In High Spirits

In High Spirits

“No!”

“Harry, stop acting so childishly,” Hermione chastised him for the consecutive time that evening.

Tonight marked a very important occasion, to which Harry and Hermione had been invited. Bill and Fleur were celebrating their first year of marriage, and a feast had been announced to take place today at the Burrow. To intrigue the guests even more, the eldest Weasley child also divulged an enigmatic hint about a surprise near the end of the party, but he revealed no more than that, despite the repeated requests to the contrary.

Our couple, however, was waging a titanic quarrel over the simplest of matters - a sweater that Hermione had spent numerous hours searching for, expecting Harry to wear it for tonight's affair, but to her own surprise, Harry obstinately resisted all her attempts to persuade him to try it on.

“We have an hour to get there!” she steamed on. “I don't want to be late, because of you, Harry.”

He, on the other hand, would have gladly worn the sweater, if it hadn't been for the purple and brown stripes that made up its appearance. Why, even then, he could stand one night being dressed in it, just for Hermione, but one single factor prevented him from even considering the possibility - and that was the pony, emblazoned on the front, and charmed to move when someone tried to wear the sweater.

“Hermione, have a heart! How could you possibly expect me to wear this atrocity?” he positively shouted in return.

“Because I thought it would look good on you,” she answered, surprisingly calmly.

Harry was not prepared for that response. He began to say something, but quickly changed his mind, and stopped.

An awkward silence followed.

“Good?” he started again, “Hermione, you know me better than anyone. When have you last seen me dressed in something so…so…”

He could not find a word, horrible enough to describe the sweater, and instead, glared at Hermione. She, however, was not deterred.

“Try it on, Harry,” she said patiently again.

“No,” he replied coldly.

“We have less than an hour, Harry. I certainly want to honor the occasion on time tonight,” Hermione responded, her tone flaring up slightly.

Harry looked hard at Hermione. He was determined not to yield to her request.

“Then we shall be late,” he said challengingly.

“Not if I can avert it. I challenge you to a duel, Harry. If I win, you have to wear the sweater, and if you are victorious, I won't bother you any longer about it.”

“I accept,” Harry replied with a smirk. He was a proven competitor, and bested Hermione each time they had a duel.

“Let's observe the proper etiquette, then,” Hermione told him snappishly.

Confidently, Harry took a few strides back. He turned simultaneously with Hermione, and after making a slight bow, he cast his wand towards her.

“Ready?” he asked.

“You made a mistake in challenging me, Harry,” Hermione said with a twisted smile.

“Oh?” he replied thoughtfully, but quickly regained himself. “Expelliarmus!”

The red light raced towards Hermione. Yet, she calmly flicked her wrist, and a charm Harry had never seen before enveloped her. His spell was absorbed within the shield.

For several seconds Harry pondered this new development. The shield was a gleaming silvery sphere, completely enclosing Hermione within itself, and she, with a triumphant smile, looked at Harry, who grew increasingly confused and mesmerized by its appearance.

Harry barely heard Hermione mutter a spell, and without time to react while he regained his focus, he quickly found his vision obscured by the wooly fabric of the dreaded sweater, as an invisible force pulled it over his head.

“Hermione!”

“Yes, love?” came a sweet voice from somewhere in front of him.

“Get this thing off me!”

“I won the duel, Harry,” she said simply.

“You cheated!” came his outraged reply.

“Come on, Harry, we only have ten minutes to arrive on time,” Hermione said cheerily, and with a satisfied smirk lighting up her face, she grabbed Harry by the hand, and dragged him forward.

On the way out of the front door of their flat, Harry took his jacket, aiming to put it over the sweater and not take it off the entire night.

While Hermione was placing locking charms on their door, Harry flung the jacket over himself, and buttoned it up to his chin, despite the rather warm July evening.

His fiancé rolled her eyes expressively, and beckoned him to follow without another word.

“Ready?”

“Mhhm,” she answered.

Harry hugged Hermione around the waist, and with one smooth motion, he apparated them both in a near instant to the front gates of the Burrow.

They stumbled slightly on the landing, but straightening up quickly, they heard loud noise was coming from the once stone pygmy. Happy voices, the clinking of glasses as toast after toast was raised, and the throaty voice of Celestina Warbeck could be heard issuing from a wireless.

Without further ado, Harry opened the gate, and led Hermione by the hand up the dark path and to the front of the house.

“We made it,” he smiled ironically at her. “And all the fuss on your part for nothing,” he added with a wink.

“You were as obstinate as a mule on a bridge, Harry,” Hermione answered, as she knocked loudly on the door.

A second passed, and the sudden appearance of Mrs. Weasley slightly startled the new arrivals to the party.

“Harry! Hermione! Welcome, welcome, come on in,” she exclaimed loudly and excitedly, waving her arms like a windmill as she ushered our favourite couple inside the house.

“Leave your jacket on the hangers, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley told him.

“No thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry replied pleasantly. “I think I'll keep it on,” and he caught Hermione's eye.

She gave him a look with a sarcastic smile. “Just you wait,” she mouthed at him.

At that precise moment, Mr. Weasley made his appearance. He was slightly out of breath from having to negotiate the confined space between the chairs and the wall as he came up to the front of the kitchen.

“Evening, Harry, Hermione,” he greeted respectfully. “Come on, you have seats at the other end of the table.” And he led them away towards the back of the kitchen, while Mrs. Weasley rushed towards the stove, and carried back a platter, filled (or rather, overfilled) with more of her famous potato and steak, which issued a mouth-watering aroma as it traveled towards the table.

The party tonight was a vast one. The kitchen had been magically expanded yet again, as well as the table, in order to accommodate the entirety of the guests, which had showed up to celebrate Bill and Fleur's first wedding anniversary.

The couple of honor was sitting at the head of the table. Bill was already nearly drunk, and he was talking with the people around him in a loud voice. George and Fred were laughing at something he was saying, and Fleur looked around her serenely. Remus and Tonks were listening, amused, to Bill's rambles.

Alastor Moody, the ever vigilant former auror, was slumped on his chair, drinking a glass of firewhiskey, and was singing a song under, which made some Order members around him laugh mirthfully.

At last, Harry and Hermione made it to their chairs. Ron and Luna were seated next to them.

“Hey, mate, let me take that jacket for you,” said Ron. “Surprised you aren't boiling already in that thing.”

“No, Ron, that's alright,” Harry waved him off. “I'd rather wear it.”

“Sure? You know cooling charms don't work well on this place…”

“Definintely, Ron,” answered Harry, as beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

His best friend shrugged, and sat down on his chair, between Luna and Hermione.

“Hermione, could you pass me the steak and potatoes?” Harry asked his better half.

“Certainly, dear,” she replied with a mysterious smirk Harry could not fathom.

He took the tray form her, and transferred a portion of the warm meal on his plate. Inexplicably, Hermione's smile grew even wider.

“What?” he asked her. “Do I have something on my nose?”

“No, Harry, not at all…”

Dismissing the notion that Hermione was hiding something, Harry gave his attention to the meal and the glass of butterbeer offered to him by one of the Weasley twins.

The sound of chairs scraping the floor, and laughter immediately echoing all around, caught Harry's attention. A new song started on the wireless. Harry looked up, and his jaw dropped to the ground, as he saw Remus and Tonks dancing wildly on top of the table to the upbeat tempo of the music.

Everyone was cheering, and catcalls issued from someone. Mrs. Weasley walked in to see what the added ruckus was about, and the expression on her face became a combination of indignation and amusement, as she struggled to determine the appropriate coarse of action. In the end, she decided on a compromise - walking over to the wireless, she turned the volume knob as high as it would go.

“Come on, Harry!”

Before he knew what was going on, Hermione took him by the wrist, and pulled him up on top of the table. Behind him, he noticed Ron and Luna following suit. Not far behind, Bill and Fleur took to the table, as the former struggled slightly with balance under the influence of one too many firewhiskey shots.

Against his will, Harry could not help, but yield to the infectious rhythm. His body began to move to the music, as he fell in tact with the music, and meeting Hermione's eyes, he gave her a wide smile that she returned.

Alas, one problem remained. The jacket, which Harry thought had been a smart way around Hermione's determination with the sweater, was now proving to be an obstacle. He grew more exhausted and heated, as the song wound to a close.

“You know, I'm really feeling warm, Harry,” said Hermione suddenly. “Are you?”

Harry knew she was really enjoying his predicament.

“No, not really,” he said, completely at odds with the sweat that had drenched his hair and literally pouring down his face.

“If you say so,” Hermione answered brightly and hopping down from the table, she turned to talk to Luna about Horned Snarklesdooms - apparently there had been a sighting in the Burrow's backyard some days ago.

Harry was mentally berating Hermione, but he knew he couldn't last forever in the jacket.

Finally, he prepared himself psychologically for the outburst of laughter that would shortly come his way.

Harry quickly took off his jacket, hoping against hope to not attract attention to the sweater.

However, his hopes were in vain.

The loud whining of a horse filled the air in the kitchen. Eyes were immediately drawn to the source. There stood Harry, taken aback by surprise, and looking extremely awkward in the offending sweater. He was trying to say something, but no sound was uttered from his moving lips.

Hermione was radiant. She knew Harry would embarrass himself thoroughly, and revenge was sweet, after he had purposefully spiked the bar soap with itching powder two days previously. Unaware, she had showered, and then spent the day, growing more irritated and angry with Harry, who laughed heartily every time he saw her - which was quite often. Yet, she scratched her head thoughtfully. Perhaps her revenge had been too spirited, but she could not help but feel satisfied.

The anticipated wave of laughter did arrive. Harry, flushing red with indignation, sent a furious look in Hermione's direction. His jaw was set, and an angry outburst was surely seconds away…

Then suddenly, against his will, and without apparent reason, Harry's lips cracked in a smile. A chuckle issued from his throat, and soon turned into voracious laughter. He didn't mind the sweater all of the sudden. It was ugly, but he found it humorous. One look in Hermione's eyes told him all he needed to know. She had tricked him, and he found it brilliant!

“Cheers!” one of the twins called, either Fred or George

The hilarity of the situation began to wane, and people again diverted their attention to their own conversations - mostly discussing Harry's sweater as the highlight of the evening's festivities.

On the other hand, Ron decided to take another jab at Harry.

“Mate, did Hermione choose that sweater for you?” he asked, snickering.

“Yeah, she did,” said Harry airily.

“Well, it is a nice sweater,” Luna put in dreamily.

“Really? You think so?”

“Definitely,” Luna said slowly. Ron just grinned, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“That should teach you to put itching powder on the soap, Harry,” said his better half rather loudly.

“That's what this is about!” Harry exclaimed in surprise. “Very funny. You know I was only playing a trick on you,” he added with a smirk.

“My thought exactly,” Hermione said. “I only did the same to you tonight.”

“Hermione, I love you,” Harry said suddenly.

The lady in question was humbled immediately by Harry's show of affection.

“You're…you're not upset?” she asked in wonder.

“I was…but not anymore,” Harry answered calmly.

“In that case, I love you too,” Hermione said.

The moment was interrupted, however, by the piercing sound of a metal spoon being hit against a crystal glass. Bill was standing, slightly dazed, and calling for the party's attention.

“Everyone!” he said loudly.

Faces turned towards the happy husband.

“I have an announcement,” he began, and stuttered slightly, taking a sip from his glass. “My beautiful wife! I love you, love,” he sang drunkenly.

Fleur didn't say anything, but the grin on her face only became wider.

“We shall have a child in a few months time!” Bill continued, and jesting with his hands to alleviate his happiness, nearly fell over on the ground after losing his balance.

Remus, who was standing by him, caught Bill, and put him back in his chair. The latter only grinned and raised his glass once again.

Questioning looks came in Fleur's direction, and a slight nod of her head confirmed Bill's declarations.

An echo of congratulations sounded from every corner of the kitchen, and the crowd piled around Fleur, asking her numerous questions about the pregnancy, the child's name, and some indiscreet, tactless fellow shot out questions that caused the young bride to blush intensely, but those questions were too indistinct for the author to hear, as he hastened to congratulate the mother-to-be as well.

Harry, in the meanwhile, had a brilliant idea. He had managed to get past Hermione's sticking charm, and he took off his sweater, remaining in a t-shirt, and finally felt cool enough to let out a breath of relief. He shrunk the sweater to an impossibly small size. Through skillful maneuvering, he managed to end up right next to Fleur Weasley.

“Fleur! Congratulations,” he offered with a smile.

“Ooh, Harry, you eez so sveet,” the Frenchwoman got up from the chair and hugged him tightly.

“Don't mention it, Fleur,” Harry replied. “I have a gift for the child,” he added.

“Oh, really?” Fleur asked, her eyes wide.

“Yeah,” he answered, and handed her the sweater.

“It eez beautiful!” Fleur exclaimed, and embraced Harry yet again.

He hugged her back, and when she finally let go, Harry gave her one last smile, and departed towards Hermione.

“Where is your sweater, Harry?”

“Gave it to Fleur,” he told her. “For her baby.”

“Oh, how could I be mad at you for that, Harry,” Hermione smiled. “You have a noble heart.”

“Thank you, Hermione,” he said. “Would you like to dance?” he asked her after a moment's pause, as a slow song came over the wireless.

“Certainly.”

The rest of the party was a blur. Congratulations and toasts were raised occasionally for the remainder of the night. Yes, it was a memorable first anniversary.

**

It is true what they say - laughter is a cure for the coldest of hearts. The rest of the evening passed in high spirits, without surprises, and Bill and Fleur's anniversary was a subject for many more toasts; once or twice, some drunken fellow toasted the pony on the sweater to live long and be happy; he might have meant Fleur's unborn child. All in all, the affair was a success, and our favourite couple departed the scene, together with the author, who was there, and rushed expressly for the purpose of telling you this story.

Fin.

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