The Morning After - Hermione

Disclaimer: Nothing recognisable is mine.

Author’s Note: Thank you for the patience of everyone still reading this. I haven't had internet for over a month and haven't been able to update. I will try harder now I've got it.

Reactions II: Hermione’s

Hermione woke up thinking Crookshanks had died in her mouth during her sleep. The fuzzy, vomit-inducing taste certainly supported this theory. Unfortunately, the big lumpy presence next to her proved that the taste was entirely her fault. Luckily as a witch, hangovers and their symptoms were easily cured.

Crawling out of bed, she reached for her supply of potions and downed the appropriate one as if drinking a shot of liquor. Some things came so easily when they were practiced often.

The smell of breakfast wafted up the stairs and a fully recovered Hermione wandered down to fill up for the day. It was hard to put up with involuntary exclusion from society on an empty stomach.

Manoeuvring herself from the kitchen to the table was difficult whilst carrying a mug of coffee and a plate full of food. Crookshanks wasn’t helping matters by winding himself in and out of her legs. Luckily, her mother took pity on her and fed the cat to keep him happy.

However, the look thrown over shoulder at her daughter contained no trace of the motivating pity. Helena Granger was well aware of what made her daughter inattentive first thing in the morning. She only wished that Hermione would find better friends than Ron and Harry. Friends who didn’t keep her out all night, drinking until she could barely make it home.

Hermione was happily ignoring her mother’s accusing glares and making good progress through a plate piled high with food. Reaching for the paper, she suddenly lost her appetite. The Ministry had actually managed to outdo all previous stupidity and had passed the Bill that would remove the last of their civil rights.

Being the social outcast that she was, Hermione was well aware that if she did receive any petitions, they weren’t going to be desirable in the least. Mentally snorting at the thought that ANY wizard would be desirable enough to make her want to give up the precious little she had left in her life, she turned to the rest of the post. There were three other letters on the table, and with a sick feeling in her stomach, she began to open them. And promptly lost her breakfast.

Helena Granger was not alarmed by her daughter’s vomiting. Drinking all night does do this to people. Nevertheless, she quietly gathered up a glass of water and some cleaning products along with a bucket. Self-induced or not, it’s hard to see your only child sick.

As she began cleaning up, some words from the letter Hermione had been reading caught her eye. Someone had proposed to her? Had Ron finally woken up and done what they had all been waiting and planning for since the two were in school together? But Ron’s name wasn’t on the parchment. Some boy named Marcus Flint, that Helena had never heard of, had proposed.

“Well, I know you’re old enough to live your own life, but I would have thought we’d meet any boy you were serious about before the proposal came in, Hermione.”

Hermione groaned as she realized how many more lies this new development was going to take to cover up. It was hard work hiding half her life from her mother.

“I’m sorry, mum; things have just been so hectic at work that I haven’t had a chance to bring him around. I promise I’ll do it soon. Thanks for cleaning up.”

With that last thank you, she left the room before any more awkward questions had to be answered. The other two envelopes were tucked into her pocket and, with this in mind, she grabbed the bucket on her way out just in case. In the relative safety of her bedroom, she sat down to open the last two.

Viktor Krum had petitioned her. That was relatively unexpected. She hadn’t heard from him since before the Final Battle. Writing took so much effort when you were trying to concentrate on winning a war, and neither had thought of writing when it was over. A marriage with someone she didn’t really know anymore was not appealing at all. Living in Bulgaria was definitely out of the question. She might be a pariah in England, but it was her home, and it was where she was going to stay. A lifetime of being a ‘Quidditch wife’ did not sound like a position she’d be able to fill too well either. So, the third person it was.

Opening the third letter, Hermione let out a scream of anger mixed with frustration. Snape. It always came back to Snape. It wasn’t enough for him to torment her for seven years at Hogwarts, ruin her two closest friendships and make her as hated as he was in society; now he wanted to claim the rest of her life as well? No way was she even going to keep this petition. Raising her wand, Hermione produced one of her infamous waterproof fires. It had worked against him for her in her first year; it should work now.

Except, the parchment wouldn’t burn. The ministry had certainly foreseen the unhappiness that would follow some marriage proposals, especially when forced upon people like this, and had made the proposal parchment impossible to destroy. Hermione tried anyway.

After trying fifteen different methods, she gave up. It was obviously a waste of time, and she certainly needed every minute she could get now. It was time to seriously think about who would be acceptable and petition as many people as she could. There was no way she was going to choose out of the three she’d received.

Thumbing through the wizarding equivalent to a phone book, Hermione giggled to herself. She could make good on her second grade crush and petition Lockhart if she wanted to. Facing a lifetime of him might not make having her wand snapped seem like such a dire consequence.

Getting serious and down to work, Hermione sorted through the names. All Weasleys were out from the start, as was anyone over the age of forty. Most of her schoolmates were never going to accept a petition from her, nor would she want them to. That cut down the list considerably.

The people left on the list were strangers. They could have any sort of perversions, and she wouldn’t know until it was too late. Unfortunately, she was running out of options. Short of snapping her wand, there really wasn’t much choice left.

Somewhere in the back of her consciousness, she heard the front door open and close. She could hear low voices from the lounge room, but ignored them, writing it off as one of her mum’s friends. Until her door opened.

Turning around she saw the last person on earth she wanted to see; the one person who consistently turned up despite this fact. Snape.