Summary: Ron always wanted to be rich. When he wakes up to a different life from his own, he realizes being rich has its consequences. Hermione has still remained intangible but this time, she's his enemy.
Disclaimer: Nope, as much as I want to be a billionaire like JKR and own Harry Potter, I don't. But to make myself feel better, I own the plot, a Diet Sierra Mist, and chocolate chip cookies. So feel free to sue me.
A/N: I'm among the few to use an alternate universe in my plot but not the only one. This time, I'm using one of my favorite pairings Hermione/Ron and putting together the element of Ron's desire to be rich. If you want to find a lesson out of this story, there is one surprisingly. When you get what you want, you find that you don't want it anymore. Like Ron doesn't want to be rich because…oh, just read.
Intangible
By: Miss Skeeter
Chapter One
Bloody Hell
Her mesmerizing, honey eyes glittered in the firelight, her dark lashes fluttering as they blinked down at the dusty book in her delicate hands. A golden glow illuminated from her skin, and a strand of her silky hair brushed against her soft cheek. Her full, pink lips glistened, pulled into a small smile. The goddess carefully tucked the loose lock behind her ear, gazing at him questioningly. "Ron, why are you staring at me?"
The gangly redhead blushed, scratching his freckled nose nonchalantly. His ears reddened as he struggled to veil the blush creeping to his cheeks. "What makes you think I'm staring at you?" he said testily. "I was just looking at the--er--I mean, your hair. It looks different today…some gel?"
Her impassive eyes blinked at him. "Ron," she said, a slight tremor to her voice. Hermione chewed on her lip anxiously, peering down at her book again. "You think my hair looks horrible, don't you? Ron?" She stared up at him, her eyes flickering dangerously. He squirmed in his armchair, avoiding Hermione's piercing stare.
"No! That's not what I meant," he said earnestly, his cheeks burning. "I meant, it looks--um…good." Hermione leaned toward him, her eyes locking with his. Her warm breath caressed his skin gently, and her shimmering, lips taunted him as they wavered an inch from his eager ones. A sudden impulse drove him forward, his eyes closing. Hermione rested back into her armchair, her face screwed into a blank stare.
"Are you ill, Ron?" she asked concernedly. "My hair looks the same…and you're all red." She raised an eyebrow, tucking her book underneath her arm gingerly.
"No, honestly, Hermione," Ron rambled on, racking his brain for words. He touched his face, vainly veiling his tomato face. "Um…you changed your hair! Did you put…um…perfume in it? I mean…gel? Gel, right? Maybe Sleek--I mean, I'm going to bed. 'Night, 'Mione--Hermione, I meant." He jumped to his feet, striding up toward the staircase, ignoring Hermione's cries after him.
Ron moaned miserably, lumbering up the stairs. "What the hell was that, Ron?" he muttered angrily as he rolled onto his bed, wrenching the hangings around him. "Hermione probably thinks you're mental. Next thing you know, she'll tell me I have an illness according to the Big Book of Diseases." He wriggled in his robes, burying his face into his pillow, inhaling its scent. His nose declined the smell, yearning eagerly for Hermione's sweet fragrance instead.
Hermione affected him greatly. He fiddled with his fingers, his ears turning red under her presence. When she stared at him with her glittering, brown eyes, he averted his gaze, face burning. She'd talk in her soothing voice, and his tongue stumbled over words. With her around, he was a clumsy fool.
Ron blinked up at the dark canopy of his bed, wishing desperately that he could muster up the courage to talk to Hermione without stuttering or flushing. He squeezed his eyes shut, thirsting for his dreams haunted with her face. He slammed a fist into his bed, his thoughts straying to Viktor Krum. He vaguely remembered the snapped arm of his old model, and Hermione's furious face as she yelled at him.
"Don't call him Vicky!"
He stifled a yawn, his eyelids drooping lazily. He fell asleep with her voice ringing in his ears, and regret crinkled on his face. He wished he could tell her how much she drove him crazy.
"God, Weasley. Had a rough night?" His eyes snapped open, staring up into a pair of laughing, dark ones. He yelped startled, slipping out of his bed, crashing onto the floor in a tangle of sheets. He cursed loudly as hands assisted him from the snare of blankets.
"Wash your mouth," Dean Thomas chuckled merrily. "Didn't your mother ever teach you some manners?" He bent down swiftly to pull Ron up on his feet steadily. "Got a few good firewhiskeys down last night, eh?" He gestured toward Ron's rumbled robes. "C'mon, they're waiting for you in the Great Hall. Harry sent me here to fetch you."
"Yeah," Ron said vaguely, squinting at Dean. "Um…" He threw open his drawers, grabbing a pair of gleaming, black robes, unlike his usual tattered ones. He glanced bewilderedly at the polished trainers resting beside the pile of folded robes. "Damn, look at those!" He pointed at the shoes with utter disbelief.
"So what, mate?" Dean laughed. "Your trainers. Put them on and change your robes. Let's go before all the bacon's gone." He folded his arms, watching Ron run his hands over the shoes incredulously. "They're real, Ron. Put them on."
Ron laced the shoes on his feet and threw his old, wrinkled robes in the corner. He grabbed his bag, reaching to finger the frayed threads to find none. "Bloody hell!" he yelled. "My bag is new!" Dean raised an eyebrow as they skipped down the staircase easily.
"Not really," he pointed out. "You bought it months ago. Remember? Twenty Galleons, I recall. Not that much." Ron's eyes bulged.
"Twenty Galleons?!" Ron blinked down at the bag, clutching it tightly as though it would disappear in thin air…as though it was a hoax. "The hell that's not much! I don't even own one Galleon let alone twenty!" He dug into his bag, snatching an unfamiliar, velvet moneybag. He weighed it in his hand heavily, peering at the contents with astonishment.
"Damn, you are wasted," Dean said anxiously. "How many bottles did you have?"
"Um…I didn't," Ron said oddly. "What is this? Why am I rich?" Dean furrowed his brows in frustration, his hand clamping over Ron's forehead. "You don't feel hot," he remarked. Ron pushed the hand away impatiently, glowering at Dean. "Did you hit your head last night or did someone cast a Memory Charm on you? Hello? Ron, you're a Weasley, one of the bloody richest families in the wizarding world. Your father is one of the most respected purebloods and the Minister of Magic."
Ron halted, his eyes boring into Dean's. "Bloody hell! He is what? Last I heard, that stupid bloke, Cornelius Fudge was the Minister. I was not rich…and certainly not a respected pureblood. Next you'll be telling me I'm friends with Malfoy."
"You are," Dean pointed out. "Well, acquaintances at least…"
"Bloody hell," Ron repeated as Dean pushed him into the Great Hall. "Thomas, would you give up the joke? I don't believe it."
"Did someone cast a Memory Charm on you?" Dean asked peering into Ron's eyes. "Look, ask Dumbledore if you really think this is a joke. If you do, he'll know you've been out yesterday for a few whiskeys. But really, he'll tell you the same thing I'm telling you now."
They sauntered their way to the Gryffindor table, hands raining down on Ron's back in greeting. He numbly nodded in acknowledgement, the newfound information processing through his head. Where was he? He obviously was not in his own world he knew…friends with Draco Malfoy and he was rich? He pinched himself, wincing painfully as he stared down at the mark in his arm. A sudden grin spread across his face. He was in a world with no troubles…no worries about the single, sticky Knut in his pocket and Hermione. Was this Ron brave and cool with no stammering and blushing?
"I heard you were wasted last night," Seamus said in his ear, breaking into his thoughts. "Eat." Ron grinned widely, shoveling down a few eggs on his golden plate.
"How many?" Harry asked, his emerald eyes twinkling with amusement.
Ron decided to play along. "Um…six?" he surmised. "And a butterbeer I spilled down Madam Rosmerta's front." The boys laughed with a few Gryffindor girls joining with shrieking squeals. He stared at them, daring a wink. Lavender and Parvati sighed, fluttering their dark lashes at him flirtingly. He smiled as his eyes roamed down the table, scanning for a bushy brown head and wide, honey eyes.
"Where's Hermione?" he asked Harry casually, biting into his toast. Harry raised an eyebrow, searching Ron's face before answering slowly.
"Why do you want to know?" Harry said scornfully. "You know she's in the library." Seamus and Dean laughed scathingly. "The little bossy know-at-all. She gets on my nerves. Why did you ask? Are we playing a prank on her today?" He looked at the other two boys slyly.
Ron had the sudden urge to punch his friend. "What the hell is wrong with you? She's your friend!" he said angrily.
"Since when?" Harry asked coolly. "She's a geek, Ron. Furthermore, remember how bossy she was to us the first day of school? I swear, it's no wonder why she has no friends." Ron immediately recognized these words that had he had uttered in his first year when he caused Hermione to burst into tears. He guiltily stared down at his plate at the thought, and then glared at Harry for his harsh insults.
Ron found himself studying his friend's face, no longer gaunt and filled with shadows. His eyes glittered with happiness, and the bags mauled underneath them were gone. This world…this world was different. He pondered on Dean's words. If his father was the Minister of Magic, would it be possible that Sirius never died? That he cleared his name and lived with Harry? Is that why Harry was so cheerful?
"How's Sirius?" Ron risked, his eyes examining Harry's eyes for a glint of emotion.
"Great," Harry said enthusiastically, chewing on an egg. "He just sent me some dungbombs from home with his letter." Ron smiled weakly, glancing over his shoulder for a sign of Hermione. She was nowhere in sight, shrouded from his searching eyes.
"We aren't friends with Hermione?" he tried again wistfully. Harry shook his head.
"No, mate," Harry replied. "You hate her…actually. You just pushed her books out of her arms yesterday." He chuckled at the memory. "It was rather funny. Sirius says we shouldn't be so mean. I mean, we can't help it, can we? She's a horrible person. Always the first to raise her hand in class, always the first to boss us around, always the first to follow the rules… She's too uptight." His voice had an edge of finality to it.
"I remember now," Ron said in a hollow voice. He noted to himself to find Hermione and talk to her. How could he be so horrible? Knocking books out of her arms? It sounded like someone the scum Malfoy would do. "I really do."
"Glad you do," Seamus said guffawing. "Oops, we'll be fashionably late for McGonagall today, I guess." He glanced down at his watch carelessly.
"We are really late!" Ron yelped gawking down at the watch. "Let's go before McGonagall curses us to an oblivion…" He hurried to the entrance hall, glancing back at his three friends. "Why are you still sitting there?" Hermione would've bodily dragged them to Transfiguration. He merely stared at them with a puzzled expression.
"I said fashionably late," Seamus drawled after him. "No need to lose your knickers, Weasley. What's wrong with you today? You aren't yourself, even if you did get drunk last night…"
"I swear he had a Memory Charm done on him," Dean remarked, standing up. Harry just shrugged, flashing an anxious look at him. "Well, let's go before McGonagall gives us a week's detention. I'm sure we'll worm our way out of it…"
Ron racked his mind for an excuse, anything to find Hermione. He desperately needed someone to talk to, and he knew Seamus and Dean would blink at him incredulously, declaring he was touched in the head. Harry…perhaps he could corner his friend later. "Um…well, I'm feel sick," Ron lied through gritted teeth, clutching his stomach. He moaned pitifully. "You see, stomachache."
"Okay, we know how much you hate Transfiguration," Dean said his piercing eyes distinguishing the transparent act. "Have fun at the Hospital Wing." He grinned, brushing past Ron. Seamus clapped him on the shoulder, and Harry merely stared at him.
"Hey, can I talk to you later?" Ron whispered in his ear. "I really need to. It's important." Harry nodded with a small smile. "Thanks." He watched the three saunter down the corridor, several students halting to greet them breathlessly. They were the gods of the school…the leaders of the Gryffindors. They had a confidence they once didn't have and a power that they thirsted for. They changed in this world, warped into people he no longer recognized. Hermione. The name clicked in his head abruptly, nagging at him. Find Hermione.
Wouldn't she be in Transfiguration with the rest? He groaned, sticking his hands in his pockets. He was rich and popular. Wasn't this what he always wanted? Shouldn't he be taking the advantage, living the life he dreamed of? Ron, apparently, was the ringleader of the admired group, the one who had confidence and didn't blush. The one who knocked Hermione's books out of her arms? He shook his head. Perhaps they misinterpreted an accident into a cruel joke. Maybe, in this world, he had the courage to ask Hermione to Hogsmeade with him…or tell her he liked her.
Ron ambled aimlessly down the corridors, running his fingers through the stone walls. He whistled to himself, twisting the doorknob of the Transfiguration classroom. The door creaked open, announcing his arrival. He smiled smoothly at a livid Professor McGonagall. "I'm sorry, Professor. I had a stomachache," he said searching for an empty seat.
"Be as that may," McGonagall said, pursing her lips together, "detention, Mr. Weasley. I do not tolerate you or anyone--" She frowned at the sniggering Dean, Seamus, and Harry. "--to interrupt my class. Now sit down next to Ms. Granger and please kindly tell Mr. Weasley what the lesson is about today."
Ron's ears perked at the mention of her name, his gaze following McGonagall's to the back of the room, eyes widening.