It was perfectly simple, of course, and Ron told them as much the next morning, just before the hangover potion kicked in. It had come to him somewhere in the middle of the bottle of Firewhisky he had sneaked from the kitchens to try out: they had nothing to be afraid of!
He had been sitting in the common room with Harry and Hermione long after everyone else had gone to bed, drinking Firewhisky by himself (Harry was finishing an essay and Hermione didn't care for the stuff) and bemoaning their almost certain DOOM at the hands of (hic) You-Know-Who when The Epiphany came to him.
The one thing that they had that You-Know-Who didn't were those little plasticky 'Troll' dolls with the strange hair that Hermione had shown him earlier!
Of course! It was so simple!
Ron clambered off his chair, clutching the inspirational bottle to his chest, and started the long climb up the side of Hermione's pouffe. She was reading yet another book and was so absorbed that she didn't notice Ron until she glanced sideways and found her gaze met two centimetres away by the slightly reddened and very watery stare of the aforementioned Weasley.
"Eek!" she said, prompting part of Ron's mind to congratulate itself for getting her to say a one-syllable word all by herself, but there were more pressing matters at hand.
"'Mione," Ron said seriously. "I need to see your troll."
"My what!" she squeaked.
"Your troll. Little hairy thing. It's plasty," he said, waving his arms about to show her what he meant.
"No, Ron, I think you're the one who's plastered," Harry chuckled, discreetly switching Ron's bottle of Firewhisky with his own water bottle.
Ron frowned. Why didn't they listen to him, and why were they shouting?
"No," he said, taking a bolstering swig from the bottle and wondering briefly why he had a bottle of water in his hand. "Plasty. Muggle word. Like the troll. Trolls are Muggle things."
Belatedly realizing how ridiculous this was, considering the trio's encounter with a very non-Muggle troll in first year, Ron decided to laugh heartily and roll around on the floor for a bit.
"But (hic) seriously," he continued after a while, getting up woozily. "Her (hic) mi (hic) oh for Merlin's shake," he muttered. "Yesserday you showed me a shtrange little hairy (hic) plasty thing and you shaid it was a troll."
Comprehension dawned on both of his friends' faces, which surprised Ron because he had no idea what he was talking about. He settled for holding onto his chair as if his life depended on it.
"Hermione, he's talking about your Troll doll," Harry said quickly, but the witch had already whipped out her wand and waved it in the direction of the girls' dormitories. A second later, a little plastic Troll™ doll with a shock of bright orange hair whizzed into Hermione's hand.
Ron made a triumphant gesture and fell over.
"Oh honestly, Ronald," Hermione grumbled, tossing the doll at him and reopening her book. "What's so important about a silly little toy, anyway?"
Ron sat up, looking affronted, partly because of Hermione's comment but mostly because he had just spilled half a bottle of water on himself.
Harry, who had abandoned his essay and was enjoying the show immensely smiled even wider and sent a drying spell towards Ron, who mistook it for an attack and dodged it. Not to be deterred from his quest, however, Ron hid behind an overstuffed armchair so he could shout over the top of it. (Harry quickly Silenced the room – this was just too fun.)
"What's sho (hic) important about it?" Ron yelled. "Well let me just tell you, that little troll is our perfect weapon against You-(hic) against You-Know-(hic) oh bloody hell!" He trailed off, hiccoughing. Coming to a realization, a smile started growing on Ron's freckled face until it looked as if his head would split in two.
"I don't even have to (hic) say that anymore!" he said in a stage whisper that could have been heard clearly over the morning bustle in the Great Hall. "The trolls will protect me! Against Voldemort!"
Harry gave a start. This was possibly the first time Ron had uttered the V-word without an accompanying twitch, and Harry pointed this out to Hermione, who shrugged, turned another page in her book, and said matter-of-factly that as she had told Ronald, "fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself."
Harry rolled his eyes, took a swig of Ron's Firewhiskey, and turned back to the drunken Weasley, who was now back to rolling around the floor.
"Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldy Moldy Voldemort," he chanted, bowing respectfully to the little orange-haired troll every once in a while. "Hey, Harry, y'ever notice how much that (hic) sounds like the school song?"
Ron started singing robustly to no tune Harry could particularly recognize. Harry quickly put a silencing bubble around Hermione so she wouldn't stop Ron from singing.
"Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldy Moldy Voldemort, please don't kill us pleeeeze!" Ron bellowed. "Whether we be Muggle-born, or not, like the Weasleeeeeeeeys! For we are bold and noble! And we are lead by Trolls! For they have hair that's very rare . . . Erm, Harry? What rhymes with 'trolls'?"
Harry pondered this.
"Rolls?" he suggested. Ron shook his head. "Nah, it has to make sense."
Harry snorted, but Ron was counting on his fingers and didn't notice.
"Bowls, foals, goals, holes . . . moles . . . rolls . . . souls . . . that's it! Souls!"
He started singing again. "For they have hair that's very rare, and they don't suck out souls!" He nodded in satisfaction and looked at Harry for approval. "Good, eh?"
"Yeah, Ron, that's a good line, makes perfect sense," Harry said, shaking from trying to control his laughter.
Ron nodded again. "Yeah, it does, doesn't it? I'm good at that."
He took a deep breath. "Our trolls will stop your killing, and Death will eat us not! We'll save the day, you'll go away, and I sure hope you die and rot!"
Harry burst into applause – it was the only thing he could think of that didn't require opening his mouth, which would have resulted in not being able to hold back his laughter. Ron stood up to take a bow, but seemed to forget what he was doing halfway through and decided he liked it better looking at the floor.
"Harry, why isn't Hermi(hic)one clapping?" he asked unstably. Harry remembered the Silencing charm and removed it.
"'Mione, you just have to hear this song Ron's just written," he told her, sniggering gently.
She muttered a curse and slammed her book shut, reaching down and shoving it into her bag. "All right, but then I'm going up to bed and he can just sort himself out in the morning!" she grumbled, still shoving things around in her bag.
Suddenly she looked up. "What was that thump?" she asked. Harry frowned and twisted around to look. Then he let loose the hysterical laughter that had been building inside him for the past hour, for Ron had finally gotten a hold of himself and was snoring gently away on the carpet.
-fin-
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Trolls. They will save us, though. I'm a believer in troll magic. But that would mean they were non-Muggle, wouldn't it? Oh well.
A/N: Written in the wee hours after I woke up from a stunningly hilarious dream in which Ron discovered Voldemort's weakness. Wrote it down as quick as I could, typed it up the next morning, and sent it to my wonderful friend/beta Me The Cat, who proceeded to tell me what a jerk I was for having my server down and not being able to post it right away. So. Tell me what you think!