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Chapter Six: It Has Nothing to do with Hermione's Pudding

The sorting ceremony was now long over, and Harry was still receiving high-fives from his Housemates. Harry was grinning widely. He had stopped trying to deny what had happened; the shag had been pleasurable enough, but all the praise he was getting made it even better. He had barely been back at Hogwarts for a day, and he had already given Draco Malfoy a sex change, pelted Hermione with rocks, made love to the Sorting Hat, and had dumped a large load of his semen onto a first year's head! "I think I can get used to being the bad boy for a change," he thought boastfully.

There was just one person, however, who didn't at all approve of what Harry had done. Ron had been scowling ever since the feast. He could barely even look at Harry; his eyes would fill with tears at once and he would turn away with his throat burning and a sinking feeling in his crumbling heart. For him it seemed as if aeons had passed since Harry had stood up to Draco for him. Now he felt worthless; after all, he was just a poor, miserable ginger kid with last year's shoes.

Ron burst into tears for the eleventh time as he glanced at his shoes. They were his favourite pair, they really were. So what if they were last year's style? It was all his father could afford from the bargain bin at Wizardmart. Ron had always assumed that Harry did not care about such things, but now he could not help wondering if his shoes were the reason why Harry had chosen the Sorting Hat over him.

Ron buried his head into Hedwig's soft feathers. He had been sitting on the windowsill for the past three hours, crying and explaining his problems to Harry's owl. He had always seen Emo!Harry sitting on the windowsill with Hedwig and figured that he would give it a try. Now he understood exactly how Emo!Harry felt; depressed, misunderstood, lonely...having the sudden urge to dye his hair black, wear tight jeans, and write awful poetry...

Perhaps after all these years, Emo!Ron should finally emerge from his dark and miserable cave, Ron thought bitterly. He angrily raised his wand, threatening to summon Harry's hair dye. But then he let it drop to the ground and uttered another bitter sob. No, what good would that do? Harry still wouldn't want him; he would still run to the Sorting Hat, Draco, Hagrid, or Dumbledore whenever he wanted a shag without even giving Ron a second glance. It was hopeless.

He continued sobbing into the unfortunate owl. Hedwig's bright, ivory feathers were now glued together in dense clumps of snot. It suddenly popped into Ron's head that this bird was the most stunning and enchanting creature that he had ever set his eyes upon. He was suddenly turned on by her soft, frail body and her large, innocent eyes. But before this could turn into some depraved bestiality story, the door opened and in came Harry, saving Hedwig from a painful raping.

"Where have you been?" Ron asked coldly, stifling a sob.

"We've all been in the common room, talking about my awesome shag with the Sorting Hat," Harry bragged. "I'm basically the biggest hero that ever existed. What's more, we've been underage-drinking. Because that's how much of a badass I am now."

Ron did not answer, instead he watched Harry coldly with his arms crossed. Harry did not seem to notice. He began to change into his pyjamas, singing to himself with a satisfied smirk etched on his face. Ron watched his backstabbing friend slowly change, the lump growing in his throat and the tears beginning to rise.

Harry suddenly stopped as if realizing that Ron was acting strange. "Where did my hair dye go?" he wondered. He looked at Ron questioningly, who was quietly stroking Hedwig. "Ron? Why did your pants suddenly get tighter? And where did you get that Fallout Boy shirt?"

A thin trail of mascara tainted tears gracefully slithered down Emo!Ron's face. "How bitter this existence is," he wept, flipping his hair. "How utterly miserable and wretched. I am alone, so alone, why does no one understand? My soul is deep and tormented, and I weep tears of acid and poison, just waiting to die."

Harry responded to this horrid poetry in baffled silence. After a long, bizarre pause, he finally spoke. "Is this because I ate Hermione's pudding? I'm really sorry mate, I didn't you know wanted it this bad –"

"THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH HERMIONE'S PUDDING!" Emo!Ron shrieked.

Harry was again speechless. Ron broke out again in loud, hysterical sobs. "Nobody understands me!" he wailed. "I am so utterly misunderstood! I hate my life! DRAMA! ANGST, ANGST, ANGST!"

Harry was of course no stranger to angst and emotional outbursts. This was something that he had not expected from Ron, however. "Well, calm down now! It can`t be that bad. Tell me what`s wrong, I`ll help you figure it out."

"Leave me alone! I`m sure you`d rather be with the Sorting Hat than talk to me!"

"Why would you think that?" Harry wondered, puzzled.

A fresh stream of charcoal tears emerged from Ron`s eyes. "Don`t try to pretend, Harry. It`s obvious that I mean nothing to you, even after all these years. After all, I`m just a poor, unwanted ginger kid with - with last year`s sneakers!" Ron gulped as he uttered the last three words.

Harry was now beginning to understand why Ron was so upset. He walked gently over to Ron and wiped off his tears in a totally homosexual way. "That`s not true," he assured him softly. "That thing with the Sorting Hat meant nothing at all. It was just a one-night stand, and it will never happen again."

Ron cheered up slightly at these words. "You promise?" he sniffed.

"I promise, Ron," Harry answered. "And you know what else? Your shoes are like, totally stylish. They`re not last year`s fashion at all."

Ron beamed with joy. "Golly, Harry! You have made me so incredibly happy. I feel like dancing under a rainbow with bunny rabbits!" And at once, the mascara tears faded and his jeans returned to their regular size.

Harry sighed in relief. He didn`t know how long he could have tolerated an even bigger cry-baby than himself.

When they had both climbed into their beds and Harry had flicked off the light, he heard a soft voice call to him. "I don`t think you have split ends," Ron whispered. "No matter what anybody else says."