Day by Day

DAY BY DAY

By Lady Jane

Chapter Three: "The One That's Short And Just About Sunday"

Sunday

Hermione woke the next morning feeling pretty awful and then as she opened her eyes, wondering where on earth she was, she had to concentrate quite hard until she remembered - Ginny and Luna - and lots of Pina Coladas and some very little, but amazingly lethal drinks Ginny had called "Cowboys" - and talking and telling Ginny and Luna just about everything about Harry and their delight and surprise and torrents of advice and ideas and - what the hell had they said? Her brow creased as she tried to remember. She recalled that initially they'd actually made sensible suggestions but as the Pina Coladas went down, common sense went up - the chimney! She did remember one thing: they insisted she should just go for it! That Harry was a man after all and what normal, red blooded man would turn down a shag? Bloody lovely suggestion that was - she could see it now: Morning Harry! Fancy a shag? She giggled, then stopped because giggling hurt! Besides that, she couldn't recall a whole lot else. She decided she must have just fallen asleep where she was and someone had covered her with a warm blanket - and cleaned up, too, she realised as she looked around - because she didn't remember getting one for herself. She pushed it off and attempted to sit up, an involuntary groan escaping her lips as she did so. She sat up slowly with her head in her hands thinking those famous last words: "I'll never drink again!" and feeling an overwhelming desire for a brush for her hair, another for her teeth and lots of coffee, she rose unsteadily to her feet to go in search of those three Holy Grails.

The bathroom provided the first two and she felt a little better as she headed for the kitchen in search of the third, wondering what time it was. She'd remembered that it was Sunday...the sun was shining brightly, she could see it through the bathroom window...there was no naked Harry shaving in the bathroom... oh shit! Harry! She stopped in the hallway just short of the kitchen door. Her brain suddenly felt totally scrambled. What had she said? Had she said anything? Had she done anything? Damn it! She couldn't remember - she was sure Harry had been there, at least at the beginning. It would probably come back to her in bits and pieces but she sure as hell couldn't concentrate at the moment. Well, that was a good defence. Just waltz in as though nothing had happened and be her usual composed self. If necessary, plead drunkenness, humiliating as that was, and say she remembered nothing and should not be held responsible for anything she may have done or said.

She knew Harry was in the kitchen as she could hear the chink of a cup on a saucer and the rustle of his newspaper as he turned the page. She unconsciously straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin a little as she entered the kitchen, smiling despite the rather ugly feeling in her head and stomach. Harry was sitting at the table as usual and looked up with a smile that was both welcoming and quizzical.

'Morning, Hermione. How're you feeling?'

Well, he seemed normal. And he looked normal - for that read "sexy and gorgeous", sitting there in his favourite - for that read "oldest" - pair of jeans and no bloody t-shirt as usual. Well, at least that meant the chances she'd done or said something really embarrassing were fast heading for zero or surely Harry wouldn't be so - so - Harry. She allowed herself to slump a little, feeling safe to revert to how she really felt.

'You don't want to know,' she said, giving him a small smile as she headed straight for the kettle to make herself a cup of coffee.

'No?' said Harry, putting down his paper. 'Try me.'

Hermione looked at him over her shoulder, then turned to add boiling water to her mug which contained a generous helping of instant coffee; brewed coffee took too long and she needed it NOW. Walking back to the table and sitting down, Hermione breathed deeply of the heavenly caffeine fumes rising from her cup before answering.

She closed her eyes as she took her first sip then looked at Harry, her eyes now showing that she was indeed suffering from classic hangover symptoms. His expression softened into one of sympathy.

'Hey,' he said, 'you want me to make you some toast? Doesn't matter how you feel, you should try and eat a little.'

Hermione shook her head, smiling weakly at him, grateful for the sympathy, however undeserved.

'Thanks, Harry, but no thanks.' She gave him a quizzical look. 'What time did you get home? Do you know when Ginny and Luna left?'

Harry nodded, sipping his tea. 'I got back a little after one and all three of you were asleep in there,' waving his hand in the general direction of the loungeroom. 'I woke Ginny and Luna up and Apparated with them back to their flats and put them into bed. I didn't have the heart to disturb you, so I just covered you, cleaned up and left you to sleep. Must've been some night!' he finished, smiling at her.

'I'd probably agree if I could remember all of it! I feel like such an idiot!'

Harry laughed and winked at her. 'We've all done it, Hermione - don't worry!'

The wink seemed to stir a memory... only she'd been the one to wink, because, because - Harry, in the doorway - Ginny, saying Harry was sexy - Luna agreeing - then she'd looked - 'Oh, shit!'

'Swearing again Hermione? Must be serious!' she heard Harry say, which made her realise she'd cursed out loud. He was standing up, taking his cup to the sink.

'Just bits and pieces coming back to me... not good,' she mumbled, embarrassed.

'I'll leave you to your memories and coffee,' he said, turning to walk and stand behind her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. He bent down and kissed the top of her head. 'Look after yourself - I have to go out for a little while but I'll be back by about one. I made up a "morning after" potion for you - it's in the fridge. Take it and go back to bed, you'll feel better.' With a loud "pop!" that reverberated through her throbbing head, Hermione realised she was alone.

She shuffled to the fridge and opened the door, leaning on it for support, trying to see the potion Harry had mentioned. She spotted it on the top shelf - a glass of a rather sickly yellow liquid and taking it out, murmured, 'Down the hatch!' and drank. It tasted pretty awful. Rinsing the glass and leaving it in the sink, she made her way back to bed and crawled in, gently pushing Crookshanks (who'd taken up residence when she'd gotten up) off the bed and hoping that when next she woke, she would feel a lot better than she did right now.

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At least Ginny woke in her own bed, although it took her a little while to piece together how she actually got there. It wasn't until after a long, hot shower, two cups of coffee and a good swig of "Horatio's Hangover Cure" (which she always kept in the fridge) that she remembered two surprises from last night: firstly, Hermione telling them how she felt about Harry and asking if they had any ideas as to what she should do ('seduce him, Hermione, he'll love it!') and secondly, the name Hermione had given her; the name of a wizard she'd heard bandied about at work, a wizard who had been released because he'd supplied a lot of incriminating evidence against those on Voldemort's side, evidence that would finalise a lot of convictions. Hermione told her she hadn't really taken it seriously, mainly because of who it was, that it was probably just one of the many strange and wonderful rumours that were always making their way around the Ministry.

Ginny shuddered. She prayed Hermione was right about this being nothing but a rumour. But for some reason she felt she was wrong - and that this was the real thing. There was a good chance Hermione wouldn't remember telling her about this last night - at least not immediately; Hermione definitely hadn't been to as many "girls' nights" as Ginny had, meaning she couldn't hold her Pina Coladas as well! In the meantime, she thought it best that as few people as possible knew she was going after this released wizard who was trying to keep a low profile. She had no doubts whatsoever that her friends - and family - would do everything possible to discourage her if they knew she was going after Draco Malfoy.

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At a local Muggle Sunday market not far from Hermione's flat, Harry moved slowly amongst the various stalls set up to sell the myriad wares ranging from fresh flowers to pickled onions. He'd been pleasantly surprised last night at the insights offered by both Ron and Dean. Who would've thought they'd know so much? But Ron especially was an amazing source of helpful hints! Over the years, he'd tried and rated various "moves", Dean having done the same to a much lesser extent, and they now passed their "expertise" onto Harry.

'Of course,' advised Ron, 'it all hinges on how well you know your...um, "prey" is probably not the best word in this case scenario...intended,' he'd finished, smiling triumphantly.

Well, he certainly knew Hermione better than he knew anyone else. They'd given him quite a number of pointers and ideas and Harry had decided that given the current state of Hermione's wellbeing - or unwellbeing as the case may be - the suggestions for taking care of your poor, sick, "intended" were the way to go. So he thought perhaps a quiet day at home so Hermione could recuperate while he lovingly prepared some sustenance was a good start. Besides, he really did want to make her feel better.

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Hermione woke to a delicious smell wafting down the hallway from the kitchen. She could hear Harry in the kitchen, humming as he worked... humming? Hermione groaned in disgust at the thought that anyone could feel good enough to hum for Merlin's sake! She must've groaned loudly because a few minutes later Harry appeared with a steaming cup of tea which she accepted gratefully, sitting up and pushing her hair out of her eyes.

'Feeling better?' asked Harry, sitting on the bed beside her.

She nodded, grimacing. 'Much better - but still not normal! Thanks so much for that potion - I'd be a far bigger mess without it.

Harry shrugged, smiling. 'I'd do anything to help you, you know that. For instance, I've made a pot of super-soup for dinner for us, guaranteed to be kind to your stomach.'

'I guess I owe you one, hmm?'

'Yep!' Harry stood up, smiling down at her. 'See you at the table in about twenty minutes, all right?'

Twenty minutes later, showered and feeling much better, Hermione was sitting at the kitchen table with Harry, a big bowl of steaming, homemade chicken, noodle and vegetable soup in front of her.

'This smells delicious!' she told Harry, picking up her spoon and taking a mouthful.

She closed her eyes and gave a small moan of appreciation, licking her lips to capture every drop of the delicious soup. Harry's spoon froze halfway to his mouth as he stared at Hermione. Unbidden, unexpected and rather unwanted at this particular point in time, an image rose in his head of Hermione just as was now, with her head tilted back, eyes closed, moaning appreciatively - not for soup, but because she was naked, in his bed, and he was - Jesus Potter! Get that idea out of your bloody head NOW! The admonition roared inside his head and just as Hermione opened her eyes to smile her thanks at him, he dropped his head and put the spoon in his mouth knowing he'd have to think of some pretty awful things pretty damn quick before he could get up from the table without embarrassing the both of them.

TO BE CONTINUED...