Perfect Storm

Chapter 17

November 2003

One of the best things about the American holiday, Thanksgiving, was that there weren't large crowds clogging up the sidewalks. Most everyone was home, enjoying the American football match, sleeping off a turkey overdose, or preparing for their big day of Black Friday shopping that would commence at dawn.

The other best thing about Thanksgiving is that there weren't many people that wanted to work, so those that volunteered to work got a nice bonus at the end of the year. For this reason, Hermione had happily worked the holiday for the past three years, despite Lizzie extending an invitation to spend the day with her and her family.

This year, though, Hermione found that there was a downfall to working Thanksgiving with her new position. There weren't many people pleased to see a MACUSA agent at their door as they were trying to celebrate. Most would nod and say they would take care of it the following week, then slam the door in their faces. Of course, there were always those exceptional few that took the chance to show Hermione and Brian exactly how they felt about being disturbed.

"The bastard tried to hex my hair off!" Hermione cried into her mobile, while Lizzie laughed on the other end of the line. Her teeth chattered as she made her way up the last block before her apartment. "Fuck, it's cold," she hissed, stomping her feet to try and bring some feeling back to her toes. "I hope your sister's new nose doesn't freeze off."

"Ugh, don't get me started on that damn thing again," Lizzie growled. "I hope it does freeze off. That would teach her to mess with mother nature. I think I'm gonna go tell her that."

"No! Put down the wine and leave your poor sister alone!" Hermione laughed, picking up her pace when she spotted her building. "I'm gonna go. I'm just about home and I want to change before my food arrives. I'll talk to you--" She stopped walking and talking when she saw a figure sitting on the stoop of her building. "Someone's in front of our door," she whispered to Lizzie, backing up several paces.

"Go mace 'em and tell 'em to fuck off! Unless it's Joe. Be nice to Joe."

"Who the hell is Joe?"

"The handsome homeless guy that hangs around our block."

"Lizzie, please tell me you didn't--"

"How depraved do you think I am, Hermione Granger?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Hermione sighed and pulled her keys from her pocket, gripping the small, keychain canister of mace tightly. "Just stay on the line until I make sure he's gone, please?"

"You've got it. Get out of Marissa! I'll be down in a minute," Lizzie yelled.

Hermione flinched and pulled the phone away from her ear. Slowly, she started approaching the front door, calling, "Excuse me. Sir, excuse me."

She assumed it was a man, though she couldn't see a face. All that was visible was a mass covered in a thick black cloak and cap.

"Sir, you can't stay here," Hermione called louder. The coat started to move. Hermione stopped at the bottom of the cement steps and held her mace canister up.

The head of the figure finally lifted and a familiar set of grey eyes met hers.

"Good god," Hermione sighed, dropping her hand. "All good, Liz. I'll talk to you later."

"Was it Joe?"

"No, not Joe. We'll talk tomorrow. Be nice to your sisters," Hermione said quickly before pushing the end button and stuffing the phone into her pocket. "Jesus, Draco! I almost maced you!"