Author's note: Written for the Daily Prophet's Competition time: Weasley is our king! But mostly written because I was too amused to help myself.

Additional Note: Nobody likes Ron. Not even himself.


Ron v. Ron

Ron had been looking for Hermione for quite some time. This fact was more ridiculous than usual, seeing as the entire flat they shared above Weasley's Wizard Wheezes consisted of a bedroom, kitchen and a criminally tiny bathroom.

Ron checked behind the curtains for the third time, but Hermione was still not there. He was beginning to get worried. Not for Hermione, of course. She could handle herself in pretty much any situation, as he had learned rather quickly back in his first year. No, he was worried because he knew that if she did not come home soon, he was sure to die of hunger.

"Perhaps I should pop in on Mum. She's always baking something good," he said to his grumbly tummy. Patting it did not seem to do much to quiet its gurgling tantrum. "But Mione might be just around the corner with donuts!"

Or perhaps she had made them! At the thought, Ron ran into the kitchen and checked the oven, hoping that perhaps he had missed them the last two times he'd checked.

"Maybe Mum's is best," he said, frowning, "but Mione might be just outside the door!"

His conscience quietly warred with these two competing mental images of delicious, steaming foodstuffs, shortly to be devoured by his famous tummy.

Just then, there was a tapping on the window.

"Oh, hooray!" Ron shouted as he saw the great horned owl in the window clutching something in its claws. "Treats!"

But the owl did not, in fact, have anything resembling a box of steaming donuts from the shop round the corner in its long, curved talons. Instead, the owl handed him a medium-sized envelope that had been stained a curiously vibrant turquoise blue.

"Uh...thanks?" Ron said, taking it.

The owl stared at him pointedly and Ron stared back. They both continued this staring contest for some time until Ron finally blinked and then shooed the owl off. With a look of mild disgust, the owl shook its head and flew away, but not after leaving a heap of owl dung on the windowsill.

"What was his problem?" Ron wondered aloud, turning the letter over in his hand. He began to wonder what was inside. Perhaps, with the help of some sort of ingenious shrinking spell, Hermione had wrapped the donuts in here? For some reason, Ron's mind simply could not shake that mental image of his favourite old fashioned donuts covered with chocolate glaze. He slid his finger along the gummed edge, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration. It wasn't every day that Ron Weasley got a letter, after all.

Ron realized that he'd made a very big mistake the moment he opened the bright blue letter. A distorted voice rang out through the room. "I'VE TAKEN MIONE! YOU DON'T DESERVE HER, YOU ORANGE APE! IF YOU WANT A CHANCE TO REDEEM YOURSELF, MEET ME IN THE BOG BEHIND THE BURROW AT HALF PAST ELEVEN. COME ALONE WITH YOUR WAND."

The paper exploded into ash and fire and Ron had to hop around comically trying to put the fire out.

Ron's first thought was that this was far too hard for him to handle by himself. What he needed was Hermione. But then he realized that Hermione had been kidnapped. That left Harry. He'd know what to do! But then Ron thought about how jealous he always felt whenever Harry saved the day. And Hermione was always so perfect. He, on the other hand, was...what, exactly?

As he looked in the mirror by the closet, wondering if he really was some sort of ape, he heard a loud knock on the door to his bedroom and jumped in shock.

"I hope I'm decent," shouted a familiar voice, "because I'm coming in!"

A tall, thin man whose short, flame-red hair nearly touched the top of the doorframe entered, clad in very traditional wizarding wear. Ron looked down at his jeans and jumper, and wondered why he was so fond of Muggle clothing, seeing as he was from a purely Wizarding family. The mystery man's sleeves were partially rolled up, revealing twisting marks that looked somewhat like tattoos or scars.

"Ah, yes, you wouldn't know what these were about, would you?" The man said, grinning. There was something about the man that was horribly familiar— like looking into a funhouse mirror. "Brains, you see."

"B—brains?" Ron replied weakly.

"Oh, where are my manners?" The man extended his hand. "I'm Ron. Book Ron, to be exact."

"Book?" Ron echoed. Now he was completely confused. If only Hermione was there, she'd pat him on the head like a lovable idiot and fix everything somehow.

"Yes," Book Ron said, smiling in a friendly manner, "Don't worry. I know you can't help it. Between you and me, you were only given a watered-down version of my incredibly handsome and talented self."

Ron just looked dumbly at the other Ron.

"Just call me Book Ron. B-Ron for short, if you like," B-Ron smiled. "Don't worry. I know exactly what we need to do, Movie...M-Ron...oh...that's a bit...unfortunate."

"How?" M-Ron asked.

"Don't worry, it's not worth hurting your head over it," B-Ron said, holding out his hand. "There's no time to lose. I need you to execute my clever plan, so what do you say. Are you in?"

"Uh..yes?" M-Ron stuck out his hand, thinking they'd shake, but instead, they Apparated away.


"Where are we?" M-Ron swayed queasily behind B-Ron, who was quite a lot taller than him.

"Looking for him." B-Ron pointed over a rise.

There, hunched over two very different-looking but obviously Hermione-shaped women was a stooped creature with wild reddish hair and ugly clothing. It turned and M-Ron suppressed a shriek.

It was himself...only not.

"Just as I thought. Fanfiction Ron." B-Ron shook his head and looked at the author. "For shame, fanfiction community."

"MY MIONE LEFT ME FOR SNAPE THE GIT!" screeched the horrible F-Ron. "SO I STOLE YOUR MIONES WITH THIS!"

He held up a blue button.

"What is that?" M-Ron asked, squinting.

"WHY, ONLY THE BEST PLOT DEVICE ON THE MARKET!" shouted F-Ron, stroking it like a beloved pet. "The Author gives it to's me!"

"He's devolved into speaking like a House Elf," M-Ron said with a grimace. "Even I'm not enough of a fool to go that far."

The two higher-quality Rons looked at each other and shook their respective heads.

"Ah, yes," B-Ron said, "but we have something you don't."

"We do?" M-Ron asked.

"Yes," B-Ron said, and promptly turned M-Ron into a giant spider.

At the sight of the great ginger arachnid, F-Ron screamed horribly and dropped the Plot Device, because he was, it seemed, even more inept than even M-Ron was.

With a swish of his wand, B-Ron freed the Hermiones, both of whom were wearing murderous glares. They closed in on F-Ron, who was babbling incoherently as M-Ron tickled him with his front feelers, and seemed to settle on turning him into a large frog and then setting an extreme levitation charm on him. Everyone watched F-Ron float off into the sunset, and M-Hermione ran over to M-Ron and transformed him back into a human.

"I thought it best that he help," B-Ron said smiling sheepishly as B-Hermione gave him an exasperated look.

"Oh, Ron, did you hurt yourself trying to be relevant to the story?" M-Hermione said, looking flawless as usual.

"I was a giant spider!" M-Ron said, his face slack with horror. "With big...fangs…"

"Now, Ron," M-Hermione said sternly, "you know that Harry already did that bit."

"Sorry, Mione," Ron said, hanging his head.

"I say, do you think she'll tell me the secret to that amazingly sleek hair?" B-Hermione whispered to B-Ron.

"I like you just the way you are, you know," B-Ron replied, kissing her on the forehead. "Still, he is a pretty lucky bloke."

"And what do you mean by that?" B-Hermione said, her voice starting to grow shrill.

"That came out wrong," B-Ron said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "It just means, he's the only other bloke who I know who gets to be with you, only not you, you know?"

B-Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Well, except for F-Hermione," Ron said thoughtfully, "but then again, I'd prefer Snape to...well...you know." He pointed into the sky, where a tiny dark blob was all that they could see of the worst version of Ron Weasley.

M-Ron was finally walking shakily towards them with M-Hermione steadying him and still having flawless hair, and B-Hermione retrieved the Plot Device with a swish and flick and half-circle motion of her wand. "I've always wanted to try that obscure Swedish retrieval spell!" she gushed.

"That's interesting," M-Hermione said, "We normally just point them and they work a bit like laser guns. Pew pew!"

"On second thought, she can have the hair. I'm fine with keeping my encyclopedic knowledge of spells that do different things," B-Hermione said looking rather unimpressed.

"Something tells me that this is not the end of our F-Ron problems," B-Ron said ruefully, as the sound of many running feet and a cloud of dust grew in the distance.

Heads of fiery red hair could be seen rising out of the top of the cloud, and shouts of "Mione! Mione! Mione!" could be heard in a chorus of voices.

"I think we have outstayed our welcome, don't you think?" B-Ron said as M-Ron shouted, "Blimey!" at the sight of the various hideous incarnations of himself.

Together, all four of them pressed the Plot Device's button, and they whisked away back to their respective universes, leaving only the author (and F-Ron) to the unhappiest of endings.


Postscript: Yes, I know this is totally crack fic. I had far too much fun writing it!