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Summer Resolutions by Facade

Format: One-shot
Chapters: 1
Word Count: 1,707
Status: WIP

Rating: 15+
Warnings: Mild Language

Genres: Humor
Characters: Hermione
Pairings:

First Published: 07/05/2005
Last Chapter: 07/05/2005
Last Updated: 07/06/2005

Summary:
Everyone thinks of Hermione as being one of the most repressed human beings in the known world. But as she starts to jot down her thoughts on some sparse napkins, we are given a peek on her Muggle summer happenings. She contemplates romance novels and their food-like innuendo, her lace knickers that will never get pried from her girly bits and her position as the ugliest girl in existence.


Chapter 1: And then he snogged me...
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Summer Resolutions



Summer Resolutions

Right. Well. Er... Bugger it.

List,

I am going to do my best to uphold whatever I jot down here and yes I realize that this shoddy napkin isn’t quite up to standard but it’s all I got. Besides the space that I just wasted, I still have ample opportunity to write ---

List the second,

I still have enough napkins to last me a few more paragraphs, not to worry! I think I can, no I will write down everything I need to do. That includes, most definitely, it includes those, those dreams with Him.

Not like I want to have more dreams about Him (and no it’s not God). Bloody hell! I can’t think when my body betrays me and so forth. It’s getting ridiculous as I have even invested some money on lace knickers. Brief moment of insanity. On the rate I’m going at, only pervy Crookshanks will have the honor of ripping through them.

Might as well go commando for all the load of help it will do to me. As if anyone will get to see them. Besides Mad Eye with that, erg! I don’t want to think what he does with that eye of his. Will buy Everlast Steel Underwear for next visit to Grimmauld Place.

Will go now as my hand is getting cramped with all this small writing...

List the Third,

If it takes bullet forms to make the rest of me obey my wish of being Saint Hermione That Will Never Have a Hand Trickle Down and Stroke the Pearl, so be it. Mother has made me go buy off some of those package set romance novels to be more involved with supposed feminine side. That’s another thing to add to my resolution list, nix all leery-eyed men covers.

Though I have never in my life heard of so much synonyms for those places. Question, why are they almost always metaphorized (is that a verb?) after food? Maybe this has cause for case study.

Feed the Randy Authors.

List the Fourth,

Saint Hermione, etc. is rather depressing. Besides never looking at nectars the same way again my hormones have caused me to have another one of those whinging bouts where I just stop and all these salty tears come forth. Father entered the room and I expect he thought I was constipated or something. As I was frothing at the mouth a bit. He just did that pathetic pat on my back and tossed the nearest book at my lap.

Sure, that’s the quick solution to help me.

Craven Tosser.

List the Fifth,

Father has enlisted his closest ally to come ‘help’ me. Fix me up is more like it.

Mother interrupted a rather intimate scene in my book (I must at least know what innuendo Nora Roberts is using this time, she is rather fond of calling men’s flopping bits steel covered in velvet. Corny much? Though I do wonder...) and just plopped herself at the foot of my four poster.

She shuffled her hands about and cast me a sympathetic glance. I knew what this was about.

She’s feeling guilty of just planting a flimsy pad with a post-it detailing ‘you’re a woman now’ on my desk after I told her I thought I was hemorrhaging.

I didn’t merit a complete paper but 1/8 of one. I feel vair vair important now, NOT.

So it’s not like she expects much of a Lassie rendition from me.

Basically she just told me if I was on my time of the month or what not because I certainly was acting like it.

I can’t believe she just laid back to that default! Arrrg to the second power.

List the Sixth,

The Olds are getting concerned about our depleting stack of napkins. They were about to cast me another of those ‘What are you doing now you weird scion from our loins’ glances, but thankfully Crookshanks wandered in with bits of fluff trailing down his whiskers and one of my lace knickers.

Shite. That one cost me loads of pounds, considering it’s a rather sheer fabric and not much going on there.

But then as Crookshanks came to pay shrine to me (aka, practically knocked me off my back as he exposed his bits to be caressed), I thought of how much my prediction came true.

Thus the waterworks insued.

Am pathetic. Must get self-help book.

List the Seventh,

So I scavenged mom’s hidden nook of naughty books (I ran out of mine) and came across some weird looking titles. Kama Sutra? What in the world is that? I guess mum is branching out from all the horrid Fabio covers. Am proud of Mother.

Right, anyway I came across the notorious Men are From Mars and Woman are From Venus scripture. I could have told you that ages ago.

Might as well give it to Har- Him. Buy him a bloody clue.

List the Eighth,

Men are like elastic bands?

What the bleeding hell?

See you later isn’t see you later?

Will proceed to knock my head against bed post. Meanwhile I must continue reading, for other points of views of course. It’s not like I’m going to develop some neurotic plan of seducing Him. Har har.

What’s with the third degree?

List the Ninth,

After being caged in room for about 48 hours my mom did some business of calmly telling me to ‘ENJOY BEING A GIRL IN THE MIDST OF SUMMER AND ARE YOU BLOODY ANALYZING MEN ARE FROM MARS?’

So I should frolic among the fields and expose my parts for all of England to ogle at?

“If that’s what it takes,” deadpanned my Keeper.

So I’m off here, being terribly awkward in some bathing suit that’s twice my age. I quickly told my mother that the one I used when I was ten didn’t fit ‘cause amazingly I grew some breasts and stretched out a bit. Admittedly, they aren’t much to gawk at as they look like some mosquito had a great time puncturing at my chest, but they are something. So mother just allowed me the honor to wear one of her own.

Father just let me off here in the world’s most unpopulated pool ever. I suppose that’s the result of the gray clouds looming all gray and such.

Such is my wonderful country.

List the Tenth,

After contemplating whether after the tenth droplet or twentieth would a small monsoon hit us, I was approached by some bloke.

He hunched over his back as he was gigantic compared to me. My ego bruised a bit.

So while I was entertained by that, Gigantic Bloke had the balls to pluck the tag of my very much horrible bathing suit.

His humongous mouth squeaked out, “Just what I thought, made in heaven.”

My mouth just shot, “More like Salvation Army.”

Then he ran away. Who does that?

List the Eleventh,

Merlin! I must be the most horrid-looking girl in the world.

My first pick up line and the lad runs away. I should have been a challenge at the Triwizard Tournament.

Kiss Hermione without screaming.

No one would win.

But at least I could jump Harry...

List the Twelfth,

Was dropped off again, by the Parentals. They seemed rather antsy to have me dismissed as when I came home to drown myself on Ben and Jerrys, they were up on the counter.

I don’t believe Father could have been looking for a spoon where his hand was.

Besides that, I have blocked said memory from brain. Oblivate.

But GB was here again. And he seemed to be waiting a long time at the spot at where I was yesterday. I was about to search for a new chair when he just clamped down his hand on my arm and tugged me towards him.

I didn’t know what to do, after all I wasn’t from the same planet as GB.

So I just went, “What’s your story?”

Unfortunately, my brain switched tracks and before he had the chance to start explaining why in the world he grabbed on to the ugliest girl in existence and started molesting her, I ranted.

Everything exploded from me. Everything.

I told him about the books, my thoughts on nectar, my never-will-be-used-knickers and how I should go to a convent and be done with my ugliness.

His eyes just bugged out and after I spit everything out a terse silence enveloped us.

My chest heaved forth and I was going to apologize for revealing too much but then he went:

“You’re a depressing bird.”

And then he snogged me.

List the Thirteenth,

I can’t believe my first snog was followed with ‘you’re a depressing bird.’

I should sign my papers for being a nun right now. Besides my answer for occupation (witch student) I think I am a perfect candidate. Will move to Spain. Or France.

List the Fourteenth,

After being done with self-absorption, Mother and Father questioned about my happenings at the beach. Considering I was about ten feet away from The Leaky Cauldron where I would meet up the Weasleys or whoever to escort me to Grimmauld Place, I just shrugged my shoulders and went:

“Well Mum, I followed your advice of snogging a random boy. I say it was good practice for my jumping Har- er, Future non-husband.”

And then I left.

List the Fifteenth,

Maybe that’s why GB ran away. After dropping something like that, it’s a great time to do the dramatic exit.

I feel awfully vixen-like.

But I should just go back to what I was before. Bushy-haired, bookworm Hermione.

I am done with my hormones for another year and will keep them under lock and key until next summer.

Or until I figure out how to make Elastic-band Harry snap in my direction.

But until then, same harried place, same harried times.

-The Depressing Bird


A/N: When I opened up Appleworks (the Apple equivalent of Microsoft Word, I was intending to write out the following chappie to Unpredictable. So lord knows where this came from, but it amuses me. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, so if you catch typos or what not don’t go ‘stupid girl’. It’ll make me some Depressing Bird. :p






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