I had a lot of fun writing this one! Written for Hogwarts: Muggle Studies A7, Optional Dialogue: "I may have run over someone. Accidentally."

EDIT: Okay I am absolutely mortified - I am SO SORRY. I had the examiner's last name as something terribly inappropriate - I swear I did not know that it meant "s** toy" I swear, I was thinking Bilbo Baggins and oh my goodness, I am so sorry - and I changed it now to something normal, but I am so embarrassed and so sorry to everyone who had the misfortune to read this while I was embarrassing myself and oh my goodness I am just going to go sit in the corner and bang my head against the wall. I can't tell you how sorry I am. Oh my goodness.

See, this is like the one problem with being raised in a family where profanity is never ever discussed - absolute ignorance of things like this.

(And to those of you who are reading this after I've edited it all to "Mr. Johnson", ignore that bit up there :))

AGAIN. I AM SO SORRY.

Ron Weasley's Muggle driving test was not going well.

"Mr. Weasley!" gasped the examiner, Mr. Johnson, for the millionth time as Ron lurched forward at the traffic light. "Slowly, now, slowly!"

Ron very much wanted to tell Mr. Johnson to bloody shut up because he could not concentrate with the little man crying out "Slowly, slowly!" every two seconds, but he reckoned that would not help him pass the test. Instead, he grit his teeth and slightly lifted his foot from the gas pedal.

The car was going at a steady, pleasurable pace (and had been for a minute - his record), and Ron was thinking that perhaps he could pass the test after all, when he turned at the corner and hit something that looked disturbingly like a person.

"STOP THE CAR!" screamed poor old Mr. Johnson.

Ron slammed down on the pedal and the car stopped moving with an unearthly screech.

Mr. Johnson was out of his mind with panic. "Get out, Mr. Weasley, I think you just hit - oh dear, get out -"

Mr. Johnson hopped out of the car as if his seat was scorched, and Ron watched him dart to the front of the car and gasp. Expecting the worst, Ron followed his steps and looked down to see a young woman on the street, lying spread-eagled on her back with her eyes closed and face looking very white. She had black hair and a refined face, and looked perfectly dead.

Ron suddenly understood why Mr. Johnson looked so anguished.

"Oh, Merlin. Oh no. Oh no, no, no - did I? - Oh no -" Ron looked at Mr. Johnson helplessly, but the old examiner was staring at the woman with utmost horror on his face, looking just as lost as Ron. Poor old man probably never had to deal with this type of event on driving tests.

Ron was quite tempted to take his wand out and revive the woman but he couldn't very well do so in front of the examiner - though a quick glance around showed an empty street completely void of other Muggles. The buildings seemed empty, and there was only a bright red muggle telephone box that looked like it hadn't been touched in years. Somehow, the whole street seemed familiar to Ron, but he couldn't quite place it.

With Mr. Johnson's help - not that it was a lot - the woman was carried to the pavement. She looked very dead. She felt very dead.

Mr. Johnson sat down on the curb and put his hands over his balding head, rocking back in forth. Ron almost felt more sorry for him than the woman.

"Mr. Johnson? Er, what should we do now?" Ron asked desperately. "Is there someone that you lot - I mean, our lot - I mean, we - call?"

The old man did not answer. Instead, he mumbled something under his breath about red hair and cars and crazy drivers.

Ron tried again. "Er, well, there's no one around, and you know, we have to make sure she's not - you know - dead -"

"Telephone," Mr. Johnson said faintly though coherently, and Ron perked up, hanging to his every word. Which turned out to be just two more. "Call them."

It was very evident that Ron was supposed to know who to call, but unfortunately he didn't.

Ron glanced up at the telephone box and gave Mr. Johnson a panicked look. He was sure that there was someone in specific who Muggles called in emergencies, and that was probably who the old man was referring to, but Ron was not a Muggle and he did not know what in Merlin's name the examiner was talking about.

"Er," said Ron, hoping it sounded like an offer, "would you rather call them?"

Mr. Johnson only shook his head and pointed vaguely at the telephone box. "Do you have money?"

"No," said Ron. He did have a few Knuts in his pocket, but he reckoned that wasn't what the examiner had in mind.

The old man dug into one of his pockets and resurfaced with a few silver coins, which he dropped into Ron's hand. "That might be too much - you can keep the extra - but go call them, please."

Ron opened his mouth to protest, and closed it.

He turned and hesitantly made his way to the glass box, not knowing what to do as soon as he'd slipped inside. He found the slot where he assumed the little thin coins were supposed to be inserted. Not knowing what else to do and who to call, Ron pushed in a coin.

And suddenly had a brilliant idea.

He picked up the phone, thanking Merlin for the lesson his dad had given him so long ago on how to use a Muggle telephone, thanking Merlin that Hermione always carried a celly phone, or whatever it was called, on her person, thanking Merlin she made him memorize her celly code number thing despite his claims that he was never going to be in need of it.

His wife answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

Ron sank back into one of the box's walls. Just the sound of Hermione's assured voice was calming. "Yeah, Hermione? It's Ron." He had to remember not to speak louder than normal.

"Ron?" he heard Hermione splutter. "What are you - how'd you get a phone? Where are - Wait, never mind that, I thought you were taking your driving test!"

Ron cleared his throat nervously and glanced over his shoulder. Mr. Johnson still sat on the curb, shaking his head. The lady still lay on the ground. "Er, well, that's the thing, I was, but I - er - well, in any case, what do Muggles do when they get run over?"

"What are you talking about, Ron?" Hermione sounded rather panicked, and Ron thought she had good reason to. "Run over? By a car? Did you get run over-"

"No!" Ron said quickly. "No. But, er, see, I may have run over someone. Accidentally, if that makes it any better."

He heard Hermione's sharp intake of breath, and waited for her short, quick breaths that always came when she was nervous, agitated, or excited.

Sure enough, the breaths came through the static of the phone. "You ran over someone?" she squeaked faintly. "On your test?"

"I didn't really run over her, I just hit her, and it was by accident!" said Ron into the phone desperately. "Accidents happen, right?"

Hermione gave a sort of moan-squeak-cry that did not comfort him at all. "Just - did whoever you hit - are they alive?"

"Well, she's unconscious, but I don't think she's dead," said Ron, beginning to panic once more. "But what if she is - oh, Merlin's saggy pants, I'll be a murderer -"

Hermione cut in, her voice strict and bossy, and for once, Ron appreciated that. "Are you sure she's - not alive? Did you check her pulse?"

"No," said Ron, feeling very stupid. "I'll go do that now -"

"Are there muggles around? Do you think you could do magic?"

"Er, well there's the examiner, but I could Obliviate him, I suppose -"

"You will do no such thing," Hermione said fiercely, having developed a strong dislike of Memory Charms since she'd cast one on her parents. She sighed. "Just go check the woman's pulse. I'm sure she's still alive," she said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself. "Where are you anyway?"

"Some Muggle street," said Ron.

"Yes, I know that, but what's the name?"

"Er." Ron peered through the grimy glass panes of the telephone box. He could just barely make out the white letters on the street sign. "Kalman Drive."

"Kalman Drive, Kalman Drive. Why does that sound so familiar?" he heard Hermione muttering. "In any case, call 999 right now, tell them the place and that someone's been hit and possibly injured - she's not bleeding, right?"

"No," said Ron, "but what the hell's 999?"

"Muggle emergency number," said Hermione quickly. "Just call it, hurry. And owl me once it's over, and - Oh no, my boss is coming, I've got to go, bye, don't get arrested - call 999 - check her pulse, bye -"

There was a click and Ron was left with silence, three coins in his hand, and absolutely no idea what Hermione was barking on about.

"999," he muttered, placing another coin at the slot. He was just about to push it in when he happened to peer through the glass and see the form of a woman standing up - she was not dead, then -

Ron stuffed the coins into his pocket and rushed out of the red telephone box, utter relief seeping into his limbs.

The woman was up and about, prancing - literally - around Mr. Johnson, still sitting on the curb. She looked positively chipper as she chattered away to the old man, and she did not look at all like she'd just been hit by a car.

"Oh, you're back!" Mr. Johnson waved Ron over. "Ms. Wilson here appears to be fine, but we can't be too sure. Did you call 999?"

Now the old man said who he was supposed to call, Ron thought wryly. "Er, no-"

"See? I'll be on my way now," said the woman, Ms. Wilson. "I'm perfectly fine, don't worry about it."

"But you've just been hit," said Ron quickly. "Er, doesn't that hurt?"

"Mr. Weasley is correct," said Mr. Johnson, and if Ron did not know better, he would have sworn he saw the woman double take at his name and stare at him quite openly.

"Mr. Weasley…?" she asked faintly, and Ron met her wide eyes and saw them flick down to her pocket, where the outline of a thin, stick-like object could be seen beneath her coat -

Ron took an involuntary step backwards. "Er," he said quickly, "are you sure that it doesn't hurt?" He twitched his eye, hoping she got the message.

The woman gaped at him. "Yes," she said, bringing herself back to the present. "Yes. Yes, I'll just - I'll be going, then," Ms. Wilson said, her eyes still fixed on Ron.

"What, are you sure?" Mr. Johnson asked, his eyes darting from Ron to Ms. Wilson, but Ms. Wilson simply smiled and waved and stared at Ron some more as she made her way down the street - towards, Ron realized with dawning comprehension, the muggle world entrance to Gringotts, which was a particularly shabby warehouse down the road.

"What was that about?" Mr. Johnson scratched his balding head and peered after the woman. "Did you know each other?"

"Er, no," said Ron. He made a beeline for the car.

"She kept on looking at you as if she knew you," pointed out Mr. Johnson curiously.

"Huh. I wouldn't know," said Ron, slipping into the driver's seat.

Mr. Johnson shrugged, then said in a slightly pained voice, "Well, let's finish this test, shall we? No more little accidents, if you will, Mr. Weasley."

Half an hour later found Ron waiting outside of the driving agency, waiting for Mr. Johnson to return with his results, which, Ron was positive, were not looking very good.

He was just about to pop into the building to check to see if the little man was back yet, when he heard a screech of an owl flying overhead. Out of seemingly nowhere, a folded parchment floated down and landed on Ron's head. He raised his eyebrow and opened it, recognizing his father's writing.

Ron,

Hermione told Percy who told us about your driving test. Are you okay? Did the poor muggle girl get hurt? Don't you dare Confund the poor examiner after your reckless driving, your mother says. Reply when you can.

Dad

Ron looked up to see the owl perched on top of the telephone box outside agency, looking at him expectantly. He was searching through his pockets for a pen that he wasn't sure he was even carrying when he felt a small coin find its way into his hand.

He pulled it out, realizing it was an extra coin from Mr. Johnson. He frowned at it. Muggle money was really very… small.

His eyes traveled from the coin to the telephone box the owl was on, and suddenly had a strange idea. He strolled towards the box, unsure of what he was doing. He cast a quick glance at the building doors before slipping in.

As Ron plugged in the only other telephone code number he knew - his dad's - Ron thought that his father would rather appreciate this particular form of communication, and decided he would give the last two coins to him when he next visited the Burrow.

I realize in the epilogue, it's implied his driving test went well, but for the purposes of the story, let's pretend he retook it and did a lot better his second time xD

Hope you enjoyed!

-Summer