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Hermione Granger\'s Diary	By : angryoldmen Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 3827 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
~June 20, Saturday~

7:00 a.m. In bloody Quidditch stadium.
This weekend was supposed to consist of the Professor comparing my eyes to chocolate mousse and my lips to ruby coloured cushions of lust (or something along those lines).

So why, oh cruel deities, was I just led into the Quidditch stadium like a sheep being led to the slaughter, only to be stuck next to Penelope and some boy equipped with a Chudley Cannons noisemaker (which he only stops so he can drop it and try to peek up my skirt when he goes to pick it up)? Am being punished- that�s the only plausible answer.

Head still hurts something wicked from last night. Speaking of which, should really learn not to drink around love prospects as increases chances of making ass out of self from �probable� to �most definite.�

Last night, Ginny was very disappointed concerning (considering?) that she was told she would be staying in and would not, under any circumstances, be leaving the tent unless she wanted to live out the rest of the summer in the form of a flobberworm. After all logical arguments eluded her; Ginny took to sitting on the spiral staircase and stomping her feet as she screamed at her mum (I'd suggest saying �Molly� here as Hermione has known the Weasleys for some time) for not conceiving her a year earlier.

Felt horrible leaving Ginny behind. By the time I had managed to unwrap her grip from my calf and ignore her pleas to stay, everyone else had already gone and my attempts to catch up had been dampened by my less than practical choice for shoes (heels. Men like heels, yes. But they are hardly one to keep up in the muddy terrain of the Moore).

Had obviously overestimated the logical placement of tents as quickly found myself quite lost and rounding the same set of tents for the third time. With no sight of Harry, Ron, the Professor, or anyone slightly familiar, was thoroughly aggravated and determined to go back to the tent and make amends to Ginny if I could ever find my way back.

�What�s wrong, darling?� a voice asked.

Was Knight In Shining Armor -- or rather, Woman Standing By A Floating Cart Of Drinks. She was an older woman, not exactly the bar wench type, and she reminded me a bit of Mrs. Weasley.

Harmless enough.

�I�m very lost, to be quite honest.�

�Figured as much. Here, let�s get you a drink and try to get you straightened out.� The friendly, slightly plump woman pulled out a clear substance and poured it into a glass before adding a splash of red liquid.

�Alright. I don�t need anything too strong. I�m a bit of a lightweight.� I had confessed while looking at the drink terror. Many a night with vodka had taught me that clear alcohol was the worst.

�Of course. Why don�t you give this a go?�

Took a sip, prepared for the onslaught of the tell-tale burning sensation that came along with alcohol but found none. �This is absolutely delicious. Are you sure it�s alcoholic?�

�Only a tad. Now tell me what�s wrong, child.� She smiled. Lovely smile despite the fact that she an oral hygenist�s worst nightmare. Very nice.

�Right. Well, I�m a bit lost. See, I was supposed to be out with my friends, Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter, but I�m wearing these ridiculous shoes and couldn�t keep up. Here, I think I need one more.�

She poured another. �There. Go on.�

�So I couldn�t keep up and now I�m horribly lost� What was I saying? Oh. I really need to find my friends, have you seen them? I think I might take just one more of those if you would be so kind.�

�Of course. Harry Potter, you say? I think I might have heard something about him up the way. He�s been quite a topic of news since he defeated You-Know-Who.�

�Right. The Boy Who Lives and all that. Up that way, you say?� Attempting to point north but practically falling over in the process. Was a bit tipsy. �Fantastic! Think I can have just one more?�

�There you go.�

�Mmm. �Tis really good. You know that? You�re such a sweet lady. Very, very sweet. But I really need to be on my way.�

�That will be four galleons.�

�Four galleons? For three drinks?�

�Four, actually. You didn�t think they were free, did you? Four galleons. Pay before I notify the authorities.� How could sweet old woman turn in price gouging monster?

�This is ridiculous! You were only nice to me so you could get me drunk and overcharge me!�

Had rather hoped my argument, filled with alcohol-induced hand gestures and all, would point out the error in her ways and cause her to quickly apologize before saying that I needn�t worry about the four Galleons.

The woman took one look at me before cocking her head back and yelling, �Help! Help! This girl is stealing! Help!�

�Here, you daft old bat.� Promptly pulled four Galleons out of my purse and threw them onto the cart.

The wicked woman smiled a toothless smile before pushing her cart the opposite direction. �Pleasure doing business with you.�

Horrid woman. Will never trust old women with alcohol again. Very clever, they are.

Was lost, quite drunk, and holding shoes in hands as they were doing absolutely no good on feet. Figured the woman could have been lying about Harry but quite frankly, couldn�t think of anything else to do. Thus, headed north in drunken stupor.

Had walked for ages. Was tired, but not nearly as irritated as should have been, considering the circumstances. Is rather easy to find beauty while wandering around a Moore full of people like lost calf when one has just ingested god knows how much alcohol in a very short amount of time.

�Oi there!�

Ignored the yell coming from group of drunken face-painted fans as they certainly weren�t talking to me. �Oi!�
Turned around as they were being rather persistent. �Excuse me, are you talking to me?�

�Yes you, with the nice arse. Wanna come over and polish my broomstick?� One of them yelled, much to the amusement of his friends.

Was appalled, shocked even. Am mature, sensible witch who shouldn�t be subjected to such talk.

Did they really think I had a nice arse?

Didn�t have time to respond as a bright flash of orange swept in front of me and towards the cat-callers.

It was the Professor! He wasn�t shouting, but speaking quite level with the boy. Judging from the face painted pervert�s large eyes that never wavered from the wand Remus idly played with, he was sticking up for me in manner of very sexy, protective boyfriend. Very cute. After a few moments, the offending pervert obligingly walked towards me.

�Erm. Sorry for the 'polish my broomstick' remark. I honestly didn�t mean anything by it.�

�And the one about my arse?�

�Sorry about that one too.�

�No, no, no. Did you mean it?�

The boy, who really couldn�t have been much older than I, looked between the Professor and I for a moment before replying with, �Erm. Well, yes?�

�Really? I thought it looked a bit big in this skirt. You don�t think so?�

�You look a bit short without shoes on and a shorter or longer hem would do nicely as I don�t think that one in particular does you justice. But big? No.�

�You�re too nice. Well, the shoes, you see-�

�Hermione.� The Professor interrupted. To be frank, had rather forgotten he was there.

�Right then, you�re forgiven. Off you go.� I said briskly. The boy nodded obediently and ran back to his friends. �Yes, Professor?�

�Please, it�s Remus.� He had managed to say between stifled laughs.

�What�s so funny?�

�You do realize you�re more than slightly inebriated and up to your ankles in mud?�

Looked down and confirmed what he had said. �Well yes, but I hardly think my lack of shoes is really that funny. Besides, I have them right-� Realized that was only carrying one shoe. �Bugger.�

Remus didn�t bother to stifle any laughter beyond that point. �Harry and Ron are worried about you. Come on.�

�No, we can�t! We have to go find my shoe!�

�You don�t have another pair with you?�

�Actually, I don�t. We really have to go find my shoe.�

�Then I�ll buy you another. We really must get back.�

�No.�

�What?�

�No. I don�t want to walk all that way with bare feet.�

�It didn�t seem to bother you up until now.�

�Right, then you went and pointed it out and now I�m most definitely aware of the mud squishing between my toes.�

�Then clean off your feet.�

�And then what? Put them back in the mud?�

Remus laughed. �What would you like me to do? Carry you?�

This is the story of how I was brought back to the tent on Remus Lupin�s back.

10:00 a.m. Still in bloody Quidditch Stadium.

Ended up transfiguring the boy�s noisemaker into a muffin before shoving it into Penelope�s mouth, promptly making her shut up about how hot it was and how I would be a far more suitable wife if I would only put as much effort into becoming domestic as I did in reading or writing.

All right. So only imagined it, but surely fantasizing about it for more than three hours straight should count for something?

Bloody hell. The game is only halfway over. Suppose world is covered with asinine sports consisting of grown men in ridiculous outfits playing with large balls of some shape or another, but how can a stadium full of people be so seemingly captivated by it for such a long period of time? Sure, first half wasn�t so bad. Managed to occupy self by counting red hairs on Ron�s head as he had the honor of sitting right in front of me (unfortunately, every time he went to stand up and cheer would lose count and be forced to start the process all over again).

God, Remus is very sexy when he is watching Quidditch. He furrows his brow and concentrates on the players as if he should he ever dare to blink, they would fall from the sky and wind up in a helpless pile of bodies and brooms by the time he opens them.

Musn�t think about that, though. Perhaps will count how many times Penelope complains about something.

1:30 p.m.

Penelope complaint count: 2,457 Chudley Cannon wins: 1

Am back in tent and have just finished packing. Luckily, tent-sized knickers are very easy to shove back into enormous suitcase so little to no effort was involved.

Ginny is still rather sore about leaving her last night, thus, haven�t gotten the opportunity to go over the night�s events in excruciating detail (or at least the bits I can actually remember). Suppose Neville will get quite an earful when arrive back at London, but honestly, will burst if I don�t.

Ermph, someone knocking at door. Most likely Fleur attempting to return deflated hot-air balloon and claim them as another stray pair of knickers so she can feign sadness when assure her that have both pairs accounted for.

1:50 p.m.

Was Remus!

�Erm, I�m in a bit of a rush, but I was wondering if you are available any time next week?�

Hoorah! Couldn�t seem too eager. �Next week, you say? Well, I have a full schedule of course.� Lies, lies, lies. Schedule only consisted of eating, sleeping, and the occasional drinking binge with Neville.

�You live in London, so how about Wednesday at-�

�Sounds great!�

So much for not seeming eager.

�Wednesday at 8 in the Leaky Couldron?�

Nodded head.

�Right then. See you.�

No more Quidditch. No more Fleur. Am Apparating back to London in a mere fifteen minutes and have a date with Remus Lupin.

Love life.

9

10

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Hermione Granger\'s Diary