Author's Note: Hello! This is one of my first Harry Potter fics that I'm posting. I realize it's quite long, but I do hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Most parts are funny, but there may be some sadness later. Also, there will definitely be some smutty parts once the story gets rolling, so just hang in there! I certainly got all hot and bothered while writing some of them...
Included in this story is sex between two males, some violence, and probably a lot of swearing. And did I say sex?
"Er, Harry. Little help, mate?"
Ron stood in the doorway, obviously trying to appear calm but failing. His forearm was exposed due to the sleeve having been torn slightly, and a stream of what was undoubtedly blood trickled down in a spiral, dripping ever-so-gently onto the floor. Harry dropped his Dragonhide gloves, which he had been struggling to get on a second ago. He grabbed his wand off the utility desk and stomped over to the bleeding idiot.
"I told you not to start until I got those things," Harry said, gesturing at the dropped gloves.
Ron laughed breathily, obviously trying not to overreact. "Sprout left the class for a bit, and I can't heal it myself…"
"Well you wouldn't need healing if you'd just stayed away from it like Sprout told us to," Harry took the arm, less gently than was probably desired from Ron, and poked it with his wand. The stream of blood slowly trailed away, revealing the wound more clearly for Harry to see. He grimaced at the slightly grotesque sight. "You probably don't want to – "
Too late. Ron looked down at the cleaned splice to see a few tiny tadpole-like seeds wriggling in what used to be unharmed flesh.
"UGH!" Ron flailed his arm, which Harry held fast.
After a slight struggle and many panicked shouts of disgust from Ron, Harry finally won and forcefully pinned his friend sideways against the utility desk. Apparently Quidditch over all those years paid off. He clawed for a pair of tweezers on the desk, finally reaching them while half-laying on the struggling ginger. Moving Ron's arm in front of him and out of its owner's line of sight, he smacked Ron on the back of the head, panting.
"Stop it! I have to get these out, obviously, and you're just making it worse!" Harry was almost thrown off as Ron violently half-turned to retort.
"Wait! Let me go see Madame Pomfrey!"
"It's just a few seeds!"
"Yeah, but they're moving!"
"Well that's what happens when you're stupid and get attacked by a Venomous Tentacula! Do 'venomous' and 'tentacle' not – "
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, what's going on?" Professor Sprout walked in to see Harry gripping Ron's arm and holding it in front of his eyes in concentration, one foot on the back of a chair for leverage. The youngest Weasley brother was in a slightly twisted position, pinned underneath. Her mouth went slightly agape.
"There!" Harry said triumphantly, having taken advantage of the off-guard Weasley and pulled out all four seeds in quick succession. He had dropped them in a small metal dish, where they wriggled grotesquely. "Finished."
"Er…thanks," Ron said sheepishly.
"I think I can take it from here, Mr. Potter," Professor Sprout added, a disapproving tone in her voice.
"Well, that was interesting," Harry said as they walked out onto the lawns from the greenhouses.
"Got that right," Ron rubbed his newly-healed arm, thanks to the aid of Professor Sprout. Luckily the poison hadn't caused him to scar, seeing as how the brains from the Ministry had already left their mark there last year.
"So, why exactly did you feel the need to deal with the Tentacula yourself?" Harry asked, looking amusedly at Ron.
"I didn't," Ron rolled his eyes, anger following. "Stupid Malfoy thought it would be hilarious to chuck his shears at it when I walked by. Bloody git."
Harry scowled at the ground. It figured Malfoy had something to do with it.
They walked back up the sloping lawns to return to the castle. It was lunch now, and they were both famished. After Ron had been healed and everyone in the class had calmed down, the ensuing wrestle with various tentacles from the plant for the lesson was exhausting. They had collected their designated amount of leaves without any more injuries, though it had come close at one point. If Ron hadn't beaten away one of the appendages with the trowel, Harry would have been suffocated by the one wound securely around his torso.
They both entered the Great Hall and sat at the Gryffindor table. Harry was ready to eat anything, really. He reached for the nearest dish of food, which appeared to be fish fingers, and heaped a large amount onto his plate. Ron was already shoveling in mashed potatoes.
Both of them were able to eat rather savagely, due to the fact that Hermione wasn't with them. She had been diagnosed with a mild case of dragon pox last week after her skin had started to turn a sort of seafoam green color and she developed small pink dots on her arms and neck. Of course, she had insisted on finishing that day's lessons first before leaving for St. Mungo's. Ron had said he had been given the disease when he was three, so he couldn't get it again. He had looked rather worried when Harry said he had never suffered from it, and then proceeded to make Harry sit next to her for the rest of the day.
Harry felt grateful that his skin was not pale green today.
"Whatf dat?" Ron asked, brandishing his potatoey fork at a piece of paper Harry had unearthed from his bag.
"Quidditch schedule," Harry said after swallowing. "I've decided to, you know, print them out now. Here."
Ron smirked, taking the brandished paper. "Thanks Hermione."
"Shut up," Harry mumbled as Ron laughed loudly.
The conversation pretty much ceased from there, due to their attention being returned to their food. Harry had never used to eat so ravenously before. Perhaps he was 'a growing boy', or perhaps he spent a bit too much time around Ron…After all, he never used to swear that much either, but…
"Bollocks," Harry muttered, seeing Malfoy approaching their table. It was no wonder who he was coming to pay a visit to. He never bothered so much with any of the other Gryffindors.
"Well well Potty," came the voice that induced so much hatred. Even if it spoke the sweetest words (which was highly unlikely anyways), it would do nothing to quell the automatic disgust from hearing such a poisonous drawl. "You seem to be booking the pitch a lot lately. Trying to justify the ludicrous change in management? I hear the new captain is quite a nutter."
Harry sighed dramatically as the burly group around Malfoy guffawed. There seemed to be a few larger, less intelligent new recruits in the crowd since last time. However, Crabbe and Goyle were there as always. It seemed that Slytherins could perhaps be loyal after all.
Or just really, really stupid.
"I mean, who would have authorized such a switch anyways?" Malfoy continued, apparently not satisfied with Harry's lack of a response. "Why would you want a captain that, only years ago, couldn't even stay on his own bloody broom?"
"Fuck off Malfoy," Ron gave the generic response before continuing. "In case you haven't noticed, you've never beaten Harry before anyway, so perhaps you should think about not being such a loser before you criticize techniques, big guy."
"I'm not sure I would want to beat Potter," Malfoy retorted, crossing his arms and sneering. "I mean, the only person who did was Diggory, and well, we all saw what happened to him."
"Shut the hell up," Harry snarled, standing and whirling around to glare at the blonde demon directly. Ron grimaced, looking foreboding.
"Why don't you make me, Potter?" Malfoy retorted childishly.
"Maybe I will, arse!" Harry clenched his fist, wishing desperately that he could plunge it into Draco's stomach.
"Easy now, Potter. Oh, Weasley, how's your arm?"
Harry made a sort of feral growling noise. The fist, which seemed to have a mind of its own, drew back quickly in preparation to strike.
"Oi!" Ron sad hastily, standing up as well. Harry saw his blue eyes flit up to the staff table, then back to the confrontation at hand. "Why don't we settle this with how it started then, eh? You can just, you know, have it out on the pitch. First to catch the snitch has the most bollocks or whatever."
Malfoy hesitated, which made Harry and Ron give identical smirks. Everyone here knew who the better Seeker was, despite the twinge of guilt Harry felt at thinking so vane. However, his Quidditch record did not lie, and he knew it. Malfoy was clearly not wanting to look weak by declining the challenge, but he also looked to be a bit insecure at the thought of going up against Harry. The question was: would Malfoy take the bruise on his ego now, or later?
"Sounds good to me," Harry said, grinning in a mock pleasantry.
Malfoy glared at the pair of them, his hatred evident. Harry could see the wheels turning frantically in his mind, no doubt trying to find a way out of the situation.
"Seven o'clock," Malfoy huffed stubbornly, and stormed off back to the Slytherin table. Ron let out a breath and grinned at Harry.
"Doesn't stand a chance, mate," Ron said, laughing and shaking his head. They turned around and sat yet again. Perhaps now they could finally eat.
Even though Harry was confident in his abilities to beat Malfoy any day, he still couldn't help but feel nervous. It ate away at him as his fork hovered above his plate, his appetite suddenly less important.
"What if he does though?" Harry said, staring at the glinting utensil in his hand. He would be the laughing stock of the Slytherins if he lost now.
Ron dropped his own fork exasperatedly. It clattered to his plate as he turned to Harry and propped his elbow on the table.
"Why would you think that?" he asked, locking his eyes sternly to Harry's.
"Because I suffer from crippling insecurities."
"That's obvious. You shouldn't, Harry, you're so good you were made bloody captain for Merlin's sake!" Ron said, flipping his hand while managing to still lean on the table. Harry forced himself not to blush at the compliment.
"I know, it's just…he's such an arse," Harry said, glaring across the Great Hall. The stupid git's shining hair reflected the light easily. It seemed that no matter what Malfoy did, he was crafted to attract attention in any way possible.
Ron's laugh made Harry smirk slightly.
"Can't argue with you there, mate."