Murphy's Law

Murphy's Law
or
Ron's Terrible, Awful, Not-So-Good, Really-Bad-In-Retrospect Day

Ron's alarm woke him up early one Monday morning. Lazily, he rolled out of bed and drew back the coverings, surprised to see a somewhat high sun shining on his face. He checked his watch.

"Oh, no!"

Scrambling around the room, he threw on his school robes and grabbed his bag, his stomach alerting him to the breakfast he had slept through. Sprinting through the halls to get to class on time, he rounded the corners at a breakneck speed.

"Slow down, you knave!"

Suddenly, Ron felt metal colliding with his legs, sending him sprawling into the carpet face-first, the contents of his bag spilling across the hall. He looked up and watched as his ink bottles and a Filibuster Firework that George asked him to hang on to roll away from him and down the stairs. He cringed and crossed his fingers, hoping that it wouldn't accidentally set itself off.

The hallway was suddenly filled by light, sound, and one dreaded cat.

"What's going on here?!"

Ron flipped over onto his back and found himself staring up at an angry Filch. Behind Filch, he spotted a suit of armor bringing its leg down into place. He swore he could hear it creaking with laughter. However, Filch was of a higher importance at the moment.

"I said what's going on here?"

"Uh, well, you see, I-"

"Don't mouth off to me! Do you want to make it two detentions?"

Ron fell silent, looking around at his scattered scrolls.

"Answer me! Don't you have any respect?"

He looked up at Filch innocently. "Sorry."

Filch nodded slowly. ""Yes, you will be. Detention. Friday. Eight pm. And bring any protective clothing you have." With that he walked off, Mrs. Norris trotting behind him with her tail high in the air, leaving Ron to collect his things and any dignity he may have lost along the way.

He glared at the suit of armor. "Was that really necessary?"

"I did warn you to slow down."

Ron angrily packed up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He walked over to the suit of armor and kicked it. He caused it to dent lightly, but in the process he very painfully stubbed his toe, which sent him limping to Potions class, now fifteen minutes late.

"Welcome to class, Mr. Weasley," Snape leered as he walked in. "Feeling well-rested? Had enough beauty sleep?"

Ron shuffled his feet, looking down. He knew that if he didn't rise to Snape's bait, he may get out of receiving a second detention. However, this was Snape, and that was a long-shot hope.

"Seeing as you must be so rested, you could probably do a little extra work?" Ron cringed. "Friday at eight PM"

"But sir! I-"

"Volunteer for a second one?"

"I can't come then."

The class fell eerily silent. He could feel the sudden chill and tension as everybody watched for Snape's response. "My, my," he said. His voice was struggling to be cold, but the grin bursting to come out was plainly heard. "Well, if you're busy, I suppose we can reschedule."

"Thank you, sir."

"Although," Snape continued, "it is a rather large inconvenience for me. Rearranging my own schedule to accommodate yours. And I'm sure it's very important that you do not miss whatever engagement keeps you."

"Really important, Professor."

"Then, we'll make it Saturday at seven?"

Ron sighed, "That's fine."

"And Sunday as well? Does that suit you?"

"Yes sir."

"Very good. You may be seated." Ron angrily began walking to his seat. "Oh, and Mr. Weasley?" There was a dark smirk on Snape's face. "Bring your gloves."

"Yes, sir." He made it to his seat and flopped into it, his bag sliding softly to the floor. Ron's head dropped sadly and hit the desk with a gentle thud.

Harry leaned over, whispering, "You all right there?"

Ron rolled his head to the side, looking up at him pathetically. "You wouldn't believe the morning I've just had."

Hermione nudged him. "Shh!" she hissed. "You'll land yourself another detention if you don't keep quiet."

"Oh, a fourth one?" Ron asked, a neurotic laugh in his voice. "Sure. Why not?"

"Fourth?"

He looked back at Harry. "The two from Snape, and the one on Friday with Filch."

Harry visibly cringed. "Now, that's one bad morning."

Ron turned his head once more so that he was face-down on the desk and proceeded to bang his head quietly, but forcefully.

He felt Hermione grip his shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"Perhaps if I knock myself unconscious, I can end this day now."

"Don't worry, Ron," Harry comforted. "It can only get better from here."

"True."

Snape spoke loudly. "Everybody, pass in your essays."

Ron pulled his bag onto his desk and started to dig through it. His stomach suddenly fell as he realized one very tragic thing: it wasn't in his bag. He checked again, and then once more for good measure, but to no avail. His essay, worth twenty percent of his grade in Potions, was sitting on his night stand, by his bed, between his nearly-broken Sneakoscope and some Fizzing Whizbees.

He folded his arms onto his bag and dropped his head onto them. "This cannot be happening. This day just cannot be in existence."

He was finally released from Potions (thankfully) and began to make his way to Charms. Harry and Hermione were trying to cheer him up, but it just wasn't working - his day was off to one of the worst starts imaginable.

"If nothing else happens," he mumbled softly to himself, "I can get over this. This day can still be salvaged."

They all sat down, Ron slumping low in his seat. He started rubbing his temples as Flitwick began his lecture for the day. Ron wasn't really paying attention; he was a bit too focused on trying to readjust his karma.

"Now, I want all of you to get into these groups and practice Banishing Charms."

Ron's face immediately fell. He had a sudden, terrible sinking feeling. 'Not good. Not good at all.'

"Potter with Granger."

'Not good.'

"Weasley with Malfoy.'

Ron's head hit the desk once more, very loudly this time. "Oh, bugger."

Malfoy sauntered up to Ron, looking at him as though he was a particularly large and putrid-smelling flobberworm. "I suppose we should get this over with."

"Right," Ron grumbled. "Fine. I'll go first."

"Very good." Malfoy raised his wand and pointed it directly at Ron.

"Wait, when did this happen?"

"Well," he shrugged, "you said you'll go first."

"I meant I'd use the hex first."

"No, no, no," Malfoy contradicted. "You said you'd go first. And seeing as we're practicing Banishing Charms, an seeing as Banishing Charms make you go, I figured you were volunteering." He motioned Ron away with his wand. "Now, let's get to banishing you."

"I severely disagree with this."

"Perhaps we should play water-cauldron-fire for who goes first?"

Ron agreed. "Cauldron holds water, water douses fire, fire heats cauldron."

"Reminding yourself, Weasley? I thought even you couldn't forget this game; after all, it's probably the only one you could afford to play."

Ron bristled. "No, I'm reminding you how it goes, so you don't try to cheat."

Malfoy glared at him. "Let's just go."

"Ladies first."

"One," they said in synch, "two, three!"

Ron chose cauldron. Malfoy chose water.

"Hah! I won!" He beamed. "I get to go first."

Malfoy grinned toothily at him. "That you do, Weasley." And with that, he pointed his wand at Ron, shouted the Banishing Curse, and Ron suddenly found himself in a room that was very much unlike the Charms room.

"It gets better and better," he muttered in frustration.

He inspected the room he was in. It was somewhat dim, with very simple, but elegant furnishing. A desk with a lamp, quills and ink, and a few rolls of parchment was against one wall between two very tall bookshelves, filled with innumerable volumes. A simple bed sat against the adjoining wall, under a series of tall, narrow windows, letting small slants of light in. The floor was hardwood, with dark, plush rugs on it.

But what struck him about the room was that strange, soft hiss, like a jet of water. And the singing, if one could call it that.

"Everybody was Kung Fu fighting! Hah! Those kids were fast as lightning! Huh!"

Ron's eyes widened in fright, shock, and disgust. Mostly disgust, but fright and shock did have their fair share in the eye-widening process. Half of his body was saying that much quiet fleeing was in order, while another portion was afraid that any motion might cause him to wet his pants; and then there was a tiny little squeak from the back saying that here was some perfect blackmail material, but that voice was quickly beaten up and gagged by the other two. It persisted, but found it rather hard to speak through cloth, leaving the other two to arm-wrestle for dominance.

In the end, the portion that said freeze won.

As the argument was finally settled, the hiss sharply cut off, leaving only the sound of Kung Fu Fighting reaching his ears in a rather off-key fashion. There were a few soft sounds from inside the bathroom - a tap, a toilet, and some yelps of pain he would rather know nothing about. Finally, the door opened, and out came a curling cloud of steam.

Followed promptly by Professor Snape wearing water. And thankfully, a towel.

There was a brief, odd pause between them. Ron suddenly understood how it felt to be a contractor who had just demolished the roof of someone's house, only to have the owner come out and inform them rather quietly that he was supposed to rip off the next-door-neighbor's roof. Then suddenly, Snape decided that informing quietly was no longer an option.

"Weasley! How did you-? Why are you-? But- I can't believe- When- I- DUMBLEDORE!!!"

Ron, scared out of his wits, and also frightened of how Dumbledore would punish him for this, quickly scampered out of the room and shot down the hallway, blindly running. He didn't even want to look back for what may be following him. His worst fear was that it would be Snape, who hadn't taken the time to get himself properly dressed.

'Oh,' he silently begged, please have given him the time to get decent.'

As he rounded a corner, he suddenly felt cold metal colliding with his legs once more, followed by the distinctly familiar sensation of carpet in his face. He looked up to see that same sniggering armor.

"Didn't I say slow down?"

Suddenly, Ron screamed in anger. It echoed down the halls, turning into this menacing sort of growl that reached around the castle, until it faded into a tiny, pathetic mewl. In response to his sad cry, a cat came up to him and sat right by his side. That cat was shortly followed by a tall, angry Filch.

"You again, eh? Determined to lose your entire weekend, I see?"

Ron's face twisted in pain. "I've already lost it. I'm spending Friday with you and Saturday and Sunday with Snape."

"Well, then, I suppose a Monday is in order as well."

"Sure," Ron sighed in resignation. "Why not?"

"Seven PM Bring gloves."

"Right-o."

Filch gave him an odd look and then walked away, as if he was almost afraid to continue speaking with Ron. Meanwhile, Ron took to collecting himself once more and walking to what was now left of Charms class. He walked in and everybody was staring at him. Ignoring all of them, he went straight to his desk, sat down rigid, and began pounding his head against the desk - hard.

"Dear goodness, Ron!"

"He's gone mad!"

"I don't see any difference."

"Shut up, Malfoy!"

Finally, Ron stopped banging his head, and just left it on the desk. He had a splitting headache, but he was nowhere nearer to being unconscious than he was before. "Kill me," he whimpered.

"Ron..?" Harry ventured.

"I have been scarred for life."

"What's wrong?"

"Every time I close my eyes, I see Professor Snape in a towel, singing Kung Fu Fighting."

There was a long, distinct pause. Harry fumbled for words. "What the hell?"

"Don't ask," he muttered sadly. "Please, you're better off with your mind still clean."

"Buck up. We have lunch next. Things may start looking up then."

Ron picked his head up and glared at Harry. "Doubtful."

Thankfully, Charms ended, but Ron didn't even get a chance to banish Malfoy. He would have sent him to the center of London, and left Malfoy's clothing behind. That would have been sweet, sweet revenge. But now, he was going to lunch.

"Come on, Ron," Hermione persisted. "It's lunchtime. Try to smile."

Ron smiled weakly back at her. "I suppose." He picked up his sandwich and took a big bite. However, he spit it out the second it touched his lips. "Gross!"

Gingerly, Harry picked up his sandwich and sniffed it. "Wow, Ron, looks like you got one with rancid meat."

Ron looked around. "Are there any more?"

"No."

"Ruddy hell!" He got up from his seat angrily. "That it! That's just it! This day can't get any worse!"

"Don't say that, Ron." Hermione stood up and was trying to get Ron to sit down. "It can always be worse."

"How?! I've got four detentions, a stubbed - maybe broken - toe, my shins are killing me because of some stupid suit of armor, I'm going to fail Potions, I missed breakfast, my lunch is rotten, and tonight I'm going to have nightmares of Snape in a towel! And I've only been awake for TWO HOURS!!" He took a breath. "HOW," he shouted, "ON EARTH CAN THIS GET ANY WORSE?!"

"Well," Harry volunteered timidly, "you could be dead."

He turned to Harry furiously. "That would be a welcome change!" He angrily walked out of the Great Hall, a few students staring at him as he left, shaking their heads. Once he had left, he sighed, leaning against the wall. "This day cannot get any worse."

Suddenly, he felt something warm and slimy plop onto his head. He reached up and touched it. Was that... it looked like, and distinctly felt like, a giant ball of sludge. Ron looked up, only to be hit in the face with another blob. He wiped it off and screamed.

"PEEVES!!"

Peeves the Poltergeist laughed at Ron as he threw another ball of sludge. "Wee little Ronniekins ready for a hard day of school?"

"If you weren't dead already, I'd kill you."

He was struck, square in the chest, with another blob. Ron took in a deep, shuddering breath and gave Peeves a hard stare.

"I will find a way to kill you. I'll ask Hermione how, she'll tell me, and then I'll kill you."

Ron went to the bathroom and got himself cleaned up. Thankfully, he thought, while he felt a complete wreck on the inside, on the outside he still looked the same. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he pushed against the door to the bathroom, only to walk into it headfirst. It was then that he read the sign "PULL" on it. Finally Ron left the bathroom and was walking down the corridors to Transfiguration.

"Today, class, we will be working on turning these stuffed bears into real bear cubs." Professor McGonagall lectured them for a brief stint before she let them off on their own. Ron took a good look at his teddy bear, trying to figure the best way to go about changing it. After fifteen minutes, he grew tired and frustrated and decided to stop, and instead pester Harry.

"How is yours coming?"

"All right, I suppose," Harry replied, turning to him. "How is yo-" Suddenly, Harry's jaw dropped and he started stammering.

"What's wrong?"

"Behind..."

Ron turned around. What he saw was brown, partly glassy, partly furry, and making very loud clicking sounds. It only took him a moment to piece it together, and right after that moment passed, he ran away screaming like Lavender.

"Spider! SPIDER!!"

Professor McGonagall walked up to the gargantuan tarantula, waved her wand, and suddenly, it was Ron's teddy bear again. She turned to Ron, her hands on her hips, glaring at him furiously. "What on earth did you do?"

"I- I-" he stammered. "It was an accident."

She held out her hand. "Give my your wand."

"But-"

"Just give me your wand and I won't fail you for today."

Ron held out his wand sheepishly, and she snatched it from him.

"I'll return it to you at the end of class. Until then, just," she waved him off, "hug your teddy."

Ron sadly returned to his seat and took the stuffed bear, hugging it close to his chest. He dropped his head into the softness and tried to drift off to sleep, hoping for a moment in which the day would go right. Just as he felt himself mercifully drifting off, the bell rang and he had to go to Care of Magical Creatures.

"What in God's good name is that?" shouted Malfoy.

Hagrid was beaming. Hagrid beaming during Care of Magical Creatures was a very bad thing. It was an un-good thing, constituting the highest of bad luck. Because Hagrid beaming meant some new, dangerous, and quite potentially painful creature was there that day. Mix Hagrid's beaming, a potentially venomous creature, and Ron's terrible day together, and only trouble could spring from it.

"Mackled Malaclaws!"

"If the word 'claw' is in the name," Ron muttered to Harry, "it's already a bad sign."

"I have one for each of you. To pick them up, you just reach in and grab them at their back. Don't grab anywhere else, because they'll pinch you. Please come forward to get yours when I call your name."

Ron looked at Harry desperately. "Is this really happening?" Harry nodded. "Please, someone tell me this is all just a bad dream."

"I wish I could."

"Weasley, Ron."

Feeling as though he was walking the gauntlet, Ron trudged up to the boxes of Mackled Malaclaws and looked timidly inside. True enough, they looked like regular lobsters. He saw one, perfectly on its front, with its back open and fully exposed, ready to be grabbed. Quickly, he reached in and clasped the shell.

Suddenly, he was screaming, and drew his hand out. A small, baby Mackled Malaclaw had latched itself onto Ron's hand, and he was now trying violently to shake off the miniature crustacean. Tears were in his eyes, but the little tiny pincers held on tightly, refusing to let go no matter how hard Ron shook. Finally, Hagrid got a hold of him and took the baby off, letting Ron to nurse his injured hand.

"Are you all right there?"

"Yea," Ron muttered, "I'm fine."

"Um, Ron?" Harry pointed at Hagrid, who was petting the baby tenderly. "I don't think he was talking to you."

"Bugger," Ron replied. "That is it! I'm going outside." He left and sat down outside, about ready to have himself a good, solid cry.

Finally, the class ended and Harry and Hermione came outside; the three of them began the long trudge back to Hogwarts. As they walked, Ron could see Ginny running to see them. She skidded to a stop, nearly bowling the three of them over. "Did you see which way Draco went?" They all pointed towards the Quidditch pitch. "Thanks!" she grinned broadly, running away.

It was nearly a full minute before Ron stopped all of them. "Wait... did she just say Draco? As in, not Malfoy?"

"Um..." Harry faltered.

"I'll kill him!" Ron broke into a run after Ginny.

"Ron, wait up!"

As if the fates wanted Ron to stop, he suddenly tripped and fell, skidding forward in a large puddle of mud. Something hard hit his head as he slid, and he found that it was a sickle. A sickle in the mud.

He stood up, brushed himself off, tried to wipe some of the muck away, and held up the sickle. "You see this?" By this time, Harry and Hermione had caught up to him. "This, this beautiful sickle," he paused dramatically, "this is the first good thing to happen to me today."

He looked down at himself. "And it will probably pay for my cleaning bill."