“Granger, you have that report due Monday.”
“Granger, you have those evaluations to write up.”
“Hermione, can you look this over?”
This was how Hermione’s day had been going. She had come into the Ministry early that morning, to finish her report on elf rights that was due in three days, but she had had so many interruptions that it was nearly impossible.
Hermione worked in the Ministry. More specifically, she was head of the Elf Rights department “ a department that she herself had founded. She was rather proud of her job, but it had the tendency to get extremely stressful and aggravating.
Hermione glanced at the clock in front of her: 6:23. She sighed; she was already running late. Ron would know she was still at work, but, knowing him, he’d probably still be worrying regardless. Not that there was much to worry about “ after an agonizing year, Harry, with help from Ron and Hermione, as well as some of the Order, sought out and destroyed the remaining Horcruxes and vanquished the Dark Lord.
Her eyes strayed to the picture of Ron and herself that was beautifully framed, lying innocently on her organized desk. She was lucky they were still alive. A fair few people had died during the fight and it could have just as easily been them.
Hermione tiredly swept her hand through her hair and focused, for what seemed the umpteenth time that day, on her report. She had to convince the Minister of Magic to let the house elves decide if they want wages or not “ if she couldn’t force them to take money, the least she could do was give them the right to take it if they wanted.
Hermione quickly became accustomed to the sound of her eagle-feather quill scratching across the parchment, writing word after word, line after line, properly phrased paragraph after properly phrased paragraph…
The sky quickly faded, turning from a stunning cerulean to a beautiful purplish-pink. Soon, the sky was navy blue, and Hermione put the finishing touches on her report She leaned back in her chair, massaging her aching wrist. Three and a half feet of parchment. She slowly breathed out. That must have been the longest essay she had written, working for the Ministry; but, she reasoned, elf rights were definitely worth it.
Hermione’s watch beeped once, signaling 9:30. She smiled. Wrapping up the parchment and sealing it with a tap of her wand, she placed it lightly in a mahogany drawer. She grabbed her cloak from the back of her chair, magically locking the drawers on her desk and strode out of her office.
Locking her door, she turned left, heading towards the lifts at the end of the corridor.
Hermione’s footsteps echoed desolately off the solid oak floors. Her eyelids were slowly drooping, and even her footsteps sounded exhausted. After what seemed like an eternity, Hermione reached the lifts. Pressing the button, she waited for the familiar clanging.
Five seconds…ten seconds…twenty seconds passed; the lift obviously wasn’t coming. “Bugger,” she swore.
Feeling too tired to Apparate, Hermione headed left toward the emergency stairwell. She pushed open the door and stepped into the cool stairwell, sending shivers up her spine, despite wearing a heavier cloak. She started ascending the stairs, stopping to lean on the rail as she yawned.
Stepping off the last stair, Hermione furiously rubbed her eyes. Walking forward into the atrium, her feet automatically turned towards the fireplaces. She grabbed a pot off the nearest fireplace and plunged her hand into it. Her fingers scraped the bottom.
“Urgh!” Hermione screamed. Today was just not her day.
Hearing her call, the wizard on duty called out: “There isn’t any Floo Powder, Miss Granger. I’m sorry. We were planning on getting it in this afternoon, but the Floo traffic was terrible.”
“Yeah, I noticed…” Hermione said. “Well, thanks, Ernie. Have yourself a good evening.”
“Thank you, Miss Granger. You have a good evening, too.”
Smiling, Hermione walked over to the lift that would take her out to Muggle London. Thankfully, the lift clanged into place, the scratched, red doors sliding smoothly open. Stepping inside, Hermione leaned against the wall as the doors slid shut.
Her stomach jolted uncomfortably as the lift began its journey toward the surface. All too soon, a blast of cold air mercilessly blew through the doors. Hermione drew her cloak tighter around herself, squinting so the forcefully falling snow didn’t get in her eyes.
Turning right, she started her walk to the flat she shared with Ron, her boyfriend. She remembered, after the war, when he finally asked her out. He was stuttering over his words, and going all red. He is so adorable! she thought.
A sharp blast of cold on her feet brought Hermione jolting back to reality. “Wonderful. Just bloody wonderful,” she said, realizing she forgot to change out of her high-heeled work shoes and had just stepped in a puddle of slush. Her feet soaking, she thought sourly of the Muggles. If it weren’t for the Muggles looking nosily out of their windows and driving their expensive cars, she could have transfigured her shoes…
Grumpily turning left at the lights, Hermione didn’t even take in the scenery, as she normally would have. Normally, she didn’t mind walking home, either; it wasn’t that far; today was just a really terrible day.
Rounding another corner, the snow got even more intense, threatening to entirely obstruct her view. Almost blindly, she walked onwards, barely able to see two metres in front of her.
Suddenly, Hermione’s foot got stuck in something. Upon closer inspection, Hermione saw a sewer. “This can not be happening!” she screamed, now near hysteria. Several passersby squinted through the snow at her, but no one stopped to help. Desperately, she pulled at her leg.
“Come on!” she yelled, her voice shaking slightly from panic. What if her foot never came out? What if she had to perform magic in front of Muggles? What if she was arre “
SNAP. Hermione’s foot suddenly came free. “Thank you, Merl “ ” she began, but as she went to take a step, she stumbled. The heel of her shoe appeared to have broken when she forced it out from the sewer.
“Great! Just great!” Hermione screamed over the roaring wind. “Bloody fantastic!”
Hermione trudged along, near hysteria. She could hear the faint click, thunk, click, thunk of her shoes on the pavement, the ferocity of the wind have died down the slightest.
Without warning, her day played in her head on fast forward. Her long day at the Ministry…no Floo Powder…the horrible weather…soaking her feet…breaking her shoe…
Hermione sped up…faster and faster, until she was running. Feeling tears pricking behind her eyes, she blinked them back furiously. I will not cry in public, she thought.
Rounding the final corner, Hermione was running full out. Almost tripping over her own feet, she finally reached the door to her flat. Fumbling with her keys for a few moments, she burst through the door.
“Hermione?” she heard Ron call. “Hermione? Is that “ Hermione, what’s wrong?” Ron asked, concern etched on his face.
Hermione just shook her head, running towards Ron. Once in his arms, she broke down, the tears relentlessly rolling down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook violently shook as Ron drew small circles on her back, trying to clam her. Hermione’s tears soaked through Ron’s shirt, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.
“Hermione,” Ron said softly into her ear, “what’s wrong? Why are you so upset?”
“I’ve had such a terrible day,” she said through her tears.
“Why don’t you sit down on the couch while I go and get some of that Muggle hot chocolate stuff you like so much?”
Ron smiled encouragingly before heading to the kitchen. Relieving her aching feet from her shoes, she shrugged off her cloak and sat down on the sofa, waiting for Ron to come back. She smiled as she heard him rummaging around in the cupboards. He was the best “ supporting her in everything, cheering her up when she was upset, and helping her through tough times. He was her rock, and she didn’t know what she would do without him.
“Here’s your drink,” Ron said, handing her a steaming mug.
“Thanks,” Hermione smiled, noticing he remembered the seven little marshmallows she loved “ her mother used to put them in when she was little.
“So, you have a pretty bad day?” Ron asked, sitting down beside her.
“Yeah,” Hermione sighed. “People kept coming up to me at work, giving me things to look over. So, I worked really hard, because I wanted us to spend the weekend together “ ” she caught Ron’s eye and he smiled gratefully, “ “ but everything took so much longer than I thought! I finally finished at 9:30, and I thought it was great! So I left the Ministry, but the lifts didn’t come and I had to walk upstairs to the grates, but there wasn’t any Floo Powder! I was too tired to Apparate, so I had to walk, and it was so cold! It was snowing so hard I couldn’t see in front of me, so I had to walk home in my work shoes, because I forgot to change, and I stepped in a puddle and broke my shoe!”
By the time Hermione had finished her story, tears were threatening to spill out of her eyes again. Ron took her mug and placed it on the coffee table before enveloping her in a hug. He wrapped his arms around her and she did the same to him, resting her head on his shoulder.
“And now I probably look an absolute mess,” she laughed, leaning back and wiping away some tears.
“No, you don’t,” Ron said, lifting his thumb and gently brushing away a tear. “You look beautiful.”
Hermione blushed, leaning back on Ron’s shoulder. Curling up against him, she tightly entwined her hand in his. They sat in silence, Hermione dozing off listening to the steady thump, thump, thump of Ron’s heart.
“Hermione?” she heard Ron whisper sometime later. “Hermione? Are you awake?”
“Mmm,” Hermione groaned in a groggy response.
She felt Ron lift her up. She was vaguely aware of Ron whispering something, but, being half-asleep, she couldn’t discern what he was saying.
The next thing she knew, she was lying on top of her soft mattress, her head resting comfortably on her pillow. She felt Ron pull the covers over her chin, and she knew he had sat down as the mattress sunk.
Carefully, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Hermione thought she felt him lean down, kiss her forehead, and whisper, “I love you”.
But it could have just been her imagination.
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Author's Note: Finally! I've only been writing this since May, when I started it coming back from a field trip... :p That doesn't tell you I procrastinate...no...
Don't forget to review! :)
Oh, and Happy Holidays to everyone! Whichever holiday(s) you celebrate (if any) I hope you have an awesome time!
With You by Niamara
Chapter Notes: This is dedicated to my best friend, Melissa, who made this so y’all can actually read it. Also, this goes out to any girl who has ever had a day like Hermione’s. I know I have.
Disclaimer: I don’t own any Harry Potter characters, just the plot. And this was based off Jessica Simpson’s ‘With You’, and I don’t own that, either.