Disclaimer : Harry Potter - JKRs not mine. My Deepest Regret - By Roy Hunt (Harry Potter)
A/N. This chapter is shorter than my usual. It was fun writing it. It's the continuation of Roy/Harry's and Hermione's night. I'm so sorry to those who had hoped it to be more serious.
Chapter 14 - The Bookstore Owner and the Window Cleaner
Hermione did not know what suddenly came over her. It was surreal, as she watched 'Jane' take over and was seemingly helpless to prevent whatever wanton and reckless acts she was about to engage in. Granted that she was attracted to Roy's undeniable physical attributes and her imagination kept on seeing Harry in him, the moment she gave him her middle name, all systems were a go. And the anticipation of the end point was propagating the impetus towards it even more.
On their way, she found out that Roy was a Squib and hence could not Disapparate. By necessity, or so Jane convinced her, a side-along had to be done. His touch was electric and the tension in the air thick, as instead of holding on to her arm he deliberately, with audacity, faced her, stepped in closer, and with ownership placed his hands on her waist, a glint of mischief in his eyes as she tried to concentrate so they wouldn't splinch.
Destination, Determination, Deliberation.
It definitely wasn't the textbook illustrated Side-along and she doubted that their version would ever be Ministry approved. The Intra-apparition contact would have been very difficult to describe in appropriate language.
Delusion, Disillusion, Desperation
They got to the theatre just in the nick of time, finding their seats as the lights dimmed. Needless to say, the first Act passed before her eyes without her seeing most of it, unable to watch as she, from time to time, felt his smouldering look go over her like she wasn't wearing anything. She had to keep on checking to make sure she was indeed still dressed for Merlin only knew what wandless unintentional magic she would perform in her present state.
And when her song was being sung, she looked over to him and met his playful gaze, and she could have sworn that for a split second, in the sparsely lit theatre, it was Harry who was seated beside her as she had been looking forward to all day. She wanted to tell him how she felt even if just through a song that someone else was singing, hoping that he would never find out just how meaningful the song was to her.
By intermission Hermione had enough of Les Mis. She had seen it many times before and at the moment, there were more pressing needs to fulfill than to see everyone singing at the Barricade.
Not wanting to initiate the suggestion to leave, she had to draw from Ginny's bag of tricks and may have slightly overdid her version of the Incantus borborygmus non-verbal spell she cast on an unsuspecting Roy at the lounge as they waited for the second act.
The lounge was abuzz with white noise conversation when a loud gurgling noise emanated from somewhere within Roy's vicinity, so loud it was difficult to ignore. Everybody in the room stopped talking, puzzled what it was.
Roy apologized to everyone, embarrassed, "Excuse me, so sorry. Haven't had dinner yet. So sorry…"
"Hungry?"
Hermione could not look at Roy's face, for she was certain the sight would have just made her go into uncontrollable laughter. She forgot that she should have aimed for half the strength of the stomach emptying spell, which also had healing applications.
"Suddenly famished I could eat a horse," he admitted, perplexed, "You don't mind if we go have dinner now, do you?
"Not at all," she replied, finally with a straight face.
For a Brit, Roy seemed to know Toronto. He hailed a cab and in a few minutes they were at Yonge and Elm, getting a table at a Portuguese restaurant. They ordered, what, she couldn't remember. She wasn't really starving for food. Unfortunately, Roy, like any other man, needed basic sustenance that superseded all else. Her use of magic had caused a bit of a setback.
"What do you do for a living?" Roy asked as they waited.
Oh, bollocks! Never imagining needing to go out with a complete stranger, she never really had a solid alter-ego that Ginny sometimes said she had to use if she was uncomfortable with a date who she had no intention of seeing again.
Stall…
"I…work," she answered, sipping slower and more wine than she usually did.
Roy smiled.
"What a coincidence. So do I. What type of work do you do?"
Just tell him the truth or that it's not important. Oh look, a tattoo on that man's arm.
"Dragons."
Shoot.
"Dragons?"
"I'm a dragon keeper. I work on a dragon reservation."
What?!
Roy was having difficulty controlling himself from laughing, he repeated, "You're a dragon keeper and you work on a dragon reservation."
"Yes," she tried to say with confidence, trying to convince herself. "What's so funny?
"You're a… dragon keeper… and you work on a… dragon reservation," Roy was now unable to finish a sentence without breaking into fits.
Quite red in the face, she could only laugh at herself, too, joining him. It was truly a very ridiculous answer.
"That obvious, huh?"
"Please, don't be embarrassed. It's very…" Roy paused, trying to find a good word, "Amusing."
She rose to her defence.
"Well, can you blame me for not wanting to tell the truth? You could be some psychopath in disguise, charming unsuspecting gullible women like me for some ulterior motive."
Really, he could be, though it would be a shame for someone so attractive to end up being a psychopath.
"True," even Roy agreed. "And I am watching my drink around you because you might be an old hag who will drug me, poison me, confund me, or Imperiuse me, just to bed me."
Thinking about her earlier plot for Harry and her use of magic on Roy, he was closer to the truth than he could have imagined. She wondered if that had indeed happened to him.
"And so you should, because that is certainly not beneath me," she laughed as she said with honesty.
"Tell you what. There's no pressure. We're strangers and we won't see each other after tonight," Roy made a great point, "You can be anyone you want to be. Lie, tell the truth, whatever. Just have fun with it."
Hermione was willing to try anything fun once.
"Okay. I own a bookstore," she said, thinking about where she usually escaped to from the pressures of her work, her what-if-she-wasn't-a-healer life, "A small cozy one with an eclectic collection of handpicked favourites and a coffee nook where regulars come to sit, read and discuss whatever they fancy."
"Nice," Roy nodded, "But are you sure you don't want to be some bigshot Ministry official or a celebrated, I don't know, Healer?"
"Quite overrated professions, if you ask me," she wondered if Roy was just guessing or there was something about her that gave her away.
"Exotic pole dancer, no?" he teased.
"Men are so typical," she bantered back, then feeling a bit flirtatious, added, "Bookstore owner, emotionally and carnally repressed, with a secret monthly subscription to Naughty Wizards and not for its literary content. You can imagine what I'm not wearing and what I'm doing when I unfold and regard the centrepage. Good enough?"
Roy smiled, enjoying himself, hanging on to what she just said, "Much better."
It was his turn.
"What about you? What do you do?"
He frowned, and seriously, "Let me think. Something dangerous, with an adrenaline rush. You can help me out here."
She went for the obvious, something she would like him to be.
"An Auror or Hit wizard?"
"Nah, something Muggle, so I can at least imagine myself doing it."
"A gigolo," she just had to try that. Roy certainly looked the part and she was already thinking how the rest of the evening could go if he assumed the job.
"Dangerous with an adrenaline rush?"
"Yeah."
"Really?"
"Depending on your clientele," she wasn't sure if he had seen a certain movie by an American comedian and left it at that.
"No thanks."
It was too bad he declined. Now on to the more mundane community helpers.
"A fireman…a medic…a policeman…"
Roy was shaking his head.
"Heights, I love heights."
Like someone I know.
"A fighter plane pilot…an astronaut…" these were actually not bad.
"I know," Roy found one.
"What?"
"A window cleaner."
What?
"Seriously," she said with mocked disappointment, "Since we're pretending anyway, give me something to work with here. Not that I have anything against window washers but I'd really rather be out with someone with a more intellectual line of work."
"But I'm not just any window cleaner. I travel the world and work only on national landmarks. I was just cleaning the south side observation windows of the CN tower the other day. It was freezing but the view to the lake was magnificent. Moving. Inspiring even."
"I'm sure it was," she said, thinking, as she pictured him on scaffolding holding a squeegee, how it was a definite turn-off.
"The experience unlocks my artistic juices and fuels my real passion, poetry. You might even have my work on your shelves," he was really good, tying in his imaginary life with hers, "In fact, I'm currently working on a second collection."
Roy was way too glib. She was out of her league but enjoying herself too much.
"A poet," she smiled at him, imagining him on scaffolding, his well muscled legs dangling down from a considerable height, him looking out to Lake Ontario pensively, suddenly grabbing a pencil from his body shirt pocket and scribbling furiously on a small pad as a wave of inspired verses hits him. Hmm…
"Yes, a poet. A struggling one."
He couldn't have possibly guessed how much she loved reading poetry in her spare time, not that she had a lot lately.
"I can't wait to hear something of yours."
"Really?"
"Really," it was a dare, but if he could come up with one, she would really be impressed.
"Okay, I have one in mind. It's a work in progress."
Really?
"And I'm sensitive to criticism, just to let you know to go easy on me. Are you ready?"
"Go ahead," her initial flippant comment on not being able to wait to hear one, now true.
"My Deepest Regret by Roy Hunt," he said, "Here goes."
A sudden seriousness and truthfulness overcame them as he, in a gentle but subtly heartbroken tone, delivered a poem that warmed her heart and sent goose bumps through her entire being, leaving her wondering how, currently delusional as she was about Harry, Roy had unwittingly composed one that she wanted to hear from him.
Unexpected, unrelenting, this passion that I feel
I still cannot imagine, it still all seems unreal
All my life I've known you, all my life so blind
Now I can't have you, I can't hold you, and you can't be mine
Too late, I know for sure that I will eventually lose my mind.
They looked at each other speechless for quite some time, as she continued to hear the verse in her thoughts, smiling at the stranger, thinking how their chance meeting had, so far, been a wonderful surprise.
He asked, returning her smile, "Now, is the window cleaner good enough?"
She was impressed.
"Definitely."