Chapter Text
“Do you know what the problem is? The problem is that it’s always the same. You bump into someone in the elevator. A normal guy, not a-super-cute-kind-of-guy. Just normal. But he’s well dressed, and he has hair! And a perfume that kinda tells you he’s a serious-for-real-man. He’s not cosplaying as a man just to go to work. No, he didn’t put on Invictus or Carolina Herrera’s 212 for Men, but a woody fragrance. Maybe it’s Hermès. Ah, and his suit is just right. Not cheap, not too expensive either. He’s a nice guy. Ideal. The door closes, and in that moment you fantasize that he looks at you. He looks at you, but not like he’s saying, ‘you look beautiful’ or ‘hey cutie pie would you like to go on a date?’ No, that would scare you. He looks at you and instead says nothing. But there’s something in that look. It’s as if, for the first time, someone was truly noticing you. He looks at you as if discovering that thing inside you that no one else has seen. Or maybe they did notice, but you never noticed anyone noticing it, y’know what I mean? And you fantasize about those eyes, about the idea that—now that he’s seen you—when the elevator doors open, he’ll hesitate before stepping out. He’ll check the floor you pressed, and maybe… maybe you’ll see him again. And next time it would be awkward, because he’s already noticed you, and you noticed him noticing you. So next time you’ll ball up and dare to say something. Not something stupid like ‘wow, what is this weather, amirite.’ No. Something exceptional and unique that can reflect the intricacy of your soul and confirm that special something he noticed. Maybe some strange joke you haven’t thought of yet, but that must be hilarious, because he laughs, and his face lights up, and then he clears his throat and says… Well… see you around. And you smile, because now that you both know you work there (why else would you share an elevator?) you’ll see him often. And that’s how it goes, day by day the conversation becomes more intimate, until one day you realize you don’t have to limit your talks to a metal, deadly box, and then—only then—he invites you for a drink after work. And you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and accept, shyly. But right at that moment in the fantasy, the door opens and the man gets off. And you sigh, mad—not at him, but at that part of you that believed a man would notice something as feminine as a soul, and since maybe they’re right and the soul doesn’t exist, you open your phone and download Tinder again, even though you swore last-time-would-be-the-last-time, and not this time again. And you see the men posing, puffing out their chests with their sunglasses reflecting the sunset, and you think, ‘Shit. I’m twenty-seven and I haven’t found love.’”
“I thought you didn’t want to find love.”
“God, Ginny, that’s not it. It’s that I feel like I have to find it, you know? It’s everywhere. On my Instagram stories—every time I open them I feel like a chihuahua on New Year’s eve. Actually it’s a very good joke, don’t make that face.”
“So, you want to find love to post it on Instagram Stories?”
“No! No, no, no, you don’t get it. Love doesn’t exist. It’s a social construct of the heteropatriarchy imposed on women to enslave them. And the fact that I feel this way is proof that it works.”
“Finding love just to be a slave? Very Britney Spears of you.”
“God, no, look. Sometimes I feel like it’s all a trap. That actually feeling bad about being single is exactly what THEY want me to feel. Y’know, BIG HETERO CORPO. So I’ll settle for the first good-for-nothing who looks at me, pretending they saw that thing in my soul I want them to see, when really they’re just tightening their face muscles to look interesting.”
“What I think is that you need a good fuck. The kind of fuck that makes you not think anymore.”
“I don’t need to be fucked, for your information. I can take care of that by myself! And if you’re wondering, no, it doesn’t make me stop thinking. Actually, after that it’s like my head lights up, and I think, ‘shit. I really don’t need any man.’”
“And yet, you asked me out on Valentine’s Day so you wouldn’t be alone.”
“I asked you out because I haven’t seen you in ages!”
“And you haven’t seen me in ages because last time we hung out, you got upset because the guy who offered me a joint said some micro-aggression and I laughed.”
“It wasn’t a micro aggression, he literally said he wanted to, and I quote, ‘suck your apple until cider comes out of his mouth.’”
“Hilarious. A joke and a pickup line, compressed into ten words. Anyway, I can’t go out this Valentine’s Day. So you’ll have to find another plan.”
“Why not? I never ask you for anything. Besides, it’ll be funny. We can post a selfie and caption it hoes b4 bros, ironically, of course, because the idea of women being hoes is totally incel and—”
“Hermione, I can’t go out with you this Valentine’s Day because… I have a boyfriend.”
“What?! You’re kidding. Seriously?”
“Yes,” Ginny laughs. “It’s serious. Or at least, it seems that way.”
“With who?!”
“A guy from my gym. You don’t know him. Hold on. I’ll send you a picture.”
“But this photo… you’re in the middle of the snow, is it from January? How long have you been seeing each other?”
“Well… a few months, yeah.”
“Why didn’t you tell me!?”
“I didn’t know if it was serious. And now that I know it is, I’m telling you.”
“Is it because I said dating men in the middle of the rise of fascism is immoral? Or because I retweeted the explanation of South Korea’s 4B movement? Because I’m telling you, even if I believe all those things, I SWEAR I wouldn’t put you on such a high pedestal as to demand you be a role model.”
“Thanks for the compliment. No, it’s not that, like I said. I wanted to make sure it was serious.”
“Well… is it serious-serious?”
“Well, maybe he doesn’t wear Hermès perfume, and I’m SURE he doesn’t own a suit, but he loves me. And I love him. And…”
“And?”
“Well. I don’t know. I feel better when I’m with him. And I didn’t want to hear—sorry if I’m being blunt, but you asked. I don’t know if I was ready to hear that hetero-patriarchal romantic love is a lie and a scam. Or that he’ll leave me for someone younger in a few years, or that he’s probably incapable of seeing beyond my body—which-we-both-know-is-perfect.”
“Ginny, I would never say that to you.”
“But you do. Maybe not to me, or about the guys I like, but I know you think that way. And I really like Harry. A lot.”
“Wow…” Hermione exhaled, uneasy. “I didn’t know I made you feel that way.”
“It’s not that you make me feel that way. Don’t start overthinking. I’m sure of what I like, and I know the things you say come from your gender studies, which I one hundred percent support. It’s just that I didn’t want to hear that… while I was falling in love. I want to live here, in this feeling, and have it last forever. Yes, I know, don’t say it—I know being in love is a stage, and later I’ll look at him and maybe discover that it annoys me that he doesn’t put the toilet seat down after peeing, but listen to this, Hermione—he pees sitting down!”
“Well. He sounds like a catch.”
“He’s funny too. And I’m sorry. About Valentine’s.”
“Well, don’t be. I actually have plans.”
“Really? With who? The elevator guy?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ginny. My plans are hot and nasty. Of course there’s no elevator guy.”
“Ugh. Is this going to be a joke about your job’s heater that has a weird smell but you can’t turn it off because you work on the top floor and it’s freezing up there?”
“Well, you caught me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Herms. Is Annoying Boss going to be there?”
“No, that’s good news, actually. I think his wife organized a whole event, and he’s going to be out. And I really like my job, actually.”
“Enough to marry it?”
“Well, you know I don’t believe in the institution of marriage in these modern times—so, enough to make a compromise but not to engage in a civil prison.”
“Okay, but it feels like you’re already in prison, if you ask me. You can’t just work yourself to death to avoid going out and socializing. Go out, Herms. Meet someone. Or don’t, if you don’t want to. But at least make some friends. Alright?”
“Alright, I get the hint. I’m too much and I’m overloading you with my friendship, aren’t I?”
“You’re not too much! I just think you’re lonely. And I’m sorry, I’m trying my best, but you have to get out of your comfort zone—meaning me—because I won’t always be available. And I’m afraid you’re just going to spiral and get depressed if I—I don’t know—get serious-serious with this guy.”
“I’m not going to spiral, Ginny. I have plenty of hobbies and friends!”
“Name one friend who isn’t a work friend.”
“Work friends are real friends, you know.”
“See, this is what I’m talking about, you don’t have any life besides…”
“Hold on, I’m getting a call. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”
“Who is it? What’s happening?”
“Hello, Granger from Malfoy, Crouch & Nott speaking. Mr. Riddle, I— Oh, yeah. I’m honored, but—Oh, you mean—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I thought—Anyways, yes. I’m available. Good. Yeah, I won’t–Ok. It’ll be a pleasure.” Hermione hung up. “Ginny I’m going to kill myself.”
“What happened?”
“Our Most Annoying Client just called me. And I thought—oh, my God. Why did I think that? I wanna DIE.”
“What is going on!?”
“Ok. Listen. I’ll give you some context. Annoying Boss is annoying because he’s just a prick to ANYONE, both the firm and the clients. I mean, his son is Extra Annoying because he thinks our fling meant I was head over heels about him, and not that I was Extra Drunk, but whatever—Annoying Boss is a bitch to anyone EXCEPT THIS DUDE. This client freaks out Annoying Boss to a degree I can’t physically explain. And I don’t know why, I mean I handle his papers. He’s wealthy, but not wealthy like the Malfoys, and he looks—Well, what I’m trying to say is that he sounds sketchy, and he just called me and asked if I was doing anything on February 14th, and I thought— Oh God. I’m just a dumb little girl.”
“Oh my God, you thought he was asking you out.”
“Ginny, listen! We were just talking about Valentine’s! I thought this was, I don’t know, the Universe mocking me!”
“Why ‘mocking you’? Is he really that ugly?”
“No, and that’s the thing! Oh, I’m so embarrassed I wanna die!”
“So he’s hot.”
“He’s beyond hot. He’s like the Hottest-Guy-Ever. And I hate him. How does he get to be HOT and WEALTHY and SMART?”
“Well, how do you know he’s smart?”
“He loooooves making fun of Annoying Boss in the most subtle ways imaginable. And they never understand he’s making fun of them, that’s the funniest thing! Like, the other day Annoying Boss called me in the middle of the meeting to prepare them coffee—I know, I know, Ginny, but what can I say? No, I’m a real lawyer. I won't be playing the secretary part? —anyways, then he’d ask me, my boss, I mean, ‘where’s my cup?’ playing all macho in front of his client, and then Hot Annoyingly Scary Client would say ‘there’s your cub’ signaling Extra Annoying Son and no one understood but me!”
“I don’t get it”
“He found out Extra Annoying Son is a furry! And he was making fun of him!”
“Is the guy you hooked up a furry?”
“I mean, I guess so. He has this weird fixation on ferrets.”
“I think he meant cup, and you read too much into it.”
“You wouldn’t get it.”
“I think you fancy this guy and you’re just imagining he’s funny so you have an excuse to like him besides ‘he’s extra hot’ because that would be superficial and insulting.”
“I don’t fancy him!”
“So why did you think he was inviting you over to spend Valentine’s with him if it wasn’t a super freudian slip?”
“Because we were talking about it, and, oh God, it doesn’t matter.”
“Look at you, blushing and everything!”
“Stop it! It doesn’t matter what I thought because, in the end, he just wanted me to take care of some stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“I can’t say… it’s confidential. I mean. I guess this means I’m spending Valentine’s with someone.”
“See? It was fate that I couldn't make it.”
“Stop! I’m blushing. Oh my God. I can’t go to work with him with my hopes up.”
“Ok, I wanna know what you’re gonna wear. Something slutty.”
“I’m not going to wear something slutty to work!”
“You’re right. You don’t wanna appear desperate. You need to wear something that says ‘Hey! I’m going to work and I might be interested if you weren’t a sketchy guy. But since you are, and I’m a super pro feminist, you need to WORK to gain my heart.’”
“I don’t know if you can say all of that only with clothing.”
“I mean, you can always wear a pin, like celebrities on the red carpet when they wanna appear woke without actually compromising.”
“You’re killing me!”
“See? That’s what a joke is. I’ll text you on Valentine’s to help you choose the fit. And I want receipts by the next day or our friendship is OVER!”