Ronald B. Weasley (![]() ![]() @ 2012-10-12 19:52:00 |
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Ron had gotten good at the whole ‘brave front’ thing. Sometimes he thought it might actually be mistaken as confidence, or bravery. Not that he wasn’t brave or confident, but right now, back on this train, all he wanted to do was go hide. It helped, sure, that Harry was his age and here. That Hermione was still here, and Rosie. The Lilys. Dorny. People he’d known on the train and, in some cases, later in his own world. It was beyond weird contemplating Dorny this young when the last time he’d seen her, she’d been more than twice the age she was now. He guessed he knew how Rosie must have felt, the whole time he’d been there but far too young to know her. It was disconcerting, and unnerving. He’d been warned about the plants, and he’d taken to holding his breath upon entering a car, inhaling only when the coast was clear. This had worked most of the time -- at least until he’d walked right into a net of vines that had apparently been lying in wait. He’d inhaled, and he’d spent the next seven and a half minutes plucking ever-growing clovers from his hair. It could have been worse, he guessed. Once he made it to the front kitchen, it was disturbingly deserted, but that was all right. Over the years, he’d managed to learn to cook for himself. It wasn’t as good as his mum’s (or, now that he was back on the train and could remember it, Lily’s), but it was edible more often than not. Humming to himself, Ron moved around the kitchen with the intent of making himself an in-between meal snack. |