Loser

Harlan

II

Ron stumbled only a few steps away from a tiny winding road beside a bunch of tall trees and thorny looking shrubbery. Sniffing the air and regretting it almost immediately, as he got a strong whiff of sheep dung, he made a face and braced himself for the lousy little path leading up to the old mansion that sat crumbling on a slight incline at the top. He could see a few crotchety wooden silos on his way, peeking over the tops of trees. But all in all, the area might as well have been trapped in the eighteenth century. Just a few farms, some lousy shacks and several old houses that looked like they stood by sheer will alone.

Ron got to the front entry and swallowed; engulfed by a moment’s hesitation. He knocked on the old battered wooden panel (that functioned as a really lousy door in his opinion) and waited by the black mangled box next to it. He hoped and prayed to whatever god was listening, that Snape didn’t answer the knock.

“Hullo,” a cheery female voice crackled from the black box, “Come on in. I’ll be just a minute.”

Ron heard a noise that resembled staticky cessation. He sighed, relieved slightly and stumbled into the ramshackle entryway, through a dark sooty hallway and then through a much larger and finer door that clicked open automatically, when he turned the fine old burnished knob.

The inside of the house was plain and unadorned. There were no pictures, or anything really to denote that two persons of the same family lived under its roof. The wood was absolutely ancient, although in good repair, tinting the entire place gray with its weather beaten presence. Books were everywhere, stacked on tables, in huge carved bookshelves and tucked away alongside alcoves that held candles dripping wax and creepy ornamental animal heads.

Ron heard a thump and a squack from an owl cage. His eyes wandered up an old rickety staircase until he saw a black head of hair poking from the top.

“Oh,” she said, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Yeah,” said Ron morosely, “I wasn’t expecting to be here.”

“Don’t be such a prat, Ron,” she sighed, “He’s locked away in his potions laboratory. Won’t be out for ages.”

Harlan disappeared back behind a door but then remerged with an amused look on her face.

“You can come in my bedroom,” she said, smiling wryly, “There isn’t a castrating charm on the door.”

Ron shrugged and made his way up the stairs that creaked dangerously every step he took, as though not used to someone with weight on their bodies climbing them.

The door was open and just as dodgy looking as the rest of the house. Ron peered in, surprised. Harlan’s room was not what Ron would have expected for a place Snape also occupied. It wasn’t the least bit organized for one, like the rest of the house.

Huge stacks of records and books lay about all over the floor and on the rickety desk there were a great many opened letters. The bed was unmade and the sheets were heavily wrinkled. There was also a tatty Slytherin banner tacked onto the wall and dozens of wizarding photographs taped on a poster board behind the bed. Ron recognized Ginny in almost half of them. The other half had Draco Malfoy.

“I’ll only be a minute, promise,” Harlan said, throwing clothes in a heap and moving boxes, “if I forget the magazine again, Ginny’ll kill me.”

“Take your time,” Ron said shrugging, “M’not doing anything.”

Which is entirely the problem isn’t it? Hermione’s voice scolded in his head.

He squared his shoulders and leaned against the door frame, wondering idly if it would even hold his weight.

As Harlan shoved various records and books out of the way, Ron caught himself admiring her arse in the tight muggle trousers. He was almost mildly disgusted with himself; she was a Slytherin for one and for the other, was a bony slip of a girl with no boobs to speak of who was best friends with his sister. It was obvious how hard up he was for some snogging if he found the incurable tomboy, Harlan Snape, in any way attractive.

“Right,” Harlan said, a rucksack on her shoulder and magazine in hand, “Should be all set.”

“Go on then,” Ron said a little too harshly, gesturing to the door.

“You’re in a right mood,” Harlan said darkly.

Ron didn’t mind her words and watched her pretty arse walk down the rickety stairs and head towards the door.

He held out the portkey to her when they were outside. Her green eyes looked up at him and as he felt the familiar tug behind his naval, he regretfully noted that she really did have a pretty cute figure, even despite the non existent boobs.

At least Ron hoped Professor Snape wasn’t a mind reader as well as an Occlumens. Otherwise his bullocks would probably end up in potion.