CHAPTER TWO – Why Brandy And Fuzzy Blue Slippers Should Never Mix.

Later that night, Dr. Hermione Granger, Fellow in Advanced Arithmancy, found herself alone in her flat when she heard a familiar popping noise.

Harry Potter, worried about his friend, decided to apparate to her home only to find the aforementioned friend sitting on the floor, wearing fuzzy blue slippers, holding a battered teddy bear while looking at old pictures. She was apparently quite – oh, what's the right word? Smashed?  Yes, smashed.

"What are you doing?" His tone revealed that he was not too surprised at the sight that welcomed him.

"Waxing nostalgic.  Where did you come from?"  She paused to focus on him.  "And why are there two of you?" Hermione tried in vain to stand up.

Though the sight of an inebriated Hermione trying to steady herself was incredibly entertaining, he moved to help her.  "I wanted to see if you were all right.  I knew you would not be at your best but I did not expect to find this wretched lump on the floor, piss drunk.  By the way, you look like crap."

She shook off his attempts at aiding her, a little too vigorously in fact, as she found herself back on the floor.  Undaunted, she responded, "Thank you for your fine assessment of the situation.  I will file your report under 'Shit I Already Knew' and will bring it up before committee.  As they are quite busy, let me give you an interim answer until they can reply: Fuck Off."  She picked up her glass, toasted him, and attempted to drink. She ended up spilling most of the contents down the front of her blouse.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake get up."  He attempted to pick her up again, only to find that for some reason she no longer had bones in her body as she collapsed onto the floor.  In a final move of desperation Harry picked her up in his arms and carried her into to the bedroom.

"What the hell are you drinking?"  The stench burned his nose hair as he breathed it in.

"Butter beer."

"Butter beer has no alcohol."

"It can, when you mix it with half a bottle of vodka."

"I see."

"And chase it with a few shots of tequila."

"Oh, well, of course."

"And a bit of brandy.  It was the brandy that started it all you know.  Damn brandy."

"I don't want to hear any more."

Carefully stepping over the piles of books and papers on her floor, he found his way to her bed and dropped her.

"Umfff…That was gentle."

"Sorry, but I can't decide if I feel sorry for you or if I'm angry with you.  Angry won out at the last minute."

Trying to retain some dignity, Hermione began to straighten out her clothes.  "I don't need your sympathy. And you can take your anger and shove it.  I don't need that either."

"You are going to need something soon."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You just turned a particularly nasty shade of green, and I think that accursed brandy is planning to make another appearance."

"Oh bloody hell," she erped as she ran to the bathroom, almost tripping on her fuzzy blue slippers. 

She emerged several minutes later, considerably less green and amazingly more red.

"I feel like such an ass."

"You should." He paused briefly as she placed her still spinning head on his shoulder. 

"Next time you plan on getting toasted, give me a call."

She huffed, "You think you could stop me?"

"No…I'll join you."  Gently, he sat down on her bed next to her. Without a word he fell back, staring up at the ceiling as he continued to talk.  "I think I'm losing my mind."

"Join the club," she muttered as she started to undress.

Her complete disregard for his presence started to anger him. "How about a bit of modesty?  I am a guy you know."

"Oh, loosen up.  I know you are a guy and I also know that I might as well be one, for all you know," she replied without once stopping her stripping.

Now he was irate. "What makes you think I won't come on to you now?  I could, you know.  You're in no position to stop me.  You probably wouldn't even remember tomorrow."

"Spare me your rush of testosterone. One (she held up a shaky finger), we are best friends and have been for ages."

"Two (she added a shaky finger to the first), you are not the least bit attracted to me.  You love Ginny."  She pointed the shaky fingers at Harry. 

"Three (fingers now poked him in the chest), I could hex you into eternity in this state or any other."

"Four (fingers now rubbing mindlessly over her face as she tried to steady herself), did I mention you love Ginny? Wait….what? Oh…four….."  Fingers, what fingers, "No, five -- where were we? Oh hell, get out so I can pass out like a normal drunk."  With this, she fell to the bed, half undressed and totally unconscious. 

With a sigh Harry finished undressing her and tucked her into bed.  He proceeded to clean up her apartment.  He was not going to get any sleep tonight anyway, and she really shouldn't be alone.  Dr. Hermione Granger, Fellow in Advanced Arithmancy, was not as strong as she would like to think.  And Harry Potter, Hero of the Wizarding World, Boy Who Lived Despite Maniac Overlords Out For His Blood, and Good Guy Extraordinaire, wasn't any stronger for that matter. When he was done, he pulled up a chair next to his friend.  He found her like this every time they met one of Ron's new girlfriends.  What she didn't know was that for the years she was away at the University, Ron didn't date at all.  There were offers - they both had more than their share of offers - but neither took them up.  It wasn't until she come back home that Ron decided it was time to move on.

"Idiots.  Both of them, " he thought angrily.  "Idiots in love."  He sighed.  There had to be some way of getting them to see how they felt about one another before it was too late.  Harry knew good and well about too late.  He would have to live with his mistakes, but he wouldn't let them make them as well.