Author's Note: Ohh…poor Ron. Why is he poor, you ask? Read and find out. What am I, a walking radio?
Oh, the glamour of the one-shot. A good whole story for you readers, and there's no need for me to keep updating. Think of my one-shots as my dedication to new ideas…without having to update…sorry.
Disclaimer: What do I own? My Copic Markers, my music, my stories, my jean-pocket lint, my Game-cube games that I had to kill my wallet for in order to buy, the dust bunnies under my desk, my obsessively large collection of well-thumbed books (hard-cover and paperback) these pair of gym shorts that are waaaayy too tight, the pimple on my face that is figuratively killing me, and my rather worn out and dirty Circa shoes. Sorry folks, I don't see Harry Potter in that list any where. Maybe next time…or next year…or next century….possible and most defiantly next life-time. Reincarnation, anyone?
Ronald Weasly sat on the front steps of Hogwarts, looking very glum indeed. He sat, chin in hand, and watched as the other students played around the pond. It was a nice, sunny summer day, but Ron was having none of it. His red hair drooped over his eyes, and he sighed for the millionth time.
Harry Potter, one of his best friends, jogged over to him. "Hello Ron, why the long face? What's the matter?"
"I'm dead. I am going to die." And Ron sighed again and picked off lint from his robes. Invisible lint.
"What? Oh no, is it Voldemort? Where is he? He better not be threatening you, or I'll…" Harry jumped around, looking very frantic and a bit mad. Not angry mad. Crazy mad.
"Harry! Harry, calm down. It's not Voldemort. It's just…" And then he was cut off by a sudden, cheery voice.
"Oh, hello Ron! Say, why do you look so miserable?" Neville skipped over, as much as his over sized robes and clumsy feet could let him. He clutched Trevor in his hand, and some bits of plant were stuck in his hair. Apparently he was just in a special Herbology class. Not that he's failing, but rather that he's exceeding. He's one of those geniuses; annoying types which understand a certain subject better than the rest of us. This just happens to be chock full of leaves, moss, and plants. A bit too buggy for my taste.
"I'm dead. I'm going to die." And Ron looked forlornly at his shoes again.
"What? Oh, no? Are you flunking? Are you leaving? Do you have a murderous Granny who will kill you because you failed? I know, because my Granny would…" And Neville had gotten very pale in the face, and was squeezing Trevor a bit too tightly, because the little buggers eyes were becoming rather inflated at an alarming rate, and it seemed the blood flow to its toes was being cut off. Ever seen a white frog? Clammy, man…
"No, Neville. I'm not flunking…it's just that…" But he was interrupted yet again by the sound of a sudden, cheerful voice.
"Hello Ron! Say, why are you looking so blue?" Seamus Finnegan had suddenly appeared, and was holding a Comet Three-Sixty in his hand, and a "Quiditch Monthly Magazine" in the other.
"I'm dead. I'm going to die." And Ron looked up sadly at the sky.
"What? What happened? Did England lose? Did the school take away your broom rights? Did Ireland lose? Did your Dad suddenly decide that only muggle things will be used in your house, and therefore your brooms will be taken away? Because if that happens I will be glad to store them for you and…" Seamus was clutching his own broom rather tightly, and had started stroking its handle. His face was white, and he was nervously looked around.
"No, no Seamus. Nothing like that. It's just that…" but to Ron's despair he was cut off yet again by the arrival of another voice.
"Ron? Why do you look so sad?" Dean Thomas came out of the front doors, his new futbol jersey under his robes, and a futbol under his arm.
"I'm dead. I'm going to die."
"What? Oh, no! What happened? Did England lose? Did Portugal beat us? Brazil? Germany? Did the USA finally win a game? Did they cancel the World Cup? They better not, or I'll…" and Dean was suddenly taking very rapid breathes, his hands squeezing the futbol rather hard.
"No, no…Dean, that not it. Don't hyperventilate. It's just that…" But yet again, poor Ron, in the moment of telling them why he was going to die, a voice cut in.
"Err…ello Ron, my boy. Say, what's with the long face?" Hagrid appeared from around the castle corner, tough leather gloves on his baby dolphin sized hands, and a pair of goggles on his twinkling eyes.
"Hagrid? What are you dressed like that for?" asked Harry.
"This? Oh, this is jus' the protection equipment I hafta wear…doing a monthly check-up on horn-blasting slime-shooting pasty-blue-bellow frogs. Blighty little buggers, ya' know? Anyhow, What's with you, Ron?"
"I'm dead. I'm going to die."
"What? Err, that horrible. What happened? Did a skrewt come afta' you? Did Dumbledore expel ya'? Is Snape giving ya' trouble? Filch? Ms. Norris?" Hagrid had gotten very nervous, and his hands had started to shake. He was pacing the ground, and slowly but surly, his feet were creating a grand canyon underneath.
"No, no Hagrid…and stop your pacing. I'm in trouble because of…" But then, in the moment of truth, a voice rang out, cutting off Ron.
"RONALD WEASLY!" hollered a very livid Hermione Granger form behind them, in the doorway of the castle. Her hair was rather frazzled, and in her hands she clutched rather tightly a very large book.
Ron paled. "…Hermone…" he finished quite weakly.
"RON! WHY IS THERE A LARGE INKSTAIN ON MY BOOK?" Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ron.
"I-i-Hermione…umm, I can explain." Then noticing that Hermione was a state of mind where she would not hesitate to throw the large book she held right at his head, Ron jumped off and sprinted madly away from the castle. "Hermione, please don't kill meeeeee!"
"AAARRRGGHH! RONALD WEASLY, GET BACK HERE SO I CAN PUNCH THE BLOODY LIGHTS OUTA' YOU WITH THIS BOOK!" and Hermione ran after him, screeching and hollering as she chased him around the lake.
Quite a few students paused to look up, and then went back to their playtime. There as nothing they could do for him now.
"Well…" said Harry.
"Nothing we can do for the poor blighter now." said Semaus.
"Err..nope..not really." shrugged Neville.
"No…" put in Harry.
"Uh-uhhh…." said Neville as he shook his head.
"He's on his own." commented Dean.
"Well, hope he gets back okay. Now I gotta' get back to my frogs. If ya'll excuse me…" and Hagrid walked off.
They stood in silence for a couple minutes, until; "Quiditch, anyone?" asked Seamus.
Author's Note: How was that? Come one, I want your feed back. Strudel for my reviewers!