Theodore and Hermione made their way back to the steps. A few minutes later after which, a waiting owl carried the mail addressed to Theodore, from the post box and to him.
He audibly cringed as he read it.
“Why do mothers get so emotional?” He said glumly. “She's guilting me into going to visit her next week because I've already forgotten her, I don't care about her anymore, And she says, ‘I'll die one day, you'll see —— you won't even remember me. You won't even care. What kind of spawn did I give birth to? I'll just die and YOU won't even give a damn.’”
He set his lips into a fine line and bored his jade green eyes into Hermione's bourbon coloured ones.
“And I've only been here twelve days.”
“I know.”
Theodore sighed as he attached an already written out piece of parchment on his mother's letter, fed the owl some treats he told it to return to sender.
“So predictably guilt-tripping.” He mumbled, cracking open a bottle of whiskey.
Hermione growled. “Twelve whole days and my apartment is already a bloody bar.”
“You know what—” Theodore scrunched his nose at her. “You're lucky it isn't a brothel. I haven't been able to get any girls here because of your infuriating presence.”
She gaped at him.
“I never stopped you.”
“So you wouldn't mind if I brought girls here.”
Hermione looked mournfully at her bed. “You wouldn't.”
“I would.”
She went into a trance like state as she imagined the bodily fluids on her pristine cherry champagne sheets — unthinkable.
Hermione rose her arms in surrender, but with a deadly soul-piercing glare.
Theodore said something fondly to her in Welsh. “Byddai mam yn caru chi, wyddoch chi, Cariad.”
But she supposed he was just mocking her.
So she responded with her favourite finger.
Theodore rolled his eyes, taking his whiskey to the kitchen. Where. A letter was, not addressed to him. To Hermione.
“Oh.” Theodore raised a single brow. “Looks like you talked after all.”
“What do you mean? Of course I talked.”
“Would it kill you to be a little more social?”
“Quite possibly if who I'm being social with is a serial killer in disguise.”
Theodore took a swig from his whiskey. “You're impossible.”
Hermione bit her lip absent-mindedly. “Well, I would usually point out that if I were impossible I wouldn't exist and currently, we are dancing right around the periphery of that question. So I think the correct term to use, as of now, is improbable.”
Theodore took another large swig. “Fine, you're improbable.”
“There we go. Now open the letter.”
Theodore set his whiskey down, smacking his lips, he picked up the letter.
“It's from Potter.” He said, he looked at her, his lips turned down in disappointment. “You didn't ditch that dead-beat ass yet?”
“What's wrong with Harry?”
“Everything. He thinks just because his Daddy is a famous war hero, he can be an ass and everyone will just take it.”
YOU ARE READING
The Apartment
Fanfic(#1 in Fanfiction in the Lotus Awards, Lion Awards.) A Theomione; Theodore Nott finds an amazing apartment to lease for the short amount of time he's in Michigan, on a bet, he falls to the lowly status of middle-class muggles. He's living quite com...
