so, I have a new computer! so the whole writing thing will happen again, so YAAAS.
Also, fun fact fanfiction, but I had a short novel published April 19, and that is exciting. hit up finch - books . com and things... cuz it cool and the cover is GORGEOUS.
Hannah Kay xx
The train pulled up at the station, and Hermione peered out the small window. She faced a dull, rainy afternoon with nothing to do and nowhere to go, but she grabbed her suitcase from the floorboard to exit the train anyway. The girl that had formerly been seated beside her had gathered her things and smiled when Hermione looked up, so Hermione decided to ask her a question. After all, this was her stop. Maybe she'd been here before and could give her some sort of direction as to the best places to ride out a frigid night like that night would be.
"Ma'am, do you know of any hotels around here?" Hermione asked, figuring it would be cheaper for her to spend the night in this small town and taking an early train into the city than taking the train out now and paying for a room in London tonight.
The blonde's smile broadened. "I actually own a little hotel on top of a pub if you don't mind a few seedy characters," she said. Behind the girl's eyes was a mischievous smile, so Hermione knew the girl must only be kidding.
Hermione smiled. "Isn't that perfect?" There was a tiny pinch in her brain, distracting her from being able to focus, and a drink would be great after the tough day she'd had. She would have a drink and a grilled cheese, and then she could take a hot bath to wash of this vile day.
"Yes, perfect," the blonde said before slowly taking inventory of my person. She paused, slipping a hand through her platinum blonde hair. "Don't you have any bags?"
Hermione exhaled, looking at her. Her companion had a point. She wouldn't be able to spend the night in God knows where without pajamas or a toothbrush or anything to wear tomorrow for the big interview "No," she said. "I...erm, this stop wasn't exactly planned."
The blonde nodded, and her pale lips turned up into a sated smile. "That's alright. There are lots of shops downtown… not more than a few blocks away. You could easily pick up a couple things once you get settled into your room."
Hermione nodded and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and nodded. "Okay," she said. She couldn't exactly argue. Tomorrow Hermione was facing the breakthrough of her career - if she didn't screw it up. She couldn't deal with the spicy ginger author without having brushed her teeth or hair wearing the same dress she wore on the train ride to this God forsaken place. A new dress might quite possibly be the trick to give Hermione the emotional boost she needed to win the book.
They exited the train, and Hermione followed the blonde through the train station. She noted that this woman could be leading her off to her death, but by the same token the blonde was merely a reasonably kind stranger excited to have found buisness for her undoubtedly floundering hotel. From the looks of the train station, there weren't many visitors to this hubble. A visitor for hotel would be a perfect solution for her. Of course she would be nice to a possible guest. That was the only explanation. Hermione mentally hedged along as they emerged from the train station and stepped onto the street.
Hermione pulled her briefcase an inch closer to her body and turned to her. "I forgot to say, I'm Hermione."
The girl's smile brightened, and she nodded. "Nice to meet you. I'm Luna," she said. Luna turned and crossed the street. Hermione peered after her as she slipped gracefully toward a peculiar looking four story building. Each floor was painted a separate odd shade of the rainbow, and there were four rusted flower pots with a cluster of flowers sprouting from brown sodden pots.
Luna stood in front of her hotel now, and she spun to face Hermione. Her smile was inviting, and she extended a hand to Hermione once again. "What're you waiting for?" Luna's voice twinkled from across the road, and Hermione laughed halfheartedly. It was time for her to follow and see what this strange turn key of a hotel had in store for the next sixteen some odd hours.
An hour later, Hermione's beaded suitcase was stowed away under her bed, and she'd tugged her hair into a messy bun on top of her head. She climbed down the stairs and stepped into the wacky odds and ends filled pub.
Hermione peered around the room with a slow nervous smile. Each wall was splatter painted with one of the four colors dressing the outside of the building, and then on top of that was a strange combobulation of knicknacks.
Luna was behind the bar, now wearing a chalkboard apron with doodles of croissants and coffee cups. Her bleach blonde hair was pulled into a low ponytail, and she looked up with a grin. "Hermione, is your room alright? Can I get you something to drink?"
Hermione crossed the floor and pulled up a chipped line green stool. She sat, a coy smile perking onto her rosy lips. "Is there a menu?"
"If you'd like a recomendation, Miss Lovegood makes a mean cheeseburger." A husky voice surprised Hermione, but the voice didn't give her a moment to process. "In fact, Luna, can I get two cheeseburgers and fries for me and the lady? The fixings on the side, thanks, and put it on my tab.
Hermione's gaze twitched around to spy the mysterious man's face, and she instantly groaned. Why in God's name was this happening today? Hermione knew that smug smile and greasy hair anywhere. She'd seen him leering at her from the cover of glossy magazines, and in the face of a mischievous fifteen year old boy making crude jokes at the girl crying in the corner of the common room. "What are you doing here, Potter?"
"I warned you about the seedy characters," Luna joked, shaking her head and side stepping into the kitchen.
Suddenly, the nearly empty pub felt all too small under the gaze of one weasley Harry Potter. Hermione instinctively reached up and jerked her hair from it's bun, shaking her brown tresses into their customary waves. She wouldn't wear her casual, comfortable hairstyle around that mental man.
He pulled a stool up beside Hermione and grinned. "Looking good, Granger," he said. He nudged her side. "It's been a while."
Hermione just looked at him, feeling like she might hurl. Here she was, a twenty-three year old professional straight out of university with a good enough job (hey, it's getting better every day - or so I thought before this fiasco) and Harry Potter was making her feel like she was two inches tall with one poke and prod. "What're you doing here, Harry Potter?" She spat his name with a fierce sneer, but he merely laughed.
"What's wrong with you, Hermione? Not happy to see me," he said. Hermione didn't care that her disdain was obvious. That fact didn't phase her one bit. In fact, she preferred he see upfront how much she didn't care for his company. Maybe he would get the hint and take his signature round bottom glasses and go.
"No, I don't have time for this, Harry," she said, and he laughed. She didn't let him say another word, though, and she forged ahead. "I have an important interview to get ready for tomorrow if you don't mind leaving me to it."
He smirked and looked over his shoulder and then the other convincingly. While he surveyed the surroundings, Luna stepped out of the kitchen and deposited a drink in front of me. "I'm sorry to say I can't do that, Miss Granger. After all, it appears you were only planning on holing up on this barstool and cozying up to a drink, and I never let a lady drink alone." Potter's voice was smooth, and his gaze was piercing. Hermione hated that.
"Actually, Potter," Hermione began before pausing to take a long drag from the drink. At this point, she didn't mind the contents of the drink so much as that it took effect almost instantly. "I was going to get a bite to eat then I'm off shopping."
His head extended back with a deep chuckle, and then he smirked. "Shopping, Miss Granger? Need a pretty new dress for your interview with Ginevra Weasely?"
Hermione's eyes snapped to Harry's wicked grin, and her stomach lurched into her throat. Mr. Malfoy never mentioned the woman's name. She was a fiery ginger with a manuscript and a cup of coffee. She was a mystery. "Weasley? What're you talking about? I have an interview with an author tomorrow. She has a book. I work for a publishing company," she babbled. Seconds later, though, she forced herself to momentarily stop. "What are you talking about?"
He laughed, taking a sip from his glass. Hermione glanced at him, watching the movement of his firm jaw swallowing. He appeared far too apathetic for Hermione's taste, and she wanted to scream as he dangled the ginger's identity in front of her face mockingly. She could see that he'd not changed a bit from the mop headed teenage boy that sent her crying from her school. Just as she was about to fight back, Harry offered a wan smile. "I'm very aware that you're working at a publishing company, Hermione. Draco Malfoy is your boss, isn't he? We went to school together actually." Harry's smile perked up in response to Hermione's surprised gasp. "Don't be so shocked. You only stayed with us for a month, and Draco joined us a month and a half late," he said.
Hermione swallowed hard, and she ran her fingers through her hair. He pieced together his riddle, and her head was beginning to hurt. "Get to the punch line, Potter," she seethed, but he was unfazed.
"I'm getting there, Hermione," he said with a slow grin. "Don't spoil the fun, will you?" He chuckled before segwaying into an explanation with a swig of his drink. "This author of yours is a sassy young thing, isn't she? A sassy young thing with ginger hair and some sort of hard hitting expose on the inner circle of a celebrity lover?"
Hermione'd spent her entire life reading books, and she could see the plotline of their newly entangled lives unraveling. She pressed her face to her hands. "This book is a book about your affair with Ginny Weasley?" Hermione never met the youngest Weasley sibling, but she'd seen her freckled face along with Harry's slide grin on the glossy pages of rag mag's across supermarkets. Now, the pretty young thing was planning on strutting her tiny little bottom onto the cover of one of Mr. Malfoy's books.
Harry smiled widely, tilting his glass skyward once again with a mild shrug. His dark eyes gleamed in the low lighting just as Luna rejoined our vigil to plop the plates on the counter top in front of us. "You got that right, sister, and if you're going to keep her, you and I have a little mess to clean up."
Hermione's mind shot to the wrinkled note now tucked into a pocket of her beaded bag underneath her bed in her hotel room upstairs. Ronald Weasley's murder was now her assignment, and she just might vomit.