(no subject)
Who: (a polyjuiced) Ron Weasley with a very brief appearance by Hermione
Where: It starts at Order HQ, then on to Diagon Alley and beyond
When: 1st March 2002
Status: Complete
As if running into Hermione in the back storage room designated as the polyjuice brewing/supplies area hadn't been bad enough - the air of uncomfortableness around the two former lovers was so thick you could cut it with a knife - her carefully schooled expression and tight mouth made Ron (and the room itself) feel very, very small. Not knowing where to look but wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible, he grabbed a fresh dose of shape-shifting potion and the first hair sample his suddenly clumsy fingers could latch onto and darted out without so much as a parting word to Hermione.
Had Ron paid more attention to what was written on the label beyond the sex, he certainly would not have chosen it:
Eastern European, Medium height, Fit
Now, as he stood before the gaudy, oversized foyer mirror, just moments away from leaving for Diagon Alley, Ron couldn't stop staring with something akin to startled amazement at his reflection in the age-clouded glass. Blimey, he looked like Krum! Well, not exactly like Krum, but definitely similar with that prominent nose and heavy Balkan browline so prevalent amongst the Durmstrang boys.
And what an ironic joke that was, as the sample had, most definitely, come from one of Hermione's secretive trips to Bulgaria.
He didn't want to think about exactly how she'd gone about getting the lock of hair.
Once upon a time he'd considered the gruff Seeker as the best Seeker to ever come down the pike and had idolised him like no other. Then he'd grown outrageously jealous of Viktor Krum - a sentiment that might have softened with the passing of the years but certainly hadn't disappeared.
This memory stayed with him as he breached the outer wards of the manor house, Disapparated to Diagon and discreetly browsed in Flourish & Blotts for - you guessed it - literature on werewolves. Still thinking dark thoughts as he paid for his book, Ron wondered if he could, with the disguise he now wore, venture to Knockturn Alley and perhaps...
Perhaps he could pass himself off as a true son of Durmstrang. He'd certainly paid enough attention to Karkaroff and his students when they'd come to Hogwarts to pull off the mumbled, broken English and their laconic demeanour. Why, that lot had a foot in the Dark Arts already, didn't they?
The Knockturn shopkeeps wouldn't think twice about it.
Standing at the mouth of the notorious alley, Ron convinced himself that this was what he needed to do. Everything he'd found so far in the "regular" wizarding bookshops about lycanthropy was the same old rubbish: lots of clinical do's and don'ts. Very practical and textbook and dead boring. What he was looking for, what he really needed, were firsthand accounts. Tips and tricks and all the real nasty, uncensored bits that went with his disease.
He could do this.
Where: It starts at Order HQ, then on to Diagon Alley and beyond
When: 1st March 2002
Status: Complete
As if running into Hermione in the back storage room designated as the polyjuice brewing/supplies area hadn't been bad enough - the air of uncomfortableness around the two former lovers was so thick you could cut it with a knife - her carefully schooled expression and tight mouth made Ron (and the room itself) feel very, very small. Not knowing where to look but wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible, he grabbed a fresh dose of shape-shifting potion and the first hair sample his suddenly clumsy fingers could latch onto and darted out without so much as a parting word to Hermione.
Had Ron paid more attention to what was written on the label beyond the sex, he certainly would not have chosen it:
Eastern European, Medium height, Fit
Now, as he stood before the gaudy, oversized foyer mirror, just moments away from leaving for Diagon Alley, Ron couldn't stop staring with something akin to startled amazement at his reflection in the age-clouded glass. Blimey, he looked like Krum! Well, not exactly like Krum, but definitely similar with that prominent nose and heavy Balkan browline so prevalent amongst the Durmstrang boys.
And what an ironic joke that was, as the sample had, most definitely, come from one of Hermione's secretive trips to Bulgaria.
He didn't want to think about exactly how she'd gone about getting the lock of hair.
Once upon a time he'd considered the gruff Seeker as the best Seeker to ever come down the pike and had idolised him like no other. Then he'd grown outrageously jealous of Viktor Krum - a sentiment that might have softened with the passing of the years but certainly hadn't disappeared.
This memory stayed with him as he breached the outer wards of the manor house, Disapparated to Diagon and discreetly browsed in Flourish & Blotts for - you guessed it - literature on werewolves. Still thinking dark thoughts as he paid for his book, Ron wondered if he could, with the disguise he now wore, venture to Knockturn Alley and perhaps...
Perhaps he could pass himself off as a true son of Durmstrang. He'd certainly paid enough attention to Karkaroff and his students when they'd come to Hogwarts to pull off the mumbled, broken English and their laconic demeanour. Why, that lot had a foot in the Dark Arts already, didn't they?
The Knockturn shopkeeps wouldn't think twice about it.
Standing at the mouth of the notorious alley, Ron convinced himself that this was what he needed to do. Everything he'd found so far in the "regular" wizarding bookshops about lycanthropy was the same old rubbish: lots of clinical do's and don'ts. Very practical and textbook and dead boring. What he was looking for, what he really needed, were firsthand accounts. Tips and tricks and all the real nasty, uncensored bits that went with his disease.
He could do this.