RP: Before
Characters: Hermione & Draco
Location: The flat
Date: Jul 31st, 4ish PM
Status/Warning: Closed/None
Summary: This isn't how it works.
Completion: Complete
The problem with Hermione was that she was too proud to admit when she needed help. Her roundabout, prattish way of talking to Ron regarding Harry's birthday was, in fact, her way of asking for it. The idea for a carnival had come out of nowhere. She'd re-read at the letter to Ron twice before it settled in that yes she'd actually written that and yes it was likely to be the best idea the two of them could come up with (sigh.) An idea was an idea was an idea. From many long years with Harry, she had the feeling he'd honestly be happy with anything remotely resembling a party. At least, he was easy to please.
Unlike some.
With barely an hour before she had to set out for Grimmauld, Hermione quickly wrapped Harry's present. It was a large, square-ish sort of package -- a book-shaped package (which was standard, for presents from Hermione) -- wrapped in last Christmas's paper. All silver, green, and red, complete with a card that read just the right amount of sentimentality. Harry was turning twenty, for goodness sake! And on his way to becoming a fully-trained Auror! It shouldn't have bothered her, but it did, in a way. Hermione coped better when she wasn't aware of too-rapid passages of time. Of course, they had to grow up, and this was something she could relish in. The responsibility, the capability, and the actual ability to do something meaningful.
While Hermione saw this as good for herself, it made her worry for her friends. For the first time, she had to come to terms with the fact that she couldn't always protect them.
Especially Even Ron.
"You going out again?"
The familiar, languidly disinterested voice jolted her out of her thoughts. Instinctively, Hermione jumped, dropped the quill, heart hammering. A blossom of ink spread over white tablecloth.
"Draco -- ! Don't sneak about." She pulled out her wand and pointed at the stain. With the quiet murmur of a word under her breath, the blot vanished. Pristine. Again, she turned to the blonde, eying him as he leaned against the doorframe, his pose too casual to be truly casual. The strategic position of her body blocked his view of the wrapped present. "What do you mean again?" In fewer than ten syllables, Hermione found herself disliking the route of this conversation, something that had become more and more frequent in passing days.
"I'm just saying." Draco stepped forward and unfolded his arms. His expression would have read as concerned, if not for the tired bitterness of it. The pinched, ferret-like look. "You've been going out with -- with these people so often -- I hardly see you at home anymore because you say you've been busy when, I know for a fact, you've been spending quite a bit of time at the Leaky." His lip curled at the mention of the pub. Not that Draco had anything against it, except for the fact that he did. Draco had a distaste for the "common-ness" of things. "If you would just say that you're going for a pint instead of blatantly lying to me --"
"I haven't lied!" Hermione's voice escalated to match his, interrupting him. "I don't drink and I don't lie and these people are my friends, whether or not I have your approval to visit them." Her hand made a flippant gesture, indicating to the invisible crown above Prince Malfoy's head. One he never took off. One he was born with. "Perhaps I ought to ask your Majesty's permission to attend Harry's birthday party as well?"
Through gritted teeth, he snarled. Very ferret-like. Jealous. "That's not what I meant. You didn't even think to ask me along?"
Hermione laughed. Briefly, her right hand curled against her mouth, only for a second, before flicking away something invisible as she shook her head. Disbelief. "You're kidding. Really you must be kidding to think Harry would want you there."
"And that isn't what I asked. Did you want me there?" He closed the distance between them quickly and set his hand on her upper arm. There was really only one way she could answer that question. Well, she could lie, of course, say 'Yes, my darling, what I wouldn't give for your presence on my arm...!' But this wasn't melodrama. This wasn't Jane Austen, where people were mannequins wearing awkward masks, dancing around the truth with fluttered eyelashes. Where you hopelessly bound yourself to a rich, handsome man. Hermione was never happier to live in a time were you were expected to speak boldly.
"No." She ripped her arm from his, angry lump in her throat hastily swallowed. "No, I don't want you there for reasons that should seem quite obvious to you. It's Harry's party and I quite think I'm allowed to be with my own friends without your supervision. Do you really distrust me so much?" Draco stepped back, offended or angry, she couldn't tell, though it would be a safe bet to assume both. In the moment of stunned silence that followed, Hermione turned and picked up Harry's present. Malfoy didn't stop her when she moved for the door.
The flat no longer felt like a home, but then again, it never really had in the first place.
Location: The flat
Date: Jul 31st, 4ish PM
Status/Warning: Closed/None
Summary: This isn't how it works.
Completion: Complete
The problem with Hermione was that she was too proud to admit when she needed help. Her roundabout, prattish way of talking to Ron regarding Harry's birthday was, in fact, her way of asking for it. The idea for a carnival had come out of nowhere. She'd re-read at the letter to Ron twice before it settled in that yes she'd actually written that and yes it was likely to be the best idea the two of them could come up with (sigh.) An idea was an idea was an idea. From many long years with Harry, she had the feeling he'd honestly be happy with anything remotely resembling a party. At least, he was easy to please.
Unlike some.
With barely an hour before she had to set out for Grimmauld, Hermione quickly wrapped Harry's present. It was a large, square-ish sort of package -- a book-shaped package (which was standard, for presents from Hermione) -- wrapped in last Christmas's paper. All silver, green, and red, complete with a card that read just the right amount of sentimentality. Harry was turning twenty, for goodness sake! And on his way to becoming a fully-trained Auror! It shouldn't have bothered her, but it did, in a way. Hermione coped better when she wasn't aware of too-rapid passages of time. Of course, they had to grow up, and this was something she could relish in. The responsibility, the capability, and the actual ability to do something meaningful.
While Hermione saw this as good for herself, it made her worry for her friends. For the first time, she had to come to terms with the fact that she couldn't always protect them.
Especially Even Ron.
"You going out again?"
The familiar, languidly disinterested voice jolted her out of her thoughts. Instinctively, Hermione jumped, dropped the quill, heart hammering. A blossom of ink spread over white tablecloth.
"Draco -- ! Don't sneak about." She pulled out her wand and pointed at the stain. With the quiet murmur of a word under her breath, the blot vanished. Pristine. Again, she turned to the blonde, eying him as he leaned against the doorframe, his pose too casual to be truly casual. The strategic position of her body blocked his view of the wrapped present. "What do you mean again?" In fewer than ten syllables, Hermione found herself disliking the route of this conversation, something that had become more and more frequent in passing days.
"I'm just saying." Draco stepped forward and unfolded his arms. His expression would have read as concerned, if not for the tired bitterness of it. The pinched, ferret-like look. "You've been going out with -- with these people so often -- I hardly see you at home anymore because you say you've been busy when, I know for a fact, you've been spending quite a bit of time at the Leaky." His lip curled at the mention of the pub. Not that Draco had anything against it, except for the fact that he did. Draco had a distaste for the "common-ness" of things. "If you would just say that you're going for a pint instead of blatantly lying to me --"
"I haven't lied!" Hermione's voice escalated to match his, interrupting him. "I don't drink and I don't lie and these people are my friends, whether or not I have your approval to visit them." Her hand made a flippant gesture, indicating to the invisible crown above Prince Malfoy's head. One he never took off. One he was born with. "Perhaps I ought to ask your Majesty's permission to attend Harry's birthday party as well?"
Through gritted teeth, he snarled. Very ferret-like. Jealous. "That's not what I meant. You didn't even think to ask me along?"
Hermione laughed. Briefly, her right hand curled against her mouth, only for a second, before flicking away something invisible as she shook her head. Disbelief. "You're kidding. Really you must be kidding to think Harry would want you there."
"And that isn't what I asked. Did you want me there?" He closed the distance between them quickly and set his hand on her upper arm. There was really only one way she could answer that question. Well, she could lie, of course, say 'Yes, my darling, what I wouldn't give for your presence on my arm...!' But this wasn't melodrama. This wasn't Jane Austen, where people were mannequins wearing awkward masks, dancing around the truth with fluttered eyelashes. Where you hopelessly bound yourself to a rich, handsome man. Hermione was never happier to live in a time were you were expected to speak boldly.
"No." She ripped her arm from his, angry lump in her throat hastily swallowed. "No, I don't want you there for reasons that should seem quite obvious to you. It's Harry's party and I quite think I'm allowed to be with my own friends without your supervision. Do you really distrust me so much?" Draco stepped back, offended or angry, she couldn't tell, though it would be a safe bet to assume both. In the moment of stunned silence that followed, Hermione turned and picked up Harry's present. Malfoy didn't stop her when she moved for the door.
The flat no longer felt like a home, but then again, it never really had in the first place.