The awkwardly tall, gangly, man brushed his long red hair out of his eyes as he downed a shot of Firewhiskey. His troubled eyes gazed out the window as he again tormented himself with the memory of his best friends' last few moments. An ominous thunderclap sounded, and he smirked. Even the weather seemed to be mocking his tortured state.
“Think you’ve had enough mate,” the bar tender said gruffly, though not unkindly, as he looked at the youth pityingly.
“I’ll tell you when I’ve ruddy well had enough!” the young man shouted unsteadily, flailing his arms at the bartender.
His empty glass fell to the floor, smashing. He stared down at the broken glass, and in that moment the youth realised his life, like those shards of glass, was shattered, irreparable. He hastily drew his robes around him and blearily tore out of the bar, his memories chasing after him.
The two bartenders exchanged a look. “That’s the fourth night in a row,” the older one said tiredly.
The other gave a sorrowful gaze to where the man’s figure had just departed. “Yeah, but do you blame him? You know who his best friends were…and both dead…like that…” His voice trailed off, and the mood behind the bar became rather sombre.
Just outside the doors, the red-headed man had started to miserably stumble through the rain towards the concierge’s desk of the inn The Leaky Cauldron.
He stepped inside and shut the door against the wind. Immediately it swung open again and a woman burst in, her long auburn hair swinging in an arc behind her back.
She hurried up to the desk. “Can I get a single room please?” she panted breathlessly, as the youth drunkenly mumbled the same request.
They looked at each other momentarily and then back at the concierge. The concierge gaped helplessly at both of them. “I’m sorry, we’re all booked out, we only have one room left…”
The woman turned to the youth, pouting, although her beautiful face was no less ravishing. “Please sir,” she implored, “do you mind? I desperately need this room.”
The man turned away, stumbling toward the door as he answered, “You have the room…I’ll just…find somewhere else.” He started out of the inn, looking bleakly up at the dark sky as he went.
“Wait a moment.” He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was the woman. “I’m sorry, I’ve been trying all over town, there is nowhere else.” She paused, chewing on her lip. “I know the Floo Network’s down, but couldn’t you Apparate…?”
The man sighed heavily. “I can’t, I never passed my apparition test…my best friend and I were going to do it together but…” he trailed off.
Suddenly the woman gasped, looking at his red hair more closely. “You! You’re…” She covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m, sorry Mr Weasley, I didn’t recognise…”
Ron Weasley turned away from her again, desperate not to be reminded of who he was…or who he had lost. “Doesn’t matter…I’ll just walk home…”
“No wait!” The woman placed her hand on his shoulder again. “Please…if you’ve nowhere else to stay…I mean surely we can come to an arrangement. I can’t very well let you walk home in this storm.”
For the first time that night the woman smiled at Ron, and through his anguish he felt himself inexplicably drawn to her.
He forced a smile. “I dunno if it’s the Firewhiskey talking…but if you’re offering…”
Ten minutes later Ron was sitting on the soft woollen bedspread in the hotel room, pulling off his mud encrusted boots. The woman, who had introduced herself as Verity, took one of the fluffy white complimentary towels and headed towards the bathroom.
“Do you mind if I take a shower?” She hesitated in the doorway, looking back at Ron.
“Err…uh, no, not at all,” Ron stammered.
Verity disappeared, and Ron shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his mind. How did he find himself in this situation? Drunk, in a strange hotel room with a strange woman…not that it mattered where he was, or what state he was in he supposed, nothing stopped the pain…
A sudden noise interrupted Ron’s reverie. He looked up. Verity was standing in the doorway again. “I’m, sorry, I forgot a towel.” Her long hair hung over her shoulders, her robes falling open slightly.
“But didn’t you…” Ron’s voice faded away as he noticed the towel draped across his legs.
He looked up at her again, and gulped. If anything could drag him out of his drunken state, it was this. “Blimey, those look like Cauldron Cakes!” he heard himself exclaim, as a sudden heat crept up to his ears.
Verity came closer, entirely disrobed, and picked up the towel from Ron’s legs. “You might not be able to Apparate Mr Weasley, but your pants sure can…” she cooed in his ear. Ron looked down. Where once there had been maroon corduroy jeans, there was now nothing at all. Except…
“Mr Weasley, hasn’t anyone ever told you that drawing your wand in front of a lady is an entirely inappropriate thing to do!” Verity playfully remonstrated him.
Ron embarrassedly grasped for the towel in Verity’s hands. “They never taught us that in Duelling Club,” he mumbled.
But she sat on the bed beside him, tossing the towel onto the floor, and smiling gently. “I’m sorry to be so forward with you, Mr Weasley, but you seemed so troubled, and I thought I might be able to…lessen your worries.”
Ron was flabbergasted. She continued; “I often saw you in The Daily Prophet, and you never failed to… pique my interest, to say the least.” There was an awkward silence. Ron, although still confused, had made up his mind; of course he wanted to do this, but he felt the need to…explain.
“Er, um…you know I’ve never actually done this before…I mean…the prefects’ bathroom with Hermione doesn’t actually count does it…” His words caught in his throat, and Verity noticed the fleeting look of despair that flashed across Ron’s face at the mention of that name.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, breathing the words into his ear. His eyes followed the graceful motion of her long, toned arms as they swept towards the light switch, and plunged the two into darkness…