Title: Strange Bedfellows: A Comedy of Assumptions
Author: Mad Maudlin
Email: mekamorph@yahoo.com
Catergory: Humor, and a little romance
Keywords: Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, slash, 5th year
Rating: PG-13.
Spoilers: Teensy ones for Books 2-4
Summary: Murder, mayhem, madness and Malfoy! Harry and Hermione face down an unexpected conspiracy, a possible nefarious plot, wild rumors and much, much worse to save their best friend from a terrible fate...right?

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

In other words, they're not mine; talk to the nice Scottish lady.

A/N: WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! This fic contains SLASH (male-on-male) SITUATIONS! Boys kiss boys! Boys do a lot more than kiss boys! It's SLASH! If this is the sort of thing that might offend you, do not read any further! I have a right to speak freely, but you have a right not to listen. So exercise your "Back" button! Bill put 'em there for something...

Strange Bedfellows:

A Comedy of Assumptions

by Mad Maudlin

4 / Bedpans and Broomsticks

After spending twenty minutes listening to Hermione breathlessly recount the conversation in the library, ten convincing her that it would be better not to go to Professor McGonagall accusing Malfoy of being an agent of evil, and forty-five assuring her that he hadn't seen anything either of them would regret (he had not, after all, been wearing his glasses), Harry was able to do his homework in peace. This was not at all as spectacular as it sounded, because he had both Potions and Divination to do, and he was looking forward to neither, but the alternative was missing Quidditch practice tomorrow to do it. At least Ron helped him start the Divination assignment ("Explain how the motion of Venus will affect Pisces, Leo and Virgo in the coming weeks"), but eventually went to bed early, pleading exhaustion.

That night, Harry had a strange dream. Thankfully it had nothing to do with Voldemort or the war or Dark magic or Cho Chang, since those dreams tended to wake him up screaming and/or dirty the sheets. This time he dreamed he was in Transfiguration, and Professor McGonagall was explaining crisply that he had to carry the official Gryffindor bedpan for the weekend. Dream-Harry tried to argue, but the small white teddy bear affixed to the end of Dream-McGonagall's wand bit him, so he went back to seat and put the bedpan in his bag. He tried to ask Dream-Hermione what to feed the bedpan, but she was too busy glaring at Dream-Ron, who in turn was deeply engrossed in eating a hot dog. Dream-Harry watched Dream-Ron lick off the relish with relish.

He suddenly woke up, and realized that this was because somebody was sitting on his bed. In the faint moonlight, he could just make out a shock of badly mussed red hair. "Where's your hot dog?" he asked groggily. Ron then ruined what could've been a perfectly fine moment of semi-consciousness by screaming.

Dean, Seamus and Neville all woke up at once, and Neville screamed, too; after a moment, Seamus joined him. "What the hell's going on?" Dean moaned.

Harry grabbed his glasses and put them on, just as Dean lit his lamp. Ron was sitting on the floor, fully dressed, hyperventilating and clutching Harry's Firebolt. Neville and Seamus stopped screaming. "Are you being murdered again, Ron?" Dean continued angrily.

Ron shook his head mutely.

"Then why'd you scream?"

Harry watched as Ron looked rapidly from the broom in his hands, to Harry's open trunk, to Harry, to his own stated of clothed-ness, then gave a rather shrill laugh. "I was dreaming," he said with astonishing clarity, "that I was playing for England in the Quidditch World Cup. Then Harry asked me about my hot dog and I screamed."

Seamus grunted. "You were sleepwalking, Weasley, go back to bed."

"Why," Neville asked curiously, "did you scream when Harry asked you about your hot dog?"

"Well, it wasn't really expected, was it?"

"Ah."

"Why'd you scream?" Dean asked, turning to Seamus and Neville.

Neville shrugged. "I was scared."

Seamus shrugged. "Everybody else was. I didn't want to be left out."

Dean shook his head and turned out the lamp.

Ron put Harry's broom away and climbed into his own bed to put his pajamas back on. Harry heard Seamus and Neville go back to sleep, but something was nagging him. "Ron?"

"Yeah, Harry?"

"Why'd you get my broom out?"

There was a slight pause. "I don't know, Harry, I was dreaming."

"Ah."

"Harry?"

"Yeah, Ron?"

"Why did you ask me about my hot dog?"

Harry shrugged in the darkness of his own bed. "I was dreaming about you eating a hot dog when you woke me up."

"Wow. I'm flattered. My eating habits have penetrated your subconscious."

"Well, you weren't just eating the hot dog," Harry said, annoyed, "you were...well..."

"What was I doing to the hot dog?"

"You were eating it sensuously."

There was another pause. Then, very slowly, Ron asked, "How, exactly, do you sensuously eat a hot dog?"

"Oh, go back to bed, Ron."

"Right. Good night."

Harry laid down. The entire dormitory was silent for a moment. Then the door was kicked open, and a blinding flash illuminated everything. Neville and Seamus screamed again. Harry threw open his bedcurtains and saw a crestfallen Colin Creevey, with camera and flashbulb, peering around. Dean stuck his head out of the curtains again. "Colin? What the hell?"

"Sorry," Colin said, sounding disappointed. "I heard screaming and I thought maybe there was another famous murderer in the tower." He looked about again, as if he were about to check under the beds and in wardrobes. "There isn't, is there?"

Harry sighed. "No, Colin, there are no other murderers in the tower. I just asked Ron about his hot dog. You can go back to your own dormitory now."

"Oh...okay. Night, Harry!" Colin waved jauntily and left.

Dean got up and shut the door, then glared around the room. "Anybody else going to do something alarming tonight?"

"No, Dean," they all chorused.

"Good. Or else I shall kill you. Sweet dreams."

"Night, Dean."

A/N 2: The hot dog thing was inspired by a conversation with my friend Michelle. It was originally about "The Lord of the Rings" movie, but somehow ended up relating to the Freudian symbolism of various foods, with special consideration to hot-dog buns.

I thought you would want to know.