The knock on his door at half-ten isn’t very surprising. It’s Friday night, after all, and this has become an unfortunate routine during the last five weeks. Percy sighs as he stands up, rubbing the bridge of his nose before sliding his spectacles back into place. When he opens the door, Hermione’s standing there. She looks breathtaking, her dress a lovely shade of blue and a material that just glides across her curves in a way that makes his fingers itch to touch. Of course, he isn’t allowed that privilege, so he just curls them into his palms as he gives her a friendly smile.
“I assume this means your date didn’t go well?” he asks, opening his door wider as she steps into his flat. He steps over the heeled shoes she’s just kicked off, watching her shoulders slouch as she sits on the sofa. One of those nights then. He goes to his liquor cabinet and gets out a bottle of Scotch, pouring some into a glass that he takes to her.
“Thank you, Percy,” she murmurs, taking the glass and sipping it. “And, to answer your question, no, it most certainly did not go well. Ernie Macmillan is an uptight prat with a stick lodged firmly up his bum.”
Percy feels his lips twitching, so he turns before she can see him smiling at her description of Macmillan. “Yes, well, there are plenty of people who would say the same about us,” he reminds her. He gets a bag of crisps out of the cabinet that he has just for her and allows his elation at another bad date to rush through him while he’s out of her sight. When he goes back to her, he has his face properly schooled into a commiserating expression that is befitting a friend who has only platonic interest in her.
“They would be wrong about us, obviously,” she says, taking the bag from him and opening it. “They would not be wrong about Macmillan, however.” She tosses a crisp into her mouth, crunching it as she tucks her feet under her leg. He can see that she’s wearing polish on her toenails, the red vibrant beneath the black stockings.
“Obviously,” he agrees. It’s been a little over three years (three years, four months, and sixteen days, not that he’s counting) since she finished her final year at Hogwarts and joined the Ministry. His position has allowed him the opportunity to work closely with her on various projects, and their unlikely friendship has blossomed in that time. They’ve become quite close, actually, and it’s rather frustrating that his feelings have developed into something more amorous because she sees him as nothing more than her first boyfriend’s uptight older brother.
“Percy, I’ve been speaking for the last two minutes, and you haven’t been listening,” she says, staring at him above the rim of her glass. “What were you thinking about so intently?”
“Apologies. I was thinking about Macmillan,” he lies, feeling warmth in the tip of his ears as he ducks his head. How embarrassing. Even worse, she’s got that suspicious look on her face, which means she doesn’t believe it. He clears his throat and meets her gaze steadily. “It’s unfortunate that your date did not go well. What was wrong with him besides sticks lodged in inappropriate places?”
“Is it?” she asks, drawling the words and studying him before she reaches for another crisp. After swallowing the crisp, she licks salt off her lips, not that he watches her tongue drag across her mouth. She snorts before finishing her Scotch. “He spent the evening describing the ways in which we were compatible, showing me a list of the arithmatic calculations regarding our hypothetical children’s intellectual capability. He has determined that our genetics will produce genius level intelligence as well as highly probable magical ability.”
Percy blinks at her. “He actually showed you a list?” Macmillan is a fool if that’s the approach he took. Besides the fact that proposed children have no sway over a woman who is focused on her career until she turns twenty-seven, at which time she intends to consider motherhood, there is no way that Hermione’s going to appreciate calculations being the reason she’s been asked for a date.
“Before I set it on fire,” she tells him, smirking slightly as she leans forward to put her glass on the table. “That ended the date rather quickly, I’m afraid. It could only have gone better if his fingers had been burned just enough to teach him a lesson.”
“You don’t mean that,” he says, rolling his eyes. She crunches another crisp, and he offers a reassuring smile. “It might not have gone well this time, but perhaps the next one will go better.”
“This time? It’s the ninth bad date I’ve had since I decided I was stable enough professionally to pursue a personal relationship.” Hermione reaches up and pulls pins out of her hair, using her fingers to brush it out into wild curls that have his fingers itching again.
“I’m fully aware.” Nine dates that have gone terribly with her seeking solace and comfort from him after each one. It’s becoming draining, emotionally taking its toll, but he isn’t going to refuse her when they’re such good friends. It isn’t her fault that she doesn’t reciprocate his feelings, after all. “Do you have your next candidate in mind yet?”
“I’m fully aware,” she repeats in a pompous tone that makes him narrow his eyes at her. “No, I don’t have a candidate in mind. The one I’d choose isn’t available, so it’s little surprise that the replacements are merely weak imitations.”
“Ron?” He winces when he realizes he’s actually spoken. Reaching up to pull his spectacles off, he wipes the lenses with the hem of his shirt, needing something to occupy his hands. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“It hasn’t been Ron since I was eighteen, and we made a good effort before we realized it wasn’t for us,” she says quietly. He tenses when her fingers wrap around his wrist, stopping him from cleaning his spectacles. There are crisp crumbs and grease now rubbing against skin, and he looks up at her curiously. “You know, I think Macmillan has made me realize what a farce this dating thing has become.”
“Farce?” He clears his throat when he hears how rough his voice sounds. “Trying to find someone to love isn’t a pointless endeavor, Hermione. You can’t just give up.”
“Why not, Percy? You’ve given up.” She tilts her chin up in a defiant way that makes him want to kiss the scowl off her lips. “I’m not brainless, you know? I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. I’ve noticed the way you react to me. I might have taken time to become aware of it, but I did.”
Horrified and more than slightly humiliated, he jerks his arm away from her and stands up, pushing her back so he can get away. “Do you find it funny then to come here and parade your dates before me? Am I a joke?” He crosses his arms and stares at her. “I thought we were friends.”
“What?” She stands up and stalks towards him, poking her finger against his chest. “You stupid man! I noticed you looking because I was looking. Are you so bloody ignorant that you can’t see what’s right in front of you? I started dating because I hoped it might indicate to you that I was interested.”
Percy can feel the muscle in his cheek starting to twitch as she pokes him. “You call me stupid when you’re a bloody fool?” he asks, gripping her hand and twisting her arm so she stops poking at him. “How am I supposed to know that you dating other blokes is a sign that you’re interested in me?”
Suddenly, he blinks down at her. Had she really said she’s been looking at him and has been waiting on him to realize she was interested in him? He reaches up to push his spectacles up only to realize he’s not wearing them. When he focuses on her face, there’s an affectionate smile on her lips. “You really had no idea, did you?” She reaches up to touch his jaw, grease now on his skin from the messy crisps she loves so much. “Oh, Percy. You silly, silly boy.”
“If you think so poorly of my intelligence, I suppose Macmillan’s genetic equations would mean we’re not intellectually balanced,” he says, moving his head slightly so that she’s cupping his face. His eyes flutter at the feel of her warm skin pressed against his, just enjoying her caress until he realizes he’s drifted off topic. He slowly smiles. “If you’re certain that intellectual genetics aren’t a concern, I’d like to make a suggestion regarding a candidate for your next date.”
Her lips quirk into a wider smile. “Really? I suppose I can handle dating someone intellectually inferior, but I’d require a toe curling kiss to ensure we’re compatible in at least some way.”
“Really, Hermione? You’re downright cheeky,” he murmurs, feigning surprise. His pulse is racing, and he can’t recall feeling this hopeful and happy in quite a long time. He looks down at her. “You don’t even know who I plan to suggest.”
“If you don’t kiss me soon, Percy Weasley, I swear that I’m going to hex your bollocks---“ Her threat is halted by his mouth. Their noses bump, teeth scraping, but he adjusts his position, and they’re soon kissing more thoroughly. He pulls her close as they kiss, reaching down to squeeze her arse as he deepens the kiss.
She’s not the only one who can be cheeky, after all.
End
Another Bad Date
Story Notes:
11/22/14