100 Ways to Kill a Weasley
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
93
Views:
41,833
Reviews:
236
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
93
Views:
41,833
Reviews:
236
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Prisma Colours Should Come with a Warning
Disclaimer: I own nothing, though Snape would be a lovely addition to my bed, JK Rowling owns them all. I don't own Prisma Colour either....though I own some of their lovely pencils XD. Oh, and I don't own Two the Ranting Gryphon either....
Prisma Colours Should Come with a Warning
He simply could not understand why he had agreed to this. Yes, granted he loved his fiancee dearly, but he had almost no experience with Muggles, let alone young ones.
Ron Weasley shook his head and turned back to the chaos that was his and Hermione’s flat at current, narrowly missing being conked upside the head by a crazed Muggle toy called a boomerang.
Babysitting. You really couldn’t call it anything else, other than maybe zookeeping; the more appropriate of the two considering the activity level of Hermione’s three young relatives. Sure he had watched Ginny for his mum a handful of times, but Muggle children were a lot different. Even without magic they could get themselves into loads of indescribable trouble and sustain more injuries than an auror on All Hallow’s Eve.
It really didn’t matter what he thought, he had to do this for Hermione. She called it a ‘test’ to see if he was capable of handling the responsibilities of raising children, not that it was his job mind you, that was for the mother. That seemed to be the one point on which he and Hermione could not agree and henceforth the reason why Ronald Weasley was now surrounded by three Muggle children, all under the age of ten.
Hermione had left him in their flat with the children while she ran an errand with her mentor, the ever greasy-git-of-the-dungeons Professor Severus Snape, but had accidentally promised her aunt Janette that she would watch her nieces and nephew, the responsibility of that falling to Ron.
“It really does serve him right Severus, I mean the man expects me to the barefoot and pregnant in a kitchen just like his own mother was for Circe knows how bloody long.”
She slammed her butterbeer down on the table at the Three Broomsticks where she sat with a laughing Severus, having told him of leaving poor Ronald with her Muggle nieces and nephew.
“I really have no intention of having children with him, I’m not even sure that I can keep up this farce of an engagement for much longer. Hopefully today's adventure changes his mind. Tell me why we’re doing this again?” she pouted and stared to the bottom of the dark amber bottle.
Severus chuckled under his breath and shook his head at Ronald’s intense stupidity. The boy really was daft to think that he could housetrain such a brilliant witch just because that was how his mother believed things went.
Nearly a year she had sought solace in his company, and he had quickly taken her on as an apprentice, if only to help her escape Ronald for the daytime hours. It had never progressed any further than quiet friendship and student/mentor relations no matter how much he had prayed to the gods that it might.
“Ah, old man, such things are perhaps not meant to be...”
He smiled wryly and tipped his Firewhiskey towards Hermione.
“Well, let us toast a breakthrough, and a speedy resolution to your current situation.”
She could only giggle as Severus grinned maliciously, oblivious to the barely veiled intentions within his toast.
Ron sat back in his large chair in the sitting room of the flat, his head spinning due to the continued racket of the young Muggles. There was no way he could use magic in front of them, they had no idea of his and Hermione’s heritage, and Hermione had specifically instructed him against it.
The shrieks and laughter continued to grow louder, pushing Ron further towards the edge of his patience, driving him beyond the realm of comprehensible sanity and so it was no surprise when he leapt from his chair and turned towards the screaming brats ready to blow his top clean off, his ears as red as the moppish hair on his head.
It was unfortunate for Ron however that the little demons had located Hermione’s stash of Muggle art supplies; he had turned to locate just where the noise was coming from, but had knocked over Hermione’s stack of papers in the process.
He bent to pick up the papers but failed to stand in time, hearing the eldest of the Muggles yelling to him, “PINK NEON PENCIL FUCK OF DEATH!!!!!!” as a pink coloured pencil was thrust into his rear, the child having collided with his posterior.
The children clung to Hermione and their mother, distraught, bawling and completely unaware of what had just happened to their beloved ‘Won’. The aurors were called to the grisly scene, as were Hermione and Ronald’s family.
Kingsley Shacklebolt, head Auror, had no conceivable explanation for the pink Prisma Colour pencil that was lodged in Ron’s arse. The only thing that he could tell Molly and Hermione was that Ronald had died as a result of anal perforation, and showed the two women, and Professor Snape, who had accompanied Hermione, the pink pencil crayon.
Hermione simply stood wide-eyed while Molly covered her face and was wracked with sobs for her poor son. The Professor however, stood gobsmacked, confused at how a simple Muggle children’s art tool had become a deadly weapon. He could do nothing more than draw Hermione to him and remove her from the gory scene.
As they walked out the door, Hermione couldn’t help but smile grimly as Molly was heard muttering, “He never would wear a belt on his trousers...” as she burst into another fit of tears.
Snape too was smiling, though it was not as grim as the one his young apprentice wore. He knew that with Ronald out of the picture, he only had to play the concerned mentor to her until her grief had passed, if one could call it grief.
Bewilderment would have been more appropriate.
Prisma Colours Should Come with a Warning
He simply could not understand why he had agreed to this. Yes, granted he loved his fiancee dearly, but he had almost no experience with Muggles, let alone young ones.
Ron Weasley shook his head and turned back to the chaos that was his and Hermione’s flat at current, narrowly missing being conked upside the head by a crazed Muggle toy called a boomerang.
Babysitting. You really couldn’t call it anything else, other than maybe zookeeping; the more appropriate of the two considering the activity level of Hermione’s three young relatives. Sure he had watched Ginny for his mum a handful of times, but Muggle children were a lot different. Even without magic they could get themselves into loads of indescribable trouble and sustain more injuries than an auror on All Hallow’s Eve.
It really didn’t matter what he thought, he had to do this for Hermione. She called it a ‘test’ to see if he was capable of handling the responsibilities of raising children, not that it was his job mind you, that was for the mother. That seemed to be the one point on which he and Hermione could not agree and henceforth the reason why Ronald Weasley was now surrounded by three Muggle children, all under the age of ten.
Hermione had left him in their flat with the children while she ran an errand with her mentor, the ever greasy-git-of-the-dungeons Professor Severus Snape, but had accidentally promised her aunt Janette that she would watch her nieces and nephew, the responsibility of that falling to Ron.
“It really does serve him right Severus, I mean the man expects me to the barefoot and pregnant in a kitchen just like his own mother was for Circe knows how bloody long.”
She slammed her butterbeer down on the table at the Three Broomsticks where she sat with a laughing Severus, having told him of leaving poor Ronald with her Muggle nieces and nephew.
“I really have no intention of having children with him, I’m not even sure that I can keep up this farce of an engagement for much longer. Hopefully today's adventure changes his mind. Tell me why we’re doing this again?” she pouted and stared to the bottom of the dark amber bottle.
Severus chuckled under his breath and shook his head at Ronald’s intense stupidity. The boy really was daft to think that he could housetrain such a brilliant witch just because that was how his mother believed things went.
Nearly a year she had sought solace in his company, and he had quickly taken her on as an apprentice, if only to help her escape Ronald for the daytime hours. It had never progressed any further than quiet friendship and student/mentor relations no matter how much he had prayed to the gods that it might.
“Ah, old man, such things are perhaps not meant to be...”
He smiled wryly and tipped his Firewhiskey towards Hermione.
“Well, let us toast a breakthrough, and a speedy resolution to your current situation.”
She could only giggle as Severus grinned maliciously, oblivious to the barely veiled intentions within his toast.
Ron sat back in his large chair in the sitting room of the flat, his head spinning due to the continued racket of the young Muggles. There was no way he could use magic in front of them, they had no idea of his and Hermione’s heritage, and Hermione had specifically instructed him against it.
The shrieks and laughter continued to grow louder, pushing Ron further towards the edge of his patience, driving him beyond the realm of comprehensible sanity and so it was no surprise when he leapt from his chair and turned towards the screaming brats ready to blow his top clean off, his ears as red as the moppish hair on his head.
It was unfortunate for Ron however that the little demons had located Hermione’s stash of Muggle art supplies; he had turned to locate just where the noise was coming from, but had knocked over Hermione’s stack of papers in the process.
He bent to pick up the papers but failed to stand in time, hearing the eldest of the Muggles yelling to him, “PINK NEON PENCIL FUCK OF DEATH!!!!!!” as a pink coloured pencil was thrust into his rear, the child having collided with his posterior.
The children clung to Hermione and their mother, distraught, bawling and completely unaware of what had just happened to their beloved ‘Won’. The aurors were called to the grisly scene, as were Hermione and Ronald’s family.
Kingsley Shacklebolt, head Auror, had no conceivable explanation for the pink Prisma Colour pencil that was lodged in Ron’s arse. The only thing that he could tell Molly and Hermione was that Ronald had died as a result of anal perforation, and showed the two women, and Professor Snape, who had accompanied Hermione, the pink pencil crayon.
Hermione simply stood wide-eyed while Molly covered her face and was wracked with sobs for her poor son. The Professor however, stood gobsmacked, confused at how a simple Muggle children’s art tool had become a deadly weapon. He could do nothing more than draw Hermione to him and remove her from the gory scene.
As they walked out the door, Hermione couldn’t help but smile grimly as Molly was heard muttering, “He never would wear a belt on his trousers...” as she burst into another fit of tears.
Snape too was smiling, though it was not as grim as the one his young apprentice wore. He knew that with Ronald out of the picture, he only had to play the concerned mentor to her until her grief had passed, if one could call it grief.
Bewilderment would have been more appropriate.