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Mr. Weasley was faring much better after his unfortunate incident with the stitches, but he still wouldn’t be discharged in time to celebrate the New Year with everyone. Mrs. Wealsey seemed torn, not wanting to leave him on his own but also wanting to be with her children. So, after a little nudging from everyone, she agreed to spend the evening with Mr. Weasley at St. Mungo’s, leaving Grimmauld Place without the matriarch on the final, and most exciting, night of the year.
As soon as Mrs. Weasley disappeared into the emerald flames of the kitchen’s fireplace, the night’s festivities were ready to commence.
“Excellent, we’ll get the Firewhisky,” said Fred, George already ahead of him marching towards the stairs.
Hermione looked up from her book, “Pardon?”
“Oh, Hermione, you didn’t honestly expect we’d sit with our knitting tonight, did you?” smirked George.
She snapped her book shut.
“No,” she said, “Sirius is upstairs.”
“Who do you think told us where the key to the cupboard for the Firewhisky is?” laughed Fred.
Hermione’s lips thinned before she stood up from the kitchen table with her hands on hips and a threatening glare at the twins.
“Your mum would be furious! And we’re underage!”
“We’re not,” Fred and George said.
Hermione looked around to see Harry and Ron with eager grins all over their faces, whereas Ginny sat with a mischievous smile and a cocked eyebrow.
“You can’t possibly agree to this,” but even as the words left her mouth, Hermione knew they did.
Ron was the first to speak. “Lighten up, Hermione. It’s been a pretty shit Christmas. Might as well have some fun.”
She was getting ready to fight back, argue that no, they couldn’t possibly break the law, let alone lie to Mrs. Weasley, and she and Ron were also prefects and could get expelled! But… How could she deny him that? His dad had almost died. Percy, the one sibling that would have disapproved as much as she did, was gone. He’d preferred to stick with rules and laws rather than supporting his family. Did she want to be like him? And honestly, would one night of rule-breaking be that bad?
No one else said anything. Ron’s hands were in his pockets, his eyebrows scrunched as she debated how hard she should resist what was inevitable, her teeth digging into her bottom lip.
If it had been anyone else, Harry, Ginny, Fred or George who’d asked, she knows she wouldn’t have relented. But there was always something about Ron that put her at ease. Maybe, tonight she’d be okay with it. She trusted him, after all.
Hermione took a deep breath in, holding in the tension from the room in her lungs, and finally exhaled, “Fine.”
“Wicked!” The echo of Fred and George’s feet disappeared as they stampeded up the stairs.
“Don’t wake Sirius!” Hermione yelled after them.
Harry gave a loud snort. “He’d come and join if he knew.”
It took only a few minutes before Fred and George splayed out the Firewhisky, Butterbeer, and wine across the dining table. There were several glasses, as well as six harmless-looking phials that looked like they belonged in the Potions classroom.
“So, kiddos, who wants to do a round of shots?” asked Fred, who sat on her right and was in between George.
As Ron was opposite her, she spotted him roll his eyes as he leaned across the table. Taking the nearest bottle of Firewhisky, he uncorked it with a loud pop and poured the golden syrup into a phial until he’d filled it to the rim. Hermione watched as Ron repeated this four more times before setting the bottle down in the middle.
“You didn’t do one for me,” Hermione pointed out, lifting her eyebrow.
“You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to,” said Ron.
“I want to,” she countered.
“You wouldn’t like it.”
“What? I can’t handle it?” Hermione’s voice was rising in parallel to the temperature.
"I know you can’t."
Hermione glared at Ron, and keeping her eyes in line with his, she took one of the shots and downed it.
The immediate heat trickled down her throat, but she mustered control over her expression, careful to not reveal the burn she felt. She wouldn’t be giving anyone the satisfaction of flinching.
An amused grin was spreading over Ron’s face as the twins howled beside her with an, “Oi, oi!”
Once the heat of the first shot had trickled down and settled into her stomach, emitting a glow throughout her core, she licked her lips and took another one. Harry’s jaw dropped. Ginny gasped. Hermione heard George baulk, “No way!”
There was a steady warmth that spread throughout her entire body, sending tingles even down her fingers and all the way to her toes. She was gaining more courage, more fire, and she took a third one.
“Easy.”
Hermione popped her lips in satisfaction. The reaction was perfect – Harry’s eyes had boggled out of his face, and Ginny, Fred, and George had started pounding on the table, egging on the other Weasley, “Ron, Ron, Ron!”
The ears of the redhead in question were burning. A twitch of guilt nestled in Hermione’s stomach as she hadn’t meant to pressure him.
She reached out to take his hand, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
Ron shook his head, a smirking grin wide on his face, and he took the remaining two shots before pouring himself a third.
They were even.
“I wasn’t gonna let you beat me at this,” he said.
The games were on. Fred and George led the way with drinking Exploding Snap, while the others took sides and cheered on. Though they should’ve both had the same alcohol tolerance due to their stocky figure, Hermione was surprised to find George could outdrink Fred rather easily.
The more time passed, the more the volume of alcohol dropped, and the more everyone enjoyed themselves. Harry got quiet and sat with a silly smile. Ginny found anything Fred and George said funnier than usual. Ron became quite clumsy, and Hermione… well.
Firewhisky had an effect on her similar to muggle alcohol. She knew to expect some dizziness, confusion, slowed reflexes, but she didn’t expect to get an injection of courage as the night progressed.
She stared at Ron more, forgetting her sober reminders to glance away from him, lest he should catch her staring – which he eventually did.
“What?” He asked, rubbing his nose.
“You’re just beautiful.” The words slipped out of her mouth so easily that she didn’t even feel embarrassed.
Ron’s pupils grew so large the blue in his eyes were barely a rim.
“A guy can’t be beautiful,” he mumbled, scratching his neck.
“Well, you are.”
He looked down as if contemplating what he wanted to say. Then, “you’re beautiful.”
Hermione hadn’t been embarrassed before, but hearing Ron’s compliment triggered a heat in her face, in her stomach, and rapid throbbing in her chest. She was sure it wasn’t the alcohol.
Her eyes began to sting with the familiar sensation of tears, and she offered a weak smile.
They got lost in each other’s shy gazes, barely aware there was a table between them.
“SHOTS!”
Hermione jumped and saw Fred and George had interlinked their arms as they each downed a shot.
When midnight came, no one really knew. Hermione just wished that her New Years’ wish would come true.