Hot dogs
“Bill, you just be careful, and look after your brothers!” Molly Weasley called after her son as he disappeared down Diagon Alley with his two twin brothers, Fred and George, in tow.
Ron watched them go, a familiar sinking feeling dawning in the pit of his stomach. It was always the same, he was always left like this. His father was escorting ten year old Percy to Florish and Blotts, and Charlie, at 13, was allowed to spend the day wandering the alley with some of his Hogwarts friends. That left Ron with his mother, and the baby. Ron scowled up at 5 year old Ginny, who smiled down at him from her mothers arms.
“Do you want down, pet,” Mrs Weasley asked her in an absentminded way. She let Ginny down so that she could walk. Ron groaned. Immediately, Ginny leapt at him.
“Ron! “ She squeaked happily, “I want to walk with Ron!”
“Ron, dear, hold your sister’s hand,” Mrs Weasley told him.
Ginny giggled and stuck out her tongue at him.
“I’m not holding hands with the baby!” Ron said angrily. He stamped his foot. “I want to go with Fred and George!”
“Maybe next time, dear,” Molly said, distractedly.
Ron sulked and kicked the ground again. His mother took his hand, scooped Ginny back up, and led them both into a crowded shop. Molly weaved through the crowd towards the counter.
“Mum,” Ron whined, pulling at her robes. “Mum!”
“Not now, dear,”
“MUM!” He cried, tugging some more.
“Oh, what is it, Ron?”
“I need on the toilet!” He droned, drawing out his syllables.
He heard a chuckle and stood on tip toe to see over the counter, where a kindly man sat, smiling.
“The young man can use the back room, if he wants,” he told Molly.
She thanked him. “Can you go all on your own? Like a big boy?” she asked Ron.
Ron scowled at her. He most certainly could! He wasn’t a baby.
He pushed through the beaded curtain and stumbled towards the door that lead to the toilet. When he had finished he sneaked cautiously back out. The shop seemed even fuller, and Molly was deep in conversation with the saleswizard. Taking his chance, Ron ran for the door and disappeared out of it.
He ran up the street, ignoring the concerned glance of passing witches, until he reached the Leaky Cauldron. He beamed up at it, and then ducked inside.
No one noticed a small boy of six thread his way through the crowded bar. No one saw him crawl under the tables and shuffle over to the door. The doorway that lead to the Muggle world.
Ron rubbed his hands together, the way he’d seen Fred and George. “All right!” he said, and he pushed hard at the heavy door and ran through.
It was bright outside. The street was busy, and the people were dressed oddly. Ron wrinkled his nose. The Muggle world smelled funny.
He set off down the street, and had been walking about five minutes when a delightful smell reached his nose. A man was standing behind a “ well, a cart was the best word Ron could think of to describe it “ and a large sign was propped up against it, reading ‘HOT DOGS - £1.50.’ Ron didn’t know what a hot dog was, but he could see the man handing a sausage in a roll to a small girl. He pulled a few sickles out of his pocket, the only money he had, and walked up to the cart.
“Can I help you, kid?” the man said, looking down at him. He had a strong accent, and Ron felt a bit scared. He pointed at the sign.
“Want a hot dog, do you?” said the man, “And where’s your mummy?”
Ron didn’t want to talk. The girl he had seen buying a hotdog laughed. He looked at her. She was nibbling on her own ‘hot dog,’ holding her own mothers hand tightly. She couldn’t have been much older than him, but she was very well dressed and looked at him rather snottily.
“Look, mummy! Look in his hand! That’s not real money, is it mummy?”
“Quiet, Hermione,” said the girl’s mother. She looked down kindly at Ron.
“Do you know where your mummy is?” She asked Ron kindly.
He nodded fervently. He looked back at the man and held out three small silver coins.
The man looked rather helplessly at the girls mother, who was opening her own purse. “Here,” she said, thrusting two coins into the man’s hand, “Give the poor boy a hot dog.”
The hot dog was warm and greasy and slid easily down into Ron’s stomach. The girl, Hermione, looked appalled at how quickly it had gone down.
Ron walked with the girl, following her mother back down the street.
“What’s your name?” said the girl, bossily.
“Ron,” he told her. “What’s yours?”
“Hermione,” she said. “Ron. That’s a funny name.”
“No it isn’t!” he said defensively.
Hermione blinked. “Are you an orphan?”
Ron thought. “No.”
“Are you a tramp?”
Ron shook his head. “No. I live in a house.”
“What’s it like?” Hermione asked.
Ron considered. “Big,” he answered after a while. “It has a big garden and lots of chickens.”
“Is it a farm?”
“No. It’s a house. It has lots and lots of stairs. And a ghoul in the attic!”
Hermione laughed. “There’s no such thing as ghouls.”
Ron nodded. “There is. But in my house, there’s no such thing as Hot Dogs.”
Hermione looked sympathetic. “I know what you mean. Mum doesn’t like me having them either. Only when I’ve been very good.”
Ron didn’t answer. They were silent for a moment.
“Is there really a ghoul in your attic?” Hermione asked eventually.
“Yes,” said Ron.
“There’s only dust and old magazines in my attic,” Hermione told him. “I think it would be fascinating to have a ghoul there.”
Ron grinned. “It is. And it does what ever I tell it!”
Hermione gasped. “Why?”
“Because it knows I’m boss!” Ron said firmly. He caught sight of the Leaky Cauldron, doorway.
“I have to go now,” he told Hermione. He ran to the door, and turned back and waved.
Hermione waved too.
“Hermione, who are you waving at?” he mother asked her.
“Ron!” She answered still waving.
“The boy?” her mother muttered. “Where is he?
“He’s in the doorway of that building!” she told her mother, annoyed. She pointed at Ron. “There!”
Her mother looked concerned. “Hermione. There’s nothing there.”
Hermione frowned. She looked back at Ron. He gave her one last wave, and then he disappeared.