And yet, another attempt at a fic.
I hope you enjoy what is to come.
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling.
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Hermione Granger stared in disbelief at the man sitting across from her at the small, wooden, table for two. She had never, not once in her days, met a man so completely enthralled with himself as Walter Spittle was. Drowning in the dim light from the apple-scented candle between them, she watched as he dramatically reenacted the day he apparently saved an entire forest from being set afire by a clan of maniacal gnomes. His bottom occasionally lifted from the seat as he went over the more fearsome and exciting parts of the story. Hermione feigned an expression of pure shock as he nodded in smug affirmation.
"It was then," he stated, holding his index finger in the air, "that I was finally recognized for my sheer brilliance and given the mansion that I reside in to this day."
It was almost as if he were a simple wind up toy, disguised in heavily tousled brown hair and a plaid cloak. Hermione decided that he would never cease rattling on about everything he had ever seen, won, and somehow, most doubtfully, accomplished. So with a short inward sigh, she folded her hands on her lap and continued to bare with him throughout his theatrical stories, forcing herself to laugh, smile, nod, or exclaim an occasional "oh!" Hermione even found herself wondering how she had been so thick during her second year at Hogwarts, when she let herself become so enchanted by a man extremely similar to the one she sat across from this evening.
"My parents' always boasted to their friends' about how well I'd do," he mentioned with a self- satisfied grin. "But I turned out even better than I had expected!"
Walter Spittle worked as a dragon breeder, deep in the dreary and most avoided forests of Ireland. What brought him to England and landed him inside St. Mungo's was only a few measly broken bones. He also seemed to have a spirited temptation to meet and hit on any young and attractive mediwitches. Hermione had mended his bones and he had asked her to dinner, not once revealing his complacent attitude, but instead using simple boyish charm to reel her into saying "yes".
It was times like this when Hermione seriously regretted becoming a mediwitch, a job that always seemed to attract the rarity's of the male species. Only two weeks after her graduation from the training program, she had met Hugh Holly. He was a rather disgusting excuse for a gentleman, who not only shocked her out of her wits, but also caused the beginnings of her research on men and why some of them just refuse to brush their teeth. What made her go out with him in the first place, she had not the slightest clue.
And then there was Russell Shaw. Hermione mentally laughed at the memory of him. He had insisted since the moment she walked into that cozy room at St. Mungo's, that she had been the perfect woman for him. Flattered, Hermione agreed to see him, but she never imagined he was really serious. Their first date included him drawing a timeline of their future together upon a small, tattered napkin, while he relied on her to choose their future children's names'.
But Walter Spittle took the cake for the most deranged personality.
"Walter," she said in a weary tone as she pushed a few soft brown curls behind her ears.
"Wait, hold on, let me tell you what I did after the beast nearly burnt my clothing off in one nasty breath of fi-"
"Walter, please," Hermione pushed, looking at her pocket watch. "I really, really do apologize, but I fear that I have lost track of the time. I really must be going." Shocked, Walter frowned and watched her as she stood up and gathered her things, quickly grasping her purse. "I won't be calling you," she said, with every intention to live up to her word. All she wanted to do at this very moment was to get as far away as humanly possible from Walter Spittle, even if it included rudely cutting him off, followed by frantically fleeing into the night.
"Henrietta!" he called after her, standing from his chair as she walked hastily towards the exit. She paused and turned towards him, hand on the door knob, when she realized that he didn't even know her name.
"It's Hermione," she stated firmly, before letting the bells on the restaurant door chime behind her. Presumptuous little toad, Hermione mused as she walked down the front steps of the restaurant. She adjusted her cloak around her shoulders with one hand as she produced her wand from her pockets with her other. Sighing lightly and with a loud crack following, Hermione disappeared from the leaf covered sidewalk and reappeared across the village on the banks of Crickwater stream. She gathered her arms up close to her body as she walked to her cottage set back near Crickwater wood, small clouds of breath forming before her mouth as she walked through the knee high grass.
Once she closed her front door behind her, Hermione let out a fatigued sigh. The day preceding her date with Walter had been rather hectic, leaving her drained of most energy. She crossed the wooden floor to the sink and turned the tap on, gently splashing a few cold palmfuls of water upon her face. After wiping the moisture from her skin with a towel, she leaned up against the counter, her eyes peering out through the small oval shaped window and into the darkness. Her mind soon began to wander and she found herself yearning for the company of her closest friends, Harry and Ron.
It had been four years and two months since the day of their graduation from Hogwarts and with her Mediwitch training taking up four years of the time, she hadn't had much of a chance to see her friends. Of course they wrote letters and met up when possible, but Hermione deeply missed the tight connection that the three of them had had back in their days at Hogwarts. She couldn't deny that the she wasn't the only busy one. Harry had been terribly attached to his new spot as seeker on the Montrose Magpies, a successful British quidditch team. And Ron had been very busy working with his father at the Ministry of Magic in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Besides it all, Hermione thought it was still no reason why they should go months at a time without seeing one another.
Hermione rubbed her face and sighed once again, before lighting a small fire in the hearth with her wand. She grasped a small piece of parchment and her quill from the top of the mantel and sat down at her wooden dining table. The warmth the fire created began to seep throughout the room and engulf her with it's dry comfort. With her wand, she muttered a short spell, lighting the small oil lantern. The flickering of the lamp sent a gold shimmer of light upon the table as she put the tip of her quill to the discolored parchment. In flawless cursive, Hermione began to write the short note.
Harry, I miss you and Ronald dearly. It's been far too long. Let's meet sometime soon. With love, P.S. Send the message along to Ronald, won't you?
Hermione
With not a syllable more, Hermione rolled up the note and tied it to the leg of her tawny owl with a gold ribbon. "Bring this to Harry Potter," she said softly to the owl before opening the small window over her sink, allowing it to fly out and begin it's voyage. "Safe journey," she whispered. And with a smile upon her lips, she closed the window shut as she watched her owl disappear over the top branches of Crickwater Wood.
The following morning, Hermione awoke with a start. Her eyes shot open at the loud tapping sound coming from down the hallway in her kitchen. She groaned with distaste, pushed herself out from underneath her warm covers and stumbled into the kitchen. Her lazy eyes scanned around the room as she searched for the source of the tapping, which still beat in her ears. There at her window was the St. Mungo's screech owl, a rolled up note stuck between his beak. Hermione rolled her eyes, already knowing what was coming. The one thing she disliked about her current profession: the damn call-in's.
Before retrieving the note, she went back to her room, quickly changing from her pajama's into her St. Mungo's uniform. Once she was finished, she pulled her hair up into a bun, a few curls hanging down in random places around her face. She then hurried into the kitchen and let the owl in, and muttered softly under her breath as it knocked over a basket full of red apples. Leaving the mess for later, she carefully unrolled the wrinkly parchment, her eyes sweeping over the St. Mungo's seal on the top left hand corner of the paper.
Miss Granger,
Please apparate to the second floor of St. Mungo's A.S.A.P. Case of Dragon Pox. Miss Laura Forrest
Mediwitch in Training
Hermione grinned. Excite started to boil inside of her as she quickly secured the lock on her cottage door. This wasn't any normal call-in. Hermione had never actually treated Dragon Pox before, but she had read about it in numerous books that were stacked in piles behind the closed closet doors in her bedroom. The sickness mainly affected children or adults who had never had it as a child. In rare cases, the sickness was fatal, but with proper care and healing, the affected is usually good as new once healed. With a smile upon her face, a loud crack sounded and Hermione was gone.
Before she even had a chance to breathe, Miss Forrest gasped at the sight of Hermione and ran over to her, snatching her arm. Her red hair was everywhere and her glasses were crooked on her short nose. Her young features were etched with panic as she began tugging her down the hallway. Mediwitches rushed everywhere in and out of rooms as they tended to their sickly patients.
"Miss Granger!" she somehow breathed through her frantic puffs. "I didn't know who else to ask! St. Mungo's is frenzied this morning! Quidditch match gone wrong last night," she said, trailing off a little. She pulled Hermione around another corner and down another long corridor, which was lined with rooms, each containing a patient. "Anyway, oh you should see him, pitiful state, I must say..."
"When did he arrive?" Hermione questioned, wincing from the tight grip that Laura held on her arm.
"Not an hour ago!"
"Concious?"
"Quite," Laura said, a flash of disgust in her eyes.
"Family history?"
"One death, Mr. Abraxas Malfoy."
It seemed that Hermione then forgot to keep her feet moving under her as she ran. Laura tripped slightly from the sudden stop and turned to look at Hermione, who stood there with a look of repulsion upon her face.
"What did you say the name was?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at the girl before her.
"Mr. Abraxas Mal-"
"Not him, the patient," she said, cutting her off. The young trainee shook her head slowly.
"I didn't."
"Well, tell me then, won't you? His name?" Laura nodded.
"Mr. Draco Malfoy."
Hermione Granger stood rooted in her spot. "No," she said, knowing perfectly well what she was saying.
"Yes, Mr. Drac-" she started, only to be cut off again. Hermione shook her head.
"No, I can't treat him." Laura rose her eyebrows.
"Why not? You must, Miss Granger," she said, almost pleading. Hermione shook her head again, brown curls hitting the side of her face.
"I really cannot heal Malf-"
"Miss Granger," Laura interrupted sternly. "Please, you're the only Mediwitch on call tonight," she said. "We need you."
Hermione put her hands on her face and rubbed her skin softly. "Oh dear Merlin," she muttered. Heaving a sigh Hermione looked at Laura, a look reflecting abhor within her eyes. "Bring me to him." Laura nodded and walked, this time much more calmly, down the cool and stale corridor, stopping at the third to last door.
With one last deep breath, Hermione placed her pale hand on the polished wooden door and disappeared behind it.