Disclaimer: I do not own, oh, well, you know the disclaimer drill by now, don't you? If not, I will give you an example.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Ron Weasly or anyone else for that matter. But I do own a cat.
A/N: This starts out kind of wonky, but please bear with me it's not what you think.
Ron's body squeezed against Harry's chest, arms thrusting the both of them back and forth, banging against the metal and glass.
"You know, this could so easily be misinterpreted by a passing muggle," Harry commented as he pushed his hand into his jeans pocket.
"Oh, Shut up Harry, I'm nervous enough as it is." Ron said, hand shaking as it received a pair of quarters. "Why do muggles make these fellytone booths so small? You could get, what's it called, when someone's afraid of tight spaces?"
"Call Hermione and find out," Harry said, chuckling as Ron's eyes narrowed.
"That's what we're trying to do, Harry. Now, what do I do with the money?"
"I know you can't read your textbooks, but you can at least read the little instructions there, see? It says; Feed quarters into slot one at a time." Harry would have pointed, but his arm was not in a particularly free position at that time.
"Right," Ron said, and slipped a quarter into the small slot. There was a clink, and for a while nothing happened.
"You have to put in both quarters, Ron," Harry said after he could stand it no longer.
"It hasn't swallowed!"
"What?"
"The sign says; Feed quarters into slot one at a time. It hasn't swallowed, so it can't be done chewing the quarter yet."
"Ron, that's–" Harry stopped, thought, and finally said, "It doesn't chew them, it just swallows them whole. You can put in the next quarter."
"Oh, Okay," Ron complied, and after a small clink, a dial tone was heard.
"Now, press the buttons like I showed you," Harry said, praying that Ron wouldn't go mad when the phone beeped when the numbers were pressed. He did not, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Ron pressed all the appropriate buttons. He waited for a moment, and then Ron said,
"Harry, there's a ringing in my ears, is that supposed to happen?"
"There isn't a ringing in your ears, it's on the other end of the line."
Ron took the phone away from his ear to look down at the point where the wire connected to the box. "Is something wrong with it?" he asked.
"Just talk into the phone, and remember you don't have to shout."
"Someone's talking…What?...What do you mean, you're not home? If you're talking, you must be home!...What was that beep?...Hello?...Hermione?...You're wrong Harry, you do have to shout…HER-MI-ON-E! PICK! UP! THE! PHONE! HELL-O?"
"Ron…"
While all this had been happening, Hermione had been tying up her bicycle to the lamp post near her house. She picked up the stone frog outside the door, and with a furtive glance at the empty street, she retrieved the key. She opened the door to find the answering machine blaring out
"UP! THE! PHONE! HELL-O!"
And then very faintly, "Ron…you're yelling at an answering machine. It's sort of like an automatic pensive that records phone messages if no one is home to pick the phone up."
There was silence, and Hermione was on the point of picking up the receiver when Ron said, "Isn't that just typical! I finally pluck up the nerve to ask Hermione out and she's not there!"
"I know mate," Harry said, "Better send her an owl, and try to keep your handwriting at least partially neat."
There was a click of a phone being hung up.
Hermione's mouth curved into a small smile, and she decided to keep her windows open.