Disclaimer: I don't own these charries.
Author's Note: This was for my English homework and so not intended as a HP spin-off. I changed the names etc so that it would work, so if you don't think it's very HP-ish then you're probably right, but don't be too harsh—I did have to use certain things to write it originally. Hope you like my Short Short Story.
Writing a Short Short Story:
Ron at the Restaurant
Ron flattened his well-combed red hair down nervously as he glanced at his reflection in the hallway mirror. He had spent a good fifteen minutes getting it perfect and yet every time he'd checked it, it seemed so messy. Not that there was much he could do about it though, unless he went to the pharmacy down the next street to buy some hair products. But never matter; it would just have to do. At least he was sparkling clean since his long soak in the bathtub and didn't smell too bad once he'd rubbed on aftershave.
With a wary look around him, as if expecting someone to suddenly jump out and give him a fright, he safely tucked his new 11" yew wand into his pocket. He couldn't afford to lose it. Not tonight, especially not tonight. Not when he was meeting Her.
Ron adjusted his black bowtie for the umpteenth time. Feeling anxious and irritated, he fiddled it until it felt something not too close to discomfort (something he'd failed to achieve earlier). With a final glimpse at the looming mirror, Ron exited the Muggle flat, locked the door and set off down the endless flights of stairs.
As he stepped outside, after reaching the ground floor, for the first time in what seemed ages, he felt the wind aggressively rush towards him and ruffle his hair. With dismay he realised it had been messed up, and that he didn't have a comb on him. Oh well, he thought, she won't notice. But of course she would—after all, she was the perfect perfectionist.
He had agreed to meet up with her at a posh restaurant he couldn't remember the name of some time ago. They had arranged it all over the phone, as she lived far away and planned to stay at his flat for a few days after the dinner at the restaurant. The dinner that Ron was on his way to, right now.
As he arrived at La Perle Paris, he took a deep breath. What would she say when she saw him? They had not seen each other for a long time; only talked on the telephone. How would she react? What would she look like, now? Well, there's only one way to find out, Ron told himself, and took a step into the restaurant.
A glorious warmth flooded him. La Perle Paris was crowded tonight, with its many customers and numerous waiters (in fact there were so many waiters Ron was prepared to bet they outnumbered the customers), all dressed in fine silks and magnificent colours. Crimson, amber, emerald, turquoise, maroon… Wait. Ron recognised that maroon, and he also recognised the woman wearing it, who was currently surveying him expectantly. Taking a last deep breath, and attempting to flatten down his hair again, Ron approached her.
"Hello mother," he said with a forced smile as he began his well-rehearsed speech, "long time, no see…"