Disclaimer—I do not own Harry Potter, Deadpool, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.

Here we are at the next chapter. Enjoy!

…

Chapter Two

Hermione was in the middle of cooking breakfast when Deadpool walked into her apartment with a man dressed in yellow and black and managed to look irritated without effort.

"Please tell me you have enough to share?!" Deadpool pleaded.

"Certainly," she answered. "Who's your buddy?"

"The name's Wolverine, lady," he said to her.

"Lovely to make your acquaintance. I'm Hermione," she murmured. "Just to let you know, Deadpool, I'm not cooking mad."

"Awesome!" he cheered as soon as she slipped a large plate of scrambled eggs and three chimichangas in front of him.

He sniffed, looking back over to her. "I love you. I honestly love you."

"He don't mean that," came from the short muscular man.

"Between the man's madness and his overt sarcasm, I got that," Hermione answered, handing him a plate of scrambled eggs. "Sorry. All the chimichangas are his."

"It's meant to be!" Deadpool declared. "She's saving all her chimichangas for me."

"You're insane," she told him.

"I know," he murmured. "It's a part of my charm."

Just then two men came strolling into the apartment. Hermione made a noise in the back of her throat of irritation at the sight of Ron Weasley there with Harry, who was already trying to placate her.

"Hermione, just hear him out," he told her.

"Hear him out? Are you siding with him, Harry? He cheated on me!" She held her hands up. "Enough is enough. Get out of my flat, both of you!"

"It's like watching a soap opera," Deadpool breathed. "I hope she drop kicks him to the curb! Cheaters should get that and more."

"And what are you doing here with two strange men in your apartment!" Ron demanded.

"Seeing as we all have breakfast in front of us, I will take the wild guess of eating breakfast," she said dryly. "But seeing as we broke up, I don't comprehend where it's any of your business."

"You're living in squalor!" Harry snapped. "You don't have to live this way!"

Hermione looked around the newly renovated and modern looking flat. "You have a very bad definition of the word if this is it."

"She's got a point there," murmured Deadpool. "Now my apartment. That's squalor!"

"Judging from the smell coming from it, your apartment is a piss pot," Hermione stated. "Sorry."

"Got ya there, Deadpool," Logan said, looking over at the two men.

"It's a bad neighborhood!" Harry told her. "Your neighbors…"

"Are easily insulted so I'd keep it to yourself," she told him. "I'd hate to think I helped to get you both through a war only to have you both killed because you couldn't be civil."

"I won't kill ya," Wolverine told them. "But I wouldn't put it past him." He pointed his thumb to Deadpool. "He's as crazy as all get out and he'd kill ya rather than look at ya."

Harry and Ron swallowed thickly, as they looked over to Deadpool who was eating his chimichangas. How he managed to do so through a mask was a mystery to them all.

The two ended up leaving, but not before Ron nearly lost his hand when he tried to take one of the chimichangas. The katana stopped just short of his wrist, making him freeze. What terrified the two all the more was the fact that the man doing the threatening hadn't even stopped eating to do as much as he did.

Hermione showed them out, told them both that she would see them in a month, and promptly shut the door right in their faces. She went over to Deadpool, kissing his masked cheek.

"Thank you, you big crazy man," she murmured.

"You're welcome, sweet cheeks," he replied. "But I didn't do that for you."

"I know, but it was still nice," she replied, looking over to Wolverine. "Finished already? Can I get you something else?"

"Beer, if ya have it."

"I have some microbrews," she told him. "Can't stand the swill the American's drink."

"Let me try one," he murmured.

Hermione went over and pulled one out, handing it over to him. "Sorry to say that I lost my bottle opener in the move."

"No problem," Wolverine told her and used one of his claws to open it.

"Wow," she breathed. "That was an impressive bottle opener." But then she frowned. "But didn't that hurt?"

"A bit, but I'm used to it," Wolverine told her. "So are you a mutant or what?"

"Or what," she told him. "I'm a witch."

"How come you told him and not me?" Deadpool asked her.

"You'd told me that you burned the bag I had given you, because you suspected witchcraft. You loved that bag, Deadpool. And still you burned it."

"Point made," Deadpool sighed, wiping his face clean. "Thanks for the grub, sweet cheeks."

"Yeah, thanks for the grub and the brew." Wolverine indicated the bottle and added, "This is good stuff."

"Do you think a regular beer drinker would like that?"

"I don't see why not," he told her.

"Thanks for the input," she murmured, as they were walking out the door. "Nice meeting you, Wolverine."

"You too, Hermione," he said, as he was walking towards the door. "If ya need a job, we can always use the help at the school." He handed her a business card. "We need ourselves a librarian, as the last one ran screaming when one of the students accidently set her hair on fire."

"Whatever happened to 'Stop! Drop! And roll!' I ask you?" Hermione murmured mostly to herself.

That had Deadpool snickering, as Wolverine stepped out into the hallway. Deadpool stopped next to her in the doorway.

"Thanks for the food," he said. "And if you ever need to get rid of all those people watching you, let me know…"

"All those…" Frowning she asked, "Who?"

He turned her and pointed, "Them."

"Oh! Not to worry," she said. "We aren't supposed to know that they're there. It's all of that fourth wall business."

He looked over to them, studying them all. "Why are some of them taking notes?"

"I think those are the fanfiction readers," she said. "And they aren't taking notes." She looked at Deadpool. "They're writing reviews." She shrugged. "But you never know. Some of those people into fanfiction are odd ducks."

"And all the ones in masks?" He pointed to the people in the dark of what appeared to be an audience area. "What about them?"

"They must be what are referred to as 'Trolls'," she told him. "Fanfiction readers looking for something to complain about, insult, or criticize to the point of being offensive. It's what is referred to as being a 'flamer'. The Trolls are nothing but a bunch of cowards, who leave no way for the author to start a dialogue with them. Not that they would ever know what to do with that prospect, as most of them are illiterate punks with nothing better to do with their time than to feel better by making others feel horrid."

Deadpool looked over to her and just stared at her.

"Yeah, that was the writer using me," she told him. "I felt like a puppet. I would complain, but this author isn't as bad as some others can be. At least she doesn't make the stories she writes me in into epic journeys or something else of that sort. All she wants to do is write an entertaining read. If the readers want a message or a life lesson, the readers can pick up a Bible."

"Was that the writer again?"

Hermione's head lowered. "I feel so used."

TBC…

…

And that's another chapter finished. Thanks for reading and have yourselves a calm and collected day.