100 Ways to Kill a Weasley

At the Altar

A knock sounded on the door of Hermione’s flat. The witch sighed.

“Now who is that?” she said to herself as she walked down the hallway in her nightgown, housecoat and slippers. Her hair was up in rollers.

Tomorrow was Hermione’s wedding day and she was just about to go to bed. She hadn’t seen Ron at all in the past three days. They had decided to stay apart until the wedding. But gods, she was so tense and wound up after all the preparations. She wouldn’t mind spending a bit of time with him. Ron was always good for relieving tension.

“Who is it?” Hermione called through the door.

”It’s Ron, Hermione. Open up. I need to see you,” a voice said.

”Ron?” Hermione said, pulling open the door.

Ron stood there with a bottle of wine in his hand, looking at her soberly.

”What are you doing here?” Hermione asked, then gasped as the wizard stepped over the threshold and pulled her into his arms, kissing her hungrily, his tongue scouring her mouth as he pressed against her tightly.

Finally, he released her mouth, but still held her against him possessively.

”I guess that answers that question,” she said to him softly, feeling slightly dazed at his ardor. What a kiss that had been. Wow.

Saying nothing, Ron began to back her up the hallway, his eyes locked to her face for a few moments before they darted about and focused on the bedroom. He turned her and walked her in.

”Ron?” Hermione said to him as he released her, his blue eyes hungry as they drifted over her. He certainly was acting strangely.

“Glasses,” he said in a hoarse voice, lifting the wine slightly.

Hermione blinked at him.

”All right, but you have to tell me what’s going on,” she said uncertainly before exiting the bedroom.

Ron was always talking. To see him so quiet was unsettling. But it was the night before their wedding. Maybe he was just suffering from nerves and came to her for some intimate reassurance.

Well, she could give him that..

She returned to the bedroom with two wine glasses and watched as Ron opened the bottle, letting it breathe before pouring them both a glass. There was something . . . something quite graceful about the way he did it. Perhaps he’d been practicing, wanting to show her finesse. If that was the case, he certainly succeeded.

He offered her the glass, swirling his own slightly, his eyes still fixed on her with that hungry, lustful look. Hermione felt a pulse in her belly, a powerful one. She hadn’t felt like this about Ron since they first started their adult relationship. Her belly used to ache with desire every time she looked at him in those days when love and sex were new, and yet become a rather ordinary expression of affection. There was fire then, and she felt that fire now. She took the glass from him.

Ron tilted his glass to his mouth, taking a small sip and swirling it before he swallowed. He gave a satisfied sigh, so unlike his usual sighs. It seemed to well up from his soul.

Hermione took a sip of her own. It was delicious. She immediately emptied the glass, and Ron followed, taking her glass from her and setting both of them down on the nightstand. Then, wasting no time, he approached her, slowly undoing the sash of her housecoat, opening it and sliding it off her shoulders and down her arms. He did it slowly, reverently as if unveiling her, his eyes locked to her body as he let it fall to the floor. Then his eyes rested on her big poofy curlers.

He pulled out his wand from the waistband of his jeans and flicked it at them. The curlers disappeared, leaving Hermione with a curly mane around her head. She brought her hand to her hair.

”Ron, my hair. The wedding . . .” she breathed.

Ron said nothing as he pulled her to him, running his hands over the small of her back, over the curves of her buttocks, grasping her cheeks and grinding his loins against her as his mouth found her lips again, fire pouring over the witch as he possessed her mouth like a starved man, his hands moving all over her body now, his breath coming in gasps as he backed her toward the bed.

Hermione was gasping as well, Ron pressing his cock against her through his jeans. Gods he was so hard . . . and . . . Merlin, he seemed so big. Much bigger than usual.

“Oh gods . . . Ron,” Hermione gasped as he took her to the mattress.

**************

Time: Two Days Earlier

“Professor Snape, you will be attending the wedding, won’t you?” Hermione asked the Potions master as she chopped ingredients for Droxycide potion. It was a black liquid usually dispensed by a spray bottle. Its purpose was to knock Droxies out so they could be safely disposed of.

“I received the invitation months ago. I will be there,” the wizard replied shortly.

Since becoming Snape’s apprentice a year ago, she found him a very quiet individual, not prone to conversations. He was a perfectionist however, and snapped at her for every mistake. But she learned with him too, and that’s why she was here.

If he said he’d be there, he’d be there.

“I’m going to be spending the next two days at home. I gave you notice a month ago, Professor. I just wanted to be sure you remembered,” the witch said, scraping the herbs into the cauldron for him.

Snape made a noise that presumably meant he remembered. They continued the brewing. When the potion was completed, his apprentice bid him goodbye after cleaning the lab. Snape watched her go, silent and brooding.

In two days, she’d be bound to that idiot Weasley, who had no idea what to do with the witch other than try and chain her to the stove and shag her. Another undeserving wizard who managed to land a witch too good for him.

Snape sat in front of his fireplace, staring into the flame.

Married. She’d be married and have the Weasley name. She’d belong to him legally.

Snape’s brow arched.

Well, if he were going to break the law, he’d prefer to do it before she was married.

* * *

Time: Tonight

Waving off Neville and Harry, Ron stumbled home from his own bachelor party early. He was already drunk and saw no reason to stop his friends from continuing the celebration. He had to be ready for the wedding and didn’t want to show up with bleary eyes and a hangover. He should have some sober up potion at his flat.

Snape had also been in attendance, though he stayed in one spot and didn’t actively participate, even when a voluptuous stripper danced up to him bare breasted, shaking her melons at him in invitation. He sneered at her disdainfully and she danced away.

”Snape must have ice cubes in his shorts,” Harry said to Ron, who laughed.

The dark wizard left right after Ron did.

No one noticed.

* * *

Ron had just made it to the door of his flat and fumbled with his wand. Suddenly, he had a sense of not being alone. He looked up to see a hooded figure standing a few feet from him.

He didn’t have a chance to say anything as the wizard pointed his wand at him.

”Stupefy,” a voice hissed.

Everything went black.

* * *

Ron awoke blindfolded and firmly tied to a chair. He felt terrible, his hangover combined with the effects of the Stunning he’d received. He struggled in the chair.

”Hey, what is this?” he demanded.

Severus Snape calmly looked at the bound wizard, then walked over and lifted a lock of his hair. He cut it off, looking at the strands in his pale hand.

”What the fuck is this? Who are you? What do you want?” Ron cried.

Snape pointed his wand at Ron.

”Soma Mortis,” he hissed, casting the “Sleep of the Dead” hex on the wizard. Ron was out like a torch.

“Thank you for this, Mr. Weasley,” Snape said quietly, walking over to a bubbling glass of brown liquid and dropping one of the hairs in.

* * *

Disguised as Ron, Snape took Hermione hungrily and thoroughly, twisting the witch into positions she never knew existed as he pounded her sweet body, Hermione completely overwhelmed by him. Ron didn’t feel the same . . . he didn’t sound or act the same. He said nothing, only breathed harshly as he plowed into her, pinning her down in all types of submissive positions, wrapping his fist in her hair, twisting her arms behind her back, gripping her bum and spreading it wide as he drove into her, taking her to climax after climax, sweating pouring off both their bodies.

Finally he came with only a grunt of pleasure, so unlike the shout he usually gave, lying against her back, panting, still inside her, still immense compared to his usual size. Maybe he had taken something to swell himself up.

As sleepiness washed over her, Hermione heard him whisper one word, soft and pleasure-filled.

”Delicious.”

* * *

Snape returned to Spinner’s End and the wizard he had bound in his living room. He studied Ron for a moment. Up to this point, he wasn’t sure what he would do with him. He had thought to obliviate him and return him to his flat, but now . . . after experiencing Hermione’s passion and surrender . . . that wasn’t to be.

He pointed his wand at the unconscious wizard.

”Avada Kedavra!”

* * *

The next day found Hermione waiting at the altar for Ron, but he never showed up. A grim-faced Harry and sober-faced Neville walked up to the witch, handing her a piece of parchment.

Hermione read it.

Dear Hermione,

Last night was our last night together. I can’t go through with this. I’m not ready for marriage, so I’ve left the country. I’m sorry about this, but it’s all I could think of to do. Take care of yourself.

Ron Weasley

Hermione was stunned. She looked at Harry’s pained face.

”He left it on his bed. All his clothes are gone and his broom and photos. It looks as if he cleared out after the bachelor party. He said he was leaving early because he was drunk, but it seems as if he planned it. What did he mean about last night?” Harry asked her.

Tears streamed down Hermione’s face.

“He came to see me,” she said shortly.

”Oh,” Harry said, thinking Ron wanted to get one last shag. This was so messed up. How could he do this to Hermione?

”Hermione, how about you just go home? I’ll let the guests know what happened,” he suggested.

Hermione nodded, feeling the entire world had gone stark raving nutters. Ron had walked out on her, the git. And after last night too . . . the best night she’d ever had with him.

From his seat in the murmuring audience, Snape smirked. The Polyjuice potion worked fine, but it was the Enchanted wine that kept up the illusion. Hermione never saw him as he was, only felt the differences, and at that point, she was too far gone to say anything. Gods, she had been exquisite.

He watched as the witch slowly walked back down the aisle alone as Harry cleared his throat, ready to make the announcement the wedding was off.

Snape smirked again.

If Hermione Granger were going to marry anyone, it would be him and only him.

********************************
A/N: The other idea that came to me. Whoo. Snape is a hard ass in this one.