Warnings: Some rude language
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and Laurell K. Hamilton, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, Orbit books, Time Warner Book group, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Hermione Granger sipped her lemonade peacefully. This was bliss. No homework. No school. No parents. And better yet, no Voldemort.
Ah, yes, this was the life.
Hermione closed her magazine and looked across the beach. The sun was shining down at her- not a cloud in the sky.
Oh my…
She leaned forward attempting to get a better look at the boys playing volleyball.
Who was that hot redhead?
He had only his swimming trunks. His muscles well shown. She could watch him for the rest of the day.
She probably would.
He looked gorgeous, like an exotic prince or something.
Oh lord, she was getting up.
Some invisible force got her legs walking.
Hermione, she thought bravely, what in bloody hell are you doing? Go back, go back!
But her instincts blocked out her thoughts and moved her legs.
One step, two steps. Careful, you might trip!
No, she did not want to see who he was. She did not want to introduce herself.
She never gave herself time for boys- and besides she was a witch! Things would get awfully complicated if she had a summer fling.
Just keep walking, the nagging voice in her head said, see Spot run, see Spot flirt, see Spot get laid-
Wait, where did that come from?
Ah, Spot had stopped!
I am not moving from this spot, Hermione thought. Fighting the urge to drag her legs to the boy- no- man's side and let out all the well kept flirtatiousness.
For Merlin's sake, that wasn't even a word in her vocabulary! She was turning into a lightheaded bimbo.
Not going any further. Am standing right here.
Hermione's gaze fell once again to the charming redhead His back was towards her so she couldn't see him well.
Turn around.
The voice in her head argued, it said, You go there, stupid girl!
Well when your own mind starts insulting you, what else can you do?
Hermione started walking, leaving behind the doubts to roast under the sun.
Hermione shook her head pitifully.
This is not you, she thought angrily, go back!
Her mind whimpered in defeat.
You are not turning me into a skimpy girl, Hermione argued, a girl, fine. But not Lavender. Let's go!
Turning around to head back to her chair and magazine,
Smack
A volleyball hit her head with great force.
Hermione groaned. She was going to kill whoever had such lousy ball skills. She would bury them in the sand.
Rubbing the back of her head she expected to tell someone else.
A skanky model? A heartbreaking jock? Either way, someone was going to taste the salt water.
"Er- are you alright?" a boy asked. A familiar boy. That voice…
"George!" Hermione asked. Great, she was probably gaping like a fish.
Her redhead mystery prince was no other than prank-playing George Weasley.
"Fred actually," the boy said, grinning
Oh, and that's suppose to make this bump I'm going to get better?
"How are you, 'Mione?" he asked, throwing the ball back to his friends and leading her to the pool bar.
"Good, good," Hermione said, smiling.
Well, this summer had certainly gotten more interesting.