Cherie. A Harry Potter Romance.

Chapter Three.

    “Harry,” she cooed. “Harry, wake u-up!” He growled in a way that would tell any sensible person that he’d only gotten four hours of sleep and to leave him alone, leaning onto one of his forearms and gauging his eyes out with his palms, not snapping in hope that it could’ve been Sweetie.

“E-Es?” he inquired unsuredly.

“No, Hermione,” she clarified. He could she her outline now; her wide nose, bushy, mousy, dry hair, liver lips, wide, brown eyes, and a baggy shirt , skirt, and unfashionable flats.. So plain. So opposing to the eccentric, but overachieving beauty of Sweetie.

“O... hi,” he grumbled.

She rolled her eyes at his derogatory slur. “Get up. There’s a surprise outside for you. Happy birthday, Harry.”

He sighed and splashed water on his face. At her leave, he changed from muggy sweatpants and a too-large t-shirt, to public clothes and made a pitiful attempt to tame his dark, curly hair- no less controlled than Hermione’s without a spell. “Happy birthday, Harry!” squealed a high, airy voice at his side. “As a birthday present, I performed some very, very advanced spells for you and got almost all of the Nargles out of you ears! Would you like to hear about Pigfarts? I went there to visit Little D!”

“O...” he grumbled. “Lovely. Are Growlus Rumbleroar’s cubs growing?”

“Yes! And guess what? I was such a good student that he not only let me ride on his back, but gave me a talking lion cub! Isn’t that just unheard of?” she bragged. “I named it Baconhoof!; after the house that I was in at Pigfarts!”

“Happy birthday, Best Friend!” congratulated Ron, clapping their hands together and coming toward each other in a quick man hug.

“Wait a second, here!” intervened a strong, slightly deep, slightly nasally voice, pushing the two apart. “I get the first hug, Jaws.” He felt a little thing clasp frail arms around his waist. He hugged back, almost automatically. He’d felt that body before, that slim waist, that challengingly small height, the curve of the arched back, how he could wrap his arms twice around the midsection, and the way that his forearm could touch the lower arch of her back.

“Sweetie,” he breathed contentedly, holding her tighter once he recognised her. Feeling the sudden comfort, she buried her head closer to the area between his waist and chest (for she wasn’t tall enough to reach his chest).

Ron cleared his throat and spoke up. “Anybody want a RedVine?” She reluctantly pulled away from Harry and poked a rope of red licorice into her full mouth.

“What’s been going on?” she inquired, using that... odd voice.

“What’s wrong with your voice?” questioned Ron, ignoring her question.

“I’ve disguised it, Sherlock. I’m afraid that somebody can recognise me by my old voice. I’d always thought that it was pretty distinguished. I’m also going to change my looks. I’m a Metamorphmagus- don’t tell anybody! This is how I naturally look, though. I wanted you guys to see me like this one more time. Also, if I’d shown up with my new looks, you guys would probably assume that I was a Death Eater,” she giggled. “Here.” Before their very eyes, her face twisted into a girl with a wider nose, trimmed, yet different eyebrows, collar bone-length, dark, voluminous, thick, Shirley-Temple curls, slightly less curvy and eyelashes less thick, her makeup, morphing, and skin paling even moreso. “I thought that I’d keep myself a little bit and look like Norma Jeane Baker, Mortenson, DiMaggio, Miller, Dougherty, whatever... Do you guys like it?” She bit her lip in anticipation of hopes that they would, her fingernails interlocking with one-another.

“You look beautiful!” offered Ron.

Harry scoffed. “Beautiful? More like supermegafoxyawesomehot.”

She giggled. They noticed that she wasn’t batting her eyelashes as much, not moving seductively closer to them, millimetre by millimetre, or bowing her head and still looking up as much. She went from the epitome of sex to an innocent, no more than a child. And she could still be fabulous and manipulative.

-

After a very, very shitty dinner made up of overcooked fish (courtesy of Luna, who claimed that it had to be try to get the Hydrobalies out), too-mashy carrots, and starchy, grainy potatoes (Thanks, Hermione), Sweetie drew Harry in closer to her tent.

“I need to tell you something, Harry,” she announced timidly. “But, you have to keep it a secret and you have to promise to not be mad. Okay?” He chewed lightly on his tongue, knowing that it had to be something terrible is Sweetie was saying it was so. Really, she almost married Malloy.. He agreed to not get angry or tell. “I... I... Daddy is... he’s... I mean... V-Voldemort...”

Her voice quivered as she spoke, looking away from him. His face reddened with almost as much rage as Draco Malfoy had had at the Manor. “Wh-why didn’t you say it before?” he growled, his voice accidentally harsh.

“I won’t tell you,” she argued, folding her arms stubbournly. “I won’t tell you because I know that I look different to you, now.”

His hand reached out to touch her arm. “Sweetie, I-I’m sorry. I don’t think that you should be here,” he suggested, his voice softening as she shivered at the intimate touch.

Her blue eyes stared up at him, but quickly turned over his shoulder to find her Daddy.

---

It's short, I know. But, it's just waiting to be updated. ;) I was thinking of doing something like Beauty and the Beast (Disney version) mixed with Harry Potter, but not exactly a crossover. I promise it won't REALLY be just a friggin' rewrite of B&B. I got the idea because I thought that Sirius could be Lumiere, Cogsworth can be Remus, and the Beast (whoever the male lead will be (probably Harry 0_o. Weird.), and... I think that he should fall in love with whoever takes Babette's place instead. Who doesn't love Babette? I'm so in love with her. <3