Title: Licking the Habit - posted September 7, 2005
Author: Lacey McBain (with suggestions from the SV Gang)
Warnings: Pre-slash. PG. Just plain weird content.
Timeline: Let's say they're sixteen or older.
Disclaimer: Not mine. JK Rowling would be appalled. I'm even a little bit appalled.
Summary: Harry finds Ron in a most unusual situation.

Licking the Habit

Harry just stared. He couldn’t help it. He’d known Ron had been going through a rough period lately, trying new things and wanting to shed his innocent image. Sure, he’d seen Ron do it before. A small taste, a tentative flick of the tongue when he thought no one was watching. They’d all heard the stories about how amazing it could be, how the sensation was like flying ... except without a broom. Everyone tried it sooner or later. Well, maybe not Hermione.

But this ... he’d never considered Ron’s obsession had gone this far.

Harry stood near the foot of the bed and stretched out a hand towards his best friend, but it wavered uncertainly in mid-air. How exactly was he supposed to do this? Just reach out and grab it? Ron had such a firm hold, Harry was sure someone was going to get hurt if he tried it. And what if Ron refused to let go? He pushed his glasses up on his nose and steeled himself to intervene.

“Ron, you’ve got to stop this.”

Blues eyes blinked open, a startled breath pushing through wet lips. Ron flushed brightly, his face as red as his hair against the flat white pillow on the bed. He didn’t release his prize, nor did he make any motion to cover himself. Harry knew that couldn’t possibly be a good sign.

“It’s not—”

Harry made a face, and tried not to stare. Ron’s tongue was practically lolling from his mouth, his eyes huge and glassy, riding the high of what he was doing. He cut off Ron’s stammered explanation.

“Neville trusted you. He’s not going to understand, Ron. He’s not. You’ve got to stop. I—I don’t think it’s healthy. I’ve heard you can go blind if you do it too much.”

Ron shook his head. “It’s not what it looks like, Harry.”

Harry raised an eyebrow and put his hands on his hips. “Are you naked?”


“Are you licking Neville’s toad?”


“Then it’s exactly what it looks like.”


Harry reached out his hand. “Give me the toad.”

“Bloody hell, Harry, I’m not hurting him.” Ron’s tongue traced a long swipe down the back of the toad. Trevor croaked happily. “I think he likes it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry insisted. “It’s just not right, and ... and you’ve got to stop.”

Ron raised himself onto his elbows, and Harry was making every effort to ignore Ron’s bobbing erection. He was Ron’s friend. Ron needed help. Serious help, and he was going to help him kick the toad-licking habit. Besides, Neville would be back from holiday in two days, and Ron wasn’t going to be able to keep this up. He’d never be able to keep it a secret once term started, and truthfully, he didn’t seem to be trying very hard to keep it secret now. Harry took that as a cry for help, a sign of how desperate the situation really was.

He steeled himself for resistance and sat on the edge of the bed. Ron’s arm was warm underneath his hand. Harry deliberately didn’t let his gaze wander any lower than Ron’s neck.

“Give it to me, Ron.”

Ron shook his head, and licked a slow stripe down Trevor’s back. Ron’s tongue was green in the middle, the hallucinogenic properties of the toad’s skin playing havoc with his senses.

“It’s so good, Harry. The taste, the smell. Everything’s so much brighter. I can see every pore on your skin.” Ron sat up and leaned closer, still holding the toad. “I can hear every blink of your eyelashes.” He reached out with his free hand and traced Harry’s lightning bolt scar. “You need to try it.”

Breathing was difficult with Ron staring at him like he was on the menu, and Harry shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. But at least Ron had stopped licking Trevor for the moment. Maybe a change of tactics was in order.

“Yeah, Ron. I want to lick it too. Give it to me. I’ll try it.”

Ron’s blue eyes flared suspiciously. “You’re not just playing with me?”

Harry blushed, shaking his head vehemently. “Of course not. I—I want to lick it. You make it sound ... incredible.”

“Okay,” Ron agreed, leaning closer. “Down the back. Right there.” Ron’s fingers trailed slowly down the toad’s mottled skin. “Slow and wet, and you’ll feel better than you ever have before.”

“Okay,” Harry said breathlessly, taking the toad out of Ron’s hand. He’d never realized how big Ron’s eyes were, how he bit his lower lip when he was considering doing something unbelievably stupid.

They stared at each other for a moment, eyes wide, and neither of them noticed Trevor’s discrete hop off the bed. Harry swallowed awkwardly, and licked his lips. Ron returned his look hungrily. This wasn’t exactly going according to plan.

Suddenly, there was a sharp knock at the door, a sharper voice.

“Harry Potter! Ronald Weasley! There had better be a toad in there when I come in, or you two have some serious explaining to do! I’m counting to three.”

“Hermione,” Ron whispered in alarm, rolling away and grabbing for his clothes. Harry searched furtively, looking for the toad. No sign of it. Anywhere. It was as if it had disappeared.


“Harry, where’s the toad?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said frantically, watching Ron struggling into his trousers.


“What do you mean you don’t—” Ron’s voice was muffled under his inside-out jumper.

“He’s just gone!”


“Bloody hell,” Ron said, as the door swung inward.


Underneath the invisibility cloak, Trevor sat still and silent. Neville would be back in two days, and until then, no one was going to hear a croak out of him.


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