Wednesday, June 2, 1998
12:26 P.M.
"Comfortable clothing wardrobe?"
"Check. Can't very well survive without that, can we? Have you seen what those forties styles were like? Mione, those blokes wore tight trousers!"
"Yes, thank Merlin we're taking a twenty years supply of forties and fifties clothing modified to feel like the clothes of today, I don't think I could stand seeing you in that sort of pain. Or hear you whining about it every time you were out of uniform, take your pick. The Dumbledore Ancestral Library?"
"Erm, check.... Mione, how'd you get that in there?"
"Packing skills, Ron. It you paid a bit more attention to your Mum at the Burrow, you might have been able to get some, too. Now, 1944 sixth and seventh year textbooks so we won't have to make a trip to Diagon Alley?"
"Check, unfortunately. I cannot believe we're repeating Seventh Year. Did I say that I can't believe I agreed to do this? Hermione, do you realize, we've just graduated? We've already suffered though the advanced classes, the utterly useless homework, those NEWTS... Bloody hell, Mione, we have to take the NEWTS again."
"Ron, I honestly hope you didn't just figure that out. Magical MP3 player super mix and MP3 player back up?"
"Check. I never knew Muggles could be so ingenious with their music, brilliant of you to buy a couple last year and get Dumbledore to modify them. I swear, Mione, if those things ever break, I might cook myself."
"Ronald stew, what a delightful image. I'm sure you'd be delicious, Ron, a big hit with the ladies....Um, Malagan's Magically Sealing Condo—RONALD WEASLEY! What in Merlin's name are these?"
After spending many a week at the Weasley household, Hermione had all but perfected Mrs. Weasley's angry screech, and Ron cringed instinctively, leaping away from the coffee table as if it was contaminated.
Digging furiously into the giant group supply trunk, Hermione re-emerged brandishing a large pack of magicized rubber. "Good Merlin, I cannot believe you!" she fumed in disappointed disbelief. "Haven't you ever heard about waiting to get married, Ronald? And to think I had actually considered going out with -"
She quickly stopped before she could incriminate herself, but Ron stereotypically didn't noticed. Instead, he finally seemed to remember that he was a good six inches taller than her, and he gallantly drew himself up to his full height. "Well, you know what, Hermione, you're not the one having to worry about having safe sex in the first place, so give them back!"
On "back," the redhead lunged toward the pack of condoms, but Hermione danced out of his reach, holding up the box. "Stop it, Ronald!"
"Children, children," Draco's voice chided out of nowhere, and the blond strode gracefully into the Room of Requirements wearing a very antique-looking wizard robe. "Dumbledore's going to be here any minute to send us back fifty years in time to save the world. Do you think a scene of you two acting like first years is going to reassure him?"
"No!" Hermione exclaimed with a final, pointed look at Ron. Ignoring Draco's comment, she tossed the box up into the air. As it sailed through the air, the redhead coiled down like a spring, but a second before he leapt up and grabbed it, she whipped out her wand and shot a well-aimed fireball into the ill-fated package.
"Hermione!" Ron wailed as wisps of charred paper rained down around the barren Room of Requirements. The smell of burned rubber permeated the air. "You kill me, Mione, d'you realize that? You kill me!"
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Misunderstood Maledictions | Tomione
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