Chapter 201: Ron's Unusual Day
An old radio at a secondhand bookstall was playing Hotel California. Wednesday hummed along softly to the chorus, her fingers tapping lightly against the table in rhythm. Russell glanced at her in mild surprise—there was still a smudge of ink on her fingertips, probably from flipping through those secondhand horror novels earlier.
"Honestly," she said, "Muggle music is far better than the Weird Sisters."
She picked up her copy of Murder on the Orient Express, which she'd just bought. The previous owner had scribbled notes in purple ink across the title page.
As they passed a handmade jewelry stall, the elderly vendor couldn't stop praising Wednesday's skull-shaped earrings.
The woman enthusiastically recommended a garnet bracelet, but Wednesday chose a simple braided leather one instead. When she paid, she thanked her in German.
Russell blinked. "How did you know she was German?"
"Observation," Wednesday replied lightly, her steps just a little quicker than before.
It was the first time she'd gone out like this—just the two of them.
Outside a secondhand record shop, they ran into George Weasley, arms full of vinyl records.
"Well, this is a coincidence!" George said, lighting up as he waved at them.
"Muggle punk albums!" He held up a worn record excitedly. "Dad somehow got his hands on a Muggle record player. Want to come over and try it out?"
"Maybe another time," Russell declined politely. "Where's Fred?"
"Getting food," George replied. "We're planning to try Muggle cuisine for lunch. Mum's cooking is great, but… you know, variety."
Just as Russell was about to leave, George suddenly grabbed his sleeve.
"Don't tell Mum I said that," he whispered urgently. "I'll be dead."
On the way back, the wind picked up. Wednesday wrapped her newly bought plaid scarf twice around her neck and lowered her head slightly, stepping into Russell's shadow cast against the brick wall.
As they passed a bakery tucked behind a church alley, Russell paused. "Should we bring something back for Harry and the others? Maybe some scones?"
"I think that's acceptable," Wednesday said.
In the bakery window's reflection, their blurred figures overlapped—Russell reaching out to straighten the crooked end of her scarf.
By dusk, they were sitting on a park bench, sharing the last blueberry pie. Wednesday tapped her boot lightly against the ground, perfectly in sync with the distant tolling of church bells.
A flock of pigeons fluttered overhead.
"I had a good time today," she said suddenly.
Russell pretended not to notice as she quietly pushed the burnt crust of her pie into his paper bag. He simply picked it up and ate it.
Sweet.
…
Meanwhile, Hermione and Ron had left at almost the same time as them—but headed in a completely different direction.
As Hermione tugged Ron through the pedestrian crossing, the red-haired boy was completely transfixed by a vending machine swallowing coins.
"Are you sure it won't suddenly spit out Chocolate Frogs?" he muttered, nose nearly pressed against the glass, his breath fogging up the keypad. "And what if it jams? Do Muggles use a Repair Charm, or—"
"They call customer service," Hermione cut in, pressing the button for orange juice.
The can dropped with a loud clunk, making Ron jump back two full steps.
He held the cold metal can like a mysterious artifact, studying it for half a minute until Hermione popped it open for him. The fizz splashed onto his freckles—
"Merlin's beard! This is stronger than butterbeer!"
Even though Russell had once sent a whole crate of cola to his house, Ron decided on the spot that orange juice was even better. Cola, at best, was only on par with butterbeer.
When they passed a clothing store window, Ron stared, wide-mouthed, at the rotating mannequins.
"Animated human models? Some kind of perpetual-motion charm?"
He instinctively reached for his wand, only for Hermione to shove it back down. "Electric motor," she explained, pointing at a plug in the corner.
Ron stared at the wire like it was cursed. "That looks deeply suspicious."
At a secondhand electronics stall, he became awestruck by an old radio. "They can trap sound without magic!" he exclaimed, twisting the dial wildly—only to nearly drop it when a sudden burst of football commentary blared out.
"This is better than Sneakoscopes! How do Muggles stop enemy spies from listening in?"
"I'm getting one for Dad," he muttered, already pulling out his wallet. Thanks to the Night Circus job, he actually had some money now. And instead of exchanging at Gringotts—where the rates were terrible—Russell had simply given him pounds in advance as payment.
"Want to try real Muggle food?" Hermione asked, steering him into a plastic chair at a hot dog stand.
Ron held up a mustard-covered hot dog—he'd tried to copy a smiley face like the kid next to him—and took a big bite. Ketchup immediately dripped down his fingers and onto his sleeve.
"Way better than Hogwarts sausages—" he concluded, licking his hand, though his eyes were already drifting toward the nearby ice cream truck.
While Hermione went to pay, Ron discovered automatic sliding doors.
"I'm telling you, Dad would love this!"
He walked in and out of the shop repeatedly, giggling every time the doors opened and closed.
"Muggles trained the air itself to guard entrances!"
The shop assistant's suspicious look was quickly deflected by Hermione with a smooth excuse about "a foreign student visiting the UK for the first time."
They spent twenty minutes in a stationery shop, where Ron became inexplicably obsessed with highlighters.
"This must work like color-changing ink in Charms class!"
He scribbled wildly with a yellow marker, then froze when the color didn't fade. "Brilliant! I should send these to Fred—perfect for product design!"
By the time evening crept in, Hermione was buying magazines at a newsstand when she turned and found Ron crouched beside a fire hydrant.
"Does this thing suddenly shoot fire?" he asked, tapping the red metal cap. "How do Muggles activate it—spells or—"
A sharp siren wailed from the street corner. Ron leapt up like he'd seen a ghost.
On the way back, he stopped dead in front of a pet shop window. A tabby cat inside raised its paw.
Ron solemnly returned the gesture with a wizard's salute. "Do you think it's an Animagus? Why else would it wave at me?"
Hermione bit back a laugh and snapped a photo with a Polaroid just as his nose pressed against the glass. The flash startled the cat, which bolted away in panic.
"Ron," she said, still smiling, "it just wants you to buy it. That's what cats do."
As the streetlights flickered on, Ron discovered what he immediately declared the greatest invention of all time—a capsule toy machine outside a convenience store.
"Muggles are geniuses."
He fed in coins with intense focus. The prize—a tiny plastic dinosaur ring—was proudly placed on his finger.
"Much fairer than Chocolate Frog cards," he said. "At least you won't keep getting Albus Dumbledore over and over again."
Hermione glanced at him, unimpressed. "That just means you haven't bought enough."