Chapter Three: Dinner at the Three Broomsticks
Hermione couldn't help smiling to herself as she rummaged her wardrobe, Ministry reports lain forgotten on the desk behind her.
Maybe, just maybe, her friends really did care about her as much as she cared about them. To come into her bedroom after she'd been so short with them, to offer to take her to dinner, their treat!
Work could wait. If every other day of the year she was a workaholic, tonight she could be free and enjoy herself. She felt so good all of a sudden, she hummed a Weird Sisters tune as she selected a long grey skirt and a black silken blouse with silver buttons. When she was finished dressing, she unbraided her long, frizzy brown hair and let it hang free. Even the frizz didn't bother her tonight, and she felt prepared to be herself completely.
When they arrived in Hogsmeade by Apparation, Harry and Ron immediately spotted Honeydukes, and were lured across the street by a large purple sign in the window with flashing gold letters that read: Saturday is Chocolate Frog Card Trading Night!
Hermione bounced impatiently on the balls of her feet and stuck her hands in her coat pockets.
"Come on you two! You promised me a dinner, not a night of trading bits of colourful cardboard!"
"Bits of colourful cardboard!" yelled Ron in offense. "At least Chocolate Frog Cards are more interesting than those dull books you read-"
Harry jabbed him in the gut with his elbow, looking annoyed.
"At least those dull books I read are educational!"
"Well so are Chocolate Frog Cards! Honestly, can't you see the short history that's written on the back of each one-"
"Quit it, the both of you! For once let's do something together without an argument starting-"
"Well it's not my fault, Harry! Mr Prat over there loves to argue-"
"As if it's me! With her over there insulting the obvious genius of a Chocolate Frog Card-"
When they finally made it to the Three Broomsticks for dinner, Hermione and Ron were not speaking to each other, and Harry wanted to give the both of them a good whack. However, he decided to remain the mature one and try to set things right between them again.
"What are you getting, Harry?" asked Hermione loudly, making sure that Harry's name would not be mistaken for "Ron".
"I think I'm getting the beef stew special. Why don't you ask Ron what he's getting?"
"Why doesn't Ron ask me what I'm getting?" Hermione shot back, her face hidden behind the tattered, thick parchment menu of the Three Broomsticks.
"Because quite frankly, Ron doesn't give a flying feck what Hermione is getting."
Hermione gasped and put her menu on the table with a loud smack of her hand.
"Don't you dare curse at me!"
"I said 'feck'. Maybe you should have kept those cat ears back in second year. You'd probably hear better." Ron said calmly, his eyes never leaving his menu. Hermione made a loud huffing noise, as though she was desperately searching her brain for something to shoot back at him, but seemed to come up with nothing.
"But oh, I suppose dearest Vicky wouldn't have approved of his ickle Hermy-ninny sporting feline ears, would he? So it's all turned out for the best, hasn't it? Yup, everybody's happy, aren't they?"
Harry groaned with intense annoyance as Hermione could be heard countering Ron's verbal attack. He quickly ordered a tankard of butterbeer, and gulped it down without caring that the alcohol would probably kick in stronger than usual because of his empty stomach. In fact, the thought was slightly comforting.
By the time he'd finished his third butterbeer, he became aware that the bickering seemed to have subsided. All that could be heard was the hearty laughter and storytelling of the other patrons of the Three Broomsticks. Most of them were very happy, and Harry found himself wishing that he had come here tonight with anybody but Ron and Hermione, who were now sitting quietly, but with sour expressions fixed on their faces, as they gulped down butterbeer faster than Harry was.
Down and down went more butterbeer into Harry's gut; the other two continuing to follow suit. By the time eight o' clock rolled around, it became apparent to Harry that this was no longer dinner, but a drinking session. Madame Rosemerta continued to serve them, but started to look a little hesitant to meet their wishes of more butterbeer when Ron began calling her Professor McGonagall.
After awhile, a young redheaded wizard with a paperboy hat came in with a fiddle and started playing some fast Irish tunes. Hermione literally screamed with delight, which was very much unlike her, and yanked Harry up for a dance.
Feeling bold from too much alcohol himself, he obliged, and the two of them tripped and stumbled and twirled around on the floor of the pub, the rest of the room laughing and calling out to them. Then Ron threw up and passed out with his head on the table, and Madame Rosemerta finally decided that she would not serve them any more drink, and hailed the Night Bus to take them back to London.
The ride to London was extremely bumpy and unpleasant, and the rest of the passengers, who were older, respectable witches and wizards, eyed the three of them disapprovingly. Harry spent the trip singing "Oh Susanna", and Ron kept trying to stand up, only to be thrown to the floor again when the bus jolted to an unexpected stop.
When the bus had arrived at Hermione's building and the doorman firmly escorted them out, they were very surprised to find themselves in London again.
After realising that they couldn't Apparate properly, they managed to support each other and find their way up the stairs and to Hermione's door, to which she held out her wand and said, "Aloramorrra!" which of course did nothing; so Harry had a go, and by luck got it right, unlocking the door. They stumbled through, nearly tripping over each other's feet.
They were so drunk, Ron and Hermione didn't even remember they were mad at each other.