granger; HERMIONE (hgrngr) wrote in reduxpitch, @ 2016-07-24 09:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | !thread, character: hermione granger, retired character: arran wood |
who ? arran wood and hermione granger
when ? sunday morning, 24th july
where ? university of edinburgh
what ? lacrosse
status ?
Hermione’s Sundays, by majority, were not particularly eventful. She often did chores around the house and read a book and prepared food for the rest of the week. This is why, she hadn’t really thought twice before offering one of her Sundays to Arran for purposes of seeing a lacrosse game. It was a lucky coincidence that the world championships were on currently, and so close by, too. They would, of course, have to apparate, but Hermione was sure that the University of Edinburgh actually had magical quarters. This would certainly make the the trip easier. First, however, Arran had to get there.
Having no reason to suspect differently, Hermione assumed that the man would show up on time. She had told him that the game would start at 10. To Hermione this implied that Arran should arrive at hers no later than quarter to ten. She had, of course, been ready by nine. Having had a breakfast, Hermione had settled down in her small lounge, reading a book. It was a rather good book, too. An overview of magical hybridity between Mongolian and Chinese tribes in the Gobi desert. Hermione had been so fascinated with the book that when the knock on the door came, she startled briefly, before glancing at the clock. Not late, she deemed, pleased.
“Hi,” Hermione offered upon opening the door and taking a step back. “Please come in,” she added with a small wave of her hand. “I just need to pick up my bag and I’m ready to go,” Hermione told Arran as she moved deeper into the house to get her bag from where she had put it in the living room. “How are you?” Hermione asked glancing over her shoulder.
--
Arran was, in fact, slightly earlier than Hermione’s estimated quarter to. Uncertain of how long it might take them to hand over tickets and find seats, he’d left his house at 9.40 exactly, and arrived at Hermione’s mere seconds later. It had been an eventful weekend already. He’d been at the World Cup final, which had been several weekends’ worth of excitement all by itself. Would have been, even without the stop in play and Voldemort’s mark appearing in the sky. Arran had no personal familiarity with such things, but he’d grown up in the wizarding world and studied enough history to at least recognise it. Now was not a time to think about it. It was probably just a prank, or some misguided soul showing support for a long-past cause. Now, Arran had lacrosse to think about, which was exciting in its own right.
“Morning,” he greeted, smiling broadly as Hermione answered the door. He’d told her he was looking forward to this and it was absolutely true. “I’m great, thanks,” he said, in answer to her question. The brilliant thing about it not being quidditch season was that he could expend as much energy as he wanted in one action-packed weekend, and then take the whole of Monday to recover, if he wanted. “How are you?”
--
Picking up her bag and a jacket that Hermione had put near it for when she was ready to leave, she gave half a shrug. “I’m well,” she offered. There wasn’t anything spectacular to report. The weekend had gone as most of Hermione’s weekends tended to, especially since she hadn’t gone to watch the Quidditch. Hermione had, of course, heard about what had happened. “Did you go to the game yesterday?” She asked returning to where Arran was stood once she had gathered all her things, gesturing towards the door so they could be on their way. Hermione assumed he had been to the game. It seemed likely. It was also why she had picked Sunday over Saturday for their going to a lacrosse game.
Locking the door behind them, Hermione held her hand out for Arran to take it so she could apparate them to Edinburgh. It only took a few seconds before they were stood in a tiny alleyway at the back of somewhere that lead to somewhere else. Once she had let go of Arran’s hand, Hermione cast a quick location charm. They were almost at the sports grounds, that was convenient. “I heard about the Mark,” Hermione added as if they hadn’t just travelled. Then again, the travel was so brief that it was barely necessary to consider it travel at all. “Not sure why it’s so appealing to set those off at World Cups,” she said thoughtfully, walking towards where the lacrosse was going to be played.
--
“I did,” Arran agreed. Even if he hadn’t gone in person, he would have listened to it on the wireless so he was grateful Hermione had thought to pick Sunday for their outing instead. The delay to the game after the Dark Mark had been necessary, obviously, but it had still left a bad taste in Arran’s mouth. It didn’t seem fair that what everyone would be talking about was politics, rather than the excellent game Bulgaria and Ireland had played. Once they had apparated into what Arran assumed was Edinburgh, he thanked Hermione and made sure his wand was stowed safely out of sight. He liked to think he was pretty good at blending in as a muggle, especially for someone who hadn’t grown up in that world.
He frowned slightly as Hermione picked up the conversation. He wasn’t the most up-to-date person when it came to current events, but he’d read the coverage of every world cup since he’d been old enough to read, and he couldn’t remember anything about a previous one being interrupted. “Do you mean - something other than Quidditch?” he asked, inspiration striking. Other sports had World Cups, didn’t they? Not just muggle ones, either. Quodpot had a world cup that Arran had never particularly followed, and there were certainly competitions for broomstick racing and flying horses, though Arran wasn’t sure any of them were called ‘cups’.
--
Hermione really didn’t mean something other than Quidditch. However, Arran’s question made her realise that she didn’t mean Quidditch either. Or rather, not one either of them would’ve attended. Hermione paused briefly, giving a small shake of her head. “No,” she replied, before giving a small sigh. “Do you recall the laced chocolates from a while ago?” She asked as they approached the stands. There were nowhere near as many people as one would have expected for any sort of World Championships, but still quite a few. Hermione led them through the stands to find seats with a good view. “I get--” she paused giving a small wave at her own head. “Memories, I guess,” since there was no word much better to use.
Once they had settled, Hermione glanced over at Arran. “It’s hard to explain,” she told him. It was confusing. At least Hermione mostly managed to catch herself before she said things that mixed up the... timelines? She was still a bit fuzzy on the definitions there. Though, the prospect of a similar thing having happened in the alternative universe was worrying. Perhaps she should tell someone. But who? “So if I say things that make no sense, it’s mostly that,” Hermione offered somewhat apologetically, before giving Arran a small smile. “On all other occasions, it might just be me,” she said jokingly.
--
Arran listened as they found their seats. “I remember,” he agreed. The Woods had been fortunate in that none of them seemed to have been affected - the advantage of having 3 of the 4 younger children committed to a quidditch training diet. “Still?” he asked. He’d been under the impression that all that had gone away. He certainly hadn’t read much about it lately. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know if apologies were really necessary, but he imagined that anyone would prefer not to have memories of a life they hadn’t lived. He sat down, leaning forward to survey the pitch and make sure he understood - more or less - what he was expecting to see. “I wonder if whoever cast the Dark Mark thought they were living something from that… what are we calling it, alternate universe?” It made more sense, to Arran, than someone being a Death Eater now, when Voldemort had vanished over two decades ago.
He nodded, smiling at Hermione’s joke. He thought if she said something that made no sense, it was most likely to be some aspect of muggle culture Arran didn’t know about - and in that case, he could simply ask and prompt another interesting conversation. “I’ve got no excuse,” he teased back. “So I’ll have to do my best to make sense.”
--
The apologies really weren’t necessary. Well, at least on the presumption that Arran hadn’t been the one to lace the chocolates. Hermione suspected the chances were quite great that he was not, in fact, at fault. “It’s mostly just confusing,” she commented with a small, dismissive wave of her hand. “I’ve been trying to write it all down,” Hermione explained. “To make some sort of sense, but it isn’t always very... clear,” for a lack of a better word. There were things like knowing that someone had already cast a Death Mark into the sky at a World Cup. But then, if Arran hadn’t pointed out that they hadn’t, Hermione very well might have missed that as a memory altogether. On the other hand, there were the odd feelings Hermione was experiencing towards Ron Weasley and that, quite frankly, was just useless to her.
She smiled when Arran told her he had no excuse for not making sense. She doubted that would be the case. At least so far, Arran had seemed perfectly acceptable in his sense-making. Of course, they only had had one conversation. Reaching for her bag, Hermione got out her sunglasses, for thankfully it actually was a nice day. “I realise it’s ten in the morning,” she said turning to glance at Arran. “But what are your opinions on alcohol consumption at sports matches?” Hermione asked, before pulling out two juice boxes from her bag. Hermione Granger did not come unprepared. The juice boxes mostly contained vodka. She was very pleased with herself.
--
Writing it all down seemed a sensible way to organise it - but also a lot of work for a timeline that hadn’t come to pass. “Do you think it’s important?” he asked. “Or is it just curiosity?” The latter he could certainly understand. If Arran knew there was an alternate life he could have lived, he’d want to know all the details. Or at least, all the details that related to himself. He probably wouldn’t care that much if there was a Dark Mark at a quidditch match he wasn’t playing in. “Have you discovered anything interesting?”
Arran watched as Hermione began pulling bits and pieces from her bag. He’d only thought to bring water and money (and his wand, of course), but it seemed like Hermione was several steps ahead. In response to her question, he laughed. “My opinion is -” He stopped, catching himself before he said something downright flirtatious. That wasn’t why they were here. This wasn’t a date. He did his best to smooth over the slight lapse of judgement. “As long as I’m not playing, I think it’s all good,” he finished. He checked his watch, eager for the match to start. He’d looked at photographs of lacrosse, to get a better idea of the sticks-with-nets Hermione had talked about, but he’d resisted the urge to watch any of the videos that google had offered. “Have you picked a team to arbitrarily support?”
--
“Can’t know if it’s important unless I write it all down,” Hermione explained with a shrug as she handed Arran one of the juice boxes. “I’m not sure whether I can identify any of it as interesting. It’s... confusing,” she shrugged, realising she had already described it as such. It was, nonetheless, true. Hermione didn’t really know how to explain it. There were feelings she had that were just grandly unexplainable. The memories, or whatever they were, also fell into that category. Hermione’s lists and notes helped her somewhat, but she doubted they would necessarily be helpful to others.
Poking a straw through her own juice box (because, yes, Hermione Granger had filled tiny juice boxes with a vodka cocktail and then resealed them. It would be a shame to have them confiscated. This way, the alcohol was going to stay just where it was. Well, up until they drank it.), Hermione snorted. “I think we’re safe to presume you will not be playing in the Women’s Under-Nineteen Lacrosse World Championships, Arran,” she informed him with a tilt of her head. “So enjoy,” she added bumping her juice box against his.
At his question, Hermione glanced at the field. The teams were getting ready. “Obviously, I’m supporting the one in red,” she told Arran with a nod. “Three galleons that I win?” Hermione offered. It was hardly a lot of money and as a professional Quidditch player, Hermione was sure Arran could make much larger bets. Her and her clerk salary, perhaps not so much.
--
“But now that you have written it down,” Arran pressed, “do you think it might be important?” He didn’t mean to badger Hermione with questions, and if she’d seemed the least bit distressed over the topic he would probably have backed off, but she didn’t. Despite how confusing it evidently was, she appeared perfectly calm as they discussed it. Maybe it was just that writing it down helped make it less confusing, but if so Hermione could say so and Arran would accept that as the explanation.
He watched as she pushed the straw into the juice box, then followed suit, taking a cautiously small sip. She’d said alcohol, but she hadn’t said what kind and if it was neat tequila then Arran wanted to know before he took a gulp. It turned out to be vodka mixed, he assumed, with the original contents of the carton. He chuckled when she pointed out just how unlikely it was that he would end up on the pitch. “I will, thank you,” he said, raising his box to her in a half-toast.
His gaze followed hers to the teams preparing for the game. “I see,” he mused. “Gryffindor?” He didn’t think he’d known that, had he? She was Potter’s friend, and Harry had been in Gryffindor under Oliver’s (excellent) captaincy, but Potter could have had friends in other houses. Arran certainly had. “Then I’ll take the team in blue.” It wasn’t his house colours, but it was close. “I like the way you think,” he added, grinning when she suggested a bet. “You’re on.”
--
Hermione thought some of the things she had written down were important. That, however, did not mean that the information necessarily was. So at Arran’s question, Hermione gave a small shrug. “I think some of it could be,” she told him honestly. “But none of it is so important that I think it’d make a difference to anyone?” It was a lot like Ron’s dream about Harry drowning. It probably was important, they just didn’t know the context in which it was important. The whole alternative universe thing at this point was proving to be more irritating than interesting.
“So I am,” Hermione confirmed with a nod when Arran asked if she was a Gryffindor. There were plenty of people who assumed that Hermione was a Ravenclaw, but she was rather proud of being a Gryffindor, never shy to point it out. She would have asked him what House he’d been in but it wasn’t terribly important to her. Hermione tried very hard to make opinions not of people not related to their Hogwarts houses. It usually came easily. When Arran agreed to take her bet, Hermione gave him a wide smile, pleased. It was then that the game starter. “Did you read up on how it’s played?” Hermione asked frowning at the field slightly. She could just about remember the rules, she thought, but it also seemed different to watch the game, rather than play it. Or perhaps it was down to the age difference. Hermione wasn’t sure.
--
“I suppose it comes down to whether knowing about what happened in that alternate past is important at all,” Arran mused. Without any memories of his own, it was hard for him to judge. It could be - or it could not be. It depended on a lot of things, including just how and in what ways that past was different from what they’ve lived to - which, presumably, no one was sure of right now. “Confusing seems like it might be the best word for it,” he agreed, shrugging slightly. It wasn’t as if there was anything they could do about it, and Arran liked problems he could actually solve rather than just think about.
Arran glanced at Hermione again, trying to judge her age without staring in a way that could be interpreted as impolite (or, on the other hand, appraising). “You probably shared a common room with at least two of my siblings, then,” he said, after deciding that assuming Hermione was within a year either way of Harry was probably a safe bet. “Oliver and Lottie Wood? Oliver was quidditch captain.” Arran knew that not everyone was as quidditch obsessed as he was, but if Hermione had been friends with Harry at school, surely she’d at least have been familiar with Oliver as his captain? Taking a more generous sip of his vodka-juice cocktail, Arran looked back towards the pitch. “I did. I didn’t watch any of the videos, but I think I more or less understand the rules.”
--
“I don’t know,” Hermione commented honestly when Arran pondered whether knowing what happened in an alternative universe was important at all. Logically, she didn’t think it was, actually. But then, perhaps, it depended on why people were having these memories. Or who had made them happen. For what reason. These were all question no one seemed to have the answers to yet. Hopefully, they would. As it was, though, Hermione was just stuck with random things ever so often appearing in her head. Sensation of experiences she knew she hadn’t had. It was confusing and she was just going to stick to calling it that whenever it came up.
Concentrating on the other half of the conversation and the game, seemed far more enjoyable. Besides, Hermione was sure Arran didn’t really want to listen to her repeat the word ‘confusing’ every third sentence. “I remember Oliver,” Hermione nodded. She thought she could recall Lottie, too, but not as vividly. Of course, Hermione had spent a great deal of time hearing about Oliver from Harry. “I don’t think he’d know me, though,” she added with a shrug. “I didn’t play Quidditch,” which seemed like a fair judgement, since Hermione could not recall Oliver Wood ever speaking to anyone who didn’t play Quidditch. “Celia was couple of years below me,” Hermione told him. She hadn’t known Celia, not really. But like Oliver, Celia had played Quidditch, and Hermione was rather good at recalling Harry’s teammates’ names. She had certainly had to listen to his Captaincy things a lot.
“Good,” Hermione nodded when Arran said he had looked at the rules. “As long as you know when I’ve won the bet,” she added seriously, stopping a smile from appearing by taking a sip from her juice box. Turning away from the game briefly, Hermione looked at Arran. “Have you got any siblings who weren’t in Gryffindor?” She asked. “Or are you the only one?” Because she remembered him not being in her house, even if she had no idea what House he might’ve been in.
--
Arran had to admit that if Hermione hadn’t played quidditch, it was very likely Oliver didn’t know her. Lottie might, and Celia hadn’t been nearly as single-minded in her friendships, which Arran considered a good thing. True, his best friend had been a quidditch player, but he’d had plenty of less close friends who weren’t. “We’re a single-minded family,” he admitted. “Except Lottie. She escaped. Mum and dad work in quidditch as well,” he added, realising there was no reason Hermione should be expected to know that. “Worked, in dad’s case.” Though retirement hadn’t diminished his interest in quidditch any, of course.
“I think I can handle that,” he agreed. “It’s not dressage.” If it had been, Arran highly suspected that even reading the rules over and over wouldn’t have helped him know who was winning. It really was a gloriously ridiculous sport, but not one he had any desire to watch live. It made fine background noise, but he’d need something else to talk about as well. At Hermione’s question about his siblings and their house allegiances, he smiled. “No full siblings,” he said. “And my half-brother and -sister are a lot older.” He paused before asking, “Do you have siblings?”
--
Hermione could somewhat relate to being from a single-minded family. Perhaps not quite to the same extent. “Both of my parents are dentists,” she informed Arran. “I recognise that perhaps it’s not quite the same,” she added after a small moment. It wasn’t quite the same. Especially since she hadn’t gone into dentistry. Couldn’t really imagine anything worse. “I’m an only child,” she added in response to his question. “Do you enjoy it? Being from such a large family?” Hermione asked curiously. “Oh,” she paused. “I guess that’s a silly question, since you wouldn’t really know, same way I can’t say whether I’d prefer to have siblings,” Hermione pondered. She didn’t think she cared much for having siblings, but Hermione had heard other single children express such wishes.
As for dressage, Hermione did have to agree that chances of understanding what was going on, rules read and memorised or not, would be more challenging. “Perhaps we should go see that, too,” she wondered, sipping her drink. “I am unsure how betting would work with that, though,” Hermione added since... well, could one bet on dressage? It did make her think of what other Muggle sports there were that she wouldn’t mind seeing. Dressage really was quite low on that list. “Have you ever been to a rally?” She asked tilting her head to look at Arran. Hermione had an uncle who was very into rallies and she recalled being taken to a few as a child.
--
Despite his years of muggle studies, Arran still sometimes struggled with the names of various medical specialties. ‘Dentist’, he was pretty sure, was either teeth or broken bones. He could have asked, but he supposed it didn’t really matter a great deal whether he knew exactly what Hermione’s parents did for a living. “I do enjoy it,” he said. “I can’t say whether I enjoy it more than I’d enjoy being an only child, I guess, but I can definitely say that I do enjoy what I’ve got.” Arran honestly didn’t think it very likely he’d have preferred not having siblings. “I like having people around, and my brothers and sisters are the best people.” Hands down, the Woods were the best people in the world as far as Arran was concerned. They loved him, and he loved them equally.
Instead of murmuring a polite agreement, Arran shook his head. “I don’t think dressage could hold my complete attention,” he admitted. “I’d get restless and start asking you questions about -” he paused, realising he shouldn’t say muggle when they were out in the non-magical world. “About everything,” he finished, hoping Hermione would guess from his pause what he’d meant to say. “And even if that didn’t drive you crazy, people who actually go to watch dressage on a regular basis wouldn’t appreciate it.” He was a little baffled by her question, which seemed to him to be a significant jump in conversation topic. “Like, a political protest?” he asked.
--
Yes, Hermione didn’t doubt that to Arran his brothers and sister were the best people. She knew that there were sets of siblings who wouldn’t claim that. But then, Hermione also knew there were plenty who would. In a way, Hermione supposed, if you did get on with your siblings, it was like having a lot of close friends. Not that Hermione could particularly relate to that either. She did have some close friends, like Harry and Neville. Hermione had never been particularly great at making friends, though. Oddly, she felt that perhaps she wasn’t doing too badly right now, with Arran. Which in itself was a bit surprising, but she was enjoying herself. Especially since her team scored just as she thought that. “Ooh, you go, nondescript-red-team!” Hermione called out, receiving a few odd looks, which she proceeded to ignore.
Hermione gave a laugh when Arran said that he didn’t feel dressage could hold his attention. She wasn’t convinced lacrosse was holding his full attention since they were chatting throughout it. “Luckily for you, whilst I might not know everything, I do know a lot of things,” Hermione informed him. It was, after all, true. Hermione was very well read. Albeit, most of those things were about magic. Arran seemed to have as much of a fascination with the Muggle world, as Hermione had with the magical one. Still, she was sure she could answer most questions well enough. And it wasn’t like Arran would know better. “No,” she gave a shake of her head at his question. “Car rallies. Motosport?” She offered wondering if that would actually be a helpful explanation. “It’s somewhat like a race, but rather than all driving at once, people compete in how quickly they can drive a particular course,” Hermione explained. “They use different surfaces, often sandy, country roads,” or at least that was both what Hermione understood and remembered about car rallies.
After a short moment, she raised an eyebrow at Arran. “Have you been to a political rally?” She asked curiously. She certainly never had.
--
Arran grinned - both at Hermione’s unusual cheer and at the way she ignored the odd looks she received. That same delight he’d felt at the quidditch stadium bubbled up again, and he was pleased. He got on with most people easily, but it was a while since he’d really made a new friend, and he could certainly see this going that way. Hermione didn’t even seem to mind that their conversation was rather fixed on her knowledge of the magical world and a shared appreciation for ridiculous sports. (In fairness, that appreciation would have put anyone into Arran’s good books. Far too many people didn’t understand the appeal.)
“Oh!” he said, when she explained that she meant an entirely different sort of rally. One that sounded much more likely to appeal. “I’ve watched, uh, the one with the weird name.” He frowned in an effort to call the correct word to mind, but failed. “But they all race together, so that’s not what you’re talking about.” Watching one car drive around a course didn’t sound all that exciting. But then, watching multiple cars driving round and round in circles hadn’t sounded exciting either, and Arran had come to quite enjoy Formula One. It helped to go into it with a little knowledge of the drivers, and watching multiple races in the same season had helped a lot with that.
He was distracted from her question by his team making a very close attempt on goal. “They’ll catch up yet,” he assured Hermione. “The girl with the red hair is fast.” He didn’t feel confident enough to say she was good, but she was certainly moving more quickly than the rest of her team. Settling back in his seat, he shook his head. “No, but I didn’t know any other kind of rally existed.”
--
“The one with the weird name,” Hermione repeated with a frown. That really didn’t narrow it down at all, but Hermione somewhat presumed that a lot of these races were quite similar. Logically, she realised that there were different elements. However, at the end of the day it was just cars going in a circle. The appeal of rallies was (she presumed) that they didn’t go in a circle. “No, rallies are different. I have an uncle who took me when I was a kid,” Hermione explained. “What I remember of it, was mostly sitting around and watching cars attempt to take really sharp turns at a great speed,” which maybe didn’t sound as exciting as Hermione remembered it, but she couldn’t help that. “I think it’s better than it sounds,” she added, taking another sip of her juice box. The small container was almost empty at this point. “Or maybe I just remember it more exciting,” Hermione admitted. Kids perspectives always were more thrilling. But Hermione knew for a fact that plenty of adults also found rallies exciting.
Looking at the girl that Arran was pointing out, Hermione scrunched up her nose. “She is fast,” Hermione agreed. “But the big, blonde girl on my team is going to topple her,” she said determinedly. It wasn’t very clear whether it was a statement for Arran’s sake or for the blonde girl’s. Hermione squinted at the girl as if by sheer staring she could make the girl take down Arran’s speedy ginger player. By some magic (not actual magic), the girl did run into the player in blue, but it wasn’t the one Hermione had hoped for. “This is fun,” she said conversationally. It was fun. Hermione hadn’t, of course, expected not to have fun. Still, she had to admit it was more fun than she had imagined.
--
Arran shrugged. The name still hadn’t come to him, so there wasn’t a lot of help he could offer Hermione in figuring out what the hell he was talking about. Describing it would be useless, as Arran had no idea what made one kind of cars going in a circle different from any other. Arran liked fast cars, so sharp turns at great speed already sounded pretty good to him, despite Hermione’s apparent doubts. “We should find out,” he said aloud, assuming the point of bringing rallies up at all had been a precursor to offering an invitation. “It’d definitely be more exciting than dressage, anyway.” Even if it didn’t sound all that ridiculous. “Is it something that has a specific season?”
He had to agree that the blonde girl probably could topple his player, and he was about to say so when she ran into someone else entirely. “We’ll see,” he said, giving Hermione a deliberately smug smirk. “She might be quick enough to stay out of the way.” Arran wished he’d paid more attention to what qualified as a rough check, but there was no sign of a yellow card so he presumed no rules had been broken. And, given it was a world championship, he supposed they weren’t likely to be. “It is fun,” he agreed, smiling more genuinely. “My siblings are going to be glad I have someone else to talk about sports with.”
--
Hermione had brought it as a suggestion that they could attend together. In the context of their exchanges so far such conclusion seemed obvious. So Hermione nodded when Arran suggested that they should find out. “I’ve only gone in the summer, but I think it happens in the winter, too?” The appeal of standing around and watching cars whizz past in winter seemed less appealing than when the weather was warm. Then again, Hermione did suppose that taking sharp turns in snow might be as, if not more, interesting to watch. “I’ll ask my uncle when and where would be good to go,” Hermione told Arran with a determined nod. She then proceeded to retrieve her bag and get out another two tiny, spiked juice boxes, handing one to Arran. He very well might not be done with his, but Hermione had no intention of outdrinking a professional Quidditch player. So he could have a juice box, too.
Arran’s comment that Hermione was someone to talk about sports with made the woman startle a bit. She had never considered herself as someone who talked about sports. Sure, Harry talked about Quidditch at Hermione, but that was just a fact of life. What was perhaps even more surprising, was that Hermione realise she had, so far, been someone Arran could talk sports with. Her father was going to be very proud. Or would be very proud, if any of those sports had been rugby. Hermione wasn’t quite sure what to give in response to that. Then the big, blonde girl scored and Hermione got distracted by shouting encouragements at her. Most of which, given, involved Hermione loudly advising her to take the ginger girl out.
--
At the information that Hermione had attended in summer, Arran nodded. “Summer’s sooner,” he pointed out. Why wait until winter when they could do something now? They could always go in winter as well. “That sounds like a plan,” he agreed. “I was going to offer to do the research this time, but if your uncle will have personal recommendations…” Well, that took the work out of it for both of them, didn’t it? He gave Hermione a look as she handed him a second juice box. He hadn’t finished his first, still pacing himself after his long stint of sobriety. He still took the second, though. They were small, and there really couldn’t be that much vodka in them. “I hope you didn’t bring me to the lacrosse just to get me drunk and take advantage of me,” he teased. The words came naturally, before he’d really thought about the implication. And once he had, it was too late to call them back.
Even though they weren’t ‘his’ team, Arran cheered right along with Hermione when the blonde scored. And then, at the end, threw in a “Now come on, you blues! Buck up.” He wondered, briefly, whether the other people in the crowd really cared about who won. “I bet you another galleon that Miss Red won’t get tackled before the first half ends,” he offered. That, at least, he might win.
--
When Arran confirmed that it sounded like a plan, Hermione smiled. She quite liked organising things. Even if it had been more work than just asking her uncle, Hermione still wouldn’t have minded. It was nice, however, that Arran said he would’ve offered. “Excellent, I’ll let you know,” she confirmed with a nod. Then, Hermione proceeded to poke the straw through her second juice box. At Arran’s words that he hoped she wasn’t attempting to get him drunk and take advantage of him, Hermione turned to look at him with a frown. “How dare you,” Hermione said seriously, before carrying on. “I would never attempt to take advantage of someone in public,” she told Arran with a shake of her head. Then her eyes returned to the juice box in her hand. “Besides, I haven’t got enough juice boxes for that sort of thing,” which she really didn’t. Hermione had only brought enough to get them marginally tipsy, not advantage takingly drunk. Not that she’d take advantage of anyone, drunk or not.
At the suggestion for another bet, Hermione snorted. “I think not,” she informed him. “I’m at least two juice boxes away from betting on things I don’t assume I’ll win,” which was true. The best way to win a bet was to be certain that you will. Perhaps the overall game bet hadn’t quite been that, but Hermione felt that she could trust the red team. They were doing really quite well so far. Evidently, Hermione made good choices.
--
Despite her serious tone, Arran wasn’t at any point worried Hermione hadn’t understood he was joking. When she added that she wouldn’t take advantage in public, he laughed. It was on the tip of his tongue to quip that he’d have to make sure he didn’t go home with her, then, when he stopped himself. “But once I’m drunk, you can convince me to go anywhere,” he teased instead. “It’s all part of a very elaborate five step plan.” He eyed her bag, as if seriously skeptical about the number of juice boxes it might or might not contain. “Lucky for me, I’m pacing myself,” he announced, before sucking the last of his cocktail through the straw. There was no bin obviously available, so he place the now-empty juice box by his feet where he’d remember to pick it up later. (Provided he wasn’t advantage takingly drunk by then, of course.) “Did you used to sneak booze into the quidditch stands at school?” he asked, genuinely curious. It seemed both a very gryffindor and yet a very non-gryffindor thing to do.
Arran was only a little disappointed when she declined his bet. Even without money on it, they’d both now be watching to see if his player was successfully tackled. “I can wait,” he said, smiling. He did like winning - most especially when it had absolutely no consequence whatsoever. He did hope the blue team would score soon, though. Even if Hermione ended up winning, there was more fun in a close match than in an overwhelming victory. Sadly, it seemed he was destined to be disappointed as red attempted on goal again - but this time, missed. “Aha!” Arran crowed as the fans around them groaned their disappointment. “My luck is turning.”
--
Hermione was pretty sure any plan of advantage taking of drunk people that she might have would involve less than five steps. She didn’t think it to be particularly appropriate to point out. Not when she was arguing her case for not attempting to take advantage of Arran. Of course, now she was left thinking of what sort of advantage she would take of him and that seemed like a terribly dangerous path to go down. Instead she took a sip of her own juice box. He might be pacing himself, but Hermione had no such plans. She knew her limit. And that limit was definitely more than a juice box and half. At his question of whether she had done this at school, Hermione frowned almost angrily.
“Of course not!” She exclaimed almost as if personally offended (which she was a little bit). “That’s against the rules, Arran,” Hermione told him since he clearly didn’t know. “I would never smuggle alcohol into the school,” or well, technically anything else, but for some reason Hermione felt like she would’ve. She hadn’t. Or had she? Regardless, she would not smuggle alcohol into a school full of underaged kids. That was a terrible suggestion! “In turn,” she added. “Here,” and then Hermione did a little wave with her hand at their surroundings. “No such rules exist,” and there really didn’t been. She had checked. No open containers of alcohol. Well, juice boxes weren’t open, were they?
There was a rather energetic ‘damnit’ from Hermione when her team missed a goal, and she glanced at Arran. “Another galleon that red still scores next?” Hermione offered. It was a marginal risk, since she did think her team was better and Arran’s luck wasn’t going to help him enough.
--
Arran hadn’t expected the reaction he got. Thus far, his experience of Hermione was a woman who liked ridiculous sports, brought booze to public events and didn’t mind telling a near-stranger that he’d look good in a skirt. He hadn’t expected her to be particularly rule-bound. (Arran didn’t really expect anyone to care about arbitrary rules.) He held his hands, juice box still in one, up in surrender. “I’m sorry,” he said, sincerely. He might not really understand why the suggestion, even inaccurate as it turned out to be, should offend her, but he was sorry that it had.
“So,” he mused, poking his straw into the second cocktail, once it was safe to lower his hands, “does this mean I’m on the straight and narrow right now?” He raised an eyebrow. “That might be a first.” Not that Arran thought of himself as bad - he was as rule-abiding as a referee could hope for on the pitch - but he had an affinity for metaphorical shortcuts and diversions.
Arran narrowed his eyes at her, then at the pitch. “You’re not a seer, are you?” The ball was passed to the quick red-haired girl and Arran had to seize his chance before she scored. “Alright, you’re on.”
--
Hermione waved off his apology. Mostly, because she almost felt bad for her reaction. Except not really. Hermione was a fan of rules. They were there for a reason. Things run smoothly if you followed the rules. And it did help a lot to know exactly what the rules were. Which is why she proceeded to give a small laugh at Arran’s question of whether they were on the straight and narrow currently. “The nice thing about rules, Arran,” she said giving him a smile. “Is that edging the boundries of them means you can always have a nice time and not get in trouble,” Hermione told him. It was true, she did like rules. However, Hermione was perfectly capable of using them to her advantage.
When he agreed to take her bet, Hermione gave a little toast with her juice box. Her team was doing very well, she had picked well. Her little juice boxes were also doing pretty well, she thought taking another sip. Of course, then the blue team scored and Hermione scrunched up her nose in distaste. “Double or nothing?” She said to Arran, in her head doing the maths for how much money she may up owing him if her team did suddenly crumble. She was hardly going to back down, though. That was not the Gryffindor way.