*** at the Hog's Head
4.
After a minimal amount of prodding, Ron was in the car, bitching incessantly, and we were on our way.
"But what if we get caught?" he groaned.
"We won't."
"But what if we get shot?" he wailed.
"We won't," I said.
"But what if we get our willies chopped off with cigar snips?"
I paused, bewildered.
"Where the hell did that come from, Ron?"
"Don't think I don't listen to you and Hermione's conversations," he said, looking down at his cell phone. "Speaking of Hermione, I've gotten a million messages from her in the past hour. Wanna hear?"
"Shoot," I said. He nodded, then started rambling off her messages.
"Ron, hey, u aren't @ the office, just checking in."
"Hey, Ron, why won't u pick up?"
"Ron, did u and Harry get the fx the chief sent? Just wondering."
"Ron if u 2 are on the way to London right now u better just turn the hell around."
"I'm serious!"
"This isn't like putting itching powder on Principal Umbridge's chair, Ron! This might get u 2 killed! Text me back."
"Alright, have it ur way. I'm not going to get u 2 out of the stew this time. I'm done!"
"Ooh, she sounds right pissed," I said. Ron looked at me, his eyes wide.
"You think? 'Ooh, I'm Harry Potter, I'm a private eye, she sounds right pissed!' " he mocked. "Yes, she's pissed, and furthermore, she's right! If I die or get my willy chopped off or shot by this Voldemort character I'm going to kill you!"
Ron was sulking and I was silent as we drove into the seedy underbelly of London. Finally I spoke.
"Sorry for dragging you into this, Ron," I said. Ron looked up, rolling his eyes.
"Oh come on. You really think I would have let you come here alone?"
"No," I said. "Look in the glove compartment."
Ron opened the compartment slowly, like it was going to bite him. Then he saw what was inside.
"Harry! A gun? A gun?! Have you gone mad?"
I sighed. "You really think I'm going to come investigate this without some sort of weapon? Ron, don't be dim. Besides, that's not mine. Mine's right here," I said, pulling my pistol out of the thigh holster I'd bought. "It's yours. Go ahead, get acquainted."
"Harry! Where... where did you even get this!"
"Olivander's Pawn, right down the street. Nice old man."
"Oh, dear God, we're going to die."
"But what if we get caught?" he groaned.
"We won't."
"But what if we get shot?" he wailed.
"We won't," I said.
"But what if we get our willies chopped off with cigar snips?"
I paused, bewildered.
"Where the hell did that come from, Ron?"
"Don't think I don't listen to you and Hermione's conversations," he said, looking down at his cell phone. "Speaking of Hermione, I've gotten a million messages from her in the past hour. Wanna hear?"
"Shoot," I said. He nodded, then started rambling off her messages.
"Ron, hey, u aren't @ the office, just checking in."
"Hey, Ron, why won't u pick up?"
"Ron, did u and Harry get the fx the chief sent? Just wondering."
"Ron if u 2 are on the way to London right now u better just turn the hell around."
"I'm serious!"
"This isn't like putting itching powder on Principal Umbridge's chair, Ron! This might get u 2 killed! Text me back."
"Alright, have it ur way. I'm not going to get u 2 out of the stew this time. I'm done!"
"Ooh, she sounds right pissed," I said. Ron looked at me, his eyes wide.
"You think? 'Ooh, I'm Harry Potter, I'm a private eye, she sounds right pissed!' " he mocked. "Yes, she's pissed, and furthermore, she's right! If I die or get my willy chopped off or shot by this Voldemort character I'm going to kill you!"
Ron was sulking and I was silent as we drove into the seedy underbelly of London. Finally I spoke.
"Sorry for dragging you into this, Ron," I said. Ron looked up, rolling his eyes.
"Oh come on. You really think I would have let you come here alone?"
"No," I said. "Look in the glove compartment."
Ron opened the compartment slowly, like it was going to bite him. Then he saw what was inside.
"Harry! A gun? A gun?! Have you gone mad?"
I sighed. "You really think I'm going to come investigate this without some sort of weapon? Ron, don't be dim. Besides, that's not mine. Mine's right here," I said, pulling my pistol out of the thigh holster I'd bought. "It's yours. Go ahead, get acquainted."
"Harry! Where... where did you even get this!"
"Olivander's Pawn, right down the street. Nice old man."
"Oh, dear God, we're going to die."