Dear Readers,
Hiya, pleased to meet you all, positively enchanted! I wish you all good health and happiness come the new year!
My big brother tells me that I should add a disclaimer on to my stories from now on because otherwise someone might sue little ol' me for all I'm worth. Hah, the poor sap, they think I actually OWN something worth taking? I freely offer up to those who would take them my oh-so-stylish clothes (HAH!), my broken lump of plastic (also known as my computer, or to be more exact, was known at some point as a computer. . . cerca 1995) , and my wooden chopstick collection. Oh, and also my burial plot, I suppose that's under my name, too.
If I owned something as nice as Harry Potter and company, though, I wouldn't want to give that up, no road! But I suppose because I don't own it, all I can do is envy it. Ah, it keeps me humble (sigh of neverending longing inserted here).
Oh, if you've got any suggestions for me, feel free to write me at Lildragonrider@aol.com. I'd love to hear from you!
Your slightly crazy but still happily quirky friend,
Katrinka Mac
P.S. Could someone explain to me, what exactly is a flame? I'd be much obliged!
********************************************************************
"So, 'Mione," Ron said through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "Now that we've gotten our Apparating licenses, when are you going to get yours?"
"Don't talk with your mouth full, Ron dear." Mrs. Weasely called from down the table. Harry smiled. The little (although still highly formidable) lady sat at the far end of a noisy table, in the middle of deep conversation with Bill and Mr. Weasely, cast measuring glances at the twins (who did, indeed, look up to something), made sure all the dishes and cups were full, probably was also baking warm desserts in the kitchen, and still had the presence of mind to notice that Ron was talking with his mouth full. Great owls, how he loved this family!
Ron rolled his eyes and swallowed obediently.
Hermione was shaking her head. "Noooo, no, no, I'll go the muggle way, thank you. I walked before I was a witch, and I will continue to walk, magic or no. I liiiiike walking. I liiiiiiike remaining in one piece. I liiiiiike having both feet on the ground."
Harry grinned at that. Nobody had their feet planted more firmly on the ground than Hermione Granger, that was for sure.
"Besides," Hermione continued, sensing that Ron was going to argue some more, "Walking keeps me trim."
Ron choked on his next forkful of potatoes. The suggestion that Hermione, his Hermione (well, in his dreams, anyway) might ever need to lose some weight, was startling. Laughable. Ridiculous. He eyed her figure in an appraising way. Nope, he thought, a blush rising in his cheeks, everything was right as it should be.
Well, except for the fact that Hermione was now blushing and glaring at him.
Harry hurried into the conversation, hoping he could somehow salvage it before the next big row. Leave Ron alone for half a minute with Hermione and there was bound to be bloodshed . . .
"What don't you like about Apparating, 'Mione?" Harry asked innocently, knowing full well what she didn't like: it was the same reason she couldn't stand floo powder and the same reason she'd never be a drinker, social or otherwise. She couldn't handle the loss of control. Not that he could blame her, really; he didn't much like it himself. Well, except on broomsticks. And Hermione didn't exactly like those, either.
Hermione looked down at her plate and muttered something. Harry, sitting next to her, couldn't make out what she said over the normal dinner chatter at the Weasely table, and certainly Ron couldn't either at his place across the table. Ron's eyebrows furrowed in the most adorably anxious way; he didn't like it when Hermione was upset, especially when he didn't do anything to cause it.
Harry leaned forward a bit. "Sorry, what was that, 'Mione?"
Hermione threw up her hands in defeat and muttered just loud enough for both to hear, "Squinching, okay? I can't stand the though of being split in two, part of me in one place and part of me in the other and not being able to move on either end. It'd be downright . . . creepy." She glared down at her plate as though she would have liked to take her anxious frustrations out on the poor, defenseless, already dead and quite well-cooked turkey leg lying before her.
Ron got up from his place and walked all the way around the table as Mrs. Weasely announced that the apple pie was waiting for them in the house. The twins bolted for the door, followed closely by Ginny, Charlie, and Bill. Ron, however, came to a stop behind where Hermione was still sitting, eyes locked on plate. Gently, he put his arm around her shoulders, smiling winsomely up at her face. "Aw, c'mon, Hermione, we'll teach ya!"
"Yeah, we'll practice with you, get you ready for your test before you take it, just like Bill did with us. C'mon, it'll be fun!" Harry wheedled on her other side.
"As fun as, well, riding a broomstick!" Ron concurred, before wincing as he remembered exactly why Hermione disliked broomsticks so much. Back in their second year, Ron and Harry had offered to help Hermione with her flying and she had (perhaps foolishly) accepted. It started out really well. While Hermione wasn't a natural, she was a quick study and was soon wobbling about the pitch on a broom by herself, never more than a few meters from the ground. Slowly she gathered up confidence and speed. But, really, how were Harry and Ron supposed to know that Hufflepuff had reserved the field starting halfway through their first flying lesson, and had released the Bludgers before looking to see if the pitch was clear? It was only through some very fast flying that Harry had managed to catch Hermione's arms as she toppled off her broomstick trying to avoid a speeding black ball of fury.
Apparently, Hermione hadn't forgotten that little incident, either. "Oh, it had better not be as 'fun' as flying . . ." she muttered darkly, bringing Ron out of his private reverie.
"No, seriously though, it's just a quick spot of concentration, a flick of the wrist, and poof! you're gone!" Harry gestured a bit too widely and ended up smacking a certain twin in the arm who was sneaking up behind him.
The twin (probably George, but really, who could ever tell?) recovered marvelously, and quickly put in his two-sense before any one could question his certainly questionable action of walking quietly behind everybody's favorite tremendous trio. "Hermione, you've just got to!"
"It's a rite of passage!" Fred chimed in, coming up behind his brother in their freaky twin I-know-where-my-other-half-is-at-all-times-and-chances- are-we're-in-cahoots fashion.
The two looked at each other and grinned like Cheshire cats. George nodded slightly, and the two swung as one to face the still depressed-looking Hermione.
"Besides, do you really ---- "
"---- want to admit ---- "
"---- that Ronald T. Weasely ---- "
"---- Little Ronnikins!---- "
"---- our upstart little weed of a brother!---- "
Together, they took a deep breath and with a flourish presented the ultimate coup-de-grace.
"---- is actually BETTER that YOU at something?!?"
As Ron sputtered incoherently at the snickering mirror images something about traitors and blood being thicker than water and wanting to see some of that blood flow right about now, Hermione turned to Harry with a resigned sigh.
"All right, all right. They've convinced me. So, when do we start?"
*********************CHAPTER BREAK*************************
Summer vacation of their sixth year was fast ending before Hermione finally got the nerve to try her practice with the boys. Whenever her best friends suggested it, she'd insist that it was too hot, too cold, too sunny, or too cloudy, or that it had to be illegal to practice Apparating without a license (never mind that this was the same way that Harry and Ron had learned . . . If only Hermione hadn't been in France at the time, she would have learned with them too!)
Finally, after three weeks of hemming and hawing, not to mention a little encouragement from one Ronald T. Weasely ("What's the matter, 'Mione? You scared?"), a very nervous seventeen year old stood in the Weasely's garden patch, twirling one of the curls from her pony-tail in her anxious way as she waited for her instructors to show up. She'd told them at breakfast she wanted to start at twelve, sharp. She hoped they'd get there soon. She was just beginning to feel that perhaps she could put it off another day (or week or month or year, even) when Harry Apparated with a pop just outside the garden.
Coughing slightly at the dust clouds that raised (it had been a dry summer so far), Harry turned to her and smiled. "So, 'Mione, you ready to give it a go?" he called cheerfully, walking towards her. It was a beautiful August day, complete with gentle wind, blue sky, and puffy popcorn clouds, the birds were singing, and he had every confidence that Hermione could do this. After all, she was Hermione. Nothing short of a full grown mountain troll could stop her, and even then, she'd put up a darn good fight.
She smiled weakly at him. "Ready as I'll ever be . . ."
With trembling hands, she smoothed down her new robes, the ones her mother had bought her just a few months back for her birthday. They were a beautiful periwinkle blue and fit her exactly right, somewhat snug on the top and flaring open at the waist to reveal a pretty skirt beneath it. Her mother had said that these were 'confidence clothes', just what a girl needed to feel ready to march into anything. Now more than ever, Hermione needed that confidence. She wouldn't meet Harry's eyes.
Harry cocked his head slightly. This wasn't like Hermione. She'd never avoided a challenge like this before.
Walking over to her, he put a hand on her shoulder. "Y'know, you don't have to do this if you really don't want to. I'd understand if you didn't."
She smiled up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears, before fixing her gaze somewhere off in the distance. "And Ron?" she whispered, biting her lip.
"Ron will understand, too. Everybody's got a little weakness somewhere." Harry chuckled softly. "Even you, Hermione Granger, much as I know you hate to admit it."
She gave his a watery little laugh before giving him a gentle hug around the waist. Even Harry was taller than her now. When had that happened? Had she suddenly shrunk sometime along the way? Stepping back, she smoothed her robes once more in an effort to soothe her nerves and then squared her shoulders. "I am going to do this. I am. Now, Ron had just better hurry up and get here before I lose my nerve altogether."
Harry nodded approvingly. "That's the Gryffindor spirit! And as for the great prat ---- "
Ron choose that moment to Apparate with a small snap on top of one of the garden fences. Sadly, he misjudged the distance from the top of the fence to the ground and ended up falling on top of the fence with considerably less grace than he had planned. Windmilling a bit, he regained his balance.
Once settled, he called out, "Didst mine ears deceive me? Did someone call for a 'great prat'?" Shaking his head in mock sadness, he continued, "Ah, Harry, you shouldn't be calling yourself that! After all, we all know that you're just a so-so prat at best!"
Hermione giggled into her hand as her best friend mock glared at his best friend who sat innocent as the summer day on top of a whitewashed fence.
"All right then, pratius maximus, let's just get started then, shall we?"
*******************CHAPTER BREAK********************************
Ron, it turned out, was an even better instructor than Bill, who'd been his teacher as well as Harry's. He was surprisingly patient and calm throughout the whole lesson, explaining very carefully but not too condescendingly to Hermione exactly what Apparating was going to be like, just so she wouldn't be surprised when it actually happened. He covered some of the basic theory behind it, as well as some elementary physics involved (which totally blew Hermione out of the water; since when had Ron been interested in physics?)
True, it would have been easier for Hermione if Ron hadn't been wearing such a nice black tee-shirt that brought out the blue in his eyes, but you can't have everything, now can you?
Reaching into the pocket of the black robe he'd draped over the fence, Ron pulled out what looked like a stack of muggle post cards.
"Okay, 'Mione, first we're going to pick a place you know really well, and we're going to practice picturing exactly where you want to land. Okay? This requires solid concentration and good visual skills, both of which you happen to be exceedingly good at, believe me, I've seen you study." Ron explained easily. He flicked through the post cards, finally coming on one that he was satisfied with. "Ah-hah, Platform 9 and three fourths should be empty right about now. Let's try that."
Showing her the photograph he held in his hand, Ron explained to her exactly what she should be focusing on: the bench to the left, the train tracks in front of her, the ticket station slightly to the right and behind. Harry added in that she should always think if people were about, to Apparate somewhere discrete and off to the side, but not so far off to the side that she ended up inside of something (particularly not something solid. . . like, say, a wall). But since the platform would be empty at this time of day at this time of year, it would be a great spot to practice.
Closing her eyes, and taking deep calming breaths that had no calming effect whatsoever, Hermione did as she was bid: she pictured it. She knew exactly where she wanted to go. Harry would Apparate first, then it would be Hermione's turn, and then Ron's, just to make sure that everything went right at both ends. She was thus reassured that even if she did end up Squinched, she'd be reported immediately to the proper channels at the Ministry of Magic. Then they could fix her.
Ron told her that as long as she wasn't distracted during the actual process of jumping from one area to another, she wouldn't be split in two. It was a comforting thought.
Giving her a quick hug for good luck, Harry said his goodbyes and then Apparated.
Hermione kept her eyes shut, opening and closing her fists. She couldn't do it. She couldn't do it. She would fail.
Immediately, she felt Ron's presence behind her. "It's okay, it's okay. Take it easy. Breathe. C'mon, Hermione, you can do it. I'm right here, don't worry."
"Okay, okay, I'm going. I'm ready. I'm going." Taking a few more breaths, picturing the platform, Hermione Granger threw caution to the wind and flicked her wand. And with a pop, she was gone. . .
And with a pop, she was standing on the Platform Nine and Three Quarters, deserted except for the likes of one Harry Potter, who was grinning at her like a maniac.
A second pop, and there was a very proud looking Ron Weasely standing next to them, too.
Hermione stared around in wonder. Never had a train station platform looked so beautiful. There was the bench, and the ticket station, and the tracks, and it was all so amazingly there! And solid! Before she knew it, she had grabbed the nearest best friend (Ron) and was hugging him and jumping up and down. Then she did the same with Harry. Laughing, the two boys squished her in a giant bear hug. Hermione looked almost in tears (although not from being squished). She had faced her fears and look! She could travel! Oh, the freedom!
Together, the trio practiced going back and forth from the Burrow to the Platform, just to get it ingrained into Hermione's memory, the way it should feel (a quick feeling of weightlessness right before the jump and then a popping sound right near her head). They went over what she should do, should she ever get stuck in the middle of a Apparation jump (always Apparate with a partner, and if you didn't, use your wand if it's still in your hand at the point of Squinchage. If not, just stand still and pray some wizard finds you soon.)
As a celebration, Harry suggested that they Apparate to Diagon Alley for a quick trip to the Ice Cream Shoppe for treats, on him. Emboldened by her success, Hermione readily agreed. Ron took one look at her happy face and assured her that he wouldn't miss it for the world; it would be like the graduation of his first ever student!
So, they grabbed Ron's post cards again and found a picture of the Apparation booth at the Leaky Cauldron. Those cards, it turned out, were wizard photographs, handy for Apparating in that you could make sure no one was in the area you wanted to Apparate on top of. Quite handy, and more safe than jumping blind. The Apparation booth at the Leaky Cauldron was a small space, but they decided it was big enough to fit the three of them if they placed themselves right. Ron would be on the left, Harry in the middle, and Hermione on the right.
Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, Hermione Apparated first with a pop. Another successful attempt! The booth was cozy although somewhat battered. The peeling wallpaper looked like it had been there for years. At some point, the booth might have been a pantry of some sort, she decided, but it was hard to tell.
Ron appeared across the booth from her in a matter of seconds. They waited expectantly for the third pop. They waited. And waited. And waited some more.
After a few moments of standing very, very still . . .
"Ummm, Ron?" Hermione squeaked. "Where's Harry?"
Hiya, pleased to meet you all, positively enchanted! I wish you all good health and happiness come the new year!
My big brother tells me that I should add a disclaimer on to my stories from now on because otherwise someone might sue little ol' me for all I'm worth. Hah, the poor sap, they think I actually OWN something worth taking? I freely offer up to those who would take them my oh-so-stylish clothes (HAH!), my broken lump of plastic (also known as my computer, or to be more exact, was known at some point as a computer. . . cerca 1995) , and my wooden chopstick collection. Oh, and also my burial plot, I suppose that's under my name, too.
If I owned something as nice as Harry Potter and company, though, I wouldn't want to give that up, no road! But I suppose because I don't own it, all I can do is envy it. Ah, it keeps me humble (sigh of neverending longing inserted here).
Oh, if you've got any suggestions for me, feel free to write me at Lildragonrider@aol.com. I'd love to hear from you!
Your slightly crazy but still happily quirky friend,
Katrinka Mac
P.S. Could someone explain to me, what exactly is a flame? I'd be much obliged!
********************************************************************
"So, 'Mione," Ron said through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "Now that we've gotten our Apparating licenses, when are you going to get yours?"
"Don't talk with your mouth full, Ron dear." Mrs. Weasely called from down the table. Harry smiled. The little (although still highly formidable) lady sat at the far end of a noisy table, in the middle of deep conversation with Bill and Mr. Weasely, cast measuring glances at the twins (who did, indeed, look up to something), made sure all the dishes and cups were full, probably was also baking warm desserts in the kitchen, and still had the presence of mind to notice that Ron was talking with his mouth full. Great owls, how he loved this family!
Ron rolled his eyes and swallowed obediently.
Hermione was shaking her head. "Noooo, no, no, I'll go the muggle way, thank you. I walked before I was a witch, and I will continue to walk, magic or no. I liiiiike walking. I liiiiiiike remaining in one piece. I liiiiiike having both feet on the ground."
Harry grinned at that. Nobody had their feet planted more firmly on the ground than Hermione Granger, that was for sure.
"Besides," Hermione continued, sensing that Ron was going to argue some more, "Walking keeps me trim."
Ron choked on his next forkful of potatoes. The suggestion that Hermione, his Hermione (well, in his dreams, anyway) might ever need to lose some weight, was startling. Laughable. Ridiculous. He eyed her figure in an appraising way. Nope, he thought, a blush rising in his cheeks, everything was right as it should be.
Well, except for the fact that Hermione was now blushing and glaring at him.
Harry hurried into the conversation, hoping he could somehow salvage it before the next big row. Leave Ron alone for half a minute with Hermione and there was bound to be bloodshed . . .
"What don't you like about Apparating, 'Mione?" Harry asked innocently, knowing full well what she didn't like: it was the same reason she couldn't stand floo powder and the same reason she'd never be a drinker, social or otherwise. She couldn't handle the loss of control. Not that he could blame her, really; he didn't much like it himself. Well, except on broomsticks. And Hermione didn't exactly like those, either.
Hermione looked down at her plate and muttered something. Harry, sitting next to her, couldn't make out what she said over the normal dinner chatter at the Weasely table, and certainly Ron couldn't either at his place across the table. Ron's eyebrows furrowed in the most adorably anxious way; he didn't like it when Hermione was upset, especially when he didn't do anything to cause it.
Harry leaned forward a bit. "Sorry, what was that, 'Mione?"
Hermione threw up her hands in defeat and muttered just loud enough for both to hear, "Squinching, okay? I can't stand the though of being split in two, part of me in one place and part of me in the other and not being able to move on either end. It'd be downright . . . creepy." She glared down at her plate as though she would have liked to take her anxious frustrations out on the poor, defenseless, already dead and quite well-cooked turkey leg lying before her.
Ron got up from his place and walked all the way around the table as Mrs. Weasely announced that the apple pie was waiting for them in the house. The twins bolted for the door, followed closely by Ginny, Charlie, and Bill. Ron, however, came to a stop behind where Hermione was still sitting, eyes locked on plate. Gently, he put his arm around her shoulders, smiling winsomely up at her face. "Aw, c'mon, Hermione, we'll teach ya!"
"Yeah, we'll practice with you, get you ready for your test before you take it, just like Bill did with us. C'mon, it'll be fun!" Harry wheedled on her other side.
"As fun as, well, riding a broomstick!" Ron concurred, before wincing as he remembered exactly why Hermione disliked broomsticks so much. Back in their second year, Ron and Harry had offered to help Hermione with her flying and she had (perhaps foolishly) accepted. It started out really well. While Hermione wasn't a natural, she was a quick study and was soon wobbling about the pitch on a broom by herself, never more than a few meters from the ground. Slowly she gathered up confidence and speed. But, really, how were Harry and Ron supposed to know that Hufflepuff had reserved the field starting halfway through their first flying lesson, and had released the Bludgers before looking to see if the pitch was clear? It was only through some very fast flying that Harry had managed to catch Hermione's arms as she toppled off her broomstick trying to avoid a speeding black ball of fury.
Apparently, Hermione hadn't forgotten that little incident, either. "Oh, it had better not be as 'fun' as flying . . ." she muttered darkly, bringing Ron out of his private reverie.
"No, seriously though, it's just a quick spot of concentration, a flick of the wrist, and poof! you're gone!" Harry gestured a bit too widely and ended up smacking a certain twin in the arm who was sneaking up behind him.
The twin (probably George, but really, who could ever tell?) recovered marvelously, and quickly put in his two-sense before any one could question his certainly questionable action of walking quietly behind everybody's favorite tremendous trio. "Hermione, you've just got to!"
"It's a rite of passage!" Fred chimed in, coming up behind his brother in their freaky twin I-know-where-my-other-half-is-at-all-times-and-chances- are-we're-in-cahoots fashion.
The two looked at each other and grinned like Cheshire cats. George nodded slightly, and the two swung as one to face the still depressed-looking Hermione.
"Besides, do you really ---- "
"---- want to admit ---- "
"---- that Ronald T. Weasely ---- "
"---- Little Ronnikins!---- "
"---- our upstart little weed of a brother!---- "
Together, they took a deep breath and with a flourish presented the ultimate coup-de-grace.
"---- is actually BETTER that YOU at something?!?"
As Ron sputtered incoherently at the snickering mirror images something about traitors and blood being thicker than water and wanting to see some of that blood flow right about now, Hermione turned to Harry with a resigned sigh.
"All right, all right. They've convinced me. So, when do we start?"
*********************CHAPTER BREAK*************************
Summer vacation of their sixth year was fast ending before Hermione finally got the nerve to try her practice with the boys. Whenever her best friends suggested it, she'd insist that it was too hot, too cold, too sunny, or too cloudy, or that it had to be illegal to practice Apparating without a license (never mind that this was the same way that Harry and Ron had learned . . . If only Hermione hadn't been in France at the time, she would have learned with them too!)
Finally, after three weeks of hemming and hawing, not to mention a little encouragement from one Ronald T. Weasely ("What's the matter, 'Mione? You scared?"), a very nervous seventeen year old stood in the Weasely's garden patch, twirling one of the curls from her pony-tail in her anxious way as she waited for her instructors to show up. She'd told them at breakfast she wanted to start at twelve, sharp. She hoped they'd get there soon. She was just beginning to feel that perhaps she could put it off another day (or week or month or year, even) when Harry Apparated with a pop just outside the garden.
Coughing slightly at the dust clouds that raised (it had been a dry summer so far), Harry turned to her and smiled. "So, 'Mione, you ready to give it a go?" he called cheerfully, walking towards her. It was a beautiful August day, complete with gentle wind, blue sky, and puffy popcorn clouds, the birds were singing, and he had every confidence that Hermione could do this. After all, she was Hermione. Nothing short of a full grown mountain troll could stop her, and even then, she'd put up a darn good fight.
She smiled weakly at him. "Ready as I'll ever be . . ."
With trembling hands, she smoothed down her new robes, the ones her mother had bought her just a few months back for her birthday. They were a beautiful periwinkle blue and fit her exactly right, somewhat snug on the top and flaring open at the waist to reveal a pretty skirt beneath it. Her mother had said that these were 'confidence clothes', just what a girl needed to feel ready to march into anything. Now more than ever, Hermione needed that confidence. She wouldn't meet Harry's eyes.
Harry cocked his head slightly. This wasn't like Hermione. She'd never avoided a challenge like this before.
Walking over to her, he put a hand on her shoulder. "Y'know, you don't have to do this if you really don't want to. I'd understand if you didn't."
She smiled up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears, before fixing her gaze somewhere off in the distance. "And Ron?" she whispered, biting her lip.
"Ron will understand, too. Everybody's got a little weakness somewhere." Harry chuckled softly. "Even you, Hermione Granger, much as I know you hate to admit it."
She gave his a watery little laugh before giving him a gentle hug around the waist. Even Harry was taller than her now. When had that happened? Had she suddenly shrunk sometime along the way? Stepping back, she smoothed her robes once more in an effort to soothe her nerves and then squared her shoulders. "I am going to do this. I am. Now, Ron had just better hurry up and get here before I lose my nerve altogether."
Harry nodded approvingly. "That's the Gryffindor spirit! And as for the great prat ---- "
Ron choose that moment to Apparate with a small snap on top of one of the garden fences. Sadly, he misjudged the distance from the top of the fence to the ground and ended up falling on top of the fence with considerably less grace than he had planned. Windmilling a bit, he regained his balance.
Once settled, he called out, "Didst mine ears deceive me? Did someone call for a 'great prat'?" Shaking his head in mock sadness, he continued, "Ah, Harry, you shouldn't be calling yourself that! After all, we all know that you're just a so-so prat at best!"
Hermione giggled into her hand as her best friend mock glared at his best friend who sat innocent as the summer day on top of a whitewashed fence.
"All right then, pratius maximus, let's just get started then, shall we?"
*******************CHAPTER BREAK********************************
Ron, it turned out, was an even better instructor than Bill, who'd been his teacher as well as Harry's. He was surprisingly patient and calm throughout the whole lesson, explaining very carefully but not too condescendingly to Hermione exactly what Apparating was going to be like, just so she wouldn't be surprised when it actually happened. He covered some of the basic theory behind it, as well as some elementary physics involved (which totally blew Hermione out of the water; since when had Ron been interested in physics?)
True, it would have been easier for Hermione if Ron hadn't been wearing such a nice black tee-shirt that brought out the blue in his eyes, but you can't have everything, now can you?
Reaching into the pocket of the black robe he'd draped over the fence, Ron pulled out what looked like a stack of muggle post cards.
"Okay, 'Mione, first we're going to pick a place you know really well, and we're going to practice picturing exactly where you want to land. Okay? This requires solid concentration and good visual skills, both of which you happen to be exceedingly good at, believe me, I've seen you study." Ron explained easily. He flicked through the post cards, finally coming on one that he was satisfied with. "Ah-hah, Platform 9 and three fourths should be empty right about now. Let's try that."
Showing her the photograph he held in his hand, Ron explained to her exactly what she should be focusing on: the bench to the left, the train tracks in front of her, the ticket station slightly to the right and behind. Harry added in that she should always think if people were about, to Apparate somewhere discrete and off to the side, but not so far off to the side that she ended up inside of something (particularly not something solid. . . like, say, a wall). But since the platform would be empty at this time of day at this time of year, it would be a great spot to practice.
Closing her eyes, and taking deep calming breaths that had no calming effect whatsoever, Hermione did as she was bid: she pictured it. She knew exactly where she wanted to go. Harry would Apparate first, then it would be Hermione's turn, and then Ron's, just to make sure that everything went right at both ends. She was thus reassured that even if she did end up Squinched, she'd be reported immediately to the proper channels at the Ministry of Magic. Then they could fix her.
Ron told her that as long as she wasn't distracted during the actual process of jumping from one area to another, she wouldn't be split in two. It was a comforting thought.
Giving her a quick hug for good luck, Harry said his goodbyes and then Apparated.
Hermione kept her eyes shut, opening and closing her fists. She couldn't do it. She couldn't do it. She would fail.
Immediately, she felt Ron's presence behind her. "It's okay, it's okay. Take it easy. Breathe. C'mon, Hermione, you can do it. I'm right here, don't worry."
"Okay, okay, I'm going. I'm ready. I'm going." Taking a few more breaths, picturing the platform, Hermione Granger threw caution to the wind and flicked her wand. And with a pop, she was gone. . .
And with a pop, she was standing on the Platform Nine and Three Quarters, deserted except for the likes of one Harry Potter, who was grinning at her like a maniac.
A second pop, and there was a very proud looking Ron Weasely standing next to them, too.
Hermione stared around in wonder. Never had a train station platform looked so beautiful. There was the bench, and the ticket station, and the tracks, and it was all so amazingly there! And solid! Before she knew it, she had grabbed the nearest best friend (Ron) and was hugging him and jumping up and down. Then she did the same with Harry. Laughing, the two boys squished her in a giant bear hug. Hermione looked almost in tears (although not from being squished). She had faced her fears and look! She could travel! Oh, the freedom!
Together, the trio practiced going back and forth from the Burrow to the Platform, just to get it ingrained into Hermione's memory, the way it should feel (a quick feeling of weightlessness right before the jump and then a popping sound right near her head). They went over what she should do, should she ever get stuck in the middle of a Apparation jump (always Apparate with a partner, and if you didn't, use your wand if it's still in your hand at the point of Squinchage. If not, just stand still and pray some wizard finds you soon.)
As a celebration, Harry suggested that they Apparate to Diagon Alley for a quick trip to the Ice Cream Shoppe for treats, on him. Emboldened by her success, Hermione readily agreed. Ron took one look at her happy face and assured her that he wouldn't miss it for the world; it would be like the graduation of his first ever student!
So, they grabbed Ron's post cards again and found a picture of the Apparation booth at the Leaky Cauldron. Those cards, it turned out, were wizard photographs, handy for Apparating in that you could make sure no one was in the area you wanted to Apparate on top of. Quite handy, and more safe than jumping blind. The Apparation booth at the Leaky Cauldron was a small space, but they decided it was big enough to fit the three of them if they placed themselves right. Ron would be on the left, Harry in the middle, and Hermione on the right.
Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, Hermione Apparated first with a pop. Another successful attempt! The booth was cozy although somewhat battered. The peeling wallpaper looked like it had been there for years. At some point, the booth might have been a pantry of some sort, she decided, but it was hard to tell.
Ron appeared across the booth from her in a matter of seconds. They waited expectantly for the third pop. They waited. And waited. And waited some more.
After a few moments of standing very, very still . . .
"Ummm, Ron?" Hermione squeaked. "Where's Harry?"