Ron & Hermione: A Week In The Other Life
This is set during an alternative Year Seven of Harry's schooling – and is non-DH compliant.
Author's foreword: I apologise in advance to anyone who might be offended by this story. This tale is not meant to offend - but to entertain! The following story contains occasional nudity and other themes that involve Close Encounters of the Bonkers Kind. You have been warned!
Chapter One:
The Proposal
"Can I help you, young man?"
"Hurr?" Ron Weasley practically grunted, as he looked up from the trinkets on the shelves, laid out at the side of the Romany caravan. A witch, aged in her fifties, with tightly-curled grey hair, and dressed in a odd-looking set of black, grey, and white dress robes, was staring intently at the seventh year Gryffindor student with her glacier-blue eyes.
"You seem…preoccupied. Is there something in particular you were looking for – instead of my usual amulets, jewellery, and lotions?" The trader waved a thin hand towards the hanging items Ron had been idly running his fingers through, making little jangling noises as though they had been miniature wind chimes.
"Err…" Ron scratched his bright ginger hair, and glanced along the crowded street of Hogsmeade, reminding himself that this was the last of the stalls he had come to. Above the general bustle of countless conversations of the village folk, traders, and visiting pupils from Hogwarts, the cries of street entertainers – carol singers, jugglers, accordion players, conjurers, and outdoor comedians – could be heard. Everyone in the street, on this Saturday, was dressed warmly for the chilly mid-December weather – the pupils all had scarves wrapped around their necks, along with their thick coats and casual winter clothing.
Oh, what the hell…, he thought. I've tried looking in enough places for answers, without luck. Maybe a gypsy can help…
"Yeah – sort of. I… Well, I like this girl I've been friends with for years. Really like her – if you get what I mean. But I just can't get the courage to tell her," Ron admitted.
"I see." The lips of the Romany witch softened somewhat into a toothless smile. "And do you know if she is wise to your feelings for her? Or do you know how she feels about you?"
Ron shrugged. "Well, that's the problem. I've always been sort of…clueless…when it comes to girls. And this girl in particular… We usually get on just fine – but now and then I rub her up the wrong way." He paused. "Like today, for example. That's why I'm by meself. And I want to make it up to her with the perfect Christmas present – but she's got plenty of what she likes, already, according to my sister. So, I need… I need some help."
"And my wares don't inspire you?"
"Don't know what perfume she likes. And 'Mione – that's her name, by the way – she's not into trinkets. And another problem… Um, I've only got about twelve galleons worth on me. Spent too much on those fab hot toffee apples at 'Munchkins', about six stalls along from here!"
Ron frowned, wondering why he was opening up so much to this woman who he had never seen before. There was something about her presence – something indefinable about her expression and her eyes that encouraged him…
"Hmm…" The witch rubbed a forefinger along her bottom lip. "It seems to me, young man, that your problem lies deeper than a lack of bravery, or ideas. You ultimately want to know what makes this lady tick. How to really understand and connect with her."
"Well… Yeah."
"And would it help if she understood you better, also? If she knew what it was like to be in your shoes?"
"Definitely!" Ron's eyes lit up. "Here – are you an expert in budding relationships? How to play the dating game – and all that?"
The witch laughed. It was rather a sharp, staccato cackle. "Not as such. But I believe I can address your problem, young sir. However, once I have done my part, the rest is down to you and your friend."
"Great! What do you have to do?"
"Oh… I will need to perform a special spell. One that will enhance the perceptions of both of you, in your romantic quest… But I need you and this…'Mione…, here, together. The Winter Fair will still be on tomorrow. My preparations will be complete by then…"
"I could make it back here, tomorrow! I'll persuade Hermione to come with me." Ron tried to sound more hopeful than he felt.
The Romany woman pursed her lips. "Hermione? Hermione Granger, would that be?"
"Err, yeah. You know her?"
"Only from what I have read in 'The Daily Prophet' and 'The Quibbler'. You must be Ronald Weasley. You two are friends of the famous Harry Potter. Why isn't he with you?"
Ron hesitated before speaking. Harry had been spending the autumn term of their seventh year at Hogwarts School for Wizardry and Witchcraft popping in and out of the premises – having been granted special permission by Acting Headmistress Professor McGonagall. Right now, thanks to this arrangement, Harry was working with The Order of the Phoenix to identify and track down the remaining Horcruxes of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The last Ron knew, Harry was close to locating the real Slytherin locket…
"He's…busy… Anyway, what do I owe for this spell?"
"In lieu of your slim finances, I will charge you just ten galleons…"
"Blimey! That's…"
"…a bargain, yes. But the real payment for me will be seeing the spell work its desired effects. So – what do you say?"
"Wow! Me and 'Mione will be back tomorrow, for sure! Erm… What will the spell involve - exactly?"
"Do not concern yourself, boy. It is a strong spell that will ensure that you and Miss Granger have a…, uh-hum…, closer relationship. However, it is painless – and it will not take very long."
"Right… And your name is…?"
For an answer, the witch gave another thin smile, and tapped the sign which hung over the side of her caravan. It read 'Madame C. Skerritt'.
"Pay me when you both come tomorrow. Ten galleons only. Be here at two o'clock," the Romany instructed Ron.
"Great! See you then!" Ron waved and left, walking with a spring in his step.
Madame Skerritt watched the departing schoolboy. Her thin smile grew wider.
"The spell isn't painful – but the after-effects might hurt… And I dare say your pride will be wounded…" the trader muttered to herself. She laughed softly, and rubbed her hands in anticipation of what was to come…
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o
Just before two o'clock on the Sunday, Ron and Hermione arrived at the same caravan. The stalls of Madame Skerritt were curiously absent, this time round.
"Look like she's packed up early. Wonder why?" Ron muttered.
"I'm not sure about this, Ron. Short of Legilimency, I've never heard of any magic that specifically allows you to read another person's thoughts." Hermione brushed the dusting of snow flakes from her pale-grey jeans. There had been a light shower as they had walked over to Hogsmeade.
"Well…" Ron hesitated. He had found himself unable to tell her that she was here because Ron wanted the spell cast on both of them, so they would understand each other better. Instead, he had altered the story slightly, suggesting that the spell casting was for another form of magic – one which would intrigue Hermione more. "…it would help us, when we have to assist Harry in tracking down those Horcruxes – if we get to interrogate a Death Eater, for example."
"Well, yes… But where is this Madame Skerritt?" Hermione climbed the steps at the back of the Romany caravan, and knocked on the door. There was no answer. And the curtains were drawn to at the thick glass windows.
She turned round and narrowed her eyes at Ron. "This isn't some trick, is it, Ronald? I'm still rather cross with you, you know – after I found out from Ginny that you thought my legs were skinny! And that my new hairdo was like a birds nest…"
"Look! I said I was sorry about what I said about your hair! And I only looked at your legs when you fell off that sleigh we shared last week, and I helped you treat the gash," Ron huffed.
Hermione had decided to have her hair permed, so that it was even curlier than when he and Harry had first met her. He didn't know why she bothered. It had been just fine before. And it wasn't just him. Whilst en route to the next class, he had overheard Millicent Bulstrode and her seventh-year Slytherin pals making fun of it, also. Apparently, Hermione did not catch their whispering.
But Hermione had to make him feel guilty, even after he'd made amends. Merlin! Why did girls have to be so…difficult…sometimes?
Well, hopefully, I'll soon understand 'Mione better, Ron told himself.
"Someone in my dormitory didn't seem to like my new hairstyle, either!" Hermione fumed. "When I was combing it this morning, I saw that some of my hairs had been cut short! It must have been done whilst I was sleeping last night!"
Ron was taken aback by this. "Eh? Who…?"
"Oh, Lavender Brown, no doubt! Not that she's admitted it. She's still got this grudge against me – since you spend your time with me, and not her, after your dalliance last year…"
"Well, that's worrying…," Ron admitted. "Someone seemed to have snipped off a strand or two of my hair, too, when I was having sweet dreams. Not that I could find the bits anywhere… None of the other lads were affected. Dean just thought it funny."
Hermione frowned. "That is odd. Who in Gryffindor would target just you and me? Besides Lavender, that is. Anyway, this spell better not take too long. I've got an essay to write for Professor Moody's DADA class on Wednesday. And so have you, Ron!"
"Yes, I know! But my mind's been on other things, just lately!" Ron retorted. "Like the Ball the school's putting on next Saturday…"
Hermione looked at Ron intently. "I thought your parents were holding a full family gathering this Christmas – what with the Death Eater attacks and the disputes within the Ministry making Percy come to his senses. I'm glad he's apologised to Harry and your family for his shameful past conduct…"
"Yeah. A full family gathering is planned – but Mum and Dad declared it, before the school decided they would put on the Ball, after all! And I was wondering, 'Mione, if you were staying at Hogwarts over Chr…"
"Ouch!" Hermione protested. The caravan door had just been opened, striking her shoulder. She spun round, scowling at the Romany witch now standing in the doorway.
"Ahh! There you are. Come in – Mr Weasley, Miss Granger…" She gestured with a claw-like hand.
"Madame Skerritt?"
"Yes indeed, girl. Now – sit down, you two. My work is almost ready!"
Ron and Hermione eased themselves onto the rudimentary bench running alongside the nearest side of the cramped, magically-illuminated caravan. Pans, potions wrapped in individual nets, and other odds and ends hung from the ceiling. In the middle of the wooden floor, two small cauldrons were bubbling over a fire that gave off no heat.
The trader closed the door to with a firm 'slam', which made Hermione shudder. Ron fished out his money and passed it to the grey-haired witch – who smiled and put the coins away.
Hermione looked up from the cauldrons. "Potions? I thought you were going to perform a spell on us, to enable us to read other people's minds?"
Madame Skerritt gave a short staccato laugh. "Oh, it will be a spell, all right! Just watch and learn, my young witch. And…mind reading? Ha! Mr Weasley here wants to understand you better – and you to do the same with him. That is the purpose of our meeting!"
Hermione turned her head to glare at Ron, who was sat next to her.
"Ron…!"
"Alright! I know. I'm doing this for us – so that we stop bickering. Okay?"
"Silence now, children! I need to be focused."
Hermione kept her mouth closed. They both watched as the oddly-dressed witch walked over to the far side of the two cauldrons and gave them a final stir each with their ladles.
Ron made a double-take at the cauldron nearest to him. Did he just see a long hair floating of the surface of…whatever liquid was inside?
Before he could summon the courage to speak up, Madame Skerritt extended her arms towards the two spitting cauldrons, facing her audience. She closed her eyes, and her face became etched with concentration.
Hermione gasped as the liquids in the two small cauldrons gradually changed form. Within seconds, a pair of glowing, churning masses – each about the size of a grapefruit – rose into the air and lit up the dimly-illuminated caravan interior.
"But that's…plasma!" Hermione squealed.
"And done without a wand… Wow!" Ron's mouth hung open.
Madame Skerritt opened her eyes, and gave another of her thin smiles. Suddenly, her raised right hand dropped, so that it was palm-down, in line with her arm. The ball of plasma in front of her right hand shot through the air and slammed into Hermione, disappearing into her body.
She screamed, and jerked.
" 'Mione!" Ron jumped up from his seat, and reached for his wand, tucked behind his belt…
"And this one's for you!" The woman curled her lips further and repeated her hand gesture, on her left side. As Ron aimed his wand at the weird witch, the second plasma globe struck him.
"Uhh!" Ron's back crashed into the panelling next to him. There was no pain – only a tide of fuzziness roaring through him, as the plasma was absorbed by the skin lying over his stomach. His strength went, and Ron slumped to the floor close to Hermione, whose face was contorted with an expression of shock. Then she started to judder, as if she was having a fit.
"Uhh-uhh… Rr-Rr…" Hermione could not even call out Ron's name, he realised.
Seconds later, Ron felt other effects kick in. His bones ached. Some of them – like his pelvic bone - seemed to be changing. And something was happening with his muscles, too. ALL of him was reeling from the impact of the magical plasma. In his trembling convulsion, Ron thought he could sense his body shrinking, especially around his waist. His chest muscles turned flabby - then there was a pressure against his chest. Lower down, a peculiar sensation made itself known, as something was pulled into his body. This gave way to an even odder feeling – the sense that he was being opened up from inside. Ron moaned as his jaw, and the back of his skull, altered slightly.
The last thing that Ron saw, before he blacked out, was the sight of Hermione withering on the floor, her brown hair slowly receding, as her cry became deeper…
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
"Ugghh…! What…the hell happened?"
Ron tried to speak – but Hermione had evidently spoken the same words on his lips. It was certainly her voice – which came as a relief to him.
He waited until the dizziness in his head subsided – then tried moving his head gingerly from where it had been laying, left side down, upon the floor. His muscles ached, but the throbbing started to fade as he stirred.
Weird… I feel a bit…lighter.
Ron opened his eyes. The first thing to go 'ping' in his mind was that he was no longer on 'the floor'. Instead, he was lying in a snow-free alley between two buildings. The background babble of voices and entertainers nearby, behind a shut, tall wooden gate, told Ron that he was still in Hogsmeade – just off from the main thoroughfare.
With a groan, he slowly propped himself onto one elbow. His hair fell into his face, and he brushed it aside, in annoyance.
Wait…a…minute…
"AAAGGGHHH!"
The scream startled Ron – especially as it came from just behind him. Turning his head, he froze – dumbstruck – as he spied a second Ron Weasley staring back at him with wide eyes. His eyes. Only this Ron was dressed in Hermione's clothes – clothes which looked rather tight on him in some places…
The original Ron shot a hand up to examine his hair. It was now longer – and grabbing some strands, he was able to see that it was tawny-coloured, and bushy. And the hand was daintier, with neatly-trimmed nails.
His heart missed a beat. Maybe three beats.
Ron dropped his hand to examine his chest. His jumper now curved out slightly in a couple of places. Underneath, there was definitely the swelling of two slim br…
You have got to be kidding me!
Ron's slender hand shot further down, to pat around his trouser zip. A lump formed in his throat, as he realised that he was flat in a certain area…
"Rr-Rr-Ron!"
The voice was his – but he hadn't spoken. And now, as he responded to the question, Ron realised that it had been him who had asked 'What the hell happened?' in the first place, after all.
"Err, yes. I'm Ron," he declared, in Hermione Granger's voice. "And…ur…I guess you're 'Mione…"
Hermione, now the spitting image of Ron, glared back at her companion – who had been changed into her double, underneath Ron's clothes.
Leaning against the alleyway wall for support, as she straightened herself up, Hermione glared at Ron with his own face, and hissed through clenched teeth, using the young wizard's voice.
"Ronald Weasley! One of these days, I am going to KILL you!"