166Two Tickets to Rome
Summary: Two strangers. One train. A ten-hour journey. Who said magic can't happen on a train ride to Rome? RonHermione
A/N: Yes! This author is back, and ready to jump onto the Romione train again. And so are our two favourite characters. I am so looking forward to writing more – oh, the joy!
Capitolo primo: Coincidences
Inside the train station of Palermo, Hermione sat by the tracks reading her travel book.
She brushed her fingers lovingly over the torn edges of its cover, the title smiling at her. Must-See Destinations Off the Beaten Path in Italy – its title had captured her attention the second she saw it in the book shop back home.
In the end, it was the book that had resulted in her lonesome journey through Italy, discovering new destinations and crossing them off her list.
Now, the trip was going to Rome, from the lovely train station of Palermo.
The weather outside had been scorching hot when she exited her motel at midday. Inside the train station, the hot, dry air cooled off into a cold, air-conditioned gust of wind, that seemed to make her shiver for every person that brushed past her.
She was looking forward to donning the cold place, and finally get onto the train.
As if one cue, the speaker coughed back to life in livid Italian, followed up by a slightly accented "Train R132 headed to Rome is due to arrive on track one in five minutes".
She closed her book with a snap and stood up, barely holding back her excitement to get off designated dead, waiting place by the tracks.
In her side vision, she noticed a tall red-haired boy stand up as well. Turning around slightly, she noticed that he had been sitting on his soft luggage bag, instead of on the benches like herself. Immediately she wondered why he hadn't asked to sit by her on the benches. She would've been happy to share.
Hermione brushed the thought off. Not everyone was like her, she thought, maybe he liked to sit on his bag or didn't want to bother her when she was reading.
Before she could look away, the red head turned towards her, his glinting curls bouncing on his head. Their eyes met, and she was baffled with their pale blue colour.
From their distance, his eyes almost looked translucent. It was striking.
"Train R132 has now arrived at platform one," she heard over the speakers.
She realized she had been staring at the red head, and her eyes shifted onto the arriving train.
It screeched to a halt. The doors opened and the passengers started pressing out through the doors. Suddenly, she was standing in the middle of a crowd.
Hermione lifted her bag onto her shoulder. It had been starting to slip.
She saw a blur of flame-red curls rush past her. With her eyes lock on the only orange thing between her and her train, she made her way after the tall person in through the door.
It wasn't until she slid down into her seat with her luggage on the overhead shelf, that Hermione finally let out the breath she didn't realize she had been holding.
There was a sense of calmness in her gut – probably from the knowledge that she would be sitting on the same train for the next ten hours. There were no expectations and no errands she had to run. Her life was on pause for ten hours – and she was going to enjoy it.
She put her travel book back in the big handbag she'd bought in Palermo. She looked at all her new purchases, wondering which book to choose next.
She settled with her favourite, a slightly Transfigured Hogwarts: A History. She didn't want Muggles to question what she was reading, so she had simply changed the title into Different Frog Species in Sub-Saharan Forests.
As she fished its worn pages out of the handbag, she noticed a flame in the corner of her eye.
Her heart jumped – it was the red-head she'd seen on the platform.
He was sitting on the opposite side of the train, his feet elevated on the neighbouring chair to the one he was sitting in. She took a moment to study him, taking advantage of him looking down into his hands.
He had pale skin, littered with freckles and slightly sunburnt. The burnt skin on his cheeks clashes horribly with his red hair. Although the redness was very nice, the hair itself looked unkept, with long bangs that framed his face.
The red head looked frustrated. His brows were furrowed, and he kept touching his face. She followed his gaze and got a glimpse of something colourful in his hands.
A Rubik's Cube, she told herself.
Hermione turned back to her book, opening the first page of her magical book.
It was hard concentrating. Whereas it had been too cold for her at the train station, the train itself was very warm.
She took off her cardigan. Hermione caught a glimpse of herself – and therefore also the red head – in the window.
He was a colourful person, she concluded, with his pale eyes, red hair, and sunburns. It only strengthened her belief when he, ironically, muttered some colourful curses under his breath.
Hermione huffed. She didn't like when people cursed.
A bald man in the seat in front of her picked up the phone, and she found herself becoming an involuntary listener to his rapid Italian discussion.
Thirty minutes passed, and she had only progressed to page five in her book. With a sigh, she put it down and tried enjoying the passing view instead.
It didn't last long though, as the train seemed to enter a tunnel.
The window turned black. Her mirror image was staring back at her again. Bushy hair and bags under her eyes. But still nice-looking, she argued with herself. It was difficult keeping the ugly thoughts from rearing their heads.
Years of bullying did that to you.
She touched her lips, feeling the softness in them. Hermione found her eyes wandering back to the red head sitting opposite of her.
He hadn't solved the Rubik's Cube yet. She doubted he would.
His hand kept fidgeting. His fingers brushed the end of his sweatpants, as if trying to pull them down. They looked too short for him. He wore two different-coloured socks. It was the oddest combination of purple and green.
He hadn't taken off his shoes. They were white – or rather, had been white – and looked weary after use. The shoelaces were sloppily knotted and hung almost freely. It looked as if a breath alone could make them untangle.
A phone rang in the train compartment. She thought it was the bald man in the seat in front of her.
She was proven wrong when the red head answered the phone, astonishing her with his British accent.
"Hey, mom," he said.
The phone buzzed back.
"No, no," he replied, "Charlie couldn't meet up. He was busy with his work in Romania,"
Maybe she should visit the dragon sanctuary in Romania, she thought. Hermione had always been interested in seeing dragons.
With a shudder, she remembered that Harry Potter kid in her year when he battled the dragon in the Triwizard Tournament. It was no wonder he had been placed in Gryffindor.
Hermione felt a flare of anger ignite in her chest. It was animal abuse, the way the Tournament had been treating the dragons. It was no wonder they were aggressive when their children's eggs were at stake. It was the natural instinct of the mother.
The rest of the conversation was muffled. She didn't hear anymore until it was over.
Before she could stop herself, she asked the red headed stranger, "Are you British?"
He looked up at her as if alarmed. With an askew smile, and a bubbling laugh, he answered, "Yes! I didn't think there were more of us here,"
"What are the chances," she replied, "And where are my manners? I'm sorry. I'm Hermione,"
"Ron," he beamed, and shook her hand. He had to crawl a step towards her to greet her. There was an awkward break in their conversation, before he added, "So where are you from?"
"Oxfordshire,"
If the red head had beamed before, then he was radiating now, "That's not so far from Surrey, is it?"
"Not really," she replied, "Around an hour, I believe,"
"I have a friend there. You probably don't know him,"
Hermione smiled, "What's his name? Who knows, maybe I do know who he is,"
"There's a slim chance," Ron answered, "And besides, I don't know him personally. He's just together with my sister,"
"Sister? Do you have more siblings as well?" she asked.
He exhaled, "More than you could guess," pausing, his eyes locked with hers again, "To clarify, I have six, no, I mean five siblings,"
"What are they like?" Hermione questioned, noticing the correction with a sense of dread.
"I'm the second youngest in the family. The two oldest are Charlie and Bill. We hardly see them anymore, but they're cool. Charlie's got the coolest job, working with dra –" he coughed, and finished, lamely, "cows. He works with cows,"
Hermione couldn't help but laugh, "I didn't picture you as the person who thought working with cows was –" she imitated him, "–the coolest job."
His ears turned red, and his voice lost some of its spunk, "Yeah, well, it used to be cool, at least. Anyway, the third oldest is Percy. He's a real prick. I mean, he is like the black sheep of the family. A real stick-up-the-arse prick,"
Hermione cringed; how could he speak so badly about his family? She shrugged it off, "Speaking of sheep now too, are we? Do you by any chance live on a farm?"
He chuckled, "No comment, as long as I'm not the pig,"
The comment melted into soft laughter that Hermione couldn't resist joining in on.
"So, what about the others?"
"Then there's George. He and Fred used to be the best prankers. They even established a joke shop together. Fred was always the one that pushed the pranks too far. It was fun when we were kids, but you learnt to watch your back. Though, that's not a problem anymore," he said grimly.
Hermione didn't question the subject of Fred any more than he already had given her. It set his face in a grim expression that looked unnatural on his otherwise colourful and dazzling features.
She remained silent a bit longer, before she spoke up, "Are there no girls in your family, besides your sister?"
His face lightened a bit, but she could still see the feelings churning underneath his skin. "Except for my mother, then no. There's just my sister, who's together with the Surrey guy. She and I used to be best friends through all of childhood,"
"Aww, that's sweet," Hermione said, "I wish I had siblings like you had,"
He looked at her questioningly.
"I was an only child," she explained.
"It must have been nice getting all the attention and stuff, though. I love my siblings, but I'd die to not only get hand-me-downs for Christmas," Ron said. His fingers found the end of his pants again, and he suddenly looked very conscious of the way they ended halfway up his shin.
He almost sounded bitter. She felt warm with something akin to anger. She lashed out, regretting how harsh it sounded once it came out of her lips, "I'd die to have siblings. At least then, you would never be lonely,"
He looked taken aback, but quickly regained his posture. His shoulders turned slack. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to sound like that. I guess we all think the grass is greener on the other side, am I right?"
She felt so strangely at ease with him, so that the childhood memories had slipped out of her mouth, even if he was just a red-haired stranger from the platform in Palermo. It was not like Hermione would ever see him again after the train ride, what did it matter if he knew she'd felt lonely in her childhood?
"You're right," she gave him a weak smile, "I guess we should be tending to our own grass, instead of envying everybody else's,"
Yet, she couldn't help but envy the beautiful pale colour of his eyes.