I can't believe you went to a website with the ability to output procedurally generated Harry Potter fanfiction and were unable to assemble what we all want from a Harry Potter fic - THE STEAMY ROMANCE BITS!
The extent to which this was edited is minimal (punctuation, mostly), with the exclusion of seeding character names for proper dialogue attribution and judiciously using the shuffle button later on, all of this text is straight out of Botnik's predictive keyboard. No auspicious rearrangement of text strings, no nothing. For your reading pleasure,
Harry Potter and What About Ron the Snappy Prat
The room where Bellatrix passionately dangled beneath Hermione was quite empty. There was an indecent excitement in her cheeks as she continued to warble Hermione’s behind. Hermione asked breathlessly, "Careful! I’m me, a little overenthusiastic!"
Hermione quietly reached into Harry’s green nylon face and opened its front cover. Dumbledore? He knew who he was. He was still groping Harry. Professor Snape was standing exactly where Harry was. Harry thought, "It’s you, Hagrid!" Dumbledore quietly made a note.
Hermione was wrapped in Harry's thick blankets, drawn through gritted teeth, still and silent. After a lengthy interrogation of Harry’s hole, Ron hastened in the room and found the whole thing. Ron stared. Harry didn’t.
"Noble Harry, it’s, well… Lord Voldemort has returned to get rid of those cuts on your knickers!"
Hermione sharply glanced at Ron. He squeaked an empty breath. "Ignore them, Harry, dear, your mother died to save that broomstick!"
Harry felt overwhelmed with tears trickling down onto his knees and eyeball. Never had Hermione said praise of Harry's Mr. Bludger. Bloody Ron, staring.
"I’m blasting worry up the chamber of your mum, boggart! Harry Potter is dead! He dared to come across you, didn't he? Well then, why don’t you cloak back to bed before midnight, turncoat!"
It looked as though someone had gone completely up the horcrux. Hermione, frowning, piped up his trunk.
"Don’t goblin the whole thing in front of all three of us!" said Hermione with something close to a chocolate frog spawn of a swagger. "You know perfectly well that he exists, Lord Voldemort’s taller-than-fifty-lions mother-bother, don’t you know?", her face contorted with an unusually grave impediment.
To Ron, Hermione stood before him a stern, elder wand in Harry’s underage bush. She was not the great oak of inky, ejaculated awful his head was surely dreaming out of nowhere. He looked slightly less anxious about the deathly white fingers tightening over Harry’s horrible travesty. Broomstick servicing, thought Harry, his temper rising, wouldn’t visit the front row of his robes. Skulking in their pajamas, looking startled, Dumbledore raised a gloved tray of his own disillusionment.
"Well, if there’s a death eater or something else at Hogwarts, I’ve only just thought he’d cavort, delighted from the moment he saw me, Harry! Hi, name I don’t approve," Dumbledore’s contemptuous glance stung Ron, "you can’t personally muggle the death eater, he’s a hundred slaves, he has achieved high marks in my school, he was a wizard, of course he was, he had enough kill thunder to kill whoever he wanted… " Dumbledore went gruffly and then spoke again and again, blasting Weasley at considerable volume, with another loud voice from his pocket watch.
Snape snapped at each before him, "Bidding Harry Potter as a baby, we are. It’s all sorts of horrible! What happened to the hog’s course of magical stink and buttocks? Enough of this rubbish, you loads! Harry Potter came, could I?"
It felt very good to Harry, who passed out from underneath the mistletoe we’ve never mentioned. Hermione, flaring her bag of a fat bullfrog back onto Harry’s glasses, flew twelve protuberant robes and urged her feet down his mouth. Snape seemed glad with all that. Dumbledore went on top of them both, impatient. Ron muttered under his breath, coming secretly, and then spoke with every inch of his mouth.
"Wizards don’t consider you, Harry. There’s dementors swarming all over these individuals, you yerselves know what’s going down. What happened to you? Total blunder, Potter, but it’s incidentally fascinating that you do it. Yeh can’ hand one to me, Harry, m’boy?"
Hermione looked down at Bellatrix’s entrance hall, which seemed completely deserted. Ron made his way into Harry’s pillow corridor together with every other member of the Order of the Phoenix. There it was - impossible a moment as it felt - Harry could not suppress three of them. It might have been worse, Harry thought. It might have been hard floor and a stream of vaulting sausages. It might have been an inch of Dudley’s curved thrust. It could have been the first quidditch match against Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, Harry thought, he would have liked a few feet to hit his face, but no matter. It could have been worse. It could have been worse.