Ron stumbled out of a fireplace in a back room of the Three Broomsticks. Brushing soot off his olive green robes and sneezing a few times, he checked his pockets for his wand, his money, and the little scrap of paper. Satisfied, he opened the beat up door and stepped into the bright, cozy atmosphere of the pub. Nobody seemed to notice his arrival; the people of the pub were too engrossed in their conversations and early morning butter beers. Striding casually between the tables, Ron pretended not to notice Hermione sitting at a table in the corner, reading the front page of the Daily Prophet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her glance towards him, but Ron kept his gaze planted on the door and his hands in his pockets.
He stepped out of the pub and into the morning sunlight, blinking in the daze. Ron took a few steps to the side and pulled the shred of paper out of his pocket. As he strolled down the cobbled street, he examined the paper closely, trying to determine the address of the store he was looking for. “Hmm. I’ve never heard of that place bef”Oy! Sorry. Sorry!” he stuttered from his spot on the ground.
“It is alright,” said the man who Ron had run into. He reached down to help Ron up. “It is being my fault. I vas not paying attention.”
Ron grasped the man’s hand and pulled himself up. “Don’t worry about it, mate.” Vas…? Bleeding hell. “Viktor?”
“Ronald?” Viktor replied. “Oh, forgive me. I did not recognize you; you must have grown since we were last meeting, yes? And your robes…zey look less offensive, less… peasant-like. Are zey new…?”
“Yes. They are….” Ron said awkwardly, resisting the urge to stomp on the Bulgarian’s duck-like foot.
Viktor paused to examine the pin on Ron’s chest. A crooked grin formed on his face. “I like your pin. I think it is suiting you very well; I ‘ave always been thinking of you as a booger.”
Ron’s fists clenched. “And I have always been thinking of you as a pile of homely, putrid slime,” he muttered under his breath.
“Sorry?” Krum replied, his smile fading.
“Oh, I said…Hermione hasn’t seen you in a while so, uh…show her a good time.” Ron smiled, and punched Krum lightly on his upper arm.
Viktor nodded moodily, rubbing the spot Ron had hit him. “Yes, I vill. But, one more thing I must be asking you is if Hermy-own-ninny is ze reason for ze pin on you robes?”
Ron scowled, his temper running short. “That isn’t your business, Viktor,” he hissed.
“I vas just asking, do not take a simple question for something more than what it is, although from what I am hearing the opposite is seeming to be your failing….” Viktor replied, smoothing his robes.
“What the bloody hell is that suppose to mean?” Ron asked, his tone a bit more challenging than he had meant it to be.
The Bulgarian seemed troubled and awkward as he pulled back the sleeve of his robes to check his watch. “I must be going now, Hermy-own-ninny must be worried; I should have been in ze pub several minutes ago…” With that, Viktor turned on his heel less than gracefully and hobbled into the pub.
Ron waited a few seconds and then turned back to the door of the Three Broomsticks, peering through the window. He saw the back of Krum’s robes disappear towards the corner where Hermione’s table was hidden. He felt that clawing start in his guts again, felt that something rip and tear at the butterflies fluttering within his stomach. A panicked blush rose in his cheeks as Hermione caught his eye over Viktor’s shoulder, the glare that twinkled in her eyes more than enough warning even for an empathetically inept B.O.G.I.E.S member such as himself. With a sigh, he turned back down the cobbled road in a random direction. “Phht. Some friend; can’t even pronounce her name,” he muttered, staring in the shop windows as he passed them. “Bloke was late to his own appointment… ‘I must be going now, Hermy-own-ninny must be worried.’ How thick can you get…?”
He had wasted most of his morning wandering the alleys and paths of Hogsmeade, muttering insults under his breath. There had been a few instances where he spotted Hermione and Viktor coming around a corner. At those times, he had improvised his path so as not to run into them, but he always kept an eye on the couple when he had the chance. Even so, the chances were few, and when opportunity arrived, he was unwilling to linger in the couple’s presence very long, for fear of that blasphemous glare. No matter how hard he tried, that was the only way Ron could describe to two of them: a couple. Hermione’s voice kept yelling at him, “We’re just friends!”, but every time he saw them round a corner, Ron could not help but wonder. By now he had forgotten the second reason he had followed Hermione here, and was focusing on the fact that Hermione was alone with a rich scumbag, rather than his suspicion that the bloke might have been a Death Eater.
After a while, he found the little shop he had been looking for. It was a quaint little store he had never seen before, or if he had, the immense amount of pink had driven him away, but it looked promising enough. When he opened the door, bells chimed and a plump little witch scurried out from behind the counter. She was so short that Ron might not have seen her had she not been wearing bright pink robes that clashed horribly with the lemon-colored earrings she was wearing.
“Hello, deary. How may I help you? My name is Elma,” she squeaked, craning her neck to look Ron in the eye.
Ron smiled. He made to bend his knees to speak to the woman better. “Hullo. I was wondering…do you, er…here,” he stuttered, pulling the little slip from his pocket and handing it to the woman. “Do you still have this…? If you don’t that’s fine, I’m sure I could find something else…. But I really hope you do, but if not that’s fine, too…” Ron trailed off, his ears growing red.
Elma reached up and snatched the slip from Ron’s hand cheerfully, seemingly unaware of the boy’s painfully awkward blathering. She lifted the pair of zebra print glasses that were hanging around her neck to eye level. Her beady blue eyes scanned the paper and she smiled, handing it back to Ron. “Sure do, sonny! Shall I fetch one for you?”
Ron nodded, his eyes flashing for a moment of brief elation. “Yes, ma’am. But, uh …in the article it said you could--”
“Engrave something on it? Certainly. But that article aired years ago, I’m surprised you remember…” The woman squinted up at Ron, her eyes resting on the flashing B.O.G.I.E.S pin. She paused to read the words, causing the blush in Ron’s cheeks to darken. After a moment, comprehension dawned on her pudgy little face. “I bet she’s real special, isn’t she?” Elma said with a wink before waddling behind the counter and through a flowery curtain.
Ron nodded nervously. As the woman disappeared behind the curtain, he turned to examine the other wares in the store. Glass cases lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and Ron couldn’t help but assume that Elma had had some help, whether manual or magical, in setting up some of the higher spectacles. Crystal unicorns pranced and bucked joyfully in one of the displays, while diamond dragons blew frost against their glass cases. In one of the particularly high exhibits, opalescent merpeople moved through the air as if in an ocean crystal. He was examining a silver, jewel encrusted hand mirror that greatly distorted his features when Elma appeared at his sleeve.
“This is what you wanted, I believe?” she asked, holding a small, dark box out to him. Ron took the box and opened it, revealing a small, heart-shaped pendant. The locket’s clouded silver color shone bright against the dark background of the box. “Hmm. I’ll take that grin as a yes!” Elma said with a chortle.
Ron laughed awkwardly. “Yes. So, I owe you eleven galleons, right?” he asked, handing the box back to the woman. He plunged his hand into his pocket and pulled out his money.
“Oh, no sir. Not for that silver little trinket,” the squat woman replied.
His pulse quickening, Ron looked down at the woman. “What do you mean?” he asked hastily, his ears turning a deep crimson.
Elma furrowed her heavily plucked brow. “I’m sorry, dear. It has been a long time since these first came out… And the article that snippet you have was a sale advertisement from two years ago….”
“Oh…” Ron said, his spirits falling considerably. “Well…er, thanks anyway,” he said solemnly, dumping the coins back into his pockets. An odd lump had formed in his throat. Why? Why can’t once”just once!”everything go right for me. Two and a half years of saving, and what do I get? Hermione on the arm of a prat with a broken nose, that’s what.
The woman tottered over to Ron and patted his elbow. “Buck up, sonny. I’m sure you’ll save up in no time…” she said, smiling sweetly.
“No time? By that time, he’ll have her…” he muttered under his breath. A frown formed on his freckled face as he pondered how long it would take to accumulate a few more galleons, coming to the conclusion it would take too long. Much too long.
Elma’s smile flickered. “Pardon?”
“Oh, sorry. Nothing. Just…well, thanks anyway. Er, have a nice day…” Ron grumbled woefully, stepping towards the door.
The spicy little woman sidestepped in front of him and put her hands on her hips. “Wait a minute, sonny. I know your type…”
Ron stopped dead to avoid stepping on the woman. “My…type?”
“Yes,” Elma said, her eyes flashing behind the zebra print glasses. “ I see it all the time. You’re the type of person who gives up when something stops you from getting what you want, aren’t you? The type of man who’s always ‘one upped’, and who is so used to being let down, he practically trips himself. Let me take a wild guess; she’s out with some other bloke she swears is--”
“Just a friend--”
“--but you swear he thinks otherwise. Correct?” The pause the Elma took was barely long enough for Ron to open his mouth. “Right. And you think he has a better chance than you? Typical. But let me ask you this; is hestanding here, listening to an old woman lecture him about giving up? Is heoffering his life’s savings? I think not. Buck up, sonny, I’ll say it again. Because if you’re so thick as to give her up over a ruddy silver necklace, maybe the bugger is better for her,” she finished, smoothing her robes and turning up her nose.
Ron stared at the woman, at loss for words; he was no stranger to lectures, you couldn’t be when you lived with a mother like his, but to be told off by a stranger who was less than half your size who was wearing bright pink lipstick and a matching boa? “Maybe… maybe you’re right. I shouldn’t let Krum get the best of me”the best of her. I’ll have Hermione if there’s any chance she’ll have me; it doesn’t matter what I get her”right…?”
“Right!”
“It’s the reason I got it that she’ll think of…? Hopefully," he added, a fraction of a grin forming on his face. Ron took the coins out of his pocket and held him out to the woman.
Elma smiled, but wiggled her finger in Ron’s face. “You know, if she’s as special as you seem to think she is, the girl won’t care whether you give her a shiny rock you found in your garden or a silver bit of jewelry you bought at a store.”
“I know she wouldn’t. Its just…I have been meaning to get her something worthwhile… and a shiny rock just wouldn’t cut it…” Ron replied, his eyes fogging over for a second or three. “Right, then. What’s the best I can get for thirteen galleons?”
The woman put her hands to her head, seemingly pleasantly shocked. Her fire engine red nails conflicted horribly with her strawberry-blonde curls. “My dear, dear boy! Why did you not say you had a few extra coins? I will tell you what you can get for thirteen galleons!” She smiled jubilantly, and started bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I’ll tell you indeed! Join me at the register.” Elma turned on her heel and scampered behind the counter. Ron followed, and tried not to laugh as the woman climbed a pile of boxes to see over the surface. He leaned against the counter and tried not to look too put out.
“Here it is!” Elma squealed, placing a small, dark box before him on the counter. She lifted the lid to show him the clouded silver locket resting on deep blue velvet. With scrawny fingers she lifted the necklace out of its case and pushed it towards Ron.
“You’re bloody joking?” Ron breathed, trying not to smile too brightly. If the woman was playing with him, it was a sick joke. “That’s the exact same necklace.”
Elma smiled brightly. “Oh, no it’s not. This one does not come with the case”velvet isn’t cheap, these days. Thirteen galleons, if you please.”
Ron dumped the coins onto the scarlet counter, beaming. He gently picked up the pendant and held it up to the light, wincing as the silver mirrored the light back into his eyes. “Brilliant! ” he gasped, tucking it inside his robe pocket.
Elma clapped her stubby little hands joyfully. “You are ever so welcome, dear. Now, a simple pinpoint dissevering charm should do the trick. Make sure you tune it for fine metals!” She looked over her shoulder and turned hastily back at Ron. “Off you go, now boy. T’was a pleasure to meet a young man such as yourself!”
Ron smiled and turned towards the door, looking over his shoulder to bid her a very, very good day. He felt light as a feather. His luck had turned for once, and although he knew Hermione probably wouldn’t have minded if he had decorated a rock for her instead, it still felt grand to have something to show for himself, and for how he felt. As he opened the door and the bells chimed, Elma’s squeaky voice reached his ears.
“As a matter of interest, what is it that you are planning to carve on the trinket?” she called gleefully.
Ron smiled to himself in thought. “Dunno. Maybe a poem…”
“Really? Lovely idea!”
“Or a teaspoon!” he shouted over his shoulder as he stepped over the threshold.
Elma raised an eyebrow. “A teaspoon…? Such a sweet boy; odd, but perfectly darling.” She shook her head, still smiling.
“What about a teaspoon?” said a tall blonde witch as she stepped from behind the curtain. “We don’t carry any crystal spoons, do we?” she asked, smoothing her emerald robes. “I thought we sold out last Tuesday.”
“Hullo, Grizelda. No, no. We have not received a shipment of spoons…. A charming, redheaded lad just came in here. A teaspoon is what he’s going to carve on the silver necklace I gave him,” Elma answered.
“Gave him? Not again, Elma…?” Grizelda moaned, bringing an overly manicured hand to her forehead.
Elma shrugged. “He was in love! And I could tell the boy didn’t have a lot to his name.”
“And just how do you know what the boy was like? He could have been a heathen! A mooch! One of Mundungus’s cronies, for all you know!” the tall woman exclaimed, her eyes alight with fury.
Elma simply smiled. “The same way I always do. I’m a very good judge of character, you know that.”
Grizelda emitted a skeptical growl. “You do mean you’re an excellent legilmens, I’m sure.”
“If your going to whine over a couple of lost galleons, Grizelda, take it out of my paycheck.”
“A couple!” the woman shouted, looking to the empty velvet box, and then counting the coins in Elma’s hand. “Thirteen galleons. He’s short another four, Elma. If you’re going to give away solid silver merchandise to every love-struck, mediocre toerag that comes in here, you just might find yourself out of work! Maybe those two nincompoops over at that hideous joke store will hire you….”
Elma rolled her eyes and patted the woman on the forearm. “Grizelda, honey. You need a man.”
Once outside the shop, Ron had taken the necklace out of his pocket to examine it. He was now sitting on a bench outside of his brothers’ store, moving the trinket side to side in the sunlight, admiring the smooth, clouded surface. A tiny hinge protruded from the left side, while a groove was cut along a seam on the right. Ron dug his fingernails into the groove and pulled it apart so that the locket opened. Inside was space enough for a small picture to be inserted; in fact, there was a picture in there already. Of course, it was not a picture of anyone one he knew, just the standard example picture one finds inserted into new picture frames and, apparently, lockets. The couple waved at him gleefully, and Ron smiled, imagining that the happy twosome was Hermione and himself. He dug his fingernails under the picture and pried it out of the tiny frame, earning several hisses from its occupants. With a careless flick he had thrown the picture to the sun spotted soil. Sighing with content, Ron tucked the necklace into an inside pocket of his robes and stood.
When he opened the door to his brothers’ shop, bells did not chime. Instead, a rather obnoxious horn blared. Within seconds the twins were upon him.
“Hello, young sir!”
“Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, at your service! I’m Forge!”
“And I’m Gred! Just a fair warning; we are not accountable for any injuries, abnormalities, or mental illnesses you may develop during your visit.”
“Enter at your own risk, and a good day to you, too!”
Ron’s eyes widened. “Don’t you think you’re smothering your customers by doing that?”
“Oh,” said Fred with a frown, “it’s only ickle Ronnie.”
“Oy. You here to spy on your love muffin?” George asked with a smirk.
“Love muffin? No…. I just wanted to ask you about shower caps.” Ron said indignantly. “Wait a tick, you mean Hermione and Krum are here?”
“Aha! So you are here to spy.” George shouted, smacking him on the shoulder.
“And she is your love muffin!” Fred exclaimed with a toothy grin.
Ron shook his head. “Actually, no. I couldn’t care less, really. Now, where are those shower caps?”
“We know you’re lying, little brother!” George warned, wagging his finger in Ron’s face.
“Because we don’t carry any shower caps here, of any sort! No singing caps, no biting caps…”
“No caps that catch fire when they get wet!” George exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.
Fred turned towards his twin, beaming. “But that does sound like a marvelous idea…”
Ron shrugged. “So you’re still working on them, then?”
Fred shook his head, exasperated, and turned to go tell off a group of young boys for feeding someone’s frog a Canary Cream. George put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Ron, we are not working on any shower caps. At all…”
“YET!” Fred shouted, trying to restrain the squawking amphibian.
“But mum said she was mauled by one this morning in the loo…” Ron stuttered, shrugging off his brother’s arm.
George shook his head. “She lied, then. Unless Ginny’s working on stuff of her own, which I doubt.”
“What do you doubt about me?” Ginny asked, poking her head out from behind a pile of boxes.
“You aren’t making any products on your own, are you?” George asked, relieving his sister of the boxes in her hands.
Ginny shook her head. “No, I don’t even work here…Why?”
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Ron said with a shake of his head. “What’re you doing here, Ginny?” he asked, just realizing that his sister was here instead of home.
“Oh. Mum’s at Madame Malkins; she told me to come here and see if the twins needed help. So, here I am!” she replied with a smile. “Hermione’s here, you know.”
“You don’t say? She’s with the Hunchback of Notredame, right?” Ron asked, reminding himself of the silver necklace in his robe pocket, attempting to keep something he almost thought might have been jealousy at bay.
Ginny nodded. “I do say. And, yes. Unfortunately.”
“Does she look like she’s having a good time?” Ron asked, trying(and failing) to sound casual.
Ginny nodded again, only this time with a bit of sorrow. “Yeah. George gave him a bite of a Puking Pastille, though; Hermione told Krum not to eat it, but he ‘vas man enough to be taking anything zey threw’ at him. Spent ten minutes trying to convince him to take the antidote piece, we did…”
Ron snorted, his spirits lightened. “Wish I could’ve seen it. Ah well, I will have to thank George later, then. I better get going before Hermione sees me. She’ll think I actually am trying to spy on her…” He turned and opened the door, starting as the horn blared again.
“I think she’ll really like it!” Ginny said as he began to walk out the door. Ron looked over his shoulder, his brow furrowed in a questioning way. “The necklace. I think Hermione’ll really love it.” Ginny assured him, pushing him playfully out the door.
Ron spent the better part of three hours wandering the streets of Hogsmeade, peering in and out of shop windows, and emptying his pockets of the pastried he had knicked form breakfast. Running across a few of his classmates during his wanderings provided separate distractions, however.
Dean and Seamus had flagged him down to tell him that there was a famous Quidditch player walking around with Hermione, and that they had gotten the bloke’s autograph. Ron met the Creevey brothers outside of Zonko’s, where they promptly badgered him for news of Harry, and on his way back to the Three Broomsticks he had bumped into Katie Bell. During their conversation about the up coming Quidditch season, Ron had hinted to her that George had been wanting to talk to her. As he watched Katie disappear in the direction of the twins’ shop, he smiled to himself. “At least one of us should be able to get these ruddy pins off...”
He stepped into the pub, the scent of butter beer and firewhisky filling his nostrils. Ron bypassed the bar and Madame Rosemerta and headed straight for the back room. He closed the door behind him and checked his pockets, particularly the one housing the locket. Satisfied that he had not forgotten anything, Ron helped himself to a handful of Floo powder from a deep, pewter cauldron. He stooped and stepped under the mantle of the brick fireplace, threw the powder hard at the hearth, and shouted “The Burrow!” Soot and smoke blurred his vision as fireplace after fireplace zoomed in and out of view. Within seconds, the Weasley kitchen stood before him, and Ron fell forward onto the familiar wooden floor.