Just Another Day

greymalkin

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 09/04/2008
Last Updated: 09/04/2008
Status: completed

It's just another day for Harry Potter and Hermione Granger...

Chapters

1. One-shot

1. One-shot

Title: Just Another Day

Author: greymalkin

Summary: It’s just another day for Harry Potter and Hermione Granger…

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by J.K. Rowling. In other words, not mine. If I was skipping, I would be going, “Not-not mine, not-not mine.” You get the idea. Some passages were lifted directly from Reflex by Dick Francis.

Author notes: One shot, cotton-candy fluff. No redeeming nutritional value here. Post-Voldemort fic with no particular spoilers. Completely ignores DH. It’s also my first foray into fan fiction (ooh, alliteration!) so read, review and please be gentle ;). Big thanks to my beta, Stephanie C.

~~*~~

It started out like any other mundane, ordinary day. She was waiting for me after practice, sitting on a bench with a book in her hands, as was her wont. She smiled as she saw me approach, a special smile that she reserved for me alone.

“Tough day?” Hermione said, her nose scrunching up in amusement as she took in the sight of me, hair going every which way and my wrinkled button-down hastily tucked into jeans. She stood, her hand automatically stuffing the tome into her magically-expanding handbag.

I grimaced, running a hand through my hair. Two weeks before the start of the professional Quidditch season and the coach of Puddlemere United thought he’d put his new seeker through his paces: Bloody-bludgers-flying-at-me-everywhere paces. “Unfortunately.”

All the mirth in her voice was replaced with concern. “Are you alright then? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, Mione.” I smiled at her sheepishly, silently willing her to drop it but her quick eyes caught everything. She studied the left arm I was very surreptitiously trying not to move then looked at me pointedly. I could almost hear her in my head – I know what you’re trying to do, Potter.

“I’m fine”, I said firmly.

She gave me her patented Look, with her eyes narrowed and lips puckered slightly. “Harry…”

“Hermione…” I said, mocking her tone.

She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Harry, I can see the way you’re holding your arm. You’re not fine! Maybe we should stop by St. Mungo’s…”

I placed my hand under her chin to tilt her face up and looked her in the eye. “Love, stop worrying, the team healer gave me some pain relief potion and a salve to rub over it. Nothing supper and some sleep can’t cure.” She was pouting at me now but I could tell she was on the point of giving in. “You know what else helps in the healing process, don’t you?”

She crooked an eyebrow, waiting for me to elaborate. Instead I waggled my eyebrows suggestively at her and was rewarded when she slapped my arm.

“Honestly, is that all you think about?” she said, obviously trying to maintain a stern facade before failing completely and laughing.

I pretended to think about it. “Hmmm…yeah, pretty much.”

She laughed again and I hugged her. I said softly, my arms now around her and my right hand rubbing the small of her back, “My poor Mione, always worrying about me…”

She sniffed indignantly at me, her nose in the air and her mouth pursing, looking for all the world like she was about to launch into a serious debate. “Well, if you had only picked a profession that didn’t require you to fly like a maniac or at least kept your feet firmly on the ground like the rest of us. You would think you’d learn not to–-“This could take a while. I did the only thing I could do to stop her – I slid my hand up from where it was resting on her back, up behind her neck before leaning her head back and kissing her. For a moment, she was too surprised to do anything but soon I felt her lips soften and the kiss deepen. After what felt like an hour, she pulled away looking thoroughly kissed, her eyes slightly unfocused and her lips swollen. She blinked once in confusion before her focus sharpened on me once more and she scowled.

“You really should stop doing that just to shut me up!”

I smirked triumphantly. Really, who wouldn’t be proud of the ability to snog their woman speechless? “It works, doesn’t it?”

“Fine, I get the message. Just promise me one thing?” she sighed.

“Anything, love.”

“Try not to get yourself too banged up. I really hate it when you pull your scare Hermione nonsense.” She eyed me solemnly. I nodded, for once committed to keep the promise, and she smiled.

“So, let’s leave it then?” she said resignedly before reaching up and idly stroking the still-damp hair at the back of my head.

“Shouldn’t be difficult,” I said. I looked at the trim red coat, the long legs in the knee high boots; looked at the soft cinnamon eyes and the prim and proper headband holding back the riot of brown curls. Incredible to have someone like that waiting for me. Quite extraordinarily different from the situation just one month prior, when she was just my flatmate and best friend, and I was knee deep in denial; before all sorts of lines had been – happily and ecstatically – crossed.

I grinned at her in turn before giving her another kiss. Definitely thanking all known deities for complete obliteration of any and all lines. I kissed her nose and eyelids and she beamed at me.

“Oh and would you mind very much,” she said off-handedly, “If we drop by Diagon Alley before heading home? I need to pick up a few things.”

I nodded my assent and took her by the waist to apparate us both. With a smirk and a wave to Oliver Wood, who was just coming out of the locker room, we were gone.

~~*~~

Hermione and I slipped down Diagon Alley, mostly ignored due to the Notice-Me-Not and repelling charms she had the foresight to place before emerging unto the main thoroughfare. To everyone else, we were just another couple on a shopping trip. After watching us go prepare for an outing with the precision of a military campaign, Ron had taken to call us Paranoid and Mental – the perfect pair.

I laughed inwardly. It was the price of fame, after all. After signing with Puddlemere, the media spotlight had only gotten worse. The impromptu marriage proposals, the reporters camped outside our building, and the wholly inappropriate fan mail. And that was only in the first week. Once they found out about us, it got even uglier. One memorable day had us dodging Quidditch groupies and Daily Prophet reporters in a weird game of cat and mouse for an hour before finding sanctuary at a flower shop owned by, of all people, Draco Malfoy. My formerly reticent and media-shy best friend had been thrust into the spotlight as the Girl Who Loved the Boy Who Lived. When she had first heard it, she wasn’t too displeased with her new title. Said it made her sound like a Bond girl. This of course put all sorts of ideas into my head that we had to discuss and sort out, many times and in many different positions. Mmm…I love our discussions.

Her hand was warm in mine and she kept pace with me as we strode down the street. We were both energetic walkers and we matched each other, step for step. Sometimes the way we fit made me think she was made special just for me. She leaned into me then looked up and tilted her head to the side slightly, sighing into my lips when I kissed her. Hermione had never been a big fan of Public Displays of Affection but then again, she never had anyone to want to be affectionate with. At least according to said woman as she groped me while queuing up at the cinema.

It’s funny how far we had come. 10 years as best friends, 2 years as flatmates and a year of denial, before I finally went for it. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. She was my other half, my family, my anchor; the keeper of my sanity and the voice inside my head. When I first came to grips with the fact that I had fallen in love with my female best friend, it took a while for me to comprehend that I had been falling for her for a very long time. Probably since she had first pointed her wand at me on a red train and almost made me piss in my pants. It was a slow process but then again, I was never the fastest learner.

We passed by the always eye-popping Weasley Wizarding Wheezes flagship store window (”Now opening in Paris and Singapore!”) with its perpetual motion display and glaring red and gold sign advertising who knows what. I wanted to pop in for a visit with the twins but apparently, it wasn’t a good time, what with the semi-riot for the new stocks of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix action figures that was going on. Hermione looked at me then at the storefront where we could plainly see children clamoring over the Invisible! Harry variant. She laughed outright and squeezed my hand in both amusement and solidarity. I smirked and pointed out in turn two grown men obviously having a tug of war with the Hermione the Death Eater Slayer doll. She looked, blanched then turned beet red.

“Can’t blame them, you always did look fucking sexy in your arse-kicking kit,” I said.

She slapped my arm but I could see her tiny grin. I leaned closer to whisper in her ear, “Though I may have to see you in it again, just to be sure.”

She looked at me, her eyes half-lidded, long lashes contrasting sharply against her pale skin, and she smiled slowly, knowingly. I gulped. Maybe the teasing thing wasn’t such a good idea. I recognized this Hermione. This was Hermione Granger, temptress and sex fiend extraordinaire, and she was not to be taken lightly.

She slowly leaned in. I was mesmerized by her lips coming closer and closer…Then I heard her purr, “Only if you’re nice…” Before I knew what was going on, she straightened and proceeded to drag me down the street to complete the rest of our errands. I would have growled at her in frustration but that would’ve put me in deeper shit.

In what felt like several hours later, I had moved from frustrated to just plain bored. She stepped into Scrivenshaft’s for a moment. Had to replenish her quills, she said. Especially as she still retained the habit of nibbling on the ends as she studied. I stayed outside, leaning against the storefront and looking at the various packages at my feet. Apparently, Hermione needed to rethink the meaning of the word “few”. We had stopped at the grocer’s for some essentials, Madame Malkin’s to pick up her new Healer robes, the pet store for owl treats and Flourish and Blotts for a “few” books she had on hold. I smirked. You can take the girl out of the library but you can’t take the library out of the girl.

“What are you smiling on about?” she asked when she left the shop.

“Nothing”, I said. “Finished with everything?” I barely stopped myself from adding finally.

She looked at the packages calculatingly, as if checking off a mental list. “All done. Shall we go home?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

~~*~~

We came home to a dark flat and a demanding orange half-kneazle who was very happy to see us. As she flitted about putting away her purchases and checking the answering machine, I plopped down on the very comfy but very expensive sofa with Crookshanks. He managed to find a comfy spot on one of the cushions beside me and settled in, purring like a maniac. I, on the other hand, propped my feet on the coffee table and stretched out, closing my eyes and feeling the stresses of the day start to melt away. I was completely knackered. Had to hand it to her though, the sofa felt bloody amazing. Hermione had done all the decorating and furnishing for the flat when we first moved in. I just gave her the key to my vault, a few rules then stayed well out of her way. It took her a few months and several mini-breakdowns but she did a marvelous job. It was all done in these browns and blues and greens, which, for a bloke such as myself, is about the extent of my knowledge on the subject. She’d probably say something like “Honestly, Harry, it’s in cerulean blue!” or something. Cerulean? That’s a word right? Anyway, my only contribution was the flat screen TV, all 46 inches of it. Absolutely perfect, it is.

“Harry?” I heard her say behind me.

“Hmm?” Hard to be eloquent when you’re this relaxed.

“My parents called. Do you have practice on Saturday? My Aunt Milly and her kids just flew in from Australia and mum’s having a little luncheon for the family. Dad said, and I quote, they’re chomping at the bit to meet ‘little Hermy’s beau’.” I could practically hear her eyes roll at that one.

I chuckled. “Sure, love, not a problem.”

“Okay, I’ll confirm it then. Oh and darling?”

“Yes?”

“Feet off the table, if you know what’s good for you”

Immediately, I dropped my feet with a bang on the floor and I heard her giggling all the way to the bedroom. Wait a minute, what am I still doing here? I got up to follow her and maybe cash in some of those promises she’d smiled all afternoon.

Once we got changed, it was to our normal routine and previously assigned stations. Hermione, as usual, had commandeered almost the entire surface of the kitchen table with her papers and medical books. Meanwhile, I sat at the opposite end solving the Quibbler daily crossword and trying not to get in her way. Behind her, being stirred magically on the stovetop was a stew with contents only Hermione and her God knew about.

I called it her “Everything but the kitchen sink” stew – delicious as long as you didn’t think about what was in it. I couldn’t deny that my girlfriend had a certain flair for cooking. Heck, I was just happy to have someone else cook for a change. There was a dark period in my life when I shared a flat with Ron and learned the true reason Ginny calls him “the bottomless pit”.

I soon finished with the puzzle (“24 Across, 7 letters, Aurors and gingivitis…) Realizing that I really didn’t want to read any more articles on the red-haired wazlib or whatever, I somehow went back to my old standby…staring at Hermione. Her honeyed head was bent over the parchment she was working on, a capable hand stretching now and then for her mug of tea or another book, her mind absorbed on the task at hand. While I looked perfectly ordinary in my usual staying at home gear of black track pants and old white t-shirt, she just looked perfect. Her hair was now in a messy bun and she was wearing an old green jumper of mine with the sleeves rolled up. It came to about the middle of her thighs and hid her grey shorts, showcasing her phenomenal legs. I didn’t realize I was transfixed until I heard her calling my name.

“Harry!!!”

“Um…yes, love?”

“You’re staring again.” She said a little more softly.

“It’s hard not to, really.”

“Flatterer,” she laughed as she turned back to her work, her cheeks a little pink.

I stood up to make myself my own cup of tea and to sniff away at the stew. My little staring game had woken up a thought that had been niggling at me for a while. From my vantage point as I leaned against the counter, I could see her as she went about her work, the same Hermione I had always known. I watched her lips move as she muttered under her breath. I watched as she tucked away an errant curl. I just couldn’t believe I could be this calm, this content, this…happy. The realization was more like a calm acceptance rather than a lightning bolt but I knew then that this was it. She was it, basically. I didn’t know if I could live without her and I really didn’t want to find out what would happen if I did. Well Potter, no time like the present. Three words started drifting about in my consciousness and before I knew it, I was saying it aloud.

“Mione?”

“Hmmm?”

“Marry me?”

Her head shot up so quickly, it was a blur. Her face was abstracted, faintly frowning, questioning, with that little furrow appearing on her forehead. Certainly have her attention now.

“Did you say…?”

“Yes, I did,” I replied. “Will you marry me?”

Her work finally forgotten, she looked at me with a smile in her eyes. “Not to be flippant about it but is this an academic inquiry or a serious question?”

“Serious question, of course.”

“But we haven’t been…I mean, we’ve only been together for…” she trailed off.

“One month, I know.”

She stared at me wonderingly. She took refuge in the mug of tea and I waited for what seemed like an age. I was beginning to think about doing a little Legilimency mojo just to figure out what was going on in that head when she finally looked up and said something I couldn’t quite catch.

What?! What did she just say…? “Um, could you repeat that again please?”

“I said yes, you daft man.” she repeated, grinning at me madly.

I was sure I was smiling like an idiot in intense satisfaction. Somehow I managed to cross the room to the table and was kneeling in front of her and we were hugging and kissing and laughing all at the same time. In my head all I could hear was Yes! She said yes! We’re getting married! She said yes! I was feeling extremely giddy to say the least. I felt like I could, I don’t know, topple buildings over. Or defeat any number of Dark Lords. While I was seriously debating whether doing a victory dance was in bad form, she was still laughing softly as she bent her head down to my chest and settled beneath my chin. I kissed her head and heard her sigh.

“You’re mad. Quite mad,” came her muffled observation.

“Maybe. Possibly. Do you care?”

She tilted her head up and looked at me. I could see sheer happiness in the tears shining in her eyes and her lopsided grin. “Not really. Figure we could be mad together.”

I laughed again and something of my inner thoughts must have shown on my face because she smirked at me. “Feel free to stop giggling like a schoolgirl anytime.”

I quirked an eyebrow at her in challenge before kissing her again, slowly, thoroughly, nibbling lightly on her lower lip, as if marking her as mine once and for all. She moaned softly and I pulled away, beaming. She looked at me, dazed.

“Don’t look so smug,” she half-scolded. “Drink your tea while I finish this paragraph. Merlin knows you’ve distracted me far too much already.”

She turned back to the table and bent her head down again but I could see the smile playing around her lips as she tried to read. She didn’t read far; after about a minute, she sighed and peered at me perched on the chair next to hers. I was trying very hard to hide my own smile but not really succeeding.

“It’s no good,” she said. “How can I work?” She fixed me with a steely glare but I could see her struggle not to laugh or squeal. “I blame you for this”.

“Happy to take the blame,” I murmured against her lips as I took her in my arms again.

“I suppose we should get dinner,” she mused as she played with the collar of my shirt.

“If we must”, I said, amused.

~~*~~

A/N: I’m in the process of writing a sequel to this, in Hermione’s POV and titled “Diary of a Mad Bride”. I’m sure you can figure out what it’s going to be about J Any thoughts on that, plus your comments or violent reactions – you know what to do…