The lengths one goes to four crack.
And I was too tired to type up today's scheduled silly thing, so here's something I wrote years ago instead...
So, what would you do if you woke up one day and the sky was blue? And not the dim blue of clouds covering the sun, or the bruised blue of morning, but the vivid, neon blue of a razzberry gumball on acid?
If you were a student at Hogwarts School of Wizardry (especially one who'd lost half last night's sleep at Quidditch practise) you'd probably slink off to breakfast without even bothering to comment. In the case of Harry Potter (to pick a suitable example), it was all he could do to grunt a, 'Morning, Neville,' to one of his roommates when they collided in the doorway. He didn't quite feel up to contemplations of a meteorological nature.
The Great Hall was already starting to empty when he arrived, but Harry's two best friends were still there. He made his way to their end of the table, and made a show of collapsing.
Rone smilled at him, "Chin up, Harry. It's mourning!!"
Harry blinked. "What?" he said.
"He said you should cheer up," somebody translated. It was Hermione's voice, so Harry supposed it must have been her (but it was hard to be certain, with the textbook propped in front of her face). "Although where he learned XML tags I'm afraid I couldn't say." She flipped a page.
"Ah," said Harry. Then he leaned closer to her and whispered, "But who is he?"
Hermione lowered the book and gave him a sideways glance. "Whatever are you talking about, Harry? It's just Ron."
"It bloody well isn't R-" Harry twisted to face the other boy. "oh."
Ron made his eyebrows rias "What are’nt i?1" he sad.
"Well, you certainly aren't attractive with those things on your face," said Hermione, frowning. "Change your eyebrows back this instant."
Harry poked at one of the worms, and then shuddered. "I think I need coffee," he muttered. One of the nearby pots heard him and skittered over. It bent over his mug until the steaming liquid was almost to the top, and then hurried off to a fifth year several spots down who had her face on the table and was moaning. A flagon of cream stopped by Harry and bounced hopefully, but he waved it on.
When he had finished the coffee, he turned back to Ron. It was indeed his friend sitting there, the red hair of the youngest Weasley son bright as flame above his head.
Harry winced and jerked his gaze elsewhere. Unfortunately, his eyes ended up opening to the Great Hall's rendition of the gaudy azure sky, which wasn't much of an improvement. He tried staring at the table instead.
"Oh, is something the matter with Potty-Potter?"
Harry bit back a scream. He wasn't nearly in the right state of mind to deal with Draco. "Go slither back to your own table," he snarled, still staring into his empty mug. There was silence for a few moments, as Draco failed to process even one of his usual inane comebacks, and then the Slytherin started to make strange whimpering noises.
Harry finally turned around, hoping to find that Hermione had whacked Draco over the head with her book, but instead he saw that Draco had burst into tears.
"You - you never liked me!" Draco wailed.
"Of course not," said Harry, bewildered. "I hate you."
"You're an utter prat," Hermione added.
"We hat u!!!" said Ron Excitely
(But Ron Excitely was a Hufflepuff who had well earned a reputation of being more of an idiot than usual, and was therefore ignored by all present.)
Draco started crying even harder. "I've just always been jealous of you!" he said between sobs. He blew his nose loudly into a napkin. "The truth is-" He sniffled. "The truth is… I love you, Harry Potter!"
"What!" shouted Harry.
Draco lunged at him, and before Harry could even raise his hands in self-defence, Draco had embraced him and pressed his lips around Harry's own. Harry reached into his robe, fishing out his wand, but the movement seemed to excite Draco even more; he moaned softly and tried to force his tongue into Harry's mouth.
Harry decided he wasn't about to risk opening his mouth, even for the nastiest curse he could think of (Avada Kedavra was quickly falling second in his mind to having your worst enemy licking at your face), and stomped hard on Draco's instep instead. Draco jerked backwards, and the kiss ended to the thunderous applause of everyone in the Hall. Harry glanced desperately at the teacher's table, and noticed Professor McGonagall dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
"Right then," said Harry. "That's it. I'm going back to bed."
The applause redoubled, and the Great Hall echoed with catcalls. Draco beamed.
"Alone," Harry shouted, and ran all the way back to his room.
The next time Harry woke up, the sky was a dreary grey. So that was okay, then.
So, what would you do if you woke up one day and the sky was blue? And not the dim blue of clouds covering the sun, or the bruised blue of morning, but the vivid, neon blue of a razzberry gumball on acid?
If you were a student at Hogwarts School of Wizardry (especially one who'd lost half last night's sleep at Quidditch practise) you'd probably slink off to breakfast without even bothering to comment. In the case of Harry Potter (to pick a suitable example), it was all he could do to grunt a, 'Morning, Neville,' to one of his roommates when they collided in the doorway. He didn't quite feel up to contemplations of a meteorological nature.
The Great Hall was already starting to empty when he arrived, but Harry's two best friends were still there. He made his way to their end of the table, and made a show of collapsing.
Rone smilled at him, "Chin up, Harry. It's mourning!!"
Harry blinked. "What?" he said.
"He said you should cheer up," somebody translated. It was Hermione's voice, so Harry supposed it must have been her (but it was hard to be certain, with the textbook propped in front of her face). "Although where he learned XML tags I'm afraid I couldn't say." She flipped a page.
"Ah," said Harry. Then he leaned closer to her and whispered, "But who is he?"
Hermione lowered the book and gave him a sideways glance. "Whatever are you talking about, Harry? It's just Ron."
"It bloody well isn't R-" Harry twisted to face the other boy. "oh."
Ron made his eyebrows rias "What are’nt i?1" he sad.
"Well, you certainly aren't attractive with those things on your face," said Hermione, frowning. "Change your eyebrows back this instant."
Harry poked at one of the worms, and then shuddered. "I think I need coffee," he muttered. One of the nearby pots heard him and skittered over. It bent over his mug until the steaming liquid was almost to the top, and then hurried off to a fifth year several spots down who had her face on the table and was moaning. A flagon of cream stopped by Harry and bounced hopefully, but he waved it on.
When he had finished the coffee, he turned back to Ron. It was indeed his friend sitting there, the red hair of the youngest Weasley son bright as flame above his head.
Harry winced and jerked his gaze elsewhere. Unfortunately, his eyes ended up opening to the Great Hall's rendition of the gaudy azure sky, which wasn't much of an improvement. He tried staring at the table instead.
"Oh, is something the matter with Potty-Potter?"
Harry bit back a scream. He wasn't nearly in the right state of mind to deal with Draco. "Go slither back to your own table," he snarled, still staring into his empty mug. There was silence for a few moments, as Draco failed to process even one of his usual inane comebacks, and then the Slytherin started to make strange whimpering noises.
Harry finally turned around, hoping to find that Hermione had whacked Draco over the head with her book, but instead he saw that Draco had burst into tears.
"You - you never liked me!" Draco wailed.
"Of course not," said Harry, bewildered. "I hate you."
"You're an utter prat," Hermione added.
"We hat u!!!" said Ron Excitely
(But Ron Excitely was a Hufflepuff who had well earned a reputation of being more of an idiot than usual, and was therefore ignored by all present.)
Draco started crying even harder. "I've just always been jealous of you!" he said between sobs. He blew his nose loudly into a napkin. "The truth is-" He sniffled. "The truth is… I love you, Harry Potter!"
"What!" shouted Harry.
Draco lunged at him, and before Harry could even raise his hands in self-defence, Draco had embraced him and pressed his lips around Harry's own. Harry reached into his robe, fishing out his wand, but the movement seemed to excite Draco even more; he moaned softly and tried to force his tongue into Harry's mouth.
Harry decided he wasn't about to risk opening his mouth, even for the nastiest curse he could think of (Avada Kedavra was quickly falling second in his mind to having your worst enemy licking at your face), and stomped hard on Draco's instep instead. Draco jerked backwards, and the kiss ended to the thunderous applause of everyone in the Hall. Harry glanced desperately at the teacher's table, and noticed Professor McGonagall dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
"Right then," said Harry. "That's it. I'm going back to bed."
The applause redoubled, and the Great Hall echoed with catcalls. Draco beamed.
"Alone," Harry shouted, and ran all the way back to his room.
The next time Harry woke up, the sky was a dreary grey. So that was okay, then.