Chapter Two: New Year's Day
9st 3 (but post-Christmas), alcohol units (but effectively covers 2 days as 4 hours of party was on New Year's Day), cigarettes 22, calories 5424
Noon. London: my flat. Ugh. The last thing on earth I feel physically, emotionally or mentally equipped to do is drive to Molly and Arthur's New Year's Day Turkey Curry Buffet. Ginny woke me up with an owl which arrived at a ridiculous time this morning to remind me that I promised her I'd come after a few glasses of red the other week, despite the fact that Ron (who broke up with me three months ago) was going to be there. She'd scrawled in the postscript that there was somebody she wanted to introduce me to.
Oh god. Not another half-witted member of her Quidditch team, with less conversational ability than a grindylow. I've told Ginny a hundred times now that I don't need to be set up. Oh well, will probably go anyway – Molly usually always puts on a good spread.
11.45pm. Ugh. First day of New Year has been a day of horror. Cannot quite believe that I am once again starting the year single, and that all my friends have partners. It is too humiliating at my age. Have escaped upstairs to get away from all the happiness. I wonder if Molly will be able to tell if I have a fag out of the window… Hmm, better not. Swear that woman has a sixth sense.
Have been hoping hangover would dissipate all day, but sadly not. Got to the Burrow far too late to get my hands on the good food. Probably for the better, New Years resolutions and all that. When I finally arrived Molly pounced on me.
"Hermione! We'd almost given you up for lost! Happy New Year – we've not seen you in forever!"
She seemed to manage to kiss me, get my coat off, hang it over the banister, wipe her lipstick off my cheek and make me feel guilty about my lateness all in one movement, while I leaned against the ornament shelf for support.
"Sorry, I got lost."
"Lost? Why didn't you just apparate?" I winced, forgetting how silly an excuse, 'Sorry I got lost' was in the Wizarding world. Life was so much easier when all of my friends were muggles. Molly must have sensed my awkwardness because she shook her head, pulled me in for an all-consuming hug and then ushered me into the dining room where everyone else had congregated.
"Hermione! Happy New Year!" said Professor Slughorn, clad in a yellow diamond-patterned sweater. A succession of redheads waved or hugged me, and Harry raised his glass from across the room, unable to get up because of the Ginny shaped lump resting on his lap. "Not seen you in a long time," Slughorn continued, in his booming voice, "How's that career of yours at the Ministry coming along? You married yet?"
Nobody had apparently bothered to update him with my – ahem - romantic situation. I saw from across the room that Ron went bright red, and Lavendar (who was stood next to him, her arm linked possessively through his) looked at me with wide eyes to see how I would react. Ron certainly hadn't wasted any time moving on, that was for sure. But, it was a new year and I was meant to being nice to everyone, even if they were boyfriend stealing whores, so I bit my tongue.
"Fine. Ron and I broke up. Just focusing on work at the moment…" I mumbled, unenthusiastically.
"Hermione! What are we going to do with you!" Molly bustled into the conversation, "You career girls! I don't know! Can't put it off for ever you know. Tick-tock, tick-tock." She shot a pointed look at George and Angelina, who had been for years now, showing no haste to tie the knot.
"Yes. How does a woman manage to get to your age without being married?" asked Slughorn, who by the way he was waving his sherry around, had evidently had a few too many. Fortunately I was rescued by Fred Weasley, who said, "'Wotcha, 'Mione," and had led me away from Molly and her barrage of questioning.
The whole party was alright I suppose, apart from the acute sense I got of just how single I am. Oh and I was not impressed with Ginny's attempt at match-making. You'd have thought she'd have learnt her lesson from my failed relationship with Ron, but when she winked at me from behind her brother Percy's back, who I was unfortunately stuck in conversation with as I queued for a butterbeer, I swear I could've killed her. Percy Weasley? That was Ginny's idea of my 'ideal man'?
Being set up with your friend's brother against your will is one level of humiliation, but being literally dragged into it while simultaneously caring for an acidic hangover, watched by an entire roomful of friends, your old teachers and your ex boyfriend, is on another plane altogether.
"Percy's just been made head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Ginny remarked pointedly. So what if Percy was a rich hotshot lawyer now? Was that meant to make me want to shag him over the turkey curry? He was still the hoity-toity, standoffish Percy that had looked down his nose at me for the duration of our time at school together. No wonder his wife had divorced him last year.
Also, you'd have thought for someone who was supposedly earning so much money now that he could have at least dressed a bit better. He was wearing what had seemed like one of Molly's annually knitted jumpers from behind – incredibly comfy, mine is reserved for 'that time of the the month' – but the reality was much worse. It was actually a V-neck diamond-pattern in shades of yellow and blue – as favoured by the more elderly Quidditch commentators. I felt bile rising in my stomach, and I'm not sure if it was because of the partying I did the night before or his offensive wardrobe choice.
"Right, well I'll leave you two braniacs together," Ginny announced, as she loaded her plate with cocktail sausages, "I expect you'll have a lot to catch up on."
"Not really," said Percy awkwardly, which he followed with a rather unsuccessful attempt at an apologetic smile. Ginny giggled awkwardly, before abandoning with a toss of her red hair to hideous silence.
"I. Um. Are you reading any, ah… Have you read any good books recently?" he said.
I suppose that was my one defining characteristic: Hermione Granger, bookworm extraordinaire. The thing was, I'd been so busy at work recently that I couldn't remember the last time I'd been able to read something of my own choosing. The trouble with working in publishing is that reading in your spare time is a bit like being a dustman and snuffling through the pig bin in the evening. I'm halfway through Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, which Ginny had lent me, but I didn't think Percy Weasley – though clearly odd – was ready to accept himself as a Martian quite yet. Then I had a brainwave.
"Backlash, actually, by Susan Faludi," I said triumphantly. Hah! I haven't exactly had time to read it myself as such, but feel I have as one of the witches at work has been ranting about it so much. Anyway, completely safe option as no way diamond-patterned-stuffy-Percy will have read five-hundred-page feminist treatise.
"Ah. Really?" he said. "I read that when it first came out. Didn't you find there was rather a lot of special pleading?"
"Oh, well, not too much…" I said wildly, racking my brains for a way to get off the subject. "Have you been staying with your parents over New Year?"
"Yes," he said eagerly. "You too?"
Awkward silence. He suddenly looked incredibly embarrassed, as he realised his mistake. My parents were in Australia and I hadn't been able to track them down following the Battle of Hogwarts all those years ago. I was fine with it now, I'd come to terms with it after a while. Still, it was always awkward when people brought them up in conversation. Red-faced he asked, "What did you do last night?"
"I was at a party in London last night. Bit hungover today, actually," I gabbled nervously, as I saw Molly looking at us curiously from across the room. "But then I do think New Year's resolutions can't technically be expected to begin on New Year's Day, don't you? Since because it's an extension of New Year's Even, smokers are already on a smoking roll and cannot be expected to stop abruptly on the stroke of midnight with so much nicotine in the system. Also, dieting on New Year's Day isn't a good idea as you can't eat rationally but really need to be free to consume whatever is necessary, moment by moment, in order to ease your hangover. I think it would be much more sensible if resolutions began generally on January the second."
"Mhmm," Percy made a non-commital sound of agreement, which left me wondering if they even have New Years resolutions in the wizarding world. I made a mental note to ask Ginny. Sensing his disinterest in my inane hungover chit-chat, I excused myself from the conversation and retreated upstairs to sulk about my social ineptitude.
The worst of it is that when I finally resurfaced downstairs, Ginny appeared to have got her mother on board with her match-making plan, as Molly kept asking me to walk around with trays of gherkins and glasses of cream sherry in a desperate bid to throw me into Percy's path once again. In the end they were so crazed with frustration that the second I got within four feet of him with the gherkins, Molly threw herself across the room like Glynnis Griffiths after she's spotted the snitch, and said, "Percy, you must take down Hermione's address and send her an owl about the book you're writing. I'm sure she'd love to read your manuscript and give you some advice."
I couldn't stop myself turning bright red. I could feel it climbing up my neck. Now Percy would surely think I'd put her up to it – after all, he'd seen to me talking to her earlier with Professor Slughorn.
"I'm sure Hermione's life as deputy editor of one of the biggest publishing houses in London is busy enough without me bothering her with my first drafts, mother," he said. Humph. It's not that I wanted him to take my phone number or anything, but I didn't want him to make it perfectly obvious to everyone that he didn't want to. As I looked down I saw that he was wearing white socks with a bumblebee motif.
"Can I tempt you with a gherkin?" I said, to show I had had a genuine reason for coming over, which was quite definitely gherkin-based rather than a desperate bid for his mother to set us up.
"Thank you, but no," he said, looking at me with some alarm.
"Sure? Stuffed olive?" I pressed on.
"No, really."
"Silverskin onion?" I encouraged, "Beetroot cube?"
"Thank you," he said desperately, taking an olive.
"Hope you enjoy it," I said triumphantly.
Towards the end I saw him being harangued by his mother and Ginny, who frog marched him over towards me and stood just behind while he said, "I've changed my mind. I would really appreciate if we could meet for coffee at some point and discuss my ideas for my book. Would that be okay?" He couldn't sound less enthused if he tried.
"Sure," I shrugged nonchalantly, wanting to play it cool after having overdone it with the aperitifs earlier. I reached into my bag for a pad of paper, scrawled my address on it, and told him to drop me an owl with a time that suited him, fully expecting to make an arrangement for a coffee date at quarter to never.
