It was a grim day in London as Ronald Weasley walked down the street. The sky was gray and full of storm clouds, though it had not rained yet. His hands were in the pockets of his pants�”they were too short for him, again, so he looked like a house elf wearing a jumper that was too small for him�”and he was scowling at the pavement. His mother had kicked him out of the Leaky Cauldron for the day, and he had nowhere to go, nor anything to do. It was a Friday�”what could he do? Harry was off with Ginny in Diagon Alley, Fred and George were in the shop, and Hermoine was writing another novel to Viktor Krum.
Ron’s frown deepened at the thought. What Hermoine saw in him, he didn’t know. Why she chose to write such long letters to him also puzzled him to no end.
Ron looked up when someone yelled, and he couldn’t help but smile. Running toward him was Neville Longbottom, round face glistening with sweat from his run.
“Ron!” Neville panted, stopping next to him. He bent double and put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “What’re…you doing…in London?”
“Looking around,” he replied. “You?”
“Shopping with Gran.” With one last big breath Neville straightened. “These Muggles have some strange things that they sell! There’s something called a telly-phone, and a micawave, nothing like what we see at Diagon Alley--”
Ron cut him off with a laugh, collecting glares and scowls from passerby. Who would be laughing on such a dull day? “A tellyphone? It’s called a telephone, Neville! I used one a few years ago to call Harry…didn’t really work out.” This ‘micawave’ interested him somewhat�”maybe he’d have to take a look at one later. He shooed the thought away�”was he turning into his dad?
A passing Muggle eyed the two teenage wizards strangely. “What’re you looking at?” Ron snapped, and he scurried away.
“Neville!” A shrill voice called out; an older woman, wearing green robes, a fox-fur scarf, a large vulture-looking hat, and a red handbag came striding up the sidewalk. Ron cringed at the sound of Neville’s grandmother; the lady may have been a senior, but she scared Ron out of his wits sometimes. Neville was visibly frowning.
“What would you like, Gran?” he sighed. Ron patted him on the shoulder.
“Catch you later, mate,” he whispered as he heard Neville’s Gran say,
“There you are! I’ve been all over London for you! Leaving an old lady all by her lonesome--”
Ron laughed under his breath. She didn’t know it, but Gran had made his day a little bit brighter.
Now, he thought. What was it that Neville said was interesting? A micawave, that’s it! What could a micawave be, though?
As he was thinking, Ron tucked his hands back into his pockets and looked down at the cracks in the pavement. All the while thoughts were running around in his head: Maybe it had something to do with water, waves, maybe…or rocks, mica could be a rock!
Then he ran smack dab into a wall.
He fell backwards, landing hard on his back. Groaning and cursing as someone stepped on his fingers, he sat up, standing rather shakily. He glared at the wall he had run into, and his glare slowly softened to a wide-eyed I-can’t-believe-it stare. On the wall was a sign. It read:
Marlin’s Electronics Shop
Televisions, Microwaves, Computers and more!
Open 5-9 every weekday
Located on the corner of Honey Lane and Mongolia Avenue,
“Yes!” Ron pumped his fist into the air, once again gathering some glares from the British around him. “Microwave…” he muttered as he walked away, looking for the signs. “Microwave, microwave, microwave…” The word rolled off his tongue. Who knew that a Muggle word could sound so nice?
Five minutes later the street names became more familiar: Lemley Way, Magnolia Crescent, Kilning Street. Then there was Honey Lane and close by Mongolia Avenue. Ron grinned when the store came into view. It was a small store, with two glass windows that had the same writing as on the tacked-up flyer, though more faded and peeling. Stomach turning, Ron practically ran across the street and opened the door.
He blinked in surprise at all the merchandise. There was a group of boxes with a reflecting screen on them, and close by were more boxes with the same screen, but with rectangles full of buttons beside them. He walked over to one of the boxes without the button-board and pushed on of its buttons. A little man appeared on the screen, gesturing at a book and talking. Ron’s eyes widened. “How’d he get in there?” He asked the clerk at the counter.
The clerk just smiled. “Another one of those foreign folks?” He asked. The smile on his face looked fake to Ron, and he didn’t seem too polite.
“Uh…yeah,” he answered. “Foreign.” He held back the urge to roll his eyes; Stupid Muggle, he thought viciously. “I’m looking for something called a micawave. Could you tell me where I can find them?”
The clerk pointed to the back of the store. “ If you mean microwave, they’re back there, sir.”
With a fake smile of his own, Ron walked slowly to the back of the store. More of those metallic boxes were stacked one on top of the other, shining in the light the light bulbs gave off. One of them looked like it was attached to the wall through a cord. Curious, he pushed one of the numbers on the side. He jumped back when it beeped, knocking over some empty cardboard boxes.
“Are you all right, sir?” the clerk called.
“Yes, I’m fine!” Ron yelled back, stacking the boxes back up, if haphazardly. He pressed another of the buttons, and it beeped, too, though he wasn’t as startled this time. He tried to open the door to it, but it wouldn’t budge. Glaring, he tried and tried, hitting it and threatening it, almost getting his wand out and doing magic. He would’ve, too, if the clerk hadn’t been in his line of sight.
“Maybe…” He pushed another button, a rectangle one bigger then the rest, and the door opened. If this was a “microwave”, it wasn’t very exciting. How did his dad think this was fun, poking buttons and trying to find out how Muggle objects worked? Slightly dejected, Ron walked out of the store, not even bothering to look at the button-boards.
Later the night, while he was sitting in front of the fire in his room, the door knocked. “Come in,” Ron said.
It was his dad. He was in his pajamas and nightcap, obviously ready for bed. “How was your day, Ron?” He questioned.
“Miserable” came the mumbled reply. “How do you stand it?”
“Stand what?” Mr. Weasley asked.
“Poking things!” cried Ron, sitting up in his chair and turning to look at his dad.
Mr. Weasley raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me, Ron, but what does that mean?”
“I looked at some microwaves today--”
“You did?” explained Mr. Weasley. He ran over to the armchair and sat down, excited as a little kid in a candy shop. “What was it like? How did it sound? Did you get one?” More questions poured out of his mouth, and Ron sighed.
It was going to be a long night.