Disclaimer:
Everything you recognise from Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling (aka The Goddess – a real one)
Everything you recognise from The Princess Diaries belongs to Meg Cabot
I own nothing :o)

Author's Notes:
Honestly, do people read these Author's notes?? I think a lot don't, because otherwise, they wouldn't flame me for things I already defended myself for! Sheesh! Here we go again: I AM COPYING MEG CABOT BUT USING JK ROWLING'S CHARACTERS AND PLACES. Yes. I've said it twice already, and I'll say it again: THIS IS A PARODY THEREFORE IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE JUST LIKE THE BOOK WITH DIFFERENT NAMES. Part of the dictionary definition for parody includes the phrase close imitation. Ever read Mad Magazine? Honestly. If I get another You're copying Meg Cabot and you're not creative and you're ruining Hermione, I'm gonna pull my hair out and got back to writing angsty-fluff!!! Gaaaah!
Oh Ron, I can't take this anymore, I just have to tell you now before Voldemort kills us: I love you. Oh Hermione, I love you too!!! Let's never fight again, I hate it when we fight, it just wrenches my heart out, I just never knew how to tell you because I love you sooooooo much. *Voldemort Apparates into the scene* Oh no, it's the Dark Lord! Be with me forever Ron. Forever!! *Voldemort laughs evilly* Avada Kedavra! *Ron keels over* Ronnnnnnnnnnnn!! Noooooooooo!!!! You bastard!!! *Voldemort laughes evilly again and Disapperates* Come back here and kill me, you took away my true love! How could you?! Oh Ron my sweet darling Ron how can you be dead? How can I go on without you? Oh I love you!!!! *Ron wakes up* Hermione! Your true love saved me! Oh Ron! Now we can be together forever! *Big smoochy kiss* The End
Blerch. Do you really what that? No? Then if you don't have anything nice to say, and just wanna berate me for stuff that I already pointed out is true, save your finger power and resist the urge to flame me, ok? ;o)
You may have noticed I've skipped the Mr Ginanni thing. Well, that was because it was too hard to make it work for HP, because they go to boarding school, so there's more emphasis on school than family. I thought I'd ship Hermione's folks off to Greece and just focus more on the Mia/Michael=Hermione/Ron plot and pay out on Pansy a lot instead. I had someone say, Oh, you've screwed up all the chapters blah blah blah blah blah. Sorry. I couldn't make myself rip-off the WHOLE book; that would be more pathetic than what you think I've done already. It's funny, when I do make some changes of my own, I get yelled at for that too!
It looks like some people just need to take a chill-pill, put on some boxers to stop getting their knickers in a twist and go back to reading angst if they can't take a joke ;o)
To: Songbreeze, Emma, Bookworm, Nefertare, Erin, likeicare, villageidiot333, Shankz, Smile, Karma Rose 195, The Girl Who Loved, Sweet Tooth, Zipperhead3, CuteDiva, Beauty Full, Amara, Amy, Chibikat, rumi, Cora, Lulu, Lady Norbert (never fear, I will make this work, even if it kills me!), naavi, kezz_weasley and iamtheanonymous – thank you so much for being such good sports and encouraging me to continue with my wacky idea!! HUGS TO YOU ALL!! :o)


The Goddess Diaries - Part Three

Tuesday October 16 2001

Ode to Flying
Silent and deathly still,
My broom lies on the grass.
These daily flying lessons
Are turning into a farce.
My classmates are zooming
Through the air with such skill.
Flying, gliding, soaring,
It sure looks like a thrill.
Misery, woe, pity me,
Broomstick, oh broomstick,
What is wrong with thee?

Homework
Runes: Translations – pg 234-256
DADA: none
Potions: Dream Potions essay (due next Friday)
Arithmancy: Problems – Ex. 27
Charms: reading – Std Bk of Spells 5 pg 53-127
Flying: (dum-dee-dum)
CoMG: none
Transfig: Animate/Inanimate Switching essay for extra credit.

Wednesday October 17 2001, the Library, before Charms

Oh no.
She's here.
Well, not here, exactly, not at Hogwarts, but she's in Britain. She's on the same island. She's in London. She's staying at the Ritz Carlton. Thank Merlin. (See? I'm getting better!) At least it's not the same country. I have to go see her tomorrow afternoon. How I'm going to get from Scotland to London to see my grandmother tomorrow afternoon and be back in time for dinner is beyond me.
I just got the letter from Mum at breakfast. I couldn't tell Ginny or anybody, of course, so I scoffed down my toast and scooted here to the library because, you know, I have to make sure I have everything right in the bibliography for my extra credit Transfiguration essay.
The boys are so thick that that excuse never fails when I don't want to talk to them. They wouldn't follow me to the Library voluntarily unless it involved rule breaking. Ginny's still moping a bit because she didn't get on the Quidditch team. I don't know why it bothers her, I mean, honestly, it's only Quidditch.
Anyway, back to Grandmamma.
WHAT IS SHE DOING IN ENGLAND???
She has to be in Greece being comforted by my parents!!!!!
You know I always thought Hera was a rather cool name for my grandmother to have Oh how naïve I was How little I knew
I don't want to visit my grandmother. I don't like my grandmother. She's really crabby and mean and Mum's scared of her. Mum's never actually said she's scared of her, it's just pretty obvious by the way she acts about her when we go to visit her in her let's-lie-some-more-to-Hermione fake home in France. Dad always seems to get laryngitis when we go to France. That way he doesn't have to talk to her.
Somebody ought to warn the Prime Minister she's here. I mean it, he really ought to know. Because if anybody could start the Apocalypse, it's my grandmother.
Why did she have to come NOW? She's going to ruin EVERYTHING. There's no way I'm going to be able to keep this a secret with HER around.

Why?
Why??
WHY???

Thursday October 18 2001

I found out why.
She's giving me goddess lessons.
In too much shock to write. More later.

Friday October 19 2001

Goddess lessons.
I'm not kidding. I have to go straight from my last class of the day or my extra flying lesson every day to goddess lessons at the Ritz with my grandmother.
Ok, so if JK Rowling is God, how could this have happened?
I mean it. Like, people always talk about how God doesn't ever give you more than you can handle, but I'm telling you right now, I cannot handle this. This is just too much! I cannot go to goddess lessons everyday after school. Not with Grandmamma. I am seriously considering running away from school. Maybe I could go live with Harry's relatives. That has got to be better than this.
Mum says I have no choice. Last night, after I got back, I went straight to Professor Dumbledore's office and asked him to do that thing to get my Mum's head in the fire, and when she popped in, I put my hands on my hips and looked at her like I look at Ron when he's being a prat and told her I wasn't doing it. No way. Nobody had told me anything about goddess lessons.
And do you know what she said? She says I signed the compromise, so I'm obligated to attend goddess lessons as part of my duties as heir.
I said then we are just going to have to revise the compromise, because there was nothing in there about me having to meet Grandmamma every day after school for any goddess lessons.
But my Mum wouldn't even talk to me about it. She said she was late for a meeting with the Pope, and could we please talk about it later. And then while I was standing there talking about how unfair this all was, she smiles and pops her head out of the fireplace.
I'm going to have a good look at that compromise tonight, because I don't recall it saying anything about goddess lessons.
Here's how my first lesson' went, yesterday after school:
So after Transfiguration, I left Harry and Ron and met Nick in the Entrance Hall and when I get into the limo I'm so confused because, hi, we're in Scotland and Grandmamma's in London, and then Nick asks me if I have my seat belt on and I say yes and then BANG the limo is suddenly in London!
Gaaaah!
So we drive up to the Ritz and I'm madly shoving my robes into my school bag because there are Muggles everywhere and the concierge looks at me funny because I'm in my Hogwarts uniform with Doc Martens on and there are all these posh people everywhere. Nick goes to talk to the concierge and then he (the concierge) is suddenly all polite and friendly and escorts me up to the penthouse, which is where Grandmamma is staying.
I put my robes back on and waited for Grandmamma to come out of one of the gazillion rooms in the Penthouse. Let me tell you about this penthouse: it is very fancy.
First of all, everything was white or gold. Not yellow gold, metal gold. The walls were edged in gold, there were portraits of Ancient Greek goddesses (relatives, no doubt) in gold frames, and gold vases holding white roses sitting on gilded side tables that matched the rest of the gilded furniture. They probably had to give it the once over with a Philosopher's Stone, there was that much gold. The floor was white marble (I guess gold tiling was too much) with creamy silk Persian rugs on it, there were white foofy chairs and cheis lounges, and then there were the roses, which made the whole place smell like Professor Trelawney's little hole in the sky.
The penthouse at the Ritz is probably fancier than Buckingham Palace. I wouldn't be surprised if it was, too, because, after all, Grandmamma is a goddess and the Queen's just a queen.
And just when I thought I was going to drown in white and goldness, out came Grandmamma, dressed completely in white, from the white silk scarf she had draped over the shoulders and he floaty white silk dress all the way to the sparkly rhinestones on her white silk mules.
At least, I think they're rhinestones.
So Grandmamma comes in off the terrace where she was standing, and the first thing she says to me is, Are those robes supposed to be clean? Why can't you stand up straight? What is wrong with your hair? Why have you not grown? Are you still biting your fingernails, Hermione? I thought we agreed you were going to give up that nasty habit.
Only it sounded worse, because it was all in French. I suppose she knows I don't speak Greek (I never actually knew she spoke it, but I suppose she does) and because English is apparently she will only speak in French.
And then, as if that wasn't bad enough, she goes, in her creaky old cigaretty voice, Haven't you got a kiss for your Grandmamma, then?
So I go up to her and kiss her on the cheek (which is very soft because she rubs Ambrosia Vaseline on her face every night before she goes to bed), and then when I start to pull away she grabs me, makes this funny scoffing noise and goes, Pfui! Have you forgotten everything I thought you? and makes me kiss her on the other cheek too, because on the Continent and in SoHo that's how you say hello to people.
So I kissed Grandmamma on the other cheek.
Grandmamma said, when she felt we'd been affectionate enough, let's see if I have this right: your mother tells you that you are a Goddess of Mount Olympus, and you burst into tears. Why is this?
All of a sudden, I got very tired. My Flying lesson on Thursday was really bad and I still had all these bruises from when I fell off. I had to sit down on one of the white foofy chairs, before I fell down.
Oh Grandma, I said in English. I don't want to be a goddess, I just want to be Hermione Granger, a normal witch.
Grandmamma said, Don't call me Grandma. It's vulgar. I am you Grandmamma. – as if there is a difference – Speak French when you speak to me, English is common. Sit up straight in that chair. Do not drape your legs over the arm. You are not a normal witch, you are Hermione Athena Demeter Granger Acropolis, Goddess of Mount Olympus.
That does not sound any better the more I hear it.
Then Grandmamma sat down in the foofy chair next to mine and said, Are you telling me you have no wish to assume your rightful place in the Heavens?
Grandma – I mean, oui, Grandmamma, I sighed. Boy was I tired. You know as well as I do that I'm not goddess material, OK? So why are we even wasting our time?
Grandmamma looked at me. I could tell she wanted to kill me, but probably couldn't figure out how to do it without getting blood on the white silk Persian rugs.
You are heir to the Heavens of Mount Olympus, she said, in this totally serious voice, and you will take my daughter's place on the throne when she dies. This is how it is. There is no other way.
Oh, boy.
So I kind of went, Yeah, whatever, Grandmamma. Look, I got a lot of homework. Is this goddess thing going to take a lot of time?
Grandmamma just looked at me again. It will take, she said, as long as it takes. I am not afraid to sacrifice my time – or even myself – for the good of the heavens.
Whoa. This was getting way patriotic. And what is it with people willing to kill themselves to change me, huh? Am I that much of a feak? I said.
So then I stared at Grandmamma for a while, and she stared back at me, and I could hear the gilded grandfather clock tick-tocking away across the room, then Grandmamma broke the silence by saying, We will begin tomorrow. You will come here directly after school.
Um, Grandma, I mean, mamma, I can't come directly after school. I'm flunking Flying, I have to go to review sessions every Monday, Wednesday and Friday after school.
Grandmamma looked like she wanted to kill me again. You can not fly?
I sighed.
Then after that. No dawdling. Tomorrow you will not wear those robes. You are a goddess, not a common witch. And I never again want to see those – those army boots in my life. You will wear nylons and court shoes. You will style your hair, apply lipstick and paint your fingernails – what's left of them, anyway.
My mouth fell open. Makeup? I have to wear makeup? I don't wear makeup!
And close your mouth, Grandmamma barked. It is uncouth to let it hang open like that.
I closed my mouth. Style my hair? Heels? Pantyhose? Makeup???
Grandmamma stood up. Now I must dress for dinner with the Queen. Goodbye.
I just sat there. Was she insane? Was she completely nuts? Did she have the slightest idea what she was asking me to do?
Evidently she did, since the next thing I knew, Nick was standing there, and Grandmamma was gone.
Honestly. Pantyhose? To school? I mean, the only girls who wear pantyhose to school are girls like Pansy Parkinson, and Fleur Delacour, and 7th Years, and people like that. You know. Show-offs. None of my friends wear pantyhose. Not even Lav and Pav.
And, I might add, none of my friends wear lipstick or nail polish or heels or do their hair. Not for school anyway.
But what choice did I have? Grandmamma totally scared me. I couldn't NOT do what she said.
So what I did was, I made Nick take me to Marks and Spencer's before we went back to Hogwarts, because I don't own lipstick and pantyhose and there was no way I was going to ask Lavender if I could borrow her Lip Smacker.
When the limo pulled in front of the great oak doors I was still sitting in the back in a daze. That had been the most insane afternoon I'd had ever.
But today had to be worse.
This morning I braided my hair and thought it actually looked sort of decent and came up with what at the time seemed like an ingenious plan to get changed after my flying lesson.
The whole day Ron kept saying I looked silly and that I should have just kept my hair out because it looks fine like normally – I'm telling you, he's finally lost it, cracked, gone mental – and Pansy Parkinson kept pulling on my braid and I just couldn't do anything about it. She's just so mean.
And after my Flying session I went to the girls' change rooms and made sure no one was around and took off my robes so I just had on the Muggle part of my uniform – pleated skirt, white blouse, house tie – and put on my new panty hose and loafers and lip-gloss. I thought I was pretty smart to get changed outside the castle so no one would see me. Who's be hanging around outside on a Friday afternoon? Everyone is always just lazing about in their common rooms.
But I'd forgotten about stupid boys who don't think about anything except Quidditch who come down to the Quidditch pitch on Friday afternoons to do extra training.
Because when I came out of the girls' change rooms I ran right into Ron, who was walking by with Harry, Fred and George.
Blimey, Hermione, he said, as I scrambled around trying to pick up all the stuff I'd dropped – like my robes and my Docs and stuff – when I bumped into him. What happened to you?
I thought he meant why was I out there so late. You know, I'm flunking Flying so I have to meet with Madam Hoo –
I know that. Ron held up the pot of lip-gloss that had exploded out of my bag. I mean what's with the war-paint?
I took it way from him. Nothing. Don't tell Ginny.
Don't tell Ginny what? I stood up, and he noticed the pantyhose. Merlin's beard, Hermione. Where are you going?
Must I continually be forced to lie all the time? I really wished he would go away. Plus by this stage, Harry and the twins where staring at my like I was some new kind of racing broom, or something. It was making me pretty uncomfortable.
Nobody goes nowhere looking like that. Ron shifted his broom from one hand to the other, then got this funny look on his face. Hermione, are you going on a date?
What? No, I'm not going on a date! I was completely shocked at the idea. A date? Me? I am so sure! I have to meet my grandmother.
Ron didn't look like as if he believed me. And do you usually wear lip-gloss and pantyhose to meet your grandmother?
I heard some discrete coughing, and looked over to see Nick, waiting for me.
I guess I could have stood there and explained that my grandmother had threatened me with bodily harm (well, practically) if I didn't wear make-up and nylons to meet her. But I sort of didn't think he'd believe me. So I said, Look, don't tell Ginny, OK?
Then I ran away.
I knew I was dead meat. There was no way Ron wasn't going to tell his sister about seeing me coming out of the girls' change rooms dressed like Pansy Parkinson. No way.
And Grandmamma's was HORRIBLE. She said the lip-gloss I had on made me look like a poulet. At least that's what I thought she said, and couldn't figure out why she thought I looked like a chicken. But just now I looked up poulet in my French-English dictionary, and it turns out poulet can also mean prostitute! My grandmother called me a hooker!
Honestly! Whatever happened to nice grandmothers, who bake brownies for you and tell you how precious you are? It's just my luck I get one who wears jewelled shoes and tells me I look like hooker!
And she said that the panty hose I had on where the wrong colour. How could they be the wrong colour? They're pantyhose colour! Then she made me practice sitting down so my underwear didn't show for like two hours and learn the basic pronunciation of Ancient Greek vowel sounds.
And then she tied me to a chair and made me eat dinner using like fifty different items of cutlery while I couldn't lean forward and told me that even though I am a strict vegetarian I'd have to eat whatever my host put on my plate at big godly dinners, or I'd offend people and cause an inter-heavenly incident.
After we'd gone over Ancient Greek history up to 500 BC for another hour, Grandmamma said she had to go an take a bath, since she's having dinner tonight with some archbishop. She told me to be at the Ritz tomorrow no later than ten o'clock. A.M. 10a.m.!
Grandmamma, I said. Tomorrow is Saturday.
I know it.
But Grandmamma, I said, Tomorrow I promised to go down to Hogsmeade to help my friend Ginny confront the owners of Honeydukes about their unfair pricing policies.
The other day Ginny was in Honeydukes getting some sugar quills, and Mandy Brocklehurst, who's in Ravenclaw, in front of Ginny in the line bought the same thing. But Mrs Honeyduke charged her (Ginny) five whole Knuts more than Mandy Brocklehurst for the same product. Ginny found out today that the Honeydukes where in Ravenclaw when they were at Hogwarts and that they give significant discounts to students in Ravenclaw but not to Gryffindor, Hufflepuff or Slytherin students.
And when Ginny complained, Mrs Honeyduke acted like she was deaf, even though she must be able to hear, or why else would the wizard radio behind the counter always be tuned to WWN?
Ginny had decided to go down to Honeydukes tomorrow and ask Mr and Mrs Honeyduke about their blatantly preferential treatment of Ravenclaw students, and then write a letter to the editor of the Hogsmeade Times, maybe even the Daily Prophet, and demand an end to this outrage. She is calling for a school-wide boycott of Honeydukes.
Grandmamma asked me which was more important, arguing over the price of sweets or learning how to take my place in the heavens where I will be looking out for the well being of hundreds of thousands of people.
I guess the well being of hundreds of thousands of people is more important than the price of sugar quills. The thing is, I think Ginny's making a big deal about five Knuts. But Ginny says it's the principle of the thing, and that maybe if people had made a big deal about how Tom Riddle's dad left his mother maybe he would never have become You-Know-Who.
I don't know. The Honeydukes aren't exactly Death Eaters. They're very nice to their House-Elf, Lotty, and they even give her a day off every month.
Maybe I'm not too sorry about missing the confrontation' tomorrow.
When I got back, I tried to find Ginny to tell her I can't go tomorrow, but she was getting Charms tutoring from Professor Flitwick, so I snuck up to my dorm room because I wanted to avoid Ron and Harry after this afternoon's incident.
I'll tell Ginny I can't go tomorrow, and try to figure out another lie, this time to explain why my grandmother in is London.
I wonder what Ginny's going to say when Ron tells her about the pantyhose.
I hate my life.

Continued in Part Four...

Oh, and *shameless plug* while you're waiting, I'd like to invite you to read this other story I wrote, a bit of an epic R/Hr called "Complicated." It's actually got an original plot (hah hah) with a few twists, a few turns, a handful of surprises, a liberal amount of fluff and a whole lot of angst... and apparently it's rather good... the reviewers' words, not mine (tee hee) and honestly, they can't all be insane, and I certainly don't have the cash to have been able to bribe them with. I've heard you should bring tissues if you're emotional.