Additional A/N: This is now my FOURTH time trying to upload this, the last three times something has went wrong so I'm sorry if you got a notification and the chapter wasn't there :( Hopefully third time's the charm... Love CrazyAsACupcake
Main A/N: Oh, boy! That took a While, haha! Long story short, I ended up having to do a lot more research than I thought I needed to - and I still didn't end up writing that much. I was so desperate for Sunday to be the 23rd, but sadly it wasn't meant to be, since in 1996 the 23rd was the Monday, so I needed to write a whole extra day I wasn't planned for D: This is essentially a filler chapter to get to the day I actually wanted to do - but the good news is I know quite a bit about PS1s now... haha! I'm really sorry this took so long (like bloody always!) but I, as always, am so, so grateful for each and every one of you for continuing to read and support my little story. As always, your reviews make my day, it's so nice to know there's people out there who appreciate what you do (even if it does take you three weeks to give them what they want (I'm sorry!)). Thank you all so, so, SO much! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Love, CrazyAsACupcake
On Sunday, December 22nd, Hermione doesn't wake up until half past twelve. She wakes up with her hair stuck to her face, saliva dribbling from her mouth, and her duvet cover on the floor. She rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands then stretches, groaning when her joints pop. She leaves her room like a zombie, stumbling out onto the landing and nearly falling down the stairs as she latches on to the bannister.
She stops halfway down the stairs, listening. There are voices downstairs – three voices. Her mum's soothing voice is the first one she recognises, though she can't make out the muffled words. Her dad's thick Northern accent is next – yes, she's part Northerner, not a part she's much proud of – and the third voice is…
The third voice is calm and warm and inviting. The third voice is deep, but not too deep – just the right pitch to make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. The third voice is posher, classier, cleverer, funnier, everything-er than her parents (no offence to them).
The third voice, she remembers, is Draco Malfoy.
Her sleepy haze evaporates faster than one can say rictosempra. She stands still on the stairs, feeling the carpet beneath her toes. She remembers she went to sleep in shorts and a long-sleeved shirt, then remembers that he's seen her in shorts before. She remembers that her hair was sticking to her face and her chin is probably still wet from the drool.
Before she can run away back to her room, her mum steps through the living room doorway, laughing. She sees her, and smiles.
"We were beginning to wonder when you'd show up!" She waves Hermione down, and Hermione reluctantly follows.
Paul is sitting in the settee, one arm across the back, his left ankle resting on top of his right knee. Paul is still in his pyjamas – fluffy black and white checked pants and an old t-shirt. Malfoy sits in the chair to his left, sitting forwards, fully dressed in a white shirt tucked into his black dress pants.
"Good afternoon, sunshine." He's far too cheery for her, smirking at her as she stands awkwardly in the doorway. He leans forward to get his cup of tea from the coffee table, and she forces herself not to look at how his shirt pulls taut against his stomach.
"Why are you dressed?" She asks, pushing the wild curls back out of her face. In her mind she hopes she looks like a movie star, the move flawless and making her irresistible. In reality she looks like she's drowning under her hair – like Rapunzel, but slightly worse.
He raises his brow at her. "No one told me we weren't getting dressed."
"Then go put your pyjamas back on."
"I've already got these on now; no need for them to go to waste."
Paul looks over the back of the settee and grins at her. "Afternoon, love. Draco was just telling us all about Quidditch."
Hermione rolls her eyes, sneering at Malfoy over her dad's head. "Of course he was, he doesn't talk about anything else."
Paul laughs, turning back to Malfoy. "She's like this with football too, lad – don't take it personally."
As Malfoy asks "football?", Hermione's nose twitches. She can smell… something. Something juicy and delicious, beckoning her into the kitchen. She follows it quickly, ignoring the hot feeling of Malfoy's eyes on her bare legs (they weren't; he was too busy listening to her dad explain football), only to be greeted to an empty kitchen. She frowns sadly, then notices the breadcrumbs on the counter, the butter that hasn't been put back in the fridge, and how the grill is still slightly warm, and she feels her blood become just a bit hotter.
She stomps back into the front room, glaring at her dad and Malfoy (who is still nursing his mug of tea). "You had bacon sandwiches without me?"
"You were asleep, I wasn't going to let it go cold," Paul counters, completely unbothered.
"There's this thing either of you could've done called waking me up."
"I'm not allowed in there," Malfoy points out.
"He's not allowed in there," Paul says, at the same time. He nods at Malfoy. "Good lad, knows the rules."
Hermione can see the tips of his ears turning pink beneath his white blond hair. "That doesn't stop you."
"You know how the grill works, and the toaster."
"I can't believe you made him one, and not me – your only daughter." She retreats back into the kitchen, putting her own bacon on the grill. "And just because I'm making my own, I'll have four slices! Not three!"
Paul laughs, shaking his head as Malfoy finishes the dregs of his tea and places the mug back onto the coffee table. He stands, wiping the palms of his hands on his trousers. "I should probably…" He points lamely at the kitchen; he doesn't know what he should probably do, or why he feels the need to explain himself.
Paul laughs again. "She doesn't mean any of it, she's not really mad."
Malfoy picks his mug up again. "I know." He twists it in his hands, reading what it says – it's a drawing of the castle from the picture, with a glittery arch over it, and the words World's Best Mom underneath, which makes him smirk.
Paul holds his mug out towards him. "If you're getting another, please."
He takes it with a smile. "Milk? And sugar."
Paul pulls a face. "Just a splash. And no sugar, thanks."
Malfoy nods, going into the kitchen. He looks at Paul's mug, with an image of a black helmet, and huffily wonders why he couldn't have had that cup.
Hermione is sat up on the countertop, her legs dangling against the cupboard doors. Her fingers drum against the counter as she watches him. "Alright?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" His nose wrinkles, and she smiles.
"You're looking a bit pink, is all."
He shakes his head, the corners of his lips lifted. He holds the mugs up. "Tea?"
"Kettle's there." She points towards the kettle, jumping down from the counter to check on her bacon in the grill. When she sees they're still a bit pale, she leans against the counter with her arms folded, watching him.
He stares at the kettle for a moment, his brow creased. After a minute, he looks to Hermione in confusion. "Can you…?"
"Here," she laughs as she picks the kettle up, filling it with the water from the tap. She places it back where it was. "Then you press this little button," the kettle lights up and starts making a noise. "Then you wait. Don't touch the water when it comes out."
"I know not to touch boiling water." He sneers at her, and she grins. He stands next to her with his hands behind him against the countertop.
"So…" Her voice trails off. She doesn't know what to say, all of a sudden, in the silence. It's odd – she normally always knows what to say to him. "Did you enjoy my movie?"
"Oh, yeah, yeah. I thought it was very interesting. Bit dark, for kids. I mean they did…they did literally impale the octopus woman."
"Ursula. It's alright because she was the villain. She deserved it." She checks her bacon again, flipping it over then putting it back under the grill.
"And that Eric, I don't think he was enough for her to throw away her whole life for." The kettle pops behind him, which he takes as an indication that it's done.
"Teabags in that box, one per cup," she points at a box to his left. "What do you think would have been enough, for her to get rid of everything she knew for?"
He drops a teabag in each cup. He doesn't know what the teabags are for – remember he's only had it out of the teapot at school – but he hopes Hermione will tell him what to do. "Well, I think the main thing would be replacing Eric with me. He's nothing special, but I know that most girls would forget everything they know for me."
"Has anyone ever told you how humble you are, Malfoy?" She checks again, and her bacon is finally done. She turns the grill off and drops some bread in the toaster, getting the milk from the fridge for him.
He makes his own quite milky – he can't stand it when it's too strong. "I know, Granger. I'm a saint, aren't I?"
"Don't put too much in my dad's." She's watching him while she waits for the toast to be done. "Just a splash."
"I know, I know. I'm not stupid." He puts a splash in, pulls a face at Hermione, then screws the top back on the milk.
"Now take the teabags out and put them in the bin."
He frowns. Maybe he should take back that statement. "With… With my fingers?"
She hands him a tiny silver spoon. "Teaspoon. It's in the name."
He stirs the tea with the teaspoon, fishing out the teabags and dropping them into the bin in the corner. Hermione's toast pops and she starts buttering it, lost in thought for a second.
"What would it take for you to give up everything, Malfoy?" She asks after a moment, arranging her bacon on one slice. He frowns at her, taking a sip out of his cup.
"I'm not sure, Granger. Maybe a gorgeous mermaid will have to come and sweep me off my feet."
"When I was younger, I'd always play at being their daughter. I can't remember what I named myself, but I'd pretend that I couldn't go near the water, or I'd turn into a mermaid." She cuts the sandwich in half and takes a bite. For some reason, he feels the need to make a note of the fact that she eats from the slice to the crust, not from the crust to the slice – a rather strange thing to be observant of.
He snatches the other half off her plate and takes a bite, before dropping it back. She gawps at him, and he smiles sweetly back at her.
"You've had your bloody own!" She hisses, yanking the plate closer towards her.
"Sharing is caring, Granger."
"Stop stealing my food for once!"
"You've never complained before."
She glowers at him. "I don't want that half anymore, it's got your spit on it."
"Grow up, Granger. I don't have cooties." With one final smirk, he goes back into the living room to give Paul his tea.
Hermione chews through her sandwich in a thoughtful silence, wiping the crumbs from her fingers when she's finished and cleaning the plate. When she goes back into the room, Malfoy is sat back in his chair in front of the window, more relaxed than he was before. Once again, she tries not to look at his shirt trying to pull itself from his trousers.
"What's happening today?" She asks her dad. He's resting the mug on the arm of the settee, and Malfoy is watching it with wide eyes in case it falls.
"Lazy day, I think. Your mum's doing chicken for tea," Paul replies, moving his cup onto his knee.
"Can I get the PlayStation out?"
"Do what you want, I'm not going to stop you."
She grins, then runs up the stairs to get it from her room, slipping on a step in the middle and having to stumble up the rest of them. Her mum is putting away some towels in the airing cupboard, and Hermione rolls her eyes.
"It can wait for a day, mum! It's Sunday!"
"It can't wait because we're at work tomorrow and Tuesday and I don't want things to pile up." Jean smooths out the towel on the top of the stack, nods, then closes the door. "And I'm done now."
"Where's the PlayStation?" Hermione leans against the wall with her left shoulder, watching her mum.
Jean wrinkles her nose. "You're getting that out?"
"What's wrong with it?"
"It's annoying."
"Well I enjoy it, and that's all that matters."
Jean shakes her head with a sigh. "It's in the wardrobe – second door, third drawer down. The games should be there too."
Hermione practically squeals, hugging her mum before running to her parent's room. She pokes her head around the door. "Thank you, mammy."
"Mummy," Jean corrects, smiling as her daughters grinning face and wild hair disappear behind the door once more.
Hermione pulls the console out of the drawer, along with the two controllers, and the handful of games she had been able to save up for when she was out of school on her holidays: Crash Bandicoot, Mortal Kombat II, Resident Evil, Rayman, and on the top of the pile – still wrapped in its cellophane – was Tomb Raider. Hermione's face lights up with a gasp, and she runs downstairs, careful not to slip with the console in her hands.
Jean smiles at her from the seat opposite Malfoy, her legs curled under her, a pair of glasses in her hair. "You found it?"
"Tomb Raider!" Hermione gasps, holding up (or trying to) the brand new case.
"We thought it'd be a nice surprise for when you came home," Paul says, taking a long drink of his tea. "Every time an advert for it came on, you'd try to 'subtly' point it out."
"When did you get it?"
"October, when it came out." Jean fiddles with her necklace, biting her lip as she looks at the box. "I just hope it's not too… Not too violent."
"Jean, she was playing Resident Evil all summer; I don't think Tomb Raider is going to be that bad," Paul laughs.
Malfoy watches Hermione with a slight smile. He has no idea what's going on, but that doesn't mean he can't be happy for her.
"Can I set it up?" She asks, practically vibrating.
"Go ahead, we're not doing anything." Paul laughs, taking another mouthful of tea. He nods his head in Malfoy's direction, then says to Jean: "This one makes a bloody good cuppa, you know."
The tips of Malfoy's ears go red once again.
Hermione kneels in front of the television, connecting the cables with the different coloured ends into the correct ports, tearing the cellophane off her brand-new never-before-played edition of Tomb Raider, and placing the disk ever so carefully inside the console. She could hear the disk whir inside as she changed the television channel, the PlayStation logo filling the screen before being quickly replaced by the Tomb Raider intro. She sits there transfixed, her left thumb twitching over the D-pad, her right circling the O button.
She stares at the screen for a second, then looks at the second controller, laying unplugged next to her. Chewing her lip, she looks over her shoulder at Malfoy, who is watching the screen with vague interest. She's torn between savouring the game she's waited six months for, and letting him join in.
Paul decides for her.
"Are you going to let him play with you, then?" He stands from the settee – she can hear him go into the kitchen. She nods, though he's not in the room anymore, then turns to smile at Malfoy.
"Come down here." She pats the floor beside her, and he lets himself slip off the chair and onto the carpet. "The cable won't reach over there. It's probably bad for your eyes to be so close but it's not for too long."
He nods, pushing his hair back from his face and scrutinising every aspect of the screen as she plugs the second controller in.
Hermione flips the Tomb Raider box around, her nose scrunching as she reads through the back, nodding to herself as she goes. She turns the console off, removing the disk and placing it lovingly back into its place. In a way, she's kind of glad that it's a single-player game, as bad as that sounds.
"Here," she says, handing him the controller.
"Thanks," he replies, holding it awkwardly. It's rather uncomfortable.
"Hold it like this," she holds hers up so he can see her finger positioning. "So, your index fingers are on these two triggers at the back, so that the handles fit in your palm."
He adjusts his grip, nodding when it – oddly – does actually feel a lot better.
"It'll tell you how to play it, but these buttons," she runs her thumb over the D-pad, "are for making the character move."
He fiddles with the buttons, testing the way they feel when he presses them, as she shuffles through her pile of four games. The only multiplayer game she has is Mortal Kombat II, which she normally plays with her dad, but she's sure that he won't mind her playing with someone else for a child.
He'd probably be happier that she's found a friend to play with rather than playing with her dad.
She turns the console back up, the PlayStation screen this time changing into the Mortal Kombat II title. They run through the rules, and Malfoy nods along sagely, though she's certain he's still got absolutely no clue what he's meant to be doing.
"Just mash the buttons," she laughs as he tries to understand the combo moves. "Just press O over and over."
"That's cheating!" Paul shouts from the kitchen, which makes them both laugh.
"No, no, I think I'll be able to do it." Malfoy nods, looking back down at the controller. He smirks at Hermione. "I think I'll be able to win."
She scoffs. "You haven't even played it yet, I've been playing for a year."
"It's nothing like Quidditch."
"Shut up about Quidditch!"
He snorts as he laughs, which makes Hermione laugh as she makes fun of him. "Just start the damn thing!"
They end up playing for three hours. Malfoy is a bit traumatised at first (she didn't warn him about the Fatalities), but when he finally gets to finish off Sub-Zero, he can't help shouting 'yes!'
They end the game at around half past 4, when Jean tells them dinner is nearly ready. Hermione unplugs everything, slips the Mortal Kombat II disk back into its box, then returns it all back to its draw in her parent's room. When she goes back downstairs, Malfoy is already in the kitchen, sat at the dining table, tapping his fingers against the glass of Diet Coke in front of him. He smirks at her as she flops into the seat next to him.
"Just because it's been put away doesn't mean you've won. It's not over yet, Granger."
She laughs, pulling his glass away from him and taking a large mouthful of his drink.
"Oh, Malfoy. I was only getting started."