hermione (frizziest) wrote in afic, @ 2011-09-10 15:39:00 |
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As Thursdays went, this had not been a showcase day. The framing business where Hermione worked was deep into inventory checks, and today one of the shop lads had discovered a cache of carved oak slats still in boxes, an order they’d sworn had never arrived. Hermione, the only useful office assistant, had spent the entire afternoon on the phone sorting it out with the supplier, who was understandably unimpressed with having issued a refund for a shipment that had, in fact, been shipped. And on top of that, the situation with McGonagall had not improved. Every day that passed without word or clue lent more weight to the theory that the Ministry had detained her. Hermione was not yet ready to believe they would do worse than keep her in custody secretly, so she clung to the hope that Ron or Seamus would turn up something in the DMLE. As it was she was waiting for Ron and the Thursday night dinner they’d arranged in advance. Hermione had plates and utensils ready to go, butterbeers (and regular beers) chilling in the refrigerator, and the wireless on low in anticipation of Ron’s arrival with curry in hand. While waiting she idly checked her email, totally uninterested in the boring contents of her boring inbox. (How ironic that, to the casual Muggle observer, her life would look so very dull.) She hadn’t even changed from her office attire, too hungry and tired and stressed to bother with the irritation of undressing, contrary as that was. She had at least managed to prop open the sitting room door, as promised, in protection of her much-accosted floor lamp. It might even work this time! Ron had removed his Auror robes before entering the Muggle takeaway to pick up their dinner, the material then shrunk down to fit into the pocket of his dark slacks, though a miniature sleeve still poked out of the top. From the takeaway, he'd Apparated three times across London in a paranoid attempt to shake off any possible tails the Ministry might have put on him. Hiding this relationship with Hermione was a little more work than he wanted it to be, but fortunately his Auror training had his senses, however strained or tired from searching for Death Eaters twenty-six hours a day, honed for suspicious or unusual behaviour. Behaviour that might include a Ministry tail. Dating an ST, particularly one Hermione Granger, wasn't conducive to the part he now unsteadily played as the only National Treasure left working for and supporting the Ministry. Sure, there was no Diggory anymore, but his followers were widespread and his values were still ingrained in most; maybe more so since his death. His gaze slid up and down the street carefully as he stepped out of the alley near Hermione's place, and quickly down the small entryway leading to the back door of the building her flat was in. With fluid movements, Ron was in the building in moments, the light outside the security door magically flickering off for just enough time for him to slip inside unseen. He'd done this before. Grace stuttered out as soon as he shut the door once inside the flat, safe. "Mione!" he called, traipsing down the narrow corridor, heading straight for the sitting room, grinning at the sight of the wedged-open door and slowing to exaggeratedly ease through the wide-enough gap between the sofa and the bookcase. "Bloody hell, that's tight," he quipped, his grin still in place as he dropped a kiss on Hermione's head before taking the takeaway bag over to the kitchen counter. The sound of Ron’s voice alerted Hermione to his arrival, so quiet and unobtrusive was he in slipping in unnoticed. As he made a show of squeezing through a perfectly adequate space, Hermione stood from her desk and rolled her eyes at his silliness even as it made her smile. Ron’s cheerful presence was a welcome one, especially now, when his warmth and humour brought a feeling of ease to her otherwise tense day. "Maybe for Hagrid," said Hermione, hands on her hips as Ron kissed the top of her head on his way to the kitchen. She followed him the few steps and waited all of a tenth of a second after he’d put down the takeaway to throw an arm around him and wriggle in for a hug, rather uncharacteristically insistent for Hermione. Sometimes you just really needed a hug. He raised his eyebrows at Hermione at the thought of Hagrid in the tiny flat. "Yeah, don't ever invite him round here if you want any of your things to stay intact," he said. The arm that wrapped around him was unexpected, but very welcome, and he turned to face her, to engulf her in a proper hug, leaning back against the counter and pulling her into his chest. "Hey," he said softly, his head bent down to rest his chin on her hair. Ron enjoyed this, these quiet moments he got to spend with Hermione, to decompress from the awful days at work. It felt real and honest, unlike the lies he found himself constantly telling, and he had never been very good at lying. With one arm still around her waist, he unpacked the trays of curry and rice onto the small slice of available kitchen counter, chucking the bag of salad out of the way carelessly. "Dunno why they bother putting it in," he said with a shrug, pulling the lid off the curry he'd chosen and dumping it all onto one of the plates. "Oh, I'm bloody starving." With Ron pulling her to him, Hermione took a quick, heavy step forward to keep her balance then settled against his chest with the practised air born of long familiarity. She closed her eyes and sighed, quiet and, for the moment, peaceful. The tension in her shoulders eased and the irritable crankiness she'd kept up all day retreated, probably only to regroup and attack again shortly, but a brief respite was better than nothing. Her time with Ron was not so plentiful as she liked, not with the pretense they had to maintain to protect his job and, thus, his access to Ministry information. Information they needed now, in fact, but Hermione held off bringing that up right away. Sustenance first, serious things second. "It is a rather pathetic offering, isn't it?" said Hermione. Child of dentists that she was, she had an appreciation of vegetables not often matched among her friends, but she had to admit this particular bag of salad- small, limp, and unappetizingly pale- wasn't going to encourage anyone to eat it. Plate in hand Hermione scrutinised the scribbles on the lid of each container in turn, pausing when Ron claimed an entire dish for himself. "You can't have all that!" she exclaimed with a huff. "I might want some of it." |