Modern Art
Rating: K
Summary: Ron tries to write poetry.
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Harry Potter books or movies. All credit goes to J.K. Rowling and the producers.
A/N: Another bunny! 301. Ron tries to write poetry. So sorry can't remember from where either. Somewhere fictionalley. If I do remember I'll put it up immediately, of course. And no, I haven't an especially high opinion of modern art.
It's his quill's fault.
He's sure of it. It was his lucky quill, Once Upon A Time, helping him complete that Potions essay, but now it's mutinied. Taken control of the ship. Land, ho! And he doesn't know where he's docking.
Ron tossed the quill from him and doesn't even hear it land. Rolling off his bed, he pulled out his trunk to hunt for a new one. He searched with a dogged persistence, trying to ignore the parchment on his bed. He can see it now, gleaming, the white light expanding, embracing and destroying everything around it….
Finding another quill, he clambers on the bed again, and liesstretched out, quill, parchment, and ink bottle arrayed in front of him. For a moment he admired it as something other than a poem, some of those nonsense modern art paintings he's heard of. Blotches of ink, lines everywhere, illegible writing and other chicken scratch he wishes he couldn't read. Soon enough, though, his real purpose comes back and his mood plummets.
He scans the first half, feeling inadequate...
Bushy brown hair, what do I care? Your eyes...
To my Most Admired,
Not quite from afar,
My lovely, my desired,
My feelings are up to par...
He wrote you some lines
Well I can do better
He'll have to pay fines
…
Bugger this.
...and more than a little stupid.
Why did he think of this, anyway? Ron stretches and buries his face in his bed. Krum had recently sent Hermione a longer piece of parchment than usual, and Ron and Harry had convinced her to let them see it...
Well, it was in the open, unguarded, after they'd nagged her for at least an hour…what other reason could she have for leaving it so? She'd gone all dreamy after reading it. They had to know why.
He wrote her some bloody verses, and she went batty. Harry hadn't said anything, but he went off on her for it. That was the worst thing. She hadn't given a rat's ass, had barely even noticed. She'd glowed for two days!
If Krum could do it…
Ron had, a shot, didn't he?
The bed was comfortable, and torturing his brain with words that refused to rhyme not being an ideal activity, Ron soon drifted off.
He awoke to a bed on the ceiling. His groggy mind tried to attach it to the dream he'd just had, something about fireworks and Peeves and naked house elves, but it refused to acquaint itself with anything else.
A bed on the ceiling.
Something jostled his leg, and he panicked. His leg was above his head. He couldn't remember the last time his legs were above his head, but then, what could he remember?
Dean appeared in front of him, kneeling on the ceiling, grinning far too cheerfully and waving a piece of parchment in front of him. Ron wished he'd fall off.
"Yeah, he's awake all right…Ron…Ron!"
Dean was talking to someone farther back and to the right on the ceiling….Ron craned his head to see who, and abruptly fell off the bed.
He swore at it from his position on the floor, changing subjects in the middle to the laughter breaking out above him.
A piece of parchment was dangled in front of him again. Ron couldn't help but focus on it, and recognise it.
Oh, hell.
"Oi!"
His lethargy suddenly gone, he snatched at the paper, but Seamus was too quick. He sidestepped Neville and dived across a bed to huddle behind it, cackling.
Ron leaped up, desperately thinking. The only boy absent from the dormitory was Harry. That didn't bode well. Had the others already read it? Did they know what it was?
Dean stood in front of Ron, grinning casually. "You were drooling all over the parchment, we thought we'd rescue it."
Ron trembled with adrenaline.
Dean continued. "We didn't know if it would be valuable, or, something. Figured we might as well take a look."
Seamus laughed louder. Ron chanced a look at Neville, who was awkwardly trying to hide a smile. He had a growing feeling of nausea.
Dean chewed on his lip a second, grinning back at Seamus. "So, is it?"
He stared blankly. "Is...is what what?"
"The parchment. Valuable?"
He was quick in his response. "No, rubbish. Just, er, it's just..."
Dean raised an eyebrow. Ron's mouth went dry.
"Modern art, see..."
Neville giggled. Dean burst out laughing, and Ron was sure Seamus had collapsed a lung behind the bed.
He took a step towards Dean, frantic to get the parchment back. "Rubbish. Just rubbish. Throw it away."
"What, and deny Hermione the pleasure of your art..."
Before he could respond, Seamus had leaped back over the bed and dashed out the door, shouting something about solar eyes, that Ron could vaguely recall writing. Ron lunged after him but was tackled by Dean. Neville stood frozen in his spot.
A tussle ensued. Ron was tall and Dean muscular, but finally Ron grabbed his wand and knocked him out. He staggered to the door, hoping that Seamus had been joking, when it slammed open, right against the wall, though not before knocking Ron a good one on the temple.
He vaguely recalled an "Oh, fuck." in Seamus' voice before passing out.
He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the floor limply. His head throbbed from the fight that morning, and from the news Harry had brought him. Hermione had received his portrait, or whatever the hell it was supposed to be, Seamus was laughing too hard to explain properly, and was busy admiring it in the common room.
Who had he ever fooled? He wasn't a star Quidditch player. Or any kind of novelist, or, or, anything really. He was a lanky teenager with too many freckles, too many siblings, too red hair….
The door opened, letting in some more light. He flopped onto his back and closed his eyes, knowing the others would simply snigger before getting dressed for bed themselves.
Instead there was a weight on the end of his bed. The dip caused him to roll to his left slightly. Ron frowned and opened his eyes.
She was outlined slowly fading light from the door. It did nothing to recommend her hair, but he didn't care. His heart was beating quickly again. She leaned over and kissed him, lightly, before pulling the curtains and laying down to rest her head on his shoulder.