Disclaimer: The characters of the Harry Potter Universe are the property of J.K. Rowling. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me and I make no profit from this story.

Warning: Rated M for language and violence.

A/N: This Drabble series is my first foray into fanfiction, and was inspired by Simon Pegg's portrayal of "Drunk Ron Weasley" on Jimmy Fallon. I hope it'll be funny, I hope it'll be sad, I hope it'll be depressing—everything Ron is, and maybe a little more. Have fun with it and enjoy it for what it is. A big thanks to ShayaLonnie, my wife, for Betaing for me.

The Annoyance of Parker Dusk

"Oi, twat!"

Parker Dusk shuddered, pre-flinching for what he knew was next.

"Make a shurkle!"

Before Parker could form the requested slurred circle requested of him, a paper Snitch flicked from across two desks and hit him in the ear. He hated working with his self-proclaimed "co-boss"—Ronald Weasley—on Wednesdays.

Parker hated Wednesdays.

He had jumped at the chance to work for George Weasley, right out of Hogwarts. School had been an interesting experience for the pureblood Slytherin, who entered Hogwarts just as the famed war heroes left it. Some of the older students still remembered what it had been like under the rule of the Carrows, and many still treated Slytherins like they were just waiting to see a Dark Mark on them. Once Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes reopened, pranks were smuggled into the school, and Parker had watched with great interest as the jokes brought a sense of humour and camaraderie that had severely been lacking.

On a whim, he'd applied at the joke shop and been greatly excited when George Weasley welcomed him. It was a great job. It still was a great job with one, not-so-tiny exception.

Wednesdays used to be "Hermione days". Days that had the beautiful witch popping by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes for afternoon tea. Scones with clotted cream and cucumber sandwich wedges, all looking fantastic—Ronald never shared food; Ronald only took food.

Hermione had eventually stopped coming; Ronald started drinking, especially on Wednesdays. Those were the days where Ronald's co-workers all lost their given names and became "Twat", "Twonk", "Shitball", and, despite it making only Ronald giggle, "Scabber Bellends".

"Parker, sir," he corrected.

"You didn't cash the Snish, Twat. So 'Twat' you shall remain." Ronald grinned his wide, ginger grin.

"Did you want me to catch the Snitch, or have it go through a circle?" he enunciated. "Weren't you a Quidditch legend? That is what you told Trish in Wizard Accounting."

Ronald's face fell. Sobbing, he ran from the room—hobbled, really, thanks to an accident he had using his wand to drunkenly open a firewhisky bottle when a spider ran across his foot. He'd lost a toe in that "battle".

"Idiot survived a Wizarding war and two years as an Auror without so much as a scratch . . . it wasn't even a tarantula; just a house spider," Parker mumbled to himself.

George Weasley sauntered into the room followed by a sniffling, snuffling, very wet-faced Ronald. "Oi mate, the thing is . . . Ron is your boss," George stated and began quickly shouting down anything Parker said in defence, "and here at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," he added, twirling his fingers and making a silly face, "we do have fun and take the piss, but you still have to respect that he technically is your superior."

Parker puffed out his chest, stuck up his chin, and with great difficulty replied, "Yes, sir. I'll gather my things."

"That'd be bes . . . besh . . . besht . . . shplendid," Ronald stammered, mouth-breathing, wetly.

"Gods, no!" George corrected and put a hand on Parker's shoulder, leaning down to say, "Just keep it to yourself, or bring it to me next time. Stay wacky," he said quickly, leaving the room, still trying to get Ronald's terrible catch phrase idea to work.

Ronald stood in the doorway, alone, arms wrapped around himself in an awkward hug. Fuck you, he mouthed, snot running down lip, and left the same way George had.

You'll learn to regret that, Parker thought to the empty room, spinning his chair as he returned to his work, or my name isn't Parker Dusk.