Aca-demic Arrangements

Chapter 13

Wednesday.

Wednesdays were notoriously slow.

This particular Wednesday was positively torturous.

Hermione's only class for the day was cancelled so she found herself with a great deal of time on her hands all of a sudden. Since she was currently existing practically only to wake up, work, and do school work, Hermione had her time all plotted out to a tee. All of her assignments were typically finished the day after they were given out so she had even more time to work and accrue money to continue not being homeless - so that's what she did. She still hadn't quite gotten to the level where she could buy food beyond what existed in the campus cafeteria once or twice a day but she was working on it. And really, living off of coffee, blueberry muffins, and assorted scones otherwise wasn't terrible…

The bell tinkled and the annoying girl, more annoying than Penny, greeted the newcomer and took his order. Hermione just went about cleaning her station, idly listening to the rattling off of drinks as she stocked cups and lids and straws until she heard the "venti, cinnamon dolce latte, no whip."

Logically, she knew it wasn't Tom. It certainly didn't sound like him and the uncertainty in which the man said it made her sure it wasn't. That didn't, however, keep her from turning around, eyes wide and searching out the source. "Abraxas?" She realized he'd called his order awkwardly and with an American accent; she snorted.

The blond smiled charmingly, paid, and then came around to the side of the counter to greet her. "Hey, Hermione. Fancy meeting you here." He waggled his pale eyebrows.

She chuckled and grabbed up the cups that what's-her-no-name passed over to begin her work. "Yes, quite a shock, I'm sure." Hermione rustled about between the few different machines she had at her disposal, feeling Abraxas' eyes tracking her in amazement. She was measuring and pouring the first drink when she asked, "What brings you out so late? And…really, I didn't even think you drank coffee."

"Well I usually don't, but I tried one of those drinks that you made the other night and it was quite good." He leaned over the counter trying to scope out what she was doing. "So I ordered one of those—hey, we have some little metal pitchers like that at home!"

Hermione gave him a sidelong glance then went back to mixing. "No, we don't."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure we—"

"No. We don't. But anyway, I'm glad you liked them! You should be careful though…drinking all this caffeine this late in the evening when you're not used it? You'll be buzzing through the night."

Abraxas gave her a dismissive wave. "That's fine. We've got rehearsal tonight, so it works out."

"Oh?" Hermione perked up at that. "For Friday, right?"

He nodded, grinning. "Yeah! Who told you about that?"

She pulled the next cup to her and saw "Rickle" scrawled on the side. Hermione snorted and pulled a Sharpie off of her apron, crossed out the name and corrected it to "Riddle" before starting on the drink. "Tom, actually."

Abraxas was back to leaning on the pickup counter watching her work, but he arched a brow at that, lips tilting in a smirk. "Did he now?"

Hermione flushed, the tops of her ears turning pink at the way he said that. "Yeah," she muttered. When he didn't stop grinning at her she snapped at him, "What?"

"Nothing," he chirped. "So are you coming?"

"What?" she asked again, this time her attention was very intensely focused on creating Tom's drink. She'd started adding little things to it to see if he'd notice as idle experimentation and in doing so found that he actually liked a shake of nutmeg into his drink along with the cinnamon. So far, she was pretty sure he hadn't realized it, but his rate of consumption whenever he'd ordered it was higher when she put it in than when she left it out. The manipulation of his coffee drinking amused her to no end.

Abraxas smiled at how methodically she was preparing Tom's coffee, comparing it to the robotic motions she'd gone through with the others. "Are you coming? To the show? …on Friday?"

Hermione's blush deepened and she shrugged, shook a couple of teaspoons of nutmeg over Tom's drink and snapped a lid on. She popped all of Abraxas' order into a cup holder and passed it to him. "Maybe? I've got to work so—"

"You've always got to work," he huffed.

She smirked. "Yeah well, some of us aren't filthy stinkin' rich."

"Hermione," he whined, "You should really try. We'd love it if you came to see us."

She wasn't sure if she could roll her eyes any harder at his little juvenile noises. "Abraxas—"

"Hermioneeeeeeeee—"

She blinked at him. "Abraxas I—"

"Come oooooooooooon—"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Will you stop your whinging?"

"Maybeeeeeeee—"

"OH MY GOD, Abraxas!"

"Hermioneeeeeee—"

"STOP!" She flung her hands into the air and huffed. "I will try, okay?"

The blond gave her the biggest, grayest puppy dog eyes she'd ever seen. His lip even came out, just a little.

Hermione scowled. "Abraxas…I'll try. That's the best I can do."

Abraxas gnawed on the corner of his lip. "Promise?"

She snorted. "Yeah, sure. Promise."

"Brilliant!"

Hermione flapped her hand at him, shooing him away. "Alright then, go and get to your pretty boy band party."

He grinned and plucked up the cup holder. "Can we expect you home any time soon?"

"Ehhh…" She checked her watch. "An hour? A little longer maybe?"

Abraxas frowned at that and looked back to the writing on the shop's window. "I thought this place closes in five?"

"Yes," she drew the word out with some amusement. "And we have to close and do little working class things that I'm sure are positively plebeian to you."

Abraxas clucked his tongue haughtily, playing along. "Right, right, of course. And how long do these—" He twirled his fingers around in dismissive circles between them. "—utterly common things take?"

"Another twenty to thirty minutes, surely."

The serious frown was back. "Then why an hour? You're just dodging me aren't you? You can say so y'know."

Hermione chortled and shook her head. "Usually takes me another half hour or so to walk home."

"You're WALKING?!" Abraxas' mouth dropped open. "What? WHY?"

She gave him the strangest of looks, searching his expression to see if he was really just as appalled as he appeared. When he was still gaping at her, she laughed. "What is it with you guys? Is it truly that foreign of a concept?"

He sputtered and followed her around as she moved from one spot in her prep station to the next. "But you have a car!" he squawked.

"It's not far, Abraxas." Hermione had almost spouted off about fuel being expensive, but decided on the answer that wouldn't get her some sort of preloaded gas card with obscene amounts of money dropped into it left in her bag.

"But it's DARK outside!" He flailed at the window trying to illustrate that it was, in fact, dark outside.

She raised an eyebrow and glanced up from cleaning out some pump tops before shaking her head and getting back to it. "Don't even start with that."

"Hermione," Abraxas began seriously, palms flat on the counter, "You are not walking home by yourself at this hour!" Those chocolate eyes snapped back up to his face holding the most dangerous look he'd ever seen directed his way; he resisted yelping in surprise…and maybe a little bit of fear. "I-I mean…"

"Look—" She pointed a stern finger at him. "—you're not my mum. I am a grown woman who, might I add, can take quite good care of myself despite what you may think. I am not some bloody charity case and I am not some helpless, hapless, delicate waif! So the lot of you can bin your little goodwill act!"

Abraxas' brow furrowed. "But technically you really kind of were at least a couple of those things—"

"I can cut you in your sleep."

He pouted.

"Put that away." She glared.

His lip stuck out more.

"Abraxas!"

"Hermioneeeeeeeeee—"

The last syllable of her name stretched on for what seemed forever, raising towards the end in a perfectly pitched noise that bordered on dog whistle territory.

Hermione let it go on for a handful of seconds before she snarled and threw a dish towel at him. "WILL YOU FUCKING STOP?!"

He caught the rag but continued. For a moment she'd forgotten the man could sing and, as such, was really having very little issue holding his nearly shrill note for as long as he was; he sounded like a test for the Emergency Broadcasting System – only a test.

Swiping a hand over her face, she growled and finally said, "OKAY FINE! JESUS CHRIST, STOP!"

And he did.

He smiled at her pleasantly. "Marvelous! I'll wait for you in the car while you do your pleb things."

Hermione snorted and let out a heavy, haggard sigh at the man's back. "Spoilt tosser."

. . . . .

Abraxas and Hermione arrived back at the house laughing and having quite a decent time.

Abraxas had been enlightening her about the pool and Jacuzzi she'd yet to go and take advantage of since her arrival, threatening her with the impending autumn weather – which was not close at all – and how she needed to act NOW or be doooooooomed to wait several months before it was suitable bikini weather again. She opted to keep the fact to herself that she had no such clothing in her possession lest she find Victoria's Secret swims suddenly showing up at the house with some rather hopeful cup sizes addressed to her name.

"…wait, so…say it again. What's the difference? I'm not sure I got it, a hot tub is…but..wait, say it again?"

"It's easy, Hermione! Okay, so a Jacuzzi is merely a brand name of hot tub. Therefore, all Jacuzzis are hot tubs, but not all hot tubs are Jacuzzis! Easy-peasy."

"Ah…yes, it's so clear to me now."

"Well, it's mighty nice of you to show, Abs."

Abraxas' head popped up and he turned abruptly to see Tom lounging on the couch looking so very irritated. Honestly, though, when did he not look irritated?

The man's dark eyes caught sight of the two of them, Hermione's arm looped through one of Abraxas' with her other hand holding the carrier of drinks he'd sent the blond to fetch nearly an hour ago. "I told you to get us coffee, not bring home the bloody barista."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at his foul mood but Abraxas scoffed and spoke first. "What the hell's got your knickers in a wad, Tom?"

"What's got my—" Tom sneered and pushed to his feet, glare lingering on the way he had his hand folded over Hermione's. "We have fucking work to do! You know Regulus' time is limited during the week and here you are just…frolicking around with Granger when we needed you back A-S-A-P!"

"Hey, now wait a fucking minute—"

"And you," Tom stopped Hermione mid-sentence, pointing a finger at her, glare still in place, "had I known that extending a bloody helping hand to the homeless was going to cause me as much headache as it has so far, I might've thought on it a hair longer. If you could do me a favour, please, and re-work your shagging schedule so that it doesn't interfere with what few commitments and responsibilities our dear Abbie has, it'd be much appreciated." His snark was absolutely scathing that evening and the harshness of his delivery made both Abraxas AND Hermione jerk back in surprise.

"Tom!" Abraxas hissed, "We are-NOT-shagging! Hermione, please don't hit him again. He's a big-fucking-WANKER but he brings in the cash with that fucking IDIOT mouth of his." Each angrily enunciated word was spat just as harshly in Tom's direction while alternating and sending the prettier, nicer tones towards the girl that was standing in shock at the sudden attack.

Hermione was still reeling from Tom's so strange behavior that she wasn't even quite sure what she should say. He thought she was shagging Abraxas? She wanted to laugh. She'd already been down that sort of path once before…not a fucking chance. And he was there when she'd freaked out about the bed—he was THERE! What the fucking hell?

She plucked the coffee she'd prepared for the stupid-faced-stupid-hair-having Tom Riddle from its spot in the holder and shoved the rest of the drinks at Abraxas. The blond was so sure, with the few steps she took to close the distance between her and the other man, that Hermione was about to scald their roommate with that so carefully made beverage.

"My apologies, Tom," Hermione said coldly and passed him the drink. "Won't happen again. Have a good night, would you?"

She turned on her heel and marched upstairs, never once turning around or even glancing back in their direction as she marched to her room and slammed the door shut.

Abraxas waited until he was positive she was tucked away before snatching up a throw pillow and swinging, with all of his weight behind it, at Tom's head. The man dodged the brunt of the blow but still ultimately was pummeled in the side of the face and sputtered, nearly spilling the cooling coffee all over himself.

"WATCH IT—"

"You are a bleeding MORON! What on God's green earth is wrong with you, you outrageous twat?!"

"Hey, fuck you!"

Abraxas swung the pillow several more times with such rapid frequency, all Tom could do was half curl into himself while standing, trying to dodge the fluffy thing. "You know, she was just coming around to seeing that you might actually be an interesting bloke worth getting to know, but I'm pretty sure – no, I am POSITIVE – you've just dashed that all to bits!"

Tom grimaced, feeling a hot flush creeping up his neck. He turned his cup in his hands a few times and muttered grouchily, "The hell are you talking about?"

"Oh sod it, Tom! Like I'm blind? I would call you a sissy when it comes to acknowledging your feelings, but that would merely be an insult to all sissies everywhere! You like her! I see it! Blaise sees it! Marcus sees it! Can you stop being a bleeding prick and ask her out already instead of parading around like a jealous twit?!"

"I'm not—"

"It's like you're twelve! You don't snark at a girl to get her to like you at this age, Tom! Try being charming for once instead of whatever bullshite this is. Jesus!" Abraxas dropped the holder of drinks onto the coffee table and made his own way up the stairs.

"Hey!" Tom called out lamely. "What about practice?"

"Practice?" Abraxas paused on the stairs long enough to shoot Tom a disgusted look and continued on, grumbling, "You are a sodding smeg."

Tom glared at the man's back and huffed, slumping back down onto the couch. The bit of red that had mucked up his head as soon as he heard the couple laughing, joking, and bouncing in arm-in-arm faded and he replayed that awful display in his head again. He groaned and frowned hard at the drink he was twisting round and round in his hands.

His heart dropped when he caught sight of the black script on the side of the cup where the ever persistent "Rickle" abomination had been scribbled out and a neat, elegant cursive that read "Riddle" had been written in its stead.

Tom was still wearing a horrid look on his face, lips all screwed up in a wretched mess as he fixated on the delicate, looping lines, when Blaise shuffled out of the rec room. He was wearing nothing but his pyjama trousers that had cartoonish interpretations of finger foods coupled with their names printed in equally cartoony scrawl near each picture. The dark skinned man shuffled around the couch and the coffee table to the small tray of drinks, he scanned the remaining ones and popped his iced coffee out, popped a straw in and sipped it while he looked at Tom; the man looked as if he'd swallowed a toad.

"You are a sodding smeg," Blaise repeated Abraxas' earlier sentiment.

Tom scowled at him. "You don't even know what that means."

"I don't have to know, to know that you are one."

Tom looked as if he wanted to sneer and protest some more and then he looked at her neat writing of his correct name once more. He placed his drink on the table and groaned once more, letting his head fall into his hands. "You're not wrong…"

Blaise huffed. "Of course not. I'm never wrong." He resumed sipping his iced drink and shuffled back down the hall, leaving Tom to his – or at least what he liked to call – 'miserable pining noises'.

A/N: Oh the aca-ANGST! Don't worry, it doesn't last very long. More singing...next chapter.