Hermione rolled her eyes but saw what he was getting at.
"If all this had only come up four or five years from now-," he said, looking like the option would've suited him better than having to talk about this now. "-Then you might be in a position where trying to pursue anything really would put your established friendship in jeopardy, or worse."
"How could it be worse than losing H- my friend?" Hermione quickly corrected herself.
"He could end up valuing the friendship you've built up over the years too much to put it at risk by changing it, or worse start thinking of you as some sort of sister," he said derisively. "If either one of those happen you're stuck. If you stop being his friend because of it you look shallow, and if you stick around you'll have to watch as he starts going out with every other girl but you."
"So you're saying that I should just ask him out," Hermione said for him.
"No," her father said dramatically holding up his hands to ward off the very idea. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no . And once again, no. You'll never hear a father say that his twelve year old daughter should be dating," he said aghast at the very idea, his eyes a little bugged out.
"I'm just saying you could - get to know the boy a bit better. On a, er - a bit of a - um, a more personal level?" her father tried to uncomfortably clarify as he hunted around for the right words to say.
"I'm not saying date," he stated as he continued. "You won't ever hear me say date. Just-," he gestured with his hands as if their flapping could somehow make all other forms of communication unnecessary. "-Just talk like this. Just share with him all of this more personal stuff you don't share with anyone else, and get him to do the same. And maybe, if you both see something there worth building on… then, in ten years, you could maybe possibly someday think about considering the option of going on one of those 'D'-word-things at some point down the line," he finished rather green around the gills.
Hermione could see the logic in what he said, though the 'ten years' comment was patently ridiculous. 'Third Years are allowed visits to Hogsmeade,' Hermione reminded herself. 'And Hogwarts, a History does say it's become a traditional destination for many first dates .' With a rudimentary plan in mind, she decided that what her father doesn't know won't hurt him, or cause him to look sick and wave his arms about hopelessly.
"And how exactly am I supposed to get him to talk?" she asked. "He's always come across as a much more private person, unless it's about Quidditch and then it's not about him at all."
"Well, you could always talk to him about that," her father said with a grin.
Hermione didn't look convinced.
"Hey, if a girl comes off as a sports fan she's liable to get snapped up pretty quick. I've seen it happen."
"Everyone there is a sports fan," Hermione explained. "They really don't have anything else to do except for a few silly games and 'pulling pranks'."
Her father didn't say anything for a while after that. It was his way of drawing out whatever else might be hiding under the surface. It used to work all the time when she was little but if he thought she'd say something just to fill the empty silence then he was sadly mistaken.
"It is exciting to watch him play," she admitted finally.
Her father smiled and poked her side. She tried not to blush, knowing it was painfully obvious to both of them the last word was only tacked on for decorum.
"If he's honestly looking for a Quidditch witch-," Hermione said, trying to regain her equilibrium, "-they're not hard to find. Half the team is female."
"And what do you think about that?" he asked with another poke.
"I know he'll have other interests besides me," Hermione said with a look. "I don't expect him to hang out in the Library all the time; he's not that much of a studier. And I know he wouldn't expect me to go to every Quidditch practice and swoon if he let me wear his old jersey," she said derisively. If someone swooned around Harry he'd be more likely to think they were sick.
"You know, you're not supposed to be this mature at twelve," her father said.
"And you're supposed to be more mature than you are at forty," Hermione countered.
"It's forty-one," he said levelly. "But I'm a guy," he said with a grin. "We're never more mature than we have to be. You'll want to remember that."
Hermione sighed and shook her head. She sincerely hoped being more Granger didn't lead to her being such a daft dimbo like her father.
"Well then, little miss maturity," her father said as he got up and walked to her desk. "You should have no problem doing what comes next."
She watched in horror as he pulled out a clean piece of parchment and readied her quill and ink. 'Uh oh,' Hermione thought as she briefly considered fleeing to the safety of the public library. She had to discard the idea when she found that her feet wouldn't move. This was the problem with having her father be the person she always talked to; he always made her made her deal with the real issue involved and then made her follow through with things when the solution was obvious.
She walked over with leaden feet like a convict to the electric chair.
He patted her on the head as she took her seat and left her with one last bit of advice.
"Embrace your inner Granger," her father said sagely. "Write to him and tell him all the stuff you haven't been telling me; and without planning everything out like a Puckle. I think you'll be surprised at the response."
'Gryffindors are supposed to be brave,' Hermione reminded herself. Why couldn't she have just let the Sorting Hat put her in Ravenclaw instead? 'Because you're intelligent, not flighty, ' she reminded herself as she recalled her run-in with some giggly older Ravenclaw girls while looking for Neville's toad on the train.
"Oh, and in case you forgot," her father said with only his head still poking around the door. "The boy you like is named Harry. For some reason it just keeps getting stuck on your tongue," he said with an odd look on his face. "You might want to practice saying it out loud. Toodle-oo," he left with a smile and bright popping eyes.
She'd been caught, though given the fact she had written home naming only two people as friends the deduction wasn't a hard one to make. She had tried so hard not to say his name during this only to blow it by saying Ron's. The last time she'd started to say the other out loud - well, in this context anyway - she'd jinxed the whole thing and it had been the most painfully awkward moment of her life! How were you supposed to say, "Sorry, Ron. Thanks for saying you like me too, but it wasn't you I was talking about, " and have it not be awkward for everyone?
.....
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