IMPORTANT Author's Note:If you liked my story "New Year's Resolutions," I'd really appreciate it if you'd go to the Twin Exchange's forum and vote for it for the January fic challenge before the end of January! The link is as follows (but there is a space between things so the link doesn't get erased):
http :/forum .fanfiction. net /topic/43642/7817202/1/
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"Aren't you ready?" he whined through the door to her bedroom.
She rolled her eyes at the thin wall separating them and called back. "No."
"Why not?"
She shook her head exasperatedly and pulled her shirt over her head before walking to the door. She listened silently at the door before she carefully rested her hand on the door handle and, as quickly as she could, opened the door. George, who had been leaning on the door in apathy, fell backwards into the room, his back hitting the hardwood floor with a loud smack. She laughed and headed back to her armoire to check her hair in the mirror that sat on top. She heard George grunting and groaning as he stood up and headed over to her.
"You're wearing that?" he asked, looking her over. She turned and shot him a look that he didn't see, as he was too busy going through the clothes hanging up in her dresser.
"What do you think you're doing? Who gave you permission to go through my stuff?"
He chuckled, obviously catching that she was sounding very much like he did about two weeks earlier with the "Bedroom Cleanup Debacle." "Hermione, I think we threw out that rule when you walked into my room to steal a pair of socks and scared Lee half out of his wits."
"How was I supposed to know he was in there changing?" she replied as she surveyed herself in the mirror and pinned up a few pieces of her hair.
"We were just lucky he already had his pants on," George laughed. He turned from the dresser, a hanger in hand. "What about this?"
Hermione surveyed the tight black dress Ginny had forced her to buy for some stupid party for which she had needed company. "No," she replied flatly. "Not in a million years. That's an emergency dress."
"You're actually going out to a bar. That's such a rare occurrence that that probably constitutes as an emergency," he replied dryly.
"I look fine, George!" He pursed his lips as he looked her up and down. It wasn't like she was wearing her work robes or something. She was in some nice dark jeans, some black heels, and a simple white shirt.
"But it's boring!"
"Fine. Then go without me." She crossed her arms, challenging him.
He rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright," he sighed, walking forward and grabbing her hand, dragging her from the room. "You're so bloody stubborn," he muttered as they stopped by the front door and pulled on their coats.
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As they walked in, he surveyed the area. This was his favorite bar, one of his several haunts to which he and Lee had often come to have a good time with their mates or chat up some birds. There were always clear groups in the bar, and this one was no different, complete with the occasional straggler or person who could flow from group to group. There, by one corner of the bar, was a group of blokes about his age, talking loudly and cheering occasionally. He spotted one of the men who looked a little more nervous, and a little more drunk, than the others. 'Ah,' he thought to himself, 'bachelor party.' He next surveyed multiple groupings of two to four birds, all sipping their brightly colored drinks and tittering while they surveyed the men around them. There was the occasional couple and more people just there with a friend or on their own. Pleased with his initial report, he turned to Hermione, who was pulling a book out of her bag.
"You have got to be joking."
She looked up, her eyes wide with confusion. "What?"
"You brought a book to a bar?"
"So?"
"It's a bar, Hermione, not the bloody library!"
She raised her eyebrow and shot him a stern look that he had received so often when they were at school. "I said I'd come with you and I'll help if you start thinking about taking some…" She looked around the bar and her eyes fell on a group of obviously-fake blondes who were strapped a tad too tightly into their dresses. "…girl home," she finished.
He followed her gaze and grinned. "And where are you going to be?"
"Somewhere reading and generally taking up no space that those other women are so desperate to fill," she said, a slight edge to her voice as she noticed a couple girls glaring at her because of her proximity to George. George watched as one of the girls, a leggy blonde one with over-processed hair, eyed Hermione's outfit quite obviously and, with a scathing look, turned to her friend, obviously pointing and making absolutely no effort to be subtle. Hermione pursed her lips and looked up at George. "Honestly, I have no idea how you can even put up talking to some of these women, let alone sleep with them. I mean, some are just so tacky," she said, raising her voice slightly as she glanced over at the woman who had just given her the look. The woman's mouth dropped open, obviously insulted by Hermione's comment. Hermione laughed quietly to herself, making George laugh.
"Hermione, who knew you could be so positively lethal towards women! I must have missed some excellently scathing comments when Ron was dating Lavender."
Hermione giggled. "Indeed you did," she said with a hint of a wicked grin. "Go, go have fun," she said, shooing him away like a mother trying to get her overly-shy child to make friends at the park. "I'll be over there somewhere," she said, vaguely gesturing towards a corner of the bar.
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Hermione settled herself in a small booth tucked away in the corner of the bar. Despite how George ragged on her about bringing a book and refusing to be the social butterfly, Hermione was more adept at this than George expected her to be. She had just opened her book when a handsome busboy walked over, a drink balanced on the tray that rested on the upturned palm of his hand.
"Excuse me, miss," he said, smiling at her with his bright white teeth, "But a gentleman from the bar just sent this over." He was in the process of setting it down in front of her when she leaned forward.
"Can I ask what it is before I accept it?" she said with a small smile.
"You certainly can. It's a martini straight, no olive."
She glanced over at the bar and saw a couple of men watching her. A brunette one waved slightly. She turned back to the busboy. "Could you do me a favor and tell him that 'I prefer butterbeer or eggnog, but the attempt was appreciated?'"
The busboy grinned. "You're a feisty one, aren't you?"
"You have no idea," she said teasingly, smiling back at him. He winked at her and headed back to the bar.
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George walked up to the bar and smiled cheerily at the bartender, a pretty girl with pin-straight, strawberry-blonde hair that was held back in a ponytail and fastened with a small red ribbon. "Hello, Martha!"
She turned around and smiled brightly when her eyes fell on him. "George Weasley! Back for another rousing game of 'Who's the Lucky Girl Tonight?'"
He laughed. "Anything I should know about your lovely patrons tonight?"
She looked around the room as she cleaned out a glass with a bright green dish towel. "Well, there's a stag night tonight, but you already got that, eh?" She grinned at his knowing smile and continued. "There are a couple gaggles of girls here tonight. I'd watch out for the one in the red dress, oh make that the two in the red dresses; they've had plenty to drink tonight already and they keep throwing themselves at everyone. It's not a nice sight. Also, the one glaring at your little girlfriend there is one to avoid. She's already sparked up a few heated conversations with some of the other girls."
"She's not my-"
"I know, I know, but she's replacing Lee tonight." Martha grinned. "I think that's about it. Want your usual?"
"Tom Collins minus the gin," they both said in unison.
She laughed. "Knowing you're completely sober makes them throwing themselves at you even more hilarious."
"I'm here to make you smile. You sure I can't convince you, Martha?" he asked, leaning over the bar and winking at her.
"Married three years and you know it, playboy," she said with a grin as she mixed him his drink.
He pretended to look disappointed. "Always worth a shot, eh?"
She laughed and handed him his drink just as one of the blokes from the bachelor party moved next to George and ordered a martini straight, no olive.
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Hermione looked up from her new book, one about muggle fairytales made into a deeper and more grown-up story, when she heard someone sit in the bench across from her. She raised her eyebrow at the light-haired man that had sat himself across from her.
"Can I help you?" she asked politely.
"You enjoy playing hard to get, don't you?" She blinked, rather unconcerned and completely turned off by the man's brusque manner. "You don't take my friend's drink, you sit over here all by yourself, and you act so aloof!" he slurred slightly.
"You can leave now," she said commandingly.
The man's sneer fell off his face at his surprise of being rebutted as if she was his mother or a disapproving teacher. He opened his mouth to say something, but just then, another man walked over and rested his hand on his friend's shoulder. "John," he said quietly, "Come back over. That lot's missing you." The man called John stood up, stared at Hermione for a moment as if struck dumb, and then walked away, back to the rest of the bachelor party. "I am so sorry," the new arrival said in his quiet voice.
Hermione tilted her head slightly as this exchange happened. He was not too tall, probably only about 1.706 meters, with curly dark brown hair and bright hazel eyes that sparkled behind horn-rimmed glasses. She recognized him as the man who had waved at her when the drink had been brought over.
"He's a right pain in the arse when he drinks. I keep telling my mates to watch his intake, but no one listens to me."
Hermione laughed quietly. "Would you like to sit down?"
"Thank you," he said with a small smile. "I should have known you were not a martini drinker. With a book here, you must be more into comfort and flavor than the supposed impressiveness of a drink." He set a small glass of warm eggnog on the table in front of her. "My treat, as an apology for my friend's obnoxiousness."
"Thank you," she said with a small smile, taking a small sip and humming happily. She just loved eggnog, especially when there was barely any alcohol in it, but just enough to make you feel a little warm inside. "I'm Hermione."
"Malcolm," he said, holding out his hand. She placed hers in his and they shook. "It's very nice to meet you, Hermione."
She smiled shyly and took another sip of her drink.
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This was not an ideal night for George. The girls here were veering from one extreme to the next, from being completely and pissedly falling over to picking fights with each other and being completely catty. Honestly, this was madness. This was like a hen party gone wrong. He needed to leave. He needed to find Hermione and get out of here before another couple of girls started screaming about who he loved more, despite the fact that he had not talked to either of them. He scanned the bar and saw Martha mixing drinks for some newcomers, the stag party pissedly staggering around and doing shots, and Hermione talking to someone. Wait. Hermione was actually talking to someone? And drinking something? Now the night was officially backwards. It was definitely time to go. He strode over and stopped at their table, overhearing their conversation as they did so.
"Really? No, you're joking! There is no way!" she said as she laughed.
"I swear," said the man, half-laughing, as he lifted his glasses and wiped his streaming eyes. "I could not believe it but I saw it with my own eyes!"
"I know they print some ridiculous stories, but that has to be their best. Didn't they just report that she was dead a fortnight ago?"
"They did! And that she's an inferius or zombie or something! And now this!"
George coughed as he got close. Hermione looked up and smiled at him. "Oh, hello George. Malcolm, this is my flatmate George. George, this is Malcolm. He works at the Quibbler."
George nodded his head genially at the man before turning back to Hermione. "It's time we should be off," he said quietly.
"Oh, okay," she said, sounding almost dejected by this comment, which George found curious. "Well, it was lovely talking to you, Malcolm. And thanks again for the drink."
"No problem. I had a great time." They both stood up and right as Hermione was turning towards George, Malcolm spoke up again. "Any chance I'll see you again?" he asked quickly.
She turned and surveyed him quickly, a small smile on her face. George, in turn, surveyed the two of them. Was the bloke honestly hitting on Hermione? Was she actually accepting? She took out the spare bit of parchment that she used as a bookmark and pulled a self-inking quill from her small bag. She scribbled something onto the paper and handed it to the bespectacled man.
"Here's my surname and department at the Daily Prophet. Send me an owl and I'll see what I can do," she said, a flirty smile playing around her lips as she handed it to the man.
He grinned and took it, glancing at it before putting it in his pocket. "It was nice to meet you, Hermione. Have a nice night."
"You too, Malcolm," she said. She smiled at him before turning and heading towards the door.
George quickly nodded at this Malcolm fellow before hurrying after his flatmate. This had to be one of the weirdest nights.