Disclaimer—I do not own Harry Potter, Deadpool, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.
Hi! I love a good comedy. Hopefully this is a good one. Let me know. Enjoy.
Please read and review!
Hermione slipped out of the rental car, looking at the Sunset Apartments. The real estate agent hadn't been exaggerating. The place really was a piss pot. She slipped into the building and went over to the apartment and was letting herself in when she felt the barrel of a gun being pressed to her temple.
"Who are you and why are you here?"
"I'm letting this apartment," she told him, lifting her rental agreement to show it to the man in what she could barely see was a red and black mask. "Paid rent for a month."
"Really? Why should I care?" he growled.
"I have food," she informed him, thinking back to what the real estate agent told her about who would be her crazy neighbor and how it would be a good thing to have as many chimichangas as humanly possible on hand when she met him.
"What kind of food?" he muttered.
"Mexican," she told him. "Chimichangas."
He put the gun down, telling her, "Why didn't you say so? You do realize that if you share with me, you'll be my bestest friend ever."
"Until you eat them all, I suppose?"
"Of course," he murmured. "What use would you be to me if you didn't have any chimichangas?"
Turning to face him, her brown eyes full of humor. Lifting a bag, she handed it over to him. "For you. You let me know when you run out."
"Sure thing, sweet cheeks," he murmured, pulling out a chimichanga and began to eat it. He let out a hum of delight and was about to say something when he noticed that she was no longer in front of him and was in the apartment she had been unlocking when he had confronted her.
It had taken three hours to clean up and set up the apartment to Hermione's high standards. She was in the middle of setting up her office area when there was pounding on her door. She went over and looked through the peek hole and saw a finger covering the peep.
"Who is it?!" she sang out.
"It's your mother!" came a man singing out in a falsetto.
"She's dead! Try again!"
"Damn," came from the other side of the door. "It's me, sweet cheeks!"
She opened the door. "I've never met a person that had an adjective or pronoun as a name before." She looked over at his masked face and outfit. "Never met a person that dressed like you either."
"I'm one of a kind!" he told her. "I wanted to ask you where you got that bag you gave me."
"Why?" she asked him.
"Because it kept filling up with the best chimichangas ever! And then when I was tired of them—weird I know, but it happens sometimes. I thought, 'Jeeze, I could use something different'. Again, I know it's weird, but again it happens. But really the last time that happened, I ended up making seventeen dozen pancakes. Talk about a pancake-fest! Anyway, I thought as much and I was thinking that goat tacos would be like awesome."
"And?" she asked.
"And don't you know, goat tacos popped into the bag!"
"Were they good?"
"But?" she asked him, somehow knowing what was coming next.
"I burned it, as it was clearly witchcraft," he told her.
"But that doesn't explain why you're here now."
His head lowered slightly. "I want more chimichangas!"
"I don't have another bag," she told him. "But I am going to be attending some business and I'll fetch you another one, but only if you promise not to burn it for like a day. They aren't easy to come by."
"I don't promise anything," he told her. "Other than to love and honor chimichangas for the rest of my days."
"You made marriage vows to…" she began to ask, but stopped and said, "I'm not going there." She went over to the small kitchen, pulling out one of the bags of chimichangas she had been saving in case Ronald had decided to come visit.
She handed him the bag. "That won't refill itself. It's just a normal bag filled with like twelve chimichangas." She worried her lower lip. "I don't know if I made them when I was angry or not."
"How can you tell?" he asked her.
"If there's poison in them," she told him. "That's a sure sign. That or glass or even nails."
He took a bite and waited. Smiling he announced, "Nope! Not a thing other than chicken and seasonings."
"Good," she answered. "Let me tell you, I have never been that good of a cook. But I'm even worse when I cook angry."
"Good to know, sweet cheeks," he murmured, his mouth full.
"That's not my name," she told him. "It's Hermione Granger."
"Did your parents name you that?"
"It's an unusual name is all," she murmured, as she watched him as he kept eating. "But if it works for you, who am I to comment?"
"Thanks for the grub, sweet cheeks," he told her as he went out of the apartment. "Let me know if you get that bag."
"Of course," she told him and was about to close the door behind him when he stopped, leaning towards her.
"So do tell, are you a witch?"
"You really think I'm going to answer one way or the other?"
"By not answering, it tells me that you are."
"Or it could be that I'm not telling you due to the fact that being a witch could be enough of a buffer for a time to keep you at bay, as you might see a non-magical as nothing to be fearful of."
"Even if you did have witchcraft on your side, I still wouldn't have any fear of you."
"As you're as mad as a hatter, I could easily see as much," she murmured. "Tell you what, how about an easy deal between us?"
"What kind of deal?"
"If you don't try to kill me, I won't try to kill you."
He seemed to think that over. "You're not a killer."
"Not on purpose, I'm not."
"You cooked angry, didn't you?"
"Very much so," she told him, looking more than a little embarrassed over what had happened. "Cormac never knew what hit him."
"What hit him?"
"My elbow to his throat." She pursed her lips, as color flooded her cheeks and muttered, "I think I would have just walked away, but he grabbed my ass while I was plating the food and with his wife right there in the next room!" Sniffling she added, "I didn't mean to hit him that hard. But I was startled and frankly it hurt when he pinched my ass like he did. Between me and his wife, we tried to save him, but there was nothing we could have done to save him." She looked to Deadpool. "And if that wasn't bad enough, I ended up in the hospital later when I accidently poisoned myself with what I had made earlier."
"Aw, sweet cheeks, you got yourself a deal," he said. "Just remember if you try to kill me on purpose, I'm hunting you down."
"Never on purpose," she told him. "I promise."
"Excellent!" And he went on his way, eating happily as he went.
So? What do you think? I know it's not my usual cup of tea, but I just wanted to try something new. And frankly, this idea had me giggling. Please review and have an excellent day.