Harry is slumped on the couch, his back practically flat against the seat with a half-gallon of double fudge swirl cookie dough ice cream resting on his belly. Looking grumpy he is shoveling big scoops of ice cream mechanically into his mouth, not bothering to clean up the mess as melted chunks fall on his stained hoodie or drip on the cushions.
Ron enters the room, giving a bone-cracking stretch, yawn and finally a quick scratch on the bum. He spots Harry and staggers over, plopping himself down next to him. Harry grunts and moodily continues to stuff his face.
Ron, oblivious as always, peers longingly into the ice cream tub, smacking his lips. "Hmmmm, that looks good," he says, his stomach grumbling. He withdraws a spoon from his pocket for just such emergencies (come on, he is a growing boy, after all!) "Do you mind if I-"
Harry, for reasons only known to this author, roars like a literal lion and clutches the ice cream tub harder. With a swift kick, Ron lands on the floor in a heap, blinking dizzily up at Harry.
"Guess not, then," Ron mutters as he slowly.. backs.. away.
From the couch: "OM NOM NOM NOM!"