Summary: Hermione's fallen. Hard. And quite frankly she's not too happy about it. It's so illogical, so inconvenient, so irrational. Falling for your best friend - how cliched.

Authors Note: Have decided to forgo my originally intended plot. It no longer fits in with the flow of the story. Enjoy the randomness. This chapter was also supposed to involve more stuff, but I realised that it wouldn't all fit. So the dress shopping is in the next chapter – as well as a rather entertaining turn of events.

How Clichéd

Chapter III :: It's a Boy!

Hermione leaned her hip against the kitchen counter, toast in one hand and a steaming cup of tea in the other, and stared moodily off into space. Her fingernails tapped erratically against the countertop and she was scowling slightly. She was happily thinking up ways to end HIS existence without actually killing him. By the time her tea had cooled to room temperature, the list was quite long and rather detailed.

In fact, by that time she was actually cataloguing the ideas into order of possible pain inflicted. That was just the kind of girl Hermione was – methodical and logical.

Except, perhaps, when it came to Harry and his social life.

Then all logic and thought went flying right out the window and she turned somewhat … homicidal, for lack of a better word.

He had a date. The dratted man had a date.

And she was quite attractive, too, according to Ron.

Hermione wasn't sure who she wanted to kill – Harry, for actually going on the date, or Ron, for telling her about it.

Or alternatively herself for caring so damn much.

When had it all gotten so complicated? When had her oh-so-logical existence been turned upside down by the idea of a DATE? It was very, very upsetting. Oh yes, she remembered – when he walked into her life, all cute and Harry-like, with his broken glasses and messy hair and those bewitching green eyes …

"Holy cricket!" Hermione declared suddenly, rather out of nowhere. "This is getting bloody ridiculous! I'm going mad!"

It was Ron who had the good fortune of walking in on her while she was immersed in such deep and reflective thoughts. He caught the remark – he was sure mountain climbers in the Swiss Alps had heard it too, considering the volume – and shot a sideways glance around the kitchen, wondering who she could possibly be talking to. Seeing the kitchen devoid of any living thing aside from Hermione herself, he raised a speculative eyebrow.

By now, Hermione had pushed off the counter and was opening and shutting cupboard doors at random, her disjointed ramblings continuing as she did so.

"Absurd. I can't be – how DARE he!" she shouted finally, slamming the pantry door shut with a decided bob of her head. "IT'S NOT BLOODY FAIR!"

Having remained silent through this intriguing display of impending insanity, Ron decided it was time for him to make a move before Hermione managed to inflict permanent damage to herself – or to the unassuming cupboard doors.

"Hullo Hermione," he chirped cheerfully.

Hermione started violently and whipped around. "Ron!"

"Having a bad morning, are we?" Ron asked, helping himself to Hermione's abandoned toast. As he took a bite, he wrinkled his nose. He looked down at the lite cream cheese spread and shuddered. "Ack! Hermione, why do you insist on subjecting yourself to this … healthy stuff?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, momentarily forgetting her dilemma. "Did I ask you to steal my breakfast?"

Ron shrugged and poured himself a cup of tea. Both Harry and Ron had spent the last week getting incredibly comfortable on her couch and raiding her pantry. A glance in the direction of her pantry confirmed that she should make an effort to do some shopping before she had to resort to frozen dinners.

Hermione glanced at her watch and then peered curiously up at Ron. "Ron, it's eight o'clock in the morning. Why are you still here?"

"Dun haff ta go in til 'leven," he said around a mouthful of toast. "Goff damorn'n off."

Luckily Hermione had been privy to Ron's eating habits for a very long time and was adequately versed in Mouth-full-of-food-ish, so she understood what he was saying without any relative difficulty.

"Well, I'm off to work in about fifteen minutes," she said as she tossed the remainder of her toast in the rubbish bin. "Try not to make a shambles out of my kitchen."

"Yes ma'am," Ron said with a mock salute. He grabbed another piece of toast and eyed it judiciously and, apparently pleased that it contained no hint of lite cream cheese, bit into it.

"Boys," Hermione muttered as she ducked into her room and grabbed her bag.

Just as she was backing out the door, a small owl came swooping in through the open window and dropped a letter on her quilt.

"Pig!" Hermione said in slight surprise. Pig had certainly gotten older – but he certainly hadn't gotten any less rambunctious or much larger come to that. He was still little more than a ball of grey feathers and excitement. He hooted happily and zoomed around near the ceiling, circling the overhead light.

Hermione grabbed the letter and tore open the envelope. A single slip of parchment slid out. Hermione recognised Ginny's elegant script (in bright purple ink, no less) and her brow furrowed slightly. She'd seen Ginny only three days ago – what news could she possibly have to divulge?

Hermione,

Going to Gloria's Gown Emporium this afternoon. I saw the most scrumptious dresses in the Summer Catalogue. Would you care to join me? Owl me if it's a yes and I'll be at the Museum at four o'clock and we can go from there. If it's a no, I'll still be at the Museum at four o'clock. You're not getting out of this, no excuses – it's your duty to be there.

Hugs,

Ginny

P.S. I've got a date with Neville at six, so don't be late.

Ah, of course it could only be related to wedding gowns.

Only three weeks had passed since the engagement had been announced and Ginny had been scouring every dress shop in Diagon Alley – and dragging Hermione along for the ride. They'd even made a special trip into Hogsmeade to visit Mademoiselle Chic, a trendy new wizarding dress shop. But to no avail. The perfect dress had thus far eluded Ginny's perfectly manicured hands.

Hermione scribbled a quick reply on a scrap of parchment and tied it to Pig's leg. She knew there was absolutely no point to replying in the negative. Ginny was nothing if not persuasive when she wanted something and besides, Hermione felt that she could certainly use the distraction.

"Now Pig, this goes straight to Ginny," Hermione told the hooting ball of feathers in her hand. Pig hooted happily before speeding back out the window, zigzagging around chimney tops and lamp posts.

There was a crash from the kitchen and Hermione whirled around.

"HERMIONE!" Ron yelled suddenly. "I think your crimowave is broken!"

It took Hermione a moment to decipher exactly what a crimowave was. "Oh, leaping lizards!"

The kitchen was a mass of smoke and held the distinct smell of burnt plastic. Ron was standing in the middle of the kitchen, a tea towel over his nose, looking sheepishly at the melted remains of Hermione's microwave. There were smudges of ash on his cheeks.

"I didn't do it," Ron said empathetically after a long moment of silence in which the two stared at each other, then at the counter, and then back at each other. "It blew up by itself, I swear."

"Blew up by itself?" Hermione said slowly.

Ron nodded and said, rather vehemently, "They're dangerous things these crimowaves."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. It was nice to know that some things never changed.

When she'd ducked into Diagon Alley for a spot of tea and a light lunch, the last person she expected to see was Harry. Actually, seeing Harry wasn't quite the problem – the problem was tall, blond, and incredibly pretty, and it was hanging onto Harry's arm for dear life.

Her name was Amber Aurelius (a name which was now imprinted firmly in Hermione's mind thanks to Ron) and Harry was grinning like an idiot.

Hermione, on the other hand, was definitely not.

She'd been happily reading the Daily Prophet when she'd caught a glimpse of that familiar shock of dark hair in the crowd. Hermione had been too happy to be irked at the fact that she had Harry radar, and had almost instinctively lifted her hand to get his attention. And that's when she noticed the girl at his side, smiling vacuously up at him with an adoring look on her pretty face.

Hermione attempted, rather unsuccessfully, to hide behind her newspaper but to no avail. Harry had already seen her and was weaving through the diners and coming her way.

Oh bugger, Hermione thought dismally.

As the couple made their way across the room, diners were turning around (and occasionally parting like the Red Sea) and staring, wide-eyed, at the infamous Harry Potter and the beautiful blond at his side. A woman seated at the table next to Hermione appeared close to hyperventilating. It would only be a matter of time before people started asking for autographs.

Wonderful.

She plastered as cheerful a smile as she could muster on her face (admittedly it wasn't that cheerful) and put her newspaper down. She was careful to keep her hands away from her cup of tea as she wasn't quite sure if she could stop herself from tipping the entire contents onto the blonde's stylish white dress. Accidentally of course, Hermione was quite a klutz. It was a pity, really, that she wasn't drinking coffee.

"Hullo Hermione," Harry greeted her with a slow smile and a sparkle in his eyes.

Much to her consternation, Hermione couldn't help but smile back. Oh yes, she was certainly a lost cause.

"Hi, Harry."

The girl gave Hermione an arching glare and then proceeded to run her bright red fingernails along Harry's shirtsleeve. "Harry," she said sweetly. "I'm just going to freshen up. Could you be a dear and order me a Huffleberry tea and a poached Pernuckle salad. I'm simply famished!"

Harry smiled and nodded. Amber whirled around and shimmied – yes, she was actually shimmying Hermione realised – toward the restroom. Several sets of male eyes followed her progress through the coffee shop and, Hermione couldn't help but notice, women, too.

Surprisingly enough, Harry wasn't one of them. He took a seat beside Hermione and absently plucked a chip from her plate.

"Catching up on your gossip?" he asked cheerfully, eyeing the newspaper.

Harry had a rather healthy disdain for the wizarding newspaper. All things considered, she couldn't really blame him for that. Despite his rather reserved personality, Harry still found himself surrounded by reporters and flashing cameras. Of course, he hadn't exactly chosen the most inconspicuous profession, but still, constant hounding would be enough to give anyone a complex.

"They have improved somewhat," Hermione said, taking a sip of her tea. "Not one mention of you today. No paternity suits, no mysterious girlfriends, no upcoming weddings … Well, at least not on the front page anyway."

Harry grimaced. Hermione knew that he hadn't picked up a single publication in months – no magazines, newspapers, leaflets or even an advertising brochure – not since the last time the Daily Prophet had featured an eight page spread on Harry's underwear and the girls that collected it. Harry was still unsure as to how they'd gotten the articles in the first place.

"I do all my own laundry, Hermione," he'd said at the time, eyes wide and face pale as he skimmed the rather long and wordy article. "How could they – hey! This girl has my flying snitch boxers!"

Hermione had briefly entertained thoughts of the said boxers and the wonders therein, but had been distracted by Harry hyperventilating into his crumpets. "And my … oh, dear GOD, Hermione!"

It had been a rather intriguing article for all concerned. Except perhaps for Harry of course …

Pushing thoughts of Harry and his underwear aside, Hermione now focused on the folded newspaper. "Oh look," she said brightly, noticing a headline on the very last page. "I was wrong. You are in the paper. Miss Christina d'Arte of Middlebury, Liverpool has just had your baby. Wait a second … oooh, it's twins." She looked up at Harry and smiled. "Congratulations!"

Now Harry was looking at the newspaper as though it were a particularly nasty Potions Master. His hand lingered around his pocket, dangerously close to his wand.

Harry occasionally had a rather tenuous grasp on his temper and he was currently looking as though he'd like to perform an Unspeakable on the newspaper in question. And that simply wouldn't do. She'd paid good money for that piece of drivel and had every intention of reading it.

"Harry," Hermione said, sliding the newspaper into her lap and out of sight. "Illegitimate twins aside, shouldn't you be over there ordering a Huffleberry salad and Pernuckle tea or something?"

"Twins? But I … can't … why me?" Harry stuttered for a moment, ignoring her question. He then shot Hermione, who was trying desperately hard not to laugh, a dangerous glare. "And you! You're enjoying this, aren't you? You've been spending too much time with Ron, my girl. Way too much time."

"Oh come on, Harry," Hermione said, unable to hold back a laugh. She reached across the table and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "No one believes this rubbish anymore. No one is stupid enough to do so."

At that moment Miss Amber Aurelius decided to make her reappearance.

"Harry," she said slowly.

"Oh, you're back," Harry said, glancing up, still looking decidedly troubled.

Amber gave an absent nod, her attention focused elsewhere. She arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow and stared significantly at the clasped hands atop the table. Then her gaze snapped to Hermione and her blue eyes flashed.

"Amber Aurelius," she said icily, holding out a pale and perfect hand to Hermione. "Harry's date."

Hermione barely batted an eye. "Hermione Granger," she said with the same polite iciness. Why should she wilt in the presence of such prettiness? She was there first, damn it! "Harry's best friend."

"Pleasure."

"Certainly."

Both girls shared chilly, almost arctic, glares and then promptly turned to Harry as one.

Harry, who had been eyeing the newspaper contemplatively, was completely oblivious to this display of female territorialism until he felt Hermione's hand slide away. He looked up and was startled to find that two sets of eyes were staring intently at him.

It took him a moment to recover – a part of his mind was still blissfully storming into the Daily Prophet offices in Diagon Alley and hexing everyone in sight. Try as he might, however, he simply couldn't imagine why Amber was looking particularly murderous at that moment. Perhaps it was just the unflattering lighting?

"I have to go," Hermione said abruptly, standing up. The newspaper, which had been sitting forgotten in her lap for the last several minutes, slid to the floor with a dull thud.

Three sets of eyes focused on the large lettering on the back page.

It's a Boy … And A Girl! Christina d'Arte reveals: 'Harry Potter is the father of my beautiful babies!'

Amber blinked in surprise.

A nerve in Harry's eye twitched.

Hermione bit her lip in an effort not to laugh.

She scooped up the newspaper and tossed into the safe confines of her bag.

"Miss Aurelius, it was lovely to meet you," Hermione said pleasantly. Then she grinned at Harry and continued blithely. "It's your turn to cook dinner tonight. Ron's already destroyed the microwave so please make an effort not to burn down the kitchen."

Then without further ado, Hermione waved jauntily and made her way out of the café, worries forgotten. Miss Little White Dress could never hope to keep up with the intricate web of insanity that was hers, Ron's and Harry's life. Oh yes, Hermione acknowledged, her bookwormish self was evil.

Evil and downright delighted, come to that.

Harry stopped twitching long enough to call after her, completely bewildered. "Ron did what?"

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione straightened up in surprise and promptly slammed her head into a solid block of polished oak.

"Ouch!" she yelped, rubbing the side of her head.

She crawled out from beneath the antique desk, muttering curses and rubbing her head, and peered around at the fireplace. Yellow and red sparks were shooting out into the hearth and the disembodied head of Mr Clovis Kellowna was revolving around the green flames.

"Ah, there you are Miss Granger. How's the research going?"

Still rubbing her head, Hermione sat back on her knees and absently pushed her hair off her face. "Wonderful," she said wryly. She grimaced as her fingers encountered a fairly large bump on her skull. "I've almost broken through all the charms. It's quite a piece of work."

"And so it should be, my dear!" Mr Kellowna exclaimed animatedly. "Such an historical magical treasure, Miss Granger, could only be sustained through very powerful magic."

Hermione smiled at the old man's vivacity and enthusiasm. Mr Kellowna, the esteemed Curator of The Museum of Magical Antiquities had a passion for magical history unparallel to anything Hermione had ever encountered in another human being. He was the foremost expert in the History of Magic and knew more or less everything there was to know about every magical artefact in the world.

"Is there something I can do for you, Mr Kellowna?"

"What? Oh yes, yes. A friend of yours has just Apparated into the lobby. Shall I show him into your office?"

"Oh, yes, thanks Mr Kellowna. I'll be right up."

"Righty-oh!" Mr Kellowna said cheerfully.

Shaking her head at the oddity that was, lets face it most of the older generation of wizards, but particularly Mr Kellowna, Hermione ducked back under the desk and swept up several sheets of parchment, a quill and her wand. She'd spent the better part of the hours after lunch breaking through wards and charms and getting very dusty. In fact, she'd spent the better part of the last three weeks doing the same thing and truth be told, was more than looking forward to the weekend.

Within minutes she'd Apparated into her office and tossed everything onto her desk.

"Gin, sorry I –" she began, turning around. Her brow furrowed. "Harry? What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too," Harry joked. He was sprawled on the comfortable couch pushed up against the far wall of her office, a pink and white checked cushion clasped to his chest.

"Well, I was expecting Ginny," Hermione said, collapsing into the chair behind her desk.

"Had a raunchy girls night out planned?"

"Gin wants to go dress shopping."

"You mean there's a shop you two haven't gone into?" Harry asked, feigning incredulity.

"Apparently … oh dear, is that what I look like?" Hermione had caught her reflection in the antique mirror hanging on the back of her door. She stood up and hurried toward the mirror, pulling at the errant curls around her face. "Harry, why didn't you tell me?"

There were smudges of dirt across her cheek and forehead and her hair was complete disarray.

She moved back to her desk and rummaged beneath the parchment and miscellany that covered every inch of her desk in an attempt to locate her hairbrush. She found it smothered beneath a rather competently forged copy of the Magickal Alchemical Codex and the original, fully animated painting containing Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa (in which the enigmatically smiling woman pulled some rather entertaining facial expressions and wiggled her fingers about teasingly).

Harry glanced at her and grinned charmingly. "On you, smudgy and dirty is cute. I couldn't bring myself to ruin the effect."

"Oh, shut up, Harry."

"Pig," Harry said suddenly.

Hermione paused, somewhat puzzled. "Excuse me?"

Harry straightened up. "At the window."

"Huh?" Hermione turned around. "Oh."

A speck of grey in the distance had caught Harry's attention. A speck that was zigzagging across the clear summer sky and heading right for her open –

Wait a minute …

"THE WINDOW!" Hermione cried out sharply, only then remembering that she'd shut her window to let the air conditioning charms take full effect.

Harry, momentarily startled at her cry, looked up, confused. He looked toward the window; his eyes widened in quick understanding and he leapt off the couch and vaulted toward the window and got there –

THUD!

– a little too late.

"Oh no," Hermione yelped, stricken.

She and Harry reached the window at the same time, wands at the ready. Unfortunately the force of the two spells coming from one very agitated witch and one very perplexed wizard was a tad too strong. The window disappeared entirely in a puff of red and gold sparks and a fair amount of noise.

Not bothering with the unexpectedly non-existent window, Hermione scooped a dazed Pigwidgeon off the window sill and cradled him close. "Sorry Pig."

Pig blinked owlishly at her, and shook his head as though to clear it. After throwing a reproachful look at both of them, he hooted once and flew out of her arms. He held out his leg and hooted again. Pig was nothing if not resilient.

Hermione carefully took the scrolled scrap of parchment off his leg. "There's owl treats in my top drawer, Harry."

While Harry rooted through the mess of papers on her desk, Hermione read the short message. Ginny had run into some trouble and would be delayed – "And she told me not to be late," Hermione murmured.

(Hermione would later find out from one very embarrassed intern that the trouble's name happened to be Neville and the trouble-making happened in a storage room on Level Five of the Ministry of Magic. Honestly, would those two never learn?)

By the time Hermione had scribbled back a succinct reply, Pig had recovered admirably and was zooming about and happily crashing into his reflection in the mirror behind Hermione's door. Harry grabbed the zooming ball of feathers and tied the parchment to his leg.

"He's fine," he told Hermione.

"Wonderful. Off you go, Pig," Hermione said, nudging the delighted bird out the window. "Back to Ginny."

Another hoot and Pig had zipped back along over the chimneys and rooftops.

Harry and Hermione watched until he was little more than a grey flicker on the horizon. And they did said watching through a gaping hole in Hermione's office wall.

Harry crossed his arm and stood back, surveying their handiwork with a cocked eyebrow. "Hermione," he informed her slowly. "Your window appears to be missing."

Hermione regarded him inquisitively, hands planted firmly on her hips. "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"Nope," Harry replied cheerfully.

Hermione shook her head. As Harry repaired the decimated wall, she turned back to her desk and grabbed her bag. She then proceeded to haphazardly throw in several books, some parchment, a quill, and that morning's edition of the Daily Prophet. "Is there a particular reason you dropped by or did you just miss me?"

"Missed you, of course."

Hermione couldn't help but feel a slight tingle at the adorable way he said that. Quickly deciding that such fluffy bunny feelings were decidedly counter productive, she schooled her expression into a more suitable one of slight incredulity. "Right …"

"I did!" Harry said earnestly. Then he grinned mischievously. "And I was bored. Wanna do something tonight?"

She slung her backpack over her shoulder. "What about – "

"Amber?" Harry cut her off, grimacing. Hermione nodded and he wrinkled his nose in distaste. "She didn't seem too happy at the prospect of dating a father of two."

Hermione turned her head in an attempt to hide the smile that crept across her face. "So she's a Daily Prophet aficionado, is she?"

"Her father is the editor."

"Ooh …" Hermione said slowly. At the sheepish look on Harry's face, her eyes narrowed and then widened in realisation. "Oh. You gave her the 'Daily Prophet is evil', didn't you?

She and Ron had been on the receiving end of 'the talk' several times, and had found it utterly amusing each and every time. However, she couldn't imagine that the editor's daughter would find it as amusing as she and Ron had.

"Yep. But that was before she told me about her father. Lunch kinda went downhill from that point."

Harry shrugged innocently. "I may also have mentioned that, while I dislike the idea of the Daily Prophet's very existence, I have a lifetime subscription to The Quibbler, a quality publication."

She paused for a moment, her hand on the doorknob, looking somewhat stunned. Then she laughed. "Oh, Harry!"

Harry smiled sheepishly.

Still giggling, Hermione ushered Harry out and locked her door.

Her office, like her apartment, also had various wards and anti-Apparation charms (and the occasional hex and jinx just to be on the safe side) to keep people out, although they weren't quite as powerful. It usually remained unlocked and unprotected during office hours because Mr Kellowna, like Ron, kept forgetting about the wards.

It was a calculated risk, but most people, even wizards, didn't know there was an actual Museum of Magical History let alone it's location.

She muttered an indiscrete, "Guys," just loud enough for Harry to hear and was rewarded with a mischievous smile and a sparkle in his eyes. Hermione was floored for a moment at the amusement in those oh-so attractive green eyes; her insides turned to mush and her knees almost buckled. She decided then and there that she'd have to give Harry up – cold turkey – just for the sake of her sanity. And her knees. She was sure this whole weak-kneed phenomena was would eventually result in a serious injury.

I'll start tonight, Hermione thought to herself. Snuggle up on the couch with Jane Austen and an iced tea and no Harry.

Of course, this cold turkey scenario could present a bit of a problem seeing as they were best friends and all …

"So, you wanna?" he pressed after a moment, following Hermione down the hall and to the elevators.

Hermione again found herself pushing thoughts of Harry out of her head. This was getting to be habit – the man was too much of a distraction. Soon she'd start to lose her perspicacity and then where would she be?

Thus mentally incapacitated, Hermione uttered an inarticulate, "Huh?"

Harry grinned. "My, you are not an afternoon person, are you? Do you wanna do something tonight?"

"Oh, I don't know …"

"Aww," Harry said, smiling enticingly. "Come on. It'll be fun. Better than spending the night with a book, I assure you."

Hermione felt her resolve melt. So much for cold turkey. Then his final words registered and she was slightly taken aback. Could this man really know her that well? Who was she kidding? Of course he could. Seven years at school and then another five in the real world – he must have picked something up in all that time.

By now, they'd reached the entrance hall.

The Museum entrance hall was the only place in the building to legally Apparate or Disapparate. In the Reception Area there was also a portkey to Diagon Alley every half hour, as well as a fireplace connected to the Floo Network. The latter option certainly wouldn't be the best one – with the steaming temperatures outside, she'd be broiled within seconds. Figuratively speaking of course.

"Oh, fine," she acquiesced finally.

Harry brightened considerably. "Great. Lets go."

"Ginny," Hermione reminded him.

"Ah yes," he said thoughtfully. "The dress."

"Yes, the dress," Hermione said. She waved a curt goodbye to Mr Kellowna, who was fiddling with a medieval alchemy display, and led Harry into the Reception Area. "Look, how about you meet me at Florence Fortescue's at six thirty …"

Harry looked crestfallen. "What am I supposed to do until then?"

"Read The Quibbler?" Hermione said cheekily. "Or perhaps the Daily Prophet?"

"Funny Hermione, very funny," Harry glowered. He looked thoughtful for a moment and the he sighed. "I refuse to die of boredom. I'm coming with you."

"But – "

"I'm sure Gin won't mind," he said.

"That's not the problem," Hermione said. She looked up at him, amused. "You do realise that this is a shopping expedition, right? A search for the ever-elusive perfect dress. A wedding dress at that, which thereby means it's a lot more thought and stress involved."

"Yes, I know," Harry replied. "It involves looking at pretty dresses and oohing and ahhing over such stuff as satin, silk, lace, crinolines, pantaloons and whatever else goes on under those huge skirts. I imagine it'll be like that time you and Ginny dragged Ron and me to Madame Malkins for the twins' wedding."

Hermione arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "Well, yes you're probably, but we were also there for your own good. Men cannot be trusted to pick out their own dress robes."

"Well, it worked out fine then," Harry reminded her. "How much trouble can I possibly get into today?"

The moment he said that, Hermione knew he was doomed.

…tbc.