Post by Ron Weasley on Nov 1, 2016 3:16:38 GMT
Best friends didn't knock. They were always welcome in each other's homes so of course when Ron apparated to the front step of old and musty Grimmuald Place he let himself right on in. The youngest Weasley boy shrugged his jacket off and called out "Oi! Honey, I'm home!" with an easy grin on his freckled face. His voice apparently disturbed Walburga Black, shriveled old prune that she was and Ron tugged his wand from the pocket in his jeans, growling a "Sod off, you batty old hag." and flicking his wand in the painting's general direction. The curtain snapped shut over the woman, dampening but not eliminating the sound. It was good enough for him, after all these years he sort've learned how to ignore it.
Ron sauntered on down the hall, looking for the familiar mess of jet black hair. Today was an especially important day for him to show his devilishly handsome face. It was the anniversary of the day his parents died and undoubtedly he would appreciate the company. He was armed for the occasion, his pockets full of tiny bottles of firewhiskey. Muggles called them airplane bottles or something. Ron would've liked to bring the whole thing but his mum greatly disapproved of dulling your problems with alcohol and it had to be smuggled out under her nose. Sneaking things past the woman who raised Fred and George was not an easy task but he'd done it.
"Darling, sweetheart." he snickered as he ducked his head into the kitchen looking for the boy who lived. "It's rude to keep me waiting." He paused, eyes lingering on the refrigerator and his stomach growled it's opinion that he should definitely poke around to see what was inside. Kreacher was a brilliant cook, like all house elves and although the two still had their differences the elf was alright as long as he was feeding him.
Shrugging his shoulders, Ron made a bee line for said appliance, crouching down to examine the bounty that waited within. Harry wouldn't mind if he helped himself to a little left over casserole, he was pretty sure. The hungry lion had just reached for a covered dish when the voice of the man in question sounded behind him, startling Ron into smashing his head on the refrigerator door. "Bloody hell." he grumbled, straightening up his lanky frame and rubbing at the back of his cranium. "You're gonna give a man a heart attack, sneaking around like that, mate."
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Harry Potter
Ron sauntered on down the hall, looking for the familiar mess of jet black hair. Today was an especially important day for him to show his devilishly handsome face. It was the anniversary of the day his parents died and undoubtedly he would appreciate the company. He was armed for the occasion, his pockets full of tiny bottles of firewhiskey. Muggles called them airplane bottles or something. Ron would've liked to bring the whole thing but his mum greatly disapproved of dulling your problems with alcohol and it had to be smuggled out under her nose. Sneaking things past the woman who raised Fred and George was not an easy task but he'd done it.
"Darling, sweetheart." he snickered as he ducked his head into the kitchen looking for the boy who lived. "It's rude to keep me waiting." He paused, eyes lingering on the refrigerator and his stomach growled it's opinion that he should definitely poke around to see what was inside. Kreacher was a brilliant cook, like all house elves and although the two still had their differences the elf was alright as long as he was feeding him.
Shrugging his shoulders, Ron made a bee line for said appliance, crouching down to examine the bounty that waited within. Harry wouldn't mind if he helped himself to a little left over casserole, he was pretty sure. The hungry lion had just reached for a covered dish when the voice of the man in question sounded behind him, startling Ron into smashing his head on the refrigerator door. "Bloody hell." he grumbled, straightening up his lanky frame and rubbing at the back of his cranium. "You're gonna give a man a heart attack, sneaking around like that, mate."
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Harry Potter
