Nudge and I
By: 'Starlight-Mist'
Summary: Hermione has just broken up with Ron, and in order to forget about him, she buries herself in her work. Finally, her boss has had enough and orders her to take a vacation, during which Draco sets out to capture her heart, disguised as a cuddly golden retriever. Warning of romance novels and slight Ron-Bashing. [Threeshot Animagus Dramione]
Disclaimer: My name is not J.K. Rowling and I don't own 'Harry Potter.'
It is a beautiful day today.
The sun is shining down on me, the daffodils in front of the Malfoy Building are swaying in the wind, and the birds are calling. Though my dark grey skirt is riding up to my knees and my tie is flapping in my face, I don't care.
All I want to do is get away from the man pursuing me - the man that I thought I could trust.
"Hermione, love! Hermione," he calls to me, a pleading tone in his voice, "Hermione, I'm sorry!"
Noting his use of a pet name, I slowly come to a halt and turn around to face him.
"Sorry for what," I demand, glaring through tears as I clench my fists, my fingernails biting into my palms. "Are you sorry for kissing Lav-Lav?"
"Of course I am," he says, looking at me with puppy eyes, "it just-"
"Save your apologies, Ron," I yell, cutting him off. "I first saw you kissing at Christmas time but I dismissed it as the curse of the mistletoe. Then, I saw you two on New Year's Day, but I dismissed it as the traditional New Year's Kiss. After that was Valentine's Day, and I thought that it was just her kissing you, not the other way around and-"
The people around me look at me with pitying eyes, and I break off into sobs. Ron advances towards me, but I back away from him.
"Ron," I sniffle, trying my best to compose myself, "as your girlfriend, I truly believed that you were still faithful to me and wouldn't go behind my back. Now, that trust is broken, and I'm not even sure we are still friends. I think I will eventually accept you as a friend again, but for right now? Please leave me alone and give me some time to cool off."
Ron looks as if he wants to say something, but quickly catches himself.
"Alright...Hermione," he says meekly before turning and walking away.
When he has finally gone out of sight, I sit down on a nearby bench and run a hair through my hair, slipping off my shoes.
"Oh, Ron," I sniffle, looking up at the sky, "oh, Ron."
The Malfoy Building: Hermione's Office
"Hermione," a soft voice calls, shaking my shoulder, "Hermione! Wake up!"
"Mom," I groan, "just a few more minutes?"
I hear a soft chuckle. "I'm not your mom, Hermione. Now, please wake up."
"Please?" I plead, yawning as I bury my face into something fuzzy.
"Hermione, sleeping on a broomstick hovering twenty feet above the-"
I shoot up in my seat, terror written all over my face, and quickly realize that I am not on a broomstick, but in my office.
"Not funny, Sanjea," I tell my secretary, rubbing my eyes as I stretch and yawn.
Sanjea, however, ignores my comment.
"Hermione, this must be your tenth dream about your breakup with Ron," she sighs, "which is a sure sign that you are overworked."
"I am not," I say, stifling a yawn, "overworked."
"See?" Sanjea asks in a patronizing tone, taking my yawn as an opportunity to prove her point. "You are tired. You have solved more cases today than most people do in a week! Yes, this is your way of trying to forget about Ron, but it is unhealthy."
I give Sanjea a stern look.
"Once again, Sanjea, I am fine."
With that, I turn back to my paperwork, methodically filling out and writing in the forms as Sanjea exits the room.
As I place the sheet on top of the pile of work I have already finished, a small voice at the back of my mind whispers to me about how soft and inviting the pile looks while another voice counters the first voice, asking me how I expect to keep my job if I am found sleeping on the job again.
Sighing, I continue filling out forms, working my way through the huge pile in front of me.
A few minutes later, the door to my office flies open and Sanjea marches through, the boss of the entire company following close behind.
Before I can greet him, Sanjea starts ranting, "Look at her. Look at her!"
I stand up.
"Really Sanjea," I say, "you don't need to bring Mr. Malfoy into this."
Sanjea glares at me, then storms over to my desk and grabs my pile of finished work.
"Look at this," the beautiful Indian shrieks, waving it in Lucius' face, "just look at it! This is her day's worth of work!"
"Ms. Granger," Lucius sighs, "as Head of Malfoy Potion's Company, I can and will fire you if you don't take a vacation for the weekend. No work on Friday, no work on Saturday, and now work on Sunday."
I nearly gape at him. Finally, I cross my arms over my chest.
"Fine," I say, feeling like a petulant little child, as I have no intentions of doing so.
"I want an Unbreakable Vow that you won't do ANY paperwork, at all," he demands, giving me the Malfoy Smirk.
With a reluctant sigh, we perform the vow with Sanjea as the witness, which rids me of any chance of using any loopholes; Sanjea knows exactly how I think.
With a sigh, I grab my coat and follow Lucius and Sanjea out of my office and down to the lobby. Just as I'm about to exit, Lucius places a hand on my shoulder.
"By the way, don't try and contact me about your no -more -working woes," he tells me, "I'll be out of town for the weekend."
Barely resisting the urge to groan, I exit the building.
Hermione's Flat
After I have opened the door of my flat and hung up my coat, I immediately make a beeline for my kitchen. How long has it been since I've had a full and balanced meal that hasn't come from the Malfoy Building cafeteria?
Half an hour later, a shepard's pie is sitting and baking in the oven, so I decide to take a shower. Grabbing some at-home clothes, I snatch a towel and enter my bathroom.
As beads of water run down my skin, I realize that Sanjea is right. It has been too long since I have had a nice, long rest from work.
Toweling my hair dry, I exit the bathroom and walk back to my kitchen, noting with alarm that my pie is a bit more than golden brown. Hurrying over to the oven, I levitate it out. After casting a cooling charm on it, then cutting it, I sit down and start eating.
Luckily, my shepherd's pie isn't burnt, just a little crispy on the edges. Though I tend to like it golden-brown, I can settle for crispy too.
I cut the pie into slices, then start eating.
Once finished, I carry my plate over to the sink and wash it off. Leaving it on the drying rack, I head towards the bathroom and get ready for bed.
As I brush my teeth, I look out the bathroom door and out to my bedroom. The peeling wallpaper is a faded pink with little white designs, and the carpeted floor looks old. My bed and desk are the only two things about my bedroom that look new, and I frown.
Spitting out the toothpaste, I rinse my mouth and walk over to my bed. As I pull the covers down, I flick on the old-fashioned-lamp on my bedside stand and turn off the lights of my room. Crawling into bed by the light of my lamp, I pick up my newest book, The Call of the Night. I am not generally into romantic sappy stuff, but this book has had an interesting storyline, and as Ginny once put it: "So, Hermione...when your love life doesn't exist, the best thing to do is definitely to turn to a book."
I'm not sure if she was being serious or sarcastic.
Cracking it open, I pick up from where I left off, where the protagonist's father doesn't approve of the man-of-her-dreams.
"Ashley, Ashley," my father called, "that man isn't good enough for you. You need a man who can provide for you, who can take care for you, who can love you..."
I clench my fists and ignore his baiting.
"Frederick is just a low-life, a mere merchant with honey-sweet words and mesmerizing lies, unlike the likes of the men I have chosen for you."
After an agonizing hour of my father walking around our garden and baiting me with taunts about Frederick, he finally gives up and exits the garden.
Once I am sure he has gone, I drop out of the tree that I had been hiding it. Shaking leaves and bits of bark from my hair, I flee from the garden. My legs carry me to Frederick's house, almost as if they know where my heart is leading me.
I grimace and close the book. Well, maybe the book isn't as good as I thought it had been a month ago. Tossing the book onto my bedside stand, I turn off the light and wait for sleep to overtake me.
Draco's Flat
My soup is growing cold, and though I have stared at it for about half an hour now, I can't make myself reach forth to pick up the spoon and start eating.
My mind is a million miles away.
Ever since Hermione socked me in third year, I have admired her, whether for her brains, her beauty, or her courage.
After the war had ended and my family made peace with her, Potter, and the Weasleys, I had been hoping to get a shot at her.
The first attempt I had made was asking her to work for my family's company, which she pleasantly accepted. However, before I could make a second attempt, the orangutan-who-knew-how-to-walk-on-two-legs beat me to it; thus, the last four years have been a drag for me, watching a beautiful girl go waltzing around with That Weasley.
It isn't like I had something against Weasley, it was just that...I have something against Weasley.
Heaving a sigh, I run a hand through my already-mussed hair, courtesy of the same gesture already having been performed about thirty times earlier.
Another half an hour later, I have finally come up with a feasible plan, so feeling rather pleased with myself, I pick up my spoon and plunge it into my soup, bringing it up to my lips.
Then sputtering and coughing loudly.
Bleh. Cold soup does not taste good.
A/N: Wow. Draco sounds really OOC, and I apologize for that, but as this is about the fifth rendition of this same story, I'm leaving it the way that it is.
Quote: "My room isn't messy; it is an obstacle course designed to keep me fit."
