Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
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Hermione grits her teeth. They're so – so – they're just so stupid! This isn't some fantasy book where there'll be a happy end for everyone no matter what they do, nor is it a tragedy for them to play out! This is their life, damn it all, and she'll be damned if she lets her boys fall apart on her now!
''Get up, both of you.'' She snaps. ''Change of plans. We're going on a holiday.''
And, yeah, her idea is stupid and dangerous and would get them killed, but… but they'll die anyway, because no one will teach them anything worthwhile, and if they're about to go down, they may as well live a little beforehand.
Harry is staring at her dully, like he isn't quite sure whether it was aliens or Death Eaters who took over her body, and Ron is spluttering like he somehow managed to choke on his brain, succeeding at pushing out what in Merlin's name did you say and blimey, have you gone completely mad?
And, yes, her judgement might be impeded by what she has learned – a bloody prophecy over her best friend's head – she knew divination shouldn't be trusted – but she would do anything to get that defeated look off Harry's face, up to and including shirking her responsibility and becoming a runaway delinquent.
So. She packs her things with a wave of her wand, quickly doing the same for the boys, and pulls them to the floor with her. They have a journey to plan.
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Ron has no idea what got into Hermione, because his best friend and kind of, sort of, maybe, possibly crush has never acted like this. Never. But still. He sits onto the floor with her, Harry finally getting some colour in his cheeks, and she whips out a map and a scroll.
''We can have a week.'' She says magnanimously, like they'd been begging her for this and she was grudgingly indulging them. ''We can go visit my grandparents in France, they'll be willing to put us up for a few days, and while we're there we can think of what to do about this prophecy. I don't like it, and I'm not willing to play along with You-Know – oh, blast it, with Voldemort.''
This is why Hermione's awesome. Ron watches her outline their trip, sees the way Harry livens up now that he isn't just expected to roll over for the Headmaster like a well-trained dog, and he thinks, yeah, this could be just what we need.
So he agrees with her plans, points out some flaws – because there is no way muggles would let them go just like that, they can't possibly be that stupid, but wizards are that stupid and Floo is so very easy to get access to – and supports Harry like a best mate should. He preens just a bit when Hermione looks impressed at his input.
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Harry didn't know what he expected when he told his friends about the prophecy. Well, no, he did know what he expected, but because they're his friends and are even weirder than him, they didn't react like he had predicted they would.
He'd thought they would be surprised, sad and angry, but that they would also understand they couldn't be friends anymore and go along with his plan on breaking their friendship. Instead, Hermione had a minor – or greater, he didn't know yet – breakdown and decided to basically kidnap him and Ron, and Ron turned out to have no common sense whatsoever and agreed to Hermione's half-witted – and he had never expected to say that about anything Hermione did – plan.
''France?'' he finally croaked out. ''Are you – are you crazy?''
''Mate,'' Ron said, completely unapologetic, in that annoying this-is-for-your-own-good tone. ''If you think for one moment you're in this on your own, then you need a mind healer. Merlin's saggy left nut, mate! This is some serious shit here, we aren't about to leave you.''
Harry's brain broke just a tad. Because… because. 'Serious shit'… Just… What? Next to him, Hermione was snorting unattractively in laughter.
''What? What?'' Ron demanded. ''What's so funny?''
'''Serious shit'. Where –'' Hermione giggled again, ''Where did you hear that?''
''Muggles say it, don't they?'' he defended.
''Well, yeah.'' Hermione agreed. ''But they're muggles.''
Harry couldn't stop the quip even if he wanted. She had walked into it. ''Are you being discriminative now, Hermione?'' he teased. ''You, the Muggleborn rights activist?''
Hermione blushed and whacked him with the rolled up scroll, and Harry laughed quietly. Ron watched them squabble and thought, yeah, this is exactly what they need.
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Getting out of Britain is so easy Hermione doesn't know whether to laugh, cry or crow in triumph. The fact that the only thing dividing them from France was a fireplace and the generic address of 'Paris, France' is just… mind-breakingly stupid. The fireplace wasn't even guarded or charmed or protected in any way, for the love of Merlin! Who does that?! But magic and reason don't seem to mix, and who is she to complain about it when it helps them?
The Floo spits them out – and she's almost ashamed to say it – in the middle of Paris. As in, half a mile away from the Eiffel Tower. Why? What if muggles saw them? Paris is so full of tourists it'd be a miracle for them to go unnoticed.
She laments about this to Ron and Harry, and while Harry nods along with her, Ron shakes his head.
''Do you really think we're that stupid, Hermione?'' he asks. ''I mean, yeah, we don't really go with the times, and much of our laws are outdated, but there is a reason we do some things. Method to the madness, if you will.''
''Well, what is it?'' Harry inquires, curious about the magical culture.
''This place,'' Ron gestures to the fireplace built into the wall of the street, which Hermione thought to be the silliest thing she had seen to date, ''is warded to be invisible, unnoticeable and uninteresting to muggles. And, if what I remember is true, then it's here because we, the wizards, needed a quick way into all the major cities in Europe when that mad French muggle tried to take over. Goodpart, I think?''
''Bonaparte?!'' Hermione almost shrieks. ''Napoleon Bonaparte?! He's the reason this is built like this?''
''Yeah.'' Ron agrees easily. ''There are Floo connections like this all over Europe. If you said 'London, England', it would send you to the Trafalgar Square. We learnt about this in preschool.'' He added at Hermione's incredulous look.
''Huh.'' Harry said. ''Well, you learn something new every day.''
Hermione still looks vaguely stunned that Ron knew something she didn't – and Harry was kind of stunned about that, too – but Ron didn't seem to see anything weird about it so Harry let it go. He was more interested in that preschool part, anyway.
Wizards have preschools? he asked himself. Well, he'd find out sooner or later.
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Hermione's grandparents are so barmy it's mind-boggling to even imagine that she was descended from them. They greeted them at the door before they'd even knocked, offered them tea and then forced them to drink it, and consented to put them up with no fuss at all. If it had been Ron's grandparents there would have been drama and tears and they'd have been shipped back home in a heartbeat.
''Your family is kind of scary.'' Harry told her once they were out of that house. ''I mean, your grandma, was that a dagger she carried around?''
Hermione flushes and fidgets. ''She's… odd. Don't pay her any mind. Nana thinks she's in the Mafia. It's best to leave her be. And Pops… Well, never mind him. Ah, want some ice-cream?''
Ron thinks she looks suspiciously guilty, but the way Harry shrugs and goes along with it placates him enough to leave it alone for now. What's the Mafia? he wonders, and decides to ask Hermione later on, when she calms down a bit. For now, well. There's ice-cream and the weather is nice, and the allowance Hermione's grandparents insisted they take is more than enough to pay for the sweets.
''So…'' Harry starts. ''What will we do now?''
''Enjoy ourselves.'' Ron says likes it's obvious – and let's face it, it is – and looks at him like he's a cretin. ''What else?''
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The first day passes by in a daze, and it's spent admiring the Eiffel Tower. Well, Harry admires it; Ron doesn't think it's anything special and Hermione has seen it so many times it lost its charm for her. When they go back to Hermione's grandparents' house, they're too tired to do anything more than crash in the beds provided and fall asleep.
The second day, though, brings a bit more excitement. They can't go to the magical district because, duh, they're technically runaways even if they're planning on going back by the end of the week. But muggle Paris is pretty interesting, and Ron in particular delights in its food. The macaroons are deemed to be the best candy in the world, and Harry stocks up on chocolates. Hermione just shakes her head in disgust – Really, so many sites and so much history and they waste time on sweets? Honestly.
But they have fun, and that's what really matters.
The afternoon, however, isn't as light and fluffy as the morning. Mostly because of Harry. And his angst.
''I mean it, guys. You should stop being friends with me, it's only ever brought you trouble and it'll be even more dangerous from now on, so you should –''
Ron's answering temper tantrum is epic. ''We should what, Harry James Potter?! What?! We're your friends, you should trust us to be there, you dolt! And we're not leaving you, so if you have a problem with that, well, tough luck!''
Harry protests, ''Be serious, Ron! Voldemort –''
''You know, Harry,'' Ron interrupts, ''you keep talking, but all I hear is Moaning Myrtle! Now shut up before I hit you!''
They're all silent after that. There isn't much to say after such an explosion. But they are friends, and that means always finding ways to relieve the tension.
''I think you channelled your mum, Ronald.'' Hermione points out weakly. ''And that Myrtle part was, well, cruel.''
Harry can't stop the word vomit. ''To me, or to Myrtle?'' he asks.
They burst out laughing, and if it's a bit hysterical – because teenagers aren't supposed to be swearing eternal loyalty to each other – no one mentions it.
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''Tut, tut, my dear.'' Chides Nana – who had demanded they call her that as soon as they got back – and serves them some sort of thick soup that smells a bit like fish, ''You shouldn't stay out so late at night. It could be dangerous.'' Her husband vaguely hums from his position in front of the telly, but Nana ignores him. ''Young girls could get snatched, and even though you have such big friends to protect you, you should still think things through.''
Harry and Ron turn red at the comment about them, and Hermione looks devastated. ''I'm sorry, Nana, I'll do better.'' She promises gravely.
''See that you do, dear. Now, you two.'' Nana puts her hands on her hips and glares. ''What do you think you're doing?''
Harry freezes. What did he do wrong? Was it some French tradition?
Ron tries to ask what they did wrong, but Nana bulldozes over him. ''Walking around all oblivious like, not even disguising yourselves. Weren't you running away, hmm? Why I ought to put you over my knee for being so careless!''
''Nana!'' Hermione exclaims, ''How do you –''
''Oh please.'' Nana snorts. ''I've been a hit-woman for years, dear, if it hadn't been for your Pops I would still be there, and you thought you'd pull the wool over my eyes so easily? Who do you take me for, dear? Now,'' she pins them to their seats with those scary brown eyes – so much like Hermione's but not – and continues. ''You'll need some new clothes, for now. Those you can borrow from Pops, but your hair needs to change, too. It's far too distinctive. Really, bright red and that bird's nest? I'll –''
Harry somehow manages to rasp out ''Hit-woman?'' but is completely ignored by both Nana and her granddaughter, who are busy arguing.
''Whoa.'' Says Ron, in awe of their host. ''She was a muggle Hit-Witch?''
''No, a hit-woman, or rather a hitman, is an assassin. A killer for hire.'' Harry clarified numbly. ''She was a hired gun. Hermione's grandma was a killer for hire.'' He blinked, feeling a bit light-headed. ''I think… I need to lie down.''
In the end, Hermione saves them from getting haircuts, but they're forced into Pops' old clothes. Ron is thoroughly pleased with the wild, colourfully patterned shirts, but Harry feels like he walked out of an eighties telly show. Hermione is just glad Nana has eased up over the years and didn't make up backstories for them.
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In England, things aren't as laidback as they are in France. While the three friends spent their week relaxing and discovering what made France so popular, the Order had been running around like headless chickens. Mrs Weasley was out of her mind with worry, and so were the Hogwarts professors who had all but adopted Harry as their own.
In the end, their fears were – depending on the person asked – either laid to rest or further alarmed by the letter that reached them two days after the three children disappeared. It was an irritatingly short letter, barely legible considering that it had been written in Harry's particular brand of chicken scratch, and raised more questions than it answered.
To the Order,
Don't worry, we (Harry, Ron and Hermione) are fine. We're on a vacation and we'll be back soon. We promise we aren't in any danger.
P.S. – don't forget to feed our pets
The infuriating letter had Severus ranting about Potters and their arrogance and audacity for a while, and Dumbledore's suddenly twinkling eyes almost sent Minerva and Molly into an apoplectic fit. How dare that man treat this all so lackadaisically? Those children could be hurt! The two women sealed an alliance and swore to teach those little imps some manners when they came back.
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Ron frowned, scratching his nose absent-mindedly. ''Hey, do you suddenly have the feeling something bad is going to happen? There was this chill I just felt.''
Harry was still snoring lightly and so couldn't answer, and Hermione's only response was a shallow shrug. Ron's sixth sense was weird and often incomprehensible, so she didn't even try to understand it. Nana just hums secretively from her place in the kitchen.
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So, what did you think? I rather liked it.
Unedited; un-beta'd.