Half an Hour

(A/N: Well, this is the first story I've ever posted on Portkey, so bear with me a bit until I get the hang of it. With "Half-Blood Prince" so close, I wanted to get this snippet from "Goblet of Fire" published. Let me know what you think!)

(Disclaimer: Having checked my bank account, I'm quite sure I'm not Jo Rowling and that I'm not making any money from these characters. Ah well…)

Half an Hour

by Paracelsus

I can't concentrate. I thought I could write a letter to Viktor, but I'm too distracted… I've only managed to fill half a roll of parchment. I keep looking at the entrance to the Common Room. Where is he? It's been half an hour...

At least I could finally give him some time alone with Cho. Well, almost alone… Marietta was still there when I hustled Ron away. But that's still better than nothing. Certainly better than when Cho tried to chat with us and Ron jumped in with both feet… who cares about the Tutshill Tornados, for Merlin's sake? This time they can have a nice, quiet chat.

He fancies her. I can tell from the way he turns awkward whenever she's near. And since the day we formed the D.A., it's been obvious that she likes him, too. Couldn't take her eyes off him, no she couldn't… Not that I was paying particular attention, I just happened to notice.

They'll do well together. I hope so. He's my best friend in all the world, and I want what's best for him. If Cho makes him happy, I'll be happy.

So why can't I feel happy? Get a grip, girl. Help Ron with his Transfiguration essay, finish your letter… stop looking for him to come in.

Why hasn't he come in? It's been half an hour…

Here he comes. Finally. He's joining us, but he looks rather dazed. "Are you all right, Harry?" I ask.

He shrugs. Oh, I know this look. He's starting to close up again. Whatever happened with Cho, he doesn't really want to talk about it. But why not? If they were only talking…

Oh, no. They must have been done more than talk.

"What's up?" Ron asks. "What's happened?" He's still not answering. I know what's happened... I think I know. I have to make sure.

"Is it Cho? Did she corner you after the meeting?" Ouch, that sounded clinical. Not the warm, compassionate tone I was hoping for. What's wrong with me this evening?

Ron sniggers, which is perfectly typical. I give him a half-power glare, and he stops. "So – er – what did she want?" Ron asks in a horrid attempt at nonchalance.

He finally opens his mouth. "She – she – er –" Oh no, he can't even talk about it. I'm afraid to know what that means. I have to know what that means.

"Did you kiss?" I ask. Aaack! I sound worse than before! Why can't I sound like a concerned friend?

He nods. Ron barks out a laugh and starts rolling on the hearthrug. Thoroughly enjoying all this, prat that he is. I give Ron a disgusted look and try to return to my letter. There's nothing funny about this situation, nothing at all. He's clearly embarrassed by what's happened. Ron should show a little sympathy…

"Well?" Ron demands. "How was it?" I am not listening to this, I am not listening…

I can't help listening. "Wet," he replies. Ewwwww! I do not need that mental image! Why should it be so… so disturbing? Isn't this what I wanted?

"Because she was crying," he continues. Crying? But that would mean… that it's true she hasn't let go of Cedric? Perfectly understandable, but… then why is she pursuing Harry!?

Ron, in the meantime, gets the wrong end of the stick. As usual. "Oh. Are you that bad at kissing?"

"Dunno," he says. "Maybe I am." He sounds even more depressed at the thought… he could use some comfort. No matter. I don't care. I am not getting involved in this puerile discussion of spit-swapping techniques…

"Of course you're not," I hear myself say. Damn! I keep my eyes firmly on my letter and try to write something. At least I sounded vague and detached…

Ron jumps on me. I should have expected it. Can't pay attention in History of Magic class, but he picks up on this quickly enough. "How do you know?"

How do I know? We've never kissed… on the lips, anyway. One time on the cheek hardly counts as a real kiss. But now I'm imagining how I'd know… imagining what his lips would feel like against mine, how his mouth would taste… his eyes so close… No, no, NO! I'm not some fantasizing little schoolgirl! This is my best friend!

They're waiting for an answer. It has to sound plausible. "Because Cho spends half her time crying these days," I tell them. "She does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over the place." I'm pleased I can maintain the vague tone, like it's not important. And it's true, Cho does cry a lot these days. The only fib is the suggestion that I've actually seen her crying…

"You'd think a bit of kissing would cheer her up," Ron says. Honestly, the man would try the patience of a saint. And I'm not a saint.

"Ron," I say in my most dignified tones, "you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet." That for you, Ron Weasley!

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron whinges. "What sort of person cries while someone's kissing them?"

"Yeah," he asks, "who does?" Oh, he sounds desperate. He truly doesn't understand. If it were only Ron, I wouldn't bother to explain, but…

"Don't you understand how Cho's feeling at the moment?" I ask them. Of course they both say no. I sigh, set aside my quill, and proceed to educate them into the workings of the superior (i.e. female) mind: how Cho is sad, and confused, and guilty, and has no business going after Harry until she's settled her feelings about Cedric… erm, no, I don't say that last bit out loud. I do throw in a reference to Quidditch, though, since it's probably the only thing they'll understand.

I finish my explanation and wait. He looks like he's digesting what I've said. Ron, on the other hand, rejects the whole concept of a complex mind: "One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode."

Fat lot Ron would know about it. I put him down with a cutting remark comparing him to a teaspoon – which is probably an insult to teaspoons everywhere. For your information, Ronald, some of us feel lots of things all at once… confused, and upset, and jealous…

Jealous? Wait, no, I'm not jealous, that would be ludicrous. There's nothing to be jealous of, for one thing: it was only half an hour. And for another thing, in the end he's going to be happy with her… isn't that what I'd planned?

"She was the one who started it," he tells us. I should have known she would, the minx. "I wouldn't've – she just sort of came at me – and next thing she's crying all over me – I didn't know what to do –"

No, she's not a minx, she's the girl he fancies. Behave yourself. "You just had to be nice to her," I say anxiously. "You were, weren't you?" I regret asking as soon as the words leave my mouth. Do I really want details of how he was nice to her?

I get details anyway. Fortunately, they're harmless. "Well, I sort of – patted her on the back a bit." Oh yes, that's exactly how you comfort a crying girl. I hope you never try to comfort me that way…

"Well, I suppose it could have been worse." I don't want to ask the next question, I really don't. "Are you going to see her again?"

"I'll have to, won't I? We've got D.A. meetings, haven't we?" Oh, now he's being deliberately obtuse. It's another of the ways he keeps from saying things.

I won't put up with it. "You know what I mean," I tell him. I don't mean to sound so impatient, but really!

He doesn't say anything. He's closing up again. I tell myself this is for him, that it will make him happy… that this is what I want...

"Oh well," I say, and I sound a bit distant even in my own ears, "you'll have plenty of opportunities to ask her…"

He still doesn't say anything. It's Ron, of all people, who has something insightful to say. "What if he doesn't want to ask her?"

He still doesn't say anything. "Don't be silly," I say, "Harry's liked her for ages, haven't you, Harry?" I wonder who I'm trying to convince, the boys or myself. I don't understand why this should be so disturbing. This is exactly what I'd planned. And it's not like anything's changed in half an hour… has it?

I spend the rest of the evening trying to sort my feelings. Confused? Yes. Upset? Yes. But it's not until I'm heading for bed that I realize… Yes, this may be what I'd planned – but I know now, it isn't what I want.