WARNING: This story is a glimpse of my bizarre personality for it portrays a figment of my most appalling imagination. Therefore, it contains a Harry Draco slash (my favorite pair!) Don't say I didn't warn you, my dear friends…
If you do delight in gay fanfics, well, (chuckle) read on and find out what it's all about. Bring it on, baby!!!
CHAPTER ONE: HOW IT ALL STARTED
"Gryffindor, 70; Slytherin, 40!" Lee Jordan announced as Gryffindor Chaser Alicia Spinnet scored another spectacular goal. The spectators cheered. Hermione was at the edge of her seat, watching intently at the game. Quidditch season had begun.
Ever since Wood (the former Keeper) had gone, Ron Weasley took his place and has proven to be an outstanding Keeper. Harry Potter had—
"Ouchies, that must've really hurt, Angelina! Hit square on the nose by a Bludger, care of Slytherin Beater Trudge."
Uhurm, as I was saying a while ago before this Butthead Jordan butted in, Harry Potter had been voted as the Gryffindor Quidditch Team Captain, and they never lost a single game. Hence, the Slytherins became aggravated, resulting in one of the most brutal games they've ever played, and there had been a lot of violent scenes in which the Slytherins had initiated. Sytherin Seeker Draco Malfoy, to give an instance, had pummeled Ron in the stomach during the first few seconds of the game.
Harry Potter circled the pitch, keeping a watchful eye out for the Golden Snitch. The rush of adrenaline would've been overwhelming if he hadn't been riding on his Firebolt to let off some bottled-up energy.
He hadn't been off for 20 seconds when Slytherin Chaser Bracer raced towards Harry, determined to knock him off his broom; but Harry swerved out of the way just in time.
"Asshole!"
As he neared the podiums, he winked at Hermione… and Parvati… and Lavender… and….
And then he spotted it: a tiny flash of gold that glimmered in the distance. But Malfoy saw it first. Harry zoomed, crouching, gripping his broom tighter & tighter till his knuckles turned snow-white. His robes flipped by his side, and his hair was flinging by his ears.
He was now gaining on Malfoy, and managed to shove his Slytherin ass aside. And in a whoosh and a clap, Harry caught the Snitch!
"And Harry catches the Snitch! Once again, folks, it's a Gryffindor win!!!"
Victory shone in Harry's brilliant green eyes and he couldn't stop beaming—
Harry had only the briefest glimpse of a massive black sphere hurtling towards him—a sickening sound echoed like a shotgun throughout the anxious audience— a Blunder had hit him HARD on a head-on collision.
BLACKS OUT
~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Ten Minutes Later… (Seven minutes and thirty-four seconds to be exact! J)
Harry heard Ron and Hermione's voices conversing with Madame Pomfrey. He felt very light; almost floating in the air like a balloon.
"Will he be alright?" Ron asked.
"If you mean he will be able to move around by tomorrow, yes. But I'm afraid…" Madame Pomfrey's voice faltered.
"Afraid that what?" came Hermione's fretful voice.
Madame Pomfrey hesitated inside. "I'm afraid that Mister Potter has acquired a very rare disease as a result from his impact: the Amasberry Syndrome."
Hermione gasped, wide-eyed. "Not the Amasberry Syndrome?!" and clapped her hands to both sides of her face.
Ron looked from Hermione to Madame Pomfrey several times, as clueless as ever, searching for an explanation.
"Oh, Ron! How could you be so—" Hermione didn't complete the sentence and thought better of it. (Fortunately, for there would have been a row between the two of them that would surely angered Madame Pomfrey.) She finally stated in her most I'm-A-Walking-Encyclopedia voice that: "The Amasberry Syndrome, a compound word derived from the Latin word 'Amas' meaning love and berry, is indeed a very rare instance that only 1 in every 560,000 possibilities is likely to be affected of this.
"The Amasberry Syndrome only occurs when a miniscule, hidden, unexposed portion of the cerebellum has been triggered by a succession of blows, by repetitive vigorous shaking or by powerful collisions to the frontal part of the cranium."
Ron stared, only succeeding in looking more ignorant than he is.
"The effects of this rare occurrence," Hermione continued, trying her very best to spare Ron's feelings (Though all she wanted to do was to grab the lampshade on Harry's bedside table and conk Ron on the head), "is that the victim will acquire an extremely high degree of passion towards a specific berry. Each individual has his or her own berry as is suited for one's individuality." Hermione resumed to her normal, high-pitched but bossy voice. "All we have to know is what sort of berry he likes."
They were all silent for a while then—
"Well, you two better leave Harry to rest, now." Madame Pomfrey said, shooing them away. "It will do no good scuttling around Mister Potter's bed when he's unconscious—"
Harry let out a small groan and rubbed his eyes, nauseated by what he just heard.
"It won't be too bad, right?" Harry asked, his voice showing traces of a Gryffindor optimism and hope.
But I'm sorry to say, no matter how much I want to alter Harry's dreadful situation, that he had never been more mistaken in his entire life.
~O~O~O~
A/N: Hope you liked it. Ü R & R please. It keeps an author motivated.
I also sincerely thank Amas for the idea for a name. If it weren't for your pen name, Harry wouldn't have a name for his VERY special disease.
Many thanks to my little sis for typing my story in for me J
Thanks also to my friend Dalandan for supporting me even if I don't think she fancies gay fanfics. Ü