Chapter 2: Don't Call Me, Beep Me, If You Wanna Reach Me

Hermione's POV

I had the biggest grin on my face as I walked towards our flight's gate. Why the happy face? For two weeks, there would be no school uniforms, no catty school girls…and best of all…no Draco Malfoy! Basking in this reminder, I followed my parents onto the plane. Buzz! Buzz! My phone vibrated in my pocket. Because we were surrounded by muggles, using magic wasn't an option, so I had to resort to a small blackberry cell. I blinked at the tiny screen and read the text message Ron had sent me.

R3ADH3AD98: HERMIONE! THERZ A SPIDER ON MY WALL!! WHAT DO I DO?

Apparently he was having fun with the AOL Instant Messenger Mobile Service Plan I had set up for him.

LIVE4READING19: Ronald, I told you. I'm going to Disney World. I can't help you with your spider issue.

About thirty seconds after I had typed "issue" another message appeared in my inbox.

R3ADH3AD98: ITZ ON MY LEG! DAMN SPIDER! HELP, HERMIONE!!

Ignoring Ron's desperate plea, I threw the phone into my carry on bag and put my attention back on the trip. "Here we are. Row 48," the flight attendant said sweetly as we reached our seats. First class? Nice! Reading the excited expression on my face, my father beamed proudly. "They were the last ones," he told me happily. I examined the flat screen TVs, bowls of fresh fruit, and glasses of champagne with awe. Even the plane ride down was going to be awesome! Just as I was starting to take my nap, a screaming match put my dreams on pause. "I don't care if those were the last seats! I am first class, I demand first class, give me first class!" I heard a man yell. You're first class? Try anger management class. I was determined to sleep more, but I didn't even get a chance to shut my eyes before the airline employee said something and the man's rebuttal was offered. "You people are so stupid! How can you be so dimwitted to think that we would sit anywhere less than the best?" After my forced eavesdropping was completed, I gave up on the idea of rest and decided to order something to eat. Just as I was about to press the button that alerted the attendant, one arrived right at our isle. "The caviar, boasted chicken, and extra large ice cream sundae you ordered," she announced, placing all of the food on my tray. "What great service!" my father exclaimed. But I didn't order…"You're welcome," the carrier of my dinner said kindly before walking behind the "Employees Only" curtain.

How odd. I don't remember asking for any of this. I guess it just comes free with the first class seats or something. Enjoying mouthful after mouthful of expensive food left me very full, but happy. I think I'm ready for that nap. "Your foot massage, dear," a plump blonde woman greeted me, carrying a fancy bowl of water and pretty looking bottles. I didn't request this either…but how can I resist? Obviously the airplane gods want me to have this! I stuck out my purple toenail polished foot and smiled. How amazing was this?

The masseuse finished her job and I leaned back in my seat. Heaven. Could things get any better? A handsomely tanned and buff young man approached our isle. "Entertainment is here," he told us in broken English. My mother blushed. "Uh, we.." she tried to warn him. The attractive entertainer held up a hand. "No, no. I not that kind of entertainer. I am a singer," he explained, holding up his guitar. My parents let out a sigh of relief and sat back and relaxed while the artist sang. He was an amazing singer, and soon, a dance party erupted in our area. Everyone was singing, dancing, and having a great time. It was the most fun I've ever had on a plane. Yet, I couldn't help but wonder…where did all of this come from? It would be awesome to believe that there were some kind of plane gods that wanted me to be comfortable, but the logical side of me took over and reminded me that it just wasn't possible. Nothing can be stranger than this. Buzz!

R3ADH3AD98: HARRY KILLED IT WITH HIS PINK UNDERWEAR! LOL! CAN YOU BELIEVE HE HAS PINK DRAWS?

Besides that.

Draco's POV

"Dad, seriously? Where are we going?" I begged my father for an answer as we sped passed rushed passengers, agar to get to their desired locations. "You'll see," he said for about the ten thousandth time today. I don't want to wait anymore! I have to know! "Just tell-" I started to whine but instead of repeating his overused phrase, he picked up the pace and entered the plane.

"Let's see…we're in row…84? How is this possible?" my father shrieked angrily. I craned my neck over to take a closer look at the ticket. Sure enough, the number 84 was printed on it in black letters. But why was it such a big deal? "Is that number bad luck or something? Too bad we couldn't be in 69!" I joked. My parent glared at my apparent inappropriate timing for a joke and frowned. He tapped the nearest airline worker on the shoulder and demanded to know why our seating assignment wasn't in his favorite section. "I can't just give you better seats sir," the woman said as she assisted an elderly woman in putting her baggage in storage. "Fine then. I'll purchase the seats from you," my father suggested, raising an eyebrow and holding up a wad of muggle cash. The attendant just shook her head. "No can do. The last seats were just given away. I'm sorry," she apologized, but her smiling face seemed to say that she wasn't sorry at all. Just as she was about to turn and walk away, my father went off at her. "I don't care if those were the last seats! I am first class, I demand first class, give me first class!" he demanded. She shook her head again. "I'm sorry, but it's just not possible," she assured us. I glanced over at my dad. His face was all scrunched up and red. I'm starting to get worried that he'll pull out his wand…"You people are so stupid! How can you be so dimwitted to think that we would sit anywhere less than the best?" he spat. "Sit here or get off the plane!" she warned and hurried to the back.

Sulking, my father sat down in one of the row 84's seats. I sat next to him, instantly noticing the magazine sticking out of the seat's pocket. It was a sort of catalog of all the things you could order while on the plane, whether you were in first class or not. Using the small gray keypad on my armchair, I typed a food order carefully. Caviar, boasted chicken, and a large ice cream sundae! Yum! Swiping my dad's new muggle credit card, I confirmed the order. Sweet. This little feast should make the flight better, right? After waiting patiently for another two minutes (God, what is taking so long?) I started flipping through the magazine for more things I could order. About fifteen minutes later, a gray haired woman with matching lip hair appeared in our isle, ready to serve the meal. Excited, I began licking my lips. Hot fudge sundae, here I come. The flight helper placed an ordinary dish on my tray. No ice cream was inside. Instead, a lumpy, brown concoction awaited me. I sniffed the bowl. Uh! It smelt like rotting fish. "Enjoy the chowder boys," the annoying lady called as she left to serve other passengers. Alright, maybe a foot massage would make this situation brighter? I swiped the card again, ready for some hot chick to rub my feet. I decided two minutes wasn't generous enough, so I gave them three. Sadly, it was a good half hour and there were still no new arrivals. Deciding to give it one last shot, I paid for a famous Italian pop star to come and entertain us. A dance party was only $1800.00. That's not that much, right? To be honest, I have no idea. Muggle money is so confusing.

I slid further down in my seat. Correction: Muggle money is retarded. It doesn't even work! I got no gourmet food, no massage, and no dance party! What was I going to get? "Here's your receipt, sir. Thanks for shopping with us today," the flight attendant speak-sung, handing me a crumpled piece of paper and scurrying away. The receipt.