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 7 what you didn't do
Terry, being always bang up to date with the latest development of the trainee circle, told Harry Cho had made no secret about that she had been 'jilted'. Harry, still green as grass, thought that the girls would've all taken it as an 'insult' to their sex and gang up to ostracise him. But in fact Cho was the only one who practised ostracism. She simply went deaf, blind, and mute where Harry was concerned. None of the others, curiously enough, seemed to hold it against him. Mandy and Sally-Ann were smiling at him again.
'I know someone who's giving a party. This Friday …' said Sally-Ann at the end of the session, 'Feel like coming?' she looked at him enticingly. She still had this little cheeky elfin face. Harry forced himself to remember that she also had hang-ups about naked men lying around in fields.
'No, can't,' He shook his head. 'Already going somewhere else.' Hermione had asked him round to Auntie Loveday's on Friday. The Prick was going to be there, and a school friend of Hermione's called Laurel. He couldn't really say he was looking forward to meeting the Prick and Laurel (another super brain, no doubt). He couldn't imagine why Hermione had wanted him to. He would have got out of it if he could but she had taken him unawares, turning up during his afternoon break at the training, (where her appearance had attracted pairs of eyes). Besides, he always had difficulty in refusing any invitation issued by her, more and more so recently.
A further term of reading art history books had done nothing to improve the Prick - it had, if anything, made him even worse, more condescending than he had been before. They all sat in his sitting room - his sitting room - and watch some terribly artistic French film he'd recently acquired on DVD. As it turned out, Laurel and Hermione both happened to speak fluent French (he knew Hero did). Just at first Harry hoped it might take the wind out of the Prick's sails, but no such luck, because the Prick also spoke fluent French: He and Laurel spent the evening ostentatiously speaking it together and sniffing at the subtitles. That gave Harry the satisfaction of having Hermione all to himself (She, fortunate for him, didn't take part in the, mouth-full-of-water, French-twittering.)
Not only the Prick was home, but also the obnoxious Hebe as well. (She greeted him with 'Hallo, Harry. I've found another word for queers. It's bu--' ) She poked her mop of straw in at one point and said 'Oh, are you watching the Isabelle Adjani? Can I stay and watch?'
'No, you can't,' said the Prick. 'it's not fit for juveniles.'
'But I'll be twelve next year.'
'Sorry: should have said infants. Not fit for infants.'
'Pas devant,' said Laurel.
'Pas devant,' agreed the Prick.
'Why not?' said Hebe, greedily feasting her eyes on the screen, where a naked man was in process of climbing out of a bed containing a naked woman.
'Yeah, why not?' said Harry. 'She's already read Lady Chatterley, and she knows all about queers.' (Hermione looked at him: Laurel gave a smothered snort of laughter.) 'I don't see how a bit of subtitled nudity can hurt her.'
'That's right,' chorused Hebe, giving him a nod or two.
'Done the Kama Sutra yet, have you?' said Harry.
'Calmer what?'
'Kama Sutra … good book.' (Hermione gave him a wide-eyed look.)
'Better than Lady Chatterley? I'll have a read then.' said Hebe.
'You bloody well won't!' said the Prick. He leapt from his seat and propelled the child by one ear from his room, glaring at Harry as he did so. Hebe gave him a round kick at the shin.
'I don't think that was very funny,' he said, as he came back.
'I thought it was hilarious,' said Laurel. 'Has she really read Lady Chatterley?'
'Of course she hasn't!' snapped the Prick. 'And if I find she's gone and got hold a copy of the Kama Sutra from somewhere --'
'You'll nick it off her,' said Harry 'and read it yourself.'
Hermione and Laurel both giggled.
The Prick looked at him with loathing, and said 'How would you be sure I haven't read it?' and to get his own back: 'And how are you getting on with your conjuring?'
Harry said he was getting on all right, thank you.
'Don't be mean, Franch. You know it is not conjuring.' said Hermione. 'As a matter of fact, Harry's doing very well.'
He knew she was only trying to be supportive, but he could have wished she hadn't said it. He would like fighting his own battles. The Prick gave one of his supercilious smiles, top lip curled back.
'Any girl conjurers in your class?' persisted the Prick.
'Six of them.'
'At least you can't complain shortage of women.'
'No,' said Harry. 'I'm not complaining.'
'He hardly could,' said Hermione, 'considering he's been out with just about every girl in his group.'
This time he wasn't sure that she was trying to be supportive, there had been a definite edge to her voice. (Thanked Merlin Hebe was out of the room. Who knew what she would've said? 'All of them? Have you done it with them all? What about Hero?') Later as Hermione came downstairs to see him off, he found out why.
'You weren't really engaged to that awful Cho Chang, were you?' she said.
He gritted his teeth. (He could have wished he were gritting them on Cho. She deserved to have a few teeth gritted on her.)
''Course I wasn't,' he said. He wouldn't want Hermione thought he had been engaged to anyone. He hadn't. That's the truth.
Hermione seemed doubtful.
'She's telling people that you were.'
'That's because she's mad at me. She's just doing it to get even.'
'And she had a ring --' Hermione seemed to be distressed by it.
That rattled him. Don't say Cho'd gone and picked it up again off the ground? He wouldn't put it pass her.
'What ring?' he said.
'A silver one,' said Hermione. 'Quite nice. Actually … she told people it was a wedding ring.'
Relief. To tell the truth, he wasn't totally easy in his conscience where Cho was concerned. For all it had been a genuine misunderstanding, he wouldn't like to think that Hermione'd believed they were 'engaged'.
'Well, I've never seen it,' he said. 'If she says I bought it for her then she's making it up.'
'She had always had a thing about you,' said Hermione (Too bad, he didn't have any thing about Cho in return). 'Why was she mad at you?'
'Maybe, because I wouldn't be engaged to her?' said Harry. 'I think she is barmy.'
'Yes, but --, Harry!' she looked at him, her face looked both vulnerable and demanding like a spoiled child, 'why did she assume you would be engaged to her?'
'Look, Hermione, there is nothing between Cho and me,' he held her arm, 'Don't worry about it, please. OK?' at last, she nodded.
She had been his confidante and his counsellor back in their fifth year when the first fiasco with Cho happened, but right now he found that he couldn't bring himself to tell her his girl problems. What had changed between Hermione and him? Why wouldn't he want her to know about them?
He'd more or less made up his mind, after the new fiasco (yet again) with Cho, that he was going to give girls a miss for a bit: his conversation with Hermione decided him. He'd done his best, and all he seemed to have proved was that the female of the species was either stark mad or riddled with hang-ups (except Hermione, of course). He couldn't keep on getting 'engaged' by mistake - or keep booking hotel rooms and cancelling them (forfeiting his deposits). The girls could get by without him (or they'd rather go without him). He'd given them ample opportunity (only if they'd give him one opportunity): if they failed to take it, then that was their loss (and his!). As far as he was concerned, he was through (What else could he do?).
He had reckoned without Daphne.
'You are pretty good at the auror business, aren't you?' she said. 'Cho was always going on about how good you were at duelling.'
'Uh-huh,' He grunted.
'You doing anything Saturday night?' said Daphne casually. 'If you weren't, you might like to drop round to our place for a meal.'
He was so surprised he nearly dropped his wand. It wasn't the sort of invitation that anyone in his right senses would refuse. He forgot about giving girls a miss, he forgot about girls being stark mad or riddled with hang-ups, He forgot being engaged by mistake. Suddenly there was but one thought in his mind: he was going to make it with Daphne. He didn't care if she did it all the time, practically with anyone; the fact remained she hadn't done it with anyone from his group because Terry was the only one she had been out with, and Terry had freely admitted that he hadn't taken advantage of the situation. Harry was tired of fighting for it. If someone were willing to hand it to him on a plate, he reckoned he'd reached the stage where he was prepared to take it.
'Into the lion's den … sooner you than me!' Terry laughed.
Daphne shared a flat with other three witches. They were all in ceaseless motion, in a state of undress, constantly coming and going, whisking in and out and all over the place: either snatched something or threw a few cushions around and said 'Merlin!' in tones of exasperation and stalked off again half naked.
'It's all right,' Daphne said. 'They'll go out soon. Have a lager.' She sat him down on a sagging sofa in front of the television which nobody was watching. Harry did his best to keep his eyes fixed on the television. The sight of so much naked female flesh was rather disturbing, embarrassing, more than anything. The entire flat seemed to be full of scantily-clad buttocks, all treading a path through the sitting room. There were black silk buttocks, red satin buttocks and one set where you had to look twice to see that they were clad in anything at all.
'I think I've over done the chilli.' Daphne came in from taking a look at the food.
The chilli, when at last it materialised (round about nine o'clock) nearly choked him to death, he was coughing and splattering, but since Daphne ate it with every sign of enjoyment, he had to assume that either his soft skin was softer than other people's or else he was missing a protective layer of asbestos. The only way he could get through it was by washing down each mouthful with liberal draught of lager.
Sitting on the sofa with Daphne was quite an experience. Unfortunately, being all filled up as he was with lager and burning hot chilli beans, he couldn't concentrate on it: also the frequent drifting in and out of naked women didn't help.
Harry wanted to go to the bathroom now.
'Don't be all day, because I don't feel like waiting.' She decamped to her bedroom.
Harry made a dash to the bathroom. To his horror and confusion, there was a naked female sitting in the bath. Red-faced, he mumbled an apology and started to back out. 'That's OK, we never lock the door. Just carry on,' said the female.
He tried but nothing would come; not even though five second's ago he was bursting. (And in five seconds' time he'd been bursting again.) How was he supposed to do anything with a naked female sitting watching him? It was impossible. Nobody could. The worst of it was, she would hear he wasn't doing anything.
No, it wasn't: the worst of it was that Daphne was expecting him to go back and perform, and how could he do that when his whole inside was awash with lager?
He went searching for a milk bottle in the kitchen, found a bosomy girl eating chilli beans in her bra and knickers.
'Wrong room!' he shot out again.
'Come on then!' Daphne was already in bed when he reached the bedroom.
This was the thing he had been working towards - the thing he had dedicated his life to (Well, as short-term objective.) It was the thing he had determined to do before the year was out. He had tried it on with Sally-Ann, who hadn't liked naked men, and with Mandy, who couldn't make up her mind; and with Cho, who'd wanted him to marry her: all of them without success. Now there was Daphne, and she was offering it him.
There was only one small problem: he couldn't do it. Not with all that lager swilling round inside him. It was no good; he would have to go.
'Boy, You do have a weak bladder!' sighed Daphne.
He charged off again to the bathroom. This time he didn't care if there was anyone in there.
This time there wasn't. He was about half way through, a girl walked in. She didn't apologise, or anything. Just said 'Hi' and perched on the edge of the bath, turned on the bath tap and looked at him.
'You at Daphne's training? I take it you're going to be a auror?' she studied him, critically. 'You look like an auror.'
How could she tell whether or not he looked like an auror? She was only looking at one small bit of him (not that it was as small as all that). Honestly, the place was full of nymphomaniacs. He bet they'd all like to have a go.
He finished and fled back, considerably relieved, to the bedroom - only to find the in his absence another girl had arrived, in a dress to be only half there in front of the mirror.
'What do you think?' she addressed Harry through the mirror. 'If you were going out with me … would it turn you on or off?'
'Dunno,' he said, The only thing he knew was that right at this moment it was turning him off. Right off.
Daphne and the girl carried on for some time about the girl's date and the dress. The girl described what had happened last time she had gone away with her 'little randy sod'. He could hardly believe it. He hadn't known girls talked like that. (And she looked such a studious sort of girl. Hermione was never talked like that.) Some of the things the girl said made his hair stand on end. Unfortunately, his hair was the only thing that did.
They had to start all over again when at last the girl removed herself.
It was hardly his fault that at the crucial moment there was a bang at the door and a girl called out that she was 'Off now… see you tomorrow!'
The result was disastrous: catastrophic.
On Monday evening, in the canteen, Harry overheard Daphne talking to Su, who was by now firmly Dean's property, '… the trouble is that you can never seem to find a real man here.'
Terry, standing beside Harry in the queue, obviously also overheard. He looked round at Harry, in mock reproof.
'And what did you do to upset her? Or perhaps --' he grinned - 'I should say, what you didn't do?'