The Club Scene

The drive to club had been a lot more interesting and a lot less frightening than the cab ride. Mr. Granger was a much more careful driver. He and Ron were still talking about how an internal combustion engine worked as they approached the entrance to the club. A woman was standing just outside with two, tall slender dogs on leashes.

"Ooh, borzois," Hermione said, "do you mind if I pet them?"

"Go ahead," the woman answered. "They're very egotistical, they never get enough attention."

Ron and Hermione both ran their hands across the dog's shaggy white backs.

"Now, those were proper dogs," Ron said as they walked into the club. "Why can't Hagrid have something nice like that instead of slobbery old Fang or that nightmare Fluffy?"

"Fluffy?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"Giant three-headed dog we had a run in with several years back." Hermione said softly.

Her mother looked stricken and opened her mouth to say something.

"Don't ask, Mum. Believe me when I tell you, you don't want to know." Hermione glared at Ron.

The host showed them to a table.

"Our game keeper has the worst taste in pets," Ron continued despite Hermione's persistent glare. "I don't think he could love an animal that wouldn't kill him as soon as look at him."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's not true. Fang's quite sweet."

"I thought you said he had three heads?" Hermione's father said.

"No, that's Fluffy," Ron said, reaching for a roll. "Fang's a regular boarhound but he drools all the time and he's a ruddy coward."

"How do you know?" Hermione asked, clearly annoyed.

"Does acromantula mean anything to you?" Ron asked.

" Acromantula?" Mr. Granger said.

"Don't ask!" Ron and Hermione said at the same time.

"Well, alright then," Mrs. Granger said with false cheer. "Let's see what's on the menu for tonight, shall we?"

After they had placed their orders Hermione stood. "I should go wash my hands."

Ron looked at his own hands. He'd forgotten about petting the dogs. "I should wash mine as well."

They headed off behind the bar to the washrooms. Ron was having problems figuring out the faucets though. Hermione's parents had regular faucets, but the ones in this bathroom didn't appear to have anything to turn the water on. He stood for some time looking at them before a man came out of one of the stalls, stuck his hands under the faucets and the water magically came on. Ron was flabbergasted. Who would charm the faucets in a Muggle club? That can't be legal. He stuck his hands under the faucet and sure enough, the water charm worked again. As he walked out of the washroom trying to think of how to get a message to his father about this misuse of a Muggle artifact, he saw Hermione talking to a tall, red-headed bloke, who held a pint of ale in one hand, and was touching Hermione's arm with the other. Ron quickened his pace and cleared his throat as he approached.

He couldn't decide if Hermione looked more relieved or nervous at his arrival.

"Ron," she said, "this is Jason Hayes, the American boy I told you about."

"Right," Ron said, trying not to picture Hermione in a bathing suit perched on this git's shoulders. Of course, he couldn't stop picturing it, and once he'd pictured that, it wasn't difficult to picture her naked and to turn this git around and…" Ron gritted his teeth. Hang on, he thought, who shagged her last night? Who had her squirming in ecstasy? Me, not him, me. Sod him, poor bastard. Ron stuck out his hand. "Ron Weasley. You taught her how to play that water game."

"Oh, yeah," Jason laughed. "Chicken."

"Brilliant," Ron said, "we've had loads of fun playing it this summer."

Jason nodded. "Well, I should be getting back. Hermione, it was great seeing you. Nice meeting you, Ron."

"You as well," Hermione smiled.

"Yeah," Ron added.

They walked back to her parents' table.

"Thank you for that," Hermione said.

"For what?"

"For not making a scene. For a moment there, you looked really angry."

"No, not me," Ron lied. "I was only shocked because someone's bewitched the faucet in the men's room."

"What?" Hermione exclaimed.

"Yeah, it's got a water charm, the water comes out when you stick your hands under the faucet."

Hermione giggled.

"What? I'm serious."

"It's not a charm, it's a sensor."

"A what?" Ron asked.

Hermione smiled. "It's an electrical device that senses motion."

"And how does it do that?" Ron wanted to know.

Hermione shrugged. "Haven't a clue, but Dad might know."

Most of dinner was taken up with Mr. Granger's rudimentary explanation of sensor technology. Mrs. Granger seemed a thousand miles away and even Hermione started to look bored.

It was still early when they left the club. Back at home, Mr. Granger got a box of old junk from the garage and brought it into the library and spread it out on a old oak table for Ron to look at. Ron was fascinated with an old alarm clock. They took it apart and Mr. Granger began explaining the parts. Hermione's mother went and got her knitting. Hermione tried for a moment to be interested in a broken clock but gave up and summoned her knitting and The Book of Domestic Spell Work from her bag upstairs. Her mother taught her several new stitches and Hermione taught them to her wand with the aid of the book. It was almost ten o'clock when Mrs. Granger called it a night. A few minutes later, Ron felt Hermione touch his back.

"I'm off to bed, as well," she said.

All manner of alarms went off in his head then, but he restrained himself for another polite half hour of talk with Mr. Granger before following her upstairs.

He took a hopeful peek in his room only to be disappointed. He walked down to Hermione's room to find her in a baby blue nightshirt, sitting in bed with an enormous tome on her lap and books flying about the room.

"What are you doing?"

"I charmed my books to alphabetize themselves, then I decided to catch up on some light reading."

Ron walked over, dodging books as he went, and picked up the book off her lap. It must have weighed fifteen pounds. "Light reading?" He turned it over. "Defensive Charms for the Deadly Foe. Anything good?"

Hermione took the book back from him, marked her place and set it aside. "The usual spells. Where have you been? I started to think you weren't going to come to bed at all."

"Well," Ron said, "I didn't want to run after you like some randy git."

Hermione raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"I mean, I did, but I didn't fancy doing it in front of your father."

Hermione smiled. "So are you?"

"What's that?"

"A randy git?"

Ron leaned into her, "Almost always." She scooted over in the bed to make room for him. He pulled off his shirt and shorts, and then sat down on the bed to take off his socks and trainers. "You sure you want to stay in here?" he asked, looking around anxiously. "I don't fancy being knocked in the head by one of these bloody books."

"They're almost done." Hermione said as she ran her fingers along his arm. An involuntary shudder passed through him as she lightly touched the scars. "They're really sensitive aren't they?"

"Kind of," Ron said as his eyes fell to the neckline of her nightshirt, where he knew just beneath was a thin white line that ran diagonally across her chest between her breasts. "Isn't yours?"

Hermione clutched a hand to her chest. "Yeah, I guess."

"You know what," Ron said, disturbed by the turn of the conversation. "I don't want to talk about scars. Actually, I don't want to talk at all."

Hermione looked up at him and smiled. "No, then what could you possibly want to do?"