My first fanfiction ever... it's set in year 5 or 6, and HBP has pretty much rendered it AU. However, I enjoy the typical 'at Hogwarts' fics… so enjoy!
Ron Weasley was in his usual state of obliviousness, drumming his fingers against the mahogany table as he daydreamed about Quidditch, the color orange, pumpkin pasties and girls. Never mind that it was well past midnight and most of his friends had already retired to their dormitories. And never mind that there was an essay (2 feet; good Merlin, Snape was a git) due tomorrow morning. After all, when did he ever care about school?
His best friends were sitting beside him, naturally. Hermione was slumped over in one of the chairs, triple and quadruple-checking her essay. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her mouth move as she read the words aloud to herself. "Now," she muttered absentmindedly. "Does it sound better to use 'as I was saying,' or 'as I mentioned before'?" Ron had to chuckle at that. The girl was batty and there was no use denying it, though he rarely said it to her face because it warranted a slap and a furious tirade. The last time he had told her that she was bonkers, he had come out of it with boils and a tail. Never, ever insult a girl with superior wand skills. He remembered Charlie telling him that once.
Harry sat bent over the table, scribbling furiously. He looked to be at about one and a half feet done. He grimaced slightly as he gripped his quill. "How much more could I bloody write about a weed?" he griped. "It's green. It cures the common cold and also is a wonderful cleaning solvent. Merlin."
Ron glanced at his parchment. Well… he had at least finished half a foot, which was pretty impressive according to his standards. The stress level in this room is mad, he thought to himself. Definitely time to find a snack.
"Hey Harry, can I borrow your cloak?" he asked as he stood up, brushing himself off. Harry tossed it to him, barely looking up from his essay.
Hermione squawked indignantly. "Ronald Weasley! You've finished… what? One fourth of your essay? It's due in six hours, in case you haven't noticed. Where do you think you're going?"
Ron grinned and waved his hand dismissively. "Out and about," he called over his shoulder as he pulled the cloak over his head. "Out and about."
Behind him, he could hear Harry stifle a snigger as Hermione huffed.
The trek to the kitchens was uneventful, save for when he bumped into a couple snogging behind one of the statues.
"What was that?" the girl, a blonde Hufflepuff cried out.
"Nothing," her date assured her, reaching again for her waist. "Now come here…"
Blech! Was that Dennis Creevy? Ron made a disgusted face to himself (no noise, no noise, he reminded himself) and turned the corner quickly. Ah there it was – the portrait of the fruit bowl. Ron tickled it and slipped off the cloak, stuffing it into his book bag.
The portrait swung open and Ron stepped through into the still-bustling kitchen. He ran a hand through his hair sheepishly as Dobby ran over to him, his already wide eyes turning rounder.
"Harry Potter's redheaded friend!" he squeaked, straightening the tea cozy on his head. "Has the Wheezy come to eat? Dobby can make anything the Wheezy wants!"
Ron opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, Dobby grabbed his arm and led him over to the kitchen table. "The Wheezy does not have to think so hard. Dobby knows what he wants."
With that, he scampered off towards the stove, muttering under his breath about pumpkin pasties and tomato soup and three loaves of bread at least.
Ron was so preoccupied with the thought of food that it wasn't until a second after he sat down that he realized he wasn't alone. He started when he realized that there was a slender girl sitting next to him, staring at him unblinkingly as she slowly peeled the skin off of the grapes in a bowl.
"Hello, Ronald," said Luna.