Disclaimer: See Act 1.
Author's Note: I wasn't planning on including any Ginny!snark in this fic, but it just ended up writing itself. And I know you'll all catch my use of our new favorite word. ;-) Enjoy!
Playing a Part
Act 4: The Play's the Thing
Harry was nervous.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited for Ron and Hermione to be ready to leave for the Victory Celebration at the American Embassy tonight.
Tonight was going to be the real test of this whole scheme of his. Last time had been the opening act, setting up the idea that he and Hermione were a couple. That had been the easy part. Now-especially with that Daily Prophet article yesterday claiming he'd confirmed the rumors of their relationship-he knew that every eye would be on them, watching and waiting to see more tangible proof that he and Hermione were very definitely more than just platonic friends.
And he was nervous. He hadn't admitted as much to Hermione or to Ron but he was suddenly unsure of himself. Was he going to fool everyone and act, convincingly, as if Hermione was really the one witch he was interested in like that?
He thought of Cho and, with rather more uncertainty, thought of Ginny. He remembered how pretty he'd thought Cho from the first time he saw her, remembered how his gaze had sought her automatically just for the pleasure of looking at her. He remembered the intensity (and the sudden-ness) of his feelings for Ginny, how one day he simply hadn't been able to look away from her, seeing all the brightness of her eyes and the vivid beauty of her hair and, even, the charm in her freckles. He remembered how Ginny had taken over his thoughts almost to the exclusion of anything else, remembered looking at her and wanting nothing so much as to snog her, touch her, just be with her…
Could he really feign that same feeling for Hermione, who, for all that he did think she was pretty-even beautiful-and certainly the nicest girl he'd ever met, was still his best friend? Or would it be strange, awkward, stiff-as if he were playing an elaborate joke by trying to pretend Ron was really a pretty girl or something? He grimaced at that thought. Good God, if that was what this evening would be like, he may as well give up this entire plan right now. If only because he'd never be able to act it without bursting out laughing.
"Hermione's not ready yet?"
He glanced at Ron and had to stifle a bark of laughter at the thought of trying to pretend Ron, with his tall, gangly figure, was a girl. "No, she's not," he managed to say.
Ron shifted. "Well, at least this is the last one of these we have to go to for a while."
"I'll say," Harry agreed. While these last couple balls had been on consecutive weekends, the next one hosted by all the European Ministries of Magic wasn't for another two weeks.
He heard Hermione's door open and turned-and stopped breathing. He felt his eyes widen and was peripherally aware that his jaw had dropped slightly before he forcibly closed it again.
Great ghost-was that really Hermione? What had Hermione done?
He didn't know-could still hardly believe that this-vision-was Hermione but of course, it was. It was just Hermione as he'd never really thought she could look. He'd seen her when she was exhausted, had seen her when she was happy, had seen her look pretty and look downright beautiful. He'd never seen her look like this.
Beside him, he heard Ron make an appreciative noise. "Wow, Hermione, you look good tonight!"
Good?! Harry wondered what was wrong with Ron's eye-sight. Good was not the word to describe how Hermione looked.
He didn't even know exactly what was so different about her tonight that made the sight of her knock all the breath from his body or all the coherent thoughts from his brain-but whatever it was, it did-she did.
Her hair was different than the way she usually wore it-completely up, except for one solitary curl that had been left to dangle, whether intentionally or not, where it was just brushing her otherwise bare neck, calling attention to the smooth expanse of skin. (He had the absolutely crazy impulse to kiss that spot on her neck, suddenly envying that single curl just for being able to lightly caress her neck like that.) Her dress robes were dark royal blue with hints of some kind of shimmer or sparkle or something when she moved. The neckline was, admittedly, lower than she usually wore but not excessively so (Hermione wasn't the type). It was a pretty gown and was simple in style and more elegant than fashionable, which was typical of Hermione's dress robes from what he'd seen of them. But what pushed this one from the realm of simply pretty and into the realm of every-male's-dream-personified was more what it did to Hermione's figure. The material didn't cling to her body; it caressed it, every line of her slim figure until it flared out gently at her hips to fall in loose folds to the floor which were both graceful and somehow sensuous at the same time.
Hermione walked forward to join them and Harry nearly swallowed his own tongue. Good God!! Just seeing Hermione walk was an experience in seduction.
How had he never really suspected just how long her legs were? How had he never really noticed just how graceful her movements could be?
He yanked himself back to the present and tried to marshal his wits together into some sense of normalcy. This was Hermione, for Merlin's sake.
"Hermione," he managed to say, amazed at how surprisingly normal his voice sounded given how dry his mouth was, "you look--" Sexy as hell, his mind inserted and he swallowed back the words since he could hardly say that and finished instead, in a voice that was not quite steady, "you look beautiful." And she did-just beautiful in a different way.
She smiled at him, treasuring that rather shell-shocked look in his eyes when he'd first seen her. She'd had her doubts as to whether or not to wear the dress, even though she'd been unable to resist buying it when she'd tried it on, but all doubts had been erased the moment she'd seen Harry's reaction. "Thanks, Harry."
Harry swallowed hard and turned away from her as he concentrated on shoving this new and inconvenient reaction to Hermione back into a corner of his mind and keeping it there. It took some effort but he managed so that when he glanced back to respond to some remark Ron made, he was back to normal enough that his gaze didn't linger over-long on Hermione and he sounded completely himself again.
It was, he reflected sardonically, the only thing he could probably be grateful to Voldemort for. If there was one thing he had learned in this past year, it was the art of self-control and of how to push any unwanted and excessive emotions aside, at least temporarily. It hadn't come naturally (he was still pants at Occlumency and Legilimency, for one thing, although he'd improved marginally) but it had improved. And it served him in good stead now.
He was going to get through this evening, pretending to be Hermione's boyfriend (a task made both much easier and at the same time, infinitely more difficult as well, by his unprecedented reaction to seeing Hermione in her gown tonight) and he would not think about- about-well, anything that involved beds or bare skin or any of the other things constantly evoked by the way Hermione looked tonight.
And, at first, he was remarkably successful.
He managed to talk normally with both Ron and Hermione. (He was immensely grateful to note that the American Magical Ambassador had decided against announcing his arrival formally, which made things easier and made the atmosphere seem decidedly more casual.)
He, Ron and Hermione were all presented to the American Minister of Magic, who was the other honorary guest. And then he was drawn into a separate conversation with the American Minister while the Ambassador smoothly engaged Ron and Hermione into another conversation, edging away.
And for once, Harry was almost grateful for the distinction made between him and Ron and Hermione, since it meant he could relax somewhat and concentrate on his conversation with Minister Sandra O'Connell, who was a remarkably intelligent and well-spoken woman.
Only to find that, as a way of distracting him from his unwanted reaction to seeing Hermione tonight, Minister O'Connell was not at all effective since she rather reminded him of Hermione. He had already heard of Minister O'Connell as being a formidable politician and one who had dared to take unpopular positions on issues such as equal rights for magical creatures like centaurs and house elves.
He really needed to ensure that Hermione had the chance to talk to Minister O'Connell at more length, he thought, and so he deliberately called Hermione over to answer a question so as to include Hermione in the conversation.
Harry suppressed a smile as he watched Hermione talk to Minister O'Connell. Both women were talking and gesturing animatedly about the need to give house elves more rights and how to go about achieving such change when most of wizarding society was still so much set in the old ways.
Hermione's expression was as bright as he'd ever seen it, her eyes shining. She looked absolutely beautiful, he couldn't help thinking. And a small voice from somewhere in his mind inserted that he loved how enthusiastic, how-passionate-Hermione got over these issues-before he hastily cut off that thought. He should not be thinking about Hermione and passion of any kind. That way lay trouble.
He headed towards where he saw Mr. Weasley and tried not to think about Hermione anymore, at least for the moment. Tried not to keep watching her as she talked to Minister O'Connell.
Tried but did not quite succeed. So he knew when she shook Minister O'Connell's hand, in spite of the fact that he kept his eyes scrupulously turned in another direction, and he knew when she glanced around to look for him and knew that she was returning to his side, in keeping with her role as his date.
And he gave up his attempt to not look for Hermione as Mr. Weasley drifted back towards Mrs. Weasley where she was standing with Bill and Fleur, only to see that Hermione had been way-laid by Terry Boot, who was currently talking to her with admiration in every line of his eager expression and in every gesture he made.
Harry mentally grimaced. Bloody Terry Boot. Always so obvious in his crush on Hermione-well, he could just go chat up some other bloke's girl. Hermione was his-that is, he mentally backtracked hastily, she had to act as if she were for this whole plan to go on working. Not that he didn't trust Hermione; he did. He knew Hermione wouldn't encourage Boot or anything. Hermione wouldn't do that-and besides, she couldn't fancy Terry Boot. Could she?
He suppressed a pang of doubt and the sudden souring of his mood.
He wasn't even aware of Ginny's having come up to him until he felt an arm slip through his and heard her voice.
He looked down at her, rather surprised at her almost possessive taking of his arm and suppressing the instinctive reaction to draw his arm away. "Hi, Ginny."
She pouted prettily. "Just a hello? Don't I even get a kiss?"
He bent and kissed her quickly on the cheek in a brotherly fashion. "There," he said, forcing a smile. She was acting oddly and he knew a flicker of apprehension that she might still hope for there to be something more between them, never mind that their relationship had ended more than a year ago. Automatically, his gaze wandered over to Hermione, wondering if she was watching but, no, she was still talking to Terry Boot. He forced himself not to frown.
"So tell me the truth," he heard Ginny say softly, so close to him he could feel her breath tickling his neck. He suppressed the urge to move away, feeling uncomfortable. (How was it possible, he wondered, that somehow feeling Hermione's breath on his cheek was pleasant, to say the least, but having Ginny so close to him only felt a little cloying? Ginny, whom he'd once wished was always close to him.)
The truth? He frowned at her in unfeigned confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"This whole thing with Hermione. Everyone seems to be talking about how you and Hermione are together but it's not really true, is it? It's only some scheme you've both decided on, to save you from your fans or something," she guessed. "Come on, Harry, you can tell me."
He paused to be surprised at the accuracy of Ginny's guess into his reasoning. Since when did she have that much insight into his thoughts?, he wondered, even as he stiffened at her surmise.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said with equal parts calm and mendacity.
"Oh, come on, Harry, can't you trust me, after all we are to each other? I know you don't really fancy Hermione. I mean, Hermione's a great person but she's so-Hermione, you know. How could you really fancy her? She's so… plain, boring in some ways."
Harry had gotten progressively stiffer as Ginny's words seeped into his consciousness. He'd been getting rather irritated from her first assumption of intimacy but then what she said about Hermione-he could hardly believe her words! And Hermione plain? Hermione boring?
He stared at her, feeling rather as if he'd never seen her before. Even now, when anything between him and Ginny had been over long ago, he would never have thought Ginny capable of being so openly disparaging of a supposed friend of hers, especially not one whom she'd known as long as she'd known Hermione and one who, he suddenly remembered, had helped her catch his attention when she wanted it. He felt suddenly rather chilled.
He freed his arm from Ginny's, stepping a little away from her. "I think you're delusional," he said rather tersely, using the somewhat softer word, instead of saying he thought she was either crazy or being deliberately mean. "Hermione's probably the most beautiful girl I've ever seen and she's the only girl I know who's never bored me."
He caught the flicker of hurt in her eyes at the implication that she had once bored him but for once, he didn't care. "I'll see you later," and with that rather curt farewell, he turned and left her standing alone.
And headed, automatically, towards Hermione, wanting the ease he found with her especially after this latest ruffling of his spirit. To think that Ginny, of all people, could have said such things… It was disillusioning and so he headed, instinctively, for the one person whom he knew would never let him down.
He slid his arm around Hermione's waist deliberately, more because he felt the inexplicable need to show Ginny how far from the truth her (mean-spirited but not entirely untrue) words had been than because of the need to keep up his role for the rest of their audience, and managed a friendly smile for Terry. "Hello, Terry. I didn't see you earlier," he lied.
"Oh, hi, Harry. I was just talking to Hermione about this new spell I've heard about. It's supposed to be really advanced so only the most powerful wizards can do it but I'm sure Hermione could manage. I still think the Sorting Hat got it wrong when he put her in Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw," Terry remarked, addressing Harry but looking-and smiling-at Hermione.
"I don't think the Sorting Hat makes any mistakes," Harry responded coolly. "Now, you don't mind if I steal Hermione away, do you? I just thought of something I wanted to talk to her about."
From Terry's expression, he minded very much but he gave in with somewhat ill-concealed reluctance. "Oh, of course not. It was good talking to you, Hermione. We'll have to talk some more another time. And, Harry," he added as Harry and Hermione were turning away, "I hope you know what a lucky chap you are."
Harry smiled. "I do know that."
"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said under her breath as they walked away. "How did you know I needed rescuing?"
He glanced at her, feeling a glow of satisfaction and just barely managing to keep from smirking. "Was Terry boring you?"
Hermione looked a bit guilty. "Oh, Terry's really nice and very friendly. It's just that he has a tendency to go on for some time. I couldn't get away from him without being rude and I didn't want to be mean." She glanced at him. "You didn't really want to talk to me about anything, did you? You just made that up."
"Well, yes," he admitted.
"Oh, Harry…" she shook her head as if in reproof but it was belied by the smile tugging at her lips and after a minute, she laughed. "Well, thank you for rescuing me."
He grinned at her. "Anytime."
"I'm getting stuffy in here. Do you mind if we go outside to the balcony for a while?"
"No, you're right. It is getting stuffy. They probably invited twice as many people as this ballroom was originally meant to hold."
"I think I heard that they put a charm on the ballroom so it will expand to as large as necessary, rather like a magical tent."
"So, I noticed you enjoyed your talk with Minister O'Connell," he began, changing the subject.
Hermione turned to him with a smile so bright it could probably have illuminated the entire ballroom on its own. "Oh, Harry, she's wonderful! I'm so glad I got the opportunity to meet her and it's such an honor that she came all this way to pay her respects to you."
"To us," he corrected her. "This whole victory is as much due to you and Ron as it is to me and you know it."
"To us," Hermione amended, her smile softening as she gave his arm a quick, affectionate squeeze. "She was talking to me about her efforts to increase centaur rights and freedom for house elves."
"Yes, she mentioned her house-elves campaign to me. She wanted to thank me for what I did for Dobby all those years ago. I can't believe all the stories about me have spread to America." He made a disbelieving face. "But apparently, even there, they know all about me."
"I know. She told me it helped her immensely to be able to say that she was following in the footsteps of Harry Potter, in some way."
He gave her a slight grimace. "If I'd known that doing that for Dobby was going to add to my fame so much, I'd never have done it. It was a crazy impulse, anyway."
"It was not, Harry, and you know it. And you needn't try to disclaim it now. Even if you'd thought it was going to make people form a religion around you, you'd have done the same thing for Dobby. I know you."
He felt his cheeks flush, his heart lifting inside his chest, at the warm approval in her tone, but changed the subject. "Anyway, I liked Minister O'Connell. She was perfectly charming and very articulate and witty. I can see why she's such a popular figure, in spite of her sometimes unpopular opinions." He glanced at her. "Actually, she reminded me of you with how clever she is."
Hermione smiled up at him. "Why, thank you kindly, Mr. Potter," she answered lightly, teasingly, but he could see her sincere pleasure in his words in her eyes.
He became aware that a few people were edging closer in an attempt to hear what he and Hermione were saying and gave Hermione a warm smile and added, in a tone slightly louder than usual and intended to carry, "Of course, you're much prettier than she is."
The would-be eavesdroppers paused and then retreated, having heard something that would, they were sure, delight the gossips.
Harry reflected with a rush of affection that only Hermione would look more pleased to be called clever and compared to a figure like Minister O'Connell than called pretty.
"They're gone for now so you don't have to pretend anymore," Hermione said, a faint, almost imperceptible edge to her voice, as they stepped out onto the balcony.
He opened his mouth to say that he had meant it-which he had-but stopped, suddenly uncomfortable at making such a confession. "Drat and here I was planning to recite a sonnet I composed about your eyes," he quipped with mock disappointment.
And, as he'd hoped, she laughed and he was suddenly struck with how her skin seemed to positively glow in the moonlight and how her eyes-he cut off his wayward thoughts ruthlessly.
"Actually, I was hoping for an epic poem about my eyebrows," she informed him with mock seriousness.
"That was going to come after the sonnet," he deadpanned.
There was a beat of silence and then they both gave in to their laughter.
He grinned at her and felt a sudden rush of warmth in his chest. It wasn't desire but rather something more based on friendship than anything else. Dear Hermione, he thought, after so many years and everything they'd been through, she was still his best friend, helping him, laughing with him…
The atmosphere abruptly shifted, changing from one of shared humor to-to something else entirely, something new and thrilling and somehow rather frightening as well.
On a sudden impulse, he lifted one hand and brushed her cheek with his fingertips in a quick, light caress.
She flushed, color appearing in her cheeks, still smiling but rather as if her smile had been arrested in the process of fading than from any real amusement.
And it was a moment of madness. (Or was it, perhaps, a moment of utter truth?)
He looked at her and then, in a gesture he could never fully explain afterwards, he slid his hand behind her neck and kissed her.
He kissed her. His lips touched hers, lingered on hers, long enough to send heat spiraling through his body, and his tongue tentatively touched her lips…
For one seemingly endless moment (though it was, in reality, little more than a few seconds), the world vanished and nothing else existed but him and her and his lips touching hers…
And then he belatedly realized what he was doing-he was kissing Hermione-and pulled away, his hand falling from her neck as if scalded.
He stared at her, seeing her flushed cheeks and her eyes, wide with shock and-and something else he couldn't quite read-was it nervousness? Maybe even dismay?
Good God, what had he done?
"I'm sorry!" he blurted out, panic edging his voice. "I didn't mean to; I just-it was, um, an accident and won't happen again, I promise," he babbled, knowing even as the words rushed out of him in a confused jumble that they weren't strictly true. He had meant to kiss her-had wanted to kiss her, in a moment of irrationality overcoming sanity. But it had been an accident in the sense that he hadn't made a conscious decision but it had happened and he could still feel the warmth and the softness of her lips, even imagined he could taste her… He felt their friendship wobbling around him, their friendship that was the stable rock on which his entire life rested, and reacted automatically, instinctively, with panic and the urge to make it seem as if the madness of the past few moments had not happened.
He belatedly became aware of a rustling sound of whispers and glanced over at the door to see the hurriedly-departing backs of several people who must have seen the kiss and were now going off to spread the word that Harry Potter had been kissing Hermione Granger on the balcony. And he grabbed for the excuse their presence gave him. "It was part of the act because I saw that those people were watching us and we needed a reason to be out here alone," he hastily added, hoping that for once Hermione wouldn't recognize the bare-faced lie. "Forgive me?" he asked.
There was a pause that seemed to last forever before she answered. "There's nothing to forgive; it was only a kiss, after all. And it was all part of the act. It's fine, Harry. Don't worry about it."
He couldn't see the expression in her eyes in the dim light and if her tone sounded rather odd, a little- brittle?- he ignored it for the moment, too relieved to do otherwise.
They still continued their act for the rest of the evening but he, at least, was conscious of a slight constraint as he scrupulously made sure that for all his pretenses, he never quite strayed so close to crossing the line of platonic friendship. So even as he kept his arm around her shoulders, he was careful not to hold her too closely and even as he smiled into her eyes occasionally, he was careful never to linger too long.
And it almost worked. By the end of the evening, he had almost managed to push the whole thing to the corner of his mind and their relationship, at least outwardly, remained much the same. Almost.
The problem was when he found himself lying flat on his back in bed that night, staring blindly up at the ceiling and thinking of nothing but those brief moments on the balcony-and reliving, almost in spite of himself, the feeling of her lips against his, her skin warming his hand, the heat of her body so close to his…
And that was when he realized what the real problem was.
The problem wasn't that he had kissed Hermione. (Although that had been a mistake that he should never have made.) The problem was that he still wanted to kiss her.
And just what was he supposed to do about that?
Make believe our lips are blending
In a phantom kiss, or two, or three.
~ "Make Believe" from "Show Boat"
~To be continued…