Everything you recognise belongs to JKR and Ure. This is a rip-off or an adaptation, to please myself, of Ure's gentle bawdy frolic 'You win some, you lose some'. You have been duly warned.
Chapter 9 She tilted her chin
Of the boys, Terry, Harry and Dean had been offered the places for September: of the girls, only Cho. Daphne tossed her head and said she'd already decided not to take up a place even if one had been offered her. Who wanted to spend the next twenty years slogging away at perilous auror exertions? Mandy put on a brave face and declared that for her part she was now going to start eating like a pig -- cream cakes, chocolate cakes, cheesecakes -- as well as eating pigs - all the things she liked best and had been depriving herself of for months. Sally-Ann said that she would try for Goblin's bank. No one seemed surprised Cho got through.
'She may be a pretty cow,' said Daphne, 'but she can duel.'
Cho was still too offended to speak and always looked straight through him. Just as well really. If Cho had been too friendly Hermione might have thought he'd gone and got engaged again. He wouldn't want any more misunderstanding of that nature. He hoped that come September he wouldn't find himself stuck with partnering Cho again.
He was still dithering about whether or not to attend the party on Saturday evening. On the way home he put the idea to Terry. Terry was not enthusiastic.
'A load of gawkers? You're not going to go, are you?'
'Dunno.' He still hadn't quite made up his mind. A party, undeniably, was a party - especially, Hermione would be there, and if he were lucky he might just be able to snatch a few moments alone with her. 'I'll probably look in,' he said. 'See what it's like.'
Terry pulled a face.
'In that case, I suppose I'd better come along.'
'You don't have to.'
'Oh, I might as well - if only to keep an eye on you. Make sure you don't get up to any mischief and watch your back among those brainy pranksters.'
Terry grinned, trying to pretend that he was only joking. Harry shrugged. (What could he do?)
'It's up to you.'
'So into the camp of the enemy… you realise we shall certainly be spat upon and generally reviled.'
'We'll survive.'
'You might - I happen to be a very delicate flower. Why don't we change our minds and go out for a meal instead? I'll treat you.'
'No way.' He had already decided that he was going. 'If it was lousy, we don't have to stay.'
On their way to the party, they met Mum, Dad and Hebe, walking in the woods north of Hampstead ponds. (Mum and Dad had come to watch the mooting in spite of Hermione, being in her first year, was only marshalling.)
'Harry! Hero said you passed your tests. Aren't you clever? Now you can stay one more year. Can I come and watch you training?' Hebe called to him, joyously. (where did such an enthusiasm for him come from?)
'Fancy a lunch with us tomorrow?' that was Dad.
'He's not coming back for weekends anymore,' said Hebe. She looked at Harry, accusingly. 'He never comes back. He stays up in West Hampstead and does things by himself and I wonder what they are.'
It seemed that Hebe quite took to him now (But why? Maybe because he tipped her the Kama Sutra? Hell!). Obviously she took him as one of the family.
Harry caught Terry's eye, and wondered what the fool was grinning at.
'Tonight, as it happens --' he addressed himself pointedly to Hebe - 'I'm going to a party. Is that all right with your highness?'
'What about last week? And the week before? And -' (She'd been home for two weeks, one of the benefits of being attending public boarding school.)
'Be fair,' said Terry. 'He has to be let off the lead sometimes.'
Hebe looked at Terry with cold distaste. Terry winked at her, and she turned her nose up with an air of haughtiness and said 'Who are you?' (that reminded him the very first time he met Hermione.)
'Let's issue him with a formal invitation, Let's hold him to it,' said Mum, '… why don't you come and have lunch with us tomorrow, Harry?'
Confused, he mumbled that he would like that very much.
'There you are!' Mum turned, triumphant, to Hebe. 'That's got him for us. He can't very well back out of that.'
'He'd better not,' said Hebe.
The party was held on Saturday evening in the school's dinning hall. By the time Harry and Terry arrived (having stopped off at the Leaky Cauldron for a quick pint and to pick up a couple of bottles) the party was already under way. There was something about Martin Redshanks that really needled him. Maybe it was his hair, sleek and blond and beautiful, with never a strand out of place; or maybe it was his profile, which looked as if it had been carved with geometrical precision from a block of marble - or maybe, more basely, it was the simple fact that he was dancing with Hermione. Whatever it was, the guy was a pain. (Wasn't he jealous? No, he couldn't be.)
'Flaming gawker,' said Terry. 'I am telling you, he's a gawker.' After a moment's reflection, he added: 'Of the Fifth Dan.'
It was his latest term of abuse. Harry wasn't certain what it was supposed to mean, but if it meant what he thought it meant then he concurred: totally and utterly.
Harry and Terry stood together, by the drinks table, surveying the scene.
'Gawkers,' said Terry. 'The lot of 'em. I knew we shouldn't have come.'
'Well, give it a chance! We've only been here five seconds.' (Did Hermione see us?)
'That,' said Terry, 'is what is worrying me.'
The Gawker of the Fifth Dan disappeared: so, as Harry quickly observed, did Hermione. (Where were they?)
'I don't know what your gripe is.' Harry considered a small knot of girls, communing together to their right. Some of them were quite pretty, all poised and willowy. 'They are not such a bad lot,' he said, 'on the whole.'
Glumly, Terry followed his gaze.
'If that's the sort of thing that turns you on.'
'It is,' said Harry. 'Yes.' Let there be no mistake about it: he was definitely girl-oriented (to be precise, Hermione-oriented). The pity of it was that so few girls seemed to be men-oriented. He sometimes wonder, deep down, if girls really liked men, or if they simply looked upon them as a necessary evil (Hermione didn't regard him as an evil as a best friend, but what about as a full-functional man? Or boy? He just started shaving the wispy hair under his nose a month ago.).
'Don't look now,' said Terry, 'but your lady friend has just come back.'
He looked, and saw Hermione, flushed and sparking , in her little white dress that ended half way down her thighs and her hair all in a French plait. She was hand in hand with the Gawker.
'Angels!' cried the Gawker, to the room in general. 'Sorry we're distracted. We were unavoidably detained … you understand how it is.' (What!)
Laughter broke out. The Gawker looked pleased, Hermione embarrassed. She turned, and said something, but the Gawker only winked, in roguish fashion, and shook his head.
'Here,' said Terry. 'Have a drink.'
Harry took the glass that was being held out to him. He didn't particularly want a drink, but he couldn't just stand there doing nothing. Hermione and the Gawker were coming towards them: it would look foolish to be caught doing nothing (and staring!)
'My dears!' screeched the Gawker. He had grown decidedly shrill. 'Bliss that you could come! Did you like the mooting?' Without waiting for a reply, he pushed Hermione forward. 'Wasn't she wonderful? Wasn't she too utterly brilliant?'
'Utterly,' said Terry.
'Absolutely heaven to partner!' - But of course you know all about that, don't you? You've worked with her.' (Much more than you did.)
Harry risked a quick glance, caught Hermione's eye, and he looked away again. (If only one could stay at Hogwarts forever.)
'Don't you think she's heaven?' brayed the Gawker. 'There are some women I could willingly drop from a great height, but you, my friend --' he raised Hermione's hand to his lips: Harry felt a desire to hex - 'You are not one of them. What'll you drink? Nothing? You're quite sure? Well, you just stay here and talk to Harvey - sorry! Forgive me. Slip of the tongue. Henry, isn't it? Please stay here and talk to Henry while I go and change some decent music on. Don't run away - I'll be back.'
The Gawker whisked himself off, across the room. He was wearing fine slim-cut black trousers and a pale lemon shirt and open to waist. Harry hesitated to tar him with the same brush as he had once, mistakenly, tarred Kevin. It seemed his judgement in such matters was not all that it might be.
'Well!' said Terry. He wagged an admonitory finger at Hermione. 'And where have you been, my pretty maiden? I've been a-flirting, sir, she said --'
Hermione's blush, which had almost receded, came flooding back in full force.
'Miss Flowerdew was talking to us.'
'Ho hum! A likely tale.'
'She was,' said Hermione, an edge in her tone.
'Of course.' Terry spoke kindly. 'Are you quite certain you won't have a drink? Cool yourself down?'
'Thanks, an orange juice, please.'
'An orange juice --' Terry turned away to the drinks table.
'We bumped into your parents in Kenwood.'
'Did you? Did they--'
'They had the Whizz Kid with them.' That was Terry, over his shoulder. 'The Greek goddess of youth … very curious and demanding of her dear old friend Harry, for being a naughty boy and not visiting them at the weekends. A rather sticky moment when she wanted to know what he did. - Voila! Un jus d'orange pour Madame.'
Hermione smiled, with a faint frown, took the glass, 'Thank you, Terry.'
'Je vous en prie.'
Terry gave a little bow. Harry looked at him, irritably. Why couldn't he go away and talk to someone else? Terry was all right by himself, but the minute a third person appeared on the scene he had this habit of taking over.
'Your mum invited me to lunch tomorrow,' said Harry.
'Did she?' Hermione regarded him, anxiously. 'Are you coming?'
'Don't worry.' Terry placed an arm about Harry's shoulders casual, but yet proprietorial. 'I'll see he gets there - I wouldn't dare not, after that little lecture the little goddess gave us.'
'She wasn't lecturing you,' said Harry. It had nothing to do with Terry; nothing whatsoever. Firmly, he removed himself from the encirclement of his arm. 'It was me she was having a go at.'
'But it was me she held responsible … if looks could kill, I'd be corpse by now.' (What was it with all these peacocking?)
Why couldn't he just belt up? Or go away, for God's sake?
'What time shall I come tomorrow?' said Harry.
'Oh … one o'clock-ish? Dad could drive you back, of course'
'How super,' said Terry, 'to have a daddy … my miserable old skinflint wouldn't give me the pickings from his ears, never mind giving a lift in his motor vehicle.'
'Your dad is probably only miserable,' said Harry, 'because he's got you for a son. Enough to make anyone miserable.'
Terry turned, mock deprecating, to Hermione.
'He doesn't mean a word of it … he loves me really.'
'Don't kid yourself.'
'Go on!' Terry winked. 'Give us a kiss and stop being so grumpy.'
'Get knotted,' said Harry. There was times when Terry could be distinctly trying. He was only doing it to show off, though God knows whom he thought he was impressing. Certainly he wasn't impressing Hermione. He could tell from the way her nose had gone slightly wrinkled that she didn't find him funny. He was on the point of asking her if she felt like dancing, when the Gawker reappeared.
'Sorry, angels, but she is mine … I have first claim.' Gaily, he seized Hermione by the hand. 'Come on!'
With a puzzled little frown at Harry, she went.
'Strange,' Terry murmured, 'how they always seem to go for the gawkers.'
Certainly it looked as though Hermione did (he wished he had been wrong). For the rest of the evening he couldn't get near her (Hermione!). Every time he looked up she was dancing with the Gawker, talking with the Gawker, listening to the Gawker, and laughing pink-cheeked and dewy-eyed at things that fell from his flabby lips (Hermione!). Just to compound her crime, she was doing it ostentatiously, giggling and 'flaunting' herself in a way he would never have thought her capable of (Hermione!). By half-eleven he had had as much as he could take.
'Shall we depart?' said Terry.
He could see no reason for staying.
'I'll just go and make an announcement.'
'How awfully polite! Why bother?'
Because he wanted bother. He wanted the chance of just one final word with Hermione (Hermione!). She was currently standing next to the Gawker, one of a fond circle of admirers before whom he was holding court. Harry broke, without ceremony, into their midst.
'Thanks for the party,' he said. 'We'll be off now.'
'My dear!' The Gawker opened wide his blue eyes in astonishment. 'So soon?'
'Yeah, Well -' Harry looked hard at Hermione. She tilted her chin (Hermione!). 'I'll see you tomorrow,' he said. 'About one o'clock.'