by Harry Potter
“Lousy son of a bitch, I’ll kill him!” Those eight words had been repeated constantly by Hermione as she stomped down the hall. After Harry had told her the devastating news that Ron had been lending out the “instructional” Pensieve Memory that the pair had made, the brunette witch dug through Harry’s trunk, pulled out the Marauders’ Map, said the proper incantation, then promptly began chanting “Lousy son of a bitch, I’ll kill him!”
Harry followed Hermione to the Gryffindor Tower with a mixture of rage that equaled his lover’s, but also with a sense of disappointment. Ron had now betrayed his trust for the second time and it cut through Harry.
“We should humiliate him first,” Harry offered through gritted teeth. “We can alter that prank we pulled on Fred and George. You know the one that made them see through old witches’ clothes. We can change it so that every time he sees Luna naked, he’ll actually see that letch Snape wanking off. Oh, it’ll be great! I can imagine him now trying to be intimate with Luna and suddenly, he’s kissing that greasy bastard. Or even make him see Molly. Nah, Snape would be loads better.”
“No. Take too long,” Hermione growled. “Just kill the son of a bitch!”
When the couple reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, the painting asked “Password?”
“I’ll kill him!” Hermione spat. Pure rage flowed off of the witch.
The painting, obviously sensing that Hermione was not to be trifled with, swung open. Hermione led the charge into the Common Room and up to the very top floor of the tower, to where Ron and Luna’s marital room was located. Not even bothering to knock, Hermione threw open the door and barged into the married couple’s private room.
“Oh, hello, Harry, Hermione,” a very topless - and clearly comfortable in that state - Luna greeted. “Ronald and I were about to have sex. Would you care to watch or even join in?”
“I’ll kill him!” repeated Hermione.
“Now, Hermione, that wasn’t one of the options,” Luna said calmly as if it was quite common for Ron to get death threats. “Either group sex or voyeur; no violence. I really must insist.”
“Where is he?” Harry demanded, his tone barely concealing his anger.
“He’s getting ready for sex. We’re trying some role-playing exercises,” the blonde witch said, feeling completely natural talking about such things while having her sizable breasts exposed. “It will be very enjoyable. I’m playing the part of a street walker who lost her money and has to make up for such a transgression to her employer with sex.”
Just then, a visibly excited Ron came out of the loo wearing nothing but a very large purple silk hat with a vibrant peacock feather sticking out of the brim. “I’m your pimple daddy!” the red head called out in a loud voice, not noticing Harry and Hermione.
“It’s ‘Pimp Daddy,’” Hermione corrected before lunging at the mostly naked wizard while shouting, “I’ll kill you!”
Hermione and Ron crashed to the ground. Ron immediately began to thrash around in an attempt to get Hermione off, who was slapping him about the head and chest. The brunette witch was so enraged that she didn’t notice that Ron’s naked erection was brushing against the hem of her skirt.
Luna turned to Harry and looked at him with her big blue eyes before speaking in an easy but happy way; “It looks like Hermione has opted for group sex. That means we should go at it too, Harry. It’s only proper, don’t you agree? Obviously we should start with oral sex. Would you like me to lick your penis? Or would you prefer to go down on my muff?”
“What? No,” Harry blurted out. “This is serious!”
“So you want to bypass foreplay and jump straight into intercourse like Ronald and Hermione?” asked Luna sincerely. “I was hoping to sample some of your parsletongue magic. But if you insist; plunge your cock into my box.” She said this phrase without any passion; it was just a simple statement to her. The blonde witch sat on the bed and laid back, clearly waiting for Harry to mount her.
“No, no, this isn’t what you think,” Harry said and pulled Hermione off of Ron. He didn’t do this to save Ron from a thrashing, but to have Hermione protect him from Luna. Harry was deeply concerned that if he didn’t lie on top of Luna, the blonde witch would hop up and begin molesting him.
“Let me at him!” Hermione growled as Harry pulled her away from Ron. “I’ll kill him!”
“Wait, that wasn’t intercourse?” Luna asked, sitting up.
“What’s your problem?” Ron demanded as he stood. “Are you completely mental?”
“You’re dead!” Hermione growled, trying to tug herself free from Harry’s grasp.
“Why? What did I do?” Ron asked.
“Um, Ron, cover up,” requested Harry. The red haired wizard was still very ready for a proverbial “roll in the hay” with his wife, meaning that Ron was looking at Harry and Hermione with all three eyes. As stated before, erections are the type of things male friends shouldn’t share with each other.
Having clearly forgotten his state, Ron looked down and saw something looking back up at him. With a rapid and frantic motion, Ron swiped his large hat from his head and placed it over his groin. The wizard burned a fiery red in embarrassment.
In juxtaposition to her husband, Luna sat casually on the bed. The witch seemed completely natural having her enormous breasts exposed to the open air where everyone could see them.
“You’re dead!” Hermione snarled again.
“Why?” Ron repeated and took another step back.
“We found out, Ron,” Harry said, his voice tainted by the anger and disappointment that pierced his being.
“You’re dead!” Apparently Hermione was so angry that the knowledge of the English language she had retained had vanished save for those two words - well, three separate words if you count the contraction.
“What the hell did I do?” Ron asked frantically and took another step back away from his angry friends. He had put enough distance between himself and Harry and Hermione that Ron was now pressed up against the far wall.
This caused Luna, who was approximately halfway between the two groups, to pivot her body back and forth; turning her attention to whomever was speaking. Much like a spectator at a tennis match looking from one side to the other. Mind you, this caused her naked breasts to sway and swing similarly to two metronomes. A naked, big breasted metronome. Normally, if Ron had not been so concerned with his friends’ temper, he’d be transfixed with the swaying orbs. And Harry would probably do the same. Hell, so would Hermione.
“How many people have seen it?” Harry demanded.
“Seen what?” shot back Ron.
“Is that why everybody in the school keeps looking at me and Hermione so oddly?” Harry asked.
“What are you talking about?” the red head asked desperately.
“Have you lent it out to the whole fucking school?” Harry demanded.
“Mate, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ron defended.
During this interchange, Hermione had growled, barked, snarled, and shouted the words “You’re dead!” no less than six times. At one point, she had experimented and tried to kick at Ron despite the fact that he was a good four feet away from her.
“The Pensieve, Ron,” snapped Harry. “Everyone in the bloody school has seen the Pensieve Memory Hermione and I made for you.”
“What?” a shocked Ron asked.
“That’s not possible, Harry,” Luna said in a dreamy tone. In a cool and easy manner, Luna strolled to a bedside cabinet, pulled out her wand, incanted a ridiculously long incantation full with words that Harry swore weren’t words at all, and tapped her wand in several places all over the face of the cabinet, before opening it. The blonde reached in and pulled out a small box. She placed the box to her lips and whispered another incantation, this one much shorter, causing the box to pop open. Luna reached in and retrieved the glass vial that Harry had given them. “We keep it locked up,” she said simply.
“Bu- but Harry overheard some pe
ople talking about seeing it,” Hermione persisted, clearly confused.
“Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand them Harry?” Luna asked.
“No, they said our names,” he explained.
“Well, maybe you didn’t understand what they were talking about,” offered Ron. “Maybe they were talking about something else.”
“They were talking about how Hermione is a gusher,” added Harry.
Luna giggled and said, “More like a hosepipe. She’s like Cho doing a handstand.”
“But how’d they see the Pensieve if you’ve kept it under lock?” Hermione moaned.
“Did you make more and lose one,” Ron suggested.
“How dumb do you think we are?” Hermione scoffed. “We’d never do such a thing as make a spare and lose it.”
“Oh, so it had to be me,” Ron said with bitterness. “I’m a lummox and therefore had to betray my friends.”
“Ron that’s not-” began Harry.
“How could you two think I’d do that to you?” the red head asked, clearly hurt. “I learned my lesson back during the Tri Wizard. You two trusted me with that memory; I’d never let it out of my sight.”
With his shoulders slumped in dejection, Ron turned and sulked into the bathroom. As the door closed, Harry heard a muffled sob come from the bathroom.
“I think you two should leave,” Luna said, a small frown marring her face.
Hanging their heads, Harry and Hermione walked out of their friends’ room. They walked back to their chambers as each silently berated themselves for doubting Ron. Sure he wasn’t the brightest person in the world, and he was pigheaded and stubborn. But since his transgression at the beginning of their fourth year, where Ron assumed Harry had entered his name in the Goblet of Fire, Ron had been a loyal and true friend.
Harry felt even worse than Hermione. He was Ron’s best mate and shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like that. Harry should’ve realized that Ron would never betray his trust again. Even if he and Ron were lost in the woods for weeks and weeks, wandering aimlessly without food, Ron wouldn’t betray his friends.
The next morning, after spending a silent night together, Hermione stated in a soft and mournful voice; “We have to make it up to him.”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed.
“But how?” she asked, admitting that she didn’t even have the slightest clue.
“That’s easy: food or sex. He’s a bloke; therefore, all he thinks about is sex. And he’s also Ron, which means his entire existence is centered on food,” offered Harry.
“Well, he’s got the sex covered with Luna,” Hermione said.
“So that leaves food,” concluded Harry. Taking Hermione’s hand in his, he guided her to the kitchens.
“Are we going to have the House Elves whip something up for him?” she asked.
“No, that’d be cheating,” he answered. “We were the ones who fouled up. We’re the ones who have to make reparation.”
“Do you know how to cook?”
“Kind of. I mean I know how to fry food,” he said with a shrug. “The Dursleys made me cook for them. But all they ever wanted was fried food. So I guess I can make him some fish and chips and loads of bacon. What about you?”
“I’ll bake a cake then,” Hermione said, her smile growing slightly less guilty.
“You can bake?”
“I haven’t before, but how difficult can it be. It’s just like Potion brewing: add ingredients, throw it in the oven, simple,” she said confidently.
The moment the two entered the castle’s kitchen, every single House Elf dropped what they were doing (which meant several dozen pots and pans crashed to the floor splashing their contents everywhere) and bowed to Hermione.
“Oh, Great One, what do you be needing?” one elf bounded up to Hermione and then proceeded to kiss her feet.
“We need to make some food for a friend of ours,” Harry answered for Hermione who couldn’t do so for herself because she was trying to explain to the little creature not to kiss her feet.
“What do’s you’s wants us to be fixing for you’s friend?” another elf asked while trying to kiss the hem of Hermione’s robes.
“Actually, we decided that we’d be the ones cooking,” Harry said.
The collective gasp from the House Elves was almost enough to create a vacuum in the kitchen. Every single elf drew in a deep breath of shock at the same instant. So much air was inhaled that Harry felt his hair move.
No one spoke or even moved for six whole seconds. It was dead silent in the kitchen for that time. Then the wailing started. The screams and cries of the House Elves echoed off the walls of the kitchen. Several elves who were weeping hysterically were huddled in one corner; they were curled up into tight little balls, desperately clutching their knees to their chests. Another set of elves were placing their hands into the flames of the stoves; the smell of burning flesh quickly filled the air. And at least twenty were slamming their heads repeatedly against the walls. Harry felt it was safe to assume that the elves didn’t take too kindly to the idea of “The Great One” preparing food by herself.
“PLEASE STOP!” a very mortified Hermione cried out. And the elves did. In fact the elves stopped completely. Some were frozen in mid-sob, others had their heads pressed firmly against the walls, and a few had their hands still in the flames. “You there,” Hermione pointed to the ones who were cooking their limbs. “Pull your hands out. That’s it. Now put out the fires. That’s good.”
Hermione took a calming breath and said, “All I want to do is bake something for a friend of mine.”
And as if by some primal instinct, the elves began to abuse themselves once more.
“STOP IT!” she screamed again. Hermione looked to Harry with pleading eyes. Clearly she had just wanted to explain the situation to the elves, but she didn’t know how.
Harry thought for a moment, and then, somewhat hesitantly, he tried to explain what was going on in a way that the House Elves would understand.
“The Great One... ah... just wants to experience your suffering... by baking a cake.”
“No’s,” two dozen elves cried out.
“The Great One do be better than that,” another shouted.
“But she wants to do this,” Harry pressed. “That way, the Great One will be even closer to you. She will, um, know your pain. The Great One will understand you all the more.”
The elves looked to each other. A moment later, a few of them nodded their heads, albeit reluctantly. Some of them still had tears flowing freely from their bulbous eyes.
Even though Harry and Hermione had convinced the elves that they would do this on their own, the elves still helped. Every time the couple needed an ingredient, at least four House Elves would dash to fetch the item.
Once, Harry had to pause in his frying to stop a House Elf who had not accepted the notion of The Great One baking. The little creature had gotten a length of rope and fashioned a noose. Harry tugged the elf off of a stack of chairs where he was trying to hang himself.
While they worked, Harry noticed that a number of the House Elves were staring at him and Hermione. Unlike the other House Elves who were watching how the couple was cooking intently, this group had their eyes fixed on Harry’s and Hermione’s crotches. These elves had an odd look in their eyes, sort of like a look of admiration mixed with longing.
“Looks like some others have seen our Pensieve,” Harry said and pointed at the odd group.
“Bloody hell,” Hermione cursed. “We should just start distributing them ourselves at this rate.”
“Hey, we could charge a viewing fee,” offered Harry lightly. “At least that way we could earn some money.”
“Or we could write a book,” Hermione said with a bemused smile. “You know, update our ‘special book.’ I’ve always wanted to write a book.”
“We’ll become filthy rich,” stated Harry. They both laughed at such a ludicrous notion.
A few hours later, the couple
was done with their tasks. Harry had several stacks of chips, fried fish, and rashers of bacon. Hermione proudly held up her single layer chocolate cake... which promptly started to make a hissing sound. A large chasm formed on top of the cake and black smoke billowed out of the gash. Like a deflating tire, the cake slowly and noisily collapsed in on itself.
With Hermione’s right eye twitching in annoyance, Harry whispered in her ear “I guess baking isn’t as simple as potion brewing.”
“I-I can’t give this to him,” she moaned.
“You could have the House Elves make something for you and just tell Ron you made it,” offered Harry. “I know I said it was cheating, but at least we gave it a try.”
“I couldn’t do that,” she said firmly. “It would be wrong. I’ll just give it another attempt and bake a second cake. It can’t be that hard to make a cake.”
As Hermione stirred and blended the proper ingredients once more, she openly bragged about how she had learned from her previous mistakes. She smiled broadly, confident that this time her creation would be perfect. The witch’s smile only faltered slightly when the cake hissed and split open once again, coughing black smoke into the air.
“You could have the House Elves make a cake for you and just tell Ron you made it,” repeated Harry.
All it took was a simple resigned nod from Hermione and the elves were off like a shot. Dozens of the little creatures began bolting back and forth from the cupboards to the stove. Within minutes of starting, the elves began to form a multilayer cake. In no time, they had completed nothing short of a confectionary masterpiece. It stood six feet tall, and nearly eight wide at the base. Each layer had a different frosting; chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, almond, and so on. On the second layer, dozens of small chocolate figurines of wizards and witches chased each other around the edge of the cake. A hundred sparklers stuck out in every direction on the top two layers.