Voices No One Else Can Hear:
"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."
(Ron to Harry, in Harry Potter and the Chamber of SecretsChapter 9, 'The Writing on the Wall'.)
DISCLAIMER: I did not invent any of the characters or the setting, they belong to JK Rowling. Nor did I invent the idea of the Potions Accident Fic. I'm grateful to whoever did.
WARNING: Contains crude innuendo, filth, depravity and nob gags but no actual smut.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here you go, tragicluv, though I know it's not precisely to your taste, I hope it will do.
CHAPTER FIVE: Slytherins
Ron sagged against the bars of the pen which contained the Funky-whatever-Hermione-said slugs, feeling frightened and unwell. Hagrid's voice, which had always felt unthreateningly yokel before, now seemed full of innuendo as he lectured the class on the uses of the various body fluids of the Something-beginning-with-'F'-I-can't-remember-just-nows.
Ron kept his eyes closed and tried to pass out. His knees lost a little rigidity, but he couldn't get the blackness to pull him in. Suddenly, he felt a sharp jab in his back. He gasped and straightened up, but had the presence of mind not to spin round to see who was elbowing him.
"What is your problem, Weasley?" asked a low, rumbling grunt behind him. Goyle. Lovely! That was just what he needed right now.
"You've been acting like a tit all day, Weasel," the big Slytherin added.
"Whatever," Ron replied. He had enough to worry about.
"No, not 'whatever', actually, Coppertop. You've been looking at Pansy funny."
Ron couldn't remember. He'd been looking at all sorts of people. It wouldn't be surprising if he'd been wearing a strange expression while he looked at them. Was Pansy one of them? Then he remembered her deep sexy drawl and he couldn't stop himself from groaning. It was half an exasperated sigh, and half an aroused moan.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Goyle asked aggressively, "What you making that noise for, you keep your hands off her!"
"Whatever!" Ron snapped again.
"Is everythin' all righ' over there?" Hagrid asked.
Ron nodded and mumbled something, he heard Goyle do the same behind him.
Once Hagrid had gone back to his affectionate description of the pink-slug-things-must-ask-someone-what-they-are-called, Ron felt something heavy land hard on his foot. Suppressing a squeak of pain, he looked down. He saw Crabbe's big boot and heard his Neanderthal voice utter the word "hard" and looked away fast.
He tried not to react to having his metatarsals compressed into the muddy ground, nor to Crabbe's promise that he and his mate were going to "sort you out later", but then Crabbe hissed, "What d'you look at our bird for? You thick or something?"
Being called 'thick' by Crabbe of all people was more than Ron could bear. Rage rose in him, the red mist descended and he his temper snapped. In his defence, he had had a pretty trying day. Without thinking (which rather argued Crabbe's point for him), Ron span round to face his tormenter, hissing, "Fuck off fishface!"
Not only was this not a witty thing to say, it was also not clever in two other ways. He had just increased his chances of being beaten up later to roughly one hundred percent and he was staring right into Crabbe's ugly, misshapen, blotchy, wobbly face. He was about to hear something which would not be pleasant.
"…strew your bathwater with petals …" was what he actually heard in the harsh tones of the spawn of Death Eaters. It could have been worse.
Ron tried to turn away, but Goyle grabbed his hair from behind.
"What did you say?" Crabbe asked, his colour rising. The excited flush was a detail Ron could have done without.
"…weave the stems of bluebells into your pubic hair …" Crabbe's voice said at the same time.
Ron just gaped.
Goyle jerked Ron's head round painfully and leaned in. He glowered. At the same time, without moving his mouth, he was offering to, "lay orchids and lilies over our bed, so that their scent rises when our bodies crush them."
"Tha's enough, now. Break it up!" Hagrid ordered. "You two Slytherins, you come stand near me. Leave Ron alone."
As Crabbe and Goyle truculently shuffled off, Ron stepped back to give himself some breathing space. He closed his eyes and took in a lung-ful of fresh air. He had to clear his head. He hoped Hermione was taking good notes because he hadn't a clue what he was supposed to have learned in this lesson. He hoped there wouldn't be a practical element. He could barely manage standing up.
He opened his eyes again to find Draco Malfoy sneering at him. He closed them again. He would just stand very still without looking at anyone until the bell rang. That was the sensible approach. On the other hand, all that stuff about flowers had been quite nice. He wondered what exactly he would be expected to do while lying in the bed in order to crush the lilies. It might be something he would rather enjoy.
Not that he would have enjoyed doing it with either of the evil sidekicks. They had gone, though. Instead he was standing next to their master. Malfoy. He was an entirely different proposition. In fact, a lot of the girls said he was kind of hot. Ron could sort of see that. If he had been attracted to boys, he might even have said himself that Malfoy was, well, sexy.
Who was he kidding? He had the opportunity to hear the prince of snakes cooing sweet smut to him. His eyes flew open.
He was staring at the back of Malfoy's head. Perfect! He rested his eyes on the whispy silver hairs on the back of the pale neck and a smooth, aristocratic voice purred, "…lie beside me on the summer lawns and I'll make daisy chains to decorate your bare chest." Ron let his gaze drift down to Malfoy's elegant shoulders. "I'll kiss along your collarbone. My fingers will trace shapes through the soft hairs on your stomach."
The image was so seductive that Ron found himself wanting to believe in it. He could picture himself and Draco cuddling in the sunshine. He realised that he was staring at the rounded shape made in the school uniform robes by Malfoy's perfectly formed arse.
"We won't care what anyone else thinks of us, we'll be lost in our own world. All you will see is me. Pretty much all I ever notice is you, anyway." It was still Malfoy's voice, but it was soft and kind and without his usual sharpness.
"What are you looking at?" Malfoy snapped, reminding Ron of what he was really like. He had turned round and was snarling at him.
"Erm …" Ron offered.
"You were oggling my bum, you pervert!" was laid directly over "In spring I'll shower you with cherry blossom." The nice words were fading, though. Ron realised that the rest of the students had began to move off towards the castle.
"Erm …" Ron tried again, but it was no more effective as an excuse than it had been the last time.
"How dare you, you poor, badly-dressed, smelly oik!" Malfoy yelled at him.
Then, with a quick glance towards their retreating class-mates, he darted his head forward and whispered, "Do you want me to chain you up, Weasley?"
"Er, no!" Ron gulped hurriedly.
"I've got a leather ball-gag," Malfoy promised. "And a gryphon-tamer's whip. You'd like to feel that against your bare bum, wouldn't you?"
"No!" Ron squealed. The flowers had been much more appealing.
"Oh, yes. We can go straight to my dungeon after Charms."
Ron didn't know whether Malfoy was referring to the Slytherin dorms, or whether he actually had his own torture chamber somewhere in the bowels of Hogwarts. He really didn't want to find out.
"Fuck off, Weirdo!"
Malfoy pouted. "I'll wear my gorgeous long shiny boots and a PVC catsuit," he offered.
Ron ran away as fast as he was able.
Behind him, he heard a loud false laugh and Malfoy shouted, "Ha! That was a joke! You fell for it!"
As he watched his feet pounding the ground, Ron concentrated on floral images and tried to forget everything he's heard today about whips, snakes and fishnet stockings. It wasn't easy. Maybe Crabbe and Goyle would do him a favour and knock him out.