A/N: Hello! I hope everyone had a nice holiday weekend (for those of you who celebrate Thanksgiving and had time off). Here's the next part. You would think that since this is already written, I could update everyday, right? Alas, the holidays interfered, and then I have all-day training the rest of the week. Next update on Thursday I hope, otherwise Monday since I don't work on weekends ;)
Oh, and this has officially been declared a Classic FanFic© by sarahmay!
Sleekeasy's the Devil! - Part II
About a month later, I was preparing for a quiet Friday night home alone. Everyone else had planned to go out to a new club that had just opened, but I begged off, since going to clubs meant Hermione would be wearing her `clubbing' clothes (nothing too trampy, but still…) and getting all sweaty and sexy from dancing - definitely not what I needed to see at the moment. I was pretty sure that I had successfully hidden my avoidance scheme from her, but apparently I was wrong. Just as I was sitting down to watch a Quidditch match with a tub of popcorn, Hermione knocked on my door.
"Hi, Hermione. What are you doing here?" I asked curiously as I let her into the flat. I was relieved that she was wearing her normal clothes, but I was also a little disappointed.
"I was going to ask you the same thing," she said, looking around the flat, as if searching for something. "Ron just told me that you weren't coming. Why not?"
"I wasn't in the mood. You know how I hate public places." That, at least, was the truth. I could usually expect to be swarmed by fans within an hour of entering any public place in the wizarding world.
"Oh really?" she asked, her tone making it clear that she knew that I was holding back.
"Yes, really," I replied. I was debating between trying to sound indignant or confused. I decided confused was more in character, so I plastered one of those `huh?' looks on my face.
Hermione glared at me and put her hands on her hips, and I cringed inwardly. This was not a good sign. Finally, she asked me in an even tone, "Why have you been avoiding me?"
Damn, so much for the grand scheme. I should've known that Hermione would see through it. But still, I wasn't about to give up, so I did what anyone would have done in my situation - deny, deny, deny. "What are you talking about?" I asked, going with the `confused' look again. "I haven't been avoiding you." I tried to scoff, but I think it came out more like a nervous cough.
Hermione crossed her arms across her chest, meaning that she's moved from loud-angry to calm-angry. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, since calm-angry could lead to not-angry just as easily as it could lead to transfigure-me-into-a-rabbit-angry. "Don't insult me by lying, Harry."
Though it seemed the denial thing wasn't working, I wasn't about to give up so easily. "I'm not lying," I insisted. "I'm not avoiding you Hermione, honest." I saw her face flicker a bit, and I thought that maybe I had succeeded in convincing her. Then Hermione did something that took me off-guard and completely surprised me - she began crying.
For a second, I was at a complete loss. I have, of course, seen Hermione cry before. In fact, she's a bit of a crier, so I've actually seen her cry on many occasions. But this is the first time, to my recollection, that I had been the cause of her tears. True, she's cried for me in the past, but I don't think I'd ever done something to her like this. I had no idea what to do. After a second's hesitation, I walked over to her and sorta patted her on the back. "What is it, Hermione?" I asked softly. "What's the matter?"
"What did I do, Harry? Why don't you want to be around me anymore?" she asked between sniffles.
I mentally berated myself for bringing her to tears, and if it were physically possible, I would've kicked my own ass for making her cry. Maybe there's a spell; I'm sure Hermione would love to help me find one if she ever found out. "No, no, Hermione, you didn't do anything. Honest!"
She raised her head and looked at me, her eyes watery - and kinda cute, though that's totally inappropriate to think at the time. "Then why are you avoiding me?"
My mind raced. What could I tell her that would sound believable but wasn't the truth? I couldn't leave her thinking that she had done something wrong! But unfortunately I wasn't the smart one of the group, so all I could do was stammer awkwardly. She looked into my eyes, searching. "What is it, Harry?"
Time seemed to slow down as I gazed into her eyes, and suddenly I couldn't breathe: she was too close; her body was to close to my body, her face to close my face. I released her and stood suddenly, heading for the kitchen. I congratulated myself that at least this time I didn't fling her away like I did at the beach, since there was only the hard, wooden floor to soften her impact. Without looking to see what she was doing, I rummaged through the fridge and grabbed a bottle of butterbeer. I held it up and looked at her, offering her one (ever the gentleman, that is when I'm not making girls cry), but she shook her head. Removing the cap, I took a very large pull at the neck. Taking a deep breath, I looked back at her from the kitchen. She was still in the same place, looking at me expectantly.
For a few minutes we just stared at each other. I knew that I was supposed to speak first, but my mind was completely blank. Perhaps if I just stayed quiet long enough, she would leave. But after apparently reaching the point where she felt she had waited too long, Hermione walked towards me, taking a seat on one of the bar stools across the counter from me. "Harry," she said gently, "we've been friends since we were eleven. You can tell me anything. You know that, right?"
I nodded. "I know." Then I sighed, inwardly admitting defeat. "You're right, Hermione. I have been avoiding you." I saw she was going to say something, so I quickly added, "but it's not anything you did, honest. Something that happened to me. But it's nothing to worry about. I can handle it, and in a few weeks everything will be okay." Well, if I thought that this would appease her, I was horribly mistaken. Instead of quiet acceptance, she became instantly alarmed.
"Oh god, Harry! What happened? Are you all right? Do you-"
"No, no, it's nothing like that," I interrupted, before she could get a full head of steam. "I'm fine, really, there's no danger."
"Then what happened?"
I sighed. "Something…changed about me. But it's a temporary thing; it should pass by wintertime." Or at least I hoped it would. Thick sweaters would be my salvation.
Hermione raised her hand to my forehead. I reveled momentarily in her touch before I pulled my head back and turned away. "I'm not sick Hermione."
"Then what is it? What changed?"
I turned away, frustrated. I knew she wouldn't, couldn't let it go. "Please, Hermione," I asked, hearing the slightly desperate tone in my voice. "Please don't ask me to tell you."
"But if there's anything I could do to help and didn't, I would never forgive myself," she said, sounding very close to me. I turned and was startled to find that she was only a few feet away from me. She must've moved around the counter when I wasn't looking. She could move like a ninja when she wants to, that one. I backed away reflexively and gracefully bumped into the refrigerator.
"There's nothing you can do. It's something I have to work on myself."
"Are you sure?" she asked, reaching out for my hand.
"I'm sure," I said quickly, pushing past her and into the main room. I didn't mean to push her aside so abruptly, but I panicked a bit when I saw her reach for me.
She followed after me, confused by my behavior. She reached out and placed her hands gently on my back. "Harry, what-"
"Don't," I said louder than I meant to, and twisted out of her touch. I admit it - I was irritated and a bit angry at the moment. Why couldn't she just leave it alone? Why did she always have to know everything?
When I looked at her though, all my frustration drained away in an instant when I saw the look on her face. For second, it looked like she was going to cry again, but instead, she composed herself and straightened.
"Fine then," she said coldly. "I'll just leave you alone then."
I watched her head towards the door. The smart thing would've been to let her walk away. Let her be mad at me for a month or so. She wouldn't want to see me, which would support my avoidance plan, and once I got over these new feelings, I could apologize profusely, probably spending many galleons on flowers and chocolates in the process. But like I said before, I wasn't the smart one of the group. "Hermione, wait!"
She stopped, but didn't turn around. I took a deep breath. "The reason why I've been avoiding you…I've…I've begun to have feelings for you."
She turned around at that, but I couldn't look at her. Instead, I sat on my couch and hid my face behind my hands.
"Feelings? What kind of feelings?"
For a second, I couldn't believe that she wanted me to spell it for her. And she calls me dense! "The kind of feelings that I shouldn't be having. I've become…attracted to you, Hermione."
"Attracted…" she repeated softly, almost to herself.
I stood up abruptly. "But you don't have to worry about it."
"I don't?" she asked, startled by my sudden movement.
"You don't. I just need some time to work through it. It'll go away after awhile, I'm sure it will. That's why I've been avoiding you. I'm sorry."
"It's…it's okay." She sounded a bit mechanical and looked a bit dazed. But at least she wasn't giving me pity-eyes.
"Are…are you all right?"
She seemed to break out of her trance, just a little. "Huh? What? Oh, yes. Fine. I'm fine."
"Hermione-"
She burst into a frenzy of nervous twitching. "Well, then, yes, I think I should be going. Um, Ron and the others, they must be wondering where I am. So, um, have a good night then Harry. Bye," she said very quickly and exited my flat without giving me to say another word.
I stood alone in the middle of my flat, staring at the closed door. "Well, that went well," I said aloud, to no one in particular.
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Well, after that rather lovely scene, I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep right away. I foresaw a very full night of obsessing and worrying ahead of me, so I prepared by grabbing some junk food and sitting down in front of the TV to kill a few brain cells (hopefully the short-term memory ones). There wasn't much on, so I ended up watching Changing Rooms for a while before finding a Muggle movie that involved much violence and nudity, always a good combination under any circumstance. As I watched a car chase scene involving those ridiculously small cars that people on the continent seemed to favor, I eventually decided that things could have gone much worse than they had. At least she wasn't mad at me, and she was most likely feeling just as awkward as I was about the whole situation. This would probably end up helping me, since she would likely avoid being alone with me or touching me. The months ahead would be difficult, but I could handle it. I am Harry Potter, after all, and difficult is my middle name, well, one of them - Harry James Repressed Difficult Potter. It's a bit unwieldy at times, so I usually just use the James.
The next thing I knew, I was being awoken by a pounding at the door. I looked around blearily, cringing at a sharp pain in my neck. I must've fallen asleep while watching TV and developed a nasty crick in my neck in the process. My left shoulder blade hurt a bit as well, but after stretching it out a bit, it felt normal again. I looked around the room for a bit, thinking there was something I had forgotten, when pounding at the door resumed, reminding me what that something was.
I got up and peered through the little peephole in the door and was surprised to find Hermione, holding a grocery bag, on the other side. I immediately ran a hand through my hair and tried to wipe the gunk out of my eyes. Unfortunately, I had a case of bedhead, but it was worse than normal because it was only on one side of my head. The left side of my hair was unnaturally pressed to my scalp, while the right side was sticking up wildly in all directions. After fruitlessly trying to even out my hair, I sighed and opened the door.
"Good morning," Hermione said brightly…a little too brightly.
"Uh, hi, Hermione. What are you doing here?" I asked, confused.
"I came to talk. Can I come in?" she said politely…a little too politely.
"Oh, sure, of course, please, come in," I said, feeling slightly embarrassed about last night. I wasn't sure how I felt about her being here so quickly after my confession, especially since she `came to talk.' No good ever came from that expression.
She gave me an appraising look. "I see you slept in your clothes last night," she said, stifling a giggle…a little too gigg - er, maybe I was getting a little overly suspicious.
"Yeah, well…" I watched as she walked to the kitchen and began taking things out of the grocery bag. "Um, Hermione? What are you doing?"
She gave me one of those `isn't it obvious?' looks; when will she realize things that are obvious to her are not so obvious to anyone else? "Making breakfast, of course. Isn't it obvious?" - my answer would be no - "Unless you actually went shopping and have more than peanut butter and jelly in your fridge?" Hermione opened the refrigerator door and inspected the contents; it didn't take long. "Nope, just as I thought."
"Hey!" I said, feeling slightly defensive. "There's butterbeer and leftover pizza in there too."
"Oh, I stand corrected," she teased. She laid out some more items and then looked at me, wrinkling her nose in a rather adorable way - again, the type of thought I should be repressing. "Go take a shower already…you look a mess," she ordered. I shrugged and then did as I was told, since I really didn't know what else to do.
I usually take quick showers, about five minutes. This time, however, I think I was in there for about twenty minutes. Why was she here? What did she want to talk about? My mind was swirling with very scary possibilities, and I was a little frightened to leave the safety of the bathroom. I finally came to the conclusion that she probably wouldn't leave even if I stayed in here all day, and even worse, she might come in to investigate. Besides, she obviously knew where I lived, so it's not like I could hide from her for long.
The smell of breakfast assaulted my senses as soon as I exited the bathroom. Walking into the kitchen, I found Hermione perched on the same bar stool she used last night, poring over what looked like a Muggle newspaper. She looked up and smiled when I entered the room. "Ah, much better," she said, and the remarkable thing was that she said it in a way that was totally unremarkable - it was as if I hadn't just confessed my deepest secret to her the night before. I stood there mutely while I mulled this over in my head. "Go, sit down already," she said laughing at me.
So far it didn't look like the big, awkward, emotional scene that I had half-expected was going to happen. I sat across from her and picked up my fork while Hermione returned her attention to the newspaper. I decided to let her take the lead on this one, since the whole scene was a bit too surreal to me. Part of me was feeling slightly put out as well; was she going to completely ignore the fact that I had the hots for her? What was I, chopped liver? After taking a second bite of my breakfast, she looked up at me. "I think we should talk about last night."
On second thought, perhaps ignoring the whole fiasco was the preferred option. To be honest, I really didn't want to talk about it at all. I'd rather sweep it under the rug and never speak of it again, much like the incident when Hermione walked in on Ron that one time while he was…er, `exercising.' But as I really couldn't see a way out of the situation (though I did briefly consider taking a flying leap out the window, the rationale being that she would be too distracted by my near-death experience to talk about it), I just nodded my head.
"I thought about what you said all night, and I think I've come up with a solution," she said, very seriously. Now this sounded very much like Hermione. A solution that hopefully involved action, and not talking about feelings and emotions and how she pitied me. Things were looking up.
"What's the solution?" I asked, curious.
She smiled at me, and I knew right away that this would not be a fun solution - it was the same kind of smile that she got when she talked about `SPEW.' She reached over and took my hand. "I think we should go out on a date."
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A/N: I didn't realize that you get an email if an author responds to feedback; I figured no one read those things. So, I'm trying my best to respond in between work (or in lieu of work), so you can check them out.
Oh, and the title comes from a classic Adam Sandler movie line, changed of course to fit the story. Can anyone guess?
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