Author's Note: Hi again! I'm posting one last fic before I take a break. I wrote most of this one before Darkest Before the Dawn and did the virtual equivalent of crumpling it up into a ball and throwing it in the trash. While I was posting DBTD, I re-read it, still enjoyed it, and decided to finish. I was on the fence about sharing, because I got frustrated with some magical plot issues, but decided what the heck! We all deserve more Romione romance, so I am posting it anyway.
That being said, I have a big disclaimer. If you are the type of reader that gets annoyed with minor plot holes or have had complaints about my other fics, TURN BACK NOW! You don't have to read it and get even more annoyed lol!:) If however, you'd like to escape reality with a fic that gives you some mystery, silliness, and lots of Ron/Hermione fun, then I encourage you to read on.
Either way, hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1
Hermione stretched her arms and leaned back against her creaky chair. She'd been staring at her computer screen for two hours straight and this was her third pass at revising a journal article on the medicinal properties of the blowfish. The article was fascinating, but after the third time editing and revising, her bleary eyes could take no more.
She leaned over and poured herself another cup of piping tea from the teapot sitting near the end of her desk. She gently tipped the spout and a dark steaming liquid poured its contents into her cup. She set the teapot carefully back down onto the trivet, re-adjusting her maroon quilted tea cozy.
Hermione tried to ignore the memory of the last time she used this particular teapot. She'd made the rash decision of inviting her date, Rowan, back up for tea. He didn't do anything untoward, and Hermione thought it might go somewhere until he gave an awkward look at the far wall of her flat. Not long after that, Rowan excused himself out the front door, and she'd not heard from him again.
Straightening up, she glared at the teapot on her desk as if it had something to do with the encounter. With a surrendering breath, she acknowledged that it was not this teapot that had caused her date to fizzle out, it was the other twenty-nine teapots stacked perfectly across three long, horizontal wooden shelves on the top half of the far wall. Then, it was the additional endless rows of books that lined the bottom half of the wall. She could imagine that anyone coming into her homely flat might feel Hermione had gone off the deep end at some point with peculiar hobbies and introverted obsessions, and then had never quite returned to the real world. All she needed was nine cats, and she would be set for a nice transition into the old cat lady lifestyle.
Hermione took a sip of tea, then shut her laptop. The blowfish would still be here in the morning and it was almost time for the most interesting part of her evening.
Hermione scoffed at herself. Rowan probably made it out unscathed. If he couldn't handle her teapot and book collections, he definitely would have been long gone after learning about her favorite pastime.
She pulled the metal chain from the overhead light. The quaint living room, originally soaked in a golden glow, was now dark shadows and shapes. As she did almost every night, Hermione pulled her overstuffed armchair over to the curved window nook, then carried her teacup and teapot over, settling them on the window sill ledge. One of the main reasons she chose this particular flat was that it had a large, yet inconspicuous arched window that gave her an extended view of the courtyard and the apartments across the way.
Pulling the binoculars out of the pocket of her armchair, she adjusted the lenses and drew the binoculars to her eyes. In true Hermione fashion, she tried to tell herself she was providing a public service. Several months ago she spotted an elderly gentleman having a heart-attack over the dinner table and was able to call an ambulance, saving his life. Although a true story, Hermione knew that she was merely trying to justify her creepy voyeuristic tendencies and avoid interacting with people she believed could never understand her unusual quirks and awkward personality.
"What movie is it tonight, ladies?" Hermione scanned the first floor apartment on the other side of the courtyard. Typically around this time, the Golden Oldies (which Hermione genially dubbed them) had just finished up their evening meal and were snuggled in together on the sofa for Thursday movie night.
Hermione's predictions rang true as she spotted them cozied up on their couch, one lady pointing her remote at the TV. Hermione tried to angle to see the movie, but it was no use. They must have shifted the television slightly out of her view.
Hermione switched gears moving up a level to the second floor flat. She had been intentional about starting with the Golden Oldies, per her usual process, but every time she pulled out her binoculars recently, her first instinct was to check on him. The Ginger Bachelor on level two.
He had moved in a little over two weeks ago, but the flat was still rather plain. At some point he must have brought in his sofa, bed and the kitchenette table, which she could see from this angle, but he had yet to hang any pictures or have anyone over. Hermione smiled as she watched him open the fridge. There was one thing he didn't skimp on after moving in. He had a well stocked pantry and refrigerator. This guy definitely loved to eat. Not only that, but from what she could tell, he was a decent cook. The night before last she watched him make the most scrumptious Shepherd's Pie. She almost climbed up the fire escape and onto his balcony to sneak a heaping slice of her own.
Tonight however, she watched as he leaned up against the balcony railing looking out over the courtyard. Hermione tried to move on, but all she managed to do was silently drool over his rugged features. He had a subtle handsomeness that she wasn't sure many would gravitate towards, but she certainly had. She watched the wind pull his fiery bangs to one side. His freckles stretched from one cheek, over his slightly crooked nose, and to the other, then disappeared beneath the red stubble of his beard. She didn't see him smile much, but sometimes he would bring his chess set out onto the balcony, spinning the board around every so often to play as his own opponent. On rare occasions she would see a triumphant grin pass over his face and it made her throat go dry.
Tonight, he was in a simple cerulean cotton shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders. She watched his muscles tighten as he leaned against the railing. Her mind drifted unintentionally to the idea of accidentally running into him in the courtyard. Maybe there would be a spark?
Before her fantasy had time to fully manifest, she was doused with a bucket of cold, unforgiving reality. She knew why he was out on that balcony. It was the reason he stood out there every evening. It was for her...
Hermione guided her binoculars down toward the figure gliding in from the main street into the central courtyard. She was the ultimate beauty. Her jet black hair was slick and straight, falling effortlessly down to the base of her back. She wore deep red lipstick and had a fashion sense that was unparalleled, though always in a black fabric. Her cold eyes softened as she greeted friends new and old in the courtyard. It had only been a month and a half, yet she had made more friends in the nearby apartments than Hermione had her entire life. Hermione twirled her index finger around a stray curl falling down from her messy bun. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to be this mysterious raven-haired beauty. Making friends with everyone. Having all the men fawn over her. This femme seemed to be the exact opposite of Hermione in all the best ways.
"Well, are you finally going to talk to her?" Hermione's face scrunched unpleasantly as she watched the Ginger Bachelor make a move toward his door. The Raven-haired beauty was climbing the stairs to the top floor. Since his door was right by the stairs, he could easily walk out and "run into her" as she ascended. The weird thing was, he never did. He always watched her intently then went to his door and stared out of the peep hole as she passed his floor and continued to climb up the remainder of the stairs to the top level of the building.
Of course he would be infatuated with her, Hermione frowned. She looked down at her own clothes; a baggy t-shirt hung over her mousy frame, black leggings clung to her legs, and fuzzy thick slipper socks rolled up high over her ankles. There was no contest.
Dejected, Hermione turned her focus to the black beauty on the third level flat. She watched as the woman unlocked her door and dropped her designer purse onto what she presumed to be the sofa. She disappeared into a back room that Hermione couldn't see, but Hermione knew that she wasn't planning on staying at home. Thursday nights Black Beauty would change and head over to a neighboring apartment - who Hermione dubbed the Sapphire Socialite - to party with the neighbors. Even the Golden Oldies stopped by every once in a while. The Sapphire Socialite was similar to the Black Beauty in that they made friends easily. All the men flocked to the Thursday night get-togethers. Everyone except the Ginger Bachelor, that is.
That's what confused Hermione the most. The Ginger Bachelor spent every moment tracking this woman's movements, yet when he had an opportunity to meet her, he hid awkwardly.
Hermione put down her binoculars. Later she would take a look to see what was going on over at Sapphire Socialite's party. Maybe someone would do something embarrassing… one could only hope, Hermione mused. She grabbed a book from the shelf, clipping a mini light to the hardback cover, and began flipping through.
As she had predicted, not more than fifteen minutes later, Black Beauty had changed into something equally as stylish, yet more revealing, and then made her way back down the stairs and across the courtyard to her Sapphire Socialite's flat, which was growing in popularity by the second. Hermione cracked her window and could hear the unmistakable sound of jazz filter up from the party flat.
Much to Hermione's annoyance, the Ginger Bachelor knew Black Beauty's schedule as well. He had jumped up from his kitchenette table, and peered through the peep hole and watched her descend the stairs. He took a bite of his burger and walked out on the balcony to watch her cross the courtyard. He seemed to be talking or chanting to himself. Was he praying that she would see him? Hermione rolled her eyes.
Just as Hermione prepared to engross herself in another chapter of her book, the Ginger Bachelor did something unexpected. He walked back inside, grabbed something, put it in his back pocket and exited his flat.
Hermione sat up haphazardly shoving her book out of the way and grabbing for her binoculars.
The Ginger Bachelor looked around the hallway, then shut his door.
Was he going to gather his courage and talk to the raven-haired beauty on floor three? He'd been invited to Sapphire Socialite's party enough times. Maybe he'd decided tonight was the night.
To Hermione's surprise, he did not go downstairs. Instead, he climbed up. Hermione's interest peaked and she leaned forward toward the window trying to get a better view. The Ginger Bachelor looked around cautiously as he arrived at Black Beauty's door.
Hermione tilted her head, confused. What in the world was he doing? Was he practicing knocking on her door while she was gone? Was he so scared to tell her his true feelings that he wanted to pretend.
Hermione's thoughts stopped as he pulled something out of his back pocket.
"Is that a stick?" Hermione asked herself incredulously.
Hermione pressed into the binoculars trying to get a better look. Within an instant, the door to Black Beauty's apartment flung open and the Ginger Bachelor walked inside.
Hermione fell out of her chair and crawled towards the window sill in surprise.
"You're not a handsome love-sick puppy dog at all...you're a creepy stalker!" Hermione croaked, surprised at how she had misjudged him, and simultaneously chastising herself from drooling over this scoundrel.
"I knew you were too good to be true." Hermione scowled as she clamored for her phone, trying to dial the police while simultaneously watching the Ginger Bachelor rifle through Black Beauty's apartment.