Summary:

Ron drops by and Draco writes in his log.

Chapter Text

Saturday

Hermione had found one other book that made mention of Florizell Askew. The final chapter of Yuki Nobunaka's Where Are they Now?: Witches and Wizards Who Seem to Have Dropped off the Face of the Earth, Vol CXXIV featured a short update on her. Nobunaka noted: "Ms. Askew repeatedly declined to be interviewed for this book. But I can tell you that she lives a lonely, but pleasant life amongst her sheep. There is a charming little shop only a few kilometers down the road from Askew's house owned by a Muggle named William Spenser. He speaks fondly of Askew, saying that her sheep make wool so soft you'd swear it was cashmere. He seems to know nothing of her previous life."

And that was it for Florizell Askew. If only, Hermione mused, Askew had agreed to talk to Nobunaka. Maybe she could have imparted further wisdom that might help Hermione solve her current problems.

Hermione scribbled a few more notes and glanced at the clock. She had about an hour before she had to meet Draco. Her stomach did a quick somersault, but she calmed it with a brief lecture: "No way. No way. Last weekend was ill-advised and reckless. This will just be watching a play and going home. That's it. And no, you are not packing a spare pair of knickers," she said, stuffing a spare pair of knickers into her bag, "because you will not be needing them. Dammit, Hermione." She contemplated removing them from the bag, but then decided that they didn't take up all that much space, so it really didn't make much of a difference whether she brought them or not.

That was stupid logic, but she let it slide. Stupid logic also allowed her to put on her favorite white cap-sleeved blouse and her favorite fawn-colored knee-length skirt, and to take some extra time on her hair, smoothing it into soft waves that she pulled into a knot at the nape of her neck.

Just as she was about to grab her jacket and apparate out, a loud knock sounded at her door.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," she called. Who the heck could that be? She glanced out the spyhole. Oh Merlin. She opened it. "Hey Ron."

"Hi Herm..." he broke off, looking her up and down. "...ione. You look really nice."

"Thanks, Ron. What's up?"

"I, uh ... I just wanted to know if you wanted to get some coffee or something. But it looks like you have other plans."

"Yes. But ... uhm ... thanks for asking." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"Right ... well."

"Yes, uhm. Do you, uh, want to come in for a minute?"

He stepped inside. "Thanks. So, uh, look. I just wanted to apologize for Thursday. I don't quite remember what I said, but Geri's told me that I should prolly apologize to everybody I talked to. "

Hermione laughed. "That girl has sense."

"Yeah." He scratched behind his ear. "So do you, er, incidentally, remember what it was that I said?"

"It wasn't anything terrible," she said. "You just told Cadell that I was a heartbreaker."

Ron's face began to turn a wild scarlet. "Blimey. I'm sorry."

"It's really no problem. Your face is clashing with your hair, you know."

He exhaled mightily and wiped his palms on his jeans. "That's not nearly as bad as what I told Fleur."

"What was that?"

"Ugg, I'd rather not say." He looked slightly nauseous.

"I'd pity you, but no one poured the booze down your throat, Ron."

"I know, I know. So ... changing the subject a bit, uhm, you look nice."

"You already said that, Ron," she said with a smirk, "but thank you."

"Where are you off to, then?" His eyes grew wide and a grin spread over his lips. "Are you going to meet Cadell? Brilliant! I knew you two would get along."

She sighed. "No, I'm not going to meet Cadell. But yes, he was very nice, and thank you for introducing us."

"You're not?"

"No." Please stop asking questions, she thought silently. "How's Geri?"

"Good. Just ... you know, it's kind of rough. She's on the road all the time."

"I know. Harry's got the same complaints about Ginny."

"Yeah. I bet." Ron sat awkwardly on the arm of her sofa.

"Ron? I'm sorry that I'm on my way out. If I weren't, I really would like to have coffee with you."

"It's alright."

"No, I mean it. I miss you."

"You do?"

"Of course I do."

"I miss you too." He swept her into a quick hug. "I'm sorry if things are weird when Geri is around."

"Look, don't worry about it. I just want you to be happy."

"I know. I, uh, want the same for you. Really."

"Thanks, Ron." She moved towards the door, hoping he'd take the hint. "Maybe we could get dinner during the week instead of coffee? Maybe on Wednesday?"

"That sounds good." He looked no closer to leaving. "So ... who's the lucky guy?"

"Uhm," Hermione said, tugging at her earlobe, "It's really no one you know." This was technically true. Ron didn't know Drake Malford.

"Where did you meet him?"

"At work."

"He works at the Ministry?"

"Not exactly. Look, Ron, I'm sorry, but I'm going to be late."

"Yeah, I know." He moved towards the door. Finally, she thought.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Why won't you tell me his name?"

"Because I ... because it isn't important."

"I guess it isn't." His eyes were ice. Did he know? No. How could he?

"I'll see you soon, Ron. Thanks for stopping by."

"Sure."

She smiled at him as he walked through the door, but he didn't give much of a smile in return. There was no way that he could know whom she was going to meet, she reasoned. He was probably just mad because she was keeping a secret from him.

All the same, Hermione was unsettled. She couldn't imagine telling Ron—or anyone else, for that matter—that she was about to go on what might indeed be termed a date with Draco.

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Log for Monday

For the record, I think doing this is silly. I just wanted to make that abundantly clear.

Work was somewhat unbearable for most of the morning. Even though I usually get to the office before everyone else, today I got there fifteen minutes late. In the space of those fifteen minutes, Clem spread the word that I had a girlfriend. I had to put up with moronic questions until lunchtime, when Tad the Insufferable Wanker accidentally put his mum on speakerphone just when she was asking him if he liked the lunch she'd packed. That got everyone off of my back.

I suppose what you'd really like to know is why I was late. While eating breakfast, I got some jam on my tie. Instead of just changing my tie like a normal human being, I tapped it with my butterknife and muttered some nonsense words for a little while. When I realized what I was doing, I got up, changed my tie like a normal human being, and went to work. The rest of the day was fairly uneventful. I had my run, I ate my dinner, I read my book. The end.

Log for Tuesday

I had a new type of dream last night. If you want me to be completely honest, this is a fifth type of dream, and not a fourth. In addition to the flying dream, the office dream, and the tower dream, I also often have some rather interesting dreams about you. I haven't told you about them for obvious reasons. Rest assured that they, and not the flying dream, are actually my favorite. At any rate, this new type of dream made very little sense. In it, I was on a train with that black-haired fellow I saw in the bar a while back. I can't recall where we were going, or any other details of that sort, but I knew one thing: I utterly loathed that black-haired fellow, and when he smiled at me, it made me so angry I could barely stand it.

I was very careful with my jam this morning at breakfast. As I was eating, however, an odd thought came to my mind: Of course the butterknife didn't work, you bloody idiot. It's made of metal. This made perfect sense for all of about thirty seconds, and then I couldn't remember why it had made sense. But then I recalled that I had a small stash of twigs I'd been collecting for some reason. I had originally surmised that the idea about the metal knife was just some sort of way to justify my twig collection, but now that I think about it, I don't see how the two are related.

Work was not interesting.

On my run this evening, I saw this old tree stump that I'm sure I pass every night without issue. Tonight, for whatever reason, I was a bit wary of it, and thought to myself "goddamn snargaluffs." No idea what this means.

Log for Wednesday

Today at work I had to fax a document to another branch of our office. Instead of just asking Fiona to do it, or walking over and using the bloody fax machine, I rolled the paper up and secured it with a rubber band. Tad the Insufferable Wanker says to me, "Oi, Malford, what the hell are you doing?" I say nothing in return, but open the window and look out. Tad says, "What are you looking for? A passenger pigeon?" I am about to say, "Not a pigeon, you moron, an owl," but something makes me stop. Instead, I give him my best approximation of a laugh, and say, "Just seeing if you're paying attention." Tad says "You are one crazy git." I try very hard to ignore him. Tad looks like he's going to get the entire office's attention to let them know what a crazy git I indeed am, but I give him the Drake Malford Gaze of Doom and he goes back to his desk and shuts up.

That afternoon Rick tells everyone that he still has five pairs of tickets to Twelfth Night. No one is interested in them. This pleases me.

On my run this evening I consciously avoided the path that goes past the tree stump.

Log for Thursday

Tower dream again last night. Bad. The snake/man was there. I feel like I'm getting closer to seeing my parents' faces. I can feel their faces. I am frightened of my father, I think. Dream Me is very intimidated by Dream Him. The old man with the white beard is not afraid of me. He never is. I am quite convinced now that the weapon in my hands is a stick. I wonder if this ties in with my collection of twigs? Probably. What is my subconscious trying to tell me on this one? That in my past life, I used sticks as weapons? How does that make any sense at all? Maybe I whittled them into very sharp points and threw them at people. Sure. Why not? Left forearm positively burning when I woke up. Had to submerge my arm in ice water. The pain is obviously in my head; there is no physical trauma to my arm. Briefly considered cutting it a bit to see if I could tell the difference between psychosomatic pain and actual pain. Rejected this idea because I didn't want to be late to work again.

Morning at work was uneventful. Weather at lunch was nice, so I took a walk through the park. The duck pond reminds me of you.

This afternoon at work Clem and Fiona decided to decorate the office for Halloween: paper witches, pumpkins, werewolves, spiders, cats, etc. They make me uncomfortable, but I don't know why. I had to move my chair so that they weren't staring at me. I don't think anyone noticed.

T.I.W. asked if I were bringing the mystery woman to the play. I attempted to ignore him, but he was a persistent little wanker, so I finally responded: "Is she that much of a mystery if Clem's entire family has met her?" I suppose T.I.W. didn't like my tone, because he said, "Oi, Malford, why don't you throw another fax out the window?" So I replied: "Oi, Wanker, why don't you eat the sandwich your mother packed for you?"

Nothing special about my run that night.

Log for Friday

Flying dream last night. I'm definitely playing some sort of game. Oddly enough, the black-haired man from the bar was in it too. He was on a different team. I still don't know what we are riding on. Black-Hair and I were both chasing something. Dream-Me was almost as interested in knocking Black-Hair off his mount as he was in chasing the object.

At work, I had to make a concerted effort not to look at the Halloween decorations. I find that the pumpkin and the witch are the worst. I am probably sensitive to the pumpkin because of the Pumpkin Juice Incident. I do not know what it is about the witch. She is a rather typical-looking witch: green skin, hooked nose, pointy hat, black dress, flying on a broom, etc. But something about her positively makes my skin crawl. I try to not pay attention, but I find myself staring sometimes. T.I.W. noticed. He said "Oi, Malford, [can he begin a goddamn sentence any other way?] do you fancy her?" I did not reply.

It was pouring this afternoon but I had to get out of the office. The park was a muddy mess. I had to stop at my flat to change before heading back to work. But the thought of going back in there almost made me physically ill. I thought about calling Rick and telling him I'd eaten something bad, but then I realized I might see him tomorrow at the play. So I put on dry clothes, got a rain slicker, and went back to the office. I spent most of the afternoon in a meeting, which was good, because the conference room does not have decorations in it.

I skipped the run tonight. Usually I'll run in the rain, but it's a bit much even for me right now. I suppose I'll have to get a treadmill or a gym membership soon. Running keeps my mind blank.

Log for Saturday

Train dream again. This is becoming one of the Not Good Dreams. Not as bad as the tower, but I don't enjoy it. This time, I knew I had some friends who were standing behind me, but just as with my parents in the tower dream, I'd turn and they'd disappear. You were in this dream. You were sitting in a compartment with Black-Hair and someone else I also couldn't really see. You were giving me this look of absolute loathing. Dream-Me thought it was funny, but Waking-Me does not. Not at all. Also, we were all wearing what appear to be ornate graduation robes in this dream. Waking-Me thinks that this is funny.

I looked at my twig collection this morning. I'm up to six of them. I remember picking up three of the six.

You are going to be here in two hours. I am going to go for a run. If nothing else appears in this log, you can assume it was uneventful.

Ok, you can still assume that the run itself was uneventful, but I did just have a new thought about the small cabinet that I use as a nightstand. I am calling it a "new thought" because I'm not really sure if it's a "confusing or troubling" thought, as you term them, because sometimes it takes me a while to decide whether or not a normal person might think this, so I'll just write it down as I'm working it out: is it possible that this cabinet is connected to another cabinet? I don't actually keep anything in this large compartment of cabinet right now, because I have no use for it. I put things in the small drawer at the top of the cabinet, but that doesn't count. If I put something, like my tennis shoes or a book, in the large compartment, would it appear somewhere else? Ok, now that I am writing this, I realize that it does sound very stupid. So there you have it. Another confusing or troubling moment from the fucked-up mind of Drake Malford. Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

You will be here in fifteen minutes.