Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, sadly.


Hermione Granger was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

She had at first been delighted to have been given a mission to complete on her own. After all, she was only a first-year Auror, fresh out of training. Most Aurors didn't get solo assignments until they had finished two years working with a partner.

Harry Potter, her best friend and her Auror partner, had caught the dragon pox, and was out of commission for several days. He was rather contagious, and Hermione hadn't even been allowed to say goodbye before he was thrown in quarantine. It seemed Healers really wouldn't make exceptions for the Boy-Who-Conquered, or for his war hero friends.

Without her partner, Hermione had been given the solo mission. Hermione had promised Shacklebolt - naively, she thought now - that she wouldn't let him down.

It should have been easy enough. Bring in a man suspected of peddling dark artifacts on Hecate Lane, right by its intersection with Knockturn Alley.

The man in question turned out to be about four feet tall and hard of hearing. Hermione had assumed he wasn't going to make trouble from his kindly smile... She had rarely been this wrong before.

She had turned to inspect the contents of his bag, and suddenly got a face full of orange powder. As Hermione coughed and reached for her wand, the small man grabbed for her wand as well. A fierce struggle ensued. The tiny man was much stronger than he appeared, Hermione had thought angrily.

Hermione's eyes had itched, and she couldn't stand it any longer. She reached out and grabbed the little man's collar. Then lo and behold, his cloak slipped off, and he instantly grew in size. Hermione had a moment to realize he had been wearing one of the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes' Disguise cloaks. She really hated Fred and George in that moment.

But she hadn't had much time to dwell on how best to revenge herself on the twins, for the man - who was now over six and a half feet tall - grabbed his bag and apparated out. Hermione had thankfully set up a trace spell before even speaking to the 'little' peddler, so she knew where he had apparated to.

The trace gave her a clear image, and Hermione apparated there. She appeared in the middle of a swamp, knee-deep in muddy, watery... ickiness.


Six hours later, Hermione had returned to Auror Headquarters entirely exhausted, covered with mud and leaves, bearing numerous scratches and bruises, and very close to falling down. Shacklebolt had requested her in his office at once, so Hermione walked slowly to the room, hoping that the brown marks her boots left on the floor were only made by mud.

Kingsley Shacklebolt looked down at Hermione and blinked. Auror Dawson, who stood by his side, looked rather appalled.

"I know that I summoned you immediately, but I would have allowed you to clean up first." Kingsley pointed out.

"My wand broke," Hermione said dully.

Kingsley looked rather sympathetic, as did his secretary, Wilhemina Parsley, who had been distracted from her writing by Hermione's entrance. Dawson merely wrinkled his nose. Hermione really hated Dawson.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Auror Granger. How was your assignment?"

"It was terrible, horrible, no good, and very bad. Overall, it sucked arse." Hermione immediately slapped a hand over her mouth. Oh dear, she thought, feeling mortified, that sounded like something Ron would have said! What was wrong with her that she couldn't think before she spoke?

Wilhemina giggled, and Dawson looked scandalized, but Kingsley merely raised an eyebrow.

"I was asking for details."

"Oh. It was muddy too," Hermione added. She looked down at her mud-covered boots and squelched them against the floor, watching with fascination as water flowed out of them.

"Auror Granger!" Dawson said sharply.

Kingsley raised a hand, and Dawson's mouth closed suddenly. Hermione felt very grateful, and looked to meet the Head of the M.L.E.'s eyes. Shacklebolt knew what it felt like when a mission went bad. Dawson, who had rose through the ranks of bureaucracy, had never had to experience anything like what Hermione did daily.

"Was the mission successful, Auror?"

"I caught the guy," Hermione said quietly. "He's in holding now. He got the jump on me while I was searching his wares, and I had to chase him through a swamp. And my wand broke. He was wearing a Weasley's Disguise Cloak, so he didn't arouse suspicion at first. I'm supposed none of the recon people noticed that before."

She was being rude, and short, to her superior, and she had just insulted another Auror, whoever that might be. Yet strangely, Hermione didn't feel like caring at the moment.

"That's enough, then. Unless there's anything important, you can write up the report tomorrow."

"No, he seemed to have been working alone," Hermione sighed.

"Thank you, Auror Granger," Kingsley's eyes twinkled a little, and Hermione frowned, thinking that as wizards got older, they reminded her more and more of Dumbledore each day. "You may go."

Hermione left without saying goodbye. She trudged through the office, unheeding to the sympathetic looks of the other Aurors, instead focused on getting home as soon as possible. She winced as she stretched a strained thigh muscle, then bumped her sore knee on a desk leg.

Finally she was at the lift, trying to stand up straight to keep her back from hurting too much.

"Look what the cat dragged in."

Hermione would know that nasty voice anywhere.

Theodore Nott.

"What's the matter, Granger?" Nott asked as Hermione stepped into the lift and silently pressed her button. "Finally taken your place to heart? Got some mud on your clothes to match the mud in your blood?"

Hermione was silent, and just wished the lift would go faster. Nott was upset at being ignored, and when the lift opened at Hermione's floor, Nott blocked the way out.

"Why they let filth like you disgrace the Ministry I'll never understand," Nott sneered at her.

Hermione cocked her head slightly to the side and narrowed her eyes at him.

"Look, Nott. I haven't eaten, slept, or taken a shower since dawn. I just don't have the energy to do anything but collapse in bed, and right now you're standing in the way of me getting those things."

She reached out and firmly pushed Nott to the side before leaving the lift. To her surprise, Nott had no comeback. Feeling a bit more cheerful, Hermione continued a few more feet before apparating.

Then she was in her living room. Thank Merlin, Hermione thought, and yawned as she walked towards the kitchen.

Something yowled just as she tripped over it.

"Crooks," Hermione groaned, looking at the large orange menace that had been in her way. "Please, I don't need anyone else bringing me down today. Don't join in. You're supposed to be on my side no matter what."

Crookshanks raised his tail haughtily and left the room, as if to say, humans, always overreacting.

Hermione slowly got up, wincing as every muscle in her body tried to protest. Giving up, she crawled towards the kitchen.

"Food, shower, sleep," Hermione moaned to herself. "Food, shower, sleep." She began to giggle at herself, distracting herself from the worst of the pain as she got to the kitchen and had to stand up again.

The witch wanted to just make something quickly - something that didn't need magic to prepare it. She would have to use the gas stovetop. Funny, Hermione thought, she hadn't use it in years...

Hermione grabbed a container of Indian left-overs from the fridge and dumped it into a pan, then put it on the stove. Then she turned the knob.

"Why isn't it turning on?" Hermione growled, staring at the flicker of the spark that should be lighting the gas. She carelessly used a little wandless magic to augment the flame - and then the entire stove was on fire.

"Ahh! Why!" Hermione screeched. The muggle sprinkler-system proved to work perfectly when in the next moment, Hermione, the pot, and the entire kitchen was doused with a liquid substance that put out the fire very quickly.

Hermione wanted to cry. Her food was wrecked, and she was even dirtier than before.

"I want my wand," she groaned, and turned to go to the bathroom. If she couldn't have food, she could at least have a shower.

She stripped in front of the mirror, pointedly ignoring her reflection, afraid of looking like a giant blueberry, given that most of her was covered in black and blue.

She flipped on the hot water faucet and gave it thirty seconds to warm up. Yes, that should do it...

"Aggggggh!" Hermione screeched. The water was cold. No, it was freezing. She checked the faucet and growled. She had set it right, onto the hot switch, but it wasn't working...

Giving up, Hermione quickly showered, trying not to shiver, but failing miserably.

At least I'm clean," she thought to herself as her teeth chattered and she grabbed for a towel. Oh, it was a small one, that she only ever used to dry her hair or her hands... All of the other ones were on the floor, already wet or dirty or both.

Hermione just shook her head and went back to the kitchen to grab a banana. The only one left was brown and mushy, and she just couldn't stand to eat it... But right next to the fruit bowl was a letter.

Hermione,

I'm sorry I couldn't see you before going into quarantine. But I'm excited for you - your very first 'alone' assignment... I'm sure you'll do it easily and quickly, like you do everything else.

By the way, our heat's been turned off. It should be fine, we can just take baths instead of showers, and heat the water with magic. Also, we're out of detergent. We'll need some to do laundry, especially because we seem to be out of towels. Do you think you could take care of it?

See you as soon as I get out!

Yours,

Harry

Hermione stared at the letter for a moment before simpering, "Yes, Harry. As you say, your majesty. I shall take care of everything - I am after all your humble servant, oh great Boy-who-Conquered."

She stepped to the wall and hit her head on it. It made a rather satisfying thud. So she did it again. And again. And again.

"Hermione?" She could hear a voice calling. "I'm out of quarantine!"

Harry walked into the kitchen to see Hermione thudding her head on the wall.

"Hermione?" He tried again. "Are you all right?"

She glanced up at him, before continuing with what she was doing.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

"Hermione? I'm not contagious anymore, so I came home as soon as I could. Please just tell me what the matter is." Harry sounded pleading now, like a friend and not a demanding roommate who left obnoxious letters addressed to her lying around...

Thud.

Thud.

Hermione suddenly raised her head.

"You're not contagious anymore?"

Harry blinked, a bit confused, but glad that Hermione had stopped hitting her head.

"That's what the Healers told me."

"They're sure?" Hermione asked again.

"They wouldn't have let me out of the ward if I was."

"Good." Hermione stood up and began to walk towards Harry, still wearing only a towel. "Then I'm going to do this right away. Before a piano lands on my head."

Harry looked even more confused, and backed away as Hermione came towards him.

"Hermione," Harry's voice sounded a little high. "Your towel is starting to fall."

"Good," Hermione grinned. "It'll just get in the way."

She reached out, grabbed Harry's hair, and pulled him close, knocking their lips together and kissing him thoroughly.