Act IV
A/N: Sorry that this took a bit longer, but I had to write most of the following chapter in order to figure out what had to be covered in this one.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.
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Harry heard Ron before he spotted him on the Quidditch pitch.
"Pull! - Reducto!" - (Smash!)
"Pull! - Reducto!" - (Smash!)
"Pull! - Reducto!" - (Smash!)
As he carefully picked his way through a field of broken pottery shards, Harry noticed that both Ron and the magical skeet loader were getting quite a workout.
Ron was concentrating so hard on plate smashing that he didn't hear Harry come up on him.
"Pull!" - Reducto! - Bollocks! You made me miss!"
"Sorry," Harry apologized, as he drew back the hand that had tapped Ron's shoulder. "You do know Hermione's modified the loader so that it dispenses Death Eater images, don't you Ron?"
Ron used his wand arm to wipe the sweat off of his brow, causing Harry to duck when Ron's wand pointed his way. "Yeah," Ron replied somewhat breathlessly, "but the sound isn't as satisfying when they fall."
Harry pulled two cold bottles of butterbeer from the bucket of ice that he'd carried out from the castle and handed one to Ron. "Little more of a challenge out here then in our shooting range back home, huh?"
"Not when the need for blasting something is that much larger as well," Ron replied.
The two young wizards walked into the cool shade of the stadium's shadow and plopped down upon the ground, with backs against the short wall that divided pitch from stands.
They sat silently for a full minute, nursing their butterbeers.
"So was the row about the painting?" Harry finally asked.
"Yes…no," Ron replied, "it was…it was about us….well, more like the fact that there is no `us'."
Harry's eyes narrowed a bit with interest. "Care to be any more specific?"
"No."
Ron threw his empty bottle up in the air, the hexed it into a hundred different pieces. Harry followed suit.
Another ten minutes went by, during which time another two bottles were opened, emptied and Reducto'd. Ron grabbed the last two bottles from the bucket and handed one to Harry.
"She's fancied you for the longest time, you know," Ron said.
"Don't know much about anything when it comes to who fancies whom," Harry replied cautiously. His heart rate was doing a tarantella at the thought he was talking about Hermione, rather than Ginny.
"I've known it for sure since start of Fifth Year."
"Goooooooooal!" screamed the voice inside Harry's head. Struggling to do something or say something noncommittal. he pushed out a belch. "You really think?"
"Yup."
Harry finished off his drink, nonchalantly tossed the bottle into the air, and caught it a foot off the ground using a Leviosa.
"Wish it were you instead?" Harry asked.
Ron slowly shook his head. "Not anymore."
Harry nodded.
Ron finished off his bottle, but rather than levitate it merely threw it back into the bucket of ice. He stood up and pocketed his wand. "I'll be at The Burrow if you two need me."
Harry squinted up at Ron. "Why you think we don't need you right now?"
"Third wheel," he simply said. "Think I'll go find out how Luna's summer's been going."
Harry nodded. "Sweet girl…good to have around in a fight…lots of room at Grimmauld, you know."
It was Ron's turn to squint at Harry. "You serious, mate?"
Harry nodded again, then reached his hand out to Ron. "If that's how it works out."
Ron pulled Harry up to his feet.
"Thanks," he replied. "Word of advice?"
Harry cocked his head in question. "Sure."
"Don't take anything for granted, and don't wait."
Harry silently nodded in recognition of the transition he felt taking place.
"Thanks, mate," he said, "Thanks for everything."
They then wordlessly began to clean up the Quidditch pitch.
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"Hey, I've been looking all over for you," said Harry's mirrored image.
"You could have just called me," Hermione replied.
"Well, yeah, assuming that I would have remembered to use it earlier than I did…almost floo'd home to get the Marauders Map…where have you been? Where are you?"
"Prefect's lavatory."
"Really?" Harry with tease in his voice, "I wondered why you were holding the mirror so tight to your face."
"Yeah, well, don't be getting your hopes up about seeing any skin before tomorrow."
"Hermione, you are kidding, right?"
"What, about the fact that I'm starkers right now, or that you can't wait to see me that way."
"Erm, the latter….I'm not drooling…if anything, I've got cotton-mouth at the thought of being starkers in front of you."
"Oh, Harry, I was just putting you on," Hermione replied. "Sorry if I sounded a bit edgy…been on a bit of a roll today."
"Hey, no problem…that's why I'd rather talk with you face-to-face, rather than face-to-mirror about all this. Can we get together sometime soon?"
"Erm, sure, Harry, but give me a few minutes…I wasn't kidding about being naked right now."
"What…getting some practice in before tomorrow?"
"No, you prat," Hermione replied. "Just following the Master's orders…remember, no shower in the morning?"
"Yeah, that kind of seemed like a strange request."
"Well, after talking with Romeo I think I know why."
"Sweet talking you in Italian, was he?"
"Yes," Hermione said, "he was using some rather colorful language."
"Oh," said Harry, warily. "Well, how much time do you need?"
"Fifteen minutes?"
"Fine, where do you want to meet?"
"Here's fine," Hermione replied. "Have to make sure you're clean behind the ears, now don't we?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "And just who will be holding the washcloth that makes that a certainty?"
Hermione smiled sweetly. "You should be so lucky, Potter."
She deactivated the mirror off before catching Harry's image saying "I know."
Hermione sighed as she stood up in the bubble-filled basin and tossed the mirror back into the charmed dry box that sat by the water's edge. She pulled her wand from the box, cast an Accio on a dry towel from a nearby shelf, and wrapped it around her torso. She then grabbed a witch razor and started to shave her legs.
Once she reached her thighs, Hermione dropped the towel and looked into the mirror, trying to decide just how far north the razor should travel. Unlike Lavender or Parvati, bikini lines had never been anywhere near the top of her To Do list. But then again she'd never before faced the prospect of standing nude before three different men.
Hermione was unnerved when she realized that no small part of her decision making involved the question, "What would Harry like?" Harry had just talked about his apprehension, but it could have been nothing like she was presently feeling, as she judged her legs too short, her hips too wide, and her breasts too asymmetrical (the left hanging just a tad lower than the right).
At one level her fears were silly; there wasn't anyone in the world that she trusted more than Harry, and she was quite sure she could handle anything Romeo threw her way (that was more a question of whether Harry would beat her to the punch). But would Harry treat her differently once he was forced to acknowledge that his best friend had curves with points and creases?
Hermione was glad that Harry wanted to talk beforehand…it might help head-off some of her fears. She was also glad that there was a pretty darn good reason for what was going to take place to actually happen. Deciding against doing anything drastic down there, she put down the razor.
She was gauging the relative weight of her breasts when a ghost's head burst through the mirror and pulled up nose-to-nose.
"Oooh, spending some quality time with friends, are we?" the ghost asked impishly.
"Myrtle, you startled me," Hermione complained, her hands quickly dropping to her side.
Moaning Myrtle pulled herself completely through the mirror and started to slowly float in circles around Hermione.
"That's what ghosts are supposed to do, isn't it?" she asked.
"Yes, well…why aren't you down in the second floor lav?" Hermione asked.
"Not much to do down there, what with the students all gone," Myrtle replied, "so I came looking for some company."
"Company, or someone to spy upon?" Hermione asked.
Myrtle answered the question with a question. "It's not spying if it's just us girls, right? "
"I guess," Hermione replied, "so what do you want, Myrtle?"
"Just wanted to see if you were preening as much as Harry Potter," Myrtle replied, having caught Hermione doing a side-view evaluation of her unsupported lift.
"So you know about the painting?"
"Of course," Myrtle replied. "it's the talk of the castle right now."
"Not surprised, I guess," Hermione replied. "Why do you say I'm preening?" she asked hastily. "How do…well, of course I know how you could spy on him…why do you say that Harry is preening?"
Myrtle giggled as she continued to spin around Hermione. "What would you call it when a boy stands naked in front of a mirror and flexes his muscles...and I do mean all of his muscles."
"Oh, I see…" Hermione said quietly. "Did he look at all nervous?"
"Deathly so," Myrtle replied, "just like you."
She lowered the height of her spin and came to a full stop with her head a few inches away from Hermione's pelvis. She smiled broadly, floated back far enough to catch Hermione's eyes, and cooed. "Of course, Harry doesn't have any reason to feel…inadequate."
Hermione involuntarily brought her legs together, reached for her towel, and rewrapped herself. "Why…why do you say that…how do you know?"
"Because," Myrtle giggled loudly, "I've watched wizards play with their wands for decades."
Hermione blushed. "Myrtle, you haven't…you don't…I mean…really?"
"Uh-huh," the ghost replied. "I'm a regular Mr. Ollivander when it comes to the boys of Hogwarts coming."
Hermione sat down on a bench, propped her elbows upon her knees and her chin upon her hands. "A regular Mr. Ollivander?"
Myrtle lowered the bridge of her glasses down on the tip of her nose, struck a pose, and did a spot-on imitation of the wandmaker's voice. "I remember every wand I've ever seen, my dear, every one."
Intrigued, Hermione decided to play along. "Really?" she asked, "so if I gave you a wizard's name, like, say…Gilderoy Lockhart…"
"Five and three-quarters inches, pine…very soft."
Hermione laughed loudly. "Oh, Myrtle, you are terrible…."
"But not too terrible for you to ask again, right?" the ghost asked.
"Maybe." Hermione got a gleam in her eye. "Severus Snape."
"Five and one-half inches, willow…nice and swishy."
Hermione laughed out loud again, then told herself "in for a penny…"
"Fred Weasley."
"Six and one-quarter inches, walnut, slight bend to the left."
"George Weasley"
"Six and one-quarter inches, walnut, slight bend to the right."
"Really?"
Myrtle nodded solemnly. "I never had any problem telling the two of them apart."
"Viktor Krum."
Myrtle looked at Hermione funny. "You mean you never saw his wand?"
"Of course not," Hermione replied.
"That's a pity," Myrtle said with a sigh. "Seven and five-eighths inches, oak, satyr's heartstring."
"So that's larger than normal?" Hermione asked.
"Oh…..yes." Myrtle said. "If it was the witch that chose the wand, then his would be a very popular model."
"I see," Hermione replied quietly, as she sat and thought.
"A little curious about Harry?" Myrtle asked.
Hermione snapped her head up and gave the ghost a piercing gaze.
"No…erm…definitely not," she said.
"Already stored that information away?
"No, we're best friends…just best friends."
"And that's why you were wondering if he'll like the size of your melons, right?"
"No….not at all." Hermione said, as she crossed her arms in front of herself.
"So it's the Master's Assistant that makes your insides flutter?"
"Oh, Merlin no," Hermione replied.
"So we're back to Harry," Myrtle said. "It's okay if you're curious, you know…I don't fancy him anymore."
"You mean you did?"
"Oh my, yes…for the longest time…until Draco and Draco Jr. started to visit me last year, of course."
"Draco Malfoy?" Hermione asked incredulously. "Draco's named his…erm…wand…Draco Jr.?"
"No," said Myrtle dreamily, "I gave his wand that name…seven inches, very stiff…definitely hardwood…."
"Oh," Hermione said, and with all the nonchalance she could muster asked, "so you were saying…about Harry's wand…"
Myrtle swooped right in close to Hermione. "So you do want to know…."
Hermione entire face, neck and upper torso turned beet red. She was too embarrassed to reply, until she remembered that it was Myrtle she was talking with.
"Yes, Myrtle, I do want to know."
"I just knew it," the ghost replied.
"So?" Hermione asked impatiently.
"So," conspired Myrtle, "Mr. Potter's wand is…." She paused for effect.
"Go on, then."
"Harry Potter." Myrtle said matter-of-factly, "Nine and seven-eighths inches, ironwood, horse heartstring."
Hermione choked on a bit of her saliva. "Are you sure?"
"Just verified that measurement today, my dear," Myrtle replied.
"Oh," Hermione said, as she slowly realized the implications. "oh….oh…Oh!"
"Just what he was saying," Myrtle quipped.
Hermione laughed in spite of herself. "So Myrtle, why horse heartstring?"
"Well he is hung like one, isn't he?"
"I guess," Hermione said. "So, not changing the subject or anything, but the Master's Apprentice…his name is Romeo…"
"I thought you weren't interested in him."
"I'm not," Hermione replied, "but he's so cocky, I'd love to know if he has the, well…you know…to match."
Myrtle giggled. "Guess I've got another observation to make," she said. "I'll see what I can see tonight."
"Erm, thanks Myrtle."
"You're welcome, Hermione," Myrtle replied. "Oh, and Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"You can stop worrying about whether your bits will measure up in Harry's eyes."
"Why do you say that?" Hermione asked.
"Because he was excited enough just hearing me describe them…"
"You did what?" Hermione exclaimed.
Myrtle ignored her. "Like I said, so excited that just as soon as he thought I'd gone, he…well…" she giggled. "How do you think I confirmed my measurement today?"
"Oh, Merlin!" Hermione exclaimed.
Myrtle started to float towards the basin's piping. Just before she squeezed down one of the tubes she turned towards Hermione.
"Not quite," Myrtle replied, "just before he finished he was saying `Oh, Hermione!'"
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A very pensive witch was still sitting on the bench, wrapped in her towel, when Harry knocked on the door. She looked down at her towel, then looked over at her clothes thrown in a pile along side the basin.
"Sod it," she said to herself, then called out to Harry to enter.
"Oh, Hermione, I'm sorry," Harry said, casting his gaze down at the tiled floor as he entered. "I thought it was safe for me to come in."
"Of course it's safe," Hermione replied. "It's just me, and I'm wearing a lot more than you'll see me wearing tomorrow."
"Erm…guess so," Harry nervously replied.
"Calm down, Harry," Hermione said with a chuckle. "It's only me, right? Not like you're facing Voldemort again."
"That might be easier," Harry replied. "At least I've done that before."
Hermione stood up and walked over to Harry. "You mean you don't know what it's like to be naked in front of a girl?"
"Erm, no…" Harry said, "I mean yes, but only if you count Madame Pomfrey or Moaning Myrtle."
Hermione laughed. "Madame Pomfrey doesn't count," she stated, with a twinkle in her eye, "but tell me about Myrtle."
Harry's face turned red. "Oh, well, Myrtle…let's just say that she's got a bad habit of popping up at just the wrong time."
"So I've been told," Hermione said with a smile. "So…you've never…with Ginny…"
"No," Harry said, quite quickly and emphatically. "Our…erm… relationship…it never went past snogging."
"Really?" Hermione asked. "I mean…it's just that…well, Ginny made it sound like she'd laid down tracks for your locomotive lots of times."
Harry turned a bit pale. "What? That's a complete…we never did anything close to that…Hermione you've got to believe me."
Hermione looked at Harry very closely. "Of course I believe you Harry, why wouldn't I?"
Harry walked over to the bench and sat down. "Well, I didn't want you to think that I didn't care about…well I guess I really do care about…..I can't believe that Ginny was saying those things….when?"
"Oh," Hermione replied, "she said a few things right before end of term, but I guess it was at the wedding that she really tried to make a point."
"You mean Bill and Fleur's wedding…the one where I spent all day avoiding her and dancing with you?"
"The very same," Hermione replied.
"That little witch…" Harry muttered.
"So there really isn't anything going on still between you and Ginny?"
"No," Harry said emphatically. "When I broke up with her, I said it was to protect her…but that seems so long ago, and so much has changed since then…even when it's all over with Tom it's still going to be over with her."
"Oh," Hermione said quietly. "So what's changed?"
Harry looked at her intently, trying to pick between the different paths of potential conversation. "Well, certain things haven't changed at all, it's just maybe that I've…I've decided that there are times when we have to choose between what is right and what is easy."
"So tell me, Harry…what is easy?"
Harry bit his lower lip. "My relationship with Ginny was easy."
Hermione caught her breath just a bit, realizing just how close her thigh was next to his as they sat on the bench. "And, what is right?"
Harry looked into Hermione's eyes and prayed that what he saw was hope. Still too scared to find out, though, he looked down on the tiled floor and stayed just this side of evasive.
"The right thing to do is to be honest about the feelings I've held inside for a very long time."
Hermione felt as if Harry had just brought himself up short of a threshold that she knew he wanted to hurdle. She desperately wanted to jump over that barrier and snog him senseless, yet after telling Ron off for not saying how he might have felt towards her…she just had to hold back.
"So Harry, anything more you want to say about those feelings?"
Harry looked at Hermione. He wanted so much to tell her what he'd already confessed to the Fat Lady, but was so, so afraid what might happen if those feelings were reciprocated. And even if they were, what might happen to his friendship with Ron…their friendship with Ron.
It was a lot harder to say you should do the right thing than to actually do it.
"Well," he replied, "erm…you see…erm…oh, we've got a busy day tomorrow, huh?"
The smartest witch in her generation should have drawn out Harry's feelings with some probing questions and understanding empathy. Instead, she went with the tried and not-so-true method of trying to make the boy she thought she fancied jealous (it had worked so well when she went on a date with Cormac McLaggen, right?).
"Yes we do," Hermione said. "I should let you take your bath…and I've got to get ready for my dinner with Romeo tonight."
"What?" Harry asked sharply.
"You know, the Master's apprentice…the elves are making all kinds of English food for us…it was just so sweet when he asked me in Italian."
All Harry could stammer out was "Oh."
"You are still planning on staying over tonight in the Tower, right?" Hermione asked.
"Erm, yeah," Harry said quietly.
"See you in the morning, then," she replied. She leaned over and pecked Harry on the cheek with her lips, taking what was for her the unprecedented step of ensuring that he had a good view of her cleavage as she bent down in her towel. Hermione then gathered her clothes and left the room.
And left Harry speechless.
After waiting long enough to ensure that the coast was clear, Harry ran to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower to talk with Lady Bee.
"Harry, you look so dejected, what happened?"
"Oh, Lady Bee, it's a mess… I took your advice and tried to talk with Hermione to try and sort out some of my feelings for her and my fears of posing with her, but before I could she told me that she had been talking with Romeo and was going to eat dinner with him tonight..."
"So?"
"So?" Harry replied. "So he's dark, handsome, Italian, probably can say all sorts of sweet things to her that I can't understand."
"Harry, I think you're underestimating both you own attractive qualities had her ability to separate wheat from chaff."
"But I'm just…I'm just me," Harry whined. "What could I possible say that would be romantic?"
"How about telling her how you feel about her…I thought that was the game plan the last time we talked."
"Yes, well, it doesn't seem adequate enough…I tried to tell her but…but my tongue got tied and anything I tried to tell her sounded completely wrong…say, you don't speak Italian, do you?"
"No, I'm sorry, Harry, I don't," Lady Bee replied.
"Do you have any friends that speak Italian?"
"Not that I'm aware of, but…my good friend Lady Vee speaks French, would that do?"
"It's got to be better then the English mush that would be coming out of my mouth,"
"Harry, you underestimate yourself…but if it takes using a different language for you to summon up the courage to tell Hermione how you really feel about her, then Viva la langue Francaise!"
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