Return To Hogsmeade
Chapter Six
-dutchtulips-
***
The next morning, Hermione was hastily bustling about her bedroom, her trunk opened at the foot of the bed as she was tossing clothes into it, not even bothering to fold most of them. Her mother was talking to her, but Hermione wasn't really in the mood to listen as she busily packed.
"It's just, I saw the way he was looking at you at the festival the other night. . ." Mrs. Granger was saying, "and I -"
"You know what, just clam up about it, Mum!" She exclaimed. "I can't do anything about the way Ron feels about me, all right? Just forget it!"
"That's what I'm telling you!" Charlotte watched her daughter pace up and down the bedroom floor. "That boy is quicksand! You hurry and get yourself back to London, all right?"
Hermione slammed the trunk lid shut and turned to look at Mrs. Granger. "Mum, what exactly is it that you want from me?"
She sighed, saying softly. "Love, I just want you to be happy. London and this new boy of yours seems to make you happy. So, please. I only want what's best for you. That's all I've ever wanted, okay?"
"I know," Hermione replied, leaning forward to embrace her mother. "I'll see you in London, okay? You'll love being back there. I promise." Letting go, she walked over to her trunk and pulled out her wand to bewitch it to levitate.
"Hold on, though," Mrs. Granger said, "Don't forget to say goodbye to your father."
She repocketed her wand and looked back up at her mother. "Where is he?"
Charlotte wearily ran a hand through her hair. "Oh, you know, the boys, Fred and George, thought it would be a good show if they took him out to the village Quidditch pitch. . .and you know your dad, he's the reverse of Ron's father -"
Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. "No need to say anymore, Mum." Quickly she pulled on her cloak and started out the front door of the house.
***
Meanwhile, Ron was clambering up the rural Hogsmeade streets on his way towards Clarke mansion, and as soon as he'd gotten the grand white building in sight, immediately a vast purple bus burst from nowhere and settled itself right in front of the manor. The redhead quickened his pace, eager to see what the brouhaha was all about. Just as he'd reached the bus doors, another figure - tall, lean, and dark-haired - stepped off and immediately started up the front steps of the house.
Quickly Ron caught up with him, calling out, "You here to see Uncle Louis?"
As the person turned around, Ron's eyes grew twice their normal size as he realized who it was. Viktor's brow furrowed, and he questioned, puzzled, "Uncle?"
"That's just what we call him around here," he explained.
"Ah, I understand. But, ah, no, I'm here to see my bride-to-be, Herm-own-ninny." Viktor held out his hand. "I'm Viktor Krum. Very nice to meet you."
Stars, Ron thought, rolling his eyes. The bloke doesn't even remember me. But nevertheless, the redhead smiled and shook Viktor's hand, playing along with the whole thing. "Just call me Ron. Er, who did you say you were here to see?"
"Herm-own-ninny. Does she not live here?"
"Granger?"
"No, ah, Clarke. Do you know uff her? She is a Daily Prophet reporter in London," Viktor replied.
Slowly Ron began to understand and, nodding his head, "Oh, right, well, my brothers went out to the old Quidditch field with him, she might have gone along. It's on my way, I'll walk you there if you would like."
"Vhat vould be nice, thank you," Viktor said politely, and the two of them retreated back down the steps and up the road towards High Street. As the walked, he looked over at Ron and asked, "Ah, who might this Herm-own-ninny Granger be?"
"Oh, she's the cat's pajamas, that's who she is," Ron smiled. "Or at least, almost turned herself into a cat once."
"Really?" Viktor asked, interested.
"Yeah, er, back in school, she and her two friends were looking to get someone in trouble, so they brewed up some Polyjuice Potion to try and catch him red-handed. They all three got hairs from the friends of this bloke, and drank the stuff down," Ron explained.
"Ah, you are surely kidding," the dark-haired wizard said.
"No, God's honest truth," the redhead smiled. "Well, anyways, for 'Mione's two friends, their potion worked out perfectly. Turned them into exactly who they had been planning to be."
"Vell, vhat about this Herm-own-ninny?"
"As it turns out," Ron continued, "She accidentally put a cat's hair in her potion, thinking it was the real hair, and she grew all of this black fur all over her face, her eyes turned yellow, and she had cat's ears growing up through her hair. Horrid, it was."
"Vhat happened?"
"Well, eventually she got herself all fixed back up again, but that's a little adventure she and her friends wouldn't ever forget," Ron told him.
Viktor's brow arched just then. "Vell, vhat ended up becoming uff her?"
The redhead sighed. "Oh, you know, wound up pregnant, married some stubborn prat right of Hogwarts."
***
Hermione swore she thought she was going to have a heart-attack.
When she'd reached the old village Quidditch field, it was no surprise that mayhem had pretty much taken over the place, as it always did whenever Fred and George were nearby. But plenty of witches and wizards who'd joined in on the game were now sprawled out on the grass, having either gotten bonked by the Quaffle, one of the Bludgers, or both. Fred and George were still airborne however, and by the looks of it, were swinging their clubs wildly, obviously pretending to be blind to the Bludgers.
Looking up frantically, Hermione cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Dad! Are you up there?"
Fred and George ceased from their crazy club-flinging, and looked down at their sister-in-law. "I think maybe he's already gotten thunked by the Quaffle!"
"Oh, oh, stars," she muttered to herself, stepping around the other people on the ground, looking for her dad. At last she found him sprawled underneath a clump of bushes and quickly she grabbed his arm and dragged him out onto the grass. "Daddy! Dad, are you all right?"
Before there was any sort of response, Hermione heard a movement behind her, and turned around. "Viktor!" She nearly shouted, her heart dropping into her stomach as she saw him closely accompanied by Ron. "What are you doing here?"
"I've come to deliver your fiancé," Ron put in, smiling a strange smile.
Viktor looked back at the redhead. "I think she vos talking to me," he said curtly.
Ron's reply, however, was completely unrelated. Staring meaningfully at Hermione, he said to the dark-haired wizard, "You and I are in love with two completely different woman." And with that, he disappeared.
Viktor looked confusedly back at his bride-to-be. "What did he mean by vhat?"
Hermione sighed, feeling defeated at last. "He's my husband."
His eyes widened. "You're married to that man?"
Before he could respond, however, at that moment, Mr. Granger popped up, rubbing his forehead. "Oh," he groaned, "I think I took a shot right in the head that time." He noticed Viktor. "Oh, hello, you must be my Hermione's fiancé. Name's John Granger." Mr. Granger held out his hand to shake.
Viktor didn't take it. He glanced back over at Hermione, murmuring to himself, "Herm-own-ninny Granger. . ."
"And that was Ron. . .Weasley, do you remember?" She replied weakly, referring to the wizard who had just left them. "I came down here to finalize my divorce -" Hermione started to explain, but Viktor was already walking away. Chasing after him, she cried, "No, no, Viktor! Please don't go, not like this! Look, I'm sorry I lied to you, but please don't leave before I can have a chance to explain myself!"
He whirled around quite suddenly, fire in his eyes. "All I know, Herm-own-ninny and vhatever your last name is today, is vhat vhere is a stop for the Knight Bus at the end uff High Street, and I vill be on it!" And with that, Viktor stomped away from Hermione, leaving her alone on the Quidditch field.
***
As the sun set outside the Granger home kitchen window, Charlotte Granger was inside, stirring something inside a large copper pot on the stove. Hermione was curled up in one of the kitchen chairs nearby, hand cradling her forehead as she stared at the floor.
After several moments of silence between them, she finally murmured to her mother, "I know what you're probably thinking. I botched things up dreadfully this time."
Mrs. Granger tipped the contents of a bowl on the counter into the saucepan. "Oh, now, love, don't assume anything of the sort. That's really all up to you what's unfixable and what's not." She paused, picking up a bottle from the counter and pouring its thick, dark, contents into a measuring cup. "Like this molasses. Now, it's not nearly as sweet as regular maple syrup, but it really makes the tastiest treacle pudding."
Hermione looked up at her mother. "Do you need a hand?"
Mrs. Granger glanced over at her daughter and smiled. "Well, sure. Come over here and put in the milk, would you, love?"
The curly-haired witch grabbed the milk bottle and a measuring cup, preparing to pour it into the saucepan. "You know, it was actually kind of funny seeing Dad out there on a Quidditch pitch. He used to be so down-to-earth, you know. . ."
Charlotte laughed and smiled. "That was before you got to him, and had him living out here with all these magic folk."
"Yeah, I guess I did do that, didn't I?" Hermione joined her mother's laughter.
As Mrs. Granger was stirring the pudding and Hermione was chopping up the pecans, forgetting how much she sometimes missed doing things in the common Muggle way, Mr. Granger came inside, bursting through the front door.
"Well, lookie who I found roaming up and down High Street!" He exclaimed, and the next thing Hermione knew, Viktor Krum was standing in her living room.
"Ah, hello," he said nervously.
"Hi," she replied, very softly. "I was sure you'd be back to Bulgaria by now."
"So did I," Viktor replied.
Hermione was quiet for a long moment, and then finally she spoke. "Er, this is my mum, Charlotte. She makes the best treacle pudding you've ever tasted."
Mrs. Granger flushed.
"And, er, this is my dad, John. You've already met him." Hermione paused. "They're not magic folk, they just moved here with me after Hogwarts to be nearer to me. And this is our house."
Viktor gave them a friendly smile. "Vell, it is good to be meeting you both." Turning back to Hermione, he said tenderly, "Ah, Herm-own-ninny, I understand vhat you have a past. Who does not? All vhat I need to know, however, is if vhere is a place for me in your future."
Hermione gave him a watery smile, and then stepped forward to embrace him. Viktor hugged back warmly. "Ah, you know everyone is expecting us to be having our vedding in London, but you know vhat, I am thinking that a small cozy vedding here in the village sounds vonderful."
"Really?" She exclaimed, smiling. "I was hoping that we could."
Viktor looked up at Mr. and Mrs. Granger. "John, Char-o-lette?" He asked, stammering over her name as he did with Hermione's, "If you vould be so kind to cover the reception, I really vould like to handle everything else."
"Why, sure, I think we could do that," Mrs. Granger replied brightly. "John?"
He thought for a moment, and then at last smiled, "Well, of course! How many times does your only daughter get married, you know?"
A funny pause engulfed them, and Hermione's dad stammered, "Well, I mean, other than that last time. . .," and the four of them laughed, although Hermione almost had to force it from her lungs.
***
The next afternoon, Viktor returned home to Bulgaria to update his mother on the most recent news. However, Portia wasn't too thrilled about it. As they sat back in the breakfast nook once again, Portia was exclaiming, "The vedding in Hogsmeade? That tiny little village in the middle of novhere? Are you sure about this, Viktor, dear?"
"Yes, mother, very!" He assured her, reaching for one last cup of tea before departing. "This is vhat Herm-own-ninny and I vant, all vright?"
"But she lied to you!" Portia shot back. "I don't know vhich is vorse, all uff those stories she made up about her past, or the fact vhat she has come from a homely little place like vhat!"
"Mum, she vos embarrassed about her past! But Herm-own-ninny has come clean, now, so let us forgive her for it. Really, who has not been embarrassed by vair parents at one time or another?" He said poignantly.
Portia sniffed impatiently. "I am going to assume vhat was hypovetical!"
Viktor merely sighed. "Assume avay, Mother. But face it - vhere is a vedding in your future, vhether you like it or not."
***
All for the next two weeks, Hermione back in London, she, Viktor, and Viktor's mother working on the wedding plans. For location in Hogsmeade, Portia seemed to have her heart set on the Clarke plantation, something on which Hermione was extremely edgy about, but she agreed on anyway. Though she had asked Portia why, and the dark-haired older woman simply said smartly, "Well, it vos the muse for your identity, vos it not?"
And as she and Viktor bustled through Diagon Alley, trying to find a flower shop to make their floral arrangement for the wedding, Hermione couldn't help but think about those lovely purple roses from the Quidditch festival and where they had come from.
She'd also owled Ron a countless number of times over the two weeks, but every time Mimi had come back, there was never an answer to her letters.
***
To Be Continued