Pass the Rum Down
Sep. 13th, 2004 01:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skoosiepantsSo. I'm seriously struggling with Don't Let's Start. I don't know why... I just can't get into the grove. And I'm afraid to even occupy my mind with a challenge cookie, because it's been way too long since I updated DLS. I have to just force myself through this blockage.
Anyway, I did take a bit of a tangent today, although I didn't write anything new.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elphaba_at_17 got me thinking about my defunct Mutiny! sequel. It was going to be something grand, about the marrying of Hermione Granger, and it kind of fizzled out. I really didn't like the way it was progressing. So for the curious, I'm posting the unfinished ficcy.
******
Technically, A Suggestion
"Let's get married."
Hermione spluttered, dropping the forkful of egg that she'd had poised to shovel into her mouth. "Let's what?"
Blaise yawned over the top of the Daily Prophet. "Get married. You know, tie the knot, have a big reception with good food and dancing. You'd like that."
"Is that really your idea of a proposal, Zabini?" she asked sternly, narrowing her eyes at him across their kitchen table.
"Well, technically," he said, ignoring her glare and taking a sip of coffee, "it was a suggestion." He rustled the paper and snorted. "Longbottom's finally been appointed Herbology professor. Seems he's been apprenticing for ages. You should send a note."
"Oh, should I?" she snapped. "Are you running my life for me now?"
He arched a brow, finally glancing up at her. "Again, merely a suggestion. No need to get tetchy, love."
"You, you…" She reached over and snatched the paper out of his hands, slamming it down on the table. "I can't believe you. Let's get married?"
"What?" He gave her a confused frown, his playfulness waning. "I thought it was a good idea. Maybe your parents will even start calling me Blaise instead of The-Monster-That-Seduced-Our-Little-Girl."
"They do not call you that," Hermione said, affronted.
"They think it, though. You know they do," Blaise said, looking suddenly uncertain. "Listen, Hermione, it's not that big a deal… just the next logical step, right?"
Hermione stared at him, incredulous. "Next. Logical. Step."
"Never thought I'd have to convince you to marry me." He gave a self-depreciative chuckle. "Should I list my glowing qualities? Tempt you?" Folding his hands together in front of him, he said, "Well, I'm healthy, have straight teeth, got all the limbs I was born with. My eyes are a nice blue, my hair, by your own admission, is sexy and silky. I get on well with Potter and Weasley and the rest of the crew. I'm spectacular in bed…"
"Spectacular?" Hermione interrupted, stifling a small grin. She was not amused.
"I have my own business," he went on, "and can make a decent cup of coffee. I'm even willing to clip Crookshanks' nails, despite risk of death. I'm reasonably good at crosswords, chess and remembering to do the dishes, and I’ve only broken one cup in the past month. I can recite all eight verses of Sweet Anna-Mae, and helped Longbottom work out the refrain of Rum, Rum, the Night’s Full o' Rum, which was somewhat repetitive, I agree, but that’s the basic concept of pirate ditties anyway, you know…”
He wasn’t even looking at her now, she noticed, his eyes downcast as he traced circles on the oak table. Blaise was deep in a ramble. Blaise never rambled.
“…I’ve only forgotten our anniversary once, and that was when Draco was in St. Mungo’s, so you can’t really blame me for that. Certainly isn’t something you’d hold against me, I wouldn’t think…”
Blaise was nervous.
He didn’t honestly think she was going to refuse to marry him, did he? It was one thing to be put out with the way he’d gone about proposing, and quite another to shoot herself in the foot and say no. She wasn’t stupid, although he’d clearly gotten too caught up in his prattling to recall that fact.
“…And I know you dislike Cat, but you’ve put up with him for this long, haven’t you? Crookshanks pretty much ignores him now, too, so he really shouldn’t be a factor…”
“I’m not an idiot, Blaise,” Hermione interrupted him, her voice sharper than she’d really meant it to be. Although he deserved it, the dumb arse.
He glanced up and caught her eyes, his face slightly flushed. “I know that.”
“I’m not so sure,” she continued, getting up from the table and taking her dishes to the sink. Turning around, she leant against the countertop and crossed her arms over her chest. "You knew my answer before you started, didn't you?"
"Of course," he replied, but she spotted some uncertainty lurking in his eyes.
She sighed. "So start over," she prompted. "And do it properly this time."
******
Susceptible
“You do realize that you’re not really a pirate, right?”
Harry cocked his head to the side. “What’s your point, Hermione?”
Hermione tapped her quill impatiently on the parchment in front of her. “My point, Harry,” she said sternly, “is that you are not wearing,” she glanced down at the special order slip from Madam Malkin’s, “a red silk sash, fitted black breeches, and an Italian linen white button-down.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I absolutely forbid it.”
“But Hermione,” he whined, spreading his hands out imploringly, “Zabini said it was all right. He even helped pick out the fabric. And you know Seamus’ Dad is getting us real cutlasses. We have to wear the outfits.”
Hermione pressed her fingers to her temples, visions of Ron slicing Malfoy’s throat in the middle of the reception rattling around in her mind. “No sharp knives, Harry. Please.”
“And it’s going to look stupid if Neville sings you down the isle in dress robes—“
“Neville is not singing me down the isle,” she cut in.
“What?” Harry looked vaguely startled. “What d’you mean, Neville isn’t singing you down the isle? It’s been planned for ages, Hermione, and he’s worked so hard on The Maid on the Main; he can’t not sing it.”
Hermione tapped her quill on the parchment again, unwittingly blotting out the word ‘forever’ in the vows she’d been working on. “I’m walking down the isle to Annie Laurie, Harry. And Lavender is singing it.”
“But Zabini said Neville could—“
“Oh, sod Blaise,” Hermione shouted, dropping the quill in disgust and tearing up her now ruined vows. Wasn’t anything going right? “It’s not his place to say, is it?”
“Erm…” Harry trailed off, giving her a wary, wide-eyed stare. “It’s not?” he finally asked softly.
She gave an exasperated sigh and sank down low in her chair. Leaning on her elbows she shoved her hands into her hair and hung her head. “This is my day,” she said tiredly. “And I’m not going to let you, or the crew, or Blaise, or Blaise’s parents, or his damned cat, or Snape and his sour face that Blaise insisted on having as a groomsman, ruin my wedding.”
“What’d his cat do?”
She sat up and waved her hand dismissively, then tugged a fresh sheet of parchment from her bag. “What didn’t he do?” she countered, unwilling to put into words the fact that she knew, just knew, from merely looking at the scrawny alley cat, that the beast would want to bear the rings to the altar. Over her dead body would that happen. Crookshanks would pitch a fit.
She scratched her quill determinedly across the rough surface of the parchment, her lips pressed in a grim line. Blaise, you are my greatest passion and only love… Merlin, what drivel; why had she ever agreed to write her own vows? She was rubbish at expressing her feelings, and felt love words were a waste of time. Actions had always appealed to her senses more than any words ever could; although, she suspected that was Blaise’s influence over her… He was such a quiet, steady man. So why had he wanted them to write their own damn vows?
“Um, Hermione?”
Glancing over at Harry, she gave the seating chart he’d been working on a thoughtful frown. “Oh no, Harry, you can’t put Blaise’s grandparents there.” He had the elderly Mr. and Mrs. Zabini nestled between Neville and Seamus, at the table that should have been strictly members of the crew.
“Oh, that,” Harry shrugged. “Zabini put them there, not me. But do you want Ginny up at the head table with Malfoy?”
“I suppose so,” she grumbled, although it wasn’t so much for having Ginny join them at the head table, than for having Malfoy, the best man, along with Snape, Baddock, and Flint there as well. Slytherins in her wedding party… She shuddered. Blaise and Millie didn’t count, of course, since they were the most un-Slytherin-like Slytherins she’d ever encountered. “Just don’t put her next to Padma or Parvati.”
Blaise, you are my greatest passion and only love. Before these witnesses, our closest friends - closest friends, ha! – and family, I take you into my life, as you are already in my heart. – Good Merlin, she was making herself gag – So much between us is left unsaid, our minds knowing what is too powerful to express in mere words. Yet now, on our wedding day, I find I can say the very thoughts that had before only found their way to the surface in glances; in the closeness we’ve shared over the years. I love you, Blaise. I will always love you, for the length of our lives and all that comes after. – Oh, for crap’s sake, now she was crying.
“Hermione, are you alright?”
“Of course,” she choked out, wiping futilely at the tears that were trailing down her cheeks, unable to stem their flow.
Harry hopped out of his chair and circled round to her, pulling her up and into his arms.
“I’m fine,” she sniffled into his shirt. Yes, she was fine and, apparently, incredibly susceptible to drivel. After a few minutes, she drew herself away and gave her best friend a fond, watery smile. “Tell the boys you can wear your stupid outfits,” she said finally, her voice thick with tears. “And Neville can sing The Maid on the Main.”
“Really?”
Hermione nodded. “Really. But please don’t give Ron a cutlass.”
******
Staying Sober
They’d ended up at the Three Broomsticks, since it was relatively easy to find it nearly empty on a Friday night. Neville was all smiles, chatting up Zabini’s younger brother, Hock. Seamus and Dean were deep in a dangerous game of darts, their aim more than a little off. Harry was flirting shamelessly with Madame Rosmerta. Various Slytherins were milling around, looking shifty, and Snape was scowling himself into a stupor in the corner.
Ron was highly amused, and close to comatose.
It’d been a brilliant idea, he thought, to start drinking early in the afternoon. Nothing like a binge to get you ready for a wedding. A wedding that involved the unholy union of a Gryffindor to a Slytherin. And then the seas of Hell would cover the earth in fire and lava.
Ron giggled, which made him think he was even more shit-faced than he’d assumed, and then spotted a certain evil Slytherin lurking, bleary-eyed, at the bar. The thought of Ginny and Malfoy together had never ceased to make him… insanely angry. However, he was more afraid of Ginny’s temper than he’d ever admit, so he’d recently been making an effort to be civil to the man. No time like the drunken present to bury the broadsword.
"Malfoy," Ron slurred, waving his hand, “c’mere.”
The blond blinked at him slowly and took another pull at his beer. "What?"
"C'mere," Ron said again.
Malfoy moved forward and slumped into the chair next to him, eying him warily. "Weasel."
"Malfoy," Ron's voice dipped down low, "I jus’ wanted to tell you that, e’en though Gin's mad about you," he hiccuped, "I really hate you. I mean… really. Hate you."
The evil git’s smirk was slightly sloppy, and looked suspiciously like a grin. "I hate you, too, Weasel,” he said. “With all my heart."
It almost brought a tear to Ron's eye, the adamancy of Malfoy’s reply, and he threw an arm companionably about the other man’s shoulders.
And then his chair toppled over and he landed with an “oof” and a pained groan, the chair rungs digging into his back.
Harry loomed over him, laughing. "You were getting a mite too comfortable with Malfoy, mate."
"Thanks," Ron managed.
Zabini appeared at Harry’s shoulder and leant down to help him up. “Glad to see you aren’t fighting, at least.”
“Give us a few hours,” Malfoy drawled.
Ron climbed to his feet, placing his palms on Harry and Zabini’s shoulders. The room was spinning just a bit. Not enough to alarm him, but enough to make him wish he was currently back on the ground. He blinked at Malfoy. “How the bloody hell can you still drawl when you’re drunk?”
“I’m not drunk,” Malfoy stated blandly.
“Not drunk,” Ron echoed incredulously. He whirled his head towards Zabini. “He says he’s not drunk. D’you think he’s drunk?”
“I believe that you’re drunk,” Zabini said with smirk.
Ron rolled his eyes. “No shit, Zabini. I jus’ had my arm around Malfoy.” Ron grimaced. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”
“I’m tipsy,” Malfoy offered, now staring down the throat of his beer bottle.
“Tipsy? Tipsy?” Ron chuckled. “Girls get tipsy, Malfoy.”
“Fine,” he shrugged. “I’m moderately buzzed, then. Slightly blurry around the edges. Happy.”
“Happy?” Harry sputtered, followed by a deep and very un-Harry-like guffaw.
“Malfoy is most definitely drunk,” Zabini declared. “He gets vociferous when he’s over imbibed.”
“Voci-whaterous? Imbibed?”
Zabini held out his hands, palms up. “I’ve stayed sober to take care of you lot,” he explained.
“Not acceptable,” Harry stated. “Rosie, four shots of goldshclager, m’dear,” he shouted over to the bar.
“Really, Potter, it’s not necessary. I’m planning on being coherent tomorrow.”
“Nonsense,” Harry pressed. “You hafta get pissed at your bachelor party. It’s the law.”
“Oh yes, Potter. It’s the law,” Malfoy sniggered.
"Stuff it, Malfoy," Ron growled.
The blond gave him a derisive sneer. "Make me, Red."
"Oh, isn't that cute," Blaise cut in, grinning at Harry. "He's given him a pet name."
Malfoy glared at him. "If it wasn't your last day of freedom, I'd take offense at that. And," he added, "I didn't give it to him. Gin's shortened that dreadful 'Red Beard' name he took on years ago. It was out of habit."
"Methinks he protests too much," Blaise said archly.
Harry grinned back. "They have a passionate love-hate relationship and their fire cannot be quenched."
Ron blanched. "Now I really am gonna be sick."
******
Impending Doom
Lavender slid off her chair and landed in a heap of giggles. "Lavender Longbottom."
Hermione glanced at the clock. Only nine at night and Lavender was already sloshed. Not that she wasn't feeling a bit tipsy herself, of course. "What, Lav?" She leant across the table and patted the top of her friend's head. "Lav, Lav, Lav."
"You two," Ginny said grandly, lifting her glass, "are drunk." She punctuated her statement with a soft hiccup.
"Lavender Longbottom!" the girl on the floor shouted louder, in between bouts of laughter.
The doorbell rang and Hermione pushed herself up from her chair - when had the air turned to pudding? - and staggered slightly as she made her way down the hall to the door.
The Patil twins took one look at her and said, "You're drunk."
"Am not," Hermione shot back petulantly, then hooked her thumb over her shoulder. "Lav's having a fit."
Padma rolled her eyes and started forward. "Wait," she said, pausing. "Is MacGreggor here?"
"Not yet," she shook her head, "but Gin is."
Parvati groaned. The Patil twins were not on the best terms with Ginny and Brandy. In fact, Hermione didn't think there was ever a time that they had been. She pushed them forward. "Don't be cowards, now."
Lavender had managed to pull herself back into her seat by the time they reached the kitchen, and she was cradling her head in her palms.
"Neville proposed," she said.
Ginny burst out laughing. "Lavender Longbottom!"
"It's not funny." Lavender twisted her lips into a pout, then started giggling again, collapsing onto the table, and stretching her arms out across the wood.
"You are all drunk," Parvati stated.
"Got it in one," Ginny said, then muttered under her breath, "hag." Only it turned out to be not so much under her breath, as over.
"Shove off, Weasley," Padma bit out.
"Listen, hair girl," Ginny slurred, pushing back from the table and rising. "I'm here to celebrate Hermione's impending doom--"
"Hey!" Hermione cut in.
Ginny waved a dismissive hand at her, "Hush, Hermoninny. I’m dressing down Patil here. Now, where was I…?" She wavered a bit on her feet. "Oh, yes, I'm here for Hermione's last gasp--"
"Hey," Hermione bit out again, this time shoving Ginny on the shoulder and nearly toppling the girl.
Ginny gave her a lopsided grin. "Don't bother denying it, Hermione. You'll get married and stiffen up, same as you always did at school. When the children come… forget it!" She paused, her nose crinkling in confusion. "What was I doing?"
"You were--"
Hermione clapped her hand across Lavender's mouth. "You were just about to floo Brandy and tell her to get her arse over here," she said.
"Oh," Ginny still looked frazzled. "Are you sure?"
Hermione nodded emphatically. "Yes. And you were definitely not going to attack Padma and her hair. Definitely not."
"What the bloody hell is wrong with my hair," Padma cried, reaching her hand up to smooth over the back of her head.
"Nothing," Hermione stated primly over Lavender's giggles.
Ginny approached the twin, her eyes narrowed, or rather, squinted, as everything was a bit blurry, and warily pinched a hardened strand. "How much gel do you use, Patil?" she murmured, fascinated by the girl's permanent wet look. "You must go through ten times as much of the stuff as Draco, and that man's obsessed with his hair."
Padma slapped her hand away with a scowl. "I’m not nearly drunk enough to deal with this abuse properly."
"You're not drunk at all," Hermione pointed out as she less than gently shoved Ginny out of the room and towards the fireplace.
"Precisely." She dropped down into a chair at the table and took a healthy swig of fire whiskey, grimacing as it burned a slow path down her throat. "Good stuff," she gasped.
"The better to get drunk with," Parvati said, mimicking her sister and downing three fingers of the amber liquid in one swallow. "And we’d better do it fast, before Brandy gets here."
The doorbell rang. "Too late," Padma groaned.
Ginny stepped back into the kitchen, looking startled, her eyes wide as she leaned against the doorframe. "S'not Bran," she shook her head. "I only just floo-ed her."
"Maybe Hannah changed her mind…?" Hermione trailed off as male voices drifted through the open kitchen window…
"She's th' bonniest maid in th' port,
Yo ho
She hasn’ a spot or a wart.
"She's th' loveliest lass on the docks,
Yo ho
Fair as th' beached sun-bleached rocks."
The girls gathered around the window and peered down into the yard, watching as the group of men, most notably the crew and Draco Malfoy, made spectacles of themselves on Hermione’s front lawn. The verses were slightly muddled, but they boomed the refrain, off-key and nearly shouting and still, in their drunkenness, attempting to use pirate-ese.
"Oh, stick Anna-Mae in th' 'old, they all cried!
She'll scream if she's tied te th'mast.
The sea wind is 'ard on a fair wench's skin,
Stick 'er below so's she'll last.
"Me pa tol' me take what ye want,
Yo ho
Me mam tol' me want what ye take."
A small group of Slytherins, obviously unfamiliar with the ditty, stood in the back, arm and arm, shouting out random 'Yo ho's.
"No diff'rent with Sweet Anna-Mae,
Yo ho
'cept she'll steal yer own 'eart fer 'er pay…"
"Never thought Draco would deign to learn the words to that," Ginny mused. "Hey, love," she yelled out at him.
“Neville!” Lavender screeched, waving an arm wildly and managing to smack Hermione in the head.
"Oh, stick Anna-Mae in th' 'old, they all cried!
She'll scream if she's tied te th'mast.
The sea wind is 'ard on a fair wench's skin,
Stick 'er below so's she'll last."
In their drunken state, none of them except Neville clearly remembered all eight verses of Sweet Anna-Mae, and so they launched into song after song, lifting their beers to the window where the girls were hanging half out.
"Are they singin' Rum, Me One True Love or Rum, Rum, the Night's Full o’ Rum?" Lavender asked.
"Neither." Ginny cocked her head to the side. "Sounds a bit like Pass the Rum Down."
Hermione rested her elbows on the ledge. "I think they're all singing something diff'rent. Idiots," she added fondly.
"Look," Parvati cried. "Millie's here." She pointed towards the walk, where Millie's tall figure was silhouetted against the street lamps.
"And Brandy, too," Ginny grinned. "We won't be seeing her much, then."
"Why not?"
"Need you even ask, Lav? Men. Lots of them. With impaired judgement." Ginny giggled. "Oh, none of them stand a chance."
"Doesn't she fancy your brother?" Padma asked with a sneer.
Ginny waved her hand dismissively. "Ron's a bit of a spaz," she said.
"You shouldn't talk about Ron like that," Hermione admonished.
The younger girl arched a brow. "Are you saying you think he isn't barking mad most of the time?"
"Well… he can be somewhat… odd," Hermione conceded. "But they all are, really, don't you think?"
"Neville's penning a book of ditties," Lavender offered.
"Oddest bunch of Gryffindors I've ever come across," Padma agreed.
"Coping mechanism," Hermione said firmly. "They're allowed to have their fun."
"I s'ppose," Parvati said slowly, then leant out the window and shouted, "Oy, Millie! Come on up!"
"Good goin'," Ginny muttered. "They've spotted her now."
******
Yeah, lame-ish. And I leave ya hanging. I just felt the need to entertain you all...
Anyway, I did take a bit of a tangent today, although I didn't write anything new.
elphaba_at_17 got me thinking about my defunct Mutiny! sequel. It was going to be something grand, about the marrying of Hermione Granger, and it kind of fizzled out. I really didn't like the way it was progressing. So for the curious, I'm posting the unfinished ficcy.******
Technically, A Suggestion
"Let's get married."
Hermione spluttered, dropping the forkful of egg that she'd had poised to shovel into her mouth. "Let's what?"
Blaise yawned over the top of the Daily Prophet. "Get married. You know, tie the knot, have a big reception with good food and dancing. You'd like that."
"Is that really your idea of a proposal, Zabini?" she asked sternly, narrowing her eyes at him across their kitchen table.
"Well, technically," he said, ignoring her glare and taking a sip of coffee, "it was a suggestion." He rustled the paper and snorted. "Longbottom's finally been appointed Herbology professor. Seems he's been apprenticing for ages. You should send a note."
"Oh, should I?" she snapped. "Are you running my life for me now?"
He arched a brow, finally glancing up at her. "Again, merely a suggestion. No need to get tetchy, love."
"You, you…" She reached over and snatched the paper out of his hands, slamming it down on the table. "I can't believe you. Let's get married?"
"What?" He gave her a confused frown, his playfulness waning. "I thought it was a good idea. Maybe your parents will even start calling me Blaise instead of The-Monster-That-Seduced-Our-Little-Girl."
"They do not call you that," Hermione said, affronted.
"They think it, though. You know they do," Blaise said, looking suddenly uncertain. "Listen, Hermione, it's not that big a deal… just the next logical step, right?"
Hermione stared at him, incredulous. "Next. Logical. Step."
"Never thought I'd have to convince you to marry me." He gave a self-depreciative chuckle. "Should I list my glowing qualities? Tempt you?" Folding his hands together in front of him, he said, "Well, I'm healthy, have straight teeth, got all the limbs I was born with. My eyes are a nice blue, my hair, by your own admission, is sexy and silky. I get on well with Potter and Weasley and the rest of the crew. I'm spectacular in bed…"
"Spectacular?" Hermione interrupted, stifling a small grin. She was not amused.
"I have my own business," he went on, "and can make a decent cup of coffee. I'm even willing to clip Crookshanks' nails, despite risk of death. I'm reasonably good at crosswords, chess and remembering to do the dishes, and I’ve only broken one cup in the past month. I can recite all eight verses of Sweet Anna-Mae, and helped Longbottom work out the refrain of Rum, Rum, the Night’s Full o' Rum, which was somewhat repetitive, I agree, but that’s the basic concept of pirate ditties anyway, you know…”
He wasn’t even looking at her now, she noticed, his eyes downcast as he traced circles on the oak table. Blaise was deep in a ramble. Blaise never rambled.
“…I’ve only forgotten our anniversary once, and that was when Draco was in St. Mungo’s, so you can’t really blame me for that. Certainly isn’t something you’d hold against me, I wouldn’t think…”
Blaise was nervous.
He didn’t honestly think she was going to refuse to marry him, did he? It was one thing to be put out with the way he’d gone about proposing, and quite another to shoot herself in the foot and say no. She wasn’t stupid, although he’d clearly gotten too caught up in his prattling to recall that fact.
“…And I know you dislike Cat, but you’ve put up with him for this long, haven’t you? Crookshanks pretty much ignores him now, too, so he really shouldn’t be a factor…”
“I’m not an idiot, Blaise,” Hermione interrupted him, her voice sharper than she’d really meant it to be. Although he deserved it, the dumb arse.
He glanced up and caught her eyes, his face slightly flushed. “I know that.”
“I’m not so sure,” she continued, getting up from the table and taking her dishes to the sink. Turning around, she leant against the countertop and crossed her arms over her chest. "You knew my answer before you started, didn't you?"
"Of course," he replied, but she spotted some uncertainty lurking in his eyes.
She sighed. "So start over," she prompted. "And do it properly this time."
******
Susceptible
“You do realize that you’re not really a pirate, right?”
Harry cocked his head to the side. “What’s your point, Hermione?”
Hermione tapped her quill impatiently on the parchment in front of her. “My point, Harry,” she said sternly, “is that you are not wearing,” she glanced down at the special order slip from Madam Malkin’s, “a red silk sash, fitted black breeches, and an Italian linen white button-down.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I absolutely forbid it.”
“But Hermione,” he whined, spreading his hands out imploringly, “Zabini said it was all right. He even helped pick out the fabric. And you know Seamus’ Dad is getting us real cutlasses. We have to wear the outfits.”
Hermione pressed her fingers to her temples, visions of Ron slicing Malfoy’s throat in the middle of the reception rattling around in her mind. “No sharp knives, Harry. Please.”
“And it’s going to look stupid if Neville sings you down the isle in dress robes—“
“Neville is not singing me down the isle,” she cut in.
“What?” Harry looked vaguely startled. “What d’you mean, Neville isn’t singing you down the isle? It’s been planned for ages, Hermione, and he’s worked so hard on The Maid on the Main; he can’t not sing it.”
Hermione tapped her quill on the parchment again, unwittingly blotting out the word ‘forever’ in the vows she’d been working on. “I’m walking down the isle to Annie Laurie, Harry. And Lavender is singing it.”
“But Zabini said Neville could—“
“Oh, sod Blaise,” Hermione shouted, dropping the quill in disgust and tearing up her now ruined vows. Wasn’t anything going right? “It’s not his place to say, is it?”
“Erm…” Harry trailed off, giving her a wary, wide-eyed stare. “It’s not?” he finally asked softly.
She gave an exasperated sigh and sank down low in her chair. Leaning on her elbows she shoved her hands into her hair and hung her head. “This is my day,” she said tiredly. “And I’m not going to let you, or the crew, or Blaise, or Blaise’s parents, or his damned cat, or Snape and his sour face that Blaise insisted on having as a groomsman, ruin my wedding.”
“What’d his cat do?”
She sat up and waved her hand dismissively, then tugged a fresh sheet of parchment from her bag. “What didn’t he do?” she countered, unwilling to put into words the fact that she knew, just knew, from merely looking at the scrawny alley cat, that the beast would want to bear the rings to the altar. Over her dead body would that happen. Crookshanks would pitch a fit.
She scratched her quill determinedly across the rough surface of the parchment, her lips pressed in a grim line. Blaise, you are my greatest passion and only love… Merlin, what drivel; why had she ever agreed to write her own vows? She was rubbish at expressing her feelings, and felt love words were a waste of time. Actions had always appealed to her senses more than any words ever could; although, she suspected that was Blaise’s influence over her… He was such a quiet, steady man. So why had he wanted them to write their own damn vows?
“Um, Hermione?”
Glancing over at Harry, she gave the seating chart he’d been working on a thoughtful frown. “Oh no, Harry, you can’t put Blaise’s grandparents there.” He had the elderly Mr. and Mrs. Zabini nestled between Neville and Seamus, at the table that should have been strictly members of the crew.
“Oh, that,” Harry shrugged. “Zabini put them there, not me. But do you want Ginny up at the head table with Malfoy?”
“I suppose so,” she grumbled, although it wasn’t so much for having Ginny join them at the head table, than for having Malfoy, the best man, along with Snape, Baddock, and Flint there as well. Slytherins in her wedding party… She shuddered. Blaise and Millie didn’t count, of course, since they were the most un-Slytherin-like Slytherins she’d ever encountered. “Just don’t put her next to Padma or Parvati.”
Blaise, you are my greatest passion and only love. Before these witnesses, our closest friends - closest friends, ha! – and family, I take you into my life, as you are already in my heart. – Good Merlin, she was making herself gag – So much between us is left unsaid, our minds knowing what is too powerful to express in mere words. Yet now, on our wedding day, I find I can say the very thoughts that had before only found their way to the surface in glances; in the closeness we’ve shared over the years. I love you, Blaise. I will always love you, for the length of our lives and all that comes after. – Oh, for crap’s sake, now she was crying.
“Hermione, are you alright?”
“Of course,” she choked out, wiping futilely at the tears that were trailing down her cheeks, unable to stem their flow.
Harry hopped out of his chair and circled round to her, pulling her up and into his arms.
“I’m fine,” she sniffled into his shirt. Yes, she was fine and, apparently, incredibly susceptible to drivel. After a few minutes, she drew herself away and gave her best friend a fond, watery smile. “Tell the boys you can wear your stupid outfits,” she said finally, her voice thick with tears. “And Neville can sing The Maid on the Main.”
“Really?”
Hermione nodded. “Really. But please don’t give Ron a cutlass.”
******
Staying Sober
They’d ended up at the Three Broomsticks, since it was relatively easy to find it nearly empty on a Friday night. Neville was all smiles, chatting up Zabini’s younger brother, Hock. Seamus and Dean were deep in a dangerous game of darts, their aim more than a little off. Harry was flirting shamelessly with Madame Rosmerta. Various Slytherins were milling around, looking shifty, and Snape was scowling himself into a stupor in the corner.
Ron was highly amused, and close to comatose.
It’d been a brilliant idea, he thought, to start drinking early in the afternoon. Nothing like a binge to get you ready for a wedding. A wedding that involved the unholy union of a Gryffindor to a Slytherin. And then the seas of Hell would cover the earth in fire and lava.
Ron giggled, which made him think he was even more shit-faced than he’d assumed, and then spotted a certain evil Slytherin lurking, bleary-eyed, at the bar. The thought of Ginny and Malfoy together had never ceased to make him… insanely angry. However, he was more afraid of Ginny’s temper than he’d ever admit, so he’d recently been making an effort to be civil to the man. No time like the drunken present to bury the broadsword.
"Malfoy," Ron slurred, waving his hand, “c’mere.”
The blond blinked at him slowly and took another pull at his beer. "What?"
"C'mere," Ron said again.
Malfoy moved forward and slumped into the chair next to him, eying him warily. "Weasel."
"Malfoy," Ron's voice dipped down low, "I jus’ wanted to tell you that, e’en though Gin's mad about you," he hiccuped, "I really hate you. I mean… really. Hate you."
The evil git’s smirk was slightly sloppy, and looked suspiciously like a grin. "I hate you, too, Weasel,” he said. “With all my heart."
It almost brought a tear to Ron's eye, the adamancy of Malfoy’s reply, and he threw an arm companionably about the other man’s shoulders.
And then his chair toppled over and he landed with an “oof” and a pained groan, the chair rungs digging into his back.
Harry loomed over him, laughing. "You were getting a mite too comfortable with Malfoy, mate."
"Thanks," Ron managed.
Zabini appeared at Harry’s shoulder and leant down to help him up. “Glad to see you aren’t fighting, at least.”
“Give us a few hours,” Malfoy drawled.
Ron climbed to his feet, placing his palms on Harry and Zabini’s shoulders. The room was spinning just a bit. Not enough to alarm him, but enough to make him wish he was currently back on the ground. He blinked at Malfoy. “How the bloody hell can you still drawl when you’re drunk?”
“I’m not drunk,” Malfoy stated blandly.
“Not drunk,” Ron echoed incredulously. He whirled his head towards Zabini. “He says he’s not drunk. D’you think he’s drunk?”
“I believe that you’re drunk,” Zabini said with smirk.
Ron rolled his eyes. “No shit, Zabini. I jus’ had my arm around Malfoy.” Ron grimaced. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”
“I’m tipsy,” Malfoy offered, now staring down the throat of his beer bottle.
“Tipsy? Tipsy?” Ron chuckled. “Girls get tipsy, Malfoy.”
“Fine,” he shrugged. “I’m moderately buzzed, then. Slightly blurry around the edges. Happy.”
“Happy?” Harry sputtered, followed by a deep and very un-Harry-like guffaw.
“Malfoy is most definitely drunk,” Zabini declared. “He gets vociferous when he’s over imbibed.”
“Voci-whaterous? Imbibed?”
Zabini held out his hands, palms up. “I’ve stayed sober to take care of you lot,” he explained.
“Not acceptable,” Harry stated. “Rosie, four shots of goldshclager, m’dear,” he shouted over to the bar.
“Really, Potter, it’s not necessary. I’m planning on being coherent tomorrow.”
“Nonsense,” Harry pressed. “You hafta get pissed at your bachelor party. It’s the law.”
“Oh yes, Potter. It’s the law,” Malfoy sniggered.
"Stuff it, Malfoy," Ron growled.
The blond gave him a derisive sneer. "Make me, Red."
"Oh, isn't that cute," Blaise cut in, grinning at Harry. "He's given him a pet name."
Malfoy glared at him. "If it wasn't your last day of freedom, I'd take offense at that. And," he added, "I didn't give it to him. Gin's shortened that dreadful 'Red Beard' name he took on years ago. It was out of habit."
"Methinks he protests too much," Blaise said archly.
Harry grinned back. "They have a passionate love-hate relationship and their fire cannot be quenched."
Ron blanched. "Now I really am gonna be sick."
******
Impending Doom
Lavender slid off her chair and landed in a heap of giggles. "Lavender Longbottom."
Hermione glanced at the clock. Only nine at night and Lavender was already sloshed. Not that she wasn't feeling a bit tipsy herself, of course. "What, Lav?" She leant across the table and patted the top of her friend's head. "Lav, Lav, Lav."
"You two," Ginny said grandly, lifting her glass, "are drunk." She punctuated her statement with a soft hiccup.
"Lavender Longbottom!" the girl on the floor shouted louder, in between bouts of laughter.
The doorbell rang and Hermione pushed herself up from her chair - when had the air turned to pudding? - and staggered slightly as she made her way down the hall to the door.
The Patil twins took one look at her and said, "You're drunk."
"Am not," Hermione shot back petulantly, then hooked her thumb over her shoulder. "Lav's having a fit."
Padma rolled her eyes and started forward. "Wait," she said, pausing. "Is MacGreggor here?"
"Not yet," she shook her head, "but Gin is."
Parvati groaned. The Patil twins were not on the best terms with Ginny and Brandy. In fact, Hermione didn't think there was ever a time that they had been. She pushed them forward. "Don't be cowards, now."
Lavender had managed to pull herself back into her seat by the time they reached the kitchen, and she was cradling her head in her palms.
"Neville proposed," she said.
Ginny burst out laughing. "Lavender Longbottom!"
"It's not funny." Lavender twisted her lips into a pout, then started giggling again, collapsing onto the table, and stretching her arms out across the wood.
"You are all drunk," Parvati stated.
"Got it in one," Ginny said, then muttered under her breath, "hag." Only it turned out to be not so much under her breath, as over.
"Shove off, Weasley," Padma bit out.
"Listen, hair girl," Ginny slurred, pushing back from the table and rising. "I'm here to celebrate Hermione's impending doom--"
"Hey!" Hermione cut in.
Ginny waved a dismissive hand at her, "Hush, Hermoninny. I’m dressing down Patil here. Now, where was I…?" She wavered a bit on her feet. "Oh, yes, I'm here for Hermione's last gasp--"
"Hey," Hermione bit out again, this time shoving Ginny on the shoulder and nearly toppling the girl.
Ginny gave her a lopsided grin. "Don't bother denying it, Hermione. You'll get married and stiffen up, same as you always did at school. When the children come… forget it!" She paused, her nose crinkling in confusion. "What was I doing?"
"You were--"
Hermione clapped her hand across Lavender's mouth. "You were just about to floo Brandy and tell her to get her arse over here," she said.
"Oh," Ginny still looked frazzled. "Are you sure?"
Hermione nodded emphatically. "Yes. And you were definitely not going to attack Padma and her hair. Definitely not."
"What the bloody hell is wrong with my hair," Padma cried, reaching her hand up to smooth over the back of her head.
"Nothing," Hermione stated primly over Lavender's giggles.
Ginny approached the twin, her eyes narrowed, or rather, squinted, as everything was a bit blurry, and warily pinched a hardened strand. "How much gel do you use, Patil?" she murmured, fascinated by the girl's permanent wet look. "You must go through ten times as much of the stuff as Draco, and that man's obsessed with his hair."
Padma slapped her hand away with a scowl. "I’m not nearly drunk enough to deal with this abuse properly."
"You're not drunk at all," Hermione pointed out as she less than gently shoved Ginny out of the room and towards the fireplace.
"Precisely." She dropped down into a chair at the table and took a healthy swig of fire whiskey, grimacing as it burned a slow path down her throat. "Good stuff," she gasped.
"The better to get drunk with," Parvati said, mimicking her sister and downing three fingers of the amber liquid in one swallow. "And we’d better do it fast, before Brandy gets here."
The doorbell rang. "Too late," Padma groaned.
Ginny stepped back into the kitchen, looking startled, her eyes wide as she leaned against the doorframe. "S'not Bran," she shook her head. "I only just floo-ed her."
"Maybe Hannah changed her mind…?" Hermione trailed off as male voices drifted through the open kitchen window…
"She's th' bonniest maid in th' port,
Yo ho
She hasn’ a spot or a wart.
"She's th' loveliest lass on the docks,
Yo ho
Fair as th' beached sun-bleached rocks."
The girls gathered around the window and peered down into the yard, watching as the group of men, most notably the crew and Draco Malfoy, made spectacles of themselves on Hermione’s front lawn. The verses were slightly muddled, but they boomed the refrain, off-key and nearly shouting and still, in their drunkenness, attempting to use pirate-ese.
"Oh, stick Anna-Mae in th' 'old, they all cried!
She'll scream if she's tied te th'mast.
The sea wind is 'ard on a fair wench's skin,
Stick 'er below so's she'll last.
"Me pa tol' me take what ye want,
Yo ho
Me mam tol' me want what ye take."
A small group of Slytherins, obviously unfamiliar with the ditty, stood in the back, arm and arm, shouting out random 'Yo ho's.
"No diff'rent with Sweet Anna-Mae,
Yo ho
'cept she'll steal yer own 'eart fer 'er pay…"
"Never thought Draco would deign to learn the words to that," Ginny mused. "Hey, love," she yelled out at him.
“Neville!” Lavender screeched, waving an arm wildly and managing to smack Hermione in the head.
"Oh, stick Anna-Mae in th' 'old, they all cried!
She'll scream if she's tied te th'mast.
The sea wind is 'ard on a fair wench's skin,
Stick 'er below so's she'll last."
In their drunken state, none of them except Neville clearly remembered all eight verses of Sweet Anna-Mae, and so they launched into song after song, lifting their beers to the window where the girls were hanging half out.
"Are they singin' Rum, Me One True Love or Rum, Rum, the Night's Full o’ Rum?" Lavender asked.
"Neither." Ginny cocked her head to the side. "Sounds a bit like Pass the Rum Down."
Hermione rested her elbows on the ledge. "I think they're all singing something diff'rent. Idiots," she added fondly.
"Look," Parvati cried. "Millie's here." She pointed towards the walk, where Millie's tall figure was silhouetted against the street lamps.
"And Brandy, too," Ginny grinned. "We won't be seeing her much, then."
"Why not?"
"Need you even ask, Lav? Men. Lots of them. With impaired judgement." Ginny giggled. "Oh, none of them stand a chance."
"Doesn't she fancy your brother?" Padma asked with a sneer.
Ginny waved her hand dismissively. "Ron's a bit of a spaz," she said.
"You shouldn't talk about Ron like that," Hermione admonished.
The younger girl arched a brow. "Are you saying you think he isn't barking mad most of the time?"
"Well… he can be somewhat… odd," Hermione conceded. "But they all are, really, don't you think?"
"Neville's penning a book of ditties," Lavender offered.
"Oddest bunch of Gryffindors I've ever come across," Padma agreed.
"Coping mechanism," Hermione said firmly. "They're allowed to have their fun."
"I s'ppose," Parvati said slowly, then leant out the window and shouted, "Oy, Millie! Come on up!"
"Good goin'," Ginny muttered. "They've spotted her now."
******
Yeah, lame-ish. And I leave ya hanging. I just felt the need to entertain you all...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 11:50 am (UTC)Of course, now you will have to explain why the twins and GInny are at odds.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 12:18 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 03:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 03:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 06:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 06:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 06:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 06:56 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 07:05 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 07:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 08:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 12:46 pm (UTC)I caught the Padma bit, and adored it. One of the funniest lines from the "Archenemy" series.
Grown wizards totally pissed and singing pirate ditties... you have made my day.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 02:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 03:01 pm (UTC)You must finish this! Please... pleeeeeeease. I beg you! I will get on my knees and plead. I loved this series and really, we all need dry wit humor. PLEASE. *blinks innocently* I'll send you carp wrapped in Tom articles? Or something?
Please. *begs like a dog for a biscuit*
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 03:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 04:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 06:00 pm (UTC)Hey, I've got an incredibly stupid question for you. Where do you get the pics you use to make icons and layouts? I'm in a creative sort of mood, but have no where to begin :)
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 06:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 06:14 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 06:26 pm (UTC)Yeah, you usually give a nod and following
And no question is stupid if you learn the answer from it (you know, that's decidedly not a Slytherin answer, but so very true nonetheless).
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 06:44 pm (UTC)My brother is currently living in Atlanta and loves it down there.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 06:52 pm (UTC)*grins* I would love it people would please, please learn that I-85 and I-75 is not the place to cut across 8 lanes of traffic. Born and raised about 20 minutes outside, in a little town called Grayson. Grayson's claim to fame? The CDC. No really. That's it. It was so small up until about 3 years ago that they didn't even have a Waffle House. That? Was tragedy personified. But you know where I went wrong upstairs. I thought Scarlett was the best (also? good representation of Atlanta women) hero around.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 07:00 pm (UTC)Scarlett, huh? If I squint and tilt my head, maybe. I always thought she was a bit blockheaded. Rhett was obviously so much better than Ashley, the ponce. He wasn't even a strong enough character for slashy fantasies.
Wow, I'm way off in a tangent. Can you tell I'm trying to avoid writing my fics?
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 07:10 pm (UTC)And CB has the BEST hashbrown casserole and popcorn shrimp things. Mhm. It's cheap too. Which is even better.
Yes, but in the end, she went after Rhett once she had gone back to Tara to recoup. She also made sure her family was well-fed (okay, so she had to marry Sueellen's beau, but they were fed in a time of strife) and she made sure she got whatever she wanted. Not one of the other women in the family were strong enough to deal with the issues. And Rhett understood that and loved her for it. Eventually she understood it. And who else would make a dress from drapes (besides Laura Ashley).
I'm avoiding this Pansy thing in my head, so I understand.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 07:17 pm (UTC)Valid points, yes. She grew alot in the war, too. And although she was a bit warped, she was very strong... probably wouldn't have lasted if she wasn't.
Still, Ashley???
I confess I loved the sequel almost as much as GWtW. I like it when loose ends are tied :)
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 07:21 pm (UTC)And she did grow a lot. I liked that. And warped? *SEE* further proof, she was a good rep of my town. Look at me. ;)
Well, she might have thought she wanted the "white knight" and then found nobility isn't always the key in success.
I couldn't watch Scarlett after the casting of Timothy Dalton. I was gonna and watched like two seconds and turned it off.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-14 10:06 am (UTC)I confess I didn't watch Scarlett... Can't wrap my mind around any Scarlett other than Vivian Leigh and you're right. Timothy Dalton?
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-14 12:04 pm (UTC)And yeah, I don't see Val Kilmer's ex as being Scarlett. And Dalton was not Gable, no no no. It's like making Britney Spears as a nun. Nope. Ain't happening.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-14 02:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-14 02:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-14 02:11 pm (UTC)And now I'm going to hell.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-14 02:21 pm (UTC)And I agree about him. He was annoying too. Like in the "I'm washed but don't want to admit way." Gotta love those people.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-15 04:59 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-15 07:45 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 04:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 04:40 pm (UTC)I will, however, try my utmust to follow through with this ficcy ;)
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 04:42 pm (UTC)*mumbles about teh ebilness of puppy eyes*
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 06:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 06:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-13 06:21 pm (UTC)