Vegetables, Meat, Carbo and Drinks
Hermione mulls over an ill-prepared shopping list. Draco decides he likes to terrorize her more than ever. Draco and Hermione one-shot.
Being thoroughly inspired by the fanfics, Coffee Tea or Me? By Doodle, and the way Grey Tuesdays by floorcoaster, was written, I decided to give this silly plot I had floating around in my head a try. I do not own anything at all. I stayed up till late to write this just too get this out. My final parts may need some editing and changing so forgive me if it doesn't sound coherent. I will probably edit tomorrow. Feel free to comment and anything. Also heavily inspired by the song -Sunshine's Better Talvin Singh Remix from the CD, Café del Mar: Best of 2004 Edition Disc 2, John Martyn-
I'm totally rambling due to lack of sleep. I dedicate this story to my boyfriend! He gave me the inspiration for the feel of this story. Sounds weird? Haha.
Also to my grandfather who passed away 2 years ago on the 8th.
COMMENT yea? Reviewslove
Xxoo –thecows-
…
You realize that through the past 10 years, you have aged more than you should have, the wrinkles on the cleft of your face more visible than ever. As you turn your face to the left, almost pressing it to the mirror to get a closer look, you purse your lips awkwardly to the side. Your fingers skimming the bottom of your cheek, the tangible evidence jolting you to the crushing truth that yes, Hermione Granger, you are indeed getting older.
You sigh to yourself, hunching your shoulders forward. As your try to go through all the good things in your life, running through them like a mental memo pad, you feel that this routine is getting old, as you are.
Rolling your eyes to the ceiling and berating yourself with a renewed force of determination, you tell yourself to be thankful for the things you have, the roof over your head and your cat.
As you slam the front door a little harder than you had intended to, you squint your eyes as the familiar sunshine beats down onto your being. Flexing your arms behind you, you take up a old, beaten-up red bucket and fill it with the same grains you have been using for the past ten years and fling it over the coop to where the chickens are living.
As you slip your feet into some comfy old sneakers with the red laces on them, you take a slow jog from one end of your farm estate to the other, where your fresh vegetable stands are waiting for the early morning crowd.
Your 15 acre farmland is known as the where the "freshest produce" can be found in the wizarding area. It is not a particularly huge cooperation but successful none the less. "Granger's Market" is a household name now for grocery-loving families.
Today you smile at the fruits of your labor. As you push a loose strand of hair and tuck it behind your ears, you wonder if you will ever find the time to meet someone special and settle down. You are not getting any younger. Today you are 30 years old.
…
Grabbing a cherry-red apple from your favorite tree in your new country home, you crunch into it eagerly, savoring the burst of sweet tanginess that exudes from its juices. The apple fills your mouth with its cool flesh. As you chew on the apple, you swallow your first bite almost regrettably, then realizing you still have the rest of the apple to finish and the whole day to work, you almost inhale the apple as you hungrily chomp down the remainder. Licking your lips to catch the last of the apple, you hop onto your best broomstick and kick off into the sky.
The thrill of the ride always feels like your first. You never tire of the exhilaration which throbs through your being. Flying is one the simplest pleasures in life. It may easily be the ONLY pleasure in your life, next to eating of course. As you find yourself pondering about the new mergers that your company has made in the last month, you try to shrug off the heavy responsibility of work life.
It's not long before you spot a sign which startles you.
"Granger's Market".
You have only known one Granger in your life. It can't be can it?
You feel your eyebrows twitching with an ache, your lips twisting into a smirk. It feels you just saw an old friend, one whom you have not visited for 10 years now.
Suddenly you find yourself slipping into the days of the relatively carefree moments of school. You wish that you had cherished the time when you stood, side by side with your comrades, fighting for the forces of good, against what you once thought to be true.
Then, it was easy. Then, you had friends who vowed to be by you for good or bad, even unto death. Oaths, those were sacred then. Now, when you are in the working world, everything changes. People transition into adults and it's a dog-eat-dog world, when politics and money override everything else.
You mutter to yourself, "Draco, Draco, what you would give just to have a little fun in your life again."
As you land your broom steadily into the open dirt field, you quirk your eyebrows at the painfully bright green sign which announced your unexpected destination. You study the marketplace with the scrutiny worthy of Professor Snape teaching a Gryfindor period.
As you scan the horizon of vegetables, you decide that the produce looks delectable and fresh enough for a Malfoy.
However, you know what you're really looking for is a bushy cloud of brown, frizzy hair. As you finally spot what you're looking for, you stare at the lady who, quite decidedly, takes your breath away. Who you USED to think was ugly and nerdy.
And you wonder how long it will be before she turns around and notices you.
…
You shriek. At least that's what you think it sounded like. To others, maybe a blow-horn or something that closely resembles one of those muggle engines. You know, the long ones with red paint splashed all over it and with ladders attached at the sides.
As you see him stalk over to you with the same annoying air of superiority, you can't help but notice a huge stirring in you which you will soon learn that you mistook for anger and loathe and hatred and…
Well, you can't let him to get you that easily now can you? You straighten your dusty green overalls and walk to him, feeling your mouth clench and the blood rush to your cheeks.
"Malfoy." You hear yourself barely whisper his name.
"Granger."
You feel yourself stiffen, the hair at the back of your neck stand on its ends.
As the sunshine beams past the wooden stands of your market, it shines down on the both of you, shrouding you and him in a golden bath of sunlight. As he raises his palm to block out the glare, you smirk back him. He seems to be stunned to see you take on his signature move.
"Still can't bear to be in the light eh, Malfoy?"
You see his smirk turn down into to form a frown on his face. You notice his face does not have a sign of wrinkle.
Your start to think about the unfairness of good genes and their allocation. Your thoughts are interrupted as he begins to laugh at your tanned skin.
…
You think she looks cute when she gets mad. You tease her about her tanned skin, her forever-messy shower of auburn locks.
She gets so mad that she picks up a bunch of freshly picked tomatoes and hurls it at you. You manage to dodge the basket, thanks to your excellent Quiditch training back at school. Not only do you do this, but you also mitt a handful of the ripened tomatoes. As you bite into one of them, you see her eyes glaze over, a mixture of shock, anger, wonder and… lust?
…
You couldn't believe your eyes when he stole your tomatoes. Ok, fine. Technically, you threw it at him, so he had right over the entire bushel.
Bummer, you thought he looked so hot when he took that first bite into the hot red tomato. Your brain racked around for a suitable word.
Sinful.
Yeap, there it was, under the Ss.
It reminded you of the muggle story you once read a long time ago, what was that? Oh yea, Adam and Eve and the apple. Except that now the roles had changed.
You could feel your gaze lock onto him. Merlin, how long had it been since you had a man? Too long. Ron didn't count, he had been way too immature. And when it was over, it felt like it had not even started yet.
As you realize you are on the verge of the salivating stage, you quickly withdraw your tongue and regain control of your mental state, for now…
"Uh, good flavor, Granger." You notice his eyebrows go up. Way up. You detect a hint of amusement in his tone.
Oh Shit, you think to yourself, surely he did not catch that little frisson moment did he?
You feel flustered and hot, not to mention horribly bothered. As you roll your eyes and huff irritably, you turn your heel and tell your helper, Janice to attend to "Mr. Malfoy." You try to say his name with as much malice as possible, however, you suspect it did not come out quite so. As you turn to make sure he's not causing any more havoc, you catch a glimpse of him licking his thumb playfully, enjoying the slick red juices of your freshest tomatoes.
"Merlin."
You feel your spine shiver. You quicken your pace and rush to the counter.
"Incorrigible bastard."
…
The next day, you find yourself scribbling on a piece of paper haphazardly and rushing to Granger's Farm to beat the early morning crowd.
You see her standing behind the crates of cucumbers and broccolis. As she ticks off her checklist, you wait for her to look up to see you.
Finally she spots you. You feel that she is nervous. The way she bites her bottom lip and chews on it turns you on. You don't quite know how, it just does.
As you clear your throat, you swagger to her.
"Granger. I need these items."
You toss her the list. Her eyebrows furrow in amazement. She is amazed at your stupidity and lack of specifications.
"Vegetables, meat, carbo and drinks?" she almost falls over in hysterical laughter. You shift around uncomfortably, you are not used to people mocking you. Malfoy International was not built in a day you know.
As she continues to insult your intelligence, you give her a cool stare. She rolls her eyes and wipes a stray tear off her eyelids.
"What kind of vegetables do you want?"
"The usual, cabbage, cucumbers…" you answer with a huge grin.
"Right, those we have over there." She points to the side stand with a look of pure annoyance.
"What about the rest." You jab the shopping list. She does the huffy-puffy thing again which you feel yourself warming up to.
"Look, Malfoy, you need to be more specific! Chicken meat? Beef? What?!" You watch as she flings her arms around and loose her temper.
"Cool down Mudblood." You grin with amusement. You get off seeing her blow her top because of you.
"How dare you…!?"
You take it as a sign to dash out of harms way as a few huge stalks of celery and several cucumbers fly your way. You catch however much you can and run out of the store laughing.
"Thanks Granger!"
…
You grind the earth hard with your booted foot at 5 a.m. in the morning. You wrap a satin scarf with flower prints around your neck and tie a bow without looking. As it streams past your neck in the cool pre-morning breeze, you scowl as your mind fills with thoughts of annoying, pissy Draco Malfoy.
"Oh what I would give to kill that man!" You mutter angrily as you bite hotly into your pears.
As you stamp your foot to warm up from the cold morning chills, your hands rub your upper arms vigorously for circulation. To your dismay, you hear an all too familiar voice ring out in the dawn.
"Oi! Granger! You there?"
You hear loud rapping on the hardwood doors which, you were certain, were baring the words "Stay Away Malfoy", which you had scrawled in a fit after your fiber inspired throttle.
You rush to open the bolted doors. As you hurry to undo the bolts, you wonder why you are so anxious to let him in and give him a piece of your mind.
As he stands there, grinning, with shopping list in hand, you nearly cough blood when he strides in, demanding a morning cup of joe.
You hurry after him as he makes his way into your country house and parks his bottom on your best chair.
"Nice place you've got here, Granger."
As you bang your kettle on the counter, you demand what kind of roast would he prefers. After he states his choice, you consider hexing his cup to spill.
Shoving the hot mug to him, you poke at his unfinished list and proceed to educate him in List-Making 101.
He scoffs at your book-worm attitude and says that farmers should be more laid back.
"Honestly Granger, why gets your panties in a knit? Unless of course, those are Granny panties we are talking about?"
"What?! I most certainly do NOT wear Granny underwear!"
"Pray tell then Granger," he inches forward, his face suddenly very near to yours, "what kind of underwear DO you grace your pretty little bottom with?"
You are taken aback. Almost positive that your cheeks are now the shade of a baboon's ass, you slink into your chair and decide to shut your mouth.
…
You find yourself looking forward to the mornings. You, who used to sleep in late, usually to find yourself next to a scanty whore when you awoke, but that was during your Big City days.
Now, during your vacation in the country, you find your internal alarm clock taking a 360 degree turn. Not only do you wake up at 4.30 in the mornings, you realize you enjoy the usual morning banter with Hermione Granger.
Every day, you would scribble the same list down, fly off to Granger's Farm and have your breakfast at her food shack. You would be her first customer for several hours.
There, you would sit with her, for several hours.
You would talk to her. Talk to her about various things. What would seem like civil conversation will then suddenly escalate to a heated argument.
You two speak the language of banging pots and pans, clashing plates, porcelain and worn-out silver. The set of china her mother had given her lost two sets of cups. You notice that instead of locking you out permanently, she kept what remained of the set in another part of the house, somewhere where battles would not be fought.
It seems she enjoys the morning's batters, scolding and flirting. Instead of locking you out, she prepares for your arrival.
This scares you.
…
You start to fuss about the wrinkles. The imperfections on your body seem to double and multiply by the day.
One day, you strip to the skinny. You frown at the reflection. Your body seems to have sagged slightly; tan lines are visible at certain places. Your breasts are pointing to the south and the wrinkles on your face add to the character of your countenance.
For weeks, you find yourself dabbling with the newfangled creams and lotions from the Face Care Shop. Madam Klodonsky's Anti-Wrinklet. As you massage these potions into your skin, you observe little change. Frustrated, you whack the entire shelf of products off the vanity.
…
When you arrive at Hermione's place, you find her sulking in her sofa. Silently, you creep into the room. You nearly trip over a huge bottle of something. Bending over, you pick it up. Anti Wrinkle Creams? Hair tamers?
You grin and raise your eyebrows. You never could understand why women applied these useless things.
As you stare back at Hermione's silhouette, realization hits you like a ton of bricks. Grinning wider than ever, you toss the bottles into a proper waste bin.
As you lower yourself in the spot next to her, you find the sofa shivering a little. You are astounded to find yourself in the same room as a crying Hermione Granger.
"Hermione?" you ask gently.
She seems startled at first, immediately wiping the tears off her face. Halting suddenly, she moans, "Why do I even try?" With that, she blows unceremoniously into a tissue.
You draw her near to you. Wordlessly, you slide her into your arms. Your unorthodox actions stun her. She looks at you, sniffling.
As you cradle her in your arms, your legs lead you to stand, rocking her gently as you bring her to her room, up the stairs.
You lock the doors gently and begin to kiss her face softly, one at a time, planting rows of little awkward kisses along her cheeks. You begin to gain more confidence. You plant a big one on her lips. She smiles against your lips.
Your fingers run through her untamed, wild hair. Just the way you like her. You trace the back of her neck, she moans softly.
To your dismay, she breaks the kisses. You feel two small palms push your chest gently away. You see her look at herself, so unsure.
You laugh at her silliness.
…
His laughter hurts you more than it intends to. As you finger your hands, pinching them, hot salty tears start to beat down onto the carpet again.
You feel his fingers lift your chin to face him. You wonder at the serious look on his face. He starts to unbutton your checked blue shirt, you don't know why; you just let him unravel you, piece by piece, till you're standing there, naked, just as you are.
He stands behind you, gently nuzzling your neck. He leads you to the standing mirror in your room, to the image you dread to see.
You try to avert your eyes to the wood grain of the mirror edges. He sees this, but he does not laugh at your insecurities. Your eyes travel back to your reflection.
He begins.
"This well-toned body tells me that you are a hard worker. A woman who loves to work, who builds on her worth every single day, who is not lazy and who respects herself enough not to leech onto others."
His touches imbibe a cool kind of strength into your skin.
"These hands, strong and firm. They tell of stories untold. They tell of wonderful work that you do and the charity you choose to bless others with. They never take or steal. These are giving, loving hands."
You shake as he grips your palms with a fierce passion. You take deep breathes as he kisses them gently with his eyes closed in bliss.
"These breasts, natural and VERY womanly. They will be soft suckles which will feed our children. From this, food will flow which will transform into energy for our babies. Never be ashamed of them."
You feel alive as he cups your chest gently and uses his fingertips to massage them into firm peaks.
"This face," he finally concludes. You feel him turn you to him. Tears glisten in your eyes.
"This face, expresses your heart. When I see it, everyday I see nothing but kindness to your neighbors, passion for what you believe in and love."
His hands travel down to your chest which holds your beating heart.
"Your heart is full of love and goodness. Your heart is beautiful. YOU are beautiful, Hermione Granger."
…
You feel the morning sun rising as you lay there sprawled lazily with the most beautiful and wonderful women in your arms. As the sun ascends slowly, you feel the glare working it's away to the bed.
It bathes you and your women in a pool of sunshine. You bask in the golden light. She stretches in your arms and sighs. She asks you why you decided to say what you said that early dawn. You tell her that you knew she was finding all the reasons to feel inadequate, and you were just trying to show her you loved her in the best possible way, for who she was.
…