#in the chunder zone and such

[carrotpiss]

Ghhhh

[wizkiddx]

this deleted itself but the req was for an ill reader who likes to try and carry on even if they feeling shit and tom noticing I think?!?

Summary:  you take start to feel a bit shit  at toms family barbecue and get caught out and taken care of

///////////

It should've be lovely, an evening in the rare but much appreciated British summer sun in Dom and Nikki’s garden. Everyone was there; all the Holland boys; both sets of Tom’s grandparents; Haz and his long time girlfriend Lucie. It was a reunion of sorts, although no one had been away working, you’d somehow all timed your individual holidays simultaneously. You and Tom to Australia; Sam and Harry to south-east Asia; Paddy, Dom and Nikki to Sweden. Having all returned in the space of a week, everyone was catching up, involving great British barbecues (which are always a little disappointing) and a fair amount of booze.

You were sat on the garden furniture with Tessa (Tom’s grandma), Nikki and Lucie. Very much a ‘girl power’ meeting if ever there was - which in a family full of boys was often needed just to keep the peace. Everything about the evening was lovely… except perhaps your body. God knows why, because you rarely got ill - having not had a day off work in two years. As much as you’d been trying to push away the slow creeping feeling for a couple of hours - it was now getting impossible to ignore. The slightly unsettled feeling in your stomach had you fidgeting in the wooden chair constantly, trying to ease it by shifting positions... to no avail.

“Y/n… Y/n?” Looking up to see three pairs of beady eyes trained on you, you faked a smile, looking over to Nikki who had been calling your name. “Tess was asking how long the flight back was?” “Oh sorry, was miles away!” You tried to cover, shifting once again, this time pressing a hand to your lower abdomen in the hope that’d distract you as you turned slightly to make eye contact with Tessa. “And I think 11 hours ish.” The girls all pulled a grimacing face in sympathy, to which you chuckled at. “No no honestly cos Tom spoiled me completely so we were in the fancy seats, I honestly was spark out of it the whole time!”

It was enough of a response for the girls to all nod, carrying on the conversation as you, now not the main focus, rubbed your pulsing temple with your other hand - in the hope to relieve some of the building pressure. Clearly, though, you weren’t a subtle as you thought - since Lucie got your attention by bumping your shoulder and leaning in closely. “Come to the loo with me?” It sounded like a question, though it very much wasn’t - the stern look in her eye enough to scare you into agreeing. With a word to Nikki and Tess, you both stood up and made your way to the inside, not stopping until you were locked into the thankfully spacious downstairs loo - the brunette eyeing you intently. “You look like shit.” “Thanks Luc, that’s exactly what I needed to hear right now.” You sighed, sitting on top of the closed lidded loo heavily. “What’s up?” Her tone was harsh and to the point, but secretly there was a look of worry in her eyes. She was one of your best mates but sometimes could also scare you shitless. “I think I’m just tired, it’s my stomach and my head, I’ll be fine.”

Lucie didn't really seem to believe you, but respected your stubbornness and after providing you with two paracetamol capsules from her bag, she let you off - both going back into the garden, where, by now Sam was plating up the slightly charred burgers.

Naturally, you’d sat next to Tom, who had pulled your chairs right next to each other - so that his leg was pressed up against yours, his arm pulled around your shoulder. That was just Tom, away from the prying eyes of the public and media, he really was an affectionate person. He just liked to feel you there. God knows how long you all sat in those same positions, but it was long enough for the sun to set. In fact, you most definitely weren’t the person to ask, because at some point, unbeknownst to you, you’d zoned out. Nobody had noticed, under the cover of the low sunset light, until Tom felt your head briefly fall against his shoulder before it shot up once again - your eyes blinking heavily.

He frowned at the sight, seeing you huddle your arms across your body, which was bizarre due to the unbelievable hot weather in London. Yes, it might have shifted into nighttime, but it was still at least 24 degrees. So as his Dad had the entire table captivated recounting some long and complex tale of his touring days, Tom took the opportunity to squeeze your shoulder - grabbing your attention.

“You alright love?” In response you just hummed, eyes shifting up to him after a little delay - similar to how your reflexes became stunted with alcohol, though Tom suddenly realised you’d barely had more than half the glass of beer he’d poured you when you’d both arrived. “ I’said are you okay?” “Yeh… yeh I’m fine.” You forced a small tight lipped smile, whilst Tom took his arm that was round his shoulder to rest on the crown of your head before slowly stroking down your hair. “Sure? You seem a little out of it?” He pushed, still in a whisper so as not to draw attention to the two of you. “Maybe just tired.” Flat out lying, you shifted back into the backrest of the chair a little more making his hand accidentally land on your forehead rather than your hairline. He didn't move it though, instead sitting and swivelling in his chair, pressing the other side of his hand to the skin as well. “You’re burning up Y/n/n” he spoke a little louder - eyes full of concern as he looked you up and down. “No I’m a bit cold if anythin-“

That was when Nikki, from across the other side of the table got involved. She’d obviously been silently observing the two of you, now feeling the need to send you both home. “Oh, we forgot dessert! Tom, Y/n would you mind helping me bring it out?” Thank god for Nikki, for finding a cover story and stopping everyone's eyes on you. Because for someone dating, three years deep, an A-lister - you hated any sort of attention, even from those closest to you. Especially sympathy, you had absolutely no time at all for that.

Leading you into the kitchen with his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, Tom waited till the door was shut before turning to you.- claiming you were boiling and looked not so great. “I’m just a bit cold if I can borrow one of sam’s jumpers then-“ “Love, please go home.” Nikki interrupted as she wormed past Tom to put her own hand on your forehead too. “You’ve got the chills and you’ve not been normal all day. Am I right or am I right?” She was the worst to argue against. That was completely due to the fact she was always right. With a defeated nod from you, she clicked her tongue, pushing you to sit down on one of the barstools. “Tom go get a jumper from Sam’s room and order a taxi, I would drive but we’ve all been drinking.” “I can just go back by myself T, you don’t get to see your grandparents a lot and -“ “I love you but please please shut up.” Having rounded the back of your chair he pressed his lips to your temples as confirmation before scurrying off to the back of the house.

“You know he doesn’t mind at all? My son never was at my beckon call like he is with you.” There was a little smile teasing the corner of her lips as Nikki placed a glass of water in front of you, as though instructing you to take small sips. “I just feel bad, he’s always telling me how he regrets not spending more time with all of you and… well I’ve had him to myself for the fortnight in South Africa.” “Your just as much a part of the family as me or his grandparents are okay? Now when you get home..”

Nikki switched the tone to then list off all manners of ways that you needed to look after yourself once back, which she then repeated as soon as Tom returned with a black hoodie that you gratefully pulled over your head.

//////////////

By the time you got home, you were feeling so incredibly shit you weren’t even considering keeping up your brave face. Tom had wordlessly led you up the path to your shared home, unlocking the door and telling you to go straight to bed.

Perhaps he was so concerned because in the whole three years together he’d never ever seen you ill. Yes, the odd headache or whatever, as well as the occasional morning after the night before when you’d opted for a ‘tactical chunder’ to try and protect your modesty. But other than that, you were always the one being sympathetic to him. When he was tired, both emotionally and mentally from work; when he hurt his knee and was on forced bed rest for a couple of days ( which turns out to be the hardest time for you too, dealing with the whiny and fidgety boy man).

He came up a couple of minutes later, by which point you’d already pulled joggers on and wrapped yourself as tightly in the duvet as physically possible. If felt so bloody cold your teeth were actually chattering as you curled up into the smallest ball possible. In his hands was a small tray, carrying a steaming mug; a collection of all the different pill packets you kept in the medicine cabinet (as Tom himself had no idea which one was right so decided to use them all); a hot water bottle and what looked like a damp towel, all scrunched up.

No matter how shitty you felt you had a smile at how sweet and doting Tom was being... and as much as you hated the sympathy - if it was always given by a ripped and beautiful brunette with the sharpest jawline you’d ever seen… well just maybe you could get used to it. After snatching the hotwater bottle up immediately, then letting Tom fuss over you in every which way he wanted you gave in, losing the ability to entertain his puppy energy.

“Can we just go to sleep please?” You whined, which Tom nodded to - quickly getting changed and ready before joining you in bed.

As soon as he felt the way the bed was practically vibrating with the chills you were suffering from, he pulled you up into his chest. Now you had both your own personal heater and a hot water bottle to try and warm you up. “You wake me up if you need anything kay?”

Pressing a kiss into the crown of your head, which was nestled between his shoulder and neck. “Promise me ‘kay?” Him needing the reinforcement caused you to arch back up, looking deep into his brown eyes with the warm glow of his bedside table lamp. “You’re too good to me Tommy.” He tutted at that, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek.

“Oh no” He whispered exclaimed, making you immediately ask him what in response. “I think this fever is making you go all delusional love.” You quirked your head, causing him to continue with a cheeky grin. “Well for one, nothing would be too good for you darling and two…. When the hell have you ever called me ‘Tommy’” With him chuckling at his own joke, you rolled your eyes at his cheekiness, firmly planting your head back on his shoulder as if to shut him up. “Alright, I’ll let you off just this once cos your all feverish… get some sleep love.” “Thankyou Tommy.” “Shh love.”

And that’s how you fell asleep, finally finding a bit of warmth in Tom’s arms.

Safe to say he very much didn’t sleep so well. Yes, you felt cold - but Tom was bloody boiling. Still he didn't move because if you were comfortable, his discomfort didn’t matter. It was also a physical impossibility for him to relax until he felt (yes, technically not the most scientific way) your fever coming down. Every five minutes or so he’d gently press the back of his hand to your forehead. This boy was so whipped for you... but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

~~~feedback is really really appreciated~~~~

taglist for tom: @lovehollandy12 @hollandlover19 @thefernandasantana @hunnybunimdun @hallecarey1@cedricdiggorysimpp @msmimimerton @hollandfanficlove @pandaxnienke @crossyourpeter @thegirlwiththeimpala @tom-softie @sunwardsss @spiitfiiires @radcloudenthusiast @ladykxxx08 @prancerrparkerr @wildxwidow @Elishi03 @arctic-monkcys @Ownbauer13 @tomhollandlol @marvelsbitch8

[cortexreaver]

one of my most cringe traits is definitely how i feel personally offended when people call deep sea life scary. like i see some listicle like 15 most horrifying deep sea creatures ! these fishs will make you pee and cry and chunder in terror aaaaggh etc or some clown commenting on a pic/video of something going on about how creepy it is and im immediately like Whatever i can tell youre just jealous u wouldnt be able to survive the extreme conditions of the abyssal zone you sad cunt

[quentinblack]

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 9: Ron III - I’m Fine (link to full story on FF.net)

Word Count: 3K words

Warnings: Some swearing 

Featuring: Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger

Ron was ready to die.

This was it.

It must be.

His stomach was in knots and he no longer even knew whether he was the right way up or not.  He clung on desperately to the plush-toy falcon as they span relentlessly in mid-air.

“I think we’re here,” he heard Hermione muster out before they were both violently hurtled to the ground.

It took Ron a few moments to recognize that the ground they had landed on was actually a thick, soft carpet and not a hard, concrete floor.

He pulled himself to his feet slowly and tried to take in his new surroundings, but he was instantly hit with an intense dizziness that caused him to crash straight back down in a heap.

Ron could feel his stomach rupturing on the inside.  

He tried to hold down whatever it was that was coming back up, possibly the steak and kidney pudding that he’d had for lunch, but despite his best efforts he could only ensure that it didn’t escape his mouth.

The taste of his mouth filling with vomit then caused him to throw up all over the cream-coloured Kashmir carpet anyway.

He reluctantly looked towards Hermione, embarrassed to have made such an idiot of himself in front of her and humiliated that she would have to see him in such a state, but he was relieved to see that she too had just vomited.

There was an expression of upmost disgust and dejection on her face, as Ron saw some runny, dark coloured sick dribble down her chin. She gasped slightly when their eyes met.

“You’ve got sick on your chin… did you know?” Ron joked in a fairly hoarse voice, as Hermione laughed softly and cleared herself up after retrieving her wand.

Ron had just began vanishing the vomit he’d left on the carpet himself, when the brown door to the big function room swung open – and a tall, dark haired woman who looked like she was in her mid-forties strolled in.

“First time using a long-distance intercontinental portkey?” she asked in a knowing voice, as Ron and Hermione both nodded awkwardly. She had a slight accent, but not one that suggested she’d spent her entire life living in Australia.

“I remember my first time going from London to Sydney… nothing could prepare you for it. Trust me though I’ve been in charge of this portkey docking room for years and I’ve seen people chunder far worse than that. Some people even faint or pass out completely. Where is the port-

The woman stopped in her tracks as she saw the falcon in the middle of the floor.

“A bloody falcon! I suppose that’s Kingsley’s idea of a good gag. I’m a Wasps fan myself… I used to dread going into the Great Hall on a Monday morning when they’d beaten us at the weekend. Kingsley and his brother would always be the first to gloat… ah, those were simpler times… I’m Olivia by the way. Olivia Burke. You must be Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. It’s a great privilege to meet you both.”

Ron felt a small amount of embarrassment, but also great pride that someone from the Australian ministry would consider it such an honour to meet them both. He noticed a slight frown appear on her face as she studied the two of their faces in greater detail.

“I always knew you were all quite young… but to see how young you are in person…” Burke began, before a lump in her throat caused her to stop briefly. “Oh I’m sorry. I’m sorry… you’re here to get away from all of that.... Kingsley has made sure that you’ll have a good time and enjoy your stay in Australia. I can assure you that he spared absolutely no expense on this little trip for you both.”

“Oh but Oliv- Mrs Burke…” Hermione began before hesitating. Ron thought Olivia seemed to look a bit uncomfortable at being addressed as Mrs Burke.

“…there must be some kind of mistake. We’ve only come for a short visit whilst I find my parents,” Hermione said, as Ron gave her shoe a very slight kick. She caught his gaze for the slightest of seconds with an indignant look on her face. “We have a tent with us and we’re quite happy to pitch up wherever-

“Oh, Miss Granger!” Olivia interrupted. “Rest assured as soon as we have managed to locate and make contact with your parents we will contact you immediately. But whilst you wait your Minister has ensured that you both will be treated to the best in entertainment and culture that Wizarding Australia has to offer, whilst staying in the most lavish and luxurious accommodation that galleons can buy.”

Ron wasn’t one to readily accept any kind of hand-out or charity, but after all they’d been through in the last few years he rather liked the sound of that.

“But…” Hermione began, before Burke waved away her protests.

“No buts Miss Granger! You are both going to relax and enjoy yourselves and that is an order! Now if you’ll follow me I’ll be taking you to my colleague Brad, who will apparate you on to where you’ll be staying. I would take you myself, but well… I should have finished my night shift over an hour ago and I am absolutely shattered,” Olivia said, as Ron noticed the bags under her eyes.

“We’re awfully sorry to have imposed on you like-

“Nonsense, Miss Granger!” Olivia replied softly as she led them out of the office and through a long, bright yellow corridor. “You must forgive me if I sounded like I was complaining. It was a favour for an old friend to stay late to meet you both… and it is not every day even as the Head of Magical Transportation that you get to meet such decorated war heroes.”

Ron suddenly felt a bit self-conscious that the Head of Magical Transportation for Australia had seen his vomit.

“So if you’re just finishing a nightshift… what’s the time here, then?” Ron asked.

“Just past seven o’clock in the morning, Mister Weasley,” she answered.

“Bloody hell! So we were spinning in that portkey for nine hours?! No wonder we both chucked up!” he exclaimed.

“Not quite,” Olivia replied. “Australia is just on a different time-zone to England. It is nine hours ahead. You were only using that portkey for around two minutes and thirty seconds… which I can agree does still feel like a very long time, especially on your first go… but it really is nothing to how long it would a take a muggle to get from one pond to the other… they’d be looking at closer to twenty four hours of travel to get from London to Sydney.”

“Oh,” he mumbled. “But wait… that means we’ve travelled in time… to the future…I always wanted to have a go using one of those time turners!” he added happily, still kind of confused, but excited by what they had just done.

It had been Friday night when they’d set off, but now it was Saturday morning - what a mind-fuck, Ron thought.

Olivia and Hermione seemed to exchange a knowing glance, which went right over Ron’s head as he still tried to come to terms with the strangeness of it all.

“Ah. Here is Brad now,” Olivia noted, as they saw a short, fairly old looking wizard in the distance. He jumped up excitedly when he saw them and rushed over immediately.

“Brad… meet our esteemed guests and friends of Harry Potter… Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.”  

“How ya’ garn?” he blurted out. “I’m Brad, but me mates call me Bradd-o!”

They exchanged pleasantries, before Burke excused herself and presumably sauntered off home to her bed after she had reminded Brad that there was to be no dilly dallying.

Brad ushered them to latch onto his arms as he readied his wand, but Ron’s stomach still felt a little bit wobbly and he hesitated.

“I kno’ ya must ‘av ‘ad one heck of a trip on ya’ portkey... but trust me I’m an experienced apparatah… ya won’t even feel it, Mister Weasley, sir!”

“Just Ron is fine,” added, feeling a bit embarrassed at being called sir.  

“Come on then, Ronn-o! Miss Burke told me no piss fartin’ around,” he replied as he indicated once again for Ron to grasp on. Ron relented and instantly felt the horrible lurch of apparation as they left the Australian Ministry of Magic.

They came to an abrupt halt and from the salty air and feel of the wind Ron could tell that they were now outside.

“Right-o here we are,” Brad said as Ron took in their surroundings.

It looked somewhat like a suburban muggle park, with lots of vibrant, green grass and giant trees, many of which Ron did not recognize. These trees were a lot more exotic than the ones he’d encountered at Hogwarts or the various forests they’d pitched up in whilst on the run in the countryside.

“Where exactly is it we are, if you don’t mind us asking?” Hermione enquired politely.

“Oh don’t worry, we ain’t stuck you up out in the bush. Ya’ still in Sydney. This is Woollahra an’ trust me, Miss Burke’s made sure ya’ gonna have an absolute ripper of a trip. Ya’ stayin’ at the brand new hotel they’ve built next to Australia Magizoo!”

“Australia Magizoo?” Ron asked curiously.

“It’s the biggest Magizoo in the world,” Hermione replied. “It only opened in 1990… Newt Scamander said in the foreword for Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them that it has the greatest collection of magical creatures ever assembled.”

“Sheila certainly knows her stuff!” Brad added.

Ron didn’t remember anything in his copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them about a giant Magizoo in Australia. He thought that he would’ve surely remembered something like that, but then he recalled that he’d had Bill’s old copy of the book, which would’ve been published well before it was even built. Hermione’s parents would’ve no doubt bought her the newest edition available.

“Now ya’ hotel ain’t far from here, but before we head off I best teach ya’ both the most important spell ya’ gonna need for ya’ time in Australia,” Brad said, as he retrieved his wand from his pocket.

“This’ll keep the mozzies and all the other little buggers from bitin’ ya,” he assured, before pointing his wand at himself and waving it quite aggressively. “Impedio Insectum,” Brad cast, as a very feint, almost invisible trail of liquid smoke engulfed him, before he waved his wand in their direction and two new smoke clouds appeared and submerged Ron and Hermione.

The smoke smelt vaguely chemically, before it softy absorbed itself into Ron’s skin, briefly making his skin quite moist, before it then faded away as though it had never been there at all.

“That will keep them off ya’ until the next time ya’ have a wash!” Brad announced triumphantly, as they offered their thanks to him.

“Ya’ shouldn’t need the spell to protect ya’ skin from the sun that we all use in the summa’, doubt it will get hot enough for ya’ to worry about that,” he added, as he started walking north and ushered for them to follow him.

“Why’s that?” Ron questioned as they started following their guide. “I thought Australia was supposed to be really hot?”

“Not when we’re comin’ up ta winter Ronn-o, mate!” Brad chortled.

Ron gave Hermione a confused look.

“It’s the same as the time being on the other side of the spectrum, Ron,” she said. “Australians have their summer months during our winter months, so where it’s almost June here it must be approaching their winter… although it’s still not too cold I suppose.”

“Ah nah… won’t ever get as cold as you Brits have it!” Brad exclaimed from ahead of them, as he lead them through the park.

They soon reached a turning and saw what looked like a huge palace in the distance, which appeared to have several armed guards stationed outside it. The guards were all wearing a funny sort of big, black bushy hat – their outfits were finished off with a bright red jacket and dark black trousers. Ron couldn’t quite make out the big object they were all holding aloft in their right arm.

“Are they beef-eaters?” a flabbergasted Hermione asked.

“Huh?” Brad mumbled. “Oh ya’ mean the guards! Look bloody stupid don’t they! Ya wouldn’t catch me dead in one of those. But don’t ya’ worry, Miss Granger. They ain’t real muggoes!”

“Muggoes?” Ron and Hermione asked in unison.

“Or Muggles as you Brits like ta’ call ‘em. Muggoes. Muggles. Same difference,” Brad said as he shrugged.

“But why are there people dressed up as muggles outside?” Ron asked as they drew closer to the impressive castle, which was a real contrast to the only castle Ron had ever been in previously. It had far more in common with the pictures he’d seen of the glamorous looking Beauxbatons Academy than the gothic-inspired ancient Hogwarts architecture.

“Beats me Ronn-o, mate. Muggo culture’s meant to be all the rage right nah ya kno? Wizard tourism industry is boomin’ over ‘ere and up in Asia and The States,” Brad said, before pausing and hesitating slightly. “‘specially now nobody’s been wantin’ a go to Britain the last few years,” he added nervously.

“But why would witches or wizards ever need to stay in a hotel when travelling abroad?” Hermione inquired.

“You have all the space you ever need in a good tent. Just need somewhere to pitch. Even the richest guests were pitched up in the same place as us when we went to Cairo… they just had bigger tents that’s all” Ron added, as he noticed one of the guards slowly leaving his post to meet them.

“Beats me, kidd-o! But people don’t wanna stay in tents no more. They wanna have an experience,” Brad replied, raising his eyes dubiously as he said the last word and chuckled lightly. “Load o’ old bollocks if you ask me. Can’t beat a nice trip in a tent out woop-woop.”

Ron laughed awkwardly in agreement, but if he was honest he had absolutely no idea what or where in the hell a woop-woop was.

“They wanna live like the muggoes do,” Brad continued. “They want real muggo waiters and chefs in the restaurants… they want real muggo barbers to cut their hair…they want real muggo everything, mate!”

Ron couldn’t quite picture the appeal and thought that it was quite odd, but then he casted a joyous image in his mind of his Dad turning up like a little kid at Christmas, absolutely revelling in a muggle-themed hotel.

“G’day Bradd-o ya daft cunt,” greeted one of the black hatted fake muggle guards in a thick Australian accent.

“Alright Tezza, mate? Lookin’ sharp in that sack o’ shit you call a uniform. How’s Noreen and the kids doin’ these days, they good?” Brad replied.

“Sound-o, mate. Who have we got here then?” the guard asked, as he smiled at Ron and Hermione.

“Ron Weasley,” Ron said as he shook the man’s hand.

“And I’m Hermione Granger,” Hermione added politely.

“Bloody hell, Bradd-o! What’s a daft old bludger like you doing with our VIP guests?!” Tezza asked in disbelief.

“I told you, Tezza, mate. I’m a big deal down at the Ministry,” Brad coolly replied.

Tezza laughed loudly before patting Brad on the shoulder. “Ah I have missed ya, mate!” he remarked, as Ron noticed Hermione yawn, which in turn caused him to do the same thing.

Tezza and Brad exchanged a nervous look upon noticing this.

“I best get yous two off to check-in,” Tezza said. “I could get in some real shit if the boss finds out I kept ya’ waitin’ talkin’ to this dick-‘ead,” he added, throwing a wink at Brad.

“Cya later Tezza, mate,” Brad said, as he raised his middle-finger to his friend, who raised his in return.

“Well it was sure nice meeting ya’ both,” Brad remarked as he turned to face them.

“A pleasure to meet you too,” Hermione quickly responded.

“Thanks for showing us around,” Ron added.

“No worries Ronn-o, mate!” Brad quipped. “Should see the overtime I’m getting for doing the morning shift today. Anyway I best be off… should be able to sneak a smoke-o before anyone notices I’ve been gone too long.”

Ron watched Brad skip along back through the Woollahra wilderness.

“Miss Granger, would ya’ like me to carry ya bag for ya’?” Tezza asked as he guided them towards the extravagant gate of the hotel.

“Oh no… it’s quite alright… it’s enchanted you see,” Hermione said.

“Ah thank Merlin you’re not one of those VIP guests,” Tezza replied excitedly. “Some of them are dead keen on this muggo thing. They ask ya’ to carry their bags like ya’ would if ya’ was a real porter in a propa’ muggo hotel… but most the guests are so rich the bags are enchanted and light as a featha anyway!” he said in an incredulous tone as he adjusted his hat.

Ron laughed slightly at the thought of it.

“Now me boss made us all promise that we wouldn’t ask ya’ any sensitive questions, like. But me little boy would nevva forgive me if I didn’t ask ya’ just one.”

Ron gave Hermione an uneasy look, but she smiled slightly and nodded.

“Go ahead,” she said.

“Okay,” Tezza began, as he cleared his throat and eyed up Ron and Hermione with a gravely serious face.

Ron wondered what question the man would consider so important to ask that he would risk getting in trouble with his boss for.

It had to be about something massive.

Something really hard-hitting.  

“Is it true what they say, like? Did You Know Who really not have a schnozza?”