Monday, 12/21/1998

A light fog hung over the town of Oxford in the late afternoon. It had been damp and drizzly all day, with no hint of sunlight whatsoever. Perfect reading weather.

Hermione curled up in a wide leather armchair at her bedroom window, about halfway through her battered paperback copy of Pride and Prejudice. Crookshanks lay at her feet; neither witch nor cat had moved for hours.

The chime of the doorbell interrupted her. Waiting a moment, Hermione sighed in relief at her mother's "I'll get it!" from downstairs. She was just getting to the good part.

Downstairs, Emma Granger set down her own battered copy of Shakespeare's The Tempest in annoyance. She had taken the entire week of Christmas off, leaving the few appointments at the Granger dental practice to her husband. Whatever was interrupting her much needed reading time, it had better be important. She opened the door to a roguish looking man sporting messy black hair, blue jeans, and a worn leather jacket.

"Mrs. Granger! How are you? Is Hermione home?"

Eyes narrowing the stranger, she crossed her arms and glared at him.

"And who might you be?"

"I'm Harry."

"Harry who?"

"Harry Potter? We met at Diagon Alley once?"

At his mention of the magical shopping center, Emma's eyes widened in shock. This man was Hermione's school friend? She did recall meeting him once, years ago, but the man before her bore little resemblance to the skinny, shy boy from her memory.

"Oh," she replied. Then, spotting the bunch of pale pink chrysanthemums in his left hand, she audibly gasped. "Oh!" Leaving him at the doorstep, she turned and ran to the foot of the stairs, hollering "Hermione! Come down here!"

Hermione groaned at the sound of her mother's voice, snapping her book shut and dragging herself off of the armchair. When she reached the foot of the stairs, her mother caught her arm in a death grip, wearing a crazed, urgent expression on her face. Her eyes were wide as saucers as she dragged Hermione towards the front door, whispering hurriedly "Act natural, and remember to smile, and don't talk too much…"

What the hell is going on?

With a final shove, Hermione found herself at the front entrance, face to face a determined-looking Harry.

"Harry! This is a pleasant surprise. What are you doing here?"

"It's Monday." He gestured to the bouquet of flowers in his left hand.

"But...we're not at Hogwarts."

"I don't care if we're in the Arctic circle, Hermione. It's Monday, that means you get flowers."

"You didn't have to."

"I wanted to."

Hermione blushed and ducked her head, hair falling to curtain her face. "Go ahead, then."

Harry grinned widely and got down on one knee, grasping the bouquet in both hands and holding it up to her. He took a deep breath and began reciting from memory.

"These flowers are called sacrae amoris, meaning 'devotion to one's beloved.' They can be found in northeastern Europe, but are native to east Asia. There is a legend that a Chinese king once visited neighboring Japan, where his hosting daimyo showed off his gardens full of cherry blossoms. Upon returning home, he ordered his advisors to search far and wide for a flower more beautiful, and they discovered the chrysanthemum in a village, where the people used it in tea.

The king was overjoyed at the discovery, and ordered that a million chrysanthemums be planted around the royal palace. Upon springtime, he unveiled the new garden, dedicating it to his wife. He told her that each of the flowers had a hundred petals, symbolizing that he would rather bear a hundred burdens than have her bear even one. I think he had the right idea. So I-"

"Harry, in an equal-"

"Ah, ah, ah, Miss Granger. Questions at the end please." Harry smirked and held up a palm in mock-warning. Hermione crossed her arms, although the effect was ruined by her flushed cheeks and pleased expression.

"As I was saying. I think I would rather bear a hundred burdens than you see bear one. But, of course, you would just argue with me and we'd split it fifty-fifty anyways. So I would amend the message to say that I would prefer your own comfort and happiness a hundred times to my own. Hence, sacrae amoris. For me, it's all about what makes you happy. Or, at least, 99% so."

Harry spread his arms wide with a flourish, as if to say See, if you had just let me finish!

"You've gotten far too clever, Harry Potter."

"Just your cleverness rubbing off on me, love."

Hermione smacked his head lightly. "Stop it," she whined.

"Never." Grinning, he brought the bouquet into her hands. She clasped the flowers as Harry stood up, pulling her into a sound kiss.

Oh, this is always the best part…

But before Hermione could move to deepen the kiss, Harry pulled away. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek before stepping away to disapparate. "See you on Thursday! Love you." And then before she could protest, he was gone with a slight crack.

Oooh, what a prat! Shows up like that out of the blue and then doesn't even kiss me properly…

Hermione had half a mind to follow him home, but then she'd have to explain to her mum how Harry's flowers-on-Mondays ritual typically involved a nice, long, proper snog afterwards. It wasn't that she felt an urgent need to kiss Harry - okay, she sort of did, but no more than usual - but that she felt cheated. Well, he owes me an extra-good one then. I'll collect on Thursday. Git.

Hermione turned to head back to her room, only to collide with her mother not 3 feet into the house.

"Mum! What are you doing? Were you spying on me?"

Emma Granger sputtered, eyes still wide as she gesticulated wildly.

"You - he - you never told me -"

"Told you what?"

"You two - you...you're dating?"

"Yes, obviously. I mentioned it in my letters."

"Yes, but - dating? Are you sure?"

"I'm fairly sure."

"Just dating?"

Hermione's blush returned with a vengeance.

"Mum! What else would we be doing?"

"Finally giving me some grandchildren?"

"MUM!"

Emma pursed her lips, obviously disappointed. "I see."

Her mother's face darkened as she shot a dirty look towards the empty kitchen counter.

"I should've known," she muttered. "Explains why he still puts in the effort."

Not bothering to ask permission, she snatched the flowers from her daughter and headed over to the kitchen. Hermione watched as she pulled a dusty vase from a cabinet, still muttering to herself under her breath.

Mad. Everyone's gone mad except me. First Harry, then Ginny, then Mum. I'll bet Dad's next.

Oh, how right she was.

The Grangers sat down to an unusually awkward dinner that night. Emma Granger was positively frigid to her husband, barely acknowledging his compliments on her pot roast or listening to his rundown of the day at their dental practice.

Dan Granger uselessly cast about for a safe topic of conversation, before stepping on a landmine.

"So, dear, I noticed some flowers on the kitchen counter earlier. They look nice, I thought they really brightened up the room."

Emma sniffed, shooting her potatoes a look of disdain. "No thanks to you, of course."

"Huh?"

Her dad turned to Hermione in confusion. Eager to avoid the topic, she jumped to her father's defense.

"Oh please, Mum, stop being so melodramatic. The flowers are mine, Dad."

"That's very nice, sweetie. Where did you get them?"

"From Harry."

"Harry who?"

"Her boyfriend," Emma cut in.

"You have a boyfriend?!" Dan roared, voice climbing several decibels.

"Honestly, does anybody even open my letters?" Hermione asked the ceiling.

Emma ignored her, volume climbing to match her husband's. "Yes, Daniel, and he came all the way here just to give her flowers! Just goes to show you what a man will do for a woman he loves!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, I just hope he won't take her for granted when they're married!"

"She's getting married?!"

"No!" Hermione yelled, but at the same time Emma replied "She had better!"

Dan's eyes swiveled back and forth from his daughter to his wife, mouth uselessly hanging open while his eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. He looked like a bizarre still-life painting, with his eyes bulging in horror as a forkful of potatoes hovered inches from his mouth.

"So...so this Harry chap thinks he can just waltz in my house whenever he likes?"

"Last time I checked, Daniel, I can invite guests into our house whenever I please!"

"He didn't even come inside!" Hermione cut in, foolishly attempting to defuse the situation.

"Good! Very good!" Her father swiveled to her, happily misunderstanding. "Well, if this fellow bothers you again, just tell him you'll do magic on him! Or, better yet, don't even open the door!"

"Brilliant deduction, Daniel! Of course you would think that receiving flowers is a bother."

"I don't want strange boys harassing our daughter!"

"Have you ever thought that she might want to be harassed?"

"What?"

"Oh, that's good, just play dumb again."

Hermione watched the scene unfold in horror. Her parents were both standing up now, leaning over the kitchen table at each other like two bucks about to charge. Dan looked unsure of whether to be angry or confused, while Emma glared expectantly at her husband, waiting on him to pick up the elephant-sized hints she had been dropping all evening.

After a painful silence, her father threw up his hands and turned to leave. "I'm going for a walk."

"Like hell you are! Wait! Wait! Daniel Pruitt Granger, don't you dare walk away from me!"

Just like that, Hermione was all alone at the dinner table, her parents' dinners left half-finished. Sighing, she rose to clean up.

Mad. Absolutely mad.

A/N: I have another heavy chapter planned, so I thought I'd break it up with something lighter. Thank you to everyone who read, but especially reviewers! Love ya :)