Hello to my ever-growing fanbase! Looks like I'm up to five or six now; Bec and Witchy, time to make more t-shirts!
Here's part two. Enjoy!
Attempts at Normalcy
Later that afternoon, I sprinted to the library (okay, okay, I apparated; I'm sorta lazy) after I was hit with a sudden bit of inspiration that was totally unrelated to 'the incident.' As an Auror, I sometimes encounter victims or witnesses who have been subjected to memory charms. Standard procedure is to get the individual to St. Mungo's, where the memory specialists would try and break the charms and restore the person's memory. I thought it'd be handy if I could restore the memories myself, assuming the memory charm wasn't too powerful. Hence, I found soon found myself in the library surrounded by stacks of books. Ron would surely have a coronary if he saw me.
After a couple of hours of research, I read an interesting passage. I found that if something interferes with the brain's ability to capture a memory, for example if the person was drugged or otherwise incapacitated, that there was no way to restore the full memory. In other words, you couldn't restore what was never there in the first place. After verifying that fact in a few other books, I decided that it would be best if I left the memory charms to the experts, and I left the library in search of food.
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The first few days interacting Hermione were a little strained. There was definitely an awkwardness between us, and we had trouble maintaining eye contact. Anytime something of an adult nature was discussed, we would both blush slightly and look anywhere except at each other (although since I never looked at her, I suppose she might have looked at me, as I would not have noticed). Eventually though, time wore on and things gradually got back to normal; I think the fact that neither one of us could remember much about that night helped a lot.
Well, not everything was back to normal. It seems that the image of Hermione's bare back had been burned permanently into my mind, and I couldn't shake the image of her bending over to retrieve her clothes. I thought these images would go away after a while, but they never did. I knew I was fixating on the images because I was a guy and she was an attractive woman, but still! And even worse, even though outwardly nothing seemed to change between us, I couldn't help but touch her. Now, I'm not a touchy-feely person by any measure - hugs still make me feel uncomfortable, even those from Mrs. Weasley. But God help me I couldn't resist the compulsion to touch Hermione. Not in a rude or obscene manner, but I took almost every opportunity to touch her arm, her shoulder, or that wonderful (though woefully clothed) back.
Hermione, of course, was no dummy. From absence of physical contact to an overabundance of touching, I'm sure she noticed the change. To my relief though, she never mentioned or questioned my sudden change in behavior, nor did she seem to be repulsed or bothered by it. In fact, though it may have been my imagination, I could swear that she was responding in kind. It wasn't anything overt - there weren't more hugs or anything. But every now and then, she would touch my arm, or lean into me when looking at something over my shoulder. Or she would sit next to me and our legs would brush against each other, or our feet would accidentally touch. Yet, all the while we never acknowledged any change in our friendship or in the level of physical intimacy.
Finally, after another hazy and indistinct dream about 'the incident,' I realized that the current situation just had to stop. I wouldn't quite call it sexual tension, but there was definitely something going on, and it was only a matter of time until other people started noticing it, if they haven't already.
I decided to take the hippogriff by the horns…er, wait…hippogriffs don't have horns. Okay, so what animal has horns? Er… … shoot, I should've paid more attention in Hagrid's classes, though usually keeping all my limbs intact took higher precedence then taking notes. But that's neither here nor there; the point was, I decided to be bold and address the situation directly. So, a couple weeks after the incident I asked Hermione to stop by after dinner. I had it all figured out…
Around 9pm that night, the doorbell rang. Although I had carefully planned the night, I was suddenly hit with a severe case of the nerves. I hadn't been alone with Hermione since that night. Nevertheless, since I really couldn't keep Hermione waiting all night in the hallway outside the flat (though I did briefly consider turning off the lights and pretending not to be home), I opened the door to welcome in my best friend.
"Hello Hermione," I greeted her. "How are…" and words failed me for a moment. During my meticulous planning, I had envisioned how Hermione might look when she showed up. Sometimes I pictured her in her normal, comfortable clothes. Sometimes in a nice sundress or something similar. And once or twice, in something revealing and sexy (okay, so maybe more than once or twice - damn those evil thoughts!). But what she had on took me completely by surprise.
"Hello Harry," she said in a formal tone of voice. Then, apparently noticing my stunned expression, she quirked an eyebrow and asked, "Something wrong?"
"Er…no, nothing," I said, belatedly recovering my voice. "Come on in." I tried my best to hide my reaction, but I couldn't help it. A small snort of scarcely contained laughter escaped.
She turned and narrowed her eyes. "What's so funny?"
Her indignant pose combined with her outfit made it harder for me to stop from laughing out loud. "Nothing," I managed. "Nothing at all."
She seemed to sense what was out of place; I mean, how could she not? After all, what was she thinking when she looked in the mirror? "Is it my clothes?" she asked, frowning.
I shook my head. "Oh no, not at all. You look fine," I said. The smart thing would have been to leave the topic behind and move on, but I was never known for being the fastest broom on the Quidditch pitch. Er, actually I was, so that's not a good analogy, but you know what I mean. Before I could stop myself, I added, "In fact, you look great, like a nun all dressed up for a night out at the local bingo hall."
Hermione's expression darkened, but come on! She was wearing a drab colored blouse buttoned all the way up to her neck, and some formless, shapeless dress/skirt thingie that made her look as curvy as a boulder. To top it off, she somehow managed to stuff her hair into a severe-looking bun. A part of me was amused at the lengths she went to in order to make herself look as unattractive as possible, another part of me was impressed at her success, and the last bit of me was oddly attracted to her in that get-up. Does that make me some sort of weirdo?
"Honestly Hermione, what did you think? That you had to wear the most unattractive clothes ever made in order to stop me from trying to rip off your clothes the second you entered my flat?" I asked, trying my best to act annoyed. It was a little difficult though, since now the image of me ripping her clothes off was firmly entrenched in my weak, feeble little mind.
Hermione blushed for a split second and then waved her hand airly around. "Of course not. I'll have you know that a good friend of mine gave me this outfit and said that it looks very good on me, thank you very much."
"And who would that be?" I asked innocently. "Professor McGonnagal?"
We locked eyes for a moment, before she looked away and chuckled sheepishly. "Yes, I suppose she does have her own…style."
"Sure," I agreed. "The grandmotherly-strict matron look is always popular. I hear Neville's grandmother enjoys similar tastes." That elicited a little bit of nervous laughter from her.
Finally, Hermione sighed and sat on my couch, her voluminous dress settling around her. "It is rather hideous, isn't it?" she asked. I nodded as I sat - across from her of course, not next to her. "It's just that…" she began, but seemed to have trouble finding the words.
"I know," I said. "I feel it too."
She smiled, relived that I seem to understand. "I just feel so..."
"Awkward," I finished for her. "After that night, it's like…" I wracked my brain for the words, but as it turned out, I didn't need to.
"I don't know how to act around you," Hermione said, completing my thought. We both looked at each other and smiled a little, happy that at least something will never change.
I made a gesturing between the two of us. "It's like we have one brain," I said with a grin, alluding to our ability to finish each other's sentences.
Hermione chuckled. "Correction," she said. "I have one brain; I just let you and Ron borrow it sometimes."
I gave her a look of mock surprise. "My goodness! Was that a joke from Minerva junior?"
She laughed and threw a pillow in my general direction. I clapped my hands together. "Seriously though, I think I have a solution to our problem. That's why I asked you over, you know, not to admire your wonderful fashion sense."
"Really?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.
I grinned, all excited as a kid. "Wait here." I dashed into the kitchen, where I retrieved the supplies. Returning to the living room, I placed the supplies carefully on the coffee table and smiled.
"This is your solution?" she asked.
"Yup," I said proudly. I opened the bottle of champagne that I had brought and poured it into two glasses; there was also an assorted collection of wine and spirits as well.
Hermione shook her head. "So, your master plan is what? That we both get drunk again?" she asked skeptically. When I just continued to grin, her eyes widened. "You are not serious!"
"Of course I am," I said. "You see, I think the problem is that, or at least, my problem is that I'm afraid of how I might react to you ever since that night."
"And how exactly is getting drunk going to help?"
"Easy. We prove that what happened before was just a fluke, a one-time deal. We prove to ourselves that there's absolutely no danger that it would happen again." Seriously, this is a great plan! I was awfully proud of myself when I thought it up. I offered her the glass of champagne and waited for her response.
"You do realize, of course, that historically you've never devised a successful plan before?"
"What? Of course I have," I said rather righteously. After all, one does not survive annual attempts at one's life without some ability to plan.
"Oh really?" Hermione asked, an eyebrow arched in skepticism. "Name one," she challenged.
Hah, I'll show her! "Well…" Hmmm…maybe this was going to be a bit harder than I thought. But really, all I had to do was go through the school years, right? "Got one," I said. "The basilisk. No one helped me come up with a plan to defeat the basilisk, did they?" I asked triumphantly.
"Oh right, the basilisk," Hermione said, nodding her head. "And what was your plan, again?"
"Simple. I…uh…" Er, now that I think about it, technically I didn't actually have a plan; I more or less just ran in there and winged it. Damn. Okay, third year - no, that was Hermione. Okay, fourth year - nope, definitely not my plan to get kidnapped. Fifth year - nothing. Sixth year - nada. Seventh year - zilch.
"Well," I said defensively, "I'm about due for a successful plan then, aren't I?" She gave me that 'you have got to be kidding me' look. "C'mon Hermione," I pleaded. "If you have a better idea, I'm all ears."
She just looked at me for a moment, before letting out another sigh. "All right," she said, and though clearly not enthusiastic about my plan, she took the offered glass.
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