Disclaimer: Yes readers it is I, J. K. Rowling and-wait what do you mean I'm just a 17 year old American? What do you mean my name is not, in fact, J.K. Rowling or anything close to it? Really, it's all a lie? well, damn.

Rating/Warnings: PG. Beware of cursing, AU, character death, some OOCness in parts.

Word Count: 3,029

AN: Dedicated to steamboatwillie1928 who is not only one of the biggest Ron fans I know, but has been wanting to read something of mine for a while. It was time to indulge a little.

Five Lives

(That Ron Weasley Never Lived)

"Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending." -Maria Robinson

-One-

"God you're such bloody jerks!" screamed an infuriated red head. An assortment of shoes, books, and a lamp followed her angered cry, the projectiles haphazardly aimed at the chortling twins. Freckled face flushed in fury and embarrassment, the incensed girl slammed the door with enough force to shake every frame lined on the hallways walls.

Barely suppressing another shriek of rage, the girl threw herself onto her bed, blue eyes (bright with impatient tears) glaring heatedly at the Quidditch poster plastered to her ceiling. "I hate them," she said loudly and firmly, as if the word's decisiveness would disprove any love she held towards her brothers.

When she was younger Ronni got along splendidly with her all of her brothers. Despite the presence of Ginny (the baby of the family), Ronni had always garnered more attention due to her demanding personality and familial status as the first girl to be born in the Weasley family for generations. Furthermore, her insistence to be "one of the boys" always kept her plastered to one of their sides without fail.

However something had changed over the years and the brothers who she adored suddenly became a bunch of prats she couldn't stand. Yes, definitely prats, she angrily thought while resisting the urge to throw something, again. Scabbers, that poor useless rat, was looking awfully throw-able right now…

First, it was that she couldn't play Qudditch with them. Then it was that Ronni couldn't be as good at magic as them because she was a girl. Then it was she was Mum's little pet, so she couldn't be trusted with anything (and she so was NOT). Then it was Fred and Geroge's prank escapades, with her receiving the brunt of their jokes. And now, now their actions had grown from hurtful and annoying to downright embarrassing and cruel.

With a huff, Ronni rolled off her bed and stormed over to her dresser, the disgusting object still clenched tightly in her grip. Rubbing her eyes furiously with one hand (because Ronni did not cry like some little girl) and whipping open her drawer with the other, Ronni gave another glare to the article her moronic brothers had been prancing around with. On their heads.

"Bloody idiots," she cursed once more as she chucked the revolting polka dotted bra into the drawer and slammed it shut. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror before her and quickly her wrath at her brothers turned to self loathing of herself. She glowered at the pretty freckled face, the ridiculously long lashes, the shiny hair that touched her shoulders (she was definitely going to cut it all off now), and the baggy T-shirt that no longer seemed to be so baggy around her chest.

I wish I was a boy.

-Two-

"Watch it Granger," he snarled, immediately brushing off the shoulder the girl had bumped into. The bushy haired Gryffindor huffed and, without a backward glance, continued along in her brisk, steady pace. Outraged blue followed her till she turned the corner, narrowed and holding promises of a slow and painful death…

A fellow Slytherin sided up next to him, eyes casually glancing at the same corner with a mixture of disgust and pretentiousness. "Mudbloods, it's disgusting that they're allowed to roam free here," he commented, nose wrinkled as if he smelled something foul. Perhaps he did, after all a Mudblood had just been here, Ron Weasley sneered mentally.

Instead of replying he grunted his agreement. Black and green robes twirled as he abruptly turned around and walked in the opposite direction of the Granger girl. His companion, almost always by his side, followed suit. They made quite the pair-the Weasel and the Ferret. Slytherin had crowed in victory the day it acquired not one but two of the oldest pureblood families of the wizarding world. Not to say that a Weasley had never been in Slytherin, quite the opposite in fact. It was family tradition that every Weasley that had ever walked through Hogwarts great halls was sorted into Salazar's house.

Ron was not one to break tradition.

"She'll be the first one I-" his comment was quickly silenced by the wooden point pressed to his jugular. He quickly realized that he had stepped out of line, and fervently hoped such a mistake hadn't ignited the red head's temper. Draco shivered at the thought of the Weasley's infamous and brutal temper.

"You're forgetting that Miss Granger is mine," Ron said coolly, that tightly controlled anger of his seeped into his tone to make him more than dangerous-lethal or perhaps murderous was the best word. If Draco hadn't heard such a tone before (both directed at him and others) he would have been sweating bullets.

"The Dark Lord himself promised me after all." And Draco could believe that. The Weasley's connections to Him were even closer and tighter than his own family's. Shaking off the tendrils of fear, he smoothly stepped away from the offending wand.

"Of course Weasley. I won't forget that again." The orbs of blue that glared at him were still cold and dangerous, but the wand was tucked away. Taking it as a sign of forgiveness (Weasley merciful? Ha, he mentally scoffed), Draco stepped back up beside Ron. A moment of silence passed as the two seventh years strode through the isolated halls.

"Besides," a positively chilling grin stretched a crossed Ron's face as he rubbed the Dark Mark beneath his sleeve, "we both know I'd do a much better job than you." One glance at the wicked gleam in the boy's eyes and Draco instantly agreed.

Ron was just as twisted as that bitch Bellatrix.

-Three-

God he was dying. It was the only thought that his pain addled mind could process. There was no other reason for this agony other than that he was surely, truly on the verge of death. Bloody hell he hated this.

Bones cracked and realigned, muscle contorted and stretched grotesquely, organs were rearranged, features painfully marred and twisted. Growing, twisting, changing-the poor boy had been brought to his knees the second the terrible transformation began. There was one last pop! and it was finally all over. At least for the next few hours anyways. Soon his agony would begin like clock work for the reversal transformation which was no more pleasant then the first.

Ron rose unsteadily to his paws, mind still woozy from Snape's potion (his hackles bristled at the knowledge that that slime ball knew of his shameful condition and that Ron had to go to him for help) and body still aching from the unnatural process. Thankfully the after pain never lingered long, the only thing he was used to. Eight long years of this personal hell and the third year still felt misplaced in his other feral skin.

The wolf (werewolf, his mind uselessly supplied) hobbled over to the window of Dumbledore's office and ungracefully plopped down in the glowing moonlight. Pointedly ignoring the luminous orb in the sky, he rested his head of his massive paws and gazed mournfully out at the Forbidden Forest. Normally he would be allowed to run free in the forest, but since the Dementor's arrival Dumbledore had kept him locked in his office as a "precaution".

But for whose safety I wonder? Ron thought dryly, shifting restlessly on his haunches as the kinetic energy of the inner wolf ran rampantly through his system. He was going to go crazy if he had to be cooped up in here all bloody year and it was only what, his fourth full moon of the school year? He longed to run wild, to feel the crisp air through his fur, the various glorious scents that would assault his senses…And Hermione wondered why he couldn't sit still recently.

He stood suddenly, sleek muscle rippling under a silky scarlet coat. Hermione…now there was a more troubling thought. Lately she's been very suspicious he's noticed; last night, for example, she immediately cornered him when he was trying to make his secret trip to the Headmaster's office. He barely made it on time and this morning she bombarded him with a whole slew of questions, questions he could only lie his way through. He's actually surprised he's been able to keep this dirty little secret of his for the past three years, especially around Hermione. Figures he'd befriend the one girl who could sniff out any secret.

It has been unbelievably hard for him to keep his silence, harder than he ever anticipated. All the lies and secrets he's kept from his closest (only) friends when they've trusted him so much. There are days when he wants to tell them so badly, to have the support his family can't provide when he's here. But he knows better then anyone the sting of rejection, and can't bring himself to face it again.

However he won't fool himself. Ron knows that maybe one year, two years, five years down the line they'll find out (and he's pretty damn sure that Malfoy knows something) and he will have to face the possibility of losing Harry and Hermione.

The question is, the red (were) wolf thinks, will I be ready?

-Four-

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" Ron cursed furiously as he leaped behind a crumbling stone wall, barely dodging the crucio curse that flew past his head. On reflex he shot off a rapid fire of duros, hoping to hit at least one of his attackers. A cry of surprise echoed in his ears, giving him a fleeting moment of satisfaction before the barrage of spells worsened. One down, five to go, he thought sarcastically. These Death Eaters were like bloody kamikazes or something. Cut down one, and three others pop up, all ready to sacrifice themselves in the name of the Dark Lord.

Ron wished he could say this wasn't a common occurrence in his life-fighting Death Eaters, running from the 'law', forced into hiding. And well, it hadn't been for a part of his life. Up until his fifth year things were relatively normal in the wizarding world, tense and disillusioned, but normal in a sense.

No one knows what really happened that tragic night in Godric's Hollow other than that whatever spell Voldemort used to ruthlessly wipe out the Potter family almost killed him. He had been left powerless enough that the wizard community could regroup and rebuild for at least twelve years before the bastard rose like a phoenix to continue his reign of terror. For those twelve years Ronald had known peace. In his second year of Hogwarts it was shattered forever. In the middle of his fifth he dropped out with his brothers to join the Order of the Phoenix, figuring it was only a matter of time before the school of witchcraft and wizardry became a victim to the war. And so it did a year and a half later with the betrayal of Snape and death of the beloved Albus Dumbledore.

And here he was, six years later and barely an adult, being hunted down like an animal every other day of his life. He wasn't sure where the mission went wrong, only that the Order had a mole and he wouldn't live long enough to warn them. On a good day, with back-up, he could handle at least four skilled Death Eaters on his own. On a bad day, like today, with six on his ass, no back-up, and more injuries then he could number, things weren't looking good. At all.

He stumbled away from the temporary refuge for another sturdier looking wall, forgoing his duros for avada kedavras and ignoring the promise he made his mother to never ever ever use that particular spell. Well, if they were going to play dirty then he sure as hell was too. Only your life at stake here Weasley.

A few more pain filled shrieks reached his ears but he had no chance to relish his minor victory. Pain exploded in his back as thousands of fireworks dazzled his vision. Barely registering the cry of agony as his own, he collapsed face first onto the unforgiving ground. God damn crucios. Vainly he tried to regain his footing, but the torture was too much even for the bullheaded man.

This was it. He knew he finally used up his nine lives. Some faceless Death Eater stood over him victoriously, boasting of the defeat of one of "those damn Weasley's" and sprouting off some crap of the Dark Lord's marvelous victory that Ron could care less about. Ron had always wondered what it would be like when his time came. He expected bright lights, or his life flashing across his vision, or some great epiphany that would provide his life's purpose.

However he had no such thoughts. He didn't think of his family or friends or the girl he was leaving behind. In fact, he figured he picked the perfect time to loose it. The dark wizard smirked menacingly above him and gleefully chanted the all too familiar death spell. As green light enveloped his vision, Ron idly wondered what life would be like if one of the Potter's had lived.

Shame he'd never know.

-Five-

THE MORNING STAR

June 19 2042

Former Chief Inspector of the Homicide Division in London Ronald Bilius Weasley passed this Sunday after a five year battle with liver cancer. He was 62 years old.

Mr. Weasley was born in Ottery St. Catchpole on March 1, 1980 to the late Arthur and Molly Weasley. He was the second youngest in a family of nine, two of his brothers and one sister surviving him as well as three sister-in-laws and various nieces and nephews. He married Morgan Krauss on November 22, 2002. They celebrated forty years of marriage, having three children Jennifer, Sarah, and Hugo. All survive him.

He graduated top of his class from Thorpe St. Andrew High School in 1998 and immediately enrolled into a police academy, completing his training in 2000. He joined the London Force upon graduation and became the Homicide Division's best weapon. He had a hand in many successful cases, including the infamous Joker Serial Killings in 2013, a terrifying spree of killings based off the comic book character "The Joker" that held London in a panic for four months. It was Mr. Weasley himself who brought the criminal to justice.

Mr. Weasley also played a slight role in the handling of the Unabomber Car Bombings in 2015. Mr. Weasley remained with the Homicide Division for an additional four years before moving on to organized crime where he remained until his forced retirement eight years later after a gun shot wound to the knee, permanently putting him out of commission. He was honorably discharged from the force with a medal for his outstanding performance.

In his spare time he enjoyed playing chess and football, including coaching his son's football team for seven years. Mr. Weasely was also an avid fisher, although Mrs. Weasley claims he never caught anything. Mr. Weasley is also noted for his remarkable charity work for London's hospitals and generous donations to his alumni. He was described as witty friend, a great family man, and ever doting grandfather. He will especially be missed by his pet Jack Russell Terrier Freckles.

The funeral is to be held this Saturday afternoon at two at St. Peter's Protestant Church. His family will receive those to pay respects Thursday from five to eight and Friday three to six.

In lieu of flowers donations may be made to the London Hospice Center or Thorpe St. Andrew Scholarship Program for Talented Youths.

"Have you ever wondered what life would be like if something was different?" His two friends, the famous Boy-Who-Lived and class bookworm, looked at him oddly.

"What are you talking about Ronald?" Hermione asked in exasperation. "Honestly try being more vague next time." The gangly boy opened his mouth to retort, but seemed to change his mind and shrugged casually.

"Dunno. I guess I mean, have you ever wondered what life would be like if one of us was different. Say like, Hermione was a bloke or Harry had been sorted into Slytherin or my family was actually rich or something like that." Again the two shared a perplexed glance, not sure what to make of their suddenly philosophical friend.

"Sometimes I suppose. Really though it's a bit complicated. I mean, think of how many universes there could be just based on the differences of one's actions. One world could be vastly different from ours just because someone chose left instead of right for instance," Hermione began to theorize.

"What does left and right have to do with anything?" Ron asked. Hermione rolled her eyes, shaking her head in slight frustration.

"Nothing! I was just speaking hypothetically," she clarified. Ron huffed and lay back in the grass, lazily propping his head on his arms.

"That still really doesn't answer my question 'Mione," he insisted. Hermione bristled at this and, sensing an oncoming fight, Harry decided it was time for him to intervene.

"I've always thought about what life would be like if my parents didn't die," he said. "But then I wonder if I'd ever know you guys as well I as do now and when you get down to it I've lived my whole life without my parents. It hurts sometimes but the possibility of losing you two hurts even more so," he paused trying to recollect his thought process. The conversation became more personal than he originally intended.

"I prefer to keep things just the way they are," Harry finished. A moment of quiet and then,

"Seriously?" Ron asked in something akin to disbelief.

"Well, maybe I'd get rid of Snape and Draco somehow but other than them, yeah," the dark haired boy chuckled. Hermione muttered typical under her breath, but she giggled too.

"That's better, you had me concerned there mate," Ron laughed too.

And that was how the Golden Trio spent their afternoon, pondering the what ifs and could-of's and would-of's, but ultimately deciding that this world was better then any other.

AN: ack [slams head against wall]. that ending is so unbearably cheesy but I didn't want to leave it just at five and [sighs and dismay] ack. again. Seriously though Ron needs some more love in this fandom, and I've always loved "five things" fics. I mean, yeah he's just the sidekick but seriously peoples! Doesn't anyone just a little tired of all the abused/dark/allpowerful/etc, etcHarry fics out there? Maybe its just me but anyways. All mistakes are my own, though I've probably read through this thing a million times looking for errors. Reviews are VERY appreciated, so drop one and let me know how this little guy is.

Thanks! Spooky4ever will now go agonize over the cheesy ending and ignore her other works she should be working on.