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Magick
Chapter 1 - The Hurricane
The Burrow was in chaos. It was September first, and six people had to be packed, feed and in London by eleven o'clock. The smell of bacon penetrated the house, the screams of confusion and things being dropped waking one of the two boys that resided in a room of Chudley Cannon fandom. Harry's blurry vision cleared as he slid his glasses onto his face and pushed the top of his sleeping bag away. He had slept on the floor of his best friend's room all summer, and now he would be returning home, or to school rather, but it was all in the same to him. He glanced over at Ron, sprawled on his stomach, too accustomed to the noise of his household to be awaked by sheer noise alone. Harry sat up and shook his friend's shoulder, the arm that hung over the bed wobbling about like some dead limb.
"Ron, wake up." Harry said, now resorting to more violent shaking, "We're going to miss the train, not to mention breakfast." At the sound of the word 'breakfast,' the smell of it cooking finally became fully recognised in Ron's senses, and he bolted upright in his bed. His stomach gave a discontented grumble and he looked at Harry, seeming to only notice him just now.
"D' you know if breakfast is ready yet?" He asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Ron, we have to go to school today." Harry said, pulling himself out of his sleeping bag. Ron looked around as Harry's words sunk in. The room was a mess, the predicted result of two boys living together for six weeks with little inspection. Clothes carpeted the room, accented by chocolate frog wrappers and various bowls of half-eaten popcorn. A discarded chess game sat in the middle of the mess, and there were two owls living in a corner.
"Bugger." Ron said. Harry agreed,
"We have a lot of work to do in a very short time." He started picking things up and throwing them into his trunk, casting around for something to wear at the same time. A voice was heard from the kitchen,
"Harry! Ron! Breakfast is ready!" Harry had to pull on a pair of jeans before rushing down the narrow staircase after his friend, who had been gone before the whole sentence had been uttered. Nothing, Harry mused, stood in the way of Ron and his first meal of the day, or any of the other ones for that matter. Harry rounded the corner of the kitchen grinning; only half prepared for the sight that greeted him.
Ron's parents, Mr and Mrs Weasley, were about their perfectly normal morning routines, if not a little more on the hectic side of the summer holidays. Mr. Weasley, tall and thin, with a strip of bright red hair running around his head, was attempting to read the paper calmly, though nothing about the house Harry had spent most of his summer holidays in was calm. His wife Molly was busy brandishing her wand at various cooking devices, her own flaming red hair pulled into a bun that was already coming unwound. Hermione looked like the only one truly ready for the morning, dressed, with her bushy brown hair neatly combed; the only thing about her that looked out of place was her bright red face. Her attention turned to him, however, with his cheerful good morning, and she burst out laughing, as did Ginny, Ron's little sister.
When Ron had come bounding down the stairs, the image that had consulted Hermione was not what she had expected. Not dressed? Yes. Dishevelled and hungry? Certainly. Naked? No.
Well, he wasn't really naked. He was wearing bright orange pyjama pants, which matched the bright hair trademark of the Weasley family. No, it was the bare expanse in between that led her to believe he was naked. A smooth skinned piece that she had seen only in glimpses, and those glimpses were nothing like what she saw now. This wasn't the boy that had become her best friend over the past five years, this wasn't the eleven year old Ron anymore that she had meet on the same train they would be boarding later that day. This was the sixteen year old Ron, who had been training all summer, standing well over six feet tall, and he was showing this change very, very well. Hermione could feel the heat rising to her cheeks as he sought a plate of food from his mother.
The sight of her other best friend did not provoke the exact same reaction, as both her and the younger Weasley beside her were lost completely to laughter at the sight of him.
Harry had pulled on his pair of jeans without much thought, and it showed. His pyjama top was tucked in on one side, the other side hanging out carelessly. The laughter was not for his rushed appearance, however, but there was a reason Harry had kept these pyjamas away from the eyes of everybody but Ron. The top was bright red, and covered in little snitches.
'Shit.' Harry thought, turning as red as Hermione.
"If you think that's funny, you should go through his boxer collection." Ron said, grinning. Harry shot him a glare and sat down beside Mr. Weasley. Ron flopped into the seat beside Hermione, promptly leaning across her plate for food. She had been raising her fork to her mouth, and some of the syrup dripped onto his outstretched shoulder.
"Damn it, Hermione!" He said as the sticky substance oozed down his shoulder.
"Well you deserve it." She scowled at him and completed the motion of eating.
"Are you boys packed?" Molly asked, putting another plate of bacon on the table, which Ron promptly attacked. Harry answered,
"Not yet, but we will be." Ron nodded, trying to inhale his breakfast. He felt something touch his shoulder, where the syrup had fallen. He looked over to see Hermione sucking the syrup off her finger as she scanned the front page of The Daily Prophet. Ron's stomach gave an uncomfortable twist and he shifted as something lower reacted.
'Damn, that looked good,' he thought, shovelling the last of his food into his mouth and standing up to follow Harry to his room. He didn't remember Hermione getting so, well -hot.
A pair of jeans hitting him in the face knocked Ron out of his contemplations on Hermione's maturity.
"Hurry up and pack," Harry said as Mr. Weasley called for everybody to load into a ministry - borrowed car. Ron rushed to comply, scooping up a pile of books and clothes (some of which belonged to Harry) and shoved it all into his trunk. Within minutes the two teenagers had compressed the disaster that was Ron's room into two containers, gotten dressed, and were sitting in the car with their owls on their laps.
Hermione sat calmly between them, looking very much like the calm eye of the storm that was her two best friends. She smiled to herself as Crookshanks purred on her lap. Another year had begun.
Magick
Chapter 1 - The Hurricane
The Burrow was in chaos. It was September first, and six people had to be packed, feed and in London by eleven o'clock. The smell of bacon penetrated the house, the screams of confusion and things being dropped waking one of the two boys that resided in a room of Chudley Cannon fandom. Harry's blurry vision cleared as he slid his glasses onto his face and pushed the top of his sleeping bag away. He had slept on the floor of his best friend's room all summer, and now he would be returning home, or to school rather, but it was all in the same to him. He glanced over at Ron, sprawled on his stomach, too accustomed to the noise of his household to be awaked by sheer noise alone. Harry sat up and shook his friend's shoulder, the arm that hung over the bed wobbling about like some dead limb.
"Ron, wake up." Harry said, now resorting to more violent shaking, "We're going to miss the train, not to mention breakfast." At the sound of the word 'breakfast,' the smell of it cooking finally became fully recognised in Ron's senses, and he bolted upright in his bed. His stomach gave a discontented grumble and he looked at Harry, seeming to only notice him just now.
"D' you know if breakfast is ready yet?" He asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Ron, we have to go to school today." Harry said, pulling himself out of his sleeping bag. Ron looked around as Harry's words sunk in. The room was a mess, the predicted result of two boys living together for six weeks with little inspection. Clothes carpeted the room, accented by chocolate frog wrappers and various bowls of half-eaten popcorn. A discarded chess game sat in the middle of the mess, and there were two owls living in a corner.
"Bugger." Ron said. Harry agreed,
"We have a lot of work to do in a very short time." He started picking things up and throwing them into his trunk, casting around for something to wear at the same time. A voice was heard from the kitchen,
"Harry! Ron! Breakfast is ready!" Harry had to pull on a pair of jeans before rushing down the narrow staircase after his friend, who had been gone before the whole sentence had been uttered. Nothing, Harry mused, stood in the way of Ron and his first meal of the day, or any of the other ones for that matter. Harry rounded the corner of the kitchen grinning; only half prepared for the sight that greeted him.
Ron's parents, Mr and Mrs Weasley, were about their perfectly normal morning routines, if not a little more on the hectic side of the summer holidays. Mr. Weasley, tall and thin, with a strip of bright red hair running around his head, was attempting to read the paper calmly, though nothing about the house Harry had spent most of his summer holidays in was calm. His wife Molly was busy brandishing her wand at various cooking devices, her own flaming red hair pulled into a bun that was already coming unwound. Hermione looked like the only one truly ready for the morning, dressed, with her bushy brown hair neatly combed; the only thing about her that looked out of place was her bright red face. Her attention turned to him, however, with his cheerful good morning, and she burst out laughing, as did Ginny, Ron's little sister.
When Ron had come bounding down the stairs, the image that had consulted Hermione was not what she had expected. Not dressed? Yes. Dishevelled and hungry? Certainly. Naked? No.
Well, he wasn't really naked. He was wearing bright orange pyjama pants, which matched the bright hair trademark of the Weasley family. No, it was the bare expanse in between that led her to believe he was naked. A smooth skinned piece that she had seen only in glimpses, and those glimpses were nothing like what she saw now. This wasn't the boy that had become her best friend over the past five years, this wasn't the eleven year old Ron anymore that she had meet on the same train they would be boarding later that day. This was the sixteen year old Ron, who had been training all summer, standing well over six feet tall, and he was showing this change very, very well. Hermione could feel the heat rising to her cheeks as he sought a plate of food from his mother.
The sight of her other best friend did not provoke the exact same reaction, as both her and the younger Weasley beside her were lost completely to laughter at the sight of him.
Harry had pulled on his pair of jeans without much thought, and it showed. His pyjama top was tucked in on one side, the other side hanging out carelessly. The laughter was not for his rushed appearance, however, but there was a reason Harry had kept these pyjamas away from the eyes of everybody but Ron. The top was bright red, and covered in little snitches.
'Shit.' Harry thought, turning as red as Hermione.
"If you think that's funny, you should go through his boxer collection." Ron said, grinning. Harry shot him a glare and sat down beside Mr. Weasley. Ron flopped into the seat beside Hermione, promptly leaning across her plate for food. She had been raising her fork to her mouth, and some of the syrup dripped onto his outstretched shoulder.
"Damn it, Hermione!" He said as the sticky substance oozed down his shoulder.
"Well you deserve it." She scowled at him and completed the motion of eating.
"Are you boys packed?" Molly asked, putting another plate of bacon on the table, which Ron promptly attacked. Harry answered,
"Not yet, but we will be." Ron nodded, trying to inhale his breakfast. He felt something touch his shoulder, where the syrup had fallen. He looked over to see Hermione sucking the syrup off her finger as she scanned the front page of The Daily Prophet. Ron's stomach gave an uncomfortable twist and he shifted as something lower reacted.
'Damn, that looked good,' he thought, shovelling the last of his food into his mouth and standing up to follow Harry to his room. He didn't remember Hermione getting so, well -hot.
A pair of jeans hitting him in the face knocked Ron out of his contemplations on Hermione's maturity.
"Hurry up and pack," Harry said as Mr. Weasley called for everybody to load into a ministry - borrowed car. Ron rushed to comply, scooping up a pile of books and clothes (some of which belonged to Harry) and shoved it all into his trunk. Within minutes the two teenagers had compressed the disaster that was Ron's room into two containers, gotten dressed, and were sitting in the car with their owls on their laps.
Hermione sat calmly between them, looking very much like the calm eye of the storm that was her two best friends. She smiled to herself as Crookshanks purred on her lap. Another year had begun.
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