Attack of the Telemarketers

“Ron!” Harry Potter’s shout echoed through the Granger’s almost empty house. “Those were the last of the chips! The last of the food! You squished our provisions, mate!”

“Sheesh, Harry. Don’t yell at me,” Ron countered, a little hurt. “It’s a mistake anyone could make.”

“Now what are we going to eat?” Harry growled. No one heard Hermione walk slowly down the stairs, wearing her fuzzy bunny slippers.

“Boys, we could eat…and forgive me my crazy notions…nutritious food.” Ron and Harry looked up in surprise at the untidy Hermione.

“Jeez, Hermione!” Ron laughed. “You look like you just rolled out of bed!”

“Um…Ron…” Harry whispered. “She did just get out of bed!”

“Oh! Right you are, Harry,” Ron smiled sheepishly. Hermione just shook her head, her tousled brown poufs of hair making a sort of rat’s nest around her head.

“Harry, we are in dentist’s house, and we will eat the kind of food my parents would want us to eat.” She busied herself with making eggs, toast, and freshly squeezed orange juice.

“Wow, Hermione,” Harry gaped, “you sure go through a lot of trouble just for breakfast!”

“Well, Harry,” Hermione grinned, “some households don’t go buy doughnuts every morning.”

“What do you-“ just then the telephone rang. On the far side of the kitchen, it hung to the side of the window. Just as the tan phone was on its third ring, Hermione raced to pick it up.

“Hello,” she paused, looking confused. “Hello?” Then there was an even longer pause. After about three minutes, she continued. “I’m sorry, not interested.” After hanging up, Hermione walked back over to the stove and flipped her eggs over. “You don’t like sunny side up, do you Harry?”

“Who was that?” Ron inquired, stealing a piece of toast after looking at the toaster curiously.

“A telemarketer,” Hermione replied casually.

“A what?”

“A telemarketer. I never talked to one, Uncle Vernon always answered the phone, but he always got really annoyed, screamed ‘don’t call again!’ and hung up,” Harry replied, running his hand through his hair.

“A telemarketer, Ron, is a salesperson who tries to sell you things over the phone. They call during the worst times when they know you’ll be home… dinner time, breakfast time, midnight…” Hermione retorted, rolling her eyes at Harry.

“What did she try and sell you?” Ron asked, forgetting about the toast that was behind his back.

“Something about a fish tank that cleans itself…”

“Wicked,” Ron breathed. “Why didn’t you get it?”

“Because, Ron, this stuff is expensive, pointless, a rip-off, junk, and totally worthless in all respects!” Hermione was getting very annoyed at all of this talk about telemarketers. Who cares about them, anyway? She thought to herself.

Abruptly, the telephone rang again. Ron asked happily, “May I get it?”

“I don’t see why not,” Hermione laughed. Ron was too much like his father, too interested in things of the Muggle world. Ron let out a whoop and ran to the phone.

“Hello?” he said, looking very smug indeed, at using a telephone, just like a Muggle. There was another silence. “Of course,” Ron smiled into the telephone, wondering if the person on the other end could see him. “Yes, thank you.” Ron hung the telephone up, and looked at Hermione, rubbing his hands together. “Oh boy, Hermione!”

“Who was that, Ron?” Harry asked, genuinely concerned, because Ron looked like he just drank a gallon of Butterbeer, all warm and cozy.

“One of those Melon-Barkers,” Ron grinned.

“Oh NO!” cried Hermione. “RON! What did you buy?”

“Oh, I got the greatest deal!” Ron looked intoxicated with joy. “I bought four fluorescent garden hoses; pink, yellow, blue, and green. I got all four of them plus their matching nozzles for the low low price of eighty pounds a month!”

“RON!” Harry and Hermione groaned simultaneously. Both knew that Ron, growing up with wizard cash, did not know how much eighty pounds a month really was.

~

Harry sat quietly with his head on his hands in thought. How were they going to get out of this one? Unless they pooled their money together, there was no way Hermione or Ron could get 80 pounds a month. He sighed, suddenly realizing what he would have to do.

“Guys,” he called up the stairs. “Hey, I figured out what we are going to do!” Silence. “Guys?” Harry walked up the wooden steps to Hermione’s room. Ron was sitting on the floor with a teddy bear wrapped in his arms, looking terrified. On the other side of the area, Hermione sat on her canvas bed. Staring. Staring at Ron. Staring at Ron with a look of utter hatred, not blinking. Harry was quite scared, and he prayed that she would never look that way at him.

Suddenly, the pink phone on Hermione’s nightstand rang. They all jumped, but Harry was the first to move. He didn’t want Ron to make Hermione even angrier than she was…

“Hello?”

“Oi! Harry! It’s Gred, er, Fred. Yes, that’s it! What, what? George! No, not that one!” There was a sound of explosion coming from the other end of the phone. Just then, Harry had a wickedly good idea. “Ah, sorry about that Harry. We just wanted to call Ron and ask how he’s doing. Dad showed us how; we called Lee. He was kind of upset, shouting something about waking him up, how we shouted in his ear…I reckon we shouted didn’t we George?” There was a sound of mumbling from the other side.

“Sure, I’ll buy it,” Harry said, grinning profusely, turned around so Hermione wouldn’t be able to see him grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“What in the blooming blazes are ya talking about Harry?” Fred questioned, but Harry went on.

“When will it get here?”

“George, I think we have a nutter on our hands.”

“Ah… yes, payment on delivery.”

“What, peanuts?”

“Thank you!”

“Harry! Wha-“ Harry hung up.

“HARRY JAMES POTTER!” Hermione looked livid. “WHAT ON EARTH HAVE YOU DONE? ARE YOU TRYING TO PUT MY FAMILY IN THE POOR HOUSE? ARE YOU TRYING TO PUT US IN DEBT? ARE YOU TRYING TO RUIN MY FAMILY? DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH EIGHTY POUNDS IS? DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOU JUST ADDED TO THAT EIGHTY POUNDS? DO YOU…” Hermione suddenly stopped. She noticed that Harry was grinning mischievously. She quickly scanned the room for eavesdroppers, but Ron had long since run outside, to “get a bit of fresh air,” but really to get away from Hermione’s fury. “Do you have a plan?”

Harry just continued to grin, but then said, “That was Fred and George. I thought I’d give Ron a taste of his own medicine. I was going to help you out with my own money, but then I thought that if Ron felt really guilty, he’d call back and cancel his order.” Hermione looked bedazzled by his brilliance.

“Oh Harry!” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. “You’re a genius!” She then scanned the room again, and gave Harry a quick peck on the cheek before going to make Ron feel the pain (of guilt, or so she said.)

Harry just stood there, dumbstruck. Awww… he thought, blushing. I’m not exactly a genius. But he continued to smile on his way to the kitchen to find some food. With Hermione’s parents at a Decay Convention in Liverpool, there wasn’t much to eat, since there wouldn’t be shopping done for about a week.

~

“Yes, er, is this the felly-marketers’ residence?” Ron asked, scrunching up his face in despair as he heard the click of the other line’s phone being slammed down. Setting the receiver down, he slid down into the dining room chair. “What have I done? Why is Hermione so mad at me? Oh, I wish I wasn’t so stupid with Muggle things!”

“Ack, I do too.” Hermione walked in, her hair still on the fritz and her bunny slippers squeaking as she took each step. She sat down next to him. “Ron, I’m sorry I got so upset. It’s sweet of you to try and call them back—“ Hermione grinned. “But it just won’t do. I think the best way is just to refuse the package when it comes. I’ll have to pay a fee, of course… But it will only be a couple of pounds. Oh, Ron.” She sighed again. “I could never stay mad at you, or Harry. You’re men, and men can be complete dunderheads if women weren’t around to help them.”

Ron blinked as the last comment worked its way into his brain. After a few minutes, “Hey!” Exploded from his mouth and he began to chase Hermione around the room with a pillow.

“What’s going on here?” Harry called from the stairs.

“I was trying to call the Belly-Toaster’s, to see if I could cancel those hoses. But that rude person at the other end simply hung up on me! I said very clearly, ‘Is this the Ollie-Markers residence?’ But noooooooo! Mr. High-and-mighty hung up! I’m telling you, Muggles aren’t very polite. Everyone seems to know what a Tollie-Tarker is, but no one will help a guy out!” All of this seemed to come out in a large BOOM of vocabulary, but Harry knew Ron well enough to understand what he meant.

“Don’t you mean ‘telemarketer’ Ron?” Hermione giggled.

“Oh, right,” Ron sighed. “Do you think that that’s why the mate on the other end hung up?”

“Well, that and that there’s more than one telemarketer, Ron, and they don’t exactly have a residence as a group. That’s their job, and there’s many people working as telemarketers.” Harry was almost laughing now. The only thing that stopped him was Ron’s confused and totally dependent looks. Then, to their surprise, the telephone rang…

~

Eight hours later, there had been exactly sixteen calls from telemarketers, and Ron had ‘bought’ a lifetime supply of self-applying toothpaste, a parachute, twenty replacement keys for a computer keyboard, and the complete ‘Bewitched’ video library. Hermione was having a tantrum.

“RONALD WEASLEY,” she bellowed so loudly that Crookshanks hissed and ran under the living room sofa. “YOU HAVE NOW SPENT FOUR THOUSAND POUNDS! THAT IS THE EQUIVALENT OF EIGHT THOUSAND GALLEONS!” Ron looked shocked at this revelation. “DO YOU HAVE EIGHT THOUSAND GALLEONS, RON?”

“Harry and I are complete dunderheads? And we need you to be smart?” he mentioned, eyebrows raised in terror.

“Don’t bring me into this,” Harry blushed, shuffling his feet. “HEY!”

Hermione sighed and collapsed into her armchair.

“I am surrounded by ignoramuses!” Hermione cried to the squirrel hopping past her window. The squirrel just stopped, looked at Hermione, and ran away.

“Hey!” Ron yelled. He wasn’t going to stand for being insulted. “We are not platypuses, or whatever you called us.” However, he was rudely caught off guard by a knock at the door. Hermione beat Harry and Ron to the door, hoping past hopes that her parents had come home early. Ron and Harry were doing as good of job of ‘looking out’ for her as a pair of monkeys!

“Hello?” Hermione straightened her t-shirt and wind pants, so they looked semi-neat. In the doorway stood a man in a black suit, carrying a briefcase bulging to the brink of splitting open with papers.

“Hello Miss,” the man said in a voice that reminded Hermione of a game show host.

“My name is Ian Tlyan ((AN---Its pronounced I Ain’t Lyin)). I am a representative of ‘The Frazzled Wheat, Cheese, and Sausage Company, Incorporated,’ and my company has a wooon-DER-fulll offer for your household.” The man flashed his best smile and smoothed back his (heavily greased) black hair.

Hermione’s foot tapped impatiently. “Mr. Tlyan, this is very sweet for you to stop over, and I may think of taking advantage of your kind offer, if you would do me just one little favor.” Hermione smiled.

Mr. Tlyan looked ecstatic at making his first sale. “Yes Miss. What would that be?”

“Would you please tell all of your friends in the same noble profession as you, to STOP COMING TO MY HOUSE! STOP CALLING MY HOUSE AT EVERY WAKING (OR SOMETIMES SLEEPING) MOMENT OF THE DAY! AND FOR GOODNESS SAKES; STOP BOTHERING ME!” She slammed the door, breathing heavily. “I ain’t lying…honestly, do you think he made that name up?”

~

It was almost time for Hermione’s parents to come home, and everyone was glad. It seemed that all the telemarketers in the world were trying to sell something to the Grangers. Ron had stopped answering the phone, leaving it to Harry or Hermione. He sat in a lonely corner, sucking on his fingers and staring into space. Harry watched TV shows, eventually soap operas, which left him crying and screaming at the TV. Hermione became a caffeine addict, even subjecting to tea when her soda ran out.

Then on Thursday, when her parents were supposed to come home, the phone rang again.

“Hello?” Hermione answered the phone groggily, taking a sip of her tea and rubbing her eyebrows.

“Hello,” the voice was male, had an Irish accent, and slightly sexy sounding. “I’m selling a product for Finnegan’s Irish Butterbeer, may I speak to the man or lady of the house?”

“Seamus?” Hermione’s eyes opened as she spilt her tea all over the carpet. Harry turned to stare at her, wondering if she would freak out. “Seamus Finnegan, is that you?”

“Yeah it’s me—wait a minute, who’s this?”

“Hermione! Hermione Gr-“

“Ack! Hermione! I didn’t realize this was your telly-phone number! How are ya doing? How is your summer going?”

The two proceeded to talk and talk, finally Ron shot out of his corner, breathing loudly after Hermione laughed deeply. “Get off the phone Hermione! It’s a bloody telemarketer! Harry! They’ve poisoned her mind!”

“You finally said it right Ron!” Harry, surprised, took a swig of his bottled water that he found in the freezer. The ice chipped his tooth. “Ow!”

“Oh, my parents can fix that--” Hermione called, putting her hand over the receiver. “Seamus? Seamus are you- o yes, what were we talking about?”

“Hermione! Get off the phone!”

“Not interested!”

“But, wait!” Seamus’ cry could be heard across the room. “Hermione, what are you doing tomorrow, then?” Hermione listened to the accent with fascination. How could anyone actually talk like that without breaking into laughter every ten seconds?

“Nothing,” Hermione shrugged. “My parents should be home, and Harry and Ron will be going home tomorrow probably.”

“Harry?” Seamus sounded surprised. “Ron? They’re at your house?”

“Yes.”

“Um…okay. Well, I’ll talk to ya’ later, Hermione? My number is 984-2637. Call me?”

“Sure. I’ll call you tomorrow. Goodbye, Seamus.” Hermione hung up the phone, to the utter amazement of Ron and Harry.

“Finally got of the phone, then?” Ron snorted. “And you were yelling at me about telemarketers!”

Hermione just shrugged. “I always liked Seamus, and you know what, he makes me laugh.”

“Yeah, sure, Hermione,” Harry chuckled mischievously. “He makes you laugh.”

“Ack!” Hermione shook her head. “Boys are soo immature.” Then…there was a knock at the door.

~

“Don’t worry,” Hermione giggled. “The door is locked. That telemarketer doesn’t have a bloomin’ chance of finding his way in here!” However, Ron and Harry were looking at Hermione with looks of absolute horror.

“H…H…H…HERMIONE,” shouted Harry. “THE WINDOW!” Hermione turned just in time to see the glass break. They all began to scream at once.

Over the pandemonium, a voice could be heard. “But wait! Order now and we will send you a free cellulite enhancer! And, if you order in the next three seconds, the enhancer comes with a money-back guarantee!”

The shouting abruptly stopped, leaving dead silence. “But wait,” said Hermione, “If it’s free, then there can’t be a money back guarantee!”

“Exactly!” cried the salesman.

“Oh,” Harry nodded. There was a couple of seconds of quiet, and then panic broke out again, all at once, this time louder than ever.

~

Ron snapped out of his fantasy just in time to see Hermione peer through the peephole. “Ack, its Fred and George!” Hermione opened the door to let them in, the sun shining in her eyes. She lifted her hand to shade it. “Hey boys, come on in!”

“Hey Ron…Harry…” Fred, or was it George? looked at Harry with his eyebrows raised, as if he weren’t quite sane. “How is the famous trio doing?”

“We’re great, Seamus just called!” Hermione bubbled.

“She’s great, we’re bored.” Ron corrected, back in his corner and snuggling with his teddy. Harry rubbed the front of his mouth, dismayed at his loss and not even noticing the twins staring at him with amazement. Then their attention turned to the TV. A woman was crying as her son rode a bike around in the driveway.

“What are you watching?” They sat down on the sage green couch, propping their feet up.

“Like I would know!” Hermione winked. “Ask Harry, he was watching it!” Harry just blushed and muttered incoherently.

“She was on the phelly-phone with SEAMUS!” Ron cried, as if this was a very improper thing to do.

“So?” Hermione tossed her hair. “So what if I was?”

“Well, nothing really. Except…Seamus?” Ron squinted. RRRRRINGGGGG!

“Oh brother!” Harry sighed. Hermione, however, rushed to get it.

“Hello?” There was a pause. “NO! HOW MANY TIME TO I HAVE TO TELL YOU PEOPLE? I DON’T WANT TO BUY ANY DRY-ROOT ASPARAGAS! LEAVE ME ALONE!” Hermione slammed the phone down this time.

“What’s gotten into her?” George asked Harry, looking very concerned, indeed.

“Telemarketers,” Harry replied sullenly.

“MoonyOrcfers…what?”

“Telemarketers!” yelled Ron. “Don’t you guys know anything? They’re people whose job it is to call you on the phelly-tone or come to your door and try to sell you stuff.” Ron nodded knowledgeably.

“Ack, I get it!” Fred laughed.

“Do you really?” Harry almost choked on his carrot sticks in amazement.

“No,” replied Fred. To this the others just laughed, and the laughter continued for a few minutes, before the doorbell rang…

~

“Hello, I have four packages for Mr. Ronald Weasley?” The man in the brown uniform bowed slightly when Hermione opened the door.

“Oi! That’s me!” Ron sprinted to the door. “Wicked! My packages! Thanks, mate!” Ron smiled, closing the door on the man.

“Ron!” Hermione gave him a warning look.

“Oh, alright! Don’t get in such a pickle!” Ron opened the door again, and grinned apologetically at the delivery man.“Um, sorry mate. Wrong house.” Ron thrust the packages back into the man’s arms.

“Hey!” yelled the man. “Wait! You can’t do this!” Ron slammed the door in his face. “HEY! HEY YOU KIDS! MY JOB DEPENDS ON THESE PACKAGES! WHAT AM I GONNA TELL MY WIFE WHEN I DON’T HAVE A JOB AT THE END OF THE DAY? HUH? HUH?” The man was literally screaming now, in despair and fear.

Ron opened the door a crack, just enough to say, “Uh…’let’s never have kids?’” The man stared in horror as Ron shut the door, ever so softly, but with impeccable tightness.

“Ron,” Hermione cried. “You were wonderful!”

“Ack, Hermione! It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Oh, Ron!” Hermione just laughed, and then added, “Come on! There’s food in the kitchen.” Fred, George, Ron, and even Harry (who reluctantly left his Soap Opera) followed Hermione into the kitchen, hoping for some good food.

~

“So, Mom and Dad, that’s what happened.” Hermione had just finished telling her parents the story of her crazy telemarketer filled week. Ron and Harry had already gone home.

“Well, Hermione, we’re very proud that you took responsibility. You handled the situation very nicely.” Her father stood, proud that his little girl could handle herself (and others, if need be) so well. Hermione and her parents hugged, but their reunion was interrupted when the doorbell rang.

Carefully, Hermione cracked the door open, convinced that if she saw another telemarketer, she would throw something. She was wrong.

“Seamus!” Hermione cried, throwing the door open the rest of the way.

“Hermione!” Seamus laughed. “Wow!” he said, looking Hermione over approvingly. “You look great. Love the t-shirt and wind pants look.” Seamus then angled his head. “Classic,” he added with a smile.

Hermione laughed, and invited Seamus to meet her parents.

“Well, we’ve heard a lot about you Seamus,” Hermione’s mother greeted him warmly.

“You have?” Seamus looked puzzled. “From who?”

“Never mind!” Hermione quickly interrupted. “Would you like to go for a walk in the garden?” Then she added, blushing, “The chrysanthemums are in bloom.”

“Why not?” Seamus laughed. Hermione opened the patio door, and glanced back, just in time to see her mother wink at her when her father wasn’t looking.