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 Note: (aka Author's Rants)
Whoopie!!! I didn't get any more flames! I even had one flamer come crawling back heh heh heh ;o) I guess I finally got my message though ::big grin:: The funniest thing though, would have to be that someone said the best part of this fic was my A/Ns heh heh ::lmao:: ;o) I should do what just about every band and recording artist out there seems to be doing at the moment and release a Best Of or Greatest Hits fic of just my A/Ns tee hee hee!
To those who are curious, I had several people ask me, the idea for this just came to me several weeks ago while I was studying for my Uni entrance exams I'd randomly picked up The Princess Dairies and found it to be one of just 5 books currently in existence which I can read over and over and enjoy like it was the first time the other 4 happen to be written by JK Rowling it just seemed like they could merge almost perfectly together, and the rest is history :o)
Hmmm, I tried to keep it short this time well, not a bad effort (after I'd moved half of it – the thank yous to all the wonderful reviewers – to the end!! Heh heh) don't you think? Oh, and sorry this took a while, I just suddenly found myself with this urge to write fluffy-angst in the last few days, (gee, how on Earth did that happen??) and got side-tracked hee hee! Enjoy! :o)
Love always, Squin – The Queen of Author's Notes


The Goddess Diaries - Part Four

Saturday October 20 2001, 9:30am

So I was right: Ginny does think the reason I'm not going to Hogsmeade today is because I'm against her boycott of the Honeydukes and her crusade to rid the magical community of sectarianism.
I told her it wasn't true, that I have to spend the day with my grandmother. But guess what? She doesn't believe me. The one time I tell the truth, and she doesn't believe me!
Ginny says that if I really wanted to get out of spending the day with Grandmamma, I could, but because I'm so co-dependent, I can't say no to anyone. Which doesn't even make sense, since obviously I'm saying no to her. When I pointed that out to Ginny, though, she just got madder. I can't say no to my grandmother, since she came to England on a holiday to try and come to terms with the death of her only son and as I'm her only grandchild I have to be with her and since she's like one-hundred-and-sixty-five years old, and she's going to die soon, if there's any justice at all in the world.
Besides, you don't know my grandmother, I said. You don't say no to my grandmother.
Then Ginny went, No, I don't know you grandmother, do I, Hermione? Isn't that curious, considering the fact that you know all my grandparents – The Weasleys had the whole family over for dinner over the summer, and I'm not kidding, they could start their own country. – And yet I haven't met any of yours.
Well, of course, the reason for that is that my Dad's parents are, like, total farmers who live in Cornwall. My Dad's parents are afraid to come to London. Hey, I'm really confused, are they wizards? Is my house connected to the Floo Network? Oh, except I guess I won't be living in my house anymore I hope the Palace in Athens is connected to the Floo Network oh, yeah, I think it is.
Anyway, Grandpa and Grandma Granger don't make it out of Cornwall much.
And the reason I'd never intoduce Ginny to Grandmamma Acropolis is because Grandmamma Acropolis hates children. And I can't introduce her now, because then Ginny would find out that I'm a Goddess of Mount Olympus and you can bet I'll never hear the end of that. She'd probably want to interview me or something, for her newspaper that she said she's going to start up, Ginny Tells It Like It Is. That's all I need: my name plastered across parchment being delivered up and down the country with the daily owl post. God, I mean, Merlin, it would be worse than last time, and I quite like my hands when they aren't covered in boobertuber pus.
So we were sitting at breakfast and I was telling Ginny this – about how I had to go out with my grandmother, not about my being a goddess, of course – and she sat across from me with her face all red in the way it goes red when she gets mad and finally she just goes, Oh, fine. Well help me write the article tonight, then, and got up and left without finishing her toast.
Honestly.
Well, at least Ron didn't tell her about the lip-gloss and pantyhose. That would really have made her mad. She never would have believed that I was only going to my grandmother's.
No way.
Harry and Ron didn't sit near us at breakfast, but Ron kept looking over at me with this really odd expression on his face. Harry was staring off at the Ravenclaw table. Gee, I wonder why.
Poor Ginny.
Grandmamma told me that for today, I don't have to wear lip-gloss or pantyhose. She said I could wear anything I wanted. So I'm wearing my overalls and my Docs. I know she hates them, but hey, she said anything I wanted.
Hee hee hee.
Oops, gotta go. Nick's here.

Later on Saturday

I can never go to classes again. I can never go anywhere again. I can never leave this four-poster bed with the curtains sealed shut, ever, ever again.
You won't believe what she did to me. I can't believe what she did to me. I can't believe my Mum let her do this to me.
Well, she's going to pay. Mum's totally paying for this, and mean BIG. As soon as I got to the common room (after I'd Summoned my hooded cloak from my room so I could sneak back into the castle without being seen – luckily most people are in Hogsmeade so no one saw me), I marched straight over to the fire and threw in some head-in-the-fireplace dust and when Mum showed I said, You are paying for this. Big-time.
Who says I have a fear of confrontation?
She totally tried to get out of it, going, What do you mean? Hermione, I think you look beautiful. I like your hair. It's so straight.
Gee, I wonder why? Maybe because her mother met Nick and me in the lobby of the Ritz as soon as we'd turned the car over to the valet, and just pointed at the door. Just pointed at the door again and said, On y va, which in English means, Let's go.
Let's go where? I asked, all innocently (this was this morning, remember, back when I was still innocent).
Chez Paolo, Grandmamma said. Chez Paolo means Paul's house. So I thought we were going to meet one of her friends, maybe for brunch or something, and I thought, huh, cool, field trip. Maybe these goddess lessons won't be so bad.
But when we got there, Chez Paolo didn't turn out to be a house. It was this building in this really posh part of London that looked like a hospital. I thought maybe Grandmamma was going to get some plastic surgery, or something, done, which really annoyed me, because, I mean, why drag me along?
Boy, was I ever wrong! Paolo isn't a doctor. I doubt he's even been to University. Paolo is a stylist! Worse, he styles people! I'm serious. He takes unfashionable, frumpy people like me and makes them stylish – for a living. And Grandmamma got him to do that to me! Me!! Like it's bad enough that no one want to invite me to the Halloween Ball – which, I might add, is in one week today – she has to tell some guy names Paolo that?
What kind of a name is Paolo, anyway? I mean, this is England, for Merlin's sake! YOUR NAME IS PAUL!!!
That's what I wanted to scream at him. But of course, I couldn't. I mean, it wasn't Paolo's fault my grandmother dragged me there. And as he pointed out to me, he only made time for me in his incredibly busy schedule because Grandmamma told him it was this big emergency.
Queen Mab, how embarrassing. I'm a fashion emergency.
Anyway, I was plenty peeved at Grandmamma, but I couldn't start yelling at her right there in front of Paolo. She totally knew it too. She just sat there on this velvet couch sipping something so alcoholic that I could smell it from the other side of the room even with all the hair spray fumes, reading Witch Weekly.
Meanwhile, two witches who were dressed like Rita – bloody – Skeeter pushed me into this big pouffy chair and Paolo was picking up chunks of my hair and making this face and going, all sadly, I have never seen this much hair in my entire life.
And for the next two hours I had my hair slathered in Sleakeasy Permanent and now my hair's not bushy anymore.
Did I mention that I'm no longer a dishwater blonde? No. Well, I'm just plain blonde, now.
And Paolo didn't stop there. Oh no. I now have fingernails. I am not kidding. For the first time in my life, I have fingernails. They're completely fake, but I have them. And it looks like I'll have them for awhile: I already tried to one off and it HURT. What kind of Dark Magic Adhesive Charm did that manicurist use, anyway?
You might be wondering why – if I didn't want to have all my hair turned into silk and dyed yellow, and fake fingernails stuck on over my real, stumpy fingernails – I let them do all that.
I'm sort of wondering myself. I mean, I know I have a fear of confrontation. So it wasn't like I was going to throw down my glass of pumpkin juice and say, OK, stop making a fuss of me, right now! I mean, Grandmamma would have Avada Kedavra-ed me on the spot.
And it is sort of hard when all these beautiful, fashionable people are telling you how good you'd look in this and how much that would bring out your cheekbones, to remember that you're a feminist and a magical creatures' rights activist and proof that women with intelligence are capable of doing anything. I mean, I didn't want to hurt their feelings, or cause a scene, or anything like that.
And I kept telling myself, She's only doing this because she loves you. My grandmother, I mean. I know she probably wasn't doing it for that reason – I don't think Grandmamma loves me any more than I love her – but I told myself that anyway.
I told myself that after we left Paolo's, and went to Bond Street, where Grandmamma bought me clothes that cost as much as my entire booklist for seven years at Hogwarts. I told myself that when she took me to Diagon Ally and brought me a broomstick that I will never be able to ride. A Nimbus 3000.
I'm not even kidding. No one on any of the house Quidditch teams owns a Nimbus 3000. Not even Harry or Draco Malfoy. What on Earth am I supposed to do with one? Maybe I can lend it to Ron.
I did tell Grandmamma that I would never ever need a Nimbus 3000 but she just waved at me. Like, Go on, go on. You tell such amusing stories.
Well, I for one will not stand for it. There isn't a sqaure centimetre of me that hasn't been pinched, cut, filed, painted, blow dried or moisturised. I even have fingernails.
But I am not happy. I am not one bit happy. Grandmamma is happy. Grandmamma is head-over-heels happy about how I look. Because I don't look a thing like Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger never had fingernails. Hermione Granger does not have straight hair. Hermione Granger never had blonde highlights. Hermione Granger never wore make-up or Prada shoes or Gucci skirts. I don't even know who I am anymore. It certainly isn't Hermione Granger.
She's turning me into someone else.
So I stood in front of my mother's head in the fireplace, looking like a veela with my new hair, for crying out loud, and I let her have it.
First she makes me wear lipstick. Then she tells me the lipstick makes me look like a hooker. Then she gives me sitting lessons. Then she has all my hair dyed a different colour and makes someone glue tiny surfboards to my nails, buys me a broomstick that cost as much as half the books in the Hogwarts library and clothes that make me look a like a veela.
Well, Mum, I'm sorry, but I'm not a veela, and I never will be, no matter how much Granadmama dresses me up like one. I'm not going to prance around like I own the world, complaining about everything because I'm too good for it and making boys lose their brains when they see me. That's Fleur Delacour. That's not me!
my Mum said, in her Now-Lets-Be-Reasonable voice. Nobody is asking you to be a veela.
Grandmamma is!
Your grandmother is just trying to prepare you, Hermione.
Prepare me for what? I can't go to school looking like this, you know, I yelled.
My Mum looked kind of confused. Why not?
Oh JK Rowling. Why me?
I said, as patiently as I could, I don't want anyone at school finding out that I'm a Goddess of Mount Olympus!
Mum shook her head. Hermione, honey, they're going to find out sometime.
I don't see how. See, I have it all worked out: I'll only be a goddess in Greece, and since the chances of anybody I know from school going to Mount Olympus are, like, none, no one here will ever find out, so I'm totally safe from being branded a freak.
My Mum sighed when I told her all this. And you wouldn't believe what she said next.
How much?
I was shocked. So was my Dad.
I heard him say from their side of the fireplace, but my Mum kept looking at me.
I'm serious, Phillip, she said. I can see the compromise is getting us nowhere. The only solution in matters like these is cold, hard cash. So how much do I have to pay you, Hermione, to let your mother turn you into a goddess?
I stood there and gaped at her.
Consider it a job, my Mum said, this learning how to be a goddess business. I will pay your salary. Now, how much do you want?
I started yelling about personal integrity and how I refused to sell my soul to the company store, that kind of thing.
My mum sighed again and went, Hermione, I will donate one hundred Galleons a day, in your name, to – what is it? Oh yes – Spew, so you can save all the house elves you want, if you will make my mother happy by letting her turn you into a goddess.
Well.
That's an entirely different matter. It would be one thing if she were paying me to have my hair colour magically altered. But paying one hundred Galleons a day to S.P.E.W.? That's 36,500 Galleons per year! I could pay the salaries of all the house elves myself!
This is a million times better than nagging people to buy badges that they never wear!

By the way, Mum, it's S–P–E–W.

Even later on Saturday

Well, I don't know who Ginny Weasley thinks she is, but I sure know what she isn't: my friend. I don't think anyone who was my friend would be as mean to be was Ginny was tonight. I couldn't believe it. And all because of my hair!
I guess I could understand it if Ginny was mad at me about something that mattered. Like not going to Hogsmeade to confront the Honeydukes. She thinks SugarQuill-Gate – that's what she's calling it – is the most important cause she will ever fight for. I think it's kind of stupid. Who cares about five Knuts anyway? But Ginny's all, We're going to break the cycle of house-ism that has been rampant in marginalizing Hogwarts' students for ten centuries.
Whatever. All I know is, I came out of my dorm room to put my stupid new broom in the stupid broom shed and forgot my stupid cloak and walked into the stupid common room just as Ginny was climbing through the portrait hole, and Ginny took one look at my new hair and was like, Merlin's beard, what happened to you?
Like I had sprouted little tentacles all over my face, like Crabbe did when Harry had hit him with the Furnunulus Curse and George has used the Jelly-Legs Jinx on him at the same time on the Hogwarts Express at the end of last year.
OK, I knew people were going to freak when and stuff when they saw my hair. I totally washed it before I came down, and got all the mousse and goop out of it. Plus I took of all the make-up Paolo had slathered on me, and put on my overalls and my Docs. I really thought, except for my hair, I looked mostly normal. In fact, I kind of thought maybe I looked good – for me, I mean.
But I guess Ginny didn't think so.
I tired to be causal, like it was no big deal. Which it isn't, by the way. It wasn't as if I'd had breast implants, or had the Dark Mark tattooed on my arm, or something.
I said, twirling my Nimbus 3000 around on the end of the handle. Well, my grandmother made me go see this guy Paolo, and he –
But Ginny wouldn't even let me finish. She was in this state of shock. She went, Your hair is the same colour as Pansy Parkinson's.
I said. I know.
What's that on your fingers? Are those fake fingernails? Pansy has those too! She stared at me all bug-eyed. Oh dear Merlin, Hermione. You're turning into Pansy Parkinson!
Now, that kind of peeved me off. I mean, in the first place, I am not turning into Pansy Parkinson. In the second place, even if I am, Ginny's the one always going on about how stupid people are, for not seeing that it doesn't matter what anybody looks like: what matters is what's going on on the inside.
So I stood there in the common room, with Fred and George staring at me and my broomstick with their tongues hanging out (and I really hope they were only drooling over the broomstick), going, It wasn't me, it was my grandmother. I had to –
What do you mean you had to? Ginny got this really crabby look on her face. It was the same look she gets when she sees Cho Chang in the corridors.
What are you? she wanted to know. Completely passive? You're mute, or something? Unable to say the word no? You know, Hermione, we really need to work on your assertiveness. You seem to have real issues with your grandmother. I mean, you certainly didn't seem to have any trouble saying no to me. I could have really used your help today, with the Honeydukes, and you totally let me down. But you've got no problem letting your grandmother slime-up all your hair and dye it yellow –
OK, now keep in mind that I'd just spent the whole day hearing how bad I looked – at least, until Paolo got ahold of me, and made me look like Pansy Parkinson. Now I had to hear that there was something wrong with my personality, too.
So I cracked. I said, Ginny, shut up.
I have never told Ginny to shut up before. Not ever. I don't think I have ever told anyone to shut up before. It's just not something I do. (Oh no, wait, I tell Ron to shut up all the time. But he doesn't really count, and he deserves it for acting like a prat all the time. But usually I don't tell people to shut up.) I never had fingernails before. They sort of made me feel strong. I mean, really, why was Ginny always telling me what to do?
Unfortunately, right as I was telling Ginny to shut up, Ron and Harry walked into the common room. Thank Merlin Ron was wearing a shirt. (Why did I just write that? He had no reason to be not wearing a shirt, did he? Who cares if he was wearing a shirt or not, right?)
Anyway.
said Ron, backing up. I wasn't sure if he said whoa and backed up because of what I said, or my broomstick, or how I looked.
Ginny said. What did you just say to me? I could almost feel the heat radiating off her, that's how red she was by then.
I totally wanted to back down. But I didn't because I knew she was right: I do have problems being unassertive.
So instead I said, I'm tired of you putting me down all the time. All day long, my Mum and Dad and grandmother and teachers are telling me what to do. I don't need my friends getting on my case too.
Ron said, again. This time I knew it was because of what I said. Harry didn't say anything, he must have been standing there planning The Official Nimbus 3000 Fan club, that's what his ogling looked like.
said Ginny, her eyes getting all narrow, is your problem?
I went, You know what? I don't have a problem. You're the one with the problem. You seem to have a big problem with me. Well, you know what? I'm going to solve your problem for you. I'm leaving. I never wanted to help you with your stupid SugarQuill-Gate story anyway. The Honeydukes are nice people. They haven't done anything wrong. I don't see why you have to pick on them. And – I said this as I stormed past and pushed the portrait hole open – my hair is not yellow.
Then I left. I sort of slammed the portrait behind me, too.
While I was heading downstairs to go outside, I sort of thought Ginny might come out and apologise to me.
But she didn't.
After I'd put my broom away I came straight back to Gryffindor while everyone else was at dinner, took a bath, and got into bed with my Numerology and Grammatica book and Crookshanks, who's the only person who likes me the way that I am right now. I was thinking Ginny might come up and knock on my door to apologize, but so far she hasn't.
Well, I'm not apologizing until she does.
And you know what? I looked in the mirror a minute ago, and my hair doesn't look that bad.

Saturday, October 20 2001, 11:59pm

She still hasn't come to see me.

Sunday October 21 2001

Oh my Mother. Oh Queen Mab. Oh dear Merlin. I am so embarrassed. I wish could disappear. You will never believe what happened.
I went down to the common room this morning, and no one was around. I was really really upset about what happened last night, and I just had to talk to someone, so I thought I'd go talk to Harry and Ron. I mean, they'd been my best friends since before I knew Ginny, right?
So I went up to the boys' tower, and knocked on the door that said Fifth Years.
I wish I hadn't. I wish I was still friends with Ginny so I wouldn't have had to talk to Harry and Ron. I wish I had never chosen to be assertive last night so I wouldn't be fighting with Ginny so I wouldn't have had to talk to Harry and Ron.
I wish I had at least looked down at the floor and noticed the puddles of footprints.
And ran away.
Because when I knocked on the door, Ron opened it.
And his hair was wet! And he wasn't wearing a shirt!! And he was only wearing a TOWEL wrapped around his waist!!!
I stood there and stared at him. He stood there and stared at me.
Then he went REALLY red – I don't know if I was as red as he was, because I couldn't see my face, but I could feel my face getting seriously hot. Like BURNING – I'm talking REALLY REALLY red and he looked at me some more and then he slammed the door in my face!
I stood there staring at the sign on the door for a while and tried to start breathing again.
And then I ran away.
How am I ever going to look at him again without imaging him with water dripping down his chest while wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist?????????
This is so horrible. I wish I could talk to Ginny, but I guess we are fighting.

Continued in Part Five...


A big THANK YOU to all the wonderful new reviewers since last time: Deana, Poppyseed, bluegreen13, Kemu, Jace, Xaviera Xylira, Jules, Whats_their_name, Fleur Hermione Potter, janmmci, Silver ~ Ice, Chrissy, Mary Potter, Aphrodite Black, Queen Kate, hermione, Rue, Barbara Fett, G*Ness, and also

Meriadoc -- I know I pay out on Harry a bit, but hey, he's got his own books, a movie, a million websites and a ff.net fandom with over 20,000 stories in it named after him, he doesn't always have to be the hero, you know?

hermione elizabeth potter -- sorry hun, but R/Hr forever! – Princess Leia & Han Solo, anyone?? Of course she ends up with the sidekick! That's how it works!! heh heh (see B Bennett's A Certain Point of View) – That was the whole point of Mia falling for her best friend's brother working for this fic in the immortal words of *NSync ::gag:: which I will slightly manipulate for my purposes, It's gonna be Ron ;o)

Agent 99 -- I can totally understand this not being your cup of tea, for I too see it as more of a can of Coke – not really good for anything except being sweet and fun and enjoyable ;o) But stay tuned for some Kick-Ass! Hermione, I assure you, she is just waiting patiently for me to type her up!

Gothic Valley Girl -- Sirius! Oh that's a cool idea! But I can't think of how to make it work, and I've already figured out the whole plot anyway (well, Meg Cabot figured it out for me) and he can't fit ::sob::

She's a Star -- ::cough cough:: heh heh just kidding – welcome to the fold ;o) You weren't really that mean, it's cool. Glad you read the A/N ;o)

Bronze -- mmm just imagine young Mr Tom I am hot Riddle in a suit!!! ::drool:: I like men with power so sue me bring it on! It can be work experince – I'll be doing Law @ uni next year, heh heh heh ;o)

::MWAH!:: to everyone! You guys have no idea how glad I am that people actually like this!! ::hugs::