RfTF
Chapter 10
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By the beginning of lunchtime, Ron was still curious as to what was going on with Harry, so he asked again.
“Look, Ron. You *really* don’t want to know.” Was the reply he got. Silence ensued as they ate their sandwiches in the Gryffindor common room.
Soon, however, Ron’s curiosity got the better of him once more, so he asked Harry the same question.
REMIEL: Is the author purposely subjecting us to this repetition so we can better understand Harry’s anger or something? YARGH!
MAD: So we can know that Ron is the Little Train That Could.
REMIEL: You know, I never THOUGHT of that book as being phallicly symbolic in nature, but something about the way YOU say it . . .
MAD: * smug * Choo choo. Choo choo.
REMIEL: * shakes head * Ugh! You’re doing something to my BRAIN!
“Goddamn it, Ron! How many times do I have to say it?” Harry snapped irritably. “My love life is * none * of your damn * business! * When the hell are you going to get the message and back off?! I don’t pester you for private details about your relationship with Hermione, so quit pestering * me * for private details about * my * love life!”
This sudden outburst startled Ron, who paled, lowered his eyes to the floor, and went back to eating his lunch.
MAD: Normally, I'd applaud someone for trying to retain their privacy. But it's not like Hermione and Ron date in secret. Harry's gallavanting off in the middle of the night and maybe Ron feels bad about being left out on adventures. Four years of teasing the poor boy. Shame shame shame! And I think he'd blush rather than pale. But that's only my opinion. Heh.
REMIEL: Very sensible. I’m impressed.
MAD: I can impress you other ways if you'll let me, shug.
REMIEL: Shug? You know, I’ve only heard one other Cheeks use that word . . . Fernando. Huh. Funny, that.
MAD: Ohhhh yeah . . . yeah that is funny. Funny like a FOX! * looks suddenly nervous *
“He has a point, Ron. You really shouldn’t pester Harry to reveal private stuff.” Hermione commented, leaning into her boyfriend. Ron nodded in agreement, and tilted her head up to his for a deep, passionate kiss. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as his hands tangled themselves in her sleek, chestnut hair.
A hooting school owl flying through the common room’s window, and dropping a rolled-up piece of parchment at Harry’s feet suddenly interrupted them.
“What the…?” Ron gasped. Harry ignored this and unrolled the parchment.
REMIEL: Why’s Ron so shocked? That’s like the equivalent of a Muggle being confused every time the little white truck pulls up to the mailbox. “Oh my God, who is that guy? What’s he putting in that strange receptacle that has sprouted from the ground? Why does this happen to me EVERY DAY?” Oh, and why would Ron reward Hermione for taking Harry’s side by groping her? Pish. Humans.
MAD: Maybe the owl had a little UPS uniform on and said, "Sign here!"
REMIEL: * tries to glare at Mad, but chuckles a little * Awwww. That’d be so CUTE! With the little shorts and the tiny clipboard and an itsy bitsy widdle hat!
Dear Harry,
Please meet me behind Greenhouse # 3 in five minutes. I have to talk to you.
Love from D
MAD: It'd work great without the 'Love' part. Don't want to cause SUSPICION or anything. Gee, I wonder who 'D' could be? Desdemona? Dork? Heeeeey . . . Dorkus Malorkus!
REMIEL: I always knew Dumbledore had a thing for Harry. It was only a matter of time.
MAD: “Harry, you are my son. Or my new gay lover. How 'bout it, little buddy?”
REMIEL: Little buddy? You’ve been reading too much Gilligan’s Island slash, Mr. Maddening. And as we’ve seen in this fic, “son” and “new gay lover” are NOT, in fact, mutually exclusive.
Without a word, Harry stood up and left the common room. Because Ron and Hermione were ‘busy’ once more, they didn’t notice his departure.
REMIEL: Heh, so you know what they’re REALLY doing. Making s’mores in the Common Room fireplace! BWAHAHAHAH! * dabs at eyes * Those scamps. If McGonagall knew . . . * shakes head and tuts *
MAD: * sighs * I think it's up to me to make the obligatory sexual remark. Fine. Yes yes they're roasting marshmallows on Ron's stick. Ron's meaty stick. "Mmm . . . yes, 'Mione! Slide the mallow down further! Gooey!"
REMIEL: You could at least feign enthusiasm about their relationship, you know. I mean, who are you to judge JKR’s choices in plot and character development? Oh, oh, waaaaaaaiit . . .
Meanwhile, Draco had just arrived at Greenhouse #3, and was waiting for Harry to arrive.
Harry didn’t take long, and surprised Draco by pushing him against the Greenhouse wall, and kissing Draco passionately, his hot, sweet tongue probing and licking every inch of his blonde boyfriend’s delectable mouth.
Draco moaned into the kiss as the two boys wrapped their arms around each other’s shoulders, and ground their lower bodies against each other, loving the throbs and tingles that action sent through the both of them.
MAD: Meanwhile Professor Sprout watched in shock and arousal, her hands running over her body and smearing bubotuber pus onto her robes. That wouldn't even begin to make this scene ickier. Unless they began using those baby Squonks in their foreplay. * shudders * Excuse me . . . * runs to the toilet *
REMIEL: I like a man who can scare the bejesus out of himself. Hah, apparently arriving at the greenhouse isn’t ALL Harry doesn’t take long to do, if that sentence makes any sense at all. Pretend it does. I’m still scarred by the bubotuber pus thing. MAD! HURRY UP IN THERE, PLEASE!
MAD: * comes back out looking pale and sweaty * Enchiladas and fanfiction are not bed partners. At all.
Finally, needing air, Harry broke the kiss, and they stared into each other’s eyes.
“So…did you really need to talk to me, Dragon?” Harry asked slyly. “Or was that just an excuse to see me?”
“Both.” Draco answered, just as slyly. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”
“Oh? About what?”
REMIEL: “Cellular respiration.” Jackass. Feh.
MAD: "You've caused my hemorrhoids to flare up. Use more lube, ye gay bugger!"
REMIEL: Eww. That’s, like, Harry and Draco in 60 years. Someone should write a fic about that.
(looooong pause)
REMIEL: No, no, no, no, no, I take it back! I take it baaaaack! God, I hope none of the mortals heard me. Delivering inspiration is one thing. That scenario is something else entirely. Where WOULD I hide my face? Hehehe. Haaah.
(they sit back and wait for what they, in their Cheeksey way, know will come. And it does. The dreaded Instant Message, and from a WebTV user, natch)
HAGRIDZWHORESPANKY: yo yo yo1 lick tanks cumpleetlee fo' dat awesum idee! ill lick lol right lick right 'way kay/ lolrr know flemes yo yo yo piece outt.
REMIEL: (sits back in the chair hard, biting its knuckles, pale as the grave. Then, it abruptly turns its face heavenward and shakes a fist at the ceiling) NOOOOOOOOOOOO!
THE BIG CHEEKS: What’s all the commotion in here?
REMIEL: Nothing, Mistress, I did nothing.
HAGRIDZWHORESPANKY: doode yall dune lick gaev me da kewles' idee eva. 'cuz dragun n hairy r gunna f**ck whan deyz olld meen! lol/
MAD: * glares at Remiel * This is so your fault.
THE BIG CHEEKS: (deadly calm) I see. Thank you, Hagriiiiiiwhatever. You may go. * closes the window and goes stony-faced * Remiel?
REMIEL: * squeaks * Mistress?
THE BIG CHEEKS: My office. Now. Oh, and sit in the comfy chair, if you don’t mind?
REMIEL: * begins to laugh, a bit hysterically * Oh, of course! I mean, whatever you say! I mean, I mean, * sudden sobriety * YES, Mistress. Right away.
(it disappears from the room, and you’re not quite sure how.)