Breakfast at Hermione's

Breakfast at Hermione's

Chapter One

The Astaire Housing Estate was unlike any other residential complex in England. Only the wealthiest among the Wizarding world's nouveau riche could afford one of the pretentious apartments. (The old money would rather stay in their crumbling stately homes of wizarding England.) The upscale flats weren't set up in the usual massive blocks; two apartments, one on top of the other, consisted as one estate, and only twelve estates existed in this pleasant cul-de-sac. Each apartment boasted a spacious living room, dining area, kitchen and three luxurious bedrooms with adjoining bathrooms, ready for house-elf service. If these generous appointments were not adequate, the owner could always (for a fee to the Housing authority, of course) add an extra room or two with a flick of his wand. A Silencing Charm blanketed each flat with an extra layer of privacy, so that breaking glass, raucous arguments, wild parties, and the occasional homicide would stay within the walls of each home and not detract from the overall picture of tranquillity valued by the residents of Astaire Estate.

So it began, late on a warm October afternoon. The leaves had not yet started to change colours and a cheerful breeze flittered around the residence. The sounds of moving filled the otherwise quiet air, announcing to the neighbours that somebody was moving into the top complex of Astaire, Country Quatre...

*

A blindingly blonde-haired man dressed head-to-toe in black stood waiting for someone or something to open the door in front of him. He had just wasted ten seconds rapping sharply on the brass knocker, and now some vacant-minded little house-elf was making him wait even longer. He shifted from foot to foot as ten more seconds stretched out, and, just as he was about to leave to search for someone to complain to, the door opened.

A dishevelled brown head poked out the front door of the flat, looking bleary eyed, barely awake, but definitely (and not unpleasantly) female. She regarded him for a moment, looking confused, then shook her bushy head.

"May I help you?" she said hazily, yawning widely, so that it came out more like "Maha haya?"

"Hello," he answered politely. "I'm sorry to wake you. I've just moved into the apartment above and wanted to introduce myself." Extending out a hand, he said, "My name is Dra -"

A deafening crash sounded from inside the apartment. She turned around and groaned. "Oh, Crookshanks!" An orange cat-shaped blur tore through the living room, chasing a slightly quicker mouse and knocking down a potted hydrangea with another thunderous smash.

The young man regarded the apartment with distaste. He had never seen such clutter in his life. An assortment of household objects lay strewn across the floor and the carpet was barely visible amongst the junk. It may have resembled his new place, but at least he had the excuse of just moving in. But this -

The woman turned back towards her new neighbour. Mistaking his aversion, she said, "Oh, please don't think Crookshanks is mean or has a temper or anything of the sort. He's really very sweet, but terribly curious. And mice are such a rare occurrence." She smiled. "Why don't you come in and see for yourself, Drake? You did say that was your name, right - Drake?"

"My name's not Drake. It's -"

Drake, correctly known as Draco Malfoy, was yet again interrupted in his introduction. This time, there was a loud metallic scraping sound as Crookshanks bounded across the room, power cord wrapped around his back paw, trailing the broken lamp behind him.

"Oh Crookshanks," she sighed again. Opening the front door wider, she ushered Draco in.

Draco stepped warily inside. Someone could seriously use a house-elf! Surely she can afford one, living here. Even a quick spell could fix this!

"Have you...been here long?" he asked.

"Six months," she stated.

Draco raised his snowy eyebrows at the awful mess and the unopened boxes here and there being used as furniture. Catching his gaze, she simply shrugged and said, "I'm busy."

"Too busy to send for a house-elf? Or maybe you can't perform any domestic spells because your wand is in one of these..." He waved vaguely at the boxes scattered everywhere.

"I don't believe in treating house-elves as servants," she replied stiffly, ignoring his second question.

"Well, you need something around here to be -"

Yet another interruption as the apartment was filled with a harsh ringing sound. Draco watched his new neighbour flitting around the room, looking under cushions and opening boxes. Finally, she found what she was looking for: a telephone inside a sewing box. Draco stared. Who keeps their telephone in a sewing box? He frowned. And what kind of a witch uses a telephone, anyway?

"What is it? Oh no!" He heard her panicked gasp down the receiver. "It's Thursday!" she shouted at Draco, as if his life depended on knowing that.

The instant she was off the telephone, she was rushing around her apartment: rapidly pinning up her hair, brushing her teeth and dressing in a new outfit with a practiced whip of her wand, which she appeared to use very skilfully. Draco had long since stopped being annoyed at being ignored, and found himself intrigued by this cyclonic witch.

"Drake," she said in passing as she bit a stale-looking bun in half and washed it down with half a cup of tea, "would you be so kind as to fetch me my shoes? They're the emerald green kitten heels under the bed," she told him without even looking at him, and padded off towards the kitchen.

Reluctantly, Draco went in search of her shoes. He had originally decided it would be best to befriend his new neighbour; she might prove to be useful later on. His pale eyebrows furrowed as he rummaged underneath her bed. It was crowded with rubbish; if the legs ever fell off the bed, he mused, the rubbish could keep the mattress at the right height. He found old issues of the Daily Prophet, robes and under-robes that could have belonged to either a witch or wizard, a well-chewed rubber dragon that obviously belonged to the cat, a number of dusty and petrified pomfrits, and a plaster model of human teeth.

A minute later, he still hadn't found the shoes. The woman had realised this too and popped her head round the doorway.

"You still haven't found them? Why didn't you just use a spell?" she asked. "Never mind. I'll do it myself. Accio emerald green kitten heels!"

Her shoes came flying out from under the bed, missing Draco's nose by mere inches. He scowled as he got up, brushing the dust from his previously immaculate trousers.

Draco was about to say the reason why he hadn't used a spell was because he was sure that his tongue would fall out if he ever tried to make it say "emerald green kitten heels." But even as he watched her very nicely formed ankles slip into her shoes, his curiosity was waging war with his annoyance. He certainly didn't appreciate how she made him feel like a fool. He was annoyed but he was damned if he would let it show.

Politeness didn't come easily to Draco; he had to work harder at manners than he had to work at Transfiguration. Over the past few years, however, he had become adept at hiding his bad humour, realizing quickly once he got out into the world that the Malfoy name alone would not buy him favour or respect. Draco had learned to curb his harsh tongue, and learned the hard way after some embarrassing professional blunders. Besides, he didn't think lashing out at his neighbour would be the best way to gain her friendship.

"I would offer you some breakfast but I'm in a hurry," she said, dusting off her shoes with a dubious-looking kitchen towel. "Perhaps a rain check?"

Old tea and stale bread, he thought; I can hardly wait. "Erm - sure," he replied.

"You can let yourself out. I had best be off."

Something occurred to him. "Excuse me, miss? What's your name?"

She blinked at him, as if just now realising that she hadn't introduced herself. Draco grounded his teeth. "Hermione," she replied, pulling on her gloves. "Hermione Granger." And she Disapparated.

Draco froze as it suddenly hit him as to why his new neighbour had appeared so familiar. It took him several seconds to feel the cat clawing his trouser leg.