It had taken Harry and Hermione three days to sweep the sleepy town of Pleasantville for any sign of Ronald Wealsey. Thus far, theyâd been unsuccessful and considering theyâd found the likes of Draco Malfoy â who now seemed like a complete nutter â yet no Ron? It was cause for concern. Hermioneâs parents werenât her parents. Before ever stepping foot into the wizarding world sheâd been very much under the shelter of muggles, awaiting her moment to shine. Sheâd grown with classic muggle history, she knew her time periods â and this was undeniably not any sheâd ever experienced first hand. The style, mannerisms, people were a picturesque image of 1950â˛s America; not at all like Hogwarts, or the world she knew.Â
While her father retained his dental license â his own practice, Hermioneâs mother had seemingly never been anything more than a housewife that doted over her husband (and Hermione, much to her unease). Her own room and wardrobe had shifted drastically and though one could argue a vintage charm, she was stuck nauseous over the fact it looked as if her closet had merged with Dolores Umbridgeâs. All of that seemed unimportant when they came face to face with the reality at hand â while displaced, with no recollection of how they came to be, their powers and wands had been swept from the narrative.Â
It was one thing to be helpless, but Hermione wouldnât accept that â not when theyâd figured out everything theyâd come to face thus far. Potions, hexes, portkeys, along with a strong memory charm could do the trick but the scale was far larger than anything sheâd ever seen before; Harry as well. The lack of any Order members also posed a bit of a worry too. A notebook was tucked into Hermioneâs purse, containing all their theories and the possibilities thus far. Sheâd been intending to meet Harry at the diner when she came face to face with the sight. Ronald Weasley. Her purse dropped onto the pink leather of the booth as Hermione moved faster than she ever had before â nearly tripping on herself. A shrill, yet impossibly grateful âRon!â squeaked over the Jukebox, catching the attention of most of the patrons as she collided with an impossible force, her arms wrapping tight around his neck. âWeâve been so worried about you! Harry and I â â Hermione continued, though the proximity and disbelief had quieted her significantly. Their collision had also successfully knocked the wind out of her to some degree. âWeâve been trying to find you and we thought â â That she was oversharing, in a public setting where they were most likely being watched.Â
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The past few days had been a whirlwind of confusion for Ron in a way that he hadnât quite been able to explain when his frowning mother had prodded him at the breakfast table as he failed to make a dent in the excessive plate heâd usually have devoured without a second thought. His best friends were completely icing him out, and random people he had known his whole life were suddenly acting so weird around him.
Had he done something wrong?
What did everyone seem to know that he didnât?
The uncertainty had begun to dig its piercing hooks into the vulnerable flesh of his insecurities, putting him on edge. He could hardly recall a day without seeing either Harry or Hermione for just about as long as he could remember now, so why had the both of them decided to up and disappear on him out of absolutely nowhere? Presumably together, nonetheless⌠why else?
Even still, Ron had for the most part relatively succeeded in doing what he did best; keeping his head down, buried in the sand if he had to, and pushing forward. He was upset, but he didnât have the answers. What was he supposed to do, sit in his room and stare at the wall all day? No, instead he found himself at the diner, fingers tapping idly along the side of the chilled glass in front of him, what was left of the frothy milkshake within melting down to an unappetizing puddle at the bottom as he exchanged pleasantries with familiar faces that didnât squint at him like he had a second head growing from his neck.
The familiar shriek loudly encompassing his name drew Ronâs immediate attention, though the second or two it took to turn his head toward the sound and slip off the edge of the stool was not enough to brace himself on his feet before Hermioneâs body slammed into his, eliciting an audible ooph from the redhead as he stumbled backwards, saved from furthering any humiliation by the counter he had just vacated catching his waist with a painful shove.
The emotional rollercoaster her breathless greeting had taken him on in a matter of seconds would have been enough to short circuit an empath â surprise, happiness, worry, confusion, and finally settling on the resurgence of the anger that had been bubbling beneath the surface at his perceived notion that he had been placed under the silent treatment for some reason. His cheeks flushed regrettably with a mixture of his frustration with the situation and his discomfort with the many sets of eyes her dramatic entrance had drawn to them.
âBeen trying to find me?â He repeated, hushed tone soured with incredulous disbelief. Ron shrugged out of her embrace, a move that was irritating in its difficulty considering how frustrated he was with her. âYouâre the lot thatâs run off and left the phone ringing for days, not me.â He dismissed, reaching back to grab the backpack he had left on the vacant stool beside him. If it had been a misunderstanding, it certainly wasnât for lack of trying on his part. âWhereâs Harry, then?â He asked, unable to reign in the bitter edge wrapped around the question. âOr is that just between you two?â Ron tacked on flippantly as he pulled the strap over his shoulder and moved to exit the diner, prying eyes spurring an increasing urgency to leave before he furthered the scene sheâd put him in.
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