Chapter Three: Together
Ron sat in a hard chair, keeping close watch on the chairs facing the fire. He didn't approve of what he saw.
In the left chair, Harry was pressing his lips against Frida's slender neck, gently rubbing her hips with his large hands. In the seven years he had been at Hogwarts, Harry had filled out quite a bit. He was no longer the scrawny thing that once looked back at him from mirrors – no longer was he thin, simply lean. He had grown into his long nose, and his chin was strong enough. He looked and acted more like his father with every passing day. One way he was like his father was his love of beautiful women, for Frida's face was still unblemished. Evidently, the curse Hermione had taught Ginny hadn't affected her.
In the chair on the right, Hermione sat, thoughtfully fingering Ginny's sleeping face, sometimes waking the exhausted girl with a kiss on the forehead, on the nose, on the lips, on the neck, working her way further down with each kiss. Ron always cleared her throat once she had reached the navel. Hermione had also become quite the catch. Her hair was no longer wildly bushy; the gentle curls reached below her shoulders. It now gave her most of her character. Madame Pomfrey had once fixed her teeth, so there was no need to rearrange that. Her chest was larger than most, and her hips wide, but not unpleasantly so.
Ron watched the two couples, one natural, the other also so, but more unusual. He sighed and looked down at the Divination homework on his lap, then at one of the loveseats littering the common room. Sam sat on that one, evidently over Ron, passionately kissing a bewildered Neville. The poor boy tried to flag down one of his passing mates, but they all simply chuckled and wished him luck. Neville had, unfortunately, not grown into himself.
Ron began to doodle on his only partner, his homework. Before long, there was an untidy couplet scrawled onto the paper.
I sit on my own, sulking and sad.
They'll lay together, sweating and glad.