AN: Here we go! Hermione the Ravenclaw is a go! Can't promise a solid release schedule (we all know how well that worked last time) but I can promise that I'm not stopping. Even if I go on another 3 month hiatus, I will eventually come back. That is my promise. I know it's not much, but there it is. Thanks so much for trekking this journey with me. You, dear reader, are the reason I do this. Enjoy!
"So then Harry walked through the magic black fire, quite unaffected, and I went back to make sure Ron was all right. He came to soon after I got there, and maybe fifteen or twenty minutes after that, Professor Dumbledore came bursting through, asked me 'Where is he?', I pointed into the next room, and he tore off." Hermione shifted in her seat and arranged herself more comfortably. "Maybe five minutes after that, he came back with Harry in tow and we all went back up, into the school proper." She looked up, trying to remember if anything else had happened. "Oh, and we won the House Cup. Dumbledore gave Ron, Harry, me, and Neville points after the fact, and my fifty were enough to take the Cup." Hermione smiled at the memory. "So, then I came home and here we are."
Hermione had never before witnessed a facial expression that she felt comfortable labeling "flabbergasted," but now she had two. Both of her parents were looking at her, shocked utterly at the adventures their little bookworm had been party to. Mr Granger's brown eyes were wide, his brown brows low over them, and his mouth tightly clenched. Mrs Granger's eyes were as wide, her head slightly tilted, and her mouth open in a little "o." Neither blinked for a full minute. Hermione was glad that she was used to silence, otherwise this moment might be a little awkward.
The summer had been quiet enough, the only moment of excitement coming when Hermione's new book-list had come via owl post. She had, of course, finished her summer work on the train, much to Harry and Ron's bewilderment, and was looking forward to sinking her eyes into new academic territory. Most of the texts seemed mere continuations of the previous year, relatively mundane, but a large section of list had been devoted to the entire published works of one Gilderoy Lockhart. If a single professor merited his entire set of published works as required reading, Hermione was more than willing to buy them all.
Her father was the first to recover. He blinked twice rapidly and visibly shook himself. "Well, sweetie, that's, er, well..." He wouldn't have believed the story but for his daughter's straight face and matter of fact tone. Hell, she talked about it as dryly as she did when mentioning her favorite novels.
"Right, so I'm going back to Diagon Alley to buy the books I need this Saturday, so I'll need some money." Hermione looked back and forth between her parents, looking for who would give her the money.
Her father looked quickly at her mother, concern in his eyes and mirrored in hers. "I believe we'll be escorting you there, dear."
The Grangers arrived in front of the Leaky Cauldron round about mid-morning, and were understandably baffled by the lack of a seedy tavern. Despite their daughter's no-doubt exceptionally well detailed account of the magics involved, there simply was no Leaky Cauldron. And yet, amazingly, Hermione simply reached forward and grabbed solid wall, turned it, and strode forward into yet more solid wall. Her mother and father hesitantly followed her, experienced the utterly weird sensation of walking through a Muggle-Repelling Charm, and were standing in a tavern so seedy, it was a miracle there wasn't a garden on the floor.
Hermione was walking quickly towards the back door of the establishment, and her parents hurried to follow her, wary of being left alone in this strange place. The various patrons of the bar watched them walk through, and despite Mr Granger's attempts at nonchalance, it was painfully clear that he and his wife were out of their depth. The man behind the bar smiled a toothless smile at Hermione, and just had time to change his look to one of confusion before the Grangers were stepping out back, into a small alley. A dead end.
Hermione strode purposefully up to the end of the alley and pulled her wand out of her pocket and began tapping bricks, muttering under her breath. Mr Granger heard that she was counting when he approached. She soon snapped her fingers in excitement and placed the tip of her wand on a specific brick. A soft tap later, the wall began to fold in on itself and soon, the Grangers were looking in on a magical wonderland of a street.
Mr and Mrs Granger were hard pressed to keep up with their daughter, and still see the fantastical sights that surrounded them. By the time Hermione finally stopped in front of, what else, the bookstore, Mr Granger had questioned his eyes countless times, his view of physics eight, and his sanity five more. Nothing seemed consistent down this alley. Selwin's Self-Transfiguring Songbirds, for instance. Once Hermione explained what transfiguration was, Mr Granger was fully behind the idea of owning things that did it themselves. That was fine! What wasn't fine was the utter randomness which the things turned into. Purple rhinoceroses weren't even aesthetically pleasing! What was the point?!
Things were calmer in the bookstore.
At worst, the pictures on the covers would move: child's play. Hermione quickly and efficiently grabbed all of the books she would need, a few she wanted, and one or two that could theoretically become useful at some point in the future, who knew? Mr and Mrs Granger walked up to the sales counter, carrying the large stack between them, when they heard a soft gasp from behind them. They laid the books on the counter with twin soft sighs, and turned to see what had captivated their daughter.
Immediately, Mrs Granger also gave a soft gasp and clutched her husband's shoulder for strength.
A man was standing a short ways away on a small, raised dais, surrounded by piles of books, all bearing his smiling, handsome face. The man was tall, broad-chested, attractively slim at the waist, and had the most dazzling smile Mr Granger had ever seen. His well-tailored white shirt was tucked into blue-black tight pants, and over his shoulder hung a rose-gold cape. His shoes were a strange, shimmering black, and he was undoubtedly the most well-dressed wizard Mr Granger had ever seen. Mr Granger had to quickly stifle a soft gasp of his own.
"That's Gilderoy Lockhart!" buzzed Hermione, "He's the one that wrote all of these." She pointed to a large section of the books on the counter. "He's obviously an amazing wizard."
Mr Granger had an ever so quick moment of being annoyed with the man on display, but if he was really as amazing as his daughter believed, and why shouldn't he be, then this would be money well-spent.
"Is that...?" Lockhart moved to edge of the dais, squinting into the crowd. "It is! Harry Potter!" He immediately leapt off the dais with all the grace of a gazelle and the thickening crowd parted, revealing a relatively short, moderately skinny, youth with messy black hair and shockingly green eyes.
Mr Granger leaned to his wife. "We know that child, don't we?"
"He's the son of the family we had over for our third Christmas Dinner," his wife whispered back, her perfect memory for faces and names never failing to cause awe in her husband.
"Ah yes, Vernon's son, right?" he asked, proud that he knew at least someone in the family.
"His nephew, actually. His parents died to that, oh," she thought for a second, "That evil wizard Hermione was telling us about. Volde-something."
"You dare speak the Dark Lord's name?!" hissed a rather aristocratic blond man standing a bit behind Mrs Granger.
"Oh, sorry," Mr Granger said nonchalantly, "Is that not proper?"
"Harry Potter," Lockhart said loudly, commanding the attention of the bookstore, "Wandered in here, of course, to simply buy his books and leave."
Mr Granger saw now that the boy was standing on the dais with Lockhart, looking rather shell-shocked.
"Little did he know!" Lockhart said loudly, "That he would be getting my whole collection for free!"
The crowd gasped appreciatively.
"Oh, in that case," Harry said, "Do you mind my friends getting copies too?" He leaned up and whispered into Lockhart's ear.
Lockhart faltered but a moment, then brightened and said, "Of course, Harry m'boy!" His eyes gained a look that Mr Granger would almost call predatory. "We'll hand them out right after the photo-shoot."
Nearly an hour later, Mr Granger was shaking hands with the patriarch of a brood of redheaded children, a Mr Weasely, while Hermione was getting her stack of free books from a rather defeated looking Lockhart.
"Absolutely an honor to meet you, Mr Granger," Mr Weasely said, shaking his hand vigorously, "That another Muggle would take enough interest in our world to actually come here, to Diagon Alley, is just marvelous!"
"Er, don't parents usually come with their children?" asked Mr Granger, a bit taken aback.
"Not into the Alley itself," reassured Mr Weasely, "You see, as an employee of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department at the Ministry, it's immensely interesting to me how Muggles would integrate into our society. In fact-"
"Still blubbering on and on about Muggles, are you Weasely?" sneered the same aristocratic man, walking up to them, "One might question the quality of such a wizard, don't you think?"
Vernon blustered and Mr Weasely went red in the face, but it was Mr Granger who smoothly replied, "And what would you say about the quality wizards who interrupt conversations that don't concern them?" In the shocked silence that followed, he continued, "Seems rather boorish; quite plebeian, wouldn't you say, Mr Weasely?"
The aristocratic man, pale already, went translucent. "I demand satisfaction, sir."
Ignoring Mr Weasely's warning, Mr Granger turned to face the man. One look at his slim, almost frail, figure had Mr Granger blessing the fact that he had kept up the fencing he had started in his youth. "Quite brave of you, sir." He raised a perfectly trained eyebrow. "Quite brave indeed."
"What weapons, sir?" hissed the man.
"The rapier." Mr Granger lifted a calling card out of his pocket. "Here. I'll expect your seconds tomorrow."
The man hesitated a second in taking the card, and a barrage of emotion clouded his face before he did. "Granger?" His eyes lifted. "Tell me, are you related to the Dagworth-Grangers, over in Devonshire?"
"No," said Mr Granger, crisply. "Until tomorrow, then." He turned unceremoniously back to his companions.
Mr Granger heard the man walking away, heard him stop and say something to Mrs Weasely and the daughter, then continue and leave the store. Only then did his shoulders relax.
Mr Granger waited to tell his wife what had happened until they were home and Hermione was in bed.
"You did what?!" Mrs Granger asked, venom dripping off of the last word.
"Don't worry, dear," said Mr Granger, leaning back in his chair, and placing his glass of port on a small table. "I got the measure of him. It'll be easy."
"He's a wizard. He can use magic." His wife's look was incredulous.
"He'll honor the terms. I know his type." He took a sip of the rather excellent port. "I've as good as won."
"You better have." His wife resumed her needlepoint. "So, what shall we serve the McWersters this Friday?"
Hermione was vibrating with excitement as she finished up packing. Her mother would be taking her to the station, her father had some sort of business meeting or something, and Hermione had to be ready by 8:30, to get to the station on time. There was a dread problem, however.
Hermione had too many books.
Her school books were in the bottom of the trunk, the highest priority of course. Next were her light reading books, approximately fifteen thousand pages of text, and she figured that would last her for about the first week. Then she could borrow from the library, after all of her class material was sorted. She had come to her issue with her reference books and her extra-curricular studies books. She needed both, utterly and completely, but her mother had said that she could only bring as many books as she could carry. Hermione understood that logic, barely, but she simply couldn't be without either stack, as both were necessary for her schooling.
So it was that, at 7 am, Hermione had woken early and begun the arduous task of separating her books into "Need," "Really Need," and "Desperately Need" piles to pack into her trunk. And so it was that at 8:45, she had finally got a list that she was all right with. And so it was that at 9:30, she and her mother finally left the house.
Hermione arrived at King's Cross at 10:45, giving her a scant fifteen minutes to get onto the train, and by the time she pushed through the barrier, she was absolutely sure that she would need some sort of pick-me-up on the train itself. As she crossed the barrier, she heard a small pop, but when she turned around to look, she couldn't see anything. Just as she turned to head towards the train, however, she heard a tiny, little voice say, "Harry Potter can't go back to Hogwarts. Dobby is doing this for his own good."
Hermione turned to question the invisible voice, but just then she heard a loud and startling crash on the other side of the barrier. Dozens of wizards turned to look, curious about the commotion, and when all of those eyes happened upon Hermione, she froze. In the still silence, Hermione heard a second crash, then another tiny pop. After a few moments of no other sound, everyone on the platform went back to saying their goodbyes and whatnot, and Hermione made her way onto the train.
The ride itself was uneventful; Hermione found herself sitting near to some Griffindor girls who were gossiping about some, no doubt, inanity about dueling or something. She ignored them and started on her woefully lacking book collection. Once or twice someone made some noise about seeing a flying car outside the window, but Hermione ignored it just like the rest of what they said. Flying cars. The very thought.
AN: Bam, Chapter 1. Let the review flow through you.