| 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. |