I May Hate Myself in the Morning by MeiQueen

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 09/04/2006
Last Updated: 27/04/2007
Status: In Progress

When Hermione breaks up with a modelizer and goes out with Harry for a few drinks...which turn
into a few more...and a few more...and they wind up having sex, what will happen to the previously
platonic relationship between the two come dawn?




1. Why Don't We Get Drunk (and Screw)
-------------------------------------

**-*-**

**I May Hate Myself in the Morning**

**Mei Queen**

**-*-**

**Summary:** Hermione Jayne Granger may hate herself in the morning…but after a few rounds of
Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey, she’s gonna love Harry Potter tonight.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, really. The plot is an evil little bunny that wouldn’t leave
me alone…forcing me away from my current four amusements towards a new step in the world of
fanfiction- yes, folks, this is my first-ever Harry/Hermione. But back to the disclaimer- JKR owns
everything, and the title belongs to Lee Ann Womack, who wrote this fabulous song of the same name.
(Sigh. It reminds me of my ex, but I digress.) Title of this chapter belongs to Jimmy Buffett, who
wrote the song of the same name (that I frickin *love!)* Oh, and Meg Cabot owns the term
“modelizer”, as far as I know. If you haven’t read her work, it is fabbity fab fab, in the words of
Georgia Nicholson (who is owned by Louise Rennison)…oh dear God I’m bordering on copyright
infringement here, so I’m just going to shut up....

**Authoress’ Note:** I basically said it all in the disclaimer, but this is my first-ever
H/Hr…so please don’t burn me alive with flames. Thanks so much. But review. So **review,** but
be nice. Okay. That said, here we go…

-*-

**Chapter 1:** Why Don’t We Get Drunk (and Screw)

It had started innocently enough. I, Hermione Granger, sent an inter-office memo to one of my
best friends, Harry Potter, asking him if he’d be willing to meet me for a drink that I desperately
needed after work. I had just gotten out of a relationship a week ago with a “modelizer”. I know
you know the type. He’s with you, and you’re lovely, but his eye can’t stop straying. In fact, you
wonder where his eye is entirely until you walk home, and catch him with a size 2 blonde who looks
like she just finished her difficult day of posing for a Calvin Klein ad, going at it like there
will quite possibly not be a tomorrow. In your flat. In your bed that you two had shared for a
year. *Fucker.*

I looked down to see my hands balled into tight fists, the knuckles turning white from the
tension. *I need to think about something else. I really hope Harry’s free… Ron’s not picking up
back at their flat. I taught him how to use a telephone in-depth the other day; he must honestly
not be home. Maybe he’s touring again.*

Ronald Weasley, my other best friend, was the Keeper for the Chudley Cannons, his favourite
Quidditch team in the universe. They often had away matches; Ron just usually remembered to let me
know that he’d be out of town when they did. I liked to know where my boys were at all times, thank
you very much.

Just as I was pushing my hair out my face, my whole being frazzled with exhaustion and tension,
a reply to my memo came whizzing through the door in its full paper-airplane splendour. Opening it
eagerly, I found just the reply I was hoping for.

*Tonight.* *7. Leaky Cauldron. Stop thinking about that asshole.*

*Love, Harry*

The part of me that had been bordering tears all day seem to unclench slightly as I read over
his note the third time. It was really reassuring to know that no matter what bind I got in, Harry
and Ron were there for me. Harry with understanding and sympathy, and Ron usually with brute force.
Even though Ron is normally the violent one, they had both wanted to pound my ex’s face in when I
told them what had happened. However, they grudgingly agreed to just let me sleep on the couch and
let the thing go. And I don’t plan on being on their couch forever, honestly. It has been a few
days, yeah, but finding a flat in today’s market isn’t always easy! Well, when you’re a single girl
who doesn’t exactly make a bundle working at a thankless desk job in the Ministry of Magic it’s not
easy to find a flat, anyway. Not that Harry and Ron didn’t try to help me in the money area too,
because they did. Harry, especially. He actually volunteered to pay my rent with his savings. How
sweet is that? See, now if only I could find a boyfriend who would help with the rent when he was
*living* in the place, I’d have it made. Naturally though, I declined the generous offer.

But while I spend my time at a cramped and messy desk campaigning for half-breeds the world
over, usually completely out of the public eye, Harry is a famed auror, and spends the majority of
his time with a large fan club following his every move. Recently, much to my amusement, it has
made it fairly difficult to plan strategic raids, because the fifty-member fan club tends to give
away the secret pretty fast…but I digress. However, at the end of the day, Harry loves what he
does, even though he could have easily been signed as a seeker to any Quidditch team in the area.
He is *that* good. But Harry is really dedicated to the safety and protection of the wizarding
community, a responsibility that had been bestowed upon him at the tender age of one when the
darkest wizard of the age, Voldemort, had sought him out for a showdown. He’d won that day…and many
others after, garnering him the well-earned title of “The Boy Who Lived”. Although, now, at 23, he
is more rather “The Man Who Lived”…or if I were to be perfectly honest, “The Most Gorgeous Man Who
Lived…Ever”.

But he will never know I think that. *Thank Merlin.*

I stretched my neck as I turned to check the time, desperately hoping to see that it was time to
leave. Yes! 6:21 pm. Not technically 6:30, no, but close enough that if I moved slowly enough
putting things away, by the time I was done, I could exit with no smart-arse remarks from the
interns. I began to leisurely move my paperwork for the day into neat little piles and to tidy up
my desk as much as possible before eagerly packing up my briefcase.

Walking out through the Muggle exit to the Ministry, I found myself a few blocks from Diagon
Alley with about twenty minutes to kill until Harry arrived. *I might as well walk, the exercise
can’t hurt me any,* I thought reasonably. Transifiguring my briefcase into a cute, light evening
purse, and after quickly muttering a few choice words, my outfit had changed too. I decided to go
from my black pinstripe skirt suit (awfully Muggle, yes, but old habits die hard) to a pair of dark
jeans and a tight white tee shirt, remembering to change my blazer into a simple hooded sweatshirt
for later.

*I hope this cheers me up,* I thought morosely as I watched my heeled feet step carefully
over the puddles on the sidewalk. *This is the only thing I could think of to make me feel
better. My boys are sometimes the only things in the world that make me feel happy. Being cheated
on is such crap. Honestly, if they can’t keep it in their pants, they should have the decency to
break up with you, **then*** *screw someone else, yeah? What is **wrong*** *with
men today?!*

I was so lost in my little rant that I almost missed the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, which
was, as always, cleverly and indiscriminately hidden between Muggle shops. A little bell tinkled
softly as I pushed open the door.

The place was hopping. The after-work crowd was swarming, in fact, it seemed like half of the
Ministry had my same idea! There was Tom from the Unspeakables, Katie from Payroll, oh, and was
that Mildred from the Wizengamot? I thought she had been killed by a Lethifold. That’s what Katie
told me. Wow. Shows how reliable office gossip can be.

There were no tables free at all in the busy pub, but there was a pair of seats free at the bar.
I hate sitting at bars. Really. It just encourages me to drink more because the bartender is right
*there* to refill my drink. *Looks like I’m going to spend tomorrow morning getting to
intimately know the toilet,* I thought grimly as I sat down on the left barstool, putting my
purse on the other to save it.

“Hey, ‘Mione,” I heard a voice whisper in my right ear a moment later, causing me to shiver
involuntarily.

Smiling as I looked up, I saw one of my best friends. It looked like it had been as long day for
him too, I noticed. His normally messy hair was unusually disorderly, his green eyes seemed weary,
and his clothes were rumpled.

“Bad day?” I asked curiously, my eyebrows rising as I asked, simultaneously reaching an arm out
to get a hug while I spoke.

“A bit,” he replied grumpily, hugging me tight to his athletic frame. “You?”

“Couldn’t concentrate on a damn thing all day. I think I might have accidentally signed at the
wrong spot on a ‘*Werewolves in the Workforce’* proposition, I spilled coffee all down my
front first thing in the morning, I spent half the morning searching for my reading glasses…and
they were in my hair the whole while.”

Harry snorted. “Only you, sweetheart,” he said teasingly.

“Hah hah, you’re so *funny*, Potter,” I said, dripping sarcasm from every word.

“Glad you noticed, m’dear,” he replied, not missing a beat. I loved his crooked grin. In my
opinion, it was one of his most flattering features. And right now, as I was the lucky recipient of
it, I felt like I owned the world.

“How could I not?” I deadpanned quickly. “So…how pissed do you think I’ll be by the end of the
night?”

Harry snorted, but tried to quickly cover it with a cough. “Um…remember that night Ron and I had
to drag you out of the karaoke bar while you sang very off-key Muggle Spice Girls songs?”

I nodded. “What about it?”

“Drunker than that.”

“No way,” I disagreed firmly. “I had about ten margaritas that night.”

“And you will have that same amount of alcohol in you tonight, if I have anything to say about
it.”

“Are you kidding? That’s a lot of drinks,” I replied incredulously.

“No worries. I got you. Hey, Tom! Can I get a round for me and ‘Mione over here? I’m thinking
something special…how about firewhiskey?” he asked me with a sly grin, tilting his head
challengingly.

“Harry, you know what that stuff does to my stomach,” I said, protesting.

“Yeah, it usually causes you to bare your stomach full-force. If I remember correctly, the last
time you, me, and Ron had a firewhiskey night, by the time Ron and I got you in bed, you had
nothing but a bra and knickers on. Black lacy ones, if I remember right,” he finished fondly,
scratching his chin with his index finger thoughtfully as he finished.

My face flushed with embarrassment. “Oh sure, rub it in, why don’t you?”

“I think I will. You look very nice in your underwear, Miss Granger. You should show them off
more often,” he whispered playfully.

Tom plopped our shot glasses down on the counter in front of us with a smile. “I’ll start a tab
for you and the lady then tonight, Mr. Potter?”

“That’d be great, Tom, thanks,” Harry replied, smiling up at the older man, before turning his
gaze back to me attentively.

I lifted my glass happily, meeting the eyes of a very handsome man. Tonight, I wouldn’t question
things. Tonight, I was going to have a great time with a man I had always been physically attracted
to, and who, tonight, was all mine. Tonight was going to be fun. “To the hope that firewhiskey has
its effects once more,” I said with a giggle.

Harry lifted his glass and, smiling, he said, “To the hope that Hermione will be in knickers or
less by the end of the night!”

My face blushed even more, but as the warm, comforting liquid slid down my throat, I began to
rapidly lose my embarrassment and self-consciousness along with all the problems I had carried
around throughout this ridiculously long day, instead, concentrating on the night…and its
possibilities.

*-*

I felt my heartbeat quicken as he took my hand, leading me into the bedroom. We stumbled down
the hallway, giggling quietly to ourselves.

Harry Potter put a finger over his mouth, indicating that we should be quiet. “Ron might hear,”
he whispered with a grin. It actually wasn’t the real volume of a whisper. Harry and I had had so
many drinks that we didn’t really know how loud we were being anymore. If anyone was home, they
would have woken up within the first few minutes of our stumbling into the flat. We were
*that* loud.

“I think he has an away game today,” I replied in my own stage whisper.

“We have the place to oursellllllvesss?” Harry asked, stumbling over his own words.

“I thiiink?” I asked. My head was starting to hurt. But my headache was going to have to wait…I
wanted to see where *whatever* was happening with Harry was going to lead. Smiling to myself,
I imagined how many witches would die to be in my shoes right now…drunk and more than likely to
have wild and completely uninhibited sex with Harry Potter.

*Wait…sex? Do I want to have sex with Harry? Won’t that wreck our friendship?* **Hah.**
*That didn’t stop you from screwing Ron back in 7th Year,* my mind retorted
sarcastically. *But that was different,* my mind protested. *Ron and I had a relationship
for almost a year! And yet, he never seemed to completely understand me. That’s probably why we
broke up. Harry always deals with my emotions, Ron comes for hugs and to deliver physical threats
to anyone that has hurt me, and I love both of them for it. But it’s hard to have a relationship
with someone who you know will just be leaving to immediately go ask Harry what I meant by whatever
it was that I said.*

My dismal and altogether confused thoughts were distracted by the feel of his lips, kissing up
my neck passionately before capturing my mouth in a long, electric kiss. I moaned softly at the
touch. Harry’s lips were warm and insistent upon my own. His hot tongue darted out to run along my
bottom lip in a silent plea to open my mouth and deepen the contact. Willingly I conceded, opening
my mouth to him and tangling his tongue with my own in a fierce battle for domination, my hands
entwining in his messy jet black locks. *Why did we wait so long to do this? What have I been
missing here?*

He was simultaneously trying to steer us down the hallway without breaking the kiss, keeping my
body firmly pressed up against his the whole while with his roving hands, one of which was hovering
dangerously close to my bum.

I could feel Harry’s hand squeeze my arse as he clumsily fumbled with the doorknob to his room.
Finally twisting the knob, the door creaked as it swung open, revealing a smallish room that was
extremely cluttered. When my gaze fell on a pair of inside-out plaid boxers lying in a heap on the
floor, my heartbeat quickened again. If I hadn’t drunk that last shot of firewhiskey, I’m
*almost* positive that my conscience would be kicking in right now. At least, I’m pretty sure
it would be, anyway. I had always found Harry attractive, naturally. I wasn’t blind, for Merlin’s
sake. But I don’t think I would have ever entered into anything physical with him sober, it would
have endangered our delicate friendship too much. But, tonight, I wasn’t sober; I had drunk that
last shot…which had followed the first eight. I had downed them playfully in my attempt to drink
Harry under the table- an attempt, I now noticed ironically, that had gone rather unsuccessfully,
not that I minded in the slightest. As I walked towards his bed, he gently shut the door behind
us.

Harry quickly crossed the room, and pulled me over him so that I was straddling him on the bed.
One of his hands was back to quite enthusiastically touching my arse, while the other had taken to
running through my bushy brunette locks. Meanwhile, he continued his attentions to my neck and the
bit of my chest that was bared by the scoop neck of my shirt. Desperate for more warm skin for
which to give his ministrations, he anxiously pulled my shirt up over my head.

With my help it came off quite easily, leaving me in nothing but a cream lace bra between him
and my 34Cs.

Harry smiled as he looked at me nearly topless, for the first time actually allowed to
*look* and not do the friendly duty of averting his eyes. From the growing hardness I could
feel from my prime straddled position, he seemed to like what he saw.

“You have toooooo much clothing onnnn,” I slurred, panting slightly while I met Harry’s eyes,
which lit up with a smile.

“Well, we’ll justtttt have to do somethingggggg about that, won’ttttttt we?” he asked with a
grin, slurring his words slightly as well, easily flipping me so that I was lying down on the bed.
He removed his shirt and straddled me before resuming his kisses.

There is something about kissing bare-chested that is just so…*hot.* Even though I had the
bra on, every bit of me felt the difference. It’s the extra warmth on your skin, the added
friction, the feel of hard male muscle versus the soft feminine curves. Everything about it is
sexy. While my tongue continue the endlessly enjoyable dance with Harry’s, my hands eagerly
explored his chest (toned from practicing Quidditch with Ron to get Ron ready for matches),
wandering up and down, further down each time, until my hand collided with his belt.

Reaching down quickly, I undid Harry’s belt for him before undoing his jeans and sliding them
off of his lanky frame. Now he was in nothing but blue plaid boxers, and I could see a considerable
erection in his boxers already, much to my excitement.

Looking slyly down at me, he leaned to huskily whisper in my ear, “Nowwww who has too much
clothessssss?”

I got a shiver of excitement as he said it. I was starting to get goosebumps on my arms because
of the cold temperature of the flat. Harry’s weight was slightly suffocating, too. But I realized
with great surprise that I really didn’t care. I was so turned on by the alcohol, how Harry had
gone out of his way to make me forget about that modelizer of an ex, how fantastic of a kisser
Harry was, what a wonderful sculpted chest he had, what a promising bulge that was in his boxers…
*nothing* could ruin this for me.

I reached up to grab the back of his head, crushing his face to mine in an extremely passionate
kiss while Harry helped me out of my jeans. “Well, whattttt do you knowwwwwww?” I said softly. “I
ended up in my underwearrrrrrr, after alllllllll.”

“You’re goinggg to be in lessssss than thattt if I have any sayyyyy in it, missssssyyyy,” Harry
said sternly, kissing down my jaw line, trailing down my chest, and ending up and the perky tops of
my breasts. Proudly pert through the flimsy lingerie, my rosy nipples were quite obviously hard.
Harry brought his hand up to explore my breasts. Running his fingers lightly over them in a soft
stroke, they quickly stood to attention.

Honestly, I’m not usually a “boobs” girl. When I guy touches my breasts, 95% of them are just
hurting me and I just don’t have the heart to tell them so. But…Harry, whew. He knew how to push a
girl’s buttons. Instead of going straight for attempting to use my breasts to knead spare dough for
his kidney pies, he went for the gentle caress route. If he only knew how mad he was driving me by
gently flipping his finger over my nipple, back and forth, slowly, softly, languorously, lovely*,
just* like *that*…

Harry Potter was driving me insane. *Insane with lust, at least,* my thoughts
deadpanned.

And it was completely true. I don’t think I had honestly ever been as turned on as I was then in
my entire life, which is truly amazing seeing as all we really did so far was make out and remove
some clothing. There was no real petting or oral involved! I don’t even know if where Harry and I
were right then physically would qualify for “second base”, but the pooling of heat between my legs
suggested that it didn’t matter in the slightest.

He was now reaching behind me to unclasp my bra. In one deft movement, he unclasped and removed
the offending piece of cloth, throwing it towards the pile of clothing we seemed to be amassing on
his already messy floor.

My breasts sprang up, relieved to be free of their uncomfortable cage.

Harry sat up to carefully take me in, seeing me completely topless for the first time. “Yooou’re
beeeautiiifuulll, ‘Mione,” he slurred softly.

I smiled through my haze. “Thaannkkss…youuu’ree not so bad yourrrselfff.”

His hands reached down to eagerly palm my breasts. But instead of kneading like so many failed
Don Juans before him, he took my breast in his hand, and began to make decisive strokes near my
sensitive nipples with his probing fingers. Leaning down, he captured my right nipple in his mouth,
suckling it gently as his other hand ministered to my left breast, now rolling the left nipple
between his fingers.

“Ohhhh, Harrrrrrrrrryyy,” I found myself moaning softly, arching my back slightly. This was one,
possibly the veritable first, time on record that someone besides myself had actually successfully
managed to turn me on with my breasts and kissing alone. This was *amazing.*

Running my hands down his back as he continued suckling my breasts enthusiastically (he was now
alternating from one breast to the other so that each got an equal amount of attention), I found
the waistband of his boxers and began to pull them off, squeezing his arse in the process.

“Mmm, ‘Mione…” I heard him say quietly, panting the whole while.

Reaching my hand around to his front, I boldly grabbed hold of his penis, wrapping my hand
around his shaft. “You’rrreee big,” I had gasped with excitement, beginning to pump his shaft.

Harry hadn’t answered, just stopped suckling my tits to reach his hand down to my underwear,
cream lace boy-shorts. “Theeeesee are *sexxxxxxxxyyy*,” he whispered excitedly, putting his
other hand so that his hands were on my hips, fingers looped in the delicate fabric. Meeting my
eyes and enrapturing my lips in an intense kiss, he pulled them down over my legs while I moved to
cupping his balls slightly while pumping his shaft.

“Glaaaaadd you thiiink sooo,” I replied quietly, pushing Harry back down on the bed so that I
could have a proper look at his member.

Satisfied at the definitely above-average cock that met my sight, I leaned down to capture his
penis in my mouth. Slowly taking in the whole long shaft, I found myself choking slightly as I
moved up and down on it, my bushy brown hair getting slightly in my eyes as I did so.

“Fuuuuuuckk, ‘Mione. Ohhhh, fuuuuck yes,” Harry panted, running his hands through my hair as I
continued to enthusiastically suck his cock.

After a few minutes of licking, kisses to the head, and deep-throating the shaft (not forgetting
to play with his balls a bit, naturally), he said, “Mmmm…Mione, you better stoppp or I’m goinnnggg
to cum…and I haddd such a looovely surpriiiise in store for youuu.”

At the mention of a surprise, I stopped immediately, getting up so we were now looking at each
other placidly. It was almost surreal. I was sitting on a bed across from my best friend, both of
us completely naked with his penis completely hard and leaking pre-cum onto the white
comforter.

The surreal moment was abruptly ended as Harry eased me back on the bed so I was lying down,
kissing me passionately as he did so. Kissing his way down my body, he circled my belly button with
his tongue before moving further south. Finally arriving at the apex of my thighs, he looked as if
he was about to simply start to lick me…before changing his mind and starting to kiss my left calf
and moving upwards…

*Closer…just a little closer, Harry*¸ my brain was shouting as he continued his cruel
teasing. His playful eyes met my desperate ones as he kept it up. I could tell he was waiting for
something. If only I knew what.

“Harry…please…”I begged quietly, my voice aching with dissatisfaction.

“Please whaaaaat, ‘Mione?” he asked simply, his green eyes betraying a certain humorous take on
the situation I wasn’t entirely sure that I appreciated.

“Pleeeaseee…” I trailed off. This seemed so vulgar to say. I had never said it, especially never
asked a guy directly to do it…except in my wildest fantasies. But those don’t count. Those
fantasies usually involved a tied-down, squirming, gorgeous man (who looked suspiciously liked
Harry, now that I thought about it) and an endless supply of whipped cream. But this was real.
“Please…um…”

“Please whaaaaaaaaaat, baby?” Harry cooed softly, his hands trailing up and down my leg that he
was now holding up at an angle, each time dipping closer…and then even tantalizingly closer to my
hot wetness.

“Fuck me?” I supplied weakly, meeting his eyes.

Harry knew what I really wanted. I knew what I really wanted. He looked slightly disappointed in
me for not being able to honestly ask for it. “Mione, it’s just me. Yooou can tell my
anythiiing.”

“Fiine. Pleeasee give me oral, Harrrry.”

“Yooou mean eat you out, riiiight?”

I sighed. I should have known he would make me say it in the crudest way possible, if nothing
else than just to force me not to be afraid or embarrassed by a few words. Grudgingly, I repeated,
“Yesss, pleeease eat me out.”

Harry finally grinned. “Be happy to.”

It was fantastic. I wish I could give it justice through words…but that’s supremely difficult.
The adjectives ‘tantalizing’, ‘hot’, ‘amazing’, ‘sexy’, and ‘bloody awesome’ don’t even start to
give justice to how well Harry Potter can give oral. I was really blown away.

“Mmm…Harrrrrryy!” I gasped as his tongue darted around my sensitive clit, and then languorously
drifted down my slit to push his tongue into my hole enthusiastically. Bringing his hand up to my
pussy, he replaced his tongue with two fingers inside my hole, gently fucking it, tickling my
g-spot in *just* the right way.

“Oh, God!” I yelled, panting as Harry’s tongue went back up to suck my clit, one of his hands
enthusiastically fucking me, the other reaching up and tweaking my right nipple. “I’m cumming,
Harry! I’m cumming!”

Harry smirked in self-satisfaction, his rapid strokes on my clit turning into slow lapping
motions to let me ride out my orgasm.

“Oh, holy fuck,” I said, panting softly.

He just smiled at me, before pointedly looking at his still-hard cock, sitting helplessly in his
lap.

“Ohhhh, come here, Harry,” I said with a smile, lying back on some pillows.

He stood kneeling over me, his hard cock jutting out proudly. Putting my hand to his cock, I
guided it to my slick hole.

Harry’s eyes met mine as he slowly pushed into me. I was no virgin, make no mistake, but Harry
really filled me up completely. I even felt more complete when he was inside me. It was lovely.

Panting slightly as he slid his cock through my wetness up to the hilt, he leaned down to brush
a kiss on my forehead.

“I lovvve you, ‘Mione,” he said softly.

“I love yoooou, Harrrry,” I slurred, brushing a curl away from my face. “Buuut Harrry?”

“Yeeeeahh, baaaby?” he asked curiously, probably because this was such an awkward time for
talking…ready for sex and all.

But I only wanted to say one thing.

“Fuuuucck me harrrrd.”

-*-

**Authoress’ Note:** I’m not normally a smut writer, as I’m sure you all can tell. And sorry
that the drunk-talk was annoying to read, trust me, it was annoying to write. But it’s absolutely
essential that everyone remember they were drunk off their asses in this chapter, so I saw no harm
in reinforcing the point. Review and let me know what y’all thought! Thanks for reading!



2. Firewhiskey Makes My Clothes Fall Off
----------------------------------------

**-*-**

**I May Hate Myself in the Morning**

**Mei Queen**

**-*-**

**Authoress’ Note-** *Wow*… This story was actually only begun as an experiment in smut
because I didn’t want my first smut scene to be in one of my beloved and long-time stories…but I
got quite a response. I really wasn’t expecting the reaction I got; it was really wonderful how
encouraging all of you were. I can’t even begin to let you all know how amazing it was to read your
reviews, so **thank you** all so much! I hope to hear from you all again, because it really made
my day!

-*-

**Chapter 2- Firewhiskey Makes My Clothes Fall Off**

“U-ugh,” I grunted, clutching my stomach in misery. The cool tiled floor against my face felt
reassuring as the pain in my head continued to pound with all the tact of a eight-year-old learning
the drums. It had, quite possibly, been the longest night of my life. All I could really remember
was going to the bar with Harry, flirting, some Firewhiskey, and waking up in Harry’s bed…with
Harry. **Naked.**

There was a dream I had last night, too…positively erotic it was. In it, Harry and I had come
home from the bar, snuck quietly in, and then proceeded to have the most fantastic sex of all time.
That had to be a dream, right? Incredible things like that just don’t happen to me in real
life.

When I had woken up, however, I really didn’t have time to analyze what did or didn’t happen
last night, as I barely made it to the loo in time. The thoughts continued to be put on hold as I
possessively staked out my new fort around the porcelain throne. Much to my dismay, I quickly came
to the depressing conclusion that I wasn’t going *anywhere* for at least an hour. Note to
self**- *stop drinking****, Firewhiskey or otherwise. If a cute boy offers you a drink,
ask if he’s got a condom instead. Sex burns calories, gives you endorphins, and doesn’t give you
bloody horrid hangovers. Hmm…aside from the fact that the plan makes me look slightly whorish, it’s
a fantastic idea, I think.*

*If only the Ministry could see me now,* I thought ironically, pulling myself up to the
toilet rim again. Hermione Jayne Granger, “perfect example and head of a department that only she
could properly captain with the correct balance of attentiveness and cooperation”. At least that
was what they had written on my yearly evaluation, which I’m sure they were just flattering me on.
I think I have the most job security anyone could ask for; nobody else wants to petition the rights
of werewolves day in and day out for minimum pay and maximum hours. *I wonder what my despotic
boss up in Foreign Affairs would say. Knowing Miranda, she’d probably be disgusted. Woman’s never
had a night of fun in her life. Merlin knows she’s probably never gotten laid…wow, **that** was
mean! I am **so*** *going to hell.* Shaking myself out of my reverie, I groped on the
bathroom counter for something to pull my hair back with.

-

Harry Potter, meanwhile, hadn’t even noticed me get up from the bed that morning. He had been
snoozing peacefully, one arm lazily draped across my naked abdomen. I was almost sad to move, he
seemed too happy with me there. I imagine it was probably a welcome break for poor Harry- if
*I* had been through what he had, I would certainly be thrilled to have a life-size teddy bear
to cuddle up to during the nightmares as well. But right now it looked like his dreams were coming
to an end, as I heard the snoring abruptly stop from his side of the hallway, some rustling around
in his bedroom, and slightly muffled footsteps padding slowly towards the bathroom.

If the Firewhiskey had completely worn off by this point, I’m pretty sure that I would have
either- *1) panicked completely by the fact that I was completely nude and retching to high
heaven, 2) attempted to cover myself up, or 3) gotten up and shut the bathroom door,* or a
combination of the three, but it hadn’t yet worn off, I’m sad to say. So I didn’t do anything about
my nudity. In fact, the cool tiles were feeling pretty damn nice against my naked skin, something
that I was just beginning to revel in when Harry Potter stopped in complete shock in the doorway.
His glasses were askew, hair rumpled, and he was wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers.

“Er, Hermione, what the hell are you doing?” It was not an accusatory or rude tone, merely a
question.

“What does it bloody look like I’m doing, Harry?”

“It looks like you’re being naked in the loo with the door open.”

“Well, I hear exhibitionism is all the rage nowadays,” I supplied wearily, before feeling a
surge of sickness come on again and quickly ducking my head back down to the toilet. “Can I help
you?”

“I have to use the toilet.”

“It’ll have to wait, sorry,” I snapped irritably, pulling my hair back. If I were a bit more
sober, I’m sure I would have taken the moment to check out Mr. Harry James Potter in nothing but
skimpy boxers, but I wasn’t really thinking. I idly wondered if my peripheral vision was catching
some movement in his boxers. *Yes, definite bulging,* I thought with a self-satisfied
smirk.

Putting the thought to the side for the moment, I clutched my aching head in my hands. It was
all I could do to think about something besides the buzzing pain emanating from my head, and the
slowly returning balance of stomach acids to alcohol ratio. *There must only a little bit left to
go, I can’t spend eternity on this bathroom floor,* I thought grimly, idly wondering what the
record was for time spent hugging the toilet the morning after a big night out.

“Have to wait? What do you expect me to do about it, ‘Mione? I have to piss.” Harry was looking
at me incredulously by this point. Apparently the Firewhiskey had had much less of an effect on
him, *he* wasn’t sick.

Hell, *he* even remembered to wear *clothes.*

“Did we lose the backyard in the last 24 hours or something? Go out there! I’m not in any
position to go anywhere.”

True to my word, I finished retching for the moment and collapsed on the floor in complete
exhaustion. *It’s Saturday morning,* I mentally began to plan as I heard the sliding door
leading to the backyard open. *That means I have exactly a day and a half to get the buzzing head
and stomach pain to go away, and…Sweet Merlin! Could he have slammed that door any bloody louder?
Sounds like a herd of fucking trolls have decided to drop in for tea!*

I groaned more to myself and rolled over onto my stomach on the floor as I idly listened to
Harry’s footsteps clunk back down the hallway. I had not had a hangover in ages, but Harry was most
definitely not helping things with how bloody noisy he was being. *Or maybe that’s just in my
head,* I wondered agonizingly, wetting a towel to drape over my forehead.

-

“So, how’s it going? Would you like a cup of tea?” Harry asked in his most normal voice, propped
casually against the doorframe like I wasn’t completely exposed and we were simply discussing
Puddlemere United’s chances at winning the Cup.

“Sure, thanks,” I managed out gratefully, before feeling sick again. *Wait, that might have
been it…oh, please, God, let that have been it! I can’t take this ruddy retching anymore…my throat
hurts so badly!*

Brushing a few stray strands of hair out of my face, my mind turned to Harry. *I wonder if he
remembers what happened last night. He didn’t seem too awkward about this…so maybe he does know?
Maybe he’d care to share, because I’d sure as hell like to know what happened.*

Finally feeling a little bit better, I managed to slip to my suitcase and grab out a robe. As I
was cinching it tight, I heard the kettle begin its high-pitched wail from the kitchen. *Perfect
timing.*

-

“So, are you feeling better, then?” he began rather shakily, his teacup balanced precariously
with his right index finger. I noticed that he had changed into some real clothes. *First I’m
naked, and he’s got boxers. Now I’ve got a robe, but he’s got clothes. I’m always more
exposed!*

“A bit,” I answered, smiling at him. This seemed to calm Harry down and embolden him
slightly.

“W...W-what do you make of last night?”

My face heated with embarrassment, and my eyes trailed to the ground. I hugged my knees to my
chest, setting my teacup onto the end table as I tried to think up a proper response to the
question. “I don’t remember it all, to be honest. Do you?”

His emerald eyes looked thoughtful a moment before answering, “I think I do for most of it,
yeah. It gets rather fuzzy there at the end, though. We really probably shouldn’t have had so much
ruddy Firewhiskey.”

“Probably not,” I quipped with a grin. “Will you tell me what happened?”

“Do you really want to know?”

The grin left my face and my eyes hardened in response. “Yes. I really do.”

-

*Apparently, after we had gotten those first few shots, conversation had drifted. We talked
about the Hogwarts days, what we missed about school, who we missed from school, our relationships
and how they never seemed to work out. Harry began to reminisce about one of my bloody
**favourite** subjects- Cho Chang in all her glory. I couldn’t believe that he brought it up.
From what I gathered by Harry’s storytelling, this is basically the conversation:*

*“Do you remember that disastrous Hogsmeade date I had with Cho back in fifth year?” Harry had
asked.*

*Snorting into my firewhiskey, I had replied, “You mean the one where she had a total fit
because she thought you were comparing her to me?”*

*Harry had grinned, his green eyes lighting up. “That’s the one. It has taken years for me to
figure it out, but I always wondered why you were the person I started babbling about when I got
nervous. I mean, why didn’t I talk about **Ron**? He and I have been mates for ages, and yet it
was **you** that I talked about, and that’s always been something I’ve been curious
about.”*

*I listened intently, obviously expecting more. “…And?”*

*“And…I think I came to the conclusion about three months ago. I was out in the field on a
mission, and I woke up from a dream. It was about you. Well, more specifically, it was a
nightmare.”*

*I had shot him a look of irritation. “I’m so glad to hear that you think so highly of me in
your sleep, Mr. Potter.”*

*Harry had had the good grace to look embarrassed, blushing slightly and taking a sip of his
drink. “I didn’t mean it that way…it was a nightmare that you were hurt, or captured by Voldemort.
Some shit like that. I have a lot of those. But when I woke up wanting to send Hedwig to you
straightaway to make sure you were all right, I realized who else would be there when you got it,
that ridiculous prick of a boyfriend you had.”*

*I remembered this part of the night vividly without Harry having to tell me. This had been
the beginning of my lovely explicit fantasy of the morning (which I was quickly learning was not
quite as fictional as I had thought). He had leaned in slightly closer to me. I could feel his warm
breath against my cheek as he leaned in towards my ear as if we were sharing the most intimate of
secrets.*

*“…I think I fancied you then.”*

*It made me smile, the innocence of the words. I remembered blushing and smiling up at him,
finally regarding him for the handsome man that he was.*

*Though Harry Potter and I had had a shared past, nothing happened as we had expected. I had
always expected to end up with Ron and him with Ginny. We would each marry a Weasley and see each
other at family reunions from here until Christendom with our respective redheaded bespectacled and
bushy-haired children. At least, that was always how I had pictured it. But like all of the
best-laid plans, it didn’t work out in the slightest. Harry had come back from the war shaken up
and worried for the ones that he loved, Ginny had immediately wanted a family. Their priorities had
become vastly different. The war had forced Harry to grow wise beyond his years, while Ginny
Weasley was still untouched, naïve, carefree. The night that their relationship had ended…Harry had
come to me. Nothing romantic had happened, but he had gotten into bed with me, citing that he just
didn’t want to be alone. I had wrapped an arm around him, murmuring ‘don’t worry, everything will
be fine’ until he fell asleep. We woke the next morning, blushing and slightly embarrassed at
waking up next to one another, but I had seen it in his eye- an unspoken gratification for my
always being there for him.*

*And now, he was telling me that back in our school days he had had a slight crush on me. I
remember feeling really flattered by the sentiment. Harry James Potter, most eligible bachelor in
all of the United Kingdom, had liked me.*

*Slightly brazen by the alcohol and curiosity pulsing through all my veins, apparently I
shifted my body towards him, huskily asking, “So why did you stop fancying me?”*

*According to Harry, his response was what had set the cogs of the night in motion. He had
leaned even closer into me. I could smell his light cologne. Meeting my chocolate eyes with his
stunning emerald, he had simply asked, “What says I stopped?”*

*-*

The teacup shook in my hand, my face heating and colouring. “We….we…”

I couldn’t wrap my mind around saying the sentence.

Harry apparently couldn’t either, because he simply nodded his red face to indicate that *yes,
Hermione, we shagged. That is rather the point of the long-winded rendition of last night.* I
couldn’t believe we were both being so immature about this. We should be acting like calm, composed
adults. It’s *just* shagging, right? That’s what they say on all those ruddy ridiculous Muggle
sitcoms, anyway.

“So…now what?” I asked, if nothing else than to simply stall for time.

Harry looked slightly bemused, mussing his hair with one hand while he mulled it over. “I don’t
know. What do you want?”

“Why do I always have to answer the hard questions?”

He snorted with laughter. “Haven’t you heard? You’re the ‘*brightest witch of our year’*.
That title is equal to ‘*Hermione has answers to everything’*.”

I giggled. “I hated being called that, you know! It was flattering, sure…but when one hears it
enough, it becomes rather irritating. Everyone thought they were being *so* original by
telling me that.”

Harry’s eyes met mine, and we both smiled. It was at that moment that I felt something I don’t
think I’ve ever experienced before while looking at one of my best friends: a tug on my
heartstrings. Ron had had that effect to a minor extent, but never the churning, nervous sensation
I was feeling at the moment. I felt like I was about to go give a fifty-minute long speech to the
entirety of Hogwarts with how much my knees were starting to shake. And I couldn’t help noticing
that there was a voice somewhere deep down that was whispering- *don’t let this pass you
by.*

I cleared my throat nervously, twirling a frizzing brown curl around my finger.

Harry looked equally nervous as put his head in his hands, sighing in exasperation. “Do…do you
want to tell Ron?”

I snorted with derision, simultaneously blowing my fringe away from my face. “Tell him what? ‘Oh
yeah, Ron, by the way…when you were at that game against the Harpies, Harry and I shagged like
rabbits’? *Hardly*.”

He laughed in reply. “True. Maybe we should keep this from Ron for a bit, then? Just ‘til we
know what’s going on?”

I nodded, relieved. “We have a secret,” I whispered with a conspiratorial grin.

“That we do, ‘Mione.”

-

I found myself staring into Harry’s endless eyes before a toppling sound from the foyer
interrupted my reverie.

“Bleedin’ coat rack…we must get rid of that thing,” I heard being muttered.

“Hi, Ron!” I called in what I hoped was an appropriately cheerful tone. My face was still bright
red from Harry’s slightly startling news of the morning, but there wasn’t time to change that.
However, as I looked down, I noticed I was only in a scant robe with considerable skin exposed. My
eyes widening as they met Harry’s again, I dashed towards my suitcase and grabbed some clothes,
heading to the loo to change.

I could hear the boys’ voices as I stared blankly into my reflection in the bathroom. I
discovered that I could actually make out what they were saying if I put my ears up to the thin
wood door. Doing so, I overheard this juicy conversation:

“So, mate, how was the game?” I could hear Harry asking nervously, though I doubted Ronald
Weasley would have noticed if his best friend was wearing a sign that said “*Want to Shag
Hermione? Ask Me How!”* Ron just wasn’t always that observant, bless him.

“Crap. We lost so bad that we thought we were in the negative. Turns out that that’s actually
impossible, given some random ruling from 1683 in Romania… well, it was a historical match.
Historically crap, but historical,” Ron muttered darkly. I could hear the refrigerator (which Harry
had insisted on when he moved in the flat, as Harry still relied on a few Muggle appliances) being
opened and shut, and the carafe rattling on the coffeemaker. I gasped with recognition. *I knew I
forgot something! I always try to make sure Ron gets his coffee since I’ve been here.*

Sure enough, I could just make out Ron’s confused yell. “Is ‘Mione feeling alright?”

“W…why do you ask?”

“She didn’t make the coffee. She’s done that everyday since she’s been here. She normally gets
up *hours* before now, so I don’t see how she could have survived a morning without her
caffeine.”

I felt like I could hear Harry trying to think up an excuse, but judging by the length of his
silence, he probably couldn’t think of one. Zipping up my jeans and pulling my long hair back into
a ponytail, I quickly strode out of the loo.

“Were you asking about me, Ron?” I asked in a voice that I hoped sounded appropriately
bright.

“I was just wondering why we don’t have any coffee this morning, that’s all.”

Racking my brain for a moment, I was relieved to stumble upon a genuinely good excuse. “We’re
out. We need to run to the store, but I haven’t gotten out yet today.”

“It’s almost noon.”

“So?” I asked quickly.

“You normally get up at six in the morning. Without alarm clocks, for the love of Merlin. It’s
unnatural.”

I sighed exasperatedly, crossing my arms and giving Ron my best ‘*don’t bloody push it’*
look. It worked.

“I’m sure you’re just busy, ‘Mione…let me go get the groceries, I’ll make you coffee!” Ron
offered quickly, eyes widening. I knew that this was his way of apologizing, so I smiled in
reply.

“I’m living in your flat, guys, the least I can do is shop. Besides, the two of you usually get
the worst deals or buy things I didn’t actually ask for, no offence.”

“None taken,” Harry muttered with a smirk.

“Okay, I’m going to take a shower and then I’ll head out in about half an hour,” I said quickly,
relieved to have gotten through that first nerve-wracking interaction with the three of us.

As I strode down the corridor to the loo, I could hear Ron lower his voice and whisper to Harry,
“*She hasn’t even taken a shower yet?”*

-

As I rounded the aisle, I was faced with my one supreme downfall: breads. It was amazing I
wasn’t a sumo wrestler with how much bread I could eat. The spongy delicacy had always been my
comfort food, and it was coincidentally my favourite aisle in any grocery store, anywhere. How
those crazy Muggles could do that ruddy Atkins’ Diet was beyond me. Bread was *life…* or at
least a big part of mine, thank you very much.

Eye on the top-most shelves (which are always the best, you’d be amazed at the great things they
keep up there. But nobody knows because they don’t *look!*), I reached with futility towards a
particularly delectable-looking loaf.

“Come here, you little bugger,” I muttered under my breath, stepping on my tiptoes. I idly
wondered if I could simply *Accio* the thing down before being hit by an immediate wave of
guilt for the very thought. I was in a Muggle grocery store, for chrissake. I didn’t want to cause
a scene, especially one that would involve the Ministry’s obliviators…I wasn’t in the mood to see
anyone from work on my weekend, thanks very much.

Grunting slightly, I felt my fingertips close around the plastic handle. “Just a bit closer,” I
encouraged softly, tugging a little harder.

It wasn’t moving.

Sighing, I resigned myself to one of the loaves on the lower shelves (which, sadly, looked far
less appetizing).

“Did you need help?” a male voice asked, cutting through my misery.

Looking up, I was faced with an extremely handsome man. He apparently didn’t work here (no
smock, I noticed), was extremely well-dressed, and had blue eyes the colour of the sea on a stormy
day. I flashed him my most demure smile, pointing to the loaf that simply wouldn’t go anywhere.

“Here you go,” he said softly, handing it down to me with ease.

“Thanks,” I whispered with a nod, putting it in to my buggy.

“You’re welcome. Listen, this will probably sound odd, but…don’t I know you from somewhere?”

I snorted. “Probably not. I don’t really get out much.”

He shook his head insistently. “No, I have! Do you work at the Ministry?”

My heart was nervously palpitating at this point. “Of course not, I’m not really up on politics.
Don’t even know who the Prime Minister is these days.”

The man smirked in return.

Dropping his voice, he stepped closer to me. I took a nervous step backwards, before he laid a
comforting hand on my arm, whispering, “I mean the Ministry of *Magic,* Hermione.”

“You know my name? Well, I suppose that’s only mildly stalkerish,” I muttered, brushing a hair
away from my face. I was beginning to get slightly uncomfortable with how much this man seemed to
know about me and how little I knew about him. I was really starting to wish I had brought the boys
with me.

“You don’t remember me, I see.”

“Can’t say that I do, sorry.”

“I drafted the ‘Give Goblins Gringotts’ proposal to you. You know, the one where we proposed
that all the goblins working the desks, not just the execs, would get a cut of the stocks and the
profits? I really enjoyed working with you, actually. Always meant to tell you,” he finished,
grinning at me.

Who did I work with on that proposal again? That was over a year ago. Um…it was…

“Billy McKinnon?” I ventured.

He grinned in reply. “That’s me,” he laughed.

“It’s good to see you again, Billy. Wow, you look fantastic, I didn’t even recognize you!”

Billy chuckled. “Fifty pounds and some serious bubotuber pus will do that to you, Hermione. How
has life been for you?”

My mind flashed to rolling around with Harry on his bed last night, the hangover which hadn’t
totally subsided, the terrible break-up with the ex… Smiling, I replied, “Fantastic, and you?”

“Great. I have to go, but I’d like to have dinner with you sometime so we can catch up.” Billy
eyes looked hopeful as he asked.

*Should I go? Harry and I aren’t exclusive…hell, we’re not even definitely dating. I suppose
it won’t harm anything…I really would like to see how Billy has been; he was a great companion when
we were drafting that proposal. Pretty funny, if I remember right.* “Sure, why not?” I replied
with a smile.

I could see visible relief apparent on his features; obviously he didn’t ask women out often.
*At least not in the bread aisle,* I mentally quipped.

Scrawling my number down on a spare bit of parchment in my purse, I handed it over to him.
*Here’s hoping Harry doesn’t have a thestral about this…*

*-*

**Authoress’ Note:** How will Harry react? Will crap hit the fan when Mione comes home? How
will her date with Billy go? All this and more answered in the next instalment of “I May Hate
Myself in the Morning”! Oh…and that review section down there....the button *does* work. TRY
it. **REVIEW**. I will appreciate it SO much. *Thank you.* Okay. I’m done with the pathetic
begging now, lol.



3. Miss Loony Lovegood
----------------------

-

**I May Hate Myself in the Morning**

**Mei Queen**

-

**Authoress’ Note:** Thanks for all of your support, everyone…I appreciate every single
review, and even though I don’t always get the time to reply, just know that you have made my day
infinitely better by taking the time to comment, even if it was something simple like “good job” or
“keep writing”. And, to the people who leave the long and detailed reviews? Well, you’re just
flat-out **fab.**

**-**

**Disclaimer:** Uh. Yeah. Soooo…not mine.

**-**

**LAST CHAPTER-**

*Should I go? Harry and I aren’t exclusive…hell; we’re not even definitely dating. I suppose
it won’t harm anything. I really would like to see how Billy has been; he was a great companion
when we were drafting that proposal. Pretty funny, if I remember right.* “Sure, why not?” I
replied with a smile.

-

**Chapter 3:** Miss Loony Lovegood

**-**

I twiddled the keys in my hand, relishing the feel of the cool metal against my sweaty palm. I
had spent the past five minutes savouring the walk to the flat’s door. I *really* did not want
to go in. I did not want to have to explain to Harry that I just accepted a date invite with
another bloke. The logical part of me was saying that Harry and I, well, we were not remotely an
item. We aren’t dating. We shagged once due to truly ridiculous amounts of alcohol in our
bloodstreams.

But my heart wasn’t buying it.

The rest of me was saying that there was an undeniable connection between Harry Potter and me.
*That night couldn’t have just been coincidence,* the emotional side passionately argued.
*People don’t just ‘hook up’. There is always underlying attraction. Especially in this case, as
there was considerable flirting involved while both of us were drinking. Somewhere in the shots of
firewhiskey, you **knew** where the night was leading, and you ordered another round.*

-

“Hermione, are you okay?” Ronald Weasley called, swinging open the front door and striding out
to meet me where I was standing motionless in the walkway.

Shaking off my reverie, I met his eyes with a smile. “Yeah, thanks, I’m fine.”

“But…you parked about ten minutes ago and still haven’t made it to the door.”

“I’m a slow walker,” I replied with an uneasy smile, waving off his intense expression of
concern.

“Hermione,” Ron replied in his ‘please don’t try to lie to me’ tone, “*Dementors* walk
faster than this. And they don’t even walk. They-”

“Glide, yes, thank you. I *know*, Ronald,” I snapped, looking up at him fiercely.

Ron held up his hands in surrender.

“I’m sorry, Ron, it’s been a long day. Help me get the groceries out of the boot?” I asked
hopefully, dangling the keys by his empty hands.

“Sure,” he replied with a tentative grin, accepting the keys with dexterity.

Smiling, I turned to walk to the car with him to help unload the bags, but a voice stopped me
before I could go any further.

“What were you out here doing?”

Harry was whispering in my ear, but the undertones were really unnecessary as Ron was already
out of earshot, anyway. Looking up, I noticed how anxious Harry’s stunning emerald eyes looked at
that moment. *He was worried,* the emotional part of me thought sappily.

Then the emotional side sobered up a bit when it remembered that I still had to somehow relay
that I had accepted a date with another man, for reasons I entirely do not remember. It is
extremely difficult, you see, to remember why one would want to date anyone but Harry Potter when
standing near his presence, especially if you’re looking in to his eyes.

Which I was.

Sighing and resolutely tearing my eyes away from his, I looked at my feet and clasped my hands.
“Uh, I have something to tell you, but I really didn’t know how to say it.”

“You can tell me anything, ‘Mione, you know that.”

I chuckled hollowly. “That’s sweet, Harry, but there are some things you don’t want to
hear.”

My eyes were still trained on the ground, so I noted with amusement Harry’s feet stepping a few
paces backward after my statement. He waited a few moments before clearing his breath and replying
nervously, “This doesn’t have anything to do with, um*, women stuff,* does it?”

I couldn’t help it. The bubbling giggles inside me were threatening to explode. So I slowly let
out a mild chortle, which turned into a healthy laugh, and from there blossomed to a full-blown
case of the giggles.

Harry Potter, naturally, thought I had gone completely mad. As did Ron, who had just rejoined
our little party, arms full to the brim with brown grocery bags.

The redhead was staring at me crossly when I began to regain my composure. “What is it,
Ron?”

“Oh, nothing, ‘Mione. Just that generally when one asks for *help* with the groceries, it
implies that they themselves are going to do something to *help.* For future reference, and
all,” he muttered with a scowl, turning to walk up to the door.

Oops. Right. I knew I was forgetting something. “Sorry, Ron. Harry just had to ask me a
question.”

Ron swivelled, mildly placated. Calmly, he turned to Harry. “Well, out with it, mate. What was
so bloody important?”

Harry reddened and immediately began to stutter.

*Merlin, the bloke’s a crap liar,* I thought to myself with amusement before quickly trying
to think of an alibi. “Um, Harry was asking me whether it’s really wise for me to accept a date so
soon after breaking up the…”

“Asshole,” Ron supplied helpfully.

“Right,” I muttered. Looking up, I noticed that Harry’s eyes had gone wide with shock.

Ron tapped his finger against his chin with his spare hand. “It’s a good question, ‘Mione…It’s
awfully soon. Who asked you?”

“Billy McKinnon.”

Harry was regarding me incredulously by this point. Apparently he had just figured out that the
dating question was more than just an alibi, it was what I had wanted to tell him in the first
place. “‘Give Goblins Gringotts’ bloke?”

My eyebrows knit in annoyance. “He’s nice enough. What’s your problem?”

His eyes were blazing furiously. Harry was *angry.* Don’t get me wrong; I’ve seen Harry
Potter fuming many, many times in my day. But *never* has it been directed at me. Never. “Oh,
I have *no* bloody problem, Hermione. Have fun.”

After Harry was well out of earshot and had slammed the door to the flat, Ron turned to me in
confusion. “What was that about?”

-

I sighed in exhaustion, eyes trailing to the clock above my desk.

It was Tuesday of the next week, and I was stuck at work. The past weekend had been hell, Harry
refused to even make eye contact with me, and when we did actually speak, it was short, stunted
answers. His tone was always dull, it was like he was regarding me as someone about as interesting
as Dudley Dursley. I didn’t really know what to do to fix it, either. I could apologise, but I
really didn’t know exactly what I did wrong. I had expected him to mildly upset about the date, but
never this blatant anger, this silent treatment. Should I break the date with Billy? Should I just
say ‘I’m sorry’ to Harry and take my chances that I was apologising for the right thing?

Groaning and putting my head in my hands, I was very surprised a moment later when a blue
inter-office memo whizzed right in to my hand. Reading the name on the wing of the paper airplane,
it was enough to make my headache worsen exponentially.

-

**From the Desk Of:**

Ernie Macmillan

*Head of the Department of International Magical Affairs*

*-*

*I really don’t want to hear from that pompous prick right now,* I thought with a sigh,
grudgingly unfolding the airplane to see what Ernie had to say.

-

Hermione-

Luna Lovegood has been at my desk for near a bloody hour petitioning the hunt for Crumple-Horned
Snorkacks in Asia. She wanted me to owl the Asian prime minister straightaway. Now she’s grudgingly
given up that fight, but has brought out her drafted proposal for their rights.

I’ve sent her on down your way. Hope you don’t mind.

Have fun!

*-Ernie*

*-*

Frantically grabbing a sheet of parchment and dipping my quill in some ink, I hastily
scribbled:

Ernie-

No! No, please, Merlin, no!

I do not have time for this! Keep her **there.**

Oh- she’s knocking…you *bastard.* You owe me.

*-Hermione.*

Folding it quickly, I sent the memo whizzing on its way as I walked to the door to greet the
person I really just did not feel in the mood for: Miss “Loony” Lovegood herself.

-

Sighing, I motioned the slim blonde to take a chair opposite my desk. Slowly lowering myself
into in my own seat, I clasped my hands together, making sure to apply a businesslike smile. “So.
What can I do for you, Luna?”

Clasping her portfolio a bit closer to her chest, she smiled at me. “How have you been,
Hermione?”

*Ah, so she feels like small talk then. She never exactly was one for getting straight to the
point, though,* my mind noted cynically before answering. “Decent, thanks. And yourself?”

Her expression seemed faraway (not a stretch, I know, but she looked even more disconnected than
usual) when she answered. “Good, a bit lonely, though.”

I had forgotten about this trait of Luna’s, this odd bluntness. She had a way to sense things
about people, and she seemed to have no real problem with sharing intimate details about herself
with people she barely knew. Unable to contain my curiosity, I asked, “What happened with
Neville?”

She snorted. “We went on a few dates before realising how ridiculous we were together, I
suppose. What about you, what happened with Ronald?”

I laughed. “We broke up almost as soon as we were out of Hogwarts.”

“Are you lonely, too?”

I immediately sobered at the question. My stomach felt like it was sinking. Luna always had a
knack for asking exactly the question that sent my mind reeling. Most people usually give an
insincere “I’m sorry” when they hear that a couple has broken up. Nobody ever means it, it’s just a
compulsory habit, a polite exchange we expect in everyday life. But Luna Lovegood? Nah, she goes
straight for the kill.

Whispering, I replied, “I…don’t know.”

Her eyebrow raised in confusion. “Uh oh, that sounds bad. What happened?’

All of my problems had been getting more and more bottled up for the past week that Harry hadn’t
been talking to me. He was my confidant, and without him, I felt like I was about to explode. I was
going mad from the tension, but I couldn’t talk to Ron. It would be weird to tell him, seeing as
shagging his (well, *our*) best mate was basically the root of all my problems. And now Luna
was actually *asking.* She *wanted* to know. And so, that is how I, Hermione Jayne
Granger, sensible level-headed witch…poured out all of my life’s problems to Luna Lovegood,
practical nutter.

-

Luna tapped her finger against her chin, letting out a low whistle. “Well. That *is* quite
the pickle, now, isn’t it?”

I nodded, sighing. “I don’t know what to do.”

“So, to recap, you shagged Harry while living in his and Ronald’s flat. You went grocery
shopping, where you accepted a date invite. You went home, spat it out bluntly that you were going
on the date. Harry thought you were joking. Then he realised you were serious, hasn’t spoken to you
in five days, and yet you’re still going on said date in a few days, anyway.”

I reddened. “Well, when you put it *that* way…”

“How else would I put it, Hermione?” Luna asked curiously, fixing her gaze on me with those
immense blue eyes.

*It’s ridiculous how blunt this woman is,* I thought with a snort. “What should I do,
then?”

“I should think that was obvious,” she replied simply. “But there are a few things that you need
to figure out first.”

Sighing, I decided to humour her. “Like what?”

“Do you love Harry?”

*Wow. Well, I didn’t really see that one coming. And…I don’t know how to answer, either.*
“Um…I don’t know. I definitely love him like a friend, but um …‘that way’? I’m honestly
unsure.”

“Well,” she said logically, weighing my answer, “at least it wasn’t a definite ‘no’. Love can
grow with an answer like that. Do you think that this Billy chap could be the ‘one’, then? Do you
love him?”

“I definitely don’t love Billy, no,” I muttered in response, tucking a stray curl behind my ear.
Mindlessly, my eyes trailed back to the clock sitting placidly above my desk. An hour had gone by
since Luna arrived. Wow. It hadn’t felt like more than a few minutes. I had never known her as well
as Ginny did back at Hogwarts, but I was finding that is was extremely easy to confide in Luna
Lovegood.

“Well, I say you cancel the date. You can wreck your potential love for a relationship that
won’t go anywhere, or you cannot. It’s a fairly simple choice, if you ask me,” she answered with a
tone of finality.

“Right,” I replied, considerably chastened. “What about Harry?”

“I think that,” the blonde began, “if you break the date, Harry will break his silent treatment.
But if you go? Well…then you’ll have a whole new host of issues on your hands, Hermione.”

“Right. Thank you, Luna.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied with a helpful smile.

If you had told me back at Hogwarts that some of the most influential advice I have ever
received in all my years would come from the mouth of Luna Lovegood, I would have recommended you
for a long stay at St. Mungo’s. But I realised in that office that a lot of the definite facts of
my life had begun to come in to question lately. I wasn’t as sure about anything anymore,
especially how I felt about Harry Potter.

Mentally shaking myself out of my reverie, I looked back at Luna with alertness. “I’m sorry;
we’ve spent ages talking about me. Ernie said that there was a proposal you wanted to show me?”

She smiled in response. “I think you’ve had enough information shoved down your throat today,
Hermione. How about I leave it with my card, and you can call me when you’ve finished paging
through it?”

Looking down at her card, I smiled when I noted her self-appointed position.

Luna Lovegood Chairwoman of QARO (Quibbler’s Animal Rights Organisation)

Grinning, I replied. “Thank you.”

“No, thank *you,* Hermione Granger,” Luna replied, beaming as I accepted her leather
folder.

As I ushered Luna out of my office, I realised that the past hour and a half had taught me
something about people. Luna Lovegood was someone I had definitely written off as a complete nutter
back in our school days. And yet, without knowing me at all, she had managed to pry the dearest
situation to my heart out of me with a few minutes of small talk. Whether it was Luna’s great
people skills or my desperation to speak with someone, that I didn’t know, but nor did I care.

I didn’t care because I felt indebted to Luna Lovegood. Not only did she pry out the situation,
she had given me a clear-cut path to follow. Her outsider insight had proven extremely worthwhile
and downright invaluable. Unfortunately, the advice could only take me so far. Now *I* had to
figure out what to do, and do the hardest part: actually make the path *happen.*

-

“How was your day?” I began cautiously, closing the door to the flat behind me later that
night.

Ron was at an away game in Belgium, and Harry was sitting morosely on the couch, flipping
through channels on the television.

“S’fine,” he mumbled, using a puff of air to blow his messy fringe out of his face.

*Bloke needs a haircut,* I thought with a giggle. *I can’t even count the amount of times
I’ve thought that about him. But I know by now that his hair is hopeless, it’s not bloody going
anywhere. I don’t even know if I’d really want it to…it’s horribly messy, true, but it’s just
so…**Harry.***

I had been staring, and his green eyes met my chocolate curiously.

“What is it?”

I looked back at him, stunned. “I dunno. That’s just more than you’ve said to me in about a
week, Harry.”

“Well,” he muttered, turning back to the television, “I guess I won’t talk to you again,
then.”

“No,” I whispered with a smile, walking over to sit by him on the couch, “I’m glad you spoke to
me.”

Looking up, his eyes met mine for a moment before looking away. “Are you still going on that
date?”

“I haven’t told him no yet,” I admitted, chewing my lip.

“Well,” he replied in a tone that sounded like it was finishing the conversation, “I guess I
have nothing more to say to you, Hermione.”

I could feel my irritation grow. “It’s not my fault, you know. I don’t see what you’re making
this into such a monumental row for. It’s not a big deal.”

*Oh, bleeding brilliant, Hermione. The first time he talks to you in a few days, and you blame
him for escalating the argument. Ruddy genius you are sometimes,* I mentally berated myself. I
looked down at my clasped hands. I knew what was coming.

Sure enough, Harry slowly swivelled, regarding me in obvious shock. “Excuse me? It’s not your
fault? You could have said, ‘No, sorry, Billy. I’m seeing someone right now.’ How difficult is that
on a scale of one to ten, Hermione? I’m pretty sure that Miss ‘I Got Every NEWT Possible’ Granger
could bloody handle something that simple!”

He was practically roaring in my ear, he was so angry. I didn’t honestly blame him, what I had
said was pretty idiotic. But there was one thing that was irking me…

“Harry, *am* I seeing someone right now?” I asked indignantly, placing my hands on my hips
and turning to face him.

His face reddened and he began to stutter slightly. “W-well…I just thought that was a
given.”

“Look,” I said with exasperation, “I know you’re not exactly Casanova, Harry, and I don’t hold
that against you. In fact, I actually prefer your hesitant approach to girls. Well…generally. But
in times like this, when we’ve…um…”

I reddened, trying to gather my nerve. For some reason, it was still hard for me to wrap my mind
around saying this word in Harry’s presence. Hell, it was odd to remember that Harry and I had
actually *done* this. “Since we’ve…um…*shagged*, it’s kind of necessary to iron out
details like what exactly we are to one another.”

He looked considerably chastened. “Right,” he muttered, looking down at his feet, cheeks a
rather attractive shade of pink. *He’s damn cute sometimes,* I thought to myself with a
smirk.

“So,” he began nervously, stepping a little closer to me.

“Yes?” I asked curiously.

Finally looking up from his feet, he locked eyes with mine, letting out a shaky breath.
“Wannagooutwithme?”

I lifted an eyebrow. “I feel like we’re back in Hogwarts all over again,” I quipped with a
cynical grin. “Now what exactly did you ask? Slower and more enunciated this time, please.”

Harry chuckled nervously, slowly saying, “Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

“Like on a date?” I asked, hopes rising slightly. My heart felt like it was beating a few miles
a minute. *Who would have ever guessed*, I thought to myself ironically, that *we would have
the seduction before the innocent dating and polite conversation? Harry and I never really were
ones for doing things ‘the normal way’, I guess. And even though we **have** shagged, the dating
bit is **just** as ruddy nerve-wracking!*

“Um,” he replied rather ineloquently, hand flying up to muss his hair, “uh…yeah, pretty
much.”

I smiled. Flinging my arms around his neck and pulling him in to a hug, I murmured in to his
ear, “I’d love to.”

He seemed relieved at the embrace, quickly reacting and bringing his arms to rest at my waist,
pulling me a little closer. After our hug, I pulled back happily. “So this means we’re not fighting
anymore, right?”

Harry thought about it a moment before slowly nodding in response.

“Oh, good,” I replied, letting out a breath of relief, and taking his hand. Leading him back to
the couch, I motioned for him to sit next to me. When he did take sink into the cushions, I began,
saying, “Oh, bugger, I’ve missed having you to talk to, Harry! You would not believe what that prat
Ernie did today.” Pausing momentarily and tapping my finger against my chin, I thought carefully
about my statement. “Though, surprisingly, it actually rather turned out for the better…”

Harry’s arm snaked over the top of the couch to drape over my shoulders, pulling me close as I
relayed my tales. I found that even though I wasn’t a touchy-feely person, this didn’t feel unusual
or uncomfortable. It actually felt okay. And, yes, there was the small matter of that upcoming date
with Billy that I had yet to cancel, and the upcoming date with Harry that I had yet to plan, but
for that night, sitting on the couch with Harry Potter, mostly talking and catching up but
occasionally turning on the television when the conversation lulled…it was perfect. I couldn’t have
asked for a better reconciliation, (or a better Tuesday night in general, really) and, ironically,
I owe it all to Luna Lovegood.

-

It was late.

Eleven, I guessed, judging by the programme that was currently flickering on the television.
*Harry would say I was too much like Dudley if I told him I knew the time because of a TV
programme,* I thought to myself with a wry smile, looking over at the man in question.

He was awake, but only just. His beautiful green eyes were mostly obscured by his quickly
drooping eyelids, and the arm stretched around my shoulders was beginning to sag from
exhaustion.

I smiled at him. He looked very innocent this way. It was rare that I could see Harry so
untouched by the worries of life, not trying to solve some disaster or fight some commendable cause
or another. Reaching my hand over to his face, I gently tucked a stray strand of ebony hair behind
his ear. I don’t know why I did it; really, it just looked like it was bothering him, swinging in
front of his face like that.

When I did, his Seeker reflexes quickly caught my hand in his. *Even half-awake the boy’s
faster than me,* I thought dryly, gazing at his slowly opening eyes expectantly. “What exactly
are you planning on doing with my hand?”

His eyes met mine, and then looked to where he had enclosed my hand in his own.

I had expected a simple embarrassed ‘sorry’, some pink cheeks, and quickly allowing my hand
free. After all, that is what a hormonally stable Harry Potter would do. In short, that is what the
Harry Potter B.S.M. (Before Shagging Me) would have done.

This Harry, however, was totally unpredictable. Using his grip on my hand, he tugged my body
closer to him. Looking down at me tenderly, he stroked my cheek with his free hand, his other hand
not allowing my hand to squirm away (not that I really had any intentions of it doing so).
Murmuring gently, he whispered near my ear, “You know, ‘Mione…I really missed you these past few
days.”

I smiled nervously. “I missed you, too.”

I could feel my cheeks heating slightly. *Oh, honestly, why do I always have to blush at the
most bloody inopportune times?* I thought to myself , face contorting in annoyance.

Harry, meanwhile, looked rather alarmed at the change in my facial expression.

“Oh,” I whispered, realising that he had seen my irritated look, and quickly backtracked,
saying, “I hate that I blush at the most inconvenient moments. Like now, for example.”

“Why would you hate that?” Harry asked gently, placated and idly twirling one of my bushy
brunette curls around his finger. “I think it’s cute.”

“Yeah, well, that’s *you*, Harry. You’re obviously mad,” I said simply, shrugging my
shoulders with a grin.

He chuckled, a deep throaty laugh that I found oddly comforting. “Obviously, indeed. Nothing can
be done, I’m afraid.”

“Nope,” I replied with a sigh, giggling back. “Whatever should I do with your loony arse?”

He leaned in extremely close. I felt like I could feel my heart jumping in to my throat. My
stomach was starting to do flip-flops. Merlin, my whole brain felt like it was buzzing…all of my
senses were on overload. His face was barely inches from my own, our noses were practically
touching. I could feel the rim of his glasses grazing against my forehead.

His hot breath made my skin feel like it was aflame as he slyly suggested into my ear, “You
could kiss me.”

-



4. Bumps
--------

**-**

**I May Hate Myself in the Morning**

Mei Queen

-

**Authoress’ Note:** This one wound up being a little short, but not too much. Review anyway;
you know how I love them!

**-**

**LAST CHAPTER:**

His hot breath made my skin feel like it was aflame as he slyly suggested into my ear, “You
could kiss me.”

**-**

**Chapter 4:** Bumps

**-**

I gulped nervously, savouring the feeling of his breath on my cheek, the anticipation of what
would be happening in just a few short minutes...

Leaning in a little closer, I began to close the distance between us, eager to feel the
wonderful familiar sensation of his soft lips caressing mine. Reaching a hand up to tangle in his
hair, my movements froze upon hearing an altogether unwelcome sound.

Wait…what was **that**?

No. This can’t be happening. But… it apparently was happening, because Harry was starting to
pull away. He had heard it, too. The it to which I’m referring was a key jiggling in the front
door, the same door that was now creaking open to admit our best friend. Sighing, I retreated to
the other side of the couch, clutching a pillow for all it was worth and thinking of all the ways I
would get revenge on Ronald Weasley for his incredibly impeccable timing.

“Am I interrupting something?” Ron asked with a lewd grin plastered to his face, setting his
Quidditch gear on the ground by his feet. I knew how this must look to him, his two best mates on
opposite edges of the couch, hair slightly askew, breathing a bit off, cheeks more than a little
red…

Even he can put two and two together, it seems. Meanwhile, Harry was simply avoiding everyone’s
eyes. Why do **I** have to answer everything? Is Harry planning on taking the initiative on
“us”…ever?

Meeting his eyes fiercely, I got up, practically spitting, “No, Ron. You’re not interrupting a
thing.”

Storming out of the room, I made sure to slam the bedroom door behind me. There. That showed
them.

-

“Hermione, you’re being silly,” Harry called through the door ten minutes later. I, meanwhile,
was curled up on the bed with a pillow, decidedly ignoring him, too frustrated with Ron’s
interruption to care what he really had to say. “Hermione, I know you’re listening to me…”

Okay, maybe I was. Doesn’t mean I’m going to say anything back, Harry.

“’Mione, you need to at least let me in, that is my bedroom, after all.”

Oh right. I forgot I’d been sleeping on the couch. Oops.

Getting up and carefully summoning my dignity, I opened the door slowly. “Is Ron still out
there?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied softly. “Do you think he knows?”

“I don’t know,” I replied honestly, allowing Harry to motion me back into his bedroom, shutting
the door softly behind us. “He will eventually have to, though, right?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, meeting my chocolate eyes with his inviting green. “Eventually.”

Harry backed me up against the door, until I heard the soft click against my back, signalling
that it was shut tight. I could barely think. Harry’s face was mere inches from my own; his entire
body extremely close, too…every bit of me was quivering with anticipation.

I idly noted Harry’s right hand trailing down to the doorknob, from which I heard a definite
click. Harry Potter had me behind a locked door, I mentally noted in awe. I couldn’t help the smile
spreading wide across my face when his lips got ever closer.

This time, there was no Ron to muck things up.

Harry’s lips met mine, caressing, enfolding, licking, nipping, doing all sorts of things that
are too marvellous for mere words to do justice. I moaned softly as his kisses began a steamy trail
down to the nape of my neck. God, he was even better to kiss sober, I noted with excitement,
thoroughly enjoying every moment of his talented mouth (and tongue)’s attentions.

“What do you say we get you on the bed, Ms Granger?” Harry asked with a grin, his emerald eyes
alighting playfully.

“After you, Mr Potter,” I replied evenly, giggling slightly as I did so. Good God, did I just
giggle? I can’t help it, Harry makes me feel like a giddy schoolgirl sometimes…though I wasn’t
actually giddy as a schoolgirl, but that’s hardly the point…

Refocusing, my eyes trailed excitedly to where Harry was propped up on his down pillows, body
spread across his navy comforter, arms wide and beckoning me over. Grinning, I ran to him, ending
up encased in his strong arms…all in all, not the worst place to be.

My breath hitched slightly as I felt his finger begin to trail up my thigh. His lips found mine
again as his fingers started the challenging task of unbuttoning my blouse. Feeling my excitement
begin to build, I reached over to loosen his shirt from his jeans.

“What are you guys doing in there?” Ron Weasley yelled, knocking loudly on his best mate’s
door.

I groaned softly, going in for a few more kisses before sitting up to right my blouse. “I should
probably sleep on the couch, Harry. Ron’s home and all,” I whispered, looking into his mirror with
exasperation. My hair was totally all over the place. Wonderful.

“Yeah, if that’s what you want, ‘Mione.”

I sighed. “It’s not what I want, Harry,” I answered simply, meeting his eyes. “What I want is to
stay here with you. But until this…well…us gets a little less confusing, don’t you think it’s wiser
not to bring Ron into the equation? Do we really need that extra pressure right now?”

He let out the breath he’d been holding, shaking his head. “I don’t know why it is, ‘Mione, but
you seem incapable of being wrong,” he replied with a gradual chuckle, taking my hand and starting
to walk with me back to his bedroom door. Unlocking it, he exchanged a few choice words with Ron
(that I couldn’t overhear…not for lack of trying, however) before opening it to let me pass.

I stalled in the doorway, looking up and meeting his eyes with a smile. “Good night, Harry.”

He leaned in to get one last kiss, before grudgingly murmuring, “Good night, ‘Mione.”

-

“What are you doing in there, Hermione?” Harry Potter bellowed through the bathroom door the
next morning. His knocking and yelling was beginning to irritate me slightly, actually. Why
couldn’t he just come in if he wanted to brush his teeth? We do have a shower curtain, thank you.
Why he had all of a sudden become overly sensitive to my nudity, well, that I really didn’t
understand. He had seen me naked plenty of times the past week alone, mostly due to high levels of
alcohol in my bloodstream, so why he had suddenly become overly proper, well…

“I’m building a rocket, Harry. What the hell do you think that I’m doing?” I shouted irritably
over the pounding water. Ahh…nice shower, that’s exactly what I need. Perfect to erase all the
stress from this quasi-relationship with Harry, the thought of breaking the date with Billy, the
worry of how much Ron has figured out and what he thinks of whatever it is that he knows… yes…hot
water. Perfect solution.

Leaning back against the tiled wall, I closed my eyes in relaxation, trying to mentally block
out Harry’s persistent knocking. There’s a nice stream, clear sky, green grass, wildflowers,
butterflies…and Harry. But he’s not knocking. He’s feeding me a strawberry. Now he’s running a hand
up and down my leg…and we’re in a hotel bed with satin sheets. What happened to the stream? Eh, who
cares! Mmm…that’s lovely…

**Knock.**

I’m not listening, Harry, I’m picturing you and me in a hotel room with no redheads to interrupt
us…

**Knock Knock.**

I guess I should get this shower finished with or we’ll **both** be late for work.

Sighing and slowly shaking myself out of my reverie, I reached down to grab the soap. I had just
gotten done lathering my legs when the ruddy bar slipped out of my hands. Fabulous, I mentally
groaned, leaning down to pick it up. Now, I don’t really know exactly what happened between 1)
leaning to pick up the bar, and 2) Harry busting the door down to find me naked and unconscious
slumped in the tub, but the Healer from St. Mungo’s guesses that I slipped on the soap and almost
cracked my skull on the tiled wall. Apparently, ironically enough, it happens a lot more often than
films make it seem.

-

“’Mione? Can you hear me?”

I blinked. White. Everything was …white. Oh my God…did I lose my eyesight? How am I supposed to
read without my eyesight? Dear Lord, I think I’m going to have a panic attack. Turning and angling
my head slightly, my eyes fell on…dark raven hair. Concerned emerald eyes.

Oh, good. No lost vision, then.

“Huh?” was the most intellectual response I could manage. Not exactly Proust, but it’s a start,
I mentally quipped, rubbing my eyes to get the sleep out of them. Hands trailing up to my tresses,
my eyes widened when I realized what frightening angles my unwashed locks were currently standing
up at. Attempting to smooth the bushy curls slightly, my cheeks reddened when Harry noticed what I
was doing.

Snorting with laughter, he mused, “I can’t believe it. You’re in a hospital bed, and the first
thing you do is fixing your hair? You are not the Hermione I used to know? What have you done with
my best mate, eh?”

I giggled. “Actually, the first thing I did was wonder if I’d died or gone blind, because either
of those involves no reading, and that’s simply unacceptable. Besides, if we weren’t…er…us…if…you
were Ron, I wouldn’t be fixing my hair.”

Harry guffawed at my predictability, clutching his sides in stitches of laughter, occasionally
bringing a hand up to wipe a tear from his squinting eyes. “Oh, so it’s all my fault, then?”

“Pretty much.”

More guffawing.

That’s right, I’ll be here all week, I thought with an inward self-satisfied smirk. More than
likely, I **will** be here all week, if the pain at the back of my skull is any possible
indication… “Harry, has anyone contacted my work?”

“Yeah, I called when I came in here with you. It’s really convenient we both work at the
Ministry, you know?”

“Why is that?” I asked suspiciously, quirking an eyebrow upward. Did he skive off work for me? I
don’t want him to go to that much trouble just for me, that’s ridiculous…okay…well, I don’t
**mind** his company or anything, but…it seems an awful lot of trouble for him to go to. He had
better not lose his job, I’ll be furious with him.

“I told them I wouldn’t be coming in until you were out of here,” he replied decisively,
reclining in his chair and letting his gaze trail the other direction.

I could feel my cheeks heat slightly. “Are you sure, Harry? That’s a lot of trouble for you to
have to go to, just for me, anyhow.”

“It’s no trouble at all, ‘Mione. You know that I’d do anything for you and Ron without a second
thought,” Harry replied, waving off the flattery. Well, that would have been much sweeter if he
hadn’t included Ron, I thought darkly, allowing my gaze to trail out the window and expelling a
sigh.

My stomach began doing flip-flops when I felt him reach over and take my hand. Satisfied that he
had my full attention when I turned to meet his gaze, he whispered, “Especially you, ‘Mione. You
know that.”

One hand playing idly with the plastic hospital wristband around my other wrist, I could feel my
lips travel slowly in to a smile. Deciding to change the topic before my face got any redder (which
was seeming close to impossible at the moment), I cleared my throat before asking, “Where’s Ron
at?”

“He’d already left for practice when you fell. I called his mobile, but it keeps going straight
to voicemail. I’ve left a few messages. Who knows, maybe he’s out with a bird we don’t know about,”
Harry finished with a sly wink, allowing one of his legs to rest on the opposite knee, which
actually looked quite attractive (not that I was noticing or anything, really). “So, now that
you’re up, would you like a coffee? I hear the cafeteria here actually has a pretty decent caffeine
fix…”

I grinned, sitting up slightly more in the bed. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

-

“Hermione Jayne Granger?” A portly brunette Healer asked, knocking before entering the room
solely occupied by Harry Potter and I. (He was on the chair, thank you. You can stop those dirty
thoughts this instant.)

“That’s me!” I replied cheerfully, leaning back against the pillows and sipping the coffee from
the plastic cup Harry had brought me. While we had sipped our coffees, Harry had so kindly informed
me on what had happened after I had fell. Apparently, he rushed to get me clothed (since I was
unconscious, this was actually far more difficult than it sounds), Apparated with me, gotten me set
up with a room where a Healer did a full evaluation of my wounds involving extensive x-rays and
whatnot, before a team of Healers helped to get me conscious and diagnosed the reason they thought
I was there in the first place. Now I was having a follow-up evaluation with the head of that team
of Healers, a squat witch named Maria Brown.

“I’m sorry, sir, but the results of the follow-up evaluation are confidential. Standard hospital
procedure,” the witch murmured apologetically. “If you wait in the hall, I can get you on my wait
out.”

“That’s fine,” he replied agreeably, giving my hand a friendly squeeze before closing the door
behind him, leaving me alone in the room with the Healer. My gaze travelled over to where she was,
her eyes trained dutifully on her clipboard. Something about her seemed …off. Nervous, almost.
Uh-oh…this can’t be good.

“Ms Granger, certain…er…facts came to my attention during your evaluation. Normally simple head
bumps like yours are ones that we can clear up in two hours, tops. Were you wondering why we’ve
decided you need to stay overnight?”

“Because I hit my head really hard on the tile?” I asked, nervously twirling a hair around my
index finger and wishing she would just get on with it, she was making me way too nervous.

“No, that’s not it at all, actually the damage was very minor. We’ve decided to keep you to
observe the damage to the fetus.”

“The…fetus? There must be some sort of mistake.”

“I assure you, there isn’t. We had our suspicions when we did the x-ray. Upon a simple blood
test, our suspicions were confirmed. You are definitely pregnant. Our mediwitches guess at most
you’re only about three weeks along, however,” she replied evenly, meeting my eyes
sympathetically.

“But…that’s just can’t be possible,” I murmured, shaking my head. I had never been
irresponsible. I used the birth control potion, I used condoms, and I was always safe. How the hell
could something like this happen to me? I was always responsible, careful. I’m supposed to be “the
most brilliant witch of my year”, how the hell did I accidentally get pregnant?

Suddenly, an icy-cold wave of recognition washed over me. Harry.

We were too pissed to remember to use protection.

Oh… My… God.

-

“So, what’s up, ‘Mione? What was so ‘secret’ that she couldn’t say it in front of me?” Harry
asked with a broad grin, walking over and giving me a wink as the Healer shut the door behind her,
her eyes still looking at me, etched with concern.

“I’m pregnant,” I said in a deadpan voice, staring idly off at the ceiling.
His eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

Okay. I had two choices- I could tell Harry Potter, the man that I was really attracted to,
hell, might even love, that he was going to be a daddy before we’d even had out legitimate first
date, or…I could lie. I could lie to within an inch of my life. “Of course I’m kidding!” I replied,
simultaneously mustering my best fake smile. “I got you, didn’t I?”

“Hell yes, you did. Do you know how fast my heart was beating right then, ‘Mione? Good God,
don’t do that again!”

“I won’t,” I whispered, leaning back on the pillows, allowing a hand underneath the covers to
travel to my abdomen. Rubbing it slowly, I allowed my thoughts to travel elsewhere. What did I want
to do with it? Was I ready to be a mother? Should I try to go through the courtship with Harry like
nothing was wrong? Maybe we would get it together anyway on our own, after all. But the more
pressing question- was I going to keep it?

“Knock, knock,” one of the candy striper assistants said aloud, knocking with her fist while she
did so. I’ll never understand this peculiar habit of people. Why say “knock” aloud when you’re
already physically knocking? Bizarre. Anyhow.

The candy striper, a busty blonde, was carrying a beautiful flower arrangement that looked
roughly twice her size.

“Wow,” I murmured. “Thank you…”

Trailing off, I searched for her nametag. Among the cheerful candy-apple red and pristine white
was a nametag reading, “Marissa…ask me how I can help!”

“Thanks, Marissa.”

“You’re very welcome, and here’s the card,” she replied brightly, handing me a small card with a
drawing on the front. It was actually very cute, all things considered. But I had a bad feeling
about this card…who do I know that would be sending it? Why would Harry get me flowers when he’d
been waiting with me the whole time? That’s just excessive. And Ron didn’t seem to even register
that we existed, he wasn’t picking up his mobile. And yet, I had flowers…well, actually, the term
“flowers” doesn’t do justice to the size of this thing… I had my own tree right in my room.

Leaning slightly the other direction so Harry couldn’t see the writing inside, I cautiously
opened it slightly.

Peeking in, I read:

Hermione-

I heard about your injury from Ernie. I’m so sorry, I’ll understand if you want to postpone our
date.

Just relax and feel better, I hope you like the flowers. Call me when you feel up to it =D

Best wishes and **get well soon!**

Love, Billy

558-6393

Oh, for goodness’ sake.

I wonder if Marissa can help by getting one bloke out of my life, one bloke more into said life,
and make a pregnancy fit into my tightening work schedule…oh, and find me a great flat with a
decent view and room for Crookshanks, while that crazy miracle worker is doing her thing? That
would be fab.

-

“Oh, who the fuck am I kidding?” I shouted two weeks later, seated resignedly behind my desk at
work. I had shut the door to my office, allowing me the time to vent that the past two weeks really
had not afforded me. During my hospital stay, I had asked the Healers to act with the utmost of
discretion about my pregnancy, but even Harry was getting a bit confused as to why they continually
fed me, checked my nutrition levels, kept me overnight for four weeks before diagnosing an extra
week of bed rest…

“It’s just a head bump,” I had heard him murmuring to Ron one night while I was pretending to be
sleeping (the Healers were very generous with the amount of time the boys could spend in my room.
I’m pretty sure it had something to do with one of them being “Harry Potter, the Saviour of the
Wizarding World”…after all, “The Boy Who Lived” was getting **so** cliché). “Why the hell are
they keeping her so long? Her little head scratch is nothing compared to that time I had to re-grow
my bones, that time your dad got bit by the snake…but they’re keeping her longer!”

“I dunno, mate. Maybe it’s because she’s a girl or summat,” Ron replied simply. “I personally
choose not to boggle my brain with such useless questions. Just accept it, as it is, Harry- one of
the mysteries of life. Like who sent that tree to ‘Mione, for example.”

“One of the mysteries of life to you is how long they keep patients in St. Mungo’s?”

Anyway.

Now I was back at work, furiously trying to catch up on all the work I had missed in the
fortnight I’d been gone. Occasionally my thoughts strayed to the life that was starting in my
stomach, and I knew- I couldn’t get rid of it. Abortion just was not an option. This was…this was
Harry and me. This baby was the product of about fifteen years of friendship, mixed in with a bit
of alcohol, and a bit of suppressed desires…I definitely wanted to raise this child.

But how the hell was I supposed to tell Harry that? “Oh, by the way, Harry…that **one** time
we shagged? Yeah…I’ve got good news. You’re not impotent.” Nah…might come off a bit too snarky.
“Congratulations, Daddy!” A tad bit too sudden, I think.

Wait. I know someone who can help me sort this out. Frantically turning back to my desk, I began
to shift all my carefully designated piles of paperwork. I pulled a stray strand of hair behind my
ear as I murmured in annoyance, “Where is that bloody card? I can’t have lost it already, I haven’t
even been here for two weeks…”

Finally, I found what I was looking for. There, somewhere between the Hunt for Unicorns Petition
and Pixie Rights paperwork, was a business card. **Luna Lovegood**. Chairwoman of QARO.

-

My finger tapped nervously on the desk. She had said in her owl she’d be here fifteen minutes
ago. I really needed to talk to someone, I felt like I was about to explode, the secret was killing
me. I couldn’t tell Harry, that much was definite. I couldn’t tell Ron until Harry and I decided to
take things public. I couldn’t tell Ginny for the same reason as Ron. I certainly couldn’t tell
Billy, who had already called work twice today. I was dodging his calls. I really needed to break
our date, but I’ve never been too great at that type of conversation (I’ve usually been the dumpee
in the past, you see), so I wanted to avoid him until I was positive I knew exactly what I wanted
to say.

“C’mon, Luna…” I muttered, checking my clock nervously while idly shifting some papers around on
my desk. I hadn’t actually gotten any work done since I sent the owl off for Luna this morning,
though; it had been damn near impossible. I found it difficult to concentrate on anything but the
life growing within me, on Harry, on what the hell I was planning on telling Harry, for that
matter…

I was relieved when, a few moments later, I heard a knock at my door. Smiling, I got up from my
office chair to let in a bewildered Luna. “Come on in.”

She looked at me suspiciously before following me in to the office. Taking a seat, her eyes
followed me to my own chair.

“What’s wrong, Hermione? Your letter made this seem like a total emergency.”

“It kinda is,” I replied nervously, exhaling and trying to steady my breath as I took the chair
opposite the blonde. My thumbs twiddled anxiously as I decidedly avoided contact with her probing
watery cerulean eyes.

“Oh, boy. For some reason, I have a feeling this will be so much worse than shagging your best
friend, then accepting a date with another bloke while still living in said best friend’s flat,”
Luna deadpanned, reclining in her chair and eyeing me cautiously.

I sighed. “For some reason, I think you’re right.”

Taking a deep steadying breath in, my eyes met Luna’s upon exhaling. Wracking my brain for the
start of the whole situation, I apprehensively began with, “It all started with the oddest mishap
in the shower…”

-

**Authoress’ Note (Take Two):** haha, now you’re all going- “Bumps…now I get why this chapter
is called that!” And if not, head bumps and baby bumps? Lol okay maybe that’s only amusing to
me…how sad…



5. Harry, I'm Pregnant
----------------------

I May Hate Myself in the Morning Mei Queen

**-**

**Authoress’ Note:** Okay, it’s been *days* since I updated this story…hopefully, you
all don’t hold that against me and actually review!

**-**

**Chapter 5:** Harry, I’m Pregnant

**-**

“You should tell him,” Luna said wisely, cocking her head to the side as she analyzed my story.
“Honestly, ‘Mione, I don’t see another option here.”

“I know,” I murmured, cheeks reddening, and turning my chair toward the office window. “I just
don’t know how. It’s not something that I’m really comfortable talking about at the Leaky Cauldron,
you know?”

“Well, you certainly better not be drinking for a while, missy,” Luna deadpanned.

I sighed. “I know, I know…but…well, what would you do, Luna?”

“What would I do?” she asked, weighing the question carefully. “Well, I would make him dinner to
relax him a little, sit down, and tell him. Be open about it. Say ‘there’s something I have to tell
you.’”

“Is that too direct?” I asked, worried. “Besides, I made a wildly inappropriate joke in the
hospital, now I’m just scared to tell him.”

“Why, what did you say?”

“Well…he asked what the nurse couldn’t say in front of him…and I said I was pregnant. But I just
couldn’t go through with it, Luna! He seemed too anxious-- and not unhappily anxious.”

“I’m sorry,” Luna said, blinking in confusion. “Isn’t the fact that he’s happy at this news a
*good* thing?”

“Well, yes, but…I don’t know. I’m just scared. So I said I was kidding.”

Luna shook her head. “Lemme get this straight: you said you were *kidding* about being
*pregnant.* When you *are*, in fact, pregnant.”

I sighed, shrugging. The situation just felt totally blown out of proportion, and definitely out
of control. “Well, when you say it like that…”

Luna snorted in response. “Good luck with this one, duckie.”

-

When I got home from work, things only got worse when I noticed there was someone waiting on the
doorstep for me with a bouquet of roses. I don’t like roses, so I knew it wasn’t Harry…besides,
Harry has his key already. *Billy,* I noted with annoyance.

Parking my car and quickly hopping out, I shouldered my briefcase and headed to the front door.
Billy jumped up to meet me, offering the flowers, which I accepted with a grudging “thank you.”

“How have you been, Hermione?”

I couldn’t conceal my irritation. “How did you find out where I live? What are you doing
here?”

He had the grace to look embarrassed. “I asked Ronald. He said you were living with him, and
gave me the address. As to what I’m doing here, I just wanted to see how you have been. I was
hoping to take you out tonight.”

“Look, Billy, that is *so* sweet. But I need to cancel our date.”

“What?” he said, looking confused. “Are you still not feeling better? If so, that’s completely
fine. I’ll come back whenever you want me to.”

I shook my head sadly. “I hate to do this to you, Billy…but things have changed since you saw me
last. I can’t date you.”

“You have a boyfriend?” he asked suspiciously.

“Not exactly,” I muttered. “I don’t know. I just know that I can’t see you, and I hope you can
understand that.”

Billy nodded slowly, taking his car keys out of his pocket. “I guess I can. I’ll see you around,
Hermione. You deserve someone great, you know. I hope you’ve found him.”

“I think I have. ‘Bye, Billy,” I murmured. And with that, I turned my key in the lock, and went
inside.

-

My mood didn’t pick up when I noticed Harry Potter sitting on the couch, using the remote to
rapidly flick through the channels. Nature show. Talk show. Harrison Ford movie. American sitcom. I
shook my head, closing the door behind me, looking at the roses I was holding with distaste.

“Billy was here,” Harry said dully.

“I’m aware. Thanks for the info,” I muttered, putting my briefcase down by the coat rack.

“Just saying,” he said defensively. “What did he want, anyway?”

I turned to him with irritation, dropping the flowers on the kitchen table. “He wanted to take
me to dinner.”

He looked up cautiously. “You gonna go?”

“No,” I replied coldly. “No, Harry, I’m not. Why else would I still be here?”

“Merlin, I don’t see why you’re getting hacked off at me here, ‘Mione,” he replied defensively,
clicking off the telly and meeting me in the kitchen.

“I don’t know,” I said with exasperation. “It’s just…it’s been a really difficult past few days,
okay?”

His eyes softened and he outstretched his arms, pulling me into a hug. “I know, ‘Mione. I know.
You’ve gone through a lot. How about a night in, eh? Ron’s at another away game tonight…I’ll make
you dinner and we can watch a movie. Your pick.”

I smiled wryly. “You mean, you’ll order me in dinner?”

“Same difference,” Harry replied with a snort. “Curry all right with you?”

“Sounds lovely. I’ll go put on my pajamas and pick out a movie,” I replied with a smile. I knew
that I had to tell him, and soon, but it just didn’t feel right at that moment. I just wanted to
have a relaxing night in with him. That’s all I wanted. I would tell him soon. Yeah. Soon.

-

My Fair Lady had been playing for over an hour now, and the half-eaten curries were in their
takeout boxes, forks stuck in each one. Despite my protests that the movie was a classic, Harry had
fallen asleep about twenty minutes in and was now drooling on the couch pillow. *Charming,* I
noted with a giggle.

I watched with admiration as Eliza Doolittle burst into song. *Now there’s a character that
knew what she was doing. She ends up with Professor Higgins, the man she loves. What will happen to
me? All I really need to do is tell Harry about the baby, and everything will be okay. But part of
me really wants to grow to love Harry on my own terms. I want our relationship to progress
normally. I want to be together just because we want to be together, not because a baby is forcing
us together. I’ve always said I’d rather be a single mother than have a baby grow up in a household
without love…*

*But is it even possible that a baby of Harry’s and mine could grow in a household without
love?*

*Doubtful.*

*I still need to tell him, though. Merlin. What am I going to say?*

Looking over, I noticed that Harry had woken up. “What’s up, ‘Mione?” he murmured blearily,
reaching out a hand to run it over my hair.

“Just got some things on my mind, that’s all,” I whispered. “You should go back to sleep. You
need your rest.”

“You should get some sleep too, it’s getting late,” he said protectively, reaching out his arms
for me to relax into them. Doing so, I propped up my feet and let my head fall on the pillow he
offered. *Mmm… this is comfortable…*

-

“What are you two doing?” Ron asked curiously, dropping his gear in the foyer. It was early
morning, six or so, I’d wager, and he had just gotten home from his away game. *He’s only been
home a minute, and he’s already prying into our personal lives, bless him,* I thought
affectionately. Hopping up from the couch and turning on the coffeemaker, I turned to face him.
“Nothing.”

“No, ‘Mione,” Harry protested weakly. “He should know.”

“Know what?” Ron asked, sighing as he sank into one of the living room armchairs.

“Yeah, Harry, what should he know?”

“Hermione and I are seeing one another,” he said simply, yawning and reaching up to muss his
hair with his hand.

“Is this true, ‘Mione?” Ron asked.

“Yes, I suppose. We’re not official or anything, but we’re going on a date soon, and we’ll see
how it goes from there,” I said simply, reaching for a coffee mug.

“That’s nice,” Ron replied. After a few minutes of silence, he took out a deck of cards. “Anyone
up for Exploding Snap?”

“What? You don’t care that we’re dating?” I asked in shock.

“Not really,” he replied. “I figured you would figure it out eventually. Harry, Snap?”

“No thanks, mate. Got work this morning,” he replied apologetically. Grabbing a towel, Harry
winked at me before closing the door to the bathroom.

This was surreal. Harry had just been up front to Ron about dating me, winked at me with Ron
present, and Ron didn’t *care* that we were dating. *Someone must have set my alarm clock to
“alternate universe” this morning,* I thought wryly, pouring myself a cup of coffee. Looking
down at the cup, my hand traveled to my still-flat stomach. Looking back down at the cup, I went to
the sink, and poured it down the drain.

“What’s wrong with the coffee, ‘Mione?” Ron called curiously from the living room.

“Bitter this morning,” I lied quickly. “I think we might need a new filter in the machine or
something.”

“I’ll look for a new one today if you like,” Harry offered, emerging from the bathroom with a
towel cinched tightly around his waist. Trying to avert my eyes from his glistening chest, I
murmured, “That’d be nice. Thanks.”

Trying to shake off the desire I had the more I looked at Harry in his towel; I grabbed a towel
and headed for the shower. *I think I need a cold one.*

-

When I got to work that morning, I nodded curtly to my secretary, Robin, giving her a smile as I
passed.

“Hermione?” she called before I shut the door to my office.

“Yes?”

“Someone named Billy keeps calling for you,” she said with irritation, blowing a strand of her
bright red locks out of her eyes. “I must have taken at least twenty messages since yesterday.”

“I’m sorry he’s harassing you,” I said apologetically, accepting the thick stack of messages.
“Here,” I nodded, handing her a couple pound notes. Why don’t you nip out of here and get us some
coffees? Get whatever you like, I’m sure you could use a break. I’ll get the phones.”

She smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Hermione. Your usual?”

*Oh, crap. I can’t have caffeine because of the baby…* “Decaf, actually. I’m trying to wean
myself off,” I said with a halfhearted chuckle.

“Don’t see how someone can work at the ministry with no caffeine,” she said with a laugh.

“Well, I’m guessing it won’t be easy,” I said with a giggle. “Alright, you go. I’ll just set
this stuff down in my office and get on those phones.”

Nodding, she grabbed her purse and headed for the elevators.

-

I don’t know how Robin does it. The phone rang *nonstop* while she was gone- all sorts of
people, too. Luna called, then Billy called ten times (I told him I meant what I said yesterday,
but he doesn’t seem to be getting the picture), then there were the charities, banks,
businesses…

I don’t think I’ve ever fully realized how nice it is to have someone else field your calls
before. But I had to deal with each and every client, and I was actually somewhat happy for the
distraction. It was nice not to have to think about Harry or the baby for a change.

Luna was dropping by later that afternoon, too. I was happy about that. I wasn’t exactly sure
how, but the blonde had become one of my favorite confidants now. *I should thank Ernie one of
these days,* I thought wryly.

*Brring,* the telephone rang cheerfully. Rolling my eyes, I reached over and picked it up.
“Ms. Granger’s office,” I said in my most pleasant phone tone.

“Is this Hermione Granger?” an authoritative voice asked.

“Yes, may I ask who’s calling?” I asked tentatively. A gut feeling told me that there was
something bad about this call.

“This is Albert Higgins, the Chief Surgeon here at St. Joseph’s. I’m afraid I have some bad
news.”

My heart sank into my stomach. My entire body felt like ice. Everything in my life hung in this
man’s next few words.

“Your friend Harry Potter has been in a terrible car accident. He’s in critical condition, and
listed you as his closest family member. If you want to see him, you should come immediately.”

I bolted out of that office so quickly the receiver is probably still hanging off the phone
hook.

-

I don’t remember leaving the Ministry. I don’t remember driving to the hospital. I don’t
remember the pleasant acknowledgments of the staff. I only remember going to the front desk,
crying.

“Where’s Harry?” I demanded, pounding the counter of the front desk. It was then that I realized
I’d forgotten my briefcase at work. I had no money, mobile phone, anything. Not that it
mattered.

“Harry who, dear?” the kind nurse enquired, taking the quill from behind her ear to look through
the hospital’s patient listing.

“Potter. Where is he?”

Her eyes widened. “He’s in our emergency room. They’re about to put him in to surgery. Are you
family?”

“Yes,” I said resolutely, tearing up again. Taking the visitation badge and clipping it onto my
shirt collar, I listened carefully to the older woman’s directions. Heading toward the emergency
room, my heart sank at the thought of what I would find there. Was he seriously hurt? He had to be,
for them to call me down here, especially for the Chief Surgeon to. Surgeons don’t just take time
out of their busy schedules to call their patients’ family…unless it’s vital. *Unless it’s the
last time I ever see him*, I thought, a knot forming in my stomach, suddenly feeling ill.

*Here we are,* I thought to myself in terror, noting the door’s number. *Room number
146B*. *Please let him be okay…*

The scene when I walked in made any part of me that wasn’t already terrified turn to ice. Harry
was in the hospital bed, asleep, cuts all over his face. It looked like he may have actually had
glass embedded in his face and hair. IVs were hooked up to his arms, and those same arms were
dotted with bruises.

“What happened to you, Harry?” I murmured quietly, stepping into the room, empty except for
Harry and me.

The sound of my voice woke him from his peace less slumber. “‘Lo, Hermione.”

“Hi, Harry,” I breathed, walking up to take his hand in mine. “How are you doing?”

He gave a wry chuckle. “Been better.”

“What happened?” I asked, shocked. “This morning you were fine…”

“Things happen quickly, don’t they?” he quipped.

Looking down at my stomach, then back at Harry, I smiled wryly. “They sure do. So, do you know
all what’s wrong with you?”

“Well, I was driving my little car and it was rammed into on the side by a much bigger vehicle,”
he groaned. “So you know…the usual. Two broken ribs, glass embedded in my skin they have to pick
out because the windshield collapsed, stuff like that.”

I gasped in shock. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I was so worried when I got the call.”

“Yeah,” he said with a wince, trying to sit up in his bed. “I knew that would worry you…I tried
to convince them to be less scary about it, but the Chief Surgeon says for any types of rib
injuries, it’s just their standard procedure, I guess.”

“Well, I’m glad they called,” I said with a smile, caressing his hand gently. “Look, I know this
isn’t the best time, but there’s something I need to tell you.”

“You can tell me anything, ‘Mione, you know that,” he said with a grin, reaching out to ruffle
my hair gently.

I smiled in response. My palms started sweating. Butterflies started flapping around in my
stomach. But I had to tell him. I almost lost him today, and he would have died without knowing. I
couldn’t bear the thought of that. Taking a deep breath, I said, “Harry, I’m pregnant.”

-

**Authoress’ Note:** So sorry for the delay and hiatus of this story. Hope you enjoyed the
chapter, even though it was shorter than usual (but it also had more plot than usual, so I think
that’s a fair compromise, lol). Please review! They’re good for the soul!



