A/N: I got the title from 'carnem comedere papilio' which is Latin for 'flesh eating butterfly', but carnem comedere was a bit much so I shortened it.
This fic is the result of too little sleep, having a Potter marathon while sleep deprived, and my friend telling me it was a great idea... Thanks, Winter Waters.
"Come on, Harry."
"I don't know about this, Ron. I have a bad feeling."
"Well, that's something," Ron laughed, grinning at Harry from over his shoulder. "They're just butterflies. Are you, the great Savior, the man who defeated the great Dark Lord, who won the Triwizard Tournament, who broke into the Department of Mysteries, who broke into, stole from, and escaped from Gringotts Bank–"
"Alright, enough, Ron," Harry sighed.
"–and who killed Voldemort, afraid of a little flying insect?" Ron continued, his grin evident even when he wasn't facing him.
Harry scowled at the back of his friend's head and briefly debated picking up a rock to toss at him. "I didn't say I'm scared, just that I have a bad feeling. And they're not little, that one alone is bigger than my head."
Twenty minutes later they lay panting against one another, struggling to catch their breath as they looked over what was left of the grotto. Not much, if they were honest, much of it was nothing but smoldering ashes. A random memory hit Harry then and his shoulders started shaking as he fought back his laughter.
Ron looked at him askance, a look saying that he was questioning his friend's sanity even after nearly fifteen years of friendship. "What are you on about?"
Harry tried to control his humor, swallowing down his laughter. "Re-remember second year, when y-you said, 'why can't it be follow the b-butterflies?'?"
He barely finished the sentence before his laughter broke free. Loudly.
Ron's face contorted, facilitating between scandalized and abject horror before it finally settled into a scowl. "You're bloody hilarious, you are. Honestly though, I think I'd rather the spiders– at least with them you know they're murderous monsters going into it. There is something seriously wrong with monster butterflies that like to drink blood and eat flesh."
Harry snorted, "I'd rather avoid any and all monster-sized insects, thanks."
"Sure, mate," Ron said, settling back against their rock. "I can go for that. Let's tell Kingsley to pass the monstrous insects to Ginny and Zabini."
"Let's," Harry agreed, sighing as he settled back again.
"I mean, if she can survive being married to you for over five years and is willing to partner with a Slytherin, she can handle anything, right?"
Harry playfully shoved his friend, "You're a riot, Ron."