A/N: slightly more timely this time! Slightly! lol, thank you to every one who emailed me reminding me to update. I'll try and be more consistent … but to make up for it, this chapter is really long.
You have no idea how thrilled I am that my reviewers are Pirates of the Caribbean junkies!!! I love you! You have all just skyrocketed in my estimation.
I would just like to say that I simply cannot go on to be an actress now, knowing that the stupid academy didn't pick my amazingly stunning Johnny Depp for best actor. Who ever heard of "mystic river" anyway?? Grr …
Anyway. Sorry this took so long, but it's worth it! 17 pages in Word, font 10! *stands straight, proud of herself* Thanks to everyone who sent me emails reminding me to update! You all totally made my week(s) … lol.
I know this chapter strays a little from the Draco/Ginny romance, but it's important that they have common ground before falling madly in love with each other. Don't agree? Email me or leave me a nice long flame or review =)
Also, I had to do a lot of Ron and Harry POVs in this chappie … and I apologize to all my fellow Ron haters, but I couldn't take him too drastically out of character. I tried to emphasis his, ahem, dullness and such; forgive me if you're a Ron person. Oh well. Anyway, if anyone is way out of character please tell me … review, email (xangelicfirex@yahoo.com) or AIM (xfire angeliquex)
And … this week I hope to start two new stories, because I feel so invigorated and encouraged by all my beautiful reviewers in this story! One is a kinky, unpredictable one, and the other is one I'm cowriting with a fellow ff.net Ginny/Draco shipper, Offwhite. So keep an eye open for those.
My shoutouts and extra disclaimers are at the bottom, due to complaints. =)
ok. Now that I've bored you with my long note. The friendship/romance builds pretty fast after this chapter, so don't be disheartened. Much love to everyone who makes me feel so loved by reading this fic =) you're awesome.
PLEASE NOTE: Mature language and topics are handled in this chapter. Don't kill me if you're offended – you've been warned.
Disclaimer: *grumbles incoherently* Yea yea yea, it's not mine. Don't sue me.
Chapter 8: Revenge on Ron
Ronald Weasley paced his dorm in a cold sweat. He glanced over to his side of the room and gawked in dismay at the pile of curled parchment sitting in a neat stack on the rug. Furiously wiping drops of perspiration from his flaming red brow, he threw a look at Harry's chronometer and groaned as he realized another note would be due in three minutes.
It was Monday evening, and Ron was having the worst day of his life. Harry rolled over in his sleep across the room, having given up on Ron's nervous antics hours ago. Ron began pacing again and reflected on the horrible anticipation this day was building up to.
Every hour, on the hour, since 12 midnight last night, an evil looking owl had delivered cryptic messages to the center of his and Harry's dorm. They all held foreboding messages and each scrap was inscribed with a line from what seemed to be a poem, as well as an ominous countdown from 24 to zero in the lower right hand corner. Nervously, Ron shuffled to the center of the room and leafed through the pile for the millionth time that day.
The first sheet read:
Never chase a lie. Let it alone, and it will run itself to death.
Three months ago this day
1
He had received it at midnight last night. After reading every parchment at least twenty times, he had vaguely managed to gather that someone thought he had told a lie. Ridiculous! He was Ronald Weasely, honest, brave-hearted Gryffindor! He had only ever told one lie in his entire life worth telling (besides lying to Mum about chores and covering for his brothers). Ron cringed at the thought of that one, nagging prevarication. He had good reason for it, though. And besides, there was no way anyone knew about it. As soon as Harry woke up he would get to the bottom of this.
But the warnings grew increasingly more threatening just as the lines of the poem grew increasingly enigmatic.
Parchment two read:
A liar will not be believed, even when he speaks the truth.
The one you love most was led astray
2
He had got that one at 1am last night. Sighing, Ron wrinkled his brow in frustration at the quote. A liar will not be believed, even when he speaks the truth. In a brief moment of concern, he contemplated what people would think of him if they found out what he had said about Ginny. Well, he hadn't really said anything … he had just helped along an already started rumor. But what would people think if they found out? He shook his head, not wanting to dwell on that. After all, he had done it in the first place to separate himself from bad associations.
Why was he even thinking this?! You're going psycho on yourself, mate. No one knows! Ron flipped through the remaining parchments, focusing on the "words of advice" instead of the cryptic poem, quotations which seemed to grow more intimidating each time he read them.
Good lies need a leavening of truth to make them palatable.
Huh? Well, he thought, I guess whatever it was I 'said' about Ginny wasn't based in truth at all … but what the hell does 'palatable' mean? ARG! Why was he comparing this whole, bloody situation to his little sister?? This had nothing to do with her. It was just some stupid git with no life who had it out for him.
A liar should have a good memory.
What exactly was this person trying to infer?! Ron could feel the tips of his ears burning in restrained fury.
False words are not only evil in themselves, but they infect the soul with evil.
So he was EVIL now?? How DARE they!!! Of all people, him, evil!
All men are frauds. The only difference between them is that some admit it.
That one made him grin before he recovered his face into a scowl. Probably some sexist girl who had it out for the whole male gender … hmm … Parvati, maybe? Wait … he wasn't a liar, though! And he most certainly did not have to admit it!
And none speaks false, when there in none to hear.
Oh so what, was this mysterious sender with the scary owl going to kill him now, so he couldn't tell any more lies? Ron forced a laugh, but even as he did so his hands shook as he pulled out the next parchment from the heap.
Every violation of truth is not only a suicide of the liar, but is a stab at the health of human society.
Ok, that one was just downright frightening.
I believed, therefore have I spoken: I was greatly afflicted: I said in my haste, All men are liars.
Yep, a feminist for sure. Wait … that one sounded familiar … Ron racked his brains, desperately searching for answers. A-ha! That's it! That's from that muggle book! The … umm …. bilblo? Bible! Who the bloody hell was sending him messages with quotes from muggle authors and some wacked out muggle religion?!
Dare to be true: nothing can need a lie; A fault which needs it most, grows two thereby.
What was that, an exhortation to be 'good'? Ron snorted in an attempt to simmer down his bubbling anger. Who in Merlin's name was preaching at him? He gritted his teeth and angrily plucked out the next note.
Show me a liar, and I'll show thee a thief.
Oh, so he was a THIEF now! Just wait until I find out who you are … I'll show you a thief…
A liar will steal, and a thief will kill.
Ron's face darkened to a dangerous shade of crimson. First a theif, now a murderer? What the HELL!? Where the fuck were they getting this stuff? It doesn't even make sense, he huffed angrily.
Sin has many tools, but a lie is the handle that fits the all.
This time he had to laugh. He didn't give a damn about 'sin' or any other muggle … doctrine. Grumbling, though, he did resent the insinuation.
A man is never more truthful than when he acknowledges himself as a liar
What was that, a soft request for him to take back his words? Whatever. He would never take back what he said … spread … about Ginny, even though that wasn't the issue here at all. She had deserved it. And frankly, whatever this person had against him deserved whatever he had done … Ron shook his head, confusing himself. He turned to the next parchment.
A man of such obvious and exemplary charm must be a liar.
What did the emphasis mean? He reread the sentence a few times. Was that … sarcasm? Bewildered, Ron didn't know whether to be complimented or insulted. Moving on to the next one …
The cruelest lies are often told in silence.
Oh yes, very scary Mr. Muggle Quote Man. Ron glanced at the quotation again. Actually, that was kind of spooky … what exactly was going on that he didn't know? What 'lies' were being told behind his back? He forced himself to stop shaking as he palmed the next note and simultaneously swiped away a bead of moisture from his jawline.
A boaster and a liar are cousins.
I am NOT a boaster!!!
No one is such a liar as the indignant man.
And I'm not indignant, either. Did being resentful of his sister qualify as 'indignant?' Ron pondered this for a long moment. ARG! Stop comparing this to Ginny! This has nothing to do with her! He shoved the paper under the pile and shuffled through to the next parchment.
You can best reward a liar by believing nothing of what he says.
Whatever…
A man is never more truthful than when he acknowledges himself as a liar
Ronald Weasley was NOT a liar! So therefore I have nothing to be truthful ABOUT! Ha! Wait …He was getting confused again.
The liar's punishment is not in the least that he is not believed, but that he cannot believe anyone else.
That was disturbing. Harry's words from the previous day echoed eerily in his head … What's gotten into you, mate? You've become such a cynic, lately. An indescribable desire welled up inside Ron to tear the note apart, but he controlled it, reminding himself that he needed the notes to figure out the damned poem. Then he would burn them all. Then he would find the sender and put them through a miserable, horrible death. Then he would spit on their grave. Then he would dig them back up and kill them again. Anyway.
It takes a wise man to handle a lie. A fool had better remain honest.
What the fuck does that mean? Ron ran his hand nervously over his brow again. Whatever it means, I'm no fool, Ron muttered angrily to himself as he jostled the note back under the pile and grabbed at the next one. He knew his complexion must have been rivaling his hair colour by then, but he didn't give a damn. He was going to finish reading these, figure the whole bloody thing out, and then go rip whoever was behind this to shreds. He cast another angry glance at the unperturbed Harry sleeping quietly in his bed before dropping his eyes to the next parchment.
The desire of a man is his kindness: and a poor man is better than a liar.
Ouch. That hurts. Ron had always hated being called poor, it hurt the deepest part of his pride and always cut him down at the knees … he could never come back with anything good. So was this whole 'liar' thing supposed to be worse than that? He was beginning to feel that way … but not remorsefully. More murderously, than anything. He fingered the last slip of paper, the words already imbedded in his mind.
A lover's moon soars clear and bright, guiding true love throughout the night.
But a liar's moon lurks misty and gray, scheming to drive true love away.
So according to this mystery person, his one 'lie' (whatever the fuck it was) had jeopardized his love life … from now until forever. He sighed, wishing Harry was awake, or that Hermione would talk to him. He had barely escaped her claws Sunday, and had since avoided her at all costs … whatever it was she was furious about, he had no intention of getting in her way.
Just then, he heard a rattling of talons at his window.
The enormous, black owl soared gracefully into the dorm as Ron yanked open the rusty pane. It dropped the note neatly by the now scattered stack of other notes and waited haughtily for its treat. In blind fury at the animal's gall, Ron rushed at it and kicked it with all his might, reaching to strangle it before it flew out the window in terror.
He stooped down to pick up the final note.
Who dares think one thing, and another tell, My heart detests him to the gates of hell.
To restore a life; a kinship; before in hell you burn.
PSEVDOMAI HADES
LET THE EIGHT DAYS OF AGONY COMMENCE
24
Ron crashed to the floor in a dead faint.
********************
Harry Potter woke unhappily to the sounds of his best mate's corybantic screams and the screeches of an abused messenger bird. Turning around abruptly, he cleared his blurry eyes just in time to register that it was midnight, exactly, and that Ron had collapsed to the floor in unconsciousness.
Within a few minutes he had the poor redhead back to awareness, only to have him screaming in a mixture of rage, fright and hysteria. In helplessness, Harry smacked Ron across the face.
For a moment, Ron was completely silent, his eyes glazed over. Then the Ronald Weasley that we all know and love came back full force.
"WHAT THE BLOODY FUCKING HELL WAS THAT FOR HARRY!?" roared Ron. Harry noted absently that he had never seen any Weasley ever manage quite this stunning shade of scarlet. He would have made a joke about it had he not been in fear for his life. Scooting away a little, he looked his friend in the eye and tried to make sense of the situation.
Ron had been acting like a maniac all day. Hermione had gone into a pique of unexplained, wrathful passion yesterday (err ... Sunday, that is, if 'today' was now Tuesday) and had refused to talk to either of them. For his part, Harry was blissfully ignorant.
One look into his friends eyes not only informed him that that was ruddy well going to change, but also that he was in for some unexpected spice that he had been hoping to avoid his 7th year at Hogwarts.
"Ron. Calm down mate. What's happened to you?"
"WHAT'S HAPPENED TO ME?!? NOTHING HAS HAPPENED TO ME! I'M PERFECTLY FINE!"
Trying to ignore the high-pitched tone of Ron's screeches, Harry answered coolly, "No, you're not Ron. Would you mind explaining? You've been getting these mysterious notes all day that have practically driven you mad, Hermione's more pissed off then I've ever seen her in her life …" Realization dawned suddenly on Harry. "Oh God … you didn't … did you? I mean, I know how you feel about her, mate, but I told you, she's –"
Thwack.
Harry rubbed his cheek tenderly and dodged as another pillow flew his direction.
"HARRY JAMES POTTER! I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT AT A TIME LIKE THIS YOU'RE BRINGING UP HERMIONE!!!!"
"Ron, please, chill –"
"Just shut up and listen, Harry. I've been getting these weird …" he gestured at the disarray of parchment on the floor. " … messages, all day, and the last one just came. They've been coming every hour, on the hour, and every single bloody one has some sort of dumb saying about how bad lying is …" He glanced at Harry nervously. "… and a line from what looks to be a poem or something. Then … the last one …" Ron's eyes glazed over again, and he simply muttered, "Psevdomai Hades …"
"Ron, maybe you should just lay down, I think you've gone bonkers."
Ron gripped Harry's shoulders. "This isn't a joke, Harry. Do you know what Psevdomai Hades is? No? It means 'Liar's Hell.' It's followed by the Eight Days of Agony. Do you even know what the fuck that means?" Ron shook his head at his muggle-ish friend's blank face. "It means I'm bloody well screwed, that's what it means! Psevdomai Hades is the punishment given to a liar … for an unjust lie. And the punishment can be anything, and it lasts for eight days. It's sort of a tradition … I suppose I shouldn't be scared, I mean, usually it's just stupid things like writing on the wall warning you not to do it again." Ron screwed up his brow in concentration. "I think I remember 'Mione telling me once that it had to do with an ancient form of torture wizards did … like literally, Eight Days of Agony for compulsive liars or traitors …"
Harry considered his friend. Ron was the most honest person he knew. Unless …
Ron was still going. "… and honestly, what have I ever lied about? I mean for Merlin's sake, Harry …" He twitched nervously. "It's probably just some first year I pushed around, right? You gotta help me figure this out, mate."
"Let's have a look at that poem," was all Harry said.
The two friends pieced together the poem slowly, reattaching pieces that Ron had ripped in anger and slowly arranging the lines in order.
Three months ago this day
The one you love most was led astray
You banished her from your stone cold heart
And set to live from her apart
But family isn't broken by will alone
So a horrible deception you were forced to condone
You spread filth of another for your own regard
And for it there is a life that will be forever marred
Liar! are you, so say the fates
Liar of the worst degree to impose familial hate
And so a lesson must you learn
To restore a life; a kinship; before in hell you burn.
"Well, that's a bloody load of rubbish. Lot of good that does," Ron said, staring at the words, utterly baffled.
"Ron … don't you remember? Familial hate? One you love most? Come on, you really can be so dense sometimes." Harry shook his head sadly. "Which of your family do you, or I guess, did you love most? Who have you lied about and totally snubbed this year?" Harry grimaced in recollection. "Remember, Ron? I even said you should do it!"
Ron turned a deathly shade of white, demonstrating yet again the amazing range of the Weasley complexion, and ran screaming out of the room.
********************
Head Girl Hermione Granger and school reject/whore Virginia Weasley were sitting quietly by the fire in the Gryffindor common room, avoiding rude stares and chatting happily, when a very distressed Ronald Weasley ran into the room.
He was babbling incomprehensibly.
"It's always the worst for traitors to the family! Agony! Eight days! Oh my God! How did they find out? Who found out?? Hermione! Ginny! Merlin! Ginny!" He paused, staring at Ginny, and then ran out of the Gryffindor tower altogether, squealing his head off.
Hermione and Ginny waited and watched serenely as he made his grand exit and then waited till the curious onlookers had passed from the room until they burst out into unfettered laughter.
Wiping tears from her eyes, Hermione turned to Ginny with a somewhat serious expression and said,
"You know, he deserves every minute of this."
Ginny smiled as her mind briefly flickered to the night before.
Malfoy rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets. Ginny let a small smile creep over her lips, contemplating the inner turmoil Malfoy must have been going through – dead of night in the Gryffindor common room with a Weasley and a mudblood. Hell, for sure.
Hermione managed to open Harry and Ron's door fairly easily. One inside, they were able to charm the walls and air to add a little spook for later the next night, and train Professor Snape's 'borrowed' raven where to come each hour. When they stole quietly out at midnight, they made sure to leave the room in such a way the boys would be sure the raven had crashed through the window. The three of them were running through the corridor nearly doubling over in laughter when they heard the raven give the agreed upon 'caw' and loud crashes accompanied by a decent amount of swearing from the dormitory. Even Malfoy had tears streaming down his cheeks by the time they reached Hermione's Head Girl quarters.
Of course, any sign of amusement was quickly wiped off the ferret's face as they reached their destination.
Hermione would have gloated all night about her ingenious poem and quotes if Ginny hadn't pleaded tired and fled with Malfoy at her heels. She did have to admit though, the scheme was rather brilliant. Ginny would never have thought to inflict Psevdomai Hades on him … she remembered when Mum and Dad did it to Fred in his sixth year after he lied to them about sneaking out with George to go drinking. But the supposed 'agony' for Fred hadn't been that serious … Hermione had assured them it would be quite different for this Weasley.
Malfoy had, of course, been rather displeased with Hermione's presence, and after much peacemaking on Ginny's part the trio had decided that they wouldn't be a trio at all – Hermione would help them with the first stages of the plan, but Ginny and Malfoy would be on their own to decide on Ron's punishment.
"Just please make it good, ok?" Hermione had said, earnestly looking at Ginny.
"Oh, I will."
And she intended to. After all, she was the one seeking revenge here. Malfoy had already worked out the first day's 'torture' (it really wasn't that bad, if you thought about it. Ron wouldn't think about it, though.) and it sent Ginny into fits of giggles just thinking about it. Oh yes. It was going to be a great week.
Draco could hear the blasted male weasel's screams from the opposite end of the castle in the Prefect's dorms, for Merlin's sake. He quickly smothered the smirk that had edged its way around his mouth, scowling at the twin Ravenclaw prefects who were drooling at him from across the room. He couldn't be bothered to flirt at the moment.
Staring aimlessly at his Transfiguration essay, he tapped his quill to the side of his cheek and contemplated the recent events.
Oh, this was going to be a great week.
Even if he couldn't get all three of the Dream Team at once, he could at least get the Weasel. And was he ever going to get him. He almost felt sorry for the guy … almost.
He scowled at the thought of Hermione. The little know it all mudblood bitch had seemed almost as angry at Ron as Ginny, if not more so … the little nurse was more offended than anything. If he was totally honest, he'd admit that it was rather funny to watch the muggle-born get all worked up about it. Her frizzy brown hair bounced most unattractively when she was screaming at the top of her lungs.
But then, he was Draco Malfoy. He wasn't honest.
Tilting back in his chair, he gave a careless smirk. The plans he had for Ronald Weasley's Eight days of Agony were beyond exquisite. The were unspeakably marvelous. The thoughts of the ruddy, dirt-encrusted, muggle-loving weasel cowering in embarrassment and rage when he found him self subject to the plans in Draco's head … ah. Priceless. He'd probably even get one on Potty in the midst of all the confusion. Such comforting thoughts. If only the dynamic duo knew that the thoughts of their humiliation would ease his pain for months to come.
In addition, Weasley, Jr. had agreed to fix the relieving potion for him two extra times this week; seeing how much 'work' he was going to be doing. After all, they needed to be able to taunt her brother properly, right? The extra dosage was a little unorthodox because of the side effects (which closely resembled the effects of narcotics and other 'happy' drugs), but no matter. All the better for him. He'd be happy, out of pain, and reigning God in the Slytherin common room when they all found out who was behind the Ronald Weasley scandal.
And most of all (as if it could get better), he was thrilled to find that his lust for the little female weasel had abated a good deal. Sunday evening, after spending six hours of male torture on the bed with her discussing their plans, he had gone back to Slytherin and got himself laid. Merlin, he thought happily, smiling in remembrance of the alluring brunette, whose name was escaping him at the moment. It had been ages since he had had a good fuck. Literally, ages … he was always in too much pain for sex. But after the relieving potion and the happy prospect of Ron's torture that day, he had been as painfree as was possible for him and in quite a good mood. Sex had not only been possible, but quite pleasurable.
With a little sweet talking, he'd be able to get the Weasley whore to bend the rules a bit and give him his reliever more often, consistently.
Anyway, at least he had been able to establish the only thing he felt for the rebellious girl was pure lust – a lust that had now been slaked. When he saw her last night, he felt nothing more than the normal admiration. That's all it took – a good lay.
Yes, he was most certainly over the annoying redhead. That's all it was – lust. She has no place in your mind or desires. Draco swung himself out of the chair and sauntered back to his dorm. A twisted smile on his face, he flung open the door to find two curvaceous blonde Slytherins making out on his bed. Ah yes. Things were finally getting back to normal.
********************
It was Tuesday morning. Ronald Weasley had never been more terrified in all his seventeen years.
Large, dark circles hung from his exhausted sallow skin as he clung to Harry, pulling him from his bed as the two made their way slowly to the Great Hall.
The night had been harrowing. Beginning with the last note at midnight, pandemonium had unleashed inside the little dorm that he shared with the great Harry Potter. The walls had started bleeding, the floor turned to water, the paintings all started choking simultaneously and recomposed themselves as zombies (a simple charm now that he thought about it, but deathly frightening at the time), and both their beds had nearly come to life with millions of ants marching under the sheets. High pitched, disembodied bloodcurdling screams bounced off the walls, and whenever they tried attracting someone's attention from the common room, they were ignored and given strange looks. A very trying night, to say the least.
But as Ron staggered to the Great Hall now with Harry fumbling blindly into a nearby wall, searching for his glasses in the depths of his robes, he felt strangely invigorated. Through the course of last night's events, he had gone from pure terror that someone had found out about what he had said about Ginny (they even got the date of their argument correct, for Merlin's sake!) to nervous acceptance of an alternate scenario. Pushing all thoughts of his sister from his mind, he had been able to convince himself it was probably Fred and George's old Hufflepuff cohort, James Riles, trying to get back at him for turning them in at some random point in ancient history. The kid was too cowardly to actually put him through any 'agony' anyway. A couple charms on the walls and some spooky messages and he thought he'd give Ron Weasley a good scare.
That's right, it's nothing. Just some kid with no life trying bringing up an old grudge and attempting to 'punish' you for it.
Straightening himself up, Ron pushed open the doors, intending to show the world that Ron Weasley wasn't taken that easily. He aimed for the Hufflepuff table and began to stride briskly through the aisles.
But two steps through the door to the Great Hall, and he knew something was wrong.
********************
Harry finally found his glasses in a niche at the bottom of his robes he hadn't even known existed. He had been stumbling through the halls, hauled by his irate friend who didn't care whatsoever that he couldn't see a damn thing, and finally left to recover his vision at the entrance to the Great Hall.
When his glasses finally found their way to the bridge of his nose, Harry Potter let out the loudest scream anyone in Hogwarts had ever heard.
But no one heard it; they were all too busy staring in shock or screaming themselves.
Standing in the entrance to the great hall was Ronald Weasley, tall and proud, looking around confused and perched on a pair of fluffy red stiletto heels and squeezed into a tight, hot pink miniskirt and black tube top – hairy legs, man-thong and well muscled arms all quite disturbingly visible.
********************
Virginia Weasley thought she was going to have a heart attack.
If she had died, she would have died the happiest girl in England.
Standing in the doorway to the Great Hall was her brother, dressed as a flaming trans. The orange lipstick really added a nice touch, she had to say. "Matches his hair perfectly," Malfoy had said with a snigger the night before when they were putting the final touches on the time activated charm.
As she slowly dragged herself back onto the bench, grabbing at a nearby napkin to dry her soaking face and glancing at Hermione (who was rolling on the ground with a face blue from lack of air), she stole a glance at the ferret.
Sitting like a King at his throne, Draco Malfoy was tilting lazily back in his chair at the head of the Slytherin table. That ever-present smirk graced his aristocratic features as he folded his hands behind his head and joined in with the jeers and mock catcalls of his housemates. Waves of satisfaction emanated from his form, and Ginny didn't feel one ounce of pain.
Oh yes. He was enjoying this just as much as she was.
In fact, she really couldn't remember the last time she had seen the annoying prat that happy.
********************
Albus Dumbledore peered over the rims of his half-moon bifocals at the amusing sight before him. Standing in the ancient portal to the room wherein the finest magical education in the world was directed was a very perplexed looking redheaded male who seemed to be attired in the clothes of a muggle prostitute.
It was to be expected.
Yesterday at dawn, Severus's raven, Brock, had delivered a cryptic message announcing the commencement of Psevdomai Hades for a certain Hogwarts student. As Headmaster, he of course must have been informed as he was sure Ms. Grang – or rather, the punishers, were aware of. He would feign ignorance.
But everyone knew that in truth, nothing at Hogwarts escaped his notice, and Albus Dumbeldore knew every intricate detail of this fascinating situation.
And quite frankly, the liar was in dire need of punishment. It appeared he would be getting his just due.
Yes, Albus had made his decision.
Gently tapping his spoon against the side of his crystal goblet, he rose to ancient feet and spread his arms stereotypically.
"Students! Young Wizards and Witches!" The riotous noise in the Great Hall began to lull as students recovered their voices and ceased chatter. Giving a final glance to Minerva, who was fanning a fainted Professor Flitwick, he received a nod of affirmation and continued to address the now silent student body.
"Children, thank you for your cooperation. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter … please take your seats." A clamour rose again. "Yes, Mr. Weasley may take his seat, I see no problem." He panned a harsh gaze over the sea of inquisitive pupils. "Now. I believe we can continue breakfast as planned?"
The bubbles of Pandemonium began to simmer again, but Albus silenced them with a final gesture of his hands. "Before we begin, however, I would like to make an announcement regarding an archaic tradition that is observed here at Hogwarts.
"Psevdomai Hades is a tradition begun by our forefathers in the first ages of the wizarding world, and came to being first as a form of torture." A loud whisper ran through the students like a brief blast of wind rustling through the leaves of a dying forest. "It means, literally, the Liar's Hell. When a person has told an outrageous lie," Albus paused and looked pointedly at the most recent male Weasley to be entrusted into his academic care. "and deserves to be punished, those affected by his falsehood take it upon themselves to deliver the according 'Eight Days of Agony.' The punishment can be of any type – in modern society of course, torture is unheard of … but pranks with good morals are entirely up for game. Ergo, I would like to conclude on the note that this practice is not only tolerated here at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but also encouraged as a form of self-discipline. However, even as the punishers are to remain anonymous, I would like to remind them that all such discipline should be kept at a mature and non-obscene standard. Thank you."
Dumbledore eased back into his seat and watched with a smile as chatter burst out into his Hall. What a delightful twist on the New Year.
********************
Ginny glanced over at Malfoy, who was glaring at Dumbledore like he was ready to march up and rip the remaining hair on the old coot's head out. Well, I didn't tell him.
Groaning, she turned to Hermione who was sitting one table down from Ginny's appointed seat of rejection. The bright young witch had suddenly developed a very intense interest in her black pudding and was avoiding Ginny's gaze at all costs.
Ginny rolled her eyes. Oh well. Not like it does any harm. At least he's supporting it … but I can't promise we'll keep it clean. She smiled devilishly and took an enormous bite out of her French toast.
Somewhere at the boy's end of the table Ron let out a murderous howl of humiliation and sped from the Hall after one look in Lavender's compact mirror. Poor boy. She almost felt an inkling of pity for him, but not quite. He wouldn't be able to remove the charm himself, and for all he knew he was dressed normally (until he looked in a mirror). Everyone else just saw him as a flamboyant transsexual. She smirked.
It was going to be a great week.
********************
Virginia jumped happily onto the old swing in the seldom-used rose garden off the West Wing of Hogwarts. The sun was just beginning to set, and Malfoy was due any minute so that they could discuss tomorrows' excitement. Today had gone splendidly.
No matter what Ron tried, from covering himself up; to ripping off the clothes he saw on himself; to hiding in the shadows; he couldn't manage to conceal himself from his classmates' ridicule. She had never seen her brother sustain that colour red for so long – kind of impressive, actually.
He must be so, flipping mad. She didn't wish to be Harry for one minute right now, having to share a room with a flaming trans pouf who was in denial of himself. She sniggered childishly at the thought and jumped off the swing at the height of its ascent.
As she landed, Malfoy strolled around the hedge and wandered into the clearing as if the world revolved around him, the egocentric prick. By the looks of the sun, he was at least half an hour late … not that she minded. This was her favourite place on the Hogwarts grounds, and she was more than a little miffed to have to share it with the ferret.
Rising from her sprawled posture on the grass, she nodded in his direction and bid him sit. The snobby imbecile stuck his nose further up into the air, if possible, and proceeded to dust of a nearby brazen bench and seat himself on it in an exceedingly blue-blooded fashion. Ginny rolled her eyes in exasperation.
"So. Ferret."
"Weasel."
They held each others' gaze for a few moments before both of them burst into concurrent, irrepressible laughter.
Images of a blushing, miniskirt-clad Ron were running through both of their minds, and for each of them it was accompanied by a feeling of sweet vengeance and satisfaction.
Malfoy slowed his laughter and sent her a superior smirk, but she made no attempt to stop before she had thoroughly finished her laugh. She wasn't going to let him think he could control her with a glare.
Raising an interested eyebrow, he leaned back idly as was his custom and drawled, "Pleased, Miss Weasley?"
Ginny decided to ignore his sarcasm and instead sent him a brilliant smile. "Beyond, Mr. Malfoy." She curtsied dramatically.
Without losing his cool, he returned easily, "That curtsy was done entirely wrong. But regardless of your lacking manners, I'm sure you'll be quite pleased to see what I have in store for our dear friend tomorrow."
********************
It was Wednesday afternoon, after lunch, and Virginia was late for Potions. Again. Fuck, she thought irritably. This is the third time in two weeks. Snape's going to have my head.
Stupid second years and their pranks. A couple Hufflepuffs had come into the Hospital Wing just as the bell was sounding, completely covered from head to foot in purple spots.
Flying around a corner, she threw her hair over one shoulder and shuffled her books into her arms, regaining her balance as she screeched to a halt in front of the ominous, black dungeon door. Drawing a deep breath, she exhaled slowly, making a few tendrils of auburn hair jump, and pushed open the door.
To her everlasting surprise and relief, no one noticed she was late.
They were far too preoccupied for that.
********************
Draco couldn't remember the last time he had laughed this hard.
Ronald Weasley, having regained his masculine dressing habits, had spent the majority of breakfast sulking. Draco had Herbology with the twit, followed by lunch and later Potions. Unfortunately, Snape hadn't been present at either lunch or breakfast, so Ron had gotten off scot-free all morning. Well, we can't have that, now can we?
At first Draco had been a bit worried the potion had worn off by now. But one look at Ron when he walked through the door to Advanced Potions this afternoon had ensured that it most certainly had not.
The tall redhead was standing in the middle of the aisle segregating the Gryffindors from the Slytherins, and he was swooning.
At the Potions Master.
At Professor Snape.
The professor, for his part, was backing away from the young man cautiously, and sending him the most withering looks any of the students had ever seen – and that's quite a statement in regards to Professor Severus Snape.
"Mr. Weasley, please take your seat."
Ron giggled like a schoolgirl and twirled a piece of short hair around his finger, shifting his weight to one foot and glancing coyly back at Harry, who's facial colouration would have rivaled Ron's had he known what he was doing.
"Oh, but Professor Snape, I'd much rather stay up and talk to you…" Ron sauntered down the aisle, letting occasional giggles fall, and sending a very disturbing wink to Professor Snape.
"MR. WEASLEY! Stop this tomfoolery at once, and take your SEAT!" Professor Snape bellowed.
"Aww, poor Sevvie wevvie." Snape winced visibly. "What's the matter?" Ron had reached the professor by now and stretched out his hands to straighten the older man's robes. Snape recoiled in horror.
"Ronald Weasley, if you do not sit down immediately I will make sure that the duration of your stay at Hogwarts will not only be longer than expected but also a veritable hell." Snape offered a smug sneer, the kind that normally made his students cower. It was his last resource, and if Ron didn't back off this ridiculous prank now, it was obvious Snape had no back up plan.
In response, Ron ran his fingers through his carrot-top and puckered his lips sensuously. "Oo, I like it dirty too Professor. If hell means you, count me in!" The boy continued advancing towards the Potions master, his body language sending only one message.
By this point the class was in uproarious laughter, and both sides of the room were stifling their amusement as much as was humanly possible to strain their ears for the next morsel of perverted flirtation.
Snape by this point had quite lost any colour he had ever had in his pallid skin. He was positively unnerved – and for the majority of the adolescents in the room, it was the first time they had ever seen him in such a state. Turning his head savagely while simultaneously beating Ron's paws off his chest, he sent a deep glower towards Harry.
"Do you have anything you'd like to say, Mr. Potter? What exactly is the meaning of this? WEASLEY! Get OFF my robes NOW!" The potions master forcefully kicked the young man away from him and attempted to regain his composure and classroom, calmly smoothing his greasy back hair back into place and sending a disgusted leer to the redhead on the floor.
Ron was sniffling loudly. "But … but Severus! I thought what we had was special!"
Snape looked openly nauseous. "What exactly are you trying to infer, Mr. Weasley?"
An anonymous voice from the back of the room called "Aw, poor bloke, probably the first person to be attracted to him in years." The class erupted in laughter again.
Ron was still looking up at Snape with soulful eyes. "But what about last night, professor? What about us?"
Snape snapped back from searching for the unnamed insulter, and blanched, horrified. "Mr. Weasley. If you do not stop this ridiculous charade this instant, I will … I will …"
The class waited expectantly, but they never heard the extent of Snape's threat.
Ron jumped up with his hands clasped over his heart and a blissful smile on his face, crying "Oh Severus!" and threw himself wholeheartedly at the bewildered Potions master, who was at least six inches shorter than the gigantic Weasley.
The classroom fell into a deadened silence. A student had actually touched Professor Snape. Not just touched, but embraced … straddled, for Merlin's sake!
Ron stood pressed against Snape, arms wrapped around his neck and legs spread wide over the older man's frame. "Oh Severus! I love you too!" And with that … Ronald Weasley planted a very sloppy, wet kiss on Professor Snape's cold, icy lips.
A few moments later, Ron was Immobilized against the wall, the female portion of the class as well as some males were either screaming bloody murder or were simply fainted, and a scarred-for-life Professor Severus Snape, Esquire was running for his life down the halls of Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
********************
Thursday morning Ron woke to find himself covered from head to toe in bright, neon green spots, to go with a lovely mop of neon blue hair. Of course, he also woke to outrageous stories of an alleged affair between him and Professor Snape, to his utmost horror. He was forced to remain in bed most of the day after Colin Creevy showed him the footage he had taped of the incident.
Friday, as he was just beginning to get over the previous days' mortification, Ron was performing a simple spell in Charms only to find he had produced a phantom image of a naked woman through the tip of his wand. Every time he attempted to use his wand the rest of the day, some sort of pornography or humiliating insult would issue forth from the end of his previously trusty wand.
Saturday morning during breakfast he, uhh, expelled a rather large passage of wind in the middle of Dumbledore's morning salutation and announcement about Hogsmeade. The fart exploded into a vibrant cloud of azure-shaded gas behind him and squelched out the loudest fart sound imaginable. The unfortunate and colourful (as well as rancid) eruptions of gas continued throughout the day, causing Ron's face to be tinged to a permanent shade of vermilion. The stubborn boy did, however, insist on continuing with Harry and a strangely quiet Hermione to Hogsmeade as planned. After being kicked out of the sweets shop for stinking up the place, Hermione strangely found the need to run home red-faced, and neither of the boys could tell quite what had gotten into her.
Sunday, though, had to be the best yet. It had taken hours of coordination and planning on the part of our two pranksters extraordinaire, but the result was worth any and all amounts of time invested. Hermione, even though she had been told to ignore Draco and Ginny and had been enjoying herself all week, had managed to subtly pass them a message containing a clothing-repellant charm she had found. Draco had typically laughed himself silly when he had heard it, and, after a few seconds of convincing Ginny, the two had everything prepared for Ron's Sunday.
Each day, the specified curse/prank had been triggered as soon as Ron walked into the Great Hall. Either for sake of nostalgia or simply because the Great Hall accommodated the largest possible crowd to humiliate Ron in front of, Draco and Ginny had started his agony here each day.
And Sunday, as soon as Ron walked into the Great Hall, the new time-triggered charm had kicked in and all articles of clothing flew ten feet away from him.
Quite a sight.
It being a Sunday; all the teachers were off enjoying themselves in their own quarters, ideally absent. The entire student body was thus able to laugh at Ron's surprisingly (for such a large boy) small goods without the disciplinary repercussions from the faculty. Needless to say, the laughter didn't cease all day.
Ingenious timing, Draco had to admit.
As much as he tried, any garment Ron approached all day fled from him like moths from a light source. Quite amusing, really. The poor boy tried to stay in his dorm as much as possible, but the ever-innocent Hermione Granger astutely came up with creative ways to lure him from his chambers, for purposes of humiliation, of course.
Poor Ron was definitely beginning to understand the meaning of 'agony' by this point.
********************
On Monday morning, after warily darting through the halls, Ron opened the door to the Great Hall rather optimistically. Passing through the entrance, he shouted,
"Hey Harry, looks like the bugger ran out of ideas for today!"
Only it didn't quite come out as he planned.
His voice was several octaves higher than usual, and remained so for the rest of the day. His girly voice was the cause of a good deal of ridicule (something he had grown accustomed to over the past week). Snape's class in particular found the vocal mutation hysterical. The slimy professor himself was still acting a bit off from the previous week's events, and required that Ron sit out of his line of vision behind a cupboard for the duration of class – an obligation which, after seeing Creevey's photos, the extremely humiliated Ron was more than willing to comply with.
********************
Hermione had finally been able to usher the feminine-voiced Ron into his room, after much high-pitched squealing and protesting on his part towards his anonymous tormentors. He and Harry (with no help whatsoever from Hermione) had been on a largely unsuccessful quest to find the perpetrators of this Psevdomai Hades. Without their brain though, the Golden Trio would be more aptly named the Moronic Duo.
It was the last evening before the final day of Ron's punishment. Ginny and Draco were convening in a convenient alcove outside the Gryffindor common room, earning reproving glares from some nearby paintings.
"Are you sure this is going to work, Malfoy?"
Malfoy grinned evilly. "Do my plans ever fail, little weasel?"
She smirked back at him and threw a playful punch at his arm. For beginning the week in utter, dead abhorrence of each other (perhaps with a tad of sympathy on Ginny's side), they had ended it in quite amicable mutual hatred, but for purely social reasons. The ferret had grown on Ginny, and with his more regular reliever dosage, the pain of being around him was nearly bearable. Being around him so much had in fact, brutally heightened her threshold for pain.
Yes, for better or worse, they had become somewhat … dare she say the sacrilegious words … friendly over the week. Wasn't that a saying, anyway? Through torture of a common foe, even enemies are united … Something like that. But that pretty much described the radical change her relationship with the epitome of evil, Draco Malfoy, had undergone these last few weeks.
"No … or at least, they haven't yet." She returned. "But this is really important – if we don't pull this off, we won't have anything on him to keep him from running to Dumbledore with our names. And we did … kinda … break Dumbledore's rules about keeping it clean."
They both winced at the memory of McGonagall finding a very nude Ron huddling behind Harry Sunday afternoon.
Malfoy gave a careless shrug. "But we have to tell Weasley who's done it. That's the best part." His face lighted up with that familiar, pure delight that had been an amaranthine presence on his face this last week. "That his tormentors are his little sister and worst enemy."
They exchanged odd looks at the reminder that they were enemies.
Stiffening, Ginny said, "Exactly. So. Are you ready to do this?"
"Have been for a while, Weasel. You're the one who's hesitating."
Ginny shot him a death glare and crept to the portrait of the Fat Lady, whispering the password and slinking into the common room with Malfoy at her heels. His customary grumbling about being in the Gryffindor tower haunted her steps as they made their way to Ron's dorm.
Creaking open the door with the memorized password and counter-charm, she bid Malfoy wait in the doorway and sneaked over to Ron's bed. Pulling a small vial from the depths of her robes, she dusted a few drops onto the tip of his nose and then ran full tilt from the room, dragging Malfoy behind her.
********************
Draco leaned nonchalantly against the doorjamb, watching Weasley's petite, feminine shape lurk stealthily through the room. He couldn't help but hold a certain respect for her after this week. Once he had managed (barely) to escape his sexual attraction to her, he soon found her personality to be enticing. Blasphemous though it may be, he enjoyed her company – as a person, if not as a girl. So few people these days could offer challenging, witty conversation. She actually had a brain, and was insanely fun to be around. According to her, it came from years of eluding her brothers' endless pranks.
He had had to catch himself more than once this week as he found himself laughing with her instead of at her. The natural order of things is being horribly reversed, he thought darkly.
But he couldn't be angry with her. She was too careless, too much fun – to damn stubborn.
Just then she sped like a bat out of hell from the dark room, grabbing his hand and pulling him from the Gryffindor Tower, the nasty place. He made sure to remember to distribute the cat hairs evenly as they hastened towards the entrance, though, no help from her.
Quite out of breath, he flattened himself against the outer wall of the tower, just to the right of the Fat Lady. She positioned herself likewise on the right side, and, giving him a slight nod, waited with bated breath for the subject of their animosity.
Minutes passed, and the two stood stock still until Draco couldn't resist the temptation to tease her about her face colour – how could one pass up this subject when interacting at all with a Weasley, really – which was quite red with anticipation by that time.
Holding his breath, he managed to redden his noble, bleached, pallor to an interesting shade of crimson. The little redhead burst into giggles that sent her curls bouncing and her body shaking in an attempt to silence the amusement. A smile graced his face as he let go the breath, pleased to have such power of her.
Just then, in a sudden burst of passionate fervor, Ron Weasley jumped through the portrait with a glazed look in his eyes. Weasley's giggles disappeared instantly, and, shrinking into the shadows, she motioned for Draco to grab the camera and follow the entranced older Weasley.
Ron was stumbling rather aimlessly down the hall, muttering under his breath and randomly dropping down on all fours to sniff something.
Draco sent Virginia a look and restrained a chuckle at the disgusted expression she held for her brother.
After fifteen minutes of trailing Ron, they reached their destination.
Even Draco Malfoy had never been this deep into the dungeons. He guessed that Filch must be out doing his rounds in the gardens, to leave Mrs. Norris here like this. Or at least, he supposed that this was Filch's 'office.' The filthy, rank room was stacked with books and various instruments of torture. A smirk twisted its way onto his lips as he remembered that Filch was a mere squib, beneath him in so many ways.
Speaking of being below him …
Ron had been sightlessly prowling the room, driven by the potion Ginny had doused him with. The elixir was an interesting mix of pheromones, romance stimulants and … several of Mrs. Norris's hairs.
It was brewed for one purpose and one purpose only … to incite an insatiable lust in Ron Weasley for Mrs. Norris.
********************
It was dawn, and Ginny was sitting on the roof of Hogwarts with Draco Malfoy.
It might have been considered romantic, watching the sunrise and all, had it not been A) with Draco Malfoy and B) he had not been poking her mercilessly with a fork and giggling like a maniac.
They were feasting on the spoils of last nights dinner, prepared graciously by the house-elves from the kitchens. Most of the poor creatures lived in fear of Malfoy, so acquiring the food had been a simple task.
But really, who could focus on food at a time like this?
Right about now, Ron was probably waking up naked on the floor of his room, covered in cat hair, with a nose about thirty centimeters long, and wondering what the hell happened.
The mere thought made Ginny burst into laughter again, much to the delight of the already hooting Malfoy.
"Weasel, I never thought I'd say this, but you're not half bad. For a Weasley." Draco gave her an approving glance and lifted his hand for a high five, which she slapped solidly.
"Damn right!" She returned him his own, trademark smirk. "But I suppose you're not all that bad either. For a Malfoy."
Malfoy's face sobered immediately, and gave her one of those penetrating, Malfoy gazes. He seemed to be summing her up, evaluating what this exchange of half-way decent words meant and represented. His eyes spoke to her, almost as clearly as an audible voice – so that she could understand. If he let her in, into this inner, friendly Malfoy that she reckoned very few knew, would she betray him? Would she make the pain worse? Or would she make it go away? Was she worth it?
And for her part, she wondered if it was wise to become sociable with Draco Malfoy. After all, he was … Dracy Malfoy. But in all honesty, he was the only one this entire year who had pegged her for something more than a whore – and had believed her when he found out she wasn't.
She could only hope her eyes were capable of sending messages like his.
A sly grin broke out over his face suddenly, as if to answer her silent question.
He pelted her with a fishstick and scrambled to his feet, running across the rooftop with her close behind. She lugged the bag filled with priceless pictures of Ronald Weasley performing unspeakable acts of bestiality over her shoulder and simultaneously attempted to fling salsa at the fast retreating Malfoy. Friends? Not quite … mutual enemies, perhaps. At least it was one step closer to ending the pain – both hers and his.
********************
Harry really shouldn't have been that surprised, to be entirely fair. After all, it was part of the Psevdomai Hades tradition for the victim to be cursed with an especially long nose (to mimic the history book lesson all young witches and wizards learned about the old puppet Pinocchio) on the final day of the Eight Days of Agony.
Though being butt naked and covered in cat hair was admittedly, a little disturbing. Even Ron couldn't explain that.
He took a quick shower and put on the wide-brimmed, cowboy hat that George had got him for Christmas a few years ago in a vain attempt to cover his outrageously long nose. This done, Ron snatched an extremely wary and reluctant Harry and made his way to the Great Hall.
Nothing'll happen to day old chap. It's the 8th day – nothing ever happens on the 8th day, just this stupid long nose.
Feeling somewhat confident, he let Harry scurry through the doors ahead of him and then took a deep breath before walking through himself.
Nothing.
Ron exhaled and grinned. That's right, you fucker. For the umpteenth time that week, he scanned the hall in a futile attempt to uncover his antagonist.
Throwing off the ridiculous hat, he grinned wider and sat down beside Harry and Hermione, trying to ignore his nose (which kept knocking over the pumpkin juice pitcher). Hermione (who had been a real bitch all week, without explanation) said nothing, but got that redfaced look about her like she did when she was trying not to laugh. Whatever. And Harry was trying to make unconcerned conversation with a very concerned looking Neville.
Just as things seemed to be going just fine, Ron realized his feet had enlarged to the size of small dogs (nearly four times their usual size, that is) and his hands were rapidly following suit. He groaned in defeat.
********************
Ron slammed the portrait shut sucked in a sharp breath before letting loose a string of obscenities. Fucking, bloody, cucksucking wench! Madame Hooch wouldn't let him play the first game of the Quidditch season on account of "overly large extremities." He was the fucking captain, for Christ's sake!
First game – against Hufflepuff, no less! An easy win! And the team captain couldn't be there. Just because some sickfuck had decided to make his life living hell for a week. He slammed his huge fist into a nearby wall. There wasn't even anyone here for him to complain to, it being a game night and all.
He looked down forlornly at his humongous feet and hands, then glanced in the mirror at his insanely massive head and foot-long nose. Tears formed in his eyes – when was enough enough? What had he done to deserve this?
He trudged up the stairs and down the hall to his dorm. He turned the corner.
Holy motherfucking, bloody hell.
Holy shit.
Holy fucking shit.
This wasn't happening.
If Ron's jaw could have hit the floor, it would've.
Standing in front of his door was his little sister, sweet but stubborn Virginia Weasley … hand in hand with … Draco Malfoy?! Evil incarnate?! Slytherin pimp?! What the fuck?!
And it wasn't hand in hand, like, romantic. It was hand in hand, like, We're-bloody-well-out-to-get-you-as-an-unstoppable-duo,-dumbass.
His sister and his worst enemy! How -- how had she known?? And … Malfoy?! How could she stoop that low? A nagging voice in the back of the head asked him the same question – how could he have stooped so low?
Remorse flooded him as he stared in utter terror at the malevolent faces of his punishers.
But that wasn't the half of it.
Cat hair … naked on the floor … dreams of Mrs. Norris …
Surrounding his tormentors – his sister and arch-nemesis – were photos. Dozens of photos – a hundred, at least – pasted onto the doorjamb, littered on the floor. Photos of red hair, naked skin, and extremely inappropriate positions with a cat – and not any cat, Mrs. Norris! – that constituted blackmail for the entire life for this Ron Weasley.
Trembling, he lifted his eyes to his smug enemies. Virginia was sending him a falsely snarky look and crooning, "Enjoy your week, Ronniekins? I guess whores aren't as stupid as they're made out to be, huh?"
********************
********************
A/N: *pants, out of breath* goddamn, that was long. hehe … hoped y'all liked it. man, that was sooooo long. It was even longer before (if that makes you feel any better) and I cut it down so I just summarized each day instead of going through it. Anyway, it better make up for the long wait. =) *beams proudly* I'm insanely proud of that Psevdomai Hades (which does actually mean Liar's Hell in Greek) thing, hehe. Review, review, review!
And now, my extra disclaimers, because I'm such a thief:
The clothes repelling charm is from a fanfic I read on ff.net … sometime … and I don't really remember where. Whoever it was, I am crediting you! It's not mine! If anyone knows whose fic this charm comes from, please tell me, and I will award him or her proper credit.
All those million-esque liars quotes are from the following:
Never chase a lie. Let it alone, and it will run itself to death. *Lyman Beecher
A liar will not be believed, even when he speaks the truth. Aesop
Every violation of truth is not only a sort of suicide in the liar, but is a stab at the health of human society. * Ralph Waldo Emerson
Good lies need a leavening of truth to make them palatable. * William Mcilvanney
A liar should have a good memory. * Quintilian
False words are not only evil in themselves, but they infect the soul with evil. * Socrates
All men are frauds. The only difference between them is that some admit it.H. L. Mencken (1880 - 1956)
And none speaks false, when there in none to hear. (couldn't find the author)
I believed, therefore have I spoken: I was greatly afflicted: I said in my haste, All men are liars.
Author: Bible. Source: Psalms (ch. CXVI, v. 11)
Dare to be true: nothing can need a lie; A fault which needs it most, grows two thereby. author: George Herbert Source: Church Porch
Shew me a lyer, and I'le shew thee a theefe. [Show me a liar, and I'll show thee a thief.]
Author: George Herbert Source: Jacula Prudentum
Sin has many tools, but a lie is the handle that fits the all. author: Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. Source: Autocrat of the Breakfast Table
The cruelest lies are often told in silence. Author: Robert Louis Stevenson Source: None
"A boaster and a liar are cousins" Author: Anonymous (Proverb)
No one is such a liar as the indignant man - Friedrich Nietzsche -German classical scholar, philosopher and critic of culture, 1844-1900.
You can best reward a liar by believing nothing of what he says. Author: Aristippus Source: None
A liar will steal and a thief will kill - African-American Proverb
A man is never more truthful than when he acknowledges himself as a liar - Mark Twain, American humorist, writer and lecturer, 1835-1910
A man of such obvious and exemplary charm must be a liar. *Anita Brookner
The liar's punishment is not in the least that he is not believed, but that he cannot believe anyone else.George Bernard Shaw. Irish comic dramatist and literary critic. 1925 Nobel Prize for Literature,1856-1950
It takes a wise man to handle a lie. A fool had better remain honest. author: Norman Douglas
The desire of a man is his kindness: and a poor man is better than a liar. *The sacred scriptures of Judaism and Christianity
A lover's moon soars clear and bright, guiding true love throughout the night.
But a liar's moon lurks misty and gray, scheming to drive true love away. - Japanese proverb
Who dares think one thing, and another tell, My heart detests him as the gates of hell. Author: Homer (Smyrns of Chios) Source: The Iliad (bk.IX, l. 412), (Pope's translation)