When The Bell Tolls

2

May 30; 9:18pm

It is impossible to Apparate straight into her flat without being Splinched. There are too many wards and enchantments set up on the building, and they always take a moment to recognize her as she moved through each line of them. The one just after the resident Apparition point, the one at the door, the one before the next door, and the last of the protection spells just before the staircase. 

Ron always says how he's paranoid they'll turn on him and splinter his body into pieces at any moment. Hermione calls him absurd, but then she remembers it each time she goes through them now. Once at the door to her flat, she uses two keys to unlock, a powerful unlocking spell, dismantles four spells, and holds her breath while the remaining ones recognize her. Few buildings allow so many protection and security spells, the owners afraid of it interfering with other residents or Muggle technology. It's the reason she had chosen this one over the more spacious flat near the Ministry. 

She closes the door behind her, watching her kitten dart down the hallway before colliding with the doorway of the living room when he turns sharply into it. That kitten hates her. He is spastic, tears into everything, and regards her only from distances. He's nothing like Crooks, but she had gone two years in an empty flat before Harry showed up at her door with that little ball of nerves, and she hadn't been able to resist. She doesn't have the heart to give Pepper away - a completely unoriginal name by any standards, but Harry had insisted on it when the animal had gone three months as the cat.

Putting her wards back up, she locks the door and checks twice to be sure it's secure. She opens the coat closest, checks the living room, dining room, the kitchen and pantry. She checks the coat closet again on her way to the opposite end of the hall, then sweeps the loo, her study, the bedroom. When she's satisfied, she makes her way to her study, and reminds herself again about needing another bookcase as she steps around the stacks of books on the floor. 

Pushing her briefcase across her desk, she fiddles with the stack of parchments beneath her red, glass paperweight - the one that keeps together her recent memos, notes, and letters suggesting new items to her schedule - and pulls her appointment book from the top drawer. Uncapping a marker, she crosses the date off the calendar behind her, frowning at the Vetti Collection opening - 7pm that's scrawled in tight script beneath her large X. 

She pulls her chair out, settling down into the imprint of her bum and the curve of her shoulders within the cushion. The unbuckling of her briefcase is like a crack of thunder in her flat, the flutter of paper is a rain storm, and her heavy sigh is a hurricane pushing on, and on, and on.

x.