The Quidditch Player

Chapter 5
Saturday, 22 July 2006

Hermione tried to temper the jealousy that threatened to erupt inside of her like a volcano. She didn't have any reason to be jealous, did she? It was unsurprising that famous Quidditch players were often sought after to engage in a plethora of sexual affairs. And Harry would be seen as a crown jewel of sorts because of his Quidditch prowess. She almost expected stories about the potency of Harry's baby batter to dominate the front pages of the Daily Prophet and that Witch Weekly bog roll, suspecting the slapper wasn't the only one who claimed that Harry fathered a child with her. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

No matter if these tales were libelous, resentment simmered inside of her like an uncontrollable wildfire, burning under the sweltering summer sun. And the more she thought about it, the bigger the fire grew. Her bitterness targeted the slappers who went bed-hopping every night, and thus were unable to determine who the father of their child was, and at Harry. She supposed this bitterness towards him was a little unfair. Then again, so were her feelings and as a result they canceled each other out.

The question that really necessitated an answer was if she actually liked Harry. She already deemed him fanciable enough, and his Quidditch robes made him even more fanciable than that. The messy hair, scar on his forehead, and glasses that flaunted his bright green eyes collaborated to become the most dashing protagonist of her dreams. In the beginning, these dreams were uncomfortable to experience because the field between them had not yet been pastured. But their meetings since were like rainwater, the field continuing to grow greener because of it.

She incorrectly hypothesised that celebrities were automatically pretentious individuals who thought that commoners were well beneath the ground they happened to walk upon. But Harry was different. Pitted against his infamous survival of the Killing Curse, along with being a Quidditch prodigy, it was already established that he was more popular than any previous Minister for Magic. The modesty he disseminated set for him a different path his life was to captain than those who were the complete opposite. It was as if he knew how famous he was but always tried to pretend otherwise. That tipped the scales of attractiveness in his favour. On top of that, he was intelligent, demonstrated by the British and Irish Quidditch League Complex, and displayed shades of kindness when he mended her bloodied hand with dittany in Diagon Alley. In terms of physicality, his biceps were striking, his abdomen chiselled out of stone. And that's not even mentioning his navy-blue boxer shorts! She began to imagine what Harry would look like in them when she was regrettably interrupted.

"You okay in there?" Ginny asked, knocking on the door.

Hermione jumped, having been momentarily lost somewhere in her reverie of Harry advertising those tantalising navy-blue boxer shorts of his. She was in Bill and Charlie's old room getting changed since Lavender and Parvati monopolised Ginny's, much to her chagrin.

"I'm fine," Hermione replied. She looked at herself in the mirror, willing the bouquets of red that bloomed down her neck to recede. Clearly, Harry in a pair of navy-blue boxer shorts made her rather hot.

Ginny stepped inside and studied Hermione for a second, scrutinising her.

"I'll be right back," she said, leaving the room.

As Hermione heard Ginny's heels on the stairs, she glanced out the window watching as guests started to arrive with small cliques of people milling about. She wondered if Harry was down there, thinking that his attire today would be a good indicator of how he'd dress at the gala. That is, if the gala was approved. Her eyes ping-ponged from one head to the other, trying to locate his untidy hair, but quickly surmised that he wasn't there yet. She pondered the possibility that Harry would try and comb that chaotic bird's nest to make himself more presentable for Ron and Lavender's wedding. If she was to be honest with herself, she hoped he didn't for his dishevelled hair was alluring, something only he could pull off.

"My heels are an utter nightmare!" Ginny whined, walking back into Bill and Charlie's room with her stilettos floating behind her. She was carrying an armful of what looked like plastic jam jars, dropping several of them when she kicked the door closed.

Hermione reached down to pick one up, reading, "Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and Scalp Treatment. What's this?"

Dumping the jars onto one of the beds, Ginny grabbed her stilettos and threw them unceremoniously on the floor. Hermione could've sworn the heels made a mark when they hit the wood.

"You look nice and all, but the hair is what's going to bring everything together," Ginny said, uncapping one of the jars.

"There's nothing that needs to bring me together," Hermione stated, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Something does," Ginny said. "There's a lot of competition outside already." Dumping the entire contents of one of the jars onto Hermione's head, she got to work.

"Competition? I don't think I follow."

Ginny rolled her eyes in the mirror and said, "You know, with Harry?"

"Hang on a second. You don't think I fancy him, do you?" Hermione asked. Truthfully, she figured she did in her own way, but that didn't mean she wanted everyone to know about it.

"Do you think I'm blind?" Ginny questioned, grabbing another jar and unscrewing its lid. "I saw how you were when we talked about him this morning, especially when I mentioned that Witch Weekly drag."

"I was just surprised that people would come up with such blatant lies," Hermione grumbled irritably. "And bringing your own child into it is utterly classless."

"Just another galleon digger," Ginny shrugged.

"You think all she wanted was money?"

"Fame too," Ginny nodded, "snagging Harry all for herself."

"Snagging Harry? What does that mean?"

"You can tell whatever lies you want, but Harry is extremely fanciable," Ginny explained. "To put it simply, he's fit. Because of that, he's well sought after."

"By packs of silly girls no doubt," Hermione added, thinking of those in Diagon Alley that stalked him until he signed their Quidditch posters.

"Not all the time though," Ginny countered. "Sometimes he attracts those that can think on their own."

"So, why hasn't he settled down yet?"

"I'm not sure,"Ginny said, uncapping another jar. "You can ask him later, but I'd imagine it has something to do with Quidditch."

"I think that's it," Hermione agreed. "Mr Bagman told me that there's not a lot of respite for Quidditch players."

Ginny snorted like a pig, "How intelligent of him."

"Think he's wrong?"

"It's just that Ludo has a bad gambling problem. He only took the job as the head of the British and Irish Quidditch League to pay off his debts."

"Actually, I sorted him out."

"Really?"

"I fixed some numbers in different places," Hermione explained. "Nothing illegal, of course."

"Good thing he has you then," Ginny said. "Ludo's an alright guy, but he thinks that it was his time playing for the Wimbourne Wasps that has everybody talking about him still."

"People laugh about him behind his back?" Hermione asked, sceptical as to how she felt that her boss was being played by the current crop of Quidditch players he always spoke so highly of.

"It's more of a snicker than anything else," Ginny told her, completely unbothered by the fact.

Hermione guessed that she'd have to keep a close eye on Mr Bagman in the coming weeks given that the Quidditch World Cup was fast approaching. Whilst she assisted him in paying back the goblins, she assumed that gambling was like a siren song, hypnotising him to take as many bets as possible regarding the outcome. And just like before with the Triwizard Tournament, she had no doubt that Mr Bagman would put the odds on Harry catching the Golden Snitch.

"This stuff feels revolting," Ginny complained, conjuring a towel with her wand so that she could wipe her hands. Still, she grabbed another jar.

"Do you think that much is necessary?" Hermione asked wearily, watching Ginny roll together a good amount of Sleekeazy's as if she was trying to build a summer snowman.

"Normally, no," she said. "But you have really frizzy hair. It's like there's an animal lost somewhere inside trying to give birth."

"Well," Hermione huffed, "that was insulting."

"That's how I'd describe it," Ginny shrugged. "Trust me, it'll all be worth it."

"Don't you think that you're selling Harry a little short by thinking he'll be taken by appearances? He doesn't seem that shallow."

"He isn't," Ginny assured, "but you don't need me to tell you that people see with their eyes first. It's kind of like that saying you eat with your eyes first. Sure, having a connection is important, I'm not denying that. However, you need to look halfway presentable to make that connection in the first place."

"And you don't think I'm approachable with the hair that I have?"

"After I'm done, you'll turn heads, including Harry's. Don't worry about anything. I'll have you better than Lavender and Parvati put together."

Hermione smiled, "Should I refer those who ask me about my hair to you?"

"Please," Ginny backhanded the air. Specks of Sleekeazy's sprayed one of the pillows. "I won't help anyone else trying to get Harry to notice them."

"Is he really that popular? Surely there are other contenders?"

"He's the best," Ginny said simply. "I assume some birds go and cry in a corner when they realise that being with him is next to impossible-,"

"That's horrible," Hermione inserted.

"-while others that have already been with him squirt out a few tears when he chooses not to see them again."

She saw Ginny take a quick peek out the window before fixating back on her hair.

"Does he date around a lot?" Hermione asked casually.

Ginny didn't respond right away. In all honesty, she supposed that Harry did date around a lot, especially with Ginny claiming that some birds deemed it an outright honour only to breathe the same air as he did. And people did see with their eyes first. She was certain Ginny witnessed, much as she did at Beauxbaons, that men act on instinct alone, namely when it comes to shagging. She observed the failure of many relationships at Beauxbatons because of the diverse pool of nests to seed. Temptations among hormonal teenage boys was like cold lemonade on a hot day, too great to overcome.

"At one time," Ginny nodded.

"But not anymore?"

"Not so much now," Ginny confirmed. "He always hated how his relationships were headline news of the Daily Prophet. He actually compared it as a more posh Witch Weekly," she laughed. "But don't mention that to Parvati. She'd have kittens."

"What business did the Daily Prophet have of doing that?" Hermione challenged, growing angry in Harry's stead.

"Because of sales! I think the community is more interested with Harry's love life than even he is! Once he's finished with Quidditch, he'll do away with the fame and notoriety, going somewhere quiet and spend the rest of his time in peace."

"He does seem to be the type of person that keeps more to himself. Anyone like that would prefer to be left alone, I'm sure."

"Are you the same?" Ginny asked.

Hermione considered this and said, "In a way," never giving it much thought before. "I like the freedom from interference. That's how it was growing up with my parents. I didn't have any siblings."

"Did you want any?"

"I don't know," she said. "I never particularly cared one way or the other."

Ginny hummed, "I love my brothers and all, but sometimes I wonder what it would be like as an only child."

"It's relaxing," Hermione offered, and Ginny grinned.

It was then that a furious Parvati charged into the room, her dark brown eyes smouldering like a fiery ruin.

"Ginny, where have you been?!" she demanded, wildly throwing her hands in the air and letting them smack her thighs loudly.

"Hermione needed some help with her hair," Ginny replied innocently.

Parvati growled, "I've been looking for you everywhere-,"

"The Burrow isn't that big of a place," Ginny interrupted.

"-because the wedding is about to start!" she finished. "We need to get outside! Now, come on!" Unable to wait, Parvati hurried out of the room, clomping down the stairs thunderously.

"Would it be too much to ask that she trip?" Ginny muttered. "A tumble might do her some good."

Hermione smirked, "We should probably get going."

"Sure," Ginny agreed. "The sooner this thing's over with, the better."

Hermione stood up, running her hands down the baby blue lace dress that stopped just above her knees. It was a comfortable fit, just like the matching sandals on her feet, and hugged her body nicely. The diamond necklace that collared her neck was a gift from her parents, purchased at Boodles on Bond Street. It was the only type of jewellery she thought to wear for special occasions.

"How's your hair?" Ginny asked, ignoring the shrill voice of Parvati calling her name from somewhere below them.

"I love it," Hermione said softly. It was tamed and twisted into an elegant knot at the back of her head, aided by copious amounts of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and Scalp Treatment. Without it, her hair would've closely resembled a barbaric wasteland, hideous and unsightly as it usually was.

She followed Ginny down the stairs, barely containing her laughter when she heard Lavender wail from behind the door, "This dress is far too loose! My bottom is much bigger than this!"

Hermione went out the back, surveying the garden and reckoning that Charlie did a fantastic job cleaning the rubbish away. He even managed to replace the rusted cauldrons and wellington boots with Flutterby bushes in full bloom. She smiled, thinking what Ginny would say as she seemed to have a good running commentary with him despite Bill being her favourite brother for the time being.

The sinking sun haloed the distant hills of Devon, leaving behind a blazing golden sunset. Bees and butterflies swam in the orbit of the grass and hedgerow, a family of birds volitant within the branches of a nearby shrub. She waded through a pasture of purple and yellow flowers, following a procession of people into the orchard. The men donned stately dress robes, while the women wore colourful dresses along with a medley of peculiar hats on their heads. In the clearing, white chairs were separated down the middle by a wide aisle that led to a bowed arbor at the front, decorated with red flowers matching the stringed lights that curled around the trees.

The only people Hermione recognized amongst the guests were Ginny's brothers, most of whom she met earlier, and decided to sit behind them in the second row. Their Auntie Muriel was also in attendance, a dead peacock perched atop her hat in a frightening display as the eyes were gouged, offering entry into the dark and mysterious tunnels that led inside the bird's limp body. Anticipation and excitement grew behind her as she noticed that most of the guests had red hair and were rather young. Ginny did tell her that a majority of them would be around their age and invited her to make friends since she didn't know many after moving. Just as she turned in her seat to greet the girl next to her, she saw him.

Harry stood behind Ron in a cream-coloured suit with brown shoes, a single white rose trapped in his buttonhole. Much to Hermione's delight, his hair was in a state of utter chaos that closely resembled the apocalypse. His eyes scanned the guests, nodding to those he thought to acknowledge. Hermione tried to look away but couldn't. Consequently, it was all too soon when they saw each other. When his gaze locked on hers, her breath hitched in her throat, timidity washing over her as gooseflesh spooked down her arms. She felt stuck, much like the white rose in his buttonhole, and for all intents and purposes she didn't really care. She tried smiling, hoping it didn't turn out to be a grimace, and he gave one back to her.

"I'm glad these trees don't have mistletoe in them," the girl next to Hermione suddenly said. "Nargles are known to infest them."

"Forgive me, Nargles?" Hermione asked, turning away from Harry. "What are those exactly?"

"Mischievous thieves," the girl replied, a wistful sort of look on her face. "Butterbeer cork necklaces and Dirigible Plum-shaped earrings are the only things that keep them away. If you have anything valuable, be sure to mind the holly at Christmastime." Then quite abruptly, the girl turned back around and faced the front as if she hadn't spoken at all.

The girl's demeanour was a little strange, wasn't it? Aside from the dirty blonde hair that was straggly and waist-length, her dress robes was like an abundant meadow with the many sunflowers across it. It was vastly different from the others around her in a quirky sort of way. But Nargles? Hermione didn't believe in such silliness.

She focused her attention on Harry, seeing him talking quietly with Ron. When they finished, she tried not to feel too upset when he didn't look her way. She was still content to watch him, no matter how creepy it was, because he was fit. And of course, she'd been right in thinking that Harry was fanciable in dress robes. When was she ever wrong?

Soft music flooded the orchard from a group of house-elves in glitzy purple jackets. They were jammed between a couple of trees, though didn't seem to mind. Maybe that was because of the blue haze of pipe smoke that hung over them like a rain cloud.

Mr and Mrs Weasley came down the aisle sporting expensive new dress robes that were purchased by Ron. According to rumours that were strangely prevelent around the Burrow, Mrs Weasley and Lavender weren't on the best of terms as she thought that Ron could do better finding a more suitable wife. Lavender took offense to this and threatened to elope. Ginny followed her parents, smiling out of polite interest if nothing else, and Parvati came next. They were wearing gold dresses that hugged their ankles, holding a bouquet of flowers. Then it was Lavender's turn to do the same. She wore a wedding dress that showed an unnecessarily large amount of cleavage, her father choking himself into dress robes that were ready to burst at the seams over his protruding belly.

"It does look like something the village girl would wear," Auntie Muriel said to Charlie rather loudly. When Hermione heard this, she hid a smile behind her hand.

A very small wizard wearing a pointed hat, one that was much too big for his tiny head, climbed atop several of wooden crates and began the ceremony. Hermione tried to listen, but every so often, she glanced in Harry's direction. Apparently, the temptation was too big to overcome because he did the same. Whenever his eyes found hers, she would instantly grow hot, the Cooling Charms Mr Weasley cast to combat the unrelenting heat wave barely helping. She didn't know what was wrong with her, being that she wasn't someone to account for physical appearances in a potential partner. There were more important qualities to consider like astuteness, friendliness, and humility. But who did she know to have a big influence on the British and Irish Quidditch League Complex? Who healed her hand with dittany in Diagon Alley? And who vehemently disliked the stardom that was like a ball and chain having to be constantly dragged around him? The answer to every question was the one, and most likely only, person who was paying more attention to her than the wedding ceremony.

Ron and Lavender exchanged vows though Hermione wasn't able to hear them since Mrs Weasley was crying up a severe storm, the likes of which was comparable to a once-in-a-lifetime metrological event for the residents of Ottery St Catchpole. After the officiator declared Ron and Lavender bonded for life, he waved his wand, almost tipping backwards when he did, and a shower of gold stars fell over them. They kissed to uproarious applause, Hermione chuckling at Ginny's look of obvious disgust.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please stand!" the officiator announced.

"I'm one hundred and sixteen, I am!" Auntie Muriel yelled at the officiator, shaking a wrinkled fist at him threateningly.

He ignored her as he waved his wand. The white chairs they were sitting on rose into the air, gathering around tables that popped into existence, each draped in milky-coloured cloths. A gold floor, brilliant and shiny, swarmed over the grass. The house-elves and their instruments took the stage just as waiters in waistcoats joined the crowd carrying trays of refreshments.

Hermione grabbed a cold Butterbeer, her mouth needing some type of hydration due to Harry's continued glances at her during the wedding ceremony. Taking a large sip, she looked around and saw a mass of people rush Ron and Lavender like rabid Neanderthals. She figured she should express her gratitude for allowing her to attend their wedding but decided to do that later, particularly when they weren't being suffocated by family and friends.

Wandering over to a random tale, she pulled out a chair when a voice behind her said, "Glad you could make it."

Turning, Hermione smiled at Harry.

"And you as well," she replied. "If I remember correctly, you weren't all that excited."

"It isn't my wedding," he shrugged. "Imagine I'll be chuffed to bits whenever that day comes."

"You can still be happy for Ron and Lavender."

"I am," he insisted, "but not excited."

"Well," Hermione said, taking another sip of her Butterbeer, "it was all very nice."

"Didn't expect it to be?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure what I expected. I haven't been to many weddings because I have a very small family. The last people married were my parents which was thirty years ago now."

"Anywhere special?" Harry asked.

"St James' Church in the village of Shere," Hermione said.

"Surrey, right? I grew up close by in Little Whinging," he replied.

"Have you been back?" When Harry shook his head, she continued, "It's a charming place, just like the Burrow."

"Get the full tour yet?"

"This morning," Hermione nodded. "Ginny told me to arrive at nine."

"Nine?" Harry repeated. "You've been here all day?"

"Pretty much."

"Why so early?"

"Ginny isn't too taken with Lavender and Parvati," Hermione said. "Mrs Weasley wanted for her to spend the day with them, but she supposed they'd drive her mad."

"So, she asked for support?"

"Some support I was!" Hermione laughed. "We didn't spend even five minutes with them!"

"What did you do instead?"

"Talked by the lake just there," and pointed a finger. The water, asleep a little beyond the orchard, was tinged with red from the stringed lights from the wedding reception.

"Good place to go swimming," Harry said.

"Done if often, have you?"

"A couple of times when it was hot out."

Hermione nearly choked on her Butterbeer. Although Harry's words were sinless enough, she felt guilty when her mind conjured an erotic image of him ripping off his T-shirt, pushing down his jeans, and kicking off his navy-blue boxer shorts as he stood on the shore completely naked. His John Thomas would likely appreciate the fresh air.

"Hungry?" she asked, grabbing an entire tray of refreshments from a passing waiter and shoving it against Harry's chest.

He looked at her strangely, clearly bewildered, and asked, "Are you feeling okay?"

"Don't be silly, of course I am!"

"Here," Harry said, taking the tray of refreshments and handing it back to the waiter. The git glared at her and stomped away. "Why don't you sit down, and I'll grab us something else, maybe a bit more filling."

Hermione grumbled her approval.

"Any preferences?"

"Surprise me," she said.

Harry smiled and headed for the food table across the clearing. Hermione watched him go, greeting those he already knew and enduring a hurricane of kisses from Mrs Weasley in the process. Balancing two plates in his hands, he chatted with Ginny next to him, laughing at whatever it was they were talking about. She was distracted when Auntie Muriel stumbled by her, a large bottle of Rat Whiskey in each hand.

"Ah, the Muggle-Born," Auntie Muriel said when she saw Hermione, staggering a little as she did. The dead peacock atop her had moved with her as if it was alive.

"How do you know-,"

"The bad posture with ankles that look like they belong on a skeleton gave it away, didn't it?! Muggle-Borns are all the same!" she cackled.

Charlie approached, jogging as if Auntie Muriel had somehow escaped him.

"Sorry," he said to Hermione, giving her an apologetic smile. "She got away-,"

"Quite handsome, this one!" Auntie Muriel cut across. "Who're you?"

"Auntie Muriel, it's me, Charlie."

She seemed not to have heard him for she took a long drink of the Rat Whiskeys in her hands, exclaiming, "Merlin's beard! This younger generation's fallen into a life of crime! Look how that one is dressed!"

Hermione saw that she was talking about Lavender again.

"Maybe you've had enough of this," Charlie said, wrestling the alcoholic beverages away from her, of which Hermione was surprised that Auntie Muriel gave a decent fight for. "We're at a wedding."

"I'm much too old for such pettiness," she complained.

He snorted, "I hardly think that a wedding is petty."

"Perhaps it wouldn't be if Ronald married someone with class. The local tramp is anything but."

Charlie led Auntie Muriel away, offering his arm to which she grasped like life support, wobbling every other step.

As couples began to occupy the dance floor, George waved his wand at the crates the officiator stood upon during the wedding ceremony. Bottles of Champagne trooped out of them as if they were part of the British army, mingling with the crowd. Hermione followed the trajectories of several Champagne bottles that bounced against Bill's head, making it seem as if he had a trio of moving antennas. He shot George a dirty look, swatting the bottles away. Meanwhile, Parvati transformed the cutlery into a flock of birds that pecked at three boys who managed to climb on top of a table, singing with their arms over each other's shoulders. Hermione thought she heard Weasley is our King but wasn't sure since they were slurring the words together, pissed on hock and seltzer. And the dotty girl that warned her about Nargles was collecting the leaves off of a tree like they were Chocolate Frog Cards. She reminded Hermione of the two boys arguing over Harry's own card in Diagon Alley.

A spider web of small golden lanterns floated above the reception as Harry made his way back. After putting the plates on the table, he took the seat next to hers. She tried not to think about how she could feel his leg against hers, wondering if he felt it too.

"Thanks," Hermione smiled. "This looks delicious."

"I'm sure it is," Harry said. "Mrs Weasley did all the cooking."

"Everything?" she gasped, glancing over at the food table and feeling culpable for not offering any help.

"She loves it though," he replied. "And I'm sure she'll do it when Percy and Audrey get married next."

"They're engaged?"

"Pretty sure," Harry murmured, digging into his lamb chops.

"Where's Ginny?" Hermione asked. "She didn't want to sit with us?"

"Oh," he said, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "Did you want her to?"

"I don't know," Hermione said. "I just thought she would've." If she didn't know any better, Hermione supposed that Harry did invite Ginny to sit with them when he met her at the food table. But she probably declined in order to give them a little privacy. "She helped me with my hair earlier," Hermione stated, not knowing why she felt the need to share this.

As Harry's eyes moved to her hair, he said, "It's nice, but why you feel the need to change it? I liked it better before."

Hermione faltered, though Harry didn't appear to notice.

"It isn't permanent," she finally managed.

"That's a good thing," he said, returning to his food.

Hermione, on the contrary, didn't.

"You liked the way my hair was before?" she asked quietly.

He paused, a forkful of vegetables halfway to his mouth.

"There wasn't anything wrong with it."

"It was very frizzy," Hermine said. "And I look like a right state in the morning. Ginny must've emptied shelves of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and Scalp Treatment to get my hair the way it is now."

"She's a bit taken with appearances," he said, taking a sip of his London Pride. "We used to date," he added next.

"You did?" Hermione asked, noticing that Ginny was with the dotty girl, a stack of tree leaves in her hands. They were in deep conversation with Auntie Muriel, who somehow escaped Charlie again. She could only guess how that conversation was going.

"Don't believe me?"

"You guys don't act like you've dated before."

"It was a while ago," Harry said. "We both moved on."

"Do you mind telling me what happened? Ginny's never mentioned it."

"That's because it's a little dull, but if you're up to it-,"

Hermione nodded.

Setting down his fork and knife, Harry leaned back in his chair, putting his ankle on top of his knee. When he did this, Hermione saw that he was wearing navy-blue socks. This reminded her of his navy-blue boxer shorts sheltering his John Thomas.

"Before fifth year, I only thought of her as Ron's little sister. She could barely talk when I was around."

"What changed?" she asked, grabbing her Butterbeer. Harry's likeness pertaining to shades of blue was slowly driving her mad.

"There was an incident with Mr Weasley," Harry said, glancing around to see if anyone was listening. "He was attacked by Voldemort's snake."

Shocked, Hermione asked, "Was he hurt?"

"It was pretty bad," Harry nodded. "He was taken to St Mungo's and thankfully made a full recovery. But there was talk about Voldemort possessing me because of the dream I had of Mr Weasley."

"What a minute. You dreamt it?" Hermione asked, horrified.

"That's how he was found," Harry told her. "It happened just before Christmas. I spent days not wanting to talk to anyone about what I saw."

Hermione remembered Ginny's claim from his morning about Harry's moodiness and sulkiness whilst at Hogwarts. Of course, Voldemort's crusade to do away with Harry only magnified his temperament. Now, Harry's own words proved that Ginny was right.

"But I forgot that Ginny had an episode with Voldemort her first year at Hogwarts," Harry continued.

"She had a dream like yours?"

"Not quite," he shook his head. "I wasn't exactly possessed when Voldemort's snake ambushed Mr Weasley. On the other hand, Ginny was. Talking about my experience and comparing it with hers brought us together in a weird sort of way. I became attracted to her."

He took a brief hiatus when the officiator, who was now completely legless, announced, "And now, Mr Lavender and Mrs Ron will have their first dance as a married couple!" When he giggled, Hermione thought that the poor fellow had one too many to drink with the discarded Champagne bottles strewn on the ground.

The small golden lanterns dimmed considerably as Ron and Lavender took to the dance floor.

"The scrubber is as daft as a bush, wouldn't you say, Charlie, dancing around like that?" Auntie Muriel said in a carrying whisper.

Harry leaned towards Hermione and said, "She's a charmer, isn't she?"

"Been like that the whole night," Hermione replied.

"It'll only get worse. She tends to drink a lot. Too much for her own good, really."

"Poor Charlie," Hermione sighed, noticing that he looked as if he'd have a better time getting lost in a random dustbin that babysitting than a rat-arsed Auntie Murle. "What happened with Ginny next?"

"That's when my feelings for her started. Even then, she dated Michael Corner first and Dean Thomas second." Harry glanced around and pointed at someone with dark hair and dark skin, his neck as long as a giraffe's. "They dated for a while but had a row and split up. It was only after Gryffindor won the Quidditch House Cup in sixth year that we kissed and started dating."

"Just like that?"

"I broke up with her at Dumbledore's funeral. Not the most appropriate of places, I know."

"Why?" Hermione asked. "Weren't you happy with her?"

"Over the moon," he answered. "But Voldemort was obviously a major problem. I didn't think it'd be safe for her to be intimately associated with me."

"Did you guys get back together after the war?"

"For a bit," Harry said. "Things weren't the same. Ginny was part of a life I was trying to leave behind. Dating her was like not being able to let go of the past. She understood when I explained everything to her, and we went our separate ways. I think it's for the best that we did." He smiled, "I'm a lot happier now than I've been in a long time."

"Because of Quidditch?"

He laughed, "That's definitely part of it."

"And the other?"

Harry stared at her, Hermione lost in his bright green eyes. They were ethereal, like an extraterrestrial affair. She imagined that if the Ministry of Magic had a department that studied magic existing beyond Earth's orbit, Harry would fall under heavy scrutiny.

"Prospects," he answered.

"That's a little cryptic," Hermione replied.

"You're pretty intelligent. I'm sure you can figure it out."

"On about winning the Quidditch World Cup, are you?"

"Good guess."

"Please, don't even try to tell me that I'm wrong."

"A bit opinionated, are we?"'

"I'm not," Hermione said, "and I'll tell you why," holding up a finger like a politician about to make an important point.

"Please do," Harry grinned.

"The whole time trying to get the British and Irish Quidditch League Complex approved, I have yet to visit Exmoor to see the current setup."

"You feel the need to?"

"It'd only be proper," Hermione said. "Mr Bagman is going to appeal on Monday. I think that seeing firsthand how impractical it is for thirteen teams to share one Quidditch pitch will help with the authorisation."

"And this is coming from someone who doesn't like Quidditch."

"I don't want to go to have fun. I'm going to work."

"I appreciate that," Harry said. "If you want, I can give you a brief tour to explain what works and what doesn't. You can quote me if you want."

"What time works best for you?"

His gaze roamed to the side as he thought, "How about one in the afternoon tomorrow? We finish practice early on Sundays."

"That's fine," Hermione said, making a mental note of it so that she didn't forget.

"Maybe we could have dinner afterwards?" Harry suggested. "If you're not busy, that is."

"Dinner?" Hermione repeated, flabbergasted at the suggestion. Harry's face was an explosion of red as if someone threw a tomato at him. "I'm not one to always eat dinner," she stated in what she hoped as an indifferent manner.

"Not as a date or anything," Harry modified, wincing a little. "We'll go as colleagues, if that's what you want."

"Well," Hermione drew out, "I'll have to ask Snuggles first. He does tend to complain about these kinds of things."

"You have to ask Snuggles, do you?"

"He demands it."

"Not with words, I assume?" Harry replied, loosening his tie.

Hermione waved her hand in the air as if trying to get rid of an irksome bug.

"Did you have a place in mind?"

"Diagon Alley," he said. "There's a new restaurant that I hear is ace."

"You've never been?"

"Not yet, but I'm hopping tomorrow will be my first time."

"Is it a fancy place? I don't know if I should dress up or not."

"Doubt you'll have to."

"Hopefully it's fun," Hermione commented. "Considering I don't have any plans tomorrow night-,"

"Don't forget about feeding Snuggles," Harry put in, trying to keep his face serious and failing miserably at it.

"That's very important," she agreed. "I can't have him starving, can I?"

"And you can't starve yourself either. So, having dinner is completely necessary."

Hermione, having easily caught onto his game, said, "Of course, and what better company to have dinner with than Snuggles?"

"I think we've had this particular conversation before," he said.

"We did over bubble and squeak, which was very good."

"I know, my cooking's exceptional," he responded.

"There's room for improvement. With that being said, I accept your invitation to have dinner tomorrow evening."

"A bit cordial, but I'll take it."

"Don't make me regret this," Hermione told him.

"I won't," Harry replied instantly. "I'll make sure that everything goes as smoothly as possible, even though it's not a date."

"No," she agreed, "not date at all."

Harry rubbed his finger across his chin and smiled.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading.