Part Seven
In which Seamus wants some chocolate sauce, and Hermione thinks he should be ashamed of himself.
Hermione’s eyes cracked open, listening intently for what could have woken her up. The house seemed silent, except for a few strange noises coming from Seamus’ room which she was used to by now and preferred just to ignore. Sighing, she shut her eyes, knowing that she had a very limited time frame during which she could fall back to sleep in before her mind woke up properly. If that happened, she could pretty much give up on sleep altogether.
Her mobile phone beeped suddenly and Hermione jumped, startled at the noise a phone could make when it was set on vibrate. She reached her hand out slowly, feeling a tiny seed of hope plant itself in her stomach that it might be Blaise.
“Not now, Hermione. Don’t think about him now,” she muttered to herself, but it was useless. Italy had sort of been a disaster, with the two of them setting off together fresh-faced and so sure of themselves it was hard to think about now. It had only taken Blaise a few days to decide he didn’t want to be with her, standing in front of the Trevi fountain in the sun - it had been so warm- when he had turned to her, and she had just known. She blinked a few times, gulped back a tear or two and he had hugged her and told her that they just weren’t suited. She wasn’t passionate enough, they didn’t share the same interests. Hermione knew in a way that he was probably right, but it still hurt that there was something fundamental about her that made him not want to be with her. She was just too boring, she had thought silently as she watched him walk away, and she had hated herself for it, but she knew she would never change. If he had given her a chance she could have opened up to him and shown him that she wasn’t boring, really, that she did have passions but she didn’t want to show them right away because that had never worked out well for her in the past. A voice at her elbow had asked then if she would mind taking a photo, and Hermione didn’t even have a moment to grieve the loss of everything that could have been. Blinking back tears she had taken the photo of the Japanese couple in front of the fountain, both making the peace sign and looking so happy she almost resented them. Almost.
Hermione had been fourteen when she had her heart broken for the first time. So many people made the mistake of thinking that because she was bookish and seemed shy that she didn’t have a heart; that she was a thing to be studied and giggled at by the popular girls because she was so unlike them. But then she had met a boy, the boy she had thought at the time, and he had been different, and he had seemed to listen when she spoke and didn’t seem to mind when her mouth ran away with her. He even kissed her, once, and for the first time in her life Hermione had been speechless. Not for long though, because soon she was telling him everything; her secret hopes and fears for the future, how at night she would lie awake and wonder if it was healthy to be around as many books as she had been, that there were too many ideas in them, and what if she couldn’t separate them from her own? Because she wanted to be a writer, you know, so much it hurt to think about it -. She had looked at him, breathless, eyes shining, but her smile fell as she saw the look he was giving her. He had laughed a bit, and told her she was different from anyone he’d ever met, but Hermione knew from his tone that at fourteen, different wasn’t a good thing to be.
A knock at the door roused her from her musings, and Hermione became aware that the noises from Seamus’ room were growing louder. Hermione didn’t even want to think about what was going on in there.
“Come in,” she called out, checking her phone as Harry opened her door, brandishing his own mobile.
“Did you just get his text?” Harry hissed as he came into the room, apparently appalled.
Blearily, Hermione read out the words on the screen. “Do you guys know if we have any chocolate sauce?” Hermione reddened as she said the words aloud, fighting the urge to giggle uncontrollably.
“What’s he been like while I’ve been away?”
Harry grimaced a little, settling down beside her on the bed. “The usual. Awkward morning afters for me to deal with, the bathroom’s down there, there’s the front door, Seamus gets off scot free.”
The end of this sentence was punctuated by a loud moan from Seamus’ room which caused Hermione to groan and cover her head with her pillow, struggling to hide her giggles. The moaning grew louder and the floor beneath them began to shake violently. The wooden two-story house had seen better days and while Harry did have the money to renovate, he couldn’t be bothered. “Besides,” he always said with a cheeky grin, “if I reinforced the walls and floors we’d miss out on all the fun.” Hermione’s bedside lamp began jumping slightly as the shaking continued, escalating to the point that Hermione felt the vibrations rocket through her and she briefly took the pillow off her head.
“He doesn’t even have the decency to feel ashamed either,” Hermione said, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the startling sounds now issuing from the room opposite hers. Harry ducked his head and laughed quietly.
“At least he’s honest about it.”
The lamp began jumping in earnest now, heading towards the edge of the bedside table. The moaning reached a crescendo and finally, with a small scream, everything stopped. The lamp rocked back and forth for a moment, teetering on the edge, and, just as Harry lunged to grab it, fell to the floor, the bulb shattering loudly in the sudden silence. Harry and Hermione looked at it for a moment in shock.
“Well,” said Hermione quietly. “He better pay for that.”
Harry and Hermione dissolved into laughter then, shoulders shaking so hard it nearly hurt, but Hermione didn’t mind.
She was home, and she would be okay.
Hermione’s eyes cracked open, listening intently for what could have woken her up. The house seemed silent, except for a few strange noises coming from Seamus’ room which she was used to by now and preferred just to ignore. Sighing, she shut her eyes, knowing that she had a very limited time frame during which she could fall back to sleep in before her mind woke up properly. If that happened, she could pretty much give up on sleep altogether.
Her mobile phone beeped suddenly and Hermione jumped, startled at the noise a phone could make when it was set on vibrate. She reached her hand out slowly, feeling a tiny seed of hope plant itself in her stomach that it might be Blaise.
“Not now, Hermione. Don’t think about him now,” she muttered to herself, but it was useless. Italy had sort of been a disaster, with the two of them setting off together fresh-faced and so sure of themselves it was hard to think about now. It had only taken Blaise a few days to decide he didn’t want to be with her, standing in front of the Trevi fountain in the sun - it had been so warm- when he had turned to her, and she had just known. She blinked a few times, gulped back a tear or two and he had hugged her and told her that they just weren’t suited. She wasn’t passionate enough, they didn’t share the same interests. Hermione knew in a way that he was probably right, but it still hurt that there was something fundamental about her that made him not want to be with her. She was just too boring, she had thought silently as she watched him walk away, and she had hated herself for it, but she knew she would never change. If he had given her a chance she could have opened up to him and shown him that she wasn’t boring, really, that she did have passions but she didn’t want to show them right away because that had never worked out well for her in the past. A voice at her elbow had asked then if she would mind taking a photo, and Hermione didn’t even have a moment to grieve the loss of everything that could have been. Blinking back tears she had taken the photo of the Japanese couple in front of the fountain, both making the peace sign and looking so happy she almost resented them. Almost.
Hermione had been fourteen when she had her heart broken for the first time. So many people made the mistake of thinking that because she was bookish and seemed shy that she didn’t have a heart; that she was a thing to be studied and giggled at by the popular girls because she was so unlike them. But then she had met a boy, the boy she had thought at the time, and he had been different, and he had seemed to listen when she spoke and didn’t seem to mind when her mouth ran away with her. He even kissed her, once, and for the first time in her life Hermione had been speechless. Not for long though, because soon she was telling him everything; her secret hopes and fears for the future, how at night she would lie awake and wonder if it was healthy to be around as many books as she had been, that there were too many ideas in them, and what if she couldn’t separate them from her own? Because she wanted to be a writer, you know, so much it hurt to think about it -. She had looked at him, breathless, eyes shining, but her smile fell as she saw the look he was giving her. He had laughed a bit, and told her she was different from anyone he’d ever met, but Hermione knew from his tone that at fourteen, different wasn’t a good thing to be.
A knock at the door roused her from her musings, and Hermione became aware that the noises from Seamus’ room were growing louder. Hermione didn’t even want to think about what was going on in there.
“Come in,” she called out, checking her phone as Harry opened her door, brandishing his own mobile.
“Did you just get his text?” Harry hissed as he came into the room, apparently appalled.
Blearily, Hermione read out the words on the screen. “Do you guys know if we have any chocolate sauce?” Hermione reddened as she said the words aloud, fighting the urge to giggle uncontrollably.
“What’s he been like while I’ve been away?”
Harry grimaced a little, settling down beside her on the bed. “The usual. Awkward morning afters for me to deal with, the bathroom’s down there, there’s the front door, Seamus gets off scot free.”
The end of this sentence was punctuated by a loud moan from Seamus’ room which caused Hermione to groan and cover her head with her pillow, struggling to hide her giggles. The moaning grew louder and the floor beneath them began to shake violently. The wooden two-story house had seen better days and while Harry did have the money to renovate, he couldn’t be bothered. “Besides,” he always said with a cheeky grin, “if I reinforced the walls and floors we’d miss out on all the fun.” Hermione’s bedside lamp began jumping slightly as the shaking continued, escalating to the point that Hermione felt the vibrations rocket through her and she briefly took the pillow off her head.
“He doesn’t even have the decency to feel ashamed either,” Hermione said, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the startling sounds now issuing from the room opposite hers. Harry ducked his head and laughed quietly.
“At least he’s honest about it.”
The lamp began jumping in earnest now, heading towards the edge of the bedside table. The moaning reached a crescendo and finally, with a small scream, everything stopped. The lamp rocked back and forth for a moment, teetering on the edge, and, just as Harry lunged to grab it, fell to the floor, the bulb shattering loudly in the sudden silence. Harry and Hermione looked at it for a moment in shock.
“Well,” said Hermione quietly. “He better pay for that.”
Harry and Hermione dissolved into laughter then, shoulders shaking so hard it nearly hurt, but Hermione didn’t mind.
She was home, and she would be okay.