Goldie's Liquid Curse

"Come on Harry, we're going to the pub."

"What?" Harry looked up, apparently puzzled by this sudden statement from Ron.

They were all sitting in the cozy sunroom at Lupin Lodge. Hermione and Ginny were in one corner, giggling over some Muggle magazines that they had purchased. Remus was sitting in his chair, studiously reading a large, battered book on gardening, and Sirius was dozing quietly on the sofa. This was the first evening since their arrival that Sirius had been home for supper - he'd been working tirelessly to see to the safety of the Azkaban prisoners and he'd barely been awake while they were eating. Ron wondered somewhat guiltily if his father was in the same condition at the Burrow.

Hermione gave Ron a reassuring smile. His heart skipped a beat – it was nice to share a grin with her, tonight. They’d sat together earlier, laughing and devising ways to get Harry out of the house, and it had almost made him forget how tense he felt about all of Hermione’s job offers. He didn't want to think about them - some instinct told him he wasn't handling the situation very well, and that he should force himself to be a little more enthusiastic for her sake.... but he didn't know how to change the fact that he wanted her home, with him. It was a touchy subject for both of them, and so, to stop himself from thinking any further on that score, he turned to Harry and spoke again. "We're going down to the Snout's Fair. I've been dying to go in there ever since Remus told us about the owner."

A few nights earlier, Remus and Sirius had entertained them with tales of Goldie Becker, the aging wizard who owned the pub in the village. Stagsden, the closest town to Lupin Lodge, was technically a Muggle place, but the concentration of magical folk in the area was rather large. The Snout's Fair was enchanted to keep the Muggles away, and it served as an important meeting place for witches and wizards for the entire region. The owner had immigrated to England from Czechoslovakia fifty years earlier (and he'd been old then) and had managed to run the pub, and tend the bar with little assistance the entire time. No one knew if 'Goldie' was his real name or whether it was a nickname that he earned due to the one gold tooth that flashed when he smiled. Remus and Sirius spoke fondly of spending much time there in their youth.

Harry, however, looked reluctant, as he had recently whenever anything fun was suggested. "I've been flying all day - I don't know if I have the energy."

"You're coming with me you lazy prat," Ron insisted, winking at Hermione and standing up.

Sirius snorted and rolled over on the sofa; Remus shot a concerned glance in his direction before nodding at Ron and Harry. "That sounds like an excellent idea."

Harry stared at him for a moment, and looked like he was about to protest when Ginny said in a voice that reminded Ron a bit of their mother, "Yes, why don't you two just go - we have important things to discuss, don't we Hermione?" The two of them dissolved into laughter and went back to pointing at things in their magazine. Ron stood and craned his neck in order to try to see what they were reading - it looked like some sort of quiz, and he rolled his eyes at the very idea. It was just like Hermione, to sit around taking quizzes for fun. Her face was all lit up as if it were a Quidditch match and she glanced over at Ginny mischievously, tossing back her hair to see the page better.

Ron felt his ears get hot as he briefly studied Hermione, letting his eyes wander over her while she was preoccupied. She’d got quite brown from being outdoors, and her skin showed up prettily against the white of her sleeveless shirt. It was much different from the way he was accustomed to seeing her – all library-pale in long black robes. He liked her both ways, but with her skin tanned like this... well, even when she was in a perfectly decent Muggle outfit, he couldn’t help seeing her in that bathing suit. His ears burned hotter at the image, but he grinned. If he were staying home tonight, there definitely wouldn’t be any quizzes. He’d drag her away from that test, whatever it was, and take her off to somewhere... a bit more private. Maybe try a bit of night swimming. Ron felt his blood thump suddenly at the remembered feeling of water, and air, and Hermione’s hands putting sunscreen all over his back. There wasn’t much else he wanted to think about. There wasn’t much else he wanted to do.

But not tonight, he reminded himself firmly. Tonight was about getting Harry out of the house, and out of his mood. Ron wrenched his eyes from Hermione, then walked determinedly to the doorway and turned to Harry. "You coming?" he demanded.

Sighing heavily, as if Ron had just suggested going out to play Quidditch with a pair of Blast-ended Skrewts, Harry rose and followed him out the door.

*

The evening was a bit chilly for summer. It was two miles into town, but they chose to walk, strolling down the tiny winding roads and through the Muggle village. Ron and Harry said little in the beginning; Ron finally broke the silence.

"It's going to be Switzerland versus Sweden in the World Cup this year. I can't wait for the English teams to start up again. I wonder when they're going to have the tryouts?

Harry shrugged. Ron waited for a moment, then tried again.

"That was an interesting question that Eloise asked yesterday - do you think you might want to try out?"

Harry brightened a bit. "Dunno, maybe. Yeah - it might be fun. I developed a few moves this week - I'd like a chance to use them in a game."

"You've been practicing a lot - I'd like to learn a few - can you show me tomorrow?"

"All right."

They trudged along. It was twilight - the sun was taking a while to go down. Finally they rounded a bend and the Snout's Fair came into view. Ron pushed open the heavy wooden door and Harry followed him into the pub. It was relatively busy - all the tables were taken, but there were several seats at the bar. Ron and Harry slid onto two stools and an elderly, yet hearty looking wizard with a large smile and a golden tooth who could only be Goldie Becker himself, approached them to take their order.

"D'you have anything stronger than Butterbeer?" asked Ron curiously.

Goldie grinned, revealing the famous golden tooth. "Vell, I suppose ve do! How old are you boys?

"Eighteen," answered Ron. Harry was still seventeen, but his birthday was in a couple of weeks, and they were both of age anyway.

"I tink dat you are being old enough den," answered Goldie, pouring something murky and green into two small glasses. He placed them on the counter with a plunk and waited. Ron and Harry exchanged glances, and, like so many times during their friendship, each seemed to know what the other was thinking. Taking a deep breath, each of them reached for a glass and in one swift movement threw the drink down their throats. Harry coughed loudly, and clutched at his chest. Ron grimaced, and then grinned broadly. He raised an eyebrow at the bartender, grabbed Harry's glass in the same hand as his own, and pushed them back down the bar with a nod. Goldie refilled them with a flourish.

Ron placed Harry's glass in front of him, raised his own high in the air, and said loudly, "To the summer!" Harry didn't speak, but he smiled shortly, clinked glasses with Ron and downed the second shot. Neither one of them coughed this time. Goldie stood by, watching appreciatively.

"You must be Harry Potter," he said, holding a hand out to Harry, who took it and shook it vigorously. "Your fader came in here several times vit his friends. And you," he continued, looking at Ron, "must be the Veesley boy. Remus Lupin vas in here last veek and mentioned dat I might be seeing de two of you."

Ron nodded, reached out his hand and said, "Yeah, I'm Ron." He liked Goldie. A moment later, a wizard drawled from across the room, "Goldie! Shut your mouth and send me another Butterbeer Extra! I'm empty over here." The bartender rolled his eyes at Ron and Harry, pulled out his wand, and sent a bottle flying across the room. "That's twelve, Mr. Lipsett!" he shouted at the man. "I haff been counting."

"Excuse me," said Goldie, who was now being asked to send several more drinks across the room. He pulled a round bottle out from under the counter and set it in front of Ron and Harry. "A velcome gift," he said and he nodded to the boys before moving to the other side of the bar.

Ron poured Harry another shot and drank one himself. The liquid burned as it went down his throat, but Ron found that he didn't mind so much. Harry's face was very red, and Ron realized that when he tried to talk, he couldn't feel his lips. He laughed through his nose and Harry cracked the first real smile that Ron had seen in months. They both roared with laughter.

An attractive middle-aged witch with long, dark hair and form-fitting blue robes walked by them. Both boys watched her walk past with their mouths hanging open and then started laughing again when she was out of earshot.

"Good thing Hermione's not here," said Harry solemnly, pouring them each another drink.

"Hey!" protested Ron. "We have a very open relationship! I can look at other witches!"

"Yeah, as long as Hermione's two miles away and doesn't see you," smirked Harry, ducking as Ron reached out to swat him on the head.

The truth was, Ron thought, glancing over Harry's shoulder at the good-looking witch down the bar, it really didn’t matter how pretty other girls were. Sure, he’d notice them. But when he imagined kissing someone, it was always Hermione. And she could kiss, too, Ron reflected, remembering the warmth of her mouth and the pressure of her hands gripping his arms as they’d stood in the water. She could kiss like anything. But then, that wasn’t surprising, was it? Hermione was top notch at everything she put her mind to. Ron leaned his chin in his hand absently and tried to remember the exact feeling of her curves as they'd fitted against him, barely separated from his chest by a thin layer of bathing suit -

"Oi. Wake up, Weasley."

Ron felt something hit his arm. Harry had taken a dancing peanut from a bowl on the bar, and flicked it at him. Shaking off his thoughts, Ron grinned, plucked a peanut out of the bowl himself, and aimed at Harry. The boys entertained themselves for a while, dodging dancing peanuts and laughing uncontrollably as their aim became progressively worse. Harry was definitely in good spirits, and Ron was feeling very happy. His head was light and he swayed slightly on his seat. He reached over to a nearby barstool and picked up a worn copy of the Daily Prophet.

"Harry!" he said excitedly, looking at the front page. "Quidditch tryouts are starting soon! They're forming seven teams to start with for England. Look! Oliver Wood's been named Captain for the Cannons! Brilliant! You should try out! He'd love to have you as Seeker!"

"Neville would make a good Seeker for the Cannons," Harry mumbled under his breath.

Ron stared at Harry, mouth open in mock-surprise. "What are you saying? You don't like the Cannons? Since when?" Ron knew that the Cannons didn't have the best reputation in the world, but they had potential – they’d always had potential.

"Well, maybe I will try out for them then, since they're starting early. I wouldn't mind playing with Oliver again. Besides," Harry added, "I can always try out for Puddlemere later in the year, when all the good teams are having tryouts."

Ron whacked Harry over the head with an empty bowl. "What makes you think you're good enough for Puddlemere, Mr. Big Shot?"

Harry ignored this last statement, rubbed his head, and frowned. "Why don't you try for the team if you think it's such a brilliant idea?" he demanded, pointing an unsteady finger at Ron and then gripping the bar suddenly as if he was about to lose his balance.

Ron laughed at him. "Because," he answered honestly, "the only team I'd want to be on is the Cannons, and the only position I'm really good at is Keeper. And Oliver's also a good Keeper and he's already on the Cannons. So, I'd have to kill Oliver to get on the team, and then I'd be disqualified for being a murderer. So it wouldn't really work. It's too bad, because I need to find a job." Ron shrugged, sighed, and kicked back another shot of the still unidentified green liquid. He felt suddenly sluggish. Hermione had two dozen job opportunities available to her, but he didn’t have the foggiest idea what he wanted to do with his life.

"Did I hear you say dat you need a job?" asked Goldie, who had been standing nearby, chatting with an elderly wizard in a yellow hat.

"Yeah," answered Ron gloomily, "I thought it might be a good idea if I wanted to, you know, eat. Why? You hiring?"

Goldie shrugged, "I vas tinking about it - I haff not had an assistant here in two years. I am not young anymore. And business is good since de var."

"I don't know anything about drinks and things," said Ron, picking up the now half empty bottle in front of him. "I don't even know what the hell I've been drinking all evening."

"I can teach dat to you. I call that recipe 'Goldie's Liquid Curse'. It is a secret, ancient recipe from my homeland. Tending the bar - it is not difficult. Can you cook?"

Ron blushed. It wasn't something he wanted to admit in public. Harry answered for him. "Ron can make the best ruddy coffee and toast for miles!"

Ron looked over at his friend. Harry seemed – overly cheerful. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or concerned. Deciding not to worry, he turned his attention back to Goldie.

"Dere you have it - making de drinks is like cooking," said Goldie with a smile.

"Come around to dis side of de counter, and I vill teach you a few tricks."

Goldie lifted the countertop to the right of him and Ron, now feeling entirely dizzy, slid off the barstool and wobbled behind the bar to stand next to Goldie.

"I'll be the customer!" said Harry loudly, causing several patrons to turn their heads.

"Give me some more of this green stuff, bartender!" Harry slammed the glass down on the counter so hard that a bowl of peanuts tipped over and soon they were dancing all over the place.

Goldie looked at Ron expectantly. Ron picked up the bottle in front of Harry, bowed, and said, "Don't mind if I do!" He then lifted the bottle to his own lips and gulped.

"First rule," said Goldie patiently, pulling the bottle out of Ron's hands. "A bartender must not drink vail he is vorkink. No more drinkink for you this efenink. You vill say instead, 'But of course.'"

Ron cleared his throat, took the bottle back from Goldie and said, in a perfect imitation of the innkeeper's accent, "But of course," and he poured Harry a drink, spilling a bit onto the counter.

"Vonderful!" exclaimed Goldie, clapping Ron on the back, "Now, clean up dis mess dat you haff made." He stuck a dishtowel in Ron's hands and pointed at the counter.

"Yes," said Harry solemnly, "you have made a terrible mess Mr. Weasley. I will not tolerate it." Ron swatted the towel at Harry and then deftly wiped up the place where he had spilled.

"You are a natural!" exclaimed Goldie with a hint of amusement in his eyes. "You can come back tomorrow - around seven? I pay you thirty-five Galleons every veek, plus you may keep any tips that come your vay. Deal?"

"Deal," said Ron delightedly, shaking Goldie's hand. He had a job - a real job. He had to go home and tell Hermione.

"Come on, Harry."

But Harry's head was buried in his arms, face down on the counter. He lifted his head at the sound of Ron’s voice, glasses sideways, hair sticking out in all directions. "Wha -?" he asked confusedly.

"We're going home! I have to tell Hermione that I got a job! And I didn't even have to write a letter! Come on." Ron pulled at Harry's T-shirt and Harry fell off the stool, barely landing on his feet.

"Goodbye boys!" waved Goldie as they exited the pub.

"Bye!" they waved back and wobbled down the road towards Lupin Lodge. The night air seemed to bring Ron back to his senses. Harry, on the other hand, seemed to have less of a tolerance for 'Goldie's Liquid Curse', and kept bumping into Ron as they walked.

Ron started trying to calculate how much money he would have to save to buy a newer racing broom and wondering if the tips were generous at the Snout's Fair. Maybe he could even take Hermione out for dinner - his dad had taken his mum out a couple of times and she'd always seemed happy about it.

"Hey, Harry?" he asked, reaching out an arm to steady his friend, who had just stumbled over a rock.

"Hey, Ron?" Harry let out a short laugh and stumbled again.

"Will you come to the pub tomorrow night while I'm working?" he asked.

"Yes!" Harry answered, attempting to slap Ron on the shoulder. "Maybe Colin will come take your picture!"

Ron glanced sideways at Harry, who was no longer making much sense. "Yeah, right," he said with a laugh, feeling somewhat proud that he could handle his liquor better than his friend. "But seriously, you should come - and I hope Hermione will come too. And Ginny. It'll be fun to have everyone there, don't you think?"

Harry stopped walking. He was looking down at his feet, frowning slightly.

"You okay, Harry?" Ron asked, hoping he wouldn't have to float his friend home.

"I don't know...I mean, maybe I won't come. I wouldn't want to bother you on your first day. I can come another time - alone, you know?"

Ron frowned. Something that had been bothering him ever since Expecto Sacrificum surged to the front of his brain. Maybe now was the time to confront Harry about it. That way, if Harry was upset, he might not remember in the morning. One time Bill had come home from a pub quite drunk and had not even been angry that Fred and George had suspended Dungbombs above his bedroom door.

"Harry..." he began, trying to figure out how to best phrase his question. He and Hermione had discussed this numerous times in the past week. Hermione insisted that Harry cared deeply for Ginny, and that he just needed time to work it out. Ginny certainly didn't seem anxious or upset around Harry; but then again, she was a good actress, wasn't she? Ron hadn't even suspected that Ginny still cared that way for Harry until Hermione had told him in the library at Hogwarts. It had been quite a shock.

A protective feeling overcame Ron, and he decided to be blunt.

"When are you going to tell her how you feel?" It was the same thing that Harry had said to him during fifth year, after Ron had refused to go to visit Hogsmeade with Harry and Hermione. He understood the feeling. He had been so bothered by the realization of his feelings for Hermione that he'd managed to avoid her steadily for at least a month.

Harry started to walk again. His hands were in his pockets and he was walking quite fast, although not in a straight line.

"Damn!" Ron muttered to himself and jogged a bit to catch up. "Harry! Wait up!" Harry maintained his pace. Ron grabbed his arm. Harry stopped.

"Look," he said, "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to interfere. It's just that - you seem so unhappy all the time now. I just thought that now that everything's over - well, you know, we can get on with things."

Harry looked away. Finally he said, in a very quiet voice. "Can we just not talk about it right now? I don't want to talk about it. Okay?"

Ron continued to stare. "Okay," he said finally. "But if you do want to talk, you know you can come to me, right? I mean, you've provided a shoulder for me more than once, mate." He cleared his throat. "Right?"

"Thanks," Harry muttered.

Ron nodded, feeling a bit awkward. It wasn't often that he and Harry had to speak about their friendship - it was just there - and they'd certainly never spoken about Ginny. The words left an odd tension hanging in the air between them. Wanting to get rid of it, Ron grinned suddenly, shoved Harry to the side, and broke into a run. "Race you!" he shouted.

He heard Harry's feet stumbling behind him and hoped that everything would be all right.

*

"Now we can take this quiz properly," Ginny announced in a business-like fashion. She settled cross-legged on her bed, placing an open magazine on her lap.

Hermione pointed her wand at the battered WWN receiver on the night table, and with a hiss of strange static unlike what Hermione had been used to from Muggle radios, the wireless turned on. A moment later, loud music poured from the box. She raised an eyebrow at Ginny, then rotated her wand to reduce the volume and sat down on her own bed.

Ginny flipped through the pages, cleared her throat and said, "Here - this looks quite good - 'Are You Experienced? Take this Quiz!'"

Rolling her eyes and trying to act nonchalant, Hermione snorted, "Experienced at what?"

Ignoring the question, Ginny placed a finger on the page and read, "'Are you a nun or a scarlet woman? Answer our questions to find out.' Question one -" Ginny paused and let out a giggle - "these first ones are boring." She started scanning the page, muttering as she circled things with her quill. "Yes, you have a boyfriend; yes, you are in love; yes, I've seen him hold your hand and I've seen him kiss you as well... Okay! I need help with the rest. Ready?"

Hermione nodded, reaching in the night table drawer for Ginny's bag of nail polish. She wasn't quite sure that she wanted to take this quiz.

"Right. Have you ever 'French-kissed'?" Ginny stopped and furrowed her brow. "What does that mean? It must be a Muggle phrase." Her eyes widened, then she giggled and said teasingly, "Oh, here, it says - 'kissed with your tongue'." She wrinkled her nose and stuck her own tongue out at Hermione.

Hermione rummaged through the bag, which contained an odd assortment of wizard nail polish. It was similar to Muggle polish except that the colors would occasionally twinkle with tiny stars and moons as your fingers and toes moved. It was certainly very attention-getting. Pretending not to hear the question, she pulled a blue bottle out of the bag and said, "I can't believe you still have this, Ginny. Honestly."

Ginny looked up, smiling, and stuck a foot out on the bed. "I haven't worn it in a long time. You don't like it?"

Hermione shrugged, digging through the small zipped pouch for what she considered a proper color. "It's blue."

"I love that color - it matches my swimsuit – and you gave it to me!"

"Only because you said you wanted it! I didn't understand it then, and I won't pretend to now."

"Just answer the question Hermione - and paint my toes while you're at it!" They both giggled and Hermione moved over to Ginny's bed, shaking the bottle of polish. She opened the bottle, examined the color on the brush, and then finally muttered, "Yes."

"I thought so," answered Ginny, circling the answer in the magazine. "You're doing quite well at this Hermione - it's too bad that there aren't N.E.W.Ts in experience. Okay, next question." Ginny looked down at the quiz, pulled a horrible face, and shook her head. "I just can't believe that anyone would let my brother do this to them," she muttered

"Well," answered Hermione, matter-of-factly, "just about anything that you ask me from that quiz is going to involve your brother, so maybe you'd better stop asking." She hoped she didn't sound too squeamish about it.

The truth was, reflected Hermione, as Ginny set the magazine aside and reached for the bag of nail polish, Ginny's brother was on her mind most of the time these days. It seemed like everything made her think of Ron, and though she tried valiantly to keep her mind on other things, it rarely worked. Just the fact that her skin was unusually warm and brown tonight from being out in the sun all week was enough to set her thinking about just how she’d got so tan. She’d been studying down on the lakeshore, with Ron. Ron, who had taken to wearing his shirt unbuttoned in front of her when they were alone together, outside. Hermione blushed at the thought, and blushed even harder at how much she liked the thought. It was just that Ron looked so much older somehow, since graduation. Older, and taller - and his voice had grown so deep –

"Hermione? Hermione? Shall I do yours now?" Hermione was jolted out of her reverie by the sound of Ginny's slightly amused voice.

"What?" She looked at Ginny's finished toenails, which were winking and blinking dramatically. She'd done an all right job painting them, although she'd gone over onto Ginny's toes in a few places. Ginny held out the bag of polish to her.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, shook her head, and found the color she was looking for. "What do you think of this one?" she asked, holding up a small bottle of rosy beige paint.

"Hermione... it's practically skin-colored."

"It's classy."

"It's boring."

Hermione giggled. "This one then." She withdrew a bottle of shocking red, the color the Hogwarts Express.

"Hmm." Ginny looked mischievous. "Yes. I think so."

"No, I was joking, I couldn't possibly wear -"

"What? Scarlet?" Ginny giggled very hard, and Hermione had to join her.

"You're right. I want to wear it."

"Give it to me, then," Ginny ordered. "I'll do your hands."

Hermione, feeling a bit daring, handed Ginny the nail polish and put her hands out. She wondered what Ron would think of her red nails. He seemed to like her red bathing suit. She grinned to herself, even as she felt her cheeks go hot again. It was so easy to tell the things that Ron liked. He’d tried not to stare at her body, but he’d never been much of a hand at bluffing, and Hermione had had the powerful feeling that he could hardly keep his hands off of her. In fact, he hadn’t managed it at all – he’d taken a few liberties with her bathing suit the other day. Not very big ones, Hermione reminded herself, quickly... but liberties all the same. Like lifting up her straps to get the sunscreen all across her shoulders. Hermione shivered a bit, realizing that if she shut her eyes, she could still feel where his fingers had slid beneath the lining. She’d caught her breath at the time, convinced for a split second that he was going to pull the straps down altogether, right there, outside. But he hadn’t. He’d just put his mouth next to her ear and asked her if she wanted to have a swim. And it really hadn’t been a difficult decision to put down the Apparition manual...

"Hermione? Hello? Did you hear me or not?"

"Hmmm?" Hermione stared at Ginny blankly, then shook her head and tried to gather her distracted thoughts. She seemed to be spending entirely too much time thinking about Ron. They hadn't been apart much since arriving at Lupin Lodge and Hermione hadn't realized that he'd consume her thoughts this much while they were separated. And he was only down the street, for goodness’ sake. Would it be this way if she had to be apart from him for her job? How would she manage if she went away? She didn’t even want to think about it.

"Hermione if you're going to drift off and go all dreamy every time I ask a question, I'm going to be sick." Hermione could tell that Ginny was joking, but it wasn't fair to spend the evening daydreaming. Smiling, and shaking back her hair, Hermione focused on the moment.

"I'm sorry Ginny - what were you asking?"

"I just wanted to know if you've decided on a job offer yet. There's a quiz in this one – it won't help us, it's for Muggle jobs – but it reminded me of all your options."

Sighing deeply, Hermione looked down to examine her nails. It was true - she'd received twenty-six responses to job applications in the past week. She wasn't surprised. After all, everybody was rebuilding and restructuring and there was a limited supply of talented wizards and witches. She still hadn't heard from the one place that meant the most to her. She had been doing some thinking in between visits to the lake with Ron and studying for the Apparition examination.

"Hermione, what is it?" Ginny sounded concerned, and Hermione realized that her face must have betrayed her slightly. She took a deep breath.

"I know what I want to do," she said quietly.

"Really?" Ginny’s eyes lit up. "That's wonderful! Which will it be then? The Ambassador job or the Department of Magical Education?"

Hermione shook her head. "I want to be a Thinker."

Ginny stared at her. "A what?" she asked, curiously.

"A Thinker." Hermione stood up and walked over to her bed. She pulled a large book out from under it. "It's a sort of problem-solver. They work out how to build complicated spells. You have to train really intensely - it's difficult and there may be only one or two in the whole world every generation, but it's an important job. I'm pretty sure that Dumbledore must have employed one to help set up the charms around Hogwarts. You have to be skilled at Arithmancy, which I am, and have the ability to concentrate intensely on one thing at a time, which I can do, but you don't have to have any special natural skills - I mean, it's all about training, and I wrote to the current Thinker - there's only one in Europe, and she hasn't written back but I can't help thinking that maybe that in itself is some sort of test, so...." Hermione stopped, realizing that she'd been talking extremely quickly. It felt good to finally tell someone what she had been mulling over in her head.

"Arithmancy and concentration... hmm. Sounds impossible." Ginny mused, then laughed and put out her hand to Hermione immediately. "No, don’t look like that, I’m just teasing," she assured. Hermione realized that her face must have fallen, and Ginny continued quickly. "It’s impossible for me. That means it’s the perfect job for you." Ginny smiled. "Though I really did think you’d be interested in one of the Ministry jobs – you know, especially with my Dad up there. You know how much he likes you. So then... why this Thinker thing, and not London?"

"Oh – it’s nothing to do with your Dad –" Hermione exclaimed. "You know I’d love to work for him." And she would have, too, she reflected. It would have been wonderful to work for Arthur Weasley – Ron’s parents had been such a wonderful comfort last summer, and she respected both Arthur and Molly very much. But her decision to become a Thinker wasn’t merely a career choice. Under the circumstances, it was the only choice. And, looking at Ginny’s attentive face, Hermione decided that she might as well tell her friend everything.

She pulled a tattered picture out from inside the book that she was holding. It was a Muggle photo of herself and her parents. She was sitting in one of the chairs in their office and they were standing on either side of her, both pretending to examine her teeth. She handed it to Ginny. "Those doctors at St. Mungo's don't know what they're doing. Neville's parents have been there for nearly seventeen years. I don't want mine to be in there that long... like they are. It's too awful. If I go and get this training - if I learn how to really Think and manipulate magic, well, I've got as much of a chance as any of them to find a cure, don't I? I mean, I've already done it once with Expecto Sacrificum. I can do it again, can't I? Because if I don’t do it, then nobody–"

Hermione stopped. Her impassioned speech had brought her to the verge of tears, and Ginny seemed to know it. Her friend’s arms flew around her without a second’s hesitation.

"Of course you can do it," Ginny declared, hugging Hermione tightly. "And if you don’t hear from this Thinker, then I think you should just go."

Hermione nodded, pulling away. "That’s what I’ve been thinking. I'll wait until the end of the summer. If I don't hear anything by then, I'll just... leave."

"Yes, Hermione, you absolutely should. What does Ron say about it?"

Hermione felt tears forming in her eyes all over again and she swiped at them quickly. "Nothing - yet. Okay, Ginny?"

Ginny nodded at her in understanding. Everyone knew that Ron was already upset at the thought of Hermione having to leave England for work, and Hermione didn't want to spend their summer fighting about it. She had decided not to tell him about the Thinker just yet. The training would be less than a year, and after that, she could stay in England indefinitely. She knew that Ron would be supportive in the end - he had to be - but in the meantime, she wanted to relax.

Ginny reached for the magazine they had been reading earlier and cleared her throat. "Speaking of Ron - question eleven," she began, slyly, looking from the question to Hermione with curiosity in her eyes.

Hermione raised an eyebrow quickly and smiled in what she hoped was a wicked way. "How about I ask you some questions, Ginny?" she laughed, turning the tables in an effort to deflect the question before it was asked.

But instead of returning her laughter, Ginny stopped smiling altogether. She dropped her eyes and flushed as if slightly embarrassed, focusing on her pedicure. "You can ask," she said softly, scraping some of the blue polish off of her skin. "But there's nothing to tell."

Feeling instantly terrible for putting her friend on the spot, Hermione reached out her hand and touched Ginny's arm. If Ginny didn't want to talk about Harry, she could understand it perfectly. She remembered not wanting to say a word about Ron. Unaccustomed to being the 'experienced' female in the room after seven years of rooming with Lavender and Parvati, she felt that she should say something reassuring – but she didn’t know what it should be. Ginny had used to come to her about Harry, but she hadn’t spoken about him at all since Expecto Sacrificum. She’d gone quiet almost as if there was no point.

"Ginny... he’ll come around." Hermione spoke with conviction. "He will."

Ginny looked up swiftly with such a wanting in her eyes that Hermione drew back slightly. But the look disappeared almost instantly, and instead, Ginny gave a wry laugh. "Oh, of course he will. When I’m a hundred. It’s a good thing wizards live so bloody long." She laughed again. "Honestly, Hermione, he’ll be lucky if he comes around in time."

She spoke as if she was joking, but Hermione knew she wasn’t. Hermione wanted to respond – to say that it would happen in time – but when she opened her mouth to do so, Ginny shook her head.

"Can we talk about it later?" she asked, and though her tone was still light, it was quite firm. "I’m having too good a time." With a shake of her ponytail, she grabbed up the magazine and grinned. "Now. I'm sure that Lavender could tell us all about questions eight, nine, and ten. I couldn't sleep one night and went down to the common room and heard some things that I'd rather not have heard."

Hermione snorted. Apparently there was no point in pursuing the matter with Ginny, and in any case, it was funny to think of what she must have heard down in the common room. Seamus Finnigan and Lavender Brown had been Gryffindor's most demonstrative couple. But although Hermione had little patience for Lavender's constant babbling and obsession with clothes, hair, and makeup, she had to admit that her roommate had been a true Gryffindor. Lavender had fought bravely with the rest of them in the final battle against Voldemort, and when Seamus had been hit by a curse – albeit a mild one sent out by a younger Slytherin student – Lavender had staunchly warded off any others who tried to come near him. Hermione wondered how they were spending their summer, and whether Lavender and Seamus would announce plans for a wedding soon. Lavender had mentioned something about it at the end of their seventh year, and it made them seem so... old. She said as much to Ginny.

"Well, a wedding would be fun, wouldn't it?" Ginny answered, pulling another magazine from the pile. We'd have to get new dress robes though - I've not had any since the Yule Ball and I doubt that those fit me." Hermione looked over at Ginny a bit enviously. Her friend was a good three or four inches taller than she was - and rather slender. Hermione was sure that her own robes would fit perfectly well. She hadn't grown at all since fourth year.

"Oh!" said Hermione, looking at her trunk, which was lined up next to Ginny's against the wall. "Have you got them with you?"

Ginny nodded. "You?" she asked.

With a smile, Hermione jumped off the bed and headed for her trunk. A second later she was digging around and pulling at something periwinkle blue in color. She fingered the silky material and turned to Ginny. "Find yours!" she encouraged her friend, tossing the robes on her bed and rummaging for a little box of jewelry.

She’d begun to fasten in her earrings when it struck her that her mother had sent her this jewelry to wear at the Yule Ball, in her fourth year. It had been her grandmother’s, and her mother had given it to Hermione for her first "real date". Hermione had worn it again for the pre-commencement banquet at Hogwarts, and Ron had told her how pretty she looked. She picked up the ring and looked at it sadly before sliding it on. Her mother, she reflected, hardly even knew Ron.

"They're a bit wrinkled," said Ginny, holding her white robes out in front of her and then spreading them out on the bed. She straightened Hermione's as well, waved her wand over them, and soon the gowns were smooth and fresh looking.

Hermione took hers and slipped them on. She'd been right, they did still fit - if anything, they were now a bit loose.

"Oh my! Hermione - look at this!" Ginny was laughing, and, swirling around, Hermione could see why. The white robes of four years ago fit Ginny very poorly. The hem stopped just above her ankles and the bodice was stretched tightly across her chest. "I can't move!" she gasped, trying to lift her arms above her shoulders and failing. "I had a growth spurt after third year!"

She tried to sit on the bed. "I can't even sit down!" Sighing, Ginny changed into her nightdress.

Hermione whirled around a few times, then sat on the chair by the mirror to quietly finish the experience quiz. She was curious now. 'Have you ever....?' She stole a look at Ginny, who had picked up another magazine, and then skimmed question eleven to see what had made Ginny want to ask it. The question made Hermione blush furiously and she wondered what made her redder: the question itself, or the fact that she could answer ‘yes’ to it. Not that it was so very much to do, really, Hermione reasoned, trying to regulate her heartbeat to normal again. She’d known Ron since their first day on the Hogwarts Express. He definitely knew enough about her, and she about him. And they’d certainly waited long enough to... explore their relationship. She trusted him so much – it felt so natural to let him kiss her. And touch her. She could press up close to him in nothing but her bathing suit and even though it was nerve-wracking and terrifying it also felt... right. So right that it was almost unstoppable; it made her want to –

"Going to bed, girls," called Sirius, from outside the door.

"Goodnight," called Remus.

Hermione lifted her head quickly, her face burning as though everyone in the house could hear her thoughts aloud. She looked at Ginny, who was holding up her hair with one hand, biting her lip and concentrating on a picture in the magazine.

"Goodnight!" they chorused back together, too loudly, then went into a fit of laughter for no reason at all. Hermione felt a little short of breath. Needing to distract herself from quizzes, she stood up and walked over to Ginny, who had the magazine open to a girl with a glamorous halo of curls piled onto her head. "Let me do your hair," she said, taking the magazine from Ginny. "This is perfect for your hair."

Ginny gaped. "You want to... do my hair."

"Well..." Hermione fidgeted. "Look, just let me try it out, it can’t be that difficult."

Ginny looked doubtful. "My hair doesn't really curl well," she began.

"Nonsense! Are we witches or aren't we?" Hermione pulled Ginny off the bed and directed her to the dressing table. "Actually," she admitted, "You’re right. I'm not so talented at these particular charms. I mean, look at my hair." She fished around for some elastics and pins. "But I do know how to curl hair with a wand - Lavender showed me once - let me see if I can remember. I don't have much use for it myself." She separated a few strands of hair and wrapped them around her wand. They were silent for a few minutes, looking into the mirror.

"I wish I didn't have so many freckles," sighed Ginny, touching her hand to her cheek. She was a bit more freckled than usual, Hermione reflected, but then again, so was Ron. It was all that time spent outdoors.

"I think freckles are lovely," Hermione answered her honestly. "They're quite interesting, and anyway, you know that they always fade away in the autumn." She pulled at another lock of Ginny's hair, wondering if all of Ron's freckles were going to fade and hoping that some of them were going to stick around. She knew the ones on his face by heart, but this week she’d begun to memorize the ones on his chest and his back and sometimes they almost looked like constellations. Hermione smiled. The scatter on his left shoulder looked just like Perseus, and she thought that was very fitting. Of course, she’d had to fight to remember that constellation’s name the other day. It was so difficult to keep her brain in order when Ron was standing close against her in the water, doing things to her. Trailing his mouth down her neck. She had to fight for every ounce of rational thought, and fight she had. She couldn’t just let him do everything he wanted – not yet – even though... even though she wished she hadn’t made the stupid over-the-clothing rule. Hermione sighed wistfully. She could hardly take it back now, she supposed, but if it had felt like that over the clothes, she could only imagine what –

"Ouch!" shrieked Ginny. Hermione jumped, and realized that she had pulled a final curl a bit too tightly on Ginny's head.

"Sorry," she muttered, and pulled it a bit looser. She took a deep breath, shook her head, and looked at Ginny in the mirror. "You look lovely," she said, removing her wand from the stack of brilliant red curls. "Very regal."

Ginny tutted, a habit she’d undoubtedly picked up from Hermione, and swiveled in the chair. "Your turn," she said brightly, reached carefully for a magazine on the floor so as not to topple her curls. "This one would be lovely," she said, showing Hermione a picture she'd found earlier.

Hermione looked at the picture and then at herself in the mirror. A week of sun and humidity had turned her hair into a long, tangled, frizzy mess. "All right," she said doubtfully. "But you're going to need a lot of the Sleekeazy's Hair Potion."

Ginny patted her on the shoulder, "Leave it to me, Madame."

Hermione watched with interest as Ginny began curling bits of hair around her wand. It wasn't that she really cared too much about her looks, though she did try to take better care of her hair now than she had used to. But it was just a relief to sit here with Ginny and do something truly pointless. Hermione was totally unaccustomed to relaxing; it wasn’t in her nature and there simply hadn’t been time for it at school. There had always been some terrible danger, or crisis, or massive exam. But here she was now, happily allowing her hair to be pulled back by her best girlfriend, who was humming along to the WWN.

The song on the wireless switched after a moment, and Ginny’s pretty hum died away. Hermione listened to the music for a moment, deciding that she liked it very much. "What's this song?" she asked.

"Hmm? Oh, I never know the names of songs, I just remember tunes," Ginny answered absently.

It was a love song, and Hermione turned slightly in her chair to hear it better. She felt as if she could quite project herself into the lyrics, feeling them as her own. But Ginny withdrew her wand from Hermione’s hair suddenly, and pointed it at the wireless.

"Oh, don’t change it," Hermione said quickly. "Don’t you like it?"

Ginny gave a half-smile, but Hermione thought she looked rather tired. "I like it. It's just that this song came out the summer right after my first year." She shrugged. "It reminds me of Voldemort. But if you want to listen to it –"

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. "No, no. That’s fine. Let’s have the news or something."

Ginny flicked her wand immediately to change the station, and the news poured from the wireless. She then tucked a few stray curls into place, framed Hermione's face with her hands and said, "Voila!"

More pleased than usual with her reflection, Hermione stood up slowly. "Thank you! I've never felt so – wait. Let me hear this a minute." She turned towards the wireless, her ear caught by the news.

The newscaster's voice was young and vibrant and male; it crackled through the hole in the center of the small cube. "... and while a new class of Aurors goes into training, Dark Arts crime falls to the MLES to regulate. MLES head, Amos Diggory, states that his team is still doing its best to insure that all claims of Death Eaters-still-at-large are being thoroughly investigated. In other news, the prison situation has not changed and the Azkaban guards are still being guarded themselves! Our Aurors are on the spot with twenty-four hour Patronus Charms. It's no secret, however, that Arthur Weasley and Sirius Black are working on a new system of justice here in Diagon Alley - couple of Ministry daredevils, they are!"

"What?" Hermione gasped, torn between shock and laughter.

Ginny grinned widely at the radio. "Wow. Dad's a daredevil."

Hermione did laugh at that, but felt compelled to add, "Well, newscasters aren’t supposed to talk that way. That's a very cheeky way to refer to the Minister of Magic."

"Oh, come on. I think it's great." Ginny was still beaming. "Anyway maybe Dad’ll let us call him Mr Daredevil or something. He never lets us call him the Minister of Magic. I tried to, in a letter the other day, and he sent me back an owl saying," Ginny affected her father's deep accent, "'Ginny, darling, now, don't get big ideas.'" She laughed. "But look at the letter." She fished it from her bedside drawer and provided it to Hermione. The letterhead on the parchment read, From the Office of the Minister of Magic. Hermione looked up at Ginny and returned both the letter and her grin.

"That is funny."

The answer she received was not from Ginny, however. It was from a much lower Weasley voice, which was obviously right outside the bedroom door.

"I'll give you funny."

Both girls looked at the door.

"Ron?" Hermione asked quickly, knowing quite well who it was. Her insides were fluttering just from his tone.

"Let us in, we've got news."

"Us?" Ginny whispered. She flicked off the WWN, grabbed for her dressing gown and pulled it on.

"You can’t come in here!" Hermione said on reflex, going to the door and standing so close to it that she could have leaned forward two inches and kissed the panels. "This is the girls' room, Ron, and we decided this when we first got here. You have to stay out."

"I've got a wand out here that says differently," Ron retorted. He was obviously as close up to the door as she was – she heard him bump against it slightly and she put up her hands. It was oddly electrifying, being so near him, having his voice so close, yet not being able to see him. Hermione leaned against the door on instinct and thought that she could hear him do the same. Suddenly she felt as though she were back in the water with him and her heart pounded. She tried not to remember the feeling of all his muscles, pressing against her body. He was not going to disorganize her mind.

"I've got a wand as well," she retorted, pulling it. He began to holler something, but Hermione called out her charm before he could call out his. "Ha!" she sang, happily, reveling in her victory. "Unbreakable. You can't get in with Alohomora."

"Fine." Ron muttered something else, and Hermione heard his wand tap the door. He laughed, and Hermione could hear Harry laughing beside him. When Ron spoke again, his voice was a low, warm growl. "Counter-Unlockable. Now you can't get out."

She stopped. She had forgotten that one. "Lie," she said stubbornly, and tapped her wand to the door. "Alohomora." The door remained shut. Outside it, both boys burst into a fit of laughter so strong that Hermione feared that they would break something. One of them must have literally collapsed to the floor and Hermione's guess was that it was Harry. His laughter seemed to be coming from a considerably lower point than Ron's.

"Oh, hell," Harry gasped, "that's funny."

"Harry!" Hermione reprimanded.

"Harry?" Ginny had come up beside her and crouched to the ground. "Are you on the floor?"

"No," he gasped. "I'm standing, I'm fine."

Ginny peered at the door suspiciously, and when she stood, there was amusement in her eyes. "He's completely drunk," she whispered to Hermione. "So is Ron."

"What?! Ron!"

But Ginny had taken control. She narrowed her eyes and they took on a fiery glint. She knocked on the door. "Ron? Open this. Now."

Ron snorted. "Oh, right, like I'm going to do what you tell me."

"Now! Come on!"

"Oh, no. I don't think so. Have a lovely night, ladies, and perhaps next time you'll think twice before locking out your friends and brothers."

"NOW!" Ginny tossed her head. "Or else I'll tell Hermione all about the time when Fred and George took one of my dresses and one of my hats and made you dress up like a -"

The door flew open. Ron stood there, fire in his eyes that matched his sister's. They faced off for a moment, until Ron realized that he had no real leverage on his side.

"You're going to have it for that," he finally muttered. Behind him, on the floor, Harry was laughing so hard that he was in tears.

"A dress... and a... a hat..." he gasped.

Ginny looked down at Harry, pressed her mouth shut on a giggle, and held out her hand. He took it and righted himself, still laughing.

The two girls stood in the doorway of their room, Ginny holding Harry's hand and obviously trying to suppress her own laughter, while Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and glared hard at Ron. He stepped right up to her, now that he was through fighting with Ginny for the time being. His look was fierce, but it wasn't quite a glare. Hermione thought she could detect humor in it, and pride, and - something else. Something that made it difficult to yell at him. She attempted it, however.

"Are you really drunk?" she asked, trying to keep her voice extremely disapproving.

"And if I am?" he challenged.

She shivered again at his tone. How did he do that? "Ron, you said you wouldn't."

"Well, I didn't," he retorted. "Not like that one, anyway." He jabbed a thumb in Harry's direction.

Harry was now fully absorbed in staring at Ginny. She didn't seem to notice - she was watching Hermione and Ron, though her hand was still in Harry's. Ron noticed, though, and he caught eyes with Hermione as if to communicate something about it, when his own eyes glazed a little bit and he began to stare openly at her.

"What?" Hermione demanded.

"What've you done?" Ron asked, sounding fascinated. He reached out slowly and touched a lock of her hair. "Are you two planning on going out somewhere?"

Hermione remembered suddenly that she and Ginny had been dressing themselves up for the past hour – they hadn't intended for anyone to see the results.

"Oh," she said, blushing and putting a hand to her hair quickly. "Nothing. We just –"

But Ron grabbed her hand and looked at her nails keenly. "Huh," he muttered, his mouth so close to her hand that Hermione felt his breath along her fingers. "Red. I like it."

Hermione blushed furiously, both at having been caught dressed-up, and at how badly she wanted to throw her arms around Ron’s neck and be done with it. "Go to bed, you're not sober," she managed, snatching back her hand.

"What, I can't be sober and like that color at the same time? Is that what you're saying? Because if that's what you're saying, then Hermione, why the hell did you paint your nails?" He smiled charmingly at her and twirled his wand. "Ha." He reached out and took her hand again, rubbing his thumb across the top of it possessively.

Hermione fought herself hard. He was infuriating. His hair was tousled and his face was flushed and there was something terribly winning about him, but she wasn't about to give in. Instead, she gave him the withering look she reserved for special occasions. "Come on, Ginny," she said briskly. "We can talk to them tomorrow when they've got sense."

Ginny seemed to agree that this was the best idea - she let go of Harry's hand and it fell to his side. "Goodnight," she said quietly. He didn't answer. He was obviously completely unaware of what he was doing; he leaned back against the wall and continued to stare at her unabashedly. Ginny stood in his gaze for another moment as if drinking it in, then turned somewhat unwillingly, and walked quickly to her bed.

Hermione tried to turn away as well, but found that she couldn't go anywhere. Ron pulled her back by the hand.

"Ow, let me go –"

"No, don't go to bed, listen – I wouldn't have bothered you but, Hermione..." he stopped, his face lighting up with a grin. "I've got a job."

Hermione's mouth fell open. It was the last news she’d expected, and Ron was looking at her with such modest pride in his eyes that she forgot to be difficult. "What, now?" she asked him at once. "Tonight? But where? What happened?"

At that, Harry seemed to snap out of his stupor slightly. He shifted his gaze from the place where Ginny had been standing, and pinned it on Ron. Then he turned to Hermione as well and grinned at her. "Ron's going to tend bar down at the pub," Harry laughed. "Because he's a natural cook."

"Shut it, you." Ron gave Harry a friendly slug with his free hand, then caught up Hermione's other one so that he was holding both of hers. He looked her right in the eye. "I'm going to work nights for awhile, down in the village. I'm happy about this," he said, sounding as though he truly was. "I hoped I'd find something to get me through the summer, and it's going to be perfect – you know, just for now. It'll be fun and I'll be making money..." he looked at her, a bit anxiously. "What do you think?"

Hermione shone up at Ron, stood on tiptoe so that their noses brushed. Just before their lips met, however, she remembered that they were not alone. She fell back and looked at Harry.

Tipsy as he may have been, Harry got the idea. "Goodnight," he muttered at them. Stumbling a bit, he disappeared into his and Ron's room. Hermione stepped out into the hall, letting go of Ron's hand just long enough to pull the door shut behind her, so as not to disturb Ginny.

"Oh, Ron, really – you just got a job? Just like that?"

"Yeah. I guess Goldie liked me." Ron ducked his head, but he was smiling. "And I know it's just a pub and it's just bar work, but I –"

He was cut off. Hermione had wanted to kiss him all night, and she couldn’t hold back another second. She felt some part of her brain give up control, as it so often did when she was within reaching distance of Ron. Before she knew it, her arms were tangled up around his neck and his hands had seized her shoulder blades – she opened her mouth beneath his and he kissed her, tasting like something she'd never tasted on Ron before. It was strong, and almost dizzying.

"Goodness, what did you drink?" she gasped, pulling away from him slightly.

Ron clamped his mouth shut and self-consciously turned his face to the side. "Oh, I'm sorry–"

"No, no! It's erm – actually it's all right. What is that?" She could feel herself blushing, but well... it was Ron. She was allowed to do this, with him. Saying these things to each other would just take some getting used to.

Ron smiled and leaned close to her again, letting his mouth brush hers while he talked. "It's an ancient, Eastern European secret. It was green." He kissed her again, very softly, and Hermione heard herself make a small, uncontrolled noise. "Tastes interesting anyway, doesn’t it?" Ron continued, grinning. "And it made Harry crack a smile. That was a good plan, getting him out for a bit." He lowered his voice even further. "I really love your hair, Hermione."

She knew he was only this loose with his compliments because of whatever had been in the green drinks. But she didn’t care. As long as he wanted to say things like this, he could be just as loose as he liked. She felt his fingers rub along her spine and his breath against her lips. He was doing everything perfectly.

"Come down to the pub tomorrow night, while I'm working?" His voice was a whisper now.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04