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Ron at the Ball by makemeover
Chapter 1 : Ron at the Ball
 
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       It never crossed my mind that this was how the night would turn out.

       Harry was sitting next to me, in his proper dress robes, looking rather swank and gentlemanly.  I was sitting in the most brooding, slouchy-like manner.  I had to get the point across that I was miserable owing to the drapey, ancient dress robes I was being forced to wear against my will.  Mum would have of course said I looked dashing, but I was well aware that I looked like a cross between a homeless person and a rather primeval old woman.

       I untied the ruffley-bib around my neck and threw it to the ground.  I proceeded to step on it, in a frenzied manner, numerous times.  Harry chuckled sympathetically.  He was always laughing like that, even when unnecessary.

       “Look at them,” I said, nodding towards Hermione and Krum who were twirling about, rather foolishly, in the middle of all the other sweaty, ridiculous looking dancers.  “I bet he thinks he’s so cool.  Git…

       Harry did his annoying laugh again.  I had to resist the urge to smack him upside the head.    He probably thinks Krum is cool, too.  It must be a Seeker thing because I certainly don’t see it…

       I noticed that most of the girls were watching them as well.  “I mean, what has he got that I don’t?”  I questioned out loud.  I could tell Harry was in no talking mood, but decided to ignore it because I, in fact, was in such a mood.

       “Fame…good looks…exceptional Quidditch skills…” he mused.  His face was blank.  He didn’t look like he had thought about what he was saying, so I forgave him for forgetting that I was all those things, as well.

       “People…know…who I am,” I said.  I mentally smacked myself.  Nice reciprocation, Ron.

       Harry was looking out at the dance floor, at no one in particular.  I decided not to bother him.  A decent looking girl from Beauxbatons gave me the eyes from a few tables down.  She was alone.  Time to turn on the charm, you sly old chap.  I suavely raised my goblet to her, nodded, and brought it to my lips.  I took a big, manly gulp of pumpkin juice.  I had to make sure she knew exactly how much I could drink at once.  Harry asked me a question that I couldn’t hear.  I naturally replied, “What?”  This is when I realized that I hadn’t swallowed my pumpkin juice yet.

       I noticed the Beauxbatons she-devil burst into hysterics as a waterfall of pumpkin juice rained down onto the already catastrophic attire I had to sport.  Harry laughed once more.  He wasn’t laughing to amuse me that time.

       My cheeks burned hot red as what felt like 47 gallons of my very own backwash soaked into my robe.  I looked around.  It appeared as though 9 out of 10 people saw my monsoon debacle.

       I glanced down.  It looked as though I’d come straight from a bath, one which I forgot to undress for.  It was really an unfortunate stain.  I looked down and saw the heap of ruffles on the floor.  I immediately wished I hadn’t stomped on it.  I then had to make one of the hardest decisions of my life.  Unsightly, frilly bib or clumsy juice stain.  I thought choosing to go right to bed would be the best option, but the dance only had 45 minutes left.  I could endure.

       15 minutes later, I realized I could not, in fact, endure.  How had Hermione kept dancing so long?  I’ll probably have to hear about her feet hurting tomorrow.  That will be the appropriate time to inform her of what a prat Viktor Krum is.

       “Where are you going?” Harry asked after I’d stood up.

       “Home,” was my immediate response, which I’d barked at him intensely.

       “What?” he asked.

       I laughed in my head.  Silly Harry Potter doesn’t even understand everything all the time.  I then thought about how ridiculous it sounded to say that I was going home.  Instead of correcting myself and showing weakness, I turned on one foot and stormed towards the doors.

       Once I got upstairs in my room, I decided there was only one reasonable course of action for a man in this situation.

       Voodoo.

       And here I sit, silently plotting the demise of that foolish and mediocre Quidditch player.  I grab the Krum figurine from my nightstand, climb into bed, and shut the hangings.  I light my wand and shine it on the little toy.  Why had I even gotten it?  It is just as small and insignificant as the real life Krum.  I quietly chant a Native American battle cry that we’d learned about in Muggle Studies.

       “Hey-ya, hi-ya, hey-ya,- hi-ya.”

       Even with my deep, husky, velvety voice, it sounds stupid.  I wave my wand around the whole figurine.  I try to think of a good spell to say, but I don’t want it to blow up or catch fire on my bed.  I have one last attempt, a plea of sorts.

       “Oh, wise Merlin.”  I hope the enchantment will work.  I’d never seen one done, so I’m forced to make it up as I go.  “Let this Viktor Krum figurine represent the real Viktor Krum.  Let him feel this pain.  Let him turn out a little stump.”  Quite professional, if I do say so myself.  I’m bound for excellence.

       Taking the figurine in my hands, I grab the left arm and begin to pull.  It snapped right off without having to use much force.  “Weakling…”  I laugh maniacally.  My eyes start to bulge out of my head.  For a moment, I think I’ve gone loopy.  The smug grin on the toy’s face then justified my actions.

       After I pop off another limb, his left leg to be exact (let’s see him try to play Quidditch now!), I hear what I can only imagine to be a stampede coming up the stairs to the boys dormitory.  I take all of the pieces of the former Krum, and in one last effort of pain towards him, throw open the bed hangings and pelt the pieces at the floor as hard as humanly possible.  I smile at my own extraordinary strength, then glance down at the pieces scattered on the floor.  This might raise suspicion.  I catapult myself over the edge of my bed and, in one fluid motion, sweep the pieces of the toy under my bed.

       I climb back into my bed and re-shut the hangings quickly, just in time as the door flies open and those loud, rambunctious prats bombard into the room.  I close my eyes, satisfied that Krum will no longer pose any threat to my happiness.   The last thing I think of before I fall asleep is of me, in all my muscular and chiseled glory, riding off into the sunset on my shiny, new Firebolt, with a beautiful, intelligent, bushy-haired, and, of course, completely random, girl wrapped around my back.
 




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