Hey. This was written for Muggle Studies in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Assignment 7.
I had to write about phones. I included the dialogue:
"I may have run over someone. Accidentally."
"I think you have the wrong number."
"I can't hear you!"
"I swear, if you've called me up at 2am in the morning to rant about dill pickles I will kill you."
"What was that?"
Word Count is 1058. Please review!
You Have One Missed Call…
"Harry?" Hermione called down the phone (she had thankfully managed to wire the entire Weasley family up the previous summer), trying to hear the voice of the Boy-Who-Lived over the momentous noise in the background.
"I can't hear you!" Harry yelled back. "It's really noisy in here!"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Is Ron there?" She asked, checking her watch. "I've just put tea on – normally he's home by now."
"I DON'T KNOW!" Harry yelled again, seemingly even louder than before. He glanced around the near vicinity, checking especially the crowds of people that were dancing on tables, and shrugged to himself. "IT'S REALLY CROWDED IN HERE!"
Indeed, the crowds of people made the atmosphere more and more like a sauna every passing moment, although with added blow-up Muggle balloons (a new find from Mr Weasley) and more music on in the background. Harry couldn't see his fingers in front of his face, let alone Ron, and the voice of Hermione on the other end of the mobile was getting fainter and fainter with every growing second.
"I THINK I'M GOING DEAF!" He screamed into it, sidestepping to avoid walking into a very drunk couple that looked like they were about to shag, right there on the coffee table Harry was standing next to. "I'LL CALL YOU LATER HERMIONE, YOU MIGHT NEED TO PICK US UP!"
"Harry?" Hermione called, raising her voice. "Harry?"
Her furious repeating of his name was met by a dial tone. Hermione swore (which she hardly ever did), setting the phone down on the kitchen table before shaking her head and taking the cottage pie out of the oven. "What did I do to deserve this…" She moaned, bashing the cottage pie down on a cooling rack. "A wayward husband and a best friend that never answers my questions directly…"
Ginny was having a similar problem, also with her husband, but in a slightly different context. She leant over the toilet, watching her lunch disappear down the whirlpool, and gingerly stood back up again. She couldn't contemplate getting breakfast on now.
"Hermione?" She called, after punching in the number of Hermione and Ron's house into the Phone (was it capitalised? Ginny wasn't sure). "Hermione, are you there?"
"I swear, if you've called me up at 2am in the morning to rant about dill pickles I will kill you." Hermione mumbled, her voice clogged up with sleep. Ginny giggled, a little nervously, at the less-than-subtle reminder of their last late-night conversation. Harry loved dill pickles, but Ginny could not stand them, and Harry had slipped them into some casserole she was cooking a month or two ago. Ron refused to get involved, so, late that night, while Harry was asleep, Ginny had used the phone to get through to Hermione.
She had then spent the next two hours ranting about dill pickles. Hermione had turned off halfway through the conversation, but Ginny hadn't noticed.
"No, no, it's nothing like that." She said quietly, as if the walls might have been listening. "Hermione, did Ron come home last night?"
There was a background noise of shifting covers and the muffled sound of a pillow falling on the floor, and Hermione's voice came back, much clearer than it had been. "No, but it's okay." She said exasperatedly. "Harry and Ron went to the end-of-term office party."
"Oh." Ginny said, exhaling thankfully. She was still a little jumpy about her husband, although all the Death Eaters were dead or in Azkaban.
"Is that all?" Hermione asked, as Ginny straightened up again and padded into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. "Ginny, please stop calling me at 2am whether it is about dill pickles or nay-"
"No, that's not all." Ginny admitted, walking away from the kettle, once she had flicked the switch, making that satisfying clicking noise that made her so proud. "Hermione," She took a deep breath, before letting it all out, with the words: "Ithinkimightbepregnant."
There was silence on the other end of the line, and Ginny listened in vain for any trace of talking, or 'dropping-of-phone-age'. Then there was another click, and Hermione came back on. "What was that?" She asked, as Ginny chose to leave the kitchen, as the sight of canned tuna was making her queasy. "Ginny, what did you just say?"
"I think I'm pregnant." Ginny said, in a much slower and calmer voice than before. "I've been vomiting all night, just about, and my period should have started last night as well."
Then there was a dial tone. Ginny swore, punching the number back in again, and not even waiting for Hermione's voice, she started up again. "Look, Hermione, I'm really sure about this, you know? I only hope it's a girl so Mum can have another grand-daughter, you know how much she adores Victoire."
Ginny wasn't exactly expecting a response straight-away, but after a pause, a much older voice came on, sounding both surprised and amused. "I'm sorry dearie. But I think you have the wrong number."
Biting back a curse, Ginny instinctively smiled. "Oh, it's no worry!" She trilled, silently cursing Hermione Weasley and the day she decided to make them all Muggle-fied. "I'm sorry to bother you at such a late time of night!"
"Oh, that's okay dearie." The old woman said, in a friendly voice. "In fact, I was wondering if you could help me with something."
"Of course." Ginny said, her brow furrowing. She wasn't much in the daily habit of helping random people that she accidently called, but the manners ingrained into her by her mother had done some good. "What can I help you with."
"I may have run over someone. Accidently." The old woman said, her tone no different to that of before, although Ginny almost choked on oxygen. "Do you happen to know a lawyer dearie?"
"No I don't sorry! Bye!" Ginny said quickly, before pressing the 'hang-up' button at the speed of a flying Thestral. She was just about to ring Hermione, properly this time, but then she took a glance at the clock, and shook her head.
It was half-past two in the morning now, and she could talk to Hermione in the morning. After all, she really hated dill pickles, and Harry wouldn't hear a word against them. Hermione was her sole outlet on that front.