Official Information
Title: The Extreme
Author: Enchanted Ink
Disclaimer: Harry Potter indica is the property of J. K. Rowling and the Warner Bros. Association; NOT ME.
Summary: H. A. Granger is in love- with the youngest male Weasley. There is one problem. Ron is no longer an innocent, awkward boy, and she has come to the conclusion that he is after another girl... Her enemy is a master in the art of relationships, and she will do anything for his council.
Rating: PG-13 for possible:
-Language
-Sexual Content
-Violence
-Drugs &/or Alcohol
Extra Info.: Words in italic indicate thought or emphasis on the given term. I am aware of the fact that Draco Malfoy's eyes are usually referred to as blue.
A/N: Hello. R/R, please!
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1
Summer... The season for students from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to indulge in relaxation. Hermione A. Granger, however, used her spare time to read, pouring over thick, aged volumes. Text books, she loved them. Closing her eyes, she could vision the smooth pages turning. Her parents consistently coaxed her to be a teenager.
During the summer before her seventh year, her parents decided to vacation to Madrid, Spain to visit with cousins. It was the week before term started, and they gave her enough wizarding money to cover food, transportation, room and board, school supplies, and a little left for recreation. After all, her parents were dentists and their wages were... Well, enough.
The Leaky Cauldron was a stingy but welcoming inn with a constant flow of strangers. Kissing her mother and her father farewell, Hermione approached Tom, the innkeeper, to rent a room. He limped up creaky stairs, led by lantern light, to an old oak door with a sign that read Number 8. She thanked him briefly and breathed a sign of relief as her hefty trunk made an audible thud on the floor. She grimaced as her surroundings, the same she had viewed in her third year, slapped her in the face. No wonder her rent was cheap!
Hermione dumped the contents of her small money pouch onto the twin bed and peered down at the galleons, knuts, and sickles as they continued to tumble out. Being the responsible witch she was, money management was the task she completed next. She had a decent amount for pleasure! Tomorrow she would be her own personal guide around the magical, hidden city in London. Tonight, Hermione would sleep.
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Sunshine blinded Hermione as the morning made itself visible. Groaning, she put her feet on the cold floor and stumbled in the direction of the mirror. A scowl was on her lips as she glared critically at her tangle of messy brown curls. Purple bags made her matching brown eyes look bruised.
Ugh, I'm repulsive when I wake up! she thought. I wonder what Ron would say. I don't want to know. He's so handsome now, although I fancied him before. That red hair looks adorable! He's another younger version of his parents.
After thirty minutes of grooming and dressing, she snatched up her money purse and began her trot down the rickety staircase. She found that her appetite had not yet woken, and began her own tour of Diagon Alley, viewing the newest aspects it had to offer. Suddenly, a crowd of young, giggling girls caught her attention. Just as she began to roll her eyes, bits and pieces of their conversation began to reach her ears. Not surprisingly, curiosity rooted her to the spot.
"Yeah, it opens at midnight, tonight. It's called..." The girl fell into another shrill laugh, so obnoxious Hermione almost walked away. Almost... Until she heard her say, "It's called The Extreme, and it's supposed to be a dance club. A lot of Hogwarts students are going to be there." Finally she recognized the leader of the small group, a fifth year Ravenclaw. Hermione glanced around quickly.
She was near the end of Diagon Alley, next to a post that held three other signs that proclaimed the title of the other various streets. With a turn of her head, she saw the topic of their discussion, a small entrance with enchanted, plastic tarp draped over the glass doors of the new club. Perhaps Hermione would return later, if only for a quick visit. Maybe she would know some of the Hogwarts students that were supposedly going to be there.
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It was twelve thirty, and Hermione was, once again, staring at herself critically in the mirror. She was wearing a brown, corduroy skirt that reached her knees, a cream-colored peasant top with baggy sleeves, and dark cork sandals. Her hair was still curly, as usual, but they were orderly and neat. A small coat of lip gloss was the only makeup Hermione wore, but it was all she had.
The Extreme. Ha! I hope the club is as pathetic as it sounds. Then I'll fit in perfectly!
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Hermione quickly gained the knowledge that The Extreme was not pathetic. She was. The second she saw the crowded entrance she knew she would not fit it, due to the fact that several other witches, pretty witches, were dressed more attractively, at least according to the young, handsome wizards. She felt utterly childish.
Plush, red leather booths lined the mirrored walls and made reflections against the metallic, silver floor. Smoke machines blew around blue and pink showers of fumes and music blared from large, black speakers. Dancers, both male and female, were gyrating to the tune. Desperation filled Hermione as she searched for a familiar face.
She was dying for a friend, or one of her best friends. Harry and Ron, however, were at Private Drive and The Burrow. A flash of the familiar face she sought turned her body on alert, and she stiffened as she turned to the right, following the black shirt. That flannel black shirt with the image of a team in robes that sported the name The Chudley Cannons on the front...
RON?
As the figure turned she realized that it was indeed Ron. His red hair had gotten slightly shaggy and ragged, but it was still enough to make Hermione want to push her fingers through it. His jaw was strong and his figure was no longer lanky, but lean. Boyant eyes gleamed. And then she saw his partner, who was equally as glamorous.
Her hair was black, short, and stylish. Her eyes were an astounding blue. Her mouth was coated with red lipstick that matched her skirt.
I don't think that even qualifies as a skirt, Hermione thought in disgust. And half of that blouse is missing! It was true. The camisole the girl wore was revealing what she definitely did have. Hermione almost burst into tears.
I can't believe that my friend, who hasn't owled me in over three weeks, would have the nerve to dance with another girl without so much as thinking about his reputation. I... I really care about Ron. What is that... THAT REPULSIVE THING THEY ARE DOING WITH THEIR HIPS?!
Hermione really did not want to cry in front of hundreds of people, but part of her hoped that Ron would see her and know he was the cause of the tears she knew were coming. Turning, she gasped as she knocked lightly into somebody's torso, the torso of a strong male taller than her five feet and six inches.
Her enemy stared down at her, then back at Ron who hadn't noticed her yet, and gave his famous smirk.
The voice of Draco Malfoy said, clearly amused by the drawling quality his voice posessed, "Who knew Granger was in love with Weasley?"
All Hermione could manage was a weak expression of horror.
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