Are You Gonna Be My Girl?

kiwibee

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 24/07/2006
Last Updated: 24/07/2006
Status: in_progress

Based on the song from Jet, this is a tale of a love sick Harry and a mismatched couple ruining his dreams.

Chapters

1. untitled

1. untitled

Author’s Note : I know it’s been a while since I posted a fic, so I hope this lives up to par. It’s a lot different than anything else I’ve done, so please review and let me know if I’ve lost my spark. All credit belongs to Ms. Rowling, except the lyrics, which are Jet’s. And thank you to the reviewer who suggested I write this.

So 1, 2, 3, take my hand and come with me
because you look so fine
and I really wanna make you mine.

‘It’s been a long year,’ thought Harry as he walked up to his flat. He withdrew the small gold key and fumbled with the lock, apprehensive about entering. Well, not so much about entering, but about what he might see or hear upon entered.

He looked around the living room cautiously. No one was there; the flat was silent. Harry let out a sigh of relief.

This was how every night went. Harry worked late with his Auror training and came home to the flat he shared with Ron and Hermione. He was afraid of what state he would find them in next—the way they snogged openly in front of him, as if he wasn’t even there. He was just waiting for the day he walked in on them doing . . . that . . . and his heart ached with the thought. Harry wanted her that way–wrapped around him in the heat of passion. The mere thought of Ron with his love made him feel sick; he began to resent his best friend. Sometimes he wished he lived somewhere else, but Hermione and Ron violently protested him moving out. What he really wished. . . it was impossible. She was inaccessible.

I say you look so fine
that I really wanna make you mine.

Why did Ron get the girl? What did Ron have that Harry didn’t? After all, wasn’t he the Boy-Who-Lived, the Man-That-Vanquished-The-Dark-Lord, and all that jargon? Women flocked to Harry–just not the one he wanted. She clung to his best friend, for some mysterious reason. Ron declared his so-called love for Hermione before Harry worked up the nerve to pour out his heart. To him, their relationship seemed like mere lust. Ron was bored and Hermione was the next bird on his list.

As Harry walked down the hall to his room, he noticed a trail of clothing leading to the room next door–Ron’s room. He looked at the sight and felt physically ill. Why couldn’t it be him in that room, shagging Hermione senseless? Why did Ron get the girl?

He rushed to his room, praying to no longer think about the current situation his two best friends were in. It consumed his thoughts; he was becoming obsessed with the idea of having her for his own.

Oh, 4,5,6 c'mon and get your kicks
now you don’t need that money
when you look like that, do ya honey.

Why couldn’t Hermione just leave Ron? Why couldn’t she run away with Harry? He laid in his bed, thinking only his golden girl–the one girl he could not have. His thoughts kept drifting to the room next to him and the illicit affairs occurring there. Dammit, why couldn’t he be in that bed with her? Harry had so much more to offer her– he truly loved her.

Harry didn’t sleep a wink. His mind was focused on the gorgeous woman that was his best friend. Come morning, he couldn’t bear to face her. He purposely waited until after she was set to go to work before leaving his room–he fortunately had the day off.

When he thought he was certain he was alone in the flat, he walked into the kitchen wearing only his pajama bottoms.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Hermione said cheerily as she sat reading the Daily Prophet, oblivious to Harry’s mental and physical condition at the moment. He simply stared at her, completely taken aback and completely infatuated with her.

Big black boots,
long brown hair,
she's so sweet
with her get back stare.

She felt his hot gaze upon her and looked up at him. Her eyes met his emerald depths as they shared a long glance. She took in his appearance–his utterly disheveled hair, his glasses less face, his tone chest and how she suddenly longed to run her hands across it. She found herself thinking, ‘Ron certainly doesn’t look half that sexy shirtless’. Her trance was broken when she mentally scolded herself for these dangerous thoughts. Harry was her best friend; she couldn’t jeopardize their relationship. ‘On top of that, I’m already seeing Ron,’ she thought.

Well I could see,
you home with me,
but you were with another man, yea!
I know we,
ain't got much to say,
before I let you get away, yea!
I said, are you gonna be my girl?

“Um . . . hey ‘Mione.” It was entirely awkward as the silence stretched on, creating a wall between the two friends.

“I have to go,” Hermione said quickly before leaving her seat and rushing toward the door. Her hunger to touch Harry, to caress his body, was becoming frightening and highly uncomfortable.

But, Harry was too quick for her. His seeker skills paid off as he grabbed her by the wrist, forcing her to gaze into his eyes once again.

“Don’t.” It was a simple command he made–not demanding, but pleading. She shivered at his touch. ‘Why is he affecting me like this?’ she asked herself. She was treading in dangerous water.

“Harry, I really can’t . . . ”

“Shh. ‘Mione, what’s gotten into you lately? Please talk to me. I can’t stand this flat much longer.”

“If you’re just here to criticize my relationship with Ron . . . ”

“To hell with Ron!” Harry spat out angrily. Hermione looked at him incredulously, trying to blind herself from the feelings Harry was revealing to her. Harry couldn’t have these feelings . . . Harry was just a friend.

“Ron is my boyfriend. I could never hurt him,” she stated simply.

“But you want to.” With his simple statement, which both of them knew was undeniably true, Hermione walked out of the kitchen. His statement hurt her more than she wanted to let on–the truth of it scared her. The front door slammed shut, and Harry knew she was gone.

Well, so 1,2,3, take my hand and come with me
because you look so fine
and I really wanna make you mine.

“Is she ever going to be my girl?” Harry shouted out loud, frustrated with the situation. Hermione had feelings for him; this was a fact. But, she was afraid–afraid of hurting their best friend and her boyfriend.

“Surely Harry Potter isn’t losing his touch?” Ron’s voice floated through the flat as Harry heard the door slam again.

“Shut the bloody hell up, Ron,” Harry raged as he made his way to his bedroom.

“Someone’s got their knickers in a twist!” Ron bellowed after his friend, chuckling to himself.

I say you look so fine
that I really wanna make you mine.

Harry got hardly any sleep again. He spent a bored day at work, barely focused on his training. It was still relatively early in the evening when he got off, but he couldn’t bring himself to go to his wretched flat. He found himself wandering into a familiar restaurant–where he and Hermione had spent countless evenings after the war just sitting and grieving over the losses. It was their special place–a small place where people ate, drank, and merrily danced across the room. It was soothing to the pain that Harry had lived through.

He sat down at the bar in the rear of the building and ordered the largest Firewhiskey available, hoping to drown himself in his sorrows. Yes, a self-induced pity-party seemed fitting.

One small giggle from around the corner changed everything. There she was, laughing, enjoying his company, kissing his lips in Harry’s special place. He looked to their table and nearly vomited at the sight.

Harry was a wreck. He couldn’t stand Ron touching his golden girl that way, tendering caressing her face as she smiled at him. ‘She doesn’t love him, not like I love her.’

Oh, 4,5,6 c'mon and get your kicks
now you don’t need that money
with a face like that, do ya.

He looked around, and sure enough, there was a small gaggle of girls sitting close to him, clinging onto his every action. He gazed at them and motioned for them to come over. The bravest one obliged. She looked at least a couple of years younger and had stunning features–her slender body was curved perfectly, and her face was fierce and full of lust.

“Hello Harry,” she said in her most sultry voice. He took her hand and kissed it lightly. ‘God, this is so uncharacteristic of me.’ he thought, but all he wanted was a good one-night stand to ease the pain. This had almost become a way of life–using these gaggling women to ease all the heartache he went through with Hermione.

“Darling, where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you.” He said this purposefully loud and cast a glance at the nearby table. Hermione turned around at the sound of Harry’s voice and looked at the scene.

He saw her glance at them. He reached in and kissed the stranger fully, never taking his eyes off the woman he really loved.

“Come on, baby,” he said.

“Don’t you even want to know my name?” she whispered in his ear, brushing her lips against the tender lobe.

“Not really,” he replied blatantly. She didn’t look too hurt–she just wanted her chance to brag about sleeping with the great Harry Potter. The stories about him were too wild for her to pass up the opportunity.

“It’s Allie.”

“Well baby, let’s just get pissed and have some fun,” he said, laughing at his outrageous actions. ‘God, if people knew what I was really like. I quite like the rumors though.’ He smiled at his thoughts.

Harry took Allie by the hand and grabbed his drink with his free one. He twirled her around and started dancing to the soft music playing in the background. He downed the drink in his hand, hoping to get pissed quick to ebb the stinging in his heart. He barely noticed the glare from Hermione, clearly jealous of this random woman Harry was obviously showing off.

“There’s going to be another notch in the bedpost tonight,” Hermione whispered to Ron.

“Come on, don’t worry about him. Harry loves a good roll–deserves some happiness once in a while, too,” Ron replied, recalling his friend’s anger the day before. Hermione looked at the couple disapprovingly and walked out of the restaurant.

Big black boots,
long brown hair,
she's so sweet
with her get back stare.

Harry waved at her as she left the room, smiling at his own cleverness. ‘I have her right where I want her–completely jealous and wanting me. But back to this little situation . . . ’ He bought himself and Allie another drink and Apparated them back to the flat to finish the job.

He woke up the next morning with an awful headache and something feathery in his face. He could barely remember the night. He got up, pulled on his sleep bottoms, and started to the door.

“Harry, where are you going?” inquired Allie, who was awakened by his sudden movements.

“I have no idea.”

“Did you not enjoy last night?”

“You’re here a lot later than most of the girls.” Allie knew she was just another night for Harry, but she wanted to be different from the others.

“Let’s go for it again then, Harry.”

“Allie, look, I promise I’ll owl you. Murder me if I don’t. I just want to be alone right now.” With that, he left the room.

There were countless bottles of alcohol littering the living room, all from him last night. He looked at the sight and broke down. ‘What have I done? She’s still not my girl; she never will be,’ he thought solemnly. Tears filled his eyes as he curled up on the leather sofa and cried out all his problems. This was the real Harry Potter–vulnerable, weak, and a downright wreck.

He heard footsteps and assumed it was Allie trying to come onto him again.

“Look, you were good but . . . ”

“Harry James, get a grip,” Hermione said sternly, not realizing his current state.

“Jesus, ‘Mione, do you ever work anymore?” he asked in surprise, looking up at her for the first time. She saw his red eyes, tear stained face, and trembling body–her heart broke at the sight of this crushed Harry.

She sat next to his crumpled form and held him close, burying her face in his hair.

“Harry, my god, what’s wrong?” Her voice was muffled as she spoke into him.

“Like you don’t know! God, like you don’t know what you do to me.”

“Me? This is about me?” Harry started to sob at her words–the alcohol was controlling his emotions and he felt lost within himself.

“Fuck Hermione, you act like you don’t know! I love you . . . dear God, I love you.” Hermione was speechless. She looked at him and tried to grasp the seriousness in his words. Harry loved her. She longed for him. Their relationship was impossible.

“No, Harry, no you don’t. You don’t know what you’re saying. You can’t.”

“You are the only good thing in my life, and you’re not even mine. God, why aren’t you mine?” Harry was completely broken; having her with him forced him to see that his golden girl was not his to cherish.

“You don’t love Ron, you never have,” he said simply.

“I don’t know what Ronald and I have, Harry, but I can’t abandon him.”

“But I love you,” he declared once more.

Hermione was at a loss for words. She didn’t know what to do–follow her heat or follow her head. She sat back and looked into his eyes, searching for an answer.

“‘Mione, I want to kiss you so bad, but you aren’t mine. When are you going to be mine?”

“Go clean up, Harry, you reek of Firewhiskey. I’ll brew you a potion, and then we need to talk, without any alcohol clouding your thoughts.”

An hour later, Harry came out of his room, nervous as hell about his confrontation with his love. Fortunately, Allie was gone when he went back to his room. Now, he was clean and ready for Hermione’s sobering potion.

“It’ll taste foul, but it should take out that ache,” she said as he walked into the living room. It was clean again, free of the artifacts from the previous night. He took the potion and downed it easily.

“Thanks for taking care of me; I need you.”

“Harry, we can’t be together.” She came right out and said it, without hesitation.

“We can’t wish our feelings away, ‘Mione. This is real.”

“But Ron . . . ”

“To hell with him. I love you. Truly, madly, deeply–I am in love with you.” And with that, he kissed her. He kissed her fully, completely, and without falter.

Well I could see,
you home with me,
but you were with another man, yea!
I know we,
ain't got much to say,
before I let you get away, yea!
I said, are you gonna be my girl?

“Harry . . . next time you want me . . . don’t pick up random girls to make me jealous . . . ” she said between kisses. He broke away.

“Am I that obvious?”

“Painfully.”

Oh yea. Oh yea. C'mon!
I could see,
you home with me,
but you were with another man, yea!
I know we,
ain't got much to say,
before I let you get away, yea!
Uh, be my girl.
Be my girl.
Are you gonna be my girl?! Yea