Soup

02

Contrary to popular belief, Ronald Weasley did care about his friend's well-being. So much, in fact, that he'd done something quite unusual.

He thought.

Okay, that was probably quite unfair. No, no, a more proper way to say it was that he was thinking about food.

Well, that wasn't quite right either.

No, no, no. Ronald Weasley wasn't thinking about food. No, not at all. Ronald Weasley was thinking about why on earth soup, of all things, was a breakfast item. And more importantly, since when did Hogwarts have mushroom soup on the menu?

For as long as he could remember (a good four years of his time at Hogwarts), the school had never served mushroom soup. Pumpkin soup, tomato soup, pea soup, yes, but never, never in a million years, had there been mushroom soup.

Until today.

And of course, it had been served at breakfast, where Harry could conveniently choke on previously mentioned soup while Hermione, admittedly the brains of the bunch, wasn't around to ensure his safety.

(Granted, Professor McGonagall had gotten the job done just as well, but Ron ultimately trusted Hermione more.)

Ron frowned, looking down at the parchment on which he had scribbled down the facts.
One, Hogwarts didn't serve mushroom soup, especially not at breakfast.
Two, Hogwarts served mushroom soup today. At breakfast.
Three, Harry was allergic to mushrooms.
Four, Harry knocked off Voldemort in a surprisingly simple way (it was a story best saved for another time, but the one thing that was common knowledge was that it involved pigeons - lots of pigeons) and people, namely Death Eaters, were upset about that.

The conclusion?

Someone was out to get Harry, by poisoning him with mushroom soup, and no one had even noticed.

Oh, Merlin. Oh, Merlin. Oh, Merlin. The panicked thought rattled its way through Ron's head before bursting out the other side in a moment of clarity. Clarity as in pure and sheer panic.

...

Fred and George looked up as one at the scream that rattled the rafters of Gryffindor Tower. They looked at each other.

"One of yours?"

"Nah."

At that, the two shrugged, and decided that obviously someone else had thought it was a good idea to prank Ron with spiders.

In their defense, the last time their little brother had screamed with such volume was the time that they'd pranked Ron with plastic spiders.

...

Having released that moment of clarity, Ron again sunk back into the folds of invincibility that all teenagers seemed to believe that they possessed, and so, he continued to think.

Harry was in the Hospital Wing, and in no shape to investigate. Hermione was still busy in Hogsmeade. Crookshanks was a cat, and while Ron was worried about Harry, there were still things he wasn't willing to do – like teaming up with a bloody cat of all things.

Besides, while Ron was sure that Crookshanks was a smart critter, the cat wouldn't be much help if he needed someone to back him up in a duel. That meant he needed someone skilled with a wand, someone who knew how any possible suspects thought (cough, cough, Death Eaters), and someone who was smart.

He needed someone who could sneak around, undetected, he needed someone who was a good detective, he needed someone who was a good spy, he needed someone who knew how Death Eaters worked. He needed... he needed...