Title: Sweet Home London
Summary: Sweet Home Alabama meets Hogwarts, starring Hermione as Melanie, Ron Weasley as Jake, and Viktor Krum as Andrew, with the help of other characters. Don't understand? Go see the movie.
Author: The one, the only, Yelak.
A/N: Chapter 2 is up! Celebrate! Mm, I should hope you've read chapter 1 if you're reading this so.enjoy!
Disclaimer: Yes, I own all of these characters. XD Just kidding. J.K. Rowling is the mastermind behind them, and the plot is from Sweet Home Alabama. I'm just combining the two.
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"My father's waiting for us at the Ministry," Viktor informed Hermione when they were snuggled back in the car, relaxing in each other's arms. "I can't wait to tell him the good news!"
Hermione's chocolate brown eyes grew wide. "Tell him? Er- don't you think we should wait a bit?" She began squirming nervously.
"Wait? Why?" He eyed her suspiciously. "You aren't ashamed of me, are you?" Backing off a bit, he looked a bit insulted.
"No! No, that's not it. It's just, my parents are Muggles as you know and I think that, um, maybe we should tell them instead of letting them hear on the news," Hermione quickly made up an excuse.
"Well, all right. We shall write them a letter, then?" Viktor searched the car for a scrap piece of parchment and a quill.
Hermione began to truly start blushing, as she said in a shy and quiet voice, "Actually, if you don't mind, I would like to tell them in person. Alone, that is."
Viktor finally smiled knowingly. "Is it because I'm Bulgarian?" He teased, wagging his full eyebrows at her.
"Well, that," said Hermione more calmly, "and a Quidditch player."
The car finally stopped at the Ministry, where mobs of eager reporters were crowded, large cameras permanently attached to their hands.
"What's going on here, anyway?" Viktor asked, smiling falsely for the cameras as he and Hermione emerged from the old car. He waved halfheartedly to one over-enthused reporter waved a microphone and camera in his face.
"Some big uncovering, or something. Not very exciting," Hermione whispered, the same fake smile as Viktor's plastered on her face.
"Miss Granger, Miss Granger!" A skinny, young girl with square, jeweled glasses called to her in a squeaky tone. She looked unnervingly like Rita Skeeter, an annoying journalist that pestered everyone back when she was at Hogwa- Wait; don't say it, she told herself. She raised her eyebrows politely at the girl.
"Sources say you're engaged to Quidditch star-a rather handsome one at that-Viktor Krum! Do you have a comment?" She waved the microphone forward and every other reporter fell silent. Hermione's face dropped as she looked to Viktor for help.
Coming to the rescue, he guided her forward with the strength of an athlete, away from the reporters and over to Viktor's father, who happened to be Hermione's boss. "Hullo, Father," Viktor greeted him warmly. "You remember Hermione?"
"Of course I do!" The pudgy man boomed, laughing excitedly. "Read your report on Bedwarths today. Loved it! Brilliant, it was!"
Hermione found herself blushing rather excitedly. "Did you-did you really?" Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes gleaming. She quickly hugged Viktor to release a bit of the excitement. She extended a hand to him to shake. He took it rather placidly, but stopped dead when he felt something on her hand.
"Viktor . . . Miss Granger here seems to be wearing quite the ring on quite the finger," he said, not letting go of her hand and staring rather intently.
"Er, Mr. Krum, if you don't mind I'd rather not say anything about-"
"You've gone and gotten engaged? What WOULD your mother say?!" Shouted Viktor's father, no longer happy or excited. Instead, he looked livid.
"This," finished Hermione, as more than one cameras were flashed eagerly at her. Viktor turned to the cameras, speechless, as his picture was taken a number of times.
Hermione sat silently in a silver car, driving down old familiar roads. She had hoped to never return here, but right now she had no other choice. She was to be married to Viktor in a matter of days- and unless she was mistaken, it was quite illegal to have more than one husband. Yes, she reminded herself, he was still her husband, no matter how much she hated it. For the past seven years, he had declined the bills of divorcement but why? Why? It's not like they cared for each other anymore, so then why wouldn't he divorce her?
She looked at the large manors that she drove by, and sighed sadly. There was the old Malfoy manor. What had become of Draco Malfoy, anyway? He was probably still as filthy rich as ever. She could just imagine him; much older but still as snobby, strolling around lazily while his servants did the work with his nose in the air.
The manors she was passing no were no longer manors; they seemed to get smaller and smaller with every mile. Finally, she turned onto a desolate road, and continued on the path for a short while. Then she saw it: the old crooked building with many chimneys, looking unstable as ever. She reckoned Ron hadn't done the slightest bit of housework since he had gained The Burrow years ago.
A tiny tawny owl began fluttering in front of Hermione excitedly, flapping its wings a million times per minute. She tried to shoo it away, but it remained there, squawking and carrying on. At last the old wooden door of the house swung open, and a tall, redheaded man stepped out, looking annoyed. "Go away, bird," he yelled at the owl rather crankily. "Damn owl hasn't delivered a letter in ages," he explained to the stranger before him. "Now, how can I help you?" He was exactly as Hermione remembered him. He had the same goofy red hair plastered to his head, the same long nose and skinny frame, the same ridiculous British accent, and the same number of freckles-actually they might have doubled even.
"You can give me a divorce right now, Ron Weasley," Hermione said sternly, crossing her arms. Ron's jaw dropped in astonishment. "I mean it. The joke is over."
Looking to the sky as though for help, Ron began cursing. "'Mione?" he said, raising an eyebrow.
"Don't call me that. My name's Hermione," she told him, narrowing her eyes and a bit of Bulgarian reflecting in her words.
Ron put his hand on his hips and half-laughed/half-snorted. "Well aren't you just a Bulgarian bitch?"
"I mean it, Ron, I want to get back to Bulgaria as soon as I can. Just sign the damn papers!" Hermione cried, looking rather annoyed.
"No, I don't think I will," he said stubbornly. The miniscule owl had once again flown over, clicking its beak together and hooting hyperactively.
"Shut up, Pigwidgeon!" Hermione shouted, just as Ron said, "Shut up, Mindelay!"
"What . . . what happened to Pig?" Hermione said, looking startled.
"He died. You were gone," Ron told her gloomily, turning and walking back to the Burrow.
"Ron!" Hermione shrieked, but Ron paid no heed to her. He slammed the door shut and Hermione could hear the soft click of the door locking. "Stubborn-ass," Hermione muttered as she went out back to a small shed and retrieved one of the few of her belongings she had left behind.
Opening the refrigerator, Ron grabbed a butterbeer and muttering to himself. He held it to his lip and chugged the bottle, before something caught his eye. The front door was open wide, even though he was positive he locked it.
"Hey, genius. It's kinda hard to lock someone out who has a key to the house," Hermione called from the couch, smirking.
Exhaling sharply, Ron retorted, "That's the thing about spare keys. It'd be nice if I knew where it was! And by the way, you do know you're breaking and entering, eh? Last time I checked, that's against the law." He snatched up a quill, piece of parchment, and Mindelay the owl in his hands and went into a bedroom.
"Ron!" Hermione screamed, infuriated. But she got no reply, so she instead parked herself on the couch, clutching the bill of divorcement in her hands.
"So you're familiar with the Minister of Magic over there, eh?" Ron asked a short while later, emerging from the bedroom.
"Yes," she snapped, not wanting to stay and talk.
Smirking, he said, "Familiar with ours?"
A loud knocking on the front door jerked Hermione's head up. "You called the Minister? Ron!" She was just about to make for the back door when . . .
"Well, if it isn't the smart Hermione Granger," said a familiar British voice from behind her. She whirled around immediately when he spoke.
"Harry?!" she cried, and threw her arms around Harry Potter's neck. Harry hadn't changed much, except for the fact he was older and not boyishly built anymore. He still had thick, black frames hanging over the ridge of his nose, and his jet-black hair was as untidy as ever. He still also had the scar aligned on his forehead, illustrating a tragic night long ago, which ended in the death of his parents. His green eyes were glimmering as he smiled in a friendly manner at her. "You're the new Minister?! Ooh, congratulations!"
"Sure am," he grinned, putting her down. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Ron rolling his eyes impatiently. Putting on a straight face, he told her, "Now, Hermione, even though you're a nuisance, you can't go 'round breaking into other peoples' houses," he explained.
"I didn't break in! I used my key!" She demonstrated her key to Harry.
"It's still not your house, 'Mione." She didn't even both to correct him.
"Well, get him to sign these and I'll leave. Honestly, Harry's, he's as stubborn as a mule!"
"What exactly're those papers?" Much to Ron's distaste, he looked over the papers with a puzzled look. "A bill of divorcement? You mean . . . you guys are still married?" He looked at Ron, surprised.
Opening his mouth, Ron began to say something but Hermione cut him off by saying, "Unfortunately, yes. And he won't sign them!"
"Well, there's nothing here I can do, Ron. It's not against the law . . . you guys are obviously still married, so this is her house, too. I'll see you soon, I hope?" He asked Hermione, smiling rather sadly.
Hermione shook her head. "I'm leaving soon if I can't get Ron to sign these papers!"
"Well, I'll just leave you two to it, then." Hugging Hermione once more, he whispered in her ear, "It was great seeing you." He apparated off, after winking at Ron.
"Sign the papers, Ron!" Hermione shouted as soon as Harry was gone.
"I'll tell you what. You go and see your family, whom I'm sure you haven't seen in ages, and then we'll talk. Got it?" Ron looked serious.
Hermione sighed heavily and muttered something. "Whatever," she said and walked out the front door.
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A/N: Whee, this is fun! Like the story? Like the movie? Click that button over on the left and tell me! I know, it's basically the same as Sweet Home Alabama, but it's still fun, no? Leave me a good message, or a flame, or criticism; I don't care! Chapter 3 heading your way as soon as I get off my lazy arse and write it.
Summary: Sweet Home Alabama meets Hogwarts, starring Hermione as Melanie, Ron Weasley as Jake, and Viktor Krum as Andrew, with the help of other characters. Don't understand? Go see the movie.
Author: The one, the only, Yelak.
A/N: Chapter 2 is up! Celebrate! Mm, I should hope you've read chapter 1 if you're reading this so.enjoy!
Disclaimer: Yes, I own all of these characters. XD Just kidding. J.K. Rowling is the mastermind behind them, and the plot is from Sweet Home Alabama. I'm just combining the two.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"My father's waiting for us at the Ministry," Viktor informed Hermione when they were snuggled back in the car, relaxing in each other's arms. "I can't wait to tell him the good news!"
Hermione's chocolate brown eyes grew wide. "Tell him? Er- don't you think we should wait a bit?" She began squirming nervously.
"Wait? Why?" He eyed her suspiciously. "You aren't ashamed of me, are you?" Backing off a bit, he looked a bit insulted.
"No! No, that's not it. It's just, my parents are Muggles as you know and I think that, um, maybe we should tell them instead of letting them hear on the news," Hermione quickly made up an excuse.
"Well, all right. We shall write them a letter, then?" Viktor searched the car for a scrap piece of parchment and a quill.
Hermione began to truly start blushing, as she said in a shy and quiet voice, "Actually, if you don't mind, I would like to tell them in person. Alone, that is."
Viktor finally smiled knowingly. "Is it because I'm Bulgarian?" He teased, wagging his full eyebrows at her.
"Well, that," said Hermione more calmly, "and a Quidditch player."
The car finally stopped at the Ministry, where mobs of eager reporters were crowded, large cameras permanently attached to their hands.
"What's going on here, anyway?" Viktor asked, smiling falsely for the cameras as he and Hermione emerged from the old car. He waved halfheartedly to one over-enthused reporter waved a microphone and camera in his face.
"Some big uncovering, or something. Not very exciting," Hermione whispered, the same fake smile as Viktor's plastered on her face.
"Miss Granger, Miss Granger!" A skinny, young girl with square, jeweled glasses called to her in a squeaky tone. She looked unnervingly like Rita Skeeter, an annoying journalist that pestered everyone back when she was at Hogwa- Wait; don't say it, she told herself. She raised her eyebrows politely at the girl.
"Sources say you're engaged to Quidditch star-a rather handsome one at that-Viktor Krum! Do you have a comment?" She waved the microphone forward and every other reporter fell silent. Hermione's face dropped as she looked to Viktor for help.
Coming to the rescue, he guided her forward with the strength of an athlete, away from the reporters and over to Viktor's father, who happened to be Hermione's boss. "Hullo, Father," Viktor greeted him warmly. "You remember Hermione?"
"Of course I do!" The pudgy man boomed, laughing excitedly. "Read your report on Bedwarths today. Loved it! Brilliant, it was!"
Hermione found herself blushing rather excitedly. "Did you-did you really?" Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes gleaming. She quickly hugged Viktor to release a bit of the excitement. She extended a hand to him to shake. He took it rather placidly, but stopped dead when he felt something on her hand.
"Viktor . . . Miss Granger here seems to be wearing quite the ring on quite the finger," he said, not letting go of her hand and staring rather intently.
"Er, Mr. Krum, if you don't mind I'd rather not say anything about-"
"You've gone and gotten engaged? What WOULD your mother say?!" Shouted Viktor's father, no longer happy or excited. Instead, he looked livid.
"This," finished Hermione, as more than one cameras were flashed eagerly at her. Viktor turned to the cameras, speechless, as his picture was taken a number of times.
Hermione sat silently in a silver car, driving down old familiar roads. She had hoped to never return here, but right now she had no other choice. She was to be married to Viktor in a matter of days- and unless she was mistaken, it was quite illegal to have more than one husband. Yes, she reminded herself, he was still her husband, no matter how much she hated it. For the past seven years, he had declined the bills of divorcement but why? Why? It's not like they cared for each other anymore, so then why wouldn't he divorce her?
She looked at the large manors that she drove by, and sighed sadly. There was the old Malfoy manor. What had become of Draco Malfoy, anyway? He was probably still as filthy rich as ever. She could just imagine him; much older but still as snobby, strolling around lazily while his servants did the work with his nose in the air.
The manors she was passing no were no longer manors; they seemed to get smaller and smaller with every mile. Finally, she turned onto a desolate road, and continued on the path for a short while. Then she saw it: the old crooked building with many chimneys, looking unstable as ever. She reckoned Ron hadn't done the slightest bit of housework since he had gained The Burrow years ago.
A tiny tawny owl began fluttering in front of Hermione excitedly, flapping its wings a million times per minute. She tried to shoo it away, but it remained there, squawking and carrying on. At last the old wooden door of the house swung open, and a tall, redheaded man stepped out, looking annoyed. "Go away, bird," he yelled at the owl rather crankily. "Damn owl hasn't delivered a letter in ages," he explained to the stranger before him. "Now, how can I help you?" He was exactly as Hermione remembered him. He had the same goofy red hair plastered to his head, the same long nose and skinny frame, the same ridiculous British accent, and the same number of freckles-actually they might have doubled even.
"You can give me a divorce right now, Ron Weasley," Hermione said sternly, crossing her arms. Ron's jaw dropped in astonishment. "I mean it. The joke is over."
Looking to the sky as though for help, Ron began cursing. "'Mione?" he said, raising an eyebrow.
"Don't call me that. My name's Hermione," she told him, narrowing her eyes and a bit of Bulgarian reflecting in her words.
Ron put his hand on his hips and half-laughed/half-snorted. "Well aren't you just a Bulgarian bitch?"
"I mean it, Ron, I want to get back to Bulgaria as soon as I can. Just sign the damn papers!" Hermione cried, looking rather annoyed.
"No, I don't think I will," he said stubbornly. The miniscule owl had once again flown over, clicking its beak together and hooting hyperactively.
"Shut up, Pigwidgeon!" Hermione shouted, just as Ron said, "Shut up, Mindelay!"
"What . . . what happened to Pig?" Hermione said, looking startled.
"He died. You were gone," Ron told her gloomily, turning and walking back to the Burrow.
"Ron!" Hermione shrieked, but Ron paid no heed to her. He slammed the door shut and Hermione could hear the soft click of the door locking. "Stubborn-ass," Hermione muttered as she went out back to a small shed and retrieved one of the few of her belongings she had left behind.
Opening the refrigerator, Ron grabbed a butterbeer and muttering to himself. He held it to his lip and chugged the bottle, before something caught his eye. The front door was open wide, even though he was positive he locked it.
"Hey, genius. It's kinda hard to lock someone out who has a key to the house," Hermione called from the couch, smirking.
Exhaling sharply, Ron retorted, "That's the thing about spare keys. It'd be nice if I knew where it was! And by the way, you do know you're breaking and entering, eh? Last time I checked, that's against the law." He snatched up a quill, piece of parchment, and Mindelay the owl in his hands and went into a bedroom.
"Ron!" Hermione screamed, infuriated. But she got no reply, so she instead parked herself on the couch, clutching the bill of divorcement in her hands.
"So you're familiar with the Minister of Magic over there, eh?" Ron asked a short while later, emerging from the bedroom.
"Yes," she snapped, not wanting to stay and talk.
Smirking, he said, "Familiar with ours?"
A loud knocking on the front door jerked Hermione's head up. "You called the Minister? Ron!" She was just about to make for the back door when . . .
"Well, if it isn't the smart Hermione Granger," said a familiar British voice from behind her. She whirled around immediately when he spoke.
"Harry?!" she cried, and threw her arms around Harry Potter's neck. Harry hadn't changed much, except for the fact he was older and not boyishly built anymore. He still had thick, black frames hanging over the ridge of his nose, and his jet-black hair was as untidy as ever. He still also had the scar aligned on his forehead, illustrating a tragic night long ago, which ended in the death of his parents. His green eyes were glimmering as he smiled in a friendly manner at her. "You're the new Minister?! Ooh, congratulations!"
"Sure am," he grinned, putting her down. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Ron rolling his eyes impatiently. Putting on a straight face, he told her, "Now, Hermione, even though you're a nuisance, you can't go 'round breaking into other peoples' houses," he explained.
"I didn't break in! I used my key!" She demonstrated her key to Harry.
"It's still not your house, 'Mione." She didn't even both to correct him.
"Well, get him to sign these and I'll leave. Honestly, Harry's, he's as stubborn as a mule!"
"What exactly're those papers?" Much to Ron's distaste, he looked over the papers with a puzzled look. "A bill of divorcement? You mean . . . you guys are still married?" He looked at Ron, surprised.
Opening his mouth, Ron began to say something but Hermione cut him off by saying, "Unfortunately, yes. And he won't sign them!"
"Well, there's nothing here I can do, Ron. It's not against the law . . . you guys are obviously still married, so this is her house, too. I'll see you soon, I hope?" He asked Hermione, smiling rather sadly.
Hermione shook her head. "I'm leaving soon if I can't get Ron to sign these papers!"
"Well, I'll just leave you two to it, then." Hugging Hermione once more, he whispered in her ear, "It was great seeing you." He apparated off, after winking at Ron.
"Sign the papers, Ron!" Hermione shouted as soon as Harry was gone.
"I'll tell you what. You go and see your family, whom I'm sure you haven't seen in ages, and then we'll talk. Got it?" Ron looked serious.
Hermione sighed heavily and muttered something. "Whatever," she said and walked out the front door.
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A/N: Whee, this is fun! Like the story? Like the movie? Click that button over on the left and tell me! I know, it's basically the same as Sweet Home Alabama, but it's still fun, no? Leave me a good message, or a flame, or criticism; I don't care! Chapter 3 heading your way as soon as I get off my lazy arse and write it.