A/N: Hello all you lovely people! Thanks so much again for reading and reviewing - I love hearing all your theories! To answer some reviewer questions - this story'll be about 40 - 50 chapters, and I think I can safely share that Hermione is the only one from Universe A who will be showing up in this world.
Trying to get both parts of this chapter out to you before I go on vacation this week. As a reminder for these two parts especially, this is M. There will be language, sexual references and suggestions of violence, though nothing too explicit I think. We can blame Ronáld for most of that.
Hermione's Plan, Part I: The Caper
Ronáld Weasley had to say, he was having an excellent weekend.
Late Friday night, Evans had actually resurfaced from whatever shirty, antisocial mood he'd been in for far longer than Ronáld even bothered to recall. As it turned out, the wait was worth it.
First, it seemed that his old mate actually remembered how to have fun - under the cover of Evans' Invisibility Cloak, they'd snuck over to Hogsmeade in the One-Eyed Witch Passage like they'd used to before the Conservative Subversion began and raided Rosmerta's Firewhiskey stores, which led to a very entertaining Friday night.
Second, Evans had convinced Ronáld that he needed to get over My, that the self-centered, petulant little bint wasn't worth it. After subsequent shags with Lavender Brown - oh, she was glorious - and then Hannah Abbott and Lavender Brown again, Ronáld could confidently say that, damn it, Evans had been absolutely right. He was a perfectly fine male specimen without the trophy that was Lady My Granger Evans hanging off his side, thank you very much, and he didn't give one sod how often she batted her lashes at him during dinner on Saturday, she could go find some other bloke to screech at, for all he cared.
No, after he'd announced to the entire Gryffindor Common Room on Saturday night that he was a free man, Ronáld suddenly had multiple women hanging off him who were much more compliant than My ever was (unless she wanted something), no doubt even more of them waiting in the wings should he beckon them, and life was very, very good.
By Sunday's Quidditch victory over Ravenclaw in the first match of the season, Ronáld literally felt invincible. He had made save after save, putting the unpleasant little mishap that was last year's Quidditch Cup championship match well behind him, and earning him the right to sneer triumphantly at his sister as his adoring fans carried him off the field, chanting his name.
Yes, his last year at Hogwarts was going to be his best year yet, and no snippity women, no badgering parents, no filthy, insubordinate Fusties, and certainly no My Evans were going to stop him from coming out on the very top of the food chain.
As Butterbeer and Firewhiskey bottles popped in the Gryffindor Common Room around him and streamers rained down, he realized he had been having such a blasted good time that he'd forgotten to give his Fusty a well-deserved reminder of exactly who his superior was. No sooner had he begun to cross the post-victory celebrations toward the parasite's cage, though, did Evans and Finnigan pull him over to the video game console.
Bloody hell - Evans had somehow gotten his hands on Dark World IV! The latest series wasn't scheduled for release until December, but apparently having a Muggleborn mum paid off in more ways than one, he thought resentfully.
For a moment, he couldn't help but scowl - if only his mother had been a Muggleborn, or at least Mixed - but he reminded himself that a fortuitous birth was the only element in which Harry Evans had him beat.
As was clearly evident as he continued to trounce Evans and Finnigan, level after level.
As the night deepened, gaming wands flung artificial spells at 3D Fusties and other invaders lunging at them out of the screen, Firewhiskeys were downed - three, four, five, Ronáld had really lost count - and Lavender, Parvati, Hannah, Susan Bones, and a few choice other girls who'd been lucky enough to be invited to the exclusive Gryffindor party gathered around them, squealing at every hit he made.
The impromptu Dark World Tournament ended when the Creevey brothers opened their regular Quidditch gambling corner. Tomorrow saw Puddlemere United against the Wimbourne Wasps and the Falmouth Falcons against the Chudley Cannons. Ronald frowned. He knew this particular match had been coming, and his alcohol-muddled brain attempted to sort through a few pesky but pressing facts. He loved his Cannons, but the Falcons had gone undefeated for the past thirty matches. The Cannons had only won two in the same amount of time.
Suddenly, Evans appeared beside him, and tossed a bag on the table. "Fifty galleons on Falmouth."
Colin Creevey let out a delighted chuckle, pouring the coins onto the collective pile they kept in a spell-protected amphora behind them. "Excellent, Evans, raising the stakes; I like it."
Evans smirked darkly. "It's go big or go home where I throw my coins." He glanced over at Ronáld. "Isn't that right, Weasley?"
Ronáld heard the challenge even if no one else did; there was no way he was letting Evans take the big win for that night, not when Ronáld had become an unstoppable force. Without hesitation, he summoned his entire sack of loose change. The bag landed on the betting table with a thud.
"A hundred -" He paused, trying to remember exactly how much he had, "- a hundred five galleons. All on the - the Cannons."
For a moment, the entire corner of the common room went silent. Then Lavender gasped and curled up to him. "Oh Ronnie. What a bold wager."
Ronáld smoothed a hand over his hair and smirked, lazing throwing his arm over Lavender's shoulders and reveling in the many awed eyes on him. Oh yes. He knew this was the right decision. Just a little reminder to them all of which Gryffindor really went big. "You haven't seen anything yet, bitty," he purred into her ear before burrowing his face into the side of her neck, causing her to shriek and then giggle loudly.
The youngest Creevey picked up the bag slowly. "You sure about this, Weasley?"
"You better-" he hiccuped "-better believe I am. And when the Cannons win, I'll be perfectly glad to take his - all of your money," he said with a pleased grin, pointing a flask of Firewhiskey toward the students around him. "Now… where's my ticket?"
He began to stumble away from the crowded booth, leaning heavily on a babbling Lavender and in general feeling quite satisfied with how the night was progressing - when he stopped dead.
He was supremely annoyed to notice that most of the students standing around him had done the same.
My Granger was standing inside the portrait hole - wearing nothing but bright scarlet stilettos and that dress.
It was a thigh-high, strapless red number that dipped down her chest and clung to her body like a glove, leaving nothing to imagination. Ronáld hated that bloody dress. The color clashed horribly with his hair, and he distinctly remembered forbidding her to wear it when they were together in public.
Lavender tugged at his arm, clearly displeased. "Ronnie! I thought you said the two of you're finished!"
"Oh, we are. Over." He turned his back on My. "So why don't you say we go - errrr - go back to my room, eh, pet?" he suggested with a smirk.
"But pumpkin," Lavender giggled, "why do we have to go anywhere?"
Brilliant. Why indeed?
They had just begun to snog in the middle of the common room when something heavy slammed into his back. At its force, Ronáld actually stumbled forward into Lavender. She let out a shriek, leaping back and nursing her lip. Somewhere behind them, he heard a few muffled barks of laughter.
"Bloody hell—"
He spun angrily, losing his balance only a bit… and found himself face to face with My Granger's furious expression, a long metal candlestick in her hand.
"What do you think you're doing with her?" she spat.
Ronáld smirked widely, the pain in his shoulder all but forgotten. Oh, wasn't it a sweet, sweet victory to be sitting on the other side of the table? "You know. Just enjoying the fineries of life I never did with you, pet."
She looked like she was ready to hit him with the candlestick again. "How dare you! After all this time, you'll leave me for that Old-Blood?"
Lavender squeaked indignantly, but Ronáld actually giggled. "How dare I? Listen to you, your knickers alllll in a twist. Have a taste of your own medicine, why don't you." He threw his arm back around Lavender and spun around, stumbling once when he accidentally ran into the footrest. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Brown and I have some - some unfinished business to take care of. If you know what I mean," he sneered.
Before he could take another step, My was standing in front of him. His head spun. How had she moved that quickly?
But then her hand touched his chest and began to stroke it slowly, and he stiffened, stopping his wonderment of anything at all.
"Really?" she breathed. "You mean, you'd choose that plebeian over… me?" Her lip curled slightly as she looked toward Lavender, then gazed back up at him and smiled seductively. "When you and I could walk up those stairs right now to your big, comfortable bed… and we could have the most mind-blowing night of your entire life?"
His entire body tightened. For a moment, his mind blanked at a decent argument against that.
"Steady, mate," he suddenly heard Evans mutter from somewhere behind him.
At those two words, Ronáld drew up his chest, scoffing. He didn't need sodding Evans to remind him to be steady. He was a single man now. A bachelor, like Sirius Black. Better than Black, even - Black's father wasn't Viceroy of the entire Sovereignty; Black came from a family of Fusties.
That was right, My Granger and her poofy, perfect hair had no influence on him here; not in that hideous red dress, and especially not after such a resounding Quidditch victory.
"R-Rubbish," he spat, shoving her away from him. "You don't hold a whit to - to Brown here." He stumbled over the words, trying to recall exactly how to string together what he wanted to say. "I don't - don't even think of you anymore."
"That's a lie, you toad!" Her voice was elevated now. "I bet you dream of me every time you're with her, and I bet I could still give you the best night you've ever had!"
A catcall suddenly cut through the background, and the sound distracted Ronáld enough for him to notice Thomas and Finnigan waggling their eyebrows at him knowingly.
He snorted and rolled his eyes, taking a swing of his Firewhiskey. "Bet you can't."
"Bet I can," My countered forcefully, looking shirty. "In fact, I bet you your House-Wizard I can!"
Ronáld scowled at her. Oh, she thought she had the upper hand, but she didn't. He was stronger than her, and there was no way on earth even My could top Lavender Brown and Hannah Abbot's joint show for him the night before - any experience short of a bloody rapture couldn't. "Then I bet you your House-Witch you can't!"
Before she could respond, the older Creevey shoved his way between them. "Do I sense a wager?" he asked eagerly.
"Yes, you do!" Ronáld said without hesitation, grabbing the thinner boy by his collar and yanking him over. "Did you hear that? Put that down - Her House-Witch for my House-Wizard if she doesn't give me the best damn night of my entire life tonight!"
"Blimey, Weasley - Honestly?" he heard someone - Longbottom - hiss from nearby. "This is Malfoy you'd be losing! And for what, some worthless twit?"
By now, a circle had formed around them, and many of them were watching with a mixture of shocked and doubtful expressions.
Ronáld scowled. Oh, of course everyone expected him to just fall back into her arms. But he knew that this time, he bloody well would not. After dealing with My's temper tantrums and mood swings for far longer than any self-respecting man would - yes, Evans couldn't have been more right about that - he was back on top of the world and he liked the view, thank you very much. He wasn't going to let the simpering harpy knock him off again.
If he wasn't quite so drunk, he might have noticed when Evans had stiffened beside Creevey at the mention of a House-Witch and even morso when Longbottom had spoken to him, or when My had shot an unnaturally panicked, uncomfortable look in his mate's direction and hesitate over her response more than necessary.
"I'll need both of the leads and deeds," Creevey said as though the decision had already been made. "It's a subjective bet, so I'll need to cast a metric charm on you to objectively measure your immediate emotional response in the morning, Weasley. You know the spell - the one Black invented for his game show."
Unhesitatingly, Ronáld removed his Wizex, relishing that My suddenly looked less confident than she had before.
Not so sure of yourself now that you have to play the game, are you? he thought wickedly. He couldn't help but smirk as he held out his wand, thinking harder than he usually had to for a thin, rolled-up document to zoom down the stairs from the Eighth Year dorms. "Here." He willingly shoved it and his Wizex in Creevey's direction without even looking at him, his eyes locked on My's in challenge.
Creevey turned to My. "Now, yours?"
She definitely looked uncertain now, Ronáld just knew she did.
"I - I need time to summon the necessary items," she told Creevey haughtily before looking back at him with a displeased sniff. Clearly at the fact that she was about to lose her grubby little Fusty, who was likely the only reason she ever made it to class on time. "Why would you ever want such a useless House-Witch?"
"Not completely useless, pet; I'll need something to comfort me when you fail to cause a - rise to the challenge," Ronáld said with a smirk, pleased with such a snappy comeback on such short notice.
Something bumped hard into him then, and Ronáld distantly noticed in annoyance it was a glowering Evans, but he didn't stop to wonder at it; instead, he sensed another victory was at hand. He leaned toward her. "Well, pet? Time to put your - er - money where your mouth is, eh?" He lowered his voice. "Or - have you remembered your true place in our relationship: below me?"
Something flashed in her expression. She suddenly looked him square in the eye. "You're on."
A collective gasp rose from more than one onlooking student, and Creevey smiled delightedly as My summoned the House-Witch's ownership articles, her lips pursed in a deep pout. When they arrived, Creevey sent them and Ronáld's own afloat in a golden light with a Locomotor charm and number of other spells that Ronáld's brain didn't feel like analyzing. They floated across the common room until they settled next to the Quidditch stand amphora.
"Lord Weasley's House-Wizard to Lady Evans if she gives Lord Weasley the best night he's ever had in his entire life. Lady Evans' House-Witch to Lord Weasley if she doesn't," Creevey announced dramatically. "Play clean, the both of you: The rules are, no love potions or enhancement enchantments allowed. The winner of the bet will be free to take both ownership titles tomorrow; they'll remain untouchable here until then. Now shake on it."
Ronáld eagerly held out his hand, almost falling forward at the too-abrupt motion. After a moment, My took it, her expression again set in a measured smile. Creevey tapped his wand against their clasped hands, sealing the wager and the conditions. A purple glow looped between them.
"The bet is on!" he proclaimed, causing scattered cheers to break out from onlookers. "Now, do I have five galleons on Weasley? What about ten on Evans?"
Ronáld smirked smugly as various students began to shell out bets in his favor, scowling at anyone who was supporting My.
She tilted her head up toward the boys' dorm rooms, meeting his eyes with the same coquettish smile on her face. "Meet you there soon… Ronnie."
As she turned to go, Ronáld frowned, loathe to let her take control of the situation. He almost tripped forward in his effort to pursue her. "Oh no you don't… We'll both go now!"
She turned back around, then sashayed toward him until she was so close he could smell her perfume. "No no no, Ronnie, that wasn't part of the agreement." She again slowly slid her hands down his chest until they landed on his sweater pocket. She played with it idly. "No, you just wait right here while I go and make myself… presentable."
For the briefest - briefest - moment, Ronáld wondered if this was such a good idea after all, but then Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas hooted and slapped him on the back, and the doubt dissolved into a mocking grin. "Need to make sure you look good when you go down, eh, pet?"
More laughter at that only encouraged him. Yes. He had this. He was a winner, the rest of this weekend had only proved that. He had nothing to worry about.
When Longbottom appeared at his side, wanting to know if he could have a go at the House-Wizard that night since Ronáld would be otherwise occupied, he was in too good a mood to even stop to ask for payment. Before he headed up to the dorms, he turned to find Evans and gave him a thumbs up, only to see the Mixed-Blood staring coldly after him. If Ronáld had known any better, which he really didn't, he'd say something akin to actual dread was in his expression.
Ronald rolled his eyes. The cudger was so fickle. First Evans seemed certain Ronáld could handle himself without My; now he thought he couldn't… Well, Ronáld would show him. He and the bint were finished.
Tonight would only announce that to the world.
Even if he had to charm himself the equivalent of a cold shower, this was one gamble Ronáld had no intention of losing.
A/N: Sooo I might've had more fun than I should have writing Ronáld's POV. He's a bit ridiculous, isn't he? Stay tuned for Part II: The Set-Up!