Ron Rants

A purely supplemental fanfiction

Which corresponds to the end of HQoW, Year Three

By Arabella

Which is based entirely on " Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban"

By JK Rowling

Disclaimer: Hers, not mine.

June 7

So this is a journal then, is it? Good. If she’s going to have secrets, so am I. I’ll write whatever I bloody like. That’s pretty cool- I can swear in here if I want. Bloody hell. Heh. This might be great.

Last night was so amazing. I got my leg snapped in half and got dragged underground by Sirius Black, the mad murderer who isn’t a mad murderer after all. In fact, he was a dog. We thought that dog was a Grim – well, I thought it was. And we thought he was trying to kill Harry. But really it was Scabbers all the time.

The sickest thing I’ve ever done in my whole life is let Pettigrew sleep in my bed. Oh man, that guy is the worst bastard on the planet and when I think how he’s been in my house since I was a year old I want to – I don’t know – clean everything he’s ever touched. ESPECIALLY my bed. I’m also going to try and NEVER think about it again. Sick.

Harry’s all right. Too bad he can’t go and live with Sirius. But it’s a good thing he and Hermione managed to save him- he almost got his soul sucked out by a bunch of dementors. But he’s gone on Buckbeak. Very lucky Hermione had that Time-Thing.

I can’t believe she had that thing all year and she didn’t tell me. I KNEW there was something going on! She’s NEVER getting away with anything like that again. She’s gone mental this year- she’s lost her grip. But it’s cool. I wouldn’t mind taking a nice swing at Malfoy myself. One of these days I’m going to. BAM! See if he says anything after THAT about my family, or about Mud— you know what, I don’t even like writing it. But I CAN write that Malfoy is a great, stupid, bloody ugly prat and I wish he’d get bent.

I don’t think it’s so bad having a journal.

June 14

You’ve got to be kidding me. I mean, Sirius Black is so incredibly great. And all year, we thought he was a murderer – especially me, I thought he tried to kill me in my bed. Now he’s given me a pet. It’s the most useless looking owl I’ve ever seen. I won’t be caught dead with it. It’s great.

Harry’s pretty glum. I’m going to get on Dad about those Quidditch tickets. If Harry can come to the Burrow this summer, and not spend the whole holiday with those lousy Muggles, he’ll be fine. I shouldn’t say lousy Muggles, I’m sure lots of them are ok- just not the prats Harry has to live with.

Hermione’s driving me crazy. "I’m right, I’m right, I’m right." Yeah, she’s right. Right out of her mind. She’s got to calm herself down. Maybe if she came to see the Quidditch World Cup, she’d... I dunno if she’d even want to do that. I guess I ought to ask her or something. She’ll probably say no because it’s "Just Quidditch, Ron." But the thing she doesn’t understand is, Quidditch is important. I’ll make her see, eventually.

The only reason I’m even bothering writing is because she had her stupid diary out again. She needs to know she’s not the only one with stuff to write about. But now she’s gone, so I’m done.

***

Back at the Burrow. Ginny’s giving me funny looks. I asked her what was up, and she just smiled. What’s her problem? She’s writing something. Do girls just write every little bloody thing? Blimey. Girls are a big pain, I think. Glad I’m not Percy, with his stupid Penelope. What is that about? They kissed goodbye, right at platform nine and three-quarters. Fred and George were hooting, but I just thought "Why?"

Right then, Hermione came up to say goodbye and I thought she was going to pull one of her stunts where she throws herself on me and starts crying, like she did before. But she didn’t. She doesn’t act like a girl too much of the time. But that one time, whoa. I thought she’d gone off her rocker.

I shouldn’t even write this stuff down. If anybody found it – but Hermione showed me how to lock it up with a charm, and to make it so Alohomora won’t work. She’s too bloody smart for her own good. She’s smart, Harry’s.... Harry. And I’m.... not really too sure what to make of things, to tell the truth. Oh well, who cares? It’s summer.

End of Year Three.