II: Ron, Chinese Food and Belynn
Morose was a large, dark club with a very small door. From the outside, it appeared to be one of the shops that sold the less cheerful magical ingredients. Inside, it was a mecca of style, grace and shimmering music. Each wall was made of mirror that reflected all of the dancers in shadows. The ceiling was overgrown with plants, mostly nightshade and bleeding heart. A dance floor made of dwarves oak and carpeted with midnight blue and blood red silks twirled on it's own. In the center of the dance hall, Ron Weasely was bent over one of a half dozen small tables.
"Ron? Are you ready to go?" Harry asked, pulling Belynn toward his friend.
"Hello Ronald Weasely, I am Belynn –" came Belynn's Spanish-Greek accent.
"Morose! Of course I know you! Your father owns this place. Matthias and my father go way back… Hello Harry." Ron had grown a bit over the summer, and was now far taller than Hermione and Lavendar. He had three or four inches on Harry.
"Ahh, yes. Arthur Weasely, my father did mention him a few times. I believe he helped my father with some vanishing silk for a club in Madrid?" though Belynn phrased this as a question, it was idle conversation and required no answer.
"Well, so glad you two have met. We should go meet the girls. I'm starved." Harry felt awkward speaking with Belynn as if she were a mere friend.
"Anyone want Chinese?" Ron asked. He was fishing a shrunken menu from his back pocket. "Erm, if I have a menu."
The three agreed and soon they were headed out of the club and onto the dimming pathways of Diagon Alley, Ron magically ordering a variety of dumpling and rice specials for the six of them.
They were nearly to the tiny apartment when anyone spoke again. "So tell me, Harry Potter, are you good with spells? Do you know Draco Malfoy?" Harry's heart stung when he heard the name. Belynn hugged the word with her teeth as if dying to meet the fellow.
In actuality, Draco Malfoy was an evil git who had pestered Harry, Ron and Hermione for seven years. For the last three, he'd been particularly odd near Hermione, acting as if the air she breathed harbor insipid bacteria.
"Well, ummm, I do okay. I think I'm going to be head boy this year though. And err,"
"I see you do not want to speak of Draco. I only know his name through his father. Lucius Malfoy is a good friend of my mother. I only hoped that I would not seem so foreign if I knew a name from Hogwarts. I suppose he is a foe of yours?"
Harry and Ron looked blank. They did not know how to tell this foreign girl just how awful Draco Malfoy was. They'd seen him hundreds of times this summer, as he liked to spend much time promenading around Diagon Alley with his current girlfriend.
"Well, we wouldn't want to insult a family friend. Draco just likes to hang out with Slytherins a bit more than we do. We're Gryffindors." Ron saved the day. After eight weeks of dealing with sly adolescent wizards who spent every night of the week trying to meet the most scantily-robed witches, his charm and smoothness had been quite developed. Ron had a way with words that made even Harry, famous for his clean-cut manner, jealous.
"Ahh, I see. Gryffindors? Brave of heart? I suppose I shall learn this year. Which hall do you imagine I will be placed in?" Belynn's black hair was wrapped around one of her delicate hands.
"Well, the prettiest girls are Ravenclaw's and Gryffindor's, so I'm sure you'll be one of them." Harry said, a clearl attempt to outdo Ron's comments.
"So the sorting hat can see, can 'e?" Belynn said, her accent increasing with her embarrassing flush.
"Well, maybe. Or maybe you are just beautiful and smart and brave." Ron said.
"Thank you Ronald."
Belynn's gracious reply cam with a little tug on Harry's arm, but Harry was too engrossed in a strategic kick at Ronald's left shin to really pay attention.
"Thanks Ron," he mumbled under his breath.
Morose was a large, dark club with a very small door. From the outside, it appeared to be one of the shops that sold the less cheerful magical ingredients. Inside, it was a mecca of style, grace and shimmering music. Each wall was made of mirror that reflected all of the dancers in shadows. The ceiling was overgrown with plants, mostly nightshade and bleeding heart. A dance floor made of dwarves oak and carpeted with midnight blue and blood red silks twirled on it's own. In the center of the dance hall, Ron Weasely was bent over one of a half dozen small tables.
"Ron? Are you ready to go?" Harry asked, pulling Belynn toward his friend.
"Hello Ronald Weasely, I am Belynn –" came Belynn's Spanish-Greek accent.
"Morose! Of course I know you! Your father owns this place. Matthias and my father go way back… Hello Harry." Ron had grown a bit over the summer, and was now far taller than Hermione and Lavendar. He had three or four inches on Harry.
"Ahh, yes. Arthur Weasely, my father did mention him a few times. I believe he helped my father with some vanishing silk for a club in Madrid?" though Belynn phrased this as a question, it was idle conversation and required no answer.
"Well, so glad you two have met. We should go meet the girls. I'm starved." Harry felt awkward speaking with Belynn as if she were a mere friend.
"Anyone want Chinese?" Ron asked. He was fishing a shrunken menu from his back pocket. "Erm, if I have a menu."
The three agreed and soon they were headed out of the club and onto the dimming pathways of Diagon Alley, Ron magically ordering a variety of dumpling and rice specials for the six of them.
They were nearly to the tiny apartment when anyone spoke again. "So tell me, Harry Potter, are you good with spells? Do you know Draco Malfoy?" Harry's heart stung when he heard the name. Belynn hugged the word with her teeth as if dying to meet the fellow.
In actuality, Draco Malfoy was an evil git who had pestered Harry, Ron and Hermione for seven years. For the last three, he'd been particularly odd near Hermione, acting as if the air she breathed harbor insipid bacteria.
"Well, ummm, I do okay. I think I'm going to be head boy this year though. And err,"
"I see you do not want to speak of Draco. I only know his name through his father. Lucius Malfoy is a good friend of my mother. I only hoped that I would not seem so foreign if I knew a name from Hogwarts. I suppose he is a foe of yours?"
Harry and Ron looked blank. They did not know how to tell this foreign girl just how awful Draco Malfoy was. They'd seen him hundreds of times this summer, as he liked to spend much time promenading around Diagon Alley with his current girlfriend.
"Well, we wouldn't want to insult a family friend. Draco just likes to hang out with Slytherins a bit more than we do. We're Gryffindors." Ron saved the day. After eight weeks of dealing with sly adolescent wizards who spent every night of the week trying to meet the most scantily-robed witches, his charm and smoothness had been quite developed. Ron had a way with words that made even Harry, famous for his clean-cut manner, jealous.
"Ahh, I see. Gryffindors? Brave of heart? I suppose I shall learn this year. Which hall do you imagine I will be placed in?" Belynn's black hair was wrapped around one of her delicate hands.
"Well, the prettiest girls are Ravenclaw's and Gryffindor's, so I'm sure you'll be one of them." Harry said, a clearl attempt to outdo Ron's comments.
"So the sorting hat can see, can 'e?" Belynn said, her accent increasing with her embarrassing flush.
"Well, maybe. Or maybe you are just beautiful and smart and brave." Ron said.
"Thank you Ronald."
Belynn's gracious reply cam with a little tug on Harry's arm, but Harry was too engrossed in a strategic kick at Ronald's left shin to really pay attention.
"Thanks Ron," he mumbled under his breath.