Disclaimer: "The Towering Inferno" is a movie from...the 70's was it? I can't remember. But anyway, it's not mine. I just think the title describes Ron well. The characters and places in this story were the creation of J.K. Rowling and belong to her and the entities they are licensed to. No money is being made by the publishing of this story.
Rating: R for rampant hormones
Summary: Yay! It's a dumb!fic. Yay, it's a Ron!fic. Ron goes to Anger Management of the magical kind after a particularly bad confrontation with Draco Malfoy. He learns some things about himself he never wanted to know. There will be some Romance, but I haven't decided with who yet (Harry, Hermione, Draco? I can't decide. Maybe a little of all three.) Dedicated to all the Ron-ho's out there. I'm so sorry.
A/N: it's not serious so don't take it that way. I just like the thought of Ron being the center of it all. It's a weird one, this fic.The Towering Inferno
by Adenosine, sophia3b@yahoo.com
Chapter 1: Drastic Measures
"SHUT UP!"
Draco Malfoy's eyes went wide as he saw the fist coming straight at his face. A moment later, he didn't see much of anything anymore...~~~~~~~
A heavy sigh came from either side of him as Ron sat on the wooden bench outside the infirmary.
"What?" he asked innocently.
Hermione snorted on his right. "Ron, I can't believe you got in trouble again. Do you know this is the fourth time this year, and it's only December!"
On his left Harry only shook his head, reticence born of experience.
"It wasn't my fault! You were there, you heard what he said!" Ron frowned at his friends each in turn and settled for resting his elbows on his knees and glaring at the floor.
"Ron..."
Harry shook his head and mouthed 'don't' to Hermione over Ron's hunched back. She bit her lip -- but wisdom won out, and she settled for merely sighing.
They sat in silence a few moments more, before Madame Pomfrey stuck her neatly bunned head out the infirmary door.
"Mr. Weasley, you may come in now. You two may accompany him if you wish," she said, giving each of them an irritated glance.
Harry and Hermione nervously trailed after Ron as he stood and made his way to the door, his steps falling heavy, at a pallbearer's pace, on the stone floor and his face morose.
Upon entering the ward, Ron's gaze was drawn to the bed at the far end of the room. He frowned as he caught sight of a sliver of platinum blond peeping from amongst the covers. Making his way across the room at that same funeral dirge pace, he came to stand next to the Headmaster who was settled beside the bed, watching the patient with contemplative eyes.
Despite his height, Ron never felt so small.
You weren't sent to see the Headmaster unless you were in real trouble. The expelled-from-school-and-murdered-by-your-own-mother-when-she-finds-out kind of trouble, or so Ron imagined. He had been to see the Headmaster before for fighting, but never in the infirmary while the old wizard was watching over Malfoy as if the git were on his deathbed, Ron's handiwork apparent for all to see.
He hadn't done anything that bad. It was only Malfoy. Yet Ron was a tad worried, and the Headmaster still hadn't turned to acknowledge his presence. It seemed almost as if what Dumbledore was about to say was so horrible that he couldn't even look Ron in the eye. The redhead swallowed deeply.
"Er...Sir?"
Dumbledore turned and smiled a sullen sort of smile. "Ah, yes. Mr. Weasley. It's nice to see you. Again."
Ron flinched and turned to look to Harry and Hermione. They had remained hovering near the door, apparently none too eager to back their friend up in this matter. So that was how it was. He scowled.
"Something the matter Mr. Weasley?"
Ron started and returned his gaze to the Headmaster. "Oh, no Sir," he said as enthusiastically as he could manage with this imminent doom hanging over his head.
"Good. Now, why don't we have a little talk about what happened." Dumbledore's eyes sparkled in the blinding infirmary lighting as he gave Ron another small smile.
"Well, you see Professor...Sir...," Ron took a deep breath. "I was just minding my own business when that git...er, Draco came up to me and started insulting my family. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. I tried to ignore it, I swear, but then he began to talk about Ginny and well...what was I supposed to do? I mean, it was almost like he was threatening her, so you see I was just trying to protect my baby sister, and he's the one who started--."
"Calm down Mr. Weasley. I understand your desire to protect your family name and your sister -- who, I might add, is quite capable -- but you realize this is your third such confrontation this year alone."
"Fourth," squeaked Hermione helpfully from the doorway. Ron glared at her.
"Thank you, Miss Granger. Fourth such confrontation. This obviously cannot go on as it stands. Now I realize you are not solely to blame, and once Mr. Malfoy...ehem, regains consciousness," Ron flinched as the Headmaster paused to raise an eyebrow at him, "I will have a talk with him as well."
"Er...am I to be expelled?" asked Ron softly.
Ron gave Dumbledore a dirty look as the Headmaster broke into chuckles. "No, no dear boy. Nothing so drastic. You aren't even being punished. What I've arranged for you are some sessions with a psychiatrist for anger management, so we can get to the root of the problem."
"Just because I beat up Malfoy a couple of times?! The bastard deserved it. He should be the one getting his head looked at--." Ron clamped his hand over his mouth, his eyes widening. "I'm sorry Professor. I didn't mean to...er..."
"Language aside, I think this will be a beneficial experience for you Mr. Weasley. Mr. Malfoy and you surely cannot go on like this for the rest of the year. If not for yourself, then at least do it for the sanity of those around you," said the old wizard with a wise twinkle in his eye. Ron blushed and nodded. "Good. I've arranged for you to have your first session on Saturday at six in the evening. You will receive a note of reminder and directions to the office by owl tomorrow.
"Yes Sir," Ron said with a deep frown on his face that he just couldn't help. A fucking shrink? He wasn't crazy.
Dumbledore watched him closely. "Nothing to be embarrassed about Mr. Weasley. It's nothing to do with your mental state. It's only to help you deal with...er, things better. Just think of it as a special class."
Ron nodded, feeling a bit disgruntled that Dumbledore had read his mind so accurately. Special class indeed!
"Thank you, Sir," he grumbled.
Brilliant. Just what he needed, an extra class...and on Saturday. Ron barely managed to contain the groan that was itching at his throat as the facts of his unfortunate predicament hit him, making him feel slightly dizzy as if he'd taken two Bludgers to the head at once. Saturday...just bloody brilliant!
"All right, enough of that then. Your friends are waiting for you." Dumbledore gave the redhead a kind smile and waved him off good-naturedly.
Ron sighed as he made his way back to Harry and Hermione. And for the first time in his entire life, Ron Weasley dreaded the coming of the weekend.~~~~~~~
Ron looked down at the parchment in his hand as he made his way through the chilly halls of Hogwarts. The directions were vague at best. Third floor, left corridor...right. The third floor was nothing but left corridors, or at least it seemed that way as Ron walked in circles, trying to find the right one.
This was no way to spend a Saturday evening. And Dumbledore said he wasn't going to be punished. Ron snorted. Ha. That's a laugh.
He decided to try some right corridors instead, since he wasn't getting anywhere anyway. After a few minutes he finally found what he was looking for. Left corridor indeed! Well he supposed it was left if you were coming from the other direction, but it was stupid anyway.
Ron tapped on the portrait of -- he snorted -- Ludwig the Loony. The frame swung open into a narrow hallway leading straight to an ancient looking door. He tried the handle and it opened with a loud creak to reveal a small office with two chairs and a desk arranged inside. He walked in and contentedly settled himself in the most comfy looking chair -- a big, green leather one with soft cushions and lots of space to make himself comfortable.
If there was one thing he couldn't stand it was small chairs, he was just too tall for them. He had decided long ago that this was the reason he couldn't concentrate in classes...the chairs were just too damned small. Though Hermione said he was just lazy and inattentive. What did she know. Let her try to sit in a chair so cramped that her knees kept banging against the desk and then let's hear what she's got to say about it, thought Ron grimly. Though he was kind of lazy sometimes. He shrugged and sat back relaxing with his eyes closed.
Not a moment later, he was startled to attention as the door creaked again, and in rushed a woman in pinstriped business robes. She had dark brown hair in a neat bob and a petite frame, though her large eyes shone in the light, black and soulless.
She wasn't too tall but appeared very energetic. Her face was angular, not pointy, just angular, and her mouth tilted up a bit to fit the rest of her countenance, making her look perpetually delighted. She wasn't particularly beautiful, but she was attractive enough.
The woman sat down immediately in front of Ron and began to rummage through her bag. It seemed that she hadn't even noticed that he was there. She took out a ballpoint pen and a legal pad and sat mumbling to herself as she scribbled something on the top paper.
Ron coughed, but she only kept mumbling and writing. "Er, hello," he tried.
The woman started and looked up breathing heavily. "Oh my. I didn't see you come in."
"I've been here," Ron said flatly. He could tell already that he wasn't going to like this lady much.
"Oh. Well, here's my card," she handed him a small piece of paper.
He studied it as she continued to rummage and mumble.
Dementia MadisonPsychoanalyst, and Psychiatrist, M.D.
The Department of Mental-health, the Ministry
We put the 'sanity' in insanity.
Ron snorted, and covered his mouth trying to hide his chuckles.
"What is it?" asked the lady looking cross. "Oh, the name. It's said Dement-ia, with a 't' sound," she explained looking even more cross.
"Oh, well that's completely different," said Ron smirking at her."All right, I believe it is time for our session to begin. As you've read on my card, my name is Dementia Madison and I am a psychiatrist. You can call me Dementia. I will be analyzing you and helping you deal with your problems," she gave him a disturbingly sweet smile and cocked her head, staring at him with sparkling black eyes.
Problems? Ron frowned, feeling just a little bit nervous. He didn't like the way she said that. Or the way she kept staring at his crotch? What was that all about?
"So. First a few questions, your name is Ronald Weasley?"
Ron nodded.
"You are a seventh year here at Hogwarts?"
Ron nodded again.
"Now some vital statistics. How old are you?"
"Seventeen."
"How tall?"
"Six foot, two."
"Oh, very nice. And your weight?"
"Seventy-eight Kg's last time I checked."
"How much can you bench press?" She scribbled frantically on her notepad, waiting for Ron to answer.
"What? I don't know...I don't--."
"Ok...never mind...er, Boxers or Briefs?" she asked smiling that disturbing smile once more.
"What the hell do you need to know that for?!" cried Ron, looking scandalized and blushing like a steamed lobster.
"Oh it's very critical information. But never mind, I can guess."
"What?!" Ron choked out.
"Nothing, on with the session, shall we? Do you have any brothers?"
"Yeah, six of them."
"Oh my," she gasped. "And are they all as tall and er, healthy as you?"
Ron's eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "Er, I guess...I have a sister too by the way."
"Ok. Tell me more about your brothers. Are they very athletic, what do they do for a living?"
"Why do you need to know this?"
"Oh you know, to see what your family life is like. Now...what are your sexual habits?"
"Uh..."
"Hmm?"
Ron blushed an even deeper crimson. "I er, haven't got any sexual habits yet."
"Oh really. Hmm...very interesting." She eyed him like a shark looks at a goldfish before it shreds it to pieces. It was a tad scary.
"There are other things you know. Do you masturbate often?"
"Why do you need to know all this stuff?! That's kind of personal don't you think? Are all the questions going to be this embarrassing?" Ron was still red as he scowled at her.
"I'm your psychiatrist. Nothing is personal here. So, twice a day, three times...?"
"I-I..."
"And do you find it satisfying...are you able to perform well, do you feel like you are troubled by pent up sexual tension? Or perhaps frustration?"
Ron sat with his jaw hanging.
"Er, yes...we'll come back to that later." She crossed her legs and smiled at him again. "Moving on, do you like older women?"
Ron blinked and stared blankly at her until the gravity of what she had said came collapsing down on him. "What the HELL has that got to do with ANYTHING?! I'm not answering any more of these FUCKED UP QUESTIONS!"
"Hmm...prone to outbursts. Do you have nightmares Mr. Weasley?"
Ron glared at the woman and looked to the door. It was closed. Sneaking out while she scribbled on her notepad was out then. He sighed and frowned. "Sure, everyone does. Don't you? Why do I need to answer these stupid questions?"
"Frequent psychotic episodes, highly passive aggressive and problems with authority," she mumbled. Ron frowned deeper. She looked up at him once again as she finished writing on the paper in her lap. "How do you feel about Draco Malfoy?"
"I hate him. He's been tormenting me for the past six and a half years...before that even. He'll probably keep doing it even after we leave school. I'm telling you he deserved what he got! He's practically stalking me!"
The woman nodded knowingly. "That's what I thought. Paranoid delusions..."
Ron's jaw dropped. "I'm not paranoid! He really has it out for me! He tried to have my father fired goddamnit! His father's a Death Eater. You'd be paranoid too if Malfoy were following you around insulting your family and saying nasty things about your sister!"
"Well good Mr. Weasley, admitting you have a problem is always the first step to recovery."
"I didn't admit anything!" Ron sputtered.
"You said, I quote, hmm, 'Bastard deserved it...has it out for me...Death Eater,' ...ah here it is. 'You'd be paranoid too if Malfoy was following you...'"
"Are you taking down everything I'm saying? That's not what I meant!" Ron said with irritation.
"Yes, I am. Are you familiar with the term Freudian slip, Ronald, may I call you Ronald?"
"No and no." Ron scowled. "How the hell would I know that, I'm not a fucking transvestite," he mumbled folding his arms defensively over his chest.
"Uh-huh. All right then, er, never mind...not important right now. Though I do think we should go over this cross-dressing issue later in our sessions."
Ron groaned and tried to hide his head in his arms, muttering softly into the folds of his robes.
"Any drugs? Do you drink or smoke?"
"Um...no?" came the muffled reply.
"Please Mr. Weasley. It is important that you are honest. Or I can't help you. Don't worry, my ethical code as a practicing psychiatrist prevents me from disclosing, beyond a professional level, any information we discuss here. I ensure full confidentiality."
Ron looked up and shrugged. "Well...I've tried some stuff before. And I drink a little bit. But everyone does..."
She nodded. "Possible chemical dependency and reckless experimentation...," Ron heard her mutter as she scratched something down on her legal pad.
"With brothers like mine...you can't expect me not to experiment a little bit. Everybody does at this age...," he whined as he watched her write some more.
"Have you ever gotten drunk? Do you ever drink to excess? Do you often have bouts of uncontrollable rage when you drink or when you are not able to drink?"
"What? I'm not an alcoholic! I just told you that! What kind of doctor are you?!"
"So yes." She scribbled it down on the paper as Ron sat with his jaw hanging, which was becoming a regular look for him in the past half hour.
"Hey! Aren't you listening to what I'm saying? Hey, erase that! Stop writing goddamnit!" he screeched, his face turning a nice shade of beetroot.
"Since you are obviously becoming agitated, let's move on for now on, shall we?"
Ron let out an exasperated breath and slumped in his chair, waiting dejectedly for the inevitable.
"So. How do you feel about Hermione Granger? It says here she is one of your close friends."
"Yeah, Hermione's great. We've been friends since the middle of first year."
"Hmm...is there anything else you'd like to tell me about her? Do you feel that she's too controlling or unsupportive of you?"
Ron frowned. "No, of course not. She's my friend!"
"Are you sure? Anything you say here will not leave the room, remember."
Ron sighed and gave in as he caught sight of the woman's determined, crazed shark-like gaze. She wasn't about to let this go. "Fine. Hermione is great...she's smart, witty and er, smart. Really, really smart. I think that makes her a little controlling, but only on occasion. I just wish she'd support me more in the things I do and accept me like Harry does. I mean Harry and I are mates, and he doesn't give me grief about stuff like she does. Instead of seeing me as some kind of project, he's happy just to be my friend."
Ron raised an eyebrow as he watched her scribble a line across the top of the page and circle it three times. NOTE TO SELF: Make appointment with Harry Potter about co-dependency issues. She had to be joking.
"Tell me more about Harry. You two seem quite close."
"Oh we are. I was his first friend. He was my first best friend as well. We'd do anything for each other. We are very close. It's like he knows me better than I know myself sometimes," he said carelessly, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and letting a defeated sigh pass his lips.
The doctor nodded and looked at him, her smile annoying in its solemnity. "I see...identity issues."
Ron eyed her distrustfully, his cerulean eyes glancing down at the pad in her lap, and to the top paper, filled to the margins with notes. "You know I'm just here for anger management, don't you? I don't really see what my identity -- which I do not have issues with by the way -- has to do with anything."
"Please Mr. Weasley, remember who is the psychoanalyst here. You must understand that your mental health is an elaborate tapestry of several interconnecting threads. Your sexual identity crisis has everything to do with your psychotic episodes and loss of control."
"What?! I'm not having a sexual identity crisis! I'm not psychotic!"
"Yes, well...oh look at the time! I think that's our session for today. Good afternoon Mr. Weasley." Dr. Madison quickly put away her papers in her leather satchel and bounded out of the chair, towards the door.
"Wait!" cried Ron, twisting around in his seat. "We can't be done! I'm not gay!"
Dementia paused a moment in the doorway. "Really. I must be going. Our next session is at seven, tomorrow morning. And in the meantime, do everything on this paper. Next time we'll talk about how you did. Goodbye." She threw a roll of parchment at him, which he caught deftly and unfurled.
Ron glared as the woman left the room. He looked at the paper and shook his head. "She's completely insane."~~~~~~~
The next day (Sunday) Ron dragged himself out of bed, growling and swearing as he tried to wake up under the shower. It was utterly indecent, making him get up before ten on a weekend.
As he walked down the hall -- his vibrant copper hair still wet, his robes a mess, and his t-shirt on backwards underneath, the collar digging uncomfortably into his neck -- he couldn't quite decide whom it was that he hated more.
His psychiatrist for being such a stupid mind-sucking whore, Dumbledore for making him go to that psycho in the first place, or Malfoy for starting the whole mess by being such a pansy and passing out for absolutely no good reason; it had been barely a tap for Merlin's sake. Some people just don't know how to handle pain, he thought scornfully.
Yes, Malfoy definitely won the prize for Person Most Hated by Ronald Weasley at Seven in the Morning on a Sunday.
He finally reached the office, still cursing Malfoy under his breath and grinding his teeth noisily. The doctor was already there. Ron plopped down and slumped in the chair, his long legs splayed out before him.
"Well Ronald, good to see you again. Shall we get right to it? Let me see your list."
Ron handed her the paper without a word, and she looked it over.
"All right, Ronald. Number one, did you apologize to Draco Malfoy and tell him how you feel every time he says unkind things to you?"
"I told him how I felt all right," grumbled Ron, digging himself into the back of the chair and crossing his arms tightly over his chest. "And now he's got a black eye and Gryffindor is down 50 points."
"Oh. I see. Well, on to number two then. Did you talk to Hermione? Did you tell her how you feel whenever she berates you for your work? How sad and frustrated you are?"
Ron snorted, and sneered at the woman across from him. "Not in those words exactly, but I told her she was controlling, yes."
"And what did she say?"
"Piss Off!"
"Mr. Weasley, there really is no reason to be rude, you could just simply say that you would like to address the issue at another time."
"No, that's what she said, 'Piss Off.'"
"Oh dear...well moving on, number three. Did you talk to your brothers about coming in with you for a few sessions?"
"No, because they don't need therapy. I don't need therapy."
"Oh," said the doctor sounding quite disappointed. "Ok then, number four. Have you talked to Harry about being your own person and how you feel about your friendship, how suffocated you feel?"
"No. And I'm not going to either. Because it's not true, and you're wrong. Harry and I are friends...Hermione and I are friends. We fight and we make up and we do what friends do. And that's why none of these things worked, because you're wrong about the whole thing! All of it! Are you even a real shrink? Do you have a license to go around ruining people's lives and driving them insane?!" Ron yelled gesticulating wildly with his arms.
"Really Mr. Weasley, that was quite unnecessary. Of course I have a license," Dementia huffed.
"Yeah, well let's see it."
"I...it, that is...er, it's at home. I don't carry it around with me you know. That wouldn't be very professional would it. If you're done asking ridiculous and unfounded questions, I'd like to continue with the therapy. Since that little exercise didn't work, I suggest some drastic treatment."
"Drugs?" Ron asked hopefully. Anything was better than having to embarrass himself some more.
"No, it's actually a form of self-therapy...newly developed and recently approved by the Ministry and The Board for the Dissemination of Sanity and Mental-health. Here you are...," she said handing him a canister full of capsules. "Take these pills and put them in some water...they're compressed magic. These ones are projection charms."
"What will they do?" asked Ron suspiciously, holding the container away from him.
"Well you'll get projections of yourself. They'll look real and feel real and even appear to have thoughts of their own, but they're not real. Just projections of yourself. Each capsule will release a projection that binds to some part of your personality."
Ron scratched his chin, thinking. "Hmm. How does it work? I mean, how are they solid if they're not real and why can they think for themselves if they're not even alive?" he asked, a bit skeptical.
"Oh. Well it's all the magic and atoms you see and the DNA's...it's all very scientific. And very complicated," she said waving her hand at Ron as if he were a fly to be swatted away.
The redhead gave her a wry grin. "You don't know either, do you."
"Well...er, no not exactly. But not to worry...it's perfectly safe. They've been through all the tests."
Ron nodded. "What am I supposed to do with these projections once I have them?"
"Talk to them mostly. Many times it's easier to understand why other people react to you the way they do and why you react the way you do to situations in your life, if you can break your personality up and examine it objectively."
"Hey, I'm not the problem," said Ron lightly as he jingled the capsules around in the canister.
"Please Mr. Weasley. I only want to help you. This will be good for you."
"Fine. Can I go now, please?"
"Yes, but remember, capsules in the water and you get a projection of a part of your personality. Do only one at a time, or it will get confusing...and make sure you're the one who drops the capsules in, otherwise it will be someone else's projection. The projections will disappear in about twenty-four hours. Then you can report back to me and we'll see what you've learned. I suggest one a day, more would probably be emotionally draining. Small steps," she grinned.
Ron rolled his eyes and, without bothering to say goodbye, walked out the door, slamming it behind him.~~~~~~~
Ron stood next to the writing table in the seventh year boys' dormitory. He had appropriated a glass of water and was now meditating on it, thoughtfully. He had a bad feeling about the capsules.
For one, his psychiatrist was a complete nutter. For another, He didn't feel like sorting out his 'problems.' He was perfectly fine the way he was, if he'd just control his temper a bit better.
Ron sighed and scooped out a handful of capsules from the canister sitting next to the water glass. He examined them closely in the palm of his left hand. They were about as big as horse pills and came in all different colours. They didn't look dangerous. He nervously picked one up and held it hesitantly over the glass of water, closing his eyes and preparing to dive for cover if there should be an explosion or something of the kind.
"Hey Ron! What did the shrink say?"
Ron yelped and jumped, grasping his hands to his chest as he turned around. "Cripes, Harry. Don't do that. You nearly scared me out of my skin."
Ron's brow furrowed as he watched Harry's eyes go wide behind his glasses. "U-uh...m-maybe I d-did...b-behind you Ron," Harry stuttered, grabbing Ron's arm and pulling him away from the table.
Ron turned around and followed Harry's mortified gaze. "Shit."
"Come on Ron let's get out of here!" whispered the dark-haired boy as he tugged at Ron's arm, but the redhead only put his head in his hands and groaned.
"Oh for Merlin's sake Harry, look what you've made me do...I wasn't supposed to put more than one in at a time!"
"What? What are you talking about? What are those things?"
Ron looked up to find the collection of translucent forms rapidly solidifying, each with bright copper hair.
"They're me." Ron groaned again as the bodies turned completely opaque and chests began to rise and fall.
"Er, yeah...I can see that. But how? Why? This is really creepy Ron. What's going on?"
Ron sighed. "They're projections of my personality. The 'doctor' told me that I needed to examine my psyche," the redhead replied in a patronizing voice. "I was only supposed to do one at a time."
"What will happen now? Should we be leaving? They aren't dangerous are they?" Harry watched with worry as fingers and toes began to wiggle on the bodies.
"No I don't think so. They're me, so they should do what I tell them."
"Er, right then..."
The bodies began to move working their arms and mouths. It was somewhat disconcerting, especially for Ron. And Harry seemed a bit shaken as well.
"All right you lot. All of you line up and tell me who...er, which one you are," said Ron with authority.
And suddenly a great rush of wind swept past the two Gryffindors, leaving them staring at each other with their jaws hanging. And the bodies were gone.
"Shit," said Ron, "What do I do now?"
"Why don't you ask him," said Harry pointing at a lone figure standing next to the table.
He was about six inches shorter than Ron and was wearing a vest with pressed trousers, as well as a pair of wire-frame glasses. He looked a lot like Percy.
"Okay, who are you?" asked Ron stepping towards the projection.
"Well! No manners at all. You could say hello first, you know."
Ron glared at him.
"Yes, well my name is Ronald Weasley. Though I suppose you may call me Ronald. I happen to be your intelligence. Don't look so surprised. You do have some intelligence you know, though I'm sure it's news to anyone who knows you."
"Harry, did he just insult me?"
Harry just shrugged.
"Why don't you look like the rest? You're shorter than me," said Ron cautiously looking his projection up and down.
"Use your brain Weasley, if you haven't misplaced it somewhere. Though I don't think you'd miss it; after all, you've managed for sixteen years without it."
Ron just stared blankly.
"Never mind," sighed Ronald. "I suppose it was futile to even try. By now I should know better than to expect you to know anything. I'm short, because you're a complete MORON!"
"Hey!" cried Ron.
"If you don't feed your intelligence how do you expect it to grow? Now look at me...I'm a midget. For godssake, I'm as short as Potter!"
"Hey!" cried Harry.
"Look, I'm sorry okay, but I need your help...we need to get the others back. Oh my god...," Ron paled slightly, "...everyone will think they're me! What if they do something stupid?"
"That, Weasley, is an inevitability. This is you we're talking about after all."
"Hey, who gave you permission to be such a smart-arse anyhow?" said Ron, scowling.
"I'm not the smart-arse, you are. But of course it's bit of a moot point, isn't it. Now would you like help getting the others back or not?"
Ron nodded.
"What you need to do is conduct a systematic search. Recruit some foot soldiers from downstairs and assign everyone a specific quadrant of the castle to search. That way all your bases are covered. Unless they've gone outside, then you might have a bit of a problem, in which case, you can alert Hagrid and he'll keep an eye out. See, simple. Even you could have come up with it Ron." Ron scowled as Ronald headed for the door. "Now if you'll excuse me, I would like to take my noon tea in the common room. Perhaps, I'll borrow a book from Hermione."
"Oh no you don't. You're staying right here," said Ron.
"Ha. I think not."
"What? You've got to obey me! I'm Ron!"
"I am fully aware of who you are. However, you will find that your personality does not lend itself to following directions. You only have yourself to blame. And the Twins. Now if you'll excuse me..."
Ron paled slightly. "We don't even know how many there were! You've got to stay here and help us!"
"Well how many capsules did you put in?" asked Ronald.
"I don't know! Harry made me drop the whole lot in."
"I didn't mean to," squeaked Harry as Ron shot him an evil look.
Ron turned back to the projection. "Maybe they'll listen to you. You've got to help us find them!"
Ronald smirked. And walked out the door.
Harry turned to his best friend with confusion dancing in his eyes. "Wow, Ron. You're kind of an annoying git, aren't you."
"Thanks Harry," said Ron as he sat down on his bed and buried his head in his arms. "Thanks a lot."
E/N: yep. I warned you, didn't I? It's kinda a parody, though of what I'm not sure. Next: the search party. And we'll meet a different Ron. If I continue. Which won't be soon in any case.