When Hermione had agreed to accompany Sam to the party, she hadn't known just how tense she would be.
She woke up after being pushed through the portal which she assumed meant that it hadn't killed her - although for all she knew, it had killed her past self, or stopped the time travelling... In other words, she couldn't wait to go to bed again and find out.
Her mother was delighted that Hermione would be going to a school dance with Sam and although Hermione suggested that Anneken could organise a dress for her, her mother insisted on taking her out shopping herself.
'Oh, this is so exciting.' Jean Granger enthused as she started the car and backed out of the driveway. 'A girl's day out in London.'
Hermione hummed noncommittaly. She could imagine little worse than spending the day dress shopping in London when there was less than a week until Christmas. It would be chaos.
'I might get something for myself too - a coat like yours would be nice in Italy.' Hermione fiddled with the stereo, ejecting the current tape and switching it for one that she knew neither of them particularly objected to.
'Perhaps you can pick me out a dress for the new year's eve party? You've got such fabulous taste these days.' Hermione's mother continued.
'Sure.' Hermione agreed easily, glancing analytically over her mother. It was clear who she'd inherited the Gorlois hair from - her mother always fought her hair back with a number of pins and clips but when she let it loose, it was as wild as Hermione's. Unlike Hermione though, her skin was snowy pale and the only hint of colour was in the slight rosiness of her cheeks.
'Well, any suggestions?' Her mother prompted after a moment, taking her eyes off the road for a fraction of a second to look over at her daughter.
'Dark rose-purple, with matching lipstick and shoes.' Hermione decided, then because she felt like a terrible daughter who was being incredibly ungrateful, she offered to show her mother how to do her hair. That seemed to do the trick because her mother relaxed from tension that Hermione hadn't even realised had been in her shoulders.
'Oh wonderful. I've never been any good at that kind of thing... you know that of course. I'm amazed that you're so good at it.'
Hermione let her mother natter all the way to the city centre, doing her best to act engaged despite her concerns. They spent the morning fighting through the last minute shopping crowds and trying on dresses in an array of shops. It was exhausting but allowed for plenty of talking between the mother and daughter and the shared task helped to bridge the distance that had grown between them. Hermione was delighted to learn that her mother and father had continued in their attempts to learn German and like her first attempts had been, her mother's conversation was full of hilarious mistakes. It was fun to be on the opposite end this time around.
They ate lunch at a fancy cafe; expensive sandwiches and cakes finished with silly curls of chocolate and gold glitter. Then, because neither of them actually liked clothes shopping, they went to a massive bookshop. Hermione gravitated towards the science and technology section whilst her mother followed, recommending several texts that she thought Hermione might find interesting.
Her pocket money had been amassing since she went to school, so Hermione was able to buy several for both herself and some of her friends.
Her concerns about happenings in Germany were comfortably pushed to the back of her mind by the sheer intensity of muggle London over Christmas and they were both flushed and exhausted by the time they returned to the car to drive home.
Conversation was much more animated this time, now that they could talk about the odd lady with three cats on leads at Harrods or the awful peach and crimson cocktail dress in the shop window.
Hermione's dad was waiting for them when they got back. He'd made mince pies - rock solid and dense, but wonderfully spiced and festively fragrant. Doused liberally in cream they weren't so bad and they all sat around the tree to eat them, chatting about the day in London.
Whilst they ate, Hermione's mother began to carefully tease Hermione's cascade of waist length hair into a braided half crown around the lapis Grindelwald combs - Hermione had failed to tell her mother that the jewellery was genuine and probably cost more than their car. Her father jovially documented every minute of the experience with his camera, dancing around the women unhelpful and blinding them with flashes.
'Your father is very excited. He'd resigned himself to not being able to use the prom night speech he's been practicing since you were four.' Her mother whispered conspiratorially as he bounded up the stairs to fetch another roll of film.
'It's not prom!' Hermione lamented. 'It's just some Christmas dance for secondary school kids.'
'It wouldn't be such a big event if you went straight from here to one of your magic school parties.' Her mother chided.
'They're not school dances, Mum!' The young witch protested. 'They're society balls - they're really important networking events and it's really important that I go with an influential adult.'
'Yes, yes... we know how important all of this is to you.' Jean Granger soothed, pulling the pins out of her mouth and ducking around so that she could see Hermione's eyes. 'You're just growing up so quickly and we feel like we're missing everything.'
'You're not really.' Hermione replied awkwardly, avoiding her mother's eyes. 'I mean, they're basically the same as the parties you go to... just like they would have been two-hundred years ago.'
'We're not blind, Hermione.' Her mother pointed out, sitting on the couch and taking her daughter's hands. 'We knew right from the moment we first caught you with books from the top shelf that you were destined for things beyond us - either because you were so intelligent or because you could do magical things. We always knew that someday you would grow beyond what we could provide, and we're very glad that you've found such wonderful support in your friends and their families. But that doesn't mean we aren't happy whenever we get to fulfil one of the dreams we had when I was pregnant with you.'
'You dreamed about me going to a dance?' Hermione questioned thickly, desperate for a subject change that would avoid the leaden guilt that had settled in her stomach.
'Of course.' Her mother laughed wetly. 'But you're so, so much more than we ever imagined.'
Hermione lunged forwards, wrapping her mother in a hug.
'I'm sorry Mum, I've been a terrible daughter.'
'No, no... You're incredible - so powerful and decisive. I wish I'd been like you when I was your age; I'd be the Prime Minister by now... Now, you're ruining your hair and you've only got half an hour before Sam get here; you better get that dress on.'
Half an hour later, Hermione's father hurried down to answer the loud knock on the door. She heard him chatting animatedly with Sam's mother as her own mother dusted the last bit of pearly glitter over her cheekbones.
'Ready?' Her mother asked, hands hovering over Hermione's eyes as she was lead in front of the mirror. Then, she finally removed her hands to let Hermione see herself in the full mirror.
The first thing that struck the young witch was the amount of skin on show - fortunately, Hermione had matured enough over the past year to be able to pull it off. Knee length at the front, before it fell in a waterfall of midnight lace ruffles to the floor behind her, pale legs were showcased against fabric as dark as the lapis in her comb. The halter neck allowed the back to plunge as low as her first winter ball dress but this muggle gown didn't offer the protection of lace and embroidery so her cascading hair brushed against her exposed shoulder blades. Her mother had let her wear a shiny pink lipgloss and had dusted pearly pink blush over her cheeks so that she sheeted to glow even under the harsh bathroom lighting.
'Ready?' Her mother asked, almost bouncing with excitement.
'I look about fifteen.' Hermione pointed out, running her fingers over her bare arms.
'You'll be the envy of the room.' Her mother pointed out knowledgeably and Hermione smiled, remembering how desperate everyone at muggle school had been to seem older. Oddly, that never seemed as much of a concern in the wizarding world, perhaps because most of the children had been socialising together long before they were split into school classes.
'Sam should have brought a pitchfork instead of flowers. He'll need it to fend off the other boys.' Her father joked from the doorway. He brandished his camera again, clicking several photos of her and her mother, then made his wife take some of them together.
Finally, they family made their way downstairs.
Someone must had told Sam what colour she'd be wearing because his bow tie matched her dress exactly and the little flower corsage he brought had been airbrushed with silver so that it stood out and complimented her combs.
'Wow.' Sam managed as Hermione habitually curtsied. He bowed clumsily in return and their parents cooed.
'You don't clean up too badly yourself.' She giggled, brushing her finger over his artistically spiked hair.
'Don't touch mine, I wont touch yours.' Sam cautioned as he finished fastening the flowers to her wrist.
They both had to pose for a whole load of photographs with both sets of parents, then finally they managed to get into the car for the drive to London.
Sam's mother was a harried woman who's four sons took ever ounce of her energy - from what Hermione remembered, Sam's two older brothers were somewhat problematic and were constantly in trouble both inside and out of school. It seemed that they'd only gotten worse in Hermione's absence and she was told in exasperated detail how whilst Sam had managed a full scholarship to Eton, David had completely flunked his exams and Thomas had been suspended for punching another student. She almost glowed with relief when she spoke about how Sam was top of his year at his boarding school.
Hermione told a little white lie and claimed that she was attending Durmstrang because she couldn't quite bring herself to admit to anyone not in the know that her school was called Hogwarts. It sounded rather glamorous, she realised - a highly selective, invitation only boarding school in the Norwegian mountains and friends who held balls in their ancestral manors.
The school dance was to take place at a fancy hotel in the inner city. They pulled up into a line of gleaming, expensive cars and the two attendees stepped out quickly before anyone could notice that they'd turned up in Sam's family banger with its smoky exhaust.
She quickly gathered from the conversations in the queue that this dance was not just for one school - they called it a junior social, which meant that the three youngest year's students from all the most exclusive schools were invited.
They were waved through quickly once they flashed their invitations, pausing briefly for a catwalk style photo shoot before receiving champagne flutes full of gently sparking... ginger beer. Hermione sniffed in disdain, passing off the drink to a passing waiter as quickly as possible.
Her first impression was that the party was going to be like the balls that she attended with her wizarding friends; the other children were all dressed in glittering jewel toned dresses and hair and makeup had been artistically perfected. The red carpet swept through the large foyer beneath golden chandeliers that glittered off the marble compass rose that was set into the floor.
She felt the bass in her heart first, pulsing through her body like shockwaves. Then she managed to pick it up over the chatter of excited voiced and clattering of the oldest girls' obscene heels. Then the sounds changed to the unanimous, unmistakable beat of Queen's "We Will Rock You". It grew louder as they walked until they turned the last corner and emerged through a pair off massive doors into a kaleidoscopic display of lights and smoke, glittering dresses and jewellery. A DJ worked on a stage at the far end, almost obscured by the lasers that danced red and green like Jedi swords. The floor was a heaving mass of students, stamping and clapping in time to the song whilst an equally dense crowd clustered around a food and drinks table. Suited bouncers chaperoned from shadowed corners and an awkward huddle of teachers grooved in an isolated corner.
Sam led her around the edges to a small huddle of boys around their age. Like clones, they all wore their hair spiked up with excessive gel and none of them wore their bow ties correctly. There was a small huddle of girls off to one side and they kept glancing at the boys in a resentful manner that suggested they believed their dates weren't paying them enough attention.
The stunned silence that met Sam's introduction of her to the group made the entire evening worth it.
'Huh. So you're the girlfriend.' One of the girls drawled, her tone suggesting that she considered Hermione to be almost as fascinating as a crushed bug. 'I'm surprised he managed to actually scrape one out of the barrel.'
'Lady Hermione of Gorlois.' Hermione introduced herself, holding out her ring laden hand to shake with all the aristocratic arrogance that she could muster. When the girl failed to meet the gesture, Hermione sniffed haughtily and looked down her nose.
'Lady Hermione.' One of the boys imitated rudely and Sam clutched warningly at her arm. Undeterred, Hermione focused the full force of her gaze on him.
'Yes?' She queried, as if she hadn't even noticed the mocking tone. 'Who are you again?'
'Oh, I'm Lord Edward of Saddler.' The boy bowed with enough twirls of his wrists to rival Lockhart.
'Forgive me; the name is unfamiliar. I wasn't aware of a Lord Saddler.' She answered coldly. 'Where is your estate again?'
The moment that it dawned on the group that she was being serious about the title was glorious. The girl choked on her own spit and Edward Saddler turned as crimson as the flower in his button hole.
'That's cool, so you're a real Lady. Which school do you go to? I haven't seen you at any of the other socials.' This girl was Asian in complexion with a pretty golden dress and a heart shaped face that Hermione just knew would be stunning once she grew out of her puppy fat.
'I go to Durmstrang. It's an invitation only school in Norway.'
And just like that, the attention on Hermione turned from mocking to the worshipful awe that she was used to commanding among her peers in the muggle world. It wasn't until much later when they finally made their way to the buffet table that she finally got to talk to Sam again.
'You're terrifying, you know that right?' Sam informed her as he returned from his quest to retrieve more of the delicious pigs in blankets. Hermione raised a questioning eyebrow and waited for him to elaborate. 'Ten minutes... it took you ten minutes to form yourself a new little cult of the richest kids in Britain.'
'Cult?' Hermione pondered the word, 'no, I don't think I've gotten them quite there yet.'
Sam goggled at her.
'I mean, they would still chose everyone else over me if it came down to it. I'm not sure if any of them are really worth the work.' She drawled, only half joking when she winked at him. Whilst he was distracted she leant over and stole the crispiest pig in blanket from his paper plate.
'Do I want to be associated with you?' He asked eventually. 'I mean, you're not going to talk your followers into some revolution and go down in history as a villain, right? I'm not going to end up as your Himmler am I?'
'No.' Hermione scoffed. 'I consider myself more like Napoleon Bonaparte, except I intend to win.'
Sam looked at her blankly.
'You want to conquer Europe?' Her muggle boyfriend confirmed and Hermione smirked.
'No. I want to step into the power vacuum formed by the warring factions around me and bring the country into an unprecedented period of prosperity.'