This was originally going in Sunday but there's too much trio in it really.

Update 23.3.13: This is a shiny new version of Morning After with all grammar mistakes vanquished courtesy of Stefanie from Bigger and Beta on tumblr. So, thank you to her. Ooh, look at all the shiny commas in the right places!

Disclaimer: J.K Rowling may own Harry Potter, but does she own her own Weasley jumper? Possibly. Is she wearing it right now? Probably not. But I am. This proves very little about anything.

The moment Hermione woke up she wanted to go back to sleep again, and for a very long time. With as much effort as she could muster, she tried desperately to fade back into the world of dreams, where the grass was green, the sky was blue and her head didn't feel like someone had been throwing it against a wall for the past four hours.

The mornings after Seamus Finnigan's birthdays were never pleasant, but yesterday had been his twenty-first. Despite the fact that his new age changed nothing about his rights, or anything else for that matter, he had insisted that it was still a very important day and that all of his friends must acknowledge this by drinking as much Firewhiskey as possible. Normally Hermione refrained from partaking in such childishness and remained the sober influence who stopped things getting too out of hand and who informed everyone what would happen the next day. But Seamus could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. Not to mention, Hermione had been the most sober person at the party- if her foggy memory served her correctly-which was the most worrying thing of all.

Even though she still hadn't opened her eyes or moved in any way, Hermione could feel the bed rocking and she tried to piece together the evening. They had started at The Leaky Cauldron before Hannah had kindly asked them to move on before she made them. After that, they had gone to a Muggle pub in London seeing as no one was stable enough to Apparate. She could remember Dean singing the wrong words to the song being played by the jukebox and Harry disappearing to try and call Ginny, who was currently on a pre-season Quidditch tour of Germany. Everyone had ribbed him mercilessly when he had returned talking about nothing but her hair.

After that... Well, after that Ron had bought her too many white wine spritzers and she had foolishly moved onto spirits. From about one AM onwards, her memory was a haze of blinding lights and laughter and a sneaking suspicion that she and Ron had had a heated snog in front of everyone.

With a croaky groan that stung her dry throat, Hermione slowly turned her head on the pillow and opened her eyes. She blinked painfully as she experienced the strange phenomenon of her brain still shifting inside of her skull after she had stopped moving. When her currently useless best asset had caught up with the rest of her, she managed to open her eyes and, after noting that she was in the bedroom of the small flat she and Ron rented, spotted a familiar mop of untidy hair on the pillow next to hers and smiled.

Until she noticed that the hair was black.

Despite the fact that her eyelids were currently made of sandpaper, Hermione's eyes snapped open and she gaped at the sight in front of her. This wasn't happening. Thiscouldn't be happening. But no matter how hard she tried to find evidence contradicting her vision, Hermione came up blank. She swallowed what felt like a lump of coal as the rest of her surroundings became clearer. While she could feel the soft cotton of a shirt and pyjama bottoms against her skin, she could clearly see the skin of the shoulders on the person opposite her. Just before her thundering heart broke through her rib cage, Hermione realised with relief that someone had his arm draped over her side.

Hoping that the arm was familiar and not even considering the alternative, she looked down and saw a large, freckly hand with a very familiar wedding band on its ring finger.

"Ron?" she croaked. There was no reply. While it was undoubtedly mean to do so, Hermione elbowed him because she wasn't in the mood to be patient. "Ron! Ron!"

There was a noise that sounded something like a dying elephant and tree falling down.

"No," came a gravelly voice. "Sleeping."

"Harry's here," Hermione hissed.

"Tellim t'fukoff."

"No," said Hermione as she slowly backed into Ron's chest, "Harry's here."

This information seemed to have no effect on him, but Hermione had a new worry. She put her hands behind her and started awkwardly patting down any part of Ron she could reach.

"Later," he groaned, batting her hand away. "Too hungover."

Hermione rolled her eyes and regretted it instantly as the room still hadn't finished swaying.

"No, I'm not- I'm just seeing if you're wearing anything."

"Am I?"

"No." Hermione bit her lip.

"Good. Now sleep."

"No! Harry's - oh, just look for yourself!"

Hermione shuffled further down the bed so that Ron could look over her head and across the bed. She glanced behind her and saw that while his mouth was wide open, Ron's eyes were still closed. So, she elbowed him again. He grunted a few times and Hermione checked that the other person in the bed was still asleep.

"Hermione," Ron said, suddenly sounding much more awake, "Harry's here."


"Like - here," Ron gulped.

They both watched in silence as their mutual best friend slept on, completely unaware of the horrendous possibilities the married couple was contemplating with their foggy minds.

"What do we do?" asked Ron eventually.

"I don't know." Hermione was whispering, though she wasn't sure why.

"Is he naked?"

Hermione tried to find something that proved Harry was in some way clothed, but found nothing. While he was clearly not wearing a top, there was no way of telling about the rest of him, much to Hermione's horror.

"I'm not sure," she worried before looking down at her own clothes. "I am wearing his shirt though."

She frowned at the discovery, and tried to recall how it had come to be. All she had was a fuzzy vision of finding said shirt outside of her bedroom and deciding that it looked extremely comfortable to wear to bed before stumbling into the nearest wall.

"Check," instructed Ron, prodding her in the back.


"Why not?"

"Because, Ron," she growled, unable to believe his stupidity, "he is possibly naked!"

Possibly naked Harry chose that moment to roll over to face them with a low groan. The couple watched on, frozen in horror, as Harry screwed up his face in pain before blinking several times. His cheek was covered in red welts from where his glasses had dug into it in the night.

"Oozat?" Groggily, Harry fumbled his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose before either of the other two could think of a response. He squinted at them before his eyes shot open to reveal that the usual bright green was looking fairly dull.

"Oh. Hi."

"Hi," Ron and Hermione answered simultaneously.

The three of them stared at each other for a long time. Normally it would have taken them a long time to think of something to say, but right now, with their brains working at half their normal rates, it took an age for Harry to finally speak.

"Are we-"


"Can either of you remember-"


Harry nodded. "Are you naked?" he asked in a tone that was a fair attempt at nonchalant.

"Hermione's not," blurted out Ron as his arm curled further around her. "Hermione's wearing lots of clothes."

"And you?" The hope in Harry's voice was undeniable.

"Er - no."

There was a very awkward pause and the three of adjusted to this new information. Hermione remembered the days of sitting in the common room, making each other laugh and doing homework. She wondered what the twelve year old version of herself would say if she could see herself now. Although, the shock of having the surname 'Weasley' would, at twelve, have been enough to have her feeling faint. Throw in the alcohol consumption and the boys' lack of dress and she may have had to have a short stay in the hospital wing.

As ever, it was Harry who was brave enough to break the silence and ask the question that had darted to the forefront of each of their minds the moment they had discovered their predicament.

"We didn't-?"

"No," Hermione said firmly. While she couldn't exactly remember not, she was all but certain that she would remember if they had.

Harry seemed to take her answer well and sighed a little. "We definitely wouldn't have," he nodded to Hermione with a small smile that was close to a grimace.

"Exactly." She supposed she should have been insulted but she couldn't agree more. She doubted even drunk that either of them were capable of doing anything of the sort without laughing uncontrollably or vomiting. "Although," she added thoughtfully, "why are you and Ron naked?"

Harry's gaze slid upwards to where Hermione knew Ron's must be. The boys shared one of their intense, silent conversations before speaking in gruff voices almost at the same time.



"Are you sure?" Hermione said with a slight giggle. "I mean, why else would you be-"

"Hands up everyone with a history of sleeping with Ron," Harry interrupted.

"That's not fair!" protested Hermione as a wicked grin spread across Harry's face.

"Wait..." Harry's eyes flashed mischievously. "Maybe you two did."

Appalled by the thought of what Harry was suggesting, but at the same time doubting whether she had been aware enough of her surroundings to notice Harry in the room, Hermione struggled to form a reply.

"Nah," Ron dismissed, giving Hermione a quick squeeze. Both her and Harry's attention moved to Ron as he lazily messed up the back of his hair.

"How do you know?" Harry asked.

"Well," he replied slowly, "after drunk sex I'm usually in a lot of pain so-"


"Not complaining, love." Ron leant over Hermione so that she could see his smirk before kissing her briefly on her cheek, which was now a light shade of pink.

The moment was interrupted, as it always was, by Harry, sounding utterly disgusted. "Can we just get dressed?"

"Fine," huffed Ron, before sliding out of the duvet and stretching. On any other day, this would be perfectly normal behaviour. In fact, Hermione loved the mornings when Ron had to get up before her because she could watch his lanky form parade around their bedroom. However, today was not a normal day.


Ron turned around at her protest, oblivious to why she sounded so shocked, giving them a full-frontal view and making things worse.

"What?" he chuckled as he caught up. "It's just you two."

"Bit of warning though, mate..." Harry grumbled.

"Sorry," said Ron with a yawn, not sounding at all sorry.

Hermione looked from Harry's queasy expression to Ron's amused one and couldn't quite believe what was happening. If anything, she felt oddly exposed, even though she was the only clothed one in the room.

"It's hardly polite," she spluttered, "or-or proper!"

"You've both seen it before," shrugged Ron as he searched the bedroom for clothes.

"Unfortunately," muttered Harry. "Seems weird that Hermione is the one horrified by the sight of your cock though," he added teasingly.

"I'm far from horrified by it, it's just - that isn't the point!" Hermione screeched and all three of them winced. Right now, loud noises were not their friends.

Ron finally located a pair of boxers and held them up.

"These yours or mine?" he asked Harry with a slight frown.

"Er..." Harry propped himself up on his elbows for a closer inspection.

Hermione watched, perplexed, as the two of them stared at the item of clothing in front of them in genuine wonder.

"How can you not know?" she questioned them. They turned to her, looking puzzled by her inquiry.

"We lived together for nine years," Ron explained as though she was the one displaying the strange behaviour. "These things happen."

"Disgusting," she said under her breath as they continued trying to work out the owner of the under garment. After what felt like quite long enough, Hermione clicked her tongue and had a look herself.

"They're Ron's," she said, immediately recognising them.

"Cool," replied Ron, not noticing her repulsed tone as he picked up another pair and threw them at Harry. Hermione averted her eyes as Ron and Harry awkwardly shuffled into their underwear. Once he was covered up, Ron lifted the covers up, but Hermione gently gripped his wrist to stop him getting back into the bed.

"While you're up," she said in her best 'oh woe is me' voice, "could you get me glass of water, sweetheart?"

"What?" complained Ron, pulling a face.

"Please?" Hermione whined slightly as she pouted. Normally she refrained from such displays, but her mouth was bone dry and she knew Ron couldn't resist her when she looked helpless. Sure enough, it wasn't long before his resolve crumbled.

"Fine," he sighed, moving towards the door.

"Can I have one too, babe?" Harry called after him.

"Fuck off." Ron slammed the door.

"Cheers, hun."

There was a moment of silence before Hermione started shuffling to the other side of the bed.

"Oh, come on!" Harry laughed as she pulled the quilt up to her chin. "It's me!"

"The fact remains that I am married and not to you," she replied with dignity.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I've just seen what you married and you should be grateful I'm here," he yawned.

"I miss the days when you were scared of girls," Hermione grumbled, glaring at him.

"You're not a girl though. You're Hermione."

"True," she consented, "because you are still scared of girls. If I were Cho Chang, this would be very different."

Despite her cold tone, Harry snorted with amusement. "Yeah, Ginny's radar would've gone off and she'd have killed me before I woke up."

Before Hermione could point out that Ginny wouldn't have been as kind as to kill him in his sleep had such an incident occurred, Ron kicked the bedroom door open and walked in, two different shaped glasses of water in hand.

"Three things," he said, handing Harry a glass, "One, here's your water."

Harry winked at him but Ron didn't acknowledge it and continued around the bed to Hermione's side. She took her water from him and gave him a quick kiss of thank you.

"Secondly, the geniuses that are our drunk selves," Ron continued, picking his wand up from the bedside table and giving it a flick, "left us some pizza." Right on a cue, a large square box with a bold logo on came rushing into Ron's outstretched hand.

"Oh, excellent," said Harry, sitting up. "Breakfast."

Ron unceremoniously dropped the box onto Hermione's legs and clambered in next to her as she sat up against the headboard, her head still not quite agreeing with the idea of movement. She took a large gulp of water before handing it wordlessly back to Ron, who placed it on the bedside table along with his wand.


"Where are the napkins?" Hermione cut in.


"Yes - napkins." The boys stared at her blankly. "Serviettes? Kitchen towel?" she asked in a desperate voice when the boys did nothing more helpful than blink. "It's bad enough that you plan to eat this in bed. I'm not doing so without napkins."

"Hungover bed pizza isn't as fun with Hermione," Harry muttered to Ron and Hermione decided she didn't want to know how often they had eaten in the same bed together.

With a huff, she started to get up but Ron repeated her earlier action and grabbed her wrist to stop her. She shot him a questioning look.

"You might want to hear the thirdly," he explained, his eyes alight with a punchline he was clearly waiting to unleash. But Hermione had no time for his games. Her head was still pounding after its most recent relocation.

"What thirdly?"

"Neville's passed out on the kitchen table." Ron grinned. "Naked."

In perfect unison, Hermione's and Harry's jaws dropped, neither of them quite able to comprehend the latest revelation. There was a story behind it somewhere, one that Seamus would love to hear no doubt, but, right now, they had no idea what it might be.

"So," Hermione said in a squeaky voice as she settled back in the bed, "what type of pizza did we get?"