Billy has absolutely no delusions; he can hardly imagine living up to any of Chris's parties, but he's still going to try to throw the best party he can for Tony
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Ron didn't know Billy or Tony all that well, but Harry did, so he'd come along to the party. It was mental, though, that they were expected to wear costumes just because it was Halloween. Halloween was supposed to mean a big feast and decorations, not people dressed in wonky costumes.
Still, he'd managed to find Quidditch robes in the clothes box, and while he would have rather they be Cannon's robes, green ones from the Irish National Team worked just as well in a pinch. He'd never had a problem supporting them, anyway.
It had taken longer than Hermione anticipated to finally manage a costume which suited her fancy. Halloween had never meant quite the same thing in the magical community as it had among Muggles. The notion of dressing up as a magical creature, as a practitioner of magic, or indeed anything fantastical at all, simply didn't hold appeal with an audience where spells were the standard, rather than out of the ordinary. But now that they were on the island, Hermione saw no harm in finally embracing what she hadn't allowed herself for years, patting down her hat with one last gesture, and hoping that she was at least vaguely recognizable as the leprechaun she was dressed to be.
Finding Ron wasn't too difficult, given the way his red hair popped against the deeper green of his robes, and Hermione tiptoed around the crowd before finally reaching him at last, arms wrapping around his waist as she brought her chin to a rest on his shoulder.
It was weird, the costumes and all, but Hermione being dressed as a leprechaun made it worth it. Looking at Hermione's costume and at everyone else's, he almost wished that he'd been more creative, but maybe someone would ask just what he was dressed as and he'd get to explain Quidditch to someone. He and Harry'd be looking for people to play soon enough, and it could only help.
Ron grinned, though, when Hermione came up behind him; he'd been glancing round the party, looking for her, for what seemed like ages now.
"Don't take this the wrong way, Hermione," Ron said, "but you're really tall for a leprechaun."
"And also the wrong sex," Hermione pointed out with an arched brow, sighing as she pulled away from Ron, standing at a more respectable distance. While it was a party, and one where people didn't seem to have half as many compunctions about indulging whims and desires, she still didn't want to leave the wrong impression on others, especially considering her position on the island Council. "As well as any number of other qualities, but I'm sure that you would prefer to find me the way I am now, wouldn't you? Rather than half my height, and considerably more obsessed with gold."
"Please promise me you'll never grow a beard," Ron replied, though he knew she'd only been joking. And Hermione might have pulled away, but Ron made a point of leaning down to kiss her on the cheek once she wasn't standing behind him anymore.
"I've enough trouble taming my hair; I promise you, if anything ever gives me a beard, it'll be the first thing to go," Hermione reassured Ron, nose wrinkling at the very thought. It would've been a much more plausible risk back in their world, where people devised jinxes for just about anything that they could come up with as a prank. On the island, though, Hermione also knew that such things were possible- switching sexes, being rushed ahead in years, both were things that she'd witnessed in other people, and had absolutely no desire to have happen to herself. Glancing around a bit shyly, Hermione didn't keep the distance between the two of them closed just yet. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that people weren't as prone to teasing on the island, or to remember how much they could get away with, if they wanted.
"And please, Ron, I look ridiculous, really. I thought about another costume or two that showed up in the clothes box, but I did prefer the idea of retaining some of my dignity. Everything else was rather... lacy. Or
( ... )
Ron frowned. He really did think she looked nice, but apparently he wasn't supposed to say it now? Besides, it wasn't as if she looked like a real leprechaun. Ron might've understood if he'd said she looked nice when she really looked like one of those.
"For a fake leprechaun, then," Ron said, hoping that amending his previous statement might work, "You look nice for a fake leprechaun."
It was pretty clear to see that Ron hadn't the slightest clue what to do when Hermione pushed aside the compliment altogether. The confusion was, in of itself, endearing enough that Hermione simply removed her hat and carefully positioned it on Ron's head, before reaching for his hand and entwining their fingers. In truth, she really did think that this outfit wasn't one of her best, a little bit too obvious and lacking in subtlety, but she similarly knew that Halloween was all about emphasizing a theme, and so didn't allow herself to dwell on the idea for long.
"That's very sweet of you, Ron," she replied airily, almost teasing as she glanced over her shoulder, before then leading him further into the party. Perhaps she could even persuade him to dance.
She squashed the hat down on his head and he nearly commented about how it didn't go with his robes, and that people might just think she was someone dressed in green if she wasn't wearing it, but stopped himself at the last minute. With how busy Hermione seemed pretty much all the time, he was mostly just glad they'd been able to convince her to come along at all.
"You know, I think I prefer the feast at Hogwarts," Ron said, as they made their way through the crowd, "but this isn't all bad, as far as Halloweens go."
"I'm not surprised that you'd prefer the feast," Hermione replied with a soft huff of laughter, brow furrowed as she shook her head. If there was any type of event with a wide spread of his favorite foods, Ron would be there, enjoying everything in full and perfectly content for the opportunity. As for Hermione herself, the food was never the main concern. Instead, it was the company, the people she had the rare chance to relax with, hold casual conversation. It was part of the reason why she had never begrudged returning to her parents for the holidays, which naturally meant she was cut off from her friends who remained at school.
Still guiding Ron by the hand, Hermione led them to the edge of the dance floor, an inquiring look in her eye. "Were you planning on asking me to dance?" she asked, tone teasing.
It wasn't always just the food that Ron liked about the feast. There was always something special about Halloween, the feast every year sort of a reminder of their first one at Hogwarts. Okay, so Professor Quirrell had let a troll loose in the school, and Hermione'd almost been caught alone in the girl's toilets by herself with one, but the three of them had become friends that night, really.
"Yeah. Probably," Ron said, and while he hadn't been about to ask Hermione to dance- mostly because he was rubbish at it- the thought had crossed his mind once he'd seen that everyone else was doing it. "Were you going to give me a chance to ask?"
"You've always had the chance," Hermione pointed out quietly, brow arching along with the smile on her lips. She could have, if she wanted, have drawn a sharper edge with her words- the fact was one that had brought them no small amount of fighting in the past, as she was sure that he probably remembered well. But her words weren't searching for an argument. Perhaps it was a product of finding each other at last, or growing with time, or perhaps Hermione had long since resigned herself to the fact that dances would always require a slight push and a nudge on his behalf. Perhaps she should have been the one bold enough to ask, perhaps she should have taken the first step.
But, she reasoned to herself, Ron had managed well enough on the island to pick up on the cues. So instead, she tilted her head, expression coy and wheedling all at once.
Ron was rubbish at dancing. He really was. And one of the last things he wanted to do, even if they were at a party, was dance. But Hermione wanted to, and the last time he hadn't, she'd ended up with Krum instead, the great prat. Not that it was much of a possibility on the island, but the Yule Ball was still a pretty vivid memory for Ron, even if it'd been years ago now.
"Do you want to dance?' he asked her, somehow managing to sound more excited about the prospect than he actually was.
The smile was instanteous, and a blush quickly creeped over her cheeks. She was under no illusion about the idea of Ron actually enjoying a dance, any more than Harry would have enjoyed twirling around the ballroom floor. (The both of them had complained a great amount, after all, heard by her ear even on the days when the two of them were hardly on speaking terms with her for all their excitement and bafflement alike.) But sometimes, it was the compromises which made her love him all the more, that made it all worth it, the arguments and the way both had a tendency of digging their heels to the ground, the way that she'd been so tired at times over the years, tired of pining and never being able to wash the ache away.
"I've wanted to," she admitted then, quietly enough that no one else could hear, "ever since they first announced the Yule Ball in our fourth year." She reached for his hand then, carefully lacing her fingers with his and nodding in the direction of the dance floor.
But Hermione'd been all over Krum fourth year, Ron remembered. Or, at least, that was how he'd thought things were back then, after she'd gone to the Yule Ball with him. Maybe, if he'd thought to ask Hermione, it would have been different, but honestly, it hadn't dawned on him until it was too late, really.
Hand in hers, he started to lead the two of them toward the dance floor.
"Okay, so I mucked things up," Ron admitted, though his tone was more quiet and even than it might normally be, 'What d'you expect me to do about it now?"
"Everyone mucks things up at fourteen," she shook her head, and in spite of all the times she'd brought it up in conversation or in the heat of the moment, Hermione had no desire to dwell on such right then. No desire, aside from that which allowed her to reflect on the emotions she'd experienced back then, highs and lows settling in her stomach like the first wave of giddiness at a casually offered compliment, or bending over to read from the same text. "I certainly did often enough," Hermione added, thinking of Krum and all the expectations that she'd somehow allowed him to build, never having been clear on her relationship with her friends.
Pressing her lips together and deciding to move on from the thought as well as she could, Hermione draped her arms around Ron's neck with a soft smile.
"So what I expect you to do, Mister Weasley, is to place your hands on my waist."
Still, he'd managed to find Quidditch robes in the clothes box, and while he would have rather they be Cannon's robes, green ones from the Irish National Team worked just as well in a pinch. He'd never had a problem supporting them, anyway.
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Finding Ron wasn't too difficult, given the way his red hair popped against the deeper green of his robes, and Hermione tiptoed around the crowd before finally reaching him at last, arms wrapping around his waist as she brought her chin to a rest on his shoulder.
"Sorry I'm late," she greeted with a small smile.
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Ron grinned, though, when Hermione came up behind him; he'd been glancing round the party, looking for her, for what seemed like ages now.
"Don't take this the wrong way, Hermione," Ron said, "but you're really tall for a leprechaun."
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A pause, and she added another detail.
"And with a considerable beard."
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"You look nice, by the way." he added.
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"And please, Ron, I look ridiculous, really. I thought about another costume or two that showed up in the clothes box, but I did prefer the idea of retaining some of my dignity. Everything else was rather... lacy. Or ( ... )
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"For a fake leprechaun, then," Ron said, hoping that amending his previous statement might work, "You look nice for a fake leprechaun."
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"That's very sweet of you, Ron," she replied airily, almost teasing as she glanced over her shoulder, before then leading him further into the party. Perhaps she could even persuade him to dance.
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"You know, I think I prefer the feast at Hogwarts," Ron said, as they made their way through the crowd, "but this isn't all bad, as far as Halloweens go."
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Still guiding Ron by the hand, Hermione led them to the edge of the dance floor, an inquiring look in her eye. "Were you planning on asking me to dance?" she asked, tone teasing.
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"Yeah. Probably," Ron said, and while he hadn't been about to ask Hermione to dance- mostly because he was rubbish at it- the thought had crossed his mind once he'd seen that everyone else was doing it. "Were you going to give me a chance to ask?"
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But, she reasoned to herself, Ron had managed well enough on the island to pick up on the cues. So instead, she tilted her head, expression coy and wheedling all at once.
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"Do you want to dance?' he asked her, somehow managing to sound more excited about the prospect than he actually was.
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"I've wanted to," she admitted then, quietly enough that no one else could hear, "ever since they first announced the Yule Ball in our fourth year." She reached for his hand then, carefully lacing her fingers with his and nodding in the direction of the dance floor.
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Hand in hers, he started to lead the two of them toward the dance floor.
"Okay, so I mucked things up," Ron admitted, though his tone was more quiet and even than it might normally be, 'What d'you expect me to do about it now?"
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Pressing her lips together and deciding to move on from the thought as well as she could, Hermione draped her arms around Ron's neck with a soft smile.
"So what I expect you to do, Mister Weasley, is to place your hands on my waist."
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