines. “I don’t understand!”
“Merlin’s beard, calm your tits, Potter,” Parkinson says, rolling her eyes.
Seconds later, Ginny re-emerges, holding something long and green in her hand. “Got it!”
“That’s—” Harry swallows.
“Dear Salazar.” Parkinson sighs.
After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Draco clears his throat.
“You call your strap-on the Pickle? Why the fuck is it green anyway?”
Before Parkinson can say any more, Ginny steps forward, brandishing the Pickle.
“I think it’s cute. Besides, it’s perfect for us. It’s Pansy’s Pickle.”
“Dear lord,” Draco groans.
Harry still just sits there with his mouth hanging open.
“So, now that we found the Pickle,” Ginny says, turning to Parkinson and wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
“Aaaand that’s our cue,” Draco says, jumping out of his seat and grabbing Harry’s hand. “Wonderful evening, thanks for the wine. Ta!”
Harry stumbles as Draco drags him towards the fireplace. He briefly glances over his shoulder only to see Ginny grinning and waving at him with… Pansy’s Pickle.
“Hey Draco,” he hisses. “Maybe let’s not get burgers on our way home this time?”
“Why not, are you—” Draco breaks off and he seems to be looking at what Harry unfortunately just witnessed. “Oh, because of the—Yeah, maybe let’s not.”
Based on a drawing on @aceveria-art's Patreon, which, you know, you should definitely check out 🥵
