Title: A Pair of Brown Eyes (1/2)
Author: Granger
Author Email: ali_granger@yahoo.com
Category: Romance, Humour
Keywords: Harry, Hermione, Ron, The Three Broomsticks
Spoilers: All four books
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Join Harry and Hermione for a pint of romance in the Three Broomsticks, with special appearances by the
Dursleys, assorted Weasleys, and the Invisible Drunken Gryffipede...
Pairings: H/H
Author's Note: This is just a bit of rambling fluff I wrote while stuck on the latest chapter of my ongoing fic,
Blush. All music here is by The Pogues... "Living in a World Without Her" is the song performed in the pub.
Schnoogles to everyone on the good ship HMS Pumpkin Pie, hope you enjoy! :)
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers
including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is
being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
* * * * *
A Pair of Brown Eyes: Part I
"and a rovin', a rovin', a rovin' I'll go
for a pair of brown eyes"
-- The Pogues
Harry Potter was drunk.
It was not at all an unpleasant sensation, Harry thought, as the interior of the Three Broomsticks swam before him in a warm blur. The Hogsmeade pub was packed to bursting with older students and locals, most of them wrapped in scarves emblazened with the Gryffindor house colors of scarlet and gold. He was crammed comfortably in a dark corner at a table with Ron, Hermione, and the Weasley twins, none of whom were much better off than he was at the moment. Harry's eyes fell on Ron, who was polishing off a pint of Broomstick's Best Ale and laughing uproariously at something Fred had whispered to him.
Fred Weasley did look unusually funny, it was true. Harry grinned to himself and took another swig of ale, still marvelling at their latest prank. After today's Quidditch match -- Gryffindor had won against Slytherin, Harry snagging the Snitch as usual -- Fred and George had smuggled Harry, Ron, and Hermione out of the usual celebration in the Gryffindor common room, insisting in hissed whispers that they were taking them somewhere extremely important. Harry had snagged his invisibility cloak, and the five of them had crept through the castle to the secret passage that lead to Hogsmeade. Once inside the passage, George had pulled two tiny bottles out of his pocket, and he and Fred had each taken a sip from one.
The effect was so disarmingly astounding that Ron had to clap a hand over Harry's mouth to keep him from rousing the entire castle with one startled roar of laughter.
Fred Weasley was Uncle Vernon. And George, it seemed, was Aunt Petunia.
Harry had to sit down on the floor, his sides aching, eyes streaming with tears, as Ron, Emma, and Hermione stifled their own giggles and attempted to pull him back to his feet. Fred was strutting up and down the passage doing his best imitation of Harry's uncle.
"Not one more peep out of you, boy!" he barked, before losing his composure and breaking into laughter himself.
"Fred's got all the luck," remarked George, in an uncanny imitation of Aunt Petunia's voice which drew renewed giggles from Hermione. "We flipped for it, and he got to be old Vern here. I'm stuck with the Horse-Faced Lady."
"Stop -- stop!" Harry managed to gasp, struggling to his feet. "You'll kill me! What on earth are you doing?"
"Taking you to Hogsmeade, you dolts," said Uncle Fred Dursley.
"Surely you must know about the post-Quidditch parties at the Three Broomsticks?" inquired Aunt George, looking down his now-long and donkeylike nose at them. Harry shook his head.
"Oh, come on," sighed Fred with a look of great exasperation. His face turned purple, just like the real Uncle Vernon. Harry choked again and tried to regain his composure. "After every Quidditch match of the season, there's a rip-roaring party at the pub," said Fred. "Blows the roof right off the place. And this time, we're going to be there. Folks'll be too blasted to notice you once we get inside."
"How did you -- " interrupted Harry.
"Easy enough," smirked George. "You think we don't pay attention when we come to pick you up over summer holidays? Swiped a hair each from Vernon and Petunia when we were last there. Remember, I asked to use the bathroom? I just -- "
"STOP!" Harry was laughing again. "That I do not want to hear. Polyjuice potion, right. What's it for? Why do you want to troop into Hogsmeade looking like a couple of blazing idiots?"
"Harry, for a famous wizard, you can be really daft sometimes," sighed Fred. "Who d'you think's going to buy us drinks?"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It had been surprisingly easy, once in Hogsmeade, to slip into the packed interior of the Three Broomsticks, shielded by the large forms of Fred and George as Vernon and Petunia. Fred and George steered Harry, Ron and Hermione, huddled under the invisibility cloak, into an unoccupied table in a dark corner, then left them and returned bearing mugs of dark, foamy ale. After they had settled in, confident no one could possibly notice them in all the uproar, the four of them had slipped out from under the cloak.
Hermione looked distinctly worried. "I can't believe we're doing this," she hissed at Harry.
"Ease up, Hermione," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, have a little fun, will you? No one's going to notice us, and if they do, we can just say that Harry's relatives took us out for a bit of supper or something."
"Harry's Muggle relatives took us to Hogsmeade? And bought us drinks? I'm sorry, Ron, but -- " Hermione's eyes were wide with protest.
"Will you relax!" groaned Ron, sipping his ale and wiping foam from his upper lip. "Look, if you don't want to be here, you can go on back to Hogwarts."
"Well! I -- " Hermione began, but Harry interrupted her.
"Hermione, it's okay," he found himself saying. His head felt light, buzzing with the infectious atmosphere of the rowdy pub, still giddy from watching Fred and George transform themselves into his horrendous relatives. He'd just won a match against Slytherin, and he was at Hogsmeade with his best friends. They deserved to have a little fun. Lord knows Hermione deserves it, he thought. He put a hand on her arm; she turned to look at him.
"Just stay for a little while," he said quietly. "It'll be fine, I promise. And if you still want to leave after that, I'll take you home myself."
Hermione seemed to relax slightly at Harry's words. She looked back at him and finally nodded.
"And besides, Granger." Harry fixed her with a stern look. He raised his pint glass. "Bet I can drink you under this table." He grinned.
Hermione was silent for a moment, gazing at Harry with an unreadable expression. Then she looked up at him, her eyes glinting, and picked up the pint glass in front of her.
"You're on, Potter," she said, raising an eyebrow defiantly.
"Harry, you daft git, you've never had so much as a sip of cider," muttered Ron under his breath. "Cheers, then!" he said more loudly, smiling broadly and clinking his own pint heavily into Harry and Hermione's, foam sloshing onto the table.
Harry took a long draught from his glass, the ale malty and sweet, leaving a trail of delicious warmth as it went down his throat. All around him, the noise of celebration drowned his senses. He leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. He'd give all the galleons in his Gringotts vault just to have a Pensieve like Dumbledore's right about now. He never wanted to forget what this first sip of ale felt like, the pleasant ache in his shoulders from Quidditch, the blur of scarlet and gold, the faces of his friends as they huddled around the table, Fred and George as the Dursleys -- and the brilliant flash of Hermione Granger's eyes as she lifted her glass to his.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Four." Harry drained his glass and set it back onto the table with an authoritative thunk, sending a spray of leftover foam across the table. Hermione rolled her eyes and glanced at her own pint, which was still half full. She fixed Harry with an unsteady look of determination, lifted the pint glass, and took a deep breath, but suddenly gave a loud hiccup. Foam splashed from her glass and onto her nose. Harry choked.
"Hermione, we don't really have to race, y'know." Harry chuckled and reached across the table to wipe the foam from Hermione's nose with one finger. He handed her a large purple Three Broomsticks cloth napkin.
Hermione was blushing a deep red; she tossed the napkin at Harry's head. Harry ducked. "You shut up," Hermione grinned. "S'no fair, you're bigger than me."
Truth be told, Harry had lost count of their drinks some time ago, but it didn't seem to matter, as he guessed that most of the other patrons in the Three Broomsticks probably couldn't count backwards from ten at the moment. A motley group of musicians had pushed their way into a corner of the pub and were setting up instruments; the noise of the crowd had risen to a steady hum. Harry had spotted Hagrid and Professor Sprout at one table, looking rather too jolly to notice him; Fred, George, and Ron were busy amusing themselves with drunken impersonations of the Dursleys.
Harry glanced at Hermione from across the table. That left the two of them, sitting out like a pair of Dobby's odd socks. Harry was often reminded of the time he and Ron hadn't spoken to each other during their fourth year, and he had spent most of his time with Hermione in the library; that seemed so long ago. He hadn't felt -- this way -- when he looked at her back then.
When Rita Skeeter had written those articles -- even then he hadn't given Hermione a passing thought. He couldn't count the times he'd breezily laughed off the suggestion that he and Hermione were a couple. All those times he'd said the words "Hermione" and "girlfriend" over and over again, without ever really looking at her, without thinking about what she meant to him. How could he have been so daft? Right next to him, for all these years, was this incredible girl who would give her left arm to help him, who was his best friend -- and he'd been blind.
Harry shook himself. Come off it, Harry, he thought, studying his empty glass. You sit next to her every day of your life. She's clearly not interested in you. You're only going to botch things up if you keep thinking like this. She's your best friend, and you sure as hell don't want to lose her.
But he sure as hell wanted to kiss her.
The band had finished setting up, and immediately struck up a jubilant Irish folk tune which practically shook the rafters of the pub. The crowd roared with enthusiasm and bodies began jostling against one another as people tried to leap to their feet and dance. Harry could just glimpse the lead singer through the surging crowd; he looked three sheets to the wind.
"My girl could break my heart, and tear my soul apart, but I couldn't see myself living in a world without her," growled the vocalist in a rough, thick brogue. The fiddler was whirling; golden sparks shot from the bow of his fiddle as he played.
Harry's eyes flicked to Hermione's. She was looking at him now from across the table; he was expecting to see her usual sardonic smile. But instead, her warm brown eyes were shining with happiness, slightly unfocused from the ale, her cheeks tinged pink. Harry's heart surged. For a moment, they said nothing, content to hold each other's gaze while the music swirled wildly around them. The song ended; the pub shook with rousing applause.
"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said softly. She was positively glowing in the warm light of the pub. "You were right. This is amazing."
Harry felt himself flush; then, with a boldness he had no idea he posessed, he reached across the table and took Hermione's hands in his own.
"Thanks for staying," he said.
Hermione's eyes flickered with something Harry had never seen before. For a moment, she didn't move. What was he doing? He had no idea, but he suddenly felt as if nothing in the world could go wrong.
"Harry!" crowed Fred, jostling him roughly as he rose from his seat. He was sweating madly in Uncle Vernon's massive form. "You've finished your pint. I'll get us more, then!"
"Right!" breathed Harry, sitting up quickly and running a hand through his untidy hair. Fred was weaving slightly as he pushed his way back towards the bar where Madame Rosmerta had been pulling pints nonstop for most of the evening.
"Just one more round though," called Ron, who was reclining in his seat, his cheeks almost as red as his hair. He gave Harry a sloppy grin and draped an arm around Aunt George Petunia as the band struck up again.
"C'mon, Georgie, just one dance," he slurred. "Will be a scream."
George looked down his horselike nose at Ron. "Absholutely not, young man," he scolded. "What will the neighbors think?"
Hermione broke into a fit of giggles. Ron began to argue, but was interrupted as a large pint of ale thunked down onto the table in front of him.
"Here we are," said Fred in Uncle Vernon's deep voice, setting down four more pints of ale and squeezing back into his seat. He raised a glass again.
"To the best Sheeker Hogwarts has ever seen," he proclaimed resolutely. "who has given us this fabulous excuse to come here tonight."
"Hear, hear!" chorused everyone at the table. Harry took another sip of ale, his ears pink. Seeker? What were they going on about? Oh -- that match was today! And he hadn't done half badly, either, he thought absently, grinning at no one in particular. For a few moments he was again flying breathlessly across the pitch on his Firebolt, his hand closing around the tiny fluttering Snitch.
Hermione watched Harry's eyes glaze with a faraway look. Her head was reeling with ale and music, but she hardly dared breathe. She shut her eyes. Her hands were still tingling with the sensation of Harry's hands closing around them. He had to be drunk. He couldn't know how she felt.
But when she opened her eyes again, Harry's emerald ones were fixed on hers. His face broke into a lopsided grin.
It was going to be a long night.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
= the chapter has now ended =