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SIYE Time:11:40 on 29th March 2024
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The Girl on the Bench
By DukeBrymin

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Category: Alternate Universe
Characters:None
Genres: Angst, Romance
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG
Reviews: 36
Summary: It was, perhaps, inevitable that they should be together. But then Wednesday came along.
Hitcount: Story Total: 14693; Chapter Total: 4354







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The Girl on the Bench, Part 2: Decisions

Song Lyrics:
Show me, if you want it,
And you feel it, ‘cause I know,
That I am somewhere in your soul.
Give me a reason to love you.
Give me a reason not to go home.

"Going Home" - MoZella



"How can you see the ducks with your eyes closed?"

She had come.  She hadn't been a dream, and it appeared that she really was as interested in him as she had seemed to be yesterday.

"Hi there," he responded.  "I was just thinking, and--"

"And you fell asleep?"  She grinned, and sat down on what had become, in a surprisingly short amount of time, her end of the bench.

"No, just trying to focus on my dilemma.  How are you?"  he asked, in an effort to distract her from his inadvertent mention of the problem he was facing.

"I'm great, thanks--mostly because you're here again."  She colored slightly as she said this, but refused to look away from him.  "What dilemma are you dealing with?"

He groaned slightly.  "You heard that, did you?"  She nodded, and he continued.  "Well, at the risk of scaring you away, I'm thinking about you. . . and my girlfriend."  He looked away quickly as he spoke, hoping that she wouldn't get up and leave.

The concept of a pregnant pause had never seemed so clear to him as at this time, when he sat on tenterhooks, waiting to see what she would do.

"I'm flattered," she finally said, "but I don't swing that way."

He turned to face her so fast that he almost pulled a neck muscle, and saw her grinning at him, unrepentantly, with her eyes showing her usual good humor.

"That's. . . that's not what I meant!  Oh Mer-- uh . . . merciful heavens!  I'm sorry--I didn't mean to imply--"

She cut him off.  "I know--I'm just teasing.  I mean,  I really do prefer guys; I wasn't kidding about that, but I know you didn't mean that."

"Oh, um, good!"  He couldn't believe how red his face had gotten by then.

"So, you have a girlfriend, yeah?"  she said, calmly taking out her sandwich and unwrapping it.

"Yeah, we've been together for about four years now."  He reached down to open his lunch, and realized that in the foggy-headedness of the morning, he had completely forgotten to make himself anything to eat.  And then he'd forgotten to get something at the cafeteria.  "Darn it all," he muttered under his breath.

The girl smirked at him, reached into her bag, and pulled out another sandwich.  "I made an extra today, would you like it?"

He looked over at her, then at the sandwich.  "No, you go ahead, I couldn't take your lunch from you.  I'll just get something from the sausage vendor."

She shuddered.  "Have you ever eaten anything from that cart?  It's horrid--I don't know what they put in their food, but I'm not convinced it's normal meat.  No, I'd rather you not get sick while I'm trying to steal you away from your girlfriend."  Then she put the sandwich down on the bench next to him and returned to eating her own, just as if she hadn't calmly announced her intentions.

He blinked at her, torn between laughing at her description of the vendor's wares, gratitude for the offer of the sandwich, and apprehension (tinged with a slight bit of excitement) at the blatantly nefarious statement of her designs.

Half a minute later, when he still hadn't figured out what to say, he heard her laugh again.  That was enough to jolt him out of his stupor, and, deciding that he'd deal with the easy issue first, he said, "Are you sure you can spare the sandwich?"

Through her soft laughter, she said, "Yeah, it's not a problem--I always bring too much anyway.  Besides, then you'll owe me something, right?"

He wasn't sure how to react to her today--he felt rather off-kilter.  She had been fun to talk to yesterday, and their bantering had lightened his heart.  But today he seemed to be a half-step behind in the conversation, and didn't know how to catch up.

Taking the sandwich, he unwrapped it and took a bite.  Chewing thoughtfully, he decided to address the main issue head-on.  "Okay, so, I have a girlfriend--"

"You said that already; my memory's not that bad."

"Right, um. . .  Look, I need to talk about some things, and I can't seem to talk straight, and if you could just kind of, maybe, hold your comments until I'm done, it would really help."  He was rather embarrassed at the pleading tone in his voice, but couldn't seem to do anything about it.

She turned to look at him directly, and he was, once again, entranced by her bright eyes.  She took her finger, made a cross over her heart, and said, "I solemnly swear that I will not say another word until you have finished choking out whatever it is you feel you need to say, and you give me leave," stuck her tongue out at him, and took another bite of her sandwich.

He was lost again--he had never thought he could be so attracted to a tongue.  Sure, they had their uses, but seeing hers poke out at him made him think all sorts of things that were inappropriate, to say the least.  Shaking his head to get rid of those thoughts, he started talking.

"You see, I've been dating this girl since my sixth year at--um, the boarding school we attended."

True to her word, she didn't interrupt, but her eyes got rather large at hearing that.  Marking that down to her being impressed by the length of time they'd been together, he continued.  "And I've always thought that we'd get married when the time was right.  We're happy together, and content with our relationship.  We haven't been in too much of a hurry to move into matrimony, though, because we both have busy schedules, and there's enough time now so that we don't have to feel rushed.  But I've been thinking a lot, last night and today, that maybe there's something else out there, you know?"  She nodded, encouraging him to continue.  "Like, maybe, there's someone more suited to me than she is.  Don't get me wrong!" he said hastily.  "I love her, no doubt about it.  But sometimes, there seems to be something, I don't know, lacking."

He paused then, hoping she would say something to help him.  When she just looked at him, and took another bite of her lunch, he decided that she probably didn't want to intrude into his domestic issues.

"I probably sound pathetic--here I have the best relationship I've seen, except, maybe, for that of her parents, and I'm thinking about looking for something better.  Am I pathetic?"

He waited to see if she would agree with him, but she just calmly looked back and chewed.  "Don't you have an opinion?"  he asked, somewhat testily.

She stared back, and then pointed to her mouth.

"What, you're eating and can't answer me?"

She closed her eyes in exasperation, then opened them again.  Taking her finger again, she pointed it to her lips, then shook it vigorously.  He couldn't figure out what she meant, and she grimaced again.  She pointed at her mouth, mimed talking, then shook her head.

"Oh!"  He felt like such an idiot.  "I’m sorry--you can talk now!"

She sighed, shook her head, and said, "How's your memory working today?  Never mind.  Now, what was the question?  Are you pathetic?"  She thought for a bit.  "No, I don't think so.  I mean, marriage is a rather permanent thing, isn't it?  After all, once you marry someone, that's it--you're stuck with them.  It just makes sense to me that you'd want to be absolutely sure that you've found the right person."

He interjected, "Well, I suppose so, but then, if we screw it up badly, we could get a divorce, I guess."

She looked puzzled.  "What's that?"

"Uh, well, when you stop being married to someone--You've never heard of a divorce?"  He just couldn't fathom someone older than the age of five who didn't know exactly what divorce meant.

"Hmm," she mused. "Must be a Muggle thing."

"What did you say?" he asked, incredulously.

Her face drained of all color, and she looked back at him with round eyes.  "Um, nothing--just a word I made up.  Did you like the sandwich?"  She cringed at the incredibly obvious change of subject.

"No," he said, shaking his head.  "You said Muggle, didn't you?"  She didn't deny it, but neither could she bring herself to nod--she just looked at him fearfully, nervously wondering how to go about recovering from the horrid breach of the Statute of Secrecy. She expected him to ask her what that word meant, and she couldn’t think fast enough to come up with a definition that would satisfy him. But to her surprise, and everlasting joy, the next words out of his mouth were, “So, you’re a witch then?”

Dumbfounded, she just nodded her head.

“You didn’t go to Hogwarts then, did you? I think I would have remembered anyone as beautiful as you.” His eyes flashed momentarily as he said this, betraying some inner turmoil, she thought, but that was pushed aside as she focused on his words.

“Yes, I’m a witch–I assume that you’re a wizard, if you went to Hogwarts.” She couldn’t believe the relief that flowed through her veins at the realization that she hadn’t broken any laws, and that this man, whom she’d been flirting with and desperately trying to get to know, shared the magical world with her.

She’d thought quite a bit about that very issue, when she was trying to work up the nerve to talk to him. She hadn’t had a lot of success in her dating life up ‘til that point, and had decided that she would just be happy in her job, and not worry about men anymore. That, of course, was when it happened–she had seen this mouthwateringly delicious man, with the gorgeous green eyes and the happy smile, and had fallen head-over-heels for him. As the weeks had passed, she had weighed the pros and cons of getting involved with a Muggle–the necessity of hiding her talents from him, the inevitable revelation, and, most likely, the subsequent break-up. But eventually she had realized that her heart had already spoken–if she didn’t at least try to get to know him, she’d spend the rest of her life regretting it.

“Of course–oh, that’s a relief. You don’t know how hard it’s been making sure I didn’t mention anything about Aurors or stuff like that.” She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. He noticed, thought a bit, then blushed. “Well, of course you know how it is–you’ve been having to do the same thing, haven’t you?”

She relented in her teasing. “Yeah, and I agree, it is hard. And no, I didn’t go to Hogwarts. My family left England, before I was born, to get away from Voldemort."  Harry was impressed that she said the hated name without any evidence of fear.  She continued, "I was born and raised in France, and went to boarding school there–Beauxbatons. You’ve heard of it, I assume?”

“Of course I have–some of their students came to Hogwarts when I was in my fourth year. Did you hear of the Tri-Wizard Tournament?”

“Of course! I wanted so badly to go, but I wasn’t picked. Granted, I was too young to compete, but the school brought some observers, and they didn't have to be adults.  I still think that the Headmistress was biased by looks.” She put on an affected French accent then, much more noticeable than her normal soft inflections. “Non! We must ‘ave only ze best students attend ze Tournament! ‘ow will ze English zink of us eef we take jus' enyone?” She dropped the caricature and continued. “I think they just wanted to send only the most beautiful ones, to prove that French students are ever-so-much-better than you plebeian English types. Especially since some of the supposedly ‘best’ were doing much worse than I in their studies.” She seemed resigned to this assessment, even though there was still some residual bitterness.

He chuckled at that. “Well, I certainly would have picked you to go, if they were looking for beautiful types. Looking like you do now, how could you not have already been beautiful when you were in school?”

She turned to him and smiled. “Thank you, kind sir, for the compliment. But, before you get too extravagant with them, we need to finish our previous discussion. I think you should decide what you’re going to do about your girlfriend before you flirt any more outrageously with me.” She said this in a light-hearted tone, but he could tell she was very serious about the topic. “Look,” she continued, “I’ll be blunt. I am very attracted to you, and having talked with you for the past two days, I think I’d really like to get to know you better. But I’m not one to poach on someone else’s territory, and I certainly don’t want to put you in the position of cheating on someone you love. So, here’s what I’ll do. I’m going to keep coming here for lunch, but I’ll sit on the other side of the pond. You will go and decide what you’re going to do about your dating life–without my, hopefully enjoyable, distraction. I won’t make another move towards you without a clear sign from you. Okay?”

This was quite a bit for him to take in. He had just about gotten lost in her words back at the part where she told him how much she wanted to go out with him. But he hung on, and managed to follow the rest of her discourse. His heart gave a momentary pang as she told him how she’d stay away from him until he decided, but he ignored that as he realized that this really was the best course of action. He owed it to himself, and to his girlfriend, to make sure he was making the best decision possible, given the circumstances. And besides, he thought, he’d still get to at least see the Bench Girl, albeit from across the duck pond.

He reached out to touch her hand, where it rested next to her lunch. “Thanks for being the mature one--”

“Well, someone needed to be, and it was obvious you weren’t going to volunteer.”

“Nice,” he responded wryly. His hand continued its motion towards hers until finally it reached its goal, and made to land on top of hers.  When their skin made contact, he felt a shiver run up his arm, straight to his heart.  It would be trite to say that they had an instant connection, or that suddenly the world felt right, but it was definitely something.  She must have felt it too, as she jumped, stared down at the pair of hands, and quickly pulled hers back.

Stifling the sudden feeling of loss, as if a warm comforter had been unceremoniously yanked off of a sleeping body, he tried to remember what they had been talking about.  “Um, uh.  Well, anyway, thanks for saying what you said–I would like to get to know you better too, but it wouldn’t be fair to my current girlfriend to not tell her what I’m feeling.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he realized how close he had come to blurting out how much he was attracted to this new girl. Noticing that his traitorous hand was stealthily making its way to where hers were resting again, in her lap, he hurriedly jerked it back into his lap, and decided he needed to leave, if he weren't to lose his composure completely.

“Um, I should go, then. I’ve got a lot to think about.” He stood up, spilling what was left of his sandwich on the ground. “Oh blast, that was such a great sandwich, too!” With a quick and surreptitious Evanesco, he cleaned up the remnants. Smiling tightly at the pretty girl, he waved, then turned and walked away, leaving behind a beautiful girl, whose only thoughts were wishes that he would choose whichever path would make him happiest, and hopes that that path would include her.

oooooooooo

His students were starting to get a little worried about their instructor. He was not acting like his normal self. Some of his major characteristics were strict attention to detail, inflexibility in the training schedule, and a desire to push the trainees just as hard as possible. So, when he came in after lunch and announced that they were to pair up and practice all the spells from the syllabus, and to not bother him unless there was blood or a lack of breathing, they were astonished.

The first student to approach him, with the intent to ask him why his spell was going wrong, had to have his buddies come and pick him up off the floor, carry him to the sidelines, and gang up to cast Finite Incantatem with enough power to finally take off the Full-Body Bind.  After that, they all gradually migrated as far away from their instructor as possible, and decided, as a group, to work on their silent spell-casting--fearing that even something as innocuous as a loud Stupefy would result in unwelcome attention.  Needless to say, when 4:00 came around that afternoon, and thus, the end of their training day, many silent prayers of gratitude were offered, and many techniques from their Stealth and Secrecy classes were practiced as they left.

He was a little surprised to look up and find no-one in the training room.  His heart rate jumped drastically as he imagined all sorts of horrid reasons for the student's absence, until he noticed the clock on the wall, which read 4:26.  He was shocked that it was already so late--where had the time gone?  All he'd wanted was a few minutes of peace and quiet to remember the conversation with the Bench Girl, and try to make some headway in determining what, really, he wanted from his current relationship.  Reminiscing was such a pleasant prospect, though, that he really hadn't spent very much time at all on the perplexing question that he faced.  But he knew that his girlfriend was expecting him rather soon--she knew his schedule, and she had said that they would talk as soon as work was over.

Frantically gathering up his materials and racing down to the Apparition point, he decided that there really was only one honest course of action.  He'd have to tell her everything that had been going on, and ask her what she thought of their possible future.  He just hoped she wouldn't let her temper loose--he really didn't want to deal with one of her famous hexes tonight.

oooooooooo

"Hello, dear," he said, as she opened the door to her flat to let him in.  He leaned in to kiss her, but at the last second, she turned her head and he ended up kissing her cheek.  Chalking it up to his own bad timing, he followed her into the flat.

"Sorry I'm late--I got hung up at work."  He figured that he should bring it up himself, and hopefully head off any recriminations.

She blinked at him, then looked at the clock on the mantle.  "Oh, I hadn't even realized you were late," she said absently, as if it were of no import. 

This was an immediate warning signal to him.  She had never, in his memory, not paid attention to the time when she was expecting him to be somewhere.  He tried hard not to be late, and she knew it, but she always worried when he didn't arrive on time, or send word that he'd be late.  He guessed it stemmed from the year of the Horcrux Hunt, when she couldn't ever be sure he was safe.  But now, she hadn't even noticed the time, and even more telling, she wasn't giving him grief about it.

"What's wrong?" he asked, immediately.  Something had to be bothering her--she was not acting at all like the girl he'd known for so long. 

She looked up quickly at his question and blurted out, "We need to talk."

"Well, of course--that's why I'm here, isn't it?  We didn't have time last night to discuss what's been happening, so we agreed to meet tonight.  Right?"  He felt like he had gotten off on the wrong foot, and couldn't seem to catch his balance.  This was certainly not how he had envisioned the evening going.

"Oh, right.  I forgot.  You know, with the busy day I had."  The words sounded right, but she said them while looking at his left ear.

"Come on, sweetheart, you're scaring me.  This isn't you.  Are you drugged?  Did someone hex you?"  He was passing into full panic mode now--thinking how best to convince her to go to St. Mungo's to see a Healer--would she manage the Floo all right?  or should he forcibly side-along Apparate her, even though she'd hexed him silly the last time he'd done that?

"Um, maybe you should sit down," was her feeble rejoinder.  "Do you want some butterbeer or something?"

"No, I'm good, but please, tell me what's wrong.  I'm worried about you--this isn't like you."

"Now, don't take this the wrong way. . ."

That was rather ominous.  His heart, which had calmed slightly when she offered him a drink, such a normal thing, immediately started thumping even harder in his chest.  Nothing good, in his experience, ever followed those words.  'Oh no!' he thought.  'She's found out about the Bench Girl!'  But he was wrong, although after hearing her next statement, he thought maybe that would have been preferable.

"I've, um, met someone."

Complete silence reigned in her flat.  His brain seemed to have frozen--he could feel the icicles forming in his mind, and slowly dropping down to his stomach.

"What did you say?"  He had to have misunderstood her.  She had been fine yesterday, nothing had been off in her manner, and now, this evening, she had become a different person.

"I met someone.  Last night, you remember, we had that Quidditch player come talk to us?"  He had never heard her speak this rapidly before.  It was as if she were trying to tell the story before she lost her nerve, or perhaps, before he was able to react fully.  "Well, I thought he would be some jerk, full of himself and assuming he was Merlin's gift to women.  But, we started chatting after the meeting, and he was really sweet.  He seemed to be very interested in me, even after I told him that I was dating you.  He wasn't all pushy or anything, he just let me know that he appreciated me--he told me I was beautiful!"

"But I tell you you're beautiful!"  He really didn't know how to feel about this--most of him wanted to hunt down this annoying creep and teach him a lesson.  But once again, that little voice popped up in the back of his head to say, 'You can see Bench Girl again!'

"I know, but, it's nice to, you know, know that someone else thinks so too.  I mean, I've liked you for forever, and we've been together for such a long time--you have to tell me I'm pretty and all that.  But he, he thinks so too!  And he's famous!"

"So, how is it that you didn't know him already?"

"Well, he has been playing in the Continental League, and really, the only time we interact with that League is during the Quidditch World Cup.  I think I might have read about him in Quidditch Weekly, but you know I don't care that much about players who don't play in our League."

"So, what are you saying?  Are you breaking up with me?"  It was curious how much this idea hurt.  He felt like a hypocrite, considering that this was more-or-less what he had been planning on telling her, but that didn't stop the heartache.

"No!  No, I'm not doing that.  But I wanted to talk to you about us.  I love you, you know that, right?"  She was pleading with him now to understand how she felt.

"Yeah, I know, but what am I supposed to think?  I come here and you start gushing about this guy that you saw last night.  How would you feel?"  He winced at having said this, and cursed himself again for being a git about this.  He certainly wasn't any better than she was.

"I'd feel horrible too, please believe me.  I can't imagine how you must feel.  But I don't want there to be any secrets in our relationship.  I'm with you for the long haul, if that's what you want.  I mean, even beyond how much I love you, I owe you.  You saved my life, and I can never repay that!"  She stopped, horrified at what she'd allow to spill forth.  "No, that's not--"

He interrupted.  "You owe me?  I never wanted you to owe me!  I did what anyone else would have done!"  She snorted, not agreeing, but not interrupting.  "Are you only my girlfriend because you think you owe me?  How could you?  Did you ever really love me, or do you just feel obligated to me?"  He was up and pacing now, which was probably for the best--his gesticulations were becoming more and more violent as he worked himself up.

"Yes, I do love you!  I said that!  Even if you had never saved my life, I would have loved you.  I'm sorry I said that--please don't--"

He broke in then, wanting to hurt her like she'd hurt him.  "Well, that's just fine, because I've met someone too!"

If he'd, perhaps, lost all reason and slapped her, it still couldn't have carried the impact that those words did.  Her face went instantly white as she took in his words.  The hurt that he'd wanted to make her feel was abundantly evident in her brown eyes, but then, they changed, and he knew he was in for it.  The blood came back into her face with a rush, and she rose from the couch as a shark rises to attack a wounded man.

"How dare you!"  she spat venomously.  "How dare you act all high-and-mighty, like I've done some horrible thing by noticing another man, when you're guilty of the same thing!  I was so worried that you'd hate me forever, and never want to see me again, but you came here tonight to break up with me!  I could just--" and she grabbed for her wand.

Not for nothing was he an Auror Instructor, though.  He beat her to the draw, and Summoned her wand before she could finish her incantation.

"No!  No wands!  We tried that once already, remember?  We do not want to do that again!"  He hoped that she'd understand his concern, and not take it as a personal attack.  He watched, fearfully, as her face slowly lost its murderous glare, and her cheeks slowly lost their extreme color.

"Give me back my wand," she demanded, holding one hand out while placing the other on her hip in the classic angry-woman pose.

"No, not until you calm down," he responded.

"I am calm, I promise.  I just want my wand back--you still have yours!"

He didn't really believe her, but needed to do something to placate her in at least some small way.  Thinking quickly, he took both wands, and threw them into the kitchen.  "There, now neither one of us is armed.  Is that okay?" 

She thought for a bit, then nodded jerkily.  "Fine, but you better explain yourself, Mr. Hypocrite!"  She sat back down on the end of the sofa, crossed her arms, and stared at him.

He ran his hand through his hair, and, rather than sit too close to the enraged woman, took a seat in the chair across from her.  "Okay, I'm sorry.  I was really being rather unfair to you, and I didn't mean to be such a git.  I know you love me, and I love you too.  I just . . . I don't know--I hadn't ever thought how much it would hurt to hear you say that you had found someone else.  And I know, I know that it would have hurt you too, and I'm sorry for wanting to.  And I don't ever want you to feel like you have to be my girlfriend just because of what I did way back then.  I'm tired of people thinking they owe me something, and the thought that our relationship might be built on that was just . . . just devastating."

She sniffled a bit, and smiled slightly at him.  "I know that--I know how much you hate that, and I didn't really mean it.  I do love you, and it's not because you saved me.  You're a wonderful man, handsome and smart and just all-around fantastic."

He colored a bit at her words and waved his hand at her.  "Stop that--I'm trying to explain myself, and you will not distract me from that."  Receiving a nod from her, he continued.  "Yesterday, at lunch, this girl was sitting on my bench--you know, the one by the duck pond?"  She smiled, remembering the times they had sat there together on their infrequent lunchtime dates.  He continued, telling her all that had transpired during that lunch, and then what had happened earlier that day.  "And so, I started thinking about us.  What if we get married, and then find out that there are other people with whom we'd have been happier?  We'd be stuck, and regret our actions.  And that is something I really don't want for us.  I want, more than anything, for you to be happy.  And if this Quidditch Bloke can make you happier, then I want you to be with him, no matter what I feel."

She had always loved his caring attitude towards her.  Even before they had gotten to be friends, he had wanted her to be safe and happy--which had led directly to his saving her life--and she'd had ample examples of that same desire in her life since then, too.  It was bloody infuriating, at times, that he was so self-sacrificing--it was one of the reasons that she had been so loath to tell him about the man she'd met the previous night--she knew he'd give up their relationship immediately if he thought it was what she wanted.

"But," he continued, "I really don't want to lose you from my life.  Whether or not we stay together, you'll always be in my heart, and I couldn't stand not being able to come over for dinner, or watch a show together, or talk to you."

"I know, I don't want to lose you either, but. . .maybe we owe it to each other to take the opportunity to make sure of each other, yeah?  I mean, you can go talk to 'Bench Girl'," she smirked at the name he'd given the other woman, "and I can visit with 'Quidditch Bloke', and we can just, I don't know, test the waters or something."

He got up and sat down next to her.  "I do love you, you know?"  She nodded.  "But I agree, maybe this would be a good thing for us."  He tried to smile at her, to let her know he'd be okay, but for some reason he couldn't get his eyes to cooperate--they started watering as he thought about the fact that they really were breaking up.  He sniffed, trying to hold back the tears, and she let out a broken sob, and suddenly they were holding each other tightly, grasping as a drowning man to a life ring.  Her sobs turned into watery sniffles, and they sat for quite some time, comforting each other, and allowing themselves to gradually become accustomed to the idea of not being a couple anymore. 

Eventually they loosened their grip on each other and sat back.  Wiping his eyes, he looked into hers, and gave her a small smile.  "Well, I guess this is it, then.  We're not dating anymore."

She sniffed one last time, and put her hand on his.  "Yes, I suppose it is.  But please remember that I will always be your friend, no matter what.  And whatever else happens, there will always be someone in the world who loves you."  She smiled back at him, and he had to consciously resist the desire to lean forward and kiss her as he was so accustomed to doing.  Instead, he stood up, and pulled her up too.  Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close and just held her next to him.  She put her head on his shoulder, and they stood there, knowing that they were both starting into a brave new world, but comforted in the knowledge that they would each still be there for the other in whatever circumstances arose.

Finally, he backed up a bit, and pulled his arms back from her.  "So, I guess I'll head home now, shall I?" 

She nodded, and let go of him.  "Be safe, please--I don't want to lose you."

"I will, don't worry.  If the most evil Dark Lord in an eternity couldn't kill me, then I think I can make it home safely tonight."

She chuckled a bit, then stepped forward and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.  "Take care of yourself, and let me know how things work out with Bench Girl, okay?"

"All right, but only if you keep me in the loop about your dealings with Quidditch Bloke, okay?"

She smiled and nodded again.  "Well, good-bye then."

"Sweet dreams, my dear.  And good luck."  He opened the door and stepped through.  Turning to wave goodbye one last time, he, all of a sudden, threw the door open again and yelled, "No!  I can't go!"

Startled, she jumped a bit and looked at him.  "What's the matter?  Are you having second thoughts?"

"Oh, well, no, not really.  But, unless I'm mistaken, my wand is still in your kitchen." 

It wasn't really that funny, but they both needed the release, and broke up into gales of laughter.  Eventually, faces red and eyes watering once more, albeit for a happier reason, they both walked into the kitchen and found their wands, resting against the far wall, with little scorch marks showing where they had impacted with the linoleum.  "Guess I shouldn't have thrown them, eh?"

"No, but that was probably the best move at the time.  Now, get on home before I hex you on general principles--you've got a busy day tomorrow."

He gave her another hug, and walked out the door, closing it gently behind him.  As it latched, it was as if he were closing the door on his past, and opening a new one, with new possibilities.  He knew it wasn't as irrevocable as it sounded, but it still seemed rather symbolic to him, and he was grateful to have such a friend in his life, even if they decided against a romantic relationship.

oooooooooo

His dreams that night were a confusing melange.  First was his girlfriend--his ex-girlfriend, that is--yelling at him that he was an unfaithful boyfriend, and that she couldn't believe she'd liked him for so long, that he obviously wasn't who she had thought he was, and would he please take the green shoelaces off the lamp?  Then Bench Girl made an appearance, dressed in a light summer dress, with sandals on her feet and a wide-brimmed straw hat.  In his dream, she sat down on his lap, put her arms around his neck, and confessed to having watched him for his entire life, via a small mirror with the imprint of a French horn on it.  Then she kissed him, and slipped a purple ring on his finger and proposed.  He woke up at that point, to find himself desperately hugging his pillow.  Flushing, and eternally grateful that he wasn't back at Hogwarts, rooming with the other boys of his year, and running the risk of having his best mate catch him snogging a pillow, he donned his glasses and walked to the kitchen for a glass of water.  Sitting at the table, and sipping the cool liquid, he was finally able to calm his racing heart.

"Don't be an idiot," he told himself firmly.  "You don't know that she's even going to want to date you more than once.  And now you're dreaming about marriage?  Isn't that kind of jumping the gun?"  But he couldn't deny that a part of him yearned for it to really be that easy.  In his daydreams of the girl, he could see himself in that same scene, although he wanted to do the proposing himself, and hopefully with a classier ring than the purple plastic monstrosity his subconscious had dredged up.  After quite a while, he realized that being awake certainly didn't seem to keep his mind from replaying images from their brief times together.  What was worse, it was supplying new scenarios in which he chatted with her about the weather, then suavely announced that he was free to go out and would she like to go to dinner with him that evening?  He envisioned an entire evening where he impressed her with his witty banter, and, upon taking her home, she begged to be able to see him again.  Surprising both of them, he knelt down in front of her, and asked her to be his wife. Shaking his head to clear the miasma of daydreams mixed with his previous dreams, he dragged himself back to his bed, resigned to just trying to make it through the night, hopefully with enough sleep to at least be coherent the next morning.  His final thought, as he fell asleep again, was a hope that the dreams would be more of the Bench Girl type than the jilted ex-girlfriend type.

oooooooooo

He slept through his alarm the next morning, and barely made it to the training facility before Concealment and Stealth class started.  Knowing that he'd never be able to focus, he announced, "Okay, class, today we're going to do a practical."  All the recruits cheered at this; it was much better than listening to lectures all morning.  "I'll send you into the Environment Room and give you ten minutes to hide yourselves as best you can.  Then I'll sneak in, and try to find you.  If you manage to capture me, then you get the afternoon off.  Each of you that I manage to capture will have to write three rolls of parchment on why they were captured.  If it's a draw, then one roll of parchment on why you think you couldn't find me, but you get an extra hour for lunch."

The cheering that arose from this announcement was deafening, and the room cleared out almost instantly.  He sat back and set his watch alarm to warn him when the 10-minute period had expired.  While waiting, he let his mind drift to the upcoming lunch-time, when he'd have the opportunity to see Bench Girl once again.  Lost in reverie, he just about fell out of his chair when his watch started to beep.  Cursing his lack of attention, and unutterably grateful that the Dark Lord had been vanquished, along with the Death Eaters, since he certainly wasn't up to noticing the approach of any enemies, he jumped to his feet and marched down to the Environment Room.  As he put his hand on the doorknob, however, he was hit with an epiphany.  Smirking to himself at the idea, and only feeling slightly guilty at the inadvertent lie he'd told his class, he disillusioned himself, slowly opened the door, and then closed it again.  Canceling the disillusionment, he then walked back to his office, where he locked the door, laid down on the floor, after casting a cushioning charm, of course, and took a nap.

oooooooooo

The park had never looked brighter to him, as he walked down the gravel-lined path to the duck pond.  He had made a point, this time, to bring a lunch, and had even packed extra, just in case the opportunity came up to offer something to the girl. 

Upon arriving at the normal location of the duck pond, he found, not a peaceful, serene scene, but rather a screaming, chaotic mess.  Children were running everywhere, frantic mothers trailing in their wakes.  Kites were swooping overhead, occasionally taking a dive and, as often as not, scaring the pants off one of the smaller kids, necessitating a hug from whatever harried woman belonged to it.  The ducks were in heaven, quacking almost loudly enough to drown out the mothers' yells. 

"What in Merlin's name is going on?" he muttered under his breath.  This had never happened before, that he could recall.  Was there some sort of neighborhood rally? Or perhaps a school nearby had all of a sudden decided that all of its children needed to be escorted to the park at once?  Or perhaps some company was offering free somethings to the first five thousand screaming maniacs to show up?  All of these seemed like plausible explanations, but none of them made him any happier at the imminent destruction of his envisioned reunion with Bench Girl.

Loath to enter the maelstrom, he just stood at the outskirts and watched, occasionally stepping aside as a screaming child made to run past him, and ignoring the accusatory glares of the mothers.  Normally, he would have gladly helped corral the children, or at least turn them around, but his mind was caught up in his situation, and he couldn't take time away from it.  Realizing that there was no way he'd be able to see her from where he was standing, he started walking around the pond to where she had indicated would be her lunch spot.  Arriving in the general vicinity, he was dismayed to see that the children-per-square-foot ratio was even higher over here.  "How am I even going to find her?  Let alone talk to her?" he said to himself, in what he thought was a rather quiet voice.

"Who are you looking for?" came a voice from behind him--a voice that made his heart jump.  He spun around, and there she was--standing a few feet away from him, wearing a light summer dress and a large floppy hat, and, most importantly, a smile. 

He couldn't stop the answering smile that sprang, fully-formed, onto his face.  Neither could he stop himself from stepping forward and putting his hand on her shoulder.  "Hi!" he just about yelled at her.  "I don't know how we are going to be able to talk with all this. . . this. . ."  He gestured back behind himself, indicating the war zone he had just been contemplating.

"Ruckus?" she offered.  "Or maybe, brouhaha?  I know, it's a fracas!  Which is a word I've always loved."

He couldn't help but be captivated by her easy good humor, and found himself moving even closer to her.  She looked up at him, with a smile, and a question in her eyes.  Dropping his lunch, which would prove a problem later as his pudding cup broke open and contaminated his ham and cheese sandwich, he reached forward and put his hand on her cheek.  Her smile grew even wider at that, and, encouraged by that, he reached up and took off her hat, letting her hair fall down around her shoulders.  Stepping closer still, he leaned down, tilted his head to the side, and kissed her.

The fracas seemed to disappear into the background, as his mind and soul were caught up in the kiss, and that same shivery feeling, although magnified greatly, raced to his heart.  He was no stranger to kisses--he and his now ex-girlfriend had practiced quite a lot in their years together--but this one was special.  Past kisses had always been nice, and sweet, and welcoming, and warm.  But this one--this one was sparks and flames.  It was passionate, and it was--over.  She stepped back from him abruptly and shuddered.

"What do you think you're doing?"  she said, although a tremor in her voice indicated that she wasn't really asking that. 

He chose to answer the unspoken question.  "We talked last night, and found that we were both thinking of exploring beyond the safe bounds of our relationship.  Apparently she met someone the same day I met you--some big Quidditch player.  So, we decided that we'd take a break from each other, and see what happened."

"So, you're free, then?"  She looked serious, as if trying very hard to get the rules set in her mind, and making sure that they were followed exactly.  "Free to go out with other girls?  Free to," she blushed, "kiss me like that?"

"I wouldn't have done it if I weren't.  But, maybe, you think we should get to know each other before kissing again?"  Now that they were discussing their possible future, he was a little bit shocked at how forward he had been.  Hopefully it didn't put her off--she didn't seem to be offended, but he should probably have taken it a lot slower.

She pondered that for a bit.  He could see emotions crossing her face, but didn't know her well enough to be able to decipher them.

"I think," she finally said, "that we need to see if that kiss was a fluke."  She reached up, took his face in her hands, and pulled him down for another emphatic kiss.  If he thought the previous one was good, this one was electrifying.  His whole body resonated with the feel of her lips on his, and he found himself forgetting everything--his name, his scar, his (ex-)girlfriend.  She whimpered a bit when he finally pulled away, and he found himself wondering what other wonderful sounds she could make.

Afterward, he decided that it was a lack of oxygen in his brain that made him do what he did next.  Taking her hands in his, he looked down into her eyes, noting absently that they seemed somewhat glazed, and said, "Will you marry me?"

Afterward, she decided that it was a lack of oxygen in her brain that made her answer, "Yes".

"Really?  I mean, um, I didn't really mean to propose to you--it's just that, I don't know, I have been thinking about you ever since I first met you, and I can't stop imagining a life with you, and a house in the country, and children.  I mean, I feel something with you, a connection, that makes me think we'd be perfect together.  In the few days since we met, I've been happier than I've ever been before, and it must be you, and--" he noticed the shell-shocked look on her face "--I've probably scared you off, haven't I?  You don't have to follow through with it--I kind of tricked you into it and you probably will never want to talk to me again and--"

She stopped him by the simple expedient of dragging his head down for another kiss.  Several heart-stopping minutes later, she let him back up.

"I know what you meant, and I meant what I said.  I've watched you for quite some time now, and I've talked with you, and something inside me feels right when you're near me, and not-right when you're not.  If you're willing to marry a girl whom you've only known for a couple of days, then I'm willing to take a chance on a boy that I've been watching for a couple of weeks, although we should probably have a rather long engagement, so we can get to know each other.  But, I do foresee one problem that we should address right now."

His smile slipped off his face.  "What's that?  You're not, like, too young, or infertile--" he blushed at saying this, "--or have a bunch of brothers that would beat me up, right?"

She giggled at this, but he found that he didn't mind.  "I'm not too young, that's for sure.  I don't have any idea whether I'm fertile or not, although I probably am.  And I can handle any familial threats that might come your way.  No, the problem is that I don't know what to tell people when they ask what my married name will be." 

He was shocked--in all this time, which was only two days in reality, they had never exchanged names.  He wasn't one to give out his name easily, since it usually caused fawning and autographs and pictures.  And he hadn't thought to ask what hers was--they had just kind of slipped into an easy friendship without going through the mundanities of introductions.

"Well, we should probably take care of that, don't you think?  My name is Harry, Harry Potter."  He cringed, waiting for the typical squealing and jumping up and down, or worse, the awestruck eyes.

"Ah, I wondered--you look like what I imagined him to be," she said, matter-of-factly.  She affected a posh, upper-crust accent and said, "It's very nice to make your acquaintance, Mister Potter."

Happy that she wasn't one of the typical adoring masses, he reached down to pick up the hat that had fallen to the ground somewhere between their first and second kisses.  "And may I know the name of my fiancée, if you would be so kind?"

She took the hat from him and settled it squarely on her brilliant, fiery mane of red hair.  Looking up at him with beautiful, chocolate-brown eyes full of happiness, she said, "My name is Ginny Weasley."

oooooooooo

A/N:
1) My beta, rosiekatriona, who is also my beautiful and talented wife, wanted me to tell you all that she refused to read this story until I told her how it would end.  Her beginning mark-ups on the rough draft were less than complimentary, to say the least.  But now it ranks as one of her favorites of all that I've written.

2) There will be an epilogue, in case you care.

3) Please, please, please review--I'd like to know how I did, and what your feelings were as you read it.  Thanks!
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