You Call This A Holiday?

Despite having fallen asleep nearly immediately after supper, Ginny still managed to go to bed relatively early. Although she did have quite a lot on her mind, more than anyone else in the house could have known about, sleep claimed her almost as soon as her head touched the pillow. Ginny was not alone, however, in her state of mind-preoccupation. To Mr and Mrs Weasley's delight, all the teenagers were currently in bed (and for the moment, out of trouble), but those not yet sleeping were entertaining those things they had on their minds. Neville still worried about his Gran, although she was showing no signs of serious injury. He was nervous when he went to visit her at St Mungo's, but a mild headache and slightly raised blood pressure were he only concerns. He also found himself thinking about a certain female quite a lot; one who happened to rescue his toad, Trevor, from an almost certain death from Crookshank's clutches. How could he not think about her when only hours ago she had held his fingertips to her lips, with her long blonde hair tickling his wrist, before she carefully placed the rescued toad in his outstretched palm. Neville unconsciously nibbled on the fingertips of his right hand in the darkened room while pulling up the blankets over his head, thinking about those mysteriously bright grey eyes.

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Luna was lying in the darkened bedroom, passively listening to Ginny's delicately light snores. She was feeling vaguely uncomfortable about her impulsive act earlier in the evening. She had discovered Crookshanks under a table suspiciously eying Trevor the toad. She had gathered him into her hands before Neville noticed him and intended solely to reunite pet and owner. Instead she went an made a foolish production of kissing Neville's fingers before putting the toad in his hands. He had looked surprised, but that would be expected since he had no way to know what was going to happen. She hadn't planned to, but she couldn't help herself. He had been caught off guard, and his expression was priceless, which made it worthwhile. Luckily nobody else in the room noticed because he surely would have been quite embarrassed. She hoped he would chose to not mention it the next day - she knew she wouldn't be able to pretend to look as aloof as usual after that production. But what could she do? Luna was a proud Ravenclaw and she naturally found guys who were adept at crossword puzzles very attractive.

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Hermione was restless. None of the thoughts in her head seemed to make any sense and she had no idea how to reconcile them. She couldn't sleep and Ginny's snoring wasn't making falling asleep any easier. In final exasperation, she stepped out of bed, retrieved her book from off the floor beside her slippers and left the room. In the darkness she did not notice Luna's silvery-grey eyes following her as she slipped out the door.

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Ron was back downstairs in the lounge all alone. He had waited until he was pretty sure the adults in the house were asleep, and crept out of the bedroom he shared with Neville. The other boy made no sound as Ron snuck out of the room, but he had his blankets pulled way up over his head. Ron shook his head and rolled his eyes as he silently pulled the door closed behind himself. The room was dimly lit, with one candle bracketed to the wall providing the only light. He felt strange about being alone in the room, considering his intention. He now had in his possession a full bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, courtesy of his older twin brothers. He had never tried it before but the thought of drinking it excited him. He imagined it would make him feel grown up and possibly a bit dangerous. Unfortunately, he was about to experience this landmark occasion by himself. He had contemplated asking Neville to join him, but thought he might somehow accidently alert one of his parents to their activity, so he dismissed the idea. He could have asked Luna, but in all honesty she was rather flaky and he preferred to not be alone with the girl for long periods of time. His own sister was practically narcoleptic lately, so Ron doubted that she would even be able to stay awake long enough to enjoy a drink, although she undoubtably would have relished the chance. Maybe another time. Hermione was definitely out, since she was a Prefect and would never tolerate such a blatant flouting of the rules. So as pathetic as it was, Ron was about to start drinking alone. Isn't that a warning sign of alcoholism? he thought to himself in irony, not being able to ignore the fact that he really missed Harry at times like this.

Unexpectedly, Ron heard the stairs creaking - someone was coming downstairs. Panicking, he tucked the bottle into the waistband of his pyjama pants and covered it with his tee-shirt. He quickly threw himself down onto the couch and pulled a blanket over his shoulders. If it was his mother, she would never suspect him of being 'up to something' if he appeared to be sleeping, just as long as she ignored the fact that he wasn't in his room. He peeked with one eye open towards the doorway, all too aware that he had neglected to put out the candle. A shadow stretched out into the hallway suddenly - someone must have lit the candle in the stairway on the way down. His body tense as a coiled spring, Ron couldn't pretend to ignore the awkward position of the glass bottle as it settled uncomfortably close to his hipbone. He pleaded silently into the near-darkness for deliverance. He was doomed for sure. Ron inched the blanket up past his nose while trying to see who was coming to find him out.

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Hermione inched down the stairs in the darkness until she came to a candle bracket on the wall. That'll do til I get in the lounge, she thought to herself as she noticed her elongated shadow stretch out in front of her on the stairs. That's odd. I shouldn't be able to see my shadow on the downstairs landing - it's too dark. Did somebody leave the candle burning in the lounge? Book in hand, she stepped lightly through the doorway. Indeed, a candle was burning, but it was not abandoned.

'Ron?'

'Hermione!'

'What are you doing here?!' they each asked incredulously. They gaped at each other in silence for a moment - Hermione in her cotton shorts and tank top, clutching her book as if it were about to escape, and Ron buried under the blanket with a panicked expression plastered over his face.

'If you must know, I couldn't sleep, so I came downstairs to read,' Hermione explained in a huff, brandishing her heavy tome in front of Ron's face.

He eyed her suspiciously. 'Really? Don't you get enough of that thing during the daytime?' A dangerous glare was her only response. Ron changed his tactic quickly. 'I mean, is that the only reason you came down here? You didn't know anybody was down here? You didn't hear anything?'

She appraised him cooly before rolling her eyes. 'Honestly, Ron, I'm not stalking you. Did you know your sister snores? She was keeping me awake - I couldn't believe it!'

'Does she still talk in her sleep?'

'Not that I'm aware of. Why?'

'Oh, just that I've heard Ginny say some amusing things when she's been asleep, that's all.'

'Ron, that is entirely not fair! It's like dreaming, she can't help what she says out loud when she's sleeping!' Hermione exploded with indignation for her friend, but judging by Ron's laughter she figured she shouldn't make a big deal out of it. 'Anyway, that doesn't explain why you're down here.'

'Me?' His mind froze temporarily. 'Oh I came down because, erm - ah . . . Neville was snoring too,' he finished lamely.

'Funny, I didn't hear anything when I was in the hall . . . Why are you hiding under that blanket?'

'No reason.'

Hermione's eyes narrowed to two suspicious slits. 'Ron, what are you hiding?'

'Nothing,' he croaked, knowing full well that she could see the guilt in his face.

'Ron are you starkers under there?!'

'Only under my clothes,' he flashed her a hopeful, crooked grin, but was met with that dangerous glare again. 'Um, no. I have my clothes on.'

Wasting no time, Hermione whipped back the blanket covering her friend and promptly broke into peals of laughter.

'Hey! How do you know I wasn't really starkers?'

'You said you weren't,' she replied, shrugging her shoulders while her attention was drawn to the ungainly bulge in the waistband of Ron's pyjama pants.

'I also said I wasn't hiding anything . . .' he mumbled, as Hermione blushed, wondering what the implications would have been if she had caught him lying.

'Ron, what in Merlin's name is that?' she asked, mildly scandalized, indicating the protrusion from his hip-area.

This was it. He felt completely exposed. 'Please don't tell anyone, Hermione!' Ron pleaded with her. 'Mum'll kill me!'

'Oh, fine,' she acquiesced.

He slowly released the heavy bottle and held it up for her to see, letting the waistband of his pants return to their natural shape.

'Where did you get that?' Hermione questioned in surprise, and Ron detected what he believed to be a hint of admiration in her voice.

'Fred and George left it here for me. They said I should share it, but I didn't know who would want any. Y'know, since Harry's not here and all. I bet he would,' his voice carried an exaggerated wistfulness.

'What about me?'

'Yeah right! What about you? Like you were going to jeopardize you chances of ever becoming Head Girl by drinking underage, Hermione! I know you wouldn't break rules like that.'

'But I already have!' Ron goggled at her as if she had sprouted horns. 'Didn't I mention that to you? Dad bought me a drink of Firewhiskey when we were staying at the Leaky Cauldron. A reward for being made Prefect last year. I remember thinking you'd be jealous.'

Ron was flabbergasted. Prefect extraordinare didn't just break school rules, she broke the law. And was proud of it!

She sat down next to him on the couch. 'So were you going to open that bottle, or what?'

'Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?!'

'Ha ha. Very funny, Ronald Bil-'

'Okay! That's it!' The last think he wanted at that moment was for her to start scolding him with his full name like his mother had. He broke the seal on the bottle of Ogden's and twisted off the cap. 'You want to go first?'

She balked at the full bottle being proffered towards her. 'No glasses?'

'Don't want Mum to ask any questions.'

Hermione sighed deeply in resignation. 'Okay.' She accepted the bottle and put it to her lips, her eyes glinting mischievously at Ron. She took a swig and passed the bottle to her friend, licking the liquid off her lips with relish.

'Go ahead.'

Ron reverently picked up the bottle of Firewhiskey with both hands and poured some into his mouth. He quickly replaced the bottle on the table, sputtering and wiping at his lips. Eyes wide in amazement, he choked, 'It burns!'

Hermione laughed at his shocked expression. 'Good first assessment, Ron, seeing as how it's firewhiskey.'

'You tricked me!'

She grinned evilly and denied it, while he took another hearty swig, attempting to maintain a neutral expression.

'I just didn't expect it to taste that strong!' he said, as he adjusted to the taste.

The bottle was passed back and forth several times until they had made a significant dent in the amber liquid. Hermione was sitting cross-legged on the couch rubbing her arms as Ron took another pull from the bottle.

'Is it cold in here?' Ron asked, noticing the tiny hairs on her arm sticking up in the air.

'Well these pyjamas aren't very warm,' she replied, exaggeratedly indicating her minimal sleep-attire.

'Here,' he said, remembering the blanket that he had stuck behind his back when Hermione exposed his secret. He took great care in wrapping it around her shoulders and knees, and tugged it close around her.

'D'you want any?' she asked quietly, her cheeks warm and flushed from the alcohol.

'Nah, I'm not cold,' Ron replied, a corner of the blanket still in his grasp. Hermione shivered a little and Ron found that he could hardly look away from her face. He shifted his body on the couch and began lightly rubbing her shoulders through the blanket. 'Still cold?' he asked nervously.

'Not anymore.' Her voice was soft and clear despite the whiskey.

His mind was reeling. He hardly knew what he was doing; he was full of booze and was rubbing one of his best friends through a blanket. Obviously he was flying by the seat of his pants - he had no idea what he should do next. As Ron wallowed in indecision, his left hand slid down from Hermione's shoulders, coming to rest just above the small of her back. He felt her body tense, then relax under the blanket. Biting his lower lip unconsciously, he rounded his body to face her again and their eyes met.

They both knew there was some sort of protocol in a situation like this, but neither seemed to know what it was. Ron had never found himself in a position like this before, and Hermione had only experienced the confident actions of a certain Bulgarian Quidditch player.

Ron noticed the blanket had come loose around Hermione's shoulders, and as their eyes locked, he reached to tug it back in place, except that he missed the edge of the blanket. Instead his fingertips brushed the skin of her shoulder, causing him to suddenly let out the breath he hadn't noticed he was holding. His fingers ran over the cotton strap of her tank top, towards her exposed neck. His pulse quickened as his fingers skimmed the smoothness of her skin. His mind was filled with white noise and he was having trouble thinking straight. It was like being in the same room with a Veela. Or more like being under the Imperious curse - he couldn't control what was inevitable.

Suddenly, the candle burned out, plunging the room into total darkness. Ron felt a thumb caress his cheek, as the accompanying fingers brushed through his hair. He inched forward in the darkness, feeling warm breath on his face, scented faintly of spicy Firewhiskey. When Ron's lips finally met the other pair in the dark, all coherent thought ceased.

There was a telltale creaking sound in the hallway, causing Ron and Hermione to break apart. 'What was that?' she whispered hoarsely.

'Dunno. It sounded like someone came in the house. Think we should get back upstairs?'

'Probably. Whoever it is, I'm sure we don't want them to catch us here.'

They stood up and took careful, measured steps toward the hall. The unexpected sound had the effect of sharpening the senses that the alcohol may have dulled. Hermione had one foot on the stair when Ron grabbed her hand.

'D'you hear that?' he whispered urgently.

As she strained her ears, she did hear a faint sound coming from the back of the house. It was so low, it was nearly imperceptible in the otherwise silent house. They inched along to the very end of the hallway where it branched into the alcove where the entrance to the cellar was located. There was a window in the alcove which flooded the area with bright, silvery moonlight. Hermione held a finger to her lips and Ron nodded. She cautiously peered around the corner and said nothing. Ron questioned her with his eyes. She shook her head, then nodded toward the corner. Ron poked his head out and could barely contain his surprise.

There, sitting on the floor in front of the cellar door with her knees drawn up to her chin was Tonks, freely sobbing into her hands.