Sleekeasy's the Devil!!

Author's Note: Of course I don't own the characters, but the plot is mine! I swear!

I know I have a story out there that needs a chapter or two, but work has been utterly crazy. If you had a few hours, I can go into detail, but let's be honest, you only care about my stories, right? Thought so *sniff*

Anyways, with the holidays coming up, and next week looking just as crazy as the last three, I don't think I'll be able to get back to Four's a Crowd. So, in the meantime, I thought I'd pull out this old classic. My first ever 1st person POV story. If you've read it somewhere else other than at Portkey, it's a plagery (Okay, I know that's not a word, but forgery isn't right, and since I couldn't think of the right word, I figured I'd make it up). It's not verbatim the same, since I changed a few phrases here and there.

A big thanks to Tawny Spitfyre for the beta (though note that I added my new phrases after she beta'd it).

Happy Thanksgiving!

Sleekeasy's the Devil! - Part I

Though I'm not proud to say, I have officially added another person to my “Most Hated” List. And yes, though I'll deny it if ever asked, I do have a Hate list. In my defense though, about 99% of the time I'm pretty laid back; even quiet and unassuming. People don't generally bother me all that much (though they do tend to annoy me rather easily), but there are a select few that have an honored place on my Hate list. Topping that list, of course, is good old Tommy Riddle, may he endure eternal wedgies in that place where Dark Lords are forced to suffer for their sins. I suppose his place is more honorary than anything, since technically he's dead and all, but he was such a right bastard that he gets top honors. The Malfoys also make the list, both Senior and his pointy-headed albino son. Malfoy Senior's tried to kill me a few times, and call me sensitive, but I think it's only natural to dislike people who try and murder you, no? And I guess I can consider his oily spawn as my `mortal enemy - school version,' since, of course, Riddle was my real mortal enemy. But Draco was a real bastard. A couple of Riddle's toadies also make the list, like that deranged witch Lestrange. But today, a new name has been added to the list: Adalbert Sleekeasy. I know it may sound strange to have someone who specializes in hair care products, rather than horror and mayhem, on my list, but that bastard has probably ruined my life just when I thought things were looking up.

It all started on a normal Friday night. For once, Ron hadn't any plans and Hermione was busy, so it became a guy's night out, or in, as it were. I had made the mistake of introducing Ron to the wonders of Muggle video games; now he couldn't get enough of them. I was over at Ron's flat, and it had been a good night so far, with the two of us eating pizza, drinking butterbeers, and me beating him like an old drum at a fighting game (feels good, I can tell you, after the years of chess humiliation). Life was good, I was happy, and then Sleekeasy came and ruined everything! Okay, not literally; I mean, Adalbert didn't saunter into the flat or anything, but you'll see what I mean.

Anyways, Ron was whining like a little girl again when a knock sounded at the door. Ron paused the game while I relaxed on the couch, basking in my superiority in the virtual world as he opened the door. “Hey Hermione,” I heard him say. “What're you doing here?” he asked curiously. I was curious as well, since I thought she had a date. I stood up and turned to say hi to my other best friend, but the greeting died on my lips when I saw her.

Now, don't get me wrong, I had always known that Hermione was a girl - the fact that she liked to talk about `feelings' and liquid fell from her eyes and that for some inexplicable reason she didn't like Quidditch was a dead giveaway. Plus, I'm a guy, and I've noticed Hermione's, er…`feminine attributes' every now and then throughout the years. True, Hogwarts robes tend to hide things that should not be hidden, but the skirts were a nice touch. Now, usually when I see her, she's dressed casually: bushy hair bushing (that's a word, right?), little make-up, and comfortable, sensible clothes. But tonight she was still all fancied up from her date, and let me tell you, she cleans up real good.

It wasn't what she was wearing: just a simple summer dress that showed off her arms and legs…okay, maybe what she was wearing had a little something to do with it. But mostly it was her hair. I imagine it was quite a battle, but those bushy locks were tamed into elegant curls and piled into some kind of twisty bun, with a few stray tendrils grazing her neck. I was inexorably reminded of fourth year, when I wondered who the hot chick that Victor Krum brought to the Yule Ball was. That was Sleekeasy's fault too, if I remember correctly. He must put some kind of horny spell in that damn hair potion, and I ain't talking about growing antlers.

“Hi, Ron. Hi, Harry,” Hermione said, breaking me out of my gawking.

I cleared my throat, forcing myself to act cool. “Hi, Hermione. What are you doing here? I thought you had a date.”

She sighed. “I did…it didn't go well.” She looked at me meaningfully and shook her head slightly, telling me without words that the wizard had been a bit too handsy with her. Early on, we agreed not to share certain details with Ron, like whenever one of Hermione's dates tried to take advantage of her. Ron still had the old “big brother” mentality, and combined with his Weasley temper, he could easily go flying off the broom if he found out. And though I though that it might be amusing, Hermione insisted that neither one of us wanted to read in the Daily Prophet how Ron was arrested for assault.

Anyways, it was something she had expressed frustration about before. Some wizards, seeing her bookish, sometimes aloof exterior, took it as a challenge to `melt' her, so to speak, to break her out of her shell. They saw her as repressed. It annoyed me as well, but I didn't get worked up over it. Hermione was a big girl, after all, and she could more than take care of herself. But for some reason, tonight it made me almost as mad as Ron would have been. But I'm Harry Potter - I'm used to hiding my emotions.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Ron said sympathetically. “Want something to eat? I think we have some leftover pizza.”

Hermione grinned. “I'd love some,” she said and walked over to the kitchen. “Still playing those video games, huh?” she asked with amusement as she dove right into the pizza box.

Ron scowled. “Yeah, and Harry keeps cheating!”

“I do not!”

“Do too!”

“Do not”

“Do t-”

“All right, all right,” Hermione interrupted, saving me from another round of `Do not's, though I clearly had the upper hand. “I have winner!” she said gleefully. That was another odd thing about Hermione. I would never have expected her to like video games, but I guess it just proves that she can still surprise me even after all these years. For once I regretted my superior skills, for soon after beating Ron, Hermione sat on the couch next to me.

I lost, but she definitely cheated, though it would be a hard to prove. I suppose it was unintentional cheating, because it's not her fault I was distracted by her perfume, or when her leg brushed against mine, or how she would lean into me while putting some body action into the controller. After losing rather handily, I suddenly felt very uncomfortable around her, which was crazy. She's been my best friend for almost thirteen years now, been through hell and back with me, and suddenly I can't look at her without wondering what it would be like to kiss her. Damn you Sleekeasy! You better hope you're never in a dark alley alone with me!

After half an hour of feeling very awkward and uncomfortable, I politely made my exit, feigning a headache. Ron looked disappointed and gave me a few butterbeers for the road, but Hermione…well, she gave me one of her looks that said, “I know you're hiding something.” Of all the people in the world, only Hermione could read my body language that well, and I had to get out of there before she read the language from a very particular part of my body and found out that I was having a different kind of feeling for her that night. Fortunately, I managed to make it out of there unscathed, and I hoped that a good night's sleep would snap me out of it.

************

Well, so much for the magical powers of a good night's sleep. Sleeping is over-rated, anyways. If anything, it made things much, much worse, for I had forgotten about the uncanny ability of my dreams to reflect my subconscious. In the past, my dreams usually revolved around Riddle and the little spy camera I had into his life; I now look upon those days with fondness. I awoke the next morning feeling rather…tingly…after having a very detailed dream about Hermione. About Hermione and me, to be exact, and our efforts to increase the wizarding population.

My usual strategy for attempting to get over a girl (not that I've done that often) is to avoid her. However, when the girl in question is your best friend, avoiding her without hurting her feelings is an almost Herculean task. It would have been so, so much easier to ignore my feelings for my best friend if said best friend's lovely body were covered by layers of wool and long pants. As fate would have it though, it was the middle of the summer, and it was all I could do to tear my eyes away from her slim legs, shapely hips, clingy tee-shirts…well, it was difficult indeed.

My biggest mistake was agreeing to go to the beach. What can I say? I just wasn't thinking. It was a beautiful day outside, perfect for sun and surf. Most of the Weasleys would be going as well, so it wasn't like it would be just Hermione and me alone together. Everything was going along swimmingly (no pun intended), and I had just put down the blanket when Hermione, next to me, removed her shirt. At that point, I heartily gave thanks to Hermione's parents for raising such a modest girl, for she was wearing a one-piece bathing suit; heaven knows the effect that a bikini would have on me. I caught myself staring before she did, and stammered something unintelligible before fleeing into the water.

I soon learned that there are more dangerous things than sharks and jellyfish in the water when Hermione splashed her way towards me, running through the surf. My God, no words could possibly do justice to the sight of Hermione running through the surf. In fact, let me bask in the memory for a minute…

Okay, back. Where was I? Oh yeah. So, for a second or twenty, I was mesmerized by the sight of Hermione bouncing, but then she splashed me, which brought me back to my senses, and a furious splashing battle ensued. For a moment there, it was as if everything was back to normal, as if we were just friends again, until she tried to dunk me. Well, certainly I couldn't let that pass, so I tried to dunk her in response, which led to some odd water-wrestling scene and much laughter. After a few minutes of that, I somehow found myself very close to her, her legs loosely wrapped around me as she laughed delightedly. I suddenly became very aware of the fact that only a few millimeters of fabric separated her bare skin from mine. That thought, along with the feeling of her bare thighs and legs wrapped around me, produced a predictable reaction by Harry Jr.

However, on retrospect, I think I might have overreacted just then, for I flung Hermione away from me before she noticed anything was up (okay, this time pun intended). She regained the surface of the water and looked at me in confusion while I tried to act natural, like I meant to throw her into the water with all my might. Fortunately, before she could inquire about my odd behavior, the Weasleys called us in from the water for lunch. I let Hermione go ahead, saying that I wanted to swim a bit more, in actuality buying time while my body relaxed a bit. Though the sight of her running away from me didn't help any.

Since then, I've carefully avoided situations that involved bathing suits and physical contact, while at the same time trying to act completely natural. My only hope was to hold out until the winter, when jumpers and jeans would help me power through these temporary feelings.

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A/N: So, does anyone read those author's responses to reviews? Just wondering…

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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.

********************

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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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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A/N: Hello! I hope everyone is having a happy holiday season. Mine has been very tiring, but very fun. We had family visiting from both my side and my wife's side, and our little daughter (20 months) had a blast playing with the aunties and uncles she never sees. And talk about presents! I tried to tell them all that all she wants is a new set of irons or a new driver, but no one listened.

But, of course, you care nothing of this, and only want the next part, right? So here it is. It's a bit shorter then the previous chapters, but that's because it's all new material and therefore unbeta'd (see my A/N at the end for details).

Sleekeasy's the Devil! - Part IV

I left the shopping bags by the door as I entered the sprawling little house. Every time I walk into the Burrow, I always get a little warm fuzzy. Despite its small size and the ever-present mess (despite Mrs. Weasley's best efforts), it just seems to embody family and love. As I walked into the kitchen, I was a little surprised to find my other best friend sitting at the table.

“Hi Ron,” I greeted him. “What brings you here?”

“Hey Harry. Just visiting,” he responds, though there's something about his eyes that tells me there's nothing `just' about this visit. “How was shopping?” he asks, eyeing the bags though the hallway.

I groan a bit melodramatically as I slump into a chair. “Hellish!”

“Hey!”

“I mean wonderful!”

“Yeah, thanks a lot Harry,” Ginny says, a mock pout on her face.

“Just kidding Ginny. You know I'd be doomed without you.” She gave me a small smile of acknowledgement before turning to the stove.

“So, what's the big occasion?” Ron asks.

I open my mouth, but then close it immediately. All of a sudden I realized that I haven't considered how my date with Hermione would affect Ron. Would he be angry? Jealous? Confused? Hurt? All of the above?

“Yoo hoo! Harry?”

I shook my head to clear the cobwebs. I figured I should tell the truth; if I were to lie now, and he were to find out later, I'd be paying for it for the rest of the year. “Er…right then. You see…I…umm-” I looked at Ron, and instead of seeing a confused expression (as I would have expected), he looked amused, almost gleeful. “What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said, but of course he couldn't hide the smile.

“What are you grinning at?” I demanded.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

It suddenly occurred to me what was going on. “You know!” I accused.

“Know what?” he asks, the picture of innocence.

I turn to Ginny. “You told!” I accused.

Ginny raised her hand in defense. “I was with you the whole time!” she protested.

She did have a point. I turned back to Ron and eyed him carefully. It was his turn to raise his hands in defense.

“Oh no you don't!” he says. “None of that Legilimency mumbo-jumbo!”

“Then how did you know?” I ask.

Ron shrugs and nonchalantly turns back to his plate. “Hermione told me,” he says simply.

“What?!” Ginny and I say in unison.

Ron looked up. “She came by early this afternoon. Knocked on my door and barged right in.”

“And she told you?” I asked. I was a little surprised, though not sure why. I guess I subconsciously thought we would keep our date a secret in case it didn't work out.

Ron chuckled. “Well, you know how sweet and patient our Hermione is. She comes right in, tells me that you and her are going out on a date, and then says I have three minutes to get used to the situation.”

Ginny and I couldn't help but laugh. It sounded so much like Hermione. “And did you?” Ginny asked.

“Of course,” Ron said, looking affronted. “You're my best friends. Why wouldn't I want you happy? Plus, looking down the `business end' of Hermione's wand tends to make one more accepting of changes.”

Ginny giggled, but I was a little worried. “Are you okay with this?” I ask. “I mean, are you really okay with this?”

He grew serious. “Well, I was shocked at first, but yeah, I'm okay with this.”

“Really?” Ginny asked, sounding skeptical. I myself was also a bit skeptical at this point.

Ron looked insulted - or at least tried to. “Listen, just because maybe a few times I may have acted a bit jealous at times-”

“A few times?” I interrupted. “Do you want me to make a list of all the-”

“-shut it Potter. As I was saying: just because a few times I may have been a bit jealous back in school-”

“Back in school? Just last week Bill got a nice chess set and you-”

“-shut it Ginny. The point is, I have grown up over the years, whether you guys have noticed it or not. I'm fine with it, okay?” I looked at him closely, and then nodded. “I will admit though, at first I didn't like it,” he continued.

“How come?” Ginny asked, curious.

“Well, I was afraid of becoming the fifth meal, which I'm sure you can understand how-”

I shook my head. “I'm sorry, the what?”

Ron looked over his shoulder at me. “You know, the fifth meal?”

“Er…”

“And you know what? I've always been confused by that expression,” Ron said, turning to face me fully. “I mean, the first meal is breakfast, and second is lunch, and the third is dinner. So what's the fourth meal? Is it tea? `Cause that's not really a meal, at least not by my standards. But if it counts as meal, then I can see why the fifth meal would be sorta useless, though to be honest, I can easily go with a fifth and sixth meal. In fact, I often do have five or six-”

“Ah!” I interrupted, finally understanding what he was babbling on about. “You mean the fifth wheel, not the fifth meal.”

“What?”

“You know, like a car has four wheels, so a fifth wheel would be useless.”

His face brightens. “Ah, I get it now.” Then he chuckles. “You Muggles are a clever lot.”

“I'm not a Muggle,” I replied, confused.

“Sure act like one sometimes…anyways,” he said quickly, before I could interrupt, “I was afraid of becoming a fifth wheel, but the more I thought about it - with Hermione's wand pointed at my nose - the more I realized that things won't change that much.”

“No?”

“No. I mean, you're still going to be my annoying brother, and Hermione's still going to be my know-it-all best friend. The only thing is that I'll have to get used to seeing the two of you kiss,” Ron said, making a face at the last thought.

“Well…that's awfully…” I struggled to find the word…

“Grown-up?” Ron offered.

I nodded. “Yeah, grown-up of you.”

“Wow, I'm impressed, big brother. I would never have thought it of you.”

“Thanks Gin. That's why you're my favorite sister.”

“Thanks Ron - wait! I'm your only sister!”

“Yeah, and it was still a close call for favorite sister…the ghoul in the attic made a strong argument.”

They traded sarcastic little smiles and nods (but no doubt filled with family love), and then Ginny cocked her head to the side. “But…I thought…I thought you had a…thing for Hermione?”

Ron groaned. “That was ages ago! Man, that's the trouble with knowing the same people for ten years; I can't live anything down! Besides, I have woman knocking at the door of my building all the time!”

“Well,” I said, “you do live above Madam Malkins…”

“I thought I told you to shut it. So, you excited?”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

They traded looks. “You okay Harry?” Ginny asked.

I nodded. “Of course I'm okay,” I replied, though it sounded unconvincing even to my own ears. Ron and Ginny traded concerned, and slightly alarmed, looks, and I couldn't blame them. Ever since the end of fifth year, when I knew that I pretty much had no choice but to take a more active role in the fight against Voldemort, I adhered to one of the most important rules of leadership: always look like you know what you're doing, even when you have no frickin' idea. If I flipped out at the thought of Death Eaters, there's no way anyone who is following me will have any confidence at all. This little rule was actually pretty easy for me to follow, having had years of practice with the Dursleys. It was only a matter of perfecting the skill in a new environment. I don't think either Ron or Ginny had ever seen me in a panic. I mean, sure, they've seen me in a rage, or in solitude, but never panicked. It's no wonder they were worried.

“Listen, Harry,” Ginny began. “You'll do fine. Everything will turn out great.” There was silence, until Ron broke it.

“Ow! Er, yeah Harry, you'll do fine.” Ron threw his sister a dirty look as he rubbed his leg. “Normally when you go out on a date, I tell you to not be yourself, since you are, after all, a git.”

“Ron!”

“But this is Hermione,” Ron continued, ignoring Ginny's outburst. “She knows everything about you already, and she still wants to go out with you! Seriously mate, you have it made.”

I chuckled. “Good point.”

“Right then,” Ron said, looking pleased. “Just relax and be yourself, and you'll have a great time. Just one thing though…”

“Yeah?”

He waited until he was sure I had his full attention, and then he gave me this really stern look. “If you hurt my best friend, I'll make sure you regret it,” he said in a low, menacing voice.

I stared at him in shock, not expecting this. And then I did the only thing I could in this situation: I laughed. I couldn't stop laughing, and it didn't help that Ginny was laughing uncontrollably as well. Ron threw his hands up in frustration. “What? What? It's not supposed to be funny!”

“I know, I know…I'm sorry,” I said after getting a hold of myself.

Ron looked put out. “Man, the worst thing is that Hermione laughed at me too,” he said in a hurt voice.

And, of course, that caused Ginny and me to laugh again for a few more minutes.

*****************

A/N: Although I'm sure everyone thought Chapter 3 was suitably hilarious (and keep it to yourself if you didn't), some expressed the opinion that it was a bit too much. And, surprisingly, I would agree.

Technically, Sleekeasy's the Devil is the first story I ever wrote in 1st person sarcastic!Harry. Not She Will be Mine, though I posted that first. So, Sleekeasy's has a lot more of the free-form thinking, when I jammed in everything that was going through my head and used a lot of parentheses. Since then, I've toned it down a bit, and I've even edited much of this story for public consumption. So, why then, so much in Chapter 3? It was just too darned good to delete. I mean, that was some inspired sh!t, right? It was like freakin' 8 Mile without the rap! Ok, not really.

Hmmm…I suppose if you thought Chapter 3 was perfect, this actually isn't good news for you. So pretend you didn't read this. Obliviate!

Anyways, this chapter was not part of the original Sleekeasy's, and neither will be the next. The date was originally a few summary paragraphs, but you, lucky you, will get some all-new material. In fact, I'm changing the whole end, so hang on to your hats!

Okay, you can let them go now. Happy New Years!

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Author's Note: Here's the last part of the story; I hope you've enjoyed this little tale. I also have a little surprise at the end, sorta like bonus features of a DVD, that comes after a lengthy author's note.

Some parts of the beginning of this chapter might sound a little choppy. That's because I combined old writing with new, and couldn't figure out the best way to smooth it over (okay okay, I was just lazy).

Sleekeasy's the Devil! - Part V

After enjoying a few more laughs at Ron's expense, I was finally ready for my date with Hermione. Ginny had picked out something nice for me to wear tonight, and following her advice, I stopped on the way to Hermione's to buy flowers. All too soon, I found myself outside her door.

I stood there for a good minute, paralyzed by my fear. I finally managed to rouse myself with Gryffindorish-type thoughts (`Gryffindors are brave, hear us roar!') and idly wondered why I couldn't be a Hufflepuff (`Hufflepuffs are meek, look away while we disappear into the woodwork!') before finally knocking on her door. I heard her turning the knob, and I affixed a smile on my face.

When she opened the door, I was dumbstruck. Again. I was expecting my Hermione to answer the door - the bushy-haired, sensibly dressed young woman I've known more than half my life. Instead, I got something else entirely.

Her hair was once again all Sleekeasy'ed up, this time falling about her shoulders in elegant curls. I swear, something has to be done about the irresponsible use of Sleekeasy's. She wore a simple blouse with that one extra button left undone that I knew would keep my attention all night long. It wasn't enough to let me see any of the good stuff, but it was enough to tease me with what might be. It was truly diabolical.

And instead of jeans or slacks, she wore a skirt that ended just above the knees. Now, this normally wouldn't be a problem, since I've seen her in skirts almost everyday at school. But back then, her skirts were always accompanied by those kinky knee-length socks and shiny leather shoes (which, of course, leads to a whole different set of fantasies). The Hermione that stood before was not wearing anything between her skirt and her strappy sandals (at least that I could see; thinking about what else she might not be wearing in addition to socks would be too much for my little heart), and those legs just seemed to go on forever, which is rather interesting since she's only five feet tall on a good day, and only in the mornings at that.

“Hi, Harry, I'll be ready in just a minute,” she said with a smile. I think I nodded or said something in the affirmative. I really wasn't sure though, and it's not really all that important as I was busy watching her lovely hips sway back and forth as she walked away from me.

“So, um, where are we going to eat?” I managed to speak, using a full sentence even.

“There's a nice Italian place about two blocks from here. It's Muggle, so there's less chance we'll be recognized.”

“Sounds good,” I called back, and then spent the next two minutes preparing myself for the night ahead. I had to be strong, resilient, and tough. Oh yes, I was going to be like steel, unbendable and unflappable. But then Hermione re-appeared and promptly melted all that steel into a pile of hormonal goo. She walked up to me, and her mouth moved up and down.

“Um, what?” I asked.

“I said, are you ready?”

“Er, yeah, let's go.” We stepped out into the comfortable night air, and Hermione wrapped an arm around mine as we walked towards the restaurant. I think Hermione was talking again, but my mind was preoccupied with the dual sensations of her arm resting against my rib cage and the feeling of my arm resting against something soft and bouncy. God I'm such a perve. We eventually arrived at the restaurant and were shown to our seats.

Now, suffice to say I have not had an easy life. But through all the trials and tribulations, I have developed and held onto many strong beliefs - beliefs that got me through the tough times. I believe that good will eventually triumph or evil. I believe that if you work hard enough, you will get rewarded, even if a job well done is all the reward you get. I believe that Dumbledore always strives for the greater good, even if it means that someone (and of course I'm referring to myself) gets screwed along the way. I believe that you can always count on Hagrid to stand by your side, just as you can count on him to not keep a secret. I believe that honesty and loyalty are traits hard to find in people, and once you find those people, you better hold on to them, even if they do act like jealous, childish, red-headed git sometimes (not that I have anyone in mind specifically, of course).

And finally, through even the toughest times, I believe that there is someone out there for all of us; that after everything I've gone through, I'll eventually find that perfect someone who's a combination of best friend and sexy minx, and that when I'm with this girl, all the insecurity, the nervousness, and everything else just fades away simply because I'm with that girl. And, as I sat here at dinner, across from my best and sexiest friend Hermione, I realized something.

I was so naïve for believing such a load of crap.

Nervousness fades away? God, I've never been so nervous in my life! It's a good thing I applied nine different types of hygiene charms on myself, or I'd be sweating so much that I couldn't see. This was exactly how I felt facing Voldemort at the end: my stomach was doing flip-flops, I could barely think straight, I periodically had shivers running up and down my spine, I had the weight of the wizarding world on my shoulders, I doubted that I would survive another ten minutes, I was prepared for an agonizing and slow death…

Alright, so maybe it wasn't exactly like the time I faced Voldemort, but there are a few similarities. Some of my nervousness must've showed, as Hermione startled me out of my internal rambling by placing her hand over mine.

“Just relax, Harry,” she said gently, her eyes full of understanding and sympathy. “It's only me, Hermione. I'm the same girl you've known for over ten years.” I took a deep breath to calm myself, and then gave her a small smile. She smiled back and returned to her menu. At that point, it was all I could do to not roll my eyes. Was she serious? `It's only me, Hermione,' she says.

HA!

Again I say, HA!

Who was she kidding? That's the entire problem! If she were any other witch, I'd be fine. But the very fact that she is Hermione is what's causing me so much heartburn. `Only me. Hermione.' And some people say she doesn't have a sense of humor.

“So, anything look good?” she asked as she read over her menu.

“You.”

Hm. That was odd. I looked around, wondering who said that, because I know that I wouldn't say something that stupid. But when I turned back to Hermione, I found out that yes, I am in fact that stupid. But if nothing else, I was known for being quick on my feet, and I was up to the challenge.

I hid behind my menu; I just couldn't think of anything to say; Gilderoy Lockheart, I'm not.

“So,” I heard Hermione say, “The fettuccini looks interesting. I think I'll have that. What about you?”

“Erm, maybe the beef stew,” I said off-handedly. I was too nervous to think about dinner yet and hadn't really looked at the menu, despite burying my head behind it ever since we sat down. I didn't think she'd noticed.

“Harry, this is an Italian restaurant,” she said.

Well, so much for not noticing. “I meant to say lasagna,” I said quickly, looking up to give her a little embarrassed smile.

Fortunately, I was saved by the appearance of our waitress, whom I could hug at this point. “Hi, my name is Anne. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“YES!” I said quickly, with just a little hint of desperation. But since that wasn't very cool of me, I repeated myself in a nonchalant tone. “I mean, yes, I'd like a scotch if you have one.”

“Certainly,” Anne said. “And you?”

“Water's fine.”

And then Anne walked away, leaving Hermione and me alone again. Though I suppose she did have work to do, it would've been nice if she stuck around a little bit longer, got to know her better. Suddenly, I called out, “Make that a double!”

Hermione gave me a look. “Harry, am I really so boring that you need alcohol to get through the night?” I was horrified; is that what she thought by my drink order? I was just trying to calm my nerves, that's all. I struggled to come up with something to say when she suddenly broke out in fits of laughter.

“Oh Harry! The look on your face! I'm just teasing,” she said, smiling at me.

“Oh…heh, heh. Right, I knew that,” I say, managing a smile. Bint. Since when had my Hermione become such a cruel woman?

Anne returned at that point with my double scotch. I downed it immediately, and almost as immediately I spit it back up. Did I mention that I've never had anything stronger than butterbeer before? After assuring Anne and Hermione that I was fine, we put in our orders, and once again, Anne left me alone to my fate. No more hugs for Anne. I looked at Hermione, and my mind was completely devoid of conversation starters.

After a second of silence, Hermione reached into her pocket, withdrawing a piece of paper. “What's that?” I asked.

Hermione looked a little embarrassed. “Well, I figured it might be awkward at first, so I wrote down a list of things we can talk about.”

I wasn't sure if I should be offended that she thought so little of me, impressed that she knew me so well, or just thankful that there was a light to this tunnel of misery. I decided on thankful. “Sounds great,” I said, and I meant it.

Hermione smiled and started down the list. The first few topics - the weather, our jobs, etc. - were fairly disappointing and did little to erase the awkwardness. But then she brought up Ron's so-called `threat,' and things improved drastically. It's usually easy to bond with someone when you're both making fun of the same person. After that, the list was forgotten, and things were almost normal between us.

But then, as we were sharing a dessert, her leg brushed innocently against my own. Normally, we would have both automatically withdrawn our legs to a minimum safe distance, not really giving it much thought. But this time, I kept my leg where it was, and I waited with a pounding heart to see what she would do while I carried on the conversation as if something very important wasn't occurring, though why it was important, I couldn't say. She left her leg where it was. I found it to be a very intimate feeling. Not sexy, not kinky, not arousing - just intimate, a show of affection that went beyond friendship.

After dinner, we decided to walk to the movie theater, since it was only a few blocks away. Hermione was just saying how all the desserts looked good, when I replied, “You should try the tiramisu next time.” And that's when it struck me. That's when realization hit, when I suddenly knew what I should've done. I thought back to that critical moment and replayed the event in my head:

Hermione says: “So, anything look good?”

Harry says, rather stupidly: “You.”

And then, in a fit of brilliance, Harry says: “I mean, you should try the lasagna.”

It was so simple! Why didn't I think of that before, instead of cowering behind my menu? I'm such a moron! God, where's a time-turner when you need one?

“You okay Harry?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, fine,” I mumbled, still smarting over what I should have said. I looked over at her, and then for some reason it suddenly didn't seem to matter that much.

The movie was a very pleasant experience, with the added benefit that I didn't have to speak. Hermione had selected a light, romantic comedy for us to watch. It wasn't mushy, and there wasn't a single explosion in it, so it provided a very nice compromise. At some point during the film, I found myself holding her hand. Not cupped in a friendly way, but fingers intertwined, thumbs gently rubbing the other's hand. It was a thrilling experience, and though I watched the movie, one part of my mind was very aware of what was happening on the armrest.

In fact, the date was going so well overall that I half-expected a dark wizard attack once we left the theater. I actually had my hand on my wand just in case, but we seemed to be the only magical people around. A leisurely walk back to her flat followed as we discussed the movie. I was actually feeling pretty good about the whole thing (not counting the incident with the scotch) until we got to Hermione's flat, and it occurred to me that this is the part of the date where the first kiss typically occurs. What was I supposed to do? Was I even allowed to kiss her? If I tried, would she slap me across the face for being too forward? What if she offered me a handshake? My God, I think I'd just die from shame if that happened. Were there onions in my lasagna? Did my breath stink? Was I lousy kisser? If she does give me a sign that we should kiss, which way should I tilt my head? Should I just give a quick peck and retreat, or should I try and add a little tongue action? Should I-

And then she kissed me, and it was magic. Oh, I don't mean actual magic - there were no incantations murmured, no wands waved - but in a way, it was like a spell was cast on me: all of sudden, all my insecurity, my nervousness, and everything else just melted away when she kissed me. And I knew, this was what it was all for - Hermione. She was the reason I went through it all; oh sure, there was the whole `saving the world' and `avenging my parents' thing, and those were important, but they weren't the main reason why. She was, I just didn't know it at the time.

Hermione pulled away first, and when I opened my eyes and saw her, I knew everything would be okay. She smiled warmly at me and we hugged tightly, my face buried in her hair. As it turned out, maybe I wasn't so naïve after all.

**********

Author's Note: And that, as they say, is that. I hope you enjoyed, even though it was sort of an awkward ending, but there's a reason for that, and it's related to the surprise.

But before I get to the surprise, I wanted to share one of my biggest pet peeves about HP fanfic. Why here? Well, because of the firewall at work I no longer have access to the forums (though I can get to the fanfic, go figure), so I gotta write my opinions somewhere.

My pet peeve is the use of the word “bemused.” Stop using the word incorrectly! I swear, I have read maybe one or two fanfics that use it correctly, and I'm giving the benefit of the doubt to one of them. Bemused does not mean amused. Bemused means bewildered (or deep/lost in thought, but that one doesn't seem to apply as often). So, in OotP when Hermione suggests that Harry calls her ugly, he's not thinking, `silly Hermione, I don't think you're ugly.' No, what he's thinking is, `What the f*#$? Where'd you get the daft idea that I think you're ugly!?'

Oh, and what's with Harry's `lopsided' grin? I seem to read that everywhere! Does he really have a lopsided grin in cannon, or is this a fanfic thing that just grew and grew? And does anyone know another word for `bushy?' And keep in mind that bushy does not equal curly; if you know anyone with bushy hair, you know there's a big difference.

I got a comment about my treatment of Ron in the last chapter, that he was way too comfortable with the idea of Harry and Hermione dating. My view is that Ron's just got a crush on Hermione, caused by the fact that 1) he's insecure around girls and 2) Hermione's the only girl he does feel comfortable around, so it's only natural he feels this way. But it's only a crush. Do you know how many crushes I had when I was 14ish? It's rhetorical question, there's no way you could know, though you can guess. I counted, and from 8th grade through my sophomore year in high school, I think I had crushes on at least six or seven girls. And now, years removed from the situation, I could care less if they dated (or married) someone else. That's how I see it with Ron - he just grew out of it by the time this story takes place.

Okay, and now for the bonus. First, a bit of history. This story was originally posted on the cookie/ficklet forums on Portkey. Prior to this story, I was an action/adventure/angst 3rd person POV writer on ff.net, so it really was an experiment for me to write like this. I've updated this story to reflect my current style, but I've decided to “reprint” the unedited original ending below in case you might find it interesting. You can also see my attempt at angst and will understand why I no longer attempt to write it. I do, however, love the very last line and would've used it again had I not reposted the original end. Thought it was a perfect way to wrap-up the story.

So, pretend they didn't kiss, and read on…

Original Ending

As we approached her building, I became progressively quieter and quieter, and I swallowed nervously when her building came into sight. “Would you like to come up for a bit?” she asked me. I immediately said yes, as this was a perfect way to avoid the whole `first kiss' scenario. Then I was introduced to a whole new world of anxiety. What did she mean by that? Did she just want to talk, or did she want something more? Arghhh! I briefly considered doing a bit of the legilimency mojo on her, but I knew she would never forgive me if I invaded her privacy like that. So, with my mind even filled with more doubt and anxiety then ever, I followed her into her flat.

I closed and locked the door behind me. “Make yourself at home,” Hermione called as she walked into the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, I settled myself on her couch, trying out various sitting positions. Can't be too relaxed and slouch, but can't be too stiff and actually look as nervous as I feel. I think I managed something in between - nervously relaxed.

Hermione returned balancing a tray that held two cups of tea and some biscuits. We talked for a little bit, though I was having a hard time of it all, knowing that her bedroom was only a few feet away. Though I should have been happy to be there, talking to Hermione, the whole thing was getting to me; I hate situations where I don't know what to do or how to act, and the whole night was like that. Finally, unable to stand it much longer, I politely announced that it was getting late, and that I should be leaving.

Hermione nodded, and I stood, and suddenly found that she was standing very close to me, close enough that I could see the little freckles on her nose. She tilted her chin up with her lips slightly parted, and, being the legendary Harry Potter, the wizard who rushes in where angels fear to tread, I did what came naturally in situations like this - I panicked. I backed away quickly, almost tripping over her coffee table in the process.

Hermione looked at me, confused, concerned, and a little hurt. “What's wrong, Harry?”

I shook my head. “This isn't going to work out,” I said quickly.

“What? Why not?” she asked, and the beginnings of a new emotion appeared on her face - anger.

“It just won't, okay?” I snapped.

“No, it's not `okay!' What, the date went too well? You had too good of a time?”

“No, that's not it,” I said.

“Then what is it?” she demanded. “You…you don't find me attractive anymore?” she asked, the first trace of uncertainty I heard all night from her.

My eyes widened, and I started towards her before I managed to stop myself. “No, no, of course I find you attractive, Hermione. God, it's all I can do to stop myself from snogging you senseless!”

“Then why don't you?!” she demanded, hands on her hips, the anger coming back.

Any other time I probably would have found humor in her angry demand that I kiss her. But not now. “I…I just can't, okay?”

“No, it's not okay!” she said exasperatedly. She started ticking points off her fingers. “We had a great time together. You find me attractive. We're best friends. What's the problem?” she asked, getting very frustrated. Then her face cleared a bit, like she just thought of something. “It's not that whole best friend/crossing the line crap, is it?” she said, pointing her finger at me. “Because if it is-”

“No, no,” I said quickly, my hands raised in effort to calm her down. “It's not that. It just wouldn't work out between us, all right?”

“Harry Potter! You have known me for over ten years now. What in our time together would possibly make you think that I'd be satisfied with that response?”

I turned away, rubbing my temples and beginning to feel frustrated and angry. Couldn't she just see that it wouldn't work out? Why couldn't she leave it alone? But Hermione was right about one thing: I knew her well enough to know that she'll try to analyze everything until she figures out what's going on, that she'll keep picking and picking and picking and picking away until I give her an answer that satisfies her. But I couldn't.

“What, am I not good enough for you, Harry?” she asked scathingly. “Or do you want to play the field first? Try out a few more witches until you find one you like best? Blonde hair, big boobs? Don't want to be seen with a bushy-haired bookworm like me? Embarrassed that-”

“God!” I roared, reaching my breaking point. “It's not any of that! It's because you'll break up with me in the end!”

Silence. Finally, she asked a very confused, “Huh?”

I rounded on her, the words spilling out of my mouth. “You just don't get it, do you? What you see before you, this person, these clothes - it's the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, not me! You don't know the real me!”

“Of course I know the real-”

“No you don't! You think you do, but you just don't! You only see what I let you see: the brave, honorable wizard, strong and powerful, savior of the wizarding world.”

“Harry-”

“But it's all just a mask, all of it! You see the guy who saved the Sorcerer's Stone, the Tri-Wizard champion, the guy who defeated Voldemort. But that's not the real me!”

“Harry-”

I turned away, not wanted her to see the tears that mysteriously formed in my eyes. I knew I should stop talking, that I should preserve what remained of my dignity and just leave. But it was like a dam bursting: all the feelings of insecurity, of resentment, of abuse - it overwhelmed me and I couldn't stop. I angrily wiped at my eyes. “You don't see the helpless, pathetic whelp that I really am,” I said. “The boy that got picked last in gym class; the boy who got pushed around every day because he couldn't protect himself; the boy who was forced to sleep in a cupboard because his own family didn't love him. And once you meet the real Harry, you'll be just as disgusted with him as I am. You'll realize what a feeble loser he really is, how he doesn't deserve you, how no one could ever-”

All of a sudden, my arms and legs snapped together, and my back straightened like a wooden board. For a moment, I stood completely paralyzed, teetering back and forth, until a pair of hands gently lowered me to the floor on my back. I struggled mightily but couldn't move, and only then did it dawn on me that Hermione hexed me. She actually hexed me! As my neck and head were frozen in place, all I could see was the ceiling until Hermione's face filled my field of vision. Unable to turn my head, I couldn't avoid looking at her warm, compassionate eyes, shiny from tears.

We looked at each other for a moment, and then she began to speak very softly. “Oh, Harry, my sweet Harry, I've always known the real you,” she said, gently caressing my cheek with her hand. “I knew you when you were the scared little boy who didn't know anything about the wizarding world. I knew you when the entire school, including Ron, thought you were an attention-seeking prat. I knew you after Sirius died, and I saw what losing the last link to your family did to you. I've always been by your side; not just for the good and heroic times, but for all the bad and tragic times as well. And I see you even now; how lonely you get sometimes, how you sometimes feel out of place at the Weasleys. But I also see your kindness, your heart. I know what the Dursleys did to you, and the fact that you were able to overcome it makes me love you so much more. They tried to break your spirit, they tried to squash the love out of you, but they failed Harry. They failed. I do know everything about you, and I'm still here. I'm not ashamed of you, and I'm not going anywhere.”

She continued stroking my face, her tears falling onto my cheeks, when I realized that the body-bind had worn off. I raised my hands and gently touched her cheek. I could've said something glib, cover myself in something manly and careless in an attempt to try and shrug it off. But I had already exposed my soul to this girl, and I knew I could only be honest. “I'm scared,” I said softly.

She nodded. “I'm scared too, Harry. Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

“Then trust me now. You've always been the strong one, the one I turn to when I'm scared. Let me be the strong one now - it's your turn to lean on me. Nothing has ever stopped us when we've been together before, not even Voldemort, and I won't let anything come between us now.”

I couldn't even begin to describe how I was feeling or what I was thinking. All these old emotional scars had burst open in a frenzy of spite and anger, and then suddenly I found myself lying on the floor, Hermione on top, a calmness surrounding me. Hermione slowly lowered her face closer, and then, ever so gently, she pressed her lips to mine.

At that moment, the instant she kissed me, I just knew. I knew everything would be okay. It wouldn't be easy, it wouldn't be `happily every after' from here on out, but it would be `happily ever after' in the end. Hermione was right: there wasn't anything that we couldn't overcome together. She broke the kiss and hugged me tightly, and my arms went around her. A few wisps of her hair fell across my face, and I moved my hand to brush them aside. I held a few of the delicate curls in my fingers and couldn't suppress a chuckle.

Hermione leaned up on an elbow and looked at me quizzically, an eyebrow raised. “What's so funny?”

I shook my head, still chuckling. “It's…it's just that…well, that Sleekeasy, he's a genius.”

************

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