Arithmancy

by: Faithful Wheezy

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

Three: You didn't tell me this was a pub

Hermione was not a frail woman. Everyone in her year knew that, except, apparently, the Slytherins.

And it so happened that on her and Cormac's way out to Hogsmeade, the same group of Slytherins who had humiliated her in the Great Hall started up with another chant of "Granger Loves the Weasel."

"Hold on, a minute, Cormac. Do you mind?"

"Go for it?"

"Incurro!" She yelled. An orange jet of light beamed from her wand and hit the Slytherins, who then proceeded to rise into the air and collide repeatedly into each other. Hermione smirked in satisfaction.

"Nice," McLaggen said appreciatively, looking at Hermione differently, "but what was that for?"

"I just felt like it," she said, walking towards Filch at the two winged gargoyles and showing him her slip. "You prat, I just paid them back for this morning."

"Oh, yeah. I've been meaning to ask you something about that." McLaggen looked serious. "You and Ron—what's the deal with you two?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I'm here with you, aren't I?"

"Well, okay."

"I mean, I like him a lot. As a friend!" Hermione added hastily. "But I have no intentions of liking him more than that."

She paused. Maybe she did have intentions of liking Ron as much more than a friend. Ever since she met him on the train (darn his cute smudged nose!), she knew that there was something special about him. It was more than just his fiery red hair, or his handsome, lopsided smile, or the sharp wit she could sense in his voice—she could feel that he had a good, kind heart. He had the kind of soul a dementor would be itching to get its slimy hands on—if they were classified as hands. Were they classified as hands?

"As long as that's it," McLaggen said, interrupting her reverie. "Let's get to Quality Quidditch Supplies, then?"

-x-

"Well, let's see. We need some sort of bait—something to get Hermione near you." Seamus told Ron. "Do you have anything? I'm not exactly keen on stealing something from her."

"Yeah," said Dean. "After all, she's not a frail woman."

"She has some good hexes too," muttered Neville, thinking of the old D.A. days.

"Ron has the perfect thing," interrupted Harry. "He has that Arithmancy book she's been carrying around a lot lately. Show it to them, Ron."

Ron took out the Arithmancy book and handed it to Seamus. "I know for a fact that she has a test coming up, but when she sees I have her book, she'll fly off the wall and get mad at me for stealing."

"Oh yeah," Seamus groaned. "She's been a bit dodgy lately, so this'll be harder than I thought. Didn't you send it to her through owl-post this morning?"

"Shush!" Neville pleaded. "Don't remind him—" but Ron had already covered his eyes and starting moaning something about being dead and something about 'stupid books'.

"Snap out of it, git," said Dean, knocking Ron on the head. "How bad can it possibly be to tell a woman, 'Hey, I'm sorry? Go out with me?'"

"Very hard," moaned Ron forgetting his previously vehement denials. "You can't possibly know Hermione as well as I do—I've seen her punch Malfoy's lights out, I've seen her pound on Hagrid's door and practically yell in Dumbledore's face, I've seen her discover what Slytherin's monster was by herself, and I've seen her when she was almost destroyed by it, along with my sister. Next to all of those things, how I feel about her is probably the last thing she could care about, let alone getting her to even consider liking me."

"But what if she already likes you, Ron?" asked Neville. "We might do all this hard work and realize that she had already liked you in the end—"

"That's perfect, Neville!" shouted Seamus.

"What?"

"We could get one of us to first find out what Hermione thinks of Ron. Nothing big, like Polyjuice potion or anything—" here, Ron and Harry cringed—"but something casual, you know, like, 'I always knew Ron was a great guy. You're lucky to be his best friend, Hermione—' you know. Stuff like that. Juice the answers out of her, but keep her from being suspicious at the same time."

"She's probably suspicious of all of us now," grumbled Ron.

"Not Neville!" said Dean excitedly. "Not him! She almost went to the Yule Ball with him, right? And she always helps him with homework and stuff. We can use Neville!"

While Ron was grumbling something about 'enemies' and 'fraternizing', Harry said, "Neville and Hermione have Herbology first thing tomorrow, don't they? Neville, do you think you can manage to get with Hermione on the same table tomorrow?"

Neville, who was terrified that they were going to use him as a hostage, was relieved to find out that he was just going to be Hermione's Herbology partner, and burst out a little too quickly, "Yes, yes, I can manage!"

Ron looked a little suspicious, but said, "Thanks, man. But what about the Arithmancy book?"

"Eh, she's not going to get in trouble. Professor Vector has extra copies of Arithmancy books in his closet," replied Dean. "I know. I walked in for an errand for Professor McGonagall while a kid asked him for an extra copy."

"Then why is she so bonkers over that book?" wondered Ron out loud.

"Maybe it has notes in it?" suggested Neville. "Open it, Seamus!"

Seamus started to open the Arithmancy book.

-x-

Hermione was not having fun. McLaggen might as well have bought out the whole Quality Quidditch Supplies store—and to top it all of, he went as far as wheedling far too many a galleon off of Hermione, promising to "pay her back later." Hermione was unsure of what he meant, but she was sure that it wasn't going to be anything good.

"Thanks a bunch, 'Mione," he said, walking out of the shop holding a large pile of Quidditch supplies.

"Do you mind not calling me that?" she replied absently. Well, at least he's not asking me to help hold some…

"Do you mind holding this for me?" asked McLaggen suddenly. "I have to check in at the Warlock Wun Stop."

"Why don't I check it for us—" But McLaggen had already dumped his pile on top of Hermione and walked inside the restaurant.

What Hermione didn't know was that the Warlock Wun Stop was not just a steak and beef house—it was a pub. They strictly sold Firewhisky, and Aged Shockwine, and not to mention the extremely alcoholic Stingrum. She did know that McLaggen was a tricky person to be around, but she didn't know how tricky he really was.

"It's all good, Hermione. We just managed to snag one table… close enough for the two of us." He winked in what he evidently thought was a suave way and lead Hermione to the table—which was snug and right in the corner, too close for comfort, Hermione noticed—and sat down right across from her. "Here's the menu. Oh yeah, my stuff, toss 'em under the table, would you?" Hermione did so. "I'm, er, going to order some… Sorcery Steak Supreme, and three shots of Aged Shockwine. What're you going to get?"

"You're going to drink?"

"Well, yeah. Why not? I have two free periods first thing tomorrow. I can sleep in for a full two hours and forty-five minutes." He tapped the menu with his wand. "What're you getting?"

Hermione was stunned. "You didn't tell me that this was a pub," she said warily.

"Well, no, they mostly sell beef and steaks. Don't you want to give this stuff a chance? Quite good, you won't get caught, eh? What do you say?"

"Cormac, no!"

McLaggen sighed, and slumped down in his sight. "Fine then. So what are you getting?"

Moments after the waiter, who was McLaggen's friend and went way back with him, left with their orders, McLaggen left with him, and into the kitchens, using the excuse "I need to use the bathroom," and leaving hastily before Hermione could reply.

"What'd she get again?" McLaggen asked his friend.

"A cheap gillywater," grumbled the waiter. "Your girlfriend there has no life."

"Listen, I'll pay you ten galleons if you change her order of gillywater to a Tall Firewhisky. That'll give her some life."

"Oho, having ideas, eh? Well, it's a done deal, but shouldn't you going to disguise it in some way?"

"Illusion spell," said McLaggen proudly. "Easy. I'll charm the Firewhisky to look like a harmless cup of gillywater."

"It's done," said the friend, claiming his ten galleons.

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