On the way to lunch

[see_red]

Where the fuck is Harry?

Ron can't believe his bad luck running into Malfoy and that cow Parkinson. Bloody Slytherins. Well, by tomorrow it'll all be over and he'll never have to see any of them again.

That thought alone is enough to put a spring in his step and a smile on his face.

Comments

[the_boy_wot]

Not for the first time, Harry wishes he hadn't missed out on that growth spurt everyone else seemed to have had last year; He's growing tired of scrambling to keep up with people, especially great lanky redheads who can really put a move on when they want to.

"Ron!" he finally calls, huffing a bit to get his breath back. He had taken the last three steps from the Gryffindor tower in one go and his calves are reminding him Quidditch is a bit less of a cardio sport than he tells himself when he's on his third helping of sticky toffee pudding.

Ron turns and raises an eyebrow at Harry bracing his hands on his thighs. "Look at this shameful display of athleticism. Do I have to bench you?"

"Shut it, I've been looking everywhere for you." He brandishes Malfoy's envelope, slightly the worse for wear from Harry's back trouser pocket. "Ta-da! Malfoy Express Post."

[see_red]

Harry's all flushed and frazzled and Ron has a wild urge to forget lunch and drag him off somewhere and fuck him senseless across a desk. Oh yeah.

But there's too much to do and Ron needs to sort out the teams for the match this afternoon. He needs to make sure that Malfoy's school career ends with him a loser.

"Ta, mate. Let's see what Hooch has come up with, eh?"

Hooking his fingers into the belt hoop of Harry's trousers, Ron pulls him forward and bends down to snatch a brief kiss.

"How was potions?"

[the_boy_wot]

Hermione's limp, broken arm and the arc of light destroying Gryffindor Tower. Harry smiles a little stiffly. "Finally over."

Ron frowns.

Harry lets himself lean his forehead into the dip of Ron's shoulder where it meets his chest, just for a moment.

[wiz_kid_zach]

Zach rounds the corner and his eyebrows jump almost into his hairline. He'd been looking for Weasley, but he hadn't expected to see him so...cuddly...with Potter. Interesting.

He ignores that for the moment, zeroing in on his primary target in order to - hopefully - bag his second victory of the morning.

"Weasley," Zach calls, stuffing his hands into his pockets and strolling up to meet him. "Got a minute?"