What I Love About Sunday

Gaya Hriive

Rating: G
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 30/07/2005
Last Updated: 30/07/2005
Status: completed

Why Harry loves Sundays.

Chapters

1. untitled

1. untitled

A/N: This is just a little one-shot about getting older that was inspired by the song “What I Love About Sunday” by Craig Morgan. Hope you like it, enojoy!

Harry and Hermione Potter sat at their kitchen table, both sipping on their morning tea. Hermione read through some articles in the Daily Prophet as Harry thumbed through a Muggle newspaper called The State. Hermione tisked as she read about the untimely death of ex- Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. The article read something about it being a very embarrassing death involving a French Cirque De Soleil clown, a very hot batch of green beans and that damned bowler hat he was always twirling in his hands.

Hermione was stirred from her reverie by a very excited Harry slamming his paper down onto the table. Hermione looked up, torn between being amused and irritated at the interruption. She was quite enjoying the story of poor Fudge's death. She looked over the top of her reading glasses at her ecstatic husband.

“What is it dear?” She asked calmly.

Harry grinned from ear to ear and pointed to a small section of the newspaper he had been reading.

“Thirty-five cents off round roast at the market. Cut that coupon out honey, that's a great deal.”

Hermione smiled and got up to fetch the scissors. She cut the coupon from the paper and added it to a rather large pile of other Sunday coupons they had collected throughout the month. It was always nice to find a way to cut any corner-even if it was only thirty-five cents a pound. What with a family and a home and a mortgage, the cost of living was anything but cheap, even for the Boy-Who-Lived.

Hermione went back to her article as Harry continued scanning the Sunday section for more great saves. After a few moments of silence Harry realized how quiet it was. A little too quiet.

“Mione, where are the kids?” His voice held a trace of concern. It was highly unusual that his two rambunctious children were not tearing through the house on wild excursions to find the buried treasure beneath the couch cushions.

“Bathing and dressing for lunch at the Weasley's. I told them to be ready at eleven sharp so that we could be there a little early in case Molly needed help cooking.” Hermione turned the next page of the paper, not once glancing up as she answered Harry's question.

“You trust them not to drown themselves in the tub or worse, decide they want to give Smithy another bath? I don't fancy having to pry him down from the ceiling again. Poor cat.”

“They're fine dear. They just needed a little incentive to behave themselves is all.” Hermione turned another page and Harry stared blankly at her.

“Like what?” he asked.

“I told them that if they wanted to hear the story about how you rescued me from an evil troll and then became my best friend, again, they would have to wash and dress and behave themselves.”

Harry sighed loudly in protest.

“You know they only like that story because of the part where I stuck my wand up the bloody troll's nose.”

“Language dear, and yes, I realize that they have no interest in how significant that story is to how we fell in love, but if it takes troll bogies to make them behave, then so be it.”

Harry harrumphed and Hermione turned another page of the paper, still reading the hilarious account of the ex minister's death.

All at once there was a great rumbling from above them. The house shook and small particles fell from the ceiling as they were dislodged by the hurried movement upstairs. In a blur, two children ran into the kitchen and stopped before Harry and Hermione.

The young boy was dressed in a black t-shirt and blue jeans and the girl beside him wore a pretty floral sundress. As they stood awaiting their parents' approval, the young girl reached behind her head and pulled her hair into a loose plait.

“Mum, Dad, we took baths and got dressed! Dad, will you tell us the story now?” The little boy was bouncing with anticipation at his father's response.

“Yea Dad, please tell us about how you stuck your wand up that ugly troll's nose!” The girl flashed a wide grin, reminiscent of her mother.

Hermione put the paper down and looked at her husband over the top of her glasses.

“Yes dear, do tell us how you rescued me. But don't forget to give all the juicy details.”

Harry ran his hands through his thick hair and looked at his children, then at his wife.

“Alright, Tate, Lana, if you will go ahead and get in the car then I will tell you the whole story on the way to the Weasley's.”

Both children ran off in another blur and Harry and Hermione gathered their things and made toward the front door.

They always drove to Sunday dinner at the Weasley's because by now the number in attendance had grown so large that it was impossible to apparate everyone in and a portkey was just too much hassle.

Harry grabbed Hermione's waist just as she was heading out of the door, and turned her to face him.

“Hey, hey. You forgot the routine. Read the paper, drink the coffee, check the kids, kiss the husband.”

Hermione giggled and kissed Harry passionately. Once separated, Harry straightened his glasses and wiped his cheeks.

“Man, that's what I love about Sunday.”

The two went to join their kids and the four were off to indulge in a tradition that had been established many years ago.

*~*

The Burrow was as packed as ever. Every Weasely attended the routine Sunday lunches except Bill and Fleur, Charlie and Rebecca-Ann and Percy and Penelope. Bill and Charlie lived abroad and rarely made it home and Percy was just a prat who never apologized formally to his family for events past.

However, there were always the steady visitors. Ginny and Draco and their two children Alexandra and Preston; George and Alicia with their kids Patience, Prudence, and Tim; Fred and Angelina with Kit, Heath, Sarhai, and Selia; Ron and Luna with Walter, Hahlee, Mitchel and little Biancha; and of course Harry and Hermione with Lana and Tate.

Sunday lunch was always fun but very busy as Molly Weasley had to prepare dinner for twenty-seven people, but she loved having as much of the family together as was possible.

Lunch was served promptly at noon and everyone ate and visited and watched as the children, whose ages ranged from five to fourteen, played together as brothers and sisters and cousins should. All the adults relaxed and reminisced about their youths, now long forgotten under endless piles of dirty laundry, hungry children and more bills than should be allowed to any human being.

Harry sat and watched his children laughing and playing and smiled to himself.

That's what I love about Sunday.

*~*

When the Potters returned home, the children ran upstairs to play. Harry and Hermione decided to watch the sun set on the back porch swing.

Harry sat down and Hermione snuggled up next to him, her head on his chest, arms around his waist. He rested his chin gently on top of her head and she sighed contentedly. They sat in silence, simply watching as the sun burned out, leaving magnificent colors in its wake. Harry looked down at Hermione and smiled.

“Beautiful.” He said quietly

Hermione closed her eyes and smiled.

“It is isn't it? No matter how many sunsets I see they are never the same because it's always a different day that it's setting on.”

Harry laughed gently and squeezed her shoulder.

“No honey, I meant you. No matter how old you get, you are still beautiful. I am the luckiest man alive just because I know you. The fact that I can call you my wife is beyond anything I could ever ask for.”

Hermione sat up and kissed him passionately, leaving the promise of a night filled with bursting stars and many colors.

They settled back into their original position and watched as the last rays of sun faded over the tree tops. Harry felt Hermione breathing deeply beside him, letting him know that she was sleeping. He hugged her tighter to himself and smiled.

“This is what I love about Sunday.”

The End.

“That's What I Love About Sunday”

Raymond's in his Sunday best

He's usually up to his chest

In oil and grease

There's the Martins walking in

With that mean little freckled-face kid

Who broke a window last week

Sweet Miss Betty likes to sing off key

In the pew behind me

That's what I love about Sunday

Sing along as the choir sways

Every verse of "Amazing Grace"

And then we shake the preacher's hand

Go home into your blue jeans

Have some chicken and some baked beans

Pick a backyard football team

Not do much of anything

That's what I love about Sunday

I stroll to the end of the drive

Pick up the Sunday Times

Grab a coffee cup

It looks like Sally and Rob

Finally tied the knot

Well it's about time

It's thirty-five cents off of ground round

Baby, cut that coupon out

That's what I love about Sunday

Cat napping on the porch swing

You curled up next to me

The smell of jasmine wakes us up

Take a walk down a back road

Tackle box and a cane pole

Carve our names in that white oak

I steal a kiss as the sun fades

That's what I love about Sunday

New believers getting baptized

Mama's hands raised up high

Having a Hallelujah good time

A smile on everybody's face

That's what I love about Sunday

Oh yeah

That's what I love about Sunday

Oh yeah

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