A Hospitalic Romance

It was one thing, Harry decided, to say that one wished to become involved with a girl during an intellectual discussion with ones friends. When faced with the prospect of actually doing it, it became an entirely different story.

For example, there was the matter of how to go about it. Since he had been technically "going out" with her for nearly two months now, he thought it might not be a good idea to say something along the lines of "would you like to go on a date with me?" She had already answered that question; many times, in fact.

On the other hand, he couldn't just assume that she would go. It would be arrogant and insulting, and anyway, this was a different story than all those public events; this was an honest-to-God date. It held major ramifications.

Eventually, Ron got on his case to "just owl the lady; if she's as smart and pretty as everyone says she is, she's probably just been waiting for you to wise up."

Harry was surprised to find that his had was actually shaking when he started to write. He put the quill down for a moment, took a deep breath, and picked it up again. "Dear Gabrielle," he wrote, "Would you like to go to dinner with me Friday night? If so, owl me back the time and place. Eagerly awaiting your response, Harry Potter."

He almost didn't send it.

*******

Gabrielle had a routine since Harry had left. Get breakfast, get mail, deal with anything in the post, and then go in to work. Work until lunch, grab a quick bite, work until tea, go home. Get ready for any parties she had been asked to, or if she hadn't been asked, read quietly.

Simple, really.

Except for what came in the owl post that morning.

Harry wanted to go to dinner with her? Not that unusual, really, but usually, that was a big event, and he said so in his invitation. This seemed to indicate a private event. She checked the calendar just to be sure: nothing.

He wanted to go to dinner with her.

A date. It took a moment to sink in.

Wheeeeeeeeeee!!!!

*******

"Dear Harry,

If possible, could you be at my house at 6:30? I would rather eat at home, and avoid the huge crowds that will be at any restaurants. I am not so bad a cook!

Yours,

Gabrielle

*******

At her house? That was a little more private than Harry had thought to have, but if she wanted to eat in, he certainly wasn't going to object! There was only one problem...

"Dear Gabrielle,

I would be happy to stay at your place, but I will need directions.

Love,

Harry

*******

Happy? To stay? Gabrielle wondered if he was aware of what he was implying. Probably not, she decided. He seemed like such an innocent...

Still... it was now her job to make him aware of those implications! Now, what to wear...

Gabrielle stopped her headlong dash to her wardrobe to peak at the note again. His closing remark... She wasn't sure it that was equal to or past "Eagerly awaiting your response," but she felt it was a rather nice thing to say anyway.

The blue? Or the pink? No, wait he had seen the pink. What about...

It was going to be a long time until Friday evening.

*******

It was, in fact. Quite a long time. Her usual light-speed paperwork at the hospital seemed sluggish at the high point of the week, and from there it went rapidly downhill to "convoluted, outmoded, annoying, tedious heeps of pressed pulp of trees that never needed to die in the first place." (All government offices, businesses, and other large institutions in the wizarding world used paper nowadays; it was one of the things that Harry had commented on.) And that was another problem, and this was not new, either! Everything was suddenly measured in "Harry had said"s... as if she had no life of her own! Even within her own mind! Unacceptable! What was that man doing to her? That darling, adorable, brave, intelligent... Gabrielle caught the direction her thoughts were tending and struggled valiently to pull them away... STUBBORN man!

She had to find something to do; it was only Thursday.

She did find something to do. It turned out that her superior in the office had, after his numerous attempts to develop a cure for magical conduit stress in those who were coming back to magic use after a bit of time off, had been deemed incompetant for the task. It was the first to be delegated to her in a string-the tip of the iceberg, she thought perhaps the phrase went. As of Thursday, at 3:54 in the afternoon, she was officially in training for her boss' position.

She thought it was not the best of signs that her first thought upon hearing this was, "well, that's something I can tell Harry!"

It took her a while to find a possible solution to her obcession-and it was an obcession. She had felt the same way after the lake, at Hogwarts. At the time she had wondered if perhaps there were something in the water; now she thought it was something else.

At any rate, her solution, as had been her solution then, was to ask her worldly-wise sister for advice.

Gabrielle was absolutely stunned to find out that Fleur had no advice for her. "I have never been in love," she said, "I do not know what it is like. I do know that if it is love, this obsession, I am glad I have not been in it."

Gabrielle had not found this flattering, and her emergency cross-country Floo to Fleur had very nearly cut off at that point. Fleur continued, though, speaking with wide eyes to try to keep her sister on the line.

"I think, however, that if you are in love, you should be glad of it. I think you should also bear in mind that Harry has not realized, or been brave enough to ask you to date, in six months. He has defeated the Dark Lord; we know that he is brave. Therefore, he did not realize that he wanted you truly as a partner. This says both that he is very stupid and very strong."

Gabrielle was still not feeling particularly flattered, but had to admit that her sister had a point. A smarter man would have realized immediately what was up, and probably tried to get Gabrielle into bed long before that. (Several smarted men, in fact, had tried this very thing, and Gabrielle suspected that had Harry been in this sort of "smarter" variety, she would not have had anything to do with him.) And a weaker man would have succumbed to the veela charm she had been liberally dosing him with on their public dates...

She wondered if he even knew what the veela charm was. It wasn't a classical charm, in the sence of magic, and it also wasn't the sort of charm that gets normal women dates-instead, it was combination of both. It also never went off. Even when a veela is trying her very best to repell men, she was forced to be charming, polite, and attractive. This was one reason that she so often was harassed, and why she preferred the seclusive life her work had offered... at least until Harry.

It was also the reason that her sisters had never had to struggle for jobs or money, or even food. They were automatically charming; it was not something that they could help. They were simply taking advantage of it.

When the veela charm is turned all the way on, there is no resisting it. There is simply no way to back away from a veela woman who is using it-CŽcile had, at one point, walked into a convent in what was commonly considered the holiest village in France, turned it on, and was immediately swarmed by over twenty affectionate nuns. This was one reason that CŽcile and Gabrielle did not speak anymore; there are some things one simply does not do.

Naturally, Gabrielle had not attempted a similar feat herself-in fact, she had never once attempted to turn on her charm at all in public since her graduation from Beauxbatons. It was one of the things that Fleur said "endeared her the most".

She had, however, turned it on in Harry's flat, once, while dropping him off. Not much, but he should have tried to at least kiss her; even the shyest of men would have done that.

Harry had not even looked at her for several moments. When he had, it was completely friendly.

She turned it up, and leaned forward in an invitation readable even when displayed by a muggle.

He had smiled, and asked if he could get her anything to drink.

He should have had her on the floor.

So, having determined that the veela charm did not work on him, she found herself increasingly nervous about the coming evening at her house.

*******

Harry arrived at her house precisely on time, by his watch, which was three minutes late, but oh well. It was close enough. He knocked on the door while tormenting himself with visions of some complete stranger opening the door and asking did he mind explaining what he was doing here?

Then he tormented himself with visions of it being Thursday. It was Friday, wasn't it?

Then he tormented himself with visions of Gabrielle in a sparkly, sea-grean strapless shirt and distractingly short shorts in a lovely light blue that clung to her in a way that could not, should not, and maybe even was not legal, leaning against the doorjam and asking him if he wanted to come in in a low, husky voice that sent shivers down his spine and oh God she looked good and smelled good and he thought he might be drowning in just the sight of her hair and...

Harry firmly took ahold of himself and walked, hopefully calmly-looking, into her apartment.

It was small in floor-space, but there weren't many walls, so it seemed quite large. The main kitchen area was on his left as he walked in, with a tiled floor and a table set for two in the middle of it. In the distant corner, there was a desk, several file-folders, a model of the human arm, and other, obviously work-related items. Between the two was more tiled space, obviously a laboratory. Next to him was a closet, and he was walking directly into a grouping of chairs and tables that obviously was meant to be a relaxation area. In the far corner was a door, and right next to the door, in plain sight, was the bed.

Not exactly what Harry had thought to see when he opened the door, but he didn't think it was meant to be an invitation-surely she hadn't moved her bed for his visit, after all! He decided to ignore it.

He turned to her, and shrugged his shoulders inside his coat-they had told him that if he dared to walk outside without both a coat and a full waterbottle before July they would take his head off with rusty scalpels, at his PT sessions-and said, "Well, I'm here."