Pairing: Draco x Hermione (Dramione) Word Count: 1120 words Setting: AU Notes: Prompt shared by Monique: ‘i found you sleeping on my balcony when i went out to water my plants why are you here and more importantly how did you get here we’re eighteen floors up’. Not really a rare pair, but hey, Dramione!
Draco Malfoy hates plants.
Unless he can eat them – preferably in something that isn’t a salad – he thinks they’re
pointless and time-consuming and messy.
Yes, there is the whole trees are
important for the environment thing and the flowers
are necessary for centrepieces thingand the bouquets
are pretty much the way to go when you’re supposed to apologise for something
and you have no idea what for, but those plants are reared for and dealt
with by other people.
In other words, not him.
So, to be more precise, Draco Malfoy hates having to get up every
morning a full fifteen minutes earlier (even on Sundays!) to care for the house plants that Pansy
and his mother unloaded onto him during his housewarming party. To be fair, his
mother also unloaded a blissfully comfortable cream-coloured Italian leather
sofa, a seventy-inch TV, and a two-hundred dollar gift card to be used at Whole
Foods. Pansy just unloaded the plants.
That’s what you get for
making friends with people named after flowers, he
grouses sourly as he lugs his stupid fuchsia watering can (“Champagne
Showers!” is emblazoned in bright yellow over its side – thanks for that, Theo)
over from the kitchenette to the balcony doors and tries not to drip water all
over his fluffy white shag rug.
Still grumbling, he drags the curtains back from the sliding glass
doors – the sunlight feels like an actual
physical solid, omfg – unlocks them, and steps out onto his irritatingly
green but refreshingly windy balcony.
And then he trips over a huddled bundle at his feet and the watering
can flies into a potted ficus.
Which knocks into a dieffenbachia.
Which unbalances onto a fiddleleaf fig.
Which proceeds to fall on top of a neatly-lined up row of primly potted flowers.
By the time Draco manages to draw a horrified breath, his once
merely irritatingly green garden is now both irritatingly green and in complete disarray.
The thing at his feet makes a small chirping sound once the last
crash dies away and Draco backs away as if burned.
Gentrification Comes to LA’s Skid Row, and the Homeless Get the Shaft
One of the worst things about being rich is sometimes you’re forced to interact with the poor. When not in a sitting in orthopedic chairs in skyscrapers or on Italian leather sofas in luxury condos, the wealthy are often forced to walk on their own two legs—at street level—as if they were proletarian slobs. And this is upsetting, for on a sidewalk, anyone, even the hideously unprivileged, can look you in the eye.
Developer Geoffrey H. Palmer thinks this is wrong. In 2009, the real estate mogul sued the city of Los Angeles and successfully overturned its requirement that he provide some affordable housing in his massive faux-Italian apartment complexes. But while that kept poor people out, it didn’t do anything to address the problem of the poor people Palmer’s wealthy future tenants would have to deal with in the still-gentrifying downtown area.
So when Palmer started construction on two new buildings, complete with a pool and indoor basketball court, he proposed a pedestrian bridge connecting them to minimize “potential incidents that could occur during the evening hours, when the homeless population is more active in the surrounding area.” In other words, the rich will be able to literally walk over the less fortunate.
The dark brown leather sofa in Taylor’s apartment was her favorite piece of furniture.
So many memories originated from the custom made, distressed Italian leather sofa. So many holidays and birthdays celebrated around it, cool and personal fan moments made on it, and long heart-to-hearts with friends curled up under blankets happened on the couch. Late night movie marathons, early morning coffee, songwriting, heated make out sessions. It all happened right there on the leather. She was never getting rid of it. No matter how much she downsized, no matter if she went belly-up flat broke and had to sell everything and move into a double wide trailer, she was keeping that couch.
It was a little past two in the morning when she slid her key into the top lock and stepped inside. Her head was still tingling slightly from her late night, last minute excursion – she was still a little lightheaded, so it took her a second longer than it normally did to unlock her door. Tom, a member of her security, waited patiently in the hallway until she stepped inside and heard the deadbolt slide back into place before retreating into his own place across the hall.
She crept in; guided by the low lamp lights she left on before she left. The whole apartment smelled of vanilla, cinnamon, and cedar wood, thanks to a new candle and a new dessert she made earlier in the night. It smelled warm and like home. She leaned back against the front door for a moment, relishing in the comforting quiet. The buzzing in her head was finally starting to subside. She still can’t believe she did what she just did.
As quietly as she could, she placed her bag and keys on the green stuffed ottoman and slid off her baseball cap that had the letters NYPD printed across the top. She gathered her hair up in a teeny tiny ponytail, careful to avoid the tender spot behind her left ear in an attempt to get rid of any hat hair. She slipped off her Keds, kicking them underneath the ottoman before starting to make the rounds, turning off the light in the kitchen, the lamp by the piano, and finally the light in the living room before making her way to the staircase to go back to bed.
But in the living room, before her hand could reach under the floor lamp and pull the chain to blanket everything in darkness, something caught her eye to make her pause. And then she smiled.
Sleeping there on her favorite couch was her favorite human in the whole world.
Cake, Italian Leather Sofa - I don’t know if it’s the exceptional opening guitar riff or the wickedly witty lyrics, but every time I hear this song I know one thing for certain- Cake wrote some of the greatest pop music of the last 20 years.