Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and characters, places, people living or dead. I am merely using them for entertainment purposes only. Plot based loosely on Sabrina.
By: Kneazle
A True Love Story
Chapter Four:
As Harry and Ron left, saying that they'd give me a call as soon as Oliver and Charlie were free for us to meet them, I found myself wondering what the hell I'd gotten into. I fell onto my bed, still wearing the Victoria Secrets lingerie that I adored, and felt the throbbing of a headache coming on.
I was still sitting on my bed when my mother knocked on my door and opened it.
"Mione, dear, what's wrong?" she asked, stepping inside, and shutting the door behind her forcefully. I could hear my father downstairs in the living room, fiddling with his old records and playing his favourites on the record player.
"Ehh… nothing mum," I replied, hesitantly, looking up from the spot on the wall I had been staring at. "Why?"
Gertrude Granger raised an eyebrow at me, and I knew I was busted at that second. "Hermione, don't give me that. Now, what's wrong?"
Rolling my eyes, I sighed and slumped over, tracing a pattern on my bedspread. It was rumpled and disturbed, just as Harry had left it earlier.
"Mum… I'm in love with someone who is engaged to be married."
I felt a whoosh, like relief; lift off my shoulders, making me feel lighter than before.
"Well, I always knew you and George were quite a pair," came my mother's voice.
My head snapped up sharply, and I gasped out, "WHAT?? You knew?"
My mother rolled her own eyes, her short dirty-blonde-almost-brown-hair glittering in the morning light as she did so. "Who didn't?" she answered wryly.
I felt my jaw hit the floor as I stared at her. My mother. My own bloody mother knew, and if she knew, Gods above, how many others did?
"How long?" I whispered.
"Since you were a teenager."
"Oh fuck." The words slipped out of my mouth before I could take a hold of them, but I was surprised when Gertie laughed.
"C'mon, Hun, I think you need a dose of breakfast food and then we'll wait for Harry's call," she smiled, pulling me up from the bed, and handing my bathrobe towards me. "Put this on, love."
"Thanks Mum," I said, pulling my arms through the warm material. I stepped forward and hugged her tightly. "Love you."
My mother's arms wrapped around my back as she hugged me tightly in return. "And I love you – but if you don't hurry you won't have the bacon and eggs that Ron kindly left you."
We laughed together, and went downstairs.
**-**
I tapped my fingers against the tabletop in the study, not reading the book that I had laid out in front of me. It was two hours since Harry and Ron left, and my mobile phone had not even beeped once. I was beginning to get impatient and worried that Charlie and Oliver had declined, and that they didn't want to help me.
Suddenly, Tchaikovsky's "Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy" rang, and my mobile lit up. I reached for the phone, clicking a button before placing it to my ear.
"Hello? Harry?" I asked, gripping the table unconsciously.
"Hullo love!"
I breathed a sigh of relief. "Where the bloody hell have you been?" I demanded instead. "I've been waiting for hours, and tell Ron if he ever decides to finish of my Lucky Charms again I'll castrate him."
"Will do, Mione. Anyways. Can you meet us at our usual pub?" Harry asked, his voice a little fuzzy with background static.
"Of course. Will… will Charlie and Oliver be there?" I had to ask.
"Charlie said he can't come, but he'll help out. Oliver will be there within the next half-hour. Ron and I were ecstatic when he said that he'd be more than glad to help. Something about getting George back for a prank he did by placing his boxers on the football field back at Carver."
I laughed out loud. "Be there as soon as possible, darling. Order me a pint while you're there. Tell Ron I give my love."
"Will do. See you soon, Hermione."
There was a click that signaled the end of our conversation, and with the buzz ringing in my ears; I raced up the stairs to find something acceptable to wear to the pub.
Tossing my robe towards my chair, I rummaged through my suitcases for something to wear. I finally chose Parascuco pants, and the white sweater from that morning. Roxy shoes were placed on my feet as I grabbed my Gucci purse and winter coat before running out the door.
Harry, Ron and I had gone to the same pub since we had graduated from Carver. It was a small little dingy place located between a small used automobiles shop, and an apartment building located in a darker place of Piccadilly. We had gone there since Harry had started at Oxford, and Ron and I at Cambridge. It was surprising that we managed to stay friends since we had gone to different universities and with different fields, but we routinely met up at the Hog's Head whenever we could.
I, while thinking this, had maneuvered my way to the Underground, and was waiting for my stop. Once it was declared, I stood and made my way up back to the real world, soaking in the crisp British air and soft sunlight that filtered down between high-rises and reflections of windows.
I spotted the Hog's Head after a couple minutes of walking towards my destination, and entered without a second thought. Although seedier than most local pubs, I never felt uncomfortable when I was in it; I spotted Harry and Ron right away, in our usual seat by the tinted window in a corner.
Making my way over, I grinned and asked coyly, "Is this seat taken?"
Ron laughed and slid over in the seat so that I could sit next to him. "Not at all, Miss. How about you have this pint we so graciously ordered for you?"
"Thanks, love," I replied, grinning widely as I lifted the heavy glass to my lips. "How much longer until Oliver arrives?"
"Not long, I reckon." Harry craned his neck and glanced towards the door, and then out the window. "Ah! There he is – heading this way with purpose, of course. Could never expect anything different from him."
We grinned to each other as the door opened and he spotted us, making his way between seats. Finally reaching, he turned to Harry first, a better-known friend than Ron or I was ever to him.
"Harry, old chap – been four years since we last spoke! How are you doing?" he asked jovially, his Scottish lilt deep and rumbly as he and Harry shook hands.
"Good, good," smiled Harry openly, "never been better." He turned to motion towards us. "You remember Ron Weasley, George and Fred's youngest brother?"
"Ah, how could I? With hair like that it would be impossible," he grinned, his brown eye lighting up with recognition. "How are you doing Ron?"
The pleasantries were exchanged, and finally Oliver turned to me; and when he did, a low appreciative whistle escaped his lips.
"Now, Harry – you shouldn't keep this jewel to yourself," he said, his eyes skimming over from toe to head. I shivered under his scrutiny, and Harry and Ron shared a look behind Oliver's back.
"Oliver, you remember Hermione, don't you? Our best friend?" he grinned widely, watching the exchange.
Oliver's eyes widened, as he realized who I truly was. I shifted slightly on my feet, bringing my hands in front of me to fidget with. "How are you, Oliver? Football has been well for you, I hope?"
My voice was quiet and soft, like a nervous schoolgirl on her first date with the popular jock of the year. I felt quite foolish, but reminded myself that this was for George – for George to notice me, not Oliver. Yet, I still felt like I should be in his expectations to do a good job at pretending we were a couple.
With a grin, Oliver stepped forward and swept me into his arms, making my feet rise off the floor. With a gasp, Oliver turned me in a full circle before placing me on the ground again.
"Good God, girl – when did you grow up and forget to mention it to the British male population that you did so?" he laughed, as Ron sat next to Harry and Oliver and I sat next to each other in the booth.
I laughed too, happy to see that there were no problems with what I was proposing.
"So you're okay with this scheme, Oliver?" I asked tentatively, one last time before it was placed into action.
"'Course," he chuckled, the sound vibrating deep in his throat, as he leaned me up against him. "It sound like fun, and you obviously love George too – especially to sink down to make him jealous."
"Gee, you make it sound like it's a horrible idea," I mumbled, looking at the tabletop. Ron laughed.
"Well," Oliver grinned down at me, "You haven't met his fiancée."
"Should I be worried?" I grimaced, trying to disperse of a leggy blonde with bright blue eyes and to-die-for complexion. There was no way I could compete with that, especially if he was devoted to her.
"She hasn't met Deborah?"
"Deborah?" I asked, sitting up. "Is that his fiancée's name? What's she like? Can I compete with her?"
Harry laughed. "Hermione, Ron and I are meeting her tonight for the first time, but Oliver here has already met Deborah a couple of times while being out with Fred and George."
"Well?" I asked, turning to face him again, devoting my attention to what I needed to learn about my enemy.
"Well," began Oliver, grinning. "She doesn't have anything on you, love, so don't worry yourself. She's the most self-absorbed woman I've ever met. She cares too much for her pet dog than for George at times, and she manipulates anything within a ten-mile radius. Don't believe a word she says, darling – come straight to Fred to myself and ask us about it. George tells us everything in their relationship."
"Is he happy with her?" I whispered, wanting to hear the most important thing. If he was, I was going to stop this silly crusade right then and there, but if he wasn't…
I held a breath, waiting for Oliver's answer.
He looked down on me, with deep chocolate coloured eyes, searching mine before he answered in a low tone that I barely caught and yet heard so clearly.
"He always loved you, and no one else, love. He doesn't love Deborah. Go for it, Hermione."
I expelled my breath then, a small smile floating across my face as he finished.
"Oh, and Hermione, love? Call me Olli."
The Weasley's dinners were always a spectacular event. I had known that since I had first gone over to Ron's as a young girl. Dinner was Molly Weasley's specialty, with a table filled to the edges with delicious looking food with savory aromas that made your mouth water.
Oliver had arrived at my house at seven, waiting to escort me one house over to the Weasley's, where Ron and Harry met us at the door, ready to put the plan into action.
Under Ron, Harry and Oliver's direction (after having the three of them help me pick what to wear tonight), I finally settled on Jean-Luc's gorgeous dress. With matching slippers and purse, I felt like a princess entering the court of her lover's home.
I was so nervous.
Oliver slipped his hand into mine, squeezing it lightly as he sensed my anxiety. Leaning down towards me, he whispered in my ear, keeping his eyes locked on mine to appear authentic, "Don't worry – you'll do fine, Hermione."
"Thank you," I whispered back, squeezing his hand in acknowledgement. I glanced around the small entry room, looking over the faces of those I had grown to love as a second family.
Molly spotted us the second Ron and Harry and Oliver began a topic about football (she seemed to have a sixth sense on the topic and always spared me whenever the boys brought it up), and shrieked in delight.
Heads turned in our direction, and I felt my face flare up with colour.
"Hermione, you look wonderful!" she declared, making her way towards me to embrace and kiss me on the cheek. "How are you dear?"
"Fine, Molly – and you?" I asked politely. I took a step back away from her and towards Oliver's side again, making her eyes widen in surprise.
"Are – are you?" she stuttered out, looking between Oliver and myself quickly.
Oliver grinning his charming football smile. We didn't say anything, letting Molly come to her own conclusions. After all, she never finished her sentence, and all Oliver did was smile. We never confirmed anything.
I turned my body slightly, facing towards Oliver as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and after saying our "see you later's" to Molly, began to circulate.
"Do you see him?" I mumbled out of the corner of my mouth.
"No, not yet – wait, there he is, with Deborah," said Oliver, standing taller and straighter as we began to make our way towards George, who was talking to Fred, Charlie, and Deborah.
I let my eyes roam his body. He wore a simple black tux, with a tie that I had given to him for his birthday a couple years back. Deborah, on the other hand, look liked she had swallowed a sour lemon. She was also a brunette, and looked a little like me. She was short, and we had the same complexion. She wore a simple black designer dress – I was guessing Prada or Gucci or even Miu Miu – but it did nothing to her boxy figure.
"Hullo Fred, Charlie, George," said Oliver, charmingly. He turned to Deborah and grinned. "Debbie."
"Don't call me that, Oliver," the woman all but drawled. I exchanged glances with Charlie, who rolled his eyes at the ceiling before looking back at Deborah quickly. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning and laughing.
"Ah, well… guess you're not one for pet names, Deborah," sighed Oliver. He turned to me slightly, running the back of his hand lovingly over my cheek. "Unlike my Mione here. Don't you agree, love, that pet names are quite fun and add to a relationship?"
"Of course," I replied, smiling softly at Oliver, glancing down at his lips. "Olli."
He grinned with me, and shared a wink with Charlie, who snorted into his wine goblet, his blue eyes fixated on George.
I too then turned to face George. "How are you doing, George? I didn't see you when I came from the station."
"Station?" interrupted Deborah. "Were you not in London lately, Mione?" she sneered my name out.
Bristling inwardly, I smiled sweetly. "Hermione, Debbie. And yes, I was in France, where I have a business."
A tiny twitch began to appear on the left side of her brown eyes, and I knew that she was sizing me up. Yes darling, I thought while holding her gaze. You've got yourself competition.
Sensing my thought, she then smiled dryly and let her left hand rub George's shoulder, the ring's diamond catching the light.
"George, dear, why don't you get us another drink? I'm absolutely parched."
"Parched," snorted Fred quietly, "I only thought chickens could be parched."
"I believe that it is actually steak," I replied jovially. Fred laughed and Charlie and Oliver joined in, while George's lips turned upward into a smile. Deborah, however, didn't look amused.
"So where do you live, Hermione?" she asked, looking over my dress. "For someone who is in the business world, one would think that buying a designer Vera Wang dress would be out of your price range."
Anger bubbled and coursed through my veins. How dare this little chit speak to me like that!
"I live down the street, Debbie. I've been a neighbor to the Weasley's for over twenty years now. And you?" I deliberately left my dress out of the sentence. I liked my dress! It looked exactly like the one from the Fox animated movie, Anastasia.
"I live in London. By Hyde Park," said the woman. Apparently, living in the wealthier area made her superior.
"Oh?" I replied politely.
"Oh indeed," she finished, raising an eyebrow to tell me that the war wasn't over yet.
Good, I thought angrily. Because I was intending to win it.
AN: Dedicated to my mom and dad, who always seem to know when I'm in one of my moods. ALSO, I noticed my references between "Quidditch" and "football/rugby". I've fixed things in this chapter and will go back to older chapters to fix them too. Thanks for pointing it out to me! ~ Kneazle (May 4, 2003)
