Aca-demic Arrangements
Chapter 03
"1926…1926…1926…"
Hermione was walking along the sidewalk of a neighborhood so posh, she couldn't recall seeing one like it since she lived at home. The lawns were all perfectly manicured, mailboxes were built into picturesque, hand lain brick posts with fancy iron numbers on the sides, and the actual houses, well, the houses were all HUGE.
"…1926…AH! Ah ha!" She hurried over to the mailbox, checked her slip of paper, checked the numbers on the side, and did a little fist pump accompanied by a soft cheer – then she turned to look down the impressive driveway to the actual home and she was pretty sure her jaw unhinged. "No bloody way…"
Hermione peeked at the slip of paper with the hysterically small price for rent scribbled on it, shook her head and, against her better judgment, headed down the drive.
The house was large and tan and reminded her more of a villa or two she'd stayed in, once upon a time when she'd not been relegated to drooling on the vinyl seats of her Town Car on a routine, nightly basis. The driveway extended down and off to the side to, what appeared to be, an equally large multi-car garage. The home was at least two stories that she could tell from the front but with the funky way it sat on the hill it had been built upon, she wouldn't have been surprised if there was another level of fun in there somewhere – business in the front and party in the back and whatall.
A simple yet effective, iron fence lined the place's front yard, a little too high to jump over comfortably or, really, just without looking like a hoodlum, so she walked along its edge to find the gate all while gaping in awe at the fancy exterior. Her hand bumped along the iron bars as she moved and admired all the shiny windows facing towards the quiet, suburban road.
Mouth still dropped open at the impressive architecture, her hand caught on the gate, only to find it padlocked. Without missing a beat, she reached into her barely contained mass of curls that were still pulled back for work, and plucked a few of the massive pins taming her flyaways from their spots. She snapped two of them clean in half and bent the other at a funny angle then went about slipping her assortment of pieces into the keyhole, working them alongside one another until she heard a faint click and the padlock fell open.
"That's really lovely arch work…really lovely." Shoving the ex-pins into a pocket, she let herself in, shut the gate behind her, and refastened the lock. "Hand worked iron, too? Huh. Brilliant."
Hermione ambled the rest of the way up the too clean and pristine walkway to the front door. She took the few steps up carefully, her admiration moving on to the beautiful and meticulously cut privacy glass framing a giant oak door with decorative iron filigree to match the fencing she'd left behind. She allowed herself one last skeptical glance at the information her boss had passed over and knocked.
For several seconds there was no noise.
No rattling.
No running about.
No yelling behind the closed door.
Nothing.
Hermione rocked patiently on the balls of her feet, trying to peer casually through the glass, but mostly just fidgeting. She waited another minute or so before knocking again.
This time she heard the scrabbling of feet reminding her of the sound a dog makes when it takes too sharp a turn on hardwood floors and they were most definitely drawing nearer.
It wasn't long after that she was able to see some blur of color zip past the warbled panes.
More of those scrabbling and now pounding noises for sure.
Another shot of color blinked by.
The absurdity of whatever was happening beyond the door in front of her started to bleed through to the outside world and she began wondering if anyone was actually going to come TO the door.
And that was when a large, looming shape suddenly appeared on the other side, seeming as though they might actually be trying to hide behind the door itself.
Hermione put on her best, most pleasant smile and left her 'Hi, I'm a homeless person with a jar of assorted coinage and a ten spot, please take me in' look tightly closeted away and waited for the person to open up and greet her.
She waited.
She was still waiting after another minute so she tried to peek inside once more.
"Hello?" she said cautiously, leaning forward, though as she did, that big shape scooted further behind the oak door in an attempt to clear her line of vision.
Hermione's brow furrowed.
"Um…hello?"
The shape scooted again at the sound of her voice.
"Erm. Sorry, I—"
The sound of scrabbling happened again and another shape whizzed by to join the other. There was a murmur of annoyed sounds as, she guessed, the two people – men, it sounded like – bickered in hushed voices.
Finally tired of all the nonsense, Hermione rolled her eyes and called out. "HEY! I can see you! I know you're there! If you could open up, I'd really appreciate it."
More shuffles.
"I really won't take up much of your time!"
Strained silence.
Swiping a hand down over her face, Hermione groaned and barely resisted slamming a fist on the door one more time and screaming about it. "I was told to ask for 'Thomas'. Is there one of those here? If not, I mean, I'll go, but—"
The door came partway open suddenly and a dark set of eyes peered around the corner fixing her with an obviously suspicious stare. "How did you get to the front door?"
Hermione wasn't sure what she was more surprised by: the fact that the person had finally opened up or that they were asking about how she got there. She blinked and scratched a spot at the base of her neck awkwardly. "Gate was open."
The man, for it was obviously a man now, opened the door completely at that and straightened. He filled the open doorway with his mass and eyed her carefully, his gaze then wandered to the clearly padlocked gate a little ways behind her. "No, it's not."
"It was." She shrugged. It wasn't a lie. It had been open. The fact that she opened it was irrelevant. How was she supposed to inquire about the room for rent if she couldn't get to the front door, anyway?
"What do you want with Tom?"
Hermione frowned and handed over the slips of paper which looked comically small in his beastly mitts. "Room for rent?"
His thick brows dipped in confusion. "Where did you—"
"Oh for fuck's sake, Marc, you're not the Black Knight. Get out of the way and let the girl in already!"
The big man, Marc apparently, exhaled and all that scary, pressing authority withered into a kind of 'massive puppy' vibe instead; he stepped aside. Another man, this one similarly tall but lean and dark skinned, came into view. He was all smooth angles with coloring that reminded her of a cup of bold, rich French roast, brewed to the perfect degree, with just a dab of hazelnut cream—
"Bloody coffee place is in my head!"
"Pardon?"
Oh. Did she say that aloud? "Ah, nothing."
The slightly cream sweetened coffee man extended his hand to her and Hermione reached out to take it. "Blaise Zabini. Pleased to meet you, Miss..?"
"Granger," she said hastily. As an afterthought, Hermione pursed her lips in something resembling a smile. "Pleasure."
Blaise nodded. "How is it you came to hear about the room?" he asked even as he tugged the pieces of paper from the big brute still hovering.
"My boss actually."
"Lockhart again." Blaise commented while looking at the papers.
"Yes. How did you know?" It was a careful question, not sure if this was a good or bad thing. Knowing what little she knew of her boss, she was expecting more of the latter.
He turned the pieces around and pointed to a few spots on the street name. "There aren't that many people around with the knowledge that we're renting who dot their little i's with hearts and draw in these great big loopy things to the side of everything."
"Flourish."
"Sorry?"
"It's a…well it's an asymmetrical flourish. See, he took a flat nibbed—" Hermione paused at the quizzical look Blaise was sending her way. "Nevermind. I don't mean to be rude, Blaise, but is there a Thomas here or not? Mister Lockhart told me I should speak with him, so if he's not home or something—"
"No, no, he's here." Blaise nodded at Marc, who then scrambled off somewhere in a hurry, presumably to go fetch the man in question. "Here, come on in while we wait."
Hermione, who had still been hovering at the threshold, stiffened a little at the idea of waiting inside a place where there were at least two reasonably large, fit men – and supposedly at least one other – nesting with each other, without actually knowing what lay inside.
It could be nothing but a really, really nice house with an obscenely cheap room to rent, as advertised.
Alternatively, it all might simply be a deceptively nice foyer with actual hardwood flooring masking the horrific slaughterhouse that was undoubtedly contained within the bowels of the remarkably well furnished innards of the place.
Or maybe it was a sex dungeon and these guys were the managers. What do they even call them? Dungeoneers? That couldn't be right...
Perhaps she should have come with someone.
Yeah. With all of those friends I have out here.
Blaise chuckled at her hesitance. "Don't worry, I assure you, it's perfectly safe."
"I'm not worried about that," she lied, fixing Blaise with an easily confident gaze that wasn't at all a deer in headlights look.
Blaise smirked but noticed her hand hovering strangely at her side like she was readying herself to draw on him at any moment and his back stiffened as well.
What if this girl was insane?
What if she'd actually come to kill them all?
Maybe he shouldn't have sent Marcus off and left him all alone with her. "…good," Blaise said at last, exchanging a wide eyed look of caution with Hermione.
"Right."
"Great. Right this way, we'll wait in the living room." He saw her hand twitch at her side and he forced a smile and a nervous titter, resisting calling his friend back.
Hermione shuffled forward into the house, Blaise shuffling backwards, and the pair of them never took their huge eyed, poorly concealed looks of nervousness off one another as they moved inside together.
A/N: I heavily debated changing the title a bit but eventually decided on yes. Aca-demic. Like A Cappella but I figured Aca-demic has a better chance of people pronouncing it correctly in their heads when they read it. Also, in case you don't follow me on tumblr and had no idea what that has to do with anything, this is totally an a cappella Tomione.
