I OWN NOTHING HERE!
J. K. Rowlings imagined and wrote Harry Potter
. She owns, and is solely responsible for that Universe's characters, settings, and materials. REMEMBER, IF YOU RECOGNIZE IT, IT'S NOT MINE!
Please don't hunt me down and kill me! I couldn't help myself! Self Inserts had become somewhat popular, then add the Reincarnation theme . . .
See? It was too tempting! :) I had to do it!
Just remember when you read it, it's not
a serious fic! OHAHOAHAOAHAOAHAOHAOAOHAOAHAOAOAOAOHAOAOAHAOAOA
It happens you know. One day, you have one sort and type of life--Then, you blink, and everything changes. OHAHOAHAOAHAOAHAOHAOAOHAOAHAOAOAOAOHAOAOAHAOAOA
The Reincarnation thing
It happens, you know. The Reincarnation thing. One day, you have one sort and type of life--Then, you blink and you're a red headed boy, second youngest in a family with seven kids. Naturally, there's more . . .The Universe proving it has a fantastic sense of humor.
You're a nice English lad, who's youngest sibling, the only girl in the family, happens to have a gigantic crush on a celebrity kid by the name of Harry Potter. Oh, and you swear by 'Merlin', the parents wave magic wands about, and your older brothers have either graduated, or are still going to, Hogwarts school of magic.
If in case you've hurt your head, and still haven't figured out which Universe I was reincarnated in--Hello, my name is Ronald Bilius Weasley.
Before anyone gets the idea to ask--Did I remember my birth? Thankfully, gratefully, no. Hell, the first time my old self decided to check back in, was when I was in the garden degnoming it. I was flinging one of the nasty little critters high and out, when I misstepped and fell, skimming my knee. While I was staring at the oozing red mess, I was grateful that at least I hadn't slid into broken glass this time around.
What? Confused, I glanced up and around. The memories of the stitches I had to get for that injury took me by surprise--I had stitches? When? We were Wizards, not Muggles! A simple wave of a wand--like my mum did all the time--and all fixed! And when did I slide into broken glass?
It was like that for a few days afterwards . . .Pieces of my former life hitting me at random times, in no particular order. Ugh, one reason I got away with acting punch drunk and partly insane, was that--well--it was the Weasley's household we're talking about here. Molly was screaming a lot, and chasing after the twins most of the time. Arthur seemed to be in some kind of fugue state--Given Molly's established method of catching a husband, and keeping the poor sod in matrimonial hell, it seemed likely Arthur was suffering the effects of Molly's potions. The twins were having a grand time wreaking havoc and chaos at home, and in the neighborhood. Percy consumed a great portion of his free time practicing his holier-then-thou mannerisms in front of a mirror, hoping to uplift himself from the Wizarding's World equivalent of trailer trash. Dearest sister, Ginny, was mooning over her Harry Potter collectibles. Bill and Charlie, the lucky sods, were out of the country, and had their own concerns.
End result, that until I got everything organized in my head, I went unnoticed and ignored--Well, mostly ignored. There was this fast moving glob of brown slime that kept trying to sneak into my underwear. I retrieved a pair of Molly's panties from the laundry hamper, and settled the glob there--I think the walls came close to collapsing after Molly hit and sustained a volume I don't recall her ever reaching before. The twins, right in front of that impressive aural wave, lost their hearing for nearly twenty-four hours.
Needless to say, being a ten year old Ron Weasley was about as desirable as a scabby dog with fleas. But since being dead or in limbo was a lot less fun, I took on a let's-see-what-I-can-salvage attitude. Normally, at this point, when someone discovers they're a reincarnated soul, there's usually this overwhelming desire to meddle in the establish story--Be the hero, save the hero, get a tasty harem together (Crap! I'm only ten!), get rich (that one can I get behind), be popular, the life of the party, blah, blah, blah.
Mary- Gary-sues! Get thee behind me!
So, what to do . . .what to do . . .I tossed and turned for a few nights before Ginny provided me with some ideas. Late in the afternoon, I was having a glass of milk in the kitchen, when Ginny skipped in.
"Look, Ron! Look what I've got!" She gleefully waved a long rectangular box in front of my face. It was a doll. A Harry Potter doll. Another one, I thought in disgust. The stupid obsessed girl had about fifty or more of the creepy things stashed in her room. And when I say creepy, keep in mind that these are magically animated constructs created by people whose personality and mental stability run wildly up and down the gauge; anything from the mildly eccentric, climbing all the way up to homicidal sociopath. Worse, over a period of time, the things deviate from their original instructions and commands and develop glitches. Seriously, just the previous day, I saw a murderous six inch doll manifest a six inch butcher knife, and jump a rag doll with it. The rag doll came up with a cleaver TWICE its size! The five-year-old child they belonged to witness this sharp edged bit of violence with happy, clapping hands and laughing face.
"So?" I said in a disinterested and bored Big Brother tone of voice. I picked up my glass of milk from the tabletop and took a sip.
"So? So?!" Ginny gasped in outraged. "It's Dragon Slayer Harry! Armor and accessories included!" She clutched the doll box to her flat chest, panting a little.
I peered at the smiling and waving picture in front of the box--A doll in black armor, a mop of wild black hair, green eyes, and the lightening shape scar on the forehead. "Not impressed." I scoffed. I took another sip from my glass, ignoring the harpy like shriek coming from the girl.
"But its Harry Potter!" Ginny loudly exclaimed, wide eyed and insistent.
I winced at the volume--Yep, Molly Weasley's daughter alright. I shrugged. "Doesn't matter, its still a cheap chew toy." Now, why was I being cruel, and baiting a nine-year-old girl? Hmmm, maybe, because I was a ten-year-old boy . . .and the girl was my sister?
Ginny narrowed her eyes at me. "Cheap? Cheap? Mum paid five galleons for him! He wasn't cheap!"
I froze. Five. Galleons. Molly paid five galleons for a perfectly useless toy for her spoiled brat of a daughter, but couldn't bother coughing up seven galleons for a new wand for her son? The son who received a castoff wand, so old and damaged it blew up in a man's face. Okay, so the man was Gilderoy Lockhart, but that was years into the future, and Molly had just given her daughter an expensive, unnecessary gift.
I felt cheated. Sure, I've heard we were poor. Hand-me-downs were the norm for the Weasley family. But we always had enough to eat, so we weren't starving poor. And if we really needed something, needed it new, like a wand, it was bought new. So, why was I the exception? Bill, Charlie, Percy, the twins--They all had new wands. Crap! Even Ginny had a new wand! Why save up the raggedy, chewed up stick solely for Ronnykins?
Movement caught my attention--It was that stupid doll picture, waving and grinning at me.
Realization hit me like a kick to the stomach--Harry Potter.
Right. The Big Set Up. A lot of things clicked and whirled in my brain at that point. Some of it good, some of it bad. Some of it looped back on itself. For all that activity, the only solid thing it produced was a headache. Lesson there? Thinking really did hurt.
I snapped back to the present, my blue eyes meeting my sister's. Sure I had banished the Sues, but was I really going to allow all those bad things to take place? I smirked, oblivious to a suddenly nervous Ginny slowly backing away from me.
Absolutely, not! OHAHOAHAOAHAOAHAOHAOAOHAOAHAOAOAOAOHAOAOAHAOAOA
After reading it, aren't you sincerely glad the story's a one-shot? :)
Anyways, for those of you whose brain isn't leaking out of their ears yet. Good-bye, and thanks for reading!