Sweat (PG; Dolores/Alecto; 550 words): Dolores doesn't like to lose, but she's always liked to see other people sweat.
Dolores has never been good at duelling, and she always loses to Alecto. It galls her that her skills are no match for the younger girl's, especially because Alecto tends to gloat. Sweating after yet another humiliating defeat—and that does bother Dolores most of all, that she sweats rather than mists as a lady ought to do—she resolves to put an end to Alecto's winning streak.
She's not pretty, thinks Dolores, watching Alecto's face twist into a smile. Instead of scowling at her, however, she flutters her lashes at her.
Alecto's cheeks pink, becoming the only attractive thing about her, and Dolores dimples sweetly at her.
Striding towards her, Alecto demands, "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Why shouldn't I look at you?"
"Well, I did win, but—"
Dolores steps up to Alecto, almost too close for propriety, and whispers, "I like looking at you, Alecto."
"Wh—why?" Alecto asks, taking a step back.
Dolores takes a step forward. "Because there's so much of you," she stops speaking, realising that to complete the sentence she's begun would be insulting, and so continues with, "that's worth looking at."
Alecto flushes so deeply that she turns an ugly shade of purple. "Well, stop it."
"No, I won't. I like looking at you," Dolores says again. "Looking at you, I can imagine all sorts of naughty things to do with you."
"Y—you're a pervert."
"No, I'm not, Alecto," Dolores says, pressing her advantage as she follows Alecto's backwards progress towards the wall. "I'm just a girl who likes to look, but you're right," she says, leaning down to whisper against Alecto's ear, "I do look too much during our duels. It's never hexes I'm thinking about, not when I could do so many other things to you with my wand."
Dolores smiles, not quite so sweetly this time, as she says, "You know what I mean."
"Umbridge! Carrow! You're up again."
Dolores walks backwards to the duelling lane without taking her eyes off of Alecto, who reluctantly peels herself off the wall to take her place. Her eyes are firmly fixed upon Dolores' wand.
Dolores has Alecto dancing for her before the younger girl can even swish her wand, and then Dolores has her bound, ramrod straight, on the floor. She grins at Alecto's frozen, stunned expression as the professor calls the match in her favour and everyone applauds.
After the meeting, she isn't surprised when Alecto sidles up to her and says, "Bet you don't really know what to do."
"With my wand?" asks Dolores.
"Yeah. Bet you don't."
"Skip dinner and come to my dorm room, and I promise to prove it."
"I . . . I won't," Alecto says, rushing out of the room.
But Dolores knows she will. She's seen Alecto with other girls before; she knows what Alecto likes, and flush with her triumph, she vows to give it to her—if only to put Alecto in her place.
Later that evening, Alecto knocks on her door. Knocks! It's the first time she's ever shown Dolores any courtesy, and Dolores licks her lips like a cat contemplating cream, thinking, I win.
"So, are you going to prove it?" demands Alecto, squirming under Dolores' gaze.
"Oh, I'm going to do more than that, dear. I'm going to make you sweat."