A/N:
Hey, guys! Here's another chapter. I know I promised I'd write a week ago, but I had to do an interview for a project in our class. Anyway, this is just a short chapter for because I didn't want to put so much detail in it cause I haven't thought of the whole plot yet.
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Harry Potter had never been a deep sleeper.
So when his mobile rang just on the break of dawn, it didn't take him long to locate the bloody thing and toss it aside. Naturally, he didn't want to get up just yet, but something felt quite odd with the way he was positioned in bed.
Normally, he always woke up with his body covering almost the entire thing.
But that morning, he was just on one side.
It took him another full minute to actually realize where he was and that there was a woman lying next to him. Imagine his frustration when he couldn't remember why the woman he was in bed with was not Sophia.
His head throbbed from last night's too much ingestion of whiskey, but it was funny how he couldn't remember being drunk.
Then just as it him who she was, his phone went off again.
Rolling his eyes to no one in particular, certainly not the woman who was lying peacefully beside him, Harry tossed aside the covers and stood up, stretching quite a few of his well-toned muscles before trudging across the carpeted floors and skimming through his piles of used clothes where his mobile had landed.
He looked at the caller I.D. and grimaced.
He flipped it open a little too harshly.
"This had better be good, Warren," he murmured groggily, shifting aside the blinds to his room and squinting when the full blast of early morning sunshine hit his eyes.
"Have you seen the news?"
Harry mentally chucked his agent on the head. "It's 6 in the morning."
"And?"
"You would think somebody normal would still be sleeping at this hour. Besides, any news does not concern me."
"It might surprise you, Harry that it does concern you," his agent muttered impatiently and in a clipped tone, "In fact, I advise you to look before you speak. I would hate for you to eat your words, because I would need your explanation after."
Harry was just about to ask why his agent was being so surly at such an early time when the other line went dead. Scratching his head, he walked across the room to get out. The knob in his grasp, Harry glanced first at Hermione to make sure she was still asleep, and went out.
His head was throbbing from last night's too much ingestion of whiskey, but it was funny that he could remember much of what happened. Aside from the fact that he was still in bed with her until 6 in the morning, he pretty much remembered how he had gotten there.
His bare feet padded silently on the tiled floor as he reached his living room, where the only television he could use as of the moment was located. His other set was in his room, but he couldn't very well open it there or it might disturb his guest's rest.
Comfortably seated on his couch where he and Hermione had had their little conversation the night before, Harry switched on the television and shifted through stations. As he tried to look for the news that Warren had been talking about, he abruptly chuckled.
It was not like his agent to forget something as little as this.
How could Harry watch the news when he didn't even know which channel to go?
But the smile died on his face when he caught a glimpse of his name on one of those entertainment shows as he was surfing through channels.
For an entire year, no one had actually seen him, much more, aired him on TV. He had been in a press conference yesterday, but he doubted that it caused a lot of stir to alert the entire population of England.
But when he was expecting the clip to be the interview he had done the day before, it turned out to be the one thing he had been trying to avoid. It was surprising; really, that he was not so much disturbed the night before, but seeing it now, seemed a little bit disconcerting.
The camera crew who had filmed him had been quite discreet because Harry had not been aware they were even there. The worse thing was, they had been interested in him so much that the film didn't even stop even for just a minute.
Harry grimaced when he saw a clip flash on screen with him and Hermione enjoying what appeared to be a very mutually desired and intentional kiss. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought that there were indeed some sort of long lost lovers.
Had the kiss been that long? He asked himself when the contact didn't end the moment he expected it to. No wonder Warren seemed a bit put off. The next thing Harry knew, his TV version was now dragging Hermione out of the pub, and the cameraman started to run towards their direction. The editors didn't even have the sense to edit the part where all the viewers could see was the very dizzying shot of skidding pavement and feet running. Just when Harry thought he would throw up from watching, the camera suddenly focused into place and showed him shoving Hermione into the car, and getting inside himself.
The director must have been so enthused about the story that they even showed the part where they drove off. Fortunately, his car had performed magnificently, and nobody had been able to catch up to them.
Raking a hand through his disheveled hair, he leaned back and allowed himself to fall carelessly on the couch's backrest.
He had definitely made a mess out of this one, despite the bit of detail that he was not the one who kissed him. However, he was willing to admit that if he hadn't seemed like willing participant, the whole thing would have been passed off as a stunt by some fan.
"Brilliant," he muttered as he closed his eyes in frustration.
Any other normal celebrities would have just dismissed the news because running away with some local girl was actually no longer a big deal. It elicited some kind of trend in the industry that famous people can get away with those kinds of things.
But with enough twist to the story, these did definitely end up being treated as a major crime.
But the problem was, he had not yet that big of name to be bestowed upon such attention. When he had been a writer before he signed up for the team, people recognized him, but they didn't ogle at him. They respected him more and didn't try to evade his privacy.
He knew the moment he decided to do something he had never experienced that an extreme life was waiting for him after he had signed his name on the contract. But as far as extremes go, this was the ultimate.
The media had been aware of his relationship with Sophia because they constantly materialized during his training, their hounds of ears having caught the news that he would be playing in the playoffs. Unfortunately, they were also privy to the news of his almost engagement and didn't bother hiding their interest.
Last night's exploit with Hermione had given the juice to the story. He had just broken up with Sophia two days ago, and just the next night, he was lip-locked with somebody the press surely didn't know.
It was just the thing to turn heads and catch interest.
If the news had been true, even though it technically was, he wouldn't be bothered. But the press made it look like he was as guilty as the next bloke poor whose heart had been broken enough to stir some stunt that shouted revenge and jealousy.
The cell phone in his hand vibrated before the tone erupted. And Harry answered without missing a beat, knowing it was Warren again, calling to confirm whether he had seen the news.
"Yes, I saw it," Harry murmured.
"Saw what?"
Ron sounded genuinely surprised and Harry let out a breath.
"Nothing."
"You sound tired," Ron chuckled, his tone light-hearted and teasing, "Had some night last night, didn't you?"
It took quite an effort not to erupt in fits just as the thought that Ron believed he had picked up some girl in the bar crossed Harry's mind. Instead, he just chuckled. "You didn't have one of your own, did you? That's why you're up early."
"I don't think I could without dying of heart attack. Just the thought that I could squash my own child pretty much diminishes any intent," Ron muttered.
"Tough," Harry mused, sifting through stations again, hoping that somewhere in between, he would see again the news, "Wouldn't want to be you."
He stopped pressing the button when by some miracle, his face flashed once more on screen. He went back one channel, discovered it was one of those cheesy tabloid productions, and hit the mute button to simply watch what they were showing the entire population who was bored enough to watch them.
"Seriously, Harry, I know you didn't sleep with her," he heard Ron's voice grew somber and Harry sobered up, "Why do you sound tired?"
"Warren called," Harry said as if just the mere mention of his agent's name would carry his point across the line. He didn't want to explain any further because he was a little busy discerning what he was seeing on TV, even though he pretty much knew what was going to happen next.
"And his calls are usually bad, is that it?"
"Sort of," he mumbled absentmindedly, "They're stressful."
"Hey, he's your agent, he's supposed to give you stress," Ron kidded, "He wouldn't be effective if he just sat down all day, taking credit for your success."
"I'd rather he stick his nose into his job and not into my private life," Harry hissed.
"So, this is about your girlfriend."
"Sophia?" Harry frowned.
"No," Ron immediately negated, "the other one."
"She's not my girlfriend," Harry snarled, gripping the phone tighter, "I thought you believe I didn't sleep with her?"
"You don't have to sleep with one for her to be your girlfriend," Ron explained, and then mused aloud, "Unless that's the new definition of the term nowadays."
"She's not my girlfriend," Harry reiterated through gritted teeth.
"You know, I was a bit surprised that you got over Sophia in such a short period of time. Care to explain how that happened?"
"I'd rather keep that information to myself," Harry grumbled.
"Fine by me," Ron gave up, knowing full well that no matter how much he tried to convince him to reveal what he was keeping to himself, Harry would die first before actually saying anything.
"Have you seen the news?" Harry asked him.
"Not yet, why?" Ron asked curiously, "Is there something worth watching?"
Harry decided to postpone the inevitable publicity as long as he could, so he tried to say in a natural tone, "Nothing. I just wanted to know whether my press conference yesterday had been aired already."
He heard Ron chuckle at the other end of the line. "It's six in the morning. If producers wanted higher ratings, they would air your press conference when people are watching."
Harry nodded, even though he really didn't mean his explanation. "Have you told Luna that I'm back?"
"Not since last night, no," Ron joked, quite amused that Harry had chosen not to inform anybody of his return except him. For more than a year, Harry had already been staying in London, but not so much as a hair on his head had been spotted by any of his friends, or even acquaintances. It was funny that even the entire Weasley clan was oblivious to his presence. "You do know that after they see your interview, they're going to know."
"I know," Harry nodded, knowing as well that after his press conference had been aired on TV, there was no going back. He would have to face the world that he had once left before.
It was hard to do it.
In fact, if he had had the chance to think about it even more, Harry was sure that he wouldn't have gone through the whole ordeal. But the moment his diploma had been handed to him and its smooth contour brushed against the palm of his hand, Harry had decided he could no longer continue living the life of a famous boy, who had only gotten his fame just because he brought down an infamous and notorious murderer.
He wanted a life for himself, to build a name that would go down the history that had something more than his scar and his impermeability to death written for recognition.
Even though he had no idea about what he wanted to do, he left England to fend for himself and landed in America, where he met Warren, a very independent business man who was engaged in the industry of publication.
Harry met him while Warren was perusing over some books in the local library and he (Harry) was in the process of finishing the first chapter of his fiction novel.
There was no stopping Warren's intent when he came up to Harry the next day and offered to publish his first work. Apparently, Harry had left the first page of his chapter behind and he had come upon it.
At first, Harry was not so sure that writing was the career that he wanted to pursue. But the joy of knowing people were reading his work of words that came from his mind and heart had been enough to convince him to agree to sign a contract.
Ever since that first time, Warren had taken care of his publications. It was just a matter of time before Harry's first book had been recognized and given the title of Bestseller.
His books had been about many things but never did it dwell on himself. He touched the politics, murder, drama, the supernatural, and even romance. But they were not published under his name. If he had given his own name, Harry would have been found eventually and dragged back into the life that he had become so weary of.
So he wrote each of his books under a pseudonym.
Nicholas Everett.
For nine years, he had lived under a name that wasn't his and gave up the name he had been given.
A name that he was proud of, even then, but could not risk to be known.
Nicholas Everett became famous for his seemingly real-life tales. He was already successful when he decided to do a series, a series that would have been an autobiography had he not changed the name of his hero.
For five years, he wrote of a boy who had become known all his life because his parents had helped apprehend a murderer, who escaped years later and came back year after year, to taunt the boy. It had seemed so heartwarming and thrilling for the readers to read the dramatic life of that young boy.
And each time somebody came up to him to tell him that his portrayal of James Reef was so convincing that each tale caused their toes to curl and their eyes to widen in fear for his sake, Harry felt an underlying peace that somehow, even though he used his life to make these stories, people were amazed by him, the writer, not the boy-who-lived.
But the fear that someone might recognize the stories had never left Harry.
And so, he decided to contact Ron to explain to him what happened.
All these years, it had only been Ron who knew where he was and who he had become. It had also been Ron who suggested that Harry place a picture of somebody else in the back cover of his book to pose as Nicholas Everett.
At that time, Harry didn't want to ask anybody to do it, so Warren convinced him to grow a beard and copy the color of Sirius' eyes. It was that image that the scanners and printers had run on his books.
Harry was no longer recognizable, but it felt eerie looking at a spitting image of Sirius. Thankfully, no one had been able to see Sirius that way except for the Weasley Family, so the risk of him being discovered had been minimal.
But as the years went by, he felt himself growing more and more lax in writing. He had finished James Reef's life story and was trying to come up with a new series, but the thought of doing it forever had suddenly gone down a notch of the things he wanted to do.
Wanting to have some time alone to think, Harry had wondered along the streets of New York, when he came upon a high school soccer field. There were students playing, and it didn't take long for him to feel the rush of playing a game he knew he was born to play.
The games with the high school team began to take place regularly, and before he knew it, one of the players for the Lions, England's international soccer team, saw him playing, was awed by his ability, and recruited him for the team.
Warren had been against it, itching to have another book reach the bestseller spot, but he understood Harry enough to consent for as long as he didn't stop writing.
Harry didn't even know at that time that he wanted to become a national league soccer player. But the more he thought about it, the more interested and enthusiastic he felt.
James Potter had been a soccer player himself, but Harry had never considered the idea to become exactly like him until that moment.
And that was when Harry realized what he was missing.
Something that connected him to his parents who had been killed merely hours after Riddle had been apprehended, no doubt done by his cronies under his command. He didn't carry the guilt over their death, but he carried the responsibility to keep their name alive.
Perhaps that was the reason he left England, to show to the world that the Potter could be famous for more than just being the victims of a criminal.
As Nicholas Everett, he had gotten an inner pleasure of knowing that as a Potter, he was keeping their flag raised. But the recognition that it was a Potter not an Everett who had these accomplishments had not been duly given.
It was at that moment that Harry knew what he needed to do.
It was time to go back to London.
"You can avoid the melodramatics, you know," Ron interrupted his thoughts.
"What do you mean?"
"You can tell them any time you want, before they find out. It's much better that way, don't you think?"
"Maybe," Harry nodded, knowing full well that Ron was right.
"Listen, just drop by any time you want," Ron suggested, "You know where I live."
"To surprise you?"
"Not me, them," Ron chuckled, "Merlin knows I'm no longer surprised by your actions."
Harry was about to say something when there was a beeping sound from his mobile. He shook his head.
Boy, was Warren having a field day!
"Ron, I have to go, Warren's calling," Harry muttered.
"Sure, mate," Ron agreed, "I'll see you soon."
"That you will," Harry muttered decidedly before hearing a click at the other end of the line. He waited a minute first before answering Warren's call. "Yeah, yeah, I've seen it."
"Harry?"
At first Harry was taken aback by the female voice and didn't recognize who owned it. Then he groaned, remembering from whom it came and how much he had missed that sound.
Why was she calling him?
And why did she sound so grief-stricken?
Granted that Sophia had never been a screamer, it seemed a bit disconcerting that she sounded more depressed, as if he was the one who left, not her.
It was one of the qualities that he loved and would miss.
She was a good person. And they had so many good memories. She had never looked as if she was capable of taking more than one at a time. That was the reason that it caused him so much to realize how that had been a lie.
Naturally, Harry took the news of her engagement with Greg nastily.
He didn't even waste time beating the guy to a pulp, and he would have done more damage had it not been for his other teammates restraining him. The blood on his clenched fists had abated his anger, and he left without letting either of them explain.
He missed Sophia, but he wanted nothing more to do with her. Still, he fought the urge to shut his mobile and leave her hanging, curiosity and depression won over.
"What do you want?" his voice carried a bit of bravado, but he sounded weary.
There was a strange sound of a cry before he heard her voice, "How could you do this to me?"
Harry held the phone away from him and stared at it in shock. Placing the receiver back against his ear, he spat angrily. "I haven't done anything worse than what you did."
"You kissed another woman," Sophia raised her voice to what he could only consider as a normal tone for everybody else, "You made me look like a fool."
"Again, nothing you haven't done first."
"Who is she?"
"Nobody," he answered, suddenly feeling very tired, and then noticing that the TV program he had been watching had switched on to another clip of him and Hermione, in a different angle.
Seriously, how many cameras had been there last night?
"Nobody?" Sophia sighed again, making his ears burn from the delicate sound, "You kissed her, but she's nobody?" Then he heard her take a deep breath, "Are you trying to make me jealous?"
"Unless you have something else to say, sweetheart, this conversation is going nowhere," he pointed out, "You keep on accusing me of things I wasn't fit to do before you decided I was not the man you wanted to marry. So I suggest you tell me why you called, aside from wanting to question me about Hermione."
"Hermione," Sophia repeated, "I guess she's not nobody after all."
"I haven't got all day, Sophia," Harry warned, his words piercing him, but he needed to say them.
"Harry," she muttered tentatively.
"What?"
"I'm sorry."
The line went dead.
Harry sighed as he tossed his mobile away from him.
Figures.
She would do it through a call.
She hadn't had the guts to tell him before he made a fool of himself, and she had not the guts to apologize face to
face. He should have seen her for the scheming bitch that she was.
Before another minute could pass, his phone went off again.
This time, Harry let out a frustrated breath.
Why the hell were people calling at six in the morning?!
"What?"
"You are going to have to listen to me, Harry," his agent's voice rang out, surprising him.
Finally.
"What is this about?" he asked, feeling quite uncomfortably.
"Who was that woman?"
"Her name's Hermione," Harry said, then he couldn't remember whether she had said her last name.
"Do you know her?"
"Not in the way that you think I do," he muttered.
"Then why the hell were you kissing her?!"
Harry felt as if his ears were going to explode as he held the receiver away from his ears. "It was a dare."
That seemed to stop Warren from fuming, perhaps even breathing.
"What did you say?"
"A dare."
And then Harry proceeded to tell him what Hermione had related the night before, leaving some parts out for privacy. But Warren didn't need to hear the full version to arrive at the same conclusion that Harry had achieved last night.
"She's an idiot."
"She's depressed," Harry defended, although he didn't know why he did.
"I just got off the phone with your coach and the Lions' owner."
Harry held his breath.
Beating Greg just before the play offs had not been a good move, and he had been warned that if he caused another scandal for himself or for the team, his contract would be burned and he would be banned from ever entering any soccer field again.
It was too harsh a punishment for someone broken hearted, but he couldn't do anything, he was still a rookie, and he needed to establish a name amongst other names to get away with something as silly as picking a fight or hooking up with some girl at a local pub.
"What did they say?"
"Nothing you would want to hear."
"Am I…" he couldn't bear to say it, "Am I off the team?"
"Not yet, but you had been closed," Warren sighed, sounding relieved. For all his complaints about the guy, Harry liked him, "Two days in a row, Harry."
"What am I supposed to do? I didn't know she was going to kiss me!"
"I don't know what you could have done when she kissed you, but I know you could have refrained yourself from taking her to your car and letting everybody see you drive off with her still in it."
Harry groaned. "I can't change that."
"Yes, I know," Warren replied slowly, then he took a deep breath, and spoke a little too calmly, "Are you sure she's not your girlfriend?"
"What?" Harry asked, taken aback, "No!"
"All right, all right. I'll call you when I've thought about this more; I can't think when you're listening to me."
With that, his fourth conversation in only a half hour ended.
"Warren?" He shouted, although he knew it was futile. He had probably gone up to his office already to fix the damage that last night had caused his career.
Harry huffed out a breath and leaned back in his chair.
"I've caused you some trouble, didn't I?"
At the sound of another female voice, completely different from Sophia's, Harry nearly jumped to his feet. It was a good thing that he had good reflexes or he would have embarrassed himself in front of her.
"Uh…"
"You don't have to lie to me, you know," Hermione offered tentatively, still looking a little weak from last night's fever.
Harry offered her his best nonchalant smile and shrugged. "Quite."
"You don't have to pretend it's little," she murmured, taking a step closer, "I heard you talking to your agent."
"Warren tends to be a little hyped about such things, don't worry," he moved aside to let some room for her to pass. She took his offer and sat down on the sofa.
"Thank you for looking after me last night," she smiled at him and Harry felt something tug at his heart.
"It was my fault. You wouldn't have been so soaked had I not left you."
"It wasn't the rain," Hermione clarified, then she shook her head as if she was being silly, "Well, it was, but not in the way you think."
Harry inclined his head to the side and regarded her with a curious look. He was startled when instead of an explanation, he only noticed how she looked radiant, even more so than last night, and he fought the urge to gaze at her pink lips, fresh from sleep.
Hermione must have realized what he was not trying to do, so she looked away. "I should go now. I've caused you more trouble than what you want me to believe."
Harry saw no point into asking her to stay since she obviously wanted to get away from him. Because of what, he didn't know. And instead of asking, he just nodded.
"All right, I'll just go get my keys," he stood up and walked over to the shelf where he usually placed his set. He was putting on his coat when, when he heard her voice.
"I can go by myself, Harry," she said with finality.
"But you could have a relapse," Harry didn't want to put anything into his reluctance other than the reason that he had given her.
"I'm fine now. I don't feel anything at all," Hermione shook her head, "If I could just have my clothes back from last night, I could be on my way."
What was wrong with her?
Why was she speaking so formally?
Harry wanted to ask, but again, he couldn't find the reason to.
Shaking his head, he went to the bathroom to retrieve her clothes and when he got back to the living room, she was already standing near the doorway, waiting for him, looking as if she couldn't wait to get away.
Frowning, he approached her and handed her belongings to her outstretched hand.
"Thank you," she muttered, her head bowed. She opened the door and got out, but he immediately grabbed her arm to pull her back inside.
Hermione's eyes were wide with shock, and Harry's heart started to beat faster.
There were at least a dozen photographers outside and had managed to take pictures when his front door opened, revealing him and Hermione. They had captured images of them in the doorway.
"Shit."
Harry started to pace, his hands wiping furiously at his face, and then raking his hair.
"Omigod."
Hermione started to pace, too. She was trembling and looked about ready to faint.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Harry stopped for a moment to look at her, taking note of her shocked face.
He could blame her. But for all the life in him, he couldn't. He should have known they were going to be followed, but he didn't realize that at such an early morning, they would be there.
What was he supposed to do now?
Last night, they had seen him and Hermione kiss and then leave the pub together. Now, they also discovered Hermione had spent the night, and had even gotten some damnable evidence for it.
He was in some serious muck!
If Warren found out about this, he would be facing his wrath again.
What was that he said?
Then it struck him.
Warren.
He grabbed Hermione's hand.
"What are you doing?" she demanded when he started pulling her towards the doorway.
She tried to yank her arms away from his grasp but he was stronger and more determined. He reached for the doorknob at the same time his gaze locked with hers.
"You wanted to make your point to Lucas, didn't you?"
Harry didn't mean to make it sound so harsh but it had.
Hermione flinched. She had barely spoken a syllable, much more breathed out her rising panic, when his hand turned the knob and they were blinded once again with so many cameras clicking and flashes erupting.
She desperately tried to keep up with Harry when he descended the stairs agilely and dragged her to his car. The cameras were taking pictures of them when he stopped to open the door for her. They were shouting questions but Hermione barely had time to let them register in her mind.
What concerned her was that Harry seemed not to mind that the one thing he had tried so hard to keep from happening the night before was happening right before their very eyes.
"Do you want to make it up to me?" he asked when she faced him.
Harry must have seen the confusion in her eyes, because his own turned into a warning gaze. She was about to tell him to go to hell when he disarmed her with the most charming smile that had ever been bestowed upon her.
And before she knew it, the only blinding flashes that kept her from seeing straight were that of the stars suddenly looming above.
For the first time in her life, Hermione could focus on nothing else…
But the lips that had suddenly claimed hers…
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A/N:
Oh this was a long and pointless chapter to explain the reason that Harry had been away. It still has not explained the reason that Hermione did not know him, though. That's because it's going to be in the next chapter. I just wanted to get this thing over with.
No more revisions, by the way. If ever the chapter does not fit the plot, I'll work my way through it. Make some more twists and stuff.
I hope you liked it and I'm very glad of the favorable response. Again, this has not been edited, so I'm going to say I'm sorry in advance for the confusing spelling, grammar and any other mistakes I've made.
Aside from this, you would notice that the story seems nonmagical. That's because I've decided to make it so. If I had made it magical, Hermione could have just done a drying spell on her to dry her from last night's soak period. And it wouldn't give her the reason to stay at Harry's or get sick. So, putting magic would make things easier for them, and would give them less time to interact. But I've decided to use original places and establishments from the Harry Potter books. But, just so you know, they're all normal here.
Thank you for reading, and I do hope you review! Until the next update.
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