Well, here it is: My first major Ron/Hermione fanfic. You all saw it coming after the hit "One Last Dance" turned into (I love how people get enjoyment off of my misery) and the fact that I said I'd do something like this on my profile page. Well, here it is.
For the life of me, I hope you find this entertaining. If not… well, your call.
Disclaimer: Pfft. Me? Own people like this, or a world like this? People, please! I'm 17 years old; I'm 5 foot 8, 131 lbs. of nothing. I don't even pump my own gas! What in Gods name made you think I owned everything J.K Rowling created in the universe known as Harry Potter?
In short, I own not Harry Potter, its world, or its characters. True, there are indeed several characters in here that I personally am responsible for creating, but that's the extent of it. Oh, and I suppose the plotline is mine, too.
Although the story says romance and mystery, there's also a touch of angst, a dash of action/adventure, a wide variety of humor, and- if you squint your eyes and cock your head- some horror.
So, anyhoo, enjoy.
Chapter One: A Case Close to Home
HOOT!
An owl flew through the empty apartment. Underneath a large cover on a soft bed, a long arm reached out, grabbed the letter from the owl, and brought it under the covers to read.
"Mmm… Bleeding Christ," a British voice moaned.
The covers were then throw off, revealing a twenty-one-year-old Ron Weasley, a tall, well-built man with long, flaming red hair and freckles aligning his entire face. He stood at a good six foot three when he got up from the bed, and yet his pajamas- souvenirs from his dear sweet mother- barely touched his ankles. His hair went about neck-height, so it kinda looked like a mullet. The freckles, by rights a family trademark, ran rampant all over his face, so many that sometimes he wondered if, somewhere in his skin, there was a civilization of them, just multiplying until there was nothing but freckles on his face.
From this above description, you could tell three things: a.) Ron was a Brit, b.) Ron was abnormally tall and had a mullet-headed sea of red, and c.) Ronald Bilius Weasley was, and is, in fact, a moron.
And right now, he was being called for work. So, grabbing a long, wooden stick, he gave it a flick. Like magic- literally- the clothes came out of the closet and lay themselves out on the bed neatly.
Oh yeah, before this story goes anywhere else, there's one other thing you should know about our protagonist- he's a wizard. No, I shit you not, my friends. He is actually one of the famous companions of the legendary Harry Potter, the Chosen One who went to defeat Lord… well, we don't like to say his name. He's now four years out of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and he's an Auror. Basically, the wizarding detective agency.
And right now, he's in America.
Why? Well, that's what you'll find out eventually. But now, we enter the story:
Once he got dressed, in less than five seconds, he had apparated down to the meeting place where this event that had woken him up at 8:16 on a Saturday was taking place.
A tall, thin man with slick, jet-black hair and a scruff stubble beard and rectangular glasses leaned against the wall. This man was dressed in the same way Ron himself was- in a long gray trench coat, with normal clothes underneath. This man was Ron's partner- William "Skip" DuMont, an American wizard and Auror. He had been Ron's partner during the last three years he had been in America, and they worked together on many cases- some successful, some not. He looked up at his red-headed friend and grinned.
"Morning, Ron-o," he said cheerfully.
"What's the word, Skippy?" Ron asked, business as usual. Which, if you had talked to someone who knew him in school, wouldn't have even been regarded, Ron and seriousness combined.
"Ah, another murder victim. Same as all the others," Skip replied, getting serious too.
"You do know we're not supposed to be on duty for two weeks, right?"
"Eh, whaddya gonna do?"
They started walking over to where other Aurors were examining the crime scene.
Lately, a murderer had been going free in the city of Manhattan, New York. He targeted mainly women, though the first two or three had been males. Their intelligence couldn't find any connections between the death tolls, which by now, with the latest victim, numbered thirty-eight. Quite effective for a killer who's only been around for a month, eh?
The two Aurors bent down and picked up the sheet covering the body. Both winced in disgust. The body was blown to hell. It was like blood had just about poured out of every orifice of the body for no reason.
"What could've done this? Avada Kedavra?" Skip asked.
"No. That curse doesn't leave any visible signs," answered Ron.
"Sectumsempra?"
"That spell only cuts you up. It doesn't blow you up from the inside."
"Well, then what could this be?"
"Dunno," Ron's hand touched some of the wounds, "It's nothing I've ever seen."
"Deviggio."
This came from a voice behind them. They turned to find the owner of the voice- a tall, heavily- built man with broad shoulders. His skin was light brown and his lack beard stretched along his face. Sunlight gleamed off of his bald head, and his green uniform, with the many war medals, stood out from the other people's clothing. This man was a war hero, having fought in the first war with the un-named lord, the second, and many other wars in between and after.
"General Brownside," Ron said spitefully, "I thought you were campaigning in the Middle East." The sight of this man brought up a past he would've long soon forgotten.
"I was," The General answered in a gruff British voice, "And now I'm here. This case now falls under my jurisdiction. Got a problem with that?"
"Actually, I-" but Ron was shut up by Skip, who cut in with, "No, sir, no problem sir," accompanied with a smile.
General Brownside grunted and moved over to two other Aurors.
"Smooth, Ron-o, real smooth," said Skip out of the corner of his mouth.
"Hey, you don't have to be such a bloody suck-up."
"It's called 'tactics', dude. Look it up."
They followed after the General, who was explaining the effects of the curse.
"Deviggio is a spell that was developed during the last stages of the War with Voldemort (N/N: the un-named lord, by the way)," he explained, "It was a designed combination of Avada Kedavra and the Cruciactus Curse, where as it kills indefinitely and the victim feels every ounce of pain inflicted upon him before dying."
"Jeez, you'd think something this serious would've been given a cooler name," Skip muttered under his breath. Always the comedian.
"It's no laughing matter," Brownside sneered, "Deviggio has recently been added in as an Unforgivable Curse. Meaning whoever is using this is someone from that time period of invention. Most likely a Death Eater."
"Any names in particular?" One Auror, Huntington, asked.
"No. This project was kept top secret until the last stages of the War. We've searched and still have pulled up no known suspects."
The Aurors all shifted uncomfortably at this. The General glared at all of them.
"Weasley, DuMont, you two got this case. I want names, crime scenes, any suspect lists you can put together. I want motives, I want connections. Fail to do that, and I won't make your lives easy. Clear?"
"Yeah," both sighed.
"Everyone else, dismissed."
The Aurors all vacated. Ron looked at Skip, both thinking the same thing.
"All nighter," said Ron, disgruntled.
"Yeah," Skip sighed, "So much for me getting home in time to kiss my girls goodnight."
Ron remained emotionless. Hearing Skip talking about his family was depressing. The guy was his age, and he was happily married with two girls he loved like the dickens. And a third child was on the way. In short, the perfect family man.
Which depressed Ron, as he didn't even have a girlfriend. No one to love.
Well… there was one girl…
But that was long ago.
He shook it off. "Alright, Skippy," he said, "We got work to do.
N/N Narrator's note. Yeah, it's messed up. He'll tell the story, but he likes to be part of the story too, y'know?
Skip, some may noticed seems a lot like Maes Hughes from FullMetal Alchemist. Actually, he's based more off of me- except I don't wear glasses and my hair's a lot longer.
Brownside… he's just a figment of my imagination. Huntington will have a larger role as well.
And that's all.
Review please.