Voices No One Else Can Hear:

"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."

(Ron to Harry, in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets,Chapter 9, 'The Writing on the Wall'.)

DISCLAIMER: I did not invent any of the characters or the setting, they belong to JK Rowling. Nor did I invent the idea of the Potions Accident Fic. I'm grateful to whoever did.

WARNING: Contains crude innuendo, filth, depravity and nob gags but no actual smut.

CHAPTER ONE: Potions

Ron had enough trouble trying to concentrate in Potions lessons, what with Snape ready to pounce on the slightest mistake, Neville allowed near naked flames and the room being half full of sneering Slytherins. This morning was worse than usual, though, because it was the first lesson and part of his mind was still in that dream he'd had last night.

He stared at the blackboard, reading the same instruction three times, then looking over to see what Hermione was doing. In the dream he'd been lying on a bed of sugar quills with the bass player from The Wyrd Sisters and the Cannons' new Beater. He dug around in his bag for his silver knife because that was what everyone else seemed to be using. The Cannons' Beater he'd dreamt about before - she was hot - though she'd never stroked him with confectionary before. What was bothering him slightly was the bass player. It was only a dream, though, right? It was OK to dream about a naked man, wasn't it?

Hermione nudged him and shoved some daisy root towards him. Then she turned back to stirring her own pot.

He hadn't even been aware of noticing the rock star's biceps. Only then this morning when he'd checked the poster by his bed, they had turned out to be exactly the same as he had dreamt them. The guy was wearing the same vest and everything.

Was that frog's blood Seamus was using, or liquid fuchsia? He checked the board again.

"What on earth is that supposed to be, Weasley?" Snape asked in his usual encouraging way twenty minutes later.

"It's the … er …" Ron looked at the board again.

"The instructions I have written up there are for the Tarnishing Potion."

"Yes, sir. Tarnishing Potion," Ron mumbled.

Snape peered into Ron's cauldron.

"Are you trying to tell me, Mr Weasley, that what you have here is a Tarnishing Potion?"

"Yes, Professor." Honestly, though, why would anyone ever want a potion that tarnished things? That meant making them dirty, didn't it? Dirtying things was easy, that just happened. It would be a lot more useful if they learned how to clean them up again.

Snape was still sneering down his hooked nose at Ron, so Ron followed his gaze into the cauldron. It looked pretty good to him, clear and liquid, no smell, no explosions.

"What colour is the fluid in your cauldron, Mr Weasley?"

"It's colourless, Professor," Ron answered, wondering where this was leading.

Snape turned to the Slytherin side of the classroom. "Mr Malfoy," he purred, "perhaps you would be so good as to show your classmate what colour a correctly manufactured Tarnishing Potion should be?"

Malfoy stood up, looking very pleased with himself and dipped his ladle into his mixture. Not only did the ladle come out looking like it had suffered twelve years of neglect in two seconds, but the substance he poured from it was an opaque dark green colour.

"Oh," Ron said. He looked over at Harry's and Hermione's potions. Dark Green. Even Neville's was sort of khaki.

"Well done, Mr Malfoy. Twenty points for Slytherin. Stand up Mr Weasley."

Reluctantly, Ron did. The Slytherins sat back comfortably in their chairs, all of them watching him and enjoying the show.

"Now, I know you're not the brightest in the year, but I was under the impression that you were capable of reading. Are you, in fact, literate, or has Miss Granger been reading for you for the past five years, as well as providing you with all the answers? Do speak up, we can't hear you."

"I can read, Professor."

Harry and Hermione were trying to sent him sympathetic looks, but they were making him feel worse.

"Could you take a few moments, then, to read down the list of instructions on the blackboard so you can pinpoint the exact moment of your mistake."

Ron started reading feverishly. He couldn't really remember anything that he'd done so far that day. He was aware of being watched, of the silence filling the room. He couldn't think straight.

"Don't hurry yourself," Snape said, dripping sarcasm. "We're all quite happy to wait for you."

"Sorry, Sir." He had not got a clue.

"Pray enlighten us. At which precise stage of this very simple operation did you commit some gross stupidity?"

"I don't know."

Snape's flapping black sleeve flew through the air and he thumped the desk in front of Ron. Hermione leapt back, suppressing a squeak.

"Did you follow my instructions exactly?" he hissed into Ron's face.

"I think so …" Ron answered desperately.

"You followed those instructions and you produced that?"

"I didn't say that."

"Fill your vial. And the rest of you do the same, come along. It's nearly the end of the lesson. We've wasted enough time on this imbecile."

Ron felt his face redden. With a trembling grip, he splashed the clear liquid into the glass container and stoppered it. At least his classmates had stopped staring at him now that they had something else to concentrate on. Snape was still regarding him steadily, though, with narrowed eyes.

As everyone started to pack away their wands and quills, the Potions Master finally turned and crossed back to his desk. Ron was profoundly grateful. It turned out, however, that the sadistic teacher had only moved further away so that when he next addressed Ron his voice was loud enough to carry to the whole room.

"Tell me, Mr Weasley, what would be the effects of drinking a Tarnishing Potion? Miss Granger, put your hand down. I'm watching you, don't whisper to him as you usually do."

"I don't know, Professor," Ron replied, blushing again.

"Mr Nott?" Snape asked the Slytherin student, without taking his eyes off Ron.

"Nothing, Professor."

"Well done, Mr Nott. Another twenty points for Slytherin. The correct Potion would be entirely inert in the human digestive system. Of course, if Mr Weasley here has, as he claims, followed my instructions faithfully, then the same will be true of the contents of his cauldron." Snape's voice deepened to a decidedly nasty tone as he instructed, "Put some in a flask."

Ron did his best. His whole body was shaking and his skin burned with blushes as he was thrust centre stage. The Slytherins had sat back down and were chuckling at the entertainment. The Gryffindors looked on apprehensively.

"Drink it!" Snape ordered with a voice like a machete sheathed in silk.

Ron's throat dried out. "What is it?" he croaked.

"I thought you said it was Tarnishing Potion. It looks nothing like any Tarnishing Potion I have seen in my decades of experience of Potion making, but that counts for nothing when weighed against your innate cleverness, doesn't it?"

"I never said --"

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for back-chatting a teacher, along with another twenty for carelessness in following instructions."

Ron's housemates were glowering at him now. It wasn't his fault that he'd already lost them thirty points this week. He hadn't meant to break that window in Charms. It was just that he couldn't be taught anything first thing in the morning on account of these dreams. He'd absent-mindedly waved his wand arm while recalling how he'd caught that snitch which Madame Rosemerta had fired across the lake out of her …

"Now, will I make it fifty more points for failure to obey a direct command, or will you drink the contents of that flask?"

Ron rapidly pulled himself back from the image of the barmaid inserting the Quidditch ball between her legs. He looked round the room, at the amused Slytherins and angry Gryffindors, at Hermione's worried expression (bless her) and Snape's quiet triumph.

He lifted the flask, threw back his head and swallowed. It didn't taste of anything. The room took on a deep silence. Everyone waited for something to happen to him. Ron felt dribbles running down his chin and onto his chest. He waited for the gasp. Nothing.

Snape shrugged. "Well, whatever you've made, it's clearly as ineffective as you are. Class dismissed." He turned his back on the class. Then he added, in the same superior tone: "I'd like to lick your handsome face, to follow the trail of droplets with my tongue."

Stunned, Ron gasped, "What did you say?"

Snape turned slowly to face him. Ron looked round at his fellow pupils. That couldn't be right, his teacher couldn't say that to him. Nobody else seemed to mind, though. They were busy packing their bags, pushing in their chairs, double-checking that their fires had gone out.

"Are you addressing me?" Snape asked, all soft and dangerous. Then, as Ron gawped at him, without moving his lips he added, "I'd lick your cock until you came and then I'd swallow down your hot, creamy spunk just like you swallowed down that potion."

Ron stumbled backwards. Snape wasn't speaking. Only Ron could hear him. Something was very wrong. It was probably something to do with that stuff he'd just swallowed. Don't think about swallowing. Trying to fight visions of thin, sallow lips wrapped round his naked flesh, Ron pushed his way out of the classroom, fervently hoping that he hadn't been cursed with the gift of mind-reading.

"What's up, Ron?" someone asked as he knocked them out of the way.

A few steps further on, he realised that it had been Dean, but he didn't answer him. Hearing voices no one else could hear wasn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world.