A/N: Anything you recognize belongs to J.K.R. and affiliates.


"Think she had one too many, eh?"

"Surely not, I know for a fact Miss Granger does not indulge."

"Maybee it vas the 'eet zhat did it. It es awfulee varm out 'ere."

"She was fine a minute ago!"

"Move aside, all of you! Miss Granger? Hermione, dear? Can you hear me?"

A moment passed.

"Uhhhhhh." Came the reply.

A collective sigh of relief could be heard from the peanut gallery.

Hermione felt her eyelids flutter a few times, then consent to being opened. The first face she saw she had to strain to recognize.

"Madame Pomfrey?" Hermione asked, weakly.

She saw the old Hogwarts matron nod swiftly. As she continued her interrogation to test Hermione's faculties, like where and who she was, Hermione studied her school nurse with fascination. She had obviously forgone her maroon and white healer's uniform for such an occasion. It was…odd to see teachers out of school when one had the point of view of a working adult. It made the whole institution seem less… put together.

Hermione was drawn out of her reverie when she heard the pulling up of Madam Pomfrey's string of words, forming questions Hermione supposed she was to answer.

"Hermione Jean Granger. Twenty-two years of age. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, should have been class of '98. The wedding of Harry and Ginny Potter." She recited obediently.

Madam Pomfrey continued to wave her wand around Hermione's cranium until she was satisfied, which Hermione found both annoying and grateful for. One could never be too certain about head injuries; her father had taught her that.

"What happened there, 'Mione?" asked Ron when the majority of the crowd disappeared from the not-so-interesting-anymore scene at the prompting of a very assertive Pomfrey. The only brave remainders were a concerned bride and groom and Ron himself.

"I don't know…I just remember seeing…black." Hermione half-lied, letting her friends misinterpret. She was much too embarrassed at what she thought she actually saw. Herself, dancing with some strange man.

What a truly odd daydream to have...Hermione thought curiously.

For the rest of the night, everyone acted gingerly towards Hermione, and no one requested she take shots with the best man (not that she would have anyway), so Ron got absolutely smashed all on his own, which was humorous to all witnesses.

When it was time for Ginny and Harry to take their leave, the couple did rounds of hugs and goodbyes with everyone (which took a surprisingly long time thanks to a teary-eyed Mrs. Weasley).When Harry got to Hermione he paused and looked her in the eyes.

"You sure you're okay, Hermione?"

"Yes, positive, Harry. I have no idea what came over me. Just a fainting spell, I suppose. You know me, probably too many hours locked away in my office."

She realized too late that this was probably the worst thing to say when trying to persuade a worried friend that you're doing fine and that there's no reason for concern.

"Hermione…"

"Harry, dear, just forget about it. Enjoy your holiday with the new Mrs.…please, for me?"

He smiled hesitantly as Ginny came over. He put his arm around her shoulders instinctively, his eyes still on Hermione.

"Promise to write to us while we're away."

"Harry, it's your honeymoon."

"I don't care, and neither does Ginny. Promise." Harry insisted.

"Fine. I promise." Hermione relented with a sigh.

Ginny and Hermione hugged one last time, and as Ginny gushed about how great everything went and how much Harry had loved the dress they designed, Hermione saw Harry say something to Ron in a low voice. Ron then looked over at her. Clearly, it was an instruction to "pop in" on their overworked and fragile friend.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

As Ginny and Harry got on his new Wildfire 2000 broomstick (a method of transportation insisted upon by the groom) they called their last farewells to teary and cheering friends and family. Before they were out of earshot Harry called down to her,

"If we don't get a letter from you in three days time, 'Mione, we're coming straight back!"

Hermione saw Ginny nod her agreement, and she smiled a little indulgent smile. It was nice to know you had people looking out for you, despite how annoying it really was sometimes.


Hermione rubbed her eyes with exhaustion and yawned a not-so-feminine yawn. She had been cooped up in her office for seven hours straight. But she just had to find another historical event in which the participation of centaurs benefited wizardkind's efforts. She was writing a report for centaur suffrage, and it would certainly look good to support her case of their allegiance with historical references. The only problem was that centaurs were just so darn…neutral and unobtrusive, not to mention fiercely private creatures. It was a lucky find if they were even mentioned in any of the huge sources she was digging through.

Hermione yawned once more and peered over the page she was currently on. She had reread the last few sentences over and over again.

Centaurs are wise and proud creatures, and throughout history have been shown to have had a special lunar connection which allows them a premonition-like ability unique to their kind. However, they are often of the opinion that because of their extraterrestrial intelligences, they are not obliged to reveal their predictions to wizards or to engage in any activities they feel would upset the balance of the set future.

Centaurs also-

The room went black.

At first, Hermione thought she was experiencing another fainting spell. But then her eyes adjusted and she realized her candle had melted down to the base and put itself out.

Hermione agitatedly waved her hand over her candle and whispered, "Emendo Ignis". The candle immediately reformed itself to it's original waxy self, complete with a clean white wick, then a split second later a happily dancing flame ignited itself.

Hermione stared at the flame for a while, then shook her head with frustration. Perhaps she would contact Firenze for an interview instead. He was surely the most cooperative centaur she knew, and he would be a good source for quotes.

Hermione shut the book, which sent up little flecks of dust into the air. This time, Hermione's vision really did go black.

A man was sitting on a large and inviting sofa in front of a crackling fire. Upon his lap sat a large tome. His long index finger was tracing his intake of words at a rapid pace. His face was…indistinguishable. All she could make out upon further inspection were a pair of reading classes perched on the end of his nose. Suddenly the same curvy girl/woman, who Hermione figured had to be her daydream self if the hair was anything to base it on, walked into the room and unabashedly plopped herself next to the man, practically sitting on top of him. He lazily threw a relaxed arm around her, letting his unused fingers to play with the fabric of her robes gently. They sat that way for what seemed like hours, comfortably reading and enjoying each other's company.

That was how Hermione drew out of her "daydream" as she supposed she would need to begin identifying the visions as. This time the blackness did not draw Hermione fully in, like at the wedding. A part of Hermione did not like how the daydreams came without warning and took total control of her faculties, but another part actually enjoyed the dreams. They were so…comforting.

"I guess I do need to get out more. Even my subconscious is telling me to get a life. Or at least a man."


R/R!