A/N: You guys are wonderful reviewers! Haven't gotten a flamer yet (and I'm
hoping I never will). I know you're a little excited to find out who
Hermione ends up with, but you'll just have to hang in there a little bit
longer. Need your ideas, though. How would you want me to introduce the
David-twist? Does Hermione find out for herself or does David tell her? I'd
really like to know what you think.
Again, thanks for your reviews. Don't forget to review the next chapters I'm putting up!
DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter characters.
CHAPTER 5:
"So, how did your day go yesterday?" David asked me while we were driving along the streets of London, making our way to the Ritz-Carlton. "You sounded tired last night, I didn't want to press for more information."
"It was great. I met up with some of my old professors and saw Ron's brothers, Fred and George. I think I told you about them once."
"The naughty twins who were in detention every week?" David supplied helpfully.
"Right," I said, laughing. "Fred's got twin daughters now. Then Harry took me to Honeydukes..." I stalled, berating myself for the slip.
"Honeydukes? Can't say I've heard of it."
"Well, it's a really small shop that makes great sweets. Harry and I bought a bagful yesterday..."
"Speaking of Harry," he interrupted, turning a corner. "I don't recall you ever telling me much about him, not like Ron. He seems a likable enough bloke, fairly handsome and he's quite nice, a little reserved, but nice."
"Oh, I think I've mentioned Harry once or twice," I replied. Damn David for being so keen and attentive.
"No, I'm pretty sure you haven't. What? Is he, like, an ex-boyfriend or something?"
"Of course not," I answered a little too quickly. "It's just that, Harry's spent most of his life facing tragedies and such. I didn't think telling you that his parents died when he was just a baby would get you to notice me."
David smiled. "No, I guess that wouldn't work." We turned another corner before pulling up at the driveway of the Ritz-Carlton. He smiled graciously at the valet as he slipped out of the driver's seat and proceeded to open my door for me.
We entered the marvelous, champagne-hued lobby of the hotel where we made our way to the concierge.
"Hello," David greeted the woman behind the marble counter. "David Callaway for registry."
"Yes, Mr. Callaway," the girl smiled warmly, her blue eyes giving David a once-over and liking what she saw. She gave me a sideways glance before stepping out from behind the counter. "My name is Jenna Hall. If you and your girlfriend will follow me, I'll direct you to Franck Everton, one of our registrars. He'll help you make your choices."
We followed her to a white-columned archway, into a fairly large boutique filled with all sorts of sheets and flannel, teapots and other such things. Franck Everton, a nice, balding Frenchman, welcomed us and led us on a short tour of the bridal registry.
"Sheets," Franck was saying as we made our way to the linen section. "Are very important. Rough sheets, too soft, too small, too long - zey all ruin ze moment in one way or another. Color! Color ees also very important in choosing sheets. Color sets ze mood."
I smoothed my fingers over a large, white cotton sheet with a matching down comforter. It reminded me of Harry's sheets.
"I like this color," David said, holding up pale blue sheets. I grimaced. Don't get me wrong, I don't have anything against blue, but *pale blue*? I've outgrown the Baby Spice color ever since I hit adolescence. Unfortunately, David noticed my face. "You don't like it?"
"Not really," I said slowly.
"Why not?"
"Blue?"
"What's wrong with blue? It's a pretty color - manly, yet feminine enough for you. I thought you'd like it."
"Why don't you look at this?" I suggested, showing him the white sheets. "I like the white better."
This time, David made a face. "But white is so, so...generic." His nose was scrunched up. "It actually reminds me of hospital sheets."
Franck gasped behind us. I don't think comparing Ritz-Carlton sheets to hospital bedsheets agreed with him. Still, I found myself trying to convince my fiancée about the merits of white sheets.
"But they're a pretty white. They remind me of spring, you know - cool, clean, crisp..."
"You can put the both of them down on your list. We don't require you to choose only *one*," Franck suggested. David wasn't entirely convinced yet and asked if we could move to silverware.
"We can return to beddings later, can't we, 'Mione?" he said, putting his arm around me. I nodded, leaving the white sheets behind us. David's probably the only guy who'd choose to pick out silverware first, than beddings.
After a grueling two hours of looking and choosing everything from silverware to china to monogrammed pyjamas, I was happy to get out of the bridal registry. By the way, we ended up choosing the blue sheets. I really didn't want to argue with David. He seemed so excited about the whole thing than I am, and I figured that someone will come along and give me white sheets anyway.
We spent the rest of the day in a lull. David was called back to the hospital, leaving him no choice but to take me with him. I hate hospitals. I suppose it was because I spent a good part of my second year term in the hospital wing, petrified. It's not really an experience you'd like to repeat. I think I've read just about every magazine in the hospital waiting room, watching anxious fathers move to and fro, waiting for any news of their wives, sobbing relatives and noisy little kids, and was just about to start on Popular Mechanics when David emerged in his scrub suit.
"Hey," he greeted me, leaning down to kiss my forehead. I backed away voluntarily, seeing his blood-splattered gloves and suit. I've seen enough blood and gore to last me a lifetime, thank you very much. Fortunately, David didn't seem to notice. "I'll just get out of this and clean up a bit. Then we can go, all right?"
I nodded, turning my head away from the blood. I shivered. The sight of blood never really agreed with me. Of course, being best friends with Harry Potter didn't help either. But I suddenly realized that the sight of the red liquid didn't bother me at all when Harry was around. He's certainly had his fair share of wounds before but he always bore it with a smile. Harry was like that, smiling through the pain, assuring everybody that everything will be all right, even to his own detriment. It's one of those things that made me love him...
/Where did that come from?/ I thought, surprised at what I had just gone on in my head. /You don't love Harry. Not anymore. Well, not more than a friend anyway. You're in love with David now./
/Of course I'm in love with David. I'm marrying him, aren't I?/
"Ready to go?" David asked from behind her, making her jump.
/Didn't Harry say that yesterday?/
/Stop thinking about Harry! Feet up, Hermione. David's waiting./
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"I don't know. I keep thinking that I should've bought your mum one of those little cake things they had at the dessert table," David quipped, waiting while I jammed my key to the front door.
I shot him a smile. "My parents are dentists, David. Remember? I don't think they'll even look at a cake." I opened my door and was greeted by a mixture of shock, surprise and an undefinable ache at the pit of my stomach.
Harry was sitting on the couch, beside my dad. They were talking.
They stood up when they saw me, of course. I could see Harry's eyes glaze over David, but softened when those beautiful emeralds rested on me.
/Stop thinking of Harry that way!/
I composed myself and feigned a good-natured surprise. "Harry? What are you doing here?"
"I just dropped by to give your Mum a box of fudge. Mrs. Weasley asked us to give them to you. Ron couldn't make it, he's got practice so I promised him that I'll bring it over. Mrs. Weasley says it's a welcome-back present. There's a note from her inside, I think."
"Oh," I said, a little disappointed, although I had no idea why. "Thank you. It's very nice of you to bring it all the way out here."
"I imagine Mrs. Weasley would hex me and Ron if we didn't bring it over right away," Harry laughed, but froze midway when he realized that he'd just said the word 'hex' in front of David.
David, bless him, took it as a mother-hen joke and extended his hand to Harry. "Mothers are like that, aren't they? I suppose she'd never gotten over the idea of Ron and 'Mione together. Probably still hoping."
"Well, I guess I'd better go then," Harry said, letting go of David's hand with a curious look on his face as he stared at him subtly. "I didn't mean to ruin your evening."
"Ruin the evening? I'm glad you're here, actually," David said.
"You are?" Harry and I both asked at the same time.
"Yeah. Are you and Ron free for dinner on Saturday evening, Harry? I'm just dying to try out that new restaurant by Hyde Park. A colleague of mine recommended it very highly and tells me that there are famous bands playing on weekends. How about it? You and Ron must bring dates, of course. Can't dance without a partner now, eh?"
I couldn't contain my surprise at the invitation. "What? This is the first I've heard about it."
"It's the first of many surprises, darling," David told me, kissing me on the forehead.
"I thought you didn't like surprises," Harry asked, his gaze gripping mine so tightly, I felt like I couldn't move.
"I don't," I answered stubbornly. "David, I don't think we can spring an invitation like this on Harry and Ron."
"Why not?"
"Yeah, Hermione. Why not?" Harry echoed.
/Why not?/ I thought sullenly. /Think, Herm. Think. You didn't graduate at the top of your class at Cambridge for nothing./
But my mind drew a blank.
"Ron and I will be there. Thank you for the invitation, David," Harry declared, as if to spite me in my helplessness. And he did something I never thought he'd do - he raised his hand and shook David's, sealing the date.
I groaned inwardly.
/Perfect./
Again, thanks for your reviews. Don't forget to review the next chapters I'm putting up!
DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter characters.
CHAPTER 5:
"So, how did your day go yesterday?" David asked me while we were driving along the streets of London, making our way to the Ritz-Carlton. "You sounded tired last night, I didn't want to press for more information."
"It was great. I met up with some of my old professors and saw Ron's brothers, Fred and George. I think I told you about them once."
"The naughty twins who were in detention every week?" David supplied helpfully.
"Right," I said, laughing. "Fred's got twin daughters now. Then Harry took me to Honeydukes..." I stalled, berating myself for the slip.
"Honeydukes? Can't say I've heard of it."
"Well, it's a really small shop that makes great sweets. Harry and I bought a bagful yesterday..."
"Speaking of Harry," he interrupted, turning a corner. "I don't recall you ever telling me much about him, not like Ron. He seems a likable enough bloke, fairly handsome and he's quite nice, a little reserved, but nice."
"Oh, I think I've mentioned Harry once or twice," I replied. Damn David for being so keen and attentive.
"No, I'm pretty sure you haven't. What? Is he, like, an ex-boyfriend or something?"
"Of course not," I answered a little too quickly. "It's just that, Harry's spent most of his life facing tragedies and such. I didn't think telling you that his parents died when he was just a baby would get you to notice me."
David smiled. "No, I guess that wouldn't work." We turned another corner before pulling up at the driveway of the Ritz-Carlton. He smiled graciously at the valet as he slipped out of the driver's seat and proceeded to open my door for me.
We entered the marvelous, champagne-hued lobby of the hotel where we made our way to the concierge.
"Hello," David greeted the woman behind the marble counter. "David Callaway for registry."
"Yes, Mr. Callaway," the girl smiled warmly, her blue eyes giving David a once-over and liking what she saw. She gave me a sideways glance before stepping out from behind the counter. "My name is Jenna Hall. If you and your girlfriend will follow me, I'll direct you to Franck Everton, one of our registrars. He'll help you make your choices."
We followed her to a white-columned archway, into a fairly large boutique filled with all sorts of sheets and flannel, teapots and other such things. Franck Everton, a nice, balding Frenchman, welcomed us and led us on a short tour of the bridal registry.
"Sheets," Franck was saying as we made our way to the linen section. "Are very important. Rough sheets, too soft, too small, too long - zey all ruin ze moment in one way or another. Color! Color ees also very important in choosing sheets. Color sets ze mood."
I smoothed my fingers over a large, white cotton sheet with a matching down comforter. It reminded me of Harry's sheets.
"I like this color," David said, holding up pale blue sheets. I grimaced. Don't get me wrong, I don't have anything against blue, but *pale blue*? I've outgrown the Baby Spice color ever since I hit adolescence. Unfortunately, David noticed my face. "You don't like it?"
"Not really," I said slowly.
"Why not?"
"Blue?"
"What's wrong with blue? It's a pretty color - manly, yet feminine enough for you. I thought you'd like it."
"Why don't you look at this?" I suggested, showing him the white sheets. "I like the white better."
This time, David made a face. "But white is so, so...generic." His nose was scrunched up. "It actually reminds me of hospital sheets."
Franck gasped behind us. I don't think comparing Ritz-Carlton sheets to hospital bedsheets agreed with him. Still, I found myself trying to convince my fiancée about the merits of white sheets.
"But they're a pretty white. They remind me of spring, you know - cool, clean, crisp..."
"You can put the both of them down on your list. We don't require you to choose only *one*," Franck suggested. David wasn't entirely convinced yet and asked if we could move to silverware.
"We can return to beddings later, can't we, 'Mione?" he said, putting his arm around me. I nodded, leaving the white sheets behind us. David's probably the only guy who'd choose to pick out silverware first, than beddings.
After a grueling two hours of looking and choosing everything from silverware to china to monogrammed pyjamas, I was happy to get out of the bridal registry. By the way, we ended up choosing the blue sheets. I really didn't want to argue with David. He seemed so excited about the whole thing than I am, and I figured that someone will come along and give me white sheets anyway.
We spent the rest of the day in a lull. David was called back to the hospital, leaving him no choice but to take me with him. I hate hospitals. I suppose it was because I spent a good part of my second year term in the hospital wing, petrified. It's not really an experience you'd like to repeat. I think I've read just about every magazine in the hospital waiting room, watching anxious fathers move to and fro, waiting for any news of their wives, sobbing relatives and noisy little kids, and was just about to start on Popular Mechanics when David emerged in his scrub suit.
"Hey," he greeted me, leaning down to kiss my forehead. I backed away voluntarily, seeing his blood-splattered gloves and suit. I've seen enough blood and gore to last me a lifetime, thank you very much. Fortunately, David didn't seem to notice. "I'll just get out of this and clean up a bit. Then we can go, all right?"
I nodded, turning my head away from the blood. I shivered. The sight of blood never really agreed with me. Of course, being best friends with Harry Potter didn't help either. But I suddenly realized that the sight of the red liquid didn't bother me at all when Harry was around. He's certainly had his fair share of wounds before but he always bore it with a smile. Harry was like that, smiling through the pain, assuring everybody that everything will be all right, even to his own detriment. It's one of those things that made me love him...
/Where did that come from?/ I thought, surprised at what I had just gone on in my head. /You don't love Harry. Not anymore. Well, not more than a friend anyway. You're in love with David now./
/Of course I'm in love with David. I'm marrying him, aren't I?/
"Ready to go?" David asked from behind her, making her jump.
/Didn't Harry say that yesterday?/
/Stop thinking about Harry! Feet up, Hermione. David's waiting./
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"I don't know. I keep thinking that I should've bought your mum one of those little cake things they had at the dessert table," David quipped, waiting while I jammed my key to the front door.
I shot him a smile. "My parents are dentists, David. Remember? I don't think they'll even look at a cake." I opened my door and was greeted by a mixture of shock, surprise and an undefinable ache at the pit of my stomach.
Harry was sitting on the couch, beside my dad. They were talking.
They stood up when they saw me, of course. I could see Harry's eyes glaze over David, but softened when those beautiful emeralds rested on me.
/Stop thinking of Harry that way!/
I composed myself and feigned a good-natured surprise. "Harry? What are you doing here?"
"I just dropped by to give your Mum a box of fudge. Mrs. Weasley asked us to give them to you. Ron couldn't make it, he's got practice so I promised him that I'll bring it over. Mrs. Weasley says it's a welcome-back present. There's a note from her inside, I think."
"Oh," I said, a little disappointed, although I had no idea why. "Thank you. It's very nice of you to bring it all the way out here."
"I imagine Mrs. Weasley would hex me and Ron if we didn't bring it over right away," Harry laughed, but froze midway when he realized that he'd just said the word 'hex' in front of David.
David, bless him, took it as a mother-hen joke and extended his hand to Harry. "Mothers are like that, aren't they? I suppose she'd never gotten over the idea of Ron and 'Mione together. Probably still hoping."
"Well, I guess I'd better go then," Harry said, letting go of David's hand with a curious look on his face as he stared at him subtly. "I didn't mean to ruin your evening."
"Ruin the evening? I'm glad you're here, actually," David said.
"You are?" Harry and I both asked at the same time.
"Yeah. Are you and Ron free for dinner on Saturday evening, Harry? I'm just dying to try out that new restaurant by Hyde Park. A colleague of mine recommended it very highly and tells me that there are famous bands playing on weekends. How about it? You and Ron must bring dates, of course. Can't dance without a partner now, eh?"
I couldn't contain my surprise at the invitation. "What? This is the first I've heard about it."
"It's the first of many surprises, darling," David told me, kissing me on the forehead.
"I thought you didn't like surprises," Harry asked, his gaze gripping mine so tightly, I felt like I couldn't move.
"I don't," I answered stubbornly. "David, I don't think we can spring an invitation like this on Harry and Ron."
"Why not?"
"Yeah, Hermione. Why not?" Harry echoed.
/Why not?/ I thought sullenly. /Think, Herm. Think. You didn't graduate at the top of your class at Cambridge for nothing./
But my mind drew a blank.
"Ron and I will be there. Thank you for the invitation, David," Harry declared, as if to spite me in my helplessness. And he did something I never thought he'd do - he raised his hand and shook David's, sealing the date.
I groaned inwardly.
/Perfect./