The Princely Wizard

Chapter One: The Bride

The year that Buttercup (Oi, her name is Buttercup? Lord.) was born, the most beautiful woman in the world was a French scullery maid named Annette. Annette worked in Paris for the Duke and Duchess de Guiche, and it didn't not escape the Duke's notice that someone as extraordinary was polishing the pewter. The Duke's notice did not escape the notice of the Duchess either, who was not very beautiful and not very rich, but plenty smart. The Duchess set about studying Annette and shortly found her adversary's tragic flaw.

Chocolate.

Ron snickered. It was roughly an hour since Hermione had almost literally dropped The Princess Bride into his lap, and, after a light nap which revolved a great deal around a princess with bushy brown hair playing Quidditch with Harry, he decided to take a closer look at it.

Hermione, who'd apparently come back down to the Common Room after he'd fallen asleep, was reading her Arithmancy book on the couch across from him and her head snapped up when he'd laughed.

"What's funny?" she asked, a small, triumphant smile playing at her lips. He scowled.

"Nothing."

"You like the book, don't you? I knew you would!" she said, still grinning that insufferable I-told-you-so grin.

"I'm on the first page! First paragraph! I s'pose it's all right, but Lord, Hermione, give the words a chance to digest! And her name is Buttercup? What kind of name is that?"

Ignoring him and looking smug, she looked back down at her book. "Just keep reading. It gets good very soon."

"I will," he said through clenched teeth. She could be so aggravating at times.

He kept reading. For hours, his house mates wondered what could be so interesting that it kept Ron Weasley enthralled for hours on the Gryffindor Common Room sofa. "Bet it's a just a book with one of those Muggle nudie magazines hidden in it," Seamus giggled to Dean and Harry, who was personally astounded at his friend's interest in anything that didn't involve a broom and Snitch. But Ron ignored them and continued to read into dinner, and took the book to the Great Hall. Harry was a bit concerned.

"Hermione..." he whispered, sitting across the table from Hermione and Ron, who was eating his dinner with one hand and had the book in the other."Is he all right?" He mouthed the words so Ron couldn't see although Harry knew he wasn't paying attention anyway.

"Of course he's all right. He's reading." she said, taking a heaping bite of mashed potatoes and looking awfully proud of herself.

"I know he's reading...but what's he reading?"

"A book I lent him." She grinned widely at Ron, who couldn't be bothered to look up.

"Is it--I mean, did you..." Harry stumbled over the words. "Is it one of those enchanted books? The kind you can't put down, I mean." He looked at her a bit sternly as he rushed the words out as quickly as he could.

"Is it what?" She laughed. "Oh no, Harry, of course not! It's just a regular Muggle book that I lent him because I thought he might enjoy it." Harry looked relieved.

"Good. I thought you might have been playing a joke or something..." He nodded his head toward Ron. "Well, looks like he likes it."

"Sod off, Harry," Ron said with a quick grin as he took a gulp of pumpkin juice. "I'm just reading it so Hermione will stay off my back about it..." He trailed off with a chuckle as he began reading again. Harry and Hermione both rolled their eyes.

~*~

"Lumos," Ron muttered. It was late, and the boy's dormitory was quiet except for the soft snoring drifting from Neville's bed. Ron was curled up beneath the covers of his four-poster, reading by wand light. Inigo was just about to confront Count Rugen, but he didn't know that the Count had a dagger. Ron's breathing was slightly haggard. He was worried.

It took Inigo until 5:41 before he actually cornered the Count. In a billiard room. "Hello," he was about to say. "My name is Inigo Montoya; you killed my father; prepare to die." What he actually got out was somewhat less: "Hello, my name is Ini--"

And then the dagger rearranged his insides. The force of the throw sent him staggering backward into the wall. The rush of blood weakened him so quickly he could not keep to his feet. "Domingo, Domingo," he whispered, and then he was, at forty-two minutes after five, lost on his knees...

Ron plunged ahead. He had hope that Inigo would be all right--he figured it couldn't be any worse than what had happened to Westley.

That had thrown him for a loop. Actually, it had sent him into a Wronski Feint of emotions that he hadn't thought possible of a book. Although he'd never admit it to anyone, a couple tears had almost managed to squeeze from the corners of his burning eyes, but he had overcome them and read on.

Would Inigo exact revenge on the Count and avenge his father's death? Would Westley be all right after his few hours in a "nearly dead" condition? Would Miracle Max's miracle pill last long enough for Westley and Buttercup to have a "happily ever after"? Where was Fezzik? Would Prince Humperdinck get his just desserts? Ron had to know.

And he found out. With a triumphant smile at reading the last line of the last page, he promptly fell sound asleep in the book, the last page reading "THE END" sticking to his freckly and exhausted face.