Disclaimer: I don't own it! Like, for real. ...No, seriously. Okay? Okay!

Chapter 4: Home Is Where The Big-Screen TV Is

I sort of feel like an inmate walking down a corridor that will ultimately lead him to the room where they've sentenced him to die.

Only, the room I'm going into doesn't have lethal injections or electrical chairs in it, just a naked girl.

But I can't think about that.

So, like, I'm not. Thinking about it, that is.

I open the door and just stick my arm inside, towel dangling from my clenched fist.

A damp hand touches mine before it pulls the towel out of my grasp.

Then I hear her sigh, "Potter, this is s hand towel."

And I'm just shocked enough to open the door and ask, "What?"

I stare first at the towel, then her face . . . eyes traveling downward, then quickly drop to the floor. 'Cause, you know, I'm not thinking about it.

She's still inside the shower, head and right arm poking out from the side of the shower curtain. And she's laughing at me, "Just kidding. Merlin, I haven't seen you this enraptured with the floor since first year at Hogwarts."

I look up at her, firmly locking my eyes on hers, not because the conversation is serious, but just because I'll be damned if I let them drift away again, "I know you're making that up; there's no way you paid attention to me back then. Draco would've never spoken to you again."

She shrugs, "Details. So, you hanging out in here for the rest of the morning or what?"

Eyes still in place, "Well, you know, it is my bathroom."

She squints her eyes a bit, like someone does when they've just realized they've become a participant in a staring contest, "You're so right."

And then she just gets out of the shower like it's nothing at all. And, fuck it all, I blink; when I reopen my eyes I am certainly not looking at her face. I should've known better than to engage in a battle of wits with her.

So I have to get angry instead of anything else, because I can do angry, "You are one of the most..."

She smiles, cutting me off, "Beautiful and wonderful women you know? That's okay, Potty, don't be intimidated, I get it all the time. And I promise not to let it go to my head."

I shake my head, suddenly focusing on the corner of the sink, "No, you are just... agh! So frustrating!" I steel myself and return my eyes to her face, "You made such a big deal about my getting you a towel. And what for? You obviously have no qualms about strutting around naked."

She purses her lips, placing her hands on her hips, right hand still holding the towel, chastising me, "Only you would have a problem with this situation. --I'm going to give you some friendly advice: cut back on the hanging out with Granger, it's turning you into a prude."

I swallow hard, deciding it's time to take control of the situation, "So, are you even going to consider using the towel?"

She continues as if she doesn't hear me, "Besides, I'm not 'strutting,' but, hell, if you want me to..."

And then she laughs.

And, fuck, she's just doing this to get under my skin. Or maybe into my pants. Wait, nope, that's wishful thinking. I mean, wait... what?

After a few moments -- which include another staring contest, but this time I win -- she finally wraps the towel around herself, and only then can I properly think. And then I wonder why I stayed in the room at all. But then I remember, Oh, right, the naked girl. That's why.

For some reason that logic makes all the sense in the world.

And all of this exemplifies quite nicely the reason why I don't have (and sort of don't want) a serious relationship. 'Cause they (girls I engage in these serious relationships with) forever do shit like this to me.

I mean, not like I've had loads of experience with actually being in a relationship with a girl, but, like, I know enough to beware. Seriously.

Besides, it's not like I want Pansy, she's still all in love with the ferret boy. Or something.

And me? Well, I'm not sure where I stand in my own personal relationship department.

When she finally stops laughing she says, "Okay, for real. Get out of the bathroom."

And then she physically turns me around and pushes me out the door, shutting it behind me.

I swear I am usually not this lame around girls. At least I don't think so. I mean, if I am, at least they have the common courtesy not to let me know.

Once outside the bathroom, my phone rings and I silently rejoice, because I could definitely use the distraction.

I move toward my bed, sitting down on it, and pull the phone out of my pocket, answering without consulting the screen to see who's calling.

"Hello?"

"Harry, I can't find Parkinson anywhere. Or Malfoy. Fuck, I think they must've somehow gotten wind that we were onto them and kited out of town."

Oh, damn. It's Dean. He never did show up at the office yesterday, after his initial stop for Pansy. I didn't bother calling him either; I decided it'd be best to act as if I thought everything was going smoothly.

I finally respond, "Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. Damnit, I'm sorry, man. I fucked up. Big time."

He has no idea how true those words are, only I know he doesn't mean them the way he should.

I sigh, "Well, there's really nothing we can do then. We're just going to have to wait for Malfoy to resurface."

"Yeah, Parkinson too."

One track mind, I tell you, that Dean.

He continues, "Well, that's all I had to tell you. I just thought you should know where we're at."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks."

He hangs up.

And I once again reminded of my commitment to keeping innocent people (in this case, Pansy) out of the Order's grasp. Even if those innocent people drive me insane along the way.

I move back towards the bathroom and call out, "Heya, Pansy, I'm gonna head out. I'll see you after work."

I hear a muffled, "Whatever, Pot-Pot." come from behind the door.

And I can't help but smile a bit, even though I feel slightly deranged for doing so.

o o o

I spend most of the afternoon watching a half dozen of Harry's movies. I start out sitting on the couch, then I move to the floor, then I sit in my usual spot right in front of the TV, and I even watch it with my head hanging upside down from the couch; but I don't do the last one for very long because I get a killer headache.

A killer headache that I know can only be cured by a big bowl of ice cream; extra chocolate syrup, thanks.

So I'm eating just that while slouching up against the base of the couch when he comes home.

I hear him throw his keys in the dish he keeps beside the microwave, take off his shoes and set them on the floor outside his bedroom door, and next, after he's gone and changed out of his suit, I know he'll pop into the living room.

Wow, live with the guy for one day and I already know him? I don't know if I should be the one worried about that or if he should.

Oh well. Back to my ice cream and the movie.

And sure enough, four point three minutes later:

"Hey, Pansy, have a good day?"

And I'll be damned if his hair isn't all ruffled up and just so... cute looking. Oh, and I should mention he's got this smile that just spreads across his whole face.

God, I need to get out more often. Or, you know, at all. Never mind the fact I've only been secluded here for like 29 hours.

But, like, at least it's only his hair that's cute. I mean, Longbottom has cute hair. It's practically an asexual type thing. Isn't it?

And I just stare at him for a few seconds, waiting for the smile to falter. I don't know why I think it should, but I feel an inevitability. -- Probably something severely wrong with my psyche, if I had to guess. -- But it doesn't. Falter, I mean. And I find myself smiling back at that more than simply smiling back at him.

I forget he's asked me a question, remembering only after his eyes crinkle just the tiniest bit and he asks, "So, dinner, hm?"

I give him a blank look and he gestures to my half empty bowl of ice cream.

I shrug and fiddle with the earring in my right earlobe, "Well, it's not like you've got a lot of food here."

He nods, "Yeah, I guess--Wait, I have chocolate syrup?"

I look away from him, down at my bowl and push the ice cream around a bit, watch part of a commercial on the TV, and then back to him. "I guess so."

He lets out a half laugh of sorts and says, "You're so weird."

I roll my eyes and tease, "Thanks, scarface. But take care to remember I'm the guest here. You're supposed to be nice to me and provide me with proper nourishment. And so far all you've done is allow me to OD on Italian bread and forget to give me a towel."

At my mentioning of the towel incident, he turns just the slightest shade of red. And before I can laugh at him about it, I remember that he did, in fact, see me entirely naked. Merlin, being stubborn certainly gets me into some interesting situations.

He shuffles his feet a little and says, "I'll go get my stash of takeout menus. We'll have 'em deliver."

And that's exactly what we do. Tonight it's just a couple of burgers from yet another "place down the street."

We sit in front of the TV yet again and I can't help but think this sort of life just seems so informal for someone as "important" as Potter is. I mean, no food in the refrigerator, dirty laundry piling up in his bathroom, messy bookshelves haphazardly holding DVDs along with books. It's just so... normal. Who knew Harry Potter was normal? I mean, not normal normal obviously, but you know.

We're just finishing up our food when I decide to ask a question I've been wondering about:

"Why don't you use magic anymore?"

He rubs at the back of his neck as he replies, "I wouldn't say that I stopped."

I raise my right eyebrow at him, "I haven't seen you use it once."

He looks away from me and down at his Styrofoam box while he explains, "It seems more appropriate for the battlefield. I mean, it's just not necessary for daily life."

He looks up at me and I can see in his eyes he wants for his explanation to be good enough, that he wants me to understand. But I don't, and he knows it.

So he continues, "I don't know if it has something to do with being brought up by muggles, but... I just don't see the need. Life doesn't need to be that easy. I mean, there's something to be said for actually accomplishing something tangible without simply waving my wand about and pairing it with a specific string of words."

I frown, "Says who?"

Instead of answering, he questions me, "You know, I haven't seen you doing any magic either, Parkinson. Maybe our answer lies with you."

I roll my eyes, "I seriously doubt it."

"How about I be the judge?"

I smile, going along with the banter we've seemed to develop, "Yeah, you'd like that."

He holds his hand up in front of him, palms facing me, "Hey, I never asked for the spotlight--"

I remind him, "You sorta just did right now."

"But that's just between me and you. It's different."

"Different how?"

"Uh, hello, Pans? One, Two. There's just you and me. I think there needs to first be a crowd before there's a spotlight."

I consider this, "Unless the entertainment for said crowd is the story of your life. Then the crowd would be pretty sparse. Like, maybe two people. But there'd still be a spotlight."

"You know, I'm not an arrogant sort of person, but I think I might resent what you just said there. I mean, if it had made any sense."

I ignore the last bit and continue, "Oh, so you think you're more important than all of that?"

"Yeah, sort of."

"Oh, the modesty in this room! It's overpowering! I'm positively cowed!"

He frowns slightly, "How did we get here in the conversation? Merlin, you're good at changing the subject..."

I laugh, "I just changed it to you and off you went."

He raises both his eyebrows at me, "Funny. But, really, you don't use magic either. Why?"

I skirt the question. I'm an excellent skirter, if I do say so myself, "You know, I think I remember asking you first."

"So you don't want me to abide by 'ladies first'?"

I explain patiently, "That's only for going through doors, sitting in chairs, and getting served food."

He looks amused, "Oh, sorry. I guess I missed that day in finishing school."

I graciously proclaim, "Well, I suppose you're forgiven."

He sighs, "Fine, I give in. What more of an answer do you want?"

"One that makes more sense than 'Life should be hard, damnit!' I mean, what are you? A masochist?"

"Maybe the question is, is Pansy a masochist?"

"When did you become a fucking psychiatrist?"

"It's one of my special gifts."

"Probably the only one. Too bad you suck at it."

"Whatever, you're not answering my question."

"Which one?"

"The what-more-of-an-explanation-do-you-need one."

I shrug, "I guess I don't need a better one."

"Are you just saying that so I won't ask you about why you don't use magic again?"

"Maybe. Is it gonna work?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Whether or not you really want to talk about it or not."

"I really don't."

"Okay. We'll talk about something else."

"All right. What?"

"Your pick."

"But I picked last time."

"Well, you get one more shot at conversation. Tread lightly. You mess this up, I'm throwing you out."

"Well, aren't you just the perfect gentleman?"

He looks at his nails critically, for what reason, I can't fathom, "Why, yes, I do believe so. Don't get too close to me though, I might lure you in with my charm and good looks."

"Wow, um, jeeze, thanks for the warning, but I think I'll be fine."

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Okay, I've been warned. It's been noted and documented for future reference and shit."

"Super."

"So..."

"So."

"Okay, fine. What happened with the Order to change your mind?"

He shrugs, "Well, an explanation depends entirely on how much you know about the Order."

I think for a moment and reply, "Only that it first came about during the Dark Lord's first rise to power, and reestablished after his second rising."

"Okay, well. Things went steadily downhill after Dumbledore's death. We were almost quite literally torn to pieces through Snape's seeming betrayal."

I raise my eyebrows at this, 'seeming betrayal'? Interesting.

"Mostly because Dumbledore had trusted Snape the most, and if he had been wrong about him, who else in the rest of the wizarding world, let alone the Order, had he been wrong about?

"Once things like that begin to be questioned, reason is no longer employed. We were all scared and we just wanted the truth. -- The truth from Snape most of all. Because if he could give us some sort of reason as to why he killed Dumbledore, then maybe there might be hope for everything else we ever believed.

"So we hunted him for months, finally catching up with him in Romania. Though, Merlin knows why he had chosen there to hide.

"Anyway, I wasn't informed of his capture immediately; they kept it from me. And by the time I learned we had him in our custody he was dead."

I can't help but gasp a little, "Dead?"

He casts his gaze to the floor just left of the TV screen, "It was Lavender and Seamus. And I didn't believe it at first. But they had been just so angry and so desperate for information..."

I don't want to know, but I feel the need to ask anyway. "What did they do?"

"It didn't involve much magic. They said it would've been too good for him."

"So what happened to them?"

"I dismissed them myself, but the only lesson it taught the others like them was to be more discrete and less visibly violent."

He turns his gaze on me, and I notice his eyes are sort of glistening a bit more than normal. He continues, "But those people are all I have backing me up. And now we've become just like them."

I sit there wondering if this is one of those times where I'm supposed to just keep my mouth shut, or if I'm supposed to have something deep and meaningful to say.

However, I don't have to figure it out, because we're interrupted by someone knocking at the door.

But who knows why they bothered knocking at all, because the next thing I hear is a key in the door.

And I'm sort of thinking, "Wow, uh, déjà vu much? 'Cause, like, yeah."

Potter's already on his feet and out of the living room.

I also wonder why everyone and their mother has a key to his flat. I mean, being such an crucial person in this whole war thing, you'd think he'd be a bit more strict about security.

But then again, he's got a potential felon as a house guest. And by potential felon, I mean me. By Dean Thomas' standards, anyway.

I hear Harry say, "No, it's really not a good time."

A female voice asks, "Oh, really? Why is it I don't believe you, Harry?"

He sounds slightly frustrated, "Ugh, I don't know why. Look, I'm not feeling well. Can I call you tomorrow?"

I hear her sigh, "I can't talk to you about this on the phone."

And I know he's going to give in to whomever he's talking to.

He does, "Okay, let's talk about it."

An expectant silence and then, "...You're not going to invite me in?"

"Gin, we are in. The kitchen counts as being in."

Ginny Weasley? Seriously, you've got to be kidding me. Those two are still trying to work something out in the relationship department? Wow.

She sort of sounds like she's going to cry as she continues, "It does not count as being in. Can we go into the living room?"

And I'm thinking, "Yeah, Potter, you dope, don't be rude, invite the girl in!"

But then I remember I'm in the living room. And, like, my being here is supposed to be a secret. A secret to more people than just Dean and his fanatical followers, I guess.

I hear Harry clear his throat, "I, uh..."

Oh, he's so eloquent. That must be what attracts her to him.

He's still struggling, "I mean, uh... No?"

When she speaks again, the quiver in her voice is so long gone it's like it was never there at all. Her voice is stone cold and totally firm, "No?"

Wow, he's sure sinking fast out there. I mean, in another place and time I might feel like I should come to his rescue. But, like, not tonight. I'm staying on the down low. I lucked out, if you ask me.

After what seems like ages he finally responds, "Look, are you sure it can't wait until tomorrow? I promise that tomorrow I'll have all the time in the world for you. We can do lunch."

I hear her tsk and say, "Whatever, Harry. God, I don't even know why I bothered coming over here. I should've known you'd pull some sort of shit like this. I mean, do you even care?"

He responds immediately and with more emotion in his voice than I thought possible, "Of course I care. You know that."

She replies in an almost whisper, "I wish I did."

There's yet another silence between them and in those quiet moments I finally realize I've been eavesdropping. Oops. But, really, it's not my fault entirely, he turned down the TV before he left the room.

It finally becomes painfully clear (even to me) he's not going to reply to her last comment, and she softy says, "I'll see you tomorrow then. Call me when you know what time you're taking your break."

He answers quietly, "Okay, Gin. See you."

I hear the door opening and she speaks again, "We're never going to be like how we were, are we?"

He sighs, "I don't know, love. I mean, I wish we could be."

Cynicism drips from her voice as she points out, "You make it sound as if you don't have a choice in the matter."

He replies plainly, "I don't."

"You know you do."

He sighs again, "You just don't understand..."

"Maybe that's because you won't explain it to me. Shit, after all these years, I've still yet to penetrate into the group you, Hermione, and Ron formed all those years ago."

"Gin--"

She continues recklessly, "I'm just an outsider, stuck in the doorway of the boy I've loved for ten years."

His voice is full of warning, stating, "That is enough."

She tightly replies, "Yeah, it probably is."

And then the door slams.

A/N: Ohmigod, not the angst monster! Wow, um, so, like, I'm not the biggest Harry/Ginny shipper in the world, if you couldn't tell.

Anyway, EnlightenedKing, I knew the question would arise eventually, so I addressed it a little in the chapter, but overall, no, there's not going to be any magic.

Drew, hopefully Harry's answer to Pansy's question cleared things up a little bit on the trust-issues thing. It's just sort of like you can never really trust someone else's motivations; and now Harry's got a reason not to trust certain members of the Order.

LaBelle Evans, your review made me smile! I'm going to try to keep the humor in, but that darn plot might get in the way every once in awhile, just stick with me:)

harrison potter, thank you for responding to my question! Oh, and flirting? Soon, my friend.

Thanks to everyone above and forgotmyself, noone, Delrious, rebirthofham, fredstickler, and Reluctance for reviewing! It means a lot to me that you take the time to do so!

Review?

(3-24-06)