A/N: So there I was, minding my own business, when the muse decides to mow the lawn with me. And all of a sudden, my two-act ribald comedy is morphing into a five-act masala, with angst and drama, and the potential for a multi-chapter volde-hunt dancing in my head. Out of my control, really. I'm just along for the ride, watching as my fingers type.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.
Act II
"I can't believe that you're going to go through with this," Ron scowled.
Hermione let out a deep sigh, and shook her head as they strode down the main hallway and out the main gate for one of their patented rantfests. With feet on autopilot, they headed down towards the lake. Hermione gave Ron the squinty-eyed glare that she reserved for those times when she was really truly hacked off at one (or both) of her boys.
"Ronald Weasley, go take your teaspoon's worth of maturity and sort through your wizard card collection."
"Think I will. At least they'll all have their bits covered."
"Is that what this is really about? The fact that I'll have my bits on display for the sake of art and the defeat of Voldemort?"
"You make it sound almost patriotic. Hey I know, let's all go salute Harry's flag."
"Oh, so that's it," Hermione shot back, "you don't want my bits on display for Harry…or his
bits on display for me. Why don't you just admit it?"
"Fine, I will," Ron said, as he stopped and turned to face Hermione. "I'm not at all happy about you being naked in front of Harry, and I certainly don't trust that Romeo character."
Hermione brushed passed him without breaking stride. "Ronald Weasley, just what are you implying?" Hermione demanded. "That you have the right to decide what I do with my body? Or that you'd go even more mental than you already are at the thought of Harry possibly seeing more of me than you ever have?"
"Oh, you are just about at rope's end with that one Hermione," Ron replied, as he ran to catch up with her. "Maybe it's finally time to stop dancing around and decide where you and I stand."
"Fine," retorted Hermione. Having reached water's edge she stopped and turned towards Ron. "Where exactly do you think you stand - by my side, or out in front with a club on your shoulder dragging me along by my hair?"
"What? I don't even own a club."
"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. She paused for just a beat. "Here's where we stand, Ronald. You and
I…we are…friends, just friends. Nothing more and nothing less. Just like Harry and I are just friends.
Understand?"
Ron's face reddened and his mouth opened and closed wordlessly, like a fish out of water. The intensity of his hue and the frequency of his jaw dropping increased dramatically when Hermione unbuttoned her jeans and pulled down the zipper. She silently but resolutely slid the waistband down towards her ankles, exposing a triangle of periwinkle lace above cream-colored thighs.
"What do you think you're doing!" Ron exclaimed.
"Giving you what you want, Ron. You do want to see me starkers, don't you? Not that you've ever displayed any interest before."
She kicked her flip-flops off her feet, allowing her to slide her jeans completely off. She then matter-of-factly lifted her shirt over her head, exposing a lace bra that matched the color of her knickers.
"What do you mean?" Ron demanded.
Hermione spread her feet to shoulder-width distance and crossed her arms over her chest in a defiant pose.
"I mean that you've appeared to have fancied me on and off for the past three years, but have never displayed the bollocks to do anything about it. Never shown any passion or possessiveness…until now. So the only reason I can see you being upset about me being naked in front of Harry is your fear that he'll have one more thing that you don't have. So here's your chance, Ronald, to preemptively even the score. Make sure you see enough to soothe your pig-headed pride."
Hermione ripped open the front clasp of her bra, freeing her breasts from their support. She then violently jammed a thumb into the waistband of her knickers and tugged them down to her ankles. Once her right foot cleared the elastic, Hermione once again challenged Ron to gawk with her hands on her (now bare) hips. With her knickers bunched around her left ankle and her bra hanging loose on her shoulders she looked much more naked than nude.
Ron, who'd been examining his trainers during the last part of Hermione's rant, looked up just long enough to establish that she'd actually done what he thought she was doing. He then quickly dropped his gaze back down to the ground. After a full ten seconds of determining that his loss of words wasn't temporary, and that Hermione had nothing more to say or do, Ron turned away from her and began to walk back towards the castle.
Hermione watched him walk away with a tear in her eye. It was only after she was certain that Ron wouldn't turn back that she stepped back into her clothes, sat down on the ground facing the lake, and began to sob.
++++++++++
Harry's desire to seek Dumbledore's counsel was quelled when he realized that their discussion would have a rather large audience. Having heard enough catcalls for a day, he walked right past the Headmistress's office without a glance. After ten minutes of what seemed to be aimless shuffling, Harry looked up and suddenly realized that his feet had carried him within the Fat Lady's field of view.
"Hey look, it's Harry Potter in the flesh. Not as much flesh as he'll be showing soon enough, but…"
"Word travels that fast amongst the portraits?" Harry asked.
"Only when it involves sex or violence, or both," she replied.
"Great," Harry said, as he conjured a chair and sat down in front of the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.
"Hey, don't look so glum," the Fat Lady said. "You're going to be a Rondino. Can't get much more famous in Portraitland than that."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked. "You're not telling me that there's social status amongst portraits, are you?"
"Silly boy," she replied. "Of course there is. So do tell me your echo is going to hang in Hogwarts…my friends will be so jealous of me."
"Well, don't count your naked wizards before they pose…erm…"
"What's that dear?"
"I'm sorry, but I have to admit…I've been walking by you for the past six years and never bothered to ask your name."
"Oh, Harry, dear, I'm touched," The Fat Lady replied. "No need to apologize, though, I'm just a portrait and it really is a lot easier to call me Fat Lady than Lady Wilhelmina Busterode."
"That's your real name…I mean, that was the name of the person you echoed?"
"Yes, indeed, my boy…if you want to call me something else, I have been known, at times, as Lady Bee."
"Well, Lady Bee, it is a pleasure to meet you…formally, that is."
The Fat Lady swung her hand down at Harry. "Oh, no need to be formal, son. After all, we'll be seeing a lot more of each other soon. And I do mean 'a lot more'."
"Yeah, well, like I was saying, I wouldn't be so sure. Haven't decided to do it yet."
"And just why would you want to pass up the opportunity to become a Rondino?"
"Well," Harry replied, "it's kind of complicated. Not just the fact that I'd have to pose in the nude, but, as you probably know, I wouldn't be alone."
"Yes, I heard The Master wants you to pose with Miss Granger…would have been unheard of in my day and age, but some of the younger echoes have told me they did it…there's even rumors of some echoes who were doing more procreating than posing, if you catch my drift."
Harry's ears turned beet red. "Yeah, I do catch your drift, and that's just the problem. I'm terrified of the idea of her and I both being naked…at the same time…in the same room."
"Oh," Lady Bee said. "I see. Would it be a problem if it were some other woman posing with you?"
"I've been asking that myself," Harry replied, "and I can't say for sure."
Lady Bee paused for a moment. "And what exactly are you afraid of…that she'll look at you and laugh, or that you'd look at her and lust?"
It was Harry's turn to pause. "I'm not sure…probably both. Well, kind of both…not that I'm afraid that I'd look at a nude Hermione and lust, but that I'd get an…that I'd display an embarrassing reaction."
"Well, Miss Granger is the smartest witch in her generation, isn't she?" Lady Bee asked. "Wouldn't she just attribute any…reaction…as the byproduct of teenage, erm, maleness?"
"But there's the problem," Harry muttered. "I've been thinking about this, and I don't think that I could truthfully say that a…noticeable reaction…could just be attributed to teenage hormones."
"You mean you might have feelings for your friend that go beyond friendship?"
"Yeah," Harry admitted. "I guess so…I think so, at least. I wish I knew for sure."
"Hmmm," Lady Bee mused. "Tell me, Harry, has there ever been a time when she's induced this kind of reaction when she's been wearing clothes?"
Harry's expression turned rather sheepish, as memories of the Yule Ball, the kiss at King's Cross, and the bear hug at Grimauld Place raced through his mind.
"Yes."
"Well, that says something, doesn't it?" she asked.
"Yeah, it says that I'm a dead man," Harry replied. "She'll take one look and think that our friendship all these years was just a ruse, and that I only see her as a piece of meat, and that will ruin everything."
"Have a little faith, Harry," Lady Bee replied. "There's always the chance that she's wrestling with those exact same fears right now."
"Yeah, well, a lot easier for her, wouldn't it be?" Harry asked. "I mean, she could just chalk her…erm…perkiness…up to a cold draft."
"It sounds to me like you need to sit down with Hermione and sort these things out before you pose," Lady Bee said.
"But I'm afraid to."
"Think that it's going to be any easier to talk when both of your heads would be communicating?"
"Good point," Harry said. "You know, you're pretty smart, for a portrait."
"No," she replied, "just observant. Hard not to be when you've seen teenage angst walking past you for the past three hundred years."
"I guess so," Harry said with a chuckle. "Well, guess I should go find my friends."
"See you later, then, Harry," The Fat Lady replied with grin that slid into a lear. "See a lot of you later."