A Rather Indecent Proposal
Chapter 5: It's the small things
Part 1
Author: Carla, aka cali-chan
Rating: PG, so far. Rating might go up, though, depending on my mood when writing later chapters.
Genre: Romance, humor, drama.
Pairings: Will probably end up R/LL, with H/Hr and D/G on the side.
Canon/timeline: Post-DH, though I haven't read any of the post-DH interviews so I might have a few
facts off. I wouldn't say it disregards the epilogue (an open ending is always a possibility), but
time-wise this story happens a year after chapter 36 of DH. So the epilogue hasn't happened yet.
Summary: "I need you to be my boyfriend." "Luna, you... do know I'm with Hermione... don't you?" "Yes, but don't worry, it's okay. I'm not a jealous person." Ron's eyes almost bugged out. Every time he thought he'd seen her at her limit of craziness, she managed to surprise him yet again.
After taking a shower and getting dressed, Harry walked out of his room, absentmindedly cleaning his glasses with the lower part of his polo shirt. His hair was, of course, all over the place and it was as he was looking for a comb that he heard a thump coming from the room adjacent to his own. He had thought he was alone in the flat, because Hermione had told him her and Ron were going out before he'd gotten in the shower. So he decided to go check to see who it was.
He snuck a peek at Hermione's room through the half open door, and caught a glimpse of the girl sitting on the floor among piles and piles of books.
Okay, something was wrong. Hermione only rearranged her books the muggle way when she was upset. Claimed it helped her relax; but the boys knew the real reason behind the compulsion was simply that in her annoyance, she no longer found the alphabetical order, or the topic grouping, or the colour code (or whatever the order criterion du jour was) practical, let alone useful at all. Call it OCD, but both boys agreed that it was better than her taking out her frustrations on them (Ron still had nightmares about the canaries).
In fact, Harry was half-tempted to just tiptoe back to his room and let her work out whatever it was on her own... but his curiosity got the best of him. He opened the door a little more and, leaning with his shoulder against the doorframe, decided to announce his presence. "Are you okay?"
Hermione would've jumped back in alarm, had she not been sitting. As it was, her sudden jerk managed to knock down a couple of books from the pile she had to her right. "Jesus Chr-- don't do that, Harry!" she snapped at him, with a glare. She took slow breaths, surely trying to calm down a racing heart. "I thought you were still getting ready."
"And I thought you'd be long gone by now," Harry replied, with a hint of an amused smile. He stepped into the room-- carefully avoiding the stacks of books, no need to mess things up and earn himself a lecture-- and sat down on her bed, diagonal to her position. "Didn't you and Ron have something to do?"
"Yes, well, the outing has been cancelled," she grumbled, shaking her head as she picked up a book from the tower she had to her left, turning it around to read the author's name in the spine. "George called with some sort of emergency at the joke shop, so Ron had to go and help."
"And that upset you?" he asked, watching as she handled books, in part trying to figure out just what order she was going to use this time around. She wasn't opening them to check inside, so it was either the author or the topic... perhaps date of publication...
"I'm not upset," she was quick to point out, nose high in the air. Harry threw her an incredulous look before letting himself fall backwards on her bed, hands comfortably resting behind his head. A few seconds of hearing the shuffle of the books, he heard her continue in a grumble: "Just a little miffed, really." She sighed before continuing. "We were supposed to go get a present for Molly. Her birthday's in a week, what am I supposed to get her now?"
There was a bit more shuffling, accompanied by an indignant huff. "I asked him, and you know what he said?" There was a thump as she obviously dropped whatever book she had been holding into one of the high piles. "He said to get her 'a dress, or a pot or something.' Can you believe that?" Harry could almost hear her rolling her eyes. "The woman planned a huge birthday party for me, and he wants me to get her a pot! Honestly!"
Now Harry, being a bloke, didn't see what was so horrible about getting Molly a pot as a gift. He reckoned she'd probably put it to good use. However, given the set of Hermione's jaw when he walked in, he was probably better off not voicing that thought. "Why didn't you just go without Ron, anyway? It's not like you've ever needed help in getting presents. You're way better at it than either Ron or me."
She scoffed. "Well, that's not saying much. Remember when we were at Hogwarts and you used to send me bags of sweets for Christmas?" she questioned, in an amused tone.
He frowned, lifting himself up on his elbows to look at her-- or more specifically at the top of her bushy-haired head, from the awkward angle. "What? What's wrong about giving you candy? Thought you'd liked them." He had never, not once, heard her complain about his presents before this. It was odd to have the topic suddenly spring up on him.
She laughed. "Harry, my parents are dentists. I never really got to have any of those sweets," she let him know in her usual practical tone.
Now Harry was the indignant one. "Well, that blows. You couldn't have sneaked them into your room?"
"Are you insinuating I should have lied to my parents?"
Ah, there was that inherent part of Hermione that was still a stickler for rules. You'd think being friends with Harry and Ron would have extinguished that part of her by now, but apparently not. Harry knew when it was time to give up his side of the argument. "Fine. I still don't get why you want Ron to go with you so badly," he said, once again lying down. He took his glasses off and closed his eyes, resting comfortably. Hermione's bed was a lot softer than his. It also felt warmer. He wondered why that was.
"I just wanted to give Molly something that would really make her happy," she admitted, and by the sound that followed Harry guessed she'd gone back to re-arranging her books. "I figured actually getting her son to help buy her present for a change would be a good start."
That did make sense. "Alright, you have a point there," he admitted. He wouldn't tell her this out of fear of getting a reprimand, but fortunately for him, Ginny had gotten her mother a present from the both of them a while ago. "Still, cut him a break. He just wants to help his brother."
He heard her sigh. "Yes, you're right. I'm being silly. It's not like I want poor George to drown in stinksap..." There was a pause, and he figured she was shaking her head, or perhaps she was staring intently at something, deep in thought. "I'll just get her something during the week, then." Another pause, then she groaned. "Oh, why did I ever think changing the order was a good idea? The old one worked fine! I should've left it like that." Her voice came out muffled, like she had her hands over her face. "This is going to take days..."
Harry chuckled. He heard her shuffling and then there were a couple steps. Two seconds later she walked up until she was by the bed, looking down at him. "Sure you don't want to help me?" she asked, with a hopeful expression, as she leaned against one of the bedposts.
Harry laughed outright at that. "Not. A. Chance," he said, emphasizing each word, lips drawn in a teasing smirk. "In fact, I think I'm just going to stay here and rest for a bit until I have to leave for Ginny's match," he added, letting his glasses rest on his chest as he got himself in a comfortable position again and closed his eyes.
He couldn't see her glare at him, but he was sure that's what she was doing. "Why, thanks, Harry. You're always so helpful." There was some more huffing and puffing and picking up books as she shuffled around the room avoiding the piles. "Remind me again why I own so many books?" came the resigned question.
"Careful, Hermione. You might just be bordering on sacrilege there," he replied with a grin. Then he yelped as she hit his foot, which was set on the floor as his legs dangled from the edge of her bed, with a decidedly hard hardcover.
--
His nose itched.
Ron turned his head to the side only to come in contact with a handful of grass-- and whatever had been bugging him previously was still lingering on his cheek. Probably a taller blade of grass or some sort of bug, he figured, since they were by the river and all.
It was only when he bothered opening one eye that he noticed it was actually a strand of Luna's long, blonde hair that was hanging right above his face. "Mm. Luna, can you move? Your hair is in my face."
She nodded and shifted to the side so he could sit up. He idly noticed that she was in the exact same position she had been in before he laid down to take a nap-- except she had taken her shoes off. Her purple stockings had twirling daisies printed on them. "Catch anything yet?" he asked, pointing to the awkwardly-made fishing rod she was holding towards the water.
The girl let out a disappointed sigh. "Nothing. I should've known better than to try catching plimpies downstream during their mating season," she explained, airy voice almost getting lost among the light rumble of the river's flow. "I guess I was hoping one or two strays might have remained."
He nodded wisely-- although, of course, he did not really care about the mating habits of plimpies, but it seemed like that was his cue to commiserate.
He had initially come by because Luna's father insisted on having a picnic with the both of them. However, Xenophilius had woken up with a bit of a chest cold that morning (or so he explained to Ron) and as it was getting colder nowadays, he preferred to stay inside instead. However, not wanting to spoil the young ones' fun, he quickly shoved the fishing rod into Luna's hands and told them to keep themselves busy by catching some plimpies by the stream. He also told Luna to remember to walk back and forth through the doorway three times while holding the rod upright, which she did. Ron had no idea what that was about, and he thought it was probably a good idea not to ask.
And so they'd spent the next couple hours like this, Luna trying in vain to catch something and Ron lying down to take a nap as soon as the cool breeze hit his face.
She wiggled her toes against the fabric of her daisy stockings. "I'm sorry. This must be dreadfully boring for you, I imagine," she let out, lowering the fishing rod to the ground on her side.
He shrugged. "It's not so bad. I've always rather liked these hills, actually," he grinned, rather mischievously. "When I was little, Mum wouldn't let us play outside the Burrow limits because she was afraid we'd be seen by muggles, but sometimes Fred and George would sneak out and take me and Ginny along, and we used to play with some other kids a bit further down that way," he said, pointing further northeast.
When he turned back towards her, he found her staring at him, head lightly inclined to the side. "That sounds nice. I never really played much outside my house. Nobody to play with," she admitted, nodding a little. "So I mostly stayed in and read books. When I wasn't on a trip with my parents, that is."
Ron cringed; of course she didn't. It was common knowledge among the scant wizarding population of Ottery St. Catchpole and nearby villages that the Lovegoods were strange and that it was best not to associate with them. Among his little group of friends, they all agreed (himself included) that "Luna germs" were even worse than "girl germs," which, to a 7-year-old boy, meant they were something pretty damn scary. Kids were just mean like that, sometimes.
Before he could make some (probably half-assed) comment, though, she jumped. "Oh, there's one!" she exclaimed, and when Ron reacted to move his gaze from her stocking-clad feet to the stream, he barely managed to catch the silhouette of scaly, webbed hind-quarters before they disappeared into the water. "It seems they're just being sneaky and avoiding my bait, then," Luna continued, her tone almost like she was proud of the little creature. She had already lowered the fishing rod, though, so she couldn't really test that theory now. She turned her big gray eyes towards him. "You know, the last time we went fishing, Dean managed to catch one by the legs. It was very impressive."
At the mention of his fellow Gryffindor, Ron snorted, but quickly covered it with a cough. "Yeah. Impressive." He moved to get up from his spot on the grass. "Of course it had to be impressive, he's trying to score points, the slimy git," he muttered under his breath as he stood upright.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Nothing," he was quick to reply. He moved towards the water and stood by the edge, crouching slightly and squinting to try and see anything in the stream. "Maybe they're just not hungry," he wondered out loud. He had no idea why he suddenly felt the urge to locate the stupid fish, to be honest. Just curiosity, probably. "I mean, they're not supposed to be that smart, are they?"
He hadn't even finished the sentence when he found himself getting splashed with water all over his face; the splish-splash of little legs paddling on the surface of the water once again was a clear, signature sound. He had barely had enough time to close his eyes.
Luna's vaporous tone came to his ears from a closer position than before, and he could feel her long skirt swish against his shoulder; she had moved to stand beside him. "On the contrary," she said, "it seems they're smarter than you thought." Ron's ears burned red as he wiped the water from his face: Her voice gave no indication that she was making fun of him but that didn't stop him from being embarrassed.
He cleared his throat awkwardly as he stood up from his crouching position. "You know what, I think we should let this one go. It's mating season, after all. Wouldn't want for it to miss all the fun," he stated, in what he hoped was a solemn tone. "What say we take a walk down the hills instead?"
She nodded, looking up at him. "I like that idea. Very considerate of you to be the bigger person in this conflict, Ron," she replied, her tone every bit as solemn (or as solemn as Luna could sound, that is), like she thought of this brief interlude as some legendary ancient struggle between man and nature. Hmm. Perhaps she was making fun of him after all... nah.
Luna put her footwear back on and made sure she left the fishing rod standing perfectly upright against the trunk of a tree before they set out on their leisurely walk. What was it with the Lovegoods and fishing rods, anyway? Once again, he refrained from bringing the topic up.
"Ronald, can I ask you a personal question?" she asked, once again staring at him with unblinking grey eyes. Obviously she didn't share his reservations when it came to asking people things.
He let her, wondering what the harm could be. Even her gaze on him was not as unnerving as it had once been; by now he had simply categorized it as a Luna thing. And of course, her being Luna, he should've known her question would be something he never expected any other person to ask; and this one was pretty out there, even for her, or so he thought as his brain processed the fact that the words "if you were a vegetable, which one would you be?" really had come out of her mouth. "...Huh?"
At his completely random reply, she cocked her head like she was pondering it, a hand on her chin, then nodded. "Yes, yes, I can definitely see why."
He gaped at her. He'd only picked the tomato because his hair was red and he thought carrots were overused. After a few seconds of just blinking at her (and her not blinking back at him), laughter finally began to bubble up his throat, thinking of how inane this must sound to an outsider, them taking a stroll while talking about produce. "That's rich, Luna. What's with the question, though?"
She gave him a vacant smile and a shrug. "I've just always been curious about it."
He guffawed out loud at that.
They continued walking around the green terrain, the conversation going back and forth. He would point out places where he used to play with his siblings when he was a kid, and would add some funny anecdotes where he could. She seemed to find it all very entertaining. On the other hand whenever it was her turn to fill the silence, she would ask questions-- completely insane questions, of course, but each one more than useful for a good laugh. He wasn't exactly sure how she had decided this game of twenty questions would be interesting to play, but he'd humour her, because it was hilarious.
"So... you and Dean, huh?" he commented, sounding completely nonchalant about it. His hands were in his pants' pockets as they walked side-by-side. The further they got from the top of the hill, the less sun hit them and the shadows were a bit chilly. "Do you two... fish very often?"
"Not really, no," she responded. Her hands were also comfortably nested inside the front pockets of her grey wool jacket. "Just a couple of times. He mostly prefers that we stay inside when he visits, because it's more comfortable for my father."
Ron nodded absently, not surprised in the least. Of course Dean would try and make Xenophilius feel comfortable-- the little brown-noser. "Has he been doing better lately?" he asked, after a few seconds of silence. "Your dad, I mean?"
Luna's expression fell, just a little. "Well, he's been getting headaches more frequently than he used to," she explained quietly. "And we can't have pickles anymore-- they make his stomach queasy." She lifted a hand out of her pocket just long enough to move a strand of her long hair away from her face. "But he does have his good days, so I can only be thankful for that," she added, finishing the phrase in an almost hopeful way.
Ron stayed quiet, mostly because he had no idea what to say. He felt bad for her, she didn't deserve this situation... but he didn't know just quite how to say that. Luckily for him, she didn't seem to be expecting him to say anything. "Uh, perhaps we should start heading back? Maybe he's already woken up from his nap," he suggested rather awkwardly, hoping it didn't sound like he was doing so out of pity. He wasn't.
She nodded, agreeing with him. "Yes, let's. You're probably feeling hungry, I imagine," she added, with a small smile that was not quite directed to him. As if on cue his stomach grumbled loudly-- and he groaned in tandem. He'd been hoping the real reason behind his suggestion of going back inside wasn't quite as obvious. But well, it was now... what else could he do but admit it?
They made their way back to the stream to pick up Luna's fishing rod. As they walked back to the Lovegoods' house, she turned to him, lightly skipping on the toes of her sandal-clad feet. "One last question?" At his nod, she looked back toward their destination, tightening her hands inside her pockets for warmth. She only spoke again after a few seconds of silence. "Would you give up your socks for a friend?"
He frowned at her, not understanding. She elaborated. "Imagine you and a friend are in a really cold place. Would you give him or her your socks so they can keep warm?"
"Wouldn't looking for a blanket or starting a fire be more effective?" he asked, still confused.
"Let's say you're camping in the middle of the forest, so no blankets... and you don't have a wand," she added pointedly.
"That's an awful lot of conditions," Ron grumbled to himself, slowing down his pace. "I guess... I would do anything it takes to save my friend's life," he said, his tone full of honesty. He didn't know why she was suddenly bringing up such a complex question, but since he already said he was okay with it, he had no choice but to answer it.
She shook her head at him, which made him frown once more. They stopped walking altogether as she explained. "Saving your friend's life is easy," she said, and he looked down at her, wondering if she'd heard what she just said. Saving a person by putting your own life at risk was easy? "I mean, you're a generally good person. The will to save those you care about is... almost an instinct, really. Of course you'd do it. But what if it's not a life-or-death situation? What if you're just... cold? Socks are a very personal thing, you know," she added with a shrug.
It would've struck him as an odd thing to say, only it didn't. "Anybody can do the grand gestures... it's the small things that really tell me what kind of person you are." As she finished the phrase, She looked sideways at him for a handful of seconds. Then she started walking again.
It didn't take him more than a few steps to catch up with her. He didn't speak; his brow was furrowed in concentration. Her silly question had sparked so many scenarios in his mind that he felt almost... stunned into silence by his own thoughts.
Finally the bishop-shaped structure came into their range of view, the bright blue blob of a wizard's robe in the doorway telling them Xenophilius had indeed awakened from his nap and was waiting for them. It was as they were getting close to the house that Ron spoke again. "I think... I don't know if I would. Give up my socks, that is."
She shook her head emphatically. "I think you would," she said, sounding very certain.
He cocked an eyebrow at her, curious. "How can you be so sure?"
She took a hand out of her pockets to lightly pat his shoulder. "I just know."
He gazed down at her, at the small smile that adorned her face, for a couple more seconds. Then he nodded, enthusiastic, and smiled back. "Thanks, Luna." That was the last of their little game for the day, as they were soon approached by Xeno, who excitedly let them know that he'd warmed up their lunch, and the table was served. After Luna had correspondingly walked back and forth through the doorway a few times holding her fishing rod (Ron still didn't want to ask), they moved towards the dining table.
There were no pickles to accompany their cheese, but it was a good meal nonetheless.
--
Ginny's quidditch robes waved behind her as she walked back towards the stadium. It felt a little odd, being the only person walking in that direction, instead of going out like the rest of the crowd. It was her first season, so she wasn't that well-known, and many people were throwing her odd glances as she passed.
She'd only stepped outside for a little while to call Harry and let him know there was no reason for him to come to the match. Thankfully he had still been at home, because Ron had stood Hermione up (would that boy ever learn?) and Harry had decided to stay a little longer to give her some company. She told him not to bother: the match was already done with; it only lasted a few minutes. That was the thing about quidditch-- you could have a really long, exciting, adrenaline-packed match, but it could also be over as soon as it began. It all hinged on one tiny, whimsical golden ball. Well, at least they'd been the ones to reach the snitch first this time.
She'd had to walk a long distance away in order for her mobiletone to work properly without any magic interfering, so it had taken a while. She'd been in such a rush, she preferred to call him first and change later. So now she was going back to the lockers to get her stuff and hit the showers.
As she ducked into the personnel-only walkways towards the back of the building, though, she came face to face with the one person she wasn't ever in the mood to see. The feeling was mutual, one could guess by his perpetual grimace in her presence.
His gray eyes narrowed as they zeroed in on the black device she held in her hand. "Merlin, Weasley. Is it not enough to interact with muggles and muggle-lovers, but now you're also using their... technology?" He pronounced that last word disdainfully, like he believed using it was giving the apparatus too much credit. Of course, disdain might as well be Malfoy's middle name.
"I happen to find these rather useful," she said, lifting the handheld into his line of view, so he could see it in more detail. She smiled as she inspected it. "Very safe and private. You'd be more used to communicating via owl... Guess you're stuck with the birds," she added, one eyebrow raised pointedly as she lowered the phone to her side again.
He sneered at her. "Funny. One would think you wouldn't be so chirpy after such a dismal match."
She threw him a look, like he'd grown a second head. "What are you talking about? We won," she said defensively, balancing a hand against her hip.
He rolled her eyes, somehow making her feel like she was just a stupid toddler who didn't understand proper English. "Yes, but no thanks to you, of course. No goals were scored. You never even touched the quaffle, if I'm not mistaken."
She hadn't, but she wasn't about to confirm that. "The match barely lasted three minutes. It's not like we had plenty of time to implement our strategy."
"I'm not talking about the team, Weasley. I'm talking about you," he clarified. He crossed his arms and stared her down, as if daring her to defend herself. "You're not here to fly around and look pretty, you're here to play quidditch." She opened her mouth to retort but he didn't give her a chance to. "This is a business. This is how I make a living, and I won't be able to if you're flying like a first year."
"Of course, I forgot you actually need to work now. Can't survive on selling illegal artefacts and killing muggleborns like you used to, right?"
He had moved to walk past her, his steps pompous like his word was divine law, and she had tried to contain herself. She really had tried. She really didn't want to waste any time arguing with this man, not to mention how pointless getting angry would be, as it would only make him think he was right. Also, she had promised Harry she'd try to be civil. But no... this was past trying. There was no way she could just stay quiet.
What she said had been malicious, scathing, and unlike her, she knew; almost like an out-of-body experience, like it wasn't quite her that was saying the words. But she could not deny she felt almost vindicated when he stopped in his tracks. He was a snobbish jerk, and he deserved every put-down he got.
However, when he turned to glare at her, she caught something in his expression that she hadn't expected. He seemed almost... pained.
That caught her off-guard.
But he was gone just as quickly as he had paused, without another word, the only sound that of his expensive shoes click-clocking against the polished floor of the hallway. Later on, as she finally reached the lockers and took the warm shower she'd been longing for, she wondered if she had just imagined it. Maybe she had. It didn't make her feel any less like a horrible person, though.
--
It was a lazy afternoon. Hermione shuffled around on the floor, organizing books into piles, while Harry laid in her bed drifting in and out of sleep by bouts. When there was conversation, it was easy and light-hearted, no need to complicate the day with deeper topics.
It reminded Harry of similar moments back in the Gryffindor Common Room, when they would study late into the night. Ron would go up to bed early-- or Hermione would send him there, noting that he was asleep face-down on his textbook anyway-- but the other two would remain in an easy companionship, Hermione studying diligently and Harry trying to, but more likely reading the same line over and over again. It was the days when they still had the threat of Voldemort hanging over their heads, but it was easier for all of them to focus on everything but... especially in the face of an upcoming Transfiguration exam.
It was just very comfortable.
About an hour or so in, Harry lifted his head off her pillow and sat up, inching himself back so he was leaning against the head of her bed. It took him a few seconds to find his glasses, but then he found them and put them on, looking to the floor to check on the progress of the great book reorganization of 1999 (the piles seemed noticeably smaller than when he'd dozed off, and there were even some books back on the bookshelves, too). His best friend noticed the movement and looked up at him over her shoulder, gave him a small smile and welcomed him back to the world of the living. Harry blinked heavily at her and dimly wondered, with a scratchy throat, if he could summon a glass of water up the stairs.
That was all it took for her to launch into a dissection of the physics behind the Accio spell, and how likely it was that, according to the layout of their flat, he would end up with a mostly-intact cup (especially if it was plastic) but no water in it. It quickly morphed into a babble of how interesting she found it that even if they'd left Hogwarts they didn't exactly know everything there was to know about magic, and her voice might have lulled Harry back to sleep if he hadn't been so amused by it.
He stood up, stretching a little as he got off the bed. "Alright, alright, I get it. I'll go get the water myself," he relented, giving his voice an extra resigned intonation just to be funny. He could've asked Kreacher, of course, but Hermione would probably not like that; it was technically Kreacher's day off (though they hadn't actually told Kreacher this, didn't want the poor old thing having a stroke), so none of them were supposed to call on him for anything. Harry liked being contrary because Hermione would roll her eyes in that Hermione way whenever he dragged his feet about it-- and so she did this time. When she turned her torso to look at him over the bed, he asked if she wanted something to drink as well.
"Oh, would you please, Harry? I'm parched."
Now he made a point of rolling his eyes at her. "Of course you would be. You just spent the last fifteen minutes lecturing me about the mechanics of Accio."
He had already turned so he didn't see his reaction, but he heard her gasp clearly and he barely got hit in the shin by a pillow as he was on his way out. He heard her yell "It was not fifteen minutes!" as he started going down the stairs, and it made him laugh.
As he was making his way back from the kitchen with two glasses of iced tea in his hands, he thought he heard a sound coming from the living room. "...llooo! Any of the dream team around? Oh, I can't believe all of you big losers are actually out and about on a perfectly decent Sunday afternoon! The travesty..."
"George?" Harry asked as he approached the fireplace. He put the glasses down on the coffee table and crouched down to address the freckled head that was popping out of the green fire.
"Harry, my man!" The redhead greeted him with a big smile. "How's life treating you, mate? We haven't talked in a while. Feel free to catch me up on everything except yours and my sister's sex life, please."
The bespectacled young man coughed. "She would Bat Bogey me from here to Australia if I ever did that," Harry shook his head, laughing at George's unique ways. "But yeah, life's good. Auror training is bloody hard, but what else is new?" he continued with a shrug of his shoulders. "How are things on your end?"
"Ah, same old, same old. Jokes here, jokes there..." He smirked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Best job ever."
Harry was glad to hear that. Losing Fred was tough enough for all of them, but he couldn't even begin to imagine how it was for George. The first few weeks, he had been but a shell of his old self. There had been no jokes, no teasing, nothing that marked the presence of one of the twins around. They were beginning to wonder if George could ever be George again without Fred. Molly cried every time she saw him. In a way it made the loss even greater, not only because George was a vivid reminder of Fred, who was gone; but because it felt like they had both died. For a while Harry couldn't even bring himself to look at George without flinching.
A few months down the road, however, George got himself out of the funk. When they asked him about it later, his reply was that Fred had never liked to see people sad, and so he wasn't going to disservice his brother's memory that way. The legacy of the Weasley twins had to live on and if he had to get it done by himself then he'd make sure he did the best damn job possible or his name wasn't Gred. Or Forge. Or whichever it was.
Harry thought that was brilliant.
"Anyway, I was wondering if my big oaf of a little brother is around there anywhere?" George asked, snapping Harry out of his reminiscing.
The dark-haired young man frowned, confused. "He's not here. I thought he was with you?" he asked. He remembered Hermione mentioning that Ron had gotten a call from George and had run to the joke shop-- he was sure he hadn't dreamed it.
At George's negative, he explained, and the redhead once again rejected the notion. "Well, he's not here either. Unless he somehow nicked your Invisibility Cloak without your knowledge. Nope, I haven't heard from him since last Wednesday. Maybe you just heard wrong? It's either that or Hermione has been secretly dabbling in the Divinatory Arts, in which case I should probably be very careful around stinksap in the next few hours..."
"Yeah, you're right, I probably just heard wrong," Harry said, although he didn't sound very sure. George didn't explore the topic further, instead asking Harry to please tell Ron to contact him whenever they saw each other again. He agreed, and with a last greeting George's head promptly disappeared from their fireplace.
Harry remained where he stood. He'd ask Hermione again just to be sure, of course-- normally he wouldn't care where Ron was, but this time it bugged him for some reason. Something was off. He was almost completely certain she had told him Ron went to help George with some emergency at the joke shop. That George had called. And the stinksap? Hermione wasn't the type of person who "heard wrong," either, and there were too many details for it to be a simple misunderstanding. So what was going on here? Had Ron made a mistake when he told her where he'd be, had he changed his plans at the last minute?
Where was Ron?
Author's notes!--
Yes! You're not hallucinating! I have updated ARIP. Once again it's that time of year. =P
See, thing is, I have my chapters more-or-less planned up to chapter 9. However, it seems I was a little overeager on the planning for chapter five, because halfway through it I realized it was turning out way too long. So instead of making you wait even more until I finished the whole thing, I decided to split it in two. So, this is just the first part. The second one should pick up right where this one left off.
Some random notes that are random:
--About Hermione going "Jesus Christ!", I don't think she's particularly religious, of course, but those kinds of exclamations are pretty much a cultural thing. And to be honest, it's always bugged me that muggle slang that was probably fully cemented in these kids for the first eleven years of their lives (their formative years, mind you) can be so easily substituted by the Wizarding World's equivalents. I understand that a lot of people adjust, and there's incentive in adjusting to Wizarding slang in order to fit in, but I don't think it's impossible that if they're caught completely off-guard (like Hermione was), their unfiltered reaction would be to go back to "Oh my Gods," "Jesus!" and "God damn its."
--Plimpies are a type of magical creatures that were mentioned by Rowling in canon mostly in passing. Xeno mentions
in DH that there are plimpies in the stream near their house, but doesn't go into as much detail. I read about them
in Fantastic Beasts, though, and thought they were rather cute: they're basically round fish, but with
long legs and webbed feet. So I decided I would incorporate them into the fic somehow.
--By 2002, there were 84.49 mobile phones per 100 people in the UK. I don't have the exact statistic for 1999, but considering phones in Japan already had full internet service at that point, I would say cell phones were already a household staple in most developed countries by then. So I figured it wouldn't be unbelievable for them to have made their way to muggleborn/half-blood wizards, who would in turn relay them to some pureblood wizards, like Ginny. I mean, they've gotta be more efficient than owls or Patronuses. (In case you're wondering, by 2007 there were 118 mobile phones per 100 people in the UK. Sadly, I don't have the most recent figures).
Thank you all so much for your reviews! I'm so glad that you've been liking this so far. Please make sure to let me know what you like or don't like in my fic! Any and all comments are appreciated.
I haven't written the second part yet so I can't give you an ETA (I'm sure you're all used to that by now), but hopefully as the DH movies loom closer and closer, that will give my muse the kick up the rear she deserves. So see you soon, hopefully! -Carla.