HoH, Ravenclaw, Additional, Prompt: Returning home after a long trip, WC: 1072
Draco works in the same department as Hemione and has a horrible crush on his boss. Muggledom.
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When the sun burst through the curtains at five o'clock this morning, suffice to say I was a little more than fucking relieved. I was catatonically ecstatic. Because guess what, I was going home. I had survived the four-day trip with work, the berating looks, the heavy drinking from everyone else (I was off the drink, desperately trying to be healthier, and managing to get through a pile of chips instead), and my one true detestation.
Hermione Granger with her stupid hair and her brilliance, wearing me down. One day, I imagine, I will follow her every demand, purely because I've been continually pressured into doing so. I mean, I understand that I work for her department, but the constant instruction and attention to detail is incredibly exhausting. But holy mother fucking shit, I am attracted to her. And it is really fucking annoying.
Nevertheless, I'm on the train. I'm returning home.
Luna Lovegood has been my consistent heart-blocker for the four days. Very long four days.
It came about in a very strange way, to be completely honest.
I had been sitting in the bar after the first night of retreat meetings, drowning my horrified sorrows in a glass of apple juice (depressing, I know), when Lovegood approached me quite randomly, claiming she had seen glitter in my hair, but must have been mistaken. I was taken aback at first, but then she joined me and asked why I was drinking alone, rather than drinking riotously with everyone else. She asked me why I hadn't spoken a word back to Hermione all day. She assumed we'd had some sort of row, as we often do in the office.
Alas, no. I wish we'd argued. That would have been a lot fucking easier.
Lovegood seemed to peg pretty quickly what was going on. That I liked Hermione. That I didn't call her Granger, and that apparently was indicative of my liking of her. That each day of her ignoring me, talking to everyone else, and flirting with the idiot Isaac from the Accounts team, was torturous.
Lovegood thought I was in love with her, but I was not convinced.
By day two, I was not certain that Lovegood was wrong. I started to question things. I started to question the feeling when she walked into a room - like my stomach had sunk, my brain had melted, and my heart had clenched tight. I started to question the way my desire to be near her conflicted with my desire to not see her at all - because if I saw her, I would see her with someone else, someone better. Someone who just wasn't me.
On day three, I didn't even know what to think. Hermione was my team leader for the team-building games we were doing. It was a preposterous obstacle course involving making a human pyramid, climbing over each other, and getting a little too close to my colleagues than I wanted. Lovegood, the fucking genius, called out to help Hermione when she shouted for me. She was a godsend, if I believed in God.
Day four was our last day and the evening meal that had been planned prior to the event: three courses, too much wine, and a few oddly-performed dance numbers.
Hermione pulled me over to a corner halfway through the evening, red wine slopping up the sides of her glass. She was beautiful, and I almost hated myself for thinking that. Her hair was pulled back at the sides and wild at the back, eyes glittering with the joy of having had a successful week, and she was smiling from the wonderful evening. Granted, the food was excellent, and Lovegood provided a decent conversation - at least, decent in the way that I am fairly certain she is mad, and also certain that she believes the most interesting things.
Anyway.
Hermione pulled me into the corner, grinning at me, tugging at my shirt sleeves. I tried to get Lovegood's attention, so she could maybe talk Hermione bored about something, or even intrigue her so much that she completely forgets that I was there. Yet, all of this was to no avail, and I soon found myself laughing at her little jokes, complimenting her, and wishing for the day to be over so I could stop embarrassing myself.
We danced together, though terribly, I made sure not to drink anything, determined to remember every aching moment. Then I kissed her on the cheek to wish her goodnight. She blushed a wonderful vermillion and went upstairs to pack around midnight.
I didn't see her this morning.
Thank fuck for that.
Lovegood packed herself onto an earlier train, leaving me a silly note on my door.
I sorted my things out quietly, leaving earlier than most, but not ludicrously so. There are maybe one or two people on this train as well from our team at work, but none I would have made an effort to speak to or engage with. I'm not really a social butterfly anyway. And it has been too long a trip, too long a time with these people, to warrant me involving myself in their lives for even a little longer.
Now I'm sitting on the train and almost home.
Maybe I was hoping to catch sight of Hermione one last time, but fate is neither kind nor real. Instead, I escort myself off the train, haul my bag to the taxi rank, and pay for the fare home. It's cosy enough, and the views are as good as they always are - the oppressive and spectacular rolling hills, the endless, unique cafes on hillsides. Yorkshire is just as lovely as it was when I left, which is such a wonderful comfort to me.
Door unlocked, bags thrown into the living room, jacket tossed over the bannister, I stumble through the hallway. On the countertop is the chipped mug I left last week - I dropped it in the sink and never wanted to throw it out completely. By the door is the pair of shoes I thought I might need but knew I wouldn't - wellington boots were never my preference. Everything seems as though I had left only moments ago.
Honest to God, returning home from such an exhausting trip, one with such emotional strain, is one of the best feelings in the world.
Second only to the feeling of knowing that I have made Hermione Granger smile.
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Thanks for reading!
