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I May Hate Myself in the Morning
Mei Queen
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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!
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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.
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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.
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"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.
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"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."
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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?"
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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."
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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?"
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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…
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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.