Hermione was wearily getting ready for yet another romantic night with Fred – pre-determined, of course, by a moon calendar and a woman who claimed to be a Seer.
Ginny had lent her a voluminous, so-see-through-there's-no-fabric-left, bright red number, especially for the occasion. Hermione was in the bathroom, busy adjusting the straps when she felt one ping itself loose, exposing a little too much flesh for what she was comfortable with.
"Oh God! Since when was I big enough up there to pop open my clothes!"
Feeling entirely too frustrated with the whole operation, she ripped the garment off and tossed it on the floor to be dealt with later. Flinging on her fluffy and oh-so-comfortable dressing gown on, she waltzed herself over to bed and flopped down beside Fred.
"Not in the mood either?" said Fred with one ginger brow raised in her direction.
He was met with such a fierce glare that he rolled back over to his side and was asleep within moments, leaving Hermione to ponder her own thoughts.
There was that one niggling thought that had been creeping into her consciousness for the past few days. It was the one thing that was both a triumph, and intense fear. She desperately wanted it to be true, but at the same time she was fearful of the repercussions.
Doing her best to put away those kinds of thoughts, she resolved to deal with the problem in the morning, and tried to go to sleep.
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The next day was a weekday, and that meant that Hermione had to get up and go to work.
Ever an early riser, she pushed herself out of bed at 6am, despite her lack of sleep during the night, and was ready to go to the ministry within the hour. The problem would have to wait until lunchtime.
It seemed to Hermione that time during that morning seemed to be using its rather incredible ability to change speed at the most inconvenient moments. Therefore, by this rule, lunchtime rolled around much more quickly than what Hermione would have liked.
She took the elevator downstairs. This time, instead of turning left, as was her usual custom in her daily trip to the dining hall, she turned right, and proceeded to walk through the doors of the visitor's entrance, to the streets of muggle London.
She walked briskly down the street, crowded with business men and women, also on their lunch breaks. Her eyes darted about, almost as if she expected all the strangers in the street to know where she was going, and why.
Finally, she chanced upon the very store that she had been looking for: a chemist.
Darting inside, she flitted about to the correct aisle, hoping to get what she needed and get out in record time. However, she would not be so lucky. One look at the rows of neatly-placed, brightly coloured boxes told her that this might take a little longer than what she had planned for.
What were her criteria? Did she need the type that was on sale?
'Maybe I do need two for the price of one, in case I make a mistake?' she thought in a rather self-depreciating manner.
Although discipline and order were an innate part of Hermione, what she did next completely contradicted every value she had ever had instilled into herself.
Closing her eyes, she spun herself on the spot several times, almost falling over in the process. She reached out with one hand until she felt the edge of the product shelf, then reached a little higher, aiming for the product itself. Snagging one box to separate it from the many, she opened her eyes and examined her prize. It would do.
Keeping her head as low as possible, she snuck into one of the adjoining aisles and grabbed a few items that she hoped might distract the cashier from her main purchase. She didn't want anybody getting any ideas, even those people who did not know her, especially when she wasn't even sure of it herself.
Stuffing her most recent purchases into her handbag, she returned back to her office feeling even more nervous than what she had been before she set out. The small, coloured box in her bag seemed to have such a burning presence in the room that it distracted Hermione from her work all afternoon. She longed for the time when she would be able to put herself out of her misery, and put a stop to all her guessing games.
One stroke of luck did happen to befall her that afternoon. A Floo call from Fred informed her that he would be coming home late this evening. That was good. That gave her more time to do what she needed to do. It would give her the time to take her time, and make sure that she did things properly.
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