Disclaimer- the characters that belong to me are all the ones that aren't
in the Harry Potter books, those belong to JK Rowling. The two songs in
here belong to "They Might Be Giants" the plot is mine. Don't sue and
enjoy.
Hermione walked aimlessly around muggle London. She rarely did this, seeing as her parents had moved to Africa to do charity work, (work on the children's teeth), so she didn't have anyone to visit. She had a cushy job at the ministry, the assistant to Reed Rumsey, the Minister of Magic. The only problem with her life, in fact, was that she hadn't seen Ron since the summer after graduation.
She and Harry had stayed in touch, though he didn't really have much time to do what he wished. He was the DADA teacher at Hogwarts so he only got Christmas, Summer, and Easter break. They usually got together.
Ron had basically abandoned everybody the summer after graduation. One day he had been there, sleeping in his bed and when they woke up, a note had replaced his slumbering body. The note had simply said: I have to do something with my life. You won't see me unless I accomplish it. -Ron.
She had cried quite hard after that. Her eyes still got teary when she thought of it. They should have known; he always had had a thirst to prove himself. They all knew he felt inadequate. He, in her and Harry's eyes was no less important then them. The problem was, they were good at everything he was good at plus, they had a talent to themselves. He was a very good Keeper, but Harry was a better seeker. He was good at his studies when he tried, but she was better.
They had learned about his artistic flare in their 6th year but there was nowhere at Hogwarts to show that. For Harry's Birthday he had written an extremely funny song for him, as he was a little low on cash.
~Flash back~
"Harry, I have written you a son for your Birthday. It, I think expresses your personality. I hope you like it."
"Marmalade's from Scotland, rugs from Pakistan. Mexico had jumping beans, and cars are from Japan. Clowns are from the circus. Barking comes from dogs. Eggs come from a chicken, and log cabins come from logs. But where do they make balloons? But where do they make balloons. New York has tall buildings. New Jersey has its malls. Pisa has a leaning tower, will it ever fall? The ocean has the fishes. London has a tower. In Holland they have windmills, lots of bikes, and pretty flowers. But where do they make balloons? Spaghetti comes from China but Italians make it best. Ants can make an anthill and monkeys make a mess. Hungary isn't hungry and French fries aren't from France. Turkeys aren't from Turkey, they can't fly but they can dance. But where do they make balloons? But where do they make balloons?"
"Thanks Ron," Harry smirked.
"Happy Birthday buddy!" Ron said, grinning at him.
~Conversation between Hermione and Harry later in the evening~
"I didn't know Ron sang, or wrote music, or played the guitar for that matter!" Hermione exclaimed.
"I didn't either. I mean that was just a stupid song but it was funny, and he said he wrote the whole thing by himself. To bad he can't do anything at Hogwarts."
~End of Flashback~
As I was saying, Hermione was walking around Muggle London. She caught sight of a small café. She looked at the small black board in front, Dinner and a Show!
She walked in a took a seat near the back. Music came on and she looked up. The music seemed very familiar. A minute later, she realized why. She heard the familiar chorus of "Where do they make balloons?" She looked up at the head singer, and was shocked at what she saw. It was defiantly Ron, but a much more attractive Ron. He was muscular, and had a small stud in his ear. He was wearing a green T-shirt and kaki shorts on, with a ratty pare of sandals on his feet.
When the song ended Ron came up to the mike. "Now, as you probably don't know, we are Irish Pub. We got this name when we discovered that at least one of all our ancestors are Irish and own a pub in Ireland. This might sound stupid to you, but there you are. That last song was one I wrote for my best friend on his 16th Birthday. This next one is one that I wrote for my other best friend, she's not really a Lazy Head or a Sleepy Bone, but she did like her sleep."
"Lazy Head and Sleepybones always disagree. Though everybody says they should be friends. They're too tired to see. When Sleepybones says she's feeling tired. Lazyhead wants to rest. When Lazyhead says it's number one. Sleepybones says it's best. When Lazyhead uses imagination, Sleepybones daydreams. Lazybones says it's not what it looks like, and Lazyhead says it's not what it seems. Lazyhead and Sleepybones always disagree, though everybody says they should be friends. They're too tired to skinny, sleepybones says thin. When Sleepybones says identical, Lazyhead says twins. When Lazyhead says the window is closed, Sleepybones says it's shut. When Sleepybones says that something isn't, Lazyhead says it's not. Lazyhead and Sleepybones both take naps so long. And even though they should be friends. They can't get along. Lazyhead and Sleepybones always disagree. Though everybody says they should be friends, they're too tired to see." By this time Hermione was laughing her head off.
She couldn't wait for the little concert to be over so she could go and see him. She hadn't realized how much she really missed him until she saw him again. When they finished "Bed Bed Bed" Ron gave a wave and they stepped off stage. They took a booth right behind hers.
"Ron, why didn't you want to come back to England? It's great here!" an American male voice said.
"It's complicated, no need to go into it," Ron answered. She winced before getting up the courage to go up to him. She slid out of her booth and walked over to him. She was suddenly very self-conscious of her hair, and the length of her sundress. "Oh, are you the waitress?" Ron asked, not looking up at her. She adjusted her glasses; she had gotten them when she was 18.
"No, Ron, it's Hermione," she whispered.
"What was that?" he asked, finally looking up. He looked at her a bit strangely, not being able to place her.
"It's me Ron, your best friend," she answered a bit louder.
"Hermione?" he asked.
"Yes Ron, don't you recognize me? It's only been 5 years, I couldn't have changed that much!"
"You have! I never would have recognized you! Sit down, meet everybody!" he exclaimed, sliding over. She took her seat and grinned around the table stupidly. They were all guys except for the one drummer. "This is Mike, he plays the guitar. This is Chris, he plays miscellaneous stuff and sings, and last but not least, this is Anne, she plays the drums and sings," he finished, looking back at her.
"Pleasure to meet you, Hermione is it?" Mike, a short, muscular brown haired, blue eyed, rather attractive guy said. She shook his hand and nodded.
"Well my my my, we finally meet the infamous Hermione, I swear, in the 4 years that I've know Ron, he talks about you more then anyone!" Chris said, giving her his rather chubby hand.
"It's great to meet you," Anne, a pretty, blond, woman said, giving Hermione her hand.
Hermione walked aimlessly around muggle London. She rarely did this, seeing as her parents had moved to Africa to do charity work, (work on the children's teeth), so she didn't have anyone to visit. She had a cushy job at the ministry, the assistant to Reed Rumsey, the Minister of Magic. The only problem with her life, in fact, was that she hadn't seen Ron since the summer after graduation.
She and Harry had stayed in touch, though he didn't really have much time to do what he wished. He was the DADA teacher at Hogwarts so he only got Christmas, Summer, and Easter break. They usually got together.
Ron had basically abandoned everybody the summer after graduation. One day he had been there, sleeping in his bed and when they woke up, a note had replaced his slumbering body. The note had simply said: I have to do something with my life. You won't see me unless I accomplish it. -Ron.
She had cried quite hard after that. Her eyes still got teary when she thought of it. They should have known; he always had had a thirst to prove himself. They all knew he felt inadequate. He, in her and Harry's eyes was no less important then them. The problem was, they were good at everything he was good at plus, they had a talent to themselves. He was a very good Keeper, but Harry was a better seeker. He was good at his studies when he tried, but she was better.
They had learned about his artistic flare in their 6th year but there was nowhere at Hogwarts to show that. For Harry's Birthday he had written an extremely funny song for him, as he was a little low on cash.
~Flash back~
"Harry, I have written you a son for your Birthday. It, I think expresses your personality. I hope you like it."
"Marmalade's from Scotland, rugs from Pakistan. Mexico had jumping beans, and cars are from Japan. Clowns are from the circus. Barking comes from dogs. Eggs come from a chicken, and log cabins come from logs. But where do they make balloons? But where do they make balloons. New York has tall buildings. New Jersey has its malls. Pisa has a leaning tower, will it ever fall? The ocean has the fishes. London has a tower. In Holland they have windmills, lots of bikes, and pretty flowers. But where do they make balloons? Spaghetti comes from China but Italians make it best. Ants can make an anthill and monkeys make a mess. Hungary isn't hungry and French fries aren't from France. Turkeys aren't from Turkey, they can't fly but they can dance. But where do they make balloons? But where do they make balloons?"
"Thanks Ron," Harry smirked.
"Happy Birthday buddy!" Ron said, grinning at him.
~Conversation between Hermione and Harry later in the evening~
"I didn't know Ron sang, or wrote music, or played the guitar for that matter!" Hermione exclaimed.
"I didn't either. I mean that was just a stupid song but it was funny, and he said he wrote the whole thing by himself. To bad he can't do anything at Hogwarts."
~End of Flashback~
As I was saying, Hermione was walking around Muggle London. She caught sight of a small café. She looked at the small black board in front, Dinner and a Show!
She walked in a took a seat near the back. Music came on and she looked up. The music seemed very familiar. A minute later, she realized why. She heard the familiar chorus of "Where do they make balloons?" She looked up at the head singer, and was shocked at what she saw. It was defiantly Ron, but a much more attractive Ron. He was muscular, and had a small stud in his ear. He was wearing a green T-shirt and kaki shorts on, with a ratty pare of sandals on his feet.
When the song ended Ron came up to the mike. "Now, as you probably don't know, we are Irish Pub. We got this name when we discovered that at least one of all our ancestors are Irish and own a pub in Ireland. This might sound stupid to you, but there you are. That last song was one I wrote for my best friend on his 16th Birthday. This next one is one that I wrote for my other best friend, she's not really a Lazy Head or a Sleepy Bone, but she did like her sleep."
"Lazy Head and Sleepybones always disagree. Though everybody says they should be friends. They're too tired to see. When Sleepybones says she's feeling tired. Lazyhead wants to rest. When Lazyhead says it's number one. Sleepybones says it's best. When Lazyhead uses imagination, Sleepybones daydreams. Lazybones says it's not what it looks like, and Lazyhead says it's not what it seems. Lazyhead and Sleepybones always disagree, though everybody says they should be friends. They're too tired to skinny, sleepybones says thin. When Sleepybones says identical, Lazyhead says twins. When Lazyhead says the window is closed, Sleepybones says it's shut. When Sleepybones says that something isn't, Lazyhead says it's not. Lazyhead and Sleepybones both take naps so long. And even though they should be friends. They can't get along. Lazyhead and Sleepybones always disagree. Though everybody says they should be friends, they're too tired to see." By this time Hermione was laughing her head off.
She couldn't wait for the little concert to be over so she could go and see him. She hadn't realized how much she really missed him until she saw him again. When they finished "Bed Bed Bed" Ron gave a wave and they stepped off stage. They took a booth right behind hers.
"Ron, why didn't you want to come back to England? It's great here!" an American male voice said.
"It's complicated, no need to go into it," Ron answered. She winced before getting up the courage to go up to him. She slid out of her booth and walked over to him. She was suddenly very self-conscious of her hair, and the length of her sundress. "Oh, are you the waitress?" Ron asked, not looking up at her. She adjusted her glasses; she had gotten them when she was 18.
"No, Ron, it's Hermione," she whispered.
"What was that?" he asked, finally looking up. He looked at her a bit strangely, not being able to place her.
"It's me Ron, your best friend," she answered a bit louder.
"Hermione?" he asked.
"Yes Ron, don't you recognize me? It's only been 5 years, I couldn't have changed that much!"
"You have! I never would have recognized you! Sit down, meet everybody!" he exclaimed, sliding over. She took her seat and grinned around the table stupidly. They were all guys except for the one drummer. "This is Mike, he plays the guitar. This is Chris, he plays miscellaneous stuff and sings, and last but not least, this is Anne, she plays the drums and sings," he finished, looking back at her.
"Pleasure to meet you, Hermione is it?" Mike, a short, muscular brown haired, blue eyed, rather attractive guy said. She shook his hand and nodded.
"Well my my my, we finally meet the infamous Hermione, I swear, in the 4 years that I've know Ron, he talks about you more then anyone!" Chris said, giving her his rather chubby hand.
"It's great to meet you," Anne, a pretty, blond, woman said, giving Hermione her hand.