Rose/Michael
Michael opened his mouth to explain about Lost In Space, and then decided not to. Science fiction was hard enough to explain to wizards when they were sober. "Will's my granddad's name," was how he opted to respond. "My fake granddad's name... nevermind," he said hastily, because that piece of war history was also going to to take too long to explain. "Long story. Steve'd want to kill me if he knew I give you ideas that'll get you in trouble. But he don't know you're here, and you're gonna be fine, living dangerous. Petting porcupines or whatever. More'n fine. Wha--" The noise he made upon discovering that he was being hugged was more like an 'erk'; stealth hugs from Hufflepuff were something he apparently was going to have to get used to.
Yep. Definitely no more drinks for Rose. At least, not if he wanted to live with himself in the morning, and he probably did. It looked like he had a conscience fluttering around in there after all. Michael finished off his beer so it didn't go to waste, and took Rose by the hand, pulling her off her barstool. "See? There you go, Zeller. Doing shit because you want to, that's the secret to life right there. I won't even charge you for it." Dancing with Rose in a situation where it wasn't like, ballroom dancing seemed like it crossing into that mentally-scarring territory again, but why the hell not.