By: QDT
Disclaimer: I am the Queen of Duct Tape, not the Queen of Harry Potter.
Chapter FourTrue to their words, everyone bought Hermione a drink. Oliver and Katie both bought her two, as Fred spotted her discreetly vanishing bits of the firewhiskey as she pretended to drink. This, thought Fred, wouldn't do. He grasped the bottle and pulled away from Hermione, then poured a substantial amount into her mouth. Involuntarily, she swallowed.
"It burns!"
"You hadn't noticed that yet?" asked Lee, laughing uproariously at her expression. "You already drank a full bottle!"
"I am afraid, dear friends," began Fred dramatically, "that our lovely Hermione has been vanishing her liquor as opposed to drinking it." He bowed his head as though ashamed.
"No!" cried George. "Say it isn't so!" He placed a hand on his heart and sighed just as dramatically as Fred.
"Well," said Angelina, ignoring the twins for the sake of practicality. "If you don't like firewhiskey, try this." She pushed over a glass of something green and frothy. It was smoking, but in Hermione's hand the glass was cold. She eyed it dubiously, but eventually took a drink when Fred motioned to take the glass again.
"It's good!" she said, surprise evident. "What is it?"
"Goblin-made rum," Alicia told her.
"At least, that's what they say it is," added Katie. "It doesn't much look like rum, but it's certainly better than firewhiskey."
"It has a lower alcohol content," said George eyeing it in disdain.
"Like you could hold much of it," retorted Oliver.
Three hours later, they were all thoroughly smashed. At least, Hermione thought they were. It was sort of hard to tell in her own inebriated state. Katie and Oliver had left fifteen minutes before, and from the way they had been acting, it was quite likely that they were doing things that were supposed to wait until after the wedding. Oddly, this didn't shock Hermione nearly as much as it would have had she been sober. Of course, had she been sober, she probably wouldn't be dancing on the table with Fred, either.
Oh, that wasn't mentioned yet? In any case, they were dancing on top of the table. Without shoes. Hermione couldn't be bothered to remember when she had taken hers off—or had Fred taken them off?—or where they were now. Also, Madame Rosmerta was trying to persuade them to please get off the table and leave her bar. They were attracting a crowd. Hermione, even when drunk, was a rather sensible person. She pointed out that the crowd was ordering drinks and the bar was making a profit off the two of them, so she didn't see why Rosmerta was so upset about what was clearly a mutually beneficial business deal.
In response, Madame Rosmerta levitated them out of the building and into the street. They landed in a large puddle. Still barefoot.
The next thing Hermione remembered, she was waking up in an unfamiliar bed. Surprisingly, she was rather well-rested and alert, aside from a terrible hangover. She might have wondered at this fact, but her head hurt too badly and at that moment Fred walked into the room, carrying a glass of some disgusting-looking liquid. She groaned.
"Hangover potion," he informed her, looking entirely too pleased. "I take it you've never needed one before?"
Hermione tried to glare at him, but it made her head pound, so she rolled over and buried her head in the pillow. Several seconds later, she felt the bed fluctuate with added weight, and then Fred was tickling her. She shrieked and sort of laughed, but had to grab her head. At any rate, she sat up long enough for him to pour the potion down her throat. Almost instantaneously, her head stopped pounding and the light dulled a bit so she didn't have to squint.
"Where am I?" she asked, glaring at Fred for good measure.
"On my bed," he told her. She stopped glaring in order to look shocked. "I slept on the couch."
"Er…thanks."
"C'mon!" he said, not standing up so much as leaping. "Let's get breakfast!" She tried to protest, but found herself being propelled out of the room anyway.
Hermione was being pulled down the stairs when she finally managed to a get a word in. "Dressed like this?" she said, gesturing at her rumpled clothing from the night before.
"Yes," he said, pulling her out into the alleyway. While he was busy locking the door, she placed a quick refreshing charm on herself so it wasn't quite so obvious she had slept in her clothes. The charm, however, did nothing for her hair, which really wasn't surprising because spells had never worked on her hair.
"Hm," said Fred, noticing this. "That won't do. People will think you've just been shagged senseless."
"What!"
"Turn around," he said, and pushed her forward when she did so. He then began to braid her hair again.
"How often do you do others' hair, anyway?" she asked, stopping.
"We went over this last night, Hermione; keep moving. You know where the café is. Not very."
"So why are you braiding mine for the second time in as many days?"
"Because I like your hair. And you really did look like you'd just been shagged senseless."
Hermione blinked and looked slightly uncomfortable with this statement, but decided not to say anything because Fred would doubtless suggest something rather naughty. And waggle his eyebrows. Stupid man.
It did not take long at all to get to the café, and Fred finished with Hermione's hair just as they were walking in the door. Both of them were too hungry to say much while eating, and then Fred picked up the bill.
"You bought me drinks last night," said Hermione. "I'll pay for breakfast."
Fred looked at her. "Do you have your checkbook on you?"
Hermione thought for a minute, and then realized that she had not expected to need money when she had originally left her flat to help George and Alicia move, and realized she did not. She shook her head, embarrassed.
"Then I'm paying," said Fred, laying more sickles on the table than the meal was worth, and then put roughly the same amount into the tip jar on their way out.
"Now, then," he said, grinning, "since it's Saturday and neither of us works, you are coming with me."
Hm. Feel free to give ideas as to where they're going, because, quite frankly, that line was spur-of-the-moment, and I have no idea. Please review!
Until next time,
Ab