Chapter 202: Hermione's Mum—and Her "Son," Ron
As they passed the bench where Russell and Wednesday had been sitting, Hermione bent down, picked up a discarded blueberry jam wrapper, and tossed it into a nearby bin.
"I didn't expect people to litter here," she said, a little disappointed.
It was actually what Russell had dropped earlier while eating a pie—but she didn't know that.
She also didn't notice that Ron, having just finished his ice cream, was snapping the cone in half, studying it as if it were some kind of magical artifact.
"Muggle ice cream tastes better than wizard stuff," Ron muttered thoughtfully.
For the third time, Hermione grabbed him by the back of his collar, stopping him from sticking his face into the bellows of a street performer's accordion.
"That is not a singing magical box!" she whispered sharply, watching him awkwardly mimic the musician's hand movements.
"Muggles use air flow to vibrate reeds to produce sound—it's similar to bagpipes—"
"What's a bagpipe?" Ron asked blankly.
If Hermione had ever met Arthur Weasley in that moment, she would've sworn Ron was his perfect copy. Somehow, that curiosity had fully awakened.
"This sounds way better than the stuff Percy listens to," Ron added, fishing a five-pence coin from his pocket and tossing it into the case.
The metallic clink made him freeze.
"Wait—Muggle coins don't have anti-counterfeiting charms. How do they stop goblins from forging them?"
Before Hermione could respond, the performer launched into Moon River. Ron began humming along—completely off-key—and promptly stepped on Hermione's heel, nearly knocking over an old man selling helium balloons.
Nearby, crushed ice at a fish stall shimmered in the sunlight. Ron stared at a bloated mackerel and suddenly shouted:
"Look! That one's cursed!"
Several housewives turned to stare.
Hermione grabbed his wrist and dragged him aside. "That's just gas in its swim bladder!"
"But its eyes are glowing red—"
"That's a reflection! From the taillights at the next stall!"
When they passed a cosmetics counter, Ron was immediately fascinated by a rotating mascara display.
"A self-moving eye potion brush?" he said, pressing a tester.
A jet of black paste splattered across his hand.
"Merlin's beard! What is this? Is it poison?!"
He yelped in horror.
Hermione bit back a laugh, handed him a wet wipe, and glanced at the smeared black streak on his skin—it did look rather alarming.
"It's just makeup," she said quietly, flashing an apologetic smile to the shopkeeper. Under the woman's increasingly irritated gaze, Hermione quickly dragged Ron away.
If they stayed any longer, she was certain they'd be thrown out.
As the streetlights flickered on, Ron pointed at a massive LED screen and shouted:
"A giant moving portrait!"
Before Hermione could explain how it worked, he was already waving enthusiastically at a surfer on the screen.
"How is he appearing on ten waves at once? Is this some upgraded duplication charm?"
Hermione gave up trying to explain. Even if she did, Ron probably wouldn't understand—so she let him believe it was some "improved version of a duplication charm."
As the streetlights flickered on one by one in the fading dusk, the square filled with people wrapped in blankets.
Ron stood on tiptoe, staring at the steel scaffolding in the distance, nervously crushing his empty drink bottle in his hands. "Why are so many Muggles gathered here? And why are they all pointing at the sky—"
The moment the first burst of silver light exploded overhead, he instinctively reached for his wand—only to grab the cup of hot cocoa Hermione had shoved into his hand.
Golden-red sparks spread across the deep blue sky, forming a massive phoenix. Ron's shout was swallowed by the crowd's cheers. "Merlin's garters—that's incredible!"
Purple iris-shaped fireworks bloomed one after another as Hermione pulled him up the church steps for a better view.
"Saltpeter, charcoal, and sulfur," she shouted into his ear over the thunder of explosions. "Muggles use chemical formulas instead of wands!"
Ron stared as his breath mingled with the drifting smoke. "But how do they make it look like jellyfish? This is more detailed than anything Fred's made!"
When twin heart-shaped fireworks rose into the sky, Ron nudged her with his elbow. "Look! That's exactly like the pattern Fred and George just came up with!"
Spinning blue-white sparks suddenly cascaded into golden willow branches. Ron stood there, mouth hanging open, until melting ice cream dripped onto his fingers.
Before Hermione could answer, a massive rainbow-ring firework burst overhead. Ron suddenly grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the fountain. "Best viewing spot!"
They squeezed in among children clutching cotton candy, as splashing water caught the light of the fireworks, scattering like diamonds.
A spark burned a small hole through Ron's wool scarf—he didn't even notice.
When the final golden firework lit up the clocktower, Ron raised his hot cocoa toward the fading smoke. "To the genius of Muggles."
The rim of the plastic cup was still marked with his lips.
A breeze carried the last trace of gunpowder. Ron turned to the starry sky. "Will they do the same fireworks next year?"
"There'll be new patterns," Hermione said. "There should be."
On the bus ride back, Ron pressed his forehead against the foggy window, watching the wipers sweep arcs across the glass. "Wizards have something similar too—the Knight Bus. I haven't ridden it, but Dad says it's… not exactly pleasant."
Hermione shoved a piece of strawberry cake into his mouth, finally silencing him.
Twilight spread across the River Thames like ink dissolving in water.
As they followed the crowd along the South Bank, Wednesday slipped a paper bag of scones into Russell's coat pocket. Her fingers brushed the inside of his wrist, faintly sticky with blueberry jam.
When the first firework burst, Russell caught sight of her tilted profile—her silver earring scattering the purple-red light into tiny stars across her face.
"Not bad," she said. "Though the patterns are a bit cliché." Still, she tucked her scarf tighter beneath her chin.
The river breeze carried the scent of cedar from her hair, mixed with caramel from a nearby child's cotton candy, weaving into something oddly pleasant.
When a golden dandelion-shaped firework bloomed, Wednesday suddenly tugged his sleeve. "Step back."
They had barely moved when a stumbling couple holding beer crashed into where they'd been standing. Her heel caught briefly between the stones; somewhere nearby, an ice cream cart chimed softly. The new leather band on her wrist brushed his cufflink with a faint scrape.
As green willow-like fireworks cascaded across the sky, Russell pulled a coin from his pocket. "Heads, we ride the Ferris wheel. Tails, we head back to Grimmauld Place."
Before Wednesday could respond, he flipped it. The coin spun through the air, lit in slow motion by a sudden burst of blue-violet light.
Just as it landed on the back of his hand, a voice called out from the crowd.
George pushed through, holding two lightning-shaped glow sticks. Beside him, Angelina Johnson's blonde hair shimmered like honey under the fireworks.
"Muggle tricks!" George grinned, shoving the glow sticks into their hands. "Heard these last four hours—long enough for a walk back to 12 Grimmauld Place."
"George," Russell asked, glancing up at the sky, "are these fireworks your latest creation?"
After all, in this era, displays like this hadn't yet been invented—at least not in Britain.