Disclaimer: These characters answer ultimately only to the majesty of JK
Rowling. I'm merely taking their shadows and fashioning a parallel world of
what could have been. Enjoy.
Chapter 1 – Thoughts from Ronald
I scowled and spat into the lake. Rain was falling gently on the muddy banks. Not lashing, violent rain. Nor light misty rain. Just insipid and spiritless. Just like me. Ron Weasley - nothing special, a footnote to a greater story. A foil to Harry Potter, or Malfoy, or even Hermione at times. No one knew or cared that I had a painful crush on Draco, or that I hated Quidditch, or that I was top of the class in Care of Magical Creatures. I was the happy-go-lucky comic sidekick. I was sick of having to pretend.
I sighed and whistled three times in quick succession. The moonlit lake began to bubble like a pot of hot water coming to the boil. A black shape rose up, a mocking facsimile of the Lady of the Lake handing Excalibur to Arthur. A thin tentacle groped blindly in the inky blackness punctuated only by the minute glistening stars. I reached out my hand and a strong slime-covered limb encircled my wrist. He knew what to do next. I lay back on the bank; my wrist still gripped, and pushed off my trousers with my free hand. Rolling over, I drew up my knees so my backside was completely exposed. The tentacle finally released me and moved slowly along my arm and over my back, slowly, caressing. It hesitated at the base of my spine, then moved rapidly downwards and plunged into me. After driving in sharply it began to leisurely moved in and out as another feeler slid over my back and came round to stroke me. The first tentacle was deliciously measured, teasing until I bit down on the third tentacle now fondling my chest. He took it as a sign and with a burst of rapid and fierce thrusts I came. The monster withdrew and with a soft gurgling descended back to the depths of the lake.
I drew my trousers back and shakily got to my feet. I was covered in mud. I kept intending to bring a blanket but it would seem too suspicious. My excuse last week was that I'd been out late practising and fallen off my broomstick. I wasn't quite sure how long and I could keep up with these stories. However there were only two other viable options. The first would result in me being regarded as a warped and twisted individual and the second was unthinkable. I'd been visiting the squid for 3 months now and I couldn't imagine how I'd ever coped before: the wonderful release, the knowledge that he only wanted me and no one else, the freedom of lying naked in the darkness. I'd heard that Muggles sometimes cut themselves to achieve the same sort of feeling. But in my opinion it was better to rid yourself of pain through sex rather than blood. I needed it. It wasn't Draco, it wasn't winning, it wasn't being Harry Potter; but at least it was me.
The rain became more powerful as I wandered back to the castle. A thestral cantered out of the Forbidden Forest and stood staring at me accusingly. It had been quite a shock on the first day of term of 6th year when I'd found myself able to see these macabre creatures. It had taken me longer than it should have done for me to remember Sirius. At the time everyone had been comforting Harry. Poor boy, mother and father gone and now his godfather, the only parent he'd ever known. It was hard for me to summon up a great deal of sympathy for his loss. Sirius was a complete bastard. Oh everyone pretended otherwise, said it was due to the trauma he had suffered but he never had a kind word for anyone. He was always spitting and sniping, treating the sneaky house elf so stupidly, caring nothing for consequences. It was a wonder that Remus could stand him. He regarded himself as perpetually victimised when if it hadn't been for mother or Dumbledore he'd have been ripped apart by Death Eaters within minutes of Voldemort's return.
Voldemort. I can even say the name. I don't suppose anyone would have thought me capable of it. They don't think I'm a coward, but they don't attribute to me the great strength they suppose it must take to speak that word - the strength that only truly marvellous people such as Harry Potter have at their disposal.
I gave the thestral a quick pat which was rewarded with a sharp nip. I suppose they were rather miffed that their mystery was fading as more and more people could see them. Death was common currency nowadays. As was hate.
I sighed. It wasn't healthy to have so much anger and loathing coursing through me. Even the love I felt was tarnished by bitterness. Mother, Father, Ginny; even Draco if he wasn't being paranoid. For all of these, I was second best. Not that I could be sure Draco fancied Harry. Love and hate are the same sides of a single coin. He threw the same witty, cutting one-liners at anyone who dared challenge him. But Harry was his nemesis. That invoked more passion than someone like me, a mere muddy underling to be insulted at will. Then again ... who knew what really lurked beneath that perfect exterior?
Taking my broom from the shed, I flew silently up into the Gryffindor dormitory. I leapt in through the window and banished the broom. This was a manoeuvre which I'd tuned to perfection. Drawing off my sodden shirt I threw it into the haphazard pile of clothes in the centre of the room that served as a laundry basket. It hit something with a rather loud slap followed by a "What the hell?" Standing in the middle of the dormitory, encased in a black velvety cloak with his blonde hair uncharacteristically tousled was Draco Malfoy.
Review if the fancy takes you, the next chapter will hopefully make an appearance within the next fortnight.
Jude
Chapter 1 – Thoughts from Ronald
I scowled and spat into the lake. Rain was falling gently on the muddy banks. Not lashing, violent rain. Nor light misty rain. Just insipid and spiritless. Just like me. Ron Weasley - nothing special, a footnote to a greater story. A foil to Harry Potter, or Malfoy, or even Hermione at times. No one knew or cared that I had a painful crush on Draco, or that I hated Quidditch, or that I was top of the class in Care of Magical Creatures. I was the happy-go-lucky comic sidekick. I was sick of having to pretend.
I sighed and whistled three times in quick succession. The moonlit lake began to bubble like a pot of hot water coming to the boil. A black shape rose up, a mocking facsimile of the Lady of the Lake handing Excalibur to Arthur. A thin tentacle groped blindly in the inky blackness punctuated only by the minute glistening stars. I reached out my hand and a strong slime-covered limb encircled my wrist. He knew what to do next. I lay back on the bank; my wrist still gripped, and pushed off my trousers with my free hand. Rolling over, I drew up my knees so my backside was completely exposed. The tentacle finally released me and moved slowly along my arm and over my back, slowly, caressing. It hesitated at the base of my spine, then moved rapidly downwards and plunged into me. After driving in sharply it began to leisurely moved in and out as another feeler slid over my back and came round to stroke me. The first tentacle was deliciously measured, teasing until I bit down on the third tentacle now fondling my chest. He took it as a sign and with a burst of rapid and fierce thrusts I came. The monster withdrew and with a soft gurgling descended back to the depths of the lake.
I drew my trousers back and shakily got to my feet. I was covered in mud. I kept intending to bring a blanket but it would seem too suspicious. My excuse last week was that I'd been out late practising and fallen off my broomstick. I wasn't quite sure how long and I could keep up with these stories. However there were only two other viable options. The first would result in me being regarded as a warped and twisted individual and the second was unthinkable. I'd been visiting the squid for 3 months now and I couldn't imagine how I'd ever coped before: the wonderful release, the knowledge that he only wanted me and no one else, the freedom of lying naked in the darkness. I'd heard that Muggles sometimes cut themselves to achieve the same sort of feeling. But in my opinion it was better to rid yourself of pain through sex rather than blood. I needed it. It wasn't Draco, it wasn't winning, it wasn't being Harry Potter; but at least it was me.
The rain became more powerful as I wandered back to the castle. A thestral cantered out of the Forbidden Forest and stood staring at me accusingly. It had been quite a shock on the first day of term of 6th year when I'd found myself able to see these macabre creatures. It had taken me longer than it should have done for me to remember Sirius. At the time everyone had been comforting Harry. Poor boy, mother and father gone and now his godfather, the only parent he'd ever known. It was hard for me to summon up a great deal of sympathy for his loss. Sirius was a complete bastard. Oh everyone pretended otherwise, said it was due to the trauma he had suffered but he never had a kind word for anyone. He was always spitting and sniping, treating the sneaky house elf so stupidly, caring nothing for consequences. It was a wonder that Remus could stand him. He regarded himself as perpetually victimised when if it hadn't been for mother or Dumbledore he'd have been ripped apart by Death Eaters within minutes of Voldemort's return.
Voldemort. I can even say the name. I don't suppose anyone would have thought me capable of it. They don't think I'm a coward, but they don't attribute to me the great strength they suppose it must take to speak that word - the strength that only truly marvellous people such as Harry Potter have at their disposal.
I gave the thestral a quick pat which was rewarded with a sharp nip. I suppose they were rather miffed that their mystery was fading as more and more people could see them. Death was common currency nowadays. As was hate.
I sighed. It wasn't healthy to have so much anger and loathing coursing through me. Even the love I felt was tarnished by bitterness. Mother, Father, Ginny; even Draco if he wasn't being paranoid. For all of these, I was second best. Not that I could be sure Draco fancied Harry. Love and hate are the same sides of a single coin. He threw the same witty, cutting one-liners at anyone who dared challenge him. But Harry was his nemesis. That invoked more passion than someone like me, a mere muddy underling to be insulted at will. Then again ... who knew what really lurked beneath that perfect exterior?
Taking my broom from the shed, I flew silently up into the Gryffindor dormitory. I leapt in through the window and banished the broom. This was a manoeuvre which I'd tuned to perfection. Drawing off my sodden shirt I threw it into the haphazard pile of clothes in the centre of the room that served as a laundry basket. It hit something with a rather loud slap followed by a "What the hell?" Standing in the middle of the dormitory, encased in a black velvety cloak with his blonde hair uncharacteristically tousled was Draco Malfoy.
Review if the fancy takes you, the next chapter will hopefully make an appearance within the next fortnight.
Jude