Disclaimer: All characters from the Harry Potter universe belong to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Inc., AOL/Time Warner and associated companies. No offence, legal or otherwise, is intended by the online publication of this story. Neither is profit. Make love, not lawsuits!

Notes: Sheer, playful stupidity, and possibly the silliest fic I've ever written. An alternate universe in which there is no Lord Voldemort, and the Gryffindor boys have nothing to talk about except sex and... well, sex.

A Friend in Need
by

'Oi, Seamus!' A poke to the lump of blanket.

'Muh.' The sleep-mussed head turned away.

'Is what they say, about... about your... um. Are you--?'

A tired hand emerged from the blankets to wave vaguely. 'Mphmphl.'

'Huh?'

'Girls, boys, house-elves. All good.' Nothing more than a sleepy mumble.

And he turned over under the sheets.

Everyone stared.

'House-elves?' Colin managed, finally.

Harry, who had looked revolted at first, now looked considering. 'They do have those awfully long fingers...'

Neville choked. 'Well,' he said after a moment, clutching a hapless looking frog to his chest, 'he's not touching Trevor.'

Colin gave him an amused glance. 'Of course not. You do all the touching where Trevor's concerned.'

The frog croaked--once, as if in warning.

The room froze.

Harry, sensing impending disaster, managed to leap towards the door before the dorm exploded into action.

Neville, after struggling with his wand for about a minute, managed to yank it out of his pocket. 'You take that back,' he hissed at Colin, who grinned and twirled his own wand between his fingers.

Seamus was heard to mutter 'Too much phallic symbolism here' tiredly from under his blankets, but he was ignored.

'Um, I'll just be going now,' said Harry, just as Neville's brow furrowed into a truly threatening frown, and Colin curled a dangerously cavalier smirk. 'Er,' said Harry, trying to think of some peace-making thing to say--but then Neville growled 'Rictusempra!' and Harry was darting out the door.

The sound of Colin's laughter followed him all the way down the stairs.

The common room was moderately crowded, with Ron snogging Lavender over in the darkest corner, tongue wet and visible and ew. Hermione was missing in the library as usual; but there, like a beacon of hope, feet propped on the settee in front of the fire, sat Dean Thomas.

His fingers moved in skilled strokes over the piece of paper on his lap--and Harry saw, with a sense of wonder, a sketched Snape's eyebrow rise in a decidedly convincing glare.

'Wow,' he said, leaning over Dean's shoulder. 'That's brilliant.'

'Just what Seamus said last night,' said Dean, not looking up as Harry nearly choked on his own spit.

'I mean,' clarified Dean, nonchalantly, 'about the drawing.'

Harry, eyes still watering, nodded vigorously. 'Of course.'

Dean's mouth, heretofore serious, was seen to curve up in a bit of a smile. 'Did you blokes manage to ask him, then?'

Huh? Oh. 'Yeah. He plays all teams, apparently.'

Dean nodded, as though that were perfectly expected. His dark eyes never looked away from his sketch. 'Which one of you did Neville hex?'

'Colin.' Harry rolled his eyes. 'Laughing hex.'

'Hmmm,' said Dean. 'Not too bad then.'

While Harry tried to make sense of what that meant, Dean returned to his drawing, withdrawing once more into that insulated little world of pencil-stroke and paper-shadow, and Harry realized he wouldn't be getting another word out of him today. Not even a 'well done for finding out the sexual orientation of my crush' comment.

Hmph. Time to seek out some company. Of exactly the right height, attitude and finger-length.

He set out to the kitchens to find Dobby.