The Love Connection

Tinsadisaster

Summary: Series of quotes inspiring short stories, with little or no connection at all, about the one thing that breaks the bonds of society and the bonds of the heart. DMHG

Disclaimer: This exists for governmental reasons. I will only say this once. Relish it, folks.

Love thy neighbour – and if he happens to be tall, debonair and devastating, it will be that much easier.

Mae West

Hermione Granger, at the age of 24, was living in absolute torment. She lived next door to one of the most beautiful men she had ever laid her brown eyes on and he didn't know she even existed.

"Ginny, what are you doing?"

It was the ritual Friday Night Affair and this week, it resided in Hermione's flat, as it always had because Hermione was probably the only witch who owned a Muggle television set, DVD player, and possibly all the "Chick Flicks" that ever existed. She also probably was the only witch who could tolerate a rampaging group of females, lusting for both unrealistic dreams of gorgeous leading men in their lives and Hermione's fantastic Secret Popcorn.

Ginny, along with a couple other women, were leaning on the door way, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man who lived next door. They sighed and swooned, watching the particular man leave his flat, his magnificent backside swaying away. Hermione swore Lavendar was having heart failure but then told herself Lavendar always reacted the same way whenever a respectably good-looking man passed her by.

"This week we're watching The Notebook. Featuring Ryan Gosling, Rachel McAdams. Premiered in 2004..." Hermione stated, as always, because this was the uniform of the beginning of each Friday Night Affair and she just simply loved facts.

"Here, here! Pop in the film and let's see some love, Grandma! If we wanted you to read the complete background of the film, we'd ask you."

Luna Lovegood's lively comment hailed a tidal wave of approval. Hermione rolled her eyes and inserted the disc into the DVD player and was immediately pulled away from the TV screen. Having watched the movie for a billion times, Hermione walked to the kitchen to prepare her popcorn, with a secret ingredient that baffled everyone, even her own mother. Her popcorn was famous within her circle of female friends but somehow not with her male friends. They said whoever ate it had to be pregnant because it was so intolerable.

Hearing the first wave of "awwws," Hermione was certain she'd be hearing complete silence for the next two hours. Of course, they'd be munching and sniffing but any loud sound would have pissed the females off and they'd roar like a pack of lions. This was a proven fact because one given Friday, Harry and Ron stumbled upon the occassion and choosed to be caroused. They entered Hermione's flat alive but barely left with their bowels intact. The event immediately sobered them but perhaps scarred them for life.

The popcorn finished and smelling absolutely tempting, was finally distributed to the women, who were beginning to tear up. Hermione felt content, watching the back of the heads of these people who she went to school with but never lost contact with. She felt herself tearing up, with the sentiment of the idea that she had company and wasn't wasting another Friday, in the fetal position, reading a book or whatnot, while the world was outside alive and definately not boring.

Hermione had a great fear of being lonely, unliked. This fear was first hinted of when she overheard Ron mimicking her quite badly, after a certain lesson, and heard the laughter that followed his snide act. She intentionally shoved him, fleeing to the bathroom, where she was annoyed by Moaning Myrtle and the constant flushing of toilets. Another event that hinted this was when the despicable blonde ferret called her a name, which she did not understand the meaning of at first, but the tone of his voice implied total loathing. She cried once again. Hermione was a cry baby disguised as a headstrong, confident ex-Head Girl who fought alongside the greatest Harry Potter and won in the war against the Dark Lord. She was now a free lance writer, though she had the credits and power to become more.

She walked out her door, hoping for fresh air. She closed the door, quietly, and leaned against it. She heard laughter ringing within her home and smiled, knowing that her home was being filled with emotion and was not so barren and cold.

"They've kicked you out, have they?"

Hermione jumped in her skin, hearing the voice of the man next door. She knew this was his voice because he was constantly visited by delivery men, who were quite chatty and positively demanded responses. His voice was low, with a familiar drawl that was as caressing as the touch of a lover.

"Huh?"

"Those women, who were staring at my bum." He said this with a smirk that pulled the strings of her heart.

"What?" Hermione blushed, wanting to slap herself. Are you unintelligible, Hermione Granger? Can you speak more than mono-syllabic words?

"Don't tell me you were staring also."

"Uh..."

A gigantic awkward silence ensued. He blinked.

"Right then. I'll have to put a bit more sway to my step then. Just for you." He winked and entered his flat. Hermione exhaled, relearning how to breath once again.

This man was literally breathtaking. And he knew she existed!

And more importantly, she really needed to learn this man's name.

Hermione Granger learned something about her neighbor.

Hermione Granger was living next door to an underwear model.

She said this over and over again in her head but it sounded like a bunch of words randomly picked out and put together.

Of all the luck in the world, she lived next door to one of the sexiest underwear models. She was scared for her life. Recently, she'd been stalked by a group of women who were hoping to meet him through her. They threatened her with meetings in dark alleys, their fearfully masculine, muscled female acquantainces, and knuckle sandwiches, which didn't sound appetizing at all. This was a major problem. Firstly, these women were crazy. Secondly, she barely knew him. He was almost always away or laying siege in his apartment, being visited by delivery men from time to time. Her first face-to-face encounter was that Friday night. Most of the time, she observed him from afar.

His name was Dean Matherson. He was an underwear model for a trendy underwear brand. His face was chiseled by the gods, along with his body. His hair was a shade between blonde and brown. He walked with confidence and allure. He had precise fashion sense, though he was not flaunting it too obviously. He was her leading man in her dreams.

She was at the market, shopping for the Friday Night Affair.

She saw her special ingredient lying on the very top of the shelves. She was not the most vertically endowed witch that existed but she thought maybe by standing on the tips of her toes and stretching her hands till they almost popped out of her sockets would get the item she needed. She reached up, her shirt riding up and flashing her midsection.

"Gosh... Why were my parents so short!"

She felt the item at the very tips of her fingers and was pulling it her way when she felt somehow from behind hold her close with one hand while the other easily grabbed the product. She blushed, not knowing anything else to do. She felt the person step back and she twirled, ready to thank the stranger and run away.

"They say good things come in small packages."

Oh. Merlin.

That was probably the most cheesiest quote that ever was quoted but when it came from Dean Matherson, it was absolute gold. She thanked him and moved to promptly run away but was cut off by the lovely arm of the model slash demigod.

"Would you like to have dinner with me, neighbor?"

Hermione felt her heart would burst any second. Am I dreaming? Is this real? Did the demigod just ask me out on a date?

"Well, it's not a date really. More like a get together, you know?"

Okay, scratch that. Not a date.

"At my flat."

Intelligible thought ends here.

"OK."

"I ordered Chinese. I'm not much of a cook really. I kind of was raised with privileges like chefs. Sadly, I think it's the reason why I can't even make instant noodles. With or without magic."

Hermione smiled, entering the threshold of Dean's home. She observed the barren walls and bland furniture, quite disappointed. She was thinking he'd have a "tricked out pad." She recently had a conversation with her neice, who tried to teach her modern terminology but apparently, it just wasn't her.

"Can you keep a secret for me, neighbor?"

You're in love with me? You want me to be your sex slave? You're a con man? You like to be naked? You're a woman (please Merlin don't be)? You're a fugitive running away from the Ministry? You've got a rat problem? You've been hiding from the Australian magical officers?

"Sure." Hermione tried to say this carelessly.

"My name is not Dean Matherson."

Whoa whoa whoa. Hold on, buddy. What's going on?

Hermione's eyes widened and she probably looked like a mouse.

"Let me explain... after dinner."

They ate their chow mein and sweet and sour pork in silence. John Doe, Merlin knows what his name really was, cleared the dishes and sat them at a comfortable couch.

"So here's the story..."

"DRACO MALFOY!" Hermione jumped up from her seat.

"Calm down, Hermione."

"What's going on here, Malfoy?" Hermione immediately set her balled fists on her hips.

"Remember when I said this was a secret you had to keep? Give me your pinky."

"Why?"

He grabbed her pinky with his and the pact was finalized.

"My father doesn't know I'm an underwear model. If he did, he'd skin me. He thinks showing off the body to anyone other than one's spouse is disgusting. Of course, he's the biggest hypocrite in the world. He showed it to many women, other than my mother. I know this because these women told me and showed me."

OKAY. Too much information. I don't want to know you lost your virginity at nine with one of your father's mistresses.

"Anyways, I want you to watch my flat. I've been having strange women lounging about and I don't want to be robbed. Merlin knows what those mentally damaged females would do. I'll be on a photo shoot on some exotic unplotted island for a week. Just water my plants, get my mail... You know. That sort of thing."

"But you don't have plants."

"You're a smart woman, Granger."

And so Granger gathered Draco Malfoy's mail and watered his nonexistant plants for a week.

TO BE CONTINUED

Author's Note: ;D Review my lovelys!

Love,

Tinsadisaster