Disclaimer: HP and everyone you recognize belongs to JKR; all I own is the plot and, well, Meredith Lungren-and a lot of debt.
Author's Note: This fic started out as a very insistent plot bunny, even if it did seem a little OOC on Hermione's part. I've tried to make it as in-character as possible, though, and leave it to you for how successful I was. Part 1 of 4. Enjoy!
Masquerade
Part 1
It was a very familiar scene.
Hermione had lost count of how many times she'd seen it happen in the past seven months.
The very pretty girl sauntered over to Harry, an inviting smile curving her lips, and struck up a conversation. Harry smiled and responded politely. Always politely-Harry was nothing if not polite, for the most part. The girl talked and laughed and, yes, flirted, with varying levels of obviousness. But then before too long-how long depended on how determined the girl was or how oblivious-the girl realized that Harry was not responding, was determinedly and firmly uninterested, no matter how courteous he was. And then the girl left, leaving Harry alone.
At least until the next girl came along to repeat the scene.
This particular girl-who was very pretty indeed, with the sort of blonde hair and perfect figure that people tended to associate with actresses or models-was lasting a little longer than Hermione had expected. (It was not exactly admirable of her but Hermione had begun playing a game of sorts, trying to predict how long it would be before each girl realized that Harry simply wasn't interested.) For this girl, Hermione had mentally expected it would take 20 minutes, a generous assessment but then Hermione had surmised that, judging from the way the girl looked and moved, she would find the idea that any red-blooded male wouldn't fall for her to be utterly incomprehensible.
So far, the girl had lasted and lingered more than 25 minutes and showed no signs of giving up yet.
She was persistent. Even dedicated. Hermione could almost feel a flicker of sympathy for the girl. Almost, but not quite.
It may have been hopeless-she'd (almost) resigned herself to that-but she couldn't help but view all these girls who paraded in front of Harry as rivals. Rivals for that oh-so-coveted position of being Harry Potter's girlfriend, Harry Potter's lover. Not that she really was a rival; to call her that would imply that she had some chance of becoming Harry Potter's girlfriend and she knew it was hopeless. She knew what she was; she was Harry Potter's best friend, no more and no less, and always would be. Harry would no more think of kissing her or dating her than he would think of dating Ron. She knew that perfectly well.
But it didn't keep her from watching all these girls as they approached Harry, flirted with Harry-and even if, until now, he hadn't yet responded to any of these flirtations, there was always the knowledge that one day, he would. One day, some girl would catch Harry's eye and his interest. One day, some girl would succeed where all the others had failed and she would be the girl that Harry kissed and touched and loved...
It hadn't happened yet but it would happen someday, sooner rather than later, she expected, since Harry had already been without a girlfriend for more than eight months (having broken up with Ginny in September) and it could hardly be expected that Harry, who had just about every female in the country between the ages of 15 and 40 throwing herself at him, could be single for much longer. It would happen-and Hermione lived in fear of it happening.
Hermione tried not to frown, feeling a small flicker of... some emotion she didn't care to name, as she realized that the girl had now been talking to Harry for more than 30 minutes now and showed no signs of leaving. Worse, Harry was smiling and talking with rather more animation than he usually showed these girls who threw themselves at him and then-Hermione tried not to wince-he laughed at something the girl said. He laughed and then grinned at the girl in that way that Hermione knew would make his eyes bright, that way that never failed to make Hermione's heart flutter a little, no matter how many times she'd seen it.
She really should look away; this was bordering on masochism, this stupid, morbid inability to stop watching Harry.
But just as she'd almost managed to tear her gaze away, he looked up and his eyes met hers and... And Harry proved why, in spite of everything, she couldn't stop loving him.
His eyes brightened as he smiled and then he excused himself from the girl, as if he was utterly blind to the fact that she was one of the prettiest girls in the room, and made his way across the crowded pub to her. Leaving the girl to blink after him as if she couldn't believe the evidence of her own eyes.
"Hermione! I didn't think you were coming tonight." Harry slung his arm around her shoulder in a quick, half-hug of greeting. It was a companionable gesture, a friendly gesture.
"I wasn't going to but I finished up my work a little early and figured I might as well stop by," Hermione said and then added, with a teasing smile, "Someone has to make sure you and Ron don't get into too much trouble."
Harry laughed. "Of course. Whatever would Ron and I do without our Little Miss Prefect to keep us on the straight and narrow?"
"I shudder to think," Hermione quipped.
"So do I. You don't have a drink," he added. "Come on, we can't have that." So saying, he put his hand on her back and led her towards the bar, giving her the benefit of that unique way that people naturally tended to give way to him (one of the consequences of being the hero of the wizarding world) so they made their way to the bar in no time at all.
They found Ron at the bar, ordering another Firewhiskey. Ron greeted her with an exuberance that spoke volumes for how much he'd drunk, giving her a bear-hug and a smacking kiss on the cheek. "Hermione, you came! I told you, you should get out more. Let's get you a drink, eh. A firewhiskey?"
"No, just a butterbeer," Hermione corrected him hastily.
Ron made a comically-exaggerated face of dismay. "Aww, Hermione, don't be like that. We're at a pub; what else are we supposed to do but drink, on a Friday night at that?" Not waiting for her response, he raised his voice a little to be heard over the noise. "Another firewhiskey," he ordered.
"Ron, no. I promised to get into work early tomorrow morning." Hermione protested but her protest was rather lame as she knew she'd be wasting her breath. Ron could never quite understand that working at St. Mungo's didn't give her the luxury of the weekends. It was simply his way and she'd given up on trying to change that, and part of her loved him for it, knew that he was a good way of making sure she didn't over-work herself, as she might otherwise have done.
The fire-whiskey arrived but before Ron could hand it to her, Harry smoothly stepped in and took possession of the bottle. "A butterbeer for my friend here," he ordered quickly.
Harry being who he was, the butterbeer arrived almost immediately and Hermione accepted it with a quick smile for Harry, who acknowledged it with a quick grin before he drank the Firewhiskey he'd appropriated.
Ron rolled his eyes a little but subsided-this being a recurring theme between them-and then he was hailed by the group of rowdy, laughing fellows he'd been talking with, his teammates on the Chudley Cannons. He returned to them with a last grin at Hermione and a "glad you could come, Hermione," leaving Harry and Hermione alone.
Hermione looked after Ron with an indulgent smile before she turned to look at Harry, who returned her smile and began to steer her back through the crowd to a quieter corner. "Come on, let's go where we can actually hear ourselves think."
"You don't need to stay with me, you know," she blurted out, not letting herself think about it. "When I came in, it looked like you'd just made a new friend."
He threw her a half-sheepish, half-laughing look, as he usually did whenever she referred to one of those many girls who threw themselves at him. "Have some mercy, Hermione. You can't mean to throw me to the wolves so soon after you arrived."
"She was certainly a very pretty wolf, though."
Harry shrugged a little. "Yeah, pretty enough," he agreed indifferently. "Too blonde for my taste, though."
Hermione had to fight against the renegade flare of happiness at his obvious lack of interest in the girl, pretty as she might have been. Instead, she settled for a light laugh. "How can someone be too blonde? It's not really a characteristic that goes by degrees."
Harry shot her a mock-irritated glance but the look was belied by his tone and the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Thank you, Professor Granger, for pointing out the imprecision of that statement. I meant that I don't really like blondes."
"Well, she made you laugh so she can't have been all bad," Hermione observed.
"No, she wasn't. That was unfair of me. After she stopped gushing over my so-called bravery for about ten minutes, she became a lot more pleasant to talk to. Her name's Annabel and she's a reporter for the Daily Prophet. It's her job to go to the Quidditch matches so she can write about them. I told her that didn't sound like a job so much as it sounded like fun." He threw her a laughing glance. "Merlin knows I'd love it if someone would pay me to go to Quidditch games."
She shook her head in mock disapproval. "Harry, you go to every Quidditch game you possibly can. Don't you think that doing nothing but watching Quidditch might get a little tiresome after a while?"
Harry gave her a look of exaggerated shock. "Too much Quidditch? Impossible! Haven't you learned yet, Hermione, that you can never go to too many Quidditch matches? Just ask Ron."
"No thanks," Hermione said drily, a smile tugging at her lips. "I make it a point to never ask Ron about Quidditch since he's not exactly sane where Quidditch is concerned."
Harry laughed. "Ouch, poor Ron! But you may be right. There is more to life than Quidditch." He paused and gave her a look of mock severity. "Now, remember that I said that because you'll never hear me say it again and if you tell Ron I said so, I'll deny it."
It was Hermione's turn to laugh, meeting Harry's eyes as he grinned at her. And as always, she had to tamp down her flutter of reaction to the sight of his smile and his eyes, sparkling with humor.
Harry reached across the small table between them to give her arm a brief, friendly squeeze. "I'm glad you came, Hermione. Our nights out are always more fun when you come."
Hermione only smiled at him as she drank her butterbeer and suppressed a small sigh. After all, it was worth a lot to be Harry's best friend. And yet... Harry's friendship would never be enough for her-not when she wanted his love.
~
It really was Ron's fault.
He was the one that brought up the subject and he was the one who made the careless remark that really led to such an impulsive, reckless decision. Reckless, her! Really, it had to be Ron's fault; only Ron could possibly say something so stupid that it would make her act so recklessly. Not that he would have dreamed of his words having such an effect, even in his wildest dreams. But then, she would never have expected it of herself either.
It all started at one of their weekly dinners just with the three of them and Hermione had just asked Harry what he wanted to do for his birthday that was coming up in a week.
Harry wrinkled his nose a little. "I don't really want to make a big deal of it, was just thinking of the three of us going out somewhere but Mrs. Weasley's insisted we all come over to the Burrow for a celebration. I think if she had her way, she'd have invited half the Ministry but I told her not to."
Ron jumped in. "Anyway, I know one thing we're definitely doing, on the day before that, since it's a Friday. We're going out to a bar and you, old chap, are going to find some girl to bring over for the night."
"Ron," Harry protested, not heatedly but mildly, since this wasn't, by any means, the first time Ron had suggested such a thing.
Ron went on as if Harry hadn't even spoken. "I'm serious, Harry, mate. You've been living like a bloody monk for almost nine months now and I'm tired of it. I mean, Merlin, Harry, if I had even half the girls that you do, throwing themselves at me, I'd shag a new girl every week!"
"So chivalrous of you, Ron," Hermione said drily.
Ron blinked, looked at Hermione as if just remembering her presence, and then colored up until even his ears turned red, as he realized that it may not have been the most tactful thing to say in the hearing of his female best friend, who also happened to be his ex-girlfriend. "Sorry, Hermione, I didn't mean to say it like that."
Hermione waved off the apology. She knew Ron had only spoken thoughtlessly; Ron didn't, she knew, consider her to be a girl, in spite of-or perhaps because of-their short-lived and un-regretted dating relationship. "Don't worry about it, Ron. I've given up on being offended at anything you say. If I got offended every time you said something stupid, I'd spend my entire life offended."
"Hey!" Ron almost yelped half-indignantly at the same time as Harry laughed.
"She's got a point there, Ron," Harry told Ron with a teasing grin.
"Nice friends you are," Ron huffed in mock hurt. "But seriously, Harry, it's getting bloody tiresome living with a monk or a saint. You need a shag, even if it's just a one-night stand."
"Leave me alone, Ron. I can take care of my own love life, thank you," Harry responded a little tiredly.
"Clearly, you can't or we wouldn't be having this conversation," Ron shot back.
"Can I help it if I don't choose to shag girls who are just interested in being with the Boy Who Lived?"
There was a touch of bitter cynicism in Harry's rather sharp question that had Hermione inwardly flinching. She hadn't realized just how much Harry minded all the attention he got from girls who knew nothing about him except his name and his status.
"No," Ron's answer was mild, tempered with his own understanding. "But does that really matter for a one-night stand? C'mon, mate, live a little."
Harry threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, fine, I'll think about it. I won't make any promises but I'll consider it. Satisfied?"
Ron rolled his eyes a little, even as he looked rather smug. "You're a freak, you know that, Potter? Only you would make shagging some hot girl sound like a chore. You have the pick of all the sexiest girls in town. Lighten up and enjoy yourself; you'll thank me for it later."
Harry snorted a little. "If you say so."
"Seriously, Harry, it doesn't have to be a one-night stand, though. I mean, you can't tell me that all the girls you've met are only interested in a shag with the Boy Who Lived. It's about time you started dating again, you know. What about that Meredith Lungren? I know I've seen you talking to her several times and you seem to get along well. She's pretty too."
"I like Meredith; she's a lot of fun. And," Harry added with a teasing glance at Hermione, "aside from Hermione here, she might be the only girl I've met who has yet to say anything silly to me."
Hermione forced a smile. She'd met Meredith a few times and had to agree with Harry's assessment of her. If she were totally honest, she had to admit that if it hadn't been for the fact that Meredith had, in her own quite subtle way, made it clear she liked Harry a lot, Hermione herself would have thought they could end up friends. As it was… Hermione pasted a smile on her face and tried not to hope that something would happen to prevent Meredith Lungren from going out on the Friday night before Harry's birthday. Surely it wasn't too mean-spirited and petty of her to wish that Meredith would be taken mildly ill on Thursday, maybe just enough to make her nose red and sniffly and her eyes watery and, in general, render her thoroughly unattractive…
"So you should just shag Meredith then. She's made it obvious enough that she's willing," Ron said with the air of one having settled an issue.
"So maybe I will," Harry exclaimed, not in excitement or in determination but in burgeoning irritation. "Now, will you leave me alone?"
Ron sat back, looking smug. "You'll thank me for it, Potter," he predicted.
Harry's only response was to shoot him a decidedly skeptical look.
Ron shrugged a little as if to indicate the end of the matter, before he looked over at Hermione. "Say, Hermione, will you come with us next week?"
Hermione had to force a smile. Come with them to watch Harry look actively for a new girlfriend? "Come with you while you two bachelors are partying it up? Not likely. Anyway, I think I'll have to work late that night. I'll see you guys at the Burrow the next day."
Ron shrugged. "Suit yourself. Not like you couldn't try to hook up with some fellow too."
Hermione forced a calmly indifferent smile.
The only fellow she wanted to "hook up with" was Harry-and he was out of her reach.
~
Hermione threw down the treatise she'd been trying to read in disgust. She hadn't managed to read more than a page in the last 2 hours. She kept on being distracted wondering what Harry was doing, if Meredith Lungren was there, if Harry had met some other girl he found attractive, picturing Harry smiling at another girl, kissing another girl...
She gave up. Clearly, there was no way she was going to be at all productive tonight.
Hermione sighed and gave herself up to a rare bout of self-pity. Harry would, apparently, rather shag some random, nameless, faceless girl-and Hermione included Meredith Lungren in that group since, really, it wasn't like Meredith knew Harry all that well either-- than ever consider looking at her as anything other than his platonic best friend. Any one of those girls who knew nothing about Harry except for his name and his status and cared even less... Any one of those girls who'd never seen Harry in his despondent moments or in his outbursts of anger... Who knew nothing of the nightmares he still occasionally had-and wouldn't know what to make of them if they ever did find out about them... Those girls who didn't really know or care about Harry at all...
It began as a slow flicker of rebellion inside her and grew into a flame, a positive bonfire, of emotion rioting inside her.
It simply wasn't right that Harry should feel he had to shag one of those girls when she, who knew him and loved him, was there...
No, it wasn't right. And she, Hermione Jane Granger, was going to do something about it.
She wasn't going to wait passively for Harry to notice her (and she suspected that if she did wait passively, she'd be waiting for the rest of her life.)
A last, desperate-and possibly reckless-plan to try to get Harry's attention, if only for once in her life.
If Harry wanted a one-night stand with a stranger, then that was what he would get. But if-oh, precious if-if the attraction she felt for him was mutual, if she could make him want her too, then maybe-just maybe-this could be what finally made Harry notice her like that...
She glanced at the clock to see that it was nearly 9, which meant that, most likely, Harry and Ron would have been at the club for just over a half-hour. (She knew that they'd decided to have a guys dinner out with George, Bill, Charlie and probably Neville as well, since Neville was usually included now in all the Weasley gatherings, since he'd started dating Ginny.)
She had just enough time to change her clothes and her appearance and then head to the club.
For once, she didn't stop to consider the complications or the ramifications of her hastily-conceived idea; she only acted on it.
She grabbed a bottle of the Firewhiskey which she kept a supply of for when Ron and Harry came over to her flat (for the liquid courage) and then broke one of her own rules by bringing the bottle into her bedroom with her as she threw open her closet doors to decide on what to wear for this masquerade of hers.
What to wear. It obviously couldn't be anything that either Harry or Ron would recognize-although that should be easy enough as most of her usual attire could not be more removed from anything that would be remotely appropriate for going to a bar in.
She suddenly remembered a pair of black trousers which she'd bought for a party and had only worn once. They were formal enough to pass muster at a party (and had the benefit of being more comfortable and practical than a skirt); plus, there was a strip of shiny, black satin down each side of the trouser leg, that had the effect of making her legs look longer.
Hermione quickly stripped and then changed into the pants, not forgetting at the same time to also change into one of the very few pairs of lacy knickers she owned.
And then for the top...
It was easy to discard the majority of her collection of shirts and blouses as being much too prim and practical, which left a rather small selection to choose from. Hmph. Hermione made a mental note to purchase a few more dressy tops. In the meantime, however...
Hermione dug into the back of her closet and emerged in a moment with what she'd just remembered. It was one of her latest purchases and was as feminine in style as anything she owned, thanks to the pattern of stylized flowers on it. It was the matter of a moment-and a few charms-to altar the style of the shirt into a form-fitting, dressy tank top. After a moment's thought, Hermione used another charm to add trimming along the hems of both neck-line and the straps.
Hermione surveyed herself in her mirror with a degree of cautious satisfaction. The top was cut in such a way as to subtly emphasize her figure without being too tight or too blatant. (She hadn't been watching Harry for so many months, didn't know him so well, without learning that he disliked girls who wore clothing that left nothing to the imagination; that sort of boldness tended to make him shrink into himself, all his lingering shyness around girls coming to the fore.) The neckline was lower than what she usually wore but still quite modest compared to some that Hermione had seen on other girls.
She didn't have a perfect figure by any means but this outfit was flattering and seemed to subtly showcase what she did have.
Of course the clothing was the easy part.
Hermione grabbed her wand, considering her face for a moment, before she made a decision, casting a glamour to change her appearance just enough so she looked like a different person entirely. Her hair she made a lighter shade of brown, the shade of honey, and straightened it completely, leaving it to fall freely past her shoulders (another element of her disguise because she hardly ever wore her hair loose); her eyes became hazel; the shape of her nose subtly altered.
Hermione nodded to her own reflection; she doubted her own parents would recognize her at that moment, which meant that Harry and Ron certainly shouldn't.
The last touch was to subtly alter the tone of her voice, one other thing that Harry would be sure to recognize, making her voice a shade lower, huskier, the way she sometimes sounded just after she awoke, when her throat was dry.
The changes finished, Hermione assessed herself one last time. No, she didn't think she needed to fear that Harry or Ron would recognize her.
God, was she really about to do this? Go to a club disguised as someone else in order to attract Harry's attention for a night?
An image flashed into her mind of some nameless, faceless girl who knew little about Harry and cared about him as a person even less, twined around Harry-and she felt her resolve firm.
This was her chance to find out if she had a chance at all, if Harry would find her attractive if he could, just once, stop viewing her as just best-friend-Hermione.
Even if it was just for this one night, she wanted Harry to want her… Wanted to know what it was like to be desired by Harry.
~To be continued…~