"The Reunion" by Quidditch, Anyone?
Gettin' Down With Mr. Mystery Man
One hour and dozens of alcohol units later, I'm sitting here at the table like a bum on a sidewalk of chatty little schoolgirls. Everyone around me is laughing and having the time of their lives, though I can't help but notice an odd glance in my direction every now and then. They all think I'm looney, I bet, slouching and drowning my hidden miseries without saying a word. Easy for them to criticize me, though, when they're all here with their One And Only Beloved; Ginny with her arms around ol' Green Eyes, the twins with lively girls who truly love the Weasleys despite their endless humor, and Ron. With Twiggy. I myself do not think those two people should be freely names in the same sentence. Unless, of course, that sentence happens to be 'Ron finally came to his senses, dropped Twiggy like third term Divination, and went on his merry way'. She's constantly intertwining her fingers with his, and a few minutes ago I felt a bony foot on my leg, which I'm sure was meant to find his.
My new philosophy: PDA should be considered a violation of what can visually be presented to the public in Britain.
"Oh! We haven't even told you all the big news yet!" Twiggy squealed quite suddenly. She beamed at Ron with a grin larger than her IQ. Maybe in the near future I should really find out her name. I assume I could just guess it; something like Pricilla, Tiffany, or a French prostitute's name like Chloe (with webbed feet).
Aww, God, this is getting old. I gulp another mouthful of wine and close my eyes for a second before they fall upon Ron. He blushed deeply and muttered, "Not now, April. I don't think we should-"
"We're engaged!" she screams.
The rest of the table just look at them both in shock. George starts to laugh, but quickly turns it into a cry of joy and praise. Ginny smiles and kissed her brother on the cheek.
I think my stomach just left the party, because it certainly isn't here. I find myself turning around and spotting the nearest levitating tray of drinks. "Another round, please!" I scream throatily. I can feel sets of eyes darting towards me as the tray hurries over and I pick up a shot.
Aaand- down it goes. And another. Did the music just start, or is that in my head? I suddenly feel quite giddy and I think to myself, "what the hell?"
My chair scratches loudly. I'm on my feet and heading towards the dance floor, yet another drink in my hand. This is the point in the movie when I, the main character, starts to not care about much of anything, so I get jiggy. I'm boogying. I'm rippin' up the dance floor. I'm outa sight. Or I could just be drunk and not really trying.
Hmm... this guy across the floor is smiling at me. Probably making fun of me. I'm expecting him to lean over to a buddy and snigger in my direction, but he doesn't. Hmmph. That's weird. I continue to dance. Soon after Mr. Mystery Man starts coming closer and dances, too. I try to ignore him, but he keeps flashing his teeth at me. Again, I tell myself I might as well just accept it. Like a passing glass of liquor. I get closer to him, too, but I don't smile.
"What's your name?" he grins.
"Hermione," I begin. My voice isn't mad, isn't happy, not even matter-of-fact.
"You here alone?"
I don't answer, just kind of look at him as if he never asked me. I spin, and when I'm facing him again I feel as if I might as well tell him my situation. "I'm drunk. I don't dance. I'm just really, really messed up right about now."
Mr. Mystery Man laughs. Nice laugh, too.
"My name's Greg," he says. "You thirsty?"
"Yes."
He turns. "C'mon."
I find myself at a small bar (that was obviously just set up when night started to fall). He smiles and smiles and I just reply in a very casual, uncaring way. I tell him everything he wants to know, nothing he doesn't.
"So... you here with your friends, or what?"
I bite the straw of this new pink thing I'm sucking down. "No, no not really."
"Family?" he continues.
"No," I shake my head.
He chuckles. "Then why are you here?"
Perhaps I could make something up. Perhaps I can launch him into a huge explanation of how I'm trying to steal my best friend from some anorexic girl and live happily for the first time since I left this bloody school. But then I all of a sudden remember how stupid that sounds, so I tell him what I now, on the spot, identify as the real truth. "I don't know." It feels like a thousand years of silence and sober thinking, even though neither is the case.
He tries to flirt a bit more before I cut him short. "Umm, will you excuse me? I think I'm going to throw up," I smile. He gives me an odd look as I disappear into the crowd.
The 'French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet' thing is from Austin Powers. Everything else is from my own lil' noggin. Sorry if I haven't posted in a bit; the internet isn't working right now, so I don't know when I can update again. Oh well... at least now I can write rather than read (better) fanfics and aggravate you all by keep you 'on pins and needles' waiting for chapters... or something.
With a joyous departure,
QA