Hermione's Day

A/N: Written before HBP came out, so it is AU because I really, really wanted Snape to continue teaching potions.

With extravagant and sincere apologies to Judith Viorst, author of the charming children’s story Alexander and the Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. My kids loved that book when they were little. This is written in a similar style.

*~*

Hermione Granger woke up on Monday morning, filled with anticipation and excitement about the coming day. It was one of her favorite days of the week because she had all her favorite classes: Ancient Runes, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Arithmancy, and--against all odds--double Potions in the afternoon. But when she hopped out of bed, she stepped in a pile of cold, slimy cat puke, deposited in the night by an out of sorts Crookshanks. She grabbed the first article of clothing she could put her hands on, and wiped her foot, but realized that it was the freshly pressed white blouse she had intended to wear that day. Lavender shrieked at her because she, too, stepped in the cat puke, and Hermione hated being shrieked at first thing in the morning. There was little hot water left in the shower, she got soap in her eyes, and realized that she forgot a flannel. She found a hair on her toothbrush, got a really bad knot in her hair that hurt when she tried to brush it out, and couldn’t find her favorite pair of socks so she had to wear the black ones with the hole in the toe.

She sighed, and thought, Despite the awful start, this is still going to be a wonderful, challenging, terrific, really most excellent day.

But when she picked up her book bag the bottom split at the seam, and all her books, parchment rolls, and quills tumbled out. Two bottles of ink smashed on the wooden floor and splashed onto her shoes, least favorite socks, and clean skirt, and dotted her knees with black and red spots. Parvati shrieked because she was walking by just as Hermione’s book bag split and ink splashed on her legs and her favorite pair of white knee socks. She cursed loudly and stamped her feet, and then called Hermione a not-so-very nice name.

Hermione really hated hearing curse words, especially the f-word.

Hermione sighed and cast “Scourgify!” The ink disappeared, as did the glass, and the seam on her bag sealed instantly. She thought, It is good to be a witch. But then she realized she had no ink with which to take detailed notes in all of her favorite classes that day. Perhaps I can borrow a bottle from Ron or Harry, and was immediately cheered. She still thought it was going to be a wonderful, challenging, terrific day.

She left Gryffindor Tower, but was immediately stopped by two first-years who were arguing over last week’s Quidditch match between the Tornadoes and the Cannons. She had to separate the two boys, got her foot stood on, and dropped her book bag on the other foot. The boys didn’t offer to pick up her books, parchment rolls, and quills. She stooped over to gather her things, but when she did, a group of second- and third-years came running out of the portrait hole and kicked her books, parchment rolls, and quills. “Sorry, Hermione,” one of them called back, and they continued to run down the hall to the stairs.

Hermione sighed again, and thought as she piled up the books and parchment and quills, It’s still going to be a wonderful, challenging, terrific, really most excellent day.

And just as she put the last of her quills in her bag, Harry came out of the hole and almost tripped over her. “Hermione!” he exclaimed with a smile. “Are you okay?” He stooped to help her up, and brushed a stray hair out of her eye. “I thought you’d be at breakfast ages ago.”

“Oh, you know, it’s Monday, and it takes awhile to get everything together for classes. It’s my–“

“Yeah, it’s your favorite day,” he finished with a grimace. “For the life of me I can’t imagine double Potions being something to look forward to.” He shouldered her book bag and groaned. “Merlin’s balls, Hermione. Got enough in this bag of yours? Come on. At least we can still grab something to eat before the day starts.”

Once in the Great Hall, Harry dropped her book bag with a thud, and rubbed his shoulder. “I think I’m ruined for life.”

Hermione thanked him, and sat down to eat a bit of something. But looking around she found that the toast platter was empty, the coffee was cold, and the orange juice was warm. Harry took the last muffin, and left at a dead run to make it to his class. All that was left was lumpy porridge and a bit of milk. I really hate lumpy porridge, she thought. Because of the late time, the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw tables had all been cleared of breakfast items. She spied a couple of pieces of toast on a platter sitting in front of Greg Goyle at Slytherin. Thinking that she might be able to have one if she asked nicely, she made her way to the far side of the Hall.

“Good morning, Goyle,” she said brightly. “Say, may I please have a piece—“

As she said it, Goyle licked his fingers of bacon grease and picked up both pieces of toast. He looked at her, and asked thickly around the food in his mouth, “Wa do u wan?”

She stared briefly at the toast held in his large hands and freshly licked fingers, and sighed. “Oh nothing. Have a nice day.”

Hermione’s stomach gave a little rumble, and she rubbed it absently. Never mind. I’ll just eat a bit more at lunch. It’s still going to be a wonderful, challenging, terrific, really most excellent day.

But when she got to Ancient Runes, she arrived a bit late, and so didn’t get her usual front row spot. The professor noticed she was late and told her off; she got back a homework assignment with an “A” on it (and covered in red marks showing what she had done incorrectly). She realized she had worked the wrong page of exercises for homework and was told off again. She answered two questions incorrectly. Then, when she had to write an assignment, she remembered she had no ink; she asked the professor for some ink, she was told off yet again. Terry Boot laughed at her, and Draco Malfoy got a higher mark on the assignment.

Hermione really hated it when Draco Malfoy got higher marks.

The professor held her back after class, told her off yet one more time, and gave her extra homework. She was late to Defence class, and got told off. Ron snickered at her, Parvati disarmed her during the practical exercise, and Draco Malfoy got a higher mark on the homework. When she flailed about in a dither because she still had no ink, Harry leaned over and gave her his bottle.

“But what about you?” she whispered.

“I’ll just copy your notes tonight, so take good ones,” he said with a smile.

After she had taken seven pages of detailed notes, she realized that Harry had given her his bottle of his favorite purple ink. Personally, she hated purple ink, but it was nice knowing that Harry had shared his special ink with her.

Hermione hated it when Ron snickered at her. But she really hated it when Draco Malfoy got higher marks.

All in all, it’s still a wonderful, challenging, terrific, really most excellent day, she thought, as she packed her bag to head down to the Great Hall for lunch.

*~*

Hermione Granger sat down to lunch next to Neville Longbottom, who passed her the crock containing the main course: steak and kidney pie. So it wasn’t her most favorite dish from the Hogwarts kitchens, but it was hot and filling and gave off a rich aroma. As she ate, though, she knocked over the pitcher of pumpkin juice--all over the table, her plate, and Ron, who swore at her. She dropped a spoon-full of pie on her blouse, and accidentally kicked Harry in shin when the pumpkin juice splashed onto the table. Harry groaned and swore, and rubbed his now-bruised shin, but helped her to clean up the mess. Ron grumbled, and spooned her up a new plate to replace her ruined one. She did a powerful cleansing charm on her blouse which went awry, and completely ruined it beyond the point of even Transfiguring it into a new one, and Hermione Granger was definitely aces when it came to Transfiguring anything.

Harry gave her a piteous look and handed her a t-shirt from his bag. “I was going to head to the pitch for practice without going by the tower,” he explained, “but your need is definitely greater than mine.”

When she returned from the girls’ loo off the main hall, she said to him, “Can you make it look like a girl’s white blouse?”

He scrunched up his face in deep concentration, the look that she always secretly found sexy, and he swished his wand in front of her. A dazzling, snowy white blouse followed. The buttons even buttoned from left to right as a girl’s blouse did.

“Thanks,” she said gratefully.

“You’re welcome,” he said. Taking her bag and shouldering it, he led her down to stairs to the dungeons to where their afternoon session with Snape awaited them.

“Still think you’re having a good day?” he asked her slyly, as he dodged a stray hex coming from Terry Boot’s direction, which hit the stonewall and ricocheted off down the hall. An ominous deep boom returned to them.

“Sorry, Potter,” the Ravenclaw called. “I’m still trying to get the hang of that one.”

“No problem,” Harry returned, and then slumped against the wall, dropping both bags. “It certainly seems you’ve been fighting off a bad case of the Mondays.

“The Mondays?” Hermione said, digging into her bag for a quill, which she pulled out triumphantly and stuck into her messy ponytail.

“It’s from a Muggle film…the Mondays are when you have a bad day.”

“Well, it is Monday, but it’s always my favorite day.”

“Yeah, you keep believing that, then,” he said, amused, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine why.”

Suddenly, the door to the classroom flung open, and Professor Snape beckoned them with a sharp nod of his head. He turned, and Hermione entered with her heart falsely optimistic.

*~*

The day went from bad to complete disaster the moment she crossed the threshold of the Potions classroom. Snape was in a right foul mood for whatever reasons the man felt it necessary to be in one. The potion he assigned was not terribly difficult, but Hermione could not do anything right and incurred Snape’s wrath every time she took a breath. She tipped over a beaker of crocodile bile, which smelt horribly, and got told off; she accidentally stood on Millicent Bulstrode’s large foot and got hit with an itching hex. She cut the bloodwort leaves in the wrong direction and shredded the mandrake skin instead of cubing it. She stirred when she should have shaken the holly berry solution and boiled instead of simmered the final mix of the potion. Because she kept itching, she knocked into Harry, who cut himself whilst cutting his leaves. Harry wouldn’t talk to her, Terry Boot wouldn’t shut up, and Draco Malfoy sniggered at her. The potion turned out neon blue instead of pale yellow, and Snape gave her no points for her efforts, while Malfoy got full marks for his.

She really hated it when Draco Malfoy got full marks. Even Harry got an A on his potion.

When she finished packing her bookbag, she dropped Harry’s purple ink bottle on the floor and it splashed everywhere, which earned her another scathing comment from Snape, a raucous laugh from Malfoy, and a sympathetic sigh from Harry, who helped her clean up the remains of his favorite ink bottle.

She was so mortified that she fled the classroom.

“Man, is she having a crap day or what,” Terry Boot murmured to Harry as they walked up the stairs.

“Tell me about it, and this is her good day,” Harry said.

“Take care of her, then,” Terry said, and he jogged ahead to join his Ravenclaw friends.

Harry stopped, looking dumbfounded at the boy. “Take care of her?” he muttered. Then something clunked into place in his brain. “Oh yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks, mate.”

*~*

Hermione decided that after the day she had had, the better part of valor was to take refuge and hunker down. But the bad luck still followed her. The shower was too hot, the towel was stinky, and she couldn’t find her hairbrush. When she went back to her bed, she found that Crookshanks had deposited a hairball on her pillow.

“Well, I thought this was supposed to be my wonderful, challenging, terrific, really most excellent day,” she grumbled as she cleared off the hairball mess. “This has turned out to be a really horrible, no good, very bad day.” She bit back a sob, though she considered the therapeutic value of a good cry.

She straightened her shoulders and put on a brave face. “I can still have a wonderful, challenging, terrific, really most excellent day if I try really hard.” So she pulled on her favorite pair of track pants. Harry’s transfigured blouse had reverted to its original shape, a black T-shirt with a “Sex Pistols Forever” legend and a picture of a sneering Sid Vicious. The shirt was warm and soft, and smelled faintly of Harry, which made her happy. She snuggled into the quilt on her bed and picked up her Arithmancy book, checked her notes, and became contentedly ensconced in the assignment for the next hour.

She finished off her homework problems (checking three times that she had completed the correct page) and picked up the Ancient Runes book when she noticed the silence of her room. Her roommates never appeared, and just as she decided she would chance a trip to the common room to do the rest of her homework, she heard a sharp tapping on her bedroom window. It was Hedwig.

Hermione quickly went to the window and opened it to admit the snowy owl. Hedwig fluttered onto Hermione bed and dutifully held out her leg, showing a small scroll. Hermione took it, and gave the bird a loving stroke on her head. Hedwig hooted softly, gave an affectionate nip to Hermione’s finger, and flew off through the open window.

She read the note: Meet me in the RoR – H.

After considerable thought she decided that if she could hazard a trip to the common room, she could probably handle one to the Room of Requirement. She pulled on her robes, slipped into a pair of Birkenstocks (her favorite Muggle shoes), and started down the steps. The common room was busy but quiet. Ron gave her a wave and a sad smile; Lavender avoided looking at her; two first-years tried to get her to stop and help them with her charms homework, but she told them that she too busy and they gave her dirty looks.

Once out in the hallway, she ran into Filch, who tried to give her a hard time about leaving her house with only an hour to go before curfew, got hassled by Draco Malfoy who laughed at her Birkenstocks (“What are those ugly things? Banshee slippers?”), and got told off by Terry Boot for missing a Prefect meeting. Pansy Parkinson laughed at her hair (she had forgot to brush it after the shower), Parvati tried to get her to help with the Arithmancy homework, and Madam Pince told her off for not bringing back an overdue book.

Finally, Hermione trudged up to the seventh floor, and paced back and forth in front the wall where the room usually appeared. On the third pass, the door popped into existence, and she had never been so glad to see it in her life. She quickly turned the knob and walked in.

There, sitting in the middle of a large, thick rug, surrounded by candles, was Harry Potter. He was dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt (this one with the legend “Co-ed Naked Quidditch” on it) and was barefooted. Beside him was a tea service and a tureen of, from the smell of it, chicken noodle soup—and a bowl of chocolate pudding with whipped cream.

“Thought you might like some dinner,” he said.

Hermione burst into tears at the simple sight of his friendly face and some of her favorite food. Harry leapt up, dried her tears with a tea towel, took her by the hand, and led her to the thick rug. It was softer than she imagined. He handed her a bowl of the soup and let her eat in silence as he sipped a mug of fragrant tea. She gratefully ate the soup and the pudding and then accepted a mug of the tea from him. All the while he said nothing, but smiled at her.

And she didn’t spill one drop or dribble any pudding on his Sex Pistols t-shirt.

When she was finished, she sighed contently. “Thank you,” she said. “You have made my day ever so much happier just by being here and doing this for me.”

And then Harry did something he had never done before. He leaned over and kissed her on the lips.

She stared at him, not knowing what to do or say, not really believing that what had happened had actually happened. And then, he did it again, and this time, his lips lingered on hers as his hand slipped into the tangle of her hair.

“Harry,” she breathed in wonderment “What are you…”

“Shhh-shhh,” he shushed, and he kissed her again, this time positioning himself in front of her such that he could slowly, carefully push her back into the rug. “I’ve been wanting to do this for ages. Haven’t you?” She fell into a pile of heaven with Harry’s lips showing her the way. “

No need to answer as Hermione found her entire self answering with a resounding, “YES!”

“What a wonderful end to a terrible, horrible, no good, really bad day,” she said, after a wonderful, sensuous, long, most excellent snog.

Harry grinned and kissed her again.

And she really didn’t care if Draco Malfoy thought her Birkenstocks were ugly.

*~*