Hermione is very nonchalant about the whole episode. I'm not sure whether to be relieved or irritated by that. She saw me! I'm not as innocent as I've claimed to my "fans", but at the same time, it does bother me that she got a good look and is laughing it off.
It shouldn't bother me.
But it does.
We go out for dinner to some seafood restaurant and I order fish and chips while Hermione settles on more exotic fare. She wants to eat outside on the patio but I lodge a vehement protest and she agrees to eat indoor after chiding me.
"What?"
"It's beautiful outside."
"Yeah, well... I don't like having flies parade through my dinner, thank you."
"Oh, and sitting in the restaurant is going to prevent that?" she ribs me.
I sigh, "Hermione, please? I've had a hard enough day."
She laughs at me.
"You're still on about that?"
"It was humiliating."
"Why? I'm not some innocent little girl, Harry. It's nothing I haven't seen before."
"Yeah, but it wasn't mine!"
"Why are you making such a big deal out of this, Harry? I'd have forgotten it by now if you didn't keep bringing it up."
"Thanks," I stick my tongue out at her and she shakes her head.
"Oh, what... is your pride hurt? Because I'm not throwing underwear at you?" she teases me. "Or maybe I should be like all these girls sitting over at that table behind us who keep looking at you and giggling?"
I try not to turn and she looks amused by my effort at restraint.
"Maybe you need some ego stroking?" she muses and proceeds to wave the girls over.
They approach in a clump, giggling so profusely that it takes a few minutes before one of them gathers up the nerve to speak.
"Hi, I'm Jessica."
I give her my patented Harry Potter star smile. "Hi there, Jessica."
"I'm a really big fan of yours," the girl beside her gushes and then glances quickly at Hermione, "And yours too, Hermione."
"Thank you," she says graciously. She's no famous Quidditch star, but after all we and Ron have been through all three of us have become pretty well known. But she is definitely a star in her own right. The editor of the magazine that is casting its shadow over the Daily Prophet. Yes, she is a star all right.
"You two look really cute together," another girl, this one a brunette, tells us.
"Well, thank you," I drawl and Hermione shoots me a look.
"I think it's so awesome that you're living together," the first girl informs us and Hermione smiles at her.
"It's nice to have a friend around," she replies.
"Yeah, but you're more than friends, right?" she asks. "I mean, I was reading the news like, all summer, and did you know that there are like whole fan clubs and groups devoted to you? You two are so cute. You even have like, a total shipper following."
"Ah yes," Hermione chuckles. "The 'Harry/Hermione Ship'."
"Yes!" Jessica's friend grins. "There's lots of us who just love you so much. You're so adorable together. You can tell you are meant to be together."
I fight the urge to laugh and instead, nod as if completely engrossed in this whole scenario.
"We're friends," Hermione insists, but they ignore her.
"Can we get a picture with you?" yet another girl asks.
"Sure," he smiles. "And then my friend Kim and I are going to have dinner, okay?"
"Yeah, sure!" Jessica smiles and turns to one of her friends. "They look even better together in person, don't they?"
"Really, girls," I laugh. "Herms and I are just the best of friends, that's all."
"If you say so," one of them giggles.
I glance over at Hermione, who looks distinctly uncomfortable by the whole encounter. Once the picture has been taken and the girls reluctantly return to their table, I lean across ours and offer her an embarrassed smile.
"Sorry about that."
"It's okay, I guess I'm going to have to get used to it."
"The fans or the speculation about our arrangement?"
"Both, probably," she laughs.
"Most of them are harmless," I grin and she shakes her head.
"Except for the ones who have likened me to a She-Devil for 'sacrificing your future'."
"Hey, I'm willing to be sacrificed on your altar anytime," I wink at her. "Anyway, I doubt anyone is still thinking about the foul Rita Skeeter. Didn't she join a muggle strip club or something?"
"Harry, I'm eating," she groans.
***
"Hi Mom." I say into the cell phone, breathless. My mother made me get one, since she's still uncomfortable with the wizarding communication methods.
"Are you on your way out?"
"No, just got home, you caught me climbing the stairs."
I lift my feet up in the air, juggling the cell phone between my ear and shoulder, getting my sandals off at the same time.
"How was the meeting?"
"Good. It wasn't as boring as I thought, but then again, it was only the first of many. I liked it, liked meeting the people I'll be working with."
"It sounds exciting. Did they give you free food?"
"Actually, yeah." I laugh. "How did you know?"
"On the TV shows, they always have free food at these sorts of things. Some miniature versions of real food. How is Harry?"
"Not home, but he's alright. Messy as hell and I'm not a neat freak either."
He's left his cereal bowl on the counter again. I don't understand why it's so hard to move it a few inches to the left and deposit it in the sink. And rinse the thing too. I sigh and mutter the Purgio. The bowl rids itself of dried m ilk and neatly deposits itself in the cupboard.
"Mrs. Weasley called me today." My mother said matter-of-factly.
"Oh?"
"She wanted to know if I knew what was going on."
Huh? "Going on where?"
"With you two."
Oh. That. A year after Hogwarts, Harry finally built up the courage to call Mrs. Weasley "mother". Mrs. Weasley was practically ecstatic. Since then Mrs. Weasley has been very protective of Harry, just as much as her own children. I had the feeling that she wanted me to call her "mother" too, but unlike Harry I had a mother. Though I do love Mrs. Weasley dearly.
"Mom, this is really getting old. Tell her I think likes our neighbour. She's actually quite a lovely girl, so it's no great loss."
"Really?"
"I've got to run out to the grocery store before it closes. Can I call you back tomorrow?"
She knows I'm the one doing most of the shopping, so it's a logical, even believable excuse. The truth is, I'm tired of repeating myself and it's all falling on deaf ears anyway. Maybe I should have told her I've seen him in the buff. Fan the rumor flames a bit.
At the end of the day, I understand the speculation. Even Mrs. Weasley told Harry to knock it off, kissing me in front of the reporters just to rile them up. And that's what he said we were doing and for some reason, I've always found him to be very convincing. Our shameless flirting ran rampant through the press like small pox.
I had tried to hold him off. Make him stop trying to make the reporters piss their pants.
"You don't kiss somebody unless you mean it, Harry. Isn't that what Molly's always told you?"
He never did answer me that night.
No sooner do I change into my casual clothes, and he walks through the door, calling my name happily. I find him at the bottom of the stairs, holding a pretty big box. He's unwrapping it and throws styrofoam packing bits all over the floor, then unrolls something brown covered in bubblewrap.
"What is that?"
"A cuckoo clock!" He declares triumphantly.
"Does a bird come out and sing?"
"Obviously. Isn't it cool?" He pushes a button and an insanely colorful bird zooms out and starts singing "Love is in the Air". A trail of sparkling fairy dust follows in its wake. After about 20 seconds it flies back into the clock. I fail to suppress a girlish giggle.
It's actually tacky as hell, but I like it. There's something charming about the wooden acorns that hang down on the long chains. It's actually rather intricately carved, but the paint job around the door where the bird comes out sports a questionable choice of colours.
"How much was it?"
"One hundred galleons. You like it?"
"I do." I shake my head in disbelief.
"I knew you would. That's why I got it. It was cute enough that you'd want to keep it, but tacky enough you'd still laugh."
Some days, I really love living with him.
* * *
Our schedules pretty much dictate that we don't spend a lot of time in each other's company over the next few weeks and we settle into a pattern of leaving notes stuck to the refrigerator for each other. They consist mainly of:
"Harry, please don't leave wet towels on the floor."
"Harry, can you please clean the bathtub after you use it?"
"Harry, clean the bathroom!"
"Harry, if that bathroom isn't clean by the time I get home..."
and:
"Hermy, would you mind picking up some orange juice at the store for me?"
"Hermy, there's no bread left."
"Hermy, when are you going for groceries?"
"Hermy! I'm starving!"
The first weekend that we have off together, Hermione insists that we spend time cleaning the house. I beg off, telling her that I'm really too weak to clean because I haven't been eating properly and she threatens to make me cook for myself, which pretty much ends that argument.
By the time we have the place looking somewhat presentable, the day is shot and I suggest that we get ourselves cleaned up and leave the house before it returns to it's natural state and she agrees.
When we're both ready, she asks me if I have any suggestions about what we should do for the evening and I grin at her and raise my eyebrow suggestively.
"God, you are such a flirt!" she laughs.
"I am not."
"Oh, please," she laughs. "You flirt with everything in a skirt... and even some things that aren't."
"What? You've got to be kidding me."
"You know that it's true. I BET you that you can't go this whole evening without hitting on someone."
"I can too."
"Me included," she says, smirking.
"That's easy," I tell her and instantly want to backtrack. "I mean, not that you aren't attractive or that I don't want to hit on you. I mean..."
She laughs.
"Flirting just comes naturally to you," she shrugs. "Like breathing does for everyone else."
"I kind of resent that."
"Why? It's true. Every woman in this neighborhood knows your name. I've lived here just as long as you have and nobody knows mine."
"That's not true."
"They know me as the woman who lives with you."
"Come on."
"No, I'm serious, Harry. Except they assume that I'm your girlfriend."
"What's wrong with that?"
She shakes her head.
I follow Hermione out to the car, which I still think is too silvery and I would much rather prefer my Firbolt, wondering if there is any truth in what she's saying and also, wondering if she's offended when people think that she's my girlfriend. It's not like her to get offended over something so ludicrous.
Hermione and I?
She's my friend, and there are some lines that you don't cross. Sure, I flirt with her, but it doesn't mean anything.
Oh God, I am shameless.
The question is, why am I flirting with her? Do I flirt so much that I don't even notice when I'm doing it or who is on the other side of it?
"What's wrong?"
I shake my head. Across the street, I catch a glimpse of our neighbors and I wonder for a moment how they perceive our living arrangement.
I shake my head, willing myself to snap out of it and tell myself that I'm being irrational; nobody really cares what our circumstances are.
Except they assume she's my girlfriend.
Why wouldn't they? My own mother, Mrs. Weasley, thought so; she warned me about moving in with Hermione. She hinted that I might not understand what I was getting into, and I laughed it off because Hermione and I had always had an understanding.
The only thing I understand right now is that I haven't said anything in almost five minutes and Hermione is sitting beside me, staring at me in confusion.
* * *
We talk about work a little bit until I tell him I have to deal with work at work, no need to mar a perfectly beautiful Saturday night too. The waitress shows up with our bill and is pretty obvious in her efforts to smile and bat her eyelashes at Harry. He's polite, and refrains at first, but ends up joining her in a laugh when she makes some joke about his crazy hair and I know I've won my bet.
I competed with him for months and we'd compete at everything later. Silly things and winning arguments about politics. I loved winning and the fact he hated losing made it all the more appealing. I won a bet tonight and I feel nothing.
What really gets to me is that he flashes his smile at me as we walk out and holds my hand out on the street in the still warm fall night and I find myself back where I've started. But he does it with every girl.
We all get the smile, the touchiness, the friendliness. He never told me he'd meant it, even when I asked. I don't know that I want more, but I can't help thinking maybe I should be different.
* * *
He goes to grab a shower and I elect to sit on the deck. With my thoughts, none of which make any sense. A few minutes later, I can hear him walking around the living room, looking for me, and then I hear the glass sliding doors open.
"Hey."
I turn my head and look up at him with a slight smile.
"You lose. Grocery shopping duty for a week. Winner gets to pick the reward."
"What?"
"The waitress, we had a bet."
"I wasn't flirting with her. And it wouldn't count anyway."
"Why not?"
"Because I didn't mean it."
"You're just trying to talk you way out of losing. I won fair and square."
"No, there are two kinds of flirting. One is out of habit, because it's a learned response, the other is with intent, when you want something. I didn't want anything."
I want to say something to him then, but I let it go. I must be stupid tonight, not to see where he's going with this.
"The waitress and the two beach blond chicks across the street. They're just girls. It means nothing."
"Okay, Harry, I get it. We'll call this bet a draw, I'll cut my losses."
Awkward silence.
I'm suddenly tired and the night air has turned crisp, so I get up, ready to turn in for the evening.
"I'm tired, I'll sleep in." I tell him.
"What?" He's confused. "No, no, wait, I don't know where to put you. What category. Are you 'just a girl'?"
"Harry, it's late." And he moves in my way.
"Hermy, it's only midnight. It's not so late, you can afford 5 minutes."
"Okay."
"We flirt, I kissed you before, a few times. We live together. My mother thinks I'm sleeping in your bed. You're not dating anyone and neither am I. I stared at you at the beach and you gave that waitress the evil eye and now I'm definitely rambing, but why aren't we together?"
I just stare at him.
"It's just a question, I don't mean anything by it, maybe I'm curious." He tries to deflect when he feels he's given up too much.
Of course, it doesn't help I'm still staring. "You apparently don't mean a lot of things." I don't know where that came from and neither does he, as hurt transfixes his face.
"That's not an answer, though."
