Aca-demic Arrangements

Chapter 38

Hello Bug.

Eyes huge and disbelieving, fixed to the glaring screen of the phone, Hermione gulped. A dozen dozen thoughts flew through her head, all of them circling back to a single, militant one.

NO.

Hands trembling, Hermione's fingers twitched over the virtual keys. She started a reply, stopped, then deleted it all, shaking her head frantically and chastising herself with a hiss. A deep breath and a moment later, she tried again, this time wincing a bit as she tapped out a reply to this unsigned sender.

wrong number sry

Without waiting for a response, she fumbled through a few option screens before finding what she needed and blocking the number. With shaking hands, she held the device at arm's length, watching still the illuminated screen until it dimmed, no other message forthcoming, and at last went black. Hermione stared at the darkened screen now for another minute or two longer until, finally, she breathed out a sigh and resigned herself at attempting sleep, reaching to place the phone back on her nightstand in hopes that she could.

THUNK!

Hermione jolted upright, stifling a yelp and dropping her phone on her mattress instead. Her head snapped towards the window where she'd heard the noise and, with a loud gulp – and against her better judgment – she slipped from beneath her covers to look. She made a show of it, she knew she did, with how slowly she crept on her toes and drew aside the curtain nearest to her. The edge of her face peeked just beyond the window frame and out into the dark, dimly lit night.

Hermione's window faced the house's fenced back lawn where it butted up against their rear neighbor's, one side of it lined by low lit streetlamps stretching high above the fencing. Immediately within eyeshot and a stone's throw away was the boys' old seldom used swing set. It was an artifact from Tom's young days no doubt, though she'd only ever caught Marcus and Abraxas occasionally entertaining attempts to "swing over the bar"; it was there she saw him.

"Fuck!" Hermione hissed and came away from the window sharply, sinking into a tiny ball beside it as if it would help a thing.

Her phone buzzed again, then, vibrating atop her bedsheets.

Hesitating for just a second, Hermione launched to her feet, came around the bedframe, and snatched up the thing from her mattress.

A new message from a different unknown number greeted her: Stop it, Bug. Come down before I come up.

She read the words once, then again, then one last time. The final time she scowled at the nerve of it, suddenly more angry than anything else. Tromping back to her window this time to rip the curtain aside and full on glare down at the male figure swinging lightly on one of the chain swings. From this distance and in this light, she could only make out the flare of orange from the tip of his cigarette as he took a long drag. When he tilted his head back to exhale, though, she swore she saw the cheeky spread of that too-white smile that she'd been certain was left in the dust a while ago. With only a bit more fussing Hermione clothed modestly, opened her window, and prepared to climb her way down to meet him, avoiding the creaks and groans of the floors and doors of the house lest she wake her boys.

But not before sending a curt message, fierce in its simplicity to the smoking, grinning Percy Weasley who awaited her descent with open arms.

You're a fucking twat

. . . . .

Proficient in many unlikely things, Hermione descended with deft grace, boldly ignoring Percy's chides and attempts to coax her down to his arms. Feet planted firmly on the grass, she glowered up at his face, letting an irate silence fill the gap between them. She allowed her eyes a scan over his neatly pressed attire, the crisp edges of his shirt, trousers, and jacket visibly sharp even in the dimness of the evening. Only his loosened tie and the mussed pompadour of fiery ginger hair added an air of dishevelment to his demeanor.

Cigarette between his lips, he drew deeply again, the tip flaring like a tiny glow bug. Smoke curled from behind grinning teeth with a short puff through his nostrils at the end. His voice broke the silence, accented Cockney speech with the familiarity of home. "Been a while, my Bug."

With that, Hermione's hand flashed out and caught him clean across the face. Percy's head snapped to the side and stayed there. "How did you get my number so quickly?"

Long lashes moved as he blinked, head still turned. He took a final drag from the stick before methodically bending to drag the ashy tip across the raised sole of one of his glinting dress shoes to extinguish it. Tossing the thing down and absently flattening it into the dirt with the ball of one foot, Percy turned his head forward.

He raised one finger. "First, ow." And then one more. "Second, no ''m sorry for dodgin' you and makin' yer bloody task one big pain in the arse, Percy'?"

Hermione slapped him again, his head barely flinching aside this time.

"Right," he said and hefted her in one swooping motion up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Opening her mouth to yell at him, Percy halted her with a warning, the smirk clear in his voice. "Ah ah! Don't want to wake your new pup, no?" At that she stilled in his arms though he continued walking. "Relax, anyway. We're just to talk. You'll be back in no time," he spoke, unwinded, even as he was slipping Hermione's weight from his shoulder and onto the swaying swing seat he'd vacated moments ago. "Snug as a Bug," he paused to tap the tip of her nose with a finger, "in a new bloke's house and bed."

Her anger dissipating some, Hermione clasped the chains of the swing and started somberly, "Percy, I—"

He stopped her with a snort and an upheld hand, reaching with the other into the inner pocket of his jacket for his smokes. "I'm just giving you shite, love. Ours were good enough times, but I'm not sour about it." Percy paused thoughtfully, holding a new cigarette between his lips and a small silver lighter with its flickering flame igniting the handsome, angular lines of his face. "Not anymore, in any case." He drew in a long breath of smoke and exhaled the next, "Mum's another case entirely."

"Your mum," Hermione began ruefully, "always thought I should set about with Ronald, anyway. What's it to her?"

Percy shrugged and it was an aching show of striking fluidity flowing beneath the sharp edges of his suit. "We're interchangeable when it pleases."

Hermione stopped the gentle swaying she'd fallen into on the swing, toes digging into soil to stopper her movement and her hand came out automatically for the closest of his; her anger was temporarily forgotten. "I'm sorry, Percy."

As quickly as it came, the somber mood dissipated when he turned to see her, that perfect grin plastered on his face once more—my Perfect Percy she'd called him more than once for more reasons than one. Hermione would have been lying had she said her heart didn't flutter just then.

Percy drew her hand to his mouth in another fluid motion, brushing his lips over her knuckles before settling back into his own swing and letting her grip fall away. "No matter, anyway. M'not here for any of that." He inclined his head towards the house, suddenly businesslike. "You've been sloppy, Miss Granger, ever since you've taken up with that one."

Remembering her earlier agitation, Hermione faced forward again, resuming her sway as well. "How did you get it so fast?" she rephrased her earlier question.

"Not exactly hard when you've an entourage of giggling fools, now issit?" He turned to her wide-eyed, something near genuine astonishment in his look. "I've had tabs on you ever since you started mucking about at that pub with these fools."

"They're not fools!" Hermione hissed, swatting his arm. Thoughtfully, she added, "Moody?"

Percy gave her a noncommittal shrug.

Hermione sighed heavily, shoulders slumped. She set her gaze back on the house in the direction where Tom's room would be, his facing out over their side yard instead. "You're working." It wasn't a question.

"Yeh," Percy said softly, nodding and taking a drag.

"Is it still…" Her voice trailed off but had an unmistakable hopefulness to it.

"Your mum and dad miss you, Bug."

Hermione swallowed and swung in her smallish seat, chains rustling in response. Her thoughts shifted to a multitude of places, flooding her head stiflingly until she shook it to clear them all. "I've got some debts to settle before I see them again."

He let her words sit there a while. "I know," Percy said simply, then, "Hermione, just a word and those debts—"

"No, Percy!" She snapped. Hermione sighed and more softly murmured, "No. But thank you." She eyed the general direction of Tom's room again, muttering, "You're as bad as him."

The lines of Percy's somewhat serious profile lessened though his tone darkened. "Tom Marvolo Riddle," he said. "Adopted boy of the Gaunts, hailing from the nicer parts of London even though he, himself, did not. Heir to the family inheritance after they departed, God rest their souls. Currently using his funds to pursue, full time, a major in philosophy and an apparent musical delight as head of his little boy band with as much aptitude for the art as you before you went underground." Hermione's breath caught audibly. He smiled; it was a dangerous thing. "We take care of our girls, Bug." It would have been a clear warning, that list of coveted information, if Tom had been faced with it then.

As it was, the sentiment rung in her ears, clear and the same as the one Tom spouted when he thought he was the first of his ilk that she'd ever been with. She snorted inwardly at that. If only he knew the half of it.

"As bad as him," she said again.

Percy glanced at her, interested. "He takes care of you." A question and a statement, both.

"Yeah," Hermione replied, dipping her head to stifle a smile.

After several long beats of quiet, Percy smiled, too. "As I said, then."

"Percy…" she began, hesitating, "…are they…are Mum and Dad well?"

He nodded. "They miss you. They're as sorry for the fallout as you, Bug."

"Yeah…" It wasn't really an appropriate response, but it was all she had for a while.

"Percy," Hermione started again, "just a bit longer."

Percy sighed, resigned. "I'll send word through the twins that you're well. And Hermione—" It was Percy's turn to hesitate. "You give the word—on either front, debt or home—and it's done. Understand?"

She nodded.

They both let the curtain of a familiar, comfortable silence fall between them again. Hermione reached out to take his hand once more, his other moving to withdraw and replace his cigarette to his lips in a habitual rhythm and they swung lightly in the night's cool breeze and dim streetlighting nearly until dawn.

For so many reasons he'd been her Perfect Percy, this was just another to add to the lot.