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CHAPTER 3: ROCK YOUR BODY
Know thy enemy and know thyself, and thou wilt always be victorious, that's what his mum told Ginny whenever she went after a boy. Ron supposed it could be applied to this situation. Of course, the only thing he really wanted to do was track this Timbertrunk down and show him the business end of his wand. But since A) that would land him in Azkaban, and he'd had enough of Dementors already and 2) knowing how mental Hermione was, she'd probably get upset and take the plank's side and then there would be a big fight and she wouldn't talk to him and that git would just be smirking away in the background feeling all smug because now he'd been left alone with the coolest girl in the world and they'd end up married and it would all be that wombat's fault. So, no to the wand plan.
In the three days since Black Friday, Ron had thought a lot about the appeal of The Git. It seemed to him that the Timberpuddle had two key weapons at his disposal. Firstly, there was the hair. Now Ron had never previously thought much about his hair, or how others viewed it, but clearly if he wanted to compete with the Human Tree then that would have to change. He'd been very fond of making it stick up like he'd just jumped off his broom, until he'd heard Parvati telling three fourth year girls that he just did that to look like Harry. So he'd promptly gone back to combing it once in the morning and then leaving it to its own devices. But Timberlank didn't do that. Maybe there was some charm he used to make his hair glossy but manly. Ron chewed thoughtfully on a chocolate frog and decided to look that up just as soon as he got back to Hogwarts.
The second great weapon seemed to be (and Ron hesitated to even think this about another bloke) his body. It was quite impressive (though Ron felt sure that he wouldn't last three minutes playing Quidditch). Now Ron knew that he wasn't exactly a small bloke because the only small Weaseley was Ginny, and all those hours of running for his life and working to perfect the goalie skills had paid off: he was bigger and burlier than Harry, for example, would ever be. But to be frank, if Timberlake were a racehorse then he was a donkey: same kind of build, totally different over-all effect. Maybe plankboy had to make sure he had a great body, he thought glumly, since he couldn't really wear clothes with that allergy of his, now could he? A panicked thought occurred to Ron. What if the, ahem, "allergy," was what really tickled Hermione's fancy? He looked around at the posters. What if the only way to get her attention was to strike one of those poses? His brothers would disown him. Harry would probably never speak to him again. But if that was what it took… Carefully, Ron looked around. He once again poked his head out of her door just to make sure nobody was around. And then he did the Unthinkable. "Repetitio," he murmured, pointing his wand at her stereo.
Music flooded the room and Ron knew without being told that this was the Twit's music. It sounded smug. Smug in a hey-I'm-naked-in-front-of-your-girlfriend kind of a way. But it had a strong beat and you could dance to it. Ron had surreptitiously watched anything to do with Timberlake on the Muggle's answer to WWN, (a new habit which had already led to some uncomfortable moments with Harry) and was sure he could ape the moves. Checking one more time that he was alone, Ron ordered the music a little bit higher, closed his eyes and began to dance.
With his eyes closed it wasn't that difficult. He had to remember not to move his arms much, and (he grimaced at the thought) to wiggle his backside as much as possible. That seemed to be the extent of the Muggle's athletic abilities. Ron frowned, his face screwed up with concentration. It wasn't right, he must be doing something wrong. Maybe if he was singing too? He pointed his wand at his throat, quickly chanted "Elvissium," and began to sing along, all the time paying more attention to what he was doing than he had in any of his O.W.L.s. He frowned again. He was sure that he could hit that high note if he just tried hard enough. "Whoa! The damage is done so I guess I'll be leaving!" He tried. It sounded like a croak. "Whoa!" He tried another time. Even higher. "Whoa!" Not good enough. He took another deep breath, determined. "Whoa!"
"Ron mate, is there something you want to tell me?" Ron jumped, banged into Hermione's desk and knocked himself over, sending her obligatory pile of books sky-high. Luckily, his prone body prevented any of the books being damaged. He looked up to see a rather worried Harry staring down at him. And behind him, one hand over her mouth, looking somewhere between horrified and furious (a look he knew oh so well) stood Hermione.