A/N: Just got back from my summer holiday in Turkey so have only just made the final tweaks on this chapter. Don't really know how close I am to finishing, but I suspect it won't be long now!
Disclaimer: Yada yada, none of the characters are mine, they all belong to J.K.Rowling, etc etc.
*****
“Harry, I really need to get a drink,” Hermione shouted, trying to make herself heard over the loud music.
It was the evening of Christmas Day, and the party at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was in full swing. The beginning of the Christmas holidays had passed by much as every other, as they set about decorating the Burrow and scouring shops for gifts. Unsurprisingly, there was still some underlying tension between Ron and Harry at the start of the holiday: if Harry and Ginny began acting like a couple, Ron would make his excuses and hastily leave the room. However, Hermione had noticed a marked change in his attitude over the last couple of days, and believed that Ron had finally accepted that his friend would not hurt Ginny.
Christmas Day had been busy, as all of the Weasley children returned home for the day. At first, Hermione did not appreciate Fleur being there, but as the day wore on and she spent more time with Bill’s fiancée, she realised that there was more to the witch than met the eye. They had shared some very interesting discussions about the differences between the French and English Ministry of Magic, and against her better judgement, Hermione was growing to like her.
Fred and George had rather sprung the idea of a party at their shop on the group, but Hermione was pleased they had, for it was giving everyone a much needed chance to relax and have a good time. Even Mrs Weasley was letting her hair down, as she allowed Mr Weasley to swing her happily around the dance floor.
Hermione, however, had been dancing very energetically with Harry for a while, and was feeling rather hot and flustered. Not wanting to deprive her friend of a good time, she gestured to the other side of the dance floor.
“Why don’t you go and dance with Ginny?”
She saw him glance nervously in Ron’s direction, hesitating visibly.
“Harry,” she said, placing a hand on his arm, “he’s really fine now. Go and dance!”
Harry paused, and then smiled.
“Alright, Hermione, I’ll see you in a bit,” he grinned, before heading off to the other side of the makeshift dance floor to where Ginny was standing, watching him with a half-smile.
Hermione watched happily as her friends moved out onto the floor, completely absorbed in each other. Locating the bar, she moved over to get something to drink. She debated with herself briefly as to whether to have another glass of champagne or just lemonade. Deciding that she could handle one more glass, Hermione opted for the champagne.
Glass in hand, she walked across to where Ron stood, watching the twins dancing their way around the room, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.
“Hi, Ron,” she smiled.
When he didn’t turn around, she remembered how loud the music was and tried again, only this time, much louder. Ron turned around in surprise.
“Oh, hi Hermione! Great party isn’t it?” he beamed.
“Yes!” she shouted in reply, noting without too much surprise his slightly bedraggled appearance that suggested he had been sneaking drinks from the twins. Placing her half-empty glass on the buffet table, she asked, “Dance with me?”
Even in the semi-darkness she could see him flush.
“But Michael-”
“-Isn’t here,” she reminded him. “Now are you going to leave me to dance on my own?”
Ron hesitated, looking pained.
“Oh come on, Ron!” she laughed, “It’s Christmas! No one will care if you look like an idiot!”
Ron looked slightly affronted.
“Hey! I’ll have you know I’m an excellent dancer!” he shouted above the music.
“Really?” she asked, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the dance floor. “Then prove it!”
*****
Hermione wouldn’t have liked to admit it, but she was surprisingly impressed by Ron’s dancing skills. They weren’t on the dance floor for long, however, before the track changed to a slow number. Instinctively, Ron began to draw back towards the tables. But something possessed Hermione. She didn’t know if it was the larger-than-usual quantity of alcohol that she had consumed, or just the atmosphere of the party, but she reached out and grabbed Ron’s hand.
“Just where do you think you’re going?” she joked.
“I was just…I was going to get something to eat…” he trailed off, lamely.
“Oh no you don’t, this is my favourite song!” Hermione said, dragging him back to the dance floor.
Ron, feeling rather awkward, found himself with Hermione’s head on his shoulder and his arms around her waist, slowly rotating in a way that couldn’t really be deemed ‘dancing’. However, after a couple of minutes, he began to feel the effects of the cans of beer he had stolen off his brothers, and forgot all of his embarrassment.
Ron could not help but allow the wave of happiness to sweep over him, causing him to focus very hard on every part of his body that touched Hermione. His mind wandered to a dance floor that existed only in his mind, where he and Hermione were alone, and there was, in fact, no dancing going on. Carried away by his thoughts, and absorbed in the music (he could see why Hermione liked this song so much), Ron completely forgot that he was only dancing with his friend, and was surrounded by all of his family. Leaning down slightly, he pressed his mouth to the top of Hermione’s head, and kissed her gently.
He only became aware of what he had done when he noticed that Hermione had frozen; now staring at him in shock, arms by her sides.
“Hermione-” he began, but she had already started making a hasty exit from the room, leaving Ron with the image of her face: not happy, but stunned. He didn’t realise that Fred was standing next to him until he heard a low whistle.
“Nice timing there, little brother. You do know she has a boyfriend?”
Ron merely glared angrily at him, before exiting the room, making sure he went in a different direction to Hermione.
*****
The next morning, Ron awoke with a pounding headache. He tried to sit up, but found that any kind of movement made his stomach lurch uncomfortably. With a groan, he rolled slowly onto his back and let the memory of the depressing events of last night return to him.
After he had left the dance floor, Ron had ended up in a small room in the back of the joke shop, hoping to get some time to himself. Instead, he stumbled across the unconscious form of Mundungus Fletcher, who was snoring loudly. He was about to back out of the room, but then noticed the large bottle of firewhisky that had rolled out of Mundungus’ hand and had settled by a large cardboard box. Deciding that his evening couldn’t possibly get worse, Ron had retreated into a dark corner, bottle in hand, to wipe the memories of the last few hours from his mind.
Straining to remember, Ron found that he had absolutely no recollection of how he had gotten back to the Burrow. Suddenly, there was a rather loud pop, and Charlie Weasley was sitting on the end of his bed.
“Charlie?” he muttered groggily, trying very hard not to move his head.
“I see you’re still suffering from the after-effects of last night’s little bout of underage binge drinking then?” Charlie said, with more than a hint of scorn in his voice.
Ron winced at Charlie’s words, not least because he couldn’t handle the volume.
“Quieter…please…” he begged, grasping his head in his hands.
“Oh shut up Ron, it’s your own fault you’re feeling disgusting. Maybe next time you can learn to pace yourself and I won’t have to find you passed out in a back room with Mundungus.”
Ron let out another groan.
“Charlie…I’m sorry. Just…please, let me sleep? I’ll make it up to you later…” he trailed off, sinking his head back into his pillow.
“Alright. Mum left a bowl by the bed in case you need it. Some of us are going out in a while “ try to eat something, would you?”
But Ron could only grunt in reply.
*****
Ron awoke again a couple of hours later, the pain in his head only slightly diminished. Glancing at the clock, he realised that he had overslept quite considerably, and that it was already the afternoon. Groaning with the effort, he struggled out of bed and crossed the room slowly, searching out a clean shirt and a pair of trousers with which he battled briefly before successfully getting them on.
Discovering that he was desperately thirsty, Ron carefully made his way downstairs, heading for the kitchen. Rubbing at his temples in an attempt to rid himself of the dull aching in his head, he moved across to the sink, not really paying attention to anything other than the way the entire room seemed to be throbbing. Deciding that he couldn’t spare the time to find a glass, he shoved his head directly under the flowing water from the tap and gulped down as much as he could in one go.
A quiet cough from behind him startled Ron so much that he jerked his head up, colliding painfully with the cabinet above the sink. Rubbing his already aching head, he turned around suspiciously to find Hermione sitting at the kitchen table, regarding him with apprehension.
When he realised that she was waiting for him to speak, he cleared his throat, and was surprised to find that his voice was, in fact, still working.
“Morning, Hermione,” he tried.
“Ron,” she nodded curtly, before turning her attention back to the thick volume in front of her, the redness of her cheeks the only thing that betrayed her discomfort.
“Look, about last night…” he began, unsure of how the sentence should finish.
“What about it?” she asked, dragging her eyes from the text and looking at him defiantly, evidently refusing to be the one to actually refer to what had happened.
“Well, I’m sorry if I was…you know…not really myself,” Ron struggled.
“I think that’s a bit of an understatement, don’t you? It took me ages to get the stains off my shoes,” she raised an eyebrow in amusement.
Ron closed his eyes in horror.
“Ok, I had forgotten about that,” he muttered.
“Oh really? Then what are you apologising for?”
When Ron opened his eyes to look at her, Hermione was watching him carefully, her face a mask that he could not read.
“For when we were on the dance floor,” he said hesitantly.
“What about it?” she asked, watching him squirm.
Ron stared at her. She was actually going to make him say it! Cursing inwardly, he tried to find a way to phrase it delicately. Drawing a blank, he sighed.
“For - for kissing you…” he said, defeated.
There was a long silence, during which he could not meet her eyes.
“I see. You’re apologising for kissing me?” she asked quietly.
“Yes! Look, I’m really sorry Hermione. I’d had far too much to drink “ honestly, I should have known not to drink anything Fred and George gave me “ and I guess I just went a bit crazy…” he rambled on, completely unaware of the look of hurt on Hermione’s face.
Hermione closed her eyes, breathing in deeply to steady her nerves. She hadn’t expected the conversation to go this way. Focusing in on Ron again, she heard him bring his speech to a close.
“…and I guess I’m just one of those people who do stupid things when they’re drunk. Forgive me?”
When she didn’t answer him, Ron forced himself to look at her. He was surprised to see that she was just staring at the wall behind him, an odd look on her face that he could not fathom.
“Hermione?”
She turned her gaze to him, and Ron began to get worried.
“Oh God. Look Hermione, I’m really, really, sorry. I honestly didn’t mean it. It meant nothing. Do you believe me?” he panicked, taking in her peculiar expression.
Hermione blinked, and seemed to realise that he was waiting for her to say something. Forcing a smile to her face, she replied, “Yes, I believe you. Don’t worry about it, Ron. It meant nothing.”
Ron was overcome with relief that Hermione wasn’t scared of him. Suddenly, the headache that he had temporarily forgotten when he saw her came hurtling back.
“Know any good cures for hangovers?” he asked, half laughing, half groaning.
“I can make you a muggle drink that helps sometimes,” she smiled. “Sit down and I’ll sort it out for you.”
Smiling gratefully, Ron eased himself down into a chair as Hermione made her way over to the cupboards. Leafing curiously through her book, he did not see her pause at the sink, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply to steady herself. A moment later she was back to normal, busying herself with ingredients.
*****