Chapter 30 - Quidtch Talk
Somewhere in England that very same night, a tall man with grey eyes was in a private meeting with Bellatrix Lestrange, the most powerful Dark witch of her time. He had just finished pitching a scheme enduring intense, uncomfortable scrutiny throughout it. While he really did not need her help in the execution of his plan, this was her turf and it was common courtesy to offer her a part of the action if she so desired.
"That is indeed quite an interesting proposal," she said to him after his pitch.
"I thought you'd like it," he waited, knowing not to speak more until she did.
"I admit, gambling in sports is an easy way to make money," that sounded positive, "What's in this for you?"
"I need the dough."
"Revenge?" her eyes pierced his.
"No," he said calmly, "This is all business."
"But what if he doesn't think she's reason enough to do it?"
"He already knows about Toronto and yet he stays by her. Saving her from the humiliation of her disgraceful act should be more than enough reason for him to do whatever we want. And if it isn't, then we follow through," he replied.
She shook her head.
"What would it gain us if we did that? I want this to be a sure thing. You must learn not to give your victims options and not limit yours by acting imprudently."
"What do you mean?"
"You have Black blood running through your veins. Think your plan through and always be prepared to kill."
XXXXXXXXX
It was mid afternoon. Chilly February air crept through a slightly ajar bedroom window and nudged her awake. She turned over to get up and heard a dull thud on the floor.
Ron's journal.
She picked it up, protective of it, feeling emotionally exhausted from thoroughly reading it in its entirety. Without the jealous bits about Harry, the journal was really their story, eight years of companionship and caring, their best and worst of times, chronicled through a different and quite enlightening perspective. In some places he had inserted a photograph of her, of them, of an important event, sometimes insignificant in her view but precious to him because of how it was related to her.
Hermione again broke down a few times, laughing and crying at the same time, as she read some of the passages Ron wrote about his really bad first year as a Cannon.
'The team has been losing and nobody is having fun playing anymore. There is quite a bit of unrest amongst the boys. They're looking for something, anything, to fill the absence of that addictive rush of winning and success. She fills that void for me. She loves me whether we win or lose and thank Merlin she constantly reminds me!'
He also spoke of resisting the appeal of groupies…
'It gets very lonely on the road sometimes I lock myself up in my room and turn to this journal. I can almost feel her when I write. The guys tease me because I never join them and I can't. Knowing what's out there for us, I refuse to be tempted. I just think of her and of how lucky I am to be loved. I'd be a moron to waste what we have.'
…and explained why he never complained when she missed a game.
'I know she would be here with me if she could, but I understand that she can't come and watch me play all the time. School is important to her and learning to save lives is her priority. I'm so proud of her. She's going to be a magnificent Healer. She'd definitely laugh if she read what I'm about to write. She's right; Quidditch is just a game.'
Ron was such a bad sweet talker in real life she would have never known thoughts like the ones he wrote about her ever existed had he not let her read his journal.
'I can't help but notice how far we've gone as a couple. We rarely argue nowadays. I have been working on thinking before saying, learning to say what I want to say in a way that doesn't annoy her. So many times I've seen her bite her lower lip and I know she's doing the same. She definitely knows what sets me off, too. It's great that we both are working hard to make our relationship better. But once in a while, I deliberately throw in an obviously disgusting and weird idea just to tease her. I know it's not right but I miss the arguments sometimes and I miss how smashing she looks when she gets all riled up.'
It spoke volumes of how he truly loved her.
'Today, I am the luckiest man in the world. She said 'yes'! Finally, after so many years, she said 'yes'! We're getting married! She talked about moving closer to the Cannon facility after, setting up her own research lab. How can she even think about giving up St. Mungo's for me? It can only mean that she truly loves me.'
'But I don't want her to stop doing something she loves because of me. I know she did say we would have to spend more time with each other after we married so I thought it best not to put down her offer. I don't want to hurt her feelings. If only I worked closer to London. Maybe London. But I'm just one of many Keepers, one needs to be the best Keeper in the league for the other teams to take notice.'
'That's it! I'll work harder to be the best so other teams like London will take notice, trade for me or offer me a transfer. She wouldn't have to move. She can stay at St. Mungo's. Brilliant, but best keep it to ourselves in case I fall flat on my face…'
Her St. Mungo future had been a misunderstanding from the start but it was a huge surprise to her that Ron had planned to get a job with the Flamers months ago. She put herself in Ron's place and remembered her reaction when he first told her, shock and disappointment. Hermione was so immersed in the turmoil of her own emotions at that time it was only now that she realized she hurt Ron that night for sure. And from his writing, she had been doing that a lot lately.
A recent, quite forcibly written and tear stained set of words jumped out of the page.
'She did it, I know she did. Fuck, it hurts…how could she? Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this? All I've done is love her and this is what I get in return.'
This was followed by a more composed note…
'It was my fault. I should have apologized to her before she left for Toronto. Considering how upset she is with her Mum I shouldn't have told her she was just like Fiona. I should have known that would make her want to prove that I was wrong. I'm such a git. And why didn't I just ask her if she was in love with Harry? She certainly was expecting me to.'
She closed the book shut and placed it inside her bedside drawer. By reading the journal thoroughly, her hope was to find some silver lining, some indication that Ron had overcome this deep-rooted envy he felt for Harry. She thought he had outgrown all that and was taken aback that it was this bad. After all, if one had to look at Ron's life since Hogwarts, he pretty much had the life that he wanted.
Looking back, Hermione understood how difficult it must have been growing up in the shadows of his brothers and of Harry, that even in adulthood he was constantly trying to prove to himself through others that he was as good if not better than they were. Losing her to Harry, would, to his simplistic mind, mean he wasn't.
She wanted to tell him that whoever he was right now was fine, that he shouldn't have to prove his worth all the time. But how could he believe that if she did end up with Harry it wasn't because Harry was better than he was?
For a brief moment while reading the jealousy-riddled parts of the journal again she felt like some trophy, some object he wanted to have that no one else would have. That was an unsettling feeling but in the end decided that Ron did not mean it that way, particularly not after all this. In their years together he had always allowed her to be her own person and he definitely knew that she was against any notion of ownership of another being.
An overwhelming guilt about her current affair with Harry hung over her but Hermione refused to believe the tiny voice in her head saying that Ron gave her the diary to make her feel that on purpose. To her, Ron was not capable of something scheming and manipulative like that. And besides, how could he know she would feel this guilty.
It was his desperation to hang on to what they had that was making him act this way. And about that silver lining, she really didn't find such thing. Instead, she found plenty of reasons to give them another chance.
Hermione thought about Ron, and now dreaded the coming of the day after the Quidditch finals. Her resolve was wavering, unclear if this was just the guilt eating away at it or really her own uncertainly of whether or not she was doing the right thing. The decision was simpler to make when Ron's love was more abstract, when she had not known he cared about her that much. A second chance seemed reasonable. She judged herself quickly, thinking it heartless and selfish to still consider breaking up with him. Was she prepared to live with that the rest of her life?
Resolved to do what most guilt filled people did (be extra nice to the person they wounded), she got off their bed and into the shower, the patter of warm water on her bare skin fully awaking her senses. She wanted to take a break from all the thinking but there was still the nagging question that had been plaguing her about just how strongly she felt about Harry.
It seemed so easy for her yesterday to conclude that she couldn't possibly go ahead and confront Harry at the risk of hurting the man she had been with for years. If that was a measure of love then she was certainly coming up short.
Keeping things in perspective, with Ron, she had a long history. Harry was an uncertainty. Not only was this continuing deception eroding into her confidence, he had stayed away for three days and she was beginning to doubt his interest. After all, he did admit that he was mistaken to think what they were going to engage in was a one time thing. Maybe, twice was enough.
As much as that possibility hurt, and it was a possibility, a part of her preferred it to be true. She was not looking forward to having to choose between Harry and Ron if Harry wanted the same thing she did. Living with whatever choice she would make would be extremely hard and that philosophical question about how truly she loved Harry would be put to a real test then, should that time come. At least for now, not being with Harry was familiar; intentionally choosing to hurt Ron wasn't.
For probably the first time in her life she really didn't have a plan of action for the quagmire she found herself in. Put simply, she did not have the heart to break up with the fiancé she knew for a fact loved her and the man she wanted to be with was continually deceiving her, his intentions quite unclear. If she had to make a decision now it seemed like the answer was obvious.
She shut her eyes and emptied her mind of thoughts. An even more interesting idea came the moment her mental break ended. Let go of them, both.
Having no energy to dissect that novel inspiration, she turned to thinking about how she was going to spend the rest of her day. There was something about today that she should be doing. No, she didn't have work. It definitely had nothing to do with the wedding.
When it finally dawned on her what it was, she quickly got out of the shower and dressed. Ron had invited people over for dinner, well, Harry and what's her name, the flirt of a colleague that she had. Why on earth did she say she would cook? She'd be lucky to be able to poach an egg properly in her state.
Relax…it's fine…it's dinner for four…you've done this many times before… with your eyes closed…Ron has such an appetite you cook for this many people even when guests aren't coming…you're one of the best potion makers in the world…cooking is basically the same thing…
Ron arrived with some wine and something non-alcoholic for Harry shortly after she got to the kitchen. The guilt fuelled better treatment would have to wait. She toiled furiously for most of the afternoon and ignored the worried glances Ron cast her way every now and then, Ron getting the drift that she did not want his help, staying away from the hot kitchen which mirrored its occupant's pervading mood. She was somewhat miffed at Ron for not resisting her offer and letting her do this, jealous of Delilah for being Harry-worthy, annoyed at Harry for not seeing her in three days and fuming mad at herself for feeling all of the above.
Her displeasure at Harry seem to fester even more as she kept on remembering what happened at the hospital, what he said to her after, an intention, a want to see her again, how she even left him that opening to see her again as Roy, if it came to that, though she hoped not. And she hadn't seen one strand of his disorderly hair in almost three days, probably wouldn't have for another few had he not been invited to dinner.
She magically cut more cucumbers, fresh tomatoes, and lettuce absentmindedly thinking one could never have enough of those, the banging sound of knives against the cutting board reflective of how she felt. Potatoes were rinsing under the kitchen faucet, chowder was simmering and thickening away and, in checking the oven, it seemed the roast was almost done, perfectly brown on the outside, juices trapped in the inside, just as her mixed emotions were.
I rushed you through that examination I kind of feel bad. I know you like to be thorough.
Stupid her. It was obviously just some line to make her feel better. And forget the scorching expression he had for her just before. Had she had more experience with men she wouldn't have felt so special.
Their front door opened, their black haired guest peeked into the kitchen door from afar, waved at her as he said hello and smiled. She waved back, getting satisfaction from imagining herself rubbing pie on his haughty face.
Jeez, I may not have enough time to make desert. She ordered Ron to get some from the local wizard pastry shop, and heard him tell Harry if he was smart he should come too.
Hermione was so worked up about the 'dinner' that she didn't notice she had opened a half-litre bottle of oak matured mead and started drinking. An hour later, when she heard more voices in the living room, she surprised even herself that she had already set the table and laid out the food, got rid of the apron, had 'de-bushified' her hair and was dressed. Boy, was she in a rush to get this dinner started and over with.
She downed the last drop of wine from her glass and set her goblet in the sink next to an empty bottle.
Warm and loose…better than steaming and uptight…
"Honey, Delilah…is here," Ron faltered mid way through his introduction as he and their guests stared at the dinner she prepared.
"What?" she snapped at them, wondering what, if anything, was wrong.
"This looks lovely, Hermione. Thanks for having us over," Delilah spoke first, her eyes moving over towards Harry as she said 'us'.
Hermione smiled politely, "You're welcome."
Obvious slut.
"I am kind of hungry," Harry said, staring right into her eyes.
"And we all know you can have such a huge appetite," she retorted, coldly.
Lying bastard.
"I guess I should have invited more guests tonight," Ron said.
Fine, she may have overdone it. Looking at the amount of food she had cooked that afternoon, it was indeed enough to feed the entire extended Weasley family a few meals.
"Or dragged me out of the kitchen sooner," she replied with a fake grin, remembering he didn't really ask her if she wanted to have dinner with Harry and Delilah before asking them.
Insensitive swi...person.
Seeing that the table was already set, they sat and started to eat. Apparently, Harry, who sat across from her, and Delilah, who was to his left, were going out after; something about dancing. Harry didn't particularly enjoy dancing. She forgot something.
Conjuring four of them, she added them onto the table.
Twang!
"Knife. For the roast," she plainly told a surprised Harry as one had landed and stuck into the table right in front of him, vibrating to and fro from the force.
"Thanks," he said back, eyeing her curiously, as he wiggled it off and set it aside.
Ron passed the salad over to their other guest and said, "So, Delilah, Harry tells me you grew up in Canada."
Bowls materialized out of thin air and a ladle began filling them up with chowder.
Delilah answered as she put some greens on her plate, "Yes, Vancouver. I really don't like talking about it, it was years ago, but it came up when we were chatting about his recent trip to Toronto."
Then she looks over to him, again. He was looking at her, too, attentive, smiling. With a flick of a wand, Hermione sent a bowlful of thick, hot, steaming soup zooming towards Harry so fast he moved his chair back on reflex, breaking his eye contact with Delilah. Too bad he caught a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye. She set it down in time, more gently than she intended.
Hermione acted as if nothing was amiss, as she served Delilah's and Ron's, "Yes, Harry, tell us a bit more about Toronto."
Harry inched his seat forward, slowly, "There's really not much to tell. I was working."
"Really," Hermione was trying not to grit her teeth, "It's too bad you can't talk about your work, or do you find that convenient sometimes?"
Not loose enough. She needed more wine. Pop!
Ron laughed as he replied, "Yeah, I would love to have that excuse."
She filled her glass, swallowed a few mouthfuls, and filled it again.
Ooh…that feels nice. You should really eat something. Soup maybe…
Ron continued, food in his mouth, "People always talk to me about Quidditch."
"But honey," she said to him sweetly, "You love talking about Quidtch…Quid-ditch. My, is that such a hard word to pronounce or what?"
Delilah was still smiling politely as she noticed Harry and Ron giving each other worried glances. It was wonderful not to really care.
"So, Delilah, do you follow Quidtch…Quid-ditch at all?"
"I'm a huge fan. I played while I was in school back in Vancouver."
Just my luck; another one of those athletic types Harry is so fond of. I should have known and picked a more cerebral question.
"Really? What position?" Harry asked, Delilah's eyes fluttered, Hermione stabbed a baked potato with her fork, cutting it in half without meaning to.
"Chaser."
"How fitting," she murmured a bit too loudly, she guessed, for Ron grabbed the wine bottle and moved it away from her, far away.
"What she means is, you look like you'd be one," Ron interjected.
Look, sound, act…she's definitely a Chaser.
"Did you ever play?" Delilah asked her.
She shook her head, opting for the safe answer, "Spectator."
Ron added, "She's Muggle-born and she's not too comfortable with heights. She doesn't like Quidditch much."
"I've never met anyone who didn't like Quidditch."
Was she getting cheeky with the hostess?
"I've never met anyone who never met anyone who didn't like Quidtch…Quid-ditch," she replied pleasantly and drank more.
"Um, Ron's a Keeper," Harry broke the awkwardness.
"And such a fine Keeper he is," Hermione declared to Harry, who she just noticed was looking particularly dashing across from her.
A sudden image of herself climbing up the table and snogging him was causing her to smile abnormally.
"I know," Delilah replied, her irritating voice effectively killing the wonderful picture, "Have you always been a Keeper?"
No, of course not, you dimwit. Hmmm, this seafood chowder is actually good, not as runny as I usually end up with. I wonder what I did differently.
"I guess," Ron said modestly.
"It's a lot of responsibility…" Delilah was working on Ron, who was turning a bit red in the face, distracted enough Hermione took the opening and started another bottle of mead.
"Big responsibility," Hermione concurred.
"To keep the opposing team from scoring."
"And he does that so well," Hermione thought she'd join in the praise. "Ron's the best Keeper in the league. He's got a huge arsenal of great defensive moves."
Ron was brimming from ear to ear as he heard her compliment, looking at her with cheerfulness in his blue eyes. Good tactic. Build him up then cut him down. Maybe she should actually start making him feel bad, so he wouldn't have to drop from such a lofty mental place.
"Which one is your favourite?" Delilah asked him.
"I don't know. There are so many manoeuvres to choose from."
I've certainly seen a lot of them lately.
"I always liked the double eight loop," Ron continued.
"That's when he flies at a very high speed in a figure of eight pattern in front of the three goals," Hermione explained, feeling a bit chatty. "It's kind of his last stand, when he's desperate. It's quite disorienting to watch."
Kind of what I'm feeling right now with all the stuff he's throwing at me to make me stay.
"It's just too bad he can't win the game all by himself," Harry joined in the conversation.
"What do you mean?" Delilah asked.
Ron answered kind of annoyed, "I can't stop the opposing Seeker from scoring."
"I can't argue with that," Hermione mumbled as she chugged more wine, hoping he would have better luck in the real Quidditch match because the Seeker they were talking to was scoring pretty heavily, in her opinion.
"It is a team sport. I do have to rely on our Chasers, Beaters and Seeker to help the team win," Ron said glancing over at Delilah.
"It's so unfortunate the rules of the game are so rigged that it almost always favours the Seeker," Hermione added, her comment met with a bit of a glare from Ron, "But it's true. I mean, if you really look at it, Chasers only score ten points per goal but when the Seeker catches the Snitch, not only is the game over, it's worth a hundred and fifty points. Imagine how many goals your Chasers have to be up quickly to make the opponent's Seeker a non-factor. Great if your team has a talented Seeker or really good Chasers."
Not like the one you have here.
"And why are the rules unfortunate?" Harry was puzzled.
"The players should be more evenly matched. It's not fair," she was feeling sorry for Ron.
"How can it be unfair? Those are the rules. It's a game," she couldn't believe Harry would even argue with her about something as plain as this.
"Yes it is a game and let's not forget that," she may have bitten back with sarcasm a bit too much. It was definitely the wine doing the talking, "But frankly I think because of the fact that they usually score big and can single-handedly win the game for their team, professional Seekers are quite pompous, big-headed arses who think too much of themselves."
That drew laughter from both Ron and Delilah. Harry had this amused expression. Immediately she was working on what to say or do to wipe that off his face.
"Ouch!" Ron loved it, "I didn't realize you had such a poor opinion of Harry's former profession."
"I just call it as I see it."
She was taunting him. His non-response was annoying her even more.
"Harry's retired," Delilah came to his defence, "And he's not like that."
Except these days he's proven that he is. And letting a woman talk for him…pathetic.
There was that sappy, syrupy Delilah look again. Ugh! Two bottles of mead down and the night was still young. Pop!
"Sorry, Ron, but the team with the better Seeker does win," Delilah was making her move, blatantly so openly.
"Usually," Ron answered.
"Usually, but not always," Hermione weighed in. "Some Seekers don't play-to-win. Some of them don't take the Snitch even if it was right in front of their noses begging to be caught. They just want the game to go on and on. Right, Harry?"
She looked at him pointedly and her words effectively rearranged his expression to one less merry. He answered with some seriousness.
"I do admit. In the past, I have foolishly let go of opportunities to catch the Snitch early in the game, but it's not for wanting the game to go on and on."
"Why would you pass up a sure win?" Delilah asked a very good question.
Ron offered an explanation, "It's an unwritten rule in professional Quidditch but most Seekers live by it. They're not supposed to end the game before both teams have at least ten points. So Keepers have to let the opposing team score a minimum one time. It's better for the fans, and what's good for the fans is good for business. But mostly, it's professional courtesy not to drub your opponent with such a humiliating loss."
"That's such a noble thing to do," Delilah's voice was now like sharp metal grating against metal.
"Maybe so, but it could cost him the game," Hermione wondered if she and Harry were talking about the same thing. "It would be a pity if that happened."
Harry agreed, "Especially in a game so important."
Ron butted in, "Guys, it is only a game."
It's only a game.
She decided that alcohol and deciphering double talk was not a merry mix. Ron was acting a bit strange, she was hammered and Harry was looking at her in a way that made her self-conscious. Why did she get the feeling that only Delilah was on a different conversation? She was likely just imagining things.
Delilah leaned over closer to Harry, no doubt sharing with him a top view of her suddenly ample bosom and said something out of earshot that made them laugh. To his credit, Harry was trying to focus on cutting roast and the potatoes on his plate. He had to try very hard. Ron was sniggering, looking very pleased.
As she watched Harry and Delilah over her perpetually emptying wine glass, she felt compelled to say something loud and interesting enough to break their side conversation, "Professional courtesy aside, I still find that one of the most impressive Quidtch plays one could ever witness is when the Seeker dramatically captures the Snitch mere moments into the match."
Ron's was a bit shocked, "Really?"
"Yes. Is the idea that strange?"
She must have scared him off because he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head almost at the same time.
"What about it do you find impressive?" Harry asked plainly, his attention now all on Hermione.
Hermione answered, slowly and deliberately, talking directly to Harry, thinking it appropriate because he did ask the question.
"I'm not quite sure what about it impresses me but I watched this match once in which the Seeker did just that. It was unexpected, breathtaking; the swiftness of the events surrounding the catch and the rush of the immediate victory quite electrifying it sent me trembling in places I never knew existed in me. There was spontaneity in the moment, an enticing unpredictability, leaving me no time to think but just react on pure instinct. Immediately after, there was a pleasant disorientation. I didn't exactly know what happened but all I recall about it was that it felt great. So I'm a fan. This Seeker has the spectator in me hooked. I would definitely want to come back and watch him play again."
Bollocks! Did I really just say what I just said?
There was way too much silence at the table. She definitely overdid it. Ginny did tell her once she was a perfect example of how disinhibiting alcohol was. It was true, that was what she was thinking, but it was definitely not the message she wanted to get across. From the glint in his eyes and the reddening of his ears she could tell he definitely got that message loud and clear.
Even Ron picked up on the underlying tone, "I think your depiction of it is more impressive than the move itself. You got me wishing I were that Seeker."
"Anybody can be that Seeker, Ron," she teased, more to make Harry jealous than anything else.
"I wouldn't mind being one tonight," Ron replied, his hand was under the table stroking her thigh as the word 'backfire' reverberated in her head.
Delilah merely chuckled as Ron gave Hermione his take on how sexy should look like. They were adults of at least average intelligence. It would take a moron not to know what that was about. She smiled, pleased that Harry wasn't smiling anymore, more pleased that Ron needed both hands to continue eating.
Off in the distance she heard a phone ring and their apartment buzzer sound. Ron got up to see who was at the door and Delilah excused herself to take a phone call, leaving her and Harry at the table.
"I should tell you that the Plumpton Pass that you are impressed with is a move that loses its appeal with spectators rather quickly," he continued their Quidditch conversation.
This could be interesting.
"Speaking from experience, Harry?" Hermione couldn't help the dig.
He winced at her jibe, got up and walked around the table to her with his drink in hand, settling himself down where Ron was just moments before. He was close, too close for comfort.
"As a matter of fact, yes. Even as a Seeker I find the temporal satisfaction of a quick score leaves me wanting for more. And I am almost certain that, whenever I do that, I rob the crowd of some of the pleasures they were expecting to get by coming to the game."
"True," she was drunk and not only from what she had been drinking since before dinner, as she imagined what pleasures she had been robbed of that night and wondered if he had any plans to give them back to her.
"I do think there are other more impressive plays than that."
"Like what?"
There was no mistaking what they were doing. Harry lifted the bottle of NABB up to his mouth, and as she followed it with her gaze, she never wished she was a butter beer bottle more in her life. She now had utmost admiration for her self-control.
"It takes more than one specific play to really get a crowd going. But if I were pressed to choose I would have to say a well executed Wronski Defensive Feint is up there on my list of crowd pleasing moves."
Hermione raised her brows, "Really? How so?"
He pushed Ron's plate aside and leaned forward. She couldn't move even if her life depended on it as she listened to him explain the finer points of the Seeker manoeuvre.
"It's all about stick handling, how a player rides his broom, and how he stays on it while his hands are busy somewhere else. I usually get spectators involved by hovering, doing a few different moves and well masked fouls, riding my broomstick just low enough, to let them know I'm there and interested, looking for the Snitch, but really in no rush to find it."
"For how long?"
"Long, as long as it takes to convince them I am seeking. Then I make my move only when I know they're ready for it, when I'm ready, making sure my broomstick is as high up in the sky as it possibly can be and then ride it straight down towards the pitch, flying in slow at first, then picking up speed as I get closer, to the point when I feel nothing but the crowd's warm welcoming embrace, see nothing but blur and hear nothing but wind and excited gasps from whom I am trying to please."
Merlin, help me…
"The faster I go the hotter everything gets and then just as I am about to crash and explode, I stop, I stay motionless within the pitch and wait, I wait for the split-second stillness to be broken by the tight pulsating emotion from the crowd, feeling and hearing their tension release, perhaps with a cry or a moan, or the yawp of my name."
There it was again, the yearning to smother him with inappropriate affection, curious as to how that would play out. Hermione's wine glass was empty so she grabbed Ron's and drank fast. She did not even notice that Harry took a few swigs directly from an open mead container.
Control…control…Ron is in the other room…control…
"And then what?"
"That depends. At that point I go with what the crowd wants. I could do it all over again or I could catch the Snitch and score," he paused then asked, "Now, if you were the crowd, which would you prefer?"
"Um…I don't know. I might have a better idea if you show me exactly what it's like to be your audience."
"Be careful what you ask for," he replied, then added as they heard Ron's and Delilah's animated voices in the next room "If you can escape the clutches of your fiancé, I should have no problem ditching the woman you so eagerly want me to date."
She couldn't tell if he was serious or being sarcastic, although he didn't sound or look angry. Delilah was Ron's idea but she thought that detail quite unimportant at the moment. What he said sobered her up pretty quickly but seemingly not enough to prevent her from asking a burning question.
"Are you playing me like you do the other women in your life?"
He shook his head.
"I'm done playing. Are you?"
"What do you mean?" What did he mean?
"You're engaged, you had an affair with a stranger and you've been flirting with your fiancé's best friend right in his face," he pointed out quite matter of factly. "If you're not playing then tell me what it is that you are doing because I've been watching you all night trying to figure it out and frankly, I haven't got a clue."
Before she could even think of how to answer, Ron and Delilah joined them, thankfully still amused and laughing about their conversation they did not notice the heavy weight that was now in the room. Harry moved first, away from her, as they found their original seats.
"What's so funny?" he asked them.
They explained, Hermione outwardly attentive but not really listening, something about the Queen's Cup finals being between the Chudley Cannons and the Toronto Beavers, and how badly they felt for the person who was going to call the game. The Cannons and the Beavers. Then more laughter. She smiled, laughed along, glancing over to Harry once in a while only to notice he seemed to not want to look at her.
So, he was done playing. He could have been less cryptic but at least now, she knew with some certainty that she had to make that difficult choice soon. It was liberating and at the same time scary that they could now talk about their friendship and possible non-platonic relationship openly, at least to each other. And at least they could talk about Ron. Thank Merlin for oak matured mead.
She fielded the requisite wedding questions from Delilah, listened to the boys discuss game tactics, and, before she was sober enough to say Quidditch normally again, she saw Harry help Delilah into her coat and disappear with her out their apartment door.
Hermione asked herself, if she did not love Harry then why on earth did that sight of him leaving with another woman hurt so much?
A/N. Drunk Hermione was inspired by Jose Cuervo :) She seemed pretty funny after a few shots.