The sun was shining so very brightly that morning. It seemed like the perfect summer day, especially with the way her open windows allowed a refreshing summer breeze to sweep through and snap the curtains in a pleasing sound. If her ears heard correctly, there were even birds floating and chirping outside! It couldn't have been a better day.

Hermione rolled over in her bed and smiled into the empty pillow that was crisp and clean. Her sheets were a perfectly colored tan, accenting the rest of the room in a few Gryffindor colors, but mostly that same tan color. The queen-sized bed she was in was nearly made every day, and her flat was beyond perfect.

She liked it that way, and since that day was a Saturday, there was no better way to spend a perfect day than tidying about her perfect flat.

Ministry work was in a pile on her nightstand as always for late-night escapades, but that day felt wonderfully calm. Why ruin it with work? Cleaning wouldn't take too long, then maybe a visit with Harry would calm her down. As much as determination was her most blunt attribute, there was a nagging in her mind that said something about that day just was not meant for work.

Hermione felt like Harry, just having a bad feeling about something. Of course, her feelings weren't Voldemort-induced, but that was of no matter.

She finally mustered up the poise to sit up, and sooner than later Hermione was standing in the lovely sunlight, enjoying the warmth of the rays. Her feet took her closer to the window where she took in the warmth of dark, sodden floors absorbing the heat. Hermione smiled, and soon she was gone into the washroom to change into a proper day's robes.

They were adorned quickly. The excitement of reading alone all day enthralled the young witch to no end. Hermione just wanted to do some quick cleaning charms first, and then her full attention would be diverted to a book.

Work was done as quickly as getting ready was, then Hermione threw herself into her most comfortable chair and opened the first book atop a pile of many. She kept several spares just in case days like this showed themselves despite being as rare as a unicorn.

Hermione was hardly a page in when suddenly, a black kitten jumped into her lap. She was startled, of course, how did a cat get into her home? There were the open windows, but on the twelfth floor?

"Who are you?" She questioned, earning a head-jerk from the kitten. It stared solidly at her with green eyes. The small creature reminded her a bit of Harry.

"What's your name?" All her sanity had gone as she spoke to the docile feline.

"Of course, you won't tell me, will you? If you did then I am afraid I would have to escort myself to St. Mungo's, huh?" Hermione told the kitten as it flipped over on her book so it's stomach could be more easily scratched by the witch.

"How delicate... oh! You have a collar!" The brunette discovered vividly, almost alarming the purring fluff on her book.

"Sorry, let's see then," Hermione hummed as she drifted her fingers towards the tag and saw that a name was written blatantly on the white surface.

"Harry. Well that was anti-climactic. Your name is Harry and you look just like him," Hermione sighed as she tousled with the small kitten. "Just who do you belong to?"

Her smooth tone calmed the kitten suddenly, pouncing its small, black form around on Hermione's book and lap. He rolled about, and Hermione caught sight of the other side of the tag.

She wondered if she could just place her fingers under his chin—

The kitten, Harry, suddenly stood and hopped onto the floor. The witch sighed and decided no harm would come to having the small creature around for a while. If he got in, he could certainly get out as equally efficiently.

Harry suddenly plopped onto the floor he'd hopped onto and made no move but that of getting comfortable. For one, Hermione couldn't blame him. Sometimes the hard floor was just what someone needed.

Sliding down herself, Hermione set her hand out to pet the hoard of black fur, and soon she was tickling him. He didn't seem to be bothered by it, and soon Hermione herself was relaxed. Bobbing her head black, she tried to fight a nap that came on, but sleep and the warmth of the kitten lulled her away anyways.

-

Severus Snape awoke to a pitch-black room once again.

Merlin, it was the middle of the night still.

He groaned and stood anyways, knowing that sleepless nights and partial naps were all that went into anything remotely close to sleep. Dragging his sorry arse out of bed, severus readied for the day anyways.

There was a dull headache throbbing through his skull that would explain the horrid taste of fire-whiskey on his tongue, yet that didn't explain the dress robes laid out on his bedroom chair.

That chair was his prized possession, something that he'd had for a rather long time. It was beyond what comfort could usually give, and not a spell of magic had touched it. Most days it was used for reading, so Merlin-knows why he'd set out dress robes. They looked unfamiliar to him, too, their newness and impeccable taste quite not his style. Severus preferred broken-in robes, ones that were maneuverable and his own. Ignoring the anomaly, he went into his bathroom and began to ready for the day... or the rest of the night.

His potions room did him well that early morning, something about the brewing calming him down. The list upon his door that morning was extensive, and as a potions supplier for the ministry he wasn't too surprised. There was time, though, to get what needed to be done complete and finished... especially with such an early rise.

He unlocked the room, watching as things lifted to life from his presence. Cauldrons set themselves up and his utensils were wiggling into their proper place. Ingredients glimmered on their shelves, every part of the minimal light he had glowing from his wand catching the sparkling bottles. There was a system of the vials, ranging by rarity. The top shelves were the rarest that existed on the entire earth. The first shelf alone was worth more galleons than even Draco Malfoy had to his name, and then the final shelf was full of merely things you could pick up off the floor. The price tag on that shelf was approximately a single sickle. Maybe a couple knuts if you get them cheap.

He pulled through his books and looked to find directions for a few potions that he hadn't made in a while to refresh his memory. Just because he was a master that did not mean he wasn't human. Sure, he was a wizard, yet memory was only a sharp thing for few.

The binds on the books were tattered, strings coming from some of them, and a few flying out. There were a few that had parchment jutting out, notes and edits he'd added to the directions where they had either completely mucked up or where it simply needed to be changed just the slightest.

He finally found the book he was looking for after a few tries and several distractions. This particular book had notes written in the margins, small pieces of paper jutting out, and torn edges. Something peculiar began to stick out, however. Handwriting, most of it, anyways, was all foreign to him. Each and every word and letter wasn't his at all. The penmanship was elegant, scrawled across nearly every page. While rather nice, a pleasing form of calligraphy, it annoyed Severus nonetheless. Just exactly how did someone else's handwriting get into his rather private book?

Ignoring it, as things needed to be done, he looked through the alarmingly accurate footnotes and found a shortcut to the potion he never remembered making. Not that it mattered, it was right and served good purpose.

He followed orders, finishing the ministry's quota within the hour. Severus looked at the clock, still haunted by the fact that with the passing of an hour the sun still hadn't come up.

Exhaustion never hit, however. It continued to stay hidden from him the whole morning until the sun did actually rise. The golden orb brought with it a very nice day, something he hadn't seen in a few weeks. The days were pretty mediocre if he'd recollected correctly, and yet this day was oddly wonderful.

There was a stray amount of clouds, nothing drastic, and when he opened the windows, a perfect, summer breeze greeted his cold visage. Every part of him seemed to ease, a calmness coming over him and his headache melting away.

Maybe he didn't need to brew a potion to get rid of it. Severus had been debating the whole morning whether or not to brew something for himself. He hadn't wanted to take away the sudden productivity he was engaged in, so he'd ignored it. Good thing it went away on its own, Merlin-knows Severus didn't want to help himself.

He sighed, finally getting up from the potion's room and heading downstairs. His home was a two-floored flat rather close to the ministry. Severus had fought to get the place, but he didn't bother anyone and always paid rent on time, so the leasers rather liked him. Of course, he rarely "left" the flat. That's what the muggles thought anyways. He had an apparition point in an empty room on the first floor... the room of which he seldom used.

His body carried him towards the kitchen where a quick breakfast was made, and then back up to his chair in his room. Maybe some reading would do him well.

Feeling subdued, he even opened the window and let that perfectly warm breeze drift into the room and air it out. The smell was delightful, surprising for London, but who was he to complain about a day actually going well?

No one.

-

Hermione awoke to a knock on her door that she wasn't entirely sure was even a true knock. With Harry the cat still soundly sleeping in her lap, she made a mental note to phone local shelters and see if they'd lost a stray. Maybe ask around the building first.

Startled, she was, the second time a knock firmly came to her door. Regret filled her at having to wake the black kitten, but she needed to answer the persistent visitor.

"Come on, Harry, wake up," she nudged the cat with her words, then she actually picked him up and woke the slumbering creature.

"Good boy," she said as it hopped from her hands onto the coffee table.

Straightening out what she could of her hair, Hermione looked at the clock on the wall and groaned. It was only eight in the morning, what could be so important?

A third knock, but this time it was ended by a voice.

"Hermione Granger you get your arse out of bed before I drag you out of it!"

"Ginny?" Hermione asked herself quietly, but the forth knock and the sudden sound of locks clicking open alerted her to the truth in her hypothesis.

"Ginny! What are you doing here?" The brunette questioned her friend, looking at the witch who suddenly stared back with a dirty look.

"What do you mean by that? You know what today is," The red-head insisted.

Hermione blinked. What, was it her and Harry's seventh month anniversary? Ginny made a big deal of everything, so probably.

"How long have you been dating Harry now?" Hermione asked assumably, but the witch stopped dead and stared her right in the eye.

"That ended years ago, in fact, he's married now. You know this! You went to his wedding, which is, in fact, what we are supposed to be doing today!" The woman insisted, holding nothing but the doorframe she'd pushed herself through.

"Right..." Hermione played along, thinking it some horrid joke. "Whose wedding?"

Another odd contortion of Ginny's face made Hermione want to laugh, but when Ginny answered, it was no laughing matter.

"It's yours, Hermione."