Chapter Text
So You're a Masochist: Ron Weasley's Unabridged Guide to the Art of Sidekicking
By: Ronald B. Weasley (otherwise known as Ron, Bill's/Charlie's/Percy's/Fred and George's little brother, Harry Potter's best mate, Roonil Wazlib, 'That tall bloke with the red hair'…'Who, that one?'…'Yeah.'); Order of Merlin, First Class; Assistant Arse-Kicker to the Boy Who Lived.
Experiences, Life-Threatening Situations, and Really Bloody Annoying Commentary provided by the rash schemes and prophesied fate of Mr. Harry J. Potter (Order of Merlin, First Class; Chosen One; Boy Who Lived; Master of Death; Witch Weekly's 'Sexiest Bachelor').
Dictation Quill and Spell Check courtesy of Hermione Granger (Order of Merlin, First Class; Resident Genius) – yes, thank you, Hermione…can I get on with it now?
Hi.
Rubbish, absolute rubbish. Let me give that another go. (Stop laughing, Harry!)
Hello, I'm Ron Weasley. Chances are you've probably heard of me (I did help save the world recently, if that jogs your memory at all). If you haven't, all you need to know is that I'm incredibly fit, get brilliant marks, and did not Imperius, blackmail, or otherwise con Hermione Granger into dating me. My sister gets Witch Weekly, I know what you toerags have been saying.
My mates are behind me right now, and not in the figurative, "pillars of loving support" way, but a "let's have a good lurk over the back of your chair to see what you're up to," far more irritating sort of way.
(I told them it was just a bit of paperwork. Hermione didn't believe me, of course, as she has brain cells.)
Anyway, this all got started when, earlier today, I was really, really bored. Charlie's the one who suggested I try my hand at writing a "how-to" guide on the ancient and noble art of sidekicking. (Now that I think about it, he may have been kidding, but here we are. I reckon it's too late to back out now, anyway - I've already got the parchment out and everything.) I think I might call it So You're a Masochist - because to get into this profession, you basically have to be. (I wanted to call it So You've Got a Death Wish, but apparently a book on the 'training and taming of your new enchanted hamster' already nabbed that one.)
What are my qualifications for instructing this delicate craft? In case you were wondering and/or live in a cave, I have loads. Good ones, too. These include: having Harry Potter as a best mate; breaking every Hogwarts rule short of murder and wearing non-school regulation footwear; having Harry Potter as a roommate; finding and destroying a bunch of famous magical artifacts; tromping through the British countryside with Harry Potter; ... oh, yeah, and helping defeat You-Know-Who and his merry band of evil dung beetles.
Now that the introductions are out of the way, we can get on to more important stuff, like lunch – no, book, Ron, book!
Anyway, if you're reading this book (as opposed to, y'know, sitting on it or something), then you're probably related to me, got it as a crummy birthday gift (so your parents probably hate you, rotten luck), are bored to the end of your wits in History of Magic, or have become the best mate of a hero/saviour of the world/Chosen One/chronic adrenaline whore.
If that last one sounds familiar, then congratulations, you've picked up the right book for the task (though it's apparently quite informative – according to Hermione, that is, the only one who has ever and will ever read it – Hogwarts, a History doesn't really cover this sort of thing… I think). Also, you have my deepest sympathies.
Come off it, Ron. We've had loads of fun – dammit, Harry, write your own bloody book!
See? Heroes aren't all what they're cracked up to be; sometimes they're a right pain in the – okay, okay! Sorry, Harry… diva.
Before we get started, I'm gonna warn you what not to expect. Specifically, don't get your hopes up for: a danger-free existence, a believable 'I haven't done anything, I promise' look, any semblance of a normal life, or instant (any) popularity with those of the female persuasion. (Ouch, I just got a smack for that one – yes, Hermione, I do know you're a girl… Merlin).
That all may sound very glamorous and enticing (if you're completely dead from the neck up), but before you rush wand blazing into the rest of this introduction, you need to do a bit of self-reflection. Is it at all likely that you would ever take issue with feeling a) insanely jealous; b) like a dunce; c) pain, lots of pain; d) impatient; or e) forgotten?
If you said 'yes', 'um, I guess so', groaned, or lied to yourself about any of the above, then I don't recommend signing up for the job. It's a lifetime commitment. Seriously, I can't get rid of the bloke now – he's always around. I live at your house, you git – shut it, Harry.
WARNING: If you decide to completely disregard my advice to plow forward with it and in the near future find yourself miserable and failing spectacularly, don't get hacked off with me; I did warn you.
If you said 'no' with total honesty, then well done: you've got the makings of a sidekick. Quickly, brag to all your friends, your parents, your owl: today's the first day of the rest of your villain-vanquishing, corruption-crushing, evil-expunging, annoyingly-alliterated life! I do hope you're prepared… oh wait, that's my job, isn't it?
Now, this is no Divination class; you actually have to work at it. It helps if you're a laugh, though – I mean, you can't just be absurdly good looking (How'd you get the job then? – Oi, Potter, you're running on my last nerve now, I mean it.) I suppose someone like Percy could do it, but who'd want to hang around him for an extended period of time? I didn't think so.
Oh yeah, and don't get me wrong; Harry and Hermione both have a decent sense of humour, but usually Harry's preoccupied with brooding or saving the world, and Hermione's too busy being… well, Hermione. (Another smack! This book's going to be the death of me.)
So, if you reckon you're tough, funny, and good-looking enough – or, like me, if you have very little choice in the matter – then this book is as much of a must-have item for you as a stylish monochrome wardrobe is for a Death Eater (after all, black does go with everything… according to Ginny.)
Give it a rest, Ron. You already admitted to reading Witch Weekly.
During my long career in sidekicking, I've accumulated more tips and tricks of the trade than Malfoy has got hair products. Likewise, as I'm a dreadful liar (for example, I've been known to call myself Stan Shunpike in crisis situations) and partially 'cause I just can't be fussed to make something up, the entire contents of this book will be drawn from a stockpile of my own experiences (not in calling myself Stan Shunpike, of course – believe me, that doesn't require a book of instruction… perhaps a brief pamphlet).
In conclusion – er, sort of, as this is only the beginning of the book – my indispensable wisdom (stop bloody laughing!) should hopefully be applicable to your life in a useful way.
Actually, nah, I wouldn't wish what we had to do on anyone; nobody should have to eat that many mushrooms.
WHAT'S THAT ABOUT MUSHROOMS, RON?
They're my favorite. Better than Quidditch.
Well, that was the (lousy) introduction to my (considerably less lousy… I hope – I haven't quite written it yet, you see) book, and now that it's done, I finally get to go to lunch. I'm bloody starving.
I've honestly no idea why I told you that.
Well, I guess I'll see you – er, write you – in a bit. Wait, all you have to do is turn the page, don't you? … Just forget this part, okay?
WHY ARE YOU TWO LAUGHING?