A/N:"Harry supposed he would just have to wait to see what happened under the influence of Butterbeer in Slughorn's dimly lit room on the night of the party." (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince)

Well, Harry wondered, and so did I. The result? This little fluff-fest.

Different party. Same Ron and Hermione. Loads of influential Butterbeer. Enjoy.

Disclaimer:Yes, this fic is indeed all JK Rowling's fault. Blame her.

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Mental

For the first time in as long as she could remember, Hermione felt as if she didn't have a care in the world. Forget Voldemort, and the war, and the fact that she was – embarrassingly enough – far behind in Ancient Runes. Right now, nothing could bring her down.

Knowing she must look ridiculously joyful, she took a sip of her drink and surveyed the bustling common room. People were talking and laughing, a few re-enacting top moments from the game with wild gesticulations, while another few were whispering excitedly – undoubtedly about the sensational scene that had taken place earlier between Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley.

With a pang of sympathy, Hermione looked over at Dean, who seemed to be the only one not having a good time. He was seated in an armchair, forlornly staring into the jug of Butterbeer he was cradling. But she couldn't worry too much about that right now. That was life, wasn't it? Hearts were broken and subsequently mended. It happened all the time. He was sure to get over it soon enough.

"Good night for being in Gryffindor, isn't it?"

Hermione looked over at Neville next to her on the sofa. He looked as pleased as she felt. "The best," she said and grinned at him.

"And the game! Incredible, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was." Oh, if she didn't stop smiling soon, her face would surely stick like this.

"The team's one of the best we've ever had, I reckon. I mean, even without Harry, they just seemed to do everything right!"

Hermione nodded, immensely proud of her house team, though she'd admittedly watched the game without a clue as to who was leading and who was behind until the red-and-gold-clad masses around her had erupted in triumphant roars.

"And Ron… I can't believe how good he's gotten! He had a shaky start last year, but now… absolutely brilliant!"

Hermione was positively beaming now, both at this praise of Ron and at seeing Neville so genuinely happy and at ease. It was rather rare. "Yes, brilliant," she said softly and looked over at Ron, who was talking to Seamus over by the drinks table. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and his hands and arms were making complicated gestures, probably illustrating some intricate Quidditch feint (yes, she knew that word by now – had learned it the hard way). Every now and then he'd pause and look up at the ceiling, brow furrowed, before nodding and continuing his demonstration. When he was done, Seamus appeared to offer his view on the matter, with equally complex moves, but Hermione didn't study him, because her eyes automatically went back to Ron. He now had his arms crossed over his chest and was leaning forward slightly, listening intently.

Boys and Quidditch. She'd never understand it. But that was part of the charm, wasn't it? It reminded her of watching Muggle scientists on her parents' television – biologists and physicists and mathematicians, ranting about their areas of expertise, a fire in their eyes as they went on and on about these matters she couldn't possibly grasp. She'd always thought it was rather romantic. That they could feel so strongly about something, even if most of the world would never understand why.

At that moment, Ron turned his head, caught her eye and grinned, and she barely managed to smile back before looking away, her face burning. She sincerely hoped no one else had caught her staring. Helping herself to some more Butterbeer, she waited for her face to cool down before turning to Neville.

"So, I've been meaning to ask you, how's your Inferi essay coming along? You know, for Snape? Do you still need help with it?"

Neville opened his mouth to answer, but another voice beat him to it. "Aw, give the poor bloke a rest, Hermione." She looked up in time to see Ron sit himself down on the table in front of them, closely followed by Seamus. "No one should have to think about homework tonight."

"Here's to that," Seamus said and clinked his bottle with Ron's. Hermione had the distinct feeling this wasn't the first one for either of them. "Nah, Hermione, you'd want to help me with my mission for the evening instead."

"What's that then?" She raised an eyebrow apprehensively.

"This bloke right here—" Ron jabbed a finger in Seamus' direction, "—has sworn that by the end of the evening, he'll have me drinking Firewhisky out of the Quidditch cup. In my pyjamas."

Her other eyebrow went up. "Is that so?" she asked, barely able to contain a smile as Neville chuckled beside her.

"That is so!" Seamus confirmed, nodding vigorously. "And I need all the help I can get. He's a resistant old sod, this one."

"No I'm not!" Ron protested, sounding far too offended for somebody sober. "Just responsible! Hear that, Hermione? Responsible." He leaned forward and pointed at her for emphasis, and the slightly glassy look in his eyes confirmed Hermione's suspicions. Someone had been over-indulging. But she could hardly reprimand him for it, under the circumstances. Especially not as she herself was already on her second bottle and beginning to feel rather tipsy.

"That's very mature of you, Ron," she said.

"Thank you." He threw his arm out in a bow-like gesture, knocking Seamus' drink out of his hand in the process. Neither of them seemed to notice.

"But I must admit, the sight would be rather entertaining. So I think I might just help him with his little plan."

"I really appreciate that, Hermione," Seamus said, reaching out to shake her hand. "Neville? You with me as well?"

Neville shrugged. "Guess so." He was awarded with an equally forceful handshake. "But I don't have any Firewhisky…"

"Not a problem, not a problem at all. I've got all the goods…" With that, Seamus rose from his seat and marched away, unsteady but determined, and evidently eager to set his plan in motion.

Ron watched him go with a frown. "I'm not letting that Irish little bugger out of my sight. Probably thinks he can trick me. And you two… don't you dare help him out, hear me?"

He narrowed his eyes at them suspiciously, but Hermione just shrugged in a non-committal way and said, "I'll make no promises."

He snorted. "Well, in that case I'll be watching you too." Then he leaned forward, and for one alarming moment Hermione was sure he was going to vomit, but instead he rocked himself up to a standing position and took some time to regain his balance, before dropping into the seat next to her.

Her body stiffened instinctively, because he was sitting quite close. Their hips and shoulders were touching, and she felt his body move with every breath. She marvelled at this new - and rather improved - Ron, who suddenly wasn't afraid of body contact, even when sober. With a twinge of jealousy, she realised that this was probably Lavender's doing, but she could hardly be too upset about it, if it meant Ron wasn't terrified of touching her anymore.

Because he certainly wasn't. In fact, it almost seemed like he took every opportunity he could these days, whether it was to pick leaves out of her hair, or grab her arm to hold her back if there was something new on the notice board, or brush something off her shoulder, like that time in Charms class when he'd inadvertently caused a minor snow-fall. She didn't know why he was suddenly like this, or if she was reading a bit too much into it, but anyhow it was all rather exhilarating.

She was distracted from her train of thought when Neville rose from his seat.

"Anyone want more drinks?"

Hermione shook her head just as Ron said, "Yeah, I'll have one."

This time she couldn't resist. "No, Ron, I think you've had quite enough. Besides, you haven't even finished that one yet!"

"I can have one to save for later," he whined, but she shook her head again.

"Thanks Neville, but we're both fine."

Neville nodded and trudged off, leaving the two of them alone. After crossing his arms and sulking in silence for a grand total of thirty seconds, Ron seemed to forget about being denied another drink. He scratched his head and looked around the room.

"Wonder where Harry and Ginny have gone off to? Thought they'd be back by now…"

Hermione bit her tongue. She was sure Ron didn't really want to know her thoughts about what his sister and his best friend had been up to the past few hours. Besides, it was rather obvious, wasn't it?

"I have to say, I did not see that one coming."

She looked up at him, surprised. "Really?"

He turned to face her and they were so close she could smell the Butterbeer on his breath. "What, are you saying you didn't think it was weird seeing Harry and Ginny run up to each other and snog in the middle of the common room?"

She shrugged. "Well, maybe I was a bit… shocked, but only because I didn't think it would happen like that, in front of everybody. But Ginny, she's fancied Harry for years, you know that--"

"Yeah, well, she was over him!"

"Not really. She'd just sort of… put him on hold. And you can't honestly say you haven't noticed Harry fawning over her like a complete idiot lately."

"What! For how long?"

She rolled her eyes at him, exasperated. "Honestly, Ron! He's fancied her for months, and been rather obvious about it! How can you not have noticed?"

Ron gaped stupidly at her. "Months?"

"Yes, months. But then again, you've been quite occupied, so I guess other people's behaviour hasn't really registered with you." She hated herself for not being able to refrain from snide remarks, even now that he had in fact broken up with Lavender.

But she'd felt so hurt, for so long, and these things didn't just go away with the flick of a wand, as convenient as that would be.

And what did it matter if she came with catty remarks and scathing insults if he didn't even notice? Because he'd clearly missed this one. Scratching his cheek, he scrunched up his face and looked towards the portrait hole. "Yeah, well, I still reckon they've both gone mental…"

She looked up at him again. His hair was a complete mess and her fingers itched to smooth it down. "Is that such a bad thing, then?"

He met her eyes, then briefly let his gaze travel over her features. It was dizzying. "Maybe not," he said softly and offered her a small smile, before looking away and out over the room again. Was it her imagination or did he seem flustered, even in his current intoxicated state? She was, anyway. Looking down at her hands, lying clasped in her lap, she listened to the buzzing in her ears and the racing of her heart. Why did he make her so nervous? It was ridiculous, really. After all, nothing had changed between them, had it?

Except it had. To start things off, he was single again. And the last time he'd been single, she'd asked him out. And now, if anything was ever really going to happen between them, she was determined to not be the one to initiate it. Not this time. If he wanted anything from her -- with her -- he had better show it. Properly. And preferably soon, because she was growing rather tired of waiting.

"Uh-oh," Ron suddenly said under his breath. Hermione barely had time to let it register before she saw the cause of his concern. Lavender Brown was stomping towards them, her eyes blazing dangerously. She came to a halt at the other side of the table and hissed, "Enjoying yourself, Ron?"

"I, uh… Well… Hello, Lavender."

Hermione rolled her eyes at his cowering posture and frightened tone. Sometimes she could swear he'd been born without a backbone. But then Lavender turned to her instead, and she found she couldn't really blame him. The look she was given was full of loathing and not to be taken lightly. "And you, Hermione? Are you happy your dear Ron is unattached again?"

The answer was, of course, a resounding yes, but Hermione would not get in the middle of this. Sighing, she rose from her seat. "Look, I'm not going to get caught up in whatever unfinished business you two have together. I'll see you both later."

She saw Lavender glare at her before she turned around and headed towards the portrait hole. She needed some air. Or at the very least, some space.

There really were far too many people in here.

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A/N: Stay tuned for the second (and final) instalment, which is more or less finished. Just needs some polishing.