A/N: Thanks for all your wonderful reviews, so I will continue with this story due to popular demand. Keep them coming. I would love for my review count to top my last story! hint hint.

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Chapter Four: Getting Over It

The next morning, Mrs. Granger entered her daughter's room to find Hermione's sleeping figure, face down on the bed. As promised, Harry helped a very inebriated bridesmaid return home late last night.

Hermione let out a series of moans as she adjusted herself on the bed. "Mother?" she muttered.

Mrs. Granger looked at her, slightly amused, "Are you awake?"

"Ummhmmm," replied Hermione, still slightly dizzy. She sat up, leaning against the headboard. Her eyes squinted as they adjusted for sunlight. "I don't know what I am," she mumbled, gently feeling the back of her head.

Mrs. Granger eyed the trail the clothes Hermione had left from the bedroom door to the bed. She sighed as she picked up the articles of clothing off the floor and stacked them neatly on the chair beside the bed. "I remember, one time I had a hangover," she recalled, "I never wanted another."

"What did you do for it?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know dear," Mrs. Granger said, "Everyone knows their own stomach."

"Oohhhh," Hermione groaned again, "I don't want to know mine."

Mrs. Granger glanced at her watch, "I must catch the 12:15 into town," she said as she made her way towards the door, "See you later."

"Mother!" Hermione called to her with a face of disbelief, "Aren't you going to say something?"

Mrs. Granger turned back around and chuckled, "I suppose I should."

Hermione gave her a stern look, "Well, I think you should!"

"You know how I hate playing that kind of mother," she told her, making her way towards the bed, "I'm just not the type," she laughed at herself. "And there's something so awful about a mother advising you, to say nothing of a hangover with it," she added.

"But I want you to," Hermione replied with a pleading look.

Mrs. Granger sighed. "Well, first of all, I suppose I should say, you'll get over it," she folded her arms, "That is, if you're the kind of girl you should be."

"What sort of a girl am I?" she asked.

"Well, I don't know exactly, Mione," Mrs. Granger shrugged, "You haven't been one thing or another. You haven't wanted a career of any sort. And I don't think you're socially inclined like," she paused for a moment, "well, like, Lavender. You just haven't been anything."

Hermione sighed and mumbled, "A nothing but a nothing huh?"

"Oh," Mrs. Granger shook her head, "but you have the makings. You were the top of your class!" She told her, "And more importantly, you're my daughter."

"And I don't want to forget that," she responded in a singsong voice.

Meg sat herself down on the bed, "Now, don't be sentimental. You'll throw me off of this stern parenting stuff."

Hermione smiled, "I'm sorry."

"Well, let's see," Mrs. Granger sighed again, her expression more serious, "What are the roads to recovery?" She thought for a minute, "You get eager about another man. You get eager about work." She shook her head, "I don't care what you're eager about dear, but it should be something!"

"What would you say if, I thought that Ron had made a mistake," Hermione told her slowly, "And that I intend to keep on getting eager about him?"

"Do you intend to?" Mrs. Granger raised her eyebrows.

"Yes," Hermione replied simply.

"I don't believe it," she said, unconvinced.

"Why?"

"Because I think you're better than that," Mrs. Granger answered.

"That's the mother in you speaking," Hermione said, looking away, "I'm really not."

"Well, Mione, I wish I knew what to say exactly," she sighed again, "But this much I do know. You ought to lay off Ron."

Hermione straightened up, meeting her mother's eyes, "Why?"

"I think you ought to answer that one yourself," Mrs. Granger stated simply.

"Suppose I didn't feel that way about it?" she posed, "Suppose, I felt that I had a right to Ron. What would you say to that?"

"Well, as long as you thought you were doing what was right, I'd be with you," Mrs. Granger nodded, "Even fight for you if necessary," she added with a subtle tone of disappointment, "But I'm afraid I wouldn't have much sympathy for the cause." She stood up and made her way to the door.

"Mother," Hermione called to her.

Mrs. Granger turned back around, "Yes?"

"That did it," she heaved a defeated sigh, "Well, you can go now. You don't have to worry about me anymore." She lowered her eyes, "I'll get eager about something else."

"Maybe I'm not such a rotten novelist after all," she remarked with a proud gleam in her eye, "Some of my characters are pretty swell people."

Hermione looked up and produced a weak smile.

"Well, I must run along," she said, making her way back towards the door.

"Hey mum," Hermione called to her attention once more.

Mrs. Granger stopped at the doorway, "Yes?"

"How did I ever happen to get a mother like you?" she praised.

"You're much too young to know," she replied with a wink before closing the door.

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A week later, Hermione and her mother were visiting Diagon Alley. They had spent the entire day looking at single flats for Hermione.

"Look, there's another one," Mrs. Granger announced as they came upon the front steps of a brick building with a vacancy sign on the window. She began climbing up the steps.

"I'll take it," Hermione said as she took a seat on the bottom step that overlooked the street, "I can't look any longer,"

Mrs. Granger rang the doorbell and leaned against the wall, quite exhausted as well. A few moments later, a short, frumpy looking woman opened the door. "Flat to rent?" she inquired.

"Yes madam," the landlady replied cheerfully, "Step right in here."

"Can't you bring it down?" said Hermione with a wearily tone.

The proprietor glanced over at Hermione and then over to Mrs. Granger. "Is it a flat for both you ladies?"

"No, just for my daughter," Mrs. Granger explained, "We live in Oxford, but she just got a job at the Daily Prophet, and this would be very nice. It's so close to the office."

"The art department?" the landlady repeated, "I think I have just the thing that will suit your daughter."

"Good," Mrs. Granger sighed in relief, "How much is it?"

"I'm asking 24 galleons a week," she told her.

"That's almost more than I make," Hermione remarked almost to the point of indifference, "But I'll love it." She slowly got up, "Come on, feet."

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A few weeks later, Hermione was already settling into her new job at the Daily Prophet. Clutching a large sheet of parchment in her hand, she made her way to Harry's office at the end of the corridor. "What do you think?" she asked upon entering the room.

Harry was sitting in his desk, talking to Barnabas Cuffe, the editor.

"He thinks that Puddlemere United will beat the Chudley Cannons on the upcoming match," Cuffe told her, "That kind of thinking is going to cost him money Hermione!" With that said, he returned to his office.

"And who do you think is going to win Hermione?" Harry asked casually.

"I haven't any idea," Hermione told him, shrugging her shoulders. She turned her attention back to the parchment in her hand, "Harry, what do you think has happened?"

"What do I think?" he repeated, "What happened?" He looked up curiously at the beaming Hermione, "You got my job?" he asked jokingly.

"No. But you're not the only artist on this paper now, my boy," she grinned with a smug expression on her face, "So I was only going to draw borders was I? Isn't that what you said? Or does my memory deceive me?"

"I said that you shouldn't expect to be drawing anything else for a year or so," Harry corrected, "Isn't that what I said?"

"That's what you said, and as usual, you haven't been right yet," replied Hermione with a smirk, "Who are you betting on the match?"

"Puddlemere United," he answered.

"Then, I'm betting on the Chudley Cannons," she announced.

Harry rolled his eyes, a slight curl on his lips, "Alright, alright," he said, "Now what's happened?" He folded his arms on his desk.

"Well," Hermione began, "I've drawn something else." She held up the parchment she had in her hand. "In fact," she continued, "I have already drawn something for the Merlin Furniture Company, which you see me holding right now."

"Why Mione!" Harry exclaimed, impressed.

"Yeah! Why Mione indeed!" she continued, "They're starting a new service to help the advertisers. And who gets first crack on making it work?" she proclaim proudly, "And who gets a raise for doing it?"

"You got a raise?" he grinned, "How much?"

"Six more galleons a week," Hermione told him happily, "That is, if you don't mind."

Harry leaned back on his chair, and propped his feet on the desk, "That's fair enough."

Hermione sat down on the chair in front of his desk. She looked at her drawing again, "Aren't you proud of me?"

He nodded, very much admiring her attitude.

"Do you know what I've drawn first?" she asked without waiting for an answer, "A bed."

Harry cocked his head amusingly, "Well, that's just something you get out of."

"Want to see it?'

"Sure," he replied, holding out his hand to receive the drawing.

Hermione looked at the sheet again, hesitating to give it to him. "Well, after all, Harry" she stood up and walked around the desk to stand next to him, "Remember, I'm not Harry Potter."

"Well who is?" Harry grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "Come on, let's see it." He straightened from his seat, putting both feet back on the floor. Hermione set the parchment down on the desk in front of him. Harry examined the drawing. It was a very detail sketch, unmistakably a bed, not unlike the one Hermione has in her own flat. For a beginner, the drawing was impressive. But of course, Harry could never admit it in front her. He continued looking at the sketch carefully, turning the paper from every angle. "What did you say it was?" he asked, pretending to look confused.

Hermione folded her arms, and glared at him, "A bed!" she snapped, "What does it look like? A horse?"

He glanced at her and focused back on the drawing, "Well, it looks like a horse could sleep in it," he gave her a mischievous smile.

Hermione slapped him playfully on the back of his head. Her lips curled upwards, "The advertising manager doesn't think so. And that's much more important than any wise-crack you can come up with."

Just then, one of the employee's came into the office and dropped off the latest issue of the Daily Prophet onto Harry's desk. But before Harry could reach it, Hermione snatched it up and eagerly scanned the pages. "There it is!" she said as she spread the paper out in front of him. On the top left hand corner was the ad that showcased Hermione's proud creation, "Looks as good as anything you ever drew," she beamed.

"Then you're a success," Harry replied, looking at the ad, "And so you are Mione!"

Hermione sighed happily, "This is only the beginning."

"Exciting, isn't it?" he looked up at her, genuinely charmed by her enthusiasm.

"Yes, I'm excited," she told him, "I admit it." She stared at the ad again, "Means a lot to me. Means I'm making good." She glanced around his office while Harry looked through the rest of the paper, "That's what I started out to do."

"Well, what do you know?" Harry said suddenly.

"What?" Hermione asked as she absentmindedly straightened his desk for him.

"Oh nothing," he replied, "Just struck me as odd that here is a paper with news of the world: life, death and destiny; what you're excited about is a furniture ad." Harry turned the page.

"Well?" Hermione shrugged her shoulders and focused her attention to the paper once again. She stopped suddenly, as she took notice of the headline on the society page: HONEYMOONERS PLAN GALA HOUSEWARMING. Right beneath it was a picture of Ron and Lavender, returning to their new house from their honeymoon.

"Funny being in the same paper," Harry remarked. He read the captioning aloud, "For members of the wedding party exclusively," he looked up at her, cocking his head with curiosity, "Hmm. Will Hermione Granger be there?"

"I've often wondered how I would feel," Hermione stared off, deep in thought, "the day that would be in the paper." She paused for a moment before turning to him, "And I find Harry," she smiled, "I find that I'm still excited about my drawing!" She told him confidently, "Did you get that Mr. Potter? It means I'm all right! I can go to their party. Will I be there!" she exclaimed, "Will I be the same sad girl? That's what you mean isn't it?"

Harry nodded, slightly smirking.

"Oh, what a disappointment I'm going to give them," she continued excitedly, "Why, Ronald Weasley means nothing to me now!" She declared adamantly, looking back at her sketch, "I love this bed!" she patted him on the back. "Oh yes Mr. Potter. Hermione Granger will be there. And I'm afraid she'll be a little drunk-"

Harry turned his head, alert.

"…with joy," Hermione finished with a grin.

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