A/N: My friend, Tatianolishka, gets bored very often. So when she has an hour or so to kill, we have a writing competition. This was the result. If you take offence, she is dearly sorry and offers you a cookie in apology. If you, for some very odd reason, enjoy it, she has continued to write a series based on the amorous adventures of Harry Potter characters and their footwear. Assuming there is a desire to read more, she will post the sequels up on her own account. She hopes this story makes you laugh and question many things about our beloved friends at Hogwarts.
Ron picked up the worn old sneaker tenderly in his hand, stroking it with loving caresses. "It's just you and me now, Lefty," he said in a deep, husky voice. "Just you, me... and my Magic Wand."
He peered out of his room quickly, watching for any snooping eyes in the hall. The only sound that came was the creak of shifting staircases and loose floorboards, meeting the flicker of candles and casting shadows on the dark-coloured rugs. He grinned to himself. Now no one would ever know about his secret desire.
His left shoes.
Now, if you must know, Ron had nothing against his right shoes. They were comfy enough, he supposed, and did their jobs just as well as the opposite ones. Yet there was just something about the sweet, inward curve of a left-heeled sole that made his head spin with lust. Yes, the left shoe. He must have it now, or be forever a man without the love of his shoes.
He set his running shoe gently on the velvet pillow that Hermione had made some time ago, kissing the top of its tongue, tempted to go all out but managing restraint. No, he decided. He must take it slow to learn the true pleasure of his left sneaker. He stroked along its criss-crossed laces, following the lines up to its tightly-bound bow. As boldly as a colonial highwayman would unlace a virgin's corset, Ron tugged on the loops and let the strings fall apart.
"Yes, my love." he moaned softly.
He closed his eyes and left slow, loving kissed along it's opening, licking at its tongue with ardent desire. He fingered the patterns along the bottom, tracing each delicate square and indent that came along. He smiled to himself.
"I know you want it, Lefty." he said darkly. "I know you want it bad."
A rustle and a stifled gasp distracted the highly aroused Ron. He glanced up momentarily to find Hermione standing in his doorway with the greatest look of outrage and disgust he'd ever seen.
"What are you doing!" she exclaimed.
Ron stumbled to find a suitable answer to explain his shenanigans, but his eyes wandered below her skirt. The old feeling arose, and he knew one thing was certain.
He must have Hermione's left shoe.