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Chapter Text

Ron Weasley had met the infamous Harry Potter on a day in September at train station 9 ¾. He can’t remember the exact time it had all began, but he can recall the moment he first saw him perfectly.

Ron had been sitting in the train car, minding his own damn business might he add, when someone had decided to disturb any peace he might have had with one merlin damned question. 

"Can I sit here?" a small voice piped up from behind him. 

Ron didn’t want them to sit there, he was there first, and was about to tell whoever had said that -he hadn't looked at them as he was currently very busy staring at the wall across from him and counting to ten so he wouldn't break the fuckers nose-to sit somewhere else, before he remembered Mum had told (threatened) him to play nice.

(Even god would feel fear when faced with Molly Weasley's wrath, especially when she was armed with a rolling pin)

So he took a deep breath, pasted on a painfully forced grin, and turned around to make a polite introduction like someone who was socially adept would. 

“I’m Ron Weasley mate, you?”

“Uhm, Harry Potter.”

Harry Potter, he mused thoughtfully. It felt almost familiar, but it probably wasn't that important.

(Turns it was actually that fucking important) 

Ron stopped, blinked, and then blinked again as he took a second take at the boy.

The boy, (Harry, a voice that sounded a lot like Mum’s scolded), looked, how you do say, a little different then he expected.

And by different he meant the complete and utter opposite.

Harry was a downright midget that was skinny as a twig and drowning in his oversized clothes; looking like a light breeze would send him flat on his arse. His hair was a tangled mess that would make even the most seasoned barber faint in horror, sticking up in directions that defied gravity, magic, and common sense. There was lightning scar traveled along his forehead and over one of eyes, branching out onto the rest of his face. It was pretty, with pinkish scar tissue raised into ridges over tan skin.

The most stunning thing of all about him were his eyes that were hidden behind taped together glasses. They were some color that probably had a fancy name like the shiny green rocks in that book Percy had read (They aren’t rocks Ron, they’re gems, get it right) that Ron could wax on about for pages if he had a single poetic bone in his body. 

A single thought in Ron’s mind. 

Mine

He was entranced.

“You’re pretty” he blurted out, like a stupid git, and Harry flushed like he’d gotten hit with one the twins color bomb before he started stuttering and flailed in a very accurate impression of those ‘automobiles’ Dad was always working on before they exploded either through sheer fucking luck or the wonder duo's penchant for arson. 

(Thank Merlin fire extinguishers existed or the burrow would have burned down a loooonnnggg time ago)

“Thank you uh-than-thanks you’re pretty too!” Harry yelled, standing up ramrod straight like he had broom shoved up his arse.

“Uhm, your welcome mate?” Bit of an odd reaction that 

Harry shrunk into himself through incredible feat when he took up about two feet of the room maximum and mumbled something that sounded like 'shut the hell up and stop making things awkward Harry' before he collected himself once again.

“So what’s the famous Harry Potter doing with a bloke like me all alone in a train car?”

“Famous?” Harry said in a distinctly confused tone. 

“Uh yeah mate, you killed ‘He who shall not be named’ or whatever when you were a baby.”

“You mean Voldemort?” Harry said, tilting his head cutely like he didn’t just mention the murderer of his parents and bane of the wizarding world casually.

“That’s the one”

“Oh. Yeah I did do that didn't I. I forgot." 

Ron's mouth fell open in shock. Who forgets defeating the fucking dark lord???

“You’re interesting, mate” Ron said with a small smirk, (that was really just him bearing his teeth in a poor approximation of a smile), and Harry looked at him with bewilderment. 

“What, never had someone tell you that?”

“Well….no.” Harry said shyly, looking down at his loafers that were apparently extremely interesting at this current moment in time. 

“Fair enough I suppose, never happened to me neither.”

Harry looked flummoxed at the prospect. “Well why not, don’t you have any friends?”

“I’m not that nice in the first place mate.” Which was, as they say, a disgustingly gross understatement

Harry’s face furrowed like he couldn't begin to fathom the thought, before passionately declaring “Well I think you’re plenty nice, and they’re right idiots if they didn’t notice” before nodding like he had made an executive decision. “I’ll be your friend instead then.”

“You want to be my friend?”, Ron said incredulously. No one had wanted to be his friend, well, ever, if he was honest. 

“Will you be my friend?” Harry fired right back like the petulant eleven year old he was.

“I mean yes, but are you sure mate-” Ron said back, trying to give this poor, poor delusional soul a chance to run screaming for the hills. 

“Yes, I’m perfectly sure, thank you very much, now scoot over, I want to sit by my friend.” Harry huffed petulantly before plopping himself down almost on top of Ron and making himself comfortable with the audacity of a house cat. 

As he looked at the boy who lived that decided to be his friend without any input from him whatsoever, he felt a dark sort of…..satisfaction fill him, and the same feeling he had when he saw blood ooze to the floor. 

His friend.

His.

Ron had only a few things that were truly his, most everything he owned was hand me downs. He didn’t blame his parents, there were a lot of mouths to feed and only so much to go around.

But what he did own, he guarded more fiercely than a dragon over her eggs.

After all, Harry was his, and he was Harry’s now, plain and simple.

So like any responsible friend, Ron would protect and keep him far away from all the trouble and strife that was sure to follow the little boy with too sharp eyes and a lightning scar and a wizarding world on his scrawny shoulders.

Because Ron Weasley protected his own, and Merlin fucking help anything that dared to touch them.

Chapter Text

Ron didn’t like Severus Snape the moment he saw the bastard glare at Harry like he was some deformed bogart and not an actual human being.

He’d been on guard all day, watching and waiting for the inevitable shit that would come from Harry’s fame -because it would come, he could fucking sense it-  glaring at the gits who dared look at Harry like he was some zoo exhibit while Harry clung onto his side, never going farther than arms reach, having decided that it was in fact, prime real estate and he didn’t plan to leave.

It made Ron preen, feeling awful proud of himself that Harry trusted him so much despite meeting him mere hours ago. Unfortunately that meant he couldn’t break all of the bastards noses who kept trying to move into their personal goddamn space, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. 

(Later, he’d fuck them all up later, when Harry couldn’t see him and freak out. He’d only just got him after all, and it’d be downright irresponsible to scare him off so soon)

He settled for thinking of ways to rip out Snapes’ eyeballs as a way to relax and pressed closer to Harry, who seemed to be doing his absolute damndest to crush his hand into a bloody pulp. It was so cute he wanted to pinch his cheeks and coo at him like his Aunt Margaret did, but he didn’t think that would end well for his fingers. 

Aside from that however, everything was going as well as it could be expected to, when a stern old lady in green robes and a tight bun walked in front of them.

“Welcome to Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry. I am Professor Mcgonigal, head of Gryffindor house and transfiguration.”

Mcgonigal? That sounded oddly familiar…… wait a damn minute, wasn’t she that old hag that the twins always bitched about? Was she the one who put them house arrest for moving every single bathroom in the castle at least two miles from it's original place? Or was it that time they 'accidentally' put itching powder in about 30 slytherins drawers? Then again there was also that time with the house elves where they incited a rebellion-

“- now please proceed to line up in alphabetical order.”

Huh. He zoned out for ten fucking seconds what the hell did he miss? 

"Harry what the fuck is going on about the alphabetical order thing?" Ron hissed at Harry who was looking considerably paler than he did five minutes ago. That did not bode well. 

“She can’t just separate us from each other, can she? I mean what if we end up in separate houses? I can't be all alone with these freaky fucking wizard types-” Harry started muttering frantically, looking like he was about to either have a panic attack, nervous breakdown, or a full blown emotional meltdown. Hell, maybe all three at once. 

“Course she can’t, we’re a package deal mate.” Ron assured, squeezing him closer to his body, smushing his cheek against his chest, causing his glasses to go askew. (And if he muttered "She’ll get away with that over my dead fucking body", that was neither here nor there) Harry, pacified for the moment, stopped trying to strangle his hand quite as much and hung another hand on his robe sleeve. 

"Also, I take offense to the 'freaky fucking wizard types', thing thank you very much, stereotypes can be harmful-." 

“Harry Potter”, the hags voice rang out. He nodded at Harry, and they both moved up in the line together. 

“I asked for Mr. Potter, not you-" she gave him a cursory glance, clocking his ginger hair before her eye twitched "-newest Mr. Weasley, W’s are further down the line” she said through gritted teeth looking like she was cursing the entire weasley blood line through sheer force of will. 

Jesus no fucking wonder the twins hate her, she's a raggedy old bitch. 

”I’m standing with Harry.” Ron said, folding his arms in front of him and glaring at her. 

“Mr. Weasley I must insist-"

“Well then I must insist myself you old bag-" 

”Please Professor, he’s my best mate he’s not cutting in line or nothing.” Harry wheedled, giving his best impression of a poor Victorian orphan chimney sweep. 

(The orphan part was accurate at the very least) 

“I do not make exceptions for anyone, even the savior of the wizarding world Mr. Potter." 

“Ma'am please, he’s my friend” Harry pleaded, turning his puppy dog eyes on full power and blasting her full force. 

“You’re not going to budge on this are you?” she said with a singular eye twitch. 

“No ma'am” they both chimed in perfect harmony. 

She rubbed her forehead and let out a deep sigh that came from the depths of her soul and relented. 

“Fine, fine, you can stay in line together, but you can’t go on stage together.” 

"Thank you ma'm!" Harry said with an award winning smile while Ron muttered out a "thanks" through gritted teeth. 

“How long does it take to get sorted?” Harry whispered to Ron, somehow burrowed deeper into his side after the sorting cap burst into song and Harry had screamed semi hysterically and almost fainted in shock. Some dude tried to laugh at him before Ron turned around and was going to beat his face in before Harry stopped him because 'violence isn't the answer' or fucking whatever. 

“Not terribly long mate, you’ll be fine” he reassured him carefully. 

(The mere idea of letting him out of arm's reach made his teeth grind together but it was fine, he could manage for that long. Maybe. Probably)

“Alright, if you say so.” 

Harry’s name was called, much too quick in Ron’s professional opinion, and they had to let go of each other. Ron didn’t want to, wanted to walk right up on the stage and protect him where it was vulnerable and open, but he didn’t really have a choice now did he unless he wanted to fight every single member of the faculty and tragically he had no firearms on his person. 

Harry walked up onto the stage looking like he was being held at wand point in robes too big for his lanky frame, and sat down onto the school before the sorting hat, (which should be classified as a fire hazard and a museum relic), was placed on his head. It drowned his head and slipped down over his eyes before he righted it again and the sorting began. 

One minute passed

Another minute, it was fine, this thing took time right? One chic before them sat there for five whole minutes and went to Gryffindor so hope remained eternal. 

Three minutes and Ron started to get a little antsy. Harry looked like he was going to pass out any second now whisper muttering to the hat something about....the letter G? What the shit? What was happening up there? 

Four minutes in and he’d started gripping his wand anxiously. Well not his wand. The thing fucking hated him since it was a hand me down and at this point it was held together with duct tape, superglue, and a prayer. 

Five minutes, no improvement yet, Harry was still arguing with the fucking hat. 

Six minutes, and his hand was practically strangling his wand, splinters be damned. 

Seven minutes, Ron was getting progressively more agitated and experiencing anxiety on steroids'. 

Eight minutes, and he was making plans to burn that bloody hat, grab Harry, and book it. They could just go back to the burrow and Ron could get a job in fucking construction or something along with his side hustle and Harry could do. Uh. Gardening! Or something like that. He liked flowers right?  And they could move out at 16 and buy a nice little house and live like muggles and NOT have to deal with all of this magical bullshit-

Nine minutes and he heard a crack from his hand and let go of his wand before he snapped it in half.

Ten minutes in and Ron was about to storm up and rip the hat off of Harry, consequences be damned, when it finally let out a scream;

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Oh thank god.

The Gryffindor table lost their fucking minds, the twins screaming like banshees, and Ron relaxed. as Harry practically ran off the stage into Ron’s arms, and attached himself with renewed vigor, like if he gripped hard enough then they simply wouldn’t have to separate again. 

(Sounded like a great plan to Ron in all honesty, but unfortunately they couldn’t. He’d have to look into that later) 

30 minutes late they finally got down to the W's. 

“Ron Weasley!”

"Alright mate I'll be back." Ron reassured as he tried to walk forward only to be stopped by the limpet hanging off of him.

"Harry you know I have to go, I'll be quicker than the Flash and come right back it'll be fine." 

"What the hell is a Flash?" Harry asked which was a cardinal fucking sin in Ron's oh so humble opinion. 

"If you let me go I will let you borrow all of my American comic books mate but I have to get this over with." 

"But what if we're in separate houses Ron that would be awful." Harry shuddered. 

"Not a single Weasley has been sorted into anything but Gryffindor for 50 years and I ain't breaking that streak now. Wish me luck." 

He walked up onto the stage, grabbed the stupid hat, yanked it onto his head, and gave it his very simple and easy to understand demands. 

Hm-

"Gryffindor"

What?, it sputtered, not getting with the program. 

"Gryffindor", he enunciated clearly, because it apparently didn’t understand English. 

You haven’t even let me finish my sentence-

‘I don’t care, I’m going with Harry’ Every second he spent with this fire hazard on his head was a second away from Harry, which was unacceptable. 

Well that’s not very sporting now is it? I think you’d do best in Slytherin, you’re certainly violent enough, no?   It snarked like the batty piece of shit it was. Were all talking hats this much of assholes? Or was it just this one? Either way someone should throw it out. 

Hey! I'm right here

'And I don't fucking care now sort me into Gryffindor before i decide to rip you to fucking shreds and light them on fire. 

You can’t be serious- Oh, you’re serious aren’t you.

It sounded scared, which was an improvement. Finally, they were making progress!

‘Deadly’ he snarled inside his head.

“GRYFFINDOR!” it screamed into the room, and he ripped it off his head and threw it carelessly onto the stool. 

(Good, it wasn’t completely suicidal after all) 

Harry immediately came up and reattached himself where he rightfully belonged, so Ron walked off with Harry to the table, satisfied at last. 

(Unbeknownst to him however, the sorting hat was shivering at the darkness of the two minds it’d been in. But that was a story for another time)

Chapter Text

“This is fuckin shit mate.”, Ron said, unimpressed with the dorm rooms. There were five four poster beds, with thick red velvet curtains draping around them. They looked comfy and nicer than anything his family owned, sure, but they were perhaps the most pathetic attempts at security Ron had ever seen.

( This is what they gave Ron to defend Harry with? Fucking curtains? )

“Best security in the magical world my arse,” Ron muttered sullenly, unpacking his chest and shoving his socks into drawers violently. “Ron, be nice,” Harry scolded, “I’m sure people worked very hard on it.” Ron shook his head and scoffed at Harry’s naivety. “Harry, they gave us bloody curtains to protect the bed. Do you know how easy it would be for someone to sneak in and hex us?” Harry hesitated, seeing reason, while Ron rummaged through his chest and brought out a giant old book triumphantly. 

“Ron, what’s that?” Harry asked, wandering closer and abandoning his chest behind him in the process. 

“The reason we’re not going to die in our sleep mate.” Ron said, flipping through the pages and muttering. “No, nope, definitely not that, what the fuck is that ,  not even close , ah-hah!”, he crowed, “Barriers and protective spells!” 

“Keep it down mate it's almost bloody midnight!” Some kid, fucking uh....... Seamus(?) or something yelled from the bathroom. “Mind your own damn business before I slit your throat, no one bloody cares!” Ron yelled right back, before turning back to the only actually important person in the room. “Just ignore him Harry, he’s a git.” Harry gave a dubious look towards the bathroom before giving Ron a hesitant nod. 

"I mean it is midnight and we are being kind of loud-" 

"SHUT" a voice thundered from behind them "THE FUCK UP!". A whooshing sound, sort of like those missiles in muggle cartoons, could be heard in the background as Ron turned around to beat the jack asses face who had interrupted Harry's face in before he saw a blur of color whizzed by his face. Ron watched in slow motion as it arced through the air with an increasing sense of horror, before it slammed into Harry’s face and directly on his nose with a sickening crack.

Harry crumpled towards the ground like a doll with strings cut, falling halfway onto the bed before Ron's body finally kicked into gear and he snatched the other boy up and gently placed him on the bed. Rage surged up under his skin, demanding blood for the crime of hurting what was his but that could wait, he had to make sure Harry was okay before dealing with the fuckwad who would soon be six feet under for the absolute crime they just committed. 

“Harry, mate, Harry, are you okay, what hurts, tell me what hurts" Words were spilling out of his mouth like water as Ron shook him by the shoulders (gently) and checked for injuries with a desperate fervor. Harry’s nose was bleeding profusely and his glasses had fallen off; but he was still breathing and otherwise fine. The book that had hit him wasn't too thick after all, maybe a couple hundred pages with a soft cover. No lasting damage. A breath he didn't realize he was holding rushed out of his lungs. 

“It’s fine Ron, it’s fine, it doesn’t hurt that much” Harry said in a nasally voice, batting away Ron’s fretting hands from his face with a roll of his eyes. 

He gently prodded at Harry's nose, checking for any breakage or extreme swelling. Harry scrunched his eyebrows and groaned a little when Ron prodded a tender spot, but other than that suffered his coddling with minimum bitching after failing to fend off his love and care. Good, that was good. Harry would be fine in ten minutes with a bandage or two for the bruising. Some ice for the swelling that he could source from the twins (they had to know their way to the kitchens after a whole year after this point and could pull some favors with the house elves) and a kiss to make it all better. Ron could work with that.

"You'll be good with some ice and some tissues." Ron declared, moving to go find some in his chest. "I literally told you I was fine." Harry grumbled petulantly behind him, stuffing the tissues Ron handed him up his nose and straightening out his glasses before he was interrupted a shrill scream. 

"OH MY GOD ARE YOU OKAY?! I'M SO SORRY I DIDN'T MEAN TO ACTUALLY HIT ANYONE OH MY GOD IS YOUR NOSE FINE-" The Seamus kid was jogging over, looking at Harry in abject horror at the mess he'd made. 

Hands grabbed him and hauled him off of Seamus and he snarled, turning around to see the bastards who dared get in his way so he could fucking kill them - 

Then he saw Harry was behind the two gits holding him, trying to pry them off of him with his little twig arms. He needed to eat more, that was for damn sure. Maybe Mum could make him some world famous Weasley stew. His green eyes were filled with tears and his lips were trembling like he was going to cry, covered in the blood coming from his crooked nose. Where did the tissues he go him go? Did he bleed through them already 

(Oh shit, Ron had to take Harry to the nurse didn’t he?)

Just as he was about to do that he heard someone scream “STUPEFY!” and the world went black. 

(Well that probably wasn't good)

Chapter Text

When Ron woke up it was to those shitty hospital lights that pierced through the meager defense of his eyelids and stabbed his retinas. Paired with the giant headache he had, his aching fists, and the taste of old blood in his mouth, he could say he was not too happy to be conscious. At all. 

The last thing he remembered was beating that bastard's face in before someone had dragged him off and knocked him out with a spell, with Harry screaming in the background. 

( Oh merlin's beard where was Harry- )

A small grumble interrupted his spiraling and he looked down to see a head full of black hair attached to the one and only Harry Potter on his cot, clinging onto him like a limpet. He was laying half on top of him with his fingers in a death grip on his robe. His glasses were askew on his nose that looked straighter now, but the blood was still on his clothes. Harry was asleep, and drooling everywhere. 

( It was so adorable that Ron had to resist the urge to squish his cheeks and coo at him yet again but currently his hands appeared to be out of commission )

It was then that he was rudely interrupted from his musings and Harry shot up like a rocket and clenched his fists somehow tighter on Ron’s robe. 

“Greetings Ronald, Harry.”, a wizened old man with a giant white beard and twinkling eyes said. Albus Dumbledore, head of Hogwarts. Ron didn’t believe the innocent old grandpa act for a minute, and judging by how Harry tensed at his side neither did he. 

Dumbledore looked at them in expectant silence, like he thought they would fawn over him or some bullshit like that. Harry had the opposite idea in mind however, and hissed at him. “I don’t know who you are but leave us alone right bloody now.” Dumbledore looked stunned at the hostility he was on the receiving end of before his face smoothed out yet again. 

“I am Albus Dumbledore, head of the Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, a pleasure to meet you Mr. Potter. I am here to talk about the-,” he waved his hand in Ron’s direction, “ incident that occurred recently in the dorms.” 

Harry glared at him even more and moved his body to cover more of Ron, like some shield from the older wizard. Ron was having none of that bollocks, and pushed him to the side so he could cover Harry instead. “I know how this works mate, gotten the talk a million times.” Ron whispered to Harry, assuring him before he faced Dumbledore. 

Harry however, beat him to the punch. “Ron didn’t do anything wrong Professor, he was just protecting me.” Dumbledore looked at them skeptically. “Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley assaulted a fellow student until he was unconscious and injured him severely.” Harry looked right back at him and raised an eyebrow. 

“Well that bastard assaulted Harry first, sir ”, Ron said with about as much respect as he had when he talked about spiders. 

( Which was absolutely none, fuck spiders, they were shifty bastards with too many legs and eyes, and were NOT to be trusted )

“Mr. Finnigan tossed a book and accidentally hit Mr. Potter in the nose.”

Ron shrugged nonchalantly. “Accident-smaccident, he threw a book and it hit my best mate, fucker got off lighter than he should’ve in my opinion. And  he would’ve gotten it if some blokes hadn’t pulled me off or hit me with a bloody stupefy” he growled. 

“Mr. Weasley it is not okay to assault a student under any circumstance-” Dumbledore tried valiantly to interrupt again, but Ron crushed his efforts mercilessly. 

“Listen, I don’t give a flying fuck if someone breathed at Harry wrong, I’d still curse their asses until they were stupid inco-”, Ron stopped and looked at Harry questioningly. “What’s that word when you talk nonsense mate? It starts with an I or something?” 

“Incoherent?” Harry quipped. Ron snapped his fingers and winced in regret as pain flared through his hand but quickly hid it before Harry could freak out. 

( It was a dumbass move, he’d admit okay? )

“You’re a bloody genius mate, knew you wore those spectacles for something” Ron said fondly, leaving Harry a sputtering blushing mess before he turned back to Dumbledore. “Back to what I was saying, I’d still curse their asses until they were stupid incoherent messes and bash in their skulls until I saw their tiny brains oozing out of their ears.”

“Ron, you can’t just say that!” Harry gasped, still blushing from embarrassment, but clearly recovered enough to be scandalized. “What Harry, it’s true. No one’s touching my best mate.” Ron practically purred, snuggling closer to Harry like a giant overgrown cat. Harry stuttered again, blushing redder than a tomato and fumbling with his words once more. 

It appeared to be a habit of his, but Ron wouldn’t care if he was deaf, dumb, and missing a limb, (or Merlin forbid he was in Slytherin ), he was still Ron’s, and nothing would change that. Nothing this old coot could do would change that.

—-------------------------------------------------------

Albus felt more than mildly disturbed as he watched the savior of the wizarding world and the most deranged, psychotic boy he had ever met snuggle together like Ronald didn’t just threaten to curse and horrendously disfigure and murder someone if they so much as breathed at Harry. 

 “Mr. Weasley, such jokes about violence and threats will not be tolerated at Hogwarts”, Albus stated, his voice somehow managing to not tremble during the process. 

(Albus knew that it wasn’t a joke, that Ronald was serious and would kill someone if they hurt Harry, and that terrified him.) 

Ronald looked back up from Harry, the fond look on his face melting into disdain and cold tempered rage. Albus had had very few people look at him like that in his long life, like he was simply an inconvenience that needed to be removed by violent force. 

When he looked to Harry for support he was shocked to find a cold glare directed at him as well, despite Albus remembering Minerva telling him Harry was a kind and agreeable child. The fact that Ronald had managed to turn The Boy Who Lived to his side in such a short period of time was terrifying, but it was not too late to rectify the situation. 

He simply had to separate the two, and set Harry back on the right path. Harry would forget about Ronald in a short time, he was sure, and he could make friends who weren’t dangerous and deranged. He smiled, decision made, and set out to correct his mistakes. It would be fine in the end after all. 

“Mr. Weasley I am afraid that I will have to expel you for continued threats of violence, blatant disregard for the safety of others, manipulating your peers, and assaulting another student-”

“ NO! ”  

Albus jumped, and Ronald tensed his grip around Harry. 

“YOU CAN’T DO THAT, YOU CAN’T TAKE HIM FROM ME!” Harry screamed half hysterically, somehow clinging onto Ronald even tighter. 

(Albus didn’t even think that was positive with magic, but he was surprised nonetheless) 

“Harry, I know it’s hard to let go of friends-” Albus tried to soothe him, sure he was just throwing a tantrum as children are wont to do. When Harry’s eyes started to glow Albus realized he was wrong, very, very wrong. 

“HE’S MINE, HE’S MINE, HE’S MINE-”, Harry kept chanting desperately, tears streaming down his face as the surrounding room began to shake. Albus tried to suppress the wild surge of magic but it was like trying to stem a tidal wave, crushing his efforts ruthlessly and advancing regardless. 

( This was not good )

—---------------------------------------------------------

“ MINEMINEMINEMINEMINE- ”, Harry screamed louder and louder at the same tempo the magic storm was growing, increasing with his panic and desperation. 

The room was shaking like an earthquake had hit, hurricane winds tearing up tiles and throwing them around like petals but Harry didn’t give a damn about the natural disaster around him. He couldn’t fucking breathe , his lungs were crushed down by the weight of panic and rage, sobs tearing out of his throat. He’d only met Ron a day ago but he was the only thing he had in this damned world and he wasn’t going to let him go, they couldn’t make him-

They couldn’t take Ron from him, he was his best friend, he’d said so himself, Ron was his, they couldn’t take him no-no-no-nO-NO-NO- NO-

“Harry, mate, you need to calm down.” 

The voice grabbed him out of the spiral he was sinking in and he looked towards Ron with tear blurred eyes. Ron smiled at him with his crooked teeth and crinkled blue eyes and Harry almost burst into tears again at the sight. He was gathered into Ron’s arms until he was sitting in his lap, his arms stroking down Harry’s back and holding his head into the crook of a freckled neck. 

“Just breathe for me Harry, m’kay?” 

Harry wanted to scream that no he couldn’t breathe right now because the room was collapsing and the world was ending but his protests crumpled like wet paper in the face of Ron’s request. 

“In and out mate, in and out.” he kept cooing into Harry’s hair, a calming mantra that he was helpless to resist while Ron rocked them back and forth. Eventually he could breathe normally, lulled into a sense of safety by Ron’s voice and his gentle petting. This was the safest he’d ever felt, Harry thought as he listlessly melted into a puddle.“It’ll be fine Harry, promise.” Ron whispered into his hair, pressing a small kiss on his head.   

“I’ll leave with you Ron”, Harry muttered tiredly, “we can run away together.” 

“That’s cute mate, we’ll just go back to the burrow instead, you can meet Mum and Dad and Ginny, they’ll love you I know.”

“Harry you can’t just leave Hogwarts-” Dumbledore rebutted, but Ron interrupted him violently.

“He’ll do whatever the fuck he wants old man” Ron snarled, wrapping his arms around Harry tighter as he kept stroking along Harry’s back, rendering his higher brain functions useless. “And you can’t stop him.” 

“Now Harry mate, what do you want to do?” he asked so sweetly, and Harry almost cried at how much Ron cared about him, more than anyone else in his life ever had. “I’m going wherever you are Ron.”, he said with absolute conviction. He would follow him to ends of the earth because Ron was his and he was Ron’s. 

( And that was that )

Ron bared his teeth victoriously at Dumbledore. “Well you heard him sir , going to expel me or not old man ?”

Dumbledore looked stricken and indecisive, and Harry felt his former mania creep back in before he could stop it. Ron glared up at Dumbledore with enough vitriol to make a tree wither and Dumbledore cleared his throat. “I’ll let you off with a warning this time Ronald. You clearly got too excited in protecting a dear friend, a mistake any young boy can make. Besides it's only the first day of school, you deserve a second chance. However, you will have detention for two months and give Mr. Finnigan an apology. Am I understood?” 

Ron smiled sickly sweet before nodding. “Of course sir, I’ll do it as soon as Harry is healed.” Dumbledore walked out of the door, visibly shaken. The stress of the entire day hit Harry like a train and he passed out, cocooned in Ron’s embrace and snugger than a goddamn bug in a rug.    

( Everything would be okay )  

Chapter Text

Ron didn’t like Hogwarts. It was fucking ginormous, with hundreds of stairs and halls, bitchy doors, annoying portraits, that twat peeves and his bloody cat, the list goes on and on, but most importantly it was full of people. People, who wouldn’t stop goddamn staring at Harry and whispering like he wasn’t already claimed by yours truly.  

“Do you see him?”

“Look at his scar”

“Who’s that bloke he’s next to?”

“I didn’t think he’d have glasses”

“Looks like a fucking rats nest his hair does.”

Harry slinked even further into Ron’s side, hunching further down with each new word and stare. Ron dragged him into his chest protectively and glowered at everyone who tried to approach them, daring them to come any closer so he could have a reason to rip out their eyeballs. 

It’d be difficult to do it with his bare hands but god invented thumbs for a reason, and if there was one thing Ron knew intimately, it was violence. He could practically hear the terrified screams of those magic reliant bastards when he crushed their throats. 

(Did you know that it only took 11 pounds of pressure applied to both carotid arteries for ten seconds to choke someone into unconsciousness? And only a total of 4.5 pounds of pressure placed on the jugular to do the same? Humans were so frail, it was honestly pathetic, yet it was also hysterical.)

“What class is this for again?”

“Uhm, Potions”, Harry said after checking his scroll. 

Ron let out a dramatic groan and slumped onto Harry despite the shorter boy's protests because he was ‘too heavy, do you eat rocks for breakfast good god -’.

Ron fucking hated potions. They were much too bloody complicated for a bloke like him who preferred to let his fists do the talking in the first place.

(I mean c’mon, who in their right mind decided to throw a bunch of inedible poisonous plants and random guts into a giant pot and stir it clockwise for 34 turns under the full moon of the solstice using the tears of a virgin? No one with their head screwed on right, that’s for damn sure )

And Ron especially hated enclosed spaces full of god knows what and a bunch of really fucking judgemental eyeballs ( who had no damn right to be that condescending- )  in jars watching them in a dungeon that should be classified as a health hazard. 

Absolutely nothing in here was to be trusted, especially the Slytherins. Whoever decided to put the Slytherins and Gryffindors together was just begging for a fight to happen and Ron would deliver with fucking pleasure if that blonde twat Malfoy kept looking at Harry like that.  

With his platinum blonde prissy hair and perfect skin and fancy ass robes that he bought using Daddy’s money made him want to strangle him. He bet he wore makeup too, that thick and cloddy stuff that only stupid and rich people could afford.

(Not that there’s anything wrong with being girly or wearing makeup mind you, his Mum had made sure to beat that into all of her kids, but Malfoy was a bitch in every sense of the word. Not like how Molly’s and Tommy’s would yell at their mates mind you, absolutely zero compliment intended, whatsoever)                                        

Just when Ron was picturing flaying Malfoys skin from his face, exposing the layers of fatty tissue and muscle strip by strip until all that was left was a screaming skull, he noticed a small pointy elbow jabbing his side. 

“Ow mate, the fuck was that for?” he hissed at the black haired perpetrator, before Harry pointed up towards the front of the classroom and the drab old man stalking towards the front. He was a greasy bugger, with thick black hair and what was quite possibly the worst case of hooknose he’d ever seen. Seriously, he had to be part hag, it was ridiculous. 

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” he began with a low and bitchy voice, but it echoed through the classroom like it was a graveyard.  “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic.” He said with a derisive sneer. “ I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses….” Snape trailed off, like he was verbally caressing a lover- which was imagery that he could’ve gone the rest of his life without thank you very the fuck much- before continuing. “I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”   

Ron raised his eyebrow and looked at Harry. Harry raised an eyebrow right back at him and shrugged in the classic ‘ Do I look like I know what’s going on ?’ stare. Which, was fair enough Ron supposed. 

The girl in the front, Herb something or other, was at the edge of her seat, practically vibrating with the need to prove her intelligence. Which, judging by the complete and absolute lack of acknowledgement, would not happen anytime soon. Poor bugger. Ron shook his head in non-existant sympathy for the plight of the well informed and smart women of the world. 

(Ron didn’t have any sympathy because let’s be honest, he was not the sharpest tool in the box when it came to anything besides bloodshed, but he accepted that he was stupid and acted accordingly. He also had an empathy disorder but that’s neither here nor there)

And then the bastard decided to pick on Harry and Ron was this close to ripping off his nose, but he could only fume in rage if he wanted to keep close to Harry. It was a classic catch twenty-two, and a shitty one in Ron’s opinion as he glared at Snape and drew Harry closer to him under the table. If he couldn’t kill the wanker now, he’d at least support Harry during this trying time, at least until he could Snape and present Harry with the shithead’s corpse. 

—————————

“Potter!” said Snape suddenly, interrupting Harry’s small panic attack induced by whatever the fuck was staring at him from a jar with too many teeth and his valiant attempt to wiggle back into the safety of Ron’s arms like a worm burrowing into the soil after the rain. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Powdered root of what to an infusion of huh ?  Harry gave a helpless look towards Ron, who looked just as, if not more confused than Harry right now, but with more cold blooded killing intent. Bloody hell he was doomed. 

“I don’t know, sir,” said Harry, like the honest and upstanding student that he wasn’t.

Snape’s lips curled into a sneer and his eyes gained a sharp glint; the same one Pugsley would get when he cornered him in ‘get the freak’. 

“Tut, tut – fame clearly isn’t everything.”

He ignored Hermione’s hand that was sticking ardently in the air like a particularly stubborn stick in the mud that refused to be conquered. 

“Let’s try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Oh because that was so much better. 

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle looked like they were two seconds from collapsing onto the floor in absolute hysterics and cracking their skulls on the pavement. Harry personally didn’t care, at least they weren’t hitting him this time. But he had a feeling that wouldn’t be a problem with a certain red head at his side. Though if anything had been proven true in his life, it was that he was fates chew toy at this point. Ron however, looked like he was two seconds away from stabbing Draco in the eyes with his wand; and his ire was soon to be transferred to Snape if he kept talking, Harry could sense it. He discreetly patted his leg in a comforting motion, praying he wouldn’t flip out at another teacher in two days. He’d only had Ron for two days but knew that if anything happened to him he would kill everyone he could find and then himself. 

“I don’t know, sir.” Harry repeated like the outstanding intellectual he was.

“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter?” Snape sneered, like he was supposed to have memorized all of his school material before coming to school to learn it. 

Hermione stood up, knocking over the books on the desk in a giant clatter. “Professor Snape, why do you insist on ignoring me? It’s very discriminatory and sexist, I thought that the wizard world was better than this. Or are you better than the rest of us?” she snarked with a voice colder than a lake in winter. 

(Which was a valid and most likely accurate point to be certain, but not one you pointed out.)

“ Sit down , 10 points from Gryffindor House for that blatant disrespect for your elders, Miss Granger” he snapped at Hermione. She gave him a glare from behind her curly brown hair that said she’d love absolutely nothing more than to scalp him like a trout, but sat down nonetheless. 

“I like this Granger chick” Ron whispered with an approving nod, an appreciative glint in his usually cold eyes. Harry thought they were the prettiest things he’d ever seen in his life; glistening like condensed ice and sparking like fire when he got angry. 

“For your information, Potter-” Snape said, snapping Harry out of his reverie, “- asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of the Living Death.”

What kind of Romeo and Juliette inspired bullshit is that -

“A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons.-“

How does that even work 

“As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite.” 

Harry had never been so goddamn confused in his entire life, and he thinks it showed. Snape looked around at everyone “Well? Why aren’t you all copying this down?”

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and paper in the classroom as they all hastened to obey in hopes of not attracting his ire. Over the noise, Snape said, “And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your blatant disrespect, Potter.”

Ron and Hermione stood up at the exact same time, enraged beyond belief if the snarl on Ron’s face and the narrowed eyes on Hermione were anything to go by. 

“That’s fuckin’ bullshit , Harry didn’t do anything to you-” Ron started, the exact time that Hermione piped up and said “It’s illogical and irrational to detract points from Gryffindor based on a perceived slight from a student-” 

“ SILENCE !” Snape boomed, snarling at Ron and Hermione. “Mr. Weasely, Mr. Potter, and Miss Granger, you all have detention for two weeks for disrespecting your professor, interrupting class, telling me how to teach, and wasting valuable class time! 100 points from Gryffindor!” Cries of dissent and amusement rose from both sides of the classroom respectively, but a glare from Snape silenced all of them. 

Things only kept getting steeper on their handcart to hell, with Snape hating on Gryffindors with the passion of a thousand suns and glaring at the three of them like they pissed in his cereal. Ron was enjoying the look if his crooked grin was anything to go by, but Harry didn’t appreciate it quite as much. 

Ron noticed his discomfort and decided to make it his now his god given mission to attract as much of Snape’s attention as he possibly could to get the heat off Harry. It was working to varying degrees of success, but Harry wanted to break down and sob in Ron’s shoulder because it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done in his entire life, and also because Snape gave him the creeps. 

Snape put them all into pairs, fortunately putting Harry and Ron together, keeping Ron from starting a riot. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs with a disdainful eye, criticizing everyone for everything except for Draco, the only child he appeared to have any modicum of fondness for. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his slugs or something, to the delight of Draco if his preening was anything to go by, when a giant hiss and puff of green smoke followed by a scream and a cartoonish thunk echoed through the classroom. 

 Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus’s cauldron into a twisted blob through the sheer power of incompetence and magic. Their potion, which should be classified as a health hazard, was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people’s shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools, most of them screaming at the green bubbling ooze at their feet.

Neville, who had been drenched in the potion and looked like he’d taken a dip in a swamp, collapsed in agony while moaning in pain as hundreds of angry red boils popped over his skin, to the endless amusement of Ron. 

“Look at that poor bastard” he snickered, finding pleasure in Neville’s writhing on the floor. Hermione looked disdainful at the interruption, but a glint of fascination had entered her eye when they started leaking pus. 

“Idiot boy!” snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”

Neville whimpered as he laid in a pitiful mess on the floor. He was a sorry sight, for certain.

“Take him up to the hospital wing,” Snape spat at Seamus, who had been mourning the tragic and abrupt loss of his cauldron. Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

“You – Potter – why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That’s another point you’ve lost for Gryffindor.”

That was so blatantly and utterly unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, and Ron looked more than ready to join him, but Hermione sent a glare their way and Ron was too busy raising his hackles at her to respond by the time Snape was back to screaming at innocent children for the crime of existing in a school. 

An hour later with a very, very furious Ron who had been ready to go right back and ‘ shove that bastards wand up his fucking hook nose and rip out his goddamn brain before melting him in his cauldron Harry, fucking no one talk about my best mate like that- ’; had been somewhat pacified through a mix of blatant emotional manipulation, guilt tripping, and some strategic cuddling. 

As they walked together in the halls, Ron’s arm draped over his shoulder protectively as he glared at everyone else, Harry pondered just what exactly had crawled up Snape’s ass and died a horrible death. It wasn’t that big of a deal Harry supposed, he’d been through much worse after all. But perhaps it was because his brain went all fuzzy and warm whenever Ron put his lanky fore-arm around Harry and held him close to his chest like he could meld them together through sheer willpower, broadcasting to the world that Harry belonged to him. It was a nice feeling, belonging to someone Harry had decided. 

It felt like a blanket, warm and safe on a cold winter's night, keeping out the frost and smelling like home. Home was a new word to Harry, he’d only ever had a house. But he’d found it in cold blue eyes, fiery hair, constellations like freckles, and a sharp smile. He wanted to keep it there permanently. 

(And he would)

Chapter Text

Ron liked to think he was a master of detention in theory, being related to the twins who had the record for most detentions ever given to two students in a year in the extensive history of Hogwarts, with a whopping two thousand three hundred and fifty six.  

( Mum was absolutely furious and Fred and George were the smuggest bastards that ever did exist about it for months. )

But even the long and arduous speeches that Fred and George had given Ron in preparation to rot in a classroom because ‘ he’s a chip off the old block Percy, just you wait, Ronny boy here will be getting in fights left and right’ could not prepare him for the complete and utter agony that awaited in that dank and dark dungeon. 

He had to sit next to Hermione fucking Granger in all her unglorified glory, pulling the eyes out of frogs, while that greasy git Snape fucked off to who knows where, because the universe clearly hated him. 

(Probably because of the several war crimes he has committed against small animals, and medium animals, and large animals, and people, and insects, and that one rock- ) 

 Harry was next to him, leaning into his side like the little koala he absolutely was, so he decided to not completely lose his shit. Ron wanted to coo at Harry for being so goddamn adorable it melted his non existent soul, but right now they were decidedly in enemy territory; with Miss aCtUaLLy sitting right next to them, using a knife and a pair of tweezers with far too much grace to not be suspicious. 

Hermione was more of a threat than Snape, simply because she was like Ron; a fellow predator. He could tell in the boredom in her face, the empty look in her eyes that only seemed to spark to life when blood was in the air. 

(That and her obsession with teeth of any kind that she seemed absolutely hell bent on obtaining even if she had to rip them out of people’s skulls. Which was something that Ron could, begrudgingly, respect. )

Where Ron liked to make things quick and messy, ripping out the eyeballs from the frogs with a viscous glee, she took it slowly, popping them out and snipping the optic nerve with mechanical efficacy born from hours of practice. 

“You know you’re just damaging the retina’s correct?” Hermione said with a raised eyebrow as she plinked another eyeball into a jar; interjecting into Ron’s peace and quite like it was her god given right. ( Which it was, in fact, not )

“Well no bloody shit Sherlock” he drawled, throwing another half destroyed eyeball into the jar, “some of us aren’t brown nosers like you.” Harry stabbed him with his sharp elbows that were quickly becoming a health hazard to Ron’s gut and smiled at Hermione like he didn’t just grievously injure Ron’s internal organs not even two seconds ago. 

“Don’t mind Ron, he’s a bit rude, but he’s really quite nice when you get to know him, promise.” Harry promised with the most angelic expression, unbefitting of someone who’s body should be registered as a fucking weapon . 

“I somehow doubt that with how he put Seamus in the hospital wing not even 24 hours ago.” she snarked. 

“Fucker deserved it”, Ron wheezed as he cradled his stomach and tried to breathe. “I doubt that whatever he did was enough to warrant full on assault.” Hermione said, supremely unimpressed as she snipped another optic nerve. “Ron’s just a bit overprotective is all, one of his perks.” Harry said as he tried, and failed, to not squish the retina completely upon transferring it off of the main body. A small pout adorned his face and Ron wanted to squeeze his cheeks but he refrained because of the vitreous fluid and blood covering his hands. 

“Well it’s still a violent assault and you,” she punctuated by jabbing a pair of tweezers at him, “should’ve been expelled like the danger you clearly are.” 

“Fair enough,” Ron shrugged. “But they let little old me stay because Sweetpea here had a few select words with the old man and they decided it was better to keep the only reason the famous Boy Who Lived is even staying here.” He let out a little smirk and squeezed Harry’s hand.

 “So you black mailed the headmaster into letting you stay by abusing his status as a savior?” Hermione said with a righteous fury building in her eyes. 

“Oh get off your bloody high horse, we all know you would have resorted to black mail too in our position. Nah, that’s not right, you would probably pin it on someone else and watch them get expelled as you stayed in this namby-pamby castle, like a goddamn coward.” Ron said as he bared his teeth in a macabre facsimile of a grin. 

“Of course I wouldn’t that’s against rules-” she started before Ron cut her off. 

“Well it’s exactly what I would do in that situation if I didn’t want to leave.” 

“Are you insinuating that I am an uneducated, violent, brute like you?” She said with an icy cold voice that held a challenge Ron was eager to take. “I’m not insinuating shit sweetheart, I’m just stating facts.” 

“You have no evidence to back that up, you psychopathic heathen.” 

“Well if it takes one to know one asshole-” Ron started before Harry interrupted.

—------------------------------------ 

“Well how about both of you fucking shut up so we can get this done because this is gross, it’s past ten at night, and all I want to do is go to bed and get some shut eye but I CAN’T because you two are fighting like cats and dogs when the real enemy here is Snape!” Harry yelled, beyond exhausted and pissy. Hermione and Ron stared at him like he’d grown two heads but Harry could not give less of a fuck right now if said fuck grew legs and started tap dancing.

“He’s the reason we’re even doing this menial bullshit so why don’t you-” he pointed at Ron, “stop being an asshole and trying to start fights, and you-” he pointed to Hermione, “stop trying to correct us.” 

“Hey-” Rons said with a frown, sounding offended but Harry was having exactly none of that shit right now. “Don’t you even start you big idiot, you’ve been ignoring me for the past twenty minutes to fight with Hermione so shush .” Ron shrank, looking sufficiently cowed, before he moved onto Hermione. 

“And you need to stop acting like you’re better than us just because you’re smarter and stop insulting Ron and calling him names because you’re the exact same way, or else you and I will be having some problems, Comprehendo ?” Harry snarled. 

“Comprehendo isn’t even a word -” Hermione started the same time Ron decided to pipe in offense and say “I’m nothing like this bitch-” But Harry shut them up with a glare. 

“Now both of you are going to apologize and play nice or else , am I understood?” 

“Yes ma’m” Ron grumbled. 

“Yes, Harry.” Hermione sighed. 

“Great!” Harry beamed. 

They stood in silence for a solid thirty seconds as Ron cleared his throat several times and Hermione coughed into her hand. 

“....I’m sorry for being a dick, even though I was just stating a fact-” Harry grabbed his ear with a vice grip and yanked it down towards him, forcing Ron to bend over and yell in pain. “OW, OW, OW, OW, OKAY, OKAY, I DIDN’T MEAN IT STOP PULLING MY EAR-” 

“.....And I apologize for being rude to the two of you, it was untowards of me.” Hermione mumbled as she traced patterns into the floor with her foot. 

“Truce?” Harry questioned with a voice that left no room for disagreement. “Truce” Ron and Hermione both gritted out, sounding like it was physically painful for them to act civilly. 

“Good, now let’s finish this bullshit and get back to bed.” Harry said before he almost face planted into the table with all of the grace of a newborn giraffe from sheer exhaustion. 

Ron caught him in his arms and cradled him into his chest like he was a doll, plopping him into his lap. “All right mate, all right, let’s calm down now tiger.” Ron chuckled as he arranged Harry so his head was in the crook of his neck, draped half over his lap in a bastardized princess hold so he could continue with his valiant mission of frog mutilation for science. 

(No wait, it was magic wasn’t it? But potions is basically just chemistry but fancier so it had to be science, but if you’re using magical ingredients- and Jesus fuck Harry was too tired for this) 

Harry tried mightily to detest this unfair -and very comfortable- treatment but Ron simply scratched his head absentmindedly and his brain blue screened. Fuck comfy beds, fuck going to sleep full, this was the real heaven on earth, rough fingers carding through his hair surrounded by warmth and the cathartic sound of Ron’s heartbeat. His eye-lids drooped and he felt consciousness slip away like grains of sand through fingers. “G’night” Harry mumbled into Ron’s shirt before he let sleep overcome him. 

—--------------------

Hermione watched Ron cradle an unconscious Harry in his arms and carry him up the stairs with a fond and bemused expression with a sense of dark fascination. 

Hermione had studied biology as a child, enamored with symbiotic relationships and how two species could find uses in each other and evolve to live side by side in multiple ways, by benefiting both or one side of the partnership. It changed from each and every single example but Hermione had yet to discover a true example of mutualistic symbiosis in humans. 

( Codependency could technically count but the exchange was closer to parasitism, not mutualism. )

But these two were the picture perfect definition of a mutualistic symbiotic relationship. She watched them interact so innocuously, looking normal for all intents and purposes, just like two regular twelve year old boys. 

But she saw the truth, the push and pull, the give and take in each and every contact they made. There was possessiveness in every touch, adoration in each gaze, a twisted obsession that they branded into each other's skin. It was a claim, a promise, and a threat all in once, promising nothing but destruction for those who tried to encroach. 

Ron acted as protection for Harry and Harry acted as stability for Ron. Neither could go without each other without ceasing to function at basic levels, both psychological and physical.

(Ron would most likely become increasingly violent until someone put him down like a rabid dog and Harry would simply wither into a mere shade. They could survive apart, yes, but not thrive)

They were something so deeply and irreversibly intertwined with each other that they could never be separated in any permanent sense, a single entity in two bodies. It was beautiful and hideous all at once, something otherworldly and unattainable, not meant to be witnessed by mortal eyes. But Hermione would watch every single step they took, even if it meant succumbing to the darkness, to document this miraculous nightmare. 

Because Hermione Granger was many things but first and foremost she was a scientist, and all good scientists did whatever it took to get data, even at the behest of themselves and others. 

( And Hermione was going to be the best scientist there ever was ) 

Chapter Text

Some people had problems with biting. The experience of having teeth pierce through your flesh and draw blood was not exactly pleasant, and neither was the pain that remained. Bleeding out and dying was also not preferred, and neither was scarring. 

( That and rabies, people were really concerned about rabies ) 

Those people, however, were not Ron. Ron had a biting solution , and that solution was more fucking biting. Worked like an absolute charm. 

Fred and George try to steal your stuff? Bite them until they start screaming for Mum. 

Someone’s annoying? Bite them until you taste blood and someone has to drag you off kicking and snarling. 

A problem occurs? Just attach your teeth to whatever is responsible and shake your head side to side viciously, ripping shreds of flesh off. 

Everyone in his family had scarred bite marks filled with his magic on them that were courtesy of Ron’s incisors, a fact that he took immense pride in. ( Everyone was less than thrilled and screamed when they first got them but that was a sacrifice Ron was willing to make to keep them safe and his ) 

It had taken some time and effort to make marks and get them to actually keep them because they clearly did not understand how much love and devotion went into each tooth that drew blood and replaced it with a part of him to lay a claim to them. But Ron made them understand and now they barely even blinked when he freshened his claims on them. 

The only person who didn’t have a scar from him was Harry, something that made him antsy and unsatisfied. It wouldn’t do to leave his most precious possession untainted, he needed to tie them together until they melded into one being so they can never be separated again. 

The question was where should he bite down as his first mark? And would Harry let him? 

Ron would do it regardless but consent is sexy kids and he preferred to do this whole mess with someone willing. Trying to bite someone who was not on board led to a lot of blood, screaming, and getting smacked on the head like an unruly dog. 

( Which Ron was not, thank you very the fuck much; people just couldn’t appreciate art when they saw it )

All in all not a pleasant experience. But if worse came to worst, then Ron would do what he had to do to protect Harry, regardless of whether Harry wanted it or not. But hopefully it worked out well. 

—-----------------------------------------------

Ron liked to chew things a lot, Harry had noticed. There was always something in his mouth getting torn to pieces by his sharp teeth, a quill, a piece of chocolate, his nails, his lips, his brothers arms, just to name a few. 

(Harry was so goddamn confused when he saw Ron casually start mauling Fred’s arm at breakfast that he almost fainted from surprise. George however had assured him this was a casual occurrence and pulled up his sleeves to reveal a plethora of teeth marks left from a certain redhead. “Everyone in the family has at least one bite from Ronnie-kins here, it’s how he shows affection.” Fred nodded with a slightly haunted look in his eyes that Percy mirrored as he unconsciously clutched his tricep. Ron had simply bared his canines in a predatory grin around Fred’s bicep smugly at the accusation .)

Harry had concluded that either Ron had an oral fixation or biting was just how you showed affection to people close to you. ( Though his experience with families, much less wizarding families, was admittedly very limited ) 

He did, however, have a habit of chewing on Harry’s fingers like a teething baby, much to the dismay of his abused finger tips. ( That shit hurts like a bitch but Harry just couldn’t help but enable that man ) Harry tried to stop it at first for the sake of public decency but Ron would simply pout at him and bat his icy eyes and Harry would crumple like a wet paper towel. The savior of the wizarding world, The Boy Who Lived, folding like a stack of cards at the first sign of a frown on his best mate. It wasn’t Harry’s fault he was shit at denying Ron anything, especially if it was a reason that he couldn’t leave his arms.  

( Mostly because he never wanted to leave in the first place but Harry pleaded the fifth )

The problem was that Harry had had more contact with Ron in a few weeks than he’d experienced in the first twelve years of his life combined. They sat next to each other in class and Harry had learned that Ron was A) not very studious, B) not good with authority and C) he’d probably get expelled if Harry wasn’t there to calm him down from killing someone for breathing too loud when he was trying to concentrate. 

Ron ate right next to him, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, shoving food onto his plate and hand feeding him like a baby bird while fretting that he was ‘ a goddamn twig mate I’ve seen hags with more fat on them good lord- ’. In the end he’d given up on trying to make Harry eat from his own plate and simply heaped up enough for two on his plate so he could guilt trip him into eating with those stupid fucking eyes and freckles. 

After what Harry had dubbed ‘The Seamus Incident’, and Ron had dubbed ‘Proof That Hogwarts Was Full Of Cowards’; they had gotten reassigned to another dorm room, this time for two. There was a pair of beds in the room but Ron had taken one ( very unimpressed )  look at them, shoved all of their shit on one and dumped Harry on the other before he crawled on top of him and took a very impromptu nap. After that they simply slept on the bed together to the delight of Harry because not only did he get an actual feather mattress, he got a free human heater that would soothe him after nightmares and make him feel snugger than a goddamn bug in a rug. 

The only thing they didn’t do was go to the loo together, though not for lack of effort on Ron’s part. He was utterly convinced that Harry would manage to slip, fall, and die if he wasn’t supervising him because he had somehow gotten the idea that Harry was a small frail baby bird that would perish if unattended. He’d begged, threatened, pleaded, and bargained but Harry had to draw the line in the sand fucking somewhere and that was taking out his cock in front of other people thank you very much . Ron had said he’d take him to dinner first with a lascivious smirk and Harry had smacked him in his smug face while blushing furiously because he couldn’t stand to see that not only was Ron beautiful; he was also really fucking good at flirting which simply was not fair. 

It should be restricting and suffocating by all accounts, having his every move carefully watched, surrounded by Ron’s oppressive presence at every waking and sleeping moment but instead  it just felt……. safe . Ron looked at him like he was something precious that needed to be protected, with unending adoration and possessiveness. It made every instinct in his hind brain purr with satisfaction, knowing that he was that important to someone. 

And he knows that it’s not healthy to crave affection so viscerally it feels like he has a hole in his chest; but he couldn’t give a flying fuck wether it’s wrong or right when everything in his head goes blissfully quite in the safe haven of Ron’s freckled arms. He’d turned into some sort of addict to Ron’s touch; if he wasn’t touching Ron it felt cold and so so wrong, like he’d suddenly been left in the snow on a winter's night after standing in front of the fire for hours. It was stupid and illogical but that warm fuzziness that hushed all of his thoughts was something that Harry would fucking fight someone over. 

To be completely and totally honest it’s pathetic how much he wants to crawl under his skin and into his ribcage so he can meld with his heart; but Harry has never been mentally stable in his life and he sure as hell doesn’t plan to start any time soon. Ron is the first thing Harry has called his own and he never plans to let him go. 

Ever. 

Because everything good in his life had died but Ron was the one thing Harry refused to let escape under any circumstances, come hell or high water. If it came down to it Harry would kill a man for Ron, ( or lie about Ron murdering someone because let’s be honest, he was the one more inclined towards murderous tendencies ), or kill Ron himself to keep him. Which was something that should probably land him in a psych-ward but Harry had already been there and done that, and he was never doing it again. Thank you Dursleys, that was one very prolonged doctor's appointment he would never forget. 

So when Ron comes up to him and asked “Harry mate, can I claim you?”, with a dark smile, Harry blushed furiously, shoves his hand into his face, and agrees instantly, like the goddamn fool he absolutely is for this man. 

Ron’s pupils expanded until his irises were practically non-existent and he’d let out a small little growl. ( He looked like Miss Figg’s cats when they were on catnip, except he was the cat nip in the situation ) 

“You know you can’t take this shit back mate? Once I do it it’s done.” Ron said solemnly despite the fact that he was practically fucking vibrating with need. Harry blushed a deeper shade of red and nodded, mortified beyond words. He thankfully took that as all the permission he needed because if Harry had to vocalize exactly how much he wanted Ron’s teeth in him he would’ve jumped off of the London Tower head first. 

Ron lifted his hand to his mouth with something akin to reverence as he laid his teeth gently on his skin. Blue eyes looked up at him with a voracious sort of hunger, a silent ask for permission that made Harry shiver at how much the beast in front of him held himself back, even though he wanted to devour him whole. 

( And Harry knew what it was like to be prey, to be the target of hunger, but this was deeper than that, an all consuming force that wanted to consume every single part of him; not to fill it’s stomach but simply to hold him deep inside, making Harry melt into a puddle )

Harry nodded breathlessly and his skin bristled with anticipation as teeth slowly closed down onto his palm with increasing pressure, those cold eyes staring at him as his skin broke. His nerves wailed with pain and blood welled up to the surface but Harry didn’t give a flying fuck as he felt each layer of tissue break under Ron’s mouth, this was the most important moment of his life, pain be damned.

Ron’s teeth stayed in his palm for a long time, gently moving back and forth, deepening his wounds intimately in a way that made Harry’s heart swell. When he released his teeth he licked up the crimson on Harry’s fingers with a single minded devotion, not letting a drop escape. 

It felt like worship, it felt like obsession, it felt like love, and Harry was completely and utterly gone for anyone else. Ronald Weasley had ruined him for anyone else but Harry didn’t even care. Ron looked up at him with a bloody smile and Harry blushed even more furiously, and he was surprised that his hand was even bleeding with how much blood had taken residence in his cheeks. 

His hand’s bleeding had stopped momentarily and it made Harry frown for a second. He didn’t want it to stop bleeding, wanted it to stop healing so he could keep it permanently. Soon enough his blood would congeal and the tissue would repair itself until all that was left was a pale scar. The thought unsettled Harry deeply. He just had to irritate and pick at it so it would never heal again. Now that sounded nice he thought with a soft smile as he flexed his hand to feel the ache that was to become his life long companion as Ron gathered him in his arms with a sweet smile. 

( It felt like home )

Chapter Text

When Ron saw that Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning to fly together he let out a snarl at the offending flier on the wall while Harry let out a groan. 

“Now I have to embarrass myself in front of Malfoy” Harry moaned pathetically and Ron wanted nothing more than to bash in Malfoy’s skull at that very moment. Harry had been looking forward to learning how to fly a broom ever since he’d learned brooms could fly and had asked Ron a million questions with sparkles in his eyes. Harry was absolutely radiant whenever someone even brought up the subject, so much so Ron suspected he would go blind. 

And now his darling mate’s happiness was being threatened. This was a defcon one emergency, right here 

“Fuck Malfoy, you’ll do great mate and if he laughs I’ll strangle him with his intestines” Ron says as he squeezes Harry’s hand reassuringly. It’s the one with his bite on it ( His bite, it still makes him giddy with joy to think that Harry is now completely claimed by him ) and he can feel the scabs forming against the skin of his palm. It makes him practically purr with contentment. 

Ron could spend hours tracing the crescent red indents his teeth had left in Harry’s skin, a reminder of ownership embedded into flesh. Ron was the luckiest bastard alive or dead to be able to call Harry Potter, the boy savior, his own and Harry let him. He’d wanted it, always shoved up against Ron’s side like it’d kill him to be apart for even a second out of the protection of Ron’s arms, looking at him for every decision like he’d hung the stars in the sky himself. It made Ron want to fucking squish his face and coo because he was just the sweetest thing ever. 

When George had showed him Ron’s bites and explained the claim to him Harry wouldn’t stop looking at his mouth longingly, glaring at his brothers with a look of cutting jealousy anytime scar tissue was exposed. When Ron had propositioned him to get the bite he’d blushed so hard he looked like a tomato with a gleam in his eyes that was so beautifully dark Ron felt like he was drowning. 

And Harry was just so, so , perfect when Rom was biting him, such a good boy, sitting there and taking what he was given witn pathetic little whines and whimpers spilling out of his lips and teary emerald eyes. He didn’t move an inch from Ron, even when he was lapping up his blood like some shitty vampire, his very fucking DNA ( And wasn’t that a thought ). He’d shuddered in pain and let out little gasps, but he shoved his hand deeper, like an offering to a god, or to a monster. It made Ron feel warm and syrupy, being the object of such trust from someone who trusted nothing. 

( Hell, Harry still wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t hallucinating Ron, something that amused him to no end but also made him want to rip out the eyeballs of whoever made him feel like nothing good could ever happen to him. He’d kill them one day though, nice and slow ) 

“Besides all the git does is talk about how good he is at Quidditch, bet that’s just to cover up how shite he is at it” Ron says as he wiggles his eyebrows, getting a small chuckle out of Harry. 

“He certainly does have a lot of stories that somehow end up with him narrowly escaping helicopters no?” Harry says with a small smirk that makes Ron snort like a fucking horse. Everyone has heard him bitch about how first years aren’t allowed brooms ( which everyone agrees is stupid ), and how he’d be sUcH a GrEaT sEeKeR or whatever. A fucking blind toad was more fit for the job. 

But today was flying lessons and Ron was going to make sure Harry had the best time of his fucking life learning the basis for the greatest sport in the world. Quidditch was where it was at, anyone with half a brain could tell. Except for Dean who was obsessed with ‘ soccer ’. Ron could never like a sport that only had one ball and no magic, no matter how much Dean had argued with him. 

(After a nice long chat at the hospital wing Ron and Dean had made a truce that as long as he didn’t pull any shit like he did earlier with the book then they could get along great. He honestly wasn’t that bad of a bloke at all, just had shit aim and low self preservation skills. Which was a perfect description of Ron according to Charlie but Charlie could choke on a goddamn dragon dick)

“C’mon mate, let’s go eat some breakfast, put some meat on your skinny ass” he says with a jab to Harry’s ribs that makes him hunch in on himself and pout like a five year old who got told everything wrong with the world.

What’s really wrong is that Ron can count every single one of his ribs like goddamn ladder rungs in his chest but with enough time anyone can fatten up, even a starving 12 year old boy. Once Ron had stretched Harry’s stomach out a bit he discovered that Harry could give them all a run for their money in terms of raw food consumption and eating speed, the skinny little shit could devour three plates in three minutes and look like he’d not taken a bite in weeks.

 It was an endless task trying to keep Harry fed but Ron was nothing if not hell bent on his well being even if he had to feed him every fucking bite himself. Which is what he did, shoveling food into his mouth until his little chipmunk cheeks were stuffed full and he started squirming around and shoving Ron’s fork away. Fred and George mocked Ron for feeding Harry like he was a baby bird but he couldn’t care less. 

(He did however throw a pitcher at them full of ice cold pumpkin juice when they caused Harry to shrink in on himself with embarrassment; making them both shriek when they got assaulted by the freezing liquid. Ron had cackled like a mad man and Harry had snorted pumpkin juice out his nose before George had thrown a roll at them; and then it was a full out fucking war )

They walked down to breakfast; (Hint: Ron carried Harry downstairs on his back while the little shit drooled on his robes ) and set him up in the proper position so that he wouldn’t face plant into the eggs. 

(Harry was many things, adorable, a smart ass, the sassiest little shit he’d ever met, but a morning person he was not. Ron had to practically drag his limp body out of bed and pry him off Ron in the morning while Harry let out an assortment of mumbled complaints and curses and clung onto the sheets for dear fucking life. For a twig he had a grip of steel)

He heaped up food onto their plate and tapped Harry’s cheek with his hand and rolled his eyes when Harry grumbled at him. “Open your mouth you little shit I got grub” Harry opened his mouth slowly and Ron fed him a bite of eggs before eating a bite himself while Harry chewed sleepily 

“Here comes Momma bird!” Fred crowed mockingly from the table. “Taking such good care of her fledgling!” George finished with a laugh. “Fucking shove it Fred, no one asked!” Ron yelled before giving Harry another mouthful and glaring as balefully as he could with a barely conscious Harry halfway in his lap. 

“Harry can feed himself.” Miss know it all said,  interrupting her spiel from the book on Quidditch she had read. It was the one thing she couldn’t just smart her way out of, something that caused her endless anxiety and Ron endless things to give her shit about. “Oh shut up, at least I’m not boring the entire fucking table.” Ron spat back. “I’m not bored” Neville piped up, only to be shut down by a glare from Ron. “That’s because you’ve never been on a broomstick in your life because your so fucking accident prone you clumsy bastard.” Neville looked aghast, but also couldn’t really say anything in his defense because he was indeed a walking disaster. 

(The man could trip if he was duct-taped to the goddamned FLOOR.) 

Hermione was just about to fight back and Ron was practically grinning in anticipation when they were interrupted by a barn owl dropping a package in front of Neville. He opened it excitedly to show them a….. Large glass marble with white smoke in it? 

“It’s a Remembrall!” Neville explained gleefully, because no one goddamn asked. “Gran knows I forget things –” and god bless that old woman because Ron would’ve strangled this kid by the fifth broken vase, “- and it tells you if there’s something you’ve forgotten to do. You just have to  hold it tight like this and if it turns red – oh…” His face fell as it glowed a bright red “…you’ve forgotten something… but what did I forget?” he trailed off. Ron could not give less of a fuck if it grew legs and did the macarena, as he was preoccupied with important things, like feeding a slowly growing conscious Harry some toast. 

Then the blonde fucking bitch boy himself came up and snatched it out of Neville’s hand. “Well, well, well what’s this here Longbottom?” He sneered. Hermione reared up in righteous fury along with a girl called Zoe, both of them looking like they wanted to sock him in the face, something that Ron could get behind. He unfortunately couldn’t participate in the fight right now and it broke his non-existent heart. 

“Potter, getting the weasel to feed you like you’re a tyke? I knew you had a guard dog but I didn’t think you had a replacement for your dead mud blood mo-” Ron took it back, he was actually not occupied at all at this current moment, all he had scheduled today was breaking every single fucking bone in Malfoy’s spine. 

Hermione looked at him across the table and they both nodded, silently agreeing that Malfoy needed to die slowly and painfully for Harry’s honor. Ron gently put a disgruntled Harry out of his lap and stood with his fork and a plan and shove it through Malfoy’s eye socket while Hermione reared up with a book heavy enough to crack someone’s wrist. Right then, Zoe grabbed Hermione by the waist and yanked her back. The same moment Harry wrapped his arms around him, pinning Ron’s arms to his side and dug his heels into the floor. 

“Calm down Ron it’s not worth it-” Harry started before Ron glared at him. “You are worth that and more mate, now let me go I need to string this fuckers nervous system across the goddamn table” Ron snarled at a now very pale looking Malfoy. Good, fucker should be scared because Ron was going to deliver his promise very, very, slowly. Hermione glowered at the two ugly lackeys of Malfoy’s with faces that not even a mother could love if she was stoned out of her goddamn mind. 

Right at the moment Ron had wiggled out of Harry’s vice grip and prepped to lunge over the table that shitty coward was hiding behind the hag herself appeared. “What is going on here?” Mconogal asked sternly. “He stole Neville's Remembrall and then called Harry’s mother a mud blood.” Hermione said matter of factly, the one time in her life being a tattle-tale was actually useful. 

“Just playing Professor” Malfoy said with a scowl and Ron was about to get his skinny ass before Harry pulled the dirtiest move imaginable. “If you go after him I’m getting rid of your Queen in your chest set.” Harry whispered. Ron gaped at him, horrified that he would even threaten to take Elizabeth. 

“You wouldn't,” Ron gasped. 

“I would.” Harry said, glaring at him from under the black mop he called hair.

“You can’t be serious Harry a man chess set is sacred-” 

“If I can hide candy from Dudley I can hide Elizabeth.” 

“Oh my god you are serious.” Ron said, scared out of his goddamn mind. If he lost Elizabeth all of his chess pieces would riot and he just got them to stop a revolution. Ron deflated like a balloon and sat down with a huff. “Fine, but I get to kill him later.” he grumbled.

 “Of course.” Harry said offhandedly, “Now can I please have some hash browns, you’ve been holding the fork there for five minutes.” Ron looked down to notice that he had been holding the (slightly bent) fork in his hand in a vice grip. Ron rolled his eyes but put the fork in Harry’s mouth nonetheless to a very smug looking Harry. “I should’ve left you in that train compartment where I found you.” Ron grumbled. “Butcha didn’t ” Harry said with a smirk. Damn him and his cute little face. He shoveled some more hash browns into his mouth aggressively and lamented how he’d gotten stuck with such a manipulative little bastard. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------

After the whole breakfast debacle Harry was dragged outside by a very excited Ron and the rest of the Gryffindors to get to the flying lessons. It was a beautiful day with a clear breezy sky; something practically unheard of in Britain. 

(His hand smarted from irritating the bite mark but every small pang of pain reminded Harry of Ron and made him smile like a goddamn moron.)

When they got there the Slytherins had already arrived, and there were twenty brooms lying along the floor. They looked….. Sad. The sticks were ragged and uneven, with the bristles going all over the place or cracked. Harry had heard the twins bitch about the school brooms; saying that they started to vibrate if you flew too high or that the steering was fucked. Looked like they were right. 

The flying teacher, named  Madame Hooch, a short woman with gray hair and stern yellow eyes that reminded Harry a bit too much of a hawk for comfort, marched up to them. 

“Well, what are you all waiting for?” she barked. “Get by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up, I haven’t got all damn day.”

Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and the twig stuck out at weird angles. He could practically feel the splinters in his hands now. 

“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” shouted Madam Hooch at the front, “and say ‘Up!’”

“UP!” everyone shouted.

Harry’s broom jumped into his hand like an over eager cat, but it appeared that he was the minority of the class. (Of fucking course he was the minority, both of his parents were dead, he liked blokes, and his skin was almost darker than everyone’s here, excluding Hermione). 

Hermione’s broom had simply rolled over on the ground like an old dog, to Ron’s cackle and her shouts of indignation. Ron’s broom had flown into his hand hesitantly, like it was scared of him, but one glare and it sped up quite quickly. Neville’s hadn’t moved at all, period. Maybe brooms were like horses, they could tell when you were afraid; there was an obvious quaver in Neville’s voice that said very clearly he liked both feet attached to the ground. 

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, “Like goddamn fools.” Madam Hooch muttered, yelling at Neville who’s broom was not cooperating at all , and seemed to be actively trying to drag him down to the ground instead. She walked up and down the rows, correcting their grips and roughly twisting their hands into optimum position before she stopped in front of Malfoy and sneered. “You’re grip is wrong boy.” Draco looked offended. “But it’s how I’ve been holding a broom for years, my godfather taught me.” “Well then you’ve been doing it wrong for years and so has your godfather.” she said offhandedly before moving on to leave him sputtering indignantly. Ron snorted and Harry chuckled, endlessly amused. 

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” said Madam Hooch. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly or I’ll have your hide. On my whistle – three – two –“

Neville, the poor bloke, scared out of goddamn mind, pushed off too early with a girly scream. “Come back, boy!” she shouted, but Neville’s broom was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle – twelve feet – twenty feet (he was going to go out of the ballpark real fucking quick-) and wasn’t that a sight. Harry saw his terrified pale face look at the ground with horror before he started to list to the side, a little bit and oh holy fucking SHIT-

WHAM – a thud and a nasty crack and Neville was laying face down on the grass in a pathetic heap. Everyone flinched, except for Ron who started to laugh but Harry slapped his mouth and glared at him. Ron rolled his eyes, but stopped chuckling and licked his hand. “Ew!” Harry whisper-shouted, wiping it off on robes hurriedly. Neville’s broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight like a cruiser. “Good for her, she don’t need no man.” Ron said wisely with a sage nod and Harry snorted. 

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

“Broken wrist,” Harry heard her mutter. “Come on, boy –  up you get.”

She turned to the rest of the class sharply

“None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch.’ you understand!” They all nodded like the coward they were. “Come on, dear.”

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his now broken wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch. 

No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter and doubled over while Ron started to cackle loudly and Hermione gave them both a glare. “Oh come on, it was funny Granger.” Ron said with a  mean smile that made Harry feel fuzzy (and mildly concerned for his safety) . “It was perhaps mildly entertaining but that’s rude Ronald” Hermione sneered. 

“Did you see his face, the great lump?” Draco wheezed, looking like he was in physical pain from laughing so hard. The other Slytherins joined in on the jeering before most of them were rolling on the floor in hysterics. 

“Shut up , Malfoy,” snapped Parvati Patil. 

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl with short black hair, someone who Ron had immediately looked at and leaned over towards Hermione to whisper “Looks like you have competition Granger”.Hermione had attempted to smack Ron in retaliation but he’d evaded skillfully with a smirk. 

 “Never thought you’d like fat little crybabies, Parvati.” Pansy said mockingly

“Look what Winters’ found!” said Malfoy, stepping on Zoe’s outstretched hand when she went to pick up something sparkling in the glass. As she yelped and drew her hand back quickly, he snatched the object from her hand. “It’s that stupid ass ball Longbottom’s gran sent him.”

“Give that here, Malfoy,” said Harry quietly, more than done with his shit. 

It was one thing to call his dead mother a slur; but it was another to steal someone’s gift from their family after they broke their wrist by stepping on someones fucking hand after they picked it up. Harry felt Ron tense next to him, priming himself for a fight. “Give him the stupid fucking ball or it’s your balls next.” Ron said viciously.  Everyone stopped talking to watch, multiple boys cringing unconsciously at the threat. 

Malfoy paled slightly, but then he smiled nastily.

“I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find – how about – up a tree?”

“Give it here!” Harry yelled the same time Ron snarled “Get back here fucker-”, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off like shot. Apparently all that shit talking wasn’t for nothing, he could fly pretty well, though it hurt Harry to admit it. 

“Ya got shit form Bitch-Boy!” Ron yelled up at him with a snarl the same time Hermione cupped her hands around her mouth and said “You’re grip is wrong!”. Draco scowled at both of them like if he glared hard enough he could get them to stop being bastards. (Good fucking luck with that one mate) Before he was turning back to Harry, hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak and called out mockingly, “Come and get it, Potter!”

Harry grabbed his broom.

“No!” shouted Hermione with furrowed brows. “Madam Hooch told us not to move – you’ll get us all into trouble.” 

“No one gives a fuck Granger!”, Ron shouted, encompassing Harry’s feelings perfectly. 

“Shut up Ronald!” 

Harry ignored both of their squabbling with an ease that came from practice. (More practice than Harry wanted to have) . Blood was pounding in his ears like war drums. He mounted the broom with a death grip and a familiar throbbing in his hands, and kicked hard against the ground and up he went, shooting forward – and in a rush of euphoria and adrenaline he realized he was a fucking natural – this was easy, this was so goddamn wonderful and he was hooked. 

(It was at this moment that Harry realized his second love in life, flying. His first was Ron Weasley but if Harry said that out loud he’d probably spontaneously combust from embarrassment) 

He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher, he was goddamn soaring now, and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and Hermione yelling extremely explicit threats at him. 

(Some of which included removing his spleen through his anus, ripping out his teeth one by one and shoving him in his ear canals, and breaking his glasses and shoving them in his eyeballs, just things you say to your classmates on a regular basis)

He turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair before he felt a woosh of air right next to him. Harry turned to the side to a very, very, angry looking Ron. “And what, exactly, do you think you’re goddamn doing without me?” he sneered. 

Oops. 

(Harry may or may not have forgotten about Ron on the ground in the heat of the moment) 

“Uh, nothing?” Harry said  with a small smile. Ron scowled at him, unimpressed. (Fuck it, it was worth a try) “I’m sorry?” Harry tried again. Ron raised a single eyebrow. “You damn well better be because I’m not letting you alone next to a broom again .” Harry whined indignantly,  “But Ron -” he started, “But nothing, if I can’t shank that fucker-” he pointed to a very confused looking Malfoy, “-then you can’t fly after people with me.” 

(Which was fair enough Harry supposed.)

“Fine, fine, fine-” Harry groaned, “-but we have to get Neville’s Remembrall back first.” 

“Give it here,” Harry called to Malfoy, back to business at last, “or I’ll knock you off that broom!”

“Let’s break his fucking neck mate.” Ron said to Harry with a sharp looking smile that made Harry warm with anticipation. 

“Oh, yeah?” said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried.

Harry knew, for some fucking reason, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping and Dean was cheering. 

“No Ugly Ass One and Ugly Ass Two to save you from me Malfoy,” Ron called mockingly as he bared his teeth threateningly. 

The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy, if how pale he suddenly became was any indicator. “Catch it if you can, then Potter!” he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. 

(And there was no way in hell that he was going to let it shatter on the ground after all of that effort to get the damn thing in the first place.)

He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down sharply – next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball to the ground. Wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching (And Ron’s enraged yell) – he stretched out his hand - so fucking close - a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist. 

Ron hopped off of his broom and picked up Harry before patting him down, looking for injuries. Satisfied with his poking and prodding yielding nothing but a small bruise, he began shaking him back and forth, red in the face. “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME MATE WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT YOU COULD’VE GOTTEN HURT AND THEN WHERE WOULD WE BE YOU STUPID GODDAMN IMPULSIVE SHITTY LITTLE TWAT-”

“HARRY POTTER!” a voice thundered. 

His heart sank faster than he’d just dived (Which was pretty damn fast)  Professor McGonagall was running toward them at a surprising pace for an older woman in some very long robes. 

“ Never – in all my time at Hogwarts –“

Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, (key word, almost) and her glasses flashed furiously, “- how dare you -” “-You almost broke your goddamn neck -” Ron finished aggressively. “Mr. Weasley be quiet-” “Hell no you old hag-” Ron hissed before they got interrupted. 

“It wasn’t his fault, Professor -“ Zoe started but Mcongoal shut that down real quick. “Enough Ms. Winters.” Hermione piped up in the background “But Malfoy-” “But nothing Mrs. Granger, Mr. Weasley and Potter, follow me right now.” 

Harry caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle’s triumphant faces as he left, and he was so tempted to just sic Ron on them but he couldn’t get him expelled as well. He and Ron walked in Professor McGonagall’s wake as she strode toward the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it, only two weeks into school. (A new personal record he thought hysterically) 

He wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice. Actually there seemed to be something wrong with all of him. The world was suddenly too big and bright, his vision blurring as static filled his head. He crouched down and choked on strangled sobs in his throat as he was assaulted by panic and too many sensations all at once. He hunched further in, crushing his hands against his ears and screwing his eyes shut so hard it hurt in a futile effort to make it all stop it needed to stop Harry couldn’t take it-

His breath came fast and hard as he gasped for air that just wasn’t there anymore. (He was hyperventilating, he thought distantly. That was probably bad)  Ron’s concerned eyes caught his as he kneeled down next to Harry, who was currently falling apart at the fucking seams like an over-stuffed doll. 

 “Hey mate” Ron said softly as he moved closer slowly towards Harry,  like he was approaching a small animal. “You okay there?” he said, and wasn’t that the most rhetorical question of the year, with a concerned look. Harry wanted to scream as it was the only adequate way to express exactly how much he wasn’t okay, but thinking hurt right now right now so he simply shook his head. Ron crept closer, not quite touching Harry.

 “Can I touch you?” Harry nodded so fast he thought his head would fall off. Nothing sounded better than curling up into Ron’s warmth and safety right about now. He uncurled from his ball slightly and raised up his hands, making grabby hands in the universal sign for pick me up. “You want me to pick you up?”. Harry nodded again. 

Ron smiled sweetly and pulled him into his arms into a bastardized princess hold that would be mortifying if Harry wasn’t crying and shaking like a baby. Harry clung on gratefully, hiding his face into Ron’s shoulder as tears and snot ran down his face and onto Ron’s robes. Ron stroked his head softly, caressing his fingers through his head in a soothing motion. “Can you breathe for mate? In and out, just like this”, he let out an exaggerated breath to demonstrate.

Harry mimicked the rise and fall of Ron’s chest carefully while Ron encouraged him gently, his breathing slowing down gradually until it felt like he could get oxygen into his lungs again. “There you go baby boy, doing so good.” Ron cooed at him gently, making Harry blush. (He didn’t tell him to stop though because Ron saying that made him feel really fucking happy) 

Ron stood up, jolting Harry slightly. “Sorry.” Ron winced, before he started walking after Mconogal, who probably left them in the dust while Harry was acting mental. Oh god yet another reason to expel him- “Ssshhhhh, don’t worry about it sweetheart, I got you, trust me.” Ron whispered as he rocked Harry gently in his arms, causing the tension he hadn’t even noticed in his shoulders to release. 

Of course Harry thought, Ron would protect him, just like always. He tuned out the rest of the world and burrowed deeper into Ron’s arms, trusting him to take care of everything while he was currently indisposed. 

—---------------------------------------------

Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Minverva didn’t say a word to either of the two boys behind her. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Ron following along at a substantially slower pace. She then stopped outside of Flitwick's classroom, opened the door and poked her head inside.

“Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?” she asked politely. 

“Of course!” The short man said cheerfully, before gesturing a very confused looking Wood out of the classroom. “Follow me, you two,” said Minerva, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harry and Ronald trailing behind them.  “Three” muttered Ron, but he wasn’t acknowledged. 

“In here.”

Minerva pointed them into a classroom that was empty, excluding Peeves who was writing slurs on the board. 

“Out Peeves!” Minerva yelled impatiently. She had things to do that did not involve this public menace. He cursed and threw the piece of chalk into the wall with a rather obnoxious clang and faded into the wall. Her eyes twitched. 

One day Minerva would retire from this hellscape of an educational establishment, one day Minerva said to herself in an attempt to stay sane.

She turned around to introduce a very curious looking Wood to the small boy who was currently hiding in a glaring Ronalds chest. The red headed boy looked half ready to commit manslaughter as he clutched Harry closer to his chest instinctively, eyes flitting around, cataloging the room around him with sharp eyes. She shivered imperceptibly as she felt those icy blue eyes assess her; like she was a threat to be dealt with. It was reminiscent of a wild animal with nothing left to lose but their young. No pair of children had ever acted like this in all of her years at Hogwarts. Minerva would have to look into that later. She had more important matters to attend to. 

“Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood – I’ve found you a Seeker.”

Oliver’s expression changed from puzzlement to absolute delight in the span of under a second. 

(He may have been an average student but if there was one thing Oliver Wood was, it was a Quidditch fanatic)

“Are you serious , Professor?” He said, unbelievingly. 

“Absolutely,” she said crisply. “The boy’s a natural. I’ve never seen anything like it.” And Minerva hadn’t, ever. Potter looked like he was born on a broom when he dived down from the sky like a falcon chasing his prey. “Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?”

“It was.” Ronald said in his stead. Minerva frowned. “Mr. Weasley, I am talking to Mr. Potter.” she said impatiently.

 “Well, Professor,-” he said coldly with a tone of disrespect only George and Fred Weasley had managed to achieve, “-he just had a fucking panic attack so as you can see, he’s currently indisposed.” he finished with a grin that was sharp enough to draw blood. 

A panic attack? 

A muffled questioning hum came from Ronalds chest. His expression softened instantly like ice melting in the sun, nothing like the glacial look on his face not even moments ago. 

“It’s nothing sweetheart, I’ve got it.” he cooed at Potter softly. A soft sound answered him and Harry shifted more comfortably in his arms before going still once again. 

His face once again froze over. “If you have any questions you can ask me instead.”

“What do you mean by a panic attack?” 

“As in he had a small mental breakdown because you stormed in, yelled at him without checking that he didn’t break anything after he dived fifty feet from the goddamn sky -” he said with a snarl. 

“Wait he did that?” Wood said, only to be silenced by a glare that could flay someone alive from Ronald.  

“- And then you dragged him to who knows fucking where with no information of the full situation at all because you jumped to conclusions. For all Harry here knows he could’ve been expelled because he stood up for that disgrace Longbottom against that piece of shit Malfoy.” Weasley punctuated with a sneer of such hatred Minerva is momentarily stunned.

 How did she not notice a student having a panic attack behind her? 

“So back to that dive thing Professor” Oliver butted in with all of the grace of a drunk elephant, ignoring the glare that Ronald had pointed at him. 

“Ahem, yes, he caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive,” Minerva told him. “Didn’t even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn’t have done it.”

Oliver was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once. 

“Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?” he asked excitedly with sparkles in his eyes. 

A small grumble came from Harry and he raised his head slowly, blinking his green eyes slowly. (God they reminded her of Lily) .“Well hello there mate.” Ronald said fondly as Harry nuzzled into his chin with a smile like a kitten. 

(It was adorable but also highly disconcerting) 

“What’s going on?” he slurred, before he was startled by Oliver who had appeared in front of him. Ronald bared his teeth at him instinctively but Oliver was undeterred in the face of a new Seeker. “Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?” he asked excitedly with sparkles in his eyes. 

“Huh?” he said eloquently. 

“Wood’s captain of the Gryffindor team,” Minerva explained.

“He’s just the build for a Seeker, too,” said Wood, now walking around Ronald and Harry and sizing up Harry, who looked very uncomfortable. “Light – speedy – we’ll have to get him a decent broom, Professor – a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I’d say.”

“Back the fuck off mate you’re too close.” Ronald growled at Oliver. “Oh, uh, sorry, just excited that we’re gonna get a Seeker.” Oliver said with a radiant smile though he kept trying to get closer to Harry only to be fended off repeatedly by an increasingly aggressive Ronald. 

“I’ll speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can’t bend the first-year rule.” Minerva said to distract the inevitable fight between the two. “ Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn’t look Severus Snape in the face for weeks….” Minerva said with a clenched fist, gritting her teeth at the image of Severus’s smug face. Oliver’s face darkened at the memory.

 She looked over her glasses at Harry sternly

“Now, I want to hear you’re training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you.” Minerva said, before she broke out in a smile. 

“Your father would have been proud,” she said with a fond smile. “He was an excellent Quidditch player himself.”

“You’re joking.” Harry said with a look of utter disbelief. 

“I assure you Potter, I am not.”

“Holy shit dude.” 

Chapter Text

“Ron.” 

“Ron.” 

“Roon.” 

“Roooon.” 

“Roooooooooon.”

“What?!” Ron hissed, glaring at the little menace who’d been bothering him for the past ten minutes. 

 “Can you pretty please let me go?” Harry said as he batted his obscenely long eyelashes in an attempt to garner sympathy. Well tough luck for Harry, cause Ron wasn’t moving. 

“And why should I listen to you, Mr. I went after that blonde bitch myself and almost got myself fucking killed?” 

Seriously, when Ron saw Harry dive down to catch that ball he’d almost gone into cardiovascular arrest from sheer panic. (He was 90% sure that little stunt had shaved a few years off of his life) 

“I know Ron and I’m sorry, I really am, but I need both arms to eat.” 

And isn’t that the bullshit statement of the century. Ron had hands for a reason and that was to take care of this tiny monster in his lap. Harry made a small wriggle in an attempt to escape his (very fair)   jailing, which hell no not on his watch, and wrenched his one arm tighter around Harry’s torso and arms hard enough to make Harry let out a little squeak. He stopped struggling in Ron’s lap after that. Good, because Ron had had enough of his shit for a week. 

“I’m not letting you go, you sneaky little shit, one look and poof, you’re gone. Now eat your pie, it’s getting cold.” Ron said as he shoved the fork insistently against his lips. Harry pouted, but opened his mouth and chewed on his shepherd's pie sullenly. He’s acting awfully dramatic about eating for someone who has eaten literal fucking grass in the middle of class. (Apparently Harry knows many types of edible plants found in the Fuck Off Forest Of Doom ™ ) 

“Ronnie-kins!” a grating voice called out from behind him that only precedes pain and suffering. Ron closes his eyes and prays for all of the non-existent patience he possessed before he turns around to face his fate. Low and behold, two pairs of shit eating grins had appeared behind them attached to two equally smug faces. Well fuck him with a chainsaw in the arse, the devils themselves had arrived. 

  “And Harry-kins!” 

“Hi George and Fred.” Harry said, but he was still chewing so it sounded more like “I orge an ‘ed”. Ron pushed his jaw back up, not wanting to see the rest of his half chewed pie for another second longer than he had too. 

“Great job on the thing today. Mum would be so proud of her son in law” Fred simpered as he wiped a fake tear from his unrepentant eyes, causing Harry’s ears to flush. 

For some god forsaken reason they had gotten it into their thick skulls that Harry was his boyfriend despite Ron’s vehement, and Harry’s stuttering, protests.  And sure, they shared a room, constantly held each other's hand, slept together, ate each other’s food, and Ron had claimed his as his own but that’s just what best mate’s did. Totally, one hundred percent. 

 “Wood told us, he was practically skipping, Wood, skipping -” 

“-we thought he had gotten a little taste of the firewhiskey gonna be honest with you mate.”  Fred whispered conspiratorially as he leaned in towards Harry. Ron batted him off with a spoon because excuse you, this is his emotional support gremlin.  

“We’re on the team ourselves as little Ronnie-kins here can tell you.” Fred said as he attempted to squish Ron’s cheeks playfully. Ron had a better idea, and bit his finger violently before shaking his head back and forth, making him let out a yelp and try to pull out his finger like he’d been well, bit. 

“Bad Ron, bad, what have we said about biting your older brothers when they try to show affection?” George scolded as he put his hands on his hips and wagged his hand patronizingly while Fred nursed his grievous wound of epic proportions ( a small bite mark that wasn’t even bleeding so he was being more than overdramatic at this point ) 

“God, I swear we’re related to a feral dog, sometimes.” Fred hissed. Harry let out a small giggle and Ron bit him on his ear instead. Ha, see how you like that little freaking punk. The cheeky little fucker didn’t even blink and just let out a smile like this was all part of his plan. Damn him and his cute face 

“Chompy little brothers aside, we’re gonna win that Quidditch cup for sure this year, I just know it.” 

“We haven’t won since Charlie left us for a bunch of shitty dragons-” 

“-May he gag on both of their cocks-” George and Fred said solemnly at the same time, causing Harry to snort and almost choke on his fucking pie. Ron thumped his back automatically, having built in a reflex because of Harry’s apparent inability to swallow properly half of the time. 

(He nearly had a heart attack the first time Harry had snorted while he was drinking some pumpkin juice right when Ron had been telling him a story and started wheezing like he was an old man on hospice having a stroke.) 

“Anyway, we’ve got to go, Lee Jordan says he might’ve found a new passage out of the school.” 

“It’s probably the one we found our first week behind that statue, just between us girls. Anyway, see you later, baby brother and boyfriend!” Fred yelled as they both started running away before Ron could beat their asses for the flagrant disrespect being shown in front of his goddamn salad. 

“HE’S NOT MY BOYFRIEND FUCKWITS!” Ron shouted at the two retreating figures of his brothers while Harry flushed a fantastic shade of red. “Don’t mind them, they're bastards mate.”, he said consolingly while Harry made a valiant attempt to bury himself inside of Ron’s robes. “Kill me now.” Harry groaned into his shoulder, his ears still a flaming fire truck red. “Mmmm, I don’t think I will.” Harry glared up with him from his robes with righteous indignation. “Jerk.”

The twins had hardly disappeared when someone even less welcome than those two shit heads showed up: Malfoy and his ugly goons. Could he ever get a fucking break? Not one? Not even for ONE MINUTE? 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Potter and his little boyfriend. Having a last meal as a couple? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?” He said with an ugly little sneer that made Ron want to rip his pale lips off. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t failed abortion one, two, and three.” 

Malfoy practically paled with fury and the two ugly fuckers behind him moved forward menancingly, but they couldn’t do anything with all of the teachers watching. They were pussies is what they were, Ron would and has launched himself at people with several adults watching. And most of the time, he was able to get in one good hit before some spell hit him. 

“I have a name you know.” Blonde bitch spat out and ew, he needed to stop spitting everywhere, Ron was trying to eat here, damn. 

“You’re right, I forgot that your official title is ‘Bleach Blonde Bitch with Daddy Issues and Small Cock The Third’.” 

“You forgot the esquire.” Harry added helpfully with a shit eating grin. 

“Oh pardon me, it’s actually  ‘Bleach Blonde Bitch with Daddy Issues and Small Cock The Third, Esquire ’. Thank you for reminding me Harry.” 

“Anytime Ron, anytime.” Harry said with the sweetest little smile like he didn’t just destroy this man’s entire career. 

Laughter began to fill the dining hall, with Dean and Zoe actively in tears, hanging onto each other's shoulders while Hermione gave a disapproving glare. Ron gave one right back, because fuck that bitch. 

““How dare you, you, you, filthy, muggle loving, worthless, disgrace to the pure blood name-” Malfoy spewed out venomously, like anyone gave a fuck about what he said. 

(Spoiler alert, no one did. Shocker)

“Oh no,” Ron deadpanned as he dramatically clutched his chest, “my feelings.” He looked towards Harry, who looked like he was about to pop from how much he was trying to not laugh. 

“Harry, get me an ambulance, I’m dying as we speak from the emotional damage I have sustained from that vicious attack” Ron groaned before he fake-fainted onto Harry like an old lady from one of those Western films, who had started to giggle.

 “This is a matter of life or death Harry, take it seriously goddamnit I’m dying here, DYING. I give everything to you, except for my dirty laundry, the twins can have it- stop fucking laughing I’m being one hundred percent serious-” 

Ron shaked Harry’s thin shoulders back and forth frantically, said man getting his shoulders shaken had burst out cackling, his small body heaving with the effort of his gasps. 

“To Hermione I give my middle finger. ARE YOU EVEN PAYING ATTENTION GRANGER-” Ron shouted at Hermione who looked at him, unimpressed. “I will cherish it.” she deadpanned. 

“You fucking better, that’s a national treasure right there.” 

Somehow the laughter had gotten even louder, multiple people clutching their chests and wheezing. Malfoy had flushed a deeper shade of red, something that should be impossible. 

“Wait, wait, Harry, get Malfoy another ambulance, I don’t think it’s possible for someone to be that red. Is he blowing up? Granger is he blowing up?” Ron raised his head from its position in Harry’s lap to verify with Granger. 

“Spontaneous combustion is not a medically verified occurrence in humans.” She said with a single  raised eyebrow. 

“Well what about wizards? Plenty of blokes have blown themselves up after fucking up a spell eh?” Ron said, raising his eyebrow right back at her. Take that. 

“Well that is caused by their magic, not their body itself exploding.” 

“Magic is part of your body dumbass.” Literally everyone knew that, how stupid was this bookworm? 

“Well, yes it is, but it’s more of an aura that you can channel by using your body as a conduit. It’s similar to the soul, something intangible but able to be used in rituals.” 

“Magic is infused in every part of you fuckwit, that’s why if you got your magic snatched you’d kick the bucket.” 

That was how his Aunt Charlize had perished, gotten the magic wrung out of her body like a wet rag for some death eater ritual, the poor bastard. 

“That’s more due to shock at having a fundamental part of yourself taken away suddenly, but if done properly the subject can survive, if barely. It’s the difference between ripping out strands of your DNA suddenly without caring and carefully replacing the amino acids with others that are similar enough to not completely kill the subject all at once.”

“Alright Miss Smart-ass, assuming that I buy into your theory, how come squibs don’t have magic even though they came from magical parents?”

“Well squibs possess extraordinarily low levels of magic even compared to humans, but that’s simply because both of the parent’s recessive alleles matched and canceled out the magic gene completely.” 

“So your saying magic is genetic Granger, is that it?” 

“Yes, magic is genetic, but it’s a recessive trait.”  

“So the pure blood idea of fucking someone else with magic is actually the key to retaining the magical gene?” Ron mused out loud.  

“While correct, it fails to account for inbreeding, which is why we have this.” Hermione said as she gestured towards an infuriated Malfoy and his two goons. 

“WHAT ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT?!” Malfoy shouted, his face redder than if he’d gotten a bucket of paint thrown on his face. 

“Don’t interrupt Malfoy, it’s rude.” Hermione hissed, before turning back to Ron with a genial smile that was faker than plastic.  “Now where were we?” 

“MY FATHER WILL HEAR ABOUT THIS!” Malfoy yelled indignity, before storming off in a huff. 

“Tell him he raised a pussy!” Ron shouted with a smile as he picked up Harry who was laughing so hard he couldn’t even hold himself up anymore. 

“Don’t say that Ronald, that’s offensive!.” Hermione snapped, before she tried to smack him. (He dodged, cause he’s not an only child.) “Tell your father to perhaps read a book on child rearing, you clearly don’t get enough affection at home.” Hermione yelled at the retreating figure of Malfoy, like the stone cold bitch she absolutely was. 

(He started to walk a helluva lot faster after that)

Ron wheezed at that one, pounding the table with his fist. 

“Sometimes Granger,” Ron said, pointing one finger towards a smug looking Hermione, “just sometimes, I actually like you a tiny bit.”

—-----------------------------------------

Harry was minding his own business at dinner, his sides still recovering from the absolutely brutal beatdown they had taken when Ron and Hermione had ruined Malfoy’s entire career. He’d almost had an asthma attack, he was in absolute hysterics, along with everyone else at Gryffindor table. 

Ron had just been about to give him a piece of his steak, something that made his mouth water because holy fucking shit Hogwart chefs could cook, when Malfoy’s ugly mug came yet again. 

Had the man learned nothing? 

“Potter, I challenge you to a wizard duel, no contact, only wands.”, Draco said snidely, like he had any modicum of authority or respect from anyone at the Gryffindor table. “Though I suppose you don’t know what it is, coming from muggles” 

“Well if my deductive skills prove correct-” Harry said as he raised his hand like Sherlock Holmes, “-it’s a duel between wizards.” 

Thank you, thank you, please hold your applause. 

Ron let out a snort. “They’re stupid is what they are. What kind of fucking git lets their opponent grab a wand and then -because that’s not a bloody brilliant move as is- walk away from them and expose their back?” Ron said in disbelief as he threw his hands up in frustration. “Might as well paint a sign that says ‘HELLO I AM VULNERABLE TO ATTACK PLEASE TAKE A SHOT’. You just need to beat the shit out of them or stab ‘em, that’s what I say.” he grabbed a knife and jabbed it into an imaginary foe's eyes in demonstration. 

“That’s illegal Ronald, I read about it.” Hermione pointed out, not looking up from her book about…. The history of dentistry? Where did she even get that? 

“Illegal-shmegal, who fucking cares? That’s not how you win.” 

Malfoy sneered at Ron like he was a particularly annoying cockroach. “Is your guard dog always this violent Potter?” 

“Oh don’t worry, I’m usually much, much worse.” Ron growled with a smile that was more aptly named a snarl. 

“Control him Potter.” Malfoy hissed as he moved behind Goyle like an overdramatic pussy. 

Ron wasn’t even that scary, honestly. Sure, he looked like he wanted to rip every single vertebrae out of Malfoys spinal column with extreme prejudice just to hear him scream, but it was just Ron being Ron, the man wouldn’t hurt a fly. 

(Okay, he’d hurt several flies. And assorted small animals. And larger animals. And people. Several times. But that’s besides the point.)

“What’s wrong Malfoy, afraid of little old Ron? He doesn’t have the heart to step on an ant, now do you mate? Say no you don’t, no you don’t, huh?” Harry cooed as he petted Ron’s head like he was a very oversized dog and not almost five and a half feet of extremely volatile sociopath.

Ron melted like warm wax in his hands, humming as he put his head on Harry’s shoulder so he had more room to scratch his head.  

“You are not helping with the guard dog allegations Harry.” Dean muttered through a mouthful of potatoes. 

“I will take your fucking knee caps mate.” Ron growled at him viciously before he went back to being a puddle in Harry’s hands.

Malfoy looked unconvinced, as did Dean. 

“Anyway Potter, who’s your second?” 

“Who says I’m doing this in the first place?” 

“Because if you don’t,” Malfoy smirked, “Then I’ll tell Father about how much of a danger your feral mutt over here is and he’ll get expelled. He has strong ties with the ministry and Hogwarts.” 

His hand froze on Ron’s head. 

Was Malfoy threatening him using Ron? Was this little blonde bastard who had never gone hungry a day in his life trying to scare Harry?

 He could feel his magic snarl and swirl in his body, desperate to dive into Malfoy’s airways and choke the life out of him for the crime of trying to hurt the one thing in life Harry simply couldn’t go without. There was no Harry without Ron, or vice versa. The lion, the witch, and the audacity of this fucking bitch-

Deep breaths Harry, deep breaths.

“How do I know that you’ll hold yourself to that promise in the first place Malfoy?” 

“I swear on the Malfoy lineage.” 

“Oh shit, he’s serious.” Ron whispered. “Purebloods are freaks about their houses, if you break a promise after swearing on your name you can get disowned.” 

The image of Draco, bedraggled and starving in the streets, not knowing how to do things, made Harry fight back a vicious smirk. 

“Fine, I agree, Malfoy.” Harry gritted out. “Fantastic, my second is Crabbe, we’ll duel at midnight, in the trophy room.” 

“I’ll be his second, even though he won’t need it.” Ron claimed from behind Harry’s head with a savage grin. 

“Goodbye then Potter, see you later.” 

When Malfoy had swished away he looked at Ron in confusion. “What the fuck is a second.” 

“Well, a second’s there to take over if you die,” said Ron casually, eating a bite of carrot. “Of course if you did die, which you won’t, then I would rip Malfoyand his entire family to pieces in your honor.” Ron growled dangerously, before turning back to Harry and smiling. 

“But that won’t happen anyway. Besides, we don’t know enough magic to cast any actual spells, and he doesn’t know how to throw a punch in the first place so we’ll be fine.”

“Well if my wand doesn’t do anything?” Harry asked, concerned with the whole magic part of the magic duel. “Punch him in the nose, then stab him in the eye. I’ll show you how to do it right and proper mate” Ron replied, unconcerned with the ‘no physical contact’ part of it. Which was to be expected if Harry was honest with himself. 

“Fuck, I guess we’re doing this aren’t we.” Harry muttered, shaking his head. 

“Oh don’t worry mate, I’ll protect you.” Ron cooed as he pulled him into a hug that totally didn’t make relax automatically or anything, you have no proof. 

Zoe popped up out of nowhere with an excited face. “Can I go, I want to see his smug face when you wipe the floor with him.” 

“Not a chance.” Ron said.

“But-“

“Excuse me.”

They looked up and lo and behold, it was Hermione Granger, in the flesh. 

“Can we go for five fucking seconds without you apparating out of nowhere?” groaned Ron.

Hermione ignored him, which only served to irk Ron, and spoke to Harry. 

“I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with Malfoy just recently-“

“Oh really?” Ron muttered as he crossed his arms sullenly. 

“- And you can’t go through with this duel. It’s a stupid idea in the first place to be wandering the halls at night and you’ll lose Gryffindor points, again, when you’re caught, which you will be. It’s really very selfish of you.”

“And we really don’t care Granger” said Ron dismissively, before he pulled Harry up. “C’mon mate, let’s go.” 

“Good-bye Hermione” Harry yelled out behind him as Ron dragged him along, because he was polite like that. 

—------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione sat in an armchair in the Gryffindor common room, waiting for Ronald and Harry to come down for their irrational duel. Efforts at persuading them to not engage in this foolish endeavor had failed, so she had no choice left but to follow them in order to make sure that her biggest experiments didn’t get expelled. 

It had been naught but 45 minutes when Ronald and Harry snuck down the stairs from the boys dormitory. Both were in robes, though they really only needed one with how close they were, and were clutching their wands. 

Harry descended the stairs softly and quietly, like he was made of feathers. By Hermione’s estimates he was about 40 pounds underweight for a male his age, a weight that suggested he had an eating disorder or was severely malnourished. Based on how he reacted to food it was second. 

Ronald was his opposite, loud and disorderly in only the way a 12 year old male could accomplish. He had large hands and feets but was stick-like in appearance, showing that he had enough to eat but his body was using all of the calories to fuel basic body functions instead of stocking up on lipids. Undergoing the process from adolescent to young adult was difficult indeed. 

She turned on the lamp and looked at them in disappointment. It couldn’t be helped, their testosterone levels had just increased drastically and they were therefore more prone to rash decisions. It probably didn’t help that Malfoy was antagonizing Harry in the middle of Ronald’s courting process, increasing aggression at the perceived competition. And Ronald was already quite aggressive on his own. 

“What the fuck are you doing here.” Ronald hissed at her, reminiscent of crook-shanks. Hermione missed her feline companion, he was easier to deal with than these buffoons. 

“I am disappointed Harry, I thought you could keep your mate under control.” she said as she shook her head, disgruntled at Harry’s lack of dominance over his completely out of control mate. 

“Oh shove it up your arse Granger, it’s none of your damn business.” 

“I am not interested in anal Ronald.” Hermione said calmly as Harry gaped at her and Ronald snorted. 

“Pity, cause I am.” He said with a lascivious leer, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, causing Harry to flush redder than a tomato and stutter like he was a failing CPU. Interesting. 

“I have no clue what’s going on, but if you're going to go, you have to take me.” Zoe stepped forward from the direction of the girl’s dormitory. “I’m not going to be left out.”

“Come on,” Harry said to Ron before he opened the Fat Lady’s portrait and stepped out. 

Hermione wasn’t going to let them walk away that easily, it would be unbecoming for her research and pride as a scientist. However that didn’t mean that she couldn’t scold them for being imbeciles. 

“Do you only care about yourselves? I am not sacrificing a scholarship because you lost the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells.”

“Go away.” Harry muttered sullenly as Ronald pulled him along. 

“Fine, just don’t get caught and lose us points.“

(Or get expelled because Hermione would have to track them down and that’s honestly such a hassle.) 

Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. “Bollocks” Hermione hissed. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit apparently, because socializing was more important than completing her duties. She should be demoted and relocated for her negligence. 

“Now what am I going to do?” 

“Whelp, that sounds like a problem, now if you’ll excuse us, we have a blonde twat’s skull to cave in” Ronald said with a cloyingly sweet smile that made Hermione want to rip his face off. 

(Deep breaths Hermione, it would be too obvious. Later, she would have more opportunities later)

They continued walking down the hall, apparently trying to leave them in the dust, which was unacceptable. She and Zoe hurried down the hall to catch up to them, huffing slightly because of the length of Ronald’s stride. 

(Damn him and his long limbs)

“We’re coming with you,” Zoe said.

“You are not.” 

“D’you think I am going to wait here for Filch to find all four of us? I knew you were less than intelligent but this takes the cake.” Hermione snarled at them. 

“You’ve got some nerve –” said Ron loudly and Hermione was about to slap a hand over his mouth before Harry did it. He got better results than she would have. 

“Shut up, all of you!” said Harry sharply. “I heard something.”

It was a sort of snuffling, reminiscent of a pig. But what would a bovine be doing here? 

“Mrs. Norris?” breathed Ron, squinting through the dark, like that would suddenly help him develop night vision. (Highly unlikely)  

It wasn’t Mrs. Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer. It appeared he had sleep apnea if the snoring was any indicator. How anyone could stand to share a room with him and not smother him with a pillow was a mystery. 

“Thank goodness you found me!” he wailed, “ I’ve been out here for hours, I couldn’t remember the new password to get into bed.”

“You have a terrible memory Neville.” 

“Keep your voice down, Neville. The password’s ‘Pig snout’ but it won’t help you now, the Fat Lady’s gone off-” Zoe whispered– “To who the fuck knows where-” Ron growled–“And yeah..”, Harry finished the sentence. They’re synchrony was impressive. 

“Anway, how's your arm?” Harry said civilly. 

“Fine,” said Neville, showing them his unscathed wrist. 

 “Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute.” 

He was telling the truth, there was no bruising or swelling left. Interesting, how did one accomplish that? Did she speed up the rate at which the bone tissue repaired itself, or did she simply reverse the damage by reverting the bone back to its original state-

“Good – well, look, Neville, we’ve got to be somewhere, see you later-” Harry said quietly, disrupting Hermione musings. 

“Don’t leave me!” said Neville, scrambling to his feet, apparently determined to be a burden. 

Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Zoe, Hermione and Neville. Hermione glared right back at him, refusing to be cowed. 

“If any of you get us caught, I’ll never rest until I’ve ripped out all your tongues.” Ron hissed at them, causing Neville to stumble backward and Zoe to slightly pale in fear when they realized he was being completely genuine, but Hermione was unaffected. 

Tongues grow back normally, and if not she could now speed up the process with magic. The real concern would be infection because this was Ronald she was talking about, sanitation was not on his list of priorities. He was completely unprofessional and uncouth, and Hermione was going to inform of such before Harry hissed at her to be quiet, extremely rudely might she add, and beckoned them all forward.  

They flitted along corridors stripped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Hermione expected Filch or Miss Norris to be there, ready to jump out and get them all expelled because this was ‘a terrible fucking idea’ in the words of Ronald (Something Hermione was inclined to agree with this once)

They crept up the stairs before they slinked into a room filled with trophies, the trophy room Hermione supposed. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. Hogwarts had many accomplishments, or so it said in ‘Hogwarts: A History’ , which had proven to be correct. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. 

Harry took out his wand, something useless as he knew no offensive or defensive spells, though his wild magic was formidable if the property damage he committed every time he felt Ronald was threatened was any measure. 

(He’d lost Gryffindor countless points because of his complete lack of restraint when it came to anyone attempting to monopolize Ronald’s attention, excluding his family members. It had been mildly inconvenient to have her ink well blow up whenever Lavender Brown tried to flirt with a completely oblivious Ronald, but it yielded field research results beyond her wildest imaginations, so she put up with it.)  

“He’s late, maybe he didn’t even show up the fucking coward” Ron whispered.

Then a noise in the next room made them jump. 

“Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner.”

It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris.

In the words of Ronald when he stubbed his toe; “Motherfucking SHIT-”

Harry waved madly at the other four to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from the newest threat to Hermione’s academic career. She never should have followed these absolute fools for god’s sake- Neville’s robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room., 

“They’re in here somewhere,” they heard him mutter, “probably hiding.”

“This way!” Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run – the fool– before he tripped and fell into a suit of armor. 

God fucking damnit. 

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

“RUN!” Harry yelled, and the five of them sprinted down the gallery like it was the olympics– they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead with Ronald following close behind before he said “Fuck it-” and picked him up in a princess hold, going double his previous speed (How in the hell he managed to do that while carrying another person was a mystery) – they ripped through a tapestry (that was going on her permanent record) and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtling along it and came out into the charms classroom, which was miles away from the trophy room.  

“I think we’ve lost him,” Harry said while Ron was panting for breath, still clinging onto Harry like someone was attempting to take him away. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering. Hermione thinks he has asthma or is extremely out of shape, or perhaps both. 

“I – told – you,” Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest from the ridiculous amount of physical exertion she had been forced to endure, “I – told – you.”

“We’ve got to get back to Gryffindor tower,” said Ron, “quickly as possible.”

“Malfoy tricked you,” Hermione said to Harry. “You realize that, don’t you? Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off.”

Harry made a sour face that said he knew she was right but he wouldn’t admit it.

“Let’s go.”

It wasn’t going to be that simple, anyone with two neural connections could tell, but Hermione’s present company wasn’t known for intelligence. . They hadn’t gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them. Ronald jumped and clung tighter to Harry, baring his teeth. 

(Extremely territorial Hermione put down in her mental notes)  

It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight, which was more akin to nails scraping down a chalkboard. 

Peeves cackled.

“Wandering around at night, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naught, naughty, you’ll get caughty.”

Caughty’ isn’t even a word -

“Not if you don’t give us away, Peeves, please.” Neville begged. 

“Should tell Filch, I should,” said Peeves with a saintly voice, that even Hermione could tell was fake. “It’s for your own good, you know.”

“That’s bullshit and you fucking know it, now get out of the way,” Ronald growled threateningly, hiding Harry behind his back. That was mistake

“STUDENTS OUT OF BED!” Peeves bellowed, “STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!”

Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door – and it was locked.

“Motherfucking son of a bitch-” Ronald hissed, spitting out obscenities while Neville panicked, quite unhelpful. 

“They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeve’s shouts.

“I know a spell that can unlock doors,” Hermione panted. “The incantation was – it was” Think Hermione think , this was not difficult. 

“Glad you brought me now, aren’t you,” Zoe, despite her panting, smiled. She grabbed Harry’s wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, “Alohomora!”

The lock clicked and the door swung open – they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.

“Which way did they go, Peeves?” Filch was saying. “Quick, tell me.”

“Say ‘please.’”

“Don’t mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?”

“Shan’t say nothing id you don’t say please,” said Peeved in his annoying singsong voice. One day she would kill him, slowly. Ronald appeared to be having the same thoughts. 

“All right – please.”

“NOTHING! He haaa! Told you I wouldn’t say nothing if you didn’t say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!” And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

“He thinks this door is locked,” Harry whispered. “I think we’ll be okay – get off, Neville!” For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Harry’s bathrobe for the last minute, something that Ronald just noticed and his face warped in rage before he threw off his hand viciously. 

 “What the fuck do you want?”

Hermione turned around – and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, Hermione was sure that she was hallucinating. 

They weren’t in a room, they were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden. God her spotless academic record, gone, just like that! 

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

 It was a Cerberus, extremely rare, and a common figure in Greek mythology. It was a three headed dog that guarded the gates to the underworld, devouring any souls that tried to escape. They rarely bred, and were commonly used to guard treasure vaults and ruins of wizards. Cerberus were also known to have a penchant for human flesh. 

The Cerberus was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Hermione knew that the only reason they weren’t already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise. That was only a temporary advantage as it was getting back its bearing swiftly, starting to let out a thunderous growl. 

Ronald leaned towards Hermione slowly, before whispering in her ear. “Here’s the plan Granger; I grab Harry, and we sacrifice either Neville or Zoe, that oughta keep him occupied while we run.” 

“That is absolutely barbaric Ronald.” Hermione hissed at him, appalled at his lack of morals. 

“ Fine we take Zoe and leave Neville.” 

“That is still inhumane-” 

“Oh piss off, I know you don’t give a fuck about Neville or Zoe, drop the act.”

Hermione went to argue with him, before faltering. He had seen right through her. Curses. 

“Fine.” 

They abruptly fell backward – Zoe had opened the door apparently- Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran down the corridor at what felt like impossible speeds. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn’t see him anywhere, but Hermione was more concerned with putting more distance between them and the Cerberus as fast as humanly possible. They didn’t stop running –her aching muscles and lungs screaming at her stop–  until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

“Where on earth have you all been?” she asked, looking at their bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces with concern. 

“It’s a long story, bitch.” Ron gasped out. 

“Never mind that, pig snout, pig snout,” panted Harry, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.

It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville looked like he’d never say a word again, possibly from trauma.Just when Hermione was wondering if she’d have to perform CPR on him he let out a little sob. So, he wasn’t going into cardiac arrest, just was having a mental breakdown. Why couldn’t he be going into cardiac arrest, Hermione knew how to deal with that at the very least. 

“Why the fuck would they keep a giant dog in the school?” said Ron finally. 

“You don’t use your eyes, any of you, do you?” Zoe snapped. Harry gave her a pointed look over his glasses. 

“I thought you were the smart one.” 

“Hey-” Ronald started but Zoe, thankfully, interrupted him. 

“Didn’t you see what it was standing on?” Zoe asked them.

“The floor?” Harry suggested. “I wasn’t lookin at its feet, I was too busy with trying to not die.” 

(Situational awareness when on adrenaline: Poor)

“No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It’s obviously guarding something.”

Hermione stood up, glaring at these bumbling fools. 

“I hope you’re pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed – or worse, expelled . Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.” Hermione huffed before storming off. 

That was the last time she ever followed those goddamn fools anywhere at night. 

(Little did she know it in fact, wasn’t the last time by far)

Chapter Text

When Ron dragged an exhausted Harry on his back to breakfast the next morning Malfoy looked like someone had slipped a thumb up his ass unexpectedly and slapped his face at the same time. Served the fucker right trying to get them expelled again when he didn’t even have the nerve to show up. 

Despite the dog trying to kill them, (a Cerberus) a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Granger reminded him. He threw a chair at it because he didn’t need the goddamn scientific name of a three headed door thank you very the fuck much, he was more worried about Harry being eaten by it. 

He was barely passing from ‘emaciated’ to ‘underweight’ with all of the food Ron had been shoving down his throat and little morsels that Harry kept squirreling when he thought no one was looking. Ron was always looking at him but he himself always snuck away some food for later as a snack so he pretended not to notice the growing stash of candy and non perishables that Harry hid in his trunk. If it made Harry feel better than Ron was all for it, unless it was something really fucking gross, like bugs. 

(If he decided to make a collection of spiders he was going to light it on fire and move into a different dorm though.) 

Also what kind of absolute goddamn madman keeps a giant carnivorous monster in a school full of nosy children besides the twins? They would do something less dangerous though, maybe a boggart or such. It would be bloody annoying whatever it was, that’s for true. 

Harry had filled him in on the situation with the Gringotts package and they spent the rest of breakfast debating what was in there that warranted that goddamn monster to guard it. 

Harry thought it would be something fancy, like a rare heirloom but Ron thought the only thing that warranted that much protection was something cursed ten ways to Sunday. 

(That or Harry but Harry deserved a dragon and a castle, the who shebang)

“Wait, it's two inches long, yeah?” 

“About.” 

“It has to be Malfoy’s prick.” Zoe says with all the wisdom of a great sage, prompting Ron to snort from laughter. “Nah mate, that’s smaller.” 

“It probably steals your soul some shit.” Ron said to Harry, who was now awake enough to string together sentences. 

“Cerberus are extremely rare beasts, with only a select few existing outside of the infernal realm. Those that do are summoned by extremely dark rituals and only bind themselves to those they deem worthy, with summoners who do not pass the test being brutally slaughtered on the spot. Cerberus are extremely loyal when their trust is earned however and become lifelong companions, often guarding the tombs or treasures of their masters for thousands of years after they have passed.” Hermione recited, reading from a book that looked like it would count as a tactical weapon that also had a suspicious amount of blood stains on it. 

“Hey Granger, where did you get that book?” Ron asked politely (demanded).  

“Would you like to worry about trivial matters as to where I acquire my reading material or would you like to hear more about Cerberus?” she said coolly, looking at a very, very, complicated diagram that made Ron’s hand ache just looking at it. 

“More about the Cerberus if you please” Harry chimed in. 

Traitor. 

“Excellent, now as I was saying. Controlling them is possible, if difficult. Charming spells are largely ineffective, as is most magic. Magical flutes imbued with the blood of the master and several other ingredients are the only tried and true method of control.” 

“What about, say, killing one? Hypothetically of course.” Ron added at Hermione’s deathly glare. 

“The only way to defeat one is using the blood of a slain unicorn to banish them back to whence they came from. But beware, for Cerberus remember every scent they come across and will chase those that wronged them across every plane until they are killed.” 

“Okay so no killing one, noted, noted.” Ron hummed as Hermione continued perusing her nerdy shit. Her newfound fascination was the dog they’d found in the chamber and she devoured any piece of information she could sink her claws into. 

(He’d make fun of her for reading so much shit but the had strong arms from carrying those books around a bloody good fucking aim. The goose egg on the back of his head could attest to that for true)

A week later and much more information about Cerberus than anyone ever fucking needed ever, (Seriously where the bloody hell had that bitch gotten all of those books?), they are pleasantly surprised by a package delivery.

Said pleasant surprise involves six owls carrying a truly enormous package -all of them screeching- during what Harry has dubbed ‘The Great Owl Assault’ that happens during breakfast and trying to give Harry a goddamn concussion. 

“BLOODY HELL- ” Ron yells, watching the box descend towards Harry, before he grabs him around the waist and yanks him to the side- his black hair missing the box by an inch- and it slams onto the table with all of the grace of a drunk elephant, throwing the bacon on the floor. Then to add insult to almost injury, a seventh owl dumps a letter on it and flutters away, like its friends didn’t try to kill someone via blunt force trauma. 

“GET YOUR BLOODY FEATHERY FUCKING ASSES BACK YOU HERE YOU GODDAMN GLORIFIED CHICKENS OR I SWEAR ITO ALL THAT IS HOLY-” he starts, standing up to rip them limb from limb when a hand poking in the back interrupts him. 

“Ron, Ron, look, look!” Harry practically gushes, shoving a letter into his face and narrowly avoiding giving him a papercut in the eye. He squints at the flowy script that is mere centimeters from his face that says 

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don’t want everybody knowing you’ve got a broomstick or they’ll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o’ clock for your first training session.

Professor M. McGonagall

Harry is vibrating in his seat, beaming with unadulterated joy and clutching the package like it will kill him to part from him. 

“CHRIST a Nimbus Two Thousand!?” 

“Shhh!” Harry and Granger hiss at the same time, before Harry grabs his wrist and the package, dragging him to the stairs  as Granger's Disapproving Stare™ burns a hole in the back of  his head. Jokes on her, he’d spent his entire life with Molly Weasley’s Disapproving Stare™ digging into him and they were much stronger. 

“Where’re we going mate?” Ron asks, trying not to fall on his arse at the truly groundbreaking speed Harry’s short legs are achieving. He did not know the man did leg day this intensely. 

 “To the dorms to open it before the first period, obviously.”

Yeah that probably made the most sense instead of toting it around all day. 

They had gone halfway through the hall before they saw tweedle dee and tweedle dum guarding the staircase like some ugly wannabe gargoyles when Malfoy popped up out of the woodwork and snatched the package from Harry’s hands, groping it like those creepy old blokes at bars who felt up the servers, before tossing it back to them before Ron could take it back and beat the shit out of him. 

(Not with the Nimbus, obviously. That was akin to beating a slug with a holy cross)

“You’re in trouble now Potter, that’s a broomstick, first years aren’t allowed to have them.” Malfoy said with a mix of jealousy and spite, looking like he was sucking lemon rinds. 

“Oh what gave it away? When you fucking stole the package like some two bit snatcher and copped a feel? You that lonely Malfoy? Your hand not good enough for your prick? Too bad that’s all it’s getting.” Ron snarked at him, watching his face contort. 

“You of all people would know about two bit snatchers, being one yourself.” he snapped right back, like Ron couldn’t take every valuable on his person and slip away without the git noticing. He was taught by the best of the best, after all, Fred and George couldn’t have their baby brother be lousy at the family art. 

“Least I don’t get caught, unlike some people. Besides, it’s a Nimbus Two Thousand, not like that Comet Two Sixty you have at home.” He smiled at Harry. “They’re expensive but they’re shit in terms of performance.” 

“Oh shut your mouth Weasley, your family couldn’t afford part of the handle-” Malfoy spat out before he froze. A hand from Flitwick had landed on his shoulder. “Not fighting boys are we?” he squeaked out, about as intimidating as a caterpillar. 

“Potters got a broomstick Professor” Malfoy immediately said, the boot licker he was. God he made him sick to his stomach. 

“Fucking ass kisser” Ron hissed, wanting to rip out his fucking tongue, and Harry gave his hand a squeeze, a silent ‘calm your arse down’. He settled down (unwillingly might he add)

“Ah yes, it’s a special case from McGonagall or so I’ve heard. What model is it Potter?” Flitwick said, beaming. Ron was mildly disgusted by his blatant hero worship of a fucking twelve year old, but there was nothing he could do or Harry would incite a riot amongst his chess pieces like the petty little scheming shit he was. 

“A Nimbus Two Thousand Sir.” 

“That’s the best model on the current market!” Flitwick exclaimed. Harry’s ears turned red and Ron felt a smirk creeping onto his face. Damn right he did, only the finest for his best mate. 

Malfoy looked absolutely horrified, an expression that Ron fucking reveled in. That pathetic little shit stain of a coward should be goddamn terrified of them- because one day Harry and Granger wouldn’t be watching him - and on that day Ron will make him regret every single second he fucking breathed in Harry’s oxygen. 

It would be so nice too, shattering all 206 of his bones individually so that the shards dug out of his flesh, exposing the spongy bone marrow to the world. God he’d squeal like a stuck fucking pig too, wailing for his mummy and daddy to come save him from Ron, a lowly fucking Weasley, and oh wasn’t that just a sweet though. 

He could practically smell the metallic scent of his blood in the air, his mouth watering for that thick crimson to grace his taste buds, the tacky feel as it dried on his skin. And he was close, he was so so close, mere feet away from that crimson gold flowing through Malfoy’s veins that he could just reach out and crush his cartilage, cut through those few centimeters of tissue to gain access to the arteries with his teeth. 

Drool filled his mouth at the prospect, teeth aching with the urge to cut through raw flesh and muscle. He opened his jaw, ready to lunge for that pale hand to crush his phalanges when he felt someone shove something soft and salty with his tongue before he bit down. 

The fuck? 

He looked down and realized that Harry had shoved his hand in his mouth before he could get the jump on Malfoy. It tasted salty from sweat and mildly like ink- which was disgusting- but also like iron. Oh, his teeth had sunk into his bite mark. That was nice, fuck this was nice, he hadn’t done this in a while. It was cathartic in a way, staking his claim again in public. His brain was going all fuzzy with endorphins as his teeth dug in deeper and deeper, feeling the tissue break. 

He purred happily, moving his teeth back and forth gently, coaxing out the blood and onto his tongue so he could lick it up. Oh that was the shit right there, so sweet. 

What was he doing again? Something that clearly doesn’t matter as much as what’s in his mouth. His thoughts were wading through molasses, time slipping through his fingers slowly. It was fine, Harry knew what he was doing, he could trust him as he sunk down into this soft space in his brain where everything was quiet. 

Voices were buzzing around annoyingly, incessant and tinny. It was stupid, why wasn’t it quiet anymore? He let out a disgruntled growl, trying to signal to Harry that he should take care of this. 

“It’s okay sweetheart, we’re leaving right now.” he cooed and Ron let it slip through one ear and out the other. Harry would deal with it, he was tired right now. 

They were moving and hey, he didn’t want to move he wanted to stay here dammit it was nice. His complaints were met with gentle soothing as they moved somewhere and after an indeterminate amount of time he felt something soft under him. It was fluffy and warm and smelled like that cheap ass shampoo Harry used, peach or some shit. His head thunked on Harry’s skinny little chest, his sternum digging into his cheek as he was clumsily laid against him. He could hear the faint thumping of his heart that matched the rhythm of Harry petting his hair, muttering something or other. Eyes drooping with a slurred “g’night harry'', he let unconsciousness take him. 

—-------------------------------------------

Harry looked down at Ron who was snoring on his chest, drool dripping out his mouth and pooling onto his palm that he still had in the vice grip jaw. He was loose and relaxed, practically putty in his hands. 

It was odd to see him without his guard up, constant vigilance about everyone and everything, ready to lash out at any moment. He was cute like this (though he’d never tell him that to his face because he liked not being mauled), sleeping away like a baby in his arms. 

Fuck it was unreal, seeing this wild beast who was all claws and teeth and blood turn pliant and soft in his grasp by merely cuddling him and saying a few sweet words. Intoxicating even, seeing the power he held over the most volatile student in Hogwarts 

No one else could fully control him, not even his mother who he obeyed more out of a begrudging sense of duty and familial love. Harry though? Some shitty two bit orphan who was broken beyond repair was the one who held his leash. 

His very own monster, all to himself. 

He liked that. 

Eventually though they had to go to class and break this bubble of warmth and safety around him. Ron ascended from his haze with the grace of a toddler who hadn’t napped in days and was just woken up by a loud sound after they finally fell asleep (read: zero grace at all). 

“ No .” 

“Ron, c’mon we gotta go we’re gonna miss class.” Harry pleads, trying to pry Ron off of him and failing magnificently. 

“Class can go fuck itself” Ron slurs before tightening his grip on him and squeezing. 

He wheezes, the air knocked out of his chest by a sharp elbow. Is this what mice feel like when they get squeezed by pythons? He’s developing a new found sympathy for small rodents. And for his ribs. Especially for his ribs. 

“Wake up or I am feeding Scabbers to Crookshanks.” 

That wakes Ron right up. “There is no way in hell that bitches cat is eating my goddamn rat.” he hisses as he sits up. 

“Well then, guess we’d better get to class then huh?” Harry says with an award winning smile (read: shit eating grin) . “I hate you.” Ron grumbles as he slowly extracts himself from Harry's arms. 

“No you don’t” 

“Not I don’t” he sighs. 

The rest of the day passes in a blur, Harry’s thoughts occupied by the shiny broomstick hidden under the bed just waiting for him. He would’ve been worried about if being stolen but Ron had hexed, cursed, and warded their room enough to put a bunker to shame, because Ron was  ‘not waking up with his bloody hair neon green thank you very the fuck much’. It was probably safest place in school with the amount of research Ron had put into it (and the several sets of locks he’d managed to nick) 

As seven o’clock drew nearer, Harry was practically vibrating with excitement, dragging Ron back to the dorms and unlocking the door with record speed to grab his Nimbus Two Thousand and setting off for the quidditch field with a bitching Ron in tow. 

He looked at the stadium in awe. The stands were raised high enough to see the action, hundreds of feet off the ground,  with enough seats to fit the entire school in four separate sections. There were three hoops near the end of the grassy field that reminded Harry of those sticks that kids used to blow bubbles, just fifty feet tall and made of metal. And colored gold. 

“It’s so big” he breathed out, squeezing Ron’s hand tightly. It was the biggest thing he’d ever seen, even bigger than the football stadium he’d seen at the high schools when he was walking home. (Or usually running from Dudley and his pals) 

“Not as big as a real field mate, those are fucking ginormous I’m telling you. Dad took us to a game one time with the knights and you could barely see the ends.” Ron gushed excitedly. Harry tried to imagine it, a field so big you could barely see the end of it with shining lights and thousands of fans screaming and hollering, watching colored blurs fly past on broomsticks. 

“Quidditch games are bloody expensive but I’ll take you to one day Harry, for your birthday or some shit. We’ll go to the Chudley Cannons and you’ll see how cool they are.” 

Harry turned to look at Ron and promptly forgot how to breathe as his vision tunneled into his best mate's face. He had a slanted smile on his face that exposed his slightly crooked (and way too sharp) teeth, dimples appearing on freckled cheeks that were slightly flushed from the chill of dusk. His hair was a mess, ginger strands falling into his face and slightly obscuring his scrunched up eyes, a dazzling blue that was like stained glass shining in a chapel. The light from the sunset bathed him a flurry of colors, reds and golds contrasting the green of the field in the background. He was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life, like some wild beast in human form come to eat him whole. 

Harry Potter was eleven years old on the autumn of 1991 when he fell arse over heels for his best friend on the Quidditch field; the first step into a long descent to the deep end. 

—-------------------------------------

Oliver walked over the Quidditch field, box in hand with the balls. He was bloody pumped, McGonagall had told him all about Potter being an absolute natural; that he could beat Charlie Weasley himself with enough practice with enough practice. 

Oliver clenched his teeth at the reminder of Charlie, the bloody talented git that had thrown it all away and gone to fucking Bulgaria to fuck around with dragons of all things instead of going professional like Merlin intended. God he was a vision on the field, a blur of orange, red, and gold that practically brought tears to Oliver's eyes when he grasped that tiny golden little snitch. 

He’d been ready to march to Bulgaria and drag his arse back himself after they lost the Quidditch cup last year and suffered an absolutely humiliating defeat at the hands of fucking Slytherin . 

But now, his prayers had been answered at last, they would NOT lose this year, be it through Potter, blood sacrifices, or selling his soul to Voldemort himself, Oliver refused to be defeated once again. 

As he got closer he noticed a  blur weaving through the posts with the grace of a falcon, swooping down and around leisurely. He walked faster, eager to see Potter in action, before he noticed there appeared to be another passenger on the Nimbus Two Thousand. It was the same kid who had carried Harry up to meet with Mcgonogal. 

It was the dreaded Ronnie-kins if he wasn’t mistaken, famous in the team for the assortment of bite scars his brothers carried on them. Everyone thought they’d been attacked by some particularly nasty hound that was trying to kill them before they noticed every Weasley seemed to carry them. When Oliver asked George had looked at his arm disinterestedly before saying, “Oh this old thing?” “Ronnie-kins is just a bit of a biter, no sweat.” Fred finished, their creepy twin telepathy abilities appearing once again. 

(He could’ve sworn they were the same person if not for the separate bodies they possessed. But as long as they could hit the bludger with enough gusto to behead a man he didn’t care)

Potter was practically zooming  through the air even with the passenger on his back, clinging onto him with gangly limbs and yelling an assortment of obscenities that would make a sailor blush while Potter cackled joyously and flew like a bat out of hell. 

“Hey, Potter, come here!” 

Both of their heads whipped around in perfect sync, glaring at him from across the pitch. He felt a shiver trace across his spine at the empty look in Potter’s eye and the hungry spark in Ronalds, like some kind of feral animal that had stumbled upon prey. 

Olivers instincts were screaming that he should get the bloody hell out of here, run all the way to the castle and never stop until he was somewhere safe or he would pay for it, but Oliver was a desperate bloke and desperate blokes do stupid fucking things for another seeker. 

 Potter banked the broom towards him, doing a barrel roll on the way down with Weasley screaming bloody murder before he stopped a foot above the ground, Potter with a flushed face and manic smile on his face, and Weasley with a pale face, clinging onto the smaller boy like it was a matter of life and death. 

The ginger stumbled off of the broom and fell to his knees on the ground, looking like he’d gone through a hurricane with his robes all out of place and hair a right bloody mess. 

“Never ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever-” Weasley muttered with a haunted look in his eyes as Potter simply laughed. 

“Oh c’mon Ron, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Wasn’t that bad?! WASN’T THAT BAD?!” Weasley yelled half hysterically, shaking Potter back and forth by his shoulders. “YOU ALMOST DROPPED ME FIVE FUCKING TIMES WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT WASN’T THAT BAD I ALMOST BROKE MY BLOODY NECK YOU FUCKING GIT,  WHAT GODDAMN LUNATIC WHO WAS SO DRUNK OFF THEIR ARSE THEY LET YOU,” he jabbed his finger at him, ”OF ALL PEOPLE HAVE A BROOM!.”

“Professor McGonagall Ron, you were there.” 

“Fuck that hag” he hissed. 

Oliver clears his throat, hoping to catch their attention once more. Ron glares at him- mid shake- while Potter looks over. Fucking finally he had their attention. 

“Very nice, I see what McGonagall meant…you really are a natural. I’m just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you’ll be joining team practice three times a week. Easy enough, eh?” 

Potter nods at him politely. 

“Alright Potter, I’m just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you’ll be joining team practice three times a week.” 

“Alright Ron, we got it three times a week.” He says to Weasley, who looks about as excited at the prospect as pulling out his own teeth, but sighs and nods nonetheless. 

“Uh, what do you mean by we?” Oliver asks, looking between the two of them in confusion. 

“Are you fucking deaf mate-” Ron starts before he’s silenced by an elbow in the gut and doubles over, wheezing in pain. “He means we’re a package deal.” Harry says with a sweet smile. 

Oliver goes to say that anyone not on the team is not allowed to watch practice but glare from Weasley shuts him up. He likes his organs inside of him. Thank you. 

“Right,” he said, moving right along. “Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it’s not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers.”

“Three Chasers,” Harry repeated, as he took out the Quaffle to show him the big red ball. 

“This ball’s called the Quaffle, the Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try to get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Follow me?”

“The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score,” Harry recited. “So – that’s sort of like basketball on broomsticks with six hoops, isn’t it?”

What in Merlin's beard was he talking about? 

“What’s basketball?” Oliver asks curiously. “I’ve never heard of it before.” 

“Never mind,” said Harry quickly.

“Now, there’s another player on each side who’s called the Keeper – I’m Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring.”

“Three Chasers, on Keeper,” said Harry, who looked very determined to remember all of this “And they play with the Quaffle. Okay, got that. So what are they for?” He pointed at the three balls left inside the box.

“I’ll show you now, take this.”

He handed Harry the beater stick. 

“I’m going to show you what the Bludgers do, these two are the Bludgers.”

He showed Harry two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. Harry looked curiously at the bludgers straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box.

“Stand back,” he warned Harry. He bent down and freed one of the Bludgers.

At once, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight at Potter's face, who paled and raised the beater stick to stop it before Weasley grabbed the stick from his hand, shoved him out of the way, and swung it brutally, sending it flying in the other direction. Oliver gaped at Weasley in shock and almost got the bludger in his face before the ginger growled and dived on top of to just fucking whale it into the ground bloody viciously with the beating stick. 

“Don’t” smack , “Go” smack , “After” smack “Harry” smack, “ You” smack, “Piece” smack “Of” smack, “Goddamn” smack “Shit” smack

The bludger was practically quivering in the ground, cowering from the assault being rained down upon it by Weasley who was madder than a dragon whose hatchling had been kidnapped. 

“Weasley- '' Oliver tried before he was silenced by a glare.

The next five minutes were spent cringing in sympathy for the bludger as it practically flattened into the ground until it stopped moving. He picked up the quivering -slightly deformed- bludger from its hole in the ground it had helped make before glaring at it. 

“I’m going to let you go now and you are not going to hit Harry or I will hunt you down and kill you myself, capiche?” 

As soon as he let go the bludger flew into the box under the strap and quaked in fear. 

Well that just happened. 

“Uh, anyway, the Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That’s why you have two Beaters on each team – the Weasley twins are ours – it’s their job to protect their side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So – think you’ve got all that?”

“Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the goalposts; the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team,” Harry reeled off.

“Very good,” said Wood.

“Er – have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?” Harry asked, sounding apprehensive at the prospect. 

“Never at Hogwarts. We’ve had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That’s you. And you don’t have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers –“

“- unless they crack my head open.”

“Which they are not going to do.” Weasley says with a sharp smile towards the bludgers who try to burrow further into the velvet padding in fear. 

“Don’t worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers – I mean, they’re like a pair of human Bludgers themselves.”

Oliver reached into the box and took out the snitch. 

”This,” he said, “is the Golden Snitch, and it’s the most important ball of the lot. It’s very hard to catch because it’s so fast and difficult to see. It’s the Seeker’s job to catch it. You’ve got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team’s Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That’s why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages – I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep.

“Well, that’s it – any questions?”

Potter shook his head. 

“We won’t practice with the Snitch yet,” Oliver said, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, “it’s too dark, we might lose it. Let’s try you out with a few of these.”

He pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his pocket and a few minutes later, Oliver, Weasley and Potter were up in the air, the two of them throwing the golf balls as hard as they could in every direction for Potter to catch. 

Harry didn’t miss a single one, and he was beyond delighted. After half an hour, night had really fallen and they couldn’t carry on anymore, which was a damn shame. 

Weasley picked up Potter, who looked half unconscious and threw him on his back, all three of them trudging their way to the castle through the grass. 

“We’re gonna win that Quidditch cup this year Weasley I can feel it.” Oliver said, giddier than a tyke on Christmas. His prayers had been answered at last, by a pair of very disconcerting children, but he couldn’t give less of a fuck if he tried. 

They were going to win, and that’s all that mattered in his book, casualties for the other teams be damned.

Chapter Text

It's all Hallows eve and as such was time for everyone to bloody bonkers, busying themselves with putting as many health hazards as they could possibly cram into the castle at once. A few included the literal fucking rabies infested wanna be birds fluttering around the candles floating in the great hall, because if nothing else Hogwarts was dedicated in it’s task to endanger children and violate HOA laws for sport. 

The only actual point of All Hallows Eve wasn’t decorating with a whatever diseased fucking creatures they could find; it was that the veil between the living or the dead thinned ‘When the stars aligned the divide will unit by the power of the heavens blah-fucking-blah’ and all that hippie shit. Long story short, it was come to talk more easily. It was a huge thing with dark wizards- or wizards who just wanted to see their Grandmum-  but the ministry had banned summoning spirits because ‘it was dark magic and people have died yada yada yada’. The ministry thought anything that didn’t summon unicorns and rainbows out of your arse was dark magic though so he took it with a grain of salt. Scratch that, he took with no salt, that was all bullshit. 

Ron himself thought the whole light and dark thing was bollocks but he also lived with a family who saw rules as more of a suggestion and violence as a mostly viable solution in a lot of cases.

(Yes it was Harry, shut up, just ‘cause your twiggy little arse can’t throw a proper right hook doesn’t mean it doesn’t work for fucks sake-)

They drew the line at like, blood sacrifices or summoning demons, they weren’t evil . Even though the twins and Ron weren’t exactly against the idea of blood sacrifices per-say, and the Bill dealt with demons with the regular- that’s not the point in the first place anyway

Granger was under the firm opinion that it was a load of crap, but she was under the impression that everything that couldn’t be explained with maths was a load of crap; which was not only stupid , it was needlessly complicated to boot. She insisted that ‘science’ and magic were completely different- what with science being proven by a bunch of dead old blokes- but Dad said they were basically the same thing, muggles just refused to see any magic that wasn’t theirs was viable or natural. 

(Because manipulating an invisible force using materials that specifically conducted it and managing to connect and power the entirety of London to it wasn’t magical at all Ronald of course not)

“Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing!” squeaked Professor Flitwick, his voice sounding about as pleasant that time Fred and George had tied Ron to a door and scratched nails down a chalkboard for an hour as revenge for eating the last piece of pie. 

(His revenge had been brutal but swift, strewing all of their highly dangerous projects in places that they should never be in in the first place. Ah, the absolute verbal flaying they got that day still brought a smile to his face)  

But even Fred and George had nothing on this bloody fucking midget as he repeated a bunch of basic shit even tykes knew for fucks sake. 

 “Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said ‘s’ instead of ‘f’ and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.”

Ron had never met this Baruffio fellow but he was going to do more than crush his ribcage if Flitwick mentioned him One. More. Bloody. Time. For Morgana's sake, he never shut up about it, fucking ever.

After a few more tangents on how to pronounce things and an extreme exercise in Ron’s patience and sanity, he’d given them feathers and told them to make them float; simple in theory, absolute fucking bullshit in practice. 

If he didn’t hate the fucker for sitting him next to Granger of all people and moving his Sweetheart further away than was ever acceptable - arms reach-  then this was just the cherry on the shit cake. 

The entire class was struggling to get it to move even a centimeter above the desk so at least he wasn’t alone.  There was a plethora of disgruntled complaints, hissed latin, and a few colorful curses that even Granger snorted at, a miracle in and of itself. 

He had to admit that Dean whisper shouting that his feather, and I quote, “Could right back to the fucking useless piece of chicken it came from or Merlin fucking help him-” was iconic. 

Zoe got so impatient that she poked it with her wand and set it on fire– which was seeming more and more a good idea by the minute because if anything the twins had taught him it was that most problems could be solved through arson, or at least create problems that could be solved with arson- and Harry had to put it out with his hat.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” he shouted, waving his arms like a windmill. 

 The feather didn’t even have the decency to tremor, it simply sat there, all feather-ey like, mocking him plainly for his inability to bend the rules of gravity.

Well fuck feathers right goddamn bac k , everything that had feathers should be put to death immediately for the crime of growing the bloody things to mock innocent students (Ron) for not doing their jobs (what he wanted them to do) 

Just as he was pondering how likely it was that he could just say, conveniently light his feather on fire and accidentally burn down the classroom, he was interrupted by a shrill voice. 

“You’re saying it wrong, it’s Wing- gar -dium Levi- o -sa, not Wingardium Leviosa.” Granger chimed in, because Ron had mysteriously asked for her opinion without even opening his mouth. 

“You do it, then, if you’re so clever,” Ron snarled, gesturing towards his clearly defective feather. 

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

Then the feather, traitor of all fucking traitors , rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads. Granger smirked at him. “See, it’s easy Ronald.” 

Ron was going to rip out her eyeballs and make her choke on them, see if she can say it’s easy then. 

“Oh, well done!” cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. “Everyone see here, Miss Granger’s done it!”

Ron is actually going to kill Flitwick, it was official. Not even Harry himself could stop him. 

(That was an absolute bald faced lie) 

 It couldn’t be that hard to hide his tiny body somewhere in Hogwarts, it was a bloody big castle that next to no one knew completely. Except for Dumbledore, Filch, Peeves,  Mr. Norris, or Fred and George from all of those years of sneaking around, (okay so maybe not NOT next to no one knew) but he had more than a few tricks up his sleeve that he’d orchestrated when he’d met Harry. Fred and George owed him several favors that could be tallied up to hiding at least one murder, the three asshole-kateers were more likely to hide the body for fun, and what that old coot didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. 

(Or it would, and everyone would be tap dancing for joy in the burrow) 

Besides, there are a plethora of ways to kill someone with magic and get away with it, hence the very high missing wizard rate. He’ll never forget the day he sat down on a box and the transfiguration spell on the corpse had expired. Bloated flesh and bony protrusions were not exactly the preferred thing to sit your arse down on. It’s not like he contributed to those numbers (much)

By the end of class he had burnt his feather until only a charred outline remained on the desk, was ready to rip out all of his hair, one by one, and was going to murder someone if he didn’t get Harry in his arms effective immediately damnit. He was starting to shake from withdrawal, the feeling of a thousand fire ants crawling up his spine where his Sunshine previously was, his already shitty temper hitting defcon one at a faster speed than sustainable if he wasn’t going to break the law or someone's goddamn neck. He needed Harry in his arms now or Merlin fucking help him-. 

“Well then I believe we’re finish-” 

Oh thank FUCK 

Ron jumped out of chair, practically ran over to Harry, and snatched him into a hug.

All of the tension spooled out of his arms at once and he finally felt like he could fucking BREATHE again. Oh yeah man, this was the shit, one hundred percent. Was this what it felt like to do drugs? Nah, this was better than drugs. 

Harry was tiny, like a little baby bird. He’d always liked birds, little vicious dinosaur freaks they were. They were so fragile and soft, it barely took any effort to snap their bones like a twig. He reminded him of the time that Charlie had raised a chick. 

When Charlie had found a chick in the backyard Ron had been fascinated. It’s wing had broken and stuck out at weird angles, the bone protruding from the feathers. He’d never seen any baby birds before and could barely understand how fragile it was. He’d watched Charlie nurse it back to health, hunting through the garden for bugs and making a little nest. 

Ron broke the chicks spine just to see if he could. It made a slight crunching noise, like when you bite into a carrot. It was easy to watch the life drain out of its eyes, like it always was.  Charlie had been near inconsolable, and refused to talk to anyone while he was distraught over the death of Thaddeus the third. 

Ron didn’t regret it, not a bloody bit, but he liked Charlie, so he went to find him another chick. Charlie had always liked the animals Ron brought back (as long they were alive or used for food, an important distinction to make if he didn’t want Mum to beat his arse for bringing in a dead cat again) so he figured it would be worth a try. 

He’d found another bird, even though this one wasn’t the same color and it was still in a nest in the tree. The parents (dubbed as fuckwad and bastard) kept pecking and scratching and screaming like fucking banshees every time he tried close to the nest trying to protect their baby but unfortunately for them Ron was one determined bastard and if his brother wanted another bird he was damn bloody well going to get another fucking bird. After weeks of endless battle with those two fuckers he emerged victorious with an avian infant as his prize. He snapped both wings and presented it to Charlie as a birthday gift. He liked it better than his present last year- a coyote- so he counted that as a win. 

Harry felt like that small chick freshly out of the nest, so small and trusting and blinder than a fucking bat (And he knew bats weren’t blind Charlie Jesus Christ it’s a figure of speech-) , that needed to be guarded all the time so no would one could take him away from Ron. But unlike those two failures of parents, he won’t leave Harry unattended for a second to the mercy of predators like himself. 

“Feathers should be banned, they are clearly defective,” Ron snarled, as he shoved through the torrent of students, Harry clinging to his robes and side to avoid making accidental contact with  people. Other people touching him freaked him out (a fact that had been noted, researched, and plans for Harry’s shitty adoptive family to murdered made accordingly) so Ron had made it his Merlin given mission to act as a human battering ram, to the point that people naturally parted for them like that muggle wizard Moses if they didn’t want to get run over. 

And if a few people were bulldozed over and trampled by the masses then that was what it took for Harry to feel comfortable, and Ron would deliver. He may have been smaller and skinnier, but he made up for it with sheer momentum, moxy, and pure aggression, just like a proper Weasley. 

(His Mum was a vision in a crowded shop, she could barge straight through a sea of limbs and heads on her way to a sale, leaving a trail of destruction in her path. )

“Ronald, have you ever considered-” 

“Granger, I swear to Morgana that I rip out your teeth, crush them, and make you snort them like crack cocaine if you say another goddamn word. ” Ron hissed at her as they kept walking. 

“There is no need to be so violent Ronald; I really do not see what the deal is.” Granger said primly, like she didn’t have an entire two by four up her arse. 

(He was surprised she didn’t cough up saw dust to be completely honest)

“Oh I don’t know, maybe because you’re a smarmy little know-it-all who has no bloody friends because you act like a bitch? Maybe because you’re clinically bonkers? Maybe because you never keep your bloody nose out of everyone else’s business?” 

Granger looked at him flatly and Ron looked at her with a verbatim expression on his face. 

“I suppose that was extremely rude and I should run off crying pathetically about my ‘hurt’ feeling right about now?” Granger asked as she did honest to Merlin air quotes. 

( Air quotes . Would the horrors ever cease?)

“I think so, that’s what Ginny does.” Ron said. He’d gotten his arse whooped by Mum for making Ginny cry because he said something ‘insensitive’. He wasn’t the expert about the strange rituals that people did instead of just bloody saying what they mean like a bunch of stupid fucking gits by any means himself. 

“Well then, I believe this is my time to exit stage right.” She looked over at Ron and rubbed her eyes until they were irritated and starting to water. “Do I look like I’m about to cry?” 

He gave her a thumbs up. “You look like your Nan just kicked the bucket.” She nodded, and ran ahead of them, making fake sniffling noises. 

“So, how much do you want to bet she’s a shifter?” Ron asked conversationally, watching her run through the masses with her crocodile tears and uncanny valley expression. 

 Granger was perhaps the shittiest actor he had ever met- and that included fucking Percy, the man who wouldn’t know how to act any way other than how he felt if given a detailed manual, instructional videos, and an acting coach- and Harry looked at him questioningly. 

“What’s a shifter?” 

“Slippery little fuckers that can take the form of other people. They’re born human and can learn the skill at a random point in their life or not at all, able to shed their skin and become the other person. It’s nasty as hell by the way, super messy and painful too. I don’t know why they do it in the first place. To be honest it looks like it hurts like a bitch.” Ron steered Harry out of the way of some Raven claws that were simply not getting the hint that they needed to get the north wing of the castle yesterday . 

“They get everything, wounds, scars, finger prints, memories of who they’re impersonating is alive, the whole shebang. Only way to really tell is from the silver or copper sheen their eyes get in mirrors or divining spells.That and dogs, they go bloody nuts around ‘em, they can see their true form. Bark loud enough to wake up the whole damn neighborhood lemme tell you mate, we had a shifter on our block and they all just lost their shit, it sounded terrible.” Ron said, cringing at the memory of that auditory assault. 

Harry nodded, enraptured. 

 “They're strong, fast, can recover from a wound not caused by silver, mimic voices, regenerate, have telepathy, a whole lotta shit to be honest. Silver can kill ‘em, some radioactive rock,” What was it called again. It started with an i or some shit? “Iridium?” Harry said questioningly. “That’s the shit mate.” Ron said with a snap of his fingers. 

“Knew we kept you around for something Sunshine, turns out it was that big brain.” Ron teased, giving Harry a noogie. “That and decapitation, yanking out the heart, and explosions. Not the worst bastards to deal with but certainly not the easiest. They came from this one dude named the alpha, the original shifter, some demon or what not that fucked a bunch of lasses by impersonating their partners or through other means. A regular casanova if y’know what I mean.” He gave a wink and salacious smirk. The tips of Harry’s ears flushed.  

“Wow,” Harry said, raising his eyebrows, “How’d you know all that?” 

“Ya don’t wanna know mate, ya don’t wanna know.” He shuddered, getting flashbacks to the times that Bill had cornered him in the burrow, eyes absolutely frantic, telling him so much shit about monsters that he quite frankly didn’t need to know unless he was becoming a monster hunter. Which wasn’t a bad gig now that he thinks about it.

Winter came jogging from behind them and gave them a glare. “That was mean Ron, would it kill you to not act like an arsehole for ten minutes?” Ron squinted into the distance and nodded sagely like he was actually considering it. 

(He absolutely wasn’t but no one needed to know that, did they?)

“I believe it would Winters” Harry snickered quietly with a shit eating grin on his face. It was out of place on his cherubic face but that only made him more pretty, in Ron’s professional opinion. 

She threw her hands up in the air and hissed “ Boys .” before jogging after Hermione. 

“Should we act sympathetic?” Harry pondered, putting his spare hand to tap on his chin. 

(Oh shit, was he supposed to? He tried to remember if that was a thing he was required to do for this situation and came up blank. Whenever he made Ginny cry Mum always made him say sorry and take back his lovely presents that he’d given her. 

It wasn’t Ron’s fault that she didn’t appreciate any of his gifts that he’d painstakingly hunted for and delivered to her with a bow, like some sort of freak. I mean who said no to fairies? He’d even gotten her some of the little assholes alive when she didn’t like the dead ones, but she screamed exactly the same. Some people are impossible to please)

“Well whaddya want me to do Harry? I don’t know how girls work, they use like,” he gestured his hands vaguely,” emotions to communicate, instead of just fighting it out or giving perfectly good gifts, it’s creepy. (Because it wasn’t like her whole existence made his hackles raise in the first place, you have no proof ) I’m sure it’ll be fine, she wasn’t even butt hurt about it, she was trying to blend in.” 

“Saying sorry is a good first step.” 

Ron gently turned, grabbed his shoulders, and looked right into Harry’s very green eyes. “Sunshine, Darling, Honey, Harry-kins, Baby Boy, Love of My life, Sweetheart, My Bestest Mate in the world, the other half of my soul, you could kill everyone in this school and I would help you get rid of evidence or start eating little kids for fun I would help you but I absolutely will NOT say sorry to Granger.” 

Harry gave him a side eye and raised a single eyebrow as he tapped his foot. 

He sighed. “Fucking fine, I guess I’ll just give her something. Actually, what do girls even like in the first place?” Ron tapped his finger against his chin. “Ginny likes to get stuff from the Holyhead Harpies, and I think mum likes jewelry and makeup, it’s the only thing she doesn't ream us for.” 

Or to be more specific Ron when he returned from his hunts and planted his kills all over the house to find them, Instead of congratulating on his very nice pieces of venison that he had painstakingly prepared Mum would yell at him because ‘you’re draggin blood all over the goddamn carpet and stop killing things twice your size, you weren’t raised by wolves.’ 

They didn’t see Granger or Winter all throughout classes that day, or dinner. After some asking around (note: Harry attempting to stutter out questions and blushing something fierce while Ron stood behind him menacingly and glared, daring them to say anything but the truth if they wanted to keep their kneecaps in as many pieces as they came with. And if some people did decide to lie, well, there are a lot of things that you can do with a reparo, and a silencing charm isn’t all too hard to do in the first place with enough motivation.)

After asking the Lavender girl, they figured out that Granger and Winters apparently set up camp in the girls bathroom on the third floor, where moaning Myrtle lurked, which was a decent place to hide because no one wanted to go there on account of that whiny little bitch who only complained that squatted there. Seriously though, why didn't they just, oh I don’t know, EXORCIZE THE DAMN THING?

Ron picked Harry up and carried him over to someone who might know what girls like in a bid of desperation. “Ron, what’re you doing here? Why are you carrying Harry on your back?” Percy looked confused, which was actually kinda funny. 

He moved Harry to cling onto his back carefully, freeing his hands, before slamming them down on the table. “How do you give girls gifts?” Percy looked confused at his demand. “What brought this on Ron?” 

“Harry’s making me get something to apo-apoal-ap-” He hacked, “give Granger something and I don’t know how the fuck girls work. You’ve snogged a few haven’t you?” Percy’s jaw dropped before he flushed furiously. 

“Ronald don’t fucking say that-” he hissed but Ron did not care. 

“Percy I could care less if you stuck your cock in boggart, what shitty advice do you have on the female sex you fucking virgin, I know you have a porn stash Mr. Prefect, and you need to throw away that bikini issue, even Bill had that, it’s like an heirloom at this point.”  

Percy’s face got progressively more and more red until he looked like he was about to blow a fuse. “I will strangle your fucking scrawny neck Ronald Billius Weasley mark my GODDAMN WORDS-” He grabbed Oliver’s book and chucked it at them with the obvious intent to kill but Ron was just better than that and ran away with a giggling Harry and the cackles of everyone in the nearby area. 

“You’re bloody terrible.” Harry wheezed, shaking from how much his chest was heaving. ‘

“I know,” Ron crowed. He was taught by the best of the best after all. 

“Okay now it’s time to apologize to Hermione.” 

Damnit, why couldn’t he forget about this like he forget about how he needed to oh I don't’ know, EAT?

“Can’t we just not go-” Ron whined, stooping as far down as he needed. Pride? What was that? Was it edible? 

Ron dropped Harry off his back and crossed his arms. 

“No, nope, nein, negative, no way Jose, nada, ain’t no way Harry, I refuse to go apologizing to Granger of all people for pointing out the goddamn facts.” Ron snarled, revolted at the mere thought of asking for Granger's forgiveness.. 

And that was fucking that, thank you very much. 

(That was not fucking that apparently)  

“Harry, I am not going into the girls bathroom.” He says calmly, staring at the door. 

“Just say sorry or you’ll be sleeping on the floor tonight Ron.” Harry glares at him. 

Ron gasps and clutches his chest. That has to be a war crime, depriving him of his little air conditioning/heating unit. For someone so scrawny he certainly could maintain a high temperature. Unless it was his feet, those were fucking freezing . 

“I’m going to take your fucking coffee.” Now it’s the little caffeine fiends turn to dramatically clutch his imaginary pearls to his chest and gasp. 

(Ever since he’d let the little shit start drinking coffee in an attempt to wake him up in the morning he’d grown an addiction that could rival that of Percy’s, who’s bloodstream was practically coffee, redbull, and adderall.) 

“You wouldn’t. ” 

“Oh but I would , fucking try me you little shit,” 

Harry glared, sensing that his approach of threatening that which Ron held dear wouldn’t work and quickly changed tactics accordingly. 

“Please Ron?” Harry whined with an over exaggerated pout and big dewy eyes. He had elevated  the ‘abandoned puppy in the rain’ look to an art. It was custom tailored to tear down his (small) will to resist Harry, and often led to him missing a chocolate frog or almost dying on a broomstick while Harry flew like a bat out of hell and acted as a general health hazard.  

(Harry was a natural on a broom the way dragons were naturals at setting shit on fire, with no regard for themselves, others, or property damage. But at least dragons had an excuse for it, Harry was just an adrenaline junkie of epic proportions that enjoyed raising Ron’s blood pressure exponentially) 

“I said no Harry,” Ron restated because he was also a bloody stubborn bugger himself. Harry just batted his eyelashes and jutted out his lip again once more. 

He was so fucking adorable he could feel Oxycotin and dopamine being produced in over drive, flooding his chest cavity with affection.  

No, he had to stay strong- if for nothing else than his reputation. He was a Weasley and Weasley’s took pride in not going down easy. 

He was a fortress that refused to be sieged at any cost, a castle defended by the best of the best, he was going to die on this goddamn hill, consequences be damned.

And then Harry pulled out the absolute dirtiest card of them all- the fiend - and a single tear fell down his cheek, dripping onto the floor. 

He crumpled like a wet paper paper bag in an industrial shredder. Before automatically hovering over and wiping away the tear from his cheek, like it was all his body knew how to do. Harry had managed to condition him to his every whim without him noticing, like that dumb ass frog in a pot of boiling water. 

 One day he would get back the kilometer the bastard had stolen from the centimeter he had given him, one day. But until that day he would suffer and plot his revenge that would be executed swiftly and violently in the future. 

He barged through the door and looked for a head of ratty brown hair. 

“Granger! I’m here to apo- apoli- ap- apo-” Ron retched, the words refusing to even come out of his throat, “-give you insincere platitudes so Harry doesn’t kick me out the bed!” 

His voice echoed back from the absolutely hideous green tiles and the dark depths of the bathroom. No wonder they had an emo ghost haunting this place, they needed to either demolish or get some new tiles in here. Maybe a periwinkle. 

“He’s here to apologize actually!” Harry smacked Ron over the head swiftly despite being at least four inches shorter than him. 

“I’m here.” Granger said, her voice echoing throughout the room and Harry dragged him over by his ear to the stall where Granger was sitting with a truly absurd amount of strength for someone who weighed fucking 90 pounds  

“There you are.” Harry said with a smile, still holding onto Ron’s arm in an iron grip. “Ron is here to apologize for being an absolute dick earlier, isn’t that right Ron?” 

His voice was dripping honey, sticky and so saccharine it was almost nauseating as he asked (demanded) that Ron answer the clearly rhetorical question. 

The last time he had sounded like that Malfoy almost pissed his britches, along with most everyone else in the room. This was the calm before the storm, and the only way to survive was A) Book it only to be caught B) Accept your fate with open arms , or C) Pray to every god you can think of and watch as nothing can protect you because Hell hath no fury like that of Harry Potter scorned. 

He was outgunned, unmanned, and defenseless in this situation, with no way to escape. Was this like when great grandpa Jack was in the trenches, laying low in filth and praying that he’d make it out alive, unable to see anything but able to hear the screams and explosions? 

So he did what any (slightly) sane man would do and surrendered to the love of his life. 

Defeat was inevitable so he gritted his teeth, prepared himself for humiliation, and cursed every force that had gotten him so whipped for Harry bloody Potter of all people alphabetically, and then chronologically for good measure. 

Why oh why, did he have to fall for the one person in school that could strike fear into a god’s heart ? 

Oh wait, because he’s starved for emotional and human contact and Harry is the only person batshit crazy enough to love all of him. Hah, he forgot. 

“I’m sorry.” Ron spit out, prying the words he doesn't mean from behind his clenched teeth with a crowbar. It’s physically painfu l but he’d suffered much worse things than worse in his life- including the wrath of mum and her wooden spoon that should be registered as a weapon- and he’d suffer worse for the little boy glaring at him under a mop of black hair, unfortunately. 

“For?” Harry said tapping his foot with hands on his skinny hips, looking much more intimidating than anyone that size had a right to be. 

“For saying you’re a nosy know-it-all bitch.” Ron mumbled. 

“Great job Ron,” Harry coos at him in a way that would be horrifically demeaning on anyone else but he makes it work as he cards his hands through his hair. He resists the urge to puff his chest out like some bird and preen because fuck yeah he did a great job, he did the best job ever in fact, even though that was so absolutely humiliating he cringes at the mere memory. 

“Apology accepted Ronald.” Hermione muttered dismissively, nose buried into yet another dubious memoir. Which, rude. Ron poured his nonexistent heart and soul into that sorry, and all he got was an ‘accepted’? An ACCEPTED ?!

“What the fuck are you reading about that’s more important than me throwing away my dignity away Granger?” Ron growls, beyond offended at this point. 

“A bold claim to assume you had dignity in the first place Ronald.” Hermione says and oh FUCK no she did NOT just say that- “But if you must know I am learning about the French Revolution and how the use of undead once again became popular at that era. ” 

What the fuck. Ron turns toward Harry giving him an ‘ you have any clue what this crazy bitch is up to cause I sure bloody don’t’ look. Harry shrugged because he was helpful like that. 

“I took your advice and hid away to have a ‘mental breakdown'’”- those bloody airquotes strike again- ”to catch up on some light reading.” Granger informed them primly, like she wasn’t holding a book the size of Bill’s head covered in mysterious brown stains that sure as hell weren’t molasses. 

Harry raised his hand questioningly. “Uh, what do zombies have to do with the French Revolution?” 

“In 1789 during the revolution while Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette, and aristocracy was still in power and the rebels were lacking manpower, skill, and resources in order to fight with the more organized nobles and government a few peasant wizards decided to dabble in dark magic in order to turn the tides.” 

“Wait ain’t that Marie chick the git who said “Let them eat cake?” Ron asked, remembering that time Dad had muttered about how his boss was a git who absolutely said ‘let them eat cake’, the rich arse hole.

“ No , that’s a historically inaccurate phrase that was invented by the peasantry in rage of how indulgently the nobility were living why people were starving in the streets because of their poor financial decisions Ronald, keep up.” Granger gave him a glare, like he was supposed to know muggle history. 

“Well excuuuuuuuseeeeee me princess, I wasn’t aware that I should be versed in muggle history.” He scoffed. “You should be, it’s much more interesting than magical history by leaps and bounds.” Hermione informed him, because she was a bitch like that. 

“After that rude interruption,” she glared at Ron, “I shall continue again. The wizards found the bodies of those wronged by the government; unfairly executed criminals, starved civilians, rebels killed fighting against guards, those mistreated, used and abused by nobles before being thrown out like trash, anyone they could find with a big enough grudge that they were still tethered to the mortal plain. After gathering the bodies and several other ingredients, they managed to create undead using the most bitter of them with the strongest grudge by using the blood of nobility and the aristocracy to revive them and fuel their rage. Not a terrible idea all in all, until they ran out of nobles to kill and the undead started to consume unintended targets. It was a PR disaster of epic proportions, comparable to the time that the British army had half of their men killed by a single shaman in India.” 

“That is cool Ron.” Harry pointed out, like the traitorous little bastard he was. 

(Ron maybe, sorta, kind of conceded to his point but he’d be damned if he actually admitted it)

“Pft, yeah right. That’s boring as fuck.” Ron scoffed, rolling his eyes. 

“Hey, does anyone smell that?” Harry commented offhandedly, wrinkling his nose, and then all fucking hell broke loose. 

—---------------------------------------

There is a thing in the girls bathroom. 

It smells like terrible, like if like sulfur, rotting meat, and gym socks all had a threesome and then the child of that union fucked trash wearing skunk spray. It was bad bad. His olfactory bulb was frantically trying to file a divorce from his body while sobbing hysterically and honestly, he didn’t blame it. 

That wasn’t even counting how fucking god ugly, disgusting, and hideous the thing looked. It looked like something a very mentally ill, blind, uncoordinated toddler with no prior experience with basic anatomy or moving their arms made during an arts and craft meet in a landfill while on hallucinogens . 

Twelve feet tall, gray skin, body like a boulder with an unfortunate genetically modified hairless coconut on top, ridiculously thick legs, feet that were best left undescribed, and long arms that would put a chimp to shame, dragging a ginormous wooden club. 

“Ronald, why do you suppose there’s a troll in what’s supposed to be the most secure establishment in the British isles?” Hermione asks Ron, face carefully blank with her hands folded primly in front of her. 

Is that what that thing is? A troll? 

“I don’t know Granger, perhaps someone let it in.” Ron answers with a saccharine smile that screamed he would rather be gargling glass than having this conversation at the current moment. 

(Which probably isn’t all too far off from how a single social interaction with anyone Ron doesn’t like- which is a lot of people- can make him froth at the mouth)

“Your wit never fails to astound and amaze Ronald,” Hermione deadpans. “Now what actions do you suppose we should take?” 

“Well Granger,” Ron responds with an even faker smile and a look in his eyes that said he would prefer to rip her head off her shoulders, “I propose we get the bloody hell out of here, or we kill this ugly fucker. Thoughts?” 

“I don’t fucking care it’s getting closer just do something .” Harry hissed, tugging at Ron’s sleeve and watching it get closer and closer, destroying anything in its path, because they needed to get the hell out dodge like, yesterday. 

“I vote we leave the bathroom post haste and retreat to Gryffindor Tower where we have the advantage of numbers and more places to hide.” Hermione said calmly, putting her extremely dubious book into her bag of bullshit with the concentration of a master playing tetris.  

“So you’re saying it’s better to lure the troll to a place where a bunch of children are so it can eat or kill them while we get away scott free?” Ron clarifies. 

“Correct Ronald.” Hermione affirms, not looking ashamed in the slightest. 

“Are you willing to put countless people in danger to save your own arse Granger?” 

“More than willing Ronald, in fact I find it fun.” Hermione adds with a sharp facsimile of a grin. 

(She still has yet to grasp what an actual human facial expression is and it’s creepy as all fuck)  

Ron grinned before deflating like a balloon.”But everyone is up there, we can’t lead them there.” Hermione looked at him with confusion. “Granger, the only person who can kill my family is me, and I’m not leaving here unless that thing is deader than a bloody doornail.” 

“We should just leave it to the adults.” Hermione says and Ron and Harry give her unimpressed glare. 

“Just to clarify, you mean the same ones who let a troll in the school and haven’t even dealt with the fucking thing in twenty minutes? Those adults?” 

“Perhaps not then.” Hermione acquiesced. 

“Alright, we just need a plan.” Harry says with a nod. 

Hermione pulls out a book from her Mary Poppins bag and flips through it until she lands on a page. How she even managed to fit that thing in her bag and carry it was a mystery in and of itself to be completely honest. 

“It says here that Trolls are practically invulnerable with a regeneration factor that can let them bounce back from anything except wounds made from fire and acid, which makes them extremely difficult to kill. They eat anything in their paths, lack intelligence, and use hearing as its main sense, making it especially prone to loud noises.” Hermione recites dutifully

“Great to know Granger now how the bloody hell do you kill it if you don’t have any fire or acid magic?” Ron hissed at her, splitting his attention between watching the approaching troll, glaring at Hermione with a look that would make anyone wither, and trying to hide Harry behind him, despite his protests. 

“The passage says to run away if confronted by a troll without suitable preparation.” 

“Real fucking helpful to know.” Ron snarks with an eye roll. “New plan, I distract this fucker and Granger, you take Harry outside using whatever means necessary.” Hermione nods solemnly and grabs onto Harry’s arms which is bullshit because he never agreed to any of this- 

 “Observe how a true professional does this shit.” Ron says, picking up a piece of shattered porcelain from the floor and chucking it against the other wall. 

The troll stops advancing towards the three of them and turns around slowly, blinking stupidly, to figure out what’s making the noise, giving Ron enough time to run to the front of the troll and start yelling and waving his arms like a mad man. 

“HEY BIG FAT AND FUCKING UGLY OVER HERE!” 

The troll lumbers back towards Ron with a growl of irritation at the loud noises, giving Ron enough time to throw a piece of pipe at the other end of the wall, confusing it once more as it went to look for the culprit of the sound, only for Ron to yell obscenities at it from a new location. 

“Granger, get Harry’s ass out of here, I’ll distract it!” Ron screams. Hermione nods and goes to drag him away. “I’ll catch up with you later!” 

They’re halfway to the door before Harry looks back at Ron and realizes that he’s a lying fucking bastard. He’d never planned for all of them to get out, he planned on sacrificing himself so he could run. Not on Harry’s fucking watch he didn’t. 

He writhes out of her grip like an oil covered in grease and runs over towards Ron who’s getting cornered by a berserk troll and all that Harry sees is fucking red . 

Now Harry has done several stupid things in his eleven years of existence and will most likely do even stupider things in the future, he can admit to that. Some previous idiotic choices include, but are not limited to: teleporting onto a roof, eating moldy bread, jumping out a second story window to escape Dudley, and that one time the twins had used him a test to check out the latest invention (It was a little chimera who blew fire and actively tried to kill you, so it was scrapped, but not before Ron lit both of their beds on fire). 

But jumping onto a grown male troll in a murderous rage and hanging from its neck to stick his wand up its nose? That takes the cake. For now at least, because whenever Ron enters the equation what little self preservation and any developed instincts decide to take a swan dive and a cannon ball respectfully. 

The Troll, despite being supposedly impervious to pain, does not appear to like the sensation of a botched lobotomy done via wand through his nasal cavity anymore than a regular person would, judging by the howling and general flailing around it’s doing. Harry has more important things to worry about like getting thrown against a wall and smushed into paste. Any second now he could get thrown off like a rag doll or sustain injuries from the trolls wild flailing. Which would probably suck. 

Had Ron at least gotten out of the way of the troll while he was distracted? He tried to look around the Troll’s tiny noggin and saw the same red hair. Of course not, why on EARTH would Ron decide to do the logical choice and capitalize on the opportunity to escape, that just made too much sense.

Harry was beginning to think that Ron’s family was lacking severely in the flight and freeze part of the automatic response to a threat and instead responded with fight. Maybe it was just Ron, but judging on the twins and the stories Harry had heard, it was inherited, not learned.  

“Wingardium Leviosa!” Ron bellowed, his wand discarded in favor channeling his magic through his hand, bringing it down brutally. 

The club flew suddenly out of the troll’s hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over – and dropped, with a sickening crack, on its owner’s head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room. 

They all held their breath, waiting for it to get up and start howling again. 

“Do you think it’s dead?” Hermione said questioningly, tilting her head to the side like an owl. 

“Think it’s just unconscious.” 

“Well we can’t have that now can we mate?” Ron cracks his knuckles and gives a bloodthirsty grin that makes Harry a little (okay a lot) weak in the knees and waves his hand again, causing the club to rise up in the air and then slam onto the owner's head. The club makes a wet crunching sound upon impact with the troll's skull, but doesn’t show any outward signs of damage. 

Far from disheartened at the lack of discernible progress Ron simply shrugs, raises his hand up again, and rains down blow upon blow until gray slimy brain matter is exposed, and just keeps going and going and going until the body is more aptly described as a puddle. 

“Give me your children.” Harry whispers in awe as he watches Ron just fucking brutalize the troll in a matter that was definitely illegal in most countries and probably illegal in the wizarding world. 

Ron is practically caked in gore, chunks of gray brain matter covering up his front, matching the  bone shards tangled up in matted hair and red stained teeth that were bared in manic glee. 

Now Harry’s mind wasn’t in the gutters all too often considering most of his energy went to staying alive and avoiding the wrath of adults, but now that he had Ron, he suddenly had a lot more time to think about how gorgeous Ron was and all the absolute fucked up things he wanted Ron to do to him. 

Because fucking HELL, he wants to climb him like a goddamn tree, wants to nest in his bone marrow, wants to intertwine themselves until even the destruction of the universe can’t rip apart their atoms, wants to kill a man to prove his devotion to this knight in shining armor that he never knew he wanted so damn much until today. 

Well, you learn a new thing everyday, and said new thing for today is that he can never see Ron covered in blood without his higher brain functions shutting off and his brain cells jumping ship like it’s the titanic. 

Cue the learning rainbow theme he fucking guesses. 

“What? I can’t hear you over this bastard's skull breaking!” Ron shouted as he kept lifting the club and bashing it down on the troll's head like a crusher with a personal vendetta, laughing all the while. 

“Nothing!” Harry squeaks. 

“I think you could have beautiful children.” Hermione said conversationally, scraping some viscera off of the wall and plopping it into a plastic baggy that she pulled out of nowhere. Harry lets out sound indescribable to the human language, but is most aptly described as the groan of a dying bear as he flushes a fantastic shade of beet red. He’s never been more mortified in his entire fucking life. 

“Harry, could you be an absolute dear and fetch me those tweezers?” Hermione held out her hand expectantly.  

Ron steps back from the body and envelopes Harry in his arms once again in  the fashion of a boa constrictor, like he’s trying to meld them together with the human version of a purr. He melts back into his arms like an ice cube in the sun and hands over the tweezers. 

Hermione continues to collect samples using various little tools from her bag that she probably got by sacrificing someone to Cthulhu as Harry hands her various tools and Ron carries Harry. It’s a weird little system but they make it work, mostly because Hermione knows better than to try and separate Ron from Harry when he’s been separated from him for long amounts of time. 

“Time for work” Hermione says with perhaps the second most deranged glint in anyone’s eyes he’d ever seen, snapping on her gloves with a decisive snap and holding a scalpel she procured from her robes. 

Well, at least it wouldn’t be boring. 

~oOo~

When Severus learns that there is a troll in Hogwarts and he now has to deal with hundreds of panicking children and try to corral them through a giant magic castle before he can go kill it downstairs he has a few select thoughts, most of them violent. 

He is going to throttle that old goddamn coot for not ever taking his advice on security and then sue him for blatant child endangerment, abysmal security at an educational establishment that held most of Britain's magical population at the moment, and extorting his services when he asked for shelter from the Dark Lord over a bloody decade ago. It would’ve been better if he’d just stayed with Voldemort in all honesty, at least they respected Severus for his skills and compensated him fairly for his efforts. 

(It didn’t hurt that he was quite possibly the most attractive and unearthly being he’d ever met but that was a secret Severus would take to his grave, along with the memories he reminisced about fondly from his time as a death eater. 

The Lord didn’t care deeply about him per-say, but he cared enough to feed scraps the gaping hole in his chest that craved affection and recognition. Severus wasn’t delusional enough to believe that The Lord actually loved Severus in any shape, way or form besides as a competent tool, no matter how close he kept him or insisted that he call him Voldemort, no Lord in front of it. 

Which was…. Odd to say the least considering that Bellatrix - arguably his most loyal follower - called him ‘Voldemort’ instead of ‘My Lord’ once and came back with her dress more blood than actual fabric. No one dared to repeat the same mistake, except for Severus who was forced to at the threat of facing an irate Dark Lord and the wrath of his fellow death eaters who suffered for it) 

After corralling all of the small monsters into their respective dormitories and leaving them in the hands of the slightly more competent prefects -which wasn’t saying much of anything but they kept most of them alive for the most part and that was really all they needed to do-  he went to join forces Minerva and that sniveling disgrace Quirrell and take down the troll before it caused any property damage that Severus would inevitably get blamed for. 

They walked briskly down the hall, following the trail of destruction and the cacophony of screaming, crashing, dull thumping sounds, bone chilling maniacal laughter, and an assortment of some very creative curses that he expected had something to do with a certain boy, last name Potter, and his two little friends. 

“Please tell me I am hallucinating and the troll did not go into Moaning Myrtle's haunt.” 

“I am afraid not Severus.” Quirrell stutters weakly, looking like he would prefer nothing more than to bolt. Cowardly piece of shit. Severus was also a cowardly piece of shit, but at least he was better about it for Morgana’s sake. 

Minerva slammed through the door with surprising strength for a woman her age and then paused at the sight in front of her. The bathroom was in shambles, broken pipes spraying water and shards of porcelain littering the floor haphazardly. Which was to be expected, what with a troll taking a stroll though, but the blood splattered sparsely around the room was not. 

The lights blinked ominously, casting light on the few spots of the bathroom that weren’t pitch blank. 

Minerva cast a Lumos and they all walked ahead into the unknown. Severus saw the source of all of the blood and paused. 

You know what? No. Just- no. There wasn’t enough money in the world to make him deal with this shit sober. He calmly drew out a flask of fire whiskey from his robe sleeve, drained half of it in one go before passing it to Minerva, who drank the rest of it in similar fashion before handing it back to Severus; who was currently cursing every single bloody decision that had ever brought him to this current situation. 

The troll, if the stain on the floor (and walls, and ceiling) could even be called that anymore, was sprawled across the floor, giant mouth gaping open in a scream with the upper part of its skull reduced to paste. 

It was horrifying with the lights flickering on and off at uneven intervals, creaking and the smell of mold invading the space. 

Granger had set up shop on top of it’s head with a book open and a kit of various apparatuses with samples of tissue, blood, and bone already sealed and put away neatly. It looked like she was investigating a crime scene, which wasn’t all too far off. 

She used latex gloves and pliers (where the fuck did she even get those in the first place) , levering open it’s jaw and extracting the teeth that remained undamaged from the assault that had left the cranium open with grey brains oozing out slowly with ruthless efficiency, giving them to Weasley who plopped them into little vials, and finally got labels wrapped around them by Potter who put them in a giant box filled with other samples. He could see blood, saliva, brain matter, and assorted tissue already neatly stored away and organized. 

“What happened here?” Minerva said sternly, covering how absolutely shaken up she was by the whole debacle admirably. Not well enough that Severus couldn’t see through it, but he’s also seen decapitated skinned heads so he’s probably not the best frame of reference. 

“Oh Professor.” Granger said as she looked up at her with those dead fish eyes that made Severus want to crawl out of his own skin. Those were the eyes of something horrendously empty, looking out into the world with disinterest. 

 “I’ve almost completed taking samples, I should be finished in a few moments.” 

“You said that fucking ten minutes ago Granger hurry your ass up, I’m hungry.” Weasley whined petulantly, sitting on the floor next to her with Potter in his lap who was holding the kit as they worked with a machine. Severus didn’t realize that it was a child and not part of the new macabre decor on the wall, he was so coated in gore. It looked like he’d just gotten attacked by the refuse of a butcher shop and then assigned clean up duty in a torture dungeon.

“And you ruined the majority of perfectly good specimen because you have no concept of patience Ronald, so hush” Granger hissed right back at him, pulling out a syringe out of nowhere and stabbing into the carotid artery with it. 

“Both of you need to stop fighting now I’M hungry damnit” Potter groaned, snuggling closer into Weasley’s gore covered chest like a cat as he wrote levels in just absolute chicken scratch. 

He was going to throw himself off of the astronomy tower. 

“I believe what Professor McGonagall meant, was what in Merlin's name are you all doing in the bathroom brutalizing a troll corpse covered in blood because you all lack any basis of situational or social normality” Severus clarified. 

“Uhm first of all, rude, and second of all, we were minding our own damn business.” Weasley snorted. 

“BULL FUCKING SHIT!” Severus yelled, slamming his hand against the wall. 

“WELL WE WERE PROFESSOR-” Potter starts, looking like he’s about to get off of Weasleys lap to defend himself before the ginger squeezes him back into his lap. He attempts to wriggle out of the hold for a whole two seconds before giving up with a huff and resting his head on his companion's collar bone. It was like scruffing a kitten. 

“How did the troll manage to paint the walls in its own blood then if you were minding your own business, Mr. Weasley?” Minerva asked skeptically, pointing him out on his absolutely ludicrous bullshit. 

“It got a degree in art.” Weasley deadpanned and Severus never felt the need to impale himself and others on a broken piece of plumbing so viscerally before in his life.

 “Ron just lemme handle this m’kay?” Potter said, patting Weasley’s cheeks somewhat condescendingly before raising his head off of the red heads chest slowly, 

His hair, which could generally be coined as a rat's nest on a good way, was matted with blood and several other fluids that Severus would prefer to not think about if he didn’t want to throw up the fire whiskey he just chugged. 

The hair alone would’ve been disgusting enough, but his whole face was covered in crimson, some of it starting to flake off, practically identical to Weasley’s. He had a particularly nasty piece of brain clinging to his cheek that his companion peeled off of his face absentmindedly, flinging it towards Granger who caught it in a sample bag flawlessly without looking up. If Severus didn’t know any better he’d think they’d been working together their whole short lives. 

“Ron said some mean things earlier today, so we came to apologize.” Potter said with a sweet smile, contrasting with the thunderous look on Weasley’s face as he muttered “It’s not my fault she’s fucking crazy-” under his breath. 

(Which was something he could get behind, but Severus unfortunately needed to pay for fire whiskey somehow and that meant he couldn’t pick favorites with students even though that was literally the only fucking thing that old coot did consistently besides being a manipulative hypocritical bastard.)

“We found her in here, Ron apologized-” 

“-Under HEAVY threats and manipulation might I add-” 

“-And then Hermione was telling us about how the French Revolution was a major milestone in the art of necromancy, before the troll came in and Ron killed it.” He finished with a smile, like that wasn’t one of the most batshit insane sentences Severus had ever heard, uttered while covered head to toe in blood and gore. 

Nope. Not his goddamn circus, not his goddamn monkeys. 

“Just go.” Severus waved his hand to the side dismissively. “Tomorrow you can clean this up manually for detention, I’m done.” He walked out of the door leaving behind a shocked fellow staff member, three monsters in human form, and a wimpy little bitch. “If anyone needs me I’ve fallen deathly ill long enough to drain the entire castle's supply of fire whiskey.” 

The only thought he had as he drowned in whiskey in his room was that he either needed to quit his job, get dicked down or he just really, really needed therapy. Probably all three considering the clusterfuck he is already. Merlin, why did he switch from Voldemort’s side? RIP to the Dark Lord, he will forever miss the employment benefits and that fucking fantastic sex. 

Chapter Text

Ron has washed blood off of a lot of things in his life. Off of the floor, the walls, sheets, that one very memorable occasion with the oven, but he’s washed blood off of skin the most. Hot water and a little disinfecting does the trick. 

(He remembers his Mum talking about how Ginny would bleed once and he’d immediately booked it over to her room, snatched Ginny from playing with her dolls, and shoved her into Mum’s arms, demanding that she stop the bleeding NOW. Mum had simply laughed at him, patted his head, and assured him that it was a women’s problem. Ron thought that was stupid because bleeding was an everybody problem. Apparently girls bled out of their uteruses because their bodies hated them, and at that moment Ron thanked the gods he didn’t believe in that he didn’t have a cunt, and cursed them for cursing his sister and mother with one.)

Sometimes he thinks he can still see the red coating on his hands, no matter how many times he scrubs them, like a pair of gloves that have melded to his skin. 

(Sometimes he thinks he should be a lot more scared of how natural it feels.)

He and Harry are crammed in the tiny bathtub, with Harry sitting in his lap. He looks so tiny, like a sopping wet kitten without his hair poofing up everywhere. Gently he rubs the blood off of his skin with a rag, smearing crimson all over his face in watery little arcs, exposing more swathes of tan. He’s not wearing his glasses so Ron can see his eyes unimpeded as his lashes frame them. He’s spent hours looking around for the exact color of Harry’s eyes, learning words for shades that he didn’t even know existed.

 (And seriously, what the actual FUCK was vermillion???? Who was in charge of naming that, because they had failed) 

And yet he still can’t figure out exactly what color they are. 

It’s not the color that’s captivating though, it’s more- the shape of them, if that even made sense. They were round like a doe and just as innocent as one who had curled up in a human rib cage and was sleeping on top of a pair of lungs. (Seriously deer were creepy as fuck and they would lay next to corpses for warmth it’s an actual fucking thing) Maybe it was the lines underneath them like he’d lived a long fucking time when he’s only eleven. Or maybe it was how easy it was to drown in them and the pain swirling in the depths. 

He’d been hurt by so many things and no matter how mad it made Ron he couldn’t hurt every single one of them like they deserved. 

(But even god him fucking self wouldn’t be able to help those he could get hands on for hurting his baby bird that was for damn sure. He’d already planned what he’d do to whoever had left the scars on his back. You can tan human skin just like any other hide, and leather makes a good material for a whip. Nice and flexible, hard hitting, and plenty of implements one could use, like flaying off flesh.) 

“Hey Ron?” Harry asked softly, looking like he was made of glass with Ron’s giant hand cupping the side of his face. “Do you feel bad for me?” Ron paused. “Feel bad for what?” Harry looked down. “Th-the scar.” he absentmindedly traced the raised skin on his forehead and tracing it down to his cheek.

Ron frowned, not understanding why he would feel about it. “Why would I feel bad about it? Does it hurt right now? Do you need some of that shit Granger has?” After that day they walked into the DAD classroom and Harry had almost passed out, Ron had marched over to Granger and demanded she use that stupidly big brain of hers to find something useful on how to help Harry. 

She’d suggested ‘ibuprofen and tylonel’ and Ron had told her to making things up immediately because he was not in the fucking mood to play when Harry was suffering in their bed all alone. 

Turns out they were some muggle medicine that was basically magic in a tablet. He’d been suspicious of letting anything with a name like ‘ibuprofen’ get near Harry as it sounded like a type of poison but Harry had recognized it and they seemed to work. Ron had reluctantly admitted that he owed Granger a favor somewhere in the future, no matter how much it made his hackles rise to owe that bitch anything, but if it helped Harry he’d suffer through it. 

Granger had given him a bottle in exchange for some corpses for her little teeth collection. Little was an inaccurate description though, as she had enough to put that fucking creepy ass fairy that stole muggle childeren teeth to shame. 

“No, no it’s fine Ron.” Harry assured him. Okaaaay, if it wasn’t that then what was it? He knew that Harry didn’t like his physical appearance for some weird reason but also Harry’s self esteem was so abysmal and dense he was surprised it hadn’t collapsed into a black hole and killed them all yet. 

 “Then what am I supposed to feel bad for?” Harry looked mildly disconcerted. “Everyone always gives me...looks.” Harry says in a tone of voice that’s quite and nervous, the same tone that Ron’s heard from kids that were scarred from filthy filthy pieces of shit that didn’t deserve to waste oxygen manipulating them, hurting them, forcing them to pose for pictures that were illegal, touching them were hands shouldn’t go, raping them, selling them like pieces of meat to the highest bidder.  

(He would never feel any sympathy for his victims, but those bruised little bodies with blood pooling between their legs that were left because he couldn’t kill a monster fast enough? They still haunted him to this day) 

Every waste of space Ron found he did his best to make their life a living hell, violating them like they violated others who didn’t deserve it, because he couldn’t help everyone he found, couldn’t make it okay that it happened, couldn’t bring the ones who were killed back but he could avenge them and he could put one more monster in the ground. 

“How do they look at you Harry? Have they touched you?” His blood boils at the mere fucking thought, but he needs to know how badly to hurt whoever this person before he kills them. It will be a lot of extra work and time if he kills someone who didn’t do it, a lesson he’d learned with that piece of fucking filth who’d touched Ginny in Diagon alley when Mum was in the store. 

(He’d broken every single bone in that fuckers extremeties and left him to drown in shit in the sewer slowly, where he belonged) 

“No, with like, pity, y’know?”

Ron scoffed. Pity . He fuciking hated that word. Pity was for things that were pathetic and weak and beneath you. People felt pity for shit that they shouldn’t, for things that were perfectly bloody fine, like his family. He’d broken more than one nose and a couple of bones when people acted like they were some kind of charity case because they didn’t have money to spend on stupid shit and they all shared the same school books. They didn’t need a full bank account to be happy, they had Ron to take care of them after all. 

He could hunt well enough to feed nine people for a week, fix shit that was broken or find pieces to repair it,  knew what made them happy and kept them distracted, and had enough money in Gringotts from the account he’d opened up to pay for Ginny’s education, Fred and George’s future store, Mum and Dad’s retirement, the house for the two of them, their five kids, and two dogs, and whatever the fuck Bill and Charlie did after years and years of hunting the right people for the right price. 

(They never expected a kid, and they never expected a kid with a gun, especially one who knew magic. In the words of a wiseman: Yippe-ki-yay motherfucker)

“That’s bullshit, they’re just jealous cause it looks fucking awsome.” He punctuated his point by stroking it with a proud smile. It was pretty,  light pink ridges dancing all over his face, contrasting so well with his tan skin. Harry was beautiful, the prettiest thing in the world, like some sort of painting that should be behind guarded walls and gold. 

“Really?” Harry said and he sounded so fragile in that moment, like he would shatter if he was lying. As if Ron would ever lie to him if it wasn’t to save his life. “Y’know why it’s cool?” Harry gave an absent nod. “Because I survived the killing curse-” 

“Nope.” Ron stopped that bullshit train from even leaving the station. “I’ll tell ya what ya did do though.” He leaned over to rest his forehead against Harry’s and looked deep into his eyes with a grin. “You told that Avada Kevadra go fuck itself, because the great Harry Potter won’t be killed by some two bit shitty evil Lord.” 

 “Really?” 

Ron presses a kiss to his scar. “Fuck yeah babyboy.” Harry’s breath hitches before he blushes furiously and ducks his head down to hide in his neck. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Did he like that? Ron feels a mean, mean smirk crawl onto his face. “Awwww did you like that baby boy?” He teases and sees tips of Harry’s ears flush bright red. “And even if you got the scar from something fucking stupid, you’re pretty enough to pull it off.” Harry gasps, scandalized, and raises his red face from his neck, looking like he’s going to spontaneously explode from sheer embarrassment. 

“Am not!” he pouts. 

“Are too!” 

“Am NOT!”

“Are TOO!” 

Ron puts a hand over Harry’s mouth so he cant’ respond.

 “Got nothing to say huh? Guess you do agree that you are pretty.” Harry gives him a glare that says he would like nothing more than to strangle him for this grievous offense but Ron holds the high ground in this battle (and the shampoo) 

“Now who told you you’re ugly, I’ll break their fucking kneecaps.” He has a nice crowbar that he uses for his….more grisly ‘business’ deals that he brought with him. Betsy has seen him through quite a few kneecaps and will see through several more. 

“The mirror Ron.” Harry rolls his eyes. “In every mirror or just one?” Harry looks at him like he’s lost his fucking mind. Which is stupid, because that’s absolutely a valid question.

 “Harry, I need to know what I’m dealing with here, is it like one mirror that told you that absolute complete utter horse shit, or does it follow through every mirror you see? Does the reflection move different from you, smile real fuckin’ creepy, any of that shit?” 

If it’s haunted then he can simply salt the fucker to death, but if it’s a curse or some sort specter he’s gonna need a shitton of salt and some other shit. Where can one get holy water on such a short basis when there’s no church? 

“Ron there’s nothing there I’m just ugly.” Ron squints at Harry’s exasperated expression with complete and utter bafflement. Did he hit his head in the bathroom? Maybe someone hexed him or something, or a dementor got loose. He starts moving Harry’s hair around, looking for any redness or a goosebump he missed. “What’re you doing?” Harry huffs, looking unhappy with the manhandling even though he’s leaning into it like the clingy little shit he is. Lucky for him Ron is going to drown him in affection until the day he dies. 

“How many fingers am I holding up?” 

“Ron what’re you even talking about-” Harry gripes, glaring at the three fingers Ron is holding in front of his face with annoyance. 

“Answer the damn question, this is protocol.” 

“Protocol for what?” 

“For a concussion you fucking dumbass,” He says, looking for enlarged pupils. “Smell any weird shit lately? See any fucked up plants?” ‘Course he didn't know what kind of plant caused people to feel ugly but he wouldn’t put it past some cursed forest to make a bush or some shit that sapped the dopamine out of your brain. 

“No Ron, I don’t have a concussion and I’m not under a spell.” Harry groans, rolling his eyes. 

“Because that’s what someone with a concussion who was under a spell would say.” 

“Oh my fucking God, Ron, I’ve felt like this my whole life.” Harry looks him straight in the eyes and Ron tries to find anything that means he’s lying. He doesn’t. 

He gathers Harry’s tiny frame into his chest and pets through his wet hair as he puts his chin on his head, just how Harry likes it. His favorite is when Ron cradles him into a little ball and holds him to his chest, so he can feel his pulse and hide in the crook of his neck. Like a little cat hiding from the world in a pile of warm laundry. 

He could feel the tension melting out Harry’s limbs, turning into putty the minute Ron held him. 

(Hermione looked it up on some weird box that muggles called ‘computers’- which were the weirdest and most fucking confusing things he’d ever encountered in his LIFE- and found out that it wasn’t just the fact his Harry was the best and they were made for eachother, but it was actually a form of ‘touch starvation’ from what was clearly abuse. He showed all the signs from all the articles Granger could get her hands on and fill Ron in. She may have been part robot but he’d be damned if the women couldn’t go with a mass of information with the efficiency of a bloodhound

After a long talk with Granger over mental illnesses and PTSD, a small explosion, some dead familiars, enough rage to sink the fucking titanic, and several plans to make the existence of certain people an absolute living hell, he’d calmed down enough to not immediately march outside and snap someones fucking neck like a pretzel)

“You got that stuff where your brain is a git don’t ya?” He started lathering some watermelon shampoo on his hair and gently rubbing it into his scalp. “.....no?” Ron huffed, squishing Harry’s cheeks together in the mess of suds.

 “Don’t fucking lie to me Harry, I ain’t a fan of that shit.” Harry just looked to the side with the innocence of a kid who’d been caught hand first in the cookie jar. 

“Don’t worry, Bill gots the same thing, Mum says that his brain is just a real arse to him, tells him all sorts’a crap that’s not true cause of a chemical imbalance or something? There’s like thing-” he waved his sud covered hand,”- that makes ya happy called dope-something, real latiny, but anyway if ya get depressed if your brain doesn’t make enough of it, ‘n then you get real sad an’ all that garbage. Tip your head back real quick,” Harry grumbled and scrunched his eyes at the water going down his back like a baby. “Yes, yes I’m so terrible for trying to wash this jungle you call hair, that’s on me.” 

“You’re so rough.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Oh you haven’t seen rough baby boy, this is the tip of the iceberg. He flushed a bright red after that. It was kinda cute. Scratch that, it was fucking adorable. In fact it was so absolutely adorable, it was a hazard to the public and could never be seen by anyone else ever again, yup. 

“Now here’s some soap I stole from Granger, I think it’s like, lavender or something, smells bloody good whatever it is, for all your uh, girl bits- now go forth and conquer.” He said, making little wave motions with his hands to the side of the wall with the showerhead before covering his eyes with one hand. “My eyes are already covered, knock yourself out.” 

He’d almost passed out when he’d figured out that Harry didn’t have any balls (not because he was sexist or nothing, you could be a boy or a girl, didn’t matter what was in you drawers and what was was no one’s business in the first place) but because he’d changed in front of someone who had a cunt without even asking if it’s okay, like a goddamn perv . He’d apologized profusely until Harry had slapped him upside the head and said if he treated him like a girl one more time he’d kill him, and that had been that. 

“How’d you steal Granger’s soap anyway, I thought you couldn’t go into the girls dorm?” Harry asked. “A gentleman never kisses and tells baby-bird.” Ron sings, amused at Harry’s little huff. He grabs the shampoo and starts sudding up his own hair -not talking up half of the damn bottle like a certain someone he can think of- and washing it out just as fast before wandering over to Harry and draping himself across his back. 

Harry’s back is rough with the texture of scars and a smattering of freckles cascading down from his neck onto his shoulders. He doesn’t look down because Harry doesn’t like it, says some utter bullshit about it being ugly but Mum raised him right and though she probably failed on most of the moral front (the blood coating his hands could attest to that) but she always beat it into his thick skull that you respected people and how they felt about their body. 

(Even if it was fucking stupid)  

“Hey babybird?” 

“Yeah?”

“Any idea where my pants went?” 

“Not a clue, why do you ask?” he said, looking like a perfect angel who had done absolutely nothing wrong in his life ever. 

“Uh-huh” 

This lying little shit, he’d seen them hidden in Harry’s chest. He had a penchant for weaseling/swindling/stealing anything Ron owned that wasn’t nailed to the floor, and what was nailed to the floor he simply flopped on top of. He was worse than a goddamn kleptomaniac professional thief, but he just couldn’t say anything when Harry looked up at him all pathetic while wearing his robes. 

It made him purr to see him flaunting off what was so blatantly his, but also a man needed to wear his own fucking trousers in public damnit . It was useless though, whatever Harry got his slippery little hands on never saw the light of the day unless he wanted it to, which was how Ron had shared custody on everything he goddamn owned because he lived with a mini-dragon. 

“Will you please give me pants?” He says, because he’s sunk that fucking low. 

“Mmmmm…what’s the magic words~” Harry says with a shit eating grin, looking up at him with his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. He grabs his cheeks and hovers his face right over him until their noses are touching and he’s going cross eyed. 

“Harry, baby boy, sweetheart, darling, honey, sweetie-pie, love of my life, gem, cutie, babybird,  angel-cakes, can I PLEASE have my fucking underwear my balls are freezing damnit.” 

Harry giggles and gives a nod. 

Thank fuck- 

“-If you give me a kiss.” 

Ron regrets any and all decisions that have brought him to this point. In fact he’s going to jump out of the fucking window any minute now as soon as Harry stops looking at him. He remembers the good old days when he was afraid of asking for a hug. Ah, he never thought he would miss that, but life has a way of surprising you. 

“Who died and made you king?” Ron grumbled, leaning over and kissing his forehead anyway. “My dead parents.” Harry declared. Well shit, he couldn’t argue with that. “Why're you so good at talking, what happened to stuttering every other sentence?” 

“I’ve completely grown and changed as a person in the last two months.” Harry said imperiously. “I’m sure you have, I’m sure you have, now let’s get to bed it’s cold.” Ron said, wrapping him up in a towel burrito and plopping him down on the bed. He threw him a pair of his boxers as he shimmied on his own and collapsed on top of him, drawing him into a small little Harry-ball on his chest, trapping him between the sheets and his bigger frame.

“G’night Harry.” 

“G’night Ron.” 

—------------

Harry was nervous about Quidditch. Mostly because it was his first game and as much as he wanted to he couldn’t drag Ron onto his broom with him in an official game, though Ron always screamed up a storm and acted like he was dying whenever he did a barrel roll (really and he said Harry was the dramatic one-). Ron had no such qualms about it however. 

“Well, it’s not illegal, so they can’t stop it. ‘Sides, the last time I left you alone on a broom you almost fucking killed yourself-” Ron punctuated with a sharp glare that made him wince thinking how utterly infuriated Ron had been when Harry first got on a broom “-so I’m going wether they want it or not.” 

Hell, Harry didn’t know if he could even ride a broom without Ron behind him, yelling obscenities and clinging tight onto his back. He already naturally accounted for his weight when he went on dives, calculated every barrel roll with his ridiculously long legs in mind, and expected his warmth to be protecting him from the wind. 

Wood had tried to get them to practice without Ron (which had failed monumentally and ended up with Wood accruing a broken nose, an assortment of bruises, and the tragic almost loss of his eyeball)  

When that didn’t work, he then tried to get Harry to at least fly alone on the broom. It had gone fine for all of two seconds, at which point he froze at how cold and lonely it was up in the air, away from Ron, who was warm and safe and too far away from him and SHIT he couldn’t breathe-

Ron had tackled him off the broom and then teared Wood a new arse-hole about it, saying he ‘was going to snap his broom in front of him and spear him on it before waving his decapitated head in front of his weeping mum if he so much as bloody tried that again mark my fucking words Wood-’ . 

Oliver had conceded after several heavy threats against his quidditch equipment -because threats of bodily harm weren’t effective for some god forsaken reason- courtesy of Ron, and Harry had combed through all seven hundred ways of committing a foul in Quidditch and shown him that having someone else on your broom who wasn’t playing was in fact, not illegal

(Thank fuck for Hermione giving him that book Quidditch through the ages, Harry didn’t even know it was POSSIBLE to eat someone out while flying on a broom in the middle of a game but people shouldn’t be able to do a lot of things and they managed to do it anyway so he didn’t bother to ask. He did, however, ask how on earth someone made all seven hundred different fouls in a single game in 1473 but he never got an answer to that) 

The next morning came and Harry was practically sick to his stomach with nerves. He loved flying, it was one of the greatest things he’d ever done in his life, but he would be scrutinized by hundreds of people at the same time and he did not like people at all. Humans were the most terrifying things in the world because of their propensity for cruelty and it wouldn’t change any damn time soon.

(Fortunately he was also crueler than most, as well as Ron and Hermione.)

“Harry, you’ve got to eat something,” Ron said, insistently pushing a fork loaded with waffles in his mouth. Harry turned his fade to the side petulantly like a three year old. 

“I don’t want anything.”

“Harry, you have to eat, you require a minimum of 1800 to 2200 calories per day in order to function at maximum capacity.” Hermione said, sipping some coffee straight from the pot and eating a piece toast as she read a book called ‘How to keep your child healthy, happy, and safe’ 

Ron gave him a pointed look and a smug smile. 

“When did you and Hermione decide to gang up on me,” Harry grumbled, shifting in Ron’s arms. 

“We have a business arrangement, now eat some goddamn toast.” Ron snarls, snatching a piece of toast off Hermione’s plate and shoving it into his mouth when he goes to retort. Hermione gives him a glare and he rolls his eyes before shoving the newly made thing of coffee at her with a huff. 

“Mate, you're gonna need your strength, seekers always get clobbered by the other teams“ Seamus said through a mouthful of sausage, because he was disgusting, as he poured more ketchup onto his sausages, because he was also a threat to polite society as we know it.  

“Gee Seamus, thanks for the encouragement.” Harry deadpanned, but his masterful reply seemed to have sailed over Seamus’s head. Typical, his comedic genius was wasted. 

By eleven o’ clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch, several students holding binoculars and sitting up on the raised stands. If he fell from that high he was sure to break his neck like a twig. 

Zoe, Neville, Seamus, Dean and Hermione were all sitting at the top row of the stands, holding a giant sheet that said ‘Potter for President’ while Hermione was wearing a quite frankly ridiculous pair of goggles and was carrying a notebook and a pen. 

Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harry (and Ron) and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherin would be playing in green).

Wood cleared his throat for silence.

“Okay, men,” he said.

“And women,” said Chaser Angelina Johnson.

“And women,” Wood conceded. “There has been a new addition to the team that we had to add if we wanted to get Harry to join the team so say hello to Ron, he’ll be riding with Harry today.” 

“Ronnie-kins?” Fred said questioningly, looking at a very unimpressed Ron who was also wearing a set of robes and draped himself over Harry. 

“Yo.” 

Everyone looked very, very confused. 

“I’m just riding with Harry because he has the survival instincts of a bloody wet paper bag.” 

Excuse me?

“Oh come one you try to fly with one hand once -” 

“-Oh fucking please, you tried to fly without your fucking glasses once and you’re blinder than a fucking bat mate and almost broke your goddamn neck -” Ron hissed back, jabbing his chest with his finger.  

“Anyway,” Wood half yelled over their argument “This is it.”

“The big one,” said Fred reverently. 

“The one we’ve all been waiting for,” said George.

“We know Oliver’s speech by heart,” Fred told Harry, “we were on the team last year.”

“Shut up, you two,” said Wood. “This is the best team Gryffindor’s had in years. We’re going to win, I just know it.” 

“Yes sir” Harry said with a mock salute. 

Wood wrinkled his face. “Don’t call me that Potter.” 

“Yes ma'am.” Ron repeated dutifully, copying Harry’s salute down to a T. 

Snickers erupted through the room, though they were quickly muffled in the face of Wood’s wrath. 

(He may be a bit ridiculous as a person but Harry had no doubt that Wood would absolutely kill a man if they interrupted Quidditch, and a few broken bones weren’t off of the menu if someone on the team fucked up his game) 

He glared at all of them. “Now we are going to win this game or else. Right. It’s time. Good luck, all of you.”

Harry and Ron followed Fred and George out of the locker room and into the sunlight, and was met with raucous cheering and applause that caused his anxiety to fucking sky rocket. Any attention from a mass of people was bad attention in his experience. 

Ron yanked him to the side and squeezed his hand with an iron grip as if to say ‘I’m here you’re not alone it’ll be fine’ and despite the panic that felt like it was constricting his lungs he believed him. Ron hadn’t let him down yet and had done nothing to make him otherwise. 

“Ready to lose again this year, Wood?.” A tall boy in green robes sneered as he walked closer, flanked by the other Slytherin players, stopping a mere foot away from Wood. Ah, he must be the captain. 

“Insufferable as always Flint.” Wood gritted out. “But this year we’re going to win.” 

“Oh really now? And are you going to do that?” Flint smirked, leaning closer to Wood by a couple inches. . 

“None of your bloody business, Flint.” Wood hissed at him, leaning closer until they were practically chest to chest, snarling into each other's faces like a pair of wild animals. 

“So like, are you going to fuck each other or can we move on, I’m bored.” Ron said casually, taking a bite out of a biscuit he had in those blackholes he called pockets before feeding Harry a bite. 

Mmmm, ginger. 

Both of the captains turned bright red, whirling around at Ron in rage. 

“HOW DARE YOU INSINUATE I WOULD HAVE SNOG THIS CONNIVING SNAKE BASTARD-” Oliver started to yell at the same time Flint screamed “I WOULD FUCKING NEVER HAVE SEX WITH THIS INSUFFERABLE GIT-” 

Ron looked at them impassively and took another bite of his biscuit chewing it slowly. “I mean y’all are being hella gay but whatever, keep being in denial, see if I care.” he shrugged carelessly. 

Both Wood and Flint were opening their mouths to yell at him again when Madam Hooch walked up on the field and they jumped back into place, flushed with rage and embarrassment. 

“Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you,” she said, giving a pointed glare to the Slytherin captain Marcus Flint who simply smiled as if to say, ‘who, me?’ . Judging by Wood’s very, very unimpressed look and Hooch’s glare it didn’t succeed. 

“Mount your broomsticks, please.”

Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand, Ron hopping on the back and gripping him tight. 

“Why is that little lying bastard on Potter's broom?” Flint asked with disdain. 

“Why are you so fucking ugly?” Ron shot right back, smirking at the scandalized look the players face and the cackles from players on both teams. Fred wheezed and collapsed onto George who was shaking uncontrollably trying not to lose his shit and failing spectacularly.  

“Ron, don’t be an arsehole.” Harry scolded, as Wood rolled on the floor in hysterics, gasping for breath. 

“Special circumstances Flint, now move.” Hooch said dismissively. 

“Awwww does the precious wittle Potter need someone to hold his hand when he invitebally loses to the big bad Slytherins?” One of the Slytherin players Pucey said mockingly, and Harry felt himself blush in embarrassment. 

“The only thing your hand is going to be holding is your shattered legs in a puddle of your own blood.” Ron growled.

“Oh I’m soooo scared.” Pucey whimpered as he was pretending to faint like a maiden. 

Ron grinned, exposing his sharp canines. “I sure hope so, the ones who are scared scream the loudest.” Figg paled in the face, along with most everyone else on the field except for the twins, Wood, and Harry, who were used to his colorful threats of violence that he usually intended to go through with (but they didn’t tell other people that)

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle and they were off, flying into the air. 

“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson from Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –“

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, Professor.”

The Weasley twins’ friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely supervised by Professor McGonagall so he didn’t say anything inappropriate.

(She was failing already it appeared but it was Lee and you couldn’t shut that man up with ten rolls of duct tape and a gun to his head) 

Harry flew up higher and started circling around in the air gently, ignoring all of the shit going on below them with the practice that came from having the center of his universe being Ron. 

Wood’s instructions had been “Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch, we don’t want someone to beat the shit out of you before you can go after it.”, because he was nice like that. 

After twenty minutes of searching he was irritable, cold, tired, and bored out of his mind.

“How long does this stuff take anyway, I’m getting booooreeeed.” Harry whined, leaning back into Ron’s arms and cuddling into the taller boy's warmth. He was like a personal heater, it was fantastic. 

“The snitch usually shows up later in the game mate, patience in all things.” Ron said with the authority of a wise old sage. Harry raised an eyebrow. Was this coming from the same man who almost blew himself up because he couldn’t wait a whole ten minutes for some frog tendons to dry before throwing them into a potion? 

“Has anyone told you you’re a hypocrite?” 

“Multiple times, why?” 

“Gee Ron, I fucking wonder.” 

“I can’t see shit mate, how do you do this shit?” Ron asked, now resting his chin on his shoulder. It was a pathetic distraction tactic but dammit it was working because Harry was a weak, weak man. 

He saw a glint of gold from the edge of his eye and turned around sharply, looking for the glint again. “Wait I think I see it-” Harry said, eagerly tilting down when Ron flicked his forehead. “No stupid, that’s Fred’s watch.” he sighed. 

“Oh.” 

They kept floating for ten more minutes and Harry would rather be in the history of magic class listening about the Goblin rebellion of 1745. 

Just as he was pondering if he could away with doing some loopty-loops in the air without Ron freaking the fuck out, a bludger came hurtling towards them at the speed of a cannonball and Harry braced for the impact, only for nothing to collide with his face.

He opened his eyes that the bludger had froze mere inches in front of his face, trembling with what appeared to be fear. 

“And the bludger almost knocks Harry Potter, resident celebrity, and his mate Ron Weasley off of his broom- wait it's stopped- It’s just hovering in front of them for some reason?” Lee Jordan announced in confusion

Everyone craned their necks up to see the bludger not moving in front of Harry and Ron wondering what in the actual hell was going on right now. 

“Well howdy-fucking hey, long time no see.” Ron drawled, before getting very close and personal with it. “You’ve been on your best behavior with Harry in accordance with our deal haven’t you?” He smiled sweetly, exposing his teeth. “After all, it would be such a shame if someone beat you until you’re no longer a ball wouldn’t it?” 

(God Harry would deal with American homophobes for 24 straight if it meant getting to see that smile before those teeth sunk into his skin.

And okay he might have a problem, now that he thinks about it, but it’s honestly not the most fucked up thing about him and that self help book said that the first step to solving problems is to acknowledge them so really he’s being healthy about this) 

The bludger shook left to right, mimicking someone shaking their head ‘no’. 

Harry snatched it out of the air before Ron could block him .“Awwwww.” Harry cooed, holding the quivering thing in his hands. “Look Ron, it's so cute!” 

“Harry it’s a fucking ball that tries to give people concussions.” Ron points out with a skeptical look on his face. 

“You try to give people concussions too Ron don’t fucking try to pull that card.”

“Yeah except I don’t try to give everyone concussions and I’m a wizard, so take that.” Ron huffed, dragging his body closer to his chest and squeezing like someone had tried to take away his favorite toy. 

Oh my god, was Ron jealous that Harry found it cute? That was so goddamn adorable he almost spontaneously combusted on the spot, his magic swelling up with joy. 

“Don’t worry, you’re still my favorite.” Harry cajoled, smiling up at Ron’s grumpy little frown. “C’mere big guy, I got the just the thing for you.” Ron grumbled but bent down and accepted the forehead kiss that Harry bestowed upon him nonetheless. 

“Better?” 

“I’ll be better when I can punt that thing through the fucking stratosphere.” Ron growled at the bludger still in Harry’s hands with vitriol. God he was just like a dog, it was so sweet. He let go of the bludger who quickly flew out of Harry’s hands and tried to make a desperate escape only for Ron to grab it with his bare hands with his ‘I have an idea’ smile. That smile never preceded anything good happening. 

(Well, maybe something funny, and most certainly something violent, but it usually led to long lectures from teachers.)

“What are you thinking about, you have your plotting face on.” Harry said with an exasperated sense of fondness. 

“Y’know that fucker who talked shit about you?” Ron asked, and Harry nodded. “Go follow him, I have an idea.” He grinned dementedly. 

Harry let out a grin that was much too bloodthirsty and went to find him. They found him weaving about the others, in a fierce competition with Katie Bell over the quaffle. 

“Good spot Ron?” 

“Fucking excellent mate.” 

Ron winded up for a swing with a manic smile and yelled “INCOMING!” gleefully before throwing the bludger hard as he possibly could, nailing the slytherin player in the head and knocking them off of their broom. 

Harry fucking wheezed, almost falling off of his broom as they saw the tiny figure fall to the ground. 

“And the bludger nails Slytherin Adrien Pucey with deadly accuracy, nicely done nicely done-” Lee Jordan announced, nodding in approval. 

“And that’s how you do it Harry.” Ron declared smugly. 

God he was fucking in love with this chaos gremlin.

“Slytherin in possession,” Lee Jordan was saying, “Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the – wait a moment – was that the Snitch?”

Harry snapped out his stupor and scanned over the field, seeing a blur of gold streaking by. 

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Hell yes , it was Harry’s turn to play. Harry aimed downwards and dived down at an almost 180 degree angle like a missile while Ron started screaming obscenities and clinging onto Harry for dear life. 

“WHY DID I AGREE TO THIS FUCKING BULLSHIT YOU FLY LIKE A GODDAMN BAT OUT OF HELL-” 

Harry rolled his eyes, honestly he was such a drama queen, it was ridiculous. Slytherin’s Seeker had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch – the whole field seemingly frozen as they all watched the two of them diving with bated breath.

Harry was faster than Higgs and had the added bonus of more momentum from his and Ron’s combined weight. along with the sheer aura of rage and terror Ron was exuding that scared off most of the other players. He could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead – he put on an extra spurt of speed when he felt Ron’s weight shift and why did it feel like they were going sideways for some reason and something was coming real fucking fast from the side- 

WHAM!

Ron had veered the broom to the side and delivered a vicious kick at Flin’t broom that landed with the force of a bull and sent him spinning like a top in the opposite direction, flailing around and holding on for dear life

“That’s what you fuckin’ GET for tryin’ to knock Harry off ya piece of shit!” Ron hollered while waving a clenched fist in the air. 

The stadium was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, everyone staring at Ron in complete and utter shock. No one had ever kicked someone’s broom away from them during a match, and especially not the tag along of a seeker. If Ron hadn’t thrown Flint off course they both could have both been knocked out of the air and onto the ground, a heap of injured children. 

A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below – Marcus Flint had tried to block Harry on purpose, the safety of his second passenger be damned. “Foul!” screamed the Gryffindors.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, “Send him off, red! Red card!”, confusing everyone who wasn’t a muggle born or didn’t know about soccer.

(so most of the stadium) 

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

And by difficulty Harry meant he refused to take Slytherin’s side at all, period, ever. Everyone and their mother seemed to have an issue with that house for weird reasons, just saying ‘that they were evil, pure-blood, dangers to society and should never be trusted ever’, with no other explanation. 

And sure there were plenty of gits and arseholes in there but the same could be said for every house. It was the house for the ambitious and the cunning, of course they’re more inclined to use under-handed means to get what they want, that’s just how the real world works. Honor isn’t going to save your life in a knife fight but a gun absolutely can.

“So – after that blatantly obvious and disgusting bit of cheating –“

“Jordan!” growled Professor McGonagall.

“I mean, after that open and revolting foul –“

“Jordan, I’m warning you –“

“All right, all right . Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker and his mate, which could happen to anyone on a regular Tuesday, I’m sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession.”

As Harry was dodging another bludger Harry felt the Nimbus jerk forward randomly.

Well that was weird, but it was probably a one time occurrence. 

It was not a one time occurrence, it turned out, as the broom had started jerking and shake like some demented fucking carnival ride consistently in the next two minutes. He tried to head to the ground to get off before it got too dangerous but when he angled his broom down it didn’t so much as budge. 

“Hey Ron, I think we have a little problem.” Harry gritted out as the broom stubbornly refused to be steered. “What the fuck is it Harry I’m getting dizzy.” Ron moaned, his face tucked into the back of Harry’s robes. 

“I can’t steer.” 

“What the bloody hell do you mean you can’t steer?” Ron hissed, raising his head up groggily to look down at Harry. Harry tried to move the broom down -or in any direction really- and it stubbornly refused to follow. Harry made a ‘See?’ gesture with his head to Ron who’s eye had started to twitch. 

“Let me get this straight, we are hundreds of feet above the ground currently and you can’t control your broom, right?” 

“Verbatim Ron.” Harry nodded. 

Ron dragged a hand down his face despairingly and groaned. “Why oh why do I even get on brooms with you, every single fucking time you almost kill both of us.” 

“Hey, this isn’t my fault!” Harry yelled, clinging onto the broom harder as it did a diagonal dive sharply. 

Lee was still commentating.

“Slytherin in possession – Flint with the Quaffle – passes Spinnet – passes Bell – hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose – only joking, Professor – Slytherins score – oh no…”

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry’s broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as he went, because Hogwarts clearly fucking cared about child safety by letting literal chidleren fly on bloody sticks hundreds of feet above ground with two murderous balls lusting for blood. 

The broom had started to roll over and over, Harry clinging onto the broom with a white knuckled grip and Ron grabbed the handle as well, with both of them only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. 

Harry’s broom had given a wild jerk and thrown him off, the only thing between him and the very, very far away ground being the grip that Ron had on him as he hung upside down by his knees.

“Why did you let me do Quidditch again?” Harry asks, only mildly hysterical at the fact that if Ron drops him that’s a good six hundred feet between him and the ground and while he may be no expert in physics he knew that gravity + height + hard surfaces = a whole fucking world of pain. 

“Well I was under the impression that for once in your bloody life one thing would go your way but I was clearly wrong because you are a walking fucking disaster.” Ron hissed, getting more aggravated by the second the harder the broom tried to get rid of them violently. 

“This isn’t my fault-” Harry retorted. 

“Oh really, no one else's broom is trying to kill them Harry, riddle me THAT.” Ron said, looking around at everyone else and their stationary brooms that weren’t trying to commit first degree murder pointedly. 

This bitch.

“I’m about to drop to my fucking death can you be a little nicer to me?” Harry said with a glare, looking up at Ron judgmentally. 

“If you’re dropping then I’m dropping with you dumbass.” Ron sneered, tightening his grip on his wrist and wrapping his legs around the broom like a boa constrictor. 

“Why is it trying to kill us anyway?” Harry ponders, wondering how on Earth you could manipulate a goddamn broom of all things to act like a bucking bronco. 

“Take a wild fucking guess.” Ron deadpans and Harry reaches up with the hand not in a deathgrip and tries to smack his forehead with minimal success. “Stop being tall.” Ron smirked. “Well then stop being short baby boy and we have a deal.” 

“I hate you so bloody much right now it’s not even funny.” 

“The feeling is mutual.”  

“WHY ARE BOTH OF YOU ARGUING WHEN YOU’RE GOING TO DROP TO YOUR FUCKING DEATHS?” Fred screams at them, George following close behind.

“Ever heard of banter? Jesus Christ.” Ron scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, I need one of you to grab Harry for me real quick, yeah?” George and Fred move  closer to pull Harry safely onto his broom but the broom they’re on just jumps higher every time they get closer. 

“I don’t think it’s working all too well Ron.” Harry pointed out, because he was helpful like that. 

“If I wanted someone to tell me the obvious I would’ve asked Neville, now do you have any fucking solutions Mr. My Broom Is Bloody Homicidal?” 

“We can’t get him Ron!” George calls out, “We’ll go lower and catch him, m’kay?” Fred finishes. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. 

“Aight Harry, I’m gonna let go of you and drop you with the twins so at least one of us survives this bullshit” 

Oh hell no, not on Harry’s watch.

“If we’re dying on this broom we’re doing it together you piece of shit, ‘till death do us fucking part arsehole.” Harry hisses, clinging even harder on Ron’s hand and wrapping his magic around him as hard as he possibly can like a python, crushing their chests together when he swings his legs up. 

“Of fucking COURSE I get stuck with someone who has the survival instincts of a goddamn wet paper bag instead of having any sense of self preservation.” Ron bemoans, glaring right into Harry’s eyes with a look of intense frustration, but Harry can see the absolute terror hidden behind it. 

 But why is he so scared? This is the same person who looked at a giant troll and killed it without so much as batting an eye at the carnage. He’s killed others too, robbed people of their lives and sleep just fine at night, so what is it about this situation that’s so different. The only variable he can think of is himself- 

“Oh, you’re worried about me aren’t you?” Harry whispers and Ron blinks a couple times like he needs to process that statement. 

“NO GODDAMN SHIT SHERLOCK” Ron screams, looking like he would strangle him if he wasn’t busy clinging onto a broom for dear life. 

“Well fuck you too Watson.” Harry says on instinct. 

And even though the chances that both of them are going to die or be crippled for life if they fall are extremely high at the current moment, all Harry can feel is unadulterated joy. Holy shit, Ronald Weasley , the most beautiful and deadly person Harry has ever met is worried about him -Harry Potter- some orphan who’s fucked up seven ways to Sunday and enough mental issues to sink the titanic. 

Fuck their inevitable doom, this was the best day of his life, he thought as he started giggling. 

“If you weren’t even half as cute as you are I would’ve thrown you in the goddamn loonie bin forever ago.” Ron grumbled. 

“Butcha DIDN’T.” Harry rebutted and cackled as Ron despaired. 

—------------------------------------

Snape has been in several stressful situations in his life. It would not be inaccurate to say that he has practically ran on anxiety for most of his life in fact.  

Living in a household where one misstep could lead to Tobias attacking him or his mother at the slightest provocation, not knowing where his next meal would come from, hearing his mother scream and sob and plead while Tobias beat her and then having to watch her go into depressive episodes where she didn’t move and wasted away slowly while her mental health deteriorated at a rapid pace, going to a school where he knew next to nothing and was targeted relentlessly by James Potter and his merry band and shunned by his housemates for his status as a mudblood, joining a cult filled with homicidal bigots that hated his very DNA, having said leader of Cult who was extremely dangerous never leaving him alone, being a spy for Dumbledore when one wrong move could get him killed, and dealing with magical brats all day could lead to increased blood pressure in any man. 

But trying to undo a multi-layered curse on a moving target without knowing what the original spell was with two lives hanging in the balance, one of them including the child he’d sworn to protect, was enough to skyrocket his levels of anxiety to truly incredible peaks. 

He should’ve known something would go wrong when James’s child was riding a broom with that red haired psychopath was bound to end in disaster, but he didn’t expect someone to try to kill two childeren in fucking broad daylight in front of the entire goddamn school. 

Deatheaters tended to be slightly more discreet about their dealings and most of them had gone underground after The Dark Lord’s death, and it was next to impossible for a child to do this complicated and dark of a spell, even if they did have the intent of murder, and none of the teachers had the motivation to do it.

 Albus wouldn’t want his main pawn to be killed at the start of the game (manipulative child endangering bastard) , Minerva would rather die than hurt one of her students, Flickwit didn’t have a malicious bone in his body, Trelawney was too batty to do such things, Sprout couldn’t give less of a shit about the dark arts if she tried as she was more than content with her plants, the half giant wouldn’t be able to do something this intricate even if he had a full education, and Severus wasn’t so fucking stupid as to do anything in broad daylight even if he was being controlled so who was left? 

Could it be Quirrel’s work? The man jumped at his own bloody shadow and fainted at even the slightest whiff of dark magic so it was unlikely that he would do it, but not impossible. He was an unknown variant and so absolutely, utterly suspicious that Severus had thought he was simply hallucinating because surely no one could be that moronic and obvious. 

(It turns out they could) 

Where was the coward anyway, he hadn’t seen him for the entire game. The crowd gasping pulled him from his thoughts and he looked up at Potter and Ronald clinging onto the broom together. Potter had been thrown off the broom (nearly shocking Severus into cardiovascular arrest) before the youngest Weasley had caught him and held them both up by his thighs.

(If nothing else he was strong)

Now the two of them were clinging to the broom upside down, chest to chest, yelling at each other even as the broom did its damndest to throw them off while the Weasley terrors circled below them, obviously trying to catch them if they fell. 

Why was this his life? What did he do to deserve this? 

Also why did it smell like smoke all of a sudden? 

He looked down at his leg. 

Yup, that was on fire. That was also probably bad if the burning agonizing pain originating from his leg was any indicator but he hadn’t gotten this far in life without a ridiculously high pain tolerance and a habit of dissociating. 

Unfortunately that meant he couldn’t keep performing the counter spells while he was, y’know, on fire- as his concentration took a swan dive out of the window. 

Just as he was about to extinguish the fire it suddenly disappeared. What the shit? 

Everyone started cheering, and Severus looked up. Potter and the Weasley had gotten the broom under control and were heading down. When they hit the grass Potter stumbled and fell to his knees, choking on something before he put his hand up and screamed “I GOT THE SNITCH!” 

The audience lost their shit and all Severus could think of was why do we exist? Just to suffer? 

And he still had to grade those shitty ass essays about how to make a simple blood clotting spell. Severus is going to cry. 

Chapter Text

*Drags my half conscious body across the stage* I fucking HATE Jr. Year

Anyway as you may or may not have noticed I have not been updating because I’ve been like, SUPER busy lately (and exhausted) BUT I am working on the latest chapter it just will probably take a few more weeks to see the light of day (please don’t kill me I’m trying I prommy 🥺)

In the mean time I’m going to be fixing and revamping some previous chapters that are giant ass cluster fucks so if y’all want to check those out let me know if there’s any little editing things I should pop in and fix I will love you forever and ever

Anyway love y’all, drink water, overthrow the patriarchy, get through work/school/existence because I BELIEVE IN YOU and GO FIGHT WIN ❤️🔥❤️

Chapter Text

“I do feel so sorry,” said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class, “for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they’re not wanted at home.”

He was looking over at Harry as he spoke. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Harry, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, ignored them. Malfoy, through some bloody MIRACLE, had been even more of a prat lately, infuriated that Gryffindormanaged to win. After he found out that joking about Harry being an open mouth toad didn’t really fly (heh, fly) as everyone was honestly more impressed that Ron had been able to keep both of them on the broom. Ron had gotten several proud claps on the back from people that they’ve never even met , an offer from the fitness club, multiple people pestering him about what his secret to leg day was, and dreamy sighs from several girls who kept trying to peek up his robe like fucking perverts

The lion, the witch, and the AUDACITY of these bitches. 

Harry didn’t let them of course, absolutely no one was bloody touching Ron if he had any say in it. Anyone who did try to peek up Ron’s robe was always blocked by a oh so conveniently placed Harry, clinging onto his arm and glaring daggers into their fucking souls. You’d think they’d know better with the way that Ron positively reeked of Harry’s magic, oozing off of him like toxic slime. 

Now some people would say that’s no better than a cat pissing on a wall to mark their territory and to that Harry says, if it has worked for thousands of years for cats, then it obviously works perfectly well, mind your own damn business. 

Of course It wasn’t that Harry was worried Ron would cheat, he was a smart man who knew what to do to avoid having the privilege of having his cock attached to his pelvis, because Harry knew how to revoke that privilege very fast. Now of course he didn’t have his claim over it (legally) as he hadn’t completely ironed out their marriage documents since you had to be seventeen to do so (because no child marriages blah blah blah-), but he’d already picked out a color scheme, venue, and the flower arrangements for it, so they were practically half way there.

If Ron DID decide to leave Harry (which would never ever EVER happen because Harry will cheat, lie, steal, murder, and commit atrocities to keep him, even if he has drug, kidnap, amputate, get Hermione to perform enucleation, and chain Ron down to the floor his fucking SELF) , then there were plenty of solutions to bring him back to senses, muggle or magical. 

With enough manipulation, addictive substances, and lack of morals you could make anyone love you.  

Magic made a lot of things easier, but most importantly it had revolutionized crime (or at least had the potential to) With a simple flick of the wrist or a drop or two of a potion you could break any number of laws with barely any effort. Of course there was the wizarding police or whatever and laws and countermeasures but nothing stopped a determined Harry Potter. It was hard to obtain the ingredients or knowledge for more serious things, like the wizard equivalent of methamphetamine, enslaving or kidnapping, and most anything involving mind control, memories, or any matter of free will. Of course, it was difficult, but difficult doesn’t mean impossible , simply improbable . 

Because if capitalism had taught him anything it was that money could solve most, if not all of your problems, in one way or another. 

And the Potter family had a lot of money. 

“And I do feel so sorry,” Ron drawled, looking back at Malfoy, ”for all of the stupid dickless gits who act out because their Daddy never paid enough attention to them.”

“Ronald,” Hermione hissed, cuffing him upside the head, “if you insinuate that he has a vagina one more time you will lose your own penis privileges.” 

“Talk dirty to me, Granger, why don’t ya?” Ron said salaciously, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, cackling at the look of utter and absolute disgust on Hermione’s face. 

“I’m just yanking your chain Granger, we all know ya like cunt, hell who doesn’t.” Ron commented with a chuckle, thumping her on the back good naturedly, squawking and jumping back when she attempted to stab him with a knife for invading her personal space.The statement made Harry…..feel a certain way. 

(If said certain way was to devour every part of him until they were one being that could never be separated, but some things weren’t meant to be shared in public, like what you got up into romping around the sheets. But replace “romping” with “deadly pining” and “sheets” with “an all consuming obsession” You get the gist of it.)

“The vagina is more appealing than a penis Ronald.” Hermione said primly, like a noble lady informing a peasant that the gazebo was not for the filthy public's use, despite the subject matter. Then again, the woman hardly ever shifted tone and if she did it was a sign she was either trying to imitate a ‘social cue’ (whatever the FUCK that was) , or she was angry, either reason a good idea to run for cover as fast you possibly could and grab a gun regardless. 

“Well I guess that’s one thing we can agree on, Granger, cunt supremacy.” They both nodded sagely, everyone gaping at them for how crude they were. Several of the Slytherins looked close to fainting from the vulgarity of it all, but they were all purebloods who probably wouldn’t know what a cunt was until they saw a diagram of it two hours before getting wed off the local lord to establish an alliance for trading rights or some nonsense. Harry may be rich now but that doesn’t mean he knows jack or shit about being rich. 

Well everyone besides Pansy Parkinson, who was staring Hermione like she wanted to eviscerate her through sheer will alone. Ron, in typical Ron fashion, disagreed. ‘C’mon Harry, she obviously wants to eat her cunt first, this is lesbianism 101, it’s a courting ritual.’ 

Harry didn’t know if it was true or not but he had exactly zero frame for reference unless you counted Hermione but even Harry didn’t think she was normal. Ron’s little sister, Ginny, was apparently a flaming Tommy from what Ron had said but he’d never met her so she wasn’t an option as of present. 

While Pansy was busy flushing redder than a firetruck and glancing down very conspicuously towards Hermione’s crotch, Harry tried to not to burst into flames looking at Ron with a not so inconsiderable amount of effort. 

Again. 

(It was a long fucking story okay?)

 “Did that mother of yours never teach you manners Weasley?!” Draco hissed, face red and looking more than sufficiently scandalized. 

“She tried.” He said with a shrug, which was fair enough Harry supposed. You could lead a horse to water but that didn’t  mean it would drink. At all. Or wouldn’t try to kick you in the head. 

(Horses were not to be trusted under any circumstance ever, regardless of what anyone said, even Ron) 

“We were talking about which reproductive system we found to be more attractive, how is that rude Ronald?” Hermione looked utterly baffled at the question. Befuddled if you will. One could even say…..bamboozled. 

(Thank you, thank you, we’re here all night folks) 

“Yeah we’re simply discussing which reproductive system we find to be most attractive.” Ron parroted, looking far too smug for someone who had to ask what reproductive meant earlier that day; then turned pale at the explanation and stared at the wall with a haunted look muttering “How does a baby fuckin’ FIT-” over and over again like a man possessed. 

Malfoy looked more scandalized -if it was even possible- and flushed a blotchy pink that contrasted awfully against his corpse like complexion. Seriously he looked like his mother was a China doll and he was raised in a mausoleum in a glass coffin. It was goddamn ridiculous, did elves steal his melatonin while he slept or some shit? 

(Could elves even do that? Did elves exist actually?)

Ron was pale but at least he looked like he’d seen the sun more than once in his entire life, as proven by the freckles spilling all along his body in little constellations (So far he’s found the Big Dipper on the underside of his right forearm, Orion on the front of his left calf, and Andromeda on the back of his neck. More research was required, preferably as soon as possible. Or when they got married. Which should also preferably be as soon as possible. Within the next week would be nice) 

“Potter, you have been summoned by the headmaster to report to his office immediately, and I am apparently supposed to escort you.” Snape said, putting such utter and complete disdain and vitriol into the sentence Harry was surprised it even came out of his mouth without turning into acid and melting the stone floor. 

“Potters in trouble~” Malfoy sing songed in his annoying high pitched voice, grinning like the cat who had gotten the canary. Someone needed to remove the tree up his ass. Soon. With a chainsaw. Or a crowbar, Harry wasn’t picky. 

“Shut the fuck up Malfoy” Ron scoffed, starting to pick everything up off the table and sweeping his ink pot haphazardly into his bag before swinging it onto his shoulder, grabbing Harry’s hand in a tight grip and yanking him into his warm side, a relief from the freezing dungeon air. 

“Alright let’s go mate.” 

Harry nodded, and they both went to go out of the door before they were interrupted by Snape’s unimpressed drawl as he swished to the back of the . “I don’t believe I called your name Weasley, sit down.” 

Ron turned around and gave a flat glare.

“Do you really want to do this today?” Ron scoffed, rolling his eyes. 

Snape’s eye twitched. 

Ron raised his eyebrows. 

Everyone looked between them with the rapture of spectators watching a tennis match but someone replaced the rackets with guns without the safety on, the ball with a grenade, and the court with a mine field filled with puppies and babies. 

Snape took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his hooked nose. 

“Fine.” 

—-------------------------------------------------------

Severus hates this fucking job, and this goddamned castle, and that wretched fool of an old man that made him abandon his classroom with creatures like Granger to escort a spoiled brat and that monster-

“Are we there yet?” 

“No.” 

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“Are we there yet?” 

“NO”

“Why is this castle so fucking big?” Potter muttered sullenly. 

Because Hogwarts is sentient and likes some variety, aka thrives upon the suffering of innocent professors' calves is what Severus would like to say; but he had a reputation to maintain. 

“Ask the headmaster” Severus gritted out, clutching his wand in a death grip to prevent himself from committing child abuse. A few good hits from Tobias worked just fine to discipline Severus, surely it could work on the boy. 

“Why are we going to Dumblewhores office?” the red headed demon asked in a bored tone, swinging his and Potter's arms back and forth as they walked. Severus almost snorted at the new title. It was fitting for a man slut. 

“I don’t know Weasley, or else I would be sending you on your merry way but since everyone has decided to treat you as a hazard to national security despite the fact you are both actual children-,” Severus spat, disgusted at the gross misconduct of such a dignified educational establishment. They let in a cerberus, man eating plants, an assortment of potentially deadly potions, and a giant set of murderous chess pieces in a school of all goddamn things , but they apparently couldn’t leave a measly pair of eleven year olds unattended

Fucking disgusting. 

 “-and you have proven yourself quite capable of self defense when push comes to shove.” 

Severus didn’t like to admit it, but he could (if extremely begrudgingly) give credit where credit was due. Killing a troll by oneself was admirable, but three children trapping a troll, killing it, and then collecting and sampling the remains efficiently with minimum injury and preventing more property damage and deaths? Astonishing. In another universe if  they weren’t so batshit crazy (and related to Potter) then he might wish for that talent to be in Slytherin. 

But alas, this was not that universe 

“Damn right we are, ‘bout time someone recognized it.” Weasley preened, smiling with his teeth. 

“It was of course, foolhardy, pompous, idiotic, and absolutely moronic to try to take on a fully grown mountain troll on your own. By all accounts you should be dead or a smear of blood on the floor; it’s honestly a complete  miracle you aren’t hideously crippled, brain dead, or severely injured right now.” 

“But we aren’t dead right now.” Potter said somewhat timidly, hiding behind the taller boy's back, like narrowly avoiding death, was a perfectly acceptable excuse for their behavior. 

“That doesn’t change anything as the fact was that you almost did die.” Severus gritted out, pinching the bridge of his nose. You can’t curse children no matter how annoying they are Severus, you can’t curse children no matter how annoying they are Severus, you can’t curse children no matter how annoying they are- 

“Well of course Harry wasn’t going to die, I wouldn’t let that happen.” Weasley scoffed, like the mere possibility of their more than likely deaths didn’t register. Gryffindor foolishness was genetic, it appeared. Anyone who went in that house turned into a moron after long. 

“-I’d sacrifice everyone else first and then myself so Harry could get away or at least have the number of hostels reduced, I’m not a fucking moron.” the red head sneered, looking at Severus like he was an invalid. 

…That was not the answer Severus was expecting, but it was a practical one nonetheless. Maybe the Weasley boy wasn’t a complete lost cause. 

“RON!” Potter shouted, slapping his companion atop the head with a strength unexpected for his small stature and a viciousness he’d only seen in the Weasley spawns mother. “WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT DYING FOR ME; IF ANYONE YOU SHOULD BE THE ONE USING MY DEATH AS A DISTRACTION!” 

“NO WAY IN HELL YOU’RE THE CHOSEN ONE!” Weasley screamed, attempting to pull Potter away from his hair that he’d grabbed when he’d almost smashed his head into the floor with his blow.

 “EXACTLY I’M MORE VALUABLE DEAD OR ALIVE SO I’LL BE THE DISTRACTION!” he yelled, yanking harder on the red hair in his clutches like he was trying to rip his scalp off. Their arguing devolved into a grappling match, Potter scratching and hissing with the distinct likeness to a feral honey badger as Weasley desperately tried to block the smaller boy's blows. 

Oh wait, he was supposed to be stopping the fight not evaluating their fight. Fuck

“POTTER! WEASLEY!” Severus bellowed, snapping his wand and levitating the smaller boy above the redhead, to his great chagrin if the hissing was anything to go by

“NO FIGHTING IN SCHOOL AND NO ACTING LIKE ANIMALS!” 

“I DIDN’T START IT!” Weasley cried loudly, pointing to the number of small wounds he had accrued during the process. “Don’t say stupid shit and I won’t have to fight you” Potter grumbled, having accepted his fate of zero gravity and sitting petulantly.  

“It wasn’t stupid.” Weasley hissed back, getting Potter to turn back towards him with a raised eyebrow. He wilted slightly.

 “Okay okay I won’t talk about it I promise.” the redhead said placatingly, raising his hands to grab the floating boy's one, only to look like he’d been slapped in the face when Potter huffed and turned the other way.  

Oooo the girls were fighting~ 

Severus is going to shoot himself. 

He can admit that he’s reached a lot of lows in his life. Stealing to survive, then scaring away Lily, joining the Dark Lord, trusting that imbecile Potter to keep Lily alive and safe because that was his one fucking job- 

But quoting his students? 

Rock, meet bottom

“Harry what are you doing come back down mate.” Weasley said after he recovered from his shock, jumping up on his toes to grasp at Potter’s robes. 

“I’m not coming down until you promise to never do that.” Potter huffed, glaring down at the other boy who wilted under his gaze. His resting bitch face wasn’t half bad actually.

“But I can’t-” Weasley started, only to stop and quickly switch tactics faced with a sharp spike of magic from Potter and a raised eyebrow. “-I mean I promise Harry.” He finished with as innocent a smile that he could manage. 

“Hmmm…. I dunno, that didn’t sound very sincere now did it?” Potter mused, stroking his chin mockingly in the face of Weasleys obvious agitation at having him out of arm's reach despite having been attacked with the ferocity of a feral unicron not even a minute before by the same person he was trying so desperately to get back into his arms, because he was mentally ill. 

So was Severus but that was besides the point. Depression wasn’t a REAL thing. 

“C’moooon babybird, come back down.” Weasley whined, raising onto his tip toes and jumping up and down like he was trying to reach a fruit high on a tree. 

Potter had a brief internal debate before he broke down and reached out his hand to the boy beneath him, who yanked him into his embrace like he was trying to give him whiplash or bash the inside of his ribcage in at the same time as he nuzzled him. 

Tamed mutt thy name is Weasley

“The headmaster's office is just ahead, prepare yourself emotionally.” Severus declared, looking back at the two boys who were attempting to fuse into one being through sheer willpower. 

“Sir yes sir.” Potter said with a lazy salute, Weasley mimicking him. 

This could not end soon enough. 

—-------------------------------------------

Albus opened the door with a smile on his face

“Ah, Mr. Potter, Professor Snape, and……Mr. Weasley?” Albus said in confusion, looking at the red head who was distinctly not invited to this party. 

“I thought I summoned you and Harry Severus?” 

Severus, who looked like he’d aged twenty years in the past two hours since breakfast, gave him a defeated glare. 

“We’re a package deal bitch.” The redhead sniped back, sneering at the older man and clutching the younger boy to his side like they were trying to take him from him. 

(Which is exactly what they were trying to do at the moment but that was besides the point) 

“Mr. Weasley, how many times must I remind you to not use profane language at the school?” Severus reprimanded them with a glare.  “You stubbed your toe and yelled, and I quote, “JESUS GODDAMN CHRIST GETTING FUCKED IN THE ASS” Harry said with a raised eyebrow. 

Severus grimaced. “That was different.” 

“Different my arse.” The Weasley boy grumbled, plopping down onto a cushioned chair with a small grunt, tugging Harry down with him and fitting neatly into the space between the arm of the chair and the taller boy's side. Harry hummed contentedly, curling up further until he almost disappeared amongst the gingers sprawling limbs and plush couch cushion. 

“Anyway what the fuck do you want.” the red head deadpanned, flinching from the pinch Harry delivered to his side with a vengeance. 

Were children always this rude? Or was it a new development? 

“Mr. Weasley if you cannot talk civilly I will have to take some points from Gryffindor for your blatant disrespect.” That should get him to calm down, first years were always concerned about house points. It would hurt to take some from his precious house but they could always gain them back. Children had to be disciplined after all. He nodded to himself, smiling. 

He was met with three unimpressed gazes, Severus being one of them. He’d moved to perch on the other chair next to the two boys, with a defeated 

“Ahem, now the reason I summoned you today Harry, was because I believe you and Mr. Weasley do not have what could be called the healthiest of relationships.” 

“We’re perfectly healthy screw you.” the red head hissed, clutching Harry tighter to his chest. Harry himself looked bamboozled by the statement as well. 

 Uh huh, and the sky is a tasteful shade of fuschia. 

“This is exactly what I mean, I think it would be good for the two of you to spend some time away from each other, learn how to live alone.” 

The boys looked at each other, looked at Albus, looked at Snape, looked at each other once more, and then crumpled into the chair in a fit of absolutely hysterical cackling. 

“Har- Ha-Harry I can’t BREATHE-” Ron gasped, wheezing like he’d run a marathon. Harry wasn’t in much better shape, laughing so hard his entire body was shaking, half falling out of the chair. Tears were streaming down both of their faces as they continued cachinnating for long minutes, bursting into fits of giggles again whenever they looked at each other. 

“Oh god you’re a real comedian.” Harry said, wiping a tear from his reddened face with a smile. “Hell I haven’t laughed that hard since Fred and George lit Percy’s trousers on fire outside and it spread to the gnomes.” Ron added. 

“What’s so funny Potter?” Snape asked, looking down at the both of them with a glare. He never did appreciate the sound of a child's laughter. Or really any sounds from children. Or children themselves. Odd duck that man. 

“Were you….not kidding?” Harry hedges out. 

“No, I'm quite serious my dear boy.” Albus said with a straight face, trying to get his point across with sincerity. 

Ron turned over to Severus and looked at him with the seriousness of a surgeon about to tell a family their father didn’t make it through the surgery, though he put up a brave fight, and that heaven had gained another angel in it’s ranks.  

“Professor, it’s time to put grandpa in St. Mungos.” 

Severus started coughing on his spit and Harry wheezed so hard he couldn't even breathe

That was not a good omen for the rest of this meeting. 

Chapter Text

Ron would like to let it be known that he doesn’t want to be here, at all, in any shape, way or form; and you can quote him on that. 

He’ll even sign it with his good quill that DOESN’T have a crack in the shaft or has been snapped in half (Okay so maybe the hypothetical quill is actually this  pen thing that Harry technically borrowed from Hermione that doesn’t require an ink pot to use and is glittery somehow but he digresses) 

In fact he wants to be here even LESS than a poor fast food bloke working the night shift during a Friday when he wanted to get his wasted with his mates and instead got swamped with making fish and chips for five hours straight with his boss screaming at him; and when salvation is finally nigh, when he’s not even TEN minutes away from the end of his shift and sweet sweet freedom a flood of drunk teenagers come in at 3 AM like a tsunami to extinguish the last ember of his will to live. 

THAT’S how much he does not fucking want to be here. 

I mean sure these chairs were possibly the softest things he had ever touched, it’s plenty warm in the office, and Dumbledore surprisingly has some half decent caramel candies. But even if the candies tasted like the twinkle in an old man's eye when he sees his grandchild for the first time he still would not be here. 

The room reeked of the old man's magic that had melded with walls and floors; similar to a  mold infection that took three days to get rid of and used enough bleach to paint the entire town white and then when you lifted up the floorboards there was an entire mold civilization under there. In short,not going anywhere anytime soon, but more than willing to strip the lining of your esophagus and drain any and all cleaning products in your position dryer than a bone in the desert on the way. 

 And don’t even get Ron STARTED on how absolutely revolting it was to feel. 

Imagine five vats of pure cotton candy extract had a one night stand with the entire catalogue of bath and body works and their lovechild inherited the combined weight of both their parents and decided to manspread everywhere. Got the image in your head? Good. Now throw that image out of the window faster than than the Flash because it smells fucking worse. 

He can feel his olfactory bulb attempting joint suicide with his nose and honestly? That’s more than fair, Ron also wants to jump off of a cliff as of current, but more so because of the person causing this abomination against noses. 

Also known as the batshit crazy old coot decided their relationship was apparently his business despite the visible, emphasized, and repeated lack of an invitation to it. 

“Okay, so let me get this straight real quick. You-” he pointed towards Dumblewhore,”want to interfere in a students relationship -aka ours-” he pointed to Harry and them himself, “-because you feel that we have “attachment issues” 

“Did you just do honest to Merlin air quotes Weasley.” Snape deadpanned, looking at him with the exhaustion of a thousand tired hookers, smudged eyeliner and all. 

“I have never done air quotes in my life” Ron professed solemnly with a hand over his chest like the perfect little catholic choir boy he was; even though he wasn’t catholic and his singing abilities were “like a fucking feral alley cat with pnemonia” according to Percy. Which was funny because he couldn’t sing for shit either but that didn’t keep him off his high horse. 

“And you deduced based on the fact that you have zero experience in the medical field, no certification in psychology or therapy, and wizards still don’t know how to effectively identify, study, and treat shit like depression or anxiety is this correct?” Harry said, looking over his taped glasses derisively. 

“Yeah what Harry said.” Ron said smugly, understanding about 0.7% of what he said. Hell, he barely knew half of those words from a research binge with Granger on the “computer” that they attained after a strenuous battle with the little cunt inside of it -called the iNtErNeT- because Ron’s perfectly reasonable suggestion of changing its title to ‘that rat bastard arshole inside of the weird as hell box’ was shot down by Granger faster than she could throw The History of Magical Britain Through The Ages and nail whoever dared to interrupt her reading time with the intent to kill. 

(She somehow managed to turn any sort of book her greedy little claws could grab into a certified weapon through the sheer power of a thousand enraged nerds)

Dumbledore looked at Harry like he’d grown a second head and started doing the jig in a ballgown whilst reciting the bible in fluent japanese all at once. 

And okay, maybe Ron snickered at the look of a man that had been bamboozled but even SNAPE was trying to fight a smile, the man who only smiled when he was suitably drunk and Neville managed to miracoulously mess up his poition again. 

“I don’t believe I’m familiar with those terms my dear boy-” the old coot started, and Ron felt his eye twitch. 

“Not your boy.” Harry hisses at him. 

No Harry wasn’t anyones boy, and even if he was he was Ron’s boy thank you very the fuck much, not Dumbledore, Merlin even the mere thought made him want to vomit.

“I don’t believe I understand-” 

“Oh I think you understand plenty you old piece of shti, Harry’s not a boy and he certainly wouldn’t be yours either even if he was.”

(Harry Potter hadn’t been a boy in a long long time, not since a bright green light and harsh words and scars and a dark cupboard under the stairs)

He was Ron’s thank you very much, so have an absolutely terrible day, fall into a gutter, break your legs, and die 

“They’re not children, Albus, and treating them like children will hardly help the matter.” Snape scoffed, arms folded. 

The man made a point for once (besides the time he stood on top of his desk and said the potions book was “fucking useless and for the idiotic and insane” which was absolutely correct) 

“What do you mean they’re not children they’re eleven” Dumblwhore said, looking extremely befuddled. 

Snape gave a humorless laugh before looking down at Dumbledore like HE was the child in the room who needs to be informed that asking why Mummy and Daddy yelled at each other so much was a stupid question. 

“Age has nothing to do with it Albus,” he says smoothly, and Ron can see how true that statement is from the lines around his eyes, the way he put the desk in between him and the older man with a clear path to the door subconsciously, how his face is so gaunt and withdrawn. 

He can almost see the corpse of a little boy inside the man before him. 

Dumbefuk cleared his throat and looked to the side awkwardly. “Regardless, I believe it would do Harry some good to spend time at home with his family-” 

Oh shit. 

“What?” Harry said, his magic starting to twitch sporadically. 

Circe’s cunt he just HAD to mention it didn’t he when they’d gone a whole three weeks without a panic attack. 

Okay stay calm men, we’ve trained for this situation, just like we practiced- 

“Your family?” he repeated, because he was just so damn helpful like that. 

Maybe they’d be cool this time, Ron was with Harry so he wouldn't freak out right? 

Listen, it’s not being delusional; he’s manifesting, in the words of Lavender Parvati (or whatever her name is Ron just calls her crystal hippie star chart chick)

He looked down at Harry and prayed to every god he knew that for once he would be right and his sunshine would be nice and calm. Hell, maybe he just fell asleep like he did in class sometimes when it was especially cold and he clung onto Ron for body heat. Yeah, there was totally a chance that happened, they could do this, hope was NOT lost. 

He was going to see a black blob barnacled to his side, snoring gently into the hollow of his neck peacefully, and then he could rip the old man a new one before taking their leave so he could bundle Harry in as many blankets he could find with a couple of his favorite rolls and pretend none of this happened. 

Everything was going to be fine. 

“Do you mean my dead family?” Harry said coldly, sounding perfectly fine for all intents and purposes if you didn’t know him well. Except Ron did, and that was the tone of voice that did not mean anything good. At all. In fact it meant less than good, it meant “RUN AWAY SCREAMING” 

It’s still salvageable as long as he didn’t mention the D-word-

“No I meant the Dursleys.” 

Dead silence. 

Deader than dead silence, silence that was so silence-y it came back to life and died a SECOND time. 

So y’know the part where he said that it was still salvageable? 

Well that was a fucking lie.

This is, as the proffesionals would call it, a code red. 

In case you are unfamiliar with this terminology, it is used to symbolize dangers such as fire and smoke and also something immediately life threatening or deadly. As of this situation both apply because Harry’s hands had started smoking and he had a bad habit of causing spontaneous fires when his emotions were especially strong. 

His magic had been agitated the whole time they were here, roiling like a thunderstorm ready to unleash the wrath of the heavens upon earth, and now it was eerily quiet, like the anticipation before lightning comes down to strike. 

In the case of a code red, the best and most immediate course of action one should take is to escape the situation before shit hits the fan, taking advantage of the adrenaline your body produced in overdrive in response to the kill bill sirens that have been blaring for the past forty seconds inside your brain. 

So, he did what any reasonable man would do, picked up the small magical bomb in his arms, ignored the yelling behind him and ran like a bat out of fucking Hell before Harry managed to commit manslaughter and blow up half the school while he was at it. 

Chapter Text

“Are you SURE this is a good idea?” Neville asked for the umpteenth time, looking warily at the door like it was going to bite him or something, making Zoe scoff. 

“Of course its a good idea, you don’t want Ron and Harry to starve do you? We’re bringing them dinner since they missed it and then offering some emotional support from having to deal with the fuckwit known as the headmaster.” 

Neville let out a gasp before clutching his very imaginary pearls and paling considerably. 

“Don’t call Dumbledore a fuckwit, he’s the greatest wizard of this generation AND the headmaster, he could dock the house points.” Neville hissed fratnically, looking around like the wall paper would suddenly develop eyes and attack them with laser beams. 

“Oh no.” Zoe said with a voice flatter than roadkill on the freeway during rush hour. “Whatever shall we do if we lose house points in a competition that only offers a stupid trophy and we don’t even get anything fun for it in a stupid bid to get us to behave the horror.” Hermione shook her head forlornly “Commit ritualistic suicide to atone for it I presume.” 

Neville looked a lot more anxious suddenly. “We’re not going to do that are we? Because Gran said that I have to outlive her or else shes going to drag me back to the living world and beat my arse and I really dont want to do that-.” 

Zoe laughed before shaking her head. “Get your panties out a twist, shes making a joke. I’m teaching ‘Mione sarcasm, she’s a natural. And anyway, I don’t see a problem cause I’m not telling him nothing ‘cause mum didn’t raise no narc. Are you a narc ‘Mione?” she said with a glance to Hermione. 

“What do narcotics have to do with anything.” 

Zoe sighed. 

Hermione may have been smarter than a whip but she could NOT understand slang for the absolute life of her. Okay she would have to try another approach. 

“Are you gonna tell anyone?” 

“No? That doesn't make sense cause I’d get in trouble too. Why would I sabotage myself like that?” 

“See? We got it covered.” Zoe assured Neville, who didn’t look very assured at all.

“Well do you have the,” he gestured towards the general direction of Hermione who was pulling out another stack of bombs from her Mary Poppins bag and leaning it against the wall. “,whole ‘blowing up the door’ thing covered too?” 

“Well we knocked and they didn’t answer so as the good Samaritan’s we are-“ Zoe proclaimed and gestured to Hermione who nodded and muttered “such good samaritans” before smiling and continuing on “-we are going to make sure they didn’t die or something in there through force if need be.” 

“And we couldn’t just check on them tomorrow without blowing up the door and having Ron kill us all, of course not.” Neville muttered sullenly. 

”Glad you’ve seen the light mate” Zoe approved with a nod. 

“I was being sarcastic”

“I’m manifesting you picking the right answer” 

“What does that even MEAN-“ he huffed in exasperation, only to be silenced by Hermione. 

“Stop talking so loud, I’m trying to concentrate and not blow us all straight to Jesus.” She  hissed at them, leaning closer to the wires. 

Neville leaned over closer to Zoe. “Who’s Jesus?” 

“Stop. Talking. So. Goddamned. LOUD.”

He stopped talking. 

“Thank you. Anyway, it will be fine, I’ve planned this out extensively” 

“See?” Zoe  said with a smile, gesturing towards Hermione. “The experts have spoken.” 

“What about the fact that you’re blowing up an entire wall of the dorms?” he whispered back. 

“Think of it like surprise home renovation that we’ll blame on Ron.”

“This isn’t renovation this is demolition” Hermione corrected, raising an unimpressed eyebrow in her endless crusade to have everything factually correct even if it quite frankly ruined the mood.  

“Tomato- tomato, who cares, let's blow this popsicle stand already.” Zoe whined, rocking back and forth on her feet impatiently. She was booorrreeeeddddd. Her regularly scheduled show of watching the twins bother the wonder duo before being chased off with Ron screaming threats and Harry cackling hysterically the entire time hadn’t happened this evening which was a crime. It had put her in what mum called ‘one of her moods’ but what Zoe called ‘completely justified reasons be cross that stupid adults don't get cause they’re stupid™’

“How come you don’t get yelled at when you talk?” Neville furiously whisper yelled at Zoe who gave a shit eating grin. “Cause I’m ‘mione’s favorite~” she sing songed. “Right ‘mione?” 

“I don’t despise you.” Hermione said, which was the equivalent of ‘You are my favoritest person ever and I love you’. 

“See? Favorite.” Zoe was so good at this. 

“Favorites aside, what is this about a popsicle stand? There's no popsicle stand here, how would we blow it? And why are we giving a popsicle stand a blow job?” Hermione asked, giving Zoe what she had dubbed as Bitch Face #12; ‘that statement is so fucking stupid i’m wondering if you got concussed and I’m trying to be nice about it even though I physically can’t because it’s genuinely just that fucking stupid’. It was a favorite of hers.

“No, Robert Williams said it, y’know Mork and Mindy show don’t you?” 

“No, why would I know that? Mum and Dad say that TV rots your brain out of your skull.” 

Of course they did. Like parents like daughter Zoe supposed. 

“These are the same people who are dentists that don’t believe in any ice cream flavor besides vanilla, I’m not trusting them with anything fun.” she replied with a dubious look at Hermione, who in turn looked mildly offended at the completely true statement. 

“There are several studies that have shown the effects of TV on the adolescent brain since 1969-” Hermione started, gearing up for a rant that she probably had a white board full of evidence for because she came more prepared than a redneck for the imagined apocalypse when it came to any intellectual debate before Neville -god bless his soul- cut her off with perhaps the worst question Zoe had ever heard in her 11 years of existence. 

“What’s a TV?” Neville asked, only to have Zoe gape at him in utter horror. 

What’s a TV? What’s a TV?

“Only the greatest invention EVER-” Zoe bursted out, throwing her arms akimbo dramatically before being interrupted by Hermione. 

“That would be the printing press actually-” Hermione muttered, having gone back to fiddling with her bombs. 

“- I REPEAT the greatest invention EVER-” Zoe bulldozed over Hermione in her much more pressing matter of explaining the wonders of saturday morning cartoons to the poor poor sap who had been deprived of their marvels for years. 

Neville, who was looking mildly shell shocked from the sudden burst of manic energy Zoe was possessed by, bravely raised his hand and muttered “so, what does it…. do exactly?” 

“Its like-” Zoe started before backtracking. “- well no it’s more similar to uhm…” This is harder than she thought, how do you even explain TV to someone who’d never seen it? Can she call a friend? 

TV is just TV, that’s really all there is to it. 

“It’s essentially a moving portrait that shows entertaining stories -both fictional and real-, but you can change it to a different moving portrait with a single touch that runs on electricity and radio waves instead of magic.” Hermione reported dutifully from behind them, ever the dependable human dictionary. 

“What she said.” Zoe nodded smugly. 

“Anyway, I suggest we head for cover before this bomb goes off in about-” Hermione checked her watch, “-ten seconds or so.” 

“WHAT?!” Neville screeched at a pitch that could shatter glass before Hermione slapped him upside the head, grabbed Zoe’s hand, and started hauling arse down the hall. Zoe managed to grab his hand while he was struck dumb (literally) and they all dived behind a  desk before the bomb went off with a ginormous ‘BOOM’ and sent pieces flying debris everywhere 

“WHAT IN THE GODDAMN BLOODY FUCK-” Ron’s voice thundered from behind the crater in the wall.

“Note to self, less toothpaste next time” Hermione remarked. 

“Note to self, write a will in the next thirty seconds” Zoe added. 

Neville didn’t have any notes because he had passed out. 

Oh well. Time for plan B. 

“We brought dinner!” Zoe sang out from behind the table, dangling the basket full of stolen goodies in front of her as a peace offering with a blinding grin -that wasn’t dimmed despite the dust on her robes and ringing in her ears-  to an utterly bamboozled looking Harry and Ron standing in the recently added open floor plan and blinking in disbelief. 

Hermione facepalmed with a hearty smack behind her. 

Chapter Text

The link that BETTER FUCKING WORK I SWEAR TO GOD 

If that doesn’t work uh try this I guess????Never dealt with pictures before I’m guessing at this point bro 😭

https://docs.google.com/document/d/12s_Qy0XgH9qxW86coAiMkbdKzM1YtXTWr-PvYPhQwIA/edit?usp=drivesdk

hey yall guess who’s too much of an idiot to figure out how the link works and has to approve people to see it? ME! I’m approving them as soon as I see them but my sleep is tragically a thing and my school has a super strict schedule but please trust I’m trying my best to approve it as fast as I can sorry for all of this it’s been a nightmare and a half 💀

MY BETA IS FROM JESUS HIMSELF AND GOT IT ALL FIGURED OUT YALL! BIG GIANT SHOUT OUT TO THEM I LOVE YOU BESTIE :D