Fourteen Thousand Galleons

Out of Self Control

Drinks tonight?

She stares at the familiar script for what feels like hours. She's had a good week – an informative week – until Ron came and picked the children up early for the Christmas weekend. He showed up on Friday night instead of his usual Saturday. She argued that she should at least get all of Christmas Eve with the children, but he disagreed and said that they'd have much more fun opening all of their gifts first thing in the morning with their cousins who were also staying at The Burrow for Christmas. Hermione couldn't fight and so she let them go with tears in her eyes.

Harry's owl flew to her window and tapped twice and when she saw his note, she immediately sent him a 'yes' in return. She isn't doing much of anything on Christmas, so why not nurse a hangover?

She's sad and she's tired, but Hermione refuses to let Ron keep her cooped up even without being in her presence. The kids will enjoy their Christmas and she'll do something special with them when they get home on Boxing Day. They'll start a new tradition, something just for them that will be so much more fun than Christmas at The Burrow, they'll look forward to it more than opening gifts on Christmas Day.

She's ready to go in under an hour. Drinks in a pub with Harry. Cor, but she hasn't been out to the pub in so long she's forgotten what appropriate attire is. She settles on jeans and an old jumper she had lying in the back of her closet. It's nothing special; a dark green thing that fit close to her body. She slings on her cloak and she's ready to go by the time Harry steps through her floo.

"I heard about the kids." Harry steps right into her space and kisses her cheek softly. "I tried to get Ron to see sense, but then Molly is keeping the kids until the morning, so I didn't want to make it awkward."

Hermione nods, understanding his predicament. "Let's just not talk about it, okay? The kids will be back on Boxing Day and I'll do Christmas with them then."

"I don't know how you're so calm about it –"

She raises her hand. "Harry, it's taking every ounce of strength I have not to breakdown about it all. Let's go to the pub and have too much to drink."

He listens this time and he guides her out of the flat by the small of her back. It's a quiet walk to the apparation point and she's wondering if she'll have the nerve to talk to him about the book that Draco gifted her. Perhaps with enough liquid courage, she decided.

The pub, a small little thing they apparate to in Surrey, is a dive. Harry loves it, though. He tells her that the whisky they keep in barrels underneath is some of the most flavorful he's ever tasted. She wonders when he became a whisky connoisseur. The bartender, a delicious looking bloke with piercing blue eyes and short, cropped dark hair, tips his chin as Harry walks in. Hermione's blown away at Harry's familiarity here; she doesn't think any one place in this world is as familiar to her.

He pulls out a solid, wooden chair and gestures for her to sit. Hermione can't help but glance over her shoulder and try to take in more of the pub. So many people are looking at them, it's unnerving. Is he a regular here? She watches the bartender pour whisky into tumblers and then he's serving them with magic from across the room. He already knows what Harry drinks.

"Harry." Hermione whips her head back around to peer into Harry's eyes. Her mouth tugs into a slight frown and she leans into him to avoid prying ears. "Do you... have a drinking problem?"

She hears him chuckle as he takes the seat next to her – not across from her as she's used to with other people. His heat is rolling off him in waves, even when he removes his cloak and hangs it off the back of his chair, he's running hot and it's seeping into her. A whisky is set down in front of her but she's not paying it too much attention.