Where the Sidewalk Ends by Hiko Mokushi [Rated PG-13]
Exchange story for irisri
Title: Where the Sidewalk Ends
Author: Hiko Mokushi (plural_entity)
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything.
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Language
Author Notes: I am in no way proud of this. My muse for this was great for about the first two days and then it died. -prods dead muse- I mean, it’s not horrible. But it’s definitely not my best. I’m glad we’re not having an exchange ’til Valentines Day. I need the time. Except for the Blaise manicuring Hermione’s hand. I’m very proud of that. ^__^; I’m sorry that I couldn’t work in the Briefly Violent!Draco. I tried, but I ended up getting a Jealous!Draco instead.
Special thanks to gleamingeyes, who beta-ed for me. <3 You deserve a thousand cookies.
Summary: Hermione’s overworking herself, while not working to her best simultaneously. She’s avoiding her friends and spending long hours by herself, locked up in her apartment.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends
- Shel Silverstein
xxxxx
Hermione Granger wasn’t your normal twenty-nine year old.
She had lived through more than anyone could think of. Than anyone could imagine, or even dream about.
And yet here she was. Still alive and breathing. But there was only one problem. She wasn’t living right.
At least, that’s what her friends said when they saw her.
Hermione Granger had been eleven when she’d found out she was a witch. And up until about her fourteenth birthday, her parents had been utterly ecstatic about it. Their daughter was a witch. But after that, the glory glow had faded and it was just another thing that they grew tired and bored with. It was banned from the supper table, which Hermione wasn’t surprised with. Who wanted to talk about transfiguring a hamster into a gerbil during the main course?
The woman sighed, rubbing an eye as she sat at her couch, remembering what had happened a few days ago, before the encounter.
She’d spoken to Ginny a couple days ago. The girl had flooed into her flat talk about the bridesmaids’ dress colors. Like Hermione cared. Put her in anything. It wasn’t like she mattered. She looked up from her coffee, blinking at Ginny when the red-head asked her opinion on whether she liked pale gold or pink.
“Why aren’t you discussing this with Pansy?” she had had to ask, barely avoiding the sarcastic bite her voice contained. “Isn’t she your maid of honor?”
Ginny had bit her lip, hesitating. “Pansy and Ron just had their second child. They’re a little busy.”
“So it would seem,” Hermione had remarked back, taking another sip of her coffee and feeling it burn down her throat.
Ginny then sighed and leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs silently. “Come on, Hermione. You could be a little happy for them. I mean, it’s not like Pansy didn’t almost die during... and everything. And you and Ron were never going much of anywhere. I think she just completes him.”
The words made Hermione want to vomit. “Oooh, clichés. How touching.”
“Don’t you believe in soul-mates?”
“I don’t believe in anything anymore.”
“How can be so cold?” Ginny had asked, getting up and brushing invisible dust off of her bright, yellow sundress. “Where’s the Hermione that I knew back at Hogwarts?”
“Gin, that Hermione’s been gone a long time,” she’d answered her, refusing to meet those blue eyes that seemed to peer into her like knives.
The young woman had sighed and drug long, manicured fingers through her silky-straight hair. “Hermione, I can’t talk to you anymore. I want to know what happened to my friend. The one that I liked. She can’t have just disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“She hasn’t,” Hermione had contradicted, tossing the empty styrofoam cup into the rubbish bin, “She’s just been replaced.”
“I don’t like the new model,” Ginny had tried to joke, a smile momentarily brightening her features.
She had sighed and crossed her arms, looking out her kitchen window. She could see a flash of platinum-blond hair from where she sat. “The old version was binned. She cared too much.”
Hermione now sat on her couch, staring across the room at a picture of Crookshanks and wondering about how she needed to get a new cat. Her old one had gone too long ago. She sniffled and wiped at her running nose, scolding herself inwardly. ‘New version,’ she reminded herself.
xxxxx
“Blaise, have you gotten that memo yet?”
Hermione ran a hand through her brown hair, massaging her temple as she took a swig of coffee. She stared out of her cubical opening, seeing the streak of black as she watched Blaise rush towards the other end of the hall. “Thank you for not hearing me, Blaise,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head and going back to checking the little boxes on the paper in front of her, “I’m glad to know that I’m the one who’s signing all of your checks for about five-hundred Galleons a week.”
“Actually, you don’t sign them; you charmed your ink stamp to do it for you.”
She looked up, seeing the black man leaning against her cubical wall, and couldn’t help but let the grin pass onto her face. Lately, he’d been the only to even break a smile. “Thanks for reminding me. Did you get the memo?”
He nodded, pushing his hands into his pockets as he walked towards her, dark hair falling in his face. “Yes, I did. And Draco says that he’s far too busy to look into such trivial matters.”
Hermione sighed again and let her head fall into her palm. “We lost over ten thousand Muggle dollars that we’d gotten through the Sweets Exchange. Fred and George have been on me for weeks about that. How the hell can he call it trivial?”
Blaise sat down on her desk and shrugged, taking a sip out of her coffee cup. “Beats me. But I can’t be asked about it. Draco’s got enough on his mind, with that whole inquiry and everything.”
“Oh, poor ferret-boy,” Hermione retorted, practically snorting smoke. “Some of his ruddy donation money gets lost in the transfer and he’s off on a witch hunt - no pun intended - but he’s not worried about us getting in trouble with the Muggle candy industry. We finally got permission to sell in America. We do not need to get the Americans rowdy. They’ve got way too many nuclear missiles.”
Blaise laughed and pushed the hair out of his face. “Come on, ’Mione,” he purred more than he laughed. “The United States isn’t going to pull another Hiroshima because of some lost sweets money. And if they do, the wizards wouldn’t let them.”
Hermione glowered at him, but didn’t say anything, deciding to down the last of her coffee instead. She got to her feet and pushed at the man’s arm. She moved more than he did. “I’m going to get more coffee. Watch the place while I’m gone. But don’t touch anything.”
He held up his hands, laughing. “I’ve touched everything in here that I’ve wanted to before. I’ve got no reason to touch it now.”
She glared at him. He fidgeted slightly on her desk. “Very funny, Zabini.”
“You shouldn’t drink so much coffee, Granger,” he replied seriously, blinking at her. She couldn’t hold his gaze.
“I’ll slow down.”
xxxxx
“You shouldn’t drink so much coffee, Granger,” a familiar voice drawled, and she replied by taking a deep gulp, turning around and raising an eyebrow.
“Fuck off,” she answered.
He put a hand to his chest, covering his name tag, over his heart. “That stung, Granger.”
“Damn right,” she sneered as she walked away, drinking more as she walked. He followed her like a puppy. Up four flights of stairs too.
“Why don’t you take the elevator?” he asked, breathing a little heavy as they turned into the isle of her cubical. “It’s easier and less time consuming. You could get twice as much done.”
Hermione stopped and blinked at him. He stared back at her like this was nothing out of the ordinary. “I like the exercise, Malfoy,” she said, shrugging. “Keeps the heart-rate up. Plus, I already get twice as much done as anyone else here. What’s the point?”
“You wouldn’t be so tired all the time,” said Draco, shrugging as if it was nothing. Hermione blinked at him and swung around, trying to stare him in the face. He held her gaze, but his hand picked nervously at the bottom corner of his shirt.
“Since when am I tired?” she snapped, and Draco knew he’d touched a nerve. “Besides, I’m not the one out at bars all night, drinking myself into a bloody stupor until I can bring home the first anorexic bag of bones with a pretty-enough face to shag and then ditch in some two-bit hotel.”
“Merlin, you need to get out more, Hermione,” he said, shaking his head as he began to back away from her, heading towards the other side of the office and to his own cubical. “Get laid or something. Heck, have Zabini pull a rear-end job on you, lord knows he’s good enough at it. Just stop being so damn stuffy. You were funnier when you at least had a comeback for me that did more than insult my after-work activities.”
Hermione huffed and crossed her arms, narrowing her brown eyes. “Don’t get off the subject,” she practically snarled, her nails digging crescent-shaped indents in her arms. “I need you to get on what happened to the money we sent to America. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes owls at least twice a day. I need to be able to tell Fred something at the end of the day before he screams at me.”
“Fine, whatever,” Draco retorted, still backing away. It made Hermione feel better that she could still be a little intimidating while in the ugliest skirt she owned, only able to cover it up with her black robe. “Just get some sleep, Granger. Or get laid. You’ll be doing us all a favor.”
xxxxx
Hermione spun on her heels and marched back to her cubical, finding Blaise sitting in her chair, cleaning under his nails. She glowered at him and he got up, conjuring himself one to sit down next to her. He plopped down as soon as she sat, his feet finding the only uncluttered spot on her desk to rest. She sighed and took off her heels, putting her feet in Blaise’s lap.
“Why is my life so fucked up, Blaise?” she asked him after drinking more of her coffee. Blaise started to fix up her unoccupied hand with a home-style manicure. He conjured a nail file.
He looked up briefly, dark eyes meeting her own before focusing back down on her hand. “All our lives are fucked up, Hermione,” he said, blowing some of the dust-like shavings off her finger. “Equally and just. Some lives just show it more than others. But it’s always there.”
She grumbled and put her coffee down, putting her hand over her eyes to block out the light. “It’s not fair.”
“Since when was life fair?”
Hermione snorted. “Mother-daughter lecture No. 7: ‘Why Life Isn’t Fair’. What are you going to tell me next, Blaise? That I need to keep a stiff upper lip? That things will all turn out for the good?”
He laughed this time. “No. I’m going to tell you that you’re born, you have fun while you’re a kid. You grow up, life sucks, and then you die. Simple as that.”
“Touching.”
“He really has a knack for saying the real deep-meaning things, doesn’t he?”
Hermione turned her head and peered at Draco out of one eye, sighing. “What do you want?”
He held up a stack of papers. “The money finally went through,” he illuminated. “Apparently... they’ve been having trouble with their computer systems. And it’s been taking everything three times as long as it normally would. Systems even shut down for a time. They’re trying to fix it. But our money finally transferred. Those damn Americans are going to kill everyone else in the world with their technology.”
Hermione and laughed and took a drink, tipping it to the man. “Thanks Draco, you’re a doll.”
“Don’t get used to it. I don’t like doing other people’s jobs.”
Hermione shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ll take it when I can get it.”
Draco rolled his eyes and started to walk away - and was actually out of Hermione’s line of vision - before he ran back into her cubical, put his back up against the wall and let out a barrage of curse words that were enough to sound like a hex. Blaise snickered, glancing at Hermione. She raised an eyebrow in return.
“Still need something, Malfoy?” she asked innocently, cocking her head to the side.
A tanned girl with long brown hair walked past the cubical, looking as though she was looking for someone. Draco practically growled, shaking his head. “Just shut up!”
Blasé snickered again, raising his own eyebrow as he conjured some teal nail polish and started to paint Hermione’s nails. “I thought you broke up with Lavender?”
Hermione’s eyes bulged and she laughed out loud, covering her mouth with her hand, but it didn’t do anything to hinder to tinkling laughter. “Lavender? Lavender Brown? You mean Ronald’s castaway girlfriend?”
Blaise grinned evilly. “The same. Lavender ‘the Gryffindor Machine’ Brown and Draco ‘the Slytherin Prince’ Malfoy were quite a hot pair. Ending up making out during a very important benefit. Very embarrassing. They looked like they were eating each other’s faces.”
“That’s Lavender’s style; she did the same thing with Ron.”
Draco’s hands were covering his face, and he sighed, his shoulder’s heaving. “Will you bloody well stop discussing my sex life?”
Hermione giggled. “Oh, now it’s a sex life?”
“What did I ever do to deserve this?”
“How about six years of torment and torture about my teeth and my hair?”
“Oh come off it.” Draco straightened his back and turned, scoffing. “You can’t blame everything on getting made fun of as a child.”
“Why the hell not?” Hermione inquired waspishly. “You seem to blame everything on your bad parenting.”
Blaise sucked in a breath and paused, his hand held in midair as he waited for Draco’s replied. His eyes flew from Hermione to Draco, watching the muscles in his back tense.
“Suit yourself, Hermione,” Draco said finally, throwing a nasty look over his shoulder. “Just, when you get home? Shut up. I don’t need to hear you sobbing over that picture of your pathetic cat.” Draco walked out of the cubical, and Blaise turned to Hermione, watching the change of emotions on her face. Hermione finally shrugged and took a giant swig of her coffee, closing her eyes and leaning back in her seat.
“Okay.”
xxxxx
A loud thud echoed in Hermione’s apartment, and the girl sat up, her eyes red from sleep. “Who’s there?” she asked, grabbing her wand off the coffee table. She knocked off her coffee. “Name yourself!”
Hermione walked into her entryway, finding herself face to face with a mud-covered Harry, his hair windswept. Draco was standing close behind him equally muddy with a smudge on his nose. Blaise followed in a close third, crisp and clean in a black wife-beater with a pink shirt over him. She had to look up at them all, and they almost seemed to go in order of their height: Harry, the shortest; Draco, taller than Harry, but shorter than Blaise; and Blaise, the tallest.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, rubbing her temple with a finger. “I thought everyone was going to let me spend a nice day at home tonight. I was sleeping.”
Harry shrugged; a grin on his face. “I dunno,” he said, laughing. “Just bored. And... Ginny said that Crookshanks died. Thought you could use some friends.”
Hermione sighed. “Crookshanks died a fortnight ago, Harry.”
Harry winced. Blaise proceeded to laugh out loud and hold up a large bag. “I knew that,” the black man said, grinning. “Which is why I brought Chinese.”
“Or because you complained about not eating dinner...” Draco remarked, shoving his hands into his pockets. He avoided looking at her.
Hermione sighed again and stepped back, opening her door as the boys walked in. Harry stopped in front of her and grinned sheepishly, his hands in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. Hermione shook her head, dragging a hand through her hair. “Why did you have to bring him? Blaise is fine, heck, I would have rather you brought Ron. But why Malfoy?”
“He felt bad,” said Harry, giving a shrug. “About what he said earlier. Speaking of what Malfoy said earlier, what did he said earlier?”
“That I can’t blame everything one how he made fun of me back and Hogwarts.”
“Oh.” Harry shifted and looked over his shoulder. “Can you just forgive him for it?”
“I just told him that if I can’t blame everything on being made fun of, then he can’t blame everything on his bad parenting.” Hermione twisted away from the hug that he attempted to give her and sighed, shaking her head. “Just go sit down Harry. I don’t know why you came over, but I have to deal with you now.”
Harry echoed her sigh and glanced apologetically at her. “I’m sorry?”
Hermione nodded and let a small smile break through on her face. “It’s okay,” she replied, giving him a quick hug in return. She always felt so bad after getting mad with Harry. “I’m sorry I’m being so mean. Maybe Malfoy’s right...”
Harry snickered. “You agree you need to get laid?”
“What?!” Hermione’s eyes popped and she shook her head furiously. “I swear, I’m going to kill him. No, I meant that I should lay off the coffee. I think it’s messing with my mind.”
“Ah, then coffee is your OWLS and NEWTS outside of school.”
Hermione punched his shoulder and followed after Harry into her living room, sighing and leaning against the door jam as she watched the boys lounging back on her couch like they owned it. “You get any of that on my couch and I swear I will remove appendages.”
Blaise lifted his hand in a salute. “Aye, aye, Captain!” he blurted, and Draco promptly slapped him on his head, causing some of the sauce to land on Blaise’s thigh. “Draco, you bitch!”
“No, that’s Hermione,” the blond replied as he bit into a fortune cookie. He stopped for second and blinked, glancing at his watch and nearly choking. “Fuck, shit, I gotta go.”
Harry glanced up, looking at him weird. “What the hell?”
“I’ll be back!” Draco waved his hand impatiently as he ran from the room, sliding smoothly past Hermione as he went to her door.
Blaise glanced at Hermione and Harry, a look of bewilderment on his face. “That was queer.”
Harry nodded before lifted a spoonful of brown rice to his mouth. Blaise used his elbow to knock into him. The rice spilled on his shirt. Hermione grinned and shook her head. This was going to be a long night.
xxxxx
Draco sighed when he was safely out of Hermione’s house, his face flushed pink from unconsciously holding his breath as he’d walked by her. Once outside of the door, he looked right and then left before Apparating.
He arrived minutes later at a large, three-story old-style Victorian house, where a charming little red-head was waiting just inside the large bay windows; the blonde hair of her best friend poking up beside her. They were pouring over something that looked strangely like pink and gold fabric.
He coughed, watching their heads snap up and grin at him in recognition. Ginny flicked her wand, and he audibly heard the door latch unsnap. He walked to the door, catching the look that Pansy gave him.
“Stop it, Pans,” he said, wiping hair from his face. “This was Potter’s idea.”
She snickered. “Right, Draco, dear. Right.”
Ginny ignored them both, proceeding to walk into the kitchen, and finally bringing back something in a holey, card-board box. She handed it to Draco, taking care to give him the right ends of the box. “It’s feisty enough that Hermione should like it. Just don’t get your fingers near to the holes, it bites.”
Draco carefully took the handles of the box, casting it a wary glance. “Trust Hermione to like things that can cause us bodily harm.”
“It’s got something to do with her anger management,” Pansy remarked, sipping her butterbeer daintily. “She likes things that are fiercer than her when they get angry.”
“That might explain it.” Draco shrugged and nodded to them, especially to Ginny. “Thanks for the box.”
“You’re welcome, Malfoy,” she said, going back to her seat. “Just make sure you don’t tell Hermione I picked it out. She’s not too fond of me at the moment.”
Pansy snorted and muttered under her breath, “That’s an understatement.”
xxxxx
Hermione reclined along the couch, her feet propped up on foot-high pillows and a butterbeer in her hand. She grinned, shaking her head as she watched Blaise try to figure out how to get the DVD player to work. Hermione was a strange witch indeed, deciding to live among electricity, rather than the normal Wizarding ways you could power your house.
“Blaise, just go home, I’m fine. I’m just going to go to sleep.”
The black male glared over his shoulder at her and she shut her mouth, her eyes narrowed. “Alright, never mind.”
Blaise growled, hitting the eject button and getting the DVD player to turn off. Hermione snickered behind him and he threw his hands up into the air, nearly growling. “Fuck it! Stupid Muggle toys.”
“They’re dead useful when I get bored,” Hermione sighed, leaning back into one of her many pillows. She laid her head back, rubbing her eyes tiredly.
Blaise sat down on the edge of the couch, his annoyed expression passing as he looked worriedly down at her. “You okay, Hermione?” he asked, crossing his arms.
She lifted her hand and opened one eye. “Yea, I’m fine. Just a little tired, is all.”
He snorted. “Right.”
Her brow furrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?” Blaise shook his head and she propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes narrowed.
Blaise shrugged. “You’re always tired, Hermione. I never see you once without being tired. I just don’t get what’s going wrong with you.”
“Maybe I’m anemic.”
She laughed at Blaise’s expression. “Muggle blood problem, don’t ask.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Hermione laughed and patted his arm, slightly smiling. “You’re having nightmares again, aren’t you?”
Hermione’s eyes opened and she glanced away from him. “They never went away. They never go away.”
He shook his head. “Hermione, you gotta stop this. Go to counseling, take some pills, and use a pensive for fuck’s sake. You gotta get better. You can’t go on living like this.”
“I don’t need a counselor, Blaise,” she growled back, annoyed. “I just need rest. The nightmares don’t come when I sleep during the daytime.”
Blaise snorted. “So you’re going to be nocturnal, now?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s retarded.”
“Does it look like I give a shit?”
He stalled. “I’ll tell Ron.”
She bulked. “You wouldn’t.”
Grin.
“Oh, yes I would.”
“Fine.” Hermione crossed her arms. “Go home, Blaise. I’ll go to bed now.”
The black man smirked. “Alright then.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Sleep well.”
“Yea, yea. Piss off.”
“Y’know, Hermione?”
She looked up at him, attempting to glare, but unable to continue when he peered at her so sincerely. “Maybe you should think about getting another cat.”
Hermione’s eyes softened and she sighed, nodding her head. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll go look for one.”
xxxxx
The sun shined brightly in through the window, sending butter-yellow streaks across the wooden floor. Hermione curled tightly on her bed, her bed sheets wrapped tightly around her body, one hand tangled in her hair and the other stretching out over the bed end.
Soft paw steps padded across the windowsill, opening the blind slightly and casting a slice of light upon the woman’s face. She groaned, a hand coming up in front of her face. She yawned, smacking her lips together as she rolled over, her face shaded once more as she settled back down.
The pitter patter of tiny paw steps and the groaning as the bed grew accustomed to the weight that had been added to it were the only sounds in the room.
A tiny, ginger and white kitten meowed softly; it’s little half-tail waving behind it as it lumberingly padded towards Hermione’s body, its green eyes wide. It meowed again, sniffing at Hermione’s exposed hip-bone.
She giggled in her sleep and twitched away from it.
The kitten seemed to smile, its eyes brightening as it backed up, its curiosity peaking. Clumsily, it leapt at her, needle-sharp claws poking at her side.
Hermione was instantly awake, her brown eyes wide and her frazzled as she grabbed her wand and scrambled haphazardly from her bed. Unfortunately, her legs were still entwined with the blue comforter, and she yelped loudly as she fell backwards from the bed.
Her wand skidded across the floor with a soft plinking noise.
Hermione was panting, peering up at the kitten - which crouched on the edge of the bed, its tiny rear waving in the air playfully as it peered back at her with intrigue. “What the devil?” Hermione grudgingly untangled her legs. Once finished, she leaned on her knees, lifting a hand to pet the kitten. It meowed happily and arched its spine against her hand, its little body vibrating with purrs.
“How did you get into my flat, little guy?” She didn’t know why she was talking to the thing, but it was cute. And the way it was purring, she couldn’t help but adore it. It glanced back at her, pausing as it pushed against her hand, half of its face hidden by her cupped hand.
MEOW!
She laughed; her voice tinkling lightly as her face lit up as she watched the kitten cease approaching her hand and instead batted at it, falling onto its side and rolling onto its back to bat more leisurely. “Well, you’re certainly friendly.” Getting up, she picked the kitten up, pulling it to her chest to support it as she walked. It squirmed against the hold, but did not snap or scratch.
“Blaise must have snuck back in while I was sleeping. I’ll have to have a word with that guy.”
She walked into the kitchen, glancing around as she placed the kitten on the table and turned to go into the refrigerator. She pulled a carton of milk from it, grabbing a clean bowl from the sink and began pouring as she walked.
She placed the filled bowl on the table, watching the kitten lap at the creams silently. She sighed as she turned back around to put the carton back into the fridge. “I gotta go change for work, kitten,” she said aloud, not even bothering to wonder this time why she was speaking to it as if it was a person. “You stay here, and be good while I’m in my room.”
She began to walk away, but a meow caused her to turn and she watched as the kitten sat on her table, staring at her fiercely. ‘What’s wrong, kitten?” It meowed again, his eyes never leaving hers. Then she had an idea. “I suppose you need a name. I can’t just keep calling you kitten.” She put a finger to her lips as she leaned against the doorframe, watching it. “I’ll call you Blaze. After Blaise, but spelled differently of course.”
The kitten meowed, seemingly satisfied and sniffed at the milk in the saucer again before drinking more. Hermione smiled as she walked away, easily leaning down to pick up her wand and toss it onto her bedside table. She glanced at the clock on her wall, noticing with a sigh that she would soon be late for work.
“Guess no shower this morning,” she said to herself as she grabbed the wand up and muttered something. Her hair lost some of its dullness, becoming far curlier in the process, her face looking slightly cleaner.
Picking out a white tank top with a pair of jeans, she grabbed her work robes, easily tossing them on as she crossed to the small mirror, studying herself boredly. She pocketed her wand. “Eh, it’ll do.” She grabbed a hair-tie from her dresser, pulling the unruly hair up into a quick bun, pieces hereand there flying out and hanging even as she finished. She didn’t bother fixing it.
Walking into the kitchen, she picked Blaze up off the table and sat him on the floor. “Now, you be good,” she said playfully as she waggled a finger at it. It playfully leapt at the digit and she pulled it back before the kitten’s claws could claim it. She laughed as she grabbed her bag off the table and opened the door, watching the kitten scamper away. She was glad that she hadn’t been able to get rid of Crookshanks’ old litter pan.
Shutting the door behind her, she walked down the pathway of her porch, waving a hello to her duplex-mate, who was paying a tawny barn owl with one hand as he held The Daily Prophet in his other. She walked down the small walkway to where it split into the sidewalk.
The sun was shining above her head and for some reason; she didn’t feel like Apparating to work, but walking. She started off down the street with a smile on her face, humming a song that she couldn’t remember the words to. She stopped at the side of the road, where the sidewalk ended, glancing around to make sure that no carriages were coming down the street.
“Granger!”
She turned, watching Draco Malfoy walk out from his duplex flat next to hers and walk towards her, his steps sure and confidant. “What do you want, Malfoy?” she asked him as he approached. “I’m off to work.”
He smirked, his hands in the pockets of his robes as he came to stop a few feet in front of her. “I know.” He pulled his hand from his pocket, tossing something through the air towards her. “Just thought you might like another one.” Hermione caught it easily, looking down to gaze at what her hand held.
It was a toy mouse.
Finis
STORY REQUEST
BRIEFLY describe what you'd like to receive: happy ending, mention of 'The Weasel and Granger', briefly violent!Draco
What rating would you prefer?: PG-13 or R
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): gay/lesbian pairings, darkness, blood play
Thank-you for participating in the Hot Summer Nights with Draco and Hermione exchange.
Title: Where the Sidewalk Ends
Author: Hiko Mokushi (plural_entity)
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything.
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Language
Author Notes: I am in no way proud of this. My muse for this was great for about the first two days and then it died. -prods dead muse- I mean, it’s not horrible. But it’s definitely not my best. I’m glad we’re not having an exchange ’til Valentines Day. I need the time. Except for the Blaise manicuring Hermione’s hand. I’m very proud of that. ^__^; I’m sorry that I couldn’t work in the Briefly Violent!Draco. I tried, but I ended up getting a Jealous!Draco instead.
Special thanks to gleamingeyes, who beta-ed for me. <3 You deserve a thousand cookies.
Summary: Hermione’s overworking herself, while not working to her best simultaneously. She’s avoiding her friends and spending long hours by herself, locked up in her apartment.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends
- Shel Silverstein
xxxxx
Hermione Granger wasn’t your normal twenty-nine year old.
She had lived through more than anyone could think of. Than anyone could imagine, or even dream about.
And yet here she was. Still alive and breathing. But there was only one problem. She wasn’t living right.
At least, that’s what her friends said when they saw her.
Hermione Granger had been eleven when she’d found out she was a witch. And up until about her fourteenth birthday, her parents had been utterly ecstatic about it. Their daughter was a witch. But after that, the glory glow had faded and it was just another thing that they grew tired and bored with. It was banned from the supper table, which Hermione wasn’t surprised with. Who wanted to talk about transfiguring a hamster into a gerbil during the main course?
The woman sighed, rubbing an eye as she sat at her couch, remembering what had happened a few days ago, before the encounter.
She’d spoken to Ginny a couple days ago. The girl had flooed into her flat talk about the bridesmaids’ dress colors. Like Hermione cared. Put her in anything. It wasn’t like she mattered. She looked up from her coffee, blinking at Ginny when the red-head asked her opinion on whether she liked pale gold or pink.
“Why aren’t you discussing this with Pansy?” she had had to ask, barely avoiding the sarcastic bite her voice contained. “Isn’t she your maid of honor?”
Ginny had bit her lip, hesitating. “Pansy and Ron just had their second child. They’re a little busy.”
“So it would seem,” Hermione had remarked back, taking another sip of her coffee and feeling it burn down her throat.
Ginny then sighed and leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs silently. “Come on, Hermione. You could be a little happy for them. I mean, it’s not like Pansy didn’t almost die during... and everything. And you and Ron were never going much of anywhere. I think she just completes him.”
The words made Hermione want to vomit. “Oooh, clichés. How touching.”
“Don’t you believe in soul-mates?”
“I don’t believe in anything anymore.”
“How can be so cold?” Ginny had asked, getting up and brushing invisible dust off of her bright, yellow sundress. “Where’s the Hermione that I knew back at Hogwarts?”
“Gin, that Hermione’s been gone a long time,” she’d answered her, refusing to meet those blue eyes that seemed to peer into her like knives.
The young woman had sighed and drug long, manicured fingers through her silky-straight hair. “Hermione, I can’t talk to you anymore. I want to know what happened to my friend. The one that I liked. She can’t have just disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“She hasn’t,” Hermione had contradicted, tossing the empty styrofoam cup into the rubbish bin, “She’s just been replaced.”
“I don’t like the new model,” Ginny had tried to joke, a smile momentarily brightening her features.
She had sighed and crossed her arms, looking out her kitchen window. She could see a flash of platinum-blond hair from where she sat. “The old version was binned. She cared too much.”
Hermione now sat on her couch, staring across the room at a picture of Crookshanks and wondering about how she needed to get a new cat. Her old one had gone too long ago. She sniffled and wiped at her running nose, scolding herself inwardly. ‘New version,’ she reminded herself.
xxxxx
“Blaise, have you gotten that memo yet?”
Hermione ran a hand through her brown hair, massaging her temple as she took a swig of coffee. She stared out of her cubical opening, seeing the streak of black as she watched Blaise rush towards the other end of the hall. “Thank you for not hearing me, Blaise,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head and going back to checking the little boxes on the paper in front of her, “I’m glad to know that I’m the one who’s signing all of your checks for about five-hundred Galleons a week.”
“Actually, you don’t sign them; you charmed your ink stamp to do it for you.”
She looked up, seeing the black man leaning against her cubical wall, and couldn’t help but let the grin pass onto her face. Lately, he’d been the only to even break a smile. “Thanks for reminding me. Did you get the memo?”
He nodded, pushing his hands into his pockets as he walked towards her, dark hair falling in his face. “Yes, I did. And Draco says that he’s far too busy to look into such trivial matters.”
Hermione sighed again and let her head fall into her palm. “We lost over ten thousand Muggle dollars that we’d gotten through the Sweets Exchange. Fred and George have been on me for weeks about that. How the hell can he call it trivial?”
Blaise sat down on her desk and shrugged, taking a sip out of her coffee cup. “Beats me. But I can’t be asked about it. Draco’s got enough on his mind, with that whole inquiry and everything.”
“Oh, poor ferret-boy,” Hermione retorted, practically snorting smoke. “Some of his ruddy donation money gets lost in the transfer and he’s off on a witch hunt - no pun intended - but he’s not worried about us getting in trouble with the Muggle candy industry. We finally got permission to sell in America. We do not need to get the Americans rowdy. They’ve got way too many nuclear missiles.”
Blaise laughed and pushed the hair out of his face. “Come on, ’Mione,” he purred more than he laughed. “The United States isn’t going to pull another Hiroshima because of some lost sweets money. And if they do, the wizards wouldn’t let them.”
Hermione glowered at him, but didn’t say anything, deciding to down the last of her coffee instead. She got to her feet and pushed at the man’s arm. She moved more than he did. “I’m going to get more coffee. Watch the place while I’m gone. But don’t touch anything.”
He held up his hands, laughing. “I’ve touched everything in here that I’ve wanted to before. I’ve got no reason to touch it now.”
She glared at him. He fidgeted slightly on her desk. “Very funny, Zabini.”
“You shouldn’t drink so much coffee, Granger,” he replied seriously, blinking at her. She couldn’t hold his gaze.
“I’ll slow down.”
xxxxx
“You shouldn’t drink so much coffee, Granger,” a familiar voice drawled, and she replied by taking a deep gulp, turning around and raising an eyebrow.
“Fuck off,” she answered.
He put a hand to his chest, covering his name tag, over his heart. “That stung, Granger.”
“Damn right,” she sneered as she walked away, drinking more as she walked. He followed her like a puppy. Up four flights of stairs too.
“Why don’t you take the elevator?” he asked, breathing a little heavy as they turned into the isle of her cubical. “It’s easier and less time consuming. You could get twice as much done.”
Hermione stopped and blinked at him. He stared back at her like this was nothing out of the ordinary. “I like the exercise, Malfoy,” she said, shrugging. “Keeps the heart-rate up. Plus, I already get twice as much done as anyone else here. What’s the point?”
“You wouldn’t be so tired all the time,” said Draco, shrugging as if it was nothing. Hermione blinked at him and swung around, trying to stare him in the face. He held her gaze, but his hand picked nervously at the bottom corner of his shirt.
“Since when am I tired?” she snapped, and Draco knew he’d touched a nerve. “Besides, I’m not the one out at bars all night, drinking myself into a bloody stupor until I can bring home the first anorexic bag of bones with a pretty-enough face to shag and then ditch in some two-bit hotel.”
“Merlin, you need to get out more, Hermione,” he said, shaking his head as he began to back away from her, heading towards the other side of the office and to his own cubical. “Get laid or something. Heck, have Zabini pull a rear-end job on you, lord knows he’s good enough at it. Just stop being so damn stuffy. You were funnier when you at least had a comeback for me that did more than insult my after-work activities.”
Hermione huffed and crossed her arms, narrowing her brown eyes. “Don’t get off the subject,” she practically snarled, her nails digging crescent-shaped indents in her arms. “I need you to get on what happened to the money we sent to America. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes owls at least twice a day. I need to be able to tell Fred something at the end of the day before he screams at me.”
“Fine, whatever,” Draco retorted, still backing away. It made Hermione feel better that she could still be a little intimidating while in the ugliest skirt she owned, only able to cover it up with her black robe. “Just get some sleep, Granger. Or get laid. You’ll be doing us all a favor.”
xxxxx
Hermione spun on her heels and marched back to her cubical, finding Blaise sitting in her chair, cleaning under his nails. She glowered at him and he got up, conjuring himself one to sit down next to her. He plopped down as soon as she sat, his feet finding the only uncluttered spot on her desk to rest. She sighed and took off her heels, putting her feet in Blaise’s lap.
“Why is my life so fucked up, Blaise?” she asked him after drinking more of her coffee. Blaise started to fix up her unoccupied hand with a home-style manicure. He conjured a nail file.
He looked up briefly, dark eyes meeting her own before focusing back down on her hand. “All our lives are fucked up, Hermione,” he said, blowing some of the dust-like shavings off her finger. “Equally and just. Some lives just show it more than others. But it’s always there.”
She grumbled and put her coffee down, putting her hand over her eyes to block out the light. “It’s not fair.”
“Since when was life fair?”
Hermione snorted. “Mother-daughter lecture No. 7: ‘Why Life Isn’t Fair’. What are you going to tell me next, Blaise? That I need to keep a stiff upper lip? That things will all turn out for the good?”
He laughed this time. “No. I’m going to tell you that you’re born, you have fun while you’re a kid. You grow up, life sucks, and then you die. Simple as that.”
“Touching.”
“He really has a knack for saying the real deep-meaning things, doesn’t he?”
Hermione turned her head and peered at Draco out of one eye, sighing. “What do you want?”
He held up a stack of papers. “The money finally went through,” he illuminated. “Apparently... they’ve been having trouble with their computer systems. And it’s been taking everything three times as long as it normally would. Systems even shut down for a time. They’re trying to fix it. But our money finally transferred. Those damn Americans are going to kill everyone else in the world with their technology.”
Hermione and laughed and took a drink, tipping it to the man. “Thanks Draco, you’re a doll.”
“Don’t get used to it. I don’t like doing other people’s jobs.”
Hermione shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ll take it when I can get it.”
Draco rolled his eyes and started to walk away - and was actually out of Hermione’s line of vision - before he ran back into her cubical, put his back up against the wall and let out a barrage of curse words that were enough to sound like a hex. Blaise snickered, glancing at Hermione. She raised an eyebrow in return.
“Still need something, Malfoy?” she asked innocently, cocking her head to the side.
A tanned girl with long brown hair walked past the cubical, looking as though she was looking for someone. Draco practically growled, shaking his head. “Just shut up!”
Blasé snickered again, raising his own eyebrow as he conjured some teal nail polish and started to paint Hermione’s nails. “I thought you broke up with Lavender?”
Hermione’s eyes bulged and she laughed out loud, covering her mouth with her hand, but it didn’t do anything to hinder to tinkling laughter. “Lavender? Lavender Brown? You mean Ronald’s castaway girlfriend?”
Blaise grinned evilly. “The same. Lavender ‘the Gryffindor Machine’ Brown and Draco ‘the Slytherin Prince’ Malfoy were quite a hot pair. Ending up making out during a very important benefit. Very embarrassing. They looked like they were eating each other’s faces.”
“That’s Lavender’s style; she did the same thing with Ron.”
Draco’s hands were covering his face, and he sighed, his shoulder’s heaving. “Will you bloody well stop discussing my sex life?”
Hermione giggled. “Oh, now it’s a sex life?”
“What did I ever do to deserve this?”
“How about six years of torment and torture about my teeth and my hair?”
“Oh come off it.” Draco straightened his back and turned, scoffing. “You can’t blame everything on getting made fun of as a child.”
“Why the hell not?” Hermione inquired waspishly. “You seem to blame everything on your bad parenting.”
Blaise sucked in a breath and paused, his hand held in midair as he waited for Draco’s replied. His eyes flew from Hermione to Draco, watching the muscles in his back tense.
“Suit yourself, Hermione,” Draco said finally, throwing a nasty look over his shoulder. “Just, when you get home? Shut up. I don’t need to hear you sobbing over that picture of your pathetic cat.” Draco walked out of the cubical, and Blaise turned to Hermione, watching the change of emotions on her face. Hermione finally shrugged and took a giant swig of her coffee, closing her eyes and leaning back in her seat.
“Okay.”
xxxxx
A loud thud echoed in Hermione’s apartment, and the girl sat up, her eyes red from sleep. “Who’s there?” she asked, grabbing her wand off the coffee table. She knocked off her coffee. “Name yourself!”
Hermione walked into her entryway, finding herself face to face with a mud-covered Harry, his hair windswept. Draco was standing close behind him equally muddy with a smudge on his nose. Blaise followed in a close third, crisp and clean in a black wife-beater with a pink shirt over him. She had to look up at them all, and they almost seemed to go in order of their height: Harry, the shortest; Draco, taller than Harry, but shorter than Blaise; and Blaise, the tallest.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, rubbing her temple with a finger. “I thought everyone was going to let me spend a nice day at home tonight. I was sleeping.”
Harry shrugged; a grin on his face. “I dunno,” he said, laughing. “Just bored. And... Ginny said that Crookshanks died. Thought you could use some friends.”
Hermione sighed. “Crookshanks died a fortnight ago, Harry.”
Harry winced. Blaise proceeded to laugh out loud and hold up a large bag. “I knew that,” the black man said, grinning. “Which is why I brought Chinese.”
“Or because you complained about not eating dinner...” Draco remarked, shoving his hands into his pockets. He avoided looking at her.
Hermione sighed again and stepped back, opening her door as the boys walked in. Harry stopped in front of her and grinned sheepishly, his hands in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. Hermione shook her head, dragging a hand through her hair. “Why did you have to bring him? Blaise is fine, heck, I would have rather you brought Ron. But why Malfoy?”
“He felt bad,” said Harry, giving a shrug. “About what he said earlier. Speaking of what Malfoy said earlier, what did he said earlier?”
“That I can’t blame everything one how he made fun of me back and Hogwarts.”
“Oh.” Harry shifted and looked over his shoulder. “Can you just forgive him for it?”
“I just told him that if I can’t blame everything on being made fun of, then he can’t blame everything on his bad parenting.” Hermione twisted away from the hug that he attempted to give her and sighed, shaking her head. “Just go sit down Harry. I don’t know why you came over, but I have to deal with you now.”
Harry echoed her sigh and glanced apologetically at her. “I’m sorry?”
Hermione nodded and let a small smile break through on her face. “It’s okay,” she replied, giving him a quick hug in return. She always felt so bad after getting mad with Harry. “I’m sorry I’m being so mean. Maybe Malfoy’s right...”
Harry snickered. “You agree you need to get laid?”
“What?!” Hermione’s eyes popped and she shook her head furiously. “I swear, I’m going to kill him. No, I meant that I should lay off the coffee. I think it’s messing with my mind.”
“Ah, then coffee is your OWLS and NEWTS outside of school.”
Hermione punched his shoulder and followed after Harry into her living room, sighing and leaning against the door jam as she watched the boys lounging back on her couch like they owned it. “You get any of that on my couch and I swear I will remove appendages.”
Blaise lifted his hand in a salute. “Aye, aye, Captain!” he blurted, and Draco promptly slapped him on his head, causing some of the sauce to land on Blaise’s thigh. “Draco, you bitch!”
“No, that’s Hermione,” the blond replied as he bit into a fortune cookie. He stopped for second and blinked, glancing at his watch and nearly choking. “Fuck, shit, I gotta go.”
Harry glanced up, looking at him weird. “What the hell?”
“I’ll be back!” Draco waved his hand impatiently as he ran from the room, sliding smoothly past Hermione as he went to her door.
Blaise glanced at Hermione and Harry, a look of bewilderment on his face. “That was queer.”
Harry nodded before lifted a spoonful of brown rice to his mouth. Blaise used his elbow to knock into him. The rice spilled on his shirt. Hermione grinned and shook her head. This was going to be a long night.
xxxxx
Draco sighed when he was safely out of Hermione’s house, his face flushed pink from unconsciously holding his breath as he’d walked by her. Once outside of the door, he looked right and then left before Apparating.
He arrived minutes later at a large, three-story old-style Victorian house, where a charming little red-head was waiting just inside the large bay windows; the blonde hair of her best friend poking up beside her. They were pouring over something that looked strangely like pink and gold fabric.
He coughed, watching their heads snap up and grin at him in recognition. Ginny flicked her wand, and he audibly heard the door latch unsnap. He walked to the door, catching the look that Pansy gave him.
“Stop it, Pans,” he said, wiping hair from his face. “This was Potter’s idea.”
She snickered. “Right, Draco, dear. Right.”
Ginny ignored them both, proceeding to walk into the kitchen, and finally bringing back something in a holey, card-board box. She handed it to Draco, taking care to give him the right ends of the box. “It’s feisty enough that Hermione should like it. Just don’t get your fingers near to the holes, it bites.”
Draco carefully took the handles of the box, casting it a wary glance. “Trust Hermione to like things that can cause us bodily harm.”
“It’s got something to do with her anger management,” Pansy remarked, sipping her butterbeer daintily. “She likes things that are fiercer than her when they get angry.”
“That might explain it.” Draco shrugged and nodded to them, especially to Ginny. “Thanks for the box.”
“You’re welcome, Malfoy,” she said, going back to her seat. “Just make sure you don’t tell Hermione I picked it out. She’s not too fond of me at the moment.”
Pansy snorted and muttered under her breath, “That’s an understatement.”
xxxxx
Hermione reclined along the couch, her feet propped up on foot-high pillows and a butterbeer in her hand. She grinned, shaking her head as she watched Blaise try to figure out how to get the DVD player to work. Hermione was a strange witch indeed, deciding to live among electricity, rather than the normal Wizarding ways you could power your house.
“Blaise, just go home, I’m fine. I’m just going to go to sleep.”
The black male glared over his shoulder at her and she shut her mouth, her eyes narrowed. “Alright, never mind.”
Blaise growled, hitting the eject button and getting the DVD player to turn off. Hermione snickered behind him and he threw his hands up into the air, nearly growling. “Fuck it! Stupid Muggle toys.”
“They’re dead useful when I get bored,” Hermione sighed, leaning back into one of her many pillows. She laid her head back, rubbing her eyes tiredly.
Blaise sat down on the edge of the couch, his annoyed expression passing as he looked worriedly down at her. “You okay, Hermione?” he asked, crossing his arms.
She lifted her hand and opened one eye. “Yea, I’m fine. Just a little tired, is all.”
He snorted. “Right.”
Her brow furrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?” Blaise shook his head and she propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes narrowed.
Blaise shrugged. “You’re always tired, Hermione. I never see you once without being tired. I just don’t get what’s going wrong with you.”
“Maybe I’m anemic.”
She laughed at Blaise’s expression. “Muggle blood problem, don’t ask.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Hermione laughed and patted his arm, slightly smiling. “You’re having nightmares again, aren’t you?”
Hermione’s eyes opened and she glanced away from him. “They never went away. They never go away.”
He shook his head. “Hermione, you gotta stop this. Go to counseling, take some pills, and use a pensive for fuck’s sake. You gotta get better. You can’t go on living like this.”
“I don’t need a counselor, Blaise,” she growled back, annoyed. “I just need rest. The nightmares don’t come when I sleep during the daytime.”
Blaise snorted. “So you’re going to be nocturnal, now?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s retarded.”
“Does it look like I give a shit?”
He stalled. “I’ll tell Ron.”
She bulked. “You wouldn’t.”
Grin.
“Oh, yes I would.”
“Fine.” Hermione crossed her arms. “Go home, Blaise. I’ll go to bed now.”
The black man smirked. “Alright then.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Sleep well.”
“Yea, yea. Piss off.”
“Y’know, Hermione?”
She looked up at him, attempting to glare, but unable to continue when he peered at her so sincerely. “Maybe you should think about getting another cat.”
Hermione’s eyes softened and she sighed, nodding her head. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll go look for one.”
xxxxx
The sun shined brightly in through the window, sending butter-yellow streaks across the wooden floor. Hermione curled tightly on her bed, her bed sheets wrapped tightly around her body, one hand tangled in her hair and the other stretching out over the bed end.
Soft paw steps padded across the windowsill, opening the blind slightly and casting a slice of light upon the woman’s face. She groaned, a hand coming up in front of her face. She yawned, smacking her lips together as she rolled over, her face shaded once more as she settled back down.
The pitter patter of tiny paw steps and the groaning as the bed grew accustomed to the weight that had been added to it were the only sounds in the room.
A tiny, ginger and white kitten meowed softly; it’s little half-tail waving behind it as it lumberingly padded towards Hermione’s body, its green eyes wide. It meowed again, sniffing at Hermione’s exposed hip-bone.
She giggled in her sleep and twitched away from it.
The kitten seemed to smile, its eyes brightening as it backed up, its curiosity peaking. Clumsily, it leapt at her, needle-sharp claws poking at her side.
Hermione was instantly awake, her brown eyes wide and her frazzled as she grabbed her wand and scrambled haphazardly from her bed. Unfortunately, her legs were still entwined with the blue comforter, and she yelped loudly as she fell backwards from the bed.
Her wand skidded across the floor with a soft plinking noise.
Hermione was panting, peering up at the kitten - which crouched on the edge of the bed, its tiny rear waving in the air playfully as it peered back at her with intrigue. “What the devil?” Hermione grudgingly untangled her legs. Once finished, she leaned on her knees, lifting a hand to pet the kitten. It meowed happily and arched its spine against her hand, its little body vibrating with purrs.
“How did you get into my flat, little guy?” She didn’t know why she was talking to the thing, but it was cute. And the way it was purring, she couldn’t help but adore it. It glanced back at her, pausing as it pushed against her hand, half of its face hidden by her cupped hand.
MEOW!
She laughed; her voice tinkling lightly as her face lit up as she watched the kitten cease approaching her hand and instead batted at it, falling onto its side and rolling onto its back to bat more leisurely. “Well, you’re certainly friendly.” Getting up, she picked the kitten up, pulling it to her chest to support it as she walked. It squirmed against the hold, but did not snap or scratch.
“Blaise must have snuck back in while I was sleeping. I’ll have to have a word with that guy.”
She walked into the kitchen, glancing around as she placed the kitten on the table and turned to go into the refrigerator. She pulled a carton of milk from it, grabbing a clean bowl from the sink and began pouring as she walked.
She placed the filled bowl on the table, watching the kitten lap at the creams silently. She sighed as she turned back around to put the carton back into the fridge. “I gotta go change for work, kitten,” she said aloud, not even bothering to wonder this time why she was speaking to it as if it was a person. “You stay here, and be good while I’m in my room.”
She began to walk away, but a meow caused her to turn and she watched as the kitten sat on her table, staring at her fiercely. ‘What’s wrong, kitten?” It meowed again, his eyes never leaving hers. Then she had an idea. “I suppose you need a name. I can’t just keep calling you kitten.” She put a finger to her lips as she leaned against the doorframe, watching it. “I’ll call you Blaze. After Blaise, but spelled differently of course.”
The kitten meowed, seemingly satisfied and sniffed at the milk in the saucer again before drinking more. Hermione smiled as she walked away, easily leaning down to pick up her wand and toss it onto her bedside table. She glanced at the clock on her wall, noticing with a sigh that she would soon be late for work.
“Guess no shower this morning,” she said to herself as she grabbed the wand up and muttered something. Her hair lost some of its dullness, becoming far curlier in the process, her face looking slightly cleaner.
Picking out a white tank top with a pair of jeans, she grabbed her work robes, easily tossing them on as she crossed to the small mirror, studying herself boredly. She pocketed her wand. “Eh, it’ll do.” She grabbed a hair-tie from her dresser, pulling the unruly hair up into a quick bun, pieces hereand there flying out and hanging even as she finished. She didn’t bother fixing it.
Walking into the kitchen, she picked Blaze up off the table and sat him on the floor. “Now, you be good,” she said playfully as she waggled a finger at it. It playfully leapt at the digit and she pulled it back before the kitten’s claws could claim it. She laughed as she grabbed her bag off the table and opened the door, watching the kitten scamper away. She was glad that she hadn’t been able to get rid of Crookshanks’ old litter pan.
Shutting the door behind her, she walked down the pathway of her porch, waving a hello to her duplex-mate, who was paying a tawny barn owl with one hand as he held The Daily Prophet in his other. She walked down the small walkway to where it split into the sidewalk.
The sun was shining above her head and for some reason; she didn’t feel like Apparating to work, but walking. She started off down the street with a smile on her face, humming a song that she couldn’t remember the words to. She stopped at the side of the road, where the sidewalk ended, glancing around to make sure that no carriages were coming down the street.
“Granger!”
She turned, watching Draco Malfoy walk out from his duplex flat next to hers and walk towards her, his steps sure and confidant. “What do you want, Malfoy?” she asked him as he approached. “I’m off to work.”
He smirked, his hands in the pockets of his robes as he came to stop a few feet in front of her. “I know.” He pulled his hand from his pocket, tossing something through the air towards her. “Just thought you might like another one.” Hermione caught it easily, looking down to gaze at what her hand held.
It was a toy mouse.
Finis
STORY REQUEST
BRIEFLY describe what you'd like to receive: happy ending, mention of 'The Weasel and Granger', briefly violent!Draco
What rating would you prefer?: PG-13 or R
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): gay/lesbian pairings, darkness, blood play
Thank-you for participating in the Hot Summer Nights with Draco and Hermione exchange.