100 Ways to Kill a Weasley

Mr. Weasley. In the Library. With a Book.





Ron Weasley gazed aimlessly at the massive card catalog as if hit by a stupefy.



Realistically he knew this was the place to begin his research, at least it was where Hermione always began her research. Though the sad truth was in all his years at his beloved Alma matter he had never once been to the library alone and had no clue how to start. Asking Hermione for help now was out of the question.



Ron was completely alone in his endeavors. His Mum had waived him off. His Sis told him to shove off. Even his best mate said to give it a rest. Without the support of the people who loved him he felt absolutely alone and up against the world without a friend. That kind of madness could drive a man to do something reckless… something unexpected… something dangerous... like going to the library on a Friday night.



With another scratch to his head, Ron began to realize that Hermione had perhaps coddled him just a bit. During their sixth year she railed in frustration, “Would it kill you to do your own work once in awhile?” Naturally he came up with a bloody brilliant retort, capped it off with his best sheepish ‘awe shucks’ smile, and she caved right in. Now, shifting from one foot to the next he wondered if that had been the right thing to do.



He looked wistfully over his shoulder at the empty circulation desk. During the school year Madam Pince sat there, looking unapproachable and like she possibly had a touch of gas. As much as he loathed admitting it, he could use her help, but the school was mostly deserted for the summer holidays.



Sneaking in had been rather easy. At first the gate wards barred him entry, but Ron just shuffled off to the Shrieking Shack, took the all too familiar underground passageway, knocked the Whomping Willow knot, and high tailed it inside underneath a “borrowed” invisibility cloak. He figured he’d be able to pick a book off the shelf and in no time have exactly what he was looking for. Ron figured he needed just an hour, tops.



But which book…? He had no idea what he was looking for, and pawing through the card catalog wasn’t getting him anywhere. Ron wasn’t certain if he was researching a charm, a potion, or Merlin-forbid a Dark Arts spell. But this was Snape’s dirty underhanded work he was researching, and that meant potions; dark, nasty, hebbie-jebbie potions.



The git had obviously poisoned his Hermione. Why else would she be marrying him?



*Flashback – two weeks prior*



“Ronald! You put down those canapés! Those are for the guests.”



“But Mum,” he pouted, “I’m hungry. ‘sides, I’m going to the party too.”



The Weasley matriarch spun around to glare at her youngest boy. Ron knew THAT look. It didn’t bode well to argue with her; instead he put on his best wounded puppy dog look. Molly’s face relaxed and she swatted him with a dishrag.



“Fine, but only two. No arguments. Now scat while I finish icing the cake.”



Ron grabbed the largest two canapés on the tray and kicked out the screen door of his house. Harry and Ginny were already sitting at the picnic table in the backyard making sickly sweet googly eyes at each other.



“Get a room you guys,” he mumbled with a mouth full of ill begotten food.



Ginny stood and smirked, “That sounds like an idea,” she extended her hand across to Harry and asked with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “You game?”



Ron could only grumble as they disappeared rather quick leaving him muttering, “I was only joking,” under his breath.



Alone, Ron took to plucking gnomes from the garden and tossing them to Hermione’s ginger cat until his Mum called him back into the house.



The family gathered each holding miniaturized boxes filled with the fruits of Molly’s labor. There was enough food to feed an army, or the Order at any rate. Ron was accustomed to the drill and dutifully took his share. Ever since Harry defeated Moldy-Shorts the year before the Order came together once a month to toast the fallen and celebrate life a little bit.



The parties were a bit dry. Mostly the adults stood around chatting politics and current events. Out on the battlefield Ron had given more than a good showing, he had soundly defeated more than his share of Death Eaters, but it didn’t stop the members of the Order from looking at him like a child who could only carry on conversations about Quiddich. Ron knew about a lot of things. He just happened to know more about Quiddich.



Flooing to Grimmaud Place Ron was taken back by the surroundings. Typically someone made an effort to put up some crepe paper streamers or hang a banner, but someone had obviously gone all out. The parlor had been enchanted to look like a garden. Ivy sprouting little white flowers climbed the walls as clover covered the ground. The dark Victorian furniture was reupholstered in cream and candles floated in the air much like the Great Hall at Hogwarts.



Shuffling out of the fireplace to take in the bright and airy changes to the drab room Ron was grabbed and nearly toppled over as Hermione flew into his arms and squeezed the life out of him.



“Blimey, Mione I love you too, but lemme breathe!” She quickly pulled back and gave him room, but her eyes were wide and shining. Hermione seemed to be bubbling over with enthusiasm. Ron rubbed his manhandled neck and craned a better look at the girl and his surroundings.



Hermione was absolutely stunning and he silently cursed himself for never pursuing her further than a few awkward kisses. She was barefoot and wearing a cream sundress, looking like the classical depiction of a woodland nymph. Some of the little white flowers were laced through her hair. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was looking at her handiwork.



“Gah, you did all this?” He asked in wonder, already knowing the answer. “It’s incredible.”



Basking in the warmth of her compliment Hermione eagerly droned on and on about applied charms, advanced transfiguration techniques, blah, blah, blah… Something… Something… Something… she found in a book.



His Mum came by at some point to collect the delicious smelling box of party snacks, but Ron wasn’t really paying too much attention. He was trying to keep up with Hermione as she was chattering in a rush. Seven years of tomfoolery together taught Ron that Hermione was excited about something big and he figured he’d hear all about it tonight. He just hoped it wasn’t more Arithemancy calculations. Hermione could babble on and on about numbers as if he could do the math in his head like she could. It was at those times he could have killed for one of his father’s quack-u-laters.



“… which of course led me straight to the natural conclusion that they were all derivatives of Pi!” she exclaimed suddenly, catching his attention. “Oh, oh, oh, there’s Madam Pomfrey! Excuse me Ron; I’ve got hostess duties to attend to.”



By the time Ron managed to weakly get out a few words of agreement Hermione was already well across the room eagerly accosting other Order members.



“Mental, that one,” he muttered shaking his head.



Ron did his best to mix and mingle, but it was difficult because most of the faces he always looked forward to seeing at Order events were gone. Just thinking about Tonks and Lupin made him choke up a little, but watching Ginny bounce little Teddy on her knee while his chubby fist clutched one of Harry’s fingers was heartwarming. And other than Harry and ‘Mione he really didn’t have much in common with these people. He knew them all, but they were mostly strangers.



Unwilling to make more uncomfortable chit-chat he loaded up a plate of goodies and found a comfy chair in the corner. Occasionally someone walked up to make small talk, or he bumped into an ex-Professor while refilling his plate at the buffet table, but other than that Ron glumly sat in his corner waiting for the clock to run out.



Winky came around proudly offering flutes of champagne on a silver platter and Ron accepted one. He nearly threw it back before Winky stopped him with a shriek.



“Master Ronald must save that for the toast!” the house elf cautioned before hastily adding a respectful bow.



“Toast?” he puzzled before shrugging his shoulders and letting it go.



A few minutes later Professor McGonagall stepped into the center of the room calling everyone to a moment of silence for the fallen. She said a few encouraging words about the continued reconstruction on Hogwarts castle, and apologetically added they were still advertising for a few instructor positions. Ron listened out of half heartedly until Hermione and Snape joined her.



Ron shot him his most intimidating glare, which admittedly wasn’t much, but it felt good nonetheless. The black clad former Death Eater either didn’t notice, or cared not to. He actually appeared to have what could have been construed as a smile on his face. Ron shuddered.



Professor McGonagall lifted her glass high in the air as the room followed suit.



“To the happy couple. May this union be a source of continued blessing to the two of you as you have been a blessing to us.”



The room was filled with a few hearty cheers, a few ‘Huzzahs,’ and a couple of ‘Here Here's!’



Ron kicked himself for not paying attention, but he’d be damned if he was going to drink to anything that involved Snape. It was then the glitter on Hermione’s right finger caught his attention.



“What!” he exclaimed loudly calling the attention of the room to his corner. Ron jumped from the chair, spilling his plate full of food from his lap. “No, you can’t do this! You can’t be with… him!” he spit out. Confused words tumbled from his lips as comprehension dawned. He continued to shout even as Harry forcefully led him kicking and screaming from the parlor.



Once shut and securely warded into the library a befuddled Ron turned to his best mate.



“You knew!” he accused.



“Yeah Ron,” Harry admitted awkwardly.



“You knew and you didn’t tell me!” It was unforgivable.



“Yeah Ron.”



“But… but…” he sputtered. “She can’t do this. This is so wrong!”



“She loves him.”



“That’s not possible. Nobody can love Snape. It’s Snape. Snape’s… Snape’s…”



“What? Unlovable?”



“Well he’s not human that’s for sure,” Ron screamed while agitatedly pacing the room. “No, it’s not possible. This must be some kind of enchantment. He must have force fed her a lust potion or something.”



“No Ron.” Harry said stiffly. “Give it up. They’ve been together since last year.”



The extent of Harry’s betrayal sunk in and Ron’s hackles rose further.



“The fucking Death Eater Imperio’d her!”



“Does she look Imperio’d to you? This is Hermione we’re talking about.”



“Exactly!” he shouted as if Harry had made his own argument for him. “Hermione would never. The greasy git did something to her.”



Harry shook his head. “You’re wrong. Now, I’m going to go back to the party and give my best wishes to them; I suggest you stay here until you can behave. It would mean the world to her if you could say something nice to him.”



“Never,” he said defiantly.



“Then she’ll never forgive you for this.”



“Mione would never choose him over me.”



Harry closed the library door behind him cutting off the rest of his friend’s ranting. Hermione had already chosen. Like it or not she wanted the ugly bat. He wished to hell they had taken his advice and broken the news of their relationship earlier and if possible in not such a public way. It was predictable that Ron would freak out.



Ron waited cloistered in the library silently fuming as the sounds of the party washed over him. He knew he wasn’t missing any of the fun, but was angry just the same. He was pissed enough to Avada someone. Preferably Snape.



As the night wore on the house grew quieter and Ron emerged from the library.



The only person he saw was Hermione walking along the hallway, her back to him, and her long cascade of curls swishing in time to the sway of her hips. Without forming a conscious thought Ron drew his wand.



Half curl. Flick. Thrust. “Expelleramus!”



She spun quickly around, looking at him as if he’d hit her with an unforgivable.



Tap. Tap. Thrust. “Petrificus Totalus.”

Full curl. Swish. Flick. “Levicorpus.”



Ron moved on instinct only as if he was possessed himself, much like he’d been the night of the Final Battle. He guided her helpless body into the cupboard off the kitchen, her eyes silently pleading with him as he pushed her inside where there wasn’t room to swing a kneezle. Ron kicked aside Kreature’s foul smelling nest. The house elf might have been around; then again, Kreature might also have crawled away somewhere and died. Ron could have cared less, but he didn’t want to be disturbed either.



He put his best three wards on the door and added a silencing spell.



That done he realized he was still pointing his wand at his friend of many years and it was shaking.



“Don’t worry Hermione; I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to save you. OK?” Some part of him expected her to respond, but there was no way she could do that. “I don’t know what he’s done to you, but you’ve got to fight it. I’ll help you fight it. I know you’re strong ‘Mione and we can do this together. I’ve even seen you throw off an Imperio.”



With a few flicks of his wand he released her.



“Ronald Weasley! You hateful insufferable brat. You ruined my party and now you’ve made me your what? Your prisoner? Release me now!”



“I can’t do that ‘Mione, not til we get rid of whatever enchantment you’re under.”



“Get this through your thick skull Ron I’m not under any enchantment. Not a potion, or a spell, or even a curse. I love Severus, and like it or not we’re getting married at the end of April.”



“Don’t talk like that ‘Mione, we’ll find a cure by then,” he soothed.



Her eyes narrowed and flashed slightly. “Ron you’re such a moron some times.” Mentally Hermione was recounting a few days prior when he was positively adamant that Gorgonzola was a fearsome beast. “Don’t you know anything about handfastings?”



He ran his fingers through his untidy hair and shrugged. “Yeah, of course I do. You get some flowers, some special robes, tie a few knots, and jump a broom. But I’ll save you before it gets to that. I promise.”



Hermione threw her hands on her hips and jutted her chin out defiantly. Ron knew he was in for a speech. She was about to prove how much smarter she was and out of habit he rolled his eyes.



“The sacred and holy handfasting ceremony can only take place if both the bride and groom are willing. You can’t make someone bind themselves to you. If Severus had placed me under some kind of lust potion or something it would be revealed in front of everyone. Do you really think he’d risk life in Azkaban just for kicks?”



Ron grumbled as he recalled hearing something similar once a long time ago. “Maybe he’s hoping you’ll develop some kind of feelings towards him once the potion wears off. Oslo syndrome or something.”



“Stockholm,” she corrected.



“Yeah that.”



“Not possible,” Hermione countered, “but let’s just say for sake of argument that he has manipulated me to get me in bed…” Hermione stopped as Ron began choking. Somehow the idea of the two of them shagging, or in Snape’s case, bumping uglies, had not entered his head. Undeterred Hermione continued, “It doesn’t matter anymore, we love each other, we make each other happy, and that’s all that matters to me, so let me out.”



Ron was still choking and beginning to dry heave as mental images bad enough to make milk curdle flooded his thoughts. He desperately wanted to ‘scourgefy’ his brain, curl up into the fetal position, and pretend all of this never happened. Of course he wasn’t given the chance.



Before Ron could draw a real breath the door behind him burst open, bathing the ramshackle closet with much needed light, and the dark outline of the wizard in question filled the doorway. Ron instantly found himself on the business end of Snape’s wand.



“Severus please!” Hermione pleaded in a panicked voice. “Let him go, he doesn’t know any better. He’s harmless.”



Without sparing a glance towards his betrothed, Severus Snape hissed in a low voice, “Mister Weasley you abducted my fiancée, manhandled her into a closet, and held her at wandpoint. If you ever, and I mean EVER, so much as look at my Hermione in an untoward way I will show you firsthand exactly what I learned at the Dark Lord’s revels.”



The tense moment was interrupted by the unmistakable smell of ammonia.



“Come Hermione,” Snape said silkily, “I believe the boy has pissed himself.”



Biting her lip Hermione swept passed him and accepted her wand from Snape’s outstretched hand. Before the reunited couple disapperated a still shaking Ron witnessed the lovers kiss. It was revolting.



* End Flashback *



When Ron had estimated that his research would take no more than an hour it was possibly because he was accustomed to spending no more than an hour at any given time in the library. Every time he had an assignment Hermione was already there, the right books spread across her table, with book marks and scribbled notes all pointing out exactly what they needed.



His hour of hard research quickly passed, and he had barely scratched anything of any use in finding something to set his Hermione free. Obviously Snape was ensnaring her mind, bewitching her senses, and all that rot. There was no way that she would willingly be with him, much less tangle in the same sheets with that bastard.



Ron paused, running his finger over the same lines in the same charms book he had for the last ten minutes. He wasn’t getting anywhere, and his stomach was starting to growl. If he were home his Mum would be setting out bits of bread, cheese, whatever was left over from desert, and a few pieces of fruit as a late night repast. Ron fished around in his pocket for his emergency supply of rations.



He had a half eaten and slightly gooey chocolate frog which he greedily ate, and a wrapped up Cornish pastie which may or may not have passed its preservation charm. Shrugging his shoulders, Ron plowed into the pastie. Food was food, and he was hungry. He also had a canary cream on him, but he wasn’t starved enough to go through all that nonsense for a spot of food. Even Ron had his limits.



An hour later the Canary Cream was looking mighty tasty and Ron didn’t have any success to show for his hard labor.



Slamming what felt like the hundredth musty old tomb together Ron swore a few choice words that would cause even Sirius to color up. He wasn’t finding anything useful at all. Hermione would know exactly where to look. Ron imagined her stalking in, her little school robes billowing behind her in a Snape-like fashion. No… wait… back that up.



Hermione would enter the library, confidently striding past the now much-despised card catalog, winding her way through the collection to her favorite table. She’d toss her impossibly heavy book satchel on the table with a deafening thud, flick an apologetic smile to Madam Pince and note in hand, make her way directly to the Restricted Section.



Ron closed his eyes.



Of course. Just how thick was he?



Ron smacked his own forehead, leaving a nasty red imprint.



For half a second he hesitated. He didn’t have a permission slip to get into the Restricted Section, before remembering that he broke into the library in the first place.



Leaving behind a mess of scattered books, Ron warily approached the locked gate barring him from Hermione’s salvation. He briefly wondered what kind of heavy wards surrounded the enclosure, but a simple Alohomora was all it required. Obviously this was a sign that his knightly mission was brave and true.



In the Potions section Ron found all manner of odious books, all clearly possessing the malicious intent to do harm. A few needed to be unwarded before the shelves would relinquish their treasure. In the back of Ron’s mind he felt a small thrill, similar to what Hermione must feel when handling something of such significance that it’s warded.



Grabbing a bundle of the most abhorrent books he could find Ron dumped them unceremoniously onto a new table and began to thumb through.



The first book he carefully unwarded, cast a protective spell, and gently opened. Other than a few spilt potions littering the pages the book seemed harmless. The content however was not. Ron found a few potions that would overcome a fragile females’ senses so absolutely she’d fall into instant lust with the first male she saw and shag him for various periods of time or until given the antidote. Most of those cautioned the female would be so overcome she’d be unable to conduct a proper conversation, or even roll off her back.



No, Ron mused, Hermione was definitely lucid. But at least he was getting somewhere.



The next book he carefully unwarded, cast a protective spell, and gently opened, but this one was much less harmful looking than the previous one, and the potions included were on level with a second-year’s class. Ron wondered why such a book was locked away, but figured if there was one harmful potion in with all the others it was best to keep it away from hapless children.



The book after that was much the same.



Then he found a really nasty one. With pictures. The copulating couple was more than enough to turn the Cornish pastie in his stomach. The potions referenced were more of the same. The doped up witch would become insatiable until the lunar cycle passed or she died, whichever came first.



Ron sorted through a whole stack of both lack-luster and disturbing books and still came up empty. Each and every tomb claimed no potion or drug could truly take away Hermione’s free-will. Even the so-called love potions stated clearly a handfasting would not work while the witch was under its influence.



His stomach wasn’t quite settled, but Ron was hungry, and the Canary Cream was calling. He now had a new-found respect for all those hours Hermione ‘wasted’ in the library. Ron wasn’t certain how many hours had passed since he first snuck into Hogwarts, but the tedious nature of his labor made it feel like morning would be up soon.



His mouth twitched and salivated looking at the Canary Cream in his hand. Sighing, Ron chowed down enjoying the sweet treat while it lasted. A few moments later he opened his mouth to sigh again and tweeted.



For a full minute Ronald Bilius Weasley, one-third of the ‘Golden Trio,’ hero of the Final Battle, Quiddich maverick, Hermione’s savior, and Wizard-extraordinaire sat utterly humiliated as an over-grown Canary. Slave to his incessant stomach.



Regaining his human form he swore loudly and added, “The sacrifices I make for my friends…”



The moment passed, he resumed slogging at the thick stack of books, his sugar rush almost instantly receding.



What felt like sixteen hours later his eyes drooped and Ron started to drool on the pages before him. When his head made contact with the table he bounced back up murmuring, “made me do it… roller-skates…”



He shoved off the offending book and grabbed another. It was filled with more of the same and again his eyes became heavy.



Picking up what was sure to be another dead end Ron only glanced at the faded gilded title, ‘One Thosand Potions Most Foule,’ his fingers flipped to the table of contents. Instantly the black leather book snapped itself closed trapping his fingers.



“Bollox,” he swore, his eyes darting around the table for his wand. It was there, tucked someplace beneath a stack of books. Ron was hoping maybe if he could get his mouth around it he might be able cast a spell that way. Everytime he tugged on the book it clamped down harder on his fingers. He shook his head, it’d never work, and he still wasn’t sure where his wand was.



Pushing out from his chair he stared at the offending book and gave it his most spiteful glare, “Oy! Look there you,” he said addressing the twitching thing as if it were sentient, “You’ll release me this instant or I’ll shred you up and use you for the bottom of my owl’s cage.”



That got a reaction, the tomb clamped down even harder, cutting off circulation to Ron’s already purplish fingers.



“You bloody beast!” he shouted, pushing his arms between his legs. Once the book hit the ground Ron stepped on either side of his hands for leverage and began to wrench his abused digits free.



Gritting his teeth he pulled. And pulled. And with an audible ‘pop’ Ron broke free falling backwards in his chair.



“Ah-ha you miserable wanker, I’ve got you now,” he cried. Before he could sift through the stacks for his wand the book was up, levitating mid-air, flapping its pages menacingly in his face. “Oh piss off you,” he tried to shove the book away, but it came towards him, the pages fluttering back and forth looking like large chomping jowls reminiscent of his hated old Magical Creatures textbook.



With a deafening roar the possessed potions book came at his face. The sound of Ron’s agonizing screams echoing throughout the empty library.



*



Days later a small gathering of returning Professors found Ron’s lifeless body each shaking their head at the senseless loss of one of Hogwart’s favorite sons.



Poppy attended to him and wrote the death certificate.



It read: “Death by papercut.”













A/N: I’m sorry ya’ll I work in an office and occasional jest that the only dangers I face are ‘Death by papercut,’ although I did once accidentally staple myself with a pneumatic stapler and that was no picnic. Anyway, it’s my twisted sense of dark humor that thought this inglorious end would be a bit of fun to write. And it was!



Thank you Ms Figg, though I did think ‘50 Ways to Leave Your Lover,’ like the Paul Simon song would be fun too.



Thanks for reading kittens! A.V.