Previously, in 'Waking Up'
- Hermione is on edge about her parents and is having trouble with anxiety in general- also worried about Ron not saying 'I love you' yet
-Ron was exhausted from tending to George the night before- he's running on fumes- and is devastated that Hermione doesn't seem to care for Harry joining the Aurors- He fills out paperwork and gets sick with anxiety
-Needs a quill and sees Hermione needs money for Australia
-Goes to the village to get a job- gets lost in dark memories
-Comes home to everyone giving cheers to him and the trio for Order of Merlins and Auror offers
-They're all gonna go out to celebrate
CHAPTER 5: QUEEN OF CLUBS
Ginny didn't have a very large room, and it felt even smaller as Hermione tried to ready herself to go to a club, of all places. She wasn't the club 'type.' She couldn't say for sure, as she'd never been to one, but what little familiarity she had made it sound awful. Loud noises, skimpily dressed, dancing as if she hadn't a care in the world seemed… exhausting. And pointless. And dangerous! Fleur, Angelina and Ginny were trying on a myriad of dresses and asking for the group's approval. While the wireless played raucous tunes and the other girls giggled, Hermione spent her time packing and repacking her beaded bag.
The extension charm was still firmly in place. She hadn't figured out a way to keep things more organized within it, though, so the canned goods she'd placed there kept falling over. She wasn't going to forget food again, that she knew. She hadn't located a new tent yet, but she needed to prioritize that soon. She had just finished repacking some of her clothes when she heard Ginny ask, "What are you doing?"
Hermione snapped the bag shut, not knowing how to explain her preparations in any way that made her seem of sound mind.
"Just wasn't sure what to wear…" It wasn't a complete lie. She wasn't sure what fit her anymore.
"Well, you can never go wrong with a little black dress," said Ginny pointing to a thin-strapped sundress Hermione hadn't had reason to wear in well over a year.
She nodded and went to a corner, turning her front away from them as she changed into the dress. As she wiggled her jeans out from under the dress she noticed the other girls showed no similar discretion, happily throwing dresses off in the middle of the room.
Hermione gave a speculative look in the mirror, tugging a bit at the neckline of her sundress. It fit differently than before, bagging around her waist and chest in an unflattering way, and the straps would not stay in place.
"I can do alterations to dresses if anyone needs them," said Fleur, grabbing a book from within her bag, discreetly catching Hermione's eye. Arachne Salavarrieta's Little Book of Sewing had a few good spells for altering clothing on the fly. All four of them looked over the text for just the right spells to take in, let out, and shorten dresses.
Ginny, still underage and unable to do magic, begged them "you've got to shorten my skirt once we're there!"
"Why not have us do it now?" Angelina asked, propping up a magically enlarged hand mirror on the roll top desk.
"I have four older brothers downstairs," Ginny said with a sour look.
"Why should that matter?"
"One of those gits will take the piss in front of Mum if I look remotely sexy. That is, if Mum doesn't already notice all on her own. I don't know! Either way, just help me with the hem at the club, please? I don't want to be the only one there looking frumpy!"
"From-py?" Fleur asked.
"Unfashionable, old-fashioned, overly modest and drab," Hermione provided, fairly certain the term had been liberally applied to herself over the years.
"You look far from from-py, but we will help with the skirt," Fleur assured Ginny.
"And if any brother gives you shit at the club, we'll hex them for good measure too," Angelina added, bringing out a pair of curling tongs and prompting Ginny to sit in front of her.
Hermione pulled at her dress some more, not sure how much to alter it, and not sure if she wanted to bother. A pernicious guilt gnawed at her as she pulled the dress taut to her body. She should be doing something that mattered, not fretting over a dress. She should be in Australia. She hadn't earned a rest, let alone a 'fun time out.' She'd taken no steps forward. She'd not found her parents' location, she'd not earned money, she'd not even checked to see if her old childhood home was still standing.
"Hermione, is everything alright?" Fleur quietly asked, coming to stand beside her at the long mirror.
Hermione forced a smile onto her face.
"Oh you know me… I'm never sure what to do with fashion and all that. I'm more at ease in a library."
Fleur gave her a searching look she'd seen before at Shell Cottage. It was a look that sought truth behind idle chit chat. It brought a sisterly sort of comfort that Hermione had not thought Fleur capable of a year ago. She had found the French woman to be condescending and too effortlessly beautiful to warrant any attempt at friendship. The war had given her an appreciation for Fleur, though. They were something akin to friends now.
"I just…" Hermione said in a low voice only Fleur could hear as the wireless yowled another rock anthem. "This feels so silly when there's so much to do."
"We've earned a bit of silly, do you not think so?"
"You all might have…"
"Hermione," she said, putting a tentative hand around her shoulder. "You 'ave done more than most anyone."
"Since The Battle I've done nothing! Everyone is helping rebuild and all I've done is sleep! And my parents are still in Australia, and I've…I've done nothing to get them back."
"Ron told us of your parents and the memories… Will you be needing any help?"
"No," Hermione quickly insisted. "No. I just need to make a plan and get them back here. Once I have a plan then it will all be alright."
"You are meaning to bring them back here in England… To the home you lived in before?"
Hermione nodded, and saw a look of concern wrinkle Fleur's otherwise flawless brow.
"Hermione… Have you been to your home since the war ended?"
Hermione shook her head. "I'm planning on checking on it soon."
"This is why I asked. You can not do that alone. Many Muggleborn homes were cursed after the war. Some are no longer standing," said Fleur, her voice ringing with intensity despite the lyric tone.
Hermione was aware that many a Muggleborn home had been razed to the ground, but refused to believe the same could have happened to her childhood home.
"Even the Burrow needed much curse breaking," she continued. "We do not know each other well, but I am happy to help you with this."
"Oh you don't have to!" Hermione said with a shake of her head.
"Oh poppyrot!" Fleur said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Hermione let out a long breath, her gratitude forcing her to not correct Fleur to the word 'poppycock.' "It is my pleasure!"
"You two alright?" asked Ginny giving the two a sidelong look as Angelina continued to curl her hair.
"We are," Fleur said, looking to Hermione who confirmed this with a head nod. "Just helping out with fashion. It is a ritual we women do. The girls gather and dress and help one another to look more beautiful, while the men do nothing."
"Maybe they shower," Angelina added with a laugh, "but probably not. They never put in half the effort we do!"
"You see? It is the way of it," Fleur said, giving Hermione a small squeeze and a meaningful look. "I can help whenever you like."
"Thank you, Fleur…" she said with equal import. When the other girls looked at her with curiosity she continued, "I don't have any of my usual things like makeup or hair products."
"I have a ton of stuff in my bag," Angelina offered.
"As do I. We girls help one another," Fleur said, grabbing a comb and some bottles of French products Hermione didn't recognize. She continued with the faintest whisper, "You can send a message or Patronus to me when you are ready to enter your old home."
Words failing her, Hermione put a hand on Fleur's and gave it a small squeeze. Fleur said nothing, but the warm smile she sent in the mirror reassured her that the French woman completely understood.
After an hour of sewing alterations, primping, squealing, and many changes of clothes by each of the ladies, they decided they were almost ready enough to leave.
"Oh! Jewelry! I forgot about that," Ginny moaned, looking through her small box of earrings.
Angelina and Fleur were eager to help her, but Hermione wasn't sure she could take another debate about fashion. She was grateful for the silly hour she'd gotten to spend with them, though. Despite her hair still being a bit wild and curly, Hermione had to admit she liked how she looked in the mirror. The black sundress fit her perfectly now. She almost looked like she had a figure again. Between the dress and the makeup, and a bit of product from Angelina to keep her hair from frizzing, she looked almost pretty. She felt a touch of excitement flurry in her stomach at the thought of looking nice in front of Ron. It almost made her forget how nervous she was to be out of the safety of the Burrow. She gripped her beaded bag close to her side.
"I'm going to wait with the boys, if that's alright."
The girls waved her off as they held different earrings beside Ginny's face.
As Hermione stepped into the hallways she immediately ran into a thin, though sturdy, body and let out a small exclamation of alarm. She quickly muffled her sound when she saw it was only Harry.
"Are you all ready to go then?" he asked, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Ginny behind the closing door.
"We're almost all ready," she said with a fond smile. "You know girls, it takes them forever."
"You're a girl too, according to Ron at least," said Harry, giving her a wry grin. Harry was looking rather sharp in Muggle clothes that actually fit, and his hair was looking mysteriously untidy.
"Did you do something to your hair?"
"What?" he asked, putting a hand to the back of his hair and patting at it. "It doesn't look bad, does it?"
"No," she laughed, seeing the panic in his eyes. "Just not as wild as usual."
"Yeah, well it took like four spells and I think they're already wearing off."
She studied his hair and could see one by one little hairs slowly moving into disarray, almost like someone had rubbed an invisible balloon against it.
"You're trying to look extra nice for Ginny," she teased.
He frowned, but a blush began to form around his jaw. "Yeah, well, we've never gotten to properly go someplace together, have we? You did the same for Ron, right?"
He had her there.
"Speaking of, where is he?"
"Downstairs, I think," he said, hand going to his hair again. "Is it looking bad again?"
"It's looking more like it usually does, if that's what you mean." His face scrunched in disapproval. "Really, it looks fine. Your hair fits you best when you do nothing to it. You look perfectly nice."
"You too," he said with a glance at her, before heading towards the bathroom. "Ok, I'm going to try to spell this one more time."
She knew it was a lost cause, but didn't have the heart to tell him as he eagerly tried to preen.
As she reached the bottom steps of the stairs, she could hear the low rumble of men's voices.
"They're taking ages," Charlie sighed. "I don't see why it takes them so long."
"Women wear more?" said George.
"Harry's hair has taken almost as long," Lee said with a snort.
Hermione looked around the corner and saw the men all sprawled around the room, shoes up on tables and couch arms in a way they'd never dare if Mrs Weasley were in the room.
While everyone lightheartedly bantered with one another, in the corner sat Ron. His brow was creased as he silently played chess with Lee. He looked haggard, and for the eleventh time that evening, Hermione wished they weren't going out. She'd much rather spend the evening wrapped in Ron's arms, as she had that afternoon.
Her nerves had frayed at the thought of sleeping beside him, worried he would catch her in a nightmare. Silencing spell in place, she had feigned grumpy tiredness when he asked her questions. There had been no need to worry, though. Cuddled up to him she fell asleep as surely as one did on sleeping draughts, and somehow her nightmares were kept entirely at bay. It was the best sleep she'd had in months. The only thing that could have improved it was waking up beside Ron. He'd been gone when she'd woken, with no one knowing where he was. He'd come back from the village looking worn out giving excuses of 'getting supplies' which didn't hold up to real scrutiny, when she thought of the timeline he gave. Ron Weasley was up to something, she just didn't know what.
As if her thoughts drew him to her, Ron's eyes rose and met hers.
The furrow in his brow smoothed, his scowling expression softened, and a boyish smile of his tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Who's winning?" she asked, approaching the chess board.
"Ron was, but I think my luck's about to change," said Lee, a few of the men joining him in laughter and elbowing Ron, seeing his rather besotted look. Usually he'd turn beet red and curse at them, but his face remained mostly impassive as he met her eyes and smiled. The only sign of his discomfort was his ears going a tiny bit flush.
"Check mate," said Ron, moving his bishop across the board, and rising from his seat.
"No it's not, is it?" Lee asked, looking at the board. "Damn!"
Ron gave the lot a two fingered salute and led her from the living room to the kitchen, where his mother was doing some tidying and listening to the radio.
"I wasn't sure about the dress," she mumbled. Ron's eyes traveled down her and she suppressed the urge to readjust her neckline, though she wasn't sure in what direction.
"Well you look amazing in it," he said, looking her in the eye and making her stomach do a tsukahara flip.
"Thank you," she managed. A pleasurable rush of nerves ran up her spine. Despite looking very tired, he looked handsome. He was wearing an untucked dress shirt she'd not seen before, with the sleeves rolled up his arms in a way that made the nerves in her spine turn to jolts. Given the darker color scheme of it, she assumed it was a hand-me-down from Bill. She quickly realized all of him was looking rather polished, with the exception of his beat up boots. She wasn't sure what to say to him. He was so sensitive about clothes, and the last thing she wanted was to cause additional stress on him, but she also knew he was a bit insecure and it might be nice to compliment his appearance.
"So how long until the rest of the girls are ready?" he asked.
Well there went that opportunity.
"Soon, I think. They just had to pick out earrings for Ginny," she said looking up into face. His eyes looked so weary. "Are you doing well?"
"Course," he grunted, immediately turning from her. "Mum, do you need help with that?"
Mrs Weasley turned from the dishes and assured him she didn't. Despite the assurance, he started putting dishes in the cabinets. He didn't spare her another look, not when the rest of the girls came down the stairs some ten minutes later, and not when they gathered on the edge of the property.
"Before we go," George announced, beginning to hand each of them a playing card, "here is a Muggle I.D. for each of you."
"Why do we need an I.D?" Ginny asked, inspecting the playing card in the waning light of the sunset.
"Because they check to see if you're old enough to drink at clubs and such and can't just put up an age line," answered Bill.
"Why didn't you transfigure these already?" asked Hermione, looking at her playing card, the Queen of Clubs.
"I'd have to know what Muggle I.D.s look like to do that. This just has a spell to register as an I.D. to Muggles. Pretty clever, if I do say so," George said, smiling to them all as he finished handing out the cards. "Getting the dates right was tricky. Just make sure you say your birthday was in 79 or earlier. The card will match up with whatever date you say."
"Where are we apparating to, George?" asked Angelina.
"My hotel room'll do," he answered.
Hermione felt Ron unexpectedly stiffen beside her.
"Everyone but Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Fleur knows where to go. So you all can pair up and side-along there. Here, Gin, come with me," said George, waving Ginny over.
Ron made as if to grab Ginny back, but George had quickly disappeared with her. One by one they all disapparated, leaving her and a distracted Ron staring at the space George had just occupied.
Ron licked his dry lips and scrunched his brow in determination. "Right… Okay then, I guess we better go."
"We don't have to, if you don't want to," she said, gently putting her hand in his. "We could just stay in, you and me."
His shoulders slumped. "Merlin, I wish I could take you up on that."
"Why don't you?" she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "I've been dreading going out."
"You too?"
"I packed and repacked my bag, just in case," she said, giving the beaded bag a small shake that made its contents give a crash. "Damn. That's probably the books again. I really need to find a way to make things stay in place!"
"I'm sure you'll figure it out," he said with a fond look on his face. "But we should go. It'll be good to get out, plus with G— nevermind."
"Plus what?"
"Look, I really want to tell you, but I'm just not up for it all right now." Her face must have given away how frustrating she found that. "I will, I swear I will! Just not tonight. Let's just— let's just pretend we're okay and go out and try to enjoy ourselves."
It went against every instinct in her body to agree to wait to know something, but she nodded her acquiescence.
His large hand moved to her back and the tight feeling of being compressed overtook her as he Apparated them to George's hotel room.
In moments they reached their destination and the feeling of her breath being stolen didn't stop, for Ron's fingers grazed her side as he took a pace back from her.
When they arrived they received a good amount of teasing for taking their time to arrive, heavily implying the two had been snogging. Neither teen corrected them. As everyone made small talk, Ron was completely silent and looked about the room with seeming purpose. He had shown immense concern about George right before they left, had that intense conversation with him earlier, and she had to admit George smelt like a bar when he arrived and looked like he might have been sleeping on the floor of one. She had no idea what Ron was looking for, except perhaps empty bottles. The room was sparse, and only a tray of food, and a small bag in the corner showing any signs someone had been living there.
No one seemed to notice his actions except George who fixed him with a glare when no one was looking. Ron looked far from sheepish, and instead stood tall and locked eyes with his brother.
"Let's get going. It's just a few streets over," George announced to the room, looking away from Ron.
Nerves shook Hermione as they travelled down the grimy London street. It did not look much different from Tottenham Court Road. The last time she had been near this part of London they'd ducked into a grotty cafe and been cornered by a pair of Death Eaters.
At least then it had been a less obtrusive group, with only her, Ron and Harry. Now they were a large boisterous group with so many redheads they stood out like a flock of goldfinches. Most of them were loudly talking or laughing, and many a passerby smirked at the boisterous group. If someone wanted to target them, they'd be all too easy to spot. She gripped her beaded bag so harshly one of her nails chipped.
Thankfully George was quite correct about the distance being short. In minutes they arrived at a large dark building with music dimly pulsing through its walls and a line to get in.
A large barrel-chested man with the thickest neck Hermione had ever seen stood at the door. The eldest Weasleys along with Lee and Angelina were let through with barely a glance at their playing cards, but as soon as he spotted the younger members of the group the bouncer began to look like an agitated bulldog.
He eyed Ron and Hermione's cards closely, but gave a much more scrutinizing look towards Ginny and Harry as they handed their playing cards to him. He held a small flashlight to the Jack of Spades and Queen of Spades, and even ran a fingernail along the edge.
"What's your birthday?"
"1979!" Harry offered, before wincing at his volume. Ron let out a chuckle, while Ginny rolled her eyes. The man's glare intensified. "Er… July 31st 1979, that is."
"Hmm… And you?" growled the Bouncer, sourly looking to Ginny.
"Tonight's my birthday, actually!" she said with a winning smile. Hermione nearly protested, but Ron gave a small shake of his head.
"Ah, happy birthday!" said the man nodding at the card before handing it back to her, looking much less ornery. "Let Teresa know about it, and they'll do ya something special."
"Your birthday, huh?" Harry asked Ginny as soon as they were through the door.
"Much easier to have a good time and get some free drinks that way, isn't it?" she said, giving a conspiratorial grin he shared.
"But it's not your birthday!" Hermione protested, irritation prickling down her neck.
"I'm not eighteen either," Ginny breezily pointed out.
"Well you're lucky the card was able to adapt to that when you hadn't said an actual date," Hermione persisted. She clutched her beaded bag closer to her chest. "We don't want to stand out."
"Why not? It's a Muggle club. It should be fun."
"Well, it might be a Muggle club, but that doesn't mean it's completely safe."
"You worry too much," she said in an infuriatingly calm and understanding voice.
"No! We have to make sure we stay low profile and don't say anything wrong, because all it takes is one wrong word and then everything falls apart!"
Harry looked to the ground, his eyebrows knitting together. He had to be thinking of the Taboo and the Snatchers as well.
"It's just a bit of fun, Hermione. We'll be okay," said Ginny with a smile, looking around to spot the rest of their group, taking Harry by the hand towards a corner table. "Ah there they are!"
Hermione had never felt more like shaking her friend. Didn't she understand how dire things were? They'd met Death Eaters at a Muggle cafe in London last August, and Fenrir and those Snatchers in the woods. All it took was one small mistake and then hell would rain down on them; they could end up beaten or cursed or stabbed in the chest.
"Hermione…" she heard Ron's voice quiet and low in her ear. "There isn't a Taboo anymore…"
"You don't know that!" she almost shouted at him, painfully gripping her beaded bag.
One of his large hands gently started unwinding her fingers from the bag, before taking it from her and putting it in his jacket pocket. He started massaging her fingers. Under the pink and orange lights she could just make out the imprint the bag had left on her hands.
"I can feel the Taboo's broken, and I bet you can too if you concentrate on it," he said, continuing to work her hands until they became limp in his. "But if you want to leave and go back to the Burrow, we can right now."
His quiet earnest words brought her eyes up to his. He saw right through her. He didn't give her empty platitudes. He gave her a common sense answer to why things would be different, and an out if she was uncomfortable. She felt the overwhelming need to kiss him, and despite the crowd she decided to indulge herself. She stood on her tiptoes, and he took her lead leaning down to brush his lips against hers, hands still holding hers. How had they had so many years together without kissing?
For years she'd had to sit near him, with careful scrutinization over every action and inch between them. Was sitting too close to her friend? Would her leg pressing to his be too much? Would he notice how her eyes were fixated on his mouth a good three minutes as he grinned and told her about the mad thing he'd seen earlier that day? Did his hand around her shoulder linger longer than a friend's hand would? When he'd tiredly leaned his head into her, had it meant something to him?
Now she could kiss him whenever she liked, and melt into his strong form, and let her hands be caressed, and get the anticipation of more ring through her body, and know it might be fulfilled later. The only thing she struggled to hold back was blurting out how very much she loved everything about him.
"Alright?" he asked as their lips parted.
She nodded, biting her bottom lip to keep herself from saying 'I love you and actually yes I'd like to go home, but only because I want to snog you until both of us can barely breathe.'
"Ready to have 'a bit of fun?'"
"I think I can manage," she said with a smile. As long as he was by her side something akin to enjoyment of the evening could happen.
They went to a back table that didn't nearly have enough seating for them all. This didn't seem to matter as half of them strategically placed their jackets and purses so strangers would know it was occupied, while the others went to the bar to get drinks for everyone. Their table butted nearly up to the bar, and Ron perched on one of its stools.
"Do you want something to drink?" Hermione asked, looking at a menu.
He shook his head. "Someone needs to stay sober. Might as well be me." He took the menu from her and eagerly pointed to it. "But I could do with these fried cheese things!"
She got in line, ready to order and pay when George stepped in. "Put your cash away. You're not buying a thing, tonight! We're here to celebrate you three, after all!"
Grateful not to have to spend the meager amount of cash she had, she put in her order for Ron's food, and her wine. She'd never drunk much in her life, but she experienced the occasional wine with her parents.
She had worried the evening would be tedious, but seeing everyone looking giddy, toasting one another, and even dancing made her rethink the evening.
Ron had kept a close eye on George, but his brother was looking at ease and jubilant surrounded by family and friends. Hermione enjoyed the warming tang of red wine as they chatted away and seemed more relaxed than they'd been in years. The wine soothed her nerves as well.
"Was your skirt that short when we left?" George asked Ginny after she did a twirl to the music that accidentally flashed a cheek of her knickers.
"Yes it was," she coolly answered. "And even if it wasn't, there's nothing you're going to do about it, is there?"
Harry, already looking sloshed, looked down at Ginny's legs, his mouth slightly open.
Ron gave a chuckle before flicking his friend's ear.
"Righ', sorry," Harry said with a nod. Despite all the spells he'd done on his hair, it had reverted to its normal disheveled state.
"Let's dance!" Ginny said, grabbing Harry's hand. If it weren't for the few rounds of shots, Hermione didn't think they'd be able to get him on to the dance floor, but in his current state he happily followed his girlfriend to the bright lights and thumping music. This seemed an adorable prospect until they actually saw him dance.
"Oh shit… Someone needs to hit him with a stunner or something," Ron laughed, as Hermione leaned back into him.
Harry had no sense of rhythm at all, and his stiff-armed movements made many people wince. Ginny didn't seem to care, and was happily dancing beside him. Her effervescence seemed to drown out Harry's sad attempts at movement.
Ron guffawed, and shook his head in amusement. Seated on a bar stool, he was only a half a foot taller than Hermione, which made for much more convenient kisses with no tiptoes needed. She had finished her second glass of wine and had a hot pleasant sensation buzzing through her. She put her head back and closed her eyes, feeling the vibration of his deep laugh and the music thrumming.
"Hmm… Y'should dance with me," she murmured, though she made no move towards the dance floor. Instead she rubbed her hands down his legs that were on either side of her. The lights on the dancefloor shifted to green for a moment, and the cozy peace felt strangled. She glanced up to Ron, and thought of the one thing that really made her feel nothing but warmth. "You should snog me."
He chuckled a bit, and she felt the back of his fingers graze her cheek.
"Dance or snog— Whichever you want," he replied in her ear. "Though it seems you're going a bit legless for dancing."
"I am not!" she protested, pushing herself off of him and nearly stumbling. She stood very tall and made firm eye contact. "I am far from inebriated and do not like the implication that I am inebredated!"
"You mean inebriated?"
"That's what I just said!" she said, grabbing his hand. "C'mon, let's dance!"
He gave a shake of his head, but followed her onto the dance floor, where most of their group were dancing. Despite the yellow and orange lights, they were a vibrant group that stood out. Hermione couldn't think why she'd been worried about it, though! And Ron was actually a very good dancer. She'd discovered this at Bill and Fleur's wedding, and was happy nothing had changed. He had a grand sense of rhythm and the way he held her close and moved about with her made her feel like one of those ladies from an old musical. Roger Gingers? No, that wasn't it…
"You make me feel like a lady!" she shouted over the music. "I mean, a lady from a musical that dances and such! Y'know? Like with Astaire and all those old ones in the movies?"
Ron gave a nod, and she nodded along happy he knew the reference. Yes! He and she were meant for one another. He knew what she meant when she said things. Oh no, that couldn't be right. Fred Astaire was a Muggle! There was no way he knew that reference!
"Wait! You don't know who Astaire is!"
"Nope," he replied, an amused grin making his dimple appear.
"Then why did you nod along?"
"You're supposed to smile and nod at drunk people and irate girlfriends— and you're the best of both!"
She laughed as he spun her around. She could do this forever! Just spin and spin, his hands on her, the bright lights bringing out odd colors in his hair, his warm smile, the invigorating feeling of just being alive...
"You dance as well as you snog!" she yelled, right as the song stopped, making many on the dance floor snigger, but she didn't care. It was true. And he was hers, not anyone else's, and she got to snog him whenever she wanted. "Let's get another drink!"
She bounded to the bar, and added another wine to the tab George had started.
"I think you might've had enough," said Ron, sidling up beside her.
"Then you drink it!" she said, holding up the wine before taking a sip. He gently took the wine glass from her, and put it on the bar.
"Ever since I drank that poisoned mead, I'm not much for drinks from people I don't know."
"I just drank from it, though, so you know it's safe," she said, holding her hair up and away from her too hot neck.
"And I need to be sober so someone can get us all home at the end of the evening."
That was a very good point. "You should snog me in the club's bathroom," she countered.
"That is very very tempting," he said leaning in and giving her a peck on the nose. "When you aren't sloshing about I might take you up on that."
"M'not!" she said, grabbing her wine glass.
"Another round?" George asked, holding out a tray of shots. "For the trio! And the birthday girl!"
"Oh yes, let's drink to my birthday!" Ginny crowed, grabbing what was at least her shot glass. There was a quick clearing of a throat from behind her from Bill. "Oh come oooon! Can't I have some fun?"
"You can have plenty of fun. Just might want to be able to remember it tomorrow."
"Don't be mummish!" she replied, downing her drink.
Harry tittered at this, and she put a hand over his shot glass before he could get it to his lips. "You might want to hold back."
"Mummish," Harry laughed, with a shake of his shaggy head.
"How much has he had?" Charlie asked.
"A couple of shots and a beer," said Lee with a shake of his head. "Complete and utter lightweight."
"I want another shot," Harry protested.
"Sorry, sloppy, leave this to the professionals," George said, downing it before Harry could stop him. Hermione caught a grim look pass between Ron and Bill, but dismissed it as a good song came on and the other girls dragged them all onto the dance floor.
The party continued until Ron insisted they take a water break. Hermione slide into the booth next to him, wobbling only slightly, yet she gladly snuggled into him.
There was a gauzy blur to everything, with only the center of her vision having much clarity. It was nice. Her blurred cameo-vision settled on Ron. He was very handsome. And tall!
She told him so.
"Thanks," he said, not seeming to take her seriously.
"I mean it, though! You're almost pretty," she said with a firm nod. "I've always thought so. You have the bluest eyes… They're so… Blue! And I love your hands. They feel nice too."
"Uh huh…" he said with a smile. "I think we best get you home soon… Here, have some water."
"I don't want water, I want more wine," she said, taking the water and drinking it. "But I do mean it. You're very good looking. And you have a cute bum! I haven't told you that, but I should. I should tell you these things! I mean to, but I wait too long, and then I can't tell you. Like with your clothes tonight! You look extra dishy and I can't tell you because I don't want you to think I'm not nice about clothes to you, ya know?"
"Well in that case, thank you?" he said, pouring her some more water that she angrily sipped at.
He'd taken off his jacket and rolled his sleeves up again at one point. She trailed a finger along a brain-scar on his forearm. She liked that. There was something about it that made her squirm in a good way.
"I like your arms… But to my point!" she said, sitting up straight and poking him in the chest. "There'so much I can't tell you! I'm the best secret keeper in the world. It's like… It's like my words are Fidelius charmed! And I don't know how to tell you the secret! I want to, of course, but if I did and you didn't say you love me back then I'd be so upset, and so I don't say anything!"
She closed her eyes and leaned into his chest.
"You make it hard to not say things when you're so pretty and good. You're so good, Ron Weasley. I want to… I want to bottle you up and marry you and be the only one to touch your bum."
His chuckle pleasantly hummed through her. He braced her against him a bit then kissed her forehead.
"I want that too," he said, almost so quietly it couldn't be heard over the music. She felt him stir beneath her head and let out a huff. "What?"
She cracked open an eye to see Harry gormlessly staring at them.
"I'm so glad you didn't die. You're like… the most important people in my life and I love you both so much," said Harry, pointing to somewhere a foot or so to the left of them.
"No more alcohol for you, Harry," said Ron, making Hermione sit up.
"I mean it!" Harry belligerently stated.
"We love you too, Harry," said Hermione, putting a hand on him. "You're like a brother to me! If I had brothers. I don't. But if I did, you'd be my little brother."
"You're like an older sister that I love like a sister. And we're both not dead," Harry said with a nod.
"Merlin's balls. We've got to get out of here," Ron muttered, grabbing a glass of water and thrusting it into Harry's hand. "Chug that and try not to be such a melancholy arsewipe, yeah?"
"I can't help it. I had a bad childhood until I met you and Hagrid…" Harry said, looking so sad Hermione wanted to cry.
"You did! Ron, he DID have a bad childhood!"
"Yep, I'm aware," said Ron with a sigh getting up. "Harry, where'd you put your glasses and jacket?"
He gave a sad shrug. "I don't have a family. I don't even have glasses now."
Hermione nodded. "He can't SEE, Ron."
"I'm legally blind."
"He's blind, Ron!"
"Oh my GOD! I'm going to find the glasses!" Ron exploded, a hand going to his hair. "I'm getting bloody tired of dealing with drunks, you know that?"
"But he's blind, Ron."
With a wild gesture of frustration he started looking around the various points in the bar Harry had been to. Harry murmured about a lot of sad things, and Hermione told him about Ron's bum which made him snigger. She leaned her head against the back of the booth, closing her eyes for just a moment.
She heard Charlie, Bill and Fleur bowed out for the evening, citing business they had to do the next day. Bill pulled Ron aside for a moment. She could just make out the low voiced words of 'George,' 'rest' and 'bail' beside her. She cracked open an eye and saw them both glancing at George, who was still bouncing on the dance floor with Lee and Angelina. Hermione listened to hear more, but the thrum of music drowned them out.
Hermione woke up an indeterminate amount of time later lying in their booth, head curled up on a conjured pillow and Ron's large jacket draped over her.
She blearily rose and blinked to see Harry finish a shot beside her.
"I thought you weren't supposed to be drinking anymore," she managed to rasp even though her tongue stuck to the top of her mouth. She smacked her lips and looked for some water. The nearest pitcher seemed miles away even though it was a mere few feet.
"Y'were sleeping in the booth and there's was noone to stop me," said Harry with a triumphant smile that morphed into an unpleasant low belch.
"How long have I been asleep?" Her head was aching. She should have drunk more water.
"Mmm… An hour or so?"
"Where's Ron?"
"He tucked you in," Harry answered. She warmed at the thought of giant Ron hunching over to tenderly make her comfortable.
Harry put his chin on his hand and stared at her. "He fancies you."
"Well I quite fancy him as well."
"You fancy him," he said with a sloppy dismissive hand, "but not like he does you. He's all…" A series of soft pats rained down on her head. "And you're all…" He pointed a finger at her face, nearly poking her in the eye. "Ya know?"
"Oh well that makes sense," she humored him. "Where are your glasses? Didn't Ron go to fetch them ages ago?"
"Search me…" he said, putting his head on the table before slurring. "I need a nap…"
Ginny, Lee and Angelina came panting off the dancefloor.
"Where's George?" asked Angelina, gulping down some water and making a loud noise of satisfaction when she'd finished.
"Wasn't he with you?"
No one knew where George or Ron were. They were about to start searching when there was the sound of a mic turning on, and the DJ announced, "and now one of our guests wants to make an announcement."
There was a horrid feedback noise and a scuffle, but then a familiar voice began to ring through the crowd.
"Hello everyone!" said George into the mic.
"Oh God, who let him have a microphone?" said Angelina, shaking her head.
"I'm George and I'm here to celebrate my little sister's birthday! So everyone, say cheers to her!"
Many of the crowd raised their glasses and Ginny was happy to wave to them and give a small bow. Hermione spotted that she was wearing Harry's glasses on top of her head. She turned to point this out to Harry but he was letting out a series of small snores.
"Also we're here to celebrate my brother Ronnie, and his two best friends. I can't tell you what they did, but they are being honored for their services and it's pretty impressive shit, so cheers to them!"
The crowd cheered again. "That's right. He's very impressive. Didn't think he would be, but here we are! Didn't think he'd make it out of a war alive, but he did. Not a fucking scratch on him, 'cept some missing fingernails."
Hermione looked for Ron, and found him standing to the side of the DJ booth. He looked like he was saying something, and George's face went dark and surly. "No, I don't feel like going home."
"Get off the mic!" someone from the crowd hollered, and few people let out a resounding 'woo' in agreement.
"Yes, thank you for your support!" George said with a wave. "What was I talking about? Oh yes! The war! My other brothers all made it ok, but I lost an ear, and then my twin brother got fucking killed by a bloody wall. How stupid a way is that to go?"
The DJ tried to get George to hand over the mic, but he was belligerently holding it low and crowding the DJ out. Ron looked like he was saying something. He put a hand on George's shoulder that was violently shrugged off, prompting Angelina and Lee to run over to intervene.
Hermione didn't want to crowd them and was fairly certain she couldn't get there fast enough to help anyways. Ginny had a hand to her mouth.
"None of you know how much we sacrificed to keep you all safe, you know that? On the run all the time, nearly dying every day, and you lot just went about your lives having no fucking clue. People died. My brother is DEAD! And you're all having a bloody good time, but he's dead and everything is fucking ruined and—"
The thick-necked bouncer moved in and started pointing a beefy hand in George's face.
"George, don't!" came Ron's holler, just barely picked up by the mic.
Hermione heard a chorus of yells beside her as, in front of the entire Muggle club, George whipped out his wand and brandished it at the bouncer.
"Take another step and I'll drop you," he snarled.
Hermione gave a yell of her own as Ron put up his hands and stood in front of George's sparking wand.
(AUTHOR'S NOTE)
Chapter 6 is already written and in the editing process.
I actually split Chapter 5 into two parts as it was epically long.
So next chapter will be from Hermione's POV
oh, and it will have some smut
and angst