The sun had been squeezed back and forth by certain people's smiles all day, and it was tired. It set early.
A streak of red clouds lingered at the horizon, draped in a veil of purple, while the point where sky and earth met in the distance had turned a hazy blue-green.
The Grangers went out for a walk after work.
"My arm's really getting worse and worse." Granger shook his arm and complained, "The longer I work, the more it hurts."
"You need to rest more, dear." Mrs. Granger held her husband's arm and began kneading it.
"Is that better?"
"Much better."
Granger nodded contentedly, feeling incredibly fortunate.
Then he was yanked into the bushes.
"What?!"
Granger, who had nearly stumbled, looked up to ask, only for a pair of hands to firmly press his head down.
"Shh, don't make a sound." Mrs. Granger leaned close to his ear and whispered the warning quickly.
Granger bared his teeth. He had been dragged so suddenly into the bushes that he had nearly thrown out his back.
Now it was not just his arm that hurt—his waist hurt a little too.
"What's going on?" Granger whispered.
Mrs. Granger did not answer. She merely parted the bushes and signaled with her eyes for him to look toward their front door.
"Being all mysterious..."
Granger muttered as he copied his wife, parting the bushes to look toward his doorstep.
After only one glance, Granger's expression stiffened.
His arm and waist no longer hurt, but his head had started aching...
At their front door, two figures were embracing tightly, and it was clearly far beyond the bounds of a polite hug.
It was Hermione and that blasted Prewett boy!
Fine, fine, fine!
So this was what you had been waiting for?!
I'll just...
Granger