fic for hafthand: I Never (Fred, George, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Draco, PG)
Title: I Never
Recipient: hafthand
Rating: PG
Character(s): Fred, George, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Draco.
Warnings: Other than some absolute ridiculousness and inadvertent R/Hr undertones? Nothing.
Author's Notes: I swear I didn’t make this out to appear like an R/Hr but the request did specify any genre was acceptable . . . I actually started another story that was big, too big to finish and after receiving far too many time allowances, I scrapped it and wrote this instead because I couldn’t let my recipient go without their fic. Anywhoo, the guys have a night out in the pub. And this is what happens:
- - -
“Fred, George, make some space.”
“Yeah, budge up, Fred.”
“There’s no room on this side - sit on the other side, Ron.”
“Yeah, Ronnikins, sit over there with your girlfriend.”
Ignoring the rising flush to his cheeks, Ron hissed in his brother’s ears. “She’s not my girlfriend, you git, and I can’t sit over there because Malfoy
is sitting there.”
“Yes, and God forbid you have to sit with the likes of him,” George said facetiously.
“Ease up George,” Harry pleaded. “Just move over and let us sit down.”
“Fine, we’ll move over,” Fred said and then he added: “For Harry.”
Knowing not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Harry sat abruptly when Fred and George made enough space, leaving Ron to fend for himself.
His face burning with anger, Ron prepared to retaliate fiercely against his brothers and supposed best friend, when a drawling voice from the left interrupted his fit.
“Just sit, Weasel, I don’t bite,” Malfoy said with an amused quirk to his lips. “Often.”
“Please, Ron, sit down.” Hermione not so much pleaded, as ordered, as she scooted down the bench, making enough space for Ron. Malfoy made a big show of moving down the bench to where he was practically sitting on top of Hermione, exaggerating the amount of space Ron would require.
“There, Ron, plenty of space for your fat arse - now sit,” said George.
Grumbling to himself, Ron plopped himself down on the bench and glared at Harry, who silently mouth ‘I’m sorry’ but his insincere shrug and smirk lessened its affect. Ron kicked him under the table.
Rubbing his sore shin and shooting daggers at Ron with his eyes, Harry turned his attention to the table and grabbed one of the mugs of butterbeer. “Wait, why are you even here, Hermione? It’s Guys’ Night,” he asked between sips.
“Oh, so this is an exclusive outing? I’ve been your friend for ten years, fought alongside you, even done your laundry but because I’m not a ‘guy’,” and, here, she used bunny quotes for extra emphasis, “I’m not allowed to be here tonight?”
“Yup,” said George. “It’s exclusively a male thing.”
“And since you’re quite obviously,” Malfoy said, looking her up and down with an appreciative smirk, “female . . . you don’t get to stay.”
“Well, I never!” exclaimed Hermione. She then hit Malfoy on the arm, but she should have hit him in the face if she had wanted to remove the salacious sneer from his lips.
“It is tradition, Hermione,” Harry began in a placating tone but was cut off by Ron.
“And you can’t mess with tradition, Hermione. Don’t you have a girls' night once a week too?”
“Oh, but that’s different, I was forced to attend by wand-point by your sister.” Hermione pointed her finger at the twins, who sneered in return.
“We have taught her well,” said Fred, speaking of Ginny. George nodded fervently.
“Listen to this double standard, gentlemen,” Malfoy began, “it’s all right if she has a girls' night but it’s not permissible for us to have a guys' night - and she demands admittance to both. Is that not a bit selfish?”
“Hear, hear!” said Fred, thumping his mug of butterbeer on the table top. Soon, George, Ron, and a reluctant Harry joined in. Malfoy remained sitting there with a smug look upon his face whilst Hermione’s mouth was gaping like a fish, a faint blush was rising to her cheeks.
“Well, I see I’m not wanted.” Hermione admitted defeat and began to wrap her muffler around her neck when George interrupted her action.
“Oh no, you’re wrong there. You’re definitely wanted . . . by Ron!”
“Fred!” Ron yelled and forcefully kicked at his brother’s leg under the table. He missed and hit George instead, who retaliated with an even fiercer kick that skimmed off of Harry’s already sore shin on its way to hitting Ron. Soon, an under-the-table kicking war ensued. Hermione decided it was actually a good idea not to stay and save herself at least a modicum of dignity.
Since she was trapped in the corner and had no other option of escape lest she wanted to be kicked as well, Hermione ambled over the table top blushing furiously as the other patrons of the Three Broomsticks began to stare openly at her friends’ antics.
“I’m leaving now,” she said as she put one arm through the sleeve of her jacket.
Nothing but more ruckus.
“Goodbye.” The other arm now.
In order to catch Malfoy off guard and introduce a little variety into the kicking war, Fred began flicking butterbeer in Malfoy’s face. Soon butterbeer was flying in tiny droplets throughout the whole booth.
“I’m GOING,” Hermione said a little more loudly, a little more forcefully, trying to compete with the insanity of the pretend war in front of her. Realizing no one was going to say goodbye, she turned on her heel and stamped her way out of the pub and into the snowy night.
“She gone yet?” asked George after sending a swift kick to Ron.
“Think so,” said Harry as he dodged an incoming wad of butterbeer-soaked napkin.
“Then I think we can stop now.” Ron’s voice was muffled since he wrapped his arms around his face, preventing a hail storm of butterbeer wads from burning his eyes.
An immediate ceasefire reigned and each boy attempted to remove any and all butterbeer-napkin debris from their respective persons. Harry performed a scourgify on the table and Ron sent sheepish looks of apology to the bartender who glared in return.
“We really should think of a better tactic of getting rid of Hermione,” Ron said as he brought his attention back to the table. “It takes longer and longer for my bruises to go away and I think Rosmerta will have our heads the next time we do this.”
“But public humiliation is the only sure fire way of ensuring her immediate exit,” said George.
“We could always have Ron profess his undying love for her.” Fred tapped his chin as if in deep thought.
“Perhaps, but Merlin knows I don’t want to witness that,” drawled Malfoy. “I’d be scarred for life.”
“I’ll give you a scar,” Ron threatened and prepared to punch Malfoy but Harry reached over the table and laid a hand on Ron’s forearm, preventing Table War II from commencing.
“Well, now that we’ve successfully removed the Harpy, what are we going to do?” Ron shot Fred a look of anger at Fred’s terrible nickname for Hermione, but Fred shook it off easily, used to Ron’s myriad of facial expressions.
“First things first,” said George. “More butterbeer. Oy! Rosmerta, another round, if you please! On Malfoy’s tab!”
Rosmerta, who had never fully forgiven Malfoy for using her under the Imperius Curse, put another round of butterbeers on Malfoy’s tab, and a second one just in case, with obvious pleasure. She threw in a bottle of vintage elf wine as well, to be consumed later by her - due recompense for Malfoy’s previous misdeeds. She then filled five mugs of butterbeer and sent her least pretty barmaid to deliver them, as she was tired of the Weasley Twins hitting on her help. If they hadn’t have played a crucial role in saving the world, she’d have kicked them out on their identical arses ages ago.
Rosmerta observed as the barmaid delivered the mugs that it was clear the Weasley Twins had no limitations to their flirting - apparently anything female with two legs made the cut. After teasing the barmaid sufficiently, they sent her blushing furiously back to the bar.
Oh well, Rosmerta thought. Better her than me.
Fred was still chuckling to himself at his witty joke that sent the barmaid away in a tizzy when Harry decided that it was time to get things started.
“What is on the agenda tonight, then?” he asked.
“Did anyone bring cards?” asked George.
“No,” said Fred.
“Chess board?” asked Ron.
“Negative,” said Harry.
“Did anyone bring anything useful?” asked Fred.
“Well, I had brought Hermione but we sent her away, didn’t we?” said Malfoy.
At the mention of Hermione, Harry was immediately reminded of something they could do to pass the time. “That reminds me,” he said, “I know what we can play.”
“What is it?”
“Well, it’s a Muggle game . . .” Harry said hesitantly and with good reason. Malfoy immediately shouted: “Veto! Veto! I am not playing another Muggle game, not after that horrible incident involving ping pangs -”
“Ping pong,” Harry corrected, “and this game is harmless. Well, mostly. There aren’t any balls flying at horrendous speeds involved.”
“What is the game, Harry?”
“I never.”
“You never what?”
“No, I never. That’s the name of the game. I never.”
“And how do we play this game?” asked Fred.
“It’s quite simple, actually. Everyone puts up ten fingers like this.” Harry lifts his hands and spreads his fingers. “The first person tells the group one thing they have never done. Anyone in the group who has done that thing must put down one finger. At the end, whoever has the most fingers up is the winner.”
“And the most boring,” commented Fred with a smirk.
“My money’s on Ron,” added George. “He’s a dull thing, never up for a laugh.”
“Thanks for the support, George,” Ron said flatly.
“Isn’t this game a bit . . . childish?” asked Malfoy, his eyebrow quirked and his fingers drumming softly on the table.
Harry looked a little sheepish. “Well, I did only learn of it when I was
seven. I never actually have played before. I had overheard it being played
at one of Dudley’s sleepover parties. I was listening at the door and -”
“That’s enough. We don’t need to hear anymore about your awful childhood,”
Malfoy sighed exasperatedly.
“Well, let’s get started then!” exclaimed Fred who lifted his fingers and moved them about excitedly.
“Yes, let’s play a round in honor of Harry’s lamentable upbringing,” said George, who splayed his fingers and wriggled them about like his twin.
“You go first, Harry,” said Ron.
And thus the game began.
“All right then. I’ve never . . . stolen from a bank.”
“Come on Harry, this game will last forever if you say stuff like that. That’s like saying I’ve never gone to the moon.”
“Yeah, let’s make them realistic, shall we?”
But the twins failed to notice that a single finger did go down on the hand of their very own brother Ron. Malfoy, however, didn’t miss it.
“Weasel, you must be joking. You? Stole from a bank?”
Ron’s cheeks flushed but he nodded silently.
“Ronnikins! You great thief, what did you do?”
“Yes, do tell,” said George in mimic of a teenage girl, complete with eager eyes and clasped hands.
“Fine. It was when Bill first started at Gringott’s, before he was even a Curse Breaker. Mum, Ginny, and I were in Diagon Alley on an errand and Mum wanted to stop in and say hello. So we did and while she was talking to Bill, I noticed something shiny on the floor. It was a knut. No one was around when I picked it up, it looked like no one wanted it, and so I pocketed it. I stole from the bank. I actually had nightmares about it; that the goblins were going to get me, so I buried it in the backyard.” Ron looked away with a very deep blush.
Fred’s mouth hung open like a fish.
Malfoy was in laughing raptures.
George was shaking his head slowly. “Our dear brother Ron, the great bank robber,” he said flatly.
“Your turn, George,” said Harry in hopes of changing topics.
“All right,” said George, snapping back to gleeful attention, rubbing his hands together wickedly. “I’ve never kissed Hermione Granger.”
“Oh, but I have,” said Fred in a sinister tone. He quirked an eyebrow at Ron as he slowly lowered one finger.
“FRED!” Ron roared. “You . . . you, you . . . you kissed . . . you kissed Herm . . . Hermione kissed you? How could you? How could she?”
“Quite easily, actually. I simply cornered her last New Year’s under the mistletoe. You’d been making doe eyes at her all night and I knew you’d never make a move unless something spurred you into action. I strategically placed us right in your line of sight, went in for the kill, and you didn’t even see it, Harry had distracted you with a game of chess. And then she slapped me.”
“Good,” said Ron but he was hardly pleased that his brother kissed Hermione before he had the chance.
“You Weasleys are pathetic,” said Malfoy. “To charm a girl you have to corner her under mistletoe or you pine after her and suffer in silence? It’s a wonder you multiply at all at the rate it takes for you to find a wife.”
“Shut up, Malfoy.”
“Yeah, what he said.”
“I was just making an observation.”
“Wait, who even invited you?”
“I do believe it’s my turn,” said Fred, who turned his mischievous eye on Malfoy. “I’ve never bought my way onto a Quidditch team.”
“Ouch.”
“Burn.”
“Sting.”
Malfoy retaliated with his best evil eye and sneer and said: “I’ve never owned a joke store.”
“Touché,” said Fred with a smile.
“My turn then,” said Ron. “I’ve never been an only child.”
“Does Dudley count?”
“No.”
“Ron! You’re not supposed to deliberately hurt me, you know?”
“That’s for making me sit next to Ferret.”
“Fine. Even?”
“Even.”
“Touching, really, but I don’t want to lose my dinner,” said Malfoy with a look of disgust.
Completely annoyed by Malfoy’s incessant sarcasm, Harry responded: “Fine. I’ve never been attacked by a Hippogriff.”
“Ooh!”
“Double burn!”
“I’ve never had a ridiculous lightning bolt shaped scar on my head!”
“It’s not your turn, Malfoy.”
“I’ve never been blond!”
“I’ve never fallen off a broom!”
“I’ve never been a ferret!”
“All right, you guys! Enough!”
“I’ve never lived in a cupboard!”
“I’ve never been the son of a Death Eater!”
“Shut up, Malfoy! Stop it, Harry!”
“I’VE NEVER BEEN IDIOTIC!”
“I’VE NEVER BEEN UGLY!”
“ENOUGH!” roared Fred, whose outburst stunned both Malfoy and Harry better than any stupefy ever could.
“I think,” said George, “that we’ve had enough of this game. Now let’s kiss and make up.” He cast a furtive look at Malfoy and Harry that meant if they did not shake hands, they would both be guinea pigs in the twins’ next round of experimentation at the joke shop.
Malfoy and Harry stared at each other with unparalleled irritation but it was Harry who first broke eye contact and mumbled, “sorry,” and held out his hand.
Malfoy curled his lip as he took Harry’s hand and shook it, both boys relinquishing their hold as fast as possible.
“Well,” Fred sighed, “this night has dissolved fast.”
“I concur,” said George. “It’s best we call it a night. You two,” he pointed at Malfoy and Harry, “need to go home and cool off. You.” He pointed at Ron. “It is way past your bedtime, and we,” he pointed at himself and Fred, “have a date with Madame Rosmerta.”
Ron snorted. “You two’ve been pining after her for years. What makes you think tonight will be any different?”
Fred feigned insult and turned to his twin. “Foolish child.”
“He knows not what he speaks.”
“Let us remove ourselves from his negative aura.”
“Capital plan, my dear brother. Oy! Rosmerta! It’s your lucky evening. . .” George trailed off as he and Fred pushed Harry out of the booth and sauntered over to the bar to a rather harried looking Rosmerta.
Rolling his eyes, Malfoy picked up his coat and shuffled out of the seat after Ron, mumbling: “That was the dumbest game I’ve ever played. I don’t even know why I hang out with you lot.”
Overhearing Malfoy’s mumbling Ron turned quickly on his heel so that their noses were inches apart, and he prodded him in the chest. “You don’t have to show up every week, Malfoy. It’s not like we invited you in the first place. You just kept coming.”
“I couldn’t let you lot strategize without me! I was an integral part of the Order too, you know?” Malfoy countered with a push. Ron stumbled into Harry and both shoved Malfoy back into the booth.
“We told you! We weren’t strategizing without you! We were just hanging out!” cried an annoyed Harry.
“Well, maybe I wanted to hang out too!” cried an equally exasperated Malfoy, who achieved even greater heights of frustration when Ron suddenly broke out into laughter.
“That’s rich! Too rich! You mean you actually wanted to spend time with us? Your sworn enemies? I never thought I’d see the day - Draco Malfoy, brought so low that he’d willingly spend time with Weasleys and Potters,” Ron chuckled.
“What did you expect? It’s been two years since the war, why else would I still be here if not for your company?” replied a rather meek sounding Malfoy.
“Honestly?” asked Harry. “I thought because you fancied Hermione and were just using us to get closer to her.”
“The thought had crossed my mind, but no. I wanted to be friends. There, I’ve said it. And now that I’ve been sufficiently humiliated, I’m leaving.” Malfoy lifted himself from the booth, brushed nonexistent dirt from his coat, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and shuffled towards the exit.
“See you next week then, Malfoy?” Harry shouted at Malfoy’s retreating form.
Malfoy paused at the door and turned around with a smug grin. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Potter.” And with that, he went out into the cold, Hogsmeade night.
“Wow, who knew that that’s what it took?” said Ron with a touch of awe as he watched Malfoy make his exit.
“That’s what what took?” asked Harry, half interested as he wiped a smudge from his glasses as he and Ron made their way toward the exit.
“That all it takes to get rid of Malfoy is public humiliation as well. Just like Hermione.”
Chuckling to themselves, both boys made their way past the bar and the twins’ noble attempts at seducing the lovely bartender, to the exit when, to their surprise, the door opened just as Ron was about to put his hand on the doorknob.
Speak of the devil.
“Hermione!” said Ron in surprise.
“What are you doing here, Hermione?” asked Harry, still fumbling with his glasses.
Hermione, looking positively agitated, gave an indiscernible look to Harry and immediately rounded on Ron. “How dare you embarrass me like that! reating me like a pawn - telling me when I can and can’t spend time with you. I won’t stand for it! I refuse to let you two exclude me like you did back at Hogwarts. I refuse to let my gender get in the way of our relationship. I refuse - ”
And Ron did the most unforeseen thing he’d ever be expected to do. Maybe it was the realization from the game that he never took enough risks, or that the twins’ teasing had finally reached Ron’s threshold for tolerance, or the left over adrenaline from bickering with Malfoy. Whatever it was, it gave him the courage to do the one thing he’d wanted to do most for the last five years.
He kissed her.
“Well, I never,” said an astonished and wide eyed Harry. Placing his glasses back on, he angled himself around his two best friends, who were incidentally still kissing, and wandered into the cold Hogsmeade lane.
To his surprise, Draco Malfoy was still standing outside the pub, looking up and down the busy lane as if trying to make a decision of where to go.
Breathing warm air into his hands, Harry stood next to Malfoy, who shifted slightly when he realized he had company. “Some guy’s night, huh?” Harry asked.
“Yeah, some night.”
“Still early.”
“Sure is.”
“Hog’s Head?”
“Lead the way.”
And the two set off towards Hogsmeade’s more infamous pub.
“I’ve never seen a Weasel snog a bushy-haired know-it-all,” muttered Malfoy with a slight smirk.
Harry grinned in return. “Well, I’ve never. . .”
- Fin -
Recipient: hafthand
Rating: PG
Character(s): Fred, George, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Draco.
Warnings: Other than some absolute ridiculousness and inadvertent R/Hr undertones? Nothing.
Author's Notes: I swear I didn’t make this out to appear like an R/Hr but the request did specify any genre was acceptable . . . I actually started another story that was big, too big to finish and after receiving far too many time allowances, I scrapped it and wrote this instead because I couldn’t let my recipient go without their fic. Anywhoo, the guys have a night out in the pub. And this is what happens:
- - -
“Fred, George, make some space.”
“Yeah, budge up, Fred.”
“There’s no room on this side - sit on the other side, Ron.”
“Yeah, Ronnikins, sit over there with your girlfriend.”
Ignoring the rising flush to his cheeks, Ron hissed in his brother’s ears. “She’s not my girlfriend, you git, and I can’t sit over there because Malfoy
is sitting there.”
“Yes, and God forbid you have to sit with the likes of him,” George said facetiously.
“Ease up George,” Harry pleaded. “Just move over and let us sit down.”
“Fine, we’ll move over,” Fred said and then he added: “For Harry.”
Knowing not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Harry sat abruptly when Fred and George made enough space, leaving Ron to fend for himself.
His face burning with anger, Ron prepared to retaliate fiercely against his brothers and supposed best friend, when a drawling voice from the left interrupted his fit.
“Just sit, Weasel, I don’t bite,” Malfoy said with an amused quirk to his lips. “Often.”
“Please, Ron, sit down.” Hermione not so much pleaded, as ordered, as she scooted down the bench, making enough space for Ron. Malfoy made a big show of moving down the bench to where he was practically sitting on top of Hermione, exaggerating the amount of space Ron would require.
“There, Ron, plenty of space for your fat arse - now sit,” said George.
Grumbling to himself, Ron plopped himself down on the bench and glared at Harry, who silently mouth ‘I’m sorry’ but his insincere shrug and smirk lessened its affect. Ron kicked him under the table.
Rubbing his sore shin and shooting daggers at Ron with his eyes, Harry turned his attention to the table and grabbed one of the mugs of butterbeer. “Wait, why are you even here, Hermione? It’s Guys’ Night,” he asked between sips.
“Oh, so this is an exclusive outing? I’ve been your friend for ten years, fought alongside you, even done your laundry but because I’m not a ‘guy’,” and, here, she used bunny quotes for extra emphasis, “I’m not allowed to be here tonight?”
“Yup,” said George. “It’s exclusively a male thing.”
“And since you’re quite obviously,” Malfoy said, looking her up and down with an appreciative smirk, “female . . . you don’t get to stay.”
“Well, I never!” exclaimed Hermione. She then hit Malfoy on the arm, but she should have hit him in the face if she had wanted to remove the salacious sneer from his lips.
“It is tradition, Hermione,” Harry began in a placating tone but was cut off by Ron.
“And you can’t mess with tradition, Hermione. Don’t you have a girls' night once a week too?”
“Oh, but that’s different, I was forced to attend by wand-point by your sister.” Hermione pointed her finger at the twins, who sneered in return.
“We have taught her well,” said Fred, speaking of Ginny. George nodded fervently.
“Listen to this double standard, gentlemen,” Malfoy began, “it’s all right if she has a girls' night but it’s not permissible for us to have a guys' night - and she demands admittance to both. Is that not a bit selfish?”
“Hear, hear!” said Fred, thumping his mug of butterbeer on the table top. Soon, George, Ron, and a reluctant Harry joined in. Malfoy remained sitting there with a smug look upon his face whilst Hermione’s mouth was gaping like a fish, a faint blush was rising to her cheeks.
“Well, I see I’m not wanted.” Hermione admitted defeat and began to wrap her muffler around her neck when George interrupted her action.
“Oh no, you’re wrong there. You’re definitely wanted . . . by Ron!”
“Fred!” Ron yelled and forcefully kicked at his brother’s leg under the table. He missed and hit George instead, who retaliated with an even fiercer kick that skimmed off of Harry’s already sore shin on its way to hitting Ron. Soon, an under-the-table kicking war ensued. Hermione decided it was actually a good idea not to stay and save herself at least a modicum of dignity.
Since she was trapped in the corner and had no other option of escape lest she wanted to be kicked as well, Hermione ambled over the table top blushing furiously as the other patrons of the Three Broomsticks began to stare openly at her friends’ antics.
“I’m leaving now,” she said as she put one arm through the sleeve of her jacket.
Nothing but more ruckus.
“Goodbye.” The other arm now.
In order to catch Malfoy off guard and introduce a little variety into the kicking war, Fred began flicking butterbeer in Malfoy’s face. Soon butterbeer was flying in tiny droplets throughout the whole booth.
“I’m GOING,” Hermione said a little more loudly, a little more forcefully, trying to compete with the insanity of the pretend war in front of her. Realizing no one was going to say goodbye, she turned on her heel and stamped her way out of the pub and into the snowy night.
“She gone yet?” asked George after sending a swift kick to Ron.
“Think so,” said Harry as he dodged an incoming wad of butterbeer-soaked napkin.
“Then I think we can stop now.” Ron’s voice was muffled since he wrapped his arms around his face, preventing a hail storm of butterbeer wads from burning his eyes.
An immediate ceasefire reigned and each boy attempted to remove any and all butterbeer-napkin debris from their respective persons. Harry performed a scourgify on the table and Ron sent sheepish looks of apology to the bartender who glared in return.
“We really should think of a better tactic of getting rid of Hermione,” Ron said as he brought his attention back to the table. “It takes longer and longer for my bruises to go away and I think Rosmerta will have our heads the next time we do this.”
“But public humiliation is the only sure fire way of ensuring her immediate exit,” said George.
“We could always have Ron profess his undying love for her.” Fred tapped his chin as if in deep thought.
“Perhaps, but Merlin knows I don’t want to witness that,” drawled Malfoy. “I’d be scarred for life.”
“I’ll give you a scar,” Ron threatened and prepared to punch Malfoy but Harry reached over the table and laid a hand on Ron’s forearm, preventing Table War II from commencing.
“Well, now that we’ve successfully removed the Harpy, what are we going to do?” Ron shot Fred a look of anger at Fred’s terrible nickname for Hermione, but Fred shook it off easily, used to Ron’s myriad of facial expressions.
“First things first,” said George. “More butterbeer. Oy! Rosmerta, another round, if you please! On Malfoy’s tab!”
Rosmerta, who had never fully forgiven Malfoy for using her under the Imperius Curse, put another round of butterbeers on Malfoy’s tab, and a second one just in case, with obvious pleasure. She threw in a bottle of vintage elf wine as well, to be consumed later by her - due recompense for Malfoy’s previous misdeeds. She then filled five mugs of butterbeer and sent her least pretty barmaid to deliver them, as she was tired of the Weasley Twins hitting on her help. If they hadn’t have played a crucial role in saving the world, she’d have kicked them out on their identical arses ages ago.
Rosmerta observed as the barmaid delivered the mugs that it was clear the Weasley Twins had no limitations to their flirting - apparently anything female with two legs made the cut. After teasing the barmaid sufficiently, they sent her blushing furiously back to the bar.
Oh well, Rosmerta thought. Better her than me.
Fred was still chuckling to himself at his witty joke that sent the barmaid away in a tizzy when Harry decided that it was time to get things started.
“What is on the agenda tonight, then?” he asked.
“Did anyone bring cards?” asked George.
“No,” said Fred.
“Chess board?” asked Ron.
“Negative,” said Harry.
“Did anyone bring anything useful?” asked Fred.
“Well, I had brought Hermione but we sent her away, didn’t we?” said Malfoy.
At the mention of Hermione, Harry was immediately reminded of something they could do to pass the time. “That reminds me,” he said, “I know what we can play.”
“What is it?”
“Well, it’s a Muggle game . . .” Harry said hesitantly and with good reason. Malfoy immediately shouted: “Veto! Veto! I am not playing another Muggle game, not after that horrible incident involving ping pangs -”
“Ping pong,” Harry corrected, “and this game is harmless. Well, mostly. There aren’t any balls flying at horrendous speeds involved.”
“What is the game, Harry?”
“I never.”
“You never what?”
“No, I never. That’s the name of the game. I never.”
“And how do we play this game?” asked Fred.
“It’s quite simple, actually. Everyone puts up ten fingers like this.” Harry lifts his hands and spreads his fingers. “The first person tells the group one thing they have never done. Anyone in the group who has done that thing must put down one finger. At the end, whoever has the most fingers up is the winner.”
“And the most boring,” commented Fred with a smirk.
“My money’s on Ron,” added George. “He’s a dull thing, never up for a laugh.”
“Thanks for the support, George,” Ron said flatly.
“Isn’t this game a bit . . . childish?” asked Malfoy, his eyebrow quirked and his fingers drumming softly on the table.
Harry looked a little sheepish. “Well, I did only learn of it when I was
seven. I never actually have played before. I had overheard it being played
at one of Dudley’s sleepover parties. I was listening at the door and -”
“That’s enough. We don’t need to hear anymore about your awful childhood,”
Malfoy sighed exasperatedly.
“Well, let’s get started then!” exclaimed Fred who lifted his fingers and moved them about excitedly.
“Yes, let’s play a round in honor of Harry’s lamentable upbringing,” said George, who splayed his fingers and wriggled them about like his twin.
“You go first, Harry,” said Ron.
And thus the game began.
“All right then. I’ve never . . . stolen from a bank.”
“Come on Harry, this game will last forever if you say stuff like that. That’s like saying I’ve never gone to the moon.”
“Yeah, let’s make them realistic, shall we?”
But the twins failed to notice that a single finger did go down on the hand of their very own brother Ron. Malfoy, however, didn’t miss it.
“Weasel, you must be joking. You? Stole from a bank?”
Ron’s cheeks flushed but he nodded silently.
“Ronnikins! You great thief, what did you do?”
“Yes, do tell,” said George in mimic of a teenage girl, complete with eager eyes and clasped hands.
“Fine. It was when Bill first started at Gringott’s, before he was even a Curse Breaker. Mum, Ginny, and I were in Diagon Alley on an errand and Mum wanted to stop in and say hello. So we did and while she was talking to Bill, I noticed something shiny on the floor. It was a knut. No one was around when I picked it up, it looked like no one wanted it, and so I pocketed it. I stole from the bank. I actually had nightmares about it; that the goblins were going to get me, so I buried it in the backyard.” Ron looked away with a very deep blush.
Fred’s mouth hung open like a fish.
Malfoy was in laughing raptures.
George was shaking his head slowly. “Our dear brother Ron, the great bank robber,” he said flatly.
“Your turn, George,” said Harry in hopes of changing topics.
“All right,” said George, snapping back to gleeful attention, rubbing his hands together wickedly. “I’ve never kissed Hermione Granger.”
“Oh, but I have,” said Fred in a sinister tone. He quirked an eyebrow at Ron as he slowly lowered one finger.
“FRED!” Ron roared. “You . . . you, you . . . you kissed . . . you kissed Herm . . . Hermione kissed you? How could you? How could she?”
“Quite easily, actually. I simply cornered her last New Year’s under the mistletoe. You’d been making doe eyes at her all night and I knew you’d never make a move unless something spurred you into action. I strategically placed us right in your line of sight, went in for the kill, and you didn’t even see it, Harry had distracted you with a game of chess. And then she slapped me.”
“Good,” said Ron but he was hardly pleased that his brother kissed Hermione before he had the chance.
“You Weasleys are pathetic,” said Malfoy. “To charm a girl you have to corner her under mistletoe or you pine after her and suffer in silence? It’s a wonder you multiply at all at the rate it takes for you to find a wife.”
“Shut up, Malfoy.”
“Yeah, what he said.”
“I was just making an observation.”
“Wait, who even invited you?”
“I do believe it’s my turn,” said Fred, who turned his mischievous eye on Malfoy. “I’ve never bought my way onto a Quidditch team.”
“Ouch.”
“Burn.”
“Sting.”
Malfoy retaliated with his best evil eye and sneer and said: “I’ve never owned a joke store.”
“Touché,” said Fred with a smile.
“My turn then,” said Ron. “I’ve never been an only child.”
“Does Dudley count?”
“No.”
“Ron! You’re not supposed to deliberately hurt me, you know?”
“That’s for making me sit next to Ferret.”
“Fine. Even?”
“Even.”
“Touching, really, but I don’t want to lose my dinner,” said Malfoy with a look of disgust.
Completely annoyed by Malfoy’s incessant sarcasm, Harry responded: “Fine. I’ve never been attacked by a Hippogriff.”
“Ooh!”
“Double burn!”
“I’ve never had a ridiculous lightning bolt shaped scar on my head!”
“It’s not your turn, Malfoy.”
“I’ve never been blond!”
“I’ve never fallen off a broom!”
“I’ve never been a ferret!”
“All right, you guys! Enough!”
“I’ve never lived in a cupboard!”
“I’ve never been the son of a Death Eater!”
“Shut up, Malfoy! Stop it, Harry!”
“I’VE NEVER BEEN IDIOTIC!”
“I’VE NEVER BEEN UGLY!”
“ENOUGH!” roared Fred, whose outburst stunned both Malfoy and Harry better than any stupefy ever could.
“I think,” said George, “that we’ve had enough of this game. Now let’s kiss and make up.” He cast a furtive look at Malfoy and Harry that meant if they did not shake hands, they would both be guinea pigs in the twins’ next round of experimentation at the joke shop.
Malfoy and Harry stared at each other with unparalleled irritation but it was Harry who first broke eye contact and mumbled, “sorry,” and held out his hand.
Malfoy curled his lip as he took Harry’s hand and shook it, both boys relinquishing their hold as fast as possible.
“Well,” Fred sighed, “this night has dissolved fast.”
“I concur,” said George. “It’s best we call it a night. You two,” he pointed at Malfoy and Harry, “need to go home and cool off. You.” He pointed at Ron. “It is way past your bedtime, and we,” he pointed at himself and Fred, “have a date with Madame Rosmerta.”
Ron snorted. “You two’ve been pining after her for years. What makes you think tonight will be any different?”
Fred feigned insult and turned to his twin. “Foolish child.”
“He knows not what he speaks.”
“Let us remove ourselves from his negative aura.”
“Capital plan, my dear brother. Oy! Rosmerta! It’s your lucky evening. . .” George trailed off as he and Fred pushed Harry out of the booth and sauntered over to the bar to a rather harried looking Rosmerta.
Rolling his eyes, Malfoy picked up his coat and shuffled out of the seat after Ron, mumbling: “That was the dumbest game I’ve ever played. I don’t even know why I hang out with you lot.”
Overhearing Malfoy’s mumbling Ron turned quickly on his heel so that their noses were inches apart, and he prodded him in the chest. “You don’t have to show up every week, Malfoy. It’s not like we invited you in the first place. You just kept coming.”
“I couldn’t let you lot strategize without me! I was an integral part of the Order too, you know?” Malfoy countered with a push. Ron stumbled into Harry and both shoved Malfoy back into the booth.
“We told you! We weren’t strategizing without you! We were just hanging out!” cried an annoyed Harry.
“Well, maybe I wanted to hang out too!” cried an equally exasperated Malfoy, who achieved even greater heights of frustration when Ron suddenly broke out into laughter.
“That’s rich! Too rich! You mean you actually wanted to spend time with us? Your sworn enemies? I never thought I’d see the day - Draco Malfoy, brought so low that he’d willingly spend time with Weasleys and Potters,” Ron chuckled.
“What did you expect? It’s been two years since the war, why else would I still be here if not for your company?” replied a rather meek sounding Malfoy.
“Honestly?” asked Harry. “I thought because you fancied Hermione and were just using us to get closer to her.”
“The thought had crossed my mind, but no. I wanted to be friends. There, I’ve said it. And now that I’ve been sufficiently humiliated, I’m leaving.” Malfoy lifted himself from the booth, brushed nonexistent dirt from his coat, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and shuffled towards the exit.
“See you next week then, Malfoy?” Harry shouted at Malfoy’s retreating form.
Malfoy paused at the door and turned around with a smug grin. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Potter.” And with that, he went out into the cold, Hogsmeade night.
“Wow, who knew that that’s what it took?” said Ron with a touch of awe as he watched Malfoy make his exit.
“That’s what what took?” asked Harry, half interested as he wiped a smudge from his glasses as he and Ron made their way toward the exit.
“That all it takes to get rid of Malfoy is public humiliation as well. Just like Hermione.”
Chuckling to themselves, both boys made their way past the bar and the twins’ noble attempts at seducing the lovely bartender, to the exit when, to their surprise, the door opened just as Ron was about to put his hand on the doorknob.
Speak of the devil.
“Hermione!” said Ron in surprise.
“What are you doing here, Hermione?” asked Harry, still fumbling with his glasses.
Hermione, looking positively agitated, gave an indiscernible look to Harry and immediately rounded on Ron. “How dare you embarrass me like that! reating me like a pawn - telling me when I can and can’t spend time with you. I won’t stand for it! I refuse to let you two exclude me like you did back at Hogwarts. I refuse to let my gender get in the way of our relationship. I refuse - ”
And Ron did the most unforeseen thing he’d ever be expected to do. Maybe it was the realization from the game that he never took enough risks, or that the twins’ teasing had finally reached Ron’s threshold for tolerance, or the left over adrenaline from bickering with Malfoy. Whatever it was, it gave him the courage to do the one thing he’d wanted to do most for the last five years.
He kissed her.
“Well, I never,” said an astonished and wide eyed Harry. Placing his glasses back on, he angled himself around his two best friends, who were incidentally still kissing, and wandered into the cold Hogsmeade lane.
To his surprise, Draco Malfoy was still standing outside the pub, looking up and down the busy lane as if trying to make a decision of where to go.
Breathing warm air into his hands, Harry stood next to Malfoy, who shifted slightly when he realized he had company. “Some guy’s night, huh?” Harry asked.
“Yeah, some night.”
“Still early.”
“Sure is.”
“Hog’s Head?”
“Lead the way.”
And the two set off towards Hogsmeade’s more infamous pub.
“I’ve never seen a Weasel snog a bushy-haired know-it-all,” muttered Malfoy with a slight smirk.
Harry grinned in return. “Well, I’ve never. . .”
- Fin -