That's right, ya sukas, dance. C'mon, follow me." Hermione hissed her fingers flying over her keyboard. With each tap of her fingers money transferred bank accounts, what she assumed were FBI agents dancing after her. "Razael, they're following. Take 'em down." Hermione invited the smiling girl on the other end of the web-cam.
"With pleasure, Charm!" Razael replied with gusto, a single line of code and the trackers were chasing their tails. "Was there a reason for this?" Razael asked giggling slightly as the adrenalin buzzed through her veins.
"No, I got bored." Hermione answered with an adrenalin fueled high putting her in a better mood than she'd been in for the past week. "I can only pretend to be the good girl for so long. You of all people should know this, I just like to see them jump." Hermione said smiling. "I'll see you guys soon as I can. Gotta go, class'll be out soon and muggle stuff isn't supposed to work."
"Toodles, miss ya!" The purple eyed girl said, spinning in her chair and blowing a kiss to her 'sister'. "Cynthia says that when you get back we're all playing Black Jack."
"That is the bad part about living in the magical world all year round, no legal poker places." Hermione said giggling before she shut down her laptop and stashed it back inside her shoulder bag. Her giddiness allowing her to finish her homework in record time. The next few weeks finished in a few days, her body begged for a drag on a cigarette, a shot of alcohol, a drag race, even a broomstick would do. She just needed the feel of weightless freedom, she felt too trapped behind stone walls.
Before she could stop herself she found her hand already searching her bag for her smokes. Urge overriding reason she pulled one of her to use one of Michael's more endearing terms, death sticks out. She wasn't a chain smoker, and she cast healing charms over herself after every cigarette the youngest member of the group couldn't seem to get over the whole not having the 'family' anymore. She couldn't blame him, there was a reason they didn't like being called a gang, they weren't a gang, they were a family. Think mafia meets really screwed up, adrenaline junkie kids. Of course the mafia used a little more violence than they did, they preferred using brains to brawn.
She stood at the open window, head leaning against the stone as a warm breeze played across her face and through her hair. Exhale, breath in a second lungful of the smoke; think about everything, exhale, inhale. It was her pattern, her mantra, this is how she calmed herself.
With a sigh she released the lungful of smoke she had been unconsciously holding. Hermione watched as the smoke she had exhaled dissipated into the air disappearing into the wide sky. It made her feel so small, a feeling she never welcomed; especially not when her Aaren was nowhere to comfort her, the feeling of aloneness and being so small and worthless always reminded her of her mother. Worthless woman she had been, of course Hermione had loved her, it was in a child to love their parents unconditionally, but love and respect are in two completely different categories for a reason. Hermione's mother had been a drinker, reckless and immature, oftentimes drinking until she simply blacked out. She wasn't a mean drunk, not by any means, Hermione's mother was such a sweet woman, she wasn't a mean drunk. But she was a mean junkie, when she didn't get her fix she went from loving mother to raging whirlwind, tearing apart anything and everything in the house in search of money to take to her dealer. She had overdosed, years ago, Hermione had been about nine. She had moved in with her aunt, Jane Granger, a dentist who lived in London. She lived with her until she had received her Hogwarts letter, even then returning faithfully once a week every summer, so her aunt wouldn't think she had died. But in everyway, she was very much a back alley girl, preferring the dirty, dangerous streets of New York, to anywhere else. She hated being confined, hated not being able to run.
For some reason her mind chose her last lungful of smoke to be when she remembered what she had told Michael all those years ago; in our world there is no right and wrong, no black and white, most of the time its just shades of grey, a million shades of grey. And eventually everything away from the family kinda fades into the background until the only things left are, living and dead, and revenge for the fallen. Because once you're in little brother, there really is no out. Michael had taken it in stride, shrugging and claiming that the family was all he needed, nothing else really mattered outside it anyway.
With a groan she tossed the cigarette butt into the fire, watching her one comfort literally go up in smoke. Ironic. The portrait hole cracked open a second later, allowing all the other fifth, sixth, and seventh years to spill into the common room. Chattering and laughing like hyenas, with a hiss of pain as she threw her book bag over her shoulder, Hermione took her leave from the crowded room.
The breath she had held in case someone had detected the scarlet cigarette on her breath was finally free, sweeping from her slightly glossed lips with an almost silent incantation. The smile on her lips was forced, the scent of cigarettes that clung to her reminded her too much of home, she missed them so much…
"Welcome class." Professor McGonagall said in that lilting accent of hers, "Before we begin I have an announcement from Professor Dumbledore. Due to the death of Voldemort the Headmaster has decided that sixth and seventh years be allowed to go to Hogsmead every weekend, and may stay all weekend if they're family has a home there. However, all students must all return before dinner on Sunday. Have a good time tomorrow." Minerva smiled, reacting to the pure joy on her students faces, they had lived in fear since first year for some of them, she figured they deserved a little bit of joy. "Now, on with today's lesson. Today we will be transforming toucans into pillows."
Hermione's mind switched from adrenaline junkie to perfect student; her quill moving close to the speed of light, keeping up with her mind, adding or subtracting things here and there to make the spell better and more effective. With ease she turned the toucan into a gorgeous multicolored throw pillow, earning both praise from McGonagall and points for her house. She smiled content for the moment, her wand being flipped aimlessly between her fingers as if it were knife, occasionally trailing black and cobalt sparks, happy as she was at this moment, she couldn't wait for tomorrow, she had to get out from behind these walls it was starting to affect her brain.
A.N. a little ranting I know, please please tell me what you think.
