A/N: Here's the long awaited *cough* Chapter 3 of Broken Angel! Yaaaaaay!
You can cue the round of applause now, people. Thank you soooooooooo much
for all your reviews, I'm really glad that people are liking this story!
OK, I started writing this fic with --fully-- angsty intentions - but then
it turned into a bit of a humorous fic, what with Ron's simply adorable
(well, at least I find it adorable) dorkiness. Oh, and for the person who
said that this had too much swearing - it's rated PG-13 for a reason, ya
know. And that reason's not cos of English muffins making frequent cameos
(which will be featured in this chapter, I'll have you know). Well, anyway,
enough of me boring you all silly with my rambling. Read on (& review)!
Broken Angel
Chapter 3
I stir, and slowly open my eyes. I yawn and stretch my arms. I wonder what the time is? Hmmm . . .
I open the curtains of my four-poster . . .
And am greeted with the sight of a half-naked Harry Potter running round and round the room in circles like a . . . like a . . . like a headless chicken.
"Merlin, Harry! What the hell are you trying to do? Blind me with your half- nakedness?" I yell.
"Not funny," he says, not pausing from running around in circles. No, wait . . . he isn't just running . . . in fact, he's checking inside everyone's trunks . . . hey!
"Hey!" I cry. "What the blazing hell d'ya think you're doing to my trunk?" I yell. Harry stops in the middle of rummaging about in my broken chest of a trunk.
"Sorry, Ron, it's just that . . . I think I've . . ." he paused, not looking sure if he should tell me or not. "I've lost my . . ." his voice trails off.
"Condoms?" I offer helpfully.
Harry gives me a look.
"No, I think . . . I think I've lost my wand," he says seriously.
There is a pause.
And I burst out laughing.
"You've lost your - your . . . y-y-y-your wand?" I say, barely able to speak through my lack of breath because of the laughter. "That's worse than losing condoms, Harry!" I yell, then start laughing all over again.
Oh-oh. Harry's scowling at me . . .
I cease my laughing instantly. Why does he have to be so damn serious in the morning? It's a wonderful day!
"Sorry, Harry." I say apologetically. "Where did you last see it?" I ask him.
"Er . . . I dunno," he resumes running around like a headless chicken.
"Well that's helpful. Oh, come on, Harry. Do you honestly think you're gonna find it in Seamus's trunk of junk?" I scoff, as Harry pulls out some pink fluffy handcuffs from our dear Irish friend's trunk. He looks at them for a moment, shudders at the thought of who Seamus's poor female lover for the night was, drops them back into the trunk, and starts running round and round again.
"Harry, stop it! You're giving me a headache!" I complain, burying my head in my hands. When I lift my head back up I see that Harry is not running around the room half-naked, no. He is crawling along the floor half-naked. I would've laughed at the comical sight, if I hadn't been too worried that Harry's scowl would burn a hole through me.
I sigh, and jump out of bed. I open the curtains.
What a lovely morning! The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the trees are growing . . .
Tree!? TREE!
Dammit! Last night! With Draco! Near the tree! Shit! I can't believe that I only remembered it just now!
"Fuck!" I curse.
"What is it, Ron?" Harry asks, still on the floor looking for his wand.
"Uh - nothing!" I call, grabbing some clothes and running to the bathroom to change. I vaguely acknowledge that Neville, Seamus and Dean aren't in their beds. They must have gone to breakfast.
Dammit! Breakfast! What if Draco tells the whole school? Argh! Oh shit. Shit shit shit shit "SHIT!"
Whoops. Heh-heh. I think I yelled that last bit out too loud. But my damn jeans just won't - come - on! There! Finally pulled them on! OK, now, a shirt, a shirt. I quickly pull the shirt on, jump into my trainers, slam the bathroom door open (nearly breaking Harry's nose), and run out of the Sixth Year Boy's Dorms.
"There it is!" I hear Harry cry behind me. He must've found his wand, then.
OK, back to the more pressing matters at hand.
Get. To. Great. Hall. Now.
Quick.
I bump into a third year in my haste to get out of the Common Room. Then I am stopped because of a traffic jam between some tiny first years.
Get. To. Great. Hall. Now.
Make that double quick.
I finally run into the Great Hall panting, almost expecting everyone to immediately lapse into silence, stare at me, then start pointedly whispering behind their hands.
Thankfully, none of that happens. In fact, the only person that seems to pay attention to me is Hermione, who looks up from the book she's reading, makes a tutting noise, then looks back down.
I plonk myself down beside her.
I feel incredibly light-headed. If Draco hasn't told anyone . . . then that's good. Really good. My eyes quickly roam the hall, searching for that shock of blonde hair. I find none. Hmmm . . . he must still be in bed. Oh God, I can't believe what actually HAPPENED yesterday! But still. If Dra- um, Malfoy, hasn't told anyone, and he's obviously (well, hopefully) not going to, there's no reason to worry, is there?
"Oooh! An English muffin!" I say, reaching for the appetizing muffin.
"Good morning to you too," Hermione says, closing her book. "Ron, why are you so late to breakfast?" she asks.
"Well, I gotth tto sthleep late. I wath laying awakth all nighth thinkin' 'bout tha Tranthfigoorathon homework," I spit, my mouth full of food. Sausages, mash, carrots and a bit of an English muffin, in fact.
Hermione shakes her head, smiling.
"I simply refuse to believe that the Ronald Weasley was actually kept awake by thoughts of homework. Plus, there's also the fact that we didn't even get any Transfiguration homework." she says.
"Homework can give you nightmares, ya know. Whether you have any, or not." I say. But not before I've swallowed my food, of course.
"Ron, where's Harry?" Hermione asks suddenly, unable to keep the interest out of her voice. Well, they ARE going out, after all.
"Oh, he's just crawling around the floor half naked," I say carelessly. Then I notice the look on Hermione's face. "Well that's what he was doing when I --last-- saw him!" I say. I notice that she STILL has the look on her face. "He lost his wand," I explain.
"Oh. Really?" Hermione sounds worried. Sigh . . . well he IS her boyfriend, after all.
"But I think he found it, judging by the 'There it is!' I heard him cry before I left the room." I explain, trying to calm the poor girl's nerves. My words of comfort don't seem to be working, for Hermione is twisting around in her seat, trying to see if Harry's entered the Great Hall yet.
By Merlin's arse.
He's just entered the Great Hall.
No, not, he, Harry Potter, but he, as in He, with a capital 'H'. Draco Malfoy. The bane of my di - er . . . existence.
He looks kind of worse for wear. He has bags under his eyes, and he hasn't gelled his hair back. It's hanging down into his eyes, and he's just brushed some of it away . . . ooh . . . sexy . . . ahem. But he really should do that more often. I mean, let his hair down. Stop using gel.
"Ron? Ron? Earth to Ronald Weasley!" I hear Hermione say, though her voice sounds quite far away, and I see a blob being waved in front of my face. No, wait, it isn't a blob . . . it's probably Hermione's hand, or something like it.
"Er . . . um . . . yeah, sure. I'm fine," I say, still staring at Draco, who's taking a seat between Crabbe and Goyle (or is Goyle and Crabbe?), and I stick my elbow into something (vaguely noticing that it's mushy).
"Ron? Are you --sure-- you're alright?" Hermione asks, looking concerned. "I mean, first you go silent, and you even stop chewing your food, staring into space, and then you go stick your elbow into some mashed potatoes," I vaguely acknowledge her saying.
"Ah . . . so that's it . . . yeah, I get you," I say, my mind not really registering with what she's saying. I mean, come on! I'm looking at Draco Malfoy, for Chrissakes! How can she expect me to listen to her, or anyone else, when I'm staring at a piece of art as fine as this.
God, that body . . .
Argh! Argh! No no no no! Little Ron, NO! Down, down boy! I can't afford to get an erection in the middle of BREAKFAST, for God's sake! OK, OK, Ron, calm down, calm down. Think of something really nasty like . . . like . . . Filch and Lockhart going at it like rabbits.
Oh God! Now WHY did I have to think that? I'm gonna have absolutely terrible mental images for the rest of the day!
Oh well, at least Ron Jr's actually . . . what word can I use? Deflated at that thought.
I start staring at Draco again. I almost jump when his eyes suddenly meet mine. His face quickly turns into a scowl, and he gives me a look of absolute disgust, then turns away again, and starts talking to Pansy Parkinson.
I sigh. His eyes were such a stormy grey . . . OK, now I'm starting to get edgy. What if he tells someone? No, no, he wouldn't, no, don't you worry yourself, Ron.
He really wouldn't. He's too embarrassed. Ashamed.
Even though --I'm-- the one that should be ashamed.
So, I don't have to worry, really. He won't tell anyone.
Will he?
Broken Angel
Chapter 3
I stir, and slowly open my eyes. I yawn and stretch my arms. I wonder what the time is? Hmmm . . .
I open the curtains of my four-poster . . .
And am greeted with the sight of a half-naked Harry Potter running round and round the room in circles like a . . . like a . . . like a headless chicken.
"Merlin, Harry! What the hell are you trying to do? Blind me with your half- nakedness?" I yell.
"Not funny," he says, not pausing from running around in circles. No, wait . . . he isn't just running . . . in fact, he's checking inside everyone's trunks . . . hey!
"Hey!" I cry. "What the blazing hell d'ya think you're doing to my trunk?" I yell. Harry stops in the middle of rummaging about in my broken chest of a trunk.
"Sorry, Ron, it's just that . . . I think I've . . ." he paused, not looking sure if he should tell me or not. "I've lost my . . ." his voice trails off.
"Condoms?" I offer helpfully.
Harry gives me a look.
"No, I think . . . I think I've lost my wand," he says seriously.
There is a pause.
And I burst out laughing.
"You've lost your - your . . . y-y-y-your wand?" I say, barely able to speak through my lack of breath because of the laughter. "That's worse than losing condoms, Harry!" I yell, then start laughing all over again.
Oh-oh. Harry's scowling at me . . .
I cease my laughing instantly. Why does he have to be so damn serious in the morning? It's a wonderful day!
"Sorry, Harry." I say apologetically. "Where did you last see it?" I ask him.
"Er . . . I dunno," he resumes running around like a headless chicken.
"Well that's helpful. Oh, come on, Harry. Do you honestly think you're gonna find it in Seamus's trunk of junk?" I scoff, as Harry pulls out some pink fluffy handcuffs from our dear Irish friend's trunk. He looks at them for a moment, shudders at the thought of who Seamus's poor female lover for the night was, drops them back into the trunk, and starts running round and round again.
"Harry, stop it! You're giving me a headache!" I complain, burying my head in my hands. When I lift my head back up I see that Harry is not running around the room half-naked, no. He is crawling along the floor half-naked. I would've laughed at the comical sight, if I hadn't been too worried that Harry's scowl would burn a hole through me.
I sigh, and jump out of bed. I open the curtains.
What a lovely morning! The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the trees are growing . . .
Tree!? TREE!
Dammit! Last night! With Draco! Near the tree! Shit! I can't believe that I only remembered it just now!
"Fuck!" I curse.
"What is it, Ron?" Harry asks, still on the floor looking for his wand.
"Uh - nothing!" I call, grabbing some clothes and running to the bathroom to change. I vaguely acknowledge that Neville, Seamus and Dean aren't in their beds. They must have gone to breakfast.
Dammit! Breakfast! What if Draco tells the whole school? Argh! Oh shit. Shit shit shit shit "SHIT!"
Whoops. Heh-heh. I think I yelled that last bit out too loud. But my damn jeans just won't - come - on! There! Finally pulled them on! OK, now, a shirt, a shirt. I quickly pull the shirt on, jump into my trainers, slam the bathroom door open (nearly breaking Harry's nose), and run out of the Sixth Year Boy's Dorms.
"There it is!" I hear Harry cry behind me. He must've found his wand, then.
OK, back to the more pressing matters at hand.
Get. To. Great. Hall. Now.
Quick.
I bump into a third year in my haste to get out of the Common Room. Then I am stopped because of a traffic jam between some tiny first years.
Get. To. Great. Hall. Now.
Make that double quick.
I finally run into the Great Hall panting, almost expecting everyone to immediately lapse into silence, stare at me, then start pointedly whispering behind their hands.
Thankfully, none of that happens. In fact, the only person that seems to pay attention to me is Hermione, who looks up from the book she's reading, makes a tutting noise, then looks back down.
I plonk myself down beside her.
I feel incredibly light-headed. If Draco hasn't told anyone . . . then that's good. Really good. My eyes quickly roam the hall, searching for that shock of blonde hair. I find none. Hmmm . . . he must still be in bed. Oh God, I can't believe what actually HAPPENED yesterday! But still. If Dra- um, Malfoy, hasn't told anyone, and he's obviously (well, hopefully) not going to, there's no reason to worry, is there?
"Oooh! An English muffin!" I say, reaching for the appetizing muffin.
"Good morning to you too," Hermione says, closing her book. "Ron, why are you so late to breakfast?" she asks.
"Well, I gotth tto sthleep late. I wath laying awakth all nighth thinkin' 'bout tha Tranthfigoorathon homework," I spit, my mouth full of food. Sausages, mash, carrots and a bit of an English muffin, in fact.
Hermione shakes her head, smiling.
"I simply refuse to believe that the Ronald Weasley was actually kept awake by thoughts of homework. Plus, there's also the fact that we didn't even get any Transfiguration homework." she says.
"Homework can give you nightmares, ya know. Whether you have any, or not." I say. But not before I've swallowed my food, of course.
"Ron, where's Harry?" Hermione asks suddenly, unable to keep the interest out of her voice. Well, they ARE going out, after all.
"Oh, he's just crawling around the floor half naked," I say carelessly. Then I notice the look on Hermione's face. "Well that's what he was doing when I --last-- saw him!" I say. I notice that she STILL has the look on her face. "He lost his wand," I explain.
"Oh. Really?" Hermione sounds worried. Sigh . . . well he IS her boyfriend, after all.
"But I think he found it, judging by the 'There it is!' I heard him cry before I left the room." I explain, trying to calm the poor girl's nerves. My words of comfort don't seem to be working, for Hermione is twisting around in her seat, trying to see if Harry's entered the Great Hall yet.
By Merlin's arse.
He's just entered the Great Hall.
No, not, he, Harry Potter, but he, as in He, with a capital 'H'. Draco Malfoy. The bane of my di - er . . . existence.
He looks kind of worse for wear. He has bags under his eyes, and he hasn't gelled his hair back. It's hanging down into his eyes, and he's just brushed some of it away . . . ooh . . . sexy . . . ahem. But he really should do that more often. I mean, let his hair down. Stop using gel.
"Ron? Ron? Earth to Ronald Weasley!" I hear Hermione say, though her voice sounds quite far away, and I see a blob being waved in front of my face. No, wait, it isn't a blob . . . it's probably Hermione's hand, or something like it.
"Er . . . um . . . yeah, sure. I'm fine," I say, still staring at Draco, who's taking a seat between Crabbe and Goyle (or is Goyle and Crabbe?), and I stick my elbow into something (vaguely noticing that it's mushy).
"Ron? Are you --sure-- you're alright?" Hermione asks, looking concerned. "I mean, first you go silent, and you even stop chewing your food, staring into space, and then you go stick your elbow into some mashed potatoes," I vaguely acknowledge her saying.
"Ah . . . so that's it . . . yeah, I get you," I say, my mind not really registering with what she's saying. I mean, come on! I'm looking at Draco Malfoy, for Chrissakes! How can she expect me to listen to her, or anyone else, when I'm staring at a piece of art as fine as this.
God, that body . . .
Argh! Argh! No no no no! Little Ron, NO! Down, down boy! I can't afford to get an erection in the middle of BREAKFAST, for God's sake! OK, OK, Ron, calm down, calm down. Think of something really nasty like . . . like . . . Filch and Lockhart going at it like rabbits.
Oh God! Now WHY did I have to think that? I'm gonna have absolutely terrible mental images for the rest of the day!
Oh well, at least Ron Jr's actually . . . what word can I use? Deflated at that thought.
I start staring at Draco again. I almost jump when his eyes suddenly meet mine. His face quickly turns into a scowl, and he gives me a look of absolute disgust, then turns away again, and starts talking to Pansy Parkinson.
I sigh. His eyes were such a stormy grey . . . OK, now I'm starting to get edgy. What if he tells someone? No, no, he wouldn't, no, don't you worry yourself, Ron.
He really wouldn't. He's too embarrassed. Ashamed.
Even though --I'm-- the one that should be ashamed.
So, I don't have to worry, really. He won't tell anyone.
Will he?