A/N: Welcome. As you saw in the summary, this is going to be a series of one-shots in which the characters of Harry Potter behave in absurdly stereotypical ways. This is coming from a humongous fan with the utmost respect for Harry Potter. That's why I enjoy, you know, mocking it just a tiny bit...
Stereotypes include movie, book, and fanficition. I'm open to suggestions, please review!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Big surprise.
Chapter Summary: 5th year Harry is being ridiculously angsty on a typical evening in Gryffindor tower.
As the sun sank lower in the sky outside of Gryffindor tower, the three best friends entered the scarlet common room feeling drained by a day of hoop-jumping and secret meetings. Slowly, they assembled themselves in their usual position, the comfortable armchairs they'd taken a fancy to since first year, and pulled out parchment and quills for a long night of studying. The concept of actually completing homework was a nice but short-lived thought.
"Bloody hell Hermione! How come you're writing so damn small? We've got to do thirteen inches. You'll be scribbling all night," Ron said while simultaneously scratching his nose and eating a chocolate cauldron.
With a sharp gaze, she retorted loftily, "I'm being thorough. Now stop bothering me and get to work, I'm not giving you any help."
Harry's grip tightened on his quill. A sweep of dark hair covering his brow, he felt his skin crawl with angst and a cold sweat began to form. "Who cares about the old toad's essay? What does it matter?"
Without looking up from the parchment, Hermione pursed her lips. "Harry we've talked about this. Umbridge may be a hag, but we're fifth years now. OWLs are important for your future." Ron nodded absentmindedly and shoved a pumpkin pasty in his mouth.
"Well maybe for your future, but you've forgotten something. Voldemort's back. He killed Cedric. He's back. What do you think Hermione, are my OWLs gonna come in bloody handy when I'm fighting the greatest dark wizard of all time? That's right. I've seen what's out there, and writing papers isn't gonna make it go away."
"But Harry..."
"He's back."
Pasty in mouth, Ron felt inclined to jump in, "Blimey 'Arry, 'Er-my-nee's only tryin' to 'elp"
He raised his eyebrows and snickered darkly. "Thanks for the insight mate. Real intelligent input." After a pause of uncomfortable silence between the bickering friends, Harry gasped and brought his palm to the pain in his forehead.
"Oh no Harry! Is it your scar again? Any visions? How bad does it hurt?" Hermione called out in a rush, staring at him intently and clutching his wrist.
"Um, yeah. The usual, I see the bloody doors. It's burning a fair bit as well."
"I see. Is it more of a prickle, or perhaps a sharp stab? Ache? Twinge? Give me a one to ten estimate."
"I dunno, it's somewhere on the twinge to stab level. What's that, like a six or seven. Nothing unusual."
"Harry you know what this means."
"Hermione you're forgetting, I'm right thick compared to you, how about you lay it out for me?"
She sighed with contempt. "It means you've got to speak to Dumbledore. This is serious and you can't continue to keep it from him!"
"You don't get it. YOU DON'T GET IT!" Harry spat out at a roaring all-caps volume. "He doesn't want to talk to me, so I won't talk to him. End of story, okay? C'mon. Take me as I am." He pushed an unruly lock of hair out of his eyes, foreshadowing the Harry-James complex we all know and love. His angry stare passed longingly over the crackling fire, disappointingly absent of his godfather's face. Hermione gave him a sad smile and released her grip on his arm, suddenly becoming aware of Ron's death stare. Blushing, she placed her other hand on the edge of Ron's chair, relieving the tension and restoring balance once again.
"Listen mate…" Ron said. "The hell with this essay. If your scar's hurting, you better, um, rest it right? Hit the dormitories?"
"Ron you know he can't-"
"Sounds good."
Ron grinned and got up from the chair. "So Hermione? You'll get the essays done? Don't make 'em too perfect."
"You know very well I can't…I mean…I couldn't possibly…" she sputtered. "Ronald no! We're prefects now! That would be completely inappropriate!"
Subconsciously he touched the shiny gold badge adorned to his robes and gave his best prefectly smile. "C'mon, please? If it weren't for Harry's damn scar we'd have six inches done by now. I want to be, uh, supportive."
"Merlin's beard. You can't seriously expect me to believe that load of bollocks!"
"Okay, how's this, Hermione if you do my essay and Ron's essay, I'll talk to Dumbledore? It's a ruddy win-win, you happy now? Are you right chuffed?"
As the stars emerged twinkling outside the window, Hermione nodded reluctantly, blood boiling on the inside. The boys walked away casually to the dormitory, leaving behind yet another oh-so-typical angst-filled evening.
