Ronald Weasley was about to die.

Not physically, of course, but mentally. Hermione, his love, the girl he would quite happily have died for, happily have taken the place of, had a knife at her throat; a knife being held by one of the most unpleasant people in the universe.

He didn't know how it happened, how one minute they could be about to rescue Hermione and the next Lestrange could have them in a position where they were dropping their wands. All he knew was, she had them by the balls.

"Good," Lestrange smiled. Then she looked at Hermione, who was struggling slightly, and smiled. "Why so serious, Mudblood? Don't you like this?"

Hermione struggled even more, but Bellatrix :Lestrange held her even tighter, and leant down to whisper in her ear.

"Why don't we put a smile on your face…?"

The knife was up before Ron could move, but he went fast enough to punch Bellatrix and send her flying across the room. But upon Hermione's face was a carved grin, from one side to the other, and her throat was slashed. Ron looked down at her in shock as the blood drained out of her – his eyes met hers, and then she stopped.

He blinked. Harry was yelling. Someone was grabbing his hand – he grabbed Hermione and then, suddenly, they were away from Malfoy Manor, in a garden, at night.

She was dead.

He hadn't even let himself admit to her how much he had cared for her, and now here she was, dead. Dead. Gone. Never coming back. Dead. Left him. Destroyed. Tarnished. Marred. Mutilated.

A smile carved on her face.

Somehow, even as Bill and Fleur came and Fleur used a charm that healed the wounds, and they moved her inside… he could still see that smile.

--

Ron wasn't talking. He wasn't speaking to anyone. Bill couldn't get him to move from the armchair where he had deposited himself, head in hands. No one could get him to talk. He was pale, and shaking, wracked with silent sobs, but he hadn't cried, hadn't moved, hadn't done a damn thing.

Finally, Harry could take it no longer.

"Ron," he said. "Ron, look at me."

Ron didn't move.

"Ron," Harry said, simply. "I'm sorry she's dead, I truly am, but we can't help her. The best thing you can do is…"

He broke off as Ron raised his head. Harry blinked in shock, and Luna, Bill, Fleur and Dean all gazed at the countenance of Ronald Bilius Weasley, unsure of what to think.

He hadn't been sobbing.

He had been laughing. His mouth was split open in silent hilarity, grinning at them all and shaking with suppressed noise that he suddenly let out in a torrent of high pitched insane mirth.

"Ron!" Bill yelled. "What the…?!"

Ron got up, danced over to Bill and grabbed his arm, spun him around and danced across the room. He then ran up to Luna, hugged her, and plated a kiss upon her face, and then he laughed some more.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Dean yelled at him. Ron stopped laughing, looked at Dean with an incredulous expression, then his grin returned.

"Life," he said, simply," is hilarious."

A moment later, he had walked out of the building and Dissapparated.

"He can't be thinking clearly," Harry said after a moment. "He's unhinged."

"It happens sometimes," Luna replied, with a slight smile. "When my mother died, I did much the same thing."

"What a time to go mad," Bill said. "I'd better go after him."

"Where do you reckon he went?" Dean asked.

Bill blinked, and paused for a good minute, before looking at the door his little brother had run out of.

"Actually," he admitted after a moment, "I have no idea…"

--

Ron felt good. No, he felt better. He was out with a purpose, a mission, a reason to exist.

He was going to kill Bellatrix Lestrange.

And then he was gonna kill Malfoy Senior, and Malfoy Junior, and then maybe Mrs Malfoy, and then Mr Lestrange and his brother… and then maybe Dolohov and Mulciber… and Snape, definitely Snape.

Hell with it, he might as well kill all the Death Eaters.

And You-Know-Who while he was at it.

He had been listening to his friends and brother talk while he had been laughing at the insanity of the world, and knew that Fred and George were at Muriels… so…

He knocked on the door, and was surprised when Ginny answered it. The look she gave him said that the Shell Cottage residents had told them about him.

Good.

"Uh, hi, Ron…" she said. "Uh…"

"Let me in, Gin," Ron advised her, with an unsettling smile. "The mood I'm in, you'd be a fool not to."

She did, and to his own great (lack of) surprise, the twins and his Father were there to meet him.

"Hiya guys," he said to Fred and George, putting on a showy American accent. "I was hoping to run into you.

"We were hoping to run into you, Ron," his Father said. "We need to talk…"

"Well, talk, Dad," Ron smiled at him. "Talk and talk and talk all you want. I need things."

He focused his gaze on Fred and George.

"Destructive things," he added.

"Well you ain't gettin' 'em from us," Fred said immediately.

"Yeah, we know you're a bit upset Ronnie boy," George added.

"… but you goin' off and doin' some damage isn't gonna help anyone," Fred finished.

"I dunno," Ron smiled. "Might be funny."

Mr Weasley put his hand on Ron's shoulder, and spoke softly, in a low voice.

"Ron, perhaps you'd better…"

It happened in a flash; Ron grabbed his Father's hand, twisted his arm, and put his mouth against his Dad's ear.

"You help me… or I go out there and do what I'm going to anyway," Ron said. "Pick one, Daddy Dearest."

Fred and George moved to help but Mr Weasley held up his hand.

"No!" he said. "No… Alright, Ron, we'll help."

Ron let up immediately, but then his Father had his wand out and then…

--

He woke up with a shot. His head felt clearer than it had the night before, he felt rested and – it was morning.

That explained it.

He blinked, breathed, and sat up – he was in pyjamas. He smiled. He liked pyjamas.

He grabbed his borrowed wand, which thoughtfully had been left where he could find it, went downstairs. His family, to his great (lack of) surprise, were there, looking worried, but not that angry. Good.

"Hello, everyone," he said, and he smiled – a warm smile, a friendly smile, not the deranged rictus he had worn last night. They all breathed a collective sigh of relief that it took all of his willpower to not point out.

"Are you… alright, Ronnie?" his mother asked him. He looked at her, and kept the smile on his face .He nodded.

"Oh yes," he said. "I feel fine. Better than new. Better than ever."

Ginny was looking at him oddly. Had they noticed yet, he wondered? The stilted speech? Did they know him that well?

Did they hell-as-like. Ginny seemed to know there was something wrong, but then she wouldn't say anything. No, they wouldn't notice. Until he told them.

"Are you… are you alright about… what happened?" his father asked.

Ha.

Rich.

"Alright?" he said slowly. "Yes, I'm alright about what happened."

They all smiled.

"You all fucking turned on me and betrayed me is what happened. No problems getting that part."

The smiles vanished like a shot. His mother looked about to burst into tears, and he smiled again, the rictus returning. "Not, mind, that I blame you – only acting as responsible, naturally concerned parents usually do – what that says about parents in general, I haven't got a clue, but the thing is you see… and I'm not sure if this makes any sense," he pointed out, shrugging, "but you've taught me a lesson. What you did was an attempt at order – you suppressed me, what I wanted, what I desired, because it was anarchic – I desired destruction – I still desire destruction. Only, with your lesson you see, you have given me the chance to… expand my targets slightly."

They looked terrified out of their minds at his words, which he didn't even half know the source of, but he loved, understood and agreed with. Then again, he was the one saying them.

They looked like they didn't know him.

Good.

As far as he was concerned, they never had. A lifetime of being number six, the least likely to matter, to be important or to achieve anything worth shouting about, meant that, no, no one really had. Apart from Hermione and Harry.

Soon, though, people would shout.

"My targets," he continued at them, "originally, were the entire bunch of Death Eaters, maybe even You Know Who himself – but…" and here he held up his finger at his Mother, who looked ready to interrupt, "I have decided that society – our society,created this man and his ideals and that you stopped me because of ideals that this self same society put upon you and – hell, that sounds too intellectual and I've never been intellectual," he grinned. "Suffice it to say, family, I'm gonna destroy – everything. And make you watch."

He grinned as his family looked at him, unsure as to what to say.

"We'll start with the obvious shall we?" Ron added, walking over to the kitchen, grabbing a knife from the rack and then looking at them all with a grin. "Voldemort."

All at once, three figures materialised in the hall, as the family shouted and the wands came out – and Ron Weasley walked up to the first Death Eater – ooh, goody it looked like Fenrir Greyback – and plunged a knife in the back of the bastards neck.

Greyback arched into the impact of the knife – ooh, it really wasGreyback – and Ron smiled his rictus at him.

"Hiya Wolfy boy," he said. "How you doin'?"

The Werewolf looked at him with shock in his eyes, and then Ron pulled the knife out and held it up, a flash of inspiration striking him. The look on Greyback's face was priceless – all anger and concern, even as his lifeblood seeped out and he lost consciousness – and he was still standing, wow, how resilient… and Ron grabbed his head, put the knife to his left cheek, and widened the grin.

"Oh, why so grim, wolfy boy?" he asked. "There's nothing like a smile. Let me give you one."

He laughed as Greyback screamed.

--

When the Death Eaters were dead and they had to organize how to get out of there, Ginny took a brief look at Greyback's corpse – Ron had vanished as soon as Greyback had expired; and screamed.

There was a carved smile upon its face.

--

In Sirius Black's old home, Ronald Weasley looked the ensemble he was wearing up and down.

Shirt with a hexagonal pattern across it. Black-with-white-pinstripe waistcoat, similar suit and long black coat.

"Nice," he said aloud, "but it needs something."

He was going to bring anarchy to these people – what would they need for that?

Then he remembered the old maxim.

Laughter is the best medicine.

It had certainly worked for him. He grinned as he realised what he needed. He tried vaguely to remember the spell for altering colour, then opened his eyes and snapped his fingers theatrically – of course!

"Muto!" he said, waving the borrowed wand, and the clothes changed – the shirt he liked, but the waistcoat became a vivid green, and the suit became purple with pinstripe, and the coat plain purple.

He looked at it, and yet something was missing – ah yes.,

His face. He looked at it, and dropped the grin for a second – if he even dropped it for a second, it looked… normal.

That would not do.

He spent three seconds considering possibilities, but really, there was only one possibility to consider.

He took the knife out of his pocket, the knife he would keep with him from now on, and he looked at the serious, grim looking reflection that just… wasn't him anymore.

"Why so serious, Ronnie?" he asked. He took the knife, and he cut.

--