Harry Potter--American Style!

<<*>> Harry Potter-- American Style ! <<*>>

"I cannot believe this."

"What?"

"That she's leaving in a week."

"What do you mean?"

"She leaving to go to this--this thick-headed nitwit in France."

"How do you know he's a nitwit?"

"I don't know. I just do."

"Is it maybe because you--"

"--No! Where did you ever get an idea like that?"

"Because it's so obvious, Harry!"

"Yeah, right ."

Ron was jogging to keep up with Harry's quick pace as they walked down a crowded street. Ron was panting with difficulty; he kept bumping into people as he sprinted sideways, trying to knock some sense into his best friend. Pretty soon, Harry was walking alone--Ron was knocked onto the cement by a reckless skateboarder, bringing him down as well. But, he didn't notice. He was too lost in his thoughts about Hermione going to France after she met him in the library. Apparently they both reached for the same copy of About A Boy . Harry snorted. What was a guy doing reaching for a book like that? Anyways, he's a foreign exchange student from Paris, of course, and returned there over the summer.

A sudden gasping noise made him spin around. It was Ron, limping over to Harry.

"What happened?" he asked, slightly amused.

"Stupid skateboarder ran over my toe and knocked me down. And what happened to you?" Ron asked indignantly.

"What do you mean?"

"You could've helped me take him down!"

Harry peered over his shoulder and above many heads, he could see a figure in baggy clothes and a backwards cap brandishing a fist at them. His skateboard was scratched a little dented.

"A kid. You wanted me to help you beat up a kid?" he laughed. "Beat 'em up yourself!"

Ron glared at him furiously, ears turning red, but remained silent.

They continued to walk--well, Harry walked, Ron limped, muttering things under his breath.

"So where are we going anyway?"

"Central Park."

"WHY? You remember what happened last time we went there! Don't you remember all of those birds? It was practically raining! And the SUN was out!"

Harry stared at Ron and smiled after a while. "You don't have to worry about the pigeons. Just stand under the umbrella attached to that guy's stand." He happily pointed to a cart in the distance.

His best friend stopped in his tracks. "A hotdog stand," Ron said unenthusiastically.

Harry strolled into the park, while Ron dragged himself over to the hotdog stand. He wasn't going to risk coming out in the middle of the park. Not when he had just showered and a flock of pigeons were waddling around. The vendor eyed him suspiciously as if he was going to take a hot wiener and run. But the guy refused to scoot over when Ron ducked under the umbrella.

Meanwhile, Harry jogged over to a bench where Hermione sat, waiting for him. He frowned a little when he saw her clutching About A Boy in her hands.

"You're still reading that?" he asked sheepishly.

"What? It's a great book!" she said stubbornly. "But, I have to return it. I'm hoping I can re-check it though!"

"For goodness sake, Hermione, you've been checking it out over and over since you ever met that Jacques guy. Let someone else have a chance to read it!" Harry said exasperatedly.

"For your information, this book happens to be the best book I've ever read!"

He sighed. "What about your old pal, Hogwarts: A History ?"

" That book was just full of information ! This book is filled with humor and insight and love !"

"Whatever you say, Hermione," he said sarcastically.

Harry had meant it in a harmless and sarcastic way, but Hermione looked as if she had been slapped in the face.

"Oh really? Why don't you read it for a change then? You said to let someone else read it!" she said furiously, pressing the book into his hands. Harry was surprised at what she had just done.

"Hermione, you know that I do not read," he sputtered.

"You're just afraid that this book might actually be a good book!" Hermione spat.

"Fine then! I'll read it."

Across, way across, Ron loitered under the colorful umbrella, watching his two best friends bickering.

"Are you even considering buying a hotdog?" the vendor asked impatiently.

"No," said Ron distractedly.

"Go ahead! And you'd better be finished with it when I get back from Paris!" Hermione half-shouted. She stood up angrily, gathering her things.

Tired of having to bump into Ron every time he reached for a dog, the vendor handed him one of his specialty hotdogs and said, "Here. You've got your dog. Now scram."

Ron took it, but didn't leave. He munched on it absentmindedly, still watching Harry and Hermione's row. Frustrated, the hotdog guy moved his cart away from Ron, leaving him unprotected from the pigeons' fire. It took about five minutes for him to realize where his shelter had gone.

"HEY! WAIT UP!"

"Don't worry, 'cause I will! I'll finish it before you even leave!" Harry yelled also getting up, startling the innocent bystanders.

They both stormed off in opposite directions: Hermione to a café and Harry in search of the hotdog where his best friend was supposedly supposed to be waiting for him.

"Where is he?" Harry muttered to himself, turning around to look for that elusive hotdog stand and the flaming red hair. He was just about to move when a liquid something splattered his hair.

"Ugh!" he groaned, trying to take out the white sticky substance from his dark hair. He looked up just in time to see a small pigeon cooing almost maliciously at him. He cursed softly at it under his breath until--

"OY! WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT THOSE PIGEONS, EH?"

Harry spun around and saw Ron calling to him down the street and the vendor, now reaching his breaking point, trying to silence him so he wouldn't scare away any potential customers. Harry jogged up to them and panted, "You weren't kidding."

"Gerroff me already! I stopped shouting!" his muffled voice said. The vendor looked as if he were trying to strangle him at first, but instead he had his hand cupped over Ron's mouth.

"We're just gonna be on our way now," Harry said clearly so that the guy wouldn't miss a word. And slowly, he released a very disgruntled Ron and pushed his cart far away from them into the middle of the park.

"I see that your meeting didn't go too well," Ron said quietly.

"No. She's assigned me a book to read."

"Geez. Maybe she and Jacques should be together. Birds of a feather--"

"Oh, shut up."

"Are you sure that you don't--you know."

"What in the world are you talking about?"

Ron opened his mouth to answer, but Harry interrupted. "Never mind that. I don't want to know."

"Fine then," Ron snapped.

They marched up flights of stairs and stopped in front of a door.

"Do you have the key?" Ron asked Harry, who was searching his pockets.

"I dunno. Don't you have it?"

It was Ron's turn to empty his pockets. "I don't have it. I thought you did."

"Not me! I gave it to you!"

"No, you didn't!"

"Yes, I did! Wait."

"What?"

"Hello? Our wands, the Alohomora spell! We're adult wizards--we can use magic now."

"Oh yeah! I forgot about that!"

"Yeah, that and that sock static clinged to your pants."

"WHAT?"

"The sock." Harry pulled a sock from one of Ron's pant legs.

"You could've told me about it earlier," he said through gritted teeth.

"Oh well. What's done is done. Alohomora !"

Carefully avoiding Ron's eyes, he stepped into their spacious apartment. Harry flopped down onto the couch, About A Boy propped on his chest.

"You're not seriously going to read that, are you, Harry?"

"You know very well that I'm only reading this because Hermione said so, and well, I--"

"Love her," Ron prompted.

"WHAT!"

"Well you do," he said defensively.

"B-but--"

"Face the facts. Wake up and smell the bird poo on your head. You love her."

Harry's mouth dropped. " Why didn't you tell me ?"

"I tried, honestly, I did! But no, you wouldn't hear any of it, you thick idiot!"

"Oh, my God. I love her."

"No duh."

"How am I supposed to tell her? She's not really in the mood for talking, and plus, she's visiting that Jacques Pierre dude," Harry said miserably.

"Don't ask me. You don't see me with a girlfriend."

"I should buy her something."

"Like what? You don't have a lot of American money. And there's not a wizarding bank for miles. Well, in Brooklyn there is."

"I'm not driving all the way over there."

"You could Apparate."

Harry shook his head. "I don't even know what the bank looks like, much less what it's called. I could end up anywhere."

"That's true."

"Well, how 'bout I give her this copy of About A Boy ? I mean, she's always reading it and all."

"That would work."

"I'll have to wrap it up first though."

After a dinner of chicken fingers and some vegetables, Harry and Ron slumped onto the couch. Ron was flipping through the TV channels while Harry hopelessly tried to newspaper wrap the book and keep it together with some string. It looked rather messy when he had finished with it--quite pathetic. He was only content with the small package when he thought of the saying " It's the thought that counts ."

The next day Harry marched up to Hermione's apartment door, listening to the clanks his shoes made on the steel steps. He was thinking of what he could say to her, something that would make up for his attitude the other day. He knocked nervously on door number 27 and waited. He was about to knock again when the door was answered. Hermione was standing in front of him, her arms folded.

"Hey," Harry said cheerfully. "I got you something."

She took the package slowly and looked at it. Harry knew that she could tell that it was a book.

"I have something to tell you. Should I open this or say what I have to say first?"

"Erm, open it first," he said, hoping that if it was something bad, the gift would soften her attitude.

Hermione pulled at the string and the newspapers fell to the floor gracefully. She took one look at the book and forced a smile. "Thanks."

Harry became relieved and sighed, "You're welcome. I just wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday at the park."

"It's all right. And the book's great, but," she hesitated.

"But--"

"You should have paid for it first," Hermione said icily, holding up a piece of paper. She thrust it at Harry. As he read on, his eyes widened in horror.

' Ms. Hermione Granger,

It was brought to our attention that the book

About A Boy was not brought back to the New York

City Library by its due date, June 14. We regret to

inform you that a fine of one dollar must be paid and

that the book will have to be returned immediately

along with the fine by the next day, June 15.

The New York City Library'

"Oops," was all he could say.

Hermione was positively beside herself with anger.

"Harry, I told you that the book had to be returned yesterday ! I told you! Now I owe a dollar! You know how I like to have clean records! And I bet you didn't even read it like I told you to, did you?"

"Hermione, I was going to read it! Honest! But then, I wanted to give it to you instead!"

She merely glared at him and slammed the door, catching Harry's foot in the little crack underneath.

"OW!" he howled. "Hermione! Open up! My foot's stuck!"

No answer.

"PLEASE!" he begged.

Harry tugged on his leg, trying to unstick the stuck toe. Nothing happened. He had one choice--slip off his shoe. No way. I am not gonna walk those streets in a sock. A clean sock, he thought stubbornly. But he had no choice. Harry hastily slipped off the shoe--the door was cutting off his circulation. Ah, that's better. He was about to reach the staircases when he slipped a dollar bill under her door next to his abandoned shoe.

The Walk of Humiliation began right after Harry left the stairs. His walking was a little lopsided since he was missing a shoe. People stared at him or smirked as he passed them. He was about to cross the street when his sock became stuck on something. He tugged on his shoeless foot again and felt something blue and gooey on his sole.

"UGH!" he groaned. Harry looked around quickly to check that no one was looking and pulled off his sock. This just wasn't his day.

He hobbled off, praying that what he just did wasn't considered as littering. Harry was walking more lopsided then ever. He was happy to take off his other shoe and have both feet flat on the carpet of his and Ron's apartment.

"I'm guessing it didn't go well?" Ron said, his red hair just visible above the newspaper he was reading.

"You wouldn't believe how not well it was."

"Then don't tell me."

"Okay then--wait. Why not?"

"Because I wouldn't believe it. So don't go wasting your saliva."

"Oh. Okay."

Harry proceeded onto the kitchen, hoping to get something to eat to get his mind off his shoe and his only dollar under Hermione's apartment door. He grabbed a bag of Lay's chips and retreated into his bedroom, chewing each chip distractedly. No, the chips weren't enough to take his mind off the events earlier that day. I have to find something tastier and more filling, then, he thought to himself as he returned to the kitchen and grabbing a jar of peanut butter and a spoon. He ate every spoonful and his plan seemed to be working until the peanut butter had gotten stuck annoyingly on the roof of his mouth. And as he tried to get it off with his tongue, he was painfully reminded about Hermione's door's run-in with his foot. Peanut butter hadn't done the trick . . . Harry went back to the kitchen.

About an hour later, Ron found his roommate sitting on his bed, looking woozy. Ice cream boxes, bags of chips, jars of peanut butter, slices of bread, bologna, salami, cookies, and slices of cheesecake littered the floor and his bed. Ron gasped and gaped at his best friend who had collapsed onto his soft fluffy pillows.

"Harry! About half of our refrigerator and cupboards are in here!" Ron managed to get out. Harry merely burped and closed his eyes.

Ron pulled him off the bed and led him to the bathroom.

"I think you need to do some serious work in here," he said.

He watched as Harry hobbled in sleepily.

"You know, if I hadn't seen all that food out there, I would've assumed you were bloody drunk," Ron laughed as he shut the door.

He jogged back to the living room and turned on the TV. He was too absorbed into a show on MTV that he didn't notice Harry lumber in, rubbing his eyes and tousle-haired.

"Why'd you make me sleep on the floor?" he asked grumpily.

"I did not! I left you there to do your business!" Ron said defensively. "You did do your business, didn't you?"

"Ron, I had no business to take care of! I was just sleepy after eating so much bloody food!"

Ron's yawn hastily turned into a howling laugh.

"You should've seen the state you were in!"

"Shut up."

"All right then. I'm guessing that you'll pass up lunch and dinner?"

"Duh. All the things I ate should last me until tomorrow."

"So why were you pigging out without me?"

"Just thinking--and eating."

"Oh."

With no use of dinner, Harry crept back into bed and lay there, listening to Ron's constant snores. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his arms folded behind his head. As he thought about Hermione, her image seemed to have been etched into the white ceiling; Harry shut his eyes, not wanting to see her face again.

The day Hermione was supposed to fly to Paris came faster than Harry had really hoped. She was speaking to him again, but he was too put out to say more than one-word answers--even if she wasn't asking questions. For example, in the taxi to the airport, Hermione was asking Harry what he had wanted her to bring home for him as a souvenir.

"What should I bring you from Paris?" Hermione asked thoughtfully.

"Yeah."

"Yeah?" she said while Ron glanced at Harry in a worried way. "You want me to bring you 'yeah' from Paris?" Hermione laughed aloud while he gazed out of the car window, longing to just jump out--even if that meant that he had to roll a couple of times on the asphalt. This, however, was not an option. He was forced to block out Hermione's cheerful laughs and let his eyes flicker from each building, tree, and car they passed.

Hermione, Ron, and Harry strolled into the airport and walked to her terminal. Hermione was talking animatedly to Ron, who would occasionally look over his should and look at Harry, who was lagging behind on purpose. Harry couldn't help but feel the way he did: depressed, rejected, and turned down. He had tried to show his feelings by handing her the book she loved--which had backfired. He barely even noticed when Hermione turned to him to say good-bye.

"Harry? Harry?" echoed in his head as he looked vaguely at her.

The time came for drastic action. She was going to Paris to visit a guy and do God-knows- what, but he wasn't going to let her go that easily. The feeling and ability to speak came back to him.

"Hermione? Can I talk to you?" he asked nervously.

"More than a one-word question I hope."

"Hermione, I--I uh," Harry hesitated.

Just then, the flight attendant was calling people up to board the plane. Hermione looked at him expectantly, but he couldn't get another word out. He couldn't say it. He couldn't tell her he loved her--not when she was about to stay with some French guy.

"I--er."

"What is it? C'mon, I really have to go now."

"I--uh--I, er--I just want you to have as much fun as you can!" he said, his face lighting up and his eyes oddly bright. Hermione didn't seem to notice however.

"Thanks, Harry! Well, 'bye then!"

And she disappeared into the crowd of people walking onto the plane. Harry mentally kicked himself. 'I just want you to have as much fun as you can'... how stupid.

Ron was looking anxious. " Well ?"

"Well what?" Harry snapped, feeling grumpy.

"What'd you say?"

"Something stupid."

"HARRY! WHY? Didn't you tell her you loved her?" he exploded, waving his arms out furiously, occasionally swatting a few innocent bystanders.

"I couldn't."

"Course you could've!"

"Not when she's about to visit some French guy."

"You should've said it anyway! She might've not gone!"

"You know Hermione, she still would've gotten on that plane."

"No she wouldn't."

"Well it's too late now. She's already on the plane and we're already at the airport exit."

Harry had a point. Their conversation had led them to the automatic doors.

"MAN!"

"What?"

"That taxi driver left!"

"WHAT?!"

"He was supposed to wait!"

"We could Apparate."

"Harry, you know that we can't just disappear in broad day light! Not in the middle of a Muggle infested city!"

"Well, we've got a long walk ahead of us then."

With a sigh they turned around and faced the many streets ahead of them.