Disclaimer: Ooooh...I'm now married to the prince of England and own Harry Potter. Life changes, eh?

Hey devoted readers! (or not..) It's Emmy, and I told you Chronicles would never die...but this chappie is awfully short. The next one will be longer...I'll try to post it soon. I've written it already. GASP I know! Actually a bit prepared..imagine that. I think the following message is from Cocabella. Happy Holidays!

Well, guess what, we were SO BORED that we finally decided to get off our lazy arses and get back to writing again! Doesn't that just make your day?

Ron sat forlornly in the common room. "I need a beagle," he sighed.

"And why would you need a beagle, Ron?" questioned Hermione, discarding one of the many books sitting on the floor next to her and picking up a new one.

"Because I'm bored."

"Are you really?"

"Yes, I am."

"Really now?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Okay then."

Ron began to stroke his imaginary beagle, and imagined all the lovely things he could do with such a wonderful specimen of dog. "My beagle would be very manly, you know."

Hermione raised her ever-so-active eyebrow. "As opposed to a womanly beagle?"

"Yes. My beagle would be the epitome of manliness."

"I'm sure."

Ron repeated the word "epitome" to himself a few more times, then got up from his seat in the common room and began walking his imaginary beagle. "I would name him Chewy."

"Name who Chewy?"

"My beagle."

"Ah." She turned a page.

Ron sauntered around for a few more minutes, waving to his imaginary diplomat friends, and throwing imaginary rocks at imaginary kids who tried to pet his imaginary dog. After a few minutes he continued talking.

"I would name him Chewy because of Chewbacca from Star Wars. He has lots of hair."

"Beagles don't have lots of hair, Ron."

Ron stopped pinching an imaginary lady's behind and turned to Hermione with a look of astonishment. "Hermione! How could you!"

Hermione looked up from her studies for the first time. "Ron, this is pointless. Beagles don't have lots of hair and you don't have a beagle. And you're acting like an imbecile walking around the common room pretending-well, who knows what the hell you're pretending? I don't even want to know. And pretty soon, if you carry on this way, you'll end up like Harry and you'll start believing what goes on in your head. And then you'll be just as screwed up as he is. And that's saying something. So stop. Please."

Ron smiled winningly. "You know I'm just perfectly sane." He turned from her and raised an eyebrow to his imaginary gal pal. "You be lookin' sizzling, ma darling. Call me lata. Maybe we can get together tonight and do something…oh, I dunno. Spicy. Eh? Eh? Yeeeeaaaaahhhhh…"

Then Ron made love to the air. Much to Hermione's chagrin.

After Ron was, er, finished, he turned back around, running his finger through his hair and looking quite satisfied.

"Sorry about that, Herm. But when feisty mamas coma'calling….well, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. But don' worry 'Mione, you're not the only sane one around hea."

Hermione began to cry, mourning the hopelessness of the world of parody fanfiction, as a smug Ronald looked at his sexy ass in the reflection of the stained glass window.