An alternate
universe. The Second War ended years ago, but the wizarding world was now
grabbling with a new problem- monsters.
And not the
type that Hagrid wanted to protect, either. Enormous monsters. Monsters that
could destroy an entire muggle city within an hour. Monsters that can cross the
length of the United Kingdom in the time it takes for the Chudley Cannons to
lose a Quidditch match. Monsters that have only one mission- to destroy and
annihilate everything around them.
Harry is
desperately trying to hold things together. The turmoil that the monsters
created in the wizarding world has resulted in a power vacuum in the Ministry
of Magic, and, in response, the terrified magical community entrusted to the
boy who lived emergency powers of authority. He is the Minister of Magic in all
but name. He hates it, and hates spending so much time away from his young
family, but he knows that he is still the symbol of hope for so many of his
fellow wizards and witches.
Over in the Wizengamot,
Hermione is working herself silly as she struggles to reform the
already-outdated wizarding laws in order to deal with the new crisis. She is up
against the older pureblood families, many of whom still see her as an
m*dbl**d, and who refuse to allow her to implement emergency measures that are desperately
needed to save muggle lives. ‘Why should we bother?’ the old, wizened men and
women ask, ‘they’re only muggles, after all…’
Meanwhile, as
all this commotion goes on, the third member of the golden trio is walking down
a quiet side-street of Diagon Alley. He is on his lunch break from the shop. Weasleys Wizard Wheezes still does
better than most shops in the alley (how Madam
Malkins is still running is anyone’s guess) but business hasn’t been the
same since the monster attacks started several months ago. George often decides
to call it a day by mid-afternoon, since so few customers enter the shops’ vibrant
interior.
Ron Weasley
scratched his chin absentmindedly as he sat down on a bench situated near a
small patch of grass. There was a small child playing with a ball nearby.
The boy
looked barely older than nine. He was freckly, with awkward limbs that seemed
to be too long for his body. Ron smiled slightly; he knew what that felt like.
‘Hey mister,’
the boy said, turning to Ron, ‘aren’t you that famous person?’
‘I get that a
lot.’
The kid
nodded, looking nonplussed, and continued to play with his ball. Ron was reminded
of his own young son; currently spending the week at Grandma Weasleys’ at The
Burrow. Hugo was a good little kid, and so was Rose. But underneath their smiling
faces nowadays was a vague sense of loss.
Ron felt it
too. Hermione was spending all her time at work, often arriving home long after
their children had gone to bed. That was happened last night; Ron remembered
feeling the bed sink slightly as Hermione climbed under the sheets wearily.
Before Ron could even offer words of comfort or support, she had fallen asleep.
And she had been off to work the next morning after a hurried breakfast; quickly
kissing the foreheads of their two children and Ron himself as she left.
However, Ron
was brought out of his reverie by a loud crash that seemed to echo through the
small square that surrounded the parched grass.
A monster had
just broken its way out of a kitchen window in one of the houses nearby. It was
small in comparison to the monsters that had been attacking recently, but still
enormous. And Ron had seen enormous things- the three-headed dog with the
ironic name ‘Fluffy’, the giants at the battle of Hogwarts, and (how could he
ever forget?) the giant Acromantula Aragog.
Ron darted
forward as the creature reared away from the house. It almost looked like a
giant insect- lots of long legs and multiple eyes. The child was stood, his
ball forgotten, in terror as the monster approached him.
Throwing
caution to the winds, Ron leapt through the air, and pulled the boy out of
harms way, as one of the creature legs crashed down on the spot where the child
had just stood.
‘Get out of
here!’ Ron yelled, as he pulled the boy to his feet. ‘Go- get help!’
But the child
seemed unable to move, his eyes fixed with horror on the monster behind them.
Without
realising what he was doing, Ron yanked his neck-tie from out of his collar (purple and green; what was George thinking?)
and leapt backwards through the air, so that he landed on the monster’s back.
The creature reeled and skittered with anger as Ron threw his tie around its
neck.
The small boy
stumbled backwards, away from them, and Ron pulled tighter on the monsters’
neck with one hand, cutting off its air supply. Several large talons tried to
bat Ron away, tearing at his shirt and leaving marked on his already-scarred
arms (a memento from the department of mysteries a decade previously). But Ron
clung on, slamming his other fist into the creatures’ neck.
With a
sickening thud, the monster dropped to the ground, unconscious. Ron climbed off
its back, and created strong ropes to bind the creature. The ministry had
enough problems without dazed monsters smashing up Diagon Alley in their
confusion. Realising that it would probably be prudent to contact the Ministry
directly, Ron sent a patronus messenger (hopefully, Harry didn’t have too much
on his plate that particular afternoon, but it was unlikely).
He wearily
walked away from the creature, and approached the boy, who was still standing,
eyes wide, but this time with amazement rather than fear.
‘That was
bl**dy brilliant!’ the child gasped.
Ron rubbed the
back of his neck. ‘You think?’
‘Yeah’-The
boy peeked round Ron to get another look at the now-bound monster-‘Are you a
hero or something?’
‘No,’ Ron
grinned. ‘Just someone who wanted to help out.’
But as Ron
waited for the ministry to arrive, he started to wonder. He had taken down a
monster fairly easily. Most wizards and witches seemed to be unable to capture
and contain them with magical means, and yet Ron had somehow defeated a
(admittedly small) monster using only his bare hands. Maybe there was something
in this… Maybe he should help more
people like this…
And so, in
the proceeding months, Ron Weasley began to train himself. It wasn’t always
easy, but he began to train his body and muscles in a way that most wizards had
never done. He trained even when his arms and legs made weird popping noises,
and even when he almost collapsed from exhaustion. But he never gave up.
He kept his
training regimen to himself, not even telling Harry or Hermione (they were busy
enough with their own work, and this would help them in the end). Slowly but
surely, Ron’s body began to change. His arms grew toned and muscular, and his
legs became as thick as tree-trunks.
He began to
fight monsters. There were always a few trying to smash their way into Diagon Alley
and (although he dealt with small monsters at first) he soon started to fight
larger monsters. The ones that could cross London in a few minutes. The
enormous ones.
And yet, Ron
always seemed to come out on top. It wasn’t sure what it was, but with each
monster he faced, his own abilities seemed to become greater. His strength and
speed seemed a million years away from how he had started out; now he could
reach the top of sky-scrapers just by jumping.
His biggest
weapon, however, was his right hook. The same right hook that he had used to
defeat that small monster in the back alley all those months ago, but honed to
perfection.
Ron Weasley
had achieved the impossible.
In time, he
became known simply as:
Ron-Punch
Man.
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