Meant to be
Summary- It was the letter that started it all; then all the other letters soon followed suite. Now follow Hermione, as she explores her past, and discovers her future lies in her hands. But she soon finds out that she can't change her fate…because it's all meant to be.
Author's Note-The summary starts to connect with the story towards the end, so hang out till then and just be patient. It important to set the setting and get all the information out the first chapter, just so you'll better understand the plot once it goes into effect. I know this is a pretty large first chapter, but I don't think the chapters will exceed this to bad. Anyways, hope you enjoy! I had so much fun writing this, and I hope you'll have fun reading it as well!
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K.Rowlings and her publishers. All rights reserved. (The plot, however, is strictly from my imagination.)
Chapter One
July Twenty-third-10:49 PM
Ron and Harry's house
It was an evening full of dusty fog, earsplitting thunder, and intense lightening the night Hermione Granger realized it. No, that's not the right word-the night she felt it. What she'd always thought as utterly foolish and naively sentimental- she knew she had finally saw it: what everyone else had known all along; Just as Ron Weasley had always promised very long ago, she had become his-and she was stunned beyond repair.
It was the letter-the letter- that had first completely contaminated her mind-causing this illogical block of intelligence. It had arrived two weeks after she'd moved into her diminutive woodland cottage-an inheritance of her just recently dead grandparents. After going back and forth from the London flat she and Ginny shared to her new home many miles away-Hermione had felt exhausted from the rush, and had longed for a moment of serenity. Of course, she remembered without hesitation precisely what had happened the night that she first saw the letter.
July Ninth-4:00 PM
Hermione's house
"Yes Ginny," Hermione said tediously, as she flipped her hair over her shoulder and looked out the window, in search of any sunlight…but as always it was nonexistent at her house. Even though she lived in the perfect shade for a bookworm's dream (minimum sunlight equals minimum damage on the parchment and paper), she longed for the sun again. The home, despite the many lights and candles she had scattered around for more light-wasn't anything like her old home had been. She missed the noise, the company, the constant sunshine that streaked her bedroom walls-but most of all, she missed Ron constantly hanging around. It'd been at least a week since he'd called to check up on her-or since he'd even acknowledged her being. Oh, stop complaining Hermione, she said, scolding herself since obviously no one else was around to do it for her. It's not like you love Ron-oh, what I am saying? You're just friends!
"Hermione? Hermione!"
Hermione faltered and raucously stumbled over her own petite feet, nearly knocking over a priceless piece of artwork hanging over her head. She took a deep breath, as she balanced the sculpture beside her, and said into the telephone receiver, "Sorry Ginny, I was just thinking."
On the other line, Ginny's voice was perceptibly apprehensive. "You've been in deep thought all day. What's bothering you?"
Where to begin? Hermione thought to herself, releasing a chuckle through her prying lips. No, she didn't know either-what was wrong with her, whatever it was.
"Oh, nothing," she heard herself reply. "Well Ginny, I'm just about to go to the Three Broomsticks. Want to join me?"
"You're apparating to much Hermione," she heard Ginny say persistently through the receiver and into her ear. "And let me say-after doing it so much you've lost your touch."
"Oh, thanks Ginny," Hermione said, trying to sound slightly offended, even though she knew Ginny was just being honest.
"Well, you could use floopowder-or better yet, why don't you let me take you out tonight? It'll be my-well, and Harry's, of course-treat. We can eat somewhere around town, maybe see the area, oh, and we can go shopping tomorrow-"
Hermione found herself giggle with amusement at Ginny's enthusiasm. "I have to work tomorrow," she reminded her good-natured pal.
Ginny gave a playful growl. "Oh yes, I forgot that writers have no life."
Hermione gave an upsetting gasp at her comment. She'd been writing, when she'd graduated Hogwarts, merely about her adventures at school. Whenever an interviewer asks her the most common question, 'Where do you get your ideas for your books?' Hermione, trying not to laugh, always says, 'It just comes to me…almost like it actually happened.'
"Well, I'll have you know that I found my 'biggest fan' today! And seeing him dig into my garbage was just as pleasing for me as when you score a point-or guard posts, I can never tell, it goes by so fast- in quidditch."
Ginny laughed, and said, "Well Hermione, I'll be by around five okay? I can't wait to see the house finished! I bet it's amazing!"
Hermione glanced around, displeased with herself; she'd been in her new home now for about two weeks, but she still hadn't unloaded every box, and her book collection-well, she could barely enter the library the boxes were so incredibly elevated.
"Oh, well don't be disappointed," she said immediately. "I haven't exactly found the time to unpack-err- completely with the new book coming out."
"Oh, don't worry!" Ginny said courteously. "You've lived with me-you've seen my bedroom!"
"I've never seen it all," Hermione answered with a laugh, "just bits and pieces."
"Well, you've heard of it at least," Ginny answered, who was grinning widely now. "Oh, Hermione, I have to go! I'll see you soon."
And with that, the other end of the phone became still, followed by a repetition of irritating beeps. Hermione smiled, and pressed the 'end' button, hearing the static silence yet again.
Hermione spent the next hour getting dressed (she'd been in her formal suite today, as she'd just gotten back from a meeting with her publishers) in a comfortable outfit, but of course she added a flair of style. As soon as she'd gotten the majority of her hair into rollers, she heard the phone ring. She listened on the other end as her main publisher talked endlessly about the confirmed due date of her book, which, he said, is officially July twenty-second. After that he rattled on about the cover, the images, and the back synopsis until she had a migraine. When she finally got off the phone, she saw it was 6:55. Great, she thought, looking at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Half her hair was up in rollers, the other half laying still, and her makeup was not close to be ready. It was this moment that she cursed her publisher and her books for making her appearance tonight atrocious. Sighing, she lifted her foundation again-when the doorbell rang. Giving a distressed groan, she abandoned her lofty makeup pile and walked from her bathroom, through her bedroom, and finally back into the main room. The person at the door, she saw, was not Ginny, as she had expected. It was merely the mailman. Confused, Hermione wondered why he hadn't let her mail in the correct spot-the mailbox. She opened the door, not aware of the strange stares the man was giving her.
"Hello," he greeted, with a thick European accent. He handed Hermione a half a dozen envelops, a wide variety of sizes, and smiled.
"My mailbox-"
"Yes, it is been hit," he said, nodding. "I would get that fixed immediately-it is a walk up to your porch, you know; especially for a man who just had back surgery." And with that, he turned at his heals, and hastily went down the porch steps and into his mail van. Hermione gave a puzzled look, and then looked through the still open front door, to the outside. Yes, her mailbox was indeed smashed-terribly, in fact. But how could that be? She wondered. I saw it just an hour ago!
She shook her head; how peculiar that was. Then another emotion, besides curiosity, overtook her: Anger. What rude pig just runs into a mailbox and runs away? She thought. Oh, the nerve!
She dropped her mail at a nearby table, and went outside to examine the damage. As she got closer, she flinched. This had been her grandparents' mailbox. Perhaps, she thought, it was ages old! As she knelt down to inspect it, she felt a great gush of wind, and without warning she saw two small feet dressed in white tennis shoes in front of her.
"What happened?" Ginny inquired, talking mainly about the smashed mailbox but also to Hermione's frightful appearance. Hermione looked up, but then looked back down as she spoke.
"I don't know," she said, biting her lip. "I just found out about it."
Ginny took out her wand from her jean pocket, but Hermione shoved it back in. "Not here!" she insisted. "C'mon, later. It's still light out."
Ginny groaned. "Hermione, don't tell me you're still doing this."
"Yes, I am," Hermione said sharply, as she stood now. She began walking back towards the house, Ginny following beside her. "You know as well as I do the constant rumors-the constant reporters and such. I don't want people to even have a clue that I'm a witch living in the Muggle world."
Ginny sighed. "Well, why don't you just live in the wizarding world?"
"Because, I have a career here," said Hermione. "Besides, other then Hogwarts, I've always lived here, even with you."
"Well, it's much easier where I live," said Ginny, as they went through the front door. "As you know, I don't have paparazzi constantly following me around."
Before Hermione could reply, Ginny eyed her strangely, and said, "What happened to you?"
It took Hermione a few quick moments to realize she was referring to her state of appearance. "Oh, well my publisher just called," she said rapidly. "Anyways, I'll just be a minute longer. Help yourself to anything-a drink, television-whatever. I'll give you a proper tour of the house later."
Ginny nodded, as Hermione retreated back to the bathroom.
"So," Ginny called loudly to Hermione, "what have you been doing all day?"
"The usual," Hermione called back. "Writing-and my publishers' meeting of course."
Ginny nodded absently, then, upon realizing that Hermione couldn't see her, said, "Cool."
Ginny lingered around the living room for a moment, absently picking up things such as books, pens (with no ink, thanks to Hermione) and her mail. She tossed through it, until one letter caught her attention. It was, Ginny saw, addressed to Hermione of course…but the handwriting looked familiar…yet not so familiar…
At that moment, Hermione walked from the bathroom, looking much better then before. "What are you doing?" she asked lightly, as she searched in her purse for her keys.
"Oh, just looking at your mail," said Ginny, not looking up from the envelope. When she looked up, she flashed Hermione the front of it, in which Hermione gave a careless glance then returned to lock up her house (from the fans, of course).
"Well, did you open?" Hermione asked in a nonchalant tone.
"Of course I didn't," said Ginny. She passed Hermione the letter, and she inspected it for herself.
Hermione shrugged when her eyes fell upon it. She was used to getting loads of mail, anyways.
"Probably just an adoring fan," she said, teasing voluminously. "Come on; let's go before traffic gets bad."
"We're going to-"
"Of course we are," answered Hermione. "Like they say: In Rome, do as the Romans do."
"They why are we-"
"In the Muggle World, Ginny, act like a muggle," Hermione interpreted, grabbing her car keys. "Which means we are driving in my beat up Lincoln whether you like it or not. Oh, and this time, don't touch anything. Got it?"
July Ninth-5:45 PM
The Cook's Bar and Grill
Ginny and Hermione arrived at The Cook's Bar and Grill just at the primetime for dinner.
"We should probably go somewhere else," Hermione said to Ginny. "Look at that line…"
Ginny was standing at her tallest, trying to spot something-or someone-through the massive crowd. Hermione looked at her with annoyance. "Ginny-"
A smile spread widely on Ginny's face, as she took Hermione by the elbow and started to drag her into a section of seating in the overcrowded restaurant.
"Hey-what are you-"
Ginny finally dropped the pressure from Hermione's elbow, and watched the surprise overtake her face.
"Harry! Ron!" she exclaimed. "Oh, what a surprise!"
"That's what we were going for," said Harry with a smile. Ginny sat next to him; giving him a quick kiss (she was still careful in the presence of Ron). Hermione, left with no other choice (not that she really minded one bit) then to sit closely next to Ron in the small seat across from Ginny and Harry.
"You look really nice tonight Hermione," said Ron, who had grown, along with the other three, into his striking looks; he was taller and stronger then Hermione had ever remembered, and he spoke like an intelligent man, much different from the teenager who was constantly adamant. But Hermione could tell he was still the same man, the same man that she had always known…and she pictured herself the same also, apart from her hair was much more manageable and she had grown in important areas. This is all ancient history, she thought to herself. Ron and I had our 'thing' if any at all…now it's over. But a voice inside her head said, remember Hermione, history occasionally repeats itself.
"So, the books are going well then?" asked Harry, as Hermione laughed.
"Harry, I saw you yesterday, remember?"
"Yes, but I'm trying to catch up my chap Ron here," he said, taking a sip of his wine (at which Ginny whispered, "Be careful Harry, you really don't want to get drunk tonight.").
"Well," said Hermione with a smile, "I think Ron can talk for himself Mister Potter."
"There's the Hermione I know and love," said Ron with a laugh, as he took a taste of his saturated water (which Ginny promptly teased him for).
Hermione's heart began to beat, and she wasn't sure why. He doesn't love you, she reminded herself. You dated in sixth year…before the war. It was your fault Hermione, wasn't it? When Ron went to go fight along side Harry, they didn't want you to go. You got angry Hermione, and you said things you didn't mean…but it's over now, Hermione. Just let it go. Let it go!
"Hermione," said Ginny, her eyes full of concern, and her hand wrapped affectionately around Harry's, "are you alright?"
Realizing that she wasbeing unmindful, stuck completely in her own thoughts, she straightened her back and took a huge swing of her cocktail. It was a rare occasion when she would drink, and tonight seemed like the perfect circumstance.
"Oh course!" Hermione exclaimed cheerfully. Their waitress passed by, looking hurried. "Oh, could I have a refill? Thanks!"
"Hermione," Ginny whispered, as the waitress rolled her eyes and retrieved the glass from Hermione, "are you sure? Don't you have painters coming over tomorrow?"
"Oh, don't worry about me!" Hermione said, with a wave of her hand. "I can hold liquor like a tin man. Honestly!"
Ginny mumbled, "Okay," and turned to Harry. "So dear, how did everything go today in the office?"
"Same as always," Harry grumbled unhappily. "I wasn't in the office-I was out prancing after some old death eater's son who keeps breaking into muggles' homes."
"Well, we did tell you, didn't we?" said Ron. "Aurors don't have it easy."
"You're telling me," Harry said. "I wish I had the life of a quidditch player, they must have loads of spare time, right Ginny?"
Ginny nudged him playfully in the side. "Hardly," she said. "Ron and I are the only ones even a bit qualified on the entire team!"
"I'm talking to other coaches right now," said Ron sincerely. "We need to be traded in before all the games end."
"Don't we all wish we could write like Hermione?" teased Ginny. "That is certainly leisure living."
Hermione nodded; maybe I do have it to easy, she thought. They're all out doing something-and what am I doing? Sitting at home with my notebook. What kind of life is that?
"I think Hermione's books are brilliant," Ron said, giving Hermione such an earnest look that she practically melted. "She really can write-it all flows together. All those books you always read certainly paid off Hermione."
"Thank you," Hermione found herself say, though inside she felt unable to utter a word. "So…when is your next quidditch game?"
"This Thursday," answered Ron.
"Why?" interjected Ginny.
"Oh, I was just interested in going," Hermione said casually.
Ginny looked incredibly happy. "Well, I think we'd both love that."
Ron smiled. "Yes, I would too, Hermione."
July Ninth-10:22 PM
Outside The Cook's Bar and Grill
"So I was talking to Fred and George, yesterday," Ginny said in a noisily tone. "And they are coming up with masks that turn your appearance into variety Hogwarts' teachers for an hour! If only those had been there when we were in school!" As she said this, Hermione was jumping into a nearby puddle, wetting the edge of her blue jeans. Ron followed her, tickling her just like he use to. The rain was coming down quickly now, but the four barely noticed.
"What were you saying Gin?" asked Harry, as he took her hand a twirled her around like a ballerina.
"We're all drunk!" exclaimed Ginny. "No, we can't Harry! Not tonight, I need to get home! I have practice in the morning-"
He kissed her straight on the mouth, taking her completely by surprise. But she quickly recovered and indulged in it, tasting the sweetness of Harry's lips and the rain. She clung to Harry's muscular body, and she felt as though her dreadfully damp clothes were almost dry again.
When Harry released her, she looked up to see Ron and Hermione in an abnormally large puddle, probably, Ginny guessed, filling a large pothole. They were laughing and splashing one another, and Ginny instantaneously thought back to Hogwarts. Yes, she thought, it's been confirmed, I know it has! They're meant to be together, I just know it!
"Are you thinking the same thing I am?" asked Harry, who had also been eyeing the two.
Ginny smiled. "Another kiss, Mister Potter?"
Harry grinned. "Not what I was thinking, but that's even better." And he kissed her again, even more fervently then before.
July Ninth-11:42 PM
Hermione's bedroom
Why did I drink? Hermione asked herself, nearly thrashing herself for it. I know I can't hold anything!
She sighed, and rolled over in bed. I really should get a shower, she thought. But she didn't move an inch. She was still thinking about the events that had just happened tonight, though her mind could scarcely comprehend. She was just about to turn on her television when she heard the telephone ring. Grudgingly, she slowly got up from her comfy bed, and practically ran into the kitchen. Completely out of breath, she said, "Hello?"
"Is this Hermione Granger?" asked a girl's voice. She sounded about twelve or thirteen, Hermione guessed.
"Yes, this is she," Hermione said slowly. "Who-"
There was an explosion of high-pitched screams on the other end, some; 'It's really Hermione Granger!' but most were just astounded gasps.
Bloody hell, Hermione thought, groaning as she hung up. Now what tabloid gave out my telephone number?
She made herself a huge glass of coffee, indulging in its lovely caffeine. Tonight is going to be a long night, she thought. She was just deciding if to take a shower now or later when she remembered she hadn't opened her mail yet. She was expecting a letter from a writer friend, who was suppose to be letting her know about an upcoming writers' event. She picked up her mug, picked up her mail, and sat comfortably on her couch. She opened the first three, and found them all bills. She opened the fourth, and found this:
Lisa Willows and Jeffery Perry would like to cordially invite you and a guest to their wedding ceremony…
When: August 16th
Where: Springled Chapel
Time- 2:00 PM
Please RSVP to the following number…
Thank you and we sincerely hope to see you there
Hermione groaned. Why does my cousin have to be getting married? She thought. Now I have to find a date!
She put the invitation aside with the futile bills, and stared at the envelope Ginny had inquired earlier. Who is it from? She wondered. Oh, never mind Hermione! Just open it and read it!
She cleared her throat, and, with loads of trouble with opening to seal, she fingered the parchment. It was old, she knew, or perhaps extremely old. It wasn't torn in the least, but it was delicate. Hermione carefully pulled it out, and unfolded it. The parchment, however, was completely empty. Stunned, she stared at it, thinking, what is this? Who sends an empty piece of parchment?
At that same moment, Hermione felt her breath stick in her throat. She closed her eyes tightly, and coughed horribly…and when she opened her eyes, everything was different; the lightening was much brighter, for it was daylight here. She recognized everything she saw almost immediately: the draperies, the couches, the fireplace, the coffee table, and the enormous, gapping ceilings-she was in the Gryffindor common room.
November 25th-5:30 PM
Gryffindor Common Room
Eleven years in the past
Hermione was still holding the blank parchment, which she knew immediately was a well-disguised porkey. She looked at her surrounding, and found she was on the floor beside the heat-radiating fire, inside the fireplace. Gradually she got up, as her gaze stood transfixed at by person in front of her. It was Ron. He couldn't have been more then eleven, she knew. He was sitting on one of the crimson couches, in corduroy pants and a red sweater. Regular Ron attire, Hermione thought with a chuckle. He looked like Ron, it was him, after all-yet this was a different Ron then Hermione was used to. He's so young, she thought, and adolescent.
"Harry!" the childlike Ron was calling. Hermione laughed heartily. His voice was much higher. But the surprise she saw didn't mask her panic; what was she doing here? She sat on the couch, and waved her hand in front of Ron's face. Nothing, she thought. He can't see me!
"Oi! Harry, get down here!" Ron screeched. Harry ran down the staircase, looking flabbergasted.
"I'm here," said Harry, sitting beside Ron. "Now, what do you want?"
"Read over my homework," he demanded. Then, upon seeing Harry's aggravated face, he added, "Please."
Harry sighed, and took the essay. "What happened to Hermione checking over your homework?"
"She said 'it's time for you to grow up and start checking over your own homework,'" said Ron, in the highest pitch voice he could muster. "Typical Hermione."
"What?" a familiar voice called from the girls' staircase.
Present-Hermione looked up, and saw the younger version of herself walking down the girls' staircase, and stopping to sit in her favorite armchair. She gasped. The hair was bushier, the teeth were larger, and she was less developed, but it was really her as eleven. Is that really what I looked like? Hermione wondered.
"What do you want Hermione?" said Ron stiffly.
"I heard my name!" Hermione said, as though that explained everything, "As usual, Ron."
"What do mean 'as usual'?" Ron shot back. "Just because you're not being a good friend and won't help be with my homework doesn't mean you can come in here and shoot out acusions."
"Its accusations," Hermione said dryly. "And I'm a bad friend? What about you? It's always about you. You never help me out!"
"What do you ask me to do Hermione?" Ron demanded. Hermione opened her mouth, but closed it again.
"Exactly!" Ron said triumphantly.
"Oh, you wouldn't do anything for me anyways!" Hermione exclaimed. She shot up from the chair, obviously goaded now, and said," Harry, I'm going to the library to look more books up about Nicholas Famal. I suggest you do the same when you're done hurting-I mean, helping Ron." And with that, she stalked out of the room.
"Crazy, that one," Ron muttered.
"Ah, Ron, flammable is spelled f-l-a-m-m-a-b-l-e, not f-l-a-u-m-a-b-l-e," said Harry, scratching out the misspelled word and writing the correct version beside it.
"Why do you think Hermione always argues with me," Ron said, completely ignoring what Harry said earlier. "I mean, it's not like it even has a point."
"Lacy Hoffman created the snappy relies, not Lucy Loofnam," Harry muttered, as he repaired that on Ron's parchment also.
"She is just so annoying sometimes!" Ron exclaimed. "Harry? Harry, are you even listening to me?"
"Yes, yes," Harry muttered. "Hermione crazy and annoying. Fights have no point, blah blah. Did I miss anything?"
Ron frowned, and opened his mouth just as Ginny walked in. When she saw Harry, she started blushing bright red, and flew back out the door she'd came from. "Harry, did you just see that?"
Harry merely nodded, ashe reached over for Ron's potion's book. "I need to look up-"
Harry suddenly stopped in mid-sentence, staringa white letterthat had flownof the potion's book cover, addressed: Hermione.
Ron's eyes grew wide, and he went for its protection, but Harry was much faster. He had already begun to open it before Ron even regained his senses.
"Harry-no!" Ron screeched. "Harry-"
Harry read it rapidly, then looked up at Ron, and handed him the letter. "Ron, is that true?"
"I-I-well-what you have to remember is-w-well-Harry-"
Harry grinned. "So it is true?"
What's true? Hermione's thoughts demanded. What? What is it?
"Well, maybe," said Ron, turning several shades of red. "But Harry, I've never found the right time to give it to her! We're always getting in rows…it makes it impossible to…"
Hermione reached for the letter, and then remembered she was transparent to their eyes; if the letter suddenly went from Ron's hand, they would suspect something eccentric going on.
"Look Ron, just give it to her," Harry insisted. "This makes no sense."
"Easy for you to say," Ron said sourly. "You could have any girl you want-and no one would make fun of you about it."
"Oh, so that is what this is about?" Harry demanded maliciously. "You're afraid of what the guys might think?"
Harry abandoned Ron's essay in Ron's lap, and irritably walked to the door.
"Harry, where are you going?"
"To help Hermione in the library," said Harry tonelessly, and he soon walked out.
Ron sighed, and stared down at the letter. No, he just couldn't do it. He was too afraid. He shoved the letter back inside his knapsack, and sighed. Hermione watched him walk out the door, with an unusually slump. Of course, Hermione thought, I'd assumed it was because of our row! How was I supposed to know it was about something much more important?
She turned her head around inside the now empty common room-and then as suddenly as she'd arrived inside the old Gryffindor common room, she was back inside her house, sitting on the couch, clutching an aged piece of parchment.
Author's Note-I cannot stress this enough, please review! That would be fantastic of you guys, so please just do it! Also, constructive criticism is welcome (not as welcome as raving comments, but it's accepted) but unintelligent flames are not. All that shows me is that you obviously haven't written, for you have no idea how much work goes into it. Anyways, the next chapter is exciting me, so I hope you guys will love it also! And if anyone is wondering about Project Sabotage, I'm still writing it, so no worries, just slow updation on my part (biggest apologizes on that). Have a great day!
Hogie