Two Tickets to Rome
Summary: Two strangers. One train. A ten-hour journey. Who said magic can't happen on a train ride to Rome? A new take on the first meeting between our favourite Witch and Wizard. RomioneAU
A/N: Wow, wow, wow! I'm overwhelmed. I guess the Australian dollar really did the trick, aye? (In hindsight, that probably sounded more like a pirate than an Australian).
Capitolo tredici: Of Hotels, Bets and Numbers
They met the following day a couple of minutes past ten.
Hermione, early as always, had already waited a while when Ron rounded the corner by her hotel. His face was flushed, and his hair dishevelled.
"I didn't want you to wait for me," he panted, when he reached her.
Apparently, it was not easy to navigate Rome. He had taken some wrong turns and ended up running to be there on time.
Hermione couldn't help but blush at that.
"What do you want to do today?" Ron asked.
She smiled, feeling far more appreciated than she had felt in a long time, in his presence.
"What about we go and fetch our missing luggage first? I feel nasty in these clothes," she gesticulated towards her own body with a disgusted face.
While they walked to the train station, they talked about everything from pasta to their favourite Butterbeer. They passed a few cafés that they both wanted to explore on their way back, later in the day.
"Which hotel did you end up in?" Hermione inquired, noticing that Ron had come from the direction they were walking in when he had met her only half an hour ago.
Ron's sunburnt cheeks reddened, and he looked away, almost ashamed, "It's… it's not quite as nice as yours. We have passed it already. It was next to the wearied nightclub back by the grocery shop you commented,"
Hermione shook her head.
"You know," she said in a bout of courage, "I don't find it embarrassing that you aren't rich. It is nothing to be ashamed of. You can speak freely when you are with me," she assured him.
His eyes didn't meet hers until she stopped speaking. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came. Ron looked down at his feet again, "I just don't like people knowing," he muttered.
"Why is that?"
"I don't want them to treat me differently. People always look at me like I am a charity case," he explained. Hermione's heart twinged in her chest. He sounded miserable.
She hesitated, trying to find the correct words to say, "I don't see you like that,"
He seemed to relax at that, "Thank you,"
Silence filled the room between them. The only sound was of chattering Italian voices and their footsteps on the stone. A few birds chirped, nibbling at the breadcrumbs on the road.
"Do you want to talk about something else?" Hermione said, then cringed at how she had turned their conversation awkward. She wasn't a skilled talker.
Luckily, Ron didn't seem to mind. He chuckled for himself, "That'd be nice,"
Before the awkwardness returned, he added, "Now, let's only hope that our luggage has arrived here, and not been sent somewhere else,"
"With our luck, it's probably in Germany by now," Hermione laughed, thankful for the change of subject.
They had arrived at the front entrance of the train station. Above the doors, huge, white letters spelled out: stazione centrale di Roma.
"It means Rome Central Station," Hermione said out loud.
They entered together quietly. People scurried past them, talking loudly on their phones. In the distance, a train hooted, indicating its arrival.
The train station was vast on the inside. The air was colder, and there were people everywhere.
Hermione wondered how they would find the information desk in the chaos. She could barely look past Ron in the stuffy hall.
"You wouldn't know the Italian word for information desk, too?" Ron asked jokingly, earning a chuckle.
"Sadly, I don't,"
With his flaming red hair and towering height, Ron stood out in the crowdy station. Fortunately, this also meant that, in contrast to her, he was able to see above most of the people's heads and therefore spot the line of tourists in the more desolate, opposite side of the hall.
His hand wrapped around hers. She was taken aback by the gesture, her eyes widening in surprise. He tugged lightly at her hand. Then, he started leading them towards an unseen goal.
His hand was slightly bigger than hers. She shivered at the coldness of his skin.
When they came closer, Hermione understood why he had been so quick to spot the customer service desk.
The people in line were obviously tourists.
The middle-aged couple in front of them in line wore cameras around their necks. They had plastered American flags on both their backpacks. A few others in the line wore t-shirts with prints with pictures of Colosseum and 'I love Italy' on them.
A sign informed them that they had arrived in the right place, too.
"See, you don't always have to be a linguistic genius to find what you need," Ron teased.
She raised her eyebrows, then shot back, "Care to remind me how many languages you speak, again?"
He raised his hands in a defensive position, "I do know some Latin,"
Hermione brought her hand to her face to hide her grin. Spells were, after all, based on Latin.
"That's the least I would expect," she said with a wide smile.
"How many do you know?"
Before she could answer, the line before them had cleared up, and the impatient brunette behind the desk asked, "What can I help you with?"
Hermione explained how they'd lost their train, and that the desk worker in Naples had informed them that their luggage would be sent to Rome.
"I haven't heard anything about that, but I can check. I will be back in a minute," she said and disappeared.
Ron looked at her, "Do you want to bet if it is there?"
She smirked, "What's life without a little excitement? I bet that it's not there,"
His smile faded, "You can't choose that. That was what I was going to bet,"
"Too bad. You asked me first," she giggled.
"Alright then. I bet our luggage is there, just behind the door waiting for us to grab it. If it's not there, then I owe you a…" he trailed off, thinking, "What is the reward for the winner?"
"Hmm," Hermione said, "Maybe the loser has to do something embarrassing, like breakdance in the middle of the street,"
"Breakdance?" Ron asked.
"A Muggle dance. Trust me, it would be embarrassing," she said.
He looked at her thoughtfully.
"What if the loser has to be the other's slave for the rest of the day?" Hermione asked. Ron's eyes bore into her.
She regretted proposing it. What if she lost?
Relax, she told herself. It would not be the end of the world. Even if it felt like he was flirting with her when he suggested it.
The worker returned with the same bored look upon her face.
Hermione's breaths were shallow. There was a small doubt gnawing away at her. She hoped she was right.
Then Ron said what she dreaded, "Deal,"
The desk worker looked her up and down, as if judging her for something unbeknownst to Hermione. The girl said, her look softening, "I'm sorry, it seems that your luggage never was taken off the train,"
"Yes!" Hermione exclaimed. The desk worker looked at her weirdly. Ron was silent, probably regretting that he joined their bet.
She won the bet. He was to be her slave for the rest of the day.
"I will call around to locate it," the girl continued, "I'm sorry, but it looks like you must survive without it for a few days, while we get it sent to you,"
Ron shook his head, falling out of his daze, "I'm afraid that won't work. We're leaving for Romania in two days,"
The girl thought for a moment, "We can send it to the address for a small fee,"
Hermione suspected that the fee was far from small. Although Ron didn't like pity, she still felt sorry for his slimming wallet.
"How about we ask Charlie if we can send it to his place? Is that possible?" Hermione turned to Ron.
"I'll ask him to fix it. I'm sure it will work out fine,"
"Perfect," the girl behind the desk said, "Now I only need your numbers, then the office will call you when they are ready to send,"
The desk worker handed Hermione a blank piece of paper and a pen.
She wrote down her Muggle phone number, then made space for Ron to do the same. He didn't move. He wore a lost expression, and when Hermione's eyes met his, he smiled an insecure smile.
"You don't know your number?" Hermione said.
He nodded, "How do I see it?"
The desk worker looked at them as if they were both alien to her.
"Call me, and I'll see your number," Hermione said, ignoring the shocked stare from the girl.
He fumbled around on his phone, clearly not certain of what he was doing. She put her hand over his, stopping him, "Let me do it,"
"Please don't blame me for being technologically inept," Ron chuckled.
She smiled, warmth pooling in her cheeks. His blue eyes lingered on her face for another moment, before she broke eye contact to examine his phone.
"I don't,"
Then she added teasingly, "Slave,"
A/N: I thought I'd give you wonderful folks a little treat, so instead of working with school, I added five hundred words extra to this chapter. Hope you enjoyed it!