What my holiday was all about...

[skoosiepants]

Thursday, Thanksgiving: Took Roxy back to J's; went home to visit with bro; left to eat at J's parents', which was packed with people I either met once or didn't know at all, plus three short dogs and Roxy, who is insane; left to eat at my Aunt's, which was packed with my cousins who drive me crazy; usual extended family dramatics, including my 14 yr old cousin laughing with her 16 yr old brother about becoming alcoholics at the dinner table; left to hang out with J, my bro, and a couple of friends, which included the telling of the Maggot Invested Shoe Story.

Black Friday: The Girls picked me up at 9:45 for our annual King Of Prussia Mall Black Friday shopping trip; muscled our way into a parking space and subsequent crowds; ate wonderful crispy chicken salad at Friendly's; bought The Girls' xmas presents and myself a winter jacket; home and then dinner at my parents.

Saturday: Was awakened way too early by insane dog Roxy and J; lured out into the day by promises of breakfast and coffee; finally convinced J that his finger was not healing by itself and spent 2 and a half hours in emergency room; aquarium store to pick up more plants and tetras for my kick-ass tank; attended 80th birthday party with my parents and J, who was doped up on vicodin; J takes a header trying to help an old woman who'd taken a header on the driveway, his ankle proceeds to swell up, but we all laugh at him anyway; J passes out on couch.

Sunday: Woke up with slight tick in my left eye, very annoying; Church; scrubbed bathroom and kitchen finally, but didn't get around to Happy's cage; home to help decorate for xmas and pick up my own decorations; Emergency hospital tank set up for black neon exhibiting fungus - my prize loaches still look fine; heated up dinner for J; balanced checkbook and paid bills - should get paid again before rent is due; ate cake; wrote this log.



Boring as all hell but soooooo busy. Thank god it's over. I swear my week at Christmas better be filled with sleeping and eating and not much else, or someone's gonna die. And it ain't gonna be me, folks. Just saying.

Working on my old Ash Zabini cookies turned ficlet for those who remember it at The Jar. Draco is purposefully OOC. Currently not in a Christmasy enough mood to write more of my D/G, but we'll see how the week goes.



“My father’s in love with you.”

Hermione glanced up from her book and stared incredulously at the boy standing in front of her, his arms crossed defiantly over a slim chest, his dark eyes sullen. “Excuse me?”

With a shuddering breath he let his limbs fall to his sides, revealing a Ravenclaw crest on his black robes, and Hermione got the distinct impression that he was trying very hard not to cry.

“My father,” he started again, mouth tight, “is in love with you.”

She bit her lip, fighting a grin, thinking it really wouldn’t be appropriate to laugh at the angry young man. Hermione had never met him before, of course, having just arrived at Hogwarts that morning to temporarily fill in for Madam Pince. But he looked to be about twelve, with curly black hair and a snub nose, and the first stage of awkwardness that foreshadowed height as well as width.

She really didn’t know how the boy even knew who she was, let alone that his father was in love with her.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he cried.

Hermione should have reprimanded him for his disrespectful tone, but the boy, all thin arms and snapping eyes and a full lower lip that quivered with more than just anger, seemed so heartbreakingly vulnerable. She didn’t want him to break down sobbing, after all. Somehow, she felt that it would have been the ultimate humiliation for the child.

“Well, now,” she said softly, trying to soothe his ruffled feathers, “why would you think something like that?”

The boy clutched at the back of the chair in front of him, white knuckled and trembling with suppressed emotions, and shook his head vehemently. “You won’t ever be my mum,” he near snarled. “Never ever.” He sniffed and wiped a hand under his nose, then rasped brokenly, “My mum was beautiful and… and… your hair sticks out!” And then his eyes welled up and he gave a sharp sob and fled.

The library door slammed shut behind him and Hermione sat there, dumbfounded. Who was he?

“He’s right, of course, although the insult lacked finesse,” Draco Malfoy said, dropping gracefully into the seat across from her. “You could fix it, you know. A few well-placed straightening charms.”

Hermione lifted a hand to her hair, self-consciously smoothing it back. “I like my hair just the way it is.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t you have a class now?”

He shrugged and leant back in his chair, eyeing her lazily. “Let them go early... Heard you were here and found myself in a particularly good mood. Aren’t you the least bit curious, then?”

“About the boy, you mean? Of course.” At his silence, she closed her book with a sigh. “I don’t like using threats, you know, but if you don’t tell me what you know, I’ll mention the hair insult to Ron.”

Draco’s lips dropped into a mock-pout. “Oh, no, please don’t tell Red.” He rolled his eyes. “That really wasn’t much of a threat,” he pointed out. “He’s almost always upset with me for something.”

She stared at him calmly, brows raised, her hands folded over the closed book.

“How about a hint?” he asked, gray eyes glinting mischievously.

“How about you just tell me who he is?”

He lifted a finger to his lip. “Hmmm… let’s see…”

“For Merlin’s sake, Draco, just tell me,” she exclaimed.

“You have no sense of drama,” Draco complained. “Fine. That was Pansy’s boy, Ash.”

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face, and her stomach clenched painfully. “Pansy’s boy? But… but she married…”

“Zabini, yes, she did.”

Blaise. She’d married her Blaise, who hadn’t been hers since seventh year. Red flooded her face and she clutched her hands together, the old anger, hurt and betrayal welling up inside her. He hadn’t been hers since they’d had that spectacular row right before graduation, and she’d told him that if he wanted a housewife so badly he should just go marry Parkinson. And he had married the girl. Just to spite her.

“Ash was right,” Draco said, his voice low and oddly sincere.

Agitated, Hermione pulled her hair back into a bun and stuck a quill through it. “There, are you happy? No longer sticking out.”

“No, Granger,” the blond man shook his head, “he was right about his father.”

She blinked at him, throat suddenly bone-dry.

“Granger?” He waved a hand in front of her face, brows furrowed.

“He,” she started, her voice soft. “He married Pansy.”

Draco shrugged and tapped his fingers on the table. “It was what his father wanted, and you’d already been gone a year. He couldn’t wait around forever for you. You were off,” he waved a hand, “doing Merlin knows what for our embassy in España.”

Hermione scowled. He could have waited. The bastard. If he’d really loved her.

She knew that wasn’t exactly fair, though, so she took a deep breath and shook her head. “Why would that boy say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Granger,” Draco drawled. “Perhaps because it’s the truth? For all your brilliance, you can be incredibly dense.”

“B-but…” she stuttered, “that boy….”

“Ash.”

“Ash,” Hermione repeated, slight impatience in her tone. “Why would Ash…? About his father? And what about Pansy?”

“Well,” Draco drew out, steepling his fingers under his chin and lowering his voice to a gossiping pitch, “Pansy disappeared sometime last June. Presumed dead, you know, what with all the heightened Death Eater activity then. Can’t say as it was a particular loss, of course, to anyone besides Ash. Never cared for Parkinson myself.”

An understatement, Hermione thought wryly. The two had fought constantly over Ron.

“And Ash clearly knows of his father’s love for you, although I can’t imagine Zabini coming right out and telling him, knowing how he feels about his mother and all.” Draco cocked his head and pressed his lips into a puzzled frown. “Odd that.”

Hermione shoved her fingers in her hair. “Well, it can’t be true. I haven’t spoken to the man in thirteen years, Draco. He can’t be in love with me.”

“Sure, Granger.” He pushed back from the table and stood up, “I’m off to meet Ronald so I can’t be arsed to argue with you at the moment. If I were you, though,” he grinned wolfishly, “I’d make nice with the boy.”

“Make nice?”

Draco sighed heavily. “Christ, Granger, all subtlety is lost on you, isn’t it? If you want Zabini, you’ve got to befriend Ash.”

“I don’t want Blaise,” she protested. And it was the truth. She really didn’t want him. There were too many years and too many issues between them. Still…

She didn’t want the boy to hate her. There had to be something she could do about that.


So. I was a little productive. Of course, not with anything that actually needs to be done. *shrugs*