Disclaimer: I don't own the puppets, just the strings.

A/N: This one's a bit short but I thought the first night deserved a chapter all its own. Enjoy.

*~* Their First Night *~*

       If there was one thing Ron Weasley couldn't understand, it was women. He didn't understand the ways of their hearts, he couldn't fathom why they were so touchy, and for the life of him he could not figure out what it was that took them so long in the rest room. Hermione had been in there for the last half hour doing God-knows-what and all Ron wanted to do was brush his teeth so that he could go to bed.

       He thought back to the fight they had just had. They were unpacking and she was huffing and sighing loudly; he was sure it was a sign for him to ask her what was wrong.

*~*flashback*~*

       He watched as she threw the clothes into the drawer without even bothering to keep them folded.

       "Of all the Inns in this town…"

       "Hermione, what's wrong?"

       "Well, you should have seen the way he smirked when I asked him why he didn't give us a double!"

       "Well, you did tell him we were engaged!"

       "Ugh!" She huffed, "Men!"

       "What? What did I do?"

       She didn't say anything, but turned to glare at him in the way she always did when he insulted her.

       "Hermione why are you so upset?"

       "The way he put me on the spot like that! And in front of Viktor!"

       "Oh, is that what this is about?"

       "Well, you would be angry too, if you were forced to tell a hotel manager that you were engaged to me and spending the night alone in a hotel room with me in front of Fleur!"

       "Well, Hermione, if it upsets you that much why don't you go find your precious Vicky and explain to him that I've got nothing on him and that you still love him? Why are you taking it out on me?" He was furious now.

       "What are you talking about?"

       "You know exactly what I'm talking about!"

       "No, I don't," she said crossing her arms over her chest and turning to look at him now. "Explain it to me."

       "Well, it's obvious you're upset because he broke up with you and you're blaming me for it. It's not my fault you that couldn't think of anything better to say! Leave me alone about it, all I want to do is go to sleep."

       Her eyes narrowed. "Is that so?"

       "Yeah!"

       "Fine," she screamed as she reached into her trunk and withdrew her sleeping robes and her wand. He thought for sure she was going to hex him all the way back to Hogwarts but she walked right passed him and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

       "What are you doing?"

       "Getting ready for bed! I hope the blankets the elf brought up are comfortable," she said, her tone cold as ice.

*~*end flashback*~*

       "I don't see why she had to go first," he said looking at the owl. "I would have been done in a minute and she could have taken all bloody night if she wanted."

       "I heard that Ron," came a voice from the bathroom.

       Ron rolled his eyes and opened its cage. "You've probably got cabin fever already, stuck in that cage all night."

       "Hoot!"

       "Are you hungry?"

       "Hoot!"

       "Right. Hermione," he called out to the rest room as he stood up. "I'm going to get something for the owl. I think it's hungry. Where's the pouch?"

       "What? Your pouch? The one with all your money? You should keep better tabs on it, you know Ricky."

       He felt as though he could kill her. "Never mind," he called. "I'll find it." He went to her trunk and looked at the jacket she had thrown on top of it. It was the muggle jacket she had been wearing that night. He reached into one of its pockets and felt his fingers wrap around a bulging sack. Bingo, he thought.

       The tables at the Inn were now completely deserted. It was nearly daybreak and Ron was utterly exhausted from the flight over and the series of events that followed it.

       "Ah, Mr. Weatherby," a voice said behind him. "I hope you and your vife find everythink to your likink."

       Wife?!? Slow down there, turbo! An hour ago she was riding a broomstick with Vicky, a half hour ago she was my fiancée and now she's my wife? I don't know how you guys do things here in Bulgaria, but…

       "Uh, listen, she's not my wife."

       "Not yet," It was the manager that had given them the one bed. "Ah, I remember vhen I vas still courtink Helga. She vas fiery, that one. Alvays fighting vith me about somthink." His eyes twinkled as he spoke.

       This guy doesn't seem all that bad. "You don't know the half of it," Ron smirked.

       "Ah, your Heather, she is like this too?"

       "Let's just say I've had my fair share of burns," Ron replied.

       "Come, let us drink."

       Sweet!

       Uh, Ron?

       What?

       You're not as old as this guy seems to think you are.

       So?

       You're not old enough to be drinking. Don't even think about it! You now Hermione would kill you. Besides you need to get some sleep tonight. You're not here on Vacation you know.

       Don't remind me.

       "I'll just have some pumpkin juice, if you don't mind."

       They sat at a table at the end of the dinning room and a robust woman wearing a white and green apron approached. The manager spoke to her in Bulgarian and she went back into the kitchen.

       "So, vhy are you down here and not up there?"

       "Er, actually I just came down to get some feed for my owl. He's very particular you know."

       "Ah, I see." He raised an eyebrow. "I vill ask Velma to bring some feed as vell then for you. But that is not vhy you agreed to have a drink vith me instead of heading back upstairs, to your lady friend."

       Ron felt his ears turn instantly red and cleared his throat. "Do you really not have anymore doubles?"

       "Does it matter?"

       "Yes," Ron said, looking up at him. "It does."

       "Vell, unfortunately the last one was rented out in the afternoon, so yes. Ve really have no more doubles."

       Ron returned his attention to the scratches and nicks on the table. Velma returned with their drinks and the manager said something to her and again she went back into the kitchen.

       "She vill be back vith feed for your owl," he said. "Vell, I had better be getting back to the desk. Dawn is usually our busiest time and I had better be prepared." He slapped Ron on the shoulder as he walked around the table. "You know," he paused, "sometimes fighting is the only vay they can show how they really feel." He walked off leaving Ron sitting at the table with a glass full of pumpkin juice and a head brimming with questions.

**

       Hermione was already asleep in the bed by the time Ron made it back up to their room. Several blankets had been haphazardly thrown on the floor beside the bed but she had kept both pillows for herself.

       "Guess she's still mad at me," he said quietly as he opened the owl's cage. He took some feed out of the bag he had bought downstairs and fed it to the owl. "I'll never understand her," he wasn't angry or frustrated. Instead his words seemed to radiate the helplessness he felt when they fought over something he couldn't control. When the owl had had its fill of feed, he turned back to his blankets. Hermione was sitting up in her bed looking at him. He was so spooked he almost knocked over the owl's cage. "I, I thought you were asleep," he stammered.

       "I know." She spoke softly and looked down at her hands. He realized she had magicked her hair back to its natural color and density. It was even more puffy than normal from laying down on it. Rather than looking ragged, it made her look more vibrant—wild somehow.

       Great. She hates me, and all I can think about is how she looks "vibrant"?

       They stayed like that for a long time; she sitting upright on her bed, and him standing beside the owl cage, neither knowing what to say. Finally Ron crossed the room to his blankets. He laid down on the large Bulgarian rug, pulled his blanket on top of him and used his arm as a pillow.

       Hermione stared at him wide eyed. "You're just going to sleep on the rug like that?"

       "Well, yeah. Unless you think I should sleep on the wood."

       "Ron, you've got two blankets."

       "I know."

       She rolled her eyes and climbed out of bed. Her sleeping robes were soft shade of blue and simple. He thought they suited her quite nicely. "Here," she said. She took one of the blankets and laid it out flat on the ground for him to lay down on. Then she crossed back to the bed and took one of the pillows. She plopped it down on one end of the blanket and looked at him. "Now you have a bed."

       "Thanks." There was no hint of the usual Weasley sarcasm in his voice as he looked at her.

       "You're welcome, Ron." She looked at back at him, tilting her head slightly to compensate for the height difference. They looked at each other for a moment until she broke the gaze and climbed back into bed. "Good night," she muttered, as she got comfortable.

       "Good night, Heather."