Chapter 18
Scoring
It's been six days since Harry and I agreed on our little…proposition. Ron, who returned from Greece five days ago, has already been informed of said proposition. At first, I was afraid that he'd take the whole thing badly. Fortunately (or unfortunately; I'm not quite sure which), he's totally gung-ho for the idea. Thinks it's hilarious, he does. He's even gone so far as to post a scoreboard on the refrigerator in the kitchen, and it is this ridiculous item that has been holding my attention for the past few minutes. The shining red ink glares back at me mockingly.
Harry: lll
Hermione: 0
Yes. I have somehow allowed him to one-up me. THREE TIMES. It is because of these three marks that Harry has been strutting around the house with a smug smile on his face. Every time that I complain about the unfairness of the scoring system, Ron takes the time to explain to me, in great detail, exactly why Harry deserved his points. Traitor. I practically have his little speeches memorized by now.
First, there was THE LIST. In all caps. The afternoon after Ron magicked the scoreboard onto the fridge, Harry hung up a scrap of paper next to it. Actually, maybe scrap is a bit of an understatement; it's really more of a Snape-regulation essay detailing every reason why we should be together. It's numbered and everything, too, and every time he thinks up another reason, he adds it to the bottom. Ron sat in a chair in front of it for half an hour reading it over before awarding Harry the first two of his three points. He said that, and I quote,
"It takes a lot for a bloke to write shit like that down. The whole thing's pretty bloody deep."
Whatever. He got his third point for sharing a blanket with me while we listened to the WWN. I heartily protested this, pointing out that we have done this for years. However, Ron stated that that was before our little arrangement and that every gesture of physical comfort is now a point for Harry's side.
I glance at THE LIST. Yes, I have read it. I sunk to my lowest low and read the game plan of the opposition. Despite the fact that THE LIST is a significant blow to my defense, I can't help but admire his dedication to the cause. This thing must have taken him hours.
2 - We're best friends.
Which, of course, is my number one reason for why we shouldn't be together.
Granted, a friendship is a good foundation for a relationship, many relationships that spring from friendships end in disaster, and two people who once held each other so dear build a wall between each other. I couldn't imagine anything quite so drastic happening to Harry and me.
5 - No one understands me quite like you.
True. I'll let that one slide.
24 - I think the whole "take charge, business suit-wearing, smart girl" thing is a turn on.
Ah, yes. One of the more "personal" listings. One that I didn't believe until a day or
two ago, when Harry stopped by to take me to lunch. (Ron had suggested Harry receive another point for this outing, which I fought tooth and nail against, causing him to drop the subject.) I had just come from a meeting with the Minister concerning the recruiting for my department. I had dressed for the occasion: matching black, knee-length A-line skirt and fitted blazer over a ruby red cashmere tank and red satin, round-toe stilettos, my hair curled and tied into a messy bun. Not my usual work attire, but after working at the Ministry for over five years, I've learned that dressing sort of "laid-back risqué" as my co-workers call it, makes the Minister sit up and take a bit more interest in what I'm saying. Anyway, after rushing back to my office, my hair was starting to fall out, small curls dangling in front of my eyes now that my small pair of reading glasses was perched near the end of my nose.
"Mr. Potter is waiting in your office," Malia informed me. I thanked her and walked in, greeting Harry, who was lazing in the chair behind my desk. I laid a stack of resumes in my in-tray to go over later, then scribbled a few lines on a slip of parchment and attached it to the top sheet of the first resume, waving my wand to page Malia through the magical PA.
"Yes, Ms. Granger?"
"Malia, please owl Mr. Hector Carter and inform him that he has a two-thirty interview tomorrow with the Minister to go over possible induction as an Unspeakable. Make it clear that if he misses this meeting, his application for acceptance will be rejected."
"Yes, Miss."
"Thank you."
I sighed heavily, a bit of post-meeting stress leaking from me, as I grabbed my purse and turned back toward Harry.
"Ready to go?"
The way he was staring at me stopped me mid-sentence. He looked at me as if he'd like nothing more than to stay here for an hour and do me on my desk. A barrage of extremely inappropriate mental pictures bombarded my mind and, for a second, I almost let him.
Of course, the impeccable Granger self-control stepped in and beat the thought to into submission. With a small smirk, I swung my bag over my shoulder and led the way out of my office.
Yep. That was quite a realization. Now I make certain that my self-control is tightly reigned in at all times. Wouldn't want anything scandalous to hit the Daily Prophet, would we? Besides, such actions would a definite mark in the W column for Harry. Grrr.
*
The next morning, I wake up for work to find a white chocolate-cranberry muffin on my nightstand. It's still piping hot, thanks to the warming charm placed on it by its creator, and is essentially perfect: Crispy on the outside, soft and gooey on the inside. Every bite makes my outlook on my day a bit brighter.
58 - White chocolate-cranberry muffins. Every morning. For the rest of your life.
Hmm. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. . .
"Cut it out, Granger, we've got a point to prove!" a voice in my head shouts.
"Shut up," I reply out loud. And for the rest of the day, it does.
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