"Harry, why are we going to a pizzeria?" Ron asked. "Hermione doesn't like pizza."
Harry smiled. He pointed to the sign next to the doorway. Ron's eyes followed Harry's finger to the hand-lettering.
—All You Can Eat Buffet —£5.50
Ron goggled at the sign. He sputtered. He stammered. He gasped. He absent-mindedly rubbed his stomach. Harry quietly laughed at his best friend.
Hermione had spotted the two from just inside the door. Sticking her head out the glass door, she beckoned the boys in.
"Ron? Harry? They just started serving the buffet," she said. "Aren't you hungry?"
Ron began sniffing the air as the smell of freshly-baked pizza wafted through the open door. Harry clapped him on the shoulder.
"What did I tell you, mate," he said, winking at Hermione. "There's nothing wrong with Muggle restaurants. And I thought you'd like –"
Harry was left talking to empty space as the redhead quickly darted through the open door. Harry chuckled as he followed him. "I told you he'd like this place," said Hermione.
Harry nodded. He could almost hear Ron's stomach growling at the head of the buffet table. Ron was standing there, trembling, as he surveyed the pizza buffet. The largest in London, the advert had said, with 40 different kinds of pizza.
Harry noticed that a small line of drool had escaped Ron's mouth. Grinning, Harry handed him a plate and patted him on the back. "Go for it, mate," he said, winking again at Hermione.
47 minutes later ...
"... and don't ever come back!" said the round man, shaking his fist at the trio.
Harry gripped Ron's arm, supporting the floundering redhead. Hermione was livid.
"We won't!" she snapped at the head chef and owner. "Some people honor their adverts, unlike some people I know." She loftily turned on her heel. "Let's go, boys," she said, stalking down the sidewalk.
Ron lurched forward, following the fuming, bushy-haired girl. "Hermione..." he gurgled, his stomach round as a Bludger.
Harry rolled his eyes and helped Ron stagger forward. He turned to the still-angry pizzeria owner and smirked, throwing him a handful of pound notes. "I would have thought someone breaking the 26-slice record would be something you wanted," he said, slowly walking away.
The owner bent and snatched up the money. He caught Harry's eyes with his own.
"Not with 62 bloody slices!"
AN: There ya go. A little blurb. This little bunny nibbled at my left pinky toe until I gave in and wrote it. It might find a home in a bigger fic – I liked the characterization of Ron here – but after catching the bunny and wringing its bunny ears for every drop of story, there wasn't anything left. So, there ya go.