Oh so very predictable, but oh so fun!

Chapter 4: The Pretty One

Ooohhh, you're kidding me. This is my date? He is here to go on a date with ME? Ohhhh, he's soooo… pretty, Hermione thought, forcing herself to refrain from sighing aloud as she made her way to the handsome man who was sitting on the bench outside of the Italian restaurant, holding a rose. "You must be Hermione," he said smoothly, offering the rose to her.

"And you're Dylan, correct?" Hermione said, trying very hard not to giggle. Was it possible that he was part Veela? Were there male Veela? As he opened the door for her, she unbuttoned one of the buttons on her robes, revealing the little cleavage that she had. She was going to need to be exceptionally charming to secure another date with this guy.

"So, George told me that you are a Quidditch player. What team do you play for?" Hermione asked, taking a sip of water to cool herself.

"Well, I played for the Cannons last year, but my agent feels that I could be with better teammates if I were to play for the Harpies, so we're currently undergoing trade talks," he said, sounding bored.

"What about you?" he said as an afterthought.

"Oh, I'm in training to be a Healer," she said proudly.

"That sounds interesting," Dylan said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Uhh… yeah, it is," Hermione said, slightly perplexed.

"Oh my gosh, are you Dylan Fannon from the Cannons?" the waitress said, pausing to stare at him.

"I sure am," he said, turning on his charm. Hermione frowned as the waitress hurried off for a quill.

"So, you're a beater, right?" Hermione asked, hoping he would turn his attention back to her.

"What? Are you talking to me?" he said, acting as if he were surprised to see her there.

"Yes, I was talking to you, you arse!" Hermione said, standing up. Dylan ignored her as he autographed the waitress's breast, but glanced back in time to see Hermione toss her glass of wine in his face.

"These are silk robes!" he yelled, standing up and attempting to blot the wine stains appearing on his pale blue robes.

"Aww… here, let me help you!" Hermione said sarcastically, flicking her wand to produce an ice cold fountain of water, covering both Dylan and the waitress, who was now trying to help Dylan clean his robes.

"Never again!" She yelled, stomping out of the restaurant and disapperating, not even bothering to stop by 3W.

Collapsing into her bed, she angrily punched the pillows until the long awaited tears came.

"Hermione? Hermione! Hermione, open the door!" George yelled from the hallway, pounding on the door to her flat. In mid pound, the door opened a crack, and a red-eyed, disheveled Hermione peeked into the hallway. "Come on, let me in," George said, putting his hand on the door.

She stepped back to allow him inside, but didn't speak, her head pounding too hard for sentence formation. "Hermione… did you drink all of this?" George asked, looking around her living room to see several Firewhiskey bottles and a couple bottles that he assumed were from Muggle alcohol. Hermione didn't answer, but flopped down on the couch, pulling a blanket over her head to shield herself from the light pouring past the curtains.

George tentatively sat down beside her on the couch, regarding her sympathetically. Sighing, he said, "Ginny told you, didn't she?" When Hermione didn't answer, he assumed the affirmative. "I'm really sorry, Hermione… I didn't want you to find out this way. I knew you would be upset. I know Ginny is your friend, but I… I just wanted you to hear it from me," he continued, forcing himself to stop talking.

Slowly, Hermione pulled the blanket away to reveal her very confused and very pale face. "What the hell are you on about?" she grumbled, looking at him.

"You mean, you don't know?" George said, his eyes widening, "I thought that's why you'd gotten drunk and everything…"

"No, you prat. I drank myself sick because you picked the worst guy ever for me to date. He signed the waitress's tits, for heaven's sake!" Hermione screeched, angrily pushing George, "Now what are you talking about?"

"Hermione…" George began, "They're getting married."

"Who, the waitress and Dylan? That explains a lot…" Hermione said, grumpily turning away.

"No, Hermione," George continued softly, "Lavender and Ron. They're engaged."

Hermione remained silent for a moment before standing up, almost falling back into the couch before wrenching her arm out of George's hand and stomping to the kitchen. George heard a couple bangs and a clank, so he followed her into the kitchen, seeing her leaning back against the countertop, a meade bottle held vertically over her head, the golden liquid pouring into her mouth at an alarming rate. "Oh no you don't!" George said, rushing forward to stop her. She pushed him away forcefully, spilling the rest of the meade on the floor, the bottle shattering on the counter. They both paused, stunned by the sound of breaking glass. However, Hermione's silence quickly dissolved into tears and then sobs. "Come on," George said, half exasperated, half heartbroken at the sound of her tears. He led her back to the living room and onto the couch.

"Why does it hurt like this? I hate him!" she said, clutching a pillow.

"It's hard to let go sometimes," George said, concern in his eyes as he watched her wipe the tears from her cheeks.

"No, it's because I'm afraid that… that I'm never going to get married," she said quietly, as if she had suddenly come to that realization, "The only person who liked me was the nerd," She sobbed, drawing out the word "nerd" so that it seemed even more pitiful.

"Oh, Hermione, that's not true," George said, almost laughing, "You're going to get married some day. You just haven't found the right person."

"What if I don't?" she cried, her head falling into George's chest. George awkwardly patted the top of her head for a moment, which seemed to make her cry more.

Oh, screw it, he thought, pulling her close enough for him to wrap his arms around her. Why do I have to be attracted to my brother's could- have-been girlfriend at a time like this? George asked himself, Hermione sobbing into his chest.

"No more blind dates… I'm swearing off men," she wailed, pulling herself closer to him.

To be continued…