A/N. I'm so excited! This is my first story and I hope you all like it!
Chapter I - Gluttony Doesn't Pay
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"We should go and de-gnome the garden, Ron, our wedding is in a week."
"Just one more helping of fried chicken, Herms. Please," Ron said with his lips pushed out into a pout.
"Alright, you glutton! But I swear, one day you're going to choke on your food!" Hermione huffed and left the kitchen. Fine, he could have his bloody chicken.
The garden was full of gnomes, as the little blighters reproduced at a swift pace. Her anger at Ron helped a lot in this task, but she felt utterly stupid to have to do this alone when it was meant to be a preparation for their wedding.
Merlin knew that she loved him. They had been friends through the troll attack, through getting Norbert out of the castle, through her being a cat-girl, through him being a git when he thought that Scabbers (Pettigrew) had been killed by her cat, through S.P.E.W., through his constant sneaking to the castle kitchens, through the DA, through Snape being their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, through so many things it was almost too much to recount. But still, he could make her as mad as Draco Malfoy when he tried to get Hagrid sacked.
He would catch his death of fried chicken one of these days probably through clogged arteries or choking on a bone. Hermione giggled at the thought of someone dying at choking on a chicken bone. No one was that pathetic.
A vicious gnome bit her ankle, so she finally had enough.
It was time for the pig to pull his weight. She would not be the sole caretaker of the children. She would henpeck him to the point of shaming Molly Weasley if he tried that.
Kicking the vicious gnome in the butt, she strode back to the house. Gorging time was over!
She stormed through the door with her cheeks bright red in anger from the stupid gnome; she felt her fists ball up and her temper flare.
The Weasel!
Ron had an ashy face, and a bit of drool dribbled from the corner of his mouth. His head hung limp over the back of the chair. The drumstick of a whole chicken leg was poking out from his mouth. The potatoes on his plate weren't giving off steam anymore and looked like congealed white glop. She shivered. He would no doubt eat it when he woke.
He's fallen asleep mid-gorge, she thought. Oh the wonders of Ron Weasley! At least it hadn't been soup. He might have drowned.
"WAKE UP!" she yelled, and she stalked over to him and pinched his nose shut shaking his head by it.
Hermione pulled back when the fiery haired, freckle-faced man-boy didn't respond.
"Ron, wake up!" she shook his shoulder gently but got no reaction, again. Remembering the first aid courses she had attended as a young girl, she decided to check for his pulse.
There was none.
She leaned her head down to listen for a heartbeat.
Nothing.
Panic set in, and Hermione turned pale.
She shook Ron more roughly before pulling him to the floor.
So, what had the course taught her? First, the safe position.
She put her hand up close to his mouth to feel for any breathing, and she removed the piece of chicken.
Crookshanks sat watching her with his yellow cat eyes. He watched her set the chicken on the floor. As soon as he was sure she wasn't watching, he darted forward and snatched it up.
He trotted out the door with his prize. Nothing could be done for the buffoon, he knew it. With all dead wizards and witches, the only thing a half kneazle could do was look through their robes for food or hope that some had been left out on the table.
Going for the first thing she remembered, Hermione pushed hard on Ron's chest. The pressure released a small bone from his throat, yet he still wasn't breathing.
She leaned down and breathed into Ron's mouth.
The taste of greasy fried food and butterbeer almost made her gag, but she kept on trying to give him the kiss of life whilst putting pressure on his chest.
"Ron, wake up!"
"Meow," Crookchanks called as he rubbed up against his mistress. Now, she could have better, a wizard worthy of her.
Tears were streaming down her face. She waved her wand over his body, but none of the revitalising spells helped.
Crookshanks purred and rubbed trying to offer her comfort in his joy.
Ron had constantly kicked at him after his dumb animagus rat ran away.
Devastated that her efforts were moot, Hermione flooed St. Mungo's to call for a Healer.
The Healer arrived fast, but to Hermione it was like a lifetime.
Hermione groaned when she saw Augustus Pye walk through the door. What moron licenced him as a Healer? He was an idiot. She liked the idea of mixing Muggle and magic medicine as much as the next Muggleborn. But who knew what he was carrying that he didn't fully understand?
Augustus grinned at her before he kneeled down next to Ron. He opened Ron's grease stained shirt before tapping his case with a wand.
It opened up, and Hermione's eyes darkened. How did he get a portable defibrillator?
Did he even know how to use it?
Augustus grinned as the Muggle machine hummed to life, and he rubbed the paddles together. He looked like a child who found the apple pie on the window sill unguarded.
Crookshanks looked at the impending scene with curiousity. Would the silly human be kicked now?
Hermione was worried to no end. Medical equipment was so sensitive; it needed to be handled by someone who knew what they were doing.
"Excuse me, Healer Pye, but do you know how to use this defibrillator?"
Augustus trembled as he pushed the paddles against Ron's chest. The freckled man jerked as the electric current ran through him.
"Of course, Miss, I am highly skilled. I watched all episodes of 'Emergency Room' myself!" Augustus answered with gusto as he charged and shocked Ron again, grinning like an idiot.
It was so exciting to be using Muggle medicine to bring a wizard back to life.
"So you haven't had proper training!" Hermione exclaimed as she charged towards the madly grinning Healer.
Hermione was about to grab the Healer's hands to stop him from using the machine again, but it was too late. Ron's body jerked under the electrical current but he didn't come back to life.
"Hmm, in the movie the patients always came back to life after three attempts!" the Healer muttered, looking at the paddles in confusion.
"This isn't a movie, you idiot!" Hermione broke out in tears. "You haven't even checked him for vitals!"
Crookshanks hopped up onto the table and licked his right paw and began to wash his face. With a kneazle grin, he swiped a paw at the plate of cold mashed potatoes sending them onto Healer Pye's head.
"IF YOU WANT TO USE MUGGLE MEDICINE YOU HAVE TO BE TRAINED!" Hermione sobbed as she petted Ron's face.
"But I am superior to a Muggle! I am so smart that I know by proxy!" Healer Pye answered, wiping the potatoes from his head.
"My poor, poor Ron!" Hermione sobbed as she kissed Ron's unmoving lips.
"I think I shall sign the death certificate and let the undertakers come by," Healer Pye said in a grave tone.
Augustus frowned. The TV always had the people come back to life. And it came on with the Muggle News. The machine he had bought from the Muggle hospital was a fake, he concluded. He did it just how they showed on Emergency Room.
Crookshanks was rather happy. Sure, it wasn't good that the human was dead, but his mistress needed a better one. The greasy-faced stinker wasn't her true mate anyways.
He pricked his ears up. He could hear the fat redhead woman and bumbling, babbling bald man following him. He was rather fond of the bald man, truth be told. The man often brought fresh fish or shrimps for him and was always pround when Crookshanks brought a mouse or dead bird to him.
But the fat redhead woman had hit him with a broom when he brought a dead gnome to her.
Hermione looked up from her position on the floor and saw Arthur and Molly enter. What could she tell them?
'Your son died because I wished he choke on his food and he did?'
Molly tottered into the house.
"Ronald Weasley, whatever are you doing napping on the kitchen floor?" the Weasley matron inquired.
"He isn't napping!" Hermione yelled though her tears.
Mr. Weasley looked at the Healer who stood next to the hearth with a black case in his hand.
"Augustus," Mr. Weasley exclaimed. "What happened?" He smiled at the Healer. He had loved trying out stitches after his run-in with Nagini.
Augustus looked to the floor. He was used to giving people bad news, but this was somehow too personal. A dead silence set in.
He had liked Mr. Weasley. Mr. Weasley had gotten sick testing the Muggle medicine for pain relief, assy-mermaid-fen (acetaminophen). He didn't want to tell him that his son was dead.
"Ron's dead!" Hermione screamed finally.
She couldn't stand the silence anymore; it was eating her from the inside. She strode over to the table where the leftover fried chicken was and picked up the serving plate. With spot on aim, she chucked the plate right at Molly, the grease of the chicken destroying her white blouse.
"It's all your fault! Feeding him this horrible food!" Hermione screamed. "WE were going to be married!"
"MY BABY!" Mrs. Weasley screamed. She ran to her son's side and gathered him to her large bosoms.
"He's dead because you never taught him manners. If he knew how to eat, not gorge, he'd still be alive."
Hermione ran up the stairs. She couldn't bear the sight of them anymore.
Hermione couldn't look at these people now. Her vision was still clouded by tears as she ran to the bedroom she and Ron had shared.
Amidst the havoc, no one noticed a small Ministry owl fly into the kitchen. The owl was slightly peckish, so it picked at the crumbs of food which were all over the counters. It had orders to deliver the missive to the head of the household.
Not too far from the owl was an unread but already unfurled and grease-stained Evening Prophet.
MARRIAGE LAW: WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO OUR SOCIETY?
In the year and a half since the demise of Tom Riddle, the talk of such has been active. Though this journalist never thought she would see the day. The new law is a marvel in modern magical law making.
Derived from the Force Marriage Act of 1576, this modern Marriage Law concentrates on very important aspects and needs of our society.
So many good people have been lost in this abysmal war, therefore we must protect magic, yet enforce unity of all people.
Drawing together magical families with Muggleborn families. Encouraging harmony between to two groups.
It is the most crucial need of our society.
Unlike the original law which allowed for the abuse of the Muggleborn partner, the rights of all parties will be held in respect.
Within one year, if medically possible, each couple married under this Law should be expecting their firstborn.
Children are our future, and the magical world needs many wonderful half-blood citizens.
A coupling must be preformed at least once per week, and those that are bound to each other must share a bed. Time will, of course, be granted for those to get to know one another.
However, as grave as it may sound, the Ministry is taking the outmost care to select the most compatible couples.
This selection is based on magical strength, physical health and personalities, all tailor matched by the expert Healers of St. Mungos.
All unmarried witches and wizards from the ages 17 to 45 are subject to this law. This reporter looks forward to all the births in the first year of the new century and millennia.
A reliable source at the Ministry had informed us the first ones to be matched under the new Law are Co-Head Auror Draco Malfoy and the war-heroine, Hermione Granger.
RITA SKEETER
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