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It was a nice warm spring day. Harry and Ron should have been studying for exams, but were, in fact, in midair doing a little Quidditch practice. Ron released the Snitch, and Harry gave it a little head start, and then zoomed after it. They’d been doing this for a while, when they decide to take a break.

”Man, I'm wiped,” Harry said, interestingly enough, as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

Ron laughed. “Same here, I need some food.”

Harry’s eyes grew large and glazed, as they often did when food was the subject of conversation. “Like lasagna.”

Ron joined Harry in the teenage boy rhapsody, “Or spaghetti.”

”With meatballs!”

”Yeah! That's exactly what I want. Meatballs,” Ron said, grinning in wonderment.
”Let’s go to dinner, maybe we’ll get lucky,” said Harry, already beginning his descent to the field below.

Lurking beneath the bleachers were those ubiquitous dwellers of shadows, unaffiliated with any known house or class, the Random Fangirls. They lived simply to gaze upon the person of Harry Potter, or occasionally Draco Malfoy. The Malfoy girls typically had black hair, to indicate their darker nature.

But now, here, were two bona fideHarry PotterFangirls. Random Fangirl the First’s eyes lit up, hearing this conversation through her black market early beta edition of the Weasley twins’ Extendable Ears. “Meatballs.”

Random Fangirl the Second began to smile in a way that would be construed as malicious, if she had possessed more than the obligatory three brain cells. “Finally, a way to get through to him.”

Random Fangirl the First also began to smile, “It’ll be even better than that time we ate squid.”

“Much better,” Random Fangirl the Second replied, and they fell into each other, laughing.

Later, in the bushes outside of the Scotland National Meatball Factory, the two Random Fangirls plotted their hostile takeover. Most people would think that hijacking a factory because a boy made an offhand comment about his fondness for meatballs is a bit excessive. But for the Random Fangirls, it was a labor of love.
”So. Here we are,” Random Fangirl the First said, peering through the leafy thickness.

Random Fangirl the Second sat up straighter, “Yep. So, now what?”

Random Fangirl the First looked slightly sheepish. “Well, in the movies the guard is always asleep.”

Random Fangirl the Second stood up, and quickly glanced at the guard station, before sitting back down with a thump. “This one isn’t.”

“I know.”

Random Fangirl the Second looked angry.“We can’t be foiled already! We haven’t had any madcap adventures yet! AND we haven’t seen Harry in over two hours!”
Random Fangirl the First dropped her head in utter dejection, “I know. It looks like we have failed.”

Random Fangirl the Second shook her head fiercely, and a hamster in Bristol whimpered. “We will not give up hope. We have gone further than any Fangirl before us, we will knock him out.”

Random Fangirl the First looked shocked, “You mean—“

“Yes.” And with a decisive nod, Random Fangirl the Second pulled out a giant box marked “For Emergencies Only”. She carefully lifted out the Random Fangirls’ most sacred possession, a giant baseball bat with a picture of Harry Potter on it, complete with a glow in the dark lightening bolt scar. “For Harry,” she said solemnly.

“For Harry.”

And with that they ran for the frightened but highly alert security guard and knocked him to the ground with their bats. He would be fine, they reasoned, just have a bad headache and some bruising. Then they burst into the factory, both wielding giant Harry Bats. Random Fangirl the First shouted out, “Alright, this is a stick up!”

Everyone looked mildly puzzled and a Random Factory Worker (a sort of poor cousin to the Random Fangirls) said, very deliberately, “What?” They quickly brained him just like the security guard.

“Go get all the meatballs, and keep your hands in plain view,” Random Fangirl the Second called, obviously enjoying herself immensely.

About half an hour later, Harry and Ron were sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, eating dinner (which, coincidentally, was spaghetti and meatballs), when they heard a disturbance in the Entrance Hall.

Argus Filch fall through the giant doors, as hewas run over by a dump truck full of meatballs, the Random Fangirls in the cab. “These are for you, Harry!”

Harry’s jaw dropped open, and he wordlessly gestured to his plate.

Random Fangirl the First smacked her head. “Damnit, today was meatballs.”

Random Fangirl the Second (who is becoming more aggressive by the line, and in grave danger of becoming an actual character) jumped down from the truck and ran up to Harry, “After all we went through, you better eat some of these!”

Ron perked up. “I’ll eat them!” he said, to scathing looks from the Random Fangirls.

Harry looked sheepishly at his best friend. “I think they're for me.”

”The girls or the meatballs?” Ron asked, looking confused.

Harry sighed. “Well... actually, both.”

”No fair, you have all the luck.”

Hermione, at this point, felt the need to assert her presence. “You are ridiculous, Ron.”

”What?” he asked, looking as though he’d forgotten she was there. At that point, he only had eyes for the hot girls driving the meatball truck.

Hermione grimaced, “I just don't think you should like someone for their looks alone, you don’t even—"

“But I like YOU!” At this pronouncement, the entire Great Hall fell silent, and quite a few jaws dropped. This was even better then Fangirls achieving characterdom…this was teen awkwardness!

Hermione smiled slowly, “You do?” All the girls in the Great Hall gave the obligatory awww (except Pansy Parkinson, but no one even noticed, because she always had a stick up her ass anyway.)

They hugged for a moment, and Ron gave Harry a thumbs up behind Hermione’s back. But then, unfortunately, Hermione’s brain clicked back into action. “Wait. You don’t think I’m pretty!”

Harry sighed. “Idiot,” he said softly. Didn’t Ron know that you never declare affection unless a terrible accident has just occurred, or you have just won a major Quidditch match? You can’t just go breaking rules willy nilly like that.

The Random Fangirls sensed an opening, and with a resounding, “Harry, we think you're pretty!” reverted to their former vapidity, all sense of personality evaporating.

Hermione grinned maliciously, “I think you're pretty too, Harry!”

Harry sighed. “Of course you do. It’s the tragic past and dark disheveledness, right?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, it’s just that I’m pissed at Ron. Let’s go hang out in a broom cupboard for a while and make everyone think we had sex.”

Random Fangirl the Second, retaining no traces of the girl who knocked out a security guard and yelled at Harry Potter, brightly asked, “Can we come?”

“Sure.” Harry shrugged, and the four walked out from the silent Great Hall together.
A second later, Ron realized he was still standing up, and everyone was staring at him.

Parvati grabbed his hand. “Are you okay, Ron?”

“Sure,” he said. “They forgot the meatballs.”

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