AN: Damn you Dragoon. It's like you give my muse a five foot long pixie stick and a box of plot bunnies and say 'go play!'
Let me state this so there is no misunderstanding: This is dragoon811's fault. I just wrote it and plotted part of it…she's the one to blame. The woman is fabulous…but eeeevil.
Champion will still be updated this weekend barring natural disasters or nargles.
By the way…this is crack…total, complete, oughta-be-illegal crack.
No plot bunnies were harmed in the writing of this fic, and eventually my muse will recover from the sugar high. Anything you recognize is JKR's, half of what you don't is on loan from Dragoon (that enabler).
The trouble actually began when Molly and Arthur Weasley were killed in a tragic noodle accident. None of their children would have dared to put a toe out of line had they only been alive.
Fred and George mourned by inventing a whole new line of trick wands that would have been certain to drive their mother batty and buying matching Ford Angelicas with alterations that made their brother Percy shudder from his job at the Ministry.
Percy wrote a 900 page white paper on the optimal thickness of cauldron bottoms that was immensely popular at the Ministry…as a doorstop, paperweight, or handy-dandy blunt instrument.
Bill and his quarter Veela wife overcompensated for the lack of the elder Weasleys by having a litter of mixed-breed, incredibly attractive offspring.
Charlie quietly took up knitting and sent everyone in the family truly awful sweaters each Christmas.
Ginny divorced Harry, bought a dozen kneezels, and built a financial empire over breeding the poor things as pets.
But the most disturbing changes were in the youngest son of the Weasley brood…once known as Ronald Weasley, thereafter only known as the Ginger Lord….
Severus Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd endured the rise and fall of Moldypants, not to mention Albus Dumbledore…it really was too much to ask that he tolerate yet another megalomaniac that quixotically managed to attract a bevy of slavish followers.
And yet, here he was, once again at the heart of a rebellion. It must be his fate.
If he ever met the dunderhead in charge of his fate he was going to use an inventive and sadistic selection of hexes.
They were meeting in broad daylight in a fashionable muggle café this time. Ronnikins apparently had never learned the first thing about Muggles despite his parentage, best friend, and rather tempting ex-wife.
Severus snorted. If he had a choice he wouldn't be anywhere near their hipster barista and her overpriced coffee either.
The Order of the Frisky Ferret (Draco and Potter had come up with the name, giggling madly all the while and exchanging syrupy looks) met once a month at unlikely spots. Unlike the former orders, the resistance to the Weasel King was less organized…mostly because he was inept enough to be his own worst enemy.
Still, it wouldn't do to let the weasel-faced ginger continue. He'd already taken over the ministry (though Severus didn't count this as much of an accomplishment: a two year old with a lolly and a sour expression could take that place over).
The order was much smaller than previous organizations of its sort as well. There was a distinct lack of redheads in it. Even Fred and George shrugged a bit at Ron's antics and sent him dung bombs via post owl. He was their brother after all, and he'd had a major shock, what with Molly and Arthur dying, his wife leaving his philandering buttocks, and the incident…
Whilst in the course of his duties as an Auror, The Ginger Lord had an unfortunate run in with angry ex-lover and part werewolf Lavender Brown. Now, a man with any sense at all would know better than to comment on a woman's menses at any time…much less near a full moon. His Lordship was either too full of himself or too oblivious to pay attention to the warning signs, and consequentially gained a rather excellent weasel nose and mouth as a parting gift from the angry witch.
St. Mungo's was stumped (and highly amused). It seemed that nothing could be done.
Orphaned, alone, and be-whiskered, Ronald Weasley had an epiphany.
There were things wrong with the world. Things like noodles, and clever ex-wives and prats like the Malfoys.
As ridiculous as his platform sounded, spending a small bit of gold at the local pub one Saturday night after a crushing Quidditch defeat led to a small group of followers and an additional item for his platform…the return of the Chudley Cannons!
A return to greatness that had been unfairly snatched from the hands of those who deserved it!
That was a message that the war-weary populace could get behind…that, and free pints at the pub.
Before anyone could care enough to stop him, Ronald Weasley managed to get himself appointed Minister of Magic (mainly because everyone at the Wizingmount voted for themselves and Weasley managed to Impero a second vote).
Thus rose the Ginger Lord from the ashes of defeat…and at first he seemed a benevolent force at the Ministry (after all, how much more inept could they actually get)?
Meanwhile, the former heroes of the Wizarding world were quite busy. Draco won Witch Weekly's best smile award three years running and was the perennial pick for most eligible bachelor at least, until it became clear that he and Harry were 'not just friends'. After that, he snagged the coveted distinction of Playwitch's Sexiest Wizard Alive and the shoot for the centerfold was the stuff of legend. Firebolt asked him to pose nude in their ads but Harry put his foot down…
Hermione Granger went to Italy, reportedly had a torrid affair with three of the eight members of the Wizarding oligarchy there, and immersed herself in good wine, pasta, and the oldest library in the wizarding world.
Severus Snape merely returned to his first love…potion making, and spent several blissful years hexing the press and brewing whatever the hell he wanted to sans dunderheads.
Eventually though, the changes at the Ministry began to effect the average witch and wizard. The referees began to blatantly favor the Cannons. Divorce was discouraged and then outlawed. And to be caught with noodles in one's position was an automatic sentence of five years in Azkaban, no matter who you were holding them for.
Hearing these dread tidings, Hermione Granger returned to her homeland and was saddened to find it much changed from the Wizarding World of her childhood.
The sudden appearance of his ex-wife sent the Ginger Lord into some sort of fit. The story goes that he went pale except for his freckles and twitched for over an hour.
He recovered, but he was even more certain of his right to guide the wizarding world's inhabitants, more persuasive to the general population, less tolerant of noodles. His crack down on Asian food was the final straw for Severus (Thai was the only decent take-out in his area).
The Ginger had to be stopped.
And so, Severus Snape had joined the Order despite the atrocious name (it wasn't the worst club he'd ever joined after all…who names their followers Death Eaters?…it sounded like a first year came up with it…and he didn't even need to get started on the lack of artistry of the dark mark…).
Granger was efficient, ruthless, and pissed (her love of cuisine rivaled his own).
A few strategic assignations, some deliberate rumors, a few bribes and the Ginger Lord's hold on the country was precarious.
Which led them to today's meeting…
Longbottom looked up nervously from his Americano and reported, "I swatted Skeeter last week while she was in animagus form." He took a long drink of the watered down excuse for a cup of coffee. "I feel terrible though."
Potter looked at the boy companionably, "She isn't worth regretting Neville."
The sensitive boy sniffed. "It isn't that! I fed her to my Brazilian maneater plant and it choked and died!" The boy wailed loudly.
Luna Lovegood pulled him into the bathroom of the café and proceeded to totally forget the existence of silencing charms.
The irritated barista moved to knock on the door, but Hermione stopped her. "Give them a moment, he's bereaved."
The woman cocked an eyebrow as another low moan issued forth. "Wish I could get bereaved like that."
The fearless leader of the rebel alliance turned. "Draco, give the nice lady twenty quid."
Draco absently handed the woman a fifty because he was somewhat distracted by the noise (which had progressed to an ominous creaking as the door seemed to be under more pressure than it was engineered to withstand.)
Severus shot a strengthening spell at the door under the table. The only thing that could make this day worse was seeing Longbottom's…long bottom.
Draco put a long finger in his collar. "Let's finish this up, eh?" He was eyeing Harry hungrily.
Hermione huffed. "Fine, this meeting is going to hell anyway. The final battle will take place at Angelo's, a local Italian Restaurant. The owner owes me a favor and agreed to clear out for the weekend. Something about some consulting detective being missing anyway so he was a bit depressed." She shrugged. She was too far removed from Muggles to make any sense of that sentence. "In any case, we'll advertize an eggplant fettuccini special. It was the dish that killed his mother."
Severus frowned. "I never learned…how did they die? Choking?"
She shook her gloriously curly locks and Severus struggled to maintain his pose as she explained, "Explosion. Some idiot mistook exploding-plant for eggplant and used the former to make their meal. It couldn't have been Molly, she was well aware of the likeness between the two plants."
"After having Fred and George as sons, I can imagine so." Hannah Abbot mentioned the fact quietly and then faded back into the background like the human wallpaper that the author intended her to be.
"In any case, it's the perfect trap. Ronald won't be able to resist coming himself to shut down the establishment, and then we'll hex him and Great Britain will be free!" Harry was excited…and probably not just from the expression on Draco's face.
"This should work, as long as everyone follows the plan exactly." Hermione glared at the room in general. "I will personally hex anyone who tries to disguise themselves with a phony mustache and fake accent." Draco and Harry looked disappointed.
The day that was destined to be the final battle dawned bright and clear. Severs rose at dawn, taking his tea in a manner befitting a former Hogwarts headmaster. Hermione stumbled into the kitchen at Grimmald Place, yawning hugely.
She waved at Severus as she poured a large mug of coffee. "Sorry…Harry and Draco kept me up half the night. Even silencing charms wouldn't help for long." She had returned and her best friend insisted that she move in with him.
Severus sighed, "Those boys need to learn a little self-control."
"You can't blame them. If I had a lover at the moment, I would have used last night the same way. You never know what you'll face going into battle." The woman would be the death of him. He wanted to say 'To hell with Weasley' and take her on the kitchen table. It would certainly serve Potter right.
He pushed those thought out of his mind. "Indeed. But one hopes to be awake enough to participate instead of sleeping off the excesses of the night before."
"Do you ever lighten up? Ron is no Voldemort. He's a shit minister of magic with a weasel face and a lack of personal hygiene."
"Once the hexes start flying, one never knows…" His eyes darkened as he poured another cup. "Still, here is to everyone living to be dunderheads another day." He tapped his mug against her own lightly.
Angelo's was a small place, but the Order was there in force (and in proper disguise). Ron led a team of his adamant followers into the fray, intending to rid all of London of pasta products.
"This place is closed, by order of the Ministry! We shall not permit noodles in our midst…"
Instead of a group of cowering Muggles, the steely (albeit somewhat red-rimmed) eyes of the Order of the Frisky Ferret were staring back at Ronald Weasley.
The worst was seeing his bushy-haired ex-wife with her wand drawn…it was even worse than seeing his ex-best friend in the clutches of that ferret.
"You are impeding the Order in a Ministry-approved…"
"Don't make me hex you Ronald." Hermione's voice cut through like ice. "You sound like Percy."
Percy made a vaguely outraged noise from the back of Ron's flunkies.
"I am the bloody Minister of Magic, Hermione, and by Merlin you will respect my office if you don't respect me."
"I don't respect you. You are a buggering, good-for-nothing philanderer that managed to Impero your way into a public office because no one was watching. If you value the whiskers on your face, minister, you'll resign and find a nice cottage with a chicken coop somewhere."
"Never!" Ronald wielded his wand efficiently enough. The battle was loud and took out half the tacky booths, tables, and a number of salt shakers.
But in the end, the order was victorious.
Ronald was carted off to a minimum security cell with gourmet meals and a personal trainer (because even in the wizarding world, they don't punish politicians). A few of his followers ended up in Azkaban, and the Wizarding world yawned as their rights of divorce and noodle consumption were returned.
Severus rustled the paper restlessly as the Order held their 'final' meeting at the coffee house with the surly barista.
The change in government warranted a two-inch side note while the latest dead member of the wizarding band Hexing Goblins flashed all over the rest of the page. "I don't know why I bother. Next time some megalomaniac takes over, someone else can deal with it."
Hermione smirked as the rest of the order discussed a reunion meeting the next month to 'keep in touch'.
She leaned in close. "You don't fool me a bit."
Severus nearly jumped out of his seat at her purring voice in his ear. "I haven't the faintest idea…."
"You grouse and complain, but I know you like these things."
He frowned fiercely. "I most certainly do not."
"Do too. Why else would you bother showing up? It's certainly not for the coffee."
He looked into her eyes, well aware that this might well be the last time he was in close camaraderie with her (unless he engineered another Dark Lord to fight, a step he would only consider under extreme duress…like the lack of her presence in Italy for years after the messy divorce with the Weasel).
There were many things he could have said.
"No not for the coffee." He swept Hermione into his arms and snoged the living daylights out of her to catcalls and the noise of Potter vomiting.
Hermione turned to him and hit him with a tickling jinx. "Shut it you! I've had to listen to you and the ferret-who-wouldn't shut up often enough."
Draco whined "But that's sexy…you and Snape are just wrong…!"
Severus whispered in her ear. "How do you feel about revenge?" Her eyes sparkled in a way that was most alluring. His voice deepened. " I think three dozen orgasms in a weekend would do the trick."
"Mine or yours?"
"Why not both?"