Well, this chapter isn't as long as the first, I didn't have as much randomness to scatter throughout it. I can't believe how many reviews I got! I really thought I was going to catch flak for jumping around.
-- jamie
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Back in the flat and blessedly away from muggles with metal sticks, I watch Ron glance at the clock and make a noise that sounds suspiciously like, "eeek!"
"I'm supposed to meet Angie for dinner in 10 minutes!" He runs into his room and is back with his cloak before Hermione or I can even say a word.
"You two gonna be all right on your own? I know it was my night to cook." He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a handful of coins, throwing them at us, "There, that should cover some take-away or something. I'm off, have fun, don't do anything I wouldn't do!" and with a smirk in my direction and a soft *pop*, he's gone.
Ron and that damnable smirk.
I know exactly what it means. It means, 'Well, here's another shot alone with Hermione, it's not like anything is going to happen though, because you're both absolutely crazy, in addition to being crazy for each other, and you idiot, I'm going to come home tonight good and snogged and you're going to be sitting on the couch watching muggle satellite football, in Spanish no less, eating the frozen yogurt Hermione insists on stocking instead of ice cream, having still not pushed your 'naturally progressing' relationship any further and why don't you just sit down and talk to her already?!"
Well, er, maybe it doesn't mean exactly that, but close enough.
I guess it could also mean that he's thought of some ridiculous way to avenge my golf/chess comment.
If that's the case, I best start hiding everything I own, lest he tamper with it. A few months ago at dinner, Hermione and I made the mistake of telling Angie about the time in 5th year that he accidentally drank veritaserum and confessed to a slight attraction to McGonagall in a "you know, matronly, wonder-what-she-was-like-when-she-was-young sort of way." Needless to say he couldn't come up with anything more embarrassing about either of us to announce to the restaurant and he vowed revenge.
He got it.
In the most innocuous of places.
Our shaving foam.
Due, doubtless, to the influence his brothers were having on his sense of humor, he put a spell on Hermione's to actually grow hair instead of helping to get rid of it. She told me with every swipe of the razor, her legs got harrier and harrier. She couldn't wear a skirt for a week.
He put some sort of make-up potion in mine. I started lathering up and felt my skin tingling and watched as the foam slithered higher up my face, eventually covering it. When I wiped it off, my entire face was coated in make up- eye shadow, lipstick, some shimmery crap, the whole bit, I spent the day looking like Ziggy fucking Stardust. When it wore off, I refused to shave for an entire two weeks, fearful of a repeat performance. I had a pretty thick beard going until Hermione dragged me to the shop on the corner, purchased brand-new (and therefore, untouched by Ron) shaving foam and perched on the sink, watching me, until I'd shaved the whole "hideously wretched" thing off. Some Prophet reporter had taken a picture of me with it and I guess Remus saw it in the paper, because a few days after Hermione's attack on my beard, I received an owl carrying a razor, foam, and a piece of parchment that simply said, "I will not have you looking like your godfather. . . Merlin knows his facial hair is unsightly enough for the both of you."
Anyway, regardless of what Ron meant with that infuriating look, it probably wasn't good for me.
I look over to see Hermione collecting the coins Ron had hastily provided us, she picks up the last one and offers the handful to me, "So what'll it be? The Szechwan place down the street? Pizza?"
"Pizza's fine. Can we get pepperoni this time? After that disaster of a pizza that was the 'Granger Special,' I don't think you should be allowed to choose the toppings ever again."
"How was I supposed to know you wouldn't like olives with pineapple? Lots of other people like it. You thought you'd like it!"
"Yeah, well, be that as it may, I'm ordering JUST pepperoni this time. I know I like that."
"Oooo, is someone still a bit upset over their failure at golf this afternoon?"
"I was not a failure. In order to fail you have to at least try, I wasn't trying. I was just out there lending moral support to Ron."
Liar, liar, liar.
"Ok, Harry, sure." She's smirking at me too now. I hope everyone's faces just freeze like that, that'd teach 'em.
I'm contemplating getting my wand and making it freeze when she breaks the silence with, "So I'm your girlfriend now, am I?"
Oh shit.
"Er, uh, hang on, all right? I'm going to go order the pizza first and we'll talk about this. Why don't you wait on the couch or something?" and I hightail it to the kitchen.
Shit shit shit shit.
Ok, Potter, order the pizza and then you can deal with this.
Well, that took all of 45 seconds and now Hermione's on the couch waiting for an explanation as to why three young wizards are laboring under the notion that she's my girlfriend, despite our agreement otherwise.
Options. Think of your options.
I could lie. Yeah, lie! Tell her she must've missed the latest Rita Skeeter article, the one proclaiming her as my significant other.
I could tell her the pizza place refuses to deliver after the last time we ordered, when Ron answered the door in a towel, and that I have to go pick it up. Maybe she'll forget about this by the time I get back. Which could be a long time from now, especially if I just happen to get lost on the way there. And on the way back.
I could also just tell the goddamn truth.
Hmmm, the truth. . .
You know what? That sounds fine to me. And I wouldn't have to remember it later. If anything that's my downfall, I'll convince myself that the truth will only cause trouble, tell some spectacularly believable lie and then forget it. Someone'll ask me about it later and I won't remember having said that and I just shoot myself in the foot.
So, yeah. . .the truth. . .much easier to remember. At the very least it'd prove Ron's smirk wrong, our relationship would've been pushed. Maybe in the wrong direction, but pushed nonetheless.
I steel myself and head back out to the living room.
She's sitting on the far end, looking expectant.
I sit down on the other side and open my mouth to speak, only I can't figure out how to start.
Quiet. It's too quiet in the flat. We need some background noise. I grab the TV remote and flip it on and would you look at that, a football game is on. And the announcer is rapidly speaking Spanish.
"Why do you watch the games like this, Harry? You know we get this same channel in English."
"Because it's more fun this way, I have no idea what the announcers are saying so I pay attention to the game and not their commentary. Besides, I love it when they yell "GOOOAAAL!"
We both stare at the players running around for a moment and I get an idea.
"Look, Hermione, it's like this, I did tell those boys you were my girlfriend, because by all rights, you should be." She looks about to speak, but I put a hand up to stop her.
"I know you think we should let this, this us, this relationship, just happen, normally, naturally. And I appreciate the gesture, really I do, but I think we need to help it along. A year's gone by and we've only had one aborted attempt at a kiss. Here, look at the TV, once a player kicks the ball, it just 'naturally' sails through the air. In whatever direction he aimed it. But the thing is, he needs to KICK IT first. That ball's not going to move on its own. It's not going to go anywhere."
. . . And there sure as hell isn't going to be any scoring.
"I guess what I'm saying is we need to kick our ball. We need to set it in motion before anything can happen 'naturally.'"
She looks thoughtful and I am ON FIRE, who knew I had this in me? I could write a sports AND advice column for the Prophet, they could call me 'The Love Seeker.'
Best not voice that thought.
"That having been said, I think we should go on a date. That's normal, right? A perfectly normal, natural 'kick.' Tomorrow's Ron's meeting and kind of a busy day in general as I have to start my summer training and I think I heard you mention some sort of cross-referencing assignment for the Ministry you need to get done, but Friday, we're both free Friday. And I think we would do well to have a night on the town. Together. As a potential couple."
Wow. If I didn't already think this was a brilliant idea, that speech would've convinced me. She can't argue with that, I'm playing her game, clever use of English and metaphors even! Her eyes turn from the screen to look at me and she smiles slowly.
"Ok."
To think, the same word that doomed me a year ago is now causing fits of happiness all over my body.
"All right then, Friday it is."
We both turn back to the television and a drop ball and 2 corner kicks later, a knock on the door signals the arrival of our pizza.
We eat in relative silence, me alternately congratulating myself and watching Hermione pensively chew her pizza, and Hermione, well, pensively chewing her pizza.
After the mess is cleaned up (and by mess, I mean the one I made on my shirt that caused Hermione to shake her head at my eating habits), she kicks off the funny-looking shoes she wore to the driving range and props up her feet next to mine on the coffee table in front of us, nudging my right foot with her left, she asks,
"So, summer training? What does that entail?"
"I guess there's not really one set thing I'm supposed to be doing, I'm just supposed to be keeping in shape. And I'm not allowed to touch a broom for this whole month. Coach says if the muscles aren't there off the broom, they're not going to be there on it. I think I'm going to apparate to the Burrow and do some running around the edges and maybe de-gnome the garden. Might as well be productive if I have to work out my upper body anyway. Not like it'll matter, Wood used to have us on absolutely scary training programs and my bicep was never any bigger for it."
"Well, I like lanky, er, slender, boys, besides, seekers are supposed to be built like you."
"Krum wasn't," that slipped out, sounding almost petulant, before I could stop it.
"Viktor wasn't a lot of things. Namely, he wasn't you."
Oh.
I don't know why I act like such a prat sometimes.
I smile at her, in a way that I hope is sheepish and warm at the same time, and turn her question back on her, "So, cross-referencing? What does that entail?"
"I'm looking into instances of intentional wizard/muggle interaction as they relate to death eater activity."
"Sounds like a blast."
"Fun like you wouldn't believe. At least I have something to look forward to on Friday now," and she looks at me slyly out of the corner of her eye, making me grin goofily at her.
We watch the game for a bit longer and just as the team in red is setting up for a penalty kick, she stands and yawns, announcing that she's tired and going to bed now.
I almost make a remark about how "strenuous" golf is, but I refrain and offer a "g'night" instead.
An hour and a half later finds me on the couch, a different game, though still one in Spanish, is on, I have a bowl of chocolate vanilla swirl frozen yogurt on my lap and I hear the sound of Ron apparating home. He ends up right in front of the set and takes in my appearance for a minute before speaking, not without offering a smirk either, "So, how was your night?"
I just smirk back at him and say the only thing that comes to mind,
"GOOOOAAAAL!"
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Watching soccer (er, football) in Spanish is always a good time. Not sure how long this is going to be yet, I have an idea or two for Thursday before we get to the date on Friday. Can I just say, I'm totally having a good time writing this. In case anyone was wondering, the Harry in make-up/Ziggy Stardust thing came from my random skimming/surfing/t00bing around LJs and stumbling upon an alteration of the trio pic in Vanity Fair wherein Daniel Radcliffe was made up to fit right into the movie 'Velvet Goldmine.' If anyone knows whose journal I stumbled on, feel free to let me know.
-- jamie