Author's Note: Here's the next chapter, and way early too. Oh, did you think I meant this past Monday. Heh, yeah, well, I meant next Monday, so this chapter is early. Yeah, that's the ticket.
But seriously folks…I decided to add a scene to this story that comes after this chapter, so this one had to be reworked somewhat. Also, I'm somewhat proud of Harry's internal ramblings here, so I hope you enjoy!
Sleekeasy's the Devil! - Part III
Er, did I just stroke out there for a second? Did she just say what I think she just said? I looked down at my hands and clenched and unclenched them to make sure I was still in control of my body. What were the signs of a stroke again? Something about shortness of breath and numbness, or was that for a heart attack? I suppose I could be having either, or both, but I didn't seem to have any symptoms (at least not any symptoms that I could remember). So, notwithstanding a lapse into dementia, which doesn't run in my family - or does it? I mean, I guess this isn't the sorta thing that people would want to tell me, right? Hey, Harry, your dad was a great Quidditch player, and did anyone mention that your great-uncle was a complete basketcase? Actually, now that I think about it, Aunt Petunia was probably insane, seeing as how she married Uncle Vernon, after all, so maybe…oh wait, where was I?
Oh yeah, the date. Did Hermione just suggest that we go out on a date together? As in where a witch and a wizard go out as more than just friends? She must've asked me what today's date is, right? But no, I've been asked that a couple times in my life, and what she said didn't sound like that. So did that mean she actually wanted to go out on a date, a real date, with me? Maybe it was a pity date; Hermione's nice enough that she wouldn't want to hurt my feelings by flat-out rejecting me. Or maybe it was all part of her plan: we would go out on a date together, and I would get over these feelings after realizing there's no chemistry between us. Yeah, that sounds reasonable.
After going through that rather convoluted train of thought (with a slight derailment near the beginning), I belatedly realized that I hadn't said anything for the past minute. She was watching me with a rather amused expression on her face, those very kissable lips forming a slight smile, that adorable nose, her hair tied in a ponytail with a few wisps falling about that enchanting face…
Whoops, there went another minute of silence. I need to watch out for that from now on. I decided that I should say something deep and meaningful and try to regain my cool, though being cool is not something I've been accused of a lot, especially when I was younger with my mop of hair and the glasses I wore. Funny though, because I think those glasses are coming back into style, so I should probably see if I still have them somewhere…I can be retro-Harry. Whoa, what the hell's going on here?! Focus! I think that makes three minutes of silence now, so I absolutely had to say something at this point. It had to be really good, to show that I had been engrossed in thought this whole time, considering what she just said and weighing the pros and cons with utmost care. I cleared my throat, and nodded my head slowly and in a wise and thoughtful manner, and then I opened my mouth:
"Huh?"
Darn. Well, so much for wise and thoughtful.
Hermione made some sort of noise that I couldn't identify for a minute, until I realized that it was a giggle. "A date, Harry. You know what a date is, right?"
"Right," I said. "Date. Date good." Date good? Date good?! Gah! The next thing you know, I'll be grunting and scratching myself. I always thought it was just a phrase, but I think I was literally struck dumb at the moment. I could practically feel the brain cells leaping to their deaths from my ears like little microscopic lemmings. And, of course, when I so eloquently said `date good,' I obviously I meant `date terribly frightening,' on par with facing an irate McGonagall while in the midst of a panty raid of the Hufflepuff dorms. Ah, Susan Bones in a nightdress…good times…good times…
"So," Hermione was saying, bringing me back from my pleasant memories - at least my minor stroke didn't affect my long-term memories. I shook my head slightly to focus back on the present conversation, forcing out of my head the visions of scantily-clad Hufflepuffs prancing about. "I figure our first date should be Muggle-style; less media attention that way. What do you think about the standard `dinner and a movie' date?"
"Sure," I replied, and two things occurred to me. One, that I said sure without thinking. I actually agreed to go out on a real date with Hermione! I started shivering from nervousness. The second thing that dawned on me was that ever since she suggested the date, I've been incapable of saying a word longer than a single syllable.
"What do you feel like eating?"
"Er…"
"Italian? French? Chinese?"
"Um…" At this point, I was getting a little concerned. Maybe I did stroke out; it would explain my sudden incoherence.
"Okay then. What about a movie? Any particular movie you want to see?" she asked, sliding across the Muggle newspaper, which was open to the movie listings.
"Well…" I temporized as I pulled the newspaper to me, but for some reason I couldn't concentrate on the words. It was like I was having an out-of-body experience.
Hermione chuckled. "All right, tell you what: just pick me up at my flat at around six o'clock tomorrow. I'll take care of the rest, okay?"
I nodded. "Okay." Did that count as a multi-syllabic word? I mean, it's just the letters `O' and `K' put together. Is syllabic even a word, or did I just make it up? I mean what does - my lord, did she say tomorrow?! As in, less than twenty-four hours?! Where's my inhaler when I need it? Oh, right…I don't use an inhaler…maybe I should go buy an inhaler…
Hermione smiled at me, and I couldn't help smiling back like a big doof. What was I just thinking about? She stood and started walking towards the door, and it occurred to me that I should use a word that I was sure had more than one syllable. "Bye, Hermione," I said at the door. Jackpot! Her-my-oh-knee, that's four syllables!
"Bye, Harry," she said, and right before she left, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek. I will never wash that cheek again.
**************
The hours spent until six o'clock were possibly the most stressful hours of my life. It was the same feeling I had while waiting for the Third Task to begin - a mixture of anticipation and fear. I hate that mixture; I much preferred mixing happiness with joy. Anyways, I pored through my closet for the umpteenth time, all the time wondering what possessed Hermione to suggest a date. Seriously, what's up with that girl? Obviously, she had the misfortune to be raised in an open and caring environment, where people actually talked about their emotions and resolved their issues. Now, the Dursleys; there's the poster family for denial, avoiding confrontation, and sweeping unpleasantness under the rug. Is Dudley gaining too much weight? No, he's just big-boned and a growing boy. Does Uncle Vernon have a bad temper? No, he's just expressive, and isn't that a lovely shade of purple? Aunt Petunia has a shrill voice? Naw, she's…well, I guess I can't really do anything with that one. Harry hasn't eaten for days? Harry? Harry who? You mean the kid under the stairs that Ripper chases around the yard? The one Dudley beats on for fun? Not eating will make him faster, less weight to carry around and all that.
Hmmm…no wonder I'm such a bucket of cheer. Stinkin' Muggles.
All right, time to put those feelings back in the little box of denial like usual. So, under normal circumstances, I pay only minimal attention to my clothes; as long as they matched, I was good to go. I suppose growing up with Dudley's hand-me-downs makes anything that simply fits seem straight out of an issue of Witch Weekly. But, of course, this was hardly a `normal circumstance.' This was a date with Hermione, my best friend of forever-and-a-day. I just couldn't show up at her door looking like a street urchin straight out of Oliver. This called for drastic action, and time was slipping away, much like my sanity, by the way. I tossed some floo powder into the fireplace, and called out, "The Burrow!" After the fire turned green, I knelt down and stuck my head into the flames. No one was in the main room when my head arrived. "Hello?" I called out, "anyone home?"
I heard the pitter-patter of footsteps, and a small, freakishly adorable, redheaded little girl, about four years old, came running up to me. "Uncle Harry!" she said delightedly, crouching before the flames.
"Hi Amelie! How's my favorite niece!" I asked in the cutesy-voice one uses when speaking with small children.
Amelie seemed to seriously consider the question for a moment. "Good," she finally decided. "Uncle Harry come for dinner?" she asked.
I shook my head. "I'd love to but-"
Ack! That was a mistake. Apparently she interpreted `I'd love to' as a yes, so Amelie promptly grabbed me by my ears and started pulling with all her might. And let me tell you, that little girl is stronger than she looks. Of course, I couldn't cry out in agony or raise my voice, because she was just a little girl trying to pull me through the floo network by my ears. I was trying to figure out how to politely stop Amelie from removing my ears when I was saved by her mother.
"Amelie? What are you doing?"
Amelie stopped tugging and turned. "It's Uncle Harry, Momma. I was just pulling him through the fireplace."
Fleur Weasley shook her head gently at the little girl (A/N: apologies, I can't do a French accent, or any other accent for that matter, in writing). I looked up at her, and, like every other time, was momentarily taken aback by her beauty. You'd think that I'd get over the whole Veela thing by now. "Honey, we talked about pulling people through fireplaces, remember?"
Amelie thought hard. "Oh, yes, I remember." She turned to look at me. "Sorry, Uncle Harry."
"It's okay, sweetie."
"Allo, Harry. How are you?"
"I'm fine. Is Ginny around?"
Fleur nodded. "Un moment." She turned her head and, in a surprising loud voice, cried, "GINNY! FLOO FOR YOU!"
She bade me farewell, gathered up her small child, and left the room just as Ginny bounded down the stairs. "Harry!" she said. "What a pleasant surprise!"
I decided to get right to the point. Time was of the essence. "Help!"
"What?"
I sighed. "I…uh, have a date tonight, and I need new clothes, ASAP." Ginny grinned, and I prepared myself for the inevitable.
"Ooohhhhh, ickle Harry's got a da-ate! Woo-hoo!" she cried happily.
"Yeah, yeah, get it out of your system Weasley."
"I'd better call the papers! Get an exclusive! `Most Eligible Bachelor finally goes out on a date!' What will the Harry Potter Fan Club think?" She proceeded to dance about and mock me in general for about a minute before settling down. I tried to feel put out, but I couldn't help but grinning - I reminded myself that this is what it must feel like to have a sister. "Who's the lucky witch?" she finally asked.
"Er, I'd rather not say at the moment." I said evasively.
Ginny looked thoughtful, and then snapped her fingers. "I know the perfect outfit for you! Hermione will love it!"
"Good, because you should see the clothes I have - wait! Um, did you say Hermione? Hermione who? No, wait, I mean, what makes you think I have a date with Hermione?" It's a good thing my head was miles away from my body, because I wanted to slap myself silly. Seriously, `Hermione who?' What the hell was that all about? Was there even any point in playing dumb anymore, and was I even playing at this point?
Ginny gave me a tolerant smile. "It's a girl thing," she said simply. "Meet me in Diagon Alley." I nodded, pulled my head out of the fireplace, and then apparated to Diagon Alley.
Shopping, specifically shopping for clothes, was very low on my list of favored activities. It ranked higher than a home-cooked dinner with Snape (though he does make a mean casserole), but still lower than re-growing bones. At least we weren't shopping for women's shoes (don't get me started on that one…I mean, seriously, they all look alike! Plus, with robes you can barely see them!), though I had to forcibly drag Ginny past a few stores.
Ginny decided that the event called for some fancy-schmancy clothes - jeans and a t-shirt would not do at all. I briefly considered asking how she knew I had a date with Hermione, but I decided I didn't want to know; I could live with her smug expression. Our routine was generally the same: we would enter a clothing store, and the snooty workers would take one look at my clothes and look away sniffily. However, once someone noticed the scar on my forehead, everyone was instantly all smiles. Ginny, never one to lay down to an insult, would usually say something like "I can't believe they treat Harry Potter like this! Wait until I tell the Daily Prophet" if we weren't sufficiently kow-towed too. That Ginny: don't mess with her!
After a few hours, we decided to take a quick Fortescue's break, bags piled about our feet - Ginny had taken the opportunity to add to her own wardrobe as well. It was definitely a different experience shopping with Ginny then with Hermione, and I gotta say, carrying Ginny's bags of clothes was a lot easier than carrying Hermione's bags of books. Ginny had just spilt a bit of ice cream on the table and was about to get up to grab a napkin when I decided to show off.
"Here," I said, putting a hand on her arm, "allow me." I reached out a hand and summoned a napkin. Normally not anything impressive, but I had been practicing summoning charms without a wand, and had gotten pretty good at it. Unfortunately, it seems I needed a bit more practice. My smug little grin vanished as a small blizzard of napkins flew towards me, quickly covering the table and surrounding floor.
Ginny, of course, was incoherent with laughter. "Well, at least the ice cream is cleaned up," I said, pointing towards the mound of napkins covering the spilled ice cream.
"Oh yes, definitely," she agreed, wiping at her eyes with one of the napkins. "By the way, nice going there, Mr. Magic."
"Pfft. I didn't spend seven years in magic school to be called Mr. Magic. That's Doctor Magic." I grinned at her, impressed by my own wit.
However, based on the rather blank look on her face, my cleverness was lost on her. "You know, doctor?" I asked.
Her blank look continued for a moment until realization dawned. "Oh right!" she said. "Doctors are those things Muggles have, right?" Then she grew confused again. "But I thought they were like healers. They have magic doctors?"
I sighed. "Never mind."
As we cleaned up my mess and went off for another round of shopping, Ginny shook her head. "Honestly Harry, you're such a Muggle sometimes."
Finally, after a mere three hours (and by mere, I actually mean `my Lord, what have I done to deserve such punishment?'), I finally had a few new shirts and slacks. It would have been faster, but for some inexplicable reason, Ginny kept insisting that I try out pink shirts. Pink?! Hello?! I accompanied her back to the Burrow, knowing that if I didn't at least attempt to say hello to her mother, I'd be in for a world of trouble.
A/N: Next chapter comes a new scene, and then probably the date after that.
Here's a bit of irony: I usually don't like reading first person POV stories. True, one of favorite HP stories is in Hermione's POV, but generally I don't like them. I only write them because it lets me go free-form in Harry's head. What do you guys think? Do you like first person POV?
Also, I was inspired by the quote-fest from the last round of reviews, so I added one of my favorite movie quotes (suitably changed to fit the story). See if you can find it.
And in case you didn't know, the story title was taken from Adam Sandler's Waterboy, which most of the reviewers had guessed correctly.
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