Chapter 23: Interviews and Try-Outs

Hermione turned away from the mirror, and her reflection in it, which depicted her in a smart business suit that hugged her figure in all the right places. She smiled weakly. "Well? How do I look?"

"Slightly stunned."

"Sexy fit to shag."

Harry and Ron's respective commentaries, delivered simultaneously, caused the two men to regard each other with a heavy side-eye, for all of a loaded beat.

"Always the tone of surprise…" Hermione twittered, though her smile broadened into something more confident, even as she blushed. These were better assessments on her apparel than she had gotten in the past: just under a year ago, when she had asked the question in regards to her get-up under the guise of Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry had declared her hideous. Not that she had exactly blamed him, especially considering what the sadistic woman had recently done to her.

Stepping across the floorboards of Ron's room, her high heel stilettos clacking, Hermione weaved her way through her boys and past them, pausing to buzz cheeks with Ron.

"Ta, love." She began to descend the stairs, Harry and Ron following after her.

"I still can't believe the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is making you sit for an interview on a Sunday week, of all days!" Ron bemoaned on his girlfriend's behalf. "And all while wearing a…. a…." He fumbled for the word.

"It's called a pantsuit, Ronald. And nonsense," Hermione chortled. "I reckon I'd rather be doing this than sitting for my NEWT practice exams. Or studying, for that matter."

Ron gasped with mock astonishment. "Harry, did you hear her? Our girl has finally grown out of her bookish ways!"

Harry just smirked. "So why don't I believe either of you?"

Hermione guffawed, pausing in the window to adjust her suit jacket over her shoulders. "Now you're sure you boys have everything sorted here?"

"It's fine, love. Go on in. Knock them dead!" Ron grinned. When she started to turn away, he caught her arm. "Oh, and here. For luck…." So saying, he pulled Hermione close by her waist and kissed her deeply; though she seemed taken aback, she gladly returned it….

…. Only to then squirm seconds later and wrench free of the kiss with a gawking laugh. "Ronald! You're trying to feel me up in front of our best mate? In this fancy dress? In the workplace, that would be grounds for sexual harassment!" Though there was a slightly facetious tone to her voice, of which Ron caught wind.

"I didn't hear you accusing me of harassment last night, my pet…." Ron murmured against her earlobe amorously, and Harry thought he saw Hermione shiver with pleasure.

"Ronald Weasley, if you're trying to wreck my concentration on purpose, I'll…."

"Is it working?" Ron crooned, kissing her neck.

"It will if you make the poor lady late!" Harry moved between his intimate best mates, nudging Hermione towards the door and her waiting Portkey. "Get on, old girl!"

"Wish me luck!" Hermione called back over her shoulder as she crossed the Burrow's lawn.

"Luck!" The boys echoed back. As soon as she had disappeared, the ginger boy turned to the dark-haired one. "Well, a Sunday afternoon and full time to enjoy it! Whatever shall we do with ourselves, mate?"

In response to Ron's question, Harry grinned. "You, my fine fellow, are going back to school!"

"What?" Ron let out an awkward little laugh. "Harry, I am a Hogwarts drop-out, and proud of it!"

"You also are a staggering illiterate in all things Muggle. If you want to keep that brilliant bird you were just snogging, I reckon you need a crash course in her heritage and culture!"

"What are you, my Muggle Studies professor? Need I remind you that I got a…." Ron faltered, face scrunching up into a frown as he tried to remember his grade in the class.

"P. You got a P in your Muggle Studies OWL, Ron. As in, P, for Poor. Considering that your lover and your best friend were both raised by Muggles, I'd call that nothing less than a disgrace!" Harry quipped, expression deadly serious and firm.

"I don't need to know anything about Muggle…."

"Yes, you do. Your dad works in an office devoted to their artifacts, for Merlin's sake!"

"Exactly! I have all I need to know from him and his tool shed!"

"Hmm. Really? All right, then: explain to me, in your own words, how to operate a telephone."

"It's felly-tone," Ron corrected, grin goofily confident.

"…. No, I believe the correct pronunciation is, in fact, telephone, and after five years, I would expect you to know how to use…. Bloody hell, do you still not know how to use one?"

Ron winced. "Erm….. no."

Harry pursed his lips in a thin smile. "Case rested."

"Tell me, Professor: is there going to be a quiz on how to use the…. phone, then?" Ron winced.

"Not yet. First, I am going to show you the properties of what is known as a VCR."

Ron blinked blankly. "What does that mean?"

Harry sighed. "After which, I will be doing remedials in your letters so you understand what a bloody acronym is….."

A few hours later, Ron was watching the images flashing by on the telly with a look of abject horror and even outrage on his face.

"That man has the bloody worst Cockney accent I have ever heard! Seriously, mate, he should be arrested for such obscenity! It's an insult!"

Harry glanced to his best mate. "That man, whom you just accused of a non-existent felony, is also a national treasure in the States, performing in a 35-year-old classic!"

"Classic, my arse! You and Hermione were actually exposed to this claptrap? No wonder you wanted to get away from the Dursleys! Parliament ought to pass a parental rights law, protecting our children from…. whatever this is." A small beat, as they continued to watch Dick Van Dyke make a mockery of the old, proper English language. "Oh, for pity's sake – it's pronounced 'appened, you twat! The 'H' is silent! Seriously, who was this bastard's dialect coach? – they should be shot!"

"Just shut up and watch the damn story," Harry grumbled.

"How? There's right no story to follow!"

"Listen to the songs, then!"

"You can't follow those either! Supercalifocking…. What is that, a terminal disease?"

"That's what you said about Cinderella," Harry pursed his lips grimly as he patted Ron's knee.

It was an almost welcome sound, to hear the front door rattling as it swung inward. An exhilarated-looking Hermione came scampering into the room a moment later, not noticing for the moment the movie playing on the telly. Ron immediately leapt to his feet, all criticism of Dick Van Dyke's atrocious accent forgotten.

"Well, love?"

Hermione smiled weakly. "I got it."

"You got the job offer?..." Ron stared.

She now full on beamed. "They want to check my NEWTS once I have them, but should I do as well there as they think I will, I start the Monday week after I walk for my diploma."

"Hermione, that's blooming amazing!" And Ron exuberantly picked his girlfriend up and spun her around, delighting in her startled and happy shrieks in his ears. She must have sensed how she shouted, for when they broke apart, Hermione winced.

"Sorry if I burst your eardrums there, love."

"Don't be – they've been already good and busted." Ron gestured with contempt to Bert the chimneysweep dancing on the rooftops. "Please tell me your mum and dad never let you watch this!"

"But I love Mary Poppins!" Hermione cried, squeezing in between her two best friends. "I read all the books as a child!"

Ron craned his neck around her to ogle Harry with barely suppressed rage on his face. "A book? This codswallop is based on a book? Was the author bombed up on drugs?"

At Hermione's quizzical look, Harry just grinned tightly. "Be patient with the man – you should have heard his criticisms against Seinfeld!"

"A Festivus for the rest of us!" Ron snorted. "What utter rot! It's not even a word, anymore than that supercauliflower is!"

"Nice to know that dating me has done wonders for your grammar, dear," Hermione grinned at Ron with something that seemed to be a mix of teasing and genuine pride. "Oh! Speaking of festivities, that reminds me!" And Hermione pulled out a folded piece of cloth from her briefcase and handed it to her boyfriend shyly.

"What's this….?" Ron mumbled.

Hermione grinned. "Happy Birthday, love."

Upon unfolding the Chudley Cannons sweater, Ron grinned and leaned in to kiss his girl gently on the mouth.

It was a cool March evening a few nights later that found the Golden Trio mounted on broomsticks a hundred feet up in the air, in the old apple orchard. From where she was sharing a mount with her lover, Hermione nonetheless wobbled nervously on the broomstick, even in Ron's strong arms.

"I've never liked this… I've always believed in Quidditch as more of a spectator's sport…."

Turning her chin back to him, Ron pecked her lips quickly, to soothe her. "I'm right here, darling. Besides, Keeping is easy! It's all a matter of shifting your weight on the stick so the broom moves where you want and you block the shot! Ginny has to get in a bit of practice somehow!"

Across the way, Ginny was passing the Quaffle transfigured from an apple hand to hand, biting her lip tensely. She was due to have a try-out for an open Chaser spot on the Holyhead Harpies professional team the morning after next, and she was patently nervous.

"Did the team's management make clear whether you'd be under contract beginning this summer or at the start of the fall season?" Harry asked his girlfriend.

"Um…. summer. For off-season training, and then I'd just flow right into the fall match schedule, if I get the gig!"

Harry grinned at her with encouragement. "You'll get the gig. You're the best Gryffindor Chaser since Angelina!"

"Speaking of: reckon George will ever man up and bring her home, or just round for tea?"

"Not my business. And don't the change the subject. Here: let's practice your sprints. ALL READY THERE, YOU LOT?" Harry had to shout to make himself heard to Ron and Hermione clear across the pitch.

"Bring it, you wankers!" Ron hollered back, to which Hermione perfunctorily admonished him not to swear.

Ginny and Harry sped up the pitch, passing the Quaffle back and forth, running the old give-and-go.

"How come you didn't…. tell me sooner about…. you being assigned to the defense of that cow Greengrass?" Ginny panted through the question, and she had to holler to make herself heard besides over the howling of the wind whistling past her speeding broom.

"I've been busy compiling the case! Plus, I didn't think you would worry as much than if I'd been assigned to say, Malfoy!" Harry caught the Quaffle and hurled it back.

"Oh, I'm worried! You need to watch yourself with ones like her! See, she's clever, this bitch! Greengrass. She can put on a real crocodile tears show, play the victim, when really she was just as guilty of crimes against magic as those numpties the Carrows! Has she tried to cry foul at you about how I once dropped her with a Bat Bogey Hex?"

Harry grimaced, even as he noted how Ginny had seemed to just confirm Daphne's story as at least somewhat true. He tried not to think about what that meant. "I can't speak on specifics about the case, Gin."

"Why not? I'm your girlfriend…"

"I can't speak to specifics on the case, all right? Legally barred from! Watch out – Ron's coming up fast! Here's the wind up!"

"Launch!" Ginny got receipt of the Quaffle for barely a second before she was shooting it towards her brother and his girlfriend. Ron lunged his broom to the side to make the catch, causing Hermione to shriek with fear. The ex-Gryffindor Keeper missed anyway, so that the Quaffle went sailing between two apple trees standing in for goalposts.

Harry rewarded Ginny with a high five, which he then parlayed into a kiss by gripping her wrist and tugging her close. When they broke apart, the Chosen One laughed at the dazed look on Ginny's face.

"You're ready."

Harry went with his girl to the Holyhead Harpies' pitch first thing the next morning. When the registrar checking Ginny in turned out to be none other than Gwenog Jones herself, Harry was amused at how star-struck Ginny became before the award-winning Captain and Beater.

"All right, old girl – give us a spin!"

Ginny scoffed but indulged in performing a half-hearted twirl in her Gryffindor Quidditch robes. "How do I look?"

"Like a professional player, and a smashing one at that!" Stealing an arm about her waist, Harry drew her close and kissed her. "For luck. I'll be waiting right here to pick you up after work!"

"Ta, love." Lips grazing his cheek, and taking a deep breath, Ginny nodded to her hero Gwenog and the two women entered the pitch together.

Back at the Auror Department offices, hours passed like days for Harry. When 5 o'clock at last arrived, he couldn't Apparate to the Quidditch pitch fast enough.

Ginny's expression was unreadable when she came out to greet him.

"Well?" Harry demanded, green eyes scanning her face anxiously.

Ginny pursed her lips. "Gwenog said they'd let me know, but….. I think I might get it outright. At the very least, alternate for the chance at a walk on!"

Harry full on beamed. "Ginny….. you're…. you're brilliant! I'm so proud of you!" With that, he proceeded to sweep her off her feet, ignoring her astonished cry of protest. Though secretly, she seemed pleased. Mounting her broomstick, Harry flew them both up into the clouds, the wispy cumulus strands and the setting sun masking his successful attempt at seducing Ginny flat onto her back so that she spread her legs for him.

Hundreds of feet above the earth, the prospective professional Quidditch player and Auror-in-training made love.