Professor Sprout's classes were boring. Watering and weeding, pruning and seeding. The mere gardening, Ron thought sarcastically, is so exciting! I can die of boredom.
He put his gloves on and took the yellow sprinkling can.
"And this is an ice fern. It has the most delicate structure. No sunshine, no watering. Mr Weasley, are you paying attention? What are you doing with the sprinkling can? I said 'no watering'. Mr Ronald Weasley, it seems to me that you are dreaming again," Professor Sprout sighed. "How can I teach you if you are not listening me?"
"Well, I... I'm sorry, Professor Sprout," Ron muttered. "I apologize. I promise to be attentive."
"Apology accepted. But you will not leave after the lesson. I have extra work for you," Professor Sprout's words were harsh, but just. The detention was his own fault. I should't have kept dreaming, Ron thought desperately, but he said only: "Yes, madam," and tried to focus his mind. Plants, flowers, plants, flowers.
And so he stayed after everyone had left.
"You wait here until I'll come back and then we'll water these plants. And do not touch them," Professor Sprout advised. She took her gloves off and left the greenhouse.
Ron looked around. Greenhouse, plants, more plants...
I probably look pretty stupid if I just stand here, he thought. I'll better take a better look at the greenhouse. Plants anyway... boring plants...
He put down the yellow sprinkling can and walked around. He saw another door that led to the restricted area of the greenhouse. There was a warning sign on the door, but Ron didn't mind. Warning signs were everywhere. Probably thorny plants. Why else warning sign? Or spitting plants, or squirting plants. Whatever. He opened the door and gasped. There were plants indeed. Interesting plants! Forgetting the caution he entered the greenhouse. There were small scarlet bushes - fortunately not spitting - and diligently pruned trunks. Ordinary stuff, thought Ron. And there was a golden tree-like plant. It had roots and saplings and branches like tiny golden wires. And she is hiding such wonderful things from us! It is so unfair that we have to do with boring, ordinary plants...
Ron slowly approached the plant. He touched the branches and saw small diamond-like seedpods.
Wonderful, he thought. I'll take only one, tiny seed... He extended a hand and was ready to pick the seedpod... Suddenly the tree-like plant was all over him. The saplings restrained his feet and hands. He tried to break free, but wire-like offshoots only pulled stronger around him. He felt how the branches touched his body. They brushed and patted him. Ron screamed and started thrashing around, but he was securely tied. Then one of the branches tore his shirt, the other thrust between his legs. The branch slowly unbuckled his belt and moved inside his pants. The plant pushed him over and rolled him over his stomach. Ron felt how the branch entered him. Tiny sapling was coiled around his male member.
It seemed like eternity - the golden branch moving rhythmically in and out of him. He tried to free himself, but the plant pulled him back and its movements grew wilder. The plant was enjoying itself. Finally the coils seemed to loosen. The saplings freed his hands. As his feet were free, Ron tried to stand up. But his knees were shaking and he fell to the ground. Ron noticed that he was covered with sticky sap. He pulled his shredded clothes around his abused body and started crawling out the restricted area. He didn't have the strength to close the door with warning sign. Anyway, it was too late now.
He was uncontrollably shaking, his clothes were torn and dirty. He crawled out from the greenhouse. He was bleeding, his face was covered with cuts. He felt sick and wanted to puke.
He didn't stand up.
"Mr Weasley! I told you not to touch anything!" Professor Sprout spoke out. She looked at the Ron who was lying on the ground and moaning.
"Look what happened. Your clothes are muddy. Did you enter the restricted area? Answer me!" Sprout demanded.
Ron tried to speak, but he couldn't make a sound. She smiled bitterly. "It was the golden mancatcher, wasn't it? It fancys men. It seldom attacks women, but one can never be too careful. It took you, didn't it? Forced itself upon you, penetrated you. Speak up, young man!"
But Ron couldn't speak, he could only nod. He was lying on the muddy ground and looked at the yellow sprinkling can.
He could only cry.