Dramione One Shots

15. The Vanishing Drawer

This was written for the Cupid's Chaos collection on AO3. My prompt was sexting/magical equivalent so you can imagine it's smutty af. Brace yourself for real mature content.

x

oh and happy Valentine's Day!

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The post-breakup flat was something out of a modern-day fairy tale. One bedroom, one bath with a walk-in shower—it had been years since she'd been spoiled with a walk-in shower. Sparkling tiles in a stylish black and white motif made Hermione want to roll out of bed early every morning, stand in the steamy glass cubicle, and bask in the cleanliness of her own home. No toothpaste spittle splashed on the freshly wiped mirror, no ginger beard shavings peppering the porcelain sink, no filthy gym socks in odd crevices of the sitting room that only revealed themselves when company was over.

Hermione was starting this chapter with a clean slate.

They never spoke about it because it made Ron fussy, but she made more money than him and did a better job of saving it, so when her agent sent the listing for this snazzy furnished flat, yet to hit the public market, Hermione leaped at the opportunity. The previous tenant had an eye for interior design. Matching furniture with marble table tops, copper frames, and deep green accents brought the place together in a feminine-chic aesthetic. Plus, Crookshanks had already claimed the swirly armrest of the settee for his own, leaving a clump of fur on the velvet upholstery to mark his territory.

Starting a new life of glowing independence with only a pinch of anxiety spurred Hermione to journal. It was an exciting time and she wanted to commemorate the small things by taking them down on paper so one day she could show her future children that their mother hadn't always slayed beasts or conquered evil dictators with her school friends. She was just as normal as other twenty-somethings of her generation.

Hermione wrote this all down in her first entry—talking about bachelorette life, the luxuries of a walk-in shower, and how convenient it was to stop stashing her favourite chocolate bars at work now that she wasn't dating a human vacuum. With much left to unpack, she kept her thoughts concise, and tucked the journal away in the centre drawer of her new desk, forgetting about it for two whole weeks.

Without Ron in her life, and with Ginny and Harry scrambling to keep up with their first newborn, Hermione realized that the life of a bachelorette wasn't as stimulating as she'd imagined. Visiting cafes only to watch couples with their legs tangled beneath the table, gazing into one another's eyes over steaming cups of cappuccino, made her heart ache. Shopping for groceries on her own but purchasing only a third of her regular list invoked tears in the produce section. The day she wept over a bulbous head of cauliflower marked a new, personal low. Friday nights were lonely with only Crooks to keep her company. And getting herself off with her fingers before bedtime proved wholly underwhelming.

With nobody to listen to her woes, Hermione returned to her journal to pen her sorrows on thick, lineless paper.

This was how she found the mysterious entry on the second page. Written in someone else's hand.

Fawning over walk-in showers and indulging in sweets with real sugar? You don't sound like my ex-girlfriend.

Hermione puzzled over the note as an uneasy feeling settled in her chest. She'd purchased the journal at a Muggle store, so what were the odds it was possessed Tom-Riddle-style? Just to be sure it wasn't the journal, itself, Hermione scrawled the word hello? on the page and waited a whole five minutes before ruling out the possibility that the notebook bore the soul of a villainous psychopath. Could this mean someone had broken into her home when she wasn't here? Nothing had been misplaced. Besides, who'd incriminate themself by leaving her a note? Unless their goal was to spark fear. Inducing paranoia until they returned to finish her off.