Author's Note: Oh dear…my laptop's, like, gone comatose, so the new chapter of I Am Just A Flea is "static" right now. Good lord, I need reliable technology. To all "I Am Just Flea" readers (if I have any left) I do hope to finish the new chapter, but I haven't even brought my laptop in to see someone yet, so no word on it's condition. (Sniffle.)
So here's this. I wrote it awhile ago. A short multi-chaptered thing. I figured that while my laptop is undergoing surgery, I'll just update this.
Disclaimer: Insert funny disclaimer here.
"Much Ado About Cabbage"
It was all really because of the cabbage…
Chapter One: And They Came A'knocking
It was, of course, a sunny beautiful day, but Hermione was having none of it. Instead, she roughly and repeatedly stabbed the cabbage sitting forlornly on her kitchen counter.
"There!" she said triumphantly, and a little vehemently, "This is going to be cabbage soup, and by gosh if he gets any!" she sniffed, turned on the stove top, and prepared the water.
What she got, seven minutes later, as the water was happily bubbling away, was an owl obnoxiously scratching at her glass panes. Hermione, miffed, yanked open the window, seized the scruffy owl, and took the letter. The owl hooted a bit tremulously, and preceded to preen itself.
"Oh, you want a response, eh?" said Hermione. Pursing her lips, she tore open the seal and quickly read the parchment.
"Dearest Hermione Granger,
It is with the deepest pleasure that we welcome you to the wedding of one Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass, who will so ceremoniously proclaim their love at 3:00 P.M. on Sunday the Twenty-fifth of this month, September, in the Chapel of the Holy Bell of the Wizard Frankenmuth, on Stonington Street, Pickelvale, Ireland. The reception will be hosted in France. Portkeys are available.
For reception direction please contact the mother of the bride, Wilhelmina Greengrass.
We hope you attend!
-Draco Lucious Malfoy and Daphne Pimpernel Greengrass.
Formal Attire.
SRWO.
Hermione grimaced, wiped her nose, wiped her eyes, then scowled at the bird. "SRWO, eh? Send response wif' owl? Well fine, he'll get a blasted response."
And then she began to write.
Hermione was not one to hold a grudge—she was one to coddle, pamper, treasure, and set said grudge lovingly on the living room mantelpiece.
For instance, when Justin Finch-Fletchly finally trudged home at 12-o-clock at night, red around the eyes and grinning foolishly, Hermione met him at the door, tapping her foot, and tallying up the countless times he had done this before.
"Well?" she snapped, "Have you anything to say for yourself?"
He just winked and pushed past her into the hallway, hanging up his coat.
She snorted. "I thought so, you drunken git."
No response.
"Oh, is it too much trouble to come home on a regular basis? Eh? No, apparently not." Hermione angrily slammed the front door, whihc he had forgotten to close. "Not when there's so much fun to be had drinking at these lovely company parties your father keeps throwing. What was it he said to me on the phone last week—when he was 'apologizing' because he couldn't possibly make it the homemade dinner I planned for you and your parents, because he had some club party or something and his new secretary needed to be 'shown around'? 'Oh, you know Hermione dear, you better watch Justin m'boy, the old coot is so attractive and all, that new secretary, that charming Leta, she so adores your husband!' Well?"
He shrugged. "It s'only a party," he slurred. "S'not like there's any fun eah, wiv you chillier than winta'."
Hermione bristled. She was about to retort, about to say "Yes, well, a gal does get "chilly" and all when her husband is a drunken son of a bitch," but her voice caught in her throat when she saw him remove his scarf.
There were distinct splotches of red on his neck, retreating down into his shirt. Red shaped like lips. Fuming, thunderstuck, and rather feeling homicidal, Hermione thought of the cold cabbage and bacon soup on the stove, of the empty placemat, of the hours she wasted in the kitchen. She thought of the quick and utterly confusing courtship, the wedding she never even got to plan, the house she never had any say in, the outright wretchedness of her life.
Hermione threw her hands up in the air. "Well, I give up! You can sleep on the couch tonight." She left the room, disgusted with him, with herself for marrying the foolish prat, and Malfoy, who decided to ruin her already deplorable day by announcing his marriage to some silly chit in a mini-dress.
God, she wished more men were gay. It would make life so much easier.
Author's Note: What do you think? It's not much, but i've already finished the second chapter. I think this has potential.
Reveiw and get a buttercream and marble-frosting cupcake!