A shorter chapter, but that's just how it worked out.
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Episode Six:
EMPHATICALLY YES
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Harry's hands went to her sides protectively as the cage fell with a muted thud around them (the Weasley twins had had the sense to pad the bottom so as to avoid scratching the floor - a good prankster always considers collateral damage). She leaned into him, acting on reflex rather than her outright hatred of him, thank God, and he looked about wildly until -
Until he saw them.
"What on Earth?" Granger breathed.
"I'm going to kill you," Harry growled.
"I didn't do anything!" Granger shot back.
"Not you. Them."
The Weasley twins beamed at them. "Hello, Harry, Ms. Granger. So pleasant to see you two tonight. I notice you both decided to stand under our conveniently placed cage."
"Much better than mistletoe," Fred added.
"I'm not going to kiss Potter, for God's sake," Granger said as if it were the most ludicrous idea she'd ever heard. Harry's ego suffered a small deflation, and she shifted away from him, as if she'd just realized that his hands were still on her hips.
"Didn't think you would," George replied. "We actually were hoping you might get violent. It's always more fun that way."
"I'm going to kill you," Harry said.
George said: "I'd like to see you try."
Granger said: "Why are you doing this to me?"
Fred said: "No reason. Boredom, mainly. Harry here knows the drill when it comes to us."
Harry said: "I'm going to kill you."
"Oh bother, I thought you might say that." George sat at the Steinbeck and began playing a funeral dirge. "You're always so focused on death, Harry. Look at the bright side. You're stuck in a confined area with a beautiful, intelligent young woman."
"Who hates every fiber of his being," Granger clarified.
"Should make for some awesome sex. A bit rough, perhaps," said Fred, ever the optimist.
Granger took a step forward and Fred was very glad that they'd decided on a nice, secure metal cage. Although even that might not prove sufficient to withhold an enraged Hermione Granger.
"So," said George, lapsing into the Moonlight Sonata, "you two seem like you have a lot to talk about. I think we'll just kip out and go try to get the Patil twins drunk enough to have a hot twin orgy with us. Toodles."
And he left, the bastard, with his bastard twin brother. He never even resolved the song. So much tension in that note! So much.
"Just to make this clear, I hate this just as much as you do," Harry stated.
Granger turned, eyes narrowed. "You didn't put them to this?"
"You want to kill me. I'm not suicidal, you know." He folded his arms over his chest. "Although I'm vicious when cornered, so don't get any ideas."
To his surprise, Granger laughed. And really laughed.
He laughed too.
She stopped.
"I'm not going to kill you, Potter," she said, amused. "I think you're a prick and hate these circumstances, and I will kick you in the groin if you so much as look at me, but that's just a result of my hypercompetitive personality and the sexist attitude I've seen you portray. I'd much rather find a way out of here."
"Same." He stepped forward to shake her hand. "What do you say we -"
"We don't have to stand near to each other to work together," she pointed out.
"Er. Yeah. It would probably be better if we stood on opposite ends," he said, eyeing her boots, which looked rather sharp and pointy and like they would not be at all attractive embedded into his groin region.
He tested the roof of the cage, but it wouldn't lift. Fred and George must have placed weights on top when he wasn't looking. He kicked at the bottom, but it wouldn't budge; not only were the pads soft, but adhesive as well.
Bugger.
"No luck," Granger sighed.
"None here, either."
They looked at each other for a while, looked away for dignity's sake, and then consecutively sat down in their own corners, Harry near the piano and Granger near the sofa.
"What's this all about?" came another voice, and Harry groaned. "I heard you two had locked yourselves in a cage, but I thought Fred was kidding me."
"Not now, Tonks."
But Tonks didn't care about Harry's wishes, so she stuck her hand through the bars and offered it to Granger, wearing her brightest smile. "Hi, I'm Tonks. The old man with the fire extinguisher knocked me up several weeks ago. Nice to meet you…"
"Hermione Granger," she replied, actually putting on a pleasant face. "I've just been signed on as a reporter."
And anchor replacement, Harry thought, amused that Granger hadn't added that in there.
"Hermione Granger?" said Remus, eyes dancing as he threw a glance in Harry's direction. "I've heard about you. Worked in Coventry, right? I'm a family friend of Harry's. My name's Remus Lupin, and this is my lovely wife, Nymphadora." Tonks scowled. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"The same, Mr. Lupin," Granger said, and he laughed: "Just call me Remus."
So she did, and it was very nice and Oh we must be going and Come on, old fart, back to the bedroom! and Remus stammering then smirking when he saw Harry (attempting telepathy: "Please save me!") but oh no that couldn't happen so the Lupins left and they were alone again.
"They seem nice," she mused.
"They're amazing," Harry agreed, dull with the betrayal of his future godson's father. Not that
he'd be accepting the offer now. (Sniff.) "Some of my favorite people in the world."
"Family friends?"
"Remus knew my parents." Back when they were, you know, alive. But he didn't say that part because it just sounded like he was whining. "He's been like a father to me. He's one of the main people who made me want to be an anchorman. Along with Albus Dumbledore."
She seemed to find this amusing in its obviousness. "Who isn't influenced by Albus Dumbledore?"
"Er, he's another family friend."
And that sounded like bragging but he'd rather be a braggart than a pitiable orphan.
"Oh my." He thought she was actually impressed. That or she just hadn't come up with anything nasty to say yet. "Who on Earth are your parents?"
"Dumbledore and my grandfather were best friends," he said, deftly dodging the question. "They served together in France. He's been close to the family ever since."
"And how do you know Remus?"
"Friend of my parents. My dad was like a big brother to him," he said, and he realized he'd talked about his father in the past tense. Damn. "He's also my godfather's best friend."
She stretched out her legs and leaned her head between two bars. "What do you're parents do?"
"Not much," he said, and that at least was true. Rotting wasn't really a whole lot of work, now was it?
"Retired, then?"
"Mmhm," and he was getting dangerously close to being an outright liar now, so he changed the question: "What about your parents?"
"Dentists."
"That's exciting."
"Maybe not, but I assure you I have very clean teeth." She smiled, to show him, and he wished she would keep smiling. Although that might hurt her face after a while.
"Are they excited about your transfer to YTV?" he asked, realizing the danger of his question too late.
But she didn't seem to mind. "Yes. My mum always wanted me to be a doctor and my dad always wanted me to be a novelist but they're happy for me anyway. They're just glad I'm doing as well as I'm doing."
"They sound nice."
He meant it, too.
"They're perfectly nice, and supportive to boot. I couldn't ask for more."
All of a sudden Harry wished that he weren't sitting alone and that she didn't hate him, because there were times - when Molly would pick a leaf out of Ron's hair, when Seamus's mum would show up to the station with biscuits ("But Mum, I'm a grown man!" he would cry, even though he secretly liked it), when Andromeda would beam at Tonks and then Remus would blush - that the loneliness just overtook him and made him desperate to know that someone was still there, and this was one of those times.
But she hated him. So he wasn't moving.
"How was Coventry?"
"I enjoyed it," she said. "Compared to London, it's not much. A car city rebuilt around a ridiculous concept of world peace and all that, but nice nonetheless. Have you always been in London?"
"Yes. I used to be a correspondent for Surrey, but I've always lived and worked for London stations," he replied. "Radio, print, television. I've done them all. I think I'll stick with television, though."
"I've heard you're quite good at it." It wasn't even a direct compliment, but it sounded odd coming from her mouth nonetheless. "Your entire team's well respected, of course. Can't see why anyone respects Weasley, though."
"He's a good anchor. He's got charisma."
"Hm," was all she had to offer to that. She played with her shoelace. He noticed for the first time that she was wearing everyday trainers, which contrasted with Romilda's high heels. "I don't think he likes me much."
"To be fair, you don't like him much, either," Harry pointed out.
"No, I don't, do I?"
That thought seemed to amuse her, again. She leaned back to stretch and hit the bars with her elbow; cursing under her breath, she grimaced and let out a sigh.
"I guess I should've expected that," she said.
But Harry was focused on something entirely different. "Wait," he stated, crawling over to her. She visibly tensed. "I swear to God the cage shifted. Here, help me push."
She obliged, with her other arm, and the cage moved, but only several inches before it hit the sofa. Harry tried to find a grip to push it upward, but yet again it wouldn't budge. He sunk to the floor next to her in frustration.
"It was worth a shot," he muttered.
Granger shrugged, cradling her elbow in her hand. As if she agreed. Which was a funny thought for some reason.
She was really quite cute when she wasn't angry.
Then again, she was hot as hell when she was, so that really didn't encourage polite behavior towards her.
"Does this kind of thing happen a lot at these parties?" she asked.
"The cage is a new twist. Last time Percy ended up on fire in a chicken suit," Harry responded. "No, wait. The chicken suit was with Dennis and Colin when they got pushed into a pool full of alligators."
Granger replied, "Either way, this is quite tame in comparison. I suppose we should find ourselves lucky."
Harry noticed the way her hair framed her cheeks and had to agree.
"I told Fred that you wouldn't kill each other." Luna stood behind them, beaming, and Harry had to crane his neck backward to see her. "You look much like mating Snorcacks in their natural habitat."
"Snorcacks?" whispered Granger.
"Don't ask," Harry mumbled. He looked back to Luna, his neck popping in the process. "That's lovely, Luna. Is Ron comfortable?"
"I certainly hope so," said Luna. "I tried to move him, but he's quite heavy."
Granger hid a laugh and Harry had to smile.
"Would you mind terribly if I went to have a lie-down in your room, Harry?" Luna continued, either oblivious or unaffected. "I'm quite tired."
McGonagall and Seamus's sweaty bodies formed in his mind's eye. "Er, that's probably not the best idea. Some people are…"
"Oh, yes, Minerva and Seamus are copulating on your bed at this moment. I'd quite forgotten." For a moment Harry hated Luna, just for the mental image she gave him. "Well, I'll go see if anyone's sleeping on the roof, then. Until Monday!"
He didn't turn to see, but he imagined that she skipped away. She did that a lot.
"McGonagall and Finnegan?" Granger inquired.
"Unfortunately."
"She seemed so sensible when I talked to her."
"In her defense, she's not quite herself tonight." Harry thought about Seamus's pills and shuddered. "In fact, if she ever was herself, I'd say it wasn't tonight. She's… chemically unbalanced at the moment. Thanks to Seamus, ironically."
"I don't think I want to know."
"Wise choice, my friend. Wise choice."
He stared at the Steinbeck, noted the elegant polish, the black wood and blinding white ivory. He thought about what her fingers (so small!) would look like, dancing across that ivory, black and white keys, major and minor-seventh and diminished chords, a song she wrote or a song that she knew from memory. He really was shit on the piano.
"You know, Potter," she said after a while, "you're not that bad."
"Why thank you," he replied, and he felt genuinely grateful.
"You're welcome."
"You're much more pleasant when you aren't thinking of how nice it would feel to vivisect me."
She smirked. "Who says I'm not?"
Harry laughed and it hurt his ribs, which just made him happier.
"Now that she mentioned it, I'm quite tired myself." Granger had to stifle a yawn. "I've had a busy couple of weeks. I feel as if I'm about to doze off."
"Hm, maybe Seamus slipped something in your drink…"
He hid his grin as her eyes narrowed, her mouth opened to splutter some outraged response, and then as she calmed, noticing his expression.
"Had you," he gloated.
"Yes, well…" She was pretty when she pouted. He wouldn't tell Ron that; Ron would think he was a sap and a lunatic to boot. Although Ron was quite sappy when it came to another certain lunatic, so he couldn't really say anything, could he? "McGonagall and Finnegan are shagging on your bed."
"Ew. Touché."
"For that, you receive the punishment of being my pillow," Granger said, and she laid her head on his shoulder.
Harry felt his heart race, da-bump, da-bump, da-THUD.
This was punishment? Well sign him up for hell in a hurry, goddammit!
Was her heart racing too?
Probably. It was bloody hot inside the flat. The super did a right shitty job with the air conditioning. Fred and George would need to have a talk with him.
"You don't have much muscle," remarked Granger, breaking him from his inane thoughts.
"Eh, well." And that was the entirety of his witty retort. Fucking useless mind. He was too used to reading off of notes and the occasional teleprompter.
She sighed into his shoulder. Her eyes closed, she was a vision of tranquility. She was relaxed. She didn't seem so… angry.
And she was so angry, from what he'd seen of her. He couldn't particularly blame her - the news industry was a difficult place for a woman, particularly a precocious and intelligent woman, but she needed to loosen up. She actually was quite a nice girl when he wasn't deathly afraid of her.
Which he still was, to a degree - for slightly different reasons.
"Talk to me," she said. "I hate silence. Annoying, really. Talk to me, Potter."
Who was he to deny her?
So he talked to her. He spoke about the station, about old stories of Seamus jumping off the roof and Luna bringing in a decapitated opossum and Dennis (accidentally) eating a cockroach on live television. He spoke about Ron and their adventures together, and he didn't think her opinion of his friend changed one bit: she wasn't one to just take your word for it, she had to bloody see it for herself. Which was all right, she'd see Ron was a decent bloke. In the end.
She said things once in a while, things about her old friends, though he got the feeling she'd never had much in the way of friends, probably because of her ruthless ambition and self-serious attitude.
But she was also funny, he found. Even half-asleep she had a sharper wit than he ever would, damn her. He didn't mind that much, to tell the truth.
"Tell me more about your parents."
"Tell me more about your parents," he said, because obviously that was the most elegant avoidance of the question he could voice. Sometimes he hated his brain.
"They're dentists."
"I wasn't aware that they lived at their practice."
"Mum loves history books, Dad loves Frank Sinatra and Doctor Who, and I love all three. We're really not that exciting."
He thought about his own parents and said, honestly, "Sometimes exciting is overrated, you know."
"I suppose." But she didn't, because if she didn't like the excitement of fighting against the grain in a business designed to bring her down, she wouldn't have been here, would she?
He heard a bang from the patio and she stirred, but he knew better.
"Just Fred and George," he murmured.
"Someone could be hurt," she said, worried. He thought it was cute, how she actually cared for other people. So naïve.
"Trust me, we've dealt with it all. They'll be fine."
He couldn't really guarantee that, but close enough. No one had died yet, at any rate.
"You know what," said Granger a minute later, "I think I'm beginning to like you, Potter."
Her head turned. Her eyes locked onto his, and he noticed how her cheeks flushed red (he silently blessed that poor super for never fixing the air conditioning), how the brown stood out against her irises black as coal, how random strings of hair twisted together over her ears like licorice whips but the color of milk chocolate and glimmering in the proper light.
"Oh really," he said.
For a moment he forgot the shouting, and he thought she might've too. He did notice how her eyelids hung low, how her smile was easy and not at all anxious when every nerve in his body was on edge, and perhaps that should have been his first warning.
"Yes."
He was so bloody scared and he was fourteen all over again. God she was close. He could bend his neck an inch and touch foreheads with her, count the freckles in her eyes.
Yes.
Did she feel anything? He didn't think about that, because his blood pounded in his temple, boom-da, da-doom-da, all Ringo Starr-like ("Tomorrow Never Knows" to be precise: his favorite post-'65 Beatles song). It didn't matter that they were in a cage, that neither was here by chance. The air was electric, popping in his ears. It felt right. Could he?
Yes.
He was somewhat of a coward; this he'd always known. Throw him in a near-death race to the finish in the Firebolt and he'd be a maniac, but put him with a woman and he'd nearly wet himself.
But then he looked to her lips, hanging partially open like a promise of things to come, to her nose (he now understood why noses were called buttons - her nose was a cute beige button), to her eyes all over again, shining beneath lids setting like a winter sun.
Would he?
Yes.
The look in her eyes finished the deal. Signed, sealed, and delivered.
He did the only thing that seemed proper.
He leaned forward and kissed her.
Yes, yes, yes, emphatically yes!
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