Hermione was sitting at her kitchen table three weeks later, trying to revive over a large cup of tea, wishing that she had gone to bed a little earlier the night before. Usually on Friday nights she didn't get as much sleep as her body required in order to function, because Fridays were Try-a-New-Restaurant Nights with Draco. She stared blearily at the front page of the Daily Prophet, looking at the headline but not taking in a word of it. She was about to give up and go back to bed when she heard a sharp rapping on the window over the sink. She glanced over sleepily and saw an owl perched on the windowsill, looking quite buffeted.
She stood up and headed for the window, swaying slightly with tiredness. As she unlatched the window a fierce gust of icy wind blew in, along with the owl, who fell into the sink. Hermione picked it up carefully, untied the parchment from its leg, and watched bemusedly as it ruffled its feathers and took off. She looked down at the parchment in her hand and gasped as she recognized the official seal. She slit it open with trembling hands and began, nervously, to read the contents:
Dear Miss Granger;
I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted as part of the highly acclaimed staff of the Curatio Validus Hospital. Please contact
The parchment fluttered to the floor as Hermione's hand went slack. She stared ahead, blank-faced, in total shock. She stretched out a hand, feeling for her chair, sat down, missed, and landed on the floor with a loud THUMP! She looked up at the chair, surprised, and burst into fits of hysterical laughter.
"Mya! What the hell are you doing?"
Hermione looked up mid-giggle to see a very startled Draco staring down at her.
"How did you get in here?" she demanded, hurrying to her feet and trying to summon up what remained of her dignity.
"Floo," he said simply. "Again, what the hell are you doing?"
"Why did you come?" she asked, trying to avoid his question.
"Because you had a little too much to drink last night, remember?" he said, looking concerned. "You're my best friend. I wanted to make sure you were all right."
Hermione groaned and sank back into her chair. "I forgot all about that. So that's why I have a headache."
"Why were you on the floor?" He sat down next to her and took her hand. "Do you feel okay?"
"I feel perfectly fine," Hermione said in a dazed sort of voice. She handed him the letter and watched his eyes moving down the page. His eyebrows went up at the first lines, but by the time he finished reading and looked up at her, his face was like a mask, any expression hidden.
"Congratulations," he said, sounding genuinely happy for her.
"Thank you," she said quietly, trying and failing to glean something from his eyes.
"You're leaving in a week."
"I am?!" Hermione snatched the letter back and skimmed it. "I am! That's too soon! I won't have time to get everything ready, or to say goodbye to everyone, or—"
"You'll manage," Draco cut her off, hoping to avoid hysterics. "I'll help."
"Again, thank you," she said gratefully. She sighed. "I don't know how I'm going to tell Harry and Ron."
"Don't," Draco suggested.
"Oh, sure, great idea," she laughed. "I'll just leave and see if they notice or not. Sounds wonderful."
He shrugged. "Notice I didn't say it would be practical."
"Well," Hermione sighed, standing up, "I should probably get started."
"Making to-do lists?"
"Of course."
~*~
Hermione took a deep breath and reached out her hand to knock. She withdrew it quickly, mentally admonishing herself, and slowly reached again. She rapped three times, softly, and briefly contemplated running back down the stairs and going home. She heard footsteps approaching, and it was too late. The door swung open and Harry was grinning down at her.
"Hey, Hermione," he said cheerily. "Come on in."
He walked into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, "Want anything to eat?"
"No, thanks," Hermione said, shutting the door behind her. She tossed her jacket over the back of a chair, thinking ruefully about Harry's lack of manners. If it had been Draco she was visiting, he would have closed the door for her, hung up her jacket, and gone to make her favorite kind of tea. She sat down in the armchair and watched Harry come back into the room, carrying a sandwich.
"Er . . . is Ron here?" Hermione asked, trying to hide her nervousness.
"No," Harry said around a huge mouthful of turkey and swiss. "He's at a meeting with Captain Winthrop and some of the other regional teams."
"Why aren't you there?"
"Well, they don't exactly need Seekers in team tactics discussions, do they?" Harry was looking at her rather as if she had suddenly revealed a third eye.
"Oh—of course," Hermione said. "Harry, you know I don't know a thing about Quidditch."
He shrugged. "I'm assuming that's not what you came to talk about, then."
"No," she said carefully. "What I wanted to say was—well, I was hoping that both of you would be here. Do you know when Ron'll be back?"
"Nope," Harry replied, taking another bite. "Could be a few minutes, could be a few hours. Winthrop's unpredictable."
"Well, maybe I should come by another time," Hermione said in relief, standing up.
"Whenever you want," Harry shrugged. "See you around."
"Um . . . sure, Harry," Hermione said quickly, pulling on her jacket. "Bye." She left in a hurry, both relieved that she hadn't had to face their wrath and furious at herself for taking the cowardly way out. She had begun to wonder about Ron's last statement to her: why couldn't she just settle with second-best, anyway? Maybe she should just stay here and find some kind of work at St. Mungo's. That would be a whole lot easier than moving to a new country.
"But I'm not like that, Ron," Hermione said aloud, ignoring the strange looks from passersby on the busy street. To Hermione Granger, taking the easy way out just wasn't acceptable. She was capable of more that Mungo's had to offer, so why not take advantage of that? It would be beneficial to Curatio Validus, obviously; it would be beneficial to whoever took the job at Mungo's, because she wouldn't be stealing the job that was rightfully theirs; and it would be beneficial to herself—she wouldn't be losing brain cells every day, she would be stretching the ones she had. This logical approach to living had always satisfied her before—why wasn't it working now? It was almost as if Ron had struck a nerve, as if taking the easy route was something that Hermione had been wanting her whole life.
"I'm not like that," she repeated as she waited for the magical lift to arrive at her floor. "I'm not, and I never will be." The doors opened with a ding! and she strode down the hallway to her door, muttering fiercely to herself. She fumbled for her wand, tapped the keyhole and said her password, and stepped into her cozy flat.
Hermione flung her jacket at the couch and was starting down the hallway before she realized that her living room was already occupied. Her first words to Draco were not, "Why are you in here?" or, "Do you want anything?" or even, "Hello."
What came out was, "Am I an overachiever?"
"Good afternoon to you, too," he said sarcastically. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Answer me!" she demanded.
"I'm assuming that the meeting didn't go too well."
"Ron wasn't even there," Hermione said dismissively, "so I didn't tell Harry anything. It would be much harder to have to do it twice. Am I an overachiever?"
"My dear," Draco said, eyes twinkling, "overachiever is precisely the word to sum you up. I'm kidding, honestly," he said quickly as she went for her wand. "Overachiever is a little strong.
"You're more of an extremely hard worker," he said thoughtfully, "who doesn't know exactly how much is too much."
Hermione threw up her hands in frustration and sank onto the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. "That's exactly the same thing."
"Not necessarily."
"Is too."
"Is not."
"Is too."
"I'm not going to argue like a toddler," he said patiently. "Overachiever has a very negative connotation. Being an extremely hard worker isn't always negative."
She sighed. "I suppose I see what you mean. Fine, let me rephrase: do you think I should try less hard? Specifically, should I just take a job at Mungo's and be done with it?"
"That's not my decision to make, Mya," he said, smiling. "You're the only one who can make that choice."
"That's the smile you do when you're trying to hide something," Hermione accused, pointing at his face. The grin disappeared instantly. "Oh, stop," she cried. "The mask is even worse than the creepy smile."
He shrugged. "Hey, that's me. Take it or get out."
"It's my flat," Hermione pouted. They glared each other down for a few moments until Hermione's lips began to wobble. "I give up," she announced, not wanting an actual smile to appear on her face.
"I'm here to help you pack," Draco said, as if she had just walked in.
Hermione sighed. "Thank you."
"You're leaving in five days?"
"Mm-hmm," she said distractedly, standing up and looking around the room. She moved into the kitchen and began rooting through drawers.
"I found it already," Draco said, holding up a packing list.
"Good," she said in relief. "I was wondering where it had gone. Do you want to start with the books?"
He looked at the bookshelves in horror. "What, all two million of them?"
"Yup."
"Better than bras, I suppose," he said, pointing to an item on the list. Hermione blushed and snatched it from him.
"I will handle the bras," she said with dignity, and marched off towards her bedroom.
~*~
Three days before she would leave for New York, Hermione was frantically going through her numerous lists, convinced she had forgotten something.
"Clothes, books, shoes," she muttered, running a slender finger down the rows of neat handwriting. "Talk to parents, done; talk to Parvati and Lavender, done; talk to Harry and Ron—oh, shit. I still have to talk to Harry and Ron!" She looked up at the clock frantically. "Is eleven too late to go over there? Hopefully they don't have morning practice—" She headed for the fireplace, fully intending to Floo herself to their flat, when there was a flash of green fire and Draco stepped into her living room.
"Why do you show up at the most inopportune moments?" she demanded, attempting to go around him. "Let go of me, I have to go talk to Harry and Ron!"
"Not in a bad mood, you don't," he told her firmly, pushing her gently onto the couch. "You'll only get them mad at you."
"They'll be mad anyways," she sulked, folding her arms. "What do you want?"
"I wanted to tell you—" He paused, and pulled something out of his pocket—an airplane ticket. "I'm coming with you."
~*~
Ooh yes, a cliffhanger. Goodness knows I write few enough of those. Well, there was actually some action going on in this chapter, not just descriptions. Woo hoo! Little shorter, I think, but hey, didn't take me as long to get up. If I have a muse, she is very happy with me at the moment, because this thing just FLOWED. I barely even thought about it, I came up with new ideas I didn't mean to have originally, and it's not even ten o'clock!
Priah: Guilty. *blushes* No one was reviewing, and I just thought . . . Ahem. Anyways . . . any similarities between this story and any other ones are purely coincidental, I promise. Chocolate chip pancakes are my absolute favorite breakfast food ever!
I'm going to try to make Monday be my regular post day. If I don't think I'm going to make the Monday, for whatever reason, I'll put it in my bio, so keep checking that. Please give me some feedback, people! It means a lot to me.