Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
A/N: Yes, yes, late updates and all. I've been busy these past few weeks or was it a month already, can't keep track of time, hehe, but yea, I'm back with a new chapter/s. And for some reason I can't access my fanfic account these last few days. Anyway, since it's fixed now, I shall be uploading my work. Enjoy and thank you for the new readers, comments, faves and all those other things, love ya'll! Reviews won't hurt you guys so please drop some too on your way down! Forgive me for some typographical and grammar errors for I can do only so much proof reading. I'm in dire need of a beta too, if anyone is interested please pm me:D
Her head propped down on the table was not a sign she had given up on the world, no, it really wasn't. It was just her, minding her own business—well… not actually her own but one certain blonde's business who was walking around her apartment. Yes, a French blonde was in her home. If the three-inch cream colored stiletto parked by her doorway were not a dead giveaway or the missing blue fluffy house slipper which was usually parked on a shoe rack by her door or may be even the set of brown paper bags settled on the counter table she was leaning on, well, she did not know what was the most obvious one enough. Why was she asking herself… if this was all true? Well one thing is for sure it was just good to be true. She released a heavy breath and groaned into the marble top counter of her small abode. She inhaled the smell of paper that was right beside her before muttering the words "she really is here". Hermione closed her eyes and started contemplating on the situation at hand.
Hermione thought about what occurred to her sick mind to invite the blonde over after their small shopping escapade at the grocery; just a few blocks away from her small apartment. So...why? She asked herself once more. Hermione closed her eyes tightly and seemingly, yet not intentionally, banged her head on the table—which was not a good idea— she had thought after the incident occurred.
"Ouch" she muttered. She raised her head and rubbed the sore spot irritatingly until she was actually running her hand— frustrated on her hair. She was itching to do something yet she did not know what to do. She was nervous about having this blonde over, musing with thoughts like if her house was a mess, or what should she serve the blonde, will she need to make dinner, or if the blonde find it rude to stay over a stranger's home, or if she finds something or someone she isn't supposed to find or even look at, in short, she was nervous about a lot of things at the moment. She did not know why though, but, she felt something really terrible at the pit of her stomach.
Hermione watched the blonde who was casually looking at the photos that were lined neatly by a small desk in the living room—in her living room. She watched as slender hands grasp what seemed to be a photo of when she was little and then continued on gazing until the woman let it down gently with a soft, 'tack'. Then she wondered still, eyeing the same slender fingers that brush elegantly on the table before turning away after finding something else of difference. Hermione was indeed mesmerized. She sighed dreamily, which she did not want to admit doing. She suddenly turned away as realization dawned on her. She was sighing dreamily? Where the bloody hell did that come from? Hermione groaned.
She stood up from her counter stool and began unpacking the grocery bags that were bought over twenty minutes ago. She placed them accordingly in her pantry and refrigerator. Nodding, now satisfied by her quick organizing, she returned to her previous place and began retracing the events that occurred earlier that day.
When Hermione sat fidgety in the car, she was contemplating if being alone with a complete stranger was actually safe—even if she introduced herself thought Hermione. Hermione glanced at the woman, whose eyes were intently looking at the road, driving with one hand on the wheel and the other rested on her lap. She watched as the slender fingers of Fleur tumbled on the cloth of her own skirt, drumming along the faint music on the radio. She had to admit, the music was catchy even though they were sung in French. She hummed to herself, satisfied in the silence bestowed inside the car. Hermione, now, turned her head intent on watching the zooming apartments as they pass by the crowded streets to avoid further—um, distractions. Though her eyes were occupied, she let her other senses feel around the woman who was right beside her. Hermione noted the soft humming from the woman; she smiled at the ministrations and continued on silently listening— yet unknown by the French. Now, it leads her to wonder if Fleur could actually sing. She heard the female humming and concluded that it was rather nice, but she knew it wasn't a ground to decide if one was an actually good singer. She let her brows creased for a few moments. Little did Hermione know, she was being watched, a snippet of looks were thrown at her a little bit worried in nature.
"Cherie, you keep frowning, don't you like the music?" Hermione turned to meet Fleur who addressed a rather important question. She blinks, a bit confused on what was happening for she knew she had not paid attention to the question stated. So, Hermione just kept silent. Fleur took a glance at the road and then turned back to Hermione as she stopped when the light went red.
"I could turn it off for you" she told the coffee brewer. Hermione, understanding bestowed upon her; just shook her head and then shyly turned away. She kept her eyes yet again occupied, finding the hem of her shirt interesting for a second or two.
"No, it's fine. I-It's actually nice." She quietly replied. Fleur smiled and nodded before turning her attention back at the road and actually sung along the music played, though quietly. Hermione felt happy and detached all noise except for Fleur's soft voice.
Hermione felt her cheeks flare up as she remembered the short car incident. It was very normal, if she just looked at it plainly, yet she felt suffocated by the emotions she just felt there just with a short look and a kind voice—singing voice in one fact— from the blonde. She groaned yet again and laid her head once more on the cold marble top; playing the soft melody of the French's song in her head, over and over again.
She closed her eyes, again, accompanied by a soft sigh for the nth time that day. She was utterly not herself. She felt weird, she felt really weird. "What's wrong with me?" She knows something was stirring inside of her when she was with Fleur. Was this because she admires the blonde's beauty and because of Ginny's constant teasing? That must be it. I like Fleur's kind face and nature. Or was it the mystery that envelope's Fleur persona? Hermione— and she knew it— felt drawn to intriguing things and interesting personas. She was a girl who wanted to analyze and crack open a person's nature. She was so entranced by a foreigner—which was unluckily Fleur—that she wanted to actually know everything about her. She was fascinated by how this lady cope-up in this British society in just a week. She felt amazed by it, like a story of founding oneself in a big haystack or something. She wondered about the reason why Fleur was here in London, she was curious about Fleur's work as well. She had developed this habit of finding facts about people just by looking at them, keeping keen details on daily ministrations, because watching people every day at the shop gave her interesting facts like how Missus McGonagall had twelve cats in her house and was constantly looking for a way to get more, or about Mister Flitch who was always in a bad mood because he couldn't get rid of his wife—she liked discovering new things and this gave her an idea on how to serve costumers well. It was even a way for her to know what kind of blend these people would like, if a person like Mister Filtch wanted his coffee sweet as an apple or if Missus McGonagall preferred a lot of milk in her tea. She knew it all just by small interactions with these people. She was happy by her work and was just happy to make their—her costumer's— day worthwhile.
Now, when Fleur came, she was having a hard time describing Fleur. She had and is still having a hard time deciphering what Fleur was actually like. She even wondered about what Fleur thinks about her own neighborhood or how she was managing interacting with the people in it who find it hard to understand her English due to her heavy accent, or if, if people were nice to her or if people were stupefied by her beauty just like her. It was a lot of questions and she wanted to ask but kept it to herself.
"Is something the matter?" Fleur's voice cut through her reverie, Hermione suddenly shot up from her heads-down position and accidently bumped her head to Fleur's. Fleur stumbled backward, actually falling to the wooden floor by tripping on her clumsy foot.
"Ouch" the teenager hissed,
"I'm sorry" Fleur quickly as if it was a second nature, said. She grabbed her head, seemingly in pain.
Hermione, as well clutched her sore head, letting the irritating pounding stop. This went on for a few moments until she realized Fleur was hurt as well and when she reached out, she noticed the laughing. "Are you alright? I'm terribly sorry" Hermione jumped down her stool and kneeled beside Fleur.
"Non, non, I am fine" she chuckled softly. "I gave you quite a scare, if I got knocked down I suppose" she said. "I am sorry"
Hermione looked perplexed by the casualty of it all. Surely if someone was pushed down by that they'd get angry or upset, but Fleur, she was still bubbly about the ordeal. She even said sorry first rather than Hermione. Hermione sighed and reached to Fleur muttering a short apology in that short sweep. Fleur only touched Hermione gently by the cheek and expressed her appreciation with a small smile on her face. The kettle whizzed out its tune, signifying that it was at boiling point, screaming that it was freakishly hot and someone turn the fire off. Hermione's head snapped to the direction and quickly turned off the heat and carried the pot of water away from the stove.
"I'll just set the coffee, if you like, you can watch television. I'll call you when it's done" she told her blonde guest. Fleur watched the girl, smiling and instead of sitting in front of the television, she perched herself on a stool facing Hermione. She folded her hands on top of the table and rested her chin on them, seemingly enjoying watching the barista doing her job. Now, Fleur was a very observant person, she was very keen to details since her work requires lots of attention and precision. She had to admit this, watching this teenager diligently working on coffee was quite entertaining, interesting, in fact! She loved every bit of it. She loved the way the girl would stir the coffee in an even counter-clockwise and the clockwise motion, how softly she taps the stirrer on the side of the glass for it not to spray unnecessary dirt on the counter. She liked how her eyes of deep browns intently looked at the coffee as if contemplating or might even been conversing with the coffee if it was bitter or too sweet. How the crease in the brow ever so often manage to invade her young facial features. Fleur did not know it but she was inevitably falling to these simple antics. Fleur released a satisfied breath. She was content on the view and she knew that no television show makes her this occupied and relaxed. She inhaled deeply smelling the aroma of the coffee being stirred in front of her; she then closed her eyes for further sensations to explode to her. She loved it!
She hummed. "That smells nice"
Hermione looked up from her stirring with a surprised expression flashed on her face but as soon as it was on her it was gone. She had definitely told her guest to keep occupied in the living room and watch television. She was quite startled by the revelations she was faced that the blonde was sitting before her, eyes closed and lips pursed into a thoughtful smile. A few moments later blue eyes were revealed.
Hermione just stared.
It was the only thing she wanted to do at the moment, these blue eyes were calling her, and she wanted them the most. She studied them contemplating on the emotions that she barely understood through them. Hermione inwardly scolded herself and looked away, a flush of pink on her cheeks, and continued her stirring. She and Fleur were both enveloped in a silence they cannot describe as comforting. It was a mix of anxiety, embarrassment and curiosity, Hermione had noted, or she only had noted for her behavior. She was nervous, embarrassed and curious all at the same time. She was curious of Fleur yet so embarrassed by her ministrations due to nervousness, for she knew they were clumsy at every possible point. How could she be so, ugh, such a klutz? She told herself. And with her telling herself that, the spoon she held slipped from her grasp and clattered on the counter top. Fleur's attention was caught yet again. Hermione darted for the spoon, but as she had, Fleur also. Their fingers touched ever so. In this time, Hermione once more felt hot friction, electricity jolting through her fingertips. Her face also produced that inevitable blush. She quickly withdrew her other hand to cover her face as she started to look away. Yet, what about her other hand? She did not even dare move it in hopes that Fleur was the one to do so. Wish granted.
Fleur slowly let her hands dropped, with that Hermione's expression fell at the lost of contact, she suddenly felt cold. Fleur's hands gave her warmth that one she had to say, she wanted those slender hands on her skin again, but, Hermione berated herself, who in the right mind would want someone close, intimately on the other side, to touch her? But still would this be okay? She asked herself.
Fleur could tell something was bothering her new found friend; the Barista was a bubbly person and this fallen expression was not something that fit perfectly in that picture. Fleur wanted to ask, comfort even, but she decided against it. She took this short silence and glanced at her wrist watch. Quarter-near-six. She sighed heavily, it was time to go.
"I… need to go" Fleur softly said.
Hermione quickly looked up, her mouth could not form words as they opened then closed. Her lip thinned as she thought of something to reply. "I- I understand" was the only thing she could think of being logical and not awkward. It's not like she did not want the older girl to stay, she wanted to but what pushed her to actually let her guest go—even without letting her get her dose of coffee— was the fact that she actually did not know how to react anymore around the woman. Yes, God Hermione, you are such—ugh.
Fleur took this as a sign to stand and collect her things. She then leaned over the counter and placed a hand on top of one steaming cup of coffee. "I'll hold you on that coffee, it tempted me very much and I didn't even have a chance to take a sip" she said barely a whisper, with a smirk pasted on her pinkish lips. The next thing Hermione felt was a smearing hot wet lip on the corner of her lips and then coldness. She watched as the back of the French lady disappeared from the kitchen and the door quietly shut with a click.
She just stood there. Maybe a little bit surprised by the French's gestures.
Now Hermione sat deflated, stirring her coffee, hand propped on the counter as her head heavily leaned on it. She gave a breathy sigh, she was savoring the sensation she still felt lingering on her cheeks. She blushed, repeatedly, at the moment she caught scent of Fleur's faint perfume when the blonde kissed her. Again and again the scene flashed in her closed eyes. And every time she felt her heart beating, irregularly at one point. It was not normal.
The door knob jingled and then clicked open. She leaned back in hopes to watch who came in, hoping of course for Fleur. Her face turned so suddenly into a frown when her eyes lay upon a drunken Ronald. She watched as Ronald stumbled into her apartment. Kicking his shoes off unethically like a snake and continuously disheveling his clothes on the floor. Hermione shook her head, disgusted at the picture she have seen. It was not because it was new to her but she just did not feel seeing Ron at his current state. It was not rare that she sees Ron drunk and more likely looking like an ass that obviously went out and partied with some whores. Yes, it was never a rare sight. With another disapproving shook of her head, she turned to her coffee again. Ignorance was the only thing she knew how to react.
"W-what's that you're drinking?" he slurred.
"Coffee, Ron. If you'd like to get sober, please do grab a cup" she said, sipping her coffee.
"Coffee at this hour? You should be having booze" he laughed. Hermione felt an arm around her shoulders and the scent of alcohol invades her senses. She felt Ron's breath on her ear; soon sloppy drunken kisses were showered on her ear to her throat. She suppressed a breathy moan when she felt Ron's hands roaming her body. Clutching and pinching her … sensitive parts.
"I'm not in the mood Ron-"
"Who'd have a bad mood after you've fucked? Come on babe, it's been days since we've done this" cooed Ronald. Hermione sighed heavily, grunting a bit at Ron's antics. She shrugged as she felt Ron's breath on her skin. He was leaning closer and Hermione knew what comes then was something she may not want to stop. Yes, she may not want to stop, she repeated in her head, for she—Hermione wanted some at the moment. Being sexually frustrated was something a horny teenager like her can't just ignore especially since she had some very interesting things that left her wanting for some. For her, Ron was the next best thing even if she wanted to or not. So, she started to lean as well but when he was about to push himself onto her, a very loud ring reverberated through the apartment—the door bell.
"Don't" Ron muttered, his breath tickling Hermione's lips. She looked at him to only purse her lips in a thoughtful moment.
"It's Ginny" she lied. Well, deeply, seriously for she prayed for it that Ginny was the one actually ringing the bell. She silently watched Ron who eventually gave up and retreated—begrudgingly so, to his own room. A bang followed through.
Hermione sighed in relief. So, now that was done, there was another thing that came up. Who was at the door in this late hour?
Hermione looked up when she heard a soft shuffle of paper and coins land on top of the marble-wood counter. She watched as the lady who passed by her sat gracefully on her usual spot that Tuesday morning, her trench coat laid neatly beside her and her morning paper already opened. Hermione's face contorts to a very confused look. She patiently waited for some sign from the lady; even just a slight hint about the note but there was none. So the only thing she knew what to do was give the lady a reply with, of course, her usual morning blend of coffee and bread. So, Hermione grabbed the cherry topped waffles and made a blend different from all the other blends she have done. She hummed in satisfaction, eyeing her work while continuously looking for unperfected details.
She approached the woman, sitting comfortably at the second booth.
There were no words exchange just the slightest clatter of china to wood was heard. Hermione turned around, tray at her chest and retreated to her haven. She slowly placed the tray down and fumbled on her apron for a handkerchief.
Ginny who watched this waltzed in before her brunette friend. She cocked her head, a questioned look sporting it. Hermione just shook her head and continued to hide her eyes on her white cloth. Ginny moved to the other side the counter, slowly guiding Hermione into the employees' area. What just happened? Ginny could only ask herself. Why was Hermione, crying?
"Shh… Hermione what's wrong?" cooed Ginny as she rubbed her friend's back. As soon as both girls went inside, Hermione's silent tears came out; she knew that if her friend had cried, something really terrible had happened. Not only that but it was a situation that needed constant supervision and comfort. Both ladies sat side to side, Hermione's head leaning on Ginny Weasley's shoulder.
"Is this about my brother?" she asked, her voice loud with raw emotion of anger towards her brother. Hermione shook from her sobs.
Ginny waited.
"Mione…"
"…" she only continued to cry. The last time Ginny saw her friend like this was the first break-up between her brother and this certain brunette. Of course they were young and Hermione was still in the clouds from all the romance she had been experiencing. It was something hard to give up, and Ginny knew that. But, as far as that was concerned, Ginny also knew that Hermione had vowed not to cry for Ronald again that day or so help her. So, if this was the case then, she, as the best friend had to step in.
"I'm going to bloody rip his balls out if he bloody did this to you Mione"
Hermione's head shot up. Her eyes widened at the sudden proclamation "w-wait, it's not what you think"
"Oh, if it's not then… why are you like that?"
Hermione bit her lip. "It's not entirely about that Ginny, it's my parents"
Ginny's mouth opened, and then closed. She was speechless. If Hermione's parents were involved it was something very big. Something that she knew had little solution with her help "They, found out about Ron staying in my apartment"
"And? Wait, let me guess…Well, obviously they had a bloody fit, what do you expect? That they'll be happy to see that pig I call a brother?" Hermione stayed silent, her head dropped down from shame.
"That's not even the worse part, Ginny…" croaked Hermione. She watched Ginny's eyes widened to match the shock she felt. The brunette groaned. She was unsure if it was the right time to tell her friend about the problem at hand. She sighed. Hermione was someone who did not like to depend on others; she was someone who wanted others to depend on her. This situation did not permit her to do the latter. What's worst Ginny was the only one she can turn to in her dire need.
She pressed her lips "They… removed my apartment privileges"
Gasp.
"They did not!"
Hermione Granger cringed at the mere mention of her apartment. Now, that her parents took her apartment privileges, it was meant that she had to find a new place. And, where would that even be? She was generous enough to give Ronald a place to stay but look where it got her? She lost her own house.
"They did."
