Disclaimer: All things HP belong to JKR, lucky woman. I just borrow, for fun and not for profit.
Author's Note: A fluffy fic, inspired in part by listening to the song, "Make Believe" from the musical, "Show Boat". I'm not sure how many chapters this will end up being but at least five. Enjoy!
Playing a Part
Act 1: Setting the Stage
He blamed it on the alcohol.
Alcohol and pent-up irritation and frustration combined to make him suggest what he did, even if it was an insane suggestion he'd never have made if he'd been thinking straight.
But he wasn't thinking straight and that was where it all started.
He let out a sigh of relief as he opened the door to the flat he shared with Ron and Hermione. "Free at last and home sweet home," he muttered as he walked in and hung up his cloak.
"Poor baby. Was it that bad?" Hermione's laughing voice asked from behind him as she too hung up her cloak.
They'd left Ron behind at the Victory Ball they'd just been to since he'd been having a wonderful time flirting with a very well-endowed and exotic-looking beauty. Harry had only let Ron know with a look and a slight jerk of his head towards the entrance that he and Hermione were leaving, knowing Ron would understand.
And then, he and Hermione had escaped.
He flung himself onto the sofa with a sigh, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, as he let himself relax, feeling the tension that had been holding him captive for the past couple hours since the moment they'd set foot inside the ballroom at the French Wizarding Embassy begin to unwind. "It's really sad that leaving a ball feels like an emancipation from slavery to me," he commented, without opening his eyes.
He heard Hermione's soft laugh and then a soft clink of a glass bottle.
"Here, Harry, have some butterbeer. You know you've had rather too much to drink."
"It was the only way I was going to survive the night with my sanity intact and without committing murder," he protested, reacting instinctively to the reproof he heard in her tone, in spite of how mild it had been and laced with amusement.
Hermione laughed again and he opened one eye in a mock glare at her. "It's not funny. Some best friend you are, to laugh at my pain like that," he pretended to gripe.
She sobered, although her eyes still shone with mirth. "Oh, of course. So sorry. Mustn't offend the Savior of the Wizarding World."
He winced. "Don't call me that!"
"What? I think it has a nice ring to it. Savior. Savior," she repeated, drawing the word out to several more syllables than it originally possessed.
He threw a pillow at her but her teasing repetition of the title he'd heard said so many times tonight brought to mind his main grievance.
"Ugh! All those bloody girls!"
From the moment he'd set foot in the ballroom, he'd been surrounded, mobbed really, with girls who were all eager to meet him and dance with him and even more than that. The two who'd been first had attached themselves to him with the persistence of leeches and the rest had formed a veritable entourage, all vying for his attention and all somehow managing to introduce themselves at some point.
It had been absolutely terrible. Even worse than it had been at the Ministry of Magic's Victory celebration two weeks ago.
"Well, think of it this way, Harry. You have plenty of candidates to become your next girlfriend."
"No, I don't," he contradicted her. "I'd rather like to date a girl whom I don't have to peel off me every time I want to go to the loo or something. Dating any of the girls I've met would be something like going undercover because I'd need to sneak around to do anything on my own." The face he made was eloquent of his horror at that prospect. "No, thank you."
There was a brief silence as she seemed to consider his words and he mentally shuddered away from the prospect of the four other balls scheduled in the next two months. He hated the publicity and these formal celebrations but considering that the Minister of Magic had personally requested he attend them all (and, more importantly, the importance of his attendance had been stressed by Professor McGonagall and Remus and Mr. Weasley) he hadn't been able to refuse. So he'd already been to the Ministry of Magic's official celebration which had begun this season of celebrations, followed by tonight's ball hosted by the Ambassador from the French Ministry. There was another ball for next weekend hosted by the Russian Ambassador, followed by one for the American Ambassador and then the largest Celebration ball of them all, one which was being hosted by the European Ministries of Magic as a whole. Lastly was the only Ball he would have wanted to attend if he'd had any choice, the Hogwarts Victory Ball, which was going to be held the last week of August to officially signal the re-opening of the first school year after the war.
In short, he could look forward to another two months of sheer hell.
And the thought prompted another one. If only he already had a girlfriend, it would make things so much easier because then the blasted girls would have to keep their distance.
It wasn't, in retrospect, the most sane idea in the world. But in his current state of mind, after having drunk more champagne and Firewhisky than he normally would have, it struck him as an eminently sane and clever thought.
"Say, Hermione, how'd you like to be my girlfriend?"
She choked on air. "What?"
He sat up and met her horrified and shocked gaze. "Not for real," he hastily assured her. "Only pretend. I just thought of it. See, if I already had a girlfriend, then those other silly twits would have to give up and leave me alone. So what if, for these next four balls, you pretended to be my girlfriend-- we pretended to be dating? It would solve so many of my problems. It'd only be for the next couple months while we have these bloody celebrations to go to."
Somehow, he didn't think she looked much less horrified and he hurried to try to add more reasons. "It'll be easy enough, I think; we just have to act like ourselves with a little more touching and longer looks. That should be enough. We wouldn't have to snog or anything. And I can't ask anyone else 'cause the only other girls I know that I could ask are Ginny-and I can't ask her because it'd be all awkward-and Luna and she's, well, Luna so she wouldn't understand and I can't see myself being able to pretend I'm dating her. Please, Hermione," he added, attempting to give her a pleading look.
And Hermione knew she was lost.
She never had been able to adequately resist Harry when he was giving her that look, especially not with that smile tugging at his lips and that sparkle in his eyes.
In the two months since the final battle, it had taken so long for Harry to recover his humor, when he could smile and laugh and joke without shadows clouding his eyes. And now when he could simply have fun, she found it harder than ever to deny him anything because she'd missed that light-heartedness in Harry so much. She'd missed seeing him smile and hearing him laugh and after a year where both smiles and laughter had been rather scarce, she valued each one all the more now.
It had taken weeks but now, finally, Harry was himself again, joking again, teasing again. And she loved it.
He still had his moments of brooding, moments where he'd fall silent and she'd look at him and see his distracted gaze and the shadows darkening his eyes and she knew he was remembering, thinking, of all they'd gone through in the last year. But those moments were becoming more infrequent and when they did happen, they were lasting a shorter time.
But they happened often enough still that she treasured every smile, every laugh, every time he teased her, more than she otherwise would.
And now, with that mischievous, teasing sparkle in his eyes so she could see that, somehow, the notion of fooling the wizarding world and obtaining some freedom from his fangirls at the same time tickled him, she knew she couldn't possibly resist.
Part of her mind was warning her to be careful, that she was blithely leaping before she looked into a pretense that could end up dangerous to her and her peace of mind.
And another part of her mind was telling her that this might be her only chance, might be as close as she ever got to knowing what it'd be like to have Harry act like he was romantically interested in her. It might just be her only chance to experience her most secret dream, the dreams that were so secret she hardly dared admit them to herself.
She'd been silent too long and he was getting nervous. "Well, what do you say? Do it for me," he wheedled, giving her a quick, slightly lop-sided smile of entreaty.
And Hermione Granger, in an uncharacteristic (or not-so-uncharacteristic) moment of yielding against her better judgment to the charm of the boy she loved, set caution aside.
"Okay, I'll do it," she agreed.
And felt she was almost amply rewarded right then and there with the brightness of the grin he gave her. Oh, yes, to see the way his eyes and his entire expression lit up, she would do a lot more, risk a lot more…
"Thank you, Hermione! You just saved my sanity for these next few weeks. This is going to be rather fun, I think. Test our acting abilities."
She smiled at him but couldn't help but think that her problem might actually be the reverse, that it would be only too easy to act like she loved Harry.
Dangerously easy. And dangerously tempting.
Oh she was in for it now…
Only make believe I love you
Only make believe that you love me.
Others find peace of mind in pretending,
Couldn't you?
Couldn't I?
Couldn't we?...
~"Make Believe" from the musical, "Show Boat"
~To be continued…