It must be some trick of his mind. Or maybe his eyesight had gone batty. Why else would he be seeing the sand pit coming up to meet him? He had to ask Hermione later what the Muggles call it. Opti-doodle illustration or something.
FLUMP! Ron slammed into the floating sand pit, still holding the Quaffle and landing heavily on his left side. Only, the pit couldn't really be floating, could it? But why in hell did it feel like the whole world was trembling? He started falling down again. How could that be? His mouth dropped open in surprise just before he was jarred by a bigger FLUMP! His mouth filled with sand. Coughing and spitting it out were excruciating, as his whole left side was in agony.
He made a mental checklist of his injuries. 'Collarbone broken?' 'Hell, yes.' 'Shoulder?' 'Popped, which, ha ha, reminds me of that time in Potions when a bogie popped out of Crabbe's nose into his cauldron-full of Rejuvenating Draught...' 'Will you STOP that?! I'm in pain here.' 'Er, right, go on.' 'Ribs?' 'Bruised, at the very least, broken at worst.'
He tried lifting his head up. Pain shot up his spine and raged through his skull. He noticed two white blurs running towards him. 'Uh-oh, here come Pomfrey and that medi-wizard.' 'Right. Prepare to swallow something really disgusting.'
Madam Pomfrey and the medi-wizard bent over him and started examining his injuries. He yelped while they poked him all around his left side. He heard the matron mumble a spell, and a purple light shot out of her wand. He felt his shoulder joint pop back into place and his bones start to heal. The pain was still there, but he could move again. He saw the faces of his teammates hovering above him, looking worriedly on. He smiled weakly to assure them that he was going to be fine.
He was starting to ask about Hermione when something that tasted like petrol mixed with Flobberworm mucus was dumped into his mouth. It also had a gritty feel about it. But then again, that was probably some of the sand that he hadn't been able to spit out. He started to splutter, but Madam Pomfrey suddenly clamped her hands onto his mouth and nose. It was either turn black from suffocation or swallow the nasty stuff. He gave a big gulp that seemed to satisfy the dragon-- er, matron, as she let go of him to let him breathe again. As he gulped for air, he could feel himself turning green. The whole world spun, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and darkness swallowed him.
He must have blacked out for a few moments. Voices were swimming in and out of his head. Just then, he realized that it was only one voice, and it reminded him, in its pitch and timbre, of the Howler his mum had sent him when he and Harry took his dad's flying car to Hogwarts in their second year. The words of the Howler-like voice started to register in his brain.
"... acceptable to use both methods in treatment? If so, which method should be used first? Have there been any recorded cases where neither treatment has been effective? If so, has the poor patient been living with purple boils on his nose or rabbit's ears since then?" 'What's going on?' 'Can't you hear her? The love of your life is on the warpath!' 'Ooh, this should be good. I haven't seen her this angry since... since...' 'Your last fight with her?' 'Oh, yeah, right.'
"Er..." 'Hey, look at the medi-bloke!' 'He looks like a scared little bunny, doesn't he?' 'Yeah, isn't it funny?' 'Funny, my arse, I bet you look like that sometimes when she yells at you.' 'Shut up! I'm enjoying this. It's not everyday she gets mad at someone else besides me.'
He was enjoying the sight of a livid Hermione barking at the medi-wizard until Madam Pomfrey stepped in. "Miss Granger, that'll be enough," she scolded. 'Uh-oh. She shouldn't have done that. What if Hermione...'
"And you," Hermione turned to Madam Pomfrey, "why didn't you turn this-- this-- ickle firstie back on his arse when you had the chance? You're neglecting your duty by letting wet-behind-the-ears quacks like this take care of injured students! That should be your responsibility!" 'Oh, hell, no! She did not just do that! I have to stop her!'
"Hermione... Please don't,..." his voice came out as a hoarse whisper. He was going to start pleading with her again, but she was so angry she ignored him.
"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said sternly.
He watched and listened in horror as she screamed at McGonagall. "And you, why didn't you do anything? Why didn't you cast a spell to break his fall? He's not just any student! He's Head Boy! And Quidditch Captain! He just won the Quidditch Cup for you! What kind of Head of House are you?" 'Oh, God, McGonagall's going to turn her into a pincushion, then jab her with needles all day long!'
"Miss Granger," Dumbledore spoke softly.
He wheezed as she rounded on Dumbledore. "And you, why didn't you do anything? How could you let this happen? Ron could've died. We could've lost him. I could've lost him. I could've lost the only man I'll ever..." She broke down.
Suddenly, a light switched on inside his throbbing head. Hermione was worried sick about him. Him, worthless old Ron Weasley. She was living her deepest fear right now. His thoughts went back to the Boggart they encountered last night. He had to get to her, to calm her down, to let her know everything was going to be fine.
It was an agony trying to stand up and walk. He hung on to the thought of giving her comfort, and it gave him the strength to walk up to her and put his arms around her. He was struggling to find the right words to say, when his heart spoke up and he accepted the message. "Hermione, it's okay. The Boggart's gone now." She sighed into his chest and started to cry. He sighed with her.
"B-but, what if..."
"Trust me." He prayed that she wouldn't question him on this. She didn't.
"I -- I know I can. It's just that I -- I'm scared that one day you'll be gone, that you'll go after all the years we've spent together and you'll take my heart with you and I'll die..." His heart swelled. He knew he could say it now. He could let the whole world know how he felt about this wonderful woman in his arms.
"Hermione, listen to me. I love you. I promise I'll be with you as long as I'm allowed to stay in this world. You are my world." She sobbed into his chest. "I'll never leave you if I can help it, and if I can't, I'll have to be dragged away kicking and punching and cursing. That good enough?" She nodded feebly. He held her closer, ran his hands up and down her back and kissed the top of her head. She sighed again. She was calm now. Right. Time to distract her, then.
He relied on his best innocent-sounding-yet-filled-with-evil-intent voice for this performance. "You know, you really should apologize to the nice medi-wizard. After all, he didn't know what we mean to each other. He's just an ignorant, impersonal professional who hops around from patient to patient all day long."
"Hey, I resent that remark!" The medi-wizard seemed to have momentarily recovered his dignity, but Hermione turned a bit from Ron's embrace to glare at him, and he cringed again.
"Go on, now. You know it's the right thing to do."
She was actually pouting! "No, it's not. He was mean to me, and his nasty potions made you faint!" 'Did she just act like a three-year old, or do I need to have my head examined?' 'Both, actually.' 'Stop that! I have to act like an adult here.' 'Well, at the very least like a six-year old.' 'Sod off.'
"Come on, love. You know he was just trying to help me."
She was still pouting. "No." 'Ha, ha, just like a child throwing a tantrum. And to think she was all, er, woman, last night, wasn't she?' 'Oh, shut up!'
Seeing that she wasn't going to apologize to the, er, scared little bunny, anytime soon, he then tried to convince her to apologize to Madam Pomfrey.
"Do I have to? She knows I didn't mean it. I was distraught!" 'Hang on, is she...' 'WHINING?!' 'I know, can you believe it?' 'We're not going to let her live this down, are we?' 'Of course not, especially when I act all grown-up, like this...'
"Yes, you do and you know it. Now go on." 'Cor, that's smooth! Since when did you become smooth?' 'Shut up! I'm on a roll here.'
She turned to Madam Pomfrey without leaving his embrace. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout at you like that." 'Did she really say that, or do I need to have my ears checked?' She must have said it, because Madam Pomfrey was accepting her apology looking as though someone had jammed a teaspoon horizontally into her mouth, making it very stiff and straight. Ron suddenly realized that the matron was fighting an almighty urge to laugh.
"Right," Ron said cheerfully. "Now, you have to grovel at Professor McGonagall's feet. She's our Head of House, and she deserves consideration and respect. Go on, start groveling."
"Can't I just apologize like any other student would?" 'Is she STALLING?! The ever-eager-to-be-first Hermione, stalling for time?!' 'Hey, I just heard they're going to need jumpers and scarves in hell right now, owing to the change in climate.'
"No, you can't, no other student has ever screeched at her the way you did. Now stop stalling and start groveling."
Wha--? Did she just turn him around so she could face McGonagall without letting go of him? "I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't mean those things I said to you. I was just so worried about Ron, and instead of blaming myself for doing a spell wrong, I took it out on you. Please forgive me. I'll accept whatever detention you give me and do it twice over to make up for everything."
The corners of McGonagall's mouth jerked to and fro as though she was hit with a poorly-aimed Twitchy-Ears hex. "All right, Miss Granger, you don't have to be so melodramatic. Apology accepted. No detention for today, but I may call you to my office anytime I see fit."
"Now then," Ron continued. "For what you said to the Headmaster, complete and utter humiliation seems to be in order. You may start now."
Hermione turned to face Dumbledore, but rested her cheek on Ron's arm. "H-headmaster, I--"
Dumbledore cut her off. "Apology accepted, Miss Granger." Ron noticed the Headmaster's eyes twinkling madly. He must really be a very powerful wizard if he could hold in his laughter like that.
"Thank you, Professor," Ron answered for her. He tried to make his voice as serious as he possibly can. "Now then, how about--"
"I told you I don't want to apologize to him. He deserved it, and I'm not taking it back, so there." Ron snorted. 'Aww, isn't she cute? Next she's going to stamp her foot and stick out her tongue.' 'This is NOT the time to adore her, you idiot! You have to apologize to the medi-bloke for her!' 'Oh, yeah, right.'
He turned to the medi-wizard. "Sorry, old boy, you heard what the lady said. Since she will not apologize personally, I will do it for her. Along with my apology, please accept my thanks for your assistance." The poor bloke tried to salvage his dignity, but Ron knew it was a lost cause. He would forever be remembered at Hogwarts as a scared little bunny.
Suddenly, Hermione broke free from his embrace and started screeching at him. He thought he was being a gentleman by apologizing for her. Apparently, he was wrong, judging by the way sparks flew from her eyes.
"What did you do that for? I didn't want to apologize, and I didn't need you to apologize for me! If you ever do that again I swear I'll--"
"C'mon, 'Mione, I had to do it to get rid of him. I didn't think he'd leave unless you apologized, and I wanted him to leave so I could be with you." 'Do you really expect her to believe that?' 'Why not?' 'Because that's Hermione you're talking to.' 'Shut up, can't you hear her saying...'
"Do you really expect me to believe that?!" 'I told you so.' 'I said, shut up!'
"Yes, I do. Now stop screeching and drawing everyone's attention to us! I can't kiss you with the whole bloody school watching!"
"Stop bellowing and ordering me around! The only reason people are looking at us is to see if I'll do what you tell me to."
"And you won't?"
"Why should I?"
"I'm your Head Boy!"
"Well, I'm your bloody Head Girl!!"
"Tut, tut, language, Miss Head Girl!"
"Shut up!"
"No, you shut up!"
The Hermione he knew and loved was back. And gods, did he love her! Her flashing eyes, flying hair and flailing arms were heaven on earth to him. No one else mattered except her. Which was unfortunate, since they were standing in the middle of the Quidditch field barking at each other in front of the entire student body and the staff.
"Mister Weasley, Miss Granger," Dumbledore spoke softly behind them. They jumped and turned around awkwardly. Uh-oh. That's it. They'd pushed Dumbledore too far, and now he was going to expel them. He could just see the headline in the Daily Prophet: Head Boy and Girl of Hogwarts Thrown Out on Their Arses by Headmaster for Acting Like Colicky Toddlers in Front of the Whole School. Okay, maybe that title would be too long to fit into the front page, but that was the general idea anyway. He held his breath and waited for the axe to fall.
"I believe we have the Quidditch Cup to award to Gryffindor House," Dumbledore beamed at them. "And unless I'm mistaken, Mister Weasley will have the distinction of capturing the Most Valuable Quidditch Player award for the third time in his Hogwarts career."
The entire field erupted into cheers and applause. Ron turned to her, flashed her his best smile, and kissed her in front of the whole school. And, to his everlasting surprise, she kissed him back! He wanted to do nothing but kiss her all day, well, maybe with just a break or two for meals. He forgot about the Quidditch Cup until Dumbledore reminded him to take it. Right. The Headmaster probably had better things to do than make the Cup float around all day. The crowd caught him up and carried him round and round the field, chanting "Go, go, Gryffindor," and "From east to west, Weasley's the best."
It felt like a minor eternity to him when he was finally let go and deposited back beside Hermione. They were walking hand in hand inside the castle when he suddenly felt himself losing his balance. At first he thought he might be a little dizzy, but a sound like the distant rumbling of thunder coming from his stomach reminded him that he was hungry. He looked at her as she was trying so hard not to laugh at him, and he realized he was starving to be inside her again.
"I want to eat all right, and maybe not just food, eh?" 'That's not a joke, that's a promise of things to come.'
"RON!" He grinned and put his uninjured arm around her.
Cheers and applause greeted them as they entered the common room. He only stayed to join in a group hug with his teammates and the twins, clap Neville on the back, and receive the congratulations of some of the third years who had been his charges when he first became a Prefect in his fifth year. Then he steered Hermione away from the crowd, and they went upstairs to her room. Once inside, he grabbed a plateful of food, sat down at the foot of her bed and began to eat. As usual, Hermione scolded him for bolting his food down.
"Don't eat too fast!"
"'M 'ungry!"
"You'll choke if you keep on eating like that!"
And as usual, he accused her of nagging.
"I do not nag!"
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't!"
"Yes, you do!"
Her usual response to that was to lose her temper, and judging by the way she screamed--
"RON!" 'Temper exploding?' 'Right on cue.'
"What?!" 'Wow, good execution of the irritated voice.' 'Thanks, that took years of practice with her, by the way.'
"Ooh,... Just... just shut up and eat! But don't eat too fast!"
'WHAT?!' 'I know, can you believe it? This woman simply refuses to be predictable!' He put down his fork. "Honestly, woman, you're going to drive me mad!" He stood up, set aside his plate, reached for a glass of pumpkin juice and gulped it down.
Suddenly, the hairs at the back of his neck prickled. She was watching him with a strange expression on her face. It was as though he bothered her somehow, not in a bad way, more like... but it couldn't be... she was looking at him like... she wanted to devour him to his very soul, and then... she was going to let him do the same to her. He almost groaned aloud. 'Damn! This woman really IS going to kill me. But then again, what a way to go!'
"Oh. Is that all I do, then?" She looked into his eyes. He really did try not to whimper like a cold, hungry dog.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and started walking towards her. She didn't even know she had started a fever in his blood. "Do you want me to show you what you do to me?" He looped one arm around her waist and placed his free hand under her jaw, his palm flush with her neck, his little finger poised over her pulse point. They exchanged a look of love and longing so intense that his breath caught in his throat. She whimpered as he stooped to kiss her, making him tremble violently.
It was so difficult, kissing her as though he had all the time in the world. But he desperately wanted to stay in her arms as long as she would let him, and this was the only way he could think of to distract her long enough. He didn't banish her clothes this time. He let his shaking fingers peel away each layer of her clothing until he came to... The Lace Underwear Set. He nearly had a heart attack. He wanted to go down on his knees and worship her, then tear off the lace things and devour her until next week, consequences be damned.
He thought he could still control himself, he really did. But then, she started to move her thumbs back and forth across his nipples. NOW he was going to have a heart attack. He reached out for his wand, banished the rest of their clothes, took care of the, er, fertility issue, then forgot about everything else except caressing her whole body with his hands and mouth and tongue. He paid her back for his near heart attack by licking and sucking her nipples until she was whimpering continuously. Then she opened herself up to him, so he latched his mouth onto her centre and laved her and probed her and nipped her until she screamed and he was about ready to explode. He eased himself into her and thrust himself at her again and again, until she convulsed and fireworks went off in his brain. His last memory before falling asleep was gathering her in his arms and watching her smile breathlessly at him.
He woke up some time later, feeling a little queasy. He glanced down, and was surprised to see a bandage on his shoulder. Hermione must have put it on him while he slept. He would have loved to just pull her closer into his arms and go back to sleep, but now the queasy feeling was coupled with a near-bursting sensation in his bladder. Sighing, he disentangled himself from Hermione, not an easy job when their arms and their legs were twined together like that, and her hair had somehow got partly wrapped around his neck.
He got out of bed, used the loo and was going to splash some water on his face when he happened to look up, well, not really look up, as he had to crouch down past his waist level over the basin so he wouldn't drip water all over the floor. Er, anyway, from his crouching position, he happened to look up at the little mirror above the basin, and he just couldn't help smiling at his reflection, because what he saw there was unlike any reflection of himself that he had ever seen before. He saw a man, yes, a man, who had obtained his deepest desire. He had a look of utter contentment that was so foreign to him, as he had wanted so much his whole life. Now, his own reflection was telling him that he already has everything.
"Well, well, you are a handsome devil, aren't you? A bit scruffy, but handsome, nevertheless," the mirror squawked appreciatively.
"So, you think scruffy's not such a bad thing, eh?"
"Not on you, love. So, are you the man in her life?"
"Yes, I am." Blimey, that was PRIDE in his voice.
"Are you the same one she's been crying about for quite a while now?"
"Oh. Yeah." His face fell. He knew the mirror wasn't accusing him, but he felt like a murderer all the same.
"Don't look like that, love. Girls cry about the boy they love. It's one of those unwritten laws I've been hearing about for centuries."
"It's a lousy law, if you ask me."
"Ah, well, try telling that to your woman. She'll probably hex you good."
"Knowing Hermione, I'm certain she will."
"Why don't you run her a bath, love? She always comes out of the bath looking like she's got some new strength in her."
"Thanks, I think I will. You know, you're not so bad yourself. A bit tarnished around the edges, but not bad at all."
"My word, that's the first compliment I've ever received! Just for that, I guarantee you all the good luck you and your children and your grandchildren will ever need, even if I break. Mirrors can do that, you know. Only, don't let any other mirror know you know. We like to keep our reputation for bringing seven years' bad luck when someone breaks us."
"Your secret's safe with me. In fact, to assure you that you can trust me, I'll tell you a secret as well. Hermione is my world."
"That's not a secret, love. It's already written all over your face. But thanks for telling me."
He smiled at the mirror and drew a warm bath, then cast a warming charm on the water to make sure she would be comfortable. He sat down at the foot of the bed for a few moments, watching Hermione sleep. She slept so peacefully that he really didn't want to disturb her. He thought about sitting in the tub by himself tonight, and just draw her a bath tomorrow. But just then, her eyes opened.
"Hey. You're up. Anything wrong? Do you feel any pain?" Her voice was still foggy with sleep. He thought it was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.
"No, everything's fine. Smashing, in fact. Thanks for the bandage, by the way."
"No problem." She closed her eyes again.
"Hey, don't go back to sleep, come on, get up. We're going for a bath."
"What? You want me to get up in the middle of the night for a bath?"
"Why not? We're all sweaty and sticky, aren't we?"
"You're all sweaty. I'm fine, thanks."
"Oh, so you mean, if we had classes tomorrow, you could get up and go to them just the way you are now?"
"Hmmph."
"I didn't think so. Now, c'mon, before the water gets cold."
"All right, all right."
She started to get up, but he locked her into a fireman's hold and whisked her to the bathroom. He climbed into the tub, seated her in front of him and wrapped his arms around her. Their naked bodies, slippery with the soapy water, slid against each other in perfect imitation of their coupling, leaving him breathless. He tried to distract himself by summoning her shampoo and lathering her hair. He hissed in pain as he suddenly pulled his shoulder, making her turn around and start washing away the sand in his hair. He kissed her cheek and dabbed a bit of lather on her nose.
He wanted to kiss her as she giggled at him, but then she started babbling about being curious if he had -- what? Slept with another woman before? Because where else would he learn about -- what pleases a woman? Oh, please! He wanted to tell her that even if he didn't want to learn about that, he could hardly avoid hearing a thing or two from two extremely horny and good-looking elder brothers, one extremely prissy but also extremely horny middle brother, and... Fred and George, who were the epitome of horniness, even if he had been guarded closely by half-a-dozen mums and Winkys. But, he supposed, as that information would probably shock her, he decided he would instead admit to having a copy of The Book, courtesy of the twins. But first, he had to have a little fun with her for being so naughty as to be curious about something like that.
"All right, I'll tell you. I learnt everything I needed to know from..." He paused. He nearly laughed as he saw her face turn green.
"Actual experience?! Who -- who --" 'Amazing... I've never seen anyone change color that fast.' 'Well, except for you...' 'Shut up! Are her lips actually turning black?' 'She's probably holding her breath. That can't be good for her brain.' 'Maybe I should stop torturing her like that now.' 'Aww, let her sweat a little. After all, fair is fair. She did let you think she saw Krum naked.' 'WILL YOU BE QUIET?!' 'All right, all right... @#%!' 'I HEARD THAT!'
He put on his best evil grin. "No, Miss Know-it-All, stop interrupting. I actually learnt it from a book." He smirked as he saw her reaction.
"What book?!" 'Look at her! I bet she doesn't think I can learn anything like that from a book.' 'She doesn't think you can learn anything, period.' 'Shut it, you. She wants to know what book.'
"A little wizarding how-to book called The Beginner's Guide to Sexual Intercourse, or..."
"How to Make Them Moan and Groan All Night Long?!"
"You've read that book?!" 'She knows about The Book?! She'd read a book Fred and George swear by?!'
She blushed. "I checked it out of the library since, er, just before Christmas break." If he hadn't been sitting in the tub, he would have fallen on his arse. She had taken The Book out of the library (blimey!) nearly five months ago (unbelievable!), and has had it in her possession ever since (what did she do, memorize it?!).
He really did try not to laugh as he realized they had both learnt about, well, how to go about, er, certain things, from the same book. From The Book, no less. She started splashing the water around with her fingers and wouldn't look at him. She was hiding something.
"Hmm, I have a feeling there's something else you want to tell me."
"Well, there's a -- a second volume to that book. It's called The Advanced Guide to Sexual Intercourse, or..."
"How to Make Them Scream and Writhe With Pleasure and Beg You to Hurt Them All Night Long? Yeah, I've seen it around."
"Where? Here?" 'Are her eyes bugging out?' 'Who cares about her eyes? She knows about The Sacred Second Volume!'
"Hang on, you mean you've got that book from Pince, too?"
"Well,... yeah. It never hurts to -- do a bit more research, you know." He nearly popped his shoulder again. It wasn't that he was surprised she had er, researched the matter, ahem, thoroughly. What shocked him was the fact that she used books that weren't strictly, er, academic, but were also highly, well, arousing.
When she asked him if they could still get eclairs from the kitchens, he felt as if the next five Christmases had come all at once. He grabbed a towel, not bothering with clothes as he skidded at his top speed towards the kitchens. He must have surprised the elves still working there by bursting in wearing only a pink, fluffy towel with the initials HG embroidered on it, and begging for some eclairs. The elves (bless their uncurious souls) immediately handed him a huge platter loaded with eclairs. Uh-oh. How was he going to get back all the way up to Gryffindor tower and into Hermione's room in this state? The little mirror must have really given him some good luck tonight by allowing him to get as far as the kitchens, without being caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris or Peeves. But now, how will he manage it while holding up a towel that doesn't quite hide his, er, secrets, balancing a mountain of eclairs, and moving as fast as possible, all at the same time?
His instinct for strategy suddenly kicked in when he saw Dobby hurrying to welcome him. He assumed his best innocently-worried-and-concerned-about-another's-welfare-but-secretly-trying-to-keep-his-own-arse-out-of-trouble look. Then he wailed to Dobby that he went to the kitchens at that hour of the night because Miss Hermione Granger was dying for some eclairs, and that he was worried about how to get back without keeping Miss Hermione Granger waiting, because Miss Hermione Granger absolutely had to have the eclairs RIGHT NOW. He blinked, and suddenly he found himself in Hermione's room again. He made a mental note to pick up several pairs of screaming socks and a tea cozy or two for Dobby during the next Hogsmeade weekend.
He was only telling the truth when he told her he would never be able to look at eclairs the same way again after tonight. He broke several eclairs in half, smeared the creamy filling all over her body, and licked it off. Then he did it over and over and over, until half the eclairs were gone and the walls of her room were ringing with her screams. 'My work here tonight is finished.'
Alas, it was not to be. He forgot about the time-honored principle, Turnabout is Fair Play. So he had to live through the delicious agony of her breaking several eclairs in half and smearing the creamy filling all over his body and licking it off and doing it again and again until all the eclairs were gone and he was hoarse from moaning and growling. Right. If he died tonight, he would die a happy, happy, happy man. The twins would probably erect a monument in memory of his, er, exploits. His thoughts went back to the maroon tombstone that the twins would unveil at his funeral, and the epitaph he envisioned would be engraved on it now read:
RONALD ARTHUR WEASLEY
Here lies a man from Ottery St. Catchpole
Who was known far and wide for being an arsehole
He was great at Quidditch, you bet
And his woman loved him to death
Which made him the envy of all in Ottery St. Catchpole
But then again, if he did die after a night like this with Hermione, he wouldn't give a nundu's arse about what anybody wrote on his stupid tombstone.
It was dawn before they fell asleep again, more sweaty and sticky than before they took a bath together. Luckily, it was Sunday.