This is getting on really slowly, isn't it? Well here's Chapter Five-Fluff galore!
Disclaimer: No.
Ron stared at the mess of colored lines crisscrossing on the route-grid. "And this makes sense to muggles?" he said, tracing the green line and wiping off ten years of merlin-knows-what.
I smacked his hand and ignored his "What?". I was stuck, beyond irritated, in this tiny, grubby little train going ten miles a leap-year and was not at all happy about it.
This was all Ron's fault.
Who dragged me into this mess?
He did.
Who thought up the great idea of going muggle-style to London?
He did.
And who, beyond any comprehension of anyone human, was about to pull the little red lever that says: DO NOT PULL EXCEPT IN CASE OF EMERGENCY?
He was.
"No!" I yelled, too late-the wheels under us squealed shrilly as we came to an abrupt stop, sending two businessmen and a grocery bag flying.
"Ron!" I hissed.
"What!" he said again.
That was just the beginning of the fiasco that was my day.
Two Headaches, a Migraine, and one Exceptionally Large Dose of Healer Fudd's All-Healing Head Solutions Draught later, we were standing outside of a flower shop.
"You've got to be kidding me," said Ron, as we entered the violently pink door. "It looks like that Umbridge woman's office threw up on this place," he said, looking revolted at the equally violent shade of pink that covered almost everything inside the place like the Blob.
"It's not that bad," I lied, although my view of the room was being blocked by an enormous pink-and-yellow lacy something flouncing in front my face.
"Ahhhh…," said (I could only guess) the lace, "You're the couple looking for the pansies? Well they're in the back there I'll get them in a mo'-I've got to get Ramundo out here-RAMUNDO! Where the bloody hell did he go?" The enormous lacy something shifted revealing a squat woman with enormous flashy glasses and a bad temper.
Just then a handsome, Spanish man appeared behind the counter.
No, a gorgeous Spanish man appeared behind the counter-he even had one of those dazzling smiles that I'm a sucker for.
He looked around, spotted me (Ron was mostly hidden by a few dozen begonias the lady was piling into his hands), and made a beeline for us. I felt heat rising into my cheeks and turned to make sure that Ron could not see my face.
But trailing along his feet, clutching the attractive Spaniard's shoelaces and stumbling hopelessly with each of his long strides was a tiny decrepit house elf.
And the poor thing was whimpering.
"Shut up! Can't you see we have a-"the man stopped and considered me, "very beautiful customer?" he asked, but he was no longer looking at the elf. Anger shot up my body and burned my already red face. He thought I would be impressed by his blatant abuse of the poor house elf! This guy had another thing coming.
Ron looked around the heap of flowers and stared at the employee, then me. Clearing his throat purposefully, he dropped the begonias onto a nearby shelf of Easter-themed garden accessories. "Excuse me," said Ron in a dangerously low voice I had never heard before. "My-"he glanced at me, "fiancé and I are looking for some flower arrangements for our wedding," he said, putting a lot of emphasis on 'wedding'. Midway through opening my mouth in a retort to the Spanish man's insolent comment, I froze.
The elf-abuser looked slightly taken aback, but recovered quickly. "Of course…" he said with a slight sneer. "Sir."
"Do you know what dear?" I said suddenly, "I don't fancy this place has what we're looking for. Let's go."
And I stalked out of the store, clutching Ron by the arm. "How dare that man-kicking the poor thing like he was some sort of-I have a half mind to march right back in there and demand he release-"
But Ron had gently put his hand on my shoulder. "I know, Hermione," he said, sounding happy about something. He glanced me, clearly amused. "Oh, and you've got a begonia in your hair."
Ron reached up and deftly plucked the flower from my hair-I shuddered, involuntarily, at his touch.
. For a moment we stood like that, him still touching my hair and me completely forgetting what I was ranting about just a minute ago, as my mind was washed over in waves of tingly shock.
He stared at me, something flickering in his eyes.
And without thinking, I leaned in toward him…
In a fraction of a second I thought I saw his eyes dart toward my lips, but in the next a searing pain shot through my side and I was thrown hard onto the cement ground.
The wind was knocked out of me as I hit the sidewalk.
I saw Ron whip around. "OI!" he shouted at someone behind me, and made to run after him. But suddenly he stopped, looking down at me. "Are you all right?" he asked, looking concerned as he put out his hand.
I grasped it and he heaved me onto my feet. My ribs throbbed. "I'll live," I said, feeling my midsection and wincing. "Who was that?" I asked looking round for the culprit. But only swarms of jabbering muggles doing spring shopping were visible.
"Roguer," he said, referring to the few rogue death eaters that had managed to slip through the Ministry's net arrests right after Voldemort met his downfall. Fools. They still wore their masks and Death Eater robes even-it amazes me that any of them are still at large with the entire floor of Ministry Aurors left with nothing better to do than to catch the likes of them.
Which reminded me, "And you didn't chase after him?" I asked him, trying not to sound too accusing.
He looked uncomfortable. "Well, no, but…" and he muttered something to his shoes.
"Pardon?" I asked.
"I wanted to make sure you were all right," he said more clearly.
"Oh."
We both shifted uncomfortably for a moment until he finally suggested we get lunch.
Together we crossed the busy street and entered a dark, noisy pub. I wrinkled my nose in disgust-there were at least twenty people here smoking what smelled like a Mundungus Fletcher brand of fungus cigars and the sweet thick odor of sweat. Ron shrugged apologetically, "It's the only place for five miles, and I know the bar tender…"
"Right," I said, wanting to get in and out of this place as fast as possible.
"This way," he said, taking my hand-my fingers tingled pleasantly and a peculiar swooping sensation took hold of my midriff.
I managed to fight down a blush while he pulled me toward a pair of empty bar stools. What was happening to me? I swore I got over him around a year after he left. Damn left over feelings. Before you knew it I might just fall in love with him again.
Wait-what?
"Sandwich or soup, Hermione?" Ron was saying from a great distance.
I shook my head to get rid of the silly notions and tried to concentrate on what he was saying.
"Hermione?"
"Umm…that's fine Ron. Who did you say you knew in here again?"
"Seamus Finnigan. Are you all right, you look a bit pale," he said, wearing that cursed concerned look that kept making me weak at the knees all day.
"Fine," I said, but really I was feeling a bit lightheaded. Must have been all of the Mundungus fumes.
"Ron!" said a familiar voice, still thick with Irish brogue. "How are you? And-Blimey, Hermione! Fancy seeing you lot!"
"Hello Seamus!" said Ron, shaking the Irishman's hand.
"So, I heared you two were engaged. Congrats!" Seamus said, beaming at us.
"Erm-no, actually. No, we're not engaged," said Ron, his ears beet red. Seamus looked disappointed.
"Where did you hear that?" I asked, bewildered. This was at least the third time we had been mistaken for a married couple since that casserole-fiasco. It was starting to get creepy.
He looked thoughtful. "I think it was one of your relatives Ron," Seamus said, scratching his chin. "Red-'aired bloke, dressed in the finest dragon skin. Looked as sharp as anything-"
"George!" Ron spat, looking outraged.
"What?" I said, nonplussed.
"He wasn't supposed to-"
He cut himself off and turned an even deeper shade of red. Rubbing the back of his neck, he mumbled "He wasn't supposed to tell anyone…that I was going to…er…" He looked almost pained. "Well it doesn't matter now," Ron said quickly.
What was he going to do that involved George and a false marriage?
I was on the point of asking him when my sandwich came, distracting me with its noxious fumes. I couldn't even tell the meat and the cheese apart-they were both covered in some bluish stuff that I strongly suspected was mold. Quietly, I shoved the thing into my purse while Seamus and Ron weren't looking and flushed it down the toilet in the Ladies Room first chance I got.
And just as I was washing away the disgusting sandwich scum from my hands, someone stepped out of a stall. Glancing at the mirror I saw it was a man.
I did a double-take.
The man had a Death Eater mask. It was the Roguer from before!
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