A/N: Written for the Paragraph Challenge for the prompt 'Arthur Weasley' and for the Cluedo/Clue Challenge for the prompts 'Dean Thomas,' 'worried,' and 'denim'.
Avarice is the worst of sins, Hermione thought bitterly as she threw another dart at the board. With a satisfying thunk, the metal embedded itself into the bristle near the outer boundary of the single bull. Still fuming, she strolled up to the board and, after tallying her points and confirming them with Dean and his sister Ellie, yanked out the darts with a viscousness that belied all the times she'd told her friends that she was feeling fine. She hastily updated the scoreboard before, plastering a bright smile on her face and hoping that she wouldn't catch the tail-end of a knowing glance, walking back to them as if she hadn't a care in the world. "See?" she asked, her tone smug. "I told you I'd beat you."
"Respectable effort, sure enough," Dean replied, compressing his lips into an assessing pout as if he were truly contemplating the current tally. "But we'll see if you're still saying that when the game's over."
"Trust me; I will be." She strolled up to him and, planting her feet on the ground a mere foot away from him, propped her hands on her hips in a facsimile of defiance as she stared him down. Hermione had never expected that she could have this much fun hanging out with Dean. He had always been fairly amusing and relatively interesting to talk to – she'd gotten to know him during his ill-fated relationship with Ginny, after all – but she'd never seen him as someone she could truly banter or debate with. It hadn't been until their seventh year, when they'd both taken refuge in the common room after a nightmare and had, in their shared vulnerability, opened up to one another, that she'd realised how deep and understanding he really was. Being proven wrong wasn't something she was usually comfortable with, but she was extremely glad that he had so competently overturned her misconceptions about him. "Don't you agree?"
His fingers traced a pattern of goose bumps against her bent elbow as he leant in to whisper in her ear, "We'll have to see about that, won't we?"
Unwilling to let the whole pub in on how much his soft touch affected her, Hermione ignored the way her breath caught in her chest and met his gaze squarely with all the blustering force of a Gryffindor. "I guess we will." She was rewarded with a chuckle as he ambled towards the throwing line and she returned to her place beside the girl who'd suggested the outing in the first place.
"Ron's gone to the press again, hasn't he?" Ellie asked once they were effectively alone. The observation startled Hermione; the girl was more perceptive than she'd thought. They'd quickly become close – it was nice to have a Muggle friend to talk to, and Ellie had experienced enough blatant and latent racism over the years to understand Hermione's experiences at Hogwarts – but Hermione hadn't realised how easily the older girl could read her. "The mutual teasing thing with Dean helped, but it was rather obvious that you were feeling down when we first got here."
Watching her fiancé as he tried to line the dart up with the target before sending it crashing into the board, Hermione nodded. "He didn't mention the engagement as even he can see that talking about relationships is crossing a line," she explained, her voice bitter in light of the perceived betrayal, "but he had a promotional photo shoot with some Quidditch magazine and apparently offered them an exclusive group interview with him, Harry and me."
"Even though he knows the two of you hate the attention?"
Annoyed at the mere memory of the situation, Hermione gave a sharp nod of her head in response. "Even so. The fame's really been getting to his head lately. Honestly, I'm worried about him; I don't think he realises how caught up he's getting in all of this. I understand that this is all he's ever wanted, but he keeps forgetting that it's the complete opposite of what we want."
"Sucks to be you," Ellie said eloquently.
"Lovely, isn't it?" Hermione quipped lightly. Her attention was quickly diverted as Dean gestured them over to check his scores, a broad grin spread across his face. She couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm and zest for all things sporting or competitive. "Things aren't too bad, though. In school? Sure. Lately? Not so much. Your brother does have a rather nice habit of making me feel better just by being around. Besides," she paused to smirk at Ellie, "have you seen him in denim?"
"Ew. I so did not need to hear that." Still, Ellie smiled fondly as Hermione, snickering at her exaggerated disgust, walked straight towards Dean and stepped into his ready embrace. Despite all of her posturing about being grossed out by their obvious affection for one another, she truly did find their relationship sweet. She knew enough about their wartime experiences to know that any bit of happiness was precious to them, like a treat that should be savoured before it's gone.
Yquem pales in comparison to this, Hermione thought, remembering the sweet but expensive wine Fleur's father had served when she, Harry and the Weasleys had visited France after the war. As always, the feeling of Dean's arms wrapped around her warmed her heart as well as her body. She rested her head against the crook of his neck and whispered against his warm skin, "I'll tell you about it when after the game," knowing he was well aware that something had been bothering her. He made a noise as if to speak, but she cut in with, "But, although I love you, I need to kick your arse at darts first."