Sighing, Hermione scoops some the foam out of her hot chocolate and tries to focus on the conversation her best friends are having.
Earlier that day, Ron dropped in to tell them he got the job at the Ministry. When he realised Teddy was visiting his grandmother, he proceeded to drag them out for celebratory drinks. Ever since then, talk has revolved around the interview process, his surprise at being offered the position, and his nerves about starting somewhere new.
Hermione is happy for him; thrilled, even. This could be just what he needs, and she hopes it's everything he wants it to be.
But while she cares about him, she doesn't need to know about every single time he thought he stuffed up the interview. Every time she has tried to steer the topic in a different direction, Harry or Ron have brought it back around again.
She downed a few firewhiskeys when they arrived before switching to water and hot chocolate when it became clear they were going to be there a while. Listening to him chatter on, however, she wishes she could switch back to something stronger.
It would be different if Fred were here.
She smiles at the thought.
Six weeks, and several dates, have passed since the day with the jazz musician, and things are going better than she expected. Years of friendship is transitioning into dating with an ease that both thrills and terrifies her. Spending time with him feels as easy and natural as breathing.
Hermione would have thought kissing him would feel strange, given how much he used to aggravate her, but the memory of their latest kiss — outside the cinema where he saw his first movie — proves how very incorrect that is.
Fred was enamoured by how the film combined moving photographs with full-length plays. The sight of his wide eyes and broad grin as the story played out across the big screen charmed her, as did the slew of questions he had for her when they left.
Looking back on it now makes her heart beat faster.
Setting the spoon aside, her fingers drift to her lips of their own accord and trace the soft skin, imagining him…
"Hermione, are you alright?"
She jerks at the interruption, her hand falling away as she looks up at her staring tablemates, her face burning. Harry is rather unsuccessfully trying to hide a grin while Ron watches her with concern.
"What?"
"You're acting strange," Ron says. "Are you ill?"
Guilt rushes through her. She wasn't interested in their conversation, but daydreaming about Fred while ignoring Ron feels like a betrayal of their friendship. "I'm fine. Work has just been getting to me lately."
"Oh?"
This is when he decides to be interested in her work? He never used to be.
She quickly stamps down on that line of bitterness. It isn't his fault that she has something to hide today.
Taking a sip of her drink to buy some time, she collects her thoughts before saying as casually as she can, "The bill is almost foolproof, but almost isn't good enough. I need it to be so tight that there's nothing to nitpick. I can't stop bigots from voting against it, but I can do everything in my power to keep them from hiding their prejudice behind some half-arsed reason."
"Makes sense. But you need to have some downtime as well. What was that Muggle saying? Lots of work and not enough — "
"All work and no play."
"Exactly. Your work is important, but you need to make sure you have time to play as well."
"Teddy makes sure of that for me," she replies, even as an altogether different face drifts into her mind.
They have to tell him soon. They've been waiting for the timing to be right, but it never will be. And the longer they wait, the higher the chance of somebody slipping up, which will only make the resulting conversation that much harder.
"As interesting as the Hermione's bill is, I think that's a conversation for another time," Harry says, earning himself a grateful mouthed 'thank you' from Hermione. "Keep telling us about the job, Ron. You said there might be travel involved?"