Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling.
A/N: If you ever feel a really strange compulsion to review, of course we wouldn't mind!
2. – The Receipt
In which Ron's niggling feeling grows stronger, as he discovers the dangers of shopping.
Ron had been looking through the papers for fifteen minutes and already he had a fierce headache. He had put aside the wills for the time being, and was currently going over all the unpaid bills and various other official-looking documents which he really had no idea what to do with.
Well, best to get the hardest part over with, he thought, picking up the wills. He wasn't sure which one would be the most difficult to take care of - his best friend's or his fiancée's.
Ron and Hermione had gotten engaged during the war for the same reasons as everybody else had. Those had been uncertain times, and nobody had known whether they would be alive from one day to the next. However, the war had ended shortly after their decision. As sure as they would ever be of their safety, they had agreed to take things slowly, and wait until they had found some sort of employment. Ron now wondered how things would have been if the war had lasted a little longer.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
When he stood up, intending to get himself a cup of coffee, he realized his shoelace was untied. Sighing, he sat down again and bent over to tie it. His eyes fell on a small, nondescript piece of paper which was lying under the table. He picked it up and looked at it. It was a handwritten receipt, which must have fallen from the stack of papers.
October 6
King Charles gown, grey, 5 galleons, 2 knuts
King Charles jerkin, grey, 2 galleons, 2 sickles
King Charles shirt, white, 1 galleon, 2 sickles
King Charles trousers, grey, 2 galleons
King Charles boots, plain, 2 galleons, 9 sickles
King Charles slippers, black, 3 galleons, 9sickles
King Charles stockings, grey, 3 sickles
King Charles stockings, grey, 3 sickles
King Charles Cap, white, 5 sickles
Total: 16 galleons, 16 sickles, 2 knuts
To be returned October 7
Dawn's Period Clothing
3 Tensington street
Porthleven
Ron stared at the piece of paper for a few moments. Then he put it on the table, struck by what he had read. He didn't know what to make of most of it, but two things stood out clearly: Porthleven and October 7. The place and the date of their disappearance.
Why had Harry and Hermione wanted a jerkin, a grey gown, and all the other stuff on that list? Who on earth was king Charles?
Now he had something else to investigate.
He sat back in his chair, frowning at the inoffensive pile of papers in front of him. Well, he was after all supposed to settle their debts and take care of any other unfinished business they might have. He might as well start with this.
His mind still buzzing with unanswered questions, Ron abandoned the wills, got up, pulled on a cloak, stepped outside and disapparated.
He appeared a split second later, at the cliff where he had stood brooding the night before. The wind was blowing violently, and the waves crashed against the face of the cliff far below him. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, and started walking towards the village at a brisk pace.
As he neared his destination, he could hear the church bell chiming. It was ten o'clock.
Tensington Street, then. Where was Tensington Street?
He unfolded his map of wizarding locations in Great Brittan. He hoped 3 Tensington Street would show up on it; a lot of places had been made unplottable during Voldemort's second attempt to take power, and many of them had still to reverse the charms.
"Number three, Tensington Street… aha!"
The scenic picture of London was swiftly replaced by a detailed map of the village, and there was a little red arrow pointing out the words: 3 Tensington Street. Ron squinted at the map. Apparently, all of Tensington Street was magical, as it seemed to have trouble fitting into the village. Indeed, some of the houses were overlapping the muggle ones.
He was relieved to find that the place didn't seem to be far away from where he stood. The trouble would be to find the gateway. It seemed to be right next to a furniture shop.
He needn't have worried. Finding the shop was relatively simple, and as for the gateway, Ron wondered how the muggles were able to miss it. One of the outside walls of the shop was covered in luxuriant ivy. The leaves clearly spelled out; Here is the entrance to Tensington Street, wizarding shopping district of Porthleven. Pull this tendril and step right through. When he looked closer, he could read in smaller letters; Make sure to visit nr 10, birthplace and childhood home of Felix Summerby! And below that, in leafy italics: To muggle residents of Porthleven: should any of you read this, please ignore it. You are suffering from sunstroke, or, if it is cloudy, overindulgence of some dangerous hallucinogen. Go home and have a cup of tea. It will all be alright in the morning. Cheers!
Ron smiled as he pulled the tendril which formed the word This! He walked through the opening which suddenly appeared in the wall, and into Tensington Street.
It was a rather pleasant neighbourhood, actually. Although the shops were fewer, he liked how it was far less crowded than Diagon Alley. Perhaps he would do his shopping there in the future. The street was broad, and lined with neatly kept birches. Along one side of the road were the shops. They all seemed to be quite small, with brightly painted doors and shutters, and the doorsteps swept clean. On the other side lay the docks, where all manner of interesting ships were moored. However, aside from two wizened old wizards who were standing by one of said ships, there was not a person in sight.
Ron particularly liked the quietness. Not that it was really quiet of course, but the sound of the waves breaking and the wind through the trees was so unlike the din of Hogsmeade, the endless chattering of the other healer apprentices, and the depressing silence of his home, that it seemed to him to be the most soothing noise in the world.
Soon he reached number three. He was just about to knock on the green door, when it was thrown open, almost hitting him in the face, and something seized his arm and dragged him inside.
He found himself in a small room filled with racks upon racks of brightly coloured clothes. Several wooden mannequins bedecked with all kinds of robes and dresses smiled and winked at him. The woman who had dragged him inside was still holding his arm in a vicelike grip. She was more than a head shorter than him, and her face was mostly obscured by her bob of straw-coloured hair, but he could see her remarkably long nose. Her violet fingernails were very sharp, and her dress was such a bright shade of orange that it hurt his eyes, forcing him to look the other way.
The moment she'd managed to pull him over her threshold she started talking.
"Hello sir, what can I do for you, T-shirt perhaps? No, no, no, not a T-shirt, what am I thinking? But you're interested in something muggle, is that right? How about a doublet? We have a wonderful King James selection! Green silk, red velvet! No. Queen Anne cape, for the carnival next week, and a nice cap to go with it! Buckle shoes, here's your doublet, lace gloves, try them on now – no, too small, sorry, here! Lovely colour on you my dear, goes with your eyes! Something for your girlfriend? Shorter than you, yes? Very pretty, yes? Brown hair? We have some very nice –"
"No!" said Ron, a little louder than he had intended. "No, no thank you. I just want to ask you a couple of questions, alright?"
"We also have some very nice patterns, if you want to make your own," said the woman. "I'm Dawn, by the way, who are you? You're not from hereabouts, are you? Come here, have a look!"
"Maybe later," said Ron. "I want to talk to you about a receipt I have." He pulled the piece of paper out of one of his pockets and handed it to her. Dawn seemed to get a grip of herself. She read the receipt quickly, and gave it back to him, nodding vigorously.
"Oh, yes, I remember these. They should have been back two weeks ago! I'm afraid I'm going to have to charge you a bit more for the delay… But wait, it wasn't you who rented them, was it?"
"No, it was two friends of mine…"
"Oh, yes, of course, black-haired man, brown-haired woman. Harry Potter, wasn't it? Keeps odd hours, doesn't he? Going to a masquerade, weren't they? Personally, I thought they should have rented something brighter. I mean, I had some lovely creations that would have fit them just perfect, like this red one, don't you think? And velvet too! It would've looked lovely on her, don't you think?"
A mannequin wearing an incredibly gaudy gown of red, purple and pink velvet, with copious amounts of gold coloured lace and a neckline which was trimmed with gigantic yellow silk roses, struck a dramatic pose and winked roguishly at Ron. He involuntarily took a step back, as the image of Hermione wearing that cropped up in his mind.
"Or how about this ochre –"
"No. No, I mean, yeah, it's… eh… look," said Ron. "They're dead, okay?"
"Yes, I know," said Dawn. "I read about it in the paper. Terribly sorry."
"Well, what I mean is, I might not be able to find them. The clothes, I mean."
"Well, you'll have to pay me the full price for them then. I both rent and sell, you know. Anyhow, I told them, if they were going to a masquerade, why would they want to dress like peasants? It's almost like they wanted to be part of the background, imagine! Masquerades are always such colourful affairs, you know, and we do have a few of them hereabouts, so I would know. You're supposed to dress with flair! Feathers! Bangles! Glitter! Lace! Pink! Yellow! Green!"
"Alright! I get it!" cried Ron.
Dawn took a deep breath.
"Um. Well. Yes. What I mean is, if what they'd wanted was anonymity, like they implied, they would have done better to go with something like that," and she nodded towards the horrendous reddish dress. "It's what everyone else would be wearing. In the outfits they wanted, they would have stuck out like sore thumbs! But they just said, "this'll be fine where we're going", and nothing I said could sway them! Well, that party must have been in some other town, because no-one I know would ever throw one with a peasant theme…"
She just wouldn't stop talking. While she was ranting, she would also throw in a "Well, this would look nice with your hair, wouldn't it?" "You have a sister, yes?" "Likes Quidditch, Yes?" "See, it's a corset, but it's comfortable! Wonderful when you're wearing the Queen Anne selection!"
Ron, distracted by what she had said about Harry and Hermione, hardly noticed how many articles of clothing she was piling into his arms, until finally she smiled at him brightly and said,
"Well, now I'll give you a discount, because you're my first customer today! Now, for everyone else, this lot would cost forty galleons, but for you, I'll make it thirty five!"
"Where have you been?" said Ginny, when he got home. Ron grunted. As he passed her, he deposited the pile of colourful scarves, hats and gloves on the kitchen table.
"For you," he said.
Ginny stared.
Ron had managed to get out of buying most of the expensive clothes, simply by tossing them in a corner and refusing point blank to touch them. He had changed his mind. He was not doing any more shopping in Tensington Street.
"What? Why?" said Ginny.
"Long story short: Rabid shop keeper wouldn't let me go until I'd bought something. I thought you'd like these."
"Well, they're very nice, but that must have been expensive! What on earth were you doing in a shop like that anyway?" she asked, inspecting a silken glove, as if searching for the price tag.
"Well, I said I wouldn't buy them, and then she started haggling… anyway," said Ron, "they didn't cost all that much. But, the point is, I found out something. It turns out Harry and Hermione were renting costumes there the night they died. Something strange is definitely going on."
"You're not going to let it rest, are you?" Ginny said, sighing. "Well, okay. Tell me what's strange about it." She sounded unenthusiastic, but couldn't mask her hopeful expression quickly enough. Ron knew she wanted to hear what he had to say.
"They told Dawn - the shopkeeper – that they were going to a masquerade, but they didn't exactly want festive clothes. Look," he said, handing her the receipt.
Ginny scanned it. "Who is King Charles, by the way?"
"Some old muggle I suppose. Anyway, they told Dawn 'these will be fine where we're going!'"
"So what do you think that means?" she said, handing him back the receipt.
"I don't know. It's just a hunch, but I don't think it's right. I know it isn't. I mean, where were they going? Why did they want muggle clothes?"
"Perhaps they were really going to a masquerade, Ron," said Ginny. "It's not unheard of, you know."
"I said I know there's something wrong!" said Ron, feeling angry all of a sudden. "Didn't you hear me?"
"Yes, I heard you. I know, but-"
"Then how about taking me seriously for a change? You think I'm just saying all this because I'm in denial, don't you? But I'm not. I'm not saying they're alive, alright? But I need to know what happened!"
"Why does it matter what happened," said Ginny, close to tears. "It won't bring them back, will it?"
"It matters to me. Okay?" said Ron, furiously. "And it should matter to you too. Didn't you care about them as much as I did? Do you really want to keep wondering what happened?"
"No, but-"
"You know as well as I do that there's more to it than we know, so why don't you help me out instead?"
Ginny hid her face in her hands. Ron immediately felt ashamed.
"Er…don't cry. I'm sorry."
"No, you're not," sniffed Ginny.
"I… okay… I'll make a pot of tea if you like."
"You are an idiot," said Ginny, wiping her eyes with a napkin.
When she had a cup of tea in front of her, and he was sitting opposite of her again, she looked him in the eyes.
"So you think the costumes have something to do with why they died?"
"Well," said Ron, "I don't know, but…"
Ginny sniffed again and took a sip of tea.
"They recorded the testimony of a muggle witness, you know," she said.
Ron sat up straight.
"Really?"
"Yeah. Maybe you should go and listen to it. But," she said, when he was about to interrupt. "If there isn't anything wrong with the story, will you promise me you'll let it rest?"
Ron hesitated for a moment before he said,
"Alright. But if I do come up with something..."
"You can go on about it as much as you like," Ginny finished. "But until then, drop it."
"Where can I find the testimony?" Ron immediately asked.
"Tomorrow! I'm sick of this business. Let's just talk about something else for a while," she said, forcing a smile. "When are you telling mother that you're not getting into politics by the way? She's counting on you to change the system, you know."
"There's nothing wrong with being a healer either," said Ron, irritably. "I can't see what the problem is."
"You're the one who hasn't told her, though how you've kept it from her I'll never know. What are you afraid of? There are worse things you could be than a healer after all – even if that wasn't what most people expected you would choose to study."
"Well, what was I supposed to do? I don't want to work at the ministry. They're so corrupt, and besides, Percy went there didn't he, and look what happened to him! If I started working there they'd expect me to start behaving like that! And then I considered Gringotts, but you know how that would go. Every time I set foot in the place someone from the human staff comes up to me and asks me if I'm Bill's little brother. And then I thought dragon keeping would be kind of cool, but you know, Charlie…"
"Yes, I understand, you don't want to follow in your brothers' footsteps," said Ginny, sounding slightly amused at this idiosyncrasy of his. "But still, healing? I thought you wanted to be an auror, like Harry and me."
"There it is again. Harry and you! I want to do something on my own. So, it was either healing, or working on the Knight Buss for the rest of my life."
"Or maybe, if you work really hard, you could become a teacher at Hogwarts someday," said Ginny flippantly.
"Oh, yeah, that would be fun. Having to deal with students every day. Remember what we used to be like?"
"Used to be like? I don't think you've changed all that much. You know," she said, musingly, "I always thought Harry ought to have taught Defence Against the Dark Arts. Remember the DA?"
For a moment they sat still, thinking. Then Ginny seemed to shake herself out of her reverie, remembering her friend in need.
"Oh, look at the time, I have to go, I should have been at Sarah's ages ago. Thanks for the accessories," she said, wrapping a brand new bright blue scarf around her neck and donning the matching hat. "Bye!"
And she ran out of the house and disapparated.