Disclaimer: I own nothing.
It's quite depressing.
Big, tasty thank you to Remuslives who has been my magical Beta!
Sorry my beautiful readers and thankyou for your wonderful reviews; I intended to update this Friday, but unfortunatly I was too busy fighting a long-haired oger with an anger management problem. I really and truly wish I were lying. So, instead I come to you on Saturday with my newest chapter. Oh and if anyone is feeling generous, please help me eliminate said ogar by voting in my poll of "Ways to squish an ogar." It would really help the decision process...
So, read and enjoy...
Two: Chicken Dinner
"There he goes. One of God's own prototypes.
A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production.
Too weird to live, and too rare to die." - Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
The potent odour of sex and alcohol still lingered in the air of the hotel room; it hit Harry like a flying gnome the second he stepped through the door. It was George who had told him where to find Hermione, at half past three in the afternoon, an hour before their portkey was due to leave. The floor was littered in a mixture of roses that had been tossed out of a nearby vase; a pair of lacy knickers had been tossed amidst a pile of broken glass, and there amongst all this, Harry spotted a saggy, old condom.
He looked to the large double bed, where a Hermione shaped lump was snoring like a baby dragon. Careful to avoid the disaster zone that was the hotel room, he tiptoed through the rabble and perched beside the lump on the bed.
"Sex kitten..." Harry whispered, trying to keep the smirk from his face, "little lioness..." he poked what he assumed was her shoulder, "Oi, Lady Marmalade!" He gave her a rough shove with both hands, yanked down the covers and burst out laughing—her entire body had been charmed with good wishes and happy returns, they had been scrawled over her arms, legs, back and even her breasts. But the most humorous was across her stomach, 'Property of George Weasley' had been written in the brightest orange Harry had ever seen.
"Harry!" her eyes popped open as she grabbed her bed sheet and pulled it back over her naked body, "I'm naked!" she spluttered.
"It's okay Marmalade, you're my sister..." Harry smiled and patted the bush that had grown on her head,
"I don't care," she slapped a hand to her head as the world swam- sitting up was not a good idea. Harry wrapped an arm around her and kissed her on the cheek,
"In law," he finished, grinning triumphantly. Then before it could register, or she could further question the odd statement, he bounced up off the bed and disappeared out the door with a parting shout of, "Be in the lobby in Half an hour!"
Hermione frowned, "what do you... where are you?" she stuttered, shaking her head in confusion. Groaning she sunk back down into the covers, "The world does not make sense this morning," she proclaimed. She lay like that for five minutes, staring up at the ceiling, and trying her best to piece together her memories from last night. Eventually she sat up and clambered out of the side of the bed that didn't have glass scattered across the floor. It was then she saw it. Charmed to the wall, and six feet across, was a brightly coloured, florescent banner with twinkling love-hearts merrily dancing around the letters, taunting her.
"I'm MARRIED!" she screeched, and then, something clicked, "Oh Merlin," she breathed, "I'm married to George Weasley."
She didn't move for a long time, but then her practical side took over- she could get the marriage annulled and no one, besides the people on this trip, would be any the wiser. She nodded mentally and sighed. "I just hope he didn't give me anything," she muttered, faintly remembering what a shambles their attempt at sex had been the night before.
Getting ready was a fumbled affair; she slipped and slid everywhere as she bundled into the shower, rinsing away the charms that covered her. Once clean she bundled out, falling several times on the tiled floors, and stopped. Her wand wasn't in the room, and neither were her clothes. The only thing she could see to wear, was her bra that hung from the chandelier in the centre of the room, and her knickers that were beautifully displayed next to the condom that had been too difficult to master in their intoxicated state.
"Oh bugger," she swore as she climbed up onto the bed and, using it for momentum jumped as high as she could to grab the straps.
This all left Hermione dressed in naught but her underwear and a towel; she was sure that, at one time, they'd had bathrobes, but again, something niggled at her conscience and she had a feeling they'd dressed as kung fu masters and had a war through the hallways of the hotel. It was just a feeling, mind...
For a witch of nearly twenty six, Hermione Granger had never done the walk of shame. It was something she heard about from work colleagues who'd complained and bemoaned their shame filled journeys with embarrassed giggles. And so, it was the first time that Hermione truly understood their odd take on it all—you see, if she thought about it, this entire situation was hilarious, and yet, all she wanted to do was bury herself into a humongous hole and not come out until Christmas.
When Hermione arrived in the lobby she was greeted by a round of applause, and a couple of wolf whistles. Her livid stare did nothing to quiet the odd party that greeted her; Ron wore a paper jumpsuit with 'Las Vegas A Division,' written across the back- she assumed the A stood for Aurors and Ron had been arrested; Seamus had a large purple bruise across his forehead coming down to his right eye- her last memory of him was of him falling off his bar stool, so that made sense; Charlie and Bill appeared to be missing their mouths, whereas Percy had no hair— from her deductions she assumed Percy had either dodged the spell or fallen over during it; Dean, from what she could see, looked normal enough, except for the noticeable hickey on his neck; and Neville, poor innocent Neville was bright red from top to toe—clearly he'd passed out in the hot Las Vegas sun; Harry was grinning, loving every minute of his friends' misery, looking perfectly respectable in a pair of jeans and t-shirt- she hated him; and finally there was George, dressed in Las Vegas memorabilia, and sporting a beautiful black eye on his freckled face- Hermione was happy to see that he looked thoroughly miserable.
Oddly enough it was Dean that spoke up from the group and said what Hermione had wanted to say, "Gentlemen," he began, and with a nod at Hermione, "Marmalade," Hermione scowled, "I think we should make an agreement right here, right now. What happened in Vegas, STAYS in Vegas. Do we all agree?"
"Hell yes!" was the general response, with a couple, "dear Merlin, please," and the odd, "thank goodness," thrown in. Dean nodded and turned to Harry,
"So, shall we all get the hell out of here before they realise their spa is now a marshland with its own pet swamp monkey?" Hermione opened her mouth to ask but was hushed by Harry,
"Just don't ask," he said.
The odd group huddled round their portkeys, looking bedraggled and a little queasy; Hermione clutched her towel to herself with one hand, silently hoping that it stayed up. Two minuets before they were about to leave a tall man in hotel uniform came jogging over.
"Mrs Weasley! Mr Weasey!" he called, waving two wands in the air. Both George and Hermione dropped their portkey and sprinted to where the gentleman stood catching his breath. "You almost forgot your wands." He smiled as they gratefully took back their means of life, "You'll be happy to know your winnings have been placed into a joint account in Gringotts, all you'll need is your wands as proof of identification; I have been told that you'll be issued keys upon arrival."
"Winnings?" they chimed.
"Yes," the hotel assistant beamed at them, "you won the one million galleon jackpot last night. Congratulations!"
"What?" Hermione breathed, but before he could elaborate Harry's desperate calls for them to hurry up had her sprinting back to her huddled group.
"I'm rich," were her last words before she entered the spinning world of the portkey.
It was two days later when Hermione, George, Harry and Ginny met for lunch to discuss their situation. So far, Ginny had not stopped laughing. Hermione picked at her salad while George bemoaned the fact that the Goblins wouldn't allow him access unless he went with Hermione.
"Even when you're drunk you're a control freak," he snapped, stabbing at his sausage. Apparently, Hermione had demanded that a restriction be put onto the vault only allowing them access when they went together, as man and wife. A snort from her left told her that Ginny was suffering from a fresh wave of giggles.
"As your solicitor," Ginny tittered into her sandwich, nearly choking as she forced the lump down her throat, "I'm devastated to tell you," she slapped a hand over her mouth and breathed deeply in an attempt to hold in the laughter; Hermione and George glowered, "that due to your marmalade sandwich making," here she laughed again causing George to growl and throw a slice of ham at her chuckling visage, "you are not entitled to an annulment," she finished, dodging the slice of ham.
Hermione sat back and nodded, already aware of that having spent the night scouring every marriage law book she could get her desperate hands on.
"Which means you have to file for divorce," it was here that she really took off; streams of tears ran down her cheeks as she clutched at the table top.
"What is so funny about that?" snapped Hermione, finally tiring of Ginny's amused view on the terrible turn her life had taken.
"Can't," Ginny spluttered as she looked between the two of them.
"What my lovely and vindictive wife is trying to say," Harry cut in, "is that George is a purebood wizard from an old family. In order to keep your money you have to stay married for at least six months in the eyes of the law—meaning you'll need to attend marriage counselling so that they can see you are acting in your duties. If you both file for divorce regardless the money is taken and goes into government spending, since neither of you officially earned it. If one of you demands divorce the other is offered the money as compensation for being humiliated in such a way, should you then choose to share the money you'll be in breach of the law and charged accordingly."
"And you know all this, how?" George asked. Having finally regained her composure, Ginny pointed at the little bump disguised beneath a flowery top,
"James started school this year, and as you know, Albus is a little angel. I'm going crazy! Mum left some of her books on marital law when Charlie and that ex-banshee of his were talking about marriage, so between articles, I've been reading those. They're quite interesting actually, did you know that if you're caught diddling with a goat, you are legally required to marry it?"
The other three occupants of the table threw Ginny a bemused glance. Unsurprisingly, it was Hermione who decided to organise the mess they'd gotten themselves into.
"First off, we are going to have to inform Molly." At George's exclamation of disbelief, Hermione cuttingly snapped, "And how else do you expect to explain to your mother why you are moving into my very small, very inadequate house?" George fell silent with a sulking frown, "Then we'll get a councillor—that shouldn't be difficult. I mean, come on George, we've known each other nearly our entire lives; how difficult can it be?"
For some reason, Hermione got the feeling that Molly Weasley was less upset about this situation than she let on. Yes, she shouted and she screamed and she threatened George with every curse she knew. She gave Hermione a lecture on how disappointed in her she was; telling her that she never thought that Hermione could ever be so irresponsible. But then, once they'd all sat down to dinner, she proceeded to call Hermione her daughter no less than ten times, all the while recommending outstanding marriage councillors that could help them better their relationship.
"She's barking mad," George exclaimed as soon as they arrived in Hermione's living room. He put his trunk beside the fireplace and shook his head, "barking!"
"What on earth are you talking about, George?" she sighed, distracted from her cleaning. It had been years since she had actively lived in her house, having used it previously during the summer months as a holiday home of sorts.
"Mum!" he cried, "She's bloody happy! Ecstatic! Didn't you hear her?"
Hermione pursed her lips as she reactivated the anti dust charms and began reorganising her possessions, which had been messed up the last time Ginny and Harry had borrowed the house. Ignoring his outburst, she pointed to a large cabinet against the far wall.
"You can put your belongings into that," she said, "the sofa will double as a bed; you just need to tap it with your wand and say 'Dod yn gwely'."
"Excuse me?" George stared at her, confusion etched onto his features.
"'Dod yn gwely'—I bought it in a Welsh furniture store. It's really not that difficult." Giving an impatient huff, she demonstrated the action and gave him a smug smile when a simple bed materialised in place of the sofa. "And to put it away, which I expect you to do each morning when you get up, you simply say, 'Dod nid gwely'." The bed complied with her request and sprang back into its previous form. "We don't eat in the living room, so if you require food you make it in the kitchen and eat it at the table in there."
George's lip curled incredulously while he reached a hand up, running it though his hair. "You're way more fun when you're wasted," he exclaimed. Again, Hermione ignored him, and instead pointed into the hallway between the kitchen and living-room,
"The toilet is through there. Flush it when you're done. And up those stairs," a set of stairs ran up the side of the living room and George strained to see what was up there, "is my bedroom," George stopped straining, immediately losing interest, "Don't go in there."
Rolling his eyes in an exaggerated manner, George pottered over to his trunk and pulled out what Hermione thought looked suspiciously like a bottle of fire-whisky. Her eyes narrowed and she marched over to where he was already battling with the cork.
"There is no drinking in my house," she announced, snatching the bottle from his hands. His eyebrows shot up and his face tinged red. He snatched back the bottle and marched towards the door. She felt the chill as he brushed by her, and she shuddered.
"Then I'll drink it on the porch," he snapped, the door slammed behind him leaving her alone in her living room.
"Fine," she exclaimed, slamming her wand down on the side, "just, FINE." Already she could tell that this was going to be a testing six months. Her entire body was shaking with the sheer audacity George had shown in the last couple of days—he would switch from downright insulting her, to blatantly coming onto her, depending on his mood. He'd refused to get a job, refused to shave the disgusting stubble he'd acquired over the last couple of days, and was now going getting drunk on her porch.
With one last angry sniff her eyes lit up with a malevolent essence; oh, she would get him if it was the last thing she did. Snarling, she stormed to the front door and cast every locking charm she could think of. 'Ha,' she sneered, 'try getting back in now, you intoxicated, frivolous idiot!' Satisfied with her work, she stomped her way to her bed.
Did you enjoy it? Please let me know! I love hearing even the smallest comments... and don't forget my poll; I need to figure out whether to order an elephant or a piano.
And, for your entertainment, I give you: 10 Stupid Rules from Around the World!
10. In the English city of Liverpool, home of The Beatles, a woman is prohibited by law to walk around topless, unless she is selling exotic fish at the market. - well, duh?
9. In Indonesia masturbation is strictly forbidden. Anyone who breaks the law and gets caught risks getting beheaded - So guys...girls... don't go losing your head over a little porn.
8. In Bahrain, the law prohibits a gynecologist to look directly at a patient's organs. He must use mirror reflections to do his job. - Yep, that'll just about make me feel all safe and secure?
7. In the state of Alabama people are not allowed to drive while blindfolded. - Okay, this is less of a stupid law, and more proof of stupid people.
6. In Belgium a driver who needs to turn through oncoming traffic has right of way, unless he stops or slows down. - if you have ever driven in Europe this will make A LOT of sense.
5. In Singapore it is illegal to pee in a lift - to be fair I think this is illegal everywhere... but why specifically a lift?
4. Apparently in Utar birds have right of way on all highways - When was the last time you saw a bird driving a car?
3. In England it is illegal to pee in public, unless you are a pregnant, in which case a police man is legally required to provide you with his hat to urinate in. - There's one reason to have kids!
2. In France no pig may be addressed as Napoleon by its owner. - Bet they hated George Orwel.
1. In Trinity college, Ireland, students can demand a glass of wine at any time during an exam, provided they are wearing their sword. - Now THAT my friends, sounds like my kinda college.