Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and every seer I've contacted within a fifteen mile radius tells me I never shall. *sobs*
Author's Note: Hello, all! After all my positive feedback from False Accusations (Thanks to all who read and reviewed! Now I feel all warm and fuzzy inside…) I've decided to post this fic, probably my favorite novel-length that I've written, on Portkey. I'll be updating frequently on this fic so enjoy!
P.S. The majority of this fic will be written in Harry's P.O.V., just so there's no confusion.
P.P.S. I have no idea whatsoever how to stop that annoying run-off of the entire page. Anyone care to enlighten me?
Nine More Months To Go
My eyes quickly adjusted to the darkened kitchen anxiously as I surveyed my surroundings. Though I had cleaned the dishes an hour earlier, the place was an absolute mess as bits of cookie crumbs and milk were scattered all about, as it was every time Harmony came in for a midnight snack...Not even troubling myself with the state of the kitchen, I scrambled across the damp with milk floor over to the counter, stepping over the usual things, discarded toys, books, a brick, unidentified green slime -Even though I'm positive Hermione's warned Harmony to dispose of it for the last two years... Atop of the counter were, as I expected, nearly a mountain of crushed graham crackers, chocolate syrup, and...Marshmallows?
"Hmm...You'd think Hermione would stop allowing Harmony to make smores," I stated aloud just as my hand met a sticky substance of spilt chocolate syrup. My darling three year old's sweetness can only be matched by the sugary mess she seems to constantly to be munching on, another bad habit her heinous dentist grandfather claims she picked up from me, along with being 'unkempt', as he would put it, avoiding bath time, picking my nose (I wasn't picking it, mind you I had an itch!).
"Harry, come, don't keep me waiting..." I heard my wife of five years call temptingly from the bedroom. That's right; I was in here for something to accompany my treat. Or rather our treat as Hermione's been rather grabby lately and insists on in taking upon my pleasures, not that I mind of course!
I hastily snatched up the gummy bottle of chocolate syrup from the counter and nearly ransacked the cabinets in search of the whip cream. Quickly I made my way down the halls. I had to move a bit more stealthily as I strode in front of my daughters open bedroom as she could smell sweets, let alone chocolate about a mile away...I paused in front of her open door and listened in on her steady breathing for a while. Good. She was finally asleep. It's quite a task to get her from her bath to the bed and its absolute murder to get her to stay there.
The routine is as follows:
1) Playtime (Which lasts for about an eternity and a half. Not that I mind though)
2) (I mention a Bath) Two Hour Whining interlude
3) Actual Bath (Squirt-bubble-bath-in-my-eye-while-I attempt-to-wash-her-tangled-mop-of-curls time)
4) Pajama Time ("Darling there really is no difference between the Puddlemere United jimjams and the Chudley Canons jimjams, would you just put it on?! -No you can't sleep naked, you'd catch a cold -what did you say? Why do Mummy and I sleep naked? Er, now where are those stupid Chudley Canons pajamas...?"),
5) Playtime II (Didn't I tell you it was never-ending?)
6) Story time ("Hermione, get in here before your child kills me!")
7) Tuck in time ("There are no monsters under your bed, Harmony!")
8) Snack time ("Harmony, didn't your mother put you to bed already?")
9) Tuck in time II ("Oh, there really is a boggart under your bed..." "Daddy, why the scary monster turn into Grandpa when you come in here?" "Er, too many questions are an affliction, sweetheart." "What's an affliction?" "...Time for another story, Harmony-Darling.")
Finally, I reached my bedroom, our bedroom. I poked my head in the doorway and waved the can of whip cream around giddily like a right plonker. She loves it when I get excited…in a, er…idiotic sort of way (At least I hoped she did, since I fell into that mode often). Hermione was there, of course lounging on the bed. She was already clad in one of the slightly revealing nighties that her father had attempted to burn on his last
visit. Her cinnamon shaded locks fell in feathery layers of curls over her shoulders, much like Harmony's, I thought with a grin.
"Anybody order some whip cream?" I questioned, feeling a sly grin spread across my face. Hermione, who seemed to have temporarily forgotten me, placed down her book, the one I was once again getting used to seeing, and returned the sly gesture.
"I was just about to begin without you." she informed only half jokingly as I strode over to the bed. I plopped down next to her, rolled to face her, and puckered out my lips, silently demanding my reward for retrieving the treasure. Quoting Ron Weasley, my best friend and old chum, receiving free kisses was one of the finest perks of being married, right up there with actual bed play. He should know, as he'd already been married three times. Hermione readily complied, pressing her soft lips with my own slightly chapped ones. I leaned towards her, deepening the kiss just because I had searched ever-so hard for that chocolate. Just as I was about to pull my infamous slip-of-the-tongue move, she pulled away, despite my usual groans of protest, and rested her forehead upon mine as she took both the whip cream and chocolate syrup from my grasp. My sly grin had mysteriously been replaced by my usual goofy, lopsided one somehow. I wonder how she does that...
"Well, now that I've had a sample taste of my treat," I started, smacking my lips together, tasting the sweet aftertaste her lips had left on mine, "I want the main course. Now." I added with a sense of urgency, pulling her closer to me. According to Ron, you could never have enough bodily contact in bed, well, until it got you into trouble and you end up being forced to marry three times...But that wasn't the case for me.
"You'll get it, as soon as I get my share first..." she chortled softly, petting- no, stroking the front of my chest fondly. I suddenly found myself wondering if the Monkey-see-Monkey-do rule applied for this occasion.
"What? This is the kind of experience we should share, don't you think?" She detected my uneasiness
"Well, I would Darling, it's just that," she responded as she began eyeing me deviously, shaking up the whip cream can at a deliberately slow speed. "You always hog everything for yourself-"
"Oh, I do not!" I protested.
"Oh really? What about the time just last week, in the kitchen, you remember, on the table-"
"I couldn't help it-"
"-Or the time at my parent's house-oh Daddy didn't like the idea of that at all...-"
I bet he didn't. That cantankerous old bat lived for the mere reason to torture, humiliate, and to flash his ancient and most lethal weapons at me…Of course, Hermione wasn't aware of this and if she was, she did a damn good job of hiding it. It seemed that David Adonis Granger (The II or III, who knows, I'm no good with lineage and all that rubbish) despised me from the first moment I stepped foot in his house- with Hermione's arms clutched around me. Or maybe it was the time I stayed with the Grangers for the summer and crashed into his car while on a romantic moonlit ride on a dilapidated flying motorcycle with his young, virginal daughter-Moving on though.
"He doesn't like the idea of me-" I reminded her briskly.
"Or on the stairs or on our wedding night in fact-"
"Okay, I get it!" I interrupted her, going into a little pout making Hermione giggle shortly at my childish behavior. Maybe Harmony did get some of her worse habits from me...
"...Don't get upset! It's nothing personal-"
"How 'bout we make a deal? I give you something really nice..."
"Like what?" she asked skeptically.
"Er...like...um...my...banana?" I offered. Oh yes, I was sacrificing the most precious, sacred part of a male's…Banana Split. Bet you weren't expecting that, eh? Oh yes, our intentions weren't as lewd, as risqué as some may have thought (Though I wouldn't mind it one bit…). This explains the extra precaution and stealth one should always take into account when both chocolate and ice cream are present within a 1-mile radius of a three-year-old, more specially, Harmony Potter.
"Ah, my favorite," Hermione wet her lips in the slightest manner, gazing at me with a hungry look about her.
"I can tell," I smirked at her, "So do we have ourselves a deal?" I asked, dangling my banana teasingly in front of her face.
"Hmm..." she contemplated for a while, "Mr. Potter, you better remove that shirt, things may get a a tad bit messy." She warned.
I grinned maniacally with glee.
Right then and there, right as I was in mid pullover, the door flew open and Bam, the romance was stomped, yet again...Ah...the story of a couple with a kid.
"Mummy, Daddy! I had a-I had- a bad dream!" Little Harmony wailed as she scrambled into our bedroom, flailing her tiny arms dramatically with her raggedy stuffed puppy doll, Chip, in tow.
I was swift to shield the particularly large (sufficient enough for two) dish of ice cream banana splits from her sight as Hermione opened her arms to the child as she clambered onto the bed sniffling miserably.
"Oh darling, come now, nothing for you to fear here..." I muttered, feeling slightly sore. I know it wasn't really Harmony's fault my treat would probably be forgotten and devoured by my wife after I'd fallen asleep and then fall into the category of "things I probably dreamed up" over breakfast, but hey, she ruined my treat! This would've been the first drop of ice cream I would be allowed to touch, ever since Hermione started hoarding away the stuff by the gallons. But of course it wasn't her fault either, it was the cravings, she always claimed. She calls them cravings, I call them Annoyingly-tempting-snacks-and-sweets-that-I-must-go-out-of-my-way-to-get-at-usually-ungodly-hours-that-are-perfectly-good-for-Hermione-but-will-"Ruin my teeth"-according to her. Damn I hate those cravings...
"I'm not scared!" She corrected me sharply, turning her tearstained face towards me. Her beautiful emerald eyes are brimming with tears, making my heart swell up with pity and forget about the ice cream as I engulfed her in an embrace as well.
"Chip was scared. Not me. I'm a big girl!" she defended herself, pointing at her raggedy puppy doll which was staring up at Hermione with its remaining, nearly chewed off eye.
"Poor Chip," Hermione started, playing along with Harmony's little game. "This is the third nightmare he's had this week. Do you reckon it's those scary movies a certain somebody-"
For some mysterious reason her eyes then flashed momentarily to me.
"-Let him watch?"
It's not like I forced Harmony to watch The Twenty-first and Most Likely Not the Final Return of Michael Myers...and after the third sequel, the movie stops getting scary anyway, this had just been two hours of stupid hormone influenced preteens frolicking across the screen screaming their heads off as this was the edited version. It was actually giving a good lesson: Stay Daddy's little girl forever and don't become a stupid hormone influenced preteen. I liked the idea of that.
Harmony nodded solemnly as she attempted to peer over my shoulder to try to catch a glimpse of what I was hiding.
"Er, sounds as if somebody wanted to spend the night..." I started to say before Harmony let out a gasp of awe.
"Chocy!" she stated, holding the bottle of chocolate syrup in her hands.
"Harmony, no its way too late for you to have any ice cream-" I said, trying to have a shred of authority though I knew in the end I would be the only person in the room with barely a spoon to lick at.
"Ice cream?" she questioned with an endearing grin on her face, one she'd knew I'd never be able to say 'no' to. "Ice cream!"
"Sadly Darling," Hermione said to me as she took the time to spray the foamy white substance over the dish of ice cream from my not-so-secret stash, "you couldn't keep a secret if your life depended on it..."
"Or my food supply..."
"Mummy, I think Chip wants some ice cream. Uh huh, he said so!" Harmony chirped. I couldn't help but smile at her.
"Does Chip plan on staying the night in Mummy and Daddy's bed again?" Hermione questioned as she spooned a taste of the oozing chocolate ice cream to Harmony.
"Yes...But..."
"But what?"
"Chip don't like sleeping without Me." she finished sweetly.
"Chip 'doesn't' like sleeping without you, you mean," Hermione corrected, always being a nag whenever proper grammar was concerned.
Chip was beginning to give more demands than our real dog...
"Oh, I think I understand," Hermione replied winking.
"Chip's just a scardey dog. I'm not. I'm a big girl! A big sister,." she reminded us proudly, motioning to the obvious bulge in Hermione's usually flat stomach.
Ahhh...of course. How could I forget with all the sudden morning sickness and those darn cravings? Did I mention I hated the cravings? After three years of frosting our first bun, we had another in the oven. I can't say I was less than surprised to find out, but it was much better from when I first found out about-
"Harmony, what have I told you about spraying whip cream up your nose!" Hermione warned, removing the spray can from the curious three year old's grasp.
I remember like it was just yesterday, I do...Surprisingly, it all started with a fish...
Time to get nostalgic.
July 2005
I gazed longingly out the office window, watching the merry birds twitter about as I leaned back into the couch I was sprawled across. It was Friday morning, but instead of being filled with the usual glee of anticipating the upcoming weekend, I was feeling everything but that. First of all I was having these reoccurring dreams -no, nightmares, Hermione was acting very odd, rather disconnected lately and I feared her health was in the worse for nearly every morning or after every meal she would head straight for the toilets to retch it all up. I thought for once her father was right and my horrible cooking had set off something unnatural in her organs, but I'd never tell him that.
Plus, there was my approaching birthday. Somewhere between being stuck at nineteen and twenty two, birthdays began seeming unnecessary. From that point on, birthdays just started getting bothersome as they passed me by, leaving me pining over old photo albums of the grand old Hogwarts days.
Yes, I just referred to my Hogwarts days, days when Voldemort freely roamed the wizarding world and found it necessary to attempt to kill me every year, as grand.
Now, I didn't see myself as going on 25, I saw 5 years until I fall in the unspeakable abyss of 30. How old do you have to be to experience a midlife crisis anyway?
Really didn't want to think of that for some reason. Suddenly, somebody cleared their throat, disturbing my worrisome thoughts.
"Harry, I-"
"Sorry," I apologized quickly, blinking dully, I continued. "Let me continue. As I was saying-"
"Harry-"
"The dream always starts with me, just me rowing down this, this, canal, I think. Everything's running smoothly though it's all in black and white for a while- like those old muggle shows on the telly-"
"-Whatsa telly?" The man opposite questioned me, looking genuinely curious. I forget that most pureblood wizards aren't too familiar with terms like 'television' and 'fellytone -er…I mean, telephone'.
"Er…kind of a…um, box with moving pictures," I grasped desperately for a short but sweet answer that wouldn't lead into an intricate hour long conversation on the science and history of a television. It had ended up that way several of times with Mr. Weasley…
"A photo album, you mean?" The other wizard inquired further, pressing the subject.
"We don't really have much time left, now do we? Anyway, I'm in a boat and suddenly I crash into shore and suddenly there's color. What do you make of that?"
"Well, I-" He stroked his chin in a manner of which professionals did to make their patients seem sicker than they really are just to justify their actions when they tagged on an extra seventy-five sickles to your medication bill (nothing a home-made Prozac and some good quidditch time couldn't heal).
"Let me finish. On shore, I spot- get this -Hermione sitting along the rocks with two fishing rods, which is odd because the other times she's in my dreams she's only got one rod and it isn't for fishing if you uh, catch my drift-" I waggled my eyebrows the way you do when there's an inside joke between two old friends. He looked back at me with a blank expression on his face, obviously not getting it.
"Ahhh...Ew, aren't you, uh, a little old to be having wet dreams?"
Lucky for him, I chose to ignore him, that worthless sod…
"Yeah, so, she grins at me and hands me one of the rods, like she's been waiting for me. I think that because she says, 'I've been waiting for you Harry.' then she tells me how great I am for being glad for her, for us. The thing that freaks me out is when I turn to ask her what in the blazes is she talking about, a fish tugs on my line! Suddenly it lunges out of the water like its flying or something! This thing was huge! I mean, it was as big as a person at least. Anyway I scream my head off while Hermione just smiles at it as it swallows my head," I finished, gingerly massaging my temples. I felt an oncoming headache…
"...Swallows your head?"
"Yes, yes it swallows my head. Do you think that's...odd, or is it just me?" I questioned, trying not to look scared out of my wits.
"...How long've you been having these dreams?"
"About a month already,"
"And it ate your head, the fish?" He attempted to clarify again.
I sighed exasperatedly as I rose from the couch.
"You're not really helping at all, Neville," I informed him, getting a bit testy.
"Well, I told you to go to a real psychiatrist ages ago! It's not my fault you continue to go along with this little fantasy just because I have the couch in my office..."
I glanced back at the chair I had previously occupied. Yup, he was right. It was one of the lay down couches you only spotted in psychiatrist offices. He had me there.
"Well, what do you make of the dream anyway?" I said, grasping for a different opinion on my dream. I had only told two other people of it, Hermione, of course, and Ron. They both came up with the same deduction; my subconscious was disagreeing with my seafood loving stomach. Result, no more fish sticks or fish and chips for me...
"I believe...that Hermione...wants you to...go fishing or something of that sort...?" Neville offered sheepishly as he twiddled with his wand absentmindedly.
"Nah, 'Mione hates fish...With a passion, in fact, I've only seen her eat it about three times, two of those times her father was breathing down my neck so she may have had pork that I just mistaken for fish-"
Suddenly, the door to the office flew open, and a head of full obsidian hair poked halfway inside the doorway. Immediately, Neville and I straightened up and tried to look slightly more professional in case the visitor happened to be Tonks, one of our 'superiors' now, with a sudden hair change. Of course, today was a slow day around the auror department at the ministry of magic so most of the workers we're slacking off, not just us. And of course it wasn't Tonks that had intruded my session with my "psychiatrist", but Matthew, a fellow employee a few years my senior. His amethyst eyes glinted mischievously as his rugged face twisted into a lopsided grin.
"I hear anyone mention lunch?" he questioned, grin unfaltering. Quite a bit of a glutton, he was.
"No," I said shortly, not really feeling like treating this guy to lunch for the third time this week. But Neville just had to open his mouth...
"Harry was just talking about his dream and discussing how he's so intimidated by his father-in-law that he has no sense of taste or proper observation in his presence-" he explained.
"He does not intimidate me!" I defended myself. Okay, maybe I was a bit...shaken around the guy but how would you behave around the man that locked you and him together in his antique weapons (what normal person has that?!) room two nights before your wedding with his daughter?
"Oh really," Matt started smugly, "Great, because he's here to take his precious son-in-law out for a bite to eat-"
I tried to look brave but my scared-pissless expression deceived me.
"Eep!" I squealed, resembling the exact tone and pitch of a little girl's.
Neville tried his best to hide a smirk from me while Matt let his unconcealed peals of raucous laughter loose. He stood in the doorway slapping his knee, cackling like a wounded hyena. I couldn't help but to get he was joking...
"Yeah, yeah, are you gonna stick around here torturing my ears with the likes of your hideous laugh or do you actually have a purpose for visiting this time besides the fact that you want a free lunch?" I questioned, trying not to sound to cross.
"Any way with me, I'm starving!" Neville informed me, slapping me on the back. It's funny how my friends saw me as their personal bank.
"Actually, someone really is here to take you out." Matt said sincerely. That's the only time this guy was serious is when food was the subject matter.
"Really? It's about time I actually got some-" I was cut off by a tight grasping around my right ankle.
"Ack! Get it off me- get it-" I squealed yet again, this time flailing my arms about somewhat hysterically. As you can see, I was a bit surprised.
"Zabba Oohie Har-har!" the creature gurgled out merrily. And there was only one thing-no, person, that called me Zabba Oohie Har-Har.
I glanced down at the tittering blob of flaming hair. Flaming hair, sign one. I was positive this was a Weasley however when I spotted sign two, a face full of freckles. The little child extended his arms towards me, motioning for me to hoist him up so he could poke my eye as usual.
"Hello, there Ronnie! He's gotten big since the last time I saw him." Neville announced over my shoulder while the thing went on with his way of torturing me.
"As I was saying, a certain Ron Weasley, here for you Harry." Matt finished, cracking the door a bit more so Neville and I could catch a glimpse of my good buddy outside, leaning casually against Rosemary, Neville's ditzy blonde secretary's desk, laughing it up in a flirty fashion. Did this guy ever stop? No, and he wasn't going to, I concluded as Rosemary slipped him a bit of parchment with hasty scribbling on it, probably her number, which Ron accepted heedlessly. I laughed silently to myself, as did Neville. Ron had just been divorced for the second time by his wife of a couple of months, Lavender Weasly -no, Brown. You'd think he'd show a tad bit more remorse.
"Wom!" Little Ron Jr. peeped, finally paused from rumpling my hair in a worst state to call for his father. I was actually surprised at the development, Ron had managed to get Ron Jr. to call him something besides "Bastawd," a development from staying to long with Lavender, Ron had concluded.
Ron turned from Rosemary and flashed us a boastful smirk, waving Rosemary's number in front of his face as he walked closer. No reason to brag, considering most everybody in the office had their rounds with the girl, including some of the women...Er, not me though, I'm married, though I do believe she made an appearance at my bachelor party.
"Hey guys!" Ron greeted in his normal cheerful tone. I noticed he wasn't clad in his bedraggled tangerine practice Quidditch uniform as usual.
"Ron, off from work I suppose?" Neville stated, noticing the same as I.
"Yeah, we're in off season finally, can you believe it?" he expressed relief.
I couldn't help but snort.
"Er, Ron, the Chudley Canons are always off season." I informed him.
"You think that's why they can't play a decent game?" Matt questioned somewhat genuinely, sending me and Neville in a fit of chuckles.
"Hey! What about that game we won the Windborne Wasps 170 to 165?" Ron defended stubbornly.
"Oh yeah, quite a game that was. When was it- summer of 1957 you say?" Matthew continued heckling.
"Oh, I remember my Grandmother telling me about that game loads of times when I was a lad!" Neville said gingerly, not wanting to damage Ron's ultra-sensitive ego. I noticed Ron was beginning to give into a childish pout, making him look a bit like little Ronnie when I refused to give him some sweets to stick to my hair.
"Oh Ron, the canons may suck but they do have the best Keeper in the league!" I said, feeling my free lunch slip away along with Ron's ego.
"Humph. Thanks Harry. So where do you think we should head off for lunch..." Ron said emphasizing 'we' as him and I only.
"Ooh, what about that nice place on the corner?" Matt offered.
"The pizza shack?" Neville queried. "No, no, it smells suspiciously like butcher's shop in there," he pointed out, crinkling his nose in disgust at the memory.
"Nah, that pub, Ron could treat us to food and a pint."
"Us? Who's us?" Ron questioned.
"Well I'm in the mood for Chinese food-"
"Who's us? I don't recall inviting you freeloaders," Ron pointed out, furrowing his brow in frustration of being ignored.
"But I suggest we go to that new cafe not so far from here. It's only been open for about three days now and I've only sampled there twice!" Matt exclaimed outraged.
"Bastawd, Bastawd." Ron Jr. chirped, pulling at Ron's robes.
"Who the-"
"What type of food do they have there?" I questioned evenly, feeling Ron's rising temper.
"All sorts, it's a cafe."
"Sounds good." I confirmed. "Come Ron, the little one's hungry." I stated, urging my friend towards the door.
"Let me get my cloak," Matthew started as he trailed down the hall.
"...Who the hell invited you two?!"
-Meanwhile in Daily Prophet Headquarter-
Hermione knocked impatiently on the side of the cubicle with the silver plaque reading Junior Photographer posted on it. After a few moments of silence, she decided to have a peek inside.
"...Colin! Colin, where are you?" Hermione called out, peering into the deserted cubicle. There were scattered photographs of various things everywhere on the floor, walls, and his empty desk, signifying that he had been there recently.
Receiving no response, Hermione continued to slink down the hallway, as if afraid of being detected. Her efforts were squalled soon anyway.
"Okay, all I gotta do is hurry, get my bag, a spli-" she began muttering to herself.
"Hey Herms," a female voice cut through her own, slightly startling her.
"Eep!" Hermione squealed girlishly as she jumped up slightly causing her companion to become startled as well.
"Ginny!" Hermione breathed, relief evident in her voice.
"Hermione!" Ginny said in return, cocking an eyebrow at her friend's odd behavior.
"...Er, fancy meeting you here, what brings you around these parts...?" Hermione tried to pull off casually, failing miserably considering the fact that she should know good and well what Ginny was doing there because she worked there along with her, Hermione being one of the junior executive editors and Ginny being a writer for the opinions page of the Daily Prophet.
"Well, I was feeling a tad bit puckish and I decided to search for breadcrumbs in the halls..." she replied sarcastically, shaking her head, "What's got you creeping around here like a thief in the night?"
"Er, I'm...looking for...the er, loos," Hermione made up after a brief silence causing Ginny to deliver a penetrating stare at her as if she had lost her mind, which she was pretty sure she did as she'd noticed Hermione acting a bit...off lately.
"You know," Ginny started, giving a knowing grin to Hermione, "Those long pauses and 'Er's' really throw off your pathetic inconspicuous act."
Hermione gave an exasperated sigh, knowing she couldn't fool her good friend.
"You've got me..."
"I ever lost you?" Ginny quipped, cracking an endearing grin.
"I was looking for Colin," Hermione started to say, silently questioning Ginny.
"Don't look at me. I've got no idea where he's gone of to. I can't keep track on him unless he's in bed..." she started to say before Hermione cut her off, not wanting to pry in any of Ginny's more intimate details (Who would when it's concerning Colin Creevy?)
"-Because, I've been walking about telling everybody that if somebody comes up to them asking of my whereabouts to tell them I've been hit by a-"
"-Fairly small lorry and that you'd be in the hospital until next month. I know. I got the memo," Ginny finished for her, grinning broadly. "Let me guess, monthly lunch date with your older sister?"
"...Yes," Hermione mumbled grudgingly as if even admitting it was the worst chore in the world you could sentence a person to. As far as she was concerned, it was, seeing as her only sister, Grace was by far the most insufferable person Hermione knew outside the house of Slytherin. And seeing as Hermione had experienced previous encounters with people like Rita Skeeter, Delores Umbridge, and Cho Chang (All of whom weren't in Slyhterin as far as she knew), that was really saying something.
This monthly lunch date was a stupidly sadistic thing her parents, meaning only her father, set up. In order to still go recognized as a valued and active member of the family (not being talked about among gossipy aunts) after marrying 'a-car-wrecking-ragamuffin-that-gets-joy-of-swiping-perfect-little-daughters-from-there-loving-fathers-that-worked-so-hard-for-them' or Harry (as Mr. Granger put it), she would have to "rekindle" her relationship with her sister (which had disintegrated by the time Hermione learned to talk) because it broke his heart to see his baby girl stray so far from her family by marrying and devoting most of her time to 'a-car-wrecking-ragamuffin-that-gets-joy-of-swiping-perfect-little-daughters-from-there-loving-fathers-that-worked-so-hard-for-them' or Harry. In doing this she agreed to go on an outing with her wretched sister at least once a month, suffering through each despicable, mind0numbing moment of it, the end.
"Sad, girl. Just sad," Ginny tutted shaking her head, making Hermione's snap up.
"You know how Grace is! She's so...blah, and whiny, and bitter, and-" Hermione began to rant on not noticing the approaching couple behind them.
"-And right behind you," Ginny finished through barred teeth, turning Hermione's attention to down the hall, where Colin was strolling down the corridor, laughing it up with a slender, curly flaxen haired woman whose overall facial and body structure bore a remarkable resemblance to Hermione's. The woman's pale blue eyes glinted as she laughed heartily at one of Colin's corny jokes.
Hermione hissed a curse out before attempting to push the resentful expression off of her face and replace it with a false joyful one.
"Grace!" she tried to great merrily, extending her arms towards her sister as they approached.
"My, my, little sister...it seems as if you managed to loose just a tad bit of weight since last month! Or, you've discovered the magic of vertical stripes..." Grace uttered in a way that could be taken as half compliment or an insult. Just for the concern of making a scene, Hermione chose to take it as a compliment.
"And you...you look...er, the same," Hermione tried to return the 'compliment'.
"Isn't that funny? I was just about to read the memo you sent, Hermione, right when Grace came knocking at my cubicle, Colin said cheerfully, putting his arm around Ginny as both Hermione and Ginny threw him venomous glares that could kill.
"Yes, it seems everyone in this building seems to believe you we're hit by a lorry! Isn't that funny?" Grace said, slapping her thigh.
"Yes, just to die for..." Ginny said gravely as she pinched Colin's hand which had become comfortable around her shoulder, making him yelp like an injured animal.
"Well, come along now dear, I've got to make t back to the salon-"
"I can't go!" Hermione stated swiftly. "I er, have been having stomach problems!" she said truthfully, "I couldn't even keep down my breakfast this morning!" she added hastily, noting Grace's skeptical looks.
"Oh come now, just because you couldn't keep down Harvey's-"
"Harry," Hermione corrected automatically. After a near five years of being married to Harry, she wondered how certain of her family members (Meaning her father and Grace in particular) still managed to let something as simple as 'Harry' slip from their minds constantly. Hermione hadn't considered it an issue until her father had over three-hundred invitations printed stating 'You are cordially invited to the glorious wedding of Hermione Jane Granger and Harvey Julian Porter'. Luckily, Mrs. Granger, who, unlike her husband, had taken to Harry immediately like Hermione's brothers, was happy enough to hunt down the few owls that had already been sent out and fix the mistake all the while chastising her husband incessantly.
"Just because you can't choke down Harry's toxic food doesn't mean you'll choke up lunch as well. Come, we're going to that new cafe I spotted on the way here." Grace stated firmly, pulling at Hermione's sleeve.
"But, I, er, promised I would-er, go out with Ginny!" Hermione protested, shoving the shorter female up to the front. "She came here all the way from Diagon Alley to have lunch!"
"Well, I suppose you can bring her along then. I've been trying to snag her boyfriend for at least a month now; it's the least I can do for the poor thing, buying her lunch..." Grace said indifferently, simply shrugging off the fact that both Ginny and Colin (blushing furiously) were present.
"Ahem! I'm right here, you know!" Ginny hollered at her as Colin scrambled to get out of her sight and away from her wrath.
Grace turned back and grinned in a sweet manner. A sickeningly sweet way that made Hermione's insides quiver uncomfortably.
"Why Ginny Dear, you've lost a bit of weight as well! I'd hardly recognize you if it wasn't for you tatty red hair!" Ginny, not being as tolerant of Grace as Hermione had grown to be (with much experience over the years), took this comment as an insult.
"Let's be off then," Hermione stated briskly, grabbing the back of Ginny's cloak before she lunged at Grace, escorting them both off the premises.