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: Thank you for waiting for this new update! I am very busy with exams (I have four only next week), so do not expect an update before I have finished those. Thank you for your patience, wonderful readers!
Capitolo quattordici: That Warm Bubbly Feeling
The rest of the day had gone by in a whim. According to Ron, Hermione had been 'abusing her power' and 'making him tie her shoelaces unnecessarily many times'.
Hermione had just laughed him off, telling him that slaves weren't supposed to have opinions.
They were currently sitting at the café they had passed previously on their way to the train station. Both Italians and tourists were occupying the tables around them. The waiter came by Ron and Hermione's, dropped off her wine and his beer, and lit the candles.
"Butterbeer tastes better," Ron said, grimacing at the taste.
"Italy is widely known for wine. You should have gotten that instead," she answered.
"And do your bidding one more time?" he replied, smiling, "Never!"
"I swear you are just like a child, Ron," she laughed, sipping her red wine.
"Do you have your wand with you?" he asked suddenly.
"Of course," Hermione replied, "I hope you didn't leave yours in the luggage?"
Ron looked at her accusingly, "I'm a wizard," he whispered, "Leaving my wand would be like leaving my shoes or my arm,"
Hermione chuckled, "True,"
"So, do you know any spells to transfigure this horrible beer into butterbeer instead?"
"Need I remind you of who is whose slave?" she questioned with a smirk.
"Are you telling me that the magnificent, smart Hermione Granger doesn't know that spell?" To her shock he spoke with no sarcasm, and with a sweet and hopeful expression on his face instead. She found herself bubbling warmly on the inside.
Then, Hermione pulled her wand up from its safe place in her sock. Making sure no one were watching her, she slid it up her sleeve and with practiced ease cast the spell on his beer.
"Thanks," he beamed with a wide smile. His face seemed to brighten up the entire café. Hermione's heartbeat quickened. She could hear it thumping in her ears.
He sipped the beer, "It tastes wonderful. I mean it, thank you for saving me from this horrible Muggle invention,"
"No problem at all," she said, smiling, silently hoping her spell hadn't turned it poisonous.
"Charlie wanted me to call my dad. Is it okay if I do it now?" Ron said.
"Yes,"
"Could you show me how?"
The words slipped out of her mouth before she could think about them, "You're so sweet,"
Ron's ears turned brightly red. He seemed speechless, his blue eyes wide, "Tha–" he started, "Thanks, Hermione,"
He handed her his phone and a crumbled piece of paper. When she unfolded it, she found the number she presumed was his father's.
She dialled the number and gave the phone back to him.
Her eyes lingered on his face a little longer. His cheeks hadn't yet returned to their pale colour. His freckles were lost in the pink colour.
Hermione was no longer as horrified that she found it cute.
"Hey, Dad," Ron said.
The muffled voice answered him. Ron looked confused, turning the phone in his hands.
"I can't hear you, Dad, give me a sec," Ron looked at her, clearly needing her help. He mouthed, "Hermione?"
She put it on speaker. For just a moment, their fingers touched, and she felt like her skin was bubbling where his had been.
"Ron? Ron?" his father called out from the speakers.
"Hi!" he exclaimed. The happiness was evident on his face, and it seemed to rub off on her. She found herself smiling in his presence. Her smile widened when he added eagerly, "I met someone I went to Hogwarts with on the train. Her name is Hermione!"
"Hullo, Hermione," his father said, "I'm Arthur Weasley, Ronald's dad,"
The conversation carried on. They talked about everything from their travel to their next step in Italy. Arthur seemed like he genuinely wanted to get to know her too!
She ended the conversation with a warm feeling in her stomach, feeling lighter than she had ever felt home in Britain.
"Your dad sounds very nice," she said to Ron, taking the first sip of her second glass of wine.
He, too, had ordered another beer, and replicated her spell, turning it into the well-known Butterbeer of the wizarding world once again.
"He is," Ron said, his own downcast. He fidgeted with his beer.
She didn't know what more there was to say.
"I think he liked you," he said, finally. His eyes met hers. She could swear he blushed.
Hermione blushed too, her cheeks warm, "Well, he's not difficult to like,"
"Neither is you,"
Their eyes locked again. The blueness of his eyes stunned her for a second, stopping her in her tracks. All the words were lost in her head. Every coherent thought dissipated immediately, like smoke in a clear sky.
"I didn't know your name was short for Ronald," she said slowly, trying to remind her mouth how to speak again.
He curled a bit in on himself, like he disliked hearing it.
"Don't you like it?" she chuckled, seeing his sweet reaction.
He shrugged, "Mom always calls me that when she's angry," he let out a chuckle, "It's not that I don't like it, but I prefer Ron,"
"If you say so," she teased.
He smiled his askew smile again.
"Are you ready for the Shakespeare play tomorrow?" Hermione asked. The laughter still lingered on the tip of her tongue.
"I am. And then you will have to tie your own shoelaces," Ron laughed.
"Oh, come to think of it," she said, wiggling her toes underneath the table, "I think my shoelace is loose again,"
Ron groaned loudly.
"Come on, Ronald," she joked, showing him her shoe.
Ron muttered something, but his eyes still shone with their playful glint. Once again, she felt that warm bubbly feeling.
A/N: Sixty Indian rupees for your thoughts? And yes, that is a little more than one Australian dollar, according to my currency calculator (I have started using those for you wonderful currency lovers out there)