Sometime we all write stories
basically, it's too late to start this, but i'm going to anyway
enjoy
HFS
The Pros and Cons of Waking Up
Harry
Potter was having dream trouble. It was not the type of dream trouble
that one would expect him to get; it was in fact quite bereft of
death, mayhem, green light, and the other hallmarks of his particular
subconscious. He was having the terrible trouble we all have
nightmares about, being forcefully awoken from a really
good dream.
"No... I'm still asleep... World Cup..." Harry
buried his face in a violently orange pillow, then felt the slow
spread of heat across his body as it regained sensation, and told him
through so many treacherous neurons that he was too hot to sleep
anymore. He was, in fact, completely awake from the neck down. The
rest of him was too sore to move, he felt as if gravity was doubled
starting at his collarbone.
Next to him, an amorphous blob of
tangerine fabric throbbed around like an engorged amoeba. Its
semipermeable membrane parted, projected a pseudopod outward, and
extended a single digit skyward in a symbol of gratitude.
"Like you were
gonna sleep all day anyway," retorted Harry, foolishly retaliating
with his own hand gestures, which where of course ineffective on his
blind bedfellow. The fiery protozoa mumbled and withdrew the limb.
The hole stayed open, and a sensory organ studded probe replaced the
its offensive predecessor. The probe spoke:
"You're a dick,
Harry."
Ron Weasley was every bit as alert as Harry was, his
eyes narrowed into Mongoloid slits, but clearest blue.
"Nay,"
said Harry, closing his eyes dramatically and biting his lip
afterward, "the dick is you, for flannel sheets are clearly
overkill in this, the hot and final week of August."
Every bit
as serious (or completely unserious) as his friend, Ron donned a mask
of regretful nostalgia and thus spake:
"Ah but good sir
Harold I do recall a certain four-eyed dwarf trading in the cotton
sheets for these the current accouterments
during a voyage to the linen closet, itself a detour from a greater
quest to get... dare I say... hot tea."
"And surely you also
recall, Ronald, that said dwarf returned to the lair of the giant
leprechaun only to find that the selfsame behemoth had passed an
edict forbidding the opening of any windows to aid in the cooling of
that lair?"
"As well, sir, as I do recall the occasion on
which a certain younger sister of that giant (being me) flew by the
window on broomstick to glance her youngest elder brother and
then-gentleman lover going at it... how you say? Like dogs in
heat."
There was a contemplative quiet as the morning heat
permeated the two boys, eventually forcing them to abandon their
artificial silence for loud, organic laughter.
"Shit, Harry I
though you were just having funny sneeze 'til great flying things
started shooting out your schnozz."
"Oh, Ron, tell me more
about Bat-Bogey Hexes. Mmmm, phoar!" Harry flitted his eyelashes
accordingly, which Ron had to admit he found fantastically fuckable.
Not bothering to
drop the persona of aroused lover, Harry stayed in character and
asked Ron, eyelashes positively strobing, to fetch him some orange
juice from downstairs. Ron was, unfortunately, lead from the chest
down. Which hardly mattered, because he said "You're a dick, Harry.
I hate you."
"Blatant lie."
"No, it's true. I'm only with you so that I can earn your trust (check) and then kill you at the most hilarious possible time to maximize your embarrassment. I expect you hadn't an inkling, eh? But I reckon I'll need to pull a Lockhart on you, as I've just told you my secret plan."
"What? You're
going to wipe your own mind clean and spend a few years in St.
Mungo's? Cause I think you'll be hard-pressed to find anything to
wipe in there."
"Harry, oh my god, that was literally the
best joke I've ever heard. This necessitates a high-five. I mean, I
just wanna give you what's coming to you, and it's a high-five. I
think I might be in humor-shock, else I'd be dying, literally dying
of laughter right now. Quick, gimme some skin before the shock wears
off and I..."
Harry half-slapped half-covered Ron's face with
his hands, expertly aimed considering both boys were staring upward
at the ceiling. Ron feigned a backwards faint.
"Egad!" cried he, "it must be chloroform, for nothing else can stink so high!"
Harry grinned and mimed shooting Ron in the head with his hand. Ron screwed up his face in genuine confusion. Harry signed and looked heavenward, as if praying for patience.
"Okay, Neville,
there's this group of people called Muggles, all right? And they have
these things called guns, which..."
But Neville, no- sorry, Ron
cut him off with a mild twist of the nipple (purple-nurple in the
parlance of our times) and rolled over, straddling Harry and looking
down upon him, full of mock fury.
"Don't you ever
compare me to Longbottom again! I'll effing rip you face off. I'll
kill your sorry ass. I'll kill your ass. Yeah, I'll kill only your
ass. Easy hit, huge target, unlike other things..." Ron's eyes
drifted downward, and, without warning, he let himself fall onto
Harry.
"I'm dead," said the dead Ron.
"Dear Ron,"
started Harry, "Here he lies, we hardly knew him. Thank god. He was
a nice lad, full of freckles and stupid dumb perfect teeth, always
willing to give you the shirt off his back, provided the shirt was a
dry corned beef sandwich his Mum made him on September the first
about ten years ago. He knew how to laugh-"
"Really been ten
years?"
His eulogizing interrupted, Harry blinked.
"It
has been, hasn't it Harry? You said it was August earlier; it's not,
it's September the first. We met ten years ago," he looked at the
clock, "holy shit, damn near to the hour. We've been buddies for a
whole decade now. We've been friends for the lifetime of a ten year
old. Weird. Ten year olds can talk and shit. Oh god, there's people
born in the nineties! So lame, so freaky, so... gay."
"Yeah," said
Harry dreamily, "gay is the worst. Happy, what's it... tin
anniversary, mate."
"Umm, Harry," said Ron in a spot-on
impression of a Patil twin saying something she thinks is obvious,
and thinks less of you for having to say it, "we like totally
didn't even snog until like a year ago, so, technically, you're an
idiot who ditched me to hang our with Ron at the Yule Ball."
A
Spot-on impression of Parvati, then.
"We did in my head,"
said Harry quietly.
"Really?" asked Ron, serious for once.
"Yeah. I guess
it was one of those, you know," he coughed fakely to cover the
word, "...at first sight things."
"Shut up."
"I'm
serious, Ron."
"Tell me just
now, huh? You're a dick, Harry. I love you."
"Fuck you. I
love you too."
Kiss.
Ron was just about to get up and get
Harry his orange juice when the door squeaked open and Molly peered
in. Both boys jumped into place and became rigid as if Petrified,
Molly hated when they smooched and screwed instead of helping with
chores, or whatever.
"Boys? Messrs.
Potter-Weasley? Will we be graced with your presence in the yard for
de-gnoming?"
Silence, except for the ghoul right upstairs
nobody noticed anymore.
"I'll let them sleep in," Molly said
to herself, closing the door.
Harry and Ron were trapped in the
hot, uncomfortable bed by their mutual detest for de-gnoming, fully
alert and unable to sleep. It wasn't so bad.
Yay.
Hope you liked it
hope you'll review it
HFS
