Hermione tiptoes cautiously to the door, which is now being rattled so hard the hinges shake. Over the years, she has learned how to silently cast spells using only her mind, but it often requires her to be close to the objects she intends to enchant.
She raises her hands, palms towards the door, and takes a deep breath.
As she does, the wood appears to warp and bend. It quivers and shudders from the power she is exuding, before seeming to melt layer by layer.
Seconds later her efforts reveal a window that allows her to see the cloaked figure hunched on her stoop. Rain pours over the brim of a deerstalker hat as he continues to struggle to get in. A muffled shout nearby forces the culprit to jerk towards the sound, basking his face in the glow of the streetlight.
She recognizes the face as that of her neighbor- who, with those eyes and cheekbones, is either ridiculously attractive or closely resembles some sort of serpentine extra-terrestrial.
Another figure emerges from the darkness behind him. Hermione watches as the newcomer attempts to coax him away from her door. She notices her neighbor is staggering, and though she can't hear much through the heavy wood separating her from them, she can tell he's fairly intoxicated.
"Typical," she thinks to herself, both relieved and increasingly annoyed.
But just when she thinks the excitement has ended, a modest tussle erupts between the strange pair. The drunk one, being notably difficult and still clinging to a rather large bottle, manages to wrestle something from the other one's coat and points it at her doorknob.
Wait, is that…?
Before she can finish the thought, someone screams NO- followed by a BANG.
She can't contain a yelp of surprise as her doorknob falls to the floor, letting the entrance swing open to her standing there, hand to heart, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. The two figures in her doorway stand there a moment, looking at her, before the one who just shot her bloody door open saunters over the threshold and flicks on the foyer light.
"Right then, ," the tall rude stranger from earlier sways as he removes his hat and coat and abruptly tumbles past her into the den.
"Tea for old wet-blanket Watson here, and a tumbler with ice for me," he yells, shaking the half empty bottle above his head.
Still stunned, Hermione looks in disbelief from him to his accomplice in her doorway. He's a smaller man, who looks as if he's just swallowed a cricket as he clenches his own hat between slightly trembling hands.
"He… almost… shot me!" The words tumble from her lips but fail to relay the damage done to her poor nerves.
"Um… terribly… terribly sorry…" the man offers a nervous reply.
"He pulled out a gun and shot through my door!" She's yelling now, as if the man had not been a witness to recent events.
"Quite right miss, but, um, pardon me…" He motions to her body, which until now she had forgotten was barely clothed.
A loud CRACK from the den, followed by a cackle from her intruder, allows her no time for modesty.
"Brilliant!" the man yells from the next room, "Never leaving home without gunpowder again! Come Watson, warm yourself by the fire!"
The man- Watson- shoots her an apologetic glance as he slips past her to collect his nuisance comrade.
"Oh, please, do come in, pair of complete strangers." Hermione shakes her head in disbelief as she pushes what's left of her front door shut and heads to her room for a bathrobe.