"Let's get married," Fred says, twirling my hair around in his fingers.
My firewhiskey catches in my throat and I choke violently. Very attractively, I might add. "You call that a proposal?" I ask, "You're drunk."
He chuckles. "Hardly. Now, Roxanne, she's drunk."
I glance over at my best friend again. She's moved on to dancing on top of the makeshift bar with Dominique. Lovely. I really should remind her that she's in her parents' house. And that this is supposed to be my birthday party. And I made her swear not to drink. And that these people are her cousins. (Well, there's a few of our Hogwarts friends here too and unfortunately, my brother and sister are probably off trying to sneak some alcohol even though they're thirteen.)
"Rose!" I shout, spying someone sober, "Will you keep Colm and Dove and Lucy and the younger kids away from the drinks?"
She blanches. I think I just burst her happy, rule following bubble. Yes, Rose, underage children do drink. She scurries off to ruin the party for them.
Anyway, I should tell Dom that she's acting like a slut at a kind-of-family-gathering, but I won't. She wouldn't even care probably. I'd really prefer it if all her family wasn't here, actually. Most of the Weasleys I only know by sight; Dom, Fred, and Al are the only ones I talk to regularly. Occasionally Lucy or Rose when the occasion occurs (meaning, only when I have to). But you try telling the Weasley clan not to come to a party. All they'll hear is the word party. And bring alcohol. Even to Lucy's eleventh birthday party; that's a legend that the parents use as a lecture and the kids use as an excuse.
"What were we talking about?" I ask, relaxing against Fred's chest again and throwing my feet up on the couch.
I just wanted a nice night with Fred and Roxy. And Laura and Al and Jake, because they can't ever be left out. But the point is, I'd like a small event, not a club that reeks of hangover. Although, this isn't technically a club. It's George and Angie's living room, slightly redecorated. They give their kids too much freedom, I think.
"D'you want to get married?" Fred repeats, "To me."
Because he really needs to add that last part. I thought he meant Albus Dumbledore.
"Why?" I ask dumbly. I mean, I love Fred and all, but we're seventeen and going back to Hogwarts tomorrow.
He shrugs. Thanks, that was helpful. "Dunno. I love you."
I smile. "I love you too." And I press my lips against his.
"Oi, lovebirds!" a voice calls a few minutes later causing Fred and me to break apart.
James Potter. No, worse than James Potter. This is an intoxicated James Potter, without Louis to keep him from saying something stupid or Dominique to smack him and call him an idiot. I'll spare you his exact words, but let's just say he left a very awkward pause when he stumbled away into the masses (most of who are also stumbling around).
"C'mon, Amy," Fred says after a while, barely audible over the pounding music, "Let's get hitched. Like, now."
I look around at the family I would be gaining. Dom and Roxy all but stripping, Rose lecturing unconscious cousins, James and Louis acting twice as humiliating as before. They're brilliant, I tell you. Just bloody brilliant. Did I mention it's supposed to be my party and only Fred and Rose have wished me a happy birthday? Not even Roxy, my supposed best friend.
"Yeah, why not?" I announce, standing up.
School, our ages, our jobs (or lack thereof), our families, our humble abode (so humble it doesn't exist). In fact, there really are a lot of reasons to not.
"So where do we go to get married?" he asks slowly.
Like I know. My family just skips off to the church. Well, after two years of planning and flying in some random relatives nobody knows. What the hell do wizards do?
He grabs my hand. "They won't notice we're gone," he reassures me.
I suppose two half-smashed teenagers Apparating into the Ministry of Magic is a bit of an odd sight, but it was really unnecessary for the Welcome Witch to scream and begin stuffing the money out of sight. Merlin, we weren't going to rob her. I look carefully at how we must look to her: drunk(ish). And wearing party clothes, which mainly consist of the shortest dress I've ever worn (it's Roxy's actually; I had no choice in the matter. It was all Roxy and Fred's doing) and Fred's normal attire (how unfair is that? The world is sexist against women). But mostly drunk(ish).
"Do you know if there's an apartment where we can get married?" Fred asks her.
She stops hiding the Galleons and stares at us suspiciously. "Department," she corrects in a voice that is normally directed at two year olds. Or old deaf people. Or foreigners who don't speak English. Or drunken teenagers looking to get married apparently.
"Yeah, that," I mutter.
"Are you two of age?" she questions skeptically.
I glance at my watch. Whoa, where has the time gone? I've been seventeen for over six hours. "Yeah," I tell her proudly.
She rolls her eyes. "Department of Domestic Affairs. That way, then left, left, right, left, right, right, left, left, right. Hey, are you a Weasley, young man?"
"Nope," Fred answers, "Thanks."
We're only halfway to the Department when Fred shoves me against the wall. He is breathing hard and looking a bit desperate, glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone's there.
"Uh, Freddy," I say, "I don't think now's the best time."
Because I really want to lost my virginity in a corridor in the Ministry of Magic.
"Shh," he hisses, "Uncle Harry and Uncle Ron are around the corner."
I decide not to point out that he's practically shouting. We listen for a minute until their voices come closer. Some babble about new Auror trainees. Either that or someone has old knees.
"Run!" Fred shrieks, sprinting down the hall.
So maybe he has had a bit too much to drink. But I don't think I saw him down too many firewhiskeys. Unless Dom, Louis, and James spiked the firewhiskey with something stronger. Is that even possible? If it is, it would be them to do it.
After a few minutes later, Fred comes to a stop and naturally, I run into him. There's a little plaque on the austere door that reads Office of Marriage, Birth, and Death Licenses and Certificates. How romantic. It's every little girl's dream: a slutty borrowed pink dress and an intimidating door. We should get some champagne. But firewhiskey works too.
We walk right in (read: Fred slams open the door and I scurry in behind him). There is only one tired-looking blonde witch writing on top of an enormous stack of papers. Poor thing, working alone at this hour in the morning. She glances up and takes off her glasses.
"May I help you?'
She even looks so eager to help us, with her arms crossed and a frown. I straighten up and try to look more...well, like I've had a few less firewhiskeys. Not that I actually had too many...just a few...I think. I might have lost count. But I'm not too drunk!
"Can we get married here?" Fred asks.
"Are you of age?" she replies, staring us up and down with a doubtful expression.
I check my watch again. Yep, still seventeen. "Yes."
She rolls her eyes. What is with these Ministry witches?
"Fred Weasley and Amity Henson," I tell her.
I see a flicker of recognition at Fred's last name, but wisely, she does not comment. After digging around in some drawers for a while, she pulls out a roll of parchment.
"Sign here," she instructs.
Hey, everybody! This is a new story I'm working on and I want to know what you think. Good? Bad? Like it? Hate it? Let me know. Leave me a review.
Edit: So, I've had this up barely a few days and decided to completely rewrite it. I don't know. But I also did some replotting and I think this time the storyline is actually a bit coherent. I bumped part of this chapter into Chapter 2 so anyone who has already read it has a sneak preview ;) Very sneaky.
So, anyway, leave me a review and let me know what you think!