Right, then, Harry & Friends (c) The Great J K Rowling.
I know the first few paragraphs aren't that great; it gets stronger as it goes on. I had to get used to writing with their characters. - Who are better behaved than my characters, might I add. Maybe I'll kidnap them...
Er, anyway-
Okay, so I might have had an ulterior motive. Honestly? That first Hogsmead trip—before Harry turned up—was, well, was what I've been trying to recreate ever since third year. Don't get me wrong, I love Harry and all, but we're only friends. Ron acts differently when we're all of us together. Sometimes I think it's hard for Ron, having 'The Boy Who Lived' as a best friend. Or maybe it's a guy thing. Showing off, showing up… he's always been overshadowed. One thing's for sure—there's something going on between us, something I can't find the answer to in any of my books. Who would've thought I'd find it in a greasy fast food joint?
"Welcome to Smileyburger, may I take your order?" A tall teen loomed motionless behind the counter with a burger hat jammed over short blue hair. Her fixed smile quivered slightly as she spoke but never slipped. Hermione nudged Ron.
He shifted on the linoleum floor. "Take my what? What do I do?" Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Tell her what you want to eat, genius. No, wait, let me…" she cocked her head up, a twist of hair falling out of her face. Ron stared.
"Wait—she's alive?"
"Of course she's alive, Ron," Hermione snapped, and then winced. "Er, sorry," she apologized hastily, "look, why don't you find us a table and—"
"May I take your order?" The employee said, clenching her teeth at her insistently.
"Yes, yes, a minute!" Hermione pushed Ron over to the tables. "Go!" She turned back to the cashier and ordered a small pizza for two. She started to call Ron over for his money but stopped. If he was anything like his dad he'd have more trouble with the cash than with the cashier. Who, Hermione admitted to herself as she handed over ten bucks, was a bit creepy.
Honestly, I dunno where she got the idea. Headquarters was empty. Emptier than usual, with Sirius and the twins gone. Mum and Ginny went shopping, Dad was at work, and the rest were on assignment—He Who Must Not Be Named, that is. It was about lunchtime and Mum had given us strict orders not to burn the house down, so cooking was off. I admit I was a bit afraid to open the pantry to see what there was to eat. Hey, it was moaning! But the next thing I know Hermione's dragging me 'cross town to some Muggle place…
Ron picked his way to a booth in the corner, grumbling slightly to himself. He had brought his wand despite Hermione's protests, and as he sat down the crooked wood jabbed into his rib cage. Ron swore.
"Ah, I thought I heard you," said Hermoine brightly, rounding the curve with a tray. Ron eyed her warily and shoved his wand down. "Brought your wand anyway, I see."
"Vol—the dark Lord's on the loose," he retorted. "You think it's smart to go around unarmed?"
"Honestly, Ron, I don't know. D'you think he'll stop in for a burger on his way to a new world order?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're acting like Harry." She slid in next to him. "I've brought us some pizza."
Ron prodded the pie with his wand. "Why's it so flat?" Hermione stared, aghast.
"You've never had pizza!"
He shifted, uncomfortably aware of her presence. "Well—"
"You'll love it," she said firmly.
I meant to ask him what was wrong. Why he kept jumping when I reached across the table. Why he'd been acting so strangely ever since we moved back to Grimmauld place together. But I realized the answer as soon as he blushed at the word love. For god's sake, I was talking about pizza. I had to admit, though, he's sort of cute when he blushes. Of course, as soon as I realized what I'd thought, I colored. We must have looked like a couple of school kids having our first crushes, blushing like a pair of cherries.
Couple. Pair. Oh, no…
"Right, uh…" Ron cleared his throat awkwardly. "Let's have it, then." Hermione nodded too quickly and pulled a scalding slice of pizza from the platter. A string of burning cheese stretched and snapped onto her hand. She yelped. Ron grabbed her hand in his and picked it off with his other, scorching himself in the process. He wiggled the cheese until it fell off, grinning sheepishly—still holding her hand. Their eyes met for a split second and they pulled apart, embarrassed. There was a clumsy quiet. They ate silently, chirpings of the cash register and the blur of small talk background music to their thoughts; thoughts that were racing along the same track and bound for a head-on collision. As Ron looked at her it struck him how he'd never really seen her before. Her eyes were on the table, but he knew them to be chocolate brown. Not the dark, bitter kind, but the light type—warm and rich. Steeling himself for rejection, he slipped an arm around her thin shoulders. Hermione hesitated then leaned in, smiling softly. Not a hundred miles away Death Eaters gathered, watching their lord rise to power. For now, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger sat in the restaurant, pizza forgotten. Two normal teens. Nearly.
Sometimes it's better to light a love than to curse the darkness.