Chapter 03: Saturday Night
"What time did Fred and George roll home last night?" Ginny whispered to Ron as soon as Mrs. Weasley turned around to wash the breakfast dishes.
"They didn't. They decided to stay at their flat. Which probably tells us something about the state they were in," Ron replied in an undertone.
Hermione rolled her eyes. It seemed that the twins were still well and truly stuck in their second childhood. A second childhood that seemed to involve rather more Vodka consumption than she imagined Mrs. Weasley had provided in their first childhood, but a second childhood none-the-less.
"Quiet without them, isn't it?" Ginny said, shooting a sideways glance at Hermione.
"Mmm," she agreed, deciding that now was not the right time to brutally disillusion a doting sister with her own thoughts on the matter. "What are we doing today then?" she asked brightly, trying to change the subject.
"Well, thought we'd stroll into the village while the weather holds out, seeing as we've been forecast snow," Ron finished dismally.
Hermione found Ottery St. Catchpole as fascinating as Ginny found it boring when they meandered lazily into the centre after breakfast.
"But look at all the pretty buildings!" she breathed, pointing to an embroidery shop with a white-washed cottage front.
"Novelty wears off after a while," Ginny said grimly, deftly moving out of the way of a dithering pensioner seemingly bent on self-destruction. She realised that Hermione had yet to realise that the average age of Ottery St. Catchpole residents was set at around 92.5 years, and that consequently it was one of those places where there was nothing to do if one was over the age of five or under the age of fifty.
"Most people would give anything to live in a place like this. Look at the surroundings; the countryside, the fresh air!" Hermione spun around, throwing her hands into the air in joy.
Ron smiled indulgently at her. "Thought you were a city girl?"
"Not out of choice. And… oh, look!" Hermione held her hand out to show the delicate snowflake nestled on her palm.
"It's snowing!" Ginny grinned, before turning round to face a scowling Ron. "What's the matter with you?"
"It's all right for you; snow is just the wet stuff you build a snowman out of and go sledging down. For me, it's Fred and George's chosen instrument of oppression."
Ginny laughed. "Stop being so melodramatic!" She turned to address Hermione. "You'd think Ron was the youngest, wouldn't you? Always whinging about how hard done by he is."
"Oh, well it's all right for you with your little miss innocent suck-up act," he snapped.
"Aw, poor little Ronnikins with his ikkle persecution complex." Ginny reached out and pinched his cheek patronisingly.
"Gerrof!" He brushed her hand away angrily. "You always have to do this, don't you?"
"Do what?"
"Embarrass me, in front of my friends." He shot a quick glance at Hermione who began a fascinated examination of her shoes, feeling uncomfortable in the uncharted territory of sibling bickering. An unpopular child at primary school, she was ignorant of the friendship etiquette that demanded she side not with the sibling who seemed to propound the most logical argument, but with the one who had invited her, the one she liked best. Her silence visibly deflated Ron.
"Oh get over yourself, you manage to do that perfectly well by yourself – why ruin a winning formula?" She rolled her eyes at Hermione, appealing for an ally, and let out a girlish giggle which was possibly even more infuriating than the bite contained in her words.
"Hermione's my friend, not yours. Why don't you clear off?" He squared up to her, his angry flushed face in stark contrast to her calculated expression of mock surprise.
"Come on, Ron, don't be silly," Hermione said, trying to appeal to his sensible side. Possibly attempting to negotiate a truce with an insult was not the preferred method of the UN Peace Corps, but then nobody chose Hermione Granger as a friend because they admired her skilful diplomacy. Likewise, Ronald Weasley's methodical logic was not one of his finer qualities.
"Oh, so now I'm silly, am I?" he retorted, turning on her angrily. "I can see my time's wasted here; she's already gone and brainwashed you. Well, I hope you'll be very happy, and you won't want me hanging around and spoiling your fun." He stormed off, in what may have been an impressive display of rage had he not immediately garrotted himself on a waist-high shop sign. He kicked it crossly before stalking down the street, startling several elderly ladies who waved their sticks menacingly at his rapidly retreating back.
"That Weasley boy," Hermione heard one of them mutter, "Always up to no good. Shifty little bugger. The youth of today!"
"Should we go after him?" Hermione bit her lip, staring at the flaming red dot that was Ron's head.
"Nah, he'll cool off by himself – eventually. He's just annoyed that I've cajoled you into coming out on a double date with me tonight."
"Why would he care? He's more than welcome to come to the pub too. I don't particularly want to go either."
Ginny rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Don't you know anything?"
"What do you mean?"
"Oh never mind, I'll let you figure it out for yourself." Ginny smiled enigmatically, before steering Hermione toward the window display of an old-fashioned jewellery shop. "Ooh, isn't that brooch beautiful? Wish I had someone to buy me one."
Hermione stared for a second at the Sapphire studded oval, conceding that, yes, it was very pretty, but didn't really merit longer than five seconds of her life spent gawking at it. Ginny, however, had moved onto the next display case and was squealing over some engagement rings.
"Speaking of which," Hermione frowned, "What are these guys we're meeting tonight like? Are they like us?"
"You mean, Wizards? Nah, they're as Muggle as you can get, but that doesn't mean they don't know how to have a fun time! I just wouldn't mention anything to do with school if I were you."
Hermione was horrified, mentally visualising someone wringing her brain as all her topics of conversation dried up. She wondered whether she should pick up a Muggle newspaper from the village newsagents, just to keep herself informed on the economic crisis in Chile. But no, even that wouldn't do. She needed to think like a teenager for once. She tried emptying her mind of all logical thought and focusing on popular culture. Yet consecutive months spent at Hogwarts meant that she didn't have a clue who was the bookies favourite to win Pop Idol, or even which soap star was currently flaunting their adultery on the front pages of all the TV guides.
"But –but, what will we talk about?"
"Who said anything about talking?" Ginny winked.
Mrs. Weasley had a delicious spread waiting for them when they got back, by which time Ron had calmed down enough to issue a muttered apology to Hermione, although he did throw a thoroughly dirty look in Ginny's direction as soon as Hermione's back was turned.
"Now you three sit down while we wait for the others." Mrs. Weasley herded them over to the kitchen table, fussing over Hermione as she strategically placed her in the seat next to Ron and away from Ginny. "Goodness me!" she exclaimed suddenly as the door opened to admit the dripping form of Mr. Weasley, robes plastered to his skin. He grinned, a pleasant expression on his red, frost-bitten face.
"I tell you, it's murder out there!" He took his hat off and tipped off the excess snow onto the doormat.
"Ooh, go and sit by the fire, Arthur." Mrs. Weasley scurried over to her husband and began brushing the melting snow from his robes. "Sit down, sit down!" She peeled the travelling cloak from his back and pushed him into the rocking chair by the fire.
"How was work dad?" Ginny said eagerly, twisting round in her chair to face her father.
"Well, Ginny, not one of my more exciting days. I had to spend all afternoon in one of those Muggle super duper markets – amazing places really, you could get lost in them! Well, I did in fact, wandering round the dairy section for hours… but anyway, some mischievous imp had transfigured all the shopping trolleys – couldn't have all those Muggles pushing around trolleys that had minds of their own! I feel quite drained."
"There, there, dear. We'll just wait till Fred and George arrive and then I can serve up some dinner," Mrs. Weasley smiled as she began laying plates on the table with a clatter.
There were two loud clicks.
"Did you call, mother?"
"Merlin's beard, you gave me the fright of my life!" Mrs. Weasley clutched her hand to her chest as she scolded her son. "How many times have I told you not to Apparate into the house?"
"Sorry, mum, couldn't resist." Fred grinned.
"We heard you from the door," George explained.
"Thought we'd save you the trouble of getting up."
"What, by flooring me with a heart attack? Come on, away with you, sit down at the table now." She shooed them over to their seats. Fred grinned at Ginny as he sat down opposite her, scraping his chair across the flagstones. George sat down quietly opposite Hermione, fastidiously rearranging his cutlery as he avoided her eye. She sprang back as his knees brushed against her own, blushing and crossing her legs neatly under her chair, leaving him space to stretch his own long ones out in the space between.
The meal progressed cheerily, with plenty of laughter and friendly banter between the Weasleys. Hermione smiled, just content with being a silent observer. Even Ron perked up, spooning the hot Irish stew enthusiastically into his mouth while Mr. Weasley regaled them all with further tales of his exploits at the Ministry of Magic. Only George seemed to be uncharacteristically quiet, leaving his twin to do most of the talking while he played the role of occasional echo. Hermione looked covertly at him from under her fringe, gazing at the top of his lowered head. She noticed that he had barely touched his dinner, yet was stirring his spoon so intently that he looked as though he were digging for buried treasure. She fought the urge to slap his hand away out of sheer irritance just as he looked up and caught her staring at him. She looked away quickly.
"…do you, Hermione?" Mrs. Weasley's voice broke through her reverie as she found six pairs of eyes suddenly focused on her.
"Er, sorry, what was that, Molly?" Hermione asked quietly.
"I was just saying to Ginny, you don't really want to go out in this weather, do you? I don't think she should be dragging you out to the village in weather like this. Better off staying at home."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Mu-um!"
"No, it's fine. I'm looking forward to it." Hermione lied quickly, for the sake of her friendship.
"Well, I want the boys going with you. Not having you going out in the dark by yourselves."
"No way, mum, they'll embarrass me!" Ginny whined, while Ron sat up in his chair a little straighter.
"Well, now you mention it, Gin, we do have a new product that needs testing on some unsuspecting Muggles," George grinned.
"You'll do no such thing! Will they, Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley said oppressively, turning to her husband for confirmation.
"Of course not," he said stoutly, although George and Fred were already exchanging significant glances by this point.
Hermione had no idea what they had in mind, but their pockets seemed suspiciously bulky as they walked into the village an hour later. It was still snowing, and so overcast that there was little chance for the moon to fight through the heavy clouds in the starless sky. Ron walked ahead, evidently still sulking as he kicked irritably at a snowdrift. His back was now dotted with round wet patches, courtesy of Fred and George. Hermione had tried to walk with him but he had muttered something angrily about her not needing to bother pretending and strode off ahead of her again. She wished the twins would stop throwing snowballs at him. The humour had worn off long ago – if it had ever been present for Ron – yet they still persisted with their merciless teasing. She watched as George pulled back the bough to a roadside tree, then let is spring back, catapulting snow all over Ron. He stopped for the smallest fraction of a second, shook himself, then carried on walking regardless. George sniggered.
"For God's sake!" Hermione snapped, finally losing her temper. "It wasn't particularly funny the first time, and it certainly isn't after the hundredth. Why don't you just grow up?"
Fred and Ginny exchanged smirks, before scarpering from the imminent explosion. Neither of them were stupid enough to hang around during one of Hermione's moments of rage. They ran to catch up with Ron, who was pleasantly surprised by their sudden conciliatory appearance.
"Lighten up, Herm, it's only a bit of fun."
"Fun? I bet that's what Draco says when he tries to justify his bullying."
"Hey," he frowned, "No need for that. You don't need to be so prissy now, we're not in school anymore."
"Yeah, well maybe you'd like a taste of your own medicine," she growled, scooping up a ball of snow and charging at him as she squashed it into his face.
His eyes widened in surprise, taking in the wild appearance of a girl whom he had always considered unnaturally restrained. Her hair was splayed around her face in tangled curls, her cheeks flushed with rosy colour, and her teeth bared with perceptible hostility. But it was her eyes he found his gaze drawn to; two blazing orbs that seemed alight with a pulsing hatred.
"Hey," he said softly, taking her wrists in his hands.
"Don't you 'hey' me!" she screamed, pulling her wrists free. "You think you can just push Ron around, however you want, treat him like an little kid. Well it's you who's the little kid."
George was angry now, the joking glint in his eye extinguished. But when he spoke it was with a careful deliberateness.
"Don't presume to pry into our family and tell me how to treat my little brother just because you've been in our house for five minutes. You don't know anything."
His quiet hurt seemed to affect Hermione in a way that none of Ron or Harry's hot-collared shouting ever could.
"Well… I…" she stuttered, suddenly realising that she was completely out of order and had just screamed like a Banshee at her best friend's brother. "I'm sorry George, I just…"
"Oh no you don't," he said sternly, furrowing his eyebrows. Hermione flinched, waiting for the onslaught. She should have known that it would take more than a mumbled half-apology to make up for what she had just said – and done. "You don't get out of a snowball fight that easily." He bent down and packed a handful of snow between his gloved hands, before spinning round and throwing it slightly off-target so that it broke against her left shoulder.
Hermione giggled, the situation suddenly diffused, and returned fire with George. He was surprised by her accuracy as she reeled off continuous snowballs into his head.
"Hey, you should have been a Chaser!" he said as he shook her last effort from his hair.
"And you shouldn't!" she shot back cheekily as his snowball bounced harmlessly off her elbow. For some reason, he hadn't managed to get her above the neck once yet.
"Aren't you supposed to be on a hot date tonight? Should I ease up on the old snowballs?" he shouted, even as he hurled his next one toward her.
She dodged lithely out of the way, before expertly hitting her target.
"Not really, just been dragged along by Ginny. Can't imagine anything more arse-numbingly boring to be honest."
George laughed. "Well I'd always thought that you and Ron-"
"Will you two hurry up!" Fred interrupted, retracing his earlier footprints and running back to them. "Ginny's sent me back to check whether you'd done an Oats and wandered off."
They jogged to catch up with Ron and Ginny, Hermione guiltily noting Ginny's impatient scowl when she greeted them.
"Honestly, Hermione, look at your hair. It looks like you dried it in a cyclone." She fingered the other girl's hair distastefully.
"Leave her alone, Gin. She agreed to come with you, didn't she?" Ron said irritably, silencing his younger sister with his sharp tone. He was fed up with all the family bickering. He'd thought his family would at least pretend to be normal if he brought a guest home with him. Instead, they'd got even worse, if anything. Ginny seemed to have taken the addition of another female teenager to the house as an excuse to give free reign to her previously suppressed femininity; Fred was playing ever more ingenious practical jokes, as though trying to prove something to the self-confessed accademic Hermione; while George seemed to have retreated into sulky silence at the unwelcome visitor cramping his style. All of which conspired to put him in a stinking bad mood.
He pushed past Fred roughly and swung open the door to The Rose and Crown. Fred shrugged his shoulders and traipsed in after him, followed by Ginny, George and Hermione. She entered the bar tentatively, intimidated by the bustling atmosphere. It was packed to the rafters with drinking locals smiling, laughing and eyeing up the newcomers. She slid behind George, using his bulk as a barrier, until Ginny grabbed her hand and took it in her own little one.
"This way 'Mione. Mum may have forced them to escort us here, but there's no way we're sitting together while they suddenly decide to do the protective older brother act."
Hermione allowed herself to be led through the bewildering warren of passageways and side rooms.
"Here we are." Ginny smiled pleasantly as they entered a large mock-Tudor room, complete with obligatory Queen Elizabeth I portrait. Hermione, remembering her History of Magic lessons only too well, shuddered. "Finbar, meet Hermione. Hermione, Finbar."
She knew it had been a bad sign when Finbar had requested that she allow him to call her 'Herm', and he soon proved that multisyllabic words in general were a problem for him. Not that her frosty silence really mattered - if anything, Finbar seemed to interpret it as a welcome invitation to set off on a voyage of serial monologues on topics as diverse and unrelated as car mechanics, nuances of the offside rule and the comparative guitar skills of Eric Clapton versus Jimmy Hendrix. Hermione had complained of as much when Ginny dragged her off to accompany her to the toilet for a half-time break and analysis.
"Oh, just make the most of it then. If he's paying, drink up," she had replied archly, moments after smugly confessing that things were going great with Seth. Hermione had thought it pretty useless advice at the time, but once Finbar got onto the seemingly inexhaustible subject of the Football Cup she began to feel almost homesick for Ron and Harry's endless Quidditch talk – or at least her prerogative to tell them to shut up when she got bored. Her next drink was distinctly alcoholic. And her next. Until their table became littered with their joint effort of empty glasses and bottles.
She rose suddenly, wobbling uncertainly as the alcohol rushed to her head.
"Oops," she giggled as she tottered over and fell into Finbar's lap.
"No problem, darling. Where you off to then?"
"Just getting some fresh air," she said truthfully, suddenly feeling flushed in the stuffy room.
"Oh, I see." He winked knowingly. "Shall I come with you then?"
"I'm quite capable of finding my own way out, thank you very much," she replied haughtily, her attempt at dignity somewhat ruined when she got her shoe tangled in Ginny's stool and went flying onto the next table with a heavy thump. She brushed the cigarette ash from the front of her top as she muttered a mumbled apology to the surprised looking man, while Seth and Ginny burst into raucous laughter.
"Fine then, be all annoying and coupley while I wander off by myself," she muttered under her breath as she set off in search of the great outdoors.
After ten minutes of aimless searching for an elusive exit - during which time she was offered a seat, a drink and illegal drugs - she finally admitted defeat and turned back. Trouble was, she couldn't remember which direction back was in. She looked around the faces of the gurning locals with rising panic. Feeling a tap on her shoulder she whipped round defensively, only to find a smiling Weasley. She could have wept for joy. She opted for a grin instead, not wanting to overwhelm her saviour.
"You look a bit lost!"
"That's because I am, Fred," she beamed. "Need a compass and map in this place. Feel like I'm embarking on a gruelling expedition every time I need a pee. I'm surprised they don't hand out orange whistles and Kendal mint cake at the door." She was aware that she was babbling, but she was just so relieved to have found a familiar face.
"Date not going too well then?"
"You could say that," she answered grimly.
"Come and sit with us then. It'd stop Ron from leaping up like a yo-yo to go to check on you every five minutes."
"He's been spying on us?" Hermione said indignantly.
"Like a pro. His hitherto powers of surveillance are actually quite scary. Must remember to be more vigilante when we get back to The Burrow…"
Hermione followed Fred into the pokey room she remembered from their previous visit, causing Ron's face to instantly light up.
"'Mione!" he exclaimed.
"Date isn't going too well, so I said she could hide in here with us. Budge up, my son." Fred tapped a semi-comatose George on the behind with an empty bottle. "Had a bit too much to drink, methinks," he said in a whispered aside to Hermione.
George snorted, half-opened his eyes warily as he regarded Hermione coolly, before finally shuffling up so that she could squeeze herself onto the end of the bench. As soon as she was seated, however, he stretched back out, placing his feet unceremoniously in her lap. She shrugged; she'd rather have George's smelly feet than Finbar's smelly breath any day.
"Can I get you a drink, dear damsel in distress?" Fred addressed Hermione politely.
"Well, if you're offering…"
"She'll have an orange juice." Ron broke in. Hermione scowled. If there was one thing she hated, it was being told by someone else what she wanted – even if they were right.
"Yeah, I'll have an orange juice please," she smiled pleasantly, "Providing it comes with Vodka as standard."
"That's the Weasley spirit!" Fred grinned, as Ron scowled disapprovingly.
"I thought you didn't drink?" he hissed as soon as Fred had left.
"Says who? You know, I'm tired of everyone else defining me all the time. For once I'd just like to be me, and for people to accept me as such. Not Hermione the Muggle, or Hermione the class swot, or even Hermione Ron and Harry's friend, just Hermione."
"You go girl," George piped up, in a voice muffled by the arm draped theatrically across his face. He rolled over to face the wall, muttering something incomprehensible as his feet twisted in her lap. She suddenly noticed that one of his shoes was missing and that his other foot was encased in a lady's tartan slipper. A couple of days ago this would have perplexed her. Now she merely shrugged and returned her attention back to Ron.
"Well, if that's how you feel I'm going to find Ginny," he huffed, before standing up and attempting to stalk out – a gesture somewhat spoiled by the fact it took two frantic minutes of furniture rearrangement to escape from his chair.
Hermione stared in silence at the wall, wondering what she'd done wrong now. Ron was awfully touchy these days; she was starting to wonder if he was trying to channel Harry's spirit to make up for the fact that he had been unable to spend the Christmas holidays with them.
"What is his problem?" she muttered to herself.
"You." George spoke suddenly, causing Hermione to snap out of her reverie.
"Well thanks very much," she replied tartly.
"Not you personally, just you being here. Now let me explain something of male psychology…"
11