A Muggle House
Ronald Weasley looked around at his surroundings with a slight – very slight – bit of abject terror. He was in the middle of the living room, hands pressed to his sides, trying not to touch anything.
Muggle-made objects just didn't seem to like him.
It wasn't his fault; they just seemed to malfunction wherever he went. He could lay merely a hand on a watch and it would stop it's ticking. Could loosen screws with a glance.
It was obviously, Ron thought, obviously because he had such a high level of magic running through his veins. That was it.
Muggle Studies so far had been torture. Muggles seemed like a whole other species to him, one he couldn't relate to, much. Sure, they both had arms and legs, but Muggle's minds seemed to work in such strange ways!
For instance, there were these delicate objects – calmputers – that did all your work for you. Why would teachers ever bother giving homework for the weekend when they knew you could just give it to your calmputer to do?
And the telly-visions; oh the telly-visions. First of all, there were hardly any visions of phones on telly-visions, so the name itself was odd. And the whole idea of watching somebody live their life in a little brown box … it just didn't make sense.
Ron had known, known that he should have skived off the class that day.
And since when did Hogwarts have field trips anyway?
*looks around hopefully*
*beckons*
*points to review button*