Disclaimer: Everything in the Harry Potter universe belongs to JKR
A/N: Thanks to my beta-reader Sunglow999 for her help. We did have a giggle over the amendments to chapter 2 (Ron/Girl's night in). I hope you didn't mind my small indulgence.
Thank you, thank you, thank you to all my kind reviewers. The tattoo won't be revealed until the last chapter, sorry.
On with the story.
Chapter 5 - A Learner's Licence
"Hermione, darling! You look wonderful!" her mother hugged her as she got off the train.
"Hi, Mum. All set for Christmas?"
"Everything's ready. We have quite a houseful this year." She picked up Hermione's bag. Hermione had decided not to bring her trunk home. She'd shrunk most of the books she needed, anyway.
"Really?" Hermione wondered which single men her mother had invited this time. Over the summer Mrs Granger had paraded quite a selection of sharp-suited men in front of her. In the end, Hermione had had to tell her she wasn't interested. At least, not romantically.
"Yes. Your grandmother's coming, and Aunt Beverley."
Hermione groaned. If Beverley was coming, so was cousin Justin. The biggest pain in the arse she had ever met. She wondered if she could get away with slipping an acne potion into his tea. She could enhance it with flobberworm pus; a delightful puke green secretion that she discovered they emitted when distressed. The extra ingredient made the spots erupt every few minutes and continued for three hours. That should keep him out of her hair!
"Wonderful." She muttered.
"Darling, there's something different about you. Do you have anything to tell me?" her mother asked. Hermione flushed.
"Oh. Ah. I don't think I should have invited Justin, should I?" her mother caught on quickly. She scrutinised her daughter as if she was a lab specimen.
"No, I shouldn't have. Is it Ron?"
"God, No! No, no, no!" Hermione looked horrified.
"Do I have to guess, or are you going to tell me? Is it anyone I know?"
Hermione shook her head.
"Someone from your house?"
Again there was a shake of the head. Mrs Granger was very proud of Hermione and always took an interest in her other life. The different houses were very similar to the way her old school had been organised.
"Which one?"
"I'd rather not say, Mum."
"Slytherin? Not that Malfoy boy, surely?"
"No, not him. Mum, I really don't want to talk about this."
"You'll have to eventually, my love. You're Dad and I are not getting any younger, and we'd like to be able to baby-sit our grandchildren before we get too old." Hermione had been a late child, and her Dad was now in his sixties.
"Mum! I'm only eighteen!"
"You're very mature for your age, Hermione. You've had to be. I know you want to go to university, but we've been hoping you'll meet someone at that school of yours."
The strains of the Twilight Zone echoed in Hermione's head. Was her mum going senile? She decided to test her theory.
"So if I met someone... hypothetically speaking, mind... older...you wouldn't mind?"
"Heavens, no, child. A boy wouldn't suit you at all. You're far too intelligent."
Any minute now, Hermione was going to wake up. She pinched herself. Ow. Nope, she was awake. Oh God! Had her mum found a scrap of paper with her list on? No, she had only thought of her list after she'd got her diary. Was her mum a mind reader? Did she have magical powers after all?
"I don't need to be a mind reader to see the signs, Hermione. I am your mother." Mrs Granger hugged her daughter, then put Hermione's bag in the boot of her car.
"And if it turns out to be that delicious Professor Snape, do warn me first. I want to look my best."
"What?!" this is it, Hermione, she thought to herself. Her mother was definitely round the twist and well on her way to la la land.
"I am a woman, dear, and I may be old, but I'm not dead yet. You're not the only one to have a thing for older men. Look at me and your father." Hermione's father was fifteen years older than her mother, and worshipped the ground she walked on. She felt the same about him too. Hermione couldn't believe she was having this conversation with her mother. Her mother of all people!
"By the way, you've got a letter from the Ministry of Magic. It's in your room."
The short journey home was completed in silence (at least on Hermione's part). Her mother chatted about this and that, ignoring the fact that she'd stunned her beautiful daughter. She smiled to herself. It had been a wild guess about the teacher, but it really hadn't been that much of a shock. She knew her daughter, and if that was who she wanted, she'd welcome him into the family. From the sound of him, though, she'd have a bit of a battle on her hands.
Hermione hugged her father who was waiting at the front door. He was a tall, still slim man with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair. He glanced at his wife who smiled at him. Hermione looked at them both. After thirty years together they still only had eyes for each other. She sighed. This is what she wanted for herself, a lasting, loving relationship with only one man. And she had every intention of getting him! She obviously had her mother's approval, which meant she also had her father's. Therefore, the man didn't stand a chance.
She ran lightly up the stairs and opened the letter on her dressing table. It was definitely from the Ministry of Magic, about her Apparating licence. Professor McGonegall had told her the basics, and Sirius had gone with her to Hogsmeade one weekend. It wasn't unusual for him to take the older students and give lessons. Rather like driving lessons; the better the teacher, the quicker you passed your test, and Sirius was a very good teacher. Being the top student she was, it hadn't taken her long to get the hang of it. All she had to do was visualise where she wanted to be, and there she was. Like parallel parking, really.
She was to report to the London office, by floo, the day before returning to Hogwarts. In the meantime she was allowed to practice at home. She grinned, imagined herself in the kitchen downstairs, and caught her parents mid-snog.
"Get a room, you two." She giggled.
"Hermione!" her mother blushed and straightened her skirt.
"Sorry, Mum." She waved the letter "I have to practice." And she disappeared again, reappearing in the living room.
"Shall we?" her father slid his arms around his wife again.
"Shall we what?"
"Get a room? There's a hotel across the other side of town...." He nibbled her neck and felt her pulse race.
"Love to. I'll pack a bag..."
"Just bring a toothbrush..."
"I'll tell Hermione not to wait up for us...oooh, do that again...."
Christmas was much quieter than had been planned, after all. Being the excellent parents they were, Mr and Mrs Granger invented a contagious virus that prevented them from having visitors. Hermione didn't think she'd ever had a better holiday. The peace and quiet gave her a chance to recharge herself, and she gave thanks to whatever God or Gods there were that the war hadn't affected her parents.
Both Mr and Mrs Granger noticed the new maturity that surrounded their daughter. She held herself differently, somehow, as if she was happy with the person she'd become. It was rare to see an eighteen-year-old girl that poised, until Mrs Granger remembered something that Dumbledore had once told them. She was effectively nineteen, due to the use of a Time Turner device in her third year. She had relived so many weeks that biologically she was a year older. No wonder she had never been interested in the boys she had met in the summer. It also accounted for why she didn't date the boys at school.
Hermione and her mother travelled to London the day before the start of term. Or rather, Hermione travelled by floo, her mother went by train. They had agreed to meet up in Oxford Street after Hermione had taken her test.
"I passed!" Hermione waved piece of parchment at her mother.
"When have you ever failed a test?" her mother smiled indulgently. They strolled along the busy London street, trying to avoid the bargain hunters.
"Oh dear. I'd forgotten about the sales." Her mother fretted. She stopped outside a rather exclusive shop and then went in. Hermione gasped at the displays.
"Mother! What are you doing?"
"Shopping, dear." She was gathering items as she went, and an assistant soon appeared.
"May I help you, Madam?"
"You certainly can. I'd like these in every colour." She handed her selection to the assistant, who was mentally adding up her commission.
"They're the wrong size for you, Mum." Hermione whispered.
"Oh, they're not for me, Hermione. They're for you. Call it an extra Christmas present."
She held up a rather racy negligee "This is for me."
A/N: Sorry this is a short chapter. I have got to take a break now, so it will probably be next week before the next chapter is posted.
TBC
A/N: Thanks to my beta-reader Sunglow999 for her help. We did have a giggle over the amendments to chapter 2 (Ron/Girl's night in). I hope you didn't mind my small indulgence.
Thank you, thank you, thank you to all my kind reviewers. The tattoo won't be revealed until the last chapter, sorry.
On with the story.
Chapter 5 - A Learner's Licence
"Hermione, darling! You look wonderful!" her mother hugged her as she got off the train.
"Hi, Mum. All set for Christmas?"
"Everything's ready. We have quite a houseful this year." She picked up Hermione's bag. Hermione had decided not to bring her trunk home. She'd shrunk most of the books she needed, anyway.
"Really?" Hermione wondered which single men her mother had invited this time. Over the summer Mrs Granger had paraded quite a selection of sharp-suited men in front of her. In the end, Hermione had had to tell her she wasn't interested. At least, not romantically.
"Yes. Your grandmother's coming, and Aunt Beverley."
Hermione groaned. If Beverley was coming, so was cousin Justin. The biggest pain in the arse she had ever met. She wondered if she could get away with slipping an acne potion into his tea. She could enhance it with flobberworm pus; a delightful puke green secretion that she discovered they emitted when distressed. The extra ingredient made the spots erupt every few minutes and continued for three hours. That should keep him out of her hair!
"Wonderful." She muttered.
"Darling, there's something different about you. Do you have anything to tell me?" her mother asked. Hermione flushed.
"Oh. Ah. I don't think I should have invited Justin, should I?" her mother caught on quickly. She scrutinised her daughter as if she was a lab specimen.
"No, I shouldn't have. Is it Ron?"
"God, No! No, no, no!" Hermione looked horrified.
"Do I have to guess, or are you going to tell me? Is it anyone I know?"
Hermione shook her head.
"Someone from your house?"
Again there was a shake of the head. Mrs Granger was very proud of Hermione and always took an interest in her other life. The different houses were very similar to the way her old school had been organised.
"Which one?"
"I'd rather not say, Mum."
"Slytherin? Not that Malfoy boy, surely?"
"No, not him. Mum, I really don't want to talk about this."
"You'll have to eventually, my love. You're Dad and I are not getting any younger, and we'd like to be able to baby-sit our grandchildren before we get too old." Hermione had been a late child, and her Dad was now in his sixties.
"Mum! I'm only eighteen!"
"You're very mature for your age, Hermione. You've had to be. I know you want to go to university, but we've been hoping you'll meet someone at that school of yours."
The strains of the Twilight Zone echoed in Hermione's head. Was her mum going senile? She decided to test her theory.
"So if I met someone... hypothetically speaking, mind... older...you wouldn't mind?"
"Heavens, no, child. A boy wouldn't suit you at all. You're far too intelligent."
Any minute now, Hermione was going to wake up. She pinched herself. Ow. Nope, she was awake. Oh God! Had her mum found a scrap of paper with her list on? No, she had only thought of her list after she'd got her diary. Was her mum a mind reader? Did she have magical powers after all?
"I don't need to be a mind reader to see the signs, Hermione. I am your mother." Mrs Granger hugged her daughter, then put Hermione's bag in the boot of her car.
"And if it turns out to be that delicious Professor Snape, do warn me first. I want to look my best."
"What?!" this is it, Hermione, she thought to herself. Her mother was definitely round the twist and well on her way to la la land.
"I am a woman, dear, and I may be old, but I'm not dead yet. You're not the only one to have a thing for older men. Look at me and your father." Hermione's father was fifteen years older than her mother, and worshipped the ground she walked on. She felt the same about him too. Hermione couldn't believe she was having this conversation with her mother. Her mother of all people!
"By the way, you've got a letter from the Ministry of Magic. It's in your room."
The short journey home was completed in silence (at least on Hermione's part). Her mother chatted about this and that, ignoring the fact that she'd stunned her beautiful daughter. She smiled to herself. It had been a wild guess about the teacher, but it really hadn't been that much of a shock. She knew her daughter, and if that was who she wanted, she'd welcome him into the family. From the sound of him, though, she'd have a bit of a battle on her hands.
Hermione hugged her father who was waiting at the front door. He was a tall, still slim man with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair. He glanced at his wife who smiled at him. Hermione looked at them both. After thirty years together they still only had eyes for each other. She sighed. This is what she wanted for herself, a lasting, loving relationship with only one man. And she had every intention of getting him! She obviously had her mother's approval, which meant she also had her father's. Therefore, the man didn't stand a chance.
She ran lightly up the stairs and opened the letter on her dressing table. It was definitely from the Ministry of Magic, about her Apparating licence. Professor McGonegall had told her the basics, and Sirius had gone with her to Hogsmeade one weekend. It wasn't unusual for him to take the older students and give lessons. Rather like driving lessons; the better the teacher, the quicker you passed your test, and Sirius was a very good teacher. Being the top student she was, it hadn't taken her long to get the hang of it. All she had to do was visualise where she wanted to be, and there she was. Like parallel parking, really.
She was to report to the London office, by floo, the day before returning to Hogwarts. In the meantime she was allowed to practice at home. She grinned, imagined herself in the kitchen downstairs, and caught her parents mid-snog.
"Get a room, you two." She giggled.
"Hermione!" her mother blushed and straightened her skirt.
"Sorry, Mum." She waved the letter "I have to practice." And she disappeared again, reappearing in the living room.
"Shall we?" her father slid his arms around his wife again.
"Shall we what?"
"Get a room? There's a hotel across the other side of town...." He nibbled her neck and felt her pulse race.
"Love to. I'll pack a bag..."
"Just bring a toothbrush..."
"I'll tell Hermione not to wait up for us...oooh, do that again...."
Christmas was much quieter than had been planned, after all. Being the excellent parents they were, Mr and Mrs Granger invented a contagious virus that prevented them from having visitors. Hermione didn't think she'd ever had a better holiday. The peace and quiet gave her a chance to recharge herself, and she gave thanks to whatever God or Gods there were that the war hadn't affected her parents.
Both Mr and Mrs Granger noticed the new maturity that surrounded their daughter. She held herself differently, somehow, as if she was happy with the person she'd become. It was rare to see an eighteen-year-old girl that poised, until Mrs Granger remembered something that Dumbledore had once told them. She was effectively nineteen, due to the use of a Time Turner device in her third year. She had relived so many weeks that biologically she was a year older. No wonder she had never been interested in the boys she had met in the summer. It also accounted for why she didn't date the boys at school.
Hermione and her mother travelled to London the day before the start of term. Or rather, Hermione travelled by floo, her mother went by train. They had agreed to meet up in Oxford Street after Hermione had taken her test.
"I passed!" Hermione waved piece of parchment at her mother.
"When have you ever failed a test?" her mother smiled indulgently. They strolled along the busy London street, trying to avoid the bargain hunters.
"Oh dear. I'd forgotten about the sales." Her mother fretted. She stopped outside a rather exclusive shop and then went in. Hermione gasped at the displays.
"Mother! What are you doing?"
"Shopping, dear." She was gathering items as she went, and an assistant soon appeared.
"May I help you, Madam?"
"You certainly can. I'd like these in every colour." She handed her selection to the assistant, who was mentally adding up her commission.
"They're the wrong size for you, Mum." Hermione whispered.
"Oh, they're not for me, Hermione. They're for you. Call it an extra Christmas present."
She held up a rather racy negligee "This is for me."
A/N: Sorry this is a short chapter. I have got to take a break now, so it will probably be next week before the next chapter is posted.
TBC