Not In Kansas Anymore

Chapter Fourteen: Summer Rumors

Hermione applauded along with the proud families, teary eyed friends, and relieved teachers. The last student crossed the platform, smiling bashfully, slightly red in the face. Ella Vator was the last graduate to pass into the west. Caps were tossed and hands were shaken, she met blurs of parents who wanted to thank her for putting up with their children, and by the end of the graduation ceremony she was flat exhausted. In other words her feet were sore, her back hurt, and she was waving a hand in front of her face to blow away the heat.

"First graduation symptoms?" Draco pushed a glass of pumpkin juice and a stack of sandwiches into her hands. Nodding Hermione ducked her head and devoured two of them without a breath. " I guess I don't have to worry about making sure you eat all of them."

Through a mouthful of ham and cheeses Hermione mumbled, "Let's leave our skeletons in their respective closets."

*

Hermione sank into the sofa and closed her eyes; a cool shot glass met with her clammy hand. Wondering why she had even bothered to throw away the Cosmo Hermione opened her big brown eyes to see Draco, two shot glasses and a near full bottle of bourbon. He had apparently taken a taste 'to make sure it was safe'. Draco continued to push the glass into her hand, but Hermione smiled wickedly and snatched the bottle.

"Hey," he said softly, pretending to be offended. To her great surprise he sat next to her on the sofa, forsaking his chair.

Raising her glass Hermione said, suddenly intoxicated with the same cheer that had poisoned the Gryffindor Common Room, "To having an empty bottle in the morning."

Grinning, Draco clinked his glass with hers and intoned dully, "I'll drink to that." He threw back half his shot. "Have you ever been kissed?"

Smiling dreamily Hermione took a small sip from the bottle. "Have you ever cheated on a girlfriend?"

Draco gave Hermione a look. "No," he said shortly. "Have you?"

"I've never had a girlfriend. Have you ever worn women's clothing?"

Muttering under his breath, "Every day of my life," then he took a long hard hit, finding it necessary to refill his glass from her bottle.

With each round of play the questions became somehow more lucrative, and yet serious. "Did you hate me for killing your father?" Draco took a shot. "Have you ever wanted to kill me?" Hermione's turn to drink. "Have you ever just wanted to give up?" At this question bloodshot eyes met over chalices and the last droplets of bourbon were drained.

It was perhaps a mix of liquor and hormones, or perhaps one or the other, but the kiss was sloppy and it led to much greater things. Clothes were tossed around brutally, bodies mashed together gracelessly, and cries rang as one. For the second time in their lives Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy fell asleep together, satisfied and content in each other's arms with no regards for wedding bands or first impressions.

*

Hermione knocked lightly on the door of Draco's study. "Hi," she said quietly.

Folding his paper briskly Draco looked up and said graciously, "Come in, I was just packing, but I got distracted."

"About that, this summer...err..."

"Why are you even asking, of course you're welcome to the manor."

Rushing forward Hermione threw her arms around Draco's neck. "Thank you!" She was off then, babbling, "You know the pay here isn't the greatest, and I could always stay here, but who really wants to spend the holidays with Filch and his cat. Thank you."

Bug eyed Draco placed a hand over Hermione's mouth. "Shh, you're welcome, go pack."

*

She was a witch, she could do magic, she was a witch, magic was...was...was real. Carefully, with a delicate hand, Hermione settled her books into her trunk, several of them she'd had shipped to her from the United States, authors they didn't publish in England.

The leather covers were sensuous against her fingers, the pages were a little course, but the paper cuts she would have were pleasurable all the same.

A bit remorsefully Hermione shut her closet on her no longer needed Catholic school uniforms of gold and blue plaid. She ran a glum finger over the frames holding Hope and Jill, rubbed her feet in the familiar carpet, and shut the door behind her, never giving herself a chance to look back.

*

Hermione looked over her shoulder to see Draco stepping gallantly out of the fireplace. Vainly he swept away shoot from his hair and the front of his pants. Though she didn't know it, Hermione was home; "I'm going upstairs Draco."

"Have fun," he said dryly; more concerned with his clothes than where she was going. Her bedroom was exactly as she recalled it, except for the post owl sitting in the midst of a pillow throne.

"Hi," she cooed softly, pulling a Knut from her purse to pay his with. The owl hooted its appreciation and took off gracefully toward the window, no doubt opened by house-elves in preparation for their arrival.

Hermione shifted through the letters from collectors, telling her she had insurance in need of paying, there was a brief postcard from Hope, some advertisements from shops lining Diagon Alley, and on the bottom of the pile her copy of the Daily Prophet. Sparing it a once over Hermione turned to receive the trunks that had followed her up the stairs when she registered what she had read. Will Hermione Granger Break the 'Heart' of Draco Malfoy?

*

Her mind ran furiously, demography of the books she needed unfurling in her like a map. Madame Pince wasn't to be found, but Hermione rushed headlong into the room. Checking her watch she counted the time she had before her History of Magic final, there wasn't enough time. With nary a glance over her shoulder Hermione summoned the five books she wanted, they flew to her with all the speed she had called, colliding into her chest, leaving her nearly breathless.

Double-checking that she had all she needed she sped to her exam. Breezing through the test she settled for the rest of the period with her texts, scanning and jotting down notes, as she needed.

Satisfied with her theorem Hermione put everything into a careful form, hoping she would have a chance to prove this correct. It started small, but in one day her senses grew piqued, she was watching constantly, listening for the telltale signs.

She started carrying a jam jar in her pocket.

*

"Did you read this Draco?" stormed Hermione.

Draco looked up darkly from his paper, turning it slowly so Hermione could see his identical copy. "Yes."

"Who does this person think she is? She's been writing trash about me since we graduated." Hermione sank desolately into a nearby chair.

"You should see the expose she did on my father after he died," Draco whistled.

"I saw it, very honest. Where does she get this information?" Hermione was half marveling, half-fuming.

"Who knows, but there's nothing we can do about it," with that remark he concluded the discussion and returned to the business section to scour the Malfoy stocks.

A wicked smile lit up Hermione's face. "Maybe there is something I can do."

Slowly Draco lowered the paper, eyeing her suspiciously. "What are you going to do?"

Seemingly to herself Hermione said, tapping a finger on her chin thoughtfully, "I wonder what time he Prophet closes." Still thinking Hermione got up dreamily. Suddenly she straightened and called happily over her shoulder, "I'll be back later, not really sure when."

"Don't do anything you normally wouldn't do," reminded Draco.

"I take no prisoners."

*

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Hermione hollered to Parvati and Lavender as they disappeared over the grassy grounds with Dean, Seamus, and a picnic basket.

The only response she got was a rush of giggles. "They're just going to have fun," said Ron.

"I know," answered Hermione, not surprised he'd appeared behind her, his arms extending around her waist.

Nuzzling her, Ron chose his next words with hormone driven care. "Can we have fun too?"

Hermione turned around and kissed Ron on the cheek. "Not now, I've got applications to fill out."

"What are we applying for?" he nibbled at her ear, teasingly.

Pulling back Hermione said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "Jobs of course, what were you thinking of silly?"

Ron pulled back a little bit. "I didn't know you were going to work."

Hermione looked taken aback. "I am most definitely going to work."

"My mother never worked."

Pursing her lips Hermione said, "Well mine did."

*

Hermione walked down the busy streets of London, bypassing the brightly dressed tourists, elbowing shopping bags out of her way. The tall building rose up before her, like any other steel marvel. The sign read in large block letters--The Law Offices of Birskey, Birskey, Gamins, Palmer, and Birskey. Walking through the revolving doors Hermione brushed back her hair, the spring breeze having manipulated it into a fine frizz. "Hello," greeted the woman behind the desk, "How may I direct you today?"

Trying to be polite Hermione returned the toothy smile tightly. "Can I please speak to," here she paused to check the note in her purse, "Dona le Vooulg?"

The receptionist again smiled vapidly. " We don't have a partner here by that name."

Gritting her teeth Hermione said sweetly, "I'm not looking for an attorney, I'm much more interested in journalism."

Eyeing Hermione's tatty Muggle clothes the receptionist tapped her nails suspiciously on the desk. "Name?"

"Hermione Granger."

The woman's eyes bugged in surprise and she looked Hermione over again. "The Hermione Granger?"

"Yes, the one engaged to Ron Weasley, once married to Harry Potter," here Hermione interjected a few words of choice, "and the one who is now currently on a personal vendetta that you are interrupting."

"Do you have an appointment?" the smile asked, reverting back to her natural state.

Shaking her head Hermione spoke again, "It's a surprise."

"I can't admit you without an appointment."

Leaning back Hermione took in the young girl, short brown hair, nice nails, paid to put up with Muggles wandering in at odd hours looking for someone to defend them in divorce cases. Must have been a Hufflepuff. "In that case let me go straight to the top, I'm pretty sure I'm on first name terms with all of the board members except Madame Zalhoff."

Suddenly reverent the girl pressed a button and a lift was revealed. "Ms. le Vooulg's office is on the fifth, just take a seat outside it and her personal secretary will get you when you are ready to be received."

Hermione climbed into the lift, it was clean, shining, nearly blinding, it took her up to the fifth floor, playing a symphony from the great Beethoven. The music was sickening, and she was grateful to get off and take an uncomfortable seat outside the offices labeled le Vooulg in graceful scripture. Crossing her legs Hermione reached into her bag and removed her newest read, a history detailing the War of the Roses, quite gripping really. She hadn't brought it because of the critical acclaim though, more the acknolgment.

*

Hermione traipsed into Flourish and Blotts, having taken the weekend to visit Fred and George and make sure they hadn't made a great mess of the books. "I can't believe you've survived this long with your books like this."

"I can," replied Fred arrogantly.

"Fred, I've been gone several years, how do you expect to stay alive in business if you lose your lease on this prime location?"

"Magic," was the mutual consensus.

Before leaving Hermione pulled a few strings at the bank and got them a nice girl to do the job for them. They had objected until they saw Wendi. Hermione had left after George called out, "I saw her first!"

Fred replied as such: "Liar," so much maturity.

"I'm sorry," said Hermione, patting Wendi on the arm.

Mischievously Wendi grinned, "I think I could have some fun here."

Laughing Hermione dashed through the drizzle to her solace in the bookstore. The bargain table was the ideal spot for her to shop but a first glance told her that she had read all of them, even the one about jelly fish.

Resigned to spending a large chunk of her teacher's barely existent pay on a bestseller she walked to the table poised next to the cashier, where it would catch the most traffic. She looked over the back covers of six books, deciding they all sounded so bad she could at least wait until they hit paperback. Dubiously she selected War of the Roses by Professor Sage. The back cover was blank so she flipped inside a few pages, the dedication catching her eye.

I would like to thank the girl on the beach who made me realize that I was not alone, and she had great legs. Brains and beauty.

*

Blaise was a witty author, making history far more alive than Binns ever had, just as she was beginning chapter twenty-six the office door opened and another receptionist beckoned. If it hadn't been for the clothing Hermione would have thought she was looking at the same lady. Creepy how they looked almost the same, same hair, nails, and the same blank smile. The paper must have a great dental plan deducted Hermione.

"Ms. le Vooulg will see you now," she opened a second door for Hermione.

A large leather chair was turned away from Hermione, a pale hand just visible, hanging off to the side, as though forgotten. "Ms. Granger here to see you," said the secretary, suddenly far less confidant in her ability to alphabetize.

"Thank you Bobby," wafted a mysterious yet familiar voice from the chair.

"Its Brenda," corrected the nervous girl.

A heavy sigh flew up. "Whatever." The girl cringed and shut the door with a heavy snap.

"So, Hermione Granger had come to seek revenge, after a handful of articles denouncing her she arrives without a knight."

"I've never required a knight before."

The being in the chair clicked her tongue sarcastically. "But you've always had one on hand, since you were seventeen."

Hermione tilted her head to one side, who was this girl, she sounded so familiar, a voice Hermione had no doubt known for a while. "I haven't got one now."

"May father always taught me not to lie, didn't yours?"

That little bit there did it for Hermione, pieces began to whirl, Professor Sage just a meaningless name, my father the greatest freak of misinformation in the world. Anagrams are everywhere.

Dona le Vooulg.

Luna Lovegood.